To the Beach!

Last weekend, the Davidson crew (plus our new British friend, Emily) took our first extended trip outside of Amman, making it to the coastal town of Aqaba in southern Jordan.  Aqaba’s position in the Middle East makes it especially interesting, as it lies only miles from Saudi Arabia and across the Red Sea from both Egypt and Israel.  I had to look at a map to understand just where we were going!

To get to Aqaba, we took the Jordanian equivalent of a Greyhound bus.  Our trip should have lasted around 4 hours, but an Atlanta-style traffic jam forced us to take an alternate route, which added some extra time.  No worries, though, as our new path wound past stunning views of the Dead Sea and through miles of arid desert.  At first, the desert landscape reminded me of many of the parks I’ve visited in the American Southwest—lots of reddish stacked stone canyons and some scattered vegetation.  However, our surroundings became more and more desolate as we traveled south along the road that my guidebook simply calls “The Desert Highway.”  Miles of dusty flatness extended as far as we could see, and the temperature climbed. 

The Desert Highway--that's not a cloud; it's dust!  Not much to see out here.

Almost in Aqaba...

By the time we arrived in Aqaba, it was still hot (daytime temperatures hover around 103), but there was finally evidence of life.  In the mid-60's, Jordan traded 6,000 square km of its desert land to Saudi Arabia for a mere 12 km of coastline on the Red Sea.  Clearly, this tiny port is a point of pride for the country, which has since poured billions of dinar into making Aqaba a top tourist destination.  While it’s no Dubai or Beirut, Aqaba’s green parks and ample shopping are evidence of the money invested there.

After a quick, overpriced cab ride to My Hotel (that was actually its name), we approached the concierge to present passports and determine whether we could save some money on the rooms.  8 students, 2 rooms, 4 double (read: glorified twin) beds, and 1 very tight budget—we could make it work, right?  Unfortunately, the man behind the desk didn’t think so, and we had to purchase an extra room after all.  In the end, we were all probably happier to have the space for our 2 nights in Aqaba.

The next day, we rose early enough to beat the heat and headed to the beach.  Most public beaches in Aqaba are not only crowded, but they also require women to be fully covered, making it impossible to get in the water in less than a burkini (burka+bikini).  As there were 3 of us girls, and none of us felt like swimming in jeans, we found a private beach down the road.  As our beach was located only 12 miles from the Saudi border and adjacent to a Jordanian naval station, security to enter was tight.  Still, a quick examination of our passports was enough to get us on our way to the sand.

In the middle of Aqaba.  That's Egypt across the water.  We could also see Israel across some points.

Fortunately, the weather on the beach was very pleasant, and we spent the entire day relaxing and exploring the coral reefs along the coast.  With the exception of some harmless purple jellyfish, the water was clear, and we were able to see expanses of colorful fish, coral, sea urchins, and more.  Definitely a change from the Gulf swimming that I’m used to!

Our beach.  The Red Sea is blue!

Some of the reefs where we snorkeled

We all agreed that this trip had exceeded our expectations, and I’m looking forward to traveling more over the next couple of months.  Next on the list, Petra and Wadi Rum!

Getting Sporty

I spent a large part of last week volunteering with Reclaim Childhood, a non-profit organization that empowers Iraqi and Syrian refugee women and girls through sport and play.  Founded in 2008 by several Williams College alumnae, RC has been expanding its work in Jordan to include several months of sports camps and coaching clinics each year.  This summer, their sports camps will draw the largest group of refugee girls yet, with 100 registered campers coached by 40 Jordanian women.

As RC's summer programs are just beginning, I arrived just in time to help with their coaching clinic.  Women arrived from across Amman.  Some were graduates of the University of Jordan, others enrolled at the local Hashemite University.  There were Child Development majors and soccer stars, some already married and others only my age.  According to RC's program director, it is very rare to see so many women whose families will allow them to do sports.  For a few hours, they removed their abayas (traditional cloaks common in the Islamic tradition), laced up their tennis shoes, and played.

Upon asking what I could do to help at the camp, I received one instruction--"just play!"  So I did.  Despite the language barrier between the coaches and me, they still welcomed me into their games.  I'm not much of a soccer or basketball pro, but I still had a blast running down the court.  I even blocked a few goals!  Since the camp's primary objective is to instill confidence rather than sharpen skills, we also played a number of ice-breakers.  For those of you who have ever played the "Human Knot" game, be assured that it is even more difficult in Arabic!

In addition to plenty of playing time, the coaches learned about and discussed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  Sadly, this affliction affects many refugees, many of whom witness horrific scenes prior to fleeing their homes.  As a Psychology major, I wish that I had understood more of the conversations that the women had about PTSD.  With widespread regional unrest, this problem seems unlikely to disappear any time soon.

My favorite part of the clinic fell on the last day, when "She-Figher" Lina Khalifeh came to discuss harassment and teach self-defense skills.  With a background in martial arts, Lina promotes awareness of violence against women and empowers women to fight back.  Standing at center court, she demonstrated moves that would send any attacker running.  When the women finally practiced, they seemed strong, ready to tackle any challenge, beginning with their summer mentorship roles.

Learn more about Reclaim Childhood here: http://www.reclaimchildhood.org/Reclaim_Childhood/Home.html

Adventure to Ajloun

As a part of our orientation to Qasid, a group of about 100 students travelled on Monday to Ajloun Castle, a 12th century fortress in the north of Jordan.  As we drove, passing first through the affluent West Amman before turning north, I was astonished by the number of trees scattered throughout the hills.  Whereas Amman and the south of Jordan are quite arid, our bus ride brought us through rich agricultural areas, and we even saw a few rivers!  Between the scenery and a few minor bus breakdowns, it was an eventful trip.

