**note: I started writing this post a while ago and finished it on May 22.**
I first went to Wadi Rum at the end of September, about a month into this study abroad. I said then that it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. I went to Wadi Rum again in April, spending the morning on a camel trek (my camel and I were the last ones in a caravan of about sixty- it was leisurely and idyllic), spending the night walking and stargazing, the stars especially brilliant due to a new moon. Sitting on top of an auburn dune, watching the sun set behind rose-red mountains, my original sentiment regarding Wadi Rum was confirmed.
The third trip to Wadi Rum occurred just a couple of weeks ago. For our last long weekend, four friends and I spent Wednesday evening and Thursday morning in Petra, and then headed out to Rum for two nights of desert camping. In Petra, we followed a second, smaller Siiq that brought us out near the Byzantine church (i.e. past all of the oldest Nabataean stuff), and then walked out the main Siiq, pausing only briefly to look at and say goodbye to the famous Treasury. Camping in Rum was fantastic, made infinitely better by the fact that two of our group members actually knew something about camping (for example: how to build a fire and then protect it from desert winds). Other fun parts of the experience:
- the food. Left on my own, I would have just brought a lot of bread, a jar of Nutella, a jar of peanut butter, and maybe a few apples. I'd be really sick of all of those things by the end, but it's sustenance and very easy to carry and prepare. However, 'D' had other plans for our cuisine, the most impressive of which had us roasting vegetables and chunks of fresh lamb (we found a butcher near Petra) over the open flames. Due to our lack of utensils or plates (we had a few spoons and a big communal bowl), we just took the chunks in our fingers and gnawed at them- a very fulfilling experience, actually, and promptly followed up with making smores.
- the Bedouins. To get to our campsite, we hired a driver from the Wadi Rum Visitor Center to take us out in his pick-up truck. My group consisted of two guys and three girls; one of the guys sat in the front and chatted with the driver. The first evening, we had three sets of visitors- the guy from the visitor's center (who had a campsite just around the mountain), the driver, and the brother & two friends of the driver. I am sure that our group was quite the novelty: college-age Americans who spoke Arabic. The third group drove up in the dark and asked if they might play their oud for us. As a note, the oud is a Middle Eastern instrument that belongs to the lute family. Anyway, being good pseudo-Arabs, we obviously couldn't say no, and so they sat around the fire with us and played and sang into the dark, starry night. We felt genuinely bad that we couldn't offer them tea (we had the pot, tea, and sugar but no cups), but alas. However, we made up for it. The next evening, in preparation for visitors, we cut off the bottoms of all of our empty big water bottles (to use as cups) and put a pot of water on the fire to heat for tea. Sure enough, the guy from the visitor center came over from his campsite to check on us and suggest that we move our tents into a slightly more sheltered area on account of the desert wind. While he walked off with the guys to discuss tent moving, the other three of us prepared tea, which we then drank while sitting around the fire as night fell. When he saw what we were using as cups, he laughed and remarked that it really was "Bedouin tea," although he did suggest that next time we boil the water with the sugar in it instead of adding sugar afterwards. Still, we were quite proud of ourselves, and must have been quite the novelty. Did you hear about those American kids? They speak Arabic and served a guest the obligatory tea!
- Sand dunes. D found a particularly large one free of vegetation while out walking, so we trooped over on Friday afternoon and climbed to the top. We spent the next hour or so rolling down it, dragging each other down it, and just lying in the soft sand playing the "what movie character would so-and-so be" game. Climbing up sand dunes is something of a work out, though, and we were tired by the end.
Wadi Rum, in a way, has formed the bookends of my time in Jordan. A month from the beginning, a month from the end. In the words of a friend, "coming to Wadi Rum always makes me think, 'this is why I love this country.'" How very true.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Easter
This year, I celebrated two Easters. Easter #1, the Western Easter, occured while in Cyprus. Easter #2, the Orthodox Easter occured a couple of weeks ago. I have heard (although I haven't confirmed it) that Jordan's Christian population shows solidarity by officially celebrating Christmas on the Western calendar and Easter on the Orthodox one.
On Sunday morning, 'M' and I went together to a nearby Catholic mass in English. We were both hoping for something significantly more traditional and ritualized than the international evangelical church in Cyprus, and the service fulfilled that (despite, as M noticed, a lack of chanting and incense). It's worth noting that many of the churchgoers for the English service were South Asian (Sri Lanka, Philippines, etc); a lot of South Asian women come to Jordan to work in salons, spas, and as house keepers (i.e. more menial service jobs). If they speak a second language, it is usually English (not Arabic), hence coming to the English mass. Accordingly, in lieu of an organ or even a piano, the hymns were supported by guitar and tambourine. M, who has been to several English-language Catholic churches in Amman, said that it's the same at all of them- a large South Asian contingent and guitar/tambourine musical accompaniment. Still, the service was traditional enough and included fundamental aspects of an Easter service, so M and I left feeling fulfilled.
Back at home, my host family had spent the morning dusting and washing every nook and cranny to make the house even more spotless than usual, since Easter in Jordan means spent visiting or being visited. Earlier that week, three evenings had been devoted to making the special Easter cookies (ma'amul) to be served to every guest who came to my house, my aunt's house, or my other aunt's house (it was a joint project- many hands make light work). Alhamdulillah we had enough! (Actually, many had to be frozen and we're still eating them). When I got home on Sunday at about 2:30pm, my host father's brother, his wife, and their children were all there. Over the course of the day, there would be five groups of guests, until the rest of my family went over to my aunt's house to host more guests there (I took the opportunity to go to sleep).
