damascus

Sorry for the hiatus- I meant to update before I left, but that did not happen. As some of you know, I've spent the last four days in Damascus, the capital of Syria. Damascus is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, through the ages occupied by various groups, including the Babylonians, Greeks, Romans, Mamluks, and Ottomans (to name a few). Anyway, getting to Syria went fairly smoothly. As most people do, the group headed down to Abduli station, found a driver, negotiated the price, and set out. We spent a mere three hours at the border getting visas; I say "mere" because it is not uncommon for Americans to spend, say, eight hours there- more if it's busy. Normally, the border officials have to send American visa requests back to the consulate in the U.S. However, residency cards are wonderful things and so our requests had to go only to Damascus. We made it to our hotel in the early evening and went out for the first of many wandering adventures.

It seems that everywhere you look in Damascus, you can see a mosque minaret. This is one of the minarets of the Umayyad Mosque, the most famous mosque in the city.


The inside of the courtyard of the Umayyad Mosque. This is one of the largest mosques in the world, as well as one of the oldest continuous (official) places of Muslim worship. The shrine inside is said to contain the head of John the Baptist. Moreover, the tomb of Salah al-Din (Saladin) adjoins the main mosque; he was the leader of the Muslim resistance against the Crusaders and was most famous for re-taking Jerusalem in 1187. I have many, many pictures of the Umayyad Mosque- it is absolutely spectacular. The inside of the mosque, adorned with calligraphy and arabesque (tessellating, geometric patterns) is lit by a warm, golden light that, together with the deep red carpeting, makes the whole place very inviting and calming. Given the opportunity, I would go again and again.

Another minaret.

On one of our evenings out wandering (we wandered extensively), my friends and I decided to take "lonely pictures." There were very few people out since everyone was home celebrating Eid al-Adha with their families, allowing camera shots with no one else in the frame. This was just one of many (minaret of the Umayyad Mosque in the background).

The courtyard of our hotel, which is a restored 800 yr. old house. Almost all houses in Damascus, especially in and around the Old City, have decorated stone courtyards like this one, perfect for eating and lounging in.

The Souk al-Hamidiyeh. The first part of it was built in 1780; the western section was added in 1883. You can buy almost everything here, from antiques and textiles, to knock-off antiques and cheap "made in China" textiles, to soccer balls, to pajamas. It is also home to the Bakdash ice cream shop offering the best of the famous Syrian ice cream, which I would go so far as to say rivals Italian gelato. Although they have chocolate and strawberry, the original panna flavor rolled in slivered pistachios is definitely the best, enough so to convince me to have one last bowl at about 10am this morning.

Syria believes in you. The handsome figure on the left is President Assad.

Have I mentioned that Old City Damascus is, well, really really old? This Greco-Roman arch and its accompanying columns are just sitting in the middle of the square of this (I think) Christian quarter neighborhood. The chair is there because there is a furniture-making shop next to it, so part of an ancient column makes for the perfect pedestal for one's product.

A street in the Old City. We went out at about 6:30am one morning with the intention of getting hot chocolate croissants (vestiges of French colonial rule) and taking pictures. The croissants were, unfortunately, from the night before and had to be microwaved, but were delicious nonetheless. As for pictures, it was kind of neat to be almost the only ones out, allowing for photos like this one.

So there are a few snippets of Damascus. It really is an absolutely amazing place with a fascinating past and a vibrant present. Everyone we met was warm and welcoming; they were delighted that we were learning Arabic and had come to visit their city (although we did get asked on many occasions why we were studying Arabic in Amman and not in Damascus, since fewer people speak English in the latter). I know that there is a lot of stigma surrounding Syria. However, if any of you get the chance to go to Damascus (or any Syrian city, really), I would not pass it up. Yes, there is a travel warning; at this point, that seems more politics than reality (although this is just my opinion). Regardless of your view on global politics, it is important to remember that people are not the same as their government. Most of the people I've met in Jordan and Syria understand that although we are Americans, our government does not represent who we are as individuals; it is important to afford non-Americans that same respect.

I am back in Amman now, home sweet home. However, tomorrow I flight off to Europe for a couple weeks. I will try to update at least once while I'm away, but until then, ma9salaame :)

growth

Sometimes I am not sure how much my Arabic has improved this semester. Sure, I can navigate daily situations (especially taxis) fairly easily, and sure, my accent has been decent enough that I've been asked which of my grandparents are Arab, but have I really made progress?

I got an answer to that a couple days ago. At the beginning of this semester, I took the Arabic placement test and found myself in Level Six, the highest level that the Language Center offers. I was surrounded by very advanced students, including a couple native colloquial speakers, the Italian who had a private tutor every day for a year, the woman who came to Jordan to get more material and vocabulary to write her Islamic Studies masters thesis in Arabic, etc. Amid such characters, it soon became clear that I would not survive Level Six. In terms of grammar, I was golden- Al-Kitaab throws the stuff at you at every turn. Vocabulary, however, was severely lacking. Anyway, the very first text that we read in Level Six was about the differences between Classical Arabic and Colloquial Arabic. I spent several hours working through a page and a half of text. "Demoralizing" would be a pretty apt descriptor.

