Advertisement
Published: June 12th 2017
Edit Blog Post
Geo: 31.9494, 35.9329
I left Jordan in June of 1993, so nearly 21 years had passed when our flight made the very slow approach and landed at Queen Alia Airport. I had read that a brand-new billion-dollar airport had opened in the last year to replace the aging former airport, but I was unprepared for all of the shine and glimmer (and order) which welcomed us upon arrival. I remember a dark, smoke-filled cavern of an airport -- nothing like the gleaming new (and rather empty) terminal.
After hitting the ATM (which surprised me in that it even worked), we got in line to purchase our visas and go through immigration. After paying the visa fee -- which had just doubled in the last week...grrrrr -- we each had our iris's scanned. The two agents behind the counter were talking between themselves in Arabic, and K later asked if they might have been talking about us, or Anna in particular. I assured it that it would be the epitome of rude for them to have been disparaging us, or even worse, talking about Anna. It just wouldn't be in their nature. The first question they had asked us was, "Where are you from."
We responded, "the United States," to which they replied "You are welcome." This exchange became the hallmark of our time in Jordan. Everywhere we went -- from the streets, to shops, to restaurants, to kids on the street, they would walk right up, ask where we were from, and then say we were welcome. To some it could have come across as presumptive or even confrontational, but they are universally welcoming to all visitors, and it is part of their culture to welcome guests.
After securing our luggage, it was just after midnight. I'd booked a rental car with EuropCar at the airport (which I still had to keep reminding myself was in Jordan -- it was simply too nice to be in the Jordan I remember). We found a lone gentleman at the EuropCar desk, set in the midst of half a dozen Western rental companies (was this really Jordan?). His English was limited, and I had to remind myself that we were getting the "midnight-shift guy." He couldn't find our reservation. I presented him with the confirmation, and then he remarked that our reservation was "for yesterday." I pointed out it was just after midnight. A spark of
recognition, and then he began processing the paperwork. It might have been more amusing had we not been traveling for so long, but we watched incredulously as the man tried to photocopy my passport and driver's license. His copier was flashing an angry red light, and he was determined to hit every possible button and remove and reinsert the paper at least 20 times, in a futile attempt to make it work. I finally suggested he ask to use a copier in a neighboring rental desk. Another spark of recognition/agreement, and then he walked us outdoors to the car. It was dark, but it was not hard to see that the car was in very poor condition. There was damage and obvious previous repair work on all four sides of the car, which was also smaller than what I had reserved. He proudly showed me the inside, which was hardly anything worthy of pride. I told him the car was the incorrect class, and added that I did not want to rent a car in such poor shape. Through a series of words and gestures, we came to understand that this was the ONLY car he had left. He called his supervisor, who was likely asleep at the time. They argued back and forth in Arabic for a while, and then he again told me there was nothing he could do. He said to call the mobile number in the morning, and they would bring a new car to our hotel. We begrudgingly agreed. I noted at the last minute that the car had about 1/8 of a tank of gas. I asked him if it was enough to get us to our hotel in Madaba. His response, "You should be fine. Inshallah (Lord willing)." This instilled me with unbridled optimism.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.046s; Tpl: 0.01s; cc: 17; qc: 30; dbt: 0.02s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb