Jordan, Day 4 (cont) & Day 5

Madaba, from the top of the Church of John the Baptist

Wed, Nov. 19 (cont)

It’s only 3:00, so I decide to be adventuresome and head out, armed only with a map.  Street signs aren’t often in English here, the streets of Madaba are winding and my Arabic is still limited to shukran so I feel a bit apprehensive but don’t want to be a wimp.  I’m respectfully covered, a scarf over my head (albeit a filmy orange chiffon one à la Grace Kelly that I’ve had since I was 16).

       So it’s off to Saint John the Baptist Church (1 JD, “for the services”).  You can’t miss it; it’s past Saint George’s Greek Orthodox Church that I saw the other day, and behind the mosque, on the ancient hill. (Religions seem to coexist well here in Jordan.  At least for now.)  The church is simple, with more mosaics, and the buildings discovered underneath are interesting, especially the melodramatic silver platter with John’s head on it, surrounded by currency from around the world.  And then I climb the stairs (almost ladders) to the belfry and beyond, for a look out over Madaba.  This is the highest point in the city.  My knees knock, and I wish someone were there to take me to the ER when I fall.  But I don’t.

       Feeling a mix of cocky and thankful, I head back to the hotel... which I find in spite of taking another route, to see more of the town.  At nightfall, I hear only two muezzin, one a few syllables behind the other, as if an echo.  In Petra there were many more - at least four or five - and the prayer sounded more like a song contest where everyone sings at the same time, but a few bars off and in a different key.
       Dinner - mixed grill again, and again alone - a shower and bed.  Tomorrow, back to Paris.

Thursday, Nov. 20

Fakhrey picks me up at 9, as arranged, and drops me off at Queen Alia Airport, which is very new... and designed by the French, Fakhrey says.  (He's wrong, but it’s nice of him to include my country of adoption.)  We say our good-byes and I shukran him heartily for his able and creative driving as well as his consistently good humor.  We always managed to understand each other.  I’ll miss his English, his “there is clouds too much” and other confusing phrases.
       From this point on, it’s The Usual Airport Experience that surpasses all national boundaries: check-in, customs, x-ray, the inescapable duty-free bazaar, the holding area.
       Paris awaits, with half the degrees Celsius of Jordan.  But at least that’s better than the premature snow back in Ann Arbor.
       I take with me many memories to treasure.