Following my first three posts, I found myself flat hunting in Amman, which subsequently led to the difficulty in re-establishing Internet connection, so it seems now that I'm reconnected, it would be a good time for me to brief you on the challenge of flat hunting in this part of the world.
While Jordan may have taken a while to switch on to the online revolution, it has indeed joined social networking, online gaming and online marketing with vigour, although somehow this lifestyle change seems to have bypassed the real estate market. One website does advertise over 1000 beautiful homes for rent and for sale, the vast majority of them listed as "available now" and many of them meeting my requirements. I was much excited to find this website and spent hours trawling through the pictures and elaborate descriptions clearly written by cheesy estate agents, but nonetheless sounding attractive and suitable. Having narrowed down the 1000 potential new homes to about 10, I completed the online contact form and waited for the call back.
Armed with the reference details of each of my prospects, I did indeed get a phone call a few days later from the agent, and informed him of those that I was keen to view. He asked of my requirements and immediately suggested some that, despite the budget I had just informed him of, were way out of my price range. I turned the conversation to the apartments that I had so carefully and thoroughly studied, although, I suppose as all estate agents do, he kept steering the conversation towards the more luxurious and severely overpriced dwellings. Having let the conversation go to-and-fro for long enough, I put my foot down and asked directly and fairly adamantly about the apartments that had caught my eye. "I'm sorry, Madam," he said, "Those apartments have been on our website for years, but there is a technical problem which means that we cannot remove the old ones from the website." "Take it with a pinch of zaater," I thought to myself, as I ended the conversation as politely as I could amidst my frustration.
With just over a week left before I needed to vacate my current property, I rounded up my housemates as we hit the streets to scour the buildings for the "For Rent" signs posted outside the available residences. Driving up and down and round and round the areas that we were interested in, jotting down the phone numbers on scraps of paper as we made notes on the location of each property, seemed to be the only way that we would find anything.
As it was Ramadhan and fast was not broken until around 7pm, it was almost impossible for us to arrange any viewings before 'Iftar', which limited the time that we had to flat-hunt to a couple of hours each evening. We made around 20 phone calls, before we found an apartment in a suitable location that was within our price range. The number we rang connected us with a man who agreed to show us the property we had found within 20 minutes of speaking to him. All excited, we waited outside the building which bore the "Furnished Apartment for Rent" sign, chatting about the benefits of the location until the gentleman arrived. Eventually, a rather stout looking man in a very dilapidated old Ford arrived, and we greeted him politely and shook his hand. "Follow me," he said, as he returned to his car, and we followed closely behind him, wondering where we were going. This man turned out to be an agent with several properties up his sleeve. Confused that we were not being shown the one that we had waited at, but still optimistic, we arrived at another building in a slight less appealing area.
He explained that the first property actually exceeded our budget as he opened the front door of another building. We climbed the stairs a little disappointed, as we all recognised the scent of cockroach killer as it filled our nostrils and we looked at each other a little disheartened. Upon entering the apartment, we instantly realised this was far from the image of the comfortable home that we had had in mind. The cracks in the walls and stains on the carpet that we saw as we entered the living room sank our hearts a little lower, and we quickly informed the agent this was not suitable for us. The little man, eager to make a quick buck, reassured us that now that he'd met us and spoken to us, he had a better idea of what we had in mind, and would take us to see another place. We were hesitant, but with such little time left until we had to leave our former home, we were also beginning to feel rather desperate! We followed him a little further up the road, although alas, the second apartment, while cleaner, still looked more like a disused brothel than anything inhabitable.
A few more days passed with us trawling the streets calling all the numbers that hung outside the apartments that seemed appropriate from the outside, until we found one in a lovely area, beautifully furnished and within our budget. Relieved, we informed the agent that we would like to sign the contract within the next few days, and he agreed to contact the owner and prepare all the necessary paperwork. A couple of days later we returned to the apartment, our pens at the ready and all the cash that we needed to secure the property, only to be told that the contract was not ready and we would need to wait another day. The next day we did not hear from the agent, as he did not answer or return our calls. The next day I contacted him from an unknown number, and he answered the call, only to inform me that a Korean family had offered about 50 Dinars per month more than we had, and the property had been let.
