Jenny

When Life Gives You Lemons (or there are protests going on so you can’t go out), Make Non-Fat, Greek-Style Yogurt in a Crock Pot

For weeks now, I’ve been pestering Raj to take me to the Citadel. Unfortunately, due to protests going on downtown, we were unable to go (safety first), again, resulting in house arrest. What else is there to do when you’re out of Netflix DVD’s, it’s too hot to lay out, and there’s nothing to eat? Make yogurt.

Now you might be wondering why I’d bother to make yogurt when it’s so plentiful in grocery stores, right? Around here, yogurt is NOT real yogurt, at least not by my standards (Raj might disagree with me and he’ll point out that I’m petrified of FULL-FAT anything, so the real challenge, I suppose, is finding HEALTHY, nonfat yogurt). Dairy products here (yogurt, eggs, whipping cream, heavy cream, milk, etc.) are bought on shelves, not refrigerated,
and mostly U.H.T., or ultra pasteurized. The shelf life of these products is YEARS (I find this frightening and disconcerting to see milk and eggs in the aisles of the stores!!!). Ultra pasteurization essentially kills everything, leaving the these products less than nutritional. It’s just not right, so I sought out an alternative to the tasteless yogurt that I’ve been eating.

I scoured the Internet for recipes to make my own yogurt, which wasn’t difficult given the ‘slow’ food movement of the hour. I found a lot of recipes calling for the use of a crock pot, which I didn’t have, but quickly ordered on Amazon. When the crock arrived, I thought I was set to venture into the world of homemade yogurt until I realized that in order to make yogurt, I’d have to find milk that was pasteurized, not ultra pasteurized. Raj and I spent a couple of days in the dairy sections of the grocery stores looking for REAL milk and finally hit pay dirt.

Here’s the recipe that I followed. It’s a synthesis of of the recipes that I found online. They all varied a little, but I had great success with this one.

Ingredients:

8 cups (1/2 gallon) non-fat (skimmed, as it’s called here) milk
1/2 cup yogurt (with active, live cultures) [After this first batch, you save 1/2 cup of your own yogurt to put into each subsequent batch]
optional: vanilla extract for flavoring

Make sure the milk is pasteurized, not UHT or Ultra

Directions:

Place the milk into the crock pot, cover with lid and set on “Low” for 2.5 hours.

2. Unplug the crock after 2.5 hours and let the milk sit in the crock for 3 hours.

3. Take 2 cups of milk and stir in 1/2 cup of yogurt with ‘active/live cultures.’ Stir back into milk mixture. Replace lid on crock.

Add 1/2 cup of yogurt with 'active/live cultures'

4. Wrap the crock (still off and unplugged) in a large towel to insulate it from drafts and leave overnight (at least 8 hours, untouched).

5. Place cheese cloth over a colander and drain for a couple of hours in the refrigerator, to the thickness of your preference (I was going for Greek-style thickness).

It's the thickness of regular yogurt now, but I want it THICKER

6. Optional: Add flavor and/or sweetness.

Adding vanilla extract and honey for flavor

7. Don’t forget to save 1/2 cup for your next batch.

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this yogurt. It was thick and tangy. It didn’t even need the vanilla extract. I served it with walnuts, honey and a banana. It’s so worth the effort, even if you have Greek yogurt readily available to you because it’s so cheap (okay, maybe not, but I’ll pretend that I’ll keep making this when I go home. The truth is, I can’t wait to get back to Whole Foods to buy my favorite brand, but meantime, it’s a good replacement).

Travels

Tagging Along with the BRAVE Germans

I was introduced to a German couple at a Fourth of July party a couple of weeks ago (yes, we attended one, albeit a 4th of July party sans burgers, apple pie, or fireworks). We met up with them again this week for Happy Hour and they invited me to sightsee with them before they return home to Germany next week. Perhaps they took pity on me when I mentioned that I LIVE for weekends when Raj and I venture out, but during the weekdays, I pretty much stick to a schedule of running, laying out/reading, yoga at home, and that’s it. Their game plan was to go to a couple of galleries, a do little shopping, and then relax at a cafe–all things I LOVE! The best part of all, in addition to getting out and hanging out with anyone other than my dog, was that they hired a driver for the whole day. This may not seem like an extravagance, but given my fears of getting lost amongst streets, neighborhoods and houses that ALL look the same, this sounded perfect.

