Old shoes, new country.

So it's been over a week. Way over a week. Almost two. And I still don't know what to say. I've been meaning to write, but I... haven't.

Readjustment has been weird. It's not as hard as I expected it to be, but then again, I was never really sure what to expect. Things have been more surprising than appalling. I expected disdain for American culture, a longing for Jordanian culture, trouble shifting lifestyles. All of that happened, to some extent or another, but thankfully not as radically as I had imagined.

My favorite reintegration anecdote is from my time in the London airport. After getting off the plane, getting new boarding passes because American Airlines didn't think the ones Royal Jordanian printed were good enough, getting through another layer of security and into a new part of the terminal, I stopped to go to the bathroom. In Jordan, the pipes are too small to handle toilet paper - so you don't flush it down, you throw it in a trash can next to the toilet. As I walked up to the bathroom, I got so excited about throwing the toilet paper in the toilet. For the first time in four months! When I was in the stall, I got excited about the fact that there were not one, but TWO rolls of toilet paper. It was wonderful.

Following that, I waited around for an hour in the airport, waited around on the plane for an hour because of mechanical problems, and set off for New York. According to the flight tracker, we were somewhere between Iceland and Greenland when I realized...

I threw the toilet paper in the trash can. Four months sure change a lot.

Money was one of the first weird things. I always keep a twenty hidden in my wallet, and for most of the semester, I kept an American dime in the coin pocket. About the bill: it's so LONG. And green. Boring. And thick-feeling. Weird all-around. And the coin? Oh my gosh. The Jordanian penny is bigger than an American quarter. American coins feel like tiddlywinks.

Clothing is another big one. Maybe this topic has been the strangest for me so far. It's a struggle to look at American summer clothing with a Jordanian mindset. Seriously, shorts? Ladies, I've seen plenty of bathing suits that cover more skin. And don't even get me started on tank tops. Tube tops? I shudder. Guys' clothing isn't so much a problem., and I'm thankful for that. I'm wearing skirts these days, because humidity is way too much to handle but I'm still anxious to ensure that my knees are covered. I feel okay about being stodgy with my sweaters - at least I'm comfortable.

Okay, so that humidity. Ohmygoodness it's wet here. I like it and I hate it. The rains are wonderful (it rained for the first two or three days that I was home; glorious), but the humidity in the non-raining times is oppressive. Extremely so. I walked outside last Sunday morning to get the paper before church, and I came back in sweating. At eight in the morning. I'm not even sure whether it was sweat; it may have just been water in the air that condensed on my skin. Gross. The torrential rain that came an hour later felt incredibly relieving after that sticky weight. Bleagh. I've made a short pro/con list of good and bad things about American weather.

Pros: My hair is pleasingly curly. I don't have to use lip balm. Or hand lotion, come to think of it. I get to watch (and feel and hear and smell) the rain. And the lightning and the thunder. Things are greeeeeeeen, everything green, trees everywhere, even my dying lawn looks green. Emerald City for sure.

Cons: I feel like I should shower twice a day just to get the stick off my skin. Being indoors feels preferable to outdoors, although I suppose that's kind of how it was in Jordan, too. Wet heat somehow just feels hotter than dry heat.

I guess it's easy to get used to life in America because... I'm used to it. This is normal for me. At the end of every semester, I drive down interstates 95 and 85 to get from Richmond to Raleigh. I go to church on Sunday and spend the whole morning giving and receiving warm welcome-homes. I show up at my favorite restaurants to eat my favorite foods and drive all around the streets I love. It's great. I've done it three other times. Granted, nearly a full day of air travel is a smidgen more than a two-and-a-half hour drive. But somehow it doesn't feel a whole lot different.

I wish I could give you something more complete. I seem to miss Jordan more every day. The signs here are only in English. There are few subtitles on television, but when I see them, they're all in - you guessed it - English. There are lots of commercials for car dealerships and Walmart, but no commercials for Sayidaty magazine and Dettol soap. I've found out that I stink at making Nescafe on my own. Apparently I need a maid to do it.

It feels like I was gone for a year, and it feels like I was gone for a second. On January 24th, the day that I left the US, I had a customary post-church Kick'n Chicken Wrap (aforementioned favorite food) from Buffalo's (aforementioned favorite restaurant) with Thomas. So where was I at noon on my first full day back in the US? You know where. Like I'd never even left. Sometimes things can seem so seamless. I'm blending in.

But I'm not. Those new shoes from the beginning of the semester? They're showing their age. Jordan has dust storms instead of rainstorms, so I don't have to worry about mud. Just the dust. Lots of dust. Some of it is pretty ancient dust - stuff that's been floating around places like Jerash, Umm Qais, and Amman's Roman Coliseum. There's also the sand, from Petra and Wadi Mujib but most importantly from Wadi Rum. Right after I got back from Wadi Rum, the soles of my shoes were stained a brilliant red from Wadi Rum's beautiful sand. They've since faded closer to brown, but I can see the remnants of Wadi Rum all the same.

The bottom trim is scruffed up, and some of the rubber is falling off. They laces look appropriately dirty. I've worn through the layer of white canvas at the inside of the heels and even worn through the rubber below that. My favorite is the blood stain on the right heel. It came from that wonderful, wonderful Wadi Feid experience. A battle scar, if you will. These shoes have been through a lot. I've been through a lot. And I'm still wearing these shoes here in the US. When I put them on, I see the colors - the black that used to be a lot blacker, the tannish rubber that used to be bright white - and I think of Jordan. I think of how far I came in four months.

It's been a wonderful ride. Thanks for reading.

With love from the USA,

Sarah

The human experience

This is the "About Me" from my Facebook page:

If I could major in The Human Experience with a minor in People I Don't Understand, I would.

I wrote that last summer, during the time I was volunteering at Dorothea Dix - Raleigh's state psychiatric hospital. They have classes there Monday-Friday, two in the morning and two in the afternoon, and I helped out with a music therapy class and an occupational therapy/arts-and-crafts one. Thomas, the music therapist, asked me partway through the summer what I enjoyed the most about volunteering at Dix. I told him that it was being able to see the residents, the people that are so unnoticed. He replied: "It's a whole new facet of the human experience, isn't it?"

Why yes, Thomas. Yes, it is. I latched on to that phrase so tightly. It just seems perfect to describe what I'm interested in. I think everything that I study (and if you haven't heard my laundry list of major and minors, I study a LOT of things) can be traced back to this concept of The Human Experience. Is that why I'm here in Jordan? For sure.

In my opinion, this study of the human experience is by necessity immersion-based. You can't really understand the mentally ill unless you sit in a room and play maracas with them, singing "Just My Imagination" and "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay." In the same way, I wouldn't be able to understand the Arab world without buying falafel sandwiches and talking with taxi drivers, without coughing the dust and seeing the land. (I've been within a stone's throw of Palestine!)

In fact, I still can't understand the Arab world. Not fully. Not ever. Every day I learn something new about Jordanian customs or Muslims' beliefs. I'm still learning how this world works. Perhaps the most beautiful part lies in my inability to fully comprehend it. And perhaps that's why "The Human Experience" isn't really a major - because you can't graduate.

I find it frustrating how difficult it is for me to express all the wonderful things I've seen and heard and done here. My writing is too slow to account for it all, and if I had written more, I would have done less. It's a trade-off I was willing to trade in on. And this is how it ends up: I've learned so much, and there's always going to be more to learn. I've written so much, and yet there's more that I could have written for every post.

As my time here ends (eight and a half hours until my plane takes off!) I can express nothing but gratitude, coupled with amazement. I'm grateful for everything that my host family has done for me - their generosity and love. And I'm amazed at how quickly Jordan has come to feel like home. A home, not THE home, because I can never give up Raleigh and Richmond as homes, either. This is my problem with leaving. I love too much. My host dad asked this evening if I was happy about going home or sad about leaving. I asked if I could be both. He said yes.

I love love love my Thomas and my parents and my family and my friends back in America. But I love my family and friends here, too. Leaving one home means deep sadness, but arriving at the other will drown me in joy. My best consolation in this is to think about the future, when I'm able to return to Jordan. Because I must return. This can't be the end. I'm absolutely terrible at saying goodbye to people/places/things, and I don't think I could handle treating this like a final goodbye. It can't be.

So to my Jordanian family, friends, life: I love you all. I'll miss you all. Your side of the human experience is fascinating, now more familiar than foreign, but still teaching me new things all the time. I won't forget you.

And to the American side of things: I'm coming! I'm about twenty-seven and a half hours away from Raleigh, as long as things go according to plan. (Insha'allah.) (God willing.) Can't wait.

With love to all,

Sarah

PS: I'm planning at least another post, so please don't go away yet. This isn't the end!

Preparing for landing

My classmates and I went through re-entry training on Sunday morning. I enjoyed it mainly because the name made me feel like an astronaut. Mission: America.

