So You Want To Join Peace Corps

I just had to pass this along.  I haven't laughed this hard in I don't know how long.  An RPCV put together a brief YouTube video of a conversation between a young man who just finished his Peace Corps application and a parent or friend who is all too aware of the cultural misunderstandings and frustrations and the emotional and physical challenges that the young man may encounter during his service.

The various bits on the gastrointestinal issues, picking out "worms like zits", the local, organic foods myth, experiencing what winter is really like without any heating, the occasional hermit phase that many volunteers go through, and the case of the overbearing and bureaucratic supervisors are so spot on.  I had first-hand experience with a few of these and some others were expressed by fellow volunteers.  So many memories flashed through my mind with each exchange.

Some people may feel that this video discourages anyone from joining, but I would beg to differ.  I think a dose of reality is necessary, and I think glossing over the difficulties or side effects of serving is worse.  I think a lot of young people need a sense of idealism to get through the rough patches, but they shouldn't be naive.  In a way that quixotic idealism is perhaps what prompts volunteers to help build a school where there was no school, set up a computer lab where there was none, foster the growth of a small business despite its many naysayers, or raise the self-esteem of young women in a society that does not value their input.  Sometimes you are able to accomplish the goals you set out for yourself and other times you fail miserably for a variety of reasons that may or may not be under your control.

Let's say hypothetically that I was able to go back to the past on a Back to the Future's DeLorean Time Machine (I've always wanted to, and yes, this movie reference is pretty old) knowing what I know now about my Peace Corps experience to the time when I decided to go.  Would I still go? Absolutely!  I was challenged personally and even professionally.  I'm not sure how you can measure personal growth, but I do agree with French novelist Marcel Proust who said, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”  Living in Morocco and traveling through the Middle East and Europe have exposed me to different ways people have decided to carry out their lives, and the journey has obliterated the notion of what we Americans consider to be the normal, usual, or the customary way of life.

I think it's difficult to understand another vantage point unless one is fully immersed in another, but it doesn't take a trip or an extended stay overseas to notice differences.  The U.S. is fortunate to have little pockets of people from all over the world that have established restaurants, businesses, and places of worship that reflect their values where one can get a taste of that culture.  And I guess if one is still wanting more, then of course, one should head out and plunge in to get the full experience.

So you want to join  the United States Peace Corps? If you have the time and the financial means to do so, do it!  Beware of the hardships.  Then, when you've had time to reflect a bit, come back to tell us what you've learned and what you've seen.  Enjoy the video and go ahead and finish your application already!




More travel quotes at: http://thinkexist.com/quotations/travel/

Is There Enough Milk and Honey for All?

So I got up early in the morning and my couchsurfing hosts in Israel dropped me off at a nearby bus stop where I was then able to take a bus to the central bus station in Jerusalem where I was then able to hop on an Egged bus to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge. The bus ride from Jerusalem to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge was 40.50NIS, same as last time, and the trek was about 2 hours or so.

The environs just north of Jerusalem and towards Bayt She'an are a stark contrast to the city of Jerusalem. In the city, you get the sense that water is not in short supply given the manicured lawns in some parts of town and grassy knolls south of the city, but as I moved north, I realized that much of what I had seen in Jerusalem was far from the norm.

The area north of Jerusalem resembled the dry desert wilderness that I had seen on my trek from Errachidia to Ouarzazate, Morocco. There were many dry river beds and plains scarred by precipitation and flash floods. However, unlike Morocco where the only patches of green could be found in the lush palmeries sprouting from the river beds, the north of Jerusalem had quite a large number of vegetable and fruit plots and an acre here and there of neatly lined palm trees in the middle of the pale, sun-scorched shrubbery landscape.  There were countless greenhouses and some plots even had black or clear plastic coverings for each row of whatever was growing underneath. The highway we were on was running parallel to the Jordan River Valley and you could see more green when you looked east, but it seemed like the farmers were trying to stretch out that green as far as possible and it looked like they were using the latest in irrigation know-how to make that happen.

Even with all the technological advancements though, it appears that all the countries relying on the Jordan River Valley and Sea of Galilee are headed to another standoff, not so much about the land, but about the lack of water.  Here's a brief excerpt from an Inventory of Conflict and Environment(ICE) study from American University titled Jordan River Dispute:

The consequences of unilateral action by each riparian [countries with water sources that feed the Jordan River] has been that both the aquifers and surface waters suffer from overuse use due to the large-scale diversion projects. The National Water Carrier and the East Ghor Canal almost dry out the Sea of Galilee year round. Diversion projects have also lowered the level of both the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. This has caused aquifer levels to drop and has increased their salinity levels. Both Jordan and Israel have also over pumped their fossil (nonrenewable) aquifers. On top of these projects, the population growth in both countries is raising the demand for water. Israel has attempted water conservation in agriculture, where most water is wasted, through introducing the drip irrigation system and recycling of sewage water. This has helped save water in the area while at the same time irrigating more land with less water. It does not make much impact, though, without any joint conservation. Therefore, conflict under these circumstances is highly likely, and these depleting factors have in fact led to conflicts in the past.

 Source: http://www1.american.edu/ted/ice/westbank.htm

Sea of Galilee or Lake Tiberias from Jordan

I also read that Israel has plans to begin building settlements in the Negev Desert (Here's a short article from Newsweek calling to question David Ben Gurion's dream to see the desert bloom: http://www.newsweek.com/2008/06/28/the-myth-of-water.html). While I sympathize with many Jews and their desire to move back to the land of their forefathers, after taking that drive up and down from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem and back, I wonder whether they're even considering the environmental impact of their decision.

Israel is a leading innovator in irrigation and water management and with good reason--nearly half the country is semi-arid desert.  (Here's an achievements-filled and rather optimistic outlook titled Israeli Agriculture: Coping with Growth) They're also leading the way in building state of the art desalination plants that will hopefully supplement their unreliable and dwindling supply.

I applaud their efficiency and I think many countries should adapt some of their techniques even those that have ample supplies, but I wonder how far technology can forestall what seems like an inevitable water war much like the ones we're already experiencing in Nevada and Colorado and to some extent in Morocco between the urban and rural farming and cattle ranching communities.  At least in Morocco and in our Western states, it appears that people can still gather at the negotiating table.  For Israel and its neighbors, setting a date to meet at a table requires an entire diplomatic corps, months of wrangling about preconditions, and then, even if it is set, not all stakeholders are present.

It is presumed that when Moses spoke of a land “flowing with milk and honey” that he was gazing out towards the Jordan River Valley, and that valley is certainly a beautiful fertile oasis in the midst of an arid wilderness, but I wonder how far can that milk and honey be stretched for everyone that wishes to live out their dream of living in the Promised Land.

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Other Reads

Timeline of Water Conflicts in the Levant: http://www.nad-plo.org/nego/permanent/water/related/Howb.pdf

Walk the Abraham Path and Then Couchsurf It!

Couchsurfing host in Jordan

A dear friend of mine sent me an interesting TED Talk, which focuses on the need to build upon William Ury´s idea of what he calls "The Third Side".  Mr. Ury said that in conflict there are always two sides and the third side is the one that we all share--our common humanity.  He speaks of how Abraham exemplified hospitality and the unity of us all and proposes that people retrace the steps of Abraham from cradle to grave to understand and to connect with the people of this region who to this day display the same hospitality that Abraham showed thousands of years ago.  Ury adds, "Abraham is not just a figure in a book for these people; he is a living figure."

Couchsurfing hosts in Israel

I agree with Mr. Ury and his belief that traveling, touring, and walking alongside others on the Abraham Path or any other corner of the world has the potential to reduce the fear and hostility between us.  As Mark Twain once said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness" and in the words of French novelist Marcel Proust, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."

Couchsurfers in Amman

I would take Mr. Ury's idea a bit further and urge people to invest a little time in getting to know the region and the people you plan to visit.  Just knowing how to say basic greetings in the local language, however choppy or mispronounced it may be, brings smiles to people's faces.  The locals will appreciate the effort and most likely reward you with an invitation for coffee, tea, or even a homemade meal.

Eating a bit of Maqlouba in Jordan

I've been fortunate to experience the amazing hospitality that Mr. Ury spoke of.  Throughout my travels, I couchsurfed with Jordanians, Bedouins, Israelis, Moroccans, Spaniards, Italians, Dominicans, and lots of fellow expatriate Americans.  Some gave me a place to stay and others took me to their favorite hangout spots.  Those that I stayed with gave me the best that they could offer and made me feel like family and others introduced me to their circle of friends.  Time after time, I was blown away by this gesture of kindness and goodwill offered to a complete stranger.

