Beirut to Haifa: 3 Middle Eastern Land Border Crossings in One Day

Yes! We did it! Those who have been to the Middle East or who know about the current tensions in the region will agree that going from Lebanon to Israel by land via Syria and Jordan, without any visa, is a pretty big deal. That it seems ambitious, if not foolish, to try to do it in one day! But after having been traveling an average of 4-5 hours every second day, one can understand how we just wanted to get it over with and reach the final destination of our trip. Well, it took us a total of 15,5 hours and 9 taxis and 4 buses to reach Haifa!

Sunday, 7 am.
Carrying our heavy bags full of gifts and dirty clothes we set out on our long journey from the taxi station in Beirut. After bargaining for some time we managed to find a taxi that would take us to Damascus for a reasonable price. Both the Lebanese and Syrian borders were increadibly crowded. Everyone was trying to make their way to the counter to get a stamp and go. Contrary to our North American borders, you actually have to get out of the car, and then depending on the border, you might have to go to a first counter to pay an exit tax, go to a second counter to get an exit stamp, then drive several km to the other border, get out of the car, go to a first counter to buy a visa and hand it to the official at the second counter to be granted an entry stamp. Not to mention that all this business is not very organized and can become very expensive! Once we reached Damascus, Syria the cheapest option seemed to be to take a local bus to a small town near the Syrian-Jordanian border and to bargain for a taxi overthere, although this wasn’t as time efficient as we hoped. Thankfully, the Jordanian border was relatively quick and painless. The Syrian taxi brought us to another town from which we caught a minibus to some place near the northern Israeli border. Following this was a succession of taxis and buses to reach the Jordanian border, cross it, and finally reach the Israeli customs.

Sunday, 6:30 pm.
It was getting late. The sun was about to set. We had been warned that it could be somewhat problematic to cross the Israeli border with Lebanese and Syrian stamps in our passports. We were asked several questions, but nothing beyond what the Lonely Planet had warned. We were then told to wait for a security check. We were sitting quietly, not knowing how much time it would take to be granted entry and where we would end up spending the night. The Lonely Planet did not say much about the neighboring towns and we weren’t sure until what time buses ran to Haifa. I started feeling really stupid for deciding to cross the Israeli border that late when we could have spent the night in Jordan and continue on the next morning. I kept breathing, praying and telling myself that we would surely find a place to stay, but that it might just be far beyond our budget. AHhhhhh, budget! Fortunately, we were really lucky and only had to wait about an hour at the Israeli border. From a taxi to a bus on to another bus, we found a cheap ride to Haifa with a sympathetic taxi driver who spoke nothing but French and Hebrew, which got me really excited! He was even kind enough to give us a tour around the Baha’i Gardens to watch them illuminated at night before dropping us at our hostel.

The next couple of days were filled with great sights and leisure time. The Baha’i Gardens and holy places were beyond words and on our way back to Amman we discovered the most amazing beaches as well as the paradise of carbs and fruits in the local bakeries and markets (Mediterranean and Arab pastries, fresh mangos, etc.) and much more!

This trip allowed us to learn a lot and seemed like the perfect conclusion to our journey. Its impact was considerable and I am sure we will each be able to convey the extent of it when we return to our friends and families in Canada.

Beirut.Bonjour.Merci

Vendredi matin dernier, après un dernier déjeuner dans notre fabuleuse cour intérieure à Damascus, Kasia et moi sommes parties à la recherche d’un service taxi* pour nous amener à Beirut. Une taxe de départ, un visa libanais, quelques quatre heures dans le trafic, enveloppées par la boucane des trois fûmeurs avec qui nous partagions le taxi, et nous voilà finalement à Beirut.

Petites boulangeries et cafés avec fines pâtisseries, pains au chocolat et capuccino, un peu de français ici et là (Bonjour/Merci), au bord de la mer Méditerranée…Nos quelques jours s’annonçaient exquis! Seulement, c’était avant de se rendre compte à quel point nos 36 heures au Liban allaient nous coûter cher. Ce que j’imaginais comme la plage était en fait de chics beach clubs où défilent les designer bikinis et les cocktails. Nous avons donc passé un bel après-midi à rôtir sur nos chaises longues parmi les riches et célèbres du monde arabe et à naviguer entre les piscines à jets et le petit bout de mer Méditerranée auquel nous avions accès depuis le club. Bref, un clash considérable avec notre séjour en Syrie! Comme nous nous y attendions, tout était beaucoup plus cher et libéral. Malheureusement, nous n’avions pas les moyens ni le temps nécessaire pour vraiment expérimenter tout le potentiel d’un séjour au Liban.

