Lately we've been contemplating our impending doom related to ISPs. Essentially, in two weeks, classes will end. We will turn in our preliminary papers on Egypt, as well as complete exams in Arabic and write about our lecturers. We will then be turned loose into Greater Jordan, where we will spend 3 sleepless weeks trying to research, interview, and apply college grammar our way into a 30 page paper, as well as cramming in any cultural experiences we somehow have missed. It's not that we're in denial. I think we've moved on to the anger stage.
For example. We were dropped off at Jordan University Sunday (remember that it's the Jordanian Monday) with the goal of speaking to potential advisors and contacts, as well as looking into resources at their library. The latter experience is summed up in this sonnet:

Oh Library, bound in fair Jordan's yard
University academic calls
your catalogue, quirky but not so hard
into laps you make the resources fall

Your numbering systems simple and precise
follow parallel structures found just
in russian pulp novels, one would suffice
You keep a cloth covering Dewey's bust

Your books once found, the ones without prefixes
are most exciting and unusual
steam locamotives need appendices
they're post revolution (industrial)!

JU: your library has made me weep
of course jordan scholarship only creeps

I'm OK for now, regarding my ISP. I have some contacts and one of them has helped our students in the past. What's more is that I'm on familiar ground, that of car culture and urban transportation, and Amman is rife with material and ripe to be written about in a systematic way. But I can't get into it, it's just scary. Everyone is.

Taxi Drivers

Taxi drivers late at night can be a mixed bag. The other night coming back from the airport, the driver was sitting high in his chair, his face pockmarked, hair badly shaven, eyes severe, and lit up with the strange blue neon lights that taxi drivers seem to prefer. Religious drivers will often play tapes of sermons or of passages in the Koran so they can recite them. These tapes are often of a very emotionally charged man reading things occasionally breaking into song while an echo effect is added. This taxi driver was listening to one where "jihad 3ala yehuden" (struggle against the jews) came up occasionally. Last night though, we boarded a taxi which already had someone in it, for company I guess. He was from Hebron and so we talked pleasantly about that. He then started branching out into other matters. Apparently the hashish in Amman is terrible but the prostitutes are really wonderful. He gave me his card, apparently he works for the city of Amman.
I'll probably be at HQ for another couple of hours and I wonder what I'm going to get tonight.

Egypt

I came into Egypt not really knowing what to expect other that a lot of tourists. Though I haven't been disappointed in that regard (or maybe I have) Egypt has turned out to be much more than I could've guessed. Start with the fact that it's *huge.* In Amman the highest buildings are 10, maybe 12 stories but most of the buildings are 5 at most. Egypts apartment blocks are all 15 -20 stories. The hotels are usually higher. The buildings are mostly European style, not the simple blocky Amman type, and covered in a thick coat of grime from the horrendous pollution. My punk rock sense was immediately assuaged after a month and a half in suburban Amman. They actually have a metro here which I will ride at the first opportunity because it's *awesome* their railroad too makes me feel very punk rock. The cabs are all ramschackle and don't run on the meter so you have to negotiate the price before hand. This can suck in that you end up by and large paying more but also can help because it's in their interest to get there as fast as possible. They drive very fast and are all black except for the many blue light accessories that they can buy. This has led me to sing "Black Cab" by Jens Lekman nearly constantly while I am in them. The roads are really well designed for their lack of proper planning and means of expansion. Basically they run two levels of traffic, a two lane road above and below plus parking and turning avenues between the columns. The constant sense of being under something also lends to the punk rock feel.
The other thing is that there's actually water here so there's lots and lots of green. And huge trees of all varieties. Honestly they don't have enough to filter out the pollution that is giving even me asthma.
We've met so far with the Grand Mufti (actually he only spent a few minutes with us because, as the most preeminent Muslim scholar in Egypt he has commitments) who was not very helpful but his assitant definitely was. The Grand Mufti and his assorted mufti assistants are in charge of issuing fatwas, which are literally 'non-binding religious advice' so essentially what amounts to chatting it up with a priest. About 250 people come in a day to talk to a Mufti, there's also a hotline and a webserver that issues fatwas. All told they probably issue about 1000 fatwas a day and they have a web based database for past fatwas, ordered by subject. Most of the fatwas relate to family advice, another big chunk to financia. So basically it's like a counseling session for many people, which is a very very good thing. However, as hard as I try I can't shake the image of the Grand Mufti and his little mufti elves making fatwas for all the good boys and girls.
We of course have done the museum/pyramids/holy buildings tour because that's what you do when you're in Egypt. Pyramids are big and apparently come from Uganda.
Do you remember that kid in elementary school who was really eager about everything and knew everything, usually a little pudgy, always had his hand up really high and acted with such naive purpose? Chances are, if I consider you a friend, you were this person, as was I, but he was also our tour guide for the Egyptian museum and the pyramids. It was great in that he could actually read heiroglyphics, knew extensively the history of everything, and set us up for hilarious commentary (for example he was discussing the bent pyramid and how the pharoah that built it had not given up because his first pyramid was bent, prompting about half the group to start quoting Monty Python: "So I built a second one, just to show 'em, that sank into the swamp, so I built a third one, that burned down fell over then sank into the swamp...") It sucked in that he moved very quickly and had a very loud and eager voice, and obviously mourned the loss of such a culture that could produce such wonderful things. I did appreciate a lot of what he had to say.
Our hotel rooms have balcony's. They've been employed for drinking as St. Patty's was last week. It was convenient that since green is the color of islam, all mosques have neon green lights at night. Therefore, they celebrate St. Patricks day.