They picked me up along with our driver, someone who has been driving them around for weeks now, and we were off in search of an art gallery/cafe that was situated in a converted school. It was written up in my German companion’s travel guide as one of the ‘insider, not to be missed’ places of interest. Not surprisingly, our driver, as qualified as any local can be, got lost, but we eventually found it after stopping in a few pharmacies for directions (no convenience stores here, but pharmacies abound on every corner). Unfortunately, we weren’t sure what the place was when we arrived. We walked into a courtyard, gazed into what appeared to be gallery space, exited around the back to a stage, but there was no one there to help us out so we left, confused.

Next stop, the Jordan National Gallery of Art (pictured above). This is a two building gallery, separated across the street by a sculpture park. Lonely Planet ranks it as number 29th out of 146 (random number, I know) things to see and do in Jordan. The Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts touts itself as one of the major art museums in the Middle East. It houses a collection of modern art from the developing world and claims to be internationally recognized. The collection comprises over 2000 works including paintings, prints, sculptures, prints, sculptures, photographs, installations, weavings, and ceramics by more than 800 artists from 59 countries mainly in Asia and Africa. The galleries were nice. There was a cool cafe in the second building and I liked seeing the art projects from their kids art camp sprawled ALL over the gallery floor. You’d never see that in a museum in the States. (Note: I don’t think think I’d rank this place as high as Lonely Planet’s #29, maybe 129th.)

Following a quick drink in the cafe, we set off to City Center, the flea market center in the old part of Amman. I was extremely excited about shopping here because I know RAj would NEVER take me shopping in this area–too dangerous, too sketchy, no parking, no need to BUY ANYTHING, SAVE, SAVE, SAVE…Luckily, my brave German companions thought differently.

Sadly, I didn’t buy anything. I don’t need any scrap metal right now, but now I know where I can go when I get a hankering for sugar cane juice. This seems to be a big seller in these parts. There are huge stick of sugar cane (they look like bamboo poles) on the side of the street in buckets that they stick in a machine for what I suppose is a refreshing (calorie laden) drink.

Our last stop was Wild Jordan, the organic/locally sourced cafe that I swooned about in the post on Souk Jara. I ordered a strawberry/orange smoothie and a wonderful apple and flax-seed salad. It was a great day, but I’m sad that my German friends are leaving.

Travels

Pilgrimage to St. Catherine’s Monastery

Background Information

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a pilgrimage for us, but it was a pretty incredible site to visit. According to the Bible, Moses received the Ten Commandments from God at this sight. The monastery was built by order of Emperor Justinian I (525-565), enclosing the Chapel of the Burning Bush ordered to be built by Helena, the mother of Constantine, at the site where Moses is supposed to have seen the burning bush (the living bush on the grounds is purportedly the original). This sight is said to be one of two of the oldest working Christian monasteries in the world (the other one, the monastery of St. Anthony, south of Cairo, is also on my list of places to visit).

Though this place is commonly known as Saint Catherine’s, the full, official name of the monastery is The Sacred and Imperial Monastery of the God-Trodden Mount of Sinai, and the patronal feast of the monastery is the Trasnfiguration. The site was associated with St. Catherine of Alexandria, a Christian martyr sentenced to death on the wheel. When this failed to kill her, she was beheaded. As the story goes, angels took her remains to Mount Sinai and around the year 800, monks from the Sinai Monastery found her remains on the top of Mt. Sinai and brought them into the chapel (you can see her coffin and a hand bone in a reliquary in the chapel).

A Fatimid mosque was built within the walls of the monastery, but it has never been used since it is not correctly oriented towards Mecca (you can still see the minaret next to the bell tower).

During the seventh century, the isolated Christian anchorites of the Sinai were eliminated: only the fortified monastery remained. The monastery is still surrounded by the massive fortifications that have preserved it. Until the twentieth century, access was through a door high in the outer walls (there’s a picture of it below). From the time of the First Crusade, the presence of Crusaders in the Sinai until 1270 spurred the interest of European Christians and increased the number of intrepid pilgrims who visited the monastery. The monastery was supported by its dependencies in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Crete, Cyprus and Constantinople.

