Lessons during finals week

Sunday, December 19th.  I fly home in five days.  Wasn't my last post about the items I forgot to pack?

I had my Arabic post-test today to gauge how much Arabic I've learned since I've been here. I have learned so much, and even some Arabic on top of that.

Friday I had lunch at a friend's house. I met his four brothers and some relatives, as per usual.  They served me sacchan: a plate piled high with Arabic flat bread 18" wide and grilled with spices, olive oil, roasted almonds and onions, topped with seasoned chicken.  I was eating too slowly for them to wait to fill my plate with a different dish of rice and chicken, so they made another plate for me.  My friend smiled at me and whispered, "You know you have to finish it all."  The family was so sweet, smiling and talking in Arabic and English while they watched me eat... they were long done by the time I started on the plate of rice.  It felt like Thanksgiving, except now I was eating alone and with an audience.  Lesson #1: hospitality is very important.  Not only are you graciously welcomed into the home, you are treated as family.  And you are fed... a lot. 

After lunch, we talked over chai about American verses Arabic culture, and of course - politics.  Lesson #2: Jordanians, Muslims, Arabs - they are eager to tell me that they are much different from the image portrayed in American media.  They want me to know that they don't have red horns.  They want me to know that they are people.  It is very important to them that I understand this.  Understandably so. 

When the sun was just about to set, we went for a walk in the neighborhood.  We passed an enclosed tent with a line of women in fashionable hijaba garb waiting to enter.  There was music coming from the tent, older women expressed their excitement in loud trills, and the sides of the tent shook from dancing.  The wedding celebration for the women.

Up a ways, we passed another tent where the men were.  It was three sided, opened to passerbys.  All the men were seated.  There was no music and only quiet conversations between the men.  My friend explained that this was the official engagement ceremony.  The women don't need to be present, the bride already knows she is engaged.  But here, the men are sealing the engagement, they are shaking hands, and drinking Arabic coffee.

We stopped walking when the houses ended and the valley opened up below us.  We stood on a ledge, looking out across the valleys and hills of Amman and watched as the sun set over the furthest jebal and the lights turned on little by little.  This is my favorite place in Amman.  Maybe one of my favorite places in the world.  I am not alone: the road along this ledge is lined with parked cars and cabs.  They sit there with their friend, brother, or lover, sipping Nescafe and watching the sky change and the valley light up.

Lesson #3: Jordanians value time spent sitting. Sitting together, always together.

Biblical/Political Jordan

 Decided to hit all the spots in Jordan where our heroes of the Bible visited - thankfully, my program already had the trip planned.

First stop: the Jordan River.  Originally something like 300 feet wide, today there are parts that I can leap over.  This particular spot, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, is about 25 feet wide.  Some gross percentage of the river is being diverted for irrigation - handily blamed on Israel, but Syria plays a large role in taking its water as well. Jordan is the last to take from it, a small 5% or so in comparison to its neighbors.

 After visiting the baptismal sight (which didn't move me spiritually/emotionally - I guess you have to psych yourself up to it, or not surround yourself by 20 year-old IR students snapping pictures and bemoaning the politics of the place), we went to Mt. Nebo.  This is where God allowed Moses to view the Promise Land, but not enter.  That is it behind us: the Promise Land, today known as the West Bank, Israel or Occupied Palestine, depending on who you ask.  (Are you catching on? Politics overwhelms religion.)

 To the right, you can see part of the ancient mosaic map of the Middle East that stretches out over the floor of St. George's Church in Madaba.  This map, completed in the early centuries after Jesus (something around 400 or 500 AD), was used for the sake of guiding Christian pilgrims to the holy places.  In this picture you can see the Dead Sea with the Jordan River flowing into it on the left.  The people in the boat are unrecognizable because it was at the time when saints were not depicted so as not to tempt people to worship the image.

