Amman in a Cab
It wasn’t until I slipped into the back seat of the cab that I realized that I had no idea where I was going and the only words of Arabic in my vocabulary amounting to “hurry up baby”where severely unlikely to guide me through any communication breakdown. As soon as we pulled away from the Hyatt it occurred to me that I had just left four different and perfectly reasonable dinning options behind me.
The problem is that some random and vague notion of threat is enough to make my pants a little more uncomfortable than usual. In pulling away from the hotel I instantly felt like I had just put a heap of faith in a cab driver in a way that I never have to worry about at home. So I was a little spooked cruising through Jebel in the back of cab on the way to a restaurant I had read about in a Lonely Planet guide book. I didn’t really think that I had anything to worry about but then again it was dark, I had no idea where I was going and Arab men are the new bad guys on American TV.
“How much?” I asked as we pulled up to the Blue Fig Café. I really had nothing to worry about. Clearly I watch too much television and though I try to avoid them at all costs, Fox News and Donald Rumsfeld have had an impact on my pysche.
“Four JD, my friend.” Nothing like six bucks and a cab ride to seal that bond of friendship. And since we were now friends I was concerned about the amount of searching the driver was doing to come up with some change for my tenner. “Do you have anything smaller.”
“Ah, nope.”
“Then you will pay me later, my friend” He reached back with my ten and his card and offered “Just leave some JD at the front desk at the hotel and I will pick it up later. And here is another card for you my friend.” Friends indeed. After my heartfelt commitments to leave money at the hotel I backed my way out of the cab feeling vaguely ashamed for my earlier fears. It was not unlike a moment I had in Athens with my friend Filip a couple of years ago.
We were at the end of a week in Greece, split between Athens and Naxos, and were both feeling very burned out by our time in Athens. We had spent the day photographing a cruise ship and we were on our way from our hotel to meet friends of mine for dinner near the Plaka. On our way we stopped for a snack, kebabs and pita. Just a few moments after we sat down a well dressed man, about 80 and five feet tall, put a can of beer and a glass in front of both Filip and myself. In a state of shock we tried desperately to show our gratitude to our host but he just smiled and waved his hands wiping clean all of our negative feelings of Athens for at least a few minutes. It was a moment of great generosity and equal humility for Filip and I who were both so exhausted from navigating Athens, and work and shifty cab drivers.
After dinner, a stop at Starbuck’s and a reminiscence of being humbled by kindness in Athens fresh in my mind I boldly stepped into the street to hail a cab back to my hotel.
“Grand Hyatt.” I offered to the driver.
“Who?” He offered back.
“Hotel...Grand Hyatt.”
“Sorry, no understand.”
“Ah...Hyatt Hotel, Grand Hyatt.” I gratefully resisted a mighty temptation to talk slower and Louder.
“Amman?”
“Yes, Grand Hyatt Amman.”
“Ah Okay.” And we pulled into traffic and stopped. The passenger window dropped and my driver hurled a slew of Arabic to a guy in a climbing into a Toyota truck who responded with a litany of emphatic hand gestures and an equal slew of Arabic. It occurred to me that my driver could have been asking how much an American was worth on the open market, though it was my sincere hope that he was merely asking directions.
Two blocks further on we stop again, and again my driver yells out the passenger window. At this point I am concerned that the guy in the Toyota made a low ball offer for me and my driver drove off in disgust and was now looking for a better offer. More hand gestures and more Arabic and again we drive off into the night.
A third stop and the ensuing emphatic conversation between drivers made me wonder if my driver was trying to force a bidding war. ‘But I am not an American, and there is no way my company will pay for my release’, I think to myself. Ironically it was the discomfort of getting caught in a bit of a traffic jam which made me think that he really was asking for directions because he clearly doesn’t know his way around. But since he wanted my three bucks nearly as much as I wanted to get back to the Hyatt we had no choice but to stick it out like humus and pita. Ten minutes later and another stop for directions I was safely returned to my hotel.
