and so it goes

The stark white speckled floors and bland grey walls of the Doha International Airport are my last sight of the Middle East. It is 11:17pm here in Qatar and I don’t want to leave. I don’t particularly like Doha and all its strangeness, but it is the last city that I will have stood in ridiculous heat, emptied sand out of my shoes, heard the call to prayer, and tried to translate a foreign currency into American dollars for my own peace of mind.

I have bettered myself as a journalist in a million ways. I have interveiwed people who barely speak English. I have gone to report in areas where women aren’t well received. I have seen perspectives that I would have never found in the West. I have engaged in startling and interesting dialogues and made contacts that will aid me in the future.

As a person I have made life long friends. I have learned more from Egyptians, Syrians, Lebanese, and Armenians in five weeks than I have in four years of an undergraduate degree. I ate food that normally I would scream over. I have gotten lost in various cities and towns and come out with the most wonderful stories. I swam in the Persian Gulf. I sailed on the Nile. I traveled deep into the earth in the Valley of the Kings. I have grown more gutsy in the kinds of questions that I ask, the length to which I am willing to express my opinion, and in the sorts of topics I am willing to discuss with a complete stranger.

Now, for some confirmation: camels are the sweetest animals. The pyramids are as grandiose as they appear on TV. Olive and pistachio trees to make up most of Syria’s vegetation. There are snow on top of the Lebanese mountains. Middle Eastern hospitality is baffling and wondrous. Middle Eastern men are gorgeous. One chicken shwarma is enough, and two is just excessive. Middle Eastern dairy products are unpasteurized rendering me as free of my lactose intolerance! Qatar is practically the hottest place with whipping winds. The Persian Gulf rests always around a 75 degree temperature.

Three countries have changed my life. Three countries have pushed me as a person, challenged me as a journalist and hopefully have molded my future career. Three counties have set a tinge in my heart and are beckoning me back.

Thank you for following my blog. I hope you have gotten a glimpse into my life and how it has been remarkably changed. Unfortunately, this journey ends here. However, you can follow my “back to normal life” on my personal blog, Un Bel Oiseau, on blogspot. Thanks again and I hope to see you around.

goodbye yellow brick road

Indeed, Qatar has been a sort of Oz for me. Weird, yet interesting, but not glittering green. At any rate, I spent my last hours in the Middle East having the time of my life with my favorite people.

I ignored the future-intense city and shared a fantastic Italian meal with the other students and then headed out to celebrate my roommate Katie’s 21st birthday. And, where did we go, you ask? An Irish pub at the Sherton hotel. Yes, we really stepped outside of our comfort zone. Ha.

However, in our defense, I have not seen a single falafel, shwarma, or shish taouk here in Doha. It makes you wonder if you really are in the Middle East. But, then you step outside and feel the blast of desert heat, and you are put back in your place.

Back to the pub. We danced the night away with Australians and Brits. Most of us we bouncing around the dance floor at all times, or at the very least, performing air guitar solos at our table. We ended the night with “Zombie” by the Cranberries. That sealed the deal. Everyone was on the floor, jumping and singing at the top of our lungs. We were a sweaty mess of very happy Americans. It was fantastic.

We bonded, again. I can actually say I will miss most of these kids (I can call them kids since I am older than most of them). And, for the record, I did not dip my big toe in the Persian Gulf. I went in all the way. It was warm and salty and a complete blast. I had the time of my life and I can say the others did too.

We are coming home. I’m feeling a mix of things but I’m happy to be coming home.

ambivalence suits you

BLARG. Can I just tell you all how sorry I am that I can’t supply you with photos????
Sorry, it is frustration overload. My camera aches for you.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you a bit of the weird culture switch that has happened since leaving Cairo and Damascus.

In the past couple of days I have slept in the most comfortable bed I have ever touched. I have met business men from Denmark, England,  Saudi and Jordan…all here just on business. The one from Denmark could not get himself to talk about anything but energy efficiency with me. Hmmm. I have had the best Asian noodles that I have ever feasted upon. I bought groceries at a hyper market–not to be confused with a super market. I saw a Burger King for the first time in 5 weeks. I sat in a mint infused steam room. I an elevator that got me to the 23rd floor in less than 30 seconds. I watched an Arabic soap opera. I endured 108 degrees of heat. I learned that in my flight home, the plane is making a stop in Saudi Arabia! I have seen prayer rooms in a commerical mall, where the call to prayer is broadcast throughout the entire place. I have seen women in bedazzled hijabs. I found the 1$ bill for Qatari Riayls has three birds on it.