A typical visit goes like this: guests sit down, receive napkins, get offered ma'amul and tiny cups of Arabic coffee. talk, talk, talk. guests then get offered several types of chocolate candy; they seemed obliged to take at least one of everything. talk, talk, talk. if the guests are still there, they are then offered tea as well. talk, talk. finally guests leave.
And then more come.
Mid-afternoon, my family and the current set of guests went over to my aunt's house for the big lunch. That morning, since I hadn't seen anyone cooking anything, I thought that perhaps people skipped a formal lunch on Easter in lieu to entertaining guests and eating cookies. As a result, I got lunch with M after the service instead of just getting coffee. Silly, silly me- what Jordanian family gathering would ever be complete without a huge meal? I had been right about nothing being cooked....but only because the families had decided to get take-out Popeyes (i.e. fried chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and french fries), which is considered less of a cheap fast food here than it is in the States (in part because it's not that cheap). I survived the meal by taking the requisite small piece of chicken, couple french fries, and half a biscuit, and then keeping my plate filled with salad so as not to raise anyone's suspicion/concern.
Over the course of the day, I saw various aunts, uncles, and cousins. I recognized only some of them and knew the names of even fewer, but it was pleasant enough. By the end of it, my host sisters (who were doing all of the serving) didn't even bother offering my host parents or me the candy or coffee, since we'd had more than enough. This Easter was a far cry from my American family's "normal" celebration: Easter baskets, church, nap, afternoon dinner (normally with a ham as the center piece). Still, a good experience and one that I am very, very glad to have had.
Off to find food, more later. Yalla bye.
On Sunday morning, 'M' and I went together to a nearby Catholic mass in English. We were both hoping for something significantly more traditional and ritualized than the international evangelical church in Cyprus, and the service fulfilled that (despite, as M noticed, a lack of chanting and incense). It's worth noting that many of the churchgoers for the English service were South Asian (Sri Lanka, Philippines, etc); a lot of South Asian women come to Jordan to work in salons, spas, and as house keepers (i.e. more menial service jobs). If they speak a second language, it is usually English (not Arabic), hence coming to the English mass. Accordingly, in lieu of an organ or even a piano, the hymns were supported by guitar and tambourine. M, who has been to several English-language Catholic churches in Amman, said that it's the same at all of them- a large South Asian contingent and guitar/tambourine musical accompaniment. Still, the service was traditional enough and included fundamental aspects of an Easter service, so M and I left feeling fulfilled.
Back at home, my host family had spent the morning dusting and washing every nook and cranny to make the house even more spotless than usual, since Easter in Jordan means spent visiting or being visited. Earlier that week, three evenings had been devoted to making the special Easter cookies (ma'amul) to be served to every guest who came to my house, my aunt's house, or my other aunt's house (it was a joint project- many hands make light work). Alhamdulillah we had enough! (Actually, many had to be frozen and we're still eating them). When I got home on Sunday at about 2:30pm, my host father's brother, his wife, and their children were all there. Over the course of the day, there would be five groups of guests, until the rest of my family went over to my aunt's house to host more guests there (I took the opportunity to go to sleep).
A typical visit goes like this: guests sit down, receive napkins, get offered ma'amul and tiny cups of Arabic coffee. talk, talk, talk. guests then get offered several types of chocolate candy; they seemed obliged to take at least one of everything. talk, talk, talk. if the guests are still there, they are then offered tea as well. talk, talk. finally guests leave.
And then more come.
Mid-afternoon, my family and the current set of guests went over to my aunt's house for the big lunch. That morning, since I hadn't seen anyone cooking anything, I thought that perhaps people skipped a formal lunch on Easter in lieu to entertaining guests and eating cookies. As a result, I got lunch with M after the service instead of just getting coffee. Silly, silly me- what Jordanian family gathering would ever be complete without a huge meal? I had been right about nothing being cooked....but only because the families had decided to get take-out Popeyes (i.e. fried chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and french fries), which is considered less of a cheap fast food here than it is in the States (in part because it's not that cheap). I survived the meal by taking the requisite small piece of chicken, couple french fries, and half a biscuit, and then keeping my plate filled with salad so as not to raise anyone's suspicion/concern.
Over the course of the day, I saw various aunts, uncles, and cousins. I recognized only some of them and knew the names of even fewer, but it was pleasant enough. By the end of it, my host sisters (who were doing all of the serving) didn't even bother offering my host parents or me the candy or coffee, since we'd had more than enough. This Easter was a far cry from my American family's "normal" celebration: Easter baskets, church, nap, afternoon dinner (normally with a ham as the center piece). Still, a good experience and one that I am very, very glad to have had.
Off to find food, more later. Yalla bye.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
running in the desert
Last Friday, four of my friends and I got up well before the sun rose to make it out to the starting line of the 2008 Dead Sea Half-Marathon. The Ultra-Marathon (48.7km) started on the outskirts of Amman; we started a mere 21km (13.1mi) from the Dead Sea. Check-in for the whole race (ultra, marathon (26.2mi), half, 10k, kids' junior marathon) was unsurprisingly chaotic by 6:00am. Those accustomed to Jordanian culture shuffled along with the masses, unbothered, while those poor American/Western European souls expecting organized lines looked stressed. We eventually checked in our bags, slathered on the sunscreen, and made it out to the shuttle buses that would take us to the starting line, advertised on the website solely as being "just past the Hanna coffee shop."