Getting There

We were picked up again by the tour company very early in the morning. It takes about 3 hours to get to the city of St. Catherine’s and then about twenty more minutes to walk to the site. En route, we stopped for coffee and snacks at a roadside stand (thank God because we missed breakfast because it was so early and I was afraid that someone was going to get hangry again). Along the road, the landscape changed from barren looking desert to craggy mountains, similar to the Grand Canyon. There were lots of Bedouin camps in the middle of the inhospitable landscape too. Our guide was telling us the Bedouin’s don’t bury their animals remains, so there were lots of dead camels lying along the roadside.

The Pit

After what seemed like forever getting to the monastery, we parked in a parking lot and were led up a slight incline to the monastery’s entrance. Of course I was dressed inappropriately (as Raj always likes to point out) and was asked to place a scarf around my scantily clad legs. Our guide had forewarned us that there was no talking and no taking pictures inside the chapel. As we entered, it was dimly lit (to protect the icons) but it was extremely difficult to see them. We were given about five minutes to look around and then we were hurried out by the priests. As we exited, the burning bush was to our right. Even more exciting to me at this point on the trip was the WC (wash closet or bathroom) that I saw off in the distance (keep in mind the drive was over three hours long). I excused myself to visit the ‘facilities,’ but couldn’t go. It was a pit toilet. As much as I had to go, I couldn’t. I exited the bathroom telling myself I could hold it (but for how long?). This lasted about two minutes and then I resigned myself to try again. I walked back in, started dismantling my skirt-scarf, which I might add fell off and onto the the WET floor. (OMG, what was the wetness???). As I walked out again, I mentioned that the floor was WET to the woman in line behind me. She said it was just water from the hose. I went back in and there was NO HOSE…Yep, you know what it was and it was now on my scarf and I had to put the scarf back on my legs to cover them up. I went back in for a third time ready to get it over with when a woman from our group (a saint, really) came running in to tell me that the guide said our lunch place had a REAL toilet. I could hold for an hour knowing this and so I wrapped my pee scarf back on and headed out. Twenty minutes later, we were eating lunch in a restaurant and all was well.

Heading Back

On the way back towards Sharm el-Sheikh, we made one last stop in the coastal town of Dahab. We stopped at a jewelry store, made a couple of fabulous birthday purchases, and then walked along a promenade of shops. We were dropped off in the early evening, again exhausted from not much except sitting in a van all day. Next time we plan on doing the “Mt. Moses” tour (you’re picked up by the tour company at 10:00pm, brought to the base of the mountain (at St. Catherine’s), you climb for three hours, watch the sunrise (there are three coffee shops at the top of the mountain), then you walk down after sunrise and are driven back). We got back to our room and I was surprised to find a birthday cake waiting for me.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Travels

Snorkeling in Sharm el-Sheikh

Raj and I took off to Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, for my birthday this past weekend. Unlike ALL of the other trips I’ve ever planned, this trip was booked through a travel agent–yes, they still have them here and to get any type of deal, you have to use one. We booked the trip a few weeks ago, shortly after I arrived, at a local travel agency in a nearby mall. Normally, I’m our travel agent, scouring through multiple travel guides, seeking out TripAdvisor ratings and points of interest, so this was all very new and scary to me–to leave our vacation in the hands of an agent–the only agent at the travel agency who spoke English. The agent handed us a leaflet of options, most of the writing was in Arabic, so all I could read were the names of the hotels, and with the exception of Marriott and Hilton, the rest were unfamiliar. We chose the Marriott, but they were booked. Next down the list was Sonesta. I’ve never heard of it, but it was similarly priced to the Marriott, so I figured it would be comparable. We paid for the trip: airfare, transfers, hotel, taxes, etc. in full and were told to come back to pick up the tickets three days before the trip. Fast forward to three days before the trip: Raj goes to pick up the tickets and is told to come back the day before the flight. Raj was busy working the day before the flight so I was the lucky one who got to go back and pick up the tickets. Much to our relief, we were given confirmation and were all set to go.

