Some photos from the Rum

photo contest here I come!

the Jeeps

Quin and Zane lookin good!

The sun setting on Becca

Zane

Sinclair

Me in Wadi Rum (after running through the dunes)

Wadi Rummmm!

Hey folks,

Sorry I haven’t posted a blog in a while, my studies have been isolating me to smoky café corners in which I struggle to write papers and study for midterms while gazing at the beautiful spring sun. Last week I finally finished my two 12 page research papers for my political classes. In one paper I wrote about the possibility of military intervention in Libya. My thesis was: “A no fly-zone implemented at this time by the US military would be a terrible decision”. Three days later I gave my presentation as US missiles barraged Benghazi. Such is the life of an “academic.” My second paper was about the Battle at Karameh, one of the few battles considered a “victory” for Arab forces fighting the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces). I won’t bore you with my political jargon, instead let’s jump ahead to the amazing weekend I just had.

                Wadi Rum: one of the most beautiful desert landscapes is located in the south of Jordan, close to Aqaba. Friday morning two buses of 85 CIEE students along with staff and tour guides took off for the desert from Jordan University’s main gates. The weather outside was shitay (rainy) so I was nervous about what we would find on arrival. Of course, it was naïve of me to think that it might be raining in a desert, but then again it’s me, so who are we kidding. We stopped for lunch along the way and perused a gift show holding just about every cliché travel gift you could want from Jordan at the price that only rich people could afford. We all marveled at the beautiful mosaics, daggers, and scarves and then hopped on the bus to our destination.

                Finally after a 6 hour drive? I’m not sure because I was sleeping…we arrived. By this I mean we pulled off of the road in the middle of nowhere to be greeted by 15 Mitsubishi and Toyota pick up trucks with seats in the back. Loading into these by groups of 6 they speed off into the desert. The next 4 hours were spent drifting through dunes. Every now and then we would stop by lark sand-rock hills/mountains and scramble up them for aerial views of our surroundings. It is amazing to see these barren desert landscapes scattered with built up hills of clotted stone. It’s even more amazing to be able to climb them and lay at their peaks looking over Wadi Rum.

                Although we were having a blast we all started to get cold. Our last stop was to watch the sun set behind distant mountains as our guides built a camp fire, sang songs and served us tea. Finally we arrived at our camp, and it was really a camp. It was a large complex of tents all connecting together with a huge generator system powering the lights that sat behind the camps on a little hill. We walked in to be greeted by a group of (German?) tourists sitting around campfires, listening to traditional music and eating delicious kebab, hummus, hobs, etc. The boys and girls were divided into two groups and sent to sets of simple tents. Each students stayed with one friend in a tent that had a light a chair and two beds; very simple.

                That night after our feast of all feasts, we made friends with one of the workers at the camp who offered to give us argileh. We sat in a small group talking in Arabic with him and his friends. Most of the night he just continued to call us again and again niswangee (womanizer) and muskalgee (trouble-maker) because he thought it was funny and we got a kick out of it. Once we’d had our fair share of the name calling David, Leah, Becca, Brie, Joe, Ziek, and grabbed our blankets and wandered away from the campsite to lie down in the desert and watch the stars. Unfortunately, Wadi Rum was freezing that night. We stayed as long as we could, catching shooting stars and counting constellations, and then we turned in for the night.

                The next morning we woke up with butterflies in our stomachs: it was the moment that all of us (my dorky friends and I) had been waiting for (and I’m pretty sure Becca might have peed her pants in anticipation). We gobbled down our breakfast and ran outside to meet our furry friends: the camels! There tons of them walking around being led in groups of 3 or 4 by Sudanese men. As I walked over one man ran up to me and pulled me over to a camel. Within seconds I was seated on his back rising up into the air. Now, riding camels is not the same as riding a horse. I’d say, it’s a lot more uncomfortable. So the 4 hours that proceeded were sublime and painful all at the same time. The best way to bear the pain (as a man) is to wrap your legs around the beast’s neck and try to cushion your seating as you go. It is bearable to ride if the camel is walking but as soon as its guide would start yelling “yella, yella!” and whipping it in the flanks it would take off bouncing you painfully up and down right on your crotch.

