Some Photos From Jordan

Taxi Drivers and Old Arab Men: WTF?

I'm catching up on several days of journal writing that I have not put onto the blog. Now that I have time and internet here in Amman, I am sharing with you all. I do apologize for the delay.

6/23/09

Lael arrived last night so I am excited. Her Taglit friend and her uncle escorted her to meet me at Damascus Gate and they asked me many questions. Their paranoia was apparent. They implored me to take care of Lael as if I were the one who'd just met her and they were the ones who had known her for two years.

Yesterday in class we learned the word for spoon and Richard asked, "Would that also be the verb 'to spoon' or...?" There was an awkward silence and then all the students started laughing. By Sami's silence I guess he does not know what it means. Today he wrote the word for teeth on the board and said, as usual, "What this mean?" and Edward blurted out "vagina!" I may have been the only one who heard.

6/25/09
9ish pm in Amman

Getting from Ramallah to Amman was rather more difficult and unpleasant than I thought it would be. It was so hot and we were surrounded by pushy people. Lael informed me that the U.S. is actually in the minority regarding the polite use of lines.

The trip involved three buses and three taxis. The drivers of the last two taxis had no navigational skills. Our driver from the Israeli town of Beit She'an to the Jordanian border asked me directions to the border and then demanded more money than we agreed on after he took us there. I stood firm.

The taxi ride on the other side of the border was more than an hour long and we shared it with an elderly French couple. I am surprised at how liberal Jordan is, and how high the quality of life seems to be here in the Western side of Amman. And cheap everything is [ed. note: on second thought, things aren't really that cheap]. We just ate a huge, three course meal at a fancy restaurant for 22 Dinars. Lael says that is $33, but I am still having trouble with the conversion.

There is a bar underneath our hotel room and they are playing pretty good American hip hop, like Lil Wayne and Kanye West. I am beginning to regret bringing only one shirt.

6/26/09

Last night I dreamt that Lael's trip to Jordan was insured and the insurance company had a long list of crazy demands.

1. Lael had to fix the gap in her teeth (she doesn't have one in real life). Meaning she had to wear a retainer at all times.
   
2. Lael had to wear a helmet when riding the bus.
   
3. We had to travel with a pet rabbit for emotional support.
   

I told Lael about this dream when I woke up and she said, "If we find a rabbit while we're out today, you can buy it. I don't care."

While we were out walking, we encountered a street that was filled almost solely with pet shops. Most of the merchandise was fish and birds but as I was admiring an African Gray parrot in the doorway of one store, the kindly storekeeper said, "I have rabbit!!" I followed him to the back of the store, where he opened a cage full of juvenile rabbits and put one in my hands.

It had a very disapproving look on its face, like, "You know I don't really like you touching me, so you're being quite selfish right now." I touched his belly for a minute, then put him down, managing to leave the store without buying him, despite the provinence (correct use of the word???) of last night's dream and Lael's total lack of discouragement.

6/27/09
Saturday
2pm ish

This girl Katie, Lael's friend, is really starting to get on my nerves. I'm trying to be charitable and just say that she's not used to traveling with others, but neither am I, and I'm not going around ignoring other peoples' clearly-stated needs and desires.

I have said more than once since she arrived yesterday that I can't walk as fast as she can and asked her and Lael to walk slower. It was said for Katie's benefit, not Lael's, because Lael has adopted the policy of walking somewhere between us to keep the chain connected.

Also, Katie seems to like taking the lead, perhaps because she speaks Arabic fairly well, but instead of communicating with me and Lael about what she's doing, she just decides and then does it. It's not that I don't trust her, I'm sure we would get where we're going one way or another, but it's no fun to just follow someone around.

Then, this creepy guy with no sense of personal space came up to me and asked to show me around. I said no thank you, but he kept circling back to pick up our trail at every turn. Katie was thrilled to let him lead us, citing "Arab Hospitality" but I didn't trust him. I suspect "Arab Hospitality" is different in Yemen, because here, when gross old men offer to take you somewhere, it never turns out well.

So we followed. Up and up we went, climbing stairs, trails, and alleyways. Katie continued apace with no apparent concern that I was falling farther and farther behind. Luckily, Lael hung back with me, but that didn't stop Mr. Arab Hospitality from touching my ass whenever he found himself in the rear of our caravan. The first time I wasn't sure if it was an accident or not. The second time, I turned around and yelled, "Stop!" very forcefully and he left us.

