It Sure is a Big World For a Little Coffee Drop!

Remember the Stars of Sinai

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:39:00 GMT

In a coffee-shop in Wisconsin, I feel a sort of strange disassociation from the English speakers around me. In a way, I miss the unintelligible Arabic tongue I had grown accustomed to, miss the concentration it afforded me while writing. Eavesdropping was largely impossible for me in the Middle-East, and conversely, unavoidable in the states, and so here I have sat, for what seems an hour, staring at a blank screen, wondering when I may have the privilege of traveling yet again. But the trip has re-ignited a certain glean to this city, and it has occurred to me that perhaps I should more view my hometown as another destination on life's journey, and not merely a place to pursue the patterns and rituals of the so-called rat race. That being said, I believe there is much to explore here, and I have in no way exhausted the possibilities to make new discoveries and engage fascinating people.

There is much to be missed though. The hospitality, the etiquette, the beautiful desert scenery and the sheer electricity that coursed through my veins when I first saw Khufu's capstone towering over the buildings of Cairo, or when the facade of The Treasury subtly peered out at me from between the narrow canyon walls of that magically winding siq. And though it may occur in the twilight of my life, how could I ever foget the stars of Sinai, as our taxi wound through the rocky crags between Nuweiba and Dahab, the sky so abundantly sated with the glow of those fantastic orbs, so numerous they resembled luminescent spider webs? My trip to the Middle-East, in essence a glimpse of the path of Alexander the Great, did not, as hoped, reveal to me my life's path, or offer a tangible experience with God. Rather, it imparted to me the exhaustive breadth of possibilities that are so readily available to those who would take them. My two months traveling was often dwarfed by those travelers I had met who had come to tackle Arabic, or teach, or volunteer their time and effort in helping others. To merely see, is undoubtedly wonderful, but to push beyond the mere practice of tourism through cultural involvement, well, that's truly noble. And utterly motivating. And has opened up more possibilities than ever even considered. I will remember those stars, but beyond creating mere memories lies infinitely more important desires: To engage, to rouse, and to inspire. The world beckons.

Alexandria the Great

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:36:00 GMT

Arriving in Alexandria was an initially morose and depressing experience for me. After all, this was the intellectual center of the Hellenistic world, home to the legendary Cleopatra. Founded by Alexander the Great in 332 BC, Alexandria boasted of monuments such as the Library of Alexandria and the Great Lighthouse, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. And now, what of its past glory? Burned, destroyed, and swallowed up by the ocean. All that remains of a city celebrated and renown by philosphers and poets, a city of gleaming temples marked by graceful and flawless pillars...is the memory of a glorious past. Somewhere beneath these streets, the tomb of Alexander is rumored to lie. Beneath the waves that nonchalantly lap at a littered beachfront, remnannts of grandeur sit, slowly and surely devastated by the ravages of time. As I stood in the 5th floor lobby of my hotel, looking out over the harbor towards where I imagined the Lighthouse may have sat, these were the thoughts that reverberated through my mind. So I walked, walked everywhere I could think of to find some small but significant reminder of Alexandria's past. I first found myself at the Bibliotheca, Alexandria's modern-day attempt at reversing the tragedy of its ancient library's fate. Here, schoolchildren gazed at me with looks of intense curiosity, and a barrage of greetings and questions such as "what's your name?" and "are you married?" quickly made me forget my self-induced depression. And the gaggle of schoolgirls tripping over each other as they stared at the short, brown coffee-drop in front of them easily ensured my mirth-filled laughter.

My attempts at regaining some sort of stoically, nostalgic mindset were hopeless, as my stroll near the supposed site of the Great Lighthouse was interrupted by friendly inquiries from numerous people, showing genuine interest in a complete stranger simply because, he looks different. This was the beginning of my love affair with the city of Alexandria, and I regret only that my time spent here was so short. I must have sat there for an hour, chatting with the locals, laughing and joking and being tested (unsuccessfully) at Arabic. The evening culminated in a new friend and I serendipitously stumbling upon an outdoor wedding celebration held right on the street. Music, fireworks, and Arabian dancing horses were all part of the festivities, and soon enough, it seemed my Western friend and I were part of it as well, as offers of tea, sheesha, cigarettes, and pepsi were showered upon us while we sat at a table, surrounded by children and adults, all so generously interested in showing us hospitality and kindness. How does this affect an American, so used to giving and receiving apathy when it comes to strangers? For one, I smiled for almost two hours straight, and as my Parisian aquaintance duly noted, our faces hurt. More importantly though, it seriously challenged my long-held attitude of disinterest towards the strangers I come in contact with in everyday life, such as on the bus or in a classroom. I realize things are definitely not perfect in the middle-east, but the lessons learned (which I pray I retain) were worth more to me than I can say. There really is a special feeling that is invoked when strangers in a strange city extend their friendship, when the people of a relatively poor country choose your happiness over their pocketbook. Alexandria, in all truth, loosened tears from my eyes, just not in the way I had expected.

