"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).

On Travel

Three types of travelers saturate our world: tourists, students, and expatriates.  These groups of Western travelers can be separated depending on their focus and intentions for travel.  Students traverse through the countryside or volunteer when they are not in the classroom.  Tourists incorporate volunteering or learning a language into their trip on top of the conventional beach, adventure, or culinary vacations.  Expatriates explore the tourist attractions and perhaps learn the local language.  It is not these additional pursuits themselves but the travelers primary intentions  that mold how they approach each of these activities.  As the student traverses the countryside, she imagines herself not as a tourist but as a temporary resident exploring the heritage of the country.  The expatriate learning a language enhances his qualifications for working in that country whereas it allows a student to communicate with her peers.  Besides their intentions, each traveler is regarded in a separate light by the citizens of a country.  The expatriate is treated differently than the student just as the student is be treated differently than the tourist.

Julie and I both noticed the change in treatment in Ethiopia than when we studied abroad in Kenya and South Africa respectively.  In Ethiopia, we were considered tourists, that is someone who is visiting the country for a short period with the intention of spending money to learn about the country's history, culture, food, landscape, and people.  When touring South Africa as a student, I was treated as an extended visitor with the assumption that I was more interested and engaged with their country than a mere tourist.  My ostensible interest in the country and the duration of the visit influences the conduct I received as a student.  However, expatriate's protracted stay frequently impedes the same effect from occurring.  The tendency is to congregate with people from your country or who speak your language.  More time in the country means more time to separate himself from the surrounding culture.  A minority of expats actually bridge the cultural crevices and canyons that separate peoples from different backgrounds.  The rest live abroad on their own terms, either to make some money, see the world, or "improve" the country.  Unlike students who are welcomed into the country by the educational institute, expats are rarely received with such openness.  When we arrived in Sharjah we were picked up from the airport, dropped off at our flat, and that was the end of our formal support.

As for short-term travelers, tourists visit a country for a short period with the intrinsic intention of spending money in the country.  Their presence is intertwined with this reality and anything that is seen, experienced, or eaten cannot be separated from it.  When traveling in a multiracial context, the dynamic of ethnicity compounds the issues of class.  Julie describes this dynamic as both parties being put on display.  The primary relation is one of impersonal anonymity when walking down the street.  Given the frequent language-divide, the only areas of cross-cultural contact occur over tourist activities.  With long-term travel or volunteerism, this gap can be narrowed.  With long-term volunteering or tourism, the opportunity for an increased depth in interaction is made available.  But that is another topic altogether.

The last issue to talk about is the discourse that surrounds Western travelers.  This perception that it is Westerners who travel will change in the upcoming decades as more and more people travel abroad but for now a very normative language shapes our notions of who travelers and for what purpose.  If an unskilled laborer works abroad they are not considered an expatriate, they are a laborer.  Expatriate then implies that they are from a developed country.  A similar distinction could be made for people visiting families in other countries.  They are not tourists but traveling with the intention of seeing family.  Since they would not be thought of tourists this implies that tourism involves leisure.  (The one area that blurs these distinctions is faith tourism which I'll be writing about in the upcoming months).

These slight distinctions reveal the places in the global world in which travel has carved out for itself.  In doing so, travelers have carved out different codes of behavior when abroad as have rules been carved out for them.  In general, these rules shape how the traveler is to relate to the Other, that is, the country, its land, and most importantly, its people.  More specifically, they dictate everything from when and where it is acceptable to take pictures to where one should and shouldn't go in a city or village.  To realize how powerful these rules are just think of how travel would change if all of the world's travel books were burned.  Lastly, the rules of travel have shaped and will continue to shape how citizens relate to travelers occupying their country.  These issues will only be heightened as more people travel throughout our world searching for adventure, relaxation, and wealth.

A Postscript on my Expat Life in Sharjah/Dubai

Residing in Sharjah/Dubai has been easy.  I don't really expect that my life will be this easy later in life.  A fantasy world has really been created around me where I don't have to have any real worries.  It is a capitalist dream city.  Unemployment is less than three percent.  Crime is nonexistent.  There are no taxes.  Heat is the most serious environmental threat.  The borders of the country have established a hub of international trade.  A walk along the Dubai Creek reveals dhows shipping any cargo from fish to refrigerators, fruit juice to tape players.  However, the shadow side of this development is revealed in the autocratic rulership of the country.  The majority of the population has no voting rights or civil liberties, if you lose your job you have 30 days to leave the country, and a large portion of the population is locked into a modern form indentured servitude as they build the city.  Sharjah's "Decency and Public Conduct Rules and Objectives" dictate acceptable clothing, social interactions, and living arrangements--all in line with conservative interpretation of Islam.  Any form of dissension or disagreement is simply not tolerated.  During the few protests for the war in Gaza, protesters were nervous to demonstrate against a war that the government rhetorically opposes.  Even with these larger social realities, people respect the visionary leadership of Dubai's honorific leader Sheikh Mohammed and his economic prowess in developing this strange place in the desert.  In day to day life, I've been placed in this world where I don't have to worry about the politics of the country or the civil liberties that I don't possess.  For myself, as well as the large expatriate community, as long as the UAE continues to thrive economically, sacrificing political rights seems insignificant, no matter how tragic that sounds.  Maybe its a vision for the globalized world to come: everything in its place in the local division of labor and supply chain.