Road trip to the Dead Sea

These photos are a bit delayed (took them last weekend - June 24) but are worth having a look at nonetheless. Duried and I headed out of the city for a spontaneous Saturday-afternoon roadtrip to Madaba, Mt. Nebo and the Dead Sea.

Thanks to my tour guide for saving me from what might have been a rather dull afternoon!

We took in the mosaic mapped floor at St. George's church in Madaba, showing all the biblical sites of the region, the ancient and intricate mosaics at the archaeological park and to complete the mosaic-themed segment of the trip, we visited a handcraft centre where men and women showed us how they make the beautiful stone work.

Next we drove up to Mount Nebo where Moses viewed the 'promised land', where he's allegedly buried and the spot where Pope John Paul II visited in 2000 during his millenium tour. Breathtaking view of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea - although in the photos it may be difficult to make out, due to the haze hanging thick in the air.

The tour wrapped up with a stop at the Marriott hotel on the Dead Sea where we had some dinner and walked down to the water so I could feel the slimey saltiness and pose beside a sign proving I was indeed at the lowest point on earth! There the temperature was at least a stifling 40 degrees - a good deal hotter than in the higher elevations. How tempting it was to just jump into one of the many pools at the hotel. I resisted, vowing to come back another day.

Please no more taxi adventures

I am having the worst luck with running out of credits on my mobile JUST when I’m getting in a taxi to head to a difficult-to-find place. Yesterday was my second bad taxi experience. The guy of course spoke no English and had no idea where the supposedly well-known art gallery/ museum was. Went to call one of my friends to translate and OH, it’s the nice Fastlink lady telling me I’ve run out of credits.

You know what would be nice? A warning!

So after I messaged my friends frantically (messaging doesn’t cost credits) telling them to quickly call me (again, if they call me it's free), I gave the taxi driver the general area to go to and he proceeded to head in the exact opposite direction.

"No, Jebel Weibdeh. You know where Jebel Weibdeh is??"

"Yes, yes," he nodded at me in his rear view mirror.

"But it’s the other way, the OTHER direction," I said, pointing animatedly out the back window.

But he just kept nodding and driving further away from where I thought we should be going. I relented, feeling that there’s no use and if this guy’s gonna take me for the run-around, then what can I do but wait until one of my friends calls me back to straighten the situation out.

Unfortunately when my friends DID call back, they too had little idea where this place was. I wished then very badly that Jordan had Mapquest. How easy that would make things! I could just print out a map every time I needed to get somewhere! But of course, without street numbers a service like that is virtually impossible to operate.

My friends did manage to encourage the driver to head to the right area and told him to ask for directions. Good, fine, I thought. Unfortunately he kept driving, passing many, many people and not stopping to ask any of them for directions. Is this a male thing, I wondered? One of those strange universal characteristics that transcend cultural differences?

"Hey, are you going to ask for directions??" I yelled – as he had turned his music up and I could barely hear a thing.

More nodding.

"Directions!" I said, hitting the back of his seat.

Finally, he pulled over and asked some guy. The man said something I was hoping were instructions to get to the place, we said shukran (thank you) and were off again. I think though that my driver either had a really bad short-term memory or he didn’t trust what the previous man had said, because not 30 feet up the road he stopped to ask somebody else. Then we drove another 30 feet. Asked somebody else. And again.

By this point I knew he WAS getting directions because the men were pointing and throwing in the odd ‘shimaal’ (left), ‘yameen’ (right) and ‘dughri’ (straight) while demonstrating with their arms. These words I recognized and by the time we asked the fourth guy, I thought I understood the directions better than my driver did!

Long story short (too late), I finally made it – 15 minutes late for my interview, dishevelled and grumpy. And missing my car more than words can describe…

Some of my favourite things

It’s been brought to my attention that many of my accounts of Jordan so far have not always reflected the country in a positive light. Do I not like it here? I’ve been asked. Is it so bad? People wonder. Sure, I’ve written about the crazy traffic, the difficulties of language barriers and the generalities of adjusting to a new home and a new culture. These are the things that are easiest to describe, because it’s the difficulties that make for interesting reading. Who wants to hear that I’m fine and things are fine and nothing is difficult?? (Ok, besides my mother…?)

It wouldn’t be much of an adventure if there weren’t obstacles to overcome.

Regardless, I’ve decided it’s about time I put the debate to rest and clear the air. I, in fact, DO like it here. I’m having a wonderful time and the adjustment is going smoothly. To prove it, here’s a list of the things I like about my new home:

1. It’s sunny everyday. While the temperature can still get up into the high 30s, I’ve learned to do as the Jordanians do and avoid being outside at peak temperature time.