 The remaining pictures are from a mountain by the Dead Sea, home to Herod's palace where John the Baptist was beheaded.  That is the mountain there, on the left, and if you look closely, you can see the ruins on the top.  This was my favorite part of the trip.  Hiking up to the top, then sitting there with the breeze whipping our hair around and watching the sun sink behind the mountains of the West Bank with its reflection forming a glowing bridge over the Dead Sea.  It was quiet, peaceful.  Though I didn't feel awed at being in the place where John the Baptist breathed his last, I did feel the presence of a Creator.

A Traveler's Dilemma

It's raining at last.  November is when the "rains" are supposed to start, but it was a dry month.  Jordan is desperately in need of some rain.  All the new developments have wells to catch any rainwater.  We pray for rain, and then thank God for rain when it eventually comes.

These days, conversations in the program mostly consist of holiday plans, how wonderful Christmas will be in the States, and so on.  Some Jordanian friends have told me they would love to someday experience Christmas in America.  I tell them they should.  And then they look at me like I am silly, and say, "It's almost impossible to get a visa."  

Why? Quite simply - and the embassy does not even try to sugar coat the reasons - because they are twenty something unmarried men, without children, and are originally Palestinian.  It's not just the U.S. of course that has major restrictions on visa applicants.  My friend was requested by a Norwegian international music festival to come and play the oud (classical Middle Eastern instrument) and teach it to music students.  Norway wouldn't let him in, even after the festival appealed three times.  

I understand why there are these restrictions.  Of course I do.  But it's hard having this freedom to travel to most countries and knowing people just like me who want to study elsewhere and to see the world, but can't because they were born in a land that is seen as a threat. It is next to impossible for them to travel to the Western world.  They have to be punished for acts of terrorism that they themselves condemn. 

But what else can America do, or any other western nation?  A child's cry of "it's not fair," is unproductive. 

What's (not) in the news...

There are three things considered haram (forbidden) to talk about in public media, and often times in public as well:

1) Allah
2) sex
3) politics - especially domestic politics, no criticizing the king

Just think about the effects this can have on a society.

Eid al-Shkra (Thanksgiving)

I was a little sad that I couldn't celebrate Thanksgiving with my family, but I did learn how to have Thanksgiving in a country that obviously does not celebrate this holiday, or even have pumpkins.

We had classes on Thursday, but that didn't set back the girls and I who planned to have a Thanksgiving feast that night.  We scoured the supermarket for any Thanksgiving like foods, took our goods back to our various kitchens, and set about preparing our designated dishes.  I was in charge of the sweet potato souffle and sweet potato pie.  I had to buy a million and one sweet potatoes because here they are the size of Vienna Fingers.  Samanthi, the maid, helped me peel the potatoes.  Then I bonded with my host sister as we threw sugar, eggs, milk and cinnamon into various bowls, and mashed the potatoes into oblivion.  My friends insisted on putting marshmallows on the souffle (what the heck?) but I complied, and sprinkled the dish with pink and yellow heart shaped marshmallows.  Marshmallows are more of a sweet snack for children, I learned, instead of for hot cocoa or s'mores.

The spread was impressive.  Sliced deli turkey, french bread, gravy from a packet, stuffing from a box, cranberry sauce from a can, mashed potatoes from a bag, and chai.  Afterward, we ate homemade pecan pie and sweet potato pie.  It more than sufficed for a Thanksgiving abroad.  More importantly, we were thankful for the support we provided each other in a place that is so extremely different from home and thankful for the opportunity to gather as we did to celebrate Thanksgiving.

The Good and the Bad

Eid al-Adha is over.  Students are back from their excursions around the Middle East.  I am lamenting the lack of pumpkin in Jordan.  Term paper deadlines are approaching fast and furious while available weekends are diminishing at a seemingly more rapid pace.  I am engrossed in research about the Moslem Brethren of Syria - unfortunately, Syria does not like to publish anything that might mar their reputation.  And I am out of peanut butter.

Thus, I think it is the perfect time to share with you what I love about Jordan.

