Amman Jordan
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Half way through dinner, I find myself conjured into a dream. The savory Shish Taouk (marinated chicken grilled over charcoal embers, oriental rice and tomatoes) and the Jordanian white wine (surprisingly good) have joined forces with my fatigue. I smile and laugh at a joke, then realize that I heard nothing that was said, and have merely reacted automatically to my companion's laughter and his infectious smile. I must remember to find a gift of jewlery for my wife, the voice inside my head reminds me, though it has nothing at all to do with the conversation, the joke or seemingly anything. Maybe it is the bold, alluring gold earrings worn by the Bedouin dancer, gyrating to the sounds of drums and a series of primitive stringed instruments whose names are a mystery to m. Who knows? Who cares? At least for the moment, I'm in a happy place with a good man made refugee by circumstances so very far beyond his control. I'm, unteathered from my cell phone and my laptop (they sit angrily, alone in my hotel room). I'm a free man in a distant free land (so many American's are surprised to know that Jordan is in fact a free, secular, and open society). It's as if I've become someone else. For a moment I feel that destiny might take me in a new direction. And well it might. For tomorrow, I take the first steps along a path that will lead me first to Saudi Arabia then at last to the dangerous and strangely beckoning land in the midst of revolution. "Syria calling," the jester inside my head sings to the tune of The Clash. We shall see. But first, I have things to do in Jordan and in the Kingdom. So more tomorrow from ancient ruins and the road to the deep southern desert they call Wadi Rum.