Looking for current adventures?
Photos of Jordan
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
And now you know the rest of the story
I woke up today to a pseudo-Christmas morning. There in the living room was our long-lost suitcase, filled to the brim with expensive electronic devices.
Yes, it's true. Not only did we get our suitcase back, a mere five days after its disappearance, we got it back with everything still inside it. I still get shivers just thinking about it.
I also get shivers thinking about what I could have lost. I didn't even realize it until I looked in the suitcase this morning, but my journal from the past two years was in that suitcase. Talk about irreplaceable.
Now that you know the ending, I'll fill you in on a couple more details of the story.
Our suitcase spent 24 hours at JFK airport in New York. The JetBlue flight that our suitcase was supposedly coming in on (talking about it that way makes it sound like the suitcase is a close relative) didn't land until 11pm last night. I was planning on going to the airport myself, since I had been the one making all the phone calls up until that point (and believe me, there had been many). But at the last minute, Jeremy decided it was too dangerous for me to venture out on Tucson's streets at midnight, so he went himself.
After a small amount of confusion regarding the bag's actual whereabouts within the Tucson airport, and a quizzing about his identification and relation to the bag (I told you it was like a relative by this time), JetBlue handed it over. The poor suitcase was be-tagged with labels from all kinds of airlines and departments and even a big RUSH tag. Jeremy opened it up right there in front of the clerk for a cursory check of its contents. Everything appeared to be there.
But he saved a more thorough check for when he got home. I was sleeping by this time, but he opened it up and saw that nothing was missing. In other words, a gigantic miracle had just occurred.
Because let me remind you once more what was in the suitcase: an iPod, iPod speakers, a laptop computer, a camera, and an iSight webcam, in addition to sundry non-electronic, important items.
Also, I will now reveal one item of information I kept from you all initially because of how foolish it made us look (besides having left a carry-on suitcase at the check-in desk), but which increases the magnitude of this miracle: There was, in fact, absolutely no identification tag on this suitcase. And none of the items in the suitcase had our names on them either (except my journal, which is kind of freaky when you think about what might have happened with that). Initially, we thought there was an old address label on the handle that had Jeremy's mom's name on it (thus the "Janice" name that RJ had somehow gotten ahold of). But I looked at the suitcase just now and realized that there wasn't even that.
To sum up: we left a suitcase full of expensive consumer electronics in the middle of a bustling airport terminal in a foreign country with absolutely no identification attached to it and received that same suitcase at our home in Tucson within a week, with nothing missing from it.
Also, our RJ flight technically ended at JFK with no onward flight, so the fact that we were able to get them to send it all the way to was just a bonus.
Also, our go-to man in Amman who sent us the essential information that got this problem solved told us the next day that he had had trouble sending the email at first and had let it sit, attempting to send, all night. When he woke up the next morning, it said the message had failed, and it did not appear in his 'Sent Items'. But somehow, we had received it and by that time had ascertained the suitcase's whereabouts and arranged for it to be sent to Tucson.
Obviously, we are extremely grateful for all the help and prayers we received from friends, family, and yes, even RJ employees. I am as amazed as you are that an airline who can't manage a proper line is nonetheless capable of orchestrating a lost-bag-return halfway across the world.
The moral of the story: Don't lose your suitcases, kids, but if you do, do it in Jordan.
Yes, it's true. Not only did we get our suitcase back, a mere five days after its disappearance, we got it back with everything still inside it. I still get shivers just thinking about it.
I also get shivers thinking about what I could have lost. I didn't even realize it until I looked in the suitcase this morning, but my journal from the past two years was in that suitcase. Talk about irreplaceable.
Now that you know the ending, I'll fill you in on a couple more details of the story.
Our suitcase spent 24 hours at JFK airport in New York. The JetBlue flight that our suitcase was supposedly coming in on (talking about it that way makes it sound like the suitcase is a close relative) didn't land until 11pm last night. I was planning on going to the airport myself, since I had been the one making all the phone calls up until that point (and believe me, there had been many). But at the last minute, Jeremy decided it was too dangerous for me to venture out on Tucson's streets at midnight, so he went himself.
After a small amount of confusion regarding the bag's actual whereabouts within the Tucson airport, and a quizzing about his identification and relation to the bag (I told you it was like a relative by this time), JetBlue handed it over. The poor suitcase was be-tagged with labels from all kinds of airlines and departments and even a big RUSH tag. Jeremy opened it up right there in front of the clerk for a cursory check of its contents. Everything appeared to be there.
But he saved a more thorough check for when he got home. I was sleeping by this time, but he opened it up and saw that nothing was missing. In other words, a gigantic miracle had just occurred.
Because let me remind you once more what was in the suitcase: an iPod, iPod speakers, a laptop computer, a camera, and an iSight webcam, in addition to sundry non-electronic, important items.
Also, I will now reveal one item of information I kept from you all initially because of how foolish it made us look (besides having left a carry-on suitcase at the check-in desk), but which increases the magnitude of this miracle: There was, in fact, absolutely no identification tag on this suitcase. And none of the items in the suitcase had our names on them either (except my journal, which is kind of freaky when you think about what might have happened with that). Initially, we thought there was an old address label on the handle that had Jeremy's mom's name on it (thus the "Janice" name that RJ had somehow gotten ahold of). But I looked at the suitcase just now and realized that there wasn't even that.
To sum up: we left a suitcase full of expensive consumer electronics in the middle of a bustling airport terminal in a foreign country with absolutely no identification attached to it and received that same suitcase at our home in Tucson within a week, with nothing missing from it.
Also, our RJ flight technically ended at JFK with no onward flight, so the fact that we were able to get them to send it all the way to was just a bonus.
Also, our go-to man in Amman who sent us the essential information that got this problem solved told us the next day that he had had trouble sending the email at first and had let it sit, attempting to send, all night. When he woke up the next morning, it said the message had failed, and it did not appear in his 'Sent Items'. But somehow, we had received it and by that time had ascertained the suitcase's whereabouts and arranged for it to be sent to Tucson.
Obviously, we are extremely grateful for all the help and prayers we received from friends, family, and yes, even RJ employees. I am as amazed as you are that an airline who can't manage a proper line is nonetheless capable of orchestrating a lost-bag-return halfway across the world.
The moral of the story: Don't lose your suitcases, kids, but if you do, do it in Jordan.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Developments
It's not over yet, but I do have some exciting news to report on the story of the left-behind carry-on.
