The Middle East; Welcome to it!

Downtown Amman,  Jordan

At the Oman border crossing, fat barrels of machine guns peak over sandbags while signs in Arabic read, "Welcome to Oman."  It's very clean, very Muslim and very ready for a contagion of revolution. Very illegal to snap shots of Oman's government's militia's prearations to repel dissent.  But allow me to assure you the tanks are in the streets, armed, loaded and passively awaiting those who will fight for their right to party. 

Jordan: Very old.  Very Interesting.  Relatively inexpensive.   Relatively quiet.   And with the exception of one late-night taxi ride, relatively safe.  But unamusing is the way life goes from being perfectly normal to totally fucked up before you can say,  "What's going on?"  The ol' Filipino-style 'switch-the-cabbie' scam had me in a sudden & vulnerable kidnap scenario.

As my driver took me down a dark alley and walked away without taking payment, a new driver jumps in, floors the accelerator and has me in the neighborhoods of downtown Amman you'd rather never see. As I advise him of my requested destination, he warns me, "Welcome to Jordan."  Holy shit!  I need out of this bad dream right now.  To dive out the back door- impossible; it's child-locked from the inside.  My bags are in the trunk.  The drama ended at a slightly up-market business hotel whose commission to the driver was sure to bring in late-night guests.   Fortunately, they didn't play kill-the-infidel.  As my blood pressure descended to normal, I realized how lucky I was that I didn't get scragged.