Le plus intéressant je crois était de découvrir les quelques immeubles, percés par les douilles, qui n’ont pas encore été reconstruits parmi les quartiers entièrement neufs du centre-ville de Beirut. D’essayer de s’imaginer la ville à feu et à sang en 2006 était pratiquement impossible. L’exercice mental nous a quand même donner un avant-goût de l’état psychologique des gens qui décident de venir vivre dans un endroit où le climat politique est aussi instable. Je ne peux même m’imaginer le trauma de ceux qui ont vécu ou vivent aujourd’hui dans un pays en guerre…

* Taxi partagé qui suit une route prédéterminée.

Mer Méditerranée

Vue depuis le Beach Club

Pêcheurs sur la côte

Bord de mer naturel: semblable pour les hommes, mais les femmes doivent y être couvertes

Nouveaux quartiers

Giorgio Armani

Petit Café

Reconstruction

Arabe/Français

Budget Ajnebees* in Syria

We graduated from the Markaz Al-Lughaat (Language Center) of the University of Jordan last Tuesday. After a couple of days of packing and saying goodbyes, we set forth on a journey to Syria. We left early on Friday morning by service taxi, a type of taxi that has fixed routes such as Amman-Damascus and that is allowed to cross the border. Our trip from Amman to Damascus lasted about five hours, including the hassle of getting a visa at the border for our British friend. The landscape awaiting us after the border was not the most appealing. Lots of trash and uncompleted constructions were lining up on the streets. As we were approaching Damascus and about to drop our friends who were to continue on to Beirut at the bus station, I started feeling anxious, worried that we would not be able to communicate and find our way in this huge foreign city. I thought: this might finally be the culture chock I was waiting for! But then, unexpectedly and inexplicably, in a fraction of seconds, this feeling of anxiety let place to the strangest thought: perhaps I would like to live here one day. Since then, I have been falling in love with Damascus.

Back in Amman, Jordanians told us awful things about Syria and how we would not like it and should plan on spending more time in Lebanon. Contrary to their warning, we found Damascus’s old city, with its narrow alleyways and large souqs (markets) incredibly charming, and I don’t think it can be owed to low expectations. Damascus is considerably greener than Amman. It has many parks and a variety of trees. It’s architecture is beautiful and diversified due to its long life as a center for trade in the Middle East. Many of its old buildings have been or are currently being restored. Newer flats and high tours are also found among them. The city is kept incredibly clean and we don’t feel as much looked at as in Amman. Not to say that Amman was bad. We appreciated its varied neighborhoods and the safety it insured us as first-time travelers to the Middle East, but Damascus is something different. It has a lot of character and charm.

Since our arrival we have been staying in an enchanting hostel (one-star hotel). Its staff is very hospitable and there are two beautiful courtyards, one where people sit, read and enjoy smoking shisha or chatting over a cup of tea, and one where we sleep. When we arrived, the hostel fully booked, even the rooftop was full, so they just took out several more mattresses and pillows and put them out on the ground in the courtyard for us. While this may seem pretty uncomfortable, it makes us feel cozy and home. We are not afraid about living our bags out all day because it is really just a bunch of sympathetic budget travelers who travel with the least amount and wish only to discover new places and peoples and the nicest staff.

The day before yesterday, we travelled north to Aleppo by train. What was supposed to be the beginning of a relaxing journey towards the Mediterranean sea, with to coastal city of Lattakia as our ultimate destination, ended up being a 24-hour nightmare. You know how just a few bad experiences can tarnish your memories of a whole city? Well, that is what happened to us in Aleppo. We left Damascus at 6am to catch our train and arrived in Aleppo exhausted 5 hours later. The first hour or so was great: we registered in a hostel that loved Quebecers (they even had a Quebec flag! and it was the only flag) and then took our lunch in a restaurant where you can pick your dish from looking at the pots in the kitchen! But later, as we were walking towards the souqs, we found ourselves surrounded by dirt, nauseating smells, etc. Walking in the souqs to the citadel wasn’t very pleasant either. We were constantly harassed by the shop owners and were just too exhausted to appreciate anything. We had heard of Aleppo’s food as being the best in Syria, and headed towards what was supposed to be its best restaurant according to the Lonely Planet, but it did not exist anymore. We ended up in a chic restaurant, for lack of anything else, and ate a dish in which the main ingredient was red chilly peppers. Somehow I thought I could handle it…I was wrong.

