In most countries I purchase a pre-paid sim card for my cell phone. This gives me a local number for safety, logistics and keeping in touch with local friends. Generally these cares are simply purchased - hand over the money, hand over the card. Just like chewing gum. I was a little bit shocked to find that Syria's MTN network required a copy of my passport and Syrian Visa as well as my fingerprints! Upon further investigation, turns out that many bombs in Syria are detonated remotely with cell phones. This is one card I won't be giving to someone as I exit the country. Yikes!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
My Syrian Cell Phone
In most countries I purchase a pre-paid sim card for my cell phone. This gives me a local number for safety, logistics and keeping in touch with local friends. Generally these cares are simply purchased - hand over the money, hand over the card. Just like chewing gum. I was a little bit shocked to find that Syria's MTN network required a copy of my passport and Syrian Visa as well as my fingerprints! Upon further investigation, turns out that many bombs in Syria are detonated remotely with cell phones. This is one card I won't be giving to someone as I exit the country. Yikes!
Fatima
As I sat waiting for my visa at the Syrian border people watching passed the time. Hundreds of visitors crossed by car and bus. Fatima was among them.
Fatima arrived in a large group of Saudi Arabian women covered from head to toe in flowing black burkahs. Some showed their face, others just their eyes - individuality noticeable through purses and trim on the black fabric that uniformally swept across the floor. They took the seats along the stark white wall. Fatima strategically sat next to me.
She was 12 years old. Her English was about as good as my Arabic, but I could tell that she was a firecracker. Her smile broadened when I said I was from America. "California?" she asked, her eyes bursting with questions she couldn't articulate but was dying to. She subtly, but strategically, lifted her skirt to expose the jeans she wore underneath and readjusted her tarhan showing the blond streaks she had proudly put in her hair. The other women kept their distance, but she relished every moment next to an American girl.
Conversation was difficult. She learned some English in school. She was on vacation in Syria. She like American music (or at least what she had heard of it). I gave her a chocolate. To my surprise instead of eating it she wrote something in Arabic on it to cement the memory. I hoped it wouldn't melt ruining not only her pocket but her souvenir of this meeting. Heather had a bracelet she decided she could part with. We gave it to Fatima in friendship and in hope that she might then part with the chocolate and avoid disaster and heartbreak. Her face glowed with excitement. Having already exhausted our vocabularies, "How old are you?" "What is your name?" "My name is..." we sat satisfied with our exchange and enjoyed the mutual excitement and curiousity that surrounded our friendship, however brief. She soon left with her bus, but ran back a few minutes later to say goodbye and give us a black leather bracelet adorned with bronze studs and crystal sparkles.
As Fatima left, Heather and I contemplated her fate. What would it be like to be born into her society with so much life? Fatima would not be content with handbags and trim. It was a sad thought, but this brief brush with the West could be a highlight in her life. I wish I had gotten her email or an address. I would have liked to continue to follow this remarkable girl as she found her way.
Fatima arrived in a large group of Saudi Arabian women covered from head to toe in flowing black burkahs. Some showed their face, others just their eyes - individuality noticeable through purses and trim on the black fabric that uniformally swept across the floor. They took the seats along the stark white wall. Fatima strategically sat next to me.
She was 12 years old. Her English was about as good as my Arabic, but I could tell that she was a firecracker. Her smile broadened when I said I was from America. "California?" she asked, her eyes bursting with questions she couldn't articulate but was dying to. She subtly, but strategically, lifted her skirt to expose the jeans she wore underneath and readjusted her tarhan showing the blond streaks she had proudly put in her hair. The other women kept their distance, but she relished every moment next to an American girl.Conversation was difficult. She learned some English in school. She was on vacation in Syria. She like American music (or at least what she had heard of it). I gave her a chocolate. To my surprise instead of eating it she wrote something in Arabic on it to cement the memory. I hoped it wouldn't melt ruining not only her pocket but her souvenir of this meeting. Heather had a bracelet she decided she could part with. We gave it to Fatima in friendship and in hope that she might then part with the chocolate and avoid disaster and heartbreak. Her face glowed with excitement. Having already exhausted our vocabularies, "How old are you?" "What is your name?" "My name is..." we sat satisfied with our exchange and enjoyed the mutual excitement and curiousity that surrounded our friendship, however brief. She soon left with her bus, but ran back a few minutes later to say goodbye and give us a black leather bracelet adorned with bronze studs and crystal sparkles.
