After returning from Melbourne CBD following four day’s of staying in the city because Barry had night court, we had only a few precious hours to finally pack for our four month odyssey before being picked up by our driver. Being organised like a moon mission was a priority (for Barry), leaving the house in a state fit for the burglars was a priority (for me) but overall our main priority was simply not to stress and to begin to relax into our holiday! It’s pointless to be days into a time away before the relaxation factor has kicked in. Once the cases were packed, there were ‘essential’ items that had been jigsaw-puzzle-fitted into place in this or that corner of this or that case or bag. So in typical organised fashion (OCD) Barry recorded the secret locations of where we had ‘hidden’ important things including various currencies and credit cards, so that we would never lose the lot, on his phone. It subsequently helped with finding a hidden credit card and one or two other items. When you’re jet lagged, it can be enormously frustrating to KNOW you packed something, but where?

We stayed overnight at the Park Royal Hotel at Tullamarine ahead of our early flight the next morning. Our Cathay Pacific daylight flight to Hong Kong was about 9 hours. But it had a 6 hour lay over before we could board our Royal Jordanian flight to our next stop in Amman, Jordan … but requiring a one hour stopover in Bangkok, making something of a zigzag flight plan. We’d never flown Royal Jordanian before, but found the service and food to be absolutely excellent! From Bangkok to Amman was another 9 hour leg. So, by the time we arrived in Jordan it had been 30 hours spent in travelling.

Despite getting some periods of deep sleep, our minds were still foggy when we got off the plane. Ambling like sleep-deprived sheep, we tagged along with the disembarking ‘herd’ to yet another security screening area. With our carry on bags laden with four month’s of prescription medications, it was inevitable at some stage that we’d be queried over what we were carrying. Barry had to have his bag thoroughly searched, added to the indignity of the ‘shoes off, belt off, jacket off’ routine he has because of his titanium hip joints! But, after all that, we weren’t in the baggage claim area – because mistakenly, we’d gone through to departures as if we were transiting! It was even harder getting back out again, with very suspicious looks and repeat scans and pat-downs. Then, by the time we got to the baggage carousel, only one of our two suitcases was doing the rounds. Almost all the other people’s bags had been collected. Fortunately, it only took another half hour to find that it had been put aside for ‘security concerns’. We weren’t told what the problem was. Once they saw ‘respectable’ us, they simply asked, “This your bag?” in a heavily Arabic accented slightly annoyed tone and let us take the case without further explanation!

Hardly surprising then, once outside the terminal, that we opted to take a taxi as Uber didn’t respond due to telecom issues. It was only on checking in at the hotel that the Concierge asked us about the driver we’d arranged with them months before! He was still waiting for us at the airport wondering where we were!!

In Barry’s same OCD fashion, to avoid any ‘seniors’ jet lag confusion, he’d recorded all of the case combination lock codes. But Murphy’s Law will find some way to throw you a curve-ball. One case, with a quite shamefully insecure combination number (yes, you guessed it, 000!) the lock simply refused to open with the correct number. Trying to wiggle the number wheels didn’t work. Trying to pop the zipper tags out of the catch with hotel teaspoons didn’t work … NOTHING worked!! So, finally giving up, we called the hotel maintenance man! He arrived with a couple of screw drivers in hand and with a few deft (damaging) moves, the zips ran free again! However the lock won’t work any more!

On the positive side, I had enquired months before about getting an early Check-in because of our flight arriving at five in the morning. When I was told that it would cost an additional US$80, I decided that we would just drop off our luggage and walk around Amman for some considerable amount of hours. So I was delighted when the Concierge, far from being grumpy, told us that not only was our room ready for us, but also that we had been upgraded to a suite! I was liking these Jordanians more and more.

