Mideast Diaries

Yesterday, after leaving the Iraqi guy’s internet cafe, I went to interview this powerful, wealthy man. He used to be the prime minister, his family owns several major shopping centers and gigantic farms and is apparently involved in arms smuggling. I know all this because my guide, Arun, knows everything about everyone we interview. I mention to him a name and he says, “Oh, yes, his family is from Nablus and they are allied to so-and-so and they made their money in Kuwait.” At the McDonald’s the assistant manager said two words to us, and Arun said to me later, she’s from a very important Christian tribe in the North. Every one we meet, he knows from their name if they’re Christian or Muslim, if they are Palestinian, Beduin, or Jordanian, how powerful they are, where their family or tribe is based now. (Not everyone is tribal, but the tribal people are very powerful). I’m always so impressed, but he says, “a little child would know that.” It’s a small country, only five million or so, and family and tribal ties are much more important than in the US, obviously. (more…)

I’m sitting in a crappy, dirty internet cafe across the street from the big Safeway. This place smells like stale smoke, the keys are sticky, the computer is deathly slow. What’s funny is this is the only place like this I’ve been in. (more…)

Last night I went out with a group of reporters, most of whom have spent a lot of time in war zones. We ate in the Hotel Intercontinental, the place where all the reporters hang out, even though almost nobody stays there anymore. The Hotel was the only place in town during the last Iraq War, so it was completely filled with American reporters for months. The management expects the same thing to happen this war, so they’ve jacked up their prices on everything. Rooms are more expensive, phone calls to the States cost $10 a minute, faxes are $15 a page. But since 1991, a lot has changed. There are now almost a dozen decent hotels in town and news organizations are not going to use Amman as their only base for this war. So the Intercontinental is all but empty, but the management isn’t lowering prices or anything, even though all the other hotels are cutting their rates in half. But the bar there remains the central meeting point, so last night, like every night, I went to Mama Juanitas Mexican bar and restaurant (I have never seen anyone order food there and have heard it’s pretty awful) and ordered overpriced beers. (more…)

I am so incredibly tired. I’m past tired on to some loggy feeling, like my head is in soup. I got four hours’ sleep last night, three the night before. Jetlag is so horrible some times. It’s easy to deal with the lack of sleep when I’m running around from one interview to another, but when I’m suddenly sitting, the exhaustion pours over me. But it’s only 7 in the evening and I want to stay up to try to get my body on some kind of normal schedule.

This morning, Arun and I drove to the center of Amman, where there’s this Roman Citadel on top of a mountain overlooking much of the rest of the city. It’s an active archaeological site, there are dozens of young men digging and moving stones. We were on a dusty plateau which, Arun explained, is the top of an old Roman fortress. Down the sides of the hill, we could see recently uncovered walls and corridors. He told me it’s a major site and a few years ago it would be teeming with European and American archaeologists and their students. “Today, not a single foreign person, not a single foreign dollar is involved.” Everyone is too scared to work here.

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Last night I went to the Hotel Intercontinental where, I was told, all the journalists hang out. I figured they’d know how I could get into Iraq. Sure enough, the bar (it’s in a Mexican restaurant of all things called something like Mamacita Juanita) was filled with American and British reporters and TV crews. (more…)

There is something shockingly casual about flying Royal Jordanian to the Middle East. They told me to arrive at least four hours early because the security was so intense. I’m used to flying El Al, where you’re quizzed and prodded for as much as an hour, so I thought this would be even worse. I arrived at the airport, went through the metal detector and I kept waiting for a security person to start the intense security process. No one wanted to talk to me, so I walked over to check in which took about two minutes. And that’s it. It was less security than a domestic flight. No one even asked if I had packed my own bags or if they had been in my possession the whole time. No one asked me why I was traveling to Amman. I could have arrived ten minutes before the flight. But I didn’t, so I had to sit in the brightly lit fast food area where cheery Christmas music is already blaring. I sat with a group of museum curators who are traveling the Middle East doing research into Palestinian exile artists. Mostly, we just showed off our various cool equipment. I showed them my new iPod, Jackson showed me his miniscule video recorder, I pulled out my baby DAT machine, someone else got out their international cell phone. It was fun, I have to say. (more…)