Visiting Wadi Rum

Wadi Rum. Never heard of it? Now you have.

Before moving to Jordan, Elodie first had to sell me on the idea of living out in the middle east. My only images of the middle east of course were CNN (otherwise known as 'Certainly Not News') and of course, Iron Man.

Elodie of course, simplified her sales pitch by saying 'Jordan has the ancient city of Petra, where they filmed Indiana Jones 3.' Oh, well if you put it that way, it must be good!

Sooo, before I begin my story... let me sell my story to you first... 'Wadi Rum, its where they are filming for the up and coming Transformers 2!'

Lets begin.

Wadi Rum is famous for its amazing rock formations and desert landscape. The area is inhabited by native Jordanians called Bedouins, who are known for their deep hospitality. Legend has it that they are pretty welcoming because in ancient times you could be travelling through the sand for days and have no one but your camel to talk to. So when someone comes by they usually invite you to stay and drink a shitload of tea with them.

The place is also famous as a former stomping ground for Lawrence of Arabia where he based his operations for the Arab revolt of 1917-18. That by the way was also made as a film if you want to learn more.

Wadi Rum is a red sand desert known for its incredible rock formations. The giant red cliffs look like giant melting lava honeycombs. Most people I show these pictures to comment that it looks likes tons of snakes and scorpions are just waiting to feast on you should you dare to go near.



We arrived in Wadi Rum at about 5 PM on a friday night and camped out in traditional bedouin tents. When we asked if it was OK for us to drink a few beers around the campfire, our guide responded in a very serious manner 'This is the desert. You must respect her and eat biscuits and natural tea.' We eventually figured out that he was joking and that lots of people bring their own alcohol. It was a great treat to find out that our guide was pretty funny, but I get the feeling that desert humor is very dry (get it?.. ha ha).

I was wondering what the hell he was burying in the sand while we were out exploring the rocks around the campsite. At around 7 PM he started to unbury whatever the hell he buried and we discovered that he had in fact cooked us a traditional Bedouin meal underground. So evidently when you leave out for the day to tend to camels and such, you don't want to come home and cook. So they have this slow cook process for the morning where they dig a hole in the sand, build a fire, throw food on it, cover it to keep the sand out, then bury it for a slow cook process.



I wish that I could report that I slept well, but its pretty hard to go back to sleep when you feel the little pitter patter of tiny feet across your back at 3 am in the morning. Evidently you could see the tracks of a desert mouse in the sand outside our tent, so I opted for playing my Nintendo DS rather than allow unwanted visitors crawl into my ear canals during my deep slumber.

The next morning we set out for our adventure. Cool winds, 85 degree weather and no tourists.. It was just us, the desert, and a mouse. Wadi Rum is exceptional because the massive size of the rock formations really makes it an exceptional visit...sort of akin to visiting the Grand Canyon.



The most interesting place to visit was a crevice in between two cliffs. Evidently in ancient times when people travelled through the region on camel for the Mecca pilgrimage they would use it as a stopping ground. There are ancient messages in forgotten languages carved into the stone. Some travelers signaled danger by carving a picture of a man with a knife, or would tell you to climb up higher by carving a picture of two feet. Someone carved Ahmed + Sameera 4 ever which must mean something profound in ancient arabic.



We ended our trip exhausted, sunburnt, dehydrated but extremely enthusiastic. If you ever get a chance to visit Jordan, this is definitely a top destination!




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When not to eat a Banh Mi

Ahhhh Gay Paris...

People have been asking my why I haven't been blogging recently. I had to explain that I actually had to BE in Jordan to blog about living in Jordan. Yes, I have gone back to paris for 6 weeks and subjected myself to an unrelentless bombardment of muslim sin.

Elodie asked me what I wanted to do as soon as I got off the plane. I replied, 'I want BOOZE, PORK PRODUCTS, AND I WANT TO SLEEP IN WITHOUT BEING WOKEN UP BY A MOSQUE AT 5 AM'.

