I would be a terrible spy (and not because there are only about 3 countries on this planet where I can walk down the street and not stand out like a sore thumb).
I'm staying at a Saudi-run hotel in downtown Amman, which means there is no alcohol to be found, and the women are completely shrouded in veils right up to their eyeballs. Yesterday, I went down to breakfast, to find that I was the only woman who wasn't covered... I felt totally naked. Fortunately, I had my book, a plate of hummus, pita and salted tomatoes, and several cups of muddy coffee to distract me from my exposure. Interestingly enough, nobody stared, threw me looks of contempt, or seemed to even notice... but I did. I'm used to being around the headscarves and the chador. It's the purdah (the veil that covers the face) that made me feel so vulnerable. Hmmm.
Anyway, I'd be a terrible spy because during breakfast, I became very curious about how women in purdah eat. I tried strategically raising my book and peering over, then pretending that I was staring out the window... I probably would have been less obvious if I had just gone over and asked. The answer is: they pull their veil out a little and bring the food up underneath.
Last night I went to bridal shower for Salma, hosted by a friend of her's who, despite actually living in Bangladesh, has a house in Amman across from the Israeli embassy. We tried getting to the house from about three different directions, and were stopped each time by armed soldiers, road barricades, barbed wire, and tanks. They wouldn't let us through, without official documentation stating our reasons for the visit (do you think they'd accept a frilly invitation to a bridal shower?), and becuase we were in a taxi. We finally ended up calling the hostess on a cell phone, who sent a servant out to chaperone us through security.
I guess they don't call in for pizza delivery too often.
In case you're wondering, the gifts at Jordanian bridal showers are as raunchy as the raunchiest of American bridal showers. All of this was going on while the women were getting henna-ed...
My friend Jane is arriving from Philadelphia tonight, and tomorrow is the wedding...
There are about 20 people from grad school who will be attending the wedding. KSGers: see the list below...
Some people have asked about posting photographs in my blog... I have tons of photos, believe me, but I don't know how to get them from my camera into my blog. Does anyone have any ideas? I'm writing from public computers...
On Sunday, the Amman festivities will come to an end, and the dusty, dirty travels will begin. I'm hoping to do three things before I head out of Jordan toward Syria... visit Wadi Rum (a desertscape, about 20 miles north of the Saudi border) and Petra (and sleep in the desert in a Bedouin camp), and float in the Dead Sea.
I'm doubtful the Bedouins have wireless internet, but we shall see!
KSG representation:
Me, Reed, Beth, Stephanie, Steen (Denmark), Lisa, Masuda (Afghanistan, living in Dubai), Sergey (Russia), Carrie (USA, living in the Ukraine), Inese and husband (Latvia), Minh, Kara, Joyce, Aminu (Nigeria), Sepideh (Iran), Jo, Magda (Egypt), Luc (France) ... there are others... I'll update this list as I remember them!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Reading on the Run
I'm reading "Shake Hands with the Devil" by Canadian Lt. Gen. Romeo Dallaire right now; a hefty 500+ pager about Dallaire's service at the force commander to the UN Assistance Mission to Rwanda from 1993-1994.
Dalliare was a Fellow at the Kennedy School of Government while I was there, as well as the keynote speaker at our graduation. I've found his humanity and humility to be profoundly moving, as he speaks very openly of the failure in Rwanda.
Dalliare was a Fellow at the Kennedy School of Government while I was there, as well as the keynote speaker at our graduation. I've found his humanity and humility to be profoundly moving, as he speaks very openly of the failure in Rwanda.
Why do I always crave Spaghetti Bolognese when I travel?
Hi again,
I have a bit of a headache, which I thought might be caused by hunger, since I only ate breakfast this morning - but even after a dinner of spaghetti bolognese, which I've eaten in more than a dozen countries (I think Guatemalans make it better than the Italians), and a cup of coffee which will keep up until next Monday, my headache lingers. Heat? Sun? Dehydration? All of the above? Who knows...
