Day 3 1/2: Hello, Jordan

Sometime around noon I wake up to three noises: James shuffling around the apartment in search of breakfast, the noon prayer broadcasted on loudspeaker from a nearby mosque, and a beep from my cell phone with a text message from Marco: WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD! SEE YOU ON THURSDAY NIGHT XOXO

Very early Monday afternoon versus later Thursday evening, do the math and we have three and a half days, three and a half days, three and a half days. So fabulous to finally be able to shake off my Airport Neurosis, only to make way for the Waiting Game. How on earth will I wait for three and a half days? With my heart in my stomach, naturally, but until then it's time to get dressed and meet Raj's parents.

I have been hearing about these people since I was 19 years old, and from what Raj has been saying, they've been hearing about me for just as long. No sooner do I walk through their door then I can see exactly why Raj is my sister soulmate: while they look nothing like my parents, they talk, gesture and feed us with atrocious amounts of food exactly as my parents would. I therefore christen them Mom and Dad Jr., or as I called them later on in the trip, Mummy and Papi.

Mummy and Papi seem to like both me and James enough, and most importantly, do not seem to realize that Raj and James are 1) gay, and 2) together. In fact, they're too impressed with James' basic Arabic to even pay attention to Raj's little pinches and constant glossing over his lover.

OPENING SCENE: MODEST HOME IN THE MIDDLE EAST, SITTING AROUND THE DINNER TABLE WHILE RAJ LOSES HIS HEAD. BOTH OF THEM.

Raj: Mom, Dad, I would like to show James the apartment. Come, James (takes him by the hand and tries to pull him out of his seat).

James: (laughs nervously and takes his hand back) Maybe later?

Me: (standing up and taking Raj's hand, squeezing so hard a blood vessel pops) Now sweetie, wouldn't you like to show me the apartment too?

Raj: No, you're a big girl, you can look around yourself. (tosses my hand back and takes James' again) Come, James! (Off they go)

Me: (smiling at the parents, showing a lot of teeth) You know, James is really bad with directions.

Mummy and Papi: (nod)

Absolutely, unbelievably, totally fucking beyond me. So from this point on, I will stop asking questions.

Back to the meal. Mummy and Papi make us right at home by stuffing us to the gills with various Arabic delicacies (including HUMMUS, my cravings sang hallelujah), and cap off lunch with cardamom infused Turkish coffee. Thick as mud. At this point I attempt to amaze all with my firsthand, extremely corny knowledge of reading fortunes in coffee cups, but all I manage to see are images of dogs. Even more corny, I really miss Bluetooth.

The evening is young, so Raj drives us to Mount Nebo. This is apparently where Moses died, and it's not long before we are awash with bible thumpers galore. Even better, we are also awash with some seriously good looking security guards. Good looking enough that James and I had to force our eyes back in our skulls with Raj shrieking, "You two are so stupid!"

I am not seriously into Christian heritage sites, but I am seriously into fantastic views for the sake of photography, and I happily pull out my Nikon to the drumroll in my head. Super picture girl is back! Pick subject, assume position, look through view finder, manually focus and see... ... a seriously bad case of dust. Dust? What the hell? I cleaned everything out before I left. I take it apart, clean all with my funky little camera cloth, put it back together, repeat steps one thru four and see... a seriously badder case of dust.

No no no no no. I can't have dust in my lens. It just won't do. I take it apart again, clean everything out again, and ignore Mr. James know-it-all telling me that I'm probably making it worse. Yeah, yeah. He thinks he knows everything. I know he hates me. He's getting back at me for not letting him have the window seat on the plane, that's what he's doing.

But no matter what, I can't get that fucking dust out. Not on the mountain, not outside the church, inside the church, in the bathroom (which smelled bad), and back in the car or on our drive through the town, where I stop to get my mother some holy water. I may not be into Christian heritage sites, but she is. I'm tempted to bless my camera for the sake of better pictures and no dust, but hold my breath all the way back to the apartment where we finish our first Middle Eastern evening to Jurassic Park III on the tube, and a snack of black sesame breadsticks with cream cheese from a jar. And plenty of camera dust.