Wednesday, August 15, 2007
finally...my jerualem post!
Here it is guys- my apologies for not doing better proofreading, but I just wanted to get this thing up!
Before I traveled to Jerusalem this weekend, I had brewing in my mind what one might consider a “biased” image of the Arab-Israeli conflict: in short, I have been fervently anti-Israel from the moment I first grasped the immensity of injustice that was befalling the Palestinian people. I crossed the Jordanian-Israeli border considering how perhaps I should open my mind to try to understand the Israeli point of view or at least the Jewish attachment to this sacred place. I thought that perhaps if I talked to some of these people as individuals and not as blind followers or representatives of some military-industrial complex then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t look like the drooling, demonic caricature of the Jewish Israeli that we analyzed in my last media class, ordering a George Bush-headed parrot to repeat, “I hate the Arabs! I hate the Arabs!”. Sadly, however, I left Israel- ahem- Palestine, wondering how these people could be so full of hate and so hungry for power over a people who live right next door.
Our first horrendous encounter with Israeli guards took place at the Yarmouk program’s oh so beloved travel destination- the border. I admit I was quite surprised by how young and- for the most part- how attractive all the officers were, but my how the fairest of them all can be the most merciless. We entered expecting some trouble given that Ola is clearly Muslim and clearly Arab, that I have an Arabic last name, and that Kim, Ola, and I had all been to Syria on two separate occasions. Surprisingly the factor that probably caused the most suspicion and stress for us as a result was my grandfather’s origins in Lebanon. I must have been asked about five times over a period of four hours about where my father was born, where my grandfather was born, where my mother was born, etc, etc, which is quite hilarious because I have never even MET my grandfather since he died before I was born AND he moved to North Carolina from Souq al-Gharb, a small town in Mount Lebanon, when he was a mere six years old. Anyhow, I believe the guards developed some theory that I was a converted white Muslim disguising my true identity behind my Christian surname, and this was proven by the fact that I was traveling with a Muslim, had avid interest in visiting the Dome of the Rock mosque in Jerusalem (“Why did I want to visit the mosque if I was a Christian?”, and by my grandfather’s first name (“Why is his name Baheej? You are Christian? Baheej is a Muslim name!). According to Ola, Baheej is not necessarily a Muslim name, but if my great grandmother were alive to explain to me why she decided to give her son a name that might confound agents of the Israeli occupation a century later, perhaps I would. Then again, if I could actually talk to her, I would probably ask about her life back in Mount Lebanon and why she left exactly and why she never insisted that my dad learn Arabic- somehow I have to ask myself-and pardon the cliché-“What’s in a name?”
So after climbing our way through the jungle gym of senseless bureaucracy, we finally made it out of the border four hours later, AFTER being told that there was no way we could possibly get a bus to Jerusalem at 10:00 at night, despite the fact that their endless interrogation was the reason we were finding ourselves at a loss for affordable transportation. We ended up hitching a ride with some older asshole guard who, of course, ridiculously overcharged us, to a “guest house” in Bet-She’an. Bet She’an: picture Laguna Beach meets Zionist kibbutz, about 10 miles from the Israeli border. Our supposed youth hostel was this really modern looking juxtaposition of ivory-colored stone and imposing metal where the kids, mostly high school age, were probably either on birthright trips on the way to Jerusalem or in some youth Israeli ROTC (given that we woke up at 7 in the morning to hear the rhythmic pounding of oversized boots across the patio). It was that morning, during my totally ineffective attempt to communicate with the hotel front desk that I came to realize that the vocabulary of just about any Israeli who holds even the most menial position of power is restricted to the phrases, “It’s impossible!”, “You cannot travel by ___ to ____ on ____day at ____ time”, “Stop!”, the dismissive“So?”, and the Arabic, “Hadha Mumnu’a” (It is forbidden). We walked to the bank to exchange money that morning (which, naturally was closed when we arrived) where, naturally, they totally ripped us off with their oppressive fees. Fortunately we did catch the bus- although either the hotel staff or the bus driver lied to us about the price, which ended up being 3 times of that which we had expected- which turned about to be a main mode of transportation for young members of the Israeli army. I can honestly say that I have never been around that many guns in my life, nor have I ever been so close to one- especially such a large one- as one of the men, obviously an American by his fluency in English and his reading of The Da Vinci Code, sat next to me. There were both male and female soldiers, since apparently Israeli females must enter the army when they turn 18, many more of whom must have been American. There was something inexplicably jarring about seeing yamaka and military garb-clad young men putting their rifles aside to adjust the headphones on their iPods and call their entire calling list on their cell phones.
When traveling to Jerusalem- specifically the New City- from an Arab country, you immediately notice two things: how strikingly different the architecture and infrastructure are from any other major city in the region, and how wide the divide is in quality of life of the Arabs and the Israelis. The trend in Israel seems to be an attempt to imitate the old architecture, characterized by the construction of houses, temples, churches, and mosques with large blocks of stone, only in a fresh-looking, sterile style with enough aesthetic flourish to draw the line between wealthy Israeli citizens and marginalized Arab residents who have become like neglected house plants never completely rooted from their soil, but left long enough to wither up and wilt. In general I found that Israeli homes resemble what I consider to be faceless components of suburban sprawl, much like that in some regions of the United States, whereas Arab neighborhoods tended to be littered with many houses suffering from major decay. On the other hand, the latter still seems to foster an undeniable charisma and character that even the Occupation cannot suppress. Moreover, the countryside surrounding the city (what I consider to be the essence of Palestine), is one of the most beautiful sites I have seen in my life- and I think one has to have a deep appreciation for Arab culture and specifically the Palestinian people to understand what I am talking about. I’m referring to the rolling hills of olive orchards that overlook mosques and church towers- what appear to be totally uninhabited today. Our cab driver from Jerusalem to the border on our last day pointed out a massive district of luxurious houses constructed for the Jewish but uninhabited today, where once were Palestinian homesteads (and no, the Palestinians didn’t just decide to take work elsewhere and give up their land to the state of Israel). He also indicated a district of homes where many Israelis do live, only illegally, as Palestinian families do supposedly hold the papers proving their rights to reside on this tract of land, but that Israel has nonetheless seized and distributed to Jewish families. He noted that these people- unlike those in other Israeli homes- did not display any Israeli flags outside their houses so as not to draw attention to the fact that they are living on land that isn’t theirs. Of course there is no way for me to prove what one Palestinian cab driver pointed out, but somehow I doubt in my heart of hearts that his stories are very far from the truth, if straying from it at all.
We managed to find a very affordable hotel right in the Old City which was Arab-Christian owned and reminded me of my own house- eccentric and inhabited by nostalgic packrats (well, perhaps just a little bit neater- sorry Daddy). The hotel was full of pictures from the early 1900’s of Jaffa Gate, the Tower of David, and various other sites of the Old City, as well as maps portraying the current border situation of Israel and Palestine. The walls were also decorated with intricately-weaved, traditional Palestinian jalbiyyas and paintings and photographs of women wearing them in typical Palestinian olive orchard-settings. Our particular room had an upstairs loft and a quaint balcony overlooking the Old City, and given the near-perfect weather of Al-Quds, there was no need whatsoever for air conditioning. My favorite part about the hotel, however, was the “small library” (as the brochure advertises) which contained hundreds of mini-magazines entitled “This Week in Palestine”, journals on the mental and physical consequences of armed conflict on children, and old Al Quds University brochures. Of course anything I could find which had a duplicate copy (which was a LOT) I stuffed into my bag, since I know how any written journal or pamphlet regarding Palestine as a country in and of itself and acknowledging the brutality of the occupation is hard to come by.
On Friday we wandered through the slinky alleyways of the suq where I spent much more money than I had originally planned. Christian, Muslim, and Jewish shops were scattered throughout the market- I would argue not exclusively setting up shop in their respective quarters- and most sold keychains, necklaces, shirts, etc representing each of the three faiths under one roof.
One thing you notice immediately when you enter Jerusalem is the omnipresent spirituality of the place, as there is not only a coexistence (whether totally peaceful or not) of individuals following different religious paths, but a feeling of connectedness to all other people who consciously or subconsciously seem to flock here to seek the source of faith and the promise of something after death. A cynical agnostic who has witnessed so many of the detrimental aspects of all major religions, even I found that my walls of skepticism collapsed when I entered the church of the Holy Sepulchre, where lies the stone where (supposedly) Jesus’ body was lain after his death. Swarms of people- mostly Catholic women- crowded around the rock to lay their hands on it and kiss it. I personally believe that whether or not a place such as this has an intrinsic sacred quality, the channeling of positive spiritual energies from people from many backgrounds and cultures can actually endow the object or location with a powerful quality that can in fact have a healing effect on those who flock to it. There were also lines of monks and other Christian followers descending into the depths of the church chanting from prayer books in Latin and holding candles to light their way through the darkness below. I usually only cover my head in mosques but in this place I felt compelled to keep my scarf on as it was not an ordinary place and seemed to demand greater modesty.
Another thing I loved about Jerusalem was that since there are so many tourists from around the world who frequent Arab shops and cafes, the store owners actually appreciated when I used my broken Arabic (I should say my horrific a’ameeya) with them and actually REPLIED in Arabic as well- which almost never happens in Irbid unless the person doesn’t speak a word of English. I got to practice a lot, also probably because I didn’t have Ola, who speaks ‘ameeya fluently, there to help me out the entire time. By the time we were talking to our cab driver on the way back to Jordan I was understanding about 65-70% of what he was saying in Palestinian dialect, which is a major improvement on my skills before I came here, when all I understood was FusHa.
