Ari and Annie Do Arabia

A mural from Farah Hostel, Amman

In order to round out my experience in the Middle East, and alas, to give myself some much needed perspective, I decided to take the plunge and travel to another Arab country: The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. My new friend Annie and I left after our classes on Wednesday, and amazingly arrived in Jordan that same evening. On the way to our hostel, we zoomed past the Jordanian countryside and headed into Amman, a hilly, leafy city in the middle of a vast desert. Although it was nighttime, I could see that the city was relatively clean, and the majority of its buildings were whitewashed. Instantly I was charmed.

***Let me say a quick word about the accommodations, and then I will move on. Annie and I collectively decided that we would stay at a hostel (that was highly rated) in order to cut down on our expenses in Jordan. I don't regret the decision, but I have to tell you that this princess has never stayed in a hostel before, and quickly learned what they are all about. The room that we shared was like a college dorm room, and was decently clean. However, some of the the bathrooms in the hostel were a terrifying fecal strewn mess. That's all I will say on the subject. ***

DAY 1
Our do-it-yourself itinerary was packed, but necessarily so, since we only had two and a half days in this tiny, yet historically significant Arabian country. We began our whirlwind tour of Jordan at the Dead Sea by heading an hour out of Amman on a rickety bus. For the duration of the trip, we were squeezed tightly into the back of a packed, fly infested vehicle that was primarily filled with cigarette smoking Jordanian men. Needless to say, the journey ended soon enough for us both.
Yet we were somewhat chagrined when the bus dumped us at a road stop in the middle of nowhere that was about 10 km away from the sea. Feeling very vulnerable in our semi-beach apparel, we were keenly aware of the mixture of amused and disapproving glances emanating toward us from the local townspeople.
 Fortunately we didn't have to endure the stares for too long because a very amiable hired car driver, our momentary night in shining armor named Mohammed, scooped us up in his PT Cruiser convertible and whisked us away to the beach where we clearly belonged with the promise of picking us up in the afternoon.
Amman Beach was more than we expected, with a two level pool (and waterfall) as well as a beach running about a quarter of a mile length of the Dead Sea where this picture was taken. . .

The Dead Sea's salt content is so high that a person will float on the surface without even trying. P.S. I'm not really reading that book. 

We arrived so early that we were the first ones at the pool, and one of four people in the Dead Sea. However, the early morning stillness was quickly broken by a bus load of people FROM EGYPT who wasted no time in crowding around the pool to take random pictures of each other. Despite the interruption of our little paradise, we stayed for most of the day, basking in the glorious sun (but at the same time swatting away the clouds of flies), and later we took Mohammed up on his offer to drive us to the bus stop.
The bus ride back was even worse than the first. Without going into too many specifics, Annie and I were cornered at the back of the bus by a pair of obnoxious, badgering Jordanian college guys. At first we tried to ignore them, but it's difficult to be rude to people who are talking at you, especially since they seemed harmless. They were clearly trying to pick us up, so we pretended that we were Spaniards who spoke limited English (with very convincing accents I'm proud to say), and thus could not understand all of their questions. Our stunted conversation about our soccer preferences and the weather in Spain this time of year quickly turned invasive. As you know, I have endured this type of treatment too often, and I had had enough. I scolded the perpetrator by saying, "You do NOT ask questions like that!" and both Annie and I stormed toward recently vacated seats in the front of the bus. Yet I was resolved not to let them ruin our trip, since the taxi drivers and other men we met had been more than respectful. (In fact, everywhere we went on the streets of Amman and elsewhere, we were greeted by a chorus of "Welcome! Welcome to Jordan!)
When we returned to Amman, we were feeling a bit peckish, and decided to patronize a place that I had previously heard about called Hashem. After making a circuit around Amman's main street, Annie and I found ourselves at the little hole in the wall restaurant that was way different than I expected. The thing about Hashem is that you don't order; they give you whatever they feel like cooking. So we were handed a hummus bowl and an eggplant puree, flat bread and a side of fries. The meal was very filling and good, and I was satisfied by our choice. The best part is that it only cost about $3 each.


