We're OK, You're OK

Writing from a dingy closet of an internet cafe in Amman, Jordan, under a shelf offering tons of scruffy paperbacks for a dinar and a half each. Titles include "I'm OK, You're OK", "Delta of Venus", "A Farewell to Arms", and "My Messy Bedroom" of Montreal HOUR fame. It's a small bibliographic world.

Since we left Tel Aviv on Tuesday, we have floated in the Dead Sea, covered ourselves in mud, wandered Nabatean ruins in the Negev desert, waved across the border at men riding camels in Egypt, touched the (blue) water of the Red Sea, crossed into Jordan, survived a death-defying "taxi" ride through the mountains to Wadi Musa, and spent an exhausting day hiking the ruins and rosy rocks of Petra.

Today we rose before the sun (but after the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer at 5 am) and took a bus to Amman, Jordan's capital built on seven hills. It feels like winter, and the knaffe is tasty but does little to warm your bones when your hotel room is unheated. So we go in search of tea. Likely in Jerusalem I will fill in this sketch a bit.