June 6, 2009: Working it out in Amman

Back to work this morning… We joined a gym yesterday. After using the directions our kind 16 year old downstairs neighbor (who had told us it would be a 15 minute walk—a gross understatement of the 35 minute walk down main through-ways where crossing the street is a bit of a death wish with no pedestrian signals), we arrived at Power Hut, the cheapest gym around, I’m told (about the cost of Crunch in Brooklyn, so really not so cheap in my opinion). The main landmark near Power Hut is the Burger King, so that was our constant refrain while searching, “Wayn Burger King?”, thereby probably solidifying the notion that Americans just want to eat fast food. The gym was exactly like any gym in New York, minus the TVs showing Arab language soap operas and the signs for “no shoes on mat” in Arabic as well as English.

I was geared up for the treadmill and ready to "get in shape", having not exercised in weeks. I started off with a slow 5 miles per hour and quickly moved it up to 6. "Wow" I thought, "I'm in better shape than I'd thought... Let's go for 7". 7 or 7.5 is my usual in the States for when I reach a point of fitness. Within in 3 minutes, I'd moved it up to 10 miles per hour. I knew I was on a role. Maybe the walking I'd been doing had kept me in shape after all! I increased the pace to 11 miles per hour. Then it dawned on me: KILOMETERS PER HOUR. The stupid-American-syndrome rears its ugly head once again.

We’ve had quite an eventful weekend here, out each night and have built up a set of friends, mostly foreigners working here—well, mostly Americans working here, but also Dima and Yousef, two Jordanians who we connected to by about six degrees of separation to find our apartment. With their Canadian and British experiences in college they’re the perfect combo to explain to us things we don’t understand, knowing both cultures.