Culture Shock

With all the depressing work stuff, I've forgotten to talk about the weird things that remind me that I'm out of the country. But trust me, they're here ... so, in no particular order, here are some relatively amusing/annoying/crazy things that just don't happen in the US.

At least not to me.

So one of the things I've never particularly liked about the Middle East is the shower situation. In many hotels and homes, showers are really nothing more than a shower head sticking out of the bathroom wall and a weird squeegee on a stick with which to push around the biggest puddles once you're done (into the drain in the center of the floor). It's annoying, generally speaking, because the entire bathroom floor gets wet, and takes hours to completely dry, so you either have to wear shoes (and get the floor muddy) or go barefoot (and then your feet get cold). But the other day, in our hotel in Nazareth, it was even worse. Hannah had warned me that the drain was kind of slow, so I didn't really pay much attention to the pools that quickly accumulated ... until I hear, from outside the bathroom, “Turn off the shower! NOW!!” I managed to flood pretty much the entire room, and poor Hannah was running around moving luggage and unplugging the space heater before something even more tragic happened. Meanwhile, I had to turn off the water as soon as I finished lathering up with soap, which meant my nice toasty shower turned into a sponge bath. Ahhhh, Israel.

Hannah and I keep trying to get our supervisor Ahmad excited about going out in the evenings, because hanging around the hotel room isn't nearly as much fun as it sounds ... tonight, we went for a late dinner, and Hannah and I were pushing for a pub. Except, as it turns out, in Jordan “pub” basically means “whorehouse with booze.” We walked into a place called Rouge, which advertises itself as a “restaurant and bar.” I was a bit suspicious from the beginning, because there were two very sleazy-looking guys out front, but Ahmad was optimistic ... until we walked in and saw the bar surrounded by women in tight clothes and too much makeup, staring at Ahmad like vultures. We quickly turned around and walked back out, but then Ahmad insisted on taking us to a cafe he likes to show that some places have a “higher caliber of people.”

The Middle East is more or less lacking in ironing boards. Mom will appreciate this the most: you know how horrible I am at ironing generally? Imagine me working on my dress slacks on a marble nightstand. Enough said.

As for hospitality, this region is still by far the best. In the past 11 days, we have: had tea at Ahmad's sister's home and at his mother and father's home, had dinner at his brother's cafe, and spent the night with a friend of his (even though he has a two-month old baby) because we couldn't find a decent hotel. If that wasn't enough, a friend of his has taken three days off the work to be our driver and translator while we're in Amman. And this doesn't even take into account the amazing hospitality we're given at every one of our interviews, even at places where our human rights stance is less than welcome. For example, we met today with the head of an association of various real estate investors and construction firms, and were ushered into the meeting room to find cloth-covered tables with water, cookies, paper and pens waiting for us, and had a round of tea and a round of coffee (in their best china, of course) before the meeting was out. And that's not the exception, but the rule. Ahmad's father put it best: in Arab culture, you are under your host's care and protection from the moment you start your journey to his home/office to the moment you return back to your own, and in that time, you are family.

One thing that I noticed in Israel that I found a bit overwhelming: the huge army presence. For Jewish Israelis, military service is mandatory, which means the majority of the country has served or will serve; at any given time, dozens of soldiers will be out and about in fatigues, sometimes with scary-looking semi-automatic weapons slung casually over their shoulders. It's been even more apparent lately than I think it is generally, because many people have been wearing their warm regulation sweaters to fend off the extraordinary cold.

Which is one of my biggest complaints – no central heating! Instead, you get a space heater or occasionally, as in my current hotel room, a radiator. It's not a huge problem normally, but the past 10 days have had some of the coldest temperatures in decades – people are dying from hypothermia, and I'm pretty sure it snowed in Baghdad. Which means everyone wears their coats indoors and hot showers are a source of emotional satisfaction. And occasionally, tragedies occur – poor Hannah ruined her wool suit pants by standing too close to a gas space heater with a live flame this morning.

Anyhow, this is but a short sampling, but I should get back to work. I'll ponder a possible round two, but meanwhile, don't worry: I am in fact well-aware that I'm surrounded by a different and unique culture, and am doing my best to enjoy my different and unique experiences.