In the spring of 2013, I left on an exchange term “Erasmus” to Madrid to partially fulfill a graduation requirement, partially to travel Europe, and above all, immerse myself in the culture and language of Spain. What resulted was nothing short of a revolution in terms of a changed mindset as well as outlook on life. This is a reflection penned in 2013, after my first term abroad.

Reflections on an Exchange Abroad

As I sit on an airplane homeward bound, I think back on the wonderful journeys and countless memories produced from my five months living in Madrid, Spain. I arrived alone, and while I knew others in my program, the entire progression towards Europe was done solely on my own. As the taxi pulled up, and let me off at Calle de la Princesa 69, I knew not what would lay in store for me, only the fact that I had entered a brand new world, halfway across the globe, with only the couple Marquette students along for the ride. As I rang the buzzer, I was greeted with a “¿Sí?” and a ring up. Little did I know that this apartment, found via a local website and no interaction with the residents other than the landlord, would quickly turn into the best experience of my life.

Upon my departure, if asked if I believed that this trip would change my life, it most likely would have been met with a “no idea”, and a scoff. I was only concerned with making my way to Madrid, and simply going from there. I had heard many tales of life-changing experiences, and to me, they seemed more fable, or rather an idea, than a tangible outcome. Sure, there were aspects of life in Spain that I bought into from the beginning, such as tapas, bullfighting, and the siesta, to name a few. However, these thoughts were more aligned as mirages, rather than in actuality. Spain, in my mind, was a romanticized ideal, and I was keen to experience it for myself. Not twenty minutes after my arrival at the flat, and meeting a few of my amazing roommates, I met up with five other students, all of who had arrived before me. As soon as the first night culminated, with tapas and admiring the Palacio from the viewpoint of the Parque del Oeste, I could sense this semester was going to be something special.

There’s an expression in Castellano, no pasa nada, which translates to “don’t worry about it”, or, “it’s all good”. This statement seems to express life in Spain, as well as Spaniards, to the fullest. Everyone is relaxed, without working too hard on menial tasks, or even sweating the small stuff. Even the siesta is designed as a break in the workday, where citizens, businesses, and customers close for a few hours mid-day, to kick back and enjoy life, without focusing too much on the labor of daily life. Five of my roommates, from Murcia, Andalucía, and Extremadura, always made time to lie on the couch, watch TV, or simply discuss life and daily musings. I believe that this phrase, if one was necessary, best sums up my abroad experience here. Don’t worry about homework too much, or whether or not you have amply prepared for an exam or presentation. Take life day by day, and don’t focus overtly on the future, except of course, if one is planning trips. Instead, take a stroll through a nearby park, wander and get lost in many of Madrid’s winding backstreets. Get off at a random Metro stop, try tapas you haven’t the faintest idea of what they are, and simply be spontaneous. You’ll never remember all the hours put in on schoolwork, but you will recall the experience of toasting a crisp glass of Manzanilla with the ghost of Hemmingway, in a back alley tavern that hasn’t changed since the days of the Republic. On a whim, go travel to a county or city you have never heard of, especially since Ryanair offers cheap flights to many “where is that?” destinations. Get out of your comfort zone, it will make your time abroad much more memorable and enjoyable.

Speaking of travelling, do it. I can’t speak for the experiences of everyone, but travel will change a person. If someone asks you to go somewhere, see a sight, adventure into unknown territory, don’t ask “why”. Rather, ask “when”, as you may experience life-changing situations, such as getting rocks thrown at your group by an angry goat herder in the Rif Mountains of Morocco, yelling at us in Arabic the entire time.

Travel makes you stronger. Not just financially with budgeting, but also mentally and physically as well. You learn how to pinch pennies, to make your wanderlust dreams a reality, and to complete journeys never previously imagined. You learn how to overcome obstacles, especially when those obstacles include a fifty km/hour head wind, snow, and vertical ascension up a mountain, all while wearing running shoes. Missed busses and trains become mere afterthoughts, as there is always a new opening that comes with those missed. Everyone makes timing mistakes, so consider them advantages, as by calling an audible on travel plans can open new cities for the taking and stories for the telling. Overall, you become adapt at dealing with new and unfamiliar situations in new cities and countries.

