Here’s a video from one of my fellow choir members, taken at our show at the King Hussein Cultural Center. We were the last five minutes of a two-hour long presentation, but Shireen said that the audience complimented her on it and said that they were looking forward to seeing more. Since the primary purpose of this “mini-show” was to gain sponsorship and attract attention, then it can definitely be considered a success!

In case you’re wondering about that little bit of almost-unintelligible Arabic we stuck in at the end of Ascot Gavotte, I’ve been told that what we’re singing is a bit of an old Jordanian folk song about romance, the woman asking to be taken to Zarqa’ and teasingly calling the man “little boy” (ya Walaad), then the man being insulted and telling her that he won’t take her, then telling her to be quiet, (ay Ooskut). Obviously, the last bit is a play on the fact that the phrase to tell someone “be quiet!” in Arabic is almost the same as the title of the song.

For the first time in a year and a half, I mounted a bicycle today with the purpose of traveling to my place of work instead of for recreation. With the Dead 2 Red just around the corner and a week and a half away, I want to make sure that I’m in the best shape possible. I’ve just finished making a new version of Cycling Jordan’s website, which I will probably unveil in about a week, or whenever Sa’ad tells me to do so. In return, Sa’ad is allowing me to borrow one of his road bikes for my training purposes until the Dead 2 Red, something that I plan on using extensively as often as I can!

Why not make your breathing mask fun? You're going to get stared and hollered at anyway; might as well go all the way.

Biking in the streets of Amman is nothing like biking back when I was in college in Madison. For one thing, you fear for your life a lot more, either from being pancaked into the grille of a Hummer or from being asphyxiated by vehicle fumes. It’s a common joke here in Jordan that most of the heavy transport trucks seen around the city were purchased on the cheap by local companies from Europe because they simply wouldn’t pass European emissions laws. Well, Europe’s garbage is our treasure here in Jordan, I guess, because these smog-belching vehicles from the last century are quite prevalent. Whether you’re on a bicycle or in a car with an open window, you can always tell when one of these beasts is coming up behind you, because somehow they’re so foul that their pollution actually precedes them, causing eyes to water and vision to blur.

Ironically, the opposite quality of vehicle is proportionally just as prevalent in Jordan. There are Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, and Hummer dealerships all within a few kilometers of each other near Mecca Street where Cycling Jordan has its shops, and it seems as if drivers here have a mindset that the nicer their car is, the more right they have to crush you like a bug if you do something as foolish as obey common traffic etiquette rules.

So yes, fearing for my life was how I started out the morning. I had successfully made it back from choir to my house last night, even without my helmet, a light, or any reflective clothes. But that was a 3 minute drive at 10:00 at night when the roads were comparatively empty. My heart sank at the thought of biking 22 KM to work, all the way in Ayn al Basha, and then coming back up the hill. I left home at 10:25 in the morning, but immediately ran into problems when I discovered I couldn’t shift into the lowest gear on my front set. Not a huge deal in the Jebel Amman area with its moderate hills, but there’s a 350 meter climb from Ayn al Basha back into Amman and I knew that would be impossible without that low gear. I decided to head to the shop first to have the specialists look at it.

It was an interesting trip, just like I knew it would be. Amman during the work week is much busier than the silent Friday holy day, and my colorful yellow and green jersey, helmet, and facemask got a lot of stares and calls from peanut gallery. “HELLO WHAT THIS? WHERE YOU GO?” was a frequent phrase bellowed at me from the sidewalk. Bikers here just learn to smile, wave, and ignore everything else… “Polite Indifference” is the best way to deal with gawking hecklers. Then there are the busloads of soldiers who whoop uncontrollably at you, the drivers that play chicken with you, and the aforementioned black smoke following behind 15% of the vehicles on the road. But of course there are the fun parts, like when little children stare at you from their driveways, awestruck, and rush out to the edge of the road, jumping up and down with huge smiles, waving and crying “HELLO! HELLO! HELLO!”

Hussein, the lanky young Egyptian man who manages the shop for Sa’ad, looked me up and down and chuckled as I entered. He’s a wizard with bike maintenance and had the gears readjusted and a new water bottle holder installed in 5 minutes. He asked me where I was heading, and raised his bushy eyebrow when I said I was going down into the Ayn al Basha region. And you’re going to go back up the hill then, too? he asked, to which I merely replied, “insha’allah!”

