the blue clouds of palestine

Its now the 28th of July (in three minutes the 29th).  That means I've been in Palestine
for 15 days now.  I've really just been chilling out in Ramallah most of this time (workin'
and resting after work), though its been a highly emotional experience.  I could blame a variety
of reasons but whatever my excuse Ive still been quite up and down. Very childish.
  Firstly, the work place is a little bit chaotic and I found myself thinking 'i'm here
to help' and thus running around like a maniac helping everyone and worrying that I'm not
helpful enough.
  I will tell you abit about the school.  Since summer school has finished,
I have simply been helping with the autistic child in the day time.  This is around 4 hours
straight.  There should be around three kids but luckily for me two have been sick or leaving early (!!!)
Yousef is three years old and beautifull.  The aim of my time with him is to teach him how
to trust people who aren't Mayada.  This involves having him in a room screaming for around 1
hour (this time span has become increasingly lower) The screaming is painful and makes me want
to scream and cry myself.  However, i have learnt that if you remain as calm as a spring
lake he will respond better.  Eventually he falls asleep as we caress him and Powla or I arouse him before his
father arrives to pick him up. We cross our fingers that he'll be in a good mood to play.
He's moody.  I'm glad to be working with Powla, shes amazing and has converted me to a
Polyamorist (a big sorry to the Palestinians who are looking to marry).
  I have fallen in love with him.  But Austism challenges my character greatly as you get
next to no attention from the children: You do not exist in their world. Your merely a
collection of fragments that make up everything; so when they look at you
they look past you.  Its hard to get their attention.  Keep in mind all three children
have different types of Autism, as do all Austistic people.
  Another interesting part is the ignorance families have with Autism: theyre continuously
seeking to find what's 'wrong' with their child and with those words its so obvious
that the problem lies in the parents attitude.


  After that, I have been helping around the place with random chores.  Cleaning, making
resources for the children, participating in Powla's dance classes (its contemporary dance
and a lot of fun)... I go to the market most days too.

  The market is a bit of a smack in the face.  I have been associating with educated Palestinians
here, but Ramallah tarta (downtown) is full of slimy men calling out the english they learnt on
 trashy TV.  Palestinians are heavily taxed by the israeli government while recieving little to no
attention.  The people are also "unallowed" to build in their own country, or repair houses. Thus,
the streets can seem shabby and the people desperate.  But considering their situation, I'm very
impressed with the lack of this poverty.  It lies souely in the downtown market.  The other streets
excite me as they weave and branch into sneaky stairways and alleys where you spy plum trees and kittens.
They all, however, lead to houses or backyards (all houses, if not an apartment, have ideal backyards:
full of fruit trees).  The houses too are well maintained.  They're beautifully designed and opulent
with pot plants and ramadan decorations and of-coarse, outside seating areas sheltered by grape vines.

  But the men in the market all yell 'hey where you from' and all the people I meet ask (much more
politely) the same.  Mayada always introduces me as Palestinian which I find helpful.  Probably because
after that I feel more welcome.  Though it still leaves me lacking an excuse as to why I know so little
arabic and why I've never visited before.  Though I'm learning very fast.  And with each word I learn,
I forget a french word. And I suspect that even returning back to Australia, this dialect wont be very useful.

  Though I am a better Palestinian than some.  There are many spies all over.  Many Palestinians work
with Israel.  Many are brainwashed into believing that arabic culture is insuperior.  Mostly, they just
want to escape.  This is natural, as they are contained in their cities like fish in their bowls and only
if one is lucky enough to have an overseas passport are they permitted to leave.  This has restricted my travel
as most Palestians I've met cannot take me to Al coots (Jerusalem), Jenin, Hebron: and these places
are within the West Bank.

  Here at the theatre we are very strict distinguishing ourselves from Israel.  No israeli workers, funding,
no buying of Israeli products (its hard to find Palestinian products, but you can), and what I've more recently
discovered no socializing with non Palestinians who live in occupied land.
  I cried yesterday.  See, I had organized to get out of Ramallah and meet a friend of Jamiel's who lives
in Jerusalem, is Jewish etc.  She offered to take me to a multi-cultural festival between the segregated
cities of Jerusalem and have me in her home for a night as well as take me to a Palestinian village where
she worked as a volunteer.  It turned out this is forbidden and if I were to associate
with such people I would be unwelcome to return here to the theatre.  Spies cause major difficulties while
running a pro Palestinian organization.
  I think I cried because we had an all nighter the night before so I was tired.  Also because of how difficult
it is to simply do things here.  Also because I looked stupid.  Also because they would throw me out after I have
given so much and am now such good friends with everyone here; theyve become like my family.

  Here in the centre we equally aim to distance ourselves from politics.  Though sometimes when I can't understand
the arabic yet still feel my energy slowly dying from empathy I guess that its politcal.  Despite the lack of
politics, sad stories are inevitable.  In almost every family someone has been to jail.  Though they themselves
generally speak of very positive topics and tell jokes I don't understand (which for them makes them all the
funnier...I guess that theyre often about me...)
  The distancing of polictics merely means that we should aim to be more productive with our time, and relaxed,
although politics restricts us so much here.  After travelling Jordan, I feel as though I'm wrapped in gladwrap
and can barely waddle my arms and legs.  There is so much people are paranoid about and its driving me crazy.
 Surely its just a tactic to weaken the people? To separate two sides?  Though while the consequences are extreme when they
do take place at all (jail, death etc), everyone is fairly relaxed whilst being cautious.  They still joke around
exeedingly.  One girl I've hung out with (my age) lends her husband her brothers passport to sneak out of the West Bank.
She drove me to Jafa for a swim at the beach.
  It was so bazaar to see the city. Though most of the historical sights have been destroyed, the same Palestinian houses
 as in Rammallah are shine through the cracks of israeli decoration.  It reminded me of an animal in a circus,
 they were dressed as coffee shops and designer saloons.  The streets were shockingly well kept and I realized
suddenly how poor the government services are in all the other places I'd visited.
  Equally, I felt as though I was back in Australia.  The jumble of races all naming themselves Australian on
indigenous land.  The ...pretentiousness? The city's style was parelel with Australia's. Save for the old
architechture.  Even my romantic idea of the mediteranean was shocked as I thought I was looking at St Kilda.

