Out With Megan One More Time

Cairo, Egypt
This was one of the things I was really looking forward to about going to Egypt ... seeing the town with Megan and her friends! We started out with a rooftop drink downtown. The girl with the very short hair is Lisa, who will be doing research in Amman this summer. She told us some fascinating stories about how she is repeatedly mistaken for a boy (7abiibi) in Arab culture, and the kind of trouble this gets her into. When she tries to explain that she's a girl, she's met with disbelief or worse; sometimes she tries to play the part of 7abiibi, but if she ever slips out of character, that's much worse. Interestingly, although in Israel/Palestine she also gets scripted as a Palestinian boy by Israeli military, there she says that she can "have fun with it." Through the whole story, I kept thinking, Dr. Scalenghe should hear this!

Then Megan and I took the other girls home and put them to bed (their loss!), picked up Galaal, and went out dancing! I should go dancing more often, it's fun and great exercise, but it's all about the right people to go with....

Dervishes and Al-Fishawwi

Khan al-Khalili, Cairo, Egypt

I know it's not the real traditional whirling of Mevlana Rumi's dervishes, but it was still quite a spectacular show, seeing the dervishes whirl in Wikalat al-Ghuri on the edge of Khan al-Khalili market in Cairo. They really don't spot on some physical space like a ballerina. As I taught my students at "nerd camp," they spot on their dhikra, on the Name of God that guides them and holds them. And I see what the woman from the UU Church of Bloomington meant about the footwork being special. Dervishes don't whirl on their toes or the balls of their feet like ballet dancers. Instead, one leg pushes while the other foot turns on its heel. And not only was the dancing incredible, but the location was amazing, the courtyard of an old caravanserai.

Then we went and met Galaal for a cup of tea. There's something so frenetic about Cairo, and yet in the heart of Khan al-Khalili, the biggest market in one of the biggest cities in the world, somehow I didn't mind the chaos as I usually do. In general, cities overwhelm me, and you'd think that sitting outside of the historic al-Fishawwi Cafe in the middle of the market would completely undo me. But even as the vendors marched past, one after another pushing rugs and alabaster and jewelry and henna designs in my face, I found it oddly invigorating, and so typical of the Arab World you read about in Romantic literature....

And it was so much fun to hang with Galaal and Megan! I sure miss those guys! It would only have been better if Zoe could have met up with us, too.

Suburban Seventh Wonder

Giza, Egypt

From Giza

Okay, so they're not that small, but while the pyramids are impressive, they're not as enormous as myth (and Stargate!) presents them, and the encroaching suburban sprawl and smog of Giza does, it's true, rather detract from the impact.

As I had done in Luxor, though, I tried to imagine what it must have been like to approach such structures from the perspective of a lowly ancient Egyptian. Unless you were involved in the actual building of these monuments, it must have been easy to believe that the pharoahs who had built them were sons of the gods!

From Giza

Luxor Marathon!

Luxor, Egypt

This might go down under "Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time" in my book.... Egypt is cheap, and since I was staying with Megan I didn't have to pay for a hotel room, but still, I was determined to be as thrifty as possible. If I was going to pay for the train to Luxor and back, I wasn't going to spend money on a hotel. But while I remember sleeping pretty well on trans-European sleeper trains, Egyptian trains are not as smooth a ride. Still, it was an awesome day. I arrived in the cool early morning to see Karnak bathed in golden light.

From Luxor

Then I proceeded across the river and headed straight for the Valley of the Kings. You can't take pictures inside, which is only one of many things that Petra could learn from the Egyptian authorities. Tourism is detrimental to archaeological sites, from flash photography, to litter and graffiti, to the very air they breathe. While Jordan has let the sudden increase of tourists in the last year trample right over the best interests of preservation, Egypt has not, forbidding photography of sensitive sites and restricting tourists to seeing only 3 tombs on a given day in the Valley of the Kings. As a result, the tombs are pristine and astonishing, most still brightly painted. It's something I'd love to chat with Chris Tuttle about some day soon.

From Luxor

Then I saw the stunning Temple of Hapshetsut. By the time I got to lunch, I was starting to tire.

From Luxor

That was when the Arabic teacher I had hired to drive me had a brilliant idea, called up some of his high school students, and put me on a falucca on the river to see the sunset.

From Luxor

Two thoughts kept running through my head. From The Wind In The Willows:

There's nothing more worth doing than messing about in boats.

and from my father:

A bad day on the water is better than a good day at work!

From Luxor

In the end, this was anything but a bad day!

Egyptian Museum

Cairo, Egypt

From Cairo Museum

Before I left, my roommate Ryan characterized the Egyptian Museum as the warehouse in Indiana Jones where they shut the Holy Grail away to gather dust, and I have to say that it's a reasonable analogy. Still, there were some truly stunning exhibits.

The most amazing bits for me were probably in the jewelry exhibits. There were the most exquisite pieces of woven seed beads, and finely etched miniature animals and other delights. There were some incredibly detailed gold miniatures of animals, not even an inch tall, that made me wonder what in the world they'd use them for. I started to wonder if ancient Egyptians carried medicine pouches like some Native Americans.... In fact, almost every piece of jewelry was not only beautiful, but served some symbolic purpose, invoking the protection of one god or another upon the wearer. I kept thinking, on my way through, "I wish Carter were here to see this!" In the jewelry as in other things, I was struck by how the beautiful and the functional were merged in most of what was on display. This is no doubt in part because what remains of ancient Egyptian life reflects the lives of the rich, but still I was struck by how nothing was incidental or disposable.

Of course, no tomb was richer than that of Tutankhamun, not because he was the richest pharoah, but because his tomb was better hidden than most. Plenty of amazing things have been recovered from his tomb, including the famous death mask, but it was the mundane things that really struck me. There were gloves, sandals, and even socks with big toes to be worn with thong sandals. I listened in as one German tour guide pointed out the incredibly fine stitching on a set of underthings for King Tut. There was a large collection of walking sticks which, interestingly, were carved at the handles with images of Nubians and Syrians and other such enemies of the state, so that the pharoah could properly humiliate them at every turn. They were displaying pieces of clothing that had been buried with the treasures, and bouquets of flowers, and all sorts of mundane things ... and that was just what made it onto display!

