New years gift

There is a beautiful sight outside my window, though I doubt many of those reading would be quite as enamoured as I am. The green grass, the umbrella-like palm trees, the fruit trees, are all covered by a light scattering of cold, white, snow. Yup, snow. In Syria. Apparently, this happens about once a decade, and today the weather gods gave us this present for the new year. There is something refreshing about celebrating a new year with that perfect clean whiteness; a clean slate so to speak.

And even more entertaining than watching the snow was watching everyone react to it. Many of the people here, if not Syrian are still from the Middle East and Africa, and for many of them snow is not a common sight. All around cameras appeared, posed pictures in front of snowy trees, snowball fights, and shivering. Everyone was so excited for the new snow, and for those of us who are used to white winters, we felt a little more at home.

Sit right here and watch the sun disapper into the ocean...

It was high time for a mini-adventure. I've been spending so much time in one place lately, I'm getting anxious being so stationary. The lonely planet travel guide described Latakia as a little piece of Europe in the Middle East, so Justin and I decided to check that out. As much as I love this region, a little bit of Europe sounded like a welcome change of pace. We caught a train at 6AM, for the high price of 160SP, or approx $3.50, and enjoyed the trip on one of the nicest, newest trains I've seen thus far. Even had a DVD system playing a movie, but it was in Arabic and I didn't feel like trying to follow along that early in the morning. I spent the time enjoying the view, which wasn't as majestic as the travel guide said, but plesent none-the-less. Three hours and eight tunnels later we were in Latakia, on the other side of the mountains, on the coast.

We walked from the train station to the bus station, and got our return tickets in advance (no late train going back sadly). Then we set out, still walking, towards the ocean and after about an hour and a short break for pizza we found a stretch of beach with rocks jutting out the side seperating the public area from the small harbor. Justin hadn't seen the ocean in about three years, and while it had only been a couple months for me, it was still a very welcome sight. We sat there, feet in the water, reading, writing, talking, and enjoying the sun. As we got up to leave, my right boot finally fell apart as it had been threatening to do, and after trying to walk with the sole flapping under me, then trying to tie it on with the cords from cheap headphones from the train, I gave up, ripped the sole off, and walked unevenly on the bit of fabric remaining under my sock. Eventually we wandered back through the city a ways, and back to the bus station home.

Here we were in for a surprise however. Apparently, dispite our best efforts, our tickets were wrong. They had sold us tickets for the bus leaving when we bought them, instead of the evening one, even though the clerk had pointed at 6 on the clock and nodded when we bought them. It took us a while to figure this out, however, as they spoke no English, and I need to work on that Arabic more. The best we could do was say we'd paid in the morning (in Arabic), and they kept telling us to pay. Finally someone was fetched as a translator, and he told us they had messed up and sold us the wrong tickets and we'd have to buy new tickets. No way around it. Annoyed, we paid them again, another $3 each, and got on a rickety old bus from the early 70's. Sitting down in the bus I heard my pants rip, and the cheaply sown seem gave out. I was greatful I was wearing my black leggings underneath. For about two hours, I tried to keep my mind occupied with anything to distract from the dark narrow roads, crazy driving, and sheer drops off the edge of the roads as we wandered through the mountain pass back towards Aleppo with no defroster unless you count the two men with paper towels wiping down the window in turns. Three stops later, we were finally on flat land and the driver put away his cell phone, and the lasts half of the trip flew by on a straight well-lined divided highway.

We got back into town, took a taxi to our neighborhood, and stopped for sandwhiches before I walked the rest of the way to my place, ripped pants, missing a sole, but a not so restless as before.

A little disproportionate

'The attacks entered their third day Monday, with more than 300 people in Gaza reported killed and hundreds more wounded. Israel says the military assault is in response to ongoing rocket strikes on Israel, which have killed two Israelis.' - CNN, London, England. 12-30-2008

Eye for an eye? What ever happened to the punishment fitting the crime? There have been demonstrations throughout the world in response to the Palestinian death toll, which is near 400 now, with around 1500 more injured.

'Protests were also held in Israel, where students at universities in Haifa, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem demonstrated against the Israeli military operation, ynetnews.com reported.' - also CNN, London.

Christmas in Syria

Christmas Eve I had dinner with some colleagues from ICARDA. The food was wonderful, and plentiful, with the best part being the rice and meat wrapped in something similar to spinach leaves. After dinner, I joined some friends at the dorms where I was staying previously and we had a bit of a Christmas party. Justin, my German friend, was really excited about the holiday and bought some decorations including a miniature tree. He also bought small gifts for each of us, and a bottle of wine. We played Christmas music on the computer, and the festivities involved opening presents, eating cookies, drinking wine, juggling fruit, and dancing. Around 11:30, Justin and I headed out to find a church. He wanted to attend a midnight mass. I figured seeing a foreign church sermon would be interesting, so shortly after midnight we found ourselves in a simple old catholic church standing at the back, listening to a sermon in Arabic.

Getting home so late, I slept late Christmas day, and spent a couple hours on the phone with my family back home while they opened presents and spent half the time guessing who's was who because someone had forgotten to label them or had gotten lazy (as usual). That made it feel like Christmas for me, despite the beautiful weather outside, just to rub that in. Christmas with palm trees and sunshine; something weird about that.

Lost in translation

#2 The cost of fiscal stamps to be affixed to the undertaking relative to the permit for temporary admission of cars is LLP 10,000.

-- One of the notices crossing the Lebanese border. I found the translation humorous.

Christmas in the desert

We had another hash this weekend, at a simliar site closer to Aleppo. Someone brought Santa hats for everyone, and we set out; a group of twenty-ish people, mostly adults and one dog, wandering around sweeping fields of grey poreous rocks and a ruined city wearing santa hats. Including the dog. This site was somewhat more intact than Bara, with some full caves and rooms still whole. Justin, Yasim and I wandered into one of the caves, dug out of the stone. It was a square room about 15ft wide, long, with the ceiling slightly above my head at its lowest so around six feet high. There's a picture posted on the web album (link to the right). Justin made friends with a horse, who then became the Christmas mascot when Justin betrayed this new friendship by putting his Santa hat on the poor beast. Mr. Ed didn't seem to happy about this turn of events, but put on a good show.

Jakoba and I went back to town and went shopping, still wearing our hats. I had forgotten about mine until a small girl pointed and laughed at me in the store, and her mother hushed her and rushed her past me. All I could think was that walking around town in a Santa hat was something my mother would do. I suppose I get more from her than her clumsiness and athletic ability, I picked up the lunacy gene as well. <3

Culture of tea and coffee

Sitting in the research station in Terbol, Lebanon, one of the technicians offers us coffee. She boiled a kettle of water on the small heat stove in the center of the room, and mixes up a couple cups of Nescafe for us. She then pulls out a package of tea-biscuits setting them on a plate on the desk. Before I can finish my coffee, she starts making a pot of Turkish coffee (a strong powdery brew served in tiny cups), boiling the rich powder into a small pot of water, pulling it off the heat and stirring every few seconds as it nearly boils over. Five cups are set out, and the Turkish coffee was served with copious amounts of sugar. This time I was able to finish my coffee before she offered tea, and when the tea was served with a bowl of sugar, I declined the sugar. There is so much sugar in everything here, the coffee/tea and the foods and sweets, that I try to avoid it when I can. I'm glad I turned it down, since when I took a sip I noticed the tea was already well sweetened, yet the others were adding full tablespoons of sugar to their cups. The researcher we'd been waiting for arrived, and we had another cup of Turkish coffee in a different office before heading out for the return trip to Syria. Tea and coffee are so deeply ingrained in the culture here; a shop owner will often serve you a cup while you puruse his wares, men sell it from thermoses in traffic and huts along the roads. Tea/coffee provides an opening to greet a guest, to open conversation; it's a beautiful tradition. I wish I could pack my bag full of local tea and coffee coming home, but alas... only so much room. Two or three bags should fit.

Beauty and poverty

I had the opportunity to take a short trip into Lebanon a few days ago, just overnight, collecting samples for a research project. The drive took about 4 hours, crossing the border extended that time by about an hour. American passports are unusual here. However, while time consuming, it wasn't scary or stressful. The border system was simple, but recognizable; men in camo or green military dress, sitting at desks filling out forms and asking questions. We pulled up to the border buildings on the northern Lebanese border, and Ziad, my companion, explained that the border isn't well marked and that it causes problems with farmers who have land crossing the undefined borderlands. I could see what he meant when we crossed through Syrian customs, then drove about ten kilometers further to reach the Lebanese side. That stretch of no-man's land inbetween was covered in fields of pestaschio and olive trees, open farmland and huts made from burlap sacks and bits of plastic that housed the farm workers. Yet in the distance on either side the road is flanked by beautiful gentle mountain ranges forming the valley we drove through, topped with snow to the west and fading out into to fog in the east.

