The Scent of Jordan

The scent of Jordan is unlike that of any other place I've been. Somehow it took me by surprise; I was expecting a different culture, different language, different architecture and food; but a different, and unique, fragrance was completely unexpected. It is a melange of many things: dust, heat, spices, coffee, tea, bodies both washed and not, goats and sheep, and a different array of plants than are found anywhere in the United States. It isn't unpleasant by any means, despite the livestock influence. It is the exotic perfume of an ancient world struggling to make the transition to what the western world considers modern.

I was in Jordan in the summer of 1983, taking part in the first major archaeological excavation at the early Neolithic site of 'Ain Ghazal, on the edge of Amman, Jordan's capitol. The flight had been long, from Lawrence, Kansas, through New York City, with a refueling stop in Italy (surrounded by armed soldiers) before finally landing at the then-new airport in Amman. I flew with some of the other team members on Alia, the Royal Jordanian Airline, from New York, so had already had a taste of things to come as the flight attendants made announcements in Arabic before repeating them in English, and airline food flavored with the spices of the east.

Stepping out of the plane, I was struck breathless by the dry heat before inhaling the essence of what was to me a new world. The late afternoon sky was a cloudless pale blue, reflecting no water, only the near-white sand and earth of the Jordanian desert. The glare of sun and sand was nearly blinding as I was herded with the rest of the passengers into the airport. The interior seemed cool and dim after the bright desert day, and as I looked around I was drawn in by the beauty of the building, with its graceful arches and clean lines, its decorative tile and plants. Even the signs, in the unfamiliar Arabic script, looked like works of art. I didn't feel the strangeness that I had expected; instead, in an inexplicable way, I felt I had come home.