Reflection

I am writing this from the comfort of my living room in New York.  I still can’t believe that the trip is over.  The experience was truly amazing – I was able to visit three countries in the Middle East and learn about journalism in an international context.  I know so much more about the world than I did just five weeks ago.  Also, I have learned so much about journalism.  Updating my blog, for instance, no longer gives me a headache.  The process is easier now (although, admittedly, it would be easier if my cat wasn’t trying to get my attention).  Overall, I am so thankful that I was accepted into the dialogue.  It is very important to make the most of our time on earth; I do not regret anything about this opportunity.  More so, I feel that I am on the right path toward a career in the Middle East.

Introduction to Doha

Palm trees and white sand in Doha.

When we first arrived in Doha, it was 107 degrees Farenheit.  Last year, in Eilat, Israel, it was 118 degrees Farenheit.  The temperature, then, was bearable.  Besides the climate, however, Doha is completely foreign to me; it is unlike any place I have ever visited. 

First, the skyscrapers are all shiny and architecturally daring.  At night, the buildings are illuminated from below.  The streets are lined with palm trees, and there is a view of the Persian Gulf from the Corniche.  The unforgiving sunlight accentuates the water, making it appear exceptionally brilliant.  When the group departs from the main stretch, skyscrapers give way to white sand.  The sun reflects from the sand, nearly as white as asphalt.  It is difficult for me to endure the intensity of the light; if I don’t close my eyes, my head begins to ache. 

Most women we see are dressed in black.  Black here is more than a symbol of modesty – abayas are usually adorned with sequins.  Many men wear white gallabayas.

Mountain Trek (Part 2)

 

A view from the mountain.

The way up the mountain was long and often steep.  At times, Jared, Nick, Lily, and I stopped to rest our legs.  Unfortunately, I could not take pictures of the view; I had decided to travel light and leave my camera behind.  We saw a large number of security officers as we approached the lookout point.  The officers motioned us away whenever we approached the right side of the road (and, by extension, the edge of the woods).  There must be something important located off the beaten track, hidden among the trees.  Once, when we thought we were alone, we heard a ringtone coming from this direction.  Cumulatively, this was more amusing than disconcerting.  There was no military presence at the top of the mountain.  The trek was well worth it; the view above was stunning.

Mountain Trek (Part 1)

 

A view from the mountain.

Before leaving Damascus, Lily insisted that we climb the mountain behind the Carlton Hotel; she is an adventurous young woman.  Jared, Nick, and I decided to accompany her.  We began our adventure at the nearest hospital, at the foot of the mountain.  Unfortunately, we were unsure of how to proceed.  We tried climbing up the mountain several ways.  A small group of kids watched us from the village below; most likely, we were an unusual sight.  Our first attempt to climb up the mountain was thwarted by a long barbed wire fence.  The second path ended in a tall gate.  The third path seemed successful until we noticed that it ended in a shop drop.  Lily tried to convince us that we could safely proceed; we remained incredulous.  Ultimately, we found the correct way up the mountain (largely thanks to a camouflaged security officer who appeared from the underbrush).

The Golan

I have officially been to both sides of the Golan (land claimed by Israel and Syria, respectively).  The two sides of the territory are enormously dissimilar.  In Syria, there is an emphasis on Israel’s cruelty/destruction of Arab property.  Syria has kept the town bordering the Golan intact, showcasing destroyed buildings and infrastructure.  The other significant difference is Syria’s emphasis on the landmines left by Israel in no-man’s-land.  Israel, obviously, makes no mention of this.  Instead, Israel emphasizes Syria’s surprise attack on the territory.  During our recent visit to the Golan, this was never mentioned.

Below the trenches on the Israeli side of the Golan.

A panoramic view of the Israeli side of the Golan.

A destroyed building on the Syrian side of the Golan.

A panoramic view of the Syrian side of the Golan.

 

Shopping for a Classy Wedding Dress

Wedding dresses at the local souq.

I’m 22.  Mom, I’m going to get married.  At the very least, I will be buying a dress.  This dress may or may not have to accommodate a burgeoning stomach.  Regardless, the search for the perfect wedding dress will take place in Syria.  In Damascus and Aleppo, there are entire alleys dedicated to this commodity.  All of the dresses I have seen are sophisticated and unassuming.  Many are in colors other than white; all are adorned in ruffles and glitter.  On a side note, many bride’s dresses in Israel are similar.  Apparently style transcends cultural differences.

Bank of America

Bank of America has my eternal enmity.  When we first arrived in Syria, I attempted to use the hotel’s ATM.  The ATM laughed at me and ate my card.  I spoke with a man from the front desk to set up a meeting with a local bank representative.  The meeting itself was interesting; the representative insisted that I pay 500 Syrian pounds before he returned my card.  At the same time, the representative underhandedly slipped several bills to the man behind the front desk.  Ultimately, I was able to acquire my card without a fee.  I immediately called Bank of America to speak with customer protection.  After waiting on the phone for nearly ten minutes, the man on the other line informed me that the bank was aware that I was in Syria.  I thanked him (after pointing out that my card had recently disappeared into the depths of an ATM).  My card worked well for the next two days.  Afterward, I could not use my card to withdraw money from the account.  I tried several ATMs, but to no avail.  Exceedingly frustrated, I called the bank once more.  This time, I was informed that the last representative’s notes were vague; the bank had placed a hold on my account as an added security measure.  I love you Bank of America.

Wearing the Hijab: A (Limited) Step by Step Guide

Observe Kate.  In the first photo, the scarf has been wrapped around her head.  Presently, the scarf will be tucked underneath her chin.  In the second photo, the endpiece of the scarf is wound around her neck.  In the third photo, the process is complete; Kate is now wearing the hijab.

Step 1

Step 2

Step 3: Lilly, Kate, and I at Nile City.

Related Poetry

Our arrival in Syria calls to mind Robert Frost’s “Into My Own.”  The poem addresses the value of exploration, especially in light of progress/personal growth.  Frost welcomes the unknown with arms outstretched.

“Into My Own”

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,

So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,

Were not, as ‘twere, the merest mask of gloom,

But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day

Into their vastness I should steal away,

Fearless of ever finding open land,

Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back,

O those should not set forth upon my track

To overtake me, who should miss me here

And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew—

Only more sure of all I thought was true

The Market

Lily and I explored the local market this afternoon. We began our adventure at the end of the main passage and bought falafel from a stand.  The men working at the stand were very friendly.  One asked me to take a picture of him holding two pieces of falafel.  After lunch, we began looking at the goods on display.  Soon, however, we became aware that there was a man following us.  Although we went into several shops, he was never far away.  Eventually, after nearly half an hour, the man left.  I am not sure whether this was of own volition (another man approached him beforehand).

In general, I prefer this market to the Khan.  Shop owners are much less aggressive than their Egyptian counterparts.  Also, there are fewer stray animals.  The three that I saw at least looked well-fed.  The main disadvantage to Syria’s market is that everything is so beautiful; I wanted to buy so many things.  I don’t think I can afford to go again.

This presents an interesting situation.  If I cannot shop anymore in Syria, what will I be able to afford in Qatar?