But some of the most incredible and fun things that I saw in the collection were models. Pharoahs and other people of wealth were buried with all the things they could possibly need when they returned for the afterlife, including all the people who allowed them to live in the fashion to which they had become accustomed in their first life. They were buried with granaries, carpentry workshops, teams of fishermen, model ships and their crews, weavers' halls, breweries, farmers ploughing and women grinding grain, even whole armies of Nubian archers. As a result, we have a very detailed picture of how ordinary people in Egypt lived, as well as the riches of the upper crust of the Kingdoms. One of my favorites was the pair of boats dragging a fishing net, weighted with stones on one side, and suspended by floaters on the other. (You're not allowed to take photos inside the Egyptian Museum, which is good archival policy, but you can find anything on the World Wide Web!)

I went out of my way to find this family portrait, too, which displays a scribe for one royal or another who was a dwarf. I guess I'm oddly drawn to the stories of marginalized peoples, but I also couldn't tell from the description in Lonely Planet what they meant by "his children are strategically placed where his legs should be."

Watch out, Pharoah!

Amman, Jordan

I'm on my way to Egypt to visit my old roomie Megan, bearing greetings from half of Amman and most of Mshairfeh with me. (And one hot valore track suit!) Stay tuned!

"Maryah Has Real Arab Friends!"

or, Heba Comes To the Village

or, Everyone Should Learn To Use a Squatter

Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

From Heba In Mshairfeh

We'd been talking about it for weeks, and my work schedule finally obliged. Yesterday morning, Heba and I set out for the village. It had been almost 6 months since my last visit, and people were starting to feel like I'd forgotten them in the big metropolis, and I was starting to lose my connection to the "real" Jordan. Heba just needed, as she put it, a reality check. She's in the weird limbo of many bi-cultural kids: not quite Jordanian, not quite American, and struggling to balance the two. Negotiating a balance between these two cultures is part of what makes Heba and I such great friends.

From Heba In Mshairfeh

Dar Nasri and the other families of Mshairfeh have gotten used to me bringing my very American friend Megan up to the village, to see the real Jordan, beyond Amman and Petra. So of course they took one look at Heba and assumed she was another American. "Maryah! Does she understand Arabic?" And I would turn to Heba - "tifhami 3arabi?" - and let her field the question. In fact, Heba was a joy to take to the village, because there was absolutely no need for me to translate anything, and she always knew the right things to say at the right moment. (Of course, she didn't take belly dancing lessons from the girls, which made Megan an instant hit!)

From Heba In Mshairfeh

It's not unusual for Heba to provoke this reaction, though. Even in Amman, perfect strangers will start to speak to me in Arabic, will look at Heba, and will ask me, "tifham 3arabi?" [Does she understand Arabic?] Even I sometimes forget that she's not an American.

From Heba In Mshairfeh

But the real highlight of the evening for Heba and I was potty training! Despite having lived more than half her life in Jordan, Heba had never used a Turkish or squatter toilet, so when she could no longer hold it any longer, we slipped into the unfinished back room of Wijdan's house, and I taught Heba how to do it. She was so proud of herself, she immediately texted several friends (including my roommates!) to tell them what she'd accomplished. Now we can dress her up and take her out!

From Heba In Mshairfeh

I'm starting to think that everyone should have to use a squatter at least once in their life. At risk of sounding too much like my Marxist roommate, more than half the world's population pees in a hole, and it's not that bad! Especially in Jordan, where you have a nice ceramic base to stand on, and real plumbing out to the septic. As we used to say, "This ain't your mud hut African Peace Corps!"

From Heba In Mshairfeh

Beyond Stereotypes

Amman, Jordan

Jad was incredibly diplomatic in his blog about the kinds of questions the Danish ambassador was asked to field, but he was right about one thing: the ambassador did an impressive job of fielding them!

When it came to Q&A time, my friends and I, Danish and American, were whispering to each other, "Don't let every question be about the cartoons! Don't let this be a whole hour about the cartoons!" The event's organizers went to great lengths to make this event be about a very specific, non-cartoon agenda: how Westerners stereotype Arabs, how Arabs stereotype Westerners, and how it does all of us a great disservice! And fortunately, others in the audience seemed to feel the same way, and some good questions were asked.

I was hoping to be able to embed a clip or two by Danish-Arab comedian Omar Marzouk in my blog, but I couldn't find any in English. You'll have to do with reading some of the jokes we heard in this article. I couldn't find clips in English from documentary filmmakers Georg Larsen or Ahmad Ghosien, either, but as soon as it comes out on DVD, you should all check out "An Arab Comes To Town" about Arab Muslim immigrants in Copenhagen. Emily and I asked Ahmad Ghosien how many people declined to let them film interviews, because of course you only see in the film the people who agreed to interviews. He said, "The Danes." Not a single Arab household turned them away, but none of the Danish families they asked would appear on film. Not because they're cold people, Ghosien was quick to assure us, but because the Danes are very private people.

In fact, this was the predominant descriptor/stereotype of Danes this evening: they're very welcoming people, but not very friendly, and very private. Which, as anyone knows who has lived here, is exactly the opposite of how best to describe Arabs, who are friendly to a fault, with no concept of privacy!

Top Down

Wadi Al-Ghwayr Revisited

From Top Down

Shobak --> Wadi Araba

This was an awesome trip down Wadi Araba. It was almost like three different wadis. At the top, we saw these awesome enormous boulders littering the ravine floor, and you can hardly imagine what force the water must rush down the valley with to make these boulders do these things!

From Top Down

Then, a little further down, you had a siq like you find at the ceremonial entrance to Petra, but with incredible tracings of dark stone like some sort of splatter painting you'd do as a child. It was easy to see why men began to paint on cave walls, with these kinds of stone faces around them!

From Top Down

Then, it seemed like we were stepping beneath the water table, as you could see first water, then algae, then actual plants oozing out of the bare rock face.

From Top Down

I wish I had brought my own camera, because as beautiful as these pictures from my friends are, I wasn't able to capture some of the fascinating things we saw.
Then, as we got down to the parts of the wadi I'd hiked before, we saw yet another landscape of rock and scree, goats and camels.

