Circumstances

I've been reading American Prometheus, Kai Birdand Martin Sherwin's biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer. On the issue of his involvement with and alleged membership to the Communist Party, much of the evidence that was used against him was nothing more than circumstantial: the social circles with which he interacted, the people he met, and the ideas they exchanged. In a large sense, his emerging interest in social justice throughout the 1930s was all but unique for an intellectual in California at the time. And, inevitably, it was this social conscience that led him to the occasional interaction with communists. Reading this part of the book, what stands out is that to that point in his life, he had no interest in politics. His energies were thoroughly and entirely devoted to his scientific imagination and his existential self. If it were not for the circumstances in his life which led him to the Bay Area or the relationships that he formed there, it is certain that his concern and involvement in issues of justice would have never teetered towards communism.

This notion of circumstance was on my mind as Julie and I spent our Christmas weekend on Sir Bani Yas island at the Desert Islands Resort. Playing the determinism game is all too easy but the extent and way in which circumstances affect our lives (and have affected my life) is just too much to pass up sometimes. Around the same time that I was in South Africa, the uncle of one of Julie's friends from school noticed an ad in the classifieds in some South African newspaper for a job in the UAE. That job turned into the Director of Tourism on the island (ironically, the first time that I heard about Dubai was also when I was in South Africa). In the meantime, Julie and I ended up in the same house in Tacoma, again, largely, through circumstances out of our control. Additionally, if Julie had never met Sarah when she studied abroad in Kenya, we would have had no connection to Sharjah or the UAE. If Sarah had never married Said she would never have ended up teaching at Wesgreen. If she hadn't, obviously, Julie and I wouldn't have either (and the familiar trains of causality could be followed out forever). And so it is only in looking back that we can order and clarify these odd, fractured, and utterly diverse life experiences. Any words that we use to explain them--fate, determinism, luck, serendipity--do not come close to really giving true justice to how wide they really are.

In this light, our Christmas took a turn for the unexpected when Jessie, Julie's friend from school that I mentioned earlier, asked us if we

would like to stay at Desert Islands Resort at greatly reduced rates.

All that Julie and I had to choose was whether or not to go.

After scanning the hotel's website, the decision seemed easy. A few weeks later, we raced through Abu Dhabi, following the E11 further west along the Persian Gulf. The harsh desert landscape still set the customary background but upon entering the emirate of Abu Dhabi, palm trees and other shrubs filled not only the center median but both sides of the infinitely straight road. Sheikh Zayed (the universally admired first ruler of Abu Dhabi and the UAE) and his vision to transform the desert into a green land was in obvious practice and a sharp contrast to Dubai. To support this landscaping was one the most extensive irrigation projects I have ever witnessed, with plastic tubing stretching the 350 km+ distance we drove through the emirate. Turning off E11 on one of the final exits before Saudi Arabia, we glided past the island's desalination plant before passing through the departure lounge and on to the ferry. Twenty minutes later we were on to the southern part of the island.

With the sun already set, we moved north on the island with the occasional sand gazelle in the bush. Fifteen minutes later, the gently lit wind towers--

the symbol of south Arabian architecture--arose over the low ground cover.

Closer, we circled the lake and pulled up to the hotel, guarded by its four wind towers all leading to the grand entrance. We exited the bus and were greeted in the foyer with a tray of champagne or sangria.

The main lobby brought our first Christmas Eve cheer: several Filipino staff (who I reckon are the largest Christian population in the country) all sang carols around the Christmas tree, Santa Claus greeted the guests, and a real, child-size, ginger bread house rested in the corner. All the festivities were set amidst the Persian rugs lining the floors, the drift log benches and mother-of-pearl inlaid tables, the magnificent chandelier lit the room. With champagne in hand, we passed through the festivities and right up to our room, only having to check in once we were settled. In the room, we were greeted by our bags delivered from the mainland, a Nespresso maker, a fruit basket, and a stocking filled with a chocolate Santa and some other Christmas treats. The spacious room itself overlooked the Gulf and was filled with a blend of Middle Eastern art with a slight safari feel. Dinner was spent at the staff lounge at a party hosted by the island's CEO. As the night wore on, the first streams of lightening began to show. On the drive back, the timid looking sand antelope's now looked terrified in pouring rain. In the room, the wind creaked the faux-wind towers and the rest of the hotel.

Outside, thunder crackled and the constant lightning pounded the Persian Gulf. We sat on the porch drinking Nespressos until it flooded and we had to go inside.

The next morning began with a leisurely buffet for Christmas morning. First, we played on the sand-filled water barriers that resembled a spattering of sausages along the ocean. Then we geared up for the island's esteemed game drive. The island was originally set up under Sheikh Zayed's vision, guidance, and patronage.

However, when it was set up, it was basically his island. His majlis (a sitting place to ponder or discuss legislative matters) was situated at the high point of the island where he had a 360 degree view of his land, and he had a clear idea for how he wanted this land to look. His dictum to green the desert determined the current state of the island. Once a craggy desert island with no fresh water, he implemented a massive land reclamation and irrigation project.

It is estimated that two million meters of plastic tubing water trees, shrubs, and other ground cover throughout the island. So, driving throughout the island, you don't see the conventional desert landscape. Instead, this island is lined with near perfect grids of plants, all watered via irrigation tubing.

With no clean water and a salt-laden interior, the island is fulfilling Sheikh Zayed's vision of greening the desert. Furthermore, the landscaping was not just for his own viewing pleasure, it is used as a food source in the native animal reserve on the island. The island has the second largest population of Arabian Oryx in the world (an animal that is nonexistent in the wild) as well as a smattering of other antelope, gazelles, deers, giraffes, hyenas, and a few cheetahs.

Upon entering the gate on the eastern side of the island, our drive began began with the flirtations of a philandering ostrich. She casually pecked at me through the side of our open Land Cruiser. For the rest of drive, we saw the range of Arabian and African antelope and oryx, urial sheep, a number of giraffe, two resting cheetahs, and, my one of my favorites of the day, the small guinea fowl. Besides the cheetahs, they are all living semi-independently, with

some of their food provided and the island's plants providing the rest. What was surprising about the whole experience was how much the conservation was a work in progress (the island has only been open to the public for a little over a year).

Currently, there were just too many animals for the amount of food that was available and it showed in some of the trees that had been devoured.

Back from the game drive, we went to the pool before heading out for our snorkeling. Spotting fish was not easy in the hazy water after the night's rain but it was nice to be out in the water.

