Belated Friday Update

Uhib medjnoon! (“I love dates!”)

Today (Friday, 6/27) I ate a great lunch of Jordanian peaches, pita (خبز = bread), and dates. Now, granted, a date with Greg is always better (and is sorely missed right now!), but other than that, these dates are the best! They are so tasty. I was watching three men build a stone façade while eating my dates and listening to the call to prayer. (The main prayer, again on Fridays midday, requires a longer call to prayer than at other times. Normally, there are “reminders” every half hour for about one and a half to two hours before prayer times, but on Fridays, the call [أدحن = adhan] itself lasts that whole time, and you can hear the prayer itself, too, through the speakers.

This morning I had an interesting experience at the Friday Market. Only open from 6 a.m. until prayer time on Fridays, the FM is essentially a huge flea market with racks upon racks upon racks of old clothes. I was unable to find any Jordanian blouses and skirts (Hussein made some suggestions of where I can look for those), but it was interesting nonetheless. I sifted through the overflowing tables of head and neck scarves before buying eight for 5 JD (about $7.50). They wanted 8 JD, so my bargaining skills were OK. I also bought two skirts for 2 or 3 JD total. They are Western, but they are long, and the material is thin, so they will be useful until I can find something more authentic. It was helpful, too, to be able to see some of the more tourist-y knickknacks (such as new headscarves, Qur’anic phrases on plates, etc.) so that I know what their asking price is for future reference. (Anyone want a little girl’s watch with Fulla, a hijabi doll, on it? It’s really kind of neat that they have a Barbie-counterpart who wears the hijab, and little girls can purchase other merchandise with her likeness. I don’t know that many little girls right now, but I was really tempted.) I did not buy anything tourist-y this time, but, again, it’s good to know where I can find them, if I want.

Unfortunately, I ran into my second shifty cab driver today. (The first was last week. Coming back from the Mecca Mall, he claimed not to know where the University was, and he tried to charge my friend and me 1 JD more than the meter read, claiming that the meter was broken. We knew what we should pay and didn’t fall for it.) Today, the cab was not the traditional yellow color, the driver had to stop for gas immediately, he had no meter, and he, too, claimed not to know where the University was. He dropped me off on the side of the street, asking for 3 JD. I was able to say that I only had 2, and he accepted it. (The drive to the market, which came directly from my apartment, was only 2.)

After chatting with Hussein for two hours, practicing my Arabic, it was time to wait for Saleh with my classmates. I say “wait for” and not “meet,” because time is different around here. Some folks are comparing it to the South, and I can see where American business men from the South would be able to relate better to Jordanians and Middle Easterners in that way, in comparison to New Yorkers. At the same time, I have never seen anything like the understanding of time here. (The prayers and the classes are the only things on time!) Greg, Kiens, Cara, Sarah, Jason—trust me, I am prompt compared to this! We all starting waiting about 1, and he came about 1:45 or 2. Then we had another hour or two waiting around while Saleh and Hussein negotiated a price for the taxis to take some of us to the horse riding stables. They are somewhat remote, and it would be a long wait to call a cab out there, but it still took a while for the “contract” to be decided upon: 60 JD total, round-trip, for two taxis, eleven people, for a 20-30 minute cab ride. Not too shabby, and much better than the original 120 JD, but still, I would have used the time to study had I known it would take so long! I’ll plan better next time.

The horse riding was interesting. I was doubting my decision to go when one of the girls warned of the treatment of animals here. These horses looked really healthy (and happy?), though. The riding itself was a little odd. Only four of us actually went riding, and most of the others spent their time at the shooting range next door. (Yeah, that was odd. Never thought that shooting at targets was so appealing, and, frankly, it frightened me. It was nice to hear that it frightened one other girl, and she didn’t go in.) I told the trainer that I had ridden before, but I spent the first ten or so minutes of my 30 going around in a circle in a small pen. The other girls were doing the same thing, but since they were in another pen, I thought maybe I communicated with him poorly that I had never ridden before. The trainer was having the horse go fairly fast, and in such a small circle, it was kind of hard to stay centered on the horse. Eventually, I got to go in the big pen, and I actually got off the leash. (Turned out the other girls never did—I actually had more experience than they did. Thanks, Uncle Terry!) The problem was that I enjoyed sauntering around slowly with the horse, who also seemed to enjoy the slow speed, but the trainer wanted me to go faster. I told him that I was “happy” when he asked, but then he would crack the whip (not actually on but near the horse), and the horse would take off. Again, thanks to my uncle, I have been fortunate to “hike” with horses several times in Montana, and I often enjoy a slower speed (and I am used to older horses). It was so hot, too, the horse seemed inclined to go slower. I was just enjoying the contact with an animal who could remind me of Fred and Maddie, and I didn’t need to go faster! I know there are problems with horse-raising anywhere, and it made me sad to think of Liberty Bell or whatever her name was, who was euthanized at the end of the Derby this year. At the same time, there is something relaxing about riding a horse slowly, around the paddock in the Arabian sun. (Yes, folks, we will be riding camels, apparently, at Petra next month.) I think that the trainer thought I was not getting my money’s worth, though, so he asked me to come back in (I thought my time was up), and he put me back on the leash for another painful five minutes in a tight circle. I have the wonderful bruises to prove it (see pics). It was fun, but maybe I should have waited until my spoken Arabic was better to be able to tell the trainer that I enjoyed the slow ride!

After the horse riding and target shooting, we waited for the cabs to take us to dinner and meet up with the rest of the group. In the meantime, Saleh showed Bret, Alex, and me the view of the city from where we were and pointed out the Bedouin herders nearby. Common throughout the outskirts of Amman, Bedouin families ask permission to stay on the more rural lands, and they graze their sheep there. They have water trucks that bring them water weekly. I have a picture of the tent, the sheep, and the sheep dogs. I also have pics of the wild dogs, dingo-like, who roam around the sheep in order to catch a possible dinner. These wild dogs looked pretty tame from far off, and they were napping more than running (Again, see pics. I tried to get a video of the barking, but I pressed the wrong button, and the dog stopped barking.), but the Bedouin boy had a slingshot to sling rocks near the dogs to chase them away. (Saleh also threw a rock near one, and he had amazing aim. Apparently, he used to do that as a child with his family’s sheep.) And, just for Sarah, I took some pictures of the Bedouins’ donkey, who was eating next to the road.

The café that we ate at was in the older part of Amman. Jafra, Saleh told me the other day, is an old, established café populated mostly by locals. The menu, however, was also written in an endearingly bad translated English. (Many of us ate lamp and vegetabables for dinner.) I took some pics—partly, too, to have the Arabic language words for some of these dishes. I would imagine that the Jordanians get a kick out of my Arabic, too. I keep forgetting to look up what word I used for “bag” the other day, which the store clerks had to correct.) The dinner was good, although not as good as Reem during those first few days. The atmosphere was cool, though. (See the pic of the “Jafra Entrance Stairs.”) After dinner, we passed by several sweet shops, but I was too full. I need to take a trip just to tour the sweet shops some day. The treats all look so good, and I think they need to be eaten fresh!

As usual, I ended the night in the American café Skype-ing Greg. The people who work there are so nice, but I am looking forward to having internet access in my room so that I won’t have to frequent an American chain café. Gloria Jean’s has become somewhat endearing because of the friendly staff and because of the music that is annoyingly repeated over and over to the point of, yes, endearment. At least customers receive double stamps on the frequent buyer cards on Fridays (because it is the holy day? Or because it’s the American stores’ system?), and you also get a stamp with your free drink, which I didn’t really understand.