The bush at Saint Catherine's monastery

Inside the monastery at the base of Mount Sinai is the burning bush that God spoke to Moses from. It has been carbon dated back to thousands of years old! When I touched it, a thorn pricked me to bleed. When I took a photo of it, this is what came out. Whoa!

Jebel Musa

It's been 3 days now since I've returned from climbing Mount Sinai. I haven't been able to find the words to describe the trip,or at least the effect it's had on me. I can tell you that we left our hotel in Dahab at 11PM in a minibus with other tourists and drove for 2 hours to St. Catherine's Monastery at the foot of Jebel Musa (Moses Mountain). We then joined the many other pilgrims and climbed 1000 meters over 7 KM for about 3 hours. The moon was full and so we hiked without lamps. The granite mountains were all white against night sky. It really was beautiful. The last part of the climb consisted of 750 steps and I have to say it was tough. There was a group of Nigerian pilgrims going up and we would play leapfrog as we each took our turns resting on the boulders along the trail. Sometimes, they would sing hymns as they walked. But mostly, we walked up in silence. Bailey and I tried to keep away from the groups in order to really take in the power of the hills. At the top, which is just an outcrop of rock with 2 small churches, we searched for a place to lay down in our sleeping bags. Found a spot and zipped ourselves up to get away from the cold. From inside the bag, we could hear the Nigerians singing. We could hear the Jewish Rabbi chanting. We could hear the Muslims praying. And we could hear the Bedouin man selling "Black rock" over and over. It was a symphony. But a strangely eery sypmphony, sung with so much soul. After a while, I peeked out and saw that the light was coming, so we jumped up and found a panoramic spot to watch the sun come up. The full moon was setting just as the sun came up. It was last friday, the vernal equinox, and good Friday, and the full moon... all at once. We stayed at the top as long as possible until our guide, Sobe, came and found us. Took the 3000 step path down. Knees were in pain, but I felt strange inside mostly.
I have since been searching the internet for other people's accounts of their trip and I found one description which describes the experience much better than I can. Bruce Feiler says, "I realized that my trip had begun to affect me some place deep in my body. It wasn't my head, or my heart. It wasn't even my feet, though there occasionally. It was someplace so new to me that I couldn't locate it at first, or give it a name. It was a feeling of gravity. A feeling that I wanted to take off all my clothes and lie face down on the soil. I recalled my grandmother's funeral and the gulping ache I felt when they tossed a handful of soil on her coffin: "From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust." Not until that car ride, staring at that soil, did I fully understand what that phrase meant. Adam had been made from dust; his name is derived from the word adama, earth. "For dust you are," God says to Adam, "and to dust you shall return." Here was the source of that soil, I realized, and at that moment I had to resist the temptation to leap out and touch it."
I am still feeling this energy work on me. It's powerful. Full of peace, so much that I find myself having to take deep breaths. I'm just letting it be inside me and hope that it will help me become a better person, less judgemental, more accepting. For now though, I can feel gravity more. I feel more rooted to the earth, more like a part of it all than the speck of floating dust I was before.

Visit Dahab

Let the morning light slowly pull you out of your dreams as you listen to the fan slowly cool your room. There's no rush to leave, not ever, at $5 a night for the two of you. But soon, you start smelling fresh toasted pita drifting from the seaside restaurants. You brush your hair and wash up, put on freshly laundered clothes sent out the day before for only 20 cents a piece and slide into your flip flops. There are a good dozen places to eat at, each one offering breakfast for $2. You might choose the one with the bright cushions and a seat at the edge of the sea. There's some exotic dreamy morning music playing and you lose yourself in nonthought as you gaze off over the Red Sea to the mountains of Saudi Arabia. There are no windows and so the breeze helps blow away any sleepiness. The Bedouin tea comes to you fresh and you have to spoon out some stray herbs before adding sugar. I like to get the Egyptian Breakfast of falafel, fooul (beans), tahini, friend egg, tomatoes and fresh pita. But you can get just about anything here, including pancakes with ice cream or a typical diner plate. You place your order with the smiling waiter and turn back to the water. There may be a diver out there already, enjoying the watery kaleidoscopic underworld. There are cats sunning themselves on the rocks, secretly hoping you'll share your plate, but not begging for it. They look content and very Egyptian with large pointy ears and faces and squinty happy eyes. Your thoughts turn to an awareness of this most perfect place. "I'll be back again and again" you say, and really mean it.

The daytime is a perfect balance between relaxation and exitement. After returning to the Bishi Bishi hotel for a quick jump into your swimsuit, you grab your snorkel and head down the pedestrian walkway lined with shops. Here in Dahab, you're not bothered as much as other places in Egypt. Perhaps the shopkeepers invite you in, but after a polite "La. Shukran" they will wish you a pleasant day and you can calmly continue towards one of the many coral reefs. You notice the divers are in one area today and decide to follow them. The water is still a bit chilly in March, but once you're in and moving, all your focus is on the hundreds of fish floating below you, picking at the rainbow colored reef. There's a massive school of irridescent blue fish following a warm current just beside you and some barracudas floating peacefully in the distance. Feeling brave, you dive down and follow a school of striped angelfish as they run from you. As the divers pass beneath you, their bubbles float up and surround you in a million tickles. There's no telling how long you stay out there. Time doesn't exist.

The reef calls to you several times over the afternoon and when the sun starts to set, you realize you haven't even eaten lunch. The restaurants are always open and serving delicious dinners. You might want to choose your own fish out of an ice laden stand or maybe, like me, you want to enjoy a large bowl of Koshary (noodles, rice, chick peas, lentils, onions in a spicy sauce) for only $1. If you take it to go, you can enjoy it under the palm trees of your hotel courtyard, then maybe fetch an icecream cone before sprawling out on the mats and pillows with the rest of the guests and read a good book. There's the smell of Sheesha (tobacco with apple or strawberry) floating in the air and your eyes start to close. There's no question about getting cozy in your bed, listening to the fan again as it cools the night air, and falling fast asleep. Dahab, as it's meaning is translated, is pure gold.

The Travelers

There's a country I've been in that I haven't told you about yet. It's this place where you can come and go as you please and everyone is welcome. It's the country of explorers. Every time I live out of my backpack, I'm there. Instead of comparing kitchen appliances, we're talking about the latest little camp stove. Instead of showing each other our new clothes, we're explaining the map of stains on our pants. We share rooms and taxis and meals. In a bus full of locals, we share a smile of comraderie. And mostly, we share our stories. There's very little chance of a civil war here, because we don't want to own anything or anyone. We want experience. Our book: Lonely Planet and Rough Guide. Our bank: the money belt. Our crown: the headlamp. Luxuries: seated toilet, toilet paper, a hot shower, a bed off the floor, a clean towel. There's no leader her either, just a bus schedule. We've quit our jobs and we're open to the future. But the best part of this place is that it lives in the present, with open eyes and ears and an ever changing landscape.

Dahab's Jewels

After our felucca journey, we got in a minibus and visited 2 temples - Kom Ombu and Edfu. Bailey and I enjoyed them from outside the gates cause our money is running out. It was OK though, you could see them really well and we're a bit templed out at this point anyway. We rode on to Luxor, said goodbye to our friends, ran a few errands and walked down dusty streets with our full backpacks to the train station. Our final destination - Dahab, on the Red Sea. We ended up riding a bus for 18 hours to get there, my legs and neck in pain from the cramped seats, but I managed to sleep a bit. We met Tom from England on the bus. He's 25 and looks like one of the Monty Python guys (not Terry or John clease - the other guy). Once we arrived, we shared a "taxi"(back of a pickup) to the BishiBishi hotel where we're staying for $5 a night (for a double room!). The shore is just across the road and the water looked so inviting that we decided to forego eating and go snorkeling. Bailey and I jumped into our swimsuits and met Tom in the palm tree courtyard. Walked a good 30 minutes to where the reef makes islands under water and headed into the sea. The water wasn't too cold. We walked out a bit before starting to swim over the shallow reef. Then, all of a sudden, the bottom dropped 50 feet and we were on the edge of the most amazing coral cliff! Fish were everywhere, just like in the documentaires. I followed a school of irridescent blue fish, then just explored the rainbow colored reef, occasionally shouting out to Bailey to look at some creature. At one point, I asked Bailey to just hover over an area with me and she nervously explained that she didn't want to look like an injured fish to a hungry shark that might come by! WE never saw any sharks, although small ones do comy by, but I realized then how shocking this all was to her. Later, Bailey admitted to freaking out somewhat, being surrounded by so much life, but it was so beautiful that she just pushed through the fear. Tom, who is an experienced diver, said it was better even than the Great Barrier reef or Thailand. So, we're just gonna stay right here till Saturday, with snorkel. Again, nature is being awesome! Stay tuned for underwater pictures.