The flight was uneventful. We arrived on time and were directed by representatives of the travel agency to board a bus that would drop us off at the hotel (apparently, EVERYONE uses this same travel agency, so they all knew what to do). We arrived at the hotel and it looked nothing like the pictures. I’m sure my face said it all because the front desk clerk was very concerned that I was not happy. We were shown to our room, which was quite lovely, and then I got over it. We settled in, booked a couple of outings for snorkeling and St. Catherine’s monastery, and then relaxed by the pool.

We scheduled a snorkeling trip for Friday. We were picked up at our hotel by the tour company and whisked off to Naama Bay. We didn’t bring any of our equipment and had to rent it at the dock. As you can see in the pictures, this place was a mess. Throngs of people were waiting alongside of us to get onto their boat. It was a strange mix of people too: scantily clad Europeans next to fully covered women and children.

After waiting for about an hour in the extreme heat (it was at least 105 degrees F) and feeling unsure of what to expect, our guide corralled us through the security checkpoint and onto the boat. As we were boarding, I mentioned to Raj that this was definitely not the party boat. We were one of two western couples, the rest being Arab families FULLY clothed. All of the women and children went onto the upper level and we chose to lay out on the sun deck in the bow. We cruised out of the bay and up the shoreline for about an hour until we arrived at our first of two snorkeling sites. Our guide informed us that we would be ‘drift snorkeling,’ essentially just following his lead. The first site was on a coral reef that holds the remains of a huge ship (see below). There were about forty people on board, but only seven of us (Raj and myself included) got into the water (six men and me, the one infidel in the bikini–talk about making you feel awkward). Of the seven snorkelers, two of the men held onto an inner tube that the guide was pulling. The reef was beautiful, but there wasn’t as much sea life as I expected.

Shipwreck, our first stop snorkeling stop

We spent about thirty minutes in the water and then headed to our next site for lunch. We were served a typical Egyptian meal of tahini, rice, pita, fish, and falafel and were told we could swim a bit more before heading off to our last stop. We spent far too long waiting around after lunch and eventually made it to our final snorkeling stop and spent thirty more minutes in the water. This spot was the same. It was beautiful, but not teaming with sea life.

After an entire day on the water, we were exhausted (from doing little more than laying out and swimming). We were dropped back off at the hotel, ate dinner and crashed in anticipation of our next day’s adventures to the monastery of St. Catherine’s.

Travels

Honing Our Sense of Direction at the Roman Forum and Theater

We’ve been taking day trips outside of Amman for the past few weeks, neglecting the incredible sights that are just miles from our house. After seeing the Temple of Hercules in the distance from dinner last week at Souk Jara (the temple in Amman, not to be confused with the one we saw a couple of weeks ago in Jerash), I wanted to see the Citadel, where the temple lies. Raj and I were feeling adventurous and decided we’d drive ourselves. Have I mentioned that we don’t have a GPS (yet), street names are a relatively new phenomenon here, and people give directions using landmarks?

Roman Forum & Theater

We managed to make our way towards the Roman forum, driving through a lovely part of town that looked as though people had been evicted and their belongings were thrown into the street. This was not eviction day, just a flea market. If you need scrap metal or broken appliances, this is the place to go. We eventually spotted the theater in the distance and could easily have missed it because there weren’t any signs for it and it’s undergoing a massive renovation hiding the complex behind barricades. We made our way to the theater, which was built between 169-177 AD, during Marcus Aurelius’ reign. It was built to seat 6,000 and as you can see from the pictures, the stairs are extremely steep. We walked to the top above the seating to check out a small, empty shrine with niches. The dedication isn’t known, but part of a statue of Athena was found during excavations.

We stayed here about an hour, enjoying the views and looking off into the distance at the Temple of Hercules on the opposite hill. This is where I wanted to go next, Jebel al-Qal’a (Citadel Hill). On our way out of the theater, we quickly looked at the forum, but most of it was behind the gates of construction, so our access was severely limited.

