Leaving Jordan, Entering Jerusalem

Constant movement and inconsistent internet prevented me from posting on the blog for the remainder of my trip. However, now that I am home with my good 'ol American internet connection, I'd like to finish the blog strong. I hope my readers remain interested.

After my Jordan University program came to an end, I was joined in Amman by my lovely, smart and talented girlfriend, Maggie, for two weeks of amazing travel. We began by visiting Petra (my 2nd trip there):

View from our hotel:

View of a Bedouin woman's pet goat (that acted like a dog):

...then passed south through Aqaba (where I was not allowed to leave the country until I played a song on my guitar for the Jordanian border guards), and we entered the State of Israel at the Eilat Yitzak Rabin Border Crossing. From there we took a bus (Egged 444) straight up to Jerusalem.

Our first stop in the holy city was the wonderful Mahane Yehuda market. While now slowly gentrifying, the market remains an incredible old-world outdoor bazaar filled with colors, sights, smells, people, and all you need to fill your kitchen. This place is as Jewish as gefilte fish.

I love these photos:










For those of you who have been to this market before, I know that you will share my pain that I forgot to photograph the famous Marzipan rugullah that can be found here. I probably had too much chocolate on my hands to handle the camera at the time.

And only in Israel:

...a box to discard irreversibly-soiled prayer books, scrolls, tefilin, talit, etc., for proper disposal (burial according to Jewish law).

(Next Post: The Old City. Its Called That for a Reason.)

a-Salt or السلط‎

After a 25 minute bus ride, on a bus identical to this one...

...I found myself in the ancient town of Salt ( السلط‎ As-Salt — pronounced As-Sult or As-Sàlt).

Salt was the regional capital of Transjordan during the Ottoman period, and the only town of any size in this region on the east bank of the Jordan River. The town took its current form in the late 19th century when merchants from Nablus arrived to expand their trading base to both sides of the river. These merchants brought along with them skilled craftsman and architects who constructed the beautiful Ottoman-style buildings that remain in the town today. Emir Abdullah considered making Salt his capital, but it is rumored that he was not well received there so he chose Amman to stake his claim instead.

After the 1948 war, Salt was cut off from its original trade routes and it began to decline, while Amman began to grow. Therefore, the town has seen none of the modernization that Amman has. This is not necessarily a bad thing as Salt remains quiet and clean compared to its big brother to the southeast.

Ottoman architecture in this region is defined by the long arched doorways and windows:

The old market street:

The town is known for its friendliness. This was demonstrated to us first-hand when a nice man on the street invited us to his home for tea. He wanted to tell us about the town, his family history, and he wanted to find out why the heck we were walking around there. The town was so friendly, in fact, that the cats and dogs got along nicely:

The blogger in the old Ottoman town square:

So if you are in Jordan with time on your hands... don't pass the Salt.

Wasat al-Balad (Downtown Amman)

Ask any cab in Amman to take you to "wasat al-balad", which literally means the "middle of the city" and it will drop you off here:




Downtown Amman is built in valleys and along the sides of the hills that flank them. It is full of small shops of all kinds, people, dust, cars, noise, and cigarette smoke. "No Smoking" signs in Amman only describe the few seconds it takes to light the next cigarette.

Some of the shops sell clothes, some sell pirated DVDs, some sell gold, and some sell nuts:

There is also a mosque or two... or one hundred. They come in different shapes, colors and sizes.

The Husseini Mosque (below), like almost every other building in Amman, is a recent construction (finished in 1924). It was built on the site of another mosque that was completed in 640 by Omar ibn Al-Khattab, the 2nd Caliph of Islam. Emir Abdullah ordered the previous site cleared for the construction of his new mosque for a reason unknown to me. Before 640, it is believed that the Cathedral of Philadelphia stood at this location.

A view of the inner courtyard:

Men relaxing before the late afternoon prayer:

The white structure contains a number of faucets used for ritual washing before entering the mosque:

More views of downtown:

Plates From the Arab States

Jordan is full of visitors.