  Anyway, that seems to be all for now, though I havent told you about all my new friends and actual activity...
  Salamat

Its Hot: so Im lazy as the food is force-fed

The summer school performance was exceptional!
  Instead of sitting in the crowd I was in the dark and "silent" studio trying to calm the 40
kids who were about to perform on the stage (that I helped to build :)).
  It was impossible to silence them but once they began to perform I no longer cared because
as they came rushing back from the stage their giggles and comments were full of joy
I couldn't bare to suppress it.  Some of the children were stretching the faces open
with uncontrollable smiles while others were dead serious.  It took me a while to realize
that this sombre attitude was because they were so nervous, and I think afterward the final
high of it all was worth it for them.  Once the play was over we put on trashy dance music and
they pulled all the volunteers on stage to dance with them (and through hay across the centre).
 It was a nice ending to the crazy day (and weeks of summer school).  In the day time
I was left to care for Yousef (with Autism) for 4 hours, and in the meanwhile the 40 odd children
were in my disposal too...My shoulders are still purpling with bruises from their biting and
I'm reminded that I don't want to work with children.


  That night five of the estonians staying in the house with me left for Estonia.  Since then two
more have left and now there are three of us.  Its unfortunate in one big respect because Mayada
and I are now the only ones sleeping "upstairs" (a few blocks away) and Maher doesn't like us
walking back alone at night because he'd feel responsible if anything went wrong (the streets are
safe, he just wants children of his own) and so I can't simply go to bed when I'm tired, but I wait
for Mayada.  When she says she wants to go in one minute it means one hour.  But thats OK! Because
it's ramadan and so at night time I'm spoiled in food and desserts and special ramadan drinks.
The food made special for ramadan is to die for - my gosh!
On the subject of evenings I'll mention the dogs:
There are so many stray dogs around which Mayada claims have "raibies" which has been spread by the israelis.
Its sad to see the dogs; theyre so angry and confused and they scare me as I scavenge in neighbours
fig trees.
fig season yeeeeeooooo!


I'm going to explain some ramadan food I've had.
Firstly macloube: everyone should know what that is.
Then: Mansaf.
Palestinians make the best mansaf, sorry Jordan, but I'll say it again times 10000000.
Mayada's aunt and uncle welcome me over for the ramadan feast, where a huge amount of people
were gathered.  Their neices (Mayada's cousins) have come for the summer from Saudi Arabia
and though they speak as much english as I speak arabic we get along really well. In fact, theyve
invited me to their uncles house in Nablus for a week (we'll see how long I'm there for, though.
I'm free!)
  Then I'm not sure what its called but at Sinan and Nassan's house the mother made - my goodness -
chicken stuffed with freekeh and pine nuts as well as fuktoosh and a pasta salad.
Traditional Ramadan drinks are to die for.  One is called looz as its made of almonds (and a shit load
of sugar).  Another one is made of indian dates (again with the sugar). Another one is made of a
non-sweet orange (sweetened with sugar) which isnt grapefruit or cumquat....but its delicous!
I bought a bottle of the indian date drink to share tonight.


Tonight I'm having mansaf again at Mayada's aunts house. I'm gonna get faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat
woooooooooooooooooooooohooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
and since it's my third night eating there, and they now consider me family, I can help out with dishies
and that to my hearts content :)


The market here in Ramallah is so much fun! Its hard not to buy anything. Its a fruit market, by the way,
where colours on colours tumble around. Here, the range of fruit is
really exciting (more for the estonians than me who has good fruit in Australia too) but it really
is the right season to be here.

though it is unbelievably hot

Orienteering the dance theatre

14th July

After a day of observing activity in the centre, Mayada took me to her aunty
 and uncle's house for dinner.  They
live in Ramallah, close by to me. I will never become used to being a muslim person's
guest; even after Jordan.  Its a rule in islam that the guest isn't allowed to help out
with anything. They're to be spoiled silly. I was seated around the table, restless, when
Mayada's aunty handed me a plateful of capsi.  The serving would have made up the volume
of my head! I would have stopped her but I didn't think to consider such a big serving would
be for me.  Whats worse is that spread across the table you have more delicious food; yogurt
and salad.
Whats worse; it's rude not to eat it.
I ate it all.  Quite quickly, actually.
And then I ate desert of fresh fruit and icecream.
  Turned out I needed a big serve: it was amazing.