Annie at Hashem

DAY 2
The next morning we woke before dawn to trek to the station in order to catch our 6:30 am Petra-bound coach bus. The ride was a grueling four hours (which was broken up by a stop at the nicest pit stop in all of the Middle East . . . no sarcasm here, really). Our driver tortured us for the better part of the trip by playing the worst movie in the world, the Killers with Ashton Kutcher and Katherine Heigel. We only got half-way through it on the first part of the trip, but don't even get me started on how, during the return trip he replayed the movie from the beginning until the end, thus prolonging my suffering. By the credit roll, I wanted to be an assassin just like in the movie, and I knew who my first target would be.


PETRA

What can one say about Petra except that it is amazing? The 2500 year old bedouin trade city is cut into rock formations in the middle of the Arabian desert and was also a haven for Christians during the Roman persecutions. Recently, it made a cameo appearance in an Indiana Jones movie that I have yet to watch.

The most memorable human interaction of the trip was a bedouin guy with black eyeliner and full bedouin regalia riding a horse who started to trot behind us. When I turned around to shoot him an inquiring look, he told me that I had dropped something . . . his heart. Even when I rebuffed him, he continued to follow us, and made surprise appearances several times later on our wanderings through Petra. Some would be charmed, but Annie and I were skeptical about his motives. No bedouin romances for us.

DAY 3
 At the hostel we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with a sixty-two year old Korean teacher named Tumsook (which I can't spell, and I apologize for butchering the Korean language). She was delighted by us, the twenty and twenty-one year olds who she says are at an age that "makes her heart flutter." Since her retirement, she has made it a goal to visit as many countries as possible and holds ambitions to go to Iran, because she wants to overcome political divisions by meeting and interacting with everyday people. I admire her  for her sincerity and sweet demeanor, and I hope she gets her wish.
Our last morning in Jordan, we explored Amman about which Annie and I were both surprised, because this seemingly new city has ancient roots. Two thousand years ago, it was the Roman Philadelphia, for which the current American city was named. As such, it has a roman citadel on the top of a hill overlooking the city, and a wonderfully preserved ampitheater which we both climbed. ***That is one of the upsides about the Middle East: they are less uptight about their ancient monuments. We were able to touch them and interact with them in a way that is impossible in Europe. 


The Temple of Hercules

Later we found a Bedouin culture museum, which was hidden next to the ampitheater, and then we wandered around the Amman marketplace until we were pressed for time and left for the airport. Landing back in Egypt was hard for me, especially in that on the way back to my apartment, I was stuck in a taxi with a rigged meter. (Though I still paid less than I would have with one of the vultures who swarm around the airport exit . . . it still made me furious).

                     

To sum up why I liked Jordan better than Egypt, I have made a  rudimentary comparative Venn Diagram with the my mostly positive assessments of both places . . .


SCORE:
Jordan 12, Egypt 3

As my last big adventure on this study abroad trip, Jordan left me craving to see more, and that's exactly what I hope to do in the future.

Kitsch on the Corniche

Last night I watched my mom drive away in a taxi, and by now she is probably back in New York. I was sad to see her go, but I know that in 24 days (!!!) I will be back in the United States of America with her and the rest of my family, so I'm doing okay.
Before she left, we did something ridiculously stupid. Really stupid. Really really stupid. Don't believe me? Here is the proof . . .

Now that I have published the first picture, it cannot be used for extortion. Copies are available upon request. :D

On Saturday we decided to forgo some of the more traditional tourist destinations in Cairo because frankly we've exhausted all of the important ones, and went instead to the cheesy "Pharoanic Village". We both hated it, but in a good way. The place is supposed to be a recreation of a village in Ancient Egypt, but in reality it's just a cheesy 1980's flea-bitten theme park. The other down-side is that our tour guide (who was forced upon us) acted as a jailor and watched out for any potential defections. We got a huge laugh over it, and the picture above as a souvenir, so it was worth a few hours of agony.
Later, to make up for the previous experience we ate at Barry's, the restaurant we went to in August to eat and gaze at the pyramids. They never get old, and the food was delicious.

Unfortunately, I got ill from drinking apple cider at another restaurant earlier in the day on Saturday, and I was unable to do anything except go to school with mom on Sunday. Then the next day, we went to a french patisserie in Maadi that was "very civilized", according to my mother. (See the picture on the right for me and my chocolate confection. Mmmmmmmm).
Now my mom is gone, and I'm counting down the days until my departure.

