Jordan Part I: Aqaba and Wadi Rum

I was excited to go to Jordan, but had no idea that it would be so rich and glorious and make me feel so alive! Passion, violence, romance, meteor showers, moonshadows and campfires, fear and angst and friendship--it was everything beautiful and wonderful and magic and mysterious life can afford. For the sake of time, I won't bore you with all the details.

The Journey
Our bus left Tel Aviv central station at 11:59 pm on Sunday night. Anne-Laurence (Ana) and I were on our way to Jordan. She is a Swiss, German-speaking, blonde and blue-eyed cheery neighbor of mine, doing a semester abroad in Israel. The 4.5 hour bus ride (which we almost missed it thanks to me carefully preparing a vodka tincture for the road to ensure our comfortable sleep) took us to Eilat, the resort city at the far south of Israel on the tip of Red Sea. Arrival at 4:30 am wasn't so nice and we slept on the floor (they had anti-bum seats) in the bus station until we were literally kicked awake around 6 am and told in so many Hebrew words that our presence was not appreciated any longer.

Aqaba
The sun was on the verge of cresting the horizon so I deconstructed my hard-boiled egg I had brought and gobbled it before hailing a taxi to the Jordan border. The crossing was a breeze, but getting a taxi on the Jordanian side was an angering racket--fixed price at 5x what it should be. Grrr. Feeling cheating and scammed, we arrived in Aqaba--Jordan's Red Sea City, where I had told Ben a meeting point. He is my Taiwanese friend in Amman, and would be taking the bus down to join us. He wouldn't arrive until noon so we thought to take a nap on the beach for a while. Ana did, but this plan was thwarted when I was overcome by the smell radiating from the Turkish coffee stand. Unable to sleep, I sat under a tree and watched the glass-bottom boatmen linger alongshore.

After much pleading by a group of four Palestinian-Jordanian young men (many Palestinians sought asylum here after 1967 and now cannot return to Palestine) I had a second cup of coffee with them under a shady tree. Now underslept and severely overcaffeinated, tired of speaking slowly in basic English about whether I'm married or not, I was ready to be along my merry way. So was Ana and we slung the packs over our backs and moseyed up the hill to to find some food in town.


One restaurant stood out above all--the sidewalk tables were packed so we slithered through to find a spot. Hummus, baba ganouj, foul, and pita, with a spicy topping and amazing fresh pickled vegetables to accent. A while later (no hurry for us on this lazy holiday morning) we were enjoying our breakfast and I noticed a pair of men look at us as they took a table a row away. The man facing us had somewhat of a striking appearance and was clad in army colors, camo pants, and the typical red and white pattern Bedouin head scarf over locks of dark hair with golden highlights. I felt like he was looking at me so I didn't look at him again. Our plates were clean and as we sipped tea, satisfied, I took out my guidebook for us to make some plans. Apparently this was the guys' cue to ask if we needed help. "Join us for a cup of tea please" (they also begged after we declined). So eventually and skeptically, we caved and were glad we did. Turns out they were just what we were looking for. Ahmad and Sammy both ran Bedouin style camps in Wadi Rum--our chosen destination and just the type of price and environment we had in mind. Sammy offered free transport to the desert and told us of the delicious home-cooked meals that were included. Sounds good and all, but we need to find Ben.

They then gave us a ride to our meeting point at the five star Movenpick Hotel (which I chose so we would have a reason to go inside and admire, and use resources if need be). For not being guests and looking a bit travel-worn, we were still treated like royalty when we asked to make a phone call. Sammy said he'd come back for us after we found Ben, but he had to leave by 1pm, so give a call before then. Ben's phone was off, the meeting spot was ambiguous (turns out there were two Movenpicks) and just when it started to seem dire, Sammy showed up in the lobby with news he had found 'the Chinese guy' outside. Gleeful that all had worked out thus far, the five of us were off into the vast expanse of the ancient Bedouin sand dunes and red rock magic wonderland.



Wadi Rum
Upon arrival at Caravan Camp, Ahmed served us Bedouin tea (black tea with sugar and herbs added--thyme, mint, sage, or cinnamon) and we then napped on the colorful rugs and cushions in the temperate shade of the tents. The midday heat passed as we wiled away the afternoon chatting over teapot after teapot.