We hopped back in the car, unsure of how to get to Jebel al-Qal’a, but how hard could it be to go directly across the hill, probably less than one mile away? Apparently it is VERY difficult because we ended up getting lost, for an hour, with only our limited sense of direction to get us back home. We made it home frazzled and decided that we’ll take a cab to Jebel al-Qal’a in a couple of weeks.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Living in Amman

From Drab to Fab…Shanti’s Got a New Groomer

Alright, I lied. Shanit doesn’t look fab, more like sad. You see, dogs, unlike cats, are not highly esteemed in these parts. Shanti, used to monthly ‘treatments’ at the groomer and getting his teeth brushed is looking like a mess. Back in Old Town Alexandria, dogs are treated better than people (i.e. there are parks specifically for dogs, dog walkers are hard to find (because they’re booked solid despite their outrageous prices), the Hotel Monaco has ‘Yappy Hour’ in the summers for dogs and their owners). We found it so difficult to even make an appointment at the groomer that we had to have a monthly standing appointment to insure that he would be seen. Here in Amman, there are few, if any groomers, and the few that exist, operate out of veterinary clinics. Shortly after Raj arrived here, he took Shanti to the groomer/veterinarian for a hair cut. Luckily for me, I missed the trauma. As the story goes, Shanti was so upset that the veterinarian/groomer said he had to give him a sedative. Really? For a hair cut? Isn’t that overkill? (I’m curious to know how a groomer could shampoo, cut, and shave a dog that’s limp from a sedative.) Needless to say, the picture of Shanti that Raj sent to me afterwards was pathetic. He looked like a ‘plucked chicken,’ which explains the two types of dog cuts in available in Amman: shaven or trimmed (no boutique cuts). His ‘skirt’ was shaven, but nothing else, that’s why he’s sporting the dumbo, fluffy, ‘you can’t see my eyes’ look in the picture above.

As a result of the lack of grooming options in Amman, we came up with a few solutions to the dilemma. We could:

let Shanti go native and stop grooming him (but when we walk him through the trash lot around the corner at night, his fur is so long that he picks up all kinds of gunk that gets stuck in it. I really enjoyed having to cut gum out of his beard last week!)
send him back to the vet./groomer where he’ll keep getting tranquilized and will get a bad haircut (for $40 JD’s)
or, groom him ourselves with a grooming kit

As you may have guessed, we opted to try grooming Shanti for ourselves. Having never groomed a dog, Raj thought, “It can’t be that hard!” I ordered a clipper set from Amazon, but in the back of my mind I was recalling images of Schultz, my first Schnauzer and the haircuts he received under my father’s impatient hand. I’ll admit, the haircuts got better over time, but there were a number of the initial attempts that left the poor dog’s ears bloody.

Raj washed and dried Shanti and we set up shop in the kitchen (don’t cringe, there’s no outlet in the backyard for the clippers). It took about an hour and the finished product is below. It was much more difficult than we imagined (and we watched the informational DVD). Poor guy (Shanti, that is). He looks much better than he did, but this is no schnauzer cut. On the bright side, we’re anticipating saving SO much money doing Shanti’s grooming ourselves, money that I’ll surely be able to use on something for myself.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Living in Amman

Bleaching My Way Through Amman

For the last six months, since the announcement of our assignment to Amman, I’ve been scouring the Internet for two extremely important things: a yoga studio (still nonexistent) and a reputable hair salon to get blonde highlights. Getting highlights is stressful even under the best of circumstances. When I attempt to explain the depth of my anxiety, people casually mention things like, ‘do it yourself from a box’ (all over color is not an option or worse still, let your hair grow out to its natural color (which, I might add is BLONDE. Just ask my mom and she’ll prove it to you with pictures of my childhood). The truth is, I’m not sure what color my ‘natural’ color would be, so that’s NOT an option.