The next tier down from that list is international food and entertainment which are the two other things in short supply in Amman (here, Bennigans is listed as a 3 star restaurant) . No Pho, no bibimbap, and the so called 'sushi' restaurants are all run with Philippinos pretending to be Japanese. I went up to the sushi bar once at The Living Room and said 'kamusta ka (hello in Tagolog)' and the blood from his face drained as sheer white panic gripped him. He didn't say anything, but I could read his mind. SH*T! The gigs up! I've been exposed! Somone knows my name really isn't Nakamura!

Luckily for me, I have friends who have culture in France. I got my ass dragged down to ART exhibits, which for me is 10 times more effective at putting me to sleep than an extra strength NyQuil. Since I was forced to see art, I forced them to eat Vietnamese. Vietnamese food that is... not the people.

A recent controversy sparked by a New York Times article got me interested in checking out the legendary Vietnamese sandwich. Man these Vietnamese are really pissed off about changing a sandwich! You would think that with all that anger Ho Chi Minh himself was behind all of this!

So off we went to Belleville in the 10th district, the now up and coming place to get your 'grub on' for asian food. Mike, Sabrina, and Peggy.. the three French that I brought with me were pretty hesitant about walking in with all these asians everywhere and strange mystery meats spread out all over the sandwich counter. Vietnamese salami, chilis, paté, a tub of gloopy vietnamese mayonnaise. My favorite topping is fromage de tête, which is chopped pigs ears held together with savoury gelatin. It makes the sandwich 'croquant' which is translated to CRUNCHY!

I bit into the Banh Mi and ran a mental check in my head to see if it was authentic.

Savory Vietnamese Mayo on bottom slice of bread - CHECK
Salty mystery meat - CHECK
Crudite - CHECK
Cleared sinuses from eating raw chilis - CHECK
Bleeding gums and scratched up roof of mouth from chomping into Crunchy Bread - CHECK

It was so authentically good that I saved half of the sandwich for savouring throughout the day.

So Mike, Sabrina, and Peggy brought me to an exhibit that they thought wouldn't bore me to tears. Its called the Our Body exhibit in Paris and its a scientific exhibit where they took 20 dead people from China and sliced them up into 100 cross sections to teach about anatomy. Its amazing that our countries are so dependent on China for cheap imports, we even go to them for cheaper dead bodies! Coincidentally, I just read that the French government has shut down the exhibit because it offends public decency. The director of course was surprised since they were 'not showing anything that could have been shocking people.'

I mean, who would be shocked at seeing this?




Did you ever have déjà vu, like as if you've been somewhere before? Eventually, I passed by an exhibit with cross sections of a human being preserved in a gelatinous resin. It really made me feel like I was back at that Vietnamese sandwich place with all the cuts of meat and crunchy ears fanned out on the counter. The only thing missing was the julienned carrots.




To give credit to the Banh Mi being one of the tastiest sandwiches on this planet earth, even after the exhibit I couldn't resist the urge to finish my leftover sandwich.

Really, I couldn't understand why the French leaving the exhibit were freaking out at the site of me eating that sandwich. I mean, haven't they had a Banh Mi before???

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What its like to eat with Diplomats in Amman

What blog about expat living would be complete without detailing a dinner with a diplomat?

Elodie and I had the pleasure of being invited to the home of a senior official at the French Embassy. Local legend rumours that whilst the American embassy will occasionally host a bbq with american made frozen hamburgers, the French embassy will throw a classy soirée on a regular basis.

So I was quite excited by the fact that we were going to be received at a French dinner party. I was more curious about what we were going to eat actually. I mean, just how do you cook french food when everything is banned? Lardon (french bacon) is completely illegal, wine is more expensive than crude oil, and crème fraiche will run you about 7 dollars for a little tub. If you remove these ingredients in French food, then you basically have British food (YUCK).

