Monday, November 14, 2011
The fallacy of using history to describe a fix state....
A little research online revealed that the The Hasimite Kingdom of Jordan is at the crossroads of history. At one point ruled by ancient Egypt, the Greeks, Rome, the pan-Arabic Caliphate, a battle ground of the Crusades, the Ottoman Empire, and eventually the British, which ruled Jordan until 1946. Finally independent, she is at the center of the world's most intractable conflict. Directly across the Red Sea from Aqaba is the Israeli city of Eilat. A little further down the coast across the Red sea lies Egypt. Direct south of Aqaba is Saudi Arabia. If the simmering pot that is the Middle East boils over, this area may get splashed. Jordan has good relations with its neighbors, though that is never set in stone. As Britain's Lord Palmerton stated over a century ago, “Nations have no permanent friends or allies, [sic] they only have permanent interests.”
Geopolitical disasters would need to wait, however. Friday is the Muslim Sabbath, which meant my dad's jobsite was closed down. By extension, it is also the only day off of week. Nevertheless, we headed over to the office to feed the stray cats and make certain the site was otherwise OK. some months prior, my father found a very cute, but very sick, kitten. We of the Smarsch family have a strong affinity for cats, and my dad took it to vet to treat the systemic infections. Tiger became the office mascot. Karl and I had seen pictures of the feline, and I was happy to meet this playful little fur ball.
Once we arrived, my dad turned on the generators and he caught up on his email while we took turns playing with the kitty. Tiger is only a few months old, but was already longer than my adult cat back home. Karl and I reckon he's part Abyssinian, which as known for their long, lean bodies and golden eyes. They are also very affectionate and playful, and Tiger was no exception. He was either sleeping in my arms, or trying to catch flies while sitting on my head. After he launched himself at a fly, he scratched the top of my head, i.e. my bald spot. I gather he realized he caused discomfort because he reacted to my flinching by looking at me then rubbing where his claws landed. Needless to say, Karl and I said the cat will be coming back to the USA when my father returns, and this was not up for debate.
Tiger was not the only kitten on site. A smaller gray and black tabby, which I named Bandit (the black lines looked like a mask around his eyes), poked his head out from under the temporary building which contained my dad's office. Evidently Tiger and Bandit don't get along, so each had to be fed separately. No problem, we gave each a plate of food and dish of water, and after taking a few pics of us with Tiger, we were on our way.
We toured the construction in my father's company car. When people asked what my father did there, I always replied that he was building a cement plant. That was his assignment prior to Jordan, and thought it was the same. This was not the case. He was building a plant - for fertilizer. Evidently Jordan has huge phosphorus deposits, which is mined and processed in Jordan, then shipped using Jordan's only seaport: Aqaba. Phosphates are one of Jordan's main exports, and vital to agriculture. While I marinated on the economic implications, Karl and my father discussed the practicalities of building something so huge. Karl is an iron worker, and had the safety personnel been on site, he would have climbed all over the steel framework like a jungle gym. After the tour (and nearly getting our car stuck in the sand), we headed down the road to Tala Bay, the resort section of Aqaba on the Red Sea.
The agenda for the rest of the day was simple. Lunch, then swimming. We went to a resort, and in deference to geopolitical surrounds, had the car checked for bombs. I thought briefly about resorts in Jamaica or the Dominican Republic, which come with the best of everything, such as top of the line razor wire and armed security. Quite the price to pay for palm trees and rum drinks. The comparison isn't perfect; the vast majority of Jordanians, while probably not the biggest fans of Westerners, aren't looking to rob or cause harm. There are a few unusually motivated individuals who would love the exposure generated by killing a few tourists, or perhaps even killing a few people who worked at a nearby facility whose purpose I still can't quite explain.
Concern over shrapnel, sight lines, and cover aside, the resort where we ate was beautiful, and the food was good. I ordered a steak sandwich and a diet Pepsi, and the caffeine withdrawal started to abate. We chatted for a bit, looked at the water, then drove over to the the largest foreign presence in Aqaba and beyond: Movenpick.
Movenpick (note: I have no umlaut - the two dots above a vowel in German script. It is not pronounced mo-ven-PIK. It is close to MOOO-ven-pik. The sound is difficult to describe in typed English) is a Swiss resort chain with a hotel in the middle of Aqaba and another on Tala Bay. We had arranged through our father's secretary to get discounted tickets to use the facilities. Karl would go swimming, and I would eat ice cream. Easier said than done, since I was approached by the friend (cousin? brother? classmate?) of Samah, instead of my father. This royally screwed up our available time, though eventually the mistake was fixed.
