Travel to Saturn

Salt-Encrusted

2008-11-13T16:52:00.002+02:00

This past weekend brought us on a modest exhibition to the dead sea. What with all the stinging, skin-burning salt, it didn't exactly make for a relaxing dip. But hey, it's pretty close to Jesus's old stomping grounds, so we can't complain too much.

israel or palestine? you decide.

look! we're waving at you! how is is possible???

the suckers who paid three dinar for mud.

the non-sucker who stole some guy's mud.

l-ain.

Crustily Yours...

get yo' hijaab on

2008-11-08T19:59:00.005+02:00

Sometimes we and our friends get the urge, quite naturally, to, well, get our hijaab on. Cultural insensitivity aside, I think it's a barrel of monkeys for everybody involved.

Oh, and I'd like to take this opportunity to say I told you so to my father, who has been convinced from day one that if I just wore a hijaab, I'd fit in. Clearly not.

Insensitively Yours,
Jess

Happy Birfday!

2008-11-04T13:01:00.005+02:00

Jessica and I had the pleasure of helping my host brother Waseem celebrate his 24th birthday (in style, of course.) It also happened to be, like, 5 other people's birthdays too. We prepared some traditional chocolate chip cookies, among many other sweets and sugary surprises.
The night mostly consisted of us dancing in the middle of about 30 of my family members, who were too shy to dance. Or maybe it was that they just enjoyed our "American" moves...
The festivities:

mummy and daddy all dressed up.

coneheads.

my loves- gena, lisa, and jess.

all the haloweats you could dream of.

the birthday boy!

A Royally Good Time.

2008-10-30T09:27:00.005+03:00

Yesterday was a monumental day in my life.

I met His Royal Highness Prince El Hassan Bin Talal.

He is involved with the Regional Human Security Centre, where I am interning. Audrey (my co-intern) wrote a blog about the Prince a couple of weeks ago, and the Prince's Secretary found Audrey's blog and told him about it. After that, he told the Centre he wanted to meet this girl that writes blogs about him. After shaking hands, and introducing ourselves, we got to snap a couple pictures with him. And as it turns out, he has not only heard of Oregon, but has a Ducks t-shirt.

Audrey, Prince Hassan, me, and Gena.

P.S. To whoever is reading this blog for the Prince: If you get a chance, tell His Royal Highness it was a pleasure to meet him.

Missing you, Elizabeth

cups and kilos

2008-10-11T14:50:00.005+03:00

If Thursday's the new Friday, then Saturday's the new Sunday, so today we're busy studying away at our favorite lesbian-owned cafe in Amman. And today, there's the added bonus of the lesbian owners (or so we're pretty sure) hanging around smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee outside. Moomkin we will ask them for help with our Arabic later.

bean-bagging

cups and kilos

studious friends. hailing from portland, they're part of the mini-oregon we've created here.

surreptitious photo of the lesbian owners.

And just because we know you miss our dulcet tones...

Northerly

2008-10-11T12:35:00.006+03:00

Though we intended to travel to Syria for the Aid Al-Fitr holiday, certain car bombings got in the way of our plans. To say the least, we were a tad upset with the general martyr community, but we did manage to salvage the vacation anyway. How, you ask? Well, we decided to conduct a survey of every single Roman column in Jordan. Certainly more exciting than Damascus “all roads lead to Damascus,” Syria.

Jerash was the first exciting stop in our columnar tour. And believe you me, its columns do not fail to impress. Complete with a hippodrome, theatres, and jordanian bagpipers (playing scottish music, of course), what else could you ask for?

Next it was off to the black basalt columns of Umm Qais, but not, of course, without a bit of a run-around first. After happening upon a bus to the awful, awful city of Irbid, we intended to catch another bus to our hostel in Umm Qais. Instead, an opportunistic Jordanian man attempted to drive us to Ajlun. Perhaps Jordanian taxi drivers think that shouting a city's name about twenty times equates to a different city entirely, but I'm more inclined to think that this particular man was simply rather daft. Well, anyway, we did make it there eventually. So take a gander.

All that column viewing really whetted our appetite for—that's right—more columns. So we headed off to the secluded village of Pella. The rough guide to Jordan calls it “underwhelming for non-archaeologists,” but all the green grass, roaming sheep, and 15 JD bottles of wine really compensated for the pessimistic attitude of our guidebook.