Last week, the same text and I met again, this time at the very end of the Level Five workbook. Sure, there were still a number of words that I didn't know, but I could read through the text for general comprehension without much of a problem. Academically speaking, reading the text again has been perhaps the most satisfying moment of the semester thus far. The text was hard, and now it's highly manageable.

This is also reassuring in regards to next semester, when I will enroll in the intensive Arabic Language Program. In ALP, we have to take a language pledge, live in an Arabic speaking-only homestay, and take all of our classes in Arabic (for example, I really want to take the Business Communication course; lectures and readings would be in Arabic). The whole thing is daunting, but I think will ultimately be a very fruitful experience, especially if I am pleasantly surprised like I was this semester.

My growth as an Arabic student reminds me of those times when you're young and you go to visit relatives and they say, "oh, you've grown so much!" You yourself of course cannot tell, but according to the little tick marks on the kitchen doorway, you are in fact two inches taller than before.

Saeed eid al-shakr!

It’s hard to believe how quickly time is going by- the semester ends in three weeks! Wow. The past couple weeks have been a blur of Arabic midterms and a research paper on the Iran-Iraq War. Admittedly, my stress level about academics here is SO much lower than it is at home; I wasn’t even stressed while forcing myself to churn out another three pages on said 1980s Middle Eastern conflict. Tired of writing, yes, stressed out, no. The paper got turned in on time and I did well on midterms, so low-stress mode works just fine.

Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to all of you! I hope that everyone had a safe and pleasant holiday yesterday. I came home from school at about 6pm and napped for a couple hours, which was much needed. I was invited to a couple of Thanksgiving feasts last night but opted for staying in and hanging out with my roommate and neighbors instead. Getting into the holiday spirit, I bought some cranberry sauce and my roommate made chocolate pumpkin bread. Even if we were sans turkey, we at least had a couple of the essential ingredients. I definitely missed my family more than usual yesterday, but it was a decent Thanksgiving.

This evening I met a few friends at the Hussein Cultural Center to see “The Queen,” which was showing for free as part of a European film festival. Good movie- an interesting look at the British Royal family and the aftermath of Princess Diana’s death. Tomorrow I may go back and see a Greek film set in the 1920s about a group of brides making the voyage to America to meet their new, yet unseen, American husbands. We’ll see.

Overall, this has been and probably will be a quiet weekend. I can’t think of much else to report, so I’ll leave you with some pictures from our trip to see Umayyad sites a couple weeks ago. Ciao!

Take note of the road signs behind us. Iraq? Saudi Arabia? Take your pick.


Qasr 'Amra. It was used as a royal country home of sorts during the Umayyad period (680-750 AD) and is particularly special because of its baths and the amazingly well-preserved frescoes inside. The domes are characteristic of Umayyad architecture.


Castle Harraneh. They claim not to be sure what it was used for- royal home? Meeting place? Fortress? I'd personally go with the last choice, given the narrow arrow-ready windows and the sheer size of the place. If you look closely, you can see one of my classmates sitting on the top of the castle above the entryway.


Azraq Castle. The door that I'm opening is interesting because it is made of basalt (as is the entire castle) but was designed such that it is remarkably easy to open and close, given its weight. Very architecturally advanced for that time period.


Ostriches! They were next to the restaurant where we stopped for lunch. Unlike many semi-wild animals, the ostriches were just as interested in us as we were in them. As my classmate in the foreground is demonstrating, the appropriate thing to do when interacting with ostriches is of course to stick one's finger into the cage.

cultural context

Last spring I took a course called “Foundations of Human Communication.” Among other things, we discussed characteristics of different cultures. One such quality is that of context. America is low-context; we expect reliable road signs, products clearly priced in stores, printed schedules that people actually follow. Not much is left to communal understanding. Many non-western countries, however, are high-context; implicit understanding and group assumptions are more the norm. Jordan is one such locale. There are street signs all over Amman, which might imply low-context tendencies, but they are almost useless because no one knows streets by official names anyway; everything is in relation to major landmarks, traffic circles, or unofficial street names. If you tell a cab driver that you want to go to Abu Bakr as-Saddeeq Street, there’s a good chance that you’ll get a blank look. However, if you request Rainbow Street, he’ll know exactly where to go. If, for example, I wanted to go to the Jordan River Foundation’s showroom and the driver didn’t know it, I would say that I wanted to go to First Circle in Jabal Amman and from there continue straight on Rainbow Street. This method of giving directions took a little while to get used to (especially since in the States many cab drivers have GPS systems), but once you get the hang of it, it works well. There have been some problems with neither my friends and I nor the driver knowing where exactly the destination is, but most drivers are more than willing to stop and ask for directions, so it works in the end.

I was thinking about high-context versus low-context today while running on the treadmill today and staring at the wall ahead of me, Shakira wailing away on my iPod. At home, I was quite comfortable in my low-context culture. I took my planner everywhere and made lists of things to do, groceries to buy, people to email. Whenever I had to drive someplace new (or old- I get lost easily), I invariably put the addresses into Mapquest and printed out the route. Punctuality meant getting to work, to class, to meetings, to wherever, early.