Once we got the ticket, and I went through the humiliation of finding out that Jordanian swim trunks size 5 FUCKING X were too small, we settled into our respective activities. Dad went to his apartment, Karl went swimming, and I took out my cell and I-Pod to surf the Internet, answer a few emails, and post a few sarcastic comments on Facebook. I also had another soda, and a scoop of ice cream. While I lounged and Karl swam, I had a chance to check out the setting and grounds. The Red Sea was beautiful, with boats sailing the bay. Egypt was a distant shore obscured by sand, and resort itself was stunning. We even had stray cats roaming the grounds. They were shy, though they looked healthy. This was becoming a theme. How many stray animals did this town have?
Karl and I talked for a bit, and we discussed getting massages at the spa. I was all in, Karl less so. I hate waiting, so I went by myself, and got an hour massage for 80 JD. I was impressed with the presentation of the spa. They even gave me a menu. I wasn't looking for seaweed wraps or a mud bath. I merely wanted to have my spine in working order once more. While the list of services wowed me, I was less impressed with the massage itself. I'm large, and it can be hard to work my muscles.
She did the best she could, and I tipped her 20 JD. I paid with my credit card, and met with Karl. He was annoyed I went without him, and he said he would get one in a few minutes. We hung out for a while, then Karl went back to the pool. He tried to get a massage later, but two guys were occupying the spa's table in the lobby like they were trying to work up the courage to ask out the attendants. Eventually, we had the front desk call the table to move these slugs along. That didn't work, so Karl just went up and interrupted. He was told the spa was booked.
He used the hot tub instead, though I knew he was aggravated. We waited for our dad to make plans for dinner. We decided to kill two birds with one stone by staying at Movenpick for dinner and watch some belly dancing. Once decided, we sauntered to the rooftop bar overlooking the pool and ocean.
I confess I felt slightly guilty and ashamed. Here we were, 3 Americans spending our time and money at a resort owned by a Swiss company, with a staff of Eastern Europeans, Africans, Asians, and only a few Arabs. Is the resentment felt by some in the Middle East justified? Should we have gone to a local place owned by Jordanians? Could I find such a place if I tried? Actually, after the pizza, I would have voted nay. I saw myself as a colonizer of a sort; a man of little privilege or status back home, but cock of the walk around here. I felt that way until we entered the bar. If there was ill will, it wasn't reflected in the mostly Arab customers, who were partying like it was 1999, in Times Square, at 11:59:59. I had to laugh at myself. I've been living in New York for too long. Even without a television, subscribing to conservative blogs, listening to Glenn Beck, voting Republican, and researching expat websites non-stop since 2001, I still fell victim to liberal guilt.
The food was standard restaurant fare, with chicken sandwiches, burgers, and the like. The only nod to our Muslim surroundings was the absence of pork. Sausage was made with turkey; bacon was a beef product. Otherwise it was no different than the Poconos. The belly dancer was also a little out of place. For one, she wasn't Arabic. I didn't get the chance to talk to her, but my best guess was Russian. She was ok, and attractive, but her belly dancing skills were merely passable. Ironically, I traveled 6000 miles to watch a belly dancer with less skill and paler skin than the ladies at Pennsic. Understand I wasn't complaining. The other customers didn't seem to mind either, as they were whooping it up like they were at a burlesque show. The customer is always right.
I wanted to end our night in a special way, so I ordered a sheesha, i.e. a hookah with flavored tobacco. Karl rolled his eyes, but I would not be dissuaded. I chose the lemon mint flavor, which was kind of like smoking a cough drop. My dad also partook, and it was a good smoke. This was first time I smoked anything since I quit cigars last August. I didn't over indulge; the old cigar smoking me would have sucked the thing dry.
Some misgivings about our presence and a little confusion aside, we had a very nice day relaxing and recharging our batteries. We went back to the apartment, talked a bit, then we went to our rooms. I still wasn't ready to sleep, but I didn't want to keep Karl or my dad awake either. I took out my Kindle, and due to the wonders of world-wide 3G service, bought a book, and read myself to sleep.
Saturday was much the same. We went straight to Movenpick, had lunch, then dad went to work while Karl and I stayed at the resort. We didn't eat out for dinner this time, however. In the interest of saving money, we went to a grocery store (our fellow New Yorkers would call it a bodega), and bought what we felt would be enough food to last us for a while. I bought bread, milk, juice, cereal, cold cuts (again, no pig), chocolate, etc. Karl did much the same, and grabbed a few toiletries as well. We needed to save our energy, as two more participants in our little adventure were joining us the next day: Alex and Samah.