So anyway Jerusalem was quite the ideal place for adventuring, whether or not this was the smartest idea on my part! We had very limited time in the city so Ola and I were set on exploring as much as possible and we really wanted to see al-Aqsa mosque at night so on Friday we headed out through the incredibly sketched-out souq at about 11:00. After seeing other people’s pictures from their trip to Quds I had this idea in my head that somehow we could get right in front of the mosque and take pictures, but unfortunately after about an hour and a half of searching through every hidden path and shortcut, I discovered this was not so. We did, however, get to see the Wailing Wall at night which was pretty cool, and at least the dome of the mosque. Ola had the very artistic idea for a picture which I copied (see in pictures above).
So we did try (at my insistence of course) to see the Dome of the Rock up close, and gave up only because we were sure that we would be able to see the mosque the next day, which was Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath of course. For whatever supposed “security” reason, the state of Israel has declared that no non-Muslim can go past the inner walls of the mosque, a regulation which the expressionless Israeli guards informed us of when we only had a few hours left in Israel. Naturally I was furious- our other friend perhaps not so much as she is an atheist and didn’t seem to be as emotionally affected by what many view as an intense spirituality of the place. Ola was pretty upset as well since she realized just as I did that this whole barring of particular religious groups from a place of worship is more about Israel wanting to exercise its power and force over outsiders and most importantly, wanting to have this entire holy area (which includes the Wailing Wall for itself. Read about the excavations going on if you’d like to learn more about what little respect Israel has for other creeds’ sacred places: http://www.jerusalemites.org/crimes/crimes_against_islam/5.htm
Anyway back to the story. We didn’t just crouch off with our tails between our legs after the Israeli guards barked their usual No’s at us but went up to speak with the Muslim guy who at least has some nominal power in the affairs of the mosque. He talked to us very kindly in his office and warmly offered us drinks, asking us to wait while he called various people (I imagine other Israeli authorities) to see if there was any way we could at least get into the courtyard of the mosque to see it up close and then just let Ola walk in to pray. Unfortunately we had no luck and he went on to explain in Arabic (which I mostly understood) how the Israelis control everything, and despite the fact that it says in the Qur’an that people of all Abrahamic faiths should be permitted into this particular mosque, Muslims can’t do anything to stop them. Having been harassed at the border, been sent in opposite directions from our destinations by asshole Israeli guards (yeh, that’s a whole OTHER story), and seen the way Arabs are treated in Jerusalem, I could just couldn’t help but stop sobbing. While of course on a selfish level I was terribly disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the ONE site I had come to Jerusalem to visit, I mainly kept thinking how if this is how not getting into the mosque affects me, imagine how it must fracture the souls of Palestinian Muslims from ever entering the mosque at all. Besides, this one act of cruelty and oppression is just a tiny piece of what many Arabs in Jerusalem experience everyday.
The culmination of the soullessness of Israel of course is the apartheid wall- no not a fence- which our taxi driver was kind enough to drive us to for no extra charge. Of course I had seen pictures of it before and heard about it on TV, but when I actually saw it in person, when I was close enough to actually touch it, I realized how the total marginalization of Palestinians is a process that is only getting worse with the construction of this wall, which I’m pretty sure is a total violation of international law.
To sum up my experience, Jerusalem was by far one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen- perhaps the most beautiful city. But the experience of being there and seeing the injustice that the Israeli state exercises on Palestinians every hour of every day was gut-wrenching, yet at the same time inspiring as now I even more want to do something, particularly in the West Bank.
Well I’m sorry it took me so long to post this, but here it is. I’ll try to post one more before I leave you guys until my next adventure, in sha’allah.
Before I traveled to Jerusalem this weekend, I had brewing in my mind what one might consider a “biased” image of the Arab-Israeli conflict: in short, I have been fervently anti-Israel from the moment I first grasped the immensity of injustice that was befalling the Palestinian people. I crossed the Jordanian-Israeli border considering how perhaps I should open my mind to try to understand the Israeli point of view or at least the Jewish attachment to this sacred place. I thought that perhaps if I talked to some of these people as individuals and not as blind followers or representatives of some military-industrial complex then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t look like the drooling, demonic caricature of the Jewish Israeli that we analyzed in my last media class, ordering a George Bush-headed parrot to repeat, “I hate the Arabs! I hate the Arabs!”. Sadly, however, I left Israel- ahem- Palestine, wondering how these people could be so full of hate and so hungry for power over a people who live right next door.
Our first horrendous encounter with Israeli guards took place at the Yarmouk program’s oh so beloved travel destination- the border. I admit I was quite surprised by how young and- for the most part- how attractive all the officers were, but my how the fairest of them all can be the most merciless. We entered expecting some trouble given that Ola is clearly Muslim and clearly Arab, that I have an Arabic last name, and that Kim, Ola, and I had all been to Syria on two separate occasions. Surprisingly the factor that probably caused the most suspicion and stress for us as a result was my grandfather’s origins in Lebanon. I must have been asked about five times over a period of four hours about where my father was born, where my grandfather was born, where my mother was born, etc, etc, which is quite hilarious because I have never even MET my grandfather since he died before I was born AND he moved to North Carolina from Souq al-Gharb, a small town in Mount Lebanon, when he was a mere six years old. Anyhow, I believe the guards developed some theory that I was a converted white Muslim disguising my true identity behind my Christian surname, and this was proven by the fact that I was traveling with a Muslim, had avid interest in visiting the Dome of the Rock mosque in Jerusalem (“Why did I want to visit the mosque if I was a Christian?”, and by my grandfather’s first name (“Why is his name Baheej? You are Christian? Baheej is a Muslim name!). According to Ola, Baheej is not necessarily a Muslim name, but if my great grandmother were alive to explain to me why she decided to give her son a name that might confound agents of the Israeli occupation a century later, perhaps I would. Then again, if I could actually talk to her, I would probably ask about her life back in Mount Lebanon and why she left exactly and why she never insisted that my dad learn Arabic- somehow I have to ask myself-and pardon the cliché-“What’s in a name?”
So after climbing our way through the jungle gym of senseless bureaucracy, we finally made it out of the border four hours later, AFTER being told that there was no way we could possibly get a bus to Jerusalem at 10:00 at night, despite the fact that their endless interrogation was the reason we were finding ourselves at a loss for affordable transportation. We ended up hitching a ride with some older asshole guard who, of course, ridiculously overcharged us, to a “guest house” in Bet-She’an. Bet She’an: picture Laguna Beach meets Zionist kibbutz, about 10 miles from the Israeli border. Our supposed youth hostel was this really modern looking juxtaposition of ivory-colored stone and imposing metal where the kids, mostly high school age, were probably either on birthright trips on the way to Jerusalem or in some youth Israeli ROTC (given that we woke up at 7 in the morning to hear the rhythmic pounding of oversized boots across the patio). It was that morning, during my totally ineffective attempt to communicate with the hotel front desk that I came to realize that the vocabulary of just about any Israeli who holds even the most menial position of power is restricted to the phrases, “It’s impossible!”, “You cannot travel by ___ to ____ on ____day at ____ time”, “Stop!”, the dismissive“So?”, and the Arabic, “Hadha Mumnu’a” (It is forbidden). We walked to the bank to exchange money that morning (which, naturally was closed when we arrived) where, naturally, they totally ripped us off with their oppressive fees. Fortunately we did catch the bus- although either the hotel staff or the bus driver lied to us about the price, which ended up being 3 times of that which we had expected- which turned about to be a main mode of transportation for young members of the Israeli army. I can honestly say that I have never been around that many guns in my life, nor have I ever been so close to one- especially such a large one- as one of the men, obviously an American by his fluency in English and his reading of The Da Vinci Code, sat next to me. There were both male and female soldiers, since apparently Israeli females must enter the army when they turn 18, many more of whom must have been American. There was something inexplicably jarring about seeing yamaka and military garb-clad young men putting their rifles aside to adjust the headphones on their iPods and call their entire calling list on their cell phones.
When traveling to Jerusalem- specifically the New City- from an Arab country, you immediately notice two things: how strikingly different the architecture and infrastructure are from any other major city in the region, and how wide the divide is in quality of life of the Arabs and the Israelis. The trend in Israel seems to be an attempt to imitate the old architecture, characterized by the construction of houses, temples, churches, and mosques with large blocks of stone, only in a fresh-looking, sterile style with enough aesthetic flourish to draw the line between wealthy Israeli citizens and marginalized Arab residents who have become like neglected house plants never completely rooted from their soil, but left long enough to wither up and wilt. In general I found that Israeli homes resemble what I consider to be faceless components of suburban sprawl, much like that in some regions of the United States, whereas Arab neighborhoods tended to be littered with many houses suffering from major decay. On the other hand, the latter still seems to foster an undeniable charisma and character that even the Occupation cannot suppress. Moreover, the countryside surrounding the city (what I consider to be the essence of Palestine), is one of the most beautiful sites I have seen in my life- and I think one has to have a deep appreciation for Arab culture and specifically the Palestinian people to understand what I am talking about. I’m referring to the rolling hills of olive orchards that overlook mosques and church towers- what appear to be totally uninhabited today. Our cab driver from Jerusalem to the border on our last day pointed out a massive district of luxurious houses constructed for the Jewish but uninhabited today, where once were Palestinian homesteads (and no, the Palestinians didn’t just decide to take work elsewhere and give up their land to the state of Israel). He also indicated a district of homes where many Israelis do live, only illegally, as Palestinian families do supposedly hold the papers proving their rights to reside on this tract of land, but that Israel has nonetheless seized and distributed to Jewish families. He noted that these people- unlike those in other Israeli homes- did not display any Israeli flags outside their houses so as not to draw attention to the fact that they are living on land that isn’t theirs. Of course there is no way for me to prove what one Palestinian cab driver pointed out, but somehow I doubt in my heart of hearts that his stories are very far from the truth, if straying from it at all.
