A Quick Lesson Needed in Brewing "Tea"

This is not so much a "how-to" blog, but rather a "how-not-to" look at making your own "tea" in a country where liquor cannot be bought legally. Necessity is the mother of invention and I have always wanted to try making my own brew. This a brief account of how I learned by my mistakes and ended up with some homemade wine that even Jon would drink.
As I write this I am putting my last batch to ferment in the dark cupboard under the kitchen sink. It is in recycled plastic juice bottles with screw tops, not screwed on tightly, allowing the gas to escape. I figure it should be ready to drink in a couple of weeks.

For my first attempt I bought a bottle of grape juice (probably from concentrate, certainly not fresh) and a packet of bread yeast. I mixed them with two cups of sugar because I was following a 'redneck wine' YouTube video.  After two weeks I attempted to drink it... it was potent, but foul tasting. This led me to ask advice of some veteran brewers, and I was given some packets of wine yeast.
This certainly improved the taste of my next batch. I proudly bottled it and stored it on a shelf. I came home a couple of days later to find the glass exploded across the kitchen, and wine running down the walls. (Wine doesn't wash off painted cement!) After some more research, I discovered that the yeast doesn't die, but keeps on working throughout the wine. I hadn't properly separated the yeast from the liquid when I poured off the wine.  I tried to remedy this by using a coffee filter, which helped some, but uncapping my bottles was like popping a cork, and the wine was still fizzing.
I left the wine bottles open, to prevent them exploding, but I felt I was losing the alcohol by evaporation. So I finally solved my problem by keeping the bottled wine in the refrigerator. The cool temperature slowed down the yeast.

I wonder just how many people in Kuwait make their own wine. I did a lot of asking around, to find out what others used for grape juice. I tried apple, but my apple wine tasted like the end of a cocktail which is just melted ice and tastes of watered down nothing.  The apple juice must have been all water and sugar, so when the sugar turned to alcohol there was nothing left for flavor. I tried other juices: watermelon, pomegranate, and cranberry mixed with white grape juice. I stopped adding sugar because the juices come sweetened with tons of added sugar. Jon said that if he put enough ice with it, it was drinkable.

By this point I was brewing a couple of plastic 2 L Pepsi  bottles at a time. I didn't dare make much of anything, because I really didn't know how the lot would turn out. After pouring some red wine into bottles, I recapped the Pepsi bottle and tossed it aside. When I discovered it a few days later, the whole bottle had blown up ready to burst. Obviously the sludge at the bottom was active yeast. So I quickly filled the bottle with white grape juice and allowed the yeast to keep on doing its work. That accident was probably my best wine yet, a dry rosé that even Jon was  tempted to drink.
Don't start to think that my homemade wine is anything like you might get when using a kit. I use the cheapest grape juice that comes in cartons at the local shop. I wouldn't dream of putting it up for sale, and the one time I offered it to a neighbor, she found it disgusting. But I enjoy the process of creating, and discovering that something I thought took years to make in fine European vineyards, is actually simple, quick and requires no expensive equipment. Although my neighborhood is mainly Muslims who shouldn't really appreciate alcohol, I'm sure a little homemade wine could go a long way to bringing people together at the end of the day as they eat their communal meal of curry and rice.

Jordan Déjà Vu

Remember that feeling when you wake up the first morning of a long awaited trip to that place you've always wanted to go? Well I can't exactly say Jordan was "like nowhere else on earth". I had the distinct feeling that I had been there before. I had been to Israel for a spring break in 1995, but although I remember feeling cold in what I thought would be a warm climate, I don't remember it being like what I saw on our first day on the road in Jordan.
This was reminiscent of another spring break trip with our one-year-old son to western Turkey. We have great pictures of our son climbing on the

old Roman ruins at Ephesus, and picnicking in the wild flowers. It was a memorable trip despite the difficulty we had in finding accommodation with decent heat. I had packed tea bags and molasses cookies, while Jon brought along his camp stove and sleeping bag.  We ended up using them all on several occasions.
As we met a road block that sent us off-road down country lanes I was reminded of something similar happening to the three of us traveling back to Bulgaria from Greece. Even today, border crossing there are anything but guaranteed.  My write up of that trip ended up in the local newspaper back home and Jon will describe the whole event as something out of a movie.
Just last spring break we traveled as a family of three through northern Greece to the Albanian coast. I was enchanted by the flowering banks and the pastoral scenes of shepherds with their flocks in the fields. The Jordanian shepherds were dressed differently, but also seemed to be there merely to inspire poetry.
I  enjoyed the same tastes this trip as Greece and Turkey: the fresh olives, yogurt and cheese drizzled with honey.  And for some reason, cucumbers and tomatoes will always be a breakfast staple.