At 4pm the three travelers and Ahmed went on a tour of the dunes and rock formations of Lawrence of Arabia's old stomping grounds in a 4x4 pick-up truck equipped with cushion-covered benches in the bed. We saw spectacular views of Wadi Rum by climbing up some the highest rocks and entertained ourselves by running/jumping/tumbling/freefalling down the steep sand slopes. There were carvings on high rock faces of yesteryear's directional markings indicating the Caravan trade route from the Arabian peninsula to Petra. There were cave dwellings, the occasional man with camels, and a donkey or two. We stopped on a plateau overlooking a vast plain, where Ahmed built a fire and made a pot of tea. We climbed to another outcropping to a high place to watch the sun sink over the rosy red-rock backdrop of the wind-swept movie-set landscape.


Back in the truck, it drove lopsided over the dunes, fast to get a running start up the hills, slow over the dangerous hidden rocks, and jalopy-like back to the camp. We had another pot of tea and relaxed in the evening coolness as the stars were not yet bright enough to warrant moving to a place under the open sky. A humble yet delicious dinner was served to the three musketeers of Europe, America, and Asia, with the company of the Arabian guide. Herbed chicken and spiced rice, a variety of salads with tomato & tahini, yoghurt & cucumber, parsley & tomato & cucumber, apples for desert, and tea.

We sat around the campfire drinking tea again when Ahmed caught my eye and whispered "I have a surprise--come with me to the kitchen" So I followed and we munched on a few dates as he revealed to me the majestic embroidered Bedouin dress and face mask. "Put this on and sneak around the tent back to the fire circle. They won't recognize you and sit down and surprise them!" It took a few tries to tie the mask on properly, and the coal eyeliner was also a struggle to apply.

Everyone was delighted around the campfire when the mysterious strawberry blonde Bedouin woman stopped lurking in the shadows and joined the circle to reveal her identity. They all took turns trying on the outfit. We talked into the night as the infrequent car passed on the highway, lighting up our camp for a brief moment like a few frames from a movie projector and we stargazed until our eyes were heavy.


Day Two
Ben came a-knocking on the canvas door to wake us for sunrise at 5:30. The three of us set chairs in the clearing and bundled up for the chilly pre-dawn desert morning. The sky was light long before the sun rose, but at 6, the glowing sphere peaked over the point of the mountain across the plain and we gasped in enchantment. It was a lazy morning because we had a lot of time before our appointed camel ride. But I, loving the desert, full of joy and wonder and anticipation could not sleep any more.
We relished in the newfound warmth the morning sun brought to the skin; glistening under the pink-orange morning brilliance; I was in a sublime state of peace. Around 8 am, breakfast was served out in the open--pita, three salads, labneh, hummus; my absolute favorite was the zatar (herb mixture with sesame) mixed with copious amounts of fresh olive oil. I mean fresh, it was so rich and flavorful! And our guide showed us to mix the cream cheese triangles with marmalade for a nice treat on the pita. A big plate of halvah beckoned me after I finished the salty things.

At 9 am, a Sudanese-turned-Bedouin arrived with two camels. Ana and I cautiously climbed to the top of the humps and sat on the blanket-with-handles contraption. Ben walked alongside and talked to Abdallah in broken Arabic and found that he had found it easy from Sudan to assimilate in Jordan, being already and Arabic speaker.

The rest of the day we spend drinking tea, taking a trip into the village for groceries, and doing a marvelous exploration of our surroundings on foot, climbing imposing rocks, sliding down perfectly-formed sand dunes. There were some newcomers to the camp--a pair of Spanish men so we chatted with them in the afternoon and lounged around on the cushions in the shade, reading and drawing.


Later that evening, a large group of Australians came in. They were not particularly outgoing, so neither were we. And maybe we were just a bit sad that we no longer had the quietness and vast open desertland all to ourselves. But with more people, the dinner was increasingly fancy. Tonight it was lamb and chicken cooked in the subterranean pit, Polynesian-pig style, and a cornucopia of roasted vegetables.

Shooting stars abounded and the sand was cold and the night too beautiful to describe.

Sunrise again over peaks woke us for the new day. We waited in the freshness of morning when everything's new and clean and bright for a car to take us away from this extraordinary place. It finally arrived, and we sorrowfully piled in with the Spanish guys. We waved Ana goodbye as she was making her own way to the Sinai peninsula to meet another friend. The driver took us to the junction on the Desert Highway where we separated; the Spanish continued to Aqaba and Ben and me hopped out to meet the bus here to go north, it would be a 2 hour ride to Wadi Musa on this bus that only ran once each morning (foils if we miss it)...