With less than two days left to find a new home we were back on the streets calling every number that we saw now. Finally, we saw a lovely property and were shown into the lounge by the owner's sister, her husband, her brother-in-law and her mother. Renting a home seems, at times, to be a family affair here, although as the place was perfect and the mother instantly warmed to us, we were happy. They needed to contact the owner who was abroad although felt confident that she would be happy with the terms we were asking and would confirm in the morning. Alas, it was not so. The owner insisted on the tenants signing a one year contract and we could only commit to six months.
Our spirits dampened, and having almost given up hope, we returned to the streets until my housemate found an old, locally-distributed newspaper outside a property that we stopped to look at. It was old and whithered, but through a stroke of luck the classified pages were still in tact and there was one apartment listed that sounded suitable. We dialed the number and went to see it, and, as fate would have it, it was just right for us. We signed the contract there and then with the owner and her husband, and moved in the next day.
We have been here for over a month now, and have settled in wonderfully and have made our house a little home. Following our adventure, I, for one, am left certain that everything in life happens for a reason... although I am seriously considering starting an online property finder for places in Amman!!!
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Local Shops
The other day a friend of mine and I walked into our local supermarket... well, it's more of a mini-market than anything we would describe as a supermarket in the West, although it has some interesting products in stock. If you're a fan of American candy then you will survive here in Jordan. The country seems to import more carcinogenic, fluorescent junk food than there was at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. On this particular day, however, what caught our eyes were a few rare bottles of Snapple laid neatly on display in the refrigerated section.
Excited by our discovery we picked up the other essentials and walked to the exit. Bleep, bleep, bleep went the till as the items were scanned and our mouths watered for the exotic drink which stood in line awaiting its turn. I am impressed to see electronic cash registers in these shops, as the last time I was in Jordan most transactions simply went through a cash box and notepad kept under a table. The cashier picked up our chosen item and ran it across his machine, but to his surprise, there was no beep. The little man on his chair looked confused. Why had it not worked? What was he to do? Nearing a state of panic, he tried again and again and again, eagerly hoping to hear the comforting sound that filled his days, but alas, it would not work. With a vague expression he looked at us and said, "You can't have it". We looked at each other and looked at the bottle, wondering why this man would not sell us this mango flavoured drink made from concentrate. "It's not loaded on the system," he explained sadly.
Now, I understand that some larger items may need to be registered before sale, I may even be more understanding if this had been a large supermarket akin to the french hypermarchés that have thousands of customers a day and have strict stock control procedures, but this was just a bottle of juice that we were trying to buy from our local shop. I began to prepare a suggestion for making a note of the sale and adding it to the system later or arguing that, if he really wouldn't sell it, he should remove it from the display. My friend, however, who has lived in Jordan much longer than I have and as such has grown accustomed to the ways of the land, looked at me again in a way that said, 'don't bother, this is Jordan, this is just how it is here'... And with that I knew it was pointless, the drink would never be ours, the shopkeeper, my friend and I had been defeated by technology, and I for one was wishing they still kept a cash box under the table.
Excited by our discovery we picked up the other essentials and walked to the exit. Bleep, bleep, bleep went the till as the items were scanned and our mouths watered for the exotic drink which stood in line awaiting its turn. I am impressed to see electronic cash registers in these shops, as the last time I was in Jordan most transactions simply went through a cash box and notepad kept under a table. The cashier picked up our chosen item and ran it across his machine, but to his surprise, there was no beep. The little man on his chair looked confused. Why had it not worked? What was he to do? Nearing a state of panic, he tried again and again and again, eagerly hoping to hear the comforting sound that filled his days, but alas, it would not work. With a vague expression he looked at us and said, "You can't have it". We looked at each other and looked at the bottle, wondering why this man would not sell us this mango flavoured drink made from concentrate. "It's not loaded on the system," he explained sadly.
