Having my taxi driver tell me, in Arabic, that Gaddafi had just been killed, was exceptionally cool. The Libyan revolution hits a lot closer to home when you live in the Middle East and actively follow the various revolutions in the region. "Wul-lah!!?" I exclaimed as my heart skipped a beat, and I eagerly leaned forward to hear the radio better. I'm not in the thick of it, but still, being in the region at such a crucial time is something I'm so incredibly grateful for. The way I view the world will never be the same after these past few months.

Also, on a totally unrelated note, it was my five year old cousin's birthday today. They put three sparklers, yes actual sparklers, on her Barbie cake. And lit them. As they sang the most out of tune version of Happy Birthday I have ever heard in my life. Note to self: do not ever sing in any language other than English, even if I become fluent.

It's getting harder for me to blog the longer I live in Amman. My life has become so ordinary. To me at least. Just like I wouldn't blog from back in Champaign or Carbondale, I'm starting to feel the same way about Amman. Which is actually a shame, because I'm still having some new and interesting experiences that I'm sure y'all would love to hear about. I also managed to severely dehydrate myself, which made for a very bad past week. Note to all: If one lives in a desert climate and starts working out four times a week, one should increase one's water intake. I did not. I think I came close to needing to be hospitalized. But at least now I know why I've been so tired lately and getting frequent muscle cramps.

So last Saturday, I attended my first Jordanian wedding. Weddings here in Jordan are relatively similar to Christian weddings in the States, except that there is no ceremony. Only a reception, but the bride wears white, the groom wears a tux, and there's a giant, white wedding cake. I've wanted to go to a wedding for a long time, but I wasn't too jazzed about this one, because teta only asked me if I wanted to go a few hours before we left, and I had nothing to wear. I did my best, but I was vastly underdressed. Jordanians like lots of bling, and while I never went to prom, I imagine the dance floor looked pretty similar to a high school prom. Except without boys. Yep, this wedding was segregated. Which was kind of a big deal, enough so that my host dad wouldn't even go. The segregation was interesting to see though - when we first got there, the men were in the same room, but they left shortly after, and then all the outer clothes came off - hijabs, jackets, etc. until the women were only wearing skimpy little dresses. I find it interesting how, out in society, this culture is so conservative, but yet so laid back behind closed doors. You should have seen how some of the women were dancing - and in front of their grandmas' too! Another CIEE student was there, so we were dancing, and let me tell you, I sure felt uncomfortable dancing to Shakira in front of teta . . . that is until she came out and danced with me. My teta rules. Oh, and I took an awesome video of the bride and groom dancing, but I got yelled at about it because the bride had taken her hijab off, so I guess I'll have to refrain from posting it here. Sad face.

Also last Saturday, I started English conversation club at the organization where I work. Volunteers from the center came in, and we just sat in a circle and talked. I was thrilled, because there were some really outspoken and politically minded young women that showed up; they seemed like a lot of fun. Most of the young women I meet here seem to have no interest in anything other than hair and nails and maybe Twilight, so it was really refreshing to talk to these girls. Plus, I've hit a goldmine of information on Jordan. I'm really lucky to work where I do, because most Jordanians don't talk about politics, but the center is very politically involved, so that's all we do talk about. I'm learning so much about the way this country is run - it's fascinating. I'm so incredibly, incredibly lucky to be working at a political organization in the Middle East at a time like this. Jordan isn't obviously in the thick of it, but still I feel like I'm in the middle of history in the making. Going to work, and having all these people around you pushing for change, believing in their cause, trying to make their country a better place to live . . . it's really fucking cool.

This past weekend was our CIEE sponsored trip to Petra and Wadi Rum which I had previously done three months before with the summer program. While I still had a good time, I quickly realized that doing it with a grand total of 32 individuals is much more fun then the 150 that were on the trip this time around. I don't feel like rehashing the details, especially a second time around so we won't go into that. Plus, I enjoy talking about the fam more - my host grandma, or as I've began to call her "teta" (Jordanian for grandma), is so much more interesting.

Some short stories:

On Friday morning I was in my room doing homework. Teta walks in, hands me a pair of new socks, says "for you", and walks out again.

She moves furniture around in the house daily. My room is different every day. Every. Day. Furniture goes in, other furniture goes out. Also, I came home yesterday to find the two twin beds in my room covered in matching comforters with massive tigers on them. I feel like a bad ass. Or a 10 year old boy who likes Ed Hardy and motorcycles.

When I got home from my trip yesterday I went to bed almost immediately. Teta didn't get home until later. Today, when I got home from school I thought she told me that she had prepared a "feast" for me yesterday, but I was sleeping. I felt terrible. Thankfully, she repeated herself later and I realized she had said "fish" not "feast" and it had been sitting in the microwave all afternoon. That made me feel better. I already felt bad about ignoring my family last night; I would have been really embarrassed if they had prepared dinner for me and I slept through it.

ETA: While I was eating my dinner this evening, Teta decided to tell me about how the maid was on her period. And how she felt so sick she thought she was a bird apparently. Great story Teta, keep them coming. Which reminds me - almost as funny as yesterday when she asked me if there were camels in America, and Maher, her son, gave me a fantastic "sorry, she's crazy" look as he told her no, there are no camels in America.

While I pretty much hated Jordanian/Middle Eastern food this summer, my opinion has completely reversed since living in a Jordanian home. While many parts of the homestay are hard for me, eating the food definitely isn't. Things taste much better home cooked. Plus there's definite variety. It's always rice and a lot of times chicken, but still awesome. Especially because this is one of those food cultures where things taste best all mixed together, which is my favorite. Even a simple meal of rice, yogurt, and salad (tomato, cucumber, parsley, olive oil) all mixed together is zakee. Today, Teta made an Egyptian dish (the name escapes me) that was possibly my favorite so far. You start with a bed of rice mixed with lentils and something that I think was caramelized onions. Add plain macaroni. Then hot sauce. Then peppers. Then salad. Top off with homemade baba ghanoush. Mix together. Actually I may be completely bull shitting you. What happened was, I came home at 7pm. Teta got a bunch of tupperware containers out of the fridge and showed me what they were. I know the rice, macaroni, and hot sauce go together, but I'm not sure about the rest. Teta seems to get confused when I ask her things in Arabic. Not sure why; I've been told my Arabic is very clear. So anyway I ended up just dumping a little bit of everything into the bowl. No one else was eating, so I may have appalled her with my love of just mixing everything together. In fact I probably ruined her famous Egyptian dish by doing something else. Whatever, it tasted good to me . . .

The past couple of weeks were pretty hard for me, but I think I've finally returned to my normal state of being. I'm still stressed about when I'm going to find time to do grad school applications, but other than that, things are going pretty well. I have a routine down that includes gym time. I was able to do some bonding over the weekend, so I feel closer to my fellow American classmates. I just bought my plane ticket to Beirut for our week long holiday in November. I'm running a 10k race through Amman in three weeks. I figured out that the internet at my home is fast enough to download streaming video, so I can now watch the new season of my favorite show (will not be named to save face). I just got an extra $100 from CIEE to cover transportation costs to and from my job - what they don't know is that I figured out how to take the bus, which is a mere 42 cents per ride. My host dad, Maher, is making baby shrimp soup this weekend. Etc, etc, etc. I'm just glad I've settled in. I was worried for awhile that I wouldn't and I'd hate this entire semester.

Me, with two of my "cousins"? Or "nieces"? I'm only a few years younger then the moms, but I feel too young myself to be considered as their equals, so I'm having a hard time deciding what to refer to members of my family as . . . Anyway, note the hair - one of the girls (not pictured) has turned me into her own personal doll. She's actually pretty good, especially for a 12 year old, but this is one of her less age appropriate hair-dos.

