Salem

Books@ has an unofficial mascot who comes in the form of a black cat whom Saleem and I have named Salem, after Sabrina’s talking cat of tv series gone by. Salem prowls around the terrace at Books and despite being a little dirty seems to provide entertainment to most of the customers. He (or she, we don’t know) sits on the narrow terra cotta roof and alternately paces back and forth or stares down peoples’ french fries. Every once in awhile he jumps into the restaurant (unhealthy, yes; unprecedented, no) and wanders around beneath the tables, causing a few jumps of surprise or disgust or cries of ‘kitty!’ (bisseh in Arabic) from the tourists. Saleem and I really like Salem (he adds more character to the colorful eccentricity of Books) but our friend Tareq isn’t as big of a fan… we always put him on cat removal duty when Salem is around, which basically consists of chasing the cat down and putting him back on the roof. It’s a bit futile as Salem always finds a way back in no matter how far you take him away! He knows where the good food is to be found.

An American girl named Leah who comes in every once in awhile took a shining to Salem, and he to her. We were all looking around for the cat and finally found him, asleep and purring to beat the band, here-

This is proof, ladies and gentlemen, that even if you are a nasty Amman garbage cat with questionable eating habits and breath, someone somewhere will love you.

Latte love

There is something about sitting in a coffee shop that makes everything seem a little better. Lattes fix the cracks in the day that inevitably appear from humanity and situations that are less than ideal, and that atmosphere of a cafe calms me down and gives me the ability to escape my usual routine without deviating too far from my neighborhood. I am transported to another, if temporary, caffeinated world where the amount of foam in my coffee and the cute little design poured on top takes precedence over Arabic studying, skype dates with people I’ve neglected back home, and the rockiness of finding the motivation to go to work and do my job well despite needy customers, coworker drama, and the permanent uncertainty of being tipped.

Coffee, despite being a stimulant, calms me down. With a hot cup of tea or coffee in my hands or resting near my book or laptop I am sure to be safe until the dregs are left in the bottom and the cup has lost its warmth. At that point the world is likely to overcome me again, to repummel me with problems and complexity and stress. Until then, though, I will bask in the warm glow of caffeine seeping into my bloodstream and enjoy the simplicity of the heavenly blend of perfectly steamed milk and robust espresso.

That’s latte love, people.

Day sucks? Latte. People being mean? Latte. Need a break? Latte. Can’t think straight? Latte latte latte.

I don’t have a problem… I am my mother’s daughter

In other news: Rachel and her sister Sarah arrive back in Jordan TONIGHT!!! I can’t wait to see Rachel again and to meet Sarah- we’re going to have a great summer I hope

Busy, busy bee

Well. I have been moved to 6 days a week at work. I now officially spent more of my waking hours at Books@Cafe than I do anywhere else, including my own house. Yikes!

One upside- if I’m always working or sleeping, I’m saving money because I don’t have time to do anything else! That’s the master evil plan, isn’t it?

I’m contemplating just sleeping there, although being woken up by the kitchen staff or the morning crew isn’t something I’d like to do anytime soon… haha.

Also, as much as I love our new apartment I have been plagued with mosquito bites that just keep showing up. I am the only one getting bit (am I the sweetest?!) and it’s so annoying! I have bites on my toes, my elbows, my ankles… I found some bug spray that I brought with me and slathered it on last night. I’m not sure if it made a difference but I smelled like a camping trip. We’ll see. In the meantime, please pray that I’m not the bug target anymore.

I hung out with my friends Tamer and Marwan on Friday which was so much fun. I hadn’t seen Marwan in ages and it was great to be back with that crazy guy. He recently met up with the director of a documentary who asked him to create the movie’s sountrack; Marwan is insanely talented on the guitar. He asked me to help him with background guitar, which was so exciting! Despite the fact I haven’t played in a couple years and really only remember a few chords I’m sure with a little practice and a lot of instruction I’ll be able to try and keep up. What an experience!

Typical, dancing Marwan

This is one of the awesome things about Jordan- it is such a small country so you get to know a lot of people in a variety of professional fields who sometimes have cool opportunities for you. Right place, right time. Life is too exciting.

