Oppa! Yassas! Let the party begin!

I spend every night, no matter what ungodly time I come back to the apartment, sitting on the balcony and reflecting on life. Something about the cool breeze and overlooking the Mediterranean puts me in a pensive mood. The beach, I finally get to see the crystal blue waters of Cyprus. I spend the next day at the beach, the pool, and walking around the streets. It feels like a more real version of the French Riviera, no pretenses. In the afternoon, we go to the Cypriot village of Kellaki, where Daniela’s mom and aunts grew up. We drive up mountains to reach the village, stopping at the local church, cemetery, and walk to their childhood home. Walking through the windy cobble stone streets, I see various plants, and even grape vines. This takes me back to my youth, days in Jackson Heights, sitting under our grape vine, in the rain.

The evening festivities included going to a traditional Cypriot restaurant which live music and unlimited food. For 15 euros, the food keeps coming out in rounds, until everyone is thoroughly stuffed. Then comes the shots, there is an old uncle who walks around with a bottle of liquor, pouring shots. Oppa! Eva! We all take shots and enjoy the night. This is the night before the wedding, back in Limassol, we check up on Daniela and then head out to check out the bars. Tempted to go out, we are all exhausted and know there will be more craziness that ensues tomorrow. Me and Marie and others talk about the amazingness of this experience and how sometimes those are the best ones, where you just pick up and go..and make things happen…further reinforcing a life of action.

The day of the wedding, we all arrive at Daniela’s apartment and walk into the dressing the groom. In Cypriot tradition, the gumbaro dresses and shaves the groom, in front of everyone. After the ceremony in a local church, we head to a resort in Pissouri Bay, right on the beach. The reception is outdoors, on the lawn overlooking the beach. Dancing the night away with lovely drinks..and lovelier company. We learn the traditional Greek dance, hand in hand, dancing in circles around the happy couple. What more could I ask for..gazing at the stars on this perfect night. After the wedding, all of us crazies decide to hit up the nightlife in Limassol. Head out at 1am, get back at 4am…get in a cab at 6am for my flight back home. I sacrificed sleep over the last few days, but in return, another experience of a lifetime. I will never forget this trip.

It’s almost comical, this recent string of insane occurrences over the last year and half has got me getting used to and expecting unreal experiences. But I am humbled, and appreciative of the opportunity to step outside my comfort zone and live life to the fullest. So when life gives you an opportunity like this, just take it, trust me..it's worth it, a 1000 times over.

Cyprus Revisited, but this time, below the Green Line

After Peru, the thought of getting on another plane again…EVER, made me want to vomit. But here I am, sitting in O’Hare airport, waiting to board a flight to Cyprus. My friend Daniela from Jersey City who is Cypriot is getting married. And what a nice transition from Peru, she met her husband to be as they hiked the Inka Trail to Machu Picchu several years ago. The travel junkie in me just couldn’t resist. I haven’t been to a wedding in 3 years, mainly due to my crazy travel and school schedule and of course from OD’ing on 10 weddings in 2008. Every time I come to the airport, in anticipation of my next adventure, I turn into a different person. All the worries, to do’s and responsibilities of real life seemingly fade away as I morph into this wanderlust avatar.

So this time, I may be able to swim in the crystal blue waters off the coast of Cyprus, or at least see it. Last summer, we had gone to northern Cyprus, not recognized by the UN or the rest of the world since it is occupied by Turkey. This time, I am going to the south of Cyprus, or as they say, the real Cyprus. I was a bit worried about having a stamp from Turkey in my passport and if that would matter for me to enter the south, but alas, as Daniela said..on the Greek side, Turkey doesn’t even exist to them. The fears of unfavorable stamps (i.e. Israel) in my passport does not apply to this region..only in the Middle East. I google the currency in Cyprus, but am thoroughly confused as some websites say the Cypriot pound and others say the Euro. All I know is I still have Peruvian soles in my wallet and I need to get rid of them.

Now I can explicitly explain my reasoning for coming to Cyprus. Many of my friends were perplexed at the fact that I was going all the way to Cyprus, for a friend’s wedding, for only several days, in the middle of the school quarter, skipping classes, in the midst of recruiting season. I feel like a character in My Big Fat Greek Wedding…erm I mean My Big Fat Cypriot and Columbian Wedding. Of course there is a Niko..Daniela’s gumbaro, similar to a maid of honor, but a male in the Greek tradition. But this title surpases that of just wedding festivities, it is a commitment for life. Her friend Callie tells me about what to expect at a traditional Greek wedding, I can’t wait to see plates being broken.

Her family and friends are so welcoming, I feel at home. There are people here from all walks of life, and countries…because we all care about Daniela this much. I met her a few years ago in my building in Jersey City, she lives on the floor below me, and we became friends. There is something about her I’ve always liked, her love for life and crazy wanderlust self. We both enjoy traveling and meeting new people. Here at her wedding weekend in Cyprus, I have met so many interesting people. I was simply amazed at how much she cares for her friends and wanted to make sure we were all taken care of while we are here. Through the stress, she made sure we all had places to stay. I sit on the balcony overlooking the Mediterranean, in sheer enjoyment of life. Her friends, are all unique in their own way, regardless of age or background, I feel part of the wedding. We all hang out and go out this evening and get to know each other. She is getting married in 2 days, yet she is making sure we are all ok. You don’t meet people like this every day. So I missed a few classes over the past few days…but this experience of a lifetime is just priceless. I live for these moments, spontaneous decisions that seem completely irrational at the time, yet turn into remarkable adventures. When life gets boring, I will have these moments to cherish..always.

Inka Trail: Day 4, Machu Picchu & Wayna Picchu

Inka Trail: Day 3: Are we there yet...?!

