Jordan Part One: I'd Cross the Desert

In preparation for the long drive I did what I usually do:  make myself a mixed CD of my favorite songs which I will listen to approximately 10 times; 5 times on the way there, 2 times on the way home.  The Bird and the Bee (a band my friend Nick introduced me to) was featured on this trip. “Across the sea, the mountains, the desert / And if you need me, just call me.”  And then I smiled:  over the Ocean, through the mountains (and craters), across the desert, over the border and around the sea…I was on my way to see my big brother!  I did all of that, and I’d do it again!

Dusty is a doctor in the Navy and I couldn’t be more proud of him! He was deployed with the Marines in May and though his ship’s route has been unknown to the general public for security reasons, I had had my fingers crossed that he’d be heading my way.  After training foreign militaries and rescuing a German vessel, the ship pulled into the port of Aqaba, Jordan on the Red Sea.  For a month Dusty was sooo close! At one point he went to Mt. Nebo (where Moses saw the promise land) and could see Jerusalem in the distance…I was in Jerusalem that day.  How frustrating!

But now I was on my way to Aqaba and I was only hours away from seeing Dusty! I arrived at the Israel-Jordan border and parked my car in the gravel parking lot. After showing my passport to authorities I left Israel and walked about 50 yards in between two tall fences.  The Jordanians greeted me with smiles and quickly sent me on my way to South Beach where I checked into my hotel about 2 kilometers from Dusty’s ship.  I was like a kid on Christmas Eve that night, counting down the hours until I would see my brother.

“You could take the hotel service or – if you understand me deeply – you could go outside and get a cab.” I took my delicately frosted pumpkin cookie outside to flag a cab for the $3 ride.  Though it was only 2 kilometers, a lone white female with her head uncovered should not walk along the side of the desert highway. After 5 minutes in the 100 degree sun waiting for a cab, the frosting on Dusty’s cookie and my time with Dusty were melting away. I tried to exchange the cookie for a ride on a tour bus, but the tour guide wasn’t having it.  What was I to do? (I wouldn’t…not in the Middle East…would I?!?)

The small beach was packed with young marines desperately trying to get an internet signal to call their families, talking about how much they missed home.  To the left was Saudi Arabia, to the Right Israel, across the sea Egypt. And sitting there on plastic chairs on a beach in Jordan were two kids from Mansfield, Ohio. It is funny how government orders put the two of us so close together.

Like the Desert Missed the Rain...

There is a great 80s song that goes "And I miss you...like the desert missed the rain.."  If this were a late night radio show with Dalila..I would dedicate that song to all of you, because now, living in the desert, I know what the singer was talking about.

When we first arrived in Tel Aviv the big park/circle near our house wasn't lush and green - but there was some...grass (eh hmm...prickly weeds).  Sitting on our balcony, looking into the distance, it was almost charming.

Then came the hot dry summer.  In Israel I would say we have experienced 2 seasons thus far:  summer and hot dry summer. The hot dry summer fried whatever resemblence of grass there as.  The ground became dry as a rock, dust filled the air, and water plants twice a day wasn't enough to keep them alive.  Our world turned brown (with a touch of hot Med. salt water in the background).  You didn't want to be outside for it was rediculiously hot.  You didn't want to be in the park because it was brown and dusty.  The Med. was hot and full of jelly-fish.  The garden crumbled. Everything felt dead.  The life had drained out and the remnants of the "environment" were covered in a reddish gray dust. 

You see, in the desert, rain is what brings life. This is true elsewhere, but I didn't fully understand it until now.  Without the rain our world is like a shriveled up, dried out, flavorless bread crumb. I don't think I can quite explain to you the dry hopelessness of it all.  All you can think about is how dry and dead the world looks, and how much you want rain.  Rain becomes the solution to all of your problems.  My garden is shriveled up - if only there was rain.  It is so hot! - if only there was rain.  My car is dirty - if only there was rain!

This thinking is all compounded by reading an agricultural book in which the author speaks of the smell of rain, the nutrients in the moist soil, and the bountiful and healthy fruit that grows as a result of good soil and rain.  And then there is that dusty park in front of our house.  I don't think anything could grow from that land...it is so dry and hard and...dead.  (You see - it looks pretty hopeless.)