…Returning to that low-context culture might be a bit of an issue come May. I technically bought a planner (after much searching- even the office supply store didn’t have any!), but I don’t really like the format so I’ve barely used it at all. I either write homework assignments on the margin of the day’s notes or I ask someone else for confirmation. Although I don’t drive here (Amman driving is scary. Many, many times worse than DC.), see the above paragraph for how to give directions. Punctuality to class means getting there before the professor (who will probably be a few minutes late).

While I’m discussing this cultural tendency toward fluidity (as opposed to rigid, set structure), I should mention the highly loaded phrase “insha’Allah”. If you go to the book shop and ask when the next packets for class will be ready, you might hear, “Wednesday- insha’Allah [God willing].” This statement does not mean “they’ll be ready on Wednesday.” Insha’Allah gets tacked on to almost anything referring to the future and allows for the reality that things may or may not actually happen. However, fate aside, if it were the U.S. and someone said that something would be ready on Wednesday, it probably would be. Here, insha’Allah is like a disclaimer; the reality is that your packet *might* be ready on Wednesday, but it could be Thursday, or Sunday, or really whenever the employee gets around to preparing it. Insha’Allah is the phrase that you love to say but hate to hear. It allows for wiggle room regarding deadlines, getting together with people (“maybe we’ll get together sometime, insha’Allah” = “we might…but probably not”), and really life in general, since things often don’t go as planned. I still get anxious when I make a request and get the “insha’Allah” response (since I know that very little here is prompt), but I think it’s good to realize that really no one has definitive control over the future.

As I write this, my neighbor is busy trying to get our wireless back up; insha’Allah he’ll get it working soon and I can post this entry today (Tuesday). Yalla bye, asdiqa’.

PS- I had a non-creepy conversation with a cab driver today; it made for a nice ride home. The difference was definitely that the driver didn’t even try to ask me many personal questions. He knew that I was foreigner, and asked me where I was from. I guess surprised at my Arabic, he asked if both of my parents were American. However, beyond that, we just discussed studying Arabic and living in Amman. He remarked that he had driven a couple German students earlier and that their Arabic was pretty good too; I said that we study a lot and our professors are good. At the end of the cab ride, he insisted on giving me my change, which was a nice gesture (I was prepared to give him JD 1.5 for a JD 1.3 fare, since it’s normal to round up). I know that my previous entry made taxi drivers look pretty sketchy (and some of them really are), but there are genuinely pleasant, respectful drivers as well.

a sampling of sites

Here are a few pictures:


The sunset in Wadi Rum. I had not known that the desert could be so incredible. Che bellissima!


Setting out on our three-hour camel trek across the desert in Wadi Rum. Sixty camels made for quite a caravan.


The main ruins at Pella in the Jordan Valley. Pella was one of the Decapolis cities, ancient Roman cities that formed a major trade route across this region of the Middle East. We spent a day touring three of them (no Jerash pictures in this entry; those will come later). Note also the greenery in the background. The Jordan Valley is so verdant compared to the rest of the country; much of the local agriculture is produced in this area.

Some lovely columns from the church in Pella.



Basalt columns lying amid an olive grove at Umm Qais. Much of the city (another Decapolis member) lies unexcavated beneath these trees.

The view from Umm Qais. The mountain on the foreground (left) is still Jordan. The body of water is Tiberius (aka Sea of Galilee); beyond it is Israel. The mountainous areas on the right are the Golan Heights as occupied by Israel. Talk about proximity of countries.

More pictures to follow. Yalla bye, 'asdiqa.

Wandering

Not a whole lot to report these days. I’ve spent the morning today drinking tea and doing homework. Yesterday, my roommate (Katherine) and I took a cab down to Jabal Amman and met some friends for a leisurely brunch. Although the food was good, cheap, and plentiful, the service was absolutely awful. It was a good thing that we didn’t have to be anywhere else; the food came in courses and we had to ask for the final course four times (from various people) before it finally came. We never did get the refills on coffee that we asked for repeatedly. Nevertheless, the time was spent with wonderful people out on a lovely terrace overlooking the city, so I can’t complain too much. After brunch, Katherine, a friend, and I decided to wander around Jabal Amman and get to know the city better. The streets of Amman seem to have themes. Fairly close to the café, we came upon a street where there were literally six or seven pet shops selling mostly birds and fish. Later on our sojourn we passed through a street filled with auto mechanic shops; after that came a couple blocks of furniture stores. Our friend eventually had to leave, but Katherine and I kept walking. Eventually, we reached the Zara Center, home to such designer stores as BCBG (think: very basic tank top for JD 60, i.e. about US $90), at which point Katherine said, “hey, I think we’re kind of close to where we live!” So after looking around in the designer stores and pretending to be wealthy, we kept walking and did, in fact, eventually reach the apartment. Having taken a rather circuitous route (it was a bit by chance that we made it back home and didn’t end up in a random neighborhood in East Amman somewhere), we walked for well over two hours.

I would have to say that walking is the best way to get to know a city. It gives you more time (than in a car) to take in what you’re seeing, meaning more time to orient yourself and see how one neighborhood blends into the next. Although navigating the streets of Amman is still a dizzying task (how I miss the grid system of DC!), it’s getting better. Insha’Allah the more we wander, the more this city will make sense.

