katinforeign

home at last

2007-07-17T20:59:21Z

I've been told off for not finishing off this blog. I'm sorry. It kind of dried up as I found other urgent tasks to occupy me during the end of my time in Martinique.... anyway, a brief (final) update.

Went home via Paris, where I met up with flatmate Sam, on his way home from Toulouse. We sightsaw and drank. And ate a lot of steak. It was fun. Then when back in England went to Glastonbury, which was muddy and grim, although the music was good. I saw the Cat Empire, whom I highly recommend.

And now I am back to work, at AQA, and the BIC in Bournemouth. Plus we're looking for a 3-bedroom flat in London.

The end of my foreign adventure...

katinforeign @ 2007-06-04T12:45:00

2007-06-04T16:53:41Z

I spent 4 days last week camping in the forest in the north of the island.

Again, with Germans.

You'd think I'd learn.
Whilst I'm glad that they're channelling their energy into outdoor pursuits rather than invading Poland, it's still slightly unnerving to see someone bound up a waterfall without even breaking a sweat, when you've had to be literally pushed and pulled up with your helpers' hands slipping off your transpiring corpse (very elegant, as ever).

We ate freshwater snails from the river. I hiked 4 hours barefoot up a river to some waterfalls. We saw a deserted beach, and sat on a sand dune smoking cigars and watching a turtle come onto the beach to try and lay her eggs.

And of course, we only had the rivers to wash in, and so i stank to high heaven.

I like camping.

Photos of Dominica are attempting to be put on the flickr, photos from the weekend to follow.

katinforeign @ 2007-05-20T14:02:00

2007-05-20T18:05:53Z

Laura, Jan and I hiked to a waterfall on Thursday. For any of you considering hiking with a German in future, bear in mind this brief translation lesson:

German speaking English:

Ah, this next bit's easy, look, there are steps!
English:

I now expect you to follow me up a sheer cliff face. What I mean by 'steps' are 'pebbles that protrude on average 10 milimetres from the surface.'

Dominica

2007-05-14T15:22:47Z

I went to Dominica for the weekend. And may I just caution any of you thinking of doing the same NOT to rely upon the Lonely Planet guidebook. Myself, Jann (German) and Timothea (American) got off the ferry. Trusting the map in our book, we decided to walk into town. It was only after walking for 20 minutes that we realised the port was, perhaps, not on the edge of town as the map suggested, but rather a 20 minute walk away along a long road with no shade.

Still, no matter, we chose a hotel from the book. A 'large room' for the 3 of us contained 2 single beds which we pushed together to form one large sleeping area. And we stayed on that, off the ground, to avoid the cockroaches. And the overflowing toilet.

The next morning we attempted to get to Laudat, an inland village from which you can begin a hike to the boiling lake. Now admittedly this one wasn't the Lonely Planet's fault, but we got a bus to a junction and hiked an hour UPHILL with ALL OUR LUGGAGE to find that, in fact, the only road into the village was closed between 9 and 3 every day and we couldn't get through. So we got a lift down to nearby Trafalgar falls with a nice English couple. Trafalgar falls really are gorgeous. Timothea and I swam in the waterfall pool (cold) and soaked in the sulfur basins (warm). It was good. Then we hiked back up to wait for the road to open. Which it did. At about 5.

Still, we got to a nice guesthouse in Laudat and had 2 double beds this time, and no cockroaches. We played French/English scrabble, each representing our nationalities. Germany started winning, America whined until we let her have 'Rolex' as a word, but in the end Britain won.

The hike was a 6 hour round trip. The Lonely Planet said a guide was necessary, but we are poor students so we decided it wasn't. And we made it fine. The boiling lake is exactly what it says it is, and is rather impressive. And I don't know what they feed children in Germany, but Jann was barely breaking a sweat, whereas Timothea and I were dictating our last wills, and debating whether it would be worth paying a few thousand quid to get a helicopter to come and get us.

Finally we got a bus up to Portsmouth, in the north of the island. To find that all the addresses mentioned in the Lonely Planet were full or out of our price range. Luckily, we were befriended by a local rasta called Yellow (the colour of the sun) and he showed us a cottage that we could rent for the night. And the next day he and a friend rowed us up the Indian river, beer and spliff in hand. What is exciting for the culturally rich creature that I am about the river is that is featured in Pirates of the Carribbean 2. We saw the place where the witch-doctor-woman's hut was.

We managed to nearly miss the boat home, thanks to a risky decision to get lunch at the only place open on a Sunday, a Chinese restaurant seemingly run by an 11 year-old boy (or at least he was the only staff/family member to speak English). The meal took nearly an hour after ordering to appear. So we got it boxed and ran for the boat. Which was late anyway. The meal was actually huge, and we decided to save some for later. All our fears about getting foodstuff back into Martinique proved to be unfounded when there was no passport control whatsoever this end. Whether there was meant to be and the crowd just got fed up after a half hour wait in the sun for someone to appear or not, I'm not sure. We just walked through in the rush.