The starting line banner was being put up as we wandered around the rocky area nearby, just waiting and stretching. I hadn't been around that many westerners since going to Europe over winter break. I had been worried about looking really haraam (aka inappropriate, except stronger) in my running skirt and tight shirt, but there were a number of women wearing tank tops and shorts, so all was well. There were also women running in hijabs (head veils), long sleeves, and long pants, but I took advantage of being a westerner for the morning.
In typical Jordanian fashion, we started about twenty minutes late because a couple of the shuttle buses hadn't made it to the starting line. Once the gun went off, my friends and I pushed 'start' on our mP3 players, and we were off. We stayed together for the first couple of kilometers, until the fast member of our group couldn't hold back anymore and took off (we didn't see her again until the end). After another couple of kilometers, it became apparent that 'M' and I were moving slightly faster, so we went ahead together while Ruba (host cousin) and our other friend 'D' stayed at their pace together.
The 2hrs 18min that M and I spent running those 13.1 miles together could be described as forgetting that we were in Jordan, and then being reminded, and then forgetting, and then being reminded... .
Forgetting: talking to a group of women in spandex leggings and neon pink hats, one of whom has a daughter whose best friend goes to M's university back in the States.
Being reminded: a herd of camels grazing on low trees on the other side of the road.
Forgetting: getting wet sponges at the well-manned water stations because it gets hot when there's no shade.
Being reminded: seeing the distinct poverty of the farmers' shacks and the workers bent over double in the fields.
Forgetting: being able to run outside, showing more leg than I ever have in this country.
Being reminded: a soldier, armed with a machine gun, at every kilometer marker.
Another thought: a lot of runner took just a couple of drinks from their bottles of water and then tossed the bottles to the side of the road, not wanting to carry them. I can only imagine what the water station volunteers thought of this, seeing how desperately water poor this country is.
The race itself was good; in fact, we were feeling good for the first 16 kilometers. However, with about five kilometers to go, we saw a hill and said, "insha'Allah it's the only one." We made it up the hill, legs burning (because we hadn't trained for hills at all, since the course was proclaimed to be all down hill or flat), and took a walking break. And then saw the next hill, to which we said, "insha'Allah it's the last one." It wasn't. There were, I think, five or six hills in the last 5km, and M and I took a walking break at the top of each one of them. Lesson learned: don't do all of your training on a flat treadmill. However, we made it past those and all the way to the finish line. After that, we sat around for a while, stood in the Dead Sea for a bit, and eventually made it back to Amman.
Overall, it was a fantastic experience, one that I'd been looking forward to since well before I came to Jordan. Being able to running outside (something I was looking forward to SO much) was phenomenal. Having a running partner helps immensely, and I am very grateful to M for that. Can't wait to sign up for races in the States, and insha'Allah I'll be able to return to Jordan in the future and do the full marathon! :)
The starting line banner was being put up as we wandered around the rocky area nearby, just waiting and stretching. I hadn't been around that many westerners since going to Europe over winter break. I had been worried about looking really haraam (aka inappropriate, except stronger) in my running skirt and tight shirt, but there were a number of women wearing tank tops and shorts, so all was well. There were also women running in hijabs (head veils), long sleeves, and long pants, but I took advantage of being a westerner for the morning.
In typical Jordanian fashion, we started about twenty minutes late because a couple of the shuttle buses hadn't made it to the starting line. Once the gun went off, my friends and I pushed 'start' on our mP3 players, and we were off. We stayed together for the first couple of kilometers, until the fast member of our group couldn't hold back anymore and took off (we didn't see her again until the end). After another couple of kilometers, it became apparent that 'M' and I were moving slightly faster, so we went ahead together while Ruba (host cousin) and our other friend 'D' stayed at their pace together.
The 2hrs 18min that M and I spent running those 13.1 miles together could be described as forgetting that we were in Jordan, and then being reminded, and then forgetting, and then being reminded... .
Forgetting: talking to a group of women in spandex leggings and neon pink hats, one of whom has a daughter whose best friend goes to M's university back in the States.
Being reminded: a herd of camels grazing on low trees on the other side of the road.
Forgetting: getting wet sponges at the well-manned water stations because it gets hot when there's no shade.
Being reminded: seeing the distinct poverty of the farmers' shacks and the workers bent over double in the fields.
Forgetting: being able to run outside, showing more leg than I ever have in this country.
Being reminded: a soldier, armed with a machine gun, at every kilometer marker.
Another thought: a lot of runner took just a couple of drinks from their bottles of water and then tossed the bottles to the side of the road, not wanting to carry them. I can only imagine what the water station volunteers thought of this, seeing how desperately water poor this country is.
The race itself was good; in fact, we were feeling good for the first 16 kilometers. However, with about five kilometers to go, we saw a hill and said, "insha'Allah it's the only one." We made it up the hill, legs burning (because we hadn't trained for hills at all, since the course was proclaimed to be all down hill or flat), and took a walking break. And then saw the next hill, to which we said, "insha'Allah it's the last one." It wasn't. There were, I think, five or six hills in the last 5km, and M and I took a walking break at the top of each one of them. Lesson learned: don't do all of your training on a flat treadmill. However, we made it past those and all the way to the finish line. After that, we sat around for a while, stood in the Dead Sea for a bit, and eventually made it back to Amman.
