Yay for Weekends!

It's Thursday night, which means it's the weekend in Amman. The workweek goes Sunday to Thursday. Friday is traditionally a holy day, but in secular Amman, it's also a time for street fairs, clubbing, and shopping.

My big plan for the weekend is to go to the Dead Sea, hang out with E, and go grocery shopping. And sleep.

Settling In

I've been in Amman, and my hotel, for almost a week. It's starting to feel like home -- which I suppose it is, given that I've moved out of my Cambridge apartment and haven't moved anywhere else. I've gotten used to it and all of its little quirks.

The hotel staff couldn't be any sweeter or more helpful. It's a family-run hotel and they treat me like family. They are, in fact, so nice that I feel bad about asking for things. For example, until this evening, my tiny kitchen was been missing a glass and a bowl. Not one of a set of glasses or bowls -- there was no glass at all and no bowl at all. I was eating my morning Frosted Flakes out of a rather deep salad plate and drinking water from tiny teacups. They were so happy to give them to me and I was so happy to be reminded that I have wonderful people taking care of me.

It took the better part of a week, but I finally figured out how to program the cable box to only show me the four English-language channels.

The oven is the only part of the place that I really don't like. I suppose it's a personality conflict. The room has a gas oven where you have to light the flame every time you want to cook. And it won't light or stay lit unless the gas is up high. There was an unfortunate incident earlier this week involving too much gas, a fireball, and singed hair. I'm fine, and I'm trying to build a better relationship with the over, but I don't think we're compatible.

Last week, I stocked the fridge with cheap frozen meals and some roasted chicken. And cheese (of course!) And soda. A week later, the soda is gone and I've eaten an impressive amount of cheese, but the rest is still there, freezing and spoiling in the back of the fridge. Despite my fear of the oven, most of my in-room eating has been grilled cheese. And those little cheese wedges. And individually-wrapped (unwrapped?) cheese slices ... mmmm ... Next week, I'll either shop for massive amounts of bread and cheese, or just eat out.

The oddest thing about the room is the wiring. This is one of 20 light switch panels in the suite, and there is absolutely no logic to which switch operates which light. For example, his panel is right next to the bathroom (left of the panel), so it would make sense for the left-most switches to operate the bathroom lights. On the contrary, it's actually #2 (going left to right) and #5 and #6. #1 controls one of 6 kitchen lights (right of the panel). #3 and #4 control different hallway lights. A switch in the kitchen controls light in the living room. It's kind of charming.

I'm grappling with some guilt about the daily cleaning service. I want to be clear -- it's a WONDERFUL thing and I appreciate it and enjoy it very much. I'm not complaining. But I'm not used to having people do things for me, and it makes me feel guilty to know that someone is cleaning up after me. (Yes, Mom and Dad and Rachel, really! I don't feel guilty about making the mess, or failing to clean the mess myself, but if someone else cleans I do feel bad.) So I clean every morning before I go to work -- do my own dishes, straighten up the bathroom, clear my clutter off the coffee table, and put my clothes away, only because I would feel bad if the cleaning crew had to deal with those things.

Except this morning. The staff told me to leave my laundry on the floor to tell them I wanted it cleaned. Last time, I left the pile right near the front door and it was gone when I returned. (It came back washed, pressed, and either hung in the closet or folded neatly.) Today I left the pile in the bedroom, right in front of the door. I came home, and it had moved to the bed. I'll be more clear tomorrow.

Then there's my new toy -- a new, two-pronged, 2,000 watt hairdryer. My mom may be able to get by with a low-watt travel hairdryer, but my hair requires some serious machinery.

Fourth Day of Work

Today, I interviewed the chief of the Jordan field office of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA). An estimated 1,827,877 Palestinian refugees live in camps in Jordan, in addition to the population of almost 6 million. UNRWA operates health clinics that are overcrowded and understaffed. They distribute JBCP literature in the camps and train their health workers in JBCP programs. They emphasize breast cancer awareness and self-exam instruction, and make those services a routine part of pre-natal and post-natal care.

