I finally registered for classes Jama'at Damasq! This may seem like a small victory, considering I'm here to take classes, but it was hard, man. I had to get a letter from my embassy saying that they have no problem with my registering at the University, the AIDS results, and go to the University, with all three of these things on opposite sides of town.
First, the embassy, which has consular open hours from 8am-10am, and a long line. Michelle from my house and I took a taxi to the embassy (I know where it is now, since I walked there and back yesterday) and were there by 20 to 8. Waited on line outside. Waited on line inside. Sat around in a big room with tons of Syrians who want to come to America. Got out by 9am, went back to Hafes al-AIDS. Michelle had yet to get the test, whereas I just needed results. I tried to push her forward (students to the front of the mass of people). Michelle only arrived one day before me. I went over to the results window, and had to wait for it open. There were Koreans, Somalis, Italians, some Syrians, and mostly Iraqis. When he found out I was American, the guy sitting next to me pretended to shoot me with his gun-finger and said "Your country did this, you know?"
"I know."
"Ah but people are different than the administration right?"
"I voted for Kerry."
That got a laugh. Another guy heard I was American and wanted to speak English to me, telling me he had wanted to continue his university studies in America but, you know, the political situation.
"Is it true that if you marry an American girl you can get citizenship?"
"Um, after some years."
"Some American girls like to marry foreigners, right?"
"Some."
"And you, you are single or married?" He was looking at my obviously empty ring finger, so I couldn't lie.
"Single, but not looking to get married."
"Really, how old are you?"
"Too young." I mean, aren't you going to at least pretend it's my eyes?
By the time I got the results, it was past 11, but I managed to find the Bab Sharqi bus to the university. 5 lira later, I was in mezza. Registration took about 5 minutes. I did it! And with a day to spare. Placement test is on Thursday - I hope I don't bomb.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Hafes Al-AIDS and more!
I have to run all around to get registered for classes at the university - I have until September 12. Yesterday, Sunday, first day of the week, I tried to find my way to Damascus University, which I was warned was a difficult journey. Zahir in my house offered to help me, but a typical American I refused. I should figure this out myself, I thought. At Bab Touma I got a taxi to Jama'at Damasq, which was the event recounted before, with the fake fiance. But he dropped me off at Jama'at Damasq the campus for sciences, not the one I need. I wandered to street with a lot of students waiting for microbuses and two women said they were going to Kuliyat al-Adab (College of Literature) in Mezze where I needed to go. So they directed me to the right micro, paid my fare despite my protests. Finally, the Mahhad for Arabic.
I have to be back in a few days with my AIDS test, passport photos, a letter from my embassy stating they have no problem with my taking classes, copies of my passport and Syrian visa, and an application form.
This morning I went to Hafes al-AIDS, which is close to Bab Touma, with the two women from SOAS (School of Oriental and Asian Studies) at London University - there's an exchange program with Damascus University. I wanted to get out early, and actually woke up before 9 (yesterday it was 12:30pm - let's blame jetlag, and last night I couldn't get to sleep til after the 4am-ish call to prayer). The girls got moving a little slowly.
It was a zoo at Hafes al-AIDS. It looks like everyone has to get AIDS tests to do anything. I was waiting with a bunch of High School kids before I found out there was a seperate entrance for student and others. With the letter from the University we skipped the massive line out front and went to the "Students and Domestic Workers Testing Room". Others insisted I sit because of how pale I was, though I tried to assure them that I really am just that pale. "Domestic Workers" was khadimaat meaning only females. Next to our testing room was one for several groups, inclduing "Entertainment Workers". Now what is that a euphanism for?
I have to be back in a few days with my AIDS test, passport photos, a letter from my embassy stating they have no problem with my taking classes, copies of my passport and Syrian visa, and an application form.
This morning I went to Hafes al-AIDS, which is close to Bab Touma, with the two women from SOAS (School of Oriental and Asian Studies) at London University - there's an exchange program with Damascus University. I wanted to get out early, and actually woke up before 9 (yesterday it was 12:30pm - let's blame jetlag, and last night I couldn't get to sleep til after the 4am-ish call to prayer). The girls got moving a little slowly.
It was a zoo at Hafes al-AIDS. It looks like everyone has to get AIDS tests to do anything. I was waiting with a bunch of High School kids before I found out there was a seperate entrance for student and others. With the letter from the University we skipped the massive line out front and went to the "Students and Domestic Workers Testing Room". Others insisted I sit because of how pale I was, though I tried to assure them that I really am just that pale. "Domestic Workers" was khadimaat meaning only females. Next to our testing room was one for several groups, inclduing "Entertainment Workers". Now what is that a euphanism for?