By the way, speaking of themes, Katherine and I determined that our neighborhood’s theme seems to be bakeries & sweets shops. Off the top of my head, I can think of five within easy walking distance, not including the bakeries in the grocery stores. Yum.

you pay nothing!

There are times when being female here is frustrating, to say the least- when men stare & catcall, when taxi drivers are creepy, when you know that it's most appropriate to wear long sleeves even though it's 95 degrees outside.

There are other times when being female is, well, convenient. Take, for example, picking up a package at the main post office downtown. This afternoon, Ruba and I went to said post office, pick-up slip in hand, to retrieve my package. After being directed upstairs, I showed the slip to the guy near the door, who then directed me to a room (we'll say 'office A') off to the side. After presenting the slip and my ID, the man in office A stamped my slip and gave it to another man, who found the package. Sounds simple, right? I started to open the package and was told that I had to wait for an officer to be there, at which point I looked confused, apologized, and stood there awkwardly with Ruba. The officer came; I opened the package to show him the contents. He gave me another sheet and said something quickly in Arabic; all I caught was 'mudeer' (director/manager). I turned to the first man from office A, who summoned someone else, who directed me out to the main area (we'll say 'office B'). There I found several younger guys (in their late 20s, maybe?) and managed to ask, "wein aruuh helan?" (where do I go now?). One of them showed me which office was the mudeer's (office C); I walked in, smiled sweetly, and said hi. Despite the value of the package from the slip, he just smiled and said, "you pay nothing" and sent me back out. I went back out with Ruba to office B, where I was directed to another man, at whom I smiled sweetly again. He looked at the slip, looked at me, and said JD 1. A note: the Jordanian postal system makes you pay customs on incoming packages. I was supposed to pay a per day for each day that it sat at the post office (totaling about JD 2.30), plus a customs fee based on the value of the package (or the gender and demeanor of the customer lol). I paid JD 1 total- I think they're required to charge me something to say that they did. Anyway, after that, I was sent back to office A, where after waiting for the man there to write something in the log book, I was finally allowed to take my package. Despite there being almost no other customers around, the process took quite a while just due to shuffling from office to office.

Lessons learned:
1. Allow time to pick up packages. I couldn't tell you how the American postal system works, but it seems to be more efficient.
2. Looking confused and lost is not a bad thing in this situation- people were more than happy to direct us.
3. Being female is helpful, since (as far as I could see) all but one of the employees there were male. Smile sweetly and use a lot of polite phrases.

I was totally prepared to try to persuade whomever to lower the customs fee ("I'm a student- I don't have much money! How can I show my family how beautiful Jordan is if I can't use my camera to take pictures?"), but it was not necessary. Being a western-looking woman was enough.

Ruba and I then got lunch and wandered around downtown for a while- such a fun place! I might go back tomorrow afternoon and wander some more. There are so many little back alleys with tons of small shops. A far cry from the new mega-malls of West Amman; this is not a complaint. After that, we returned to my place, made some coffee/tea, and baked magic cookie bars (butter + graham crackers + sweetened condensed milk + coconut + M&Ms). Overall, a really nice day. The post office experience was frustrating as we were walking from office to office, but I just had to laugh at the end. As Ruba's host mother always says when Ruba is frustrated with this culture, "ahlan wa sahlan, welcome to Jordan!"

You speak English?

There are definitely moments where it hits me full-on that I am in fact in the Middle East. Take, for example, our class trip yesterday to visit (among other places) the believed site of Jesus’ baptism by the Jordan River. As a note, the Jordan River here is the border between Jordan and Israel; from where we were, we could see Jericho in the distance. Archaeological excavation on the area didn’t even start until after the 1994 peace treaty between the two countries had been signed. As a result, our tour guide’s speech included a warning to stay with the group and not “monkey around” because we were in a militarized zone (if the barbed wire fences and machine gun-wielding soldiers hadn’t given us a hint). His other warning was, “please stay on the beaten path- there may be mines not yet uncovered.” Normally, when I think of Jesus getting baptized, I do not envision landmines in the same geographical location. Perhaps trails were very clearly marked for a reason (you had to hike a short way to reach the church and river). Anyway, lo and behold, right next to the idyllic-looking spot where you could touch the Jordan River (which was small and murky) there was an armed, no-nonsense soldier standing guard. Just across the river (maybe ten yards?) was Israel, whose bank was neither touristy nor at all inviting like Jordan’s. It is experiences like today that remind me that I really am in a region with far more political tension and animosity than I have ever experienced. I have no doubt that if someone had even jokingly started to wade across the river, there would have been soldiers from both sides shouting at the person to stop, machine guns ready. This is not to say that I felt at all threatened or unsafe today- especially since the Pope’s visit in 2000, the baptism site has become increasingly frequented by tourists, although to get to it you do have to take a special shuttle from the parking lot a little ways away. It’s just that there are rules that both sides have agreed to. No one from Jordan crosses the river into Israel; no one from Israel crosses the river into Jordan. As long as this is clear (the soldiers make it crystal clear, trust me), everyone is fine.