  

Coptic Cairo

After a lovely four-course luncheon and stimulating table conversation with my Lawrence professors, Mom and I headed by taxi to the Christian area of Cairo. Unfortunately, our taxi driver dropped us off at a major intersection without any indication of the direction of the Coptic city, so we walked randomly and found ourselves at a very large mosque where we witnessed a baby without pants pooping on the grass, fully veiled women glaring at us from their eyeholes, and from which we were ultimately shooed away by large policemen with guns.
Realizing our mistake, that we had actually walked in the opposite direction of the walled/heavily secured Christian area, we traipsed back to our starting point and found the correct entrance.
Coptic Cairo appeared, as my Mom observed it, like a Disneyworld attraction. The streets were fairly clean for Cairo and besides the Coptic locals, most of the people milling about where Japanese and American tourists. The buildings were all whitewashed and medieval looking, and the rest of the town was comprised of either medieval church buildings or souvenir shops, just like Epcot.
We wound our way through the narrow alleyways, peeking into small chapels, reliqueries, and churches. The last stop on this short visit was the Hanging Church, which looked like something out of Mexico with a cactus in front of it (see picture below). It's called the "Hanging Church" because it is suspended over an old Roman fort.

The architecture inside was not very impressive, though the churches' importance lies in its role as the seat of the Coptic patriarchate. We even witnessed a priest with a chest-length beard and kind smile blessing children. The experience was an interesting one for its human factor- from the old Christian women kissing the relics of saints, to the nuns walking about, and the intermingling of Christians and Muslims, co-habiting, at least in this moment in space and time.

The Chronicles of Desperation: A Cookbook

Recipes for the study abroad student who only has access to a microwave, a stovetop, one skillet, and a very limited selection of groceries:

Saudi bread pizza:

1 panatha bread, frozen

½ cup mozzarella cheese

1 medium tomato, sliced

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

2  tsp garlic powder

2 tsp Italian spices (basil, oregano)

Steps:
1) take frozen panatha bread and heat it in warm skillet for two to three minutes (turning it over when appropriate)
2) when properly cooked, place on a plate and brush olive oil onto bread
3) top with mozzarella and tomato slices
4) sprinkle Italian spices and garlic powder
5) place in microwave for 30-40 seconds until cheese is melted.

Grilled Eggplant Sandwich

1 medium eggplant, sliced   

2 tbsp olive oil (to fry in pan) + Italian spices (garlic, oregano, basil)

1-1/2 tbsp mayonnaise (to spread on sandwich)

1 small Italian bread

Side of chips

Steps:
1) In pan, fry eggplant in olive oil (meanwhile adding Italian spices while it cooks) for 4-5 minutes
2) When tender, place eggplant slices in Italian bread slices (either put mayo in before eggplant or after, it's up to you)
3) add side of chips

 Italian Egg sandwich:

3 eggs

1 tsp pepper

2 tsp Italian spices (basil, oregano, garlic) 

1 Italian bread

Steps:
1) Stir eggs in a small bowl
2) Add pepper and Italian spices in bowl
3) Pour bowl of eggs into a frying pan (heat stove on medium)
4) Scramble eggs and add more pepper and garlic
5) When cooked, place in Italian bread

            Side dish:

Breaded and lightly fried eggplant

Ingredients:

1 medium eggplant cut into ¼ inch slices

1 egg (stirred in a bowl)

½ cup breadcrumbs (if possible, Italian breadcrumbs . . . if not add a generous helping of basil, oregano, garlic) on a plate

Steps:
1) Dip eggplant slices in egg
2) Place "egged" eggplant slices in bread crumbs
3) Heat olive oil in a skillet, and proceed to place breaded eggplant slices into skillet
4) Cook for 4-5 minutes, turning over slices every minute or so

What else do I eat?: 

A little bit of this

A little bit of that

                                          It's better than Nutella

And a lot of this: 

Life @ AUC- New Cairo

I just thought I would compose a few brief thoughts about my temporary academic home, The American University in Cairo. Overall, the atmosphere is a lot less stressful than Lawrence, though I have more domestic responsibilities so the time commitment evens out. As for the student body, the university is filled with the sons and daughters of the Egyptian elite, for which reason the school and its students are heralded as the cream of the Egyptian crop. So why am I not impressed? I will proceed to answer this question with a haiku. No, not really, but that would be impressive. However, I will demonstrate my feelings to you through photos and selections from the AUC publication "The Independent":


Reason number 1: The intellect

This article chronicles how the art majors feel pitied/ looked down upon by the rest of the student body.
Fail.

