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On the way to Florence I had an insanely short layover in the United Arab Emirates at Dubai. When my passport and credit cards went missing as part of the Great Unpleasantness I had to change my travel plans several times. This was not a problem with Royal Jordanian, which seemed happy with whatever crazy changes came their way. However, the Dubai to Paris to Florence part of the journey was on Air France and they have a complete "you broke it you buy it" approach, so no matter how it played itself out I had to fly through Dubai and then on to Paris/Florence. Initially I had hoped to stay for several days and do some real sight-seeing in the UAE, which is not something I had ever had the chance to do (although I had been through there four times previously). The UAE normally doesn't do much for me, mainly because I'm a historian and there's not much history left in Dubai. That said, I was determined to make up for it this time, but the GU changed that. Initially I was hoping to make it back to the Gold Souq, which is one of the few traditional areas left in Dubai. One of my fondest memories of the Gold Souq was venturing outside of the main area where the gold merchants are located into the broader market (and in the process getting magnificently lost) while searching out myrrh for my friend and colleague Gary Savard. It was brutally hot when I landed - something around 110-115ish - so my desire to make it back to the Gold Souq went out the window. So, instead, I went over to the insanely posh Mall of the Emirates, which is a great place for people-watching. I don't know if there is anyplace in the Middle East where the clash between old and new is more jarring - you see a lot of folks dressed pretty provocatively - but you also see a lot of men in the traditional Emirati white from head to toe along with women completely covered - all in a gleeming fortress of western consumerism. It's also the place where the inside ski run is located. When you rent your skis they also give you a loaner winter coat - not surprisingly, owning a winter coat is not something you see much of in the Emirates. I have to admit that it was a lot of fun just watching the kids playing in the manufactured snow. For me, however, the biggest thrill was getting a Krispy Kreme donut (it's something that Vermont yankees just don't understand . . .).
Every day that I was in Amman I would start the day by reading through The Jordan Times, which is the main Jordanian newspaper. It is not a huge newspaper, but one that contains a daily extended international section that would put most U.S. newspapers to shame. While, not surprisingly, the paper focuses on events in the Middle East, there are stories every day about events in Asia, Africa and Latin America. True to Jordan's role in the world, the paper carries out a delicate balancing act in its presentation of events in the broader Middle East and especially in its coverage of Israel. While certainly not friendly to Israel, the paper does not engage in lengthy, unwarranted rants about Israeli foreign policy and is actually pretty balanced (and certainly much more so than our own press and its slavish repeating of administrative-driven anti-Iranian stories). The Commentary section is always thought-provoking, and one of the biggest Global Module supporters at the University of Jordan, Dr. Ahmed Majdoubeh, is a regular contributor. Not surprisingly there is no direct criticism of the Hashemite monarchy in the paper - you actually don't get too much of this from any Jordanian (although you can get some of the younger folks to vent if you catch them in an unguarded moment).
As much as I've enjoyed writing this blog, and I have enjoyed it (even if my brain was too small to allow me to figure out the picture-posting feature), it's probably time to shut it down. I could write so much more, because I have really grow attached to the Middle East - and wish that more Americans would visit it - but my time here is drawing to a close. I'm heading off to Florence to present at a conference. I'm staying at some odd little Bed and Breakfast in downtown Florence (although I'm not quite certain where it is). The woman who runs it told me to call her from the airport and she'll bicycle over to let me in (can't even begin to know what that means). So, visit the Middle East - it is not what you think it is. Ma'salaam.