We managed to find a very affordable hotel right in the Old City which was Arab-Christian owned and reminded me of my own house- eccentric and inhabited by nostalgic packrats (well, perhaps just a little bit neater- sorry Daddy). The hotel was full of pictures from the early 1900’s of Jaffa Gate, the Tower of David, and various other sites of the Old City, as well as maps portraying the current border situation of Israel and Palestine. The walls were also decorated with intricately-weaved, traditional Palestinian jalbiyyas and paintings and photographs of women wearing them in typical Palestinian olive orchard-settings. Our particular room had an upstairs loft and a quaint balcony overlooking the Old City, and given the near-perfect weather of Al-Quds, there was no need whatsoever for air conditioning. My favorite part about the hotel, however, was the “small library” (as the brochure advertises) which contained hundreds of mini-magazines entitled “This Week in Palestine”, journals on the mental and physical consequences of armed conflict on children, and old Al Quds University brochures. Of course anything I could find which had a duplicate copy (which was a LOT) I stuffed into my bag, since I know how any written journal or pamphlet regarding Palestine as a country in and of itself and acknowledging the brutality of the occupation is hard to come by.
On Friday we wandered through the slinky alleyways of the suq where I spent much more money than I had originally planned. Christian, Muslim, and Jewish shops were scattered throughout the market- I would argue not exclusively setting up shop in their respective quarters- and most sold keychains, necklaces, shirts, etc representing each of the three faiths under one roof.
One thing you notice immediately when you enter Jerusalem is the omnipresent spirituality of the place, as there is not only a coexistence (whether totally peaceful or not) of individuals following different religious paths, but a feeling of connectedness to all other people who consciously or subconsciously seem to flock here to seek the source of faith and the promise of something after death. A cynical agnostic who has witnessed so many of the detrimental aspects of all major religions, even I found that my walls of skepticism collapsed when I entered the church of the Holy Sepulchre, where lies the stone where (supposedly) Jesus’ body was lain after his death. Swarms of people- mostly Catholic women- crowded around the rock to lay their hands on it and kiss it. I personally believe that whether or not a place such as this has an intrinsic sacred quality, the channeling of positive spiritual energies from people from many backgrounds and cultures can actually endow the object or location with a powerful quality that can in fact have a healing effect on those who flock to it. There were also lines of monks and other Christian followers descending into the depths of the church chanting from prayer books in Latin and holding candles to light their way through the darkness below. I usually only cover my head in mosques but in this place I felt compelled to keep my scarf on as it was not an ordinary place and seemed to demand greater modesty.
Another thing I loved about Jerusalem was that since there are so many tourists from around the world who frequent Arab shops and cafes, the store owners actually appreciated when I used my broken Arabic (I should say my horrific a’ameeya) with them and actually REPLIED in Arabic as well- which almost never happens in Irbid unless the person doesn’t speak a word of English. I got to practice a lot, also probably because I didn’t have Ola, who speaks ‘ameeya fluently, there to help me out the entire time. By the time we were talking to our cab driver on the way back to Jordan I was understanding about 65-70% of what he was saying in Palestinian dialect, which is a major improvement on my skills before I came here, when all I understood was FusHa.
So anyway Jerusalem was quite the ideal place for adventuring, whether or not this was the smartest idea on my part! We had very limited time in the city so Ola and I were set on exploring as much as possible and we really wanted to see al-Aqsa mosque at night so on Friday we headed out through the incredibly sketched-out souq at about 11:00. After seeing other people’s pictures from their trip to Quds I had this idea in my head that somehow we could get right in front of the mosque and take pictures, but unfortunately after about an hour and a half of searching through every hidden path and shortcut, I discovered this was not so. We did, however, get to see the Wailing Wall at night which was pretty cool, and at least the dome of the mosque. Ola had the very artistic idea for a picture which I copied (see in pictures above).
So we did try (at my insistence of course) to see the Dome of the Rock up close, and gave up only because we were sure that we would be able to see the mosque the next day, which was Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath of course. For whatever supposed “security” reason, the state of Israel has declared that no non-Muslim can go past the inner walls of the mosque, a regulation which the expressionless Israeli guards informed us of when we only had a few hours left in Israel. Naturally I was furious- our other friend perhaps not so much as she is an atheist and didn’t seem to be as emotionally affected by what many view as an intense spirituality of the place. Ola was pretty upset as well since she realized just as I did that this whole barring of particular religious groups from a place of worship is more about Israel wanting to exercise its power and force over outsiders and most importantly, wanting to have this entire holy area (which includes the Wailing Wall for itself. Read about the excavations going on if you’d like to learn more about what little respect Israel has for other creeds’ sacred places: http://www.jerusalemites.org/crimes/crimes_against_islam/5.htm
Anyway back to the story. We didn’t just crouch off with our tails between our legs after the Israeli guards barked their usual No’s at us but went up to speak with the Muslim guy who at least has some nominal power in the affairs of the mosque. He talked to us very kindly in his office and warmly offered us drinks, asking us to wait while he called various people (I imagine other Israeli authorities) to see if there was any way we could at least get into the courtyard of the mosque to see it up close and then just let Ola walk in to pray. Unfortunately we had no luck and he went on to explain in Arabic (which I mostly understood) how the Israelis control everything, and despite the fact that it says in the Qur’an that people of all Abrahamic faiths should be permitted into this particular mosque, Muslims can’t do anything to stop them. Having been harassed at the border, been sent in opposite directions from our destinations by asshole Israeli guards (yeh, that’s a whole OTHER story), and seen the way Arabs are treated in Jerusalem, I could just couldn’t help but stop sobbing. While of course on a selfish level I was terribly disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the ONE site I had come to Jerusalem to visit, I mainly kept thinking how if this is how not getting into the mosque affects me, imagine how it must fracture the souls of Palestinian Muslims from ever entering the mosque at all. Besides, this one act of cruelty and oppression is just a tiny piece of what many Arabs in Jerusalem experience everyday.
The culmination of the soullessness of Israel of course is the apartheid wall- no not a fence- which our taxi driver was kind enough to drive us to for no extra charge. Of course I had seen pictures of it before and heard about it on TV, but when I actually saw it in person, when I was close enough to actually touch it, I realized how the total marginalization of Palestinians is a process that is only getting worse with the construction of this wall, which I’m pretty sure is a total violation of international law.
To sum up my experience, Jerusalem was by far one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen- perhaps the most beautiful city. But the experience of being there and seeing the injustice that the Israeli state exercises on Palestinians every hour of every day was gut-wrenching, yet at the same time inspiring as now I even more want to do something, particularly in the West Bank.
Well I’m sorry it took me so long to post this, but here it is. I’ll try to post one more before I leave you guys until my next adventure, in sha’allah.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
wadi rum post...finally
Just a quick disclaimer: this post should have been up over 2 weeks ago but I have been sooooo busy I haven't gotten a chance to finish it and put it online, but finally here it is!
I'm currently working on a super long post on my Jerusalem trip and still have to write one for Syria so stay tuned.......
I think I’m finally learning the true meaning of being a “big fish in a small pond”, because right now I feel like the tiniest damn fish trying to swim without gills in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It’s one thing to feel like you’re failing in some area of life, but it’s another to completely suck at that which inspires you and what you want to spend your entire life doing. I realize that I got into Arabic and Middle East/Islamic studies late in my college career, but I have worked like crazy to make up that lost time and catch up. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t just another case of Suzanne’s perfectionism gone into overdrive, but a terrible fear that I will have to pursue some boring and meaningless career in some area that I don’t really care about.
I told my dad a few days ago that what I would really like to do is work in a Palestinian refugee camp, specifically in Palestine. Of course he suggested that I just work in a camp in Jordan where *insha’allah* I wouldn’t get killed. But for some reason I have this totally irrational obsession with Palestine and I am absolutely DYING to visit. I did technically see it when I was at the Dead Sea and at Um Qais , and just the little bit that I saw was spectacular. All my favorite scenes of Jordan totally resemble the images of Palestine I’ve seen on television. And besides my love of the landscape, the Israeli occupation of Palestine is one of the few issues that can really fire me up, because to me it is one of the most blatant violation of international law and human rights in the history of mankind. Every afternoon I watch this show on Al Jazeera International (that’s right, the one in English) called Witness that focuses primarily on human rights crises around the world, and one of them featured Palestinian families whose backyards were literally being cut off by the Israeli apartheid wall. I was actually crying during the scene where this mother escorts her kindergarten-age son beyond the end of the wall in the process of construction to view the stars over Al-Quds before his only image of the outside world becomes a gray concrete mass imposing on his ability to pursue a real life outside the prison that is the refugee camp.
Anyway, my friend Allison’s friend who came through Irbid for a night talked to me about her experience in a refugee camp in Palestine where she’s working now in a theatre that I believe Palestinian youth use as a creative outlet in the bleakness of camp life. I was totally fascinated and would really like to research more about that particular position, especially since I interned at a theatre in Spain when I studied abroad. Specifically I would like to work as a part of effort for the advancement of education opportunities for Palestinian youth whose families simply lack the resources- financial or otherwise- to give their kids hope for using education as a means of improving their devastating situation. So if any of you readers have any suggestions for something that even remotely fits my aspirations, PLEASE comment on my blog!
