Here is where I don't comment on our two month hiatus. Here's where I fail to mention that for the last two months we've been living in a village and learning Arabic, where I refuse to tell you how wonderful and inviting our host family has been and where I do not talk about my new Jordanian father being an Arabic speaking version of my real father.
You are now skipping four episodes and tuning into the new season.
Rumors of snow give way to great swaths of rain and I am reminded that despite thousands of miles, we've only switched deserts. The Jordanian family-a term which extends three or four degrees further than it's English counterpart-gathers around stoves burning gas, or kerosene, or the byproduct of this season's olive harvest for warmth. It is no coincidence that our first babblings in Arabic include invaluable winter commands to children such as, "SHUT THE DOOR", "BRING ME THE HEATER", and "MAKE SOME TEA." Tea pots bubble over with cinnamon bark and water and the smell is a displaced Christmas.
We've landed very close to where we began. We live about 15 minutes away from the village that we have been staying in for the last two months. That puts us about 45 minutes from Amman and about 5 minutes from the Syrian border. The US Government suggests I do not disclose our actual location which seems like fair advice.
How has the conflict in Syria affected our lives here? Our need to furnish our giant home has bulged over the belt of our Peace Corps settling in allowance like so much unflattering muffin-top and thus we were on the lookout for a small, cheap, refrigerator. We stopped and spoke to a used appliance salesman who's accent betrayed him as Iraqi. "The Syrians have bought up all the small refrigerators." That is all so far.
We are making friends, which is an important and sometimes doozy of a step. On Thursday, our friend who spent a few weeks in Texas about a decade ago, took us to a party in Amman. The party was gender segregated, as parties often are, and provided a mind altering combination of traditional Bedouin garb and Fendi hobo purses. The women around me did not wear hijab and peppered their conversation with English, pronounced in Californian accents so precise they could have been extras on Laguna Beach. Gun shots rang out in celebration, as is the custom, as Rick shmoozed with pharmaceutical reps and members of Parliament. We were never able to determine the cause for such expensive diversion (complete with the best kanafa in Jordan), but discussion centered around the brother of a pharmaceutical distribution company's CEO being acquitted on fraud charges.
Leaving our social life up to the mood of fate. Watch to see what happens next.
You are now skipping four episodes and tuning into the new season.
Rumors of snow give way to great swaths of rain and I am reminded that despite thousands of miles, we've only switched deserts. The Jordanian family-a term which extends three or four degrees further than it's English counterpart-gathers around stoves burning gas, or kerosene, or the byproduct of this season's olive harvest for warmth. It is no coincidence that our first babblings in Arabic include invaluable winter commands to children such as, "SHUT THE DOOR", "BRING ME THE HEATER", and "MAKE SOME TEA." Tea pots bubble over with cinnamon bark and water and the smell is a displaced Christmas.
We've landed very close to where we began. We live about 15 minutes away from the village that we have been staying in for the last two months. That puts us about 45 minutes from Amman and about 5 minutes from the Syrian border. The US Government suggests I do not disclose our actual location which seems like fair advice.
How has the conflict in Syria affected our lives here? Our need to furnish our giant home has bulged over the belt of our Peace Corps settling in allowance like so much unflattering muffin-top and thus we were on the lookout for a small, cheap, refrigerator. We stopped and spoke to a used appliance salesman who's accent betrayed him as Iraqi. "The Syrians have bought up all the small refrigerators." That is all so far.
We are making friends, which is an important and sometimes doozy of a step. On Thursday, our friend who spent a few weeks in Texas about a decade ago, took us to a party in Amman. The party was gender segregated, as parties often are, and provided a mind altering combination of traditional Bedouin garb and Fendi hobo purses. The women around me did not wear hijab and peppered their conversation with English, pronounced in Californian accents so precise they could have been extras on Laguna Beach. Gun shots rang out in celebration, as is the custom, as Rick shmoozed with pharmaceutical reps and members of Parliament. We were never able to determine the cause for such expensive diversion (complete with the best kanafa in Jordan), but discussion centered around the brother of a pharmaceutical distribution company's CEO being acquitted on fraud charges.
Leaving our social life up to the mood of fate. Watch to see what happens next.
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