"Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars." -Martin Luther King Jr.

I sat down at my computer tonight intending to write an update about my trip to Beirut last weekend or this weekend's adventures in Jerusalem, but I can't get President Obama's announcement about Osama bin Laden out of my head.  I woke up this morning to an inbox full of Washington Post email alerts and a Facebook newsfeed of excited status updates declaring that the world's most wanted man was killed in a CIA operation.  Initially, I didn't think much about it--I was happy because everyone I encountered, virtually or in real life, was happy.  Why shouldn't I be pleased that the world is rid of a hardened terrorist?

As the day wore on, I became more and more uncomfortable with the congratulations offered by my American classmates and the celebratory news coverage.  I am glad that bin Laden's death might provide some closure for victims of al-Qaeda's terrorism and their families.  I am glad that my country accomplished something it set out to do.  I am admittedly even glad that this might help President Obama win reelection next year.  But I can't accept that this is "justice."  My good American values teach me that everyone deserves a fair trial, my UU faith tells me that there is inherent worth and dignity in every person, and my heart has always led me to believe that no one should have the right to play God and take the life of another human being.  My conscience simply cannot write off ten years of civilian deaths in Afghanistan and Pakistan in the name of revenge and, further still, I cannot bring myself to believe that any human life, no matter how tainted by wrongdoing, is worth a bit of positive media coverage and a whole lot of empty justice.

I know many people probably think that I am unrealistic and naive and maybe that is true.  Maybe my idealistic worldview will get me nowhere in life, but I spent the first eighteen years of my life learning about the greatness of American democracy and the last three learning about the double-standard we apply to anyone different from us the moment we get afraid.  If I've learned nothing else during my time in Egypt and Jordan over the course of the past year, it's that the biggest problem many Arabs have with the United States is the inconsistency of our foreign policy--and they're right.  Why do we think that only some people deserve a fair trial--after all, Saddam Hussein and Timothy McVeigh each got one, didn't they?  Why do we think an American life has greater value than the life of an Afghani child caught in the crossfire?  When will we realize that we would get so much farther in the world if we truly led by example instead of brazenly brandishing our military might?

I don't have answers to these questions, so instead I'll just angst-ily sit here and continue to listen to "Let It Be" and Emmanuel Jal's "We Want Peace" on repeat while I try to make sense of the world.  Oh life.  Womp womp.

Edit: My favorite blog, Foreign Policy Passport, weighs in on exactly what I've been musing about.

"A Rose-Red City Half as Old as Time"

No joke.  Petra was amazing--very hot, very sunny, LOTS of stairs--but amazing. There are no words; pictures will have to suffice.

Paul and Rachel + Petra.

The Treasury of Indiana Jones fame.
Yes, those are real-sized people at the bottom.

The Urn Tomb circa 6th century BC. 
The Nabateans were clearly on their game.

Some lazy people (aka my friends) napping on the
High Point of Sacrifice.

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Best view in Petra. 
Off the beaten path is the best way to be.

How do rocks look this cool?

I wish every weekend could involve this many pretty rocks, Harry Potter references, and bad tourist outfits.  Additionally, laying on our hostel's roof under a nearly full moon looking out at the city lights was one of my favorite moments of life, period.  On a scale of innocuous to ferocious, Petra ranks somewhere in the "I must come back here" zone.

Four Weeks

Perfection:  looking out my open window at dusk, listening to a cacophony of chirping birds outside overlaid with distant sounds of the call to prayer, and basking in a welcome light breeze after a hot Amman day.

Four weeks from now, it will be my last evening in Jordan.  Four more weeks of crazy cab drivers, zait and zaatar breakfasts, pirated movie nights, Arabic Nutella breaks, weekend adventures, silly host nephew incidents, awkward marriage proposals, Amigos mix CDs, and all the tea I could ever wish for. Yalla, bring it.  Petra update to come.

Gobble Gobble Part II

The second half of my Turkish journey was spent mostly on planes and buses and more buses, but the in-between was entirely worth it. On Tuesday, we flew from Istanbul to Antalya, a town on the southern coast of Turkey, and then took series of three different buses through gorgeous mountain roads with occasional views of the sea before finally arriving at our destination--the Bayram's Treehouses in the tiny village of Olympos.

Our stay in Olympos could not have been more different than our experiences in Istanbul. The mere 36 hours that we spent there were filled with exploring 2nd century BC ruins, lounging on the beach in the sun, night swimming, playing with the stray dog that adopted us, chatting by the fire with the myriad other interesting travelers, and, best of all, sleeping in a TREE HOUSE. If this isn't paradise, I don't know what is.

Our distinguished tree house.

Gabby and our adopted stray dog, Qirsh. He was very
concerned for our safety and barked incessantly anytime a
stranger tried to come anywhere near us.

Lura and I on the beach.
(Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Gabby and I climbed to the top of the ruins aka up a
mountain (in skirts and sandals no less). 
Greatest view on earth. 
(Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Gabby, exploring the ruins of Olympos.

After our brief stay in Olympos, we headed back to Istanbul for one last night of whirlwind adventure. Gabby's family friend's sister-in-law, Akca, had graciously insisted that we spend our last night with her and her boyfriend Ercan in their apartment in Chihagir (Istanbul's equivalent of Greenwich village) instead of in a hostel. We had the greatest time with them--we drank tea at an itty bitty cafe overlooking the water, ate a delicious kebab dinner in Taksim and dessert right next to the Gallata Tower (so beautiful at night!), and went dancing until the wee hours of the morning.