So, that's what I've been doing. Apart from taking a couple of jokes of exams. An exam hall set up seems to be an alien concept... the invigilators might as well have said: "sit wherever you feel like in the lecture theatre, pass notes, text people, go out of the room to the toilet unsupervised and come back when you feel like it, and those of you at the back, we'll have enough exam papers photocopied for you in about half an hour, okay?" Island life....

to get a book out of a Martiniquan public library

2007-04-22T17:41:44Z

1. Walk in the front door. Greet woman. Express desire to join library. Provide proof of ID, passport photograph, proof of address. Spend 15 minutes convincing her that you are not a tourist, but a student at the local university, yes, despite the fact that your French is only at this level and you know no creole, yes, isn't it funny. Wait another 15 minutes watching her type your details into her computer with one finger.

2. Go into main section of library. Look for any kind of catalogue, electronic or in book-format. Find nothing. Find computers that clearly were supposed to be used for a catalogue, but have stickers saying 'do not use' on them. Ask passing librarian for help. Get told to go to desk in other room. Express concern that there is nobody at said desk. Get told to wait.

3. Wait 10 minutes. Man arrives. Tell man what book you want. Man looks up book on computer, and reads out details for you to fill in on form.

4. Take form to desk in fourth room. Give form and library card to man. Man goes and gets book for you. Man takes one part of form, and tells you to go to front desk again.

5. Go to front desk. Give in remaining section of form, get book swiped, get date stamped not in book itself but on a small piece of paper that you will lose and thus have no idea when the book is due back. Leave.

Never will I complain about Syrian bureaucracy again.

Other things I have done include a morning (yesterday) kayaking in mangrove swamps. The German guys were going and insisted that Laura and I accompany them. I have a feeling they may not ask us (or me at least) to do any kind of physical exercise again... their coach looked at us dismayed when we turned up (i think he was just planning to take his team favourites on a nice trip), and asked about our experience. Knowing full well that I had none, the Germans quickly replied that we'd done some at school. I think he probably twigged when we were on the water and they had to stop every twenty minutes for me to catch up. And of course, those breaks allowed them to drink water and relax, but they'd leave as soon as I got there, so I was kayaking for 2 hours non-stop. I got covered in mud as well.

In the car on the way back, the coach mentioned that it was about a 5km route. It took us two hours. He also mentioned that average kayaking speed was 4kmph...

katinforeign @ 2007-04-20T12:10:00

2007-04-20T16:20:39Z

This week I have mainly been following Germans around. I like going to the supermarket with Germans, they get very excited over the thought of any meal: 'Hamburgers? I think this would be super cool, yeah!' I also enjoy the use of super to mean very.

The evenings have been spent principally on the balcony of one of the Germans, Seb. Seb's balcony is ideally located, because it has a view of the building site next door where 4 wild dogs play at night. Last night they were following a toad around. Who needs television?

Other excitement: two powercuts! (The use of the exclamation mark there was necessary, yes.) Now, in England, when there is a powercut, we light candles and/or go to the pub. In Martinique, accepted etiquette is to start yelling tribal chants from balcony to balcony, throwing people's voting cards from balconies, and throwing ICE and bottles of water from the THIRTEENTH FLOOR. And they laugh when you point out that it could kill someone. I stayed well inside.

Question: is there any logical reason for a powercut to automatically lead to water being cut off too?

katinforeign @ 2007-04-12T12:24:00

2007-04-12T16:43:54Z

Right. I have escaped both the French optician's house and campus to find a corner of a cafe in Fort de France with free wireless internet. Although as they fill up for lunch it's reasonably likely they'll chuck me and my cup of earl grey out. So I shall type quickly...

May came, slept on my floor, reassured me that I wasn't developing a strange paranoid disease and that people really were staring at me in a disconcerting manner because of my skin colour, ate chocolate with me... We took some daytrips to the gorgeous gardens at Balata, the town of St Pierre (once the Paris of the West Indies, destroyed by the island's volcano in 1902), Ste Anne in the South (nice white sand beaches) and drank a large amount of rum. We even visited a distillery and took a tour. I honestly meant to translate for May, but the tourguide woman talked withnopauseswhatsoever, and we had to wear earphones to hear her because of the noise of machinery, so May missed out on many interesting facts, but she says she got the gist, and I think she just enjoyed breathing in rummy fumes.