We were suppose to leave for Lattakia at 6am the next morning. In the evening, several people told us the city had become really expensive in the past few years and that there wasn’t much to see or to do. At 5am we woke up and not feeling too well, we decided to go back to sleep and take the 10 o’clock train back to Damascus. By that time, I had gotten really sick from the filfil (red peppers). It was burning throughout my entire digestive system and I had to go through a 6-hour long journey on the train as we weren’t able to catch the express train. It was Hell! But lucky enough, that is also where I had one of the most interesting discussions since I arrived. As I was sitting in the wagon-restaurant, a young Syrian woman approached me. As I was telling her that I am a law student interested in human rights, she started telling me all about the condition of women in Syria and how the current law system and customs are detrimental to them. She explained to me that she studies journalism in Damascus in view of speaking up about the condition of women and children, but that the press is government-controlled in Syria and that she often wishes to escape from her reality and move to the West. She expressed the need for good and honest lawyers to cooperate in reforming the law system as an unjust system can only leads to unfair results.  As much as I felt helpless sitting next to her and hearing about her daily struggles with her family and the society she lives in, I know she appreciated the opportunity to share and I somewhat felt reassured in my choice of studies. Insha’Allah, someday I can make a positive impact on the lives of these women.

Now back in Damascus until Friday, we are enjoying the homey atmosphere of our hostel and the beauty of its surroundings. The staff has been comforting, providing us with herbal tea and kind words until full recovery. Tonight, we will hopefully be able to enjoy again the best of Damascus’ food and drinks. The streets are filled with fresh blackberry juice stands and in the main souq Bakdash serves the most amazing ice cream dipped in the best pistachios. Yesterday, we also discovered a bakery that serves “pain au chocolat” and a spice shop where we smelled the finest spices and tasted delicious marzipan and chocolate. For those fans of Arab food I guess I should also mention the gorgeous courtyards where we can eat the best of hummus, shawarma, shish taouk, kebbab, fattoush…De quoi se régaler!

We will be heading to Beirut this Friday morning. I will let you know our impressions of the “Paris of the Middle East”.

* Foreigners

Feeling welcome

Après un peu plus d’un mois à me faire dire “welcome to Jordan” par pratiquement chaque Jordanien croisé sur ma route, je m’y sens finalement bienvenue. Mes visites quasi-quotidiennes à la boulangerie, nos rencontres avec la proprio, nos repas au resto yéménien du coin et nos plus récents voyages y sont pour beaucoup. Nos moments partagés avec des Jordaniens, leur hospitalité et les familiarités qui se sont développées au fil des semaines avec certains d’entre eux m’ont permis de surmonter l’approche souvent rude que nous avons connue jusque ici, c’est-à-dire les coups de claxons à n’en plus finir, les regards incessants sur la rue, etc.

En fait, je dois avouer qu’il est difficile au départ (et encore aujourd’hui) de saisir en quoi consiste exactement la culture jordanienne, et celle du Moyen Orient plus généralement. Ma vie à Amman est pleine de contrastes. Je tente chaque jour de saisir qui sont les Jordaniens, à quoi je dois m’attendre et comment je dois me comporter, sans malheureusement vraiment y arriver. Il est facile de remarquer certaine particularités comme l’importance du mariage et de la graduation, comme ces deux événements laissent places à des feux d’artifices, à des claxons et des trompettes et à des tonnes de garçons criant joyeusement, leur tête sortie par les fenêtres des voiture tous les soirs. Un autre fait remarquable: il y a de petits camions qui transportent des bonbonnes de gaz et qui circulent toute la journée avec la même musique étrange qui joue en boucle pour annoncer leur arrivée. De quoi rendre leurs conducteurs fous!