True Wonders

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:34:00 GMT

Michael Jackson was cranky. I know this because when I pulled left, he turned right. When I snapped the reins, he slowed down, and when I shot a photo of him, he grumbled and moaned. The camel is an amazing animal though, and one that I'm not sure I'd ever get used to. With their floppy snouts, protruding teeth, and gangly legs, they look like something out of a fantasy novel. And man, when they stand up you feel about twenty feet up. It was a grand experience, riding about the Giza plateau atop a desert beast named Michael Jackson. But I must admit, I feel slightly at a loss for words regarding the Giza Pyramids. They just don't seem real, and, how could they be? I think my brain slightly short circuited as I looked at just one block of the Great Pyramid and tried to grasp the idea of the massive labor involved in this undertaking. It is comparable to trying to imagine a new primary color, or contemplating eternity. The concept simply does not compute in the human mind, and yet there it was: this ridiculously large superstructure weighing millions of tons, built millenia ago, by human hands lacking anything near modern technology. The inside was mind-blowing as well. A narrow shaft that climbs up, and up, into a small, unassuming chamber supposedly once laden with sumptuous and grand grave goods, plundered by unscrupulous thieves long ago.

The coolest thing though, is this: As my trip nears its end, it is not Aya Sophia, or Baalbeck, or Petra or even the Pyramids that is emblazoned in my mind. It is the people. Generous, kind and hospitable people who are vastly more interesting, and beautiful, than the most skillfully wrought pile of rocks.

Dante's Tenth Circle

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:33:00 GMT

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, a dinner cruise along the Nile sounded like fun last night. So I threw down my 120 pounds, put on a nice shirt, and almost immediately regretted my decision. It seems I was the only one at my hotel who signed up, so myself, and my monosyllabic host Aywa, caught a taxi to the river and boarded a brightly lit world of evil. I envision Hell as a sort of dinner cruise, where you're stuck at a table with someone who has already been there one thousand years and is bored stiff (Aywa), while the karaoke band enthusiactically and eternally belts out "Hotel California" and that hell-spawned Titanic theme song, all the while being electronically accompanied by...you guessed it, a Casio keyboard. So yes, I saw a vision of hell last night, and it manifested itself on a tourist-packed, cheeky dinner cruise down the longest river in the world.

But I exaggerate. Aywa finally warmed up after I used every conversation starter known to mankind, and watching the extremely buxom belly-dancer shake her stuff within inches of an elderly, unamused nun was definitely good for a laugh. The food was quite good, and hallelujah, it only lasted two hours.

Chaos and Cheops

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:30:00 GMT

As I have heard from numerous travelers heading north from there, Cairo is not for the faint of heart. The traffic, the dust, the noise and the smog, plus the inumerable touts, make this a mind-blowing (or numbing) metropolis. I am still amazed that after three cab rides through the city, I have yet to see an accident. Lanes are mere options. Driver move fast, take any inch of roadway they can get, and repeatedly come within inches of pedestrians, horses, goats, camels, donkeys, cats and, of course, other cars. And yet, it works. There is a method to the madness, and who can beat a 20km taxi ride for five bucks? However, nothing cheap comes without a struggle. While haggling over prices can be fun, it is also exhausting. My visit to the Cairo Museum (which hosts a phenomenal collection by the way) was followed by a non-stop hassle walk through Khan Al-Kalili, the Great Bazaar. The nice thing about Egyptians though, is their stellar sense of humor and eagerness to help. The hassling can get old, sure, but thankfully they hardly ever take it too seriously, and jokes, handshakes, and offers of tea and cigarettes inevitably accompany even the most eager touts.

