Little Recap

Here is my attempt to fill in the missing week from when I didn’t have any internet access. I promised not to make this a public diary, so to speak, so even though I know a lot of my loyal readers out there are just dying to know the day-to-day life of Dave, here’s a few highlights of a relatively uneventful week in Jordan. The four-leg-flight was a total of 30 hours of air and layover time. Extremely brutal and capped off with a mad dash in Washington Dulles to switch planes which spun me into a full-blown asthma attack giving me no choice but to bust out my emergency inhaler in front of an incredibly attractive flight attendant prompting her to look at me like a worried mother would look at her mentally-impaired child and then asked, “Um, can I maybe get you some juice?” Suffice it to say, the old, “Make her knees week with my inhaler” trick didn’t work and I’m still without her number. I actually ran into her a couple days later in my hotel and she gave me a little wave as though saying, “You’re not supposed to be real whilst off of the airplane.”
Leave it to my inhaler to continue the drama, though. Passing through Heathrow in London, I forgot to take it out of my pocket since I haven’t had to whip it out in several months and didn’t give it a second thought once my little-boy lungs thought it appropriate to let my body take in some Oxygen. The security guard gave me a quick once over with his metal detector, looked at the inhaler, and waved me through without a second thought. I didn’t even have to go back through the main metal detector! Fucking English. As much as I hate airport security – dare I say scarred since being tossed around like a dreidle on Chanukah by Israeli security a couple years ago – this was rather disconcerting for a kid studying terrorism.
I’ve long maintained that you can tell a lot about people by the way they drive. That was before I got to Jordan. Everyone’s crazy and the car has the right of way. The fact there are actually lines separating the roads seem to be a governmental act of futility. A car goes where there is space. The real trick, though, is crossing the street. I was looking for a good restaurant and asked a man at the hotel where I should go and the first thing he asked me was, “How are you at crossing streets?” This was obviously a ridiculous question. Who the Hell can’t cross a street? Well, as it were, me. I now understand why the Middle East is so religious. If you don’t pray to God, you’re dead. If you hesitate, you’re dead. The trick is to time the cars, and then go. Honestly, I felt like Sean Connery in The Rock when he had to roll through the fire bursts to get into Alcatraz. Truthfully, I had to cross numerous four lane highways, complete with thousands of cars who have no interest in slowing down, no cross walks, and the full expectation that you will cross the street if you want to get to the other side. It is absolutely nuts and makes Darwin seem like a genius in the middle of a highly religious atmosphere.
When people aren’t driving and sitting patiently as I attempt to converse with them, only one things comes to mind: the only thing a year’s worth of Arabic has prepared me for is to realize how unprepared I am when trying to speak to native speakers. Fortunately, everyone and their mother speaks English (except, of course, the guy who takes care of the property I’m staying in), which of course begs the question, why the hell am I learning Arabic when everyone and their mother can speak English?
As for Jordan itself, it is a very un-dynamic country stuck in the middle of a very dynamic neighborhood. Amman itself is the one capital in the Middle East with absolutely zero historical significance. Literally, 100 years ago it was a small town, the king decided it would become the capital, and today it’s the biggest city in Jordan. Another wise choice, Lettis...