Jen's Blog

Crac des Chevaliers - Syria

2009-04-06T19:32:17Z

While in Syria, four of us from the hostel went to see Crac des Chevaliers, the most famous and intact of the crusader castles. TE Lawrence (who, as an undergrad, studied medieval military architecture) described Crac des Chevaliers as "undoubtedly the most impressive fortress in the world." Like everywhere else I've been in Syria, it is relatively empty of tourists - which significantly enhances its ambiance.

By popular request, a picture of moi (uh, yes, still here):

Crac des Chevaliers was built in 1031 by the Emir of Aleppo. It was captured in 1099 during the First Crusade. It was finally re-taken in 1271 during the Eighth Crusade through trickery rather than physical breach.

This is a group of schoolgirls on a field trip. They, as is common with anyone you meet in Syria, wanted to practice their English with us as well as ask about our countries.

The Syrian countryside is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful:

Following our visit to the castle, we stopped on the way back at St George Monastery, built in the 6th century. At the same site is the 'new' church, built in the 12th century.

The original church:

It was, all in all, a pleasant day out. On the way back, our driver stopped at his cousin's house. They invited us in for coffee and then invited us to spend the night. Syrians - the most hospitable people on earth!

So - who's coming to visit me?

Crac des Chevaliers - Syria remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Trip to Damascus - Part 2

2009-04-03T15:23:03Z

Old City Damascus is just excellent. Little mazes of streets with sweets and crafty shops.

Secret brightly lit courtyards, often hidden behind nondescript doors:

Uh, descript doors:

Shrines:

More shrines:

Craft shops:

Cafes:

Souks:

Of course, the mosque - this one in particular is the Umayyad Mosque, which houses the tomb of Saladin as well as the head of John the Baptist:

And churches:

Trip to Damascus - Part 2 remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Trip to Damascus - Part 1

2009-04-03T01:46:31Z

I recently got back from a quick trip up to Syria and Lebanon. I went with Jon, a college student from South Carolina who is on the tail-end of a year long trip to all the non western places in the world. We haven't much in common - he loves Dumb and Dumber - but we get along swimmingly. In fact, I will be going to see him when I get back ‘cause he’s a cook and his family specializes in cheesecakes. Uh, and 'cause he's a cool guy.

Damascus is only three hours from Amman, so it’s much like going to Monterey for the weekend… except that when you go to Monterey, you don’t get held up at a border for ELEVEN hours.

Dang!

I can’t really gripe, though. It’s common knowledge that the long wait for Americans is a tit-for-tat thing with Syria. We barely let Syrians into the States at all; even with a visa, they are required to wait for hours (btw, I use semi-colons in homage to Kurt Vonnegut, jr, who once said that they were "transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.")

On the plus side, the no-man’s-land between Jordan and Syria has a café with excellent food, a hotel with a business center, and a really swank duty-free store. I bought the biggest bag of peanut M&Ms you’ve ever seen. They were from a French M&M factory, which means they were much better than the M&Ms one generally gets in Jordan, which are manufactured in the Gulf. On a side note, the Froot Loops here are also sub-par, also produced in the Gulf (UAE maybe? Saudi?). So, if anyone sends a care package, let it have American Froot Loops.

Anyway, after eleven hours, we were stamped and on our way. For the record, I don’t know of anyone from the states who has actually been denied entry to Syria…unless, of course, they’ve been to Israel.

As soon as we arrived in Old City Damascus, we were completely charmed. We had to wander these tiny ancient streets lit by lamps and shrines to find our hostel.

We stayed in the Damascus Hostel, built into the wall of the Old City. They had a bunny and two tortoises and a rope ladder that hung over the side of the wall. Damascus is very fairytale. It is known to be the oldest continually inhabited city on earth.

The hostel courtyard:

Jon climbing down the wall on the way to one of our escapades:

The hostel from the outside - our room was the one in the turret:

Trip to Damascus - Part 1 remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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English in al Baqa'a

2009-02-09T02:30:22Z

OK...I'm kinda tickled about this, cause it actually came together.

Last week, after two months of planning, my friends and I opened an English Learning Center in al Baqa’a, Jordan’s largest Palestinian Refugee Camp. If it had been up to me, we would have spent another two months on the planning. I concede that it probably should have been only one month more (I tend to over-plan). On the other hand, we had Haya pushing to open class two days after I brought the idea up. We sorta cancel each other out...or complement each other or whatever.

The impetus for the camp was a result of my tendency to volunteer for things combined with the insane level of hospitality I receive whenever I visit my friends in al Baqa’a.

My first visit to Baqa’a looked like this:
I was hanging out with my friend Haya. In fact, I was staying with her family in the Ras Alein part of Amman. One morning, I'm still sleeping and Haya comes in loudly, “Quick, get up, get up! My uncle is coming to get us in 15 minutes!” She runs off to get ready. One might presume that I knew we had plans to go somewhere with her uncle. Of course not. Of course, she didn’t know either. After five minutes, when still I’m barely vertical, she comes back, “Hurry up! They’re waiting downstairs!”

Huh?

Now Haya’s mom is also rushing me, ‘Yalla! Goom goom!” Haya says they’re getting angry. So, now apparently I’m pissing off some group of people that I’ve never met. AND they’re the family of my gracious hosts. Finally, her brother is rushing us too. Without brushing my hair or teeth, I grab my bag which contains neither, and we are out the door. Downstairs, there’s a van waiting for us, filled with men, women, and children. We pile in, balance on the ledge that the front seats are bolted to, and head out. I’m facing backwards while we move which I hate in the best of circumstances. But on top of it, we’re screaming through the congested city streets of Amman. The only way I can prevent myself from launching fully into the lap of one of Haya’s aunts is to grip the seamless ceiling of the van with my fingertips. And I’m SO ticked off. As much as I feel I should be cordial to everyone, I can’t. I just can’t. Every time Haya catches my eye, I send daggers. To be fair, she’s been at the mercy of this dynamic since she was born.

It turns out we are going to al Baqa’a, a refugee camp about 10 minutes north of Amman (this is after the 20 minutes it takes to drive THROUGH Amman). As we pull into camp, the road narrows. Actually, the roads there are more like alleys. The van has about two feet of space on either side as we creep through, slowing to allow groups of kids and men to get out of the way. The buildings are long and low grey cinderblock and each contains several residences. Some are one story, some two. Many people here have animals on the roof; chickens, pigeons, goats. There’s absolutely no space for gardens or yards. There’s no dirt, other than in the alleys.

