Let me share what the last 24 hours have brought about.
First, I notified my bank I’d be going on an adventure. As far as I know, this is the first time I’ve ever gone somewhere without booking a return ticket.
When the agent on the other end heard the word, “Jordan” she suddenly became more invested in the conversation.
“Oh! I’m from Jordan,” she beamed.
This led to a discussion on what I should see, do, and consider eating.
What made the exchange even more remarkable was my introduction to Antonio, a Peruvian student, getting his PHD in physics from Columbia.
Apparently he’d also just been to Jordan. He offered some helpful tips on navigating through a country he clearly had great affinity for.
Fast forward to my cab ride to JFK with Cheikh, a native of Senegal who’d recently purchased the cab he was driving me in. We stood at roughly the same height, but he must have outweighed me by a 100 pounds or so.
I listened as he spoke nonstop, which I didn’t mind for some reason. It also didn’t hurt that he was quite the raconteur. I half wondered if he drove around less for cab fare then for an audience.
In our brief time together I learned that Cheikh had two wives, one of which needed a lung transplant.
He told me a man once paid him $350 to drive him to Philadelphia.
And how his father is a famous general back in Senegal. A quick Google search after my ride revealed he wasn’t bluffing.
Cheikh seemed equally proud and somewhat distressed about each truth.
“My country is very beautiful,” he said which sounded familiar.
It was the same pronouncement everyone seemed to make when describing a country they left in the rear view.
I liked my cab driver and tried to prove as much with the generous tip I offered on the departure curb.
My journey from New York to Amman was like a sitcom. The plane felt like a day care. Two of its liveliest students sat behind me, kicking the back of my seat for the entirety of the 10-hour flight.
That commitment will take them far in life, I later thought.
I bonded with my seatmate, Abe, a 30-year old Jordanian living in Charlotte with his wife. He offered to give me a ride to my hotel and said that if my stay in Amman were longer he’d have invited me over to play XBOX.
For a moment, I was envious he’d get to spend his holiday smoking cigarettes and playing video games all day before I remembered I had no interest in either.
Once I arrived in Amman, I was greeted by a cab driver who could have passed for a freshman in high school. Along the way I saw a sign for the Iraqi border and 100 feet later one for Ikea.
Where am I? I thought.
But all is well that begins well. I can hear beautiful Arabic chants echoing throughout the city. The colorful minarets draw me in like the sirens from the Odyssey.
I walk the streets like a native without the slightest trace of fear or concern; part hubris, part travel veteran, or maybe New York has beaten that mindset into me.
Whatever the case, my curiosity don’t leave room to feel much else.
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