A bit wistful leaving Istanbul as it was, IS such a great city, but Deb & I were very much looking forward to what else Turkey had to offer us. On to the ferry (with revised travel plans in hand) and we scored primo outdoor seats on a VERY fancy boat. The very fancy boat is actually a normal, everyday, transportation ferry but come on people, I’ve been living in Africa. I’ve become so used to ragamuffin, ancient, deadly modes of travel that I find myself getting super excited over functioning and attached doors and windows, no animals or strange smelling produce on board, and enough room for me AND my stuff to fit quite comfortably. My boats usually have plastic bags plugging up random holes here and there with an extra stash of petrol in an old, plastic Coke bottle. This was SUCH luxury! Exciting times, my friends, very exciting times.
Travel in Turkey is completely modern and very, very easy. This country is a fascinating combination of Europe and the Middle East; the laid back nature of a European travel destination with the cultural and historical allure of an Arabic adventure. As neither Deb nor I had really planned to come to Turkey, we had no idea where we wanted to go, what we wanted to see, or what the country had to offer. Lucky for us, Turkey is HUGE and everyone we’ve met so far has loaded us up with suggestions of “must sees”. And lucky for ME, the bus stations seem to be close enough to hostels, hotels, and ferry ports. The looks I get stumbling along with my oversized hunchback backpack are evidence enough that this girl needs to settle down sometime soon. Deb, the expert traveler, trots efficiently along with her dainty little roller pack as I sweat and snort behind her refusing any offer of help. Stubborn mule. She tries to make me feel better by reminding me that I have my life in my bag and am looking to move to a new country, not just travelling, but really, we both know that I’m simply ridiculous. Thanks for trying, Deb.
Ferry and mini bus brings us to Chanakkale. After some stumbling through what looks like an interesting, non-touristy small waterfront town, we find our hostel. The road in front of the place is a construction site, completely torn up with a digger parked square and sure just outside the door with mounds of dirt, ripped up concrete and piles of bricks stacked here and there. Hmmm… not sure this is gonna be a good one. We’re greeted warmly by a Paul Newman look alike owner if Paul Newman had the misfortune of being slightly inbred, had fallen down on his face once or twice, and forgotten to shower for a few weeks. But SO happy to see us and literally tripping over himself to get us settled in and comfortable. Not the swiftest rat in the race but so very nice and the place was warm and homey. Yep, we’ll stay.
Great little town with some of the best people watching spots on the planet. Deb and I (thankfully) share an almost obsessive fascination with sitting and watching the local life pass by. We also (even more thankfully) share the same sense of humor when it comes to the accompanying commentary on those fascinating creatures that happen to pass by. Turkey seems to have more than its fair share of individuals with a wildly unusual amount of thick, black hair, round babushkas with their plain, functional kerchiefs tossed loosely over their heads, and quirky clothing choices that often left us speechless. Now, it’s very clear that WE’RE not top notch fashionistas ourselves by any stretch of the imagination and we both know that being nice Canadians in someone else’s country is top priority so our commentary and our amusement is good-hearted and discreet. We have been thoroughly, thoroughly entertained so far.
A quick and comfy ferry visit to the island of Gallipoli, learning more about the ANZAC significance and the incredible feats of the Turkish military of WWII. Had no clue. Unfortunately, Gallipoli isn’t really set up as random traveler friendly so if you’ve arrived not being part of a pre-arranged bus tour, (which of course we didn’t. We just wing everything) you had to pay a small fortune to a half-interested taxi driver to get to any of the memorial sites. Hmmm… no thanks. We were quite happy hanging out at the water front and perplexing the local minibus drivers as we wanted to just ride the bus from one ferry port to another to at least get to see some of the landscape. They weren’t quite sure what to do with us but we’re both pretty used to that reaction by now so we smile and nod and carry on. Good times in Turkey.
Our attempts to leave Chanakkale proved to be bizarre and eventually downright annoying. We spoke to several different travel companies who appeared to be able to book tickets for various bus companies but were getting absolutely nowhere so we walked to the main bus station where 1., acknowledging our existence as we stood at the counter was a HUGE inconvenience to them and 2., we had the word “FULL!” shouted at us before we even had a chance to finish our request. *sigh* But you don’t even know where we want to go yet. FULL! Wait a minute, what’s full? BUS! FULL! Which bus? All these buses? To all these cities? FULL! We want to go to Kusadasi. FULL! Oh my gosh. You’ve got to be kidding me. After lots of back and forth to all of the different bus companies, we found one that had seats left for late the following afternoon. No seats in the morning? FULL!!!! Okay, okay, afternoon is fine. *sigh* Funny now, not so much in the moment. Gong show.
Our remaining time in Chanakkale included some more people watching on a busy waterfront indulging in some yummy ice-cream and my new addiction, Turkish coffee, shopping for the ever essential bus snacks, and repacking the incredibly durable pack that seems to explode like confetti poppers each time I even touch the zipper. We were looking forward to our next destination, apparently along with the entire population of Chanakkale, by the time our afternoon bus finally arrived. Nice little town. Amusement rating… SOLID! Thanks Chanakkale!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Istanbul has got it going on!
Arrived in Istanbul, tired and drained from a very long travel day of mini-buses, planes, metros, and trams. Promptly fell in love. Istanbul, Istanbul, Istanbul! My hostel, off the beaten path in a little local neighborhood, is brand new. I was guest number 6. The boys who own and run the place are three early 20-somethings who had all gone in on this gig together and were eager to meet their new visitors to make a good go of their endeavors. It was their home away from home as all three were sitting around playing Play Station when I arrived. Super nice guys, really great place. Hostel 68.
Upon my arrival, met Michael, an American/Ethiopian, who was visiting Istanbul in between finishing his first year of law school in Boston and heading home to Ethiopia for his summer break. Great sense of humor, fabulous stories to tell, and a connection to Africa. Exactly the company I needed. So much fun exploring and experiencing Istanbul from Turkish delight to baklava, Turkish coffee to apple tea, and all of the incredible sights in between the sweets and caffeine stops. Conversations of African life, Middle Eastern experiences, and travel as a way to connect with people. Fabulous good fun.
My universe found many ways to ward off any possibility of loneliness in Turkey because 1., Michael was absolutely hilarious, endlessly entertaining, and generally great company, 2., I had the incredible good fortune to meet up for dinner with my two LOVELY sweetheart Jordan girls, Liz & Laura, as we had one night over-lapping in Istanbul, and 3., my most favourite travel buddy EVER, Deb came to join me. Deb has just spent 7 months exploring Central & South America from well-trod paths to the tiniest corners untouched by Western influences. She was chilling out in Spain before her return home to Canada but when we realized how close we were, finally on the same continent again, she flew to meet me here. Almost peed my pants on the way to the airport to meet her… SO excited!!!
Istanbul is a pretty easy place to get stuck for a while. Endless elaborate mosques, sprawling bazaars filled with the most beautiful ceramic tiles, gorgeous fabrics, and enticing spices, a busy and perfect people-watching waterfront, and an easy, easy transportation system. Not as warm to travelers as I had hoped, but still able to find opportunities to meet and chat with locals amid the swarming crowds. Timing is a bit off as kids are getting out of school and high season kicked off around mid-May so lots of lost foreigners finding their way around town but I’m in Turkey… it’s all good!
Our last night in Istanbul wasn’t at hotel 68. Drama, drama, drama. Upon our late return the night before, our three lovely entrepreneurs greeted us with excessive apologies. They said something had happened with the sewer system and they had arranged to re-locate us to another place for the next night. They would take care of the difference in cost and they were so, so, SO sorry. It was no big deal to any of us but these poor guys just seemed so concerned.
As Deb and I waffled about in the kitchen area the next morning, no real plans and kinda sorta throwing our stuff together, one of the guys approached us and asked if we were ready to go as they were going to take us and the other guests to the hostel. Oh, okay, umm, not really but I can get my stuff together quick, quick. Then came a knock at the door. Two official looking men purposefully entered the building with serious looks on their faces and clipboards in hand. Tension spiked and a wide-eyed, apologetic, very worried looking owner hustled and bustled about herding us up and out the door now, now, NOW. Quick goodbye to Michael as he was flying to Ethiopia that afternoon and a handful of us trucked our backpacks up the road to the next place. What just happened there? Police raid? Building inspector shut down? Some other underground illicit activity that we were unknowingly part of? We weren’t getting any answers.
The owners of our old hostel and new hostel were obviously friends so after some “investigating” (asking a lot of nosey questions), it seems that the boys opened up, hoping to catch a full and busy high season, a little before the ink was dry on all of the necessary paperwork. Chained and padlocked door, no one is getting in anytime soon. Such a shame as it really is a great place. Hope they muddle through the bureaucracy in time to catch the tail end of the season. Always something exciting going on.