My time is currently spent reading lots of books in an attempt to make my year abroad project intellectually valid, or at least convincing... but every book I read means I get a new lead for another book, and a new idea, and I think it's all spiralling out of control. Still, at least it lets me fill my time...

katinforeign @ 2007-04-09T19:31:00

2007-04-09T23:36:28Z

What do you do if someone you have never seen before* comes into your room brandishing a stick and demanding a bigger knife than the one they already have?

Well, I give it to them. And I am glad I did, because the stick was sugarcane, which has now joined the list of my favourite things.

I promise a lengthier update soon, including details of May's visit, and how I spend my time. Unfortunately I am only on the Internet grace to the alcoholic-French-optician-in-whose-house-I-seem-to-be-living-at-the-moment's laptop, so I feel bad using too much time. That and they're due back with pizza any minute...

Speak soon.

*I exaggerate the situation slightly, she was accompanied by an English friend.

katinforeign @ 2007-03-22T12:29:00

2007-03-22T16:35:05Z

Have I mentioned my translation class? No? The one where the teacher asks me to explain to the class such phrases as "pushing up the daisies", meaning that the entire class now thinks I (and probably all British people by association) get their kicks from burying people alive? Well, this week he decided to further aid my integration with the local students by forcing me to teach them alongside him. And apparently 'it just IS that way' doesn't cut it as a grammar explanation...

Anyway, main point of this post is to say photos are up on the flickr if you feel like trawling through them...

katinforeign @ 2007-03-20T18:02:00

2007-03-20T22:23:01Z

Good evening all. Life continues pretty much as ever in Martinique, with the addition of a long reading list for my French project and next year's courses... which the university library can furnish me with about 20% of, and the island's biggest bookshop a further 5%... I'm going to attempt to join the public library this week. Semi-interestingly, libraries here don't use fines, but impose bans on borrowing further books in some kind of proportion to how late the one you're returning is.

This last weekend, I went back to St Lucia for the world cup, with my American friend Timothea. The cricket world cup, that is. She was much more enthusiastic when she realised I wasn't talking about croquet, but instead 'that game a bit like baseball'.
'Oh, with the flat paddle?'
'Sigh, the bat, yes...'
We arrived just in time for the Friday night party in Gros Ilets, partying with the victorious Kiwi supporters. No Englishmen anywhere to be seen. But we did meet a very nice Canadian, and his friends from the dive shop on Jalousie beach. They invited us down for Saturday, and we spent a (long) enjoyable day learning to scuba dive and eating in restaurants with incredible views. I was terrified before we started diving, thanks to a video which said risks include 'Lung overexpansion, death and ear damage.' Listed in that order. But once we got down there, it was fantastic.
Sunday was cricket day. We went for the party stand, with a meal and 8 drinks included. Being two girls on our own, the barman turned that into unlimited drinks included. And poor Timothea was surrounded by the English at their most English, with men dressed as women, a man dressed as a knight, and lots of beer flowing. But I think she's now got the hang of the cricket basics, if not British English.
Americans are very useful though. She has a willingness to be rude that I'm lacking, which let us push along with the locals to a reasonable place in the queue (as opposed to the back, where I would end up). The technique of 'one hand on the American, one hand on the passport' got us through customs in just 2 hours, before about 2/3 of the queue. And I was equally useful going into Martinique, handing over her slightly awkward US passport along with my welcome EU one...

Of Martinique itself, I've still seen only a very limited amount. But with May arriving on Sunday, hopefully willing to be dragged around with me, fingers crossed that'll change.

katinforeign @ 2007-03-05T16:03:00

2007-03-05T20:05:31Z

Today I am feeling smug, for I bested someone for the first time in the great 'Bonjour/Bonsoir' debate. When I first arrived, I was surprised to hear people saying 'bonsoir' at any point after midday. Now, as it means 'good evening' I would expect to use it only when it was dark, no? So I constantly said 'bonjour' to get a pointed 'bonsoir' in return. Anyway, I have adapted. I was going down the steps towards the residence and (as is customary) said 'Bonsoir' as I passed someone. He said 'Bonjour' at the same time, but then retracted it to a sheepish 'Ah, er, bonsoir...' Simple things...

In other news, London student politicians take note. Now that I have experienced elections Martinique university style, it will take a lot more to get my vote. In London I have never been woken up by canvassers knocking on my door at 11pm. Nor have I been given snazzy wristbands in a choice of colours (although here they seem to be organised into political groups rather than as individuals, so maybe they have a bit more money behind them). London election hopefuls have never forcibly blocked my entry into my own room to give me their election spiel either. They clearly don't have the lust for power that you get out here.

On the other hand, all the groups' policies are exactly the same (I kid you not: even down to the wording on the leaflets), so I guess the campaigning is necessary to give the impression of a difference.