Overall, it was a fantastic experience, one that I'd been looking forward to since well before I came to Jordan. Being able to running outside (something I was looking forward to SO much) was phenomenal. Having a running partner helps immensely, and I am very grateful to M for that. Can't wait to sign up for races in the States, and insha'Allah I'll be able to return to Jordan in the future and do the full marathon! :)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Cafe
I think that this latest experience sums up a lot of my food service sector interactions here in Jordan. I walked into the coffee shop in dire need of a cup of American coffee pre-workout. After walking up to the open counter, past two employees staring intently at the slushee machine, past one employee just sitting around, I finally caught the attention of the other employee behind the counter and proceeded to order (in Arabic). I asked for a small American coffee and a cookie, since I had just spotted the plate of chocolate chip cookies arranged in the name of the establishment. The nice man behind the counter simply stared at me and smiled good naturedly. Wondering if he had been caught unawares by the foreigner speaking Arabic, I repeated my order. He finally motioned for me to wait a moment and looked toward the two guys staring at the slushee machine. One of them finally came over and I repeated my order a third time. After distinctly looking at the cookies that I had motioned to, he said, "there are none." Since he said this very genuinely and without a hint of arrogance or malice, I didn't argue and ordered a mini-muffin instead. He initially said that there wasn't any coffee either, but alhamdulillah it finished brewing in time. The original gentleman had a genuine grin on his face as he proudly presented me with the large tray containing my small order.
Despite the time it took and me being denied the cookie sitting right in front of me (I assume because it would have messed up the design), I am not the least bit frustrated by this experience. Cultural assimilation, anyone? Here, there is not the automatic assumption that the customer must be served as quickly and efficiently as possible, at least not to the degree that there is in America. All of the employees were perfectly affable; they made preserving the cookie design seem perfectly legitimate. For my part, I knew that I would get my stuff eventually, having learned long ago that being in a rush doesn't work all that well here.
Just thought I'd share this little story. Back in September, I'm sure that I'd have found it incredibly frustrating, but not now. In this respect, Jordan has taught me to just relax and patient. All for now. Yalla bye.
Despite the time it took and me being denied the cookie sitting right in front of me (I assume because it would have messed up the design), I am not the least bit frustrated by this experience. Cultural assimilation, anyone? Here, there is not the automatic assumption that the customer must be served as quickly and efficiently as possible, at least not to the degree that there is in America. All of the employees were perfectly affable; they made preserving the cookie design seem perfectly legitimate. For my part, I knew that I would get my stuff eventually, having learned long ago that being in a rush doesn't work all that well here.
Just thought I'd share this little story. Back in September, I'm sure that I'd have found it incredibly frustrating, but not now. In this respect, Jordan has taught me to just relax and patient. All for now. Yalla bye.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Cyprus
Today is Wednesday; this time a week ago I was taking a nap in the hotel room in Larnaca, Cyprus. For spring break, four of my friends and I decided to spend six days exploring the aforementioned Mediterranean island. From our homebase in Larnaca, we took day trips to the cities of Limassol, Paphos, and Nikosia/Lefkosia, wandering around the cities and focusing on historical sites (pictures forthcoming, insha'Allah). The trip:
- We stayed in a two-bedroom apartment a five minute walk from the beach. The weather was gorgeous the entire time, mid- to upper-seventies with a warm sea breeze. Daily activities included walks on the beach and lounging on our balcony, which overlooked a busy square housing cafes, a bakery, and a few random shops.
- Speaking of the beach, we devoted one afternoon (having spent the morning at church) solely to taking naps in the sunshine, swimming, and gazing off across the Mediterranean to the Levant region on the other side. Having just spent almost seven months in a relatively conservative Muslim country, being able to lie around in (modest, one-piece) swimsuits felt incredibly liberating......until we realized that we were surrounded by Middle Eastern Arabs, including men staring at us and veiled women openly giving us disapproving looks. It was also kind of a weird feeling because to that point we had been using Arabic as our private language (since so many people speak English in Cyprus); hearing other people speak Arabic again was interesting. Nevertheless, our day at the beach was pretty idyllic, I must say.
- Pork is a staple meat in Cyprus. This is significant because although it is possible to find pork in Jordan, the stuff is prohibitively expensive and pretty rare. We took full advantage of the culinary abundance, from sausage pizza to pork kebabs to bacon. Yum.
- We spent one day venturing to the castle of St. Hilarion in the Turkish north ( http://www.cyprus44.com/kyrenia/st-hilarion-castle.asp ). The castle sits high atop a mountain overlooking the flat sea plain, coastal towns, and then the ocean. We were high enough up that at one point, light clouds came up the mountain from the coast, wrapping the castle in an almost surreal, fairy tale mist. Speaking of fairy tales, some believe that the castle in the Disney film Snow White is based on this one; I could believe it (some contest that the Disney inspiration is in Germany- in reality, who knows). St. Hilarion's castle is absolutely breathtaking, to say the least.
- To get to the castle, however, we had to go through a rather mountainous area used as a military training base. As a result, taking pictures (in the military portion) was forbidden and we saw a number of armed guards. In a larger sense, to get there we had to cross from the Greek Cypriot south into the Turkish Cypriot north, divided by a UN monitored ceasefire line (in which, alas, we were also not allowed to take pictures). The border is pretty heavily monitored, with very monitored areas not totally cleared of landmines. Very brief history lesson taken from cyprus44.com:
"When Turkey sided with Germany in World War I, it ended the war a defeated nation, and Cyprus became a British Crown colony in 1925. After World War II, the movement by Greek Cypriots for union with Greece gained momentum, with rioting and violence aimed at the British rulers. In 1957, the UN adopted a resolution to establish and independent Cyprus, and this was ratified in 1960 by the Treaty of Zurich. The Treaty, signed by Britain, Greece and Turkey, also protected the rights of Turkish Cypriots. Unfortunately the treaty did not last, and civil war broke out in 1963. The UN sent in troops and established the Green Line to try and keep the peace. Matters came to a head in 1974 when the Greek National Guard launched a coup against then President Makarios, to promote unity with Greece (known as Enosis). Turkey promptly intervened to protect the interests of Turkish Cypriots, as the terms of the Treaty of Zurich permitted."
