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.






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 20 °C - Humidity: 30% | Wind Speed: n/a | Cloud Cover: clear


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