1) I know I've said this before, but I love the evenings.  The air is cool, the setting sun casts a pink glow on the white buildings of the city, things quiet down, and visitors come calling to sit on the veranda and sip chai while enjoying relaxed conversation.  I often curl up on the couch with various members of my host family, and half watch the TV, half listen to the conversations around me.  Evenings are beautiful.

2) I love the call to prayer.  Five times throughout the day, it gives a sense of continuity and stability to the day, the week, to life.  The prayers are not all the same: some lamenting and sad, some deep and beautiful, and some passionate and commanding.  I don't know what they say, but nonetheless, the sound is beautiful, echoing from minaret to minaret to cover the city in reminder to pray. (Side note: Koranic verse is very complicated because of its old vernacular - many Arabs do not understand what some of the words mean.)

3) There is something delightful about standing in line at the closest falafel shop to get your 50 cent sandwich.  The pita is warm, the falafel is fresh, and the hummus is creamy: zakey kateer and the perfect mid-day lunch to get you through the rest of the day's classes.

4) When you greet someone here and ask how they are doing, a common response is alhamdulillah, meaning "Praise be to God."  I find that nice.  If their day is going well, they immediately respond by giving God the credit.  I know that the response has become casual and probably off-hand without much thought to the meaning, but as a foreigner to this culture, I find the practice interesting.

5) Produce trucks - I really like the produce trucks.  Not only do they sit on the side of the road loaded to overflowing with fresh bananas, pomegranates, etc., often topped with a young boy sitting non-chalantly on his throne of fruit; these trucks are also bejeweled with hearts and swirls of metallic colors painted on the truck's sides. It's a fun sight.

6) Finally, I like the cats.  They are at every dumpster, by every street corner: calicoes, tortoise-shelled, tabbies, every color with yellow and green eyes pausing to watch you pass.  These are cats that frequent trash heaps, but their grace and posture would have them exploring marble halls instead. 

These are just a few things I like about Jordan, but these six are what I see and experience everyday.  Little things, yet they are happy.
 
A happy Thanksgiving to all!

Brewings Over Coffee

I sat behind the counter with the shop owner, talking about politics, religions and cultures, sipping the drink of choice in Jordan: Nescafe.  I walk by his shop everyday going to class, saying "marhaba!" as I pass.  With classes off for Eid Al-Adha, I was able to finally have our promised conversation over coffee.  It was the second conversation of the day about Israel, Palestine, and American politics in the region.  Jordanians certainly have their opinions.  And if they're Palestinian, they hold tightly to their wounds and cling to their memories.  "We have been here for fifty years, and everyday I have heard my father talk about his home in Palestine.  Everyday." Many say they just don't understand why the land can't be shared, why Israel wants it all, why Hamas keeps killing.  "There are no differences between the Arabs and the Americans - except that America decided to support Israel.  That is the only reason for trouble.  Arabs do not understand why America takes the side of Israel."

I have to choose my responses carefully, mostly I resort to nodding my head, listening and saying, "it is sad," from time to time.  It's not my goal to argue - I want to listen.  At some point in almost every conversation like this, I am asked, "Why are you studying here?  Why politics? It is so complicated and politicians are liars everywhere."  I tell them I am here because I don't understand, but want to.  There is too much ignorance and I wanted to learn the stories here and not just be taught the American perspective. 

There is a lot of ignorance in the States.  I came here so that I would not have to be influenced solely by the perspectives of my American professors, peers and family.  As much as I respect those opinions, there is another side to the story that I don't hear.  In Jordan, I have found another ignorance.  They tell me that they know what it is like in America.  I am told that we are all blinded by the Jewish influence on the media.  That we only see it one way and will never take the side of the Arabs.  I am told what we Americans think and why we think it.  (I am talking only about politics here, but their ideas about our culture and lifestyles are as great and broad as our perception of the Arab culture and lifestyle.) They then tell me what the Israeli government thinks and why they continue their settlements.  The Jordanians inform me of the Palestinians desire to take over in Jordan and the Palestinians tell me of the Jordanian persecution of Palestinians.  There is a lot of animosity between Jordanians and Palestinians, between Arabs and the American government (I have been told countless times that they love the American people, they just don't agree with the government), and obviously the animosity between Arabs and Israelis.  And ignorance feeds this animosity on the local level.