Now, I've been to a few diplomatic dinners from my days as a lowly intern at the American Embassy in Tokyo. There is a certain protocol to these events. One must wear a dinner jacket or some chic extravagant accessory (A texan would wear a bolo tie, a european would wear a one of those neck scarves that barons often do).

Next you would be accompanied by your wife who is either an opera singer you married during your assignment in Kenya or an artist from Argentina that you met while teaching the indigenous people how to farm.

Following the introductions and declarations of who you are, where your from, and what organization you work with..the next questions that follow are polite versions of what I call the 'What the HELL brings you this far from home and HOW the hell did you two meet?' Of course, everyone asks a married Korean-French couple how they met but atleast in this environment everyone is kind of like us. Just about everyone we know is mixed couple here. Italian-Spanish, Jordanian-Lebanese, Spanish-Canadian, Italian-Estonian. A lot of people think that mixed kids look really cute, but I have seen a few freaks in my lifetime too. But, I digress....

In haute culture you serve an aperitif which is an opening drink of alcohol or juice just before dinner is served. While the martinis and olives are being served, the bragging about all your world adventures begins. Little drops about 'Oh that one time I was at that beautiful open-air theater in Bulgaria...' or 'I found that the best preservation of work life balance to be in Africa.' Elodie and I are pretty traveled people, but we found ourselves outnumbered and outgunned at this party. Having only lived in one or two developing nations and only a quarter of the G20 nations in our lifetime, we felt a bit sheepish to discuss any of our past destinations.

With the wafts of dinner aromas we were called to the table. French culture dictates that seats at the table are pre-selected as to optimise the flow of conversation and comfort of your guests. At the head of the table was our gracious host. Seated on his side were all the other diplomats and international aid representatives. WTF?!? I got seated with all the bored housewives while my wife got seated with all the men!!! Am I in the bored housewife category?!?

Its a good thing that I like to cook so I spent the evening exchanging recipes and pretending to know something about fine French wines. Dinner was ready and our hostess served.... Grilled Lamb in olive oil, garlic and herbs! Probably the ONLY food that is exactly the same between the middle east and France. Atlast, curiousity solved.

A typical ex-pat dinner party will feature some local main course, but will be spiced up with exotic treats picked up during their travels. Lebanese wine, European chocolates, African nutmeg, Brazilien rain forest honey. Anything that will act as a centerpiece for discussion is always a bonus.

Dinner is finished and now it is time for digestifs and after drinks to finish the evening. As people get to know more about eachother, the discussions within these circles always tends to gravitate towards politics and world news. The crisis in Sudan, the North Korean missile launch, Afghanistan, Slumdog Millionaire.

When the discussion focused on Obama and all that he needs to accomplish over the next 4 years, all eyes turned on me to see what my opinion of what lies ahead for the US.

So Frank... Do you think that Obama is up for the job?
(pause...)
(hushed crowd)
(pensive thought....)

(slow...deliberate...sage tone of voice proceeds....)

" With Great Power comes a Great Responsibility"

(a wowwww emotion overcomes the audience)

"Spiderman 2"

Elodie was NOT pleased with my joke.

Dead Sea Enema

Its 12 noon.  Its the middle of winter.  Its a Friday.  The rest of Europe and America is off to work. 

I'm in my swim suit.  I'm at a 5 star resort. Its 24 degrees outside.  I'm floating in the dead sea.  

And my sphincter is on fire.

What does one do in this situation?  I'm supposed to be relaxing with the rich and well-to-do all around me and my wife Elodie just suggested that I try to float in a 'sitting up position' as if I'm reading the morning newspaper.

'Look the water is so salty that you can float sitting up' she says.

Something about that particular position just happened to 'open me up' to the harsh brutalities of dipping your body in 35% salt water....OWCH!  YOU BET YOUR ASS ITS SALTY!!!

This is the dead sea.  Full of rich vitamins from the natural springs below, it is known for its rich healing minerals but not so widely known for its colon cleansing properties.