We got back to the centre by 11 and I spied on Maher teaching dance before we all head
off for the dead sea.  Much of the dead sea is meant to be a part of the West Bank, yet
still most Palestinians here are denied access, as though it lay in the occupied
territories.
  We arrived to a big israeli flag and two stubborn men who insisted we pay extra for
entrance.  It was worth it.  Floating on the thick sparkling water beneath a thick sparkling
sky was magical. It was bazaar looking back to Jordan, where my past stared back at me.
 I must have been walking in a dream the whole night long.  A large cresent moon
moon arose at 2 am above the horizon and three hours later framed by the large Jupiter and Venus.
Soon enough the sun shadowed beneath it, leaking hot pinks and blues across the earth.
Sun rise was extraordinary and right on cue Max and Thomas began to film Maher's solo
dance.  I painted the sunrise whilst watching.  Sleepily.
  Straight after we got back to the centre, Mayada yips me out of sleep and we jump into
a car for Jerisliyye to visit her other aunt and uncle.  The service taxis here are the
best ever.  They're maxi taxi sized, and are meant to have specific routes.  They're frequent
(save for fridays) and squeeze as many people in as possible for a very small fee.
  The Palestinian country side is beautifull.  Mountains and mountains, with neat little
villages on their tops and a tumble of olive groves drooling down the sides.  Decorating
the mountain farmers long ago built large (giant sized) steps to steady the land as it
slopes.  This makes the land for suitable for trees as well as very pretty.
  Jerisliyye is one of these villages atop a mountain.  It's full of families whose
'man of the house' has spent time working in America.  I still dont understand why.  But
the families all put their money towards huge welcoming houses ('villas') of a mediterranean
architechture, with colourful arabic furnishings (a bit like taita's but more colourful).
The service taxis drop you off to the door (hallelujah) and I'm warmly welcomed by breakfast.
I so wasnt hungry.  Foul, lebne, zartar, salad, bread, and the sweetest honey I've ever had.
I accidentally ate a chilli and cried. hehe.
  Atop the house is an attic, where a party of pidgeons have made themselves at home.
They fly back and forth between the sun.
  Once I have woken up we eat dinner.  Mansaf like none other.  A wonderful, yoguhrty lamb
atop bread atop bread with yoghurt sauce.  As well as vine leaves (cooked with tomatoes as
stock) salad (all salads here are tabouli varients) and a gourmeted chicken.
  Who knew food made you hungry?
I sleep some more after dinner (as I'm unallowed to help) and then I'm taken out by the youngest
daughter Haneen (who's 17 and has learnt good english at school) as Mayada meets the mother
of a man who wishes for her hand.  As we leave the house, we become a party of four, then six
then ten as more and more children (from 5 to 18) leave their homes to join us on our walk.
  Of-coarse they can wander at night: everyone in the village knows and trusts each other.
And whilst it is a quiet village, its much noisier at night as this is when everyone is up
and active (it was a very hot day).  We are invited into most houses along the street (my aunty
and her mother's house, my grandmothers house, etc) where I'm made to eat more and
more delicious types of food (all foreign with arabic names).  The two youngest boys insist
we pick something I thought would be snow peas.  As they ran through the fields of green
plants, a farmer came out yelling from his house and we all sprinted down the street.  I
think I was the most terrified.  The fruit turned out to be like a furry cucumber and after
I really liked it I was invited back to someones house where they had it pickled.
  Finally back at the house I collapse as everyone else stays up until early morning watching
a tape of the most recent engagement party (I'm invited to another one tomorow night).
  I wake up to watch the sun rise and sparkle Palestine with a soft pink.
  I was sad to leave Jerisliyye, and though they invited me to live there a while I said no.

  16th
Arrived back at the centre after staying at Jerisliyye and spent the day trying to help everyone.
I have not been assigned to any job in particular and as I tried to help I felt more and
more helpless.  Austistic children simply do not notice you And the other children need
too much of you And everywhere is inevitably messy and you just cannot escape things which
need to be done.
  Reflecting now I think, surprizingly, it was a good day. Ive almost stressed all my stress
out and know it can only get easier.

It's now the 18th and I cannot discern the days apart from eachother.  Each day is similar
to another in that the children have come in the early morning, they leave at 4 ish (depending
on when their parents/a bus can come).  It's hard for me to explain what my role here is but
I don't stop helping.  See tomorow night the theatre holds a big performance for all the parents
to see and so it's the climax of  movie and everything is chaotic.  The centre is suddenly full of
people (helpers?) it's not organized enough to handle. More rules have been put in place for control,
causing more confusion and chaos.  The atmosphere causes the children to loose all sense of
peace and they're difficult to tame...
So I jump from working with the autistic kids (observing Mayada and taking over when she's called
elsewhere), to working with the children (not very well. They all need too much attention each
at once), to helping to build a stage, to serving coffee and water to kids or construction workers
 (who're building a stage).  I really like the people I work with here, it motivates me
to keep learning their language so I can properly communicate with them.

  Last night we went to a circus set up by a similar (yet far better funded. Since here we run off nothing)
group of people.  Afterwards we went out for drinks! A few locals took a large group of us
to a western bar for beer.  The local beer is delicious, strangely enough, as the demand for
it is pretty low.
  The taps now offer but a dribble here in Ramallah, but unlike outside the West Bank, we are not distributed clean
water anyway.  I bought a six pack of water this morning but its now finished.

a wholly holy land

Leaving Jordan
We leave Aqaba and arrive in Amman via bus - the Cliff Hotel, where David and I were warmly greeted
by our good friend Andrew.  At last, I took out all the books from my bag and put them on
his book shelf. This made up for the arabic book Andrew gave me last time I stayed.
  So we stay up for a while with Andrew discussing the border - he's very well informed
as he has dealt with many many tourists. Last night's dinner is spent at Hashims, then David
and I go to our coffee shop for some shisha.  We meet some lovely people who insist
we stay longer in Jordan, this time not paying for hostels or anything for they would love
to house us. I'm sosososo tempted.
  I wake up numerous times in the night thinking it's morning and I'm late...for the border?
I don't even know.  Andrew thought I was crazy but he was very kind about it.
  David went out and bought me coffee and breakie while I packed up my stuff and chatted
with Andrew and before I knew it we were off.
  The service taxi was shared with two other Palestinians going to the border.  That was
really interesting.  The process for them to leave even the West Bank is strenuous, and
the allowance or visa or whatever is soso limited.  One was a very successful engineer who
travelled to India Syria Jordan etc for work with his company.  However the Palestinian engineers
would never work with Israelis who work to build illegal housing, and mostly rely
on exterior countries for work.
  From the Jordinian border we bussed to the Israeli border.  The 4 minute car ride took up to 3 hours
it was ridiculous but we were talking with a lovely girl on the bus.  I'm sorry to say
but I suddenly got really nervous she was a spy because she was so cool and that didn't
help my screaming butterflies. I was really nervous.
  Customs was meant to be split into lines for Palestinians, Israelis, and Foreigners but
I'm still confused because David came with me to every stop and did all of this talking
and it was pretty easy.  The last girl asked my surname, where's it from, do I have family
here, and I visiting them, etc etc she disappeared for a while showing off my passport,
came back, I say I'm not friendly with my family, I'm here to visit my boyfriend's family and from here
going to europe.  Then pow Bam she stamped my passport with a big fat israeli stamp.
  But I got through.  My flight home from Lebanon is ages away.  My nerves were too wild
to remember that.
  I say goodbye to David.  Which was pretty weird.  Because we've been together for three weeks
and never once said goodbye...though we never seemed to stop talking.  But we'll see eachother
again soon enough.  We'll travel again in November to maybe Egypt Morocco (sorry Mum) or eastern
Europe.
  I jump on 'the bus to riha (aka Jerico) with the Palestinians' as Mayada instructed and sit beside a
young girl with wide eyes.  The bus ride was too short.  I think I then went through
a check point before I jumped in a community car to Ramallah.  The guy next to me spoke a bit
of english.  I found out he was from the village Ni'lin and ope he knows Saeed Amirah!
So he sat really close to me and taught me the arabic body parts until we got to Ramallah.
  He was keen to come with me to my destination but I kept saying 'no no Mayada has a car for me'
but see the number for a taxi she gave me was disconnected so this lovely man got us a cab
and he dropped me off like a gentleman and continued onto his village (in the opposite direction).

