Taxi Service to the Lost Ark
I played Indiana Jones yesterday, climbing and exploring Petra’s large rock facades. The colors of the stones and the movement of the rock as it twists and soars to the sky were unbelievable. I made friends with two little boys trying to sell “taxi” rides on donkeys through the park: “free air conditioning!” was their favorite selling point. As they led me to the best views in the park, pointing out Bedouin camps along the way, they were intrigued with my Arabic and determined I wasn’t a real tourist.
The shared cab ride back to Amman was a typical Arab taxi ride. We stopped about 4 times in what should have been a 2.5 hour ride. First, we went as a cab to fill up the tires with air. Second, we stopped so the driver could run across the street and grab a cup of coffee. Then we stopped so that our driver could go and buy a pastry or two, lean against a pole and sip his mango juice. Finally, made a stop for gas. Every time the driver gets out you become more and more tempted to get out too. Heck, we would have loved a pastry! Yet you never know if the joy of food outweighs the danger that the driver will jump back in and take off before you’re back in the car. For safety’s sake, we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until our renegade driver comes back. It was a typical cab drive for the Middle East.
At one point, the road was blocked off and we were forced to take a detour. Our driver took the detour for about 1 minute, to get around the rope I persume, before off-roading back onto the highway. When we passed the police they raised their hands in exclamation and blared their horn but we kept on cruising. They didn’t follow us and we managed to make it through the construction zone without incident. Thankgoodness. When we hit the sterets of Amman, the true Arab driver came out. All speed limits were tossed to the wind as our driver screeched through corners and flew across speedbumps throwing us into the air and dropping our stomachs like a rollercoaster. Ah, now the driving felt familiar to Bethlehem!
This cab only had a dice hanging from his rear-view mirror. In Bethlehem District, your declared identity via your mirror decorations is very important. You can always tell if your driver is a Christian or a Muslim by the paraphernalia they twist and wind around their mirrors. Some of their taxi lights say “Jesus!” on the back: everyone wants you to know where they stand on the religious spectrum. They may not even be that religious, but it is ‘important’ you know their affiliation. Everyone, no matter what they believe, has the hand of Fatima or a Fatima lanyard in the mix. The hand of Fatima is supposed to ward off the evil-eye. Here, even a lot of the Jewish population in Israel will wear it or have her emblem somewhere despite the fact she isn’t technically kosher. It’s almost ironic, the blatant declaration of religious affiliation, because religion isn’t a topic of conversation that is socially acceptable in Bethlehem. Friends are friends— they may know one is a Muslim and the other is a Christian— and they will talk about everything under the sun except religion. It’s taboo. Among the younger crowd, the late teens and twenties, the tension between Muslims and Christians seems more evident and fights will often break out. It’s a huge problem for the future of Palestine. If they ever become a viable state all of the religious tension that was once swept under the rug will surface and explode.