This past week has been a roller coaster of emotions. One day, I'll feel so upset and uncomfortable and homesick, and the next, feel so lucky to be living my life. Without a doubt, doing this homestay is one of the most difficult things I've ever done, and while I think it's worth it, it's definitely a struggle for me. Thankfully, I joined a gym - it's been my saving grace. Earlier this week I was miserable - definitely at my lowest point since living in Jordan - and then I went for a run, and it all went away. I'm so busy that making time for the gym is a bit difficult, especially when it's a half hour walk from my house, but I feel so much better after that it's well worth it to go, even if it means waking up early and going before class.

And things are getting more comfortable with my family; I'm sure in another month most of the awkwardness will be gone. I think my host mom/sister is possibly one of the coolest people ever. There are so many things I want to ask her about - I can't wait until we're closer. Amaal married into this family, so she lives with her husband, Maher, and her mother-in-law, Shireen, and then pretty much their whole family, since they're always here. I have so much respect for her for a number of reasons, but mostly for submitting to living in someone else's home. Shireen is obviously in charge - it's her family and friends that are always here - never Amaal's. I was actually worried that Amaal never even saw her family, but she told me this week that she goes there every day after work, which made me feel better. Amaal just seems like someone who, born into American culture, would be a total high-powered single woman working some fancy job in a big city. She's fashionable and gorgeous, but also sort of a bad-ass, not to mention an awesome mother. The two kids, Laith (9) and Tala (6), are extremely polite and well-behaved, not to mention raised on a diet completely void of junk food. She's definitely not what I would consider as a typical Arab mother, but then again this is Amman . . . which leads me to my next point . . .

Thursday night, Amaal and I were sitting out on the patio smoking sheesha, and she asked me what my family thought about me coming here. (She speaks perfect English btw; not good for my Arabic.) I explained about how it's hard for a lot of people to understand, because they are so ignorant about the culture here. I know so much about life here so I can't even really imagine what goes on in people's heads - but my idea of American ignorance is that they think all Arabs are Muslims and all Muslims are fundamentalists/terrorists who live in tents and build bombs or some dumb shit like that. I'm not sure. "Yeah, I think they think we ride camels to work," she said. "But really, at least here in Amman, our lives are so similar." I concur. I mean obviously there are slight cultural differences, but this family could easily live in the States. Like that night, also on the patio was her son, Laith, who was wrapped up in a blanket, trying not to fall asleep, because he didn't want to stop playing Angry Birds on his dad's iPhone. Yeah, Amaal is Muslim. Yeah, she wears hijab. But A. it's her choice; she didn't use to. B. it doesn't make her any less modern or intelligent or whatever else someone might think about people that wear hijab.

On Living with a Jordanian Family

First a note on weather in Amman:

June: sunny, highs in the upper 80s
July: sunny, highs in the upper 80s
August: sunny, highs in the upper 80s
September: sunny, highs in the upper 80s

What are clouds?

Where is fall? I keep getting confused about the time of year. It's very disorienting when mid-September is exactly the same as mid-June. The monotony is freaking me out. This is a minor complaint though; I hate cold weather so if fall comes two months later, that's fine by me.

Okay. So it's been one week with the new fam. And what a long week it has been. Staying as a guest in someone else's house is always kind of awkward for the first time, right? Even if you know them pretty well, you still feel a bit uncomfortable about things - like using the bathroom in the middle of the night or getting something out of the fridge. But here, that awkwardness is multiplied by about 100, because not only are they strangers, they live in a completely different country, with a completely different culture, and speak a completely different language. Yeah I've lived in Amman for three months, and yeah, I've studied the culture in classes, so I'm aware of a lot of things. But since I'm also a foreigner, I'm not sure what is expected of me and what isn't. It makes things very confusing. I think it would almost be better if I weren't so aware of the culture; then maybe I wouldn't always be worrying about if I'm being rude or not.

So to say the least, this first week was uncomfortable. Like I'd come home flat out exhausted and just want to go in my room and shut the door, but I'm not sure if that's cool. So I don't. I go and I sit with the family and do nothing besides drink Turkish coffee while everyone babbles around me. And when I say sit with the family, I mean for hours. There are ALWAYS people here, and everyone sits on the patio, smokes sheesha, and chats till about 10 or 11 every night. I've just about fallen asleep sitting out there a few times this week. Also, sometimes we have dinner at 10:30 pm. That threw me for a loop the first time it happened. Sunday, I was dead on my feet and could have gone to bed at 7pm. I was doing homework and my host dad told me that at 9pm he was gonna quiz me; being as polite as I am, of course I said okay. So I struggled to stay awake til 9, but 9 came and passed and he said nothing. At 10, he comes and tells me we're having dinner. I was like "seriously?" This is where I learn that the big meal I eat when I get home is considered lunch . . . So anyway, we eat, and then he insists on a "quiz." He turns on the tv to al-jazeera and makes me read the news scroll at the bottom. It's 10:30. I'm about to pass out I'm so tired. The screen is fuzzy. I can't distinguish how many dots are on any of the letters so I keep mixing them up. It was incredibly painful. And now my host dad probably thinks I can't read Arabic.

Also, this was 9/11, so of course that was what they were talking about, and my host dad says to me, in possibly the saddest voice ever, "by the way, I'm really sorry about that." I wanted to cry. Or give him a hug. Mostly I was mortified. "Oh God," I said. "Why are you apologizing? That had nothing to do with you." Jesus. Does he really think I'm one of those Americans? That see all Arabs or Muslims as Osama bin Laden? I felt so bad that he felt he had to apologize. Here he is this normal guy, a sales manager that works an 8-5 desk job, loves football, and wears converse shoes on the weekends, apologizing for some crazy ass dude who lived in a cave just because he also happens to be Muslim and Arab.

However, I don't want to come off as if I don't like this experience. In fact it's quite the opposite. I appreciate the challenge, and I know it will get easier. Plus, my host family is cool, nice, and laid back. Like last night, I went out for the first time since moving in, and my host dad was soo happy. He was like "oh good, I was worried you didn't have friends." And then he told me I could stay out as late as I wanted. "You have a key right, in case we're asleep?" Uh yeah I have a key. But you guys go to bed at like 3 am. "I'll be back by 11 at the latest," I told him. "No, no, stay out as late as you want," he insisted. "Okay. I'll be back by 11." The thing is, there's only so long I can sit at a cafe and talk before I get bored. What does one do 'till 3 am? I don't have the stamina to sit and chat like they do here, unless I'm drinking . . . which I obviously won't be since I'm living in a Muslim household.

Which, speaking of living in a Muslim household - it's been really interesting to observe the things they do so nonchalantly, but that stick out to me. My favorite is how they pray so openly. Like, we'll all be outside sitting in a circle, and the call to prayer will go off, and my host grandma will just go put on hijab, come back out, sit down, turn her chair to face Mecca and pray right there in the middle of everything as the conversation continues around her. Most of the family will go in the house to pray, but it's not like they close doors or anything. At any time, I'll just walk past someone praying, like on my way to the kitchen. It's very cool. Also, I like observing when the women do and don't wear hijab - it depends on who the guests are. So if someone who isn't family is coming over, I get to watch them put it on, which I also enjoy - especially the more stylish ones, who wear a poof under their hijab to make it look really big.

Wanna play "Goldshit"?

Orientation for the fall program was this week, which means once again I've had to sit and listen to CIEE employees make Amman sound like the Congo or Somalia or some equally dangerous place, where riding a taxi alone at night assures either rape or mugging. After orientation in the summer, I was scared shitless about a good number of things in Amman, and it took me close to a month to realize that most of my fears were unfounded. I realize that it's important to be aware of your surroundings, but that's true in any place in the world; it's not fair how they over emphasize all the crazy things as if they were the norm rather than the exception.

So this semester, instead of living in an apartment, I'll be living with a Jordanian family. Before I left, I was really excited about it, but now after being here and being used to my freedom, the excitement has turned to apprehension.