Now, I understand that some larger items may need to be registered before sale, I may even be more understanding if this had been a large supermarket akin to the french hypermarchés that have thousands of customers a day and have strict stock control procedures, but this was just a bottle of juice that we were trying to buy from our local shop. I began to prepare a suggestion for making a note of the sale and adding it to the system later or arguing that, if he really wouldn't sell it, he should remove it from the display. My friend, however, who has lived in Jordan much longer than I have and as such has grown accustomed to the ways of the land, looked at me again in a way that said, 'don't bother, this is Jordan, this is just how it is here'... And with that I knew it was pointless, the drink would never be ours, the shopkeeper, my friend and I had been defeated by technology, and I for one was wishing they still kept a cash box under the table.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Gossip
Amman is tiny and everyone knows everyone. They also know each others grandmas, fathers, second cousins, brothers-in-law and probably know what you had for dinner last night too. It is the only place that I have been where, when you add a new friend on facebook, you find that you have over 50 'mutual friends', all of whom you've seen in the past month. Going out in the evenings, one is guaranteed to see someone that they know, and if you are doing anything conspicuous, you can be sure that someone will be discussing it over coffee next week. For me it's part of the appeal of Jordan, but also part of the problem.
I love the closeness of the community and how generations intermingle and I love bumping into friends unexpectedly (although when it happens so often, can it really be described as unexpected?). What I hate is the way that people talk about each other. The rheotrical question that comes to mind is, "don't they have anything better to do?". Alas, perhaps the explanation for the incessant chattering is inherrent in the question. While I by no means hold women solely responsible, we are known to gossip more than men, and while the situation of employment of women in Jordan is improving, many do not work. Instead these women honourably devote their lives to caring for their families, but of course, while the kids are at school, or once the maid is looking after them, this leaves a great deal of time for those with a penchant for involving themselves in the lives of others to practice the art of busybodying.
Having left the place I used to call home on my journey across the world, I found some space and time to explore different cultures, lifestyles, communities and myself. Backpacking alone gave me the opportunity to express myself according to the morals that I was brought up with, without feeling pressured to be anything that anyone else wanted me to be. So settling now into a society that expects so much requires some patience. Women here are expected to be inconspicuous at all times, but to represent their family in the highest regard when spoken to, and perhaps more importantly, when spoken of.
Indeed, I have often been referred to as 'my father's daughter' in the West, implying that my father and I have a lot in common, as I have certainly inherited some his most dominant characteristics, but here the expression has an entirely different connotation. My actions reflect upon my family which, for a rather impulsive, headstrong, twenty-something woman, means I frequently have to keep myself in check.
That we, as young ladies, are working is not a problem. It has become acceptable for the women of my generation, espescially pre-marriage, to get a job and make use of the education that our families have invested so much in, but who we are out with and where we are going is monitored at all times to ensure that we are not doing anything 'dishonourable'. Of course, this maintains a protective limitation on the misdemeanors of Arab youth which I admire. But while the guardians of society may have good intentions, the raised eyebrows and idle gossip which passes through society like Chinese Whispers can be tiresome. For me, living alone, my Egyptian porter has attempted to assume the role of my honour-keeper. Forget the Spanish Inquisition - they had nothing on Egyptian interrogation. But seriously, is intefering in the lives of female tenants a standard part of a porter's job description?
I love the closeness of the community and how generations intermingle and I love bumping into friends unexpectedly (although when it happens so often, can it really be described as unexpected?). What I hate is the way that people talk about each other. The rheotrical question that comes to mind is, "don't they have anything better to do?". Alas, perhaps the explanation for the incessant chattering is inherrent in the question. While I by no means hold women solely responsible, we are known to gossip more than men, and while the situation of employment of women in Jordan is improving, many do not work. Instead these women honourably devote their lives to caring for their families, but of course, while the kids are at school, or once the maid is looking after them, this leaves a great deal of time for those with a penchant for involving themselves in the lives of others to practice the art of busybodying.