So now let me take a few moments to describe the most spectacular experience of my entire life- my trip to Wadi Rum. I can’t believe I almost made the mistake of visiting Damascus a second time and almost missing this opportunity because there is no way I would ever replace the experience I had last weekend. After enjoying a touristy, overpriced lunch of dry chicken and miscellaneous pasta salads, we embarked on the real part of the trip- a trek through a desert of rippling red sand and great stone monoliths emerging as testimonies to the existence of something out there greater than ourselves. We rode a “jeep”, that is, in the bed of a rickety little truck in the last days of its ninth life, to various sites including Lawrence of Arabia’s spring and former home and a number of locations ideal for rock climbing whose peaks had amazing views. I tended to spend more of my time with the guys on the trip (well, at least the first day since on the second I got really sick) since they wanted to take advantage of every climb and view possible. Obviously I don’t have the stamina that these guys do, as all of them are in amazing physical shape, but I did my best to keep up in my cotton skirt and Teva sandals. My favorite nook was probably a rock I climbed alone from which you could yell into the valley below and hear your voice echoed at least five times. Being the weirdo that I am, I used this opportunity to practice my ululation, one of the many bizarre sounds I have somehow managed to master.
The best part about this particular place was not, however, its conduciveness to making an ass of yourself in the middle of the desert, but rather that, on that rugged peak standing high above the sand-powdered valley below, I could for the first time enjoy the silence that exists between my ears. Even in small town life, you don’t realize how seldom you are able to hear the sound of nothingness, of a whiteness so pure and clear that for once all the jumbled thoughts and images in your head seem to fizzle out into nothingness. And suddenly you become a part of that landscape that has embraced you, and no longer are you trying to stuff all the erratic parts of your self into a neatly packed cubby in one society or another. For in nature there is no culture, no need for the rationalizations of relativism and scientific theories to explain away the inexplicable and the mystical. For the first time, even in my jaded little head, even in my ears packed numb and deaf with the gauze of rationality and the experiences that seem to disprove any existence of a being that might actually care if I exist, I thought I heard the voice of God whispering- for God’s voice is not heard in church or even calls to prayer, but in a virginal silence of peace and clarity.
Of course we did the other touristy activities like staying over night in a Bedouin camp where we enjoyed a fantastic meal that was cooked in a vat underground, and camel riding the next day, but to me there was nothing more amazing than enjoying the solace from so-called civilization. For the first time since I was a child- before bright orange streetlights appeared in our neighborhood that would forever put out the natural bulbs that lit the sky each night- I was able to look up see the Milky Way and Mars and Jupiter and shooting stars. I could sink my hand into the sea of sand and feel the earth run through my fingers, unfiltered and untouched by mankind’s tools of modification and destruction.
I tell you, if any of you gets a chance to visit Jordan, of course you shouldn’t miss Petra, but Wadi Rum is a like a secret haven, and stepping into its desert valley is like closing your eyes and falling into the place of dreams, where your mind no longer tricks your thoughts into a disappointed, cynical, and diluted consciousness.
It is places like this that make the Middle East the destination of so many spiritual voyagers and adventurers, and unfortunately, the object of so much conflict and opposition. I can’t wait to see what Jerusalem is like…….
I'm currently working on a super long post on my Jerusalem trip and still have to write one for Syria so stay tuned.......
I think I’m finally learning the true meaning of being a “big fish in a small pond”, because right now I feel like the tiniest damn fish trying to swim without gills in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It’s one thing to feel like you’re failing in some area of life, but it’s another to completely suck at that which inspires you and what you want to spend your entire life doing. I realize that I got into Arabic and Middle East/Islamic studies late in my college career, but I have worked like crazy to make up that lost time and catch up. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t just another case of Suzanne’s perfectionism gone into overdrive, but a terrible fear that I will have to pursue some boring and meaningless career in some area that I don’t really care about.
I told my dad a few days ago that what I would really like to do is work in a Palestinian refugee camp, specifically in Palestine. Of course he suggested that I just work in a camp in Jordan where *insha’allah* I wouldn’t get killed. But for some reason I have this totally irrational obsession with Palestine and I am absolutely DYING to visit. I did technically see it when I was at the Dead Sea and at Um Qais , and just the little bit that I saw was spectacular. All my favorite scenes of Jordan totally resemble the images of Palestine I’ve seen on television. And besides my love of the landscape, the Israeli occupation of Palestine is one of the few issues that can really fire me up, because to me it is one of the most blatant violation of international law and human rights in the history of mankind. Every afternoon I watch this show on Al Jazeera International (that’s right, the one in English) called Witness that focuses primarily on human rights crises around the world, and one of them featured Palestinian families whose backyards were literally being cut off by the Israeli apartheid wall. I was actually crying during the scene where this mother escorts her kindergarten-age son beyond the end of the wall in the process of construction to view the stars over Al-Quds before his only image of the outside world becomes a gray concrete mass imposing on his ability to pursue a real life outside the prison that is the refugee camp.
Anyway, my friend Allison’s friend who came through Irbid for a night talked to me about her experience in a refugee camp in Palestine where she’s working now in a theatre that I believe Palestinian youth use as a creative outlet in the bleakness of camp life. I was totally fascinated and would really like to research more about that particular position, especially since I interned at a theatre in Spain when I studied abroad. Specifically I would like to work as a part of effort for the advancement of education opportunities for Palestinian youth whose families simply lack the resources- financial or otherwise- to give their kids hope for using education as a means of improving their devastating situation. So if any of you readers have any suggestions for something that even remotely fits my aspirations, PLEASE comment on my blog!
So now let me take a few moments to describe the most spectacular experience of my entire life- my trip to Wadi Rum. I can’t believe I almost made the mistake of visiting Damascus a second time and almost missing this opportunity because there is no way I would ever replace the experience I had last weekend. After enjoying a touristy, overpriced lunch of dry chicken and miscellaneous pasta salads, we embarked on the real part of the trip- a trek through a desert of rippling red sand and great stone monoliths emerging as testimonies to the existence of something out there greater than ourselves. We rode a “jeep”, that is, in the bed of a rickety little truck in the last days of its ninth life, to various sites including Lawrence of Arabia’s spring and former home and a number of locations ideal for rock climbing whose peaks had amazing views. I tended to spend more of my time with the guys on the trip (well, at least the first day since on the second I got really sick) since they wanted to take advantage of every climb and view possible. Obviously I don’t have the stamina that these guys do, as all of them are in amazing physical shape, but I did my best to keep up in my cotton skirt and Teva sandals. My favorite nook was probably a rock I climbed alone from which you could yell into the valley below and hear your voice echoed at least five times. Being the weirdo that I am, I used this opportunity to practice my ululation, one of the many bizarre sounds I have somehow managed to master.
The best part about this particular place was not, however, its conduciveness to making an ass of yourself in the middle of the desert, but rather that, on that rugged peak standing high above the sand-powdered valley below, I could for the first time enjoy the silence that exists between my ears. Even in small town life, you don’t realize how seldom you are able to hear the sound of nothingness, of a whiteness so pure and clear that for once all the jumbled thoughts and images in your head seem to fizzle out into nothingness. And suddenly you become a part of that landscape that has embraced you, and no longer are you trying to stuff all the erratic parts of your self into a neatly packed cubby in one society or another. For in nature there is no culture, no need for the rationalizations of relativism and scientific theories to explain away the inexplicable and the mystical. For the first time, even in my jaded little head, even in my ears packed numb and deaf with the gauze of rationality and the experiences that seem to disprove any existence of a being that might actually care if I exist, I thought I heard the voice of God whispering- for God’s voice is not heard in church or even calls to prayer, but in a virginal silence of peace and clarity.
Of course we did the other touristy activities like staying over night in a Bedouin camp where we enjoyed a fantastic meal that was cooked in a vat underground, and camel riding the next day, but to me there was nothing more amazing than enjoying the solace from so-called civilization. For the first time since I was a child- before bright orange streetlights appeared in our neighborhood that would forever put out the natural bulbs that lit the sky each night- I was able to look up see the Milky Way and Mars and Jupiter and shooting stars. I could sink my hand into the sea of sand and feel the earth run through my fingers, unfiltered and untouched by mankind’s tools of modification and destruction.
I tell you, if any of you gets a chance to visit Jordan, of course you shouldn’t miss Petra, but Wadi Rum is a like a secret haven, and stepping into its desert valley is like closing your eyes and falling into the place of dreams, where your mind no longer tricks your thoughts into a disappointed, cynical, and diluted consciousness.
It is places like this that make the Middle East the destination of so many spiritual voyagers and adventurers, and unfortunately, the object of so much conflict and opposition. I can’t wait to see what Jerusalem is like…….
Monday, July 23, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
FINALLY..an update!
Happy Birthday to meeeeee!
That's right, it's officially my first meaningless birthday- at age 22 I don't get into R-rated movies for the first time (legally), I don't get to smoke for the first time (legally), don't get to drink for the first time (heh legally)..heck I can't even rent a car yet in the U.S.! Oh wait, there is this posh bar in Amman called the Blue Fig that apparently doesn't let you buy alcohol unless you're twenty TWO so maybe I'll have to hit that place up. Like the major dork that I am, I'm essentially throwing a party for myself tonight and inviting anyone in the program who wants to come (or who doesn't totally despise me after my many nervous breakdowns in the middle of class!!). I think I'll finally check out the Yemeni restaurant that everyone and their mom has gone to except me and then maybe find some decadent kunafa soaked in syrup and rose water, mmmmm.
