Murphy’s Law of Jordan

Hello All!

I still have tons to write about for my whole European adventure, but today I’m interrupting your regularly scheduled programming to write to you about Jordan. Because…guys…I’m pretty sure this country hates me. Let’s get on with it!

My only photo of Jordan

Ok! So I arrived to Jordan after a long day of travel (Naples -> Rome -> Athens -> Amman) on March 29th. Now, most of you probably know this, but I lived in Jordan last year, so I’m familiar-ish with how to get around. Jordan doesn’t have much (any) public transportation, so, since my flight landed at 01:30am, I made sure to book myself a private transfer to my hotel. David was coming to join me the next day, but, as I’m sure you guys understand, you don’t want to be a lonely girl in the middle of the Middle East, no matter how much you like its people. Thus, I also booked a nice hotel (ok, the best), and was supposed to be dropped off there at around 02:30am, once I got through customs, etc.

Note how I said supposed to?


I finished up with my luggage and customs and walked out to the lobby, where my driver was *guaranteed* to be standing around waiting for me. Except he…just didn’t show up? I wandered back and forth for a few minutes, wondering if I had missed the sign, before concluding that, yes, my private driver had indeed abandoned me in the middle of the airport at 2am. In Jordan. I finally managed to get ahold of a very sleepy man (using the company’s *emergency* number), who seemed shocked to learn that he had a customer waiting, and asked if he could call me back.

While waiting for his return call, I learned that Uber is a thing in Jordan! And dear God thankyousomuch for Uber, because it saved my ass. I called a car (which took twenty minutes to get to me, since there was apparently only one driver in all of Amman) and politely told the missing transfer driver to eat it.

So, I gratefully climbed into the Uber and headed off to my hotel, arriving at around 3:30am, where I greeted the hotel receptionist in Arabic and told him I wanted to check into my room.

Look! Nala!

Now pause here for a moment. Half the reason I booked this hotel, and not any others, is because it participates in the American Express Fine Hotels and Resorts program. That means you receive a room upgrade, 12pm check-in, 4pm check-out, free daily breakfast for two, and a $100 food/beverage credit for the length of your stay. Since I didn’t want to be wandering the city alone, I figured the massive quantities of free food would work out for me while I waited to David to arrive. I also meant to luxuriate in the heated pools and maybe even work out (lol no).

Ok, back to check-in. There I was, standing exhaustedly after my car debacle and just wanting to head to my room, when the receptionist (who was very kind), told me that my reservation was set for 28-30 April, not March. I was thus one month early.

Well. Shit.

It also turned out that the hotel was fully booked for the next few days. Seeing the look of panic on my face, the receptionist offered me water and tea and asked me to sit down while he figured something out. Promising that he’d be back in 15 minutes, he disappeared for the next hour.

Finally, he returned, saying something about possibly a room that they may have but it might be really expensive and also I might have to leave at noon? At this point, I didn’t care, and simply nodded.

Another hour later, the actual night manager returned, who told me they had found a room, which I guess was somehow previously unbookable? They had cleaned it and set it up for me, and I would be able to stay for the two full nights with all the amenities from American Express. Silently expressing my joy, I followed the manager up to the room and fell over into the bed, finally falling asleep at 5:15am.

So, a pretty iffy start to Jordan, right? But at least I was in the best hotel in Amman, right?

Yeah, true. But then I woke up with food poisoning. (Or, at least that’s what I thought it was). Let me tell you guys, there is nothing so pathetic as me lumbering around a hotel room by myself, whining and watching 10 episodes straight of RuPaul’s Drag Race. David finally arrived at around 11pm that night and proceeded to shove pepto bismol and pedialyte down my face, which was a far cry from the $100 steak I had been envisioning eating, but I was grateful for nonetheless.

Now, it’s three days later and I’m almost better!

But, David has gotten sick now. And let me tell you guys, there is nothing so pathetic as David lumbering around our Airbnb, whining about his tummy while watching 10 episodes straight of Spartacus. Men are babies. (I’m conveniently forgetting how pathetic I was, ok?)

I guess…it can only get better from here?

Enjoy this unrelated photo!

-Carissa “Murphy’s Law” Rawson


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