Of course, the ride down that magnificent hill wasn’t without problems. A hidden pothole got me as I was only a few hundred meters from the bottom of the hill, causing the handlebars to slide downwards a little bit. The bike itself was completely undamaged (although I almost had a heart attack after narrowly avoiding being struck by a manure truck) but I knew that before I would attempt to return up this hill, the handlebars would need to be re-aligned. My coworkers found my getup to be hilarious, especially the mask and shorts. Shorts are an article of clothing that just isn’t worn in Jordan unless you’re a child or on the beach. One of the other teachers asked to buy the bike from me for reasons I can’t fathom (Taher’s never biked a day in his life) and our janitor, Wusam, wanted to know if he could join the Dead 2 Red team.

Khalil drove me back up to the top of the hill in his truck, after Wajih and Aaron derided me for not biking the behemoth instead. “Next time!” I told them, “when the whole bike is working in perfect condition!” The sun was going down by now, and I suddenly realized that just because I was in a desert country in February didn’t mean that it wasn’t February. I was wearing a biking jersey and shorts, and I was cold. Jordan doesn’t usually have much wind chill (or wind for that matter, except for about 50 days in April and May) but that becomes moot when you’re biking down a highway at 30 km/h.

Honestly, regardless of the small mishaps of the day, I really enjoyed re-introducing myself to the practicality of a bike. I joke about how terrifying the drivers can be, but actually they were a lot better than I was dreading. I’ve never biked in New York City, but I imagine that this is how New York would be for bikers if they didn’t have nice things like emissions laws and biking lanes. And the time saving! It normally takes me 50 minutes to walk from 6th Circle back to my house, but on the bike going along the same route I’m able to do it in 15-20 minutes. I’m going to be sad to give the bike back to Sa’ad after the Dead 2 Red is over…but maybe this experience will be the thing that pushes me in the bike-owners category!

It’s been a busy weekend. Dozan wa Awtar had me up early this morning to practice for a special performance tomorrow night at the King Hussein Cultural Center, hopefully to have the choir gain some more sponsors. It’s only a short, four minute show – more like a presentation than anything else – but it will be the first time since I’ve been with Dozan that we’ll be performing a true “show choir” like dance routine for one of the songs. Some of my friends in the choir are a little nervous about that, but of course I’m entirely in favor of this being the first of many! Hopefully we’ll be the smash event at tomorrow’s show.

Bishop Williams greets everyone outside Aheliya's main gates

Besides the morning practice, the exciting event of the day was a visit from Rowan Williams, better known as the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury. As the primary church that I attend here in Jordan is Anglican, this is major event for my fellow congregants, both Arab and expat, and there was a large turnout of about 75 people at the Aheliya Girls’ School next to the church for a meet and greet with the Archbishop. This small amount of people were exclusively invited, there was no public announcement of this gathering, but Pastor Lex let us know a few days ahead of time. That morning, His Grace had held a service at the Baptism Site and placed a cornerstone for a new Gothic-style church funded by HRH Prince Ghazi, who’s apparently an appreciator of that particular type of architecture (who could blame him?). That service was attended by approximately 600, or so I’m told, and tomorrow morning he’s going to be holding a regular Sunday service for the Arabic congregation of the Anglican Church, in the same building that our English congregation meets in the night before.

The last time I had been in the Aheliya School was almost a year ago, when Whitman held the Fiddler on the Roof musical in the school’s auditorium. This is the first time I’d seen the place filled with so many students, high school-aged girls and boys in their best school uniforms to greet the Archbishop and his entourage of purple-robed Bishops from all over the region.

We were all milling about outside, enjoying the wonderful Jordanian February weather, when Bishop Williams appeared, wearing the traditional simple black robe with a purple sash. He looked similar to his Wikipedia pictures – yes, I did do the obvious simple research before meeting the man; I wanted to be able to know which gray-haired gentleman he was, after all – and he and the other Bishops glided towards us easily, chatting amicably and smiling for the half-dozen TV cameras and journalists that buzzed around them. His eyebrows gave him a somewhat owlish appearance, but his manner was immediately warm and empathetic as he greeted us, shaking hands and exchanging a few words with each person before Arab men in gray pinstripe suits gently moved him onto the next group of people.