                We spent about 4 hours doing this, stopping at one point to see the rock carving of Lawrence of Arabia and another time to play in sand dunes. Taking your shoes off and running up and down dunes is probably one of the most liberating experiences out there, I highly suggest it. Finally we made it to our lunch stop and got off our camels. I saw many long faces as we departed our new friends, (especially Becca’s) but I for one was glad to be on my own two feet again. Once again we had a beautiful lunch feast and afterwards we met to watch a movie.

                Okay, now I have to get to the serious part of this blog. The meeting for the movie was also a meeting for Dr. Allison, our resident director to tell us about what had happened in Amman the night before. Luckily we were out of the city on March 24^th so that our program directors did not have to worry. What happened that night is unclear, I have read many different interpretations and some seem accurate, others seem to be government propaganda, and others outrageous conspiracies. I will tell you the bare facts: there was a protest for reform. Loyalists bused in from the North and the South to show support for the King but ended up harassing and attacking the pro-reform protestors. At first police officers attepted to protect the pro-reform protestors but when riot police were called in something went terribly wrong. In the aftermath one protestor was dead and 100 were injured. I wont give my opinion because I don’t have one yet, but here is a blog which I think sums everything up nicely. It’s long, so skim it, but if you are worried about my situation it may make you feel better and better informed: http://www.black-iris.com/

                In our meeting Dr. Allison went over what would happen in the event that our program had to be shut down. It was a very somber meeting but what seemed to be clear was that no one really thought Jordan would fall to revolution. There are many reasons for this, for one, most people love the King, and Jordan unlike Egypt and Tunisia is a Kingdom with not nearly as much widespread corruption (though believe me it exists). The King in the past month has done a very politically savvy job of pleasing the people. He has admitted that corruption in his government exists and has promised to make changes, one being sacking the Prime Minister (which honestly happens all the time here and isn’t a big deal). The greatest fear is that civil war will erupt between Palestinian refugees and Jordanians. Some believe that the King and his government are stressing these differences to keep the people unorganized from forming an organized protest against the kingdom. This could be true, who knows. All I know is, every single person I’ve met here has expressed a desire for there to be union between Palestinians and Jordanians. They say that it doesn’t matter where you are from, but that you are a Jordanian now. In most cases the kids I’ve met come from families where one parent is Jordanian and one is Palestinian and this seems to be a widespread phenomenon. I don’t think Jordan will erupt into Civil War, people are all too aware of what happened in Black September and they don’t wish to see this repeated.

                Those are my brief thoughts, unorganized and ADD as they are. I’m trying to type fast because this is midterms week and I am swamped. Actually, I’m at the tail end. Yesterday I had 3 exams, one this morning, and my last is on Tursday. After which I will be flying out on Friday morning with the lovely Becca and Sinclaire to Turkey for the week. I can’t wait!!! Gah! I’m so lucky! Okay I’m going to run, I’ll post more later insh’allah. Wish me a safe travels! Don’t worry about me, I’m smart, I’m safe, and my family has told me I’m on house arrest if any protests happen.

Love,

Wylie of Arabia

Some pictures from the weekend

view of the Ottoman village

watching the sun set from our rooftop

sun rise

David snapping photos of the gorgeous landscape

David

Our crew

the boys

Umm Qais and Orphans

Hey folks,

From the rooftop I gazed out upon the distant snowy peak of a lone mountain in Lebanon. To its right lay the mountainous range of Syria and on its left the Golan Heights. On top of a hill elevated at the summit of the little town of Umm Qais the sun was setting behind the ruins of an ancient Ottoman city. The minaret lying behind it looked as if it had been stenciled in by God’s divine plan. My legs yearned to run through the Ottoman village to its other side and catch the sun setting on the twinkling waters of the Sea of Galilee and the Israeli border but instead I stayed finishing my two cups of Shae that my traveling companions and I had been served by our gracious hosts.