I never before saw the connection between these trips. They are all unique places with separate cultures, languages and sites. But one place brought back happy memories of the others. Beauty reminds you of more beauty....happiness of past happiness.  This is a benefit of traveling and new experiences.
I can be equally moved by others' travels. When viewing a colleague's video of a Rome trip I was reminded of all the things I loved about Rome.  It not only inspires gratitude for the experiences I have been fortunate to have, but helps me appreciate my life that much more.

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world." -John Milton

On the way home I asked my youngest son his thoughts on the trip to Jordan. He immediately compared it favorably to another trip to Sri Lanka and some of the odder moments he experienced there: like when a waiter dressed him in a borrowed suit and tie before he could dine at the  Gentleman's Club.  We laughed together remembering...

A friend told me after viewing my photos on Facebook, that I could have been traveling in Utah. That led her to describe all the beauty of her home state and invite me to experience it too. 

One memory leads to another, makes us smile... and want to go out and experience more. 

Aqaba: Where Worlds Meet

I heard my name being called on the busy road outside our hotel in Aqaba, Jordan. Turning, I saw a friend I had taught with in a school in the Marshall Islands. She is now teaching in Saudi Arabia and was traveling over spring break. Not so much of a coincidence if you think about it. Aqaba is certainly a meeting point.  It lies just 5 km from the border of Israel, the Egyptian coast is clearly visible across the water, and the Saudi border is only a 20 km drive south. Being on the water, cruise ships stop here and unload tourists wanting to visit Petra.  The airport brings other tourists, who stay at five star resorts and take advantage of the great diving in the area.

Even though Petra is a more popular destination, Aqaba offers much more for western visitors. From the resorts, to the travel agents, to the variety of restaurants, my first impression was that I could easily enjoy all the city had to offer and relax on my last day of vacation.
However, I found that here worlds collide rather than meet.  Our first glimpse of this juxtaposition was at breakfast in the restaurant below the hotel. The place was full, every table taken, but not with foreigners.  After finding a table in the back, I avoided the coffee and local bean soup, but found plenty of olives and yogurt to fill my plate. When in Jordan... It shouldn't matter that the hotel didn't cater for western breakfast tastes.

The hotel was able to direct us to a "very nice" beach just 20 km out of town. We drove down the coast looking for it, but found nothing before being stopped by guards at the border. Although we were so close to three other countries, I doubt whether we would have been allowed to drive into any of them.  They are anything but "open" borders. We tried to ask the guard where the beach was we were looking for, but he didn't speak English. Driving back we found a sign to public beach #4. Thinking that one beach was as good as another, we parked and got out. This was definitely not a beach for westerners. No one wore a swim suit or an uncovered head. School children paddled in the waves in their uniforms, and older ladies handed out food for a picnic. We felt out of place, and left.

Behind a fence we found a club that charged us $15 dollars for the use of their pools and beach. The place was landscaped with palm trees, cabanas and bright flowers. We recognized the music and the drinks by the pool. This private beach was made to keep us from mixing with the locals.  We didn't complain, but lay on our chairs by the pool and let the waiters take our order.
An Arab family showed up and sat near us. The mother never moved from the shade of the beach umbrella. None of the children had swim suits, and the little boys stripped down to their underwear. They wanted to use the pool, but a guard came by to tell them they couldn't. I'm sure they felt the same way my family had on the other side of the fence.