Another thing I'm going to mention, though I've barely left Ramallah, is that I don't feel like
I'm in another country. I don't feel as though the people here are foreign, or that I'm foreign, which
according to everyone I'm not.  Ana philistiniyya, lol.  The arabic is again very different
so i'm really bad again and everyone corrects me which a different dialect thinking that they'll
teach me one I'll like better or something I don't even know but I'm pretty chill here.
mmyeah
Salamat

The Wadiest of Rums

WADI RUM!
  Wake up early, fix up car and head off for Wadi Rum.  The car ride was suffocating.  There were 6 of us in the long
long drive, and I sat squished beside a pregnant lady.
  We arrive at the visitors centre dirty and exhausted.  I'm not going to retell what happened but a sympathetic man
offered us his "hostel" for a cheap enough price so we accepted.
  He drove us in his cool truck (which had shelthered seating in the trailor where he sat) to his home where we picked figs
and he avoided to take us.  We asked a few times if we could go and he said we couldn't go there yet.
  We just wanted a shower and bed.
  Evntually he takes us, and I can barely appreciate the exquisite scenery of Wadi Rum.  Oh my God, like nothing else.  But
I'm so dirty.
 We stop in a beautiful location, deserted in the desert beside incredible rocks.
  We realize why he'd avoided to take us.  In the middle of the desert, the camp has no shade.
  The series of tents are rooms, and they're boiling.  The loung room tent is all packed up, still very hot, and like the
tents very dark without lights.  The place was closed down, it seemed.  We discovered dirty beds.
  'Clean sheets?' we asked him.  He took us from room to room.  The layers of dirt on the sheets
became increasingly worse.  'Changed them yesterday' he said.  We shook them and said "dirty!". 'Changed them last week,
no tourists since then'.  We left it; he was using language against us and it was draining.
  The toilet had no toilet paper, then it stopped flushing, and the bucket had a hole.
  'Yes. Yes.' he said as we explained it to him.  I don't think he owned the place, honestly, but I think he thought
taking us would both help us and him. Altogether not a bad idea. He was just not very hospitable.
  But we had an abandonned hostel to ourselves, and that was pretty chill.  Enjoyed the sun set, pinks and blues.  His wife
we'd met the day before cooked us dinner. Mansaf!  So he had lied when he said he knew what vegetarian meant.
For the fifth time that week we ate chicken.  I actually really liked it.

So beduins have lived out in Wadi Rum for centuries but now, like Petra, they live in the village and it's a tourist
attraction.
  The village seems quite poor and no shops offered fresh food.




The guy who took us to "his" camp offered us a cheap tour of Wadi Rum which we accepted.  After waking up to no
shade, we schedual the drive for as soon as possible.  You have to hire a car (or a camel) to tour Wadi Rum,
see.  Don't think us lazy. We climbed up a canyon, admired many Nabatean inscriptions
(camels, feet, a map etc), and watched Andrew climb up sand dunes.  But the rocks. Holy Moly. and the blue! The sky was vibrating with the bluest
blue I've ever seen against the hot orange sand.  I also visited Laurence of Arabia's house.  Oooohhhhhhh.

Back at the camp we wait for dinner and play games lazily on our mattresses, relocating with the shade of the rocks
 every so often.

Same dinner Tonight but this time the chicken was cooked with the rice! Oooooooh. We laugh.  We've become very close friends.
  The friendships made been a real highlight thus far.  The stars here are incredible and I've learnt quite a few constallations
now, more than I know from Australia's side of the sky anyway.

Next day
Wake up at 6 for yesterdays breakfast leftovers before we take the 7 oclock bus to Aqaba.
  The bus is already packed, with three people on two person seats, when it stops.  I lower my gaze as we drag huge bags in
and block any traffic along the aisle.
  The bus driver's very casual about it all and seems to be having many conversations at once with the men around him.
  We arrive, find the cheapest hostel and as everyone sleeps I sit here updating my bloggaroo.

the long days and nights of Petra

Petra
(photos are no longer uploading for some reason...hopefully ill add em next time???)
The Jordanians of Petra are truly their own people.  It's a bit wack.
On our way to our hostel, we wanted to visit 'Little Petra': a free site.  It was like an underwater city.  Beduins wearing
kafir and cooling dresses lay in caves enchanting us as they play on the whistle.  A few boys walked us through even though we had no money
(being the only people there).  Weaving between rock allys you look up to curvy rock patterns melting down from a frosty top:
They melt into doors windows steps; all perfected with intricate detail which completely flatters the rock formation.
After a flight of stairs to 'the best view in world' we hung out with some beduins who held shops and told riddles:
Something you own
But everyone uses more than you.
No clues, cept we learnt it's not love, heart, weaknesses, hospitality etc: and Gassib thought all those suggestions stupid.

