Travelogue

I've been gone for quite some time.  

Nope, not on some new adventure.  I just haven't been posting despite the fact that over the last semester there has been absolutely plenty to tell.  

What I came here today to tell you is that I'm coming back.  Essentially, this has turned into a travelogue of sorts, mostly focusing on cultural interactions and the lessons learned from it, and I like it that way.  I suppose this blog will morph a little bit as it will focus on the travel of my life and not just life in general.  So, I say all that to say this:

tomorrow, I'll be hopping on plane to head to Costa Rica for the month of January.  

Prepare yourself.  As usual, things are gonna get cray, and, unlike the past four months of my life, you can read about all of it here.  

Vamos.

On Running Away

The following blog post was written on August 7, 2011:

A chapter of this blog is in the process of closing.  Although there are some stories yet to come, my time in Jordan has ended.  Undoubtedly, this is a period of my life that I will never forget.  On the flip side, it’s a period of my life of which I didn’t take full advantage, and I’m sad to say that it took until my last day here to realize it. 

Prior to leaving for Amman, I was struggling physically, emotionally, spiritually.  I looked to my time in Jordan as a sort of release, a period where I could flesh these things out away from family, away from friends.  I looked at it as a time where I would uncover a lot of things about myself.  To be cliché, I wanted to use the time to find myself. 

Looking back over the trip, some of this was accomplished and some of it was not.  Did I utilize my trip as a release?  Yes.  But not a release in which I revealed deep-rooted truths.  Instead, I used it as a time in which I could tuck and run from the problems that were facing me.  With the time difference, the lack of internet, the new faces, the new challenges, this was all very easy to do.  In fact, I often forgot that certain problems existed at all.  Goal accomplished?  NO.

Tomorrow, I’ll be returning home, and I’m interested to see how things go.  Will my struggles be awaiting me at the airport with open arms or will they too have taken a sweet vacation?  Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

I tell you all of this not in order to be dramatic, not to seem like I didn’t enjoy Jordan, but to warn you so that you don’t lose time.  I’m well aware that I’m going to face the same old issues at some point, probably sooner rather than later.  I only wish that I could have dealt with them here and not there. 

It’s time to stop running.  There is no where else to go.  America, I’m coming home.  Ready or not.  

The Post Office Fiasco of 2011

Once upon a time, a good friend of mine sent me a package here in Jordan.  My teacher brought me the slip during class one day and told me that I’d have to go downtown to the post office to get it, but the catch was that the post office closed at 2:30 pm.  Since I have class until 4:00 pm every day, I wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to be possible. 

The next day, during my break between classes, I headed out for the adventure.  Being wise to the traps that often come from this culture, I asked if I needed anything in particular before leaving.  My teacher assured me that I didn’t, so I headed out.  After two buses and a serveece, my roommate and I finally made it downtown.  We walked into the post office and got in line.  After being shuffled back and forth between lines and into various waiting rooms and after having several broken conversations in Arabic, I learned that my good ole’ Tennessee state drivers license wasn’t going to be sufficient for identification.  Dejected, we headed home.  I’d have to come back tomorrow, passport in hand.  In my frustration I paid about 5JD – far too much - to get home.  Keep a count on that, we are currently near 7 total.

Next day.  Woke up, grabbed my passport, headed to class.  At the break, I headed out for the post office, solo this time around.  My teacher took me near downtown so that the taxi wouldn’t cost as much.  I got in the taxi and started into one of the best Arabic conversations I’ve had since moving here.  We talked about what I was doing here, how I liked it, where I was from, what I thought about American politics, etc., etc.  I noticed that he didn’t have the meter on – a common scheme here in Jordan – so I asked him about it.  He shrugged it off, and I asked him how much then.  Patting my leg like an old friend, he told me it was on the house.  Now, this particular instance has happened several times since I’ve been living here.  You meet a nice cabbie, show him that you speak some Arabic, and, in his natural Jordanian hospitality, he gives you a free ride.  This seemed to be one of those times. 