So, I continue to have these conversations.  Sometimes their perceptions about America or their neighbors make me frustrated and upset.  But their opinions are tied to their emotions and what they feel in this conflict.  Whether it is sparked from their family having to become refugees in their homeland, or having to see their country absorb these refugees and host the tensions that arise from this land sharing - in the end, it is an issue that is part of their life everyday.  And it is their life that is important, sah?

Trip to Jerash and Umm Qais: my fill of ruins

Stone oven on which the best zeit u zaitar is made

Zeit u Zaitar is a olive oil and herb and sesame seed mix that is spread over dough that is cooked on the stone.  Mostly eaten for breakfast, my host dad always buys it after prayers on Friday mornings. 

In the picture below, the hills in the background are in Syria.  One of the countries in the region that I am not allowed to enter unless I purchase an expensive visa in advance.  Otherwise, I will be rejected at the border.

I also discovered that I probably would not want to go to Greece for the sake of seeing ruins.  I'm not that big of a fan.  Sorry to all of you die-hard history buffs who find delight in each Corinthian pillar - I will leave them to you.  As for myself, I will continue to search for summits and wadis and views to sketch. :-)

Boy in Olive grove by the border of Syria

Entrance to Jerash

Exploring Jerash with Laura

Not a big fan of ruins but Jerash was pretty cool

Umm Qays

Jerash and Irbid: old and new

Tropical Desert Adventure

Last Friday saw me chest deep in a fresh stream pushing through reeds and wondering where my machete was.  This is Wadi Hasa - one of the few streams left flowing through Jordan.  I was with a group of 9 other students and Fulbrighters, led by two guides who knew the Wadi like their own hand.

One of the first turns in the stream dropped over a ledge into a deep pool.  We were instructed to cross our arms and go for it.  The drop was about 15 feet.  It was such a thrill.  Thus started our tedious 4 kilometer trek following the stream bed and various instructions such as, "At this waterfall, brace yourself against the rocks on either side, and stick your foot partially down and into the waterfall to find a ledge.  You must launch yourself off this ledge or else you won't clear the rock at the base of the waterfall just under the surface that will break your knees."  We jumped off cliffs, waded through mud, caught crabs, pushed through some more reeds, battled up against the current and sought out overlooks that were breathtaking.  Local boys followed us for a ways and watched us as we cliff jumped before launching their skinny, browned bodies into the pools.

Here I learned that the mud filling our shoes is the same mud that fills the Ahava Dead Sea Mud bottles.  The mud at the Dead Sea is too salty to be good for your skin without being desalinized first.  Thus, streams such as the one flowing through Wadi Hasa are harvested for their fresh, and just-as-nutrient-rich, mud.

As you can probably guess, no cameras - as they were bound to be destroyed in the water.

At the end of the hike, we skipped streams to follow a hot spring into a pool that was dammed up a little to create a natural jacuzzi.  Our guides made tea as we rested our bruised legs in the warm water. It was incredible: sitting their in this hot spring surrounded by reeds and trees that flourish around this rare stream, and just a little beyond the large yellow mountains of the desert that make up most of Jordan.  I had to pause and turn to my friend to say, "Kaitlin, look where we are!"

Mahmoud Darwish

I know I am behind on blogs.  I have to write about my Indiana Jones-esque excursion last week to Wadi Hasa, among other things.  But right now I want to share a poem by the late Mahmoud Darwish, who was declared "the voice of the Palestinian people."  I have to write an essay about him in Arabic as part of a midterm, and stumbled across this poem called Identity Card.  This poem seems to capture the sentiment I have picked up in conversation with Palestinians in Jordan.  Which reminds me of this conversation I had last night that I will share, but don't have time because it is already past eleven and this essay isn't finished!  Anyways, appreciate the poem.   