Haya’s uncle, who I call ‘TimsaH’ (this is Arabic for crocodile…I’ll probably elaborate later), parks the van in a maneuvering feat that absolutely trumps any parallel parking I’ve seen in San Francisco. We pile out onto the tile landing outside of the family’s courtyard. After we remove shoes in the courtyard, we enter the house and about double the population inside. Included within are Haya’s aunt and cousin, as well as visiting family members, some from next door. The actual residents here are Haya’s aunt and uncle, their four girls, Haya’s grandmother, another aunt, and a cousin from Palestine who came to visit five years ago but Israel prevented from returning home to his family (he’s from the West Bank).

We’re there all afternoon. No one speaks any English. Some are kind and try to speak to me in very simple Arabic I can understand. Others are oblivious and keep talking even when I say ‘ma bafam, ma bafam’ a million times. Haya is not helping. She’s off in the other room doing something else. I’m still unbrushed and unfed and cranky. To be clear, everyone is smiling and saying ‘aHlan wa saHlan, aHlan wa saHlan’, ‘welcome, welcome’. They are so kind and I am sort of a show-and-tell. It is rare to see a westerner in a camp. But my panties are still in a twist.

Haya’s aunt makes dinner. She single handedly keeps the house for the whole clan. The men aren’t expected to do any work in the home, their four daughters are too small still to help much, and her mother and sister-in-law are simply unable. Dinner service looks like this: plastic is laid on the floor, bowls of chopped cucumber and tomatoes come out as well as bowls of plain yogurt. THEN, a giant tray generally with some rice dish. On this visit, it's capsa (SO good! Spiced rice with toasted almonds, raisins, and fried chicken) comes out with several spoons. Everyone seats themselves on the floor and digs in.

Now it turns out we’re spending the night. I’m still unbrushed, but now fed. I have no change of clothes or pajamas. To be fair, I’ve actually been over needing a new change of clothes each day since spending the 2 ½ months in the desert. Haya’s aunt brings out tea. As the girls fall asleep, mattresses are pulled out to put them on.

Digression: In Jordan, with the exception of the parents, family members typically don’t have a dedicated personal space. And everyone lives at home until they’re married. Laundry is done by Mom, folded and put away in one large cabinet, divided in to girls’ and boys’ clothes. Beds are portable mattresses that get stacked on top of the cabinet each morning and pulled out each night. Wherever there’s space, one can lay a mattress for sleeping. Because of this, people do tend to have a ‘the more the merrier’ outlook on guests. There were, at one point, ten of us sleeping in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. One of Haya’s brothers typically sleeps in the narrow pathway in the middle of the living room between the front door and the kitchen. Also, they can sleep through ANYTHING. This also means that they don’t realize that I can’t. Consequently, the TV may be left on all night. If I’ve managed to eek out a space in a room with the light off, someone may – nay, WILL – come in, turn on the ever present fluorescent light, step over me – multiple times, and have a full volume conversation (which is about two times louder than our average full volume conversation) at 3am.

OK....and we're back:

Following this first visit to al Baqa’a, I’ve been out several times. The food is always excellent, and there are always warm greetings, invitations for coffee and for spending the night. On one visit, TimsaH earned his nickname after calling his wife ‘baqara’ (cow) and his sister ‘baqaratain’ (two cows). I settled on TimsaH because it was one of the vocabulary words (among many) from my Arabic class that I found difficult to use in regular conversation.

Before the opening of the center last week, the last time we visited camp was a month ago. Six of us went to check out the building they offered to let us use for the English center. We had gone to the souk to buy food to prepare at the house because Haya’s aunt was extremely pregnant - due with their first son THAT DAY. We got rice, had a couple of chickens killed (while Haya teared up – she likes animals more than people), and bought some veggies. When we arrived at the house, Haya’s aunt was already cooking for us, stirring the chicken with one hand and holding up her enormous belly with the other. She wouldn’t allow us to assist so we went to check out the building, which is typically used for weddings and funerals, but has a downstairs room we can use. It’s painted minty green, which was a pleasant surprise because many homes and buildings there remain the unpainted grey concrete (we’re hoping to get a couple of heaters and a carpet or two because it’s chilly in there this time of year).

The building:

The minty room:

After checking out the building, we went back for lunch, this time magluba (Arabic for ‘upside down’). By the time we finished eating, Haya’s aunt was sitting in the corner breathing through the pain. They took her to the hospital after we left. She actually wasn’t that keen to go and had used us as an excuse to delay the trip.

When someone here has their first male child, the parents are renamed ‘father of…’ and ‘mother of…’, or, in this case ‘abu SaleH’ and ‘um SaleH’. Although, I only gave TimsaH a one day reprieve from 'crocodile.

On the first day of class, we arrived early to set up the room and the children were already there waiting for us, each with a new notebook and pencil. We hadn’t expected them to provide their own supplies or be on time. There are a lot of challenges for the kids living in the camp so we were surprised at their preparedness. These kids also attend UNRWA school so this is an additional commitment. In class, they sat quietly, followed the lessons, raised their hands, and actively participated. Meanwhile, Haya kept getting pulled out into the hallway as more and more kids turned up to get on a waiting list. One little boy, six or seven years old, waited on his own for an hour-and-a-half in the hallway to ensure he got in.

Haya, Natalie, and Caro:

Miss Nat:

Miss Bianca & Miss Haya:

Our approach is ‘edu-tainment’; activities, songs and games in English. In order to address diversity in skill level (due both to age and English exposure) as well as a potential for attendance issues, we’ve decided upon a modular system (similar to something my grammar school used). This means that, following an introductory period that lays out some fundamental conversation skills, lessons are taught as modules. Up to three modules might be covered on a single day – for example color, prepositions, and adjectives. If a student already knows colors, he can take the color test and, if he passes, not attend that particular module. If another student misses a topic, they can go next time it is covered. If someone doesn’t get it the first time, they can attend multiple times. Each student has a progress card with 12 modules. Once the card is complete, they are thorough with level one, they can move up to more advanced topics (or increase their vocabulary in existing topics). So, their progress doesn’t have a time limit. As long as they stay in the program, they can take as long as they need to complete the card. We’re hoping to expand to Level 2. There is certainly enough interest amongst the kids and their parents. We just need to overcome resource issues.

Um, yep, that's about it. Also still lookin' for more work of the payin' kind.

English in al Baqa'a remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Things Just got Interesting

2008-12-29T15:03:11Z

Just wanted to let y'all know I'm still relatively safe.

I only use 'relatively' because I think the idea of complete safety is just silly.

