Jordan: Jesus and Moses Style

It was a fun day walking in Jesus' and Moses' footsteps in my Biblical Jordan tour with CIEE. We began with Bethany to visit Jesus' baptism site. His exact place is controversial since both Israel and Jordan claim he was baptized on their side of the river, but as long as I touched the same water he did, I'm happy. Our tour guide did give several Bible verses that supported Jordan's claim of having the baptismal site on their side. Unfortunately, the river was more like a little stream. It used to be 60 meters in width, I believe, but it's much more narrow now. I could've swam across to the other side (where Israel was) in less than a minute. But it was still a calm and beautiful place to meditate about what took place there.

After the Jordan River, we made our way to Mount Nebo where we saw the Promised Land through Moses' eyes. The sky was hazy and dusty so we couldn't see that far, but it's still a fantastic site to see the vast deserts of Jordan, Israel, Palestine, the Dead Sea, and the West Bank (to name a few). There was also a structure of a serpent around a stick that represented the story when the Israelites sinned so they were bit by snakes. Then Moses put one on a stick for the people who were bitten to look at and get healed. I don't know about you, but I just learned that this structure is the same as the medical symbol due to its healing story.

After Mount Nebo, we went down to Madaba to visit St. George's church. It was a cute little town much more quiet and less crowded than Amman. Inside the church is the famous floor mosaic of a map of Jordan and it's neighbors. After that short visit, we had a nice Jordanian lunch before visiting the mountain in Mkawir where John the Baptist's head was served on a platter due to King Herod Antipus' promise to his stepdaughter's, Salome's, request after performing a dance. We had a little hike up to the top of this mountain where some columns of the king's palace were still standing. Biblical stories are vivid when you're actually at the sites it took place.

Post Office...or Interrogation Building?

So mom and dad mailed me a package containing a MacBook battery about a month ago. I finally received a notice in my CIEE mailbox this week about this package and that I had to go to the downtown post office. But I had to go quickly so the post office wouldn’t open my package thinking it was a bomb just sitting on their shelves. I was so happy that my Jordanian peer tutor offered to meet me in downtown so she can accompany me to the post office and so we can do some shopping afterwards. Too bad receiving my package took up the majority of our time…enough to blog about it.

When we walked in the Jordan post office, it looked like what a normal post office would. There was a nice long counter with different lines for stamps, letters, etc. So I showed the man my notice and he said that I had to go upstairs. My peer tutor greatly helped with the language barrier. We went upstairs and found a “post office-looking” counter. Again, I showed the man my notice and he said that I had to go to the room at the end of the hall around the corner. So off we went. Again, I handed my notice to a man sitting at a desk. He looked at it, saw my CA driver’s license as identification, and had my package received. It was nice to see the familiar handwriting of my dad’s. I thought I would be on my way, but oh no--this was only the beginning of my post office experience.

There was another man in a uniform sitting across the room smoking his cigarette. He told me to see him with my package and a piece of paper that he gave me, so I’m all like, “Oookay.” I gave him the paper, he looked at it, then asked me to open my package. I’m thinking in my head as I’m opening it, “What the heck, is this a freakin’ interrogation room or post office? I just want my non-dangerous battery.” While I was having difficulty opening my package with a knife, the man just leaned back in his chair and kept puffing his cigarette. I strongly dislike the smell, so this didn’t help the situation with smoke all up in my face. My peer tutor offered to help, so I held the package while she tried opening it. I don’t like sharp objects slicing towards me, either. We finally got it open and he asked me to take out the contents. I took out the battery and he asked me how much it cost. I said, “I don’t know, I didn’t buy it, my parents did.” So I said a random number in Arabic, khamsiin ($50). He showed me the customs paper my dad filled out and said that it cost $130. Then I said, “Ya, that sounds right.” I continued my thoughts of why waste his time asking me how much it cost while he had the amount written on the customs form in front of him. He signed another piece of paper, gave it to me, told me to put the battery back in the box, and place it on the shelf next to him. I had my package, opened it, and now he wanted me to leave it in the room while I get another signature in order to take it home. My peer tutor and her little sister led me to the room I had to get the signature from. Another man in uniform (I’m guessing they were customs) signed it and sent me to another room for another signature…long story short, we went through 10 (maybe I’m exaggerating) different rooms different men to sign different papers. At this point, it definitely did not feel like I was in a post office anymore. We were even sent to go up another floor for another signature. My peer tutor and I had to laugh at how many times we were going to be repeating this process. I even had to fork up a 24 dinar fee since my package was sent through regular mail instead of through FedEx or something. We went back down to the 2^nd floor where I had to pay another 5 dinar, get a piece of paper stamped and signed before going back to the original room where my package was waiting for me. I gave the man sitting at his desk my paper and after some more signing, he gave me the okay to take my package.

What would probably take 10 minutes in America, took close to an hour, here in Jordan along with visiting rooms and asking for signatures that all blurred together. Thank you, parents…I said I didn’t need a new battery, but I guess without you, I wouldn’t have written this blog…

Just one of those Traveler's Days...

What was supposed to be a laid-back day turned out to be a little frustrating. One thing I'm still getting used to is that most of my plans have the opposite outcome. All I had for the day was Arabic in the morning. After chatting with my Jordanian peer tutor for an hour, I ran around the track--my sanctuary. Then I took a nice cold shower ready to go home early to relax before shopping with friends. Since Thursday is the beginning of the weekend, a lot of my friends were off doing their own thing already. I didn't feel like hailing down a taxi by myself so I figured that I should try the bus and figure out the route to take home. In the mornings, I take the #52 bus to the university so the driver told me to look for the same one to take home.

Getting on the bus is difficult. There is no concept of waiting in line here so it's basically first come, first serve with a lot of pushing and shoving involved. I kept telling myself that this is the weekend and I will be home soon to relax. I claimed my seat and took a sigh of relief. "I will be home soon." We were across the street from where I usually wait for the bus in the morning to take to the university. I wasn't in the mood to cross 2 streets crowded with cars so I figured that the bus will turn around up the hill and make it back down on the other side where I can walk through quiet side streets. Because in the mornings as I wait, I see a #52 bus on the other side of the street and a couple minutes later, a #52 bus comes down my street. I assumed wrong about the bus turning up the hill. I learned the hard and long way that #52 buses are several minutes apart from each other on their route so the bus I see across the street and the one that shortly appears down my road are not the same buses.

What was supposed to be a 3o-minute ride, turned out to be 2 hours. We never turned around to go back down my street, but just kept making turns taking me further and further from the place I live. At this point, I was freaking out inside. I got a good dose of Amman that day. Eventually, I was the last one on the bus and there was no way I was going to get off in an area I didn't know existed. Alhamdo lellah that my bus driver was nice and said my situation was not a problem. So I just chilled out in the front seat and talked a little with him about American and Jordan waiting for the bus to fill up.

As extremely annoyed as I was with this turn of events, it's important as a traveler in a foreign country to have a sense of humor and go ahead and be that awkward tourist roaming the streets.

For fun, I'll add some pictures about my daily walking routine to the bus stop:

The street I live on...

Then I make a left on this street...

And another left...

A right on this street...

Straight here...

And this is where I wait for my bus. :)