Mmm Turkey

Day 59

In what is becoming a tradition, this recounting is about 2 weeks overdue. Meh.

So Yarmouk U gave us a long weekend for the 'Eid break after Ramadan. And believe me, I was ready to get out of Dodge (and actually out of Jordan) for a little while. But my initial plans to visit Yemen were scrapped after uncertainties about getting a visa in time, so I decided to stretch the break to 10 days to take advantage of a decent airfare to Turkey. Why Turkey?

Why not? A little reprieve from Arabic; a nice European flavor to my usually very Eastern travels (which probably sounds funny to people that have traveled in real err 'Western' Europe); and honestly, it was just a good section of my Lonely Planet Middle East guidebook (shukran to my big bro Tim).

Istanbul



Awaking bleary-eyed at 4am, I hunted down a taxi and caught an early Amman-Istanbul flight with a lot of fellow holiday-makers. Istanbul's refreshingly European aspects struck me immediately as I boarded a metro/tram combo (public transportation?!) passed old stone buildings, parks, and huge mosques to the touristy Sultanahmet district downtown along the Boshporous. My charming hostel was a constant source of activity, from the ever-changing and motley crew of international backpackers I shared dorm space with right down to the young ADD Turkish-American caretaker Mustafa. It made a good base to explore the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofia, and the sites across the Golden Horn (my favorite being a mile+ long pedestrian mall on Istiqlal Cadessi that is replete with good restaurants and a vibrant night-life crowd). I tagged along with a group of Brown U grads on their 'Eid break from teaching English in Ankara as we visited some open air markets, and I did my best to glean from them some survival Turkish that would serve me well down the road. I had a great first three days in Istanbul, and probably could've easily spent a week there if it wasn't quickly devouring my travel budget. So I third-wheeled it with a couple from New Zealand and we bought a bus package to the coast to see Gallipoli and Troy.

Chanukalle




















Our bus turned out to be filled with Aussies and Kiwis (not surprising considering the ANZAC memorials at the WWI battlefields of Gallipoli--Wikipedia that shit...). I did my best to represent the Yanks and the under-25 age bracket. Gallipoli was impressive and full of history, no less moving even if you aren't from one of the participating countries. We saw the ill-fated beachhead, opposing trench systems less than 10m apart, and a number of grave yards and memorials that told the tragic and very human story of the little peninsula. It was dreadfully cold (well, for Turkey in October--high 40's) and windy on the exposed hilltops, and my Adidas running jacket wasn't quite making the grade. After a short night in Chanukalle, a short ferry boat hop away from Gallipoli, we set out for a guided tour of the ruins of Troy. I was thankful for the informed and articulate guide, or else we would have been at a loss to differentiate the remnants of each of the 9 historical cities of Troy or make sense of the historical-mythical connections of the unearthed ruins. I bid farewell to Mark and Sara as I pressed on by bus south down the Aegean coast.

Selcuk and Ephesus



Selcuk is a quaint little town nestled in the mountains not far inland from the sea, and I hunted around 'til I found an equally-quaint family run hostel. I paid a few more Lira for it, but the free use of bikes, complimentary glasses of wine, and unlimited coffee/tea were well worth it. More than that, the family feel of the two-house complex set a few streets back from the small downtown shopping and eatery district couldn't have been a better fit. I was already feeling a bit travel-weary only 4 days into the trip (lots of walking and bus rides, a trend which would continue), and Selcuk's relaxing atmosphere easily convinced me to stay an extra day. The hostel was run by a very hospitable owner who shared wine and good stories, his gracefully aged mother who spoke little English but extended a warm welcome through fresh sheets/towels and smiles, and his sister who was always offering fresh nuts and pomegranate as she cooked up something delicious in the kitchen right outside my room. A communal breakfast in the large dining hall proved to be a great place to connect with the other travelers and trade stories over fresh fruit and bread.

Selcuk's main tourist draw is the incredible Roman city of Ephesus, the most complete set of urban Roman ruins outside of Southern Europe. Ephesus was the major trading hub of the Eastern Roman empire, and in its late stages played host to the apostle Paul (and his letters to the Ephesians, naturally). I biked the 3km to Ephesus mid-morning but not quite early enough to avoid the throngs of obnoxious Americans and other Westerners who are bussed in from larger towns on the coast. Nevertheless, they couldn't dampen the atmosphere of the place as I traipsed though colonnades, ancient libraries, amphitheaters, and detailed (if cheesy) reenactments of gladiator bouts--surprisingly the loser was always pardoned by the gracious Roman governor no matter how many of the half-hourly duels I caught...

