upon alighting at Amman

May 5, 2010

Hello gentle readers,

So, I think I've been in the Greater Holy Land for a week now, but I could be wrong. We do so much each day, we spent what felt like two weeks on planes and in airports trying to get here, and we lost so many hours to the time change that a day has begun to feel like an antiquated and negligible unit with which to measure time. I have seen so much up to this point that I have already begun to forget where I've been and what I've seen. I wish I'd had better internet connections so that I could have kept you updated with my activities instead of getting to this point and feeling overwhelmed by the thought of summarizing the trip thus far. I also wish my camera hadn't broken the second I put lithium batteries in it at the beginning of our first day in Damascus. Thankfully, my roommate had an extra camera, but without the proper cord I'm unable to transfer pictures onto my computer and keep you updated that way. Ah, the unexpected and obstacles of travel! Oh wait! Actually, as I was formulating my thoughts in order to convey them cogently to you, I MacGyvered a way to transfer my photos. Stay tuned for the results of this, the latest miracle to occur in the Holy Land. 

Anyhoozers, about an hour ago we arrived in Amman, the capital city of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. I have to say, I heard some awful stories about this country, but I'm having difficulty believing them now that I'm here. Jordan is absolutely beautiful. We spent the last day and a half in the north-western region which is where the majority of the country's olive and almond trees are located; seeing the terraced slopes and disciplined greenery thereupon instantly brought my thoughts back to that other blessed land, Tuscany. 

Being in countries like Syria and Jordan has made me wish that I understood more about the political history of the Middle East. Every ten minutes our guide makes reference to some war or other, some international land dispute, or some region that I know I should be familiar with, but I'm just not. I didn't have time to prepare myself properly for this trip, and I discovered that I left all the reading packets I received for this part of the trip at home. At least the principles still make sense to me. Today, we journeyed to the ancient Roman/Christian city of Gadara, which overlooks the Sea of Galilee and part of the Jordan Valley. We could see the Israel/Jordan border and the Golan Heights that have been the site of so much conflict between Israel and Syria ever since Israel's inception. But our minds were opened to the fact that these disputes have had far less to do with land, oil, or even religion than they have had to do with water. Here, water is everything. However lush the northern regions of the country might be, Jordan is one of the poorest countries in the world where water is concerned. In Canada, we take water for granted, there's no question about that. But I had not considered that my taking a natural resource for granted could actually hamper my understanding of a seemingly never-ending political conflict that the entire world is caught up in. It is interesting to gain some perspective on Israel from a land that is currently enjoying peace with that controversial country. Israel is not a taboo topic in Jordan, but it definitely is in Syria. The day we arrived in Damascus, we had a formal dialogue with two sheikhs, three professors from the Al Fatih Islamic Institute, and the Grand Mufti of Damascus. At one point in the dialogue (the point at which it ceased being a dialogue), the sheikh who was our host apparently intuited that Charles' questions and comments had something to do with the issue of Islam and Israel (which they absolutely did not), and so he began an enraged rant against the state of Israel. Nothing could be said or done to slow his passionate momentum; he appeared to be overheating as much emotionally as he was physically. It was apparent that most of the sheikh's fellows on the Islamic panel were in agreement with him; those who had other opinions were careful to keep their eyes averted from his sight line. We had thought that in a diplomatic, organized setting like the one they had established for our dialogue we would be able to speak at least cautiously about Israel in order for some light to be shed on the Syrian/Muslim stance on Israel. We got much more than we bargained for, which was illuminating in a different way. Thankfully, Arabic people seem perfectly comfortable with yelling and then forgetting it ever happened; following his soliloquy the sheikh welcomed us into his home and treated us to drinks, music, speeches, and heaps of food. 

