Excerpt Reprinted with permission from “Female Nomad and Friends” by Rita Golden Gelman. Copyright © 2010. Published by Three Rivers Press/Crown Publishers, a division of Random House, Inc. BUY IT HERE

Being a part of Servas is like having family all over the world. It’s actually better than family. People join Servas because they want you to visit them when you are in their country. Not always the case with family.

interview. Servas charges a small annual membership fee, and travelers pay a deposit for host lists in the countries they want to visit. During the visits, however, no money changes hands.

My first Servas visit was with Gabi and Batsheva in Tel Aviv in 1988. Before the trip, I saw their names in the Israel host book; I wrote asking if I could stay with them when I visited.

They welcomed me as they would an old friend. They fed me, toured me, guided me, and shared their stories as I shared mine. I helped with the cooking and clean- up and bought a meal or a snack here and there.

After only one day we felt so close that we decided their single son, then living in the Dominican Republic, and my single daughter, then living in New York, should marry! Never happened, but we did have fun planning the meeting and discussing the wedding. It was wonderful getting to know them.

Their love for each other made being with them a pleasure. Gabi and Batsheva met in an orphanage. Their parents were killed by the Nazis. During and after the war, the surviving kids were taken from Europe to an orphanage in Palestine.

The two found themselves among the oldest children there and ended up working on the same projects and caring for the younger kids together. They fell in love. Batsheva had a sister, Tova, who was also in the orphanage. I never met Tova, but Gabi and the two sisters shared a special closeness as the only survivors of both families. The sisters meant everything to each other.

As we shared our stories, Gabi, Batsheva, and I developed a special bond. Servas is like that. A level of intimacy is quickly established, and you always leave feeling as though you have made a new friend— or extended your family.

Several years later I returned to Israel for my cousin’s wedding. I called Gabi and Batsheva. Gabi answered the phone. He was excited to hear from me, but he explained that Tova had recently died and Batsheva was devastated. He didn’t think she felt ready for guests. The two women had been incredibly close, he reminded me. I suggested that maybe this time I could take care of Batsheva. They talked it over and decided it was a good idea.

Rita Gelman

I didn’t exactly take care of her, but I did some cooking and a little cleaning; and Batsheva was able to share her happy Tova stories, as well as her pain.

On the second day of my visit, Batsheva received a letter from a Servas friend in Brazil. Claudia had heard about Tova’s death and written a sympathy note. She had included her e- mail address. I offered to write to Claudia on my computer.

In the e- mail I introduced myself to Claudia, and then Batsheva dictated her response while I typed. I left the next day, sad, but pleased that I had been able to help.

Four years later in Argentina, I once again connected with people through Servas. I was staying in my friend Gera’s home in San Miguel, outside of Buenos Aires, so I didn’t need a place to stay, but I wanted to meet people in Buenos Aires. I took out my host list and called a few people. The response was fantastic. Servas members invited me to share meals, parties, and excursions.

After I had met a number of hosts, they told me that a group of them planned on taking a boat across the river the next Sunday to meet Uruguayan hosts. Would I like to come?

Of course. Our two groups got together in the charming Uruguayan town of Colonia and wandered for a few hours before lunch. Everyone wanted to talk a little to everyone else, so two of us would walk and talk for a while, and then we’d switch. The fi rst two Uruguayans I met insisted that I come back as their Servas guest (which I did). I was able to converse with them in Spanish, although they both spoke better English than I did Spanish.

The third person I met asked me not to speak Spanish. “My Spanish is not very good,” she said. “My English is better.”

“But aren’t you from Uruguay?” I asked.

“No, I’m not. I’m from over the border in Brazil.”

It was at that point that we introduced ourselves. “My name is Rita. I’m from the United States.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “I can’t believe it. I’m Claudia.”

Yes, she was that Claudia! We hugged like old friends. And cried. And a month later I was a Servas guest in Claudia’s house in Brazil.

If you’re a traveler and a connector, check it out. It’s an amazing organization: www.servas.org or www.usservas.org.

We invite you to join us on the Female Nomad and Friends virtual tour. The full schedule can be seen at. You can learn much more about Rita Golden Gelman and her work on her website.

Haggling for rugs

OK, so have found yourself in a fabulous Arab bazaar in some hot, sandy and exotic country. It is a maze of twisting alleyways crammed with people and intriguing shoplets selling bright and alluring handicrafts: colourfully decorated carpets, lamps, clothes, leather and metalware.