This is especially true in the summer when thousands of Arabs (the ones that can afford it) flee their homes in the Gulf to avoid the incredibly hot temperatures. Amman, like Rome, is situated on 7 hills which allow a cooling breeze to fill the city. Instead of 140 degrees (F) in Riyadh, you can sit in the relative cool 90-degree air of Amman.

Wealthy Arabs also come to Jordan to utilize the country's modern private hospital system. Jordan is known to have the best private health care in the region outside of Israel. Many families move to Amman all-together when one of the family members has to spend a long time in a hospital. It is common for me to see entire families from Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iraq, Dubai, etc., in my neighborhood because there are several high-end medical facilities located near the University of Jordan.

There are also still approximately 500,000 Iraqi refugees within Jordan's borders as a result of the United States' military action in Iraq (some relief agencies estimate the number to be as high as 750,000). There were well over a million Iraqis who fled to Jordan at the beginning of the war. Many have moved on to other countries and some have returned to Iraq. Last year, for the first time, Jordan officially pledged to allow Iraqi children to attend public schools regardless of their residency status. Of an estimated 200,000 school-age Iraqi children in Jordan, only 20,000 went to school in 2006, of whom only about 6,000 completed the school year. More information on Iraqi refugees in Jordan can be found here or you can Google it.

Anyway...

To entertain myself I have taken up a new hobby of collecting photos of all the different license plates that I've seen in Jordan from around the region. Of course, I've had to be very careful about it because the last thing I want to do is confront the owner of the vehicle who may assume, incorrectly, that I'm a spy. It brings me great pleasure to share my collection with you today!

Jordan:


Saudi Arabia:


Iraq (It says "Iraq Baghdad" on the plate. I'm going to take an educated guess that Saddam's intelligence apparatus decided to regionalize the license plates in order to spot cars that were driving in areas they shouldn't be driving):


Kuwait:


Qatar:


Lebanon:


Syria:


Dubai (I've seen, but haven't be able to capture, an Abu Dhabi. I haven't seen the other 5 Emirates - Ajman, Fujairah, Ras al-Khaimah, Sharjah and Umm al-Quwain):


Bahrain:

I'm still trying to capture an Oman (seen it) and a Yemen (haven't seen it). Once I get those, I feel my time here will have been well spent.

From Amman to Netanya

In Amman, my cab driver, Jihad, picked me up at 8am and drove me to the King Hussein/Allenby Bridge border crossing with the State of Israel and the Palestinian Territories. This border crossing is in the center of the country, just north of the Dead Sea, and about 35 minutes from Amman. Jihad was not afraid to tell me, in Arabic, how much of a distaste he had for Israel and the Israelis. To avoid an awkward drive I told him that I was only going to East Jerusalem and not to Israel. This made him feel better about dropping me at the border.

Leaving Jordan, for me, was no problem what-so-ever. There was no security and no questions asked. I entered the border terminal, smiled and spoke in my best tourist English, payed my 5JD exit tax and was handed a Post-it note with my name written on it along with a red Jordanian border-tax stamp. Although the Israeli border is only 2km away, I was not allowed to walk and I was told to wait for the bus. After waiting for the bus to become full (it was filled with people holding black Jordanian passports, and the green Palestinian Authority passports, as well as some Palestinians with American passports, two dutch tourists, and a nice American guy who works in Saudi Arabia) we departed for the Israeli border.

Once crossing over the Allenby Bridge...


...we reached the first Israeli border checkpoint. Here, we got off the bus, handed our passports to a young border guard behind a bunker-like window, and waited in the shade until they had determined that the bus' passengers were fit to move to the actual passport control/customs building. This took 5 minutes maximum. This was also my first opportunity to attempt to speak in Hebrew in a while. I think the young border guards were a little surprised to see me get off the bus and say: "Mahamtzav ach'sheli!?! Kol tov ha yom? Ken? Beseder?" They nodded in bewilderment. I followed up with, "Metzuyan." They responded in English, "You speak Hebrew?". And I responded, "Betach ach'sheli." They said, "Are you Jewish?" I said, "Na'am". (Readers: If you speak enough Arabic and Hebrew to understand that exchange, I hope it gave you giggle. If not, sorry that you had to sit through it. But trust me, its funny.)