When I last left you, the missing bag was (presumably) sitting somewhere in Queen Alia airport, and Jeremy and Miriam and I had safely arrived in Tucson. We had basically given up hope of ever seeing that bag again, but that didn't mean we were giving up.
In fact, even before boarding our flight from New York to Tucson, we enlisted the help of that most masterful of information-getters, my mom. She made a ton of phone calls while we were busy flying but was never able to get a (helpful) live human being on the phone who could tell her what was going on. In the meantime, Jeremy and I wrote emails to a few students who were still in Amman and would be going to the airport in the next few days, telling them to ask about the bag.
Although she hadn't been successful with the phone calls, my mom did score an email address, and she wrote a letter briefly explaining the situation. In reply, we received this:
I wrote another simpler, briefer email stating only the bare facts in very plain English. In reply, we received this:
ATT O/D
PLS CHK ND RX ADV WZ B RGDS M.SBEINATI
Clearly, we were dealing with a situation so critical, so unusual, that it necessitated communicating in code.
The students we had sent on a rescue mission came away empty-handed, and I don't blame them. Apparently, the RJ staff cited "security concerns" when they were asked about the suitcase. I guess I'm glad to know that even if they did have our suitcase in their possession, they didn't go around confirming or denying its existence to just anybody.
It was time to break out the big guns. We enlisted the help of a leader of our church congregation. He's a retired Foreign Service officer with killer Arabic and a lot of...presence. He called the airport and was told that there was a Samsonite (!) bag turned in on the morning of the 18th (!) that had a Canon camera inside (!). Now, our bag was not technically a Samsonite, but we figured that might just be the generic name Arabic gives to a rolly carry-on suitcase. Our go-to-man headed to the airport to investigate this lead. Our hopes skyrocketed.
Sadly, the bag was not ours. But, while there, our friend talked with an RJ employee who said he had been on duty on the 18th when a carry-on suitcase was found at the Terminal 2 check-in counter. He had personally put it on a flight to JFK just that same morning (yesterday). The only information they had for the suitcase was a tag number, a name ("Janice"), and a phone number - which happened to be our old Tucson phone number.
After hearing this from our friend, I was as sure as I could be that we were talking about our suitcase. I immediately made half a dozen phone calls and through some miracle finally got in touch with an actual person in the JFK baggage claim department. She typed in the tag number and said that indeed, the bag was scheduled to come in on a flight any moment.
A few hours later, I called back. The baggage people said they hadn't seen the suitcase. A minor setback, hopefully overcome when...
...a few hours after that, I called again. This time, excellent news: baggage handler Cindy told me that the bag had come in and would be sent out tomorrow night on a JetBlue flight to Tucson!
In a little more than 24 hours, we'll know the end of the story. In the meantime, I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.
When I last left you, the missing bag was (presumably) sitting somewhere in Queen Alia airport, and Jeremy and Miriam and I had safely arrived in Tucson. We had basically given up hope of ever seeing that bag again, but that didn't mean we were giving up.
In fact, even before boarding our flight from New York to Tucson, we enlisted the help of that most masterful of information-getters, my mom. She made a ton of phone calls while we were busy flying but was never able to get a (helpful) live human being on the phone who could tell her what was going on. In the meantime, Jeremy and I wrote emails to a few students who were still in Amman and would be going to the airport in the next few days, telling them to ask about the bag.
Although she hadn't been successful with the phone calls, my mom did score an email address, and she wrote a letter briefly explaining the situation. In reply, we received this:
Please need your help and reply.
ATT O/D
PLS CHK ND RX ADV WZ B RGDS M.SBEINATI
Clearly, we were dealing with a situation so critical, so unusual, that it necessitated communicating in code.
The students we had sent on a rescue mission came away empty-handed, and I don't blame them. Apparently, the RJ staff cited "security concerns" when they were asked about the suitcase. I guess I'm glad to know that even if they did have our suitcase in their possession, they didn't go around confirming or denying its existence to just anybody.
It was time to break out the big guns. We enlisted the help of a leader of our church congregation. He's a retired Foreign Service officer with killer Arabic and a lot of...presence. He called the airport and was told that there was a Samsonite (!) bag turned in on the morning of the 18th (!) that had a Canon camera inside (!). Now, our bag was not technically a Samsonite, but we figured that might just be the generic name Arabic gives to a rolly carry-on suitcase. Our go-to-man headed to the airport to investigate this lead. Our hopes skyrocketed.
Sadly, the bag was not ours. But, while there, our friend talked with an RJ employee who said he had been on duty on the 18th when a carry-on suitcase was found at the Terminal 2 check-in counter. He had personally put it on a flight to JFK just that same morning (yesterday). The only information they had for the suitcase was a tag number, a name ("Janice"), and a phone number - which happened to be our old Tucson phone number.
After hearing this from our friend, I was as sure as I could be that we were talking about our suitcase. I immediately made half a dozen phone calls and through some miracle finally got in touch with an actual person in the JFK baggage claim department. She typed in the tag number and said that indeed, the bag was scheduled to come in on a flight any moment.
A few hours later, I called back. The baggage people said they hadn't seen the suitcase. A minor setback, hopefully overcome when...
...a few hours after that, I called again. This time, excellent news: baggage handler Cindy told me that the bag had come in and would be sent out tomorrow night on a JetBlue flight to Tucson!
In a little more than 24 hours, we'll know the end of the story. In the meantime, I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
In which I get even closer to cursing than last time
Someone in Jordan is determined to make the process of leaving the country extremely difficult for me and my family, and I think it's Queen Alia.
Or whoever named Amman's international airport after her, anyway. You may recall my account of last year's debacle. Well, unfortunately, I've got a new one for you.
We arrived at the airport with plenty of time (or so we thought) - a good 2.5 hours before our 10.30am departure. None of the RJ counters were open for check-in yet, so we picked a line and queued up behind dozens of already-waiting fellow check-in-ers. By the way, the line system was the kind where each line is a separate entity. So if your line gets stuck and you want to leave it, you have to go to the end of another line. There's no one line feeding all the check-in stations. (This will be important in a moment.)
Well, in a few minutes, the agents arrived and started their check-in work. It was at this point that we realized that there was one line that was much shorter than all the rest. Its brief length was obscured by a nearby line, so no one was lining up there. We saw an opportunity and in what was to become one of my most regretted line-changes ever, we moved into it.
Shortly after moving into it, our line stalled as a female passenger was having problems checking in with the gate agent. Of course, the line we had originally been standing in was clipping on at an efficient pace. But we didn't want to change back to that line, because we'd have to go all the way to the end (it was rather lengthy).
