Finding Netherland

Well, autumn has come to the Lowlands, and the dreary weather calls for some form of entertainment. I thought I’d amuse you with a short story I was told in Amman. It concerns a Disney classic and a beautiful mistake.

Wendy: Where do you live?
Peter: Second to the right, and then straight on till morning.

A friend told me he had been watching the Arabic dubbed version of Disney’s Peter Pan. He remembered the story from his youth, but was confused by the fact that Holenda (Holland) was continuously mentioned as the place where Peter Pan and Wendy, John and Michael Darling had all their daring adventures. He watched the entire movie in Arabic dub: how Wendy and her brothers were able to slip into the magical world of Holland, how the Lost Boys and their leader Peter Pan bravely fought the pirate captain Hook of the Dutch ship the Jolly Roger, how the Indians of Holland were struggling against the Pirates.

My friend thought something was off, but couldn’t really fathom the nature, nor the scale of the erroneous element. When the credits rolled he noticed something. It said Neverland. That’s when he realised the obvious.

The translator’s ears had turned Neverland into Netherland, consequently leading him to the assumption that Peter Pan’s magical world was the Netherlands, or Holland. Ha! Those voiced dental fricatives!

The beauty of such errors often surpasses the human rule of ‘we all make mistakes‘. In this case, one man’s mistake ensures that a good portion of the Arab world grows up thinking the Netherlands is a magical place of flying kids in tights, fairies, pirates and indians. Simply precious!

 

Shukran

After having stayed in Jordan for 7 months to the day, I flew back to the Netherlands on September 2. I’ve truly had a blast in a city and a country that I have come to love. During my stay, I’ve continued to meet new people and discover amazing new places, and Amman really began to feel like a home away from home. My most sincere gratitude to all of my friends and colleagues, who made that feeling possible! Shukran ktir!

 

Lux umbraque sumus

The first bricks were surely made here
as were the pen, pots, and prayer.
So much past in present
that both are equally near.

Yet when it comes to future then
many here see none:
but that the past, the past it binds
Men to rocks, to blood, and sand.

- - - 0:10, 10 July 2007, SMH

 

The beauty of logistics

The neighbourhood mailman with his little cart strolled all the way to the Middle East: today the international edition of my favourite Dutch newspaper started its weekly delivery to my office. Pure beauty wrapped and name tagged in plastic. This edition of the NRC is made specifically for Dutch expatriates to keep them up to date on the most news worthy events of the past week.

Click on the thumbnail for the whole picture.

 

People of Amman (1/2)

I’ve lived in this town for that certain amount of time that enables you to see the patterns and trends of daily life. In Amman, a colourful city of two and a half million souls, I have been coming across particular individuals almost daily over the last few months. So now, a first overview of those particulars! I think there will be a part two to this sometime in the near future.

The Taxi Driver
He’s about 55 years old, Palestinian like everybody else, and talks in a high pitched voice. Is a very righteous man with strong ethical principles, but says ‘fuck’ a lot. A LOT. He does things for me. For example, he brought two bags with herbs for in my tea to my apartment. I once mentioned I liked mint. Very generous, right? The guard of my apartment building tried to scam me to get 5 JD for delivering it to me. The taxi driver called him ‘a fuck’ for that. He wants to drive me places, like Al Quds (Jerusalem). He has two sons and two daughters. Eldest daughter is 27. Random facts you get from being driven to your work once a week. He usually waits for me outside my building on Thursdays. He usually raises his hands up in the universal ‘What is this!?’ symbol, when I walk up the road at 5 to 9 – almost too late for work. He lives somewhere up Airport Road, I’m not sure where but it’s a long way away. I love this man.