Jerash

We had this past weekend off so we took off on a bus to Jerash hoping to witness the glorious spectacle that was the Roman Empire, and also a nearby castle that apparently doesn't get much tourism.
Disaster struck immediately upon reaching Abdili station. We boarded a bus, payed our .5JD fare and waited for the bus to fill up. 2 hours later we pulled out of the station trying to choke away the diesel fumes slowly filling the cabin and trying, unsuccessfully, to look out the filthy windows at the scenery. Gratefully we left the bus upon reaching Hadrian's gate. The first step down from the bus, I stepped on a can and twisted my ankle...hard. Twenty minutes later I limped into the gate after paying my 8 JD admission. My ankle was fine but I decided to take it easy and rest occasionally. Unfortunately (or not) the best way to explore Jerash is to climb over everything. Hadrian's gate is a replica of what should've been there, as was the hippodrome beyond it. Both were reconstructed recently out of the fallen stone and were of the original design but 20 years ago neither structure existed. On the ground behind Hadrian's gate was an inscription of Greek and this kicked off the war of Jerash versus my intellect and my knowledge of Greco-Roman history. This particular instance was reconciled when I realized that Jerash had been a Byzantine city (hence the Greek) after the fall of the Western Roman Empire and before the Islamist wave. However the arch had originally been built for the emporer Hadrian (same one as the wall in England) why, therefore, would they choose to restore the Greek inscription and not the Latin? In any event we exlpored the Hippodrome and made a note to visit the chariot race that supposedly would take place later that day. We checked out the visitor center and decided to eat at the nearby tourist trap restraunt. Laura and I weren't really feeling the lunch mood though and decided to set off immediately. The reconstruction once we had actually entered the protected area was easier to identify and had occasional plaques that solved some of my questions, however it was difficult to figure out why, for example, were the columns in the oval plaza doric and the columns on the connecting streets all corinthian, yet had the same base. Why is the oval plaza offset? Was it built around neighboring buildings? Why is the monument in the middle off center? Why do the columns on the street match the columns on the temples? What is going on here?!?!
I eventually got over it and decided to enjoy.
Laura and I were summoned to the south amphitheater by the sound of bagpipes. The Jordanian gaurds were there in their green trenchjackets and dishdashas and red kuffiyehs. They played the standard British war marches (Yankee Doodle among them?) and entertained the throng of Korean tourists that went through. Laura and I climbed up to the top enjoying the bagpipes but enjoying the architecture more. As impressive as sitting at the top of the amphitheater looking down into it is, looking out onto the rest of Jerash was not so much as amphitheaters are pretty much carved into a hillside, so we were at most 20 feet above the nearest ground, but down into the amphitheater was a very sharp descent with no gaurdrails. At the bottom we collapsed in the bit of shade afforded by the seats and I heard a whisper in my ear. Around the bottom ring looking from the stage, not the proscenium behind it but the actual stage, were a number of depressions. Looking over I was the Jordanian gaurd whispering into one about 30 feet away. I could hear "hello, welcome to jordan" crystal clear. Those amazing Greeks.
After exploring the Temple of Zeus and seeing a French archeologist hard at work, we took the road less traveled to what could've either been baths or a church. It was beautiful to see the yellow flowers growing up through the cracks in the huge paving stones framed with columns without a roof, except the bluest sky ever. There were so many paths and nooks and crannies that we pretty much crawled over every wall we could. That's how we found the north amphitheater. It was less crowded than the other but smaller, with a new restored floor of colored stone. We knew this because we found ourselves on top of the proscenium wall, the backdrop if you were watching from the seats. There was about 5 feet of solid rock and then a drop of 30 feet on either side. There were a couple of soldiers hanging out in the seats and they told us jokingly not to fall, I said that I'd try and we exchanged pleasant words. Due to the amazing acoustics we could hear each other at speaking volume from 70 feet apart. Laura said that in Europe we would've been shot for touching the ruins (I'm exagerating a bit, but if anyone wants to get a hands on experience of Ancient Rome, come to Jordan, where no one cares if you scale a temple using nothing but your fingernails) We eventually made it to the actual seats by taversing the corner and squeezing past a wall Matrix style. This amphitheater was smaller but I liked it more due to the corridor behind the seats which had a soaring arched ceiling 30 feet overhead and a staircase to lead to the seats stadium style. It was about 15 degrees cooler in there and there were a few windows so it was well lit, but shady. Then there was the baths where we found a crumbling dome overhead with yellow flowers crowning and a few abandoned pairs of pants.
After deciding that it would not be worth it to wait for the others and try to amuse ourselves exploring the ruins, so we went into Jerash proper in search of schwarma and shisha. The population was less westernized for the most part, there were far more untrimmed beards and wide hijab indicating more religious piety and though I never felt unsafe, I doubt I would've after dark. This was more due to the fact that I could imagine the resentment held towards tourists, not necessarily Christians or Jews or Americans. The schwarma person patiently dealt with my attempts to order through him but eventually I ended up with a very large, extremely delicious chicken schwarma. It was easily the best schwarma I could imagine and I didn't feel a thing as I walked past the chickens in their cages along the Suq.
The way back to Amman was a bit more dignified and we got dropped off at the door. One of the happier additions to my life recently has been Arabic Coffee ground fresh with cardamom and brewed in the traditional manner. I drank an entire pot and stayed awake for the next few hours manically doing homework and contemplating the excellence of my life.

Saturday (straight out of my paper journal btw so beware: short unrelated sentences ahead)

