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!

Drinkers of the Wind

**There is a Middle Eastern story of a gift given to Abraham's son Ishmael.  Out of a wind spout, amidst the swirling dust came a beautiful prancing horse.  His people called it "Drinker of the Wind" and soon every tribe had their own horses.
Some years later the prophet Mohammed was traveling across the desert with the Bedouin.  He forbid the horses to drink water, saying it was the will of Allah.  After three days he allowed the horses water but also called them to him with the call to war. Only five horses forsook the water and heeded the call, and from these descended the five breeds of Arabian horses. They had high foreheads to receive Allah's blessing, high tailed greatness, and high arched necks showing their remarkable spirit. **

I was invited to tour the Arabian Horse Center here in Kuwait where these horses are bred and records are kept of the bloodlines. I am not a horse person, but there are few chances to get out here and friends told me that the place was well worth a visit.
Everything at the State Stud was well groomed, landscaped and stately. I was already enjoying the scenery and the comfortable seats before they brought out the horses.

The first thing you notice about the Arabian horses are their distinctive heads, flaring nostrils and high foreheads. They hold both their heads and tails high as they move, giving them a slightly startled appearance. I soon became entranced in their movements around the show space. They moved with both grace and fierce energy. Seeming to float at times, then they would abruptly stop and turn direction with flick of their manes and tail. It appeared to be a well rehearsed dance routine made up of intricate steps, all for the sake of our enjoyment. It didn't sink in until later that we were being informed of the center's breeding program.  This was not where they trained show horses.

To illustrate this, the foals were brought out with their mothers. I learned that they are born dark, and their coats lighten as they grow older, to adapt to the heat of the desert. The babies were as graceful as the mares, and mother and son danced together in harmony using the same steps. This beauty of movement is inherited and innate.
The Arabian horses were originally used by the Bedouin in a variety of ways because they are versatile, hardy and gentle around people. I heard them described as being "light-boned", which I would suspect is a necessary requirement for traveling across sand.

In Kuwait this horse has become part of the people's history and heritage, and they feel strongly about preserving the breed.  It was a great loss for the breeding program to have the country overrun by Iraq during the war, and most of the animals killed or stolen. Since then the number of locally bred horses has risen with the help of some imports from Germany and the US. Today the center houses records, hosts shows and generally promotes the breed throughout the Middle East.

I was quite enjoying the tour.  I was being served exotic looking drinks, both hot and cold, while watching the horses.  Every care was being taken to makes me feel welcome.  A delicious lunch was served and I ate way too much. I realized that this was the first time that I had experienced Kuwaiti hospitality.  It was so nice to be greeted as a welcome guest, and not a necessary bother.  This experience put Kuwait in a considerably better light. I started to imagine all expats being brought to the Horse Center when they arrived in Kuwait, straight off the plane. What a great welcome and introduction to Kuwait this would be!  The sign to the toilets says it all.
When our host explained the name "drinkers of the wind", I immediately thought of the recent sand storms that have blown through the city. The wind picks up dust and trash, creating a thick fog. Even indoors with the windows shut I can taste the dust, smell the sewers and feel the sand going up my nose. I am literally drinking the wind, and it isn't pleasant. But now that I have seen the purebred Arabians dance and prance in their unique and elegant way, I have a new apprecition of the image "drinkers of the wind".

In Expat Circles

Expat (noun): foreigner, alien, immigrant, TCK, migrant worker. Historically the term expatriate referred to those people who voluntarily left their home country in order to make their home in another country. Today we call these people immigrants, and expats are those of us who are living abroad temporarily for reasons relating to work. The British are known for choosing to  live somewhere else in the name of exploration, colonization or missions, without losing their connection with home. Together they form groups and try to recreate what they left behind.

