My Adventures in Jordan

My Adventures in Tucson: Welcome back!

2007-08-27T07:20:00.000+03:00

And now you know the rest of the story

2007-08-23T23:05:00.000+03:00

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.

Developments

2007-08-22T06:24:00.001+03:00

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:

Please need your help and reply.

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.

In which I get even closer to cursing than last time

2007-08-21T16:40:00.000+03:00

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.

Yalla Bye

2007-08-17T22:32:00.000+03:00

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.

Shawerma of Death

2007-08-15T23:26:00.000+03:00

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.

Day 8: Swimming at last, and back to Amman

2007-08-14T06:43:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-14T06:25:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-14T06:10:00.000+03:00

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.

Day 7: Mary's Well & Old Nazareth

2007-08-13T06:37:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-13T06:30:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-13T06:12:00.000+03:00

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.

Day 6: The Sea of Galilee, Dan, Banias, and the Golan

2007-08-12T23:37:00.000+03:00

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.

Day 5: Church, Armageddon, & Nazareth

2007-08-11T23:57:00.000+03:00

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.

Day 4: Mt. of Olives

2007-08-10T23:29:00.000+03:00

I was hoping we'd visit the Church of the Paternoster, and during our day on the Mt. of Olives, we did.

The church commemorates the teaching of the Lord's Prayer. The cool thing about it is that they have over a hundred versions of the Prayer in almost any language you could think of...

...including Esperanto (I didn't see Klingon, though).

There were three different Russian versions, none of which seemed to be modern Russian. It was difficult to tell what exactly they were, then, since the language names were written in French.

As we were walking from the Church of the Paternoster to the church commemorating where Jesus wept, a guy walking a camel stopped us and asked if we were Mormon (we are). I have no idea how he knew, or if he just asks that question of every tour group that passes by.

Continuing down the Mt. of Olives, we passed the large Jewish cemetery compound. According to our guide, Jews will pay a lot to be buried in a lot on the Mt. of Olives so that they will be near at hand when resurrection day comes.

The Garden of Gethsemane was beautiful but extremely crowded. There were also vendors right outside the gates playing annoying tunes on cheap souvenir whistles. So we moved through the area pretty quickly and crossed the road to the quieter half of the garden. After we entered, the caretaker locked the gate behind us, so we had it all to ourselves. Finally, we were able to enjoy some quiet time at a sacred site. For that reason, the Garden of Gethsemane was one of the more special places for me during our trip.

And someone should tip off those vendors that playing a toy pan flute outside of the place where Christians believe Jesus Christ suffered for the sins of the world is not a good marketing strategy. One of the students said they considered buying all the flutes from the vendor just so he'd shut up.

Day 4: Bethphage

2007-08-10T23:16:00.000+03:00

We encountered this 1st-century tomb during an early-morning walk through Bethphage (Jeremy made sure to be on time for the bus today). Here you can see an example of the stone rolling before the entrance. There were some pretty scary bugs hanging around this tomb, so I didn't venture in too far.

We walked on a quiet path through a grove of olive and fig trees to reach a segment of the separation wall. The path was quiet, but not smooth. The cheapo stroller we bought last year in Amman has been through so much, and it did not fail us here. Jeremy just revved it through the rough parts. Our "nicer" American stroller could never have made it through a summer here.

This picture gives you a little more perspective as to how big the wall is. Even keeping in mind that I am a short person, the wall is huge.

We started so early in the morning that it was already snack time by 9am. Miriam and Jeremy enjoyed some potato chips outside the church in Bethphage.

Day 4: Gardens, a close call, and the Western Wall, again

2007-08-10T16:50:00.000+03:00

We were still sitting in the quieter half of the Garden of Gethsemane when all of a sudden we heard emergency vehicle sirens coming from the direction of the Old City. I remember it distinctly because it woke Miriam up from her stroller nap. We thought nothing of it at the time - if you're scared by frequent loud sounds, the Middle East is not the place for you.

The last stop on the itinerary before lunch was a pleasant stroll through Orson Hyde Memorial Garden, at the end of which we were supposed to meet our bus. We entered the garden and it was very pleasant (but I didn't see any troughs). The walk through it, however, quickly became less than relaxing. It was very hot (have I mentioned that?) and the path to where we were supposed to meet our bus was, of course, zig-zagging up the Mt. of Olives. I wish we would have had more time to enjoy the beautiful park, but our lunches were on the bus and we were all very hungry.

Of course, when we finally got to the top, the bus was nowhere to be seen. We ended up throwing olives at each other for fifteen minutes and then finally decided to just walk all the way to the Jerusalem Center. Apparently, the bus hadn't been able to navigate the road to the top of the garden.

We were almost to the lower gates of the Jerusalem Center when our bus showed up. So we jumped onboard for a ride, even though it would probably have only taken us ten more minutes to walk. The AC (and our lunches!) were worth it. We enjoyed our lunches in the shade on the front lawn of the Jerusalem Center.

It was around this time that we were informed that a shooting had taken place in the Old City. We didn't have any other details besides that, except that the Old City was now off-limits to us for at least the rest of the day. This explained the sirens we had heard just an hour earlier.

After lunch, we went to the Garden Tomb. Say what you will about its claims - or lack thereof - to historical authenticity: you have to agree that of everyone, they have best captured the feel of the place. Our short tour through the garden premises was led by a British Christian of the (I think) Anglican sect. He led us through the important areas of the site but didn't pressure us or bore us with his personal beliefs, though he did share them with us in a very heartfelt manner. At the end of the tour, we were left to enjoy the area on our own, as a group. By this time, it was my turn to supervise Miriam's wanderings, but I understand the group had a very good time singing hymns and sharing testimonies. Their singing was actually quite good, for a group of amateurs: while I was off to the side with Miriam, several other tourists stopped by to listen to the singing for entire songs at a time.

When we left, I made sure to thank our guide for his presentation. The Garden Tomb is low on pomp and gaudy displays of devotion, and yet, I was able to feel the spirit of the events that may or may not have happened there with greater sensitivity than anywhere else we'd been.

Back at the Jerusalem Center, we pulled up to the scene of two wedding parties taking pictures on the grounds. Both of the brides were happy to take pictures of Miriam, but Miriam was not happy about it. I was self-conscious that after a long day of traveling, my daughter was about as snaggly as could be. But I think they thought she was cute anyway.

We checked on the internet for more details about the shooting in the Old City. As I read information about the location of the shooting, I realized that we had been very, very near there just the day before. And when this video came out, I saw exactly where it had happened.

Do you remember me telling you about changing Miriam's diaper in a quiet corner of Christian Quarter Street, near the Jaffa Gate? Well, that's where the frame starting at 00:25 (the place where he steals the gun) shows. We were in that exact place not even 24 hours before. I'll have to add that to my list of close calls.

Despite the general ban on student trips to the Old City, we were allowed an exception to visit the Western Wall. We wanted to see the Jews coming in to pray at the beginning of their Sabbath. Our group arrived a little while before sundown, and passed through security without major incident.

The minor incident, though, was that right before us in line, off to the side and partially concealed by a construction barrier, was a half-naked old lady. Only a few of us saw her, and then she covered up and sidled into line in the midst of us. She passed through security with flying colors, even though she looked (and had just been behaving) rather shiftily. Meanwhile, one of our female students was detained as the soldiers searched her bag thoroughly. Naked crazy ladies: come on in! Innocent BYU students: not so fast - we're going to have to examine the contents of your bag.

The whole area was packed, especially right next to the wall, and just when you thought they couldn't possibly fit anyone else in, a dozen more men would crowd in. By sundown, there were men praying all the way up the entrance ramp to the Western Wall.

By this time, Miriam was done with behaving nicely, and I didn't blame her. So I let her roll around on the stone ground to her heart's content. She was already so dirty that I figured it couldn't get any worse.

We met an old friend of ours on our way out (by design), and went back to the JC to watch West Bank Story. It was hilarious. I can't even believe they made some of the jokes they did, but it worked and it was very, very funny. See it if you can.

Finally, at a little after 9 o'clock, we took an almost deliriously tired Miriam back to our hotel and we all fell asleep.

Day 3: Temple Mount and miscellany

2007-08-09T14:22:00.000+03:00

Our morning started off with a bang when Jeremy was three whole minutes late for the bus. The driver was picking us up at our hotel before picking up everyone else at the Jerusalem Center. I thought our guide was going to have a heart attack right there and then when the clock ticked past 8.00 to 8.01, 8.02, and finally 8.03 before Jeremy finally showed up. Of course, the point became moot when we got to the Jerusalem Center and the students were about ten minutes late.

The first stop on this Thursday morning was the Western Wall, highly crowded because of the large number of Bar Mitzvahs going on. I can only imagine how awesome it must be to have that take place in Jerusalem. The women's area is separated from the men's, which is why you can see all the moms and sisters peeking over the edge of their dividing wall.

I didn't find out until later, but the fact that we were allowed onto the Temple Mount is apparently moderately extraordinary. Nevertheless, we were not allowed into the two mosques, Al-Aqsa and Dome of the Rock. It's too bad, too, because I was hoping to see what I suspect is the one exception to the "mosques are more interesting on the outside than they are on the inside" rule.

We tried to get inside. We really did. But the guy in charge explained that to get inside Al-Aqsa these days, you have to be a regular, local Muslim or else a Muslim American or Jordanian Christian (go figure).

The Dome of the Rock was closed to us simply because the guy who would be in charge of making that decision was on holiday.

The Golden Gate to the Old City is no longer used. The Muslims walled it up long ago when they found out that according to Jewish tradition, the Messiah will enter through this gate.

Just as Jeremy took this photograph, the guard you see plopped a big hunk of trash onto this pile. Right underneath the sign. Priceless.

We went to the City of David ruins and at the end, there was a place where we could see an ancient pool that was only recently uncovered. At that site, one of our professors read from the New Testament where Jesus heals a man by telling him to wash in the water. It was around that time that a young Jewish family got the heck out of there, whereas before they had been quietly listening to his presentation.

I took this photo during a massive traffic jam near the Western Wall. I was impressed by the variety of materials this family used to fashion a wall for their rooftop terrace.

We were all casually eating our lunch on the bus during this traffic jam when all off a sudden, the guide told us to exit the bus immediately. We all had to scramble to get off the bus in the middle of traffic. When you're traveling with a toddler, you need at least five minutes' warning for exiting the bus.

So when we got to the Ophel Archeological Park (that's where we were going), we realized we had forgotten to take any spare diapers. And of course, almost immediately afterward, Miriam pooped. Fortunately, there was a bathroom nearby. Not that we needed it - we have long since mastered the standing-up-diaper-change technique. But I cleaned her up in there among a horde of female Israeli soldiers. I hope Miriam wasn't too embarrassed.

In any case, she had to go diaperless for the afternoon. For most of it, she was asleep in her stroller, which worked out well.

And as long as I'm talking about diaper matters, I'll tell you that after making a few t-shirt purchases in the Old City, we changed Miriam's diaper in a quiet spot on the end of Christian Quarter Street nearest the Jaffa Gate. More on that tomorrow.

We bought Miriam some fake Crocs near Damascus Gate for five bucks. More excited about that purchase, I could not be.

That evening, after dinner and playtime at the Jerusalem Center, we walked down the grounds to the gate that leads onto a main road so we could catch a taxi to our hotel. Miriam was diaperless again (this time we had run out completely) but so far, we had been lucky as far as accidents go.

But wouldn't you know it, we got down to the gate and it was locked. And no amount of buzzing the doorbell could rouse a guard up in the security center to open it for us. After waiting for a few minutes, Miriam peed her pants. That only added to the hilarity that ensued five more minutes later when we all had to climb the fence. I went first. I almost didn't think I'd be able to do it, but somehow I managed. Then Jeremy climbed halfway up and perched Miriam on the top of the fence. He asked if I could catch her and I said (honestly) that I didn't think so. Then he said, "Well, you have to," and tipped her to my side. Fortunately, I caught her OK. Then he lobbed our bags over and finally himself. Miriam still mentions climbing "up" and "down" the wall from time to time.

Day 2: The Old City

2007-08-08T21:58:00.000+03:00

On the schedule for today: the Old City of Jerusalem with its multitude of commemorative churches, and Bethlehem. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast at our hotel, and they even made pancakes to order for Jeremy. I appreciated that the hotel offered a range of breakfast options. It wasn't all an Arab breakfast (cheese, cucumbers, pita bread, za'atar, etc.), nor was it a boring continental one. They even had an English-style toaster. I used it just for fun, even after an employee came over and showed me the "real" toaster.

Here it is, kids: the BYU Jerusalem Center, perched on Mt. Scopus. This picture was taken from near St. Stephen's Gate.

From our hotel, we walked around the Old City walls from Herod's Gate to St. Stephen's Gate. In Arabic, this gate is called Miriam's Gate, so we made sure to get a picture of our Miriam in front of her gate. We also got a picture of her in front of Damascus Gate. Sadly, there was no Palmer Gate in Jerusalem to complete her name.

Our first stop was St. Anne's Church, built on the site of what is said to be (I'll be using that phrase a lot) the home of Mary's parents. It is also very near the healing pools that are mentioned in the New Testament. I thought the ruins of the pools were very interesting; Miriam enjoyed running up and down a handicap access ramp. To each his own.

