Friday, September 7, 2007

Jordan: if only all travel were this easy

The Sinai is a tough piece of landscape. The drive from the coast to St. Katherine's monastery , still used by Greek Orthodox priests, is through harsh desert, with rock outcrops reaching straight to the sky. For fourteen Bedouin tribes, Sinai is home. Over the years, Egypt and Israel have warred for possession over the top of the Bedouin.

The climb to the top of Mt. Sinai was done overnight, under moonlight, to allow that particularly quaint tourist habit of having to view sights at sunrise. he climb up is via the 'camel track', and down via a steep rocky path of 3,000 plus steps. The sunrise, it has to be said, was indeed a beauty.


















On return, we had arranged to be dropped off at a police checkpoint on the Dahab - Nuweiba highway, where we hoped to be picked up by a bus to take us to Nuweiba. This better work - we'll be in the desert. It worked.

Nuweiba is pretty much a nothing town. Just a port on the edge of the desert. We arrived close to mid-day, shagged, and being told a ferry to Aqaba, Jordan, would leave at 2:30pm. We located the ferry tickets sales building, not as you might expect on or near the wharf. What a thrash. Queues a kilometre long, it seemed. Luckily, we worked out that women can go to the head of the queue., which Deb does and buys the tickets. We told a Japanese group - one woman, three guys the same trick. And in that usual Japanese polite way they were very thankful, with many bows.

We hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, apart from some biscuits, so found an eating spot for some omelet and falafel pita breads, and some Arabic coffee. Plain and simple, does the trick.

We trekked off to the ferry terminal. Another zoo. And that was just immigration. The departure hall was crazy. Hot as hell. We located some benches under a high ceiling fan, read for a while, eventually succumbing, lying down and promptly falling asleep. Deb and I had a slow start to the previous day, but were up all night on the mountain. Sara, on the other hand, is a keen equestrian and had taken an Arab stallion for a tough ride out to a desert oasis, ('she rode through the desert on a horse with no name'), and was totally knackered.

Some time later, a joker was giving me a gentle shake, but not keen or allowed to even dream of touching Deb or Sara, indicates to me to wake them.

We board the ferry. First task is to go to the front of the boat and have our passports taken of us for Jordanian visas. After an hour, the ferry departs: it's 9:00pm!!!

Deb and I had teamed with Sara from the Egyptian border, after the Sudan train trip, because we figured we'd be doing the Libya trip together. With that falling over, and the idea of side-tripping to Jordan 'just happening', we stuck together. No problems, easy.

We arrived at Aqaba, maybe 10:15pm, having skirted around the top of Saudi Arabia, the lights on the other side of the harbour are Eilat, Israel - or Palestine, as they say in these parts.

Jordan is different. But of course, we've left Africa behind, we are in the Middle East. One sensed that even in Egypt they saw themselves as Arabic firstly, then maybe Middle Eastern, but thirdly as African. But smaller differences are immediately apparent. English is widely spoken; Immigration and Customs halls are clean and tidy; the taxi into town is a tidy car; the driver waits while we check out the hotel, drives us to his recommendation when deciding against the first; accepts the minimum fare we had been told without question. His recommended hotel is a lovely little place - warm (not hot, not necessary) fresh water (for five days in Dahab we had showered in brackish salt water - it didn't seem to matter at the time.), air-conditioned, and with cable TV. At 11:00pm we started watching a Bruce Willis movie - for about five minutes before crashing asleep.

Next morning, and Aqaba looks a lovely town, we start putting a bit of a plan together over juice and coffee. Backtracking is always a bit of a pain, retracing the ferry trip wasn't appealing (though already we figure it would be better on the Jordanian side, compared to the Egyptian madhouse.) Our time in Jordan is limited, se we decide to make the most of the week. So the plan was (for then!): Wadi Rum for an overnight desert experience, Petra, Dead Sea, then fly from Amman, the capital, back to Cairo. Deb and I already know that if it wasn't for her Masters degree start, a bag back at the hotel in Cairo, we'd be pushing on: Lebanon, Syria and then fly to Spain from Turkey.

Some things, however, are the same. It was already 39 degrees C at midday, and the hot part of the day was still to come. But Jordan is different. Returning to out hotel, we stop off at the bus station and enquire about buses to Wadi Rum. "Bus go now." But we hade to collect our bags - a ten minute return. "No problems, we wait." They do, and we're off in a bus with only two other passengers aboard. No waiting until the bus is full. This is stunning; quite unbelievable.

