Arrving by night to Jordan's second largest city, Irbid, I awoke to a much different scene than I had yet witnessed in my travels. As I peered out my third story window, a colorful and fully-clothed mass of Arab men and women scrambled around the numerous clothing, electronic, and spice shops below. Women were covered in traditional Islamic fashion...sometimes only a small slit around their eyes showing their only physical exposure. The men were equally robed in full-length neck-to-feet longsleeve jellas. Thinking in typical Western fashion, I wondered, "If I'm roasting in my shorts and T-shirt, these people must be on the brink of spontaneous combustion!" I was surprised to find many of the underwear botiques at full shopper capacity, convinced that none of these people in their right mind would dare put on any extra layers than they already had.
My first (mis)adventure in Jordan ensued promptly after leaving the hotel. Inquiring about the nearest bus station with a local street merchant, I was quickly whisked away by his posse of friends, neighbors, and relatives...all speaking Arabic and ponting fingers in opposite directions. After the madness subsided, Jake and I were left with our personal guide to the streets of Irbid...an elderly, Arabic-speaking, toothless Jordanian, fully clad in the traditional white robe, red and white plaid turban, and walking cane. Immediately he took my hand in his own, and we were strolling the streets of Irbid as if we were old friends. I only became worried of our destination after he seductively fondled my fingers (which I'm embarrassed to say he even lubricated with his own saliva) and asked with his charming toothless grin, "Mavibus? Madame?" At that point I was utterly confused as to whether he was leading us to the bus station, or to his brothel. I was compelled to switch tour guides, and we eventually made it to the Roman ruins of Umm Qais...via a crowded mini-bus...the new standard mode of transportation on this new leg of the world tour.
I soon learned in Jordan that when venturing any distance outside of the hotel, one will inevitably be invited for tea in someone's home, restaurant, cafe, street stall, hookah shop, etc. Some hosts, unsurprisingly, are interested in the potential for you to spend 10 minutes and a load of cash perusing an endless array of art, clothing, spices, and a plethora of useless tourist souveniers. But more often than not, the host is genuinely interested in sharing a conversation avout life, love, and their puzzled perspective of America's imperialistic role in the Middle East. Many times I found it difficult to explain the mentality that many Americans possess towards the Middle East and its people...but I could also reassure them that were many who were sceptical of the way the Middle East is portrayed in the western media. They really felt the impulse to inform me that a few isolated events of violence and terrorism by the extreme minority should not be means to stereotype their people and culture...and I sincerely agreed. Besides the inhumane attitudes toward Muslim women, I generally found the Arab people, especially Jordanians, to be genuinely warm and welcoming to foreigners, and surprisingly, to my American presence in their country. In fact, I think the first English words that every Jordanian child learns are "Welcome to Jordan!"
My staple food transitioned from falafel to kebab, still of the street stall variety. Only now me near vegetarian diet of hummous and falafel in Israel was viciously replaced by grease-dripping spits of lamb and chicken sliced into pita bread stuffed with tahina. My taste buds rejoiced, while on multiple occasions my bowels screamed in agony. I discovered there was a direct relationship my ease (or lack) of digestion, and the increasing inexpense of food and accomodation in Jordan.
But what Jordan lacked in cuisine, it made up with its abundance of natural beauty. Desert landscapes of sandstone towers and canyons between seas of shifting sand dunes appeared commonplace throughout the country. It seems even Hollywood has caught on to Jordan's natural splendor with Petra appearing in Indiana Jones, and Wadi Rum as the setting of the film version of Lawrence of Arabia. The challenge of exploring these areas of deafening silence and unsurpassed solitude was staying hydrated and energized enough through the grueling hours of the summer sun and heat. However, every adventure seemed to hold a special treasure at the end of the day, a desert sunset...the perfect balance of light, temperature, and mood...pastel skies fusing with golden sands...creating the perfect moment of silence and beauty.
When the desert becomes shrouded in darkness, the refreshing evening breeze carries new life and energy to the nomadic Beduoin people of the desert. While slow moving while herding sheep during the day, by night they freely unveil their wild side through song and dance to the rhythm of the tabla hand drum.
Our final night in Wadi Rum was the perfect summation of everything Jordan...throwing frisbee and running across timeless sand dunes, another mezmerizing desert sunset, and a Beduoin barbecue of chicken, potatoes, and eggplants cooked amongst coals buried beneath the sand. Exiting our desert mess tent with full stomach, my soul also took its fill with the canopy of a thousand stars set against a jet black blanket...they seemed to stretch in all directions as the black faded into a deep blue across the horizon. This was the setting for a night of tea drinking, singing and dancing complete with drums and strings. As our collective energy wound down, I lay down on my outdoor mattress, smiled, and pondered the infinite expanse of the most beautiful universe one could ever wish for.
