Amman, Jordan

Amman is just how I pictureed a Middle Eastern city. It's hills are covered with beige block houses in various states of repair or disrepair. Electrical wires and antenae abound. Hill after hill repeat itself - little to no variation on a theme. The repitition is hypnotic and reassuring. The simplicity, beautiful.

The downtown streets are lined with small shops - spices, perfumes, shoes, clothing, food stalls and cellular phones. Male shopkeepers stand in doorways watching the traffic pass and wait for the next customer. The is no hassle, only the occassional "hello."

February in Amman is cold and grey. Freezing rain falls sporadically throughout the day. It is winter and bitter - one's breath visible in the mid-day air. Everyone is wrapped in jackets and scarves. The people are warm, but not overly. If there is reason for conversation, it is welcoming and unabtrusive, but passing communications can be brief and focused. I wonder how this changes with the weather.

I see mainly men. Women are not uncommon, just less. The women I do see are walking or shopping - with purpose. Loitering seems to be a passtime reserved for the men. Every now and again I look up and see male eyes staring at me from behind the windows of a passing bus, but for the most part I'm just another pair of feet walking down the wet pavement. The air is fresh with a chill that kisses my cheeks as the call to prayer in my ear gives a sense of place five times throughout the day.