The culture shock – or rather, getting back into the swing of international travel started before I ever left the States. I must say that JFK is appallingly filthy – at least Terminal 4. It looked like many of the airports I’ve had to transit in Africa. I was shocked. I arrived very early for my flight to Jordan and decided to head to the lounge and check in for the wait. Royal Jordanian Airways (which by the way was wonderful once in the air), doesn’t have its own lounge in JFK and shares with Swiss Air. I was met by two very surly, Arabic looking women sitting at the reception desk. My question as to whether this was the lounge for Royal Jordanian Airways was met with no acknowledgement – I asked again – in what I thought was a very polite way – and was told again, with no meeting of the eyes or smile that “each and every visitor from another airline must have an invitation from that airline to use the lounge.” I told the wonderfully welcoming desk agent that Royal Jordanian’s counter had not yet opened. Her response? A shrug of the shoulders. Well, I thought, here’s an opportunity to win friends and influence people. Perhaps these ladies are acting surly because this is their culture and it’s harmless. So, taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I ask with a big smile on my face if it might be possible to sit down inside until the counter opens. While I didn’t get a smile, another nod of the head towards the lounge led me to believe that I could enter, and so I did. After resting a while, I decided to go outside and take a look around at what kinds of things might be offered in duty free taking every opportunity to chat with the surly women at the front desk. Come to find out, they aren’t Arabic – one is Italian, the other Puerto Rican – and they live in the Bronx. So much for stereotyping people! A lesson learned. Upon checking in at Royal Jordanian, I was told I had to go to another counter to get some kind of form. Off I go and begin the painful wait of standing in line. While I waited my turn, it seems others, this time surely Arab, and men, thought that lines didn’t apply to them. There was a continual line of men who would step around and in front of me before I could step forward to the desk. After about the 4th time, I admit my patience got the best of me and I asked rather loudly if there was a line and if so, where was it? That tactic must have worked because I was next up to the desk where the counter agent, who clearly knew what had been going on apologized and said the men were “confused”. “Confused, I said?” “They weren’t confused, they were rude.” Welcome back to international travel, I told myself. Arrived in Jordan early evening. While the sun was going down, it had clearly been a hot day. Everyone was very kind and helpful – including the porter who helped me with my luggage. Not having a clear idea of the exchange rate – and not paying close attention, I think I ended up giving him about a $35 tip. The next morning when I went back to the airport, he happened to see me after I’d already found another porter and tried to get my bags away from the guy who had them. He was all smiles – but not successful. I won’t let that mistake happen twice! My most immediate impression of Amman is that it is almost totally lacking in color. Most all of the buildings are built out of sand or lime stone, I’m not sure which – sand colored that blends right into the sandy ground. The only relief from the drabness are huge colorful billboards – most in Arabic but some in both Arabic and English. My hotel was one of the international upscale hotels, operated proudly by Greeks – definitely a Greek influence in the decoration – sort of an odd juxtaposition with everything Arabic outside. After a night that flew by, I was up by 6am and got ready to head for the airport. Once here, I sat down for a diet coke and decided to begin writing in my computer journal – some of which you are now reading.
I must say there is a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach – sort of like indigestion. I know it’s nerves and the thought crossed my mind as I bought a diet Pepsi that if this was the last cold drink I am going to have, why in the world am I getting diet and not regular!:) Most of the talk around and the news here is about the escalating fighting between Israel and Hezbollah in Beirut. It shouldn’t take much effort to guess which side the locals fall on.
The plane is full, surprisingly enough - mostlyy with Iraquis I’m told - and a few others, like me heading in to go to work. There is a group of very young looking people, perhaps eight or ten who have been contracted to do menial jobs for the State Department on the flight. Some have never been outside of the US. One thing I’m learning is that folks don’t talk in specifics about what they’re going to be doing. It’s a very odd thing but given the circumstances I guess it’s normal. Perhaps I will find a new “normal” in many things in the coming months.
I have an aisle seat unfortunately so am unable to see Baghdad as we approach. I know we’re approaching however by the way the plane is being flown. The pilot is using tactical measures to avoid surface to air missiles should one be launched. Necessary but not quite comfortable for passengers. It’s becoming impossible to write so I’ll sign off for now! Next time I write I will be writing from Baghdad.
Peace to all