We spent the rest of the day with our friends and hosts on the island along the eastern side of the island for what sounds like a traditional South

African Christmas, braiing (barbecuing).

The next morning we finished off with another great breakfast and some time at the beach in the wind. And so we spent our over-the-top Christmas in full luxury at the Desert Islands Resort in circumstances largely out of our control, in an entirely unexpected situation (one that I suspect would never happen again), in an utterly remarkable place (for what it is trying to accomplish, no matter how over-the-top).

National Day

As Dubai's doom makes the rounds through the international news circuit, such omens seem far removed from the routines and regularity of life here. Sheikh Mohammad, the rule of Dubai, went as far as blaming the overly (overtly?) negative media coverage on "a lack of understanding about what is happening in Dubai." To a certain extent, from what I have read and heard, this doesn't seem to be completely inaccurate. In all of the news coverage I have seen, not one thing has mentioned what was actually going on in Dubai. This story broke late last Wednesday on the the final working day in the UAE before Eid al-Adha (always corresponding with the Hajj, literally "the Festival of Sacrifice" commemorates Abraham's obedience before God through his willingness to sacrifice his son). Consequently, all government ministries, banks, schools etc. were officially closed. The timing then suggests that the problems of delayed payments and restructuring of Dubai World were either accidental (i.e. someone prematurely leaked the extent of their debt problems) or they were trying to burry their problems over the long weekend. Whatever the case, from what has happened, this uncertainty seemed to challenge international markets until the beginning of this current week. Since then, the situation has only gone deeper into the country's political intrigue.

Rumors of family rivalry (Sheikh Mohammad and Sheikh Khalifa--the ruler of Abu Dhabi and President of the UAE--are cousins and the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi and ruler of Dubai are said to have very strained relationship), political struggle, and most dramatically, political centralization and economic control fill the background of the nation's problems. Abu Dhabi and Dubai have an uneasy relationship conflicting over everything from Dubai's spendthrift ways, their trade with Iran (an enemy of most Sunni-Muslim countries), Dubai's de facto role as the economic hub of the country to Abu Dhabi's political control over the country and the emirate's massive oil wealth. Amidst such conflicts, Dubai's debt problems were only deepened by the fact that Abu Dhabi would no longer write a blank check to bail out Dubai. For the first time, the certainty behind Dubai's investments was undermined, the balloon was popped. The five billion dollars that Abu Dhabi banks did lend Dubai earlier this year was not used to repay some loans but instead to play a game of chicken with lenders, affirming a "mutually assured destruction" with lenders if they were not to come to an agreement as to how and when Dubai would pay back its loans. Furthermore, Abu Dhabi's response that they would only offer a case-by-case "bailout" (versus the blank-check bailout that was always assumed) is seen as Abu Dhabi's attempt to take further control over Dubai and further centralize the UAE under their control.

So has any of this affected the day-to-day life in Dubai?

The easy answer is "No." The more complete answer is that amidst National Day, it is hard to tell what normalcy would be like.

After Eid over the weekend, UAE marked their National Day on the second of December. Any anxieties or concerns over the Dubai's economic woes were addressed and firmly responded to during the commemoration of the country's 38th birthday. In one of Sheikh Khalifa's addresses to the nation, he affirms, "We would like to assure everyone that our country is stronger and better off, since our economy is fine and our society enjoys welfare. The global financial crisis will not be a reason for hesitation or retreat, not a justification to lead us to despair or inaction." Such a statement sets the stage for much of the discussion that surrounds National Day. The persistence, resilience, strength, dedication (the list could go on...) of the people of the UAE bestow a firm foundation for the nation. It is from this basis of ardent patriotism that the country will thrive amidst and against any negative circumstances (that always seem to arise from outside of this country). Sheikh Mohammad proclaims that the country is on the right path because its achievements would not be possible if "God hadn't set for us a tryst with history." He continues elsewhere:

"It spite of the weight of the consequences of the global financial crisis, the wheel of progress and achievement in our country did not stop turning. It safeguarded the power of our economy, placed it on the road to recovery and boosted it by the way of the inensification of government investment in infrastructure at the national level... You, dear compatriots, are the wealth and weapons of our nation, you its pride, joy, and delight. I know that your motherland is the most expensive thing you have and the love for your country is deeply planted in your hearts... So gather your thoughts, light up your minds, roll up your sleeves, work hard and take initiatives, always look forward, and believe that God will not let good work go without reward."

In the UAE's exhaustive goal of self-promotion, such high-minded proclamations could be easily dismissed as nothing more than rhetorical or verbose quips, hollow attempts to kindle the deepest patriotism to glorify the nation and motivate its compatriots. This judgment would be all to true if these affirmations were detached from how people experience and live out their patriotic and nationalistic sentiments in this country.

Through gestures that amble between genuine pride and jingoism, patriotic fervor and xenophobia, National Day is the biggest celebration of the year. At the center of the celebrations is the UAE Flag.

The colors appear EVERYWHERE on stickers, shirts, hats, buttons, headbands, balloons, streamers, horse saddles, and, of course, flags themselves. It genuinely feels as if there are as many flags in a country of less than 5 million people as there is in all of the United States. But these aren't your ordinary flags. They range from the highest flagpole in the world in Abu Dhabi, a 300-meter flag along the highway outside of Ras al Khaimah, a 50 by 25 meter water-proof flag that was hauled from the Corniche in Abu Dhabi, to Sharjah's unfurling of the world's largest flag (covering the absurd area of 22,813 square meters, about four football pitches). Flags, stickers, streamers, balloons and decals of the sheikhs also adorn cars in about every imaginable fashion. Driving around and showing off one's car serves as one of the main celebrations during the evening. While these over-the-top displays stand out from National Day, at a less strident level, National Day more closely resembles a Fourth of July celebration from anytown USA. Sharjah Old Car Museum hosted a car show (with cars that were decades older than the country itself), a parade ran through the streets around the Burj Dubai, and Abu Dhabi launched a mega-fireworks show.

While these displays of patriotism are not negative in and of themselves, the hype that surrounds them lends itself to an indeterminable arrogance, especially set to the background of the larger political/economic situation. So the questions is if these celebrations are to hide what is happening, as a response to what is happening (i.e. to prove something), or despite of what is happening (i.e. that the UAE will always celebrate and that it cannot be brought down)? Whatever the answer(s), as the stories about Dubai World and National Day are brought together, the comparison seems strangely similar. In the case of Dubai World, something that will potentially not be as bad as it initially made to seem was made to seem much worse in the mainstream media. As for National Day, a celebration of pride in the nation's history is taken to obscene levels, something good is blown out of proportion to seem much more important than it actually is. So, it seems that if any moral can be drawn it is that as long as Dubai does not relinquish its grandiloquence, the media coverage will follow suite, giving it the grand coverage that its overblown ways seem to all too easily lend themselves.