One of Ajloun's many towers

The view from the top of Ajloun--there are trees!

Once at Ajloun, our weathered tour guide spoke to us about the castle’s location in an area where hundreds of prophets, including Elijah and Jesus, had supposedly travelled.  Positioned far from other civilizations, those at Ajloun used to send messages by way of homing pigeons.  Who needs the Postal Service?!

An uncovered mosaic in the main hall of Ajloun

 

Following our tour, we enjoyed a traditional Jordanian restaurant-style meal in the nearby town of Jerash.  Shortly after sitting down, we were overwhelmed by the number of dips and salads that our waiters placed on the table.  Hummus, baba ghanoush, and an abundance of hot pita—how could we possibly eat all of this?!  Just when we were really slowing down, the main course arrived!  A member of my host family insists that everyone gains 10 pounds when in Jordan, and I’m beginning to believe her. 

First Impressions

After leaving Atlanta around 3:15 on Wednesday afternoon, I finally arrived at the apartment where I will have my homestay on Thursday at 11 PM Amman time.  As we are 7 hours ahead of EST here, my trip lasted over 24 hours, making me one sleepy traveler by the time I finally got in bed!

I’m staying in the home of Madam Muneira, her husband Albert, and her 28-year-old son Danny, along with two other Davidson students, Devin and Sawyer.  Since family units in the Middle East tend to be closer, one of Muneira’s other sons lives with his family downstairs, and other family members are dispersed throughout the apartment building.  Now, I haven’t actually met Muneira yet—she and Albert are currently visiting another son in the U.S.—but from what I gather, she’s a seasoned host to students and a pretty fantastic cook.  So far, I’ve been hooked on her daughter-in-law’s hummus, foule (a bean dish), and pita bread, so I’m confident that other regional food will go down fairly easily.

Yesterday, Devin, Sawyer, and I set out to explore the city and decided to pay a visit to the Citadel, one of the earliest civilizations in Amman, which was first occupied during the Neolithic period.  Perched atop the highest point in the city, the Citadel offers panoramic views of Amman, and the artifacts in its museum made any early piece of American history seem brand new. 

The Umayyad Mosque

 

Overlooking Amman

While the visit to the site was definitely valuable, the journey that brought us there exposed the Amman novices in us.  Riding in a taxi for the first time, we made the unfortunate mistake of choosing one without a meter, which is illegal but allows the driver to set his own price.  We consequently paid about 5 times what the ride should have cost (I should note that this is still significantly less expensive than most American cabs), accepted our loss, and carried on.  Fooled once, but surely not again.

Today was Qasid’s orientation, a long series of sessions dealing with everything from how to avoid a bad taxi deal (only a little late) to what to expect in the classroom.  I have already met students from across the U.S., U.K., and Middle East, all learning Arabic for different reasons.  With such a diverse range of backgrounds, it’s sure to be a rich experience.

Now, as the call to evening prayer resonates from mosques glowing green around the city, I can feel my eyes drooping and know that it’s time to rest before another long day…

En Route

Why is it that each time I find myself in the Paris airport, it looks completely different?  I remember once being in a modern terminal with arching wooden ceilings, and another time emerging from my gate into a white tunnel and slanted walkways.  This time, my particular section of this expansive traveling place is equal parts 70's and space age.  After using some French to wiggle my way through yet another round of security, I'm now reclining on a chaise that looks like it may have been shared by the Brady and Jetson families at one point in time.  Somewhere behind me, there's some sort of strangely repetitive zen music, which I guess is meant to relax me.  Still, although it's nearly 2 AM in Atlanta right now, I can't stop reviewing all that will happen in the next 24 hours, so rest is difficult.

My resting place of choice in Paris

Fortunately, I had an uneventful flight to Paris.  After making my way through Atlanta's beautiful new international terminal, only to discover that my flight was actually in the old terminal, I hugged mom and dad goodbye (some tissues involved) and hopped on the plane.  The guy next to me was a former Wofford basketball player who had competed against Stephen Curry in his prime.  We got along.  With any luck, my next flight to Amman will be just as smooth.

For now, I have about 6 more hours to kill before takeoff.  Knowing that I would be here a while, I rented The Business of Being Born, which I know will please Gracie, along with Breakfast at Tiffany's and Under the Tuscan Sun.  I've got my journal and my collection of Flannery O'Connor short stories in my bag and, of course, some study material if all else fails.  Maybe I'll even go on a hunt for a good croque madame when I get hungry--yum!

Ready to go!

يَلا

Less than a year ago, the title of this first post would have been completely incomprehensible to me.  Having taken French for most of my life, reading from right to left was pretty foreign.  Looking to learn something new and expose myself to a different culture, I decided to take up Arabic last fall.  Now, after a year of learning Arabic at Davidson, I've learned enough to entitle this post "Yalla!," or "Let's go!"  An apt choice, given my eager anticipation of the journeys ahead.  


This summer, I will be completing the intermediate level of Arabic at the Qasid Institute in Amman, Jordan.  Some students at Qasid are completing undergrad and graduate degrees, while others are learning Arabic for their careers or to better understand their faith.  Among the 230 students enrolled for the upcoming term, 7 of us are from Davidson, so I'll be in good company along the way.  


Apart from lots and lots of studying, I'm hoping to explore the area (Petra, the Dead Sea, perhaps Jerusalem), which is of course steeped in religious, historical, and political significance.  On a lighter note, I'm also dying to ride a camel.  The tourist in me cannot be denied.


For now, I'm enjoying 4 more nights at home before jet-setting out for my summer adventure.  My most pressing task is to finish up my packing of long skirts and lots of sunscreen.  Even after purging myself of as much pleasure reading as I can afford to, this 50 lb. limit is proving to be a challenge.  Arabic books are heavy!