Il y a également les café remplis de groupes d’hommes qui boivent un thé à la menthe ou un café turc et fument la shisha, et c’est la que ça se complique…La culture est telle que les jeunes des différents sexes n’interagissent que très peu ensemble. D’après ce qu’on observe, une relation se construit sur la base de communications téléphoniques et les fréquentations en public sont très mal perçues. On ne doit donc principalement que des groupes de filles et des groupes de gars. Alors nous, où est-ce qu’on s’insère dans la culture? Comment sommes-nous perçues? Est-ce que le fait d’être blanche implique nécessairement d’être étrangère, chrétienne (plutôt que musulmane) et accessible (ayant des moeurs plus libérales)? La question se pose, surtout lorsque je me fais approcher dans un café et qu’après une ou deux phrases, on me dit: “T’es jolie. Tu viens d’où? Tu parles bien l’arabe. Est-ce que je peux te revoir? Demain? Ton numéro? Pourquoi non?” C’est probablement complètement inoffensif et je préfère généralement donner le bénéfice du doute, mais l’instinct et les mauvaises expériences de certaines suggèrent une certaine prudence. Seulement, c’est dommage, parce que c’est cette même prudence qui, si elle me protège, m’empêche souvent d’accéder à cette culture que je veux tant connaître, et de dépasser le stade de connaissances pour développer de réels liens d’amitiés.

Heureusement, il y a des exceptions. Par exemple, lundi dernier était une journée particulièrement spéciale. J’ai eu la chance d’assister une amie qui enseigne une classe d’anglais à des filles de 5 à 11 ans dans le cadre d’un programme de McGill en société civile et rétablissement de la paix au Moyen-Orient. Le centre communautaire où nous sommes allées est supervisé conjointement par l’Université de Jordanie et l’Université McGill.

Voici quelques détails (http://www.mcgill.ca/mmep/about/):

The Community Development Centre is situated in Sweileh, the most impoverished and culturally diverse area of Amman. It was established in 2000 as the first of its kind in Jordan. The centre aims to reduce inequality by promoting the entitlements of marginalized and disadvantaged groups and assisting the community in finding solutions to collective problems. Its social, medical and educational programs reach all sections of society, especially orphans, youth, the elderly, women and families.

La classe d’anglais est d’une durée de deux heures et consiste à faire des jeux avec les filles tout en leur apprenant un maximum de mots. Il y avait de l’énergie dans l’air! Elles étaient toutes plus excitées les unes que les autres de nous montrer leurs connaissances et de réciter l’alphabet plus fort que la précédente afin d’attirer notre attention. Elles étaient toutes très attachantes. Après la classe, nous nous sommes dirigées vers l’appartement de trois d’entre elles. Leur mère nous a accueillies chaleureusement et nous a préparé un véritable festin. Nous avons donc passé le reste de l’après-midi à nous délecter de différents plats jordaniens en sa compagnie et celle de ses quatre filles, âgées de 21 mois à 9 ans. C’est dans ces moments-là que le désir de progresser dans notre apprentissage de l’arabe se fait sentir le plus. Nous nous débrouillons assez pour parler de notre famille, de nos occupations et de nos intérêts de façon superficielle, mais pas suffisamment pour explorer un sujet plus en profondeur et vraiment comprendre la culture arabe/palestinienne et les défis quotidiens que rencontrent les réfugiés palestiniens.

En tous les cas, cet après-midi passé en compagnie d’une famille palestinienne était exceptionnelle et m’a permis d’apprécier d’autant plus le peuple jordanien et son hospitalité. La rencontre d’un jeune bédouin à Petra, il y a quelques semaines, était un autre de ces moments. Je vous en dirai plus à propos de ce dernier d’ici quelques jours, une fois que mes examens seront terminés. Insha’Allah, je recommencerai alors à écrire plus régulièrement!

Facing the drought

Since our arrival in Amman, we haven’t witnessed a single drop coming from the sky. But the dry and pleasant climate of the city is nothing in comparison with the drought we saw on our way to Dana Nature Reserve and during our 6-hour long hike.

Sunset by our campsite

We decided to leave on Thursday afternoon, right after class, to arrive in time to find a place to camp and to enjoy the sunset. Trying to save on costs we settled for an unofficial camping site just off the road and overlooking a valley of mountains. The view was breathtaking! More interesting was that these mountains were none else than the West Bank, and through the darkness of the night we discovered several illuminated Israeli settlements perched on their summits. We then discussed the significance of these settlements and shared our knowledge about them and their inhabitants, hopeful that we would eventually get to visit them ourselves.

