Just as predicted, posts are already coming in late, but in all fairness, I am trying to explore and get out there and yadayadayada… plus my internet exited stage right for an entire day, so you know… shit’s tough.
This is gonna be a long one. I suggest all bathroom breaks be taken and all refreshments be attained now.
Let’s start with Wednesday, June 22, 2011 (yes, that is Day 1, bear with me) :
On Wednesday night, shortly after my first post, I boarded the plane to Jordan. I texted most of my friends, as one last goodbye, and I called my family.
I can’t lie, as much as I say I’m independent and I can be away from my family, it really hit home with those last phone calls. Yes, that’s right, I got all teary-eyed and choked-up, and had that “small-girl-who-just-ran-away-from-home-and-realized-she’s-in-over-her-head” feeling of running right home and never leaving.
Yup, that was me.
But, I hung up, grabbed my stuff, and boarded that plane like a champ.
I suppose what really got to me though, was my goodbye with the bf (yea, big surprise, huh).
Don’t get me wrong, by this point I had prepared myself very adequately for this goodbye, which probably explains why I was ill-equipped for the prior ones.
Before I boarded, he called me, and my selfish gf instinct kicked in on full-force.
I had pictured that goodbye in my head all day, and it wasn’t anything close to what I had wanted, not in my selfish-gf mind.
I wanted, for ten-fifteen minutes for him to be all mine. No one else’s – just mine. Yea, yea, yea, girls and their need to be the center of attention. You know what, screw you I just admitted it, get at me.
But, of course, as we learn in life, each and every day, regardless of our innate, stubborn resistance to accepting the fact that things don’t always go the way we want them to.
The call was plagued with background noise on his end, his oscillating attention between his friends and I, and my subsequent depression.
Even better, when we decided to put the call out of its misery, I get a, “well, you start it (by it, he means “the goodbye”).
I think it’s mildly fair to be disappointed with that, don’t you?
Well, I said goodbye, he said goodbye, and I got on the plane – obviously I’m ecstatic at this point.
No, it wasn’t PMS, I was unhappy.
Well, the next twenty minutes was a nice, elongated game of phone tag, through texts and calls, and, true to the promise I made myself, I sucked it the hell up, said goodbye, and went on my way.
I’ve decided, in all of my worldly wisdom (but not really), that there’s one lesson, if nothing else, that you have to keep with you to get through the good and the bad: shit happens – or synonymously, life happens.
When life gives you shit, pick it up, let your primate instincts take over, and throw that shit back.
Brilliantly simple, no?
Day 2 (finally) - Thursday, June 23, 2011
As the flight took off, into the vast unknown, or whatever you want to call it, I faced a new obstacle:
My complete inability to stay awake on airplanes, let alone dealing with the fact that I haven’t slept in two days.
I wish I could say I valiantly fought off sleep in lieu of my upcoming adventure.
I wish I could say I will never forget the intricate design of the clouds in the sky as we flew by, all pointing me to my new adventure – the changing patterns on the ground below us, slowly changing before my wonder-filled eyes.
I wish I could say I stayed awake long enough to watch us take-off.
Sadly, these are three wishes too many.
Instead, I turned off my phone, looked out the window, and passed out, all before we made it to the run-way.
About thirty minutes later, I woke up, looked outside into the dark nothingness, and looked around in confusion, believing that we had not yet taken off.
Instead, we were a good couple thousand km in the air, and I was the biggest idiot in the plane, but it doesn’t do well to dwell on the past, so I’ll move on.
I drowsily re-submitted to sleep, only to be woken up just ten minutes (really, I’m ball-parking these numbers, don’t quote me on them) by the lady sitting next to me, so I could get my meal.
Before I could open my quick-to-speak-before-I-think-mouth, which would’ve resulted in a “no thank you, no food for me”, the stewardess slapped down unto my luxurious airplane lap-table the most wonderful tray of airplane food I’ve ever seen.
Don’t get me wrong, the food was almost as crappy as usual, but instead, I was enamored with the containers in which the food came. If ikea came out with a high-end line of plasticware, I imagine it would look exactly like the containers put forth before me on that plane.