For the last three and a half years, ever since my first visit to Jordan, I've been eating way too many meals at a little shwarma stand across the street from the University of Jordan. It's in the same row as McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Popeye's Chicken, Kentucky Fried Chicken and the local fast food champs, the Chili House and Lebani Snacks. Despite the competition it continues to flourish. It's still a hole in the wall, but it's a much nicer hole in the wall now. It's located right on a sidewalk and that's where its two tables reside, right next to the glass-front refrigerators where the canned drinks are stored. It's also much more regimented - as late as last year when Bob Mayer, Rob Williams and I went there the cost of a meal would seem to vary depending upon the owner's mood - now the cost remains the same all the day (which makes it easier to plan, but has taken a bit of the charm away). On that visit Rob and Bob and I decided to have a competition to see who could eat the most shwarma - I left them bruised and destroyed. The menu has also expanded. When I first started eating here your two choices were big shwarma or little shwarma. Now they have hamburgers and fries and all sorts of other western-influenced edibles. The centerpiece of the menu, however, remains the shwarma. I'm not certain what is in it, and I don't really think I want to know. There is spicey meat - I think it's chicken, although sometimes little bites taste like beef, but I suppose goat is a possibility although I doubt it - I know it's not pork, obviously - and a pickle in a wrap. Now that the menu has expanded I have #8, no fries, and a 7-Up. It only costs 1.2 JD (about $1.50) and is about a third of what it costs to eat at the more western style competitors. Not surprisingly, Betsy Beaulieu was not interested in eating here.
On a sad note, the Grill House, where Bob and Rob and I had hamburgers and were comped with the worst onion rings I've ever had in my entire life, has gone out of business - another victim of the shwarma monopoly.
These are words that you never want to hear from a taxi driver in the Middle East. They sound so friendly and supportive, but nothing good usually ever comes from it. The words "no problem, what you wish" usually come in response to the question "how much?", as in, how much to such and such a location? Taking a taxi varies dramatically in different parts of the Middle East. In Egypt, for example, every taxi has a meter but it is never turned on, which means that you have to agree upon a price before you ever take off - and never take off unless you've agreed upon a price. If you don't get a firm price then just don't get in the taxi - or get out of it if you're already in. When I arrived in Alexandria I was greeted with those magic words at the airport but I was too tired to fight about it, and I didn't know Alexandria, and the taxi driver's English was great, but it turned into a fairly expensive cab ride (although still less expensive than taking a taxi from the Burlington Airport to Shelburne). Still, I should have known better - that and the fact that he tried to sell me a mobile phone while we were driving to the Sofitel Cecil Hotel. At the same time, he was charming and shared his tea with me as we drove and we had a nice chat so I was fine with the experience. Your hotel is usually a pretty good guide in regards to what you should pay (and always be sure to grab one of their cards that give instructions back to the hotel in Arabic - and, before you go, ask them to write out instructions to where you're visiting in Arabic). That said, I don't think I've ever actually managed to get the taxi driver to agree to the fee that the hotel folks defined as the absolute maximum (mainly because, obviously, there are different fares for locals and for visitors). Still, it gives you a general framework for haggling. On the other hand, all the taxis in Jordan have meters and they use them, and if they take off without clicking on the meter just tap it with your finger and say meter, and they will turn it on - or, if they don't turn it on, once again, just get out of the taxi and pay them nothing. The one thing in Jordan is that the minimum fare, what pops up on the meter when it is turned on, seems to vary - sometimes it is 150 fils (15% of a Jordanian dinar) and sometimes it is 250 fils (the Jordanian equivalent of a quarter - or around 30 cents US). I used to think that the 250 rate was evening and the 150 rate was day rate, but it tends to fluctuate back and forth randomly (so I'm not even certain that it is a visiting American vs. local rate). Generally I've had nothing but great experiences in taxis - just don't expect them to drive like sane people (especially in Cairo, although my time in India has insured that no bit of driving lunacy will even cause me to look up). I've had taxi drivers in Amman help me with my English - one driver in Amman pulled over until I proved to him that I was able to say University of Jordan in Arabic (he was afraid that I'd get lost - it sounds something like Jaamma Ordineeaa) and a driver in Cairo who taught me the Arabic words for left (sounds like shamaal), right (sounds like ameen) and straight (sounds like alatool). This morning was a good example of the mixed bag of taking taxis. I caught a taxi to go the UPS office (my last credit card arrived - hamdil'allah hamdil'allah!!!). The driver, who I think was Egyptian, wore a traditional long white robe and an embroidered cap and, once we started, began to quietly