For reasons such as:

Lack of privacy
Lack of alone time
Eating Jordanian food
Making my bed every day
Rarely showering
Who is washing my underwear
Curfew
Appropriateness of having male friends

The family came and picked me up from the hotel yesterday, so I've now experienced a day here with them. I was provided with a picture and some information beforehand so I thought I had a rough idea of what they looked like. However it must have been a bad pic, because when my name was called at the hotel, I was vastly surprised when the Jordanian Ken and Barbie came and helped me with my stuff. My host parents are in their mid-30s, but could easily be in their 20s. They're hip, they're cool, and they're gorgeous. Both were impeccably dressed; the dad in a well-fitting pin-striped suit, and the mom perfectly matching from her intricately wrapped hijab to her high heels. I'm a snob when it comes to dressing well, so I was happy about their ability to put a working outfit together, but also intimidated. Women dressed like that in Jordan are constantly giving me disdainful looks, and I wasn't surprised when I caught my host mom dog-eyeing my dirty yellow cloth purse that I picked up in a souvenir shop downtown.

They took me home, where I was greeted by a whole slew of my host dad's family members, none of whose names I retained. I sat down awkwardly on the couch. I didn't know what to say. All the women were young and gorgeous. There were children everywhere. I wasn't sure who anyone was. Dinner was served almost immediately. I put too much food on my plate, always a bad idea, since it's expected that you eat everything there. The last few bites were torture on my full to bursting stomach. I still wasn't talking. I think I've gotten quiet here. Everyone is always speaking in Arabic, and I still often can't comprehend even the gist of the conversation, so I've pretty much just stopped talking. I'm completely used to sitting in a room for hours without barely uttering a word nor understanding anything that is going on around me. My host dad was nice and asked me things here and there, but I wasn't really comfortable with the stilted conversation thrown into between bursts of Arabic with other family members. That's not how I'm used to getting to know someone.

After dinner, I ended up mostly playing with the kids. One of the girls in the family goes to an English school, so her English is better than her Arabic. I immediately took a liking to her, even if it meant curling up in a cubby in a closet to play hide and seek. Being around this many children might become tiring sometimes, but I think it will definitely benefit my Arabic. I feel more comfortable speaking to them then adults, because they don't give you those condescending looks of feigned patience as you struggle through what you want to say. The best moment of the night came when one of the girls got out a deck of cards and asked me if I wanted to play Goldshit. I thought I heard her wrong. "What?" I asked. "Goldshit. Let's play Goldshit." Yep. She definitely said Goldshit. Ohhhh. You mean Go Fish.

Later on in the evening, my host dad announced that one of my classmates was coming over. It turns out his dad hosts a CIEE student as well, and on the weekends, they're either at our place or we're at theirs. It's a definite relief to be able to go through this whole experience with someone at my side. I started this yesterday, Friday morning - it's now a day later - and all of Friday was spent at the dad's (or grandpa's), and I think I would have broke into tears if I didn't have Monica to talk to. I don't think I've ever felt more exhausted. Spending two straight days essentially trapped in a non-English speaking environment is like running a marathon. But I definitely see it paying off, because my Arabic has noticeably improved in just two days.

A Little Bit About Having A Maid

Having a maid here in a Jordan is a very popular thing right now. They're all young women from Asian countries - I think mostly the Philippines, Indonesia, maybe Bangladesh - and I'm pretty sure they're with the family 24/7. On the information sheet I received about the family beforehand it said they didn't have a maid, so I wasn't expecting to have one, but we do. This is a definite adjustment. Ours, Jessna, literally just grabbed my arm out of the sink and slapped it when I tried to wash my teacup . . . I am not used to having someone clean up after me - walking in my room, emptying the trash, taking out the laundry, etc. I guess there are perks to living with a family here - perks I never even had back home - like having all my meals home cooked or never having to do laundry.

Oh side note. There is literally no processed food in this house. It is AWESOME. The kids have been snacking all day, but what I've seen them eat is: corn, grapes, bananas, chicken, and pita. The jam is even homemade. The fridge consists of a bunch of baskets with assorted fruits and veggies and then tupperware containers with all the home cooked leftovers. As long as I don't stop at the 7-11 and buy candy every day, I'll be eating really healthy. Even if it has to be mensahf. I think I've explained about mensahf before, but here's a refresher: it's the Jordanian national dish, and they LOVE it. It's lamb cooked in a sour yogurt sauce and then poured over rice. To me the yogurt tastes rancid. It is definitely an acquired taste. Yesterday, this is what we had for lunch. While I feel like I can tell my family if I don't like something, I don't have the heart to tell any Jordanian I don't like mensahf. That just seems brutal. So I will continue to suffer through eating it. Right before lunch, my host grandpa handed me a cup filled with the yogurt, and was like "Close your eyes and drink deeply" and I was like "shit, this is the most disgusting thing on the planet as far as I'm concerned." I can't believe he was drinking it, like it was juice. Then, at lunch, I figured I would take as little yogurt "gravy" as possible - just eat the rice and lamb - but while I was up getting soda, my host grandpa decided to literally douse my plate in the yogurt. And what can you do but smile and eat it?

Some Pictures from Turkiye

My computer charger broke, and while I have a spare, it's in my luggage at the university, which I will not be claiming until after I return from Turkey. Thus, I will be taking a brief hiatus from my blog. But check back soon, because I should have some fantastic pictures from Turkey with it being the end of Ramadan and all. Also, I'm hoping to get to go to Cappadocia in central Turkey. Gorgeous scenery - Google it if you've never heard of it before. Traveling is a bit difficult around Eid, but my friend "claims" he's secured me a bus ticket. He better have since he asked me to pick up a bottle of Smirnoff vodka and Beefeater gin at duty free. I don't do favors for free.

ISTANBUUUUUUULLLLL!!!! 9 days until I can sit and drink a Vole beer as I look out over the Bosphorous. Me amore. I'm coming home.

Whenever I have extended free time (like the last couple of weeks) I always have these grand plans for how productive I'm going to be . . . but instead, the time slips away and I do nothing. Literally. Unless lying around reading reddit and watching Breaking Bad counts as "doing something". It wasn't too bad the first week. I studied for the GRE a shitload, read two books, and did quite a bit of writing. Since then - zilch. So bored. Can't concentrate. Downtown Amman is wearing on me. I don't even want to go outside. I spent $7 on cab rides one day last last week just so I could go to the mall for no other reason but to be someplace Western. Never again will I fail to appreciate walking around in recycled air and listening to bad American pop music. I've been reduced to my 12 year old self.

I got this internship, right? And the guy that interviewed me said he wanted to get to know my writing, my ability to research, etc. before school started in the fall and the internship started in full swing. So he emailed me a scholarly essay and asked me for a page summary of the essay "in technical writing". Summarizing articles is not only something I'm good at, it's also something I enjoy, so I had no problem churning this out, and I emailed it to him first thing Sunday morning. This is the email I got back today:

I just forward the email I sent to you on august 9, we have the rewrite folder and the question both in formal language .CAN YOU PLEASE DO HIS TASK THEN WE WILL START OUR WORK.

The email he sent on August 9 was the original email I referred to above. This is all he wrote in the body of that email:

One page about the relation of Sustainable development and participation

Dude, I sent you that one page! Did you not check the attachments or even read my email? Specifically the part where I said "I attached the summary of the Mutamba article"? What does his email mean? Why is it all of sudden in caps lock like he's yelling at me? I don't think I've ever had more of an urge to email someone back in all caps WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE, A MIND READER? WTF DO YOU WANT???? His spoken English is really quite good, he holds a PhD, and he runs an NGO. But apparently he can't really write in English . . . or at least explain what he wants. "We have the rewrite folder and the question both in formal language." What does this mean? MAJOR LANGUAGE BARRIER ISSUE happening here right now. Not sure how to email him back without sounding like a major asshole.

Perfectionist that I am, I don't do well with not doing something correctly. And the worst part is, I don't know what the hell I did wrong. Sad face.