Trapped in shopping heaven, you almost pass out with excitement. Sweet, musky incense wafts through the air, and as you saunter along in the heat, handsome swarthy men try to entice you into their shops with cheesey one-liners “Madame, can I ask you something…?”

Shopping in an Arab souq is something you have to be in the mood for. Patience and a sense of humour are a necessity or you won’t last 5 minutes. And if you don’t have your wits about you, you may find yourself limping back to your hotel under the strain of five carpets and no money to finance the rest of your trip…and wondering how that all happened when all you wanted to buy was a scarf. You had only asked out of interest how much that lovely rug was….and before you knew it – you had five!

Golden Rule No. 1: don’t ask how much something is unless you want to buy it. If you do ask, you are entering into a “negotiation”- commonly known as “haggling”. Your lovely salesman will enquire how long you have been in his country to see how green (stupid) you are, suss out how many gold rings you have on, and then name an extortionate price. Your jaw will drop and you will gasp in horror.

Golden Rule No. 2: ask yourself how much you might pay for this item back home, look at the quality, and then remember you are buying it at the source. It has not been imported and you are cutting out several middlemen. Think what you would be prepared to pay, and then name a lower price. Now it is your salesman’s turn to gasp in horror and act insulted. Game on!

Haggling is theatrics, and can be a lot of fun if you are patient. Have a mint tea and get comfortable! You will now negotiate with your man, he will try to force your price up with all sorts of sob stories about how business has been bad, how many kids he has to feed etc. You have to invent some of your own sob stories about how little money you have and you saved all your life to get here….remember, keep it fun and encourage humour!

Golden Rule No. 3: Stick to your guns! The Arab salesman always wants to win this game, even if only by a small amount, but if possible, by a huge amount! If the price gets beyond what you are willing to pay…walk away. Better to walk away than to regret it later. If your price was not fair, he will let you go. If your price was reasonable after all, your charming salesman will most likely come after you (he hates to miss a sale), drag you back to the shop, wrap your exotic treasure into a neat package, and relieve you of your cash.

And this brings me to the most important rule, Golden Rule No. 4: both parties should be happy at the end of the transaction – you should be happy with what you paid and the treasure that you bought, and the salesman should be happy with his sale. And thus you will get the lovely scarf you wanted and not five rugs.

By Julie Paterson

Venus Adventures – Global Trips for Women who Love to Travel

My journey started in the capital of Amman. Like any big cities, it is a bustling business centre, a mix of old and new, but not a reflection of the true Jordan. I had arrived very late at night, and slumped into my hotel bed. Suddenly I was rudely awoken at around 3.30am by the dawn chorus of muezzins calling all to prayer. I had failed to notice that my room was right next to the mosque, with loudspeaker aimed at my room! I had to laugh. Yep, my fault for forgetting to put my earplugs in. Welcome to Islam.

Leaving Amman and driving southwest, the next stop was the Dead Sea, a large, lazy-looking, overly-salty lake, surrounded by beige desert, Jordan on one side, Israel on the other. We paid our entrance fees to enter a public beach with shower facilities (very important unless you like feeling like a double-salted chip), dug out mineral-rich mud from the shore and caked ourselves in it and let it dry. Well-baked like two mud pies, we then went for a “float” in the Dead Sea to get the mud off. The water was very buoyant and had a strange, thickness about it – kind of felt like bathing in baby oil. We were careful not to get any of the salty water in our eyes – it stings like mad. But the result when we got out? Skin like babies bottoms…nice!

After our inexpensive and completely natural “spa treatment” we continued on to the town of Wadi Musa. The backdrop of hills innocently hides a most incredible secret – the fabled city of Petra, one of the seven wonders of the world! Walking down the 700m “siq” (gorge entrance) to the hidden rock city of Petra, the mystery builds until finally you catch your first breathtaking glimpse of the Treasury – a huge, elaborate façade carved right out of the rock face. The colours of the rock – swirls of pink, orange, red and brown – are stunning. We spent two days wandering amongst the rocks and hills of Petra, admiring it’s temples, tombs, Roman amphitheatre, sacrificial alter, and monastery. Petra is one of those fascinating places in the world that has to be seen to be believed. Bedouin people that still dwell within this ancient rock town, adding to its charm.