Visiting both Syria and Jordan has been very informative historically and gastronomically speaking, but I think the information I will value most as time passes is that which I have learned about the internal conflicts of the Middle East. We tend to think of this region of the world as one big minefield. We think of women covered head to foot, unquenchable bloodlust, expansive deserts, oil barons, and violent religious fundamentalism, but there are so many wonderful things happening in the Middle East, so many wonderful things that have happened over the millennia, and we cannot turn a blind eye to that. The people here adore their rulers and trust them, and recently they have had some pretty good reasons to do so. But in some cases, they have appropriated all the negative qualities of the West while being slow to accept the West's good ideas. Lasting progress must germinate slowly in places where tradition goes back so much further than we in our young country can imagine. 

I'm updating myself

Hello, all you friends and lovers.

So, here's the deal: I've been travelling through the greater Holy Land for the last two weeks or so (time moves differently in this part of the world, so it's hard to know for sure), but I haven't had free & easy internet access until now. I've written down a few descriptions and contemplations along the way, and I would like to share them with you, so I will be posting them in chronological order but very belatedly. I hope to add photos to them when I get more time, so keep checking back! 

Much love.

hair+cut

For a person with such gorgeous locks, I go to the hairdresser very infrequently. In fact, I have never had my hair cut without first being chastised by the stylist in question for being such a hair care delinquent. In the past I have attributed this delinquency to my incorrigible procrastination, or my need for delayed gratification, or even my desire to see a marked and dramatic difference in my golden tresses after I've forked over 80 dollars to have them slowly tortured by sharp blades. But today as I sat on the adjustable chair trying not to stare at myself in the mirror, I think I identified a deeper cause: I don't want to feel like I'm paying for sex.

Let me explain!

At my salon, not only do the stylists wash your hair with lovely Aveda products, they also treat you to an intense scalp massage. Really intense, like tantric acupuncture. Then they obviously continue to manhandle your hair and scalp for the duration of the appointment.  The stylist I had today was fantastic, really, but in order to be so fantastic she had to stand extremely close to me. At a few points during the process, she stood behind me and leaned over me so that her bosom was sheltering my head and her hands were holding my hair directly over my bosom. It was during the second such occurrence that I began to think, "wow, if I really needed to be touched and didn't want the stigma of hiring a possibly gay male escort, I would just get a haircut." 

There it is, folks, the real secret behind the success of the beauty and aesthetics industry. 

I know it's a shock, but just take a breath, and then maybe a shower, maybe give yourself a scalp massage while you're in there if you know what I mean and get over it. 

gutteral

you never could dance but now you don't even sway

I used to sing, now watch me try to hum and laugh

maybe we've lost the things that made us

the things that made us worthwhile

during the lowest moments

there exists a thought of escape from this lifestyle of embarrassment

this living on humiliation's doorstep

this sleeping with the enemy

breathing the air wafting up hot from the sewers

leaving my hazmat suit in a pile on the floor

for an instant I wonder if I was right about it all

but don't look back and never look back

the opposite of how I looked at you during those years of believing

I deserved anything at all

believing in the eventuality of midnight visitations-

you the self-thwarted lover desperate for reconciliation

and me your living benediction

'absolved, absolved' you breathe down to the core of me

but I hold my breath this time

the grey world you inhabited doesn't enfold me anymore

I have other yous and you have other mes

yet we never acknowledge why we keep them quarantined

as personified memories of ecstasy and illumination

hidden revelations voiced to the hidden crowd

fleeting glimpses of possible beauty

we live in landfills for used joy

where hope comes to rot

from a certain elusive angle I can see the icy clear blue world of my imaginings written in the depth and darkness of your eyes

where you remembered me from an uncertain future

and looked back with a smirk of shared understanding

that burned the space between us

(I posited touch as the fireman)

oh but we were young

I would sing songs for you, but, as I said

nevermind

in my voice's stead

I will throw myself at your feet

weak from liquor but bold just the same

flagellate my romantic soul with memories of expectations unfulfilled

you will humour me and feign to share my wounds

I won't look for a blood donor

ooze life into the gutter

and die on the sword of past illusion

mute and fading

with you, motionless, near enough to touch.

fashionable fictions

Last night I dreamed of schizophrenic stalkers, supermodels, philosophy, and psychics. What these things have in common, I have no idea. Let's find out together! 