A good luck day of hospitality, however. Where we stopped for lunch, an older man who spoke no English hopped around like a child who needs to pee, clasping his hands, laughing, pulling his hair, and trying oh so desperately to communicate with us with when we shared that we were from Canada. Shortly thereafter, his nephew shows up, (obviously summoned) excellent English speaker as he had lived in the States, and a long chat ensues. Family owned restaurant for several generations and they also own a water buffalo dairy farm. Yep, water buffalo dairy farm. Who knew?! He outlines a highly recommended travel plan for us so off we go to book tickets for ferries and such. Lovely! We could now wander the rest of Istanbul with tickets in hand and a plan ready to go.
Back at the hotel the night before we’re ready to go as we’re reviewing our time in Istanbul and our upcoming travel plans, we ask for directions to the ferry (because where we bought our tickets apparently isn’t anywhere close to where the ferry actually docks). A long term guest steps in to help. We show him the plan, he shows us how the ticket we bought wasn’t actually such a great plan and it isn’t exactly where we want to go. Oops. Water buffalo guy tried but hmmm… let’s make a new plan. So he and Deb poured over maps and routes to devise a new plan while I packed and repacked. At the end of our now NEW plan, long term guest guy offers to drive us to the ferry port the next morning! Wow! Thanks! Lucky he did too because the ferry port was NOWHERE near where we were staying. Life is good in Istanbul.
Upon my arrival, met Michael, an American/Ethiopian, who was visiting Istanbul in between finishing his first year of law school in Boston and heading home to Ethiopia for his summer break. Great sense of humor, fabulous stories to tell, and a connection to Africa. Exactly the company I needed. So much fun exploring and experiencing Istanbul from Turkish delight to baklava, Turkish coffee to apple tea, and all of the incredible sights in between the sweets and caffeine stops. Conversations of African life, Middle Eastern experiences, and travel as a way to connect with people. Fabulous good fun.
My universe found many ways to ward off any possibility of loneliness in Turkey because 1., Michael was absolutely hilarious, endlessly entertaining, and generally great company, 2., I had the incredible good fortune to meet up for dinner with my two LOVELY sweetheart Jordan girls, Liz & Laura, as we had one night over-lapping in Istanbul, and 3., my most favourite travel buddy EVER, Deb came to join me. Deb has just spent 7 months exploring Central & South America from well-trod paths to the tiniest corners untouched by Western influences. She was chilling out in Spain before her return home to Canada but when we realized how close we were, finally on the same continent again, she flew to meet me here. Almost peed my pants on the way to the airport to meet her… SO excited!!!
Istanbul is a pretty easy place to get stuck for a while. Endless elaborate mosques, sprawling bazaars filled with the most beautiful ceramic tiles, gorgeous fabrics, and enticing spices, a busy and perfect people-watching waterfront, and an easy, easy transportation system. Not as warm to travelers as I had hoped, but still able to find opportunities to meet and chat with locals amid the swarming crowds. Timing is a bit off as kids are getting out of school and high season kicked off around mid-May so lots of lost foreigners finding their way around town but I’m in Turkey… it’s all good!
Our last night in Istanbul wasn’t at hotel 68. Drama, drama, drama. Upon our late return the night before, our three lovely entrepreneurs greeted us with excessive apologies. They said something had happened with the sewer system and they had arranged to re-locate us to another place for the next night. They would take care of the difference in cost and they were so, so, SO sorry. It was no big deal to any of us but these poor guys just seemed so concerned.
As Deb and I waffled about in the kitchen area the next morning, no real plans and kinda sorta throwing our stuff together, one of the guys approached us and asked if we were ready to go as they were going to take us and the other guests to the hostel. Oh, okay, umm, not really but I can get my stuff together quick, quick. Then came a knock at the door. Two official looking men purposefully entered the building with serious looks on their faces and clipboards in hand. Tension spiked and a wide-eyed, apologetic, very worried looking owner hustled and bustled about herding us up and out the door now, now, NOW. Quick goodbye to Michael as he was flying to Ethiopia that afternoon and a handful of us trucked our backpacks up the road to the next place. What just happened there? Police raid? Building inspector shut down? Some other underground illicit activity that we were unknowingly part of? We weren’t getting any answers.
The owners of our old hostel and new hostel were obviously friends so after some “investigating” (asking a lot of nosey questions), it seems that the boys opened up, hoping to catch a full and busy high season, a little before the ink was dry on all of the necessary paperwork. Chained and padlocked door, no one is getting in anytime soon. Such a shame as it really is a great place. Hope they muddle through the bureaucracy in time to catch the tail end of the season. Always something exciting going on.
A good luck day of hospitality, however. Where we stopped for lunch, an older man who spoke no English hopped around like a child who needs to pee, clasping his hands, laughing, pulling his hair, and trying oh so desperately to communicate with us with when we shared that we were from Canada. Shortly thereafter, his nephew shows up, (obviously summoned) excellent English speaker as he had lived in the States, and a long chat ensues. Family owned restaurant for several generations and they also own a water buffalo dairy farm. Yep, water buffalo dairy farm. Who knew?! He outlines a highly recommended travel plan for us so off we go to book tickets for ferries and such. Lovely! We could now wander the rest of Istanbul with tickets in hand and a plan ready to go.
Back at the hotel the night before we’re ready to go as we’re reviewing our time in Istanbul and our upcoming travel plans, we ask for directions to the ferry (because where we bought our tickets apparently isn’t anywhere close to where the ferry actually docks). A long term guest steps in to help. We show him the plan, he shows us how the ticket we bought wasn’t actually such a great plan and it isn’t exactly where we want to go. Oops. Water buffalo guy tried but hmmm… let’s make a new plan. So he and Deb poured over maps and routes to devise a new plan while I packed and repacked. At the end of our now NEW plan, long term guest guy offers to drive us to the ferry port the next morning! Wow! Thanks! Lucky he did too because the ferry port was NOWHERE near where we were staying. Life is good in Istanbul.
ALWAYS wear clean undies when you travel!
And now a story of minor humiliation for your entertainment:
Getting out of Israel proved no less complicated than entering into it. Thanks to several stories from several travelers, I knew to be there well ahead of time and to be prepared for the regular routine of suspicious interrogation. I had a flight booked to Istanbul (no way into Syria, remember), so keeping things moving along was a necessity. I arrived at the airport with loads of time to spare armed with no fear and my sense of humor intact. Border guards were not gonna break this girl!
Line up upon line up of travelers with multiple carts of luggage, interesting outfits, and a variety of passport origins snaked their path through the typical airport mazes, inching their way towards the security check in before the ticket / boarding pass check in. So many people heading out of Israel but this short-arsed Canadian bowed under the weight of a ridiculous red backpack apparently looks very suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. *sigh*.
In line I’m asked a series of questions by a 12 year old security officer trying to look very serious. She then goes to get her 14 year old manager and he asks the same series of questions but in a different order. Ooooo… trying to trip me up! Nice one! I have some time to spare so on the second round of questions, I start telling him stories about the family I had been visiting, all the fun things we did, how amazing I think it is that they’re on a home swap program, where I’m going next and blah, blah, blah. Not quite the “yes” or “no” answers he was anticipating. Seemed to lighten the mood a bit, not that he or the 12 year old girl were scary in any way, but yeah, if we’re going to play this game, then I’m going to have a little fun.
I get pulled out of line (of course) to get my pack dumped and spread out on a metal table (again, OF COURSE!) while the sweetest, slightly older version of the initial 12 year old interrogator apologies profusely for having to go through every single possession in my bag. She was joined by a 16 year old boy so to move things along, I started telling them my story as well. Lovely, sweet, chatty couple of luggage examiners and the “sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry” girl kept her eye on the time reassuring me that I had lots of time before my flight. At one point, the ULTIMATE SUPREME 18 year old mama supervisor got called over to ask me the SAME questions again while the two pawing through my possessions exchanged rolled eyes glances with me. Too funny. I’m sure they meant to be scary, but it just wasn’t working. My bags and belongings were opened, sorted, x-rayed, scanned, questioned, swabbed, and tested. The item that raised concern? Bottle of shampoo from my backpack. Not the hair conditioner or the fruit nor the unlabelled pills or pocketknife. The shampoo. Fine, chuck it. No, no, no. They proceed to bubble-wrap it (I’m NOT kidding!), pad it in paper, place it in an enormous box the size of a store bought new boot box then CHECK IT IN alongside my backpack. I said they could just throw it away, they insisted on packing it. No sense to it all, no sense at all. They loved that I was laughing my head off at this.
The humiliation… escorted to a private room with the “sorry, sorry” girl who proceeded to blush cherry red as she did a full and thorough intimate pat-pat down. As she finished with a final scan of her magic wand, it sent out a warning beep at the zipper of my jeans. She checked in along the waistband again and I thought we were all good but nope. ULTIMATE SUPREME mama supervisor comes in and I’m told to drop my jeans to my knees. Pardon? Please, trousers down to your knees. Are you serious? Yes, down please. Oh GAWD! Please can I keep my underwear on? Yes, that’s fine. So now I’M cherry red as these two girls are thankfully only visually (yet closely) inspecting my crotch and waving the magic wand over me for hidden what? weapons? drugs? a mini-sized bottle of shampoo? Oh let me fall into a hole now, please. Apparently I along with my crotch turned out to be completely harmless and we two red-faced girls returned to repack my life still strewn out for all to see.
