American in Arabia: Brett and Barack's Hashemite Adventures

Remember when Ringmaster Ghadafi’s circus would roll into town with his massive tents, female bodyguards [2]and fleet of cars? Oh, how we mocked such excess and pomp.

Perhaps you’ve forgotten my dear Mr. President ? Or maybe you’re trying to one up him! Seriously, Muammar packed a canvas shanty. You and your sideshow packed out an entire hotel! [3]

Granted, it is a bit daunting coming to the Holy Land turned holey when most of its inhabitants place the bullet-riddled blame [4] on the mantle you have chosen to carry for four more years. I suppose I might have brought my snazzy Tanko-sine as well [5] if I bore the POTUS seal. [6]

Come Friday though, you’ve got nothing to worry about; Jordan is a whole different scene and Ol' Brett is your guide [7].

Here’s my idea: Leave your entourage back in Jerusalem with Bibi and come 'bach it' here in the Hashemite Kingdom with me!  

I’ve already got our whole day planned so you can get a real taste of Arab hospitality. First, a couple of ground rules.

- Bring the Stretch-Limousine- we might go off-roading in Wadi Rum.

- Don’t talk, religion, politics or Arab Idol—it’ll save us a lot of trouble.

- Bring your kicks- we’re gonna ball if we got time.

Oh, and if anyone asks, you’re my dad’s brother, Barack, and you've come to see Petra.

Here's the game plan:

- The gas-can truck (think ice-cream van music on a gas cannister delivery vehicle) will wake us up at 6 in the blessed AM.  We’ll get coffee from my apartment’s Egyptian janitor and, though he’s going to try to get you to convert, the sit-down is always worth it – he makes a mean Cup A Joe.  It’s rude to leave too early but after an hour, I’ll throw a smoke bomb and we can crawl out.

- On our way to see Jarash [8], my Jordanian neighbors will invite us to have breakfast with them- and we WILL eat. I’ve tried refusing in the past and nearly got a black eye.

- After two hours of pleasant chatter and copius amounts of pitta bread, I’ll create a distraction with some parlor tricks. We’ll then sneak away to go see my barber, who’s in the hospital getting his tonsils out- it’s a big deal to visit friends (barbers included) here when they’re laid up.

- His entire family clan will be there and, after we break up a fight between his uncle and the doctor, they’re going to stuff us with grape leaves, figs and 18 other fantastic dishes.

- Conveniently, the medical center is right beside a Turkish bath. After I pull the smoke alarm in the ER, we’ll hit the spa to sweat out the AM java and you can sneak in a cigarette or two [9].  And for the good of humanity-- pack some swim trunks. I learned the hard way that Arabs don’t appreciate it when we go commando under those spa towels.

- Our taxi driver, on the way home from the baths, will insist we go to his house for dinner where his wife will serve up a feast, featuring 'mansaf' (the national dish par excellence). Our kind cabbie will spend half of his month’s paycheck to ensure that my “uncle” from America and I feel welcome.

- After 4 hours, we’ll have to leave ‘early’ and I’ll manage to sneak us out, playing the “My Appendix Burst” card. 

- Back on the road, we’ll power up at a Starbucks and then hang out until 2 AM with my co-workers as we smoke hookah and arm wrestle over who “gets” to pay the bill.

This will be a great vacation for you, my President Obama. Petra, Wadi Rum and Jerash can wait, but getting bathed in Jordanian hospitality is a much better time.  Speaking of time, you wanna get in a game of hoop? It's too late at night?  My watch reads 3 am -- that's early by Arab standard time!

By Brett Weer [10]

[11] © 2013 Al Bawaba (Albawaba.com)