My Rainbow

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. - Maya Angelou

Here's a herd of bicyclists that passed by my taxi one day to a lecture. I don't see too many of them around the traffic-crazed streets of Amman!

Things are changing. The night mist chills my house into a deep, damp cold until the sun rises and lifts the icy haze away, leaving only the inside of our house chilly. The rains slowly roll over Amman, signaling the beginning of winter. My roommates and I are debating how we should heat our apartment for the winter, so while we stall, we also freeze at night and early in the morning when I roll out of bed, getting ready for school. Buildings here are built of stone and concrete, so summer creates an inferno indoors while winter turns your home into an icebox. It always feels better outside than it does inside, so I take advantage of that frustrating phenomenon by going on walks around town.

The chill temperatures have chased the crowds away from Rainbow Street, the main stretch of road where my neighborhood’s social scene thrives. Now, the weekend nights feel more subdued, giving you a calm environment for a nice evening walk.

I went out last night with my friend from Jordan to walk around Rainbow. We enjoyed the slight breeze and the sights. The families slowly processing down the sidewalks, the young men congregating in the squares, the ice cream man making an upbeat percussion instrument out of his ice cream maker as he churns furiously.

Rainbow Street has become my street. I know it so well. At the beginning of the street, cars whir around al-Door al-Owel, the First Circle, from the traffic-clogged road that comes from the Second Circle. All this traffic slowly winds and honks its way into the narrow single-lane, cobblestone pavement that is Rainbow Street.

The traffic is an obvious indicator of the street’s popularity in the city. Cafés and boutique shops line both sides, indicating material wealth and prosperity, but the smaller joints highlighting local artwork and posters for alternative concerts show that this tiny thoroughfare shares a connection to the hip, underground art world that quietly thrives in Amman.

My favorite café is Turtle Green, which is quick walk to my place. Besides having addictive lemonade with mint, their calming atmosphere makes it a perfect place to relax after a stressful day. Farther down the street, I go to Café de Artistes for a quiet evening where I can have a candid conversation with someone and check out the latest happenings and concerts in the area. By the Café, Souk Jaraa opens seasonally on sunny Fridays and Saturdays as an arts-and-crafts market. I enjoyed many weekend excursions to the Souk, admiring the handiwork, tasting the vendors’ different delicacies, and watching the kids run around.

At the end of Rainbow, the street curves suddenly to avoid plunging down the hill’s steep drop-off. Stairs instead meet you at the curve and guide you, after several hundred steps, down to Downtown, the Balad, the busy hub of the city where East and West Amman converge into an action-packed center of commerce. I often take these stairs to meet friends for tea or to pick up a package from my Mom or to check out the many different stores that the Balad has to offer. You can find almost anything in the Balad.

More often, however, I’ll follow Rainbow’s curve to the Royal Film Commission, which houses a wide array of film screenings every week. Foreign films and independent documentaries throughout the world find their way to this small compound nestled on the hillside. During warmer months, the RFC will feature films outside in the perfectly quiet night air. The screen sits in front of a stunning view of East Amman, and the audience often finds it difficult to focus on the film itself with such a view, especially if fireworks go off. And then, at least once during every screening, the obligatory random cat will come strolling in front of the screen and make a shadow. But no one shews it away.

But more often, I pass the RFC to instead have brunch at Books @ Café, my preferred weekend morning hangout. Its spacious views grace the diners, who can relax on lounge couches and smoke shisha. The place has a nice, relaxed atmosphere, providing an open environment to chill with friends.

But tonight, my friend takes me to a different place. She takes me to “Wazzup Dog,” a trendy hotdog place with a creative list of condiments and splashes of graffiti covering the walls. As a former 10-year vegetarian, I’m embarrassed to admit how much I like this place. My friend smiles at my satisfaction and walks me home.

The shopkeepers whose shops line my street are gradually getting to recognize my face. They nod and smile their greetings, sometimes muttering a kind “salaam aleikum” as my friend and I pass. I feel that, slowly but surely, I am making a place for myself here, in hearts of friends and the pleasant greetings of my neighbors.

Now I’m home. I’m singing along to Disney songs with my roommates, writing this post and thinking about the heating situation. It’s all good.