A West Bank Weekend

On Friday morning I woke up at 6:30 to get to the West Bank as early as possible. I was to meet a group at 1:45pm for a tour of the ancient city of Sebastia. Nablus, the city near Sebastia is about 70 km from Tel Aviv, but since it is in the West Bank, the transportation is not easy; it is only accessible from East Jerusalem. So for me it involved three legs. I walked 20 minutes to the Tel Aviv central bus station to find that it was closed because of the holidays. Not to fear, there are 'sherut' operating (vans that hold 10 passengers and leave only when they are full). They are comfortable, but don't have a schedule and cost more, especially when the buses are not running! Nonetheless, an hour later we arrived in Jerusalem at the Damascus Gate, so I asked around until I found the way to the bus for Ramallah. This one was also about an hour, and since it was Friday the Muslim holy day, everything was closed in town. I wandered around looking for a bus station with the obligatory taxi drivers assuring me that their way was the only way, for 600% the price of the 'service taxi' (the name for the 10 passenger vans in Palestine). When I declined, they conceded; it may not be the only way, but at least the better way.

As I was wandering around the shuttered storefronts looking for a bus, a Chinese guy came up to me and asked in English where I was going. "To Nablus" I replied, and lo and behold, he was also heading this direction. Call me Ben, he said. Ben was from Taiwan, a student of Arabic, studying in Jordan and traveling in Palestine for a few days. I told him I lived in Tel Aviv and and yada yada yada. He made one comment that was quite off-putting. Hmmm, I don't know if I want to spend any time with him, I thought, but he is my opportunity to have a male companion which may be useful in this town. After the hour ride into Nablus, I found that we had a lot to talk about and much in common. He had made a very generalizing statement, but turned out to be not close-minded at all as I had initially thought. We explored Nablus together for several hours and because of him, I was able to do things I otherwise wouldn't have done on my own because I was such a spectacle as 1. lone woman (none else that I saw), 2. light-haired, 3. not covered on the head and forearms, 4. western demeanor (though I seem to not scream brash American). Plus he spoke some Arabic. It all turned out very well.

1:45 rolled around and it was time to meet my group in the central square. There it was: the first group of foreigners that was not me and Ben that I had seen in Nablus--no doubt this was them. Many of them were English teachers at the university in town. There was your classic American loudmouth girl, a shy Italian girl, a hipster American guy, a humorous British guy, an intelligent-looking Norwegian girl, and a few others. As has been the trend so far, time doesn't seem too valuable here, so we waited 45 minutes to board the bus. I never knew quite what we were waiting for, but I got a kabob fresh off the grill on the corner in the meantime. We later had a conversation about time and our absolute obsession with it, how the word or concept infiltrates nearly every conversation we have.

Mohommed was the organizer of this trip, he posted an invitation on Couchsurfing website, which is where I saw the event. He got a knowledgable friend to give us a tour of Sebastia and other to translate. It has some very well-preserved areas and just about every feature you'd hope to see in a Roman town--a basisilca, theater, hippodrome and the like. Along the tour I chatted with most everyone --12 or so people. My favorite turned out to be a 21 year old Palestinian guy Ameed, who was studying electrical engineering and working in his father's furniture shop.

At the end of our walk around the town, the guys from Nablus had prepared for a BBQ in an olive tree grove atop the hill overlooking the Jordan Valley. We had whole tomatoes, chicken, and shwarm on skewers, then pita to stuff it in. Delectable!
And some of the guys' younger siblings joined us which made for an even better crowd. We arranged rocks to sit on and laughed together while we ate. Someone had the idea that we should go to the hillcrest park when we get back to Nablus and have a drink. Soon after, we were off and drove the windy road to the top of the city that beats San Fancisco hands down for varied topography. From here, you could see the big Israeli city of Netanya on the coast and the walled & barb-wired Israeli settlement to the south, which looked frighteningly like an American suburb from this vantage point.

The sun was sinking over the western mountains and the white lights of the ramshackle Nablus metropolis glistened. The neon of the minarets glowed green and the sodium halide streetlights on the hilltop promenade added some orange to the palette. So the emanating light switched from the horizon to the valley below. Ameed insisted that he treat me to coffee, so we savored fresh-brewed Arabic joe by the cliff railing as we soaked up the scene.