It cost me about 10 USD to get out of Syria, but my short term stamp for Lebanon was free. After filling out the form with my passport information, birth place/date, parents names and my profession (still seems weird to have a profession...), I recieved yet another stamp on my passport. I think my passport will end up being my ultimate travel souviner. The rest of the drive through Lebanon to the research station alternated between farmland and small towns. The towns were not much different than in Syria, that eclectic combination of modern and old, cell phone and computer advertisements next to streetside vegetable vendors and 40 year old cars. There were multiple checkpoints, but they consisted of someone checking the logo on the car for the research center, and waving us through.

We stayed the night in a nice hotel in a place called Zahle, overlooking the rest of the city from a cliff and I spent most of the evening learning Arabic with Ziad while smoking a nargile much to the delight of the hotel staff who aren't used to seeing a western woman smoking a nargile. Its only recently becoming common for even local women to do so. They also joined in on my education ocassionally, correcting my pronounciation and checking my writing while they changed the coals on the nargile.

It wasn't until the drive back the next day, while I took pictures through the windows, that it really hit me how different this life was, how desolate for some people. Seeing children herding sheep while their mother carries water in plastic buckets back to the makeshift houses, I realized how quickly I'd come to accept the life in the region as normal here, and how drastically different it is from the life I know back home. And even the worst that I've seen so far is nothing compared to conditions in other parts of the region. What kills me though, is the divide between the upper and lower classes. In between fields filled with tent-houses (I counted about sixty huts in one field) are mansions, large beauitful stone houses, gated and isolated from the desolation at their doorsteps. I can understand how its easy to ignore a problem from across the world, but when you see it out your kitchen window while you sip your morning tea... Perhaps, like how I adjusted so quickly to thinking of what I've seen as normal, the problem is not that they ignore the plight of those less fortunate, but rather that they fail to recognize it as a problem, as something that could be helped.

A country behind the times

I'm talking with my friend Flavio over tea today after lunch, and another guy sits down with us. I don't remember his name, if we've been introduced, and I hate acknowledging that so I didn't ask. We get to talking about the differences between different countries, especially the weather. The other guy, lets call him Jim, says that he's supposed to be going to Ethiopia for work soon, but that it's difficult to get things done with the Ethiopian projects. Why's that, we ask. And he looks at his watch and says, 'well for example, its 7:30 there.' It was about 13:30 Syrian time, and Ethiopia is at most one or two time zones away, so of course this is strange. Apparently, they count the time of the day starting from sunrise, instead of midnight. Logical, if you ask me, and since sunrise is typically around 6am, they are 6 hours behind us. Also, he says, they use a different calendar, so it is the year 2001 there and they are always seven years behind. He goes on to complain that the paperwork is a hassle since his superiors always want to know why he's filing old reports.

He turns to Flavio and tries to convince him that he should work in Ethiopia. Flavio is a barley geneticist, and apparently they have some of the most interesting barely varieties. I couldn't help but comment that he should take the job, it would add years to his life.

Oh, and one more quirk (well, I'm sure there are many more, but thats the joy of culture) is that they have a different system for months as well. Thirteen months, to be exact. Twelve months of 30 days, and one month of 5 days. No more counting your knuckles to figure out how many days are in June.

Like a sore thumb

This week is holidays here, so I have three days off of "work," so to speak. Since on Monday, the first day of the Eid Al-Adha, all the shops were closed, and since then only a small number of them have been open, I've spent most of the last few days alternately reading, studying Arabic, walking the city, and taking advantage of the time for internet. Today I set out to explore the city in its quiet days by taking a bus from my dorm. I've found that a large portion of Syrian women, especially ones my age, dress in modern western clothes, just more conservatively. So I put on my most normal clothes, black slacks, white buttonup shirt, and a black jacket, hoping to blend a bit; not taken for a local, but at least a resident alien. I don't really know if there is much logic to the bus system, and if there is, it's lost to me with my minimal Arabic. So I just hopped on the first bus that arrived, paid the 10 cent fee, and took the seat that was offered by a young man who got up for me. I spent the next twenty minutes looking out the window, observing people, neighborhoods, and mosques. For the record, each mosque is very unique, especially the minarets.

When the bus I was on cirled the outskirts of town on the far side of the city and returned to my stop, I got off, and got another bus. That one may have eventually taken me into the city center, but I knew the green one would. Well, I thought it would. After another twenty minutes or so of observing out the bus window, I glanced a Christian cemetary, almost literally in the shadow of a mosque. A few minutes later, as we passed through some of the oldest parts of town (this half of the city is a world heratige site), there was a Muslim cemetary along the side of the road. Simple headstones flowing with Arabic script, disappeared over the hill, and the bus moved on. I almost got off, wanting a picture of the cemetary, but I was in an area of town I didn't know and I realized I hadn't seen a woman in modern dress or with her hair/face uncovered in quite a while. I knew the bus was heading near the city center, a more common tourist site where I would be less out of place, so I stayed on, content with the mental photo. We passed a second graveyard, and this time the bus stopped and everyone got off, end of the line. I got out, and realized I wasn't really sure where I was at. I knew I was in the old city, behind the famous Citadel and souqs, but I didn't know which direction they lay. I took a guess.

For the record, anytime I take a guess in a city, even when I think I'm following a map, I'm almost always wrong. Ask joey. This time was no exception. And on top of it, I stuck out like a sore thumb, the only woman in sight without her hair covered; most women were wearing more traditional long dresses and anklelength coats, generally black, with black head scarves. I had my scarf with me, but bright green would probably have drawn more attention in this neighboorhood than my dark hair. In most areas, women tend to make up for the conservative dress code with bright colors, sparkly items, and flashy designs. This wasn't one of those areas. While never rude or threatening, I was getting far more attention than I wanted. I kept saying I'd take the next taxi that came by, but they'd come by, honk, and slow down and I'd shake my head before I realized it, intrigued by my surroundings.

Along the streets, young boys and old men were selling fat tailed sheep, and trucks were going by with sheep skins and live animals in every direction. Eid Al-Adha is a celebration of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son and his last minute repreave of slaughtering a lamb instead. Traditionally, any family who is able to afford it slaughters a lamb and shares the food with friends, family, and those in need. When I realized I was heading deeper into the old city, rather than out of it, I turned around, and not long after was able to see the Citadel above the buildings. Heading in that direction, I came to a main turn about (the circular intersections are common here) and there were children everywhere. It was like a minature carnival with a tiny ferris wheel and many versions of swings piled high with minature people. I smiled as I walked by; even more than people in general, wherever you go, kids are kids.

I finally found an area I recognized, found my favorite street side "sandwhich" shop and had a late lunch of a chicken & veggie wrap (now that I think of it, these are somewhat similar to a taco bell "grilled stuffed burrito"). I kept walking, figuring I'd find the bus route, not wanting to spend the money on a taxi, though its a difference of twenty cents vs a dollar-ish. However, by the time I found my way to a bus stop, I was back to the university. Don't get me wrong, the city isn't that small, I probably walked about three miles, wandering in the direction of my dorm. Good exercise after being stationary for three days. :) And probably in part due to the holidays, but also to the part of my trip spent in the old city, I didn't see a single woman with her hair uncovered until I returned to the university. Come to think of it, not even then. So much for blending in today....

Hash and Hare

So last week I wrote about how I'd gone out on a "hash" with Jakoba and Celine, but it had been canceled due to the rain. We rescheduled, and left again this Friday at 6:30AM to set up the site. I was still pretty much in the dark as to what this was, but this time I brought the muffins. We got to the site about 8AM, and had our tea and muffins before setting out. Armed with bottles of blue water paint we set out to mark trails. Basically, a "hash" is a synthesized hunt. We, the "hares," set a trail in blue paint for the "ferrets" to follow, with multiple "on-backs" aka dead ends, and "searches" which are sites marked with an x that indicate they should look around. In these spots, the searchers, mostly the children, were rewarded with finding hidden tangerines. The idea is to track the hares by the blue paint dots and eventually find the end of the trail, where we celebrated a good hike with beers and a bit of food. In the course of events, you also get a somewhat organized tour of a beautiful site, in this case an ancient ruined city.

This also meant that the hares, had a long day, as we walked the site at least two times, making the dots then walking with the ferrets. At the end site, near the remains of a beautiful church with marble pillars still standing, I was informed that there was tradition to be followed, and the hares were required to chug a beer in the center of a circle, with the catch being that if you don't finish the beer in one go, the rest you have to pour over your head. Now this wasn't made very clear to me, so I drank about half of my Heineken then paused for a breath, and ended up with half a good beer in my hair. Then, as it was also my first time at a hash, this ritual was to be repeated along with another newcomer. However, now that I knew the rules, I took advantage of my time bartending, and finished the cold beer in one go, to the delight of the crowd. I was doubly unusual for the group, volunteering as a hare my first time out, and successfully chugging a beer at the end.