By this time, my departure was looming so sweet, still red-faced, “sorry, sorry” girl helped me gather my belongings, sort my boarding pass, and bypass the regular person security straight up to my gate. I felt like I should hug her or ask her for her email or something as we had been through so much together by this point but no time, no time.
Everyone must come to Israel… the entry and exit experiences alone make it worth it!
Getting out of Israel proved no less complicated than entering into it. Thanks to several stories from several travelers, I knew to be there well ahead of time and to be prepared for the regular routine of suspicious interrogation. I had a flight booked to Istanbul (no way into Syria, remember), so keeping things moving along was a necessity. I arrived at the airport with loads of time to spare armed with no fear and my sense of humor intact. Border guards were not gonna break this girl!
Line up upon line up of travelers with multiple carts of luggage, interesting outfits, and a variety of passport origins snaked their path through the typical airport mazes, inching their way towards the security check in before the ticket / boarding pass check in. So many people heading out of Israel but this short-arsed Canadian bowed under the weight of a ridiculous red backpack apparently looks very suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. *sigh*.
In line I’m asked a series of questions by a 12 year old security officer trying to look very serious. She then goes to get her 14 year old manager and he asks the same series of questions but in a different order. Ooooo… trying to trip me up! Nice one! I have some time to spare so on the second round of questions, I start telling him stories about the family I had been visiting, all the fun things we did, how amazing I think it is that they’re on a home swap program, where I’m going next and blah, blah, blah. Not quite the “yes” or “no” answers he was anticipating. Seemed to lighten the mood a bit, not that he or the 12 year old girl were scary in any way, but yeah, if we’re going to play this game, then I’m going to have a little fun.
I get pulled out of line (of course) to get my pack dumped and spread out on a metal table (again, OF COURSE!) while the sweetest, slightly older version of the initial 12 year old interrogator apologies profusely for having to go through every single possession in my bag. She was joined by a 16 year old boy so to move things along, I started telling them my story as well. Lovely, sweet, chatty couple of luggage examiners and the “sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry” girl kept her eye on the time reassuring me that I had lots of time before my flight. At one point, the ULTIMATE SUPREME 18 year old mama supervisor got called over to ask me the SAME questions again while the two pawing through my possessions exchanged rolled eyes glances with me. Too funny. I’m sure they meant to be scary, but it just wasn’t working. My bags and belongings were opened, sorted, x-rayed, scanned, questioned, swabbed, and tested. The item that raised concern? Bottle of shampoo from my backpack. Not the hair conditioner or the fruit nor the unlabelled pills or pocketknife. The shampoo. Fine, chuck it. No, no, no. They proceed to bubble-wrap it (I’m NOT kidding!), pad it in paper, place it in an enormous box the size of a store bought new boot box then CHECK IT IN alongside my backpack. I said they could just throw it away, they insisted on packing it. No sense to it all, no sense at all. They loved that I was laughing my head off at this.
The humiliation… escorted to a private room with the “sorry, sorry” girl who proceeded to blush cherry red as she did a full and thorough intimate pat-pat down. As she finished with a final scan of her magic wand, it sent out a warning beep at the zipper of my jeans. She checked in along the waistband again and I thought we were all good but nope. ULTIMATE SUPREME mama supervisor comes in and I’m told to drop my jeans to my knees. Pardon? Please, trousers down to your knees. Are you serious? Yes, down please. Oh GAWD! Please can I keep my underwear on? Yes, that’s fine. So now I’M cherry red as these two girls are thankfully only visually (yet closely) inspecting my crotch and waving the magic wand over me for hidden what? weapons? drugs? a mini-sized bottle of shampoo? Oh let me fall into a hole now, please. Apparently I along with my crotch turned out to be completely harmless and we two red-faced girls returned to repack my life still strewn out for all to see.
By this time, my departure was looming so sweet, still red-faced, “sorry, sorry” girl helped me gather my belongings, sort my boarding pass, and bypass the regular person security straight up to my gate. I felt like I should hug her or ask her for her email or something as we had been through so much together by this point but no time, no time.
Everyone must come to Israel… the entry and exit experiences alone make it worth it!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Intense Israel
My first stop in Israel had a purpose other than travel. I’d met the nicest American family who was visiting Petra, Jordan the same day that we were. They’re participating in a house swap so they fully experience Israel while living in an Israeli family’s home and that Israeli family is lives in theirs, experiencing the States, for 6 months. A pretty fantastic family adventure if you ask me! They very kindly offered to let me stay with them when I was passing through Israel and I was so taken by them during the short chat that we had had in Petra that I was eager to look them up. This was my light at the end of the getting-into-Israel travel travesty tunnel that I was very much looking forward to.
First point noticed about Israel… guns. Everywhere. Not the compact little pistols tucked neatly into a belt or waistband but fully automatic machine guns thrown over a shoulder or propped up alongside a backpack or duffle bag. Here, almost every single kid who finishes high school is sent for mandatory military service, 2 years for girls, 3 years for boys. So my timing landed me at the bus station at the same time as all these teeny boppers were heading back to their military bases after a weekend away. A good 65% of these kiddos were girls. Olive green wrinkled uniforms complimented with lots of make-up, bling-bling jewelry, funky sunglasses, and messy just out of the dance club or woke up from bed, wild hair. Not the tidy, spit-shined military service appearance of home. Some of kids were in their weekend clothes, skinny jeans and trendy t-shirts but that faithful machine gun alongside. Teenagers on cell phones with guns. Not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Excellent.
I finally arrived in my destination town where I was welcomed into the family like a long-lost relative. No awkward moments, no second thoughts, just warm and chatty and so very, very kind. All aggravation from the day instantly melted away after being embraced by this incredibly lovely family. Again, my random travel paths have led to me to the most amazing experiences. A home away from home. *sigh* So, so, so nice.
I stayed with the family for two nights and one very full day, far too little time but I only had a few days to see what I could. I fell in love with their girls. The brightest, most entertaining, absolutely gorgeous girls; I just couldn’t get enough of them. The entire family is so interesting, so fascinating, so kind. They taught me about their religion and the history of where they are living, we planted and picked vegetables at an organic farm, we walked and talked and laughed; the time passed far too quickly. I clung to mom as she waited at the 5:30am bus stop with me; I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Oh how I hope to see them again someday. Missing all of you and hope to hear more about your wonderful adventures! Thank you for taking such good care of me.
Next stop… Jerusalem. City of contradictions. New & Old. Religious & Political. Modern & Ancient. United & Divided. Jerusalem was very, very intense. Now, to be fair, I apparently had a pretty different experience than most and I only had a very short time in a very complex city so please remember, my writing is simply about my experiences, not to be taken as anything other than opinion and personal experience. I had heard such wonderful things about Israel and even though I knew I would only have a few days to see a couple of places, I was already planning to come back and see the rest of the country. At this point, I may give that a pass. While I LOVED my time with the family and couldn’t get enough of the oh-so interesting history, I could do without experiencing the people again. Not the nicest time.
Coming from two countries where there is the regular tourist harassment, I also had the overwhelmingly wonderful experiences of endless invitations to join this person or that person for tea, warmly and freely given help for any number of things from directions to suggestions for eating, sleeping, and traveling to offers of continuing my life in their country with them taking very good care of me. Alongside the harassment to buy there was an even more genuine interest in where you come from and what your story is and please sit down with me. I felt very welcomed in Egypt and Jordan, from the smallest town to the craziest city. Jerusalem did my head in.
Asking for directions often got me a scowl and a simple shrug of the shoulders. Smiling at people as I walked down the street, saying hello, how are you? in a shop, and attempting to engage people in conversation were all met with icy indifference. I just couldn’t figure it out.
And there is tension, just there, in the air, everywhere. Military and police and regular people armed to the teeth because of history and necessity. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim populations alongside a concrete and barb-wired Palestinian wall coloured with desperate and beautiful graffiti pleading for peace. Some people more tolerant than others, some more open about their political views than others, a very strong-willed society where everyone seems incredibly ready to fight for what they believe in or what they’ve been taught to believe in. When you mandatorily arm your children with weapons, I wonder if they know what they believe in or simply follow blindly. It’s powerful, that young age group. Easily emotional, readily hyped up, reckless invincibility. Add to this a bit of a victim mentality, the whole world has always been out to destroy Israel, and that’s one heck of a mix. Walking on eggshells all around. Not the happy and light-hearted traveling I had done so far.