After wandering around the countryside and downing personal bottles of Jordanian and South African wine, we sang through every musical and disney song we could remember. Probably all of the shepherds and their sheep in the entirety of Pella could hear our off-key harmonizations. To say the least, we slept peacefully and awoke to an olive farmer's breakfast at our hotel-owner's house. Then it was off to the hilly village of Ajlun, where we wandered around a presumedly old and important castle and fantasized about the villas and harems situated among its hills.

Overall, our trip to the North was an archaeologists dream, but as for the rest of us, we simply enjoyed all those ancient, columnar phalluses.

Have It Our Way?

2008-10-05T13:25:00.003+03:00

It's not that we've been particularly homesick or pining away for the fast food capital of the world (that's right, we're talking about you, America). And it's not really as if we've had visions of burgers and fries floating around in our minds. It's simply that, as sometimes happens, we woke up one day and said to ourselves: “Today is a great day. Today is a day for Burger King.”

In America, this is a relatively simple process. Burger King is open nearly twenty-four hours a day and, should you find it closed, there is sure to be a worthwhile substitute within smelling distance. In Jordan, not so much. Don't get us wrong—super-sized burger establishments are readily available around most every corner, along with enough American chains to fulfill the most elaborate of your fast-food desires. But American or not, these establishments adhere to the strict rules of Ramadan. And for those lusting after a mid-day milkshake and fries, this poses somewhat of a problem.

Back when Ramadan was still in full force, we were posed with exactly such a problem. The saga goes something like this: After a long night turned slumber party, we awoke to the harsh realization that there wasn't a bite to eat in the apartment nor a single restaurant open. Quite naturally, our minds drifted to Burger King, which maybe—just maybe—would be able to answer our famished prayers. But a short walk down the highway found us standing dejectedly in front of our fast food Mecca. Though we could swear we smelled Burger King and saw a strange group of men with bags surely containing burgers, pressing our foreheads up against the clean glass and banging our fists on the doors produced little result. Burger King would not fire up the grease vats for us today.

Yes, yes, after such disappointments, we began to doubt the Burger King slogan entirely. Have it our way? Hardly. But we were determined nonetheless. On the following day, like true and proper Muslims, we drank some vodka (naturally), waited until nearly sunset, and paraded over to our local burger establishment. And lo and behold, we finally found what we had been searching for: a whopper and fries, Ramadan style. We waited, eagerly, for the setting of the sun and, finally hearing the signifying cry of “Allah is the Greatest,” we celebrated the end of the day's (non)fasting by tucking into our number one specials. And if Allah can provide over eight different types of frozen burgers AND soft serve, I think it's safe to say that he truly is the greatest.

greasy perfection.

sooo hungry.

allahu akbar.

N.B. Burger King may be the product of globalization, but it is highly favored by the locals. We enjoyed our whoppers in a packed restaurant of more than fifty muslim burger-lovers. You know what they say. When in Amman...

Southern Exposure: Petra

2008-09-25T09:53:00.005+03:00

Petra. It's all a bit blase, don't you think?

siq. makes the city easy to defend. neat-o, huh?

the mildly famous treasury.

riding through the desert on a [donkey] with no name.

prime real estate.

sand bottle making.

expensive sand.

after hiking to the monastery. perhaps you can't tell, but we're standing terrifyingly close to the edge here. and about to fall right into israel.

disorienting view. these mountains allow for very little depth perception.

this looks pretty much like the treasury, but much harder to get to.

mosaic.

Southern Exposure: Aqaba

2008-09-22T22:56:00.005+03:00

The story of the desert usually goes something like this: hot, beating sun, thirst-induced hallucinations, and non-existent oases. Well, a glimpse of shimmering water arose out of the desert landscape, and hallucination or not, we hoofed it towards the liquidy haven. And if this oasis in the desert was a thirst-induced hallucination, then I must say it was a fairly good one.

aqaba.

oh hey, liz.

pleased as punch.

why yes, this is the director of our language program.

sunset over the red sea. that's either egypt or israel we're looking at.

Southern Exposure: Wadi Rum

2008-09-22T22:37:00.010+03:00

"vast, echoing, and god-like." -T.E. Lawrence

This last weekend, we headed south for a little taste of the actual wonders of Jordan. And after all our distasteful experiences with taxi drivers, public transportation, and Jordanian men, boy did we need it.

