I immediately began planning the trip out in my head. I had everything planned out (including the meals I’d make beforehand so that Wes wouldn’t starve) but when my mental train arrived in Washington DC, I was suddenly confronted with a dilemma: How was I supposed to get from the airport to the hotel?

I posed this question during a staff meeting and was met with a short answer from seasoned East-coasters: “Just take the Metro.” Um, what?

They might as well have said, “Just grease up and luge yourself there” for all the good telling me to take the Metro did for me. I have lived the entirety of my happy little life in the suburbs of the West coast. Not only have I never *successfully* taken mass transit on my own, I’ve yet to read a map correctly.

So, when posed with the possibility of reading an arcane color-coded map populated with what looks like garish tape-worms, I was understandably shaken and stirred. One of my colleagues, a DC native through and through, took pity on me and looked up the route and sent me excellent directions.

Once I arrived, I managed to procure a Metro pass (even though I initially stood in the wrong line and had to break my cool imitation of a jaded East-coaster in order to ask for help) and hopped onto what I hoped was the right train.

This picture just about sums up how I was feeling at that moment. I had managed to get on the yellow line, but was it going in the right direction? If I had gotten on the wrong one, I’d have been on my way to Virginia, you see.

Right after I took this picture, a woman sitting in the seat across from me snapped her head up and demanded to know whether I had just taken a picture of her. I, being terrified of East coast natives (word on the street is that they eat polite West coast suburbanites like me for breakfast) promptly denied the accusation and showed her the picture for proof. She then commanded me to take another picture, but with me smiling instead of terrified (I did, but then erased it when she wasn’t looking.)

I managed to transfer trains successfully (though I had to ask a few billion bystanders for help in the process) and made it to my hotel safely. Now that I’m home and safe, I look back on my Metro adventure with fondness.

If I actually knew where I was going I’d probably really enjoy reading a book on the way to work. I might never get used to the scary teenagers on the bus (one of whom either threw me a gang symbol or the ASL sign for a**hole, I couldn’t tell which he was going for and was too afraid to ask) but I might get better at blending in. My good manners made me stick out like a sore thumb there.

I had loads of good adventures while here. I’ll write a post about riding the Metro soon (believe me, I’m gonna need a whole post just for that) but for now I’ll just regale y’all with tales from a reekingly liberal conference which, in itself is not a bad thing, when you’re conservative it’s tantamount to be being the red-headed step-child.

It’s funny, I noticed this at the Republican caucus as well, but people get really dumb when they assume everyone agrees with them. One of the keynote speakers called conservatives every name in the book and resorted to the kinds of petty stereotypes that you find in simple minds and it cheapened everything she said.

During one of the panels, someone asked the speakers if there was room in politics for progressive Republicans as well. There were crickets chirping and then one of them answered with a flat “No.”

I tried to stand up and “out” myself as a progressive Republican but the moderator of that panel must have smelled the conservative on me and steadfastly ignored me. I feel like by making the conference profoundly bipartisan, they cheated themselves out of roughly half the constituents who want the same things but don’t want to be called names.

Throughout the conference people kept telling me, “Oh, you’re a Republican so you can’t support that.” When they took the time to actually find out what I thought, a lot of people realized that we want the same things.

For instance, look at healthcare. The Dems here are lobbying strongly for universal healthcare. I want to completely reform the healthcare system in our country and get rid of healthcare insurance entirely (ala the good old times when doctors could actually afford to practice good medicine.)

We truly want the same thing: Access to good healthcare for everyone in the nation. How we go about it is different, but honestly, what I’m interested in most is a system for making healthcare accessible to everyone in country who needs it without bankrupting them every time they get a hangnail. If the best system, the one that won’t add to the huge national debt we already carry, is universal healthcare then woohoo, sign me up. If that best system is reforming the healthcare system, then let’s rock that. Sometimes people get too hung up on the titles, on what Dems or Republicans are supposed to think/support, that they to miss the point entirely.

It’s so funny because I wonder if, at times, splitting the nation into two parties isn’t a diversionary tactic meant to keep us from affecting real change. We’re too busy calling each other the downfall of America to notice what our politicans are doing right under our noses.