عنجد؟ really?

http://blastr.com/2011/08/jordans-king-abdullah-bui.php

On Interviewing for a Job in a Foreign Country

I had my interview for an internship today, and for once in this country, something went without a hitch! Actually, that's been happening a lot more often . . . finally, adjustment. Anyway, I decided to leave an hour and fifteen minutes before my interview - giving me more than ample time, but I think I'd rather die than be late for a job interview. So just as I was hopping in a taxi, the secretary called me to confirm the appointment, and I had a chance to ask her the name of the building and the office number. Otherwise, I was just really hoping Google Maps would not let me down this time, and the building was actually located where it said it was. I directed the taxi driver where to go, and score! there was the building, exactly where it was supposed to be. Except that while it took 30 minutes for us to cross Amman in the horrendous midday traffic, I still had at least half an hour to kill before I could show up in the office. It's not like I could sit in a cafe (Ramadan) or even on the side of the road somewhere (too much attention if one remains in stationary position in public alone), so I felt I had no choice but to wander around the neighborhood. Where I proceeded to have an imaginary conversation on my cell phone for 20 minutes so that cabs would stop honking at me. Thankfully, there was a sufficient breeze, so I wasn't too disgustingly sweaty by the time I headed up to the office.

The interview itself was very laid back and rather painless. Although, I found myself having to stifle some laughs, because after almost everything I said, he would nod and say "interesting . . . very interesting." Like:

Me: I study political science.
Him: Interesting, very interesting.
Me: I would like to make more of a connection with the Jordanian youth.
Him: Interesting, very interesting.
Me: I like cats.
Him: Interesting, very interesting.

Sort of like I had just given him some top secret information that he was deciphering . . . Apparently though I was interesting enough to work with, and I'm starting right away, since I don't really have anything better to do. The NGO, Al-Hayat Center for Civil Society Development, works with, and does research on the Jordanian youth in the hopes of raising political and social awareness. I'll be doing research in a variety of capacities, as well as running a discussion group with Jordanian youth where they can practice their English. I'm excited. Hopefully, it'll be a good way to work on my Arabic. (I've been awful since summer term ended. I hardly speak at all.) I'm really nervous though; I wasn't expecting to start so soon . . . the director invited me to a get together at his house for Iftaar on Thursday. What should I wear? What should I bring? Nothing like a social event, where you know NO ONE, and everyone else will undoubtedly be Arab, and thus chattering away in Arabic. Just when I get through one nerve-wracking experience, I gotta conquer a new one. So goes living abroad . . .

And also - I have my suitcase at the CIEE office with all my nice clothes; I figured I wouldn't need more than t-shirts during the break. I did bring one semi-nice outfit with me in my backpack, but I wore it to the interview. So now I'm out of nice things to wear. I should go get my suitcase, but A.) I don't want to deal with transporting it all the way downtown and B.) CIEE staff didn't seem too jazzed about letting me keep it there, so I'm a little intimidated to go asking for it back, two weeks into break. Looks like I'm going to have to do some major browsing at the flea market on Friday . . . I need new clothes anyway - wearing the same 10 shirts, that weren't new before I came here, has created some holes and some nasty pit stains. I went to the mall the other day, but things are either overpriced, or fit really, really weird. Like I tried on a pair of size 4 khakis, which in the States, usually fit me in butt and waist, but are too short in the leg. I couldn't button these pants, but there was like an extra foot of fabric gathered at the feet. I'm 5'10"!!! Who in the hell is going to fit into these pants? Not one single thing I tried on fit. I left the mall feeling extremely discouraged, so I'm really hoping I'll find some decent things at the souq.

Last night, I went to a potluck (or "dish party") hosted by the Couchsurfers of Jordan. If you're unfamiliar with Couchsurfing, it's an internet website where you can search for people around the world that offer up their couches to the itinerant traveler at no cost. So if you're broke and can't afford a hotel or would rather be more immersed in the local culture, Couchsurfing is a fantastic program. I've never actually tried it before seeing as I usually travel alone, and I don't feel completely comfortable crashing on a random stranger's couch. However, it seems like a fantastic program, and if I ever find someone to travel with me, I'd like to utilize it. Anyway, some of the guys I met on the trip I took to Aqaba are hosts here in Amman, and they invited me to come along to the gathering yesterday. Everyone was suppose to bring a dish native to their country. Since I don't really have great resources for cooking, I brought some fruit. Maybe I should have made jello . . . whatever, it was nice to have a bunch of dishes to choose from that weren't Middle Eastern. I think I'm developing a serious aversion to the food here. It's sad, but completely true. There is only so much heavy, oily food one can eat in my opinion. In my boredom, I find myself dreaming about food one can easily acquire in the States, like steak fajita quesadillas or tempura sushi. Need to stop.

The party was at a cafe next to the Roman Theatre downtown, with the citadel illuminated in the background, and as usual, Amman was gorgeous at night, both in sights and weather. Here in Amman, most cafes have cushioned, wicker chairs (pictured up top) that are incredibly comfortable. They're perfect for sitting back and relaxing, smoking sheesha, and chatting with friends. On nights like these, I never want to leave Amman. The sights, the sounds, the smells, are all so perfect . . . but then day comes and downtown Amman once again becomes a dirty, smelly, hectic place, with one too many car horns and ten too many catcalls. The differences in this city really are night and day. Oh well, you have to take the good with the bad.

I have to set up an internship for the fall, and I just got a phone call from a girl at this one youth development center. As most conversations go with strangers in this country, it was incredibly awkward. After formalities, she told me that I had an interview this Tuesday at 11am. August 8th, she continued. I looked at my calendar. August 8th was tomorrow, Monday. I tried to explain this to her. She seemed annoyed. "So you want me to come in on Monday or Tuesday?" I asked. "Yes," she replied. Damn you language barrier. We finally figured out that she did in fact mean Tuesday, and then she told me "at the office" and hung up rather abruptly. Wait a minute. This is Amman. Where the hell is this place? I swear she did it on purpose. I can just see her muttering under her breath at the end of that call, tsking about stupid Americans. I bet she thinks it's funny to not tell me where this place is. And the internet is barely any help. Nor are the people at the front desk. "How do you find places in this country?" I ask the receptionist. "We go in the general direction and just start asking people." Thanks, dude. I managed to find, after some serious googling, that this place is on the same street off which I used to live. Half the street I know really well, because I was always taking it to my friends' apartment. But of course, it's located in the other direction. Exactly where? I'm not sure. I guess the plan will be, to call their contact number Tuesday morning and see if maybe, just maybe someone can give me some landmark to which I can direct myself. However, even so, I'll more than likely still have to ask at least three people on the street for directions, so if my interview is at 11, should I leave at 9 or 9:30? I originally felt lucky that I was already in Amman and didn't have to do an interview over Skype, but now that option seems much more appealing . . . oh, well. What would study abroad be without these annoying inconveniences?

This makes me happy.

http://vimeo.com/27246366

On Being Forever Alone

I just realized that I have completely failed to mention Jordanian sweets since coming here. Surprising, seeing as I have such a sweet tooth. The main dessert here is something called kunafeh (pictured top), and it's basically a sweet cheese, served warm. It's good, but really rich and kind of gives me a stomachache. What I prefer more here is the bakloweh - similar to what you probably know as baclava, except that it's filled with the same sweet cheese. I find it less rich, plus I love phyllo dough.