Tomorrow, I'm going to observe a training session at a camp in Northern Jordan. Next week, I might get to visit other camps. (My mother has requested that I not tell her about anything scary-sounding until it's over, so I won't say where.) I'm excited to see how breast cancer prevention programs are put into action at the grassroots level, and how impoverished communities leverage their few precious resources to create change.

Shout-Out

Kudos to my dad, who presented a paper at Oxford University today! Dad, I'm so proud of you!

Exploring Rainbow Street

My hotel room is awesome, but lacks handsome, charming men and awesome women to spend time with. Chances of meeting such people in my room under favorable conditions are slim to none, so I go out a lot. The neighborhood is entirely residential, except for a few business hotels and office buildings, so there's nowhere nearby to go after work. As soon as I finish at JBCP, I change my clothes and cab it to central Amman.

Amman is a rather new city, and its growth was dictated by trends in the population and the economy, not good city planning. It's a big, sprawling mess, spread over seven hills, with awful traffic. It's wonderful and I'm enjoying my time here, but getting around can be a pain (lots of stairs). Luckily, taxis are cheap, safe, and plentiful.

When I tell Jordanian taxi drivers I am from America, the first thing that they (almost) always say is that they love President Obama. I have yet to meet a taxi driver who liked either President Bush. President Clinton gets mixed reviews, but mostly positive. I always respond that I loved King Hussein and also love King Abdullah. The "conversations" consist mostly of names, thumbs up and thumbs down, and facial expressions, and I love every one of them.

I've spent the last few evenings hanging out on or near Rainbow Street, an area that was recently "revived" in a major neighborhood development initiative. There are lots of trendy bars and cafes, some of which have wonderful terraces where you can stay all night, chatting and watching the sunset. The neighborhood is a place to "see and be seen" and everyone dresses to impress. It's a good mix of young professionals and expats.

My new friend, E, is helping me navigate the neighborhood. She's here working on a consulting project for NGOs and she lives in a communal house right near Rainbow Street. The house comes with lots of young, fun people from all over the world, and a rooftop terrace. Last night, we sat on the terrace, drank fresh mint tea, watched the sun set over Amman's rolling hills, and watched the rise of a beautiful full moon. All around the city, children flew kites and fireworks went off (usually to celebrate a wedding). Apparently, this happens every night (except for the full moon of course).

I'm really glad to have met E. She's incredibly intelligent and well-travelled and compassionate and fun, and I look forward to spending more time with her.

This weekend (Friday and Saturday), we're going to explore more of the city, including coffeehouses, restaurants, markets, and street festivals. That is, IF I don't go to Petra ... or the Dead Sea ... or Wadi Rum ... or Petra ...

Third Day of Work

Only three short-ish interviews today. Adding that to yesterday, I have about 7 hours of interviews to transcribe and it's not going to be fun. Still, I am happy and grateful to have a job to do.

All of my interviews have been conducted in English, and I am impressed and humbled by how well people speak English. It's very common for younger Jordanian people, especially the wealthy, to go to school in the West or learn English in school here. I feel like a complete nincompoop and barbarian for only speaking one language. It's mortifying and unacceptable. I need to start learning a useful foreign language, like Arabic, Mandarin, or Spanish. When I have children, I need to emphasize bilingual (or multilingual) education as early as possible.

The people at JBCP continue to spoil me rotten. They've learned that I like Diet Pepsi, and are now keeping it in the office fridge for me. They switched out my cell phone with an even cooler cell phone (same number, for those who have it in case of emergencies). They're helping me arrange trips to other locations around Jordan, and are always recommending fun things for me to do.

