On a whim, let's go to al-Salt

One of the most memorable days of this year included a spur of the moment decision to take a bus to a small city about a half hour drive outside of the city.  The last of my classes had just finished, and I was free for the afternoon before I had to teach.  My faithful travel partner, Zane, joined me, and by 10:30am we had arrived to the oldest city in Jordan. Al-Salt has a completely different character than Amman: it is quiet, old, and quaint, nestled on and between several mountains. Zane and I wandered the suq, enjoying the smells, sounds and the clips of conversations that we could understand.

With the sun at its highest, we decided to climb up one road to the top of the hill to see down into the city.  After several false summits, just when we thought the hill was leading to the heavens while the sun felt like Haites, we heard a man call out from his balcony for us to join him.  At first we were unsure if he was talking to us, but he laughed and beckoned with his hand.  His son came down and opened the door for us, led us upstairs to the balcony where we met the father.  Chatting away in Arabic, he had us sit down and offered us tea and coffee.  His wife joined us, and after a lovely 45 minutes or so of talking about ourselves, al-Salt, history, politics, marriage (apparently the son is shy but needs a wife) tea and gardens, our host offered to drive us to the very top of the highest mountain in the area to look over the city as well as over Israel and the Golan Heights.  A beautiful drive and a windy summit later, he dropped us off at the center of the city where we resumed our walking, this time accompanied by a dozen curious school children.  We stopped for some falafel sandwiches and it happened that the tables where we ate were also the gathering spot for the local elderly men who played each other in mancala.

These men were so sweet and enthusiastically invited us to join them and watch the game. As the game progressed, more and more men came to watch, as well as a handful of more youthful boys.  Zane was able to photograph the men playing, but after the boys became a little too friendly, we decided it was time we were on our way.

After some knafeh (see one of my first posts), walking some more, taking pictures with a couple of men enthusiastic to have us in their city and who then drove Zane and I around a bit before dropping us off at the bus station, we headed home.

It was one of the most beautiful afternoons and best cultural experiences I have had in Jordan.