I suppose that’s enough of my big fat opinion for now. I’m going to go back to my room for now to prepare for my epic 12-hour journey tomorrow. Wish me luck as I spend four hours in the lovely airport in Colorado, waiting to haul my tired self onto my fourth plane in 48 hours. It’s gonna be a HOOT!

The thing is, I’m not an awesome blogger right now. I’m a tired, over-wrought blogger anxious about the prospect of hauling my tired self to the airport at 3:30am tomorrow morning. Seriously, that’s so early in the morning it makes me tired to even think about it.

So, this blog will be quiet for a couple days. I know I know, Boo on me and all that. I’m sorry, but I still have two blog posts to edit, dinner to cook, and a suitcase to pack. That being said, can I possibly pacify you all with the promise of pictures and stories when I get back?

My job is sending me to a conference that aims to educate young voters about the economic issues present in our country right now. Seriously, if I don’t come home with loads to talk about I’m not worth my salt as a blogger at all. I may be the only Republican attending the conference so if I don’t come home with food in my hair I probably didn’t do a very good job. Wish me luck, comrades, I’m going in.

This particular camel was in front of the caves at Qumran, where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls.

The camel’s owner wanted to charge us $5 to sit on the camel but the lady in front of me fearlessly negotiated him down to $1 and so we all took advantage of her good negotiating.

Man, camels are tall! I’ve been riding horses since I could hold my head up but I was actually pretty darn nervous being up that high. The camel was chained to the sign-post but the chain was really flimsy, more decorative than anything, and I was certain that if I looked at him the wrong way it’d be “Adios, guy with the stick!” and me and my camel friend would go lopping off into the sunset.

All that being said, sitting on a camel was everything I thought it’d be: smelly, tall, and vaguely alarming. I liked it, though, and if I ever get the chance again I’d like to actually ride one. The way they walk (all slopey and gangly) I think it’d be awesome fun.

I also wanted to write briefly about one of my personal highlights from the trip. We were sailing around the Red Sea and enjoying the day when the sailors put on some music they thought we’d like. It was disco (why do foreigners all assume that Americans are still crazy for disco?) and we tolerated it for about three hours.

The playlist must have run out at some point, though, because suddenly there was Metallica in our midst (Fade to Black, if you must know.) The guy changed the song but I yelled at him and he switched it back. The music was considerably better after that and when Led Zepplin started playing I knew we’d made it.

I can’t really explain how other-wordly yet unspeakably cool it was to cruise around the Red Sea while listening to “Stairway to Heaven,” but trust me when I say that it was beyond cool. If you ever get the chance I recommend it with both hands and feet.

So eyes, look your last upon our photos from Israel. If you want to see more, well, I guess you’ll just have to come over for dinner and a slideshow or something.

Anyhoodle, This photo was taken on the steps that led up to the original Temple. This is an authentic site where we know for a fact that Jesus taught. It was really hot there that day so I hope he had a fan or mister or something while he was teaching because that could have gotten uncomfortable real quick.

I included this picture because it has members of our tour group in it and it’s our group I want to discuss today. I noticed an interesting thing happening amongst our tour group members and now it’s time to share: Tour Group Communism.

You see, when you pack for a long journey you take only what you can forsee needing (and, ostensibly, don’t forget the single most important item in your beauty arsenal like I did because apparently I’m a glutton for carrying around huge hairy eyebrows for two weeks).

As I was saying, you take the stuff you think you’ll need. Sometimes, issues arise during the trip that necessitate the use of things you didn’t think you’d need. This is where the communism comes in. About three days into the trip, everyone started getting this nasty cold and there was a roaring trade in cold/flu pharmaceuticals. Over breakfast we’d all compare inventories and then trade/barter our way to the best meds.

Among the ladies there was a lot of exchanging of beauty products. I, for one, borrowed a friend’s tweezers twice so that I could clear-cut the out-of-control eyebrows that were threatening to take over my whole face. Other people asked for and received nail polish, nail clippers, concealer, and hair products. We all did what we could to maintain the gorgeous visages our husbands have come to know and adore.