Eight years ago, shortly after meeting Raj, I made the mistake of listening to my sister, Nicole, who worked with a woman whose hair we envied. She had beautiful blonde highlights and her hair was always well-maintained. We wanted her hair, but more importantly, we wanted her stylist. Nicole got the number of the stylist and we both made appointments with her separately, on different days. Nicole was up first. I don’t recall seeing her hair, but she said it was good and best of all it was CHEAPER than what we had been paying. This excited me. I went to the salon, which wasn’t in the best part of town, but what was even more disturbing was the stylist in the chair working next to mine. She/he was a transvestite and not the pretty kind–the kind that just recently changed teams and doesn’t know how to dress. Did this portend disaster? I ignored the signs. The stylist was nice and efficient. The process was different from what I was used to. She used foil, but then started saturating my hair with what I believed to be bleach because it started burning my scalp and my eyes. Most normal people would have started questioning the procedure, not me. I stuck it out counting ALL of the money I was saving and thanking my lucky stars for having such a great sister for finding this place. The stylist finished up my hair, dried and styled it, and I was on my way home to see Raj (keep in mind, we were still in the super nice courting stage). I looked in the mirror a few times before Raj got home. It looked okay to me. The color seemed a little different. I quickly called Nicole and told her about the scalding scalp treatment, which she agreed was alarming (and she couldn’t have forewarned me about this?). Raj got home and he was speechless. (Maybe he only liked me for my blonde highlights?) He tried very hard to say something nice, but couldn’t. I looked at my hair AGAIN in the light. Alright, it was pinkish and HORRIBLE. I kept trying to tell myself it wasn’t that bad. But it was.

Nicole received a few more calls, each one angrier than the last. She eventually agreed that she didn’t like her hair either…but she let me go? And she says I’m the mean one?

Raj, the metrosexual, had been seeing and following his stylist for years, moving from salon to salon with her, remaining loyal to ‘Barbara.’ I had never dated a guy who had a stylist (and spent $35 on hair cuts–even as cheap as he is!), let alone a guy who had much of an opinion about my hair. I agreed to meet with Barbara to see if she could fix my Strawberry Shortcake pink highlights. She hoomed and haahed and gave me an earful on the damage that had been done. “This will take years to fix,” she lamented and each month when I’d go in to see her, she’d point out how much more my hair would have to grow out until the damage was no longer visible (this went on for 7 years!). Both Raj and I remained loyal to Barbara until we moved to DC, sharing with her my fears of finding ANYONE qualified enough to bleach my locks. She agreed, it would be VERY, VERY difficult. [Sidenote: Did I mention that Nicole eventually started going to Barbara too? Even more interesting, she just recently returned to the same woman who made my hair pink.] Despite Barbara’s outlook, I was fortunate enough to find someone equally, if not more qualified in Old Town to manage my hair.

In researching hair salons in Amman, the only salon that was recognizable to me was Toni & Guy. I’ve never been to one, but they’re international and I used to walk by one all the time in the Mission Viejo (California) mall. I landed on June 2nd and made a hair appointment on June 3rd for July 1st, today. I was a nervous wreck going to the appointment not knowing what to expect, if I even had an appointment (because I didn’t get a phone call confirming the day before), how much it would cost (I was planning on paying in cash and didn’t know how much to bring), what to tip and the expectations of tipping (do you tip the colorist, the shampooer, and the blow out stylist and how much do you tip?)

I walked into the building that housed the Toni & Guy sign, knowing nothing other than they were on the third floor. The building was a little shabby (not as in shabby chic, either). I tried out the elevator and ended up in a parking garage (I guess I went down), got out of the elevator and tried the stairs. Luckily the stairs led to the salon and I was greeted by two lovely receptionists who welcomed me. (They were both stylish and one was wearing an LA Gear, crop t-shirt, a la 1980. Too bad I didn’t save any of mine. They’d look great with a pair of high-tops and leggings. Nonetheless, she pulled it off in a retro cool that I could never.)

The colorist immediately sat me down, offered me coffee, tea and water, and examined my hair. There wasn’t any chit-chat and he got right to work. I was worried at first. I thought I could feel the heat of BLEACH on my head, but I stuck it out. The foiling of my head took about 45 minutes and then I remained in the chair to lighten up (no steamer or heater here). In the meantime, I was served ‘special’ coffee (an espresso. I love this place!) After 30 minutes, my hair was finished and I was sent to the shampooer. My stylist asked if I had time to do a ‘treatment.’ “Sure,” I said, not knowing what the treatment was for of how much this would cost (Raj doesn’t need to know). The treatment included a fabulous 20 minute scalp massage.