I have walked through tons of sand and into a manicured hotel lobby. I have purchased a Starbucks coffee halfway around the world. I have yet to dip my big toe in the Gulf, but be sure I will!

I hate that this all is coming to a close. It thrills me and saddens me at the same time. I know things are just getting started, but I also feel I am leaving something behind. Call me ambivalent.

It’s a mix of wacky and weird, mainly that I don’t know how to make sense of. I guess I’ll take it all in now, and sort it out later.

the boob tube

My friends Dani, Kate, and Nick and I have monopolized the only (that we know of) working internet café in the super mall. I know, it’s crazy. You would think this space age type city would be functioning on the web with light speed connection rates. Not so much. So far it has taken me about 15 minutes to upload 30% of a photo. Ugh.

Anyway, this TV career idea is growing on me. And, I have to be honest I’m a bit excited. I was particularly inspired by what I watched today. I followed a program on Al Jazeera, first and then viewed the weather report. I felt I needed a change of program, so I flipped over to the E! channel. The channel was reporting in depth about Pres. and Mrs. Obama’s pricey date night in New York. Hmmmm. I watched it for a couple of minutes and had to change the channel when the female broadcaster started commenting on Michelle Obama’s slick up-do.

So, I changed the channel to and an American movie and TV show network. Jon Stewart was babbling on about something he recently did with his wife, which otherwise sounded funny. However, what did he then start talking about? Yep, you guessed it! The Obama’s date night. I kid you not when I say that the went on for a good ten minutes. I finally changed the channel yet again when Jon began ranting about Obama outdoing all men and how they didn’t stand a chance to his finesse. Good god!

So, I promised myself that I would only change the channel one more time before I resorted to reading. So, I flipped to CNN. Perhaps, most disappointing of all, they two were reporting on the date night, slanting the topic with concerns of American taxpayers’ money, and how we, as the people of the president, might be alarmed at this date night.

Case in point, I don’t think I need to say much more. But, I would love to be part of a television organization that does not cow-tow to the trendy/sensationalist media, that thinks independently. Hmm, Al Jazeera anyone?

zing went the strings of my heart

So, today, Al Jazeera began pulling on my heart strings. I have never ever entertained the thought of television journalism, mainly because being in front of the camera scares me—no, it makes me want to vomit. Seriously.

However, visiting Al Jazeera today gave me a great perspective on actually how many people it takes to have the network up and running. Beside trying to envision myself as an embedded journalist, which is not that likely of a career option for me, I could see myself being part of a production team, hell I would kill for an internship there.

At any rate, yet again my eyes were opened to another possibility in the media field.

I was happy to learn some great information about Al Jazeera including their strong ethic to provide a voice for all people, especially in the Middle East. However, AL Jazeera networking is spreading like wild fire. They have offices in not only Doha, but also London and Washington D.C. (just opened). They have 69 bureaus located all over the globe. And no, there is no propaganda, they are not affiliated with terrorist organizations, and they do not take a particular political stance and slant all of their news in a particular direction.

A complete switch from the intense government control tactics of Syria (despite that I enjoyed the country immensely) Al Jazeera operates as an independent medium and is not constrained by the government. Upon entering their facilities I felt I could breathe a sigh of relief.

And to make it more personal, I have thoroughly enjoyed being able to wake up each morning, here in Doha, and switch on Al Jazeera and have the option of watching it in English or Arabic. ☺

Reliable reporting, I think so. Future employment, boy do I hope so!

ET might live here

Qatar =rich nation, home of Al Jazeera, and self sufficient concerning oil.

Doha= alien city of futuristic buildings, surrounded by the Gulf and housing more cranes than people.

Seriously, this city is like nothing I have ever experienced. First is the heat. I am not kidding when I say that it feels like wherever we go there is a giant hair dryer blow intense hot winds. It is inescapable (accept for the air-conditioned super malls). I am not sure how any kind of creature sustains life out here.

Second, is the fact that you almost never see people on the streets. It feels as if I am living in a post-apocalyptic era where half the population has already been sucked up to heaven. Cranes and phallic sky scrapers line every highway and road. Everything is metallic, shining, or so intricately designed you spend most of your time straining your neck to glance upwards at the absurdity of it all.