Well, off to work again. Tomorrow Claire and I are going to lunch with a member of CIEE’s board of directors to talk about our experiences and our continued lives in Jordan. That’ll be a lot of fun! Rachel and her sister Sarah will also be returning to us on Tuesday, and we can’t wait to see them. The family is coming back!

Background, Fire in the Hole, Action

Last Thursday Claire, Kris, Kinjo, our friend Osama and I traveled down to the Dead Sea to be extras in a movie.

Random! A friend of Osama’s was the director (or the director’s brother or cousin, who really knows) and he needed a few people to be extras for a scene they were shooting. We’d be paid 50 JD for the day and would get home before work (or so we were told). We met at one of the local hotels at 5am (EW) and soon we were bundled onto a large and comfy tour bus headed to the Dead Sea.

Before

We got off at Base Camp, trailers and tents and props scattered everywhere.

Base camp

Girls and guys were separated after we ate breakfast and we were put into costume. I turned out looking normal, but when Kris and Claire came out in hijab I thought Kinjo and Osama would die! They laughed so hard. Kinjo looked handsome in his suit, if not a bit uncomfortable .

She’s cute.

The other extras

Kinjo and his hijabi girls

Ties are hard

The movie is called ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ and it is about the Navy SEAL operation that whacked Osama Bin Laden. We filmed the artistic reinterpretation of a 2004 Hizbollah attack on a compound of Western and Muslim workers in which Westerners (mostly men) were targeted. In our scene, though, there were woman and we pretty much all died grisly, gruesome deaths. There was screaming. Guns fired. People ran. Fake blood squirted. Chaos ensued.

We were driven to one of the large seaside resorts overlooking the Dead Sea and taken to their large foyer, where couches and chairs were placed. In the film it was the central lobby of the compound, and the general gist of the story is that 3 terrorists come blazing in with guns and slaughter pretty much everyone. I got shot through a chair (lame, real me would run like a bat out of hell), Kris got shot in the shoulder, and Claire (with her very attractive New Zealand stunt double ‘husband’) runs out of the room. Kinjo, whom I have never seen run so fast in my life, hops over the back of a couch and up the stairs.

It was tedious and boring shooting the same scenes over and over again, each time changing something slightly or adding in other effects. The three shooters all had Ak-47 style guns that shot blank rounds, but they were very loud so we all had earplugs. It was a bit scary hearing the gun fire and pretending to die; I could feel the spent shells clatter to the floor and roll by as the shooters ran through the massive room- the sound of the gunfire reverberating and slowly dying away. It was an experience, that’s for sure!

I had my own little scene- I get shot through a chair (lame) and slowly crumble to the floor, dead. The back of my chair was rigged to explode to look like a gun shot through it which was so cool! All the extras, set guys, and camera crew were so nice to us even though we had no idea what we were doing. The directors were anal (part of the job, I suppose) and very demanding, so they got really annoying after awhile especially because we were so tired.

It was nearing the end of the day and we were supposed to head back to Amman for work. We were told we’d be done shooting and would be in Amman by 3:30, but that came and went with no signs of anyone being done anytime soon. We all were chafing to get back home as our real jobs were certainly more important than this one day. The directors weren’t going to let us go, though; ‘we’re not done yet’ they brushed us aside. ‘Just sit in your positions and we’ll check the lighting,’ they said, then dissappeared to another part of the building to shoot a scene that had nothing to do with us.

Finally Kris, Kinjo, Claire and I walked out.

Take that, Hollywood.

We were already late for work and getting very frustrated and desperately needed to get home, because we compromised half the Books@ staff and it was a busy Thursday night. We didn’t get our 50 JDs (Osama ended up arguing quite effectively on our behalf, so we got it later) and our fellow extras and even the camera crew high fived us as we stomped out. We ended up catching a ride back to Amman with a friend of ours whom we knew from Books, we made it to work and didn’t get fired- the universe smiled!

We were all so tired (running on 4 hours of sleep for 3 days will do that to you) but we did it. Even if none of us make it into the movie, we were still there! Our 15 minutes of fame… or 12 hours of hell. However we choose to remember it .

