My Towering Local

All Day, All Night -- The Sheraton

The Sheraton as viewed from my balcony:
Photo courtesy of my talented boyfriend Marcus!

I would just like to take this moment to pay homage to my local Sheraton. Essentially, I live very near it, I work very near it, I find many uses for it (usually centering around a certain devil's brew). It has a great faux-English pub with faux-English cricket memorabilia and a happy hour so full of cheap cocktails it should be called ecstatic hour. In the summer it houses and outdoor terrace bar called "The Sanctuary", which attracts some swanky clientele (no need to apply masses of horny, menacing males we call "shebebs" that can ruin the aura of any serene setting) but still manages to be largely unpretentious.

So here's to the Sheraton for putting out all those large and small fires in my daily life (thanks for the repeated ATM use too!).

Marcus in Arabia

May 19th-24th -- Marcus comes to visit!

Two weeks ago, Marcus (boyfriend or in less understanding parts of Jordan, my husband) arrived in Amman bright-eyed and bushy tailed. He had been here before but he was around 7 years old. Things have changed in Amman in 20 years surely, but the rest of Jordan, save for the rapid death of the Dead Sea, is an ossified version of its past.

Marcus outside St George's Church in Madaba

Our first day we went to Madaba after a leisurely brunch at Crumz in Abdoun. The area surrounding Crumz never ceases to disorientate me. It feels like I'm right back in a plaza in Florida! Abdoun's finest show up in their Juicy Couture "I gave up on life" sweatpants and their Filipino maids in tow. Strangely, it's also a haven for Amman's motorcycle enthusiasts.

Now back to Madaba. It is home to one of Jordan's largest Christian populations, with 1/3rd of the town being followers of Abraham's other son. It is best known for its mosaic at St. George's Church which is the oldest existing map of Palestine and parts of Egypt and Jordan. What was most memorable, however, was the restaurant Haradet Jdoudna. Marcus and I stumbled across is as we were looking for souvenirs. Lucky mistake because apparently (and according to the Rough Guide, I later acquired) it is "one of the best restaurants in Jordan." The labneh there was of perfect thickness, and the mixed grill, though not plentiful, was of star quality.

At Haradet Jdoudna - nothing like a mezze pick-me-up to restore those synapses

That night we went to Jafra, an old hippy hang-out in Amman, and home to Amman's most depressing oud player.

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The next day, we joined Marcus's Mum's friends for a personal tour of the Eastern Desert site of Umm al-Jimal, and a day at the Zumot winery near the Syrian border.

The basalt ruins of Umm-al Jimal (mother of the camel in Arabic)

Umm al-Jimal is the site of an ancient village, occupied primarily by the Romans, constructed out of the black basalt common in the Eastern reaches of Jordan. It is a hodgepodge of housing and old bunkers, and indeed one has to really use their imagination to place themselves in the time period, however, it is impressive in its size. The row black basalt buildings obtrusively assert themselves against the sky and the stretch of desert, and to enter buildings with arches intact and doors still opening, despite the rumbling fault line below, is worth the visit alone. In one room, a wine storage rack still stood, -- oh the Romans, lushes they were!

Omar's Winery - I belive this section were the Syrah grapes

After that, we went to the Zumot winery. It is an all organic vineyard, fertilised by the excrement of fishes that sit in a pond by the castello (I'm just incorporating some Tuscan vocabulary). It was inspiring to see Omar, the owner of the winery, talk about his wine like a proud father. The afternoon of wine drinking (not tasting really -- we were crunk), was topped off with a mixed grill (!) BBQ and a swim in the outdoor pool.

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So if mistakes are generally born out of good intentions, I think I should define my intentions before continuing any further. Marcus and I were to check in at Feinan Lodge which sits on Dana Nature Reserve. We were supposed to have a very romantic star-gazing session (did you hear they replaced lights from electric sources with that of a thousand candles?) and to, you know, not feel like the backpackers we are for just one night. OPERATIVE WORD BEING SUPPOSED TO...

On the edge of Karak (Castle)

Well, as Lonely Planet suggested, we took the King's Highway. It certainly is the most beautiful route down south but it is long. Very long. road sign markings in this country are few and far between as well, so I asked an officer in one town the direction to Karak. Coincidentally, he was from Karak and needed a ride. So in the car he went. I exhausted all my Arabic in a period of 30 minutes but I managed to find out this 26 year old police officer had 8 children. After dropping him off, we stopped off at Karak Castle, enough to learn about the dark history of the Crusades and to catch a view from Karak all the way to the Dead Sea.