I left some JD at the front desk for my new friend Moussa making a promise to myself that if I needed to take a cab I would gladly pay the hotel rate again for a driver who knows where I am going especially if I don’t.
The problem is that some random and vague notion of threat is enough to make my pants a little more uncomfortable than usual. In pulling away from the hotel I instantly felt like I had just put a heap of faith in a cab driver in a way that I never have to worry about at home. So I was a little spooked cruising through Jebel in the back of cab on the way to a restaurant I had read about in a Lonely Planet guide book. I didn’t really think that I had anything to worry about but then again it was dark, I had no idea where I was going and Arab men are the new bad guys on American TV.
“How much?” I asked as we pulled up to the Blue Fig Café. I really had nothing to worry about. Clearly I watch too much television and though I try to avoid them at all costs, Fox News and Donald Rumsfeld have had an impact on my pysche.
“Four JD, my friend.” Nothing like six bucks and a cab ride to seal that bond of friendship. And since we were now friends I was concerned about the amount of searching the driver was doing to come up with some change for my tenner. “Do you have anything smaller.”
“Ah, nope.”
“Then you will pay me later, my friend” He reached back with my ten and his card and offered “Just leave some JD at the front desk at the hotel and I will pick it up later. And here is another card for you my friend.” Friends indeed. After my heartfelt commitments to leave money at the hotel I backed my way out of the cab feeling vaguely ashamed for my earlier fears. It was not unlike a moment I had in Athens with my friend Filip a couple of years ago.
We were at the end of a week in Greece, split between Athens and Naxos, and were both feeling very burned out by our time in Athens. We had spent the day photographing a cruise ship and we were on our way from our hotel to meet friends of mine for dinner near the Plaka. On our way we stopped for a snack, kebabs and pita. Just a few moments after we sat down a well dressed man, about 80 and five feet tall, put a can of beer and a glass in front of both Filip and myself. In a state of shock we tried desperately to show our gratitude to our host but he just smiled and waved his hands wiping clean all of our negative feelings of Athens for at least a few minutes. It was a moment of great generosity and equal humility for Filip and I who were both so exhausted from navigating Athens, and work and shifty cab drivers.
After dinner, a stop at Starbuck’s and a reminiscence of being humbled by kindness in Athens fresh in my mind I boldly stepped into the street to hail a cab back to my hotel.
“Grand Hyatt.” I offered to the driver.
“Who?” He offered back.
“Hotel...Grand Hyatt.”
“Sorry, no understand.”
“Ah...Hyatt Hotel, Grand Hyatt.” I gratefully resisted a mighty temptation to talk slower and Louder.
“Amman?”
“Yes, Grand Hyatt Amman.”
“Ah Okay.” And we pulled into traffic and stopped. The passenger window dropped and my driver hurled a slew of Arabic to a guy in a climbing into a Toyota truck who responded with a litany of emphatic hand gestures and an equal slew of Arabic. It occurred to me that my driver could have been asking how much an American was worth on the open market, though it was my sincere hope that he was merely asking directions.
Two blocks further on we stop again, and again my driver yells out the passenger window. At this point I am concerned that the guy in the Toyota made a low ball offer for me and my driver drove off in disgust and was now looking for a better offer. More hand gestures and more Arabic and again we drive off into the night.
A third stop and the ensuing emphatic conversation between drivers made me wonder if my driver was trying to force a bidding war. ‘But I am not an American, and there is no way my company will pay for my release’, I think to myself. Ironically it was the discomfort of getting caught in a bit of a traffic jam which made me think that he really was asking for directions because he clearly doesn’t know his way around. But since he wanted my three bucks nearly as much as I wanted to get back to the Hyatt we had no choice but to stick it out like humus and pita. Ten minutes later and another stop for directions I was safely returned to my hotel.
I left some JD at the front desk for my new friend Moussa making a promise to myself that if I needed to take a cab I would gladly pay the hotel rate again for a driver who knows where I am going especially if I don’t.
posted by Rob Shaer at 2:40 PM
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