 Sitting on the roof of the Umm Qais Hotel, the only budget hostel in town I realized why this land is the holy land and why so many lives have been lost fighting for its scenic views. Although so much conflict has plagued the land around Umm Qais I felt at peace. There is something comforting about Jordan and its people. The majority seems perfectly content with what they have in life; some have so little and yet they will give whatever they can to you in a heartbeat. I’m not sure if it was Ahmad, the man I sat next to on the bus ride from Amman to Irbid who bought candy for myself and everyone I was traveling with who then flagged us down taxis and directed us to our next bus stop, or the man later that night purchasing candy at the grocery store across from our hotel who handed me one with a wink and a smile, but ever since reaching Jordan I’ve experienced more simple generosity from complete strangers than I have in my life in the States. I feel safe in Jordan because I know that people here love their lives for what it is and they still hold beautiful land like Umm Qais because their kings have always maintained diplomatic and peaceful terms with their neighbors.

After shae, David, Becca, Michael, Leah, Sinclaire and I all waltzed over to a lookout point past the ruins and caught some shots of a fleeting sun over an Israeli border. Famished from our two bus rides and one taxi ride which all cost a grand total of 2.5 JD we dragged our bag of bones over to the Umm Qais Rest House to get dinner. Sitting under the stars in the Rest House patio we were served deliciously fresh cuisine as we pondered the city lights reflecting off the Sea of Galilee, trying to put words to how lucky we were to be enjoying that sublime moment together. We had a bottle of Penguin (made in Jordan, Virginia, and Europe) waiting for us in our cozy two bed hostel rooms and not a worry in the world. That night we toasted to our happiness as we sat on the roof of the hostel smoking double apple argileh (served at 11 pm by our amazing hosts). Folks, life cannot get any better than this.

The next day we awoke at 5:30 am (yes Mom and Dad, we truly did) in time to catch the sun rising over the rolling hills of Jordan. I tried to soak in everything my sandy eyes and throbbing head could handle and then hobbled back into bed for three hours. That morning I departed the hotel with heavy heart, wishing that school didn’t exist and I could just stay and live in the Umm Qais Hotel forever. We took our stuff and trudged over to the ruins to explore. My residency card (which I got last week YAY!) got me in for free and we started down on a path rolling over one of the hills which looked over the Golan Heights. About half a mile in we ran into some cows grazing in the shade of a few trees so we decided to hide in the shade and have our picnic lunch of bread and Nutella. As all of my traveling buddies napped, ate, and took pictures I serenaded them with my raspy voice and cheap guitar. This was my first chance to play and sing at length since arriving to Jordan and I could feel the music like a 4 hour and $1,000 session of therapy doing its job.

Around one we hiked back into town and went through the process of navigating the public (and sometimes questionably private) transportation system back into Amman. Once home I fell into my bed and slept, dreaming of purple skies, amazing new friends, and grazing cows (one never realizes how great cows are until they see them after a month long hiatus). I woke up the next day at 6:30 am (still not lying Mom and Dad) and got ready for my second exhilarating event of the weekend: the community service “orphanage” trip.

This Saturday CIEE took a group of kids who had signed up to go to King Hussein park and play with a group of orphan kids from Jordan. I know what you’re thinking, that’s hardly community service, but in my defense I signed up assuming I’d be painting walls or something. We arrived at the park to find, at the girls in our groups dismay, that the orphans had been restricted to boys. 30 boys or so around 9 to 13 all marched out of their bus in (almost entirely) matching tracksuits. Immediately we became immersed in games and jokes and good times. I’ve gotta’ say it was the most good clean fun I’ve had in while. Playing with kids is pretty universal, if you’ve ever done it you know what I was experiencing so I’ll just post my favorite pictures for you to enjoy my experience with me. I picked out a few cuties to adopt so assuming they don’t grow up on me, I’ve got a few sons in line for the future.