Late last year, I hosted a number of couchsurfers in Morocco.  I had a great time hosting people from around the globe with such different points of view and experiences.  I learned a great deal about myself from our exchanges and made great friends in the process.  Couchsurfing is a wonderful experiment that falls in line with Mr. Ury's idea of turning "hostility to hospitality" and "terrorism to tourism".

I hope that wherever I end up that I can continue to host more couchsurfers.  If you've never heard of couchsurfing, take a moment to check it out.  Host, couchsurf, or simply meet folks for a little drink.  I and other couchsurfers will be eternally grateful, and my hope is that you'll learn from me as much as I hope to learn from you.  Hope to see you in my next couchsurf search!

Good luck and bon voyage!  


FYI: Couchsurfing is not the only website linking travelers and locals.  It is perhaps the most popular with perhaps more profiles than others.  Recently, Couchsurfing changed from a non-profit to a "socially responsible" corporation.  I have no problems with the status change because being a non-profit does not make an organization more noble by any means, but as a corporation it is likely that soon they may begin selling member info to marketers similar to other social media platforms so careful what you post.  Here is a list of other travel sites I've been using in place of Couchsurfing:

www.bewelcome.org - similar to couchsurfing
www.tripping.com - combines couchsurfing with paid temporary stay accommodation options
www.airbnb.com - paid temporary accommodation options.  Great for group vacation rentals or temp house/flat exchange. 

Jerusalem - On Holy Ground

So much could be said about the Holy City and I guess a lot of what has been said is probably framed by one's religious fervor or indifference. For many Christians, going to the Holy City is not a requirement of their faith, but many dream of going there. For Muslims, it is recommended that they perform a hajj (pilgrimage) to al-Quds al-Sharif (Arabic name for the City of Jerusalem meaning “The Holy Sanctuary”) or more specifically to the Al-Aqsa Mosque and Dome of the Rock to pray at the site where the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, ascended to heaven. For many Jews, it is the site of the Holy of Holies.  

I've never been big on visiting museums, monuments, statues, and other still-life objects; instead, I've always found it more interesting to observe how people interact with one another, the power dynamics, the social structure, to learn a bit about the history and the expectations of the people, to understand the meaning behind their choice of attire and to get a glimpse of what they value most. So when I walked into the Holy City, I wanted to see what made this city so special, so sought after that epic battles were fought to gain control of it with every group believing that they were "in the right", that the city needed to be rescued or saved from the others, and that it needed to cleansed, restored, and revived under the new group's perceived rightly guided leadership. I thought to myself, "What is it about this city that in the process of reclaiming it from another group drove men to slaughter thousands of others? Was it its geographical location, the surrounding natural resources, or commercial or economic interests? Or was it simply symbolic?"

In my reading of The Bible and that of other religious books, I don't recall any passage mentioning how important Jerusalem was in terms of its geographical location. The New Testament does speak of how Jerusalem once was and to some extent still is a major commercial center in the region. As far as natural resources go, Jerusalem doesn't have a large body of water to draw from, is inland about 60km from the nearest port in Tel Aviv, and relies upon the Mediterranean winter rains to restore some green to the countryside after their hot and dry summers. So if I was to launch a campaign to take over the Holy City (not that I ever would, but hypothetically), I wouldn't have much of an rallying call if I based it simply on geography or economic data, and I am pretty sure when the Jews, Crusaders, and Muslims alike called out the troops that none of them yelled out, “Let us march into the city and take over that commercial center and decent, but not all that great geographical location!” Nah, it was all about taking control of a city that was the site of the Holy Temple, the City of King David, and of King Solomon. To Christians, it was the place where the patriarch of their faith preached the gospel truth, and to Muslims, the City of All The Prophets. The history and events that had transpired in that small enclosed fortress city and the close affinity people felt to the stories that had served as a guide for their lives and gave their lives an identity and meaning were the very thing that motivated them to give up everything and risk their lives.

To this day, I believe that much of that religious zeal still remains. Fortunately, when I visited, the various groups exhibited their passion for their faith peacefully through processions and re-enactments, by reciting holy scriptures at the Wailing/Western Wall, celebrating bar mitzvahs, praying at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, paying homage to the various saints and prophets, retracing the steps where Jesus walked, preached, and later carried his cross on the Via Dolorosa, and visiting the many sanctuaries, chapels, churches, and synagogues.

I saw Muslims visiting the Holy Sepulcher, the place where Jesus was laid until he was resurrected, alongside Eastern Orthodox priests and believers. I walked through the catacombs of the Holy Sepulcher. Some of the bling that adorned the walls of the Holy Sepulcher seemed out of place in this sacred temple, but perhaps the Eastern Orthodox and other Christian groups that share responsibility for the upkeep of the church believe Jesus likes a lot of bling.

I went over to the Wailing/Western Wall and uttered a little prayer with many others who were reciting the Torah. Hassidic Jews with their side-burn dreads, black suit coats and pants, and black, thin-brimmed sombreros, and Jews, it seemed, from all corners of the world were there getting their arms strapped and their heads fitted with a custom-made rubber head-bumping protector before their praying marathon would ensue. The wall's many crevices were stuffed full of snippets of paper. 

Opposite of the Wailing/Western Wall, there was singing, clapping, and ululating as young boys and young men carried scrolls to wooden compartments throughout the entire Wailing/Western Wall. Men and women were segregated, but they interacted and celebrated together. Further down the Western Wall inside the tunnel, older gentlemen sat and recited scriptures. There was a small library that had countless volumes of what I presume to be religious scriptures or commentary from prominent rabbis.

I walked from one end of the city to the other, north to south and east to west, going in and out of the Christian, Muslim, Armenian, and Jewish Quarters. There were countless boutiques selling all sorts of artisana from the various communities that inhabited the city. I really liked the burgundy and black used by Palestinian weavers and the Armenian ceramics was exceptional. I found it odd to see Arabs selling Crusader memorabilia, but maybe they were Christians.

Other stores sold a host of Jewish menorahs, horn trumpets, woodcarvings of the manger, Mary and Baby Jesus were on mugs, t-shirts, and anything imaginable.  There were crosses, Stars of David, and crescent moons of all sizes were everywhere. Most of the bazaars were run by men in pretty much every quarter, who displayed their superb linguistic skills when pitching their products and negotiating prices. I heard them switching from one language to another in seamless fashion using Arabic, Hebrew, English, French, Spanish, and even some Russian. The call to prayer was loud and clear and so was the chime of the church bells.

 It seemed like pilgrims from every corner of the world were there. Some were just walking around like me, a lot were in organized tours, and others were deep into their religious procession stopping at different stages of the Via Dolorosa only to be interrupted by kids and other ambulant vendors attempting to sell them postcards and other memorabilia at every stop.

My only regret in coming to Jerusalem is that I only spent two nights there. While I got to walk through the Holy City and to witness the religious passion displayed by the many acts of faith from the various groups, I did not have a lot of time to talk to people or to get to experience the culture of the various groups and sub-groups that make Jerusalem their home. I was fortunate, though, to find an Israeli couple on Couchsurfing that opened their home and allowed me to stay with them for a couple of nights. They identified themselves as secular Jews. Both of them had traveled to various parts of the world and we shared photos and travel stories, but never spoke about the politics or what being a secular Jew meant.

The couchsurfer and the few locals that I spoke to all had a story to tell about how they or their family had come to Israel. My couchsurfing host was a first generation Israeli whose family had migrated from Argentina. From an early age, his family had spoken Spanish to him so he had a very good grasp of the language. We spoke in Spanish as much as possible and switched to English from time to time. He showed me around town a bit. He took me to the main market in the new city where we had some coffee at one of his favorite cafes.

At the market, you could hear a mix of Arabic and Hebrew, salam wa leikums and shaloms were exchanged. The Mediterranean produce was the main supply, but they also had a great variety of imported tropical fruits.  He then took me to a place that was selling all sorts of delicious fruit shakes from a self-professed medicine man. The shakes were awesome. I asked the medicine man if I could take a picture of him and he obliged, but not before spraying my face with one of his all-natural facial rejuvenation toners. It caught me by surprise. He also pulled my host and sprayed his face as well. He told us to massage our face so the potion would be absorbed faster. The spray felt refreshing, but as the liquid seeped into the corner of my eyes, it began to burn. He told me to keep my eyes shut, he pulled my host next to me, and said that I had good energy and that I had the potential to be a great healer. I thought, “Hmm, I'm unemployed right now. I hadn't thought about being a medicine man...new career path maybe.”

I also met an older gentleman who said he was born near Guercif, Morocco, and that his family had lived there almost their entire life before migrating to Israel. He had a lot of fond childhood memories of Morocco and of Moroccans. He asked me if I enjoyed living there to which I answered, "Eeh, mrra mrra (sometimes)." We communicated in a mix of Moroccan Arabic and English. It was quite a thrill to find another maghribi (Moroccan).