Inside the building, servers flitted about noiselessly with platters of hot hors d’oeuvres and sweet tarts, as well as juice and the mandatory mouth-scalding Arabic “visitors” coffee. A friend of mine encouraged me to go up and introduce myself to the Archbishop. I replied nervously that I wasn’t Anglican and I wouldn’t know what to say if he suddenly quizzed me on the formation of the Church Doctrine or something!

Archbishop Williams stopped to have a little chat with me...

I shook the Bishop’s hand and introduced myself, saying that I was from America. He smiled and asked me what part, to which I replied Wisconsin. “Really!” he chuckled. “I stayed there a night in a seminary once while I was traveling through America.” Very neat that he’s been to our comparatively-unknown state. I asked him if he’d be able to stop by and visit our English-speaking service after the meet and greet. He shook his head somberly and said that he knew he was going to be in meetings and ceremonies for the rest of the night, but that of course he wished he could. I realized then that when you’re the Archbishop, or the Pope or something, your professional life is nothing but a series of meetings and ceremonies. He patted me on the back in a friendly manner, and then he had moved on to the next group of people waiting for him.

From left to right: the Mayor of Amman, the Bishop of Ireland, and Archbishop Williams

About forty minutes into the gathering, the Archbishop was joined at the front of the room by his traveling companion, the Bishop of Ireland. After being introduced by the principal of the Aheliya school and the Bishop of Jordan, His Grace gave a small speech about his love of Jordan (this being his third visit) and his pleasure that it was always a safe and welcoming country for all Christians, Muslims, and everyone else to enjoy. He made a momentary comment about how he and the rest of the church were very concerned with staunching the flow of Arab Christians leaving Jordan for the West, saying that these original Christians were incredibly important to the stability of the region. I loved listening to his voice, a deep, warm, and musical baritone which must be amazing to hear sermons in. Check out some of the clips with him on Youtube and you’ll see what I mean.

The last thing I saw before I left to go and attend my regular church service across the street was one of the Aheliya students singing a song in Arabic on the stage, of which I only understood the title, Wahtuhnnee, which roughly translates into “My Country.” As I approached the exit, I was passed by a group of black robed and cowled men; members of the Orthodox contingent of Jordan who kissed their Anglican counterparts twice on each cheek. Privately, I wondered why they were so late to the festivities; by the schedule of events the Archbishop was only going to be at the school for another fifteen minutes or so.

I know that the Archbishop is doing a tour of the Holy Land (it seems to be a primary reason for religious leaders of all denominations to visit) and that he’ll be entering Palestine today. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here, Your Grace!

As my fourth training session draws to a close, I find myself at a large crossroads. As my business and personal relationships and friendships here in Jordan grow larger and wider, I also find my urge to travel and see new lands growing stronger at the same time. How can I reconcile the two? I swore to myself back in 2008 that I would only stay in the Middle East for a year, and now in two weeks, it will be a year and a half with no sign yet of a new place to travel to.

My schedule has never been busier, that’s for sure. I just finished the Training for Trainers (ToT) class last week, with much fanfare. I discovered that the Italian government was sponsoring the majority of the cost of the training, much in the same way the United States BPRM is sponsoring most of the regular refugee training. My students finished their one-month course on the 9th, and to celebrate, the Italians threw a gala at the fancy Meridian Hotel in Amman, a suit-and-tie affair to commemorate the graduation of our trainers into new and more challenging curriculum for their students back in Iraq. I had the tie, but not the suit, unfortunately…I was planning on wearing my dishdash like last time but I was nixed on that one.

The entire gala was excellent…several of the other EGT trainers showed up besides myself, like Talal the art instructor, Taher the mobile phone repairman, Imad the car repairman, and Abu Eid the plumber. Wamidh and I both were present as the dynamic Iraqi/American computer repairing duo, and of course the guest of honor was my colleague Jeff, the ToT program facilitator, who decided that he was going to go above the call of duty (giving a speech) and beyond it (giving a speech in Arabic). To clarify, Jeff is not an Arab. The car ride from work to the hotel had a lot more Arabic in it than usual.