Bethlehem was beautiful as was Old Jerusalem. For a non-believer, the history and the stories and the pilgrimages are endlessly interesting. Simply being in a place that draws people to it for the sake of belief and prayer, how it has been conquered by this group or that, survived, been torn down, built back up, the holiest of holy places, the beginning and the end of many journeys, it’s more than I could ever fully appreciate. Crosses, crescent moons, and stars. Churches, temples, mosques, and synagogues all woven around cobblestone streets and surrounded by weapons. Seems like such a contradiction, such a shame.
I had the good fortune to be in Jerusalem on “Jerusalem Day”, a day celebrating Israel’s reclaiming of Jerusalem . I was hanging out at the Western (Wailing) Wall and noticed more and more people filling the plaza as the afternoon wore on. More flags, a stage and band being set up, more people, more flags. Ohhhhh yeah! Jerusalem Day! So off to the side I lingered as the crowd grew and grew and grew. Women were soon ushered to one side of the plaza and men to the other, significantly larger side of this big open square. Families with kids and mixed groups of teens were joining hands and dancing around in circles to the music on the stage or their own songs shouted joyfully at the top of their lungs. Police in every colour and style of uniform with guns and various other weapons growing in numbers all around the square initially just lounging about but then straightening up, communicating briskly with each other or over radios and seeming to square off. Then the boys. Teenage to young adult boys in groups, hordes, swarms. All with sticks and flags, shouting, jumping, chanting, banging drums or random surfaces pushing, elbowing, surging their way through crowds in constant motion. I gave my head a quick shake, took a good look at where I was, and decided it was time to get the heck out of an enclosed area filling up with tens of thousands of people.
As I attempted to elbow my way against the crowds pouring through a narrow cobblestone road leading into the plaza, I was pushed around, pinned against the wall, stepped on, and forced to flatten myself into corners until I could find a break small enough to dart through. Only a few tiny moments of panic as I made the journey through the Damascus Gate out to wide open spaces but the people kept pouring in. Newspapers the next day reported in excess of 50,000 people in that square and several fights and arrests made around the gate that I had fought my way out of. Fighting between Israelis and Palestinian supporters and Israelis vandalizing the Arab/Muslim store fronts. The occasion was a celebration but here, you can just feel it, how fragile it all is, how quickly it could become violent. I was glad I had the rare good sense to get out when I did. Overall it was a well contained and relatively peaceful – 50,000 people in any spot could go bad quickly, but here, you just learn to be a little more cautious of any gathering. Emotions are intense, intense, intense.
I think of some of the countries I’ve visited or travelled through, ripped apart by generations of war and genocide, left incredibly corrupt and impossibly impoverished, yet the people continue to welcome travelers and are kind to the very bottom of their heart. While I only got a glimpse of life in this politically charged Middle Eastern country, and some would say I got the wrong glimpse, I was missing the warmth that I had experienced up to this point and very ready to move on. I’d love to give Israel another visit someday but for now, there’s too much else to see. I’m on to Turrrrrrrrrkey!!!!
First point noticed about Israel… guns. Everywhere. Not the compact little pistols tucked neatly into a belt or waistband but fully automatic machine guns thrown over a shoulder or propped up alongside a backpack or duffle bag. Here, almost every single kid who finishes high school is sent for mandatory military service, 2 years for girls, 3 years for boys. So my timing landed me at the bus station at the same time as all these teeny boppers were heading back to their military bases after a weekend away. A good 65% of these kiddos were girls. Olive green wrinkled uniforms complimented with lots of make-up, bling-bling jewelry, funky sunglasses, and messy just out of the dance club or woke up from bed, wild hair. Not the tidy, spit-shined military service appearance of home. Some of kids were in their weekend clothes, skinny jeans and trendy t-shirts but that faithful machine gun alongside. Teenagers on cell phones with guns. Not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Excellent.
I finally arrived in my destination town where I was welcomed into the family like a long-lost relative. No awkward moments, no second thoughts, just warm and chatty and so very, very kind. All aggravation from the day instantly melted away after being embraced by this incredibly lovely family. Again, my random travel paths have led to me to the most amazing experiences. A home away from home. *sigh* So, so, so nice.
I stayed with the family for two nights and one very full day, far too little time but I only had a few days to see what I could. I fell in love with their girls. The brightest, most entertaining, absolutely gorgeous girls; I just couldn’t get enough of them. The entire family is so interesting, so fascinating, so kind. They taught me about their religion and the history of where they are living, we planted and picked vegetables at an organic farm, we walked and talked and laughed; the time passed far too quickly. I clung to mom as she waited at the 5:30am bus stop with me; I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Oh how I hope to see them again someday. Missing all of you and hope to hear more about your wonderful adventures! Thank you for taking such good care of me.
Next stop… Jerusalem. City of contradictions. New & Old. Religious & Political. Modern & Ancient. United & Divided. Jerusalem was very, very intense. Now, to be fair, I apparently had a pretty different experience than most and I only had a very short time in a very complex city so please remember, my writing is simply about my experiences, not to be taken as anything other than opinion and personal experience. I had heard such wonderful things about Israel and even though I knew I would only have a few days to see a couple of places, I was already planning to come back and see the rest of the country. At this point, I may give that a pass. While I LOVED my time with the family and couldn’t get enough of the oh-so interesting history, I could do without experiencing the people again. Not the nicest time.
Coming from two countries where there is the regular tourist harassment, I also had the overwhelmingly wonderful experiences of endless invitations to join this person or that person for tea, warmly and freely given help for any number of things from directions to suggestions for eating, sleeping, and traveling to offers of continuing my life in their country with them taking very good care of me. Alongside the harassment to buy there was an even more genuine interest in where you come from and what your story is and please sit down with me. I felt very welcomed in Egypt and Jordan, from the smallest town to the craziest city. Jerusalem did my head in.
Asking for directions often got me a scowl and a simple shrug of the shoulders. Smiling at people as I walked down the street, saying hello, how are you? in a shop, and attempting to engage people in conversation were all met with icy indifference. I just couldn’t figure it out.
And there is tension, just there, in the air, everywhere. Military and police and regular people armed to the teeth because of history and necessity. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim populations alongside a concrete and barb-wired Palestinian wall coloured with desperate and beautiful graffiti pleading for peace. Some people more tolerant than others, some more open about their political views than others, a very strong-willed society where everyone seems incredibly ready to fight for what they believe in or what they’ve been taught to believe in. When you mandatorily arm your children with weapons, I wonder if they know what they believe in or simply follow blindly. It’s powerful, that young age group. Easily emotional, readily hyped up, reckless invincibility. Add to this a bit of a victim mentality, the whole world has always been out to destroy Israel, and that’s one heck of a mix. Walking on eggshells all around. Not the happy and light-hearted traveling I had done so far.
Bethlehem was beautiful as was Old Jerusalem. For a non-believer, the history and the stories and the pilgrimages are endlessly interesting. Simply being in a place that draws people to it for the sake of belief and prayer, how it has been conquered by this group or that, survived, been torn down, built back up, the holiest of holy places, the beginning and the end of many journeys, it’s more than I could ever fully appreciate. Crosses, crescent moons, and stars. Churches, temples, mosques, and synagogues all woven around cobblestone streets and surrounded by weapons. Seems like such a contradiction, such a shame.
I had the good fortune to be in Jerusalem on “Jerusalem Day”, a day celebrating Israel’s reclaiming of Jerusalem . I was hanging out at the Western (Wailing) Wall and noticed more and more people filling the plaza as the afternoon wore on. More flags, a stage and band being set up, more people, more flags. Ohhhhh yeah! Jerusalem Day! So off to the side I lingered as the crowd grew and grew and grew. Women were soon ushered to one side of the plaza and men to the other, significantly larger side of this big open square. Families with kids and mixed groups of teens were joining hands and dancing around in circles to the music on the stage or their own songs shouted joyfully at the top of their lungs. Police in every colour and style of uniform with guns and various other weapons growing in numbers all around the square initially just lounging about but then straightening up, communicating briskly with each other or over radios and seeming to square off. Then the boys. Teenage to young adult boys in groups, hordes, swarms. All with sticks and flags, shouting, jumping, chanting, banging drums or random surfaces pushing, elbowing, surging their way through crowds in constant motion. I gave my head a quick shake, took a good look at where I was, and decided it was time to get the heck out of an enclosed area filling up with tens of thousands of people.
As I attempted to elbow my way against the crowds pouring through a narrow cobblestone road leading into the plaza, I was pushed around, pinned against the wall, stepped on, and forced to flatten myself into corners until I could find a break small enough to dart through. Only a few tiny moments of panic as I made the journey through the Damascus Gate out to wide open spaces but the people kept pouring in. Newspapers the next day reported in excess of 50,000 people in that square and several fights and arrests made around the gate that I had fought my way out of. Fighting between Israelis and Palestinian supporters and Israelis vandalizing the Arab/Muslim store fronts. The occasion was a celebration but here, you can just feel it, how fragile it all is, how quickly it could become violent. I was glad I had the rare good sense to get out when I did. Overall it was a well contained and relatively peaceful – 50,000 people in any spot could go bad quickly, but here, you just learn to be a little more cautious of any gathering. Emotions are intense, intense, intense.