Inka Trail: Day 2: Formation of the “Herbie Crew”

Inka Trail: Day 1: Bold Aspirations and Unlimited Energy

The 16 of us unknowingly got on the bus at 6 am, with sheer excitement and bold aspirations of hiking the Inka Trail. Little did we know the details of what it would actually entail; which is probably for the better. So I have 8 kg’s stuffed into a duffle bag for the porters to carry, and my day pack. No phone, no internet, no real communication with the rest of the world, other than among the 16 of us and our guides and porters. Oh and did I mention..no showers for 4 days. This should be an interesting change of lifestyle from the reckless overindulgence of my life in Dubai. Hopefully these 4 days will bring me back to reality, though in an abrupt fashion.

The first day’s hike was supposed to be the easiest. It is a mix of flatlands and hills, with more hills as we progress through the day. We learn some of the key rules while hiking, yell Porter when you see the porters walking by, and always move to the mountainside to let them pass. There is a nice combination of hiking and stopping to learn more about the Incan civilization. It originated in Cusco and the Incans expanded it in a series of circles, with many walking trails, the way they got around. I just watch the porters in sheer amazement as they rip through the trails, carrying 10kgs or more, some of them in slippers. Our guides tell us that they have an annual race to see who can hike the trail the fastest, with some porters making it to Machu Picchu in under 6 hours…just amazing.

Physically I feel ok the first day, but just a little challenged with hiking in the dark as we didn’t make it to the camp site before sunset. You don’t realize how hard it is to walk to a through the grass, down some stairs, across a field, down another set of mud stairs, around some cows and carefully trying not to step in cow shit, to get to the bathroom. Oh yea, and in the DARK. There is no running water, and it’s a hole in the ground, similar to bathrooms in rural India. I just hope I don’t slip and fall in, it requires extraordinary multitasking..holding the flashlight, toilet paper, hand sanitizer all while trying to use the bathroom. I must say, the food is incredible, nothing I’d expect on a 4 day camping trip. We are in the middle of the mountains, yet the chefs make some insane meals on their little burners and portable stoves. They even baked a cake for our tour guide’s birthday. I wish I hiked fast enough to go watch them cook. After star gazing for a bit, we turn into bed as the porters will be waking us up at 5am sharp the next morning.

Andale! Vamos! The extent of our Spanish in Peru...

I can now officially say that I have been to 6 of the 7 continents in the world. I had planned this trip to Peru since this past March, as permits to hike Machu Picchu sell out fast. It is a stark contrast to my usual position of globe wandering alone. This time, there are 16 of us from school, this should be interesting. The 50 degree weather in Lima was not to my liking, as it was about a 50% drop from the 100 degree average temperatures in Dubai this summer. But after all, it is winter in South America. Of the 3 of us who were the first to arrive, the extent of our Spanish was Andale and Vamos, which quickly became the phrases of the trip. It was quite humorous to see us try to piece to words in Spanish to string together sentences that didn’t make any sense. Thus we resorted to pointing and gestures to enhance our version of broken Spanglish.

We spend the first day walking around the old city; it reminds me of the plazas and streets of Madrid. We meet some Israelis and hang out with them for part of the afternoon; I wonder why I hadn’t met them just a few weeks ago when I was in Israel. The local drink of Peru, the pisco sour, I wasn’t a fan of at first, but I did enjoy the passion fruit version. Gazing out the window on the plane ride to Cusco, I see the snow covered peaks of the Andes mountains on one side and barren terra cotta mountains on another side. It reminds me of flying into Queenstown in New Zealand.

Cusco is one of the coolest towns I’ve ever been to. I could get lost in the narrow and layered streets for days. As Cusco is surrounded by mountains, there are amazing views, no matter which street you are walking on. We have to spend at least 2 days here before the Inka Trail hike in order to acclimatize to the altitude of 11,000 feet. Stupidly, the first day we decide to hike up to find a site called Saqsayhuaman --> aka Sexy Woman. We joked that the guys were on a quest for a sexy woman..though they were rather disappointed at the peak. Of course, we didn’t know that we’d have to hike up to the top of the mountain overlooking the city to find it. It is the strangest feeling, to be completely out of breath, my heart racing, yet I am not tired. This is the affect of the altitude on us as we hike up the stairs to the top of the fortress. My lungs feel like they are about to burst, yet I am not even breaking a sweat. Though I am chewing on coca leaves to help adjust to the altitude, it is not quite working yet.

Reflections Part II

The general sentiment of this travel experience is much more somber and subdued than last year’s crazy and exciting adventures. I am still trying to pinpoint the reason for my obsession with the MENA region. Maybe it’s the reason I went there in the first place, to encounter a site inherently different from the West in many ways. Many challenges were faced, only as a result of living here, interacting with people, and visiting neighboring countries. I spent 2 weeks researching construction projects in various GCC countries, and then here I am staying in the Shangri-La resort in Muscat that I had recently read about. Reading the same story Egyptian Gazette and the Jerusalem Post, with of course very different angles. The combination of working in the region, reading about it, and visiting the areas gives it much more meaning. I now better understand the uniqueness of each country here, and not to just generalize it as an oil rich region lacking freedoms. I leave with a sense of fascination, disgust, and intrigue.

I think I am done traveling the world like crazy, I’ve seen most of what I want to see..for now anyway. As you can tell, my impression of Dubai last summer was the complete opposite of what I felt this summer. Instead, to get a much more meaningful experience, next summer I’d like to stay for a month or two in 1 country, and intimately connect with it. Perhaps I can spend my days in Morocco (the best hope for democracy and model for other Arab nations)..working with the fascinating children of Sidi Moumen in the slums of Casablanca..or teaching French to the young girls in the boarding schools in the high Atlas mountains. (That way I can make a pilgrimage to Algeria – and the spots that Camus wrote about…Algiers..Oran). But alas, I digress and dream of future adventures…

Last Days in Cairo

Back at the InterContinental Semiramis in Cairo, I have one more day in Egypt before heading back to Dubai. I decide to head to the Egyptian Museum, which houses many of King Tut’s treasures. Walking past Tahrir Square, I feel more comfortable as it is daytime and there are many people and cars bustling around. I realize the need for a tour guide in this museum as many of the exhibits don’t have descriptions. Other than the treasures found in King Tut’s tomb, the Royal Mummies were pretty fascinating. It’s amazing to see how intact the mummies were, after thousands of years; but I didn’t spend too much time in there, it was rather creepy.

