Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Finding Rainbow Street

Written two nights ago….slowly getting caught up!

The setting is almost perfect. I am sitting in an urban chic rooftop café sipping coffee and looking out at a cityscape hillside sprinkled with lights. After an intensely hot desert day and a beautifully dusty sunset, the night air is fresh with a gentle breeze and scents of jasmine and sweet tobacco. The décor consists of square wooden tables and black metal chairs. The main building is an ancient structure of traditional tan stone; however the rooftop terrace is committedly modern with rows of red drum lights hanging from the industrial, open-air covering and large graphic prints in bright colors on the walls of the neighboring structures.

Trendy Ammonites gather around me in groups sharing snacks and nargileh (water pipes with fruit-flavored tobacco). Modernity extends beyond décor to include the mix of men and women intermingling. On the opposite hilltop, women sit on dusty stoops behind full burkhas. Here, most women’s hair hangs straight and arms are defiantly bare; nonetheless, some compromise with long-sleeved stylish tops and designer scarves around their heads. Men wear the standard uniform of acid-wash jeans and skin-tight t-shirts. Although they wear this elsewhere in the city, here they are a little more polished and understated; and considering that this is an “alternative” hangout (relatively speaking), their hair gel and cologne have also been toned down. I do feel a bit out of place as one of very few Americans, the only woman sitting alone, and the most underdressed woman. But I feel a lot better here than I did an hour ago wandering through the traditional downtown at dusk as I attempted to find my way up to Jebel Amman, where this café is located.

Prior to leaving my apartment, I scuttled around all afternoon because I'd stayed up way too late chatting online with my sister then slept all morning. Let me interject that my sleep was continuously interrupted with calls to prayer, blaring car horns, crying babies, and carnival music from the gasman’s truck--and while earplugs helped, I’ve learned my lesson about attempting to sleep in late. Also, the eyeshade I scored on my transatlantic flight eased the intensity of the sunlight sneaking in through my gaudy blue curtains, but I left the windows open for a breeze and the rustling fabric and play of shadows around the room finally forced me awake. Once my internal clock adjusts and school starts, these antics won’t be able to continue. But the fact that I am having coffee at 9pm suggests that they may happen once more tonight. But back to my scuttling.

I ended up microwaving my tea this morning after deciding that I might blow up the apartment if I attempted to turn on the gas for the stove. Likewise, I took a quick, lukewarm rinse-off rather than a leisurely hot shower because I couldn’t figure out how to work the hot water switch and water scarcity is a huge problem here that long and leisurely is bad practice. Since it was 86 degrees Farenheit (or 30 Celsius, which I’m attempting to learn!) and I am staying in a concrete building that lacks air conditioning and sits on top of a hill that gets direct sunlight all day long, the cool shower was not unwelcome. Afterward, I played on the internet again to remedy my homesickness and enable my avoidance behavior. Finally, hunger kicked in and I knew I had to tackle my first day in the city alone.

I chose to wear jeans and a loose short sleeved top because it was hot and I didn’t think I would be in the downtown area for more than a few blocks. Moreover, I think being shamed into jeans in 86 degree weather is punishment enough. But I did regret the decision for about an hour in the early evening. I got completely turned around as I wound down staircases alongside my neighborhood hillside, which dispersed me onto a busy thoroughfare where I risked my life multiple times and walked a half-mile out of my way in an attempt to safely cross 8 lanes of traffic. (This is not abnormal in Amman, even for locals). I also had to cut across to a park outside a mosque, which was a bit unnerving. I have decided to play the same here that I played in Mexico, where I win if the men can’t catch my eye or get me to acknowledge them. I accomplish this by imagining I am encapsulated in an armor that deflects sleazy comments and lurid staring. It’s a strange to feel like showing hair and revealing elbows in public equated a tube top and miniskirt in church. But even with my armor and bravery, I decided after about fifteen minutes that I was over the game and it was time for a taxi.

I jumped into the first taxi that stopped and quickly realized that he wasn’t using a meter (as they’re supposed to) and thus would have to use my best negotiating skills. I talked him down from 5JD to 1.5JD per the advice from my friend Anne that a taxi to anywhere in Amman should never cost more than three or four JD and I knew Jebel Amman wasn’t that far. My rookie mistake was not ensuring that I had sufficient change, but I lucked out with a driver who told me repeatedly that he loved America and appreciated my limited Arabic vocabulary. So he actually got out of the taxi to make change for me when we arrived in a very safe and well-lit 1st Circle. From there, I strolled down Rainbow Street, the main drag through Jebel Amman, and turned right onto Sharia Oma bin al-Khattab, a tree-lined side street flanked by gorgeous mansions and posh cafes. And here I am.

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