My parents were expats in the modern sense of the word, leaving England to work in Brazil without ever giving up their British identity.  It was important to keep contact with home, because that is where they would eventually end up after their work was finished.  I grew up in this expat community with others who preferred to speak English and celebrate their traditional holidays together.  The American school was the center of this community and where I spent most of my time. The expat community at that time was quite small and I remember my parents being invited to greet Prince Charles on a royal visit simply because they were known Brits.  The embassies ran social events and all the families knew each other, and went to the same school or church.  It wasn't until it was time for me to graduate high school that I realized how important the school was to my identity. The thought of leaving was daunting. Where would I go next? I see now that I wasn't an expat, I was homeless (or a Third Culture Kid). Which is probably why I trained to be a teacher and ended up back in the same school I graduated from in Brasilia. It was the center of my universe as a child... my home... my community.

I continued to believe I was an expat for some time. I lived the expat life as it has become known today: one of luxury and enviable to those who stay home.  It didn't take people long to figure out that their money went further in the south of France than back home in England. People started living overseas because could afford a much more extravagant lifestyle.  My life in Rio was certainly that of an expat. We had a full time nanny, maid and a man who took care of our sailboat which we kept in a marina with the boats of the rich and famous. Family back in the US asked us why we would ever leave?  Of course we didn't share the darker side of that lifestyle: the lonely holidays, the fear of crime, the longing for a simpler life and the knowledge that you are doing the same job as someone hired locally who receives none of the same benefits and is paid a fraction of your salary.
We headed to the US for a change of pace. For me it was a far cry from going home, I became an immigrant, a legal alien. My visa made me sound as if I was from another planet. My husband pointed out that I may make the US my home, but I would never be considered American there. It is ironic that a country made of immigrants still has issues with foreigners wanting to make a new life there.  It didn't bother me one bit, I was used to being a foreigner, I actually don't know what it feels like to be local.

There is something that appeals to me about the glamour of traveling despite the fact that the job may certainly lack glamour. Our next job required a stop over on the Hawaiian islands, and after that a weekend skiing in the Alps became a reality. Now I am teaching in Kuwait, and I am certainly not an expat anymore. There are expats here, I catch a glimpse of their life when invited to an event at the US Embassy. They live in comfortable villas and get away with serving bacon and alcohol in a Muslim country. I am not one of them, here I am a migrant worker. I live in a ghetto with cheap housing for all the migrant workers who come here for a paycheck. I watch the men in hardhats line up in the street waiting for their bus to the oil fields before boarding my own bus to be taken to work. In the evening we are all brought back to sleep before waking up at 5AM the next morning to start the same day over again. On payday we all line up at the Exchange to wire money home. When I look at the first expatriates who left home to work hard and start a new life in America, I find it similar to my situation today. May all of you who are living as expats, or aspire to become an expat, beware. The meaning of an expat life has come full circle!

My Time For Tea

I'm British and I do appreciate a good cup of tea. The night we arrived in Sri Lanka I was served some locally grown tea at our first hotel. It was the best I'd had in a while; served from a teapot into a cup with a saucer, and milk in a dainty jug. At each place we stayed in the country after that, the tea service deteriorated, and I realized that tea drinking the English way came and went with the British.  Imagine that! The stuff is still grown here, picked and packaged, but then shipped overseas to be brewed by different cultures in completely different ways.
Tea production is a part of the history of Sri Lanka that I am glad I was able to learn more about.

The British first came up into these beautiful hills thinking they would grow coffee. When tea became a popular drink back home, the coffee was replaced by tea plants which flourished in the ideal temperature at this altitude. The process is simple and the leaves can be picked, dried, chopped and packaged in less than 24 hours. The only challenge was the picking, which is done by hand every few days. Not surprisingly, the locals were not very motivated to do this work for the English, and Tamils were brought over from the lower castes in India.  These workers, mainly women, still do the work today, live in poor conditions near the fields, and make about $4 a day.

The tea plantations are truly beautiful, and the pickers stand out in their colorful dresses against the bright green leaves. To my son's horror, we stopped to take their picture on the road side and visited a tea factory. I didn't understand his disapproval until he explained that it was just such a 'tourist' thing to do. But wasn't tourism helping this area? We started a family discussion into the benefits of colonization and tea plantations here in Sri Lanka. The visit to the tea factory educated me into the production of the stuff I drink, and made me think whether the country has benefited from this business, and I don't mean tourism.
The British were eventually forced out and the local government took over the tea plantations.  Unfortunately the locally run business began to fail and were privatized once again. So now they are owned by foreign businesses, some Indian, some British. They continue to pay their workers poorly and as the tea is shipped out, so are the profits.
The Tamils who were originally brought in as workers were made to feel unwelcome. Instead of leaving, like the British, they stayed and fought. This civil unrest went on for years until the Tamil language and culture was finally accepted by the country. This story seems so similar to others of colonization and forced labor in other parts of the world.