The night was memorable! We first cooked some meat and veggies in the dark over a fire set by our very own Jesus (Mike: notice the long dark hair and beard on the pictures).

Mike making the fire

Then, as the British and the Americans got excited about Lawrence of Arabia and his lifestory, we heard a few cars full of Palestinian young men heading our way, who eventually stopped and camped about 50 meters down the hill from us.

Ben and Peter

We were afraid to get in trouble once they would notice our presence, but shortly after we heard some 50 cent and Jay-Z music coming from their spot, a few of them came to meet us and engaged in a looooong discussion with our Jordanian friend, Fadi. We then retired to our “bedroom” consisting of a bed of rocks and sand with nothing but a few blankets and a sleeping bag for seven people. The nights get pretty cold in the desert and cuddling was a must. After a short night of sleep we woke up sore and dirty, but to an amazing sunrise.

6 am

J'ai pas l'air heureuse, hein!?!

We then proceeded to walk towards some Bedouin tents we had noticed the previous night where goats, chickens and donkeys roamed in the hills. Our Jordanian friend started screaming “Hi” which made us all somewhat uncomfortable, but eventually the elder of the family came out and welcomed us for tea and goat cheese and entertained us with his stories, which our friend later translated. The Bedouins are very welcoming; it is ingrained in their culture to welcome passersby for tea, for a meal or even for the night as one day they may be passing by your tent and will need your hospitality. I heard that many travelers owe their lives to Bedouins who rescued them after they got lost in the heat of the desert. They seem to enjoy a very self-sustainable and simple life.

After cleaning our campsite, we headed to the village where we got some fresh falafel and hummus to stock some energy before hiking.

Start of the trail

Our trail began in the village of Dana, where a spring of water allowed for some vegetation like big beautiful fig trees. We then went down into a large canyon following a rocky trail for two hours and then walked along the dry river bed in the valley for another hour, desperately hoping to discover water.

Walking through the canyon

We knew we were walking toward the Israeli border, but somehow we were hoping for an ocean behind each hill we mounted. Also, we came across a few bedouins on their donkeys (and their arabic music screaming from their phones) who assured us there was water up ahead, but we discovered that their sense of distance differed from ours. At that point, the sun had reached its highest point and we were standing in the middle of this immense canyon with only a few trees to provide us some shade to rest before beginning our journey back to the village.

Looking back, we realized that we went too far…Our Jordanian friend could not make it up the hill. After smoking a pack of cigarettes on the way down and burning under the sun without sunscreen, carrying nothing but his phone, he was highly dehydrated and had to be rescued by the Reserve’s patrol and brought to the hospital by ambulance. The funny thing: when we reached the hospital, we found him wandering through the hallways with the syringe of the IV still in his arm, searching for a bottle of water. Ahhh, Fadi…

Following his discharge, we considered going back to Amman, but a four-hour drive was not very appealing as the sun was about to set and we all had had a very long day. Thus, we decided to head back to the village and spend the night on the Tower Hotel’s rooftop, under the stars, but with mattresses this time.

Waking up in the clouds (Tower Hotel's rooftop)

Everyone had a great night of sleep except for Peter, who was the first of us to get sick. Was it the Bedouin goat cheese, the water, the meat cooked on the fire? Who knows, but 4 of the 7 got sick. Real camping it was!

As great as it was, we are planning for a quieter weekend this time. It should allow me to see a bit more of Amman and write about our daily life here besides our weekend adventures.

Ma’Salamah!

Sophie and Kasia

Cultural shock at the mall...At least for us!

L’aventure commence

Ça fait quelques jours déjà que j’espère écrire quelques lignes et que la journée disparaît sans que je ne l’aie vue passer. J’ai l’impression de perdre le compte des jours et des semaines, chacun d’eux étant rempli de soleil, de chaleur, de hummus et de pitas!