I had a great time in Jerusalem so much so that I hope to return again. I didn't get the chance to couchsurf through Palestine so I hope to do that next time. I think Jerusalem can mean different things to different people and I think a lot of it depends on how closely people feel to their faith. Those individuals that were in the middle of their processions on the Via Dolorosa would squint or close their eyes as they touched every place where Jesus is said to have fallen or stopped, and those that swayed back and forth in prayer in front of the Wailing/Western Wall would probably have a different take on their visit. Possibly during their prayer and recitations they enter a meditative realm that is perhaps giving life to what seems like inanimate buildings, streets and alleys to me. When I showed some of my Jordanian Muslim friends my pictures of the Dome of the Rock, they gasped in admiration. They certainly would tell a different story had they been there. But even if one does not partake of the processions, the energy, the passion, and the devotion of the believers is felt all around. To me, people were the thing that gave the city and all its holy sites their life. Without them, it would be just another city. With them there, I got the sense that I was walking on sacred ground.

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http://www.goisrael.com

There are a few books that I was lucky to read in college and on my own that expand on the three Abrahamic faiths and provide more context on the historical significance of Jerusalem.  If you have the chance, pick 'em up at your local library or add them to your personal collection.

    

Crossing the River Jordan and onto Jerusalem

Sometimes I regret not having researched my travel plans well, but then other times, I am glad that I don't. The moment I arrived in Jordan I began asking the locals, fellow travelers, PC volunteers, and anyone in the know about crossing over to Israel.  I read a few blogs prior to starting my trip and every single blog spoke of the tediousness associated with crossing into Israel also referred to as the Palestinian Occupied Territory.  It was interesting that when I speaking to Jordanians about crossing, most would refer to the land west of the River Jordan as Palestine (Filistin) and hardly ever as Israel.  When I asked Jordanians for details, they gave me a lot of contradictory information.  The volunteers I was with had heard of the various crossings, but most had not crossed personally so they weren't really sure which way was the best way to go.

Most of the blogs I read spoke of the King Hussein Bridge or Allenby Crossing west of Amman. Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide also had a lot more to say about the King Hussein Bridge than the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or the Wadi Araba crossings. They all said that crossing through the King Hussein Bridge normally is an entire day ordeal. I personally did not want to throw away an entire day crossing into Israel so I thought I'd go where others don't generally go. Plus, Irbid, where I was chilling at the time, was only about 15km from the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, so I figured I'd take that route and hopefully shed some light on the process.

Because it was still L3id Kbir/Al-Adha in Jordan, there were fewer buses running to Irbid so I woke up a little early in the hopes that I could catch an early morning transit. The transit dropped us off at the Moujemma Shamal Bus Station. The volunteer I was with was told that there were taxis that took off from the Moujemma Amman Bus Station to the border crossing so we headed over there only to find out that indeed there were taxis that would go there, but not legitimate/licensed ones and they were asking for 15JD to go there. We were told that it would be around that amount, but the illegal taxis looked more suspect than usual so we asked a policeman.  The policeman told us to head back to Moujemma Shammal and to take a legit taxi from there to the border.  He told us that the price would be from 12-15JD.  So we went back to the station, my PCV friend looked up a friend of his that worked at a cell phone boutique, and his friend pointed us to a taxi that was chilling next to a snack shop.  He inquired for us about going to the border and the taxi driver offered to take me for 12JD.

The taxi cab ride was rather interesting.  For the next 15 minutes or so, the driver went on to talk about all his sexual exploits and his disdain for Israel.  Of course, none of this was said in any sort of descriptive way.  When speaking of Israel, he would make a spitting sound and he said he prayed for the day when Israel would not exist.  When talking about all his sexual encounters, he would simply say how good or bad the sex was with different nationalities from a scale of bad/ugly, good, and to wonderful/beautiful fuck.  He had a lot to say about Russian girls, which struck me as odd, but later on I learned that many Russian girls travel to Jordan to work in strip clubs or to work as escorts.  A fellow couchsurfer also pointed out how it's usually Russian girls who are dancing in the disco video recordings that I would see on the street or at various cafes.  Supposedly there are other neighboring Arab nationalities that work at these clubs, but usually if they do, the girls are "Christian".  During a lull in his sexual expletives, I asked him about his family.  He said that he had 3 boys and one wife.  He said he wanted another wife, but could not afford it.  He did say that he was very happy with his family and his wife and that he no longer smoked marijuana or had sex with other women because he said that doing so would be haram(forbidden)--figures.

At one checkpoint, he handed over my passport to a guard.  The guard wanted to ask me something, but the taxi driver yelled at him that I was American and asked him, "what's the problem?"  The guard smiled and returned my passport and we were on our way.  After driving out for about 12km, the driver made a right turn towards another checkpoint.  The guards asked for my passport.  He handed it over and then they told the driver to pull over to the side of the road.  I thought there was an issue, but there wasn't.  That was simply as far as my taxi driver could go.

As he began unloading my baggage, another taxi pulled up with some tags on the sides that said Jordan Border Crossing.  I gave my taxi driver the 12JD we agreed upon, shook hands, and said our m3a slamas (Go in safety).  I hopped onto the other taxi and we headed towards the next checkpoint.  Once there, I had to take my luggage through a huge scanner.  This thing was massive.  My luggage went through without any problems.  I then picked up my backpack and got back on the Jordan Border Crossing taxi.  We went another kilometer before I was dropped off at the customs office.  I paid the taxi 1.10JD.

At customs, I told an officer that I was coming back to Jordan after a few days.  He said, "Good," that I needed to pay an 8JD exit tax, that my Jordanian visa would be "no good", and that I would have to pay for a new one to get back in.  I didn't ask about the exit stamp, but a tour group on a pilgrimage through the Holy Land that was ahead of me told me that they were going to have their exit stamp on a separate sheet of paper.  They had some cards filled out with their name and other information.  As soon as my passport was stamped, I was ready to cross over.

Due to the tight security, I couldn't just walk over to the border.  I had to exit the customs building and walk back out to the Trust Intl. Transpo kiosk right behind the Duty Free store and purchase a bus fare for 1.30JD.  The distance from the customs building to the border was no more than a couple hundred meters, but it was forbidden to walk to it.  The only way to approach it was taking the Trust Intl. bus and the buses only left at certain times, which for me meant waiting over an hour for the next bus to go out.

Right around 1:30PM, I and a whole bunch of Chinese tourists hopped on the bus.  It took no more than a minute to get to the final gate on the east bank of the River Jordan.  Once there, a guard came through to make sure all taxes were paid and everyone was stamped out.  He then gave the okay to the driver.  We crossed the once mighty River Jordan and then proceeded to the Israeli side.

We were dropped off at the Israeli customs entrance.  It was interesting to see such a stark difference in administration.  On the Jordanian side, I dealt entirely with older mustachioed gentlemen, some in formal military or police uniforms, and everyone appeared to be disgruntled about something.  On the Israeli side, I was greeted by a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, male and female, in polo shirts and khaki cargo pants and with a more relaxed vibe to it.  I walked over to the scanners, handed over my bags, and gave an attractive female guard my passport.  That guard called over another attractive female guard.  I was hoping for a frisking, but unfortunately they just tagged-team on the questioning.  I was asked what was the purpose for my visit to Israel, info on my passport, who my parents and grandparents were, and if I had been to any other Arab country besides Jordan.  After the quick interview, they smiled and said, "Welcome to Israel."

I picked up my bags from the scanners and then walked over to a customs window.  I gave my passport to another female guard who was being supervised by another young men.  She asked me a similar round of questions and then asked if it was okay to stamp my passport.  The same group on the Holy Land tour was also in the customs lines in the process of getting their entry stamps on a separate sheet of paper.  After taking care of the stamps, I was given another nice cordial "Welcome to Israel" and just like that I was through.

Now, the challenge was how to get to Jerusalem from there.  I asked a couple of customs reps if there were any transportation options from this crossing and they said that maybe, just maybe there would be some taxis waiting outside that would go the nearest town called Bayt She'an about 6km away.  They also said to ask the tour buses if I could hitchhike with them.  I thought I'd give it a try so I went out and asked a number of them if they had room for one more.  I asked one driver who said "no" rather frankly.  I asked some people who were awaiting to board another bus and their driver gave me the "I'm not in charge" line.  Another driver said he could get in trouble.  I got tired of the rejections so I decided to get a taxi.