I was pretty annoyed with Katie at that point but also recognized that such a level of tension would not be fun to endure over the course of the next 18 hours, until I leave them. So I looked for an opportunity to defuse the tension. One came when Katie reported that we were supposed to buy a ticket to the ruins but that we had bypassed the gate because our ass-grabbing guide led us to the secret back door entrance.

I said, "Hey! That's worth a couple of ass grabs. I guess I paid for our tickets!"

She acted neither surprised nor amused nor concerned.

Then she asked to spend 40 more minutes in the museum, even though we had all agreed to go to lunch much earlier than that time. I said I would be happy to wait for her, but 30 minutes was really my limit. She said, "Really???" in an unbelieving tone, which could have meant, "Really? That long. Thanks!" or "Really? That short? Selfish asshole." And poor Lael feels put quite in the middle of this discord.

UPDATE:

Katie did find her way back to my location within 30 minutes, which has abated the annoyance somewhat.

A Note about Taxi Drivers:

Two common mistakes in Amman are as follows:

• to mistake a meter reading of "688" to mean six dinars and 88 piastres. What it actually means is 688 piastres, slightly more than half a dinar. I made this mistake yesterday.
  
• to allow a driver to take you somewhere without the meter running. Do this at your own risk and only if you have agreed to a price before departing.
  

It took 9 Hours to Get to Amman

Getting to Amman was quite the hassle. We began our trip in Ramallah at 8am and, since we had decided to cross at the Sheikh Hussein Bridge rather than Allenby, the first leg of the trip took us to Jerusalem. We passed the Qalandia checkpoint without incident. In Jerusalem, for reasons I could not understand, Lael wanted to take a city bus from Damascus Gate to the central bus station. She said she wanted to experience it. However, she was pulling a heavy suitcase, the trip to the bus stop was uphill, and it was already getting hot. After a short hike, I could not ascertain where the bus stop actually was and persuaded her to take a taxi.

I haggled with the taxi driver in the following straightforward fashion:
"How much to go to the central bus station?"
"Forty shekels."
"Hmmmm [frown]. Last time it was 30."
"I would take 35 but it is now rush hour."
[silence]
"[loud sigh] Ok I take 35!"

We passed security at the central bus station again without incident, bought our tickets, and separated. Lael went to wait at the platform, and I went to buy sunglasses as mine had just broken. Upon arriving at the platform, Lael and I discovered we both needed to use the bathroom, but we had only a few minutes until the bus departed. We took turns going down the long hallway to the bathroom (where we paid one shekel to use the facilities) and staying with the baggage. We boarded just in time.

Before the bus left, I had supposed that our route would take us all the way around the West Bank, since our crossing point into Jordan was the tiny Israeli town of Beit She'an, just North of the Green Line. (For reference, this map shows the area in question) But I soon discovered that our route was through the West Bank, which is perhaps why Egged advertised that the bus was armored. Meaning bulletproof, I can only assume, because it didn't look anything like an armadillo, as Lael and I had both imagined. Nobody announced we were going through the West Bank of course, but I paid attention attention to the road signs. We passed settlement after settlement, of the Israeli and Bedouin variety. But mostly it was just empty, beautiful desert.

We were woken up near the end of the trip when the bus driver came to the back to yell at Lael and I. He thought we were trying to cheat Egged, that had bought tickets for some earlier stop but intended to go on to Beit She'an anyway. I was proud that my command of Hebrew was sufficient enough to figure out what he was asking and to answer.

It went like this:
[all the passengers staring at us, Lael notices and pokes me]
Bus driver: " Where you two going?"
me: "Beit She'an."
"You have a ticket that says Beit She'an? Let me see."
I brought out the ticket and he grunted and walked to the front to resume driving.

Our stop at Beit She'an was at a pizza/falafel joint and was populated solely by American Birthright travelers and Israeli soldiers. We were pleased to leave. We got a taxi, but the driver didn't speak English, so he collected a couple of female IDF soldiers to translate. We said we wanted to go to the Jordanian border. He didn't seem to know where that was, but the soldiers pointed the way. Then we negotiated in Hebrew:
Taxi driver: "50 shekels."
me: "40 shekels?"
"Ok, 40 shekels."
He turned around to discuss with the soldiers again and then returned to us.
"Forty shekels, right?" I said. I wanted to make sure. He said yes.
He then proceeded to ask me for more directions as we drove, in Hebrew.
I said emphatically, "I don't know!" Then, as we approached the sign that said, "Jordan River crossing" and pointed to the right, I said, "Right." He responded, "I can see that."
When he dropped us off, we gave him 40 shekels and he responded that the price was 50. I reminded him he agreed to 40 and and said, "this is enough." We walked away as he continued arguing with our backs.