We are pictured here at the Movenpick dead sea resort.  Movenpick is better known as a fancy ice-cream brand in Europe, but has somehow found the marketing power to convince people to stay at their hotels.  I expect Baskin Robbins to follow up with a string of branded motels along the Route 66 soon.

We arrived there early in the day and got our salt treatment, followed by a free mud treatment.  Basically, they give you a bucket of mud that smells a bit like dirt and fishbones but evidently when applied to your skin its supposed to pull out any toxins.  My theory is that it replaces those toxins with fishbone smell and drys your skin to a worser condition so I actually am not a believer that its actually good for you.  If however, you are into smelling like swamp fish stew, I can arrange to send you some in the mail for a minimal fee.

We went through the whole experience of the dead sea, massive swimming pools, pina coladas and shiatsu massage treatments.  Not to mention that its totally sweet that they pump you up full of strong arabic coffee  brewed over open fires in the traditional bedouin manner.  

We thought that the day was over but our driver introduced a few surprises.  We had been driven by the father of Elodie's driver at work and he didn't speak ANY english except for 'Welcome to Jordan.'   We would ask how far is the dead sea?  He would say, 'welcome to Jordan.'  Is the water cold?  'Welcome to Jordan.'  OK, so it was difficult to communicate with him unless we wanted to say 'This is our first time to your country.'

We pulled out of the Movenpick entrance at about 4 PM and headed off to home.  The phone rang and the driver picked it up and started looking around, swerving, and making multiple wrong turns.  We started the day off in a a luxury 5 star resort, and ended up being driven to a dirt parking lot next door.  

Hundreds of families were parked out in the lots with their barbecues at full blaze.  Kids playing in broken glass.  Bedouin merchants passed by on camels and horses to offer rides for 50 cents.  Garbage was everywhere.  We had unknowingly been invited to join in the weekend festivities with the driver and his family for the real Jordanian dead sea experience.   

We were treated to barbequed pieces of lamb, chicken, and minced beef with fresh pita breads and garlic yoghurt.  The best part about this was that the brother cooking the food had NO idea what Hooters meant on his sweater.

Six PM and it was time to go.  Wait a minute.  There are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 family members. One car.  How the HELL did they get here?   The answer: Car Yoga.  As other cars started to pull out of their spots, I watched whole families dog pile into their family cars.  One family I saw actually cut out the divider beween the back seat and the back window so that the kids could stand for the ride home.  Others put the children in the trunk to lie down with their brothers and sisters.

Since we had two extra spaces, we invited three of them to join us.  Hey, when in Rome right?

Exhausted, sun burnt, and smelling like fish bone soil, we thought.. its a shame that our other friends can't be here with us.  

Jerashic Park

Welll, sorry for the long Hiatus. I had a Looooong bout with a stomach virus that I contracted from some awful falafel that I had at world famous Hashem's restaurant. Its so famous that even the royal family drop in there from time to time whenever they get sick of eating properly cleaned food in one of their many palaces. I'll take you there sometime.

So we had the great fortune of renting a 2005 chevy malibu from a Jordanian Hertz for the day, so we decided to go to Jerash. Why have I never heard of this place? Oh, probably because I couldn't even point to Jordan on a map 3 months ago, thats why.

But dang. This was a nice place. I went to a lot of Greek ruins a few years back in Athens, and they looked pretty ruined so you get kind of bored quickly. But this place was very well preserved. Like a park of Ancient Rome that Walt Disney setup so that you don't have to travel to several different places to get the full experience of the Roman empire and overpriced souvenirs. Here in Jerashic Park you get it all!





So the Roman Empire was quite large as I'm told, and it had gone down as far as the middle east. Several cities were erected to protect the territories in the Middle east and one of the best preserved ones is Jerash. I was quite surprised to see my best roman architectures so far to be in the middle east, but maybe someone wise hundreds of years ago thought that it would be good for tourism, so they preserved it well.

You first start off at Hadrians Arch where it dawns on you that you are no longer in Kansas. We snapped a few pictures just to prove that we were there and headed off down a path with fallen roman carved columns.

