Snow. In Jordan.

January and February in Amman are usually cold and rainy. “Yucky”, as my Director described it. Once in a while, they even get snow. Our airport driver said the forecast predicted snow for the weekend. Guess they were right, as this is what we woke up to today and walked in yesterday:

A dusting of snow, as seen from my hotel window this morning. Look close at the orange-colored roofs and the white field next to the tree in the foreground. Okay. I agree it doesn't look like much. But, when snow falls here, it's wet, and quickly melts. So it's more about how it moves down the slopes. The roads become shallow rivers and everywhere is super slippery. A little precipitation goes a long way here!

It started snowing on New Year’s Eve. At first, the flakes were small and intermittent. As the afternoon turned to evening, however, the flakes became heavy and wet—almost slushy-like. Not so much snow as we think of in the Western US, but a light sleet, and very slippery. Still, I don’t mind the rain, snow, or sleet (I would have made a great Postal Service worker, because of that, I suppose). So I went out New Year’s evening to the Carrefour for some snacks. It was dark, slippery, and even though it was only early evening—a normally busy time of day—hardly anyone was on the road. I counted five cars that passed me during my entire roundtrip walk.

Apparently, the lack of traffic was not necessarily the fact that it was Holy Day (see second side note, below), or that it was New Year’s Eve—or that it was both on the same day. It’s the snow. Even though I wouldn’t mind it (I’d find it quite fun), no local likes driving in it. At all. Still, it was pretty to watch the snow fall in the street lamp-lit glow.

Geography geek side note:

At first glance any sloped road looked like a flash flood had passed: water gushing down the slope with sediment in between the rivulets. Upon closer inspection, however, what I thought was sediment was actually slush, or more precisely, mostly-melted snow. I stared for a long moment, contemplating the icy, wet fluvial processes happening around me. I’m kind of nerdy that way. Natural processes fascinate me. And these small slush rivers behaved like their larger counterparts, complete with ice jams and ice floes (yes, that’s the correct spelling. It’s different than an ice floW). Just one more example of geomorphology’s scale independence. Fascinating.

After judiciously selecting some local snacks and fruit nectar (I can’t get enough of the peach!), I was met outside the Carrefour by some very large and wet snow flakes. Gazing out through the snow flakes, a smile spread across my face. “How lucky we are to be here,” I said softly to myself. And then the evening call to prayer began from a minaret directly across from me. The Caller was melodious, and with very little ambient sound, it was a truly magical scene: light snowfall dusting the rooftops and almost eerily silent until a devoted follower calls others to worship with lyrical praise. As I began the slippery trek back to the hotel, bags of snacks in hand, a sense of humbleness overcame me. It’s not luck, I realized. It’s a privilege to live here for the next six months. A most wonderful privilege.

Jacker crisps. Kind of like Pringles, but gluten free (at least this variety) and somehow lighter-tasting.

Arriving on a weekend that coincides with a holiday was an interesting choice. On the one hand, it has allowed us to ease into life here. On the other hand, not much is open and there isn’t the normal hustle and bustle of a usually-highly active city. “But Case,” I hear you say, “you arrived on a Wednesday…that’s not the weekend.” True. For the US and much of the Western World. But here, Friday and Saturday are the weekend—the work week is Sunday-Thursday. That’s why we looked for apartment on Thursday (New Year’s Eve), and can’t look at anymore places until tomorrow (Sunday).

Etymological side note:

The Holy Day of the week here is Friday, not Sunday as in most parts of the US. And, something particularly interesting, I think: even though Friday is the Holy Day, it’s not called the “Sabbath” or the “Lord’s Day,” as much of Western Culture calls it. The word Sabbath, and the whole concept of the weekend, is actually attributed to Judaism. Although in Israel the weekend (and Holy Day, Shabbat/Sabbath) is Friday-Saturday as well, the western world often uses “Sabbath” as an all-inclusive term for any “holy day”. But not here. In fact, the Arabic word for “Friday” means “Day of Gathering”. So, although Muslims have the Salat (call to prayer five times a day, every day), Friday, the Day of Gathering, is the formal Holy Day. Kind of akin to how other Faiths pray daily, but formally attend church meetings once a week.

Day of Gathering. Seems fitting for the purpose. In Germanic languages, like English, Friday comes from the Norse God of love, sexuality, and beauty: Freya. Also fitting, I suppose, since it’s the day preceding the Western World’s weekend?

All that to say, we are excited to see more potential living places tomorrow. The wonderful Fulbright House has arranged a few more viewings. With any luck, we will come to a decision tomorrow and move into our new digs Monday. Inshallah. (And that word is a blog for another time! :-)