  We were delivered to a cheapo hostel downtown where
we bargained some cheap rooms with Mohammed (who now and often gambles over tricks with David) the husband of another
one of our friend's wife.  Everyone's connected here yet somehow I havent picked up on any incest.  It's the huge families.
So Anyway we settle at the hostel, I catch up on some shopping (shampoo, camera batteries - the 4th packet as all the
others havent worked!!!!, sunscreen (which I hadnt had till now)).  We find american tourist, resort to cheap bread and dips
for dinner again (1 dinar each), chill with him in a shisha cafe where we play more cards and relax (by Naiv's birthday celebration)

No money no honey
No wife no life
knife for wife
No hurry no worry (my favourite)
Stop for tea, stop for me : They're full of crazy phrases here ("because the tourists are too serious"). The people are really their own.
  I insisted David and I go to Petra early in the morning (It's amsolutely MASSIVE) and we cab it to the Beduin village
where we're told we can walk into Perta rather than pay 60 dinars for entrance.  We are at the beduin gate for close to an hour
having tea with the tourist police.  We would have to hitch back to the main gate and buy a ticket.  The weirdest part
was that once inside, half the beduin workers there knew who we were(beduin of Petra have free entry: naturally, as their families have
lived in Petra for centuries, sleep in the caves/tombs, and work with the tourists in the day time. They were, however
"kicked out" a few years ago...).  One familyof many tiny children all remembered David from last time and invited us for
 dinner.  The tiny children are scattered around offering donkeys and post cards and stones. Many had seen us in the Beduin
village, and some had even seen us wandering Wadi Rum/little Petra the previous day.  Although the four of us split up,
they all knew we were travelling as a four. Our other half (ana and andrew) was known as 'your rasta friends' (Andrew has dreads).
  It seemed they were tracking us.  As we wandered Petra, they all knew who we'd spoken to, who we were with, where our
friends were and what we were up to in the next few days.
  See due to polictics theres been a decline of tourists, so apart from the guided one day tour groups we were one of the
few people wandering who were prepared to just chill and hear out the gossip and twisted family history of the Petra beduins.

So Petra day one:  We're inside.  As we bump into more and more of David's little friends we end up accepting their dinner
invite.  Their father khalife has over 15 children, two wives, and a baby on the way. This is quite normal.
  The carved rocks were pretty cool.
  So every 10 minutes of walking we'd bump into someone and stop for tea.  Namely; one girl Hadia had a stall on the steep
walk to the sacrifice point.  She'd given David her necklace last time and thought it approprait to give me a necklace too.
She's gorgeous.  At 14 she's learnt a perfect english as well as arabic from being free to talk to tourists.  Moreover she's
very intelligent (they all are), and says that she doesn't want to marry (even though her father tried to set her up already).
Hadia smokes in private, as do many of the Jordanian women.  The petra Beduins view islam with the most open minded attitude
I've come across, and I believe it to be due to their association with tourists. The men seem to chain smoke, see, from the cheap tailored
types to a unique home grown tobacco-like plant.
  So soon enough we met Abdullah Abu Sac-Succah (father of the beard).  At 29, he'd only left Petra to do minor travels,
and seemed to know everything about the whole of Petra.  He assumed the role of our tour guide and walked us around the cascading
cliffs and to the spring.  I love Petra, but my favourite part was the spring.  I ride behind Feras on his mule (as David walks behind:
an unfortunate experience which happened about 6 times without my being able to stop it).  As we meander the cliffs,
more and more of the caves appear dressed up, fenced with colourful fabric weaved into sticks. Goat homes, chicken coups
etc and not to mention actual homes: complete with cables.  Yes, the beduins of Petra never loose reception and moreover
they have a bigger range of TV stations than Australia in their caves. Wandering out of our tourist map's range, I see
Petra come to life.  Then, tumbling down the mountains: Fig, grapes, olives
all blossoming with health in the middle of summer's desert.  We follow the greenery towards pink flowering trees
 which snake along the valley, framing the sparkling spring water.  Goat herds drink from the water, donkeys are showered
and elderly men sip tea around a fire.  One man (we saw his ID) proved to be 120 years old.  The beduins usually live (youthfully) for
ages (due to camel milk, partially) but I think the newer generations are being poisoned by cigarettes alchohol and supermarket
products in general.
  We built up a fire further down the spring, boiled some sugar (tea) and lay down to cool during the hottest part of the day.
  Their politics here generally has the attitude of 'this is life. we accept it and find happiness amongst it'.  They seem
to all spend their money as they recieve it (making low tourist season a struggle) saying who needs money when their dead?
They also seem to think the shit life women are forced to live is inevitable - and they may as well gather all the wives
they can, and abuse their freedom.  This is a generalisation.  But it's so hard to talk to women here: the few who work in
petra are the few who can speak english, most are stuck at home to cook and make babies.
  We left Petra then and head off for the Beduin village to follow up our invitations on Abdullah and Feras' mules/donkeys.
The houses here are colourful and decorated with pretty gates, and many vines/trees.  Moreover, the streets are coloured
with tiny children playing, mules, horses, donkeys and camels.
  The beduin village was built to kick the beduins out of Petra (where they lived) in order to make Petra a tourist attraction.
Most of them use their houses for showering and still camp out most of the time, however.  One man even lived in one of
the tombs in Petra which was blocked off for tourists by a gate.  I thought it was for preservation reasons, but no - its
for privacy.
  First to Abdullah's brothers house where the wife and their baby boy lounged around the living space.  Abdullah took me onto
the roof where they keep a bedroom-sized cage full of pigeons.  Looking across the rooves of the village, it's a common
hobby.  The cage is left open, and after around a year of cage-life they now always return home.  We drink tea.
  Then to Abdullah's wife's house, where she lives with their babies and her mother (and where many our brothers, cousins,
I can't even keep up) are lounging around and talking.  More tea.  Despite being married, he lives on his own and had a
girlfriend a while back.  Men here love love.
  Then to the Khalife's house.  The inside of Beduin houses are the collest.  Colourful and decorated with
a gazillion fake flowers in colourful vases, stickers on the walls, tacky posters of fake landscapes, many family photos etc
yet it all looks really attractive in all it's tackiness.  The funniest part is the posters and the TV (often on)
while the view from their windows overlooks the awesome Petra.
  Keep in mind all the beduin in Petra and little Petra know each other: they're all related
one way or another.  The house is tiring with babies.  Suddenly we're in Khalife's car with his wife (no english) and
some of his kids.  We drive onto a mountain in little Petra, eat an awesome BBQ and drink more tea.  Somehow
some beduin friends we've made popped up to join us (which was nice as they spoke english) and played the oud as we sipped
tea around the fire, singing arabic love songs.
  Ferras and Abdullah pick us up in Ferras' jeep (everyone shares his jeep: as everyone in the village are like brothers and
his car is my car).  and we drive dangerously onto a mountain overlooking the village, wadi musa and some of Petra.
  Kassib rides his donkey up to meet us.  I've learnt drink donkey riding is far more intelligent than drink driving:
donkeys simply know the way, moon or sun.  Conversation here revolves around gossip mostly, and they expect me to remember
who lives in which cave, whose cousins/brothers/sisters, who has how many wives/children/brothers etc and oh my god it's
complicated.
We drive even more dangerously home where I my cheeks hurt from laughing as I fall asleep.