Crossing to Jordan involved dealing with the authorities on both sides, of course, and a very hot bus that took us exactly 2 kilometers, but we had to wait 30 minutes for it. On the other side of the border, we were approached by an elderly French couple who asked if we wanted to share a taxi to Amman. We had previously planned on taking a bus, but for the following three reasons we opted to ride with them:
1) there were no buses in sight.
2) he told us the taxi was much cheaper than we thought it would be.
3) splitting the cost between four instead of two would make it even cheaper.

We did get to Amman at the drastically reduced price of 7 dinars per person, but our taxi driver did not seem to understand the following:
1) that we needed to be dropped at two different hotels.
2) which hotels those actually were.
3) how to get to those hotels.

There were many stops along the way, where he asked directions from several shopkeepers. Finally we arrived at the Hisham Hotel, which has so far seemed simple and classy. We arrived at our hotel at 5pm.

We went out to dinner last night and discovered that the dishes (at this rather upscale restaurant) were mostly between 1 and 3 dinars each. One dinar is about $1.50, by the way. I was thrilled but skeptical when I noticed this, thinking there would be a catch.

No catch.

No hidden charges (besides the usual tax and tip), no digestive issues, no scams.

And that is all, so far.

Getting Around in the Holy Land

I made my first trip this year from the West Bank to Israel and this venture took me through the Qalandia Checkpoint, which I had managed to pass by last year (some of you may remember the video in which a soldier checked my papers while her gun was in my face- but she did so while everyone was still on the bus).

Here's how that went:
The bus stops on one side and everyone gets out. We walk inside the checkpoint, which is really not a building so much as a shaded encslosure consisting of a series of lanes and revolving gates, with lines of people at each one. There is an almost inaudible click of the gate and two or three people are let through. They put their things on the RAPISCAN conveyor belt, go through the metal detector, and show their papers to a soldier. Once they have left the checkpoint, the gate clicks and two or three more people push through before the gate locks again. Outside the bus is waiting. We all get on (not the same set who left the bus 30 minutes before) and continue to Jerusalem.

This is the manner in which as many as 6000 people per day pass through any one of the hundreds of checkpoints in the West Bank.

About Vehicular Transportation:
Traveling in Ramallah, or between Ramallah and Birzeit, there is at least one moment in every day when I am sure the van I'm in is going to hit a person, dog, or another van.

Let me explain first about the vans. Public transport in the WB consists mostly of large yellow vans called serveece or simply Ford that take people along designated routes much like a bus would. There are designated starting and stopping points but people can get off or on anywhere they like, provided there is room in the van. The vans mostly travel between different cities and villages. This is the manner in which the majority of Palestinians get around.

The rules of the road are, shall we say, lax in Palestine. There more like suggestions, really. There are seldom lanes painted on the road but in most cases it is wide enough for three lanes. So what drivers do is drive on the outside in both directions, and the middle "lane" is used for passing by cars going both directions. This has led to come close calls. Every day, as I mentioned. The cars seem to play chicken with each other, but with them both knowing exactly when the other will move over.

And there are speed bumps all along the road, so the drivers move at breakneck speeds (sometimes heading straight at another van doing the same) and then break suddenly right before the speed bump. My first morning in Ramallah, I bought a coffee before getting on the van to go to school. My friend and host suggested I drink it quickly but I decided I'd rather save it and drink it slowly once I got to school. Trying to keep it from spilling required a symphony of intuition. Twice it did spray all over me and everyone else in the back row.

Vans and Pedestrians:
When there is a pedestrian in the path of a moving vehicle, the vehicle driver, instead of slowing down, simply honks at the pedestrian to alert him or her of the vans incoming path. The pedestrian then has two options:

• he or she can run out of the way
  
• he or she can plant their feet and stare down the driver
  

As I said, there have been many close calls. And I have been getting more bold about using the stare-down approach when crossing the street. Also I sometimes wait to cross with other people.

Getting From Ramallah to Rehovot:
Involved me getting on bus #18 in Ramallah, getting off and doing the previously mentioned checkpoint experience, getting back on, getting off at Damascus Gate, walking (with all my dirty laundry on my back) halfway around the wall of the Old City to catch an Israeli bus at Jaffa Gate. Got off that bus at the central bus station in Jerusalem and found the correct platform for the bus to Rehovot.

Note: public transit makes me hate Israelis.