While travelling, I have seen glorious and grandiose sights, completed hikes and treks never previously thought possible, and truly immersed myself in the culture of Spain, as well as Europe in general. I’ve hiked above majestic fjords in Montenegro that rival those in Norway at one-third of the price, perused still-visible scars of war littered across buildings in Bosnia, been mystified for hours by the magic of Granada’s Alhambra, and lazily lounged on the rocky beaches of Croatia’s azure blue Dalmatian Coast. I’ve witnessed ancient Italian costume and hedonism to match in Venice’s Carnevale, took a leisure weekend in Lisbon complete with Vinho Verde, and stood inside Imperial Rome’s gladiator rings, amphitheater, and Templo de Diana in Mérida. I’ve climbed the Rock of Gibralter, Mt. Teide in Tenerife, and done hikes in the Rif Mountains, Balkans, and the Alps. And perhaps the most spur of the moment action yet, buying a rail pass with three good friends and riding the rails, making stops in classical Munich, fairy-tale Prague, cutting-edge Berlin, picturesque Amsterdam, expensive Geneva, and Antwerp. I’ve wandered aimlessly through Islamic architectural splendor in the Moorish Alcazars, Alcazabas, Mezquita and gardens, as well as admired the vast masses of powerful European cathedrals all over Spain. I’ve watched in awe at the dance of the torero and toro, in the bullfighting ring, and experienced solo backpacking, couchsurfing, and hitchhiking, all in one trip. And finally, I’ve trekked to the castles of Disney inspiration, in Segovia’s Alcazar and Munich’s Newschswanstein, to be rewarded with sublime views and well, even better photos. Travel is completely what one makes it, and instead of hitting the first-timer favorites of Rome, London, and Dublin, go check out Cinque Terre, Dubrovnik, and Istanbul, to name a few. You’ll be rewarded with authentic cities, cheaper prices, far less tourism, and exquisite food, in addition to experiences many dream of, but far less accomplish. Take the road less travelled, and it will make all the difference in your travel experiences. While I cannot claim to not visiting popular destinations, I believe that one will have a richer trove of voyages and photos to match by going off the path.

Naturally, as a result of one’s travels, they will uncover certain pre-dispositions and favorite experiences, cities, food/drink, and accommodations. Instead of spending too many days in Barcelona, head west to see País Vasco, Asturias, Cantabria, and Galicia, all of which will provide an extremely authentic experience and delicious seafood with half the tourists. The best jamón comes from Extremadura, and the best Sidra comes from Gijón, but only pouring it correctly, with the bottle over your head and the glass below your waist angled away from you, will yield the proper results. Lose yourself in the tapas, pintxo, and cervecería culture that ever so entwine Spain. Experience la vida madrileña by going out at 2, catching the metro home at 6, and sleeping until 1 or 3. Even though these tips relate directly to Spain, they can account for any study abroad trip.

Soon, you’ll be so enveloped in the culture, that your new city will become a second home, with your roommates as family. For me, Madrid is and will always be my home away from Marquette and Whitefish Bay, because of the experiences accumulated here. For those interested in study abroad, I have one piece of advice. Do it. Don’t ask why; instead, look at when, and how. If you have any doubts at all, just go for it. Immerse yourself for a month or five in a foreign country, and have the time of your life. Don’t live with any regret, only go all in on the program and reap its rewards, in personal growth and travel experiences.