So, today I got completely lost, which is no big surprise. I remember telling my mother, when I was about 17, my mantra for traveling; "I can't really get lost, because I don't really know where I'm going." And so the story goes...
King Abdullah Mosque *looked* fairly close on the map! Oh well. About an hour later, I just gave up and continued wandering along the little streets of Amman, until I was so exhausted that I decided to take a cab.
In order to hail a cab, you stick your arm straight out, palm down, and wiggle your fingers. A cab pulled over, even though there was already a woman in the backseat. "Oh well," I thought, and jumped in the front. The driver indicated that he would drop off his first fare, and then me at the Mosque. The woman in the back didn't speak any English, so the driver, who spoke some, translated for her, as well as peppering me with his own questions. I've decided that, when out in public, I will tell people that I'm from Canada (and since I lived there as a kid, I think I can fake it well enough, eh?) - just in case. And so my Canadian persona emerged. It turns out that the woman in back was an Iraqi refugee who fled the country because of the war, and came to Amman (along with 500,000 others Iraqi Nationals) looking for safety and work. She asked if I knew how she could get citizenship in Canada, to which I wistfully replied, "I don't know." I don't know how she would have reacted if I had said that I was American.
The driver was from Salt, a town in central Jordan. After dropping the Iraqi woman off first, which took us all the way into western Amman (good sightseeing!), he drove me all the way back into central Amman, and dropped me off at the Mosque. He gave me a long list of things to see and do while I'm here...
It took me three tries to get into the Mosque. I kept being shooed away to the "next entrance." The final entrance was the one set up for non-Muslims. I paid my 2 dinars (about $3), and was brought into a room where there were racks and racks of chador. I had to completely cover up in order to enter the Mosque. So, I pulled one over my head, covered my hair, zipped up the front, and walked up the stairs to the main mosque. I must have looked ridiculous, because the chador ended about half-way down my shins, presenting some orange pants, and some big feet down below. Oh well. I wandered in and out of the various rooms, through an Islamic museum, and around the grounds, looking at the magnificent blue-tiled dome, minarets, and views of the city.
After the King Abdullah Mosque, I took a cab to the Roman Amphitheater, which, after climbing the steep steps to very top, provides for some unbelievable views of the city. It's just a sea of white stone buildings, riding the 7 hills that make up Amman, with the desert just beyond.
Automobile accidents are the most common cause of death here. The traffic is nothing in comparison to Jakarta, but the drivers here drive at breakneck speed, reeling around traffic circles, paying no attention to any rules of the road (do any exist?) or pedestrians. Last night I saw the most dramatic car crash on a city street... the two cars were just smashed to smithereens.
Tomorrow I'm going to call my friend Anette's friend Leni, who works here for the Norwegian Embassy. Anette, whom I've known since I was 22 and met a random Superbowl party in Los Angeles (neither one of us were particularly moved by American football, and bonded instantly), works for the Swedish Embassy in DC, and has a great track record, in my mind, of introducing me to interesting people during my travels, including Christina, also from Sweden, who was working for the Embassy while I was living in Jakarta.
That's quite a run-on sentence. Oh well.
The women in Amman look like beauty queens. They have perfectly-styled, dramatic, big hair, flawless makeup (how do they not sweat?), and are always dressed impeccably with lots of glitz and glamor. I'm sure that they are silently wondering "What the hell is with these Americans, with their t-shirts, flip flops and chapstick?" The wedding will provide for an incredible showcasing opportunity, perhaps, in some ways, like a parade. I suggested to my fellow comrades-in-casual, that maybe we should go all-out and visit a salon on Friday, before the wedding, to have our hair and make-up done in the local fashion. All have agreed. I'm sure we'll feel like transvestites, but what the hay! Do transvestites wear pearls?
Scandalous.
I hope all is well with you...
I have a bit of a headache, which I thought might be caused by hunger, since I only ate breakfast this morning - but even after a dinner of spaghetti bolognese, which I've eaten in more than a dozen countries (I think Guatemalans make it better than the Italians), and a cup of coffee which will keep up until next Monday, my headache lingers. Heat? Sun? Dehydration? All of the above? Who knows...