"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ And the number of my card is fifty thousand/ I have eight children/ And the ninth is due after summer./ What's there to be angry about?

"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ Working with comrades of toil in quarry./ I have eight children/ For them I wrest the loaf of bread,/ The clothes and exercise books/ From the rocks/ And beg for no alms at your door,/ Lower not myself at your doorstep,/ What's there to be angry about?

"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ I am a name without a title,/ Patient in a country where everything/ Lives in a whirlpool of anger./ My roots/ Took hold before the birth of time/ Before the burgeoning of the ages,/ Before cypress and olive trees,/ Before the proliferation of weeds./ My father is from the family of the plough/ Not from highborn nobles./ And my grandfather was a peasant/ Without line or genealogy./ My house is a watchman's hut/ Made of sticks and reeds./ Does my status satisfy you?/ I am a name without a surname.

"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ Color of hair: jet black./ Color of eyes: brown./ My distinguishing features:/ On my head tje 'iqal cord over a keffiyeh/ Scratching him who touches it./ My address:/ I am from a village, remote, forgotten,/ Its streets without name/ And all its men in the fields and quarry.

"What's there to be angry about?

"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ You stole my forefathers' vineyards/ And land I used to till,/ I and all my children,/ And you left us and all my grandchildren/ Nothing but these rocks./ Will your government be taking them too/ As is being said?

"So!/ Put it on record at the top of page one:/ I don't hate people,/ I trespass on no one's property./ And yet, if I were to become hungry/ I shall eat the flesh of my usurper./ Beware, beware of my hunger/ And of my anger!"

- Mahmoud Darwish, 1941-2008

Thoughts on a full stomach

Asifa - sorry!  The internet has been down. 

So, last Thursday I joined my family in driving across the city to the relatives.  After kissing everyone in the family (I have figured it out: one kiss on the left cheek and three or more on the right cheek, in most cases) I was told to sit down at the dining table and I watched as two enormous platters piled high with mansef were brought to the table.  Mansef is a traditional rice and lamb dish sprinkled with toasted almonds and served with leban, a yogurt sauce.  One dish was placed on the dining table, the other on what looked like a round coffee table.  The women sat down at the table with their dishes and utensils, and the men stood around the coffee table (the platter filled up the entire table).  As us ladies served ourselves on plates and ate with forks, the men simply cupped their right hand and scooped up the rice and lamb in front of them, tossing it a little in their hand before eating it. I was grateful for the fork and knife. The men were a mess. There was a lot of laughing as the family took turns explaining this tradition and as the men would turn to look at me and smile with rice all over their hands and face.  The leban was poured over the rice and lamb.   Dina's sister-in-law offered to pour me a glass of leban to drink, but from my reaction, she laughed and didn't pour me any.  This is a very filling (and fatty) meal: lamb, white rice, and yogurt - all in Middle Eastern proportions.  The family told me stories of how relatives have passed out for five hours after eating mansef.

When the dishes were cleared, we gathered in the family room and someone put in the wedding dvd of Dina's brother and sister-in-law, who were married in the spring.  The family laughed and argued about different parts of the footage, and explained all the traditions.  At one point, when the bride and groom crossed arms and drank what looked like champagne, everyone laughed at my confusion and explained that it was non-alcoholic.  Most of the footage was of the guests and wedding party dancing and singing.  They explained that weddings start around 5 in the evening at the bride's home, then progress to the hotel or reception place (there is a procession of cars through the city blaring their horns and shouting out the car windows - I have seen several pass by).  At the reception they dance until two or three in the morning.  The whole thing was dancing (and not aided by any sort of spirits, just sayin')! All in all, the explanations of the wedding further highlighted how central family is to the society.  Even their socializing (evening guests are most often relatives) and their living situations (the house we were at was two houses down from the children and other extended family who lived in an addition above the house - a side addition was being made for a sister). 
I would love to go to a wedding.  My peer tutor is getting married in January and invited me to come. Only problem is we have a hard enough time trying to set up a coffee date.  Insha'allah, I will attend one.

about taxis

There are three ways I can die in a taxi; four ways that a cab can claim my life:

1) death by accident: taxi drivers love to live on the edge, stopping within inches of the car (and often pedestrian) in front of them.  Also, the streets are so oily and it never rains, so when it does rain, sirens are wailing.