The Italian, Chinese and American BBQ restaurants are also there to keep foreigners happy and separate from the local Arabs.  We were excited to find a Brazilian Steak House not far from the hotel, and thought it would be an appropriate place for Ben's Birthday celebration. The place was empty and the waiters spoke no English, but that didn't deter us. The menu promised an authentic Brazilian all-you-can-eat churrasco. The salad bar was a bit of a disappointment, mainly hummus and olives, but we still expected some side dishes of beans and rice to be delivered to our table. When Ben attempted to order a "Guarana" we realized we were not going to experience anything vaguely Brazilian. Spits of meat were brought round, and ceremoniously placed on our plates. The first piece was a steak the size of my whole plate. It was very good, but more than I could eat for a starter.  After a while the meat stopped coming, and we waited for desert. Nothing happened so Jon asked for coffee. The waiter misunderstood and brought the bill. Apparently even coffee was off the menu that night.
Each restaurant, hotel, club, resort, tour and cruise is careful to cater for either westerners or middle easterners, not both. This must be

because our tastes are so different, and not because we feel awkward in each other's culture...or probably for both reasons.
In other parts of Jordan the local culture was put on display for my pleasure, to exploit my interest in the new and different.  They pose, I photograph, learn and promote the tourist business. But here in Aqaba, the meeting point of different worlds, the business of promoting culture was taking a back seat to the business of providing comfort, and the pleasure of the familiar.

Wadi Rum Four Hour Tour

The young guide looked barely old enough to drive. He was dressed in the traditional Bedouin garb and spoke only two phrases in English: "Four hour tour," and "It is good." But he had water in his van, and was willing to take us for a ride in the desert. This was a last minute plan hatched when we showed up at the visitor center of the Wadi Rum Protected Area in southern Jordan. It could be because I was tired from the full day hiking Petra, but today I was willing to leave the sight seeing decisions up to our young local guide.

As a guide he was awful; he spoke no English, chain smoked and sang along to his own taste in music, drove a truck with no seat belts or window glass, and obviously had no knowledge of the carefully planned itinerary outlined on the brochure we had just paid for. He first drove us round to the back of his house on the edge of the village Rum, which also doubled as a gas station.  Then he drove off the end of the last paved road and into the desert.
Our stops were in no particular order, and I rather think our guide was making up the route as he went along. Once he drove around in circles for a while, before deciding where to go next. I believe our first stop would normally have been the last stop.  It seemed to be a watering place for camels and tourists. We got out and awkwardly approached the tent.  We wanted to avoid having someone try to sell us something, but there was nothing else to do.  We sat down on the low colorful floor cushions and accepted some hot black tea. The server asked us where we were from, then proceeded to tell us about all the recent American film activity in the area. One crew had just finished filming last week. He had met Matt Damon when he was here filming 'The Martian'.  I suddenly began to imagine our tour guide driving Matt Damon around, and felt fortunate to have this information.

I also realized that this tour would take us where ever we wished, regardless of what we had paid for. We stopped by a large sand dune, then a canyon, before tackling the large rock bridge. We drove right past the small bridge without stopping, our guide correctly assuming that we would be more impressed with the bigger rock formation. Ben climbed one after the other, filling his shoes with sand, scaling sheer rock walls, and threatening to find 'alternative' ways down.

I felt both small, in the grand scale of the rocky landscape, and drawn to delight in the smaller details to be discovered in it. For those familiar with "The Martian" movie, it does seem an appropriate backdrop. Nothing grows, moves or is cultivated.  The place looks dead and deserted. Yet, while sticking to the shade to avoid the worst of the hot sand, I encountered clumps of wild flowers growing without water or soil. Entering a canyon, we came across small crude carvings of animals in the rock face. And water trickled out of the rock. The rocks themselves seemed to be painted in stripes of color ranging from red to yellow, blue and green.
I mentioned that the place seemed lifeless, but it had its own movement. As we climbed the rocks and dunes we were whipped by the wind, yet no sand blew in our faces, no trash swirled around.  The rock faces bore the scars of being weathered by sand, yet the sky was clear and clean. I realized I was in a place where nature was in charge and the Bedouin were doing a good job of taking care of it. They are making sure that tourists like us, as well as film crews, are getting the authentic natural experience they want.

Our last stop was another awkward stop, with nothing new to see or climb. It was supposedly the ruined site of Lawrence of Arabia's house. We went into the tent to sit and have tea. No one tried to sell us anything or tell us stories of famous film stars. We just watched as the Bedouin sat round the fire, used their phones, drank tea, painted henna tattoos, and showed Ben how to wear a traditional headdress. This was how they spend their day and it didn't look like they would rather be anywhere else. We bought two head scarves from them and tipped the driver very well.
I felt like my 'four hour tour' had given me a behind the scenes look at Wadi Rum and was an experience, rather than just a collection of pictures or video. (And I was so glad not to have to exit through the gift shop, or read about the future plans for a theme park!)

