Workshop Day 1

view from our workshop

Today was the first day of the workshop, and I was determined to make a good impression. This workshop was held at another hotel on the top floor—the views of the city were amazing, and in the broadest terms reminded me a little of home. There was urban sprawl as far as I could see, homes climbing up the hillside, the water shimmering in the afternoon sun (rice paddies and lakes, not the ocean), and even the name of the town in white letters on the hillside.

The presentations from our partners brought home how different this was from California, though. The project we were presenting on is called Firecast, which is a suite of tools designed to help our partners on the ground with their fire monitoring, enforcement, etc. The oldest part, which they were most familiar with, takes satellite data from NASA and sends a daily email to subscribers in their language with the locations of fires in their specified area of interest (e.g. a national park, a state, a vegetation type). Our target audience is those most affected by these fires (e.g. park rangers), who often lack the technical capacity to get this information themselves. It’s global data, but we depend on our field offices building the connections with these users so we’re currently only providing it to five countries. We were there to present the new system, which included a different way to subscribe to these emails, several new and upcoming features, and to solicit feedback from them on how to make it more useful.

Fire season has just started here, and our first day included presentations from their Ministry of National Parks and a partner NGO, which showed a video a community had made about their attempt to fight a fire last year that had gotten out of control. They spoke about the wind carrying fire across a river like it had carried fire across the I-15 freeway in California last month. The big difference was in their ability to respond. While the California firefighters had helicopters to help drop water and protective gear for their professionals, the members of this community had watering cans and branches, with no protective gear. Their fire destroyed a lot, but the video ended on a positive note as they began to plant seedlings to recover the forest that was lost. It was gratifying to think that in a small way, this project could help them by providing information to get to a fire and start controlling it earlier. And they in turn were excited about data from a new satellite, which is able to detect smaller fires with more accuracy.
 
I celebrated the successful conclusion of the day with dinner at La Verangue, one of the fanciest places in town and my favorite ambiance in Tana. The owner loves collecting antiques of brass and wood, and eating there is like stepping back in time. I was surrounded by brass lamps, pocket watches, microscopes, phonographs, and kettles, all tastefully displayed. With my book again as company (“Utopia”) I had a delightful meal of pork tenderloin in a pink peppercorn sauce, sautéed vegetables, rolls with butter so delicious I could eat by the spoonful, and fresh passion fruit juice. Topping it off was an “Explosion” for dessert, which doubles as a show as molten chocolate is poured over a chilled chocolate sphere to reveal ice cream and a blanched pear. Yum!

dinner

Back at the hotel, I digested my meal while contacting colleagues in DC about the project, catching up on email, and a dance party (online instruction videos) that started a little too close to bedtime but helped work off that wonderful meal.

Workshop Prep

Today I visited our office and we finalized the plans for the workshop. It was nice to see some familiar faces from my last visit, and I was joined by a former colleague from DC who’s now a contractor on this project. After reviewing our plans for the next few days, we went to lunch at a nearby restaurant. As we sat down, I noticed the spire of another LDS chapel I had seen on the last trip. Within minutes, some senior missionary couples entered the restaurant and I started seeing missionaries streaming down the hill. After a few moments, I excused myself and ran outside to talk to them, asking if they knew a fellow missionary a friend had mentioned on facebook who was serving in Madagascar. They told me he was in a different area, but it was still fun to meet these guys so far from home (they were all from Utah). It was crazy to think that in their lifetimes, the Church here had grown from a single branch to two stakes in Tana, and branches in several major cities.

Back at the office, we stayed late finishing our preparations. I was on my own for dinner, as my colleague had only arrived the night before and was fighting jetlag. I’d come prepared for this possibility, buying a book to read as my dinner companion. After consulting the guidebook, I opted for a place called La Rossini and had a Malagasy dish of zebu stew with cooked greens and a French pastry with local vanilla for dessert.

Sabbath in Tana

I didn’t expect to return to Madagascar; in fact, I was the back-up for this trip. Yet here I was, returning via a different project to present at a workshop. The route was also different, this time via Paris. My layover at Charles de Gaulle was long enough to wander the terminal and be grateful for a free exhibit of old arcade games—it appears my Frogger skills need work.
 
