Independence Day

Today is Independence Day in Jordan - you know, like the USA's July 4th or France's July 14th or even Canada's July 1st.  (Which isn't really independence day, is it?  It's the anniversary of the passage of the British North America Act.  Why does it seem quintessentially Canadian to celebrate an administrative success?)


Anyway, May 25th is the date in 1946 when the region known as Transjordan that operated under a British mandate became legally independent from the UK and changed its name to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

Unlike other countries where I have lived - where this kind of a date is solidly cemented in popular culture - it wasn't until last Wednesday that an e-mail message went out to the staff team to let us know that today - Tuesday - was going to be off work.  

It is understandable to me that I didn't know this was a holiday - living in my foreigner bubble daze.  What is interesting to me is that my colleagues also didn't really seem to know until the last minute that there would be a day off.  And, as it turns out, the scheduling was a bit of a bother and messed up a final deadline we have been working towards.  And people are upset about that.  And other people are upset that the first group is upset.  And so it goes.   The agitation certainly could have been avoided if only we had known earlier that a national holiday had been scheduled and we would have planned for it.   Which seems like a ridiculous thing to observe, but there you have it: a cultural insight.

I guess this low-key recognition of the date accounts for the extremely low-key way it is being celebrated.  Or rather not celebrated.  It is sunny and hot today and the town is completely quiet, like a regular Friday weekend day.  The only thing I have seen out of the ordinary was a lone convoy of stretch limos around noon.  They were followed by a couple of pick up trucks and taxi drivers honking their horns and flying those car flags you see after a soccer team wins.  Maybe 10 cars in total.  My hometown of Deep River, population 4,000, puts on a bigger celebration for Canada Day.  Maybe the celebrations start up after dark?    I will wait and see.   (Fireworks, by the way, are a regular occurrence these days.  Big displays every Thursday and Friday night, accompanied by lots of gunfire from the tops of the hills that circle the old downtown.  Wedding season!)

bugs

It turns out that May is mosquito season here in Amman.  These creatures are smaller, fiercer and faster-moving than their North American cousins and they have ruined several nights of sleep for me so far. (Is there anything worse in the darkness than that high-pitched doppler effect sound of a mosquito flying by your ear, followed by a sudden silence?)

It doesn't really do to think about what mosquitoes are doing here in Amman.  At a kilometre above sea level on a high, dry, waterless plateau, it is not like there are low-lying marshes and stagnant pools dotting the landscape.   Pondering this question too much leads me to wonder about the water cisterns  that inhabit the roofs of Amman's buildings.  These are filled weekly by water trucks and meet residents' washing, cooking, and drinking needs.  They certainly don't look very reassuring, and I'm not sure how well sealed they are.  I figure that they probably constitute the only source of standing water in the vicinity, and I don't much relish the thought of mosquito larvae swimming around in them.  It does make me glad I get my drinking water delivered, though.

A couple of weeks ago I commented to my various colleagues about the attack of the killer mosquitoes.  They all had the same answer, delivered in a kind of  tone that conveyed a "but, of course, only an idiot wouldn't know about this" message.  Here's the answer:  "well, you have to buy an electronic mosquito killer ... you can pick one up at the Safeway."

Now, coming from the Ottawa Valley, I have a proprietary feeling about mosquitoes and how you repel them.  Skin so soft... citronella candles... deep woods off... cedar oil...you name it, I know it.

I like to think that Canadians take mosquitoes very seriously and have all the answers.  So, I admit to being surprised that I have come to the middle eastern desert to discover a Japanese product called Fumakilla - VAPE MAT DEVICE - Electronic Mosquito Destroyer.  It has a special semi conductor.  It also comes *with pilot lamp* but *insecticidal refills* to be purchased separately.  For the packaging alone and at less than $10, I was compelled to buy it today.

I am not sure yet if it works.  I am going to give it a whirl though. 


A whole different question is what I am going to do about the giant cockroaches that have started visiting my kitchen sink of an evening.  Sigh.  Life in a warm climate.

souks and more souks

April was a grueling month at work, but finally all the deadlines have been met.  So I was fortunate last week to have some dear friends visit from Toronto;  it was the perfect time for a break and an adventure.  They arrived last Saturday evening and and less than 12 hours later we were heading north to Syria.

Finally on the road to Damascus!

http://www.doubletongued.org/index.php/dictionary/road_to_damascus_experience/

I cannot claim that I had a revelatory moment or a personal conversion like the apostle Paul on the trip north.   We travelled through Jordan's gritty, dusty industrial heartland of Zarqa, then skirted the edge of the arid Eastern desert - a landscape dotted with black basalt boulders, makeshift bedouin shelters, itinerant farm labourers, camels and goats.  As we approached Damascus on the Syrian side of the border, to the west we saw snow-capped Mount Hermon, wreathed in haze, and a line of distant blue hills contrasting against the dusty yellow landscape.  A lot of information to take in.

But, I can report that Damascus itself was a revelation.  Breathtaking, fascinating, and incredibly warm - both the people and the temperature.  Our local, Damascene cab driver became hopelessly lost after about 3 minutes crossing into the old city through 'Bab Touma' - one of the city's ancient gates.   We realized quickly that the intricate network of alleyways (that predate the automobile by about 3 millenia) would be an adventure in themselves to explore.  No need to plan much more than walking for days in Damascus.

And walk we did. Through the vine-covered streets of the Christian quarter, through the textile souk (where we were nearly lost for days in a complex warren of covered alleys that went for kilometers) and the medieval Bzourriya spice souk and the awe-inspiring 19th century Hamidiyya souk.  And the awning fabric market and the vegetable market and the handicrafts market.  We even went to a bicycle souk out of the old city - really just a turn-of-the-century french-inflected shopping street known as the souk al bicycletiyya lined with bike shops selling imported chinese and indian bikes and locally-made carpeted seat covers and hand-woven paniers.

We walked through the crowded, narrow streets behind the 7th century Ummayad mosque, where Shi'a pilgrims from Iran mixed with visitors from the Gulf and local merchants.  While feeling ancient, the city is also an incredibly vibrant hub of 4 million inhabitants, all of them seemingly trading goods.  How can you not want to buy something in such conditions?  I picked up a couple of beautiful syrian silk scarves and a tribal carpet (jajim) from northern Iran.  I am sure I didn't get a good price on anything.  But I do now know 100% more about traditional weaving than I did before I went. (Which is to say I went from knowing virtually nothing to now having extremely scant knowledge).

It is also true what the guidebooks say: that there is a distinct contrast in the city between the teeming, busy, loud, fascinating public streets and squares and the private sphere.  Off the narrow streets, behind high walls, are quiet, shaded courtyard gardens with orange trees, mosaics, fountains.  We stayed in a lovely hotel that was a converted palace and we took the opportunity to wander through a few more, including the impressive Maktab Anbar.



Now I want to go back, of course.  And to Aleppo in the North - an even older souk inside a walled old city.  And next time,  I will take better shoes.