Marhaba (welcome) Jordan

Driving in from the airport felt familiar, probably because I was once again crammed into the backseat of a minibus, the differences were that this van was made in this millenium, and the A.C. worked.

Marhaba Jordan

The landscape from the airport seems to set the mood for the night. Dark clouds reflected green from the symmetrical rows of scrubby olive trees. A sort of rocky landscape with rare tufts of grass leaping out of the hills, an almost gale force wind, making the 60 degrees seem much cooler. It seemed inhospitable, and a definite contrast to Ghana. Jordan didn't come across as unfriendly, but instead guarded and a little skeptical. Maybe I was just tired. In hindsight, I think it was all the security checks that made me feel guarded--for getting to the gates, another for getting on the plane, one and then another before leaving the airport, a final one before getting into the hotel--the last one came with a woman with an apologetic smile behind a curtain who carefully patted me down. I think I also felt apprehensive about the decadence--to me it has an illegitimacy and an almost unbearable pretentiousness. I have no idea why, but I knew that the oil rich countries would spoil me, I just had to get into the right mindframe.

After walking through the final checkpoint, I walked into a marble palace. Softly lit, the Sheraton had a few restaurants, a couple of pools, plush carpets, and wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-ceiling smooth, glazed stone. Its exterior matched, the rest of Amman. Geometric and white stone (doesn't absorb the heat). The city almost looked unfinished and unpainted. But when you rode close, you realized the devil was in the details. Windows of all different shapes, pillars of shapes, sizes and designs. Ornate gates garnished with neatly placed topiaries. Like the same people thousands of years ago, Jordanians built their homes into the hills.

The group of 14 finished the day with a hot meal from what I think was some sort of Jordianian fast food place. I had the lamb masfam (??) which is tender lamp buried in a rich creamy soup
with an almost tart yet buttery taste, to complete the sauce was a bowl of rice big enough to feed 3. I treated myself to backlava like treats for dessert, sweetened with honey the twirls of philo dough twisted carefully around sweetened nuts.

Tomorrow was Petra, the Dead Sea, and other adventures.