Outside of the gates, there were a number of cars waiting to get through and a couple of taxi cabs on the curb.  I went up to one who told me that there was no transportation available from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem so he offered to take me to Tiberias for 200 shekels(NIS) (about $60) where transportation would be available for sure.  Tiberias was a good 40 kilometers away going northwest.  I only had about 60NIS, which I had gotten from the last $20 I had on me so paying out 200 something shekels was out of the question.  I walked over to the next taxi, I asked him about Bayt She'an and if there was transportation and he said there was and that he would drop me off at the bus stop.  When I asked him how much, he told me he would go for 60NIS.  I liked that this guy was at least willing to take me to Bayt She'an, but 60NIS seemed outrageous.  After some light negotiating, we finally settled on 50.  With not a lot of other options and with the sun setting, I still felt I was getting hosed, but I had little choice.  I shelled out the 50NIS and we drove off to Bayt She'an.

The winding road to Bayt She'an was quite refreshing as we passed farm upon farm in this stretch of fertile land.  When I told him that the other taxi driver wanted to charge me 200 shekels to go to Tiberias because transportation was not available in Bayt She'an, he made the same spitting gesture that the Jordanian taxi driver had made and said, "Arabi".  He said in a choppy English, "Those Arabs all they want is money; they don't care about people."  The whole time I was thinking, "...and this is from a guy that wanted to charge me about $17 for a 6km ride.  He asked me where I was from and I told him I was from the U.S., but had lived in Venezuela.  As soon as I told him Venezuela, he switched to a rough, but less choppy Spanish.  We spoke in Spanish for the rest of the trip.  He mainly went off about how much he hated Arabs.  The taxi driver took me to an ATM to get some cash and then he dropped me off at a bus stop on the side of a four-lane road that ran north to south close to a McDonald's.

At the bus stop, I asked a few young guys in military garb in English if they knew which bus was going to Jerusalem and they said that the 966 Egged makes the north to south journey everyday.  I went over to the 966 bus stand and put my bag down and finally took a look at my surroundings.  The infrastructure difference from Jordan to Israel was night and day.  The roads, the signposts, the paint on the roads, traffic lights, and the buildings were in order and well maintained.  Just across the river, there was significantly less trash on the street and more trash cans available.  Not to say that Jordan does not have things in order; it's just more chaotic and spaces that are well maintained and free of trash are like little oases in the midst of the disorder.  Like Morocco, the fancy esplanades and promenades that are meticulously maintained for tourist traffic are the exception and not the norm.  

It felt a little unsettling to be hopping on a bus to Jerusalem with about 20 uniformed young men carrying automatic rifles, but after a while I got used to it and found it odd when I didn't see some young person with a gun slinging from their neck.  They were probably wondering why I wasn't carrying one.  As I got on the dark green 966 Egged bus, I told the driver, "Jerusalem," and he said, "40.50NIS".  I handed him a huge bill and he didn't even flinch; he gladly took my money and gave me the exact change.  Even just an instance like this would have caused a heap of drama on most buses on the other side who always seem to be out of change.  I thought the 40.50NIS was a little steep, but perhaps that's exactly why the same ride is cheaper on the other side of the river; perhaps the convenience or the more efficient management hasn't been priced into the ticket.

It was a breath of fresh air to be in Israel and here I was on my way to the city that all three Abrahamic faiths call their own.  Soon I would be walking the streets and on my way to witnessing the grandeur and the mystery of this old city.  All in all, it was an easy and somewhat entertaining crossing.  In the end, all I could say is gracias a Dios, hamdullah, and thanks be to God and/or the cosmic forces of the universe for allowing me to be where I was.

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Please note that if you exit through the Sheikh Hussein Bridge and you wish to come back to Jordan from Israel, you will need to come back through either the Sheikh Hussein or the Wadi Araba crossings.  Likewise, if you cross through the King Hussein Bridge, you will need to return through there as well.  Reason being that Jordanian visas cannot be issued out from the King Hussein Bridge, but the Jordanian authorities are able to at the other two crossings.  Basically, according to Jordanian border policy, you are not leaving the country when you cross into the West Bank (formerly part of the Transjordan territory and currently in geopolitical limbo) and as such they do not ask people to pay an exit tax and do not issue exit stamps.  The con is that the King Hussein Bridge is perhaps the busiest crossing of them all, and from what I've read or heard, it can take an inordinate amount of time to get through.

If you're crossing back through Sheikh Hussein, please note that there are few transportation options available on both sides of the crossing.  Only private taxis run by the Jordan Border Crossing Company are available, which can take you to almost any major destination in Jordan, but for a pretty hefty price.  I paid 19JD to make it back to Irbid.  Knowing I had made the same journey for 13JD, I tried to bargain, but the dispatcher would not budge from the posted prices.  A taxi to Amman was around 35JD.  I don't think it is a matter of not enough demand because it appears that there are plenty of people crossing on a regular basis, but perhaps it's a tolerated monopoly.

So as far as convenience and less stress, I would cross through Sheikh Hussein again, but if I did not want an exit stamp from Jordan and/or to pay the 8JD ($12) tax, then King Hussein is the way to go.

For more info, visit the following links: http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=105
The exit tax info on the website says 5JD, but it is 8JD now.
http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/facts2.html

Also, visit the Israeli side of the web at: www.goisrael.com

Bon voyage everyone!

In Jordan - A Taste of Life In Jordan's Shamal

I arrived in a town close to Irbid on November 15 and learned that the following day would be the start of Leid l-Kbir, the grand feast celebrated by the sacrificial slaughtering of a sheep.  Because of all the festivities during Leid and with little to no public transit available, it meant that I would have to spend at least a couple of days in the volunteer's village.  I was no inconvenience for me; I was looking forward to the experience.

One of the reasons for traveling through Jordan and Egypt was to get a different taste of the Arab/Muslim World.  I was curious to see what if any similarities there were between the peoples of the Maghreb(West) and the Sarq al-Ousad(Middle East).  In Morocco, there was no question that they identified themselves with the Muslim World in terms of their faith, but when it came to ethnicity/heritage, some Moroccans were extremely proud of their Amazigh roots and saw the Arabization of the educational system as a continuation of Arab imperialism.  I had read in Peter Mansfield's A History of the Middle East that the Arab World was by no means a homogeneous bloc.  Political and cultural differences had existed for centuries.  Islam had unified the various tribes, but many of the cultural traditions that distinguished one tribe from the other continued.  I was hoping to see or experience these small subtleties.  I was also hoping to see how much of an impact Turkish rule had on the region.

Attempting to speak with the locals

I arrived in Jordan hoping that I could put to use a bit of the Moroccan Colloquial Arabic I had learned.  When I arrived, I was happy that I could pick out the numbers, but even the numbers sounded differently.  The /t/ for "Tom" used in tlata (three) or tlatin in Morocco was now replaced by the /Ө/ "th" for "think" and was now thlatha or thlathin.  The Moroccan juj for the number two was now ithnayn. I heard more "g"s in the place of the hard back-of-the-throat "q" sound. Instead of kif dayr for "how are you", I was now being greeted with a kayf f Halk or an even shorter kayfak.  Words like nishan for "straight" or aji for "come here" that have Amazigh/Berber roots were completely absent.

At the cafe and restaurant, I wanted to order a ns ns or half and half (Moroccan cappuccino) and some aatay (tea), but Jordanians would ask me, "What is it that you want half and half of and there is no such thing as aatay, but we do have chay".  For coffee, they either had 3adi (regular/normal) or wasit (medium) and those two options just told the waiter how much sugar to put.  I had to stick to root words and the few words of Fusha that I knew to get around, but even my pronunciation of those standard words was off.  When I asked for sugar (skkar), they would correct me by saying sukkar.

When addressing someone, I had used khouya (my brother) or sidi (my dear sir) to get someone's attention.  In Jordan, I heard more sadiqi (my loyal friend), sheikh (chief), and the Turkish basha (a title for a distinguished govt.official).

When scoping transportation options, telling someone maHtta (Darija word for station), I was told, will get you to the police station not the bus station. For the bus station, I had to use mujemma.  And to find out how much anything was, bshaHal got me blank stares, but gddesh got me the price.  Chnu for "what" was just chu.  Sometimes some people noticed my delayed reaction to their price offer and were kind enough to write the price out for me, but they would write it in Arabic numerals, which I never used in Morocco.  Saying the French tren for train, tobis for bus, or tomobil for car that are commonplace in Darija had to be replaced with the Fusha equivalents except for bus, which was just bus.  I could go on forever on how the dialects differed.  It was interesting because I could halfway understand what people were saying, but only a few could understand what was coming out of my mouth.  Fortunately, volunteers were there to fill in the gap and I am sure the exchange baffled Jordanians.  Here was this Arab-looking guy asking someone who was clearly a foreigner to speak on his behalf.