This is an excerpt from my journal on Sunday:

"Re-entry training this morning didn't enlighten me as much as I had hoped it would, but it was still good stuff. Yeah, I'll miss the feeling of being special for being (take your pick) blonde/white/American - getting through the gates, all the ahlan w sahlan's. I'll miss forty-cent lunches. Thirty-cent cups of Nescafe. I'll miss being able to get a cab whenever. I'll miss dry air, although my skin and lips won't. I'll miss friends. I'll miss my family. I'll miss short Arabic commercial breaks and cool (maybe only to me) Arabic commercials. I'll miss seeing Arabic script on signs. I'll miss lemon-mint juice. I'll miss super-cheap DVDs and Habibah sweets. I'll miss the fact that there are so many falafel and shawerma stands that you could eat at one every day and not repeat. I'll miss classes. (Read: classmates.) I'll miss the Village. I'll miss everything on Sharia Rainbow. I'll miss how solid the house feels, nestled on the ground floor. I'll miss green mishmish fresh off the tree and zatar manakeesh fresh out of the oven."

To explain all that.

Getting into UJ has always been pretty awkward, as Thomas and my parents can tell you. They have gates, with officials in very classy-looking suit jackets manning them at all times. Technically, students are supposed to swipe their IDs against a magic electronic pad thing (yes, just like West Grace) so that they can go through. Technically. Sometimes if it's really busy, people just keep walking by and it's no problem. Or at the north gate, you can walk in through the vehicle gate and nobody notices. It's weird because the CIEE students have UJ IDs... just not UJ IDs with the magic chip. Bummer. But the guys at the gates smile and let you through because you just look so danged American.

And then everything changed. I guess UJ decided it wasn't safe enough, so they installed gates at the gates. Wait, say what? Yeah. Turnstile things. Not like dinky DC Metro turnstiles. Like these:

http://www.clarke-inst.com/cm/data/clarke/images/upload_images/Type_480_Turnstile__Gate.jpeg

And guess how you get through them? That's right, by swiping your card. So now, instead of sheepishly walking through trying not to be too obvious about one's special treatment, we have to look around while standing in front of the gate, waiting for one of the UJ employees to pull out HIS card to let us through. Bleaghh. So awkward.

A lot of other special treatment, though, is great. Shopkeepers are nice, everybody says, "welcome to Jordan" all the time, and "ahlan w sahlan" (which is pretty much the same thing) (just in Arabic) (in case you couldn't guess) and people just seem so happy to see that an American is visiting their country. And no matter how awkward the UJ gates are, it's something I've gotten used to. I've gotten used to that feeling of awkward privilege. And I'm probably not going to like letting go. I've never been this special before in my life and I probably never will be again.

Forty-cent lunches, thirty-cent cups of Nescafe. Small falafel sandwich from the place up the street from the CIEE office is 25 piastres (Jordanian cents), and a really good shawerma sandwich from behind the building is 65. They raised the price partway through the semester after they remodeled. Yeah, I was mad, too. Nescafe in the Educational Sciences building is only 20 piastres. Hellllo. I won't be able to go back to the world of American pricing. Headed into a Mediterranean or Arabic restaurant, "What? You want FIVE dollars for this food? FIVE? I could buy this for PENNIES in Jordan!" That's going to be a toughie.

Cabs = nice. I miss driving. I miss my car. But I like being able to get anywhere, anytime. I guess I should just move to New York?

Dry air is self-explanatory. I like not being sticky all the time. At least my home in the US has air conditioning. That will be welcomed.

Commercial breaks? Oh, man. For the first few days I was here, that was the only thing I noticed about the television. The commercials were so so so so short. It was wonderful! Of course I've been spoiled by that, and now American commercial breaks will probably seem excruciating.

And I like the commercials themselves, too. This is probably weird. But where else can you hear a literal English-to-Arabic translation of "I Can See Clearly Now"? On the Lipton yellow-label tea commercial, that's where. And I'll always remember "new volume flash mascara - jadeed, min Rimmel London" - accompanied by that slightly awkward-looking woman telling me to "get the London look." The breaks are short, but they're repetitive, and I have these commercials memorized. Love it.

And the Arabic script? Oh, dude. When I first came here, I was stunned at the fact that I saw ENGLISH on the signs. What? What in the world? There was so much more English than I expected there to be. Most signs are bilingual. For the first three months, I read the English and then started trying to sound out the Arabic. During the past month, my brain has somehow switched itself over to reading the Arabic first. It wasn't even a conscious thing. Before, my brain noticed, read, and comprehended the English part before I even saw there was an Arabic portion. Now, it's the other way around. I'm going to miss that. And no, the fact that the Coliseum Deli (in Richmond, on Broad, near Kroger) has its sign in Arabic doesn't count. Not at all.

Lemon-mint juice, there's just no way to explain. No way to explain how good it is. Lovelovelove.

Supercheap DVDs? It's not like I would buy any of this stuff, because it's rampantly illegal, but it's nice to know that if I were into that sort of thing, I could buy five seasons of House and about ten other DVDs for 25JD. (= $35) You know. If I were that type of person.

And Habibah sweets - baklava and knafeh and other delights. If you come to the airport to pick me up, I may or may not have some tasty sugar-soaked sweets to give out. Hint, hint. This stuff makes me so happy that it's almost obscene.

Seriously, I was going to count out all the little food vendors by campus on my hands, but I ran out of fingers.

The Village is the on-campus convenience store and a very-close-to-campus cafe. Sharia (= street) Rainbow has all the best coffee shops and cafes and lovely views of downtown, along with Wild Jordan, which has amazing lemon-mint juice. Full circle. My house is on the bottom floor of a building and you actually have to go downstairs to get to our front door. I've always liked this, and I don't know why. Also, because we're the ground floor we have the garden (patio, yard, et cetera), which conveniently contains both an apricot tree and a mulberry bush. Whoa now! I haven't had any mulberries, but green apricots are amazing. And zatar manakeesh? Just look at the links. It's tasty and delightful and wonderful. Mmm.

These are such random little things, but I thought they were good to share. They were really what came to my mind first, just a whole host of tiny things to appreciate.

So what did I gain from re-entry training?

I'm going to be doing this a lot - reminiscing, talking about how things are in Jordan, what it was like over there, what I did, who I met, this one time, that other time, this and that - and I'm going to sound like a jerk. CIEE advises that others should tell me to shut up if I start rambling about Jordan too long. Feel free.

In a similar vein, if you hear me saying words you don't understand, I'm NOT trying to show off my Arabic abilities. I'm just used to it. Words you may hear:

Anjad?

Mumkin.

Insha'allah.

Alhamdulillah.

Mish moushkila.

Yella!

Keyfak/keyfik.

Bidee/bidak/bidik.

And of course, shukran. I just know I'm going to confuse some poor flight attendant by continually saying "shukran" instead of "thank you." Assifa in advance, American Airlines.

Let's see, what else... we got a lot of cut-and-dried information about how/when we're going to receive final grades (way too long from now, that's when), we were told to renew our driver's licenses and get doctor's appointments.... probably the one tip of the most substance was the VCR effect. That's what Allison - our program director - called it. Stewart, one of the other (younger) employees, edited the slide and retitled it the Tivo effect. The basic idea:

I have life in America. I go to Jordan. I press pause on America. I come back to America. I press play. OH WHOA WHAT HAPPENED WHY AREN'T THINGS LIKE THEY USED TO BE?

And it goes the other way, too. You have life in America, a life in which I'm somehow involved. I go to Jordan. You press pause on me. I come back to America. You press play. OH WHOA WHAT HAPPENED WHY ISN'T SHE LIKE SHE USED TO BE?

Watch out.

I really have no idea how it'll be, going back. Re-entry training didn't give me anything definite. It confirmed and elaborated on the challenges that I'm going to face, but I don't know how those challenges are going to sort themselves out. So, here goes nothing...

T minus 49 hours until liftoff.

Let's get political

Just this once.

One of my professors shared this anecdote about September 11th. I may get a few details wrong, but he was sitting in some pub or restaurant in England and saw it on the news. His first thought: I hope it wasn't a Muslim.

So when I saw the headline about an attempted car bombing in Times Square, my first thought was: I hope it's not an Arab. I hope it's not a Muslim. I hope it's some stupid white supremacist. Please.

Why? Because Arabs and Muslims don't need any more bad press.

This had been in my mind since the bomb attempt, but I really felt the desire to write about it after doing some reading for my America & the Arabs class the other day. This quotation is from America and Political Islam, by Fawaz A. Gerges, published by Cambridge University Press, in 1999.

"The equation of Islam with "terrorism" has done considerable damage to the image of Muslims in the United States, thus constraining U.S. policy makers from pursuing an accommodationist policy toward Islamists. Several polls conducted in the 1990s clearly show that Americans' images of Islam and Muslims can be dramatically affected by the latest headlines, particularly with respect to suspicions about terrorism. For instance, a poll conducted by coincidence on the very day of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing revealed a sharp increase in negative attitudes toward Muslims. Afterward it became clear that this bombing was not related to Islamist terrorism, and subsequent polls showed a steady, statistically significant increase in "favorable" attitudes toward Muslims on a number of key issues."

