Playing Indiana in Jordan

An Email Home ...

Shalom/Marhaba Mom!

Once again, in the matter of days, it feels like I have lived 500 lives. This past week, the Jerusalem Center took a sojourn to Jordan. We drove to the border, got pretty new stamps in our passports, then chugged along in a different, tacky tourist bus. Before we left, our Jordanian tour guide, Mohammad, stepped all aboard and joined us. I have never seen so many pockets on one tour guide. I counted more then seven. He wore every shade of olive green, looking himself like a kind, round olive. But Mohammad was in no way as bitter as an olive. He tolerated our twittering tourist behavior and every time we dawdled at the shops he called out, "Ready Tigers?"We happily growled or pawed at the air, then followed along.

The first day, Mohammad took us to Mt. Nebo where Moses looked out and saw the promised land.

We stood atop the Tel and wondered what Moses saw when he saw the promise land. We saw a wide blue sky and dusty, gold sand hills that looked like giant camel lumps atop the world.

I have to admit, it was hard to squint out at the sight and say, "oh yes, what a land of milk and honey."

That night, we drove into our hotel far past dinnertime, rushed to the buffet, cheered for the delicious swarmas and then ...because we are college students who simply do not sleep at night, we went swimming. The hotel had a pool in-doors ... and it was heated. Cha-ching.

So we do not wither from dehydration, our professors give us these tree-size water bottles each day. Filled with pool water, one of these bottles becomes a perfect water-polo "ball" in the pool. We divided into two teams. The rules: girls go on the boys' shoulders, get the water bottle, return it to your side, and... then there are no other rules. Hair-pulling is allowed (ouch).

I got on one of the boy's shoulders (at this point, I realized maybe it would be a good idea to shave sometime while on this trip ... oh well) ... the ref. called out start and the game began! The boys strutted forward with the girls barring their nails at each other. We grabbed at each other's wrists, ankles, thighs, hair, etc.

When one girl grabbed the water bottle-bobbing somewhere in the middle of the pool, we became a tangle of bodies. The boys were squished under thighs, but I didn't even bother to see if mine was still taking in oxygen. I grabbed the water bottle at one point and nails gripped around my wrists. Five pairs of hands pushed me into the water. More bodies fell on top of me and I pushed my way through the masses, looking for air, wondering if this would be the way I would die in Jordan.

My group didn't win.

I ran back to my room, dripping wet, cold with chicken-skin all over, wishing for a re-match.

But I had so, so much fun.

On Tuesday, we went to the land of Indiana Jones. At least, that's what I keep calling it in my head. It's Petra--the very place where Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was filmed (Namadeon people lived there too, apparently...).

I took a thousand pictures.

Mostly because I was excited to wear my new hat (shallowness alert).

It's the hat you and Dad got me--the wide brim, chestnut brown, complete and utterly tacky tourist collection hat. Before we left for Jordan, we watched the Indiana Jones movie and I knew I had to bring that hat with me. I put the hat on and we followed Mohammad down dusty roads into dark and beautiful chocolate trie-cake like sikhs. I brushed my fingers along the hat's brim and felt like a sassy female version of the rugged Harrison Ford (go ahead and roll your eyes).

Mohammad told us about the carvings in the stone. He explained how we could see depictions of camels and soldiers in the chocolate-brown rock. But by the time we got to the site where Indiana was, my friend Katherine and I were just not listening. We started to sing the theme song (duh-duh da da) and galloped past Mohammad on our imaginary horses (yes, I am a Junior in college).

The site was beautiful. And while I had far too much fun riding a camel, lifting my hat into the air, and pretending to be Indiana, it was amazing to look at the carvings and imagine the hands that smoothed the stone.

The rest of the day in Petra, we explored like Indiana Jones. Except, my hat got me into some trouble.

My Arabic teacher told me I am too small to be desired by the Arab men (but no worries, he comforted me by saying--"you are a piece of cake, Kimburlee!")

Apparently, when I wear that hat the men do not mind if I am a small and mousy brunette.

Throughout the day, men called out, "I like the one in the hat!" or "cowgirl!"

Another asked, "I like your hat. Can I have it?"

Nervous giggle. Umm, no?

"I like you. Can I have you?"

More nervous giggling and my face turns the shade of Egypt's Nile after God turned it into blood.