Although it declared independence in 1983, the Turkish north has not received international recognition; the Republic of Cyprus (i.e. south Cyprus) is recognized and joined the EU in 2004. In 2003, after heavy dialogue, border crossings were opened and now it is fairly easy to cross.
So there are some tidbits from what was an absolutely phenomenal trip filled with Crusader castles, Greco-Roman temples & theaters, beaches & palm trees, good food, and quality time spent with amazing friends. Now I am back in the Hashemite kingdom. On the plus side, I semi-speak the local language and there are falafel sandwiches for 35 cents; on the down side, it's dusty and I am far from idyllic beaches. Such is life. Yalla bye :)
- We stayed in a two-bedroom apartment a five minute walk from the beach. The weather was gorgeous the entire time, mid- to upper-seventies with a warm sea breeze. Daily activities included walks on the beach and lounging on our balcony, which overlooked a busy square housing cafes, a bakery, and a few random shops.
- Speaking of the beach, we devoted one afternoon (having spent the morning at church) solely to taking naps in the sunshine, swimming, and gazing off across the Mediterranean to the Levant region on the other side. Having just spent almost seven months in a relatively conservative Muslim country, being able to lie around in (modest, one-piece) swimsuits felt incredibly liberating......until we realized that we were surrounded by Middle Eastern Arabs, including men staring at us and veiled women openly giving us disapproving looks. It was also kind of a weird feeling because to that point we had been using Arabic as our private language (since so many people speak English in Cyprus); hearing other people speak Arabic again was interesting. Nevertheless, our day at the beach was pretty idyllic, I must say.
- Pork is a staple meat in Cyprus. This is significant because although it is possible to find pork in Jordan, the stuff is prohibitively expensive and pretty rare. We took full advantage of the culinary abundance, from sausage pizza to pork kebabs to bacon. Yum.
- We spent one day venturing to the castle of St. Hilarion in the Turkish north ( http://www.cyprus44.com/kyrenia/st-hilarion-castle.asp ). The castle sits high atop a mountain overlooking the flat sea plain, coastal towns, and then the ocean. We were high enough up that at one point, light clouds came up the mountain from the coast, wrapping the castle in an almost surreal, fairy tale mist. Speaking of fairy tales, some believe that the castle in the Disney film Snow White is based on this one; I could believe it (some contest that the Disney inspiration is in Germany- in reality, who knows). St. Hilarion's castle is absolutely breathtaking, to say the least.
- To get to the castle, however, we had to go through a rather mountainous area used as a military training base. As a result, taking pictures (in the military portion) was forbidden and we saw a number of armed guards. In a larger sense, to get there we had to cross from the Greek Cypriot south into the Turkish Cypriot north, divided by a UN monitored ceasefire line (in which, alas, we were also not allowed to take pictures). The border is pretty heavily monitored, with very monitored areas not totally cleared of landmines. Very brief history lesson taken from cyprus44.com:
"When Turkey sided with Germany in World War I, it ended the war a defeated nation, and Cyprus became a British Crown colony in 1925. After World War II, the movement by Greek Cypriots for union with Greece gained momentum, with rioting and violence aimed at the British rulers. In 1957, the UN adopted a resolution to establish and independent Cyprus, and this was ratified in 1960 by the Treaty of Zurich. The Treaty, signed by Britain, Greece and Turkey, also protected the rights of Turkish Cypriots. Unfortunately the treaty did not last, and civil war broke out in 1963. The UN sent in troops and established the Green Line to try and keep the peace. Matters came to a head in 1974 when the Greek National Guard launched a coup against then President Makarios, to promote unity with Greece (known as Enosis). Turkey promptly intervened to protect the interests of Turkish Cypriots, as the terms of the Treaty of Zurich permitted."
Although it declared independence in 1983, the Turkish north has not received international recognition; the Republic of Cyprus (i.e. south Cyprus) is recognized and joined the EU in 2004. In 2003, after heavy dialogue, border crossings were opened and now it is fairly easy to cross.
So there are some tidbits from what was an absolutely phenomenal trip filled with Crusader castles, Greco-Roman temples & theaters, beaches & palm trees, good food, and quality time spent with amazing friends. Now I am back in the Hashemite kingdom. On the plus side, I semi-speak the local language and there are falafel sandwiches for 35 cents; on the down side, it's dusty and I am far from idyllic beaches. Such is life. Yalla bye :)
Monday, March 17, 2008
post #2
Two posts in a day! This is what happens when my afternoon lecture gets cancelled.
I've been thinking a lot recently about the concept of an individualist versus a collectivist culture. Simply put, America is much more individualist- achievements are personal, "me/alone time" is a legitimate need, and independence is generally desireable. In general, Jordanian culture is much more collectivist- the family is central, needing "alone time" must mean that something is wrong, and being part of the group is more desireable than venturing out alone. I think that I touched on this a while ago, but I am seeing increasingly how this culture is changing me. When I came to Jordan, I believed that sure, my individualist mentality was a partially a product of my culture, but that it was somehow just part of my innate personality as well. This idea was not really challenged during the fall semester since I was in an apartment, more or less living like I would in a big dorm back in the States. Moving in with a family this semester was a difficult adjustment. Not only did I miss the freedom and independence of apartment life, I resented the familial obligations and expectations (for a while I felt guilty about ever being alone in my bedroom unless I was actually sleeping). The daily mental to-do list actually included "spend time in the presence of host family."
