The Dead Sea and Jerash

I was out late Thursday night (oh, it was a dancing inferno) and didn't feel like getting up, but I had promised Kristin, my co-worker, that I would drive her to Dead Sea.  In exchange, I got to sneak in to the Marriot's beach and I got her rental car for the weekend.  And so, driving in Jordan would be my new experience for the day.

There's usually two lanes on each Jordanian road.  The left is where people will tailgate and honk like their wife is in labor and needs get to hospital right now (by the number of children per family, this is actually quiet likely).  The right is where trucks drive at ten miles per hour and people merge in without looking.   There were a couple close calls, but, all in all, not so bad.  I came up with one law that I think will keep me alive - Jordanians always have the right of way.

The Dead Sea was as I remembered it - weird, amazing and painful.  After 15 minutes in the water, my whole body stung.  I tried to soak up as many rays as possible to get rid of the old psoriasis.  Fate had brought me to Jordan, the place where sufferers come from around the world to rid themselves of P.  No one knows scientifically why the Dead Sea works, but I remember that the guide from my Israel trip implied that it was God's work.  I'm so happy that my P has a place in God's plan for the universe.

I drove home through some wondrous landscape.  Through some stretches there is a breathtaking void of life.  Then, a mile later, violet blossoms and deep green trees.

Saturday, I decided to drive to Jerash.  I was lost in northern Amman for a good half hour trying to find the highway.  English signs disappear off the highway, so I wandered and wandered and saw how the lower class of Amman lives.  Eventually, a Jerash sign emerged and I was on my way.

After an hour drive and two 20 cent falafels, I entered Jerash.  Mighty temples sat quietly baking in amber fields.  Thistles peeked from mosaics.  And  both Arabs and I seemed equally out of place and out of time.  My water diminished prior to my awe and I needed to be on my way.

Amman

It was a brutal flight.  Crammed in a small seat surrounded by screaming children, I was unable to sleep.  I tried to pass the time by talking to a young Palestinian doctor from San Diego.  He tried to convince me that we shouldn’t pay attention to the environment because there will be a reckoning.  The movies were Escape From Witch Mountain and Hotel for Dogs.  Brutal.

Things got better when I landed and cleared customs.  Sand-stone-colored Amman sprawls up and down hills for what seems like forever. Though packed dense, suddenly there will be open spaces, which, on occasion, will be filled with grazing sheep or crops desperately trying to grow in the dessert.  I arrived at my vast apartment (three bedrooms and four bathrooms) and dropped off my things.  I called my mom and my boss stopped by with beer welcoming me to my new Muslim home.

I decided to explore and smell the city a little.  I arrived on a holiday of some sort and Jordanians were speeding around, honking horns and waiving flags.  It turns out only the last action was unique to the holiday.  I received plenty of welcoming smiles and confused stares, which struck me as a little odd since I live in the posh part of town.  Foreigners will always be entertaining, I suppose.

After being lulled to sleep by alley cats and call to prayer, I had to go to work.  I filled out a form for every function thought possible and shook hands with dozens of people.  Jet-lagged and overwhelmed, I’ll forget all of their names, but they will probably remember mine as its fairly unique.  Ah well.

The Embassy resembles a Babylonian fortress and overlooks east Amman.  I left work at sunset and the sun passed through the dust creating an orange sky.  Call to prayer hit as I walked out the front gates.   I stumbled home again.

It was Friday and I awoke to completely different city.  What was previous packed with cars, crowds and active shops was now quiet.  The streets were empty with only a few cars leisurely driving about.  I took advantage of the Sabbath and walked the length of the city to the old Roman amphitheatre.  And I was sunburned.  I went to dinner with my office that night a Lebanese place.  I discovered I’m the only person in the office without grandchildren. 

And now it my birthday and I don’t know anyone really and can’t speak the language.  What a week.

Destiny

Samantha and I had been putting off having a drink for years. Like New Yorkers who go their whole lives without ever seeing the Statue of Liberty, we always figured we'd get around to it, but ultimately never had. With my departure for Jordan coming, we finally sat down together for a palaver, for really the first and probably the last time.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Overwhelmed.   It's amazing how many occurrences and how many relations can come crushing down on me in the last two weeks.  Of all the times for them to happen, why now? Why not months ago when I could handle them better?"

Samantha answered destiny, which I, of course, rejected.  Being an ardent agnostic, I certainly couldn't accept that, in an infinite universe, God or the Fates gave two shits about my petty life and were steering it.  I shared my analogy of the universe and the soccer field (if you know me, you've probably heard it) and my analogy of China and the hereafter (again, you've probably heard it).  I explained that the universe is vast and no one can possible understand it.   Destiny implies that humans can actually observe patterns in the chaos.

"But you feel it."

"Yeah, but I don't believe in patriotism yet I still feel something when the national anthem plays.  We draw lines where they don't exist."

Samantha then told a story.  At her old job, there was a fellow no one liked much.  He was quiet, arrogant and rude.  In a work intro session, he was asked to tell everyone something about himself that no one knew.  He said that he had inventions that one day would make him rich.

People snickered at the man, but Samantha thought it was telling.  Maybe he was deluded, but every person has hope for the future and believes they will be important.  Believing that tomorrow will be better (that is - having hope) and believing there is something we are working towards that implies that we do observe patterns.  We all believe in destiny just by striving.

Turning destiny on its head like that was interesting for me.  Rather than it being part of an objective plan, maybe destiny is completely personal and subjective.  Yes, destiny is probably imagined and certainly self-aggrandizing, but at the same time necessary for our existence.  We see a plan that we must follow and it causes us to be resilient, persevere and improve.