It was late when we arrived in Tana, and the procedure this time was also different. The last time, the last leg from Johannesburg was a smaller plane and they barely had the capacity for it. Imagine what it was like this time as a full Boeing 777 arrived. As the herd of tourists and Malagasy entered the building, one of the staff in a white lab coat attempted to scan us all for fever (an initial sign of Ebola). The room this time had ropes set up so we could have a long, orderly queue to the immigration counters. Past that, it got a little confusing. Tourist visas of less than 30 days are now free, and the line for that (when you figured out which one to stand in) forked around a booth. They brought in extra staff that helped with the part of the visa stamp that had to be handwritten, but the bottleneck came down to only having two laptops to process everyone in their system. So a crowd of tourists all watched as we’d surrender our passports and watch them slowly work their way through stacks for each step, only to then strain your ears to hear their attempts at saying your name. It wasn’t as bad as Israeli immigration, but it still was frustratingly long.

As we drove from the airport to the hotel, the driver was excited to point out a large LDS chapel that I’d seen on the previous trip and said the services were at 10. I’d intentionally arrived a day early to attend church, planning to take a taxi to one of the wards I’d found online. I hadn’t thought anything of it when I mentioned this plan to a colleague there, but unbeknownst to me they made arrangements for the driver to take me to church. His church was at 8, and as I collapsed in my room at 1:30 AM I was grateful for the extra few hours of sleep.

I didn’t know what traffic would be like on a Sunday morning so I suggested leaving the hotel at 9:30. As it turns out, the traffic was light, the chapel was closer than I’d realized, and I arrived at church earlier than I ever would in the US. The chapel was only constructed within the last 5 years and is the tallest one I’d ever worshiped at—at least 4 stories. Entering the chapel, it was nice to hear familiar hymns on the organ. The members of this ward were all Malagasy, including the missionaries, and thankfully a few of them spoke English and helped translate a little. The jet lag and sleep deprivation made it hard to stay awake and focused, but it was great to take the sacrament and attempt to sing the hymns in Malagasy. My favorite was overhearing the Primary kids during the third hour practice a song about the pioneers, complete with stamping. It was interesting to think that while I always considered the lives of the pioneers to be vastly different from mine, here it’s not uncommon to see people pulling handcarts and wooden carts pulled by zebu (a type of cattle).

made it to church

After church, I opted for a walking tour in the guidebook to help fight jetlag and stretch out after so many hours of sitting on planes. While my hotel is on the top of a hill, Tana has many hills and I was climbing to one of the tallest as the starting point. Along the way, I passed a Christian church and walked around it to catch my breath. Its small graveyard contained the remains of European missionaries who all died at the end of the 19th century during an interesting time when the queen decided to end all foreign influence and kicked out all the missionaries—those who were lucky. Unfortunately there’s another church nearby to commemorate where some were thrown off a cliff.

Up at the top is the Queen’s Palace, a large stone house that was gutted by a fire several years ago and is still waiting to be restored. I’d seen this on my last day but only briefly; it was nice to stop a little longer. Nearby is the Prime Minister’s house, a beautiful structure in the European style. The prime minister it was built for married three successive queens of Madagascar, which is an interesting way to stay in power.

Queen's Palace

Prime Minister's residence

one of Tana's hills

the LDS chapel is a red building just to the left of the tall building on the far right

Walking down the hill, I passed a park with a crowd of locals gathered to watch some musicians and singers. The guidebook mentioned this as a possibility, and explained that it’s a Hiragasy, a traditional performing style. This weekly performance was put on by the tourism bureau, otherwise it’s now only seen in the villages. It consisted of a few drummers and violinists in the center, with singers spread out to face the audience on all sides. It was all in Malagasy and hard to see over the crowd so I didn’t linger very long, but I always like connecting with a culture through their music.

The walking tour took me back to the park across from my hotel and down all the stairs to a main boulevard, which was popular with the locals. As I walked past street performers, food stalls, and even someone giving horseback rides, it was nice to see the locals enjoying themselves. The one thing that baffled me was that the islands in the center of this street had lovely parks and benches—fenced off. I know that’s why they still look so nice, but why bother with a bench no one can sit on?

so many stairs

At the end of the boulevard was the tour’s last stop: the old train station. The railway system has mostly fallen into disrepair and isn’t used that much anymore, but the station was restored and had some cute shops and restaurants. I ate at a chic cafe and enjoyed hearing the performers in the garden from inside the cafe (they were a little too loud). They performed songs in Malagasy, French, and English—my favorite was their cover of the Carpenter’s “Close to You”. Truly this is a musical country. Climbing back up all those stairs wasn’t as fun, but I was treated at the top to a small bonsai exhibit in the park that included bougainvillea bonsai.