Cool Water, Scorched Earth

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:28:00 GMT

One word describes Dahab: Paradisal. And to no surprise, my first intention of only two days here has turned into six, as I have been practically hypnotized by its idyllic, tranquil vibe, and have spent many an hour on pillows by the water side, smoking hookahs and simply staring into the distance. It is places like these though, that remind me how strangely I am wired, as the inactivity of relaxation inevitably leads to depression, and I am delighted, though hesitant, to leave. It hasn't all been lethargy though. My first true experience of snorkeling happened here, at the blue hole, an 80 metre deep cavern off the coast of Dahab. surrounded by massive reefs of coral and home to aquatic creatures I have only seen on television. Schools of electric blue and silver, angel, parrot and blowfish, sea urchins and spindly eels...the reefs are alive with animated colors, an aesthetically magical world just below the surface. A hike up Mt. Sinai reminded me just how difficult hiking can be after four days of vegetation, and planted in me a new respect for Moses. Wandering here for 40 years is not appealing. It is hot, shadeless, and completely devoid of moisture and life. I had the pleasure of being accompanied by Sindre, a Norwegian who is poised to set a Guinness world record for ascending the highest peaks in every European country in the shortest amount of time. Needless to say, hiking with him was a somewhat humbling experience, and entertaining, as being within the shadow of Gebel Musa invariably leads one to discussions of a theological nature, and eventually to a tiring bout of negotiations with taxi drivers for the best price back to Dahab.

The Quiet Majesty of Petra

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:25:00 GMT

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, as her doe-eyed children sold postcards and scampered among the promontories near Al-Deir. To the west lay the eastern border of Israel, dotted with crumbling, weathered mountain tops. Behind us, spread among every high place, low place, and in between, lay the ancient city of Petra, stoically waiting here for millenia, giving testament to the ingenious, flawless hands of its creators. The Bedouin people spend their days here, among rose-red temples and towering, craggy peaks, selling anything and everything that may carry some minute worth among tourists...even rocks. One Bedouin child, a boy who must have been about eight, approached me with a box of these (albeit pretty ones) pleadingly delivering his most repeated english phrase, "One dinar!" (about $1.20) I immediately picked up the nearest rock I could find and vainly tried to sell it to him. First a look of confusion, then a sly smile spread across his face as if to imply, "Yes. I know. I'm trying to sell rocks at Petra." One may have better luck trying to sell a glass of salt water on a Tahitian Island. There are rocks everywhere, as this is an extremely barren and harsh landscape. Think of the Badlands and the Grand Canyon mixed into one, packed with ancient ruins. This is Petra. After two full days of hiking, I barely grasped the scope of this city. There are remnants of the Nabataeans everywhere, on cliff-tops, in valleys, even in five-foot wide slot canyons. All throughout this once grand trading epicenter there exist temple facades, arches, tunnels hewn through the sides of mountains and stairways reaching impossible heights. And impossible is a word that occurs often in the minds of those who visit here. The temple facades at Petra were carved into the sides of cliff walls out of sandstone, and are flawless; absolutely smooth, symmetrical and stunningly perfect. Once a temple was begun, there was little room for error, and to my eye, no errors were made. My love for adventure was fully satisfied here, from Al-Kazneh to the High Place of Sacrifice, from the Street of Facades to the Royal tombs. The high places offer fabulous, sweeping views of the landscape below. Amber colored temples surrounded by canyon walls of copper, rose, and burnt sienna give way to a blazing-blue expanse of sky. Truly magnificent. This place may rival the pyramids.

City of God

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:24:00 GMT

The one place that has left the greatest impression upon me so far has been Jerusalem. There is such a sense of ease there, no feelings of tension, or danger, just a beautiful city steeped in the history of significance. What also was impressed upon me was the strong feeling of community among not only those of the Jewish faith, but Muslims and Christians as well. The sounds of schools are ever-prevalent, as are the children, singing, playing, and walking through the narrow streets of Old Jerusalem unaccompanied, as if there was nothing to fear. And I must admit, it felt as if there was not. And speaking of singing, it was hardly exclusive to children, My first day in the city had an infectiously celebratory mood to it. People were singing and playing drums inside the Gate of the Moors, singing and dancing in the shadow of the Western Wall, singing in perfect unison, hand in hand, as they hiked down the Mount of Olives. These were not the cacophonous (to my western ear) bellows heard five times a day from every minaret, but traditional Jewish folk songs. Songs that never failed in making me smile, and that stirred something deep inside of me. These are what I will always remember, and If I felt I had the right, or the knowledge, I might have joined in.