After the debacle with Barry’s suitcase had been resolved, we did a little unpacking and sorting and then decided that a long walk was in order. We set off at around seven, much to the horror of the hotel staff, who were aghast that we would actually want to walk the estimated one hour to get to the Roman amphitheater. They gave us a blurry photo copy of a map on which they had all but obliterated the street names with their ‘helpful’ magic marker leading the way. Barry found it disconcerting to be unable to decipher the street names as most of them were only written in Arabic. After walking for ten minutes or so and not being unable to make heads nor tails of the street names or how they responded to the map, we decided to go back to the hotel to clarify our orientation. Indeed, we had been walking in the wrong direction.

As we walked we were struck by repetitive sameness of buff coloured, poorly maintained concrete housing. The footpaths were not merely uneven, but perilously dangerous with potholes, sudden back jarring drops, high curbs, low curbs and no curbs. The only greenery to be seen were weeds so it was a rather sad and uninspiring walk in the blistering heat made worse by the heat radiating from the buildings.

We took several wrong turns along the way and recognised that we were seriously lost and that we had been walking for at least ninety minutes when I noticed a policeman sitting in a parked car. Like so many Jordanian men, he was incredibly handsome and had strikingly blue eyes. His English was only slightly better than my Arabic, which made our communication extremely rudimentary. Like us he had difficulty deciphering our map, but eventually decided that our destination was on the other side of the hill. It was only then that we noticed the sound of birdsong and looked up to see the tops of trees (even some gums) and flowering vines on top of a long high wall. The celebratory banners and crown emblems tipped us off that we were at the Royal palace and a long way, in the wrong direction from the Roman amphitheatre. Conceding defeat and feeling at the risk of heatstroke, we hailed a taxi back to the hotel. Three minutes later Barry spotted the amphitheater out of the window and asked the driver to stop. Any disappointment that the driver might have felt because of losing a much longer metered trip must have been allayed by being paid 7 Dinar, rather than the 70 cents on the meter!

By the time we got back to the hotel we had walked 10.5 kilometres! It was 2:30 but it felt more like midnight so we decided to rest in our room until it was a reasonable time to have dinner. We had been gorging ourselves on food throughout our long journey, so although we felt famished, we only wanted a light meal.

We had the hotel driver drop us off at ‘Shawerma Zarb’ , a cheap eats restaurant highly recommended by Trip Advisor. We weren’t disappointed. The young men working there were lovely and very welcoming. We were expecting the swarma where slices of spit roasted meat are sliced from compacted cooked meat. This was more finely chopped, but nonetheless delicious. When we finished eating, the staff encouraged us to go to the area known as ‘downtown’ to experience Jordan’s national dessert, Kunafeh, at the reputedly best Kunafeh Bakery in Amman, Habibi. They also insisted that we should take an Uber. We explained that we couldn’t access our Uber account because Telstra didn’t operate in Jordan, so they organised to get an Uber and we paid in cash: a princely sum of 1.5 JD or A$3, for a 10k ride.

At Habibi’s we thankfully only asked for a small slice each, rather than a larger portion on offer. The small slice was almost too much, very rich with a melted sweet cheese base and a pancake-like topping, sprinkled with crushed pistachios and doused with warm sugar syrup! We’d wanted to have it with a coffee. But, oddly enough, Habibi’s, with a pleasant upstairs air conditioned dining room overlooking the street, they didn’t serve coffee!! Only water or carbonated soft drinks!

After that, we wandered the streets, taking in the people-watching. But as it became more crowded and chaotic, we opted to hail a cab back to the hotel for ‘Happy Hour’! That led to our next taxi adventure! The cab was old and decrepit. The driver took us by a way that was different from anything we’d known before, and that seemed to be going entirely in the wrong direction. Worse, he was driving like the Formula 1 World Championship depended on it! On one sharp continuous uphill curve, the cab leaned over perilously while overtaking more cautious drivers! We wondered if we were being taken off to somewhere remote or thought that, at best, he was running up the meter needlessly. We were so relieved to have the hotel come into view. But we’d seen the meter climbing relentlessly during the journey!