On our way back to town, we stopped again at the same market as last time, and each bought a few bags of fresh fruit. While waiting for my bags to be weighed, a Syrian man my age told me in very good English that he wanted to ask me a question. He said "Do you like Bush or Obama?" I laughed, I've been asked questions like this throughout my trip. I told him "Obama, of course." And he said he just asked because "Bush killed so many people in Iraq." Many Iraqi refugees have fled to Syria, causing tensions in Syria due to the rapid increase in population. I retrieved my bags of fruit, told him Obama would be better, and we returned to Aleppo. His statements and the way he'd spoken stuck with me, however.

After the hash, there was also a dinner, like my first weekend here, where a group of the international staff gather. Tonight's special was cherry kebabs, beef grilled on a bbq then soaked in cherry sauce, lentil soup, and deep fried lentil cakes. Wonderful, as always, and after the meal I found myself in conversation with an Australian researcher here in charge of studying and maintaining the genetic varieties of each plant. We talked about my trip to Syria and ICARDA, about graduate school possibilities, and about his friend who can diagnose someone by their pulse alone and treats them with herbal remedies from around the world. Later, I was discussing Montana politics with a man who'd grown up in Billings, but now ran the school for ICARDA. His glowing recommendation for John Bollinger made me glad I'd voted for our incumbent governor and his lieutenant. Small world though, when I travel half way around the world to discuss hometown politics over a glass of Syrian wine.

On the ride home, Jakoba invited me to dinner at her house again, and even suggested I house sit for her while she and her husband are away during the upcoming holidays. We'll talk more about it tonight. Now, I have to go about finding something to take to dinner. :)

Adventures on hold

My adventures have been on hold, so to speak, the last couple of weeks. I've basically been working at the research center I'm visiting here, talking to scientists, visiting lab facilities, writing up a powerpoint presentation for a talk, and coming up with plans. The latter includes both both the personal and professional aspects, my current travel plans and potentials for graduate school, and helping ICARDA organize some projects here. I'm still planning on traveling the country more soon, and hopefully a couple others in the region. On a research mission, I'm planning to travel to Lebanon soon, awaiting approval from the head of the department. On the same project, we'll be traveling much of Syria as well. I'm excited for that, especially since I've spent most of the last two weeks in the city. Meanwhile I've started thinking about plans for graduate school, trying to contrive ways in which I can continue to travel while getting a respectable education (and getting paid!).

I also haven't had much time to write, when I do have internet access it is often limited. In Turkey, youtube was inaccessible, banned by the government. Here, facebook is often banned by the ISP, and at the moment I can write blog entries, but I cannot view them as blogspot is banned but blogger is not. So forgive any mistakes, I can not adequately proofread my posts. Also, there tends to be a delay in what I write, as I've taken the habit of writing two posts at once, then delaying the publication of one so as not to flood my attentive readers with too much too fast, better to delay like the next harry potter or robert jordan. Though if my memory serves me, there will never again be another robert jordan book, due to his passing. Random tangent, sorry. I'm lacking for caffeine this morning.

So after a week an a half of meeting people and getting to know ICARDA and Syria, I presented my talk Thursday. I suppose it went well, though personally I felt like I could have done much better. I was, abashedly, somewhat intimidated. I'm not used to being intimidated. Usually, if all else fails, my bravado carries me through. But I found myself in a conference room with about fifteen PhD's who know much more about agriculture in Syria than I could begin to pretend. As a wise science teacher taught me years ago, its better not to bluff, or you end up resembling a snowball rolling down hill. The bluff just gets bigger and bigger and becomes more obvious with every passing question. The downside is that I found myself saying "I don't know," and "That's not my area," more often than I'd have like. But the researchers in attendance had only good things to say, and the head of the department asked for a copy of my presentation to send to his home country in hopes of inviting me to speak there as well. So perhaps I'm my harshest critic.

So that's my life on the "work" front lately. Meanwhile, I've been working on my Arabic, which is progressing slower than I'd like. I simply don't have enough of a background in it to begin learning from conversation efficiently, but I'm getting there, and picking up a few things here and there anyway. I've also spent a lot of time with a Dutch woman, Jakoba, I've met here. She teaches at the ICARDA school (K-12 international school mostly for the families of ICARDA). Her bookshelves have become my personal library, checking out a few books at a time to read on the bus. It seems strange, I know, to travel half way around the world and lose myself in a book, but each have been an interesting comparison to my life, with new thoughts and insights. I'm not picking up the latest Nora Roberts or anything like that, though as far as romance novels go, she does alright.

I've gotten to know the city a bit as well, a beautiful city at that. Many of the buildings, especially in the new areas of town, are made from a local stone, a soft beige color, and the designs are art in themselves. The souqs in the old city are pre-Koch in their sanitation. Large pieces of meat hang by hooks on the wall, or sit in buckets on the floor, the liquid run off from the area flows along the walkpath between shops and the smell is almost overpowering, especially for a former vegetarian. Thankfully, this is countered by the shops of herbs and teas and spices that are usually somewhat distant from the raw foods area. I've yet to buy anything from these shops, however, as I can't read the labels on the spices and most of the merchants speak only enough English to welcome you to their shop. I'm planning on returning in a couple weeks with Jakoba to go Christmas shopping, however, and while she doesn't speak Arabic either, it will likely be a more successful trip.

A Kurdish Wedding

So I've been here less than two weeks and I've already been invited to a wedding. A woman I'll be working with here, Siham, came to my office and invited me to join her at a colleagues wedding on Friday (last Friday now). Though it was in Syria, the bride was Kurdish. I had no clue what to expect; Siham just told me to dress nice, and walked back out of my office. I also had plans for early Friday morning to go on a "hash" which as far as I can tell is an organized hike. I woke up at 5AM to loud thunderclaps and the splash of rain on the streets. Never the less, Jakoba picked me up at 6AM and the three of us (Celine being the third) drove to the site about an hour out of town figuring perhaps the rain was local. It wasn't and it rained all the way there. Inwardly, I was thankful and was begging the rain to keep up so I could go back to bed and have breakfast at a regular hour. When we got to the site, the rain had died out, but it was muddy everywhere. We decided to cancel but took advantage of the bit of nice weather to explore ourselves.

We were in the ruins of Al Bara, one of many "dead cities" here, and one of the most extensive. It was first settled in the 4th century, flourished due to the value of the land in producing wine and olive oil. It remained inhabited through Muslim occupation of the area and later became a prominent Christian city. It was finally left to ruin after an earthquake in the late 12th century. What remains are various arches, a few crumbling buildings, and two pyramid shaped tombs, though I didn't know they were tombs at the time. There is something serene in walking around a city that lasted, functioning, for 800 years, and has remained that long again to be seen by wanderers like myself. We wandered our way right out of the ruins and right back into the nearby village. From a hillside road we could see our car, about half a mile away. We walked back, cutting through orchards, and had tea and muffins near the car while trying to clean the mud of our shoes. The incoming rain helped with that, and we beat a retreat to the car.

Back on the road, we found another set of ruins nearby, and since the weather was now its manic phase, we set out to explore again. These ruins, Sargila, though more closely gathered, were better preserved, whole buildings, and another of the pyramid tombs we'd seen at the previous site. Exploring these required less following paths and more climbing over piles of stones. Interestingly, the ground around the ruins, literally every bit of soil up to the walls and in between buildings, was being cultivated, recently planted. Waste not, I guess. If anything, I suppose it is a way of showing respect to the ruins. Life begets life. Suddenly, the weather changed moods once again and we found ourselves scurrying over rocks as quickly as we could, dripping wet as we dove into the car. We got turned around and on the wrong road, but in doing so we found more ruins, including one area that required tickets, but the rain was not conducive here. Another day, perhaps.

We got back to Aleppo, and had coffee at Jakoba's, perusing her books. She had offered up her library to me, pegging me for a book-loving English-speaking ex-pat who was dying for a good peice of literature. I took four home with me, that's all my bag could fit. I ended up not having time for a nap, and tired already, I met up with Siham for the wedding. Her fifteen year old son, Hedi, joined us looking pretty sharp in his suit. We were fast friends, though I think he may have only liked me for my camera. He borrowed it and took some pictures towards the end of the night (the one I posted of the bride and groom is his). The wedding itself was far more modern than I was expecting. Modern, interesting word that. I think people have a tendency to equate "modern" with "American" or "European" when in reality anything created in present day is modern, and its all comparative anyway. Sliced bread is modern, compared to cave art. Anyways, about three hundred people were in attendance, in a variety of attire. While I didn't see any women fully covered (Kurdish weddings/families tend to be less formal in many respects), probably half were wearing headscarves, pinned tightly to frame their faces. The men were mostly in suits, some in jeans. Only the servers and dancers were wearing more traditional garb.