Feel lucky on the Felucca

There are 2 ways of travelling down the Nile - in a large riverboat resembling a floating mall or a romantic felucca with its teradactyl-sized sail (in other words, big, like the ones I've seen in movies). Of course, we chose to glide slowly downriver, mostly just pushed along by the current, since the wind was so low. It was easy to find a boat. Our hotel was near the captains' cafe where all the felucca captains hang out and watch football, drink tea and smoke sheesha. Ayoub, our handsome 33 year old captain, took us there to discuss the trip. We ended up being a group of 5, Bailey and me, Jessica, and Heather and Christina from Canada. Then, there was Mustafa the cook and Abdu the skipper. Abdu did just about everything on board. He's almost 70 and frequently climbed to the top of the mast, dressed in his MC Hammer pants and turban. He was always talking fast to me in Arabic at full speed and I tried to assist him occasionally by steering or holding the sail taut as he made repairs while docked. I liked participating in the function of the boat, even if it was minor. It's the difference between just looking at a game or playing in it. I became part of the movement, rather than just a rider. But, ride I did. I loved hanging over the edge and letting my hand cut through the still water. I watched the east bank and then the west bank float by as we tacked from riverside to riverside. Once, I watched a white fox trot down the river. He stopped to drink where the cows were drinking. Must have been a fresh spot. I loved laying on the flat, cushioned deck and just reading or thinking under the cloth roof.

We spent 2 days and 2 nights on this deck, all 8 of us. It was tight. We talked a lot and played cards. And at night, everyone snored so much that Ayoub recorded us on his cell phone at 3 AM for a good laugh the next morning. Any time you spend 48 hours with 8 people so intimately, there's bound to be some drama. The first came as we crossed another boat going upstream. Abdu started yelling back and forth with the driver of the other felucca. It was so heated and passionate and then he spit at him as a finishing touch! I looked at Ayoub and he said that was his son, the bad son, who had gone to jail and was a shame to the family. Yikes. Then, there was some kind of scene between Heather and Ayoub and Jessica when they went ashore to tour a "museum" of someone's home,in a tuk tuk (a motorbike taxi) and were being charged 32 Egypt. pounds for it. Christina and Bailey and I had stayed behind on the boat, but when they returned, you could cut the air with a knife. No one would talk about it on board, so it was a bit weird trying to figure out why Jessica and Ayoub were in the cabin together talking seriously and Heather just sitting on deck rolling her eyes. I told Bailey about a trick I know of to keep other people's bad mojo off of you. We closed our eyes and imagined a blue light around us like a bubble that would keep us fresh and lighthearted. It worked pretty well and so we just continued talking and playing cards and enjoyed the delicious dinner that Mustafa had cooked.

The firswt night there, Bailey and I rode across the Nile to the other side in a small fishing boat with Ayoub and his fisherman friend. I only found out later why we did this when I say the captain rolling a joint in his cabin. It's apparently quite common in these parts, but he was very discreet about it. Anyway, I loved hearing the oars hitting the water and rubbings against the wooden boat. I've become so much more of a sound junky on this trip. The noises, or lack of them, are a huge part of the picture. It could also be that since I've lost hearing in one ear I'm more appreciative of this sense.

The trip on a whole was pretty peaceful and I don't remember doing very much, just watching the palm trees and mossy grasslands at the shore with sand dunes rising ot too far in the distance. I liked waving to the giant riverboat passengers. Have you ever seen the Woody Allen movie where he's in this train and it's all dull and colorless and then he looks out at another train and everyone inside is beautifula dn having fun? Well, I felt like we were the beautiful people on our felucca, all tanned and happy and peaceful, waving to the poor bored folks on deck of their metal and glass shoebox boat. I felt like were were living the good life, free of motors and chairs and buffets. Give me wind and river and a good book anyday!

Sand Castles

When I was little, I loved making sand castles. My bucket would be the castle form and then I would always try to dig out the insides as far as possible without having it collapse. I imagined the spiral stairs and the cavernous rooms inside. Well, today, I found my imagination in reality. I found Abu Simbel. This is a temple carved out of a sandy mountain along the Nile by Ramses II for his queen Nefratari. The entrance is collosal, with 4 gigantic sitting figures on each side of the massive entryway. The door faces the sunrise and we arrived at 7AM, so we were able to experience the beauty of having natural light stream into the temple rooms. I cannot imagine how simple men scooped out enough mountain to make rooms with 18 foot ceilings and then engrave heiroglyphs and paintings on every surface inside. 4000 year old paint is still there on the walls. And although the crowd of tourists was a bit overwhelming, Bailey and I managed to find ourselves alone in one of the rooms at one point. These are always special moments, and the sand castle was ours for a minute, letting us inhabit it as our own and feel like queens. As we walked out, squinting towards the sun and the Nile, I felt proud of being human, for once, knowing we are capable of making amazing beautiful things.

Heading South

I'm in a small room with computers on a side street in Aswan with the smell of incense and a VERY loud speaker calling everyone to prayer. Bailey has her hands over my ears cause she knows loudness is bad for my over sensitive Menieres ears. We rode an overnight train from 10PM to 11:30 AM last night all the way down to the southernmost town of Aswan. Except for the old man behind me snoring a bit, the trip was pretty uneventful. I woke up to a sun rising over bright green fields along the Nile, with peasants cutting the harvest by hand. There were hardly any cars, just mostly donkeys and bicycles and horse drawn carts. It looked so peaceful. I saw school children walking down dirt roads. It looked like they had a very long way to walk. The people wore long robes that flowed in the morning breeze. I stared out the window for hours like this, watching palm trees and little estuaries pass by. One of my best mornings ever.

Now,we're along the Nile River and there are felucca sailboats everywhere and large riverboats for the busses of tourists. Today was basically spent walking around and arranging our plans for the next few days. We finally met (or I should say we were found by) Captain Ayoub, a 33 year old felucca sailor who flies a Bob Marley flag on his boat. He took us out to the boat and we hung out for an hour or so, sipping hibiscus tea and watching the sun set over the sand dunes and riverside reeds. We decided to make a deal with him and we'll be leaving the day after tomorrow for a 2 night, 3 day cruise downriver, stopping occasionally to make a fire on the bank or take a swim. I'm looking forward to doing nothing after the last few crazy Cairo days of walking through the maze of streetvendors and cars and people. Tomorrow, we are going to Abu Simbel, where we'll visit the temple carved out of a mountain by Ramses II. It's 3 hours away from here, so we leave at 3:30 AM. Going to go eat now and then off to bed.

Pyramids, Horses and Ghosts, oh my!

