Kimberly's Notebook: Playing Indiana in Jordan

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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