Even for experienced travellers, exchange rates, the ways different money amounts are expressed, and the expectations of tipping (or simple rounding up) can cause a degree of understandable confusion. That can lead to us innocently giving deeply offensive miserly tips (such as the tiny few rupees tip Barry thought he was generously giving an Indian rickshaw pedaller who’d laboured horribly, lugging two big westerners – us!), or as happened now in Amman, the kind of mistake that led to a tenfold rip-off taxi fare!! Taxi meters in Jordan read in four digits, conveniently for the taxi drivers, without any decimal place. The unwitting western traveller instinctively (but incorrectly) places the decimal in the middle.

Yesterday, in a metered taxi, we were dropped back to our hotel with the meter finally showing a fare of “1970”. Previously, we’d paid only 21 Dinars for the long journey from the airport, so nearly 20 Dinars was plainly too much!! The driver only showed us the meter, he didn’t say anything, but we insisted he let us query the fare with the hotel doorman! We felt chastened and embarrassed when it became clear that the fare was only 1.97 Dinars … so we ‘generously’ rounded it up to 3 Dinars (about $6).

SATURDAY – JORDAN MUSEUM

We started the day by going to another highly recommended restaurant, Fatatri. Not only was the food mouth-wateringly spectacular but we discovered a whole new world in Amman. On our first day here all we saw was drab, poverty stricken neighbourhoods. Yet as we approached this restaurant on Rainbow Street, we were struck by the comparative affluence of the area. We were clearly in the Consulate and expatriate area with International schools, opulent housing, expensive European cars, upmarket shops, but most importantly, gardens with trees and flowers. We had an absolutely delicious breakfast in leafy surroundings. The Feteers were like nothing I had ever tasted before and I only regret that I may never taste one again. I chose the delicious mushroom variety while Barry had the Greek and each was as good as the other.

We spent many hours at the outstanding Jordan Museum. We were both transfixed by the very professional and captivating, world class presentation. Time just evaporated as we became immersed in Jordanian cultural history. The upstairs hands on display, clearly designed for children was so riveting that Barry had to finally tear me away so that I stopped hogging what children were lining up to use. What a wonderful way to instil pride and knowledge in the younger generation.

Ready to return to the hotel, we took a taxi from a handsome, well spoken Palestinian who was waiting inside the Museum gate. Unusually for taxis in Amman, this one was a new Hyundai. When we arrived at the hotel, the first clue that a scam was afoot came when he pulled up across the street from the hotel entrance (always a warning sign anywhere in the world!). The meter read “1375”. As we’d been happy with him up to that point, we were going to tip and round up to 3 Dinars. But as we held out the cash, he convincingly said, “No, 13 not 3!” We argued with him and demanded he drive to the doorman to verify the fare. He could’ve easily reversed back to the doorman, but drove once around the block and again pulled up even further away from the entrance! That was enough for us! We both got out of the cab and gave him the 2 Dinars (minus the 1 Dinar tip!) and said, “Follow us to the hotel if that is wrong and we will pay you the rest”!Needless to say, he seemed to lose his way to the entrance and disappeared into the distance. Once bitten, twice shy!!

The bad taste in our mouths from that experience was obliterated by another gastronomic experience, once again in Rainbow Street, but this time in more upmarket restaurant, Sufra.

This restaurant really felt like an oasis in the desert. The outdoor eating area was tranquil and charming with water fountains, flowers, trees and lanterns. The wait staff were elegantly attired and the maître’d wore desert patrol uniform complete with ammunition belt and khunjar. Best of all was the food: we had the Jordanian National dish, Mansaf. It was succulent lamb on top of an incredibly gorgeous rice and roasted almonds and topped with a yogurt sauce. Not to be missed!

What an absolutely wonderful day!