Some would argue that the country might be better off if the British had never come, or never left.  Beginning a profitable business could be seen as helping themselves to someone else's land; and offering employment could be interpreted as exploitation of the disadvantaged. The problem with any foreign occupation or colonization is that it rarely considers the local culture as worthy.  The colonists bring their own religion, language and ideals believing they are bring gifts to help a poor and needy people. At some point there will be conflict, and that conflict will have to be resolved. History shows that there is resolution to the many errors that have been made against peoples and nations, many committed in good faith, in the name of sharing goodwill and peace.  In each house, hotel or restaurant in Sri Lanka I was always offered a cup of tea and I always accepted with gratitude. Some of the tea was terrible, and I seriously question whether the locals know anything of how an Englishman wishes to drink his tea, and some of the tea was brewed to perfection. Offering tea was a gesture, a welcome, that humbled me and I accepted with appreciation.

Snake in the Zephyr

What is it that makes us think we are tourism experts simple because we travel? This last trip I stayed in nine different hotels, used one tour service, and was very quick to submit my expert review of each.  I know I want a clean, functioning bathroom, and that most guests will not tolerate mold or large spiders in their rooms. I felt I could confidently give each of these small hotels a little advice that might help their business: Provide soap and toilet paper, these items make an instant good impression...or rather, the absence of these cause an instant bad impression.

Tourism in Sri Lanka is booming.  The country has a lot to offer travelers, and despite the low prices, it threatens to make a huge difference to daily life as many locals give up traditional careers in favor of jobs in tourism. However, they must learn to cater to a huge variety of visitors from many different countries, including their own.  Many of the tourist attractions are also religious sites and there is a clear dilemma as to how to benefit from the foreign visitors without corrupting these sites. We found different prices, entrances and food menus for locals and foreigners.  And as in other emerging tourist destinations, foreigners are being brought in to run hotels and restaurants. This ensures that we will get the food and service we are used to when we travel: juice and toast for breakfast instead of curry and rice.

 But is that what we want when we travel, exactly what we would have at home? Why is the second class train ticket in the hill country so popular with tourists despite its lack of class? Do we secretly feel like we need a little adventure, to experience something new?  Our last stop on the lovely beach of Mirissa helped me find some answers.
This was definitely the most touristy of all our stops and we were fortunate to have booked a charming place right on the beach.  We could hear the waves crashing from our comfortable beds and breakfast was served outside on the shady veranda. One relaxing afternoon, as we were lounging in the shady gardens, the friendly hotel worker called me over.  He wanted me to see a large (easily 10 feet) snake making its way across the garden. I have never been fond of snakes and the creature scared me half out of my wits. The man laughed and shooed it towards the beach.  I quickly imagined this snake hiding in some corner ready to attack me next time I took a shower. It was then that I realized that the snake was heading towards the crowded beach, and the nearest bar called The Zephyr. I had to follow.  I called Ben over to watch what would happen when a 10 foot snake entered a crowded bar. The result was as expected. Customers scattered, screamed and climbed on tables.

The excitement continued as the waiters picked up the snake by the tail and swung it around. It was tossed about several times, causing sheer panic as it landed among the drinkers at the bar. Although the whole scene was very entertaining, I couldn't accept that it was good for business. Who wants to relax on a beach with a live snake slithering between the lounge chairs? Jon's quick response, when I told him of the episode later, was "You kidding? That will be the highlight of their holiday!"  He is right, it will certainly add to the memories of a trip that was a little out of the ordinary. And some enterprising local might capitalize on that and open a petting station where you can have your picture taken draped in a snake.

