The sun and clouds that define our mood are too intimate. Our trip to Jerash was allowed only by the arbitrary lax attitude of the weather, spring dancing a prelude to a summer that promises to scorch. Basking in the luxury of no special urgency, we went to visit the largest Roman ruins outside of Rome herself.
Leaving our city is like taking a small minibus into a dream. Our eyes, having been attuned to a spectrum of desert beige are greedy for color. Driving into the mountain regions the bus hums a song of envy. The yellows, reds and purples of spring wildflowers hit us like an opiate, and playing in the same vein, become ordinary instances of life as quickly.
The ruins of Jerash are extensive and well preserved. The column lined road to the hippodrome is paved with stones worn smooth by Roman sandals. The theater in the round has tiered seating so steep that on approach to the entrance one can only imagine that generations of patrons to the arts have tumbled to their deaths or injurious demise. Temples and columns have stood strong for the worshipers of their Gods, and then for the worshipers of the worshipers.
Tourists flock to Jerash, though not in the numbers that they arrive in Aqaba or Petra. Drinking in the history of the Roman empire means sipping on the trappings of modernity in turn. Hearing English, seeing exposed arms and legs and couples holding hands, the quality of living in an atmosphere of perpetual dread is momentarily assuaged. Scarves and prying eyes removed from our bodies, the extremes of modern and ancient are laid out like an undeveloped negative.
Leaving our city is like taking a small minibus into a dream. Our eyes, having been attuned to a spectrum of desert beige are greedy for color. Driving into the mountain regions the bus hums a song of envy. The yellows, reds and purples of spring wildflowers hit us like an opiate, and playing in the same vein, become ordinary instances of life as quickly.
The ruins of Jerash are extensive and well preserved. The column lined road to the hippodrome is paved with stones worn smooth by Roman sandals. The theater in the round has tiered seating so steep that on approach to the entrance one can only imagine that generations of patrons to the arts have tumbled to their deaths or injurious demise. Temples and columns have stood strong for the worshipers of their Gods, and then for the worshipers of the worshipers.
Tourists flock to Jerash, though not in the numbers that they arrive in Aqaba or Petra. Drinking in the history of the Roman empire means sipping on the trappings of modernity in turn. Hearing English, seeing exposed arms and legs and couples holding hands, the quality of living in an atmosphere of perpetual dread is momentarily assuaged. Scarves and prying eyes removed from our bodies, the extremes of modern and ancient are laid out like an undeveloped negative.
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