Escape From Amman

A cliche for most of our weekends. While not exactly prison, too many expats in this congested and amenity-lacking city would jump to make the comparison. Expats the world over share a passion for travel, yet here we're spurred by a lingering dissatisfaction with our growing conservative habituation.

And so we fled. To paradise. In the Arab world. It felt as surreal as it sounds. The twelve hours of dealing with Jordanian police, confused port laborers and desperate Egyptian taxi drivers was worth the head ache of traveling to Dahab. Lounging next to the red sea, basking in the perfect breeze, it's hard to imagine an area which so inspires chill to have been enmeshed in fifty years of violent back and forth land-grabbing between Egypt and Israel.

Thankfully Egypt is in control now. However, it may not look too different if Israel were. The sea side village is inhabited by liberal Egyptians and Australian scuba divers. Both partake in smoking herb. Honestly, it goes with the territory. Smoking anything freely besides tabacco I had considered a strictly Israeli phenomenon in the Levant. There were whispers of its procurement in Tel Aviv, a city strikingly European nestled on stolen Arab land. Ahhh, but Dahab was a refreshing reminder that Islam does not equate to fundamentalism. Like all religions, practitioners pick and choose the dogma that will rigor their life. Many Muslim friends in Jordan imbibe the spirits but avoid the joints. This however, I think is due more to harsh enforcement.

The Arabs who migrate to Dahab seem to be drawn by the same force as the tourists. This is "The Life". Waking well after dawn only to nap in a bathing suit on a blanket under an umbrella, sipping fresh squeezed juice, wind surfing or snorkling, exchanging pleasantries and intimacies with strangers, lulled into wonderful satisfaction with "The Life".

And indeed, it was hard to leave "The Life" behind. To return to an aggressive city where the hospitality is born more out of tradition, obligation and an expectation for something in exchange than as a true extension of the heart. As we boarded the ferry, we reflected on our perfect weekend, on our sunrise on top of Mount Sinai, on our new friends entertaining us on their porch in Camel Camp watching palm trees dance with the Moroccan drum beats. Unfortunately, a creeping suspicious of something amiss began to mare our elevated perception of the heaven that is Sinai. We asked ourselves "where were all the Egyptian woman?" Were they all under the age of eight and hawking bracelets to tourists? Of course this is impossible. And regrettably, we realized, this liberal paradise, decorated with bare flesh and lax beliefs, only extends to Egyptian men and foreign women (who are not judged because of special dispensation). Perhaps this is one of the sadder aspects of what separates Dahab from Tel Aviv.

*Pictures soon to come