bougainvillea bonsai

Farewell, Aunt Marlene

The morning after we returned from Jordan, I learned my Aunt Marlene had passed away. She had been ill for a while, but the timing still came as a bit of a shock. So as I fought Jordanian jetlag, I prepared to fly to California for her funeral. By the time she was my age, Aunt Marlene was a widow with four young children, and after such a good, long life it was nice to think of her finally reunited with her husband. Although she passed away in Oregon, the funeral would be in Pacific Grove, California, which is also near where my parents met.

We flew into San Francisco and were met by Brad and Danielle, and on the drive down stopped in San Jose to see the house where Brad and Susie lived before the accident and eat some delicious Mexican food. The drive to Monterrey was through gorgeous hill country and had a dramatic shift in climate as we approached the coast.

Meeting up with everyone in Pacific Grove, we enjoyed sunset over the ocean and a tailgate picnic along with some scrambling over the rocks.

Enjoying Pacific Grove beach with cousin Natalie

The weather Saturday morning was beautiful and the cemetery was serene. The burial service was quite brief, per Aunt Marlene's wishes, and afterward we hunted around for the graves of our relatives. Despite being a small cemetery and their relative proximity, it's always harder than expected. Aunt Marlene's other stipulation was that we had tuna fish sandwiches and potato chips for a family lunch afterward. We also finally got a photo of all the cousins; there's only 9 of us but it's probably the first time in over 20 years we've all been together.

All the cousins

We split up for the afternoon and Devan and I joined our parents for a trip down memory lane. We drove around the remains of Fort Ord, and saw dad's old barracks. A bit sad to see the ghost town it's become.

Dad and Devan in front of his barracks at Fort Ord

Driving further north, we stopped at several farm stands to pick up some of the local produce and goof off with their cutouts..

the Atlas of artichokes

Clowning around in the artichoke capital of the world.

Thanks to some internet searching (thank you, smarty phone), we found a local park in Pacific Grove with BBQ grills where we could gather one last time for dinner. It was great lingering and catching up with cousins until sunset.

I'm not sure if it's appropriate to call it an "after party" if the main event was a funeral, but a few of us capped off the night at a fantastic sushi place in Monterrey. Again it was great family time

Sushi outing with the cousins

Sunday morning we took up a few pews during Sacrament Meeting at a ward in Monterrey before saying our goodbyes. Susie and I got a ride with David and Katie up to San Francisco, and we spent the day before our flight enjoying the city and each other's company. Unfortunately, the motel where David and Katie had planned to stay turned out to be a bad idea, but we still had delicious ramen in Little Toyko and hot fudge sundaes in Ghiradelli Square.

Cousin time in San Francisco

Vienna Revisited

Today we said goodbye to Leon again, and again had a few hours in Jordan on our own to appreciate how nice it was to have a host the rest of the time. Thankfully it wasn’t long before we were picked up by Sharif, a colleague from my work’s partners at BirdLife here in Jordan. My coworker had connected us and while I wasn’t ready to switch fully into work mode quite yet, it was great to learn about some of the cool things they’re doing in Jordan and attempt to give them some GIS and map tips. With such a short time, it really got me excited by the prospect of returning someday to provide technical training.

We had just enough time before heading to the airport for one last tourist site, and we picked the King Abdullah Mosque. It was built in 1989 by the king at the time to honor his grandfather, and can fit 7,000 people inside the main prayer room. Unfortunately the outside of the dome was under renovation, as that was what we’d come to see, but it was still great to see the inside. They’re prepared for non-Muslim female visitors, and required us to put on an Abaya (full length robe with hood to cover the hair). I couldn’t help but think of Harry Potter as Kara and I walked into a room full of black robes and quickly slipped them on over our travel clothes. Sharif busted up laughing when he saw us and insisted on taking our picture; looking at us I don’t blame him. The mosque was beautiful on the inside, and included a small museum with models of other mosques that were important to the royal family. Not surprisingly, the exit was through the gift shop.

The required garb--no wonder Sharif was laughing!