Physics and pick up lines

Last week at work I was asked for my phone number using theoretical physics.

Alrighty. That’s a new one!

I had been chatting with a few tables of semi-regulars and it was nearing the end of the night. One guy, younger and fairly handsome, asked me in perfect English what I was doing in Jordan. He had just gotten back from a year in the States. I told him the summarization of my story of Jordan; he told me he wanted to study theoretical physics (he lost me at physics) but ended up in computer science. He had just written a paper titled ‘Hypocricy in Society’ or somesuch business like that which was basically about procrastination- people want to go from Point A to Point B, but if they don’t really want to get to B they’ll go to C or D or E before finally routing back to Point B. His theory, therefore, was to cut the C, D, and E crap and just get B out of the way.

Ok, dude. I’m still with you, but what’s you’re point?

He says, ‘Elizabeth, here’s the thing. I could come back on Thursday and hope you’re here, or hope that I too make it back here. But, life could get in the way, I could have other plans, you could skip work, who knows. So, here’s Point B- can I have your number?’

I laughed.

He got my number.

I figure, I want to be friends with someone who is willing to think through his argument that well. It’s inspiring. Guys in the States, take notes! Being smart is sexy.

The Arab Street

In the book ‘Live From Jordan’ the author talks about the Middle Eastern phenomena known as the Arab Street. The Arab Street is any street in the Arab world featuring a variety of characters and events that distinguish it from any other part of the planet.

I have experienced the Arab Street many times since being in Jordan, but yesterday was one particular day that will stick in my mind. As I am sitting here observing an Arab Street that I find myself very familiar with I am still at odds to acurately describe what I am hearing, smelling, tasting, seeing and feeling in a way that could transport you even halfway here. I will do my best, though!

When I wake up in my new house it is quiet, but not in the way Shmeisani was quiet. My apartment is sandwiched between other buildings and when I wake up I can hear so many different sounds that it takes awhile to distinguish them from each other. I can hear babies crying, the sounds of windows rattling open, kids in the neighborhood madrassa (school) shouting outside, the sound of their bouncing footballs, taxis honking by and shop keepers opening up their stores, women talking on the phone while washing dishes, laundry flapping in the breeze as it dries on the line. I hear the microphone of the 12am call to prayer snap and crackle as it turns on; a verse of the Koran is read and the melodious beginning of ‘Allah Akbar’ reverberates through my kitchen and filters through the closed windows and doors of my apartment to where Claire is still sleeping and Kris has just craked open a book.

Yesterday I had one of the most memorable encounters with the Arab Street. I was walking down a narrow road between my house and Books, a street that has a lot of cheap shops and restaurants on it as well as a population of working class families. I had my headphones in to drown out the whistles and stares from the shebab as I peered into shops, looking for anything eye-catching.

When you are walking here you can smell so much- the bread shop, the bakery, the shwarma place and the pizza place all have distinct smells that blend together in an evil plan to make you hungry even if you just ate. Yesterday’s garbage blends in with the delightful smell of the fruit stand, the tomatoes and oranges and cucumbers and apples shining colorful on the sidewalk. You smell the arguila smoke, the diesel and cigarette smoke in the air, and the breeze that swirls it all around again.

You feel the sun on your back, the stares of the boys and the burka grandmothers.

I was listening to my music when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my friend Ahmad; ‘Turn around!’ he says, so I did. I saw my skinny Arab friend waving frantically, halfway hanging out of a small shop I had walked by without noticing. I laughed and returned, as seeing Ahmad is akin to getting a hug from Saleem when you least expect it (it’s pretty great either way). He and his younger brother Mahmoud (he has 9 other siblings) were ‘minding’ his family’s small repair shop while his parents are in Saudi Arabia visiting his sister.

When I walked in I was immediately taken back to my Grandpa Ed’s shed in his backyard in Waterville, Washington. I was surrounded by dusty boxes filled with screws, nails, wrenches, brushes, old keys and paints and drills and hammers and ladders. It even smelled the same. I was given a seat and handed a cup of Turkish coffee (delicious) and introduced to Mahmoud, who looks almost identical to Ahmad and has the same joking and teasing personality as his brother.