At the Antonia Fortress, we saw 1st century paving stones. We also almost fell asleep in our seats from listening to our guide. When you're involved in a group tour as we were, the Israeli government requires you to hire a guide. I am not much of a guide person anyway, and this guy reinforced that attitude. The thing is, I can't quite put my finger on what it was about him that was so incredibly mind-numbing. One of the students put it better than me when they said that "he must have learned only the boring facts." I think that's true. Jimmy (that was his name) could - and did - speak for 30 minutes at a time about seemingly nothing, and then one of our professors would get up, spend 30 seconds expounding on the site we were currently visiting, and have a greater impact on our experience.

(In his defense, Jimmy did improve over the course of the tour. I wonder if someone said something to him.)

We saw this Arabic graffiti along the Via Dolorosa. Note to self: figure out what, exactly, it says.

At one point along the Via Dolorosa, we pedestrians were caught between two lanes of traffic trying to negotiate a one-lane street. A shopkeeper ushered us out of the way of the mayhem - and right into his souvenir shop. Very sly.

These piles of be-lighted goodness were spotted on the way to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I have no idea what they are. However, since they're on display next to those hideous balls of syrupy fried dough, I can only imagine that they are some kind of derivative related product.

In the basement of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the walls are etched with the marks of thousands of pilgrims who have come before. At the time we visited, there were at least several hundred people in the building with us. We were warned about this beforehand, and it was at this point that I realized what was happening. It is very difficult to catch the feel of a place when it is crawling with tourists, even if the vast majority of them are respectful and worshipful. It's hard to get past the pomp and gaudiness and ceremony and disputes over which church owns which site and figure out what was supposed to have happened there. If for no other reason, I enjoyed the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for what it actually was: a lot of really old churches built on a site believed to be sacred. That alone is something worth admiring.

Day 2: The Wall, Bethlehem, and Jerusalem again

2007-08-08T13:25:00.000+03:00

I knew this separation wall existed, but to see it in person was more intense than I would have thought. Especially when a wall built to separate two segments of a population is plastered with a huge sign that says "PEACE BE WITH YOU." We passed through the barrier on our way to Bethlehem, and again on our way back to Jerusalem - without trouble, of course, since we were a bus full of American tourists.

(Which brings me to a strange feeling I found coming over me during our visit to Israel: a sense of entitlement. In many ways, Israeli officials treated us with efficiency and respect. In others (at the border, for example, though that's not the only place), it was as if they didn't want us to be there. Whenever such a situation arose, I could feel the indignation mustering because American tax dollars and American protection help keep Israel living in the style to which they've become accustomed. This concept has long been a source of irritation for me, and so I felt like the least Israel could do when we taxpayers actually came to visit was roll out the red carpet.)

On the way to the Church of the Nativity, our guide said he knew of a great place where we could eat lunch. He spoke of a large room with tables and chairs and where the owners would serve us free beverages. Even before he continued speaking, Jeremy and I knew exactly what was going on here: this place of which he spoke was almost surely his friend's souvenir shop, and Jimmy himself would get a kickback for anything we bought while we were there.

Sure enough, we pulled up at this lunch-eating-facility and it turned out to be an olive-wood carving shop. The only "table" available was their display counter, which they offered to clear off. The free drinks were only on the condition of us buying stuff from them. Our professor walked in, took one look at the situation, realized what was going on, and walked right back out. Our guide never tried that trick on us again.

Bethlehem was a nice place, and not so conflict-ridden as it has been in recent years. The skyline was riddled with crosses...and antenna wires that kind of looked like crosses. No word yet on whether that is intentional.

The Church of the Nativity was opulent in a Russian sort of way, so that was something familiar. It was also full of Russian pilgrims who were taking their sweet time posing for photos down in the cave.

I mentioned earlier my sentiments regarding honoring these places as legitimate markers of a historic religious event. In the Church of the Nativity, that "holy" feeling was almost entirely absent for me. In fact, I found myself (I'm mildly ashamed at this) more interested in the Church as the place where the IDF laid siege to 40 wanted Palestinians for two months in 2002. Interestingly, when I asked our guide about that incident, he clearly did not want to talk about it.

After seeing the church, we wandered around the nearby shops. One shopkeeper (a female) called out to us, wanting to know where we were from. When we told her we were from America, and also spoke in Arabic, she went off in a tirade about George Bush. We've heard everything bad anyone can say about him about a million times, so we were ready to just smile and nod and walk on. But she was also upset that we wouldn't buy anything from her, and in fact took it as a sign that we hated the Palestinian people. The fact that we were, you know, speaking Arabic to her seemed to escape her notice.

Here is a Jewish settlement. Just as I knew about the wall, I knew these existed. But it was still fascinating and unsettling to actually see one in action (you can almost see it spreading, can't you?).

This is the Damascus Gate, of Miriam's-middle-name fame. Seeing this gate made me think of the movie Kingdom of Heaven, and then I wished I had loaded the soundtrack of that movie onto our iPod before the trip. Because it would have been awesome background music for most of our traveling.

As I said before, the BYU Jerusalem Center is a wonderful place. Miriam loved dropping rocks in to the fish pool. I let her do that for a while, but I stopped short at letting her climb into it herself like she wanted to.

Day 1: Masada, Qumran, & Jericho

2007-08-07T16:02:00.000+03:00

An Israeli bus and tour guide picked us up at the border and whisked us away to our first stop of the trip: Masada.

I’ve been interested in visiting Masada for at least the last ten years, ever since BYU hosted an extensive exhibit of artifacts from there. But I have to say, as grand as Masada is, I came away disappointed. Maybe it was the oppressive heat. Maybe it was the stress of dealing with an overtired almost-2-year-old. Or maybe it was the hideously campy introductory video they made us watch that left me gagging on the taste of modern Zionism. In the end, we only survived by telling Miriam stories about all the horsies that must have been running around the place back in the day.

At the bottom of the mountain, we were ambushed by various cold-drink vendors. It was so hot, and we were so thirsty. At the time, twenty shekels didn’t sound like too much to pay for a nice, cool lemonade. It was only later that we processed the fact that first of all, that lemonade cost almost five dollars, and second of all, it didn’t taste that good. Oh well.

Next was Qumran, the place where they discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls. Can you tell from the picture what a barren wasteland this place is? The introductory video at the Qumran visitor’s center wasn’t quite as bad as the one at Masada, though it did make us sick in another way. The first full half of the movie was a helicopter fly-over of the region, and it was absolutely motion-sickness-inducing. We all had to cover our eyes.

On the way to Jericho, we passed through a checkpoint with Palestinian flags flying. It was the first time I’d ever seen a Palestinian flag displayed in any official capacity, so I took a covert photograph.

Jericho was hot, but also interesting. Miriam got a free bracelet from one of the shops at the site, and one of the (male) students got an unrequested shoulder rub from one of the (male) vendors.

Driving into Jerusalem was like a dream. One minute, you’re ascending through the city’s surrounding hills. The next minute, you emerge from a tunnel to a full view of the Dome of the Rock and the Old City. It was an amazing feeling.

We didn’t have time at that moment to gaze at the city. The bus took us straight to the Jerusalem Center to drop off the BYU students. One of the professors and his wife came with us to our hotel.

The short story about our hotel is that we ended up not staying there. The hotel clerk appeared to be completely caught by surprise at our arrival – it took a good five minutes to summon him from whatever back room he was snoozing in. The room itself was nothing worse than we’ve stayed in before (Omm Qais, I’m looking at you), but the facilities were rather terrible. It was the kind of place where I couldn't, in good conscience, allow Miriam to touch the floor. The final straw was when we found out that there was no (working) phone on the premises and no internet connection. We were in a new hotel within the hour.

We had dinner at the Jerusalem Center. The JC is an amazing, wondrous magical land of rainbows and butterflies. I cannot say enough good things about that facility. I had been told that it was like a five-star hotel, but nothing could have prepared me for what a fantastic place it was. Miriam went almost hysterical at the sight of real, green grass that she was actually allowed to play on. I went almost hysterical at the sight of green salad that was actually edible.

After dinner, Miriam promptly went into overstimulation mode with the fireworks that were going off all over the city, kites flying near the center, fish in a small fish pond on one of the terraces, and that green grass I mentioned before.

Then it was back to the new and improved hotel to rest up for the long day of travel to come.

Day 1: Border Nerves

2007-08-07T14:52:00.000+03:00

Palestine has been a forbidden fruit of sorts for Jeremy and me since 2000. We were dating at the time and Jeremy was planning on an intensive Arabic study abroad at BYU’s Jerusalem Center in the winter semester of 2001. Unfortunately, that program was canceled due to the Second Intifada. Fortunately, BYU sent all the Arabic students to Damascus, Syria that semester anyway.

When we were married and living in Syria in 2004 and 2005, we didn’t dare visit Jerusalem. An Israeli stamp in our passports would have barred us from re-entering Syria, and that was simply not an option. Last year in Jordan, the war between Israel and Lebanon made a visit there impractical, to say the least.

So it was with great excitement – and trepidation – that we joined our group of 16 BYU students on a week-long trip to the West Bank and Galilee.

Day 1.

We started out, as almost all traveling does, waaaaay too early in the morning for my taste. Jeremy waited outside our apartment for 10 minutes, trying to catch a taxi to the meeting place. Have I mentioned how hard it is to get a taxi in Amman these days, especially at 6.15 in the morning? Finally, a dude in a kefiyye driving a van pulled up and said he’d give us a ride. On the way, he was asking all about our trip. Most of it was just general interest questions, including the standard, “how long will you stay there?” Just in case – this was just a random guy in a van, remember – Jeremy told him we wouldn’t be gone very long.

A Jordanian bus and guide picked us up at the main gates of the university. They took us to the King Hussein border but were not allowed to cross with us. So after a few formalities on the Jordanian side, during which we technically left Jordan, we headed through no-man’s-land to the Israeli border facility.

Our greatest challenge lay inside that building. We really, really, really didn’t want our passports stamped. Jordan had complied without a problem (a Jordanian exit stamp at King Hussein bridge is evidence of travel to Occupied Palestine). But we’d heard all sorts of horror stories from friends who’d had their passports stamped by a peevish border guard, even after asking her (it’s always a her) not to.

We filed in the building and our professor explained to the border official – a young female soldier - that none of us wanted our passports stamped. She seemed mildly ticked off by this, but got over it enough to ask for more details about the group. Then she asked if anyone had been to Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Yemen, Afghanistan, Iran, or a few other countries. When she found out that we lived in Syria for a year and had visited Lebanon several times, she was suddenly very interested in us. While everyone else was getting their passports fairly efficiently processed, Jeremy, me, and Miriam stood by nervously while a second female border official looked very concerned and busy with our passports at her desk. At one point, she left the room with them and disappeared into a corridor. I thought we were done for. I was also hoping that they somehow wouldn't notice that my daughter's middle name is Damascus.

But at last, at last, when almost everyone else had already gotten through, we were cleared to enter Israel. And we even managed to do it without getting a stamp!

The Israeli border facility is staffed almost entirely by young women. We came up with three theories why that might be the case.

First, being interrogated by a mildly attractive young woman is very disarming. Perhaps female border agents are better at extracting truthful answers from shifty travelers.

The second possibility is more practical. Maybe working at the border fulfills their military service obligation, and they jump at the chance to spend their two years in a relatively calm, air-conditioned environment.

Finally, maybe the Israelis plan it that way just to stick it to the Arab countries, all of whose border crossings (at least the ones I've been to) are staffed exclusively by males.

Having escaped from the border area, we pressed on towards Masada, Qumran, and Jericho.

Out of commission

2007-08-06T23:16:00.000+03:00

I'll be traveling throughout the next week, so I'm not sure how much posting I'll be able to do.

But rest assured: when I'm back, I'll do my best to make up for it.

Until then.

Nobody walks in Amman, Part II

2007-08-05T22:07:00.000+03:00

In one respect at least, things haven't changed since last year: public transportation still bites in Amman. This already significant problem is exacerbated in late July and all of August when Amman is invaded by visiting Khalijis - wealthy, gigantic families from the Gulf who drive enormous, street-clogging vehicles.

So now it takes forever to get anywhere for two reasons: inability to get a taxi and terrible traffic delays when/if you finally manage to get one.

We got a small taste of freedom this weekend when we rented a car in honor of my parents' visit from America (we decided that spending upwards of an hour a day waiting for taxis was not a wise use of their limited time here).

And let me tell you, my friends: having a car in Amman is a glorious, wonderful thing. The feeling of not being trapped within walking radius of my home or else being a slave to the whim of a chain-smoking taxi driver had me giggling with excitement. I even got up at 4am the night after we'd rented the car to check on it, just to make sure it hadn't all been a dream.

Driving a car here is not without its downsides, of course. The above-mentioned traffic delays do not magically disappear when one is in one's own vehicle. They are, however, rendered much more bearable: no more asking drivers to put out their cigarettes.

The biggest challenge has probably been the unforgiving nature of Amman's roads. If you miss a turn, you have to be prepared to to travel several miles farther before you can correct your path. And you can never be sure what form that correction will take: if it's going to be a U-turn, keep to the left "lane" (I use the term loosely); if it's a trip around a traffic circle, stay to the right.