I finished off the weekend at Places Café emailing my two 12 page papers in (the reason I haven’t blogged in a week). It felt good to get those beasts off my shoulders, however, next week is midterms so I’m not feeling too carefree just yet. Only two weeks until Turkey though! Becca, Sinclaire and I will have the time of our lives and I can’t wait! Which reminds me, I should probably start booking some hostels and whatnot… I Hope all is well in everyone’s respective travels and work and schools. The last week I was beginning to feel pretty lonely and missing friends and family and reliable running water, but after this weekend I’ve been reinvigorated. I’m thinking about trying to squeeze in some volunteer work with my roommate Joe for a refugee camp. I’m not sure what this entails, but no doubt it will be an adventure.

Love,

Wylie of Arabia!!

Pictures from this weekend

Bus Ride along the Dead Sea

Some of the troops getting ready...Becca touching her toes

The Dead Sea

Our "Phoenician boat" on the Red Sea

Captain's Resort, with beautiful rooms

From Dead to Red (a.k.a. Dead)

From Dead to Red

Dear Friends and Family,

This weekend 30 CIEE students discovered what it means to work as a team and the pros and cons of running 242 KM. The weekend started Thursday afternoon after my Arabic class ended and I scurried back home to pick up my running shoes which I, of course, left lying under my bed as I packed everything I would need for the weekend. At 1 o’clock we loaded into three cars and two busses. Each bus held 10 runners and 3 to 5 back-up and support staff members. The ride to the Dead Sea was full of excited chatter about what strategies were best for this run and how hard it would actually be. The set up for the run was this: each team had a bus that would drive ahead in approximately 5 KM increments and park to wait for the runners to arrive. For each team there was a car which would load up 4 runners. This car would follow behind each runner as head lights throughout the night for the runner. When each runner finished the car would pull slightly ahead to set up the next runner and pick up the last. If you’re thinking, Jesus Christ this is the most gas exhaustive process on this planet, I’m there with you, but for the experience I don’t think there is another system available. 

Our team, team “Jamz” decided to employ a technique of running in 10 minute intervals so as to cover more ground and not over-exhaust ourselves from the start. The other CIEE team decided to do the same, but as night drew closer they switched to 5 minute intervals to move faster. We did the opposite; as night came in we switched to 20 minute intervals so that those on the bus had a longer period in which to sleep and try to recover for the coming day. Probably one of the most sublime moments of the run was as we ran through a local village of Bedouin cheering us on as the sun set. I was in the runner’s car as we passed through the village but of course got out for my run at the village outskirts and missed out on all the fun. The sublimity of the run was quickly lost upon my dribbling nose and mucus clogged chest so as the night came on I opted to sit out and give my body a rest. 

I woke up around 7 am to find that our team had fallen behind the other CIEE group by about 3 KM. Members of my team were dropping like flies; PJ with a knee injury, Julia had thrown up, Quinn had hip pain, and everyone else was feeling the 120 KM from the day/night before. I still felt like death but extremely guilty for sleeping the night before so against my bodies rasping coughs of pain I decided to jump back in the game and lend some fresh legs to catch up to our main competitors from CIEE team “Cool Running’s.” As we drew within 10 KM of Aqaba we were neck to neck with the other group. We decided to switch to literally 1 minute intervals of straight sprints and were giving Cool Running’s a shot for their money but as we leapt upon the concrete city sidewalks we began to eat dust. We ended up reaching the finish line minutes behind but not discouraged in the least. 

