“What did all those men want?” Anna asks. We are in our rental car on the way to the hotel. It’s 9 PM, pitch dark outside, and the traffic in Amman is chaotic. I try to focus on the road while cars, vans, and trucks zoom past me, honking from every direction. To make matters worse, torrents of rain are pouring from the sky, and the condensation inside the car has become thick. The city’s steep roads are turning into rivers.
We landed at the airport less than an hour ago. After a PCR test, passport control, and the visa office where the official barks at us, we lift our bags—two large backpacks and two small ones—from the carousel. As we step outside, we are overwhelmed: taxi drivers, SIM card vendors, and baggage handlers all want something from us. One man is even rude enough to snatch one of the bags from my hand. Marie-Laure and I recognize this from our travels in Africa, but the children are quite impressed.
The excitement fades a bit when we arrive at the hotel, a small travelers’ hotel located east of downtown in the popular Rainbow Street area. The bunk beds for the kids are met with cheers, and after unpacking our bags and the kids putting on their pajamas, the fatigue of a long travel day takes over. In less than 10 minutes, the children are sleeping peacefully, and we follow suit shortly after.
At 5:15 AM, Marie-Laure and I are awakened by the muezzin calling for prayer. Through the curtains, the first light of dawn reveals the silhouette of the concrete city. The sound is magical, almost surreal, and we glance at each other, knowing that our journey has truly begun. Fortunately, we don’t have to go to the mosque; we turn over and fall back asleep.
In the morning, at the breakfast table, we encounter the next culture shock: “What are all these things, Dad? And why is there hummus on the buffet?” Thankfully, there are hard-boiled eggs and bread that the kids can eat to satisfy their hunger.
Later in the afternoon, we leave the hotel to explore the city. The traffic, the hustle and bustle, the noise, the dirty streets and sidewalks, the people staring or talking to you everywhere—it’s all a bit overwhelming for Anna. She feels a bit sad. She doesn’t understand, and it’s no wonder, of course, since all her familiar markers have disappeared. And the feeling of safety, too. Is it really going to be like this for six months? No, of course not, my dear. We just have to get used to the fact that everything is so different. That’s perfectly normal.” Arthur, at seven years old, seems less concerned about it.
As the day winds down, we take a stroll at the top of the Amman Citadel, the remnants of the ancient fortified Roman fortress. We have a 360-degree view of the metropolis, with blocks of housing seemingly glued to the hills. There’s less activity now as the day comes to an end and night begins to fall. Suddenly, the chants begin again. The call to prayer echoes in all directions across the city, and now the children stop to listen too, mesmerized by the music of the muezzins resonating in harmonious lament throughout the city.
Later that evening, once the children are asleep, Marie-Laure and I talk about our first day. We realize that arriving in a new country can be quite challenging for children. And how important it is for them to feel secure, without that meaning hiding the reality of the world from them. They need to learn how to travel, and to learn, they must experience it! This six-month adventure has truly begun now.
The first day is over, and 179 days remain!
Globetrotterdammers 