The first week in Jordan

I'm cooking for a group of archeologists in the deserts of Jordan, about 10 km (as the crow flies) from Petra, though to drive it it takes an hour over a somewhat sketchy road or several hours to walk as the team last year discovered.

The site is an old Roman fort with a domestic area and several caravan stations a ways off. On their first day of digging one of the volunteers unearthed a grinding stone, almost in tact. The crew all came back elated, and they cleaned it off and set it in the hallway, ceremoniously next to the truck's old tires. I watch as they clean their pottery shards in the afternoon, handling two-thousand year old relics I have only seen behind glass cases with little care. The pottery expert told me to handle whatever I want. You can even break a piece, they're already broken.

I'm cooking for 26, who eat like 35, in huge vats. I shop at the fruit and vegetable market in Aqaba, an hour away, which one could argue is easier than provisioning for Hawaii or Panama, if only there was more variety. The "Safeway" in Aqaba is a depressing box with only frozen whole chicken or small tubes of frozen ground beef or ground lamb. There are no other options unless you want to buy a goat at the market. I really don't. The only bread you can find is pita. There is jars of tomato puree (but no pasta sauce) and lots of spices, but everything needs to be prepared. No quick meals, here. But the fruit here is so juicy, and the tomatoes and cucumbers are cheap, so I will find a way to make it all excellent. So far so good, anyway, as meal times are quickly a favorite of the day. The kitchen is a decent size with a view of the Bedouin village of Reshia and across the valley to Israel. The only down side is the AC is lacking power so it's hot. Very, very hot.

In addition to shopping in Aqaba, the last two weekends have been sent here. It's the coastal city on the Red Sea and from my hotel window I can look out on both Israel and Egypt. I could probably swim to both if it was allowed. A few minutes drive south and you are at the border of Saudi Arabia. They really tried to share the port access with everyone, and it seems to work.

Aqaba is the exception to Jordan. alcohol is allowed and bars, discos, karaoke and liquor stores line the streets. Pop music blares late into the night and car honk their horns in procession, perhaps for a wedding. There is the Mosque in town and the five time daily call to prayer, but here it does not dominate like in the capital or our small town.

But, I did have to take one of the volunteers to the hospital on our first day. Ah, it's Aqaba, I can wear a T-shirt, I thought, and I thought wrong. The whole place was packed with hundreds of waiting locals, all completely covered. All of the women wore burkas, many with the face coverings. I never felt so naked. But in typical Jordanian hospitality, we were helped though all of the paperwork and whisked past the endless lines and out of there, prescription in hand, in less than two hours. The convict, escorted though in handcuffs didn't have to wait either, so I suppose it's all fair.