There is a building just around the block from our luxurious Swedish hotel. It is comprised of two brown shining buildings and are joined by a multiple story tall silver disco ball. Truly, I am being completely honest. There are no “normal” U.S. type buildings here. Everything is taken to an extreme, whether it is a slanted office building that looks as if it will crumble into the sea, or a Four Seasons hotel that appears to be made of a series of castles. Sheer ridiculousness.

And that’s another thing, the amount of cranes littering the skyline make a strong suggestion that this city is completely unfinished. I could probably pair off each building with its own crane— that’s how many there are. There is so much construction, but unlike Boston, the construction is actually progressing. Ha, sorry I couldn’t help myself.

We have yet to meet any locals, as everything here feels as if it is held at arm’s length, slightly distance and very clean. Yes, to say that this is a slight change from Cairo and Damascus is a huge understatement. This is a degree of culture shock for sure.

However, there is a pull I feel here. Despite the eeriness I feel when walking down the street, I think there might be something interesting going on here. Maybe some interesting sub cultures. Maybe I just need to pull at the skin of the city and peek inside. I have no idea how to do that, but I think it would be worth a try. Well, I have one more day to try that out. We leave tomorrow at 11pm, I think.

Here’s to Doha, alien city and all.

strange looks from a cage

I wanted to quickly tell you about a special moment on my way to the restaurant with Rula.

You all know or will quickly learn that I am a crazy animal person and seem to have animal radar.

So, today while walking through the winding pathways of Old Damascus, I heard some organized chattering. I looked up to the ceiling of a random trinket shop and found an African Grey parrot babbling away in his small cage.

Immediately I began speaking to him. I tried all sorts of catch phrases and sounds, ones that I had used on many other birds. All I got out of him was silence. He cocked his head and stared down at me–the ridiculous American girl making a fool out of herself. Rula began chatting with the two owners of the shop who were smoking shishah in rickety wooden chairs. She then informed me that the parrot only spoke Arabic. Duh. Well, they all had a good laugh at that one.

Anyway, I’m sure the parrot was entertained. I called him habibi (sweetheart) at any rate, if only to get on his good side. Oh, and I did blow him a couple of kisses to which he started meowing like a cat. Hilarious. Anyway, now I can say that not only did I fully interact with Syrians, but their pets too.

they gave a beautiful night

Yes, mom this blog’s title is from that wonderful Paul McCartney song.

I know I promised I would chronicle the wild conversations I had in the Aleppo market, and I will. But, I really wanted to tell you about my night.

I arrived back here in Damascus in the late afternoon. I did some writing and quickly called my new Syrian friend, Rula, the girl I had previously mentioned in “A wonderful soul.” We agreed to meet at 7:00pm in front of the mosque, which you enter through the marketplace. Emily and I ventured out to do some last minute gift shopping and were able to grab some good stuff before we met up with our girl.

We waited at our post for about 20 minutes before we started to give up hope. Ah, two clueless American girls in a maze of a marketplace, sans mobile phone. Fortunately, our friend Rula is smarter and guessed we would be waiting where we were instead of the correct location which she had told me previously on the phone. I never cease to amaze myself. Ugh.

Anyway, we finally found Rula, or she found us, and I exchanged a huge hug with her. Honestly, I don’t typically connect with girls that often. Most of the time my exchanges with females consists of more-so distanced relationships, where I find it hard to trust the other person. With Rula, I felt something better right away. We instantly connected when I met her at our Sryian student dialogue. And, here again, I felt that she is genuine, isn’t trying to push her agenda on me, and simply wants to have a good time with us.

And that is exactly what happened. She took us to the outer Souk (marketplace)– kind of off the beaten track and not so touristy. We went into the old city area (the older area of Damascus) and did a bit of shopping (Rula needed something for her friend’s birthday) and then decided our stomachs ruled the rest of the night. Rula led us to a fantastic restaurant off the beaten track. I couldn’t tell you the name or where it was. Rula said that she still gets lost among the winding paths.

We entered through a small doorway that opened up to a huge restaurant, with an open air courtyard and balconies strung with twinkling lights. There was even a fountain in the center of the large, warmly lit room.

Rula insisted that we try new things (for us, not her). So, we ordered Jordanian chicken (spiced chicken and onions rolled in Arabic bread and baked, then drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette). We ordered another chicken dish, which I forget the name of, but it was Rula’s favorite. It was slices of moist chicken doused in a white creamy sweet sauce with fragrant rice. It was divine. We also ordered fatouche– a remarkable fresh vegetable salad with thin crunchy pieces of bread and balsamic vinaigrette as well. Rula also made us try this fantastic meat appetizer: it was fried and crispy on the outside, and a soft mixture of ground meet and spices on the inside. Can I say “divine” again?

