Curious Stuff - Part I

I'm enjoying my stay in Amman. The Jordanians are great and  the Arabic language is challenging (an understatement, for sure).  And some things are just curious and make me smile:

Here's a traffic policeman. He and others stand in front of the school (which is next door to the University of Jordan) watching traffic.  They carry a notebook, wear a cool pointy hat and watch for traffic violators. 

When they see a possible problem - triple parking, for instance - they stare at the perpetrator and wiggle their fingers at them - much as your mother did long ago - "stop doing that or I will speak to your father." It seems to work.

Sometimes there are other issues to be sorted out - street disputes. Like this one...apparently between a taxi driver and a passenger(s)...which, of course, draws a crowd.

 ***

The first morning here I heard what sounded an awful like the ice cream truck of my youth coming down the street...that happy 

sound that made us all run to our mothers for popsicle money.

In Amman that's the sound of the propane truck.   


For us, and I suspect for many in Amman, a tank of propane is a necessity - if one wants to cook!

Behind the truck is a Little Caesar's...which I think went out of business in the States.

I understand their pizzas are pretty bad here -- oddly enough.

***

Below is a shot from the window of our classroom looking down on a parking lot of the University next door. One day during a break I watched a curious metamorphosis occur. 

Notice the white car parked between the two lines of cars in the foreground (and the empty and available spaces). I watched the driver stop and sit a few minutes. I thought she was maybe waiting for someone. Nope. 

She got out of the car and left it - in the middle (to my mind) of a parking lot.  Where's the order?

But then...another car pulled up behind her and another and another. And soon....this.

Makes some weird sense!

Water Scarcity - Up Close & Personal

Jordan not only has a severe water problem, but also does not have the resources to purchase water.

I don't drink the water here as I was told by an educated Jordanian that sometimes it's clean and sometimes not. Having housed many of the local bugs in Afghan water, I decided to play it safe and use bottled water for everything.  

Except showering and washing my hands. Which is a problem at the end of each month.  Apparently there is a water distribution plan in Jordan - households (and I guess hotels) receive a "supply" of water monthly.  

I'm not sure exactly how this works and couldn't find any good information on line, but...what it means is that yesterday, on the 27th of the month, the shower stream was insufficient to wash my hair or all parts of my body.

And earlier yesterday we had to visit the Police Department to extend our visas. We were fingerprinted during the process and ended up with black/blue ink on all fingers.  We asked for a bathroom to wash our hands and were told "No water." 

Huh? 

Indeed, it was true. We were handed wipes that had been moistened with bottled water.  The water supply at the Police Department was non-existent.

Mike and Will visited the toilet. No toilet paper, but there was, of course the hose affair for washing whatever needed to be washed. But no water. As Mike said, it didn't bear thinking about.

We figured perhaps the Police were being the "good guys" and restricting their water supply to set a good example for the rest of the country. Who knows.

As a political note, Jordan (Lebanon and Turkey) have taken in the bulk of the refugees from Syria. The situation is exacerbating the on-going scarcity of water in Jordan.   (http://world.time.com/2013/04/04/how-syrias-refugee-crisis-is-draining-jordans-scarce-water-supply).


As an aside about the paperwork at the Police Department. The forms were in Arabic - luckily we only had to fill out our names, and passport numbers. But the forms also asked for our birth date. We figured we had to put the date in Arabic numbers and in their peculiar (read different) order with regard to month, day and year and the numbers within the year.  I'm not sure but I think I said I was 114 years old...

Out and About in Amman - Alone

Well, today...I took the plunge - went into Amman on my own and made it back to the hotel - just like a big person.

This morning I camped out at a local cafe and had a couple of cups of local coffee - I know where the expression "puts hair on your chest" originated! After drinking the liquid part of the coffee, there remains a sludge at the bottom of the cup that mimics primal ooze.
The cafe owner thought it was a good idea to ask me how old I was. I answered "jiddan" - very.

I sat outside and did some Arabic homework as the coffee worked its magic.  A young man sat down and, after establishing that I was an American,  told me he was going to Canada in a month and wanted to know everything I knew about that country. He was surprised to learn that I knew nothing except that it was cold and green. "Why you not know?" he asked. I explained that I wasn't Canadian, but American. "It's all North America, right?" was his response.

Under the invigorating influence of the coffee I decided to take a cab - alone - and visit the King Abdullah Mosque and an art gallery.

I practiced in front of our concierge saying, "jaami' malik Abdullah" (mosque King Abdullah) and was pretty proud of my rendition. When I tried it out on the cab driver, his response was "It's OK to speak English."  Oh well.  We had a good laugh.