2) death by second hand smoke: because drivers are a) stressful drivers and b) Jordanians, they are naturally chain smokers.  The amount of cigarette smoke I inhale in the back of the cab is equivalent to smoking myself.

3) death by pollution: similar to smoke, the pollution in Amman is astronomical, especially from black exhaust smoke that billows from cars that shouldn't have passed inspection ten years ago.  And with no A.C. in the cars the windows are left open - which does help lessen the chance of death number 2, but increases, death number 3.

4) death by heart attack: driving in a cab is very stressful.  Not for the weak of heart.  :)

Ahlan! Welcome to Amman!

p.s.  I feel as if I should insert a Yenta quote from Fiddler on the Roof: "But I don't complain, not like the other woman, *tsk tsk*, not I! Not Yenta!" - I probably butchered that quote.

Camels and snorkeling and Petra, oh my!!!!

Our jeeps!

I just had one of the most amazing weekends of my life!  The program set up a three day trip through southern Jordan, rushing us through some major destinations to give us an idea of what there is to do.

On Thursday we skipped classes and bused down to Wadi Rum, one of the desert wadis in Jordan that is barren, harsh and breathtaking.  We were herded from the bus onto camels - my camel was named Gelby and we bonded quickly - and the camel caravan of 140 set off through the desert, stopping a couple times along the way to climb large rock formations.  At one stop I rolled down a sand dune with a friend and cut my back on stick or rock.  I hate being dizzy so I have no idea why I did that.  :) After riding the camels for four or so hours, we stopped to watch the sunset, then walked down the dunes to the bedouin campsite where we were fed a rich meal of kebab on rice, with babaganoosh and hummus for pita, hot tortillas just off the baking stone to scoop up the cool cucumber salad with yogurt, accompanied by assorted olives.  The chai was served in juice glasses (as is the custom) and soft drinks were available.  We sat around low tables and on cushions, while several men played traditional music. A friend and I got up to dance with them, and many students followed suit.  So much energy, such good music and scrumptious food! After dinner and dancing, a couple of my friends and I went out of the camp to lay on some rocks and look at the stars.  They were spectacular, with nothing to veil them from sight.  

The next morning found the traveling party piling into 4-wheeling jeeps to race across the desert, losing the tire tracks, without a second thought.  After three hours of bumping around, taking pictures, and scrambling up more rocks to pose on the natural rock bridge or explore the fortress of Lawrence of Arabia, we found a paved road that led us back to our buses.  The buses took us straight to Aqaba where we were bustled onto three different boats - I had the pleasure of being on the wooden "pirate" ship - and sailed away on the Red Sea to some of the best coral reefs to go snorkeling.  What an experience!  Words can't even described the color of the sea and all the life in those reefs! I have never snorkeled before and the experience was incredible!  I feel as if I need to adopt a whole new vocabulary to describe the life underwater!  It was as though I was on the discovery channel.  So awesome!

The Red Sea

Salty and sun burned, we were put on the buses again and set off for the second bedouin camp, this time in Petra.  By this point in the trip we were all tired and hungry.  Upon arrival, a hot meal of lamb and rice was set before us.  At this camp we had the option to sleep outside, which I would normally, but the students talked late into the night so I just camped in a tent with a friend.  In the morning, half of us opted for a six mile hike through the desert up and around the mountains to enter Petra through the "back door."  The hike was mostly uphill but the views of the region were wonderful.  It was fascinating to watch herders with their goats and sheep in places that seemed stripped of any vegetation or water.  There was one part of the trail that narrowed to a ledge 4 inches wide, so we had to cling to the rocks in order not to fall into the valley below.  And then Petra!  We arrive and oh my word, this city!  We had limited time there, so I must go back.  There were children running all over, calling out, "Miss, do you want a donkey ride?"  "Do you want post cards?"  and compliments left and right in broken english as they try to sell their little items.  Some of the ruins were crude remnants of what was a courtyard or building, while others looked like they were constructed just a few decades ago. It takes at least two full days to explore everything, and we only had an afternoon.  There were a lot of tourists and it was fun trying to identify the various Eastern European countries represented.  American tourists stuck out like a sore thumb.  Haha!