Petra By Tea Shop

Thousands visit the 'red-rose' city of Petra, named from the color of rock from which many of the structures are carved. There are many ways to see the archaeological site: by donkey, by camel, by horse-drawn buggy, by night...and with a local guide or part of an arranged tour group. I decided I wanted to set out and explore Petra on foot without a guide, so as to feel as if I was 'discovering' the lost city like the Swiss explorer Burckhardt in 1812.

The entrance to the city certainly lends itself to this sense of exploration. There is a spectacular gorge you walk through for over a kilometer, until you catch a glimpse of the magnificent facade of The Treasury.  Here everyone jostles to take the best pictures, stepping out of the way of passing camels and facing the hoards of guides and sellers of Bedouin jewelry, scarves and pieces of rock.
Once you get past that jaw-dropping moment you have to decide how to tackle the rest of the site, which is quite extensive.  I had done my homework and found an interesting guide book that suggested a walking route. It included 'alternative' paths up hidden stairways, and suggestions to ask for the little known back-way down. This appealed to my sense of explorer and we took the stairway behind the tea shop up to the High Sacrifice, off the beaten path, and through a flock of goats.

It wasn't long before I was thinking that a donkey might have been a good idea after all. The stairs ended and there was no clear path. We were scrambling and might have missed the path altogether if it had not been for the sight of a donkey patiently sitting on a rock above us. It's owner sat under the shelter of her tea shop, letting us know that we were on the path.
Like something out of a movie, a man on a horse stood on the highest point above us. He shouted out that we were going the wrong way, and offered to guide us. He assured us that the way on was far too dangerous to go alone, and we needed him. We managed to turn down his offer after realizing that he wanted to take us somewhere different, and headed towards another small tea shop wedged between two rocks and a tree. A lady sat by and pointed out our route. We did meet one or two other westerners up there who were, like us, trying to find a path.  However, the appearance of the simple tea shops told us we were going the right way, and more than once the local Bedouin women would call out to us, offer to sell us something and then point us on our way.

I enjoyed the feeling of discovery when, rounding a rock or looking over a cliff, I would come across a carved opening to a tomb.  I felt like Howard Carter discovering King Tut's tomb. Most of these tombs could not be seen from the main path and I prided myself in having found something that many other tourists had missed.
The path to the Monastery is not marked, but it can be easily found by following the donkeys carrying visitors, and the string of tea shops along the way up. Some of the shops have made their own signs, calling you to "the best view".  They lead to a tent high up above the rocky valleys where you can drink tea and sit awhile.   And by this time I was in need of a rest. All this exploring was taking its toll on my knees, but we still had to make it back to the entrance 3 kilometers away. I made it most of the way before letting myself get talked into a ride on a horse. "Like Indiana Jones" was less convincing than the fact that my feet hurt.

I had tried to take on the exploration of Petra by myself but found I needed guidance to truly appreciate the place.  My guidance came in the form of the ladies who run the shops and patiently stop you from getting lost and point out the hidden gems you missed seeing because, let's face it, who would ever know it was there? I never bought anything from them, or gave them money, but now I wish I had.
Ironically, the Swiss Burckhardt, also did not find the lost city by himself. The story is that he dressed up as an Arab and convinced a Bedouin guide to take him.

Dead Sea Denial

When you travel Jordan, visits to Petra and the Dead Sea are pretty much taken for granted.  I have been to the sea before from the Israeli side, and was anxious for Ben to experience the lowest place on earth. As we set out to drive there I had him keep his swim shorts handy so that he wouldn't miss the opportunity to 'swim' in the salty water.  We had our first glimpse of the sea from the top of Mt Nebo, where Moses first viewed the Promised Land. You can clearly see Jerico across the Jordan River, but Moses must have had to use all his faith to believe there was a land over there flowing in milk and honey.

As you leave the olive groves and goat herds behind you enter a dry and barren land. Nothing grows here, and all is rock and dust. "The sea is so in-your-face," was Jon's first comment. The land was so obviously parched, and sitting right next to a large body of water that was of no use at all. It's water would not benefit plants or animals.
At least we, humans, could use the water to bathe in, couldn't we. The first beaches we encountered belonged to fancy hotels who either didn't let us in, or would charge an arm and a leg to do so.