I had a good time chatting with him. Somehow though my request to go to the mosque got sidetracked and I ended up being driven about the city.

Here's a castle high in the hills.

The driver told me the owner was not just rich, but "very, very, very rich."

"What does the owner do?"  I asked.

"Nothing, he's rich," was the reply.
.

Palestine is off in the distance

And here's The Everest Hotel. Super expensive so said my driver.

He told me he knew of a place where Dead Sea stuff was on display. I said "scrolls" and he said "yes, yes."  Wrong. He knew a place where Dead Sea stuff was not just on display, it was for sale. 

I think somewhere along the line there was a breakdown in communications. Somehow my driver buddy got the impression that I was either rich or gullible or both.

The store personnel were quite helpful, however, being misled about my ability to buy: a cup of tea appeared and I soon found out that one can purchase many many beauty/hygiene aids from Dead Sea products: soap, creams, mudpacks, shampoos and and and...  All costing a bunch. The salesman gave me a tiny vial of sand. When asked if it came from the Dead Sea, he admitted it was from Amman. Still a nice gesture.

Finally, I told my friendly cabdriver that I had no money to spend and that I was ready to leave. "No problem," says he. "I will lend you money." Swell.  I declined and somehow our friendly relationship declined from then on.

I also paid more for the ride than I was prepared for, but I should have told him "no more sightseeing" at some point. I'm learning.

I was then delivered to the Mosque. A stunning building.

I didn't see the notice about the visitors' entrance and proceeded to walk around the inner colonade until an official-looking fellow appeared to tell me "door two, door two." I then went looking for "door two"which I never found, but did see the sign to the entrance.

Actually it was the entrance to a small inside bazaar. A fellow approached and I asked him if I needed a ticket. "No ticket here, but you have to wear a gown."  Eek...and I was directed to a room filled with black and brown gowns, which looked much like my graduation gown except they had hoods.

So...I covered myself up.  Mind you I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved top anyway.

I could then buy a ticket and enter the Mosque proper, leaving my shoes at the door.

Several people were inside, resting, sleeping and praying.  No sounds were heard.  I sat for a while and then made my way to another smaller room - presumably for women.

While the exterior of the Mosque was lovely; the interior was little more than a large (or small) room with many rugs and quiet.

After returning my "coverall,"  I asked directions to the Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts which I knew was within walking distance. (I had a map!) 

A small park separates the two buildings of the gallery.

I liked this piece and was intrigued by the tic tac toe game someone thought to scrawl on it.








No grass in this park.

I was quite impressed with the gallery's collection.

"Southern Scream" a 2006 tryptych by Khalid Khreis.



Bader's Mahasneh's "untitled" (2012)




Since I had visited Wadi Rum last weekend, I was interested in this photograph of the area by Rana Naber (2005).

Dina Haddadin's "Unknown Margins" (2012)

Kuram Nimri's "Retaliation" of oak wood and stone.

It was late in the afternoon,the gallery was closing and I had no chance to look through the gallery's second building.

I went looking for a taxi to take me back "home."

Amman is really hilly and my game plan has been to walk down (rather than up) hills whenever possible.  At the bottom of this particular hill was a major thoroughfare: King Hussan St.  A left turn onto the street and what do I see...a PUB.

So far we've been to two places that serve alcohol.  One was a sports bar and the other was a bookstore/bar/restaurant. Both served their purpose  which was to provide us with beer, but they were still missing a certain ambience.

And here was a place called "PUB" and I had found it on my own. Unfortunately the windows were covered so I couldn't peer in. 

"What the hell?" crossed my mind and I pushed on the door and found myself looking into a small place with a neat little bar, one male customer and a bartender (who turned out to be the owner).

I asked if it was OK for me to come in - thinking maybe I  (a woman) wouldn't be welcome.  Turned out I was so I grabbed a bar stool and ordered a beer. I chitchatted to the owner and his girlfriend, who had appeared, and had a great time. I will certainly return.

My cab ride back to school was a success.  I told the driver where I wanted to go in my broken Arabic.  He repeated my directions back to me, I guess to make sure we were talking about the same place.  Apparently we were, because I ended up back at school, as requested.  A small step for mankind!

I stopped and order a garlic (yummy) pizza to-go and walked back to the hotel.

A great day.

Trip East

On Monday (6/10) we headed east from Amman to visit the family of the school's director and more ruins. 

 

His family is Bedouin and he spent the first few years of his life living in a tent. So we were told we were going to visit a Bedouin village.

On the way...

Amman is a huge city: built on 19 hills covering some 650 square miles. Apartment buildings cover the area.
 