  Petra day two!
  I lost my ticket so we talk our way into letting me in (this time from the correct entrance).  As we wander sleepily through the
streets of rock, we are stopped even more often by familiar faces.  Petra's so big and we want to see streets we haven't yet
climbed to.  Ferras offers us lunch in his cave and we accept.  We hadn't yet seen anything new, but after stopping for tea
so many times it's already lunch time.  It's a donkey ride to his cave and I can't talk Ferras into letting David ride
occasionally.  Beduin are charming.  And they love women (and charming them).  It's no wonder so many beduins have married
and had babies with tourists.  Mostly it doesn't work out and the women live in their own countries again, but many
actually live in the village and have stalls in Petra.
Ferras' family's cave has two big rooms within: a kitchen lounge and a bedroom carpeted with thin mattresses as well as a tent.
  We sit in a tent out side the cave (it's verander) with the 20 odd children smiling around us.  The women have made
a large dish of mushed up bread and potato tastiness which we eat with our hands.  I couldn't help to lick my fingers,
but your not meant to until your actually finished (since we all eat out of the same platter).  Looks like I didn't
need to work onmy table manners, Dad :).  Beduins so rarely drink water, and use it mostly for tea and washing their hands.


Eventually we return to the tourist's heart of Petra where we venture through the unbelievable cliffs, relieved to be free
of other people, and find ourselves half way up a long long long line of steps which we can't find on the map.  We sit for
ages not knowing what to do.  David and I are so comfortable together we know what eachother want and don't even need to
ask! It's a lifelong friendship and I'll take the opportunity to tell all you sticky beaks that it is simply a friendship.
  But we were to meet Ana and Andrew at the top of the monastry (a 45 minute walk
up 800 steps) for sunset so we went back down and hurried through the hot desert.  Lucky we hadn't gone the full way:
it was simply a lead to another cave like the 1000 others in Petra (with a nice view).  The monastry was monstrous (good)
and one Beduin climbed it and went swinging up and around it's tips and toes!! AHHHH! He's a one hundreth of it's size.
  The view from up here was gollygosh breath taking, and I collapsed to have a nap on the brink of the cliff face.
  We met Abo SacSuccah and Ferras at the bottom of the monastry and the 6 of us began to drive up to the Beduin village.
  Then another beduin boy jumped in, along with the Beduin chief.  The eight of us hang out the windows (and roof) as we sailed
into town.
  Eventually the 7 of us drive up to the tip of a mountain (me up on the roof of the car with the bedding) holding on very
tightly as we rock in all directions over the rocks.
  We cook up a BBQ and stay up until four (most of us).  Although I found Abdullah Sac-Succah the most intriguing Feras
was my favourite.  Abdullah's father had died when he was young and I'd say hes had some drinking problems since.
  They're all sensitive, and aren't afraid to talk about their weaknesses.  They also arent afraid to cuddle their friends.
Yet they reek with masculinity and strength that you rarely find in western men.  Feras is the only young beduin
I've come across who doesn't smoke.  He's also very loyal to his (huge) family.  But hey; they all are to a fair degree.

  Woke up to the sun hot on our faces and so one by one we re-located, dragging our mattresses under the shade of a rocky verander.
  We had run out of water, and while the beduins didn't need any, us Aussies did.  So Feras was going to get some from
a local guy's cave and I offered to help out.  The car clonked out a few metres down the hill so we walked over mountains for
half an hour before finding an old man asleep in a sheep shed.  We woke him up as we were taking from his
water supply and he kindly offered us tea.  He dragged a wounded Palestinian refugee from the border to his home when he was
 a fit man.
  So we return and the car is out of gas so we call friends who come and bring us lunch - canned fish, cheese yogurt and bread.
  We end up stranded in the sun for another 4 hours trying to jump start the car (its actually out of battery).  We're also
out of water again, so the friends who were with us drive their car back to town to buy ciggarettes and one single bottle
of water to share. They were surprized when it was empty.
  Finally return to our hostel in Wadi Musa and sleep.

  Day four of Petra
  We wander in without much to do except find a particular friend who invited us over (he said to just say his name
and he'd appear...turned out a bit more difficult) and to walk through the siq.  The canyon carved by water.  It was stunning!
  The scenery here continues to amaze me.  Colours and patterns are constantly evolving like the sand in the wind.
Remember, Over the years Petra's been known to have hundreds of thousands of tourists per day - but bam it's now practically
empty and the workers are simply keen to have tourists to talk to.
  So David is known as the Jewish guy here because they recognised him to be so straight away and he couldn't deny it
as straight away each beduin would start speaking to him in Hebrew (they know touristy phrases in all languages).
 
