Walden Cabin: Observations typed on an old Underwood

Streets of Amman

Jordan is stuck between Iraq and a hard place. Amman is its capital city, home to nearly half of the country’s 5 million people. Amman’s bustling commercial centre is alive and in constant motion. To take its pulse I stood still for a long time at a main intersection, letting the city flow around me.

Along the narrow streets, tiny independent shops spill out onto the sidewalks; tools and nuts, bolts of cloth; shoes; books and water pipes and fresh cuts of lamb. The air is thick and rich with spice, exhaust, and deep fried felafel or chicken shawarma. And Marlboro … oh, dear scorned travel friend! There’s a constant din of traffic competing with blaring Arabic music, the clockwork call to prayer, and the haggling of vendors. Men in clutches of threes or more at random intervals along the sidewalks chat and gesticulate intensely, fed by tea with bread and spicy hommous and olives delivered on round tin trays by silent boys. The city streets are their own coffee shop and arena. Women and children weave through the melee in a hurry to somewhere or inspect goods through cluttered windows.

I was the only one standing still and alone in this stream of life. My presence was largely unnoticed. When I was acknowledged, it was with a smile or with “Welcome in Jordan”. Despite the crush and the rush, and the fact that I was the only Western tourist to pass by in over an hour, I felt completely safe. More than this, in fact. It’s hard to describe, but I felt I was witnessing something closer to real life than I had seen in a long while in Canada. Our public spaces seem contrived by comparison. More wealthy, yes, but less rich. Streets and shops and promenades in Canada are merely ways to get to life. In Jordan, they are where life happens. I'll have to think more about this, but it's easy to conclude that our Western definition of wealth and prosperity would not necessarily improve the lives of Jordanians. They've got something that we've lost. Community? I'm not sure.



	Streets of Amman Jordan is stuck between Iraq and a hard place. Amman is its capital city, home to nearly half of the country’s 5 million people. Amman’s bustling commercial centre is alive and in constant motion. To take its pulse I stood still for a long time at a main intersection, letting the city flow around me. Along the narrow streets, tiny independent shops spill out onto the sidewalks; tools and nuts, bolts of cloth; shoes; books and water pipes and fresh cuts of lamb. The air is thick and rich with spice, exhaust, and deep fried felafel or chicken shawarma. And Marlboro … oh, dear scorned travel friend! There’s a constant din of traffic competing with blaring Arabic music, the clockwork call to prayer, and the haggling of vendors. Men in clutches of threes or more at random intervals along the sidewalks chat and gesticulate intensely, fed by tea with bread and spicy hommous and olives delivered on round tin trays by silent boys. The city streets are their own coffee shop and arena. Women and children weave through the melee in a hurry to somewhere or inspect goods through cluttered windows. I was the only one standing still and alone in this stream of life. My presence was largely unnoticed. When I was acknowledged, it was with a smile or with “Welcome in Jordan”. Despite the crush and the rush, and the fact that I was the only Western tourist to pass by in over an hour, I felt completely safe. More than this, in fact. It’s hard to describe, but I felt I was witnessing something closer to real life than I had seen in a long while in Canada. Our public spaces seem contrived by comparison. More wealthy, yes, but less rich. Streets and shops and promenades in Canada are merely ways to get to life. In Jordan, they are where life happens. I'll have to think more about this, but it's easy to conclude that our Western definition of wealth and prosperity would not necessarily improve the lives of Jordanians. They've got something that we've lost. Community? I'm not sure.				From PEI, with Spuds. Jump to other Jordan posts: > A Little Closer to God and Bombs > Balloon Animal Diplomacy > Streets of Amman > He Shoots, He Scores > Pillar of Salt > Ahmed the Spud > Rana and Honour Killings Head for the Hills of Prince Edward Island Walden Cabin >> "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, to front the essential facts of life and to see if I could learn what they had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) Walden; Or Life in the Woods (08.21) Walden Cabin is a publishing creation of Accolade Intermedia, an Ottawa-based communications company that specializes in content-rich Web products. www.accolade.ca >>
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