open letter. updated. part 1.

Hey Ahmad, David and Mohammad,

merhaba! :)

how are you? David, is your Arabic improving? Mohammad, any luck with the tests so far? Ahmad, is the heat in Saudi Arabia bearable? Sorry for the tardy reply.

David, you wondered how the airport experience was. In short, like nothing before. 8) And here's why ;).

Farewells said, I walk down the road towards my last hummus (sigh!) before the flight back home. Right opposite the Arabic centre I notice a sign saying the DOORS cafe. Goodness, I've lived here 3 weeks and it's the first time I ever notice it! The line from their song "Where will we be when the summer's gone?" has haunted me for years. What is it doing here of all places any way? But then, music has no boundaries, does it? It would be psychedelic to have coffee here, but there's no time really.

...turns out I missed my bus to the 7th circle by seconds. Ooops. No way I'm taking a taxi in Amman ever again. Ok, let's try to hitch out of the place. Improbable, but not impossible. A five minutes' wait and I am picked up, literally and figuratively, by two gorgeous-looking hijabless Jordanian girls that would make you, Ahmad, wet your lips. ;) One of them is as hot as that singer Nancy you have on your cupboard. Looks like Roald Dahl's "The Visitor" is materializing into the real world:

"the face of my hostess was bright with excitement, and whenever she looked at me, those huge dark velvety eyes would grow bigger and bigger, and her nostrils would dilate, and the mouth would open slightly to reveal the tip of a moist pink tongue squeezing through between the teeth. It was a marvellously lascivious gesture.... The daughter  was less daring but equally direct. Each time her eyes met mine, and that was often enough, she would raise her brows just the tiniest fraction of a centimetre, as though asking a question; then she would make a quick sly little smile, supplying the answer." 8)

The girls made it perfectly clear that I was welcome to stay at their hotel and they also interrogated me for "I love you" in Russian. They were nice company but I remembered the end of Roald Dahl's story too bloody well. So I thanked them and said adios amigos! Damn, I should have at least asked them to teach me how to kiss properly - they'd know and I can't really boast I'm a cool kisser. :)

On the 7th circle there were more "Miss Universe" contest winners killing time at the bus stop. Where there suddenly were so many around I wondered. A driver was smoking nearby and I said hello with a "are-going-to-the-airport-if-yes-please-then-take-me-with-you!" smile. Then a bus stopped behind me and my interlocutor asked the bus driver if he was going to the airport. He was! And he's agreed to take me on! "Incroyable! Magnifique!", I couldn't believe my luck! A whole EMPTY BUS for ME and at no charge at all! I had to wait like 3 minutes. Wow. And I'll even arrive in time for my flight! :)

In hopped I and off went we. Unbelievable! The driver was picking a group of tourists at the airport and that's why he was empty. We were driving fast towards the airport, rows of lamps on both sides of the highway and a full moon high in the sky lighting up our way. It was beautiful and quiet. We chatted and the driver asked if I was married or had a girlfriend. They ALL ask that one. And then - out of the blue - he asked me how big my 'duk' was. Not often do they ask me that one. The guy was straight to business. He didn't seem straight though. So I said the first thing that came to my mind. 22!? is the only number I'd normally say during a conversation like this - meaning my age of course. And then 'duk'? Really? Is that the Arabic word? Kinda makes you wonder where the name of the Armenian instrument DUduk comes from and why the flute is the oldest musical instrument.

"Show me," he demanded calmly. He HAD been practicing. It had just occurred to me that my bag was too far away, we were driving too fast and if he really wanted to he could rape me. But then he didn't look like a rapist. You see it in a person's eyes before you even get in, don't you? You don't of course unless you hitch, but I do, don't I? I really hoped I wasn't wrong this time. He then asked me - in a polite and rather kind way I must say btw - if he could actually 'blow my flute'. Well, I was between the devil and the deep blue sea I tell you. I was going to say no to the driver who had kindly agreed to give me a helping hand (albeit in his own selfish interests). To help or not help - that was the question. "What are you losing? Nobody would know. You're flying home anyway," he said. "Iskander, Iskander", he kept repeating kindly, which seemed a lot like the Jordanian version of Lady Gaga's 'Alejandro, Alejandro'... (At this point I've gotta choose...) Well, I'm glad the first time I heard this song was AFTER Jordan - who knows what could happen had I heard it earlier. ;)

... I arrived at the airport in good time which was probably good because I did no longer have to rush. No cars to hitch, no drivers to talk to, no choices to make. I went to the WC to drink some tap water and came back to the hall to sit in a metal chair thinking that I still had too much time on my hands and what I would do with it and secretly wishing there was somebody to see me off. I let my hair down to tie it properly and in about half a minute, to my own surprise, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably unable to stop and not wanting to, not caring what people around me might think. The last 2 months had been quite full of events but the last hitch was the final straw. Subconsciously, I felt it was just a little too much. I guess I also realized that the plane would take me far away from this magical time, from the place where it felt so right at home. The road can go many a way when you hitchhike but planes are ruthless - most likely you'll either reach your destination or crash. Just before leaving Amman I caught a glimpse of the film Shakespeare in Love on television. I would watch it after coming back to Belarus. "How is everything to end?" the Queen was asked. "As stories must, when love's denied - with tears and a journey."

They say that ultimately it's the good memories that stay. They will of course but I'm aware of the "out of sight - out of mind" philosophy only too well. Already, my favourite humus and felafel and the deliciousness of it have been replaced by the nothing-much-but-I'll-eat-it-anyway vegetarian cabbage stew, sexy Jordanian accent by the proper BBC RP, warm days in Amman by below zero temperatures during the night in Minsk, the aroma of Mohammed's toilet - by the smell of burning leaves. ;) This year's Indian summer, with occasionally warm days, the softness of falling leaves and spiderweb soaring in the "sharp and frosty morning" of the autumn air, has been bewitchingly beautiful in Belarus. It was worth returning here just for it. I wish you were around to see it. And the sky! It is unbelievably blue. Blue like Joni Mitchell's "Blue", like the album cover of Brian Finnegan's "The Ravishing Genius of Bones". Mohammad, you should switch to English in your FBook! Your tea has been irreplaceable, Ahmad. I wish I'd taken enough sage though. But I guess sage will never be enough. I doubt if "out of sight" works for "out of heart" because Jordan, like Joni Mitchell's holy wine, like  Canada and Chechnya, is still in my blood.
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open letter. updated. part 2.