I'm tired of this. That we blame terrorist acts on Muslims and Arabs, and ignorance reigns. Last fall, after mentioning to somebody that I was planning on studying in the Middle East, he informed me that it was a land full of - his exact words here - "Looney Tunes." Disgraceful.

But instead of whining about American nearsightedness, let me rave about Arab kindness. I've never lived among more welcoming people than those here. Even strangers. This is a fairly standard taxi conversation upon hailing a cab outside the university.

Driver: Tehke 'arabe? (Do you speak Arabic?)

Me: Shway shway. (A little.)

Driver: Tedroosee fee al jaame'a? (Do you study at the university?)

Me: Na'am. (Yes.)

Driver: Shu tedroosee? (What do you study?)

Me: Al lugha al 'arabiya. (Arabic language.)

Driver: Min wen inti? (Where are you from?)

Me: Amreeka. (America.)

Driver: [Shifting here into very loud and slightly broken English.] Aaamerrriiiikkaaa! Goood! Gooood!

Me: [Blushing.]

Driver: American people gooood. American government - baaad. Bad. Like Obama? Yes? Bush baaaaad. Obama good. [Repeat as desired.]

I love it. Really, I do. Even if it's the same conversation over and over - usually, after this, a driver will proceed into an Arabic lesson, trying to get me to speak as much as I can - it's so much fun to hear. Granted, I've never ridden in a cab in America, but I don't think they're as much fun as the ones here. (Disclaimer: I rode in a cab from my house to the Amtrak station when I was about seven, but we had to call and book it, and it was a minivan. Doesn't count.)

And those are just taxi drivers. Shopkeepers, waiters, everybody. And professors? Oh yes. My professors at UJ this semester have been so kind. They genuinely value their students, which sadly enough isn't totally commonplace... but makes it all the more special. I can't thank Dr. Zubi and Professor Amjad enough for their teaching.

They did nice things for us: Amjad got us on field trips to the zoo, Roman ruins, and a delightful falafel place (although I was too sick to go to that one). And Dr. Zubi wanted to take us on a class field trip to a refugee camp. It was never approved, for what I'm sure were very worthy legalish reasons, but would have been amazing.

They said nice things about us: Dr. Zubi told us that his afternoon CIEE lectures were a bright spot on his day. And Amjad seemed genuinely sad when our Arabic classes ended last week. Beyond that, his wife made a farewell cake for us. Deeeelicccccioussss. Chocolate a cream and fruit and it all looked pretty and professional and wonderful. Earlier in the semester he had gotten somebody to take a group picture of our class on his phone. He had printed out the photo and taped it to the top of the cake box. That's caring.

And my family? What can I say? They're my family, and I mean it. Humorous anecdote, I was once telling a Jordanian friend some story about my family (the one from back home), and I referred to it as usrati al-amreekiya - my American family. She asked, tenderly, "Are you adopted?" Confused, for a second, I explained. You see, I have usra urduniya o usra amreekiya - a Jordanian family and an American one. I want to write about my family some other time, because, you see, there's just too much to say.

So if you, any of you, ever want to talk to me about Arabs, Muslims, the history of the Transjordanian Mandate, the history of occupied Palestine, current events, car bombers, fundamentalists, or anything like that, I'll be thrilled. I can tell you about the cool conversations I've had with taxi drivers and explain that they don't want to bomb your churches. I can show you a picture of my Jordanian nieces and talk to you about how they're going to grow up - comfortable, loved, and literate. I can tell you all about my life in the Middle East and how amazing it was.

By chance, as I was thinking about writing this, my sister showed me this Youtube video:

... the link to which I cannot readily find. But I'll put it up as soon as I search it out. It's the sort of thing I could envision Terry using in the 9:00 service. Or the sort of thing that I would have watched in INTL210 (International Social Justice) with Dr. Wood. Good stuff.

To sum up? Osama, Saddam, and a whole host of their friends - the grainy faces in the newspaper photos - are Arabs and Muslims. But so are the people in my host family, so are my professors, so are my friends.

No CNN, but Fox News?

I'm writing this from home because blogspot is blocked in TAGKS - the Talal Abu-Ghazaleh Knowledge Society - the place with the free internet, nice facilities, copying and printing, and air conditioning only a short walk from campus. Also known as the Americans' hangout. In fact, a lot of things are blocked there. I found that out on my first day using their internet, when a friend sent me a link to something on cracked.com. Nope. Can't do that. I explored a bit today to find out what was blocked and what wasn't, and there are some surprising results.

News sources, unblocked:

MSNBC

CNBC

Fox News

Washington Post

Huffington Post

New York Times

Drudge Report

ABC

News sources, blocked:

CNN

BBC

NBC

CBS

I wonder what those four major networks did to bother the folks at TAGKS. You'd think that the stuff on some of the aforementioned unblocked sites would be a little more controversial than NBC. Note that all the newspapers are unblocked - I also checked Raleigh's N&O and the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

Webcomics and general internet timewasters, unblocked:

Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal

Digg (although a good number of its links don't work)

Texts From Last Night

Fark

Webcomics and general internet timewasters, blocked:

xkcd

Cracked

FML

Postsecret

Qwantz

Youtube

Sporcle

I can't figure out what makes xkcd more problematic than, say, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, but so it goes. And what's wrong with some friendly dinosaurs? For those who follow the FML spinoffs, lmylife and mylifeisaverage are in the clear.

Internet video, unblocked:

southparkx.net

surfthechannel

Internet video, blocked:

Youtube

Hulu

South Park Studios

Note the relative legitimacy of those websites. I was, in fact, surprised when southparkx was still available - I guess there are always a few holes. One of my friends reads a column that is apparently quite controversial in nature. She can't go directly to its website, but she can look up a newspaper that runs the column and access it that way. Crafty.

As for Youtube, I've heard that it's blocked because of bandwidth issues because, let's face it, if it weren't blocked I'd have seen way more Carl Sagan remixes and one-minute videos of cats doing silly things.

Now, take note that this list is only from today. I've definitely read a BBC story that my friend posted a link to on Facebook. Another friend and I sporcled on her laptop. And I could swear that I saw a Jordanian pre-med watching some educational Youtube video a few months ago. Once - just once - Facebook was blocked. It was the week of my program's spring break, and I was only in TAGKS to register for fall classes. (If you want to know, I have the best schedule ever.) Wanting to post something to the effect of, "Sarah Bruce is all registered for classes, yay!" I tried to log on to Facebook, only to be... denied.

Larger significance of all this? I don't know if there is any. There's no way for me to find out exactly why any one website is blocked, or why any other one isn't. I can only imagine what makes Texts From Last Night safe while FML isn't. I don't know what CBS did to get itself blocked, or what ABC did to remain in TAGKS' good graces. It's just that this trip has been my first foray into the world of internet censorship, and I find it very very interesting.

Okay, "censorship" may be too broad a word. It has dirty implications. This is more like how Enloe blocked Facebook (so many proxy sites that it didn't matter) than how China wants to censor Google search results (foiled, China, foiled indeed). But it's fascinating, nonetheless. I'd say that the inconvenience of having to wait until I get home to check xkcd is outweighed by the fun I had today thinking up websites to check.

Other fun? The Westboro Baptist Church's website is blocked. The websites for New World and Buffalo's were both unblocked today, although I could swear one of them was blocked just last week. And all the fast-food chains I checked were unblocked, including Starbucks, which we all know is part of the Zionist conspiracy. Yay.

Two weeks away

(Two weeks away was really yesterday. Pretend that I posted this then. I wrote it while on a bus to/from Aqaba, but because the bus didn't get in until 2 AM, this hasn't gotten up until now.)

So here I am again, two weeks away - in the other direction. I'm two weeks away from the US. Crazy, right?

It's hard for me to believe that it's coming so close, and so quickly. Days are flying past me. I'm already completely done with one of my classes (three to go). Last week, I had my colloquial oral/presentation/skit exam on Monday, and colloquial written exam on Wednesday. Bam! Done. Also on Wednesday, my formal Arabic listening exam, followed by a Thursday oral presentation. All that's left in the written exam for formal Arabic on Sunday, and then my Arabic is DONE for the semester. Well, classroom Arabic. I'll still keep using my spoken Arabic until I step off my Royal Jordanian flight in Heathrow.

From Arabic on out, my schedule gets pretty blank. My Area Studies classes that week are cancelled on account of teacher absence. Remaining obligations: farewell dinner Wednesday evening. Cultural re-entry training Sunday (the 16th) morning. Arabic post-test Sunday afternoon. Area Studies finals Monday and Wednesday afternoons, and... khallas. Done. I fly out Friday around noon and I get back to the US very very very late on Friday.

Wow.

But beyond the dates and the exams, what does "two weeks away" really mean?

It means I need to pack. There was some free space in my suitcases on the way over here, but I may need to do some serious maneuvering to fit everything in for the way back. Gifts take up space. (After purchasing gifts for no less than twenty people/couples/families yesterday, I know this to be a fact.) (And no, that was neither the beginning nor the end of my gift shopping.) Fortunately, CIEE runs a clothing drive at the end of the semester for just this reason. Also because most detergents here contain bleach and tear up clothes, but, anyway. It's a good thing all around. The clothing we donate goes to local refugee camps. And when I need to buy new clothes in the US, my consumption will stimulate the economy. Zing!