From Top Down

Obama Is a Taxi Driver

Amman, Jordan

I've had great luck with taxi drivers this week. Yesterday, my German got a good workout with a delightful man who had lived for years in various German cities. This morning, as I was getting out of one taxi, the driver said, "You're not a foreigner, are you?" I nodded. "But your Arabic...!" I love these moments, and this one prompted me to remember something my mother said before I went into the Peace Corps. "This won't be like Europe," she said. "No matter how well you speak or how appropriately you dress, no one will ever mistake you for an Arab!" Au contraire! It happens every few weeks this time around.

It was another taxi driver, though, who gave me one of the best political analogies I've ever heard. It didn't start out auspiciously. I got in the cab and told him I wanted to go to Quds College. He asked, "Do you go there often?" I replied, "I work there!" Then we discovered that my supervisor had taken his cab out to the college twice. "So you're English?" he asked. "No, I'm American." Then there was a pause. Finally, the cab driver said, "Things are better in America now. It was really bad with Bush." We hashed this out for awhile, and then he seemed to change the subject:

Now, I'm a taxi driver, he said. I drive this taxi not just for my own amusement but to provide for my family. My wife and my children depend on the money I make driving this taxi. Can I do whatever I want, go wherever I want, run other people off the road? No! I'll wreck my taxi, I'll get in trouble. Can I say whatever I want to my customers? Can I shout at them, tell them what to do and where to go? No! I'd lose all my business that way. This is what it's like to be the American President. He has to respect other people, other countries, other people, or he ruins his country and everyone else's.

...and he beat her, and....

Today I heard a truly amazing, even Hollywood-worthy love story. My friend promised me all the details of his unusual romance weeks ago, just after the young woman in question appeared suddenly and unexpectedly in Jordan. It involves all the old motifs: lovers kept apart by family and tradition, free spirits determined to escape the narrow confines of cultural norms and restrictions, and a surprisingly young Middle Eastern woman of extraordinary courage who dared to run away from home for love, which in this part of the world can literally be a death sentence. Fortunately, it is also a story of a family progressive and loving enough to forgive and reconcile and dismiss old constraints.

There was one bit of this story, though, that I found quite disturbing. While it is my intent in this blog, at least in part, to try to ameliorate the typical American stereotype of the "evil A-rabs" and the "backwards Muslim world," there is a definite dark side to the Arab society I've come, in many ways, to love. So today, I want to join kinzi's blogger jihad and show a bit of the dark underbelly of life here.

My friend was describing how his girlfriend's mother and then her father came to find out about their Internet relationship and the real reason why she wanted to go to Jordan. Her parents demanded that she end this relationship, and for awhile she kept it concealed from them. In a very matter-of-fact, almost casual tone, my friend said, "But then her father found out, and he beat her, and he smashed her computer and her cell phone, but he's a Kurd, and you know, when he gets angry, he gets really violent." It was delivered in such a dismissive way, as if the father could hardly have been expected to restrain himself in the face of such circumstances. And he said that the daughter had been surprised, because her father had never beaten her before, but after all, it's the way things are here. And I cringed inside, but I know that it's all too often true. At least in this story, the father eventually came 'round to the daughter's side, and it didn't end in the honor killings that happen every few weeks here for far lesser infractions.

Of course, I realize that my friend has been carrying this around with him for weeks, processing it and all the myriad serious implications it's had for him, for his girlfriend, and for both their families. No doubt he's become somewhat desensitized to the idea, because this is the kind of thing I would expect him to be upset by. I very quickly came to do the same thing in talking about the beatings my very best friend used to get from her husband (now ex), because I couldn't always deal with the emotional overtones.

To his great credit, my friend did everything you could ask of a man in his position. He pleaded with his girl to consider carefully the implications of her actions, to not throw her life away on a chance with a man she'd never even really met, who could be something very different in real life than the man she imagined him to be over the Internet. He urged her to be patient, to be prudent, to be safe. But when it became clear that her convictions simply couldn't be shaken, he did everything he could to support her. When she arrived in Jordan, and her family shortly after, he did everything he could think of to protect her from potentially lethal consequences of her actions. And in the end, he facilitated reconciliation with her family.

Nevertheless, there is a prevailing attitude here that these things happen, and there's nothing we can do about it, and we even come to expect it. It reminds me of a family down the street from me in my Peace Corps village in which I know that the father beats his children, and probably his wife, and I'm certain that he's sexually abusing the girls as well. He's not a man, though, that anyone in the village would confront. He has too much power and too much loyal family.

I find it odd, in a culture which values machismo so highly, that men are not expected to be able to control themselves. Perhaps it's not odd. Perhaps machismo and a certain lack of self-discipline and restraint go hand in hand. Still, I heard still someone else this week say what Lynn always used to say in Peace Corps: if women have to cover their hair and conceal their bodies because men can't restrain themselves, how weak does that make the men?

Well, I know one man here at least who isn't weak. My hat's off to you, my friend!

Downsides of an SLR

or, If I Only Had a Digital Camera!

From Philip Goes North

Amman, Jordan

I've been teased a lot in the last few years for still having one of those old-fashioned film cameras, and for most of that time, I've been able to counter that it takes better pictures than some cheap digital camera. That claim's getting harder to make, especially in Jordan. I don't know if it's the way the vendors take care of the film before I purchase it, or the heat I subject it to after I've purchased it and taken pictures, or the quality of the developing, but it seems that all the photos I've taken in Jordan this time around have been grainy and poor quality. They tend to be washed out, too, even with my UV-protected and polarized lenses. I think this is probably because I can't find a place to purchase 400-speed film in Jordan. Every shopkeeper I try to ask says, "The sun is so bright in Jordan, you don't need 400-speed film!" But I think using 200-speed is over-exposing my film. (Not to mention that sometimes I want to take indoor pictures of kids whizzing around, or people dancing, for example.)

The other problem with film cameras is the time it takes to finish a roll of film and develop it. I just developed seven rolls of film this week, the best of which I've uploaded to Picasa. These photos go back months, all the way to our first trip with Tareef Cycling Club: Biking in Wadi Musa and Hiking in Wadi al-Ghwayr. Most of the other pictures are more recent, from the trek down the King's Highway with Philip, John and Ann, from my trip with Philip to Umm Qais and Jerash, and from the day that Ryan, John and I rented a car to go to Ajlun, Pella and Umm Qais. There are still a few more pictures left in my camera, and I'm waiting to get the pictures I took with Philip and Ryan's cameras!