It's very odd to be observing an organization as a third-party, and not be involved or in a position to act on any of the things I'm learning. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." ~ Theodore Roosevelt

My assignment here is to be something of a critic, the one who points out how JBCP struggles and where JCBP could have done deeds better. The JBCP employees and partners are in the arena and kicking tushee. The case I'm writing will help JBCP and other organizations improve the work they do in the arena. It's valuable and important -- people in the arena need critics and pointers-out -- but it's reinforcing my overwhelmingly strong preference, and need, to be in the arena in some respect (maybe in my personal or civic life, not my professional life) at some point. Soon.

Gross

To the people spending thousands of dollars to travel around the world and to buy scalped tickets to Michael Jackson's memorial service, I would like to say the following: I am disgusted by your wasting of valuable resources. If you devoted that time, money, and energy to a good cause, you could have accomplished so much. Stop singing "Man in the Mirror" and "Heal the World" and actually DO what the songs ask you to do. Follow Michael Jackson's example of giving generously. What better way to honor his memory?

I know you won't, and I understand why, but I'm still disgusted.

There. I feel better now.

Second Day at Work

I had a great second day at work. I got to interview four different JBCP stakeholders, all of whom offered very different perspectives on the organization and the state of breast cancer awareness and prevention in Jordan. It touched on so many aspects of my Harvard experience: international health issues, economic development, budgeting, social enterprise, leadership, multi-sector partnerships, corporate philanthropy, and education. I was even more grateful to have had that experiece and to meet so many incredible people with different interests, particularly the Zuckerman Fellows.

One of the most surprising, and heartbreaking, issues was the state of the diagnostic infrastructure. Only the richest private hospitals have state-of-the-art digital mammography machines with diagnostic software that can help detect cancer at the earliest possible stages with high degrees of accuracy. The few public government-run clinics and hospitals that do have mammography machines mostly have analog machines that use old-fashioned film developing processes that produce images of varying, and significantly lower, quality. Each digital machine costs about $500,000 Jordan Dinars, or about $700,000 U.S. Dollars, and the cost of replacing every analog machine in the country, then adding enough to ensure access, is astronomical.

My new friend and JBCP intern, Z, organized a charity banquet that raised enough money ($40,000 Jordan Dinars) to purchase a lower-end analog machine to be used in the Palestinian Territories. It was successfully installed and later destroyed in a bombing raid.

Furthermore, the clinic staff members do not have the proper training required to conduct a complete exam or develop the highest-quality image. Improper use of chemicals produce subpar images that lead to false positive or false negative diagnoses. JBCP is working with a variety of partners to address all of those problems, but there is a staggering amount of work to be done.

Everyone at the office is super-friendly, but I wanted to be sure that I am not just liked, but respected. I made it my early-morning mission to knock the socks off my supervisor with the quality of my work. During our pre-interview briefing, she was surprised by how much research I had done and my grasp of the key roles that each person plays. When we met to discuss my pre-interview notes and questions, she nodded approvingly. When I returned from my interviews, she was smiling warmly.

Tomorrow, I'm taking it up a notch by being even better-prepared and bringing baklava for the staff.

First Day at Work

I had a wonderful and productive first day at the Jordan Breast Cancer Program (JBCP) offices. It was my first time working in a formal office in quite a while, but I really enjoyed it.

Everyone was friendly, helpful, and fluent in English. Several people were trained in the United States: the staff includes a Harvard grad, a Brandeis grad, and an American University sophomore.

The JBCP was started by several organizations, including the King Hussein Cancer Foundation, Jordan's Ministry of Health, and USAID’s Private Sector Project for Women’s Health, to develop and implement a comprehensive nationwide program addressing all aspects of breast cancer detection and education. See an overview here.

One of their major initiatives is a public awareness campaign. They developed their own twist on the traditional pink ribbon symbol for breast cancer awareness, using the traditional Jordanian hatta pattern. Their symbol has been used in other countries as well, and may become used throughout the Middle East.

Breast cancer is by far the most prevalent form of cancer in Jordan, and the majority of cases are diagnosed when the disease is in the later stages and the survival rates are low. The median diagnosis age in Jordan is about 50, far younger than Western countries. Jordanian women have little access to mammography screening services; mammograms are only available for diagnostic tests after symptoms have presented. Furthermore, there is a shortage of mammography equipment and highly-skilled radiologists.