Two weeks away also means that I need to shift my cultural mindset, and quickly. I guess this is why we have re-entry training next week. Some of my friends are extremely worried about what returning to the US will be like. Some aren't worried at all. I'm in the "wait and see" camp - assuming that the adjustment will be big, but not stressing myself out over what form it will take.

And what else? Two weeks away means that I need to start saying goodbye to things here. Maybe exiting will be harder than re-entering; I don't know. Maybe it won't be too hard to go back to my American life, but I'm sure that it will be hard to leave my Jordanian one. I'll keep you updated on these last two bits as they develop. Because from here, I can't foresee at all how they're going to turn out.

We'll see in two weeks.

Wadi Rum, part three: camels

Camels!

We got up the next morning, ate breakfast, and packed our stuff. It was a miracle! The camels had multiplied in the night, from three to ninety-ish! Wow! The buses were outside waiting for us, so we loaded all our backpacks onto the buses and loaded ourselves onto the camels. Okay, really, other people (read: people who know what they're doing around camels) loaded us onto the animals.

How to get on a camel:

1. Select an appropriately-sized camel. Well, okay, they're all huge, so just pick one that looks about right for you. As we were all milling about post-bus, post-sunscreen, pre-camel, one of the herders came up and directed us to our camels. He pulled Lauren, Kim, and me over to a three-camel train, and organized us in height order.

2. Swing leg over camel's back - the camels in our part of the world are the one-hump kind - and try to situate yourself over the saddle in what you can only hope is a graceful manner.

3. Hold on to the saddle in front of you.

4. Up. If you're lucky, you've already been expecting it. If you're not, well, there's a little bit of awkward flailing, but it's all good.

We started out as pack leaders, and I remembered the previous day's race. Let me just say: atop a camel, I had absolutely none of the same "c'mon let's pass 'em, whoooooo boy!" feelings from the day before. But more on that later.

This was at the very beginning of the ride. Note the horizon? It's REALLY hard to take photographs from a camel. We didn't have to worry about holding reins because our camels were linked together and a guide was leading the front camel. But still - the camel is a lot for two hands to manage. I had my cell phone in my right back pocket, my camera in my left back pocket - not a really secure place, but the best I had - and they had given us water bottles right before we left. So to summarize... right hand occasionally checking cell phone pocket. Left hand frequently checking camera pocket. Both hands awkwardly hugging water bottle and saddle at the same time, although I would have preferred to have both hands free to embrace the saddle. As big and secure as the camels look, it feels pretty precarious from the top.

Omnomnom. Our camels had the munchies. Lauren's camel, being the lead, got to eat all the scrubby bushes that he wanted. The other two camels were a little jealous. Because of the way that they were roped together, once Camel #1 decided he was done eating, the whole group had to move on, and Camels #2 and #3 could only hope to get a passing munch. Poor things.

I wish I had a photo that showed the full size of our group - it was pretty dang impressive.

More munchies. The guy in that photo is our guide. He led the camels at first, but eventually decided to give the rein (singular, yes, it was really just a rope) to Lauren, and he walked by our side. By the third leg of the journey, some of the students had abdicated their camels, so he hopped up on one of the spare camels. It was probably a lot more pleasant for him that way.

This is a photo from our first stop. We got tea! In case it wasn't evident from my other posts this semester, tea is a huge cultural thing. We got it at the bottom of waterfall #11 in Wadi Feid and upon reaching the truck. We were given tea partway through the 4x4 tour. There's a lot of tea. And even though it was warm out, the only tea they ever serve is piping hot, like oh-man-I-can't-hold-the-glass hot. Yet somehow it's still refreshing. Magical.

One other thing about this photo: yes, that is a hitching post. Wild West?

A photo from the second stop. (I like the little local boy resting in the shade of the camel, completely unfazed by the fact that it could smush him at any moment.) You'll note that I abandoned my efforts at taking photographs from on top of the camel. As the day wore on, either our camels or our guide decided they would like to trot, thank you very much, and proceeded to do just that.

Ow.

Not fun times. Not fun times at all. This would be why I didn't want to race. The next day (or two) (or three) we all looked pretty pathetic around campus. There was a very classy moment when I almost fell down after trying to stand up from the table in the cafeteria. It huuuurts. Camel #3 was worse than Camel #2. How do I know? We rotated for the second leg of the trip. Kim wanted to steer the camels, so we shuffled. While trotting, thinking about how I was about to fall out of my saddle because Camel #3 had such a skinny back, I could see Lauren in front of me on Camel #2 and felt very jealous of his wide, comfortable-looking back. Besides that, I already considered Camel #2 to be my camel.

I was happy when we switched back for the third leg. Let's just say that if Goldilocks were in Wadi Rum, she would have picked Camel #2. We later found out that his name is Feynan. I forgot the other two camels' names, because obviously they were of no importance compared to Feynan. He's my bud. Trotting still wasn't a blast, but at least I felt a little safer on his back.

And the very end of our ride. How to get off a camel:

1. Enjoy the fact that you're not on the first camel. They go down in order.

2. Hold on, it could happen at any moment.

3. Drop, thump.

4. No, not yet.

5. Drop, thump, again. It's a two-part thing. Beware of the camel that decides, halfway down, that it doesn't want to be down. Tricksy.

6. Swing leg over and get off, much in the same manner as getting done. Success!

I was trying to take a very covert and sneaky photograph of our guide as he was walking away at the end. Too bad he noticed. (I still like the picture.) After this, we went into the Wadi Rum Visitors Center to watch a short film about Wadi Rum and eat lunch. I really don't know where the camels or the guides went, but when I came out after lunch to fill a bottle with sand, they were gone. We trudged back to the buses in complete exhaustion, and I can hardly remember most of the ride home.

Overall? Such a wonderful weekend. If you ever get a chance to ride a camel, and I mean really ride, not just a petting zoo or a state fair kind of thing, go for it. They're really quite sweet - and fluffy on top.

Wadi Rum, part two: camp

I left off at sunset. After watching the sky dim and noting our hunger, we headed over to our camp. "Captain's Desert Camp." Seafaring vessel not included.

I definitely had some middle-school youth group retreat flashbacks. Once we all got into the camp, Ahmed (CIEE employee) had us gather in a big group, and he stood at the front with a sheet of paper in his hands, explaining that we were to sleep two to a tent, girls in these tents, guys in those tents, et cetera, et cetera. My friend Katy and I went and grabbed tent 15, put our stuff down, and got ready for dinner.

Mmm. Dinner. It was a fairly simple buffet deal. But tasty. I'm going to miss kebab when I go back to the States... among a whole list of other delicious foods. But I digress. My friends and I hung around that area for a few more hours, chatting on the low couches and looking over at the fire. We spent a long time trading riddles and trying to figure them out together.

(A man walks into a restaurant and orders albatross soup. He tastes one spoonful, gets up, leaves, and kills himself. What happened?)

After staying up and hanging out for a few more hours, most of my friends went to bed. I did not - for a variety of reasons. The biggest, stars. I grew up in the suburbs, I go to college in a city, and I live right now in an even bigger city. I miss stars. Thinking about my trip to Wadi Rum, one of the parts that I most looked forward to was seeing stars in a completely dark place. How wonderful would that be?

Well. I forgot about clouds. Of which there were a few. And the moon, which is surprisingly bright. I guess the city lights dim that out, too. More than that, though, was the fact that we weren't staying in the sort of "camp" that I expected. Our tents had beds in them. With pillows and sheets. There were bathrooms, including showers, and the fact that there were bathrooms necessitated that there be lights outside to lead one toward the bathrooms. Even in what you think might be the middle of nowhere, there are still so many lights.

I did end up lying in the sand for a little while in the middle of an open space in the camp area. There were a few other people who had the same intentions as me, and we spent a while wandering around the camp or just sitting by the fire. The fire was probably the second most interesting part of the evening in the camp. It was very quiet, very warm, and very peaceful. Only a few other people were there - an American classmate and a few local Arabs. We didn't really speak to one another. We just... sat. Or watched. Or something. I don't think I would be able to recognize them, by day or by night, but it seemed like they belonged where they were, exactly where they were, sitting by the edge of that fire. Maybe they were the proprietors of the hotel, or night watchmen of sorts - I don't know. But they belonged, as if they were the essence of Wadi Rum, and I felt privileged to be an observer.

Hoping that there would be more starshine outside the camp, I wandered out. Just a hundred feet, maybe, to see if it would make a difference. (Some, but not enough.) As I was standing at the sign outside the camp and thinking of going back, a figure walked toward me. Good/bad? I don't know. Tense. He had very broken English, and I of course had very broken Arabic, but we managed to communicate that he was a local camel herder hanging out for the night before our group's ride the next day. He led me over to where three camels were sitting, awake. (I have something in common with camels.) This was without a doubt the most interesting part of the night.