Tourism and Spirituality

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:11:00 GMT

On a roof-top cafe, Old Jerusalem is gloriously sread out before me. To the north is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, traditionally believed to be the site of Christ's cruxificion, burial, and resurrection. To theeast, the Temple Mount, where the first and second Jewish Temples were erected, where Abraham nearly sacrificed his son Isaac, and most significantly, where sat the Sacred Altar, or "Holy of Holies." At its center sits the unmistakable Dome of the Rock, the location which for Muslims, indicates where the prophet Muhammad dreamt he ascended into heaven. Jerusalem is an exceptionally well-kept city with an unexpected European feel. The tourism industry must bring in a staggering amount of money, as even now, in late February, tourists are everywhere. Which is inevitably what takes away from the mystique of a place. Via Dolorosa, for instance, (the path traditionally believed to have been taken by Christ during his last hours) could be a poignant spiritual experience if not for the souq merchants hassling you every five minutes. In the Holy Sepulchre Church throngs of predominantly Christian tourists press against each other to view Christendom's most holy place, but to be perfecly honest, I felt little more than irritation. Firstly, it is not 100% certain that these are the exact spots of Christ's death, burial and resurrection, yet at the supposed site where they took Jesus off the cross, now marked by a highly polished slab of rock, pilgrims kneel before it, digging in plastic bags or purses for various trinkets, rubbing them (whether they be plastic crosses, books or coin purses) upon the slab in hopes of imbuing them with some sort of divine power. (At the time, This brought to my mind those whom flock to view tortillas with burn marks resembling the face of a woman (it must be Mary!) or, as happened in Portland not too long ago, the faithful few who crowded under an overpass to view "Christ's face," manifested, they say, in a combination of accumulated exhaust fumes and sludge-like runoff from the highway above). Secondly,An overpowering sense of ritual pervaded every aspect of this experience: Lighting candles, burning incense, uttering 100 (not 99!) hail Marys. I realize that symbolism can be an effective means of professing one's faith and indicating where one stands, but I can't deny the whole thing felt somehow...contrived, extravagant and generic. Christ, executed and humbly buried, is now remembered here by ornate shrines of silver and gold and intricately fashioned works of art. But of course, this begs the question: Does He deserve anything less? In spite of my, perhaps overly critical observations, Christ himself walked and talked in this very city, and that is certainly reason to pause, and reflect.

Massive Temples in Baalbek

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:09:00 GMT

After one week in Lebanon, I have come full circle, and am now sitting at the Syrian border, waiting for my visa. Unfortunately the southern border was unreachable, as the route through the mountains suffered from a blizzard last night, and is now impassable. Basically this means I have gone three hours out of my way to reach the northern border, and it is cold. But my last day in Lebanon was splendid, as I had the pleasure of seeing one of the most impressive sites in the middle east, and possibly the world, Baalbek. The first thought that struck my mind is the gargantuan nature of everything. The doorways here could easily accomodate giants, the pillars reach to the sky, and the foundation stones are of such massive size and weight that the mind reels contemplating the methods used to position them. Known as Heliopolis, or "City of the Sun" to the Greeks and Romans, Baalbek was originally the site of a Phoenician temple to their god Baal. During its period of Roman occupation it reached its zenithg regarding aesthetic appeal and size: its proportions are monstrous. We then walked one soggy, cold kilometer to see the so-called "Stone of the South," an absurdly large dressed stone that is estimated to weight upwards of 1500 tons. wow.

Gallery: Cairo and Alexandria

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 11:24:00 GMT

Gallery: Sinai and Luxor

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 10:47:00 GMT

Gallery: Jordan

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 10:30:00 GMT

Gallery: Israel

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 10:17:00 GMT

Gallery: Lebanon

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:59:00 GMT

The Cedars of Lebanon are on Fire.

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:46:00 GMT

I'm in Lebanon now, and I haven't had much time to work on this, as I've been on the move constantly. I arrived in Beirut just in time for a huge rally in remembrance of former Premier Rafiq Hariri, who was assassinated by a car bomb three years ago, in the very neighborhood I am staying in. It may be wise to move to another section of town soon, as last night, hours after leaving Damascus, the leader of the Hezbollah movement was also assassinated, also by car bomb. Hezbollah supporters intend to hold a funeral ceremony in Southern Beirut on the same day as the rally at Martyr square. These are rival factions, the rally being pro-western, the funeral, not so much. It is a potentially volatile situation, I only hope everyone can understand that I'm just a little coffee drop, and I really have nothing to do with the politics of humans. Last night I could hear gunfire in the distance, most likely fired into the air by an over-zealous soldier. I hope, gulp.