I have a fear of big things... big boats, big crowds, big buildings. I'm afraid because I think they're going to crush me. The pyramids, though, seemed so firmly rooted in the sand, so heavy, that I never once imagined that they would topple over. They scared me because they are so unearthly. The stones are so tightly fit together that you couldn't even fit a razor blade through them, like they were cut with a laser. An alien laser! Hopefully not an evil alien laser!! Their angles are so perfect, just resting in the desert for an unimaginable 4500 years. We rode for 2 hours on horseback, sometimes as the only tourists in sight, feeling like Giza was all ours. Bailey and the guide would take off at full gallop sometimes, leaving a cloud of sand dust between me and the stones. I know these observations are nothing out of the ordinary for a tourist, I'm sure, but being near the pyramids yesterday brought everything to a cellular level for me. We went inside the oldest true pyramid on earth at Dashur (different from Giza), down a good 200 steps that you had to crouch down and descend going backwards, like on a ladder. Down, down, into 3 stone chambers. The ceilings were tiered inwards, perfectly. There were 2 massive blocks of stone as walls in the middle chamber. Huge and flawlessly cut. How did they even move them! The smell inside was one I had never smelled. It was a mixture of stone and sand and dust and ancient pharohnic breath. For some inexplicable reason, we were the only 3 inside the pyramid. Way deep inside. And we stood in silence and listened. All three of us got chills, not from cold (because it was quite warm) but from a feeling of not being alone. A chill from the thought of being buried there, alone, for thousands of years, alone in your mummified body with gold and jewels and statues for companions...all in the silent darkness with this massive structure to hold you in. We felt like intruders. We climbed back up the 200 steps so fast we were completely breathless. So glad to see the light again.
After Dashur, all silent in the taxi, we looked out at the palm trees as we rode alongside some of the Nile river, past donkey drawn carts of watercress, small cafes with men smoking Sheesha, and women in their long robes buying cuts of meat off of a freshly slaughtered goat. Here and there you might see "Carpet Schools" set up in enormous palace style buildings for the buses of tourists. But mostly we felt like we were the only visitors. We rode into Cairo and admired the dozens of Mosque turrets peaking up above the buildings, awestruck by the size of the town and shocked by the slums on the outskirts. Finally, back in downtown, we walked to the train station and bought our tickets for Aswan, having to weave through rushhour foottraffic. I watched as young men jumped onto moving trains as they left the station, one of them not quite making it. I watched him disappear behind another train as his legs dangled in the air, desperately trying to get on the foot rail. This totally mortified me! I hope he made it. And last night, we bought our 50 cent bowl of Koshari (rice, noodles, chickpeas, lentils and sauce) and a 35 cent creamy icecream cone and ate it on a wall off the street. We had about 7 waiters come to take our drink order... and we weren't even at any restaurant! After a stroll through the busy streets, we came back to our room and fell asleep, quite content and ready for more Egypt.

Cairo Intro

Last night, we walked around the streets of Cairo. We took the subway and rode in the "women only" car. We dodged traffic like chickens in most big cities. Had dinner in a dive and watched people stop everything, in the street, and kneel down to pray towards Mecca. I was thinking this town wasn't so crazy after all. Just a little bit different. But today, after visiting the stunning Egyptian Museum, we jumped in a taxi and headed to the old Islamic part of town. This is where the streets narrow turn into tiny alleyways full of fabric shops, chickens for sale, woodturners, vegetable carts and people. Lots and lots of people. We were the only westerners there, which stressed us out at first. But then we noticed we weren't being hassled so much, cause who were we to buy a live goat or raw wood planks anyway?! I got stopped by 2 stern looking police officers for having taken a picture near a prison. I was a bit nervous and showed them what I had taken and then they just started laughing. So I just smiled back and continued on my way. We walked around like this for a few hours and by the end, neither of us could formulate thoughts, let alone know where we were. We ducked into a little fruit drink stand and sat amongst the flies sipping a delicious banana/strawberry mush. This neighborhood seemed to wind around like a labyrinth, forever, and I felt like we were transported back in time about 500 years. Sometimes I didn't even feel like the locals could see us. We just wove around the horse and donkey pulled carts and the veiled women as if in a dream.
Now, we are back and trying to take it all in. Just starting to wake up from the day.

बुस्सिंग to Egypt

Whew! We've made it alive to our hotel room in the heart of Cairo. We got on board this huge old bus this morning with about 30 working class men in Nuweiba and headed inland. The first shocking thing was the complete lack of ANYTHING between Nuweiba and Cairo. Just dusty hills, rocks, and police stopping points. There are no green things at all and no people to go with them. Next, the men on the bus were so loud, shouting to each other across the seats practically the entire 7 hour ride. The driver turned the music on really loud and the guys got up and danced for a couple of hours. It was cute at first, and I got it on film and will post it later, but enough is enough. The bus was always full of cigarette smoke too. We stopped one time for 20 minutes, but the rest of the time we were high speeding through the desert. This driver turned a 9 hour ride into a 7 hour. Coming into Cairo was insane. We were zipping around traffic like we were a little sports car. Don't know how we didn't kill anyone. After the bus, we rode in an ancient little Fiat taxi, no seat belts of course... life flashing before my eyes. But we're here now in our Hotel. Up 3 very high flights of stairs to our gigantic room. The ceiling height makes me think of those old movies from the 30's and 40's, Probablly a good 20 to 30 feet! We have real beds. This will be the first time Bailey and I will have slept on a mattress in over a month. And we have our own bathroom!!! Tonight, Bailey, Jessica and I are going to dinner and then catch a movie (only 2 dollars). Big city living. Tomorrow, we're headed to the Egyptian museum for an intro and then the next day we're hiring a guide for the pyramids. Well, I'm writing on the run now. No time to proofread anything as there's always a line for these machines. I'm sure my posts will be a mess, but at least I'll be getting it down as it happens.
Oh, and we have a balcony all to ourselves. I'm going to go relax and watch the night come into downtown.

The Red Sea

We left the camp early morning 2 days ago, grabbed our backpacks from the hostel and jumped in a cab with two tourists who were also headed to Aqaba. We went to the Egyptian consulate to get our Visas, which was a dirty cinderblock room with a corrugated metal roof and ancient wooden seats. Took about an hour and then we hopped into another cab and went to the Israeli border, where we walked across. I felt like I was on a conveyor belt, getting this stamp and that one, checking of the passports over an over by many guards, emptying my backpack. Finally, we were in Israel, about 100 meters later and 30 minutes later. Met up with some Austrians and shared a cab towards Taba, at the Egyptian border. We stopped for 2 hours at some fancy Aquarium along the way, but Bailey and I could not afford to go in. Israel is pricey like Europe and it has the feel of Fort Lauderdale down there in Eilat along the Red Sea. So we waited for the Austrians and just people watched. It's so strange to be so close to Jordan and yet feel like you're in a completely different country. The people are of a different race, they speak a different language, and are much more well off economically than in Jordan. Anyway, we then made our way to the Egyptian border 2km away and walked across like at the other border. More stamps and checks. This time, as soon as we stepped outside onto Egyptian soil, we were harrassed by dozens of taxi and van drivers. Again, the people looked totally different and the wealth changed dramatically. Bailey and I made our way in the heat to the decrepit bus station and had to haggle the driver for the correct price. So different from Jordan and Israel. Everything here must be bargained. Even the hostel room.
The hostel is fantastic. It's actually a camp along the beach of palm tree huts and lounging areas along the shore. The food is amazing and we do nothing except read, sleep and eat. Our friend, Jessica, who we met in Wadi Rum, is with us for this Egypt trip, so we've had some nice fresh conversation as well.
I'd love to write more, but some people just came in to use the computer. I will have photos when we return to Wadi Rum in 2 weeks. Tomorrow morning, we leave at 9 AM for Cairo. I'm getting really excited!
Cheers

Side Trip

Bailey and I are leaving for a 2 week trip to Egypt early tomorrow morning. Abbey, the new Helpexchanger, just arrived last night, so we're free to go. We are so close to the Pyramids and the Nile that to miss it would be a sin. We will definitely post about our trip, although we will be dependent on internet cafes to do so, so there may be some delays. Till then, Mar Salam.

The need To Nest

I’m not sure how to start writing, so I just broke off another piece of pita bread and started eating and staring out into nothing again. I woke up this morning at the camp, went back to Rum village, and now I’m back by myself for the whole day. Well,, there’s a Polish couple and their 2 year old and Farris here as well. But I’ve nested myself inside one of the big tents with all the blanket and mattresses I could find. I’ve made it big so I can lay on it in any direction. Once set up, I’ve proceeded to eat all the treats I bought for the day: 3 cookies and a 7Up and a pita bread. I’ve got about 4 bites left and then I’ll have no excuse for keeping all my thoughts inside. It’s 9 AM.