There happened to be tons of traffic on this particular afternoon, so it did take some time to get to the post office.  When we finally stopped, I started to get out of the cab, and the man stopped me.  I just looked at him, and he said, “Ok, money?”  I told him that he said it was free, and he looked at me like I was crazy.  I then asked him how much.  A taxi ride across town costs no more than 3JD, so I was prepared to hear 1, maybe 2.  Out of his mouth flowed the following words, “Ashreen dinar.”  What does that mean?  TWENTY dinar.  TWENTY.  That’s nearly 30USD for a cab ride that probably lasted 20 minutes.  The conversation then went like this – translated for your viewing pleasure:

Kirby: Are you kidding me?

Cabbie: Taxi very expensive, much traffic.

K: Seriously?

C: I swear to God, 20 dinar.

K: There is no way that I’m giving you 20 dinar!

C: Listen, I fear God.

K: I MIGHT give you 2 dinar and that’s far too much.

C: Much traffic, 20 dinar.

It’s much more fun to hear this in Arabic, but then that wouldn’t be any fun to read.

This continued and escalated to both of us yelling at each other in the middle of the street.  Alone and not knowing what to do, I couldn’t just run off.  We kept bargaining until I got absolutely fed up.  At 9 dinar, I wadded up the money and threw it in his face. 

After me, two women tried to get in the cab.  I refused to let them in and explained to them that this man was a thief.  He was screaming at me.  Then, he called me back to the car.  He said, “Here, take this,” as he handed me back ONE dinar.  I smiled at him, took the dinar, wadded it in my hand, and threw it at him.  In parting I said, “I hope that one day you find God so that He can forgive you for what you’re doing here.“

After that little rendezvous, I was not looking forward to the post office.  I made it in, and after shuffling through more lines and rooms, I finally made it to the customs inspection.  This good friend of mine sent me one particular item that was just a tad bit crude but also very funny.  The officers, however, didn’t see the humor.  Luckily, I had a great story of an American getting ripped off in a taxi to keep them occupied, and this story just happened to save the items in my package.  Without a doubt, they felt sorry for me.

So then, I headed home.  Let’s just tally up the dinar for good measure.

2 dinar for the first day to the post office.

5 for the way home.

9 dinar for the ripped off taxi.

3 dinar for the package.

2 dinar for the way home.

Grand total: 21 dinar = 30 USD.

Winning. 

World Wonders and Dead Cameras

My second recent trip was to the ancient city of Petra, the desert of Wadi Rum, and the city of Aqaba in the south of Jordan.

First on the docket was Petra.  I have always heard – and seen, due to a little thing I like to call Indiana Jones – how beautiful Petra is, so I was, needless to say, excited to see this world wonder myself.  Normally the cost of seeing it is 45JD (roughly $65) for foreigners.  Because of my program’s partnership with the Ministry of Education though, we all got in for 1JD – the price for Jordanian citizens.  Why, you ask, is there such a dramatic rift in that price range?  Well, my good friends, it’s all thanks to the advice of the United States of America who told the Jordanian government that they should charge more for foreigners to bring in more revenue.  Gotta love the states – all about the money. 

Petra is in the middle of the desert so it’s naturally hotter than the surface of the sun.  Everything here is in Celsius, to which I refuse to acclimate, so I am oblivious to any real dimension of numerical temperature.  Entering the city, it’s easy to see how this place has become so famous.  The cliffs and rock faces are incredible, not to mention the architecture that has literally been carved into the rock.  At one point, you notice something so bright in the distance, and as you enter the clearing, it’s the famous treasury featured in Indiana Jones.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  To me, the most fun was climbing through various parts of the city and seeing the caves that were quite likely people’s homes even if they have become more like your average city dump today. 

After Petra, we headed directly to Wadi Rum for a Bedouin party.  My friends and I did some exploring in the desert, which included sand dune jumping.  This is the decision that I regret most while I have been here.  Not because I got all sandy – which is true – but in one clumsy hand motion, I dropped my camera in the sand, and since that time, it has refused to work.  I can’t talk about it, I’m too upset.  I’ll deal with it later.  Tears.