To the left there is a still operational hippodrome (for those who don't know what a hippdrome is, its where they raced horse chariots... not hippos. Watch gladiator for more information). We bumped into one of their ... eh hem.. 'gladiators' who offered to take a picture with us.




(No danger here of this one pointing his pinky finger at me!)

After taking pictures with the microwarrior we trudged up a hill to the sound of scottish music. Not quite clear what bagpipes were doing in a roman re-enactment but we found ourselves at a fantastically preserved roman theater. Evidently the Brits conquered Jordan for a while and left the locals a tradition for scottish bagpipes in the military bands and a pension for fried foods in their cuisine.

Here is a picture of elodie just before this rich Saudi guy asked Elodie to be his second wife. The first wife took elodies picture so that she could hire a witch doctor to cast a spell on her to give her warts. Just kidding if you didn't already guess.




After 15 minutes of bagpiping, we moved on up the hill to catch a glimpse of the entire park. Amazing...It was like stonehenge but with more stones. A circled plaza of roman columns could be viewed from the hills, with a temple dedicated to Athena...at least thats what we think it was. It was all written in arabic so who really knows. After a while, tourists that saw that we had a book started asking us what these buildings were. We started making things up like, 'this is where they had their local starbucks'. 'I think this is the vomitorium.' 'I'm pretty sure they did sacrifices in this area.'

We wrapped up the day with a drive back home that only took 45 minutes. Talk about convenience. We had left the house at 12:30 and had an outright amazing experience seeing all this in half a day. I hope that you get a chance to connect to the full album via my facebook(click here) album. The place is one of the most beautiful places I've been to.

Surviving Amman Taxis

*** NOW, the Jordanians are some of the nicest, sweetest, people I've come across. That being said, I do get into trouble in every 1 out of 4 taxis. This is the story of my worst trip so far***

I still can't believe it. I think that someone connected in the taxi industry has put a contract out on me. I must not have tipped a cabbie enough and the weighted scales of Karma began their oppressive tilt towards making my life a living hell.

The best way to pre-empt this story is to ask you to click here and play this song to the 45-60th second. Please do not read further if you are uncomfortable with graphic descriptions of adult material.

The cab was horribly run down with loud arabic music blasting through the tinny speakers hanging halfway out of their door compartments. The driver dressed in clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks.

If there is any lesson to be learned for those travelling in a taxi... do NOT ride in the front alone with a taxi driver. In this case, I had to put all of my bags in the back so I was forced to jump in the front.

Imagine if you will a big toothy grin from an unshaven dodgy taxi driver. Now remove the four front teeth. It looked kinda like a run-down hillbilly toothless Borat.

Driver: Where you from? Philipino?

Me: KO-RE-A!

Driver: ah Korea........SMALL! (He flipped out his pinky finger, which I guess is an arabic sign for a small member)

Me: Oh my god. You. Drive!

Driver: SMALL he shouted again. ARABIC MEN --- BIG (He then did an Obama style air fist jab with his right fist and grabbed his right elbow with his left hand to mimic his johnson)!

Me muttering: Why me?

Driver: You like sex? ME BIG (He then started to unzip his pants while driving!).

Me SCREAMING: NOOOOOOOOOOO!

I then got seriously pissed off at the guy and told him to drive and be quiet. He kept saying things like Pepsi Can and Centimeters and I would have jumped out of the car but we were only a few blocks away. He kept grabbing my leg for a feelskie but I kept beating him off with my backpack on my lap.

As we pulled into the driveway of our apartment building I opened the door and rested my backpack on the ground and prepared to step out. BAD Decision. This was my only protection and it gave him the window of opportunity to grab my JUNK.

Me: AHHHHHHHHH (Scream in terror)! as he squeezed his hand on my short sword.

I grabbed my things and ran out to the safety of the pavement. In a last ditch attempt to try to get some, he put out his desperate sales pitch.

Driver: Me sucky, you f**ky! Me BIG (followed by another Obama style air fist jab and elbow grab)!