I think I’ve reached an annoying layer of silt inside myself. Coming here, to the desert, to a strange, timeless environment, seemed like an easy ticket to inspire change in me. And, by my previous blog entries, you might think that I have, but suddenly, I’m hitting this sludge of cravings, desires and boredom. I want to watch a movie. I want to take a bath and sit on a toilet seat and have a real shower. I want to be entertained without having to participate. I want new clothes. Ugh. The worst of it are all the random thoughts in my head. I’ve got some kind of monologue running all the time, trying to find a handhold and get out of my ego. Sometimes, I have to force myself to stop and look around. Be here now.

But somehow, I don’t think I’m stepping backwards. I think I’m just hitting one of those detox phases you go through when you’re changing. All the old thoughts are trying to save themselves. So today, I’ve made this cocoon. I’m gonna write in it, nap in it, read in it and see what happens. No one around to pull me out. I’m just going to let it do it’s thing. So, I’ll see you all later.

..I don’t know how long I slept, but everyone else is napping too. Farris is just lying curled up in the sand next to the kitchen and the Polish family is all quiet in their tent. Knowing they are asleep makes me feel at peace. I often feel a pressure to do something, even here in Wadi Rum. But seeing everyone else chillin out is very soothing. I woke up still feeling clogged with thoughts, though, but after walking around outside, I’m getting some clarity.

I’ve never really organized anything before in my life. I can’t even bring myself to throw parties. Here I am contemplating setting up a scholarship program for girl students of Rum to go to college. I’m excited about the idea, but then that busy mind starts rolling and I outtalk myself into confusion. Same goes for most plans. It’s more clear to me out here what I need to do. I need to meditate. I think meditation will show me that my life is simple and I can accomplish anything as long as I’m grounded. And also, I need to make sure I set boundaries. These past few days, I’ve been talking to people nonstop and this doesn’t work for me. Ok, then, enough talking. I’m going to go sit on a butte and let the air clear my head some more. See you later, nest… oops, I forgot to put on suntan lotion. Ok, bye.

I’m back after 20 minutes. I had a realization. I’m sleepy. Too tired for big revelations. I can hear the Polish dad snoring. I’m gonna go back to sleep….

It’s 3PM now and I’m still in my mound of blankets and mats. I just stepped out for a small glass of sweet tea. I drank it sitting on a stump outside the kitchen shack, staring again into nothing. The wind is blowing a bit. My head is quieting and I’m able to hear the silence of the desert again. Feeling more a part of everything. Feeling calm.

Feels so good

I just got out of the shower. Ahhhhhh! There’s nothing like not showering for 4 days and then scrubbing yourself clean in a hot shower. It’s as if I can feel my skin breathing again and my hair feels light and bouncy and my hands are back to their tan shade. This sensation is overpowering all my senses, it’s so strong. I’m not hungry any more or tired or needing anything. I am just enjoying this feeling, sitting outside my hostel room, in the sun with my eyes closed. Soon enough the desert will wrap itself around me again. But isn’t it great to get to the point where you can appreciate mundane activities. Like when you really have to pee, and then you do. Or you’re really thirsty, and you drink. Or you’re tired, and you finally lay down. The pleasure of not being uncomfortable is worth the it all. But you can only appreciate it if you get to feeling uncomfortable. If you feel fine all the time, you stop appreciating it. Like the time I stubbed my little toe really badly. Before that moment, I wasn’t even aware of my little toe. Then, after the stubbing, it’s all I could feel. When it finally healed, I vowed to never take my toes for granted. But, after a day or two, I forgot they existed again. Today, though, I’m all about this tingly fresh sensation!

Feeling Good with the Family

I just wanted to add a little post tonight. Communication has improved and I really feel like we're finding our rhythm here with the family. The father talked with the family and explained we are also working at the camp and so, as women tend to do, they immediately showed compassion and now we all work together to keep the house in order, rather than just us helpers. Tonight, Bailey and I ate dinner with the whole clan plus a few relatives, making it 13 around the platter on the floor, squishing rice and chicken in our hands. Then, me and Bailey and the two eldest daughters cleaned the kitchen at lightening speed. Everyone is smiling!

Floating around

Living abroad like this is a bit like floating out in the open sea. I’ve taken myself away from all that is familiar and mine and every day I feel like I’m floating around wherever the wind takes me. I don’t really have a say about how my days will unfold. The last couple of days, Bailey and I were able to go out on tours with some visitors, but only after getting about a 5 minute notice in which we scrambled to get our overnight things ready and fill up a bottle of water. The weather today is cold and overcast, so we are staying in with the family, helping clean and eating split pea soup. But in a few minutes, I may be on my way out to the camp or helping escort camels out to the desert to pick up tourists. I try to stay open to any opportunities for adventure, even if I’m tired.

The past 5 months in Provence were a strange mixture of discovery and hermitdom. We went on a lot of day trips to historic villages, museums, the sea and the mountains. But we hardly met anyone. Maybe it was me, but I felt that the French people were pretty closed to strangers on their home turf. Many of them would not return a hello or a smile while passing each other, let alone start a conversation. So Bailey and I ended up spending a lot of time talking to each other or not at all. This was OK for some self reflection, but the tide turned in Florence. During our trip there we were much more open and desirous of meeting people. I felt us turn that night on the Ponte Vecchio, the day we found our car burned to the ground. Time dropped away and all of my senses sharpened. We sat on the bridge in non-thought and I felt myself come out of inside my head. I watched the people on the bridge, the 2 man band playing Italian ballads, people riding by on their bicycles, the lights reflected on the Arno river. I felt the breeze more fully and I smelled the humid winter air as if it were an extension of me. I knew that evening that I was changing.

I didn’t know to what degree our lives would change, of course. It was only a week later that we decided to come here to Jordan and live with the Bedouins in Wadi Rum. Most of our evenings have been spent up at the camp, eating Abu Ayman’s delicious dinners, meeting people from all over the world, dancing and laughing. I wouldn’t say that I am outside of myself as much as more a part of my surroundings. Everyone sits on mats around a fire in the round tent. We’re all in the same boat. We’re all travelers interested in each other. It’s very easy to feel inspired, and it’s easy to feel comfortable with other people who also haven’t showered in 4 days! Back at the house, there are kids around, familiar faces on the street all the time, and us help-exchangers. There have been a few moments when I’ve felt like I was back in that reclusive place. Once or twice on some cold nights when Bailey and I were trying to get to sleep, cocooned in our sleeping bags, and we were talking quietly face to face. I felt like we’d come home to our little family place, even if it was nowhere near home. Eating at Burger King in Aqaba and then riding the minibus home felt like old times. But I like this new phase right now. I’m normally ill at ease in social situations, feeling like an outsider. But here, I’m an insider and an outsider and I’ve found a balance between the two. I’m learning how to live with a lot of people around, letting myself look tired if I am or happy or hungry. Whatever. This is what makes living with others interesting. I’m feeling good about myself, finally, enough not to care too much about people’s judgements of me. I’m starting to know myself more and see that I can be strong at times, especially when it comes to letting this wind just blow me around.

The Crew

There are people here who are becoming central characters to my Wadi Rum experience. When I first arrived, everyone I came into contact with was just a name for me to try to remember. Now, these people are becoming very real to me and are finding firm footing in my heart.