Well before I describe my oh so glorious vacation to Petra and Aqaba this past weekend, let me first start with the BAD news. To say that my grades are horrendous here would be an understatement. In my 2.2 decades of life, I have never been in serious danger of failing a class, but I am thinking I will be lucky just to pass ONE. To anyone who is reading this who is studying abroad in the Middle East or has studied here in the past- you may think you have loads of homework and that you are drowning in the Arabic language, but you have NO IDEA. Picture it: you've taken 3 years of the language at a public university where the Arabic department is just beginning to blossom, and you find yourself in the middle of a class with a native speaker whose FusHa even puts yours to shame, a guy who spent a year in Egypt, another guy who speaks Persian and is a vocabulary MACHINE, aNOTHER guy who has taken 4 years of Arabic (including a whole semester on media) and is on Fulbright next year in Jordan, oh, and a whole myriad of Harvardites. Need I go on???? I have never felt less competent and less achieved in my entire life. I've got to figure out a way to take 4th year Arabic at Duke next year and work my tail off reading/watching Al Jazeera and maybe trudging through some Palestinian novels so I can catch up with this whole new generation of Arabic geniuses. Otherwise I might be living in a box in Saudi Arabia someday in a worn out burqa begging for dates (not of the social variety).
All right so back to more sunny topics! I had a blast this weekend as our group celebrated our halfway point in the Becoming Fluent in Self-Deprecation..ahem...Arabic immersion program (ok so apparently the forecast for this post is overcast after all). We left right after two days straight of major tests for Petra, where we stayed in a ritzy hotel with a pool and a breathtaking view of the city of stone and cave. I must admit that it was glorious to actually act like clueless tourists for a weekend- we are all guilty of speaking English to the Arab hotel employees, and I don't think any of us care!!! Also I was able to don some non-grandma garb for a few days which was amazingly liberating. The night we arrived we went swimming and then had an expensive buffet-style dinner at the hotel: even though the food wasn't that great I enjoyed eating fruits and vegetables for the first time in weeks.
On Friday morning we left the hotel at 6:30AM to start our hike that would leave me feeling sore until, well, today actually. For any of you who haven't been paying attention to international news, Petra was just declared one of the new Seven Wonders of the World so it was all the more exciting to get my brand new New Balances all dusty and worn-in on those rugged desert paths. First we walked through the siq which was really pleasant and cool under the shade of the rocks during the early morning hours and then reached the Treasury which is one of the main sites at Petra (I'll post pictures later). If we thought we were tired then we had no idea what was in store for us- a 5 hour hike up to the Monastery and a peak with a view expanding over 50 miles. Although my clothes were completely soaking wet, my calves aching, and my lungs shriveled and dry from the physical toll the hike had taken on me (especially after smoking some really harsh shisha the night before), I would definitely recommend the long treck up to the Monastery to anyone who can handle it. We also met lots of Bedouin on the way up who were either offering "air conditioned taxis" aka donkey rides to the Monastery or selling various items of jewelry and souvenirs in make shift shops along the mountainside and even got to play with some of the children. For the first time my dark little cynical heart was softened when little girls no more than 6 years old approached me, offering me "presents" (for 1 dinar) of painted rocks. When you see children that young trying to do business you really can't make excuses to yourself about why not to give money- clearly they're not going to go out and buy a bottle of whiskey to drown their troubles away. I didn't buy any rocks, but I did purchase several nice necklaces, one of which is made of camel bone supposedly, for very cheap prices. The most notorious purchase of the day, however, was Allison's Bedouin doll (who she aptly named "Petra") that Ola is convinced is stuffed with "donkey poo" and designed by a 5 year old- again, I really need a picture here!
On to Aqaba! Unfortunately we had to rush out of Petra that afternoon so we could arrive at the hotel in Aqaba on time for free time at the beach, pool, etc., but I was extremely thankful to reach this touristy beach resort town. We stayed in a 5 star hotel called Movenpick, and let me tell you, the Swiss really know their hospitality. I believe there were 5 different swimming pools, a private beach, several nice restaurants- one of which featured seafood- bars, etc etc etc!! No trekking through rocks and ruins that day, just relaxing in the sun and taking a nice dip in the Red Sea, from which you can see Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Israel. I got up early to go snorkeling early Saturday morning but right as I was leaving I realized that I didn't bring any contact with me (given that I've sworn them off after I got one stuck in my eye the night we went to Amman) and I wouldn't be able to see any fish or coral without my glasses. Deciding that seeing some pretty colors under the sea wasn't worth 15 dinars, I worked on so-called tan and enjoyed some rich maple walnut ice cream at the hotel restaurant.
Well my break between classes is almost up so I better run! Pictures coming soon!
That's right, it's officially my first meaningless birthday- at age 22 I don't get into R-rated movies for the first time (legally), I don't get to smoke for the first time (legally), don't get to drink for the first time (heh legally)..heck I can't even rent a car yet in the U.S.! Oh wait, there is this posh bar in Amman called the Blue Fig that apparently doesn't let you buy alcohol unless you're twenty TWO so maybe I'll have to hit that place up. Like the major dork that I am, I'm essentially throwing a party for myself tonight and inviting anyone in the program who wants to come (or who doesn't totally despise me after my many nervous breakdowns in the middle of class!!). I think I'll finally check out the Yemeni restaurant that everyone and their mom has gone to except me and then maybe find some decadent kunafa soaked in syrup and rose water, mmmmm.
Well before I describe my oh so glorious vacation to Petra and Aqaba this past weekend, let me first start with the BAD news. To say that my grades are horrendous here would be an understatement. In my 2.2 decades of life, I have never been in serious danger of failing a class, but I am thinking I will be lucky just to pass ONE. To anyone who is reading this who is studying abroad in the Middle East or has studied here in the past- you may think you have loads of homework and that you are drowning in the Arabic language, but you have NO IDEA. Picture it: you've taken 3 years of the language at a public university where the Arabic department is just beginning to blossom, and you find yourself in the middle of a class with a native speaker whose FusHa even puts yours to shame, a guy who spent a year in Egypt, another guy who speaks Persian and is a vocabulary MACHINE, aNOTHER guy who has taken 4 years of Arabic (including a whole semester on media) and is on Fulbright next year in Jordan, oh, and a whole myriad of Harvardites. Need I go on???? I have never felt less competent and less achieved in my entire life. I've got to figure out a way to take 4th year Arabic at Duke next year and work my tail off reading/watching Al Jazeera and maybe trudging through some Palestinian novels so I can catch up with this whole new generation of Arabic geniuses. Otherwise I might be living in a box in Saudi Arabia someday in a worn out burqa begging for dates (not of the social variety).
All right so back to more sunny topics! I had a blast this weekend as our group celebrated our halfway point in the Becoming Fluent in Self-Deprecation..ahem...Arabic immersion program (ok so apparently the forecast for this post is overcast after all). We left right after two days straight of major tests for Petra, where we stayed in a ritzy hotel with a pool and a breathtaking view of the city of stone and cave. I must admit that it was glorious to actually act like clueless tourists for a weekend- we are all guilty of speaking English to the Arab hotel employees, and I don't think any of us care!!! Also I was able to don some non-grandma garb for a few days which was amazingly liberating. The night we arrived we went swimming and then had an expensive buffet-style dinner at the hotel: even though the food wasn't that great I enjoyed eating fruits and vegetables for the first time in weeks.
On Friday morning we left the hotel at 6:30AM to start our hike that would leave me feeling sore until, well, today actually. For any of you who haven't been paying attention to international news, Petra was just declared one of the new Seven Wonders of the World so it was all the more exciting to get my brand new New Balances all dusty and worn-in on those rugged desert paths. First we walked through the siq which was really pleasant and cool under the shade of the rocks during the early morning hours and then reached the Treasury which is one of the main sites at Petra (I'll post pictures later). If we thought we were tired then we had no idea what was in store for us- a 5 hour hike up to the Monastery and a peak with a view expanding over 50 miles. Although my clothes were completely soaking wet, my calves aching, and my lungs shriveled and dry from the physical toll the hike had taken on me (especially after smoking some really harsh shisha the night before), I would definitely recommend the long treck up to the Monastery to anyone who can handle it. We also met lots of Bedouin on the way up who were either offering "air conditioned taxis" aka donkey rides to the Monastery or selling various items of jewelry and souvenirs in make shift shops along the mountainside and even got to play with some of the children. For the first time my dark little cynical heart was softened when little girls no more than 6 years old approached me, offering me "presents" (for 1 dinar) of painted rocks. When you see children that young trying to do business you really can't make excuses to yourself about why not to give money- clearly they're not going to go out and buy a bottle of whiskey to drown their troubles away. I didn't buy any rocks, but I did purchase several nice necklaces, one of which is made of camel bone supposedly, for very cheap prices. The most notorious purchase of the day, however, was Allison's Bedouin doll (who she aptly named "Petra") that Ola is convinced is stuffed with "donkey poo" and designed by a 5 year old- again, I really need a picture here!
