People of Amman (1/2)

I’ve lived in this town for that certain amount of time that enables you to see the patterns and trends of daily life. In Amman, a colourful city of two and a half million souls, I have been coming across particular individuals almost daily over the last few months. So now, a first overview of those particulars! I think there will be a part two to this sometime in the near future.

The Taxi Driver
He’s about 55 years old, Palestinian like everybody else, and talks in a high pitched voice. Is a very righteous man with strong ethical principles, but says ‘fuck’ a lot. A LOT. He does things for me. For example, he brought two bags with herbs for in my tea to my apartment. I once mentioned I liked mint. Very generous, right? The guard of my apartment building tried to scam me to get 5 JD for delivering it to me. The taxi driver called him ‘a fuck’ for that. He wants to drive me places, like Al Quds (Jerusalem). He has two sons and two daughters. Eldest daughter is 27. Random facts you get from being driven to your work once a week. He usually waits for me outside my building on Thursdays. He usually raises his hands up in the universal ‘What is this!?’ symbol, when I walk up the road at 5 to 9 – almost too late for work. He lives somewhere up Airport Road, I’m not sure where but it’s a long way away. I love this man.

The Newspaper Salesman
General ugly 7afartal (street thug) of some 45 years old. Stands at a major intersection near 6th Circle and Abdoun/Sweifiyeh every morning. He has a bunch of kids that, sadly, all look like him except without a huge beard. I’m sure they can and will sport one in a few years. He bosses the kids around a lot. He sells all kinds of newspapers and uses the traffic lights to manage his sales: red light means action, green means getting more newspapers. Whenever he sees me in a taxi, he says ‘Jordan Times?’.

The Safeway Employee
Manages the folks behind the cash registers, but often finds himself in the thick of it. He’s about 23 I think. Apparently he loves Germans and he thinks I’m one, because I happened to be able to speak German with him when he said that he had had German classes. He doesn’t know I don’t like Germans. Nonetheless, to keep up appearances, I put my principles aside each time I meet him and exchange some words in German. Just to make the guy happy, you know. I think I get good karma for this.

The Blue Fig Floor Manager
A dude I like to shake hands with, because he can get stuff done. On a busy day, you could get some preferential treatment in getting a table. He’s a pretty massive guy, definitely 1.95m and not skinny. He speaks with a heavy ‘urban’ American accent to me: sup man, long time no see, washappenin? That kind of stuff. I think he once told me he lived in Dallas, Texas for years. There are other Blue Fig people too. All the waiters know me and know I’m Dutch, because of their Holland Week in May and me subsequently wearing an orange tie. Also, the general manager says hi to me ever since I got into a verbal exchange with him when he refused to play my cd with Dutch songs during Holland Week. I think he doesn’t really like me but shakes my hand nonetheless. I don’t really like him but shake his hand nonetheless.

The Gypsy
Although everybody pretty much dislikes gypsies for their strange behavior, I sort of like the Jordanian gypsies. I come across them now and then, when I walk home from Safeway or Cozmo. The ones I meet are always women (I’m actually not sure if they are always the same ones or not) and dressed in amazing clothes. Bright orange, bright purple. Long fluttery dresses with flowery patterns. Sandals of course. And the hair, amazing. Always braided and long, really long. Overall, they look kind of scruffy, windswept but definitely swashbuckling. Never exchanged a word with them though. I don’t dare to because I think they might put a curse on me or something. I mean, there must be a reason they’re gypsies and no one really gets involved with them. But of course they do get my stamp of approval, just for their superb looks and great sense of 2007 gypsy fashion.

 

Simple rules to drive in Amman

Driving in the Middle East can be a bit of a tricky thing to some, while to others (in all likelihood the somewhat more aggressive, talkative and seasoned drivers) it almost comes naturally. Either way, driving in the Arab world is an experience in itself. Here are some tips to help you fit in. If they seem strange to you, just remember that without heeding my advice, you’d look like a total foreigner.