JBCP works with multiple organizations to increase access to mammography services across the country and provide training for health care professionals. They coordinate the donation, purchase, and installation of mammography equipment. They also partner with local organizations who provide community outreach and education about breast cancer and self-exams, going door-to-door where necessary, and coordinate trainings to make those organizations more effective. My research will allow me to study all the different parts of their operations.

Tomorrow, I will conduct the first of many, many, many interviews. I can't wait.

Farewell, Fake Husband

In Egypt, I was constantly questioned about my marriage status. As I explained in an earlier post, I began to tell men that I had a husband waiting for me at the hotel/museum/station/city. By letting people know that someone was expecting me and would miss me and come looking for me, I was (presumably) protecting myself from being taken somewhere without fear of being caught. My fake husband was initially a French diplomat/royal living with me in Paris, but I changed him to a New York businessman because it was more plausible and caused fewer translation problems.

Other female travellers I met in Egypt had fake husbands -- sometimes in addition to an actual husband. "My pretend husband always goes where I want and I don't have to miss him," one married woman explained. "My pretend husband is named Edward Cullen," another told me. "Mine looks like Barack Obama," chimed in a third.

But in Jordan, I don't feel any need for a fake husband. I always feel extremely safe. No one's questioned me about my marital status (yet). Men don't approach me or speak to me unless I initiate the conversation. I have real people who are expecting to see me and keeping tabs on me. And I lost my fake (glass) engagement ring and spilled water on the picture I was using, so it's just as well.

And the situation gives me a good excuse to learn a new Arabic phrase. The next time someone asks me why I am not married or do not have children, I will say "Insha'allah [As G-d wills it]."

Yay for friends!

Today, I spent a few hours exploring Jebel Amman, the city's downtown area. I had just sat down at Hashim's Restaurant to enjoy a delicious and dirt-cheap hummus and falafel lunch. The restaurant was crowded, so the waiters sat another American woman at my table. She's here for the summer working as an agriculture and technology consultant, and she is living in an apartment building with lots of young people from around the world. We hit it off and made plans to get together later this week.

I start work tomorrow! So excited!

Hammam Heaven

One of my favorite experiences in the Middle East, and life generally, is the Turkish bath. The Turkish bath, or hammam, varies from country to country -- as Alexia Brue documented in her excellent travel memoir, "Cathedrals of the Flesh: My Search for the Perfect Bath."

Generally, one starts with a dry steam lying on a heated marble stone. Then there is a wet steam, scrub, massage, and wash. The Moroccan hammams didn't include any steam or massage -- just faucets and buckets for self-scrubbing. The New York Russian-style bath included treatments of hitting one's legs with leaves. Jordan's hammams include a jacuzzi soak between the wet and dry steam.

One of my favorite hammam experiences was the most basic -- in Marrakech, Morocco, where I had the opportunity to see local women without their veils and chadors (both literally and metaphorically) and interact in a relaxed, natural setting. They laughed, they spashed, and they joked with me through the international language of Charades.

My other favorite hammam experience is the most decadent. So far, the best has been Çemberlitas Hammam in Istanbul, Turkey. It's very touristy, but they still put a premium on quality service (massages). I always leave that place feeling giddy with relaxation and happiness.

Today, I tried the Khan Zaman hammam in Western Amman. It was surprisingly difficult to find a non-touristy hammam. Amman is a rather modern city, and the Turkish bath is more of a novelty than a tradition. The guidebook, hotel, and every web site I could find all pointed to one place on the Eastern side of the city, one that was rather expensive and had mixed reviews. It was a high-quality bath, with a thorough massage, but the modern building was a disappointment after seeing the magnificent buildings in Turkey.