We then drove off to Dana. Hours later, when we reached the Stone Village, I called Feinan. They didn't have my reservation. Also, we were supposed to take the Dead Sea Highway and because we didn't, we were an 1 1/2 hours away. I was confused. Feinan (or so I thought) called me to confirm just days before. Whilst I was melting down on the phone, Marcus consulted, through hand motions, a local Bedouin boy who told him there were plenty of hotels in the Village. We stopped by Dana Guest House Hotel, a part of the RSCN, until we backed out because of its high prices. We then settled on a strange place called Dana Tower Hotel. It is a kitschy mock set-up of the ancient stone village, with bedouin decor. Yes, it was a bit weird. However, for 30JD a night for two, you have a great rooftop view and friendly service from a "Welcome to Jordan" happy bedu and his Filipino staff. I guess the weirdness, cheapness and out-of-this-worldliness is more of Marcus and my style anyway. After a short hike, I received a call from Dana Guest House, the first place in the village we visited. They asked me why I had not arrived yet. What? Ooooh, I booked the wrong hotel after all! For some reason, I mixed up Feinan with Dana Guest House. Well, consider it serendipity.

Our happy mistake at our cooky hostel

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We decided, on a whim to go down to Wadi Rum the next day. It was a good decision. We hired a driver for two-hours and he took us around the main sites. Ok, so he dropped us off at the main sites. He wasn't the most talkative chap. The highlight was the sand dunes with piles of the deserts distinctive red-tinted sand. I will never cease to be fascinated by expansiveness. I shrink in size each time.

Sand doomed in Wadi Rum - no, we didn't plan on matching that day

(Near) Death in The Mujib

April 30th -- The Lowest Tomb on Earth

Ignorance of the future is surely bliss

I shall make this brief. To linger too long on my near demise will surely drive me into the grave I just avoided:

Water is the source of strife and life in this region. I am told there isn't enough of it. What I think that means is that there isn't enough until there is too much.
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I took a trip with my friends from the University of Jordan to the Wadi Mujib. The day was filled with jovial climbs through the Wadi populated with girls in soaked hijabs and abayas and the laughter of my friends and me filling the vast space they call the lowest valley on Earth. Had nothing gone wrong, I would have had another "amazing day in Jordan" notch on my belt. The siq leading to the large waterfall at the end was challenging, you had to hike through an endless zig-zagging canyon and somehow climb up four strong, mini-waterfalls, but the end product was worth it. We all packed inside a massive waterfall and watched the fury from the inside, whilst more adventurous hikers abseiled down it from above. Half our group went ahead but upon exiting the waterfall we found more distractions: a lazy river, a fun rock slide into a whirling pool of water.

Then it happened. As I waited for my friends to come down the rock slide, I heard panicked yells and mostly "Yalla"s coming from a guide in front of me at the second mini-waterfall. At first, I didn't realise the water below me was growing stronger, murkier, and higher. To switch the brain from harmless fun mode to life-threatening mode is quite a leap to take. It all happened too quickly, as all accidents do. Adrenaline competes to slow it down but it's efforts are never enough. Suddenly, I could not ignore the rising water as I barely managed to stand. That's when the guide's panicked "Yalla"s had alerted my survival instinct. This was a flash flood and I may not make it out alive.

The water was almost protozoan, exponentially begetting itself. There was no source in sight. I looked back to my friends and as they still struggled to get down the first waterfall. It was then the guide in front of me picked me up and threw me down the steep waterfall in front of us. There were now two more hurdles. I struggled with the second one. The water grew in strength and I could barely hang on to this metal bar afixed to the rock. It swung my body around and I couldn't manage to stand up and my head was forced up and under like a fishing bob. When I return to this in my mind I can't recall the exact details of how I gained footing and made it down to the final waterfall. I think my brain was less worried about making memories at this point in the off chance I wouldn't have any!