• Never stop, except for red lights. Don’t stop to let cars pass on roundabouts or at intersections, but always have the car creeping forward. In doing so, you will at some point subtly block the road for other drivers, allowing a safe passage for you.
• Drive with one hand at the horn. Use it. People rarely use their mirrors properly, so always be ready to honk.
• Don’t count on the fact that just because you come from the right, you go first. It just doesn’t work like that. The one to arrive at an intersection first and/or honks first, goes first. Oh, and use your lights to signal as well.
• Get proper car insurance. Always wear your seat belt. (…)
• When being driven in a taxi, try to wear a seatbelt (I say try to, because a lot of the taxis are in a shape that would classify them as junk: a seatbelt is a luxury). A third of the taxi drivers is actually capable of proper driving, another third is too old/blind/deaf, and the last third are reckless speeders. Prepare for impact.
• Don’t worry about speeding cameras. They’re very few in number, and usually overgrown by the leaves of nearby trees.
• Pimp your ride. Even the most family-oriented car should have a rally wheel and spinning rims in Amman. Don’t forget purple neon for under your car and fluorescent blue lights where your headlights should be.

Feel free to comment if you think of some more rules of the road!

 

Ghetto world

I was walking back to my house from the supermarket Cozmo, a walk of some 5 minutes. It was 7 pm, and I had just gotten out of work. Tired and kind of cranky. I had been a shitty day.

Strolling down the slightly sloped road, I was passed on the right by two Arabs. Well, Arab, but not really. Their features were Arab, but their clothes were, well, urban. Ghetto if you will. I passed them and cracked a smile. I knew what I was in for.

“Sup? Where ya from?”
I turned around and raised my hand, and consequently my three plastic bags with groceries, in a greeting. “Hi. I’m from Holland.”
“Where?”
“Holland.”
“What?”
“The Netherlands, man. Holland?”, I stated again.
“Aw, yeah, you gotsta speak up yo. Sup?”, the first guy went on. “My name’s Tarek. Dis is Munir.”
“Pleasure. My name’s Sander.”

Imagine you’re in a 50 Cent music video. Grown men in oversized shirts, decorated with fake gold around their necks. Wearing jeans with the crotch between their knees. You know, old skool ghetto boys.

“So, where are you guys from?”, I enquired naturally.
“Always lived in Chicago, man. But I’m Jordanian. Just came back here for good…”, Tarek smiled. Munir nodded and added, “We be chillin’ in da sun yaknowmsayin, dis summer is gonbe hot. So, you from Holland huh? You gots weed bro?”
I shook my head. “No man. That stuff’s dangerous down here.” They looked at each other and laughed. Tarek shook his head, revealing a glimpse of his name tattooed on his neck. “Shit man, you gotsa be kiddin’. Dat shit is so good down here. We gotta hook up some time, aight? What’s yo numba?”

I gave them my number and we shook hands (an automatic ghetto shake). I turned around the corner and laughed to myself. No matter how far away from home you are, there’s a constant in the world wherever you go. That constant is called Music Television, MTV. Isn’t it beautifully frightening? We’re all children of mass media.

Speaking of mass media: if you have the chance, I would suggest checking out the site of a knowledgable man I met in Amman last month. Rob Williams PhD., an American expert on mass media and professor, writer, singer, composer, blogger, proud Vermont citizen, party animal (as seen with my own eyes) and public speaker. Listen to his song ‘Kill your television’ right here.

 

A ride through Amman

Take a ride with me through Amman. We start between Douar Sadis (6th Circle — Amman’s major roads converge on ‘circles’ or roundabouts) and Douar Gamis (5th Circle), right around the place where I work. The big building you see on the right is the Sheraton Hotel. We travel down through the tunnel to Zahran Street, a long street lined with nice sidewalks and plenty of trees. It’s a great area to live in, but you need some serious cash. You’ll be neighbours to the king, living in Zahran Palace. The big rounded building you drive straight at is Hotel Le Royal, a skyline landmark in Amman. After Zahran Street, we pass to the Third Circle (Douar Thlatis), Second Circle (Douar Teini) and First Circle (Douar Owal), getting us into the neighbourhood called Jabal Amman. This is a lovely authentic neighbourhood with thousands of steps and old houses. We end in Rainbow Street, at the doorstep of one of my favourite bars/restaurants: Books@Cafe.

 

Snow!