Oddly, I often find myself in places where demonstrations are going on. When I was last in Rome, Bush was on his way over (that guy follows me everywhere). The anti-Bush demonstrations in Rome were, hands down, the largest demonstrations I'd ever seen. Thousands of people marching past where we were, hour over hour. Also, in Hamburg waaaay back, there was a PKK demonstration....I watched a German police officer get a bucket of white paint dumped over his head. There are photos.

So NOW... the latest demonstrations. Of course, vast and more pressing in nature.

Don't know if I mentioned this before, but Jordan's population is 40-60% Palestinan (was closer to 60% until the influx of Iraqi refugees, which now make up about 20%). So yes, there are demonstrations all over Jordan. But they are generally peaceful...more of a vigil atmosphere. The students at Jordan University protested yesterday. There was also a demonstration at the Egyptian embassy, because of Egypt's failure to open the Rafah crossing point between Gaza and Egypt to allow the Gazans to escape the bombing. Also, predicatably, demonstrators are calling for Egypt and Jordan to sever ties with Israel. It ain't easy being in charge in these parts.

So far, the only demonstration in Amman where tear gas was used was inside one of the Palestinan refugee camps in the south area of the city. My guess is, if you'd seen coverage of the demonstrations on TV, this would have been the one you saw - since peaceful demonstrations just aren't newsworthy. Al Baqa'a, the largest refugee camp in Jordan, with a population of 90,000 people, also had demonstrations that went smoothly.

So...we'll see how it goes. Tomorrow, we go to donate blood. Jordan intends to bring in casualties from Gaza since the ongoing Israeli siege on Gaza has disabled most of their hospitals.

I won't say whether I think Israeli actions are or are not justified. I will say, though, that at the moment, it sucks to be a Gazan.

Things Just got Interesting remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Going to the Mall

2008-12-29T13:44:21Z

At the moment I'm hanging out in Mecca...Mall (http://www.meccamall.jo/en). Drinking a capuccino (sometimes turkish coffee just doesn't do it) and using the wireless internet. Eid is tomorrow - this means both Mecca and Mecca Mall are full of people.

I can hear Jordanian youth speaking to each other in English and there are women who dress like they're going out clubbing. Outfits I wouldn't wear on a bet. Other women walk around with their imported domestic help trudging behind them carrying their bags and their children.

At this mall there are two theaters, bumper cars, a gym, a bowling alley, and a skating rink. There are oodles of western clothing stores. And Zara! This super duper cool clothing store from Spain. There are two in San Francisco and I never knew.

For those of you who think we need a military presence to democratize the Middle East...relax. For better or worse, Madison Avenue has it covered.

Going to the Mall remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Home Sweet Home

2008-11-06T17:30:13Z

I’m Back…in Jordan

Didya know I was actually having doubts about returning to Jordan?

California was SO luxurious. Perfect weather, surreal fairytale towns. Really really. SURREAL. Colors overly vivid. Cute little plants everywhere. And the food…the food…the food. I ate bacon almost every day, as well as oodles of French toast and banana splits. And pie. And americanos. I can get americanos here, actually. But they don’t have half n half.

But then, time to come back. I go to the airport and check in. The Delta lady asked me for proof of a return flight. Apparently this is a Jordanian requirement due to concern that people might come here and then not leave (crazy). I’ve known so many people wandering the earth with no ticket home, it hadn’t really crossed my mind. They didn’t check for a ticket before. Seeds of doubt - I started thinking about how how I would explain the six months I'd already been in Jordan and my return after a brief five weeks away. After having me wait so she could check on it, the Delta lady came back and said she’d check me through but I’d better be prepared to buy a ticket once I got there. Those seeds of doubt sprout. Then I got onto an intensely packed plane for my first leg – SF to NYC. The man beside me had breath that could kill tigers. And he kept leaning near me to look out the window. Sprouts of doubt begin to grow leaves. So, being the not-so-intrepid a traveler as I like to think I am, while on layover in NYC, I book a one way (refundable) flight from Jordan back to New York just in case.

Then, from NY to Amman, I board a half empty plane - I guess tourism in the Middle East dies down toward winter. I stretch out on the row I have to myself (my favorite part is that I can leave my garbage on the other drop-down tray). Little doubt-plant begins to wither. The captain actually introduces himself to the passengers...in such a way as to leave this sense that we all know each other. Clearly he’s taken a cue on hospitality from the Arabs. Then the cabin staff offered bottomless drinks and snacks. Of course these are always available on flights if you go back to the galley, but they don’t announce that. I’d flown for years before I realized you could go back and help yourself. Then, to top it off…they had Pepperidge Farm cookies! Little doubt-plant dead.

So, after a relatively pleasant twelve hour flight, with at least one good in-flight movie (The Visitor), we approach. By the way, all of Israel is restricted airspace so all passengers and crew are required to be seated and buckled while crossing over. Good thing it’s a skinny country. Hate to get shot ‘cause ya had to pee. Of course Amman, Jordan is just over the border (as the crow flies). As we descend, and I look down on the rolling barren hills and cinderblock buildings, I feel…nostalgic. I don’t know why. But we land, I go buy my visa (10JD), they stamp my passport. The next guy checks it like he’s checking a movie ticket, and I’m through to baggage pick-up. The only additional measure is that, in Jordan, bags are also screened on the way out of the airport. I can’t believe I doubted that I could get back in. Now I can cancel that flight before it even turns up on my credit card bill.

My friend Akram met me at the airport. I’m staying with him and his wife, Bianca. She recently arrived from the US and they’ve just moved into a new apartment. I saved the Pepperidge Farm cookies for her ‘cause I know what it’s like to start craving non-ME food after a few months over here. So, I’m just tickled to be back.

Wait...check this out. This is cool:

I'm the type of geek who gets a kick out of closing my eyes and randomly picking a word out of the dictionary then seeing if I know the definition or can otherwise correctly make an educated guess (i.e.; I get off on checking how smart I am).

SO, on this site you can be quizzed on vocab, grammar, italian, math, geography, art, etc. When you get stuff right, rice is donated to hungry folk. Pretty cool. I'm diggin the vocab and the Italian at the moment.

Home Sweet Home remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Pilgrimage to Subway

2008-09-16T16:30:27Z

I really had no intention of doing the Ramadan thing - but whether one chooses to fast or not, it is impossible to avoid being affected.

Setting the scene:
It's 95 degrees downtown. The traffic is gridlocked. Almost none of the taxis (or other vehicles) have AC. And - Ramadan - drinking water (or anything else) is not permitted for muslims. ALSO 90% of the men here smoke...but they can't light up all day. And, of course, no food (which is actually a blessing because people then have less energy to instigate fights). So, the result is that people are cranky and edgy but in a slow-motion kind of way.