Chaque chose qu’on entreprend se révèle une aventure. D’un côté, j’ai l’impression de vivre trop à l’occidental et d’un autre, les choses sont toujours un peu plus compliquées, qu’il s’agisse de prolonger notre visa, de faire l’épicerie, le lavage, ou de sortir de Amman pour la journée. Mais j’imagine que c’est le lot de chaque voyageur. Celui-ci inclût entre autres de faire son chemin à travers la bureaucratie locale. Par exemple, nous avons dû faire le tour de trois bureaux pour obtenir une preuve d’étude: elle est émise au bureau trois, signée au bureau un, et étampée et contre-signée au bureau deux, tout ça à travers quelques bonnes bouffées de fûmée de cigarettes dans les locaux et à travers les corridors de l’université. Avec ce petit papier devenu bien officiel, nous nous sommes présentées à la station de police locale, confiante que nous repartirions avec une étampe dans notre passeport et l’autorisation de rester jusqu’en septembre. Bien entendu, ce ne serait pas aussi facile! On nous a demandé une preuve de résidence et une autre signature d’un bureau officielle à l’autre bout de la ville. Était-ce parce que nos collègues américains s’y étaient présentés avant nous, sachant que les Américains ne sont pas très populaires en Jordanie? Peu importe, nous y sommes revenues quelques jours plus tard, entre canadiennes, avec un contrat de notre auberge et sans signature officielle, pour laisser une copie de nos empreintes digitales et finalement repartir avec notre étampe! Cette dernière étampe venait également d’officialiser le début de nos aventures comme étudiantes en Jordanie.

Notre première fin de semaine à l’extérieur de Amman était incroyable. Après avoir passé un vendredi plutôt relaxe à étudier et à découvrir Souq Abdalli, une immense vente de vêtements usagés qui a lieu en plein air tous les vendredis après-midi, nous sommes partis samedi matin avec un bus “magique” en direction de la Réserve naturelle du Wadi Mujib et de la mer morte. Pourquoi magique? Parce que ça faisait trois jours qu’on se cherchait un moyen de transport abordable sans rien trouver et qu’en l’espace de cinq minutes le matin même, un ami jordanien nous a trouvé une vanne pour nous y amener. Nous étions dix, la moitié d’entre nous assis sur des bancs en bois dans une boîte fermée à l’arrière de la vanne. Avec 37 degrés dehors, vous pouvez vous imaginer ce que c’était à l’intérieur! Les eaux du Wadi Mujib ont cependant vite fait de nous rafraîchir. Nous pensions faire une randonnée peinarde de 2 km à travers le canyon et traverser quelques petits ruisseaux ici et là. Encore une fois, nous nous trompions! La randonnée commence dans l’eau et consiste à escalader des rapides (rien de moins!) pour ce rendre à une chute au coeur du Wadi Mujib, et à sauter dans les rapides en revenant. Intense! De quoi vous faire signer une décharge de non-responsabilité au Canada et vous forcer à porter une ceinture de sauvetage et à être accompagné par un guide. Mais en Jordanie, pas de problème! 9.5 dinars et c’était parti! Heureusement, nous avions quelques bonnes paires de bras (nos cinq compatriotes mâles) pour nous tirer en eaux des rapides et nous attraper dans le courant au retour. J’avais l’impression de retomber en enfance. C’était incroyable! Malheureusement, toute cette eau nous a empêché de prendre des photos…

Après quelques heures dans le Wadi, affamés et fatigués, nous nous sommes dirigés vers la voiture louée par un ami pour y récupérer nos affaires. Surprise! La clé a disparu dans les rapides… Un bout de bois, une tige de métal, quelques Jordaniens et le tour était joué! Puis quelqu’un de l’entreprise de location est parti d’Amman pour venir nous porter une clé pour le retour. Bien de service ces Jordaniens!

Pour ajouter quelques péripéties à notre journée, nous avons décider d’essayer d’aller flotter dans la mer morte. Le paysage était irréaliste avec ses montagnes rouges, son eaux si calme et la Palestine de l’autre côté de la mer. Il est difficile d’imaginer que les rives que nous voyons à travers la brume sont celles d’un tout autre pays, et pas n’importe lequel! Puis, preuve à l’appui, la concentration saline de la mer morte permet bel et bien de flotter, mais est aussi extrêmement douloureuse lorsqu’on vient de se faire toutes sortes de petites coupures sur les roches d’un canyon. On s’en doutait, mais on n’avait pas pensé que ça continuerait à brûler par la suite. Ça fait parti de l’aventure j’imagine!