The Ascent, and Fall, of Dubai and Speculation Grows Over a Tense Rift, With Billions at Stake both from the New York Times and What Price for Dubai's Bailout? from Al Jazeera are the best articles that I have read to this point. If you are interested, Gulf News has the best information about the crisis from Dubai's perspective.

I highly suggest following the links from above the visual sense of what is going on here. Words can only go so far in understanding what a spectacle National Day is here.

History will remember you.

Burj Dubai-Part 1

However it's encountered, the Burj Dubai fills the Dubai skyline and landscape like nothing else imaginable. Four lights seen flickering through the darkness. A stray glimpse through the dusty terrain. An upward gaze to count the 162 floors. Marked as a testament to Dubai's achievement, the tower stretching nearly a kilometer into the sky marks the spirit of this rapidly modernizing city. At first thought, it is redolent to America's skyscrapers of early twentieth century in the way that it embodies the city's rapid industrialization. As a wheel to the stone age, it represents this zeitgeist in a way that no other symbol comes close to matching. Yet, in the process, it bypasses a skyscrapers most basic purpose--to increase the efficiency of space amidst a rapidly urbanizing population. With the empty desert landscape looming in the background, the building's functionality seems a moot point in the face of its symbolic claim as the tallest building in the world.

So if you are to read the building symbolically, what does it say about Dubai? What collective and individual ideas and emotions are scattered onto this architectural wonder?

Is it as a schoolboy discovering his prepubescent muscles for the first time, flexing them to his peers in efforts to amass some sort of confidence? Or is it more genuine than such overcompensation? Should the skyscraper instead be likened to a student who, amidst years of recurrent study and failure in his maths class, finally grasps fractions for the first time? Or, more directly, after years of toil in the desert, have the Emirates finally affirmed their rightful place in the world?

Whether it is a deep-seated arrogance or this sense of perseverance and providence that shape the building's identity, the wonder and amazement that it brings remain paramount to me. And these feelings cannot be escaped. This attention is affirmed by the Burj Dubai's centrality in Dubai's skyline (it is over twice as tall as the next tallest building!). Unless dust or haze shields its view, I encounter and admire it on a daily basis. A towering silhouette of the Burj even graces my "Building Sentences" board in my classroom. Now, all I have is to look forward to its grand opening in the next couple months.

(Photo: "Skyscraper" by Howard Norton Cook. Print: "Chrysler Building" by Bernice Abbott. From the Philadelphia Museum of Art's "Skyscrapers: Prints, Drawings, and Photographs of the Early Twentieth Century").

Candylicious

Since arriving here, Julie has dreamed of a candy store as massive as Dubai's ambitions. Her dream seems obvious amongst Dubai's notorious renowned superlatives: the tallest building (Burj Dubai); the biggest man-made island (Palm Jumeirah), the largest mall in the world (Dubai Mall). So, it only makes sense that the largest candy store in the world would open across from the largest aquarium in the world that so happens to be situated inside the largest mall in the world and nestled beneath the tallest building in the world.

With the signs up since last spring, Julie and I and I had been waiting for Candylicious to open. Making (or being forced to make?) the prudent decision to open after Ramadan, Canylicious is now open in full force. Heading to the store for dessert, we were met with some initial crowd control. Learning a lesson from the Dubai Metro's opening fiascos, we were met with an orderly que and a list of the store's rules, all written cleverly with the occasional candy-related pun: "Don't talk too loudly, our candy is shy." "Our candy doesn't have to be crunched to be enjoyed." "Break any of the rules and you'll be sent to Mars" (as in the Mars chocolate bar). "No Photography" (there were no jokes about that rule). After our short wait, we entered and passed the sign that notified us that if we spent 1000 dirhams (nearly $300) we were entered in a special candy drawing.

I paused for a second, taking in the sight of the most candy that I have ever seen. The 10,000 square foot store was jam-packed with candy. The walls were lined with the range of candy dispensers from jelly beans to roasted and flavoured nuts. The insides were marked by one candy display leading to the next. The store was separated into unmarked but clearly identifiable sections: chocolate, chewy candy, gummies, lollipops, mints, M & Ms, and Hershey's. Like some liminal space, you passed to and from candy lands without any clear boundaries of where you were until you finally left the store. Like two adults in a kid's candy store, we ambled throughout.

Julie settled on some Jelly Bellys and I on a Hammond's twist lollipop. We steered clear of (Oprah's favorite) Garrett's popcorn on the western wall and the faux-Soda Shop in the eastern corner of the store. We steered clear of the few children that were actually in the store (all of whom seemed to asleep in strollers or already too pent up on sugar to enjoy the majesty of the store in the first place) and made our way to the cashier. Waiting in our second line, their mission statement was drapped behind six cash registers. Basically it said:

Candy makes people happy.

Their store has all the candy you could ever want.

Their store makes people happy.

And this is just the beginning. Candylicious is going to bring mega-candy stores to all the Gulf States! With a goal of making $10,000,000 in Dubai in the next year, they say its the recession-proof business.

So with my lollipop in hand, Julie and I continued our walkabout in the expanse that is Dubai Mall. Though I was not the only one carrying a lollipop, Julie teased me about my "swine flu receptacle" as we passed through the masses of Friday night mallgoers. A joke that becomes less and less funny as more than a few Sharjah schools have now been closed because of the virus.

Swine Flu

Last May, I contracted the worst flu that I have ever had. With nothing moving too quickly in the emirates, it came on like a car creeping through rush hour traffic, reaching its peak one night at Al Zahra Hospital. My temperature surpassed 39 degrees Celsius (over 102 Fahrenheit) which felt exceptionally brutal given the temperatures outside surging to their highs for the year. With an IV in my right arm, two bags of saline solution and a candy-apple green antibiotic eased their way into my bloodstream. In the hour or so that I lay there, I could feel my body temperature drop and the most brutal symptoms of the flu dissipate. While the symptoms did not disappear altogether, my health improved over the next few days. What was the doctor's original diagnosis?

Hepatitis A?

(The question mark was part of the diagnosis).