My laptop has decided that it doesn't like the university network, so I am using a stand-up computer in a corridor to write this. Being able to put up with the discomfort is the only reliable way to get a computer: only about 10% of the uni's available computers work at the same time... oh, and they have no usb or cd drives, because they are frightened the students will break things.

Other things to make you less jealous of my tropical life:

1. I have an infection at the base of my spine from swimming in tropical waters, and can't sit down properly, much to the mirth of all the students who have been here since September and not caught anything. Bastards.

2. I am handwashing all my clothes because there is only one washing machine for the 200+ students in halls.

3. Lessons begin at 7.30 in the morning...

4. ...or are cancelled because the teacher doesn't feel like teaching that day. To give you an idea of the academic standing of the university - the default homepage is www.msn.com.

Did it work? No? I suppose you're right.

Last weekend I hired a boat with two other students for half a day and we visited some tiny islands off the Atlantic coast. They let me drive for a bit, but then I kept finding big groups of rocks, so Charles suggested it might be better if he drove. Maybe...

katinforeign @ 2007-02-23T10:23:00

2007-02-23T14:23:40Z

Well, slightly more to write about this time. I went to visit the neighbouring island of St Lucia, and came back to Martinique in time for carnival…

St Lucia then. I went with Axelle, a French trainee teacher, and Katharina, a German trainee lawyer. And it was fun. St Lucia's more of a real Caribbean island than Martinique (which is very Frenchified), and it is absolutely stunning, as well as being full of incredibly friendly people.

Touristy activities: we climbed the Gros Piton mountain in 4 hours (2 up 2 down), which we thought was very respectable until our guide told us she’d done it barefoot in an hour 15 minutes. We also visited the volcanic sulphur springs at Soufrieres, and bathed in the waters. It seemed like a good idea until we came to get out and discovered that there was no freshwater to wash off the black minerals that were clinging to our skin. The Rasta who was selling mud on the edge of the pool feigned innocence: “But it comes off my skin fine.” “No, it just doesn’t show on your skin.”

Next we decided to walk the “just 20 minutes” to see some waterfalls. It may have been 20 minutes, but it was all uphill in the searing heat. For the drive back we hitched a lift in a coach of Californian saga-cruisers.

In fact, hitching cheeky lifts was a leitmotif of the trip. Katharina had met a man with a yacht in Martinique, and he called to say he was in St Lucia and would we like a lift back. Yes, we would. So we spent two days on a yacht, swimming in the gorgeous turquoise sea, sleeping in hammocks, and generally lazing around. Repeat after me, the year abroad is not a holiday.

And then, carnival. Parades and dancing in the streets… with colour themes for each day that everyone followed. It’s surreal to walk through a town and see everyone wearing red or black and white. And to see everyone (regardless of sex) wearing the same outfit, consisting basically of fishnet tights and hotpants. And the evenings were spent partying. On Wednesday evening Sarah and I found ourselves hitchhiking back to campus. The parade had featured cars with their tops cut off, and about 10 people dancing on them. It was one of those cars that picked us up. We sat on the boot, and ended up going partying with them, firstly to a petrol station where about 4 of the cars parked and blared out music, and then on the island’s ‘Coconut club’. It was quite a night.

But now, it really is back to university. And studying. Hard. I promise…

katinforeign @ 2007-02-12T08:26:00

2007-02-12T13:11:42Z

I am up at half past eight in the morning. Not only am I up at half past eight in the morning, but I have been up since half past six in the morning. This is because I was supposed to have a lecture at half past seven in the morning, to which the tutor failed to show up. Joy.

Other than the disruption of my normal sleeping patterns, there's not much to report. My skin continues to confound everyone by refusing to go brown, and, even with the use of factor 50+ sunscreen, peeling off in odd clumps. It's very attractive.

Ooh, but I have a fridge. This means that I can do normal shopping, and eat something other than bread and chocolate spread/apricot jam.

I'll write more/better when I've actually thought about it and had a good night's sleep.

martinique

2007-02-02T14:45:50Z

I'm arrived, and living in the university residence. The unversity residence has no hot water. It's just about hot enough to get away with that... but really, only just. Showering also has the interesting side-effect of washing my entire floor. Still, I'm told I'm lucky to be in the new block, and not sharing showers etc with all the others. It's pretty much a bed-sit setup: I've bought a hotplate off a girl who left, and am now in search of a fridge, having robbed another leaver of all her crockery, cutlery and pans, and, more importantly, her aftersun lotion.

My neighbours are still just voices I hear through the walls... I've yet to find a good opportunity to introduce myself properly. Plus, whenever I get into the lift, they'll always say 'Bonjour' and then something very fast in Creole. Then, when I respond with an 'ummm....' or a 'je ne comprends pas' they'll do a double-take, realise that there is a white person in their building (I think I'm the only one) and laugh nervously.