Sure, it was nice for the brunette to get some attention once instead of the blondes. But it was a bit creepy ...

I was not about to take off my Indiana Jones hat during our horse ride. They gave us three dollars to ride a horse back to the bus and I was more excited than a child. However, they warned the girls not to go alone and to make sure, if the man who led your horse, led you on a different course, to make a loud, loud fuss.

I found a man with a horse, struck the three-dollar deal and saddled on top of the brown, nutella-colored horse.

The man who led my horse seemed a bit cranky. I pulled myself up on the horse, patted the animal's head and said, "What's his name?"

Cranky man didn't even look at me. He took the reigns and grumbled a reply.

"He doesn't have a name."

"Can I name him?"

Then, cranky man turned around, slowly, and with the creepiest sneer on his lips said, "sure."

I named the horse Chestnut.

Chestnut did not like to go fast. I swear that horse was dragging its hooves and making decorative designs in the dust.

My friends were ahead on the trail and I was with lazy Chestnut and cranky horse man. The horse man let me ride Chestnut alone and I think he enjoyed smacking Chestnut's bum so the horse would start running with me wide-eyed and bouncing around on back. But, Chestnut was too lazy and after a fast trot, slowed down to once again make designs in the dust.

Cranky horse man then got a horse from another man on the road and rode along beside me.

Cranky horse man then looked at me and said, "You look so cute right now. Like a cowgirl. This is the first time I am jealous of my horse. I wish you were riding me."

Nervous giggle.

Nervous smacking Chestnut's head.

Nervous muttering little prayers that Chestnut would hurry it up.

Cranky horse man and I talked some more. I tried to change the subject (Does your family live in Jordan? Do you like Jordan? Let's talk about Jordan.)

Then, cranky horse man took my horse's reigns and started to lead me up the hill and away from the group.

All the spit dried up in my mouth.

I started to panic. I told him not to go that way. I imagined Chestnut would be the last to see me alive. I looked ahead, trying to find someone in my group. I saw Kaylie and started calling out her name.

Thankfully, as a true friend, Kaylie was already looking for me.

"What are you doing over there?" she called out.

"I don't know," I said with a very raspy, choked out voice.

"She needs to come over here," Kaylie said to cranky horse man.

Cranky horse man brought me back to Kaylie and I stepped down, shaking, from the horse.

I still love my Indiana hat.

But I do not think I will ever wear my Indiana hat in Jordan, again.

On Wednesday, we went to a Mosque. Unfortunately, that morning I woke up with a bit of a cold. I spent the night before, suffering the first stages of hypothermia in our freezing hotel room. (I was under the tissue-thin covers, blowing heat into my hands all night). Once again, the Nile River was coming out of my nose. So I took two Benadryl with breakfast. Bad decision.

I honestly cannot recall most of Wednesday.

I remember losing the feeling in my arms and legs at the Mosque. I remember walking around, feeling like the world was blurring into watercolors. I didn't faint though. It was just like I was walking along in a dream. When I asked the person I was sitting next to on the bus if I acted strange he said, "you were in your own little world." But the Mosque, from what I remember, was beautiful.

We put on headscarves and black robes. Then, we quietly tiptoed (I swayed) into the Mosque. We learned about the prayer and admired the Arabic gold lettering on the walls.

I think if I had been fully conscious, the mosque would have been one of my favorite memories.

But there were more favorite memories I was more awake for. We met up with the BYU Jordan travel abroad students. I knew one of the girls from freshman year and she took me and some other of my JC friends to get falafels from a hole-in-the wall restaurant. It was in an dark, dank alleyway. With plastic chairs and tables. I sat there munching on my oversized, fried chickpea ball, stuffed with onions, and warm pita with humus and I kept wondering, if I would soon be the mother to parasites.

Then, we went and got the traditional desert. It's a sweet kind of gloppy cheese I can't name. I had to force myself to swallow it but it wasn't half bad.

On our adventure for more delicious Jordanian delicacies we got nutella fruit cocktails. That, I could stomach.

Other JC people who went out with the Arabic kids had a few stomach problems. Honestly, we've gotten to the point where it's as normal to ask a friend about their bowel movements as it is to ask about the weather.