The first day started off with a three hour camel ride in Lawrence's old stomping grounds, Wadi Rum. Yes, camel riding is the iconic Middle Eastern experience (not to mention Lawrence's preferred method of transportation) but believe you me, we could have lived without the angry, farting camels and all the leg and back pain associated with being perched atop them for three hours.

liz is clearly enjoying her camel ride. not to mention her guide who may or may not have been trying to kidnap her for an impromptu bedouin marriage ceremony.

atop a sand dune and fantasizing about the turks.

caravan.

Stunning desert expanses and magnificent canyons aside, all that camel-caravanning was just a bit much for us. I think it's safe to say that we were more than a little relieved to kiss our belligerent ungulates goodbye and sit down to enjoy the much-lauded sunset over Wadi Rum.

please disregard the interesting hair stylings. its a bedouin thing. you wouldn't understand.

And after the sun went down, well, what do you think? It was time to party, bedouin style. By which I mean: dance around the fire in a big circle, sing in Arabic at the top of your lungs and, if you have the chance, maybe find yourself a brand new Bedouin hubby.

tea.

dj.

my husband's cuter than yours!

After a late desert night, we awoke groggy-eyed to find our camp bathed in the morning sunlight and our usual breakfast of tea and pita bread waiting for us. Finally, we were ready to take off on our four-hour jeep-bound journey toward Aqaba. As good ol' T.E. would say, “nothing is written.”

sunrise.

our camp just after dawn.

tents.

desert expanse.

what can we say? the desert gets us pretty excited.

Hijaab...by Calvin Klein

2008-09-16T09:06:00.011+03:00

I think that people often overlook the Middle East as a seat of sartorial elegance or couture know-how. And, with considerably less freedom of dress than in more liberal countries, it's hardly a surprise that Milan, Paris, and New York weigh in somewhat ahead of Amman. It should be noted, however, that from the hijaab-wearing to the rich and westernized, Middle Eastern fashion can be as complex and coordinated as some of the top designs from Philip Lim, Marc Jacobs, and [insert your favorite designer here].

Remember the old aphorism that your shoes should match your belt? Jordanian women seem to know this all too well and, indeed, have taken it to the next level. Yesterday was the first day of regular classes at the University of Jordan and, to be sure, everybody was dressed to impress. And by dressed to impress, I mean incredibly color coordinated. This means the hijaab, the long trench-coat that many women wear here, the shoes, the bag, and sometimes even the shoe laces will match. It's overwhelming, to say the least, and, without question, a fashion faux-pas in other parts of the world.

Ok, so maybe Marc Jacobs would never remix 80 different shades of blue (with blue zebra-striped jeans, no less) into a single outfit. But then again, he never had to incorporate a hijaab and full-body coverage into his designs. I think, therefore, that it's safe to say the Middle East is trying its hardest. Jordan may be a bit behind on the most vogue of European trends and they may have never gotten the memo that your eyeshadow shouldn't match everything else in your outfit, but for now, I can hardly complain about all the fashion ogling the first days of school are providing. Some of the outfits are quite tastefully done and I've seen more than a few pairs of D&G sunglasses tucked into hijaabs. And as for some of the shoes peeking out beneath those trenches...well, let's just say I'm more than a little jealous.

I apologize beforehand for the photos. What can I say? I had to be on the sly.

purple, purple, everywhere, but not a drop to drink

monochrome.

unfortunately, lime green is a very popular color here.

even the shoes are a shade of eggplant.

please note the abundance of peach.

these women even match eachother. this is hardly an uncommon theme.

Sartorially Yours,
Jess

Sugar Dates! Sugar Dates and Figs!

2008-09-14T12:26:00.008+03:00

There's only one place where you can buy bizarre bloomers for one JD and be force-fed copious amounts of very sweet tea by complete strangers: downtown Amman.

One of our first ventures into the “belid”, as they call Amman's downtown area, led my unsuspecting friends and I up the wrong set of stairs into the office of a very friendly Jordanian. After politely refusing to stay for tea or coffee nearly five times (all we wanted were directions), the man turned to a little boy with a tray, saying “Five teas.” And, indeed, we had little choice but to stay and chat with the man in broken Arabic. Later, his brother (who was wearing sunglasses inside), entered the office and insisted on showing us his facebook. Welcome to downtown Amman.