Nevertheless, we loved it. Our only confusing experience ended up being filling the car with gas. We pulled into one station (cleverly named "Grand Central Station") and asked the attendant to fill it up. 15 JD later, when the attendant told us he was done, we were counting our good fortune that it was not as expensive as we'd expected. Then we turned on the engine and saw that the needle on the fuel gage was only halfway between E and F. Rather than lose face in front of everyone, we simply pulled out of that station with a smile and a wave and stopped at the next station a few kilometers down the road. It turns out that the total cost of filling the tank was more like 28 JD, not 15.

Now we're back to relying on taxis. But we'll always remember that special weekend in August when, for a few days at least, we were actually part of the traffic problem instead of just directly inconvenienced by it.

Live it. Love it!

2007-08-05T14:10:00.001+03:00

I love this billboard. You can see it in several places along the airport road, and also on the road to and from the Dead Sea.

I love it because it puts in bold print the thing that all of us foreigners are thinking but that we have been too polite to say out loud: that in Jordan, there is "established rule of law." I wonder how long it took Jordan-Kuwait Bank's marketing department to come up with that exact phrasing.

This "established rule of law" is what sets Jordan apart from almost all of its near neighbors. And it's hard to describe unless you already know what I'm talking about. Basically, in Jordan, you can be pretty sure that government officials will follow their own rules. In other places around here, there's a good chance they won't.

Lebanon has a similar sign in their border crossing with Syria. A printed-out sign says simply (in Arabic) that "Bribes Will Land You in Jail." We always used to joke that in Syria's corresponding border building, there would be a sign saying "Bribes Will Get You Out of Jail." But of course there isn't, really.

This rule of law is a wonderful thing when it's on your side. But in situations like this one, where immigration officials stuck to "the law" against all common sense, you wish they'd act like the Syrians and loosen up a little bit!

Fun for the whole family

2007-08-05T13:57:00.001+03:00

I've said it before many times: Arab societies love children. Jordan is no exception.

We hired a driver to take us to Shobak and Kerak Castles on Thursday. His name was Salem, and he's a friend of a friend. His age was indeterminate - none of us could figure out if he was 45 or 65. His oldest child is 24 and his youngest is 14, so really, his age could be anywhere in that range.

Salem was a great driver. He took good care of all of us on the road, but especially of Miriam. He made sure the door by her was always locked so she couldn't open it while we were driving. He played with her whenever we had a moment at our destination. He bought her some juice at a rest stop. But the best part is that he got a tissue and wiped her nose when it was snotty.

If a hired driver taking on such responsibilities is not a sign of a family-friendly society, I don't know what is.

Whatever you do...

2007-08-03T21:48:00.001+03:00

...do NOT pick the Herbes.

(This is at Jerash.)

Not such a good idea

2007-08-01T21:50:00.000+03:00

My dad arrived in Amman last night and to get him oriented with our neighborhood and the city in general, we took him up on the roof of our apartment building.

The roof really is a wonderful place. We go up there often to enjoy the breeze and the view.

Our bowab (or 7arris, however you want to say it) is a fan of the roof as well, only he goes up there to sleep at night. We had noticed his bedding up there several times, but I had never seen him in the bedding until last night.

We had just entered the roof from the stairwell when my dad commented how cool it was up there. "Do you ever sleep up here?" he asked. Right then, we looked over and saw our bowab huddled up in his bed, sleeping. So we kept our viewing of the city to one corner of the roof so as not to disturb him.

Tonight, my brother Steven took Miriam up to the roof to enjoy the fireworks (there are fireworks here every single night. Miriam has never seen a 4th of July in America but she is more familiar with fireworks than your average 2-year-old. Probably even 5-year-old).

As they were walking around the roof, Steven saw someone stirring in our bowab's bedding. Thinking it was the bowab himself again, he started to steer Miriam away from the area. But then he realized that the human shape he saw rising from the bed was actually three young girls who were simply playing in the bedding. This became especially clear when they all called out in high-pitched voices, "MeMe!!!!!!!!!" (Miriam's nickname). It turns out that they were Miriam's friends from the neighborhood, Rennt, Tina, and Dina.

Um, girls? Playing in the doorman's bedroll on the roof? Not such a good idea.

Fashion in Amman

2007-07-30T23:20:00.000+03:00

Miriam is a destroyer of sunglasses. She broke my 2JD pair I bought downtown, so it was time to shop for a new pair. We stepped into a shop near the university called "Girl & Girls." There, they had a whole rack of sunglasses to choose from. Trouble was, they were all derivatives of the same style.

Now, I'm a fan of aviators when they're worn by men. But I just can't get into them as a feminine style. They remind me too much of U of A sorority girls (shudder) and I start feeling like they should only be worn with fur boots and short skirts.

Regardless, I needed some sunglasses so I started to try some on. And that's when I found these:

I think these may be the largest sunglasses ever manufactured by man, meant to be worn as a serious item of clothing. But somehow they just end up looking like caricatures of themselves.

Don't worry, I didn't buy them. I chose a slightly less hideous pair and now I blend in with the other Amman girls quite nicely.

On the subject of fashion here in Amman, I need to make a correction. About a month ago, I said that there was only one haircut in this part of the world. That isn't entirely true. In addition to the classic "shebaab" cut, there is this new punk style coming into vogue. Basically, guys put gel in their hair and then tousle it. You can see a few examples of it in the picture above, taken covertly at Abdoun Circle.

I hope Jeremy doesn't come home from the barber next time looking like that.

It's all a matter of perspective

2007-07-29T14:06:00.000+03:00

At church on Friday, one of our leaders (a Jordanian) was announcing a trip to take place on Saturday (yesterday). He informed us of all the pertinent details and ended by saying that we would return to Amman at about 10.30pm.

Then he started to apologize for coming back at 10.30. Considering the trip would be starting at 2pm, I realized that some people in the congregation might think that 8.5 hours was too long for a church activity.

But then the leader continued by apologizing for the trip ending so early. "We have to return at 10.30," he said, "because some people from Irbid will be attending and they need to travel back home."

It's really true that around here, parties don't even get started until midnight or later.

Al-Jazeera & Peppermint Gomez

2007-07-25T22:24:00.000+03:00

Does everyone but me already watch the Daily Show? I've never actually seen an episode, but every clip I've ever watched (mostly about the Middle East) has been hilarious.

A new video recently came to my attention - an effort to "Americanize" the Al-Jazeera English news program.

Peppermint Gomez, indeed.

For all the evil ascribed to Al-Jazeera by "The West," I will admit that Miriam watches Al-Jazeera Children's channel from time to time. And so far I haven't noticed any signs of brainwashing. So far.

Stranded at 1300 below

2007-07-22T22:07:00.000+03:00

We spent the day at the Dead Sea yesterday. Once we got there, we had a wonderful time playing in the water. The "getting there," however, proved to be quite difficult.

It all started out innocuously enough with us catching a bus at Amman's Muhajireen bus station. There was a Happy Journey-style bus going to Rama, so we hopped on, intending to change at Rama for a bus to Suweimeh by the Dead Sea. Also on that bus were 6 Korean backpackers headed for the Dead Sea who didn't speak Arabic. They had taken up a seat with their luggage and so Jeremy had to intermediate between them and the driver to clear up that situation. (FYI: if you take up a seat with your luggage, you have to pay the fare for it.)

We got to Rama without any problems, and even found a bus leaving for Suweimeh that very moment. Jeremy asked the driver if he was going to the Dead Sea, and he said yes. Then, he told him that we were trying to get to the Dead Sea Spa Hotel, one of the hotels that take up a few-kilometer strip of beach along the northeastern shore of the sea. The driver said something like "great." At the time, we took that to mean, "OK, great, that's where I'm going." In retrospect, I realize that it must have meant something more along the lines of, "That's great for you. Good luck getting there."

So we climbed on board, followed by the six Korean travelers, and paid our 20 qirsh fare.

The second bus putted along the highway very slowly. I kept thinking that if the driver would just step on the gas a little, we could be to the beach within 10 minutes. Instead, he turned off the highway and wound very slowly through the village of Suweimeh. I was very patient and tried to enjoy the scenes of tiny desert village life unfolding outside the bus windows, thinking how within a matter of minutes we'd be walking down to the Dead Sea itself.

At the end of the village, near where the road intersected again with the main highway to the Dead Sea, the driver stopped the bus and pointed into the distance. "There's the Dead Sea," he said. "This is your stop."

Of course, Jeremy reminded the driver of the time - not 30 minutes before - when we'd been told that this bus would take us to the Dead Sea. Instead, taking into account all the village-winding we'd done, we were hardly 5 kilometers farther down the road from where we'd got on in Rama. But no amount of reasoning could convince the driver that the honest thing to do would be to drive us to our actual destination, instead of dropping us off in the middle of nowhere. Other passengers on the bus even got involved, trying to figure out how we'd been wronged.

By the time we all finished arguing, we could have been driven to the beach and back. The driver refused to budge unless we all (including the 6 Koreans) paid him a half dinar each to take us to the actual sea. There was no way we were giving in to such an outrageous demand.

After a few exchanges of "maa biseer" and "eib aleik," the entire busload of disgruntled passengers disembarked at the remote intersection. The Koreans didn't even pay their 20 qirsh. We wished we could have gotten ours back.

Slowly, we made our way through the blistering 1300-feet-below-sea-level heat to the shade of an army checkpoint a few hundred meters ahead. The Koreans followed close behind. Unfortunately, while sympathetic to our plight, the officers posted there were unable to help us. So we pushed on.

After about fifteen minutes of walking toward the still-distant beach, the Koreans behind us got picked up by a passing van. As it drove on past us, still walking, we waved at them and I noticed that one of them was crammed into the trunk space of the vehicle.

Now it was our turn. Jeremy flagged down a small Suzuki-style truck soon after, and the driver agreed to take us where we needed to go. Jeremy, Miriam, and I climbed into the cab, and my mom and my brother hopped into the bed of the truck. Then we took off down the highway for the Dead Sea Spa Hotel.

I've often seen people riding in the back of trucks around town and on desert highways, and I've always wondered the story behind how they got there. Now I know at least one story - some foreigners got ripped off by a Jordanian Happy Journey bus driver.

We made it to the beach and the driver wouldn't accept any payment. By this generous action, he had single-handedly restored the balance in favor of Jordanian hospitality (though we hit a minor snag when Jeremy, trying to be thankful, said to him, "You are a true Jordanian!" to which the driver answered, somewhat flustered, "actually, I'm a Palestinian." Then Jeremy said, almost without flinching, "You are a true Palestinian!" And then, just to be safe, "Well, you are a true Arab!").

After all that, we had a wonderful time enjoying ourselves at the Dead Sea. But half the adventure was just in getting there.

(En)Trail of evidence

2007-07-22T10:40:00.001+03:00

It's a week late, but here is a photo of the bucket of entrails, in all its glory. If it seems a little dim, that's because it was taken under protective cover of dusk.

In case you didn't see the comments for the last post, the bucket had disappeared by the next morning. So it seems it will remain a mystery never fully explained.

Harry Potter in Jordan

2007-07-21T23:00:00.001+03:00

Like everything else on the internet today, this post is about Harry Potter.

We're still waiting for the movie Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to come out in theaters here. The rumor is that it will open on August 1st, but I have no idea where that information came from. When we were in Syria last week, we bought a pirated DVD copy off the street but the quality was so bad it was actually unwatchable. The picture was blocked for minutes at a time, probably when the pirater stuffed the camera into a bag while an usher walked through the theater.*

So we'll wait until August 1st, and then go from there.

In other news, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out today. We did some legwork ahead of time and found out that a few local stores would be releasing it on time. Unfortunately, unlike Costco and Amazon, they're charging full list price (almost 40 dollars). We were all determined to just wait until we got back to America to read it when my little brother broke down and bought it this afternoon. He's on page 141 already and we're lining up to rent it from him as soon as he's done. Many of the students are doing the same thing.

One of my students told me that Cozmo sold the book to its first ten customers for 7 JD (about ten dollars) as a promotion. She said people lined up at the store as early as 2 am to be first in line. And that's for the English version, not even an Arabic translation (which probably won't appear, at least officially, for several more months)!

In the meantime, I'll have to steer clear of any blogs, websites, or TV shows that might be talking about the book. I am determined to avoid any and all spoilers. So if you've read it, keep the spoilers to yourself!

*Note to readers: before you condemn us for purchasing pirated video materials, hear me out. We usually only buy pirated videos when they're not available to watch in theaters, and we never bring them to America. Also, we always make sure to legitimately spend money on the film in some way in America so that the filmmaker gets his rightful business from us. I think of it like renting a video, before the video is released.

National Geographic moment

2007-07-19T22:18:00.001+03:00

Remember when they found the girl from the cover of National Geographic in Afghanistan 17 years after the original photo was taken?

We had a similar moment when Jeremy was in Petra last weekend.

Back in 2004, he took this photo of a little Bedouin girl sitting on the steps leading down from the Monastery:

The moment was especially memorable because we had to place her very carefully so that her body blocked an unsightly clump of donkey poo on the step.

Somehow, Jeremy managed to find her again, three years later:

It was interesting to have our own little National Geographic moment. I often wonder about random people whose photograph we've taken, and where they are now. At least we have one answer to that question after last weekend.

