The sun has set on Amman this Friday afternoon. The air in the outdoor café where my turkish coffee and I wrestle with the crossed time zones that simply won’t go away has turned cool. The Muslim call to prayer from a nearby mosque is just audible over the pleasant hum of conversation.
Riad is the maître’d here. A young Syrian man with passable English that he wisely practices on an early customer, Riad clearly wants me to like Jordan, to like his restaurant, to enjoy the particular item he recommends to me from the menu, adding that ‘old Arab, they eat with their hand, but now this is not good.’ (more…)
Canter Bridge 