For the next week, I assured myself that the doctor was being over-cautious as my health returned to normalcy. That was until ten days later when the same symptoms struck again, except this time not quite as forcefully. The thought that I might have Hep A continued until I left the UAE for the summer and came home where the illness did not strike again. What the doctors that I saw did not consider (at least vocally) was that it might be the H1N1 virus. The one response I did hear was from one of my students who joked/teased me that maybe I had the swine flu.

That was before the swine flu scare hit the country. Fears of a swine flu outbreak filled the media throughout the summer. Last spring, H1N1 was covered most nights in the news but it was always something that was happening to someone else. It was treated as the natural consequence of what happens to people who live around such a filthy animal. Now, the swine flu scare permeates the entire news. Each night, a different story documents how a different sphere of society is addressing concerns about the swine flu. Frequent coverage also asks individuals to discuss what they are doing to prevent the swine flu (anything from washing their hands more to wearing masks to isolating their family from strangers or food prepared outside the house). Finally, most stories conclude with a small summary of what preventative measures should be taken when you are in crowds (My favorite being text messages being sent out over the Eid holiday to warn people not to greet each other by kisses on the cheek or touching noses).

In a country made up of a majority of expatriates, many of whom are traveling throughout the summer, some of the fears about the spread of flu are warranted. Combined with the warm humid climate, the UAE could be seen as a perfect atmosphere for the H1N1 virus to thrive. However, the intense media coverage and public concerns have created a very different atmosphere than when I was sick last spring. At school, parents are withholding their children from starting at the normal times, wanting to keep their children out until they are positive that they are not putting their child at risk. Nursery and and preschools in Abu Dhabi are rumored to be closed indefinitely while schools that have opened are reporting some of the lowest student turnout ever (Schools Reopen, but H1N1 concern forces low turnout--the comments at the bottom of the article give a particularly vivid example of the public feeling). At our school, each class now has its own hand sanitizer, signs have been posted in the bathrooms for how to wash your hands, and parents have been told that if their child show any signs of the flu they will be restricted from coming to school for one week. At Julie's early years campus, teachers who show serious flu symptoms have also been asked to stay home for at least a week.

In a place where the virus was once treated at an arms length, now everyone is screened at the airport and people with a minor cold are flocking to hospitals to ensure that they haven't come down with the dreaded sickness. Women using their scarves to cover their faces have become part of the landscape in malls. Travel agents have noted a major reluctance to go abroad. It's been odd coming back to all of these symptoms of the public fear of a swine flu outbreak. Coming back after being gone for the summer and seeing these symptoms of the public fear of the H1N1 virus, it's a big change from joking last spring that my claim to fame might be the first case of swine flu in the UAE.

09/09/09 at 9:09

09/09/09 at 9:09 PM the Dubai Metro began its inaugural run. A procession of dignitaries and government supporters followed Sheikh Mohammed, the ruler of Dubai. He was shrouded in his token gold kandora and they in their white ones. As he eased his way through The Gallery in the Mall of the Emirates, his cavalcade followed suit, waddling their way up two escalators, two moving walkways, and through several air-conditioned corridors. Fireworks and clamor greeted the crowd as they arrived at the metro station. But this was not the end of the inaugural run. They stopped at each of the ten open stations for Sheikh Mohammed to read his poetry, cut ribbons, and further commemorate Dubai's miracle of moving from camels to this celebration of the first Metro in the Gulf, all in less than forty years.

A couple of weeks later, Julie and I inaugurated our first trip on the Metro. It was not quite the spectacle as the opening ceremony, but it was indeed a spectacle to be seen. After looping the seven-level parking lot for a spot to park, we made our way to the station.

Our expectations that the Metro wouldn't be crowded on Eid al-Fitr (the Muslim holiday after the holy month of Ramadan), were quickly found out to be false. The station was packed. There were lines for men leading to the ticket counter. Lines of women leading to the ticket counter. Lines to swipe your Nol (fare) card to get on the train. Luckily, one of the many RTA (Roads and Transit Authority) employees that the emirate hired for the launching of the Metro directed us to one of the unused ticket machines. Swiping our newly acquired cards, we rode the escalator to a train awaiting departure. The two-thirds full train left a couple minutes later to the glee of everyone on board. Cameras and cell phones captured the view of Dubai from the elevated tracks. Sailing past several mosques, the airport, and the heart of Deira, the train dropped underground, swooping under the Dubai Creek. In Bur Dubai, on the other side of the creek and above ground again, the Metro begins its parallel course along Sheikh Zayed Drive--the main thoroughfare through the heart of Dubai. Past the Emirates Towers, the Burj Dubai, car dealerships, and industrial areas we were soon arrived at the Mall of the Emirates, a little over half an hour after we left the opposite side of Dubai.

Backtracking along the dignitary's path from a couple weeks earlier, we made our way past the several signs warning that the station would close if too many people were present. Ignoring the signs and their imminent foreshadowing, we soon passed Borders and a Coldstone Creamery and we were in the mall, never having to face the 109 degree heat outside. After our day of mall-walking we followed the signs up two escalators to the metro station. Unfortunately, a crowd(cum-mob?) stood in our way of the moving walkways and the several air-conditioned corridors to the train itself. In a country that has no large public gatherings outside of the occasional winter concert it was an obvious mess. As the crowds built up behind and beside us, we were obviously not the only ones with the idea of taking the metro on Eid. Thinking that people would be with their family did not necessarily mean that they would not go out with their family. Instead, it was like people in the US going out for a movie on Christmas afternoon.

We spent the first forty minutes in a crowd of over 500 people, all pushing our way towards the automatic doors that were opened by security for about 30 seconds every 5-10 minutes. Next, we were herded into the moving walkways, now turned off, used merely for crowd-control. Twenty five minutes later we were raced with the crowd onto the waiting train, filling the four cars (the fifth was for Gold-class passengers) to their brink. When we arrived, the women and children's car had already been invaded by men. In a place were obedience to authority is the norm (with the most imminent threat being deportation with spending time in a local jail near behind that), the security guards were unable to restrict people from coming in the car. At the first station, another guard came in and asked the 34 other men and I to move from the women-only car. With the other cars being even more full than this one, all of us looked at him in disbelief and he abandoned his mission as as the train's automatic doors closed down. The car went through the same routine as the train arrived in the next station with similar results. As the car started emptying out, four stops later, the men in the train only then moved to the next car. Arriving in Rashidya Station, Julie and I were worn out. We walked by even more crowds waiting to board the trains, most likely making their way to the Mall of the Emirates. Julie and I wanted to warn them to turn around.