Food was another commodity that became open for exchange. If someone bought a package of dates, suddenly the bus was awash with dates and everyone was asking where they should go to spit out the pit. If another person found a good deal on shwarma (think of a kosher gyro) recommendations were disseminated to the masses.

It was a fascinating study in group behavior dynamics and I for one am so glad the communist tendencies went to a happy place. I think it would have put a damper on the trip if we’d gone all Animal Farm on one another.

I mean, would you look at that to the left?! It looks like Mexico, for crying out loud! This is Caesaria maritime, where Paul stood trial and famously said, “I appeal to Caesar”.

Isn’t it beautiful, though? The water is so clear I honestly would have thought we were in the Caribbean if I didn’t know any better. Israel is so cool because you can go as far back in history as the book of Exodus all the way to the distant-maybe-not-so-distant-no-one-really-knows future:

This is us standing on a hill in Nazareth looking out over Megiddo (a.k.a. where it’s all going down during the Apocalypse). It’s so green and not desert-y! It’s this gigantic valley where all the armies of the world will someday meet up. Napoleon once remarked after looking out at this valley that it was the most perfect battlefield he’d ever seen.

As you can see, the Israeli people are putting the land to beautiful good use in the meantime.

So as I said, we went all the way from the past (Caesaria maritime) to the future (Megiddo) to the very Gates of Hell…

…What? You don’t believe me?! We took a picture! This, my friends, is the Gates of Hell.

This was taken at a place called Banias. There used to be a Greek temple there and the Greeks threw sacrifices into this cave. They called it the Gates of Hell because over to the right in the cave is a very deep hole that goes all the way down to the headwaters of the Jordan River. The Greeks believed that if the water that flowed out of the ground was bloody the day after a sacrifice the gods were pleased with the sacrifice. They were, however, out of luck in regards to having non-bloody water to drink for the rest of the day.

I guess it gives new meaning to the phrase, “The sweet taste of success”.

Petra is located in Jordan and the Jordanians rely on it to bring a steady stream of wealthy tourists into their country. They have excavated about 5% of the underground city in about 10 years, which indicates that either the underground city is gigantic or they need to step it up a notch. If the outside is any indication, the inner city must be incredible and I, for one, am anxious to see it.

When you visit there you think you must have stepped into another dimension. There are horses, mules, and camels everywhere and there are young children strolling up and down the roads offering to sell you rocks (”Just one American dollar!”).

The primary reason for having so many animals there is to give people a ride back up to the parking lot after they’ve trekked down to see the city. The first half of Petra that you see is the Necropolis and was built exclusively to house the remains of dead people. You have to hike for about an hour to even reach the part where people actually lived. By the time most people make it to the living part of the city they’re exhausted and appreciate the help getting back to their buses.

The picture you see above was taken in front of The Monastery. To reach it, you have to climb up a huge flight of carved stone stairs. This looks easier than it is. Wes and I were running short on time but saw people hiking up and thought we’d try too. The funny thing was, I had no idea what we were climbed toward. I kept going up and up these stairs until finally I said to Wes, “What are we even doing?!” You see, I am not an athlete and as such do not willingly consent to get sweaty unless it’s for a good reason. He, along with many others, assured me that there was something really cool at the top so on we went even though our legs were shaking and our hearts were beating too fast.

These stairs look a lot prettier when you haven’t climbed a trillion of them. As we went, we passed a number of bedouin women selling trinkets on the side of the trail. Passing us on either side were boys leading mules up the stairs. These mules carried the tourists who were either too tired or smart to try climbing the stairs on their own.

One of the mules was led by a little girl who stopped her mule next to us and started talking to Wes in Arabic and gesturing at the ground. He saw that she’d dropped her riding stick and picked it up for her. She responded with huge smile and said to us, “Shukrrrran” (Thank you in Arabic) with the most extravagantly rolled r I’ve heard. It was beyond cute and for some reason that’s stuck with me almost more than the pain from the climb.

