Things noticed around Damascus...
As one American friend here said today, "I love this city because it makes me laugh every single day."
A restaurant named, in Arabic script, Showney's. I do not expect to find a breakfast buffett there like at ye olde Shoney's.
According to one trustworthy friend, though unsubstantiated by myself as yet, there are jackets being sold with the word "blowjob" on the back in plain English as though it were a brand.
Though we, sadly, are able to buy Coca-Cola and Pepsi products here, they seem to be kept stashed away a bit in favor of the local brand, Master Cola. Of course, it helps that Master Cola and the faux Pepsi's labels are absolutely identical to the original. Copyright's be damned!
A candybar from the snack stand at school is described as "luxurious chocolate sensation". I might settle for actual chocolate.
One restaurant near the Cham Palace got it all wrong - instead of "lamb chops", their signage and menu includes "lamp shop". Just like mom used to make!
Off to eat more chestnuts.
24 January, 2006
19 January, 2006
I take issue with Ahmedinijad
OK, I know Iranian President Ahmedinijad is persona non grata these days in most of the world, but I have to take partcular issue with him today. He's in Damascus today to talk with Bashar. Yeah, we're on a first name basis.
Anyway, because of the throngs of traffic cops lining the streets and the ensuing traffic congestion, Abu Muhammad couldn't get out to get more maamlou!
Ok, first, Abu Muhammad is the guy that runs the snack stand in the languages building at the University. He sells all sorts of cookies and candy, makes you Arabic coffee and tea on the spot, and is always willing to let you practice your new words on him. Second, my favorite thing he sells is maamoul, a delicious date-filled cookie. So, in addition to this nuclear debate, Ahmedinijad caused me to have to get some crummy faux Ritz cracker today during break.
So, I am sitting here in the cyber, trying to take short breaths to limit my second-hand smoke intake. I need a photo of the "NO SMOKING" signs here. Especially with the accompanying group of chain smokers standing right in front of said sign. Ah, well...
I have, thankfully, moved into new digs. I moved in with my former tutor, who is lovely, and two other students about four days ago. We are in a nice apartment up on the top floor overlooking a sports center and all of Damascus to South and East. My hostess is a wonderful cook, as well, so it's a good thing I can get in a run at the stadium each day.
Being up above everything is lovely. I can look across the city and watch the winter clouds roll across the hills on the south side of town. At night the minarets of the mosques are lit in green neon. Sort of like God's version of Krispy Kreme's "Hot, Fresh, Now!" signs. I love hearing all the muzzeins' adhans blending together, sometimes competing, five times a day. Really beautiful. This morning I got up at 6, just in time to hear the call to sunrise prayer, then watched the sun rise over the city as I ate khobz arabi (Arab bread - think thin pita), fruit, and leben in the kitchen.
The weather's been downright pleasant these last two days, though I hear we are in for another round of cold and rain the next two days. Yes, they have winter in this part of the world. And, yes, I am glad I brought a heavy coat.
For a nation's capital, Damascus is not as big as you might think. When I look out from our place I see barren hills in the distance across town. Atop the mountain to the east of us, behind our neighborhood, stand the newer presidential palace, which looks more like a museum of modern art to me. All glass, steel, marble and clean lines.
As for politics and such, right now I am focusing on learning the language. The better to engage people in substantive conversation with. Most people here seem very hopeful about Bashar, but realistic about what anyone faces while still surrounded by so many of his father's people. One woman said she believes Bashar, who was never intended to take over, was sort of divinely given to the people of Syria, in that it was already written out by God that his older brother Basil should die in an auto accident. Mostly they just want Bush to leave their country alone so that they can figure things out for themselves. Yesterday, Bashar freed several political prisoners who had been in jail for five years for various offenses against the government. Sadly, while most people here are quick to say they love Americans, just not the government, they are equally quick to ask me why so many Americans hate Muslims, Arabs, etc. I do my best to say it ain't so, my best effort being how I comport myself while here.