We were good girls and finished almost everything and rounded out the dining experience with mint tea and I got an apple shishah. As for the conversation…wow. It was one of those conversations where neither person really had to think about what to say or fill in long silent gaps. Everything just flowed. I learned so much about her life and Syria. I learned about the marriage process here, how homosexuality is perceived, how minority groups define themselves, the best dishes to eat, how to make sure you are not ripped off in the marketplace, and the best weekend spot by the sea. Oh, it was so wonderful, I left Rula feeling very euphoric. THAT is not a typical occurrence.

Of course, I argued with her about paying the bill. I know that here, it is insulting to Syrians to not let them pay. But, Rula had spent three years in the U.S. getting her degree so she knew where I was coming from. I told her that it was the least I could do to say thank you for all she has done. But, she said that was what she was trying to do. I insisted and was more stubborn, plus I have a bunch of Syrian pounds that need spending before I leave the country. So, I paid for most of the bill and Rula had a good laugh.

It was really hard leaving her. The one thing that really made it ok, was the feeling I got that I would definitely see her again and soon. I hope it’s not ten years until then, but I think both of us really want to keep in touch. I certainly do.

Well, here’s to great friends, fantastic food, and a picture-perfect last night in Syria.

city hopping

If I had to write a travel book or essay on Syria I think the title would be something like this: Syria—Beyond Expectations or Syria—More Than Just the Middle East.

Yes, a bit cheesy and simply stated, but I think you get the gist.

Very quickly, I will sum up the past two days.

We left Damascus Friday morning, and headed to Malula, one of the few remaining places where Aramaic is still spoken. We visited the churches of St. Serge and St. Bacchus, as well as the convent and church of St. Thekla, Paul’s female disciple. In the first church we were treated to a priest chanting the Lord’s prayer in Aramaic. Having grown up with that prayer ingrained in my memory, it was eerie to hear it spoken in its original language.

In addition to church scaling, we explored cavernous passageways and did an ample amount of low-grade hiking. We then sauntered off to Crac des Chevaliers, a castle that was originally built by the Ottomans, and subsequently overcome and claimed by the Christian crusaders in the 10th Century and later taken by the muslim leader Salahdeen.

The castle is gigantic and labyrinthine. I never expected to visit my first castle in Syria, of all places. But, there it was, sitting on top of a series of rolling, fertile hills in the rural townships of Northern Syria. I sat and dangled my feet from heights I’m sure my mom would flip over. Don’t worry, of course I took photos. I saw the Lebanese mountains and saw and heard a wedding trail off down the road from where I stood on top of the highest tower of the castle.

From the gargantuan castle, we drove only minutes to find lodging in a charming hotel with a full view of olive tree orchards, and of course, the castle itself. Surreal, to say the least.

This morning we set of bright and early to Aleppo, a couple hours North of Malula. On the way, we stopped in Homs, an old town known for its use of waterwheels. The water wheels here span the size of a giant ferris wheel. Typically used earlier in the year, the water was drained from the reservoir areas and the wheels were not functioning. However, we were able to see the wheels and enjoy a beautiful and scenic walk in the park area surrounding the wheels. And, let me tell you, this park puts The Boston Common to shame.

After a restroom stop and a viewing of Mama Mia! On the almost 2 hour bus ride, we arrived in Aleppo. Aleppo seems to be even more bustling than Damascus. It is a business centered city that is seemingly packed with as many building as possible, with its outskirts reaching the desert.

Looking as if it is dumped in the middle of chaos, is the Aleppo citadel. A gargantuan construction balanced on top of a hill, the citadel is a maze. A mix of European design and dusty ruins, the citadel includes a mosque, prayer room, various bath houses, an amphitheater, and numerous servant quarters. I was grateful to have stayed with our guide, as my sense of direction, regardless of where I am, is uh, reprehensible. Go ahead, ask anyone who has had to go anywhere with me.

We had lunch in a lovely outdoor café that overlooked the citadel. Definitely not an ordinary view for a dining atmosphere. I had this dish called Mahamura, not sure what it is exactly—some kind of tomato, red pepper, oil and maybe chickpea ground mixture with some crushed walnuts sprinkled on top. I ate it with Arabic bread and it was amazing.

