From Salt Lake to Amman

I'm really glad that it's not Passover this week, and that I was headed to Amman instead of Jerusalem. Because my can of baking powder exploded all over my bag on the way. Even getting into Amman I wondered if they were going to arrest me at customs for suspicious white powder I was trying to smuggle into the country. Fortunatey, they didn't seem to care. Unfortunately, it still takes a long time to clean half a can of baking powder out of a suitcase full of clothes and books.

I'm discovering--again--that when you ask a question, people tend to answer whether you're prepared to understand their question or not. But if I pretend (hypothetically, of course) that I understand the man's instructions as he's telling me which sign to turn left after to get to the meat shop, then he's none the wiser and I can go find the meat shop on my own. And then (hypothetically, of course) there's one more Arab who thinks I might have some clue what I'm talking about.

As I got to Amman, I had to take a taxi from the airport to the opposite side of the city, where our group of students are living in an apartment complex. In my 30-minute ride with Mahmoud, I discovered a lot of things about my Arabic. The first is that I didn't know the word for Pope. Now I do. The Pope is coming to Jordan and Israel this week, so we talked about his visit. "The head of the church in Rome" worked well enough for him to figure out what I was saying and teach me the Arabic word for it. Between his bit of English and my bit of Arabic, we managed to have a fairly decent conversation. I guess learning has to start somewhere, and Mahmoud's taxi is just as good a place as any.

On my way to the internet cafe tonight, I heard the prayer call--the first time I've heard it in many, many months. After living in an Islamic country, going without the prayer call causes some withdrawals. Five times every day, a reminder to pray--a call to set aside the world for a moment and worship God. It isn't quite as loud and dramatic here as it was in Jerusalem (where we had three minarets broadcasting the call within half a mile of us), but it's there and it's beautiful and it's inspiring.

So here I am in Jordan, jet-lagged, disoriented (ha--what an ironic pun!), and ready to jump into a summer of Arabic.