From Ryan's Rental

truth and Truth

Amman, Jordan

There's a stereotype about Arabs, perhaps most common in the Colonial Era, and still frequently used by Israelis and other Westerners to justify this or that about conflicts in the Middle East. This stereotype says that Arabs are habitual liars and can't be trusted.

It's a stereotype, so of course it's an overly-exaggerated generalization and, I would say, patently not true.

However, anthropologists have, from time to time, given significant thought to the Arab concept of truth. Generally speaking, the experts say that Arabs have a fuzzier definition of "truth." Truth, in other words, is subjective. In one of my classes in grad school, we took an anthropological look at the qadi system of justice in Islamic law. A qadi is an Islamic judge, or perhaps more accurately, an arbiter. You see, the qadi resolves disputes not so much based on what happened and who is to blame, but more on the basis of how the incident was perceived, and what will best restore balance and harmony within the community. The truth, then, should be whatever makes our relationships function most smoothly.

As Westerners, we find this somewhat unethical, bending the truth to make life easier, because we've been raised to believe in absolute Truths, and in individual rights. I think this comes down in the end to our different senses of community, which I've blogged about before. For Americans especially, individual rights are the essential foundation upon which a just society is built. Islam and Arab culture, on the other hand, support the abrogation of individual rights if this is what's required for the health of the community. Sometimes a few white lies and half truths help to grease the wheels.

I'm finding that the practical implications of fuzzy truth in customer service, however, makes me crazy! It can mean, for example, that certain private schools placate parents at the expense of support for teachers. It can mean that bullying is forgiven if doing so will keep the money coming in. It can mean, "Yes, of course we can do that!" when, in fact, doing "that" contradicts a very sensible and necessary policy. It can mean, "We certainly do have that in stock!" when actually some guy from the back room is running to the next shop over to buy an item of a lesser quality just to keep your business. Perhaps most frustrating of all for me, it can mean making up an answer to a question for the sake of providing an immediate response, even though the answer may throw a monkey wrench into the scheduling later in the week.

Sometimes navigating between truth and the Truth is exhausting!

Refreshing Frankness

Amman -> Ajlun -> Pella (Tabqat Fahl) -> Umm Qais -> Amman, Jordan

My roommate Ryan has been dying to drive, so today we rented a car, he and I and my colleague John, and went on an adventure. From my archaeologist friend Chris, I'd gotten a copy of the best map he had and directions to Pella, and from Pella to Umm Qais, my favorite place in Jordan, and Ryan's. However, there are no truly good maps of Jordan, so even the best map is mostly an approximation of where you're actually going. In addition, signage is spotty in Jordan, so we had to stop frequently to ask for directions.

The directions we got from Ajlun Castle down into the Jordan Valley turned out to be a simply gorgeous ride down flower-covered mountainsides, through the villages of Halawa and Hashemiyya (the one in Ajlun, one of two villages of Hashemiyya where there were Peace Corps Volunteers in my day!), and the ruins of what looks to my untrained eye like an Ottoman village. Once we got down to the bottom, directions were pretty simple. There's basically only one road along the Jordan Valley, so we turned right/North at the checkpoint and we were off.

But the guys at the checkpoint had said 7km to Pella, and when we had gone 9km and still not found it, I as navigator started to get nervous. We stopped a couple times to ask for verification, and the most useful of these was also the most amusing. Usually I would ask women for directions, but with Ryan and John in the car, I felt safe enough asking a young man hanging out by the roadside.
"Why don't you come in for lunch and then I'll take you?" he immediately responded.
"No, no, we have a lunch date in Umm Qais later," I replied quickly, only a slight exaggeration since we'd been talking about lunch and a glass of wine at the Resthouse at Umm Qais all the way up the road.
"It's okay, I'm just obligated to ask!" he grinned, and gave us excellent directions.

As we drove away, Ryan and I had a good laugh at his candor. It's true, in Arab culture, hospitality is so deeply ingrained and so important that one is essentially obligated to invite into one's home anyone who asks for help in any way. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, sometimes I took advantage of this, because it granted me the access to the community that was so essential for not only my work, but for my personal well-being. Still, it is exceedingly rare to hear an Arab speak so openly about his obligation of hospitality!

We got a little confused on our way to Umm Qais, too, because there seemed to be no signage in English, but eventually we made it. I've never seen Umm Qais so busy! Like every other grassy overlook or streambank we passed today, Umm Qais was swarming with Jordanians who'd had the same urge we had to get out of the city and enjoy the precious few weeks of green!

Also, if I may be frank myself, the new guard tower in Umm Qais is just a blight. Perhaps it is warranted for security purposes, but it was in the way in many of my pictures today. Most notably, it stuck right up in the middle of the beautiful sunset we watched from the top of the West Theater!

Panorama to Mujib

Ma'een -> Dead Sea -> Wadi Mujib, Jordan

The last time we cycled down the Dead Sea Panorama Road, I got three quarters of the way down the hill and realized that every muscle in my body was tensed almost to the point of cramping. Whether consciously or not quite, I was terrified of wiping out the whole way down. This time, although there were plenty of people who passed me on the way down, I was much more relaxed. I feel much more confident of my balance and competence on a bike now.

At least on the downhill, anyway.

The second half of the trip, though, South along the Dead Sea to Wadi Mujib, was a very different story. For one thing, it was mostly uphill, and on all three hills I eventually got down to first gear and had to disembark and walk, and on the last hill, I just gave up altogether and flagged down Nader. Ammar, however, was having none of that! When he found me in Nader's truck, he read me the riot act, and convinced me to get back on the bike, which I'm glad I did (especially since it was all downhill again from there!)

Farewell, Philip!

or, Next Time, In Paris!

Amman, Jordan

Philip had to leave today, and I almost didn't get to say a proper goodbye. I had to get up and go to work at 9 AM, and he wasn't leaving till afternoon. Fortunately, I find good, generous friends wherever I go, and most of them seem to like each other as much as I like each of them. Exactly this was the case with Philip, Heba and my roommates Ryan and Kitty, who all went out for brunch at Tche Tche this morning to give Philip the proper farewell I couldn't.

