Some reminiscenceses about the flight (up to Amman):

Frustrating not knowing exactly where I was (except for the time that the pilot said we were flying over the Mediterranean). I think I saw the Greek Isles, but I could not identify any of them.

Saw a bridge that I want to assume crossed the Bosphorous. Maybe it didn’t. I didn’t really see signs of life around the bridge, and I always thought the Straits were just outside Constantinople (not, Istanbul).

Next sighting of land was as brilliant as a Guinness commercial. Long and fairly straight coastline would suggest I was looking at either Lebanon or Israel. I think the latter because later when we got closer to landing, they showed the flight pattern. We went from Tel Aviv (again, a guess - based on a huge amount of housing in the area) across the West Bank (I think, but I don’t recall seeing any water). We might have passed over (occupied) Jerusalem, but can’t verify that either. And then it was mounds and mounds of desert (the Negev?) before landing in Amman.

I was told the Queen Alia IA was a small one. It is. A “what am I doing here?” moment came to me as we were taxing to the gate. But not really in a bad way, although I was a little concerned about not having any local money and my language abilities.

Globalization first presented itself in the form of a Cinnabon inside the airport. That was unexpected. I firgured it would be something more like a McDonald’s or Pizza Hut.

Eventually, I made my way to the other side of the airport - past the duty free - (for my connecting flight to Aleppo) when Allah blessed me with a Starbucks. I would have had a coffee anyway, but I especially enjoyed this one because I knew that Syria knows not from Starbucks, so it would be a while before I got another one.