The wedding was held in a hotel or conference center, a large place with many functions. There was actually a swimming pool in the center of the room which was the size of a large gymnasium. We were served plates of fruit an ample amounts of Arabic coffee (a ridiculously potent brew, not sure I'd like it if I didn't already make my coffee darker than a black hole). The bride was shown from home on a video projection screen on either side of the room, while a loud Turkish band played near the stage set up with bright flowers, chairs for the couple, and large white ornaments. As always, a few young girls were dancing on the open dance floor in front of the stage, mostly spinning in circles. The bride and groom entered through a line of traditional dancers who ushered them onto the dance floor like that old game where you run through the tunnel made by people standing in two lines with their hands up, then reform it at the end. The rest of the wedding was fairly recognizable. They exchanged rings, cut the cake (with a sword instead of a knife), and greeted guests. The only main difference was the dances, performed by both guests and, separately, hired dancers. These were simple group dances, reminiscent of the old European dances we learned for the Elizabethan festival in high school. The guests joined hands with pinkies, and did a slow six step walk in a circle, spiraling, with the lead dancer gently waving a bright piece of fabric from his/her fingers. The bride and groom had their dance as well, never touching, facing each other and turning a slow circle while their hands danced.

Busy couple weeks, even busier to come, though there are some holidays soon. I may visit Damascus next week over the holiday, then travel to Lebanon to collect samples the following week. I'll likely spend Christmas with Tamar and her family here. She's a homegrown Montana girl who's dad happens to be Syrian/Armenian (and a close friend of my main contact here, Amor). She wanted to know her heritage and has found herself teaching kindergarten here. Sort of kindred spirits I guess.

PS. Sorry for the book. My lack of good internet and busy life lately means I have far too much I want to relate.

Hospitality of strangers

I'm finding it hard to keep up, working again full time and trying to spend as much time enjoying the city and the people as possible. I often don't have a chance to write, even in my little journal (thanx MC!). But I have to relate my most recent adventure. Ziad, my friend who picked me up my first day, asked me to join him and his wife at her cousin's for dinner last night. They picked me up again, and we drove a short ways into the main part of the city. The houses in the newer parts of Aleppo are often large stone buildings, beautifully designed, usually about three stories, with each story belonging to a different family. Zahar's cousin lives on the second floor with his wife, three of his daughters and one of his sons. An older son and daughter are living in the UK, going to college. They welcomed me graciously, and we proceeded to practice each others languages; they would ask me questions in English, I would attempt to answer with Arabic. Throughout the evening, Ziad acted as a translator, providing each side with words and giving me a running synopsis of the news we were watching in Arabic.

The food they served was wonderful, as it always is. A salad consisting mostly of carrots and radish, a soup of chickpeas and almonds in a creamy white sauce also made of chickpeas I think, and a dish I think was called hamil, though I may be mistaken. The last are something I've had multiple times, and they consist of rice and meat fried inside a breaded shell. These were arguably the best I've had to date, however, and included bits of walnuts. When the food was served, the father, Abu-Abuti, moved to my couch and sat next to me. His name, or rather his traditional nickname, means "father of Abuti", his oldest son. He pushed me to eat more and more, gesturing from his heart, to his stomach, and hugging himself while saying "how much you eat, how much you love." By this he meant that how much I ate was a show of how much I liked his family. I liked them very much, and the next morning, I still feel full.

After the meal, the daughters disappeared, and returned carrying water pipes (hubblebubbles is how they refer to them, though the traditional name is narghile or hookah). Like dinner my first night, these were grape flavored, and we spent the next couple of hours sharing the pipes and watching the news. When I commented on what my mother would think of the pipes, someone brought out a camera and Ziad took pictures for me to show her. We ended up taking pictures of much of the family, and the extravagant plates of fruit they brought out for dessert. One of the daughters, Alaa, set up a voice chat on the computer with their brother in the UK, and I talked to him for a while. They showed me family pictures, of the siblings living in the UK, and of a family trip the rest had taken recently to Palmyra. Palmyra is an ancient Roman city and one of the most famous sites in Syria. I plan to visit there myself.

At some point in the evening, I was presented with a beautiful pink rose from Abu-Abuti's garden, and when we left, Alaa presented me with a parting gift. They insisted I have to come back again, and I hope to do so. Back at my room, I checked out my gift. It consisted of a small box of rose shaped candles, and a small shiny silver and blue treasure chest wrapped in a pink bow. The box contained a silver bracelet and a necklace of silver and blue beads, which I'm wearing now. :) I'll get the rest of the pictures from Ziad soon, but he sent me this one by email this morning.

Buses, religion and politics

So another story. Sunday was my first day at ICARDA. I was given an office, a phone, and Amor is arranging all the meetings for me. I spent the day alternately reading papers (mostly Ed's and Olivier's) and shadowing Amor. ICARDA is about 40km southwest of Haleb, an I was brought by shuttle in the morning, and told I would return the same way. However, when I went to meet the shuttle at 3:15, there were multiple buses and I realized I didn't know which to take. I asked someone, he pointed, and I hopped on. I quickly realized none of these people had been on my shuttle in the morning, and assumed I had picked the wrong one, however it was heading to Haleb, so I figured I'd just hop off somewhere, do my shopping, and take a taxi back to the guest house. However, the driver and passengers realized I was on the wrong bus, since none of them knew me, and asked me where I was going, smiling slightly at my response. I explained that I knew I had taken the wrong shuttle, but that I was planning to shop and take a taxi back, and knew the city well enough.

One woman suggested I get off at her stop, so I did, and she invited me to her home. In the US, this would probably seem weird, but it's rather common behavior in the Middle East, though I'd be wary of going with a man I didn't know, more for image it would give than for safety. As we walked up the stairs to her apartment she explained that she was an only child (in her forties or fifties) and lived with her elderly mother. She offered me lunch, and having not expected company the food was set up in the kitchen, whereas guests would usually be entertained in the living room, and she asked if I minded. Of course I did not, and we sat at a small table in a small kitchen and ate a wonderfully simple meal of boiled wheat, lamb salami, and something similar spinach wrapped around rice and meat with a yogurt sauce spiced with garlic and peppermint. Over lunch we talked about where I was from and what I was doing in Syria, why I had wanted to travel to the Middle East. Though fluent in English, it was not her first language so when she asked, "Why would you want to come here?" it was not meant with the negative insinuation it seems to carry in writing. The paradox of the statement and her intent made me laugh.

I told her about the religions class I'd taken, about how the Christian students had responded so poorly when their religion was talked about, the ugly histories, when they had sat avidly taking notes during the discussions of Jewish and Muslim atrocities. She opened the conversation to politics and religion, so I felt comfortable telling her these things, and explained that there is so little cultural diversity in Montana that I wanted to see for myself and be able to tell people when I returned. We sat in the living room with coffee (Turkish coffee, ironically, which I never drank in Turkey) for another hour, talking about Syrian culture and the republic, America, and Israel. Yes, I know, tender topics everyone tells me, yet I find people very willing to discuss them, rationally and intellectually. She stressed how much equality the different religious groups had in Syria, how much everyone loved the president, Bashar Assad, and how a good dictator was much better than the alternative of life under a extremist group, the only alternative she sees.

Bashar Assad, the second son of the late president, was elected by an almost unanimous vote upon his father's death. There is only one party here, and the presidency is expected to be passed on in the ruling family. From what I know of his regime, I have to admit, a dictator he may be but he seems to be doing only good things. As Ziad stressed at dinner the first night, he takes care of his country from the inside and that makes him a good leader. Bashar Assad had taken many steps towards modernizing the country, and has attempted to forge better relations with the US and UN, but his gestures have often had less than friendly receptions. He was quoted as saying, about a year ago, that Syrian/American relations could not improve until there was a change in American leadership.

My host brought up the even more sensitive issue of Israel, and how much she wished to see Jerusalem, but her nationality forbid it. Anyone holding a passport from a Muslim country is not allowed to enter Israel, as they do not officially recognize its sovereignty. As a Christian, this is difficult for her, and she cherishes the cross pendant and wooden crucifix given to her by a foreign friend who visited the country. She told me that, as I had predicted, the image of our president was more important to Syrians than the actual person of the president-elect. That American elected a black man said a lot to the world, and she asked me to clarify that he is not Muslim, not out of any negative thoughts towards Muslims but simply in an informative sense. "If he had been Muslim?" she asks. "We would not have elected him," I replied. Her blunt conversation deserved a blunt and honest answer, and I felt comfortable with her.

We talked then of how in much of America, due mostly to mass media, the only time we ever hear the word Muslim is in connection with words like terrorist, car bombing, jihad, mujaheddin, martyr. The definition of these words are in themselves skewed in our views. I explained that most people don't even understand the true meaning of jihad (to struggle for your faith, not offensive holy war) and mujaheddin (those who struggle, not holy warriors). Here I was disappointed to find that either I'm wrong myself, though my understanding comes from multiple reliable sources, or that this misunderstanding is not unique to Americans. I lean towards the later and I was saddened at this. It seemed to contradict her earlier comments on the equality of the religions. One moment insisting that they were Syrians first, and Jews or Christians or Muslims second; the next insisting that Koran promoted holy war, offensive tactics, and killing. I no longer felt comfortable in pointing out to her that the bible has similar passages and that her own religion has a bloody history. I felt like I was sitting in Cohen's religions class again, watching five students walk out mid-class while many more scowled in their seats.