The common meeting place of the very hectic downtown area is the Husseini mosque. Here, you'll find eardrum-popping calls to prayer and worshippers washing their feet, hands, and face at the water fountains outside the mosque. Tucked directly behind is a charming, though intimidating street crammed with fresh fruits and vegetables, bags of beans, and everything else the souqs of Aladdin so cartoonishly evoke.

husseini mosque at night

From the mosque, one can easily make their way to a variety fragrant perfume stalls, storefronts glittering with bejeweled traditional dresses, and tucked-away alleys hung with thousands of stringed instruments. You can also, naturally, find a number of goods more befitting of japanese school girls than Middle Eastern souqs, such as large strawberry hair clips adorned with bunnies and cell phone bags covered in large-headed pandas and glitter. (I must admit that I purchased the former and coveted the latter.)

If all the warding off of Jordanian hospitality, haggling, and general Arabian hubbub makes you a bit peckish (which it's sure to do), there's always a number of very cheap local eateries ranging on a scale of very sketch to monarch-worthy. At the "Benthouse" Cafeteria, one can enjoy traditional food such as mansef or freekah while overlooking the city. And as a bonus, if you're a charming semi-Arabic speaking American like me, the owner may treat you to free turkish coffee and hookah after you dine. Alternatively one can opt for Hashems where you won't pay a king's ransom for generous servings of their only three menu items (felafel, fool, and hummus) but, as it is whispered on the streets, you may glimpse King Abdullah II and the fam getting down with the common people. Unfortunately, 'Dullah (as I so affectionately refer to his majesty) has not yet graced me with his presence, but I remain sure that a personal invitation to the palace is right around the corner.

Awaiting my cordial invitation from the king,
Jess

Oh my Allah!

2008-09-14T09:10:00.003+03:00

Today, my host sister took Meighan and me out swimming at “Total Fitness.” Oh my Allah, I saw Muslim women in bikinis! For the low price of 7JD ($9.80), I got to swim, sit in a hot tub, and roast in a sauna. All in all, it was a pleasant experience, and thank you very much, I did enjoy my stay at “Total Fitness.”

The following are pictures from a post Iftar dinner (Ramadan post to come soon- once I stop stuffing my face with food and actually bother to take a picture at dinner). On this night for dinner there was: Muna (mom), Fayez (dad), Suha (aunt), Waseem (brother), Shareef (brother), Sareen (sister), Philli (maid), Meighan (roommate), Lulu (me), Lulu (cousin), Dana (cousin), Josh (host cousin), Kyle (host cousin), Rawan (cousin), Jamal (uncle), Rami (cousin), Yazin (cousin), Hannah (aunt), Hamad (neighbor).
NOTE: LOOK MOM, DAD- I HAVE FAMILY!
Anyways, every time I bring up my camera it turns into a ridiculous photo shoot. So have at it!

Lulu, DunDun, Mimi

With the best Ramadan dessert- Qateyef (MSA), or Atayef (Jordanian accent), or Gateyef (Palestinian farmer)
My host cousins from the program. They are as angelic as this picture makes them look.

True Love.
GAP ad.

Today's Traffic Report

2008-09-14T08:59:00.000+03:00

Transportation in Amman is, to say the least, well… different than in America. My roommate Meighan and I have taken up the near impossible, by traveling by bus to and from school each day. Each morning we wake up at 6 am. Since we are in the midst of Ramadan, we must drink and eat everything necessary before we leave the house. By 7 am, we head out to the Eighth Circle, with our host brother, Shareef.
This is when things become difficult. Think, “Chevy Chases’ European Vacation,” traffic circles. We have to cross in front the morning traffic, to get to the other side, where the hoard of ‘coaster’ busses is located. Amman has a private bus system, made up small 15 passenger van/bus things. 15 passengers, however, is just merely a suggestion. 20 can easily be crammed onto the small, smelly things.
If we make it to the “bus stop” (again, merely a suggested bus stop), before 7:13, we are able to catch a bus directly to the university. If not, we may have to bargain with the bus drivers, or just give in and take two busses.
The bus system works like this: there is a bus driver and a money collection man (no official title, to my knowledge). The money collection boy/man also works as a digital sign or a map of the bus routes in the US. He yells out the names of the destination (often contradictory to what is written on the side of the bus) and his yelling is comparable to that of an auctioneer. “Sweleh,Sweleh,Sweleh,” is repeated over and over again, similar to an auctioneer yelling, “DoIhear$500,$500,$500 forthisbeautifuldiamondring?”
After getting on the bus (on which we are always the minority as women and Americans), we usually make it to our destination. However, there have been a handful of times, which we have not quite reached our destination. We decided to take the Madaba bus, which we had been told would drop us off on Airport Road, the highway near our house. However, it seems that there are two ways to get to the airport, and we chose wrong! The bus driver stopped the bus and told us that this was as close as we were going to get to the Eighth Circle. We got off and we standing on the edge of a busy highway (comparable to I-5, but much less organized). However, since we are in Amman, we were able to hail a taxi in approximately 6.8 seconds and make it home in 4.5 minutes.
The busses have no schedule and leave whenever they are full. They also, apparently, wait for their drivers to do their mid-day prayer. Meighan and I were sitting on a Sweleh bus to get to the Eighth Circle, when we noticed our driver take his rug out, set it down on the street, and begin his prayer. This is the point at which you remember that you are not in America, but in a country where religion is everything, and bus schedules are just a joke.