Yes, I really liked the containers.
Even more enamoring was the plastic teacup on the tray. I mean, it was a legitimate teacup – the small bowl shape, the cute little handle, the flared-out base.
I couldn’t have been any happier unless the staff jumped into a joyful number of “be our guest” with little singing silverware in the background.
The little things in life, right?
After I spent an adequate amount of time admiring the plastic dish sets, the food stole my attention. I guess 15 hours without food has to catch up with you eventually, right?
Coming from behind and snatching an incredible underdog win, I managed to devour my food before the adjacent woman – who had a good ten-minute head start on me – had even finished half of her tray’s inhabitants.
Not that I ever saw her finish, because I was already admiring the back of my beautiful eyelids.
About ten hours later, I managed to pry open my eyelids for yet another meal (breakfast this time – the most important meal of the day you know – also my least favorite, especially at 4pm Jordanian time). I made it through the orange juice and half of a croissant before the inside of my eyelids took center stage again.
Anyways, to get on with the story, I think I was less tired, and more afraid of staying awake and letting my mind wander – whatever you wanna call it, nobody was home up in the attic for the entirety of the flight.
Once I woke up – for good this time – I began speaking with the woman I was sitting next to. She told me about her family in Indiana, USA, and about where she went to college, what she studied, etc. What I loved most, though, was when she began talking about coming home (to Jordan) for the first time in 5 years.
5 years. 1 year doesn’t seem so long to me now…
She was returning for her brother’s wedding, who lives in Sweden. Her sister, who lives in Israel, would also be there. A family whose branches went far and wide finally reuniting after a few years – a little bit of beauty in such an ordinary gathering.
As we chatted, the woman ended up asking me if I wanted to stay at her house for the next two months – good lord if I hadn’t paid off my fees for my apartment already, I would’ve accepted her offer in a heartbeat, but alas, she became offended when I said I couldn’t, and no phone numbers were exchanged – oh well.
And so my adventure in Jordan began.
I walked solitarily off the plane, braced myself, and followed the signs to exchange currency and get my visa – unknowingly boldy strolling by the man sent from my program to pick me and help me out – whoops.
Fortunately, he called my name and I turned around to greet him – good first impression, yea?
Well, in the spirit of letting any readers (if they’ve made it this far) get up and get on with their lives before they’re old and gray, I’ll skip the details and boil it down to: Zohdi (the man who came to pick me up) is the most flustered adult I have ever met, but he’s super sweet, so overall, it makes for a good combination.
I think what I remember most vividly (I have the memory capacity of an Alzheimer’s patient, so this is a big deal) is putting my bags on a cart and having this conversation:
Zohdi: (about to roll cart, stops) You have license?
Me: To drive?
Zohdi: Yes, to drive car.
Me: Oh yea, I have one for California, why?
Zohdi: (hands me cart) Here, you drive.
Needless to say, we got along just fine. After acquiring my many possessions (we forget that I’m packed for an entire year, not just the summer) Zohdi bought me a pepsi (bebsi in Arabic – see I’m learning so much already!) and sat me down at a café (he needed to meet another American student at the gates), but not first without apologizing profusely and making sure I wasn’t afraid of being kidnapped and trafficked into some sort of sex slave industry.
I reassured him that I was okay, and he left.
About an hour later, Zohdi returned with Michael, another student in my program staying in my apartment building.
Michael is 21, a student at Bloomsfield University, and I’m so, so grateful he is here with me and I’m not roaming around alone.
Michael and I chatted in the car, and I learned about his past travels, some of his future goals, etc, many of which are similar to mine, and I knew right away he was someone I could learn from – I already have in the short 2.5 days I’ve known him, which makes me know that I’ve made the right choice in coming out here. We learn the most outside of the classroom, and more specifically, from those like us or those who we wish to be like – Michael’s a bit of both for me, so in the simplest terms: I struck gold.
Even more memorable, however, was all of the strange, ironic, and humorous things I managed to encounter in just a few short hours:
- Jordanian driving – imagine your stereotypical Asian woman driver in the streets of New York City, where there are no lines dividing lanes, and there are speed bumps every 100 feet that no one pays attention to… now multiply by 10. You got it.