Bucket o'entrails

2007-07-15T21:48:00.000+03:00

We stepped outside our apartment building this morning on our way to catching a taxi downtown. There was a pleasant breeze blowing, as there often is, but today it carried with it a trace of putridity. We couldn't quite put our finger on what the exact smell was, but it reeked. I decided it smelled like someone had dug a hole and unearthed an old latrine. That's how nasty it was.

The source of the mystery smell remained unsolved until later, when I got home from work. As I approached our building, I noticed a bucket sitting in the empty lot across from our house that hadn't been there before. When I looked closer, I noticed what was in the bucket: assorted ENTRAILS.

Yes, entrails. Some of them were spilling out over the side of the bucket and still others were oozing through a bag right next to the bucket.

I find myself asking two questions. First of all, who is slaughtering so many animals that they find they need to mass-dispose large quantities of entrails? Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, who puts them in an empty lot in a residential area, not 50 meters away from a dumpster?

I don't think I want to know the answers to these questions, lest I harbor an unpardonable grudge toward the guilty party. In the meantime, if anyone has any great ideas about how to dispose of a bucket o'entrails, let me know.

Photoshop King

2007-07-14T15:02:00.000+03:00

We saw this poster of King Abdullah in Salt. I don't know about you, but it doesn't look...quite right to me. Methinks his head - or even just his face! - has been superimposed on a Desert Guard's body. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

My Adventures in Syria: Creative Syria's Creative Forum

2007-07-12T10:11:00.000+03:00

If you're at all interested in Syria, you should check out Creative Syria's latest Creative Forum. The topic is: If you had the choice, what would you change in Syria?

My Adventures in Syria: Creative Syria's Creative Forum

Our lucky day

2007-07-11T09:50:00.001+03:00

We've had a hard time with breakfast cereal this summer. Miriam isn't willing to settle for Poppin's Corn Flakes. Come to think of it, neither is Jeremy. So I guess I'm the only one.

But everything else is SO insanely expensive. I cannot in good conscience spend upwards of 6 dollars on a single box of cereal. Last summer, there was a brand called "Hospitality" that had huge bags of shredded wheat for under five dollars. We practically lived on that stuff. This summer, though, it's nowhere to be found. We've been limping along on Poppin's brand hud and packets of instant oatmeal we brought from America.

Yesterday, though, our ship came in! We were at Safeway enjoying their hot food section. The cashier by the cafeteria was closed, so we had to walk through the store to pay at a regular checkout stand. On the way, Jeremy spotted what is possibly the biggest cereal bargain I've ever seen in my life: Lucky Charms for half a dinar. Real, American, almost-expired Lucky Charms.

That's the reason they were discounted so heavily. Normally, a box of Lucky Charms that size would be at least 5 JD. But these boxes expire on August 7, so Safeway is clearing them out. We loaded up our cart with eleven boxes (the most we felt we could buy without feeling entirely ridiculous) and exclaimed over our good fortune.

I think we're set for breakfast cereal for the rest of the summer.

Inbreeding

2007-07-10T21:57:00.000+03:00

I don't know how to put this delicately so that it doesn't disgust anyone not already familiar with the culture here, but inbreeding is not unusual here in Jordan. It is of course more common at certain social levels and communities than others, but it is present nonetheless. The concept of marrying one's cousin is almost universally disgusting to us Americans; here, most of the population has been raised with the idea that it is not at all out of the question.

The other night we were drinking yansoon with OmmAatif. She had six members of her extended family there to share the visit, four adults and two children. When we asked who everyone was, we got a very interesting response: with the exception of OmmAatif (who had married one of the men's father as her second husband), everyone was related to everyone else in more than one way. In other words, it was all a mix of cousins and brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law being one and the same.

With this information in mind, something else made a lot more sense. One of the children in the room with us was also named Miriam. When I asked how old she was, I was shocked to learn that she was the exact same age as our Miriam Damascus. I was surprised because the other Miriam looked no more developed than approximately an 18-month-old, even compared to our Miriam. She looked very sickly and strange, and next to her, our Miriam looked positively robust.

I took another look around the room and noticed that most of the adults also had some unusual characteristics. One woman had a malformed eye and another man and woman also had some strange physical features. I can only assume these were the effects of inbreeding over time.

I understand these families' reasons for wanting their children to marry cousins, generation after generation. It's certainly convenient to know the potential spouse's family history inside and out. And marrying a relative keeps the wealth within the family. But the effects of this kind of reproduction over generations is devastating. In extreme cases in small villages, this practice has led to widespread deafness, blindness, and even missing limbs, all occurring disproportionately within one extended family. There's a reason that marriage between first cousins is outright illegal in the United States. Even medical professionals here in Jordan are well aware of the negative effects and make efforts to educate the populace.

But a marriage practice that has become something of a unquestioned tradition in some family circles is not likely to go away anytime soon, no matter what the consequences.

Congratulations, Petra!

2007-07-08T14:43:00.001+03:00

We actually stayed up late last night watching the announcement ceremony for the New 7 Wonders. We had seen so much hype about the competition here in Jordan that we just couldn't resist. Jordan's television channel was simultaneously broadcasting the Lisbon awards ceremony with the grand party being put on in Petra, on a split screen.

We held on until about 12.30 (past midnight), even though no announcement had been made. Everything was fluff, fluff, and more fluff. The final straw for me came when, at the Lisbon ceremony, dancers clad in silver bodysuits started artfully and contortionistically descending from a giant globe hanging above the stage. They had tried my patience long enough - I just couldn't handle the silver dancers.

So we went to bed, knowing that if Petra made the list of seven, we'd hear about it eventually. And we did, about 30 minutes later when fireworks started going off all over the city. Very loud, rapid fireworks and firecrackers. I stuck it out in bed; Jeremy headed up to the roof to at least benefit from the show.

As you may have guessed, Petra made it on the final list. Congratulations!

Tea with the census guy

2007-07-08T14:16:00.000+03:00

Miriam and I were intercepted on our way home from the dry cleaner's this morning (my skirt still isn't ready, but I'm not complaining since it's only costing 1.5JD). We walked up to our door and saw that our elderly neighbor OmmAatif's door was wide open. She invited us in, of course, and we accepted.

The reason her door was open is that she had the census guy in her sitting room. Here, you never close the door if you're alone with an unrelated member of the opposite sex. And that's if you even invite them in - Jeremy once had to have a female teaching assistant from Jordan University sit out on our front steps for 20 minutes, waiting for me to get home from work so she could come inside.

OmmAatif was having a great time chatting up the census-taker, and was in the process of preparing tea. She put some baboonej on for Miriam and me (it's kind of like yansoon), and then continued answering Mohammed's (the census-taker) questions.

It turns out it's not really a census. It's actually an official survey about landowners in Jordan, specifically those who own farms. Fortunately, OmmAatif owns some land up in Jerash, so she had a lot to talk about with Mohammed. As it always does with OmmAatif, the subject of her recently deceased son came up. I was pleasantly surprised by the level of compassion showed by Mohammed, a complete stranger. He talked her through the feelings she expressed, and then commiserated with her over the recent wedding of her niece, which she was unable to attend due to intense feelings of sadness.

And then the tea was drunk and it was time for Mohammed to move on to other residents in the building. I asked him if all he did all day was drink tea, since under Arab hospitality I knew he must be offered a cup at every house he visited. He said he actually didn't end up drinking that much, even if he had plenty of opportunities. Privately, I was relieved for him.

He left, but Miriam and I stayed a little longer. OmmAatif insisted on feeding her lunch, and then cheered Miriam on every bite with "kuli, kuli!" Eat, eat!

Then it was time for us to leave as well. I'm glad OmmAatif owns land in Jerash, since it gave her the chance to have a pleasant morning's conversation with a nice young man named Mohammed.

Salt's Turkish Cemetery

2007-07-07T23:06:00.000+03:00

So there's this Turkish cemetery at the top of Jebel al-Qala'a in Salt, Jordan. The only Turkish connection we could think of that would help this make sense is that Salt was the Ottoman capital of the region. But many of the graves in the cemetery are fairly new (even in the 2000s), so there must be some other connection that is not immediately apparent.

Here are some older graves. At first, I thought that the Arabic script might be in the Turkish language, but Jeremy told me that it is genuine Arabic. There goes that connection idea. The grounds of the cemetery were very well kept, but otherwise, there was little of interest unless you're someone who is fascinated by cemeteries in general (Mom, I'm looking at you).

Salt's Jebel al-Qala'a

2007-07-07T22:52:00.001+03:00

It was quite a hike to the top of Jebel al-Qala'a, one of the highest points in Salt. Fortunately, there was a pedestrian staircase that zig-zagged up the hill. It was a bit of a shortcut and meant we didn't have to fear speeding vehicles around every blind corner. The staircase winds in and out of normal residences, some of them very old. Here is a group of kids that met us around one corner.

Almost to the top! It was worth the hike, even if a lot of it was through basically a garbage dump. There were a few old homes along the staircase that were no longer inhabited, and so by default, they became the neighborhood landfill. Yuck.

There is not much at the top of the hill except this mosque (and a Turkish cemetery). There were some youth playing soccer and flying kites. One of the kites got stuck on the minaret of the mosque. This situation was greatly distressing to Miriam, who couldn't stop talking about it. So I was grateful when the poor boy finally got his kite unstuck and went back to flying it.

Neighborhood boys playing soccer in the shadow of the mosque.

On the way back down the pedestrian staircase, we held our breath and ran down the disgusting parts. If anyone is looking for ideas for an Eagle Scout Project and wants to do it in Salt, Jordan, let me know.

Journey to Salt

2007-07-07T22:22:00.000+03:00

We took a short day-trip to Salt this afternoon. The bus ride cost us all of 30 cents each, and it only took about half an hour. Jeremy and I were split up for most of the ride, so Jeremy was able to get this picture of me trying to restrain Miriam in the aisle. Eventually, the assistant driver picked up Miriam and brought her to Jeremy. I was grateful, since I was otherwise occupied trying to sit as far away as possible from my male seatmate.

There's not a tremendous amount of attractions in Salt. Its main claim to fame is that it was the capital of the region during the Ottoman period. As a result, there is a lot of leftover Ottoman architecture throughout the town. It is also supposedly predominantly Christian, but I was hard-pressed to find any unveiled women.

The town is set in a valley surrounded by precipitously steep hills, so all the streets look something like this: going up or down and always twisting.

They have a lovely souq in Salt. In fact, it's the coolest one we've seen in Jordan. That's really not saying much, since Jordan really doesn't have excellent souqs in the same way that Egypt, Turkey, and especially Syria do. (Miriam got really excited when we passed a butcher's shop full of cages of live chickens. I didn't have the heart to tell her what would happen to them, or that the large carcasses hanging in the window had once been sheep.)

Here are more beautiful examples of Ottoman architecture. Some of these homes are obviously ruined, and it makes me wonder why no one lives in them anymore.

Other portions of the city have been restored very beautifully. This section was still under construction.

We had a very pleasant visit to Salt, and the total cost of the trip was about 1 dinar. The city reminded me of bits and pieces of some Syrian cities we've been to, especially Aleppo and (strangely) Bludan. It was certainly a nice break from the big city for an afternoon.

The New Seven Wonders of the World

2007-07-07T12:14:00.000+03:00

As you may have heard, the results of the New Seven Wonders competition will be announced today, 07.07.07.

Jordan, like several other countries, apparently, has put on a major marketing campaign over the last few months to ensure that as many people as possible vote for Petra. At first, it was "Vote for Petra" keychains, bookmarks, and bracelets. Then it was banners and billboards put up around town. Finally, we started noticing places advertising that you could vote right then and there for Petra. At least, it was assumed you would be voting for Petra, but I don't know if they actually kept track.

One of these places was on the campus of Jordan University. They had computers set up to access the voting website, and even a few guys who (presumably) could help you navigate through the process.

Some groups around the world have claimed that this is a spurious competition. I agree that it's not the most conservationally or even historically minded project I've ever seen, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. A lot of people around the world are thinking about some of the most amazing places on earth to visit, and I don't think that can be bad for anyone.

I voted for Petra (and six other places that I've been to) a few months ago, so I did my duty.

Did you?

It's all about timing

2007-07-05T22:26:00.001+03:00

If there's a better time to remodel your balcony than 11pm on a Tuesday night, these guys (our across-the-street-neighbors) haven't heard of it.

The many faces of King Abdullah

2007-07-05T22:10:00.001+03:00

Here are three more installments in our continuing series.

This is Academic King. This picture is on the campus of Jordan University, not far from the main gates.

One of the most popular pictures around town is this one, of Family King. Here he is with his wife, Queen Rania, and children Hussein, Iman, Salma, and Hashem.

This is a great one - Military Strength King,. We get lots of chances to look at this one since it is right outside the South Gates of JU, and the wait at the traffic light there is exceedingly long.

Now, if only I could get a decent picture of Motorcycle King...

Amman Children's Museum

2007-07-03T22:10:00.000+03:00

A wonderful thing happened in Amman in May: Queen Rania opened up a Children's Museum. It's in the northwest part of the city, near the Royal Automobile Museum and up the hill from Carrefour and Mecca Mall. It is brand spankin' new and awesomer than any other Children's Museum I've seen (meaning, the museums in Portland and Tucson).

Here is the play grocery store where Miriam got reprimanded for not putting her produce away.