The speech went amazingly well, in which Jeff neither sneezed nor panicked (although the provided translator missed a few jokes; I told Jeff that he should have brought Wamidh up there with him but of course that would have been a faux pas since we were guests), and the dinner was delicious. My four students looked their best, and Ali Habeeb (literally Ali the Darling/Lover) even insisted that I take his extra suit jacket and wear it for the occasion. I had told them in class I didn’t have a suit jacket here in Jordan with me, and Ali told me that he had brought an extra one. “Which do you prefer, the gray or the black?” he asked me the day before, and I told him that I didn’t have anything that went with gray, and he happily handed me the black jacket. It’s the Arab way, I tell you – become friends with an Arab, and he or she will literally bend over backwards to make sure that you have anything you could possibly wish for – or that you didn’t even know you’d need!

From left to right: Ali Habeeb, Ali Farouqi, Ashwaq, and Imad

In other news, training for the Dead 2 Red 2010 has begun. It’s going to be tough without Galen with us this year, but I’ve been rejoined by my two friends from last year, Omar and Rami. The two of them work for the Intracom company here in Amman, and not only were they able to find two new members to complete our team, but also single-handedly secure our sponsorship from Intracom. As members of the newly-christened Intracom Cycling team, we’ll be getting all of our entry fees paid for, a transport pickup truck to carry our bikes, a hotel down in Aqaba, and perhaps even matching red-and-white biking jerseys. What style! I’ve never worked with Intracom before, but let me tell you I’m more than happy to be biking with their sponsorship – you guys have got my vote in whatever tech support stuff you do! (and a link from me too!)

Introducing the Intracom Cycling Team 2010

Finally, the title of this blog post – “Yohm al-Huhb.” Literally translated, it means “Day of the Love” which of course is the common Arabic translation for Valentine’s Day. As far as I can tell from the past two years, it’s not celebrated here in Jordan beyond a small percentage. It was kind of a dual-personality day for me. I spent the first half of the day taking ICDL (International Computer Driver’s License) tests at the Baptist School. ICDL is the sole course that I teach over at Whitman, and my students have always found it ironic that I’ve never actually taken the tests that I’m teaching for (my employers figured that my decade or so of experience made up for my lack of certification for some reason) but I was given the opportunity to take the exams through Whitman’s program, free of the regular charge. I elected to take the first three of seven exams all at once today, and performed admirably – 100% on the “Information Technology” section (who would have guessed it), 94% on Microsoft Word (confusing questions that were probably haphazardly translated from Arabic) and 100% on Microsoft Access, which downright shocked me because I’d been spending the past 5 months telling my students to be careful on Access’ trick questions. The latter was the only test I had any worry about at all, and some questions definitely made me sweat. But apparently my diligent reading and re-reading of the questions before clicking anything onscreen paid off with a perfect score. I look forward to sharing my tactics and strategies with my students tomorrow on Monday.

I had purchased packets of Saudi cookies (the Arab-world version of Oreos, really) to give to my students for Valentine’s Day and thanking them for coming in on a Sunday to take a test. I had a few left over, and I walked the 3 kilometers back from the Baptist School to my home. I gave out the remainders of the cookies to random street cleaners and beggars that I saw on the road on a whim. I told them that it was a custom in America that people should give sweets to people they care about, and in my own clumsy way I wanted the less-appreciated people of Jordan’s society to be thanked for their thankless work. Most of the street-cleaners here are Egyptian, and my Egyptian-Arab accent isn’t too good but I hope my message was clear…I was just a strange guy on the street handing out cookies because it was Love Day or something. Not something they see every day, I imagine.

Now that the ToT training class is over, my schedule is back to “normal” which means relaxed mornings in which I can choose the exact time that I need to come into work. Feels good to be back to the schedule I’ve kept since August of last year when I finished my last BPRM/IRD class! Training for the Dead 2 Red is going to be of the utmost importance, though, and I went out and bought breathing filter masks to wear for training here in Amman over the next couple weeks. I’ll borrow Philip’s bike (unused and untouched for the past year on my house’s balcony) and bike to Whitman tomorrow, I think. Will I be able to make it from 3rd circle to 6th circle without either being hit by a cement truck or asphyxiated from toxic diesel fumes? Only time will tell!

Snow! In Jordan! Lots of it! Expect massive delays, stocking up on fuel reserves, and chaos and flooding in the streets! Also…school cancellations!