I think of some of the countries I’ve visited or travelled through, ripped apart by generations of war and genocide, left incredibly corrupt and impossibly impoverished, yet the people continue to welcome travelers and are kind to the very bottom of their heart. While I only got a glimpse of life in this politically charged Middle Eastern country, and some would say I got the wrong glimpse, I was missing the warmth that I had experienced up to this point and very ready to move on. I’d love to give Israel another visit someday but for now, there’s too much else to see. I’m on to Turrrrrrrrrkey!!!!
Miserable in Israel???
Israel was next on the travel journey. I wanted to spend a lot of time there but plane tickets and possible plans unfortunately only left me with a few days in the country. That being said, sometimes things work out all on their own better than if you planned them.
Okay, remember I told you I was going to head all the way back down south to cross a different border to avoid Israel being stamped in my passport? Up far too early and a long bus ride gets me to where I was going. Fairly easy to get to the Israeli border near Egypt and Jordan. Too easy apparently as my luck quickly ran out. Crossing into Israel is a bit of an intimidating feat even on a good day so I thought I was prepared. A few interrogations and then more interrogation; who are you? where are you going? where have you been? why are you coming here? who do you know here? and on and on and on.
Next… sorry ma’am, we have to empty and scan the items of your bag. Pardon? Step back, please. Crap. As a family of about 10 all sail through x-rays and scanners without so much of a blink, this very new immigration officer is slowly pulling every single thing out of my meticulously packed backpack. I have a BIG bag with LOTS of stuff; it takes FOREVER to get everything in there. My life spread out on a metal table. I laughed as he picked up and then quickly dropped a few feminine products that he obviously didn’t recognize then I scowled darkly as he unrolled and unzipped my neat and organized life. He tried to scan various items individually and made separate piles of this and that. I, in the meantime, was starting to get anxious. I had a bus to catch and time was running out.
Eventually the supervisor came over, shook her head at the guy pawing through my oh-so-threatening belongings of grubby t-shirts and shorts, snapped her fingers and dismissed him. I did my best to repack the entirety of my life and get a move on to the next phase as quickly as I could. I had no idea what was next… more interrogation? Body cavity search? Am I ready for Israel? Mid-afternoon blistering sun and I’m ushered into another velvet rope lined maze to approach yet another window and officer. I had paid money earlier to leave the country, I wasn’t sure what this one was. Passport please. Sure. Ka-CHUNK! Stamp punch, passport returned. Head that way please. Wait, I’m done? Was that passport control? What about a visa? No visa. Entry here is free. There was a piece of paper in my passport, I grabbed my belongings and hopped into an extremely expensive taxi. I was warned, Israel is insanely expensive and I was in for one heck of a ride.
We had driven all of about 5 minutes before I thought to look in my passport. Wanted to see the paper that I thought had been stamped. Oh no. Oh no. OH NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Israeli stamp IN MY PASSPORT! NO! NO! NO!!! Made the taxi driver turn around and while I was frantically trying to find a way to get back into the immigration area, I had the sense to notice that my taxi was still sitting there, smiling smugly. He was keeping the meter running! Bolted from immigration officer to taxi man… Turn off the meter!!! No, no, your bags still in car. You jerk! I’ll take them out! Turn off the meter! When you take bags out, meter off. Asshole. I dumped my bags on the sidewalk and felt the sting of tears just pricking at the edges of my very tired eyes. My brain was trying desperately to come up with a way to undo what had just been done to my passport. Suffering from sweaty midday heat, too little sleep tiredness, and increasing anxiety at the realization of travel and JOB option doors being slammed shut, I throw myself at the mercy of the passport stamp queens.
Please, please, please help me! I thought you stamped this paper. I had no idea what was going on. PLEASE! I need to get to countries that now won’t let me in… please! Can you cancel it? Do something? Anything? 5 girls gather around, not one sympathetic eye in the bunch. Sorry, you should have said something about not wanting your passport stamped, nothing we can do now, goodbye. But PLEASE, help me! *sigh* Nothing we can do. And 5 backs turned on me. *gulp. choke. sniffle. sniffle.* Tears. I pull myself to a side bench, sniveling, angry, frustrated, humiliated, frustrated, helpless. It was my own fault, I should have paid more attention. There was just nothing I could do. Nothing.
I sniffed and wiped away ridiculous tears. Crying wasn’t going to help a damn thing now, was it? I’d find a solution, there’s always a solution. I was just tired and hot, not thinking clearly. Things would be fine. Got into another taxi and ended up in a yelling match with him as he tried to double the price at the bus station, shouting that he was going to get the police. Go ahead! Get the police! You’re being terrible and very, very MEAN! Ummmm… on second thought… yeah, I was in Israel, how about I DON’T get involved with the police 10 minutes into the country? I threw some money at him and made my way to the bus. I travelled all day to get to a point where my passport wouldn’t be stamped and my time in Israel would be an unidentifiable mystery but I was too much of a moron to pay attention at the moment when it was most important. I was NOT off to a good start in Israel.
Okay, remember I told you I was going to head all the way back down south to cross a different border to avoid Israel being stamped in my passport? Up far too early and a long bus ride gets me to where I was going. Fairly easy to get to the Israeli border near Egypt and Jordan. Too easy apparently as my luck quickly ran out. Crossing into Israel is a bit of an intimidating feat even on a good day so I thought I was prepared. A few interrogations and then more interrogation; who are you? where are you going? where have you been? why are you coming here? who do you know here? and on and on and on.
Next… sorry ma’am, we have to empty and scan the items of your bag. Pardon? Step back, please. Crap. As a family of about 10 all sail through x-rays and scanners without so much of a blink, this very new immigration officer is slowly pulling every single thing out of my meticulously packed backpack. I have a BIG bag with LOTS of stuff; it takes FOREVER to get everything in there. My life spread out on a metal table. I laughed as he picked up and then quickly dropped a few feminine products that he obviously didn’t recognize then I scowled darkly as he unrolled and unzipped my neat and organized life. He tried to scan various items individually and made separate piles of this and that. I, in the meantime, was starting to get anxious. I had a bus to catch and time was running out.
Eventually the supervisor came over, shook her head at the guy pawing through my oh-so-threatening belongings of grubby t-shirts and shorts, snapped her fingers and dismissed him. I did my best to repack the entirety of my life and get a move on to the next phase as quickly as I could. I had no idea what was next… more interrogation? Body cavity search? Am I ready for Israel? Mid-afternoon blistering sun and I’m ushered into another velvet rope lined maze to approach yet another window and officer. I had paid money earlier to leave the country, I wasn’t sure what this one was. Passport please. Sure. Ka-CHUNK! Stamp punch, passport returned. Head that way please. Wait, I’m done? Was that passport control? What about a visa? No visa. Entry here is free. There was a piece of paper in my passport, I grabbed my belongings and hopped into an extremely expensive taxi. I was warned, Israel is insanely expensive and I was in for one heck of a ride.
We had driven all of about 5 minutes before I thought to look in my passport. Wanted to see the paper that I thought had been stamped. Oh no. Oh no. OH NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Israeli stamp IN MY PASSPORT! NO! NO! NO!!! Made the taxi driver turn around and while I was frantically trying to find a way to get back into the immigration area, I had the sense to notice that my taxi was still sitting there, smiling smugly. He was keeping the meter running! Bolted from immigration officer to taxi man… Turn off the meter!!! No, no, your bags still in car. You jerk! I’ll take them out! Turn off the meter! When you take bags out, meter off. Asshole. I dumped my bags on the sidewalk and felt the sting of tears just pricking at the edges of my very tired eyes. My brain was trying desperately to come up with a way to undo what had just been done to my passport. Suffering from sweaty midday heat, too little sleep tiredness, and increasing anxiety at the realization of travel and JOB option doors being slammed shut, I throw myself at the mercy of the passport stamp queens.
Please, please, please help me! I thought you stamped this paper. I had no idea what was going on. PLEASE! I need to get to countries that now won’t let me in… please! Can you cancel it? Do something? Anything? 5 girls gather around, not one sympathetic eye in the bunch. Sorry, you should have said something about not wanting your passport stamped, nothing we can do now, goodbye. But PLEASE, help me! *sigh* Nothing we can do. And 5 backs turned on me. *gulp. choke. sniffle. sniffle.* Tears. I pull myself to a side bench, sniveling, angry, frustrated, humiliated, frustrated, helpless. It was my own fault, I should have paid more attention. There was just nothing I could do. Nothing.