The play car garage, with a purple and pink corvette - hooray for them making it girl-friendly, even though a repair garage would usually be stereotyped as a "guy thing."

The hard-hat area. I think Miriam was just about in heaven at this point. They even have a working crane that can swing, raise, and lower buckets full of foam bricks around the site.

My personal favorite area: the library. We really miss our trips to the Tucson library, so this was quite a discovery. Their collection of books is really amazing - I think they bought out the entire DK collection. There are also a lot of quality books in Arabic, and some in both languages.

On our first visit there, the museum had just barely opened a week before. A volunteer named Osama took us under his wing and insisted on staying with us during almost our entire visit. He knew all the secrets to all the exhibits, and didn't hesitate to show them to us. There were quite a few science and technology exhibits that were utterly boring to Miriam but quite fascinating to us adults.

Jeremy went there with Miriam last week and reported that several of the exhibits were now broken. I hope they put the 3JD entry price (including children of any age) to work at correcting that problem. The Children's Museum is really a special place and so I hope it remains in tip-top shape for maximum enjoyment.

Something's wrong with this picture

2007-06-30T23:19:00.000+03:00

We were in Jebel Webdeh this evening, reliving memories at Ras Beirut and Sahet Baris. While strolling, I saw a building I had never noticed before:

Let's take a closer look at what kind of business this is:

I don't know what kind of service "Handicap International" provides, but they need to work on handicapped access to their own front door, for crying out loud. For starters, they could, you know, not use their precious sidewalk as a parking lot.

Wedding procession

2007-06-29T23:49:00.001+03:00

It was Jeremy's birthday yesterday, so we went out for dinner and dessert (without Miriam!). We ate ice cream from Gerard with a view of Abdoun Circle and saw at least six wedding processions drive by.

Abdoun Circle is the place to see and be seen. Sometimes, nice luxury vehicles full of youth will circle the block again and again, just cruising. So we're not sure if these wedding processions had legitimate business in the area, or if they made a special trip there on a Thursday night for maximum visibility.

My favorite part of this one is the guy with the video camera leading the way.

Naiman

2007-06-27T22:29:00.000+03:00

Jeremy just go back from getting a haircut (yes, it's 10.30 pm). Naiman!

He had a special moment with the barber. There wasn't much of a line (again, it's 10.30 at night), so the barber was able to take his time cutting and styling Jeremy's hair. He didn't need to ask for instructions from Jeremy because there really is only one haircut here. We call it the "shabaab haircut." Very clean all around except for the "bangs," where it turns into a kind of Beckham mohawk. In Syria, he used to come home and chop off the bangs himself. These days, however, he's realized that resistance is futile. It helps him blend in.

Anyway, during the haircut, the barber put in a tape of cheesy American songs. Then, he asked Jeremy to translate the lyrics. You thought the Titanic theme song was inane in English - try wringing some meaning out of it to put into Arabic! Then there was this one song we hear all the time over here. I don't know the name or the artist, but it has the refrain, "'cause I don't know what to say/and I don't know what to dooooo..." blah blah blah "something something/loving you."

(It reminds me of a radio show we used to hear in Damascus on weekend evenings. It consisted solely of a DJ voicing over extremely basic Arabic translations of 1980s American love songs. For a native speaker of English who understood the lyrics in the first place, it was slightly embarrassing.)

All of this for only 3JD. What a steal.

The coolest watch ever

2007-06-27T22:14:00.001+03:00

For reasons that remain unclear to me, there is a shopping fair of sorts going on for a few weeks on campus right now. There are student (?) vendors with booths selling everything from scarves (lots of those) to fancy vegetable cutting machines.

I thought I might buy a purse there, since my $1 Target special Hello Kitty bag is wearing thin. Their selection wasn't to my taste, unfortunately, so I think I'll hold out for Global Village.

But we did have one very successful purchase. It's a purple muHajibba Fulla watch for Miriam.

I don't know who's more excited about it: Miriam or me.

Keeping cool

2007-06-26T22:19:00.001+03:00

We've had a heat wave* here in Amman for the last few days. It's been hovering close to 100F, with so much sunshine that you can hardly open your eyes. That's when the fact that all the buildings here are made from dazzlingly white (and somehow reflective-y-glisten-y) stone becomes a liability instead of an asset.

We're lucky to get a good breeze since we live on a hill (who doesn't in this city?), but last night, it was still very hot. Suddenly, Jeremy remembered something we used to do in Damascus but that we had completely forgotten about. He went to the freezer and got the reusable gel ice pack we use in our little cooler lunchbox from Costco. Then he put it on his back and went to sleep in cool comfort. It was like having his own personal AC unit.

In Damascus, we bought three or four little gel icepacks (they were called, strangely, "siffa packs") from our local pharmacy. The routine went something like this: we put all four of them in the freezer, and then at bedtime, we each got one. In the middle of the night when we woke up hot again (and the ice packs were defrosted), we'd go exchange them for fresh ones from the freezer. It was a wonderful system and kept us sleeping comfortably through summer and early autumn. I don't know how we ever forgot about it.

In any case, I'm glad Jeremy remembered it in time for the hot months ahead.

*When I hear that the weather in Tucson is 110F+ these days, I just laugh and laugh. We tell people in America that we go to the Middle East to escape Tucson summers, and they think we're kidding. Well, we're not.

Eww

2007-06-26T10:05:00.000+03:00

Do you remember this episode of "The Simpsons"? Homer stole the sugar from a hijacked sugar truck, packaged it himself, and then tried to sell it (for the low, low price of $1 per pound).

Marge: But the grocery store sells sugar for 35 cents a pound!
Lisa: And it doesn't have nails and broken glass in it.
Homer: Those are prizes. (Homer eats some of his food and pulls a black object out of his mouth) Ooh, a blasting cap.

Well, I just put some pinto beans in a pot to boil so we can have refried beans as part of dinner. Experience has taught me to sift through beans, nuts, and even bulk candy before eating them so we don't get any unwelcome "prizes." It's a good thing, too, because this time I found a twig and a small rock mixed in with the beans.

That would have been a very unpleasant surprise.

Power trips

2007-06-24T21:42:00.000+03:00

You know, despite all you've heard, Jordan is actually a pretty permissive place. Of course, there are the lines you just don't cross, and everybody knows what they are, but in general life is very laid-back.

There are some situations, however, in which rules are strictly enforced. Here are some of the stranger restrictions we've had placed on us by employees and officials in various places.

- We were forbidden from taking pictures at the swimming pool and Amman Waves. But the reasoning for this rule is pretty good, so I won't knock it too much. I still think the principle of "people who are going to do it are going to find a way no matter what you say" applies, but at least they try.

- Also at the swimming pool: Jeremy got yelled at for wearing a t-shirt while standing in the kiddie pool with Miriam. He also was reprimanded for not wearing a proper swimsuit, until he proved to the employee that they were, in fact, swimming trunks. The irony is that if he had been wearing a Speedo, he probably would have been left alone.

- Yesterday at Carrefour, Jeremy tried to walk in carrying a milkshake from Gerard's. The security guards at the entrance said it wasn't allowed, and that he'd have to drink it outside. Well, a milkshake from Gerard's is not something you want to rush. So Jeremy stepped away for a few moments, tucked it inside the mesh cup holder of his backpack, and walked back in. (The moral of this story: don't try to deceive security guards. He forgot about the milkshake, and when he sat down in the taxi with the backpack, the milkshake spilled all over him.)

- In Damascus, Jeremy was forbidden from entering a library because (the guards said) he was wearing "pajamas." They were cargo pants, actually, but that distinction was lost on them.

- A security guard (what is it with these guys??) at the university once tried to tell me that I couldn't go on campus. I have no idea why, since I have a student ID card and everything. Once I told him that my husband was a "doktoor" (professor), though, he was all "ahalan wa sahalan."

Notice that none of these guys have ever placed any restrictions on Miriam. She can do no wrong. And I'm willing to take the flack for her as long as that can continue to be the case.

Edited to add: Actually, Jeremy just reminded me of one more, and it has to do with Miriam. At the Children's Museum yesterday (note to self: write a post about the Children's Museum), Miriam was playing in the fake grocery store, filling a cart with plastic food from the shelves. When she was done, she just left the cart in an out-of-the-way corner of the grocery store and wandered into the next room - a very cool fake car repair shop. But could you believe it - an employee followed her and Jeremy into the room and told them they had to put all the items in the cart away. Perhaps she forgot she was working at, you know, a Children's Museum.

Second first impressions

2007-06-23T13:39:00.000+03:00

It's not often that you get to form a first impression a second time, but we had one such opportunity yesterday.

As I mentioned, we went to church in Irbid. After the meeting, we went over to the Bradshaws' house for lunch (the Bradshaws are humanitarian service volunteers from our church). I had only met them once or twice before, and had never been to their home.

At least, I thought I hadn't, until we walked in the door. Then I immediately realized that we had indeed been to their apartment, and actually spent the night there almost three years ago. At that time, however, it belonged to a previous set of church volunteers.

The reason this realization was so striking was the difference in impressions I had between that first visit to that apartment and this second "first" visit. When we went to Irbid for the first time in September of 2004, we had been living in Syria for only a few months. We had only recently come to terms with all the strange, often annoying idiosyncrasies of our apartment there, and we still didn't have hot water (though the weather was so hot that that was mostly by choice...mostly).

So I distinctly remember walking into that apartment in Irbid in 2004 and having to keep my new-to-the-Middle-East self from marveling at the gorgeous floors, palatial kitchen (with a working oven!!) and lovely bathroom, complete with shower and hot water. In fact, until we moved to Jordan in 2006, I maintained that that was the nicest apartment I had ever seen in this part of the world.

Since then, I have seen lots of gorgeous apartments here in Jordan. And so yesterday, when we walked into that apartment in Irbid for the second first time, I was hardly struck at all with its "niceness."

Is it nicer than many apartments? Definitely.

But I didn't feel like bowing down and worshiping the toilet fixtures like I did three years ago.

Going to church naked

2007-06-22T15:57:00.002+03:00

Today, we traveled to Irbid to go to church. We had visited that congregation a few times while we were living in Syria, and we thought it would be nice to go again and see some old friends. As it turned out, however, many of the people who we remembered (and who might have remembered us) weren't there. Oh well.

The drive from Amman to Irbid is along a windy (as in, the road winds up and down and around) and occasionally bumpy highway. We think those two factors may have contributed to Miriam throwing up about halfway through the ride.

Even though I was holding her at the time, Jeremy got the worst of it. Luckily, I had Miriam's blanket spread out over my lap, and that caught a lot of it. So the blanket, her dress, and Jeremy's pants were very soiled.

We cleaned up as best we could (not very well, in other words) using tissues and the parts of the blanket that weren't yucky. As soon as we got to the church building, Jeremy washed Miriam's dress in a bathroom sink and then set it outside to dry. So we took Miriam into the church meeting wearing nothing but a diaper, and Jeremy had a huge puke stain on his pants.

We got a lot of strange looks. A few people asked why Miriam was naked, and of course we explained to them. But there were people in the congregation who were staring at us from a distance, obviously wondering why we brought our daughter to church without any clothes.

Unfortunately, Jeremy got called up to speak briefly, pants puke stain and all. Fortunately, he was able to explain what happened and everyone laughed about Miriam having to go through church wearing just a diaper.

Also fortunately, it was really hot today, so after about 20 minutes, and a few more minutes of Jeremy waving it around on a stick to speed up the process, Miriam's dress was dry. We put it back on her and she was hardly the worse for wear.

I'm glad we could fix the situation before the Irbid natives chalked it up to some weird American custom - or worse, just another example of bad American parenting.

Blame it on being foreign

2007-06-20T22:12:00.000+03:00

Sometimes it's nice being a foreigner, because you have an excuse for all the times you're unintentionally rude.

This afternoon, Miriam and I were on our way out the door when we were ambushed by our next-door neighbor (now I see why landlords tout a 'private entrance' as an asset when they're trying to get you interested in renting their apartment). You can hear everything in the stairwell from the apartment, so it's impossible to come or go without everyone knowing about it.

It was this lady's sister, Jamila. Their little granddaughter (Jamila's grandniece, I guess) was over for the afternoon and they wanted Miriam to come over and play. I had nothing against that plan except that we were just then walking out the door to go to campus to bring Jeremy his office key. It was not an engagement that could be put off.

So I explained that unfortunately, we were just leaving. Then Jamila insisted that we come over as soon as we got back. I agreed, but was careful to say that I couldn't say for sure when exactly we'd be home. I thought we might stay on campus for a while so Miriam could play, and I knew it was possible that we'd run errands after that. I told her this, saying that if we came back soon, we'd come over, but if not, we'd see her another time.

We ended up not coming home until almost 8 o'clock, and I considered that too late to bother going over to her apartment.

Fast forward to about 10 minutes ago. Our doorbell rang (it's 10 o'clock at night!) and it was Jamila, with a plate full of food (with an extra helping of GUILT). She told me that they waited for me earlier and she wondered why I didn't show up.

Well, because I wasn't home. I told her this.

She said again that she was disappointed I didn't come over and that they saved the food for me and now she was bringing it over. And then she said that I should come over tomorrow (as penance, perhaps?).