The Newspaper Salesman
General ugly 7afartal (street thug) of some 45 years old. Stands at a major intersection near 6th Circle and Abdoun/Sweifiyeh every morning. He has a bunch of kids that, sadly, all look like him except without a huge beard. I’m sure they can and will sport one in a few years. He bosses the kids around a lot. He sells all kinds of newspapers and uses the traffic lights to manage his sales: red light means action, green means getting more newspapers. Whenever he sees me in a taxi, he says ‘Jordan Times?’.

The Safeway Employee
Manages the folks behind the cash registers, but often finds himself in the thick of it. He’s about 23 I think. Apparently he loves Germans and he thinks I’m one, because I happened to be able to speak German with him when he said that he had had German classes. He doesn’t know I don’t like Germans. Nonetheless, to keep up appearances, I put my principles aside each time I meet him and exchange some words in German. Just to make the guy happy, you know. I think I get good karma for this.

The Blue Fig Floor Manager
A dude I like to shake hands with, because he can get stuff done. On a busy day, you could get some preferential treatment in getting a table. He’s a pretty massive guy, definitely 1.95m and not skinny. He speaks with a heavy ‘urban’ American accent to me: sup man, long time no see, washappenin? That kind of stuff. I think he once told me he lived in Dallas, Texas for years. There are other Blue Fig people too. All the waiters know me and know I’m Dutch, because of their Holland Week in May and me subsequently wearing an orange tie. Also, the general manager says hi to me ever since I got into a verbal exchange with him when he refused to play my cd with Dutch songs during Holland Week. I think he doesn’t really like me but shakes my hand nonetheless. I don’t really like him but shake his hand nonetheless.

The Gypsy
Although everybody pretty much dislikes gypsies for their strange behavior, I sort of like the Jordanian gypsies. I come across them now and then, when I walk home from Safeway or Cozmo. The ones I meet are always women (I’m actually not sure if they are always the same ones or not) and dressed in amazing clothes. Bright orange, bright purple. Long fluttery dresses with flowery patterns. Sandals of course. And the hair, amazing. Always braided and long, really long. Overall, they look kind of scruffy, windswept but definitely swashbuckling. Never exchanged a word with them though. I don’t dare to because I think they might put a curse on me or something. I mean, there must be a reason they’re gypsies and no one really gets involved with them. But of course they do get my stamp of approval, just for their superb looks and great sense of 2007 gypsy fashion.

 

Simple rules to drive in Amman

Driving in the Middle East can be a bit of a tricky thing to some, while to others (in all likelihood the somewhat more aggressive, talkative and seasoned drivers) it almost comes naturally. Either way, driving in the Arab world is an experience in itself. Here are some tips to help you fit in. If they seem strange to you, just remember that without heeding my advice, you’d look like a total foreigner.

• Never stop, except for red lights. Don’t stop to let cars pass on roundabouts or at intersections, but always have the car creeping forward. In doing so, you will at some point subtly block the road for other drivers, allowing a safe passage for you.
• Drive with one hand at the horn. Use it. People rarely use their mirrors properly, so always be ready to honk.
• Don’t count on the fact that just because you come from the right, you go first. It just doesn’t work like that. The one to arrive at an intersection first and/or honks first, goes first. Oh, and use your lights to signal as well.
• Get proper car insurance. Always wear your seat belt. (…)
• When being driven in a taxi, try to wear a seatbelt (I say try to, because a lot of the taxis are in a shape that would classify them as junk: a seatbelt is a luxury). A third of the taxi drivers is actually capable of proper driving, another third is too old/blind/deaf, and the last third are reckless speeders. Prepare for impact.
• Don’t worry about speeding cameras. They’re very few in number, and usually overgrown by the leaves of nearby trees.
• Pimp your ride. Even the most family-oriented car should have a rally wheel and spinning rims in Amman. Don’t forget purple neon for under your car and fluorescent blue lights where your headlights should be.

Feel free to comment if you think of some more rules of the road!

 

Ghetto world

I was walking back to my house from the supermarket Cozmo, a walk of some 5 minutes. It was 7 pm, and I had just gotten out of work. Tired and kind of cranky. I had been a shitty day.