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Syrians Don't Try to Rip Me Off
I had a busy first day in Damascus. I woke up without knowing what time it was, so I just got up and went to breakfast in the hotel. Oh, 7:30 am. Awesome. I asked at the front desk about how to find a family to live with. "Wait for the manager, he knows a family." He'll be here 10.
So I went around looking for the other items on my to-do list: watch, Syrian SIM card, passport photos. At 8 everything was closed but I managed to buy a watch on the street. At 9 I bought a new charger for my Egyptian cell phone. The guy had to dig in the back to find something that worked with "such an old model". I bought it a year and half ago! He sold it to me for 100 lira, ($2) because of my eyes. I also bought a sim card off of him for 600 lira. I have a crap load of lira, and I was counting out when he stopped me, took one of my bills, and told me I was counting out thousands. Oops. I put them back in my bag, took my change. Now I have a friend, Khalid, albeit a friend that wants to marry me.
That's the problem with making guy friends here. First they want to get with you, then when you tell them you're married (I need to get a ring to make this believable), or otherwise taken, or not looking (this is not understood, after all I am old) they want to just be your friend. The taxi driver who took me to the Damascus University today (god that was hard) was singing my praises so I concocted a fake potential husband in New York, an Iranian-American named Amir (thank you Shadee for your brother). Why don't I have a ring? They are expensive in America, I said, and he's working to buy one. He'll visit me here and give me the ring. The driver, Muhammad, was particularly interested in knowing if we go out together. To restaurants? To movies? Sure we do. Do we live together? No, I live with a friend and he lives with his brother. We can't live together until we are married (I don't want the driver thinking I'm some libertine American whore)!
Back to yesterday I went back to the hotel and met the guy, Zahir, in whose house I am now living. He took me to the house, I saw the room (I get to move in September 25 - until then I am on a couch in a living room which is now off limits to everyone else). It's $150 a month - not too shabby. It's off the main street between Bab Touma and Suq al-Hammadiyya in the old city. By 2pm I had paid off the hotel and moved my stuff. There's Zahir, his mother, his wife Huda (24!) and two kids, Said 6 and Samar 4, who are Muslim, plus the foreign girls. It's an old house with an open courtyard in the center and 3 floors (plus two bedrooms on the roof). There's a Polish girl, German, British, and four Americans including myself. I met all of them, with varying degrees of better-than-my-Arabic, except the Brit who arrived five days ago. I don't think I heard her speak Arabic. There's a 33-year old American who is "miserable."
One of the Americans is my parent's worst fear: she arrive two months ago on a CLEO (what I'm on right now too). She met a half-Syrian, half-Pakistani, first language English, and they... got fucking married. She just returned from her honeymoon in Turkey. She's going to Kuwait on Fulbright and he's supposed to join her. At some point she's going to Pakistan for the traditional 400 hundred of his closest friends and family Pakistanti wedding. She's 22.
I did speak a lot of English with Mindy, the miserable American, but after a day of being really good, and speaking a lot of Arabic, I swear. I'm a bit frustrated with where my Arabic is, how much less I comprehend compared to a year ago right after Egypt. But I have to remind myself today is only my second day. Maybe I'll understand more at the dinner table tonight.
So I went around looking for the other items on my to-do list: watch, Syrian SIM card, passport photos. At 8 everything was closed but I managed to buy a watch on the street. At 9 I bought a new charger for my Egyptian cell phone. The guy had to dig in the back to find something that worked with "such an old model". I bought it a year and half ago! He sold it to me for 100 lira, ($2) because of my eyes. I also bought a sim card off of him for 600 lira. I have a crap load of lira, and I was counting out when he stopped me, took one of my bills, and told me I was counting out thousands. Oops. I put them back in my bag, took my change. Now I have a friend, Khalid, albeit a friend that wants to marry me.
That's the problem with making guy friends here. First they want to get with you, then when you tell them you're married (I need to get a ring to make this believable), or otherwise taken, or not looking (this is not understood, after all I am old) they want to just be your friend. The taxi driver who took me to the Damascus University today (god that was hard) was singing my praises so I concocted a fake potential husband in New York, an Iranian-American named Amir (thank you Shadee for your brother). Why don't I have a ring? They are expensive in America, I said, and he's working to buy one. He'll visit me here and give me the ring. The driver, Muhammad, was particularly interested in knowing if we go out together. To restaurants? To movies? Sure we do. Do we live together? No, I live with a friend and he lives with his brother. We can't live together until we are married (I don't want the driver thinking I'm some libertine American whore)!