Tourists these days are funny that way: we want safety and comfort combined with adventure and the extraordinary. Sri Lanka allows us both.  We can sit on a beautiful sandy beach sipping our cocktails while huge waves crash at our feet and threaten to wash our shoes out to sea. We can be taken out in comfort to watch blue whales just off the coast, and drive past the stilt fishermen, who no longer catch fish, their main target today is tourists.  There are close encounters with elephants and arduous climbs up mountains. And many times all the locals are getting out of our visit is what they can manage to sell us along the way.

I say: Buy a hat! The sun hat will remind you that you are in a hot tropical country with amazing beaches; the woolly hats remind you that you can climb mountains for stupendous views; and finally the safari hat will remind you of the animals. I did buy one hat along the way, but I am still not sure who did the best out of the deal, my family or Sri Lanka... I'm guessing we did.

Guide Books Should be Written by Pilgrims

I prefer a book to online searches when it comes to travel advice. I have several guide books, and I will visit the travel section of a library when I can. On my last trip I took along the Lonely Planet guide to Sri Lanka. It is a wealth of information and everyone I met in the country seemed to be toting the same book.  It was only on Christmas Eve, while visiting my second archaeological ruins in two days, that I started to question some of the descriptions of the place in the guide book. "Stupendous structures"; "enough to send shivers down your spine"; "a thrilling experience"; and the one that really stood out: "it is one of the greatest structures in the ancient world, only matched by the pyramids of Giza... visually it is stunning, and your first glimpse of this brick monument through a gap in the forest is breathtaking."

The guide book was describing the 2000-year-old monastery at Anuradhapura and in particular one of its many dagobas, or stupas. Unfortunately the stupendous structures did not send shivers down my spine, but I certainly did feel something when being forced to walk barefoot over hot paving stones and gravel made of rose quartz shards. The hot sun did more to take my breath away than the old monuments. I had seen enough long before the tour was over, and there were still pages of "sites" still unseen of this enormous and sprawling complex of ruins. Even with the guide book in hand, I was still unsure why we were walking around dome after dome structure without any entrance.  I enjoyed watching the monkeys scamper around, talked to a few other tourists, and looked for a shady spot to stop for lunch. (Toilets were out of the question.)

As I said, this was our second visit in two days, and we were not alone. Hundreds of pilgrims were flocking to these religious sites to pay their respects. Dressed all in white and donning the appropriate head gear, they seemed unaffected by heat or lack of conveniences. It was when we had again left our shoes at the entrance and joined the crowds at the site of the sacred bodhi tree, that it occurred to me that it was these pilgrims that should be writing the guide books, not a travel writer.  Not only did they know exactly why they were there, and the story behind what they were seeing, but they took pride in the hardships they faced as a result of their quest.

A guide book written by pilgrims would not down-play the fact that you must get sore feet, stand in the hot sun waiting your turn to place your offering, or be willing to give your money to one of the many vendors selling flowers, hats or snacks near the entrance. Pilgrims would see this as a badge of piety, making the whole trip worthwhile.  The descriptions would be a lot more accurate.
I wished I could have read their description of a visit to Adam's Peak or Sri Pada before going myself. This lofty temple draws pilgrims from three different religions, and is usually climbed to at night in order to get a glimpse of sunrise from the top. While my guide book describes the route up as "a trail of stars leading into the heavens", I'm sure a pilgrim's guide would be more practical. Firstly, they might point out that it is not at all necessary to set out at 2 am in order to see the sunrise from the top. They would surely avoid this time, as it causes congestion at the top and you will not even get to the temple doors.  Buying one of the silly looking santa-hats from a vendor at the start of the trail is a good idea, because of the cold, and take money to spend at the tea-houses on the way up. There are 5200 steps, and you will be climbing straight up for nearly 4 hours.  And if you don't pass out on the way up, after the climb down your knees will never be the same. Be ready to pull up those who are less fit, and carry sleeping children down. Don't expect the hotel you reserved at the start of the trail to have any modern comforts like sheets and toilet paper. Watch out for pickpockets who will take advantage of your weakened state to rob you.

