Cows. Cows everywhere. Cows in fields, cows in barns. Cows sharing fields with sheep. Lots and lots of cows.
The rain. It rained this morning, it rained this afternoon. It was supposed to hail, but it did not.
Eateries that claim “Pizzeria and Tex Mex” as their concurrent food genres. That sounds interesting (and highly suspicious).
It is so, so green. I can only think of Rey, in the latet Star Wars movie, when she says, “I didn’t know there was this much green in the whole galaxy!”
Also, my housemates are pretty awesome and chill, and I live on the end of a long (paved), narrow road framed by trees drooping with vines. Did I mention how green it is??
The weather really isn’t so bad. It was great today (though with high humidity), and my room has a window AC unit, so I’m set at night.
Now… if we could only banish the stinkbugs, carpenter ants, earwigs, and spiders from the house, I’d be set.
Did I mention that I live in a house that was originally built in the 1840’s? Yeah, pretty cool. Except it has only one (unoriginal) bathroom, and the light switches are in random places. But it is a bona-fide old house, complete with creepy basement and attic and a servants’ stairway and a both-ways swinging door to the dining room. It’s so cool, and weird.
Tomorrow I start my actual job (eep!), and actually get to figure out what exactly I will be doing! Flexibility and fluidity have been really important, and thankfully I’ve accrued the ability to be so, but not having set plans or objectives really stresses me out.
Here are a couple other pictures. I hope all my peeps at home are doing well… I miss you guys already! ❤
The sunset tonightBunnies have much squarer noses here!
It was hot in the open-door falafel shop near the seventh circle in Amman. As we entered an Irishman looked up from behind the counter, and shock mixed with the mouth-watering scent of frying batter embraced me. He had dark red hair cropped short and fair skin lightly splattered with freckles. The illusion was shattered when he greeted us in Arabic with an accent that was different from the lilting, distinguished city dialect. He wore an emerald-green shirt emblazoned with the word “CALIFORNIA.”
I sneaked a picture of him while he was making the falafel… He looked up right after I took the picture, and he didn’t look real pleased but he basically ignored me.
I expected him to laugh at any moment, and in a staunchly American manner, say “Just kidding, guys! I’m not really Arab. What’s up?” But he didn’t. Instead he stared blankly at us while we fumbled through our Arabic dictionary to find the right words.* I forced myself to find the right words, combatting the oppressive June humidity and communicated to him that we needed some 40 falafel for the evening meal.
I watched him scoop up the falafel batter into a half-sphere mold, shaping the top of the ball with a spoon in his left hand, trimming the excess dough with six sharp movements. The spoons clacked together with each movement, six clicks forty times over, popping each ball into the sizzling oil. The rich smell of greasy, deep-frying falafel filled the air.
We learned that he was from Syria, and he’d come to Amman two years before to work in his brothers’ falafel shop. We didn’t ask him if it was the war that had forced him to move, mainly because we didn’t have the vocabulary to do so; partly because he didn’t seem open to discussion. He didn’t seem very chatty, beyond our initial conversation. He was reticent, focused on the task at hand. But half of Syria’s population has been displaced in the fighting that has enveloped the country; there really wasn’t much of a question as to why he was there.
Today I learned of the suicide bombing in Syria attributed to the Nusra front: two dozen loyal to Al-Assad were killed in Aleppo. ISIS has also retaken the city of Ayn Issa (which means “eye of Jesus”) in the past few days. I thought of the Syrian falafel maker I met last June; I wonder if he lost any friends or relatives in the latest skirmishes. I wonder if he had anyone left to lose.
You can learn a lot about someone by their actions; more so than by their words. So when I watched the Syrian make the falafel, forming the mounds with as much efficiency as a machine and far more grace than one, I got a glimpse into who this man was, if not what he’d been through.
As the falafel finished cooking, he handed us samples. The falafel was so hot it burned my fingers through the paper wrapping he handed it to me in. Once I got it in my mouth, it melted, a perfect crispy shell crystallized by the hot grease, surrounding a soft center gritty with spices and full of flavor.
We thanked him profusely in our horrible Arabic, and as we left a hint of a smile pushed up on his mouth.
Postscript: I have recently been doing a lot of reading on the conflicts involving ISIS and resistance groups in the Syrian and Iraqi area; this post is the result of that research (and my time in Jordan, of course). One of the reasons why ISIS has been so successful in its advances is the general instability that has plagued the region for years—generations, really. Factions, tribes, and religious sects have been largely unable to unite for a very long time, and ISIS, with their focus and drive, has taken advantage of the splintered infrastructure to gain holds in Syria, Iraq, and even along the Turkish border (not to mention Libya). This is to say nothing of the political strife in Egypt, or further east in Afghanistan and Iran. Pray for the people of Syria, Iraq, and all of those living in the region; pray for relief workers and resistance groups. Most of all, pray that many would be exposed to the peace of the Gospel and come to know Christ.