- Side-road BBQ’s – now amidst the driving previously described, imagine drivers randomly slowing down, pulling off to side, and setting up shop in the dirt for a small family bbq. (Michael and I have made this one of our goals for this trip – hopefully we don’t get runover by one of those Asian female drivers :P ).
- Road to Nowhere – well, not a road per se, but there was an old-fashioned stone, spiraling staircase on the side of the freeway that just ended, attached to nothing, leading nowhere. [insert wise and clever symbolic importance referencing life].
- KFC, Pizza Hut, Donut Factory, Oh Good Lord – That’s right, a little slice of America right here in Amman. The best part isn’t even that they’re titled in Arabic, no, instead it’s the Dunkin’ Donuts alternatively named: “Donut Factory” – needless to say I fell in love with Jordan right away ;).
Queu end of the drive.
Next: the apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love this apartment, it’s incredibly nice and it’s very quaint, and what I imagine my first apartment out of college will look like when I’m a bartender in some obscure restaurant. Nonetheless, Apartment (that’s his name) and I have had some… sitcom-like run-ins already:
- Assumptions Will Get You Nowhere – In my typical absent-minded fashion, I followed the apartment-building worker up to my apartment, and as he turned on the television for me, I begin asking him a million and one questions (in English, of course), only for him to walk out, without a word, just smiling at me. In my even more typical fashion, it didn’t hit home that he might not speak English, which I did not figure out later when, as I was speaking to him, he modestly said, “No English”. Good one, Jen.
- Old school oven/stove – gas + lighting with matches = asking for a disaster. I haven’t much explored that yet, but I imagine I’ll get hungry enough one day to do so. Don’t worry, I’ll pray for my life and the lives of everyone else in the building… o.O
- Build-a-toilet – well, more like, destroy-a-toilet. I lifted up the lid to see if their toilets were the same as ours (I was curious) and it turns out that, yes, they are. However, most of our toilets do not display the “lid-falling-off-the-toilet-onto-my-toes” feature, that one’s new to me.
- Two Refrigerators – well… I don’t know why I would need two, but no matter, they’ve already solved that problem for me: one of them is super old and doesn’t plug in anywhere. Way to think ahead guys, I appreciate it J.
- Shower head to nowhere – my bathroom set up is a toilet and a shower. On the opposite side from the shower, however, is another showerhead, and get this – it shoots out water and everything. Now, where this water is supposed to go or what I’m supposed to do with it, I haven’t figured out yet, but I’ll get there, don’t worry.
- Speaking of Shower Heads… - The bracket to hold mine up in the shower was gone when I went to shower Thursday morning. No matter though – I took one of the extra shower curtain rings (the curtain is ripped you see) and made my own makeshift bracket. Ah, see mom, my college education is worth it after all!
- Shower Plateaus – alas, the shower has one last surprise for me: it is comprised of a small bowl area adjacent to a nice little, slippery plateau –I will be taking out shower-security life insurance soon, don’t worry. Until then, I will stand in the little bowl, where I am safe from most shower-ly harm.
- Outsmarted by Outlets – In Jordan, as one might reasonably predict, the power in the outlets is different. However, what I did not expect was three-holed outlets in which the appliances I was provided still do not plug into, due to size discrepancies. Apartment – 1, Jen – 0. BUT don’t count me out just yet, time proves to be in my favor, as does working legs, opposable thumbs, and the ability to purchase outlet extensions and adapters :P.
End Day 2. J
-Please excuse this brief intermission, I don’t feel like typing anymore, sorry-
Day 3: Friday, June 24, 2011
A somewhat ordinary day. Woke up, fell asleep, woke up and started unpacking – which I still haven’t finished, but that’s another matter than needn’t be discussed.
Talked to the bf briefly, until he got distracted (got to remember: life goes on, right?), so I decided to take a shower and start my day instead.
After a somewhat precarious shower, I ensued in another investigation of Apartment. I attempted to fit various plugs into various outlets to no avail, so, like any trooper, I gave up. About five minutes later, a faint scent, growing exponentially stronger, wafted through my apartment.
