A Trip to the Parcel Post Office

Oct 14--From Ronna - It was finally confirmed after email notifications and many phone calls that our long-awaited package had arrived. Lindee had sent it about a week after our departure, so three weeks isn't bad. We got it which means it is possible and that opens up all sorts of future possibilities! It mostly contained books we plan on using, needles and thread, essential oils I use as perfume, my computer glasses, one family picture album, and two tubes of make-up. My brain is planning the next box already. Unfortunately, what isn't consumed in the next nine months will have to be shipped back, dumped or left.

I digress. The trip to pick up our package at the parcel post location in downtown Amman.....that's the true eye-opener. We have traveled to Amman many times in our short month here, but, obviously, we had not traversed these particular streets! Our faithful guide and friend, Osama, led the way, having made an arrangement to deliver a car for someone. That was the first problem: we had to follow him, and stay in sight of him, in Amman traffic. Bad idea.

It actually only took about thirty minutes longer than normal, but it seemed like an hour. I think we doubled back and went around in circles more than once, madly trying not to lose sight of Osama. We started to wonder if he was purposely trying to ditch us. It also seemed as if we kept descending until we were in the bottom of a gorge. Down we wound, through impossibly narrow streets, packed like sardines with no escape. Incredibly, local people were crowding the sidewalks, darting into shops and bistros and in some places mixing with the slow-moving cars. Goods favored textiles and home-furnishings and always the clothing shops, always.

Typical Jordan Street Mix

As Tom tensely maneuvered, the bizarre landscape revealed itself. Narrow stairways climbed almost straight up between the shops; step after step with no railings and no landings until stories high, they would zig and zag onward to an unseen destination. My stomach grabbed and my legs ached imagining how it would be to climb those stairs everyday to reach home. Because perched on the edges of sheer cliffs were basically tenements. No lovely white stone here, just grey and dingy facades randomly punctuated with a string of brightly-colored laundry hung out to dry. In some places, potted plants sat precariously on the edges of crumbling walls. Squat one-story buildings mixed with two-and-three-storied ones, crammed together and weighing each other down. Layer after layer, the homes cluttered the hilltops.

Only a short distance from this area stands the impressive City Hall and Cultural Arts Center. And, just down Queen Zahran Street are the embassies and mini-palaces. The contrast is so stark. Not unusual for any big city anywhere in the world, I suppose, but somehow, always unexpected.

From Tom: Following someone in Amman traffic is knuckle biting, since people cut in and out and  cross traffic divides you willy nilly. At one point Osama, being four cars ahead of us, cut into the oncoming lane to race ahead. I think he forgot us. I did the same, knowing I would loose him and never find him again if I didn't. Ronna pleaded with me, 'You can't do that'....well, yes we did. We passed about 20 cars driving on the wrong side of the street. As approaching cars starting flashing and honking, we cut back in, due to the courtesy of the drivers we had just passed. In America you would be shot in a road rage incident for doing something like that. In Amman, "ah well".

Then when we got to the hole in the wall Post Office, still in bumper traffic. Osama gets out of his car, stands in the middle of the oncoming lanes and directs oncoming traffic to stop and directs me to cross the lane of traffic and park on the sidewalk front, facing the wrong way, with everyone yelling. "Oh, well."

Amman Parcel Post--after 3 weeks from America

Our 5th line at the Post Office

The post office reminded me of the prison in spy movies. Dark hallways, dark offices with 3 or 4 men sitting and smoking in them with piles of stuff. We stood in 5 lines before we made progress and then 4 or 5 encounters with customs, police and postal officials. Got it. I couldn't take the revealing photos, for fear.

Somehow our GPS system got us out of the mess in about 10 minutes, so we went to a movie at the Taj Mall and had dinner at McDonalds. Just for a trip to the Post Office.