It becomes soon apparent that I did not sleep for the last 48 hours. The door to the balcony is open and a semi cool breeze enters the room. The air is dry, and I sleep until 10am.

The large marble tiles on the floor are cool, but not cold, as I walk around the house. When the shower runs, I feel a sense of bounty: so much water tumbling down while the air is so dry. I rub myself with Dead Sea salt and feel my skin coming alive. I am a lucky man.

Betty personifies generosity. Food, drink even the Philipino maid is available for us. 

It's a slow start and we take our time getting organized. The house has WIFI and soon we are able to plan our trip and get in touch with the folks back home. I play piano and read in a thriller. 

After lunch we ask Jessica, the maid, to accompany us into town. We don't have time to go to the citadel, so a taxi takes us around and we walk along the asphalt roads. For a Dutchman in April, it is very hot and dusty. There are no clouds in the sky. 

All houses are of a yellowish color. I presume because of the local desert sand. Between buildings are pieces of land with sparse vegetation, but apparently sufficient for sheep, who roam around a shepherd who looks as if Moses is still alive. Except that he has a whole row of plastic tanks and containers to water the sheep.

I am very happy with Olesya's hat, because the day in Istanbul already gave me a touch of sun, but here the sun is merciless.

In a modern shopping mall I buy a pair of sandals. My last pair was completely worn out after our Asian trip, and as I try these new sandals, I wonder where and how far they will carry me.

Heat and a bit of dust are defnitely the most obvious characteristics of Amman. There are few people in the street. A passing truck honks as we walk by. Jessica tells us that many of the original jordanians have a dirty mind. "The expats are much better."

The Syrian refugees have had a bad effect on the jordanian economy. There are hundreds of thousands in the country. Most are located in camps near the Syrian border, but the drain on the money supply has resulted in many expats going home. The number of Philipino's is down to maybe 20% of what it was. The police catches Philipinos and other foreign domestic helpers who are here without work and deports them.

A taxi brings us back home. The driver is Palestinian, but born in Jordan, and carries a Jordanian passport. Much better than gulf state countries where a Palestinian can never get a passport.

In the evening I enjoy watching the children play with the presents Sisi bought them. Freddie is busy with his lego, and Isabel is transforming the doll she got into new fashion with colored paper. Nice kids.

A quiet dinner with the three of us. The kids are in bed, the room is quiet, the marble cool. Conversations of the past, of our long friendship, of our dreams, and of our travels. 

Jordanian night.