P.S. Apologies for the lack of picture evidence to support the Amman bus phenomenon. Taking my camera out would not be using any common sense.

P.P.S. Apologies for the delay between posts. My excuse? Ramadan. Nothing gets done.

The Adventures of Lulu

2008-09-01T15:37:00.003+03:00

My host family recently bestowed the nickname "Lulu" on me. It came about as we were hanging up lights for Ramadan. I'm not really sure how "Liz" became "Lulu," but nonetheless, I think that was my initiation into the great Zebalawi family! The following are pictures after we found out that Ramadan was starting the next day.

From L to R: Me, Fayez (my dad), Mieghan (Ameican exchange sister with me), Muna (my mom)

Me and Aunt Suha (or Lulu and Susu)

Waseem (host brother) and Ahmad (not sure...)

Sibling fashion shoot

Sunset from my roof

jordan: upgrade (plus bidets)

2008-08-30T13:31:00.005+03:00

Hearing the alarm ring at 4:30 in the morning and exchanging groggy farewells with the staff of our hostel, we began last week a long and treacherous journey to our salvation, only comparable to our ancestors setting out for Ellis Island. The seven or eight hour bus ride from Cairo to Nuweiba was long and uneventful, as expected. We passed the time by sleeping and staring blankly out at the far-stretching desert. It seemed we would finally escape the trials faced in Egypt.

Arriving in the port of Nuweiba, however, reminded us that we were not yet into international waters. The ticket office for the ferry would have been damn near impossible to find, had we not met some helpful Jordanian students studying in Cairo. Then, we had to wait for hours in the beating sun on hot black concrete. Finally obtaining the tickets, we were waived through a gate and security checkpoint by scary, shouting men with guns. Our Jordanian counterparts, however, were kept behind. For once in our lives, we were glad to have U.S. passports.

The ferry was less long, equally uneventful, and mainly full of Arab emigrates and a crazy old woman who offered us bread and pantomimed instructions to us. Liz and I then proceeded to sneak into Jordan without visas (on accident, mind you) and make our way to Amman.

Ahhhhhh. Jordan. It's so much calmer in contrast, in fact, that—to tell the truth—we've been a bit bored since we've arrived. But, finally finishing up the worst of our two-week long orientation and moving into our respective apartments (in my case) and homestays (in Liz's case), life is, as the LG products that seem to dominate the electronics market in Jordan would say, good. Liz's host mom is a hair stylist and her host dad a make-up artist. It doesn't get much better than that. And they've given my roommate and I an apartment swanky enough for any drug lord. I'll upload pictures of Liz's homestay family as soon as I get them, but for now, check out where the rich people (and me!) live in Amman.

our sitting room. we're not really sure what to do with this.

our oven exploded when the landlady turned it on. i don't think we'll be baking many apple pies.

my king-size bed in my master bedroom.

bidet.

the view from our balcony. yes, we have a balcony.

didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to stare?

2008-08-24T21:19:00.003+03:00

This picture was taken in the Biblioteca Alexandria. I don't know why, but we felt it was appropriate for this post.

The role of women in the Middle East has progressed since the time of 1001 Arabian Nights from being sexual objects to being...well, sexual objects. Though women's rights have progressed since arabian days of yore, with women gaining the right to attend universities and work, in reality, the way Arab men view women's role in society is much the same as it always has been.