But, as luck would have it, my afternoon client cancelled, and I got home in time to spend one last half hour with Philip before he set off for the airport. Heba and I have agreed to visit him in Lille, France, when he's studying there in the fall semester of 2010. You know, unless he ends up somewhere entirely different, in which case it's still my turn to visit him!

From Philip Goes Home

It was, in fact, the perfect afternoon for a cancellation. It's gotten dramatically warmer this week, and today was almost hot. After we saw Philip off, Ryan, Heba and I took Ryan's guitar (and a pair of his pants he asked me to teach him how to mend) up on the roof for a little sunbathing and visiting. It's really been a fantastic day, despite having to say au revoir, auf Wiedersehen, and il al-li'aa to my dear friend Philip!

Donkey Ravine

or, Philip Communing With Nature

From Wadi Himara

Wadi Himara, Dead Sea, Jordan

Finally, another hiking trip on a Friday! This was a Bike & Hike day, actually, starting from near the Baptism Site, taking the bikes down to the Panorama Road, and then hiking up into Wadi Himara (which means, Donkey Ravine). This is the first Bike & Hike I've been able to do, and as I was coming up that last hill to the Panorama Road, I started to wonder if I really wanted to then hike up a wadi. But when we got off the buses at the bottom of Wadi Himara and started in, it was like a whole different trip on a whole different day. I can't tell you how many times I completely forgot that we'd even been biking. I don't know if it was the scenery and the fresh air, or the fantastic company, but I got a substantial second wind.

I think, perhaps, that I may have worn Philip out this week, though. It's true that I didn't warn him to bring crick-stompin' shoes, so he only had the sneakers he has to wear home on the plane tomorrow, but this was a hike you actually could do without getting your feet wet. Nevertheless, when it started to get wet, Philip decided to sit and commune with nature till we came back down, and he insisted that I go on up the ravine, so eventually I did. He says he had a wonderful time sitting there in nature, and I can certainly believe it.

As for me, I had a wonderful time with Emily and her father, visiting from Chicago. And while he was hauling people up cliffs, Emily and I had some long, therapeutic girl talk!

More pictures will be coming when I get mine developed, and Philip sends me his!

From Wadi Himara

P.S. When I got to Safeway this morning, one of my Tareef friends comes up to me and says, "What's my name?" Apparently, I'd had Ammar and Raslan confused again, and it was in fact Ammar and not Raslan who, two weeks ago, commented on how much I had improved, and I got their names mixed up on my blog. Apologies. It's been fixed now. But I could definitely tell today that I am improving, because I've done the biking stretch a couple times before, and it was easier than ever today!

Medina-tain of the Decapolis

Jerash and Umm Qais, Jordan

Today we hired a driver and I took Philip north to 2 cities of the Roman Decapolis, the league of 10 cities that were economic and military strongholds on the edge of the Roman Empire in Palestine. I love Petra, and there are so many things there I still haven't done. Still, I find the cities of the north of Jordan more compelling to me. In part, perhaps, it's because I know so much less about them now. Perhaps it's because the mobs of tourists are slightly less. And in the case of Umm Qais, it's definitely the old adage: Location! Location! Location!

From Philip Goes North

Umm Qais

This is my favorite place in Jordan. The view is just amazing: the Yarmouk River Valley, the Syrian Golan, the Israeli Golan, Lake Tiberius (aka Sea of Galilee), the city of Tiberius, Israel, the Jordan River Valley ... you feel like you're standing on top of the world. Add to that the delicious food at the restaurant there, and Philip's fabulous company, and you've got a perfect day! We wandered about in the ruins down the street of columns to the west, too, found the mosaic floor hidden back in the weeds, and some beautiful flowers. This is the best time to visit the northwest of Jordan, because even with the stingy little bit of rain we've gotten this year, the whole Irbid/Ajlun region just explodes with greenery and flowers, like the kind of spring-time I'm used to from the American northeast.

From Philip Goes North

Jerash

Jordanians must have gotten over the little Danish cartoon fiasco, because the Danish-Jordanian archaeology partnership in Jerash seems to be alive and well. Philip and I discovered a number of things that I'm absolutely certain weren't there even as recently as when I came to Jerash with CLS at the end of June. For one, there was this whole Byzantine church next to the Hippodrome and Hadrian's Arch, with this pristine mosaic floor, and I swear it wasn't there before!

Perhaps the most refreshing thing was our timing. We arrived in Jerash in late afternoon, a time at which I'd never visited the Roman ruins there, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a number of Jordanian families lounging in the grass around the park, enjoying the beautiful sunshine and dramatically warmer weather.

From Philip Goes North

Rediscovering Jordan

It's actually been very nice in quite a few ways to be travelling around with Philip (even if people keep mistaking him for my husband!) and doing the tourist thing. Sometimes in Amman, between work and my social life, I almost forget that I'm in Jordan, especially now that my work schedule keeps me from visiting the village. Even cycling with Tareef, while it gets me out of Amman to parts of Jordan I've never seen before, often feels more like California than the Middle East. But with Philip around, I have an excuse to spend a little more money and get out into the country. In fact, our lovely driver Waseem almost has me convinced to sit for the tour guide examinations to become a licensed Jordanian tour guide. I love my job at Bell, but some weeks I feel like I may as well be in Bulgaria or China or anywhere, I use so little Arabic and have so little contact to "real" Jordanian life.

So, please, come visit me in Jordan! Philip, Auntie Viv and my parents will all testify that I'm an excellent trip planner and tour guide, and I only get better with more practice!

Ester's Big Year!

Amman, Jordan

Philip came back from his little side trip to Jerusalem today. It was a good distraction for him while I was working this week (and it's been a crazy week at work!). As soon as I got home, I took him with me to help celebrate the last night of Ester's 20s. It's a big few months for her, living abroad, getting engaged, turning 30 and getting married! She managed to fill up the entire second floor of La Calle restuarant with people who wanted to help her celebrate, even so many hundreds of miles from home.

She also told us that she's starting a project, on and off Facebook, to get pioneers and young professionals from the Jordanian and expat communities together for networking opportunities. I'm very excited about getting more details!

New Students!