But the lady at the front of the line had problems that weren't going away. Jeremy crept up to the front to see if he could overhear what the problem was. He came back and reported that the lady had a ticket on our flight to New York, but didn't have an American visa. Unfortunately, the lady herself overheard Jeremy tell me this and got very upset with us for, I don't know, being interested in the reason why we had been standing in line for 45 minutes behind her without moving. I think she said something about Jeremy not being her lawyer which, I'll grant her, was true.
Time passed and we still weren't moving. Members of a tour group who were in line in front of us moved to the next line over. We sent my brother Steven to the end of our original line as a contingency plan. Then that line stalled. Then a group of VIP travelers, whatever that means, cut in front of us despite Jeremy's vehement and eloquently stated objections.
No-Visa Lady finally left the line and it started moving again. I thought all our problems were over once the check-in agent started processing our tickets, and we called Steven back over to our line. But all of a sudden, she told us that we had to pay some extra money at - get this - a completely different counter, with its own separate line.
So Jeremy and I ran over there, leaving Miriam with Steven and our stuff at the check-in counter. I'll spare you most of the details of our experience at this second counter, except these:
1. We waited in line, again. It was now almost 10.00 and we hadn't even gone through passport control yet. Heck, we hadn't even technically checked in yet.
2. RJ demanded that we pay 140JD ($200) per person because the price of our ticket had changed since we bought it. This included Miriam, even though she is under 2 years old and didn't even have a ticket.
3. Angry No-Visa Lady was in line right in front of us and almost sued me on the spot when I kindly asked her if she was on the flight leaving in half an hour and, if not, if we could go in front of her in line. It seemed like a reasonable request to me but apparently she didn't agree. She yelled at me and I think I would have cried if I had had emotion to spare. As it was, my emotions were all being used on on frustration and stress at the moment.
We learned last year that you can't argue with these people. RJ told us we weren't getting on that flight - or any flight - without paying the money. We begged him to let us take care of it on the American side (no offense, Jordanians, but I think you'll agree we would have had better luck over there). He refused. Finally, we paid, and ran back to the ticket counter. It was now 10.15.
We grabbed our carry-on bags and rushed over to immigration. We waited in a small line and then got sent over to wait in YET ANOTHER LINE to pay the exit tax (since when has that existed??). Fifteen JD (each) later, we were allowed to cut in front of a nice Jordanian family and breeze through passport control. We got to the gate and they literally closed the doors right behind us.
Phew! We had made it. Or so I thought. As soon as the plane was in the air, I realized, with a terrible sinking feeling, that we had left our carry-on suitcase at the check-in counter.
Really, we can't be blamed. The check-in area was an exercise in mayhem and between running back and forth between counters (that's when Jeremy yelled out, "I hate Royal Jordanian!!") and trying to manage all of our other carry-ons, plus Miriam, it's easy to see how it happened. The worst part is that this particular bag is where we put most of our important stuff because, you know, it was supposed to be a carry-on. So we'll be lucky if we ever get the bag back, and even luckier if it comes back with a laptop computer, iPod, speakers, some souvenirs from Jerusalem, and our new camera still inside.
Still, it could have been worse. Thankfully, there were lots of important things that we didn't put inside that bag.
I can only hope that RJ handles their lost-and-found items better than they do their ticket pricing system. Even if that is a foolish thought.
Or whoever named Amman's international airport after her, anyway. You may recall my account of last year's debacle. Well, unfortunately, I've got a new one for you.
We arrived at the airport with plenty of time (or so we thought) - a good 2.5 hours before our 10.30am departure. None of the RJ counters were open for check-in yet, so we picked a line and queued up behind dozens of already-waiting fellow check-in-ers. By the way, the line system was the kind where each line is a separate entity. So if your line gets stuck and you want to leave it, you have to go to the end of another line. There's no one line feeding all the check-in stations. (This will be important in a moment.)
Well, in a few minutes, the agents arrived and started their check-in work. It was at this point that we realized that there was one line that was much shorter than all the rest. Its brief length was obscured by a nearby line, so no one was lining up there. We saw an opportunity and in what was to become one of my most regretted line-changes ever, we moved into it.
Shortly after moving into it, our line stalled as a female passenger was having problems checking in with the gate agent. Of course, the line we had originally been standing in was clipping on at an efficient pace. But we didn't want to change back to that line, because we'd have to go all the way to the end (it was rather lengthy).
But the lady at the front of the line had problems that weren't going away. Jeremy crept up to the front to see if he could overhear what the problem was. He came back and reported that the lady had a ticket on our flight to New York, but didn't have an American visa. Unfortunately, the lady herself overheard Jeremy tell me this and got very upset with us for, I don't know, being interested in the reason why we had been standing in line for 45 minutes behind her without moving. I think she said something about Jeremy not being her lawyer which, I'll grant her, was true.
Time passed and we still weren't moving. Members of a tour group who were in line in front of us moved to the next line over. We sent my brother Steven to the end of our original line as a contingency plan. Then that line stalled. Then a group of VIP travelers, whatever that means, cut in front of us despite Jeremy's vehement and eloquently stated objections.
No-Visa Lady finally left the line and it started moving again. I thought all our problems were over once the check-in agent started processing our tickets, and we called Steven back over to our line. But all of a sudden, she told us that we had to pay some extra money at - get this - a completely different counter, with its own separate line.
So Jeremy and I ran over there, leaving Miriam with Steven and our stuff at the check-in counter. I'll spare you most of the details of our experience at this second counter, except these:
1. We waited in line, again. It was now almost 10.00 and we hadn't even gone through passport control yet. Heck, we hadn't even technically checked in yet.
2. RJ demanded that we pay 140JD ($200) per person because the price of our ticket had changed since we bought it. This included Miriam, even though she is under 2 years old and didn't even have a ticket.
3. Angry No-Visa Lady was in line right in front of us and almost sued me on the spot when I kindly asked her if she was on the flight leaving in half an hour and, if not, if we could go in front of her in line. It seemed like a reasonable request to me but apparently she didn't agree. She yelled at me and I think I would have cried if I had had emotion to spare. As it was, my emotions were all being used on on frustration and stress at the moment.
We learned last year that you can't argue with these people. RJ told us we weren't getting on that flight - or any flight - without paying the money. We begged him to let us take care of it on the American side (no offense, Jordanians, but I think you'll agree we would have had better luck over there). He refused. Finally, we paid, and ran back to the ticket counter. It was now 10.15.