On the short drive back to our flat we made up chants in case we faced this situation again and their actually was a riot. "Don't Go, Metro," "Say No to the Metro," and "Drive Don't Ride" were the best we came up with. Back home, thinking of the opening of the metro, the hour that it took us to get to the train was the one similarity between our trip and the royal procession from 09/09/09. The train itself was amazing and once the remaining stations and lines begin to open in the next several months, it will only become more convenient. Hopefully, they'll work out the "kinks" and with the tracks fully completed be able to cycle trains in and out of the main stations quicker than every ten minutes.

So even if it wasn't on the cover of every newspaper across the world, as some of the local commentators predicted, it is still a milestone in the city's development. Still, Julie and I won't be riding it anytime soon, but it was fun.

Dying Camels

Earlier this year, there were several reports on City 7 News about an exorbitant number of camels dying in the deserts of the Emirates. The camels would eat plastic bags and other trash as they grazed through the small shrubs throughout the desert. The trash compacts and is calcified in their stomach. This blockage clogs their digestive system and makes it impossible for them to eat, causing a prolonged and painful death. Though it seems pointless to even allude to the irony, it is just too much to pass up. Camels are dying as a result of the excesses and consequent environmental degradation.

The UAE carries an understandable pride in the country succeeding, in moving from "rags to riches." This pride and self-regard carries over to the Emirati identity and traditions: the candora and abaya for dress, falconry, Arabian horse-racing, and the desert for leisure, and Islam for religiosity.  Besides the latter, however, these were all pursuits that were either out of reach for all but the wealthiest sheikhs, utilized for purely pragmatic matters, or were invented in more recent decades.

A man's candora is an example of a tradition that was used in the past for practical role. The robe is complemented by a head scarf and an ogal (the black cord that holds the scarf in place). The scarf was tied to shield the face from dust storms while the ogal could be twisted in half with a small ring around a camel's feet to prevent it from walking away. While men's dress can be traced back to a traditional root, women's clothes do not have as straightforward of heritage. Emirati women wear a black abaya (that's frequently embroidered) with a scarf covering the entire face, all but the eyes, one's head, or fashionably draped halfway back one's head. In this dress and with henna and jewelry on one's hands, there is not much direct link with a lived past. Speaking of Iran, Michael Axworthy highlights just how different society was before industrialization and urbanization. Women had to actively work to support a family, doing routine tasks around one's village and home. An awkward veil was not always compatible with this type of work. Instead, at least in Iran, heavily veiled women began to emerge around the end of the 19th century as a sign of a man's status. A husband would leave his wife at home, only to emerge by his side, veiled, and with no work like to do. The veil then became an a symbol of upward mobility. In the UAE, the abaya would fit in with this heritage, rather than a form of timeless Arabic dress.

Also part of the Arabian heritage is the desert. Because of its physical and historical presence, all locals are forced to negotiate the meaning of the desert in their lives. Some people, such as Dubai's ruler Sheikh Mohammed take inspiration and solace in the desert. His result is his recent reflections in "Poems from the Desert." It seems that for most others, however, it is a place to conquer.  Trips to the desert aren't desert sojourns to remember and honor the area's Bedouin heritage, they are leisure trips for dune-bashing and camping.  Quadbikes have replaced camels while generator-powered stereos and movie projectors replaced storytelling for a truly authentic Bedouin experience. 

The most tragic result of this cultural conquering of the desert is the trash that is left behind. As a joke went in South Africa, the national flower was plastic shopping bags stuck in barbed-wire fences, blowing in the wind. A drive through the desert shows how the same holds true in the UAE. It is hard to maintain any image of a pristine desert when the view from the road (and popular camping spots) is scattered with rubbish. To make matters worse (and more ironic), the trash not only tampers the desert landscape but it is killing camels. Again, though it doesn't even have to be explained, the camel--the most popular symbol of Arabia--is suffering a brutish death as their digestive system is slowly forced to a halt. Could there be a more dismal example of the excesses and environmental destruction going on in the Emirates?

Living here, its been powerful to see the ownership that Emiratis have over their culture. Their traditions have been solidified (calcified?) in the face of their recent prosperity and in light of the fragility of the system that has been created. Basically, if tourists stop visiting, the service sector will dry up, there will be less of a demand on housing, there will be less construction, and, with each successive downturn, more resident visas will be cancelled and more people will leave the UAE, leaving it with less capital to maintain its "world's biggest" endeavors. With the rapid change of the past forty years and the insecurity of the future, the pillar of Emirati identity rises above the transience of life. This identity, like many other people in the developed world, is seen as a step outside of history. With the perspective that you have conquered the most basic challenges of life (food, water, shelter, etc.) and now have time for leisure, your destiny is no longer determined by questions of where your next meal is going to come from. Now, you are in control of your destiny, your life, and your identity, with tradition supporting one's sense of self.

This shift treats tradition as something that isn't determined by the immediate forces around you. It isn't knowledge passed down to deal with the harsh realities of nature and the surrounding world. Tradition, now, is determined despite the realities of the natural world. This isn't to say that tradition carries no connection with the lived past but that explicit traditions are now being created in an entirely different framework, one detached from the basic pressures of survival. For this reason, people have the tendency to either glorify or scorn the past. Tradition can paint an all too clear of picture with too neat of connections with the past. For some, this painting is incomplete, however, needing a painter to continue the work of preserving its heritage. For others, tradition is forgotten altogether, the painting is white-washed, the painter steps out of history, seeing their past works as a stumbling block towards future prosperity. Either way, the past is seen as such a potent force that must be dealt with and controlled. For someone living in these realities, the individual is above the clutch of history, they are now in control of their traditions, their identity, and their place in the world.

One of the primary issues that these types of tradition must confront is prosperity. Most Americans have answered this question with an attitude of entitlement: we (and our ancestors) worked hard so we deserve our wealth. With Bedouin ancestors and poverty throughout the world, this is not an easy task for Emiratis. Emiratis have fallen into wealth even easier than Americans, with a deeper sense of entitlement that prosperity is part of their heritage, just like family, the desert, or Islam. As we have seen, this same heritage has led them to weekends of leisure in the desert, the place where their Bedouin ancestors lived under the grim realities life. If destroying the desert landscape isn't enough of a departure from the Bedouin lifestyle the fact that camels are dying should be enough to highlight the disjuncture between tradition, the past, and the present. So I conclude, how can you make sense of the reality of camels dying in light of the past?

Happyland Hotel

The first time they wake up it is three in the morning. They couple had strayed into their meandering sleep several hours before. They stumbled upon the hotel just as they had slept that night, without a clear beginning or end. Their assiduous searching and muddled sense of direction lent itself to the suspicion that the search was futile. Yet, an overbearing feeling of fate, preordination, pushed harder as they walked downtown.

