Crossing the Jordan River

Nearing the border.

On the overland border crossing my friend and I had the opportunity, if you'd call it that, to meet the secret police head chief. All of the guns and questions were... disconcerting. Despite the stressful atmosphere we both had to admit he was pretty darn handsome.

Is it ok to develop a crush on your interrogator? Welcome to Israel.

I mean, come on. Do we look dangerous?

 *There are some interesting details about our crossing experience. I'll tell you about them in person if you'd like to hear. 

Salem

(Goodbye/peace)

When I think of Amman I will always think of:

• Call to prayer every morning from mosques – eerie and hauntingly beautiful. It interweaves with my dreams
• Rivulets of water running down steep streets
• Lots and lots of stairs
• Feral cats everywhere, glaring at you surreptitiously from under ratty brows as you walk by
• Dusty pastels of the evening hours, casting longer and longer shadows as the sun sets
• Layers of rectangular buildings on steep hillsides, drenched in white hot sun

• Echos and light. I love the interplay of light and sound as they shift in this dense metropolis
• Birds singing
• Honking cars and Arabic music streaming out of taxis 
• Propane and fruit trucks. Their loudspeakers project tinny ditties reminiscent of ice cream trucks
• Call of the cotton candy man, his nasally voice strident and punctuated by a riff on his mouth organ
• Gunshots in the air
• Men on the street calling out to me “ni hao”, “china” and “philippines”. “Well-come to Jorr-dun”

• The honeyed scent of jasmine in the hot summer air
• Dried cardamon from coffee dashed onto the ground
• Litter, plastic bags

• Eating schawarma with friends on the street
• Banter of Arabic drifting off into the night air

Jordan, habibi, I love you forever.