Day 13: Amman

My last official morning in Jordan, I wake up extra early to snuggle in the floral sheets and listen to the morning prayer. I can't appreciate the message since I can't understand it, but musically it is a beautiful thing, this sheikh singing to the city every day, five times a day. His voice rings out across the houses and the hills, praying the same prayer as the sheikh before him, and the sheikh before him, and the sheikhs over 2,000 years ago. I will miss it.

Someone else is singing a song, and that's James. James is singing a song not only about me, but a song that refers to me as Satan. Here's how it started: James said something to me after I hauled out of bed and made my first hallway appearance of the day, I don't remember what exactly, but I do remember that I answered back in the most snappish way possible.

SHE'S BACK! James remembers very well what I was like on the flight here, and he now knows how totally titchy I am the 24 hours before I set foot on a plane. In short, James has been a victim of Airport Neurosis. Once you are a victim of Airport Neurosis, you make sure to know ALL the telltale signs so you can a) get the hell out of my way, or b) run like mad.

Well, we were both in the same space, so there was no running, or even getting out of the way. James chose to sing, and better yet, was gracious enough just this morning to provide me with full lyrics. Sing the following to the tune of, "It's Beginning to look a lot like Christmas":

She's beginning to seem a lot like Satan
Every time she flies
Just a look in her flaming eyes
And toddlers start to cry
Get in her way and kiss your ass goodbye

She's beginning to seem a lot like Satan
As boarding time grows near
And the freakiest sight to see
Is the harpy-like lady
Screaming in your ear

Clutching my ticket I'm dragged through the thicket of passengers, feeling remorse
Hear objectifications on failed vacations to Minsk and the Azores
While stewards and pilots can hardly wait for her wine to run its course

She's beginning to seem a lot like Satan
Every time she flies
Would much rather be in Hell
Or far too drunk to tell
Pitying looks from all the other guys

She's beginning to seem a lot like Satan
On a jet powered foray
For lucidity it's a must
To have a misplaced sense of trust
That her fare's one way.

Poor James. I made a mental note to be nicer to the guy this time around, after all, he's been my husband and table scraps buddy for almost two weeks now.

Our first stop this morning is to Mummy's and Papi's apartment once again, but we barely set foot inside when Papi ushers James and I right back out the door. It's a gourmet kind of morning and Papi, that connoisseur, is taking us out for bread. Not just any bread though, but specially baked rounds with various toppings like egg, salami and cheese, wild thyme, etc. I get one and James gets one but magically, when we get back to the apartment, there are a half dozen in the bag. Note to Self: learn more Arabic for the next time around, I just get too easily swindled.

This bread, along with a bunch of other delicacies on the table, is our breakfast. Once we have stuffed ourselves to the gills and declared breakfast to be over, we are informed that lunch is in two hours. Never fear, James and I have figured out a creative way to work off those calories and best of all, our first sojourn in this city without Raj.

We are going to have SEX! Nah, just kidding. He's bent and I'm straight, it could never work. But we are going downtown, us whitefolk, and we're doing it by ourselves. We have a quick mission to accomplish, and one that Raj must know absolutely nothing about.