Our adventure in Jordan continued with improv concerts in old ruined theaters, lunch at KFC take-out (more aching bellies), and hikes to monasteries.

The last day, we went to the River Jordan. The water looked olive-green. I dipped my feet in the sun-warmed water and let the moss squish up in between my toes. As one of my friends observed, Christ chose a humble place to be baptized. But the River Jordan really is so, so beautiful.

Now, I am back at the Jerusalem Center, with my hot milk and toast, only feeling nauseous because I have so, so much homework to do.

But, as always, I love life here.

Love you and Miss you!!!!

Love,

Kimberly

Petra: The Place of the Nabateans and, of course, Indiana Jones

Me and Katherine playing Indiana

Me as Indiana all over Jordan ...

Me and Robin

Professor Huntsman and Me

Me, Chestnut the horse, and Kaylie. This is the moment where Kaylie made sure I made it back to the group safely.I learned something about myself at this site: I am slightly terrified of heights. Kaylie had to hold my hand.

The background is real.

Amazing.

In the River Jordan.

Where Christ was baptized.

Amazing.

Climbing Olive Trees

In the Garden of Gethsemane

An Email to Home...

Marhaba/Shalom Mom!

Another week has gone by way too fast. I think my week may have gone to wherever my shekels keep disappearing to (darn those shopkeepers...). Sometimes, it feels like I have been here for 2 years ... not because I am bored! It is not possible to be bored here. I just have done so much in the past month and a half.

On Monday, we went snorkeling at Eilat. The Red Sea looks like God spilled aqua, turquoise and emerald paints on Earth ... when I stepped into the water at the seashore, I felt like I was stepping into blue kool-aid. Do you remember Dad's crocodile fish Garth Vader? The one whose eyeball unfortunately bulged out of his head? (another pet tragedy in the Michels' home...) Welp, I found his relatives in the Red Sea. The water was not so, so warm like the Mediterranean but I didn't even notice the cold. The lifeguards acted like Jaws would come up and sample each one of our heads if we didn't follow regulations so we stayed within the boundaries and out of the coral reefs. There were schools of those tiny little fish and I tried to swim within them. I felt like the whale from Finding Nemo about to eat all the krill. At parts, it was almost eerie because there was no fish around, no coral, no life ... I was just waiting for that shark to come up and sample my behind.

We also had two other field trips this week. My favorite was probably Hezekiah's Tunnels. We stepped into dark, dank tunnels filled with water that went past our knees (it was at this time I realized I wore pants that are see-through when wet...oops. But it's ok, it is the closest I will get to skinny dipping here in Israel.) When our group turned off all our flashlights, you couldn't see anything ahead of you. We just held onto each other's shoulders and shuffled through the cramped tunnels.

We also went to the barrier wall. It was the first time I felt a little, tiny bit scared. The entire school went together. I am just beginning to understand the Palestine vs. Israel problems. Then, I saw the graffiti scribbled on the walls. But I feel like I have walked in on a conversation that has lasted a thousand years. The graffiti we saw was new, too. Two journalists came to talk to us about the conflict and I wanted, so bad to ask some wise, profound question that would prove I should be a journalist. Yup, that didn't really happen. I can ask, "how many shekels?" or "will you take it for 20?" But I am learning about this thousand year conversation.

Now that we are on the topic of my ignorance ... I failed a test. I studied! I tried! But I failed. Are you still proud of me?

We were all, all 82 of us here in the JC center, absolute stress cases before the ANE midterm. We spent days cooped up in the center, but we were so busy with meetings, lectures and more packed-full activities we couldn't even sit down for a moment to ponder the eternal questions of life (which is what I came to Jerusalem to do...). So, while I did study ... I failed. And don't even tell me that I didn't and you are sure I did just fine. I failed. I just know I did.

We went over the test right after handing it in. The people around me kept muttering a chorus of "yesss-es" after each question. I wanted to shove my notebook down their throats. I was counting how many I got wrong on one hand, then the next hand, and then I lost count... all the while people were chanting "yessss" in my ear.

I was about to burst into tears, throw my notebook up in the air, let all the note pages flutter on my teacher's head, and then break the projector with my fists ... but I managed to sniffle in this breakdown.

The nutella filled pitas and hot milk did help some.

Going to the Garden of Gethsemane helped, too.