sing a beautiful, and what I considered to be religious, song. It was really remarkably pleasant and even a little emotional because of its understated beauty. I gave him a big tip, just for the experience. After stopping at UPS I grabbed another taxi and he was a little hesitant to click on the meter. Even after he clicked it on (at 250) he said, "no meter." So, I asked, "how much?" He said (wait for it) "no problem what you wish." Of course, it is never what you wish - although I did pay a taxi driver in Alexandria what I wished because of his refusal to name a price and he, oddly, accepted it, albeit glumly. I said "one JD", which was too low, but I wanted to see where this would go. He said, "higher." I said "one and a half JD", which is what I paid on the way there. He said, "no, higher," and I just told him to stop. He said, "meter, meter", but I just opened the car door while we were driving - which was overly theatrical of me, but I also wanted him to know that the negotiations were over - and he pulled over and I got out and gave him nothing. I walked a couple blocks and grabbed another cab and, without asking, he clicked on the meter, took me where I wanted to go, and offered to share his coffee with me.
Like I said in an earlier post I'm staying at the Amman International Hotel, which is a first for me because I've always stayed at ACOR (which means I've spent something like a month and a half there over the last few years). This hotel is pretty nice and not terribly expensive - and air-conditioned, which ACOR is not. It also has the coldest pool in the world. I can see why you might want to pump in some cold water in the morning because the weather is so hot, but it's more than that - the water is arctic. Yesterday I thought I'd sit out by the pool, mainly in the shade, read the paper, grab a small amount of sun, and then go swimming. All went well, except that when I jumped in the pool I basically landed and then jumped right out (you could measure the entire immersion in nanoseconds) - it's like Lake Champlain cold. It may well be that the pool is just designed to be mainly ornamental because there is a little bridge over it and I think there may be a wedding here every night - I can hear the Arabic techno dance music blaring through the wall even as I type. While Americans almost universally get married on a Saturday, and while Jordanian would prefer a Thursday or Friday, they will also get married just about any night when they can reserve a good location. I was sitting downstairs tonight having a club sandwich when the wedding erupted - and the weddings here are every bit as big and out of control as weddings in the U.S. This one started, as many do here, with a rental military drum band that greets the wedded couple as they come in the door. It is pretty spectacular. From what the waiter told me there are actually two wedding ceremonies going on here tonight, or at least one wedding reception and one bridal shower, and the hotel just isn't that big. Anyway, it's definitely a good place to stay and the staff (with the exception of a basic inability to sign for UPS packages) is really great.
OK, this will generate some consternation from my friend Bob Mayer so let's hope he doesn't read this blog entry. There is a fast food restaurant across the street from the University of Jordan called the Chili House. Well, actually, it is all over Amman and Cairo and Damascus, and is coming soon to Jeddah, Dubai and Manama. The Chili House restaurants serve Cincinnati style chili, which is near and dear to my heart because I essentially grew up in Cincinnati. If you're used to regular chili (the afore-mentioned Bob is from the south so he's horrified by Cincinnati style chili) Cincinnati style chili takes a little while to get used to - it has cinnamon and allspice and is served over noodles with grated cheese on top. It may sound odd, but after the first time you begin to dream about it. Certainly it was a dietary staple of mine during graduate school - there was this great dive bar next to the University of Cincinnati and you would have a few beers there (at least this is what my friends told me), walk across the street to Skyline Chili, grab some food, and then bring it back and eat it at the bar. Apparently the Cincinnati recipe was founded by some Jordanian family who had moved to the area (although I've heard that it was created by a Greek family) and there are several different chains in Cincinnati which have pretty similar chili - I think Skyline is the best. The story behind the Chili House is that a branch of the family moved back to Jordan and started the Chili House chain, although there's also some story about a falling out among the brothers and the founding of a different Jordanian chili parlor and then some epic chili war, but I'm not certain about all that. Anyway, I dragged my friend Bob to the Chili House when he was here last year and was so bitter that after we finished eating (well, I finished eating) I had to take him right outside and buy him a shwarma (more on shwarma later) to make up for it - and not a week has gone by that I haven't heard about the Chili House incident. I took the time this afternoon to grab a three-way at a local Chili House and it was good, no matter what Bob says. I had the number one, which is a drink, a three-way and what would in Cincinnati be called a Skyliner (a hot dog with chili and cheese - although the Chili House version doesn't hold up very well, mainly because it's not really a hot dog, for the obvious reasons).