On to Aqaba! Unfortunately we had to rush out of Petra that afternoon so we could arrive at the hotel in Aqaba on time for free time at the beach, pool, etc., but I was extremely thankful to reach this touristy beach resort town. We stayed in a 5 star hotel called Movenpick, and let me tell you, the Swiss really know their hospitality. I believe there were 5 different swimming pools, a private beach, several nice restaurants- one of which featured seafood- bars, etc etc etc!! No trekking through rocks and ruins that day, just relaxing in the sun and taking a nice dip in the Red Sea, from which you can see Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Israel. I got up early to go snorkeling early Saturday morning but right as I was leaving I realized that I didn't bring any contact with me (given that I've sworn them off after I got one stuck in my eye the night we went to Amman) and I wouldn't be able to see any fish or coral without my glasses. Deciding that seeing some pretty colors under the sea wasn't worth 15 dinars, I worked on so-called tan and enjoyed some rich maple walnut ice cream at the hotel restaurant.
Well my break between classes is almost up so I better run! Pictures coming soon!
Saturday, July 7, 2007
3 weeks down and 5 to go...
So it's Saturday night and I'm prepping for school tomorrow. I may be a little heathen bound for fire and brimstone, but something just feels so wroooong about going to school on a Sunday. I've definitely had a packed weekend though and fortunately had today to rest up and read my article for class in response to Samuel Huntington's Clash of Civilizations- I think I would have had a much easier time reading it the first time through had I understood the bizarre transliteration of his name.
Let's see, what did I do this weekend? Ah yes, I'll start with my super sketchy experience with Irbidian cab drivers. This Thursday afternoon was the first time I actually had to play "leader" of the group as I was the most advanced Arabic student of my friends that went and the only one who felt comfortable enough to sit up front with the cab driver. We ended up buying bus tickets for the wrong time so we decided to just lose the money (since it was pretty cheap) and take a cab so we could meet up with our friends from the other cab in time for dinner in Amman. I called my friend Daniela who went on the program last year who confirmed that I should go for 7 or 8 dinars to get to Amman but of course the cab drivers started out offering me a ride for 25, to which I responded with a furious "La!" (Arabic NEGATION). One guy was actually willing to take us to the city for 8 dinars and to our dismay lead us to his own private, beat up car parked on the side of the road. "Had MISH taxi!" (you can figure out that one), I said, and the group of drivers quickly took me back over to the bargaining ground. Eventually a driver pulled up, incidentally the least friendly man of the bunch who looked like some disturbed pedophile, and we were unable to get the price below 9 dinars. Oh well, it's probably poetic justice for not working harder in A'ameeya class. We ended up running into more trouble, however, when we arrived in Amman only to discover that there were at least 2 or 3 other hotels with the name "Palace", the place we had reserved a room, and it didn't help that the second part of our hotel's title is "Amman". Even our second cab driver (we gave up on our psycho, disgruntled one) didn't seem to understand that when we requested to go to "Amman Palace" we weren't just saying the word "Amman" to hear how nice the name of the city sounded.
We did finally arrive and, besides the giant hole in the shower, the room was relatively nice. I must admit that I wasn't a fan of the part of the city where we stayed because EVERY SINGLE PERSON on the street was male and Arab. And while we weren't walking out in our tank tops and underwear, we were wearing nice "going-out" clothes which attracted even more attention than usual. We eventually found a hole-in-the-wall place to eat which actually ended up having awesome falafel, hummus, french fries-aka batatas-, and foul- dish with chickpeas and chilis (it's called Hashem and is mentioned in the Lonely Planet book if you are interested" and followed up our huge meal with warm, syrupy pieces of kunafa....glaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
The next day we had yet another fun experience with our beloved Jordanian taxi drivers when we tried to haggled for a non-tourist price from Amman to Madaba, and once again, I had to play translator. Eventually the guy just gave up speaking A'ameea to me and addressed me an overly formal FusHa which I think was even more insulting than if he had spoken to me in English! We somehow managed to hop on some minibus for which we paid close to nothing, so I can't complain about that. We then spent a few hours in Madaba, famous for its collection of mosaics, one of which includes map of the Holy Land. Of course my favorite part of the day was our excursion to the Dead Sea (I guess it's pointless by now to tell yet another cab driver story because it's a given in any travel situation in the Middle East). I wish now that we had just paid extra to enjoy the pool and Western air of a resort, but we just went to some public beach which was probably a bad idea considering all the evil stares from the hijabi women and shameless gaping mouths of their Arab husbands we got in response to our bathing suits, which were actually pretty conservative by our standards. Anyway, yes, I really did float in the Dead Sea, and walking in the shallow end felt like walking on the moon! The best part was trying to reach the bottom with my feet and just bobbing up and down in the water. Surprisingly the water was really quite warm, which didn't give us much relief from the sun beating down on our backs and on our feet which we totally burned on the sand that felt like glowing embers under our feet (advice to anyone visiting the Dead Sea in the near or distant future: WEAR FLIP-FLOPS!!!). I also rubbed the infamous cleansing mud all over my arms and legs which was like getting a free exfoliating treatment.
Ok well I'm sick of writing now and have to get back to Huntington's Arab opponent and watch Al Jazeera for listening class. Toodles!
Let's see, what did I do this weekend? Ah yes, I'll start with my super sketchy experience with Irbidian cab drivers. This Thursday afternoon was the first time I actually had to play "leader" of the group as I was the most advanced Arabic student of my friends that went and the only one who felt comfortable enough to sit up front with the cab driver. We ended up buying bus tickets for the wrong time so we decided to just lose the money (since it was pretty cheap) and take a cab so we could meet up with our friends from the other cab in time for dinner in Amman. I called my friend Daniela who went on the program last year who confirmed that I should go for 7 or 8 dinars to get to Amman but of course the cab drivers started out offering me a ride for 25, to which I responded with a furious "La!" (Arabic NEGATION). One guy was actually willing to take us to the city for 8 dinars and to our dismay lead us to his own private, beat up car parked on the side of the road. "Had MISH taxi!" (you can figure out that one), I said, and the group of drivers quickly took me back over to the bargaining ground. Eventually a driver pulled up, incidentally the least friendly man of the bunch who looked like some disturbed pedophile, and we were unable to get the price below 9 dinars. Oh well, it's probably poetic justice for not working harder in A'ameeya class. We ended up running into more trouble, however, when we arrived in Amman only to discover that there were at least 2 or 3 other hotels with the name "Palace", the place we had reserved a room, and it didn't help that the second part of our hotel's title is "Amman". Even our second cab driver (we gave up on our psycho, disgruntled one) didn't seem to understand that when we requested to go to "Amman Palace" we weren't just saying the word "Amman" to hear how nice the name of the city sounded.
We did finally arrive and, besides the giant hole in the shower, the room was relatively nice. I must admit that I wasn't a fan of the part of the city where we stayed because EVERY SINGLE PERSON on the street was male and Arab. And while we weren't walking out in our tank tops and underwear, we were wearing nice "going-out" clothes which attracted even more attention than usual. We eventually found a hole-in-the-wall place to eat which actually ended up having awesome falafel, hummus, french fries-aka batatas-, and foul- dish with chickpeas and chilis (it's called Hashem and is mentioned in the Lonely Planet book if you are interested" and followed up our huge meal with warm, syrupy pieces of kunafa....glaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
The next day we had yet another fun experience with our beloved Jordanian taxi drivers when we tried to haggled for a non-tourist price from Amman to Madaba, and once again, I had to play translator. Eventually the guy just gave up speaking A'ameea to me and addressed me an overly formal FusHa which I think was even more insulting than if he had spoken to me in English! We somehow managed to hop on some minibus for which we paid close to nothing, so I can't complain about that. We then spent a few hours in Madaba, famous for its collection of mosaics, one of which includes map of the Holy Land. Of course my favorite part of the day was our excursion to the Dead Sea (I guess it's pointless by now to tell yet another cab driver story because it's a given in any travel situation in the Middle East). I wish now that we had just paid extra to enjoy the pool and Western air of a resort, but we just went to some public beach which was probably a bad idea considering all the evil stares from the hijabi women and shameless gaping mouths of their Arab husbands we got in response to our bathing suits, which were actually pretty conservative by our standards. Anyway, yes, I really did float in the Dead Sea, and walking in the shallow end felt like walking on the moon! The best part was trying to reach the bottom with my feet and just bobbing up and down in the water. Surprisingly the water was really quite warm, which didn't give us much relief from the sun beating down on our backs and on our feet which we totally burned on the sand that felt like glowing embers under our feet (advice to anyone visiting the Dead Sea in the near or distant future: WEAR FLIP-FLOPS!!!). I also rubbed the infamous cleansing mud all over my arms and legs which was like getting a free exfoliating treatment.
Ok well I'm sick of writing now and have to get back to Huntington's Arab opponent and watch Al Jazeera for listening class. Toodles!
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
mansef
I forgot to mention one important detail in my last post! Last week we also enjoyed mansef, Jordan's national dish, which consists of rice with slivers of almond and huge chunks of lamb. They top the whole thing off by pouring a thin yogurt sauce which resembles a bouillon which gives the dish a lot of flavor. You're supposed to eat the dish with your hands, which we tried but didn't continue with as we were trying to be all dainty (in retrospect I don't really understand that since no one would be entering our haven of estrogen anyway). Originally they used camel meat but I think it became too expensive so they switched to lamb. I'm sad to say that we didn't savor a truly ethnic experience as our dish didn't include the best part...the animal's head.
Oh well, I didn't particularly want to practice Arabic with my dinner anyway.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
...and an updated post
Free time is such a luxury for me right now!