Saftypins Borders and Food

Syria, finally. I arrived in Haleb (Aleppo), Syria, on Thursday, the 20th of November. I crossed the border by bus from my temporary hideout in Antakya, Turkey. The border crossing went relatively easily, well I suppose I'm not sure what to compare it to, but I wasn't interrogated or anything. My lack of even conversational Arabic (I'm learning!) required the assistance of one of the bus attendants who lead me around the immigrations office and handed my passport to the right people. He took me into an office where a large Syrian officer was on the phone, the three stars on his sleeve held on with a safety pin. The man took my passport, set it on his desk, gestured me to a seat, and continued about his business as if I hadn't arrived. Someone brought tea, passed through a window between the office and the immigrations desk, and the woman sitting across from me smiled at me when we both sipped the too hot drink and flinched simultaneously. I killed time trying to read every bit of Arabic I could spy in the room, able to pronounce most of it uncomprehendingly. I smiled when I read the word "Haleb" and "Palmarya", a famous ruined city in central Syria.

After about fifteen minutes and much discussion between my bus attendant/guardian and the safety pin officer, we were sent to the desk again, where the man looked up my passport while slapping away a few insistant house flies. He handed it back and sent us to the bank where I payed an entry fee of 16 USD. We were sent once more to the desk where my passport was finally stamped, and then curiously (and to my discomfort and annoyance) the man wrote inside the cover of my passport in pen some Arabic letters and numbers I've been unable to comprehend. No one else seemed to think this was strange, however. The stamp said only 15 days, but as I didn't yet know my plans, this was fine. I was met at the bus station by Ziad, a very nice local man who works with ICARDA. He drove me around town (city of 4 million) pointing out sites, picked up lunch for me, then drove me to the ICARDA guest house where I've been staying and will remain a few more days. The lunch was wonderful, the room is extravagant after spending months in hostels and tiny simple hotel rooms. The bathroom (hammam) is about the size of my bedroom back in Bozeman. The only downside is that my only internet access is by dialup connection on an aging computer downstairs.

Ziad returned that evening and he and his wife took me to dinner. He ordered nine dishes so that I could try as much as possible, and also water pipes with grape leaves to smoke. I've never smoked, but he assured me there was no substance in it, just flavor, so I tried it gladly and quite enjoyed the scent. The food was almost entirely unusual to me, with the exception of shish kebab chicken and fries. The most unique dishes were the eggplants stuffed with rice and soaked in a pomegranate sauce, and a dish of raw lamb meat mixed with wheat flour. Both were actually quite good.

The next day I headed out shopping, well wandering, taking a taxi from the guest house. I had assumed, wrongly, a taxi driver would know the word "University" to get me home, and only later realized that reading the Arabic word from the University signs would probably have helped. I finally returned home after the driver asked a friend for directions, and was met by Amor, the man who has organized all this for me. He had just returned from Turkey, and laughed to find out I was out exploring already. Over tea we talked about family (he has a daughter my age named Sonya going to school in Missoula), and what I would be doing in Syria, and my future plans for grad school. He has spent the last couple of days showing me around, introducing me to dozens of people, and has twice taken me to dinner at a family friends house. Amalie, his close friends mother, and her granddaughter Tamar (who is from Montana but moved to Syria to learn her heritage and the languages) are wonderful. Amalie cooks simple succulent dishes vicariously through her attendant as her mobility is limited, and has a dry sense of humor, a stubborn will, and wanders back and forth between English, Armenian, and Arabic. Tamar, like me, is learning Arabic. She speaks more of it, whereas I read more, and we both follow the gist of the conversation between Amor and Amalie, though often Amor plays the translator.

I have vague plans now for my time in Syria, which will probably be til at least the new year. This morning I signed a visitor's contract allowing me to stay til the 19th of January, though that can be extended. I'll be giving a seminar next Sunday (they have Fri/Sat weekends), and assisting in a couple projects while meeting and talking with various grad students and scientists. I have a couple more stories to relay, but this is already a book, so I'll delay. Besides, I have "work" to get back to. And yes, I know, post pictures. I will, haven't taken many yet.

Illumination

So I woke up this morning, in my hotel in Antakya (no hostels in this part of Turkey), to find that the power was out. No big deal, I had my traditional Turkish breakfast of fresh veggies, olives, cheese, bread and an egg served with a cup of cay, and figured I'd wander around a bit til the power came back on. I needed to use my computer to study Arabic and put together some slides for presentations I'll be giving in Syria next week, but I was hesitant to run down the battery with an indefinite power outage. For the most part, the city was normal in the midst of a black-out. A few shops had generators, but most made due in the dark, women shopping for clothing and having to try items on in near darkness, the bazaars running completely normally, and cashiers reverting to simple cash systems without electronic card readers or cash registers. The restaurants tend to cook on gas and flame, so other than the darkness were not much affected. At first I thought perhaps this was a normal event, turn off the power during mid-day to conserve energy? But alas, come 3pm, the power is still out, I've almost finished my book, I'm bored with shopping, and still not wanting to use up my battery so I decide to take a nap.

I wake up a couple hours later in a dark room, the sun sets around 4:30pm. It suddenly occurs to me that if the power is not coming back on soon, I should probably track down some candles so I can at least keep myself entertained writing and reading, and avoid stubbing my toes. So I head out of my room, escorted down the stairs to the front door by my mini-mag light and the desk clerk, and find the shop a few doors down I'd noticed before. They were selling everything from bits of jewelry and prayer beads to tea glasses and kitchen utensils, and seemed as likely a place as any to find candles. One clerk was checking shelves using a flashlight, and spoke a few words in English but only enough for me to confuse her. Thankfully a second flashlight was set up facing a corner containing candles for 1 lira each (bout 60 cents). I grabbed two, and a pack of lighters I noticed on the side, and pulled my flashlight out of my pocket. I unscrewed it, pulled the battery out, and showed it to the clerk. She nodded and showed me to the check out desk where they handed me a six-pack of duracell batteries, commenting gravely that it was 7 lira. I said that was fine and walked out moments later with 4 lighters, two good sized candles, and a pack of good old American batteries for the high price of about $6.

I was thinking about finding dinner, but wanting to wait a bit longer, so I walked up and down the street, evaluating life in a blackout. As I passed the grocery store, lit up slightly with generators to provide functioning tills and refrigeration, it occurred to me that having no idea how long the blackout would last, it was probably prudent to grab at least some bread and water. I usually keep some with me, but was in need of fresh stocks anyways. So I walked through the store quickly, grabbing a couple bottles of water and a loaf of bread, and just as I walk up to the cash register and set my items down, the lights flicker on. Across the street, the rest of the buildings are lit up like normal, including my hotel. Irony. I walked back into my hotel, and laughing at myself showed the clerk my purchases which elicited a small laugh from his normally gruffy demeanor. Well, they aren't bad supplies to have, so not a total waste of money. And its something to write home about.

As far as a travel update goes, I'm hanging out just north of the Syrian border for about a week, then heading to an international research center there where I'll be giving a couple of seminars on a oilseed crop produced in Montana that would be beneficial and well suited to the region. The research institute has provided my visa to Syria, saving me a decent chunk of cash, and are also providing my room and board while I'm there and will help me set up tours around the country. I'm hoping to also make some research contacts through the facility, which is home to researchers representing about twenty-five countries. In the mean time, my temporary home, Antakya, is the ancient Antioch, and boasts an ancient Church of St. Peter among its treasures. While much smaller than the other cities I've visited, it has a lot more character, and my hotel is pretty well situated in the city center. I even found a few small English book sections in local "kitabevi's." The first stash made me smile; among the handful of mass-market murder mysteries and romances was a couple copies of a Orhan Pamuk novel (famous Turkish author, even well known in the states) and a single copy of "Complete collection of sexual terms and definitions. This last was a slim volume proclaiming to describe various terms related to sexuality, gender, and anatomy so as to remove any confusion and was prescribed for students, teachers, and the general public. Well, with the power back, I suppose I have no excuse now not to get to work... except, I haven't eaten in a while... after dinner will be soon enough. :)

Modern cavemen (and women)

Goreme. Small village in the Cappidocia (Kapidokya) region of Turkey, south of the capital city of Ankara. I took the train overnight from Istanbul to Ankara, and a bus from Ankara to Goreme yesterday. All in all, about 12 hours of some of the most comfortable travel yet. The train was probably the nicest I've been on with the exception of the high speed train in France, and very reasonably priced ($12 to get halfway across the country), and the bus came complete with complimentary tea/coffee service en route. I took tea the first time around and was reminded that tea from a bag can't compare to the wonderful double boil system that is traditional for Turkish cay. So the second time the drinks were offered I figured I'd try the up and coming new Turkish national drink... Nescafe. Seriously. And to make things simple, they provide your "coffee" in 3in1 pack that contains a powder mixture of coffee, sugar, and cream which is actually 67% sugar.