My class is moving a bit slowly. A few of the students still can't read the letters or tell the difference in the sounds, so we're not going as fast as I would like. I seem to be way ahead of everybody, which is better than the alternative. Most everyone is wonderful, though the two young men from Armenia are impossibly immature. Anyone who won't try speaking and then makes fun of those who do but stumble immediately gets on my bad side. We're a bit like the UN: two Germans, one French, one British, one Turkish, two Armenians, One Spaniard, One South African, one Pakistani, and me. Other than the Armenians, we've hit it off great.
I actually managed a real conversation with one of my neighbors this afternoon. Turns out he plays piano at the Cham Palace and a few of the other fine hotels and I told him we would come for a listen sometime.
Ila Leeqa.
Anyway, because of the throngs of traffic cops lining the streets and the ensuing traffic congestion, Abu Muhammad couldn't get out to get more maamlou!
Ok, first, Abu Muhammad is the guy that runs the snack stand in the languages building at the University. He sells all sorts of cookies and candy, makes you Arabic coffee and tea on the spot, and is always willing to let you practice your new words on him. Second, my favorite thing he sells is maamoul, a delicious date-filled cookie. So, in addition to this nuclear debate, Ahmedinijad caused me to have to get some crummy faux Ritz cracker today during break.
So, I am sitting here in the cyber, trying to take short breaths to limit my second-hand smoke intake. I need a photo of the "NO SMOKING" signs here. Especially with the accompanying group of chain smokers standing right in front of said sign. Ah, well...
I have, thankfully, moved into new digs. I moved in with my former tutor, who is lovely, and two other students about four days ago. We are in a nice apartment up on the top floor overlooking a sports center and all of Damascus to South and East. My hostess is a wonderful cook, as well, so it's a good thing I can get in a run at the stadium each day.
Being up above everything is lovely. I can look across the city and watch the winter clouds roll across the hills on the south side of town. At night the minarets of the mosques are lit in green neon. Sort of like God's version of Krispy Kreme's "Hot, Fresh, Now!" signs. I love hearing all the muzzeins' adhans blending together, sometimes competing, five times a day. Really beautiful. This morning I got up at 6, just in time to hear the call to sunrise prayer, then watched the sun rise over the city as I ate khobz arabi (Arab bread - think thin pita), fruit, and leben in the kitchen.
The weather's been downright pleasant these last two days, though I hear we are in for another round of cold and rain the next two days. Yes, they have winter in this part of the world. And, yes, I am glad I brought a heavy coat.
For a nation's capital, Damascus is not as big as you might think. When I look out from our place I see barren hills in the distance across town. Atop the mountain to the east of us, behind our neighborhood, stand the newer presidential palace, which looks more like a museum of modern art to me. All glass, steel, marble and clean lines.
As for politics and such, right now I am focusing on learning the language. The better to engage people in substantive conversation with. Most people here seem very hopeful about Bashar, but realistic about what anyone faces while still surrounded by so many of his father's people. One woman said she believes Bashar, who was never intended to take over, was sort of divinely given to the people of Syria, in that it was already written out by God that his older brother Basil should die in an auto accident. Mostly they just want Bush to leave their country alone so that they can figure things out for themselves. Yesterday, Bashar freed several political prisoners who had been in jail for five years for various offenses against the government. Sadly, while most people here are quick to say they love Americans, just not the government, they are equally quick to ask me why so many Americans hate Muslims, Arabs, etc. I do my best to say it ain't so, my best effort being how I comport myself while here.
My class is moving a bit slowly. A few of the students still can't read the letters or tell the difference in the sounds, so we're not going as fast as I would like. I seem to be way ahead of everybody, which is better than the alternative. Most everyone is wonderful, though the two young men from Armenia are impossibly immature. Anyone who won't try speaking and then makes fun of those who do but stumble immediately gets on my bad side. We're a bit like the UN: two Germans, one French, one British, one Turkish, two Armenians, One Spaniard, One South African, one Pakistani, and me. Other than the Armenians, we've hit it off great.
I actually managed a real conversation with one of my neighbors this afternoon. Turns out he plays piano at the Cham Palace and a few of the other fine hotels and I told him we would come for a listen sometime.
Ila Leeqa.
13 January, 2006
Greetings from Dimashq
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!
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!
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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