Other local attractions included the Byzantine remains of St. John's basilica, as well as a pleasant pedestrian strip of cafes and eateries. Again, I could've wiled away another day in Selcuk, but my travel days were quickly running out and I knew I had several longish bus rides to string together to get to my last destination in southern Turkey, a small fishing village along the Mediterranean.

Kas

I took the Selcuk hostel owner's recommendation for a place in Kas (pronounced Kash, and incidentally not the Kurdish border town described in Orhan Paluk's beautiful novel Snow). He proved to be spot on; it was a charming family establishment with good connections to the small town's self-ascribed hub of adventure tourism. I befriended a Danish gent, over I found lounging in one of the hostel's hammocks, over dinner. He had been coming to Turkey on and off for 10 or so years, and knew a good bit of Turkish. We were both interested in a sea kayak trip over sunken Lycean ruins so we bought tickets and made it happen. Our small group early the next morning included a four Aussies young and old (they are everywhere), an American couple in their 30s, and our very capable guide John, a master's student in astrophysics at a nearby university. The Dane and I were the only two with kayak experience (ok he has actually been in a kayak club in Denmark and I had taken my brother's kayak out in Maine a couple times ha), and as such we were the only two with single kayaks besides the guide. Thankfully the weather in Kas was much warmer than Chanukalle and I was comfortable in a t-shit and running shorts, and a bit tanner for it by the end of the day. The trip included about 2.5 hours of kayaking across the glittering and calm Mediterranean to two coves where we disembarked for a swim and self-exploration of an old Ottoman castle. The real draw was the sunken ruins, and although they don't make for good pictures, they didn't disappoint in person as we glided a few meters above foundations of harbor walls, mosaics and broken pottery, and sarcophagi.

Exits

I left Kas that evening for a very long overnight bus ride (15.5 hours) back to Istanbul for my last day before my flight home. All travel, outside of trains to eastern Turkey and domestic flights between a few small airports, functions by bus there. As such, the Turks have developed a nice system of relatively-comfy coaches between all major cities, offering complimentary snack and beverage service from the ground-equivalent of a flight attendant to ease the journey. Still, almost 16 hours is a heck of a spell to while away on a bus, no matter how much (read: very little) sleep one manages to steal between the occasional rest stops. I returned to my familiar hostel in Istanbul for a day of R&R, not venturing far from Sultanahmet to drink in some last culture. Actually, I was pretty much guaranteed another night at the place to collect the 20L I had lent to Mustafa nearly a week before.

Many Lira, 250 pictures, and 10 days later, I was content to board the plane back to Amman. Note: signs of 'Eid in secular Turkey were almost non-existent. And I couldn't have been happier for it. It was nice to get out of the Arabic-speaking Middle East for a little while, but I was also ready to get back to Irbid for my classes and language study. I guess that's a good sign, that's what I'm here for. ; )

Ramadan Kareem

Day 52

Qathayef--stuffed Ramadan pancakes

So the Islamic Holy Month of Ramadan wrapped up about two weeks ago, giving me ample time for some perspective on this radical shift in daily life for an American non-Muslim in Irbid, Jordan.

I like to sum it up as follows: Ramadan is ~30 days of devotion to Allah through fasting and prayer, a time for kindness and generosity towards others (especially the less fortunate), and an opportunity for family bonding through a shared ordeal and the communal breaking of the fast at the giant iftar meal. The fasting isn't any joke either--people are supposed to go from sun-up to sun-down without food or drink. I kind of half-tried it for the first day; while I could deal with the self-denial of food begrudgingly, I couldn't get passed the slow draining dehydration and gave up after only about 5 hours ha.

Certainly life during Ramadan is a lot different in Irbid than in Amman. Not a single restaurant is open during the day in Irbid and alcohol is impossible to come by. On a few weekend excursions to Amman, by comparison, I found a number of restaurants open in the trendier parts of the city, and some willing to serve beer and liquor to boot. I would be remiss if I didn't also mention friends' apartments, where the wine flowed freely (many thanks ladies and gents).