The bus actually took me to Nevsheir, a few kilometers away from Goreme, and I was instructed to switch buses. The second bus took me to Urgup, a few kilometers on the other side of Goreme, and after discovering i was in the wrong town and hour later, a third local bus finally took me into Goreme. I wandered around the town and quickly discovered why they didn't bother giving directions for the hostel. The village is laid out in a bunch of small paths, barely big enough for a vehicle, winding up the hills around the valley and there are no real street names and while buildings have number, this is only for appearences. Even with my pack, the hour or so I wandered was interesting and comfortable. Many of the buildings were either closed off with bricks or falling apart, or under construction, but there were hostels and hotels around every corner and house made of carved stone or built into the spires and cliff sides. The hostels and hotels are not even recognizable, in a western sense, as hostels. They often are small simple dwellings with only signs outside to signify their purpose, and the signs hold an antique look about them as do the sun-faded advertisements; the reminants of a past tourist boom.

The history of the region is unclear the but references to the people who lived here date back at to least 400 BC. They also had many underground cities which I'm going to look into visiting, some of which housed upwards of 50,000 people for months at a time and were used by early Christians while hiding from persecution and raids.

My room in the hostel hosts ten beds in a cave cut into the rock, and while the ceilings are lower than a normal western room, its comfortably roomy. I picked a bed in the back corner and slept comfortably last night with an extra blanket stolen from an unused bed. Its definately autumn here, chilly, but not quite cold enough to warrant my winter coat I bought in Amsterdam. I ventured out this morning wearing my underarmor shirt and a light jacket and leggings under my pants. A couple hours later I was grateful for the choice in clothing as I found myself hiking through the caves and cliffs outside town. At first I just climbed around easily in the abandoned cave homes, and eventually found myself without a footpath to follow. So I jumped/slid down from upper level area I'd been taking panoramic shots from, and wandered through a couple tomato plots farmed by the locals with horse and plow (and occasionally small old tractors). Eventually I found a simple dirt road and started walking back towards town, vaguely. Then the road became a path, and then a trail, and next thing I knew I was walking through a dry riverbed between cave walls reaching about 20m over my head, following an almost invisible trail and a few footprints in the dust. Some areas got a little narrow, and I had to squeeze past a boulder at one point, and some areas where the water would have fallen in small waterfalls required climbing up. These had small hand/footholes carved into the stone around them, so it was no feat, but still facinating. I had no way to know if the handholds were a year old or a thousand, and the view if autumn treeds with falling orange leaves drifting around me was breathtaking.

When I made it back to the stone road into town, I was probably about 2 miles away, and stopped to eat at a tourist place en route. After a simple and cheap meal (bout $2.50) of Turkish ravioli with a light tomato sauce and yogurt on the side, I headed back to town and sat on a hill above town reading in the sunshine, watching children play in the street below me. After a simply beautiful sunset I wandered back to the hostel and along the way was greeted by a small boy, maybe three years old, who ran up to me grinning and hugged me, arms thrown around my knees. I smiled, said hi, and he ran away only to come back and do it again. I took a picture of him, playfully throwing a rock at me a few minutes later, but this computer is not so conducive to uploading pictures and an impatient Spanish speaking woman is waiting to use the computer. I'll post some pictures when I get internet on my own computer, tomorrow maybe. I'm not sure where to go from here, still got some time to kill. Looking at couchsurfing in Adana, near the Syrian border, or maybe another hostel there. At least it will be warmer, only bout 50F here, should be about 75F in Adana all week.

Arrogance and humility

On this hugely political day, I've been debating whether to post or not. I'd be lying if I said I had no interest in politics, especially in the Middle East. As some know, this is actually much of the reason I'm here. I want to see for myself what life is like in this region we know only through the lens of the mass media. At the same time, I want to focus more on the culture than on the day-to-day political bickering. However, I feel I must make some comments.

I'm listening to a program called Mosaic: World News from the Middle East. This is a podcast put out by Link TV which collects and translates news broadcasts from local and state news programs in the Mid East, including Israel. I highly recommend it. This particular issue is mainly concerned with the results of the American elections, which at the time it was posted had not been decided. If I was surprised by the novel enthusiasm for politics I've seen in the states the last year or so, I'm even more pleasantly surprised with the enthusiasm I've found abroad. I knew our elections would draw attention around the world, and I expected it to be hopeful, but the intensity of the hope, the readiness of the world to open up to America again with a change of leadership has given me new faith in a better day.

In Iran, according to this newscast, they are remembering the day of the storming of the US Embassy 29 years ago, which they call the "day of countering arrogance." Muslims make a practice of humility; it is a tenant of their faith and a way of life. Americans have often had a tendency to see ourselves as better than the rest of the world because of our technological and industrial advances. As a "superpower" we see it as our duty to share the gift of democracy with the rest of the world, even when it may be an unwanted gift. While well intended, this very idea shows our arrogance, our lack of respect for the people we are trying to help. On multiple occasions we have forced democracy on the world while acting as an empire; such as the recent debacle in which we crossed Syrian airspace uninvited. We make the rules, so we have no need to follow them.

President-elect Barack Obama has revived something long dormant in America, a sense of people, a sense of humility, and the desire to have a better world. That better world starts with being informed. I started out on this journey to learn about the peoples of the Middle East. I find, more than anything, I'm learning much about myself and my people. I've never used that phrase before... my people. Much like Michelle Obama, I've never been very proud of my country until recently. I hope she goes down in history, favorably, for that quote, for it is true of so many of us and I respect her for having said it out loud when the rest of us only whispered it to each other over coffee.

So get up, check out the news, see the world around you as it is. Read between the lines, learn a bit of history about the world, who we are, how we've developed as a world. I dare you to name 10 heads of state, 25 countries. Can you pick out Iraq or Burma on a map or describe to me the difference between a Muslim and a Jew? Is there a difference at heart? Think for yourselves, dare to hope, and perhaps there will be better days for us all.

Expat in Istanbul

I guess I'm finally doing it, really living outside the states. I mean, throughout Europe I was just a tourist, passing through quickly; picture here and dinner there. Trying to get a taste for each city, each country in a matter of hours. But no where felt like home, felt real. I was taking pictures of postcards, not living the sights myself. I've been in Istanbul now for five days, the longest I've been in any one place since I left home. I've already fallen into a bit of a routine consisting of waking up earlier than I used to, eating a breakfast of fresh fruit and veggies, spending my day however I wish, often involving a cup of chai (like back home!) and a doner kebap (lamb skimmed off a spit and rolled in bread with peppers/tomatos and sometimes french fries) and falling asleep exhausted after wandering the city all day or working on my papers and Arabic. My sister used to say (perhaps she still does) that all she needs to be happy is a good book, a hot cup of coffee and a new pair of socks. I've got the book, and cay instead of coffee, negatory on the socks, but I did find a pair of amazing new pants.

Meanwhile, I'm surrounded by an evolving culture, a beautiful people caught between tradition and "modern life." I was somewhat sad to find that Istanbul was not as traditionally Muslim as even my 2 year old travel guide suggested. I haven't had issues being seated next to men in restaurants or public transportation. In fact the metro cars are akin to sardine cans packed to exploding capacity. And while I have gotten some attention for being American and/or a lone female, most of this consists of young men telling me I'm "pretty" as I pass by. There are a few women here and there in burqas (the textbook image of a Muslim woman covered in a shroud), and many wear head scarves, but the majority of Turkish women I've met and seen are modestly dressed in western style clothing. One of the more interesting sights I've been lucky enough to chance across, a hundred men kneeling to pray in a back street, facing Mecca, wearing jeans and suit jackets, their Nike shoes and cell phones waiting on the ground beside them. An American comparison just doesn't exist.

A high percentage of Turks speak at least basic English and almost every bookstore I've found has had at least a fair selection of English language books. However after searching about twenty new book stores and a collection of small used shops I've yet to find an English/Arabic dictionary, excepting two that weren't quite what I wanted. One was an English/Arabic/Turkish dictionary, which while intriguing and cheap was badly designed and lacked prounounciations. The other was exactly what I want in content, but was about four inches thick, hard bound, and weighed probably ten pounds. Not the best for backpacking.

The city itself is intriguing, modern and ancient combine so beautifully and often in an artistic sort of clash that I can't help but smile. Three hundred year old mosques form the backdrop to Burger King and cell phone shops. The covered network of shops called the grand bazaar, home to 6000 shops and hundreds of thousands of shoppers daiy, is only a block away from one of the main tram stops. Sitting in an metro coffee shop, the call to prayer can be heard through the window, a lamenting male voice chanting in Arabic. It's no wonder the people themselves often seem caught between their traditions and the modern world that is taking over by storm.

I'm posting a few more pictures of the city in my travel photos, then I'm heading back to Istiklal, the main shopping street in hopes of seeing another protest. The PKK issue has been a hot topic here lately. I chanced across a small demonstration near a monument in Istiklal last night, but didn't have my camera. Listening to the group of about thirty men and women chanting in Turkish, holding pictures of what I can only assume are the martyrs of their cause, I suddenly felt a chill on an otherwise warm night.