As Fatima left, Heather and I contemplated her fate. What would it be like to be born into her society with so much life? Fatima would not be content with handbags and trim. It was a sad thought, but this brief brush with the West could be a highlight in her life. I wish I had gotten her email or an address. I would have liked to continue to follow this remarkable girl as she found her way.
From Jordan to Syria: The Visa
The guidebook and the Internet say that visas for Syria must be obtained *prior* to arrival and in one's home country. Visas will not be given at the borders. Anecdotally, however, there doesn't seem to be a huge problem...unless you are American.
I met some American students in Egypt who had tried at the border. They had success, but reported having to wait hours for a "full background check" to be completed. For some "hours" was five, for others it was eight, for one unfortunate one with curly hair, a pronounced nose and a Jewish last name it was 32 hours...but he got in, and so would I. I held my breath, brought plenty of water, a book and some nuts and hoped that my Anglo features, German surname and charming smile would cut my time to a minimum.
End Result: 3 hours 13 minutes
What was my secret?
- A generous helping of smiles and bubbly charisma
- The endearing yet strategic use of broken Arabic
- Having Canadian and Hong Kong citizens waiting for me
- Waiting seemingly patiently
- Displaying my newest gold pendant (Allah's name as written in the Koran)
- Passport stamps indicating my conscious avoidance of Israel when crossing to Egypt
- Subtle flirtation with the middle-aged administrator who after the visa was issued asked for my phone number...not for government purposes (men are men all over the world)
I met some American students in Egypt who had tried at the border. They had success, but reported having to wait hours for a "full background check" to be completed. For some "hours" was five, for others it was eight, for one unfortunate one with curly hair, a pronounced nose and a Jewish last name it was 32 hours...but he got in, and so would I. I held my breath, brought plenty of water, a book and some nuts and hoped that my Anglo features, German surname and charming smile would cut my time to a minimum.
End Result: 3 hours 13 minutes
What was my secret?
- A generous helping of smiles and bubbly charisma
- The endearing yet strategic use of broken Arabic
- Having Canadian and Hong Kong citizens waiting for me
- Waiting seemingly patiently
- Displaying my newest gold pendant (Allah's name as written in the Koran)
- Passport stamps indicating my conscious avoidance of Israel when crossing to Egypt
- Subtle flirtation with the middle-aged administrator who after the visa was issued asked for my phone number...not for government purposes (men are men all over the world)
Did Jesus Walk on Water?
My second trip to Jordan (en route to Syria) included my second trip to the Dead Sea, this time for a swim...or a float as it were. I had been warned: don't shave your legs before going in, keep your eyes well clear of the water, rinse off immediately to avoid an itchy few hours. The salt content is nothing to mess with.
The water is so salty that some cite the salination of the Dead Sea to explain how Jesus walked on water. I'm not sure if Jesus walked on water or no (the fact is rather irrelevant in the formation of my religious beliefs) but what I do know is that if he did, the Dead Sea's role in the whole event makes it more plausible.
Remember laying in the pool face up with your father's hand under your back? Relax, keep your body straight, float. None of this technical direction needed here. The salt acts as your water wings. Your bum feels as though there is a partially inflated innertube supporting it. Push down and you quickly pop back up. Hands in the air, feet in the air, doesn't matter. You are floating. No need to tread water. No need to doggie paddle. No need to worry...unless the salt gets in your eye or mouth. Just one drop will burn the taste buds off the tip of your tongue.
The water is so salty that some cite the salination of the Dead Sea to explain how Jesus walked on water. I'm not sure if Jesus walked on water or no (the fact is rather irrelevant in the formation of my religious beliefs) but what I do know is that if he did, the Dead Sea's role in the whole event makes it more plausible.
Remember laying in the pool face up with your father's hand under your back? Relax, keep your body straight, float. None of this technical direction needed here. The salt acts as your water wings. Your bum feels as though there is a partially inflated innertube supporting it. Push down and you quickly pop back up. Hands in the air, feet in the air, doesn't matter. You are floating. No need to tread water. No need to doggie paddle. No need to worry...unless the salt gets in your eye or mouth. Just one drop will burn the taste buds off the tip of your tongue.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The "Travel Checklist"
It's easy to lose yourself in what I would like to call the "Travel Checklist." It is that helpful, yet terribly unhelpful list of "highlights" provided by Lonely Planet, Rough Guide, Forders or whatever guidebook you may be using. It is that list of scribbles your friend wrote down from their trip outlining what you "can't miss" on your trip. It is your preconceived notion of what you should be seeing that keeps you moving when you really should stay put and enjoy where you are.