And a little rain doesn't really help.  For example, you may have seen that it "rained" here last week.  Yes - literally for 2 minutes.  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked out the window.  Again on Sunday it rained and some poeple outside were even cheering.  But because the ground was so dry and dead the rain washed away and it really didn't quench the thirst.

That is how much we miss you all.  Like the desert missed the rain.  We are entering the "rainy season" now when it should rain about twice a week for about 2-5 minutes at a time. By January, that should be enough rain to bring back our stiff weedy grass.  And by January - we should see life return, even if in the form of stiff weedy...grass. 

Poetically like the rainy season - we are about to enter our friends and family season!  As I was explaining to my mom...the next two weeks include book clubs and cupcake making while Paul is in Bangkok. Once he returns we plan our big Thanksgiving dinner, and then a big Christmas cocktail party! (See...now it is sprinkling). AND THEN...we will pack our bags and fly to the States!  Unfortunately we won't be able to see everyone we want to see - but it will be a joyous, busy trip and we can't wait!!!

A Tale of Two Oktoberfests

As we sat at a nondescript sports bar overlooking the arrivals gate, there was little to identify our present location.  A brightly-lit Starbucks was just meters away, and smartly-dressed businessmen with blackberries and suit bags were rushing along in every direction.  But then the table next to us ordered another round of beers, a liter each, as our coffees arrived.  It was only 7:40am, and such a sight struck as overly aggressive until a young American couple dressed in lederhosen and dirndl reminded me that we're not just in any airport arrival gate, we're in Germany!

It's Oktoberfest in Munich, and we sought to embrace the culture, whether that be quaint traditional clothing or an early morning ale.  So having finished our coffees and still waiting for the arrival of Gary's delayed flight, we ordered a round of beers.  Normally I would hesitate to drink beer at 8am on a Friday but A) I am on vacation, and B) it's Oktoberfest and that sort of thing seems to fly around here.  In fact, the waiter gave us an incredulous look when we first ordered the coffees and, come to think about it, every other table was ordering beers.

Usually when prompted by a waiter to order I can quickly scan the menu and respond with something that I have enjoyed before.  But in this case nothing was at all familiar.  A Paulaner Dunkel? Or maybe a Paulaner Leicht?  A Kristalklar?  A Hell?  Well, nine years of Catholic school has conditioned me to reject the latter, so I ordered a Dunkel unsure of what would come.  Its a malted wheat beer, and not all that bad, but it's hard to appreciate a brew consumed between coffee and cornflakes.  As I enjoyed it I wondered what other elements of this trip would take me outside of the familiar.

Wurst, or course.  Pork (or swine as some of our observant coworkers refer to it as) is regarded as unclean to both Jews and Muslims, so its hard to come by in both Israel and Palestine.  Oh, of course, and the whitefish sitting out in the hot Tel Aviv outdoor market all day is perfectly clean, but I digress.  I ate more wurst (pork sausages) in the three days we spent in Munich than I had in the preceding year.  There was beerwurst, bratwurst, knockwurst, weisswurst...you get the picture.  And the sauerkraut...I was in heaven.  Well, if heaven is a place filled with beer and sausages (which it must be).

But even more impressive was the sense that this was no charade but a vibrant part of Bavarian culture.  Yes, beer and bratwurst are Oktoberfest (and German) stereotypes, but under-reported is the fact that EVERY local seemed to attend the main Oktoberfest grounds in perfectly selected lederhosen and dirndl.  Not to impress to tourists, of course, but because that is how one conducts oneself at Oktoberfest.  The best definition that I ever heard of culture is that culture is what members of a group do to show that they belong. While boarding the Munich subway en route to the festival grounds we were a tiny minority by not wearing lederhosen and drindl.  But rather than think that everyone else was crazy for wearing those outfits, I couldn't help but be impressed at the awesome vitality of the culture.

This past weekend we attended another Oktoberfest, but one much closer to home.  Taybeh, Palestine, is home to the only brewery in the West Bank and the biggest Oktoberfest in the Middle East.  There was no lederhosen or wurst, but with beer at $2.50 a pint you won't hear any complaints out of me.

