After hearing about a friend of a sister who had just gotten back from a free trip to Israel, I started checking out Birthright trips. These are trips COMPLETELY sponsored by Jewish communities and the government of Israel in order to foster greater interest in young Jews about their heritage and history. Other cultures don’t agree (I’ll get to that later), but I personally thought the whole trip was excellently organized and our guide knowledgeable (understatement there) and objective. After being waitlisted for one program (Israel Outdoors, for anyone thinking of doing the trip), I was accepted by another (Amazing Israel). It was pretty important that I went this summer because the age limit is 26 and thus I wouldn’t be able to go the next year. After getting that lovely acceptance email, I started planning an extension for my trip. If I’m going to travel to the other side of the world, I’m not going to stay in just one place!
Of course, the Middle East is a tricky place for Americans to visit. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently there is some sort of spat going on over there. Anyway, I decided to limit my travels to Jordan, Egypt, and the United Arab Emirates.
But let’s go back to Israel for a second. I joined a group of 39 other 18-26 year old Jewish kids at the JFK airport and got on my free flight to Tel Aviv. We met our guide at the airport, a young, beautiful, extremely intelligent Israeli woman named Einat. Throughout the trip, she took us on long hikes in 110 degree heat, all the while telling us the history of the place from whatever BC to present day, and she did it HILARIOUSLY. Her English was almost perfect, and of course her Hebrew and Arabic were flawless. She was constantly teaching us words and translating for us. If you have studied another language to the advanced level, you know that the final step in full fluency is being able to make jokes in that language and have native speakers actually laugh. No one seems to understand how hard this is to do.
Example (in French):
Postal worker (seeing Texas on my ID): “Where’s the horse?”
Me (pause while I figure out what he means, then, suddenly): “I guess I forgot it with my boots! Hahaha”
Postal worker: Blank stare.
Anyway, Einat of course pulled this off and was constantly delivering one-liners worthy of comedy central in an adorable Israeli accent. She was one of the main high points of the trip. Here she is translating a not-so-funny topic, etymology and history of Bedouins.
During our stay, we traveled to basically every main city in the country. This could be done in 11 days because Israel is tiny. We went from south to north, ending up in Tel Aviv again after visiting the Golan Heights on the border with Lebanon (and the site of lots of fighting a few years ago). About mid-way through the trip, 4 female and 4 male Israeli Defense Forces soldiers came to finish the journey with us. As you might know, it is obligatory for Israeli youths to serve in the army immediately after high school. It’s astonishing to see these young, smiling people with huge guns.
 |
| IDF kiddos |
Interjection: Around the end of the trip, almost everyone came down with a rather disgusting strand of a virus, some sort of upper-respiratory infection. Being a healthy vegetarian, the paragon implementer of nutrient-rich diet and heart pumping exercise, a “super human” if you will, I remained unscathed by this breakout.
 |
| In a bunker in the Golan Heights of Israel |
Right after Israel, I stayed with a Palestinian (Christian, if you’re curious) friend from college. I only stayed one night, but I got to see all the checkpoints first-hand as we drove to his apartment in the West Bank. We went to a bar that night, where I stunned everyone with my sparkling wit and effortless travel chic appearance. Kidding! I staggered around like the undead while hacking up half a lung’s worth of upper-respiratory-infection drool and sweating with fever. Somehow, telling people how healthy and special I was did not inoculate me, and I came down with that illness. Hard.
I was definitely not ready for the “banter” with his Palestinian friends.
I was definitely not ready for the “banter” with his Palestinian friends.
Young human rights lawyer at bar: “So what do you think of the birthright program?”
Me: “Well it was really cool to see this part of the world, and the guide was quite objective regarding the conflict, and it was free, so –"
Him: “Why do you think it was free?”
Me: “Well, I guess it’s in their best interest to preserve Jewish heritage by-"
Him: “So you don’t think it’s to indoctrinate young Americans to support the IDF and Israel and slowly diminish the Palestinian territories? I see.” (scoffs)
He had a point, and I was in no position to defend billionaire-funded programs sending Americans to Israel. All I know is I needed a bed and possibly a doctor. That wasn't in the cards, though, so the next day I packed my stuff and went to Jordan.