So my family and I were on a driving tour through Vegas in a convertible that looked like a hot dog bun. For reasons I still cannot remember, the person I hate most in the world was in the bunmobile with us. I thought he would behave himself because my parents and brother were there, but he kept making biting asides that were obviously about me. Then he tried to choke me and force himself on me. Then the scene replayed, but I got to say and do all the things I wanted to do but didn't the first time round ("I get a do-over!").  I kicked him in the groin and dislocated his jaw with my fists of fury, yelling all the while, "you're the most disgusting thing I've ever seen; get your fucking hands off me!" (thanks Mer and Alex Sanderson for that). 

Then we arrived at our destination, which was apparently a press conference being held at  famous runway model Anna Selezneva's new luxury hotel. For the event, she was wearing a different kind of boot on either foot. She declared it a fashion trend, as well as being very practical for her infamously shorter left leg since her left boot had a thicker sole. I applauded her ingenuity and took plenty of pictures. Then I realized that she really looked more like Sasha Pivovarova than Anna Selezneva. During the press conference, a SWAT team broke through the picture windows and declared that Sasha/Anna's family had just been murdered and that she was either the prime suspect or the next target. They couldn't decide whether to arrest her or protect her. The put me in charge of looking after her, but they made the mistake of leaving the dismembered bodies of her family in the room with us. Anna/Sasha started to freak out, and just at that moment Patrick Jane/Simon Baker from CBS's The Mentalist showed up to film the event for the show's upcoming reality episode. I told him I was a big fan and somehow tried to sell him the clothing from ML that I had ordered especially for a jovial Syrian family. I also tried to get him to read my future even though I knew he was just an actor who played a character who had only pretended to be a psychic. 

Then we were at my messy studio apartment in Bristol, trying to protect Anna/Sasha from the murderers we were sure were after her. Ken Nickel, my philosophy professor, showed up to lend his aid, but he said that he had to do some work while keeping watch. He took out a stack of papers that had already been graded and wrote scathing comments all over them just for the hell of it. All the papers were on the same topic: What is a Heidegger, and if so, who are your Kierkegaard? 

Sometimes a Heidegger is just a Heidegger. 

a small anecdote

This was the dominant scene of last night's dreamscape:

I stood in the corner of my kitchen while my father decided what to make for dinner. He told me all the options and I gave my opinions, but he didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. Then he seemed to have made up his mind and reached for a skillet. I knew something wasn't right; I could feel a sense of impending doom mounting in the air. All my fears and misgivings were dead-on, because the next thing I knew dad was reaching into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs.

"Omelette for supper! Breakfast as dinner night!"

"Nooooo00000!" I screamed, hearkening back to Anakin Skywalker in Episode 3 and thereby making all living things shudder in sheer horror. But again, dad was deaf to my cries of despair. I racked my brain, trying to force myself to conceive of a way out of this situation that was worse than death. 

Saved by the bell. Thank goodness.

no hook-ups

My other personality has something to say today as well (I'm never upset by just one thing, believe me).

Here is a law that will make everyone's days much brighter if abided by:

If you're in a disgustingly touchy, aren't-we-so-lucky-to-have-found-each-other-and-happenstancially-fallen-in-love, isn't-Christian-school-great-because-of-young-marriage, aren't-other-people-sad-and-incomplete-because-they-haven't-found-what-we've-found-in-each-other couples that litters this world I'm compelled to live in, only act like it if you're alone or around people who are glad that you're together. Don't make strangers suffer the awkwardness of your intimacy, and especially not in enclosed spaces. They might just vom all over you.

Can I get an 'Amen!'?