I am happy to say that this is no longer the case. Over the past couple of months, I have become increasingly collectivist while attempting to fit into this culture. I willingly do my homework at the kitchen table (even though my room is quite pleasant now, temperature-wise) because it feels better to be around people. I look forward to those rare times when I get home early enough such that I can eat a late lunch together with my host sisters. My school friends and I joke about group co-dependency, but seriously, it's rare that we go places alone anymore (taking a taxi home alone yesterday felt downright strange). Why go book-hunting in Jabal Amman alone when you could wait for your friend's class to get out and then go together?
I wouldn't say that this change is a good or a bad thing in general. In this culture, it is positive. When I get back to America, my personality will probably just readjust and I'll regain at least some of the individualist tendencies that have been dulled here in Jordan. I find these changes interesting because it suggests that even parts of my personality that I thought were pretty innate are in fact relatively environmentally influenced.
That's all for now; I'll try to get at least one more post in in March. Yalla bye!
I've been thinking a lot recently about the concept of an individualist versus a collectivist culture. Simply put, America is much more individualist- achievements are personal, "me/alone time" is a legitimate need, and independence is generally desireable. In general, Jordanian culture is much more collectivist- the family is central, needing "alone time" must mean that something is wrong, and being part of the group is more desireable than venturing out alone. I think that I touched on this a while ago, but I am seeing increasingly how this culture is changing me. When I came to Jordan, I believed that sure, my individualist mentality was a partially a product of my culture, but that it was somehow just part of my innate personality as well. This idea was not really challenged during the fall semester since I was in an apartment, more or less living like I would in a big dorm back in the States. Moving in with a family this semester was a difficult adjustment. Not only did I miss the freedom and independence of apartment life, I resented the familial obligations and expectations (for a while I felt guilty about ever being alone in my bedroom unless I was actually sleeping). The daily mental to-do list actually included "spend time in the presence of host family."
I am happy to say that this is no longer the case. Over the past couple of months, I have become increasingly collectivist while attempting to fit into this culture. I willingly do my homework at the kitchen table (even though my room is quite pleasant now, temperature-wise) because it feels better to be around people. I look forward to those rare times when I get home early enough such that I can eat a late lunch together with my host sisters. My school friends and I joke about group co-dependency, but seriously, it's rare that we go places alone anymore (taking a taxi home alone yesterday felt downright strange). Why go book-hunting in Jabal Amman alone when you could wait for your friend's class to get out and then go together?
I wouldn't say that this change is a good or a bad thing in general. In this culture, it is positive. When I get back to America, my personality will probably just readjust and I'll regain at least some of the individualist tendencies that have been dulled here in Jordan. I find these changes interesting because it suggests that even parts of my personality that I thought were pretty innate are in fact relatively environmentally influenced.
That's all for now; I'll try to get at least one more post in in March. Yalla bye!
host family, Heba
This posting once a month thing is not how I envisioned the blog, but oh well. I'll try to be better about it.
First, a general update. The host family situation just keeps getting better and better. I help my sisters with their English homework; they make fun of me for chatting with Ruba (host cousin, friend in the program) when we should be studying. I watch the news with my host parents and Star Academy (think Big Brother + American Idol) with my sisters. My host mom makes fun of me for going to bed so early (i.e. before 10pm), but also makes me sandwiches and cucumbers for breakfast. I am progressively finding it easier to contribute to family discussions, a result both of feeling more comfortable and of speaking colloquial better. It occurred to me a few days ago that I will genuinely miss my host family when I leave in a couple months.
In terms of school, probably the most significant aspect of this semester is my language tutor (we'll call her Heba). Heba is in her final year as an Arabic language major; as a result, her colloquial is as close to Modern Standard Arabic as I have ever heard, making it much easier for me to understand. Heba and I meet about three times a week; sometimes we focus on grammar, sometimes on colloquial conversation, sometimes on my homework (if I'm feeling lazy). We can spend an intense hour going over a text for Modern Standard Arabic and I'm prepared for the next three class periods. At the end of each hour with Heba, my brain is fried from concentrating so hard, but it is so beneficial. My friends say sarcastically, "oh, how thrilling!" when I report that Heba and I spent a week on hamzas (a fine point of grammar), but working with her makes me feel like I'm really making progress in Arabic. Moreover, she is considering studying further to become a teacher; tutoring me is useful for her too since Arabic grammar is almost as hard to teach as it is to learn. For example, I emphasized that American students usually learn Arabic grammar in English; therefore, we may already know the concept but still completely miss the explanation in Arabic for lack of terminology. So, I guess this is my little tribute to my language tutor. Although I am, at times, bored in MSA class, I feel like tutoring hours are absolutely never wasted on account of my amazing language tutor, Heba.
PS- for anyone reading this who's tried to contact me via Facebook, it's been getting harder to get on the website since the university blocked it entirely and I rarely ever go to internet cafes. I will try to find one soon though!
First, a general update. The host family situation just keeps getting better and better. I help my sisters with their English homework; they make fun of me for chatting with Ruba (host cousin, friend in the program) when we should be studying. I watch the news with my host parents and Star Academy (think Big Brother + American Idol) with my sisters. My host mom makes fun of me for going to bed so early (i.e. before 10pm), but also makes me sandwiches and cucumbers for breakfast. I am progressively finding it easier to contribute to family discussions, a result both of feeling more comfortable and of speaking colloquial better. It occurred to me a few days ago that I will genuinely miss my host family when I leave in a couple months.