Seriously, Israelis are so rude in public. Let's say there's a line and lots of people are waiting in it. If a new person arrives to the line and finds that there is an inch of space for them to jump the line, they will. No qualms. None. They will push a pregnant woman, and old lady with a cane, and a small child out of the way and then proudly elbow whoever else is at the front of the line so they can get on the bus first. They area always like this, whether it's planes, trains or automobiles. In fact, when I was getting off the plane in Tel Aviv 11 days ago, I was about to get off when a big guy pushed right past me (while looking me in the eye!) to get off first. For no reason. Just, he wanted to get off first. I thought to myself, "I must be in Israel."

One Final Note about the Vans:
The vans exist in Israel too, but in addition to other methods of public transport like large buses and trains. In Israel, these vans are called sherut, which means service. I don't know why Israelis use the Hebrew word for it but Palestinians use the English word. Whatev. The sherut also serves as the only public transport option operating on Saturdays, when everything government-owned shuts down.

There's a Water Crisis

Dear Israel,
Please stop stealing West Bank water for settlement swimming pools. Today is the first time in three days I could take a shower. I am now going to drink beer to celebrate.

Thanks.

Pics From my Trip So Far

This is the view from Bilha's window- water heaters covering entire roofs as far as the eye can see. Across the border, in East Jerusalem and the West Bank, roofs are covered with black water heaters, since electricity for heating the water is less plentiful here.


Graffiti in Rehovot, Israel.


The door out from my little flat in Ramallah.


Inside the flat.






Further exploration of the miracles of product branding.

The Indignities of Economy Travel

I read an article a few weeks ago- one of those yahoo mail suggests for you- and it was about how to get free upgrades when you travel. One of the ways was to present a business card saying you work for such and such travel agency, travel guide book company, or travel magazine, etc. I tried it out on Enterprise rental car later that week- and it worked! I got a better car for the same price. Small victories.

I decided to try it out with my flight to London on United. The article stressed the importance of dressing nice when trying to get upgraded to first or business class. They won't put someone in first class if they're not dressed for it.

But the business card trick hadn't worked as I'd hoped. It may have had some effect, as I am currently looking at the Greek islands from a window seat, in economy. But this flight is nearly half empty. Indeed, several people are stretched out with a whole row to themselves. The last flight was full, and when I showed my business card to the agent, she said, "United doesn't do that." Then she put me in an aisle seat, which I suppose is at least 20% better than a middle seat, but certainly my professional dress was not necessary.

I wore my electric blue button shirt and black vest. I put my hair up in a fancy style with lots of pins and wore my lapis earrings. My second flight has been on BMI. British Midland is cheap, clean, spacious, and has all the amenities one would expect to find in the economy cabin. The coffee was surprisingly tasty. But the attitudes of the flight attendants are no better or worse than any other carrier.

They always seem annoyed when you ring the call button. Why is that? I rang it twice this flight, the first time because they simply passed me by without offering anything from the lunch cart. I waited until I was sure they hadn't just gone to refill it and then rang the button. The quintessentially British responder seethed rage at this interruption behind his carefully constructed polite exterior. He made it plain to me that I had asked about my meal at an inopportune time and that he would bring my food when it suited him. At least that is what I read between the lines.

Here is the actual conversation:
me: Could I have a lunch please?
him: [sigh] Can you wait until after the turbulence has passed?
me: [pause] Yes of course. I just thought you had stopped serving.
him: [walks away]

He returned shortly with a tray but without any kind of nicety. Later as he passed I asked if they would be serving coffee. He again mentioned the turbulence and said it would be quite some time. Notice I have not mentioned the turbulence. That is because there was none, to speak of.

Finally I rang the bell again and to my great surprise and pleasure, a different attendant arrived.
"Hiya," she said.
"Could I have some coffee please?" I asked.
"D'ya want milk?"
"Yes, thank you."

There were no niceties on her part either but she seemed to think she were just doing her duty, rather than being forced to lowest depths of indignity.

You can be sure the attitudes of the servers in first class are much better, although I wouldn't know as I've never even seen first class on an international flight. They keep that area forward of the boarding door and guard the entrance with a starving pitbull and a former dungeon Mistress repackaged in a blue uniform.

Those of us who can only afford economy are punished for our lack of funding with the ever-present reminder that we are only steerage and we ought not take up any valuable time with requests we clearly have not paid enough to make. This treatment has improved from previous generations of lower-class travel in that we are not de-loused before boarding. Instead we are offered disposable headrest covers.