I... as an, um, 'Christian' am free to eat and drink without being struck down by God or even judged by the locals. In fact, the family I'm staying with has invited me to go ahead. But I can't eat in front of them. It feels so rude. Their 9 year old boy spends each afternoon after school just lying on the floor. I'm gonna eat in front of him? But it's illegal to eat or drink in public.

So, what are my options?

1. Stay at home and lay around. Anyone who isn't working is doing this.
2. Go out and run around in 95 degree weather with not a single place to sneak shots of water.
3. Hail a cab and go out to SUBWAY.

The round trip ride costs me about 5JD - which more than doubles the price of my sandwich. I like the 6" tuna on oregano bread. I feel subversive as I order, always checking behind me. I get nervous if too many people walk by. Then I fill my drink (trying to mask the refreshing sound of ice pouring into the cup - the employees are also fasting) and slip upstairs.

See, the problem isn't getting food. In fact, there is an obscene amount of food taunting you all along the way in downtown. You can buy it. You just can't consume it. However, Subway has this sly upstairs dining area they've kept open...so far. Last year they were raided and apparently the muslims that were caught in the place got in some trouble (totally unverified information but I'm not a news organization).

I've eaten there at least five times this week. Walla.

Pilgrimage to Subway remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Amman Oases

2008-08-17T19:08:10Z

So - in the summer, Amman can be an in-your-face city....in the opinion of this suburban girl (ya know, actually I'm really more of a small town girl - Fairfax, c'mon). Some places here, like downtown, I can barely handle in the daytime at all (ask poor Akram - dude, I am SO sorry). HOWEVER, there are some excellent places to chill here, with my favorite drink of all time - lemonade with fresh mint (how did I never think of this?).

Here....this is Wild Jordan Cafe. It's part of the RCSN (Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature) - http://www.rscn.org.jo/
It doesn't have the warmth of wood, but it has great views, ORGANIC SALADS, live music, and - most inspired - a libraryish place where you can chill without having to buy something. Oh yes....brunch.

This is a quiet street on Jebel Amman - the embassy and, therefore, expat district. This whole area is entirely pleasant and live-able. This pic was taken on a Friday afternoon when everyone was in the mosque (just hazarding a guess, here).

Books@cafe. Cosy (woody) English language bookstore. Front patio with views and a bar, large back patio with big shady trees, a bar, a giant screen tv, live music. Inside, some internet access and another bar. Apparently this cafe is the 'gay hangout'. I've never noticed anything, uh, Gay, there. But since I've done the Folsom Street Fair, my meter is probably shot.

Oh, they also have brunch.

Farah hotel in downtown. This place is the suprise, cause in downtown, you just don't expect any peace. It's a cute backpacker-style hotel.

Souk Jara crafts market - held Fridays

Pizza! Quite good pizza too. No pepperoni - these folks have a little thing about eating pork...

This place is here to promote the local handicrafts. It's also part of the RSCN

Amman Oases remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Firsts

2008-07-26T19:03:29Z

So, I've been busy up to HERE. Following is an explanation of some of what I've been up to when I'm not in school.

First Arab wedding:
Haya invited me to her cousin's engagement party and also to her brother's wedding. She helped me buy clothes. I now own gold glitter sandals.

For the engagement party, Haya had said I could dress in my regular clothes. However, while we were getting ready at her house, her mother kept looking at me uncomfortably and asked if I was going to do something with my hair. I wound up wearing one of Haya's sister's dresses, hand made by their mother. She makes amazing traditional wedding clothes which can best be described as 'fairytale princess dresses'.

Haya and I before the engagement party:

At both the engagement party, which is strictly women, and the wedding, which was all women except for the groom, the outfits ran the gamut. Anything from tight jeans with a blouse to the aforementioned fairytale dresses to a boudoir milkmaid outfit and 80s flashdance stuff. Once inside, many of the women who cover, uncover. Some can't be bothered and maintain the hijab. Others don't cover anyway.

At the wedding, the bride and groom came in together, stood and exchanged rings, and then danced together. Following this, the music pumped up and everyone was dancing. It was like a women-only disco for the next coupla hours. I was up there. Can't not dance to the ME beat. It's tough, though. ALL the women can belly dance. All of 'em, 8 to 80. It's just how they dance. And the groom is up there, able to see for the first time since he was too young to care, what women have going on.

At some point, they paused for cake and for the delivery of gold jewelry to the bride from the groom's mother. Toward the end, the women covered and the men came in and did a traditional wedding dance (which I recognized because, for some reason, they have videos of this on tv all the time).

First time driving in an Arab country:
We had a girl, Ida, staying with us at our apartment. She's a couchsurfer (see my links) and she had just been travelling solo through much of Africa (hmmmm....). She's a writer and is working on a documentary, gathering personal truths from people all over the world (utruthproject.org).

I inadvertently convinced her to visit Wadi Rum...my contagious enthusiasm apparently. Of course, she thought it would be great if I went with her and I wasn't difficult to convince. Due to the funky logistics of getting to Rum village, we decided that renting a car would be most efficient.

Fools.

We went to the rental agency which is in the heart of Amman. Once they showed me the car, we did the usual 'looking over the car for dings' thing. I lost track but I was pretty sure that they were all covered on the little diagram, which already looked like a cross-hatch drawing. Then the guy told me that the first thing we needed to do was fill the tank because it was empty. He kinda described a place up the road where we could go. He also gave Ida, my navigator, directions to the city edge. Threre is apparently no good map of Amman (I've been trying to find one since I got here). Amman is a city of 3 million people built on 12 hills. Unlike San Francisco, where the roads are still generally on a grid, Amman's roads look more like Christmas ribbon. It took us over an hour to get out of the city. To my credit, I didn't hit anyone and really only got honked at two times (which I think is actually below the average). Once out of the city, the desert is a straight shot south.

Next time I'm taking the bus.

First time teaching:
So, I got a job teaching English technical writing. Previously, I've been known to have a strong fear of public speaking (some of you have seen this in action). So, there I was, auditing one of the classes at the language center to see how they do things when the director told me she had a class she needed me to take - in two days. It's a five week course, she said, with classes lasting THREE hours. Unfortunately, this particular course had no cirriculum and no teacher's guide. Two days later I'm up in front of fourteen people trying to muddle my way through, hoping they don't smell blood. I actually had no clue about what I was teaching because we started with formal business letter format. Did you know that if you begin a letter 'Dear Sir', it is to be signed 'Yours Faithfully'? Not only did I not know this. I can't even care. So when someone in the class asked if they could sign 'With Regards', I said that it was up to them. Holy Cow.

