Mercedes Diesel

On the walk to school, I pass a very large gas station/ supermarket/ cafe/ restaurant. I think they market themselves as the cure all for any travelling woe in the city. The name is somewhere in the vicinity of Odeon - عودن, but I don't remember exactly. Depending on the day, it is about a 50-50 chance, there will be a giant green truck parked on the sidewalk by the gas station, pumping petrol into a valve on the retaining wall. One day the truck was actually pulling up to its stop on the sidewalk, and I had to dodge out of the way (I was still unaccustomed to the proximity to cars that Amman mandates.) The back of the truck supports a large, segmented cylindrical drum lying lengthwise and on the front, right beneath the windshield, in faded lettering, once silver now tarnished black, reads Mercedes Diesel. Above the Lettering sits that familiar Mercedes Benz Star.

Ajlun

We took a bus to Ajlun. It was sort of uncomfortable because we were a large group of Americans. When travelling in a group of more than 6 people, it is impossible to not be insular and like yuppie tourists. We were like yuppie tourists.

Ajlun is a town in the north of Jordan, a very lush, green part of the country. A few olive trees dot an otherwise pine forest. It is a very hilly landscape as well. Our bus had to weave on the road while climbing up the steep hills. The driver turned an otherwise precarious drive into a slightly awful one.

Around one turn a vast expanse of lush green poured out into an otherwise empty basin. Rolling fields of green gave way to a precipitous rise in the center of the Basin. Perched precariously on top of the steep rise was a cluster of dark stone. I figured that that is where the bus was headed. I don't like buses very much, because you have no say in where they go, and rarely do you even know where they are headed.

We all filed out of the buses so that we could purchase tickets and use the restroom at the ministry of antiquities. Sharif, one of the administrators here, ordered us all to stay hydrated. We all filed back into the buses and swerved 100 more meters up the hill to the castle. The bus stalled, and the driver slammed on the breaks. I just wanted to get out of the bus before we rolled down the hill, uprooting pine trees as we went. I just wanted out, it was stupid to get in a bus to go 100 meters anyway. He turned the engine over, put and floored it trying to start on a severe uphill. The engine roared, the transmission screeched, and the car stalled again. Another attempt and we lurched forward, slowly, until something caught and we were off. 25 meters later, we stopped and everyone got out, walking through the entrance gate, up the path the last few meters to the summit. Sharif yelled to keep walking, take pictures once you were up the stairs, the view was better up their anyway. We took a group picture on the side of the road.

We had a tour guide, but the tour was too big for me to hear anything, so I didn't mind staying with the tour, rather I just followed behind. There were a few others who did the same. I don't like tours very much. I later learned, through a travel brochure, that Ajlun was built by Osama bin Munquth, a person who we read in Arabic class last semester. I was very pleased by this realization, even if it was retrospective.

The Castle itself was truly spectacular. It offered a sturdy labyrinth of stone, creeping moss and the occasional sunlight, piercing through a light shaft or a slit in the stone for arrow fire. The most impressive part of the castle was the view from the highest tower. Situated high above a castle perched high up on a hill, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Palestine, and most of northern Jordan is visible. It is magnificent. The wind is persistent and powerful, the view is unreal. It is like a scene from a Wagner opera, seated high upon Valhalla, looking down onto Earth. It was even better when the tour left.

Internet in Our Apartment

The Internet in out apartment has been somewhat nonexistant. Most of the time it doesn't work, some of the time it hardly works, none of the time does it completely work. The broken Internet has been a cause of many complaints over the past week. I do not want to whine about it, but rather explain why I have not been diligent in writing. The truth is, I have been very diligent, and have wanted to post much of this writing. Unfortunately, due to the Internet problems, I have not been able to. The truth is that there are many ammenities in Jordan, and that I would readily give up all of these ammenities to have a cooler, more "authentic" Middle-Eastern feel. Suqs not supermarkets. Amman was built in 1950, and it shows. Most of it looks like some part of LA or another, and if not for all the people staring at us because we are westerners, it would feel like it as well. Amman is not exactly what you would expect out of a capital in the Arab world if you were to expect something out of a capital in the Arab world.

