Waking up "on time"

After our first meal in Amman last night, we went walking, both on the busy streets, and then up into residential areas. It was a delight to discover a street corner filled with children playing in the coolness of evening under the street lights. Nearby we went into a "supermarket" corner store and bought some fast-melting ice-cream bars. The owner apologized that the freezer was due for maintenance the next day. (While many speak no English, it is surprising how many do!) Back in our room, we went to bed with a prayer that our luggage would show up in the morning.
Surprisingly, we slept pretty well and got up around 7 local time.
While Vonnie finished getting ready, I read a few pages in a fascinating book I picked up at the Seattle Airport. It's the autobiography of the president of Al Quds University in Jerusalem. His family roots in Jerusalem go back to the bloodless Islamic conquest of the city and remain there through the Crusades, the Ottoman Turkish Empire, the British Mandate, and finally the wars with Israel. (I just learned that the United Nations vote to create Israel occurred on my first birthday, Nov. 29, 1947.)
We came down for breakfast and ate next to a group from Portugal who enjoyed each other. Our waiter, though, is the real story. This young married man was so thoughtful! When we left, he invited us to sit down in the lobby while he taught us our first Arabic phrases, and then showed us still photos and phone-movies of his 3-month old baby, giggling as he tickled her. It's people like him that make traveling such a delight!
A few moments later the man at the desk got through to Queen Alia Int'l Airport and confirmed that three of our checked bags had arrived, and perhaps the fourth would show up before they delivered them to the hotel. Good news! For we are wearing these same clothes now for a fourth day. They have become our "uniform".
Speaking of clothes, we traveled briefly in the elevator with an Arabic man dressed in clothing totally unfamiliar to me/us. When I asked if he spoke English, he did, and well. I told him I saw his clothes and recognized that they must mean something but I needed to be taught. He kindly shared that his were the national clothes of the Sultan of Oman, pointing to a special, braided tassel worn at his neck. He asked if I spoke Arabic and I admitted my ignorance, but he nevertheless invited us to visit Oman.
Now it's time to find our ride to our first tourist spots - I think all the way down to the Jordan River and perhaps where John the Baptist traditionally preached and baptized: Jaresh.