Amman Nights

If I were a breeze, there is nowhere else I’d rather live but in Amman. I’d have the time of my life gliding over its seven hills and down into the valley, caressing the roofs of its white monochrome houses and maneuvering my way through the old narrow streets. I’d race the pigeon flocks in the evening twilight as they make their way into their lofts and I’ll carry the elaborate kites littering the purple sky high above the watchful eyes of families sipping evening tea on their balconies and rooftops. I’d wake up cool and misty at the Citadel, and watch the sun over the horizon laying its silky rays across the hills as far as the eye can see. Then I’d scurry down and carry the warm scents of freshly baked breads and sizzling falafel across the busy streets and in between the traffic jams, blowing past the sugar cane juicers and bustling markets, kissing the church spires and hugging the mosque domes throughout the ancient city. If I were a breeze living in Amman, I’d be the happiest breeze in the world.

For those contemplating their first visit to the Middle East, Amman - and Jordan as a whole – is the perfect introduction. A central crossing point and the birthplace of several civilizations dating back thousands of years, Amman (also used to be named Philadelphia) is a city that is in constant development. There is a stark contrast between its modest east side and modernized west side. Although the city as a whole may feel westernized, it surely maintains its Middle Eastern flair; brimming with mouth-watering food, historical sites, and incredibly hospitable people. Particularly remarkable is Amman’s topography. Built on seven hills, the city offers incredible views of its monochrome buildings stretching endlessly in every direction, visible from virtually any point in the city.

I was born and raised in Amman. Some of my fondest memories as a child was riding the bus from my hometown of Safout, located on the outskirts of the city, all the way to the historic city center. I would walk the old streets looking for sports magazines and ripped mixed tapes/CDs, drink freshly squeezed sugar cane juice, and eat cheap bites before catching the bus back home. These days when things get stressful and I need to think of a happy place, my mind often drifts back to those cherished moments. My memories are so palpable that I often catch myself daydreaming of the perfect day I would spend in Amman. I wake up on a Friday morning in our house in Safout. I take my pot of Turkish coffee on the balcony and ponder the day’s activities. The misty cool air is like a fresh burst of a peppermint every time I breathe in, as my lungs burn with joy. All that pondering makes me hungry and I suddenly think of Ray Charles; breakfast on my mind.

While I can easily grab a taxi or an Uber to the historic downtown, I opt for an adventure on the public bus. A trip that I took hundreds of times over the years ever since I was seven or eight years old. Flagging down a public bus is sometimes so elusive it feels like a treasure hunt. There are no designated bus stops, there are no schedules, and buses leave the main station already full. There’s pleasure in pain, somehow. My destination is Hashem in the historical downtown; a legendary eatery that’s practically unchanged since 1952. I order a creamy plate of hummus with roasted pine nuts, a plate of fool (fava beans) mixed in olive oil and garlic chili sauce, a few golden crispy falafels, a cup of steamy mint tea and a side of pickles, onions, and vegetables. For my perfect bite, I take a piece of a freshly baked pita bread and dip it the hummus, then chase it with a bite of falafel, a piece of pickle, and a sip of mint tea to wash it all down. Party in my mouth. I probably will not finish all of this by myself, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

After this heavy breakfast, one can only think of one sensible thing to do: dessert. I walk around the corner to the original Habibah Sweets for some Kunafah. A traditional dessert originating in Palestine and made with shredded filo pastry, layered with cheese, soaked sugar-based syrup, and topped with pistachio. The simplicity of the ingredients perfectly harmonize, rendering this dessert arguably the pinnacle of Middle Eastern culinary delights. I sit in the alleyway on the cold cement blocks enjoying the breeze and contemplating my next move as I chew down on a half-pound of kunafah. There’s a well-known Arabic proverb that goes like “eat then take a walk”, so I follow suit. I explore the intertwined streets embracing the vibrant chaos that surrounds me.Vendors as far as the eye can see on every corner of every street selling everything that you can ever imagine. . Vendors populate every corner, offering an endless array of goods. A music shop blasts the latest Omar al Abdallat song, while a nearby clothing boutique plays a recording on repeat, announcing its latest sales and promotions. Despite the constant honking, drivers and pedestrians seamlessly navigate the streets, creating a poetic yet chaotic scene. I grab a freshly squeezed sugar cane juice and head towards the Roman Amphitheater, a remarkably well-preserved theater from the 2nd century boasting 6,000 seats at the heart of the city. I walk around it for a bit and then I set my eyes to the Amman citadel across the street. Perched on a hill, the citadel offers a strategic vantage point, revealing the entirety of the city. With remnants dating back to the Bronze Age, each empire has left its mark on this evolving ancient city. A Roman temple, a Byzantine church, and an Umayyad palace bear testament to its rich history. While the historical significance is captivating, the view itself is truly breathtaking. I could easily spend the entire afternoon there, but I feel the need to recharge and pamper myself at a traditional Turkish bath.