Welcome to the seven mountains of Amman. Last report featured a hot spring day, this one will highlight snow, hail, wind, and lot of rain. On Wednesday, a cold front rolled in. Rumour had it that it might bring snow on Thursday. I didn’t believe it. Come on, I was Amman for God’s sake. Right?

Wrong.

I got was texted at 8:15, telling me that work was off due to the weather. What weather exactly, I wondered? I looked out of my window, seeing a light dusting of snow and some rain. Not the weather to walk around in your shorts, but definitely not the weather to cancel a whole day of productivity either. But as I wandered out to get breakfast, it started to snow more heavily. Some random observations.

• With heavy rain or snow, Ammani public life stops. Shops close, offices close, ministries close.
• With heavy rain or snow, Ammani streets become rivers. Where’s the drainage? I’m wading here, guys.
• Kids make snow men from an inch of snow. It’s an art, I guess.
• Drivers tend to stay off the streets in bad weather. Those still driving are taxis or just plain mad.

It didn’t snow that much during the day. Mainly wet snow, disappearing on the roads creating mud. But at sunset, the show started. Roads become ice skating rinks, the snow thickened and you could see cars skidding in turns. Then in the morning, it was all gone, like nothing had happened. In conclusion, another nice surprise in Amman.

Check out the Flickr box on the right for photos.

 

Springtime stroll

First fantastic Spring day. It’s 25 degrees Celsius, clear skies, light breeze, and I just walked around the block for my lunch break. From my office neighbourhood, mainly consisting of villas and luxury apartment buildings, I crossed the busy street into the commercial district of Sweifiyeh. The base of Sweifiyeh is a block grid of 5-floor apartment buildings. Add long galleries instead of sidewalks, for the necessary shade. Then add a bunch of tiny shops with local brands. Let that simmer for a while. Then, add a lot, and I mean a lot, of chaotically placed signs indicating shop names, owner names, cars for sale, and traffic signs. As coup de grace, add two table spoons of extremely chaotic traffic, triple double parking and a pinch of honking. There you have it. Bon appetite! It’s a dish that may need some getting used to, but once you take a bite, you’re hooked.

Furthermore, I’m sad to say that my wireless connection at home is absolute bollocks. It started out fine, it was fast, it was promising. The problem is that whenever there is a problem, it takes ages to fix and a lot of calls to the landlord, who in turn has to call some shop. So consequently, I haven’t had an Internet connection at home for a week now. So please, again forgive me my slow updates, but be aware that they’re in the pipeline.

Time to return to my work! I’ve got a thesis that’s 38 pages already, and I’m working on the last bit of literary review. At this stage, I’m traveling around Amman a lot to meet with experts on the subject of Corporate Social Responsibility. I’m using their thoughts and critiques to enhance my own view on the concept of CSR. I’m happy to report that it’s all going quite well!

 

King Hussein Mosque

Yesterday, I went into a mosque for the first time. Abdallah was my tour guide for the day, a true Mexican-Jordanian and thus fully deserving the nickname I give him — ese, and as we sped through the traffic around the big malls (City Mall, Mekka Mall, Carrefour) up 8th Circle, he told me about his family business and decided that I should be introduced. His father has a little plant shop next to City Mall called Bloomz, which imports most of its products from the Netherlands; we had a cup of tea and I was shown around to everybody. We walked around back to the main entrance of City Mall, now in its final stages of construction and partly opened to the public. Abdallah’s family actually owns the construction site and the huge mall buildings, plus some million-dollar villas on the hill overlooking the site.

So, back to that mosque. I went to the King Hussein mosque up the road from 8th Circle. A huge thing, and wow, it was beautiful. It holds up to 3000 people praying inside and on Fridays, the mosque itself and all the surrounding area (all white marble plateaus with well-kept gardens) is packed with some 8000-10000 people. I was not allowed to take pictures, so a description should suffice. The inside was humbly empty, yet subtly decorated. Red Turkish carpet, warmed by central heating, covered the entire surface of the mosque; 8 wooden doors provided entrance into the central area. None of the doors had any nails or glue in them, yet each one was beautifully engraved with flowery ornaments. In the center of the mosque was the sheikh’s area, from where he preaches to those gathered. Above this small area was the mosque’s dome: a 5-ton golden chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. Here and there, small crooked wooden tables held two or three Qur’ans. We walked around for a while and then left, just in time to see the sun set behind the hills of the King’s Palace in the distance.