So, today I got completely lost, which is no big surprise. I remember telling my mother, when I was about 17, my mantra for traveling; "I can't really get lost, because I don't really know where I'm going." And so the story goes...
King Abdullah Mosque *looked* fairly close on the map! Oh well. About an hour later, I just gave up and continued wandering along the little streets of Amman, until I was so exhausted that I decided to take a cab.
In order to hail a cab, you stick your arm straight out, palm down, and wiggle your fingers. A cab pulled over, even though there was already a woman in the backseat. "Oh well," I thought, and jumped in the front. The driver indicated that he would drop off his first fare, and then me at the Mosque. The woman in the back didn't speak any English, so the driver, who spoke some, translated for her, as well as peppering me with his own questions. I've decided that, when out in public, I will tell people that I'm from Canada (and since I lived there as a kid, I think I can fake it well enough, eh?) - just in case. And so my Canadian persona emerged. It turns out that the woman in back was an Iraqi refugee who fled the country because of the war, and came to Amman (along with 500,000 others Iraqi Nationals) looking for safety and work. She asked if I knew how she could get citizenship in Canada, to which I wistfully replied, "I don't know." I don't know how she would have reacted if I had said that I was American.
The driver was from Salt, a town in central Jordan. After dropping the Iraqi woman off first, which took us all the way into western Amman (good sightseeing!), he drove me all the way back into central Amman, and dropped me off at the Mosque. He gave me a long list of things to see and do while I'm here...
It took me three tries to get into the Mosque. I kept being shooed away to the "next entrance." The final entrance was the one set up for non-Muslims. I paid my 2 dinars (about $3), and was brought into a room where there were racks and racks of chador. I had to completely cover up in order to enter the Mosque. So, I pulled one over my head, covered my hair, zipped up the front, and walked up the stairs to the main mosque. I must have looked ridiculous, because the chador ended about half-way down my shins, presenting some orange pants, and some big feet down below. Oh well. I wandered in and out of the various rooms, through an Islamic museum, and around the grounds, looking at the magnificent blue-tiled dome, minarets, and views of the city.
After the King Abdullah Mosque, I took a cab to the Roman Amphitheater, which, after climbing the steep steps to very top, provides for some unbelievable views of the city. It's just a sea of white stone buildings, riding the 7 hills that make up Amman, with the desert just beyond.
Automobile accidents are the most common cause of death here. The traffic is nothing in comparison to Jakarta, but the drivers here drive at breakneck speed, reeling around traffic circles, paying no attention to any rules of the road (do any exist?) or pedestrians. Last night I saw the most dramatic car crash on a city street... the two cars were just smashed to smithereens.
Tomorrow I'm going to call my friend Anette's friend Leni, who works here for the Norwegian Embassy. Anette, whom I've known since I was 22 and met a random Superbowl party in Los Angeles (neither one of us were particularly moved by American football, and bonded instantly), works for the Swedish Embassy in DC, and has a great track record, in my mind, of introducing me to interesting people during my travels, including Christina, also from Sweden, who was working for the Embassy while I was living in Jakarta.
That's quite a run-on sentence. Oh well.
The women in Amman look like beauty queens. They have perfectly-styled, dramatic, big hair, flawless makeup (how do they not sweat?), and are always dressed impeccably with lots of glitz and glamor. I'm sure that they are silently wondering "What the hell is with these Americans, with their t-shirts, flip flops and chapstick?" The wedding will provide for an incredible showcasing opportunity, perhaps, in some ways, like a parade. I suggested to my fellow comrades-in-casual, that maybe we should go all-out and visit a salon on Friday, before the wedding, to have our hair and make-up done in the local fashion. All have agreed. I'm sure we'll feel like transvestites, but what the hay! Do transvestites wear pearls?
Scandalous.
I hope all is well with you...
Amman - City of Stone
Greetings from Jordan!