A bit of our camel caravan

Words can't adaquately describe the trip.  Pictures will help.  But I am about to go camping in a wildlife preserve, so the pictures will come later.  Sorry.  :-(


Salam!

Pics are up!

Petra!

There are obviously many things about a Jordanian lifestyle that differs from my own in the states.  One of those differences is one I would love to adopt: visiting hours.  This is the time of day, when the stars are just appearing, when the family is mostly gathered around the TV - but of course never paying attention to it - and dinner is finished.  Then there is a call from outside, "Ya Abu Nadeem!" (translated: hey you, father of Nadeem - the oldest son in the house).  The visitor is warmly greeted with multiple kisses (the kiss per cheek ratio is one I am still trying to figure out) and he or she is either brought inside, or if the evening is nice - which it most often is - everyone gathers on the veranda.  Samanti the maid, is called for to bring chai and something sweet to nibble on, either some figs or a fruit dessert.  The next hour or so is spent, talking, arguing, playing cards, and just visiting in the cool evening breeze enjoying hot chai from juice glasses.  It is lovely.  Almost every night, a neighbor or relative calls, no invitation or calling ahead, because a welcome is always guaranteed. I love visiting hour.

Thought I should share a little culture with you in this blog.  Let me introduce you to knafe.  It is a delicious traditional dessert made with warm sweet cheese encased and fried in shredded phylo pastry.  A pomegranate sauce can be served with it.  It looks like this:

And then there is Nancy.  She is the family favorite as far as singers go.  Amman loves her too.  There is one song that plays everywhere and the music video is entertaining.  You can listen to the song here: Nancy Ajram "Fi Hagat.

More pictures are coming. The internet has been a little slow lately.  The ones that are up are from some Byzantine ruins in the heart of Amman.

Tomorrow morning I leave for a three day trip with the program to visit Wadi Rum, Aqaba and Petra!

Salam!

Jabel al-Qala'a

9/23/2010

Dead Sea mud

Dead Sea, none of them are touching the bottom

View from my hotel

Circles are crazy in Amman, no yielding

A Sense of Fashion

Fashion is very important in Amman.  I have not seen one girl dressed in just jeans and a long sleeve tee.  They are very put together.  Marina, my host sister who also goes to the university, says that there is pressure to dress well and impress the peers. 

Most girls at the university wear the hijab, the veil that covers only their hair.  However, I don't have to look far or long to see girls with their faces covered as well.  Some wear the full gown with the gloves, not showing any skin.  But what I have noticed is that the hijab is very much a part of their style.  The scarf coordinates with the rest of the outfit, and girls will wrap it in various ways, creating a ruffled edge, adding in sequined pins, and so on.  The veil is clearly a part of their wardrobe selection, and it makes a fashion statement. 

It is interesting being in a country where the dress standard is so different.  I am very conscious of when I am showing my forearms or even my collar bones.   Walking next to some of these girls, I feel half dressed.  And dressed poorly in comparison.  Whereas, in the U.S. I would not think twice about a t-shirt or shorts.  And the shoes they wear!  I don't understand how they walk on these sidewalks and roads with 4 inch high heels.  I get blisters from my flip flops and would probably kill myself trying to navigate the streets in treacherous footwear.   

Side note, the card reader does not work.  I will have to keep looking for something with which to upload my pictures.  Going to a flee market today!

Salam! 

Welcome to Jordan

I here this often, mostly from cab drivers, "Welcome to Jordan!"  If I am lucky, they won't take advantage of my lack of Arabic and familiarity with the city.  If I'm unlucky, they won't start the meter in the cab, will charge 5 dinars (whereas any ride in the city will be under 3 dinars), or take a longer route.  Cabs are fun. 

