Sunday, April 08, 2012

A Dead Car and Jordanian Hospitality

Yesterday we took a drive to the outskirts of town, to an older area called Bayaader, which used to be a village separate from Amman, but which now has been swallowed up by the ever growing city. It is literally on the edge of town, as buildings on its easternmost point cling to the sides of high hills that overlook the quickly dropping route down to the Jordan Valley. Unlike where we live--and unlike most of Amman--many of the people who live there are original, tribal Jordanians, who are descendants of nomadic Bedouins. There is also a small but significant population of Circassians, whose ancestors were forced by the Russians from their homeland in the mountainous Caucasus region between the Black and Caspian Seas in what is now southern Russia and Georgia in the late 19th century. Jordan is filled with people who came from someplace else.

Not long after we arrived in Bayaader, though, the rental car we were driving suddenly came to a stop. Since the gas tank had been creeping towards empty, at first we thought we had embarrassingly run out of gas. So, we flagged down a man driving by, and he drove me and my crutches to a gas station some distance away, while Annamarie and the kids stayed back with the car, ate snacks, and checked out the neighborhood. We returned with two old water bottles filled with gas, but that was not the answer, as the car still did not start. By this time some of the neighborhood men had begun converging on the scene, each offering their advice on how to start the car, and it was decided that I should try to start it while coasting down the top of the hill. Don't, though, go too far, they said, as the hill drops very steeply quite quickly, and the car if it didn't start would be impossible to stop. So, with no power steering or brakes, I casually began coasting down the hill. It again didn't start, though, and I turned the car up the last side-street before the big drop.

With no other option at this point, we finally decided to call the rental car company. To make a long story short, they sent out one of their workers, who discovered the timing belt needed to be replaced. The four of us waited for the car to be fixed with a family of strangers whose home it came to rest in front of. Two cups of mint tea, a cup of Turkish coffee, a glass of Pepsi--and almost four hours later--we left. Below are some pictures of our day with them, the kind of day all the travel books have in mind when they talk about Jordanian hospitality.











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