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| Me on a camel in Aqaba, Jordan – country’s only sea port town. |
- the public’s secret disdain for the royal family, which is grossly more affluent than 90+ percent of the population (not a stretch reality given the popularity of economic inequality worldwide). Khaled, my driver from the airport, provided a delightful narration heading into the city after 24 hours of travel via London. I have part of the conversation on tape!
- how to de-bone a whole fish in three easy steps, according to colleague Abdul Hafiz, who is the model of patience, endurance and culinary savvy.
- that marriage in Jordan often remains the gateway for a woman to accept the confines of housewife, cook and child “breeder” (yes, this word was actually used today) despite Jordan’s peaceful and modernistic flair in its capital city. Arranged marriages also remain the norm with less economically affluent populations.
- Jordan’s water comes from Syria and Israel, making politics a triple-eged sword in this hood.
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| Girls participating in Right To Play programs in Jordan. |
I topped off the day with barrels of laughs caused by the fun and inevitably quirky synergy that any travel group creates when you have a handful of virtuous, do-gooder, educated folks interested in partnering on a trip to less-than-five-star destinations to learn something, be inspired, and observe firsthand the impact they are creating by supporting Right To Play, serving as a Board member and so on.
I learned that if you lobby hard enough, the visa desk at the Amman International airport will allow you to use a credit card to buy your $20USD visa (and invite you to cut the line of 20+ other travelers while doing it, yes!). I tasted ‘Arak,’ a Jordanian liquor fortified with anise and resembling watered down milk. I enjoyed more than my share of Middle Eastern pastries and hummus – period. I discovered the huge Chechen refugee population residing in Jordan, and in turn, realized that while ‘refugee camp’ is a term implying short-term living arrangements, it often makes populations stationary for decades, like the Chechens in Jordan.
I remembered how much I love this kind of locally-driven travel and all the on-the-ground fabrics, dynamics and conversations you get to witness when you hang on to the skirts of people serving their communities for a yet-unknown greater good on this globe.