View from Akca's living room window!
.

Sunset tea overlooking the Bosphorus?
Yes, please!

Ercan, Akca, Lura, me, and Gabby in Taksim. 
They have a silly device on the side of the street that
takes your picture and then emails it to you!

The next morning, we awoke to the only sunny day in Istanbul of our entire trip. After some exploring of Chihagir and Taksim, we went back to the Grand Bazaar to visit our shopkeeper friend "Dennis" (I don't know what his name really is, but it sounded kind of like Dennis) who calls us his angels and then hopped on a plane back to Amman. 

It was so weird to go to Turkey after being in Jordan for two months. Men and women hold hands in the street. People go from bar to bar with open beer bottles in hand. I even saw women's shoulders and collar bones, ya haram! But at the same time, it felt familiarly Middle Eastern. It was such an amazing intersection of cultures that I could have spent weeks wrapping my mind around it all.

The other thing that really hit me while I was there is how unbelievably lucky I am to have learned English as my first language. All four of us were a little shell-shocked when we got off of the plane and realized that we didn't know a single word of Turkish. But just about everyone we met could speak at least a couple words of English and many signs had English translations, so we were able to get by. I can't imagine trying to do everything we did if no one spoke our language. Needless to say, I was very happy to return to Amman where I can carry on a decent conversation with a taxi driver and say "thank you" without a 15 second struggle...

Gobble Gobble Part I

My epic Turkish spring break began with a very, very early morning flight to Istanbul and ended with a very, very late night flight back to Amman eight days later. Everything in between was magical. My three travel companions (Gabby, Lauren, and Lura) and I somehow managed to score a week of being spoiled by Gabby's Turkish Microsoft executive family friend. Really. We led charmed lives. For four days, we lived by ourselves in his gorgeous house outside of Istanbul with a trusty private driver to take us wherever we pleased; took long, warm, glorious showers; and had a housekeeper that fed us breakfast every morning complete with the most delicious homemade sour cherry jam on earth. Then, on his recommendation, we spent two nights in a TREE HOUSE on the southern Mediterranean coast, followed by a final night in his sister-in-law's apartment overlooking the Bosphorus and located in what can only be described as Istanbul's answer to Greenwich Village. I still can't figure out how this was my life.

Luckily, our first hour in Turkey did not end up setting the tone for the rest of the trip or prove to be an accurate first impression of our driver, Oral. After he picked us up at the airport, we arrived at a nice-looking house with an adorable garden, piled out of the car, and were ushered inside by a housekeeper-looking woman who didn't speak a word of English. The four of us, exhausted, had collapsed on various pieces of furniture in the living room when the woman suddenly thrust a phone at Gabby. On the other end, a very confused woman demanded to know who we were and what we were doing there, awkward. Oral had misunderstood the directions and brought us to the wrong house. Fortunately, despite the initial snafu, we eventually located the correct residence, were fed many delicious things, and discovered that Oral is in fact an excellent, good-humored, patient, guitar-playing, cupcake-providing driver that just happens to have a somewhat problematic sense of direction leading him to frequently solicit the advice of random taxi drivers.

And now, some photographs (many taken by the lovely Gabby Arens, because her photography skills are far superior to my own):

A rainy day at the Blue Mosque.

A very small Meredith in a very large Hagia Sofia.
  (Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Our trusty private driver and model, Oral.
.

Gabby in a shop near the Grand Bazaar.

The Agora Cafe, in Taksim--Istanbul's
version of Times Square, where we listened to
amazing live Turkish music and every person
in the crowded bar sang along to each song.
(Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Ferocious at the Dolmabahce Palace, home of Ataturk.

Lauren, Lura, and I eating the most delicious breakfast at
Assk Cafe (love in Turkish) overlooking the Bosphorus.
(Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Ortakoy, a neighborhood of streetside
jewelry vendors, amazing street food,
and beautiful dusk views of the Straits.

Me plus street waffle covered in chocolate
chips/Nutella/strawberries/pistachios
equals heaven. Concurrent to
Gabby's marriage proposal.

The crew--Lauren, Gabby, Lura, and I--in Ortakoy. 
After the baked potatoes, before the waffles,
both with more toppings than food.

Boat cruise on the Bosphorus! (Courtesy of Gabby Arens)

Other Istanbul Take I highlights not captured on film:
-Steaming hot tea in top-floor cafes overlooking different parts of the city
-Oral keeping track of the number of times I tripped over uneven pavement/my own feet/other obstacles (approximately 7 after four days)
-Going to a real (not touristy!) Turkish hammam (bath) and getting soaped up with a Power Rangers magic pillowcase
-Playing games with the housekeeper's granddaughters
-Trying to negotiate the purchase of a bouquet of flowers via charades and a calculator
-Visiting Istanbul's Microsoft headquarters (twice!)
-Being serenaded by Oral's guitar on our last night
-Lauren accidentally setting off the house alarm trying to get a glass of water in the middle of the night
-Running into other groups of CIEE students all over the place!

Stay tuned for the next part of the trilogy--Olympos and the Litany of Bus Rides!