Marj al-Hamam, Jordan

Today we started Block Two of our unofficial opening at Bell Amman. It's almost like I have real classes! This evening's Beginner 1 class has 9 students in it, and we could actually do group and pair work and some of the other fun things that are hard to do with a class of 3 or 5, as I was teaching before. I think my ideal class size would be about 12, but we're working up to that, and hopefully we'll be at least that successful with our official opening in April.

I'm also very excited about finally moving into our new facilities upstairs soon.

"Snow" Day

or, Even Maryland's Not This Squeamish!

Amman, Jordan

I had hoped to get more than one day off to spend with Philip on his visit, but the timing was poor, and I knew I couldn't get out of any part of what is our first week of the second session of classes. John couldn't get today off to entertain his friend Ann, either. So Philip and Ann made arrangements to meet around the corner at Baraka Mall, and John and I shared a taxi to work.

We had just come through the front doors and signed in at the palm scanner when my phone started to ring. It took us quite some time to find it (it had fallen out of my jacket pocket into the jacket lining), and when we did, it was our co-worker Martha. "Good news, Maryah! Snow day! You don't have to go to work today! John still has to go in for placement testing, but you and I don't have to work today." Only half an hour too late!

Anyway, the driver took me to Baraka Mall, where I met up with Philip and Ann, and we had a wonderful day at Jafra Restaurant and shopping for pashminas and kaffiya in the city center. It was a beautiful day, actually. Sunny, not too cold....

It took me a long time to figure out why in the world we had a "snow day" today. There was no snow in sight. Not in Amman. But eventually I remembered that, because there is no heating in the public schools, sometimes the Ministry of Education calls "snow days" that are really "cold days."

What Do You Mean, No Bus?

Wadi Musa -> Ma'an -> Amman, Jordan

This morning we got up nice and early to see the highlight of the Petra National Park: the Monastery! In the interest of time, I convinced poor Philip to take a donkey up the mountain. He may never forgive me! But it really was beautiful up there, wrapped to the ears in our new kaffiya, taking pictures, chatting with a young Belgian photographer who was waiting for a second day for the perfect light.

Then we walked back down, passing Miriam on her way back up, and had just enough time to see the highlights of the Roman City before we hoofed it back up to the entrance so we'd make it on to the JETT bus by 4 o'clock. But when we got there, we discovered that there was no JETT bus today. The morning bus down from Amman couldn't make it, because the Shobak road was still closed, so there was no bus to take us back up to Amman. By this time, it was too late to find a public bus back to Amman, either. Instead, the bus parking lot manager offered to drive us to Ma'an, where we could catch a bus to Amman. We agreed.

Now, while I (and many other Peace Corps Volunteers and other expats who live more than 4km from the so-called "Fortress America") think that the American embassy tends to be overly-cautious about their warnings, I do lend some credence to their warning about Ma'an. Not only is it known for its "radical Islamist leanings," a term I'm always suspicious of, but also for its anti-governmental riots: bread riots, Tawjihi riots.... Even my archaeologist friend, who's well known and well respected in Wadi Musa and the south of Jordan, recommends that non-Arab women going to Ma'an cover their hair. And when we got to the bus station in Ma'an, the parking lot manager recommended that Philip let me do the talking, and that I stick to my Bedouin Arabic. And it seems to have been successful, because when we finally arrived in Amman, the young guys who'd been sitting next to us even stood around in the pouring rain to help us find a cab at a reasonable price. So I guess the embassy was wrong again.

Snowed In!

or, Someone Will Know (of) You Wherever You Go in Jordan!

Wadi Musa, Jordan

I've mentioned before how small a place Jordan is, and how closely people are connected to each other here. It was something we sometimes complained about in Peace Corps, how you could never go anywhere without being seen by someone who would know who you were and report back to your site village. On the other hand, sometimes it can be an advantage to be part of the network. This was a night for acknowledging those ties.

It started with a cup of tea last night with the owner of our hotel, Adel. Something slipped out about my being an honorary HaraHsheh, the name of the family in my Peace Corps village, which revealed that the hotelier and I were "cousins," as he was also from the Bani Hassan Tribe. He regaled us with some fabulous, likely exaggerated, tales of how being related to his uncle, alias Abu Mas'ab al-Zarqawi, had both helped and hindered him in recent years. I've heard similar stories before, and I understand what it must be like to know that the most infamous terrorist in Iraq is from your tribe. After all, it's become my tribe, too!

Then, this evening, Philip and I were walking down for another cup of tea with Adel, and I saw this Spanish guy I know coming down from upstairs. "Hey, I know you!" I exclaimed. It's Jose, who's friends with Abby and a number of other people I know in Amman. And he had quite a tale of woe, which he shared over a cup of tea with Adel, some other Spaniards and a Pollack travelling with Jose. They'd been in Petra for the day, and were on their way back to Amman when it started to snow. The higher they went, the more snowy and slippery it got. In Jordan, as is usually the case in south-central Pennsylvania where I grew up, they don't start plowing until the snow is almost finished falling. So when Jose saw an ambulance leading cars in the other direction, he decided to follow it back to Wadi Musa, and ended up at our hotel.

After they'd told their story, Jose and friends went down to the pub in the Petra Palace for a much-needed beer, but they left a note with the hotelier for a girl named Miriam who was also staying at the hotel. Philip and I stuck around to accept an offer of a cup of tea from our hotelier. When it came out, and I put in two spoons of sugar, Adel started to laugh: "You really are Bani Hassan!" But then he had to get up and take a look at the hotel's boiler, leaving Philip and I alone with our tea when the door opened and a girl walked in. The immediate words out of my mouth were, "You must be Miriam!" immediately followed by, "Wait! I know you!" We had met a week earlier while out with some mutual friends. She's an Aussie, volunteering at a Palestinian refugee camp, and staying with a friend who works for the UN. After she'd showered, the three of us followed the Spaniards down to the pub.

And what do you know, but the Swiss couple were also at the pub! Small world.

Neither Rain nor Wind nor....

Petra, Jordan

Our weather luck changed today. In fact, John and Ann called over breakfast to let us know that the park had been temporarily closed for fear of flash flooding. As we've been saying in Tareef for weeks, the weather's been great for biking and sightseeing this winter, but bad for Jordan, so I have to be grateful for the rain. Still, the timing could hardly have been worse for Philip, who was sure that winter would be over by the time he arrived in Jordan!