SUNDAY – PETRA

Despite the ungodly 7am pick up time, we were excited to be heading out at last to wondrous Petra! We stored our luggage in the hotel and waited in the foyer for our driver. A tall (195cm), very thin, young Jordanian man, Ihab, greeted us and led us to a near new Ford Hybrid car. This was a very comfortable luxury touch that made us glad not to have been one of many on a group tour. The benefits of a private tour were more than worth the added premium! As we drove, Ihab opened up about how he’d recently graduated from university with a degree in civil engineering, but with little prospect of getting a job in Jordan. But with his knowledge of English, he was able to get the job of driving tourists. He proudly confided that he’d just become engaged, only four days ago, to “the love of his life” whom he’d met at university.

As we drove out of Amman the countryside became steadily more arid and rock strewn. We’ve never seen a more barren, parched, infertile expanse of land. This would be hardly anyone’s idea of “a land of milk and honey”! Just the thought of how Moses led the Israelites through this wilderness gave a new perspective on the meaning of endurance! Yet, along the way, there were still shepherds tending flocks of sheep and goats, much as they had done for thousands of years. In parts there were patches of cultivation. It would’ve been hard to imagine anything could grow here at all, but the evidence of roadside stalls groaning under the weight of watermelons, tomatoes and other produce seemed to remove any doubt.

The drive to Petra was almost four and a half hours, climbing steadily into mountains unlike any we’d seen elsewhere. They were ‘rocky’ in a most unusual way. It was as if the whole land was a rubble field of rock fragments of all sizes, scattered uniformly everywhere. In the midst of that impoverished landscape, there were small roadside settlements and villages. There were many scattered low Bedouin style tents, some obviously inhabited while others were set up as street stalls. There were different kinds of small buildings made of concrete blocks, some of them were dwellings, others were workshops. In one village, there were trucks and parts of trucks being worked on in greasy shop front workshops. It was very reminiscent of similar scenes we’d seen in India. Once again, the dismal poverty was there to be seen.

We arrived in Petra at about 11 am, fortunately, ahead of the buses and crowds that soon followed. We wanted to have a guide to explain what we would be seeing. Ihab warned us to only use an ‘authorised’ guide who we’d find at the ticket office. We had a Jordan Pass which gave us entry into the site. The pass cost 70 JOD, the cost of entry to Petra alone, but it gave us entry to many other historic sites and attractions. No one should go without a Jordan Pass, if for no other reason than avoiding ticket queues.

Our private tour had been arranged and paid for months before, so it wasn’t fresh in our memory exactly what it covered. The guide would cost 50 JOD (about $100 AUD) but Ihab said it was covered by the company, so he went and paid for us. It was only later, on a closer reading of the ‘exclusions’ that we found that was one of them! At the ticket office, a thick set, middle aged Jordanian man was standing by. He was a guide. He latched onto us like a fly on food! We didn’t particularly warm to him, but he was a very knowledgeable graduate historian. Then he wanted to discuss our ‘options’! He took us to a large wall map of Petra and explained that there was the basic 50 JOD tour of about 2 hours. That simply followed the main ground level path that snaked through the site. However, to really see the ‘best’ of the site, there were side tours to higher elevations, for better photographic opportunities. We chose to take one of the shortest side excursions as the day was very hot, around 40 degrees Celsius. Of course, said that was an extra 30 JOD and would add another 45 minutes to the tour. We gave him the cash and he went off to buy the additional ticket. When he came back and presented us with the receipt for 35 JOD (about $70 AUD), we reached to give him the $10 balance, but he waved the money aside saying, “That’s OK, I cover that for you”. Our ‘suspicious travellers’ senses were now on heightened alert! He was obviously grooming us for a generous tip!

But he nevertheless proved to be an excellent guide. However, he obviously wanted to finish early!! The expected 2 hrs 45 minute tour was over in under 2 Hours. We had to keep up with his fast pace! That was fine on the way along the cleft-in-the-rock gorge known as ‘The Siq’. It wasn’t evident to us at the time that it was on a steady downward slope! When we made our way out, after the tour, it was an exhausting uphill trek in the worst of the afternoon heat!