Last week I was incredibly busy because we had our first tests on Thursday (which is like Friday in the states) and let's just say that I'll be lucky if I pass the classes in this program. I may have gotten straight A's in Arabic at Carolina, but here I'm averaging in the 70's or below...no joke. Our program administrator told me that 80 and above is considered an A here so maybe that means if I get a 60 I can fly with a C hahahha. Seriously though, I have GOT to crack down this week and stop having girl talk until God knows when in the morning.
So after waking up at 4 AM to finish studying for my exam, having 4 classes, and then taking a 3 hour long exam (which I didn't even finish by the way), I went with a bunch of people from my program to Damascus. I'm really glad that I went because it is an amazing city but it was really difficult fitting in travel in a schedule of intense schoolwork. Fortunately Irbid is only about 20 miles from the border and maybe 2 hours total from Damascus. The ride there was interesting to say the least- I was lucky enough to get the middle seat in the back which happened to be furnished with a nice, cozy seat warmer, as the heat ducts in the car seemed to be leaking. Hot air emanating from dark leather seats is not the most pleasant feeling in 100+ degree weather.
Anyway, we made it through the obstacle course that is the border and had an amazing dinner in downtown Damascus. It was quite a thrill to branch out from my daily diet of falafel, hummus, pita bread, and Nutella. The main problem with this weekend was that our first day there was al-Jumua so the big souq was closed and hardly anything was going on. On Saturday we did manage to pack in a lot of exploring and got to enter the beautiful Umayyad mosque. The souq was totally packed that afternoon but I made a number of purchases including olive oil soap, a scarf, turquoise jewelry, various postcards, and best of all, a gorgeous emerald green jalbiyya. I realize that it's completely impractical but I just couldn't pass it up, so I'm hoping I can wear it to a wedding or some other cultural event while I'm in Jordan. Plus I'm sure this won't be the last time I visit the Middle East .
See above for pictures of this weekend's adventures :)
Last week I was incredibly busy because we had our first tests on Thursday (which is like Friday in the states) and let's just say that I'll be lucky if I pass the classes in this program. I may have gotten straight A's in Arabic at Carolina, but here I'm averaging in the 70's or below...no joke. Our program administrator told me that 80 and above is considered an A here so maybe that means if I get a 60 I can fly with a C hahahha. Seriously though, I have GOT to crack down this week and stop having girl talk until God knows when in the morning.
So after waking up at 4 AM to finish studying for my exam, having 4 classes, and then taking a 3 hour long exam (which I didn't even finish by the way), I went with a bunch of people from my program to Damascus. I'm really glad that I went because it is an amazing city but it was really difficult fitting in travel in a schedule of intense schoolwork. Fortunately Irbid is only about 20 miles from the border and maybe 2 hours total from Damascus. The ride there was interesting to say the least- I was lucky enough to get the middle seat in the back which happened to be furnished with a nice, cozy seat warmer, as the heat ducts in the car seemed to be leaking. Hot air emanating from dark leather seats is not the most pleasant feeling in 100+ degree weather.
Anyway, we made it through the obstacle course that is the border and had an amazing dinner in downtown Damascus. It was quite a thrill to branch out from my daily diet of falafel, hummus, pita bread, and Nutella. The main problem with this weekend was that our first day there was al-Jumua so the big souq was closed and hardly anything was going on. On Saturday we did manage to pack in a lot of exploring and got to enter the beautiful Umayyad mosque. The souq was totally packed that afternoon but I made a number of purchases including olive oil soap, a scarf, turquoise jewelry, various postcards, and best of all, a gorgeous emerald green jalbiyya. I realize that it's completely impractical but I just couldn't pass it up, so I'm hoping I can wear it to a wedding or some other cultural event while I'm in Jordan. Plus I'm sure this won't be the last time I visit the Middle East .
See above for pictures of this weekend's adventures :)
belated post
I wrote this post on my computer on Wednesday of last week but haven't gotten a chance to use the Internet until now...soooo here it is, a little late.
Umm so that short-lived pleasant weather spell is definitely gone for good. Now I know why the Lonely Planet series tells you not to travel in the Middle East during the summer. The problem with the heat here is that there really isn’t any place we can go to cool down again as there is obviously no air conditioning in the apartments or in the Merkaz al-lugat (Language Center), and we all leave our classes in the afternoon dripping with sweat and probably exuding a putrid collective odor. I also now understand why violence always escalates in the summer season- I think heat just generally pisses people off, especially when you’re stuck in a class room for four or five hours attempting to speak a language that’s totally foreign to you! To further my rant, I am beginning to think that it is impossible to study Arabic without totally drowning in work. I basically don’t sleep any more than 4 hours a night anymore and even still I feel like my professors think I’m an idiot and like I haven’t fully grasped all the concepts in the readings. Oh and tomorrow we have a HUGE test which will assess our grammar, writing, conversation, listening, and reading skills thus far. Fortunately I can keep reminding myself that my grades don’t matter that much here given that I’ve already graduated and it’s not like I’m trying to use these courses for credit later. I’m really just trying to do the best I can- despite all the pressure around me from the Ivy Leaguers and perfectionists who want to make the highest grade in the class- and I figure I’ve spent so much of my life competing with other people that I’m really just ready to chill, learn some Arabic, and make some awesome friends. Life is way too short to obsess about getting the perfect grade or impressing your professor. I wish I had learned that lesson earlier in life, but at least now I am finally able to separate myself from that airtight little bell jar of academia’s pressures.
Anyway, I’ve been meeting some Jordanian girls and trying to practice my Arabic conversation…not quite sure how that is going. I really did think my Arabic accent was pretty decent, but today one of my Jordanian friends told me that “my vowel sounds were really strange”, and I asked what she meant and she responded by teaching me all the basic stuff you learn in Arabic 101 which was pretty degrading. I didn’t want to be rude and explain that I know words like “terrorism” and “paradox” and “nuclear proliferation” but geez if my accent is really that bad maybe I just need to be humbled. Yesterday my friend Brittany from the program (who also studied here last year) introduced Ola and I to some of her Jordanian friends and we had fatayer at a restaurant that my American friends haven’t yet invaded. And of course today I had my Intro to Arabic lesson, which by the way I totally wasn’t expecting- one of the Jordanian students majoring in English who I met last week just showed up outside my classroom this afternoon and next thing I know I’m in a cab riding through some hilly residential roads in a part of Irbid I hadn’t yet seen. Given that her father is an engineer in the Gulf and judging by the size of her house, I’d say she’s at least upper middle class or possibly wealthier. The coolest part about her place was all the greenery outside. I got to sample fruit from all the trees in her yard- figs, blackberries (which were REALLY good), raspberries, and plums. They have olives and cactus too but they weren’t ripe enough to eat. We had mango juice and tea (which I actually like in Jordan, by the way) and she told me how she is Palestinian and her grandmother came here in the late 1950’s. She is definitely not a fan of Jordan, I think due to the discrimination Palestinians face here, but I’m sure I’ll find out more later.
My computer battery’s about to run out but I also wanted to mention that I am doing poetry and music clubs (as we have to do at least one club as part of the program) and we started the poetry today. I can’t believe I ever complained about the difficulty of readings in LAC class- we read some medieval poem that NONE of us understood- but our teacher says we’ll be reading modern poetry the rest of the time and next week is Mahmoud Darwish (yaaaay).
Salaam for now!
Suzy
Umm so that short-lived pleasant weather spell is definitely gone for good. Now I know why the Lonely Planet series tells you not to travel in the Middle East during the summer. The problem with the heat here is that there really isn’t any place we can go to cool down again as there is obviously no air conditioning in the apartments or in the Merkaz al-lugat (Language Center), and we all leave our classes in the afternoon dripping with sweat and probably exuding a putrid collective odor. I also now understand why violence always escalates in the summer season- I think heat just generally pisses people off, especially when you’re stuck in a class room for four or five hours attempting to speak a language that’s totally foreign to you! To further my rant, I am beginning to think that it is impossible to study Arabic without totally drowning in work. I basically don’t sleep any more than 4 hours a night anymore and even still I feel like my professors think I’m an idiot and like I haven’t fully grasped all the concepts in the readings. Oh and tomorrow we have a HUGE test which will assess our grammar, writing, conversation, listening, and reading skills thus far. Fortunately I can keep reminding myself that my grades don’t matter that much here given that I’ve already graduated and it’s not like I’m trying to use these courses for credit later. I’m really just trying to do the best I can- despite all the pressure around me from the Ivy Leaguers and perfectionists who want to make the highest grade in the class- and I figure I’ve spent so much of my life competing with other people that I’m really just ready to chill, learn some Arabic, and make some awesome friends. Life is way too short to obsess about getting the perfect grade or impressing your professor. I wish I had learned that lesson earlier in life, but at least now I am finally able to separate myself from that airtight little bell jar of academia’s pressures.
Anyway, I’ve been meeting some Jordanian girls and trying to practice my Arabic conversation…not quite sure how that is going. I really did think my Arabic accent was pretty decent, but today one of my Jordanian friends told me that “my vowel sounds were really strange”, and I asked what she meant and she responded by teaching me all the basic stuff you learn in Arabic 101 which was pretty degrading. I didn’t want to be rude and explain that I know words like “terrorism” and “paradox” and “nuclear proliferation” but geez if my accent is really that bad maybe I just need to be humbled. Yesterday my friend Brittany from the program (who also studied here last year) introduced Ola and I to some of her Jordanian friends and we had fatayer at a restaurant that my American friends haven’t yet invaded. And of course today I had my Intro to Arabic lesson, which by the way I totally wasn’t expecting- one of the Jordanian students majoring in English who I met last week just showed up outside my classroom this afternoon and next thing I know I’m in a cab riding through some hilly residential roads in a part of Irbid I hadn’t yet seen. Given that her father is an engineer in the Gulf and judging by the size of her house, I’d say she’s at least upper middle class or possibly wealthier. The coolest part about her place was all the greenery outside. I got to sample fruit from all the trees in her yard- figs, blackberries (which were REALLY good), raspberries, and plums. They have olives and cactus too but they weren’t ripe enough to eat. We had mango juice and tea (which I actually like in Jordan, by the way) and she told me how she is Palestinian and her grandmother came here in the late 1950’s. She is definitely not a fan of Jordan, I think due to the discrimination Palestinians face here, but I’m sure I’ll find out more later.