Greek gods and carpet salesmen

So much happens in a few days, then I sit down to write about it so my mother can relax and I feel like I end up writing a book and boring everyone. Then again, no one is making you read this, so *shrugs*. So we arrived in Athens on the 26th, beautiful bright skies, old ruins in the middle of a curious city, street markets, pushy salesmen, soulvaki. We arrived at the airport, took the subway to a random stop, and happened to end up in a street market area. I bought a sarong because "they can do everything." Sarongs make great skirts, dresses, pants, scarves, bags, towels, blankets... ya get the point. And all this for bout 10 dollars US. Anyways, after food and a bit of wandering, we made our way to the hostel and spent the evening recuperating and figuring out the next few steps. The next day we visited most of the ruins in the city, including the acropolis that was right next to our hostel, Hadrian's library, and Zeus's Temple. There were a couple of really neat statues in the Ancient Agora, men/mermen with tree/snake designs on the base. And these dated to before Christianity in Greece. The sight from the top of the hill was almost as phenomenal as the ruins themselves. Tuesday after making plans to head to Turkey at midnight that night, we took a day tour to Sounion, the site of the Temple of Poseidon. The view of the ocean was one of the best I've ever had the luck to witness. I enjoy taking candid pictures of people I don't know, just interesting shots. So here's one of my favorites. I love the silhouette in this pic, the posture, the view... We returned to Athens and caught the train to Istanbul at midnight. Not nearly as nice or fast as the high speed trains in France, but not nearly as pricey either. I figure that's a fair trade off, specially since I'm on a budget here. The ride is supposed to take bout 20 hours.

Well, 36 hours later we arrive in Istanbul. We spent 16 hours on a train, just to get to the border station 2 hours late for our connecting train. They only have 2 trains a day through there, so we had to wait about 9 ours for our next one. So from 5pM til 3AM, we got to sit in an empty train station in the middle of no where. I'm not kidding here, i thought Bozeman was the middle of nowhere (least after six years), and definitely though Sunburst and especially Kevin was the middle of no where... no, i was wrong. This was a train station, and a police station. That's it. Couple other run-down falling-apart buildings, a telephone, not even a drinking fountain. We had a couple books all of which I've already read, and my computer, but no internet and no movies or anything to watch. We did have company though, we couldn't get a size comparison here, because when we set a coin down next to him he wandered off, but trust me when i say this thing, leg span included was bout the size of the palm of my hand. Poor Joey was going nuts over this thing, i thought he was friendly. Anyways. Train finally arrives, and they take our passports, tell us to get on the train, but don't give them back right away. That had us spooked. I guess they were filling out paperwork with them, but I don't like it being out of my sight. But all was well and I feel asleep with my first good view of the stars in weeks as we rolled past the border (damn city lights).

We arrived in Istanbul, found the hostel and headed straight out to see the sights since Joey was on his last 24 hours of his trip. We paid the 10E fee to see the inside of the Aya Sofia, an old church that was renovated to a mosque in the 1600s (i think.. don't quote me on the dates). It was interesting, you could even see where they had painted over crosses on the ceiling with geometric designs. And the whole place was beautiful in its simplicity of design. At first glance it seems like so much, but in reality its all simple patterns, symmetrical designs... Much of the walls were decorated by taking large pieces of stone (granite?) and splitting it, then putting the two halves side by side so the grains in the stone were symmetrical (think wood grain on doors). Across the courtyard from the Aya Sofia is the Blue Mosque. The Aya Sofia has become a museum, so while beautiful, it's lost some of its... hmm the only word i can think of isn't even English, and I've never heard it used this way but some of you will get it. Zanchen. A term i picked up from Aikido, meaning a sort of presence. The mosque, however, had prayer music playing, you were asked to remove your shoes and cover your hair (women for the hair), and it was very real. I'm not really religious, but I have great respect for it, and I was awed by the interior of the mosque. I didn't take any pictures of the interior, but here's a night shot.

So one last comment before I do something productive (some Arabic practice perhaps?). I also was offered a job helping a local businessman swindle tourists out of their money in exchange for carpets. I was very tempted, considering not only the money but how fun it would be to be able to say I'd sold Turkish carpets for a living. However, I'm turning down the offer, not only because I don't plan to stay in Turkey very long, but also because the gentlemen in question
is about the sleaziest man I think I've ever met. Oh well, still a story. I'm changing hostels tomorrow, going to spend some time in another part of Istanbul, and figure things out more from there. With the recent events in Syria, my plans may be changing a bit, or rather they already have since I was planning to leave for Syria by tomorrow or the next day, and that isn't looking reasonable.

Hope no one fell asleep reading this. I'll try to write more often and shorter. <3 all

All road lead to Rome... then Naples... then Athens...

Well sort of. I guess we flew to Athens, so that doesn't quite count as roads, but you could get here by road... just takes a long time. We took a train from Avignon to Toulon, then a ferry to Civitavicchi, and a bus to Rome. We only had a day in Rome, and pretty much just got to see the Coliseum and have a real Italian dinner (Manicotti of course, which by the way is not actually available in Italy, but a very similar dish called Cannelloni is... found that out after bypassing like 10 restaurants.) I've got pictures, but again, can't get my own computer online to upload them. Naples (Napoli) was interesting, dirty, but the hostel was great. The biggest annoyance with that town was that on the train, there was so much graffiti that you couldn't see what stop you were at because it had literally been painted over. But Pompeii was interesting... wandering a dead city. They actually have a few of the bodies on display, bones covered in ash. Almost surreal. And yes, danny, it did make me feel even more like Bones to be looking at them.

We flew from Napoli to Athens this morning, was nice and simple. From what I've seen, airport security is nothing here; amazing what happens when you don't set out to make half the world despise you as a country. The flight was short, and not as expensive as it could have been. Even found English books in the airport (going nuts for reading material at the moment), but they wanted 12E for paperbacks... not even quality prints. There's supposed to be some English bookstores here, checking that out tomorrow. Well, thats bout it. I'll post pictures soon.

Decadence and distance

Five countries and twelve cities, chocolate covered waffles, good 4 Euro/bottle wine, lots of cheese, and amazing ice cream. Decadence and distance. I'm currently in Avignon, southern France. We've spent the last couple days here, mostly just relaxing. I met up with a research contact yesterday for a few hours, but other than that, just walking, shopping (well looking at least), and enjoying a really neat little town. Little by comparison to Paris at least. Well I should probably backtrack since I haven't posted in a while.

We did leave London on the 15th, overnight bus by ferry across the channel. We arrived in Amsterdam on the 16th, found a hostel, and wandered alot that day. Spent the entire next day wandering the city, its beautiful, and admiring the million bikes. None of them are too nice in and of themselves, but there are so many of them, it was nice for a change. I also bought a coat, paid about $70 for it, but its nice, warm, lots of pockets, long. The zipper isn't so good, but it has buttons too, so yes mom, I'm warm enough. Hostels were expensive the next night, because it was friday, and we were leaving on a 7 AM bus to Paris anyway, so we wandered the city all night. Unlike Galway, it was a bit more late night friendly, we drank tea in a little diner, had ice cream in a main square around midnight, sat in a Burger King for a few hours, and found a place selling waffles covered in chocolate, and various other wonderful sugary treats.

Bus the next day took us to Paris (the 18th) and we made our way to the hostel we'd reserved, Friends Hostel. When we arrived we were told they'd had a shower broken and the room had flooded and they hadn't gotten around to notifying us. So we were sent back across town to a place he had called ahead to, asked if it would cost more, he said "its a hostel." It was almost double the cost, 16E vs 28E, but the 28 was worth it. It didn't have a kitchen we could use, or internet, and not the most comfortable beds, but it was about 3 blocks from the Louvre. When we went back to Friends Hostel the next night for the second night we'd reserved there, we had to argue with the receptionist just to get the beds at the price we'd reserved, and couldn't get our deposit back for the lost night. Service was horrible at that place, though arguing with that jackass was kinda fun. I just kept telling him I'd pay 28E and no more. Eventually he wrote up the reciept and that was that. Eiffle Tower was amazing; we went up at night, beautiful view. They had it lit up blue, and on the hour it flashes with white lights. Notre Dame was beautiful as well, lots of stained glass, and unlike many places we've gone they didn't charge for entry to the cathedral.

We found out, the hard way, that getting out of Paris is a pain. There is no useful bus system in France, trains are expensive. We ended up taking the train from Paris to Avignon for about $105 each. Granted, it made the 450 mile trip take only 3 hours, but still a good chunk of change. We bought tickets for 6AM, and spent the night prior to leaving without a hostel again in Paris. Laid out my tarp on the grass of the Louvre and relaxed there a bit, dozed. Wandered the city some more, but not much was open, and what was open late (like 3 AM) was expensive restaurants. We went back to the Louvre and slept on the steps out of the wind for a couple hours then caught our train to Avignon.