I'm now out of the desert but I haven't gotten much of a rest yet. Saturday must've been the longest day ever. We wnet to SIT at 9 to leave for debrifing on our desert adventure at the Dead Sea. On the way we passed some tents by the side of the road made of colorful plastic and the inhabitants seemed to be tending a small plot of cultivated land. My ISP interest in that area spiked and receeded again (more on ISP woes later)
Before the Dead Sea we stopped at Bethany. I'm probably the most religious person in the group though I learned that B is actually a practicing Catholic. I was a bit miffed at the jibes of "holy water purification tablets" and the flurry of related jokes that went back and forth though I found them absolutely hilarious. I wish I could remember the rest. If I had been in a more pious mood I probably would've complained a lot too. The infrastructure at Bethany is very new and geared towards modern tourists. The prices were 2JD for Jordanians and 7JD for other nationalities. Bethany is run by an organization that does historical and archaeological work and cooperates closely with the state. It has to, Israel is a Bedouin shepherd's stone's throw away. There's a car park, a promenade with tourist shops (we founda key chain with the slogan "I <3 Baptism Site" and well beaten paths to John's spring, Elijah's hill, Jesus' historical baptism site (according to the Greeks). No structure is over 15 years old and the only ones older than 5 years are the benches, platforms and some coverings of the ruins of the old churches, 3 on top of each other, the oldest dating back to 300. There are many many new structures, including a Russian church by the river completed in 2003. The church is incredibly beautiful on the inside covered in paintings and with old mosaics tastefully implanted in the floor and is rich with religious imagery and architectural iconography. For instance the windows in the apse are tablets divided into 10 rectangles with crosses in them and two more in the semi circles on top of the tablets the significance being the ten commandments, christ's fulfilling of the old law, and the twelve apostles (or tribes maybe) all together. I really wish I had my camera, but I'll go back eventually.
Outside the church the tastefulness declined sharply. There was a Coke vendor by the church and new structures by all 4 baptism sites. 1 is filtered for children, 1 is where Jesus was baptised (as far as we know), 1 is at John's Spring, and 1 at the actual river itself.
Jordan's Banks are about 15 ft across and in all likelihood have not seen storms in many many years. A soldier held us back until the Israeli group was done and then let our group approach the water. We could see the Israeli outbuilding about 50 ft. away with 3 flags flying, the Israeli flag, a half white, half blue flag with an insignia and another unidentifiable flag in the center, green with a gold tracing of a gazelle head superimposed into a tree (from what I could tell anyway). The gaurds kept us all in one place until we left. Despite the vendors in the proverbial temple, the shocking newness of the place (I forgot to mention but the reason it's so new is that it was all built after relations w/ Israel normalized a few years ago, I'm not sure what pilgrims did before that but I wish I had been there.) the military presence and the joking, I felt like I was ona pilgramage and was thankful I had left my camera, broken, in M(roommate's) bag, so I didn't duplicate what I had done in Israel/Palestine where I took lots of pictures instead of paying attention. It really is beautiful there. There's lots of green trees and reeds and grass and undergrowth in a sort of uncommon wilderness. The only downside were the many flies.
I washed my face at John's spring and in the Jordan, which I guess doesn't count as baptism but it did feel good and ritualistic. Later, I read that the Jordan was actually high when we were there and in the summer is little more than a trickle. Thre reason is that Israel takes a lot fo water from Lake Tiberias (The sea of Galilee) for agricultural projects and Syria and Jordan responded in kind by damming the tributaries, the result being major devastation to all three bodies of water, the third being the Dead Sea. Jesus' historical baptism site is now about 100 yards from the river and is a nice green meadow. The Dead Sea is shrinking but I was surprised to not see any salt flats a la Salt Lake in Utah.