So, as my trip has come to a close, I have thanks to give. Thank you to my parents for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime, to the incredible friends and wonderful people I have met during my stay in Europe, and to my roommates to being a family to me, 4200 miles from home. Finally, thank you to Madrid for being such a welcoming and inviting host, and for changing my life. If there were one generic phrase to describe study abroad, it would be the same one adorned on the many advertisements Marquette uses. Arrive as you are, depart transformed. My duration in Madrid has most certainly transformed my life, to making me more worldly by experienced multiple cultures, improving my Spanish, and finally, giving me the wanderlust to traverse many more of Europe’s corners. There’s a saying in Castellano, hasta luego, which means goodbye. However, this is in reference to seeing the person or place sometime in the future. So hasta luego Madrid and Europe, I’ll miss you, but will see you soon. Maybe not the following year, but my return is inevitable. Until next time,

 

Alec

When telling coworkers, friends, and family about upcoming trips, one of the first questions to be asked is “who are you going with?”. Alongside “is it safe” and “how long will you be there for”, companionship is almost always assumed when visiting a new destination. Groups of 2,3, or countless more are becoming the norm. But how is that beneficial for personal growth and exploration? Solo travel is the only way to go. Traveling on your own schedule, with only your tastes accounted for, going alone brings a freedom so sweet it has to be experienced to be believed.

In certain cases, having a travel partner is necessary – hiking, road trips, camping, and mountaineering, to name a few. However, this revolves around general security and not dying alone in the wilderness. It makes sense to have a companion out in the forest. City breaks, less so. Generally, most people traveling together will have their differences, leading to at least one complication or disagreement where someone sacrifices their desires for either group harmony or for the sole benefit of the other. Interested in avoiding said conflict? Don’t go with anyone.

The irony about traveling solo is even though you may be by yourself, you’re never truly alone. This forces you outside of your comfort zone, to talk to strangers, hostel mates, bartenders, and everyone in between. Ergo, you make new friends quickly; perhaps with some you develop closer relationships or travel more together. The quickest way to eviscerate boredom is by conversing with everyone around. This may lead to a lengthy chat, free food and drink, an invitation to their home for dinner, dance lessons, and more. Leave all inhibitions at the door, for they can unlock new experiences never previously thought possible. If you happen to get sick of the same group, there’s no obligation to continue. Get on a bus or train to a new locale and continue the cycle of meeting new people. Traveling solo is a win-win scenario and although it could seem scary initially, over time, this fear will evaporate and be replaced with confidence and the knowledge you can handle whatever the open road brings.

You can end up befriending a motorbike driver in Vietnam and celebrating his daughter’s birthday with his entire family. You can crash/be invited to joining a private family party in the deserts of southern Jordan, and hitchhike the way back to the capital with secret police and a friendly trucker. You can experience the thrill of opening up the throttle on a motorbike on a fresh road, dodging cattle and other wandering livestock. The opportunities for immersion are endless. As an individual, people are more accommodating, and I can say with certainty that some of these experiences would not have taken place had I been with a group.

Naturally, this style of travel can be difficult. It’s not perfect; in fact, potential issues can arise. The main culprit is loneliness – having to eat alone, not having that secondary safety blanket of a constant companion, figuring out transit and directions by yourself, and lacking someone to bounce stories and jokes off of all the time. Giving up security for freedom is the sacrifice that solo travelers make time and time again. For those inclined to taking pictures of themselves, continually asking strangers can be anxiety-provoking, tiring, stressful, or a mix of all three. It’s not easy, being reliant on yourself 100% of the time and having the strength to push through unknown situations, without the guise and assistance of another. Willing yourself out of bed, pushing on to new locales is not always simple. There’s no one to motivate you or drag you kicking and screaming to whatever comes next. Granted, linking up with other travelers is always on option, but everyone parts their separate ways eventually. There will always be a time where you will be on your own, not knowing the language, confused, tired, and hungry, needing to fend off whatever lies at the destination. Solo travel tests your patience and sanity. But you’re stronger as a result of continuing on.

When you travel alone, something will go wrong. I can speak on numerous counts of food poisoning, being hassled by a street gang, getting scammed, potentially dangerous modes of transit, near-death experiences, getting lost too many places to count, sickness, and more. You’ll require a day of replenishing fluids and rest from ingesting a durian smoothie gone bad. You’ll wipe out in traffic turning into your first intersection on a motorbike. You may even nearly lose your passport to the Amazon, by bringing it tubing. Not everything is rosy. Some moments you’ll wish for a partner/group and other times. the feeling of being alone is too great and you’ll want to give up. The wild roller coaster known as independent travel shows the highest of the highs, but can crash to unimaginable lows. And for that reason, we strap in and brave the twists, turns, loops, and drops. For experiences and freedom, for owning our path, and for paying the consequences, we keep on.