When the treatment was over, I was handed off to yet another stylist who was tasked with drying my hair. He asked me how I wanted my hair, straight or full. My hair is SO straight that it’s usually not an option. I said full (let’s see what he’s got) and he did all kinds of pulling and man handling to my hair, but he got it full.

Throughout my experience, I was worrying about the cost and how much I had in my wallet. When I was finally done, three hours later, I walked to the counter and my total came to $65 for the highlight (which, by the way was a FULL and half the price of my Old Town gal) and $15 for the ‘treatment,’ so the total was $80 plus I gave a $10 tip to the stylist (I’m not sure if that’s a decent or a cheap tip or if I should have tipped the other two?). We have a fourth of July party to attend and while I was getting my hair blown out, I thought about how nice it would be to get my hair styled for the party. After paying and making my next appointment, I asked how much blow-outs cost: $7. Wow! So, I’ve got an appointment for Monday as well. All in all, it was a great experience and Raj approved of the work.

Living in Amman

Pop Quiz: What Is This? A Stage? A Theater?

Our backyard is more of a side yard shaped like an ‘L.’ It’s long and narrow on the right side of the apartment and then it extends a little to the left behind the master and guest bedrooms. There’s a strange stage-like area in the back of the yard that intrigues me. Four stairs lead up to a travertine tiled veranda space (meaning this space was designed for something, I just don’t know what). Notice the windows? They’re not ours, but this is our backyard. The windows belong to the neighbors next door (whom I’ve never met, seen, know, but have heard). I was thinking it looked pretty nice until I took this picture. You can’t see the screens, but they’re barely hanging off the windows. It’s looking kind of shabby. I avoid this area because I don’t understand it. I’m afraid the neighbors are hanging out in this room near the windows watching me take pictures. Of what? That’s the conundrum and the pop quiz…only I don’t have the answer this time.

So…what do YOU think it is?

a stage for puppet performances? The neighbors could get a behind the scenes glimpse from their view.
an entertaining arena? It’s so private and far removed from the street, but not the neighbors.
a place to relax and sip wine while talking to your neighbors through their windows?
a yoga pavilion?

What’s your take? The winner gets ALL of the apricots that are rotting on the ground. I’d make jam, lots of amazing Amman Apricot jam (apricot jam with vanilla and cardamom) that I’d send to you if I could buy Ball jars here…but like everything else that I seek out at the store, I can’t find any (I couldn’t even find limes during my last outing). You can breathe a sigh of relief. Jars are en route from the States, but probably too late for this crop. I’ll find something else to jam or pickle though with my jamming kit that’s set to arrive in a couple of weeks.

Here are a few more views to help you out: another view of the stage, view upon entering the entertaining arena and the apricot trees in the front of the side yard

Eating, Travels

Diet Secret of the Middle East Revealed

Raj’s Arabic class went on a field trip today and I tagged along. We met in Swéfiéh, about a five-minute drive from our house (if we didn’t get lost). According to Wikipedia, this area is “…notorious for its night-life and shopping culture…” And even more interesting, “It is estimated that Swéfiéh has more Strip clubs, Gentlemen’s Clubs, Sex Shops, Bars, Nightclubs and Adult Entertainment Venues than the rest of the city combined, making Swéfiéh an unofficial red-light district among the residents.” In the Middle East? Did Raj know this?

Back to the ‘G’ rated field trip…We met outside of a bakery and our first stop on the tour was into a spice store. Raj’s teacher showed us around, pointing out different spices, letting us taste and smell things, some were familiar to me, others were not. There was a tea section in the rear of the store that held all sorts of Middle Eastern homeopathic remedies. This is where things got interesting. There were herbs and concoctions for kidney problems, weight issues, anxiety, any ailment you’ve got, they have something for you to steep in hot water. My favorite was the ‘natural glue.’ It looked like rock candy, all crystalline in structure and in many different colors. You steep it, like everything else here and drink it–but DON’T eat it (it looks like what I’d imagine crack looks like). We had a few minutes to shop and guess where we headed? Back to the tea section. We picked up the miracle tea to “control satiety,” otherwise known as “Fitness Tea.” I’ll let you know how much weight I’ve lost next week.