I met up with my friend Andira, whom I had met last summer in Madrid during the World Cup madness. We had spent the night exploring Madrid’s nightlife after Spain had won the semi final to Germany. She is originally from Sudan, and the one thing I always remembered about Andira is what she taught us that night. In Sudan, the latest fad in dance moves was to dance out day to day actions (i.e. washing dishes). It looked much better when she showed us..rather than me trying to describe it now. We went to Old Cairo for a late lunch and shopping through the markets. She mentioned that there is still a general sense of lawlessness here. However, it was only unsafe one week during the revolution when the police disappeared from the streets and the people had to defend their neighborhoods and homes. It is unbelievable to think that now, Mubarak who had ruled Egypt for decades, is on his deathbed and in a cage in court with his sons by his side, answering to the Egyptian people. In fact they were even thinking of not airing the trial on TV anymore since it caused so much chaos in front of the courthouse and negative reactions by the people.

We go to this charming café, named after a Nobel Prize winning author (his name escapes my mind at the moment) who used to frequent the area to write. He would write about the day to day life of Egyptians, sometimes controversial, but very real. This is kind of place is right up my alley, as I like to stalk the hometowns of my favorite French authors. Andira is doing some really impressive work in Egypt, working with Google on university partnerships in the MENA region and in her spare time working with a non-profit focused on developing the Egyptian youth. She says that her parents always ask her why doesn’t move to the UK or the US in order to pursue her career. But she says she belongs in Egypt and cannot even imagine leaving this non-profit organization she works with. I admire her will to stay in Egypt and help rebuild her country.

I spend the last night in the hotel, as many other nights on this Middle Eastern adventure glued to the TV, intently watching every move of the revolutions erupting in Libya and Syria, wondering how it will all pan out.

Valley of the Kings & Temples in Luxor

I was relieved to leave the craziness of Cairo for a few days and head down to Luxor, in the southern part of Egypt. As they say, most of Egyptian history is in the South. As I gaze out of the plane window at the golden colors of the deserts, it quickly changes to rich green vegetation. Are my eyes playing a trick on me? No, we are now landing in Luxor, a rich oasis in Egypt. I stayed in a beautiful 5 start hotel right on the Nile, for $55 a night (just to give you a sense of the state of the tourism industry at this moment in time).

We first start with the Valley of the Kings, a place I wanted to see even more so than the pyramids of Giza. The kings had moved their tombs to this area as it is was further away and remote, making it more difficult for grave robbers to steal the riches buried inside. I make my way through these ancient tombs, just blown away by the detailed hieroglyphics that line the walls and tell a story. I also had a chance to visit the Temple of Luxor and the Temples of Karnak, which were of course lined with many statues of Rames II , the most known of the Egyptian kings. I was thoroughly impressed with the outdoor temples; especially the pillars and walls with intricately carved hieroglyphics.
The next day, I get to the airport to head back to Cairo. There is a problem with my ticket, it is handwritten and doesn’t have a confirmed seat number on it. The agent asks me where I got the ticket from. I hesitantly say I bought it in Israel. “Israel?!” he says. Then he asks me a series of questions trying to figure out if I was Israeli and what exactly I was doing in Egypt. Not being able to bear the thought of being stuck in Egypt for a few more days, I exclaim, “ I am a resident of the UAE, look at my passport, I am American, just let me get on the plane!”. I get the travel agent on the phone from Israel; the Egyptian flight agent gets a kick out of speaking to someone from Israel. He then jokes with me “Where will you go next, Tunis? Or Libya?”. I reply, “No, I think I’ll stop over at Damascus first”. He then chuckles before letting me go through, even though my ticket wasn’t all that legit.

Sometimes I wonder how the hell I get myself into shit like this. Traveling alone, a woman, during Ramadan, picking a stupid route, Jordan – Israel –Egypt. I end up doing what I want to do, basically what is more logical or convenient for me, rather than what might be safer or risk averse. At least it makes for some unforgettable stories.

Tahrir Square: Post Revolution

“Be careful crossing the fuckin street, the guy in my class from Egypt said 6 people die a day from car/road incidents. You probably have never seen anything like just crossing the fuckin street there...but you will be ok, you are a seasoned middle east/ shit jumping off traveler!!!”

…says my friend Ayan. So you can only imagine why it took me a good 15 minutes to cross the small street from the InterContinental hotel to the ledge overlooking the Nile.

Egypt is a seminal point in my travels for a plethora of reasons. When I was younger, I’d always hoped to visit exotic lands..such as Egypt. I imagined going to the pyramids of Giza, riding camels, and interacting with the locals. It seemed like a near impossibility. And here I am in Egypt. Never had I imagined I would be here..alone..on my Arab adventure after working in the region for a summer. Secondly, I was meant to go to Egypt in March, with a class. I spent days organizing speakers in Egypt..and an equal of amount of days fixated on the revolution erupting in Tahrir Square. Which ultimately canceled the trip, for obvious reasons.

I am so fucking awesome at making travel plans. I was in…
• London during the 2005 train bombings
• India during Lashkar-e-Taiba’s 2008 Mumbai attacks
• Israel this past week when terrorists hijacked a bus near the border of Egypt

…and now in Tahrir Square, filled with army tanks, policemen holding rifles and shields, all in the center of the city. I have never seen an army tank in my life. It is quite disturbing. What the hell am I doing here? The taxi driver gave a nice commentary as we drove through the city to my hotel. We passed by Mubarak’s palace, his son Gamal’s former mansion, and Mubarak’s office that was torched by protestors.
I cautiously walk out of the hotel, asking the reception many times if it’s safe for me to walk around. I slowly approach Tahrir Square. I randomly meet Yousef, who can easily tell that I’m a tourist. We starting talking about the revolution, how his cousin died…how he is sad, yet proud that his cousin gave his life for democracy. As I was about to bid my goodbye in search of a place to eat, he invites me to iftar with his family. Him and his brothers own several stores near the hotel, and I just couldn’t say no. To think of how much this country has been through, and people are still so hospitable.

