Secret Asian Man- God Is My Insurance Carrier

At dusk the other day, I was driving down the Jordanian motorway.  Three of the four cars in front of me had no working tail or brake lights. I had no warning when they were slowing.  They’d just loom closer.  

The same motorway a few weeks ago, I rapidly came up on a goat-laden pickup backing up toward me. No reverse lights functioning of course. Maybe the goats chewed through the wires.

I’ve seen a several toddlers standing on their parents’ shoulders with their heads poking out of the sun roof at speed.  Arms and hair flapping in the wind

We were in a fender bender in a roundabout. There were lots of cars moving real slow and suddenly, THUMP!  We were hit! The driver was a complete gentleman. He apologized and said he got distracted by his toddler who jumped from the back seat to the front seat.  

“I needed to catch him and I got distracted. My foot lifted off the brake.”

I greatly wanted to ask him if he knew of a way to prevent this.  If he knew that his Cadillac Escalade had straps, likely wedged deep between the seat cushions, which could be used either alone or with a special chair, as a restraint against jumping toddlers in moving cars. I feared my point would be lost. My car sustained no damage. His would require some pretty extensive repair.

Predestination is a tenet belief in these parts. It is the idea that on the day that you are born, the day of your death is already known. It is kept in a book in God’s vest pocket along with a pocket watch. Nothing you do during life can change this day. When it's your time, it's your time. This, I believe, is how many people live their lives.

Given this knowledge why would I replace my taillight bulb? Why would I pull my toddler in from the sunroof? My concern for safety has no bearing on my death or that of others. I am freed of personal responsibility. 

I thought of this freedom when, not far from where my fender bender occurred, I saw a man in a wheelchair, rolling down the middle of 3 or 4 lanes of traffic. His arms a-whir as he tried to match the speed of the cars. He was a double amputee.  

Did he wake that morning, like he did most mornings, and think.  “God, done took my legs, I just don’t think today’s my day to die!”? 

And then he wheeled off down the road.

Secret Asian Man- Food Porn

What was your favorite meal?  

I've got a list. Among the top was a meal at the Chop House in Naples, FL. We didn't have a reservation so we were squeezed in at a counter back by the kitchen. One of the cooks took a liking to us and was feeling creative, so he threw lots of things together for us. We were so glad we didn't call ahead.

There was also a souvlaki place in Athens that was just Amstel, fries and grilled pork on a stick at a folding table under a Mediterranean moon.

Then there was Uri Buri. Apologies to those who've seen Mrs. S.A.M.’S quick post on this. She's quick on the social media these days. The household tweeter in chief.

In Acre (pronounced Akko), an ancient Mediterranean port and former Crusader capital, is a spartan place right on the water. The sign is stenciled on plexi-'glass, hung from two links of rusty chain.  Inside is neat and tidy, nothing that gives away any of the sublime tastes you're about to eat.

Chef Uri has moved from demolition expert to fisherman to chef with no formal training. He just serves what he likes to eat. 

If you're picky, you can order off the menu, but the tasting menu is where the magic lies. Putting your trust in the fishermen and the cooks. Your waiter asks about any food dislikes or allergies and What comes in and what is freshest is what goes on your plate. It isn't all you can eat for one low price, but it is all you can eat. They'll keep bringing out courses until you say stop

We'd starved ourselves and scrimped so that we could afford and taste our way as far into the tasting menu as we could go. Here's what had….

Simple Oysters on the half shell with a lemon picked off the tree out back and a dash of green Tabasco

Persimmon slice topped with marscapone, sweet shrimp and caviar

Bruschetta with charred eggplant and ceviche

Grilled octopus and zucchini splashed with olive oil

Scallops with Jerusalem artichoke

Ceviche of jack fish

Seafood soup in coconut milk

Shrimp artichokeand lemon butter over pasta and spirulina

Cubes of tuna caught an hour earlier served with yogurt and olive oil

Scallops with cream, ginger and seaweed flakes

Sea bass with saffron rice, coconut milk and apples

Gorgonzola shrimp

And two desserts of kiwi soup/grapefruit sorbet and creme brûlée with cardamom.   

Throw  in a couple of palate cleansing sorbets, a bottle of wine and a bottle of water and that was lunch. It was 2 ½ hours of pure bliss.

Chef Uri made his rounds.  Both he and the staff were keen to make sure everyone was enjoying.  

Here's your travel tip.  If you're in Israel...if you're close to Israel… if you're near Israeli airspace, fake a medical emergency, get your flight diverted and make the 90 minute drive from Tel Aviv and have lunch. Really.  It's that good.

So, what was your favorite meal of all time?