I sniffed and wiped away ridiculous tears. Crying wasn’t going to help a damn thing now, was it? I’d find a solution, there’s always a solution. I was just tired and hot, not thinking clearly. Things would be fine. Got into another taxi and ended up in a yelling match with him as he tried to double the price at the bus station, shouting that he was going to get the police. Go ahead! Get the police! You’re being terrible and very, very MEAN! Ummmm… on second thought… yeah, I was in Israel, how about I DON’T get involved with the police 10 minutes into the country? I threw some money at him and made my way to the bus. I travelled all day to get to a point where my passport wouldn’t be stamped and my time in Israel would be an unidentifiable mystery but I was too much of a moron to pay attention at the moment when it was most important. I was NOT off to a good start in Israel.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Last days in Jordan
Okay, let’s finish off Amman.
The day after our car drama, the girls and the couple decided to do some exploring while I spent the morning on the darn computer searching for work and being chatted up by the “owner” of the hotel. I’ve come to believe VERY little of some of the stories, but they’re entertaining, and sometimes fruitful, nonetheless. More on that later.
Went for lunch at a famous falafel place, adding to the already excessive amount of falafel and hummus gained weight on this glorious trip, then they did a bit more shopping / sightseeing before it was time for the couple to leave. We had arranged to drop the couple to the airport then go in search of a someplace called “Mecca Mall”. All the indulgences of home in Jordan. A bit of a scuffle as the couple was leaving the hotel, apparently a driver had been arranged to take them to the airport, they said they didn’t order one as they had a ride with us, I waited outside. Got escorted to the airport by some weird, random guy in a souped up piece of junk car. We shouted out a window to him at a stop light to make sure we were going the right way, he drove along in front of or beside us the entire way to make sure we got there. Again, random acts of kindness that just blow me away.
Bid farewell to our Amman companions then were oh so pleasantly surprised by a very modern, just like at home mall with many of the same shops and restaurants. Guess where dinner was? Yep, McDonalds. Gross, generic, SO YUMMY IN MY TUMMY McDonalds. Thanks girls, for allowing me to indulge in my disgusting habit. Then we hit the movies. Only two English ones to choose from so Pirates of the Caribbean 4 it was. 4?! When did they make 3?! It was in 3D even! Anyway, just like at home but far, far away. You need those days every once in a while.
The plan was for me to drive the girls to the Israeli land border in the morning but when I was asking for directions, the owner insisted on coming with us. Said it would be too confusing if he just gave us directions. I distinctly remembered seeing signs for the border crossing on the way to the Dead Sea and the airport but no, no, it is very confusing. So he joins us for the ride and it’s soon apparent that he really has no idea where he’s going other than to point out the obvious signs that I remember seeing earlier. He came along for the chat and company. Nice enough. But a bit strange.
Got the girls to as far as I was allowed to go at the border then said a sad goodbye. Such fun company, such amazing girls, my whole memory of Jordan will be linked with them. Liz and Laura, so proud of you two! Can’t wait to hear all about the rest of your journeys. Will miss you so much.
The drive back to the hotel of course, ended up getting a bit awkward now that it was just the two of us. The owner had already offered to let me stay at an empty apartment of his that was paid for until the end of the month but he had already moved back to his family’s place as I could no longer afford to stay at his hotel on my own. I was very grateful for the offer which soon expanded to offers of staying longer, finding me a job, showing me around the city, etc., etc., etc. I reminded him of my plans to try to get to Syria and if not, move on as soon as possible. I also wove a wonderful tale of my glorious husband and our adventurous life together. A quick stop at the Syrian embassy and a lovely lady told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to go all the way back to Canada to get a visa into Syria and even if I did this I wouldn’t get in at this point. If I tried at the border, I would be turned back. Sigh. Okay, Israel it is.
Got back to the hotel where owner had to do a few things and I had to pick up my bags. Booked a flight to Turkey to get around Syria but the most affordable ticket would only leave me a few days in Israel. A few is better than none so on with it, I say! On with it!
While I was there, I met up with a guy we had met the day before and we decided that I would keep the car an extra day and he and I would drive east the next day, towards the desert, to explore some of the castles out that way. Owner wasn’t too pleased with this plan, said there were no places to stay overnight, despite several listing of places online and in my new friend’s guidebook. But I’ll show you around the city, city tour for free, just come with me around the city instead. Oh, okay, but William and I are still going to go to the desert, but hey William? Want to come on a city tour with us the next day? Yeah, owner didn’t seem to like that a third had been invited so all talk quickly ended. Clever, clever, clever girl I am.
William and I had arranged for me to pick him up at the hotel the next morning and owner decided it was time to take me to his apartment. I followed him, my first real go at driving standard completely on my own, no cheerleaders in the car to encourage me, and I’ve decided that if ever I own a car again, it WILL be a standard! Learned to love those tricky little pedals. At the apartment, owner began to be a little too much. He started making plans of tea at the apartment, then out for coffee, then going to get dinner and bringing it back to the apartment, then more coffee. Woah, woah, woah. Thank you but STOP! It was almost 6pm by this point and I reminded him that I had to try to get my phone fixed, do laundry, and get up early for the desert trip. He kept going; no place to get the phone fixed around his place, there are some shops if I need food buy they’re hard to find, and I needed to come with him or I would never be able to find my way back to the hotel the next morning. And on and on and on.
I started to gather up my stuff. Look owner guy, I’m really sorry, there’s obviously been a misunderstanding. I really appreciate you letting me stay here but I only have a couple of short hours to get a whole lot of stuff done before I collapse into much needed sleep. Maybe this was a mistake to come here? Maybe I should head back to find a hotel. ***sulk, sulk, sulk*** Fine. Fine. You won’t find a place to fix your phone and you’re going to get lost tomorrow but stay here, it’s fine. I’ll have my tea then go to the gym. Okay owner guy, then I’m gonna go try to find a phone shop before it gets dark. ***sulk, sulk, sulk*** Fine. Fine. I’ll see you at the hotel after the desert. No owner guy, I might stay overnight in the desert. What? Overnight? I told you no place to stay! I know, I know, thank you, but we’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Fine. Fine. Whatever.
I left him moping over his tea and headed out as fast as I could. I probably should have gone to find a hotel, I had visions of either him still sitting there when I got back or of all of my stuff completely gone, but out I went as choices were limited and I had to get things done. I found a phone shop less than a 10 min walk away straight down the road from his place in the middle of an ENORMOUS main street filled with shops and food places. Cheeky boy. He was gone by the time I got back and I made it to the hotel the next morning without one single wrong turn. William was waiting and we were off to the desert. Owner was nowhere to be found. No way to thank him for his hospitality and I did feel badly for that. *sigh* The messes I create.
I approached the guy at reception, who checked us in and chatted us up the first night the girls and I arrived, to make sure I had the right directions to the desert. Was caught completely off guard as he cocked his head, looked at me funny, then promptly started shouting at me and telling me off. He said I was stealing his business and trying to mess with his hotel. Shaking, speechless, and completely mortified as the two other couples in the lobby / dining area and William were witness to my berating, reception guy listed off me driving the couple to Jerash, the airport, and now William to the desert were as things his hotel was to do and I was interfering. He ranted for a little while and with much soothing and hushing, I eventually got him to calm down enough to talk to me. I explained to him that the couple asked to join us on the Jerash trip so of course I would say yes, the couple said that they did NOT arrange for a taxi to the airport so of course I would drive them, and William had no intention of taking a hotel trip to the desert so it was either he goes with me or leaves Amman for his next destination. This went back and forth for some time but I restated my case, said the miscommunication between his hotel and the couple was between them, I had no part in it, and the day planned with William had nothing to do with the hotel. He eventually calmed down and offered apologies. By this time, between the owner and this guy, I had had enough. Time to take leave of these strange, strange men.
William and I cruised out to a very boring desert to see some very boring brick foundations that may or may not at one time have been castles. As we were about to enter yet another area, neither of us too excited at the prospects of our next little sight-seeing choice, William spotted a caravan of about 30 camels that had stopped to water and rest across the road. A few questions asked and we opted out of dry, dusty bricks for an up close encounter of the desert creature kind.
The caravan crew welcomed us warmly and we wove our way through camels lounging about. Pictures were taken, bits of conversation were exchanged, and we smiled and sweated our way through one of the nicest most genuine interactions I’ve had in a while. MUCH better option than dried up old buildings. Nice call, William, nice call indeed.
As it was a fairly short drive, William and I decided to head back to Amman instead of spend the night in the town near the desert. We did, of course, find another place to stay other than where I got yelled at earlier. Found a lovely little hostel that took very good care of me. Returned the car (after getting hopelessly lost and driving around for more than an hour to find the damn rental place!) and spent the next day tying up some loose ends and trying to make a bit of a travel plan. To avoid the trouble of my passport being stamped to look like I had entered Israel, I decided to bus it all the way back down to Aqaba, near the Egypt border, to cross over there. An Israeli stamp means no entry to Syria (if ever I was able to get in), can cause trouble getting into Iraq, Lebanon, and possibly Indonesia. Only one border crossing near Amman so an exit stamp out of Jordan there would show that of course I entered into Israel but if the exit stamp was near Aqaba, it’s possible I entered into Egypt, not Israel as the three countries of Egypt, Israel, and Jordan all border the same spot. I was told that immigration in Israel will stamp a paper instead of your passport so plan made, I was heading to Israel and so looking forward to a country I had wanted to see for a very long time.