Reason number 2: The talent
There are no words.



Reason number 3: The food
You're probably wondering what this picture captures. I will enlighten you. It is the chlorine stains on a girl's shirt after she spit out portions of her toxic salad from the AUC salad bar. In an ironic twist, the chlorine solution that the cafeteria uses to make sure Nile bacteria on vegetables does not make students sick, actually made students sick.

Reason number 4: The dress code

According to the general guidelines in the AUC handbook, "students are expected to wear attire that is appropriate to the academic setting and the Egyptian culture."
Thus . . . .
Mennonite chic.

Yet, AUC has one redeeming quality. . . It's so damn pretty.

Half-way point

I have been in Egypt for a very arduous, very brutal 59 days, 4 hours, 21 minutes, and 6 seconds. It seems like a lifetime since I've been in the United States, and I find myself getting restless to return.
In honor of this special occasion marking the "half-way-over" portion of my trip, I thought I would devote this blogpost to a candid reflection of the experience, without sarcasm or humor to hide behind.
Undeniably this has been one of the hardest experiences of my life, being so far away from home, and completely isolated. (My living situation is not the greatest, and I rarely get to meet with other study abroad students).
The only real human interaction I get is through skype calls to family and friends, without whom I would be lost. The environs here are harsh, and I have never had to fend for myself to the extent that I have had to here, in Egypt of all places. I travel everywhere alone, have to cook for myself (I will appreciate a meal plan so much when I get back to Lawrence), grocery shop, laundry (the old fashioned way), deal with visa issues, money, and credit cards, as well as street harassers, and taxi drivers.
Luckily, I have not suffered some more horrible fates, the tales of which have been circulating around the study abroad population at AUC. Many students have lived through multiple bouts of food poisoning, bedbugs, inappropriate touching from locals, and horrible travel experiences. Those people who came here idealizing this country are going to be leaving sorely disappointed.
I came into this experience understanding the difficulties I would encounter, and will leave with an appreciation (but no love) for them. Egypt is not and never will be among the things that I love. Yet it will be a place that sticks with me, because my solitude here has facilitated a lot of soul-searching, through which I have learned a great deal about myself and what I can handle.
I can't wait to come home. Now I just need to hold my breath and pray that the following 60 days, 2 hours, 57 minutes and 8 seconds go by at the speed of light. In the words of a fellow classmate "I'm so over Egypt."

My camera isn't waterproof, and other lamentations

On the day that I chose to take a walking tour of old Istanbul, the weather turned to a bleak 50 degrees with a side of pouring rain. It did not help that all of my jackets are back in the United States, safely packed away in boxes awaiting my return. (I mean, who needs a jacket in perpetually 90 degree Cairo?) So, I bundled up, layering all of the shirts that I brought with three pairs of tights under a summer dress.
Luckily for me, I got to see amazing things, in the culmination of the best of Istanbul: my grand finale.
Our first stop was the Blue mosque, a staple of every trip to Istanbul. Unfortunately, a cruise ship docked a few hours earlier on the Bosphorous, and I ended up having to wait in an hour long line, drowning in a sea of French people who were trying to elbow their way in front of me. The Blue mosque was kind of a let-down at this point, because it looked like almost every mosque that I had been to in Turkey and Egypt. The worst part was that the place has only one exit, so I had to stand in another line (with French people) to get out of the building, all the while thinking about how much of a fire safety code hazard it was. (I'm sure that was not on the priority list of architects in the 1500's).
The Blue Mosque

The next stop was Topkapi palace, the abode of the early sultans. Again, the place was mobbed, but I got to see the most beautiful Ottoman architecture- white washed walls guilded with gold- as well as the sultans' jewelery (including the fifth largest diamond in the world), spoils of war, presents from other empires, swords, thrones, bejeweled clothing, and the Prophet Mohammed's paraphernalia (hat, sword, tunic) as a demonstration of Ottoman control over Mecca and Medina.