I flew from Washington DC to Paris, where I met 2 friends who were on the same flight from Paris to Amman. The whole trip was flawless. On my way to Amman, I sat next to an American man who was working at a school in the desert, educating Iraqi refugee girls... his whole family moved to Jordan about 3 years ago for humanitarian work.
Flying into Amman was absolutely stunning. Only about 4.5% of Jordan's land has been cultivated, most of it being desert and scraggly brush. We flew in over the Arabian Desert which was foreboding and intimidating, landing in Amman - a congested, urban oasis overflowing with construction and humanity.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was the men wearing their keffiyeh - the red and white cloth indicates that they are Bedouin, and black and white checked cloth indicates that they are Palestinian. Many men also wear a simple white fabric, but I don't know what that implies. The cloth is held in place by a black rope, or agal. Female garb ranges from a simple headscarf, to a hejab, to a full chador worn with or without the purdah - the veil that covers the face. I should note that Amman seems to be a very modern city, and that many people dress in the western style as well.
The next thing I noticed, when leaving the airport, was the air quality. I've grown so accustomed to that familiar smell when leaving the airport in a developing country - the smell of fire and diesel - and the air here is noticably cleaner. Things are dusty, simply because the wind is always blowing sand in from the desert, but I've discovered that Jordan takes great pride in keeping their country clean, right down to maintaining strict emissions on their cars.
In the last few years, Amman has been flooded with refugees from Palestine and Iraq, creating a crossroads of many cultures and traditions from all over the Middle East.
In the last 36 hours all activities have showcased the bride and groom. Nearly 25 people came together for a 4-hour lunch yesterday, where we ate and talked and met people from all over the world. The days here are very long in that we get up early, and everything simply takes a long time - traffic is omnipresent, meals take hours, people move slowly, all peppered with the call to prayer 5 times each day. It's this slow, long pace that I love sinking into when I travel. At 10pm, I took a cab to outside of the city, where 60 or 70 people came together for a huge party, on the roof of a club, overlooking the desert with Amman in the distance. We danced to Arabic songs, ate hummus and cheese, drank wine and talked until the early morning, as Salma and Basel, the bride and groom, were lifted onto chairs, hoisted onto shoulders and celebrated through music and dance.
I've been asking many Arabs their thoughts of me traveling to Syria on this trip. Almost unanimously, their response has been to look at me strangely and say "Of course. Why not?" I've been reminded of my time in Indonesia, a country I was warned about endlessly, which caused so much concern from people at home... when I arrived, however, I saw that the American media blew so much of their social strife out of proportion, and for 3 months I traveled throughout the country with no problems at all. In many ways, it's the same here. Arabs get shafted in the American media, and we are veiled with a subtle, intangible fear of Arabs and Islam at home. The reality is that people here welcome Americans and make a very clear distinction between Americans (whom they like) and the American government (which they don't). I haven't experienced even the slightest anti-American sentiment, and I must say, people here stare less than virtually any other country I've ever visited. You can move through the streets smoothly, without any hassle. --- Don't get me wrong: the recent bombings in Turkey are a somber reminder that there is hatred of the West, but these attacks are relatively rare. These terrorists are to Islam, as the KKK is to Christianity.
I am now in Amman alone, as all of our friends have left for a 2-day trip to Petra in the south. I've decided to wait until Jane arrives on Thursday to visit all of the sites outside of Amman, so today I will wander the streets of Amman, in search of the local bazaar, the Citadel and the King Abdullah Mosque. I'm happy to be solo, as I find traveling in large groups to be quite taxing.
So there are my thoughts for the day.
I hope you're well....
I flew from Washington DC to Paris, where I met 2 friends who were on the same flight from Paris to Amman. The whole trip was flawless. On my way to Amman, I sat next to an American man who was working at a school in the desert, educating Iraqi refugee girls... his whole family moved to Jordan about 3 years ago for humanitarian work.