It was insteresting that such fucking up of nature's course and regulation by military force didn't spoil the significance ina ny great degree for me, a Quaker who doesn't put much stock in holy places anyway. On the way out, we saw construction of another church, this one Greek. We joked that it might have been a Holy-day Inn.
The Dead Sea was fun but dirty and it hurt. It's so salty that it makes any cut, rash (even something innocuous like razor burn) or eyes sting like hell. My sunburn throbbed and stung, but it was relaxing to play in the really thick water. We could swim faster with less effort, our legs bobbed up and were hard to get back down and we could do a form of swimming by a semi-running motion, upright in the water. A number of us got slathered up in the mud and cut feet from sharp rocks but I was too busy smoking nargila and listening to a talk on a Syrian poet. Besides, I had already washed up. A number of us plan on going back though. The construction of new hotels baffled me. Had there not been touristy places there before? Why? What was there before? Did I miss out on uncommercialized Jordan by only a few years? I was told that most of the touristy places were in Israel and Jordan's had only started after normalization.
The shower that evening was the best I'd ever had.
Later we went out with M and his Jordanian Christian friend who I forget the name of at this point. R and L joined us and we went to the Lady Cafe in suburban Abdoun. M and M(roommate) have a number of friends in common, both knowing the North Carolinians that went to the Universtiy of Jordan's summer program. M had acted as sort of welcoming committee organizing outings to Jerash and Aqaba and introducing hte X men and Y men (his names for the groups of foriegners) to local culture. He's a good guy and we have a lot to talk about (he's from Jerusalem) but I felt a little awkward, not sure if I was tired but he does try to give us a lot of resources, time, energy and it's hard to look a gift human in the mouth.
We had a really good time though. There was good, relatively cheap, food and nargila, and live music, Oud and Tableh. I learned alot about Arab songs. They tend to be communal in nature ("we forget who originally wrote them" says M) and take on ethnic significance. For example there was a song praising King Abdullah and the army. M's friend gloated and dance in his chair then the singer kept the same melody only switched the lyrics to Palestinian ones, Abdullah became Ramallah. M clapped and cheered while his friend tried to quiet him. It was nice to see ethnicity treated so lightly. There was also dancing. An old guy at a nearby table was dancing and singing at every song. "he's Lebanese" was the explaination. Apparently the Lebanese are the only Arabs that specialize in music and dance. Egyptians apparently smile and joke alot and Jordanians are austere. Some of the guys including me joined them for a dance and man, the old men knew how to move. It was frenetic but obviously had a pattern and rythm as they did it simultaneously. The best I could do was bounce a bit and enjoy it. R wanted to dance but no other women were dancing and it is a cultural and religious no-no to dance together. Apparently among the Bedouin there's a particular dance that used to be dancec by husbands and wives (in full hijab of course) but then they learned to read the Q'uran and learned that it was haram (forbidden) so now nobody dances and it's become a sad song. Music and dance here, both culturally and actually compositionally are very complex with patterns within patterns and melodies within melodies, much like the Harkonnens, only not evil.
Today in Arabic I realized that I'm a slow reader compared to a couple other people and had a flashback to 1st grade where I was very annoyed that not many other people could read as fast as I could. I suddenly felt really old and not nearly as precocious or clever as I once as. I think I'll resolve to never regret feeling old which means I need to keep myself sharp. (I'm sure the older people reading this will have some sort of reaction but you know...)