After a short lunch break, my group sojourned to the place that was the reason for my pilgrimage to Istanbul: Hagia Sophia, or in Greek, Holy Wisdom. This church was built in the 500's by Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora of the Byzantine empire, and was the largest building in the world for a millenium. When the Ottomans conquered, they turned the church into a mosque, which is reflected in large disks on four corners of the dome that bear the names of God, Mohammed, Ali, and Abu Bakr.

My favorite part of the museum was the Byzantine mosaics. Somehow, the French people had not yet weasled their way up to the upper floors of the museum, and I was able to stand contemplatively in front of a shimmery golden mosaic of Jesus for a peaceful and undisturbed five minutes. Then a slew of French people emerged, knocking me away from Jesus, and prompting me to hoof my way toward the exit.
Jesus, for those of you who are not in the loop.

The next destination was an underground water passage called the Cistern. It served as a resting point for water on its way through aqueducts to the surrounding region. The cavernous cistern was a bit spooky, because its Roman columns and pools of water were lit blood red by theatrical lights. However, the place exuded an appealing atmosphere of ancient mystery.

At the end of our tour, we were dropped off at the Grand Bazaar, which I believe was a practical joke played on us by our impish tour guide who, at the Topkaki palace security check point, made the announcement that if we had any bombs on our person, we should leave them at the gate.
The bazaar was a labyrinth, and only someone with a sense of humor could escape unterrified from the chaos within. According to Arman, our guide, the bazaar has 4,000 stores and 60 exits. Luckily, I made a friend from the tour, an older man on vacation (for his bucket list), and we navigated the place together. He wanted to find his daughter some jewelery, but I just wanted to go home. I won.
After a day of trudging through the cold and pouring rain, I was soaked to the bone, and just wanted a good meal. I decided to return to the restaurant where I dined on the first night, this time indulging myself with Baigan Bharta, my favorite Indian dish. It did not disappoint.
I can thank the universe for the crappy weather at the end of my trip, because it made going back to Cairo a bit easier. Traveling always seems to be a hassle, though, and I did not evade trouble on my way out of Turkey. At the airport, I couldn't walk through to the passport check booth because it was blocked by a wall of hundreds of people and their suitcases on their way to Medina (plus their family members who were 'well-wishing' them off on their journey). When I finally pushed my way through, I made it to the other side where I was greeted by a "dondurma" stand. A friend of mine had recommended dondurma, a special Turkish stretchy/non-melting ice cream that is not technically legal outside of Turkey. I saw this as my last chance for the near future, so I stopped and paid the dondurma guy three American dollars to have my first bite, and it was so worth it!

My dreamlike trip to Turkey ended as soon as I stepped out of the Cairo airport into the hot, glaring sun, with taxi drivers ready to pounce on me, trying to overcharge me for a ride home. Hah! If they thought I was going to pay 100 LE for a taxi ride, they were sorely mistaken. A more perceptive taxi driver caught on that I was not a mere American tourist, and offered me a more reasonable fare, 70 LE for the trip. I was so proud of myself when I was able to instruct him, in Arabic, how to get back to my apartment (from the highway).
After successfully completing an infinitely amazing trip that I planned and executed myself, I crashlanded on my bed and called it a day.