Back to yesterday I went back to the hotel and met the guy, Zahir, in whose house I am now living. He took me to the house, I saw the room (I get to move in September 25 - until then I am on a couch in a living room which is now off limits to everyone else). It's $150 a month - not too shabby. It's off the main street between Bab Touma and Suq al-Hammadiyya in the old city. By 2pm I had paid off the hotel and moved my stuff. There's Zahir, his mother, his wife Huda (24!) and two kids, Said 6 and Samar 4, who are Muslim, plus the foreign girls. It's an old house with an open courtyard in the center and 3 floors (plus two bedrooms on the roof). There's a Polish girl, German, British, and four Americans including myself. I met all of them, with varying degrees of better-than-my-Arabic, except the Brit who arrived five days ago. I don't think I heard her speak Arabic. There's a 33-year old American who is "miserable."
One of the Americans is my parent's worst fear: she arrive two months ago on a CLEO (what I'm on right now too). She met a half-Syrian, half-Pakistani, first language English, and they... got fucking married. She just returned from her honeymoon in Turkey. She's going to Kuwait on Fulbright and he's supposed to join her. At some point she's going to Pakistan for the traditional 400 hundred of his closest friends and family Pakistanti wedding. She's 22.
I did speak a lot of English with Mindy, the miserable American, but after a day of being really good, and speaking a lot of Arabic, I swear. I'm a bit frustrated with where my Arabic is, how much less I comprehend compared to a year ago right after Egypt. But I have to remind myself today is only my second day. Maybe I'll understand more at the dinner table tonight.
Flights to Damascus
I got here Friday night after an overnight flight to Paris and an overday flight to Damascus. The Paris plane was filled with middle aged American couples going abroad for the first time (well, there were two of these next to me). One couple had won there trip from a furniture store drawing. The other had just decided to up and go. "Where are you going?" they asked when I said I was connecting. "Syria," naturally got a stunned reaction. I've been told to be careful.
The Damascus flight left midday Paris. At the gate there were two American women dragging kids. One woman had four, from sullen, angry teenager to chubby four-year-old. The other looked like Nancy on Weeds and had two small girls. They chatted about how the kids liked Syria, how the older ones were pissed off to be returning, how the younger ones where fine with it, how maids have such disloyalty.
"I brought mine to the State in May and she ran off within the first month!"
"Are you serious? Will you get in trouble?"
"No, no, I reported her as soon as it happened."
"Let me tell you, they are not loyal. I've had a maid in Damascus 5 years and she's looking for another job! She's signed on for another year with me but is looking for another job during the year! No loyalty!"
"I know. If mine was planning to run off she could have at least stayed for most the summer!"
Oh, don't I know it. We landed late, bags took forever, the embassy driver took me to Sultan Hotel where the embassy had booked me a room ($22) a night. It was nine so I went wandering off in the streets to find an internet cafe and email my parents that I was alright. I'm alright.
The Damascus flight left midday Paris. At the gate there were two American women dragging kids. One woman had four, from sullen, angry teenager to chubby four-year-old. The other looked like Nancy on Weeds and had two small girls. They chatted about how the kids liked Syria, how the older ones were pissed off to be returning, how the younger ones where fine with it, how maids have such disloyalty.
"I brought mine to the State in May and she ran off within the first month!"
"Are you serious? Will you get in trouble?"
"No, no, I reported her as soon as it happened."
"Let me tell you, they are not loyal. I've had a maid in Damascus 5 years and she's looking for another job! She's signed on for another year with me but is looking for another job during the year! No loyalty!"
"I know. If mine was planning to run off she could have at least stayed for most the summer!"
Oh, don't I know it. We landed late, bags took forever, the embassy driver took me to Sultan Hotel where the embassy had booked me a room ($22) a night. It was nine so I went wandering off in the streets to find an internet cafe and email my parents that I was alright. I'm alright.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Last post from the U.S. of A.
After two days of driving around to do errands and crap I'm just about ready to go. Almost packed, I swear. I'll land in Damascus tomorrow night after a brief layover in Paris. Still no update on where I'll be staying - I called numerous times only to have it ring over and over, and emailing only prompted one response: full at AlHaramain. So this will be interesting!
Of course, it will be interesting anyways. Today there was a a fun little altercation between Syria and Israel. This is making my parents really thrilled to drop me off at the airport. Wish me luck!
Of course, it will be interesting anyways. Today there was a a fun little altercation between Syria and Israel. This is making my parents really thrilled to drop me off at the airport. Wish me luck!