Of course there is no cable car that takes tourists to the top, and that is part of the charm of the place. When you do finally make it to the top you are rewarded with a sense of accomplishment and a beautiful view. Although you cannot say that it is a view shared by only a few, because you will be humbled by the little old ladies and small children who do the whole climb barefoot and without complaining, ... year after year. And the men who work up there, feeding the pilgrims, do the same climb daily carrying sacks of flour and crates of water.  Oh, yes, there would be so much more shared in a guide book written by pilgrims than where to take the beautiful pictures shared on social

media.

Sri Lanka: Unique Among Similar

Arriving in Sri Lanka for the first time, there was so much that was familiar, as if I was returning to somewhere I had been before.  Some of this was due to the attempts made to make me feel at home. The airport was decorated with cheap tinsel and Christmas carols were playing while we made our way through customs. The traffic, the jungle vegetation and simple construction resembled many an interior third world country. Yet I was continually surprised by the differences. As Darwin explained the differences between the finches on the different islands of the Galapagos Islands, I feel Sri Lanka has developed its own breed of similar.

When I saw the sign "Unique Among Similar" on a school I realized it summed up the country well. We had been enjoying reading the sayings displayed on all the tuk-tuks, many amusing because of their misspellings, but others just didn't make any sense to us. Like:
"He who flies no high falls not low;"  and "Why is the law blind only to me?"  Here are some other puzzling moments.
The northern part of the island is the home to several ancient remains that date back to the 3rd century B.C., and they have become Unesco World Heritage Sites. Yet nature still runs rampant throughout: cows graze, termites build and monkeys rampage. I witnessed the local

gardeners hacking away the weeds with hoes and damaging the hundred year old stone work with every blow. One sign suggested that we may be disturbing the wasps!
Some of the country's uniqueness comes from its final acceptance of the different ethnic forces that helped shape it.  All signs must be posted in Sinhalese, Tamil and English. Four different religions are tolerated.  While most areas are predominantly Buddhist,  it is common to see Hindu temples and mosques along side Catholic statues of saints. After years of fighting off the Portuguese and the Dutch and then working for the British before more years of extremists fighting a long civil war, the Sri Lankans have learned to live in peace.  Live and let live.
And now they have the invasion of the tourist.  The locals are dealing with this in their own way. Many involved in tourism seem like they are just figuring the whole thing out, or making it up as they go along. Everyone was very accommodating, and would go out of their way to give us what they thought we wanted.

 On Christmas Eve we were treated to cocktails with our buffet dinner, followed by a magic show and DJ. As far as we know none of this was planned before we asked if the hotel would be doing anything for Christmas the night before. The cocktails were passable, except my order of a G&T turned out to be a Black Russian; the buffet was a good idea because the guests could avoid the unidentifiable dishes; the local magician had to rely on his stock tricks without any patter; and his show lost some of its glamour by the five members of the "band" who were setting up on the same stage during his act.
It certainly was a unique Christmas celebration, and more than our New Year's.

The Sri Lankans are guessing what we want to do and see in their country. Tours and drivers will offer day trips to Kandy which houses the famous Tooth relic of Buddha. This is a real cultural experience, but to round out the day of sightseeing, a dance performance and visit to the Botanical Gardens are thrown in. We politely declined the dance show, but agreed to the gardens because they are supposed to include a fine selection of orchids. We did finally see the orchid house, but not before being surprised by some of the more morbid wildlife. The cannon ball tree was like nothing I had seen before, especially because of its massive scale of "fruits" that covered the enormous tree. But by far the most unexpected find was the number of bats.  These large flying foxes were screeching above us, flying about our heads and hanging in large groups from the trees. It was like I was in a movie.
As we traveled the country and thoughtfully considered the tourist attractions available to us, we learned that there was so much more to the country than what most visitors see. The elephants and the whales are two big attractions.  There are many whale watching boat trips, and wildlife park safaris.

In reality you don't have to go on a safari to have an encounter with most of these amazing animals, they are wild and can be seen as you drive around the countryside. The real attraction is the fact that a small island like Sri Lanka can support all this abundance and diversity of life. It is a testament to the people's ability to welcome all cultures and religions as well as their understanding that all creatures can co-inhabit peacefully in one place.