Day 12 1/2: Amman

We have a brief rest, Raj and James have a quickie, I pretend to hear nothing as I buff my nails. I really can't stand filing nails since I'm more of a biter, but then I do love a nice bit of shine. A couple of good looking hands and two smiling homosexuals later, we're on the road back downtown.

We have two city missions today: jewellery and clothes. The jewellery part is for me. I haven't gotten nearly enough of it since I've been here, and feeling totally withdrawn. Need bracelets! Need necklaces! Need, in general, pretty baubles to dangle and dazzle. If I can't stop a man dead in his tracks with my knockout body just yet, at least I can blind him with the brilliance of my bracelets.

This is solved by going back to the Iraqi corner and up a flight of stone steps to some amazing pawn shops. When on the road, pawn shops are your best bet. In North America, your everyday pawn shop is usually overstocked with pipes and old microwaves, but in the rest of the world, they have the best stuff. I got old coins, mother of pearl necklaces, this amazing Bedouin pendant with a red stone, and another amulet made with silver and a seashell. I've yet to go to an overseas pawnery and be disappointed.

The clothes part is for James. Raj wants James to have traditional clothes. In other words, that very long dress shirt you see Arabic men wearing, complete withYasir Arafat headscarf. The long dress shirt is called a Dishdash. James calls it an Arabic eating dress, since there are no buttons or zippers to loosen after a gigantic meal. I call it James' wedding dress. The head scarf is called a Hatta. James and I both that, 'The sheikh thing." James got his dishdash alright, a nice long grey one, with a matching black and white hatta. We thought it would go nice with his eyes.

Downtown errands done, we went back to Raj's parents place for a quick dinner, and more hummus. By this point, I never want to see hummus again for as long as I live, or at least another month or so, but I love Mummy and Papi. Their efforts to make us feel so at home are really touching, so what else can I do? Pass the pita. The All Bran is still doing it's work, so James and I won't be suffering too much for it.

And then back in the car for the last stop of the day: Mecca Mall. Just like I have yet to see a bad pawnery overseas, I also have yet to visit a foreign city without a completely Americanized mall smack dab in the middle of it all. Mecca Mall is a pretty new place and has all your latest Western needs and wants: designer clothes, a multiplex, and Cinnabon. All of which we bypassed to go to the music store. Ever since our night at Kan Zaman, I've been wanting some classical Arab music to take home. The twenty-something kid at the cash was good enough to not only let us pick out a dozen or so CD's, but unwrapped every single one so we could listen to our selections before buying. I bought five discs and Raj got four; cash boy gave us two free downloaded & burned compilations as a parting gift. How very, very nice.

We went back to the apartment early to start our packing for tomorrow night. James had way too much liquor in his bag so I took some in mine, which made my bag way too heavy so he took my honey and some other stuff. We were making pretty good time and I knew I'd never have this opportunity again, so I asked James to try his new outfit on. His answer was, "No, because you'll take a picture of me in it." I promised I wouldn't, then pouted for good measure. James hates it when I pout, so he tried his outfit on. The dishdash was too short, and the headband keeping the hatta in place was too small. After Raj and I both killed ourselves laughing, I took a picture.

Recap: The one souvenir I regret not buying in Amman was that nice, big bottle of genuine Hogo Boss perfume. Only two dinars. The "Hogo" part isn't a typo, either.