I spent the next day visiting the pyramids of Giza, the Sphinx, and Memphis. We drove through the street in front of the Israeli embassy, which was lined with protesters wanting to oust the Israeli ambassador to Egypt. Israel had mistakenly killed several Egyptian officers at the border in its mission to capture the Palestinians who had attacked a bus in Eilat just days ago. My heart skipped a beat. “Don’t worry, the protests have nothing to do with us” says the tour guide. Either way, I am still uneasy trying to drive through a crowd of rowdy protesters. Not wanting to leave my hotel, other than to go on tours or meet friends, I found myself at a lounge with folks who were introduced to me by a friend in Dubai. May and Yasmeen made me feel at home, and I let go of my nervousness for a few hours. Foolishly I assumed that every Egyptian youth was in support of the revolution, yet May did not support it. My curiosity was sparked, yet we could not get into the details of her stance, as Yasmeen was a staunch supporter of the revolution and had spent days in Tahrir Square, and we did not want to start an argument.

A Sneak Peek into Palestine: The West Bank

Nervousness seems to be a constant feeling I come across on this trip. Since Kish Island was a little too reckless for my liking, I decided to go to the West Bank of Palestine instead. There are many daily tours from Jerusalem, which made it seem more legit, and the rocket exchanges between Hamas and Israel typically originate from Gaza as that is Hamas controlled and the West Bank is ruled by Fatah. As we drive to the Palestinian military checkpoint, I see the varied forms of the contentious West Bank Barrier. In some areas it is a brick wall, and in others just a metal fence with electric barb wires. I was hoping to see Bansky’s latest work somewhere on the wall, but alas I was not so fortunate. The wall has severely limited access for Palestinians to enter Jerusalem for work, medical purposes etc; they must hold permits to enter. There used to be some 300,000 Palestinians working in Israel, but now only 30,000. It is understandable as to why Israel is building the wall; it is surrounded by 18 Arab nations that want it defeated. In fact, Ahmadinejad has said that Israel must be destroyed, and when questioned about the lives of the millions of Muslims that live there, he repeated the same; Israel must be destroyed. Some crazy $#%&ed up shit going on in this region!! But the wall is still controversial as they are building many parts of it on Palestinian land.

So we are on the bus, me, a former navy officer from Mauritius and our Muslim driver. The officer is on a religious pilgrimage (as many of the folks that I met in Israel), and we are going to Bethlehem, the birthplace of Christ. He starts narrating Christian history (which I am interested in as I had gone to Catholic school for many years), and the conversation moves to Islam and suicide bombings in Israel. While interesting, it was not the right time to talk about this. We have a Muslim driver who is taking us to Palestine, and here he is criticizing Islam. All I wanted to say was “dude shut the hell up”, but couldn’t quite come up with the right way to say it.

The border checkpoint was pretty informal as we did not look Israeli and there were only 2 of us on the bus, the Palestinian authority did not check our passports. It’s amazing to see that just across the border, how different life is. The West Bank looks much poorer than Jerusalem of course. We visited the Church of Nativity in Bethlehem and walked through the various chambers, with catacombs..all I could think of is Poe’s Tell Tale Heart. We end the tour at a gift store, where I buy random things, unneeded of course, but felt obliged to support the local economy.
I was sitting in the hostel in Jerusalem with several other wanderers; there is breaking news on BBC about a hijacked bus near the Israel/Egypt border, with civilian deaths. Two folks from Holland were quite shocked, as they were to go to Eilat the next day. Thank God I never listened to anyone who told me to take a bus from Israel to Egypt. This type of thing happens often, but you never realize the gravity of the situation until you are there. The next day at the airport, I got searched for a good 3 hours, as did the rest of the passengers flying from Israel to Egypt.

The Holy Land

On the ride from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, we drive along the West Bank for some time. I see houses on either side of the wall, and contemplate about of how different life is on each side. There is a world of difference surrounding this seemingly small, meters wide barrier, a highway and wall.

I have never seen a city like Old Jerusalem in my life. Old Jerusalem is best described as a fortified maze which houses the Christian, Jewish, Muslim and Armenian quarters. I entered at Jaffa gate, and luckily my hostel was just a block within the gate. Jerusalem is a very important city for 3 major religions (Judaism, Islam, Christianity) and the mélange of traces of each religion in the city is truly fabulous. All co-existing in harmony (more or less). First is Mount Moraya, where the iconic Gold Dome is located. This is where Abraham had to sacrifice his son Isaac, and where Adam and Eve were created. And not too far down the road, Elaksa Dome – where Prophet Mohammed walked from to the Gold Dome and got lifted to heaven. We walk through the maze of shops, intricate steps, and people, stopping at each station starting at Via Dolrosa:

Station 5: where Simon helped Christ with his cross, Christ’s handprint on the wall
Station 6: where Veronica wiped Christ’s face
Station 7: where Christ fell on his knees for the second time
Station 12: where Christ was crucified at Golgata

Watching the other folks in the tour group, many of whom were on religious pilgrimages to Jerusalem, my mind drifts to my religious confusion as a child. I grew up believing in both Hinduism and Catholicism, since I went to Catholic school as a child. I’d always wonder why I wasn’t allowed to participate in any of the church activities that the other students were a part of. I believe in Christ just as much as you do. Though painful, it was a learning experience as it has taught me to be open to all religions, fueling my curiosity and interest in Buddhism as well. I’ve made one pilgrimage in India to Hrishikesh and Haridwar, staying in the ashram of a guru that I followed in NJ. I spent the days in classes, going to the evening aarti’s at the Ganges river. Spiritually, I had never felt stronger. My time in Jerusalem makes me yearn to go back to India to visit other holy sites..Varnasi, Dwarika..etc.