We continued on down the coast, looking for a public place where we could at least clamber down to the water's edge and get a toe in the water.  We found no place without cliffs down to the salty edge.  There were a few kiosks where someone had had the idea to sell drinks to tourists enjoying the view, but no one had thought to build a walkway down to the water. Bathing in the Dead Sea must be no longer a thing to do. Neither was there anything else to do on the water. No boats cruised by, no jet skis or divers appeared. Good for nothing!...

...Good for being alone, and quiet, and feeling lucky you have a car to take you up and out of here. So we snapped a picture of the water we couldn't enter, drink or enjoy, and headed south.  The road climbs steeply through the rocky hills and canyons in a series of winding curves. We were captivated once again by the sheer desolation of the place and decided to stop and get one more parting photo of the sea from above. We found the perfect spot to pull over and Jon reached for his camera. I noticed more than a few dogs sitting at the side of the road pick up their heads and turn towards us. "Look at all the dogs!" Suddenly the hills were alive with more than a hundred wild dogs of all shapes and sizes, appearing from behind rocks and from above and below us. As Jon started to get out of the car they charged. There is nothing scarier than a pack of wild dogs all coming for you. I screamed and wound up the window. Jon couldn't get the car going and out of there quick enough. The dogs converged on the car, surrounding us while barking wildly.
Like guard dogs to a sea that needs no protection, they denied us a final goodbye.

On the Road to Jerash?

Taking the advice of the many who have visited Jordan before us, we decided to rent a car at Amman airport, but tried to avoid Amman itself.  We stayed our first night in Madaba, just south of the capital, and planned to drive north to the Roman ruins at Jerash the next day. We were armed with road maps, Google-maps, and experience driving in the streets of Rio and Tirana.
The drive started out well as we drove through fields and olive groves. After living in the desert of Kuwait, the spring flowers were a beautiful surprise. We skirted Amman and approached Jerash by highway. Just before Jerash we found the road blocked by police who gave us no explanation and there were no signs for a detour. We did the only thing we could, and followed other cars down a country road hoping that they knew where they were going. It became apparent that they didn't. Cars stopped and turned around, gesticulating to us that there was no way forward. Google-maps wasn't much help, as it tried to get us to turn back to the highway. So it was by chance, that we finally made it to Jerash through the hill country shared by shepherds and not much else.

I recently heard a friend describe the ruins at Jerash as his "favorite roman ruins". They are quite extensive, and it is believed that only 10% have been excavated. On one side the ruins lie underneath the modern city of Jerash, and to the other side it is being grazed by goats. And throughout the place is overgrown with wild flowers. It is charming, but magnificent in its grandeur. And the small details, like the roman man hole covers leading to their sewer system and an old olive press, make the place come alive.

After hours of exploring we decided to avoid the gift shop and make our way back to the car. We allowed Google-maps to guide us once again ( in hindsight that was unwise) and headed south to the highway. We were alone on the road, and soon found out that the road to the highway was closed. The only alternative was a route through the city.  It must have been market day because the roads were full of vendors selling vegetables from the back for their trucks, parked in the middle of the street.  Butchers hung whole carcasses of goats and sheep outside shops, and a loud speaker seemed to be announcing the sale of cucumbers over and over. We inched along past the countless piles of potatoes and cabbages until we finally seemed to be leaving the city behind. We were not rewarded with an open road, but another blockade and unhelpful policemen.

Again we were forced to follow other cars and hope they knew another way to the capital city. How hard could it be? Jon's phone died and we didn't have a car charger. We switched to Ben's phone but Google-maps couldn't find an alternative route. Yet another road ended in a road block. By this time we were part of a caravan of cars who all had to turn around and wonder where to go.  We all crept along over the hills and through the fields.
Jon then told me we were out of gas and the gauge had been on empty for a while. He was hoping we would find a gas station soon. I then began to imagine a scenario where we were lost, out of gas and with no phone service.
We climbed a hill into a village where we stopped to ask about getting gas. Even though we tried the word for 'gas' in every language we knew, the locals just laughed at us. One man pointed ahead, but what did that mean? We continued on fumes and  crested the hill. Below us we spotted the highway, and a gas station. We were saved! Perfect timing!

Nearing Amman we were able to stop for food, and a cell phone car charger. On our first day we had seen much more of Jordan than we expected and learned a valuable lesson: travel is easy to plan on paper with the use of maps, guides and technology, but you can never predict what will happen live!