A Blustery Day on the Bosphorous

I woke up to the faint sound of a light rain pattering on my window. Usually I would be disappointed by this type of weather, but its exoticism appealed to me. I don't even remember the last time I felt rain on my skin or temperatures lower than seventy degrees.
After a filling breakfast, I decided to enjoy this cool October day by walking back to the bustling part of the city to change money. The rain had stopped, and a quiet sunlight edged through the thick clouds. There was a damp wind gusting in from the sea, and I thought I was in heaven.
Then it started to rain again: it was a torrential downpour of epic proportions. I took refuge in a mall, but knew I had to get back to my hotel for a tour, so I bought a cheap umbrella and headed back, making it just in time for my tour guide to pick me up.
My excursion today was a guided cruise on the Bosphorous, the channel between the Black and Marmara Seas. It is also the point at which Asia meets Europe. Joining me on the tour was a forty-something American man who lives and works in Saudi Arabia, a British soft butch and her Indian girlfriend, and then our Turkish tour guide. I liked that our group was more cosmopolitan and international than the many large and sheeplike American tour groups that I had seen milling around the city- the suburban men wearing their short pants with socks and sandals (oh the humanity) and their wives who screeched across crowded marketplaces something along the lines of, "Hey Herald, they have goat cheese and sheep skins for sale here!". Face palm.
Even though the weather was not ideal for a cruise, we had a jolly time. The scenery was beautiful, making me want to stay here even longer. Most of the city beyond the center is forested, and many wealthy Turks build cottages and lodges along the Bosphorous. There were also mansions, the sultan's palace, mosques, churches, and a Byzantine fortress that was overtaken by the Ottomans in the 15th century.

The sultan's palace.
The fortress.

The group was so small, and the cruise so long that we were able to hold a decent conversation. The man told us that Saudi Arabia basically sucks, and that as soon as possible he would try and leave. Originally from Houston, he has been living in the Kingdom for two years as an accountant for Aramco and resides in an expat compound in a smaller city of Khafji. When I told him I was studying in Egypt, he remarked (without any prompts) that Cairo was horribly dirty, but that Saudi Arabia is not much better. The worst parts about it, he explained are the lack of natural beauty, dirtiness, and the extreme and unparalleled gender segregation. He remarked that his office building does not even have a womens' bathroom. And I thought Egypt was bad . . .
After the cruise was over, we went to two mosques that were built approximately five hundred years ago. The first one looked exactly like the mosque of Mohammed Ali in Cairo (who was an Ottoman), but the second one was charming and small with special Turkish tiles throughout. I neglected to bring a headscarf, so I had to borrow one. Thankfully, it was clean and pressed, and the loan scarves came in many colors so I got to choose one that best fit my outfit. Some people have asked if I am bothered by veiling, but in reality, I feel that (at least in religious spaces) it is a sign of cultural respect. Veils were mandatory in catholic churches until Vatican II, and most other Abrahamic religions require headcoverings for men and women. The veil has become so politicized (for good reason in many cases where it is forced upon women in some fundamentalist countries), but I feel that a woman should have the choice whether to veil or not. For many women, the choice to veil is empowering.
The first mosque.

The second mosque.
Me.

After the tour I planned to go and see a Sufi music concert and whirling dervish performance in the downtown Sultanahmet area. When I walked there, however, I learned that the show was sold out. I was disappointed, but I had a backup plan. When I visited the bazaar down the street from my hotel, there was a large open air cafe with billboards advertising live music and a dervish performance. I was skeptical about its quality, but decided to go, thinking that at the very least I would have a satisfying meal. When I got there, the place was packed with Turks, and the music had already started. Then the dirvish man appeared. His twirling was hypnotic, and his eyes were half-open in a trance-like gaze. He moved rhythmically to the drumbeats as he alternately raised and lowered his hands, experiencing the intoxication of God.

The music continued for two and half hours, during which I ordered a "pancake" that was really a spinach crepe, some tea, and an apple-flavored water pipe. (Yes, for you Austin Powers fans: I had a smoke and a pancake).
The experience was amazing. I smoked (something that will not become a habit) to stave away the bone-chilling cold, and read a book that I had brought from home. A few older American couples at the cafe were charmed by my smoking hookah and took pictures of me on their cameras (and mine) to tell their friends about the little girl who picked up the waterpipe for the first time just to have the experience.




Did I also mention, that I didn't know how to use it, which tickled the waiters immensely."You haven't smoked before?", they asked amused at my naivete.
When the music ended, and the embers were dying in my pipe, I decided to call it a night, saying a brief goodbye to a cafe that provided me with an unforgettable evening.

Turkish bath

Warning: This post contains slightly embarrassing situations. Proceed with caution.