And knowing that in just two days, I will be in Jordan, helped, too.

So life is still so, so wonderful here in the Holy Land.

Miss you and Love you!!

Love,

Kimberly

Me and Kaylie at Olive Pressing

Our homemade, pressed olive oil

Just one way to squish olives

My teacher's child looks like a little angel. I know that is cliche to say, but seriously--look at those gold locks.

Olive oil trickling into the vats.

At the barrier.

Kaylie saw this picture and said we look distorted. I swear my head isn't usually that large. Or so perfectly round. Oh well, I will just embrace my big round, basketball head. In Kaylie's words, "At least we have beautiful diamond eyes." That is, according to our friends in the Old City.

Home in the Old City

Today, I was pressed and pushed. I was smirked and kissed at. I think the men may wrongly assume that all American girls perpetually blush or scold or just giggle nervously.

On our free days, or the hours in between classes, we rush to the Old City.

I just walk along the cobble step streets and try to remember every face and feature.

A round little seven year old boy walks around the Old City with a cig burning on the end of his pouting lip. You can tell he thinks he is all that and a bag of those crunchy BBQ puff chips. An older man sits at his shop, stooped over a hooka, taking long, big draughts. He reminds me of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. A sickly sweet smoke billows around him and he closes his eyes, wraps his wrinkled hands around the nozzle, and seems to fall asleep in the clouds. Women in headscarves grasp their children's hands and walk brazenly forward. Tourists dawdle at the shops. The tourists in the bustling, matching color t-shirt groups fan themselves and then bow their heads, muttering prayers or singing hymns as they follow their guide.

I just realized I am talking about tourists and I am one.

But not really.

I have to admit, I feel like a natural now in the city.

I know, I know that is arrogant to say. To be honest, I still fit into the crowds of bustling tourists. But I feel more confident.

Growing up, I watched the cartoon movies of the scriptures. There is one with time travelers visiting Queen Esther. The time travelers are with Esther when she is chosen as queen, when she learns about Haman's plot against the Jews, and when she prepares the banquet. But my favorite part is when Queen Esther must go in to speak to the king. She knows she may die but she still walks forward, pushes aside the soldier's spears and, without looking down, says, "I am queen." Sometimes, when I am walking into places where I feel as though everyone is looking down on me, I compose my face, I look ahead and confidently walk forward. In the Old City, I was thinking about this.

I try to walk confidently.

I wear my genie pants, the ones with red and green and orange stripes as a belt. I munch away on the most delicious falafal, bursting with wedges of green cucumbers, fried chickpeas, and creamy humus wrapped up in pita bread that smells like yeast and warm earth.

I raise my eyebrows at the prices and tsk when I know the shopkeeper is trying to swindle me.

I know I have so much to learn. From the people. From the land. From the history somehow saved in every building and cobblestone.

But I still like to walk confidently and believe for a moment, that I belong here. Because, for right now, I do belong here.

Andrew, Katie, Me, Kaylie, Jeff, and Lauren

Me, Mary, and Kaylie

Anyone who knows me knows I am somewhat obsessed with the movie Ever After. I was a bit too loud in the holy church when I found this gem ... it's Leon Cre! As in, Nicole de Leon Cre.

I am doing pretty well on my goal to try every flavor of gelato ice cream. This day, double scoop of Ferro Rocher and Snickers. (from left to right-Mary, Me, Kaylie, and Scott).

While it wasn't the time of the year for the holiday, we had our own Seder dinner. That's the passover dinner with singing, crisp unleavened bread (tastes like saltine crackers ... yum) and, of course, our wonderful professor: Ophir.

Traditionally, Seder meals include wine. We feasted with grape juice.

An Adventure in the Kidron Valley. Me and a few of the Arabic students went to explore caves in the valley. There, we found millipedes, knats within the tombs and tethered ropes in Absalom's burial chamber. I felt like the female version of Indiana Jones.

Tragically, I died in the cave.

Then, I turned into a zombie with Egyptian dance moves. (Zombies from left to right: Whitney, Tyler, Robin (in back), Me (in front), Allyson, and Elise.

Our burial place. Or us planking. (Whitney, Me, Robin).