By the second class, we'd changed to a two-hour format and I had moved on to email correspondence. Also, we're focusing more on grammar...which I'm pretty good at (for an American). So things have mellowed out. It's even kind of fun. Now it's just a matter of picking a pace that works. Proper pacing - the bane of teachers throughout the world!

Firsts remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Summer Language Program

2008-07-07T12:06:50Z

The Good

[*]Registration was super-easy. The form asked for my name, local phone number, and why I want to study Arabic. I attached a couple of passport-type photos (worst photos ever) along with a photocopy of my passport and gave it to the Language Center. Then I went to the registration office to hand in my 500JD. Then I opened a Cairo-Amman bank account with $20 (still not sure what that was about). I'm in. This was two days before classes stared.

[*]Jordan University is covered in trees. This is particularly nice 'cause summer in the Middle East is kinda hot. It's not really THAT much worse than, say, Sacramento. The difference is that there is almost no AC anywhere.

[*]The cafeteria: The tables have tablecloths. The food is excellent and very cheap. I can get a half roasted chicken and rice with yogurt and bottled water for 1.20 JD. Students ALL bus their own trays.

[*]Our teachers are EXCELLENT

The Bad

[*]Maybe the first teachers we had weren't so excellent.

[*]My walk to school is 10 minutes along a busy, crazy, noisy, filthy, four (or maybe six - hard to tell) lane road with taxis, service taxis, local busses, and big busses pulling in and out along the whole way. Anyone who knows me knows that I shouldn't be anywhere near three-ton hurling masses of metal within two hours of waking up.
I must note though, that drivers in Jordan are leagues more sane and courteous than, say, Syria. But. DANG.

By the way, the writing on the McDonald's sign says 'Macdownaldz', phonetically speaking:

The Funny

[*]I can find my way to the lanuage program director's office with my eyes closed.

The first teacher we had began class by putting up random words on the board - at least we think they were words as no one had yet covered the arabic alphabet with us. Many of the students were yelling at him to cover the basics - this was moot because he spoke no English. Another guy came in - some administrative dude. He spoke English and, I think to pacify the mob, began teaching the class. The other guy just walked out. It took about five minutes to realize we had just taken a big step down in teaching quality. After class, a delegation went to the director's office to 'give feedback'.

The next day, the first teacher was organized and teaching close to our level. But the second teacher came in and it turned out to be the same overwhelmingly horrible guy that we had the day before.

I was part of the second delegation.

The director agreed to let us keep the first teacher for both classes each day. We were satisfied.

The NEXT day, we indeed had the same decent teacher. But apparently he could only maintain a sense of organization for that one initial class period. Over a period of one week, all the students (exept one) slipped out of his class and into the other Level One class being taught by two women. My defection was rather difficult because he tried to stop me and kept redirecting me back to the his room. Then he stood in the doorway of the other room so I couldn't get in and proceeded to get into a long discussion with the teacher of the other section (who at this point had already started class). I waited outside for my sentence. Eventually, I was allowed to pass into the room.

THEN, the....what is he, exactly....department logistics type guy came in and said we had to go back to the other guy's room; that there were too many people in one class. Many of us spoke up and said that we would get our money back before we'd go back to class with that guy. He said we needed to talk to the director.

Delegation #3. We couldn't get in to his office. We talked between two different go-betweens. Eventually we were sent the message to go to the class we had chosen and they would talk to us later.

Now - We're still in the excellent class. Insha'allah we will stay there.

Summer Language Program remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Back to school

2008-07-07T11:58:22Z

I am now settled into the student life here in Amman. I have a four hour Arabic lesson each day...really more like 3 hours. But more about that later...it's just funny all on its own.

I have very few new photos to post because Amman isn't beautiful....wait, here's an example:

It kinda reminds me of SF....kinda.

But, I've discovered that there are some great oases (oasises?) around town so I'm hoping to get pictures of them. Also, there's some good peeps I gotta get photos of. Like my roomies...Sophia and Maryum. They are also studying Arabic at the university. Essentially, we bumped into each other while looking for places and decided to get a place together. We have a two bedroom apartment across the street from Uni. We pay 400JD/month, so about 135JD each. For students, we obtained an excellent price (some are paying 400JD for a studio or 300JD for a room with a 9pm curfew)...but the locals laugh at us for getting ripped off. Eh, whatever. It's cheap enough.

We largely owe our success to Haya, a girl from here who is studying German at the language center. I had seen her at the center and she appeared to know her way around so I had asked her if she knew of a place to find 'roommate wanted' postings. By that evening she had invited me to live with her family until I found a place. I went for dinner and met her mom and bro. Her mom launched into an Arabic lesson as soon as I arrived. She was just great. However, I didn't take them up on the offer because, with Haya's help, we found a place the following day.

Getting an apartment in Amman:
It looks like this: Walk up and down the hill across from the university in 100F weather until you see a sign in Arabic with a phone number. If you don't speak Arabic, you call the number in case it's a rental sign. If you speak Arabic, you only call the numbers that are actually rental signs. After you call, you hope the person on the other end speaks English...unless you have Haya with you, and she deals with all this crap for you. Then you go to the place and the person meets with you NOW. And you haggle, if you speak Arabic or have Haya, to make sure that the price is inclusive and there's no extra charges, say, for the super to provide you with groceries (?!). OK, this is done. Now, the beautiful thing: The guy pulls out a sheet of paper with the agreement on it and you put down name, phone number, passport number and hand him 400JD cash. The place is yours and you may now move in.

That's it.

No background check, credit check, employment check, prior residence check, personal references...

Caveat to the cool thing: We are not permitted to have men in the apartment.

Toh!

In case my dad is reading this, it's not that I need to have guys in my room or anything...it's just that I've been on the receiving end of amazing hospitality over here and I'd like to return the favor. We have an insane number of tea glasses in our kitchen taunting us.

The apartment:

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What just happened?

2008-06-19T21:49:00Z

I've left the secure insanity of the desert and am presently hiding in a budget hotel in Amman, trying to get used to the din.