Although I was hesitant at first, he showed me how to introduce myself to the camel and how to pet it. I know I've heard that camels can bite and spit and do spiteful things, but they were just so sweet. My herder friend had me put my hand at its mouth, an action that was returned with what I can only describe as nuzzling. After that, I petted their noses and the tops of their heads. (Surprisingly fluffy.) It was so, so, so amazing. I got to pet all three of the camels that he had out there, and when I left to go back to camp, he shook my hand and said that his name was Ibrahim.

Weird. Just a few minutes before, I had thinking about how he looked like a picture-Bible Abraham. Long robe, long hair, crooked teeth, camels. How cool is that? After hanging with Ibrahim and his camels, I decided to turn in for the night. The camels were surprisingly soft, the beds were surprisingly warm, and I slept well.

Coming up in part three: camel ride.

Wadi Rum, part one: 4x4s

So, ever heard of this Wadi Rum thing? It's only the second-most-well-known place in Jordan. (Right after that Petra thing.) CIEE, which offers its students a number of trips to its students throughout the semester, gave each of us a choice between two overnights: Petra or Wadi Rum. Petra, for those of you - okay, almost all of you - who haven't been there, is easy to do on one's own. You can transport yourself there, find your own lodgings (Wadi Musa, the town outside Petra, is pretty much just a string of hotels, restaurants, and convenience stores), and be your own guide. But Wadi Rum is a different story.

It's not as easy to get to, not as easy to get accommodations, and overall not as easy to do on your own. That would be why almost ninety students (out of the 110 or 120 in the program) chose to go to Wadi Rum. Big group - but good group.

We started our adventure Friday morning at the university as we loaded into the buses. Really nice buses. Think middle school band trip. Plush seats, air conditioning, curtains you can slide over the windows, and all of that other good stuff. Four hours of that. After arriving at what looked like the middle of nowhere, our buses stopped, and we got out to go on our 4x4 tour. "4x4" is a loose term. No fancy Jeeps here. We had old pickup trucks with benches bolted into the truck beds. Classy, but still rugged. We split into groups, six to a truck - yeah, a pretty big caravan.

Pictures of each side of my truck.

This was the general feeling throughout the 4x4 ride. It turned into a race at some point...

You see, our truck was near last - and at one point, completely dead last. We were not okay with this. We wanted to be first, to lead the pack. Of course our driver is just a random guy we don't know at all. We also didn't know how to say "faster, please" in Arabic. But I think he somehow got the drift of what we wanted. The turning point was when a girl in the truck ahead of us lost her hat in the wind. We stopped to pick it up (oh no! losing ground!) and drove up next to her truck, passing it while both vehicles were in motion. Neck and neck, our truck ended up edging past theirs, and my friend Cameron and I pulled off a moving high-five between the two trucks. One spot closer to the front...

We got our NASCAR on at that point. The rest of the day, we were egging our truck on to pass the others. We (Americans) were loving it, with trash talk between the trucks, enthusiastic cheering whenever we were able to pass someone, and desperate cries for revenge whenever we were passed. And our Jordanian drivers loved it, too. I guess if you're leading the same 4x4 tours through the same areas over and over again, you have to entertain yourselves. With much revving of engines and smashing of pedals, they got in on the spirit of competition, too.

These are some of the people from my program at our first stop on the tour.

And our trucks at the second stop! Note that we're still holding up the back end here - but we weren't going to let it stay that way. One might compare this to a pit stop. It was like everybody else stopped for four tires and we only got fuel. Sweet. Although the stops were fun and filled with walking and climbing and sand dunes, said sand isn't very kind to camera lenses, so I didn't get any pictures from those adventures. I guess I'll just have to settle for a verbal explanation.

Not at this particular rock bridge, but at a second one, we were allowed to climb up and over it. (The people responsible for our safety felt that the first one was a little too big. Pshh. Where were they when I was lowering myself down a 200-foot waterfall in Wadi Feid?) After the up and the over, we found a big sand dune on the far side of the hill. And what do you do with a giant sand dune? Run down it, of course. Wheee! At the end of our fantastic run, during which none of us faceplanted, we discovered that we were... at the bottom. Whoops. Only one way to go from here. Up again! And down again! And sand angels! And climbing more hills! Clambering all over stuff may in fact be my new hobby.

This is what one of my friends affectionately coined "the mom photo." It's for when your mother complains that you've been doing so many exciting things, going so many places, seeing so much but you just don't have any photos of yourself and shame on you!

No shame on me.

After leaving the two natural bridges, we drove on, eventually coming to what looked like a giant parking lot. The sand had, for whatever reason, blown away, and I think it was just a flat rock plain. Flat and open. Our drivers took it as a cue to race even faster. Drag strip, anyone? We lost, sadly enough. To make up for it, our driver then turned left away from the regular road onto the "scenic route," also known as the bumpy cut-through. After much winding and speeding, we did a 180, went back to the flat area, drove up another very large sand dune and parked way, way too close to the edge of it. As in, "Oh man, is our truck about to fall off?"

Fun stuff. We did some more sprinting down and up the (even bigger) sand dune. To be more accurate, we sprinted down and went for a more trudging sort of action on the way back up. Sandclimbing is hard work - we definitely earned our suppers. My friend Sarah and I then decided to logroll down the dune (so fun!) and then make even more sand angels. After hanging out and having tons of fun on the dune, we piled back in the truck and drove down it. No kidding. Two people in the cab, six in the truck bed, and we barreled down a dune. Oh, yes.

These last three photos are from where we stopped at the end of the 4x4 tour to watch the sunset. We were within walking distance of our camp, and proceeded there at dusk. And that's where I think I'll leave for now. Look out for part two, coming (hopefully) soon: Bedouin camp.

Oh, and one more picture just for funsies. This sign is definitely theftworthy.

Baboons, balloons.

I can't really remember the last time that I had a class field trip. Tenth grade with the Holocaust Museum? Maybe. Gosh, that was four years ago. Today I relived the elementary school field trips of yore. Backing it up a bit, my (colloquial) Arabic class (Level 2) went with Level 1 to the balad (بلد = downtown) right after spring break. The sites they hit up: Hashem, for good food; the Roman amphitheater, for good views; and Hamooda, for good illegal DVDs. I was unfortunately at the mercy of food poisoning, so I missed the trip. But, mish moushkila (مش مشكلة = no problem), because I've already done those things.

Then... we found out that the Level 1 (formal) Arabic class was trying to work out a field trip to the zoo. The zoo? The zoo! I haven't been there! Level 2 of course got in on the action and, after a week or two of uncertainty, we got the word Tuesday afternoon that the trip was on. Hooray! Although the trip took place in the morning and our class doesn't start until 2:00, our professor kindly cancelled class for the day. Another hooray!

We were warned in advance not to expect a whole lot from the zoo. No San Diego, Washington, or Asheboro here. Other than not expecting a lot, though, I really didn't know what to expect. Things work here with a kind of vague spontaneity that you really just have to roll with. Sometimes you have no idea what's going on, but it's all okay. After getting on our bus, we drove for a few minutes and stopped at the side of the road. Some baked-good purchasing occurred on the part of the professors. Another few minutes on the road, and another stop. This time at Abu Jibarra (Mom and Dad, you may remember this as the place next door to Hardee's) for what appeared to be more takeout. Mmm, good things were surely to come.

We arrived not-so-shortly at a park - really, it felt like we were halfway to the airport. There were these lovely stone tables, and we ate our meal of (deliciousness of deliciousness) pitas and falafel and hummus and foul (خبز و فلافل و حمص و فول).

Back on the bus. More driving. Have we hit the airport yet? Pulled off, stopped, and began the zoo part of our adventure.

It was, well, not a lot. Mostly sad. There was little (read: none) of the lovely habitat imitation that characterizes all of the other zoos I've been to. (The one notable exception is the pandas in Washington, but I don't even want to start talking about that. Still too sad.) Regardless, we got to see buzzards and falcons, pelicans (storks?), baboons, tigers and lions and bears - you can go ahead and say "oh my!" There was an adorable baby baboon that pretty much had everybody captivated. True to our Disneyfied upbringing, most of us could only think of Rafiki when we saw that. The tigers, of course, reminded us of Rajah (Aladdin, anyone?), and the lions were straight out of the Lion King. Branching into Pixar, the pelican/storks reminded me of Finding Nemo.

Strangely enough, attached to the zoo was a... carnival? After the bears, the animal part disappeared and was replaced with a giant slide and one of those swinging-arm things. Yes, I realize that describes almost every carnival ride ever. That particular ride did a few too many loops and turns for me to be comfortable with - especially thinking about how stringent the Jordanian inspection codes probably are. The Ferris wheel, on the other hand, seemed like a safe bet. Let me confess to you: I've never been on a Ferris wheel before. First time for everything, I guess. We noticed, from our lovely new vantage point, several things about the zoo.