Next, we made our way to our hotel. Go figure, another maze. I kid you not, if you did not pay attention to where you were going among these cobble stone street, you my friend are incredibly lost. Nothing is direct in this city. Every place has a round-about way of getting there, and describing how to get somewhere seems to be just a confusing thing to do.

After finally making our way through various charming alleys and pathways, we got our rooms and set our for the market, which is marked by the entrance to a mosque, also named the Oomayad Mosque, as is the one in Damascus. We (Rich, Emily, Gabriela, and I) ate ice cream right away and did a bit of shopping. That was when I realized that while emptying stuff out of my backpack I had left my wallet on my hotel bed.

You can only imagine how many times I reminded myself and my three friends how stupid I was/am. Ugh. Anyway, we ended meeting a bunch of guys, one of which maintained a scarf shop, and hung out with them and drank wine for the remainder of the day. Some of our conversations with them deserve another blog post, so you will have to wait patiently for that one.

Anyway, I almost fainted in the market due to the heat, I guess, and Rich so nicely bought me some food on the way out. We reconvened in the hotel and I ended up having desert for dinner: a combination of real strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, and mystery flavored ice cream with a lemon and mint juice (amazing) and some raspberry flavored shishah. Rich and I like the shishah a bit too much and ended up staying  two hours longer than everyone else.

And, here I am. I’m sitting in this wonderful room with balconies and vaulted ceilings. Middle Easter sytle love seats line two of the walls in this sitting area and beautifully hammered metal tables are scattered throughout the room. Lushious plants dot the floor and each hotel room is marked by an intricately ornate dark wood door. We are talking lavish. Oh yes, there is a fountain in the middle of the marble-floored room as well. I know, its terrible. Anyway, it is about time for me to nod off, since we leave early tomorrow to see another mosque and head back to Damascus.

Sad to say it but I will be seeing most of you soon. You know what I mean. :p

Sending Syrian décor, good conversations, and silk scarves from Syria.

calm in the eye of the storm

Two words: Golan Heights.

Let’s just say I had heard about the villages, rather, the shambles that are the Heights. I had heard about the Israeli-occupied region and the suffering it has been causing Syria for years. I didn’t really have the time to envision what it would look like or the effect it would have on me.

I really wish I could show you in pictures. Words can’t really convey the message, or the feeling. I am not sold on all the biased information various Syrian officials, tour guides, and University of Damascus students have been, uh, pressing on us. I still need to learn more, research, and listen to opinions of the other side. However, despite all this, I have undoubtedly been exposed to something I would never have experienced. I mean, I don’t even know anyone who has ever been to Syria, let alone stood among the rumble of the Golan Heights.

I walked through a hospital riddled with bullet holes. The hospital was vacated and used as a training facility. Walls have since crumbled, tiles have collapsed and glass has been shattered. Piles of soot and ceiling pieces litter every inch of flooring and an eerie stillness coats the entire building.

Graffiti labels many of the broken walls. There are various drawings of naked women hidden in dark recesses. I spotted one bit of graffiti that a man told me roughly translated said “To my love on the other side” which probably referred to a girl that this guy loved who was living in the Israeli-occupied territory. This usually means that she is not attainable, or if she is, and decides to marry this guy, she can never again see her family. Apparently, this is a common occurence in the Golan Heights. It is heartbreaking–all politics aside.

And, that’s just the thing. As journalists in the Middle East, we are supposed to be constantly in tune with the political side of just about every situation we are pushed into. However, while standing amidst decrepit churches and barbed wire, I couldn’t think like a journalist. The thoughts that mainly occupied my mind were the lives of these people. War torn and suffering, I could only begin to imagine their losses. Loved ones gone forever, a cultural identity that they are told to forget, and land that they can no longer call their own.

Moving away from the chattering students while taking a million photos, I found one quiet and broken-down room among the damaged hospital. I knelt at the busted open window and took in the surrounding landscape of swaying trees and diving swallows. A single yellow butterfly flitted into my view. It lingered in my gaze and went on its way. Life, at that moment, seemed so unaffected, yet completely changed at the same time. It was a strange sensation. I honestly didn’t know what to think. Standing there, with glass and tile crunching underfoot, the birds chirping drowned out the other foot steps and inappropriate laughter of the other students roaming through the building.

I walked away silent and rejoined my colleague on our giant, humming commercial tour bus.