2. People are very hospitable and kind. Besides the great help I’ve received from my new friends, I’ve found even strangers on the street are more than willing to go out of their way to assist you - after they've finished staring at you, of course.

3. You can find a taxi anywhere. I have never had to wait more than five minutes to find a taxi. I walk out my door and they’re practically lined up waiting to take me to my destination.

4. Even though I don’t understand the language, I think Arabic music and writing are both beautiful.

5. It’s hot but it’s a dry heat. Escape to some shade and it’s significantly cooler – there’s always some respite from the heat, whereas with humidity the heat sticks to you no matter where you are. And I haven't yet had one frizzy-hair day.

6. It’s a Kingdom with kings, queens, princes and princesses. And the general feeling I get is people are happy with the royal family. Pictures of the king are everywhere and there’s a strong sense of pride when the royal couple appear in the media (like when Queen Rania was on Oprah).

7. In the late afternoon the sky over Jabel Amman and the downtown is filled with kites - one of the most affordable forms of entertainment for the children who live downtown.

8. The food is cheap and delicious.

9. Although the streets are bustling during the day, the streets really come alive in the evening when the temperature cools.

10. People are always thrilled to discover I’m from Canada. They then proceed to tell me about their uncle Abu who lives in Manitoba and they ask me if I know him? One taxi driver actually asked if I could take him with me when I return to Canada. Um, let me think about that one…. NO.

11. Five times a day prayers are called out from the mosque towers across the city. It’s a melodic, atmospheric sound and although I can’t understand what’s being said, it’s moving nonetheless. I’m not such a big fan of the 4 a.m. prayer call though. With a mosque just around the corner from my apartment, it took me a few nights before I stopped jumping out of bed, scared to death with the sound suddenly pouring in through my window.

12. I’ve recently been introduced to dates (the fruit, not the social activity). Can you believe I had never had one? And they’re a wonderfully sweet dried fruit that’ll have to become part of my diet.

13. The distances everywhere are short. You can get across the city in 20 minutes. The Dead Sea is 45 minutes away. Petra is three hours. Aqaba in the far south is five. If anyone ever says a place is far away, I know in Canadian terms it’s not.

14. Any excuse to celebrate and locals are out in the streets honking their horns or setting off fireworks. (I may have jumped out of my skin the first time I was alone at night and heard fireworks going off outside my building. Only they didn’t sound like fireworks… guns more like. I’m sure you can imagine).

15. There’s no lining up at bars to get in. You’re either on the guest list, which you called for a week in advance, or you know the guy at the door and he lets your group in. Ingenious. Of course I love it cause our group is always on top of these things. I'm sure if I was alone, with no connections I'd never get into a bar anywhere.

New photos online

Finally made it to Books @ Cafe with my laptop to upload some photos. I'm sitting here on the rooftop patio, enjoying the shade and view and trying not to mind so much that the breeze is blowing the ashes from some guy's nargileh all over me.

On my photo site you'll find some pictures from our trip to the JARA flea market...

... my afternoon at Kan Zeman with Nader...

... and some of our nights watching the World Cup.

The blog build up

The day that I can post to my blog from the comfort of home draws near.

I have lists (LISTS!) of things I want to write about and tons of photos I've taken just sitting on my computer awaiting upload. So friends and family, stay tuned. It's all coming...

The problem thus far has been the incompatibility of my Mac computer at work with Blogger's web content (not to mention dealing with the guilt of blogging from work - but hey, I'm doing it now, so nevermind). And I haven't been to an internet cafe lately to catch up on my internet surfing time.

Soon this will all change.

(Weird. I just realized I called my apartment "home". Yikes.)

Exploring the JARA market

On Friday, the official weekend and day of prayer, Hala and I took a trip to the local JARA market (Jabal Amman Resident’s Association). It’s held on Fridays only during the summer and can be found several blocks from where I live. The more I discover in my quaint end of town, the more I’m happy with living here.

There is a possibility that I may eventually move from my apartment to another place closer to where I work. Currently it takes me about 15-20 minutes to get to the newspaper by cab ($1.5 JDs = not quite $3 CAD), which is not such a big deal for me. However, many people have told me to stay where I am because the neighbourhood known as Jabal Amman is one of the older parts of town that still embodies a unique kind of character and has places to walk around and many cute shops and cafes to visit. It grows on me as each day goes by. So we’ll see if I move.

At the moment, having only JUST settled, the thought of picking up and moving elsewhere gives me a headache.