Obviously this was a ploy to tempt me so that he does all the heavy lifting. Not going to work tonight!

Now I have taken the experience on with very little trauma, but every time I see a yellow cab pass by I have this raw image of my tormentor burning through my memory.

Below here is an artists rendition of my taxi driver, courtesy of my colleague Fletch. Now you too, shall have the same imagery forced upon you every time you ride a cab.

West Side Story

The search is over. We have an an apartment.

I my friends, am a man of simple needs. Give me a decent apartment with decent furnishings at a good price and location, plasma tv, sound system, playstation and I am easily satisfied.

My wife on the other hand is French and is not so easy to satisfy. We just about burned through an army of real estate agents and 80% of the rentals in Amman over the past 2 weeks because Elodie has what I would describe to the poor unfortunate souls helping us out as ‘Picky European Female Tastes.’

So just to describe to all of you who only see the Middle East through CNN, Amman is a very safe and modern city with a cool climate. It actually snows in January and February (although due to global warming, those days may now be over). It is like the Denver of the Middle East because it is so high in altitude (They call it the kilometer high city in arabic...just kidding).

Before moving to Jordan, I read a lot of posts about the best places to live in Amman and I think it all depends on what type of experience you are looking for. If you want the locals experience, you live in the East side where the buildings are crumbling and the products that you buy are all imported from China. If you are an expat, a working professional, or a wealthy businessman, you live in the West side. There, all the buildings are new and the products that you buy are all imported from South Korea.

So.. back to the real estate agents (poor things). The apartments in Jordan are built more for function rather than form so its hard to get a building that doesn’t look like it was built out of cement Legos. For the support of Korea exporting, we chose the West Side.

So we were taken to apartments in the West Side of town and we would bludgeon the hapless agents by pointing out the flaw in each place that they proudly presented to us.

The apartment conversations could usually be broken down like this:

Agent: Look this apartment has a view!
Us: A view of a parking lot is not exactly what we had in mind.

Agent: Look this apartment has new furniture!
Us: It looks like Arabian nights meets Saturday Night Fever (A spanish friend here coins it as Disco Rococo).



Agent: Look this apartment is walking distance to shopping!
Us: Walking distance to a canned food shop is not what we had in mind.

So we went through one, two, three, four, five agents. One day turned into two. Then three, then four. One week, now two. We were getting so many calls from Mohammeds that we actually had to ask ‘Which Mohammed are you?’

We finally narrowed it down to two choices and took a final viewing. One agent was a rich playboy who’s parents owned the Max Mara fashion chain in Jordan. The other agent was a ‘from the streets of Chicago’ Jordanian re-immigrated to Amman. After visiting the property of the Max Mara one, he dropped us off at the property being shown by the Chicago street agent. Suddenly I heard growls. Stares. Mad Dog looks and fighting stances. Agent vs Agent combat was about to ensue. These guys were ready to throw down!

Luckily for us, the two did not throw fisticuffs, but I think that in the right circumstance it could have happened if we all stepped out of the car and let the two debate in front of us the benefits of going with their properties.

So here we were at the final property. Its perfect. Its on the roof. Its got a full view of Amman below. It got a huge kitchen. Its new. Its too expensive. Damn.

The financial crisis effecting all of us is really, really a terrible thing for all of us to experience. Might as well turn those lemons into lemonade. When traveling abroad, you get to see the real survival instincts of your partner come out. She wanted this apartment and she would stop at nothing. First Elodie said she wanted it for 25% less. Done. Then she asked for a queen sized bed. Done. Then she asked for a gas bbq (she asked this for me because I was too much of a coward). They pleaded for a charcoal bbq. They folded. Gas it is. Every time they said no to her demands, she would come back and say that the neighbor with the empty rental apartment said they would do it for us. Man! I would just cringe while listening to her during the negotiations.

So here we have it folks:

The view from our new apartment with a spare bedroom for guests:





See you in Jordan!