We soon joined the others, who were at a picnic table playing guitar and singing folk songs. The Norwegian and American had a perfect duet going. It really made me smile. I could have stayed all night here, but I had planned to stay in Ramallah so had to catch the last bus out. Just as I went to say goodbye to Mohammed, he got a bee sting on the face! Ow. I got a ride down to the bus station from someone's bother, along with the tourist from Jordan who was also going to Ramallah.

A beautiful coincidence then happened. When we got off the bus, we saw a Stars & Bucks (no, not Starbuck's) in the main square and decided to have a drink. I was wearing my MIT shirt this day, and before we even sat down, a guy approached from across the room. He turned out the to be one of only two other MIT students interning in Israel right now! I had even sent him an email (which he never responded too, and was now quite ashamed) when I was looking for an apartment. We had only heard each others names from our program director, never met in person, and are both, per MIT's travel guidelines, not supposed to be in the West Bank! It was great--we all four sat together and had tea and smoothies (he was with a new German friend). We enjoyed the irony of the Star's & Buck's atmosphere for the remainder of the evening --it was absolutely nothing like a Starbuck's inside, not the music, not the seating, not the decor, and not the view out the window to the giant chair in the square symbolizing the Palestinian seat in the UN. Nothing, save the shelf of coffee mugs, brewing apparatuses, and other 'S & B' paraphernalia.


Sometime before midnight, my couchsurfing host called and we set a meeting point at the lion statue. So Jehad came trotting along from across the intersection. He showed the Jordanian who was with me with the way to his hostel and we said goodbye and it was a nice time and all that. I then followed Jehad to the bar where he worked, where I sat for the next two hours drinking Carlsberg, eating peanuts and the tasty bean snack, while using Jehad's computer for entertainment/planning. Jehad is a very special person who thinks deeply about everything and has incredible insight for a nineteen-year-old. He is a buddhist Palestinian, went to school in Nepal, and spent time in a monastery. He came back when his visa ran out and is saving up to go somewhere else where he does not feel like extremists will harm him for being Buddhist. He is immensely frustrated with Islam and the gender inequality, lack of social freedom, lack of individual choice, and expectations to conform, among other things.
He was supposed to be off at midnight, but again with the different perception of time, he ended up staying until 3 because some more customers came in. Alcohol is prohibited in Islam so he tells most people that he works at a restaurant, and of course everyone who patronizes the place (save the infrequent but not as seldom as you might think tourist to Ramallah) keeps it on the down low. So he stayed at the bar all night while I got a ride with the manager/his neighbor to the artist colony where I was to stay. This man, probably in his 60's, was an actor. He was currently in a play in the main theater here and took over the bar for his friend the owner because he knew how to fix it after the last guy brought the business down. He also just so happened to live in Seattle for a decade or so (¡¡wow!!). A resident of Fremont throughout the 90's, he acted in the Seattle scene as well.

The place was his uncle's, where Jehad and his two cousins stayed--two twenty-something girls who were out at the moment as well. The uncle was in Italy. His villa was full of art and unique furnishings--the fireplace in the picture, a Japanese dining area with teppanyaki grill, a hand-made copper sink...I was enthralled. The material goods matched the description of his gregarious, eccentric, globally-minded and also Buddhist uncle, who has a hundred friends who show up to parties here from around the world.

The next morning, after having coffee and chats, I took the service taxi (it honked at me as I walked down the lonely road so I hopped in) to the center of town. He I walked through the market and bought falafel which cost less than two dollars, whereas in Tel Aviv, the same thing is four times the price. I reveled in that 'good deal' feeling for a half-hour or so.
By afternoon, I was ready to move on to the Taybeh Beer Festival--the only Palestinian beer there is. The two brothers who started it learned the business from the mircrobreweries in the good ol' USA and to my surprise, have some importers there, and even a retailer in Boston!