This is where the Forever Alone part comes in. The bakloweh pictured above was my dinner this lonely evening. Ramadan here is much different then I thought. The second the sun starts to set, the people literally disappear off the streets. Amman becomes a ghost town. There aren't even cars on the road, besides maybe the stray taxi. It's actually pretty creepy. This is not what I expected. And instead of shops opening up, most close down. While there are a few restaurants open, I was really surprised that a lot don't open even at night. Although it's the third night of Ramadan, I'm just now realizing this. The first night, I cooked dinner and last night, I went out to a restaurant about 100 yards from my hotel and didn't really pay attention to my surroundings. So tonight, I was alone, so I decided to just get food from a street stall some place . . . but I couldn't find any open. And then, as often happens, I started to get irrational because I was hungry. As in, I'm afraid to talk to people. This happens in America too - it's not a "being out of my element" kind of thing. I just, like, need a babysitter when I'm really hungry. Anyone that knows me well, knows this. So instead of being rational and sitting down some place, I decided it was better to just buy a giant plate of backloweh and go back to the hotel. I made it through one piece , and then I felt quite sick. And it's rubbish the second the cheese gets cold, so not only was it a let down, it was also a waste . . .

Tomorrow, I'm headed to a proper grocery store to stock up on some real food.

On Becoming a Shway Bit Arab

Today, I went out to dinner with a Dutch girl who endeared herself to me almost immediately by telling me how Dutch I looked. If you want me to fall in love with you, just tell me how European I look, and I'm sold. Ahhh, my quest to be European continues. Anyway, after dinner, she suggested that we walk up to the citadel and see if we might get some pictures of the ruins at night. This, I thought, was a pretty good idea, because the hills of Amman are gorgeous at night, and the citadel is one of the best places to get a great panoramic view. So we huffed it through a warzone of kids throwing firecrackers (some at us) to the citadel entrance. Of course it was closed, but this is where I realized I was truly adapting to the culture here. In America, I would have immediately turned around and walked away, but instead, I walked up to the guards and starting chatting. "Please, the pictures are much prettier at night," I begged in my broken Arabic. It only took a few minutes, and we were in. I mean, what else do they have to do? Who's gonna care if they let a two tourists take a few pictures? Plus, in exchange they get to chat with some cute, blond foreigners. Unfortunately, my camera really does not take great night shots, so the view is nowhere close to being conveyed through a picture, but still . . . I'm more just proud of myself. In the past, I never would have been so bold in trying to get my way. "Welcome to Jordan." If you can't push the boundaries, you'll only ever get half as much as you want.

Ramadan Mubarak!

Article about the police attack on journalists in Amman two weeks ago if you're interested:

http://english.aljazeera.net/indepth/opinion/2011/07/2011726115953543796.html

Today was the first day of Ramadan. Also, I was befriended by a Jordanian socialist who may have taken me to an X-Rated cinema. Maybe. Probably not. But maybe.

Down an alley near my hotel is a book stand with quite a good selection of used English language novels, and since I'm almost done with "Dracula" I thought I'd go pick up a few new books. After I attempted (and failed) to haggle with the guy there and handed over my money, he asked me to have a seat. I hesitated, because I'm still wary about the men here. (This is despite the fact that I have had no uncomfortable situations with men I've actually interacted with.) Damn you CIEE for making me so paranoid. Anyway, I decided to sit, because I have nothing better to do, and I'm certainly not going to get to know this culture by sitting in my hotel all day. But the man turned out to be adorable and even insisted on buying me a pepsi. It gave me a chance to practice my Arabic, and I promised to come back the next day.

So today, after I had bought some onions for 10 qirsh (that's 14 cents!) I wandered back over to the book stand. The same man was there today, along with the man who owned the book stand. It was obvious he already knew all about me - even my name - and told me that I could just swap the books I bought for new ones whenever I was done reading them. Which definitely makes up for overpaying for them in the first place! He had just brought some new books in today, which were a variety of British classics. His English was quite good, if heavily accented, and he explained how he tried to only buy famous literary works and prided himself on his selection. He went on to tell me that he was famous for trading in banned books, and that the LA Times had mentioned him in an article . . . hmm, I need to try and find this. He asked me if I wanted coffee, but I declined saying that it was Ramadan, and while I don't fast, I would never drink in front of them. "I don't fast either," he said to me. "Because I am socialist." Ok. "Come, I will take you to a place." Hmmm. I definitely wasn't getting a creepy vibe from this guy though, so I followed. He took me into a very run down building plastered in movie posters. It looked like cinema turned crack den. Or brothel. Upstairs there was a group of men sitting, smoking and drinking. Briefly the idea of gang rape slipped through my mind, but I quashed it quickly, figuring I was here now, might as well hope for the best. He immediately explained that there are many people that pretend to fast, but actually don't, and since all the cafes are closed during the day, this is a place his friends come to have a cigarette or a coffee. I asked if this was still a cinema and he originally said no, but I saw men coming out from behind a curtain, so I asked again, and he said "yes, for men only." Well. That makes me wonder. Anyway, nothing scary happened, and I had quite a fascinating conversation with this man about politics in Jordan. Poor man was born on the Gaza Strip, but has lived here for 45 years without being granted citizenship. He's obviously well educated, but still lives in a refugee camp. One of the first words I learned here was "wasta" which means connection. It's very hard to get anywhere if you don't have wasta, and it's a very, very obvious problem in society - and very much so for this man I met today. I wish I could have taped the conversation; it was very interesting, and I look forward to talking with him again.

On Anticlimactic Situations

Yesterday, despite it being about 110 degrees, literally, I decided to go for a bit of a walk around 2pm. I knew it would be rough, but there's only so much studying one can do per day. My destination was the Abu Darwish mosque located in South Amman. First, I felt like some falafel, but it meant I had to huff it up the hill to Jebel Amman, because it's the only place I like falafel sandwiches from. They made the right choice and a.) don't stuff their sandwich with hummus or french fries and b.) serve it on something like a toasted sub bun instead of pita. However, I'm not sure it was worth it today, because when I say hill, I mean more like very steep incline that goes on for ages in the blistering sun. I was rightfully drenched in sweat by the time I walked up to the falafel stand. I probably should have just turned around and went home, but I was utterly determined to wander into unfamiliar territory. All I had directing me was my map, but I was convinced I would be able to find the place - I'm usually quite good with directions. So I walked back down the hill to downtown and started a new descent up a new "hill". I climbed for a good thirty minutes in the blistering heat, with the road getting so steep sometimes I thought I would slide back down. It was all just one road, so I stopped consulting the map, but then I hit a fork, and I had no clue which way to go, and I had run out of water, and I was in the middle of a random neighborhood, and I was drenched in sweat, and people were staring, and I hate asking for directions . . . so I just trudged back down and decided I would take a taxi next time. When I got back to the hostel, I was so sweaty that it had soaked through my belt. Can you say sexy or what? Great story, I know.

Here's the neighborhood I was wandering around in.

Last night proved to be equally anticlimactic as well. It was 11 pm, and I was lying in bed reading "Dracula" (definitely a step up from Chelsea Handler) when I got a call from my friend Zach, who is staying in Amman with some friends until the end of August.

Me: Hey stranger, what's up?
Zach: Yo, Liz! What are you doing?
Me: Um, nothing. It's 11pm. We're in Amman.
Zach: Well you gotta come out! The whole city is blowing up tonight!
Me: Oh really? (note sarcasm and unenthusiasm for rest of conversation)
Zach: Yeah my friends just finished their exams (for high school that is) and tonight is gonna be wild!!
Me: How so?
Zach: I'm not sure. It's just going to be crazy! And like this is kinda awkward, but my friends are bringing girls and I don't want to be the fifth wheel, so will you like, come along so I have someone to talk to?
Me: (with sigh of resignation - note: his friends are 18) Sure. Why not. If you come pick me up. I'm not taking a taxi.
Zach: Yeah, that's totally cool.
Me: So . . . when are you leaving?
Zach: Dude, I don't know, you know how Arab time is . . .
Me: Great. Awesome. Call me when you get here.