  Practically all of the beduins were pro-Israel, which rather interested me.  They're frequent tourists for one (and they
like tourists because tourists mean business), partly because they live so locally.  Moreover the
 tour groups who come and left good impressions.  One beduin expressed hostility towards the Palestinians as he felt
the queen (and king I spose) were helping them while the beduins were simply left to help themselves.
  For a while I played a cool beduin game with some wise-old-men.  I was their good luck and seemed to be the cause
of any chance which played out.  They convinced the tourist police to let us into the siq to begin with (since its apparently
too dangerous without a guide.  All guides do is hold your bottom as you climb and offer to take photos.)

  So the beduin boys are so aware of the romanticised idea tourists have of them and they love it.  They seem to
all want western girlfriends (despite whether they're married with children).  One guy looked like Jack Sparrow
and was dating an english girl.  I found it interesting to talk to her but couldn't ask the questions I longed to.
Do they use condoms here!?????  The babies running around and male dominancy suggests a big pregnant no.
Hitched up to the beduin village to continue looking for our friend.  Got taken into so many people we'd met's houses
for tea.  We're now tea'd out.  Play with Feras' sisters for hours as they play with my camera.  I tried to relax.
My camera runs out of battery each day, so 3 dollars (if I'm lucky - some have costed 4.5) per day to take photos.
Not worth it.
  Hitch back to Wadi Musa with a car full of other people hitching - I think the lady beside me was pregnant, and we
were dropped off at the hospital...

I think we played cards and smoked shisha all night at our coffee shop.  Oh and we also got into a slight argument with a
tour guide who came and suddenly warned us not to talk to the gypsys (beduins) who work in Petra.  They aren't true Beduins.
See, theres a hostility between those who live in Wadi Musa and those from the Beduin villages.  This man said that the people
of Petra used tourists for money (psh) and that their donkeys are ruining the steps (this is very true.  But there are so
many steps!).  He said that they were not true muslims.  I understand this call because the bediuns are more liberal with
their approach.  The way I see it - life has been their teacher, and they see God in life.  They agreed when they
understood me.  The beduins see those who live in Wadi Musa as the 'farmer people'.  They were never true beduins
who lived out in the desert.

  Day 5
All we know is we want to leave Wadi Musa.  We call the number of one of the guys we met in little Petra and without
remembering us he says yeah come over it'll be sweet.
  We arrive and he's slightly on edge as his tooth needed to be pulled out.  But! Remember the riddle he asked us earlier?
  What do you own but everyone uses more than you?
He told us the answer. "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" We should have guessed it.  The answer was your name and that was the best joke/riddle he told
and he never stopped telling them.  Whenever one (of the four of us) said anything he'd interrupt with a story I couldn't
understand.  He drunk most of our vodka to numb the pain of his tooth and remained very hospitable.
  Now keep in mind the beduins of little Petra are of a completely different tribe.  They seem to be bigger fans of weed than
those of Petra (who turned to Alchohol), and they also have a different accent on their dialect.
Took an incredible sunset walk in little Petra - climbing over what looked like millions of 'The burrows' (harry potter)
made of rock.  Awadth is married to a Dutch lady who he clamed would jump off a rock for him, while he would not do the
same for her.  He was quite proud of this.  He'd also like to have four more wives, which she's apparently happy with.
  We got back to his cave and I helped prepare dinner (I wripped apart chickens).  We ate by midnight and were now starving.
Bloody Beduins rarely eat.  Our host Awadth was joined by is cousin Awad.  That took some difficulty.
  The cave was hand carved, probably over 1000/2000 years ago....something impressive, and was well furnished and comfortable
(save for the biting things).
 
  Day 6
  Awadth said he'd take us to spend the night in Wadi Araba for a price cheaper than any we'd come across so we took it,
and woke up thinking we were doing that.  Watermelon for brealkie, then we hike up Little Petra to Awadth's shop
to say hello good morning.  We chill there, he puts coal on my and Ana's eyes - ("healthy", "not make-up", made out of
the native trees).  He also gave us a pair of earrings each.  I felt like a princess!!! But it turned out
his car had broke down so we couldn't go to Wadi Araba but he promised to give us a good night. We accept the offer of a good
night and decided to head to Wadi Rum tomorow.  He disappears to buy cigarettes and  we look after his shop.
  All Day.
  One tourist came.  We played cards.  (we love Joker, but everyone here wants to play hand, a much simpler lame boring
version which makes me rude when a local insists we play it instead of Joker, a frequent dilemma).
  Eventually he returns and has bought dinner ingredients and fixed his car so we can go out.
  He wanted to take us to the same hill we'd already camped on, I think, but the car clonked out in the middle of the desert
and I was more than happy to start cooking dinner right there so we did Al Hamdullah (thank god).
  When you say How are you, the common reply is 'thank god', meaning God has made me what I am and I'm so thankful for it.
I love it.
  That night Awadth told many stories which I didn't understand, but Andrew retold them the next day.  The story of the gypsys
as well as the Genies.  The land is full of genies, (evil spirits) but the prayers which are played ward them away.
  Awadth makes a point in his life to retain the lifestyle of his parents and family, though it becomes more difficult each
year.  Slowly his people have been losing their culture and following Western habbits due to the Beduin villages set up
by the Government.
  Ana and Andrew (with whom I travel) worked in an Aboriginal community in Australia and have continuously pulled up
similarities between the two peoples.