So that was the “whoa- I’m in the Middle East” moment of the day. Overall, Jordan continues to be amazing. I keep making sense of little bits of the cultural fabric here. For example, social interactions in taxis finally clicked for me. If you’re male, you’re supposed to sit in the front seat and try to form at least minimal rapport with the driver. This can be anything from casual conversation to smoking cigarettes together depending on the circumstances- anything to form a bond. However, if you are female, you should sit in the back seat and keep conversation to a polite minimum. I must be getting good at giving off those “I don’t want to talk to you- please take me where I need to go” vibes, as very few drivers have attempted to converse with me at all lately. Lest I be misunderstood, I should clarify. It’s not that I don’t like talking to people- many people here have fascinating stories and are genuinely warm and friendly. However, as many of my female friends have found as well, taxi conversations are often different. A sample conversation (true story):

Driver: “You speak English?”

Me: “Yes”

D: “Are you from America?”

Me: “Yes”

D: “Welcome to Jordan. Why are you here?”

Me: “I’m studying Arabic.”

D: “Ah. Are you married?”

Me: “No- I’m too young.”

D: “You are here by yourself?”

Me: “No, I have friends here.”

D: “Ah.” ::eyes me weirdly:: “Do you like to drink coffee or tea?”

Me: “Neither, it’s late in the day.”

Me: “Here is fine.” (I got out a couple blocks from my apartment)

Some notes on this encounter: 1) My tone was one of indifference and disinterest throughout. 2) I went home and made tea- it is never too late in the day. Anyway, to avoid getting hit on like this, it is best to look detached and business-like from the beginning. I think it’s definitely helped that my Arabic has improved such that taxi drivers don’t automatically assume that I’m American anymore; if they do, I guess I speak coherently enough that I don’t seem lost and confused. It’s a nice feeling.

That's all for now, off to class. Yalla bye, asdiqa'.

from food to adoption

It doesn’t seem to matter with whom I am speaking- the topic of food always comes up. This morning, my roommate and I discussed at length the possibility of putting chocolate hazelnut milk (think mild Nutella in liquid form- mmmmm) into coffee. In Arabic class, we were doing group work and had to name our groups. They consisted of Jbna (Cheese), Falafel, Shawerma (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shawarma), Qatayef (a Ramadan sweet), Cioccolato (Chocolate), and Kibbe (a deep-fried ball of meat & burghul goodness). People couldn’t even have been that hungry- it was 9:30am and I think that very few people in my class are fasting.

My point is that food is important. Not only does it provide for endless conversation, but it is the centerpiece (in any culture) for social gathering as well. Case in point: Friday. Friday morning found me at a friend’s apartment eating a home-cooked American breakfast of hash browns, scrambled eggs with vegetables (i.e., it could have been an omelet if it had stayed intact), and pancakes. The one concession to the Middle East was that the pancakes were actually Ramadan qatayef (minus being deep-fried with honey & sweet cheese in the middle), albeit heated up with maple *flavored* syrup. We spent a couple hours with good friends, good food, good conversation- a lovely morning. On Friday evening, I went to a friend’s uncle’s house for an Iftar party with all of the extended family. When it finally came time to break the fast, there was an absolute whirlwind (tornado?) as aunts, uncles, and cousins grabbed plates of lamb, rice, salad, soup, yogurt, bread, mini-shawerma, and so on. It was all absolutely delicious. After cleaning up the kitchen with the aunts, we moved on to glasses of soda. After that came the Ramadan sweets, followed by tea. A while later, we had ice cream. There was So. Much. Food. I made the mistake of eating my initial plate of food too quickly and finishing before the people around me. I say “mistake” because as soon as I set my plate down (we were eating on our laps- there was no more table space), my friend’s cousin asked, “what, are you done? Do you want more?” These are more rhetorical questions than actual inquiries, since it will be insisted that you eat more no matter what your response is. I must remember to eat slowly so as to avoid having a second plate of food put in front of me, which I will feel obliged to eat. Anyway, it was all worth it. My friend’s family is so incredibly warm and welcoming. It’s one of those households where I felt totally comfortable wandering down to the kitchen to get more water, wash my hands, etc. They also felt perfectly comfortable calling me back to the kitchen to have me put the dishes up into the higher cabinets since I was the tallest woman by far. It’s one of those households where you could very quickly feel like part of the family.

On a side note, the “part of the family” is kind of interesting. An outsider would see that everyone seems completely comfortable; everyone is a natural part of the family. However, this changed a bit when my friend’s cousin was explaining how everyone in the living room was related. It was a series of “he is my mother’s brother, those three are my uncle’s children, she is my mother’s cousin, she is my mother’s sister, they are my cousins, etc, etc.” She got to one woman and said, “she is my uncle’s wife- she’s a stranger.” What she meant was that the woman was not related by blood to anyone else (normally, cousins marry cousins, distant or direct). No matter how many years that woman is married to the uncle, no matter how many children she has, she will technically still be a “stranger.” This didn’t even come off as a negative label- just a simple fact. Tribalism and family loyalty are HUGE here. This is not to say that people don’t marry outside of their families (many do), just that everyone knows who is in the family and who is not. It reminded of the Jordanian laws on adoption. People can adopt, but the child can never take his/her adoptive family’s name. Instead, a family name is made up for the adopted child and gets used for his/her whole life. Taking the adoptive family’s name would confuse issues of lineage (since there is not technically a common bloodline). Interesting, indeed.