I'm sure she'll just chalk up the offense I caused to my being an insensitive and culturally unaware foreigner. And perhaps there is a bit of truth in that - in my culture, if I say I might not come over later, that's exactly what will happen. No big deal. With Jamila, though, I got the feeling that I should have adjusted my plans to accept her impromptu, given-on-the-doorstep-on-my-way-out-the-door invitation.

Live and learn, I guess.

The glass ceiling

2007-06-18T23:41:00.000+03:00

Sometime while we were away from Jordan during the fall and winter, a certain segment of the population here broke through a major glass ceiling. All of a sudden, it has become acceptable for Filipina, Indoniesian, and Sri Lankan women to work in legitimate industries here in Jordan.

By "legitimate," I mean any field besides the domestic arena. Previously, women from these countries worked exclusively as maids, nannies, or domestic servants. Now, they are working at City Mall as security screeners, Gerard's as ice cream scoopers, and Quizno's as sandwich artists (or whatever they're called).

Of course, there are still plenty of them filling their regular old household positions, but to see them accepted into the normal workforce - at least to a degree - is very heartening. Often, they are working alongside Jordanian men and women in these occupations. A sight like that still makes me do a double-take, that's how impossible I thought it was (until now).

I'm not sure what prompted this change, but I hope it continues. I can only imagine that these women do, too.

Call to Prayer

2007-06-17T22:17:00.000+03:00

Here is Miriam's impression of the call to prayer. Throughout the day, whenever she hears the call to prayer, she breaks out into her own rendition.

ps - the "muezzin" is the guy who calls the prayer.

Sport City

2007-06-17T21:57:00.000+03:00

We settled for less this weekend. Except we still had tons of fun, so maybe "less" was enough.

We really wanted to go to Hammamat Ma'in, a hot springs spa near the Dead Sea. But we slept in late on Saturday (Miriam is on this awesome new Arab-kid-style schedule), and we also found out that not only would it cost at least 12 JD from Madaba just to get there, they would charge us 10 JD each to get into the spa complex. So that idea immediately became less appealing.

Instead, we headed over to the local recreation complex, Sport City. I went fully expecting a female-unfriendly environment and was prepared to let Jeremy and Miriam do all the swimming. So imagine my surprise when we showed up and found a very nice swimming pool facility. Really, this place is gorgeous. And there were lots of other women swimming, too, so I decided to join them.

There was a very large main pool with about 1/3 set apart for kids. Besides that, there was another shallow children's pool and also a deep pool for diving. There were a few diving boards as well as a platform with several levels set up above this pool. The highest platform was 10 meters, and I managed to get a video of Jeremy jumping off of it.

I say "managed," because taking photographs or video is strictly forbidden at the pool. We found this out when we tried to take a picture of Miriam frolicking in the water. So after that first warning, when I tried to take a video of Jeremy jumping off the highest platform, I was again told that pictures were forbidden. Fortunately, a guy at the next table over stuck up for me and distracted the employee long enough that I got the video.

The reason for this rule is a good one - I imagine it's because they don't want anyone taking clandestine photographs of anyone else, especially females.

Miriam shared toys with a girl named Yasmeen and tired herself out playing in the water. She wanted to go in the diving pool, too, but that will have to wait a couple of years.

It may not have been as "special" as Hammamat Ma'in, but we certainly did have a blast.

Forbidden territory

2007-06-15T13:16:00.000+03:00

The other day, we were giving a tour of Amman to a new group of students that just arrived. Our friend Wael had his friend Maher take us all around town in his van.

The tour was going great. We told the guy we wanted to basically travel along the circles (1st through 3rd, anyway), including a trip by the Roman amphitheater, and then head back up to the University area.

He asked if we wanted to see East Amman. Jeremy politely said no. What he meant was that the students are all expressly forbidden from going there, both as part of the rules of the program and also on the advice of US Embassy personnel. The reason is that it is a volatile area of the city, with lots of refugee camps and political activist groups. Besides that, there's no real reason to be in East Amman unless you're doing research specifically related to the aforementioned issues.

So we saw the Roman amphitheater and Jeremy told Maher to start heading towards the University. A few turns up twisty roads later, we both realized that that was not where we were going. Next thing we knew, we were smack dab in East Amman, driving through a Palestinian refugee camp.

None of the other students knew what was going on, and I'm glad they didn't. They had just arrived in the city and didn't know west from east yet. Meanwhile, I was hoping that nobody would notice the van full of Americans that just pulled into town.

Inadvertent danger aside, it was fascinating to see this side of the city. The words "refugee camp" inevitably bring to mind the image of tents or other temporary living conditions. Obviously, however, these "camps" have had to be around for many years now. They're not collections of tents at all, but more like tenement housing. The shops and markets were all very shabby - most of them seemed to be selling bins of second-hand goods and clothing (including underwear).

We managed to make it out in one piece and continued on our way up to the University. After the fact, Jeremy went ahead and told everyone where we had been and then emphasized again that East Amman is off-limits.

The whole experience ended up being one of those things where I'm glad I saw it, but I wouldn't do it over again if I knew what was coming.

The slide of danger

2007-06-13T14:16:00.001+03:00

Well, Miriam has mastered the Slide of Danger at the Park of Death. Here she is, preparing for ascension.

She's very careful to use the handrails. The ones on the green slide have broken off (leaving a sharp edge in a few places), so most of the little kids have to use the yellow slide.

Almost to the top! Even though she can do it by herself, I still feel the need to spot her. Especially when there are other kids jostling and pushing on the way up.

Here's the part that gives me butterflies every time. Miriam switches her grip to the vertical bars on the landing, and then takes that extra big step. She missed it once yesterday and caught herself - fortunately, though, Jeremy was standing below, just in case.

Preparing to launch...

Success!!

Now we just need to conquer the swings of danger and the seesaw of danger. The swings are rickety (the bar they hang off of wobbles) and set above an extremely hard and jagged bed of rock, and the seesaw is unstably anchored.

But honestly, we love our park! We go there almost every night. Miriam (and the neighborhood kids) wouldn't have it any other way.

Jinns, ghosts, and the Koran

2007-06-11T13:32:00.000+03:00

Yesterday in class, we were talking about superstitions. Our textbook had a few examples of stories from tabloid newspapers for the students to read. Then we had a discussion on the same topic.

The tabloid stories weren't the most outrageous I'd ever heard. They were your run-of-the-mill, 'Unsolved Mysteries'-type thing. You know, a woman communicating with her dead husband, people being abducted by aliens, and a cow who could cure people's ailments by licking them. Nothing too sensational, but (in my opinion, at least) clearly not entirely true.

So I was surprised when my students, during the discussion, expressed an almost complete lack of skepticism for these stories. I've spent enough time in this culture to realize that in general, it's more mystical than our skeptical American one, but they were more believing than I would have expected.

The first story in particular sparked a heated religious debate, of all things. One of my students, Mohammed, told the class how his wife was visited by her dead grandmother in a dream and was told she would have a daughter (and she did!). Another student chimed in with a similar story. Then Osama decided to bring religion into it. He said that in the Koran, it says there are "aalumein," or "more than one world." So obviously, there can be ghosts and aliens. Other students took issue with his interpretation and started arguing that there were just two worlds, and the other world was that of the jinns.

Fortunately, I was able to calm things down before they got too out of control. Next thing I knew, we were talking about a Japanese cartoon from the 1980s. A much safer subject, I'm sure you'll agree.

The softer side of King Abdullah

2007-06-10T21:40:00.001+03:00

On the Ministry of Agriculture is this lovely picture of King Abdullah, in full military garb, watering a tree. Who knew he had such a green thumb?

Cucumber soap and green toilet paper

2007-06-09T22:11:00.001+03:00

Lulu and Tina came over to play this afternoon. Their favorite activity is going through Miriam's animal flashcards and saying the English and Arabic names.

During their visit, Lulu informed me that she needed to use the bathroom. When she came out, she had Tina smell her hands. Then I heard her whisper (in Arabic), "the soap smells like cucumbers!" And then even quieter, "and they have green toilet paper."

It's true. Our soap does smell like cucumbers. And in a strange twist of fate involving Jeremy being the one to purchase the toilet paper last time, it ended up being a strange green brand.

So then Tina insisted she had to use the bathroom, too.

It's funny, the things kids notice.

Realization

2007-06-07T21:20:00.000+03:00

Yesterday, I came to the realization that my across-the-hall neighbor is not entirely there.

I have suspected this since we arrived in Jordan (she's the elderly lady who locked Jeremy in our apartment, after all). Her situation is a sad one. Her husband died about three years ago, and her only son died suddenly of a heart attack in December. She lives with her sister, Jamilah, who is a nurse in a town near the Dead Sea.

I've been over at their apartment many times now. And on every single visit, she goes through the same routine. She shows me the picture of her granddaughter, the child of her son who died. Then she tells me that her son died in December, and she cries. But then she pulls out a newspaper clipping of her nephew who is starting a PhD program in America, and she reads it through to me, out loud (except for the part that is in English, listing the name of the school). And then comes the photo album with pictures of her husband and a few more tears.

The sad thing is that I don't know all the phrases to properly commiserate with her in Arabic. I can only hope she doesn't think I'm rude or insensitive for not being able to say more than "God rest his soul."

She loves to see Miriam, though. And Miriam has learned that there's chocolate waiting for her in that apartment, and also yansoon. Yes, it's true - Miriam has tried yansoon and developed a taste for it.

I think before I make my next visit, I'll have to learn a lot more eloquent phrases to say to try to comfort this poor lady. Any suggestions?

Back to work

2007-06-05T21:41:00.001+03:00

Today, for the first time since the birth of Miriam Damascus, I got paid to work.

I'm teaching a class at Amideast, the same company I worked for in Damascus. It's an English class for young professionals. Their English ability is actually about the same as the teenagers I taught in Syria, but the students are a little older. I am very excited to be working again, even though it's only a couple of times a week. I have missed interaction with the young, bright students I had in Damascus - even though we're speaking in English, I still think it gives a special insight into the culture. If nothing else, it gives an insight into these particular students' lives. And that is always an enriching experience.

The interesting thing is observing the differences between Amideast in Syria and Amideast here. In Syria, there was only one rule I was told to abide by: in class, we were not to talk about sex, religion, or politics. Everything else was ala keefik - 'as you like it.'

Here, the teacher whose class I'm taking over (thus the sudden hiring) was actually fired for culturally insensitive behavior. And there's a massively strict dress code, even stating that any manicures, perfume, or jewelry must be "discreet." It's not that I disagree with a dress code that prohibits tight trousers, sleeveless shirts, and flip flops. It's just that I didn't expect to find one at such a western-oriented establishment.

Nonetheless, I am so happy to be teaching again.

Busted

2007-06-05T10:57:00.000+03:00

It was our neighbor Tina's fourth birthday yesterday. We were invited to the party at her apartment upstairs. When I walked in with Miriam, Tina's 6-year-old sister Lulu ran ahead of me into the living room and whispered loudly to all the guests, "Hiyya ajnabiye!" - "She's a foreigner!"

No offense, little Lulu, but I think they would have figured that out without you blowing my cover.

Two healths! Sahtein!

2007-06-04T13:04:00.000+03:00

You know, for a people who are so intent on you trying (and loving!) their cuisine, Jordanians are remarkably reluctant to try any of yours.

Don't get me wrong: I love Arabic food. The few dishes I don't like (tabbouleh and yolanji, I'm looking at you), I don't like for legitimate reasons. That means I've tried them in good faith but ended up honestly not enjoying them. The first one is just too parsley-ey and the second is just too vinegary for my taste.

But if you're ever a guest in an Arab home, do not make the mistake of refusing a certain food - even if you already know you don't like it. Because the hostess will assure you that that's just because you've never had her tabbouleh, or yolanji. And if she is to be believed, you will love her version of the dish. It's better to just accept a portion of whatever you detest and then not eat it. Later, you can claim that everything else was so good that you didn't have room for the [whatever].

Forgive me for being blunt, but surely we can all be allowed the privilege of not eating foods we hate.

Like I said, for a people who are so excited about the trying of new foods, Jordanians seem strangely reluctant to travel that road themselves. Our landlady and her son were over at our house the other day. Because we wanted to be hospitable hosts, we made sure to offer them a beverage and some cookies.

In the end, our offer of beverage was accepted only reluctantly by our landlady, and the cookies by neither of them. These weren't your average cookies, either - they were McVitie's Chocolate Caramel Digestives. And yet neither our landlady nor her son could be prevailed upon to have any. Which makes me wonder how they manage to refuse so successfully - I don't think I've ever successfully refused an item of food or drink while at a friend's house in Jordan.

Perhaps I should give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that they've tried McVitie's Chocolate Caramel Digestives in good faith and ended up hating them.

If only they'd extend the same courtesy to me for tabbouleh and yolanji...

The politics of children

2007-06-02T22:14:00.001+03:00

Our neighbor Rennt with Miriam at the park.

Led by little Miriam, we have recently delved into the world of neighborhood kid politics.

I've figured out that there are basically three factions of kids on our street. There's the huge family of Bedu (not tent Bedu, but Bedu living in an apartment building) on one end, a family of cousins in the middle, and our building on the other end.

On any given day, the group that Miriam is "allowed" to play with changes. Sometimes the Bedu kids are having a fight with the cousins, and then we're not allowed to play with them. Othertimes, the cousins switch allegiances and play with the Bedu, and then we're stuck with only the kids in our own building.