“We travel not for trafficking alone;
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand” – James Elroy Flecker

These lines to me personify the essence of independent travel. Though planes and hostels have taken the place of horses and caravanserai, voyaging by oneself in search of knowledge, experiences, and personal development truly encapsulates the adventures and struggles undertaken when alone. It’s not perfect. It’s not painless. And it’s certainly not always comfortable. But traveling solo is a bug. Once hooked, it’s almost impossible to plan with a group. So run with the bug, don’t focus on the potential of others joining you. Go alone. Grow as a person, get beat down, and rise stronger than ever before. It’s not easy. But it’s the most worthwhile adventure you can undertake.

 

For months, weeks, days, or even hours, a tight packing list is essential. Even more so, for the benefit of one’s back and shoulders, is selecting the proper backpack. This references trips that will last a few hours, days, weeks, or months. Packing lists should be similar and adjusting for duration is not a Sisyphean task. As I abhor taking a wheeled suitcase for any trip that isn’t business-related, everything listed will revolve around the ability to stay stuffed into a backpack. Hauling gear over dirt roads and cobblestone streets is difficult and counter-intuitive and when one or more of the wheels break, having a backpack is infinitely easier. Additionally, as many accommodation options won’t have a lift, so weight distribution on your hips and shoulders is much less taxing than picking up a massive checked bag and carrying it up numerous flights of stairs. So for the sake of strain and packing efficiency, strap on a backpack.

Most airlines will allow hand luggage of backpacks, as long as they aren’t oversized. While exact sizing will vary by model and manufacturer, a good balance of size, weight, packability, and comfort will be between 35-50 liters. Some people can function with less, but this seems to be a good size for trips of anywhere from 24 hours to 24 months. In the US, REI is gold standard for pack shopping. Osprey, Kelty, REI, and Gregory make excellent products. In Europe, Decathlon makes them as well, but their backpacks are of lesser quality. Deuter is a popular German brand that is frequently seen on the road, and doubles as an outstanding hiking companion. My current accompaniment is a Kelty Redwing 50. For hiking, overhead compartment, city walks, and the like, it’s perfect.

For backpacks, there are two design options. A top-loader and a panel-loader. A top loader is best for hiking and camping, as it’s designed to hold a tent, stove, pans, and other backpacking gear. The frame and suspension system are well designed, making these types of packs extremely comfortable. They are shaped like cylinders, with a bevy of straps, loops, and lashes to hold items that take up unnecessary space inside. In addition, many come in bright colors to be seen from a distance. Will this type work well if your trip consists of wild camping, mountain hikes, and cooking outside? Absolutely. How about on a week-long trip to Berlin? Well yes, but there are are better options. As hiking packs are sized to hold their gear vertically, they often become much taller than carry-on standards permit. Also, some have a trampoline mesh panel on the back, which curves the frame to mimic a spine, reducing internal carrying capacity. Finally, having to reach in and dig around for every small time without universal access is going to drive someone crazy, whether over time or immediately. The solution? Get a panel loader.

Panel loaders are seen less frequently than hiking packs, but are overall better for traveling. Some, like the Redwing 50, have a suspension system that is built for hiking, so only minimal comfort and stability are sacrificed for the other benefits brought by a top loader. Panel loaders have zippers that extend either all or most of the way around the body, for easier access to what’s been packed. Extra features may include: lockable zippers, attached rain cover, elastic water bottle pockets, laptop sleeve, hydration port, and a separate compartment for a sleeping bag, shoes, or dirty laundry. Most important however is a frame and waist belt/sternum strap combination for weight transfer. The most effective packs will keep the weight off your back and shoulders, and place it on your hips, for improved stability. This allows the backpack to worn comfortably for excessive periods of time when walking around cities, as compared to transiting everywhere via taxi. Kelty and REI’s packs do this very well, unlike Osprey’s travel line darlings Farpoint and Porter. Finally, no matter which pack is purchased, torso sizing is essential. I went through 5 backpacks before at last keeping the Redwing 50. My torso is longer than what is offered by the majority of products, which reduces weight transfer and can make carrying the pack an extremely uncomfortable affair. The solution? Get measured at a dealer, load the pack up with slightly more weight than normal and walk around the store. If you can’t handle 10 minutes strapped up, how are 10 months or 10 weeks going to feel?