I've left people behind who miss me as sorely as I miss them. I have an arabic placement exam at Jordan University on the 17th. If I haven't settled in, I may just go back to Rum and continue to learn Bedouin colloquial arabic at a snail's pace. Ali & Faris did tell me they would teach me five hours a day if I stayed. Ali has picked up English so quickly. We speak all the time now. I had accused him of being a spy because for the first month he didn't speak at all, stating 'no speak English'. It turns out, however, that he's picked it up in the past two months and truely didn't speak it before. Faris has spoken it all along, which one may or may not know depending on whether you are someone he wants to speak to. Everyone back at the camp can now be seen, on their free time, studying the English books.

Hmoud and I communicating

In a way, it's so easy to get in trouble in the desert. But nothing is consequential (as long as one doesn't have brothers who are required to defend the family's honor). I got in an yelling match with the Aqaba bus driver one day and he warmly greeted me at the shop a few days later. If I hadn't argued with him, he may not have remembered me for greeting. No one bothers to filter nor do they bother to hold a grudge.

But it's hard to hang on to anything there, from holding grudges to trying to plan anything for the future. Each of us who volunteered wound up staying long past our intended departure date. Jessie had intended to pass through in three weeks on her way to Egypt. She'd ask if I would go with her when she left and all I could say was 'I don't know, that's, like, two weeks from now'. Then it was one week out and she asked if I would go and it was still impossible for me to project ahead one week. Then she extended her stay. Then again she asked if I would go with her. I asked when she was going. She replied she didn't know.

Jessie

It took a little while for me to realize that seeing consistency as a virtue is ethnocentric. It's confusing to be told one thing one moment and then another two hours later. At first people seemed dishonest. But everything said is true in the moment it's said (unless they're playing with the euro-female population - then it's more about strategy - but endearning nonetheless).

Faris and I in the 'siarra'

What just happened? remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The most dangerous thing in the Middle East

2008-06-19T21:49:53Z

This little guy (sitting next to Mehdi) is Athman, the youngest son of Mohammed.

Be afraid.

In an isolated place like Rum Village, one big source of supplies is traveling salesmen. It might be a guy with a duffel bag full of girls clothes or a truck load of kitchen items. Food vendors come by to all the little shops here and consequently the shops all become stocked identically.

Then, a month or so back, a traveling salesman came around with slingshots. Every boy in the village now has one. They like to see if they can get the rocks through the bars on house windows They like to shoot them up in the air and see if they can get the rocks to come straight back down. They like the sound of rocks hitting the corrugated metal roofs. They like to shoot at moving targets like birds flying by. Some also think it's funny to point them at people. Going to the market has become a military exercise. I've almost been hit twice that I'm aware of, both times while inside the hostel room in the village. Activity has tapered off somewhat...didn't want to alarm people while we were in the thick of it, you understand.

I prefer to take my chances with the sand vipers and scorpions out at camp.

The most dangerous thing in the Middle East remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Utilitarian Posting

2008-06-01T13:42:34Z

Howdy peeps. Taking care of a few items:

Anybody want to take my cat, Chompers (pronounced 'chom - pere') indefinately? He's super sweet and cute. Friendly but not too friendly. He's part Maine Coon, so very tall. No front claws (I didn't do it - he came that way). I'm attempting to extend my trip to study Arabic in Amman and he is my first logistical hurdle. Also, my brother has him at the moment but my niece is very allergic so I'd like to allieve her suffering. He is presently residing in Sonoma County.

Items for clarification:
1. The guys here are NOT gay (not that there's anything wrong with that). Men are just much more affectionate with each other.
2. We are NOT smoking illegal substances. Smoking tobacco through waterpipes is all the rage here. Up at camp we have apple and banana flavored. The apple is 'quais', the banana I haven't tried.

Conclusion; you may show your mother and co-workers the blog if you like.

Our computer at the office is bogged down with viruses at the moment, so I gotta make this brief. Here are some more photos for your viewing pleasure:

Mehdi and Bailey doing 'tourist' photo:

The first thing I see each morning:

This is the camp kitchen - where all the magic happens;

Mmmmmm....

Utilitarian Posting remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Bedouin 'Culture' - Jen's anecdotal list

2008-06-16T09:06:32Z

What have I discovered for myself about Bedouin peeps? Here is the list of items that strike me:

They're resourceful. They can use whatever they have to get the job done. I've seen a wrench used as a can opener, a wadded juice box used for a gas cap, and tourists may be disappointed to see cut up plastic water bottles used as candle holders. But if you want authentic Bedouin culture, this is it.

They smell...really good. I know. But it's weird. I'm in close quarters daily with them and it's true. One of the guys can come back after three days of shower-free trekking through the 105 degree desert in a full black thobe (ie; covered from the neck down) and not have any B.O. Also, most of them don't ever brush their teeth and their breath doesn't smell.

They smoke 2-5 packs of cigarettes a day. Not all, of course, but probably 90% of the ones I know. This alone can exceed their daily income. Oh, and still good breath.

They barely drink water. I can be on tour all day with one of 'em in 100 degree weather, and they won't drink any water. Maybe a swig. Apparently it's genetic.

They are excessively hospitable and generous. I think we've been invited to every camp and home in the village and desert. For food, for a place to stay. Also, we'll be in a village shop and someone may step up and buy our food. It's impossible to decline without offending them. Again, this would be a big dent in their daily income.

It's a chick-thing, but they have the most beautiful eyes. And perfect eyebrows.

Cell phones. You can hear cell phone going off throughout the day out in the desert. In the camp at night, the drivers can be found with their faces all aglow with the cell phone light. I never see them playing games, but their phones are loaded with videos, music, and photos. Turns out that Nokia is the brand to have. Many come with a built in flashlight and they work even when filled with sand. Thinkin' of gettin' me one.

Mehdi, Ali, Issa (he's from Syria, actually), and Ziad

Ali and Mehdi

Bedouin 'Culture' - Jen's anecdotal list remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Birthday in the desert

2008-05-11T11:07:42Z

So I turned 40 on May 9th.

Funny thing; Mehdi, one of the drivers here, has been saying that he's 19. However, the other day, I got my mitts on his ID and it turns out that he had had a birthday two weeks prior and didn't realize it. SO....Birthdays here, not so much.

The other volunteer girls asked if maybe I wanted to hit Aqaba for the day and go for a Turkish bath. Aquaba is a resort city about an hour and a half away on the Red Sea. While real bathing is alluring (we have a cold shower up at camp), I just decided I'd prefer to stay in the desert.

SO, In the morning a couple of trekker girls who were staying with us came into our tent with a gift for me. They had taped two cans of tuna together with medical tape (they're med students studying in Israel) and wrapped a bow around made out of a plastic bag (the Jordanian national bird). The card was written on an old receipt. Then they proceded to apologise for not having a better gift for me.