I've talked about this before so I won't spend much time on the subject, but it really is amazing the extraordinary sense of hospitality that a visitor feels in the Middle East. The standard line here is that if you drop in unexpectedly to stay at someone's house they can't even ask you why you're there until the end of the third day - you can still stay, they'd just like to know why you stopped by. I've heard it repeated so often that it may just qualify as an urban legend, but after making so many visits here I tend to believe it. Here at the Amman International I've been befriended by the front desk guy, Ahmad, who works the night shift. He first made friends with my colleague Al Capone (or, as I've renamed him, al-Capone, to give him a more Arabic feel) because of a Seattle connection - al-Capone grew up there and Ahmad sort of went to university there for four years. He's been wonderfully helpful during my time of need as I try to get credit cards replaced. One actually showed up yesterday via FedEx (who knew that "overnighting" took a week) but the other one, coming via UPS, never made it. According to the UPS website an attempt was made to deliver it to the front desk of the hotel at 6:15 p.m. last night but no one would sign for it. We're still trying to figure that one out, with the two main theories being that the woman behind the counter had a brain-cramp (because I had stopped by five times to remind them I was expecting a second package) or the delivery guy just didn't feel like coming in because it was already after hours. The message at the site stated that it would be delivered on the next business day, and then threw in the line that a delivery on Saturday was not guaranteed. This, of course, opened up the question of what the next business day was - Friday is the holy day in Islam but they also do a lot of business with the US and western Europe - so things were up in the air. Ahmad volunteered, over my objections, to drive me to the UPS office this morning, after working all night, just so we could figure out where it was and what their hours are (as it turns out they are closed today, so we're shooting for early tomorrow, insh'allah). After figuring this out he then insisted, again over my objections, that he take me out for a Starbuck's coffee. I told him that I had to pay because of all his kindness, but he said nicely but firmly that for a Jordanian this was out of the question - I'm his guest and he is responsible for me. So, off we went to Starbucks. By the way, he ordered a frappecino (I had a latte) - I mention this simply because I get a lot of grief from my friends because of my fondness for frappecinos (which are considered a bit wimpy by some of my associates, and it was good to see someone from the coffee-addicted Middle East order the frappecino).