These political goings-on are explained to us by our upstairs neighbor, Rennt. She's nice enough to let us know who we can open our door to on certain days, and who we shouldn't speak to.

To be honest, though, I try to pay as little attention to all this as possible. I can think of few things that less deserve an emotional investment from me than neighborhood kid politics. And as far as I can tell, there are no real objections to any of the parties involved - it's just normal pre-teen and little girl stuff that I remember going through when I was young.

Maybe Miriam can serve as a peace envoy sent out to unite the neighborhood. I'll let you know if we make any major inroads during our time here.

Invasion

2007-06-01T18:41:00.000+03:00

This evening, we learned another reason why we should keep our door locked (even when we're at home).

We were just about to have dinner when the doorbell rang. I knew it was kids wanting to play with Miriam, so I decided to just not answer it. I figured we could send Miriam out in about 15 minutes, after dinner.

But they kept ringing and ringing the doorbell. Then, to my utter disbelief, the door opened, and we heard a little voice saying, "Hello!" Our little neighbor Lulu had opened the door and we now had her, her sister Tina, and a boy named Samir standing in our apartment.

(It turns out that Jeremy had left the door unlocked after stepping out to get the Wasiit, a weekly ad paper.)

They invited Miriam to go to the park with them, which invitation I accepted with the stipulation that it be after dinner - basically my original plan when I didn't open the door, remember?

The other funny thing is that at the time, I was wearing "house clothes," meaning, a layer less than I would wear outside. That was another reason it was slightly embarrassing to have kids just barge into our living room. It was even more funny when Lulu, as she invited us to the park, told me to "get dressed."

So basically I was bossed around by a five-year-old. What's next?

Down by the bay

2007-06-01T13:55:00.000+03:00

Have you ever seen a bunch of Jordanian kids playing Twister?

Well, now you have.

(This was part of a children’s festival organized by a Fulbright student at the Suwelieh cultural center.)

(And come to think of it, when was the last time you saw anyone playing Twister?)

(Or when was the last time anyone even played Twister?)

Non-jumpers

2007-05-30T22:38:00.001+03:00

We were taking a walk around our neighborhood when we looked up and saw this:

Those not only appear to be children standing on multiple-story-high window ledges, held in only by security bars, they actually are such.

This activity is not as unusual as common sense rules of child safety would lead you to believe. And I have to admit, it’s tempting. There are times when all Miriam wants to do is look over the balcony edge and watch the world go by. Often, those times are long times. So it would be nice to let her do that and still have my hands free to get other things done.

In our neighborhood in Damascus, there was one kid who sat on his kitchen windowsill (sometimes with the window shut behind him!) on a regular basis.

But my darn overly-safety-conscious upbringing just won’t let me let Miriam do it.

I’m sure her grandparents are glad to hear that.

Danger slide

2007-05-30T14:51:00.000+03:00

We are very lucky to have a park near our house. Never mind the fact that this park would never pass a safety inspection in the US. We're happy to have a place for Miriam to play (with someone always with her to look out for dangers, both very obvious and hidden).

The fact that this slide is slightly tilted to one side and is missing a stair handrail doesn't seem to dampen the fun for anyone. These boys were having fun doing their chain sliding and were noticeably impatient when slowpoke Miriam had to take her turn.

If anyone knows of a boy scout in Jordan, tell them there's a great opportunity for an Eagle project here. If the trash were cleaned up and the plants trimmed, this park would actually be quite nice. The death toys are beyond repair, I think, but at least they're a lot of fun!

MuHajibba Miriam

2007-05-28T21:32:00.000+03:00

I walked into the room the other day and saw Miriam wearing my sparkly shoes and dressing herself in a makeshift hijab. She kept it on for quite a while, until her hand got tired of holding it. I’ll have to tell her that if she really wants to be a muhajibba, she needs to work on her sleeve length.

Senne Helway Ya Gameel

2007-05-28T21:29:00.001+03:00

Miriam Damascus and neighborhood cronies Rennt, Tina, and birthday girl Natalie.

We were just about to put Miriam in the tub for her pre-bedtime bath the other night when the doorbell rang. It was our upstairs neighbors, Lulu and Tina. They cordially invited Miriam to their younger sister’s birthday party, which happened to be starting right that moment. We ran upstairs to join in the fun. All the kids in the building were there, plus a few from across the street and, of course, the elderly grandmother.

There were lots of sweets to be eaten and a few minor presents to be opened. We also sang “Happy Birthday,” followed immediately by “Senne Helway Ya Gameel.” (Video forthcoming). Then we moms chatted while the kids played. I did my best to contribute to the conversation, even though I kept getting interrupted by the elderly grandmother asking me why I hadn’t finished my plate of sweets (answer: because there was so much of it and I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it all). Then, inexplicably, she started slipping me bread, olives, and cheese. I managed to eat most of it politely and disguise the rest in a tissue as if it was full of discarded olive pits. It’s not that it wasn’t delicious – it’s just that my tummy was already very full of some choice high-calorie foods.

Then it really was Miriam’s bedtime, or actually way past it, and so the fun ended. Since then, however, Miriam has insisted on blowing out every match I use to light the stove. Good practice for when her own birthday comes in September, I guess.

Executive Miriam

2007-05-24T16:36:00.000+03:00

One of my favorite things about Arab societies is that they are generally very family friendly. People here love kids. They love to have kids, they love other people’s kids, and they want everyone to get married so they can have their own kids, too.

This attitude is very interesting to me, as an American. I grew up with rule number one being “Don’t take candy from strangers.” But here in Jordan, Miriam is growing up with the rule that strangers will give her candy every day, and it’s ok to take it.

The importance placed on families means that this is an extremely permissive society when it comes to the behavior of children. Kids here can get away with anything, especially if they’re male.

We were reminded of this on Sunday night when we attended a meeting at the offices of the Distoor newspaper. A friend of ours from church works for the newspaper and invited Jeremy and a few of the students to attend a presentation there. The presentation was about this website, and was given by its Canadian founder (under the auspices of, I somehow feel compelled to mention, His Majesty King Abdullah) (even television shows have to be “under the auspices of” something, even if it’s just McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits).

Before we left, Jeremy called our friend to see if it was an informal enough event that Miriam could attend. Our friend said it would be no problem. We were expecting a large room with an area at the back where Miriam could run around if needed.

So imagine our surprise when we showed up and saw that it was to be a very small group of participants in a very formal setting, complete with black leather chairs, microphones on the tables, and a juice and water service. By American child behavior standards, it was in no way an acceptable event for a 20-month-old to be attending.

But all the Jordanian participants seemed to think nothing of little Miriam being there. Or rather, they thought it was so cute and adorable and showered her with sweets. I think the only person who was wondering about it (besides ourselves) was probably the Canadian presenter.

After about a half hour, I was afraid that Miriam’s increasingly distracting antics would eventually bother someone, even if it didn’t look like that was going to be possible. So I left early with her. But not before the photographer assigned to cover the event had taken about a dozen pictures of her. I can’t imagine the headline that would go with such a photo: “Toddler contributes to discussion on Jordanian youth issues”? I’ll let you know if I ever find out.

Sheep in the city

2007-05-24T16:34:00.000+03:00

One thing you can always count on seeing in Jordan or Syria is flocks of animals in unusual places.

We’ve seen cows grazing in the fields at ancient Ugarit and goats being driven before the ruins of Crac des Chevaliers.

In Jordan, it’s usually sheep. Here is a small group of sheep feeding at a vacant lot next to an apartment building.

Our house

2007-05-23T16:09:00.001+03:00

Here’s ten reasons why our apartment is my favorite one we’ve ever lived in (in the Middle East).

1. Location. We are close enough to the university to walk. Not only that, it’s actually a pleasant walk, away from University Road so we have a back exit to avoid demonstrations. Jeremy can walk home for lunch and Miriam and I walk to campus almost every day.

2. See for yourself: the inside is really nice (“clean”). It has three bedrooms and two-and-a-half bathrooms.

3. Satellite TV. Though really, you get that no matter what kind of apartment you live in. Even construction workers in cinderblock huts get satellite TV. But that doesn’t make it any less cool.

4. Bathtubs. What I would have given to have had one of these in Syria!

5. The balcony. The perfect size for little Miriam to play or to hang out clothes to dry.

6. Our neighbors. They’re awesome. And the best part is that there are tons of kids for Miriam to play with. She’s already become the neighborhood heroine, to the point where anytime we leave or enter the building, it’s accompanied by chants of “Maryam! Maryam! Maryam!” from the other kids.

7. Our landlady. What can I say? She’s there when we need her and gone when we don’t. Plus, she gave us a good deal on rent. And her furniture philosophy is in agreement with ours, which is to say that neither of us approve of gilded chairs, ruffly tablecloths, or ostentatious chandeliers.

8. Window shutters (that actually work). I don’t know how we’ve survived without them all this time. They are indispensable for shutting out light and noise; for example, when the ghaz truck is circling the block during Miriam’s nap.

9. Our kitchen. The refrigerator and washer actually work, and the cabinets aren’t cluttered with hud leftover from previous residents. The oven looks like it might work, too, though we haven’t tried it yet.

10. Carpet. I didn’t think it was so important to me, but it is really nice to have carpet in the living areas. This would have helped last year when poor Miriam was learning to walk on unforgiving marble floors.

Honorable mentions go to: real mattresses, our bowab, and closet doors that shut.

We don’t know if we’re coming back here next summer, but if we do, I think I know where we want to live.

What's wrong with this picture?

2007-05-20T16:52:00.001+03:00

There’s something wrong with this sign.

And it’s something other than the fact that it’s advertising a myriad of alcoholic beverages.

A novel soap dispenser

2007-05-20T16:50:00.000+03:00

One nice thing about having Western restaurants in Amman is that you can be reasonably sure of finding a clean, public-ish restroom, often with toilet paper.

I say “reasonably sure,” because the other day we made use of KFC’s restrooms and they were not very clean and didn’t have toilet paper.

(To be honest, I’m beyond caring about bathroom cleanliness these days. Caring about it and worrying about it only makes life in this part of the world harder.)

They did, however, have plenty of hand soap. Here it is, inside a Pepsi cup.

What is so interesting to me is that there were empty soap dispensers by the sinks. But an employee put forth the effort to get a cup, fill it with soap, and put it on the countertop. Why they didn’t expend a similar amount of effort and just fill up the soap dispensers is beyond me.

Democratic graffiti

2007-05-20T16:48:00.001+03:00

This is what democracy in the Middle East brings – graffiti on every blank, paintable surface within a mile’s radius of the University.

Student elections were two weeks ago and there were signs and handbills posted everywhere. We were constantly accosted on campus by campaigners offering us chocolates or juices in the name of one candidate or another.

Now the elections are over. The results were accompanied by lots of cheering and chanting and carrying of winners around campus on the shoulders of a mob. The graffiti remains, though thankfully, the thousands of signs and papers that were plastered on every tree and building on campus have been removed.

I don’t know if Murad won this year, but if he didn’t, at least he can run again next year without having to redo his advertising.

Backhanded compliment?

2007-05-18T17:54:00.000+03:00

Jeremy and I both spoke in our church meeting today. I gave the opening pleasantries in both English and Arabic, and then made use of our excellent interpreter, Max. Jeremy, on the other hand, gave his own talk in both English and Arabic. Rater than doing it consecutively, as Max does, he alternated speaking in each language for several minutes at a time.

This is really harder than you might think. Not only do you have to be able to speak both languages, you have to keep track of what you’re saying in each so that you don’t leave anything out. In all, he spoke for about 20 minutes. I was very impressed with his linguistic skills (and also, of course, his message).

Immediately after the meeting ended, Jeremy was approached by a Jordanian/Armenian member of our branch. He did not offer compliments on Jeremy’s talk as is customary to do. Rather, the first words out of his mouth (in Arabic) were, “You made two mistakes. One of them was a very big one.” He then proceeded to tell Jeremy what these mistakes were (as far as I could understand, they were both issues of pronunciation).

I told Jeremy to take that as a compliment. If he had made too many mistakes to count, this man wouldn’t have bothered informing him of his errors. So he really must have done pretty well to have only two mistakes worth pointing out.

Maybe that should be a new goal: to speak so well that people don’t falsely compliment but boldly – yet constructively – criticize.

Locked in

2007-05-17T17:53:00.000+03:00

This morning, Jeremy found himself locked inside his own apartment.

Our door can only be locked and unlocked with a key. This morning when I went out with Miriam to do some errands, I left the door unlocked and didn’t take a key with me. I figured that was fine since Jeremy was still inside the apartment, working on the computer. I also made sure to tell him that I wasn’t locking the door or bringing a key with me – the door can’t be unlocked from one side if it has a key in the other side.

After our errands, I was intercepted on the way home by our elderly neighbor, who ushered Miriam and me into her apartment to have a morning chat with her and her sister. An hour (and one cup of yansoon) later, Miriam and I stepped across the hall to go home.

The door was locked, so I rang the bell. Jeremy came to the door but said it was locked, and there was no key. This was alarming since I had left the door unlocked, with the key in the lock. He rummaged around for a few minutes and found another key to let himself out of the apartment (and us into the apartment).