A volunteer I had met in Amman the night before and I left the city sometime late morning and took a Hijazi bus for less than 2JD to head over to Irbid where I would be meeting two more Peace Corps volunteers. We got off at Irbid's Amman Station and hopped on one of the many passenger vans/small buses that circled the city. We got off at University St, which was home to a long strip of restaurants, cafes, cybercafes, and shops. It looked like if anything happened in Irbid, it probably took place on this strip. We chilled out at a snack shop while the other volunteers arrived. I tried a few of the shop's specialty mojeena, a baked pastry with a variety of different fillings. I got a cheese one, one with meat, and another with spinach.

Mojenna

  

Gender Expectations: Similar and Different

The volunteers filled me in on their experience.  It was nice to a get a female perspective on the topic.  I was curious to find out how conservative Jordan was in comparison to Morocco.  Attire-wise, I did see more burqas and more niqabs than I had seen in Morocco, but I also saw a great number of ladies strutting their stuff with form-fitting western wear, high heels, full-on makeup, and a classy or flashy color-coordinated headscarf.  I told volunteers that I had worked primarily with women during my service and they were surprised that I had that much freedom to interact with the opposite sex.  Then I asked them about their service and all of them told me that they were working as TEFL Teachers or as Special Education Counselors,  but I was surprised to learn that all their classrooms were segregated and that in some cases girls and boys went to different schools.  That certainly was not typical of Morocco; most classrooms were integrated.

What took me most by surprise was our goodbyes.  I was ready to shake the hand of the female volunteer who had made all the initial contacts with other volunteers and had given me a wealth of travel tips, but when I extended my hand, she left me hanging and just waived goodbye.  Apparently, even a friendly shake could be misinterpreted by the locals.  That incidence, though, was indicative of how my experience in Jordan would be.  This moment when we exchanged a friendly conversation with a female was a rare moment; most of my time would likely be spent in the company of men.

Mi casa es su casa Jordanian style

So I arrived in a male volunteer's village later on.  We were invited to several households to have coffee and tea.  In one instance, we were invited to a colossal feast featuring Jordan's famous mansef.

Mouth-watering Mansef

The dish has an unleavened bread base that is then covered with a layer of a saffron-flavored rice-n-roni that is then topped with a seasoned, baked chicken with roasted peanuts and then doused with a tangy, yougurty broth.  I gorged on the food and exhaled a hamdullah(Thanks be to God).  It was a feast to remember.

Applying the tangy broth

I wanted to thank the cooks who had made this fabulous meal, but this was out of the question.  Even in Morocco, I sometimes did not meet the female members of the family until the 3rd or 4th meal(Three Meals Later) so I wasn't taken aback by it.  It was interesting, however, that in the few days I spent in the shamal (north) and visited a couple of homes,one in particular twice, I had no interaction with females.  That in most parts of Morocco would have been rare even for a foreigner.

Me and some FC Barcelona fans

Our male hosts treated us wonderfully.  I felt welcomed and I learned a great deal about the male side of Jordanian culture and etiquette.  They shared their love for football and we exchanged tid bits about our respective life experiences.

Coffee with town elder

They were curious to hear about my two years in Morocco.  They wanted to know if it was a nice place to live, how was the climate and food, how were the people, and if I had enjoyed my time there.  They were also eager to learn about Venezuela and my opinion on the controversial Venezuelan President, Mr. Hugo Chavez, a darling of the Middle East.  We spoke in a mix of English and Arabic.  Fortunately, the volunteer's friends were all sympathetic interlocutors.

I must say that after spending a few days in a village in the shamal when a Jordanian would tell me marhaba (welcome) or ahalan wa sahalan fik (Loosely translated, it means, "May you arrive as part of the family, and tread an easy path (as you enter)*, I felt that they really meant it and they went to lengths to show me that they did.  In terms of hospitality, Moroccans and Jordanians are neck and neck.

To some, chilling out in a village may seem like a waste of time given all the amazing sites and natural wonders in the world, but to me, observing the dynamics of village life, tasting the homemade cuisine, and talking with the locals are immensely satisfying and absolutely fascinating.  I've been fortunate to be the recipient of some of the finest hospitality imaginable both from Jordanians and from volunteers.  Their insight, connections, and assistance in helping me with the rest of my trip was invaluable.  I hope I can one day return to the favor to fellow sojourners.

*Translation source: http://forum.wordreference.com/showthread.php?t=170419
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My journey through the Holy Land continues.  Next, I'll share a bit of my experience walking through the Holy City of Jerusalem.  A guide is a nice handy reference, but I got tons of info from Jordan's own tourism site:

http://www.visitjordan.com/Default.aspx

They also have a lot of great pics and pdf files you can print out.

In Jordan - Reaching Amman and Tasting Nirvana

I arrived in Amman, Jordan, on Saturday, November 14, after taking a red-eye flight from Casablanca on Egypt Air. Without even planning it, I and three other Peace Corps volunteers were on the same flight out of Casablanca. They were starting their Middle East trek from Cairo; I had a quick layover before heading to Amman. Before our flight, we scoured all the money exchange bureaus at the Mohammed V Casablanca Airport and none had Jordanian Dinars or Egyptian Pounds to exchange. Knowing that I was going to come back to Morocco after my Middle Eastern trek, I kept my funds and hoped that the 25 Euros that I had kept stashed from my last trip to Europe would be enough to get through customs and to get to the nearest ATM.

I blogged earlier about my arrival to the Holy Land and the great experience I had with Egypt Air. I was fortunate to get a window seat, which allowed me to take in the scenery during the descent and ascent into and from Cairo. I'm 30 years old and I still feel like the 10 year old boy who was completely awestruck by his first flight out of Venezuela and how different things looked at 40,000 feet.

Like the experience I wrote about earlier about the mountains and plateaus making me feel insignificant or being humbled by the sheer breadth and size of nature's wonders, I feel the same when staring out from my tiny window in the sky. Ironically for me, every flight is a grounding experience. It just makes me realize how inconsequential my problems are in the scope of such vast amounts of space and over the course of time. What I begin to understand is that many of these landscapes are indifferent. Men and women have come and gone and yet they are still here changing and adapting to the elements. On my way in to Jordan, I saw various shades of sand, the blue of the Nile and the Red Sea, the Sinai Peninsula's mountainous wilderness, many dunes, plateaus, rocky hills dotted with olive trees, and a few lush valleys and oases.

The flight from Cairo to Amman was about 40 minutes. Counting our ascent and descent, we probably had about 20 minutes of coasting, and in that brief lull the flight crew scrambled to give everyone their complementary drink. It was a nice surprise to be able to walk directly onto the terminal rather than taking a shuttle or walking to it like you often do when travelling outside of Europe or the U.S. The causeway takes you straight to customs where an Arab Bank money exchange branch is at the center of the hall ready to exchange almost any currency to Jordanian Dinars. I found it interesting that a money exchange branch would be situated in the middle of the customs hall, but I guess a lot of countries do not carry Jordanian Dinars, Morocco being one of them. I exchanged my 25 Euros and got 22 Jordanian Dinars(JD). I knew coming in that the Jordanian Dinar was an expensive currency, but all the blogs I read said that most things are nowhere near U.S. or European prices. So it's little startling at first to get less money for your dollar or euro, but once you get out, you realize that a JD can be stretched out pretty far.

It was 10JD to get the visa. Some of the blogs I had browsed through before coming said that the visitor's visa was for two weeks so I was surprised to hear that the visas were now good for an entire month, which makes a lot of sense. You could traverse the country in two weeks. It's not very big and transportation to the main touristy sites is readily available, but for those who wish to take their time to meet people, taste the cuisine, and ponder the meaning of life in nature as I do, two weeks goes by in a flash.

Once I passed through customs, I went down to pick up my luggage. At the luggage carousels, I found some stands with maps and guides in various languages to the main sites in Jordan. It was a great find since all I had to go by on this trip was a Lonely Planet guide titled Middle East on a Shoestring Budget published in 1997. I was planning to travel on a shoestring budget, but after sleeping in one of the hotels this guide recommended, I decided to upgrade myself from shoestring to respectably clean. I stayed at one hotel called Jerusalem Hotel in Aqaba, and it literally was the nastiest place I've ever stayed at with roaches crawling around and the grimiest bed sheets I had ever seen, but the guide was spot on with the price. It was the cheapest of all the "budget" options. After one night in that hole, I moved next door and paid 5JD more for a bigger room, hot water, and peace of mind.