The universal color is that of sand, an odd red roof now and then.

The buildings are universally block-shaped...but sometimes not.

 

 

We finally arrived at the "Bedouin village."  I thought we were going to visit a collection of tents and blokes hanging out on camels.  Think desert, think village...ergo tents. But no..."village"  also means, of course, a small collection of houses, as in a small city.  And Bedouins, who often are nomadic and do ride camels, also take up residence in houses and their camels, if they have any, sleep outside. 

 

 

Here's the family standing on the steps of their house (not tent.) Mike, one of my co-travellers, wears the sunglasses; the British fellow (El) from Egypt is in the cap.

 

We talked for a while in an ornate sitting room - some talked, others (me) struggled to understand.  Soon plastic sheets were placed on the floor and anchored by containers of water.

 

Mike told me later he knew it was going to be an unusual meal when the plastic was laid out on the beautiful Persian rug. I thought we were in trouble when I saw only spoons and not plates being laid out.

 

 

We were both right. 

The meal was a traditional Jordanian meal - chicken with rice and a yogurt sauce. The rice was sitting on flat bread and under the bread was a cornbready-thing.

The plan was to eat with one's fingers.The technique is to grab a chunk of rice and chicken and roll it around in your hand until the rice adheres to itself and forms a glutinous amalgam. This concoction is then put in one's mouth- without silverware.  As a compromise I used a lettuce leaf as a scoop.

We were also sitting on the floor and feet were remarkably close to the food.
 

The chicken was super, as was the yogurt sauce.

Most everyone smoked

Here's me trying to explain to the host that I didn't understand what he was saying. He, of course, didn't understand what I was saying...and so it went.

This sweet little boy decided I was cool and sat with me while chomping on his fingers.

Soon Izzy (the only other woman there) and I were called out of the room and directed to another sitting room.  Here were the women. I was wondering why it was the men who had laid out the food and then removed the dishes and the plastic wrap at the end of the meal. The women of the family were having their own party.

We sat and talked with them, but since they barely spoke English, and we barely spoke Arabic, not much information was exchanged.

After lunch Mike was introduced to the "facilities" found in many places in Jordan. He asked the young son for the hammam (toilet) and was directed to a room down the hall. Upon seeing the porcelain hole in the floor and not much else, he turned back to the boy and explained that "no, he wanted the toilet." The boy nodded: this was it!

Mike told us that he wasn't quite sure what to do so he just stayed in the room for an appropriate time, without doing his business, and then came back to the party.

 

This type of facility is also found in some public restrooms for women.  They are not designed for women in jeans.  Thankfully most restrooms have toilets. Unfortunately, many of them do not have toilet paper.  I told the owner of a restaurant last night that his women's room needed toilet paper. Oops. Now I realize that there is no need for toilet paper  in bathrooms where there is a hose. I still haven't figured out how one can hose oneself down after peeing and not have wet spots on one clothes.

 

But I digress...

It was a great occasion. Everyone in the family treated us like royalty and we were lucky to have the opportunity to join them for a meal.

I am, however, going to stick with the use of a knife and fork.

We got back on the road again...heading into the desert.

To Qusayr Amra...the remains of a caravanserai (way station), bathhouse and hunting lodge built around AD 711.  It's stuck in the middle of the desert, but the site was chosen for its proximity to a lush valley supplied by underground water which was close to the surface in olden times.

The little castle (Qusayr) is famous for the risque (bared breasts) frescoes of wine, parties and women. An Italian crew is working on the restoration project.

This family member posed holding a posy of what looked like a mustard plant.

He then took this picture of yours truly.


Here's a bedouin tent set up on the site. Everyone stops for the obligatory sweet sweet tea. This  group of tourists arrived before us. They looked stunned.

Then we were off to Qasr Karana.

According to the guidebook it is located in a vast, treeless plain.  Truer words....

 

The purpose of the castle-like structure is not clear. The assumption is that it was not meant to be a fort considering the structure of the towers, it  is not located on any of the major ancient trade routes and has no structures meant for water storage. The supposition is that it was a meeting place for the elite from Damascus and the local Bedouin.

Here's the Visitors' Center for Westerners...no one was there. A sign on the wall indicated the presence of a

 "wc."

The British influence I suppose. Here's where I got a look at a hole in the floor and no toilet paper.

 

Next to the "welcome center" was the real welcome center - the Bedouin tent and the tea and trinkets for sale. A garden of sorts was planted alongside, but this succulent appeared to be the only thriving species.

 

The 'castle' was up the way

 

 



I loved this trash receptacle out in middle of no where.

 

I miss grass!

And back to Amman.