Hassan, the guide, was a very fit man in his fifties. As we made our way in through the gorge, he explained much that we would not have understood or simply missed seeing entirely. Then, purporting to show us something high up on the side of the gorge, he positioned us for the most exciting ‘reveal’ … our first glimpse of what we’d waited a lifetime to see, the incredible “Treasury of Petra” opening before us at the end of the gorge! But almost as amazing was the fact that there were very few other tourist along the way. Every other image we’d seen of Petra seemed to have crowds of people there shoulder to shoulder. We felt privileged!

Further along, past the Treasury, were countless other wonderful rock-carved facades. As we came in sight of the amazing Nabatean amphitheater, hewn straight out of the rock like all else in Petra, the guide said this is where we take the side tour. We left the main path and started to climb gently off to the right. At first it was mildly strenuous in the heat. But as we ascended higher, it became more like rock climbing! Neither of us is particularly comfortable with heights, and in places it was absolutely vertiginous!! It took the guide holding my hand and pulling me up, and Barry pushing my bum from behind to get me up some of the more challenging parts. We were both quickly tiring from the heat and physical exertion. It made us realise that had we left this much later in life, it would be beyond our ability … it almost was this time!! But the rewards of the climb were some amazing photographs. Looking down on the amphitheater was one. The rainbow caves and hidden carved facades was another. The photos will speak for themselves. No other narrative is necessary. But photos alone cannot capture Petra!

As we descended from our side tour to rejoin the main path, there was one daunting last challenge – a roughly welded, jury-rigged steel mesh ‘bridge’ over a 20 metre deep gorge! Through the mesh deck (if you were silly enough to look down) was a terrifying drop to the gorge floor. The guide went ahead of me, holding my hand. Barry stood back taking pictures of my tentative slow steps across the void. At least, that’s what he claimed to be doing! He followed along after, having been thereby assured it was safe!!

Petra burial site

Just before descending to the valley floor again we stopped by the ruins of a Byzantine church, from a much later period than the Nabatean, the 3rd Century AD. That marked the end of the guide’s tour. We tipped him 20 JOD ($40 AUD) taking into account his ‘contribution’ to our side tour ticket. We suspected he would demonstrate a degree of disdain, but to our relief he was gracious and seemed content. Once down on the main path, we started the long walk back, realising at that moment that it was all going to be uphill. We were already very tired, actually we were probably quite exhausted and heat stressed! There were local ‘transport’ vendors touting to the weary and footsore. The options were, ranging in comfort value, horse drawn ‘chariots’ (a two wheeled sprung covered cart), horseback rides or the less flash, donkey rides. Of course, we brushed aside all offers. As fit as we are, we thought it too demeaning! We saw countless other weak-willed travellers climbing onto their choice of escape, but not us!

As we walked, steadily uphill, there were many times we thought we were nearly at the end. Wrong!! We’d completely underestimated just how far we’d come, just how tired we were, and just how much the intense heat was sapping our strength. Yet, we still resisted the temptation of transport. Eventually, after many rest stops to take a sip of our diminishing water supply, we reached The Siq at last. It afforded some relief from the sun, with the high walls giving patches of shade. We were beginning to feel quite weak and light headed, but pressed on. Like wanderers in a desert, it seemed like we were near the end. At the last part of the upward climb, the gorge opened out. With a sense of relief we thought we were back at the entrance! Only then did we realise we were only halfway! It was just the open area of The Treasury!! The look of despair on our faces must have been seen many times before by the transport ‘sharks’! We were immediately approached by one asking if we wanted to ride on horseback the rest of the way. We waved him away, but he ‘kindly’ asked, “You have Jordan Pass?” “Yes”, we acknowledged. “Then it’s free”, he said, “it’s included in your pass”. “Free?” we said. “Yes, free, just maybe a tip”. We knew there’d be a catch, but at that point we really couldn’t have made it out without an ambulance!! So we mounted up like the horsemen of old! However, not like some of the sillier young tourists who were dressed as Bedouins, thinking themselves a modern day Lawrence of Arabia.