We grabbed our carry-on bags and rushed over to immigration. We waited in a small line and then got sent over to wait in YET ANOTHER LINE to pay the exit tax (since when has that existed??). Fifteen JD (each) later, we were allowed to cut in front of a nice Jordanian family and breeze through passport control. We got to the gate and they literally closed the doors right behind us.
Phew! We had made it. Or so I thought. As soon as the plane was in the air, I realized, with a terrible sinking feeling, that we had left our carry-on suitcase at the check-in counter.
Really, we can't be blamed. The check-in area was an exercise in mayhem and between running back and forth between counters (that's when Jeremy yelled out, "I hate Royal Jordanian!!") and trying to manage all of our other carry-ons, plus Miriam, it's easy to see how it happened. The worst part is that this particular bag is where we put most of our important stuff because, you know, it was supposed to be a carry-on. So we'll be lucky if we ever get the bag back, and even luckier if it comes back with a laptop computer, iPod, speakers, some souvenirs from Jerusalem, and our new camera still inside.
Still, it could have been worse. Thankfully, there were lots of important things that we didn't put inside that bag.
I can only hope that RJ handles their lost-and-found items better than they do their ticket pricing system. Even if that is a foolish thought.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Yalla Bye
We leave Jordan tomorrow morning. I am really going to miss this place.
Hordes of neighbors stopped by our house throughout the day to say goodbye but also to worship at the altar of Miriam Damascus. At one point the doorbell rang and I opened the door to about eight little girls standing there, asking for Miriam.
Tonight, we spent the evening with Lulu, Tina, and Natalie. Miriam played with them like usual, except that this time we let her stay up with them until ten o'clock. She has no idea that if she ever sees them again, it won't be for almost a year.
I think that's the main thing I'll miss this year: Miriam's little friends. She has many more friends here in Amman than she does in Tucson. And now that I think about it, most of the few friends she did have in Tucson will have moved away by the time we get back. Also now that I think about it, we have more friends here than we do in Tucson. We'll have to work on that.
Besides friends, both big and small, here are some other things I'll miss about Jordan. If I overlap with last year's list, please forgive me.
1. Evening walks around the "exercise street" near our house in Dahiyet ar-Rasheed, cooled by the almost constant pleasant breeze here in Amman.
2. My class at Amideast. I love my students, I love teaching English, and I love having an influence (however small) on what Arabs think of Americans. That way, I know they're getting something besides MBC2. One of the best moments of my life in recent memory was meeting with former students in Damascus last month. I hope I can see these students sometime in the future as well.
3. Gerard, Riim al-Bawadi, Habibeh, Amman Waves, and Hamadeh falafel & hummus near our house.
4. Traveling to cool places like Crusader castles and ruined Roman cities.
5. Cruising for cheesy bad movies on the MBC channels and Dubai One. Also the series "Most Amazing Videos" on MBC Action. That show is AWESOME.
6. The Children's Museum!
7. Hanging out with our wonderful BYU and NMELRC students.
8. Having Miriam learn Arabic from other people with little effort on my part.
9. As always, the friendly and safe society.
10. Shopkeepers who give Miriam free stuff, especially the kind folks at our corner grocery store. I hope the constant stream of free Chupa Chups has not made too big of a dent in their profit margin.
The only things I'm really looking forward to are:
1. Our piano. I cannot wait to get playing again.
2. Our wonderful house in Tucson. It is our refuge whenever we are reminded how little we like that city.
I'll still be posting updates on this blog, so stay tuned. And check out My Adventures in Tucson for updates from the other side.
Hordes of neighbors stopped by our house throughout the day to say goodbye but also to worship at the altar of Miriam Damascus. At one point the doorbell rang and I opened the door to about eight little girls standing there, asking for Miriam.
Tonight, we spent the evening with Lulu, Tina, and Natalie. Miriam played with them like usual, except that this time we let her stay up with them until ten o'clock. She has no idea that if she ever sees them again, it won't be for almost a year.
I think that's the main thing I'll miss this year: Miriam's little friends. She has many more friends here in Amman than she does in Tucson. And now that I think about it, most of the few friends she did have in Tucson will have moved away by the time we get back. Also now that I think about it, we have more friends here than we do in Tucson. We'll have to work on that.
Besides friends, both big and small, here are some other things I'll miss about Jordan. If I overlap with last year's list, please forgive me.
1. Evening walks around the "exercise street" near our house in Dahiyet ar-Rasheed, cooled by the almost constant pleasant breeze here in Amman.
2. My class at Amideast. I love my students, I love teaching English, and I love having an influence (however small) on what Arabs think of Americans. That way, I know they're getting something besides MBC2. One of the best moments of my life in recent memory was meeting with former students in Damascus last month. I hope I can see these students sometime in the future as well.
3. Gerard, Riim al-Bawadi, Habibeh, Amman Waves, and Hamadeh falafel & hummus near our house.
4. Traveling to cool places like Crusader castles and ruined Roman cities.
5. Cruising for cheesy bad movies on the MBC channels and Dubai One. Also the series "Most Amazing Videos" on MBC Action. That show is AWESOME.
6. The Children's Museum!
7. Hanging out with our wonderful BYU and NMELRC students.
8. Having Miriam learn Arabic from other people with little effort on my part.
9. As always, the friendly and safe society.
10. Shopkeepers who give Miriam free stuff, especially the kind folks at our corner grocery store. I hope the constant stream of free Chupa Chups has not made too big of a dent in their profit margin.
The only things I'm really looking forward to are:
1. Our piano. I cannot wait to get playing again.
2. Our wonderful house in Tucson. It is our refuge whenever we are reminded how little we like that city.
I'll still be posting updates on this blog, so stay tuned. And check out My Adventures in Tucson for updates from the other side.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Shawerma of Death
While we were out of town, there was a major outbreak of salmonella poisoning in Amman. The culprit is apparently chicken shawerma sandwiches, which have long been on my "Do Not Eat" list.
This list varies in length according to what country - or even city - I am currently visiting.
Shawerma is near the top of my short list of Foods Not to Eat. I can never decide if it's the chicken (rotating around a grill all day, said grill not always being hot), mayonnaise (sitting out all day, unrefrigerated), or toppings (raw vegetables) that scares me the most. Maybe a combination of all of the above.
But nothing makes me cower in fear like the little green herb of death: parsley. Its tiny leaves are notoriously hard to clean properly, and in a place like Egypt or Syria, eating it often means suffering from an upset stomach (or worse) for the next week.