Fakhri il-Din

The friend that I am staying with for the first week is leaving Jordan tomorrow. To celebrate, and see her off we ate at an upscale Jordanian restaurant. It is expensive by Jordanian standards, but cheap by American standards. The meal we ate would run for twice the cost stateside, but I will probably be the last time that I eat at Fakhri il-Din for mercy on my bank account.
The restaurant is luxurious by all standards and attracts the rich and powerful. We ate outside, on a balcony. Shrubbery and flowers overflowed onto our table. I ordered Shish Tawook, to compare to my professor's version.
After the meal, I had to use the restroom. I excused myself and asked the waiter "weyn alHamam?" He led me through the restaurant and pointed out the restrooms. As I approached, there was a woman sitting down who stood up. I walked into the restroom, I don't know why she is there, but I am sure there is some reason why the restaurant pays her to be there. It took me about a minute and a half to figure out how to flush the toilet. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the woman outside somehow flushes the toilet, but I didn't find this plausible, so I kept looking and eventually figured out that to flush the toilet, one pushes on the giant metal plate on the wall. It looked sort of like a dispenser of toilet seat covers, far to big for me to consider it to be any sort of button, or switch.
I washed my hands. The sinks were a giant rock slate under the faucet. The water ran down into a drain hidden under another rock slate. It was very alternative, and therefore a rarity. I put my jacket back on - I was wearing a tuxedo jacket with a white tee and jeans - and took a step back from the sink. Under the sink was a giant bug, sort of like a potato bug, stuck on its back. It was unceasingly writing, trying to right itself. I considered both squishing it beneath my shoe, and righting it, but I did neither.
I returned to the table, we talked a bit before asking to take the rest of our food for lunch the next day. The waiter asked if we wanted anything else. Erica said that she thought we were good. The waiter said, "yeah.... you are good, but we will make you better." He then softly shouted down the way to someone asking for "Batikh"
The party at the table on the steps below us left, leaving some chicken. Stray cats hopped over the wall scavenging on their table. I pointed it out to Erica and we laughed. Another waiter brought us "batikh" (melon). As we feasted on our watermelon and Jordanian melon (a delicious melon that tastes something between a honeydew and an ambrosia melon) I reflected that no amount of luxury and hospitality can keep the cats out of the terrace and no amount of cleanliness and restaurant staff will keep the bug, writing on its back, out of the bathroom.

King Hussein Car Museum

On the outskirts of town, in King Hussein National Park, sits a modest building made of untreated, rough sandstone that houses the very extravagant car collection of the Jordanian Royal Family. This was the first touristy go I had at the city of Amman. Considering how much I detest tourism, tourists, and what my brother calls, "Yuppies," I did enjoy the outing. We made it through security, a little less strict than the frisk I got in the Frankfurt airport. Ya Franz, don't go there. The first mistake I made in Frankfurt was walking through the metal detector with my belt on. The second mistake I made in Frankfurt was entering through security 2 hours early. It is not like the states. Every 4 gates have their own security checkpoint. Once you are through, there are no restrooms or cafes to spend the 8 Euro 40 that you have left, there arejust the gates, and whatever novels you brought with to occupy your attention. Needless to say, the guards at the car museum didn't care that I walked through with my belt on. I set off the metal detector, but the guards didn't mind, I was safe.
In the first room, there was a motorbike, an old car, and what I can only describe as an airplane fuselage put on wheels. It is one of the 75 Mercedes SLR's in the world. Another one drives around the streets of Amman, but I haven't seen that one. The cars were very beautiful, and well polished, clean, and on expert display. Rolls, Mercedes, BMW, Porshe, Cadillac, Ferrari, Harley-Davidson, Bugatti. The Bugatti Veryon has a rear spoiler that automatically extends when the car is travelling more than 85 mph, and it only extends when travelling at speeds exceeding 85 mph. If a Bugatti Veryon is driving with its rear spoiler extended, it is speeding and everyone knows it. The Bugatti Veryon in the car museum did not have its rear spoiler extended, and therefore it was most likely not speeding.
My favorite car was a Mercedes 300 SL done in a glossy blue grey. Small, sporty and classy. Rolls are too big. Bugatti Veryon's too flashy, and it is so easy to get speeding tickets in them. I also liked the Porshe 911. I was dissappointed to not find a juaguar E-Type. I suppose it isn't exlusive enough to find its way into the King Hussein Car Museum. They were relatively cheap sports cars. If I had to pick a car to drive out of the the Museum it would be the Bugatti Veryon. Which I would sell, and then buy the 300 SL.
I did like the lighting in the building. There were interesting reflections and shadows on the cars. I find cars very difficult to photograph though, because in order to photograph a detail, you must neglect the whole. They have enough depth to be confusing, but not enough to to play with focus.
Outside of the Museum is King Hussein National Park. It is a pleasant grove of small, scraggly pine trees hugging the slope of the hill. Accross the city climbs back up like a wave rolling far out to sea. White sandstone pixles. You can see a building, or you can see the city, but never both. You could also look at the scraggly pines, but then you lose the city all together.
Lining the street were many cars. There were probably more cars outside of the car museum than inside of it. But none of them were nearly as nice as the cars in the museum. Most of the cars outside were common and new whereas the cars on the inside were fine rarities of the industrialist world. Jewels of manufacturing maintained as if they had never seen the road. Outside, the cars are painted in the ever present dust from the well-used roads.

On the First Time I Saw Jordan

I awoke before everyone else in the apartment. They are on Jordan time. My 6 am is really 8 pm, and their 8 am is indeed 8 am. I started Proust in my Loneliness. Recalcitrant on the couch, I pulled the curtain back and saw Jordan for the first time. There were five visible objects in perfect alignment. First was the ornamental iron screen on our window. Behind that, a tall, narrow, dark green fern. Intersecting the fern ran a parallel power lines covered by a white, sandstone box of a building. And finally, a cloud framed the whole scene, passing slowly, but noticeably from left to right, from the drawn curtain to the outline of a sandstone wall.