A nagging curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to put aside all of my American modesty and went to a Turkish bath. Every guide book and internet site declared that in order to get a true Turkish experience, you have to go to a hamami. For the most part, I am all for cultural immersion, and thought, 'though it may be awkward, this place is not going to kill me, so why avoid it?'. Therefore, I summoned up the courage and went.
A little bit of background first: Turkish baths are centuries-old institutions, and the particular bath that I chose was built in the 1400's. They can be compared to American spas (which was the appeal for me), because you can get manicures, pedicures, massages, and haircuts for cheap prices. Plus, they provide a relaxing atmosphere because they are architectural marvels that exude Ottoman charm and beauty. For Ottoman women, baths were a hub of social activity, because the hamami was often the only place that they were allowed to go outside of the house. There they could sit around and bathe, and chat with other women as a break from their seclusion within the home.
As I stood at the entrance, thinking about which treatment to get, I decided to go all out and get everything. Meanwhile, I prepared for the AWKWARD. Why, you ask? I was afraid that I would have to go the full monty. I soon learned that traditionally people bathed in the nude, but the major hamamis now provide bathers with special bikinis to wear (though many women decide to go topless). The baths are also gender segregated, preventing further awkward situations.
So I changed, and entered into the main bathing room, which is a domed heated chamber lit by skylights with hot water spigots all around. In the middle of the room is a circular stone slab that fit two dozen women lying down, as if sunbathing. A burly Eastern European woman, let's call her Brunehilda, came out of an adjacent chamber and barked at me to stretch out on the slab. Afraid to cross her, I scrambled onto the stone.
Then she started hurling buckets of hot water at me. I was trying so hard not to laugh at the oddity of this situation. Then she started slathering me with bubble bath foam and let me sit and soak. After a few minutes she came back and manhandled me until I was sitting upright, and then she dumped a bucket of hot water on my head. She was so scary! When my treatment was finally over, she led me to a warm pool where I was able to relax with some German women who were all topless and saggy (not a pretty picture), and then I had an amazing massage (not from Brunehilda). Later I dried off in a common room, surrounded by other women drinking tea or coffee, and reading or chatting with friends.
The experience is not one that I would recommend for the self-conscious and/or modest. It's an unholy cross between a nude beach and a spa, and the only way I was able to do it was to put all of my cultural inhibitions aside, and just go with the flow. I left feeling refreshed and glad that I braved the hamami, that although strange, did not kill me.

I'm a traveler, not a tourist

An Ottoman cemetery

Today was a spontaneous adventures in which I planned nothing, and let situations materialize. The day began with a splendid breakfast on the terrace of a nearby hotel, with views of the Bosphorous Sea and the Blue Mosque. Then I decided to just explore. My feet took me down side streets past ancient houses, through Sultanahmet Park, beside Hagia Sophia and The Blue Mosque. Then I found my way into a bustling downtown area where I walked right into an Ottoman cemetery. I stopped along the busy tramway thoroughfare to pick up a homemade Turkish sweet from a street stand, and freshly squeezed (in front of me) pomegranate juice. Later, I wandered back to Sultanahmet, and stood on an elevated platform to take pictures of the Blue Mosque in all its glory, when a troop of little girl dancers in full Turkish costume hopped up on a nearby stage and started dancing to the beat of a drum. I couldn't believe my luck!

Afterward, I was tired so I meandered back to my hotel where I took a nap, and then re-energized for some food. Just a few feet away from my hotel is a small cafe, and I sat down to have an eggplant and yogurt appetizer (tasty to the extreme) and a kebab plate (do you see a pattern here?) Nothing could really beat last night's meal, but it was, again, one of the best meals I've had in a long time. The waiter liked me so much that he gave me a vial of Turkish tea on the house.
And it didn't even cost me my honor. :)

Most Turkish men like me, which is rather bothersome, when I want to walk down the street in peace. I was reading on a website about women who were shocked at the street harassment in Istanbul, and I can only shake my head and wonder what they would think of Cairo. This is a much needed vacation from the leers and inappropriate comments I have endured from some Egyptian men.
Other than that, I have realized after numerous interaction with locals, that I pass for a Turk. In fact, most Turkish people think I am Turkish, and start speaking to me in their native tongue before noticing my confused express and switch to English. I like it.

The day isn't over, but I thought I would take advantage of a lull to write my blog entry. Now I'm planning on going to a Turkish bath, where hopefully I will have a not-too-traumatizing experience. I will write more later on that adventure.