Almost, But Not Quite

I made it onto the plane, with the help of a generous dosage of drugs. I'm currently in Toronto, awaiting the final flight of my journey that will take me home to LA.

Even now, before I've made it home, the discrepancies in lifestyles have been hitting me in the face. So many strange (strangely unfamiliar, despite how normal they were pre-Amman) occurrences have me continually falling into a sort of weary discomfort. Or maybe it's just the fact that I've been traveling for over 20 hours and have had very few precious hours of sleep in the past 48.

I'm sitting at a rather comfortable table next to my gate. It's some strange combination of restaurant and waiting area for the gate, and they've decked out every. single. table. with an iPad for customers to use. Such a strange excess that seems blatantly ostentatious, something you would never in a million years run into in Amman.

Proud display of water bottles before security in Queen Alia Airport

Complimentary water on the plane was another brick wall that completely floored me. Paying for every precious drop of drinkable water- and cherishing it- had become routine for me. The couple sitting across from me left with both of their water glasses completely full.

When I got off the plane from Istanbul, which was a lovely 14 hour flight, I immediately ran to the bathroom. And was very confused when there wasn't a trash can to throw the toilet paper into.

There are white people. Everywhere. I feel like a shabab now because I can't stop staring. But they're everywhere! And they're white!

I understand everything people are saying. It's almost overwhelming to be able to comprehend the passing conversations going on around me- it's a tidal wave of information I can't switch off.

5 hour layover in Istanbul = artsy traveling photos

I have to consciously stop myself from saying shukran or afwan. It was a relief when I ran into Derek (someone from the CIEE Amman program) in the airport here, because he didn't stare at me funny when I described something as a mushkila.

Every time I see someone wearing a plaid scarf- or even a plaid collared shirt with a sweater over it- I think it's a keffiyeh. It hasn't been a keffiyeh even once.

I can't charge my computer because I don't have the right plug- the American style plug- for it.

I paid for my coffee with a card, because I didn't want to dig out the American money I have sitting in my wallet. Anything to stave off that!

These are all small things that I've run into, and I haven't even made it back to the States yet.