Following this I went on a tour with Faris and the coolest tourists ever. They were from Canada but the guy has been living in Dubai for the past five years. He works as a managment consultant. Apparently Dubai has an insane demand for management and quality professionals...hmmmmm. Anyhow, they just loved it here and were delighted with everything. For my birthday, they got some shots of me at some of the sites for emailing later. I have almost no photos of myself in the desert. I climb up these cool rock formations but don't have the photos to prove it. Maybe I'm not even here. They're also mailing a printed version of the photos to Faris since he doesn't have computer access and we have no printer.

THEN it turned out that Mohammed organized a cake delivery from Aqaba with one of the cab drivers who bring tourists here. So later, we cleaned up our tent and invited the rest of the staff in for a birthday party.

I'm already a week out past my departure date. I love it here.

Birthday in the desert remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Bad Blog Entry

2008-04-30T08:13:52Z

First I'd like to apologise for the woeful state of my photo editing. The photos barely show up on the computer screen so I can't tell whether they're any good and sometimes I can't even tell what they're of.

Second, it's difficult to blog here. The computer is in the office and if I'm here I often get called to prepare tea or check bookings. Also, the kids get out of school at 11:30 so sometimes they're running around (with knives and matches).

AND, apparently we have a spy so I'm disinclined to write about all the most interesting things which, like anywhere else, are the interpersonal relationships. Let's just say this is a compelling cultural study. Of course it's purely anecdotal but educational nonetheless. I gotta say this one thing: The repression of women we see here when looking from the West is actually not what it seems. And to the extent that it is there, it is held in place at least as much by the women as by the men. Remember....anecdotal. Just my observation.

Bad Blog Entry remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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WWOOFing in Wadi Rum

2008-04-17T11:21:41Z

So, here's the setup where I'm living at the moment. The family I'm living with lives in Rum Village, at the edge of Wadi Rum desert. Attached to the house is the tour office. Behind the house is the hostel, used mainly by rock climbers and us work exchange people. Then, 12km out in the desert, there is the bedouin camp.

So, tourists will book someting like a jeep tour and then a night camping in the bedouin tents out there. Maybe a camel ride back - yep, I did it. 12 km and blisters in interesting places.

The cast:
The family - Mohammed, his wife, and nine children. Whew! We spend some time speaking english with the kids.

The work exchange peeps - there are currently four of us. One, Sarah, has been gone since the day after I arrived, so I haven't gotten to know her. The other two, Stephanie & Bailey (Stephanie's 15 y/o daughter), are perfect. They're from the east coast, USA. They're totally sharp and laid back. Like me : ) They've already been here for two months and will be staying another two.

The employees - The camp employs four drivers for jeep & camel tours and a cook up at camp. I don't know if it's a Bedouin thing or just luck, but these guys are eminently respectful and good natured. This is the first place I've been able to let my hair down (Ha!).

So, us work exchange girls can basically choose each day how we want to contribute. There's hostel cleaning, tour guiding, email responding, and camp cleanup. Also, there is always customer support up at camp. We're expected to get 2-4 hours in each day. So, today I did email. Yesterday I did tour-guiding. The tour guiding is really fun but, at the same time, I think it's actually the most valuable work because the drivers don't really speak english. Also, just being up there at camp to answer questions is really useful.

Then at the end of the day, we and the drivers generally stay at camp with the tourists. The cook there is EXCELLENT! Also, after dinner, we party (which, here, means dance to Middle Eastern music and drink a lot of over-sweetened tea). Good times.

WWOOFing in Wadi Rum remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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And now, the update

2008-04-04T19:34:23Z

Currently I'm in Wadi Musa (this is where Petra is - but I'll be visiting that later), waiting to catch a bus to Wadi Rum in the morning.

On the bus here, there was a fight over whether the hatch on the bus ceiling should be opened or closed. One guy opened it. Another guy closed it. The one guy re-opened it. Suddenly a third of the bus is standing and shouting and the guys are trying to go at it. One guy is swinging a cane. Now, we've all seen this sort of thing in the states...when alcohol is involved. But here, no alcohol.

Another crazy scene...we were driving up to 'little Petra', a rock rift that was developed prior to Petra before their population expanded. We did a sunset visit, which was just amazing. On the way through town, a mini-stampede of horses came galloping down the main street. It was nuts. We almost got hit by a horse! Ya know how they say 'the deer hit me'. Well, yep. Sure enough. They kept going further down the street at full gallop and one collided with a man on a donkey - he went down, we gasped, and our driver just said 'oh yeah, no big deal, this happens often'. Sure enough the guy and donkey popped back up like a Weeble.

Tomorrow I go to Wadi Rum for a month to hang out here:
http://www.mohammedwadirum.8m.com/

And now, the update remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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A digression

2008-04-04T19:02:41Z

So...I'm a pretty good traveller. I always let go of expectation that things should be any particular way, or how they compare to home. Mostly. I think this is necessary in order to really see what's in front of you in a new place.

So, this means that I can read a book while travelling sans seatbelt in a taxi driving 60mph and passing others on blind curves on cliff side roads, wait in lines where the man behind me is standing so close he should be wearing a condom, eat fish served with the head still on, drink tea out of a glass that's been used by the last 60 travellers, use toilets that you have to wade to get to...

BUT. There is one thing that I just can't let go of. Something that just always CREEPS ME OUT.

Scented laundry detergent.

Yeah.

At home I always use the hippie fragrance-free, dye-free stuff. But on the road, it's impossible to come by. So, I get my laundry done and it comes back smelling like grandma's perfume. And it's overwhelming. Maybe foreign washers don't have a rinse cycle. Anyway, I can tolerate it on the trousers. But on the shirts it makes me queasy. And [TMI Alert], on underwear, it's just nasty. I can't do it. I can't be having all of that chemical all up in my business. So, I am now in the process of hand rinsing all my stuff. I do a little at a time based on the limited hanging-up options. In a couple of days I'll be done (insh'Allah).

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Arriving in Amman

2008-04-02T20:58:01Z

I've arrived in Amman, Jordan after a nine hour bus trip. I was the only non-Syrian on the bus and they plunked me down by a boy who fed me sunflower seeds and cookies. The rest of the bus was men and it's inappropriate for them to sit next to me. We had a chilly pre-dawn wait at the border. This time, border partrol combed over every alcove of the bus with flashlights while we passengers waited with our luggage for an hour on a cold granite stoop. Fortunately, when it came to me, I was checked over no more so than anyone else, which was nice 'cause it's kinda embarrassing holding everyone else up. The border guards here were warm and good natured...really! English & US border folk should come here for training.