Ye Restfull Dana

Aid Milan Saeed David!! 29th (David's birthday)
DANA
We have now been in Dana for 3 restfull sleeps! Much longer than intended.  Our hotel here
is run by Soloman, with the help of Moonira (a philipino lady) who calls him Baba (father),
and understandably as he is a very father figure.  All the days here have mellowed into
one! So I'll talk in a muddled order.  The few families who live in Dana really care about
their home, and moreover: nature.  The prayers, also are my favourites here.  The mountains surrounding Dana were split deeply
by an earthquake many years ago (the same one which destroyed many of the castles
I've visited) and all around we have found fossils from when the country was ocean.
  Yesterday I met AtAllah at Mohammed's store when we sat down to eat some mish-mish (apricots).
  By bad arabic gets me into funny situations.  He showed me his collection of ancient
coins found in the old, ruined village of Dana.  My interest inspired him to give me a tour
and together we went stumbling through the rocky ruins, rummaging for broken tiles, fossils,
pretty stones, bones etc.  Our hands were cupped full of pretty things after a little while.
  I still feel bad, but the beautiful man ended up giving me three coins.  Two ancient
palestinian coins which we hooked onto my necklace as well as an anicent Romainian coin
which is hand pressed!! 'Remember' was his favourite english word and I shall not forget.
  Another young man invited us to his orchid where we sipped zartar tea (!!!) amongst the donkeys.
  After the first night of arabic card games and Mt Nebo wine with locals, David and I helped cook dinner.
  I wanted to learn the secret of their amazing cooking and oh gosh did I discover:
Everything (even before it's mixed in with rice or anything) is deep fried.
  A mahloube like dish involved a large pot.  At it's base sits a layer of tomato,
Which we layered with rice (mixed with chick peas and peas and noodle bits) and deep
fried vegies.  Plus spices and tomato puree. placed upside down like a rice cake!! Delicious.
   Chicken, beans, tabouleh, bread: yum.
  We stayed a third night here as buses don't run on fridays and so we couldnt get to Petra.
No Problem! Said Solomon - we would party here today for David's birthday. Inshallah. We'd cook
Mansaf (Beduin dish!), dance, play music, and party.
  So Today David woke up to my singing happy birthday in arabic.  I've told everyone we've
met here so far to come and celebrate with us together tonight, and David hates me for it.
  We set off after breakie towards the springs but got distracted by a group of young men
on a picnic, with whom we played magical games beneath a huge tree by a spring.  Since leaving Madaba,
I've met more actual "jordinians" who are from beduin families.  Humungous beduin families with multiple wives
each with many (around ten) children.  And although they are quite poor, they are so generous and rich in heart you
easily forget.  This is a generalisation, there are many beduin tribes (each with varying dialects and expectations)
and I couldn't have experienced all of em.
  The young men have been raised to be responsible regarding morals, family, respect, and yet they still know how to have fun.
  They came back later in the evening to celebrate David's birthday, and promised to speed home one handed after
I warned them to be carful. Jordanians all have a great sense of humour.
  Mansaf that night: cook watered yogurt in a pot on the stove.  Cook rice (with cumin butter and salt). Cook chicken (or
better: lamb).  Put rice then chicken then yoghurt. Simply delicious.
  It was devastating to leave the next morning.  I promised Moonira and Solouman I would go back Moonira insisted
on numerous photos together, under this tree and that, amidst discussing how we'd pay (as we didnt have enough cash
between the four of us and Dana has no bank).  Waving from the car window I felt really loved.  Lovely man Brahim was
taking us to Petra (Wadi Musa).

Karak

Karak Castle
Awoke to the morning prayers of Madaba and playful calls of children on the streets.
  It is school holidays here, so where
ever we have travelled we have seen many children
who have proven to be very playful and welcoming.
  We decided to have Abu Samir take us on our days journey again.
See here in Jordan its near impossible to travel by public transport
Which is very costly. So we have spent much time discussing how we're
going to travel to each place for maximum efficiency.  On the road again,
listening to Romanian club-mixs (which I now kmow the words to) we head to
Karak castle.  A town further south of Madaba built sloped down the hill, whereon
sits the castle.  circling the castle again is a dried up moat which separates
the scrawny and joyous streets (one way, with cars going two-way) from the spacious
and desolate kingdom.
  The castle made me feel quite powerful as I looked out onto a panoramic view of Jordan,
and I was not surprized to discover that its know as a spot for casting wars.
  Many have reigned from the castle over the years (as it was
built BC) but the story of Salah al-din (Saladin) is the most famous and interesting.
  Around 1140, While the crusaders were having some weird crisis in the middle east,
a leader named Richard was assuming control of Karak castle and would throw the locals
out of the windows (their heads in wooden boxs so theyd hit the ground conscious).
Salah al din, a Sunni Muslim, stuck up for his people always and fought against the crusaders
(he was quite a shrewd and gory fighter, a leader too)
So He was cast into Richards dungeon. Although, Saladin was such a nice guy that he
became friends with many of the crusaders including RIchard, so he was eventually released.
I think most of the people here could get out of dungeons, as they all seem so sweet.
Anyway so we had our first meal that wasnt (delicious) bread homos and falafel or shwarma.
We shared Okra and kofka with rice! (made by Abu's cousin) And found Abu Samir getting his hair cut next door.

We then took off towards the sun to Dana, where the springs trickle down hills of trees which
rustle with birds snakes and horned dears.  The village sits amidst the trees down the slope of the hill looking
over a great weaving valley to the west (where, ofcoarse, the sun goes to sleep).
  The village was founded by a beduin family tens of years ago and is made entirely by huge white stones.
Today, the same three families still live here anf use their land to preserve the natural
flora and fauna specific to the Middle East.  My insect collection is growing.
Abu Samir took us to his cousins hotel where he said we could camp cheaply, however as the
tents are "under renovation" we were put into the rooms for the same price.  As the sun set,
we were offered dinner.  Oh my Golly.  After so long of petty food dinner made me choke:
It was a banquet!!  A mountain of rice with a variety of curries salad and meat to serve yourself
as you fancy all cooked with VEGETABLES!!! After being taught it so many times, I finally
remembered how to say the meal was delicious in arabic.  A quiet evening of backgammon led us to a
lazy morning and I've been writing, drawing, painting laughing and singing under olive trees by the spring ever since.

We may spend a few more days here before we hit Petra.