This is what we residents of Amman were treated to via word of mouth, newspapers, and radio announcements. With all of the talk, you might have thought that the second coming was about to take place. While it’s true any snow at all is cause for hubbub in Jordan, when I got the 6 AM wakeup call from one of the other Whitman teachers to notify me that school was canceled, I was expecting Wisconsin-levels of snow, perhaps piling up outside my window. On the second floor. I exaggerate my expectations slightly here, but when I looked out and saw nothing more than the same dreary drizzle that has been coming down steadily for a week, I had to chuckle a little. Primary schools in souther Wisconsin aren’t shut down unless the principal is knocked out with a hailstone the size of a basketball.

Just because Whitman was canceled didn’t mean that my training lectures in Ayn al Basha would be so lucky. I tried sending a text to Aaron, explaining to Aaron about how bad the weather was, and how I was worried I might step in a puddle and make my socks wet, and he texted back, “nice try.” As we drove north towards the training center, I caught a glimpse of snow on the side of the road and even stuck to the back of one car. It was the first time I’d ever seen snow in Jordan that hadn’t been in a grocer’s icebox.

Several teachers called in to fearfully tell Aaron and Jeff about how dangerous it would be for them to leave their houses now, but Aaron, having also grown up in the Midwest, wasn’t having any of it. Not that EGT could do anything about it anyway, even if we wanted to give the students a day off; we’re bound by IRD’s and ISG’s policies. As Wamidh and I taught our lesson on Windows Server 2008, the pounding roar of the rain on the aluminum roof above us was almost deafening and we frequently had to shout to make ourselves heard. I now understand why people in America use padded shingles on houses. However, we didn’t have to put up with it long. Only a couple hours into the lesson and just before lunch, Aaron stopped by our classroom, clutching a green umbrella to shield from the pounding rain and shouted that both IRD and ISG had made the call and that the students were to be sent home for the day.

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Soon after I returned to Jordan from America, I realized that it was odd that although I’d been in the country for almost a year and a half, I had not yet experienced a traditional Islamic prayer, or sulaah. For how much I’ve talked about trying new things, it should have been much higher on my list of ‘things to do’ than to not joined one of my numerous Muslim friends at prayer. Heck, I ate sheep’s brains for Easter last year before I’d been at a sulaah. I figured it was time to remedy that.

The Masjid (Mosque) minutes after completing the morning prayer. The timing is perfectly coordinating so that the sun’s first light strikes the building as prayer ends

Last week, I stopped by my neighbor Marwan’s supermarket and asked him if I could finally take him up on his offer to join him in prayer at our neighborhood mosque, Masjid Hira’a. His broad bearded face broke into a huge smile and he cried out, “of course you can, Mr Zach!” I sat down at his counter for an hour as neighborhood customers trundled around us, bundled against the January chill. He explained to me that the best “first time” sulaah would be the al-Fajr prayer, which is always timed daily to come directly before the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, wherever you may be. I chuckled inwardly at that; I think that everyone in Jordan, be they Muslim or otherwise, has intimate knowledge of that particular prayer when it’s blasted at the wee hours of the morning. He explained that it was best because it was the shortest; usually no more than 6-7 minutes long. “There is rohkta-tayn; two rohkta,” Marwan told me solemnly. “The other prayers in the day – and you know there are five – are either three rohkta or four. This one better for you, for the first.”

He got out a piece of paper and had me write down the exact method of al-Wudthu, the ritual cleansing that devout Muslims carry out before each of the five sulaah. Then he pulled out a battered old Qur’an with a seamed green cover, caressing it respectfully and gently laying it on a cloth on his counter. He smiled fondly at it, and told me that he had this Qur’an since he was a boy and his father gave it to him. As he opened it to the beginning (starting from the right-side, as Arabic is a right-to-left language), he frowned absentmindedly at some scrawls and scribbles in the margins of the first page that looked like a child had been doodling with a pen. “Is not good, this,” he muttered. “Not respectful to write in the Qur’an this way – I do not know where these come from.” I thought about who might possibly have marked up the Qur’an and then forgotten about it over the years…but of course I just nodded politely.

