Initial Misteps

Most of my meanderings are deliberate and rewarding. I take my time getting ready in the morning. I wander through new neighborhoods imagining alternative lives. I change my career based on instinct, need for change, and desire for growth. But yesterday's meander was one that snowballed and left me completely uprooted.

My move to Amman has been planned, more or less, for months. I accepted the job in February, made contacts abroad, and studied the language and culture as much as possible. A grad school classmate of mine offered advice about the school and finding housing, for which I was extremely grateful. I landed in Amman eager to meet the people she had promised would be meeting me there. Unfortunately, I had put a bit too much trust in the fate of loose planning...and found myself stranded at the airport.

Adrenaline and resourcefulness can get you far, I've learned. So I sought out the only plug down a random hallway for the cell phone that my friend had given me prior to departing the US, which contained the phone numbers of the people supposedly picking me up. I just want to interject that I couldn't have charged it in the US because the power plugs are different. Anyway, I tried the friend of my friend and realized that there were no minutes left on the phone. Having no idea how to add minutes to a phone, I approached the information desk and asked for help. The man was very kind in explaining how to buy the right calling card and then helped me make the call from his land line. But I received an automated message that the person's phone was disconnected (although I learned later that this was a mistranslation and her phone was actually just turned off).

My next approach was to see if the only cafe in the terminal had wireless internet, in case I had any urgent emails awaiting. After several failed attempts, I did finally picked up a weak signal; but all I found was the confirmation that my friend had sent my photograph to her friend and that she and the landlord were expecting me. So I sent out an SOS to another grad school classmate who lives in Abu Dhabi and happened to be on Google Chat at just the time I needed her. Having been through some trying situations herself, she shored me up with lots of encouragement and directed me on putting minutes on the cell phone. I thanked her profusely and regrettably signed off.

Re-energized and ready to put myself out there, I found the cell pone kiosk and asked the salesman how to add minutes. He fiddled with the phone, asked me for a reasonable amount of money, and entered some information into his computer. A few moments later, my phone buzzed and a message appeared telling me I had 10JD in my account. So I scrolled through the list of names and found the name of who I thought was my future landlord. She answered the phone, spoke English, and knew who I was! But she had no idea that I was stranded at the airport. Embarrased at the imposition that I thought had already been worked out, I quickly asked for information on taking a taxi to her house (where I would be staying in the second floor flat).

After some miscommunication, I was able to confirm the neighborhood and general vicinity of the house. With at least that much information, I figured I could call her again when I was close and have her give the taxi driver detailed directions in Arabic. Breathing a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over, I stepped outside and found a taxi that would take me to al-Asharfiyya. As they always do, he assured me he knew where it was. Money is more important than honest. Having been taken advantage of in the past, I clarified the price before getting in the taxi. He handed me a piece of paper almost completely in Arabic that basically stated that I would be charged 19JD, which I thought was fair ($26USD for a 40 minute ride).

Little did I know that the taxi didn't know anything about al-Asharfiyya and he stopped the car and got out to ask directions from strangers several times (which I'd been warned does happen occassionally). Mind you, this was after making several calls to the landlord, who gave him specific directions each time. Apparently the landlord had also called the friend of my friend, so she made contact with me and apologized profusely for the misunderstanding (she had been away from email and never received my friend's confirmation about my flight). Despite at least getting in contact with these people, I was still riding in circles around their neighborhood. And the driver had used my cell phone so much that the battery died and we had to stop at a tiny neighborhood electronics store to recharge it. At this point the novelty of the adventure had worn off and he no longer had my benefit of the doubt, so I asked him to pull over, steeled myself to the embarrassment of the imposition, and called the landlord for someone to meet me.

The landlord's son walked to the central area and hopped in the taxi to direct him to the house. On one hand I felt bad about taking up so much of this driver's time, but on the other hand I was furious at his ineptitude. In the end, I decided to round up the fare to 20JD and tipped him a few extra dinar. Apparently he thought this wasn't enough and went on a tirade in Arabic to the landlord's son. The son would have none of it and directed me toward the house. Once arrived, the family greeted me with warmth, relief, and assurance that the driver was an idiot and had been paid plenty. I even learned later that he had overcharged me in the first place about 5JD , so I no longer feel the slightest bit of guilt.

Adding to the family's graciousness, the son set up internet for me right away so that I could email my family and let them know I had arrived and was alive. Exhausted and upset, I collapsed in my room and cried. At that point, I had been travelling for 19 hours and eaten little more than granola bars and airplane food. As if sensing my need for nourishment and comfort, Anne, the friend of my friend, knocked on the door. She guided me downstairs to her apartment, cooked up an omlette, and warmed a mug of tea. We chatted like old friends and the anxiety of my imperfect trip slowly dissipated. I did cry again before falling asleep that night, certain this was a huge mistake. But the kindness of everyone who helped me provided solace. (Even the taxi driver to a degree, considering he didn't abandon me on the side of the road after my phone died).

It certainly wasn't the best way to start this experience. But I've learned my lessons about planning and know that with each day that passes between me and that awful evening, the negative feelings will soften and I will eventually have a laughable story about my first night in a strange country.