I'm attempting to set up a blog here to document my time in Amman, Jordan, somehow by clicking on the crazy scribbly lines which are Arabic links. As I type this, the whole sentence is moving from right to left and is completing messing with my head.

But let's just see how this turns out. By the way, big props to Mr. Mike Nelson for being the inspiration behind this. He's currently blogging from Alaska on his wildlife adventures. The trip sounds good enough, but following it for its laugh-out-loud commentary is more than worth it.

Arrival in Jordan was no problem. Pay the customs guy 10JD (~$14) and get a super cool little stamp in the passport. Not like your normal rubber stamp passport deal, but more like a postage stamp sealed with a larger, translucent sticker. The manager of the drivers from the Amman office (basically the Arabic Gene Smith), picked me up at the airport and drove me to my hotel. On the way we saw camels walking along the side of the road. Almost as interesting as the cows pulling carts walking across a 4 lane highway in Colombia.

The Hotel Bristol is a nice 5-star joint in the upscale Abdoun area of Amman. Very spread out, Vegas-like with construction going on everywhere. After checking in and unpacking I met up with some other CDMers who are staying down the street at the Sheraton. On the rooftop is a swanky lounge a la South Beach or something. Cabanas, torches and open flames and everyone was smoking flavored tobacco from the ubiquitous water pipe, called agulia here. I didn't get to try it though this time. I was beat so only one drink for me before crashing back at the hotel. Getting to sleep was another story though since there was a wedding taking place around the pool area, six floors up but straight down from my window. The sounds of Arabic music blasting was barely even muted by the earplugs I was forced to put in. And what's with this "music" anyway? Most of the time there are no instruments, just a crazy chanting sound. Normally I'm very accepting of cultural things, but when you've been awake for 36+ hours all tolerance is thrown out the window, quite literally.

I woke up at 7am on Saturday and could not get back to sleep. I knew I needed it, but couldn't make it happen. So instead I got up and went downstairs for breakfast at the hotel which is included, thank you USAid. Breakfast in the Middle East is amazing. Fuul, which is a fava been puree, not unlike the consistency the hummus, is served with khubez, a pita-style bread. With it they have yogurt with fresh figs and whole grains that you mix up yourself, sort of like muesli. Of course a mixture of black, brown and green olives and a tiny cup of hot coffee spiced with cardomom. And the coffee is not like anywhere else. The bottom 1/2" of the tiny cup is a thick coffee sludge. You make sure not to drink that part. But the stuff is tasty and you know what a coffee snob I can be.

After my nice breakfast I took a taxi to Jabel al-Qal’a (the Citadel), an archeological site on a hill overlooking the city that has been a focus for human settlement since the Paleolithic age, more than 18,000 years ago. It was once occupied by the Umayyads and is the only Umayyad site that still exists in the world. The site was then used by the Romans for the Temple of Hercules and palace and these ruins still remain as shown in the pictures below.

I quickly realized that it’s a good idea to get your site seeing done early, before the heat of the afternoon. It’s hot here amigos. Wicked hot. Standing on the surface of the sun hot. People who say that a “dry heat” is not so bad are lying. It takes your breath away. You can light a cigarette by putting it between your lips and looking skyward.

I walked down the myriad steps that lead up to the Citadel back to street level in front of the Roman amphitheater. I decided not to go inside because frankly, I thought I was going to pass out, and the thought of climbing and exploring this historic theater was a bit too much for me at that moment. Bear in mind, it’s only 9:30-10am, I’ve already drunk 1.5 liters of water and I still feel light-headed. So instead I wandered through the old city’s markets full of fruits, veg, grains, spices, lamb carcasses, lamb heads, brains, all kind of offal, it was magic.

As I wandered down the street an older man stopped me and asked if I needed any help. In most places this means, ‘I spotted a tourist and am going to take full advantage.’ Turns out he’s a glass artist from Armenia who sells his work at embassies around Amman. “The Jordanian people don’t appreciate my work,” he told me, “but Americans and Europeans understand it.” He invited me into his gallery across the street and we talked about everything from the U.S. to the Middle East including politics, food, religion, and life. He then had tea brought into his shop, very dark, almost black and sweetened more than I’d like, but still good. In the end he gave me one of his pieces as a gift and I begged him to let me pay, to no avail. I have his number now and I’ll meet up with him later during my stay for dinner or something.

After this meeting I found a locally famous restaurant called Hashem. It’s tucked in an alley in the center of the old city. Famous for falafel and hummus, there’s no menu and it’s nothing like what you get in the U.S. They serve it with slices of tomatoes, raw onions and mint. I’ve a little picture of my spread below. Everything for JD2.50 ($3) and I couldn’t finish it all. At this point it’s around 2pm and even my hour long break in the shade at Hashem isn’t helping me along. So I get a taxi back to the hotel. I feel lame giving up at this point with the whole afternoon ahead of me, but the heat of the afternoon really is too much.

I concluded my evening with dinner at a local place, nothing written in English, but the waiter helped me out. I had a moutabbel which is traditional baba ghanouj (cooked and pureed eggplant) with added tahini and more khubez, the pita style bread. At this point I realize that khubez is eaten at every meal, and I’m happy about that because the stuff is great. Again, not like pita bread at home. In addition I had a lamb kebab, or rather kafka, which is heavily spiced minced lamb that is formed around a metal skewer and cooked over open flame. Incidentally, I found this place by the sight and smell of grilled meat wafting up from the roof of this building that I spotted down the street. Follow your instincts.

Since then things have gotten serious. I’ve started work and it’s a challenging project. A little scary but I’ve learned a lot already in only two days including hard names to pronounce and remember, new Arabic words, and names of other Jordanian towns that we are doing work in. Not to mention the logistics of coordinating such a large, complex project.

Last night for dinner I dined with a bunch of CDMers at an Italian restaurant. I was reluctant to go (Italian food in the Middle East? I don’t like to eat Italian in Ohio) but didn’t want to diss my colleagues. Turns out that the pasta was all homemade and it seriously rivaled many of the places in the North End.

So there’s a brain dump. I’ll keep this up as it’ll be fun to look back at some point. More adventures this weekend when, hopefully, I make a trip to the Dead Sea. I’ll keep you posted.

Ma assalaameh (goodbye)