As we sat there talking (for what ended up being almost four hours for me) Mahmoud would call out to his friends and neighbors walking by- these boys seemed to know everyone, which they probably did. Customers walking in would greet them by name, ask where their parents were, and then go about their business. Every so often someone would walk in and ask who the ‘ajnabi’ (foreigner) was- ‘Ahmad, who is that pretty girl you’re with?’ cried one elderly aunt-type figure walking by. Ahmad blushed; ‘It’s my coworker!’ he replied in Arabic. I may not be able to communicate the best in Arabic but I sure can understand when people are talking about me. I enjoyed when Ahmad or Mahmoud would politely point out to whoever it was that ‘she understands Arabic.’

As we sat there I simply stared out the window- I saw little kids run by with popsicles, kicking balls and sometimes each other. Cars filled with bored men sped by; women with shopping bags chattered excitedly to each other as they rustled by. This isn’t a rich neighborhood, which means it is all the richer in personalities and the diversity of occupants. This street is where lives are lived, where Arabic is learned, where real people are. I love it.

Ahmad and I traded stories back and forth in English and in Arabic- I learned the names of all the tools in Arabic (my dad will be so proud ), and I translated some of the English movie on the TV for him. He showed me the design of the shop’s new sign. My time to shop had come and gone, but I had such a fun day that I didn’t even mind! One can shop any day, but one cannot always see life through the eyes of an Arab shopkeeper and his brother. Ahmad’s poor, sweet mama is going to come home to a few rumors about the ‘ajnabi’ with her boys though, I think!

I hope that through my stories you all will be gracious with me when I moan and gripe about the blandness of American suburbia when I inevitably (ugh) return home to the States. The thought of cookie cutter houses, unknown neighbors and perfectly manicured grass kills my soul more than a little bit- gosh, how boring! The Arab Street is something that is experienced not through words, but through observing and walking down it and talking in whatever language you can to those residing and working on it. I hope that despite the inability of my vocabulary to adequately describe daily life here that you have a bit of an idea of what it is like.

Arab ‘Love’ Stories, Part 2

Right off the bat let me point out that this is now the 5th draft of the second part of Arab Love Stories. I wrote posts, left them for editing and then situations changed making those posts irrelevant. Sally had a short lived love affair with a guy named Yousef; Tamer went on a couple dates with a German beauty named Katarina which was disrupted by a declaration of love that went to me instead (more on that later); I was asked on a date by a guy using theoretical physics (serious props there); Rachel has her own fair share of potential suitors, and Kinjo and Claire are still dating and making me laugh.

Tamer and Katarina were set up by their friends Marwan and Guga, who are genuinely awesome people. They went on a picnic, watched a movie, drank wine, went biking, and generally had a really fun day. We all got an earful of Katarina talk from Tamer as he basked in the afterglow of their meeting and first date and as he nervously planned their second date.

Well, the second date came and went and I texted him to see how it was. I was off work and enjoying being alone in my apartment in Shmeisani watching a movie when he called me- ‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’ I said. I thought this was going to be something along the lines of ideas for a third date or the ‘should I kiss her yet’ conversation.

Nope. What occurred after the ‘can I ask you a question’ question was a declaration of love not for Katarina, but for me. I sat in stunned silence, thinking that the whole ‘Tamer likes Liz’ episode of our lives was over and that he had moved on (not the case, evidently). It then came out that Tamer had been drinking a bit and I immediately shut the conversation down. You talk to me about things like this when you are sober, people. That’s a rule.

So, we once again had to have the awkward ‘I love you like a brother’ conversation which he took graciously. ‘We never would have worked out anyways.’ Thanks, Tamer. A lesson in bowing out gracefully.

I have to admit that I am a bit angry about this. I realize people cannot help the way they feel but crushes and love is awfully inconvenient when it is unrequited and unwanted. I realize also that I am being selfish and considering how this effects me more than it effects him in my analysis of this whole situation.

The situation has gotten better but was not helped by a few things that were said after work on Thursday when I and maybe 7 or 8 of the other night shift crew went out to our usual restaurant after work. We had a lot of fun, talking and dancing and laughing with the other people there (most of whom we knew). The 2 new Books employees were with us, one of which I didn’t know at all. He got very intoxicated and at one point looks at me and says, ‘Liz. Tamer is in love with you.’