The last half an hour had been spent walking down Al-Malek al Hussein St. They tried to avoid the side-street cognates of King Abdullah II’s name that branched aside. The hotel was characteristic of the area. The four-story building was set along the skinny sidewalk. A local travel agent worked next store and a small jewelry repair store was situated on the other side. Downtown Amman is a commuter destination, bringing tourists in for its Roman ruins and locals for shopping. Immigrants have also squeezed in above stores and behind main streets, Palestinians, Iraqis, Checens, Armenians, and Kurds suffused downtown as urban flight took local Jordanians to the eastern suburbs.

The shops were segregated on a block-by-block basis. Travel agencies. Tailors. Electronics. Pastry shops.  All were dotted with the intermittent hotel. All were family-owned. All were in stark contrast to the white limestone bricks that built the communities surrounding downtown Amman.

The couple entered the Happyland Hotel as they had done everything since they stepped off the bus, with hesitancy and self-possession. A middle-age gentleman and an adolescent girl sat on the couch and were watching afternoon TV on MBC. Until the following morning, the travel agent was the only connection in English that they had with the hotel. It was with him that the couple went through the routine bargaining on the room’s price. Settling on a price, he finished, “It’s a yanni, one-star-hotel.” In the process Chris went upstairs to look at the room, a meek affair with a lone fluorescent light on the high ceiling, a TV sitting above the closet, two single beds, and a bathroom with the paint peeling from the ceiling. Unfortunately, he was not perceptive of the room’s possible shortcomings, still feeling as if they were, for some reason, fated to stay at the night at Happyland Hotel.

Leaving their passports at reception they climbed the stairs to the second floor.  The room was one of four rooms, all much more homely than their room and all filled by the family who ran the hotel. Inside, Julie’s penetrating eye and the hotel’s odors grew by the minute. The meekness of the room was now transformed to a state of shabby disrepair. The high ceilings were not high enough to contain the mustiness of the room. The bathroom’s dilapidated floor was too high to close the door and rid the room of the smells of aged poop. After a failed attempt to switch rooms, they fled for the time being in search of food and to take in the after-work crowds moving home for the night. 

After eating a whole days share of hummus, falafel, and pastries they returned to Happyland. The couple quickly got into their respective beds. The beds were nothing more than a welded iron frame, a piece of plywood, and two blankets veiled by a mattress cover. The couple stacked all of their sheets onto one bed, thickening the space between them and the board. They then turned on the TV only to find that it had two channels: Arabic kids programming and whatever the owners were watching in the room next door. Their voyeurism ended when they decided against watching the Jordanian soap operas. The Ipod came out next as they shared his music on her headphones and played music, movies, and TV quiz show games. The game show intensity faded and they soon fell asleep under the fluorescent light with an unhurried draft coming from the single-pane windows.

At three o’clock, they wake up with an intensity and purpose that they failed to bring to falling asleep. This pent up energy is now utilized to keep Julie from falling back asleep. Several hours on the plywood frame stiffens their backs and attitudes. She stands up to stretch her back as she prepares herself for sleeping through the rest of the night.

Half-awake, Chris utteres, “Honey, come back to our board.”

She ignores his drollness, gets back into bed, and rotates two times to find the right spot where her neither her hip bone or elbow don’t press into the mattress. While he falls right back to sleep she wafts in and out of sleep for the next hour and a half. The adan trumpets through their unsealed window, sounding off as if the mosque is right across the street as Julie rustles in Chris’ bag for his cell phone.

“Do you need help?”  He mumbles.

“My watch is wrong.  I think it’s later than four-thirty.”  She responds.  “The adan isn’t usually until six or so.”

“Yeah, I think some Muslims pray seven times a day.” Chris quips from his half-sleep.  “It’s because we never turned off the light it seems earlier.”

Getting up again, Julie turns off the light.  It no longer brutalizes the stark façade and they quickly fall asleep. At 6:45, the morning light peers in through the window. Julie goes to the bathroom only to find that the toilet doesn’t flush. Last night’s smell was not only from the dank moisture that filled room but from the treat that the last guest had left them, ruminating for days in the pipes during Amman’s off-season for travelers. Following what had become the previous night’s routine, Julie is alert, seeming as if she had slept through the whole not but feeling as if she had not rested a bit. She packs the little that was unpacked and coaxes Chris out of his sleep. He reverts to his jocular mood, feeling that he has slept disturbingly well on their board. He arises, dresses, and orders his things before heading downstairs. They wake up the next member of the family who sleeps at the reception desk. They retrieve their passports and are on their way.

"My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse."

Julie predicted rain for the last few weeks.  She wasn't sure when the clouds would split but they were fated do so. The humidity was high, the pressure was erratic, and the temperature moved between fifteen and thirty-five Celsius. The downpour came the night at the start of this five-day storm. We were on our way to Sharjah's Heritage Area, a several-block district where the city had preserved some of the cities most representative houses from the 19th century. Artists and performers from the Arab world (and beyond) converged in the Heritage area and around the city for the Ninth Biennial.  Sharjah's leader, His Highness Dr. Sheikh Sultan bin Mohammed Al Qasimi, initiated the Biennial in 1993 to facilitate dialogue between  Arab artists and institutions to create a broader reception of their artwork throughout the Arab world. The weather failed to cooperate with the Biennial's lofty goals.  The downpour forced the the organizers to cancel the play. 

The play was not canceled until an hour after it was scheduled to begin.  Driving downtown, lightning flashed above the Gulf. I still predicted that we would just have a lightning show to go along with the play. I was wrong.  Right after we approached Government Square the clouds opened and the downpour began. The rainy day stories about Sharjah mention how the roads can't handle any rain and that they flood with even the smallest drizzling. With only a few days of rain a year, its not worth the emirate's resources to retro-fit a drainage system. I never knew the extent of the flooding until that night. Puddles ran into the sidewalks. People jutted across the under-lit street to find a dry place.  Cars raced the same as if it wasn't pouring.