Secret Asian Man- The Status Quo

In Jerusalem this week. This is a photo of a ladder on a balcony at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, final resting place of Jesus Christ.  It looks pretty beat up and pretty ordinary, but it’s been there for hundreds of years. Or, something that looks like this.

The Church is controlled by three Christian sects, the Armenian Orthodox, the Greek Orthodox and the Roman Catholics.  Each is a guardian over a certain section and they haven’t always gotten along.  As it was told to me, the Catholics once controlled the door and refused to let the Armenians use it, so the ladder was put in place to allow them access to their section on the upper floor.  

Eventually, there was an agreement that allowed everyone use of the door, but the Armenians wanted the ladder kept there just in case relations soured again.  A pope in the 1700’s decreed that nothing in the entire church could be moved or replaced unless all the religions agreed.

 

Hence, the ladder remains.  It’s made of cedar wood, maybe from Lebanon, but it rots through from time to time. The last time was in the 70’s or 80’s.  And when it did, it needed to be replaced with an exact replica.

 

That, in its most concrete form, is what is meant by the term Status Quo, when it comes to Mid East tensions. Things should be kept exactly as they have been for centuries. In the 80’s when they found another entrance to the temple mount, there were riots in the streets until it was closed.  Just last year, when the Israelis wanted to put in new security cameras, again there were riots.

Want another example?  Just Google “Monk Broom fights Bethlehem” and see what pops up.  Full on Brother Vs Brother broom bashing.  Over what? Because one monk swept dust onto the section that another order controlled.

Back at Jesus’ burial church, the Christians guard the inside.  The Israelis guard the streets in the old city, but the Jordanians guard the temple on the top. Muslim’s hold on to the keys for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.  One family has controlled the keys for centuries.  Every morning, they open. Every evening, they lock up. The 12 inch key is some 800 years old. After one muslim conquest or another, the head honcho saw, even then, that no Christians were going to get along, so he took the key and gave it to someone with less of an interest and that has been acceptable for millenia.

Giving up any control or ceding any trust is a glacial process with little thaw in site.

Flash forward to dinner the other night at the Jerusalem Young Men’s Christian Association. Sing it now, The YMCA.  It may sound seedy, but it’s a landmark designed by the same guy who designed the Empire State Building, who also designed the Leveque Tower back in the ol’ homeland, so... connections.  It’s got a tower with great views and reportedly clean, comfortable rooms for very reasonable prices.  Spa, Gym, pool and great gardens, too.

It also has a nice little bar/restaurant. I had an Israeli soup and salad along with my Palestinian kebabs and Palestinian beer.

Even through there is a centuries old status quo agreement, maybe there is also movement toward more commonality.  Here’s the sign, and the punchline.

I’m not even kidding.

Into the bar together, walked a priest, a rabbi and an imam...

S.A.M- Happy New Year

Happy New Year!

After several months and some fits and starts, I’m trying to get back in the groove. I feel I haven’t really related what life in Jordan is like and I hope to make it up this year. And I will.

I thought a lot today about what to start off with, but it really came down to missing my kids. We had two fun weeks and after going months without seeing them, it was great to have their energy and presence, their humour and personality back in our lives for a while.

The cookies get eaten a lot faster.  The hot water goes quicker, too. After they depart and sheets are changed, the echoes of our laughter and conversation remain. I pick the stale candy off the gingerbread houses and think about each spawn’s theme and architectural design.  They are certainly unique in their own way.  

It’s nice to see them grow up.  It’s nice to see them make mistakes and plans.  And it’s nice to look forward to when we can spend some time again.  

I mentioned my laxity in keeping up with this blog to my son. He, a budding writer, proposed that we keep each other motivated by supporting each other.  We gave ourselves deadlines and we’ll aim to keep each other honest.  He’s got a Tuesday deadline. Mine’s Friday.

So, look forward to entries on the ins and outs of Arab banking, or a brief foray into the Jordanian medical system to come.  Or whatever else, I can come up with.

In the meantime, you may also want follow along on his blog as well.  You can find it at….

https://notsosecret3.blogspot.com

Until next week…. Massalameh!

S.A.M- Grief Issues

My dad died, quite suddenly, in 2009.  

He was a bit of a hoarder. Not a hoarder as in a room full of pizza boxes kind of hoarder, but he had a hard time throwing things away. His father once discovered a shoe box full of every Hong Kong commuter tram ticket he’d ever received. He road the tram daily.

He was an avid cook and many ease-inspiring gadgets crossed his threshold. Anyone remember the cubed hard boiled egg maker?How about the metal plate that was designed to defrost food faster without a danger of spoilage or hazardous microwaves. As seen on TV!

