Part 1

Here is part 1 of our first days in Jordan

Jordan. Jordan. Jordan. Whew. We arrived in Frankfort and were very lazy during our time in “Airport City.” When we arrived at the gate, the crowd that was getting on the plane was not what I had expected. I had expected lots of middle eastern looking people wearing headdresses, siting solitarily, and not saying a word. Instead, there were only two women wearing headdresses and the rest of the people looked like they were from America. It was reassuring to see westerners and my anxiety settled. We took our seats on the plane, and met a Jordanian man living in Canada. He was coming to visit his family, and readily provided us with tips. My mom and him talked while I went to the back of the airplane and sprawled out across a row. The stars were amazing outside of the window. The moon was a little perfect thumbnail that gave of an amazing luminous light, while the stars cluttered the sky. I can never sleep on airplanes. Once we got off of the plane, our Jordanian friend helped us get throught customs. We saw a man with a sign with our names on it, so we headed towards him. He then switched cards with a man standing next to him and he motioned for us to follow him. At first I was quite scared and I was confused because this was our first time to the Middle East and we were being wizzed off by a man who was not holding the sign with our name. My heart was beating a million time a minute as we walked outside to his car, which did not look like a typical taxi, and had our bag thrusted into the trunk. While we were in the car, we talked to him and he showed us his card, which confirmed that he was legitimate taxi driver, and we told him we were from America. Now, I was very hesitant to tell people that we were from America but he just smiled and said that he had been a couple times and his brother had owned a supermarket in New York. Go figure! We dove on the highway and I would see little clusters of light and then wide open darkness. It was quite a shock when we reached Madaba because the shops were dirty, and there was trash everywhere. We got to the hotel and passed out as soon as our heads heads hit the pillow. In the morning, we ate breakfast and got ready to head out into the town. When we first went outside, I felt my body get filled up with fear. There were groups of men riding around in large cars with checkered headdresses, and women completely covered in black from head to toe. As we explored the town, I felt everyones eyes on me, and my mom told me that my hands were firmly glued to my sides. I felt very uncomfortable, but I tried to fake that I was happy and peaceful. A lady at the hotel recommended that we go eat at a café that she said was very good, so we went. As we entered the café we noticed that everyone in the café were traditionally dressed and they were all men. We ate falafel and drank lemon juice. In a matter of 5 min the entire restaurant took a drastic turn and was filled with foreigners. Very strange. We made our way back to the hotel and picked up our taxi to go to Wadi Rum. It was the same taxi driver that picked us up from the airport. We hopped inside and we were off to Wadi Rum! The driver would stop in the village and talk to random people on the street. I was a little confused, but he then turned around and told us that his family was one of the first families to every live in Madaba, so he knew everyone. The drive to Wadi Rum was very interesting, especially the highway. There were goats grazing on the side as cars zoomed by at 80mph. At one point, we stopped abruptly infront of a little tin shack. Our driver got out and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. He then came out with snacks, coke, water, and cookies. If I had been driving on the road, I would have not recognized that it was a place to buy food. They don’t have supermarkets in Jordan, just little shops. As we made our way down the country there were lots of pictures of the king posted on shops. Driving down is an experience everyone should experience and not come into with any expectations.