I'm afraid I've slipped and wound up ON the beaten path, however. I say this because when I arrived at my hotel, it was full of retired American couples. SIGH! I went on a trip to the Dead Sea and Mt Nebo, that place where Moses was led to look out over the promised land. And the Dead Sea...y'all have heard about the Dead Sea, right? How you float really high in the super salty water? Well, I had to do it just 'cause I was there. The miracle will be if it actually clears up my skin.

But I DID find my holy grail: SPF 100 sunblock

Arriving in Amman remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Touring Marqab, Salah Ed-Din, and Apamea

2008-04-02T19:46:02Z

I did a day trip to Marqab & Salah Ed-Din, two crusader castles, as well as Apamea. To be honest, I didn't expect much. Ruins start to look the same to me after a while (I'm so low-society)...and I've already been to the Dead Cities, Ebla, and St Simeon. But they all turned out to be very cool.

Just three of us went from the hotel using a taxi. On the way, we stopped for breakfast at a cinderblock home by the side of the road. It's certainly not a place one would know to stop, but that's the nature of this place. The cab driver knocked on the door and the family came out with piles of ingredients and proceeded to stoke up the oven - which, here looks like one of outdoor clay firepits, only tilted somewhat sideways with a much larger top opening. They prepared mini pizza-like pastries and cooked them by slapping them against the inside of the chimney. My favorite is one covered in oregano and sesame seeds. The goat cheese one is great as well.

The first crusader castle we hit, Marqab, is located on a point overlooking the Medeterranean and there are 360 views of the sea and hills surrounding. We were the only ones there...actually we were the only ones at all of the sites, although a regular tour bus pulled up at Salah Ed-Din when we were almost done. Actually, I think this goes a long way toward why these monuments are so striking...no people.

Salah Ed-Din is also built, as any good defendable castle, on a point. In this case, there are sheer rock walls on one end that the castle sits on. On the way in, we stopped and had Bedouin coffee with the caretaker...one of the perks of not being on a giant tour bus. He took a shine to us and gave us a personalized tour of part of the castle and also showed us some of the herbs that grow on the site.

The last place we went, Apamea, was up on a grassy plateau. It's an old Roman city and the main thing that remains is 1.8km of columns that had lined the main road. For some reason, they impressed on me the most the sheer scale of the city, unlike anything I've seen in Rome for example. There is no way to get the feeling of standing there from the photos. Also, we arrived about ten minutes before sunset, so had the opportunty to wander through them alone at dusk with the call to prayer echoing from a near by village.

Touring Marqab, Salah Ed-Din, and Apamea remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Lounging in Hama

2008-03-27T14:13:11Z

I'm not up to much at the moment. I've been hangin' out in Hama, which doesn't have a lot to see as far as tourist sites go. But I'm up for relaxing anyway...I've got some time, after all. Also, for me, a big part of travel is just to hang out and absorb the culture of wherever I am.

Also, I've been spending time with Aisha, a girl who lives here (met her through couchsurfing.com), but grew up near Seattle. She met a guy from Syria back home and got married and has been living between here and the US for the past 14 years. Now she's been living here continuously for two years with her four boys (!) while her husband wraps up their affairs back in the US. She's unflappable as she accopmlishes life with her boys orbiting around her. Her youngest is 9 month old Yusef. She's muslim and gets more stares than I do when we walk around. They don't know what to make of an American in full muslim covering speaking fluent Arabic.

For the record, women here wear anything from hotpants to full black with veils covering their entire face. The clothing shops are interesting because they are full of over-the-top brightly colored dresses covered with sequins. It's difficult to find any simple clothing for women at all. With the help of Aisha, I bought some cloth and designed some clothes to be made by a tailor. I'm waiting for them now...if it pans out, I may come home with a whole new wardrobe.

The one thing that Hama is known for is the Norias - ancient wooden water wheels. They're over 1000 years old, at least. Difficult to nail down exactly how much older than that. Some say they're here from 1200BC. I've managed to arrive when the water's been blocked off for bridge repairs, but normally the norias are turning. They have an eerie groaning noise while in motion...or so I've heard. It's likely that I will come back this way after Jordan, so they should be up and running by then.

...as I'm writing this, staff at the hotel keep reaching in and giving me cups of tea and nuts. The hospitality here is remarkable. Not just at the hotel, but out in the streets. If a Syrian knows only two words in English, they are 'hello' and 'welcome'. And if you are wondering, this is even after they find out where I'm from.

See the itinerary of this trip, and details about each destination.

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My First Hammam

2008-03-22T18:00:06Z

Here's a temp fix for the photo problem: http://www.flickr.com/photos/12031067@N02/

I've developed a baklava problem.

You don't know. You have to see all these big clean windows full of a myriad of types of baklava. No one can resist that. And the pistacios over here blow doors on the ones back home.

Eeva - a daring Finnish girl I met who had just been travelling solo in Iran - and I got a line on a local hammam (bath house). It took a bit of perserverence to find as well as the help of a cast of locals. We were finally guided right to the door by a team of boys around the age of six or seven (but not before a older man pulled up beside us in a car and handed us candy - which here is actually a welcome gesture not an attempt at kidnapping).

The hammam was completely nondescript on the outside. Just another door on a grungy utilitarian backstreet. Behind the door, stairs immediately descended to a basement level. The first room had a fountain in the middle and alcoves around the perimeter covered in Turkish & Iranian carpets. It's lit by sunlight coming from a star shape of many tiny round windows in the ceiling (photo on flickr of a similar one I took at the Citadel). In each alcove women were relaxing, many with their children. We walked through to the next room where we changed into a wrap. Then the woman led us back into the alcove room. I was getting a little nervous that we would be bathing in the pool in the middle of the room amongst all these clothed locals...like we didn't feel enough like the center of attention as it was.

But she led us through a mirrored door to another octagonal room where the women were bathing, all real marble floors and walls with alcoves with marble basins overflowing with warm water and that same sunlit glow. They sat us down in an alcove and proceded to bathe us....kinda like when you're two an your mom washes you in the kitchen sink. What a trip. Sitting bare-assed on marble while someone else soaps you up and dumps copious amounts of warm water over you. TMI? Sorry. But it was fantastic. The place was sparkling clean. I was sparkling clean.

It's such a contrast with the women when they're up in the streets who are 95% scarved and probably 60% in full black, many with the face veils. Down below, they are far less prudish than even their California counterparts.

I'm chillin' in Hama at the moment. Just got here.

My First Hammam remains copyright of the author jenofear, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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