What I do remember was the feeling of abandonment and worry. The guide was more intent upon saving himself and in his brief appearances he was only speaking rapid Arabic. I was on my own, unable to ascertain our chances of survival, trailing just behind a group of girls whose names I didn't know. I couldn't manage to stand on the long-stretch out of the Wadi, the water which was at our ankles on the way in was now at our knees and it delivered its defeating blow with each step I could muster. I kept landing face down in the water. There was a stranger who helped me up and I eventually made it to the sandstone walls of the Wadi and used it as my guide out. Meanwhile, I worried about my friends. I knew they face greater dangers than me and higher, more muscular water.

At some point, I knew I was safe. The siq opened up and I could see the basin that lead out to the Dead Sea. I still felt no relief. The fear complexes that had awakened every useful limb and sense I had, were still running through me. It was raining heavily at this point and I stood on the metal platform above the Wadi and waited for my friends. I saw glimpses of them 25 minutes later. I hugged them and listened to their stories through panting breathes and weak, but comforting, attempts at humour. They were too abandoned and left at the first waterfall. My two female friends nearly drowned trying to save each other. Had they not had our male friends with them to pick them up by the neck, I fear they wouldn't have made it out alive. We try not to think about this too much.

So were there signs of danger before we went in? We knew it was raining heavily in Amman but the water from there does not reach the Wadi Mujib. It is supplied by tributaries near Karak, which was not expecting rain, and which quickly overwhelmed the dam that should control the water levels. It is extremely rare for the end of April to bring flash floods, but such was our luck.

It is entirely exhausting to accept that you may not exist and your last thought would be a helpless plea to God or the Universe or to whomever may care about your tiny body on a large, unforgiving Earth, and can actually do something about it (who makes this Rolex again?). And it is hard to think about the people and reasons you want to stay alive. These thoughts still manifest as cryptic nightmares that I struggle to digest.

I know I will tell this story repeatedly throughout my life, and that it will serve as a constant reminder of the bell tolling for me and thee, but I will try and meet it with a laugh and a foreshadowing prelude that goes something like "So once, I almost died in Jordan..." It might go well with "So once, I almost died in Latvia..." and "So once, I was caught in between gang crossfire London..." Welcome to my life.

Easter Feast

April 24th -- Mt Nebo and Dibeen

This past Easter Sunday, my roommate asked me to join her and Jordan's Christian community (i.e. Filipinos) for a sunrise service on Mt. Nebo, where Moses is said to have died before seeing the Promised Land. I think if he evaluated the present state of this Land with all it's political turmoil and lack of water today he may not have been so fussed about reaching it and and perhaps would have gone no further than a beach hut in the Sinai!

The day was beautiful, the view of the Dead Sea and the neighbour's hood, stunning, and despite having to wake up at 4am to experience it, it's fits neatly on my "Do Everything" list, check!! Also, it confirmed my suspicions that the Blood of Christ is best represented by a fine, vintage Port rather than grape juice.

The view from Mt Nebo: I did more this day before 7am than I probably will in a year

After that, we joined my roommate's friends at a picnic in the North near Ajloun at Dibeen National Park. I was expecting a few cheese sandwiches and some Aquafina but these are hungry Jordanians after all. They had numerous bags of meat, vegetables and their nargileh in tow. We ended up feasting for hours and enjoing the shade of Dibeen's flora. I was introduced to a Jordanian BBQ classic called 3rayis (which shares its names with the Arabic word for 'bride'). It is grilled pita bread stuffed with marinated mince meat and olive oil. Kan huwe zakki ktir (It was very delicious!).

There is an unmodest picnic beneath that plastic

A rare glimpse of green in Jordan

Beirut Baby!

April 14th-17th -- The Paris of the Middle East, except with pleasant people

On our way to Beirut a few weekends ago, we had to board a plane rather than use the conventional bus route through Syria. This is due to a.) me not having a visa for Syria b.) and oh yeah, it's all falling to shit there. It seems leaders after leaders fail to grasp (perhaps there isn't enough oxygen seeping into that tiny bubble they live in), that dissatisfaction should be met with reform, not tanks and bullets. Citizens are not an invading army.

Well, here we are again back to Beirut. It's a short flight, but there is enough time to strip down your layers so by the time you get there you are 2 feet of fabric away from your birthday suit. It's Beirut baby...the Middle East diluted with a generous spritz. Time to let those pale shoulders and thighs sing (to Fairuz that is)!

