My second day in Jordan’s capital city, Amman, I sat with other students on white plastic chairs in the courtyard of the Columbia University Middle East Research Center, surveying the slow trickle of potential mentors who were all late to arrive. My eyes rested on one: dark hair past the shoulders, a short-sleeved red blazer, and a quilted bag clasped with Chanel C’s. Exactly how I would like to look at 50 (I estimate). I stopped staring and cast my gaze into the azure-tiled fountain at the courtyard’s center. Was it rude to stare in all cultures?