We parked and took advantage of the short break in the rain to get our tickets for Richard III: An Arab Tragedy. It was supposed to be performed in the courtyard of the 1854 Bait al Naboodah. Most events in the UAE are scheduled outside. The only event I'd heard of being cancelled was a concert inundated by a remorseless dust storm. After waiting in a nearby souq for half an hour we found out the play was cancelled. Luckily, we both still enjoyed visiting the Heritage Area, an area that felt unlike any other place I'd been to in Sharjah or Dubai.  The buildings exhibited the trademarks of the area's traditional architecture. The wall's fossilized coral base was filled and plastered for a smooth finish. The roofs were made from tightly woven reeds that leaked under the rainfall. Narrow passageways ran between houses and souqs until they intercepted open courtyards. Several adans harmonized their call to prayer, concomitantly announcing their presence in historical Sharjah. Leaving this anachronism behind for another day, we made our way home, stopping for mint lemonade from Emirates Flower. We could only hope that the crew and cast would remain in Sharjah for a Thursday night performance. 

Midday through parent-teacher meetings, I got a hold of the Biennial's office and found that there would be an additional show that night at the Theatre Association to prevent any chance from getting rained out. Julie and I arrived early. I forgot the tickets in the car but a theatre-going British man from the night before established our credibility and said that we were at the show the night before. We waited in the courtyard for forty-five minutes as the organizers hoped more people would trickle in. They didn't. The thirty of us then moved into the humid black box theatre with two idiosyncrasies: the traditional reed ceiling and the TV above the stage to translate the play into English. Sulayman al-Bassam, the director, gave a slight introduction of his rendition of Richard III. 

The play was set in an archetypical oil-rich Arab nation amidst power struggles and feuding family rivalries. The director seemed to strike the right balance of twisting traditional Shakespeare. The Shakespearean names remained the same while the costumes were now candoras and keffiyehs, abayas and hijabs. Lines from the original play were interposed with Qur'anic verses, Arabic poetry and political commentary. The lead musician was supported by his Apple computed and four Arab men playing kawala (a traditional flute), bendir (a snare-like drum), daf (like a tambourine), buzuq (lute). These shifts created an odd feel that the play itself took place in neither the past or the present. Yet, its political commentary and message remained relevant.

The cast remained on the small stage for most of the five acts.  Costumes were changed on the fly on stage or in the wings. Fayez Kazak, the actor playing Richard III, played the manipulative, tyrannical, and Machiavellian part perfectly. The sweat that saturated his stringy hair only enhanced his character's madness as he exploited family tensions and secrets throughout the play. The rest of the cast followed his pursuits as they deceived, exploited, and seduced each other. Shakespeare's drama was interrupted by .  The most explicit contemporary came when the Minster of State (played by al-Bassam) asked how King Richard would get away with his tyranny. The answer comes explicitly in English when the Minister answers "cooperating with the War on Terror." Richard III's end comes not in a battle on the English countryside but with the sounds of American troops crossing the country's barren desert oil fields.  His demise is precluded by the notorious line, "Mr horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse." 

After the abrupt ending, the small audience filed out of this theatrical world back into Sharjah, a city with the reputation for being the conservative and backwards older brother to Dubai's forward-looking and visionary  younger brother. Such small pockets of open dissent--no matter who the actual or intended audience--speak of realities that challenge Sharjah's undeserved reputation. The fact that Sharjah hosts the Biennial, an undertaking with the goal of bridging between cultures, societies, and times, indicates the emirate's openness not only to artistic expression but where it may lead. Overall, I reveled in the opportunity to see a play performed all over the world in an intimate atmosphere, a Shakespearean story rendered to the present to elucidate the realities of the modern Arab nation, the night after the show had been rained out in the desert.

Indiana and Lawrence

The satellite dishes stared ceremoniously towards the sky.  The storm clouds circled the city, trapped inside the mountains.  Yesterday's taxi driver had warned us about rain in the south.  As Julie stuffed her raincoat into my backpack, I recalled forgoing my raincoat, thinking it never rains in the desert.  All packed, we began our trip down the hill.  The aroma from a nearby bakery put our walk on hiatus.  The bakery's walls were lined with an array of sweets: honey-drenched pastries on trays on the right, rolling racks with roles in the middle, and a machine that rained down khobz (unleavened bread) in the left corner.  Dodging the bombardment, the bakers weighed, bagged, and sold this miracle bread on the spot.  After a few minutes of admiration, we continued down the road to the visitor's center with our honey-sugar role and bread in hand.

Into the Siq, the rock walls rose on either side of us.  The small groups and couples didn't distract from the rock patterns, formations, and carvings.  Unlike many of the canyons in Utah, these rocks were split by an earthquake.  Drainage canals, a paved road, and rock carvings were then incorporated.  These ruminants of human development accompanied the natural decor, a timeless accessory to the rustic rocks.  One side of the ravine ran the gamut of the sandstone spectrum: beige, cream, rose, and blood orange.  These shades contrasted with the streaks of black that permeated the opposite rock face, filling any cracks and crevices in the rocks.

Up ahead, the few groups began to pause for pictures.  The most famous site of Petra peaked out from a bend in the textured sandstone walls.  The passageway opened to the well known rock-courtyard of the Treasury.  The legendary rock tower seemed untouched since its "Raiders of the Lost Ark" days.  

That was at least the thought as we admired the architecture with a dozen other people.  

That afternoon the site was transformed from this tranquil scene to a circus.  Lines of camels awaited riders, mule-drawn carts raced people in and out, groups shouted, and the restaurant was packed with tourists drinking over-priced Coca-Cola.  Although this hubris seemed somehow unnecessary, it was hard to dismiss the circus as a mere masquerade.  The Treasury's size and grandeur remains uncaptured by any image I have ever seen of it.  Additionally, like the rest of the monuments in the ancient city, it didn't stand out of its surroundings but dissolved into them, maintaining its reputation as one of the architectural wonders of the world. 

The remainder of the day was filled with donkey's braying, craftsmen peddling Bedouin silver, men singing Indiana Jones on donkeys, and a growing number of people filling this valley of ancient monuments.  We climbed through royal tombs, a Romanesque amphitheater, the Great Temple (of which Brown University was proud to declare their excavation work), a Byzantine church, and the Monastery.  The sheer variety of the sites amazed us.  

Within the period of ten minutes, we saw mosaics depicting the Kingdom of Heaven, stone carvings of Egyptian deities, and a Hellenistic temple, all showing the diversity of influences on the Nabataeans.  The expanse of the city also surprised Julie and I.  Whereas the Lalibela churches were carved out in a small site, the main city streched for miles (and this didn't even include the additional sites within half a day's hike).