From his Qur’an, Marwan showed me, and then intoned the Surah al-Fatiha, the most important “chapter” in the Qur’an which the Prophet Mohammad (SAW)* instructed must be read before each and every prayer that is made. The first few lines of the surah, which start with “Bismillah al-raahman, al raaheem,” are a common utterance regardless of the situation, merely meaning “In the name of God, the all merciful and ever-merciful.” The rest was more of a jumble, but sounded quite pleasantly melodic. Technically, music of any variety was forbidden by the Prophet, so the humming chant of the sulaah is really the closest that it gets.

After giving me final instructions on how to carry myself, where to look, how to stand, and what to wear (the latter was pretty much the only thing that he said was up to me; the rest is fairly complex), I took my leave of the supermarket as Marwan happily told me, “As-salaamu alayk, akhi!” – peace be upon you, brother! However, because of scheduling issues and some mix-ups, I wasn’t able to finally attend until just this morning.

I rose at 5:15AM, when Marwan called my mobile and quietly told me to prepare myself in wudthu and meet him at his house gate next to the supermarket at 5:45. In the distance through my window, I heard the “waking adhan” calling all Muslims to arise and prepare, crying out dramatically, “Prayer is better than sleep!” I hadn’t eaten much the night before, and I was careful to avoid any alcohol. I was trying to take “purification” seriously in all things. Technically, even flatulence ruins the purity of wudthu so I didn’t want to take any chances by eating a big meal of falafel and hummous and fuul – three foods which are all made from beans!

The water’s hot and ready and I am awake far too early. Oh well…”prayer is better than sleep” after all…

I put on my blue dishdash robe (this makes the third use of it in a year, I believe) and went into the bathroom with my piece of paper with Marwan’s specific instructions clutched in my hand. I stumbled sleepily on the edge of my flowing robe and banged my caving-sore hip on the door frame – but successfully refrained from saying anything uncouth for the sake of the situation. I stared down at the paper at what I’d written down as the warm water filled the sink in front of me. I took a deep breath, and tried to perform the following as gracefully as possible.

1. Wash each of the wrists, first the right and then the left, with three circular motions
2. Cup water in your right hand, suck it into your mouth, swish it around three times, and spit it out
3. Suck water into your right nostril and then blow it out. Repeat three times. And then repeat with the left nostril (note: this one was really hard to do without coughing and choking)
4. Wipe downwards across the face with upwards-facing palms, from forehead to chin. Repeat three times
5. Using the left hand, wash the right arm from wrist to elbow, inside and out. Repeat three times, and then switch hand and arm
6. Taking some water into palms, run hands from hairline to the nape of the neck and back the opposite way, keeping hands tight to the hair
7. Clean out ears with the tips of each index fingers, from top to bottom
8. Taking some water into palms, run hands from the nape of the neck around to the front of the neck
9. Finally, use the left hand to clean the right foot from the toe to the ankle, carefully cleaning between the toes. Repeat three times, and then switch hand and foot

…I looked down at myself after I had finished this process and realized that my formerly-dry dishdash looked as though I had just purified it of its sins. I was thoroughly glad I wasn’t wearing a white robe instead, and that Marwan told me to just wear my usual leather jacket into the mosque to keep warm and cover the numerous splashes of water I was now covered with. I tried to review the words of the Surah Al Fatiha in my mind, and realized that I might need to a little help here, in case I was quizzed or something. I scribbled “Subhan rubi’ha al-aduheen x3″ and “Subhan rubi’ha al-3la x3″ in tiny letters across my left thumb, but I knew I didn’t have time to write anything else. I glanced at my clock and realized that one thing remained – Marwan had pointed specifically to the silver cross I wear on my neck and said, “You need to take that off when you pray in Masjid; take off all silver and gold.” He explained that it wasn’t because it was a cross, but just because almost all jewelry is forbidden for men. I slipped off the necklace and walked downstairs and and up the street a few meters to wait in front of Marwan’s dark doorway.

I don’t think this is forbidden, but I didn’t exactly advertise it to Marwan either!

I heard his deep voice intone above me from a window, “Zach” and then I heard the thud of sandal-ed feet on the stairs leading towards me and within another moment he was next to me, walking quietly and serenely in sweater, corduroy trousers, and a denim jacket. He smiled a quiet smile and asked me if I was ready for al-sulaah, and I shivered from the morning cold and nodded in assent. Without another word, we joined the flowing, shuffling stream of men next to us in the street and entered the warm glowing gate of the Hira’a Mosque, kicking off our shoes on a small footwear-barrier as we did so.

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