I didn’t spend too much time outside this area, other than to visit the Israel Museum. There was just not enough time to get lost and explore all the various quarters, however our tour guide said it was probably not a good idea to enter certain parts of the Muslim quarter. Back at the hostel, it was nice to speak to Janelle, a teacher from the UK who had also spent some time in Morocco. She could relate to my frustrations of traveling alone in the Arab world as she had similar experiences in Jordan.

I buy myself several “hamsa” or “hand of Fatima” pendants, not only in Israel, but also in Jordan. I am intrigued by this symbol that has such significance in Judaism and Islam. I first encountered this symbol in Morocco; it was on many doors of homes. The significance of the hamsa is to protect against nazar, or the evil eye. I wear it daily on my chain, as a reminder and symbol of harmony and finding a solution in difficult situations. Though there are numerous conflicts in the Arab, Israeli, Palestinian world, here is one symbol of commonality. I’ve had many of my Jewish friends ask me about it, in confusion, why I was wearing it, since I am not Jewish.

Revisiting Democracy

I slowly walk up to the immigration counter, nervous as hell. “Please don’t stamp my passport, I work in the UAE and if you stamp it, I can’t go back.” I had heard horror stories from other travelers who mentioned that when they had asked for no stamp, some had gotten stamps on every page. I got grilled for a good 10 minutes on the nature of my visit to Israel, what I would be doing there, if I knew anyone, etc. The immigration officer said the only problem was that I didn’t have a ticket out of Israel to Egypt. I tried to explain to him that I could not buy direct tickets in and out Israel from any GCC countries and that I was told to purchase a ticket from Air Sinai (a part of Egypt Air, though the airline tries to distance itself from the connection to Israel) once in Israel. Finally, I showed him my ticket from Egypt to Dubai, and he let me go.
Other than this minor hold up, stepping out of the airplane into Ben Gurion Airport in Tel-Aviv, I felt a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. People are eating and drinking ,wearing shorts, tank tops revealing shoulders, embracing each other..and I feel FREE. Finally, I can eat and drink in public during the day, do what I want, wear what I want, and not feel that anyone is watching me. Luckily my hostel was right on the beach and I walked around just to get a sense of Tel Aviv. There is a group outside of the hostel playing loud music, but I don’t mind, it is refreshing to hear music in the streets. I am genuinely looking forward to the next few days of freedom.

Alone at Night with Nothing but your Thoughts...Time can Draw Out like a Blade

It’s 2 AM…I think. I don’t know. I turned off my phone so that I wouldn’t lose battery. I see the candle quickly melting, how many hours are left on this thing? Please, just let me just fall asleep already. Seriously, what the hell was I thinking. I’ve spent nights in the desert before, in India and Africa with my cousins..terrified. Something about being out in the open, with no sense of where you are and no sort of escape is rather unsettling. So why did I think staying in the deserts of Jordan, alone at night would be any different?! Yet here I was, in Wadi Rum, with only 3 other folks in this desert camp…petrified. What’s worse, they turned off the electricity come 11pm, so all I had was this dingy little candle…and my thoughts. It’s pretty windy outside and the sound of the wind hitting the tent makes it sound like someone is trying to open the door. This is going to be a long night. I somehow managed to fall in and out of sleep and woke up at around 8am. At least the sun had finally come out. I survived the night. NEVER AGAIN will I do this.

The Rose-Red City

I woke up at 6:30 am today, yet I am super giddy and energetic. Why? You ask…Today I went to see the Rose-Red city engraved in rock, a true wonder and a sight for sore eyes. Here is my journey into this marvelous ancient city:

First you walk through the main visitor’s gate through a pebbled and sandy path (about 1 kilometer) with stone tombs and monuments carved with animal bones, hammers and steel into the sandstone. The Nabataean’s carved the upper floors first as sandstone is soft and would have fallen into their eyes. Then comes the entrance to As Siq, which literally means “crack in the rock”. It is a naturally formed (probably by an earthquake) deep gorge with canyon walls of up to 80 meters and 3,620 ft in length. As it winds down to the main gate of Petra you see a medley of colors in the rocks, which washed by flash floods to create smooth rocks with interesting designs. The Red Sea also flooded here, thus causing the rose color in the rocks and sand. As you walk though As Siq, admiring the funky geological formations, you also notice the intricate water channels built by the Nabataeans, which allowed them to settle in one place. My tour guide would pause every once in a while to ask me what animal I see in the rock formations, and for some strange reason..all I saw were crocodiles; I think he got annoyed and stopped asking me. It’s amazing to thing the same limestone walk ways that were built in the 1st century BC are still somewhat intact today.

As spellbound as I was in this walk way, as I turned the next corner, I was faced with Al-Khazneh (the Treasury) through the sliver crack at the end of As Siq. This is the main structure in Petra, and remarkably still fairly undamaged. It is called the Treasury since there is large pot engraved in stone which was thought to be filled with treasures – based on the folks trying to shoot it down, it can be confirmed that there was nothing inside. I stand in front of Al-Khazneh, unable to process the sheer grandeur of this façade. The combination of natural geography and carvings is unbelievable. I can’t even describe what I see or feel; which means go see it for yourself!! Petra is officially the most incredible place I have seen in my life. But alas, Petra is not just the Treasury that it is it most known for, it is an entire city built in the sandstone, spanning across several kilometers and varying heights. I walk though this magical city, (which seems all too unreal) hidden in the gorges of southern Jordan, and decide to go to the highest and furthest point which is the Monastery (similar architecture to the Treasury). It takes about a good hour to get to this site, 800 steps from the base and the route involves climb narrow, smooth, sand covered steps that wind around the mountains. Again just like the Treasury, when you think you have seen everything you can on this hike, you take a sharp right turn and there it is, the Monastery..when you least expect it.