Later was the party.  Very few people danced, and I didn’t want to show these people up in their natural territory, so I refrained myself.  In reality, it was because I wasn’t sure of the rules for co-ed dancing.  Imagine, I accidently bump a nearby chica, and the crowd goes wild, desperate for my blood.  Haraam.  The food was decent but definitely not something to write home about.

After the party, we headed to Aqaba to a hotel that was worse than that in Lebanon.  I know, it’s hard to believe that it could get worse than salt water, but I promise that it can.  Aqaba is, in essence, the equivalent of Panama City Beach except trashier and with less to do.  Definitely not a fan.  We only spent about one hour at the beach,.  Why even go?

 Next came the long, long, long bus trip home.  Interesting cultural tidbit about Arabs: they start to come alive at around ten pm.  After an exhausting weekend of walking, all of us were pooped and trying to sleep on the uncomfortably small bus.  The Arabs?  No, they wanted to stay up and talk scream as loudly as possible, including the use of the bus’s microphone system.

The trip was pretty rough, and I've never been so upset about something as I am about my camera.  Perhaps it will magically fix itself if I just don’t touch it for a few days.  At least, that’s what I’m counting on.

Just a Little Trip to Lebanon

Well, it’s been a while since I last blogged and for good reason.

I’ve been doing lots of traveling lately – as well as the usual going to class and studying.

My travels began a couple of weeks ago in Beirut, Lebanon.  I hooked up with two friends that I met in Amman, and jumped on their trip.  We had zero plans when we got into the country.  Our hotel room was the absolute tiniest thing that I have ever seen, complete with water that was coming, if not directly, through only a small filtering process from the Mediterranean Sea (read: the water coming from the sink, shower, etc. was salty).  What’s important though when you are searching for a hotel room in the Middle East?  Air conditioning, and quite luckily, our hotel had it.  One of the most striking memories of Beirut was cab drivers.  They are rude thieves who want to do little more than rip off a good tourist.  Several times we got in all but fist-fights with them.  Needless to say, we were glad to get back to the metered taxis here in Amman.

As for seeing the area, we had some connections and ended up being given what can only be called a grand tour of the entire country.  Our tour guides were Henry and Patricizia, and they are absolutely some of the sweetest people that I have ever met in my life.  Prior to that tour, we did some exploring on our own which included the grave of Rafic Hariri, my very first experience at Hard Rock Cafe, and various sightseeing locales within the city, which included more than a few visits to one of the only Krispy Kreme’s in the Middle East.  When we met up with Henry and Patrizia, they took us to the village that they grew up in, to Jeita Groto (in the running for one of the new natural wonders of the world – vote here!), to Byblos, to a beautiful winery, and to the ruins at Baalbeck.

Knowing very little about Lebanon before entering the country, I was able to learn so much from talking with Henry and Patricizia.  They told so many stories about their lives during the Civil War and how it has affected literally everything that they do.  It was amazing because I have never even been that close to someone who has been through real war.  Sure, it’s something that I watch on television everyday, but hearing stories from first hand witnesses brings an entirely new dimension of reality to it.

While in Lebanon, we also took a little trip south to the city of Tyre (known here as Sur).  To me, this was one of the best parts.  We were able to walk around the entirety of the town in one day and see everything from the bustling beaches to the tiniest hovels on the backside of the island to the Roman ruins in the middle of the town. 

One of the most disappointing things about Lebanon was the ironic lack of night life.  I thought it would be crazy everywhere, but the reality is that if you aren’t carrying tons of money and if you aren’t dressed in your absolute best clothes, you won’t get very far at night.  Next time.

 

We ended our trip in with the gorgeous views of Pigeon Rock.  Absolutely incredible.

All in all, Lebanon was a fantastic place to visit, and I would actually love to live there despite its…charming….people and expensive prices.  Its beautiful Mediterranean views far outweigh these aspects.  Promise.

The Prince of Egypt

Once upon a time, my study abroad program sent me to Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt for midterm break.  