The Sabah al Zalabeh family is of course right up there. I often have Ashma and Zenab (girls, 5 and 6 yrs old) running around me or sitting next to me on the couch. On school mornings, I help them tie their smocks on and make a pretty bow in the back. Sometimes, they’re a little too much and I have to pretend I’m going to take a nap in my room just to shake them off. You know how kids can be! Eptsam and Joher are 14 and 15 years old and they hang out with Bailey mostly. The mother, Reiya, is somewhat reclusive with the two babies, although yesterday I sat with her under the goat hair tent in the yard. She had built a small fire and put a large iron saucer upside down over the flames. On top of this, she cooked the most delicious flatbread the size of a large platter. She would start with a piece of dough and then flatten it down before thinning it out in the air, like pizza makers do. Then she would just throw it on the metal saucer and let the fire cook it. Even though we have trouble communicating, I enjoyed sitting and watching her and the fire while eating a crispy piece of fresh bread. Mohammed, the father, just came and sat next to me and we talked for a good half hour about how we might get help for the poor people in the village. We’ve had some tourists who want to help but there is nothing set up. So we just talked about the possibility of setting up a scholarship fund to help bright students go to the university. He told me the story of corruption that prevented one of Rum’s brightest from going to medical school. No one here can afford to go beyond high school. Mohammed is very passionate about helping his extended family, which is basically the whole town. He hires many of the poorest for his business and is right now in the process of building a little house on his property for those who have nowhere to sleep. Meanwhile, his family lives on the bare necessities. And I mean bare. The pots and pans are all dented and burned and the sponges are used until they are completely shredded. They wear their clothes out too. Every scrap of food is saved and used. The family is a regular noisy mess, though, full of laughter and yelling and warmth. All the kids sleep in the same room.

Other people in my life here are men. The women are all in their homes and I have not had the opportunity to meet them. Mohammed Hussein (not the father, but his nephew), took Bailey and I to visit his sister and her two young children. She made us tea in her two room house and enjoyed watching the babies play. Her house was so sweet and clean. She has painted the walls half way in Grecian isle blue. She was also very young, 20 I believe, and already has 2 young boys. Mohammed Hussein is probably the closest to us. He also stays in the hostel and has his own climbing/trekking company (see link to the right and movie in previous entry). He is 23 years old and speaks English quite well, so we’re able to joke around with him a lot and play cards at night when we’re not at the camp. I’ll post a picture of him in his North Face jacket… a real riot. Today, he took us helpers out for coffee at the rest stop. It was quite the outing. He bought and sold cell phones at the café. Rum Ebay. We all really enjoy Mohammed’s company, even if he does spend way too much time on his cellphone(s).

Then there is Ferris. He is one of the drivers and speaks only a little English. He doesn’t wear the Bedouin dress, but he’s from here. Ferris is always the first one to get up and dance at the camp, and it’s a nutty one at that. We all try to imitate him, but the rhythm is all off and I’m not sure how he stays standing. I like his attitude too. He never seems to sweat it.
There’s Ziad (20)and Zed (17), the two brothers. Ziad drives jeep tours and Zed does the camel tours. They live in a goat hair tent and always have smiles. Cute kids, too. They’re always too shy to get up and dance, but once you pull them up and force them, they’re just as crazy as the rest of us.
Abu Ayman is 65 and he is the cook at the camp. I’ve written about him before. He’s like the grandfather of the whole clan. I love the way he will come into the tent once the food is served and just sit back in a corner with a cigarette and watch his food get eaten. He starts cooking at 2 PM and finishes around 6:30. It’s amazing.

Well, these are the people I see on a daily basis. There are some others, like the lady at the small shop and some neighbor kids, but mostly it’s them and us. Us being me,Sarah, and Bailey. Sarah deserves an entry all to herself. But basically, she’s from Sidney, 19, and traveling by herself. She is the posterchild for the modern independent woman. Before coming here, she shaved her head for charity. She’s quite authoritarian, which suits me fine most of the time, cause I’m not much for managing people. I’m too much of a dreamer.
Well, I’m off to join the crowd. I’ll add a picture of Mohammed, one of the younger kids, and one of Sarah. Cheers!

This and that

In my last entry, I wanted to talk about random things about my life here in Wadi Rum. But somehow my blogs end up with some kind of theme and I didn’t want to ruin it by changing subjects mid way. So this will be an attempt to write down some details that have no theme.
I sleep in two different places. Either I am staying in the hostel room in the village or in the Bedouin tent at the desert camp. Neither have any heat and it gets pretty cold at night. I’ve stayed about half here and half there. The last three nights have been in the desert. We sleep on thin mattresses on the sand with three 10 pound quilts on top of us. The quilts are pretty dirty and dusty, despite the daily shakings. I sleep in my clothes - jacket, scarf, hat and all. There is absolutely no sound during the night. It’s a good sleep.
At the hostel, the mattress is the same and the blankets the same. The room is made of cinderblocks painted cream and brown. All our stuff is in there. There is a 6 inch gap under the door and the house cat, which we call Love Kitty, always slips in and sleeps in our covers. We wake up to either the camel roaring because she is being milked at 6, or the Mosque prayer at about 7. On Monday morning, the boy’s military school broadcasts a very loud recording of a man’s voice and it lasts a long time, plus it’s at 5:30! The bathrooms are holes in the ground. This doesn’t bother me and it’s actually more sanitary than toilet seats, but the whole neighborhood uses the bathroom and the kids make it gross. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to it and I can’t wait to get back to my own bathroom. At the camp it’s not so bad. Abu Ayman keeps the camp clean and the tourists are sophisticated enough to be careful.
I make tea for guests. I’ve learned to make it sweet like the Jordanians like it and serve it in little glass cups on a tray. The weird part is that I always have to disappear into the forbidden women’s part of the house to get the tea. It makes me feel like I’m going into the safe of a bank and I am privileged enough to have the combo. I should correct myself. I feel this way when I am serving the tourists, but when I am serving tea to a roomful of Bedouin men, I feel like I’m living back in the old days, if you know what I mean. The men are always very polite and smile and say thank you, though, so don’t think they are rude. The difference is that with the men, they expect a woman to do this and I don’t like unfair rules.
I wash my clothes by hand in the sink and dry them outside my room. The water is always reddish brown and I have to wash 4 or 5 times. My jeans now stand up on their own. They feel like cardboard. I like washing my stuff though. I have a pretty strong nesting instinct, despite my gypsy blood. It makes me feel like I am home.
Bailey and Eptisam are at the house computer right now next to me. Bailey is asking her many questions about being a Muslim teenage girl and they are using Google translator to ask and answer. I think Bailey will have an interesting blog entry quite soon! Make sure to check it out.
Thanks to all my blog visitors. So many people have visited and I just don’t have that many friends and family. If you get a chance, please write a little hello. I’m curious about you! Mar Salam (Goodbye in Arabic).

Peace

Today it’s been two weeks… I think. We have nine weeks left here. The desert has become such a part of me that I’m beginning to feel possessive of it. Yesterday, I went on my first official tour with 3 friendly New Yorkers and Ferris driving. I didn’t realize there were regular tourists out here, with their inappropriate clothing (not my crew, they were great!) And I’m not just talking about them wearing penny loafers and sports jackets and fancy jewelry, I’m saying some of them were wearing tank tops! I know, it’s the desert, you say, but out here it’s seen as being practically naked. Today, I wore my skirt that shows my ankles, and I feel very exposed. I really haven’t minded wearing clothes that cover me, especially since it’s been chilly. But even so, I like feeling as if I’m not tempting anyone and we men and women are much more on a friendly level (even with all the marital status questions). Anyway, the tourists are out there, snapping their photos, squinting, and walking awkwardly in the sand. I can’t wait for the afternoon to come ‘cause I know most of them will be gone. Only the more adventurous stay for the overnight Bedouin tent camping. And then the quiet will be back. Yesterday, I sat on an outcrop outside of the camp, watching the distant mountains, when two blackbirds flew by. I heard them before I saw them, not because of any squawking, but by the wind moving through their wings. I heard them for a long time like that and watched them disappear. Then it was all quiet again. In an early blog entry, while I was still in France, I mentioned jet trails and how they lure me away from where I am. Here, I have only seen one, and it was far and low on the horizon. It just looked like a line, though, not transportation. There’s nothing to take me away when I’m out there. It’s timeless. Even the four hour tour yesterday went on for a lot longer. No one had a watch on. Ferris would just lie down and take naps while the tourists scrambled on the rocks and up the dunes. He didn’t seem to care how long they took. At the rock bridge, Ferris built a fire and made tea. I sat with him for over an hour and we barely said five words, but there was nothing weird about it. We both just sat there by the fire and looked out to the rocks. Nothing more. The Ny-ers climbed on top of the bridge and lost track of time as well. Maybe that’s how Moses lived for hundreds of years. Maybe his body didn’t keep time. I know, I’m starting to sound like “Horse with no name” by America. They were right on, though. Peace.
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Sounds