That’s all for now from Amman. This evening I am going back to the same friend’s uncle’s house to help make ma’amuul, which are fig/walnut/pistachio filled cookies made only for Eid al-Fitr (the big holiday that marks the end of Ramadan). We (a few other students are going with me) were promised Iftar as well as cookies to take home if we came and helped bake. Yum.

and there was sand. a lot of sand.

I keep getting harassed about not posting. I do at least have an excuse for the last few days! I returned on Saturday from the CIEE trip to Wadi Rum (a major desert) and Petra (http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/tourism6d.html). It was completely, absolutely incredible.

We left on Thursday afternoon and took jeep rides from the buses to our campsite in Wadi Rum. We stopped at one point to watch the sun set over the mountains; later in the ride we watched as a full moon rose (very quickly) over a high plateau in the distance. Our campsite had Bedouin-style tents with no electricity in the sleeping quarters, although there were fully functional bathrooms and showers. The place was situated between two huge, huge rock formations in the middle of the desert. I cannot adequately describe how beautiful Wadi Rum is- the smooth sandstone, the way the colors change depending on the time of day. After a few hours of eating, listening to Bedouin music, and drinking tea, we went for a nighttime walk around a nearby formation. Walking out into the desert was surreal. The moon was so bright that there was no need for flashlights; everything was illuminated with an ivory glow. They had told us on the bus that some of the movie “Mission to Mars” was shot in Wadi Rum. At first I didn’t understand how that could be, but in the light of the moon it really did seem otherworldly.
The next morning, my tent-mate Paris and I got up at 4:45am to watch the sunrise. We walked out of the camp and climbed a good way up a nearby rock formation where we just sat and watched the desert. Little did we know, the sun does not really rise until about 6:30am, so we were sitting on the rock for about an hour and a half. However, it was just as beautiful as everything else in the area and was a wonderfully pleasant way to start the day. After breakfast and more tea, we embarked on our three-hour camel ride through the desert. It was fantastic! The caravan was set up such that there was one walking Bedouin guide for every two camels (normally tied together). A lot of people got to drive their own camel (which was not hard- the most that happened was that someone’s camel kept stopping to eat from bushes and refused to go), but my guide never offered and never asked. If he had given me the reins, I think it would have made the girl behind me (her camel attached to mine) nervous, as she didn’t really feel comfortable until almost the end of the trek. It was too bad, because I would love to have gone faster.
That afternoon, we boarded the buses once again and headed to our campsite, a Bedouin camp near Little Petra (an ancient caravan stop with tombs, caves, etc). This camp was similar to the previous one except that we had pads instead of beds and a single light bulb in each tent. We hiked over to Little Petra for a short guided tour, after which we returned to camp for dinner. I was sitting on a big rock when the call to prayer (to break the fast during Ramadan) was done. The thing is, normally I hear the call coming for the mosque a few blocks over, amplified through a big sound system. This time, however, the man doing the call was maybe ten feet away from me. His voiced carried so smoothly and powerfully through the wadi as it echoed off of the rocks. Everyone in the camp stopped to listen to him- it was almost an eerie experience. A while later after dinner, I went out with a few people to wander through the rocks in the dark. Unlike the previous night, it was cloudy and so a flashlight was helpful. I did not hike very far but instead found a large, flat rock and spent a while lying on my back staring up at the sky. Since the others had gone on, I was completely by myself, which was wonderful. I couldn’t hear anything except the muted sound of the breeze and the faint rustle of a nearby tree. I had been feeling a bit suffocated always being part of a group of sixty students, so this was the perfect escape. Eventually I started to get sleepy and headed back to camp, where I sat around the fire for a while drinking tea and then finally went to bed. On Saturday we all got up at 5:00am. After a quick breakfast, we boarded the buses and went to Petra where arrangements had been made to let us into the ancient city before everyone else (hence having to be up so early). Let me say that Petra is enormous. All anyone talks about are the Khezna (the Treasury- that big temple that’s in all of the pictures) and the Seeq (the long pathway leading to the Khezna). These are very impressive, but there is so much more- an entire city! There are scores of tombs and homes carved into the rock, not to mention the Roman colonnade, the amphitheater, multiple temples, a Byzantine church- the list goes on and on. Estimates are that only ten to fifteen percent of Petra has been excavated. It is also fascinating to see the various civilizations present in Petra’s history. The Nabataeans were the main inhabitants, although you see Egyptian, Greek, and Roman influences in much of the architecture (Roman especially once they conquered the city). For a while, Petra was a trading hub between the East and the West, which meant that it could acquire vast wealth while absorbing traces of the cultures passing through. It’s really an amazing place. This afternoon, I joined the group climbing the approximately 700 steps up to the Place of High Sacrifice. It really was quite a hike up, but definitely worth it. Aside from the satisfaction of making it up the mountain, you also got to see the most amazing view of Petra and the rest of Wadi Musa. Our director pointed out how the mountains dropped down sharply to a flat plain below. She said that the flatness was not natural for the area, indicating that beneath all of the dirt and rocks there are many more Nabataean ruins- the suburbs of the city. During its golden age, about 30,000 people were said to have lived in Petra. I am still in awe.