Everyone got back on the bus and we drove for 1 minute to the main border terminal. Upon reaching the terminal everyone piled out of the bus, grabbed their bags and headed to drop them off to be x-rayed in the initial area of the building. I must report that this all happened relatively smoothly. The Israeli border employees all spoke Arabic or English with the people trying to cross, and treated the travelers respectfully. Of course, as regional custom dictates, nobody tried to stand in a proper line or wait their turn. There was a lot of pushing and shoving and jockeying for position although it wasn't necessary at all.

I stepped over to a young Ashkenazi border guard and told him, in Hebrew, how happy I was to be crossing the border to visit my friends in Israel. I also asked him if there was a special line for tourists with foreign passports that might expedite my passage through the next security phase of the border crossing. He then asked me, in Hebrew, "Ata Yehudi?" I responded, "Kol ha'chaiim sheli, gever." Then he said, "Hold on, let me check for you," and he inquired via his walkie-talky. He couldn't help me then, but once I waited with everyone (still pushing and shoving for no necessary reason what-so-ever) and made it through the metal detector, I begin my same Hebrew chit-chat with the border guard girl there. She was then the third person to ask me, "Ata Yehudi?". Again, I said, "Betach, kol ha'chaiim sheli, motek." This is where racial profiling worked in my advantage. She pulled me out of the line, which was then destined to walk through the explosives-detection machine, and walked me around everything and put me at the front of the passport control line that is set aside for foreign tourists.

In the passport control area I didn't see any Palestinians get rejected, or be disrespected by the passport agents. The lines seemed to be moving rather quickly. In the end, even though my Yehudi-ness moved me around the security line, I was one of the last ones to get through this area becauase the only two people in front of me in the passport line were a European (maybe Austrian) father/daughter combo who had some type of criminal record that was showing up on their passports records. It took a while for their problem to get resolved but once I made it to the window I was home free.

I jumped in a shared taxi with 11 other passengers (all Palestinian and Israeli Arab) and we headed into the West Bank. After a stop in Ramallah to drop off a passenger, we headed towards Jerusalem. This is where we had to pass one of the infamous West Bank checkpoints that puts you into Israel proper. This took no more than 10 seconds. The shared-cab pulled up to the window, the soldier looked in and we all held up our passports, the soldier got out, and we moved on. I was sitting towards the front of the taxi, so I didn't get a look at everyone's passport, but I think it went so easy for us is because all the Israeli Arabs and Palestinians in the cab had Israel ID cards. I don't know if it would have gone so smoothly if green Palestinian Authority passports were held up.

Once in Jerusalem it was like being back home. We drove past my old university on Mt. Scopus, and down to the Old City where we were all dropped off at the Damascus Gate in East Jerusalem:

I walked through the Arab Quarter (below) where I changed some money and spoke some Arabic with the shop owners there. Everyone wanted to know the story behind the Oud that I was carrying from Amman for my friend in Israel.

Then I headed straight for the Western Wall (HaKotel):


From there I took a cab to Kikar Tzion, and walked up Ben Yahuda St:

I bought an Israel SIM card (I felt cool because I have permanent local phone numbers in 3 countries now), ate at my favorite schwarma stand in the world...

...and walked to Nachlaot for a quick visit with two of my oldest Israeli friends. It was wonderful to see them. Around 7pm I got a ride to Tel Aviv...

...I was dropped off at the train station in Tel Aviv, bought a ticket to Netanya, and wound up in Binyamina because I wasn't paying attention and I got on the wrong train. But no problem! My friend picked me up and brought me to his place in Netanya. Thats where I am now, preparing to go to the beach.