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!

Desert Photos

Bit of a late night tonight - a few of us had a 4th of July "celebration" which consisted of chili dogs (beef) and some cake that was actually zakee (delicious). I made it of course. Oh and a 24 pack of Amstel that cost close to $60. Gotta love that 200% tax they have on alcohol here . . . Anyway, I'm gonna post some pics of the desert. Insha'allah I'll get around to writing about it a bit. I have midterms in both classes on Wednesday, and I think I'm going diving in Aqaba this weekend, so I'm a bit busy.

My Bedouin guide. He may have wanted to marry me . . . will tell story soon.
So I guess when you're in the desert and you drink about 5 gallons of water you bloat to the point of looking pregnant. No, I'm not actually pregnant. Just had to post the most awkward picture ever taken.
Before our drive through the desert. For some reason this reminds me of "Jurassic Park: The Lost World" aka "Jurassic Park: The Bad One With Vince Vaughn"

My camel, Norman.
The walkway leading up to the treasury at Petra.
Posing at "The Best View in Petra" as it was advertised on the side of the mountain. Kind of looks photo shopped (Is that one word or two?), but it's not. I promise.Sunset in Wadi Rum. !حلو اكتير

Never before have I experienced so much in such a short period of time. This might be a novel. We'll see. We did our big program trip this weekend - which meant four different destinations in only 2 and 1/2 days. Thankfully, Jordan is a relatively small country.

We left right after class on Thursday in our ostentatious tour bus. This bus is basically America. Anyway, destination: the village of Dana. I think this is the prettiest place I've been in Jordan so far (which is saying something, because Jordan is gorgeous). The weather was perfect, there were trees, and we stayed at a extremely quaint hotel. I got my first taste of famed Bedouin hospitality, as this twinkle-eyed older man in a kaffiyeh served us tea. I really wanted to photograph him, but I was too afraid to ask. I need to get better at that. I took a couple surreptitiously, but none were that great. He was just one of the happiest people I've ever seen. I swear all the Bedouin we interacted with this weekend had this certain twinkle in their eyes. What a simple, gorgeous life - their peacefulness just seemed to radiate off in waves . . .

After shay (tea), our guide took us on a hike up the mountain so that we could watch the sunset. Absolutely gorgeous. Plus, there was no trail, as is often the case in Jordan, so I got to do some fun bouldering. Never before have I been happier that not only do I enjoy scaling up rocks, I'm good at it. Climbing things was a big part of this trip. And no one cared about what I did or where I decided to climb. This is why Jordan is an awesome country. There is no regulation. Which goes both ways - such as in Amman, where a breath of fresh air cannot be found. However, that's another reason why I loved Dana so much - I could breath for the first time since coming to Jordan! Fresh mountain air! And when I went to bed, I could hear crickets! It reminded me of home. I do love summers in central Illinois. They have a certain smell, and this village had the same smell. It was so wonderful, lying in bed, breathing the fresh air, and listening to the crickets chirp into the silence.

Oh, edited to add, before bed, we took a little gander around the village and totally ended up walking on some people's roofs at 10 at night. Womp. Way to be an American tourist. We failed to realize the village was built on a hill and therefore, infrastructure is not quiet the same . . .



The next morning, my roommate, Betsy, and I got up at 5:30 to watch the sunrise. Wasn't as great as the sunset, but sitting alone on the mountain in the quiet was definitely worth it. There was some scary growling happening that Betsy described as sounding like "a wolf eating some humans" which sort of freaked me out, but I had to remain cool in front of her, so we stayed and surprisingly enough, we were not devoured by hungry wolves. After breakfast, we watched the sacrifice of a goat for a future meal. I will still eat meat. Some people were all mortified about the brutal nature of the killing or some shit, but I mean, we're in a small village in a developing country. This is how things are done.

We left Dana at 8:30ish and headed to some castle. I don't have any clue who built it or why it was there. I have a serious problem when it comes to listening to the guide. However, I do know that it had the coolest tunnel I have ever been in. It took us from inside the castle, up on a hill, down to some road. It was a steep descent, in the dark, with a really bad excuse for stairs. Most girls were scooching down on their butts. It could have worked as a really cool water slide.
Oh and there were some bats. I chose not to look up. I hate bats. I'm surprised one didn't like smell me, wake up, and try to perch in my hair. I swear they're super attracted to me. Even the night before, in Dana, when I was headed down the mountain, one flew right in my face, and I had to drop down into the fetal position on the ground to save myself.

Ok so our next destination was Wadi Rum. This marked the beginning of the best half day of my life. You're so excited aren't you . . .? Too bad it's too much to write about now, so you'll have to wait for the continuation of the saga of Liz in South Jordan until tomorrow (Betsy found some blog a previous inhabitant of this apartment wrote, and the girl loved referring to herself in the 3rd person. It was so awful, I might just start doing it).