The flea market was fun (photos to come!). I jump at any opportunity to get out of my apartment and explore the city. Vendors and their stalls lined a sun-filled alleyway, selling a variety of items from Dead Sea spa products to nuts and honey and traditional silver jewellery. Some offered samples of their products and one man eagerly gave me a taste of his natural homemade peanut butter. I would have bought some, were it not for the fact that I just purchased a container of PB from the grocery store a few days ago. Perhaps another time!

I was excited to see the alleyway dotted with people recognizably foreign, just like me. Jabal Amman is a big draw for foreigners and many live in the streets surrounding my apartment. It’s funny – I’ve discovered I watch foreigners just as much as the locals do, though not as blatantly. As soon as I see someone with light skin, light hair, perhaps with freckles, or I hear them speaking in English I watch them carefully, wondering where are THEY from?

It’s odd that I feel an almost immediate kinship with these strangers.

Of course I couldn’t resist purchasing some things at the market: a change purse for all my piastres – the coins that make up the Jordanian Dinar – and a silver peacock ring that I just HAD to get because I’m a sucker for anything peacock-themed.

Later on some of us gathered at a cozy bar called Kanabayè to watch the Holland vs. Ivory Coast football game (again, photos to come). It’s a quieter, cool place for a drink and I hear they’ve got a Latin salsa night during the week. Yes, for all who know me, I am definitely planning on checking that out!

Not the pace I had in mind

After struggling throughout the week to make contacts for the newspaper, I finally had my first interview today. And thank goodness I decided to leave extra early for it, because I ended up getting lost in the taxi and my phone ran out of credits before I could call my helpful translator.

So with ten minutes to go before my meeting, I found myself sitting in the backseat of a hot cab, with a useless mobile phone, arguing with the taxi driver and some security guards whose help we had administered out of desperation. I knew I was in the right area but my limited Arabic was no match for the gentlemen who thought they knew better.

At their insistence I was almost whisked off to another part of town where THEY thought the place was, but I put my foot down and demanded that the cabbie use his own phone to call my interviewee. If he was a nice man he would have offered to do this in the beginning, but was probably too cheap to use up his own credits. By this point though I think he really wanted to get rid of me, so he called and we were on our way.

The place ended up being just around the corner. I-TOLD-YOU-SO.

HANDS TIED

I need to learn some Arabic fast. This past week of work has been terribly frustrating. My plan was to make some contacts, look into several story ideas and get well on my way to writing. Unfortunately though 90 per cent of my time has been spent struggling with the confusing phone systems (as far as I can tell, there are no phone books), failing to communicate with operators and just generally failing to reach my intended contacts.

How am I supposed to be a reporter if I can’t talk to anyone??

When the cats come calling

Lots of cats in Amman. You’ll see them running between cars in the late hours of the evening and lounging in the sun atop stone walls in the afternoon. Normally I like cats. I’m one of those cat people who can deal with their moody temperaments and can appreciate their independence. Our family cats always took to me, sneaking up into my lap whenever I sat down and allowing me to carry them around as I pleased. We got along.

Dealing with feral street cats is another matter altogether. I ignore them and they ignore me. This relationship works nicely most of the time. My problem with them though usually starts around 2 a.m. in the morning.

That’s when I’m jolted out of sleep to the horrific sounds of cats wailing and screeching in the alley outside my window. The first time I heard it I could have swore the offending cat was sitting on my window ledge – it was that loud. This isn’t possible though, as my window is quite high up from the ground and the ledge isn’t very wide – so I knew they were still a safe distance away. Apparently though it’s mating season and this is causing the felines to be extra communicative. What an awful racket!

The only time I ever heard my cats howl like that was if they got in a scrap with a neighbourly raccoon. It wasn’t pleasant, but at least it didn’t happen every night!

The only solution is earplugs. With the warm nights I can’t stand having my window closed when I sleep, so instead I’ll just have to block sound out altogether.

Missed graduation

Yesterday was my graduation at the University of Western Ontario. I hope those classmates of mine who attended had fun! I’m sad to have missed it and missed seeing everyone – but I’m secretly glad I didn’t have to sit for hours through the diploma ceremonies.

Instead, while my colleagues were being handed their MA degrees in London, I was plowing through my second day of work at the Jordan Times. Since blogging about your employers online is a big no-no, I’ll only divulge the bare essentials. For the real dirt, you’ll have to email or call me!

The office is a 15-25 minute cab ride from where I live. Everyone here says it’s far, but by Canadian standards, it’s a hop, skip and jump. I’ve learned to tell the cab drivers Jareedat al-Rai (newspaper) and they seem to know where to go. Previously I had been making a newspaper motion with my hands to communicate and that didn’t always work.