‘Duh.’ I replied. We all know this- you don’t need to point it out in front of everyone.

‘No, but like, he’s really in love with you. Did you sleep with him?’ (the answer is no, obviously, just in case you were wondering)

At this point the 3 guys surrounding us all stared at him and immediately jumped to my defense. They knew this was not a conversation that needed to be had between anyone and that this new kid had severely overstepped his role; drunkenness was no excuse for being rude.

Well, I don’t really have a good way to wrap up this segment. Tamer is my friend, but… there’s some residual awkwardness and I have to be careful about how I act and what I say around him which is unfortunate.

Up next: the time I got asked for my number by a guy using the theories of theoretical physics. Geeks and men wishing to appear smart- take notes!

Nice try

Goodbye, 5 year program. You were a nice idea.

After submitting my application, finally getting my recommendations in, and setting up a skype interview I recieved a very snarky email from one of the DU graduate people informing me that because I haven’t get taken the GRE my application is unable to be submitted.

In it the anonymous advisor informed me in no uncertain terms that he was very disappointed by my lack of foresight regarding the submission of my nonexistant GRE scores to the graduate committee and that my lack of preparedness was to blame for their inability to process my application.

Oh, I’m sorry- you’re disappointed? You’re sorry to say that my application cannot be processed? You regret to inform me that this program is highly competitive and therefore my lack of preparedness is to blame? No, thank you, Mr. Advisor Guy. A simple ‘No’ could have sufficed.

Did I happen to mention that I have been abroad all year and therefore unable to take the GRE? Did I mention that, when I informally applied for this program during my sophomore year I did not consider the fact that when I began my studies as a senior I would have had to take that test prior to my abroad experience in order to be considered for your ‘highly competitive’ program? I’m sorry. I guess I just didn’t think ahead far enough. I guess in my mind taking the GRE as a sophomore defeats the purpose of the GRADUATE RECORDS EXAMINATION examining your records from your undergraduate experience.

But that’s just my opinion. And it doesn’t matter. I’ll miss the application fee the most.

This is the kind of day that only a hug and a professionally prepared cup of coffee can fix, and I am slowly getting out of my insulted funk in the charming atmosphere of a new cafe complete with air conditioning. I have momentarily substituted my desire for a latte for the more calming effects of a lovely cup of black mango tea which, in combination with the low chatter of other cafe-goers and the soft but upbeat music has lulled my peeved and overthought brain into somewhat more of a manageable beast. I’m trying to think positive, and Claire is certainly helping- ‘Well… this way we can backpack around the world together after we graduate!’

So, if a year from now I am back on a plane headed back here to Jordan or some other corner of the immense and fascinating world, I will thank you, Mr. Snarky Advisor Guy, for not submitting my application.

Recommendations, Cemetaries and Books with Funny Names

My last recommendation is IN!!! ILHAMDUILLAH!!!!!

I’m not sure if they will accept it late, but since it seemed to be an error on the part of the web link and not my professor I hope the graduate committee will have a grace period in this case. I guess we’ll see…

Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers regarding this and I promise to keep you updated on the process as I continue to go through it.

I just got done skyping with my parents (and Napoleon, of course) and that was so much fun. They’re off to Waterville this weekend to visit Grandma Helen (whom I miss like crazy) and to clean out the old Farmer cemetary, a task which I am jealous over because I can think of few things better than a picnic in a wheat field with my family and dog hearing stories of the long-dead relatives contained therein. Kind of creepy, but my family tends to enjoy these things.

The cleaning of the house is ongoing and the kitchen is almost done; all we need now is to mop all the floors and continue to battle the Amman dust that insists on blowing into my house. Kris made friends with the most important man in the neighborhood today- the bakery guy down the street, who chatted with her for awhile and gave us free doughnuts. Relationships such as these must be cultivated!

Ok. Back to my book entitled ‘The Media Relations Department of Hizbollah Wishes You a Happy Birthday.’ I highly recommend this book to anyone who wants to know more about the recent history of the Middle East- it’s super interesting and I find it funny because I can relate to it in more than a few ways!