It is actually illegal in Jordan to eat in public during Ramadan days, so I took to stocking up on plenty of eats and drinks at the apartment, where I pretty much embarked on a self-imposed hermit life to wait out the month. Grocery stores are all open as normal so I had no trouble getting the supplies any time I wanted, but it just got a bit tiring and uncomfortable always concealing a very natural bodily need to eat and especially drink in the context of ~80-90 F days.

The season also affected my daily university class schedule, as lectures and breaks were shortened to accommodate the added stress and decreased energy of the average student (not to mention professor). Armed with a good deal of prior background knowledge on Islam and an openness to this, another aspect of cultural immersion in the life abroad, I nevertheless must draw the following points from my personal experience of Ramadan in Irbid:

1. Deviants
While there are many Muslims who are steadfast adherents to the demands of fasting, I also encountered plenty of people who seemed content to cheat a little bit, provided they could do so in private and in moderation. It seemed that in many cases the social stigma of prematurely breaking the fast greatly outweighed any religious significance. I witnessed young men quickly scarfing down bags of chips and swigs of water in the parking area under my apartment bloc, and all kinds of folks buying small snacks at the supermarket well before proximity to iftar would warrant such purchases. It gave me some comfort to know I wasn't the only Irbid resident that found the fast ridiculously hard; but it was equally frustrating that most people continued deny that they (or others) regularly broke the fast early.

2. Work Ethic
Clearly the normal demands of the working life exact an extra burden during Ramadan. As a result, schools and government offices shorten their workday considerably and the general rule is to take things easy (if you have a job that affords you that opportunity). Beyond the effects of the fast, however, I also got the feeling that a lot of people use Ramadan as an excuse to work as little as possible. The normal waiting time in officials' offices, for example, seem to drag on and on while employees exchanged 'Ramadan kareem's and long sighs. This phenomenon also extended to students, who felt justified in skipping lectures or homework. Granted, I have a bit of a biased perspective having not fasted at all, but editorial cartoons in the Jordanian dailies seemed to support my observation of the excessive lethargy of the general working public during this holy month.

3. Night Owls
Now, first off, Arab culture is already predisposed to late nights hanging out with friends at cafes, restaurants, and living rooms. But I was totally unprepared for the sahar during Ramadan. Normally people and especially the college crowd is often up til 1 or 2 out along the strip of cafes and restaurants abutting the University here. During Ramadan, I am convinced that a lot of then simply choose to stay up til the dawn meal just before the i'than at fajr (around 4:30am), based on the still vibrant nightlife I observed on one pretty late night for myself. This is an understandable habit, given people may not want to 'waste' the only acceptable daily period of eating and drinking on mere sleep. Naturally, this behavior also explains a lot of my preceding point, as many people retire to much-needed naps after the end of the workday around 2pm.

4. Running
Ramadan presented some (perhaps obvious) challenges to my running schedule. Not eating or drinking in public was as much a sign of cultural respect on my part as adherence to a state law. So it went with running in the morning or during the day; if I could be engaging in some strenuous physical activity then surely I was fluanting my stores of carbs and liquids from earlier. As a result, I took to timing my runs to finish just before the sunset iftar, when it was at least possible that I could be exercising just ahead of replenishing myself at the huge daily meal. It was also legit for me to be running quickly home to meet up with my theoretical family for breaking the fast. Not that running is ever easy in this country, however, and certainly the snickers of teenagers at my running shorts and disapproving if awe-struck stares of pretty much everyone else only seemed to increase during the holy month.

5. Traffic
Ramadan presented two major problems for daily transit: congestion and accidents. From my perspective, this only really affected my efforts to secure a spot on the crowded buses headed to Amman in the hours before iftar (along with probably every commuting Yarmouk U student), not to mention procuring a ride back later that night. For the general public, the common workday finale of 2pm creates massive congestion on the city roads and especially in Amman. Worse still though, are traffic conditions just before sunset. While most cars have been cooling in garages since the 2pm rush, there are always those idiots who chose to work or dilly-dally until the last possible moment before iftar. With little time, low blood sugar levels, and poor decision-making skills and reflexes, these people become dangers to pedestrians and other equally crazy drivers as they hurry home excessive speeds and run red lights ad infinitum. Not surprisingly, the number of traffic accidents (and particularly fatal ones) rises dramatically during Ramadan; a sad and ironic fact of life in a month at least nominally devoted to praising Allah and respecting and loving your neighbor.