As in life, backpacks are not cheap. A good one will cost between $100-300, depending on the make, model, size, sale, and activities. They should be thought of an investment – if treated properly, can survive years of abuses thrown at it by the open road. Pick a neutral color – black, navy, or grey – and keep the details to a minimum. Lock your zippers and keep a sack handy in less-traveled areas. Although pickpocketing and theft can never be 100% prevented, you just need your gear to be less desirable than its companions. Translate that statement to keeping it in a rain cover, or toss it into a potato sack for commuting in rural confines within the developing world. Your backpack will take a beating – dust, being thrown around, crammed into non-existent bus storage space, and stained from various food and drink. It will be with you every step of the trip; do not skimp.

Outside of a packing list, which is already posted on the page, everyone has a few additional items they do not leave home without. For survival or general amusement, here are my extras: carabiner, moleskine notebook and pen, sleep sack, eye mask, paracord, water bottle, locks, travel towel, and tiger balm. The carabiner secures the pack; ditto the locks, the notebook for general information and stories, a sleep sack for less then savory accommodation/extra warmth, eye mask for sleeping in transit, paracord to secure again the pack and a host of other uses, a water bottle for transit hydration, a travel towel to not have to ruin a shirt, and tiger balm as a cure-all for bites, bruises, bump, and other tropical mishaps.

As far as actual packing goes, there are two ways: roll, and fold. I roll, to save space. It may cause more wrinkles, but airing your shirts out will solve that problem. Besides, traveling is tough on clothes – don’t bring ones you would be heartbroken to destroy, because it will happen. Your clothes will accumulate sweat, dirt, blood, sauce stains, grease, and mud, not to mention will smell quickly of whichever animals are in the vicinity. You can wear natural fibers and synthetics, like merino, tencel, and polyester to absolve a bit of the damage. Merino is known for being naturally anti-microbial and wicks sweat. It dries quickly and can be worn several times before washing. Yes, I’m aware I smell after wearing the same shirt for three days straight. Get over it.

All in all, packing and purchasing for a trip is a whirlwind of emotions at once – stress, joy, panic, and elation. Hopefully, it’s made slightly easier now. Go out and pick up a pack; your journey is just beginning.

 

 

Snake Village – No, this isn’t Indiana Jones’s worst nightmare. Rather, it’s a small suburb a quick cab ride away from Hanoi, Vietnam, known as Le Mat. In 7km, or about 15 minutes, you too can find yourself staring down one of the deadliest reptiles in the world – from a plate. Famous for having multiple restaurants that serve serpents in various forms, the locale is a haunt for both the Vietnamese and tourists alike. Naturally, the chance to devour yet another exotic animal was too good to pass up, and I hopped in a taxi to check off another piece of the animal kingdom.

Rather nondescript in appearance, several restaurants dotted the backstreets. Le Mat seemed another residential area, with denizens going about their everyday lives. I selected one restaurant that advertised itself on a billboard with a large image of a King Cobra. Into the abyss, here we go.

After entering, I was pulled off to the side by the owner, who gave the price per snake. King Cobras are the most expensive, due to the difficult and deadly task in capturing and removing their venom. Grass snakes are the other option. The latter was my choice, as a result of not having enough Dong to afford the cobra. The snake handler looked slightly relieved. Several wire cages lined the walls, filled to the brim with writhing snakes of various sizes. He confirmed the grass snake, showing arms that were covered in scars, bruises, and bite marks. Plunging his three-fingered hand into the cage with the grace of a dancer, the handler pulled out an enormous snake, about 4 feet long. “Now, we start” he smiled a toothy grin. The traditional way to start the feast is to take a scissors to the snake’s head, cutting it clean off, then using the same pair to cut open its stomach lining. The heart and blood are squeezed into a shot glass, which is promptly slammed. The still-beating heart and blood is said to improve virility, ever-enhanced by the excessive taste of iron.