Today’s sounds:
6:30 AM – Abu Ayman peaks his head into our Bedouin tent and says“Breakfast is ready” in his thick Arabic accent.
7:00 AM – The crackle of the morning fire and the sound of people sipping hot tea from little glasses inside the round tent.
8:30 AM – Silence of the open desert broken by Farris’s revving the ancient Landcruiser engine, trying to get the fuel to flow, to take us back to town.
9:00 AM – Clanging dishes that I’m washing in the obscure kitchen of the house with babies crying in the next room.
11:30 AM – While trying to rest a bit, I hear an infant crying, dozens of children playing in the schoolyard nearby, birds, woman talking in Arabic in another yard.
11:45 AM – An American child may think the icecream truck is coming by the music box music blasting from a speaker on a car. In fact, it’s the gasoline truck, making it’s round to all who may need some.
12:00 PM – Call to prayer from the Mosque. It’s a recording of a man chanting.
12:15 PM – Bailey, Mohammed Hussein, and Jaqua (eldest son) ruin my concentration for writing this blog… see picture of Jaqua walking on his hands!

Other sounds I may hear throughout the day in Rum village:
Camel roars, roosters cockle doodle doing, chickens clucking, little birds tweeting, hammering, water dripping, wind in the lemon and olive trees, thumping of children running in the sand, dogs barking, cats fighting, and the hand held school bell.
Sounds in the desert: my own thoughts.

On the outside looking in

Living here with the family is safe and familiar. But from an outsider’s point of view, the town can seem like a private affair. There are no stores or restaurants that cater to tourists (only one café at the rest stop outside of town) and the properties are all surrounded by these red concrete walls. It’s hard to figure out where the entrances to the houses are. And a house may also be a Bedouin tent. Zed, the teenage camel guide, and his brother Ziad, who does Jeep tours, both live in a camel hair tent on the edge of town. They have no running water or electricity. There are very few women or girls walking around, and if they are, they are covered head to toe. Boys and men, on the other hand, roam freely. There’s a makeshift soccer field for the teenage boys at the foot of Jebel Rum (big mountain). Near the field, the younger boys play with their tin can cars. It’s all the rage in town. They basically take four sardine cans and some wire and make a car out of it. Then they take a piece of pipe and make a long handle to push it around with, like one of those popcorn poppers that toddlers play with. You can see the boys racing them down the sandy streets. I haven’t seen one gaudy plastic toy in any yard. Instead, the playthings are baby goats and camels and chickens. There’s lots of climbing on the walls going on and games of hide and seek.
But I’m not one of these people, and when I go out, I feel really awkward. And even though we’re living with this family, we have days when we feel like we’re in the way. There’s a bit of a misconception about the amount of work we’re doing as well and it’s causing some tension between us “helpers” and the women of the family. They don’t realize how much energy we spend every evening at the camp taking care of the guests and cleaning the camp. So when we are constantly asked to sweep and clean and teach, it’s a bit overwhelming. I suppose any time an agreement is not well defined, there’s bound to be problems. Also, the mother and girls are practically living on a different planet, not being able to interact with men and the outside world. I’m not even allowed to take their picture because they are afraid it will end up published or on the Internet. So there is such a difference in freedom between us that we can’t seem to really connect. Well, we have a couple more months to go here. Lots of room to grow.

To Stand Alone

“Where is your husband?” They all ask, inevitably, if they get me alone. This is not a question for public discussion, but the men here are curious about this. Whether or not they’re interested in making me their Bedouin wife is another question. Sometimes I say yes, sometimes I say no. Obviously, I say yes when I see a little twinkle in their eye. They are usually older than me too. Like, way older. But then again the men are very weathered here. I think they are attractive people, always smiling, but the sun and desert air give them all an aging Moses look. I tell the truth when I know them well and if they are married. “Oh, I’m sorry!” is the usual response, given in a serious tone. There’s a soap opera on TV here where one character is a single mother. She is always depicted as sad and lonely, often just crying in her room with her young bastard child moping at her feet. I’m thinking this is good propaganda to discourage such a damned lifestyle… if only they could see the truth! I’m not saying that single motherhood is easy or always pleasant, but it has some seriously wonderful benefits. Bailey and I form a team. She isn’t so much the child of a parent couple as much as a full member of a duo. I think it’s easier to compromise between two rather than three people. And, needless to say, I get to spend a lot of time with my teenage daughter, keeping her close by in an unstable world. But don’t get me wrong, I love companionship and being in love! I just think being a single mother has been really good for me, for all the obvious reasons. I didn’t always feel like this though. When I first ended up on my own, I was always wishing for a love in my life, feeling incomplete. I wanted my life to be like the fairy tales. It took me about 3 years to stop this wasteful wishing, but I spent quite a few evenings feeling sorry for myself. I got sick with Meniere’s Disease (inner ear disorder) and my focus became my health and Bailey. Now, I’m feeling good and appreciate every day, whether I’m alone or “taken”. My happiness comes from my family and friends, my creativity and nature.
So, I respond back to the men, “I am not sorry. I am happy!” And I can say that and really feel it. I mean, there is someone that my heart skips a beat for back home, but I’ve learned to take those feelings of longing and sometimes unrequited love and just appreciate the sensations as being part of my sentient life. Like the other night, looking at the moondrenched mountains from camp, it was easy to desire romance. But that feeling in itself was romantic and I breathed it in and realized what a great life I have.

Camp Life

The weather has been cold the past few days. We've even opted to stay in the village during the evenings and play cards or work on the new Sunset Camp website that we're collaborating on. Wind and sand and cold are quite painful. But yesterday morning, the air was still and blue. All I thought about was getting outta the house and going to the camp. So around noon, we jumped into the jeep with Ferris and Abu Ayman and headed out. The sand seemed to feel like sludge under us. I thought maybe it was because of the rain from the other day, but actually, we had a fat flat tire, right under my butt. Was it my tall western weight that did it? We'll never know. So we stopped to fix it. Bailey and I sat down and had a cookie and Emeline walked away from us into the desert without saying a word. We watched her walk until we could barely see her anymore. She doesn't communicate well and leaves us wondering what's going on a lot.
Once the tire was fixed, we had to drive through untracked desert to go get her. Ferris kept his sense of humor and speeded right by her, laughing. Come to think of it, he even laughed when he saw the flat tire. There are no clocks around here. No stress.
Once we got to the camp, Bailey and I started cleaning the tents. Just a few minutes in, Abu Ayman came knocking at the tent and handed us two little glasses full of a thick sludge called coffee. It was delicious, but a bit too strong for us. Nevertheless, we sat around the kitchen shack in silence and sipped. Bailey and I eventually and secretly dug a hole in the sand next to us and buried the coffee. Don't tell!
After we cleaned, Bailey and I got out mattresses that were ripped and sewed them back together. We sat on a pad in the sand, overlooking the Wadi Rum. We talked about people behind their backs and made plans to change my dining room into a Bedouin tent, pricking our fingers every few minutes. Abu Ayman started cooking for the guests with Emeline and Ferris curled up in the sand and slept. A very happy camp!