The Amman Queen Alia International Airport is about the size of your regional airport in the U.S. Once you get past customs, you walk out into the arrivals waiting hall, which has a number of snack shops, car rental stands, banks and ATMs, and a couple of cell phone boutiques. If you plan to spend some time in Jordan, I strongly encourage purchasing a SIM card from one of the boutiques. They run anywhere from 4-6JD from Orange, Zain, Umniah, and others, and the purchase generally includes 1 to 2JD of credit, which is more than enough to make initial arrangements with friends and hotels. Also, right outside the airport there's a bus shuttle company called Airport Express that travels back and forth from the airport to Amman. They have a stand at the airport and an attendant is outside asking any confused-looking tourist if they're going to Amman. It cost me 3JD and it dropped me off at the North Station also known as either Abdali Station or in Levantine Arabic as Moujemma Shamal. As the bus begins to park, taxi drivers converge near the bus's drop as they prepare to pounce on the fresh-off the plane tourists. I told one gentleman my destination and he offered to take me for 12JD. I told the guy in all honesty that I did not have 12JD and immediately he lowered the price to 7JD. I told him to lower it some more so he lowered it to 5JD and said in English, "Final price."

The guy took me through a touristy route, which allowed me to see the Roman fortress and auditorium. A ride through Amman is much like your typical roller coaster ride. The taxi drivers go just as fast as they wind up and down the many hills and valleys of the city. My first impression of Amman was not a memorable one. I thought the city lacked color, but then later I heard that it's by city mandate that the buildings use the local white and beige stone for the exterior. I don't know how legit that statement is, but it certainly seems like most people are adhering to it. The only contrast to the vanilla cream buildings are a few skyscrapers in the new city.

Upon arriving at the hotel, I asked the hotel receptionist about how much it costs to get from the North Station to the hotel to which he said, "Oh about 1.5JD to 2JD." I was hosed, but fortunately it was only for 3 or so dinares. Oh well, it was a lesson learned. From there on, I didn't hop on a taxi unless they had their meter running.

I checked into the Farah Hotel, which I had made a reservation on www.HostelWorld.com. I paid 5JD for a shared accommodation for one night. The rooms were clean, the bed was soft and sturdy, and the bathrooms were well-tended too. The lobby was also nice with plush couches, a TV and DVD player, a couple of large dining tables, and a couple of shelves full of board games, books, and bootleg movies.

When I checked in, I saw a guy chilling out on one of the couches. After I dropped my stuff in my room, I asked him about his travel plans. He told me smilingly that he lived in Jordan. Immediately I asked him if he was a Peace Corps Volunteer and he said yes. I told him that I had just finished service a couple of days ago.  He then asked me if I was Jonathan and I said yes, and then I followed asking him if he was Torin and he said yes. We had exchanged a few emails prior to arriving. He had said that he was likely going to be busy touring with some friends. It so happened that he was at Farah waiting for his friends to arrive from Palestine. I was exhausted from the red-eye flight, but I had a lot of questions about travel options and sites and then we spoke for a while about his Peace Corps experience and he gave me his lowdown on Jordan. I also shared a bit of my Peace Corps Morocco experience and gave him my lowdown on travel, food, and culture. I was fortunate to have found him and to have had this exchange on the first day of my trip.

We decided to meet up later on in the evening. I ran into him at a small fast food joint and joined him for a shawarma. The shawarma was not that great, but it was dirt cheap at 1.50JD for the plate. I was more impressed by the size of the meat spikes rotating in the fire. These spikes were probably about a meter and a half long and about half a meter wide. Some of the guys tending to it had to climb a small step ladder to shave off the meat at the top.  Some used a long knife to cut the meat and others used what looked like industrial size hair clippers. 

After the shawarma, we walked over to Habiba, a confectionery shop preparing Jordan's famous kenafa. This delicious sweet treat should rank pretty high in terms of the world's greatest inventions. The scrumptious treat has a mozzarella cheese base, a thin crunchy cake layer or stringy top that is doused in a honey or sugar-based syrup, and topped off with pistachios, cinnamon, and nutmeg on top. Every bite was like reaching taste-bud nirvana.

After Habiba's kenafa, we moved on to a cafe right on the main strip of King Hussein St. called Eco-Tourism Cafe. It was a scruffy looking place. About the only thing “eco” about it were the plants that the owner had throughout the cafe. There I got my first taste of Jordanian coffee. It was a contrast to Morocco's fancy coffee presses that squeeze out the coffee from the coffee grounds. In Jordan, you get the coffee and the grounds. Moroccan coffee also seems lighter in comparison to the almost syrupy makeup of Jordanian coffee, but as far as sugar is concerned, they're neck and neck. The coffee's bitterness is offset quite well by the generous amounts of sugar in each cup.

It was a nice first night in Amman. The following day I was to head out to Irbid with Torin to meet a couple of other volunteers. Upon arrival I had heard that L3id Kabir would most certainly fall on Tuesday, November 16. When I was drawing up my initial plans, I was hoping to avoid another sheep slaughtering, but it looked like I would be witness to yet another. I felt bad for the sheep, but at the same time I was thinking that I wouldn't object to some slow-cooked or grilled sheep meat. I was looking forward to meeting up with more volunteers and was even more excited about the opportunity to experience village life with one of them.

It had only been two days since I had checked/stamped out of Peace Corps. You would think that I would be running towards the comforts of Western amenities, but here I was wanting to experience village life in Jordan, and here I was in the hands of volunteers that were making it possible for me to do so. I felt blessed and fortunate to be part of this select group of people who have invested so much time and energy to get to know the people around them and their surroundings and who are so willing to share the little bit they know with me.

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Some Travel Details

Farah Hotel

Amman Al-Hussein Cinema St.

Behind Arab Bank

Downtown

+962-6-465-1443

Email: farahhotel@hotmail.com

www.farahhotel.com.jo 

One of the best state-run tourism websites that I've seen to date:

http://www.visitjordan.com/

Traversing Morocco's South: "There Is No Paradise Without the Desert"

The other day I was watching an interesting interview on Riz Khan's One on One program that airs on Al-Jazzera English. The guest on the show was Nacer Khemir, a famous Tunisian cinematographer and writer. In the interview, he spoke about the importance of the desert in Arab culture.  He said that without the desert, there would be no paradise and "this quest for paradise is the true essence of Islam." He added that Arab civilizations are "constructed around a void." He pointed out that The Kaaba in Mecca, considered to be the center of the universe for Muslims, is an empty cube, good calligraphy is judged by the void, not the full, the desert is often described as both full and empty, and lastly he said that the word for the number zero also means empty, which explains why some people shout a number of obscenities at me from time to time and then finish by uttering the number zero. He tied it all in by saying, "It's the creation of emptiness inside you so that something can come. And if this emptiness is essential, the Divine arrives." See the full length interview below in which he also speaks of other challenges facing Arab culture and identity and Sufism. He provides a wealth of insight in just 20 minutes.



As I write this blog about my travels through the vast, sun-scorched wilderness of the south of Morocco, I can't help but think of some of the imagery Khemir mentioned.  I often wonder if the Holy Scriptures would have been significantly different if the prophets and apostles had lived in the tropical rainforests of my native Venezuela.  Would Moses have relayed the message to the Children of Israel about going to a 'land of milk and honey' if say they were already enjoying sweet and tangy pineapples, fat and juicy mangoes, mouth-watering papayas, just-like-butta avocados, fun-to-munch-on sugar cane, and getting their fill of the hearty cassava(yuca) and a host of other tropical fruits and veggies?  Would Moses have had to strike a rock if say the Amazon and Orinoco River and their many tributaries were already providing for their water needs?  Would there be so many references in the Qur'an about paradise if say they already lived in one?

Prior to coming to Morocco, I would say that I could sympathize with the Children of Israel, but I couldn't really empathize.  I just didn't have any real context to go by.  Growing up in Venezuela(politics aside), I thought I was already living in the Garden of Eden: lush green and beautiful scenery all around, delicious tropical fruits and veggies available, etc, etc.  When our family moved to the U.S., I lived in areas that were also blessed with frequent rains that kept the lawns and the agricultural fields green, and in Oklahoma and Indiana, deers were literally prancing around in the forest.  I had seen some dunes here and there, but they were mostly isolated patches of sand.  I once traveled through Arizona and Nevada and saw a bit of their deserts.  I was told that the wandering-through-the-wilderness portion of the epic Ten Commandments movie was filmed there, and I can see why they chose that location.  When I drove through, it certainly looked dry, rocky, and devoid of life as some parts of the south of Morocco do.  However, what the Arizona and Nevada deserts don't have is the striking contrast of a lush, green palmerie against the backdrop of a barren, rocky hillside.  Naturally, as you look out your taxi window to allow your mind to escape the cramped and smelly confines you find yourself in, your eyes gravitate to these clusters of green out on the plain, sprouting from a river bed, or wedged in a mountain ravine.  As you reach these oases and palmeries, you do get the urge to say "hamdulillah" (Thanks be to God) or to thank the cosmic forces of the universe for creating this small haven or paradise in the middle of this unbearably hot and hostile terrain.