  

As the crowds grew, we felt that one day was sufficient for what we hoped to see.  This influx also caused stress on the few toilets in the park.  The sceptic system on one toilet started to overflow.  One woman was quick to complain: "Where am I supposed to go?"  The snappy bathroom attendant put the woman in her place, answering, "In a cave, behind a bush, by that rock.  Anywhere."  With the turmoil growing, we followed an ungainly camel with the habit of bumping into oblivious amateur photographers.

  

Leaving the camel at the Treasury's circus, we followed the Ben Hur chariots race up the Siq to the visitor's center.  

Our day ended as it had begun, at the Sanabel Bakery before having falafel for dinner.

To finalize our triumvirate, we began the next day at the bakery.  We were then picked up by Saleh who was to take us to Wadi Rum.  He raced out of the valley as if he could complete the drive both blind and blindfolded.  He would cross both lanes on blind curves where he "knew" no cars would be.  He used a scenic lookout for a shortcut.  He stopped at the pass to announce one of King Abdullah II's mansions.  The king has the perfect location for his house, overlooking the Edomite mountains surrounding Petra.  Even on this rainy morning, the valley was dry and foreboding.  This terrain only intensified as we neared Wadi Rum.  The sand redened, the cliff faces grew taller, and more camels crowded the landscape.  In Rum Village, we met Mohammed, our tour organizer.  Chain-smoking with a lanky build and greased-back hair, he was everything and nothing you'd expect from a Bedouin-turned-businessman.  He was a rock-climber who had travelled all over the Mediterranean in between organizing trips into the desert.

The Jordanian government has developed a sustainable and profitable business around tourists fulfilling their Lawrence of Arabia fantasies.  Only guides living within the village are authorized to arrange trips.  In addition to the 4x4 or camel tour, each overnight trip ends at the agency's own Bedouin camp in the desert.  Our trip was conducted with a Swedish couple and another American.  We all crammed into a Landcruiser that transitioned from falling apart slowly in the morning to rather rapidly by the end of the day.  There were no mirrors, no gas cap, no spare tire, it had a broken odometer, and the horn on the steering wheel fell off mid-journey.  Unlike Utah's Canyonlands or Arches National Parks where you spend most of your time above the surrounding desert, we drove amidst the valley bottom in the rocks.  I imagine that Monument Valley has a similar feel.  

The variety and diversity of Wadi Rum separate it from anywhere else in the world that I have ever been.  Each turn and each direction I looked had totally different cliffs, canyons, and rock outcroppings.  The shades of red seen in Petra became even more vibrant when they were contrasted with limestone.  There were red sand dunes descending from white cliffs, white dunes ascending to red cliffs.

 

We drove by the spring where Lawrence bathed, where he bathed, Nabataean petroglyphs, deep red sand dunes, slot canyons, cliffs, and a rock bridge, and around a slew of other rock formations.  Several plateaus resembled an ice-cream cone flipped over, the red strawberry ice-cream melting from the white cone above.  Two rocks looked bizarrely similar to a chicken and its egg.  I walked up a slot canyon with as many twists and turns as a Jordanian soap opera.  The rocks also drew more serious imagery.  Julie thought one rock face looked like a row of hands praying.  Another time, one side of the valley looked like the front of a sanctuary with the other side providing the pipe organ.  To our driver with a partial grasp of English, the only way I could describe it was by saying, "It's big."  The grandeur set Wadi Rum apart from any other desert I had ever seen.  The size also opened me to the realization of just how isolated and isolating this desert was.  There were no roads, only the occasional camel or 4x4 that skimmed over the landscape.  The one sign of civilization were the Bedouin camps were visitors stayed.

Our camp was equipped with solar-heated showers, nearly a dozen Bedouin tents, a dining room, and a rondavel with a fire place for the cold desert evenings.  Once we arrived, Julie and I walked into the desert, pursuing a camel for the quintessential desert photograph.  Seconds before the picture, the camel was intercepted by a truck herding him back to Wadi Village.  Back at camp, the night was spent around the fire before we moved into our personal Bedouin tent, equipped with a floor mattress, three comforters, and pillows that felt as if they were filled with sand.  The next morning I gradually awoke to the most quiet I have heard in a long time.  After a quick breakfast, we drove back to Rum Village where I picked all the sand from my beard.

Aqaba was our next destination.  We had about one hour before the bus left to Amman.  We strolled along the waterfront, wishing we had an extra day to take a dip in the deep blue water.  Instead, we boarded the bus on the Desert Highway that took us directly to Amman.  From the bus station we headed downtown in search of a cheap hotel.  Happyland Hotel fit the criteria and we then headed out through the souq and shopping areas.  Lonely Planet's described Amman as not a place to experience medieval souqs but to see a modern Arab city grappling with its identity through its heritage and newfound diversity.  

 description seems to perfectly encapsulate the city based on my miniscule experience of it.  

 Amman is home to many of the Palestinian refugees as well as an increasing number of Iraqis.  Around 5:00 PM, the streets were filled with people shopping and making their way home.  First walking  up the main streets, we soon moved to the side streets in search of a restaurant for dinner.  Instead we came across the fruit and vegetable market.  

from opposite sides of the street clamored for customers, each offering the best deal on carrots or lettuce.  The smell of newly picked produce faded as we passed into the meat market where goat hung in the windows, fresh from its dhabihah, or ritual slaughter.  

There was no restaurant until we found a legendary place that serves bread, hummus, and falafel.  When you enter you get a sheet of wax paper and a piece of fresh bread from a mound on a table.  Seconds later we got a generous bowl of hummus doused in olive oil.  The falafel was last and was the definite culinary highlight--at least from the savory side of things.  After dinner we got a few pastries before heading back for a long night at the Happyland Hotel.  The next morning we headed to Queen Alia airport for our super-discounted flight on Jazeera Airlines.  

Jordan's size made it a good destination for a long weekend trip.  We could drive from one side of the country to the other in less than four hours.  In this light, it was dismal thinking of the even smaller area that Israel and the Palestinian territories fill.  The drive between Jerusalem and Gaza City would take less than half an hour.  Even before Israel's invasion, it was impossible for Palestinians to make that short trip.  I saw Eilat,the first Israeli settlement I've ever seen, and also the spots of refuge camps in greater Amman.  Amidst our whirlwind vacation, it was odd dropping from the sky into a country that was a pocket amidst the strife, conflict, and closure all around.  

The only country I could have visited was the West Bank's territories.  Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, and Syria are all blocked to Americans.  An Israeli stamp in the passport would have been my immediate ticket out of the UAE.  I'm still not really sure what to make of being in that atmosphere but I look forward to going back and learning more about that part of the world (especially if some of these countries open their borders with the diplomacy of our president).