Kaylie (aka Popcorn) and I planned a night out on the town in West Jerusalem. We planned to go see a jazz concert and invited everyone we saw at the center. By the time we ordered the bus, more than forty people joined our group. The bus driver dropped us off on the side of the street and we tried to assemble a group of forty flirty students to find the concert. We searched and searched ... but never found it. We asked for directions. We listened for the whisper of some jazz note. We got lost in a food market. Eventually, we went to Ben Yuhada street and consoled ourselves with gelato. It was ... a wonderful night.

Outside of the JC, there are olive trees. I love the trees' large, gnarled roots and branches. The olives are like plump, hard green grapes and are so bitter they make my cheeks pinch. We each went out to fill bags full of these little olives. Later, we will press them into our own little flasks of Holy Land olive oil.

I reached the top of the tree branches on Cameron's shoulders (he kindly pretended like I wasn't hurting his shoulders). Before going on his shoulders, I did a nice job of getting so scratched up in the tree tops that I now am making good use of the Batman bandaids my Mom sent.

Elise, Me, Scott

Mary, Kaylie, Me, Mary

Falafels are the most delicious food since Betty Crocker brownies.

A Rose Garden in Jerusalem

Before I left for Israel, I read the book "The Little Prince." I had never read it before and wished after I finished the last page, that I could meet the little prince on his little planet.

Now, I feel like I am on a different planet.

Except, I feel at home here.

I was much too excited when I arrived in Jerusalem and found velvet pink, yellow and red roses at the BYU Center. It reminded me of the little prince.

In the book, the little prince talks to a rose garden about his own rose ...

"You're lovely, but you're empty ... One couldn't die for you. Of course an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than you altogether, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except for two or three for butterflies). Since's she the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose." (passage from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "The Little Prince")

Here in Jerusalem, I have fallen in love.

With the land.

With the people.

Jerusalem is a rose, to me.

Me and Popcorn. Ok, ok her name really isn't Popcorn. This is my roommate Kaylie. I call her Popcorn as an endearing pet nickname. I christened her "Popcorn" because she pops her knuckles and spine and sternum ... (I didn't even know you could pop your sternum). We have too much fun shopping, eating Magnum bars and procrastinating our homework together.

Me, Mary, Kaylie and Jessica at Tel Aviv. The Mediterranean water is oh so lush and warm. I only wondered for a moment if the fish that swallowed Jonah was nearby.

I graffitied my name at the Jerusalem Center. Ok, everyone was allowed to ... but I still feel immortalized.

Apparently, they know me in Jerusalem.

I found Eeyore in Jerusalem. I intend to ride him home and keep as a pet.

Our Modern Near Eastern teacher told us to try his favorite restaurant Lina. We searched the Old City until we found the place. We tried the warm pita with humus ... and ordered seconds. We tried the fresh squeezed lemonade and our eyes burned.

After two weeks of falling in love with Jerusalem, they then swept us away to a different land ... Turkey.

Ok, ok. I know. I know. It is not a good idea to touch potentially diseased, sneezing, lice-infested cats on the cobblestone streets of Turkey. But let me explain.

This little kitten with three legs ran up to me.

He nuzzled my leg.

He meowed so sweetly.

So I couldn't resist. I scratched his little ear.

And then the kitten sneezed into my hand.

I delighted in the Turkish delight.

Desiree and Me as Greek Goddesses at Assos.

Katherine, Mattie and Me at yet another unbelievably picturesque place of Turkey.

Perhaps the most wonderful memory so far was dancing on the beach, around a bon fire, and getting sand in between our toes while dancing to J.B.

No, these are not Greek Goddesses (it is easy to get confused) ... Me, Mary, Kaylie, Jessica, and Robin.

We are about to take over Troy in our own Trojan horse. (Where's Waldo? Hint: I'm the white bead in the middle window).

I ate this fish's eye ... on a dare. It was like a squishy white bead. But I am not allowed to talk about how the eye tasted like diseased liver because it grosses Jessica out.

Proof I ate said squishy fish eye.

We have Magnum ice cream bar addictions. I think it is a healthy addiction. Double chocolate feeds my soul.

Sigh.

The world is so, so beautiful.

Back at the Jerusalem Center, dressed and ready for Arab night.

Marahaba! That's Arabic for hello.

Yes, Jerusalem is my rose.