6. Family
Despite all of the faults and contradictions I may find in Ramadan in Irbid, it retains an impressive ability to unite families and old friends around a communal struggle and shared reward. I got to experience the special atmosphere of a family iftar thanks to an invitation from my friend Mohammad downtown, and I can testify to the curious ability of self-denial, self-control and mental and physical devotion to bring together family and friends for a fast-breaking that truly feeds the spirit as much as the body. But...it also feeds the body. And man was it good: mansef, kufta, tahini, qatha'if, tamar hindi, etc.

In a sense (maybe a very limited one ha) I will miss Ramadan when I leave this place. Actually, I don't know if I'll experience it again before I leave in late summer next year. For although it presented many hardships for the American non-Muslim and I counted down the days til 'Eid with even more zeal than anyone else, it was a very unique and humbling opportunity to experience an outward manifestation of the religious and cultural traditions that undergird daily life. Ramadan Kareem.

...Of course It's also true that I was kind of fed up with the whole routine by the last few days and escaped to Turkey for 'Eid and ten days of glorious holiday. But more on that next time...

Wadi Rum

Day 35

Still a week or so behind on these posts, so this adventure is a weekend or so old...

I linked up with my neighbor here at Yarmouk U (an American Rotary scholar) for a trip down to Amman on Thursday night. After parting ways (I enjoyed some homemade pizza and wine with Fulbrighters and ex-pat development workers / journalists on a quaint rooftop in Jebel Weibed--I see a pattern emerging here...) I met up with Tony and 5 other ex-pats (hmm, a couple patterns actually) Friday morn. Following a quick purchase of picnic provisions from Safeway, we caravaned in a truck and jeep 3 hours south to the desert expanses of Wadi Rum.

Which is, well, amazing. It's a designated nature preserve and big tourist draw in the south, for its awe-inspiring red-sand desert landscape punctuated by vast rock outcrop mountains and dunes, and Bedouin-led off-road tours, not to mention a multitude of canyon treks. The latter was our particular interest on Friday, and we set out along a hike/climb up and around Jebel Ishrein described in an outdoorsing tourist book. Fortunately we needed neither an off-road vehicle nor the know-how of a local guide, as both were supplied by the French UNDP worker in the group.

For the next 3-4 hours or so we climbed, hiked, and climbed some more, on a circuitous but pretty intermediate route through the mountain pass. The path is hard to distinguish, but was well-described in our book and marked at confusing junctures by stacked-rock 'guide posts,' if one can call them that. Actually part of the fun was ascending narrow passes only to find out that they were impassable past the next ridge. We breaked for lunch atop a high ledge overlooking the valley below, and made our exit out the other side of the canyon where a red sand dune rose impressively from the desert floor. Along the way, we entertained ourselves with breaking soft sand-stone rocks to test our red/blue/purple estimations of the internal rock, watching beetles mate/fight/mate (how cross-species enlightening!), and investigating weird looking plants and lizards. Elementary science classes were obviously a high point of my childhood.

After some shenanigans on the dune, and chatting with an Israeli rock climber, 3 of us embarked on a short 4 mile run on dirt tracks around the base of Jebel Ishrein to fetch the jeep for the rest of the party. Rumbling into the small Bedouin town of Rum, we were graciously accepted into the home of a friend of our French 'leader' for some much-appreciated traditional Bedu coffee, tea, and mansef.

We rumbled on down to the southern tip of the country that night (only half an hour or so away) and dined/drank the night away at a pub in Aqaba. A short night of rest later, two of the group accompanied me for half of a 9 mile AM run around the quiet morning streets of the resort city. After hotel brunch, we shoved off again (there's too much to do in Jordan for any proper rest) for the Red Sea coast near the Saudi border, where a couple folks in our group knew a little surf shop nestled on the beach.

The young Jordanian owner (an ex special forces type) seemed straight out of SoCal, from his sport oakleys down to his designer board shorts. The shop isn't much more than a beach shack, but offers small catamarans, kite surfing, and windsurfing, mostly to Westerners and Israeli tourists from the shore across the horizon. I splurged on some windsurfing lessons (why not?), along with two others, for an hour and a half of instruction and time on the water.