My computer battery’s about to run out but I also wanted to mention that I am doing poetry and music clubs (as we have to do at least one club as part of the program) and we started the poetry today. I can’t believe I ever complained about the difficulty of readings in LAC class- we read some medieval poem that NONE of us understood- but our teacher says we’ll be reading modern poetry the rest of the time and next week is Mahmoud Darwish (yaaaay).
Salaam for now!
Suzy
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
packed day
Man am I exhausted!
Today we packed outings to Umm Qais, 'Ajloon, and Jerash in one day, but we had a really awesome time. Umm Qais was probably my favorite with its dramatic amphitheate, Roman columns, and best of all, a view of the Golan Heights and three different countries. I've also realized that I am absolutely in love with olive trees: I think somehow my Imagining Palestine class really turned me on to them after reading about their significance in Arab culture. I got a ton of pictures along the road of just olive orchards, and I really wish I had been able to capture some of the verdent landscape that seemed to shoot up out of nowhere in the huge desert that is Jordan. I'm talking the biggest, most beautiful palm trees you've ever seen alongside plants and flowers of a unique Mediterranean palette whose enchanting hues I never could have imagined.
'Ajloon and Jerash were also fascinating- we didn't spend a lot of time in 'Ajloon but we definitely baked in the sun in Jerash and I think my ghostly skin is going to really hate me tomorrow. In Jerash we saw not one but two huge amphitheatres- both of which were breathtaking- as well as ruins that seem to expand for miles. I believe the tour guide said we would only be seeing 25% of the ruins there, and we saw a TON. My favorite part was listening to Jordanians decked in traditional desert garb play bagpipes (including such songs as "Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee", and "Yankee Doodle Dandy". Naturally they did some Arabic songs as well, one of which we enjoyed by dancing dabke in the blazing sun of the tremendous amphiteatre's stone floor. There was this kid about 10 years old who had been trying to get my friend Allison to marry him (asking him "how many camels his father could give him" and saying he would convert to Christianity if need be!), who watched me during the dabke and said that I was not a good dancer but very beautiful (which in his broken English sounded like "pitiful" hahahaha). He also asked how many camels I could offer him and said that I could be his second wife. I think Allison and I really made his day when we took a picture with him.
Sooo tonight I think some of my friends and I are going to go to a club in Amman which should be a nice break from super conservative Irbid. Tomorrow I think I need to catch up with the rest of my advanced class- several people dropped down a level because it was too challenging and I'm really starting to feel the pressure. I'm not gonna lie, Wednesday after listening class and totally went in the bathroom and bawled my eyeballs out thinking that I was gonna get bumped down to Upper Intermediate and that I would totally have to change my area of concentration due to my inability to understand a stupid video about Jordan's ruins. Well whatever, I'm way ahead of the game in writing class and about par or better in reading, so insha'allah my listening and conversation teacher won't suggest that I need to go down a level.
Oh well no worries about school, it's on to the city for the night!!
Today we packed outings to Umm Qais, 'Ajloon, and Jerash in one day, but we had a really awesome time. Umm Qais was probably my favorite with its dramatic amphitheate, Roman columns, and best of all, a view of the Golan Heights and three different countries. I've also realized that I am absolutely in love with olive trees: I think somehow my Imagining Palestine class really turned me on to them after reading about their significance in Arab culture. I got a ton of pictures along the road of just olive orchards, and I really wish I had been able to capture some of the verdent landscape that seemed to shoot up out of nowhere in the huge desert that is Jordan. I'm talking the biggest, most beautiful palm trees you've ever seen alongside plants and flowers of a unique Mediterranean palette whose enchanting hues I never could have imagined.
'Ajloon and Jerash were also fascinating- we didn't spend a lot of time in 'Ajloon but we definitely baked in the sun in Jerash and I think my ghostly skin is going to really hate me tomorrow. In Jerash we saw not one but two huge amphitheatres- both of which were breathtaking- as well as ruins that seem to expand for miles. I believe the tour guide said we would only be seeing 25% of the ruins there, and we saw a TON. My favorite part was listening to Jordanians decked in traditional desert garb play bagpipes (including such songs as "Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee", and "Yankee Doodle Dandy". Naturally they did some Arabic songs as well, one of which we enjoyed by dancing dabke in the blazing sun of the tremendous amphiteatre's stone floor. There was this kid about 10 years old who had been trying to get my friend Allison to marry him (asking him "how many camels his father could give him" and saying he would convert to Christianity if need be!), who watched me during the dabke and said that I was not a good dancer but very beautiful (which in his broken English sounded like "pitiful" hahahaha). He also asked how many camels I could offer him and said that I could be his second wife. I think Allison and I really made his day when we took a picture with him.
Sooo tonight I think some of my friends and I are going to go to a club in Amman which should be a nice break from super conservative Irbid. Tomorrow I think I need to catch up with the rest of my advanced class- several people dropped down a level because it was too challenging and I'm really starting to feel the pressure. I'm not gonna lie, Wednesday after listening class and totally went in the bathroom and bawled my eyeballs out thinking that I was gonna get bumped down to Upper Intermediate and that I would totally have to change my area of concentration due to my inability to understand a stupid video about Jordan's ruins. Well whatever, I'm way ahead of the game in writing class and about par or better in reading, so insha'allah my listening and conversation teacher won't suggest that I need to go down a level.
Oh well no worries about school, it's on to the city for the night!!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
a summary of my first week
So tonight I've decided to compile a list of just some of the myriad of customs, behaviors, etc. I've noticed among Irbidians:
1.
2. Obsession with King Abdullah including the following: posters and murals in cafes, the student union, stores, wah ilakh; bracelets in the "Live Strong" style that say "Long Live the King", oh and not to mention our first Arabic reading with pictures of al malik in diving garb and looking all macho on his motorcycle.
3. Large cow carcuses hanging in glass displays placed along the street- apparently one of my friend first thought they were pigs but then remembered we are in a Muslim country..whoops.
4. Staring. Then again maybe that's just at Westerners.
5. Use of tissues as napkins, paper towels, and toilet paper. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I think a portrait of the King with a box of Kleenex would say it all.
6. A seemingly intentional inability to comprehend anything spoken in FusHa...I mean seriously, is the word "ma+glottal stop'" really that different from "maee" (water)??
7. A tendency to show Nancy Ajram videos one after another to the point of brainwashing other Arab women to believe that biweekly plastic surgery will transform you into a pop star.
8. An aversion to drinking anything without a straw.
9. Apparently when you ask for "falafel bee batatas" (falafel with french fries) they take you literally. Yes, they actually put the french fries in the pita.
And now, some of the things that are helping me get through some of the culture shock:
1. NUTELLA- there is something so decadent about eating a chocolate sandwich for lunch
2. Shisha...although a Jordanian girl told me today that smoking nargileh is equivalent to choking on 40 cigarettes (then again, Arabs are known to exaggerate).
3. Being able to enjoy walking by rows of giant palm trees on the way to class.
4. My a'ameea teacher's use of song and dance to teach us verb conjugations, but I still don't get the "tee tee tee tee" one.
5. Arabic music in shop windows and random dabke circles in the streets.
1.
2. Obsession with King Abdullah including the following: posters and murals in cafes, the student union, stores, wah ilakh; bracelets in the "Live Strong" style that say "Long Live the King", oh and not to mention our first Arabic reading with pictures of al malik in diving garb and looking all macho on his motorcycle.
3. Large cow carcuses hanging in glass displays placed along the street- apparently one of my friend first thought they were pigs but then remembered we are in a Muslim country..whoops.
4. Staring. Then again maybe that's just at Westerners.
5. Use of tissues as napkins, paper towels, and toilet paper. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I think a portrait of the King with a box of Kleenex would say it all.
6. A seemingly intentional inability to comprehend anything spoken in FusHa...I mean seriously, is the word "ma+glottal stop'" really that different from "maee" (water)??
7. A tendency to show Nancy Ajram videos one after another to the point of brainwashing other Arab women to believe that biweekly plastic surgery will transform you into a pop star.
8. An aversion to drinking anything without a straw.
9. Apparently when you ask for "falafel bee batatas" (falafel with french fries) they take you literally. Yes, they actually put the french fries in the pita.
And now, some of the things that are helping me get through some of the culture shock:
1. NUTELLA- there is something so decadent about eating a chocolate sandwich for lunch
2. Shisha...although a Jordanian girl told me today that smoking nargileh is equivalent to choking on 40 cigarettes (then again, Arabs are known to exaggerate).
3. Being able to enjoy walking by rows of giant palm trees on the way to class.
4. My a'ameea teacher's use of song and dance to teach us verb conjugations, but I still don't get the "tee tee tee tee" one.
5. Arabic music in shop windows and random dabke circles in the streets.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
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