I live in Dbouk, in villa #10.  (Property is not called a villa or an estate for no reason in Amman.)  Dina, my host mom, designed this house, and she calls it her dream home.  It certainly is.  The neighborhood is at the highest point in Amman, neighbor to King Abdullah II himself.  I can see his palace walls two miles away from my courtyard.  The sunsets over the city are wonderful from my vantage point.  Naseem, my 11 year old host brother, took me out to a hill, where we sat and sketched the villas on the opposite hill.   Dina asked if he watched carefully how I draw, and he said, "I memorized."

My host family is very sweet, always "feel right at home," "do whatever you want" and most importantly, "EAT!"  I hear that word every time I come home from class, anytime I do anything.  It's "eat!" "eat!" "eat!"  And Jordanian food is the best.  Dina explained in great length how nowhere else in the Middle East will you find food as good as Jordanian food.  She loves explaining things, for which I am very grateful.  Dina owns her own salon, designed the house, makes delectable sweets, and gardens beautifully. 

Classes started on Sunday, and I am looking forward to learning the colloquial Arabic.  It is very frustrating not speaking the language.  Learning Fasah - the modern standard Arabic - on the other hand, is not going to be a joy ride.  Tareq, my host father, even said that Jordanians don't understand fasah.  Oh well.

I bought a card reader for my camera so I will be uploading pictures soon! 

Salam!

FYI

Marhaba! Some of you asked about sending letters and such.  I have an address, so if you want it, shoot me an email (peters_en@denison.edu) or facebook me and I will give it to you.
Be warned, mail here sometimes has a hard time leaving from or getting to Jordan.  Letters shouldn't be a problem though, insh'allah. 
The best form of communication is skype.  Just send me a message telling me what times are good to talk, and we can set up a skype "date" that way! 
I am using the internet in the hotel.  I don't think my host family will have internet, but we'll see!  I meet them in half an hour!  More later!
Salam!

Marhaba!  I am here, and honestly if this post consisted of only exclamation points, that would suffice.   I don't think I have stopped grinning.   My first full day here was spent at a resort at the Dead Sea for several hours of orientation, lunch of shwarma wraps, and then to do as we please.  Floating in the Dead Sea is such an experience, but having done it before, it is pretty funny to watch 100 students react to bobbing like apples in the water.   I haven't really slept yet because of planes, jet lag, paper thin walls, babies, call to prayer, unidentifiable music, and a head cold.  But chances are good for tonight as I am quite exhausted. 

Some things I have learned:

1)   Hummus does not truly exist outside the Middle East

2)   There is such a thing as a hijab bathing suit: sort of like a wet suit, but with a dress-suit worn over the pants with a hood attached

3)   The toilets don't flush toilet paper, there are trash cans for this purpose

4)   I left my camera cord at home, working on obtaining one to upload pics

5)   New Jersey drivers in roundabouts are nothing compared to Jordanian drivers in their roundabouts.  I am glad I have no opportunity to drive here

6)   Internet is painfully slow – expect a post about once a week, no more

Much love to all!

eve of departure

Hello! Marhaba!  This is my blog, which I will hopefully update with my stories of travel and study in Jordan and the surrounding countries.  Let's do this: I will try to keep the posts short and interesting and you will comment.  Or else this will be a boring monologue and I don't like myself that much.

Well, my trip hasn't started quite yet.  But I am mostly packed, with my bag bursting at the seams, quite literally.  Need to find room for a pillow.  One duffel, one backpack.  Departure time: 6:45 pm tomorrow.  If I was organized enough to keep a checklist, I think everything would be checked off.  Except for those couple "oh, yeah" items scribbled at the bottom of said non-existent checklist.  I've got 23 hours to remember the final items.
Packing is a skill I am still cultivating.
Next post, in Amman!  Or maybe Amsterdam.  I have a 4 hour layover.