The bus conductor, Mubarak abu Rasheed, decides the opportunity is right to rack up a bit of business: "If you want desert trip, stay overnight, eat Bedouin style, my brother he do special price for you."

Well, it's what we have come to Wadi Rum for. We agree and before you know it we have bypassed the tourist centre for such outings, and been dropped off at the conductors house; his wife promptly serves tea; we meet one year old Rasheed (Abu means father of, the naming convention: Mubarak 'father of eldest son' Rasheed); and the trip is put together by calling up brothers.

This desert, with a range of coloured sands, and sandstone and granite mountains is simply stunning. We've seen a bit of deserts recently, but this is cool. Great light effects from the sun. This is where old T.E. himself, Lawrence of Arabia used do some of his rarking around. In fact, many scenes from the original classic movie was shot here.

What a lovely night. The brother, Audi, turns out to be a great joker. Around the campfire he tells us all about Bedouin traditions (most lead a dual life: we've already seen stacks of the goat hair tents in the desert, just as likely to have a Landcruiser as well as the camel parked outside - but also a house in the village so kids can go to school); remorsefully telling about his recently broken up seven year relationship with a Swiss woman; his new business venture taking French tourists through Algeria; singing a few traditional songs; and telling us the secrets of 'romancing' a woman. (I ask the question that had been bugging me: "Does a man ever get to see the woman who wears a full veil before they marry?" Apparently there is an 'engagement' period of a month prior to the wedding when he can get to see her.)

But the 'romancing' is something else again. It's all about whispering sweet nothings. He describes the sweet talk that must occur. Talk like: "If a bee should ever taste the honey from your lips, it would never again touch a flower." "Of a nighttime, when you open your eyes all the stars in the heaven close when they see your beautiful light." And so on. We try to hold back out chuckles. This is all just too much. He was so earnest. The girls tell Audi: "Max is very romantic. It doesn't matter where he is, when he sees the full moon he just goes very romantic." Audi is very impressed. Well, if two girls say it. "Yes, Max. Like what things you say, for example?" asks Audi. I think for a moment. "Oh just little things like - Every time I look at these beautiful rocks I see your face." " When I see the stars sparkling I am reminded of the crumbs you've dropped down the front of your black dress." "Every time I touch a Bedouin goat-hair tent, I am reminded of the feel of stroking your hair." "Every time I notice a mosquito bite on your arm, I would just love to help you scratch it." It just comes easily. Just a natural.

But the experience with just the three of us, and not a full tour party of several 4WDs is nice. In fact, the well worn, old, first edition Landcruiser adds to the charm. Gorgeous sunset, wonderful stars, stunning sunrise against the rock walls. But I feel a little disorientated. I'm not familiar with these northern hemisphere stars. We discover later, that we did get a real bargain as well.




















Another bus belts us through the desert on superb roads to Wadi Musa. On the way, the driver has to slow down and show us the stockyards where Australian and NZ sheep, live exports, are penned after arrival at Aqaba. He's very pleased with himself to be of such knowledge.

The conductor, as they do, sees his opportunity and recommends a hotel for us. Again another beauty. The owner has to be a sister, cousin, or some family relation for sure. But already travel in Jordan is just so easy. It's a fairly popular tourist destination, thankfully we are here in the off season - very quiet (Can only imagine what Egypt is like at its peak). It still has a bit of the exotic. Great roads, good transport, no hassles people. Couldn't be simpler. Wadi Musa, set dramatically on the side of a mountain in muted sandstone colours, is the service town for Petra. It's a tad cooler, being at a bit of altitude, and has a nice splash of trees. We work up to visiting the Petra complex. In the first afternoon we check out little Petra, then do the candlelit nighttime visit to Petra that evening. A day off, (actually Sara, with over eight months travel under the belt and a week to go, is firing out both ends. We call a doctor. Funny, we have eaten exactly the same across the past few days), then the big One. Petra recently (July 2007) got voted as one of the seven new wonders of the world (http://www.new7wonders.com/), can't say I agree with the finalists myself.

It features the temples, tombs, and auditoriums hewn from towering rock faces. They were created by the Nabataens - a new one for me - an Arab people from pre-Roman era. They controlled, and taxed, the trade route that passed here. feature is the large Siq, a canyon like split in the rocks caused by tectonic earth movements - which provided a good hidden entrance. The Romans came, saw, and conquered, as they did, and carried on building magnificent sites. Quite fantastic. Expansive, extensive, and understandably very popular.