Incredible.

 

al Makdonaldz

Amman is quite the American franchise. Not that this is anything peculiar of course. It fits in a line of other countries all having adopted the American brands of fast food, coffee bars and wholesale stores. But to me, as a Dutchman, it’s a feast of brand recognition (from American television shows! ;)) and a lot of brand discovery. In Holland, we only have McDonald’s, Burger King, KFC, and Subway. Correct me if I’m wrong, readers.

If you know me just a tad bit, you’ll know that I love Starbucks. Everytime I’m abroad, I visit a Starbucks. They have a great one here near Abdoun Circle, with excellent facilities. Actually it’s the best one I’ve ever been to. And yes, the coffee and food are overpriced, but it’s the overall experience that counts. Nevermind this marketing babble. Furthermore, Amman houses ChiliWays (mmmm great chicken burgers), Hardee’s, Popeye’s, American Bakehouse (fantastic bread), and all the obligatory stuff like McDonald’s, BK, KFC, etc. Other market segments are also represented. I saw a Radioshack near 6th Circle.

Yet, there are also the great local and regional franchises. I’m a big fan of the Lebanese chain of Casper & Gambini’s. They make great fajitas for lunch. And yesterday, my all-time favourite icecream parlour (van der Poel IJs in Hengelo and Enschede, Holland) was thrown back into second place by a local Amman parlour. Nutella ice cream. WOW.

 

Nightmare on Abu Hassan al-Manoffi street

Imagine this.

It’s the first morning you wake up in a strange city. You don’t know where you are, and frankly, you’re only concerned with where you’re going. Your office.

You open your door and find that you’re surrounded by fog. Pale sunlight manages to creep through, creating an eery spectacle of light and water particles. Then, softly, in the distance, from a source unknown to you, you hear this tune. I remember my primary reactions were, ‘What the hell is that?’ followed by ‘Ok, so when is Chuckie going to slit my throat?’.

After a day or two of getting jumped by this sound in various parts of the city, I discovered the source. It’s a little pick-up truck driving around, selling gas cilinders to people. They used to just have a megaphone and scream about the quality of their gas, but this was forbidden by the government. Instead, music was allowed. So they came up with the tune. The only thing you can say for it, is that certainly is most recognizable.

Note: the wav file has been embedded in a ppt file. Just run it, it plays automatically.

 

My Saturday is your Sunday

Today’s weather: clear blue skies, pretty warm (16C), with a light breeze. Eeeexcellent. Yet, I’m inside right now with a great wireless connection at Books@Cafe, spending my Saturday — last day of the weekend. Books is a restaurant and a bar in the heart of Amman, on Bin Omar al-Khattab street, also known as Mango Street. Note that this last bit of information does not matter to any of the taxi drivers around. Basically, these guys only know how to drive to shopping malls and major hotels. This can be a bit of a pain, as you have to guide them yourself (not a viable option when you’ve been in the city for 2 weeks) or you have to call one of your more knowledgeable Arab friends to allow for an explanation of the route over the phone. Sometimes, I wonder if the taxi drivers just play ignorant to buy time and distance and with that, some extra Dinars. During the day they’re stuck to meters (getting you around the city for 1 or 2 Jordanian Dinars) but during the night they use their own prices. Welcome to the wonderful world of haggling.

Yesterday I met up very early in the morning (07:30 – early, considering I had a rough night with little sleep on Thursday) with a colleague, Layla. We were both inspired by last week’s bike tour of the Jordan Valley and decided to tag along with a few more. Yesterday’s route covered the same part of the Jordan valley as last time, but the wind had picked up considerably and made the trip a bit harder. Again though, the scenery was mind boggling. Pictures to come. While cycling through the agricultural parts of Jordan, you’re looking back at the mountains hiding Amman and at the West Bank with the city of Jericho in the middle. The farming people you encounter are very simple, speak no real English and live in Bedouin tents on the land, surrounded by their livestock and well-dressed children (Layla: “My God, is that kid naked?”).

Today’s an easy, relaxing day. I think I’m going to check out one of the walking routes mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide to Amman, taking me through the gold souk (the traditional Arab marketplace) and the downtown area.