Will miss Jordan and its BEAUTIFUL, chivalrous men. I must come back here someday.
The day after our car drama, the girls and the couple decided to do some exploring while I spent the morning on the darn computer searching for work and being chatted up by the “owner” of the hotel. I’ve come to believe VERY little of some of the stories, but they’re entertaining, and sometimes fruitful, nonetheless. More on that later.
Went for lunch at a famous falafel place, adding to the already excessive amount of falafel and hummus gained weight on this glorious trip, then they did a bit more shopping / sightseeing before it was time for the couple to leave. We had arranged to drop the couple to the airport then go in search of a someplace called “Mecca Mall”. All the indulgences of home in Jordan. A bit of a scuffle as the couple was leaving the hotel, apparently a driver had been arranged to take them to the airport, they said they didn’t order one as they had a ride with us, I waited outside. Got escorted to the airport by some weird, random guy in a souped up piece of junk car. We shouted out a window to him at a stop light to make sure we were going the right way, he drove along in front of or beside us the entire way to make sure we got there. Again, random acts of kindness that just blow me away.
Bid farewell to our Amman companions then were oh so pleasantly surprised by a very modern, just like at home mall with many of the same shops and restaurants. Guess where dinner was? Yep, McDonalds. Gross, generic, SO YUMMY IN MY TUMMY McDonalds. Thanks girls, for allowing me to indulge in my disgusting habit. Then we hit the movies. Only two English ones to choose from so Pirates of the Caribbean 4 it was. 4?! When did they make 3?! It was in 3D even! Anyway, just like at home but far, far away. You need those days every once in a while.
The plan was for me to drive the girls to the Israeli land border in the morning but when I was asking for directions, the owner insisted on coming with us. Said it would be too confusing if he just gave us directions. I distinctly remembered seeing signs for the border crossing on the way to the Dead Sea and the airport but no, no, it is very confusing. So he joins us for the ride and it’s soon apparent that he really has no idea where he’s going other than to point out the obvious signs that I remember seeing earlier. He came along for the chat and company. Nice enough. But a bit strange.
Got the girls to as far as I was allowed to go at the border then said a sad goodbye. Such fun company, such amazing girls, my whole memory of Jordan will be linked with them. Liz and Laura, so proud of you two! Can’t wait to hear all about the rest of your journeys. Will miss you so much.
The drive back to the hotel of course, ended up getting a bit awkward now that it was just the two of us. The owner had already offered to let me stay at an empty apartment of his that was paid for until the end of the month but he had already moved back to his family’s place as I could no longer afford to stay at his hotel on my own. I was very grateful for the offer which soon expanded to offers of staying longer, finding me a job, showing me around the city, etc., etc., etc. I reminded him of my plans to try to get to Syria and if not, move on as soon as possible. I also wove a wonderful tale of my glorious husband and our adventurous life together. A quick stop at the Syrian embassy and a lovely lady told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to go all the way back to Canada to get a visa into Syria and even if I did this I wouldn’t get in at this point. If I tried at the border, I would be turned back. Sigh. Okay, Israel it is.
Got back to the hotel where owner had to do a few things and I had to pick up my bags. Booked a flight to Turkey to get around Syria but the most affordable ticket would only leave me a few days in Israel. A few is better than none so on with it, I say! On with it!
While I was there, I met up with a guy we had met the day before and we decided that I would keep the car an extra day and he and I would drive east the next day, towards the desert, to explore some of the castles out that way. Owner wasn’t too pleased with this plan, said there were no places to stay overnight, despite several listing of places online and in my new friend’s guidebook. But I’ll show you around the city, city tour for free, just come with me around the city instead. Oh, okay, but William and I are still going to go to the desert, but hey William? Want to come on a city tour with us the next day? Yeah, owner didn’t seem to like that a third had been invited so all talk quickly ended. Clever, clever, clever girl I am.
William and I had arranged for me to pick him up at the hotel the next morning and owner decided it was time to take me to his apartment. I followed him, my first real go at driving standard completely on my own, no cheerleaders in the car to encourage me, and I’ve decided that if ever I own a car again, it WILL be a standard! Learned to love those tricky little pedals. At the apartment, owner began to be a little too much. He started making plans of tea at the apartment, then out for coffee, then going to get dinner and bringing it back to the apartment, then more coffee. Woah, woah, woah. Thank you but STOP! It was almost 6pm by this point and I reminded him that I had to try to get my phone fixed, do laundry, and get up early for the desert trip. He kept going; no place to get the phone fixed around his place, there are some shops if I need food buy they’re hard to find, and I needed to come with him or I would never be able to find my way back to the hotel the next morning. And on and on and on.
I started to gather up my stuff. Look owner guy, I’m really sorry, there’s obviously been a misunderstanding. I really appreciate you letting me stay here but I only have a couple of short hours to get a whole lot of stuff done before I collapse into much needed sleep. Maybe this was a mistake to come here? Maybe I should head back to find a hotel. ***sulk, sulk, sulk*** Fine. Fine. You won’t find a place to fix your phone and you’re going to get lost tomorrow but stay here, it’s fine. I’ll have my tea then go to the gym. Okay owner guy, then I’m gonna go try to find a phone shop before it gets dark. ***sulk, sulk, sulk*** Fine. Fine. I’ll see you at the hotel after the desert. No owner guy, I might stay overnight in the desert. What? Overnight? I told you no place to stay! I know, I know, thank you, but we’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Fine. Fine. Whatever.
I left him moping over his tea and headed out as fast as I could. I probably should have gone to find a hotel, I had visions of either him still sitting there when I got back or of all of my stuff completely gone, but out I went as choices were limited and I had to get things done. I found a phone shop less than a 10 min walk away straight down the road from his place in the middle of an ENORMOUS main street filled with shops and food places. Cheeky boy. He was gone by the time I got back and I made it to the hotel the next morning without one single wrong turn. William was waiting and we were off to the desert. Owner was nowhere to be found. No way to thank him for his hospitality and I did feel badly for that. *sigh* The messes I create.
I approached the guy at reception, who checked us in and chatted us up the first night the girls and I arrived, to make sure I had the right directions to the desert. Was caught completely off guard as he cocked his head, looked at me funny, then promptly started shouting at me and telling me off. He said I was stealing his business and trying to mess with his hotel. Shaking, speechless, and completely mortified as the two other couples in the lobby / dining area and William were witness to my berating, reception guy listed off me driving the couple to Jerash, the airport, and now William to the desert were as things his hotel was to do and I was interfering. He ranted for a little while and with much soothing and hushing, I eventually got him to calm down enough to talk to me. I explained to him that the couple asked to join us on the Jerash trip so of course I would say yes, the couple said that they did NOT arrange for a taxi to the airport so of course I would drive them, and William had no intention of taking a hotel trip to the desert so it was either he goes with me or leaves Amman for his next destination. This went back and forth for some time but I restated my case, said the miscommunication between his hotel and the couple was between them, I had no part in it, and the day planned with William had nothing to do with the hotel. He eventually calmed down and offered apologies. By this time, between the owner and this guy, I had had enough. Time to take leave of these strange, strange men.
William and I cruised out to a very boring desert to see some very boring brick foundations that may or may not at one time have been castles. As we were about to enter yet another area, neither of us too excited at the prospects of our next little sight-seeing choice, William spotted a caravan of about 30 camels that had stopped to water and rest across the road. A few questions asked and we opted out of dry, dusty bricks for an up close encounter of the desert creature kind.
The caravan crew welcomed us warmly and we wove our way through camels lounging about. Pictures were taken, bits of conversation were exchanged, and we smiled and sweated our way through one of the nicest most genuine interactions I’ve had in a while. MUCH better option than dried up old buildings. Nice call, William, nice call indeed.
As it was a fairly short drive, William and I decided to head back to Amman instead of spend the night in the town near the desert. We did, of course, find another place to stay other than where I got yelled at earlier. Found a lovely little hostel that took very good care of me. Returned the car (after getting hopelessly lost and driving around for more than an hour to find the damn rental place!) and spent the next day tying up some loose ends and trying to make a bit of a travel plan. To avoid the trouble of my passport being stamped to look like I had entered Israel, I decided to bus it all the way back down to Aqaba, near the Egypt border, to cross over there. An Israeli stamp means no entry to Syria (if ever I was able to get in), can cause trouble getting into Iraq, Lebanon, and possibly Indonesia. Only one border crossing near Amman so an exit stamp out of Jordan there would show that of course I entered into Israel but if the exit stamp was near Aqaba, it’s possible I entered into Egypt, not Israel as the three countries of Egypt, Israel, and Jordan all border the same spot. I was told that immigration in Israel will stamp a paper instead of your passport so plan made, I was heading to Israel and so looking forward to a country I had wanted to see for a very long time.