Now though I’ve got a fancy security pass with my photo, the title "Reporter" and the name of my newspaper in Arabic. When in doubt, I’ll just flash that baby to get me to where I have to go.

Most of the reporters work a late shift, starting after noon. Having been used to a 9 a.m. start back home, I negotiated a 10 a.m. start and will work until 6 p.m. on most days, Sunday to Thursday. When I help with editing, I’ll stay on into the evening.

For now I’ve been given a wide range of issues to cover: local news, environment, business, technology, development issues and archaeology. My heart leaped when they said they’d like to expand their archaeology coverage – perhaps I’ll meet my Indiana Jones after all!

In the middle of World Cup fever

Who knew Jordanians loved football so much? That’s soccer, for all you Canadians out there. I had my initiation night on Friday with friends during the opening game between Germany and Costa Rica (the former team won). Here’s us at half-time:



Everyone’s chosen a team to root for and I’ve decided to go with Spain. Love the culture, the country and I’m betting their soccer players are good-looking. Back-up team shall be Ukraine, for my heritage, although they’re probably not the biggest competition on the block. I’ll give them my moral support regardless.

Everything has become football-oriented over here. Bars and cafés have posted signs and are taking advantage of the limited satellite access by showing the games on their TVs (some places charging $10 JDs just to get in – that’s about $16 CAD - ridiculous), and every commercial I see, regardless of the product, has taken on a soccer association.

I didn’t know much about the sport going in (blame that on unexplicable Canadian disenchantment with the game), but glad to discover it’s kind of like hockey, but on grass. And without skates. Or sticks. Or a puck. Get-object-in-goal. Gotcha.

CHILLIN’ AT THE CLUB

If you asked me a couple of weeks ago what I thought I’d be doing when I arrived in Amman, it certainly wouldn’t be sitting on a patio by a pool at a posh country club. But, my foster family here is determined to treat me superbly and spoiled me with a trip to the club on Friday – the weekend for most people in the city.

Have a look at the photos. Take a close look at some of the (ahem) interesting salads. Yes, I took photos of food. Yes, people were staring at me in confusion when I did it. No, I didn’t care. This is a form of mass education as far as I’m concerned. When else will some of my friends back home see brain and tongue salad?

R.I.P. HAIRDRYER

Killed my hairdryer this morning. Odd thing, it had been working for several days but just decided to konk out this morning. It was my dryer from home and I had a special voltage converter (here they use 220v and back home it’s 125v I believe). Hair was still wet, so I borrowed my roommate’s dryer which has a proper plug and is supposed to be the right voltage. But by some freak accident, I killed hers too.

(Found out later, after I wrote a big apologetic note to her, that hers automatically turns off when it gets too hot. So it’s come back to life and I’m off to get myself a proper hairdryer.)

Hold the news please

Big story here on Thursday – Jordanian Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, a leader of Al Qaeda was killed in Iraq. Too bad I’ve been completely disconnected with what’s happening in the news world and only found out about it when I stopped by the Jordan Times office to introduce myself.

I don’t start work until Sunday and until then I think it’s pretty impossible for me to try to cover it – not having any proper contacts or even any idea where I’d get a hold of government officials. Too bad. Missed opportunity. The world suddenly has its eye on Jordan and I’m still getting settled!

Grrr. Having a story slip through your hands is a wretched feeling.

SIDEWALK ENCOUNTERS

I’ve heard before that the city’s sidewalks aren’t for walking on and wasn’t sure what people meant. Apparently though they’re for trees and garbage and cars and any other object you can get on there that would block you from your path.

I discovered this myself when I tried to explore my neighbourhood and found myself trekking up the road more often than on the walkways, just because the sidewalks weren’t accessible. Some crumble to pieces in disrepair, some have such low overgrowth from the trees that if you’re not paying attention you walk right into a branch (and can get your hair tangled, as I have discovered). Some sidewalks have garbage bins reeking of heated refuse that cause you not only to walk around, but jaunt over to the other side of the road just to avoid the smell. And today I saw a dead cat lying beside a curb. Nice!

Of course, not ALL sidewalks are terrible. I actually enjoy the trees – better to have some greenery than none at all, even if they get in your way. I’m rather impressed that the city planners didn’t just bowl over the trees like they would in many of the cities back home to make way for the concrete. Instead they kept spots for them to grow through.

However, all the obstacles on the sidewalks do create a bit of problem for the pedestrian who’s forced to take it to the road with the local drivers. Personally I go around only if I have no other choice. I’d rather duck under trees and snake through cars and garbage bins than take my chances with some of the drivers I’ve seen in this city.