So far we were very impressed with this little country, and the Jordanians had also been welcoming and friendly. It was now time for a little adventure in the Wadi Rum desert. We hired a local Bedouin, Khether, (he spoke no English, and we no Arabic) to take us on camels into the desert overnight. We once again found ourselves wowed by the amazing rich colours of the sand – orange and red – and rising out of the sand, huge rock “jebels” (hills). Another stunning place, I could see why Lawrence of Arabia fell in love with it! Khether brewed mint tea over a small fire, and a delicious dinner was delivered by 4-wheel drive (Arab take-out?). The desert has an amazing calming effect on your soul, and we went to sleep in the wonderful silence. Ahhh – sweet dreams are always guaranteed under the cloak of a romantic Arabian night sky!

For anyone wanting a short, but highly interesting holiday, with lots of variety and plenty of “wow” factor, then Jordan is just the ticket.
It is an extremely satisfying place to visit, feeling like body, soul and mind have been enriched, nurtured and enlightened by everything we did and saw.

Follow the Women - Pedal for Peace in the Middle East

Follow the Women - is a fantastic organisation of hundreds of women from dozens of countries who are committed to peace in the Middle East. From 2004 to 2008 hundreds of women of different nationalities have gathered to pedal through Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Palestine.

I heard about the group, and have only finally managed to go to the website and find out more about it. It was set up in 2003 by Detta Regan who comments: “Women do not traditionally cycle in the Middle East, so the sight of a large female-only group attracts huge interest. I am thrilled that we are getting women from so many different countries joining us on the 2008 ride.”

The ride is aimed at raising awareness of how the spiral of violence in the Middle East is blighting the lives of women and children who often suffer the worst consequences of the painfully slow pace of the peace process. By promoting bicycles as vehicles of peace and freedom of movement Detta says she wants to inspire and empower women to take an active role in the peace process.

Does not look like 2009 has a bike ride, but the organisation continues to work for peace and accepts donations – Follow the Women…

Julie Paterson, Venus Adventures

Julie from Venus Adventures writes: “What! You’re going to Iran?!“ By the way my friends reacted to my announcement that I was going to Iran on holiday, anyone would have thought I had just flung a towel-cum-turban around my head and said that I was off to join Al Qaeda. I assured everyone it was probably an interesting country full of ordinary, nice people…and what if I rephrase that and say I am going to Persia, would that make a difference? Iran was formerly called Persia, but they both conjure up completely different images. Persia – land of flying carpets, exotic places and a certain untanglible Middle Eastern mystique. Iran – religious fanatics and women covered from head to toe in black. I had to see for myself. Thus began my travels accompanied by a Persian rug dealer friend, Nick, and a couple of his Iranian business partners.

My first cultural experience was the compulsory wearing of a headscarf. Now, my only experience with headscarves evolves from my childhood when my mother wore a scarf when she had curlers in. This was definitely not good for my image. On the streets, fashionable young muslim women wore attractive headscarves with quite a bit of hair showing and makeup – they looked chic. I looked like a 1950s Doris Day housewife. The more religious ones wore the black chador, which is kind of like a huge table-cloth thrown over your head and body – it covers all of you except for your face (which probably accounts for why Iranian women have the highest percentage of nose jobs in the world). Chadors are a hassle to wear, but great if you are having a bad hair day or haven’t shaved your legs in weeks – just toss one over your head, and voilà, you’re good to go! There’s something to be said for that, girls! The first time I had to wear one myself was to go to a mosque – I could not help but feel like I was dressed up as a ghost on my way to a fancy dress party!

Iranians, as with most Muslims, are hugely hospitable, and we were well-looked after wherever we went. Whenever entering a home we were always immediately plied with cups of sweet tea drunk from small glasses and a tray of fruit. The simplicity of a typical Iranian home is something I myself aspire too: the lounge usually consists of a room filled with beautiful handmade rugs, and cushions all round the edge of the room for sitting and leaning on. At dinnertime the lounge transforms into the dining room when a plastic tablecloth is laid in the middle of the room on top of the rugs. Out would come a banquet of rice, lamb kebab, plain yoghurt, bread and vegetables – and we would sit cross-legged (great for your stomach muscles) around the food, eating with our right hand from the communal dishes. Sharing food in this way seems to bond everyone – and somehow the food tastes better when eaten off your own hands!

Driving 5000 kms in 10 days we got to see a fraction of this vast country – we traveled through and across deserts, plateaus, and mountains. We visited wealthy urban Iranians in their plush houses and poor rural Iranians in their mud homes, and we saw Qashqaii nomads migrating with their flocks of sheep, goats and donkeys. We drank lots of tea, we bartered for rugs at the bazaars, we puffed on sheesha pipes as we chatted with locals. Western tourists are definitely a novelty, and we attracted a few curious stares, but heck, it was worth it to discover this beautiful and fascinating country.