I went to throw on some clothes, wondering what this "wild" night would encompass. I envisioned some crazy underground party and even went so far as to wonder if I should worry about the "shurta" (police), until I remembered drinking was legal here and we weren't in Iran. Surprisingly, Zach and his two friends came within the hour, and we went to pick up their girlfriends. As we sat in the car waiting for them to come out of their apartment, they guys tried to figure out where we should go. "You mean we're not going to a party?" I asked. "Oh no, not with the girls. And by the way, we don't drink." I had met these two guys last weekend when I had gotten sloshed on the Petras, and I was pretty sure they were drinking too. "You see," Zach's friend Mohammed told me, "In Jordan, the men lead two lives - one, that women know all about, and one that is a complete secret from them." Oh Arab culture. So healthy. Sometimes I forget how conservative Jordanian culture is - while these girls were dressed quite Western and didn't wear hijab, when they got in the car, the entire conversation was centered around Ramadan. And by the way, the agreed upon destination was, drumroll please . . . McDonalds. Yep. If you've ever asked, where does one go in the company of women at 12:30 am - the answer is McDonalds. The place was packed. They even had a valet. So I have finally discovered real Ammani nightlife. I've been wondering. We sat, they blabbered in Arabic, I ate some cold french fries and tried really hard to follow the conversation, but it was late and after about ten minutes my brain just shut down, and it all became jibberish. We left at 1:30. They took me back to my hotel. Thus ends Zach's "wild" night out on the town.

Two last things:

One: Chinese girl is still in my dorm room sleeping the day away. Yesterday, she asked me how much it was to stay a month here. When I told her, she said "Oh good price. I do that maybe." WHAT?!!!!! No. And why? Go back to your frickin' job. I know she has one. She gave me her business card. And how much can one person sleep?? Especially when it's like 80 degrees in our room during the day. Grrr. I definitely did not anticipate this situation.

Two: The hostel owns like 20 DVDs and most of them are either seasons of House or Lost. But they randomly have "Y Tu Mama Tambien"! My favorite movie! Chances are it will be in Spanish with Arabic subtitles, so I'll probs only understand about half of it, but whatevs, I cherish the moments when I can enjoy something so contradictory to this culture.

On Sleeping in a Dorm Room with Randoms

So today is day four of my thirty day stay at the Farah Hotel, located in downtown Amman. I've moved from my master bedroom with king-sized bed to a closet-sized room with two bunk beds. My bed from the apartment wouldn't even fit in this room . . . Plus, while I dropped my suitcase off at the CIEE offices for the break, I still have a ton of shit and it's all over the place. I thought I forgot my toothbrush and toothpaste in the apartment until I found them in a nightstand drawer with all my schoolbooks. However, only after I had emptied everything else I owned onto my bed. Now, I've stayed in hostels plenty. I'm accustomed to making do with a small space, but then again I sure didn't have so much crap last time. I'm just itching to throw stuff in the trash. I really hate stuff.

The best, and worst, part of staying in a dorm is the fact that you have to share a room with random strangers. This is great when they're cool, and usually backpackers are pretty swell. However, I'm currently sharing the room with a Chinese girl who has (god dammit. Somehow gum got stuck on one of my notebooks in my backpack. Note to self: There's a reason gum goes in the trash.) anyway, this girl told me she's on vacation, but she has slept all day and all night pretty much every day I've been here. I get that Amman is not the greatest place to be as a tourist, but then why did you come here? If you want to sleep, why not just check into a hotel at home or something. At least then you could check into a nice hotel with room service, air conditioning, and maybe a private room. Also, how can one person sleep this much? She woke up for breakfast this morning, but then went back to sleep. She's still asleep. It's 4:30 pm. And she was asleep when I came in the room at midnight last night. Whatever. I'm hostile about it because a.) she told me you only need three months to become fluent in Arabic and b.) I really want to do my Rosetta Stone French, but bitch is always in the room sleeping, and I'm not about to sit out in the common room and work on my pronunciation. Three months to learn Arabic? Please. Especially coming from someone who can barely speak English.

Overall, the guests here have not been spectacular. I met the coolest British girl the first day I got here; we bonded over our love for Berlin and The Guardian, as well as a mutual disbelief that Sarkozy could be running a country. Then I realized I really needed to move to Europe. We hung out for the two days she was here, but she left to do volunteer work in Rum yesterday morning, and I haven't taken a fancy to anyone since. There seems to be quite a few Arab men staying here, including one that has been sitting in the common room in his too small boxers all day. I refuse to talk to someone I don't know if I can see the outline of his junk. Then, there's this really loud Australian girl (surprise, surprise) who keeps flirting with everyone and making the dumbest comments about this country. She asked the guy at the front desk last night what she should bring to a dinner party. "Because in my country, we bring wine, but like, you can't do that here, right?" Shoot me now.


Today I finally got the chance to go to the Friday market, which I've been wanting to do since I got here. It's a thrift store shoppers dream come true. Rows and rows of clothes. Plus fruits and veggies and shoes and all sorts of random household items. I could have browsed for hours, but I bought three pairs of pants in the span of 15 minutes, so I had to bounce before I bought an entire new wardrobe. It's been blazing hot in Amman this past week, and it doesn't seem to be cooling down, so I found it imperative to go find some lighter weight pants that don't get soaked with sweat and stick to my bum. And at 1 JD a piece, they were impossible to pass up.
I bought a range of harem pants so as to ensure that I never leave the house looking like a ridiculous tourist again. Also, my swass was so bad, I put them on as soon as I got back to the hotel without a wash, but I'm wary that I might get crabs. It happened to David Sedaris once.


Oh, one last thing. I joined Twitter. Yep. But sorry guys, I will not be tweeting. Just wanted to follow Chelsea Handler. Not really. It's actually a pretty great way to get the news.

On Saying Goodbye

Alas. The CIEE summer program in Amman is over. Everyone has left me. I cried myself to sleep last night. Not really. Although this morning certainly wasn't the best morning of my life. Sitting alone in my empty apartment, I definitely felt the most lonely and homesick that I've felt since coming to Amman. Especially thinking of how soon enough, my friends would be landing in the States where they would undoubtedly gorge on giant plates of bacon. Whereas I have to wait another five more months for this to become a reality . . .

I had a really great "I'm a dumbass" moment this morning. I had a big bag of food - rice, pasta, spices, nutella, tea - basically a lot of things I deem necessary food staples in my life. I set it on a chair by the door last night. This morning I took out the multiple bags of trash and water bottles that had accumulated by our front door. Later, as I was getting ready to leave, I went to grab my food bag - and it wasn't there. I had taken it out with the rest of the trash. FML. I went back to the dumpster, thinking that the unopened stuff would still be salvageable, but I guess everyone in the neighborhood had decided to take out their trash since then, and the once empty dumpster was brimming with crap. I'm just really pissed, because there was stuff like pepper and olive oil and sugar that I'm going to have to buy all over again, but normally would have lasted me for the duration of my stay. I hate waste. And I just wasted so much food. It's especially hard in a country like this where the poverty is much more noticeable. Now all I'm left with is half a bottle of Chef West hot sauce . . .

Thankfully, CIEE did not make us do any awful group activity goodbyes. I really would have hated that. We had a dinner together, but it wasn't like anyone said goodbye there because we all had to take an exam the next morning. That night I ended up getting sloshed on Petra ("Oh so this is Petra!? We finally found it!"), an awful lager that starts to taste like hard liquor the further down in the can you get. Then I had to go in and take the same exam we all took at the beginning of the term - so as to chart my progress. I was so nauseous the first time I took that exam two months ago, and it turned out that I felt pretty much the same on my second run. This time though it was completely of my own doing. Thankfully though, my progress has been quite significant and the three hour grueling exam had turned into a fairly simple two hour procedure. Anyway, I wasn't in the best mood and bounced as soon as I could without even realizing I would never see 75% of these people again, and therefore ended up saying goodbye to very few people. But then again, I only said goodbye to the people I was close to, and didn't have to suffer through any forced moments where I pretended I was going to miss people I absolutely wouldn't miss at all.