First of all, it also had bumper cars and a teeny roller coaster. Hey now. And there were farms all around us. Even though they were green and pretty, they still felt desolate, in a way. I wonder how the (North Carolina) State Fair looks from the top of one of its Ferris wheels. Does the surrounding area look empty? Is the view full enough of fairgrounds and cars and Carter Finley that you don't notice? This zoo looked so lonely from the air - like a little oasis of moving metal parts and sleepy animals. I'm still trying to figure out what felt so strange about it. It was pleasant, though, definitely, and I had a ton of fun this morning.

After leaving the zoo, having had our fill of animals and Ferris wheels, we drove back to where we had eaten earlier in the day. As another classic example of rolling with things that we don't understand at all, our professors handed out balloons and instructed us to blow them up. Say what? Okay. When we reached the park, we were given string to tie the balloons onto our legs. What? Okay. Then we lined up, Level 2 facing Level 1, Team Eagle versus Team Lion, in an intense competition over...

Who could pop the other person's balloon first. Oh yeah. We did it one-on-one. (I lost, but in all fairness, I was going up against Vanessa, and she's a superhero.) There were a few standout matches. The one where our bus drivers battled each other was epic. They were both good at it, so especially good that I began to suspect that this was a regular pastime for the Jordanians. The best match of all, though, was the Muna-Amjad professor face-off. Amjad tied his balloon to his leg, but, because Muna wears the jelbab (full-length dress), she couldn't tie hers on. Solution? She held a balloon in each hand, and, while trying to stomp on Amjad's balloon, was also waving her arms furiously to ward of his attempts at popping one of her balloons. Awe. Some. Truly spectacular. I think more professors should act this way. It was, to say the least, mumtastic.

The morning really was a lot like elementary school - that trip to the zoo that every kid at Lead Mine went on during the second grade. And it was like middle-school youth group - I think we were just a few minutes away from a game of Cross the Ocean or dodgeball. And it was also like fifth-grade gym class - they taught (tried to teach) us some dabkah (traditional Arabic dancing). Flashbacks all around, and I loved it all.

I can't even express how cool Amjad and Muna are for having organized this for us. There was supposed to be an Arabic showdown between the two classes, but the educational part of the trip mysteriously faded away, and balloon games took precedence. I'm torn. The competitive part of me is sad that we didn't get to prove ourselves to the Level 1 kids. The practical part of me realized that it's a lose-lose for our class. If we had won, we would have looked like a bunch of bullies on the playground, and if we had lost, we would have looked like sissies. Please note the elementary school imagery - seriously, flashbacks. In the end, maybe I am glad that we played balloon games instead of language ones.

(For any CIEE employees who might be reading this, we ran flashcards on the drive back to campus - I swear. There was an educational portion in there.)

Anyway. This Thursday was considerably more interesting than the average Thursday. I don't know many people who can say that they've been to a Jordanian zoo, or who can say that they've battled with balloons since they were twelve. But I can!

Barbecue and the Asheboro Zoo

Seriously, I've written two half-posts since I posted the last one. But I don't feel like adding those together will created a full one, so... here goes my third attempt at a post, and hopefully this one will end in success/publishing.

Last night (as I write this, it's still "last night" in Raleigh and Richmond) I went to a very delightful dinner party. My friend Hanne lives in an apartment here, but has a wonderful relationship with her landlords, who live in the same building. Like having semi-host-parents, it's pretty close to have the best of both worlds. Yesterday was Hanne's birthday and her landlords' anniversary. The landlady cooked all sorts of amazing ammaazzziing dishes, they invited over a lot of family (landlords) and friends (Hanne), and we all had a great time.

I truly enjoyed all of it. We had great conversations, and I was there with great people. I ate delicious food - and fortunately found enough room in my stomach to be socially and culturally appropriate - and ate delicious cake at the end. As I've already told Amy, my future roommate, Nescafe cake is on my to-do-list as soon as we have our own kitchen. But back to those "great conversations."

Much to my surprise, some CIEE employees came to the party, too. More surprisingly, it wasn't awkward at all. (This might make them blush, but CIEE has some really great employees. And their interns make great sisters.) I sat next to Allison Hodgkins, Resident Director, and right beside her was her husband. We (students) were talking about which states we came from. When it came to my turn, I proudly professed my North Carolinian origin - don't worry, my VCU (go rams go!) friends, I also mentioned that I study in Virginia. As it turns out, Allison and her husband lived in North Carolina a few years ago. We did what you have to do whenever you meet somebody from home so far away from home - we compared.

Oh, where did you live? Did you like it there? Did you go to this place? Did you see this sight? Oh, I love Neomonde, too. Such good Mediterranean food.

As for the responses, they lived in Durham about twenty minutes from my house, they liked Chapel Hill, disliked Durham, and didn't venture into Raleigh that much. They do, however, love the aforementioned Neomonde and City Market - City Market happens to be the place that, in the eighth grade, made me fall in love with Raleigh's downtown.

Regardless of their opinion on Durham itself, they adored the rest of North Carolina. Blowing Rock! The Outer Banks! The Asheboro Zoo! Wilmington! Asheville! It felt so good for me to talk about all of these things. I almost used the word "reminisce" there, but decided it seems inappropriate. I'll be back soon enough!

I had another fun conversation yesterday during our break in Arabic class. There are two guys from U of R in my class - University of Richmond for the non-Virginians out there. Yes, that means that 25% of the students in my class are from RVA. Anyway, I was poking fun at one of them because of... well, let's just say that U of R has a reputation. They have walls around their campus, and the campus is cuddled in the middle of a country-clubbish district. My university has no walls and lies smack-dab IN the city. Summary of my argument: Richmond students never venture beyond their walls, and VCU students have all the fun.

Pat and Peter pretty much conceded that point to me. But then Pat mentioned one place that he had gone to outside of his campus: Buz and Ned's Barbecue up on Boulevard. Okay, ten points for Pat, that's good. He referred to it as "downtown" but then "by the new movie theater" - mutually exclusive phrases, you see - but I let it slide. The Food Network addicts out there might remember this as the site of the spare ribs Throwdown. (Buz won.) I drive by this place most of the time I go to Diversity Thrift (just always seem to miss that turn off Chamberlayne if I got the other way) or the Bow Tie movie theater. Love the sign.

Raleigh things, North Carolina things, Richmond things... I love talking about home. I love bragging on the things that I'm proud of over there, and I love bragging about them to people who can actually understand the things I'm talking about. It's always so nice to be reminded of the little things at home when I'm so far away.

And one last little thing. As far as Hanne's birthday and her landlords' anniversary:

Happy birthday to Yasmin!

Happy birthday to Sallie and Will!

And happy anniversary to Mom and Dad! Thirty years is a great thing.

You all are the sort of people who remind me of home. And every time I get a letter, or a Facebook message, or an anything, I'm grateful. Thanks.

Pollen, schmollen.

Yo Pollen, I'm really happy for you. I'mma let you finish and all, but Jordan has the best airborne particulate matter of all time!

Oh yes, that's right. I said it. My dust beats your pollen, hands down. I know, I know, news sources in Raleigh ( = Thomas and Mom) are saying this is the worst pollen season in forty or sixty years - but you've never seen dust. I'll admit that it's a little blander. Pollen makes your car look so much jazzier than dust does. And yet, it haunts a body all the same. Sneezy, sniffly, watery eyes. I thought I would escape the spring pollen hubbub. But I thought wrong.

My first experience with Amman's dust was about a month ago. Because our professors have some sense of mercy, we get a break in the middle of our three-hour Arabic classes. On this particular day, we went and stood outside because the weather was nice. In all likelihood I walked with one or two of my friends to the convenience store and bought gummy bears or some other equally nutritious snack. We went back inside, finished the last hour and a half of class, and exited the Language Center only to find... fog?

No. Wait. Fog isn't brown.

The sun was a faint circle in the background of a tan sky, and buildings in the distance had disappeared. Eerie, to say the least. I'm used to morning fog from drives to high school. I'm used to post-midnight fog, which, fun fact, is extra-thick in the Wolf Village parking lot at NCSU. But never dust. It was such an unusual time - 5:00 in the afternoon. Imagine a fog descending during rush hour, choking the air near the ground but not completely obscuring the bright sun above. A thin sandy film forms on your tongue. It's weird, trust me.

The not-pollen not-fog was particularly bad earlier this week. The Jordan Times described it in this article:

"The dusty and unseasonably hot weather conditions are caused by a khamsini depression accompanied by a relatively hot air mass that started affecting the country early Sunday, according to the Jordan Meteorological Department (JMD). Khamsini, derived from the Arabic khamsun meaning 50, affects the region on an average of once a week during the 50-day period between March 21 and May 10. The annual weather pattern is caused by a cyclonic-type wind that originates from the Atlas Mountains and affects North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula and the Levant, and is characterised by hot and dusty conditions. The hot, sand-laden wind moves east of the Mediterranean around this time each year and is usually preceded by unseasonably high temperatures and dry and dusty conditions."

You can brag about your pollen all day long, City of Oaks, but I'm sticking with my khamsini and dust.

Big white lines

Three guest posts, three illnesses, a handful of midterms, and two papers later, I'm back!