When we got to the top, we barely had time to take a picture before we had to run down the mountain again. We did, however, meet a guy from Iraq who was really nice. He snapped the picture you see above and asked me to take a photo of him with Wes. When he told us he was from Iraq he looked a little nervous, like we might try to push him off the mountain or something, but we were all on our good manners and everything turned out fine. Somewhere in the world, there’s a picture of Wes standing with some random dude in the middle of Petra and this makes me smile.

It’s a comparitively small country (compared to America) and is about the size of Indiana. What makes it interesting is that there’s pretty much nothing there. It’s almost all desert.

There’s a small bit of arable land, next to the Jordan River that divides Israel and Jordan, but the rest is empty and dry. It is full of animals, though. We drove by more livestock there than I’ve ever seen in my life. This is a picture of some of the sheep we saw but we also saw camels, goats, and cows as well.

When we crossed over into Jordan we were all a little nervous. We were, after all, in the Middle East where America is not the most popular country. Our apprehension increased when, at the border crossing, our tour guide took our passports and disappeared for awhile. He brought them back, but I was a little nervous about handing mine over. While we were there at the border crossing most of the ladies took the opportunity to use the facilities while waiting for their passports to come back.

Let me tell you, the bathrooms were truly…well…they left us speechless. They were essentially holes in the ground. I was surprised when some of the ladies, nice women I knew from church, were not fazed at all by the holes. Apparently, this style of toilet is not uncommon outside the U.S. When it was my turn to use the facilities, I laughed out loud when I realized that there was no toilet paper. There was, however, a conveniently placed hose. Because you wouldn’t want to leave a lady without options, would you?

An interesting thing about being in Israel and Jordan was that there were a lot of bedouins there. There have been bedouins in the Middle East for thousands of years and for the most part they continue their transient existence regardless of which wars make or destroy the countries they live in.

It’s a lifestyle I’ll never understand. The girls are considered marriage material as young as 13 and once married their life consists of running the camp and raising the children. The men shepherd their flocks and when resources run out in one area they move on.

In learning about the bedouins, I realized that the Middle East is a place I’m not sure many people can understand. Everything is different there, even the very basis of logic is different. When we were driving through a little town in Jordan (Madaba, if you’re curious) we saw a fountain that contained the well-known star and crescent symbol of Islam. In place of the star, however, was a globe and the message chilled me a bit.

In fact, in Jordan, your religion must be listed on your identification and Muslims are forbidden by the government to convert to other religions. This kind of thing would never stand in the West but that’s just how they roll over there.

While we were driving, we noticed some smoke on the horizon. When we drove by we realized it was a stack of tires on fire. We snapped a picture of it and I included it because it reminds me of the scary smoke monster on Lost.

I have to say, though, that overall the service in the hotels and restaurants was a lot better in Jordan than in Israel. In Israel, they have a very European take-you-or-leave-you kind of mentality and you’re not likely to get a smile from most people.

In Jordan, however, there were tons of smiles and a lot of terrible pick-up lines. One of the women in our group was offered 50 camels for her hand in marriage! She, being the savvy negotiator she is, asked if they were good camels or stuffed camels and the guy laughed and walked away. It is, after all, important not to settle.

Anyway, we’re home! Our trip was arduous and the jet lag is incredible but I think we’ll make it. I’m a bit upset that no one warned me that jet lag feels like dying, though. Yesterday, all I could do was roll around on the ground in a pitiful attempt to stay awake and then when I did go to sleep I was wide awake at 1AM. This is rough stuff, I tell you.

I’m currently working up the willpower to go make breakfast. I’ve become very spoiled (I haven’t cleaned, cooked, or made the bed in two weeks) and alas there is no buffet in my kitchen. I weep for lack of fresh-baked bread yet rejoice in our new-found ability to eat ham (more on that later).

I have so many things to blog about. Throughout our trip people kept asking me if I was going to blog about this, that, or the other so I started a list of topics that I want to blog about. I didn’t realize how much I loved blogging until I was able to sneak away and write that last post. So, that being said, expect new adventures coming soon!

For now, though, it’s finally light outside and looks like morning-time and the clock says it’s morning-time so I’m going to go make a morning-time meal even though my brain is convinced that it’s 5:30pm. Cheerio!