So I haven't read at all this whole trip, but then I blazed through a book in two days. Unfortunately this book was "Are You There Vodka? It's Me Chelsea" by Chelsea Handler. I'm really embarrassed about this. But then again, it felt good to read something so refreshingly American i.e. lots of obnoxious behavior involving sex and alcohol. Although, I really want to get it off my hands now, but I'm not sure I should just leave it in the hostel. I feel like a book referring to alcohol in the title, let alone a picture of Chelsea holding a vodka martini, are not things that should be seen in this country . . . but should I throw it away? That's just blasphemous. Even if it is just Chelsea Handler. I'll just hide it in a desk drawer.


Oh right. Before the program ended, the babysitter gave us a bit of "re-entry (not rear-entry)" training. We all acted so mature on this trip sometimes . . .
"Dammit, Liz. Do not take a picture of this."

On Ramadan

I've been sort of fuzzy the past few days; I think the combination of the heat, a bad diet, and a rigorous academic schedule have brought me down. Nor does it help that I've replaced exercise with smoking cigarettes as a way to de-stress. (Totally called that one.) While I'm going to be sad to see everyone go, I am really looking forward to sleeping in and doing nothing for a couple of days. Unfortunately though, I'll have to stick my head back in a book soon enough since I take the GRE at the end of August. Also, since learning two languages at once isn't ambitious enough for me, I've decided to take a look at French too. Here in Amman you can get pretty much any movie, tv show, or computer program for 1 JD ($1.40), so I bought Rosetta Stone French to help occupy my upcoming free time.

Ramadan starts on August 1st this year. What exactly is Ramadan you ask? Hopefully, you know the basic gist of it, but if not, Ramadan is the Islamic month of fasting. Fasting during the month of Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam that Muslims adhere to. This means that during the day, Muslims do not let anything pass their lips, whether it be food, water, or a cigarette. They get up before dawn for the morning meal (suHoor), then don't eat again till the big meal at dusk (ifTaar). On account of those pesky headaches and the dizziness that I get if I don't eat every few hours, I would never be able to fast, so I admire all the people that do - especially since Ramadan falls in the month of August this year. I don't know how they do it in the heat. Just another reason why I have so much respect for the Islamic faith.

I was in Istanbul for Ramadan two years ago, but since Istanbul represents a more secular society, and I was staying in a touristy area, I wasn't very affected by it. Here in Amman, however, it's a much greater part of the collective daily life. Most shops are closed during the day, and under no circumstances should I eat or drink in public. This is fine - because of the heat, I sort of planned on sleeping all day anyway and being more active at night. I'm excited to see what kind of festivities go on after dusk - in Istanbul, everyone crowded into the park in Sultanahmet where I was staying, and there was music and dancing and a lot of great food. The picture at right is of the Blue Mosque all dressed up for Ramadan (or Ramazan in Turkish), with families enjoying their iftaar at dusk. I wish I had more pictures of the festivities, because it was such a great atmosphere. This time, I'll be sure to get some better pictures.

Speaking of Istanbul, I've been seriously toying with going over my break. That city is always on my mind - it's just so beautiful. Plus I'd really like to explore the Asian side of the city more. I didn't make it over there much the last time I was in Turkey. Unfortunately, plane tickets right now are pricy, and a week in Istanbul alone would easily set me back $700. Oh one day, Istanbul, one day I will return to you my love. The government has a critical language scholarship program that I want to apply for next summer; I'm considering applying to study Turkish rather than Arabic . . . I want to live in Istanbul soooo badly. I ate some really bad Turkish Delight the other day, and it made me so sad to remember how awesome this sweet is fresh from the Spice Bazaar. To alleviate my sadness, I think I will go to Beirut in October. My visa will be up, so I have to leave the country and get a new one. I don't have many options, especially when it's only three days . . . but I've heard fantastic things about Beirut, and it seems like it has that same East meets West vibe that Istanbul has.

Now I'm confused. My friends and I were in this area yesterday and saw and heard nothing . . . I guess it wasn't happening in the main part of downtown.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/16/world/middleeast/16jordan.html?_r=1&ref=middleeast

Make sure you take a look at the slideshow; looking at them myself I can't believe I live in the city where these were taken. Insha'allah things do not escalate.

On Staying Downtown

Sigh. Phase one is drawing to a close. Then I never have to deal with any of these annoying CIEEers again. Just kidding. The reality is I'm heartbroken that I've met so many cool people this summer, and they are all leaving me in just a week. I hate how I'm always making new friends, and then saying goodbye with little hope of ever seeing them again . . . what a bitch. Anyway, if you haven't figured it out, the summer term ends after next week, and none of my fellow classmates are staying on for the fall semester. Just me. I'll be fine on my own; it'll give me the opportunity to push the limits of my comfort zone. Still, everything is funny when you're with friends - I'm curious to see how I'll feel about Amman when I don't have someone to laugh with about the shit that happens.

Next Tuesday, I move into a hotel downtown. I've had some warnings against staying downtown, and I'm pretty sure our CIEE babysitter might faint if I told him; but people fail to realize that I can handle myself exceptionally well (read: I'm not retarded). I don't have the slightest qualms about staying in this area of Amman. Here's a few of the warnings I've gotten, as well as my reasoning behind not heeding them.

1.) The men downtown give women a bigger hassle then in other parts of the city

• Catcalling honestly doesn't bother me; I find it either funny or I don't even notice - that's what iPods are for.
• And anyway, it's nowhere near as bad as Istanbul. At least here they don't say really awful sexual things in English to you.
  
• Also, I have a positively amazing death stare - no one messes with me when I whip it out.

2.) Friday protests. Today we all got a text from the babysitter that read "Alert: Do not go downtown today. The government is set to demolish buildings in the downtown area. This is likely to result in actions against the government."

• We went downtown today. It was fine. There was no one around and half the shops were closed because it's Friday (Day of Prayer). We saw nothing even remotely resembling a protest.
• If this did become an issue, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't come barging in my hotel room.

3.) It's hard for women to find food downtown.

• Ramadan starts on August 1. It will be hard to find food anywhere in daylight during August regardless of one's sex.
  
• I will be utilizing a grocery store and the hotel's kitchen for my entire stay.

I want to stay downtown because it's where the backpackers stay, and I'm considering writing my senior thesis partially on perceptions of Middle Eastern culture. Plus it's cheap. $7 a night including breakfast. The toilets are less than perfect, but it's Amman . . . I'll survive for a month.

On the "Party Bus" to Aqaba

For this week's tour of Jordan, a few of us went down to Aqaba, and spent the day on a yacht in the Red Sea. A couple of CIEEers went with the same "tour group" two weeks ago, and it was highly recommended, so we decided to do the same trip this week. Joining the tour meant meeting this Iraqi hippie in front of McDonalds and paying him each 100 JD ($140), while he wrote down our first names. It felt like a drug deal.

Thursday afternoon we were instructed to meet in Safeway's parking lot, where the "party bus" would pick us up. This is the term my friend Zach used to try to convince me to go on the trip. "Dude, you have to go," he said. "You literally take a party bus down there." I wasn't sure what he meant at the time, but I found out soon enough . . . when someone started passing a joint around. Just kidding. We're in Jordan. Not California. Even so, I guess it was more of a "party bus" than I expected. Us Americans got there first, and crowded into the back of the bus, where we watched as our fellow passengers arrived. This wasn't a real tour group. More like the guy we paid and a bunch of his friends, who do this every weekend and want to make a little extra cash by bringing some tourists along. Which was sweet, because I didn't have to deal with a babysitter, but nor did I have to plan anything myself. Win-win.

The five of us did that anti-social thing, where we only talk to ourselves on the way down. We joked that the Iraqis on the trip looked like a bunch of "bros" with their popped collars, manpris, and aviators. Our "tour guide" was wearing a shirt that said "What happens on tour, stays on tour." Oh funny. (Men's "fashion" takes a little getting used to here.) On the five hour drive to Aqaba from Amman they blasted some choice American pop music that spanned everything from Akon to Sting, and they were periodically standing up and dancing to it. By that time I had figured out what Zach meant by "party bus." He's definitely the type to get up and dance with them. Me not so much. But it was entertaining, especially when it got dark, and they turned on the dimmed, red and green, lights. I felt like I was in this dream where I was at a club, with really bad music, but the catch was that it was on a bus and I couldn't dance . . .