I get to be the bartender tonight at work I think… here’s to limited interaction with customers and increased exposure to beer and coffee!

Dante’s 8th circle

I’ve never read Dante’s Inferno, but I feel as though I understand it a bit better after a few events of yesterday.

Rachel, who was supposed to fly back to the States yesterday, got to the airport only to be told that her flight had been cancelled (sans email notification) and was laughed at by the Royal Jordanian staff for wearing her Real Madrid shirt. They, apparently, were Barcelona fans. Our sweet coworker Tareq graciously made the trip back and forth to the airport to drop her off and then pick her up again- Ahmed, who was unable to say goodbye to her on Monday, was ecstatic when she popped her head back in Books yesterday. Kinjo just looks at her, grins, and asks, ‘How was America?’ Thankfully she got on the plane today and should be home in Missouri in time for pre-wedding parties and her sister’s wedding. Her birthday is tomorrow as well so we’ll celebrate for real when she gets back.

We spent our time before work yesterday doing more cleaning… gross. Claire swept up massive piles of dust from all corners of the rooms and we’ll mop today; I took great pleasure in beating the massive rugs with a piece of wood we found. We discovered that the washing machine pipe must be placed into the floor drain and that when it is on the spin cycle you have to watch the hose or else water sprays all over the floor. Nice. We figured out how to flush the toilet, found ants in the kitchen, and scrubbed the pots and pans until they no longer leaked suspicious substances and grease. Things already look a bit brighter, thank God!

Cinderelly, Cinderelly

Claire found the first cochroach which was, fortunately, deceased. It was large, though. So unnecessary.

It was much cuter in ‘Wall-E’

At work I had ‘C’ section, the part of the terrace that is outside and is therefore really busy on warm days like yesterday. It is usually the most lucrative section of Books tip-wise, but not so much so today. People came, ordered a few things, and then just sat there for a long time and few left substantial tips. I had 3 people from Texas and hearing their Southern accents was the best- I miss Southern accents! They were so nice and made me smile. I didn’t have a chance to take a break or eat dinner, so as the night grew darker I got more tired and more hungry and grumpy. I hate having to plaster a smile onto my face, but that’s what it takes sometimes. I finally only had 3 tables left, two of which were semi-regulars and knew me enough to be able to laugh and joke around with me which was nice. The other table (curse you, table 22) held 3 shebab who were not very nice to me and didn’t seem to understand that a) I don’t speak Arabic, b) my textbook did not teach me the word for ‘peanuts’ in Arabic, and c) that Books is not the kind of establishment to serve peanuts with their beer. Drink it like a man.

There is a 8th level of hell reserved for people who dine and dash (that would be you, table 22). As I was getting my last order from the bar they up and left, saddling me with their bill (which thankfully wasn’t astronomic) and generally making me feel awful.

Seriously, who thinks that is ok? Who was the idiot who originally thought that would be funny? They can’t come back there at least while I am working because I’ll recognize them, and I know I’ll have the opportunity to push at least one of them off the balcony before my coworkers take care of the other two and I get my money back. Assholes (sorry, Mom).

But, as usual, despite the crap my friends can always make me laugh. Ahmad, my friend from the morning shift, showed up and he always makes me smile despite the ice cubes he shoves down my back and the way he messes up my pefectly styled (HA) hair. Today is my day off and it’s nice to have a break just to breathe for a bit and hopefully get to bed early (although that rarely happens).

I slept terribly last night between getting home at 2am (and being followed down our block by another group of stupid shebab, catcalling and whistling, which enhanced the awesomeness of my day), waking up to the call to prayer blaring at 4:30, finally falling asleep at 7 and then showing up late to my intership at 10:15. Winning, Liz.

I registered for my senior year classes at DU and I’m sad that the Arabic program is nonexistant for my level now. Gah. I also checked my graduate application and one of my recommendations has been completed, while the other has not. I’m not sure if they’ll accept a late recommendation but if I don’t get in because of someone else’s mistake I will inevitably and unashamedly burst into tears.

Here’s to hoping today is a lot better.