As Sharif drove us back to Leon’s to grab our luggage and catch a cab, we experienced some of Amman’s midday traffic jams and had time to learn a little more about the city from a local. Coincidentally, the spikes of population growth in Amman and elsewhere in Jordan corresponded with conflict--waves of refugees from Palestine, Iraq, and now Syria have arrived over the years so the water demand and draining from Azraq was understandable, even at such a high environmental cost. It’s also reflected in periods of building. There are new skyscapers going up, but unfortunately it didn’t sound like they were building high-density housing nearby, ensuring that traffic in that neighborhood would only get worse. For all the issues Jordan will face in the future, I’m still optimistic for them. It’s a spectacular country, impressive for its small size and full of natural and cultural treasures. We were safe (even in the north), everyone was friendly, and the food was delicious. What more could I ask?

But while I was sad to leave Jordan, I was also giddy with excitement about our layover en route to DC. When I saw that Vienna, Austria, was a viable option, Kara was kind enough to humor me with an overnight layover and walk down memory lane. I hadn’t returned to Vienna since my study abroad in the fall of 2000, and wondered how it would feel to return to a place I’d loved and lived in after nearly 15 years. As our plane touched down in the late afternoon next to green fields dotted with red poppies, I simply entered a state of happiness that remained the rest of our time there. We took the Schnellbahn to Wien Mitte, and as we came up to street level I was greeted with the lovely sight of Viennese architecture. It was a short walk to Kibi Rooms, our hotel that I found online, but long enough to have some of the mental cobwebs clear in terms of language and orientation. In all of my careful planning, the one thing I hadn’t counted on was having no one at the front desk upon our arrival to open the outer door. I was shocked and a little anxious as we stood on the street with our luggage and no backup plan, but a local at the pub next door recognized the situation and tried to help us. While it didn’t work, it did pass the time until someone was exiting the building so we could get inside. They’d left our keys in a box so we could access our room, which was tiny but nice. It was a little odd that we never had contact with an actual human during our entire stay, but we were also hardly there. After drinking water out of the tap, just because I could, we headed towards the city center for some sightseeing and dinner.

Our first stop was Stephansdom, the cathedral for Vienna and one of the first sights I’d seen back in 2000. Its brightly-colored tiles on the roof remind me of a gingerbread house, though the dates on the roof are a bit more serious, reflecting the destruction of WW2 bombing but (to me) the hope that was witnessed through rebuilding it. One of the very few things left undone back in 2000 was go on the roof, so that was the first thing we did. And perfect timing, too, as we got up there to see the last gorgeous colors of the sunset over the Vienna woods and the transition to night as the Prater and modern buildings on the outskirts of town start to light up. Sentiment probably caused me to linger a little longer than I would’ve otherwise, but it was also great to again start to recognize buildings.

Sunset from the roof of Stephansdom

the roof of Stephansdom

Stephansdom

We celebrated our trip and my return to Vienna with a stop at the pastry chain Aida--only the Viennese would name stores geared toward the general public after operas. Apparently my pastry vocabulary was still strong and my memory sharp, as the struggle wasn’t to identify our options, but rather to narrow them down. Eventually we settled on three, and sampled our pre-dinner pastries in the shadow of Stephansdom.

So many pastries, so little time!

Recognizing the need for other food to round out our meal, we walked a few blocks to dinner. There were so many options, but I figured Kara should enjoy the unique experience of the Zwölf-Apostelkeller (Twelve Apostles Cellar). This restaurant is located in a basement that was built and rebuilt from 1339-1561 and serves very traditional Austrian food. I did a fairly good job at translating the menu, but was grateful that our waiter filled in the gaps in English. Again, it was hard not to order too much but I couldn’t resist some schnitzel, wurst, and kartoffelsalat for old time’s sake. While we waited for our meal, we were serenaded by some traditional Austrian musicians on accordion and violin. Truthfully, it was a little awkward to have them sit at our table and stare at us while they played, and I wished they had a few more tables to visit. But it’s all a part of the experience, and thankfully we enjoyed most of our meal unaccompanied.

Once we were as stuffed as the sausages we’d enjoyed, it was time for a late-night walk to see most of the sights. I knew the Ringstrasse was the way to go, as most of the famous buildings were along it. What I’d forgotten in the 15 years I’d been away was how long that would take, and that I’d never actually walked it all at once before. When I lived there, we’d ride the street car (as you should) or just walked segments of it on my way to somewhere else. It was a gorgeous night, we hadn’t walked much that day, it was safe, and the architecture was still gorgeous. All that being said, Kara still deserves a prize for letting me drag her on a late-night walk for over an hour so I could reminisce and talk her ear off about my capers and what history I could remember. In hindsight, I would advise renting their bike shares and peddling around the ring on their awesome bike trails—something that wasn’t an option back in 2000.