Before this trip, I didn't really understand why almost all of the Jordanians I have asked respond that Wadi Rum is their favorite place in the country (it's just a desert with rocks, right?). Now not only do I understand- I agree. It is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever been. Wadi Rum has been added to my list of why Jordan is an excellent tourist location. Forget the white sand of tropical beaches- the golden/red/ivory desert sand just takes your breath away.

Ramadan

This article was in the Jordan Times today. Before I came here, I knew a little about Ramadan, but not much. People fast from sunrise to sunset for a month and eat a big meal to break the fast. That was about it. However, there is so much more to the holiday; I thought that this article might give a small glimpse of that.

http://www.jordantimes.com/?news=2171

I spent a while with my classmate and her cousin last night, sitting out on the patio overlooking the outskirts of Amman as the sun set. We talked a lot about Ramadan- I felt comfortable asking questions about it and they were very obliging in answering. I still had this idea (as of last night) that children would be resistent to fasting (since why would one want to give up food?). However, I learned that often little kids want to fast because it's what they see everybody else doing and they want to be included. My friend and her cousin were laughing as they told me about how a lot of little kids will say, "I am fasting!" and really try to, but then sneak into the kitchen and stealthily grab a cookie. Their parents understand this and, when the little kids feel genuinely bad for breaking their fast, say (in so many words), "it's really okay- you tried. God forgives you- don't be upset. It's really okay!" My friend's cousin was saying that it is important to ease children into fasting though over the course of a few Ramadans. For example, the first year, the child might fast only until noon (so no morning snack). The next year, he might just fast on weekends. The third year, he might eat only at school (as well as the big meals with the family at night)- no snacking at home. There's so much more to the culture surrounding Ramadan than I had imagined.

My roommate and I are planning on going grocery shopping after class. Perhaps we will also stop by the sweets shop and pick up some qatayef, then go by the coffee shop and get some ground Turkish coffee. I'm excited about Iftar already.

kuba wa qahwa

I had been worrying that I am in too much of an American bubble to truly benefit from my experience here in Jordan's capital. However, that bubble was pleasantly popped yesterday afternoon when I accompanied a classmate ('A') to her aunt's house (where she is living this year) to make kuba and eat dinner. The three of us (my classmate, another classmate, and I) took a cab to East Amman (which was not *nearly* as bad as it had been made out to be!) to the apartment. Her aunt and uncle spoke very little English, which was a plus as far as I was concerned. Anyway, after sitting around for a bit and chatting, A's uncle came out and showed us how to form the burgul (finely ground, fat-free meat) into hollow cups, put in a spoonful of the filling, close up the kuba, and shape it into a little football. After that, the kuba are deep fried in olive oil, making them slightly crunchy on the outside. Delicious. The process was quite time consuming- I can't imagine making a big batch of kuba (say, for a party) by oneself! However, as the saying goes, many hands make light work. I found the situation almost humorous- A's uncle is (at first sight) an imposing Arab man who speaks strongly and dresses in a thob (the traditional robe for men). However, he was the only one who really knew how to form the kuba, so he hovered around for a bit making sure that we were forming the balls just so, closing them gently and slowly, not too hard. When we ate dinner later and A commented on the decorative crushed mint on top of the lebn wa kheyaar (yogurt & cucumbers), A's aunt jokingly rolled her eyes and said, "your uncle made it." Although quite imposing, A's uncle turned out to be a very nice guy with a sense of humor and a passion for cooking. Overall, the evening was fantastic. I was quite tired by 9pm, in part due to concentrating so much on following the strings of 9aamiiya (colloquial) conversation around me. It was satisfying, though, to have to work hard just for basic social interaction. A's family was so generous and hospitable- truly wonderful people. Plus, I sort of know how to make kuba now! If I had the recipe for the filling, I could do it. Oh! I also learned how to make Arabic coffee (as a note, there is normally cardamom ground into the coffee itself. Excellent indeed.), which is nice because my apartment did come with a coffee pot. Now I just have to go down to Garden Street to the coffee store and get some. Yum.

Ramadan begins tomorrow (well, technically tonight at sunset). I'm excited- it's apparently a lot of fun here in Amman. On the downside, you can't eat or drink in public during the day. However, nights are big. After sundown, families eat a huge meal call the Iftar. After that, people visit with family & friends or go out into the city. Cafes and stores are open late at night; some people sponsor "Mercy Meals," free food set up under tents. Many people put up Ramadan lights, which are like Christmas lights except in the shape of moons & stars (my roommates and I are planning on buying some and putting them up on our balcony). I can't wait!

Now I am off to another classmate's extended family's house for lunch (i.e. an early dinner). More later.

ahlan wa sahlan!