For lunch, we all sat in a circle and dipped pita in a vegetable and meat mix. Mmmm, so good. Then, Emeline, in her broken English, tells us it's chicken hearts and livers. Oooo. Ok. I continued to eat, although reluctantly, but Bailey went to eating just bread. If we just hadn't know, we would have filled our bellies, no problem. What's so different about eating organs as compared to flesh (ew, gross word)? Why does it repulse me? They both have a function in the body? But when I think of the organs, I think of them pulsating and processing, whereas thigh meat seems like a harvest. I need to get over it if I'm not going to be a vegetarian. I appreciate the fact that Abu Ayman used every single part of the chicken. Nothing went to waste. And he did it with love.
So the afternoon was peaceful and the shadows started to grow longer. Some of the guests arrived from their tour, 4 American college students. We showed them their tents and when I walked back to the common round tent, Emeline was sitting in the sand sobbing. She was incapable of telling me anything, so I asked Ferris to drive us back so I could take her to the Medical Center. I know she'd been having some migranes and figured that's what was going on. Once into town, Mohammed drove us about 5 houses away from his to the small hospital. There was no one in there, so Emeline just layed down and the doctor appeared immediately. She got a shot and some meds and Mohammed put everything under his name so that the whole thing cost only $1.50. The doctor spoke perfect English too. Great facility, funded by the USAID.
Well, I put Emeline to bed and made her drink some water. She's only been drinking tea. Not good. Then, Ferris and I headed back to the desert. We would stop every once in a while, jump out of the jeep and pull dead bushes out of the ground for firewood for the camp. Prickly things! Once back at camp, I joined everyone in the round tent and we talked, ate, and danced to the lute and drum. When I say dance, it's more like an aerobics class around the fire! Not many fancy moves, but you get a workout and lots of laughs. The moon was half full, so I went out and stood on a rock by myself for a while and looked out. I could stay here a long time, I know it. There's purpose and quiet here.

Live Food

Today, I walked out beyond the town wall, through the sand and climbed a couple of dozen feet up one of the sandstone cliffs. I went out with Emiline, who has been so quiet and reclusive. She’s here doing the same thing as me and Bailey, but I felt as if she was not feeling like part of the group. So we trekked out together and talked about rocks and goats and camels and peace. We sat up on the cliff in silence, admiring the village. It’s so small. Completely surrounded by the same red concrete wall that encloses all the properties within it. From up high like this, it looks like a labyrinth game. Anyway, there aren’t any trees AT ALL except for inside those walls. Again, it looks like something else from up high, like a seedling tray or a Chia Pet. I find our house in the maze by retracing our steps. There are camels set free to graze and roam with unlimited freedom and a herd of goats being chased back to town by two Bedouin girls. I wave hello to them and they smile and wave back. On our way back, we pass through a field of death. There are goat hides turned inside out, legs, jawbones, and even a perfect little goat head just laying there, scattered around this one area. I guess they leave that stuff there for the scavengers after the slaughter. I feel like I’m in a Jurassic Park movie. That, combined with the monstrous groans of the camels can feed a fertile imagination!
Speaking of food, I’ve been eating so well here. Mostly pita, hummus, rice, chicken and all sorts of vegetables. There’s no cookies lying around or boxes of anything for that matter. The vegetables are stored in crates and stacked up on shelves under the kitchen counter. In the fridge, there is a plastic bag with a furry leg sticking out of it. I just hope I’m not here when they decide to eat the contents. Maybe I already have, though, and just don’t know it. The family bought the goat alive a few weeks ago, kept it a few hours, then they took it out and killed it, bagged it up and now it’s in the kitchen. The whole family went out together for the event. I guess you have to desensitize the kids early! I’m not sure it’s something I want to participate in, to be honest, even if it would make good blog food. Thank God they don’t eat the camels. They have the sweetest eyes and the longest lashes, even if they do sound like creatures from the deep.
Back at home, Emiline and I cut up tomatoes, cucumbers and parsley for a salad and Leila, the mom, cooked the most delicious smelling rice mixture. We spread the rice around on a giant platter and poured the salad on top. Everyone got called into the back room, we plopped down around the tray and ate with our bare hands, squooshing the rice in our hands before popping it in our mouths. All veggie this time around. No goats for me right now, Shukran.

Like Camel

There's a man living in the desert valley, about 1 km outside of rum. I first saw him from my camel's back. He was sitting crosslegged in the sand like a buddha. I thought maybe it was a tourist in meditation. But who would pick that spot? Some random sandy dune? As we rode out of sight, I kept looking back and watched him fade into the distance, motionless in his long white robe.
"Mohammed", I asked "who's the man in the desert?"
"He's crazy man. Lives in desert. He has family in Rum. They give him food."
Oh. Hmm. "Is he scary crazy or just slow?" I asked.
Mohammed then put his hands to the side of his face, like blinders, and said, "No dangerous. Just... like camel!".
That answered my question. If you know camels, they're stubborn, ornery and not too bright. They love just sitting in the desert sun too. I saw him thismorning outside the house. He was headed out of town with a loaf of bread under his arm, as seen in the picture. To us humans, he's just the village idiot. But perhaps he's wiser than we know, sitting out there where Moses himself lived alone and contemplated God.

Home on the Range

Today was sweet. A day in the life of a "Rum"ienne. Bailey and I woke up at 6:30 this morning in an attempt to beat Sarah to the computer. Well, everyone was up as well and so we joined the family for a breakfast of homemade flat bread, homemade yogurt, and some kind of oil and herb mixture. Lets not forget tea with camel milk. Once the older kids were off to school, Sarah and Emeline (french girl helping out for a while as well) and I cleaned the kitchen and common areas. The 5 and 2 year old "helped" me sweep, so it took me twice as long! Fun, though. So the day was spent chatting with tourists, hanging with the family and watching the camels. I love watching Leila milk the mamas. Bailey had a turning point today and she is spending lots of time with the two girls her age, talking about their cultures and playing with the photobooth and garageband on her computer. She even wore a skirt with leggings underneath. Going native! We played cards in Sarah's room with the camp cook and Mohammed Hussein and now we're kinda doing our own things in the family room. Kids aren't shy to fight around us and I feel free to come and go. Feels like home.

The Desert

Being in the desert, outside of Rum, is the purest quiet I've ever known.  Our first trek out there that first night was surreal.  First of all, I still had no idea what Wadi Rum looked like, because we arrived well after dark.  So, we're bouncing through the desert tracks with young climbing guide Mohammed Hussein driving.  For kicks and to freak us out, he turns the lights off and drives by starlight.  We're all laughing nervously, but then we realize there is no road to follow and nothing to hit, so it's all good.  I feel myself surrender to the waves of sand and feel a sense of trust in the land and people ignite in me.  

At the camp, we park and scramble up some sandstone boulders to the tents.  We head for the round tent and join the circle of Bedouin men drinking tea around the fire.  A few minutes later, Abu Ayman, the humble aging cook, brings out five platters full of food for us!  Unbelievable variety of the most delicious middle eastern food.  We eat hungrily and happily and we smile and nod at Abu Ayman every few minutes.  He sits by the door, smoking a cigarette, nodding back.  This is a man who deserves his own cooking show, but he's opted to live in a goathair tent beneath the sandstone cliffs of Wadi Rum and cook for the tourists in the evening in a kitchen the size of a closet.  The rest of the evening is spent talking by the fire and then we settle in our sleeping tent.  We pile 3 very heavy blankets on us and listen to the breeze blowing outside.  I can't sleep.  Too much tea.  So by 1 am I get up and just stand outside the tent and look at the blanket of stars.  The moon had set, but I could still make out the outline of the mountains by starshine.  I felt like I was on Mars.  I think I could actually feel the planet flying through space with me just barely glued to the ground by some futuristic magnetic shoes.  I breathed deep a few times, walked back to my sleep mat and fell asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to some voices and light filtering through the weave of the tent.  No words to describe the color of morning reflected off of the orange rocks and red sand, contrasted by the blue of the brightening sky.  Wow.  I ran back to Bailey and shook her like it was Christmas morning.  We opened up the tent door and stepped into our new world of rock and sky.