There is another point atop a mountain to get an amazing panoramic view of the Monastery and the surrounding mountains and canyons. At the view point, all I hear is the breeze. I sit there, admiring the scenery, at a loss for wonders, and just look upon this wondrous place with appreciation, realizing my own insignificance in comparison. How the in the world did they carve this place with several simple tools in such beautiful terrain? I guess some questions are meant to be left answered. I sit with Abid, a Bedouin guy in his shop at the peak of the mountain. He lives there, gets what he needs from the village, sells trinkets to tourists, smokes his pipe, plays his guitar, and makes tea. What a life, I wouldn’t mind spending a week on this mountain…meditating. By the way, all the Bedouins here look just like Jack Sparrow, with nice tanned skin, kohl in their eyes, and fancy head gear. As I walk down the 800 steps from the Monastery, I admire the astounding designs and colors in the rocks. One of the Bedouins reveals a short cut to get to the Royal Tombs, which I obviously decide to take since it is around 100 degrees and disgustingly humid. This shortcut led me to nowhere, taking random paths (no signs of course), crossing questionable bridges; I find myself back at the main road and proceed to the tombs. From here, another several kilometer hike back to the entrance.

9 hours later from the start of my day, I am done; I get to the car and just collapse, thinking about the wonder I saw today.

28 countries in my 28 years, and I can confidently say that Petra is the most magical and fascinating place I have seen in this lifetime. Today, I've lost myself in this fantasy land, seemingly real only in fairy tales.

Even Michael Phelps Can't Swim Here

Abdullah, my driver for the next few days picked me up from the hostel for our journey to the Dead Sea, Petra, and Wadi Rum. As we drive down the mountains to the Dead Sea (the lowest point on Earth), I feel my ears pop and appreciate the beautiful contours of the landscape. We went from mountains and deserts, to valleys along the sea. I’m not much of a beach person, but I found myself not wanting to leave the Dead Sea. As you walk into the water, there is no sand, but hard minerals that line the banks, followed by sand, mud, and rocks. When the water is about waist length, I try to float. After a couple of seconds, I hear a *pop* sound. That is the sound of my legs popping up out of the water, against my will of course. The Dead Sea is 8 times more salty than the ocean, thus coining its name. There is no life, and everything floats due to this excessive salinity. The salt water stung my lips (baked from the sun) and my eyes as I accidentally got a few drops in them. This is the only place in the world that you can recline and read a book or newspaper as you float. There is an oily layer over my skin from the salt and minerals.

After a while of trying to swim and just floating around, I get out to plaster myself in the mud from the sea, which is known to have healing powers and is also good for the skin. As I bake in the sun and wait for the mud to dry, I start thinking of crazy ideas of what kind of super hero I could be..emerging from the sands of the Middle East, covered in oil, ready to save the world. But, I more or less look like Swamp Thing. After another few hours, I force myself to get out of the water as it is now stinging my skin from the abundance of salt and minerals. One thing to note, the Dead Sea is shrinking quickly..so get there before its gone, I promise it’s an experience of a lifetime.

As we drive along the Dead Sea Highway to Petra, I intently stare at Israel (my next stop) across the sea and the striking mountains. There is a thick crust of white salt lining the mountains along the water, the color combination is stunning, sea green and blue, foamy white salt, and terra cotta mountains. My thoughts are lost in the scenery, towns, and sea…and suddenly..3 hours later, we are in Petra. As I walk around the city after iftar, I become aware of that familiar discomfort of walking around alone, especially at night. Again, the shop keepers keep hassling me to buy things and men make inappropriate comments. My blood is BOILING. If I were not a woman, this would not be a problem. I keep telling myself to look past it, to be understanding..tourism is down over 30%, the main tourists from neighboring countries such as Syria and Egypt are not coming since hell has broken loose in their homelands…these people have no money. Here it is, the overarching effect of the Arab Spring on all surrounding countries. I then think of a solution; headphones whenever I walk around. Hear no evil; sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Circles in Amman

The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Jordan: dates. A co-worker at JP Morgan went to Jordan every year and brought back savory dates – chocolate covered, cinnamon laced, almond filled. Sorry to digress, but dates in the Middle East are just heavenly. After sampling many types of these delicacies, the top two are Kimia (Iranian dates) and Saudi madjoul dates. These both are the softer versions and slowly melt in your mouth as your eat them…yum.

Walking around old Amman near my hotel, I felt very self conscious. The people were staring as there weren’t many women walking around and especially alone. And when they spoke to me in Arabic, I pretended to understand, just like in Dubai and Lebanon. I notice the poverty in Jordan, which is a bitter contrast to the extravagance of Dubai. This country was not as lucky as its oil rich neighbors and has limited natural resources. But the uprisings here have not been as intense as other countries in the region as King Abdullah is making efforts for reform, but we will see how long that lasts or how it pans out. I walked to the Roman amphitheater and to the Sheikh Hassan mosque but a bad time, since it was close to iftar; at 7, I see people running around with large trays of food in preparation to break fast. At around 7:30, people are all together inside of their shops sharing this traditional meal. It is nice to see this togetherness during the holy month of Ramadan. Some of them even invite me to join them as they think I am fasting as well.