To complement the taste of snake, a special concoction is prepared. This turns 6 shot glasses each filled with the snake’s blood and bile. The bile tastes exactly as you think it does. Not much longer after, the chef emerges with a feast of snake – no less than 8 separate dishes. Imagine a selection of tapas / small plates, but all snake-related. Spring rolls, salad, fried snake skin, soup, rice, porridge, and spare ribs were included. Surprisingly, snake tastes like chicken. If you can get past the imagery you’re dining on a tasting menu of Snakes on a Plane, it’s well worth the experience.

Not able to finish the serpentine banquet, I was left with several shot glasses worth of the blood and bile. In the spirit of leaving no crumb behind, I vowed to finish them off. Drinking is always easier (and more socially acceptable) in groups, so I picked up a shot of bile, turned to the trio of Vietnamese diners behind my table, and cheers’d them. They looked puzzled, but broke into wide smiles and they raised their beers to match my bile. Not thinking anything of the matter, I turned around to stomach the remaining six pack of misery. Promptly, the server tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the aforementioned trio. They waived me over. As I got to the table, one excitedly yelled to the server, who went for a round of beers for the now four musketeers. Them speaking no English and myself zero Vietnamese, we introduced ourselves with a mixture of yelling and charades. Suddenly, the server reappeared with a tray full of beers, as they grabbed one each, handing me an ice-cold Saigon. Much more appealing than either blood or bile. We raised the beers and chanted in unison “Mot, Hai, Ba, yo! (1,2,3 cheers). We clinked beers and in one swoop, chugged the entire bottle. Despite promptly forgetting each other’s names quickly and no chance of meeting up in the future, this small window into the life of local culture was eye-opening.

After the fact, the trio took around one hundred photos of us together. In Vietnam, whiteness is correlated with success and greatness. Having paler skin means that one is less likely to work in the rice paddies, and don’t need hard labor to make ends meet. As a result, you’ll see women and men clothed head-to-toe in track suits, umbrellas, and face masks during the heat of summer to prevent tanning. In addition, having white, western friends is seen as social capital. The photos were likely meant to show their friends they had a white friend, but I like to think they truly enjoyed the encounter. Vietnamese views on skin tone are interesting, especially when compared to those in the West. Tan skin shows leisure time, not being constricted to office work all day, and is valued whereas the opposite is true farther East. Whitening lotion is sold in stores and yes, actually makes ones skin lighter. I bought some by mistake and after turning my palms the color of whipped cream, promptly threw it away. But I digress. Being able to share a toast with natives, them generously buying the beers, despite zero shared language, is something to cherish forever. Being friendly and slightly inquisitive will open doors.

All in all, the Snake Village is worth a visit. Even though it may be viewed as a tourist attraction versus a culinary hotspot, the chance to eat an entire snake and take part in cultural lore breeds an authentic experience. Always know the local phrase for cheers and be friendly – you never know to where a shot of bile will lead.

 

 

Before arriving to Jordan, a friend had messaged me, relaying that Faisaly, the most successful club in JPL history, was playing the league-winning match my first weekend in Amman. As a massive football fan, the chance to see not only another team play, but potentially clinch the league also, was a chance to not pass up. Before even seeing them play, I had to overcome several obstacles to even enter the stadium.

As he was getting tickets, I was sent the address of a large shopping center in Amman, close to the stadium. Taking a taxi was the easiest course of action. After hailing a taxi and knowing the going rate from downtown to the mall was around 3 JD, the driver and I made charades small talk. This was due to the fact that his English was as extensive as my Arabic. That’s to say, nearly non-existent. As some drivers will often make fares up to scam travelers, I insisted on using the meter. This was to be the start of an expensive journey. After not more than 10 minutes, the driver pulled over and showed 14 JD – around 20$. Arguing in English wasn’t working, as I realized he had sped the meter up x4 and was blatantly scamming me. Empty threats to the police weren’t working either, so I gave him 10 JD – 3x the normal cost – and got out of the car. He continued to yell, but understood no more money was to change hands. So he sped off, my wallet lighter than intended.