At least, that's been our experience. Some people seem to get along fine eating whatever, wherever, no matter how parasite-ridden it is. Jeremy, on the other hand, has gotten food poisoning from water, of all things.
(Of course, the water must have been cross-contaminated with something, but still!)
An American friend of ours who's been burned by the food-poisoning bug one too many times decided that for the remainder of his time in Amman (a few days), he'll be sticking to bread-based products. That's not a bad strategy in a region of the world where "I've never gotten sick from eating there" is a highly legitimate compliment for any eating establishment.
Until the city's stomachs have calmed down a bit, officials here have actually banned the sale of chicken shawerma sandwiches. That news apparently didn't reach Reem Shawerma near 2nd Circle. We drove past there tonight and there was a large group of people lining up behind a fired-up shawerma stack.
I hope they have a few spare days to spend in the hospital.
This list varies in length according to what country - or even city - I am currently visiting.
Shawerma is near the top of my short list of Foods Not to Eat. I can never decide if it's the chicken (rotating around a grill all day, said grill not always being hot), mayonnaise (sitting out all day, unrefrigerated), or toppings (raw vegetables) that scares me the most. Maybe a combination of all of the above.
But nothing makes me cower in fear like the little green herb of death: parsley. Its tiny leaves are notoriously hard to clean properly, and in a place like Egypt or Syria, eating it often means suffering from an upset stomach (or worse) for the next week.
At least, that's been our experience. Some people seem to get along fine eating whatever, wherever, no matter how parasite-ridden it is. Jeremy, on the other hand, has gotten food poisoning from water, of all things.
(Of course, the water must have been cross-contaminated with something, but still!)
An American friend of ours who's been burned by the food-poisoning bug one too many times decided that for the remainder of his time in Amman (a few days), he'll be sticking to bread-based products. That's not a bad strategy in a region of the world where "I've never gotten sick from eating there" is a highly legitimate compliment for any eating establishment.
Until the city's stomachs have calmed down a bit, officials here have actually banned the sale of chicken shawerma sandwiches. That news apparently didn't reach Reem Shawerma near 2nd Circle. We drove past there tonight and there was a large group of people lining up behind a fired-up shawerma stack.
I hope they have a few spare days to spend in the hospital.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Day 8: Swimming at last, and back to Amman
All the way over on the Eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee, we visited a fish restaurant. Our purpose was two-fold: eat fish, and also swim in the restaurant's swath of beach.
In that case, my purpose was actually one-fold, because I hate fish, even if (or especially if) it's deep-fried and whole. Miriam and I ate their surprisingly delicious spaghetti dish instead and avoided looking at the disgusting fish. But I heard it was good, for people who like that sort of thing. I know Jeremy would have loved it.
At last, at last, a happy time for Miriam. She finally got to go swimming. I hadn't seen her that excited in a long time. I'm sure it was one of her favorite things on the whole trip. The water was pleasant and refreshing, even though we only got to stay for about an hour.
Then it was back on the bus for the final push back to Amman. But first, there were more border anxieties to contend with.
By the time we arrived at the northern border crossing between Israel and Jordan, Miriam had fallen asleep again. I thought it might be OK if I left her on the bus with the professors and their wives, who wouldn't be crossing with us. I had her passport, after all, and I'd seen similar things done many times on the borders between Jordan and Lebanon and Syria.
The Israeli border guards - again, all young females - were just as determined to show us who was boss as their sisters at the King Hussein crossing. About half of our group got through before one of them decided to get picky. All of a sudden, she was asking for a piece of paper that none of us had, not even the ones who had already been stamped through. It took a good 30 minutes of us waiting in line for her to decide that she didn't need it after all, and start stamping us through again.
By the time I got to the window, the border agent was extraordinarily testy. When I handed her two passports and she saw that one was for a baby who was not with me, she almost had a heart attack. She yelled at me to go get my child and come back, which was fine with me, though I do wish she had asked nicely. By the time I got back with a sleepy Miriam, she had relaxed a little and was even charmed a little by her (ah, the benefits of having a cute kid).
There was still the Jordanian border to go, however. We waited forever for a decrepit old bus to shepherd us through no-man's-land. I also should mention that through a freak twist in the chain of authority, I was now in charge of the entire group, at least until we arrived back in Amman (where Jeremy would take over again).
Fortunately, everything went well. The Jordanian border guards took their sweet time processing us, and lots of natives cut in line. It felt good to be home again.
We met our Jordanian tour operator at the border and after we were all on the bus, he discreetly asked me if we wanted him to talk over the bus microphone on the way home. I couldn't think of a nice way to say, "absolutely not!" so we put the question to the entire group. They made their wishes known and the tour guide kept happily quiet all the way back to Amman.
I don't think I could have asked for a better trip than the one we had. What is amazing is that my expectations for so many of these places were really very high - and yet everything still measured up. I think that is a true sign of a wonderful traveling experience.
Day 8: From one shore to another
On the Northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee, we visited the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves & Fishes. A big group of tourists (not all from our BYU group) was standing around this altar, admiring it with quiet reverence, when a Korean guy finally spoke up and asked the general crowd, "so...what exactly is this?" I admired his bravery.
The answer to his question is two-fold: the rock signifies (or is, depending on how literally you believe their claims to the spot) the place where Jesus laid the five loaves and two fishes that were multiplied to feed 5000 people. The mosaic is a replica of one unearthed by archeologists and has come to be a common mosaic motif in the region.
This nice fish fountain was just outside the church. It took a lot of explaining to convince Miriam that it was still not time to go swimming.
Capernaum: an expansive black basalt rock ruin of a city. It was a very interesting place, especially considering that it figured majorly in Jesus' ministry. After much effort by several different people, Miriam finally fell asleep here (perhaps having given up on swimming...?).
And this, my friends, is what you do when you're in a country with no carseat laws and your child finally fell asleep and you don't want to wake her up: you rig up a criss-cross seatbelt arrangement across the aisle. It worked for half an hour or so, and it was one of the better bus naps the poor kid had on the whole trip.
Another black basalt city, farther along clockwise on the Galilee shore. This is Gergesa, known to me as "the other Gedara," since I went to the actual Gedara (Omm Qais) first. Both towns lay claim to the miracle of the demons being cast into the swine. So there was an air of "pretender" about the place, at least for me. Actually, even though the majority of the Gospels cite Gedara as the place where the miracle occurred, religious historians believe that Gergesa is the more probable site.
In any case, Gergesa is the only one of the two to have an "energy bench." Sadly, we did not stay long enough to experience its powers.