Things I am Not Going to Miss About New York
Well now that I'm leaving, I'm also going to leave the pity party. So here's some shit I'm not going to miss about New York:
- prices: movies, drinks, food, every fucking thing
- dodging asshole cars who don't want to share the road with bikes; dodging asshole pedestrians who neglect to watch for bikes
- the ubiquitous creepy/voyeuristic/increasingly porny American Apparel ads:
No thanks, I really don't want to see a 5-foot cooch.
- getting yelled at by construction workers on my bike - really, what reaction do they expect? Am I going to get off my bike, fuck them, and then continue on my way to work? I really don't budget that kind of time into my commute.
- the person who stole my bike seat
- the hotdog guy who was right next to my bike but apparently didn't say a word while a guy stole my fucking bike seat
- Flight of the Conchords - because the season actually ended so there is nothing to miss
- did I mention the price of shit in New York?
- if I have to hear "Umbrella ella ella" once more time the stabbing begins
- shitty clubs where the focus, instead of on the dancefloor, is on assholes with AmEx cards who reserve the privilege to drink Grey Goose for $300 a bottle
- I-bankers who have to make up for a 70 hour workweek by being the biggest douches at the bar
- handbags and shoes - why do people give a shit about this shit?
- hipsters
- those Sunday mornings when you think "I should go work out or go outside because it's so nice" but then its 3:00pm and the store is too far away and you're very hungry so you scrounge for leftover forgotten soup crackers from your roommate's takeout last month
- beauty standards - people in New York be so pretty!
But of course, I'm going to be about three times prettier when I step off the airplane in Damascus on Friday night. Ahh, for once my pasty skin is a blessing, not a burden.
- prices: movies, drinks, food, every fucking thing
- dodging asshole cars who don't want to share the road with bikes; dodging asshole pedestrians who neglect to watch for bikes
- the ubiquitous creepy/voyeuristic/increasingly porny American Apparel ads:
No thanks, I really don't want to see a 5-foot cooch.- getting yelled at by construction workers on my bike - really, what reaction do they expect? Am I going to get off my bike, fuck them, and then continue on my way to work? I really don't budget that kind of time into my commute.
- the person who stole my bike seat
- the hotdog guy who was right next to my bike but apparently didn't say a word while a guy stole my fucking bike seat
- Flight of the Conchords - because the season actually ended so there is nothing to miss
- did I mention the price of shit in New York?
- if I have to hear "Umbrella ella ella" once more time the stabbing begins
- shitty clubs where the focus, instead of on the dancefloor, is on assholes with AmEx cards who reserve the privilege to drink Grey Goose for $300 a bottle
- I-bankers who have to make up for a 70 hour workweek by being the biggest douches at the bar
- handbags and shoes - why do people give a shit about this shit?
- hipsters
- those Sunday mornings when you think "I should go work out or go outside because it's so nice" but then its 3:00pm and the store is too far away and you're very hungry so you scrounge for leftover forgotten soup crackers from your roommate's takeout last month
- beauty standards - people in New York be so pretty!
But of course, I'm going to be about three times prettier when I step off the airplane in Damascus on Friday night. Ahh, for once my pasty skin is a blessing, not a burden.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Reservations
I don't think the American Embassy is very happy with me. They offer to pick Fulbrighters up from the airport, a service of which I plan to make use. They also offer to book a few nights in the Sultan Hotel for us, a service I declined. I'll be staying at al-Haramein, I told them (much cheaper). Then I packed and went to California and didn't go on the Internet for a few days.
Pandemonium! Well, not really. The woman at the embassy had sent me emails making sure I had reserved at al-Haramein because it's very busy now and lots of hotels are all booked up, then emailed my contact at IIE who emailed me asking the same thing. I told them no, told her she could go ahead and book me Sultan, to which she replied that Sultan is full!!! Holy crap!
I'm not very worried. Last time I went to Syria I rolled up in a bus and had no trouble finding a room. If al-Haramein is full I'll go next door. If that's full, go to another hostel. I'll find a bed. But apparently the embassy does not find this comforting, so I'm trying to call ahead and reserve.
So close to Thursday. Packing is a bitch.
Pandemonium! Well, not really. The woman at the embassy had sent me emails making sure I had reserved at al-Haramein because it's very busy now and lots of hotels are all booked up, then emailed my contact at IIE who emailed me asking the same thing. I told them no, told her she could go ahead and book me Sultan, to which she replied that Sultan is full!!! Holy crap!
I'm not very worried. Last time I went to Syria I rolled up in a bus and had no trouble finding a room. If al-Haramein is full I'll go next door. If that's full, go to another hostel. I'll find a bed. But apparently the embassy does not find this comforting, so I'm trying to call ahead and reserve.
So close to Thursday. Packing is a bitch.
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