It's been busy, to say the very least. I didn't do the country-hopping that a lot of my friends did over spring break - Syria, Turkey, Lebanon, Israel, Egypt, France, and Ireland, to name a few - but I have clambered over a good bit of my own country. I've been a tour guide at Petra, Jerash, Umm Qais, the Dead Sea, a handful of Biblical sites, and right here in good old Amman. Even though Jordan is a small country, that's still a lot of traveling. Just to give my own quick review of the good times that my guest bloggers wrote about...

Most of those trips were do-overs for me. Let's be honest here. As far as the sights I'd already seen, the coolest part for all of those trips was seeing other people's reactions to them. My parents kept asking if I was bored by doing the same things over again. Well, no. Even if I've already explored all of it and know what to expect from the ruin/natural environment/historical whatever, I don't know what to expect from my companions. And I love that. For matters of personal interests, though, Umm Qais was easily the most exciting.

I loved Umm Qais for the reasons that my parents mentioned - the very local feel, the wonderful view of Lake Tiberias - but also for a much more modern-day one. We could see the Golan Heights. History lesson: the Golan Heights are a disputed territory stolen by Israel from Syria during the 1967 war. It consists of plateaus in the south and mountainous regions in the north. The Golan Heights are rugged. They're sparsely populated. It seems like it could be such an inconsequential region, but it's not. I've spent a lot of my weekends around Jordan looking at history from thousands of years ago - and that's wonderful. But, as one of my classmates expressed this week, you can get tired of ruins. They're magnificent. They're breathtaking. But it's easy to get tired of something that's around you so much and in such close proximity. The Golan Heights are different. It's history of a more current sort. This sort of history is what I'm studying here in Jordan. Really, it's what got me interested in the Middle East in the first place. And it's not altogether history: it's today as well. I was struck deeply upon first looking out at the view from a hillside on Umm Qais. Directly below us was Jordan, those last few kilometers before the border. To the left was Lake Tiberias. And straight ahead - the Golan Heights. Amazing.

Let me digress for a moment. In the second grade, Mrs. Sharo assigned our class a project on one of the states. We each pulled the name of a state out of a hat; I got Utah. (I still remember that its state tree is the blue spruce.) When I read about the Four Corners, I was fascinated. I wanted to know what it felt like to be in four places at once. A few years after that, most likely while staying at my grandmother's cabin one summer, our parents took my brothers and me to some state or national park. It was on the border of two states - come to think of it, I can't even remember which two. I do remember the white line painted on the asphalt walking path, there in the middle of the woods. There was really nothing remarkable about it. I stood with one foot on either side of the line and remember thinking, "Maybe it would be more impressive if there were three of them." You see, I couldn't find a difference. The line really didn't change anything; without it, I'd never have known if I was in one place or another.

Similarly, up on that hill, you couldn't distinguish one place from another. It was easy to guess where Jordan ended - maybe where the buildings stop, perchance? And even easier from the ground. Security forces would let you know. But from up top, we couldn't be sure. And where's the line between the disputed Golan Heights and that land which is considered Israel for real? We couldn't see it. As far as we could tell, there was a lake with some cities on its banks, cuddled up next to some high plateau land, at the foot of which rested another small town. Are these really three different places? Is this really what we're fighting for?

Maybe it would feel different if the governments painted big white lines all over the land. Then from above, we would see what belongs with whom. But from up where my parents and I stood, it looked like everything could be one. And I like it much better that way.

The best part of having guests here was knowing that I was witnessing, maybe even causing, a change in perspectives. But I like knowing that my own perspective on things is still up for grabs, too.

Guest post #3: Carolyn "The Mom" Bruce

What a wonderful time we had in Jordan! We did a lot, and I could write pages and pages about it all! - and I plan to for my journal, which currently has brief notes. However, for this forum, I am going to try to limit my comments as best I can...

Part 1: Itineraray

- Friday - Arrived safe and sound and on time. Very, very special to see Sarah's sweet smiling face as we came around a corner at the airport!! Checked into our hotel and then went for supper at an Arabic fast-food restaurant. Yummy!

- Saturday - Amman. Went downtown by taxi. Visited the Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts, and also went to Wild Jordan to book a hike. Dinner with Sarah's host family in their lovely home. So delicious and so bountiful! [more about this in Part 2] Went to the ER as Sarah had a bad earache. A surprisingly positive experience.

- Sunday - Roy drove and we went to: a) Bethany-Beyond-the-Jordan, the site of Jesus' baptism by John the Baptist. This was especially meaningful given that today was Palm Sunday. b) Mount Nebo, from which God showed Moses the Promised Land before he died. We drove through Madaba on our way to c) Mukawir, where Salome danced for Herod Antipas, and he then granted her wish for the head of John the Baptist. We were basically the only people here, making it a memorable site. Supper in another all-Arabic restaurant - with an all-Arabic menu.

Note: Roy was truly amazing and courageous as he learned to negotiate through Jordanian traffic. - "negotiate" being the operative word here!

- Monday - Amman. We went to the Citadel and the Amphitheater, both dating from Roman times, and toured the University of Jordan. While there, Sarah registered for her fall semester at VCU. (Isn't technology wonderful!) Supper at a third all-Arabic restaurant, with the most wonderful "fruit cocktail"! (-like a fruit smoothie, with lots of fresh fruit pieces in it!)

- Tuesday - a) Up at 5:30 to drive to the Mujib Nature Reserve (the lowerst nature reserve in the world) for an 8 AM hike. Grueling hike, but wonderful views of the Dead Sea and Israel/Palestine beyond. There were ten of us, from Germany, Holland, and Wisconsin, plus our Jordanian Guide. b) The Dead Sea Panorama. Then, c) floating in the Dead Sea. Supper was at the restaurant next door to our hotel... Hardee's! (founded in Rocky Mount, NC) Fun to see the similarities and differences between there and here.

- Wednesday - Roy drove again, this time north through Irbid to Umm Qais. This was called Gadara in Jesus' day, and it was here that He healed the demon-possessed man by casting out the demons into a herd of pigs, which then ran into the Sea of Galilee and drowned. (Matthew 8:28-34, Mark 5:1-20, Luke 8:26-39) We could see the sea (now called Lake Tiberias), and also the Golan Heights. Lots of Jordanian school children on field trips, but not too many tourists. Supper back in Amman with Sarah's host family. - Another amazing meal.

- Thursday - Our last day! Roy drove to Jerash, a city of extensive and impressive ruins that has had an unbroken chain of human occupation dating back more than 6,500 years. A highlight was the Jordanian bagpiper accompanied by drummers in the amphitheater. - Our Scottish roots found us in Jordan!

Left at midnight, and arrived safely back in Raleigh Friday afternoon. What a wonderful and memorable time we had!!

Part 2: Sarah's Host Family

We had already been feeling blessed that Sarah has such a nice host family. And we now feel even more blessed after having met them! They were so very kind and gracious, and we really do appreciate all that they did for us... Not only did they insist on driving to the airport (which is approximately 20 miles away) for both our arrival and departure, they also invited us into their lovely home for two delicious meals! I had heard that mealtime hospitality is a part of the Jordanian culture, and the Abdelsalam family certainly proved this to be true! Everything they served was very tasty, and so bountiful!! I was amazed by how much I ate, but it was easy to do when everything was so good! I do hope that someday we will be able to return at least some of this gracious hospitality.

Of course, what I appreciate most is the kindness they are showing Sarah. It meant a lot to me to see how much they all like Sarah. - easy to do, I know, but special to see, all the same! And that leads right into...

Part 3: Hats off to Sarah!!

... for finding her way through JFK airport on her way to Jordan, when she had so little time to make her connection. What a monstrosity of an airport! I really don't know how she did it!

... for learning her way around Amman - a very large and very busy city - well enough to direct us through traffic!

... for learning the culture and the language well enough to guide us through our activities and our meals. (I cannot imagine going to Jordan without a guide of some sort. - a tour guide or a Sarah!)

... for studying abroad for a semester in a country where English is not the native language - something no one else in her immediate or extended family has done!

I am so glad that Roy and I made this trip. I now have a frame of reference as I imagine what Sarah is experiencing. And in addition to that, I now have a frame of reference about part of the world that I had previously given very little thought to. As with the students' tour of Europe that I took when I was in college, I again come away with the belief that we are all a lot more alike than different.

Thanks so much for sharing your Spring Break with us, Sarah!!

With love,

Mom

Guest post #2: Roy "The Dad" Bruce

TRANSITION AND CHANGE

It is said that for a change to take place, there is an ending and a beginning and a transition period between the two. It is also said that every experience of life has an impact on us no matter how small - every sight, sound, taste, smell, and feeling. It is also said that you should never start a sentence with it. So here I go on my guest entry for Sarah's "Amman to You" blog. I am writing this from home in Raleigh soon after returning from our week in Jordan with Sarah. I am in the process of transitioning from Jordanian time to Raleigh time (7 hour difference) and from vacation experiences back to everyday life.