It has been about a week now and Amman continues to be fantastic. I spent the first few days in a hotel for orientation and now live in an apartment with two roommates. The apartment itself is quite spacious and in a lovely neighborhood. I am within walking distance of a supermarket, internet cafes, restaurants, etc, although everyone takes taxis anyway (which are very inexpensive here), so transportation is not an issue. Jordanians are some of the most generous, hospitable people I've ever met. This is the kind of place where if you're walking around and ask for directions, someone will often offer to take you there himself. It is the kind of place where relationships are paramount; if you can build a connection with someone, things happen. Admittedly, this can be frustrating from an American point of view, since American society favors equal opportunity, everyone abiding by the same set of rules with less regard for social connections, and so forth. Here, if you know someone who knows someone in the internet company, you are likely to get DSL installed faster. I'm realizing already that it is not a better or worse system than in the U.S.- it's just different. Jordanians, who grow up understanding the importance of being part of a large social network, all play by the same set of their rules, and so the system still works. Moreover, since people are so social and willing to help, it is very easy to make friends. As our director was explaining, this social system of building relationships and asking favors (and getting them in return) is called wasta. In a sense, society seems to favor the emotional (relationships, bonding) over the unemotional (rules on paper, like in the US).

This became apparent to me during a cab ride yesterday. When I got in, I spoke to the driver in Arabic. He could tell that I was a foreigner, although I told him that I spoke Italian (since often it is assumed that foreigners speak English and so cab drivers will revert to that, but I wanted to practice). Under the assumption that I didn't speak English, we conversed solely in Arabic (albeit roughly). We discussed the beauty and difficulty of the Arabic language, the character of Amman, and so on. It was quite a pleasant conversation, even if I didn't always have the words for what I wanted to convey. At the end of the cab ride, having established this mutual connection, he refused to let me pay. Although this kind of thing (not paying) is not common, it does demonstrate how actions here are taken, it seems, on a more interpersonal level.

Time now to go explore the university for a bit before class, perhaps get some coffee. Ciao, amici.

Falafel and Fuddruckers

Ahlan wa sahlan! I've finally reached Amman. Except for the trickiness of navigating the Boston airport, the trip here went quite smoothly. I was exhausted by the end of it and thus slept very soundly the first night. Jet lag set in a day or two later, but I would consider myself adjusted now.
As I write this, I am sitting on the floor of my bedroom beside the open balcony door, where it is coolest. It has been reaching the 90s during the day here, but nighttime is considerably cooler and there is always a pleasant breeze which rustles the palm tree beside the balcony. The heat is not nearly as bad as back home since here we don’t have to deal with humidity, but cool evenings are appreciated nonetheless.
Amman can be aptly described as a city in between the east and the west. On the one hand, street vendors sell cheap (but delicious!) shawerma and the pita bread sold in even the big supermarkets is always hot and fresh because it has just been baked in the store. On the other hand, these are some of the American restaurants in Amman: Quizno’s, Subway, McDonald’s, Burger King, Starbucks, Applebee’s, Bennigan’s, Fuddruckers, Pizza Hut, KFC, and Popeye’s. Driving into the city from the airport, we saw a huge billboard advertising the new LG Chocolate cell phone- very snazzy, urban. However, we also saw many people having dinner picnics- they set out chairs in the dirt under the scrawny pine trees by the side of the road. In this way, it is difficult to characterize Amman as any one type of city. In some respects, it is becoming more traditional- for example, more women are choosing to wear hijab (the mode of dress that includes the head scarf) than in years past. In other respects, less traditional- it is possible to find dance clubs, complete with alcohol, techno music, and Western styles of dress. While watching “The Italian Job” today on satellite TV, my roommates and I had to wait until the call to prayer from the local mosque was finished to hear the movie’s dialogue. Waiting for the call to prayer to finish already seems perfectly normal, though stopping to think about it yields one of those "oh my gosh- I'm in the Middle East!!" moments.

All for now, more later.

The first post

Days until departure: 46.

This does not seem like very long at all. With Italy a few years ago, I kept thinking "oh, it's forever away- not completely real, even" until the night before I left. This resulted in mad packing at the last minute, my bags barely under the weight limit. I have much the same sentiment regarding Jordan (it's still forever away, really!). I am wildly excited. Daydreams once filled (and ultimately more than fulfilled) with cappuccini and the Colosseum have been replaced by thoughts of kibbe and Petra. However, there is so much left to be done. To obtain: luggage, visa, Jordan-appropriate wardrobe, everyone's address, basic grasp of Jordanian Arabic. I do already have a plane ticket, so at least that much is settled.

I visited an excellent Middle Eastern restaurant in Adams-Morgan last week, wherein I ordered Arabic coffee (about to go swing dancing, this seemed like a good idea). However, much to the astonishment of my friends and me, the coffee was very strong and in fact grainy. At the bottom of the clear, glass mug was a sludge (coffee grounds, we assumed). Needless to say, not even multiple Splenda packets made a dent in the bitter, almost unpalatable taste. It was the sort of thing that elicits an involuntary scrunching of the face and swift search for a glass of water. The coffee was eventually communally finished, though I had no more than a couple sips. If all Arabic coffee is like this, I am not sure where I'll get the daily caffeine fix.

ma9i ssalaame!