Flying into Amman was absolutely stunning. Only about 4.5% of Jordan's land has been cultivated, most of it being desert and scraggly brush. We flew in over the Arabian Desert which was foreboding and intimidating, landing in Amman - a congested, urban oasis overflowing with construction and humanity.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was the men wearing their keffiyeh - the red and white cloth indicates that they are Bedouin, and black and white checked cloth indicates that they are Palestinian. Many men also wear a simple white fabric, but I don't know what that implies. The cloth is held in place by a black rope, or agal. Female garb ranges from a simple headscarf, to a hejab, to a full chador worn with or without the purdah - the veil that covers the face. I should note that Amman seems to be a very modern city, and that many people dress in the western style as well.
The next thing I noticed, when leaving the airport, was the air quality. I've grown so accustomed to that familiar smell when leaving the airport in a developing country - the smell of fire and diesel - and the air here is noticably cleaner. Things are dusty, simply because the wind is always blowing sand in from the desert, but I've discovered that Jordan takes great pride in keeping their country clean, right down to maintaining strict emissions on their cars.
In the last few years, Amman has been flooded with refugees from Palestine and Iraq, creating a crossroads of many cultures and traditions from all over the Middle East.
In the last 36 hours all activities have showcased the bride and groom. Nearly 25 people came together for a 4-hour lunch yesterday, where we ate and talked and met people from all over the world. The days here are very long in that we get up early, and everything simply takes a long time - traffic is omnipresent, meals take hours, people move slowly, all peppered with the call to prayer 5 times each day. It's this slow, long pace that I love sinking into when I travel. At 10pm, I took a cab to outside of the city, where 60 or 70 people came together for a huge party, on the roof of a club, overlooking the desert with Amman in the distance. We danced to Arabic songs, ate hummus and cheese, drank wine and talked until the early morning, as Salma and Basel, the bride and groom, were lifted onto chairs, hoisted onto shoulders and celebrated through music and dance.
I've been asking many Arabs their thoughts of me traveling to Syria on this trip. Almost unanimously, their response has been to look at me strangely and say "Of course. Why not?" I've been reminded of my time in Indonesia, a country I was warned about endlessly, which caused so much concern from people at home... when I arrived, however, I saw that the American media blew so much of their social strife out of proportion, and for 3 months I traveled throughout the country with no problems at all. In many ways, it's the same here. Arabs get shafted in the American media, and we are veiled with a subtle, intangible fear of Arabs and Islam at home. The reality is that people here welcome Americans and make a very clear distinction between Americans (whom they like) and the American government (which they don't). I haven't experienced even the slightest anti-American sentiment, and I must say, people here stare less than virtually any other country I've ever visited. You can move through the streets smoothly, without any hassle. --- Don't get me wrong: the recent bombings in Turkey are a somber reminder that there is hatred of the West, but these attacks are relatively rare. These terrorists are to Islam, as the KKK is to Christianity.
I am now in Amman alone, as all of our friends have left for a 2-day trip to Petra in the south. I've decided to wait until Jane arrives on Thursday to visit all of the sites outside of Amman, so today I will wander the streets of Amman, in search of the local bazaar, the Citadel and the King Abdullah Mosque. I'm happy to be solo, as I find traveling in large groups to be quite taxing.
So there are my thoughts for the day.
I hope you're well....
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Whirling Dervish
So, I'm leaving today, and that familiar panic has set in. I looked at my itinerary, and realized that I'm leaving at 6:45pm, not 10:00pm. Whoops.
I also haven't started packing, but that's normal for me. I travel light (Perhaps because I pack at the last minute. Hmmm. I've never thought of that before.), so I'm not terribly concerned. I do need to figure out *how* I'm going to pack. Meaning, I have a week of formal events surrounding Salma's wedding, 2 weeks of dusty, dirty traveling in who-knows-where, and I just saw yesterday that the temperature drops about 35 degrees at night - so I need to bring some warm things. How to pack all of that in something that will be convenient to carry during the dusty, dirty travels? I guess I'll just throw it all into a backpack, and then send the gowns and heels home when I'm through with them (leaving room to be filled with interesting trinkets found along the way....!).
