OK, so till no photos. Deal with it. Kayf anakool b'larabeeya Compact Disk? I'll need to burn a disk and such. These days I've had my nose in a book of Arabic with my tutor, Samira.
Damascus is truly amazing. It's a bit like Mos Eisley, for you Star Wars buffs, you see a little of everything here. I haven't been exploring to broadly yet. For one thing, I can't read the signs on the microbuses fast enough yet. No, seriously. Sure there are taxis, but I can't bargain yet either. Of course it's not like I don't have time.
Today is the last day of Eid al-Adha, the feast marking the end of the traditional Hajj pilgrimage season. And what a sad end to Hajj this year with the deaths yesterday. Most things have been closed here for the four days.
Classes start on Sunday at the University. The week here runs from Sunday until Thursday, with the weekend being Friday and Saturday. Of course I usually have no idea what day it is anyway, so it doesn't matter. I desperately need a calendar.
My tutor also rents rooms in her apartment and currently has two students living with her. One girl is from Mauritainia and is studying medicine. The other, like me, is studying Arabic. She's from Spain and is, I guess, perhaps my mother's age? We all hit it off. My tutor, is quite the mother hen, but very kind. I may end up living with all them because my host family hasn't worked out well.
They aren't really a host family, so much as a family renting a room. I am having a fitful time with the husband, who demands I call him by the American name he went by for years while living in the US. I believe they lived there a bit too long, because they lack that famous "Arab hospitality" and their youngest is a bi-polar demon. I take greater issue with his constant harping about "filthy Arabs", "stupid Muslims", and racist comments about certain segments of American society. He seems not to hear me when I mention having a Muslim husband and family. I have yet to throw back at him the fact that by being born here he is Arab and was once Muslim. Anyway...So, I am demanding tomorrow that the agency take me to see other living arrangements.
But that's been the only hitch.It's an amazing place. Don't believe the hype. People here only hate Bush, but then who doesn't these days?
Just remember "Bush Khaib!" and you'll get all sorts of smiles like I got from the customs guys at the airport who then warmly welcomed me. It's not an angry hatred, more of "What did we do to deserve this?" Some people drank the Kool-Aid here and some didn't, so opinions are mixed behind closed doors concerning local politics. But, everybody here is united in not liking Bush, his cadre, and their policies. As for me (and I assume the rest of the foreigners) no worries.
More later.
Salaam!
13 January, 2006
04 January, 2006
Aaah, Amsterdam
So, I was going to post my first pictures. Unfortunately the cable I need is in The Big Black Bag. Alas, you will have to wait to see them.
I made it to Schipol, safe and sound. We landed before sunrise this morning. And then we taxied. And taxied. And I think we may have actually landed in northern France, or perhaps some of Schipols runways are down that way.
Breezed through passport check and hopped the train for Central Station, which looks nothing like train stations in the US but rather more like a fairy tale castle. Nice to be someplace where they don't bat an eye at you going to Damascus.
It is cold here, low 30s, yet most of today was more than partly sunny. But did I mention it was cold.
I was rather exhausted from the day before and just gave up on any plan of attack. I did take the one-hour boat tour through the canals and harbor, and promptly fell asleep. I must say that with as little as I saw today of this city I love it. Bicycle parking stacked four floors high in front of Central Station, clogged with bikes. Don't suspect you'll ever see that in the U.S. If any city could, this place might be able to even get me on a bike. Drivers gladly acknowledging that those stripes on the road at intersections are more than decoration. Talk about shock and awe.
And do these people know how to live. By the time I got downtown at 9am nothing, NOTHING, was open yet. I managed to find a little cafe/sandwich shop near Anne Frank's house. There were only about four little red top tables in the place and EVERY time somebody popped in they would wish us all a good morning and we would wish it right back. Just a nice tone to set for the day.
So, it's just about 4pm. We board for Damascus at 6:45. They have the most splendid invention here - shower rooms! For one low price you can reclaim your humanity. The young woman at the hotel desk looked at me quite oddly as I thanked her profusely for letting me pay to get a shower.
I am interested to see if my flight is full tonight and who I'll be sharing a plane with. I'll most likely be incommunicado for a few days while I sleep and start getting things sorted. Be patient!
Salaam.
I made it to Schipol, safe and sound. We landed before sunrise this morning. And then we taxied. And taxied. And I think we may have actually landed in northern France, or perhaps some of Schipols runways are down that way.
Breezed through passport check and hopped the train for Central Station, which looks nothing like train stations in the US but rather more like a fairy tale castle. Nice to be someplace where they don't bat an eye at you going to Damascus.
It is cold here, low 30s, yet most of today was more than partly sunny. But did I mention it was cold.
I was rather exhausted from the day before and just gave up on any plan of attack. I did take the one-hour boat tour through the canals and harbor, and promptly fell asleep. I must say that with as little as I saw today of this city I love it. Bicycle parking stacked four floors high in front of Central Station, clogged with bikes. Don't suspect you'll ever see that in the U.S. If any city could, this place might be able to even get me on a bike. Drivers gladly acknowledging that those stripes on the road at intersections are more than decoration. Talk about shock and awe.
And do these people know how to live. By the time I got downtown at 9am nothing, NOTHING, was open yet. I managed to find a little cafe/sandwich shop near Anne Frank's house. There were only about four little red top tables in the place and EVERY time somebody popped in they would wish us all a good morning and we would wish it right back. Just a nice tone to set for the day.