Strolling down the slightly sloped road, I was passed on the right by two Arabs. Well, Arab, but not really. Their features were Arab, but their clothes were, well, urban. Ghetto if you will. I passed them and cracked a smile. I knew what I was in for.

“Sup? Where ya from?”
I turned around and raised my hand, and consequently my three plastic bags with groceries, in a greeting. “Hi. I’m from Holland.”
“Where?”
“Holland.”
“What?”
“The Netherlands, man. Holland?”, I stated again.
“Aw, yeah, you gotsta speak up yo. Sup?”, the first guy went on. “My name’s Tarek. Dis is Munir.”
“Pleasure. My name’s Sander.”

Imagine you’re in a 50 Cent music video. Grown men in oversized shirts, decorated with fake gold around their necks. Wearing jeans with the crotch between their knees. You know, old skool ghetto boys.

“So, where are you guys from?”, I enquired naturally.
“Always lived in Chicago, man. But I’m Jordanian. Just came back here for good…”, Tarek smiled. Munir nodded and added, “We be chillin’ in da sun yaknowmsayin, dis summer is gonbe hot. So, you from Holland huh? You gots weed bro?”
I shook my head. “No man. That stuff’s dangerous down here.” They looked at each other and laughed. Tarek shook his head, revealing a glimpse of his name tattooed on his neck. “Shit man, you gotsa be kiddin’. Dat shit is so good down here. We gotta hook up some time, aight? What’s yo numba?”

I gave them my number and we shook hands (an automatic ghetto shake). I turned around the corner and laughed to myself. No matter how far away from home you are, there’s a constant in the world wherever you go. That constant is called Music Television, MTV. Isn’t it beautifully frightening? We’re all children of mass media.

Speaking of mass media: if you have the chance, I would suggest checking out the site of a knowledgable man I met in Amman last month. Rob Williams PhD., an American expert on mass media and professor, writer, singer, composer, blogger, proud Vermont citizen, party animal (as seen with my own eyes) and public speaker. Listen to his song ‘Kill your television’ right here.

 

Climbing mountains and -400m in 1 day

My second time to Petra was more interesting than the first. Me and Frederik covered the same amount of sights in half the time compared to my last visit, and we took some amazing climbs up the various hills around the hidden city. For example, we headed up the stairs to the High Place of Sacrifice. From this mountaintop and destroyed temple, we had a beautiful view of the whole city. Amazingly, as we were up there, a windy front rolled in and caused a sand storm in the valley below. Very weird sight. Poor tourists. We also climbed to the top of the theater, which was awesome. I didn’t do it last time because it was closed by fences, but this time I just followed the Berserker Viking on his quest for ever higher heights. And man, was it great. From up high, it gives you another great view of the city and you can imagine the roar of 8,000 Nabataeans.

This last Thursday, I also visited the Kerak and the Dead Sea for the first time. The first part of the day was spent at Kerak castle, a Crusader caste from the 1200s. It’s mostly rubble on a hill, but the walls still stand. The most amazing parts are hidden deep underground and constituted the stables and living quarters of the Crusaders; they are magnificant multi-level halls, going down as far as four different levels. Later on the day, as Frederik and I drove down from the mountains to the lake’s shoreline, we could see a weather front roll in from over the hills in Israel. Just our luck. We were in time for the sunset, but alas, the clouds rolled in and that was it. We went to the Dead Sea Marriot Hotel, mistakenly bought 2 dinner vouchers thinking they were entrance tickets for the spa (which is the only way to go into the Dead Sea and enjoy a needed shower afterwards), but got in anyway thanks to a nice security guard. The feeling of not being able to sink is very strange. I got the hang of floating after one panicky help-I’m-going-to-sink-like-a-rock arm splash, getting the salty water into my eye –- not a recommended experience. The trick is to just stretch to keep your balance. After having been in the water for a while, I dutifully rubbed the last bit of mud from one of the jars at the beach on my body. Then I just sat back and enjoyed the view over the lowest part (400 meters below sea level) of planet Earth.