However, we were grateful to have ridden the last two kilometres. It was in the hottest part of the day and we were at our weakest. As it was we had walked more than 13 kms before giving in to going on horseback. Of course, we knew we’d be stung for a tip that would in all probability equate to the cost of the ride. By signs to each other we agreed on 5 JOD ($10 AUD) which, given it was only the last part of the long path out, seemed generous to us. Of course, the horse traders didn’t think so! But tired and cranky as we were, they weren’t going to scam us for any more!

We walked from the horses back past the ticket entrance and out into ‘modern’ Petra, a tasteless strip of souvenir shops, restaurants and money exchanges. Right on the corner nearest the historic site entrance was the fine looking Movenpick Hotel. Petra was a mix of the tacky and the tasteful, with very little of the latter! On the suggestion of Ihab our driver, we went to the Red Cave Cafe for something to eat and to rest and regather our energy. It wasn’t his best recommendation! But it gave us a place to rest in air conditioned comfort until it was time for Ihab to pick us up for the drive to Wadi Rum in the desert.

We drove from Petra for almost two hours until we arrived at the modern tourist checkpoint to have our Jordan Pass checked and stamped. Then on another few kilometres to Rum, a disappointing ramshackle collection of tents, roughly constructed cement block one-room houses, long-unfinished derelict structures and a collection of abandoned cars. Rum was where the sealed road stopped – in fact, there was no road beyond, just the desert. The only area in Rum of any decent appearance was the tourist rest area and car park. Ihab parked the car and went to find the four wheel drive that was to take us to the “Luxury Camp” out in the desert. Naturally, we expected something like a modern, gleaming Toyota Landcruiser. As we waited we saw a collection of old utes with bench seats either side of the rear tray, covered with open sided canopy. They all seen better days! We were amused to think of the poor bastards who’d have to go out into the desert in those! Then Ihab came back with a diminutive Bedouin boy (who looked all of 16!). The boy took our bag and walked toward one of the oldest utes, a twin cab. He opened the door and we were about to climb in when he threw our bag into the cab, then beckoned us to climb into the tray!! We clambered up with difficulty, our bodies aching after our earlier labour’s at Petra. The engine started and immediately the whole vehicle started to rattle. We rumbled and rattled off down the last vestige of road and off into the desert as the sun was starting to set. It was a half hour bone-jarring ride past a number of less ‘luxurious’ encampments. Finally our cam came into view, distinguished principally by the sign saying “Luxury Night Camp”!

The encampment was situated right up against the vertical wall of one of the many impressive red sandstone monoliths in the wadi. The wadi itself was like the landscape of Mars, all red rocks, dust, sand and towering weathered stone giants. The camp was comprised of two types of guest accommodation, rows of inflated dome tents (like a space base on an alien planet) and more ‘traditional’ looking tents made from the same heavy woven canvas we’d seen in genuine Bedouin tents. In fact, the ‘tents’ were just demountable huts disguised with the trappings of a tent. Inside, the charade continued with satin billowing from the ceiling and draping the walls. A second ‘tent’ adjoining the main one served as a well equipped bathroom. In the middle of the desert, we had all the facilities of a hotel room, shower, toilet, a very comfortable queen size bed and air conditioning!!

Luxury tent

Basic tents

The dining room was another tent-disguised demountable structure. The dinner was served buffet style. The salads and cold dishes were excellent. The roast meats (said to have been cooked Bedouin style in a ground pit) were not so good! However, that such catering was possible in the desert at all was remarkable in itself! After dinner, we were so spent from the long day, even though it was still early, we fell into the deepest of sleeps. But what an amazing day it was!!