Next stop, a deli. We congregated in the front of the store by the preserves. There were all sorts of interesting looking preserves, whole fruits, vegetable medleys, and syrup. The writing was all in Arabic, but the teacher told us what each one was and how it’s used. She said that these were all “hand-made” in Syria, known for very sweet fruits and the best preserves in the region.We picked up some pomegranate syrup to splash in our vodka tonics.

Next door to the deli was the butcher. I’m not squeamish, but I prefer to go to the butcher only when it’s absolutely necessary. I avoid butchered body parts and blood and prefer my meat clean and sanitarily prepared (how I miss Whole Foods). I saw the hanging carcasses in the window, checked out the chicken parts, and then headed out to wait for the group. As you can see, felines are welcome into the store. What’s wrong with cats roaming through the butcher shop?

Last stop, the bakery. The intoxicating smell of sugar and yeast had been wafting through the air since the moment we stepped out of the car. The bakery was overwhelming with an amazing array of sweets, chocolates, breads, pizzas (not pizzas, but something that looks like them), pita, croissants, bread sticks, everything you can imagine. We bought a selection of desserts to try along with a small selection of chocolate croissants and other extremely healthy snacks.

Best of all, now that we’ve got the fitness tea, we can eat all of the sweets we want and not worry about a thing. Let me know if you want me to send any your way.

Here’s our loot. The best deal was at the bakery–about $5 JDs for all of the fat-free treats; the syrup was $4 and the tea was $5.

Decorating

Minor Miracle in the Kitchen

As you’ve probably noted by now, I hate this kitchen. Here are the major offenses that this kitchen is charged with:

its design (it lacks any!)
open cabinets (not one, but two)
propane oven (don’t get me started)
chartreuse colored sink with the built-in tray for a dish rack (because there’s no dishwasher!)
large window with bars (are we in the ghetto?)
funky built-in table (and we don’t have any chairs. I had to send the chairs that came with the table back to storage because they were beyond my magic repertoire–decoupage, painting, fabric…)
overhead lighting that goes on upon banging the cabinets (and we’ve had them fixed)
the converter box–if I want to use any of my appliances (i.e. Kitchenaid, etc., I have to plug them into a converter which is a HUGE, circa 1965 ugly, metal tool box looking contraption the size of a shoe box that is difficult to camouflage and potentially dangerous, not to mention you can only plug two things in at once).

None of this is charming or quaint or anything in between. It’s just ugly and I cannot live in such a state so I’ve attempted to make some minor adjustments. First on the list, the open cabinets and the window.

Before I show you what I’ve done, let’s review my constraints:

I don’t know of any fabric stores like JoAnn Fabrics, etc. where I can get fabric and notions, etc. This means I have to order online, sight unseen, which is difficult, especially with fabric.
I didn’t bring all of my crafting supplies, just a couple and nothing great.
Raj is CHEAP (He often reminds me, “we’re only here 2 years so why spend ANY money.”).

Given these obstacles, I have to say that I’m very pleased with the results. What do you think?

Here’s the before and after of the dishwasher space:

Before and after of the large cabinet to the left of the refrigerator:

…and the window treatment (it’s really hard to see anything, sorry):

It’s difficult to see what I’ve done, but I ordered a dark brown burlap (yes, Raj, it’s very cheap) and a couple of tension rods (total cost $20). One of the rods didn’t fit, so I had to improvise with some other way to hang the fabric in the tall cabinet. Luckily, I had a few decorative tacks in my craft box and hammered the fabric on the shelf above. Although I have my sewing machine here, I found it more efficient to use “steam and seam” for the seams and to attach the grosgrain ribbon onto the front panels. (If you’ve never used “steam and seam” it’s a great product). I ran out of fabric so I was forced to pull out the sewing machine to seam together what little fabric I had leftover. I staple gunned the fabric to the wood panel above the kitchen window and used more of the decorative tacks and grosgrain ribbon to finish it off. It’s so much better that I can almost step foot in the kitchen without cringing.