Sisterhood

Mohammed's house is big by Rum standards.  Eleven people live in it, but there are only 5 rooms.  The biggest room is the front room.  It's where all guests come and have tea, sitting on mats lined up against 3 walls.  There are 2 small square tables in the middle to hold the glasses and a kerosene heater for chilly times.  This is where we first met Eptsam.  She's the most outgoing and eldest daughter, and she speaks English.  Even though she's only 15, she has an air of authority with an amazing smile.  Actually, her name means smile.  Then, the mother arrived with tea and we sat a few moments, with Eptsam as our interpreter.  There was some noise outside and the two women suddenly jumped up and said, "come! come!" and we ran into the back of the house.  I had no idea what was going on.  They took us to another sitting room in the back of the house, next to the very dark kitchen.  It's about 1/4 the size of the front room, but same kind of seating.  The kids all started coming in and pretty soon it was PACKED in there.  More tea and more smiles.  I felt weird still about running out of that other room, like the wolves were chasing us or something.  I felt like I had been sleeping in someone else's bed and suddenly they were coming home.  A weird sense of anxiety still lingered in me.

Sarah, the other helper who's been here 3 weeks already, finally appeared.  She was a little out of breath, having run over after hearing we'd arrived.  More "getting to know you" talk and then she asked us to come back to the front room.  The rest of the family did not follow.  And that's when I remembered that women are not allowed to visit with strange men in their house.  In that room were several Bedouin men drinking tea.  Mohammed stood up and smiled big.  He speaks English really well so there was no problem talking freely.  It felt weird, though, leaving Eptsam and her mother, Leila, in the back.  Some kind of betrayal of sisterhood.  In the back, since then, I've come to feel at home.  It's where everyone sprawls - babies, mother, kids.  It's where we eat and watch TV and do homework.  It's also were I get down on my hands and knees every morning to scrape crumbs out of the carpet!  Anyway, back to the front room.  That first night, we didn't spend much time there.  Instead, we threw our backpacks in the hostel room (located behind the camel pen) and jumped in the jeep for a night out at the camp.

First Impressions

The desert wind has picked up pretty hard outside, so we've all come inside the communal tent here at the camp.  The sun is setting and the light filtering through the goathair tent is becoming burnt orange and red.  Everyone's talking, but I feel I need to write about these last few days.  I'm not such a tourist anymore, even though I still write like one.

I haven't told my story here yet.  Seems I'm so absorbed by the present to write about the past.  Bailey and I arrived in Amman at 2AM.  I had made a Jordanian friend on the airplane and he helped us wiz through customs to our taxi driver waiting outside.  We drove to Madaba, slept, and awoke to hammering.  I guess we were sleeping in a little late.  Once we were dressed, we walked around the town for 2 hours, looking tall and foreign.  There were women with full Burkas and military with AK47s mingling on the sidewalk.  We ate falafel and hummus in a pita in a cafe full of traditionally dressed men - a bit daunting, but they paid no attention to us.  The town was bustling and a street fight broke out between some teenage boys.  Exciting, but we were ready for the quiet of the desert.

Our taxi driver was the same as the night before.  We drove a while through a brushy desert, occasionally spotting a herd of goats with a shepherd.  A few times, they were standing in the median, all 20 or so goats, eating the precious grass while cars buzzed by at 60mph.  We drove beyond the sunset to the Wadi Rum.

Our first stop was the Welcome Center, which seemed more like a police checkpoint.  They were curious about us and had us come in a sit down in the office.  I was ready for an interrogation, but instead they came out with the most delicious sage tea.  We had some friendly conversation and got back in our taxi for Mohammed's house.  We had to ask around, but finally found the low concrete house.  There are no streetlights in Rum. Only moon and starlight.

Warda of Wadi Rum

I have a Bedouin name. Mohammed calls me Warda as if I've always been called that. It means flower. Bailey is Nowara, little flower. The desert is full of flowers now, after the winter rains. Little thin white petals surrounded by grasslike leaves growing right out of the sand. I first saw them from my camel, riding out to the desert camp with Bailey and Zed. The wind had started blowing a bit, so I was forced to look down at long shadows and occasional dry bush. At first, my mind could not accept that there were flowers, and I tried to fit their shapes to other things, like pieces of paper. Then, as the wind died down, I looked up at realized the desert was alive with them. I started to see what I thought were snake trails, but then I saw little claw prints on either side of the serpentine tracks. And as I looked further up the horizon, the towering cliffs surrounding the Rum Valley brought me that humbling feeling of stillness... except for the camelback bellydance I had been doing for an hour already. We rode in silence for 2 1/2 hours like this, occasionally brought to laughter by Zed's gassy camel. When we arrived at the camp, I tried to tell the camel "Shukran" or thank you, but he just showed me his teeth and grunted. He probably didn't appreciate me as much as I did him.
We've spent every evening at the camp. The other times, we rode out with Mohammed in the jeep. On the way back to town around 10 last night, the thing broke down. Nowara helped shine a light on the engine for a good 15 minutes. She's become very comfortable out here, opting to go shoeless during the daytime. At night, though, it's quite chilly. Stranded in the was not unpleasant for that short time though. There are more stars than we have numbers for, so it is never pitch black. Anyway, Mohammed got the car started again, and off we went through the sand at 55 mph, flying off our seats with every bump. Once back in the village, we are staying in the "hostel", which is a plain clean room with two mattresses. Sooo quiet here. I sleep well.

I will write again soon. There so much to tell, but I've got to go help the mother with the dishes. Mar Salam.

Moving Sidewalk to Jordan

I've moved through today as if I've been on a moving sidewalk. From Grambois to buses to planes to taxi to here in .... Madaba, Jordan. It's surreal. I can't remember even walking today. We're here and it's 3:30 AM. My Google toolbar is written in Arabic! It's dark out. It's really really really quiet outside. We're falling asleep now. We're here.

Clear Skies

Tell me if this is true for you...
You don't get along with someone for months, maybe years, but then, the day before you're set to leave, everything's all rosy. This describes my last day here in this thousand year old Provence village home. When I first planned on coming here to help out, I imagined that the sheer wonder of being in such an amazing place would give me the strength to deal with my aging, lonely Aunt. Today, she and I rediscovered our familial warmth. She gave Bailey some vintage couture dresses from the 60's and me a gold watch she's had most of her life. Such contrast to her accusations the other day that I ate some of her cereal, which I did admit to and was planning to replace of course. Why is it that it takes an impending departure for the claws to retract? I've had this experience in other places too. Maybe I needed it most today with Jacqueline. We can part at 6AM tomorrow with love flowing between us again.
My backpack is belted down, I'm in good standing with the IRS, caught up with my bills, and back to being a nice niece. I'm ready.
I'm going to go watch some old episodes of Monk and make it an early night. Thanks to everyone who visited and left comments. They mean a lot!

I am listed in the Big Blog Collection

Muddy Sandals

I've returned from possibly my last picnic in the Luberon hills here in Provence. Bailey and I have been here since mid October, staying with my eccentric aunt Jacqueline. We've been going on these hikes almost every day that we have been here, first hiking down to the stream by way of an ancient spring, then slowly huffing and puffing it up through the hills covered in thyme and stunted pines. Some of the time, we're hiking on an old Roman road. Centuries of rolling cartwheels have dug into the road, making perfect gutters for rainfall to run down. It's been raining at night, so there's lots of mud around, and the moss makes a squishy sound when you walk on it. Today, we hiked up and had a picnic of "craquante" bread, kiri cheese, mandarine oranges, and 2 chocolate cookies. No bugs around. No sounds other than the wind in the trees and maybe a bird here and there. When you look up in the sky though, there are half a dozen jet trails crisscrossing the sky. Up until seeing the jets, I'm present, I'm here in Provence. But as soon as I see those white lines cutting the blue sky, I'm off.

Happens every time. I used to be a flight attendant, so I know there are hundreds of people in those dot airplanes. They each have a story, going to, coming back from, happily, sadly, indifferently.. some place too far to drive to. And I'm going to be one of those people in two days. I've already cleaned up my room and set aside my backpack. I've gotten all my finances in order. Yet, I still feel cluttered. Most of it is guilt, I think. I feel guilty for not having "saved" my aunt from herself. Instead, I think I've made it worse.

So, I'm off to clean my mind and my soul. We're headed for Jordan Friday morning. Going to live in the desert for 3 months with a Bedouin family. I fantasize about seeing God in a burning bush. Maybe I'll get some answers there, maybe not. But, as the French say, I've got to go over there to see if I'm there.