So a bus came and rescued our stranded group of bus riders somewhere in the deserts an hour north of Petra, leaving the first, tired vehicle behind. We arrived in Amman at 9:30, an hour later than we might have. At this possibly inconvenient hour, I had to reach out to my friends, and I knew not how.
First of all, "friends" is a loose definition. Natalia, a classmate and freshman dormmate of mine back in Durham, was to be my lovely host. We were never BFFs or anything, but had hung out and seen each other around, played the occasional facebook tag, and she even hugged me upon my graduation. She was there along more so to congratulate the other half of my hosting party, Khaled, her longtime gentleman companion. Khaled's family is from Jordan (as a trio, we cut quite an international grouping: a Ukranian-born American citizen and a Jordanian-born Canadian citizen, hosting an American born citizen whose family consists of Jews from Russia and who is living in Israel; it made for fun when we thought up morbid headlines as we wandered into shadier parts of Amman. But I precede the plot...), and as such it was a reasonable landing place for them in the hazy phase of post-college life that most people lamely call "the real world."
85% of the previous paragraph comes from information I garnered after meeting up with them. Before that, I was armed with most of my knowledge about Natalia, the invitation she extended me (initiated, by the way, by a certain memorable entry in this here blog), a mobile phone number, and uncertainty over whether they were available to host me that night, as our facebook discussions before I started the trip only confirmed Tuesday night. I knew of Khaled but hadn't formally met him. While I was pretty sure things would work out, strength would not be the word to characterize my position.
I stepped out into a clear Amman night, my back sore, my feet sore and dirty. I knew little, except that I needed a phone. And that the Arabic middle-aged male greeting me as I got off the bus would ask me the following question.
"Need a cab, mister?"
He asked it.
"I need a phone first," I said. Perhaps not amazingly considering the potential for JDs at the end of it, the man lent me his phone. After some confusion over how to dial the number (i.e. with 0 or not), and then some busy signals and Arabic deciphering on his part, we got through. The man talked first, and then upon confirming that someone was there, gave the phone to me.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello," a male voice greeted me.
"Is this Khaled?" I asked, shelving the "My, Natalia, how Amman has changed you," alternative remark.
"Yeah."
And we were off. (Aren't my dialogues always riveting?) After some thinking, we decided the best move would be for me to take a cab straight to his parents' house, where they were living. Khaled told the cab driver how to get there, and he took me there with no problems. We saw a car crash at an intersection unfold in front of us: one driver driving on the left side of the road, who received heavy yelling from the two guys in the other car. We avoided similar hijinx, arrived at Khaled's house, and after another couple minutes of phone calling and wondering whether this was the place, Khaled emerged from a gate. I tipped the cabbie for the ride/phone, introduced myself to Khaled, and all was well.
There's not much of a narrative to tell from here, but a few descriptive elements are worthwhile. For example, going into the trip I was worried about Ramadan, and the implications of eating in public during daylight when the general population fasted. Petra was of course a tourist-happy exception to that rule, and I didn't make it into Jordan before sunset Sunday, but surely Tuesday I would have to face that.
Except I learned from N&K that my second Amman arrival coincided with the end of Ramadan, and the beginning of Eid. "You got here on Christmas, basically," they told me. Nothing would be open for my one full day in the capital, but at the same time, I could eat freely. Also, nothing was open that night, so for dinner we ordered McDonalds (they deliver!).
While I'm on food; I lucked into having an authentic Jordanian meal with the pair. Mansaf is the dish, a rice-based meal. Nuts are mixed into the yellow rice, and then gravy-laden lamb is served atop the rice. A yogurt-based sauce is the garnish, and really pulls the dish together. It's quite good, especially when chased down with a nice cleansing glass of Pepsi. Ahh.
I had a hard time getting a feel for the city. We walked around Khaled's neighborhood before the mansaf, and it looked modern and nondescript. Gray buildings, few skyscrapers, hilly with some nice views, the occasional mosque or picture of King Hussein, and construction that suggested skyscrapers were coming (groups in Amman aspire to make the city the next Dubai, it appears). After mansaf, we took a cab to a hipper part of town, only coincidentally dubbed Rainbow st. Near the tallest flagpole in the world, we had tea and then dinner, but while the street looked like a cool little place, it was mostly shutdown due to Eid.
Amman, from what I was told and what I could observe, is an interesting mix of economic and quasi-Western strivings (ala the construction and longing to be Dubai) and Middle Eastern ways and means. The city and history of the place is fairly liberal, as far as the region goes, but religion is an ever-present facet of city life, if only because it seems like the call to prayer is a constant one, with each mosque issuing it from a speaker system. The government is a constitutional monarchy, somewhere between democracy as we know and export it and tyranny as we support and/or oppose it.
Put those two paragraphs together and you might say that Amman doesn't seem like much, on the surface - and how many people set Amman as a destination, especially when Jordan, travel-wise, is considered a one-rock city- wonder? - but there's a lot going on here.
Anyway, my stay in the city was lovely, if that had mostly to do with the company and the recuperative aspects there of. While the trip already became a success high on that hike in Petra, it cemented itself that way during the laidback Amman appearance. And I made it home without any problems bigger than the cab charging 15 more JDs than I thought he would (because we were confused on what bridge to go to). I even bought the guy a pack of cigarettes at the border, duty-free of course.
And so, with nothing left to say, I turn to photos to complete this trilogy. Enjoy, and until next noteworthy item in my life. Because you're dying to hear about it, and I to glorify it.
The outdoor table set at Khaled's house. It reminded me of Chekov plays.
I and my host. The male one. That's also a telling shot of Amman behind us.
In case you weren't sure about Rainbow St.
You figure it out.
The lighting is poor, but the flagpole is in the distance.
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