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We are the only two foreigners. Scratch that — the only two Asians in a sea of local Jordanians and other Arabians. In a balcony cafe awash with the perfumed smoke of nargile, we overlook the quiet chaos of downtown Amman. For a moment, everything seems simple, unable to be deconstructed and analyzed. For a moment, everything is just is, a unit in itself as if a duvet has wrapped us in an eternity moment. Unlike the polished streets of downtown Beirut or the European-influenced commercialism of Istanbul’s Beyoglu, we finally arrived at some place that sees no need for haste.

 

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This is Eastern Amman. We go against the countless guide books that tell us that there really isn’t anything to see here, as we take in a kind of experience that cannot be written about. And for a picture being worth a thousand words, what can even a picture do for something unwriteable? I can post hundreds of pictures with a camera that supposedly makes real life look better, and it still would not be able to capture a surreal idea of our — well, not just being here, but — just being. And it is for this very kind of moment that describes why I have come to travel; perhaps I’ve travelled thousands of miles just so I can find this moment.

But my journey just began.

 

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– At time of posting in Amman, it was 68 °F
Humidity: 30% | Wind Speed: n/a | Cloud Cover: clear