Together, we tried to figure out what had happened. Jeremy did recall hearing someone fiddling with a lock while I was gone, but he thought it was upstairs or at the neighbor’s apartment since you can hear everything in our building. But now we realized that someone had opened our door, removed the key, turned the lock from the outside, and then taken the key.

Our first impulse was to ask the doorman (bowab). He claimed to not know anything about the missing key.

Jeremy didn’t believe him at first. But after a moment, I realized that a more likely suspect was the neighbor I had just been chatting with. Here’s why: the other night, we were all over at her house having a chat. I left early (just before yansoon was served) to get Miriam to bed. While I was giving her a bath, the neighbor surprised me by walking right into the bathroom where I was. She left me a cup of yansoon and then told me that I shouldn’t leave the door unlocked.

So I stepped across the hall and asked our dear neighbor if she had our key. She seemed to recall something she had forgotten and said that yes, she had our key. While Miriam and I were at her house chatting with her sister, she had stepped out briefly to lock our door for us (she didn’t know Jeremy was home).

We were so glad to have that mystery cleared up. We were all ready to change our locks and everything. It’s nice to have neighbors who are concerned about our security, even if it seems like they’re more concerned about it than we are!

Yansoon and Pepsi

2007-05-12T16:40:00.000+03:00

Yansoon and Pepsi are my best friends.

At times, being a Mormon in the Middle East means offending people. It’s not that any of our major doctrines are especially offensive to Arabs, or even that they come up in casual conversation.

The problem is that we don’t drink coffee or tea. And what is the first question asked when you make a new acquaintance? An offer for coffee or tea.

That’s why yansoon and Pepsi are my best friends. By the time I’ve turned down coffee and tea, those are basically the only two remaining alternatives. I don’t even bother mentioning that in America, as a rule, I don’t drink caffeinated beverages . Among coffee, tea, and Pepsi, the latter is the lesser of all evils.

Yansoon is another acceptable beverage. In Damascus, its functional equivalent was zuhurat. It’s a simple herbal (?) tea that tastes vaguely like licorice.

Today, I turned down an offer of coffee or tea from different neighbors four times, had two cups of yansoon, and almost had a third. I guess it’s a good thing I like it.

My Adventures in Syria: Welcome (back) to Sham

2007-05-07T23:54:00.000+03:00

My Adventures in Syria: Welcome (back) to Sham

Overheard

2007-05-07T23:36:00.000+03:00

The situation of us arriving in Jordan, settling in our apartment, and then immediately traveling to Syria led to Jeremy making the following remark on Monday evening:

“Let’s go [do some errands] so we can come back, unpack, and then pack.”

Knowns and unknowns

2007-05-07T19:19:00.000+03:00

When you’re renting an apartment in the Middle East, a lot of consideration has to be given to the “knowns.” What I mean is, there are so many things that can go terribly wrong in an apartment or its location, and so anything you know for sure about the place you’re thinking about living in carries a lot of weight when you make your decision.

We had planned on staying in the same apartment we did at the beginning of last summer. There were a few things we didn’t like about it, but on the other hand, it was an absolute “known.” We knew all its strengths, all its faults, and in the end, it was a net positive. But when we contacted the landlord a few months ago, they said it was rented, although they weren’t sure when the woman tenant was leaving.

So we wrote an email to the lady who was living there at the time to see what her plans were. She told us she’d be there until the end of August. That made it impossible for us to rent that apartment. But she also told us that she had looked at another apartment near the University of Jordan that at the time had not been available. If it had been available, she informed us, she would have taken it.

That was a good enough recommendation for us. We contacted that landlady by email and basically asked to rent the apartment for the whole summer. We worked out all the arrangements ahead of time. The only “unknown” at that point was the apartment’s exact location. The landlady told us the general area, and also that it was just a 5-minute walk to the university. We decided that was good enough information for now and that we’d find out exactly where it was upon arrival in Jordan.

When we got here on Sunday evening, we had the airport taxi guy call our landlady on his cell phone. She gave him directions to what we assumed was our apartment. With increasing concern, we watched as the taxi driver drove toward the university (which we thought was a good thing at first), and then drove farther and farther away from it. Eventually, we realized that it was no longer even a 5-minute drive to the university, much less a 5-minute walk.

We finally reached our destination: a nice villa in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. At this point, the landlady came walking out of the house and told us that she would take us to the apartment. This was met with great relief by Jeremy and me, since we thought we’d been deceived as to the apartment’s location.

Eventually, we made it to our own apartment. It is indeed a 5-minute walk to the university, at least to the gates. From there, it’s probably another 10 minutes to the Language Center. The nice thing is that we don’t have to cross the major street to get there. Last year, the only way to cross over to the university was on a huge pedestrian overpass that made using the stroller almost impossible.

In other news, it basically feels like we never left Jordan. But I’m hoping that as soon as we visit Abdoun Circle and see that the construction is finally completed, that will be proof that time has actually passed since our last visit.

First words

2007-05-07T19:16:00.000+03:00

I think half of Miriam’s discourse these days consists of two phrases: “yellow car” and “beep beep.”

The first time she saw a taxi, she started making a police siren sound. It took me a moment to figure out that she was referring the taxi in front of us - she thought it was a police car because of the lighted yellow sign on its roof.

We’re trying to teach her the word “taxi.” But I think the "beep beep" problem is only going to get worse.

Facts and figures

2007-05-06T19:03:00.000+03:00

Here are some facts and figures for our journey from Tucson to Jordan.

Scheduled departure time of our JetBlue flight from Tucson to New York City: 11.59pm.

Approximate number of minutes after arrival at the Tucson airport that Miriam’s sippy cup of milk spilled all over our carry-on: 5.

Flight delayed by: 30 minutes.

Hours of sleep received by Miriam: 2.5

by Jeremy & Bridget: 1.

Number of unopened packages of baby wipes left onboard the airplane, unwittingly: 1.

Hours of layover in NYC: 16.

Number of maps of the system posted in useful areas in the NY subway: maybe 2.

Frustration level at lack of tourist-friendly hints on the NY subway system maps: Pretty darn high at times.

Between NYC and Moscow, who wins, hands down, for an elegant, functional, punctual, user-friendly, non-urine-soaked subway system: Moscow!

Sights seen in NYC: Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, Wall Street, Central Park, 5th Ave, and Jeremy’s brother, Dave.

Amount of love we have for US Airways after they directed us to the wrong terminal at JFK and we had to haul all our luggage on a few superfluous trips on the lazily slow and awkwardly located terminal train: just about none.

Amount of love we have for Royal Jordanian, on account of their not making constant announcements throughout the flight and having lots of empty seats: tons.

How much time it took after arriving in the country to be asked what we are paying for rent here in Jordan: 5 minutes (seriously!).

How it feels to be back in Jordan: wonderful.

{Sorry, kids: pictures are going to have to wait until we have our own connection. It just takes too long at an internet cafe.}

FYI

2007-04-08T07:19:00.000+03:00

Stay tuned for My Adventures in Jordan 2: With a Vengeance. Coming May 2007.

Jordan 2006 Web Album

2007-03-19T21:32:00.000+02:00

Jordan

If you're interested in seeing more photos from our summer in Jordan, here's a link to the Google Web Album.

Still more adventures

2006-10-05T06:37:00.000+03:00

My Adventures in Tucson is up and running. See you there!

A fitting farewell

2006-10-04T19:59:00.000+03:00

We were treated to this sight on our way to the airport. Ah, Jordan. What will we do without the mirth you so daily provided?

Two Miriams

2006-10-04T19:33:00.000+03:00

You know how in the movies, they always show old people pinching little kids' cheeks, and the kids hate it? Yeah. Well, I had never seen that actually happen in real life and I figured it was just one of those things that Hollywood would have us think happened all the time, but it really doesn't (kind of like how in the movies, babies are born a) without getting blood everywhere and b) looking like they're already three weeks old). (Sorry, I couldn't think of a better example right now.)

Well, it turns out that I was wrong. The cheek-pinching does happen in real life, at least in Jordan. Poor Miriam got her cheeks pinched all the time by strangers and friends alike. She didn't seem to mind, or at least, she wasn't able to express her dislike in a recognizable manner.

However, she was able to express her dislike of the manner in which she was treated by our landlady's mother. This lovely lady is also named Miriam. She was always sitting by the ground-floor window of our landlady's apartment (we lived on the second floor). So she could see all of our comings and goings, and we tried to step in and say hello every once in a while.

Whenever baby Miriam came with us to pay our respects, elderly Miriam insisted on holding her. The problem was, she would kind of jostle and bounce her awkwardly, leading to a scene such as you see above. Cheek-pinching was also a favorite activity of hers.

The funny thing was that elderly Miriam never seemed to notice that baby Miriam did not enjoy being pinched, jostled, and bounced. In fact, if we didn't reach out to take our baby away, she probably would have continued pinching, jostling, and bouncing indefinitely.

So next time you see a kid in a movie getting his cheeks pinched by an adult, just remember that this time, Hollywood is telling you the truth!

Back to life

2006-08-29T06:21:00.000+03:00

No, this blog isn't dead quite yet.

For the record, upon returning to the US, it took a whole week to get internet access restored in our home. Not start a brand new account, but get our previous service up and running again. In case anyone is keeping track, it took less than that in Amman to establish a new account. And before you laugh at me for whining about it, keep in mind that we have to re-establish our lives here in Tucson. It is all the worse because this is the anniversary month of when we moved in last year, which means that all the things that need to be renewed, have to be renewed right now. And it is so very much easier to do all that on the internet.

So when I'm done re-establishing our lives, I'll post a few more things here. Stay tuned.

In which I nearly curse

2006-08-17T17:27:00.000+03:00

Let's go back in time almost 48 hours and talk about leaving Jordan. No, not a lovely reminiscence post, but a post about physically exiting the country.

As you may recall, there are some funky carry-on restrictions these days. We had no idea what we would be allowed to take on the plane in Amman. We were only hoping it would be more than a passport. A friend of ours who left the day before us called and said that some people were getting carry-on suitcases past the boarding agents and other people weren't. Lovely, because that's just what I need - more uncertainty, worry, and stress at 3 am in the airport.

Jeremy and I adopted a strategy we picked up in Russia: don't ask, don't tell. We walked up to the check-in counter, first in line for one of the two agents on duty. Jeremy calmly checked us in, not saying anything about carry-ons or asking if they were allowed. When the agent was finished with us, we just walked away discreetly with our carry-on items. There were a few other students on the same flight as us and some of them made the mistake of asking what the policy was. They didn't get to carry their bags on, or at least not as many as they had hoped.

I thought we were home free at this point, but I was wrong. The passport control agent stamped Jeremy through but directed Miriam and me to the accounting desk, apparently to pay some kind of fine. It turns out that the neighborhood police station had incorrectly recorded the date of our registration in our passports as May 3rd instead of May 30th, meaning that to the passport agents, it appeared we had overstayed our visa by a few weeks.

Jeremy tried to make the officer see reason, pointing out, among other things: 1) why would Miriam and I go to the police station to register on the same day we arrived in Jordan, when we are allowed thirty days to do so? And anyway, 2) why would we go separately from Jeremy? All the anecdotal evidence pointed to the date of May 3rd being a clerical error, but it was maktub, so what could we do?

It took two hours, 54 JDs, and the entire passport control staff to sort everything out. I'm still quite sore aout the 54 JD part, and I don't really want to talk about it (that's where the cursing might come in). But Jeremy went down fighting, and I'm planning on writing Jordan (I haven't decided exactly who, yet. The Queen, maybe?) a nastygram.

Jeremy mentioned later that he was glad this situation arose in Jordan, and not Syria, at least, because Jordan has more nizaam (order). But in my opinion, it was the Jordanian passport officers' very insistence on nizaam that hurt us. In Syria, I honestly believe they would have discussed it for a while and then just waved us through. Stuff like that happened all the time when we were there.

So passport guys: good on you for sticking to your guns on this one. Just know that we were right and you were wrong. I hope you put our 54 JDs to good use, like putting up a few more No Smoking signs in the terminal that can be ignored.

The good news is that we stopped by Cosmo the day we left and miraculously, the Haribo rack had reappeared, fully stocked. Hmm, the cease-fire did start on Monday...Coincidence? I think not.

Remedial parenting

2006-08-17T03:06:00.000+03:00

I might need to ask a trusted American friend to teach me how to be an American mother. We haven't been back in the States for even 10 hours and I'm already feeling like a fish out of water when it comes to handling Miriam in public.

We went to a casual restaurant for dinner with Jeremy's brother and during the course of the meal, Miriam wandered off to visit with some small children at another table. In Jordan, this is no big deal, at all. In fact, the mother of the children would probably play with Miriam and invite us all over to sit with them. They're just that friendly and accepting of other people's children.

But this American mom looked at me a little strangely as I continued eating my dinner, keeping my eye on Miriam at the same time. I asked Dave (Jeremy's brother) if it was abnormal for Miriam to be doing that, and he said that in his opinion, it probably was a little strange.

So I kept Miriam fairly corralled for the rest of dinner. Now I don't know how to act with Miriam! I'm afraid everything I do will be wrong, or not the "American way." And so far, I much prefer the Arab way. I hope I can find a happy medium soon before I get too afraid to take Miriam out of the house!