Eventually we made it back to our hotel and got ready to sleep for a few hours before our flight. Logically I should’ve collapsed from exhaustion, but I was so excited to be back it was hard to fall asleep.

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Waking up this morning was too easy, as I couldn’t wait to look out the window again and soak in the architecture before we left for the airport. That, and we had the remains of our pastries as breakfast, not to mention a Billa grocery store across the street that opened with just enough time for a quick trip before going to the airport. I strode in and started filling my basket with a few logical items for breakfast, and lots of sentimental chocolate and gummi bears to stuff into the remaining crevices in my backpack. I was concerned we’d be cutting it close getting to the airport and clearing customs, but as a Schengen country it was ridiculously easy and we arrived at our gate with plenty of time to spare. If it were possible to have any regrets about our layover, it was that I didn’t come hungry enough and couldn’t bring back more pastries. Oh, Vienna!

(kk note: the day after my return, my aunt Marlene passed away peacefully. My mom said it was as if she needed to hear I’d arrived back safely before departing for her own adventure.)

Desert Castles

This trip was like an enormous high-end buffet—even when you’re stuffed, you don’t turn down the chance to sample the variety of this caliber. At least, that’s how I felt at this point. Veni, vidi, vici a million times over! And yet, we still had a whole day in Jordan. Leon had it off for Memorial Day and proposed exploring further afield with us. Kara and I had seen more than we’d expected or known about on this trip, so we agreed to go northeast to the desert castles.

Before leaving Amman, we stopped briefly at The Jordan Museum. It’s a beautiful new space, and the exhibits made me appreciate this country and everything we’d seen on this trip even more—in some ways I’d almost wished I’d seen this before we went to Petra.

This time, heading north and east took us to flat desert with mountains in the distance. Leon had shown us on a map where we were going, but without a scale bar I hadn’t thought about how close we were going to the northern border--it started to dawn on me as I saw planes flying overhead in formation. 

Local women carpooling

As we approached our first stop, we drove past Za'atari refugee camp. It was a massive extent of white tents housing tens of thousands of Syrian refugees. I wondered how long some of them had been there, how long they thought they’d be there, and how bad it must have been for them where they left if this is better. A bit of current events before we returned our focus to history.

Umm El-Jimal is a city built by the same civilization that built Petra, the Nabateans. But whereas Petra was carved out of red sandstone cliffs, Umm El-Jimal was built on a plain with black basalt blocks. It again had the waves of Byzantines, Romans, Muslims, and Christians over time, but after a double-whammy of plague and earthquake hit in 749 it was never rebuilt. It was fascinating and a little eerie to wander around the rubble and foundations of buildings, as we had the site entirely to ourselves. It was impressive to see the arches and cantilevered stairways of these multi-story buildings that stood the test of time, and a sign explained that the thickness of the walls helped to moderate the temperature year-round. The moment that will probably stick with me will be standing on a wall surrounded by rubble and hearing the call to prayer from a nearby mosque and in the distance, while seeing smoke in the distance as Jordan and its allies defended its border and tried to help fight ISIS in Syria. Admittedly, I never thought I’d be this close to the conflict but in reality, could there be a (relatively) safer place than ruins with no people? We continued exploring until the sun made those black rocks too hot to touch, and headed back to the car to see some desert castles.

Umm El-Jimal

The cantilevered stairs were still intact.

Danny proving that the arches once supporting the roof of the water storage area are still sound.

remains of a church

exploring Umm El-Jimal

The scenery changed to desert pavement, a phenomena I’d learned about in my geography classes but had never seen like this. The same rocks used to build Umm El-Jimal resulted in small boulders and rocks of various sizes, too heavy to be blown away in the wind that had removed all the sand. As a result, it felt like we were driving on a moonscape of grey and black rock. Eventually we passed a ribbon of green winding through the black rocks—a space just low enough and moist enough for some green weeds to grow. The desolation was understandable--I can’t imagine how anyone could have the patience to move enough rock to attempt growing anything out here, nor how herders could find enough plants for their herds.