Bedouin 2/something

I think when I last left off (as faithful readers will no doubt recall) I had woken up to find myself among strangers. After a perfunctory round of introductions a great silence set in. My family knew no English whatsoever, and our Arabic was virtually mutually exclusive due to our thick accents, theirs Bedo, mine American. However a pattern soon emerged, we would get up in the morning, walk with the goats for about 8 hours and then return to camp. Along the way we'd stop about every other hour to rip up a dead bush and make a fire with it and make tea. I started wondering eventually how the Bedouin survive. The only liquid intake I ever saw was from tea, which was about 1/6 sugar. I guess the fire bread they made by mixing flour and water and dumping the loaf on the coals had some water in it but dang, I was chugging down my Nalgene every day. It didn't take me long to figure out I'd have to drink their water in order to survive, and coincidently the minute after I reached this conclusion I was handed my Nalgene which had been filled with the water from the cistern where they keep the flow from the rocks. I couldn't see through it but it didn't taste nasty at all. In fact it tasted better than tap water at home.
The father figure Abu Atullah served in the military and is a Hajj, meaning he's been to Mecca. He also commanded extreme respect from all the men as he was one of the few older men still retaining their sanity. The others all seem to suffer from a combination of Alzheimers, arthritis, and failure of communication due to lack of teeth, also they all had the TB cough, but they inhaled really skunky hand rolled cigarrettes at an alarming rate, so that could be a cause. One old man Abu Abdullah also shared the camp but left on the 2nd day because he was too sick. Um Atullah and Um Abdullah, the two older women were bad ass. They literally wore towels on their head, tied to their black hijab the effect being more of a headdress than a scarf. They also both sported the straight thick line tattooed on their chin which is a mark of distinction among Bedo. They chain smoked and scared everyone when they yelled at the goats. The younger woman who lived there was named Mautha and she was the reason the whole trip was worth it. For one thing, she was the only one patient enough to try to speak with me in English or Arabic. She was 20 but had a husband and looked about 27 or 30. She drew in the sand with me and built sand castles (amazingly enough, the sand below a few inches is very damp and hence constructable). She also sang quite a bit. On the 3rd day, in replacement of Abu Abdullah, and also I suspect because I only spoke to Mautha, a boy Mohammed also joined us. He teased me mercilessly until I started calling him 'hamar' (donkey) and succeeded in getting Mautha on my side. He was also appreciative of listening to my music. I found the one song in Arabic I had and they listened to it about 2 dozen times. Mautha related that she loves music and performs in Jerash and Kerak at the cultural festivals. The younger people were a bit more educated (in that they understood Standard Arabic) and also had a bit more mobility, but our family also demonstrated a lot more mobility than I would have thought. Abu Atullah going to Aqaba to get shoes and having access to trucks, cell phones, electricity in the village, but living mostly in the desert, is a good example. I didn't expect "traditional" everything, as in nothing out of a tourist brochure or even national geographic, but I was impressed that they managed to keep the new things such as trucks in their role as utilitarian items. In the dull time I would study my flashcards and draw pictures of the scenery (my camera broke on the first day there) and also thought a lot about things. I sang a bit but English and Arabic music are so different that nobody showed any interest.
I did get a break from routine occasionally. I helped a family move next door to Abu Ali and they had several baby goats with them and a baby kitten as well. The kitten had imprinted with the goats and played with them in a kittenish way and tried to climb the cliffs with them. Baby kitten thinking it's a baby goat = officially the cutest thing ever. I also got to see Julia in the desert but the majority of the time I was in the desert.
I think the timing of the trip was perfect. I gave them gifts on the last night and ended the stay on a positive note. I was given a watch (from Aqaba I guess) I was able to communicate a lot in the last day but was tired of the freezing nights (the blankets were too short) and dusty eyes and goat smell. Even the scenery had lost its appeal a bit. We left to Aqaba and got on a bus to Amman. They played the Transporter (which I guess was for our benefit as Americans even though the actors were english, chinese, and french and it was set in monaco) but then they played an Egyptian movie that yielded my new favorite quote this trip: "So what if she has an American suitor? What if he gets hit by a car or two planes fly into his face or he gets shot by a sniper" I was tired, dusty, sweaty, gross when I got home. The shower felt wonderful.