The brewery is in Taybeh, a half hour or so from Ramallah and is a Christian town. The annual festival itself was a big ex-pat gathering, along with the locals of course. Every foreigner living, traveling, or otherwise passing through the Palestinian Territories was without a doubt at this event. It was pleasant at 4pm, at 6 pm it was crowded so I left to go tour the brewery, when I came back around 7:30, it was so packed I could barely walk through. Even though I had some friends here I said I would meet up with (my German neighbors in Florentine), I decided to leave because I didn't like the sardine feeling. And I had tasted the beer and taken in the vibe pretty well at this point. So off I went to East Jerusalem, then the tram full of orthodox folk, then security fiasco with the one-metal-detector-isn't-enough-for-400-people, finally the bus to Tel Aviv central station and the tiresome walk home.

Rosh Hashanah and Caesarea Maritima

Last week was the Jewish New Year. The holiday begins sunset of Wednesday the 28th, through nightfall of September 30th. It is a family holiday as are many in the Jewish tradition, so if you are not with family, you're kind of a lost soul. Fortunately, a student who works in Lab for Climate and Environment with me invited me to his family's dinner at the kibbutz an hour or so north of here. Gad is doing his master's degree, also coaches football (soccer), teaches urban studies in a high school and a prison.

I first took the train from South Tel Aviv where I live to his neighborhood in Kfar Saba, a city about 40 minutes north. Because of the holiday schedule, the last train left around 3pm, much to early for dinner. With our spare couple hours, we watched Rambo. He had it downloaded on his hard drive as there is no such thing as intellectual property for movies and music here ('that dollar means a lot more to me than a large media corporation').

We picked up his mother from her house nearby. She is a petite and lovely woman of German/Polish descent with curly and strikingly golden hair. But she smokes like a chimney and it has taken its toll on the skin. She spoke English well and we had a nice conversation on the hour drive to the kibbutz.

The kibbutz no longer operates as it once did in its socialist heyday. It still has the communal dining room and such but all meals are not eaten together here. Children live at home with their parents now and high standard of living has made the socialist way of life less necessary than it was when the . The lack of fences between houses was one aspect that stood out though. There were neighbors wandering throughout as all open space is public. The kibbutz also has a plastics factory which employs many from the community.

We passed the guard at the front gate and drove around the circuitous road to the family's house. They had several tables set up around the yard with candles and other decorations. We opened a bottle of wine and made introductions. It was a good crowd--there were twin men in the 60's who were both excellent in the English language and very engaging. One was the owner of this house and a professor, the other a doctor. The wife of the professor had curly jet black hair and wore Aladdin pants and extravagant beads and looked like something out of a magazine as she pranced elegantly about the house. She later told the traditional story of prayer before we ate the meal. Another woman with two small children was a disaster planner for the government and we had some interesting conversations.

Now for the food. Among other things, we had apples and honey for a sweet new year, Challah bread, matzo ball soup, Gefilte fish balls with horseradish, a variety of beef dishes, chicken, a cabbage salad, a cous-cous salad, green salad, chocolate cake, and the honey cake Lekach. I was stuffed afterward and so happy with all the homemade deliciousness.

Next we went back to Gad's neighborhood and met his friends at a bar. The bartender was a jolly girl and talked to us as the night was young and the crowds not yet out in full force. The friend Omri just had his German girlfriend arrive for a visit and was all kinds of ecstatic. She commanded attention with her brightly colored hair and facial piercings, but then was polite, a bit reserved, and very congenial. Everyone was in good spirits and mine were most lifted when we walked outside, pint glass in hand, to enjoy the cool evening air and no one cared a bit if we took a beer out onto the sidewalk. That's one thing I like about this country. They are reasonable (in that sense, not all) with things like this, and the beaches don't close at night. The fresh air is really necessary also as people smoke in bars and restaurants, even though it is technically prohibited.

The next day we headed out to Caesaria, an ancient city on the sea. Most of its development is attributed to Herod the Great, but then had various periods of prosperity and decline, from Crusader fortress to Ottoman trade center to have for Bosnian immigrants. Now it is a tourist attraction and a very well-done one.

It has restaurants and art galleries and is a splendid place to spend an afternoon on the coast. All of the new construction is in keeping with the old while being classy, beautiful, and not at all cheesy. We watched a few of the documentary films in the visitor center and set out to explore the ruins. Here there are 'no entry' areas as with any well-managed archaeological site, but these rules are not well-respected by anyone except the foreign tourists and there seems to be no consequence for disregarding them, not even a guard to yell at you. It's too bad that it is less protected in this way, but swimming among the ruins that made for geometric pools and tidelands was pretty amazing, I have to say.