The challenge for me is to summarize eight days of travel and new experiences into a few meaningful paragraphs that others would find interesting enough to read. To help me on this endeavor, I have the aid of 555 digital photographs, a daily journal that I kept on activities and impressions, and a mind full of sensory experiences that did not make it to digital memory or paper - at least not yet. Rest assured that I will not address all the photos or the journal entries in this blog article nor all the experiences.

As I reflect on this past week, my sense is that change has taken place in me. Some things are apparent such as the impact of eating too much good food - much of it provided by Sarah's host family at two wonderful meals. Some of the changes are less apparent and remain unclear to me at this time. Yet I know they are there because of what I have experienced. This may perhaps be part of the transition time.

This trip brough to me a series of firsts and a series of challenges. For each of these I am grateful. The firsts included the first time to use a passport, the first time to venture away from North America, the first ocean crossing journey on a very long plane ride (12 hours from New York to Amman), the first time to be in a place where English is not spoken or written much at all, first time to hear calls to prayer broadcast across the land five times a day, and the first time to be in the Midd East. Many of these firsts also were some of the challenges. Other challenges included driving in Jordan (more on that later), surviving the climb in Mujib Nature Reserve (I had serious doubts about my making it) as we searched for ibex, adapting to the cultural norms of the area, dealing with personal perceptions/apprehensions, and communicating in general. Each of the firsts and the challenges has impacted me in some way.

I have decided to concentrate my blog comments in three areas that were noteworthy for me: religious history, culture, and driving. There is much more that I could write about; but, I think these are the ones that had the greatest impact on me.

Religious History

History is everywhere in Jordan. But the part of history that meant the most to me were the biblical sites that I had heard and read about throughout my life. We visited the baptismal site of Jesus along the Jordan River. What an emotional experience to be where historians and archaeologists believe was the site where John the Baptist baptized Jesus. I now have a different frame of reference when I hear or read that biblical account as I have seen the site and have touched the water. From here we could see the Mount of Temptation in Palestine/Israel where Jesus spent those 40 days/nights. We also could look into Palestine/Israel and see Jericho.

Another moving moment for me was at Umm Qais looking out into Palestine/Israel and seeing the Sea of Galilee where so many biblical events took place. I could imagine the overflowing fishing nets, the breakfast on the shore, and Peter's expression of adoration. I could visualize the multitudes being fed, the sermon being preached, the raging storm, walking on the water, the parables being told, and the solitude on the other shore. What an image to have and to hold. This was special for me.

We also visited Mukawir, the site of Herod's Castle where Herod ordered the beheading of John the Baptist following the dance of Herodias' daughter Salome. This is not a site on the normal tourist routes as it is a little challenging to find and to climb to the top of the hill. We had the place to ourselves and that was very special. This site is in the mountains south of the city of Madaba and overlooks the Dead Sea into Palestine/Israel.

Mount Nebo was another stop along the way as we stood where God brought Moses to view the Promised Land. To realize that this reluctant leader came so close to the goal, but had to rely on others to complete the mission. Unfortunately for us, the haze was heavy that day and our viewing of the Promised Land was restricted. We had better views of Palestine/Israel on other days.

At the end of our ibex hunt/hike in Mujib Reserve, we saw the pillar of salt that was purported to be Lot's wife by the Dead Sea. It is an interesting possibility. Throughout this hike, we had wonderful views of the Dead Sea and Palestine/Israel.

Each of these sites brought recollection of the biblical accounts and stories and provided a new framework for when those stories are recounted again. I am grateful to have had these experiences and their associated impacts on me - known and yet unknown.

Culture

I am not sure if culture is the right title for this portion of the blog or not. What I really want to write about are my observations about people. Certainly the people and their actions drive culture. Let me be more specific.

Everywhere we went, we were welcomed - not just at the tourist type places, but most everywhere. We stood out as being different and therefore, it was easy to identify us as likely tourists and certainly foreigners. But the people went out of their way to make us feel welcome. This was true for children, youth, and adults. It was as if there was a national program to make Westerners feel welcome in Jordan. For some adults they acknowledged this as their personal mission to enhance the public image of Jordan toward outsiders and particularly Americans. Even if it was a national effort, it was very nice to be warmly received and I believe for the most part genuinely warmly received. I know that I will view visitors to the US differently now since I have been a stranger in a foreign land.

I was not aware of just how much we stood out as different until Sarah took us on a tour of the University of Jordan. As you would expect, there was a large population of Jordanians on campus that afternoon and in the crowd I saw one woman of obvious Western origin. As she passed by in the other direction, I was very aware of her differences from others (in looks and to some extent in dress). Then I became keenly aware of us and how similarly different we must appear. First there was the age difference and then there were differences in dress and also there were differences in looks. It struck me in that moment and I felt somewhat out of place - not unwelcomed or threatened - just out of place. I am used to being part of the background and now I was different - standing out from the crowd - not on familiar ground.

At most tourist locations, we were part of the multi-cultural and/or multi-national composite that made up the visitors list that day. It wasn't until we reached Umm Qais that we experienced local Jordanians visiting their own tourist area. Various school groups were on field trips to the site. They added so much to the experience with their singing, clapping, and drum playing. Their presence made the experience so much more valuable to me than just the ruins and the beautiful views. This was similarly true at Jerash on the following day with groups of school children visiting this national heritage treasure.

Respect seems to be a fairly accurate word for what I experienced culturally in Amman. We had a couple of taxi drivers that were less than reputable and were preying on unknowing tourists. But generally, I found Jordanians to be respectful and welcoming of us foreigners in the land.

Driving

We opted for a rental car for four of the days in Jordan to better facilitate our desired travel plans. To say that driving in Jordan is different from the US is a major understatement. Traffic appears to be sheer bedlam; but in reality it is a well-orchestrated symphony of aggression, anticipation, and attitude. One cannot be timid in driving in Jordan. The expectation of your fellow drivers is that you are going to be aggressive when the time is right and that your attitude will allow you to yield when the time is right. Knowing the difference is the key to success.

Amman has numerous roundabouts and the Jordanians have convinced me that roundabouts are the best method of intersection traffic control. They move large volumes of traffic through numerous dual lane roundabouts without major congestion. There is an art to navigating the roundabout in an effective and expected manner. Once learned, they are not as threatening as they appear or seem as a passenger. At times the distances between vehicles are rather tiny as you negotiate through the Jordanian roundabout. But in the end you keep moving instead of waiting at a traffic signal.

Speaking of traffic signals; they are a whole different experience. What appears to be two through lanes with a single left turn lane is made into at least four or five lanes of traffic waiting to proceed. When the light goes green, you can have five vehicles moving forward towards the two lanes ahead. Likewise you can have two lanes of traffic turning left or two lanes turning right You have to be on your toes. And in Madaba, the locals use the "through on red" system if there is no traffic on the side street - so I did like the locals rather than become the source of many honking car horns during rush hour.

Out on the highway there is this obvious rule that slower traffic should pull over on to the paved shoulder or partway onto the shoulder to allow faster traffic to pass - we called it half lanes. So you can at times have four vehicles wide (two in each direction) on a two lane road. But you have to watch out for the roadside vendors, pedestrians, or vehicles parked on the shoulder. Many roads have no lane lines or edge markings at all and things are really interesting in these situations. You can see about anything on Jordanian roads, including goats, sheep, or donkeys. In urban areas, double parking is common and there could be a parked/stopped vehicle partially or totally in your lane.

In the US we have "reduce speed ahead" signs to announce the change in safe operating speeds. In Jordan, the speed limits change without notice. Sometimes, they use rows of pavement markers across the road like rumble strips to announce the change in speed. Or my favorite is the use of unmarked speed tables and/or a speed hump while traveling 80 kilometers per hour - now that puts added thrill in the ride for back seat passengers.

Then there are the temporary roadside police checkpoints. The police car is parked just off the should perpendicular to the road and the officer is standing on the edge of the road waiting to signal randomly selected cars into the checkpoint - no advance sign/warnings. The challenge is to know if the police officer is selecting you to stop or is waving you through. I think I ran at least one of those checkpoints by not understanding the officer's motions. Thankfully they did not send other police after us.

In the end, we lived through four days of driving in Jordan. It was somewhat less stressful outside the cities, but not by much. It was less intense for certain in rural areas as the traffic volumes were less. But in Amman, Madaba, and Irbid, it took lots of effort to perform driving in a manner that met the expectations of the other drivers; that magical mixture of aggression, anticipation, and attitude. In order to drive, you need at least four eyes - one for the left side/mirror, one for the right side/mirror, one for the rearview mirror, and one for straight ahead. I was glad that I had help from Carolyn and Sarah. Jordanians know how to maximize capacity and minimize delay in their transportation system.

Summary

So the journey is over. I hope that I have learned a few things along the way and will use that new knowledge in positive ways. I hope that the sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and feelings from Jordan have beneficial effects on who I am. I know that this is a lofty expectation from a one week vacation trip. But I feel certain that they will impact me even in small ways. I am glad to have had the experience of this past week. Now I need a transition nap.