After just four days in Egypt, one can conclude that both Arab and foreign women receive little respect from the men that seem to run the country. Egypt, however, is very much a country of contrasts. Due to extreme wealth disparities and extremist views, some Egyptian men act with the noblest of intentions, whereas the majority of others care nothing but to deceive, harass, and take advantage of the women around them, especially if those women are seemingly available foreigners. In a place as exasperating as Egypt can be, all one learns is to trust very little, and be extremely grateful when anyone or anything proves trustworthy.

The problem is not just that we, as white females in Egypt, didn't blend into the streets full of covered women. It is how naked we felt when assaulted with a slew of stares, catcalls, hisses, honks, and whistles. To be ignored in the streets of a big city is a luxury taken for granted in Western countries. Even just making our way down the road to a popular local park, for example, we were met by honks from nearly every passing car. Admittedly, many of the looks we accumulated once in the safety of the park were friendly or merely curious, but most elsewhere were offensive and derogatory. It is this more than anything that made us feel so powerless and ashamed of our gender and nationality.

Unwelcome stares and exclamations were, however, the least of our problems as white girls in Egypt. Much more alarming were the men who would approach us and refuse to leave us alone or go so far as to physically molest us. In Alexandria, for example, we asked a seemingly nice young man for directions to the Biblioteca Alexandria. Offering to lead us the short distance there, we thought we had met one of the few nice Egyptian men. When we later ran into him on the street and he proceeded to follow us around for nearly an hour, we realized how wrong that conception had been. Lying about our plans and saying we were married proved our only out from the situation. Furthermore, in the Ramses train station in Cairo, we were approached by an Arab man claiming to be a metal musician. While he seemed only to want to help us in our travels, all we wanted was to be left alone, unobligated to yield to his desires.

Worst of all, however, is the physical harassment that, in the U.S., would be worthy of screams for help, at the very least, and most likely, lawsuits. On our first day in the city, a gaggle of young Arab boys followed us through the streets, grabbing at our breasts and other inappropriate places. To be molested by a fully grown man is one thing. To be molested by children without anyone stopping them is much more degrading. This is not to say we escaped violation by the men. On the bus from Cairo to Nuweiba, a police officer at a security checkpoint began slyly caressing our thighs as he calmly asked for our passports. In the street, one might be able to call out for help. But when confronted by a man with a brigade of armed men behind him, there is little that can be done. It is the combination of such physical and verbal abuse that made us feel as helpless and vulnerable as children throughout much of our stay in Egypt.

It would be unfair, however, to write off all Middle Eastern men or to hold them accountable for beliefs that have accumulated for centuries. As a Norwegian man in the Alexandria train station pointed out, after all, Arab women are not available even for harmless flirting and conversation. As white women, we are perceived as the only available females around. Furthermore, Egypt is full of a number of considerate, trustworthy men, if one only looks closely enough. A man in an Alexandrian bank was more than happy to politely converse with us in our broken Arabic and point us in the right direction. In addition, the staff at our hostel, though mildly flirtatious, were nothing but helpful and respectful, even purchasing train and bus tickets at no extra cost, and offering us as much advice as possible. In the end, all these people desired in return was our friendship and, yes, our email addresses.

As we depart from Egypt and the men that run the country, we are met with mixed emotions. Today, we leave behind a country that we both love and hate.

he nice, the jesus

2008-08-22T03:11:00.008+03:00

Today we took a look into the competing religions behind the Egypt area. First we braved the flirtatious men on the metro to stop in Coptic Cairo. This was quite different from the rest of Cairo that we've seen and the first place we actually received friendly greetings from Egyptian woman!

Then, it was haggling over a cab fair to Islamic Cairo, where we saw the famous Citadel atop Muqattam hill. Haggling over cab fair: 13 L.E. Entrance to Citadel: 20 L.E. Almost getting killed in Cairo traffic: priceless.

The outer courtyard of the Mohammed Ali mosque. The limestone structure and cool breeze of this place was almost enough to consider converting. Though there doesn't seem to be much of a system, some women are made to put on a large green robe. Apparently, we were dressed modestly enough.