Less than a day, and I had managed to set the building on fire – or so I had thought. After a frantic five minutes of retracing my steps and looking for the fire, I looked outside to see a man setting small fires in a dirt pathway parallel to the apartment building.. -___-, that’s all I have to say about that.
Once Michael woke up, we went into the city, and walked in the heat, just walking around, chatting, really trying not to show how unbelievably tired each of us was. At a small superstore, i chatted with the cashier and his father, learning that they are also from California, actually from Fremont, as well, and I made the on-the-spot decision that… I would be going back there when I needed someone to speak in English with. After, we ate at a place called Lebnani Snack, (a nice bit of Jordanian fast food – in all fairness we didn’t know it was such), bought cases of water, and proceeded to regret said decision once we commenced the trudge up the monstrous hill to our apartments.
After another nap of champions, Michael and I again went out into the city, walking a little further this time, and we found ourselves in Mahjdi Mall – not before crossing paths with a man dressed in a Chicken suit sitting outside of the American Grill.
Funny, when I researched Jordan and what kind of wardrobe I should bring, I’m fairly certain I was told modest, longsleeves, and matching scarves were the way to go. Well, well, it seems that underneath their long garbs, Jordanian women are hitting hard on the skimpy lingerie, itsy bitsy teenie weenie bikinis, and overall, very American-esque clothing – oh I’m learning so much.
After this short encounter with the unexpected, Michael and I found an incredible pastry shop and a subsequent, equally wonderful, restaurant/café – at least we won’t go hungry.
Upon returning to the apartments, we offered some of our pastries to the two men (Ahmad and Mezhdi) who work here (they speak very limited English), and ensued in a four-hour long conversation fueled by charades google translate on a laptop, basic Arabic sentences written on paper, and tons of laughs. Never in my wildest dreams would I expect a conversation in which I could not understand a word of what the other was saying to be one of the best that I would ever have. It was one of the greatest conversations of my life, completely entertaining and enjoyable, and I really came to like the two men we were speaking to, they’re incredibly good-natured and genuine. After five hours of broken English and Arabic, promises to teach one another, plans to hit the Disco and the pool, and what seemed to be the forging of a new friendship between strangers, Michael and I returned to our apartments.
Thinking about everything that happened this day, as well as conversations Michael and I exchanged throughout the day, I’ve already begun to learn so much about the world around me, what I want to do, and what I don’t know.
One thing that came up was the necessity of English as a language. It is so heavily emphasized around the world, and when foreigners come to America, for vacation, for visiting family, for residence, they are so heavily criticized and condemned by the general, English-speaking population. What we fail to realize is that we are not afforded the same harsh judgment when we travel abroad. Instead, we, as Americans, expect patience and good grace, despite our utter lack of knowledge, or even respect for other peoples and their cultures, traditions, and languages.
As of yet, I have been greeted with almost nothing other than encouragement and kind words when I am unable to speak the native language and eventually admit that I will be learning it this summer. They praise Michael and I for taking the time to learn the language, and they sit and teach us what they can. Just from my short exchange with Mezhdi and Ahmad, I have learned so much and I have come to look forward to living here, that much more. Someone as ordinary as a man working in one of the stores at Mahdi Mall will know basic English, enough to communicate with American students trying to buy a phone, but if you were to approach any given CEO in the US, chances are, he or she wouldn’t know a word of Arabic – who’s the more educated?
I’m not implying that this simple observation makes the Jordanians infinitely more educated or accepting than Americans, I’m just putting it all in perspective. The fact of the matter is, as I’m learning more and more, we in the US are privileged beyond all else, in that everyone else must learn our language, everyone else must fit our molds, but we do not owe that same courtesy to anyone else.
Perhaps we are too quick to criticize and not quick enough to look at ourselves, first.
Perhaps.
Anyways, sorry for the incredibly long post, the rambling of a girl bored in a foreign country (gosh, I can’t wait until class starts tomorrow and we meet all of the other students). Until then, well I’ll be here.
Peace.