There's a large group of Americans here, who have decided to adopt me because I have 'such a cute accent'. I'm not sure whether or not I want to be adopted, but on the other hand they're here on a special exchange programme, much akin to the SOAS setup in Syria, where they study in their own special classes, and have special excursions which might be fun to tag along on. I went to a steelband class with them yesterday. Yes, I was predictably awful.

The good news is I should be more in touch from now on, having set my laptop up on the university network, and thus not having to attempt to use a French keyboard, with all the attendant swearing. Anyone who can use them, is there an easier way to get a full stop than having to press shift?

home

2007-01-23T15:42:44Z

Yes, in England for one week only before I head to Martinique for the francophone section of the year. Just a quick note to say pictures are up on the flickr, and if you happen to be in London tomorrow night I would love to see you. I'll be in the Fitzroy Tavern on Charlotte Street from 8, and around all afternoon.

EGYPT

2007-01-15T17:56:22Z

I went to Egypt. I came back from Egypt. Neither of those things were as simple as they sound...

Approximately a week and a half before leaving I went into the residency and visa office to apply for a re-entry visa. "Come back nearer the time." said the nice man. So I did. To find the entire office closed for a week because of Eid-ul-Adha and an extra few days holiday granted to the country by the ever-benevolent President Bashar. "But don't worry, you can get one at the airport or the embassy in Cairo." said the nice man who was the only person in the building.

That nice man was wrong. The embassy in Cairo refuses to issue visas to anyone without Egyptian residency. And the guy there said it was impossible to get one at the airport unless you did not have an Embassy in your home country. But he did say that it was possible at the border with Lebanon.

And so, off to the Egyptair office to change my ticket. Except that the Egyptair office in Cairo needs authorisation from the Egyptair ofice in Damascus to do so. Which takes two days (presumably because there was more public holiday in Syria...). But eventually all was fine, and I flew into Beirut and came across in a service taxi with two incredibly patient men, as the Syrian border guards sat around drinking tea and playing cards, looking extremely peeved to have to peel a few stamps off to put in my passport.

Getting there? Well, we got down through Jordan overland fine, until we reached the port. The ferry company's website was inaccurate... ferries leave at midnight, not at 7.30pm. Still, the port's quite a cool place to spend 6 hours. We were quite inventive, making playing cards out of my notebook and adopting a stray cat, in between wanders outside for tea amongst the lorry drivers who were all smoking sheesha and watching the soaps. Of course, nobody thought to tell the foreigners that the bus to the ferry was leaving, so me, Humayra and 3 Chinese guys trudged all the way to the boat by foot.

Sadly, a small child had slipped getting on, and an old man (on his way back from Hajj) had dived in after him and drowned. We saw the divers recovering the body. So the boat was delayed for 12 hours... but because we were girls we got a cabin to rest in. The Chinese guys just had to hang out on deck.

But anyway, Egypt. Beautiful. We spent the first few days in the Sinai at a Bedouin camp, and the first day trekking in the desert with an American. It seemed like the start of many a joke: a Jew, Muslim and Christian in the desert... but I can't think of anything funny. But the views were amazing. Even more so were the views from Mount Sinai (alleged to be where Moses received the ten commandments), which we climbed the next morning in time for sunrise. Our legs were literally shaking afterwards, particularly as we accidentally came down the challenging 'Steps of Repentance' route, carved into the mountainside by a monk.

Onwards to Luxor via Dahab. We'd been planning to spend longer at the beach resort, but the transport issues made us late, so rather than seeing Claire Craig (ex-Rare FM Head of Music) who now lives there, we saw the bar where she works, and made friends with a black cat. Still, the manager of the bar there let us use the showers in his camp and helped us book into the hotel in Luxor, arranging for us to be picked up from the coach. And the pick-up was a blessing. We'd assumed a 16-hour overnight coach would involve at least a chance of sleep... but the driver's technique was to drive half an hour, then take a half-hour rest, and play blaringly loud Egyptian comedies the whole way. Not a recommended journey.

Luxor, however, shouldn't be missed in terms of monuments. Karnak, the Valley of the Kings... we ticked all the major temples off our list, including Tutankhamun's tomb with his skeleton still inside. We even hiked some more, between temples, despite some locals sending us in the wrong direction into the desert when we refused to buy their souvenirs. I've never been so relieved to see a coachpark. In fact, in terms of general hassle, Luxor is easily missable. I think Humayra, who is small and brown, would have hit someone if we had stayed one minute longer, thanks to the constant calls of "Hello my colour!" and "I think you are Egyptian, yes? Yes you are. You lie to me. You are Egyptian."