Bedouin week (post 1 of a series due to the complications of borrowing a computer)

For the past 6 days I've been living in the crack in a very large rock in the middle of the Jordanian desert. According to my family we weren't actually in Wadi Rum, though it was obviously close, we were in the protected area, we were in a different sahra (desert, plural = sahara). The first day was really neat, we boarded a bus in Amman, in an area that is the closest thing to a slum I've encountered, and rode most of the way down to Aqaba. The bus system in Jordan seems haphazard at best. Drivers hang out in the bus station calling out their destinations and when they have enough, they take off. Fortunately 15 people constituted a quorom so we were on our way pretty quickly. Along the way we picked up people off the side of the road and dropped them off. At the Wadi Rum exit we got off and waited for the pickup trucks that would take us to our gathering point in Wadi Rum. The truck ride was amazing, as we were in the back ripping down the road like and Amman taxi driver gone mad. We passed a train interestingly enough loaded with closed container cars. I figured they were water but it could've been sand for all I know. In any event we reached the camp where we had lunch and tea and waited for our families, which we had recieved the names of on neatly printed index cards, to pick us up. Firstly the camp was very camp in the sense that it was built for tourists. It was made of low stone walls with camel hair tent material over them. There were two long tents and a number of out buildings including western bathrooms. In fact, as we pulled up we discovered about 40 dutch tourists there. We were eventually taken away though by more pickup trucks and unceremoniously dumped in several places. We soon realized that there was absolutely no reason for us going with the families we were going with. I was last in our group to be dropped off at an underhang in a rock far out into the desert. There were older people, younger people, sheep, goats, I wasn't quite sure what to make of them but I talked a bit with Abu Ali who knew English about as well as I knew Arabic so we got on well. After dinner and tea, in the pitch dark, I was all of a sudden taken away in the truck to other places, including two tents, who apparently didn't want to host me but shared tea with me, finally dumping me in Abu Atullah's camp about 100 yards away from Abu Ali's. Everyone was asleep when I got there except Abu Atullha and so I didn't meet them until the next morning.