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.