I had made plans to meet my friend Hana (another summer intern from Dubai) as she is from Jordan. Hana and her friend show me around old Amman, and the circles of the city. It is built on 7 mountains with 8 circles, which kind of reminds me of Amsterdam and the circles of canals (though those are more reminiscent of the concentric circles of hell from Dante’s Inferno). As we drive up and down the narrow streets of the circles, I see how alive the city is at night, similar to any other cities in the region after iftar. They take me to this charming outdoor restaurant on top of the 3rd circle which affords a view of the entire city, the mountains and the citadel. As I mention my future travel plans, I learn that my friend is actually Palestinian but her family had moved to Jordan in the 30’s. She was saying how lucky I was to be able to visit Israel and Palestine, something which would be nearly impossible for her. And apparently even if you are Jordanian, it is difficult to visit Israel. Which came as a surprise to me since Israel has peace treaties with only 2 Arab nations (Jordan & Egypt), but folks were not allowed to move into and out of these countries freely. I suppose these countries are just a conduit for tourists from other nations to visit Israel. That’s the one convenient aspect of living and traveling in the Middle East, I am able to get a more in depth understanding of each of these countries and how they differ. Just because shit is blowing up in Syria (which shares a border with Jordan), does not mean it is unsafe to come to Jordan. So we bid each other farewell at the end of the night, wondering when we will meet again.

Last Days in Dubai

Ok, I won’t even deny it, I went to the bathroom to drink water. It is the holy month of Ramadan and it is illegal in Dubai to eat or drink in public during the day. I repeat, it is illegal and a jail-able (is this even a word?) offense. I was running errands all the day in anticipation of leaving Dubai and I was parched. Out in public, I could not drink water in front of anyone, so I ran to the restroom in the mall and took a swig out of my water bottle. An hour later I am walking around and here the familiar prayer sound and hurriedly look at my watch, realizing it is 7pm. It is time for iftar, I peer down from the 3rd floor and suddenly I see people eating. Thank God! Things you would never think twice about in life, here I am..thinking about them.

On my last day of work I sat at my desk, again staring at the marina and the wonder of Palm Jumeriah for insight into my current state of mind. If I didn’t have the best of experiences this summer then why am I somewhat sad about leaving? Perhaps it is sadness for my experiences not matching my expectations by a long shot. And reconciling these differences has been a challenge of sorts. But Dubai isn’t all bad…two good points being minimal crime and diversity of people here (as I had mentioned before). But anyway I don’t think I can think about this place with a clear head until I am back home.

I finally get up from the iftar tent filled with hundreds of MBA alumni, bid farewell to friends from my summer internship and get ready for the next leg of my journey.

So I leave Dubai with more than the future prospects of getting lung cancer; I leave with a sincere appreciation for civil liberties and freedom that comes with living in the USA, insights into the culture and how to do business in this region.

Some interesting learnings worth mentioning:
- KSA does not mean “Kellogg Student Association” to the rest of the world…(Kingdom of Saudi Arabia)
- Remove any mention of Israel from any presentation

Goodbye Dubai..this summer has been, let’s say “out of the ordinary”. Maybe I’ll see you again one day. Inshallah.

Kish Island Dilemma

My friend Ayan (yes I am calling you out) put the crazy idea in my head to visit Kish Island, aka Iran while here in Dubai. Kish is a tiny island off the coast of Iran that is a free zone, which essentially means that foreigners (including US Citizens) can enter without a visa. The standard response, when I excitedly divulged plans to people was, “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!?”. I even consulted my dad, who is an immigration lawyer on if this was a good idea. He said I could go, but I should be very careful, not go alone, and leave as soon as possible. So initially I conducted some basic research, but everything I found out seemed shadier by the moment. Below is a summary.

1.Kish Air website – There once used to be a boat from Dubai to the island, but it no longer runs. You can’t buy airline tickets from the website. You need to call travel agents and buy tickets 10 days before you want to fly; that is when the tickets become available. However, the travel agents have no other information regarding the island other than that folks go there for visa runs. Shady.
2.Opinions – I ask my friends in Dubai and co-workers (who are all very well traveled). Nobody has even thought of going there or has known anyone who has gone. Several co-workers had gone to Tehran a few years back, but they were French. Actually, one friend mentioned that his Filipino friend had gone for a visa run, but alas she is not a US Citizen. Shadier.
3.Kish Island Tourism – I call Iran from Dubai. Yes , I call Iran, this is exciting. No answer from the Kish Tourism board, or any hotels located on the island. Nobody picks up the phone. I called and emailed the US consulate in Dubai, and I get a generic response 3 weeks later to refer to the website. Useless. And Shady as hell.
4.The News – The international news is splattered with headlines about the 2 American hikers who have been imprisoned in Iran for 2 years for mistakenly hiking across the Iraq/Iran border and could be sentenced for another 8 years. Shadiest.

Conclusion – There is a fine line between thrill seeking adventure and reckless stupidity. This trip may undoubtedly cross that line. Kish Island and Iran will be saved for some other lifetime. The thought of being subject to an Iranian prison is daunting, especially after reading Maziar Bahari’s tale of 118 days in the notorious Evin prison, and he’s Iranian.

Unreal Mountains in Oman

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People Watching in Dubai

Dubai is probably one of the most interesting places in the world to people watch. Of course there is a plethora of expats dressed in their very best at the entrance at any of the hottest clubs (which I have frequented many a time). While trying to figure out who is a prostitute at a club is engaging, people watching Arabs and Emirati’s to be even more intriguing. Interactions with Emiratis (the locals of the UAE with make up around 5% of the population) are quite limited, unless you happen to work with them or have a random chance meeting with them.

And the women, whenever you see a flash of their shoes or clothing underneath the burqa, it is always something fascinating. The eye makeup they wear is captivating, even I get lost in their gaze. The Lebanese woman at MAC in Beirut even gave me some tips on how to create the intense “Arab eyes” look. In the malls, I have seen the tightest burqa’s, maybe they were spandex..making me wonder what the point of wearing it was in the first place.

Castello’s, known to be the best hookah lounge in Dubai is my favorite place to people watch. I watch the Emirati men and women smoke sheesha and play on their gadgets. Here I noticed the “man-scaping” that is a distinct feature of the Arab men. Never have I seen such fine layering of beards, mustaches, and gotis. They give the 5 o’clock shadow a whole new meaning.