A ribbon of green in the black rockscape

The first desert castle we visited was Qasr al-Azraq in a strategic location along historic trade routes between Jerusalem and Baghdad due to its natural springs (Azraq means “blue” in Arabic). This impressive fort was built in 1237, but for most western tourists, the main draw is that Lawrence of Arabia used this as his headquarters in 1917-1918 during the Great Arab Revolt.

The name seemed a bit of a misnomer scanning the landscape, but as I read about the Azraq oasis I couldn’t help viewing the area through my work googles. At one time the wetlands here were the size of Lebanon, hosting a huge variety of wildlife—anciently, it was an extension of African wildlife with rhinos, hippos, elephants, ostriches, and birds galore. Beginning in the 1960’s, water was diverted to Amman. The water demand grew to the point that by the 1990’s, the natural spring had dried up; today the wetlands are 0.04% of their original size. These numbers were a lot to wrap my head around, and really put the drought back home in perspective. The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature (Jordan’s version of the National Park Service) created a wildlife reserve there in an attempt to protect what’s left and have a goal to restore it to 10% of its original size. That sounds realistic, but illegal wells in Azraq and an unending demand for water have prevented this from happening so far. The most optimistic thing I’d read about this tragedy was that their pumping of water to maintain the 0.04% had at least kept a fish species found nowhere else from becoming extinct and that a number of bird species are still using this as part of their migratory route.

Just as the water diversion had dried up the oasis, the conflict in Syria had dried up the tourism industry here. The guide at the fort explained we were the first visitors he’d had in three days, and his enthusiasm was hard to hide at finally having someone there. The most memorable feature of the castle was its stone doors, made of single pieces of stone as strong wood was hard to come by in this area. Palm oil lubricated the joints, and it made it possible to open the doors with surprising ease given their weight (over 1 ton each). After demonstrating how they worked, he let me try. He showed the strategic location of Lawrence’s room in the fort, the stone reliefs showing the variety of wildlife that was once abundant here, and the remains of the well. He was proud and enthusiastic to show us everything, but seeing him get emotional at describing how the well was full enough to fish in as a boy and to witness the water level plummet so dramatically in his lifetime was heartbreaking. This tour guide I was glad to tip; I only wish we could’ve done more.

Attempting to open the stone doors of Qasr al-Azraq

Qasr al-Azraq

the room T.E. Lawrence used as his headquarters

Stone carvings depict the animals that were once found there.

Turning south, the stone transitioned from black basalt to tan (sandstone?) as we arrived at our next “desert castle.” Qasr Amra was the ultimate man cave in its time, built in the 700s as a royal hunting retreat. The cluster of domed roofs in the desert reminded me of Tatooine, but it was actually a bath house, complete with heated tile floors and rooms of various temperatures (probably far more exciting in the winter). The real showcase was the walls inside, which were covered in frescoes of “Bacchanalian scenes.” It was clear that this was not a co-ed space, and certainly enlarged my definition of art from that region and time period.

One of the more "family-friendly" frescoes

The last “desert castle” on our tour was Al-Kharaneh. They don’t actually know what it was built for, since there isn’t a nearby water source and it’s not along a trade route. But the layout still leads scholars to assume it was a resting place for traders. With over 60 rooms divided into separate apartments, this could accommodate a large number of people of various social classes. Whoever it was that stayed here, I’m sure they were glad to get out of the wind and sun for a bit. Our guide was armed and in his military fatigues, but was friendly and chatty as he showed us around. That being said, when a man with a gun offers to take your picture you don’t refuse. I’m guessing he was also starving for social interaction because he went out of his way to take a lot of photos of us.

Al-Kharaneh

Posing for a photo in the niche used to store treasures.

When an armed guard insists on a photo shoot, you oblige.

Group shot

Photo shoot on the stairs

All too soon, we were on our way back to Amman to drop off Danny at the airport for his flight to Egypt. Even though we’d see him back in DC just a week later, after so many days and experiences together it was a little bittersweet to send him off, and the reality of this epic adventure drawing to an end started to sink in.

For our “last supper” in Jordan, Leon took us to a rooftop restaurant at a swanky mall. It specialized in high-end Jordanian cuisine, and I indulged in my last mint lemonade as we watched the sunset over the city. After a quick stop at a bookstore to buy children’s books in Arabic, we went home to repack one last time.