 

Travels in Spring

An abundance of experiences and travels and too little time to write them all up. The tragic result: it has been a month since my last update. In this month I worked, met yet more people, traveled around ancient Jordan and hosted one of my best friends. Now that I’m in bed with a cup of Starbucks coffee at my side, let me tell you about it all. View the photographs of all the places mentioned below at this Picasa web album.

Early in April, I decided to visit one of Amman’s most ancient sites: the Citadel, or Al Qala. This fortification in the middle of the downtown area lies high upon one of Amman’s mountains and stems from before Christ. However, most of the ruins date from Roman times, when Amman was called Philadelphia and was a major city in the Decapolis. It was one of the first sunny days since I arrived in Jordan, and the wind was howling across the mountains. Walking around alone, it was kind of eery; very few tourists around and a single armed guard. I walked around flipping pages of my Lonely Planet, trying to figure out all sorts of information about the site. The view down to the streets below and to the Roman Theater was spectacular. Supposedly, the Roman elite had a tunnel constructed to carry them from the temple complex on the Citadel down to the Theater, as to avoid mingling with the dirty riff raff in the streets. Nobody knows where this tunnel is, or if it even really exists!

Continuing to feed my hunger for history and archeology, I visited Jerash and Umm Qais in the north of Jordan, in Roman times respectively known as Gerasa and Gadara. These cities were also in the Decapolis. I rented a car with one of my best friends Frederik, who came over for a week while traveling from Dubai to Amsterdam, and drove up there. Jerash was amazing; incredible well preserved and an enormous site. The most amazing part was the theater. Beautifully restored and certainly worth a visit during the Jerash Festival this summer, for a concert or two! Umm Qais was a small Roman city but nonetheless an interesting visit. The first striking thing is the use of black stone instead of white marble. Really weird to see that! It is not nearly as impressive as Jerash or any other ancient site in Jordan, although it boasts a magnificent view of the Golan heights (Israeli occupied but actually Syrian) and Lake Tiberias. However, I value my visit to Umm Qais as more entertaining than Jerash, because of the complete rawness of the site. It hasn’t been excavated well and that means that you can just stray from the path and start your exploration. Roman pottery is spread all over the place.

I was also stalked by an Iraqi woman in Umm Qais. She was with her friends and started to giggle uncontrollably when I looked over my shoulder towards her. Wherever I walked with Frederik, I bumped into her and her friends. It turned out that she was Christian (‘My name is Mary!’), around 35 years old and wasn’t married yet - or anymore! Hence the stalking. Her 5 veiled friends discussed me in Arabic, and when I told them that ana (I) be7bti (speak) arabi (arabic) shway (a bit), they all just sort of applauded me and started to ask me all sorts of questions. I enjoyed my 5 minutes of admiration and then casually walked away.

 

A ride through Amman

Take a ride with me through Amman. We start between Douar Sadis (6th Circle — Amman’s major roads converge on ‘circles’ or roundabouts) and Douar Gamis (5th Circle), right around the place where I work. The big building you see on the right is the Sheraton Hotel. We travel down through the tunnel to Zahran Street, a long street lined with nice sidewalks and plenty of trees. It’s a great area to live in, but you need some serious cash. You’ll be neighbours to the king, living in Zahran Palace. The big rounded building you drive straight at is Hotel Le Royal, a skyline landmark in Amman. After Zahran Street, we pass to the Third Circle (Douar Thlatis), Second Circle (Douar Teini) and First Circle (Douar Owal), getting us into the neighbourhood called Jabal Amman. This is a lovely authentic neighbourhood with thousands of steps and old houses. We end in Rainbow Street, at the doorstep of one of my favourite bars/restaurants: Books@Cafe.