As we sit at Castello’s, I feel a nice buzz and a general numbness from the sheesha and in a trance from the sounds of the live Arab musician. Perhaps numbing my feelings on being in this country, and the reality of my experiences here relative to my expectations. Somehow the conversation takes an unpromising turn to recent nightmares of getting arrested in Dubai for seemingly trivial actions, camel racing and stoning (look it up should you be curious).

Sigh of Relief in India

The Real Deal

“It’s amazing how deep and superficial you can be at the same time. One minute you are burning your face with flaming drinks, and the next you are quoting Rousseau."

…says a friend in Dubai. This couldn’t be more true. My life as it is now feels like a mélange of my trio of all time favorite books (Camus’ La Chute & L’Etranger, and Sartre’s Le Nausee). I am Clamence, a Parisian lawyer who evaluates his own existence and consciousness only to realize that every triumph in his life was a failure. I am Meursault who is disconnected and is severely affected by the sun and the sea. And I am Roquentin who feverishly writes and writes and feels a constant discomfort called “nausea” about everything in life.

Dubai is a city that seems like any other western cosmopolitan city. On the surface you have beaches, malls, partying, and fun activities for expats to easily to meld into. But underneath this façade is an oppressive regime that is inherent in many of these Arab nations. There is a little detail called “freedom” that you don’t truly value until you live outside of the United States. Unknowingly, I was thrown into the caste system of the UAE, going from an inconsequential MBA student, to “maam”, what the worker class called us expats. There are 3 classes of people here, Emiratis (only ones who are citizens of the country), Expats, and the Workers. But the divide between each class is exponential and opening your eyes to how the workers are treated here is quite unsettling. I see them every day. On my way to work, on the way back, at the grocery store next door and sometimes from my cushy 26th floor office. Walking home at 9pm in the suffocating heat of Dubai, rows and rows of them are sitting there waiting for the buses to take them to the labor camps. Our eyes meet, and I see an inherent sadness in their eyes, I cannot bear to look anymore. I see them toil and sweat in 100+ degree heat and 85% humidity all for measly wages and accommodations. And to watch something to the effect of slavery in front of your eyes, and do nothing about it? How do you just look the other way? I certainly cannot.

Not to mention the complete insanity that is work. Loads and loads of work keeps piling up, and hours and hours in the office. What is day, what is night? I don’t know anymore. I spent 27 hours straight at the office…working throughout the night, seeing the sunrise from the office. So not ideal. So consumed in work I feel lost. I go home, sleep for 4 hours and frantically wake up to make the most of the weekend. I am exhausted, but no! I must spend money and do something…anything. 500 dirhams for bottle service? Sure why not. I make money, but I don’t have time to spend it. You feel like you just need to spend money on anything, as another consultant says. I can’ think straight, who am I, what have I become. I feel this place eating away at my soul, caring about things I don’t really care about. Partying, pretenses, indulging in materialistic bliss like nothing before. As another friend said, here we are spending money on things he only imagined we would be doing 10 years down the line..fancy boat cruises, hundreds of dollars on brunches. I have 4 different currencies in my wallet and it all feels like monopoly money.

How can this place ever be sustainable? The culture is fake, the people are transient, and there is ZERO incentive to make a life here. But I guess some people get sucked into the black hole of indulgence here and forget the realities of life. You will never be a citizen or remotely equal to the Emiratis here. The only motivation is to come here, make some tax free money and leave.

As the gold coating around everything in Dubai starts to fade away, I am sick. I feel nauseous. I think I will throw up now.

Beirut! Beirut! Beirut is on Fire!

tbd

Officially Savoring Expat Life in Dubai

I knew there was a reason I kept the pop out map of Dubai from my travels last summer, and not just for nostalgic purposes. If you refer back to blog post #8 titled “Update”, when I said I loved Dubai, and wanted to live there one day..well HERE I AM. Here I am for the summer doing an internship at a management consulting firm and still quite shocked at how I ended up here.

You are probably wondering what’s so great about Dubai? First and foremost it is the cultural diversity of the people who live here. I have met interesting folks from all around the world, who all share a sense of adventure and inclination to party hard. When I go to lunch with my co-workers, there is never 1 person from the same country. Not to mention the blend of languages heard, my heart flutters every time I hear French spoken in the office. Conversations always somehow converge to travels and adventures in various countries or to the nuances of certain cultures. Being that the office is nearly 25% Lebanese, some of the consultants joke that they always feel that Lebanese folks are trying to rip them off and coined the term “Sleazy Lebanesey”. Other than that, the second reason is the SUN. My mood is directly linked to the sunlight and even if I am stuck it an office and working for hours, as long as I see the sun I’ll be happy. The heat is suffocating, but I don’t mind. You don’t end up lounging around outside too much other than getting in and out of taxis.

Here’s a commentary on the culture and lifestyle that is Dubai. Overall it is a mall culture where anything and everything you want is inside a mall. This is mainly due to lack of the strip mall concept since the heat is just unbearable for even a few minutes. They even have “mall jogger” groups in Dubai Mall, which gives you a sense of how enormous the malls are and that people would actually run around it for exercise. The nightlife here is rather pretentious and wild. It is dress to impress and pretty difficult for guys to get into clubs without buying bottles or coming with a cohort of females. Lots of the clubs have mesmerizing decors and themes. Boudoir is a club located on the second floor of the outdoor area of a hotel and has a French Palace theme. With a cushion like ceiling, it literally feels like you are in a French jewelry box. Cavalli, opened by designed Roberto Cavalli is probably the sickest club in Dubai..next to People in Wafi. One word to describe this place..”chandeliers”. I have never seen so many large chandeliers in one place and the minimum for the elevated lounge table area, a mere 15,000 AED (approx $4,000).

So far so good in the summer of “anything goes”…

The amazing children of Sidi Moumem

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Morocco: I’ll have another mint tea please

Déjà vu, or am I in Turkey Again?! Turkish Delights and Tea

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Swimming in the crystal blue waters of Cyprus..or not

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The Ottoman Empire Strikes Back

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