The race had been sponsored by KFC and Red Bull (don’t get me started on how ironic this is) and so at the finish we were given cans of red bull and sprayed one another in celebration. Relieved to be finished and exhausted for the 19 and a half hours of running we decided to book into our hotels straight away. David, Becca and I got a room at the Captain’s Hotel and upon check-in passed out immediately. That night at 7 pm we were invited to a marathon dinner at the swanky MovenPick Resort. We had to sit and listen to an award ceremony for about 2 hours but it was worth it as all the contestants finally crammed into buffet “lines” and were served amazingly delicious, gourmet and free food. As we sat stuffing our faces many of the CIEE students planned the big night ahead. Because Aqaba is an economic free trade zone, the absurd 200% tax on alcohol no longer applies. To a group of college students from America this meant that we were going to have a good time. Little did we know that our hobbling legs (yes we could barely hobble after 242 KM of running) would lead us straight back to bed. 

The next morning we woke up to a nice hotel breakfast and lay out in the beautifully breezy sun and planned the day ahead of us. We quickly realized there was no way 18 of us (the students who had stayed) were going to be able to sneak onto any private beaches. So, PJ devised a new plan. For 25 JD each we rented a Venetian boat for 3 hours to bring us to two snorkel spots. Thus commenced the most beautiful and relaxing day of my trip to Jordan. The group of us packed onto the boat with booze in hand and took advantage of the liberal atmosphere and beautiful day. Aqaba is an up and coming tourist town that really contradicts the traditional Muslim culture that surrounds it in the rest of Jordan. Visitors and locals alike come to Aqaba to lay on beaches looking out on clear blue water, snorkel over beautiful reefs, stay at swanky resorts, and drink alcohol! From the boat we marveled at the difference between Aqaba’s high rise resorts and the lower-built but more congested and developed Israeli coast cities. It was crazy to think that we were floating on waters between countries that had been in conflict for a hundred years. 

I can safely say the Dead to Red Marathon is one of the most amazing things I have ever done. I started the race marveling at the calm waters of the Dead Sea and 24 hours later relaxed on the rolling waves of the Red Sea. I got to run along roads that over-looked the rolling mountains of the Israeli border and not fear the conflict that looms upon those borders. I pushed myself so hard that my 12 other team mates and I will be taking steps at 30 seconds apiece for the next month. And after all this I’m now sitting in bed with my second sick day of the trip trying to blog through a mushy head and congested lungs. (Sorry if none of this makes any sense but I feel like death and I need to get some things done to leave room for the homework ahead).

Jordan continues to amaze me. I can’t wait to see what next weekend holds for me. To be honest, I’m hoping I can just stay at home and start working on the two 12 page papers I’ve been assigned by Dr. Zubi al’Zubi instead of pushing them off any longer.

Love,

Wylie of Arabia

My lunch with Amar and one month anniversary with Amman

                For the last few weeks I have been meeting with my peer tutor Abdullah every now and then to play cards, talk about girls, and drink coffee. Every time we meet he is with his friend Amar, who’s English is just a little better. Amar is a great guy, he is in his 5^th year of electrical engineering and he lives in an apartment behind the Khalifa (CIEE) building with 4 other guys. On Monday, Abdullah called me from Amar’s phone (as he often does) and asked me to come meet him at the university restaurant. Of course I obliged and hurried over to discover him and Amar sitting smoking cigarettes and drinking soda. I sat down and exchanged pleasantries but soon realized their attention was elsewhere. It became clear when Amar asked me not to turn around but to observe a girl through the reflection of the window in front of us.

“What do you think of her?” he asked. I gave her the up and down (in the safety of the windows reflection) and told him that I approved. She was a very modestly dressed but gorgeous Arab girl. He then explained to me that he loved her. I asked him how long he had known her and he said he didn’t really know her, but that they had exchanged the superficial “hello” and “how are you” a few times now. He asked me what he should do and I told him he should just go over and say hi. He explained to me the issue was that she is in a different college within the university and that she is always with friends, which makes him apprehensive and nervous.