The mall was smaller than commercial centers back home, and was air-conditioned, a nice change from the heat. As I didn’t have a Jordanian SIM card, I pantomimed making a call to several locals in football kits passing though, as an attempt to reach my friend. No response. Even turning off airplane mode and sending messages from a US SIM – nothing. With the game close to starting and him nowhere in sight, I began slightly panicking. We hadn’t agreed on a set time, just the mall, and not even a specific stall. I opened the wifi network and none were open. However, one near the top was named “12345678”. Taking a shot, I entered the same numeric key, and somehow got access. After that, a quick facebook message and confirmation brought my friend over. He had gone to buy tickets in person, and the long wait impeded his arrival time. Nonetheless, we had tickets and scarves, as we set out towards the pitch.

Unlike football stadiums in the West, alcohol isn’t sold in their Jordanian counterparts. Furthermore, women are not allowed inside. We picked up a few snacks for the game – off-brand chips, Coca-Cola, and sandwiches. Back home, the pre-game meal would’ve consisted of numerous beers, burgers, and hot dogs. Not quite the same in the Middle East.

Arriving to the stadium, we pushed our way through the crowd, and made our way to the section. Plastic bottles were not allowed inside, so out went our snacks. Shame. In the sun, behind the home goal, with a perfect view of the pitch, we took our seats. As the only foreigner in the side, if not the entire stadium, locals took numerous photos with our small group. One clearly out his element, sunburnt, non-Arabic speaking tourist amongst groups of Jordanians young and old, congregating to support their club. Countless “welcome to Jordan” and “Faisaly good?” sprouted around me, with locals practicing whatever English they knew, regardless of fluency. Regardless of language, we we were able to understand the game. Football doesn’t need a common language – it is one.

Local fanfare was quite similar to games back in the US. Waving flags, singing songs, yelling insults at the other team, and dressing in your teams’ colors seem the same the world over. In Jordan, instead of beer, vendors would sell cups of water. As there was no shade, these vendors would make quite a handsome profit every game. Also, it was single-sex. Zero women were present at the game, something unfamiliar in the West. Albeit peculiar, it made for a communal bonding experience for the throngs of men in the crowds. My friend demonstrated a few local chants and customs, to be able to get more connected with the game.

The site The New Arab posted a match summary, as follows:

On top, Al-Jazeera, Al-Faisaly and Al-Wehdat fought for the title. Al-Jazeera, who led the league all season, played Al-Ahli in Zarqa, while Al-Faisaly, hosted the lowest-ranked Sahab squad.

The Blue Eagles of Faisaly needed to defeat the minnows from Irbid by more than two goals, all while hoping Jazeera would lose points or win by only one goal.
Sahab, fighting relegation, desperately needed to defeat Faisaly at the Amman International Stadium. But 20 minutes after kick off it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. Faisaly were 2-0 up by halftime, with goals from Polish forward Lukasz Simon and his Libyan strike partner Akram Zuway.

On the other side of the city, meanwhile, Al-Jazeera couldn’t get even one shot in on goal in the first 45 minutes against Al-Ahli. As the afternoon went on, Zuway secured the title for Faisaly with a second goal and an assist completing a famous 4-0 victory, condemning Sahab to relegation.

Cue balloons, celebrations, kuffiyehs adorning the heads of the winners, songs, tears, and general feelings elation. Faisaly had won the league. And in the midst of the madness, stood one sunburned, joyful foreigner. Repeating words and songs I knew not the meaning of, accepted as a fan by the general masses, today was to celebrate the league champions. And celebrate did the fans, streaming down Amman’s streets with flags, horns tweeting, a sense of general relief and excitement. As we exited the packed rows, one question was asked. “Did you have fun?”. Second to El Clásico, the most I’ve ever had.