It's amazing how much better I feel now that I've made it to Amman. Even considering the Great Unpleasantness, I did actually enjoy my time in Egypt. It was an amazing experience, and in a lot of ways having to go through the Bataan death march of getting a new passport - and the more humble tourist adventures brought about by limited financial resources - gave me a much richer, and maybe more realistic, picture of life in Egypt. I would definitely go back to Egypt - and considering the enthusiasm for the GMs shown by the American University in Cairo and Alexandria University I suspect I will. That said, I felt very good getting off the plane in Amman. This has become sort of a second home to me - or maybe third behind India (although I've now visited Jordan more times than I have India) - and I just feel much more secure here. For some reason I'm just much more certain that everything can be worked out now that I have Amman as a central location for organization - and I certainly have a lot more friends here in Jordan. The Jordanians are remarkably warm and supportive folks. I'm staying at the Amman International Hotel (more on that later). Normally I stay at the American Center of Oriental Research (ACOR), but there were no rooms at the inn this time around. I suppose it's just as well because it would help to have someone at the front desk twenty-four hours a day when it comes to issues such as FedEx deliveries, etc. ACOR is great, but everyone goes home around 4:00 or 5:00 and sometimes it's tough to even get a phone call in - the phone will just ring downstairs and if someone is around they might answer and might even track the person down (again, it's very much a large dorm for nerds, which has its own appeal). The University of Jordan contacted the hotel and guaranteed my stay so that helped out a lot (and reaffirmed my faith in Jordan). It's funny how warm I feel about Jordan. I tell the story - and I'll be honest about it even though I'm a little embarrassed to admit it now - but I can remember that on my first trip to Jordan, which was for a three week Council of Independent Colleges seminar on Middle East culture supported by a state department grant (late December 2004 into January 2005) I was actually a tad nervous about the trip. Because of travel problems (I actually always have travel problems, but I just never let them stop me) I arrived essentially a day late and at 2:00 a.m. I didn't know where ACOR was and didn't think that there would actually be a driver waiting - but, hamdil'allah, there he was. We took off into the night and made it to ACOR in around a half-hour - and was greeted at the gate by the guard with the machine gun. I found my little key for my room in an envelope left by the mailboxes, dropped off my suitcase, and then went exploring the building to find the best place to hide in case of a terrorist attack. Within about twenty-four hours I realized how ridiculous that feeling was, and the memory now makes me smile (and wince). It's, however, one of those teachable moments because if I had that moment of unease - and I'm a historian and knew a fair bit about the Middle East before I ever made my first trip here - then you can imagine what the average American thinks about the Middle East when they watch the corrupted, if not intentionally biased, coverage of it on the nightly news every night. Anyway, I'm in Amman and feel a lot better.
. . . well, sort of Whirling Dervishes, I suspect. One of the things that you can do in the Khan al-Khalili market is to see a Whirling Dervish show three nights a week. It's free, which I suspect has something to do with getting even more folks downtown to the market. The Whirling Dervishes are traditionally practitioners of the Sufi branch of Islam, which is a mystic approach that I've always appreciated. The Sufis often made the more mainstream Muslims a little nervous because the Sufis cared much less about the rigid rules of the faith and more about a joyous union with Allah. Ironically, considering the slight unease that they engendered with some Muslims, but also logically, this made them great missionaries for spreading the faith. Some of my favorite writers such as Jaladin Rumi or Omar Khayyam are in the Sufi tradition (and I even tortured my sister Beth by reading passages from Rumi at her wedding). When you're looking for the Whirling Dervish performance at the Khan al-Khalili you're better off just saying "Sufi" rather than "Dervish" to a local - they will point you directly there. I'm not really certain if the dancers at the Khan al-Khalili are actually Sufis, and, in fact, I suspect that they probably aren't, mainly because a true Sufi mystic would probably view a tourist-driven performance as a bit much (although they are also known for being very tolerent so who knows). For a true Sufi the spinning is part of giving up attachments to this world and finding a mystical union with god beyond logic or the constraints of this world. In that way I guess they are sort of like the Shakers or maybe some of the more evangelical southern US churches. Whether or not these folks are actual Sufis it was a great performance if nothing else. It went on for an hour and a half. The first half-hour was music, then one Dervish who spun around for a half-hour straight, and then three Dervishes together. The leader of the troup seemed to be an older guy who played small, hand-held cymbals (I'll have to look up the exact name) - he was quite the showman and seemed to be having a great time. It was certainly far more authentic than the "native" dancers I saw at the Sarafi Park in Nairobi, Kenya, which I think was choregraphed by Busby Berkley - lots of show tunes performed by African dancers in "traditional tribal outfits." The Whirling Dervish performance at the Khan al-Khalili is highly recommended.
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