The inside of the Mohammed Ali mosque

Mosque of Al-Nasir Mohammed

Done hanging out in churches and mosques, we walked along the freeway to Al-Azhar park, somewhat of a sanctuary in the desert. We enjoyed sticking our dirty feet in the fountains and watching all of the locals out picnicking on their day off. Thursday's the new Friday!

one thousand camels and thirty liters of bananas

2008-08-22T00:56:00.010+03:00

The pyramids are a fickle mistress. We were pleased as punch, of course, to visit some of the most ancient structures in the world. We were somewhat less satisfied, however, with the numerous tourist traps, scams, and lush marriage proposals that seem to go hand in hand with these triangles of yore. Ah, Egypt: the land of civilization.

The pyramids at Giza. We left here feeling probably as hot and frustrated as our camels due to the constant tourist traps. Please note the ridiculous headscarves. They were placed forcefully on our heads.

The step pyramid at Saqqara. Please note again the ridiculous headscarf. Again, placed forcefully on our heads. This picture was taken by baqsheesh-seeking local who pretended to be in awe of our Arabic skills.

One of the pyramids at Dahshur. This pyramid requires a lengthy climb and descent to get inside, where it smells strongly of ammonia. If we had realized at the time that it was because of the large number of bats inhabiting the pyramid, we probably would have enjoyed the view from the outside.

After a long day of hot sand and too much baqsheesh, all we wanted to do was take a dip in the Nile. The locals tell us, however, that this is not very wise. So we settled for a bizarre cruise full of vacationing Arabs instead. The singing, belly dancing, and sufi dancing was all just fine, but when they broke out in an English version of "Hotel California," we were somewhat taken aback. But hey, at least the boat had free dessert and air conditioning. And in this so-called "land of civilization," that's really all we're looking for.

the roof-the roof-the roof is on fire

2008-08-19T20:38:00.009+03:00

After profuse goodbyes and a long, mildly disastrous journey, we finally made it to Cairo, the city that never sleeps. Or should I say the city that never leaves American girls alone?

As soon as we made it through customs, we promptly got ripped off by cab drivers and accosted by two Muslim women on our way up the elevator to our hostel. It was slightly made up for, however, by an accommodating host and traditional welcome tea. Ironically enough, it is somewhat of a seventh floor haven--and with free wi-fi and bottled water, I don't see any real reason to leave.

Room with a view

Nice curtains, huh?

Refreshed, we decided to venture into the streets below, only to discover that we come by more attention here than even the most narcissistic could desire. Unfazed (or so we tried to pretend) by the whistling, stares, and sometimes-polite waves, we saw billowing smoke over the tops of some buildings and decided to investigate. And, indeed, the roof was on fire.

We were hesitant to pull out our expensive, touristy cameras, but seeing all the onlookers taking pictures with their cell phones, we decided to be a bit gauche and snap a few pics. It was at this point that a gaggle of Arab boys started harassing us. Jumping into our pictures and asking our names was marginally adorable, but the bizarre hissing, following, and grabbing-in-inappropriate-places was somewhat less so. A considerate older boy tried to stop them from jumping us and even apologized for them, but it did little good when they followed us nearly all the way to our hostel, flustering us so much that we got lost and had to buy perfume in order to get directions back.

The culprits.

All in all, a rather off-putting experience, but at least we'll smell good the next time we are so presumptuous as to brazenly walk the streets of Cairo.

Missing You

2008-08-14T03:05:00.003+03:00

We may complain about the US while we're here (and threaten to move to Canada) but in reality we're kind of attached to this country and a few of its accoutrements. Wouldn't you miss all of these things too?

Tim Gunn: Our favorite American. It'll be difficult to live without Project Runway and Tim Gunn's impeccable style advice for four months. Keep us posted. Make it work.

Pickles. We really doubt that they have pickles in the Middle East, and that's really a shame.

Our entire wardrobes. Hardly anything we own is Middle East-appropriate (note above dress).

The BFs. Maybe it sounds girly, but they really are what we'll miss the most. <3 LOL

Making Ready

2008-08-11T00:51:00.011+03:00

How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation?
-Jane Austen

Here is how we prepare for a four month Middle Eastern sojourn. Call it a to-do list, if you will.

1. Buy oversized suitcases that will be impossible to lug through the streets of Cairo.

2. Pretend that we know where we are going and how to read maps. Well...let's just say one of us doesn't have a very good sense of direction. Ahem. Jessica.

3. Get evicted. Somebody forgot to put the rent check in the mail. Ahem. Jessica.

4. Eat as many American snack foods as possible. We will be living off hummus and pitas for the next four months, after all.