Now, I had heard that we were staying in a 5-star resort, but I thought that this was just an exaggeration.  When I got to the resort, I found out that this was absolutely the truth.

Sonesta Beach Resort and Casino will forever be the pinacle of travel in my mind.  The words "all-inclusive" sum up just about every thing that I can say.  Six pools, gorgeous sunshine, beach access, swim up bars, excellent food from all over the world, and a beach walk featuring authentic Middle Eastern shops selling everything you can imagine.  

My general daily schedule:

*8:00 - Eat breakfast.  

8:30 - Get spot ready by the pool.

9:00 - Lay out at the pool.

10:30 - Roll over.

12:00 - Eat lunch.

12:30 - Pick up stuff and move to the beach.

1:00 - Lay out at the beach.

3:45 - Roll over.

6:30 - Watch the sunset over the mountains.

7:00 - Dinner

7:30 - Walk the beach walk, see the city, etc.

2:00 - Bedtime.

*Once, we got up at 4am to go out into the desert to ride ATVs.

I'm going to let the pictures do the talking from this point forward.

 

 

I'll end with the simple fact that I can never go on vacation again because this trip ruined everything that I could hope to enjoy.

Ridiculous.

A Lesson In Cross-Cultural Communication

Having been immersed in a culture where very few people speak my language, I have been able to observe so many important lessons in the art of cross-cultural communication.

When two people speak different languages, all you have to rely on is what little you hold in common, accompanied by intermittent gestures.

A couple of lessons:

Listen!  This might be one of the most important things that a person can do, and it's probably the most difficult.  The natural reaction - at least for Americans - is to keep talking, to fill the void of silence.  What we often don't understand is that all this talking does is jumble things up for both speakers.  Furthermore, this can lead to putting words in someone else's mouth, preventing communication.  Take time to listen.  Listen well.  This will make everything smoother.

Empathize.  One of the things that has helped me is to put myself in that person's shoes.  Think about history, about backgrounds, about linguistic influences, and then use those to interpret messages.  For example, Arabic doesn't contain the letter "p."  Knowing this, it's easy for me to interpret when a speaker says "beoble," that he is, in fact, saying "people."  Another example, I was at a cafe the other day, and I asked the man for hummus or bread, or anything to eat.  He said that he didn't have anything, and then he proceeded to continue the conversation in Arabic.  Knowing literally nothing that he was saying, I thought about how giving the Arabic people are, and I was able to surmise that he was asking me if I wanted him to walk down the street to get me food.  A little application of cultural knowledge can give way to linguistic understanding.

Recognize Patterns.  Much like empathizing, certain patterns can be seen in a language, and they can help out a lot.  For example, I have noticed that people here call grocery stores subermarkets.  Not thinking about it, I asked my Iraqi roommate what time the grocery store opened.  He looked at me, confused, and said he didn't know.  This left me really confused because it was such a simple question, and I knew that he knew the answer.  Later, I was able to discover that he didn't even know the word grocery store because everyone here says subermarket.  This also includes acknowledging filler words.  Here, the word "yani" gets said all the time.  There is no definite meaning in most cases.  Just a filler.

Make It Easy.  Don't read incorrectly.  I said make it easy, not dumb it down.  Communication can be achieved with increasing difficulty depending upon the grammatical structures and words employed.  Therefore, it's usually best to communicate in the simplest ways, even though they may not sound as smart or polite.  Don't try to impress, just try to get the point across.

Accept Nuances and Adapt.  Sometimes there will be words that are misused, phrases that are taken out of context, things that are misunderstood.  Most of the time, it's best to take it for what it's worth and just move on.  Again, the goal is getting the point across, not achieving perfection.

Cross-cultural communication is not easy.  It's messy, and it takes time to get it right.  I'm doing my best here. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

For example, today in class, my classmate was trying to say 'exactly' (bizaBt), and she accidentally said 'naked' (bizaLt).  Hilarity ensued, followed by the other guy in class and myself using bizaLt in our next few example sentences.  The lesson?  Never will I ever forget how to say 'naked' in Arabic.