Bath Quality: 8 (out of 10)
Facilities: 7
Decoration: 6
Atmosphere: 4
Hospitality: 9
Massage Quality: 8
Price: 2 (WAY too expensive for what they were offering)

Overall: 6.3/10

Not bad, but not good enough for a return trip.

At Home in Amman

I am so excited to be in Jordan! Jordan is so efficient and clean and not humid or broiling hot (high of 86, not 116)!

The JBCP sent a car to pick me up from the bus station, and helped me check into a hotel near their office. I'm staying in a primarily residential neighborhood right down the street from the JBCP offices. The room -- a suite! -- is beautiful and the hotel staff is very helpful and caring. I'm not used to staying in hotels with lots of creature comforts (cable, air conditioning, Internet, laundry) but I'm sure I'll adjust quickly. See pictures here.

Friday and Saturday are weekends in Amman, so the JBCP offices are closed until Sunday. I used the day to settle in. First on the agenda was stocking the apartment with things I'll need to live and look professional for the next few weeks.

I took a taxi to a big mall with a Carrefour, a gigantic French department store that sells everything from groceries to appliances. The mall was new, fancy, and very Western, with a huge theater showing recent American movies, a Virgin megastore, and even a TGI Fridays.

I love Carrefours, and was elated to have a good reason to spend hours wandering the store. I bought some toiletries and food for the week, then spent a happy afternoon nesting and working.

In Jordan!

I finally made it to Aqaba, Jordan yesterday evening. I'm heading to Amman this afternoon to start my work at the Jordan Breast Cancer Program tomorrow. I'm very excited for many reasons, not the least of which is that I will have Internet access and catch up on some posting.

Crossing the Red Sea

If anyone reading this is planning to travel from Egypt to Jordan, I offer this advice: TAKE A PLANE.

There are two boats that connect Nuweiba, Egypt to Aqaba, Jordan. The fast, passenger-only ferry leaves every afternoon at 3:30, and (reportedly) takes an hour. The slower car ferry leaves every afternoon at 3:00, and (reportedly) takes two and a half hours. The fast ferry costs about $10 more.

I arrived at the ticket office with the amount that my guidebook, the sign in the ticket office, and multiple individuals had told me I needed to buy a ticket for the fast ferry. Apparently, the price had recently increased, and I was stuck with a ticket for the slow ferry. I insisted that I would go get more money, but the clerk refused to exchange my ticket. "Is just as good as fast ferry, gets in same time." I met two cool women who would also be taking the slow ferry, and I resigned myself to the extra hour of travel. I wolfed down some lunch and began my own epic journey across the Red Sea:

12:00 pm: Entered departure complex terminal for customs

1:00: Exited terminal, boarded bus to dock

1:45: Left bus, boarded boat

5:00: Boat left port (ahead of the fast ferry)

10:00: Boat docked in Aqaba

11:00: Left Jordan customs

I don't know how long it took my ancestors to cross the Red Sea by foot, but I'm pretty sure I could have walked or swam faster than that ferry.

The journey would have been completely unbearable if I hadn't met two amazing women on the dock who allowed me to hang out with them on the boat. Sarah, 30, is a former marine captain who has lived in Japan and Thailand and is the toughest negotiator I have ever seen. Friedl, 21, was born in South Africa and had traveled extensively throughout Asia and South America. We hit it off immediately and had a great chat between out intermittent wails of "Are we there yet?"

Mount Sinai

I woke up at 2:15 a.m. -- a minor miracle, considering that I regularly go to bed much later. I pulled on some clothes and nodded a curt hello to the camp owner as I set off for the mountain. A minibus kindly gave me a ride to the monastery ("No money, no honey, no problem").

Busloads of tour groups were arriving and starting the hike up the mountain. The others were armed with sneakers, flashlights, climbing poles, guides, and blankets. All I had were my trusty Teva flip-flops (my good hiking sandals died an hour before I had to catch my flight to Brussels). I fell in behind a group of Italians and let their flashlights light my path.