In terms of school, probably the most significant aspect of this semester is my language tutor (we'll call her Heba). Heba is in her final year as an Arabic language major; as a result, her colloquial is as close to Modern Standard Arabic as I have ever heard, making it much easier for me to understand. Heba and I meet about three times a week; sometimes we focus on grammar, sometimes on colloquial conversation, sometimes on my homework (if I'm feeling lazy). We can spend an intense hour going over a text for Modern Standard Arabic and I'm prepared for the next three class periods. At the end of each hour with Heba, my brain is fried from concentrating so hard, but it is so beneficial. My friends say sarcastically, "oh, how thrilling!" when I report that Heba and I spent a week on hamzas (a fine point of grammar), but working with her makes me feel like I'm really making progress in Arabic. Moreover, she is considering studying further to become a teacher; tutoring me is useful for her too since Arabic grammar is almost as hard to teach as it is to learn. For example, I emphasized that American students usually learn Arabic grammar in English; therefore, we may already know the concept but still completely miss the explanation in Arabic for lack of terminology. So, I guess this is my little tribute to my language tutor. Although I am, at times, bored in MSA class, I feel like tutoring hours are absolutely never wasted on account of my amazing language tutor, Heba.
PS- for anyone reading this who's tried to contact me via Facebook, it's been getting harder to get on the website since the university blocked it entirely and I rarely ever go to internet cafes. I will try to find one soon though!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Tela
Ahlan! Apologies for such a long delay. The new semester has begun; regular classes began last week. I moved in with my host family three weeks ago and so far it has been a very positive experience. My family consists of host parents, three sisters (ages 16, 14, and 6), and an array of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Actually, my host mother’s sister and her husband (and Roba, my good friend and classmate) live in the same building, so I see them every day as well. I have eaten wonderful food, including trying okra for the first time! It was stewed with tomatoes and onions and eaten with yogurt and bread- yum. One of my main goals for this semester is to learn to cook Arabic food; insha’Allah it’ll happen.
On a random note, I'm still trying to put pictures up, but I think that the university's wireless connection is just too slow for it to work. I'll try to find a faster connection someplace else this week.
It’s time for Business Writing now, but I’ll leave you with an entry that I wrote on Jan. 28 for the Intercultural Communication journal that we had to keep for a couple of weeks.
28/01/08 - Tela
Last semester, I remember listening to a friend’s tales of living with a maid in her homestay. The way my friend told it, the woman, constantly ordered around by the matriarch of the house, slept on a cot in the kitchen, rose before everyone else in the morning (and was the last to bed), and had almost no personal freedom to speak of. I confided that I was glad that my future host family had no maid. I didn’t know if I could deal with the inevitable awkwardness of having someone there to serve me, and what if having someone at their command would bring out an uglier side of the family I would hope to love?
Her name is Tela, short for much longer name that no one seems able to pronounce. She is a twenty year-old Sri Lankan woman who speaks just a few words of English and even less Arabic. She lives fi beit khalti [in my cousin's (Roba's) house]; her time is shared between our two households. When she arrived last week just a couple of days after it snowed, she was wearing a light, short-sleeved shirt and sandals. Although she never stopped smiling, she looked clearly uncomfortable sitting in my family’s living room. To their credit, my host mother and aunt each made strong, Arab attempts at feeding Tela large amounts of food, making her sit by the soba to warm up, and trying to get her to go straight to bed thereafter. From that moment, I have seen my family treat Tela with full respect. She does wash the dishes and do general housecleaning, but she also sat with us at the latest mass family birthday party and had thrust upon her the same plate of four types of birthday cake as everyone else. If I had doubts about family members’ personalities changing when in command of a maid, those doubts have already been erased.
As pleased as I am with the way my family treats Tela, it does not eliminate the awkward discomfort I feel because of her presence. This evening, Najwa asked if I wanted the maid to clean my room. Before I even thought about it, I responded in the negative and said that I would do it myself. Thinking about this later, I realized that my unwillingness to have her clean my living space was about far more than not wanting someone else touching my stuff. This was where cultures clashed. In Jordan, status is very much conferred. In this hierarchical society, maids are of a significantly, significantly lower status than my host family. Therefore, it is appropriate that they hire her and can order her to do what they want. Regarding her mental capacity, someone mentioned proudly how shatra [clever] she is, especially since Sri Lankans are usually stupid.
Conversely, my reaction (discomfort) to having a maid stems from my culture being one where status is earned and universal equality is an ideal. To me, Tela is not worth any less as a person than anyone else is. I am not surprised that she was able to learn to count to ten in Arabic (prompting the shatra comment); she is probably a perfectly competent woman simply stuck behind a formidable language barrier. In fact, I find myself wanting to help bridge that barrier by having her teach me some phrases in Sri Lankan, more for her sake than mine. I’d like to make her feel a little less alone, a little less uncomfortable, in what I would guess is a strange, intimidating new environment. In terms of her duties as a maid, because of my subconscious assumption that we as humans are equal, there is internal discord at the idea of her cleaning my room or making me tea, things I am perfectly capable of doing myself. Being treated like this makes me feel like a guest in my own home- perhaps a feeling viewed much less negatively in the Arab world than in the U.S.?
And so I find myself treading the line between what is acceptable to me and what is expected from my host family. If she mops my five square feet of tile floor space and runs a dust cloth along the window sill, then okay. I’ll keep the room as clean as possible to keep her role to a minimum. I haven’t yet acted on the desire to learn some Sri Lankan because I am still not sure of what type of relationship is acceptable in this culture. Would it be far below my conferred status to greet her in Sri Lankan, as opposed to her making the effort to greet me in English or Arabic? Am I allowed to attempt to form any sort of friendship with this woman, or should I keep the relationship as formal as possible? I’m still not sure.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
ja jem pstruh!