Will miss Jordan and its BEAUTIFUL, chivalrous men. I must come back here someday.
So much to do in Amman
Amman, Amman, our last stop in Jordan, we’ve made it to Amman. A big, busy city with everything you could need from loud & coulourful local fruit & veg markets on the streets to souvenir shops on the sidewalks to proper malls with Western fast food restaurants and movie theatres just up the road. It was going to be easy in Amman. And I learned to drive like a pro in Amman. Here, the streets are as busy as the people, the roads are from highway wide to back alley narrow, and the hills still had me stalling and squealing tires when I had to stop and start on them, but by the end of the trip, easy breezy. Oh my poor road trip partners, they must have been so happy to get out of the car. But me, I still wanted to drive, drive, drive!
Amman was a bit hectic for us as the girls only had a couple of days so we wanted to cram in some sight-seeing. Together with another couple that was also staying at the hotel, we road tripped it to a town called Jerash to see some old ruins with a plan of going to the Dead Sea (finally!) in the afternoon. A late start and typical directional difficulties got us to Jerash later than we had anticipated so it was close to sunset by the time we finished all the sightseeing and were heading towards the salty, floaty water. We had a great plan and again, it all revolved around being very, very deceitful.
Remember I told you that it was bizarrely difficult to access the Dead Sea? No beaches, no places to pull off and wander down to the water. There was one small section of a public beach that would charge almost $20 to access it and we had all been warned against going there as the locals were prone to intolerable agendas of harassment apparently. Not selling stuff, just being supremely unpleasant. So local beach was our BACK UP plan. Plan A came from the couple who stayed in the bedouin camp with us at Wadi Rum. The Holiday Inn has a STUNNING resort just next to the public beach with proper sand, obviously brought in from somewhere else, and all of the luxury you could imagine of a 5* resort (Holiday Inn apparently does it up right over here!) So, all agreed, we were going to drive up to the gate and tell them we wanted to go for a drink/dinner then sneak our way down to the beach. Could we pull it off? Damn security everywhere in the Middle East! Let’s see how it goes.
Gave my name at the gate, I’m a rock star now because my new name, as pronounced by the attendant, is “Janet Beatle” and they wrote down our license plate. Bags and bodies places through x-rays and scanners and we confidently strolled straight down towards the restaurant area (took my best guess as to where that would be) and then followed the bathing suit clad guests from there. Turns out that the restaurants are near the swimming pools which lead out to the beach… BONUS! So we made like we owned the place, changed into swim gear and booked it for the water. Two older Jordanian couples were heading for the Sea at the exact same time and security stopped us to tell us that the beach was now closed. WHAAAAA???? Security reasons, Israel, terrorist, who knows, but yeah, they close the beaches at sunset. Lovely Jordan couple pish-poshes him, says give us 5 minutes, so off we went. Oh yippee!
10 minutes floating, bobbing, and laughing our heads off in the strangest water on the PLANET! I mean, if you lay on your stomach or your back, you can’t keep your feet from bobbing up and out of the water. It was the most bizarre feeling ever! EVER! Loved it! Tasted horrible, any small scrape or cut was quickly identified by the burning salt, and left your skin feeling amazingly soft and oily. A short but complete unique experience. Felt very alive in the Dead Sea.
The sun had set and we were whistled out of the water by impatient staff members so spent some time lounging in and around their oh so fancy pools before packing up and heading back to Amman. All were exhausted and very happy with the day. Our lies paid off quite nicely, thank you very much.
So up, up, up we head in our little putt-putt Citroen on the way back from the lowest point on earth. Rumble, rumble, rumble… suddenly… race-car-with-no-muffler-sound. Whatever little piece was tying our car together from that quick fix a couple of days back was no longer doing the trick. Damn. Pulled off to the side of the road and my phone has not been working in Jordan for some reason but those oh-so-handy police vehicles hanging out on the sides of the road were in the perfect spot again. There was a rough little coffee stop shop right where we pulled off and the guys from there immediately came to our assistance, rolling around under the car, trying to do what they could for us, while Mr. Police Man and I made phone calls back and forth to the car company. It was way late by this point so I wasn’t sure how much luck we’d have with getting the car sorted out but I knew we were in good company no matter what the outcome was to be. While I flitted back and forth between the car, the cops, and looking out for a new car that was supposed to be arriving, the guys at the coffee shop were keeping the rest of the crew very entertained. Coffee and tea flowed freely, lots of stories via charades as they didn’t speak English and our group had no Arabic, and so much laughter echoing through those mountains we were meant to be driving through.
A new car arrives and we head off into the night. New friends made and hearts filled with the warmth of kindness from strangers. Car trouble didn’t end up seeming like trouble at all.
To be continued…
Amman was a bit hectic for us as the girls only had a couple of days so we wanted to cram in some sight-seeing. Together with another couple that was also staying at the hotel, we road tripped it to a town called Jerash to see some old ruins with a plan of going to the Dead Sea (finally!) in the afternoon. A late start and typical directional difficulties got us to Jerash later than we had anticipated so it was close to sunset by the time we finished all the sightseeing and were heading towards the salty, floaty water. We had a great plan and again, it all revolved around being very, very deceitful.
Remember I told you that it was bizarrely difficult to access the Dead Sea? No beaches, no places to pull off and wander down to the water. There was one small section of a public beach that would charge almost $20 to access it and we had all been warned against going there as the locals were prone to intolerable agendas of harassment apparently. Not selling stuff, just being supremely unpleasant. So local beach was our BACK UP plan. Plan A came from the couple who stayed in the bedouin camp with us at Wadi Rum. The Holiday Inn has a STUNNING resort just next to the public beach with proper sand, obviously brought in from somewhere else, and all of the luxury you could imagine of a 5* resort (Holiday Inn apparently does it up right over here!) So, all agreed, we were going to drive up to the gate and tell them we wanted to go for a drink/dinner then sneak our way down to the beach. Could we pull it off? Damn security everywhere in the Middle East! Let’s see how it goes.
Gave my name at the gate, I’m a rock star now because my new name, as pronounced by the attendant, is “Janet Beatle” and they wrote down our license plate. Bags and bodies places through x-rays and scanners and we confidently strolled straight down towards the restaurant area (took my best guess as to where that would be) and then followed the bathing suit clad guests from there. Turns out that the restaurants are near the swimming pools which lead out to the beach… BONUS! So we made like we owned the place, changed into swim gear and booked it for the water. Two older Jordanian couples were heading for the Sea at the exact same time and security stopped us to tell us that the beach was now closed. WHAAAAA???? Security reasons, Israel, terrorist, who knows, but yeah, they close the beaches at sunset. Lovely Jordan couple pish-poshes him, says give us 5 minutes, so off we went. Oh yippee!
10 minutes floating, bobbing, and laughing our heads off in the strangest water on the PLANET! I mean, if you lay on your stomach or your back, you can’t keep your feet from bobbing up and out of the water. It was the most bizarre feeling ever! EVER! Loved it! Tasted horrible, any small scrape or cut was quickly identified by the burning salt, and left your skin feeling amazingly soft and oily. A short but complete unique experience. Felt very alive in the Dead Sea.
The sun had set and we were whistled out of the water by impatient staff members so spent some time lounging in and around their oh so fancy pools before packing up and heading back to Amman. All were exhausted and very happy with the day. Our lies paid off quite nicely, thank you very much.
So up, up, up we head in our little putt-putt Citroen on the way back from the lowest point on earth. Rumble, rumble, rumble… suddenly… race-car-with-no-muffler-sound. Whatever little piece was tying our car together from that quick fix a couple of days back was no longer doing the trick. Damn. Pulled off to the side of the road and my phone has not been working in Jordan for some reason but those oh-so-handy police vehicles hanging out on the sides of the road were in the perfect spot again. There was a rough little coffee stop shop right where we pulled off and the guys from there immediately came to our assistance, rolling around under the car, trying to do what they could for us, while Mr. Police Man and I made phone calls back and forth to the car company. It was way late by this point so I wasn’t sure how much luck we’d have with getting the car sorted out but I knew we were in good company no matter what the outcome was to be. While I flitted back and forth between the car, the cops, and looking out for a new car that was supposed to be arriving, the guys at the coffee shop were keeping the rest of the crew very entertained. Coffee and tea flowed freely, lots of stories via charades as they didn’t speak English and our group had no Arabic, and so much laughter echoing through those mountains we were meant to be driving through.
A new car arrives and we head off into the night. New friends made and hearts filled with the warmth of kindness from strangers. Car trouble didn’t end up seeming like trouble at all.
To be continued…
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