After about 500 feet we were offered the option of renting camels for $17 each way. Considering that I was half-asleep and wearing completely unsuitable shoes (the most suitable i had packed), I realized this was a terrific deal. For two hours, me, my camel, and the guide climbed steadily up the mountain. The trail was completely dark, lit only by the flashlights of people ahead and behind me.

Finally, the camel could go no further and I was on my own to climb the 700 final steps to the summit. I climbed as fast as I could, enjoying the delicious cool morning air. Finally, there was nowhere else to climb, and I -- with about 200 other people -- was standing on the sight where Moses received the Ten Commandments from God. Most of the people seemed to be pilgrims, clutching prayer books and praying fervently.

I found a seat and recited every prayer I could remember as I watched the sun rise over the mountains. Any questions I had ever had about the existence of God or the power of faith were put to rest forever as I took in the glorious view.

After about half an hour, I was ready to head back down the mountain. I carefully climbed/slid down the 700 steps to the camel rest point, hired a camel, and told the guide I wanted to be dropped off at the village, not the monastery. We set off for the long, steep climb down.

I don't know if you've ever tried to ride a camel down a hill or mountain, but I really don't recommend it. Climbing up was fine, great even. But climbing down was so incredibly painful that I quickly decided to scrap the camel idea altogether. Unfortunately, I still had to pay for the camel and the guide to find my way back safely.

The wonder of the experience quickly wore off as I half-walked, half-slid down the mountain at the end of a six-hour trip on two hours of sleep and an empty stomach. But I can't wait to go to synagogue and re-read the Torah with this experience in my mind and heart.

Cairo to Mount Sinai

I crawled off the sleeping train into a taxi that whisked me to the Cairo Gateway bus station. Like everywhere in Egypt, I could not walk more than a few feet without people offering to help and pointing me in the right direction.

My original plan was to buy an early-morning ticket to the port city of Nuweiba, where I would stay overnight and catch a Tuesday ferry to Aqaba, Jordan. But I missed the Nuweiba bus by a few minutes, which I took as a sign that I should head to my alternate destination: Mount Sinai. That bus was leaving in an hour. The journey was supposed to take 7 hours.

Nine agonizing hours later, I arrived in the tiny village of Al-Milga, about 3 km from St. Katherine's Monastery, at the base of Mount Sinai. The guidebook strongly recommends that tourists stick to one fancy and expensive tour company, but they didn't cover this route. There was no air conditioning. The entire bus reeked of gasoline, until the driver and half the people on board lit their cigarettes. And I hadn't taken the opportunity to hit an ATM before leaving the train station, and had no cash to buy food at the brief rest stop. Between the starvation, heat, nausea, and BLARING music, I was beyond miserable.

The highlight of the trip was the hour or so when a young Egyptian solider sat in the seat next to me. He opened his laptop and started a multiple choice quiz for an English language course. I watched him answer a few questions about past imperfect verbs, and I was very impressed.

Then he opened up Microsoft Word, and typed the following for me to see:

Him: Can u help me please because I have a test in my work
sorry I cant talk w you because people here and I am in the army and this dangerous

I smiled, and continued a conversation so amusing, I whipped out my flash drive to record it:

Me: Ok
(reading poorly-written question)
No answer is good
Him: Ok but I am weak in English and I must be good so I am studying every day
Him: WAIT I ll make tele if u want to leave me I ll not be sad
Me: (gestured "No problem")
Him: Tkank you
But would u mind if we ll friends
Ya or no
Its your opinion
And I ll pleasured
I am very weak
Right
In English
So forgive me
About my words
Ok I am going now to my work
I know its over
But can I take your tele
Ya or no
Its your opinion
Me: No tele
Him: Ok I am now like a baby who is punished

I pointed to the ring on my left ring finger and said, "Husband, sorry!" He became indignant, saying, "Hey! I have wife!" and left the seat in a huff.