Cairo, on the other hand, is amazing. It's a city I could happily live in. Plus, despite it's reputation, the Khan-al-Khallili is one of the most pleasant market experiences I've had in the region. More importantly, it is near the Pyramids! We rode camels at Giza, and followed a Chinese tour group in and out of the Red Pyramid at Saqqara. There are many of the obligatory photos of us in front of the various sites, which will be up soon.

Although I realise I have written far more about the travelling than the actual holiday, I am going to have to go now... and try and write more when the photos get up, perhaps. And I shall be back in England next week!

Ah, and a fish update: Fadia broke the bowl while I was away, so they are now swimming in a plastic Quality-Street style jar.

happy new year

2007-01-01T15:48:20Z

This new year, I have been mainly being kidnapped by my neighbour Fadia and taken to see various relatives of hers and her husband.

On Friday we all went to Sednaya, a village with a convent, just outside Damascus. There was a great room which they had transformed into a nativity scene, with cotton-wool clouds on the ceiling and everything. In the Syrian tradition of 'more is better' it also had Santa Claus and his reindeer in it. The convent also has an oil-spill in the shape of the virgin Mary and a picture of her that's been crying since the start of the Lebanese war. Allegedly.

On Saturday, I had a headache. No problem, I thought, I'll just take some drugs and go back to bed for a bit. However, Fadia came home (she'd gone the night before to sleep at her mother in laws because of a (not unusual) powercut). She burst into my room and said 'Why are you asleep? You have a headache? No, you must come with me to my mother-in-laws. You don't want to be on your own. Come on, we'll go in 15 minutes.' There was no pause between any of those sentences... I had no choice.

Now, I'm not sure what school of medicine prescribes sitting in a room with 3 screaming children as a headache cure, but all of the family seem to believe in it. I was fed cabbage, and then the grandma tucked me in alongside the toddlers on the sofa for a nap. Then, just when I thought I could escape, we all bundled into the car and... drove aimlessly around for a bit. Then I went to bed.

Then came New Years Eve, when we went back to the Mother-in-law's, after my hair had been blow-dryed to within an inch of its life - BIG Syrian style. We ate lots of Syrian delicacies, and gave the children clingfilm to chew. I'm not sure if that's a tradition, or a blatant disregard for general common sense. We went outside for midnight, and the streets were full of people. We had a snow fight with fake snow from a can. It was slightly odd, and probably seemed more so because I only got about 75% of what was going on... but there was a real party atmosphere.

Anyway, happy new year: كل عام و انتم بخير

killing time

2006-12-28T11:11:03Z

So, the fish are now only two. I think they must have been ill when they arrived, with the big stomachs signs of bladder infection rather than pregnancy. One of the original fish survives, however, with another small friend. Hopefully they'll last another month, although my plans to travel to Egypt mean I'll have to leave my neighbour in charge again, which seemed to be the catalyst for the last round of deaths... It was nice for Dex to be welcomed into my home by a tank of dead fish and a petrol leak on the floor. Still, I mopped most of it up, and the petrol-soaked tissues will be useful for lighting the fire in the bathroom.

Everyone has abandoned me and headed home for the Christmas holidays. This has left me rather at a loose end... the concept of people doing things on their own doesn't really exist out here, so I find myself sitting in an Internet Cafe, the only place where I don't get very odd looks for sitting alone.

Christmas was... well, not very Christmassy. It's not that Syria's so strongly Muslim that there's no evidence of anything special on December 25th: after all, I live in the Christian quarter of Damascus. It's more that I didn't do Christmas-type things. My visitor meant I replaced sitting in a room with my family and watching Christmas TV with sightseeing. We visited the roman theatre-turned-into-a-castle at Bosra, and went to Palmyra, Syria's old Graeco-Roman ruins. We were greeted off the coach by the same hotelier who had kidnapped me, Mum and Dad back in the Autumn, and he helped us organise transport etc even though it was just a day trip. He is a nice man. He gave me a big box of dates too.

We did attempt to have a kind-of-Christmas amongst the SOAS people left behind on Christmas eve. It had a strongly Scandinavian feel, being in Bea's flat, and with most of the cooking by Petter and girlfriend (that's Finnish and Swedish representation). We secret-Santa'ed, and a strange Syrian friend of Bea's landlady's son gave me a candle holder that looks like it is made from bones.

