Dead Tired at the Salty Sea

    6:50 AM, breakfast, fill my plate with olives, hummus, pita, and a bowl of my first foul, a rich and satisfying mix of crushed fava beans, tomato, oil, and garlic. As startled peers poured warm milk over corn flakes and haltingly picked at eggs and sausage I went back for seconds, fearing the hours long wait before lunch. The typical meal schedule of Jordan is an early breakfast, lunch between 1:00 and 2:00, with dinner rarely arriving before 7:00.

    Our first day was to be a remarkable one. To the surprise of everyone, we were told the night before to be ready for our departure to the Dead Sea by 7:30. After a busy breakfast and an interminable wait on the bus, we were off by 8:00. I sat with Tim and across from Ashley, a new friend from Georgetown who had studied Arabic through her junior year and dreamed of a career chasing loose nukes with the FBI.

    Jordan is a muddled city, the product of continual innovation, little sustained planning, three million people, and maybe a million more temporary Palestinian and Iraqi refugees that are longer so temporary. It is both concentrated and sprawling. Formed in the bowl of seven great hills but now draping the sides of twenty. On the first of the coming days’ tour busses we wound our way south towards an outlook above the lowest point on Earth.

    The beige buildings of Amman gave way gradually to parched, scrubby hills, and then the green valleys of Jordan’s small Eden. This country of some six million inhabitants, more than half nestled in Amman alone, is blessed with only a tiny spread of arable land, a mere twenty percent of its arid expanses. The valley of the River Jordan is an emerald, overflowing with produce of all kinds: cucumbers, bananas, strawberries.

    Our ears popped as the road sunk below sea level and the scene opened on the waters of the Dead Sea. Our first day in Jordan, and our visit to one of its great beach resorts would paradoxically come on one of the coldest days of the year, a day of clouds and cool breezes, with temperatures in the 50s. The Dead Sea is warmer than Amman, but our initial destination, peering out on the gray scene at the distant Israeli (or Palestinian) shore was chilly.

    We began our first orientation lecture in the conference hall of a five star resort, an energizing mix of engagement and passion presented by the leader of CIEE Jordan, Alison Hodgkins. We broke for a tea, coffee, and fruit break, and got the chance to explore the resort’s museum and the overlook before returning to a rousing reminder that we are now here, and are no longer in America, with all that entails.

    Hungry, and dragging from the jet lag, we returned to the busses for a brief ride to the Dead Sea Spas Resort and a feast. Lunch completed by 3:00 we were invited to try the water before our return to Amman. While I and some remained on shore, a few bold souls frolicked in the buoyant body and draped themselves in its legendary mud. I struck up a conversation with a collection of Egyptian laborers and helped them as they cleared the beach and swept away the flotsam of tourism and construction.

    A return, a dinner, and a night, this time wrapped in my long underwear and socks brought my first day to a close. Snuggled within the hospitality of an entire country and the remarkable staff of CIEE, the long journey had begun and the first steps drew to a close.