Been A While

I’m sitting here in my hotel room, at some ungodly hour (almost 2 am), and despite being exhausted, I can’t sleep. For some reason, as soon as the lights go off, my head is buzzing and I can’t sleep. I was hoping that I’d be tired enough to sleep, but I have a feeling that, instead, tomorrow is just going to be a little brutal. But it’s okay, My Blue Heaven is on TV, and it’s a nice distraction.

Flying from Frankfurt to Yemen is interesting – you fly straight over the Alps. I hadn’t thought about it beforehand, but it’s the route that makes the most sense, and it’s really spectacular and surreal to look at. They’re so close; it looks like you could just hop out of the plane and shushhh down the slopes. At this time of year, they’re covered in snow (for all I know, that might be the case for most of the year), and it’s just this endless sea of white, fluffy peaks for as far as you can see. Eventually, we were past them, but if it’s light enough coming back, I may try to take a picture out the window of the plane.

The flight to Sana’a was almost totally empty, so it wasn’t too hard for people to move and have their own space. I alternated between reading and sleeping, and it was all fairly uneventful. Since the flight was so empty, it didn’t take long to get through immigration, and customs was essentially non-existent. Some guy looked at me, smiled amiably, and drew a chalk tic mark on each of my bags. That was it. Fortunately, my driver was waiting there with a sign with my name on it, as I’d been told. He was very nice, and helped me get my bags to the car. My mood was, to put it mildly, pretty low, due primarily to a combination of exhaustion, homesickness, and a feeling of dread based on no actual experience here. Although the men who calmly stepped in front of me in the immigration line, because they were men and therefore more important, didn’t help my initial impressions, nor did the guys waiting at the gate in Frankfurt, who stopped talking and gaped at me as I went to sit down. But I digress. It was nighttime, and as we wound our way through Sana’a to my hotel, I was trying to absorb everything that I was seeing.

Sana’a is a fairly typical city, or at least, close to what I expected, and not too dissimilar to Karachi. I didn’t see too many women, either alone or accompanied, but the few that I did were dressed entirely in black robes, with only their eyes showing. I understand that it’s part of the culture, and I can respect that, but I still find it very unsettling and can’t imagine how it would feel if I were forced to dress the same. Fortunately, that’s not likely to happen, as Western women aren’t expected to cover up to the same degree, from what I understand. In all fairness, though, it looks as though most men cover themselves substantially as well – most of them wear something that looks like a sarong, or the pants and long skirt combo that I’d been told women wore. The main difference is, I suppose, that men are given the option of dressing differently, and women don’t appear to have that same choice – although I guess they could be wearing anything under the black robe and it would be difficult to tell. Most men who aren’t dressed in Western clothing wear a large dagger in a large, leather sheath, tied to their waist with a colorful belt. (Very reminiscent of that whole “that’s a knife…” thing. I’m a little ashamed of making a Crocodile Dundee reference.) It’s an interesting, if somewhat startling, look, and seems in line with the tribal element that I’ve been told is still very prevalent in Yemeni culture. So far, I haven’t seen one out of its sheath, and I hope that remains the case.

I called my parents’ house to let them know that I’d arrived safely, and on account of the aforementioned low mood, started blubbering like an infant when talking to my mom. (Sorry, Mom. Also sorry about the Crocodile Dundee reference.) Ah well – she’s good with that stuff. I eventually went to sleep, and woke up the next morning to drive to Taiz.

The drive to Taiz is actually quite spectacular, you pass through this amazing mountain range to get there. The downside is that you have to drive on a teeny, 2-lane mountain road to get there. Fortunately, I’ve developed quite a tolerance for these kind of roads and the style of driving that seems to accompany them. When driving on the outside lane, there was a sheer drop down the side, and the occasional guard rail. From time to time, I’d see parts of a guard rail torn up and sitting by someone’s house – presumably they needed the scrap metal?

The steep slopes that are prevalent in these areas are covered with terraces, so that people can farm and live, pressed into the hillsides. It’s a remarkable sight, and you have to respect the tremendous ability that goes into it. The landscape is also very dramatic, and I was reminded again of the infinite shades of brown to be found in the desert. Everything looks thirsty, which makes the occasional green terrace that’s ready for harvest all the more unexpected. There are occasional groups of cows or goats munching on the dried remains of an old harvest, although they are thankfully absent on the road.