The Entry into Syria

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:35:00 GMT

I entered the border to Syria from Turkey at approximately 8:30 AM, and for the next 8 hours, sat on a bright red, hard-plastic bench, waiting for my visa. The official policy concerning an American's entry into Syria is that a visa MUST be obtained while in America. The unofficial poilcy, so I had heard, was that yes, after an excrutiatingly long wait, an American may obtain a visa. The all-important question it seemed, was who my parents were. After that it was my occupation, and then of course duration and exact location of stay. As bureaucratic as it may have seemed, there was an extremely lighthearted and consequentially, surreal feeling about the whole procedure. Syrian soldiers, in full uniform, pistols tucked haphazardly into their belts, were in-so it appeared-very good moods. Rarely was the attitude of authoritarian entitlement displayed, rather an attitude of men at work, joking and laughing and enjoying their time on the clock in spite of all the drudgery. Perhaps around 12:30, I found myself in conversation with a man named "Sammy" who had very strong opinions concerning our involvement in Iraq. Whether or not I agreed with him was inconsequential. For all intensive purposes, Sammy was right, and would continue to be so until I had obtained my visa. It just turned out that Sammy pulled a lot of strings at the border, and apparently, accepted bribes. To make a long story short, 8 hours and $45 later I was in possession of a Syrian visa. Next, Sammy found me a cab, showed me to my bus station in Aleppo, helped me get my ticket, showed me which bus to get on, and finally, helped me find an ATM. It is odd, to say the least, to enter a country like Syria. Road rules are loose. Everything seems to move at a faster pace. People are yelling and I have no idea about what, and damn, do they stare. But Sammy, and the kids at the bus station yelling, "Welcome to Syria!" as if they sensed my bewilderment, made entry into Syria a breeze. Damascus, its capital and largest city, was every bit as good.

Gallery: Syria

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:33:00 GMT

Gallery: Turkey

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:20:00 GMT

Asia Minor and Alexander

coffeedrop — Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:19:00 GMT

After two overnight buses, tours of Ephesus, the temple of Artemis, the house of the Virgin Mary, Pamukkale, Hierapolis, and numerous sites around Cappadocia, I'm exhaustively satisfied. Currently I am in the village of Goreme, smack dab in the middle of Turkey, and it has been a somewhat miserable experience. Yesterday, our tour guide took us through a 4-kilometer snow hike. All well and good, except a woman in our group was on crutches. Personally, I enjoy scrambling up boulders, ducking under fallen trees and crossing muddy streams, but with crutches? She was quite a good sport about it, but our tour guide soon had bigger worries when a head count showed one of us missing. Oopsy.

A few words concerning Alexander the Great. Upon entering Asia Minor, Alexander stopped at Troy to rest his men and procure the supposed shield of Achilles. After defeating a Persian army at the River Granicus, Alexander stormed down the Anatolian coast, besieging and/or liberating Sardes, Ephesus, Miletus and Halicarnassus, to name a few. Heading inland, he untied, or perhaps merely severed the legendary “Gordian knot”-verifying the prophecy that whoever undoes the knot will be ruler over all of Asia. He then marched south to Issus, a narrow strip of coastal land lying in Caria, where he met, and soundly defeated the army of Darius III. I'm disappointed to say that my main motivation behind this trip, following the path of Alexander and his army has gone largely unfulfilled in Turkey. After days of travel, transfers, sleeplessness and hunger, it proves difficult to go 200KM out of the way to see a site that while historically significant, harbors little in the way of eye pleasures. Hitchhiking is looking to be a more viable option everyday, but as it is currently 15 degrees here in Goreme, this will wait until warmer climes prevail.

Ephesus was lovely. A city inhabited since circa 6000 BC until its abandonment during the 15^th century under the Ottoman Empire, Ephesus was the site of one of the wonder of the ancient world, the Temple of Artemis. The apostle Paul was nearly stoned here after decrying the practice of idol worship, and Mary, the mother of Christ, is believed to have lived out her last days in the vicinity. The Temple of Artemis is now nothing more than a single column and strewn rubble. This monument must have been stunning, as it is said to have resembled the Parthenon, yet on a grander scale. Legend states it burned to the ground the very night Alexander was born.