Approaching Ramadan

Where's your camera when you need it?
The day before Ramadan, having lost ourselves in the old city of Amman, we entered into an immense market, street after street, selling menswear. It took us some time to realise that there were no women to be seen, and that the streets, footpath and road, were stacked with all manner of clothing. Mountains of shoes on tarpaulins or plastic sheeting teetered over the edges of the pavement, racks of shirts and pants filled the roadway, and vast trays of underwear filled all available crannies. Through this men thronged, choosing shoes from the scuffed and dusty piles, and sorting through the racks and trays. Buses pushed their way through, spewing black, noxious smoke. The day was very hot and without the customary breeze.
It was a strange and alien sensation to be there, feeling insignificant to the point of invisibility. I felt myself like a camera, recording images, but making no contact. Perhaps it was wrong to be there, indelicate or rude. I hope not. No-one made us feel that way; we were simply ignored utterly.
Later someone told us that the men were buying new clothes for Ramadan.
At last we found a way out, and greatly relieved, entered a carpet shop, dusty and narrow and filled with many treasures - not only carpets, but old, battered coffee pots whose dim sheen defied the dust, great grinding stones and other obscure items.
By contrast, on the same day we found the lovely, colourful Jara market.
Next time, photos! (I propbably wouldn't ahve taken any of the men's market anyway.)