(sorry pictures are understandably difficult while windsurfing)

Windsurfing is tricky, I will give John Kerry his due credit here. After learning stability and stance atop the board, we pulled the sails out of the water and turned them ever-so-slightly into the wind. There was a good clip running down the coast, so it didn't take much. Many falls later, I finally got some rhythm going and headed about a quarter mile out. Unfortunately, further away from the coast and amidst the occasional wake from passing speed boats (I bet they had a good laugh at me), the water gets a bit choppy for the beginner. Plus we didn't really learn to bring the board around--a complicated maneuver involving stepping around the front of the sail to the other side, mid-turn--so I just hopped off and pushed the board in the other direction from the water.

I spent the rest of our day on the beach sunning and watching the very-entertaining and light-hearted owner's impressive kite surfing skills. Kite surfing is what it sounds like: guy on a snow board looking thing holding a giant partially-inflated kite and cutting sharp turns and some amazing 180 jumps.

We managed to catch the evening iftar back in town before splitting up so the two Irbid-ians could try to make it back north in one night (a ~5 hour trip on a good night). I hadn't done any driving down so I offered to pilot the return trip as far as Amman. The erratic trucks and seemingly-random speed humps (yes, on highways) made it interesting going. What's more, gas stations are few and far between on the Jordanian road network and I waged a tense battle with the truck to get us into a filling station on hope and fumes. All's well that ends well, however, and we made it back into the capital without any serious trouble, albeit too late to catch a night bus back to Irbid.

So we played the crash at a friend's place game, and stumbled out of bed at 5:30 to battle with long lines of commuting Yarmouk students at the north station. Morning class on Sunday was an interesting sleep-deprived experience, and none too exciting after one of the best weekend's I've ever had.

Life at the Dead Sea

Day 32

This trip is a few weeks old, but I made one of my first outings from Irbid down south of Amman to the Dead Sea for a little R&R. The trip down, after an evening with the ex-pats in Amman, was (as always) piecemeal and convoluted but a day in the warm sun and cool salty water was worth all the trouble (also as always).

I spent Friday evening relaxing on a rooftop in the Jebel Weibdeh and rounded out the night with a true hamburger at Amman Fudruckers and desert at the new trendy cupcake shop Sugar Daddies (opposite Mecca Mall). Company was good: an eclectic group of UNDP staff (Argentine, German, Indian?, etc.) and a few fellow Fulbrighters and friends. The owner of Sugar Daddies is fresh out of culinary school in NYC and is FABULOUS in every sense of the word. His small shop is set up like a warm and welcoming living room, but we decided to forgo the comfy couches for a table on the terrace, where several in the group could chain-smoke and we could be regaled by the owner's witty stories including his attempts to deliver a hand-made cake on the Queen's bday.

But the Dead Sea = lowest point on Earth and high point of the trip. Yes, I just said that. The private beaches at the swanky hotels and spa facilities may be fine for some, but I am forever conscious of the student budget and tried Amman public beach on for size. It was remarkably empty of patrons on this particular Friday (related to being in the middle of Ramadan) so I picked out a nice spot under a palm tree and sunned myself, looking out over the sparkling sea to the high bluffs on the Israeli bank in the distance.

The Sea is also the saltiest body of water around (hence the name) and to my delight, the words of all the tour books rang true: everybody floats. In fact you can't really get more than chest deep before your legs want to pop up from under you and render you a piece of drift wood at the mercy of the gentle tide. Just don't go in with any cuts on your body or swallow a drop of the water. You will know if you do. Floating out on the water, it's like nature herself is demanding you to take a load off and contemplate your surroundings (physical, mental, etc.).

Returning to shore leaves you with a layer of oily brine covering head to toe, but before the advisable fresh water shower shore-side, I decided to indulge in the recommended Dead Sea mud treatment (self-administered from pools of the black stuff collecting at the break water). My full body immersion in the cool mud, after drying in the sun and scrubbing it off tediously, left my skin tingly and soft and left my Facebook picture with a lot of bizarre reactions: oil tanker disaster, black facing-it in the MidEast, and others...

My fellow beach-goers included the usual two really old, really pale German men in speedos and a group of Americans on a study abroad stint from a language school in Cali. After an expensive mid-day buffet at the beachside touristy trap of a restaurant, I caught up with the yanks and finegeled my way on to their U of Jordan charter bus for an easy and free ride back to the capital. The students were a nice group of guys and gals, and I spent the return trip making Fusha conversation practice with them and some less formal small talk with the friendly driver from Karak.

It took 2 showers to get off the remainder of the salt back in Irbid but the experience has more staying power. And my skin hasn't felt better, thanks for asking.