“The issue is her DUF,” Abdullah said. “Her what??” I replied, assuming this was an Arabic word I hadn’t learned yet”

“Her ‘designated ugly friend’” he answered and both Amar and I broke out laughing. Apparently her DUF as Abdullah so bluntly put it was copping his style, not unlike what I have experience all throughout my life in the US. I began to unfold the mission of the wing-man to both Amar and Abdullah as they both watched and listened with keen interest. After my lengthy speech they both looked at me with as if with a newly earned respect. Amar then proceeded to pick away every piece of knowledge I have about talking, meeting, and courting women. This wasn’t the first time this has happened to me on the trip. Last Thursday my new friend Munir told me that he would call me for advice before sending a text message to the girl he was newly courting. I’m not sure if it’s my confidence, or if Arab men think all American men are players (as the TV shows them(thank you Jersey Shore)), but I’ve become a bit of a counselor to many of my new found friends. I’ve tried to explain to them my run of bad luck with the ladies in Jordan, and that I don’t consider myself an expert at all, but they just assume its modesty. In fact, I haven’t been on a single date since getting here and don’t really expect to anytime soon, but if they wish to continue hounding for my advice I won’t let them down.

After this comedic and somewhat sad interaction of male insecurity Abdullah took off to go to class and left me sitting alone with Amar. Now was my time to pick at him about his culture. It Turns out that Amar is from Ajloun and his family runs an olive oil farm. He promised the first time we met to bring me oil (zeit) which I believe he will, but hasn’t yet. Judging from this little information I assumed he came from a well respected family/tribe and that he must have a pretty traditional background. I decided to ask him about his siblings.

“Amar, how many siblings do you have?” I asked (in Arabic). He looked at me and broke down laughing. I asked him “Shou” (what) assuming I had messed something up in Arabic. He asked me to give him a second, so I did.

“I have 21 siblings” he finally answered. My mouth dropped, his mouth opened again with laughter. Cautiously, not wanting to assume, I asked him how on earth his mom had given birth to so many kids. “They aren’t all from my mom, of course” he answered. “How many wives does your father have,” I asked. He answered, explaining to me that his father had passed away, but that he had had two wives. His mother was mom to 13 kids, including him. They all lived in the same apartment, excluding a few brothers who had married. The other mother lived in another apartment in town with his other siblings (half siblings? What have you). He told me that he was the youngest brother and that his older brothers supported the entire family. He told me that it is better to be the youngest son, because when you need something you just go to the older brothers. He joked that each week he called a different one requesting that they send him money. When I played along and laughed with him he sternly looked at me and said, “of course I will one day do the same if I am needed to.”

This lunch time interaction was a good wake up call to me. As Joseph and I sat at home listening to the call to prayer today he turned to me and said, ”I keep forgetting we are in Jordan. I can’t believe we have been here 1 month.” These revelations continue to occur for him and I, and I would assume my other CIEE colleagues. It is interactions like the one I had with Amar or even tuning in to the prayer as it blasts from loudspeakers 5 times throughout the day that remind me of where I am. It is easy as a foreigner to surround yourself in modern life and Western lifestyles in Amman and forget that you are in a predominantly Muslim country. You need only travel to any of the 8 circles to be surrounded in fancy resorts, posh restaurants, and hip cafes. It actually takes some work to evade this lifestyle. Amman is rapidly changing and has been for decades; it is not the Bedouin trade post I fantasized of over Christmas break or the half-assed attempt at modernity that some articles I read described it as. It is full of educated, bright young citizens who are torn in a hundred different directions. I won’t claim to have begun to understand anything that this youth feels. All I can recount to my friends and family back home is the amazing friendships I am building.

When deciding to come to Jordan I thought I was doing something far-out and ambitious. It has truly been a challenge so far (academically and in respect to the language barrier), but as I reach the one month mark I’m realizing that this trip feels more familiar and homely than I ever imagined. I am very thankful that I made the decision to travel to Amman and not somewhere else.

Wish me good health for the marathon, as I am coming down with a nasty sore throat! I hope to have a new blog post up after the weekend to brag about my run and lounge on the beaches of Aqaba!

Your friend,

Wylie of Arabia