Feet on the ground

10:45 a.m.

               We arrived in Jordan just prior to 4:00 in the morning, after a long and noisy flight. Tired, we passed through Immigration, acquiring work visas from men who looked at least as tired as we were, and a lot more bored. Once everyone had their luggage and Customs was relatively certain that none of us was carrying anything more dangerous than a trowel and a bawdy sense of humour, we stowed our luggage in a truck, boarded the hired bus, and were off to Madaba.

                The old and the new meet in Jordan. The great glass-walled expansion of the Queen Alia Airport contrasts sharply with a city full of half-finished—now abandoned—construction projects, rusted rebar jutting nakedly from the tops of columns and upper story walls. Lush olive groves and red-roofed villas stand a breath away from shantytowns, which are, in turn, nestled against new construction projects. Wild dogs and wandering livestock were a common sight as we covered the twenty minutes or so from airport to hotel. In one spot, abandoned buildings in various states of decay were mixed in with the ruined stone walls of structures of indeterminate age. It was as if some of what we hope to dig up had forgotten that it was supposed to have been buried two thousand years ago.

                The Salome is a pleasant little hotel in Madaba. They are, it seems, in the process of renovations; a third story is in evidence, but the walls gape open, incomplete. Nothing is rushed in Jordan; appointment times are, to borrow a phrase, more of a suggestion than a code, really. Construction will be finished when it’s finished. The rooms, small but tastefully decorated, have A/C units, for which I am eternally grateful. I am so bloody tired.