My flight to Amman took only one hour, but it took me back to what felt much more like the Middle East I knew. There was no doubt that Ramadan was in full swing in Amman, and I found it essentially impossible to eat during the day. My home in Jordan was at the apartment of my Princeton friend Sheeba, who was studying Arabic there for the summer. She lived in Jebel Weibdeh, a leafy residential neighborhood positioned atop one of Amman's many hills. While she prayed inside the mosque, I struck up a conversation outside with a middle-aged Palestinian-Jordanian perfume distributor named Mahmoud, who bought me coffee and regaled me with stories of his 9 children and his days studying in Cairo at AUC. Afterward, Sheeba and I went together to downtown Amman, known as El Balad. It was alive and happening around 11, as is to be expected during Ramadan, although the scale was much more manageable and far less chaotic than anywhere near Cairo's downtown.
I only had a few days in Jordan, and since there is not a whole lot to do in Amman itself, I pushed myself to get an early start in the morning. On the bus to the Roman ruins of Jerash, north of the capital, I met an Irishman who had studied literature and classics and just finished the Transsiberian Railroad, so we traveled together for the day. Although the daily chariot races at Jerash were canceled due to Ramadan, there was lots to see. The city's heyday was in the 2nd century AD, when a visit from the Emperor Hadrian sparked a massive building project. Naturally, there was the requisite triumphal arch, as well as two amphitheaters, an oval-shaped forum still lined with dozens of columns, the agora, the cardo maximus, the baths, the nymphaeum, and so on. Entering one of the theaters, a random Jordanian man approached us and asked where we were from. "America?!" he said, ignoring my Irish companion. "Jordan and America best friends! Special photo because America is so good." It's been a really long time since I've heard anything like that in this part of the world with no expectation of money involved. (This is not to say all Jordanians feel this way: I also heard the typical "we all hate America but like Americans" take.) The men outside the little museum went and found us grapes to eat, although they were fasting, and gave us their little radio to listen to the news. The bathroom attendant pleaded for my hand in marriage on behalf of her green-eyed son. Fruit vendors on the street went and found a bus for us. So far, I was liking this place and its people quite a lot.
From Jerash, the Irishman and I caught a bus to the citadel of Ajloun. I would say it's your typical castle (built in the 12th century to protect against Crusader attacks) in an arrested state of decay. But it certainly offered some great views of the mountains and valleys of Jordan. Somehow there were no buses back, however, so we ended up hitching a ride all the way back to Amman with some friends of the castle guards.
I only had a few days in Jordan, and since there is not a whole lot to do in Amman itself, I pushed myself to get an early start in the morning. On the bus to the Roman ruins of Jerash, north of the capital, I met an Irishman who had studied literature and classics and just finished the Transsiberian Railroad, so we traveled together for the day. Although the daily chariot races at Jerash were canceled due to Ramadan, there was lots to see. The city's heyday was in the 2nd century AD, when a visit from the Emperor Hadrian sparked a massive building project. Naturally, there was the requisite triumphal arch, as well as two amphitheaters, an oval-shaped forum still lined with dozens of columns, the agora, the cardo maximus, the baths, the nymphaeum, and so on. Entering one of the theaters, a random Jordanian man approached us and asked where we were from. "America?!" he said, ignoring my Irish companion. "Jordan and America best friends! Special photo because America is so good." It's been a really long time since I've heard anything like that in this part of the world with no expectation of money involved. (This is not to say all Jordanians feel this way: I also heard the typical "we all hate America but like Americans" take.) The men outside the little museum went and found us grapes to eat, although they were fasting, and gave us their little radio to listen to the news. The bathroom attendant pleaded for my hand in marriage on behalf of her green-eyed son. Fruit vendors on the street went and found a bus for us. So far, I was liking this place and its people quite a lot.
Jerash, Jordan
From Jerash, the Irishman and I caught a bus to the citadel of Ajloun. I would say it's your typical castle (built in the 12th century to protect against Crusader attacks) in an arrested state of decay. But it certainly offered some great views of the mountains and valleys of Jordan. Somehow there were no buses back, however, so we ended up hitching a ride all the way back to Amman with some friends of the castle guards.
No comments:
Post a Comment