I only stayed 2 nights in Jordan. The virus was starting to tighten its choke hold, but nothing would stop me from visiting Petra and Wadi Rum. My first sad surprise was that the only airport in Jordan, in Amman, was a 3 hour drive from my hotel in Petra. My second sad surprise was that there was no public transport and a taxi was the only viable way to get to the hotel. This was really expensive.
But! I got to the hotel, which was lovely, and rested all afternoon in order to be ready to set out for the actual location of Petra the next day. In the morning, I asked the concierge the best route there. He said it was a 2 – minute taxi or a 30 minute walk, but the walk was easy and down-hill. It was really hot outside (understatement), but I gamely draped myself in a shawl and long pants and a hat so as not to offend any Muslims with my repugnant flesh, and of course opted for the walk.
I was already really hot when I got to the entrance of Petra. I had no choice but to take off my shawl and jacket and show a little bit of irresistible arm skin. This might have been the catalyst for the disaster that was to follow.
There I looked at the map and realized that the actual buildings carved into stone were about a mile in to the city. I was incessantly offered trinkets, maps and guides. I indulged in a guide because, what the hell, I don’t know anything about Petra.
There I looked at the map and realized that the actual buildings carved into stone were about a mile in to the city. I was incessantly offered trinkets, maps and guides. I indulged in a guide because, what the hell, I don’t know anything about Petra.
The guide offered a donkey, “for free,” to walk the mile to the city from the entrance. “Or you could walk,” he added in disgust. It seemed like quite the bargain, so I took the donkey, led by a nice Bedouin man. When I got off, the Bedouin man held out his hand for money. I looked at the guide, certain he would rectify this clerical error. He said, “The donkey is free, but the driver works very hard…” Ugh! I paid him.
 |
| Not-so-free donkey. Oh wait that's a horse, my memory must have been fried by the virus. |
The city itself is sprawled over about 3 miles of terrain. Keep in mind it is crazy hot and I am wearing pants (having stashed my shawl), and also incubating a disgusting virus. The guide, upon realizing my profession, says that he really needs someone to start a business with who can speak English, French and Spanish. He said I could make millions. He invited me to dinner with his wife and kids that night to discuss the matter. I thought, why not stray from the tourist-beaten path? I said sure.
After the end of the city, he got my hotel info and said he would send someone to pick me up that night at 7. I didn’t get his contact info, but I knew his name was Ahmad. Ahmad motioned further into the terrain we had trekked and said, “There’s a museum and a café down there if you want. The tour is over. See you later!” And off he went.
Desperate for AC, I lugged myself to the museum. Of course there was no AC there. There were many interesting artifacts that my brain would have none of. “AC,” begged my brain. Into the overpriced café I went.
I had a lovely $40 meal in the AC, and lots of water. It was well worth the price. However, when I got to the door of the café after eating, the sheer distance I had to cover made me swoon a bit. Back to the city. Through the city. City to tourist entrance. Tourist entrance back to hotel, all uphill this time. I started putting one foot resignedly in front of the other.
This is where things went terribly wrong.
Swarming around the café were bedouins (think turbans and eyeliner) offering horses and donkeys to anyone who wasn’t already on a horse or donkey, and to some who WERE. They apparently did not understand my extensive Arabic vocabulary, which consisted of “Lah,” the word for “no.” Some of them were rather clever (“Air-conditioned donkey for the beautiful lady?”) and persistent. One of them, however, would not leave me alone. I kept walking, he walked with me, saying “It’s free! It’s free!” Ah, I knew better. “There is no such thing as a free donkey” should be the motto for Jordan. I continued. Eventually he left.
Five minutes later, he came back, this time on a horse. “My horse!” he said. “Free for you. Very far, to hotel! Free. I want to practice English. Free free free.” He was young, maybe 22.
Me: Feverish, dragging step.
Him: “Free horse! Rest your legs!”
Me: Feverish, dragging step.
Him: “I buy bottle of water for you!”
Me: Feverish, dragging step.
Him: “Horse go fast, back to hotel!”
This went on for about 20 minutes. Eventually, the heat and sickness and distance congealed in my brain, preventing reason from exiting. I got on the horse.
The Bedouin immediately bought me water, the first fulfilled promise! Why didn’t I say yes earlier!? And we set off in the direction of the hotel. The Bedouin knew a short cut, so into a valley we went. Short-cuts! Great, absolutely, let's go! The Bedouin was constantly on the phone speaking in Arabic. Pretty soon there were no other people around and I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t even see the main road to the hotel. Uh oh.