While traveling through the south of Morocco, I guess you could say that I experienced somewhat of a revelation or better yet a grand clarification.  True, Morocco is really at the fringes of the Sahara and granted I only spent a total of 3 hours on a camel and took a bus to jump from one oasis to another, but I think that even this brief exposure gave me more context than I ever had about the realities and the dynamics at play in a harsh desert environment.

For instance, I can understand why some would be skeptical of people who live out in the desert wilderness and then come to an oasis city yelling that the end is near.  I would have probably handed that person a pitcher of water and then asked, "Now, what was it that you were trying to say?"  Or, I can empathize somewhat with the Children of Israel's reluctance to leave the fertile Nile Delta for a journey through the desert wilderness of the Sinai in order to reach the Promised Land.  I also understand why the Three Kings traveled by night.  They used the stars as their compass, but probably and just as important was their desire to avoid the heat.  I cannot imagine rocking back and forth on a camel in 100 degree plus heat.  Let's just say that after this trip, the stories in The Scriptures began to make a little more sense.

I'm actually heading to Jordan and Egypt after Close-of-Service or as Peace Corps now defines it, "Continuation-of-Service".  Starting November 14, I'm going to be retracing some of the steps Joshua and Moses took in leading the Children of Israel to the Promised Land, but I'm doing it all backwards.  I'm going to Jordan, maybe Israel, and then onto Egypt.  I first thought of going from the land of bondage to the Promised Land, but my frequent flyer miles and flight deals are forcing me to go the opposite way.  Is this a sign?  I should know when I reach Mt. Sinai.

I'm going to be visiting some Jordanian volunteers, crashing some hostels, and couchsurfing some of it.  I hope my Moroccan Arabic will help me get through the trip and allow me to understand a tidbit of what people are saying.  The sites I'm visiting are sites that I have read about ever since I was a kid.  Perhaps, when I arrive at the various sites I will receive another revelation or grand clarification.  Rest assured that if I do, I'll be sure to post it.    

In a future blog, I will expand on the rest of the places I visited on my southern trek with photos, hotel stays, travel tips, and all.  Thanks for reading.

Just About On Top of the World: Climbing Mt. Toubkal

This July I embarked on a journey to climb as high as I possibly could in Morocco.  I had already gone to the center of the earth by way of the Grotte Friouato near Taza so it made sense that I would need to do the exact opposite.  I would have attempted to climb Mt.Everest, but it's not in Morocco so I had to settle for the highest peak in North Africa, Mt. Toubkal.

Summiting Mt. Toubkal, one could say, is a PC Morocco must.  It's on the circuit of must-see sites and activities that a lot of volunteers commit to doing before the end of their service.  With only five or so months left for me, I penciled in the journey for mid-July.  Some volunteers had said that the climb was not at all what they expected from the second highest peak in all of Africa.  Some were able to go up and down the mountain in a weekend without feeling much pain.  Others said that it was one of the toughest things they had ever done.  I was hoping that I would fall somewhere in the middle.  Both said, though, that the climb and ultimately summiting was well worth any pain they felt.  I did a little training to prep my self.  Three weeks prior to the climb, I began running 3-4 miles every other day and threw in some hills from time to time.  I felt I was in decent shape to take on the mountain.

The journey began at the Mohammedia train station where the day prior I had visited a couple of camp sites for the upcoming Camp GLOW.  Satisfied with the outlook of the camp, I took off to Marrakech where I would spend the night and then head out to Imlil, the launching point for most trekkers.  My Rough Guide to Morocco and several blogs recommended that trekkers spend the night in Imlil to acclimate to the elevation so I left Marrakech late morning hoping to get into Imlil sometime in the afternoon.

A PCV who had summited the mountain twice already and knows how tight our PC budgets can be suggested a cheap route to Imlil, which was to take a city bus from Marrakech at the Sidi Mimoun bus station to Tahanout (about 45 minutes and 7-8Dh), from Tahanout one could take a grand taxi to Asni (another 30-45 minutes), and then from Asni one could hop on another grand taxi to Imlil for another 30-45 minutes.

In all, I spent 22DH for the entire trip and it wasn't too unpleasant.  The city bus to Tahanout was in good shape and not too packed.  From Tahanout, we asked the locals for directions to the grand taxi Asni pickup spot and walked over there.  We saw grand taxis on the opposite side of the road dropping off passengers, but nothing came our way for about 20 minutes.  With no sign of a grand taxi to come and not wanting to wait for one in the hot sun, I and several others hopped on a semi-truck that was headed that way.  We didn't flag him down.  He honked at the group of people gathered at the spot, which was the driver's way of letting us know that he was in the business of taking passengers along with the rest of his produce.  We actually got the deluxe treatment sitting in the cabin.  I was a little cramped, but it was better than another guy who had his legs open-wide straddling the driver's seat--it looked like a painful 45 minute groin stretch.  Once we reached Asni, the truck driver just asked for the standard fare, which was around 7Dh.  Upon disembarking, I shook my legs a bit to restore them back to life, chilled out a bit at a really shady cafe with some scruffy characters typical of a pit-stop town, and then proceeded to the grand taxis heading to Imlil (8DH).  Finally, the Asni to Imlil stretch was a cool ride as the taxi coasted through the lush river bed of the Ait Mizane Valley.

I spent the night at a gite advertised in the Rough Guide called Chez Mohammed.  There are a lot of lodging options from refuge-like accommodations featuring rows of bunk beds in a general area to simple and luxurious private rooms.  When I asked around for the gite, not a lot of people knew about it, but they knew the landmarks that led to the location. So I walked towards the landmarks and kept asking people who kept saying a not-very-specific "Sir l-hih", go there.  I finally ran into a small sign on a light-post that pointed to the place.  I followed the arrow and then I arrived at another fork on the path divided by your typical Moroccan apartment building.  I didn't think that building was the place because it just looked like someone's home so I went around and asked some guys who were working on an irrigation channel, but they also had no idea where it was.  I went back to the same building, knocked on the door, asked if that was Chez Mohammed and lo and behold it was.

One of the ladies that greeted us who I presumed had to be related to Mohammed took me to the second floor and gave us a Vanna White presentation of the rooms.  They were simple rooms.  At that moment the place was vacant.  The price was better than the bunk-bed dorm accommodation: 50DH per person, per night, for a private room.  The only bad thing was there was no hot water.  They had a hot water heater, but at the time it was out of service.  No biggie, though.  Over the last year or so cold bucket showers have been the norm so I went ahead and used my fine-tuned zen meditation techniques to get through the initial shock.  The place did not feel like a hotel at all.  It literally is Mohammed's pad as its name says.

The next day another PCV and I headed out around 8am.  The ladies at Chez Mohammed held on to a few items that we did not want to take along with us.  We were told to follow this one road and so we did for about 30 minutes until we realized that we were following the wrong river valley.  We walked back and then made a turn onto the east trail toward Amrend.  We followed an irrigation channel until we arrived back at the Ait Mizane Valley.  The east trail is a rockier and steeper climb than the wide-open west trail, but it is ten times cooler under all the trees.  Plus once you begin to emerge from the trees, you walk straight into the small mountain village of Amrend.

Upon reaching Amrend, we crossed the bridge to the west trail.  We stocked up on some more water and snacks.  The Rough Guide advises one to stock up in Imlil or Sidi Chamarouch, but I would only advise people carry what they need for the trek to the refuge and not worry about what they will drink at the refuge.  Granted, the refuge will charge you 15DH as compared to 6DH at Imlil for a bottle of Ain Soltane, but I would gladly pay the extra 9DH (just a little over a dollar) for the convenience.  Every 1.5 liter bottle is a little over 3 pounds.  When one is climbing for 4-6 hours straight, every little pound begins to feel heavier and heavier as one moves along.

Once we passed Amrend, we arrived at a huge dry river bed.  We followed a path that cut across the river bed and led one directly to a welcome sign from Morocco's Ministry of Water and Forests that announced the start of Toubkal National Park.  From there one begins a gradual ascent on the side of a mountain zig-zagging along some steep passages.

There were tons of people moving through the trail, both on the way up and down.  It wasn't just foreign tour groups, but also a good number of Moroccans who were making the pilgrimage to Sidi Chamarouch, a small village painted all in white resting right on a mountain ravine through which flowed to what I assume to be the Ait Mizane river .

One lady who was on her way down was touching different rocks on one side of the mountain trail and with every touch she would say "Allah" (God) to which her daughters following right behind would echo and touch as well.

Lots of mules were passing through with not just trail gear, but huge suitcases.  Apparently some foreigners decided to bring every piece of luggage with them--rather inconsiderate when most hotels and gites will gladly hold onto whatever one doesn't want to take along.  The porters who pulled or pushed the mules along the trail were bookin'.  We tried keeping up at first, but we quickly felt too out of breath to keep up.  The sun was also bearing down on us so I decided to slow it down and save my reserves for the steeper ascent that was to come.