I hop in a taxi and make my way to the 3rd Circle where the bath is conveniently located next to Shawerma Reem; the undisputed king of lamb shawarma. The key to perfection lies in the simplicity of the ingredients. Marinated, succulent lamb is carefully layered onto a rotating roasting spit, meticulously tended to by the shawarma master. A freshly baked pita bread is sliced open and slathered with garlic tahini sauce, adorned with a sprinkle of sumac-infused onions, tomatoes, and a generous portion of thinly sliced lamb shawarma, all wrapped "burrito" style. Be warned, this creation is prone to oozing. Despite the long line at this iconic historic stand, which might seem intimidating, it moves swiftly, and your choices are limited to one: lamb shawarma. As I sit on the side of the road thoroughly enjoying my sandwich and carefully positioning my body to avoid and saucy explosions, I contemplate how Mexicans - and the world for that matter - are ought to thank us, Middle Eastern Arabs, for introducing them to the shawarma which they turned into the famous taco al pastor. Lebanese immigrants fleeing war and depression in the region during the 1930 brought the Shawerma to Peubla, Mexico where this al pastor thing all started. A commotion unfolding next to me about a parking spot interrupts my thoughts as I finish my last bite.

With a belly that’s fully satiated, it's time for some rest and relaxation. I meet with some friends and walk over to the bath. This is probably the best $15 I am going to spend all day. Like car on a production line, I go from station to station where my body is cleansed, purified, and rejuvenated, ending up on the message table. Now that all sounds great, until I meet my masseuse, Ahmed. A large Hercules-like figure who’s about to rub me down while I lie down on a slab on marble in a damp dungeon. I get a flashback of the movie “Saw”, then I close my eyes and I pray to ease my suffering. A few moments of pain, and it was all over. I emerge feeling invigorated and stronger than ever. Perhaps the most enjoyable part of the experience lies at the end. Dressed in traditional robes, we gather in a room adorned with blue mosaic tiles, a central fountain, and cushions scattered about for our comfort. We recline, enjoying a few blissful moments, while refreshing beverages like hibiscus iced tea and Turkish coffee are served generously with a steady flow of cigarettes. This ambiance suddenly reminds me of a scene from Titanic, where Rose's fiancé invites the gentlemen for cigars and brandy after dinner. Considering that we survived our bath, hibiscus tea and cigarettes will suffice. Wrapped snugly in my robe, feeling warm, clean, and cozy, I am as content as a baby kangaroo in its mother's pouch. Alas, it is time to bid farewell

As evening descends, we meet up with more friends and head to one of the rooftop bars on Rainbow Street, dubbed as "hipster street," to relish the breathtaking view and witness the infamous Amman sunset. An obligatory made-in-Jordan cold Amstel beer brings the day to a close with a side of gorgeous sunset. Hookah, more drinks, good tunes, and great company are all in attendance. Time seems translucent. It’s approaching mid-night by now and we’re famished. We make our way down the mountain to Al-KitKat, a traditional 24/7 eatery in the old city with an atmosphere that takes you back to the 1950s. However, the true highlight lies in the food, reminiscent of a feast prepared by three grandmothers. The menu includes fresh fish, salads, barbeque, and various classic and traditional dishes. We get a table on the rooftop to enjoy the late-night breeze and order a couple of hookahs to share, a variety of mezze dishes, and carafe or Arak Haddad. This is the epitome of Jordanian and Middle Eastern culture: friends and family gathered around a table on a rooftop, savoring delectable food, cherishing one another's company, and sharing lighthearted banter. As the night is coming to an end - or more accurately as the morning is drawing near – I snap out of my daydream. I then find myself yearning for a day this perfect in my near future, but I fear that times may have changed. I try to console myself with my memories. As a young boy, I daydreamed about my future outside of Amman; outside of Jordan. Today I am only left with the scent of memories of a time and place that may never come back. Knowing all too well that whatever our memories are, the good ones and the bad, all too soon they all blend into a wash, just like water on a sandy beach.