When I finally arrived in Al-Milga, I changed money, checked into the spartan Fox Desert Camp, wolfed down dinner, and got the details about climbing Mount Sinai. The locals recommended that I set out a 2 a.m., in order to catch the 6:30 a.m. sunrise at the summit. I grimaced, but reminded myself that it would be worth it to make the climb when it was nice and cool.

Luxor (Day Two)

It's been an amazing and exhausting two days. Amazing because of the gorgeous tombs and sights. Exhausting because of the blazing heat.

I slept in this morning, which was a mistake to the extent that sleeping in can ever be a mistake. My agenda for the day was to see the fabled Temples of Karnak, the largest religious building ever built. It's a huge complex that takes hours to tour. By sleeping in, I left myself no choice but to tour it in the blazing mid-afternoon heat. My late afternoon felucca ride and evening Temple of Luxor visit were much more pleasant.

I am less than an hour from a sleeping train back to Cairo, where I will take an early bus to Mt. Sinai for a sunset climb. May not have internet access for a few days.

The Marriage Question

All day, when I tell people I'm from America, they respond, "America, #1!," I've responded with, "No, Brazil #1!" They crack up.

I've had a second offer of camels! My taxi driver floated the figure of 500 camels. I've decided that unless the suitor wears glasses and likes (or preferably owns) cats, there is no amount of camels or sheep that could tempt me to accept him.

I turned him down, explaining that I am married. In response to his persistent questions, I filled in the rest of the story:

* I came to Luxor alone (had already told him that and it was rather obvious)
* My husband was flying this evening from Paris to Cairo, where I would meet him in the morning
* My husband is French, and we live in Paris
* My husband is very handsome, looks just like George Clooney
* We have been married for three years
* Our first child is due at Christmas

I was debating whether my husband should be a professional wrestler with an anger-management problem or a high-ranking government official when the line of questioning thankfully stopped.

I don't like lying, I really don't. But I'm a lot more uncomfortable with the prospect of being easy prey for someone to take me somewhere or do something to me because they know I'm alone and unprotected. I may not actually enhance my safety by telling people that a big, scary man is expecting to see me and will come looking for me, but I feel a little safer and that's just as important.

And, after telling the story a few times, I'm growing very attached to my pretend husband.

Plus, it's much less awkward than the various responses I get when I tell them that I'm single with no children: "Why are you not married?" "Why no children?" "You are too picky!" "What are you waiting for?" "You are too old!" And there is really no way to come back from that. An explanation ("You wouldn't be saying that if you had met my exes") sounds bitter, a deflection ("I was waiting for you!") is too risky, and a retort ("Well, if you could find someone, there's hope for us all") is just unnecessary.

My Luxor hotel is right in the middle of the souq, or market. There are lots of cafes and shops where men (no women that I saw) gathered in the evening to watch television. Tonight, there was a big crowd of men crowded around a cafe to watch the FIFA Confederations Cup match between Brazil and the United States.

I approached the crowd to see what was on television. The cafe owner saw me, smiled, and shouted something to the group of men in Arabic. All of a sudden, the crowd parted to reveal an empty chair in the back. I gestured that, no, I did not want to watch, I would go, but they insisted. "You, stay!" I sat.

All the men wanted to know where I was from. I said "America!" and they all said "ooooooh" in a look that suggested, "ouch, that must be painful for you!" Then they smiled and said "Brazil!" This was a big group of Brazil fans.

By this point, I had gathered that Brazil was winning the game. I also remembered that the United States had defeated Egypt a few days earlier. I concluded that it was in my best interest to join the crowd in cheering for Brazil.

Using a combination of exaggerated facial expressions and hand gestures, I indicated that I like America, but think Brazil is better at futbol. The men howled with delight.

For about an hour, I was one of the guys. I cheered along. I drank a Sprite. (No one was drinking alcohol.) I politely declined an offer to smoke a hookah. I made polite, superficial chitchat with the young gentlemen around me. I successfully resisted the urge to ask why no women were watching with them. I had a blast.