Didn't your mother ever teach you...

... that it's rude to stare?

I went out for a walk around the neighbourhood the other day with my Canadian roommate and although I was warned, I still found it shocking to see so many men staring at us. One man standing with his friends even pointed. Pointed! Like we were circus animals on parade. I'd like to think this is only because of my roommate's blond hair - as we were both dressed pretty conservatively (relatively speaking).

I've been told by some of the friends I've made here that any foreigner should expect to be stared at, especially in the older parts of the city. They said I should consider myself lucky if all I get is staring because usually it's accompanied by unpleasant banter. I guess in this sense it's a good thing I don't understand what's being said. It makes it easier to ignore.

THE BEST DIET

I've discovered the best diet plan in the world. It's called I-don't-know-where-to-get-it-therefore-I-can't-eat-it diet. Combined with rigorous walks up and down the streets of Jebel Amman in 30+ degree heat trying to catch the attention of taxis, or trying to find your destination, it makes the best recipe for losing unwanted weight.

Thanks to my new friend Haitham though, I've discovered a gigantic superstore called Safeway where they have nearly everything you'd find in a Western grocery store. Fortunately it's too far for me to walk to so my new diet plan can still work.

WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME

The streets here do have names. But no one uses them. Trying to get to the Canadian Embassy for example, you can't just tell the taxi driver "Canadian Embassy." Nor can you tell them the name of the street. Certainly not the street number (there aren't numbers, as far as I can tell). It's madness I tell you - but I'm getting used to it.

Instead, I've been instructed, you're supposed to give them landmarks or tell them the area of the city it's in. If there's a Pizza Hut or Burger King nearby, they'll most definitely know where to go. This doesn't help me much as I barely know the landmarks within my own neighbourhood, nevermind the rest of the city. Needless to say there have been times already where there's been no hope in hell of communicating with my driver. In these cases I've been fortunate to have a patient and understanding friend in Haitham (lifesaver, I tell you) who I'll call on my mobile and have him translate my directions to the driver over the phone.

Obviously I can't keep calling my translator everytime I need to go somewhere - but for now, it's a great help. I see it like having training wheels on a bike. They'll come off eventually and soon I'll be riding along on my own.

Another interesting bit about addresses: you can get anything delivered here. Even McDonald's delivers, believe it or not. When I heard this, I immediately asked, "But if you don't go by street addresses, how do you get things delivered?"

Like this: "Down the street with the fountain, past the X hotel, around the corner with the blue garbage bins and just past the falalel shop." The delivery guy will call when he's at the falafel shop and ask for further directions.

I wonder if that's how their equivalent of 911 works. Yikes.

ALWAYS THE LITTLE GUY

So eventually I did get to the Canadian Embassy to let them know I was here. It took a LOT to find the place though - even after I managed to get the taxi driver to drive me to the spot. He waved a hand up the street and said something I assume meant, "It's over there."

I went over there and nothing. Office buildings all over the street, but where's the embassy? No flag, no maple leaf, no red and white. Finally found it through a little entrance way guarded by security officials. It was one tiny office on the fourth floor of the building. Talk about inconspicuous!

Later on a driving tour of the city I was shown the American Embassy. Of course the place was a fortress. Figures.

Touch down in Jordan

After a 15 hour journey, I’ve arrived in Amman welcomed by 40 degree heat. I swear, I’ll never complain about how hot it is in Canada ever again. And of course my apartment doesn’t have A\C. I told my new roommate she had to direct me to the nearest fan store ASAP. My industrial-sized fan is now my new best friend.

I spent a short few hours with one of my other good friends Hala on Monday night during which time she gave me a quick driving tour of the city and introduced me to the insane traffic nightmare that is Amman. We came upon an intersection where about 15 cars were jammed all in the middle, pointing everywhich direction and missing each other’s bumpers and sideview mirrors by mere inches. I, being familiar with the logical use of traffic calming solutions back home, said, “My God, they need stop signs here! Or a traffic light!” My driver laughed just as I braced myself for impact. To my amazement we made it to our destination without killing anyone or being killed.

I’m on my own this week as Hala is off on a business trip in the States. Her family and friends have kindly offered to help with anything I may need. My priorities for the next few days: try to get used to my new apartment, further clean my bedroom (didn’t come in the tidiest of conditions), explore the city while trying to avoid fainting from the heat, register with the Canadian Embassy and stop in at the Jordan Times to announce my arrival. Oh, and get an internet connect at the apartment so I can stop paying a fortune at the internet cafés to update this blog.

So far I've only taken a few photos. See them here.