*As this was only my second or third day in Amman, Jordan, I had no idea that red hair and fair skin is actually not a horribly uncommon combination to see in the Levant, esp. (?) for Syrians.
Take heart, Tucsonans! And Yumans! And Phonecians! Though let’s be honest—any measure of encouragement I give Phonecians will be mitigated by the fact that their University (ASU) proudly claims a pitchfork as a mascot. Yes, a pitchfork. Not only that, but they proudly protect the pitchfork from improper use—see their General Pitchfork Use page for that. (Sadly, their page does not include any videos of how to properly fork hay, alfalfa or any other fodder, much less any other more violent uses of pitchforks.)
But still, hope remains in the long summer months. Even though getting heat stroke is an inevitability, there are several things that really do rock about Tucson, despite (and even because of) the hot summer months.
Air-drying clothes
Finding ways of reducing your electricity bill during the summer is a must. Most households see a massive spike in their bills during the winter, when the heater is on all the time—Tucsonans’ high bill season is the summer, because you have to run the AC (or, shudder swamp cooling) 24-7. Air-drying clothes is not only eco-friendly and economically friendly, your clothes will actually dry faster than they would if put in a dryer. Don’t have a clothesline? That’s okay. Just drag a couple chairs out in the sun and lay out clothes on them. Added bonuses include attracting cicadas, flies, and other delightful accent creatures to your clothing—let’s face it, you are one stylish rube, and the insects of Arizona know it!
Air-drying hair
It doesn’t matter if you have a head that rivals Beyoncé’s in volume or thickness, walking outside will ensure your hair will dry like you put your head over an erupting volcano. It helps that the air is not only hot, it is throat-raspingly dry, as well. Note: I am unsure as to how healthy air-drying your hair is, but it can’t be any worse than blow-drying it, can it? I am no hair specialist, so please don’t blame me if your hair doesn’t take kindly to that method.
The road to my house. Just kidding, folks, this is in the middle of Wadi Rum desert in Jordan… But still, I can dream, can’t I?
Epic road mirage
I live on the outskirts of Tucson, so driving rural roads is a normal occurrence for me. I can’t help but feel like a character out of Mad Max when I see cars driving towards me flicker in the mirages (listening to metal music while doing this lends credence to my imagination). If you’re not feeling like Mad Max, you can always imagine that you are driving on a sweltering road with lava welling up right below the surface, ready to explode into fiery geysers in front of you at any moment.
The road to my house. Just kidding, folks, this is in the middle of Wadi Rum desert in Jordan… But still, I can dream, can’t I?
Running in the summer becomes a testament to your steely determination…
…Because getting up and running at 6:30 in the morning does not guarantee cool weather—it guarantees cooler weather. It makes you feel that much more accomplished to run in eighty-to-ninety-degree weather in the mornings, knowing that you conquered yet another barrier between yourself and physical fitness. When you don’t feel like exercising, it also becomes the perfect excuse to avoid running, too… Because really, is it fair to run on a day that hits 100 degrees Fahrenheit at nine in the morning?
Monsoon weather is beastly
Perhaps there’s a bit of masochism in most Arizonans, but there is something primal and thrilling in the monsoon storms that roll in mid-June—At least, if you have good draining systems for your house. Getting lacerated by sub-hurricane-force winds and lancing rain for an hour or two is pretty exciting, but the cooler temperatures that come with a storm rolling over is the real boon. Besides, such storms often result in amazing sunsets.
This is an oldie, but a goodie. Seriously, Tucson has some of the best sunsets in the world.
Ice cream becomes a necessity, not a luxury
I remember as a kid growing up in Tucson how we would visit Dairy Queen as a family in the evenings. As the sun finally dips below the horizon at 7:30, families come out in droves to wait in absurd lines at the nearest Dairy Queen. We used to go to the DQ on Sarnoff, and we’d wait for our turn to sit at one of the cement tables, looking for a place on the bench to sit down your patootie that wasn’t sticky with someone else’s melted ice cream.
In the end, Tucson summers still kind of suck. But if these didn’t help you to think positively about the summers here in Arizona, hopefully this thought will:
Tucson Blizzards come in cups, not in winter, and are served year-round.
Six Months Later 