Beirut is instantly recognisable in that it looks like a city (please read below for a comparison to Amman which does not). We stayed at Saifi Gardens, nice hostel/Arabic language school conveniently located next to big boozie, Gemmayze, but it could have been a tad cleaner. We did the typical stroll on the Corniche at sunset, drinks in Hamra, a walk around the American University of Beirut, and H&M stop (ok, that isn't so conventional but we were with two Swedes!).

Towards the Gemmayze watering-holes we go

There are a number of bizarre things about this crazy Mediterranean town, however, (which all have explanations so keep reading on):

1.) You can get American dollars from ATMs and use it as currency
2.) Some buildings are as new as a fad and others (usually right next to the new ones) are abandoned and derelict.

3.) The most iconic and harrowing remnant of the war is the towering and heavily mortared Holiday Inn. Why the hell is it still standing?

4.) Beirut kind of looks like it could have served as the backdrop to a Buena Vista Social Club documentary.
5.) Newly restored Downtown, is pristine and quiet like a movie set.

6.) You really shouldn't take out your camera near Army men

7.) Are there really 18 religions and sects?

Lucky for us, we optioned for a "Walk Beirut" tour, which came widely recommended from like-minded travelers. It's run by ginger-haired Lebanese guy named Ronnie (he swears he's Lebanese, right) who occassionally receives help from his friends. Ronnie unraveled Beirut for us; all of it's mysteries and past glories. He told it's story like a professional, a man who knows his pauses lead to effects and to create a cohesive view of a place, once must get to know its residents. This is no easy task for a country with 18 official religions and sects who all walk above Phoenician ruins. Do you remember how your Kindergarten teacher would oscillate an open book to your illustration-hungry classmates cross-legged on the floor? It was kind of like that.

Ronnie, the ginger Beiruti

The most magical thing about Ronnie's walking extravaganza was that he answered every question we could pack into our tiny tourist brains over two days so to return to the numbered inquiries above:

1.) The dollar used to be heavily counterfeited since the Pound was the same size so they have been using them interchangeably since; even small shops now are equipped with quite sophisticated counterfeit detection devises.

2.) You cannot occupy a building until the original owner or his/her offspring (usually of the diaspora) sells the property. The Lebanese diaspora is more than 4 times the population of people actually in Lebanon and many are unaware they have inherited property! Also, many buildings on the Green Line (the division between East and West during the Civil War) were abandoned, thus adding to the juxtaposition between the new and derelict.

Uhh, does some Lebanese Brazilian want to claim me?

3.) The Holiday Inn is owned by the Emir of Kuwait who is hesitant about dismantling it and rebuilding something on the spot until Lebanon is more stable...in'shallah.

The Hostile Inn: a remnant of war

4.) Turns out that Ottoman-French-Lebanese architecture=Cuban aesthetics (at least in my eyes!)

My what a nice harem you have

5.) Solidere is the private investment firm in charge of rebuilding Beirut after the Cold War. They did such a good job that no one can afford the property Downtown.

Soulless Solidere

6.) Most of Beirut is unphotographable! You cannot take photos in some areas for security or privacy reasons.

[Not pictured]

7.) The last census was taken in 1932. Probably not.

16 more to go...

Beirut's future is perpetually indeterminate. Currently, it has no government and it is still dealing with the aftershocks of Prime Minister Rafik Hariri's assassination in 2005 where a certain party of the Almighty stationed in Southern Lebanon is surely to be implicated.

The Lebanese are no stranger to war nor displacement. I am curious how people live with, around, amongst, beside war(s). I grew up with first-world guarantees that tomorrow will be as stable as today and the day before that because surely disaster would never strike a Floridian suburban town. In the words of my tour guide Ronnie after some post-tour beers, "Uncertainty means no one really talks about their future here," later he added, "And we don't discuss politics when we go out." So with that, I gulped down my beer and resigned myself to enjoy what Beirut had to offer right then and there: a two-for-one special, good chat and good company. I felt happy, buzzed, content. Three things political discussions have rarely made me feel!

Around Amman

Tales of An Accidental City Part 1-- April City Excursions

I have yet to post an account of where I spend most of my Jordanian days and nights: the Ancient city of Philadelphia. Apparently, Amman is the oldest, continuously lived-in city. I wouldn't say this is clutching at straws but I would say, as in the case of the LSE's similar declaration of housing "the world's largest social science library", that it may be an embellished superlative. Compared to surrounding Arab cities, take the antebellum charisma of Beirut, and the flossiness of stupidly-minted Dubai, Amman can appear underwhelming. The city has the feel of an overnight pop-up suburb with deja-vu housing. Indeed, if there was ever a modern city planner here, I would like to meet this person and clarify what visual-spatial disorder he/she may possess.