So, it's just about 4pm. We board for Damascus at 6:45. They have the most splendid invention here - shower rooms! For one low price you can reclaim your humanity. The young woman at the hotel desk looked at me quite oddly as I thanked her profusely for letting me pay to get a shower.
I am interested to see if my flight is full tonight and who I'll be sharing a plane with. I'll most likely be incommunicado for a few days while I sleep and start getting things sorted. Be patient!
Salaam.
25 December, 2005
Salaam fi douniya
Happy holidays.
Yes, plural, to those of you Grinches complaining of acknowledging others.
It's late on Christmas morning/first night of Hanukkah.
About a week until I leave for Syria, where one blogger reported the bells tolling in Damascus to coincide with midnight mass last night.
Flipping channels on the television, I landed on a Christmas pageant/mass on LBC, a Lebanese channel.
What stopped me was that I noticed the young men playing the wise men looked to be mentally challenged. Then I noticed the rest of the cast.
All the players, save Mary, were mentally or physically challenged. Even the baby Jesus.
I found it quite moving and a nice reminder of some of the things what we should all keep in mind throughout the year.
I don't know, it was just the first thing I'd seen in a long time that I could possibly say moved me with the "holiday spirit."
And to those other Grinches that say Muslims don't worship the same god as you (and you know who you are)...Watch a church service in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, or Israel and try not to fall over when you hear the priest refer to Allah. God in any language is still God.
Salaam.
Yes, plural, to those of you Grinches complaining of acknowledging others.
It's late on Christmas morning/first night of Hanukkah.
About a week until I leave for Syria, where one blogger reported the bells tolling in Damascus to coincide with midnight mass last night.
Flipping channels on the television, I landed on a Christmas pageant/mass on LBC, a Lebanese channel.
What stopped me was that I noticed the young men playing the wise men looked to be mentally challenged. Then I noticed the rest of the cast.
All the players, save Mary, were mentally or physically challenged. Even the baby Jesus.
I found it quite moving and a nice reminder of some of the things what we should all keep in mind throughout the year.
I don't know, it was just the first thing I'd seen in a long time that I could possibly say moved me with the "holiday spirit."
And to those other Grinches that say Muslims don't worship the same god as you (and you know who you are)...Watch a church service in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, or Israel and try not to fall over when you hear the priest refer to Allah. God in any language is still God.
Salaam.
04 December, 2005
Anemic update
For those keeping track....Got the visa. Got the plane ticket. I leave January 3.
Beyond excited.
Beyond excited.
30 October, 2005
Syria, Insha'allah!
Well, for those of you keeping track of my address, get your White-Out and erasures. I am off again. This time it might be for a while. I plan to leave at the start of the new year for Damascus. Yes, Syria. Yes, Iraq's neighbor. Yes, Saul to Paul and all that.
I have been able to gauge people's knowledge of geopolitics by their response to my plans. People who know what Damascus is and where it is located are either quick with tales of dread and concern or very generous in their stories of how beautiful the country and its people are. Those who do not know casually toss off an "oh, that's nice."
I'll be living with a family and studying Arabic at Damascus University through September 2006, insha'allah.
So, I've been on the Road to Morocco and now I am on the road to Damascus. Granted, two very different experiences. And, honestly, while I hope for some sort of Damascene experience, I am hoping God skips the blinding white light stuff. Maybe a Burning Bush?
I have been able to gauge people's knowledge of geopolitics by their response to my plans. People who know what Damascus is and where it is located are either quick with tales of dread and concern or very generous in their stories of how beautiful the country and its people are. Those who do not know casually toss off an "oh, that's nice."
I'll be living with a family and studying Arabic at Damascus University through September 2006, insha'allah.
So, I've been on the Road to Morocco and now I am on the road to Damascus. Granted, two very different experiences. And, honestly, while I hope for some sort of Damascene experience, I am hoping God skips the blinding white light stuff. Maybe a Burning Bush?
Joining the (not-so-exclusive) club
So. A blog. A screaming endorsement of egotism. A 21st century soap box or smoke signal. An electronic cairn for those who know me to follow my trail.
Aicha Qandisha, a spirit in the form of a woman, marries men in Morocco and causes them to go quite daft. Her husbands number in the many thousands at this point. I've only married one Moroccan. In comparison, I am either slacking or simply unable to multi-task as well as she. The men wander about, especially in dry riverbeds, searching for her when she disappears. When they catch site of her they, well, engage in conjugal relations on the spot regardless of where they are or who is there. If you ask my husband, he will be quick to tell you that he certainly hasn't been the same since he married me.
Taromeet is the Amazigh/Ashelhei word for foreigner in the feminine form. The root supposedly comes from the word for Roman, the original tourists to N. Africa, if you will. I love that the concept of "out-of-towner" in the language goes back that far.
Aicha Qandisha, a spirit in the form of a woman, marries men in Morocco and causes them to go quite daft. Her husbands number in the many thousands at this point. I've only married one Moroccan. In comparison, I am either slacking or simply unable to multi-task as well as she. The men wander about, especially in dry riverbeds, searching for her when she disappears. When they catch site of her they, well, engage in conjugal relations on the spot regardless of where they are or who is there. If you ask my husband, he will be quick to tell you that he certainly hasn't been the same since he married me.
Taromeet is the Amazigh/Ashelhei word for foreigner in the feminine form. The root supposedly comes from the word for Roman, the original tourists to N. Africa, if you will. I love that the concept of "out-of-towner" in the language goes back that far.
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