Nevertheless, as we lingered over breakfast, hoping the weather would change, another couple sat down at the breakfast table and starting talking to each other in a language I know and love ... Schwyyzerduutsch! A lovely middle-aged couple from Winterthur, Switzerland, they even gave us a ride down into the park when it had opened.

I'm running out of new things to see in a single day in Petra. Most of the things I'd most like to see now require advanced planning, more than one day, and a guide. Still, it's fun to go through the park with different people and see it through different eyes. Petra with Josh, Petra with Auntie Viv, Petra with my parents, Petra with Chris Tuttle, and Petra with Philip are very different experiences. Josh wants to pet every stray animal he comes across. Auntie Viv and I climbed every mountain in the place. I started out that way with my parents, and consequently, Mom couldn't walk uphill on the second day, and we rode donkeys, camels and horses all the way home. Going with Chris Tuttle was just fascinating because he knows every stone and every Bedouin in the camp by name and history. It was fun, then, to explore with Philip and recall all the things that I had learned on the expert tour this past summer.

Plus, Philip is a shopper. We hit almost every stand in the park, buying necklaces and such. I ended up with some very nice additions to my growing jewelry collection. As Philip said, "Maryah! You're finally turning into a girl!"

We also found ourselves with a little girl, Fawzia, leading us around the park and trying to play tour guide, which was cute for awhile, and then got annoying, and then she asked for money for a tour we neither asked for nor needed! In retrospect, I think perhaps Auntie Viv and I were also shadowed by Fawzia and a friend of hers, but three years ago they didn't ask us for money!

King's Highway Tour

Criss-Crossing the Backbone of Jordan

Amman -> Madaba -> the Dead Sea -> Kerak -> Wadi Musa & Petra, Jordan

Despite short notice, a full work schedule, and the threat of snow, I was determined that Philip get to see the highlights of Jordan in his brief stay here. As luck would have it, my co-worker John also had a friend, Ann, visiting from London, and had hired a driver to take us down the King's Highway to Madaba, the Dead Sea, Kerak and Wadi Musa, the town at the entrance of Petra National Park. Philip and I decided to tag along, despite my corporate client's warnings that it was supposed to snow and be miserable all weekend long. Philip agreed, it would be silly to come all this way and not even get a brief, rainy glimpse of Petra!

So we left early, in order to arrive in Madaba as St. George's Church opened in the morning. The Greek Orthodox church features a Sixth Century mosaic map of the Classical World, one of the oldest and most accurate maps of the Trans-Jordan region, though the part of the map depicting Egypt is quite skewed, so that the Nile River runs perpendicular and not parallel to the Jordan River and the Dead Sea. Archaeologists interpret this to mean that the mosaic makers were probably from the Trans-Jordan, and were only able to construct the Egyptian section of the map from texts and word of mouth.

As it turned out, the weather was simply beautiful today, warm and sunny and perfect for a trip down the Dead Sea, and along the backbone of Jordan, through the mountains that formed the edge of the Crusader kingdoms. Back in the period of the film "Kingdom of Heaven," the European Crusaders had built a series of castles along the mountain range beyond the Jordan River: Aqaba, Wu'ayra (in Petra National Park), Kerak (which features prominently in the film), Shobak, Ajlun, Krak de Chevaliers and others. They were built at such intervals that signal fires could be lit at one castle at night, and seen at the next one north and south. We visited one of the best preserved of those, Kerak Castle. One of the fun things about archaeological sites in Jordan is that they're poorly labeled (and likely poorly understood as well), so you mostly get to make things up as you go along. Sadly, I couldn't locate what Auntie Viv and I thought was probably the kitchens, but we had some fun wandering around and wondering.

After lunch, we went out to the Desert Highway and hurried down to Wadi Musa so that we could make it to Petra By Night ... which was rather more fun when I came with my parents and there were about fifty people, instead of a couple hundred. Being one of the New Seven Wonders of the World has made Petra an awfully crowded place! On the other hand, I could tell my Arabic was better, because I understood what the rababah player was singing!

Philip, darling!!

Amman, Jordan

He'd been saying for weeks that he would come and visit me in Jordan if he could find an affordable ticket, and for weeks I'd been thinking, 'Yeah, right!' And then, on Sunday, I get a message on Facebook: "I'm coming on Wednesday!" I thought, 'Which Wednesday? This Wednesday? In February? He couldn't mean this week!' But he did. Still, I didn't believe it until I ran upstairs on my break for my last class of Block One, saw Philip step out of the cab, and had given him a great big hug.

As Philip's mother said, "I can never tell where in the world you and Maryah will end up next!" In fact, Philip's coming to Jordan from a rather interesting corner of the earth: South Korea! Clarian University, where he's studying at the moment, is piloting a new study abroad program to study Korean language in South Korea. Someone in the International Studies office must have known Philip, because they offered him a full scholarship to be their guinea pig, and of course he couldn't say no! Learn a new language? Of course! For free? Even better! And because he's enrolled in classes, he's also receiving a stipend from our friend Sec. Hilary Clinton under the G.I. Bill, which is how he can afford to come practice his Arabic in Jordan for ten days!

Those of us who flit about the globe in search of new languages and new adventures frequently have the problem of communicating those experiences to others. When we go back home, people tend to say, "How was it?" and all they expect in reply is, "Excellent!" When you start to extol the virtues of your host community, or tell the little anecdotes that so amuse you about the trip, their eyes glaze over and they become intensely interested in some spot on the opposite wall.... I'm lucky to have an extended family and a few friends, notably Phredd and my brother's late best friend Nathan, who truly are fascinated by every little story. So it's great when Philip comes to visit, because we can swap culture shock anecdotes and enjoy the telling as much as the hearing! Most of my expat friends here are like Phredd and Nate, though, so I knew they would love Philip, and he them. So I took Philip and my new roommate, Kitty, to one of my favorite expat hangouts, Books@Cafe, where we had a wonderful evening with Heba, Abby, some of Abby's friends, and eventually my third roommate Ryan and our mutual friend Lowen.

I only wish Meli had been able to come with the other Peace Corps Volunteers who are in town for a conference, or Emily, who's soaking up the high life in Geneva this weekend!