We went through numerous military checkpoints, and the driver asked where I was from so that he could tell them for me. I debated for a moment what I should say, but then I figured it was best not to lie to the men with large guns in case they asked for backup identification or something. Besides, I don’t know enough about Canada to pretend I’m from there. At one checkpoint, we were joined by a large army truck full of men in camouflage carry semiautomatic weapons, with one guy perched at the trigger of the enormous gun mounted to the back of the truck. It turned out that they were to be our escort, since I was an American, and they were concerned about my safety. They weren’t too concerned, though, since they took off like a shot, leaving us behind and running other cars off the road, with the guy standing behind the mounted gun swaying precariously in the back, as the others gripped the edges of the truck. After a while, we were given over to another truck, which decided to follow us instead of lead. It seemed like the more sensible approach, but the constant honking of the horn as they “gently” encouraged people to get out of our way became something of an irritation. It did, however, mean that we didn’t have to stop at anymore checkpoints. But whenever we would go through a village and get stuck in traffic, I had a slight feeling of unease that was not helped by all the men with guns behind us, drawing attention. I think that what would have actually made me feel safer would have been an unmarked car following us, no horns, no men desperately clutching large, mounted guns, and no massive army truck.

Well – what are you going to do?

We pulled into the hotel, which is perched on a hilltop and overlooks Taiz. I didn’t actually know that we were coming into the city, so I was a bit surprised when we reached our hotel. Part of the road leading to the hotel is missing at the moment, or rather, the pavement is torn up and missing, so I was concerned about whether or not the car would make it – but it did, and I got out and ambled into the hotel through the metal detector. After I filled out my copious paperwork, not sure if it applies to everyone or just foreigners, the manager told me that the rate was higher than I’d been told it was. I told him that I’d understood we had a lower rate, and he just stared at me. I decided that I would deal with it later, and that my company would pay regardless. I made it up to my room, and the team leader called me to say hi. When I told him about the room rate I’d been given he got upset and said that he’d take care of it, with some exasperated sigh of “things are never straightforward here”. I’ve been told that it’s all sorted out. He is, apparently, not someone you want to cross. He proudly proclaims to be the best ever at bargaining – something of a force to be reckoned with. It would be interesting to see.

Until I can think of a more creative name for the team leader, I’ll just call him TL. We left for dinner at 7 pm, and made our way to one of the two restaurants in town that he has deemed acceptable and healthy. He’s clearly spent a good deal of time there, as we were warmly welcomed. I was also informed that, should I wish to come there by myself or with other women, there was a separate room around the back for unaccompanied women. I was and am grateful for their consideration, but it still feels strange to me, to say the least. There’s also a separate fitness room for ladies at the hotel, which I haven’t seen yet, since it was locked when I went down to look at it. I’m hoping that it’s comparably equipped to the men’s fitness center – although all I really need is a treadmill and an exercise bike. (If I have to choose, I’ll take the treadmill.) Not that I’m allowed to be in the men’s fitness center, so I have no idea what they’ve got there. Oddly enough, with all this gender separation, there’s a swimming pool that is for everyone’s use. I didn’t exactly think that I’d need my swimsuit here, and I don’t think I’ll be bringing it when I come back.

I am of two minds about all the gender separation – while part of me balks at the idea that I have to eat in a separate room or run in a separate room, I know that it is, ostensibly, done for my protection. But the thing about that which bothers me is that I should be able to eat in the same room or work out in the same room as other men to whom I’m not related by blood or marriage without needing protection. While I’m sure that most men (?) wouldn’t bother me were I to do just that, although I’m sure I’d be quite the curiosity for doing so, it’s the fact that it’s considered likely enough to happen that the resulting separation is a culturally enforced practice.

But I need to get off this topic, as I know it’s not going to change and it’s something I’ll have to live with while I’m here. So I’d best just get used it.

Right now I’m watching E!, which is, I think, lowering my IQ with each passing moment. (Although, Marie, you’ll be excited to know that there’s a Knot’s Landing reunion coming up…) I don’t have CNN or BBC World News, just something called EuroNews, so it will have to do for keeping me informed. But who would have thought that I’d miss Richard Quest?

Well, it’s getting to be 3 am – actually, make that 4 am, and tomorrow will be agonizing, so I’d best try to get to sleep. Now I really, really, really hope that my brain will let me. (Hear that, brain? Shut the @*$%& up and let me sleep.)