Day 35

"What does she do on her off time?"

It’s Sunday night (your Monday night). I thought I would give you a little overview of a weekend in the life of Alex and company. This was one of our first weekends back in Amman without a trip through the program or a vacation in another country. Thursday night begins the weekend here and a couple of us decide to be bold and brave the club scene. After an inspiring day talking about hymen, as I’m sure you recall, we decided to look appropriately classy and see what night life was like. Looking flashy, and after seeing the first airing of my friend’s documentary on Al-Arabiya (crazy cool), we took a cab to Cube- a relatively well reputed lounge we were told had dancing. We arrived early, around 11pm, and saw approximately three people inside the establishment at which point we decided this scene was most likely not going to work for us. We wait around as this is the meeting place for the rest of the group. Once congregated, a few of us decide to trek over to Rainbow Street where we then hear that Angelina and Brad had visited our local ice cream store while we were across the street at the bar. Hells yes.

Our bar around Jabal Amman is called La Calle. We were treated very kindly (the bartender was rather generous forwards us- I got us a free round for being feisty, thank you very much) and the atmosphere was lovely. We were encased by glass walls with big comfy couches, sunset lighting and good music. There was a porch directly behind us with the bar which overlooked Amman and Orion’s Belt. No matter where I’ve been in the world, he always seems to find his way to me. There were lit up minarets and we were a few hours past the last call to prayer. We met the manager of the lounge. KK is an Ammani local with ties to no place who has traveled globally as a photographer. He has definitely found his way into our social circle. Rounds for the table!

After the lounge closed around 1am, KK invited all of us to a club at the third circle right where my home is. I have been complaining of a lack of dancing (especially dancing to hip hop) so KK promised us some good music tonight. We went to the club and came in on an especially good beat of a contemporary song perfect for sexualizing women a bit more. Free drinks on the house, free entry to the club; go KK. We had a blast and ended up leaving around 3:30am to pray for a long night sleep. Not 6 hours later does my unrested body decides to rise bright and early to visit the souk in Abdali- promised to be a good find. My friends had assured me they would come, but judging from their unmoving corpses and unresponsive vocals the following morning, I realized this would be a lone adventure.

Arriving to Al-Abdali market early in the morning was just that… I had anticipated a souk like the stereotypical souks to which I had been accustomed, but much to my dismay, this souk bore a striking resemblance to TJ Maxx sprawled out under a tarp. There were Adidas shirts, Nike pants, sweats, and cotton t-shits with “Princess of the World” scrolled on them. It was quite disheartening. Too stubborn to pay a cab driver to take me to the downtown and rather unsure of my whereabouts, I decide to venture to the real souks by myself. Wise choice, Alex. Surprisingly, I do not get too lost, but walking around with an unsure face is never a good idea in a new city. A man came up behind me and almost made me jump out of my skin. He clicked at me. It is a phenomenon I have yet to entirely unveil. It is a sound of the tongue as if you were luring a horse. Men click sometimes because they are aroused. This man on the other hand was offended. I wore jeans, a tank top and a long flowy shirt that happened to fall off my shoulder while he walked behind me. He tugged on it to show me how to wear my clothes. I wanted to slap him. So I hopped in a cab just to drive me 500 feet away from him.

When I arrived downtown, the store owners were so gracious, kind and welcoming “Welcome! Ahlan wa salan! Come in!” I loved being so welcomed all the time, I felt comfortable. One of the warnings on our programs was to at all costs avoid being in front of a mosque on a Friday around the call to prayer because this is where a lot of anti-American protests occur. Of course at noon on a Friday the earth shakes when I am directly under the speaker of the minaret and I freeze. Allah. What am I going to do?

Of course the men on their way to the mosque smile at me and say Ahlan wa Salan. There are no protests, another exaggeration. I continue on my way wary that someone will stand on a milk carton and point to me and yell “American ahead” where I’ll be tied by a keffiyeh. No running men, no yelling, I go to my shops and haggle for hours, certainly one of my guiltiest pleasures. I buy things very selectively, only once I know they are either made by the person I am talking to, or that the origin is known. I buy only from people who are not into tricking me, and who are warm with a sense of humor. I’m very selective, so I tend to come out with very few things. At least I have a story for every object that I bought. Can’t wait to tell you.

I walked a bit further at which point I saw little bunnies and baby chicks. There were mother chickens pigeons and guinea pigs so obviously I started petting the bunnies. They were gray and cotton-tailed. Precious. I was squatting reveling in the idea of playing with animals again when a small man came up with some spices and said “How many? What you make for dinner?” I was suddenly overcome with an enormous wave of nauseous and was afraid that I would vomit on his livestock so I fled the scene. I turned down a back alley at full force only to find that the chickens in the little boxes on the streets were being wrung and splattered on the wall. Oh. My. Gosh. In all my outward bound-like experiences in life, I was disgusted by this image. Meat sautéed in mushrooms and wine sauce is phenomenal. Little bunnies with cottontails go through a certain process so that it is invisible to me. Ignorance is bliss. Little Peter Cottontails…

I returned home for a 4 hour nap and prepared for another night on the town. Both my friend and I were struggling with romantic issues and decided, much against our will, to get up off our self-pitying behinds to meet up with a couple others on Rainbow Street. We returned to La Calle wherein I downed my quickest vodka cranberry on record. That was a good start. We start to forget any prior problems when a boy we had met the night before calls us and asks us to come to his house party. We decide to not follow the lead of those who go home to sleep and around midnight we venture to 3rd circle. The house was hidden away and reminded me of a commune. We arrived there to find a slew of American faces. COMFORT! We arrive and see that we are three of perhaps five women in an entirely male dominated scenario. To put it diplomatically, I don’t think any of us were particularly resentful of the attention we were getting. We found that the majority of them were from West Point, which offered a nice starting point of conversation being from Sarah Lawrence not 45 minutes from West Point, NY. It is rumored that Sarah Lawrence girls were bred to be the spouses of West Point boys. ;-)

We ended up attempting climbing up a rock-climbing wall built on the side of the house (of course) and having dance parties to preposterous music genres (at one point I believe we had the Dixie Chicks on). We walked to the second circle to a shawarma place (as previously mentioned, an Arab hoagie). This place is consistently packed, even at 1am and almost always male dominated. But at 3:30am, there was no soul there, and it was exceptional. Shawarma is a certain love of my mine. We hung out at the circle with the cats eating our shawarma and being hysterical messes. By the time I returned to my apartment I was mystified by the first call to prayer outside as I sank into my bed. The next morning I woke and put life into perspective.

Who knows what really matters in life, but conversations about revolutionaries, a hip-hop-country music fusion and just being silly with some friends can be some of the most stress-reducing experiences. What I love about here is that the people with whom I associate never cease to make me laugh and smile. The adventures we go on and scenarios we find ourselves in will continuously be “bloggable moments”. Remember to laugh a little. It can really make all the difference.