Happy New Year's, everyone! Insha'Allah all of you have had a safe and pleasant holiday. I'm sitting here in a cafe, my thoughts slightly intruded upon by the sounds of coffee grinding and bass-heavy Arabic music videos. I just reached the bottom of my cup of Turkish coffee, managing to stop right before reaching the grounds in the bottom. This takes a bit of practice (and a few mouthfuls of grainy coffee). After a week of frothy, smooth cappuccini in Italy, Turkish coffee has quite a kick to it.
As a side note, at least the next couple entries will be about winter travels; there is too much to put into a single entry.
The day after returning from Syria, I boarded a Royal Jordanian plane bound for Austria, where my friend "Z" and her uncle met me. We drove back to Pezinok, Slovakia, where I was greeted by Z's mother and grandmother. I should mention that Slovakia is *significantly* colder than Jordan. As in, there were snow flurries when the plane landed in Austria. As in, I spent most of the trip wearing both winter jackets and SmartWool socks. Anyway, after getting settled, drinking hot tea, and eating absolutely delicious Christmas sweets baked by Z's grandmother, Z and I went out to explore Pezinok. Bundling up and going out walking formed a major part of my visit to Slovakia. Walking around Pezinok, walking around Bratislava. On Sunday, we took public transit into Bratislava and attended an English language church service, which was very nice, especially since I hadn't been to church since about the end of July. After the service, we talked to some of Z's friends for a bit and then wandered around the main Christmas market. After looking at crafts and sampling some delectable Slovak foods, we walked to the National Gallery to see a photo exhibit called "Lost Time: 1969-1989." The series of photographs aimed to portray various aspects of Slovak life under Communist 'normalization' (the period following the Soviet invasion characterized by many as a time of economic, political, and social stagnation). It featured scenes from a fading, idealized rural life, to the famous May Day parades, to health & mental institutions. One of the things that really struck me was the idea that certain, government-controlled commodities (as well as, often, employment and shelter) were available in relatively secure abundance, traded for the "relatively Faustian price of soul and freedom." Having learned about Communist-era Europe only briefly in high school (and from an American perspective), visiting Slovakia, talking to Z, and looking at the photographs was absolutely fascinating. Z and I also watched two Czech films, one of which, Pupendo (2003), took place in Communist-era Prague and followed the lives of two families dealing with Communism. One family tries to survive inside the system, the other outside. Not only is it well-made in general, but the film shows the subtle ways in which Communism impacted virtually every aspect of life. Excellent indeed. The other film, Horem Padem (2004), takes place in modern-day Prague. Although it doesn't have nearly as much to do with Communism, the cinematography and engaging, multi-faceted plot line still make the film fantastic- I would definitely recommend both movies.
The title of this entry means "I eat trout!". At my request, Z attempted to teach me a bit of Slovak. "Pstruh" has, for some reason, become my favorite word in Slovak. I think it's because of the long consonantal cluster at the beginning- English very rarely has four consonants in a row.
All for now, more later. Pictures too. Ciao!
As a side note, at least the next couple entries will be about winter travels; there is too much to put into a single entry.
The day after returning from Syria, I boarded a Royal Jordanian plane bound for Austria, where my friend "Z" and her uncle met me. We drove back to Pezinok, Slovakia, where I was greeted by Z's mother and grandmother. I should mention that Slovakia is *significantly* colder than Jordan. As in, there were snow flurries when the plane landed in Austria. As in, I spent most of the trip wearing both winter jackets and SmartWool socks. Anyway, after getting settled, drinking hot tea, and eating absolutely delicious Christmas sweets baked by Z's grandmother, Z and I went out to explore Pezinok. Bundling up and going out walking formed a major part of my visit to Slovakia. Walking around Pezinok, walking around Bratislava. On Sunday, we took public transit into Bratislava and attended an English language church service, which was very nice, especially since I hadn't been to church since about the end of July. After the service, we talked to some of Z's friends for a bit and then wandered around the main Christmas market. After looking at crafts and sampling some delectable Slovak foods, we walked to the National Gallery to see a photo exhibit called "Lost Time: 1969-1989." The series of photographs aimed to portray various aspects of Slovak life under Communist 'normalization' (the period following the Soviet invasion characterized by many as a time of economic, political, and social stagnation). It featured scenes from a fading, idealized rural life, to the famous May Day parades, to health & mental institutions. One of the things that really struck me was the idea that certain, government-controlled commodities (as well as, often, employment and shelter) were available in relatively secure abundance, traded for the "relatively Faustian price of soul and freedom." Having learned about Communist-era Europe only briefly in high school (and from an American perspective), visiting Slovakia, talking to Z, and looking at the photographs was absolutely fascinating. Z and I also watched two Czech films, one of which, Pupendo (2003), took place in Communist-era Prague and followed the lives of two families dealing with Communism. One family tries to survive inside the system, the other outside. Not only is it well-made in general, but the film shows the subtle ways in which Communism impacted virtually every aspect of life. Excellent indeed. The other film, Horem Padem (2004), takes place in modern-day Prague. Although it doesn't have nearly as much to do with Communism, the cinematography and engaging, multi-faceted plot line still make the film fantastic- I would definitely recommend both movies.
The title of this entry means "I eat trout!". At my request, Z attempted to teach me a bit of Slovak. "Pstruh" has, for some reason, become my favorite word in Slovak. I think it's because of the long consonantal cluster at the beginning- English very rarely has four consonants in a row.
All for now, more later. Pictures too. Ciao!
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