Things I have seen taxi drivers doing in the last two days:
1. Watching a TV mounted where the radio usually is, whilst driving along.
2. Repairing the electrical bits at the front of the car with a screwdriver, whilst driving along.

merry christmas

2006-12-25T18:40:44Z

Just a note to wish you all a Merry Christmas. Those of you who make it to church, pray for the souls of the 5 newly dead fish... I'll save the details for after the festivities.

katinforeign @ 2006-12-17T20:29:00

2006-12-17T19:17:15Z

Busy weekend. I shouldn't even be in the internet cafe, in fact, considering i'm yet to finish my homework. But I'm feeling refreshed and ready to work into the night... plus I'm unlikely to get much sleep, seeing as the man selling santa hats and ringing a bell seems to be open 24-hours a day and has taken up residence in the street outside my house...

Friday: Jerash, in Jordan. Jerash is an ancient Greek/Roman town, with according to our guide, "the only egg-shaped forum in the world, actually." It is also "only one-third excavated, actually" and "the only place where Zeus wasn't the most important God, actually." It's worth a visit, although not my favourite of the ruins I've visited. Travel in Jordan's very straightforward... in fact, our only problem was on the way there, where the taxi-driver insisted on stopping at the duty free, buying lord-only-knows-how-many cigarettes, and stashing them in every available hiding place. Some of the passengers ended up placing them in their handbags, with the worry of being held up for hours at the border greater than the worry of helping fund the black market. The guy at immigration was also confused about the fact my passport said 'Great Britain and Northern Ireland' on it. "So you are Irish?" I ended up telling him that Northern Ireland was another name for England... Sorry, all Irish people. The way back was great though - we went through a very deserted border post, and the guards seemed more interested in making us speak arabic and laughing at our accents than checking anyone's passport. Nesrine and I were back by 8pm, leaving time to see the Bond film (only feature running at the Cham since it opened) for the third time. I swear we thought it would have changed by now.

On Saturday I went to Beirut with Fleur to check out the protests. We'd read (although our access to Western media here is somewhat sporadic) that Beirut was a city that felt like it was in a state of siege, that a national crisis was brewing. Truthfully, the city did feel a little deserted, but no more so than the first time we went there just after the war, and a lot more of the upmarket restaurants and shops were open than back in September. The only sign that something was wrong were the barbed-wire roadblocks along the route to the main square where the protest was happening... although even those were manned rather half-heartedly.
Another impression I'd got from the news was that the protest was a load of uneducated Islamic fundamentalists bussed in from the south of Lebanon and other rural areas to disrupt life in the capital. I can't tell you what it was like when the million plus crowds were there to here Nasrallah speak - maybe they were there out of blind faith more than anything else - but the hardcore protesters that are there really seem convinced by their cause, and what's more, to be educated about it. Everyone we chatted to had a list of reasons that the government had to go... and the conversation centred on the economy more than actions during the war. What's more, even though the protest was organised by Hezbollah, there were loads of different factions there. The protest had quite a carnival spirit, with balloon sellers, and tugs of war between the different parties.
I'm not pro-Hezbollah. But I'm not sure that the impression the media is giving is entirely accurate.

In home news, I have been making friends with another of my house-mate/neighbours, an old man who calls himself 'Monsieur Pierre' and seems to be Firas's father. He saw me cleaning my fishtank, and came in to look at them and make a joke about putting them in the fountain. He then asked me if I knew what his job was. All I knew was that he had some kind of business he ran from his room, and that an almost constant stream of old ladies came in and out. Turns out he makes false teeth.

katinforeign @ 2006-12-11T18:39:00

2006-12-11T18:39:33Z

Have I mentioned my fish, Fred 2 and Emmanuelle? Well, Fred 2 is no more. My neighbour thought it would be a nice gesture to get me 6 new fish to accompany mine. And she put them in the bowl as a surprise for me when I got home. Unfortunately it is not a big fish bowl, so all the fish are a bit squashed. More sadly, the new big fish killed Fred 2. He was lying on the bottom of the tank with a broken back this morning. It's been suggested I get her some killer children to play with hers as a revenge.

In other news, because the common belief in this area of Damascus is that foreign students can't do anything practical, I get a 'Bravo!' every time I use the washing machine, as well as a crowd checking I'm not doing anything wrong. Mum'd be proud.

Little else to report... intensive study as I realise it's nearly the end of my time here... will write soon.

katinforeign @ 2006-12-06T15:00:00

2006-12-06T15:00:09Z

Today I bought petrol for my heater. Not from a petrol station, but from a man on a horse towing a mini-tanker of it.

My neighbour has been promising to get me some petrol for the last few days while I have been getting colder and colder, so when Humayra and I, walking home today, saw the man round the corner ahead of us, we ran after him. We tried to flag him down, but to no avail. He reached the turn off for my road and continued, so Humayra followed him to see which way he was going while I rushed home for my petrol container. She then ran back to inform me, and we headed him off at the next turning, and got the container filled.