I just found out that "blog" is synonymous with "procrastination." I'm out of here.
I also haven't started packing, but that's normal for me. I travel light (Perhaps because I pack at the last minute. Hmmm. I've never thought of that before.), so I'm not terribly concerned. I do need to figure out *how* I'm going to pack. Meaning, I have a week of formal events surrounding Salma's wedding, 2 weeks of dusty, dirty traveling in who-knows-where, and I just saw yesterday that the temperature drops about 35 degrees at night - so I need to bring some warm things. How to pack all of that in something that will be convenient to carry during the dusty, dirty travels? I guess I'll just throw it all into a backpack, and then send the gowns and heels home when I'm through with them (leaving room to be filled with interesting trinkets found along the way....!).
I just found out that "blog" is synonymous with "procrastination." I'm out of here.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Demoting Pluto
I'm kind of disappointed that Pluto has been demoted from a planet to a... to a... to a what? A rest-stop? This has wreaked havoc with all of those 3rd grade mnemonic tricks-of-the-trade that have helped me remember the planets all these years.
I'm starting a petition.
Pluto will always have a special place in my heart.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Prologue
On Saturday I leave for Amman, Jordan for a three week trip through two, possibly three, countries. For those of you who know me, you know that I love to travel - many of you have probably received my long wandering e-mails over the years, as I meandered through Southeast Asia (see photo), Central and South America - all solo adventures.
The last time I was in the Middle East was nearly 20 years ago, when I was 18, living and working in Cairo, and traveling through Egypt. Since that time, I've sought out and embraced travels that lead me off the beaten path, where I am completely out of my element, surrounded by the unfamiliar. It is in these environments that I repeatedly experience an important lesson that I try to carry with me throughout my life - that most people are good. Over the years, I have experienced such profound kindness from people from the far reaches of the world; generosity, curiosity, integrity, hospitality. I've been fed, housed, toured, introduced; brought to weddings, funerals, birthday parties, anniversaries, town and school meetings, soccer matches, musical performances, tribal dances, indigenous fighting matches, to secret alcoves, caves, underground pools and cliffs with never-ending views, that I would have never found otherwise.
The last year has been an unbelievable journey, from finishing graduate school (as a 36-year old "midcareer"), to moving to Indonesia and working in the tsunami relief effort, living in Belmont Massachusetts where the Swiftenhartz family served as my loving safety net, and now, the most recent chapter, living in Washington DC and working for the United Nations. It's been a bit of a rollercoaster, and I need to remind myself, from time to time, that this is what I wanted, and what I chose for myself.
So, I leave for Amman on Saturday, to attend Salma’s wedding on September 1, and the preceding week of festivities. There are about 20 of us from grad school, from about 15 different countries, who will be attending – I have no idea how many will be attending overall. I think weddings are one the best windows into a culture.
Salma is a magnet, a denmother, a connector. She is one of those unique people who builds community wherever she goes, invites people in and makes them feel at home. She, in many ways, was one of the central figures that held our class of amazing, colorful, and dynamic people together. Throughout our year at school, I met various friends of hers, from near and far, who concurred that, wherever she is, Salma brings people together. I feel so fortunate to be able to witness her marriage, and participate in the celebrations, which I think will be an exuberant and fascinating experience.
My friend Jane will be arriving from Philadelphia (the ancient name of Amman, by the way!) just before the wedding, and we will spend the following weeks traveling around Jordan and Turkey. How we will get from Jordan to Turkey has yet to be determined – will we go through Syria, or go over Syria? Not sure. I’ve received mixed messages from friends far and wide, but the American Embassy in Damascus has stated that they are not discouraging Americans from visiting Syria. Of course things could change on a dime, and anti-American sentiment is (understandably) at all-time high. We're going to play it by ear, and decide while we're there.
As usual, I have volumes more to say, but I'll cut it short for now.
I hope you're well...
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