The contrasts with the Munich Oktoberfest are too numerous to mention.  After all, Munich hosts millions of tourists and just celebrated 200 years of Oktoberfest festivities.  But there was one similarity that left me breathless.  Just as Munich's Oktoberfest is a visible, edible, wearable expression of Bavarian German culture, so too was the Taybeh Oktoberfest a tribute this this unique corner of Palestine.  One of the few purely Christian village in Palestine, there were olive wood nativity sets and local olive oil for sale.  Mothers shared date and fig pastries as children played with homemade toys.  And local bands blended soulful Arabic hymns with generous helpings of jazz, raggae, and rap.

Like the lederhosen in Munich, at first I thought that this an isolated and outward expression aimed at tourists.  But as my eyes panned around to the overwhelmingly Palestinian crowds, I realized that what I was watching was intended mostly for local consumption.  Commitment to family and faith, and openness to blending the best of traditional and imported styles...these are the hallmarks of modern Palestinian culture.  They lag far behind lederhosen, beer, and bratwurst as internationally recognized symbols of a vibrant culture.  That's too bad.  For these are bedrock elements of American culture as well, and symbols that Americans too infrequently associate with Palestinians.  Or other Americans, for that matter.

Guten Morgen!

As the plane drew closer to the ground, Paul and Jen peered out the tiny window at the lush green landscape below. Brown trees with bushy green tops, white farm houses with rusty-colored roofs, patchwork fields in every shade from brown to green; these traits were all so familiar and yet they had become but a fantasy living in the dessert.

Tears swelled up in Jen's eyes - maybe because she hadn't slept on the red-eye flight, but probably at the beauty of it all. Either way, this felt like home. So unfamiliar, yet surprisingly like home.

Through sleepy eyes Jen looked out the window on train ride into the city spotting cornfields and quaint houses all around. In every stop she could see the mid-West and in every person she met Wisconsin.  The trains were much more modern and rider-friendly than Jen had ever experienced or imagined. Coming out of the fourth stop on the U4 line, Jen quickly found herself and her traveling companions on the map and led the short trek to the apartment.

 

"Call 30 minutes before you arrive," were the instructions given by the proprietor.  They had been looking for a pay phone for the last 45 minutes and had now arrived at their destination 2 hours late and without calling ahead.  As Paul and Jen's dad scanned the sidewalks for a phone, Jen marched into a pub...not for a drink, to use the phone.

 

"Guten morgen!" The most delightful women in a traditional dress smiled from behind the bar. (She was behind the bar serving beer and breakfast to 3 men who were clearly from the neighborhood.)  Lets just come right out and say it... "I'm lost.  Where am I?  Do you know where this apartment is? Oh...Can I use your telephone?  Thanks...I'm at um.....Could you help me?"  The woman who will forever represent Germany in my memory took the phone back from me and spoke in just as friendly German to the woman on the line.  "She'll meet you outside in just a minute."  Ah!  Bitte!

 

For our three days in Germany this kind woman and her neighborhood pub welcomed us in as locals.  Everyday we would stop in to say hi...and maybe have a beer...and she would be just as friendly and welcoming as the first time.  After a full day at Oktoberfest we unanimously decided to stop in at our neighborhood pub (literally just across the street from our "home") and enjoyed a delicious schnitzel and large glasses of water.  Jen remembers this dinner so fondly that she led the group back for a final meal at the pub before heading to the airport. (As a parting gift she gave us free beers and a book! In my mind it is because she is so nice, but maybe we left larger tips than we thought....)

From the moment the plane began its decent until the moment Germany faded into the distance, I loved it.  The colors, the food, the cold weather, the architecture, the people...there isn't a thing that I didn't love and even thinking of it now I start to tear up.  Germany reminded us of how clean and lively a environment and a city can be.  It reminded us that food can make you feel warm and that even architecture can feel welcoming.  It reminded us that strangers can be friendly and that there is a relaxing and enjoyable side to life that isn't tainted by sand, grunge or religious/ethnic tensions. It reminded us of how much we love and miss our families and friends, the places they live and the times we share with them.