Having left the place I used to call home on my journey across the world, I found some space and time to explore different cultures, lifestyles, communities and myself. Backpacking alone gave me the opportunity to express myself according to the morals that I was brought up with, without feeling pressured to be anything that anyone else wanted me to be. So settling now into a society that expects so much requires some patience. Women here are expected to be inconspicuous at all times, but to represent their family in the highest regard when spoken to, and perhaps more importantly, when spoken of.
Indeed, I have often been referred to as 'my father's daughter' in the West, implying that my father and I have a lot in common, as I have certainly inherited some his most dominant characteristics, but here the expression has an entirely different connotation. My actions reflect upon my family which, for a rather impulsive, headstrong, twenty-something woman, means I frequently have to keep myself in check.
That we, as young ladies, are working is not a problem. It has become acceptable for the women of my generation, espescially pre-marriage, to get a job and make use of the education that our families have invested so much in, but who we are out with and where we are going is monitored at all times to ensure that we are not doing anything 'dishonourable'. Of course, this maintains a protective limitation on the misdemeanors of Arab youth which I admire. But while the guardians of society may have good intentions, the raised eyebrows and idle gossip which passes through society like Chinese Whispers can be tiresome. For me, living alone, my Egyptian porter has attempted to assume the role of my honour-keeper. Forget the Spanish Inquisition - they had nothing on Egyptian interrogation. But seriously, is intefering in the lives of female tenants a standard part of a porter's job description?
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
An Introduction
Being a single woman, living alone in Jordan is certainly not something I'd recommend to the faint-hearted. Having grown up in the West and having become accustomed to the kinds of freedoms that enable simple tasks such as grocery shopping - by which I mean being able to walk down the street in conservative clothing without every third car hooting "pss... pss... ya helloo" - the reality of living in the Middle East has taken some mild acclimatisation on my part, to say the very least.
Don't get me wrong, being of Arab origin and having had some wonderful experiences in this region, I am a huge fan of Arab culture - the fact that I moved here of my own free will stands as testimony of this, but when rather grubby looking men make noises at me that I have only ever made to 'shoo' away stray cats, I do sometimes find myself questioning the sanity of my decision.
The tiresome bureaucracy, the blatant discrimination and the constant feeling that I am being watched does weigh heavily on my spirit, but for all its downfalls, Jordan remains a beautiful country, full of people that genuinely care for one another, who have a set of manners that only exist in the history books of Western civilisation. Where regardless of the hoots and jeers, women will still be given the front seat on the bus and men help to carry their heavy bags.
A woman's honour is everything here, and society stands to protect it. This comes with pros and cons that I am still discovering, but the clear blue skies and palm trees that line the streets bring joy to each day that I spend here, as do the people that make this region so special. The rest, I just need to take with a pinch of zaater.
Don't get me wrong, being of Arab origin and having had some wonderful experiences in this region, I am a huge fan of Arab culture - the fact that I moved here of my own free will stands as testimony of this, but when rather grubby looking men make noises at me that I have only ever made to 'shoo' away stray cats, I do sometimes find myself questioning the sanity of my decision.
The tiresome bureaucracy, the blatant discrimination and the constant feeling that I am being watched does weigh heavily on my spirit, but for all its downfalls, Jordan remains a beautiful country, full of people that genuinely care for one another, who have a set of manners that only exist in the history books of Western civilisation. Where regardless of the hoots and jeers, women will still be given the front seat on the bus and men help to carry their heavy bags.
A woman's honour is everything here, and society stands to protect it. This comes with pros and cons that I am still discovering, but the clear blue skies and palm trees that line the streets bring joy to each day that I spend here, as do the people that make this region so special. The rest, I just need to take with a pinch of zaater.
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