One thing I've found in my journey is that the places I remember with the greatest fondness are not those one will find condensed into a text box. They often aren't called out on a glossy map. You won't find them in a picture book on a coffee table. The places I will remember with the greatest fondness are those places from which I will receive a letter every once in a while upon my return home, where I have friends...members of my global family. Flores, Perth, Amman, Siwa...
I see so many tourists who see the sights, but miss the country. I don't mean this in a judgmental way, but am apprehensive about returning to this way myself. It is the reality of eventually returning to a job and only 2 weeks of vacation that leaves little room for what I have come to know as travel. The days of adding 1/2 again the amount of time recommended by the Lonely Planet are limited (although not anytime soon "inshallah").
One thing I've found in my journey is that the places I remember with the greatest fondness are not those one will find condensed into a text box. They often aren't called out on a glossy map. You won't find them in a picture book on a coffee table. The places I will remember with the greatest fondness are those places from which I will receive a letter every once in a while upon my return home, where I have friends...members of my global family. Flores, Perth, Amman, Siwa...
I see so many tourists who see the sights, but miss the country. I don't mean this in a judgmental way, but am apprehensive about returning to this way myself. It is the reality of eventually returning to a job and only 2 weeks of vacation that leaves little room for what I have come to know as travel. The days of adding 1/2 again the amount of time recommended by the Lonely Planet are limited (although not anytime soon "inshallah").
My Literal Oasis
I was ready to leave Egypt. I had completed my "check-list" and felt there was little more to keep me in this country that had on too many occasions made me queasy (and not because of bad falafel). But not yet...one last stop and a final chance for a country that I was sure could offer more. Siwa - Egypt's most isolated desert oasis (still visited by tourists and travelers) less than 100km from the Libyan border.
Siwa saved Egypt.
I arrived in Siwa 10 hours after departing from Cairo by bus. The sun had gone down about an hour before and the streets had been lit up by warm orange lights shining onto the dusty road below. 4WDs passed infrequently as did donkey carts loaded with alfalfa. The people smiled and welcomed visitors as warmly as the street lamps appeared. I checked into a budget hotel with my latest travel buddy Heather (Canadian). We opened our guidebook and started to figure out what there was to see and how we should organize them.
The first day Heather and I made it our mission to lift our spirits by lifting the spirits of those in town. Siwa was small enough that the two of us could have an impact if we could coax a laugh or even a smile out of every person we interacted with. While we were very successful in this goal, we spent our first day in this dusty desert town without seeing anything recommended in the guidebook. By nightfall, however, we were more than pleased with Siwa and our first 24 hours and had a car booked out to a nearby lesser-visited oasis town of Qara for the next day.
Qara was okay. Our grandiose vision of a town so happy to see Westerners that they would roll out the food and celebrate with songs and smiles (as the guidebook suggested) was quickly dashed by small hands shoving local textiles and hand woven baskets in our faces and demands for "backsheesh" (or tip) at the sign of a camera. The children of the town had been trained to see $$$ in our blue eyes. We shook it off and enjoyed the day despite, joking around with our driver, Abdu.
By the end of the day Abdu was in love with us...well, me in particular. After returning we cleaned up and met for dinner. He was so handsome I thought he must be Siwa's biggest playa', but we just couldn't turn down the offer of a personal guide gratis for the duration of our stay...did I mention he was terribly handsome? The next day we would join his trip to the Western Desert's dunes and springs and stay the night in the desert.
One of the lucky gentlemen we had made laugh our first day in Siwa had also taken to Heather. Ahmed, was not quite as cute as Abdu, but made up for it by running 3 businesses and working for a local NGO by the very successful age of 26. He joined our excursion and along with 4 Sweedish girls, we set off on our desert double date. We visited Bir Waheed for a soak in the hot springs, splashed around in Cold Lake, visited a fossilized bed of seashells surrounded by dunes, sand boarded at sunset and set up camp before witnessing a spectacular moonrise.