We spent an evening on summer holiday, stopwatch in hand, witnessing two chicken breasts thaw. One on a dinner plate and one on this magic disk. He swore it was faster until my next time to visit when the disk was stashed. My inquiry was met with a look that said it was bullshit.

In his safe (another story for another time) was a box containing his old wallets dating back to the 70s. Given that he used things until their ultimate demise, this meant there about 7 wallets total. But they were still filled. Old business cards, cash, Elder beerman credit cards, photos, film processing receipts.

He was an award winning photographer. He had hundreds of cameras and associated gear.

He would read all he could about photography and gear, too. Or he tried to. He worked long hours. He'd often come home in time to catch the 11pm news, finish his reheated dinner and recline on the couch with a photography magazine in hand. He was asleep in minutes, the magazine splayed open on his lap.

Growing up, our basement filled by the month, with issues of photography magazines. He installed shelves for them all. Someday, maybe there'd be time to get through them.

My mom, nesting and awaiting the delivery of my brother, intervened. Throwing them away while my dad was away at a meeting. Neither one to yell much, when he came home you could hear them through two floors late at night. It was as if she'd gambled away one of his kidneys and lost.

After he died, my mom never canceled the subscriptions. She'd let them collect for a while and then move them on. After she passed, we did the things they tell you to do. Call social security, call the lawyer, forward the mail and cancel subscriptions.

I swear we cancelled all the magazine subscriptions. But, the photography mags kept coming. The expiry date on the mailing label was September 2017. Why would anyone have a decade long subscription?  My guess is that he feared missing out so much and so renewed whenever they sent him a renewal notice. Back then that seemed to happen quarterly.

I was miffed at first. It was a monthly painful reminder of a loss. They came and it hurt. I thought about calling to cancel them again, but I stopped myself. Why not let them come?  

And so they have. For nearly 4 years they came to me in the US. These last few years, they've followed me all over the globe. I take them along on trips and leave them when I'm done. I've sprinkled them all over the Middle East and the South Pacific.

Dutifully, I leaf through each one. I read about all the photo tech. I read about editing and lighting. Sometimes, I even doze off with a magazine in my lap. I must say I think my photography has improved immensely.

He was always trying to teach us. About lots of things, but often about taking pictures.  Why a certain picture was good and another great. Maybe that's why the magazines kept coming. Maybe there was more to teach?

Next month, 8 years later, the last issue will arrive.  And that has been the measure of my grief.  Issue by issue, page by page, shot by shot,  The subscriptions will expire. I haven't received a renewal request from any of them.  That’s how I know it must be time.

Travel Serendipity

This is how travel serendipity happens and it doesn't happen quite often enough, but just enough to keep you moving.

You meet a former guide who asks to meet you later for drinks at the Petra Kitchen. You have no idea where that is, but you wait unit you're hungry enough to go out looking for it.

Walking after dark, you spy a small sign for “Petra Kitchen”, but the place looks kind of closed. You open the door and ask about a table. The host tells you that there is a cooking class going on tonight and they're closed.

A couple is sitting in the center of the restaurant.  They are the only two people in the place. They shout out, “We've just cooked enough food for eight people and there's just the two of us. Why don't you join us? “

The perplexed waiter agrees and pulls up chairs and place settings. Bowls and cups appear and food is passed.

And that is how you meet Marc from the U.K., (who spells his name with a ‘c’ in my mind, because he's in advertising and I feel that he must spell it that way) and his Spanish bride Maribelle. They both live in Dubai. They tell us about the dishes they've cooked and how everything was prepared.

And we had a wonderful home cooked Bedouin meal, and a great conversation about corruption and government and the Ministry of Happiness, and what a job that would be.

Though we'll likely never see these people again, we feel better for dining with them.

And all for pushing on a closed door. We never did meet our guide.

Dangling In Our Own Waters

We were trying to avoid dangling in our own waters.

Son of S.A.M. and I, both of average height, stood tippy-toed at a urinal in Amman.  Staring forward at broken tile on the wall. My laconic son remarked. “If you were an alien, and you dropped into Amman to use the restroom before heading out into public, you'd think all Jordanians are 7 feet tall.”

I giggled.  Then I got a Charlie horse in my right calf, so I shifted. Then I got one in my left calf. I shifted. From behind I'm sure we looked like a pair of leaking metronomes.

Jordanian men aren't extraordinarily tall. Maybe shorter than average, he was right. Urinal placement is typically inordinately high. I was wondering why my calves were looking so good. I'm not sure why it is.  

Like many places we've been the building codes lack any sort of codifying. Even before a cataloging, there was the builder's code “Measure twice, cut once”.  Here, I don't even think it's “measure once, cut once,. More like “throw it up on the wall and see if it sticks, maybe it'll settle”

And until they settle, calves of steel, baby, calves of steel.