Day 8: From the Mount of Beatitudes to the Sea of Galilee
In many respects, today was another "day o' churches." It was also a day where Miriam was constantly looking forward to going swimming. That's the problem when your child develops a little something called "memory:" they remember when you promise to do stuff. I told Miriam in the morning that she had to be well behaved because we were going swimming later. So every time we got off the bus, she thought that was the moment for swimming.
First up was the Church of the Beatitudes, perched on a picturesque hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee.The grounds of this church, like most we've seen, were immaculately kept and very beautiful.
In the distance, you can see the rocky hilltop where I had a Lizzie Bennett moment two days earlier. The Sea is waaaay down at the bottom of it. Needless to say, we did not go swimming here.
Instead, we walked down the field-y hillside to the Sea, as Jesus must have done many times. It was a gorgeous walk and the day wasn't too hot yet.
Miriam thought the time for swimming had arrived when we got to the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter. But instead, we just dipped our toes in the Sea of Galilee and then continued onward. It was amazing to finally touch the water since my entire previous experience with the Sea of Galilee before this trip was gazing at it from a distance from a promontory at Omm Qais.
Still no swimming, but an enjoyable boat ride. The crew of the boat did a fancy demonstration with a fishing net (somewhat modernized) to show us what it would have been like to be a fisherman back in Jesus' time. We must not have had enough faith, though, because the net came up empty every time.
At the same complex where we hired the boat ride, we passed up an opportunity to see the "Jesus Boat." What we did not pass up was the chance to use the complex's nice bathrooms.
First up was the Church of the Beatitudes, perched on a picturesque hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee.The grounds of this church, like most we've seen, were immaculately kept and very beautiful.
In the distance, you can see the rocky hilltop where I had a Lizzie Bennett moment two days earlier. The Sea is waaaay down at the bottom of it. Needless to say, we did not go swimming here.
Instead, we walked down the field-y hillside to the Sea, as Jesus must have done many times. It was a gorgeous walk and the day wasn't too hot yet.
Miriam thought the time for swimming had arrived when we got to the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter. But instead, we just dipped our toes in the Sea of Galilee and then continued onward. It was amazing to finally touch the water since my entire previous experience with the Sea of Galilee before this trip was gazing at it from a distance from a promontory at Omm Qais.
Still no swimming, but an enjoyable boat ride. The crew of the boat did a fancy demonstration with a fishing net (somewhat modernized) to show us what it would have been like to be a fisherman back in Jesus' time. We must not have had enough faith, though, because the net came up empty every time.
At the same complex where we hired the boat ride, we passed up an opportunity to see the "Jesus Boat." What we did not pass up was the chance to use the complex's nice bathrooms.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Day 7: Mary's Well & Old Nazareth
The last church visit of the day was the Greek Orthodox site of the annunciation, also known as Mary's Well. Miriam took this opportunity to get some reading in, and Little Miss Chatterbox was her book of choice.
You can see Mary's Well at the back of this nave. There used to be a bigger well outside the church but according to some Nazarenes we talked to, it was getting old (to say the least) and crumbly, so they tore it down and built a new one. Oops.
We had midday free from any trips, so Miriam got her first real nap since leaving Amman a week ago. It had been so hard for her, never getting enough sleep and always having to be on good behavior. This nap really helped recharge her for the last day and a half of traveling.
In the afternoon, we headed to Old Nazareth, a site that could have really been Disney-fied but which thankfully still had a special air of authenticity. It's run by the Nazareth YMCA, or at least from their facilities, and it's a representation of 1st-century Nazareth as it may have appeared during Jesus' time there. Miriam loved this place (and thus I did, too) because she could run around and as a bonus, there were sheep and goats!
Hannah, the spinning lady, invited Miriam to take a turn at the spinner and to my surprise, Miriam walked up there in front of everyone to take it! She tried her best but wasn't very successful. Maybe next time.
Old Nazareth was one of my favorite places of the whole trip. I've mentioned several times how hard it was at times to grasp the true feeling of a place. Even though Old Nazareth was a complete fabrication, it seemed more authentic than most places we'd been to. It was also a well-run show, with a very professional guide and interesting presentations at each of the stops at the site.
One more day...
Day 7: The Basilica of the Annunciation
The Basilica of the Annunciation dominates Nazareth's otherwise insignificant skyline. It is the Catholic site of where the Angel Gabriel visited Mary. The building is very impressive on the inside, but I found that my favorite part was the outside.
They had a display of dozens of murals from all over the world depicting the aforementioned event. Each took the style of its donating country. Here is the one from Ukraine.
Here are several other countries - you'll have to zoom in to see how gorgeous and unique they all are. While in this courtyard, we met the first American tourists I'd seen our whole trip. They were independent travelers from DC and what's more, they had a toddler with them, too! I had no idea anyone else was as crazy as I am.
Here is the inside of the Basilica of the Annunciation. Very impressive, as I said, and filled with more murals from around the world.
Day 7: St. Joseph's Church
Today was the designated Day of Church Visits. On our way to the Greek Catholic Church (built over the 1st-century synagogue), we had the opportunity to buy a rug featuring Batman or, alternatively, Snow White. Although it was tempting, we declined...for now.
The Church of St. Joseph is built on the traditional site of Joseph's carpentry shop. As with most of the commemorative churches in Nazareth, the grounds were beautiful.
A beautiful sculpture of the holy family at St. Joseph's Church.
Stained-glass windows inside St. Joseph's Church.
Beneath the modern church (as with everything in this city), there was an interesting sight - an ancient immersion baptismal font. How did this practice get lost over the years? Check out the mosaic floor.
Next to the church, there were more 1st-century ruins. Something you have to understand if you're looking at ruins such as these is that in the past, everything has been built on top of the previous city. When buildings fell down or wars or destruction happened, they didn't sweep everything away and start anew. Rather, they just built the new stuff on top of the old. So over time, the street level has risen. That's why all of these 1st-century ruins are beneath the modern buildings.
This particular dwelling illustrates an interesting practice of homes of that day. The animals would sleep in the inner chamber while the family would sleep in the outer room. That way, any thief wanting to steal the animals would have a hard time getting into the house without waking the family up. I guess that shows how important the livestock were to the family's livelihood at that time.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Day 6: The Sea of Galilee, Dan, Banias, and the Golan
Have you ever wondered what Nazareth looks like at 6 o'clock in the morning? I found out today when we had to be to the bus by 6.30. Eek. This is the view from my window at the Sisters of Nazareth Convent.
There are, of course, McDonald's restaurants in Israel. However, this is one of the only McDonald's signs I saw in Hebrew.
