Amman's Ruined Reels: A Sleep-Deprived Scout's Odyssey
just touched down in amman and my sleep schedule’s a myth. the cold here isn’t just cold-it’s 5.25 celsius with a feels-like of 2.74 and humidity at 86%, a damp that crawls up your spine like a forgotten line. i just checked and it's... the kind of weather that makes you regret not packing that extra sweater, hope you like that kind of thing.
i’m here chasing ghosts of shots that might never be shot. got handed a napkin with 314830 scrawled at a cafe near the citadel. called it-got a voicemail of a cat purring the theme to lawrence of arabia. classic. then 1792911843, on a beer mat at a bar where the wifi’s slower than a mule. that one connected to a producer who yelled about permits and hung up. numbers, man. they’re the new hieroglyphs.
amman sprawls-a mess of old stones and new sprawl. the map below’s my bible right now.
see that grid? each alley’s a potential frame, each shadow a character. i’ve been hiking up and down the stairs of the old city for hours, my camera heavy, my mind heavier with possibilities.
last night, i stumbled into a suq-
-smells of spices and diesel. a vendor with eyes like cracked leather told me, “the best shot is at hashem’s, but only at 3 am when the feral cats hold séances.” drunk advice? maybe. i went-no cats, but the emptiness was cinematic. the place was a storefront with stools, the kind of spot that feels like a set from a lost film. i shot some stills; the steam from the cooking added a ghostly layer.
if you get bored, jerash is a short drive north with its ancient theaters that’ll make your budget look lavish. madaba’s a mosaic maze, but the traffic’s a horror show. someone warned me: “don’t trust the taxi drivers; they’ll take you to their cousin’s souvenir shop and you’ll end up buying a stone that weighs more than your ambition.” overheard in a hostel, so grain of salt. but i took a mini-bus to madaba and got lost for hours, which turned out great-found a courtyard with laundry lines that looked like installation art.
the city at night-
-is where the electric ghosts dance. lights flicker like bad bulbs, but it’s alive. i shot some B-roll on a rooftop near the citadel; the call to prayer echoed over the roofs, perfect diegetic sound. then the humidity ruined my lens. thanks, 86%. the air’s so wet, my gear’s sweating more than i am.
i heard from a local barista that the old banquet hall by the roman theater-
-is haunted by a production crew from the 70s who left their reel canisters behind. “you can still hear the projector humming,” she whispered. i checked it out-just rats and dust. but the red carpet’s seen things, man. the carpet’s faded, stains that look like coffee or blood, depending on your mood.
for eats, yelp’s okay but tripadvisor’s threads are wild. this one talks about a hidden courtyard café that’s a_frame_hunter’s dream. Yelp’s got hashem’s with reviews like “ful so good it’ll make you weep” and “watch out for the onion breath.” the jordan times ran a piece on amman’s street art scene-gold for guerilla shoots. and this forum is where the old-timers drop tips, though it’s mostly memes now. i scrolled for hours, found a tip about a rooftop with a view of the citadel at dawn. went there-cloudy, but the mist added a layer of mystery.
the weather’s a collaborator-pressure 1010 hpa at sea level, but ground level’s 909 hpa-tells me we’re high up, the air’s thin and cold. that’s why my breath fogs in the morning shoots. humidity 86% means every surface is a potential reflection, good and bad. i’ve been using raindrops on windows as natural filters. cheesy? sure. but in a pinch, it works.
someone told me that the alley behind the french institute-“don’t shoot there after dark, the cats are aggressive and the shadows eat film.” i shot there anyway, got a great take but my shadow’s still missing. hyperbole? probably. but in this business, you believe the weird. i’ve learned to trust the absurd.
i keep circling back to those numbers. 314830-maybe it’s a coordinate for a fountain in the citadel. 1792911843-a phone code for a fixer who knows how to bribe a guard. or just a prank by a student at the university. amman’s full of both. the city’s a character, a co-star that demands respect and a strong stomach. i’ve got blisters from walking, a camera full of uncertain frames, and a mind buzzing with possibilities.
so here i am, caffeine-jittery, sleep-deprived, chasing angles in a city that feels like a broken reel. but that’s the job, right? finding the mess in the magic. if you’re out there scouting, hit me up-i might have a tip or two, or just more numbers to call. someone’s got to make sense of this chaos, even if it’s just for a frame.
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