Before we got to Aqaba, we were stopped at a checkpoint for about 20 minutes. Some soldier boarded our bus and took our IDs. Everyone got off the bus except us. We thought we were the hold up because we didn't have our passports, but we found out the next day, it was actually the Iraqis. Apparently there is a problem with illegal Iraqi immigrants in this country, and they were checking out everyone's stories. At one point the lone Jordanian on the bus (and by Jordanian, I mean Palestinian - I'm beginning to doubt anyone is this country is actually Jordanian), came to tell us that if someone came to question us, to tell him that we were headed down to Aqaba as part of a school trip. Oh thanks. Just what I want to do. Lie to a man with a gun in a foreign country.

We spent our entire Friday on the boat pictured left. Just kidding. Our yacht was significantly nicer than the Glass Boat. There, I had my first lesson in scuba diving, where I learned that scuba diving is, unfortunately, not for me. When you dive, the pressure on your ears gets really bad, so you're supposed to plug your nose and blow, to readjust or whatever. I'm sure my terminology is all wrong. Anyway, I could not get my ears to repressurize (enter correct term here). I was super embarrassed - twice we had to come up and I couldn't ever go very deep. I couldn't get comfortable because they hurt so bad, so it was me mostly just floating underwater trying to get my head to stop feeling like it was going to blow up. I didn't expect to have a problem because I'm usually so chill in the water; I felt like an utter failure. Of course, I couldn't just give up and get back on the boat though, and now, I'm paying for it. I think I'm developing ear infections in both ears. Awesome. Exactly what I want to deal with here.

After diving, we chilled on the yacht, eat lunch, drank some beer, made some new friends, got really burnt, etc, etc. As usual, it was great to get away from the traffic and conservativeness of Amman. I truly appreciate the moments here where I can say and wear whatever I want. I've never been so grateful of opportunities to bear my shoulders or drink a beer or make a sexual reference without fear of harassment or disapproval. Understand - I love Arab culture, but it is REALLY hard to be Western and female and as loud and obnoxious as I am prone to be sometimes. My personality does not mesh well with this culture. Yet oddly enough, I am more intrigued with it than any other. What. A. Mystery.

So for those of you interested in experiencing a Muslim country, while simultaneously getting drunk, go to Aqaba. That pesky tax on alcohol in Jordan doesn't exist there, so you can continue to nurse your beer while exploring a culture that frowns on drinking. That's why there are so many Aussies in Aqaba. They love to travel, but shoot me in the face if I've met more than one Aussie that was sober for 24 hours straight. Oh, stereotypes. I think this one is true though. Mumkin.

One other note: we went out for a late night feelawful (thanks E) and passed the best store ever. "Mister Baby". Apparently it had "all things for baby." Epic. Mumkin, I will open this store in America if all else in my life fails . . .

Let's Talk About Rum

See this entry probably would have been a lot more interesting if I had written it earlier this week, but now it's become a bit of a muddled memory in my head. But it needs to be recorded, so I'll do my best to piece it together.

Wadi means valley in Arabic, so basically Rum Valley. No, you silly alcoholics, not that rum. Anyway, on first glance, Wadi Rum is pretty similar to the desert in southwest America, but the soft sand is what sets it apart. I love the feeling of walking through sand; digging your feet in, letting it trickle through your toes. Poetic. I know.

So our day started with a bouncy truck ride through the desert, in which they took us to a remote location and made us climb up some rocks in the blazing heat. I really am pleased with their nonchalant attitude towards semi-dangerous situations here. I was facing dehydration, sharp rocks, and edges of cliffs with no one breathing down my neck. I would have thought we would have more people looking over our shoulders being on such a regulated program, but I guess not. Thank God. I hate being babysat. Not to say that we don't have a babysitter, but he's relatively harmless most of the time.

This picture doesn't really convey how awesome this hill was, but basically, we climbed up some rocks and then to get down, we jumped about six feet onto the sand and then sprinted down the hill. Some of the girls ate shit. Some of the guys did too, but more so on purpose. I kept my cool and walked down, because that's what real women do.

After blazing our very American trail, where we all ran screaming down the hill like the crazy tourists we are, they took us to our jamaal (camels). Oh side note. Today, I had to speak as part of my exam, and I accidentally told the class there are a lot of camels (jamaal) in Bulgaria, not mountains (jabaal). Lolz. Anyway, we're ushered to our camels, where immediately one of the Bedouin takes an interest in me. He keeps intensely gesturing me to ride his camel. I was about to go for it, but then our babysitter insisted on a group photo, so I left him. Then as soon as we disperse, some other guy gestures for me to ride his camel - I start to follow, but the first Bedouin interjects - beckoning me furiously. The second guy seemed less creepy, and he promised me first in line in the caravan so I went and jumped on his camel. The two men then have a brief argument over me, until the first guy shoots me a dirty look and storms back to his camel. Drama!!! I guess I'm a rare sight on account of my freakish height, flaming hair, and pregnant belly.

The camel ride itself was actually really awesome. Going up and down is a bit uncomfortable, but being able to ride this exotic creature through the desert with cliffs looming on either side of you was rather majestic. I kept sitting up really straight and sticking my chin out so I would look more regal. Plus I got to lead the pack so it solidified my position. Note: they do sort of smell and make scary noises. I was a little afraid one was gonna go all crazy and bite my hand off. But they only seemed interested in eating the shrubbery so it was all good.

We rode about 2-3 km to our camp site, which consisted of several Bedouin tents nestled against some cliffs. Somehow, I do not have a picture of this campsite. I love how I forget to take pictures of the most basic things . . . Fortunately/unfortunately they had a toilet that flushed. Fortunately, because toilets that don't flush are gross. Unfortunately, because I would like to see some of the people on this trip really have to rough it. Like "dig in a hole and poop in it" rough it. One person's discomfort is almost always another person's enjoyment. Maybe.

Being in the desert was really great. It seems almost pointless to write about it though, because I know I could never convey how nice the open silence was, especially after a month in Amman. After the sun went down, the weather was perfect, and the sky was so clear you could see a million stars. I didn't want to go to sleep, because then it meant that my time there would be over (as corny as that sounds). I felt really peaceful for the first time since coming to Jordan - things have been pretty hectic so far.

So on my way to bed (as in on a mat outside) I tripped on a rock, and I thought my toe was bleeding so I hobbled all the way to the bathroom, just to find that it wasn't. Which was annoying because I don't do well trudging through sand in the pitch black night. It got more annoying when I tripped over a new rock on my way back. This time though I just said "screw it" and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night though, with my toe throbbing in pain and again at dawn, where in the half light I saw the top of my foot was covered in dried blood. Whoops. Not sure how I didn't feel my foot profusely bleeding, but whatever. At first, I thought it was broken, but thankfully it looked and felt way less scary once I had cleaned it up. Our babysitter conveniently forgot to bring a first aid kit, but thankfully I'm not a marine and realize that neosporin is actually a good thing to bring on moderately dangerous adventures. Especially when one is prone to tripping over things.

So, we also went to this place called Petra on our trip. I don't know if you've ever heard of it. I actually wasn't sure what it was even when we got there. I kept having to ask people. Turns out Petra is a bunch of Americans dressed inappropriately, some dudes dressed in really cheap Roman soldier costumes, and way too many donkeys. Oh and there might be some other pretty cool stuff, but I was too disappointed that there wasn't an amusement ride that reenacted "Indiana Jones in Petra" that I just didn't care. The definite highlight of my day though was when some tout told me I looked like Shakira, and then went on to say his donkey looked like Shakira too. Thanks dude!