I said firmly, “Hotel.” He glanced up at me on the horse and spat something in Arabic into the phone. He said, “Yes. Hotel. First we let the horse drink.” And we went to this little stream. I was starting to feel vague waves of panic, which were alleviated when he said, “The way is narrow here, I cannot walk.” I immediately volunteered to get off the horse and let him ride for a while. I planned to make a dramatic escape on foot. He said, “Too narrow for you too, only good for horse.” And before I knew it he bounded off a rock and onto the horse with me. He kicked the horse and it started galloping further into the valley. He said, “Better to hold on” and put my hands on his waist.
Interjection: In writing this, it seems unreal. I swear there is no exaggeration.
I was firmly complaining and shouting to go back to the hotel for around 15 minutes now. For some reason, crying did not come up, thankfully. Eventually we came to a small house in the middle of NOWHERE. “My brother,” he said. “Taxi driver. He will take you to hotel since you do not want to stay with me.” He actually seemed offended. Well for God’s sake. I'm glad he got the message, but now I’m supposed to get into a car? Semi-consciously recognizing the fact that if they were going to kill me (or whatever), the house would be the best place to do it, I got in the cab.
To my surprise, the brother took me directly to the hotel. He made a veiled request for me to kiss him in payment. Of course I ignored him and ran into the hotel.
After being “kidnapped,” (can I use that term since I voluntarily got on the horse? Probably not.) the last thing I wanted to do was go to the dinner with the tour guide. I went to the concierge and said, “I had a tour guide in Petra named Ahmad. I need to cancel a dinner for tonight with him. How can I find him?” The concierge, of course, laughed. That was ridiculous, there’s no way you could find a random guy named “Ahmad” in Jordan, there are thousands of them.
However, the concierge (let’s call him Hussein) smiled and picked up the phone. He made about 20 calls in Arabic trying to track down the guide. And he did it! He gave me the number and I canceled the dinner. Yaaaaaaaaay!!! Hussein to the rescue.
Sick and traumatized and tired, I went to bed that night around 8pm. Around 9:30pm, someone called my room. I groggily picked up. It was Hussein. He gave me the loveliest, shyest, most respectful marriage proposal I have ever received over the phone. I said I didn’t know what to say. He said that was fine. We kept in touch and the other day he told me that he is marrying his cousin and is really happy about it. I think that was him canceling our wedding. Sigh.
I left Jordan and went to Cairo. I could see the pyramids from my window. It was incredible. It was also really exciting (scary?) because the presidential elections to replace ousted Hosni Mubarak would be taking place to when I was there, and there were plenty of riots demonstrations happening. My guide made me swear to stay in my hotel after dark, which was fine, because I was quite close to many gathering spots for demonstrators.
 |
| View from my hotel window if I leaned reeeally far out. |
Thank goodness for the pyramids, because Cairo is a festering poop-dump. Literally, there is camel poop everywhere. People drive 2 cars to one lane on 4 lane highways (do the math!), with rickshaws and donkeys competing for space all the while. On-ramps to highways consistently have people driving the wrong way on them. Despite my modest clothes, I got a lot of dirty looks and laughs.
Like I said though, the pyramids were incredible. There were some “lesser” pyramids that were actually older than the “big three” and my guide brought me there. He said, “No pictures, and you can’t go inside. But the guard might accept American money and let you do those things.” That was an understatement. A few bucks later, I was deep in the depths of an ancient pyramid, with a “guard” holding my camera and saying, “Pose there! Now pretend like a mummy and lay down here!” A regular fashion-photographer, that guard.
 |
| Wall absolutely covered in hieroglyphics |
 |
| He absolutely insisted that I do this. I said no about 10 times. |
 |
| Priceless hieroglyphics and drawings, probably damaged by the flashes of "forbidden" tourist cameras. |
Sicker than ever, and rather dejected by the rampant corruption and heat in Egypt, I went for my 9 hour layover in Dubai.
 |
| Tallest building in the world: Burj Khalifa in Dubai |
I sat in a middle seat on the 16-hour flight home. Resting in Dallas, I got better and started looking forward to my trip to Greece and Turkey while trying to get my French visa paperwork moving along.
Did I mention I love to travel?
 |
| Giza, Egypt |
 |
| Israel |
 |
| Petra, Jordan |
 |
| Dead Sea tranquility. |