Of course, what we hadn't remembered was that petrol is heavy, even when you're only dragging it 200 metres or so. We met my neighbour's sister on the way who said "You know he'll deliver it to the door for you?"

(This did prompt an under-our breaths response of "No, we didn't, because nobody has ever explained this odd horse-selling-petrol system to us. In our country, we use electricity.")

And to top it all off, the container, borrowed off my neighbour, seems to have a hole in it. There were drips all the way down the road behind us. Hopefully I'll get some of it into my heater before all my hard work becomes nothing...

katinforeign @ 2006-12-03T16:04:00

2006-12-03T16:04:19Z

A week of work, and dashed hopes, I'm afraid. I was given a flyer promising that the Spanish cultural centre had dancing courses. This made me extremely happy, because I have been missing dancing very much. This made my friends out here very happy, because they are rather concerned about my unhealthy diet, and think I need something to counter it. (Yes, I have explained that my diet is usually sugar-based, and I'm still alive, but they don't believe me...)

So Bea and I pitched up to the Spanish cultural centre, and were assured that the classes would begin the next day. At the appointed time, Bea, Humayra, Nesrine and I arrived. We asked the security guard where the class was. He looked confused and directed us to a guy who had BEEN STANDING NEXT TO THE GUY WE ASKED THE DAY BEFORE AND LISTENING TO OUR CONVERSATION. This information is important. Because he then proceeded to ask us if we'd registered (a concept a) not mentioned the day before and b) foreign to Syria) and tell us not enough people had signed up so there was no class that day. He did say that with eight students the class would run. And so we went away and found eight people. And rang this morning, to be told eight wasn't enough and there will be no classes until January. Grr.

More fun was a trip to Aleppo yesterday, when Humayra and I were told to sit next to the driver because we are foreign. The driver and his friend gave us coffee and sweets throughout the journey. Humayra, however is now slightly cross with me, because I feigned sleep for a time, leaving her to talk to them. I think it would have been better to tell her in a slightly less blunt way than:
H: They were really nice, weren't they?
Me: Yep.
H: Did you know the driver had studied Economics?
Me: Yes. At Aleppo university, and then in Beirut, until the start of the war there, when he moved home. And he's called Mohammad and has four children and his friend is called Mahmoud...
I like to justify my actions by calling it listening comprehension practise.

pictures

2006-11-26T16:15:31Z

Okay. I have sat down and uploaded lots of photos. If you need clarification on what's what, email me, because I am far too lazy to go through commenting on it all. They are, at least, vaguely grouped... Mum, there are pictures of my new room for you to show gran.

katinforeign @ 2006-11-24T15:16:00

2006-11-24T15:16:03Z

Long time no update, I know, I know. But I really haven't been up to much. Everyday life seems to be taking up much more energy, because my neighbours are so nice it's almost... stifling.

Example number one:
Firas (the neighbour I am apparently being set up with) offers to take me and Humayra to the disco. We decline politely, saying we have our language exchange that evening. He says, no problem, we'll go afterwards, and won't take no for an answer. Humayra and I go to our language exchange. During the language exchange we cook up a plan A and a plan B.

In plan A, we get back, exhausted, plead tiredness, say we're going to bed.

Now, in England, that might work. According to Syrian logic, the reason I was tired was because I was not going out, rather than vice versa... Of course, we've been here three months now, so we knew that plan A wouldn't work. So we used plan B: to go for half an hour, plead tiredness, go home. This was more successful... Except that after we excused ourselves Firas still came running after us up the street, pleading with us to go back.

Example number two:
I was ill yesterday. Actually, I was ill the day before yesterday, so Humayra walked me home, and put me to bed. Because my neighbours are in the habit of coming in to check on me, she knocked on their door to say I was ill, and sleeping, and should be left alone.

Turns out that was the wrong technique. As soon as she left, Fadia came in to demand why I hadn't told her I was ill, and demand I go and sit in her room and drink flower tea. I managed to sleep until 8.15 the next morning when she woke me up to see how I was feeling. Luckily I don't know the arabic for 'Not as well as I would be if I were still asleep, @#!'. I was then woken up at intervals of approximately an hour to be poked, prodded and fed various Syrian remedies. Today, I have decided I am better, mainly because the next remedy on their list seemed to be raw liver...

Anyway, other than that, there has been a day-trip to Beirut (to ensure Nesrine's visa stayed valid... oh, and for a little bit of shopping). Pictures of that are on facebook, I believe. Oh, and there was a class trip up the mountains to Bloudane, a Syrian summer resort. It was nice to get out of the city. And tonight we are going to see the new Bond film, which by some miracle is out at the same time here as in the rest of the world... and hopefully has subtitles, rather than being dubbed. That way I can both learn and understand...