Vigor

“Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind.” – Seneca

I could not find more truth in my favorite philosopher’s words, if vigor in my case primarily means overcoming sickness and dealing with several frustrations. Indeed, the relaxed smile I told you about in my previous entry quickly furrowed into a determined, thin-lipped grimace as my final days in the States drained away, as I tried to maneuver my way through dozens of packing set-backs and tearful goodbyes.

Now, finally, I am here, in Jordan. My eyes woke up to their first Amman morning, to the unfamiliar surroundings of my hotel room, to the immensely bright mid-morning sunlight and the whirring hum of traffic that insists I get up and explore.

I’m up, uncertain of time, getting dressed in the cognizant haze of jet lag. I’ve been throwing up and nauseous all night, but I won’t let a silly stomach bug keep me from exploring my new hometown. My roommate and I walk five steps out of our hotel room door before I buckle over with stomach cramps and run back to the bathroom. Perhaps I’ll rest, after all. My thoughtful roommate returns later to the room with a small, light fare of breakfast foods, which I’ve been barely able to nibble on. I’ve had the exact same type of gastroenteritis before, so I’m not concerned about the recovery so much as the dehydration. Each sip after sip of water has become a small victory during this day of bedridden misery, but at least it affords me the time I need to rest and relax, along with writing my first blog post in Jordan.

The plane ride from JFK to Queen Alia Airport ran smoothly, except for the initial hour-and-a-half delay due to torrential rain from whatever tropical storm the East Coast is experiencing now. I have left the soggy marshes of Princeton for the crisp desert that surrounds Amman.

Rami, the cheerful driver who picked me up from the airport with a handful of other Fulbrighters, instantly began quizzing us in Arabic as he sped the car onto the highway. He would declare a sentence in Arabic and then look at me, saying in English, “What did I say?”

He would also announce points of interest that we drove by. Bedouin tents, the palace of the King’s brother, the US embassy (“you know what sefara means?”), wild camels. I felt like a giddy tourist, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the sights. Rami’s ability to multi-task while driving a manual was another impressive sight. I can barely sip a coffee while driving an automatic, yet here Rami is, rolling through prayer beads or engaging us in lively conversation if he isn’t on the phone, organizing Fulbright rides with the other drivers.

The sunset highlights the city’s array of modern and traditional architecture in punch-red light. The crescent moons atop the mosques’ spires kiss the sky goodnight as the city settles into deep-ocean blue.

After forty minutes, we finally roll up to the Al-Qasr Metropole Hotel, and the heard of us gradually trickle in through the hotel’s security checkpoint. An hour later, we meet up to wander around the neighborhood, looking for dinner. We shyly engage in conversation, looking around at these new streets with travel-fatigued numbness. A party bus full of young men brakes besides us and entreats us in English to join in the fun. Despite the hypnotizing music they’re blasting, we decline in favor of continuing our search for food.

I just want to keep walking, breathing in the jasmine and watching the people almost as much as they watch me. But, eventually, we stop for dinner, and, eventually, I succumb to the tiredness by returning to Al-Qasr and collapsing in bed.

Now, this morning, I continue to lounge in bed while most of the other Fulbrighters explore. My roommate is keeping a kind, watchful eye on me as she studies Arabic. I am quietly celebrating two hours without throwing up and watching Al-Jazeera.