Nous sommes finalement retournés à Amman en fin de journée. Nous n’étions pas certain de pouvoir nous rendre parce que nous étions sept passagers dans une voiture à cinq places et que nous devions passer par une patrouille de police, mais ça n’a pas semblé les inquiéter! Comme je disais, bien sympathique la Jordanie!

Je vous en dirai un peu plus dans les prochains jours…les taxis, les mariages et la graduation, le désert et plus de photos!

Quelques photos

Signs

Al Balad

Al Balad at sunset

Spices

Roman ruins

View from the citadel

Jara Café, Jabal Amman

First week

I arrived in Jordan a week ago. Our first reaction coming out of the plane in the middle of the night was: “Oh my God! We’re in the Middle East!” and trying so hard to picture what it meant. Kasia and I both went on a trip to India two years ago and thus had a similar background to set the comparison. However, we soon realized that there isn’t much comparison to be made. It is a completely different place!

At first, we stayed in a hostel dowtown, in a neighborhood called “Al Balad.” This neighborhood is full of shops of all kinds and of cheap restaurants and cafés and is very busy during the day. There are a lot more men than women, especially in the restaurants (in some, women are not even allowed). The few women that we saw were mostly covered, and some fully covered. To walk around the streets surrounding our hotel gave us the idea that what we generally expect from a Muslim country is true, and that Jordan was even more conservative than we expected. A couple of days later, we were proved wrong when walking up-hill (Amman is very hilly) away from Al Balad, we discovered a much wealthier neighborhood called Jabal Amman. A lot more women, a lot less head scarves, cleaner and more expensive were our first observations. We thought this was the wealthy part of Amman and were quite shocked by the contrast, but only to be told the next day that this was just a middle-class neighborhood! Since then, Kasia and I have been trying to figure out what Amman is, perhaps over-analyzing each and everything we see.

We have finally settled at Zain Hostel, a hostel for female students located within a five-minute walk from the university. We live in a fully furnished studio with another girl from our language program. The place is by far the most luxurious hostel I have ever seen and the staff is very welcoming. Most of them speak almost no English which gives us a great opportunity to practice. We also “enjoy” the daily and nightly call for prayer from the Mosque on the other side of the street. At times, it is really beautiful, but at 3:30 in the morning we found it more loud than anything else, especially because it goes off three times in a half hour.

Surprisingly, everyone we have met so far, i.e. the staff at the hostel, at the university, taxi drivers, understand when we speak Arabic. In fact, it is much easier to learn and remember words in a country where you are surrounded by Arabic at all times. However, starting class last Sunday made us aware of our limitations, especially in terms of vocabulary. For instance, we know how to say “United Nations” in Arabic, but not yet our body parts or fruits and vegetables. To say the least, the vocabulary lists from our course at McGill were quite random. Nevertheless, our grammar skills allowed us to enroll into the pre-intermediate level, just were we expected to be. Our main teacher is named Dr. “Awesome”, really! He is very passionate and expressive when he teaches. In fact, most of the teachers don’t know much English and must sometimes use the funniest body language in order to make us understand what the new vocabulary is about. We met our second professor today and she seems to be a very sweet lady.

I will tell you more about the University and our daily discoveries in later posts. I must go do my homework! Salam

Bienvenue

Voici un blog pour tous ceux qui souhaitent avoir un petit aperçu de la Jordanie, du Moyen Orient en général, ou qui désirent tout simplement me suivre dans mes aventures à la découverte d’une nouvelle région du monde. Certains m’ont suivi il y a quelques années lorsque j’étais en Inde avec “Petite gauchère au pays des vaches sacrées.” J’espère que ce nouveau blog saura vous divertir et vous enrichir autant que le précédent. Petite différence: il sera en français et en anglais.

Ce que je fais en Jordanie: j’ai décidé de venir y passer deux mois afin d’améliorer l’arabe que j’apprends depuis un an déjà à McGill. Kasia, une autre étudiante de McGill, et moi nous sommes donc inscrites à l’Université de Jordanie, à Amman, pour la session d’été.

Pourquoi apprendre l’arabe: par curiosité et pour le plaisir d’apprendre une langue étrangère. Également parce que je m’intéresse aux droits des femmes dans les pays musulmans et que pour travailler dans ce domaine l’arabe devient un atout majeur.