For His Mother

Amman, Jordan

It will come as no surprise to those of you who know me well to hear that I have stumbled into the GLBT community in Jordan. The longer I am here, the more I learn about what is actually a relatively flourishing Rainbow Coalition here in Jordan. Many of my favorite restaurants around town are under gay or lesbian management, and are therefore popular hangouts for Jordan's sexual minorities.

That's why I was very disappointed to hear today that the fabulous techno club I visited with my German friend and his boyfriend, RGB (reportedly short for "Real Gay Bar"), had to shut down recently. There was apparently an article published in a local newspaper about the gay community in Amman, which made RGB's owner's mother so nervous for his safety that she ended up in the hospital, and he decided to close the club.

So much for the idea of Philip and I going dancing there this weekend!

Thunder Thighs!

Dead Sea, Jordan

From Crossing the Dead Sea

I almost didn't go cycling with Tareef today, between last night's engagement party and that third glass of red wine, and the horrendous wind and ominous clouds in Amman. I knew, though, that if I could just make it down the street to meet the club at Safeway, I wouldn't regret it. I was right. The ride was beautiful, and not too hard, from the south end of the Dead Sea about two thirds of the way north (i.e. downwind, which is totally the way to go!).

And I got some nice compliments from people who would know.
First there was Sawsan, who I consider one of the best of the amateur cyclists. She came up behind me pedaling away furiously on a relatively flat stretch (it's all about momentum for the next hill!). "Shift up," she says. "I can't," I say. "I'm already on 8th gear." I have to repeat myself, but then she says, "Wow! Your legs are really strong!" And suddenly I had an image of my best friend Phredd, with a backpack out on the Appalachian Trail, shouting, "Thunder thighs!" (I don't think this ever happened, but it was a vivid image, just the kind of thing we would've done on the trail!)

Sometime later, Ammar came up beside me. He's one of the true professionals, and the one who most frequently passes out advice to riders. He wanted to point out that I had made noticeable progress in the months I've been riding with Tareef. This was really nice to hear because, while that was part of the point of joining, it's sometimes hard to tell oneself. As I've told Aktham more than once, sometimes I feel like I'm in worse shape from week to week.

I'd also like to thank my two heros of the day.
The first was Anas, another of the professionals in the club. On the two occasions, last week and this week, that the Tareef buses drove past the hot springs along the Dead Sea Highway, both sides of the road were mobbed with young men in their tighty-whiteys, and I was really not looking forward to riding past it. Then, when I saw the sign for the hot springs, I realized that I was riding alone, and couldn't see anyone else back to the next curve behind me. But much to my relief, as I came up to the edge of the mobs of people, I saw Anis coming back the other way, and then watched him turn around and wait for me. He escorted me past the hot springs, reaffirming what I love about Tareef: they not only arrange the trips, but they are really great about making sure everything goes well for everyone.
Ahmed came to my rescue not once, but twice! First, when I ran over a nail and popped the inner tube in my rear tire, he was the one who stopped and called Nader for me to get a new bike, and Ahmed and Hatem kept me company until Nader arrived. That was in the first 7km. Then, though he probably doesn't realize it, he came to my rescue again in the last kilometer. There I was, a little ways ahead of Ahmed, minding my own business, when a powder blue sedan full of shabaab (young men) pulled up alongside me, shouting something I didn't understand in Arabic. I ignored them, so they stopped on the shoulder ahead of me, clearly hoping I'd take the narrow little bit of pavement left to their right side. Instead, I swerved out into the street to pass them (uphill, no less!). So, of course, they pull off the shoulder and, as they drive past, several hands reach out the window and thwack me. Fortunately, they didn't stop again, but I knew I was never going to make it the rest of the way up the hill. So I stopped, and waited for Ahmed to catch up and walk up the rest of the hill with me, to the outlook that's becoming our regular stopping-point for our Dead Sea excursions.

As luck would have it, we also encountered Sam and Ester and her parents at the Dead Sea.

Sam and Ester's Engagement Party

Amman, Jordan

From Sam and Ester's Engagement Party

A few days ago, Sam calls me up and says, "Ester really, really wants you to come to our engagement party Thursday." I've trained myself never to refuse a reasonable invitation, so I said I'd come. Plus, I really like Sam and Ester.

Sam is the initially creepy guy that Megan and friends met at the gym. It's this act he likes to put on, playing on the worst stereotypes of Arab youth that he learned in his years in Canada, for anyone he encounters who speaks English. In the end, though, he's one of the most fun people we've met in Amman.

Ester was renting a room at Sam's parents house when I first met her at a salsa party at the British Embassy. That was a memorable night, ending in Ester pushing Sam into the pool, and the three of us and my roommate being summarily ejected from the embassy with Sam wearing my roommate's shirt (which still hasn't been returned!). Only one of many adventures we've shared. And now, five months later, Sam and Ester are engaged.

The engagement party was great, a casual family affair with an amazing lamb dinner and much laughter, including the usual shocked guffaws over my village Arabic. I had a great time. But as soon as I arrived, I realized at least part of the reason why Ester "really, really" wanted me to come: Her parents had flown in from Switzerland. Ester is Czeckoslovakian (literally! Czech father, Slovak mother), but her widowed mother now lives in Switzerland with a very nice Swiss widow. He speaks a little English, and like all Swiss, is much better at English than he lets on, but Ester's mother speaks no English. I, however, speak English, German, and Arabic.

It made me think of my cousin Gwen. One day, in my dorm room at Goucher College, I get this phone call from Germany. It's my cousin, who's living with her fiance in Berlin. "I want to ask you to be a witness in my wedding. It has to be someone who speaks English and German, and the only person I could think of was you!" I understood what she meant, of course. After all, I'd just had a fabulous summer staying with her and her then-boyfriend, now-husband in their apartment in Berlin, and already got along extremely well with her soon-to-be in-laws. I will also never forget the first time I met Gwen's mother-in-law, who had been in the US for 4 weeks with only her husband and sons to talk to. As soon as we were introduced, she got this huge smile on her face: "You're the girl that speaks German!"

This is becoming a trend for me, actually, translating weddings. If I'm not careful, I'll start to develop a complex: Always a translator, never a bride!