We started the day off right with a drive up to the edge of a cliff overlooking the Sea of Galilee. This cliff was just above town of Tiberias, but it overlooked the Sea just about as far as the eye could see.
I had another "I wish I had the iPod so I could be listening to a movie soundtrack" moment here. Can you guess which movie? Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 version. Even without the accompanying music, I still had a major Lizzie Bennett moment standing on the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking glorious countryside.
And then, somewhat anticlimactically, my camera ran out of batteries. So I'll have to give you the rest of the day's story without photographs until Matt (Matt, if you're reading this, get on the ball already!) sends me his.
After our overview of the area, we went to Tell Dan. If there was ever a place for anyone, Tell Dan is it. It's part nature reserve, part incredibly ancient ruins, and part war-enthusiast heaven. I enjoyed all parts of it immensely.
We started off with a hike through a cool forest to an ice-cold natural wading pond. Miriam loved it, of course. We then continued up to the site of an old temple, which was more interesting for its also being the location of some old Syrian bunkers leftover from the 1967 war. After that, we curved around to see the ruins of the gates of the city, made out of clay bricks that were somehow, amazingly, still intact. Abraham would have come through those same gates to save Lot way back in the day. We finished out the site of Tell Dan at an area with more substantial ruins dating from a later period. It was really an interestingly versatile visit.
Pressing on, we visited both halves of Banias. The first half was a short hike down to a beautiful waterfall. I took Miriam on my shoulders the whole way, telling her she could go swimming when we got there. But then we got there and there were "NO SWIMMING" signs posted, so I had to go back on my promise. Oh well.
Before I got back on the bus to go to the second half of Banias, I bought some pears, apples, and plums from a fruit stand vendor. They were Golan pears, apples, and plums, which meant they were guaranteed to be delicious. I was not disappointed.
The second half of Banias had more water pools (unswimmable again) and a few ruins of a pagan temple up on a hill. My memory of these sites is hazier than the Jerusalem ones since Jeremy wasn't there to help with Miriam. Often, the group and the guide were off learning important things about the location we were in while I was pointing out interesting things to Miriam. Which is not to say we didn't have our share of fun, because we did, picking up rocks and noticing small animals.
Finally, it was lunchtime. We stopped in a small Golani town for some falafel - the most expensive falafel I have ever had. It was something like 18 shekels for a sandwich, which is equal to about $4.50. It was very good falafel, don't get me wrong, but I'm not sure that a falafel sandwich is ever worth $4.50.
Then began our glorious tour of the Golan Heights. I had been to the Golan Heights twice before, with two visits to Quneitra, Syria, in 2004 and 2007. From there, you can really only gaze at the region's beauty from a distance. On the Israeli-occupied (even the UN agrees that Israel is occupying it) side, however, you are right in the middle of a gorgeously fertile, rolling-fields landscape.
We stopped at a "scenic overlook"-type pullout, complete with a pre-recorded audio presentation on the "history" of the area. I use the term "history" loosely because it was actually one of the funniest misrepresentations of actual events that I've ever heard. A wholesome-sounding Israeli lady told the story of the 1967 war over the background of a sweet folk song, sprinkled with phrases like "brave Israeli fighters" and "numerous goodwill gestures." I thought the Syrian side of Quneitra was a see-through example of propaganda, but now I think the Israelis did an even more thorough job of it.
Miriam finally got a good bus-nap in as we drove back towards Nazareth, by way of Tiberias. We made a quick stop at the new Mormon church building in Tiberias, and it ranks waaaay up there with the Jerusalem Center as far as amazing places to hold a church meeting go. The entire eastern (? - sea-facing, anyway) wall is glass, with a walk-out patio just beyond. The view is of the Sea of Galilee and the beautiful shoreline. Miriam slept through all of this in my arms until some of our group who were lagging behind rang the doorbell and woke her up. There was still time to admire the beautiful building, and also notice that they have the hymn numbers posted in four different languages. The congregations of these Middle Eastern branches are so diverse.
Back at the Sisters of Nazareth Convent, we made an appointment with a nun to take a tour of the remains of 1st-century Nazareth below the convent. The nun saw Miriam and told me that she didn't think "the baby" could go. I wasn't sure why she thought that: whether it was because she didn't think Miriam (or I) could handle it, or if for the sake of everyone else she didn't want a baby along. But I figured that Miriam hadn't come all the way to Nazareth just to miss out on the 1st-century ruins!
So down below the basement we went. The true nature of our nun-guide was almost immediately apparent when she chastised a few members of our group for taking along small water bottles. Those instantly had to be put aside. A few minutes later, we were allowed a short time to look around the ruins ourselves. Two of our students disappeared for what could not have been more than 15 seconds into an alcove (more of us had been there just before them) and when they emerged, the nun gave them a look like they had just desecrated a holy place. I'm not sure what exactly they did that deserved such disapproval, but it was clear they were now going to go to hell.
Meanwhile, I was walking on eggshells with little Miriam. The last thing I needed was for this woman's ire to turn on my daughter. Fortunately, she was very well behaved, and even prompted some nice comments from the lady. The nun said that the little boy Jesus must have grown up in a home much like the one we were in - and then gestured to toddling Miriam as a kind of visual example.
Somehow, we made it out of there alive and up to dinner at the convent. It being a convent and all, we thought the first course of bread and thin soup was all there would be. Instead, it was a full-on Arab meal with potatoes, salad, grilled meat, and fruit for dessert. Miriam ate a little and then wandered out to the courtyard to play with the bus driver. I let her (our bus driver was a really nice guy) until she came back into the dining room holding...a cigarette lighter. The bus driver's cigarette lighter. I didn't know anyone thought that was a child-safe toy.
We settled in by 9 o'clock or so for our second-to-last night on the road. I could hardly stay awake, but Miriam required almost constant storytelling to fall asleep. Counting in Arabic finally did the trick. Go figure.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Day 5: Church, Armageddon, & Nazareth
Jeremy headed back to Amman first thing Saturday morning. We had heard so many conflicting reports about what awaited him at the Allenby border crossing (whether Jordan would even issue him a visa, what the exit tax would be, what time it closed, etc.) that he wanted to get started on his journey of uncertainty as soon as possible.
In case you're wondering, he had to get back to Jordan to continue running the other study abroad program he's in charge of.