Avignon, back to present day, is wonderful. The majority of the city is surrounded by a 700 year old city wall that dates back to the Paupacy being housed here in the Popes Palace, which is still standing and is apparently a bit of a tourist attraction. I think the city is about the size of Bozeman, makes me feel a bit at home. I really like this town. Small streets, lots of shops, with decent prices for a change, though there's nothing I really need to buy here. However, the french don't apparently know the concept of deli meat or peanut butter, which makes non-cooking meals from the store hard. We actually ate lunch at McDonalds today, but European fast food chains are actually fairly healthy, and taste like real food.

I'm still waiting on the package my sister sent to London, it hasn't arrived there yet, but when it does they have agreed to mail it on for me. Thankfully there was nothing there I absolutely needed for this part of the trip, the main thing is the water sterilizer pen, which I couldn't get here, and want for the later part of my travels when I'm not in modern cities as much. Getting water here is easy, tap water has been drinkable. I have been stuck wearing the same pair of pants and leggings for almost three weeks now, but I'll live. They got washed once... o.0 The rest I've just been washing in the sink as I go.

We are planning on heading to Italy tomorrow, though I'm still trying to figure out how exactly. It appears that traveling by train is the only reasonable option around here but expensive, that or ferry, but the ferry is like three towns away and we can't figure out how to get there, with no bus system and the trains don't run short trips like that. We are planning to be in Istanbul, Turkey, by the 29th, thats the plan. Staying at "Istanbul Hostel" there for a couple days, then Joey head back home to Boston on the 31st from there, and the real part of my trip starts. Well, I should get back to trying to do some work, still have papers to get published from my old job, and I need to take advantage of the internet while I have it. Wasn't expecting it to be so rare. The hostel in Turkey has internet, so worst case, thats the next time I'll be online much. I'll post pictures soon, haven't looked through them much yet, but I have tons. And we haven't even downloaded Joey's yet. Or the ones from the little point and shoot I found on the floor after the concert in Boston, but we don't have an adapter for that one. Takes good pictures though considering it got pretty stomped. Ok, back to work. :) Paz.

Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time....

Dublin --> Kilkenny --> Cork --> Galway.

So we left Dublin on the bus for Kilkenny, arrived around 3PM. Wandered the town a while looking for a hostel, since we hadn't booked in advance. I liked Kilkenny better, smaller Irish town, more welcoming, cleaner. We stayed in the "Kilkenny Tourish Hostel," cooked our own dinner of eggs with cheese, bread, and salsa, and had an identical breakfast the next morning before setting out to see some of the sites. We didn't make it to Dunmore caves, still haven't remembered to pick up a travel alarm, so we settled for a tour of Kilkenny Castle (the picture in the last post) and wandered the church for which the town was named. The church is also home to the tombs of a few of the castles previous owners, the Butler family. Interestingly, one of the Butler lords is shown on the carving over his tomb (think Egyptian sarcophagus style) with his dog at his feet. The castle grounds were beautiful, having been developed about two hundred years ago by the lord and his son, using his daughter-in-law's riches to plant imported trees.

We left Kilkenny for Cork to see Blarney Castle (the home of the Blarney stone), again by bus. Stayed at a hostel there called Kinlay House, and took a bus to Blarney Castle the next day. Blarney was beautiful, not only the castle but the grounds around it. The castle itself is one of the younger ones we've seen, only 560 years old, and thus in better shape than many of them. You can actually climb the very narrow winding staircase to the top, where the Blarney stone itself has become a tourist attraction akin to a roller coaster ride, complete with photographer and pictures to be purchased at the gift shop. I was a bit depressed by this, and the apparently common and overwhelming need for man to make himself immortal by carving AB + CD on every inch of reachable wall. But the rest of the scenery more than made up for it, including this shot from the top of the castle. Ireland, in general, is so green, but this shot was exceptional.

From Cork we planned to take the latest bus possible and sleep on it, getting to Galway in the morning and saving the cost of a Hostel. However, the latest bus left Cork at 6PM and arrived in Galway around 10PM. We wandered a bit, vaguely considering getting a hostel, but the night was nice, and we had multiple layers of clothing. Eventually we did check a few hostels, but all were booked, and we resorted to spending the evening in the park, drinking hot drinks from the late night convienience shops. We managed to seek shelter inside a small late night restaurant for a couple hours, but most of the night was spent walking, or sitting and talking in the park. Even with the cost of warm drinks, we still saved probably $30 we'd have spent on the hostel for only a few hours of sleep. We took a day bus tour to the Cliffs of Moher the next morning, where the "cliffs of insanity" scene of Princess Bride was filmed, walked through one of the only caves open to the public, and were given a beautiful view of the coast on the ride back.

We returned from the cliffs just in time to catch the last bus from Galway back to Dublin, a four hour ride, arriving at the airport around 11PM. Our flight to London, however, didn't leave until 6:25AM this morning. So after a few restless hours in the airport, we passed out cold for the hour flight to London, then continued our trend of having to walk aimlessly trying to find our hostel. We wandered the wrong way multiple times, though London is far easier to navigate than Ireland, I blame it on the weariness. Ireland the streets are rarely labeled, and each street is only about 3 blocks long, numbered 1-99, then the next street. So you can't navigate by cross streets. We checked into the hostel around 2 and have been playing catch up, badly needed showers, naps, food (chicken curry), and internet time to email and plan the next step. We have bus tickets for the chunnel to Amsterdam on Wednesday night, arriving on Thursday morning. So far, so good. No major problems, though we're both looking to get a bit warmer clothes, maybe a real coat, and possibly sleeping bags, though we are heading south soon and hopefully into warmer nights in case we end up spending a night outside again. If we'd had bags already, I'd have loved to have just skipped the return ride from the cliffs and slept there. But alas.

Castles and Churches

Something inspiring about 800 year old castles. Gives me hope, even while the city around the castle is drowning in grafitti, garbage, and greed. Dublin was somewhat disappointing in itself, just another city and a dirty one at that. The hostel was nice though, Avalon house. But by this morning we were dying to get out of the city so we walked to the bus station and bought tickets to Kilkenny, a smaller city about 2 hours away. Perfect little Irish town, small old buildings clustered together, every other one a pub, with random shops scattered in between. Holistic medicine seems fairly common in Ireland, with herbal medicine, chinese health, and aromatherapy shops as common almost as common as the pubs. What they don't seem to have around here is any kind of outdoor equipment store, sportsmans, bob wards, REI type thing. I'm probably going to have to resort to my sister shipping me stuff from her local REI to pick up the few things I didn't get before I left. I did find the pants I want here, but at more than triple the price they are in CO.

So the vague plan for tomorrow is to rent a couple bikes and ride around the countryside. The Dunmore caves are nearby. Not allowed to take pictures inside though apparently. Spend the rest of the day site seeing, then catch a train to somewhere else tomorrow night, sleep a few hours on the train, and go from there. I know I need to post pictures with me in them at some point, but for now this is the best I got. Do have one of me standing on the wall around the castle grounds, but its on Joey's camera. I'll get it later. Paz

Trees and sky

Three flights down, 4 to go. ~10 hours of sleep in 3 days. But I've managed to find a couple of lattes, trees, and sky. So far so good.

Salt Lake to see my soon-to-be god daughter, and my skittish "neice" Naula (150lb mastiff afraid of her own nose). Then a roudy day in Co. Springs with my sister, her bratty husband, and adorable children. I only threw in the bratty part because he's reading over my shoulder.

Boston tomorrow, Rise Against Monday, Ireland Wednesday.

Countdowns and cookies

I found this is a bathroom in a San Francisco beer bar, and it was decided. I'd been thinking vaguely of travel, and over the next few days realized how little I'd experienced in life. But whenever I think back to why I'm leaving, this is it.

Everyone does it, procrastinating life itself. "Someday I'll _________ (insert goal here)." Then month by month, someday is farther away, bills pile up, or its just not a good time, next year will be better. I always said someday about so many things, marriage, family, travel, life in general... But someday never came. So I resolved to stop waiting.

I spent my summer trying new things, spending as much time as possible outside, and having the first real summer I can remember since I was a kid even while working more than I ever have before. I was introduced to slacklining, and I'm in love with it. I got to try rock climbing, singletrack bike riding, and kiteboarding; went hiking, played beach volleyball, and did lots of handstands; made lots of cookies, ate homemade sourdough bread and huckleberry pancakes, and had a crash course in homeopatic remedies which came in handy with the multiple bike wrecks. In short, I lived.

In the last few weeks I've started selling and giving away anything I own that I don't much care about, given notice at work, bought a pack and a camera. I have plane tickets, but almost no plans. I'm no longer waiting.

For anyone interested:
1 c. butter (gold & soft is best)
1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. peanut butter
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
------- mix until creamed, add following
2 c. oats
1 1/2 c. flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
Any mix in. Be creative. We've tried chocolate chips (duh), butterscotch chips, peanut butter chips, white chocolate chips, raisins, etc.
Drop spoonfuls onto dry cookie sheet and bake at 350 for 10-15 mins, should be wonderfuly puffy and soft. (This makes ~20 cookies but of course that depends on you, how big you make them and how much dough you can't help but eat.)