All that aside, beneath the architectural uniformity and the incongruity, there are many hidden gems. I do have a great fondness for Amman so I'd like to share the good, bad and ugly. This is the first part in my series on life in the Big City (Ok, I don't think this will be a long-series, I don't want to oversell!).

These streets aren't made for walkin'

Perhaps we should start where many dare not to tread alone: Amman's sidewalks.

As alluded to earlier, Amman is notoriously unwalkable. I assume the sidewalks are designed for ants as they are they are accustomed to frequent strolls in gravel as most "walk"ways tend to end suddenly as if someone took a sledge hammer to it. I am also confident ants have very low expectations as to how far they will get in a day.

I am one those Western freaks who takes to these Ammani streets. My house is so close to my work that I can't justify taking a cheap cab ride and ending up in my backyard. As close as it is, I wouldn't say it's pleasant crossing a four-lane road every morning. In fact, this attracts a number honks from passing cars, either from men who like to express their sexual frustration in honks or from drivers who would like to state they disapprove of my penchant for putting one-foot-in-front-of-the-other. In addition to the Popeye's Chicken establishments, this is another feature Amman has in common with a southern American suburb. You just don't walk if you aren't expecting to get a few bemused stares.

There are a few places where anxious Western feet are welcomed, however. And then God said, "Let there be Rainbow Street!"

A "you-can-walk-here" beacon!

Rainbow Street is Amman's answer to East London. It's cobblestoned walkways are dotted with cute cafes (ok, mix in a bit of Edgware Road because of the prevelance of nargileh) and handicraft shops. It also has a great outlook over the city where young boys with their musical toys can be seen around sunset serenading their friends. Some highlights:

1.) The Falafel Sandwich place: I'm sure this has an actual name but I have only zoned in on the 35-50 piastre runny hummus/falafel sandwiches. It's a hole-in-the-wall and completely unmissable. There is a picture on the wall of Dave Milliband visiting the joint. Enough said.

2.) Wild Jordan: This is a Western-style cafe/restaurant. It features healthy food options that run in line with its commitment to nature conservation (it's a platform for the RSCN to display their goods) but the real reason you should come is for the fresh juice and views of the Roman Citadel.

My friend Sura and me at Wild Jordan

3.) Books @ Cafe: It's probably the most renowned expat cafe but it also has a local vibe. The staff are friendly and the food and drinks reasonably priced.

4.) The Jordan River Foundation showroom: The JRF employs several bedouin women to design modern cloth for the bedroom and it really has me drooling. The price tag and my Easy Jet weight limit, however, keep me from buying anything!

@ The JRF Showroom: The pillows of my dreams

Less you think I arrive in the East looking for the West...I actually prefer the more traditional parts of Downtown Amman to Rainbow Street, despite it not being as walker friendly. There you find good food at local prices and you get a real sense of how energetic and close-knit the city can feel before it sprawled to the outlying hills. Recently, I visited Hashem Restaurant and Habibah for criminally cheap food with a few of my Mom's friends. (My Mom met an older couple in Florida who have long forgone the comforts of 5-Star hotels -- I got the sense they could more than afford them too! -- and have decided to travel through nearly 150 countries like a pair of backpacking youths).

Bill, 90 years old and still enjoying life...and falafels at Hashem Restaurant

Barbara Roy and I enjoying Kunafa at Habibah - it is shredded wheat over sweet cheese and it's packed with more than the recommended daily amount of sugar

Reem al Bawadi: Don't ask me, or a taxi driver for that matter, how exactly to get here besides a prayer and some survival Arabic, but if you do figure it out (you, the Lonely Planet equipped) it's worth all the leg-work put in. Reem al Bawadi is a bedouin/Lebanese-style mezze restaurant. The space inside is endless, the service prompt, and the food is excellent (ok, so my food vocabulary isn't the most refined). The best features though are the stuffed sheep hemorhagging asbestos. It makes for a great photo opportunity. There was also a man outside with a tilted carriage that took us for a ride behind the Hardees and Burger King -- it was a stroll through Central Park Amman style.

Reem al-Bawadi - Bedouin Posers