We've had a head-on collision with the tourist trail. There must have been a travel show on Petra back home. For the first time we have come across Aussies and Kiwis in droves, nearly all on package tours.

Funny thing happened. We spoke to a joker in a tea shop. When he discovers Deb is a Kiwi, he immediately asks "You know Marguarite?" Deb is puzzled. Marguarite van Geldermalsen (like Deb, a Dutch father) is a the guy's sister-in-law, who has married a Petra Bedouin, and written of the experience: Married to a Bedouin (2006, Virago). Bedouins consider themselves all related. If you come from New Zealand, you must be related. Before Deb knows what is happening, she has a cell phone trust in her hand, with Marguarite on the other end. She's very understanding; it happens regularly enough. But Deb, in her lovely affable style, chats away for a while. She buys the book.





















It was quite a magnificent site: expansive, extensive, and understandably popular. We were quite shagged at the end of the day. It didn't stop us watching the original Indiana Jones movie at the hotel that night: it feature Petra at start and end. Like a bus conductor, our taxi driver back to our hotel, Mohammed - yep, another one!) saw his chance. We negotiated a ride up to Amman next day, taking in the sites: a better option than busing to Amman, on to another bus to and from the Dead Sea.

It was a good choice. We were taken to, stopped and had explained all the attractions along the Kings' Highway. The alternative, the Desert Highway, was just that. At one point, the road drops from near At Talifa, just over 2000m altitude, to the shores of the Dead Sea, the earth's lowest surface point, just over 400m below sea level. At this point we proceed along the Israeli West Bank border. A fenced, heavily military guarded district on both sides. To our driver's surprise there are also many police checks, and a lot of helicopters overhead. He figures something has happened, but isn't game to ask what. (Next day we read in the Jordanian Times that Tony Blair, Special Envoy to the Middle East Peace Process as he now prefers to call himself, I understand, is out and about.) He tells us that the radio news is all about an Al-Qaeda bombing in Algeria. He spends the next while berating Al-Qaeda and how un-Islamic an organisation it is. He reckons the word 'peace' is repeated 165 times throughout the Quran.



















Anyway, the Dead Sea. Everyone knows about the high salinity and how you float so easily. But it is something you jus have to experience. When not quite knee deep you can lower yourself and bob away. Cool. A slight drop on your lips tastes gross. And it seems rubbing Dead Sea mud all over yourself is the other must do. The cold shower afterwards is much more refreshing than the swim. You need to wear sandals to the water’s edge. The sand is hot, hot, hot. The car radio apparently (thanks to Mohammed) told us it was 40 degrees at the Dead Sea's Amman Beach. But, as happens, we are starting to get used to these temperatures.

Driving along the sea shore, with a very clear day, we could see Jerusalem in the distance - and could make out the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. At the northern end of the Sea is the source of the Jordan River, the Baptism site, and Madaba - home of the mosaic that mapped all biblical sites from Egypt to Lebanon (560AD).

Driving through olive groves into Amman city and the large direction signs point the way to the Iraq border, the Saudi Arabia border, the Syria border, and the Palestine border. It's a sprawling, low-rise, subdued colour tones - almost monochromatic, city. Quite attractive. We stay in the old bazaar quarters of Downtown, but go for dinner in the more modern, middle class suburb of Shemisani - a nice change.

Quite like this Amman city.

Caught the first round results of the Rugby World Cup on the BBC. Only surprise (was it?) the Argies over hosts France. I read on www.stuff.co.nz that the All Blacks are pissed because the Italians turned their backs on the Haka. That old story again. I don't understand that one. I'm all for developing and maintaining your culture, but at home. Heading offshore and jamming your culture down others throats is nothing short of imperialism.

Did you know that in the early 1900s an All Black and a Wallabies team were touring the UK. The All Blacks performed a haka, and the Wallabies a war cry. From memory, I don't think there was a Maori or an Aboriginal in either team. Anyhow, the press gave both teams a real dress down calling the performances shabby and belittling of 'natives'. The Australians, then as they still are now, being the more politically correct dropped the routine. The All Blacks persited. If you are prepared to wait a couple of years until I get home to my books, I can quote source, the newspaper, etc.

North of Amman lies Jerash, a preserved Roman city. But we have to say stop somewhere. Besides anymore of all these old Roman sites will be the ruins of us. Sorry.

Tonight, we fly Royal Jordanian back to Cairo. Back to Africa (Strewth! We better see those pyramids and the Sphinx!).

Mixed emotions, only four days before we fly to Spain.

Man. Where has that six months gone?

Max
aka Mad

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