So Miriam and I went to church at the Jerusalem Center by ourselves. Five days into our trip, Miriam was juuuuust about done with sitting quietly. So we spent half the meeting roaming the beautiful hallways. We generally try to avoid bailing out like that, but she was so travel-weary and when she started singing Old MacDonald at the top of her tiny lungs in the middle of the quietest part of the meeting, I figured I could make an exception just this once.
I challenge anyone to come up with a more breathtaking view from a seat in a church meeting than the one you can get in the chapel at the JC. I think the Mormons take second place, too, for our chapel in Tiberias (pictures to come on Day 6) (and this picture doesn't even begin to do the chapel justice. I had to take it with a fussy Miriam in my other arm).
Right after the church meeting, we left Jerusalem behind for the north. On our way to Nazareth, where we were to spend the night, we stopped at Megiddo, otherwise known as Armageddon. It was basically your run-of-the-mill tell, if there even is such a thing. What made this one special was the lizard one of the students captured and kept in his front shirt pocket the whole time we were there.
We also visited a church commemorating the spot where Jesus raised a widow's son from the dead. One outside wall of the church also served as the wall of a house built right next door. They had a small front yard with chickens running around. Miriam really enjoyed that part. Singing hymns in a church, not so much.
Finally, we made it to Nazareth. We stayed at a convent, run by a group of mostly French nuns. They were all very nice and not as strict as you might think, except for one of them. I'll tell you about her on Day 6. The rooms were very nice. We had about an hour to "rest" before dinner, and Miriam spent all that time exploring everything in the room. It's best to let her do that during the daytime, otherwise, she wants to wake up and explore in the middle of the night.
For dinner, we were taken in groups of two or three to several Nazarene homes. It felt like we were being adopted, actually. We were all sitting in the courtyard and one by one, a family representative would arrive. They'd look around at the group and say, "We'll take you, you, and you." and the lucky chosen ones would go off with their new family.
Miriam and I ended up with a woman named Ibitsaam ("smile") and her beautiful family. They had a 10-year-old daughter who played with Miriam. The food was delicious, of course. In the picture, from foreground to background, we had shawerma (just the meat, and not chicken), green salad, yolangi, kufta, burak-type pastries, and potatoes. Miriam, inexplicably, LOVED the yolangi and ate both her portion and mine. For dessert, there was knaffe and what I like to call Arab-style Neopolitan: pistachio, lemon, and vanilla ice cream.
The dinner conversation, as is typical, revolved around grievances. Specifically, the grievances of Israeli Arab Christians (got that?). And just because I'm calling them grievances in a semi-flippant manner doesn't mean they're not legitimate.
As explained by the family, Israeli Arab Christians are ignored by everyone. The Jews don't care about them because although they're Israeli, they're not Jewish. But they're also not Muslim, so they're not worth worrying about. The other Arabs don't care about them because they're not Muslim. And the Christians (outside of the Middle East) don't care about them because they're Arab, and who, outside of certain areas of interest, knew that Arab Christians actually existed? Despite all this, it is the Israeli Arab Christians who are the caretakers for many of the area's historical religious sites.
The conversation was very stimulating, to say the least. It eventually cooled down, though, and then the 10-year-old played a stirring rendition of "Love Story" on the piano. With that, we called it a night and made it back to the convent at the relatively early hour of 9.30.
In case you're wondering, he had to get back to Jordan to continue running the other study abroad program he's in charge of.
So Miriam and I went to church at the Jerusalem Center by ourselves. Five days into our trip, Miriam was juuuuust about done with sitting quietly. So we spent half the meeting roaming the beautiful hallways. We generally try to avoid bailing out like that, but she was so travel-weary and when she started singing Old MacDonald at the top of her tiny lungs in the middle of the quietest part of the meeting, I figured I could make an exception just this once.
I challenge anyone to come up with a more breathtaking view from a seat in a church meeting than the one you can get in the chapel at the JC. I think the Mormons take second place, too, for our chapel in Tiberias (pictures to come on Day 6) (and this picture doesn't even begin to do the chapel justice. I had to take it with a fussy Miriam in my other arm).
Right after the church meeting, we left Jerusalem behind for the north. On our way to Nazareth, where we were to spend the night, we stopped at Megiddo, otherwise known as Armageddon. It was basically your run-of-the-mill tell, if there even is such a thing. What made this one special was the lizard one of the students captured and kept in his front shirt pocket the whole time we were there.
We also visited a church commemorating the spot where Jesus raised a widow's son from the dead. One outside wall of the church also served as the wall of a house built right next door. They had a small front yard with chickens running around. Miriam really enjoyed that part. Singing hymns in a church, not so much.
Finally, we made it to Nazareth. We stayed at a convent, run by a group of mostly French nuns. They were all very nice and not as strict as you might think, except for one of them. I'll tell you about her on Day 6. The rooms were very nice. We had about an hour to "rest" before dinner, and Miriam spent all that time exploring everything in the room. It's best to let her do that during the daytime, otherwise, she wants to wake up and explore in the middle of the night.
For dinner, we were taken in groups of two or three to several Nazarene homes. It felt like we were being adopted, actually. We were all sitting in the courtyard and one by one, a family representative would arrive. They'd look around at the group and say, "We'll take you, you, and you." and the lucky chosen ones would go off with their new family.
Miriam and I ended up with a woman named Ibitsaam ("smile") and her beautiful family. They had a 10-year-old daughter who played with Miriam. The food was delicious, of course. In the picture, from foreground to background, we had shawerma (just the meat, and not chicken), green salad, yolangi, kufta, burak-type pastries, and potatoes. Miriam, inexplicably, LOVED the yolangi and ate both her portion and mine. For dessert, there was knaffe and what I like to call Arab-style Neopolitan: pistachio, lemon, and vanilla ice cream.
The dinner conversation, as is typical, revolved around grievances. Specifically, the grievances of Israeli Arab Christians (got that?). And just because I'm calling them grievances in a semi-flippant manner doesn't mean they're not legitimate.
As explained by the family, Israeli Arab Christians are ignored by everyone. The Jews don't care about them because although they're Israeli, they're not Jewish. But they're also not Muslim, so they're not worth worrying about. The other Arabs don't care about them because they're not Muslim. And the Christians (outside of the Middle East) don't care about them because they're Arab, and who, outside of certain areas of interest, knew that Arab Christians actually existed? Despite all this, it is the Israeli Arab Christians who are the caretakers for many of the area's historical religious sites.
The conversation was very stimulating, to say the least. It eventually cooled down, though, and then the 10-year-old played a stirring rendition of "Love Story" on the piano. With that, we called it a night and made it back to the convent at the relatively early hour of 9.30.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