The 2-3 hour trek to Sidi Chamarouch was a little exhausting because of the heat, but it wasn't to tough a climb.  The Rough Guide forewarned us that from Sidi Chamarouch and on, it would be like jumping on a StairMaster for the next three hours.

We picked up some more water for 8Dhs per bottle--only a 2-3 dhs difference from Imlil.  All the soda and water vendors had an interesting way of refrigerating their drinks.  They had all their drinks stacked on a wall with punctured water hoses up top spraying the cold mountain stream water onto them.  It worked not only as a fridge, but also as an AC unit.  The drinks were cold, and sitting next to that wall and feeling that cool mist on our faces was absolutely refreshing.  The soda's were a little expensive, about 10Dh each, which is still not much of a markup (3-4dhs).

After resting our feet a bit, we immediately began the steep climb past the village and onto the trail towards the mountain refuge.  The first half hour was pretty challenging as we zig-zagged up the face of the mountain.  After that rough passage, the StairMaster goes down to a medium grade as you climb gradually while heading south on the face of the mountain walking parallel to the river of the Ait Mizane Valley.

About three hours later following the white marks leading up to the refuge, we finally arrived at base camp.  There were two facilities available: a French Alpine Club refuge and another fancier spot called Refuge Toubkal Les Mouflons.  We checked out the French alpine site and it was packed to the brim with various European tour groups and it was smelly and the price was 90DH per bunk bed, per night.  Les Mouflons offered bunk bed accommodations as well, but it was cleaner, smelled better, less crowded, felt warmer, and the staff was nicer.  Price-wise it was only 30Dhs more, still a bargain in dollar terms and well worth it.

At the crack of dawn (7ish), we began our ascent to the summit.  We got a couple of hiking sticks to steady our journey.  The staffer that gave us the sticks told us to follow the red dots this time.  He pointed to some people that were already on the trail and at first glance I thought that these people must be hugging the mountain because it looked so steep, but then I looked behind them and saw that there was visible trail cut into the mountain.

My only advice to people on the ascent is to follow the red dots like your life depends on it because it literally does.  At one point in the trail, we went off on a bit of a tangent and found ourselves in somewhat of a precarious situation.  We got to an area where there was a number of big boulders and a lot of loose rock.  Because we lost track of the red dots, we got a little scare from a couple of slips we took and had to use our spidey skills stretching our legs and arms to find solid ground to push off from or to grab onto.

At one point during that brief rough stretch, I remembered the heroic moves of Sylvester Stallone on Cliffhanger and let out a grunt like he did as I pushed off from one rock and onto another.  Eventually we made it back to safety, hamdullah.  My heart was pounding so fast mainly because of nerves, but also because of the altitude change.  Lesson learned! From then on, I thought of of nothing but red dots.  

Both the view and the climb were breathtaking.  Every 15 minutes or after going through rough spots, I stopped, took in some deep breaths, and allowed my pounding heart to revert back to a normal rhythm.

In these much-needed pauses, I took in the scenery.

This being my first ever mountain climb, I was taken aback by the magnitude of the mountain ridges that criss-crossed one another, the jagged peaks, the barren terrain, the thorny bushes that somehow had eeked out a living in this hostile environment, the snow that still lingered in the crevices of the the mountains, and the clear blue sky.

As we reached the summit, the trail just got a little more slippery.  People that had already summited were slipping and sliding down the mountain some face first and not for fun either.  I made sure of every step, but with so much loose scree, it felt like you had to take three steps for one step of progress.

Reaching the summit was a glorious moment.  I heard the Chariots of Fire theme music in the background as I approached the summit in the slow motion baby-steps (sometimes in all fours) I was reduced to over the last half hour.  Upon arrival, the Hallelujah Chorus--a bit out of place in an Islamic country--also came on out of the blue.  

We chowed down some snacks, took some shots, and took in the crisp cool air of the mountain top.

At the summit, we were met by some Spaniards that we chatted with the day before at the refuge.  We also ran into a group of young Moroccans whom we had passed and that passed us throughout our ascent and who were part of an association from the Agadir region dedicated to doing recreational activities.  On one of the ledges of the summit, there was also a group of Moroccans who were playing some Bob Marley tunes on their cellphones, were waving a flag with Bob Marley's face on it, and smoking a little hashish to celebrate.  It was an interesting mix of people.

About an half hour later, we began our descent back to the refuge.  I tried not to follow the example of those individuals that were sliding face-first down the mountain; so instead I leaned back, tried to take some sure steps, and whenever necessary I'd crouch down and do a one foot slide or butt slide down the loose scree portions of the trail.  I followed the red dots like a horse with blinders.   About an hour or so later, we finally spotted the refuge.

My legs were already sore from the previous day's hike to the refuge.  Most of the PCVs we spoke to had summited and then descended all the way to Imlil on the same day.  Some took advantage of a porter who hauled their stuff.  Not being in any kind of a hurry, we decided to chill out another night at the refuge and start back first thing the next morning.  My legs were grateful.

The hike back definitely took less time and was less tiring.  We saw the sun rising over the mountains. Some shaggy goats grazing.   The weather was a lot nicer on the way back too.  We made it back to Imlil in about 4 hours and then took a grand taxi straight to Marrakech for only 30Dhs.

Although I couldn't climb to the top of the world mainly because the mountain is not in my PC host country, I can say that I got about half way there.  Mt. Everest stands at a modest 8,848 meters (29,029ft) while Mt. Toubkal stands at a remarkable 4,167m or 13,671ft.  It's a notable feat in my eyes.  A great journey and another site I can now cross off the list.

Trip Essentials

Transpo: According to the Spaniards we encountered, they took a grand taxi from the Marrakech Airport to Imlil for 300DH (This is the standard fare when one books a taxi as private transport).  Usually, that taxi driver has to stop at the gendarmerie (police station) to explain that he is going outside of his route and get permission.  The better option is to go to the grand taxi station near Jmma El Fnna and book an entire taxi paying the standard 30Dh per person if you don't mind sharing or paying six fares worth 30DH each (180DH total) to book the entire taxi to Imlil.   If you don't mind taking in some more scenery and are in no rush, take the route I took from Marrakech to Tahanout by city bus (7DH) from the Sidi Mimoun city bus stop also near Jmma El Fnna, then hopping on a grand taxi or semi-truck from Tahanout to Asni (7DH), and then finally getting on another grand taxi from Asni to Imlil (8DH).

Accommodations:  Despite the cold shower, I still recommend Chez Mohammed for Imlil.  They have a number of rooms and a large living room with lots of ponges that could accommodate large groups.  They also offered to cook us a tagine for 50DH, which is about the same price we paid at the village's terrace restaurant.  It doesn't feel like you're in a hotel at all, but more like someone's home.  The surrounding area is quiet and away from the village traffic.  At 50DH per person, it's a great value.  Phone: 0524-48-56-16.  If you decide to go there, when you get there ask the locals about the school.  Mohammed's pad is 200 meters up the road from there.

At base camp, the Refuge Toubkal Les Mouflons was a great spot not only to rest, but to meet other hikers.  They have all inclusive packages that include meals.  We just paid for the bunk bed and ordered a tagine for one of the nights, which cost us 100Dh.  The bunk bed cost 120Dh per night.  The showers had hot water, but only one person could be showering at a time.  Staff was friendly and their hanut was well stocked with water and all sorts of snacks.  We didn't make reservations, but if I were to do it again, I would.  Large tour groups can arrive and take over entire rooms.

Gear: Ascending during the summer is a whole lot easier than winter.  No gear is necessary other than just a fine pair of hiking shoes with good traction, a couple of layers of clothing, and a windbreaker/rain jacket.  There's a lot of loose scree from the refuge to the summit so a couple of sturdy hiking sticks can certainly help in balancing and also to push and pull your way up the mountain.  The refuge loaned the sticks for 50DH each, which I thought was kind of steep.

Guides: In the summer, I don't think there is a need.  One can easily follow the white marks, which begin from Amrend all the way up to the refuge.  To the ascent, the red dots clearly mark the path one should take.  The winter is a different ballgame.  Because of snow, one may need to take alternate routes to the refuge or to summit that may not be clearly marked or as easy to follow.

Here are a few other links on Mt.Toubkal for your reading pleasure:

So supposedly there's going to be an ultra-marathonesque event around Toubkal in September 2010.  On my way down from the summit, I think I saw someone training for it.  As I took baby-steps down the slope supporting myself with my trusty hiking stick, there was this one guy in short shorts with a water bottle in hand who was literally sprinting down the mountain hopping, skipping, and just bouncing off the boulders like a street acrobat. Check it out: http://www.toubkalchallenge.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toubkal