We stayed in Siwa for one week and at last had to rip ourselves away to avoid getting stuck there permanently. It's the kind of place I could see myself realizing one day that I had been there 3 months under an expired Egyptian visa. As it was, we woke up only 7 days into our stay and realized we had barely scratched Siwa's surface visiting a mere fraction of what the guidebook recommended. Instead we had focused on the people, our friendships, the oasis atmosphere, smiles, the hot springs, the moonrises, the stars that lined the horizon and stretched densely across the night sky. Thank you, Siwa.
Siwa saved Egypt.
I arrived in Siwa 10 hours after departing from Cairo by bus. The sun had gone down about an hour before and the streets had been lit up by warm orange lights shining onto the dusty road below. 4WDs passed infrequently as did donkey carts loaded with alfalfa. The people smiled and welcomed visitors as warmly as the street lamps appeared. I checked into a budget hotel with my latest travel buddy Heather (Canadian). We opened our guidebook and started to figure out what there was to see and how we should organize them.
The first day Heather and I made it our mission to lift our spirits by lifting the spirits of those in town. Siwa was small enough that the two of us could have an impact if we could coax a laugh or even a smile out of every person we interacted with. While we were very successful in this goal, we spent our first day in this dusty desert town without seeing anything recommended in the guidebook. By nightfall, however, we were more than pleased with Siwa and our first 24 hours and had a car booked out to a nearby lesser-visited oasis town of Qara for the next day.
Qara was okay. Our grandiose vision of a town so happy to see Westerners that they would roll out the food and celebrate with songs and smiles (as the guidebook suggested) was quickly dashed by small hands shoving local textiles and hand woven baskets in our faces and demands for "backsheesh" (or tip) at the sign of a camera. The children of the town had been trained to see $$$ in our blue eyes. We shook it off and enjoyed the day despite, joking around with our driver, Abdu.
By the end of the day Abdu was in love with us...well, me in particular. After returning we cleaned up and met for dinner. He was so handsome I thought he must be Siwa's biggest playa', but we just couldn't turn down the offer of a personal guide gratis for the duration of our stay...did I mention he was terribly handsome? The next day we would join his trip to the Western Desert's dunes and springs and stay the night in the desert.
One of the lucky gentlemen we had made laugh our first day in Siwa had also taken to Heather. Ahmed, was not quite as cute as Abdu, but made up for it by running 3 businesses and working for a local NGO by the very successful age of 26. He joined our excursion and along with 4 Sweedish girls, we set off on our desert double date. We visited Bir Waheed for a soak in the hot springs, splashed around in Cold Lake, visited a fossilized bed of seashells surrounded by dunes, sand boarded at sunset and set up camp before witnessing a spectacular moonrise.
We stayed in Siwa for one week and at last had to rip ourselves away to avoid getting stuck there permanently. It's the kind of place I could see myself realizing one day that I had been there 3 months under an expired Egyptian visa. As it was, we woke up only 7 days into our stay and realized we had barely scratched Siwa's surface visiting a mere fraction of what the guidebook recommended. Instead we had focused on the people, our friendships, the oasis atmosphere, smiles, the hot springs, the moonrises, the stars that lined the horizon and stretched densely across the night sky. Thank you, Siwa.
It's a Shame About Egypt
Egypt has some of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. The pyramids, if you can believe it, are possibly the least so. The color and details in the tombs, the wealth of the pharaohs' belongings, the scientific feat of mummies, the sheer size of statues and hieroglyphic adorned columns mesmerize their audiences. Unfortunately the striking beauty and easy enjoyment ends at the gate where hundreds of aggressive vendors and scammers harass and hassle tourists by the bus load. 
Most people visit Egypt by organized tours - 42 people at a time. They swarm together through the sights as if on a timed game show, seeing only the "musts." Most dress inappropriately for a Muslim nation (shorts, t-shirts, spaghetti straps) and don't take the time to learn about the culture or figure out if they are being swindled and paying up to 6 times the appropriate price for items being sold on the tourist track. The quick money and lack of cultural respect has taken its toll and has trained a nation how to treat Westerners...similarly. Take, take, take.
The end result is that Egypt leaves one with a fondness that is overshadowed by discomfort and anger. Souvenirs are tainted by memories and feelings of manipulation and worse, possible friendships are marred with lingering questions of distrust. Egyptians take advantage and tourists take tours. The cycle continues.
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