MONDAY – WADI RUM, RED SEA, DEAD SEA

We woke early feeling quite rested after sleeping peacefully in our unexpectedly comfortable bed. Breakfast was as uninspiring as dinner the night before although we did manage to get the cook prepare a tomato and cheese omelette and also had an Arabian coffee prepared for us which was infinitely better than the stuff that came out of the machine.

We had already decided that if the dilapidated pick up truck that bought us from to the camp turned up for our Wadi tour, we would be tempted to decline. So our heart sank to see that the chariot that awaited us was one and the same. We clambered aboard nonetheless and were pleased to discover that our kidneys incurred much less damage as we drove through the desert. There were times when my vertigo got the best of me as we drove down steep sand dunes, but I felt a particular thrill to find myself standing in front of ‘Lawrence’s’ house. We climbed up the rock behind Lawrence’s house to his lookout and it was eerie to stand where he must have stood with a clear view up and down the valley. As with Petra, no photograph or video recording can do justice to the mammoth majesty of the huge rock formations and the effects of erosion on their surfaces. I used to describe the rock formations in the deserts of Oman as like a moonscape, but this felt more akin to the surface of Mars.

Lawrence came to Jordan as a archeology student and fell in love with all things Arabic. At the time Jordan was part of the Ottoman Empire and therefore ruled by Turks. After his return to England and at the start of the First World War, Lawrence wanted to return to Jordan to do what he could to assist. His knowledge of Arabic led to him being selected as a liaison officer, one of his major functions being to interrogate Turkish prisoners. Yet he went beyond his brief, moving onto the dessert, remaining there for four years and earning the confidence of the various tribal leaders and assisting them with strategies to repel the Turks. This was far more than the British had asked him to do, he was thought to have ‘gone native’ and had the Turks not been expelled, he would undoubtedly been punished as an insubordinate. The British did not stand by the promises that he had made to the tribal leaders and Lawrence subsequently lost the respect and honour that had previously been accorded to him. He returned to England and after journalists romanticised his experiences , unearthed the information that he was the second of five illegitimate sons to a Knight, they gave him the moniker Sir Lawrence of Arabia’. Lawrence assumed a new identity, called himself T. E. Shaw and became a corporal in the Air Force as a mechanic. Little mention is made of him in Jordanian history books and even then, he is simply called Lawrence.

After looking at the remains of his house we were welcomed into a Bedouin tent for tea. As with the coffee, Bedouin tea is heavily flavoured with cardamom and cinnamon.

We stopped to look through a huge crevice between two rocks. It was perceptibly cooler here and there were even some greenery growing around it. As we were leaving from our photo opportunity, another pick-up arrived carrying five passengers. I thought at first that the one wearing dish-dasha and head scarf must have been a guide, but then I noticed his blond hair and heard his Danish and realised that it was just an exuberant and joyful Dane.

Our next stop was to ‘the bridge’. Two huge rocks connected by a mere meter wide span of a natural bridge formation. There was no way that I was going to climb up there, but our guide scurried up the rock face barefoot to lead the way. When Barry realised that there was a fifty meter drop down to the gorge, there was no way that he could be encouraged to walk out onto the bridge for a photo opportunity. Yet a few minutes later, the intrepid young Danes turned up and each in turn, including the silly one togged up as a blonde Arab, pranced out onto the middle of the bridge and assumed all sorts of cavalier poses. Ah, the carefree bravery of youth!

Nabatean script 1 BC

We were dropped back at the visitor centre in the village at 10 o’clock. We had pre-arranged with Ihab to meet us there between 10 and 10:30 but I had lost his phone number. I started chatting with a lone man sitting in the shade who turned out to be waiting for a group of Spaniards. He hit upon the idea of calling the tour company and very kindly made the call (our phones couldn’t function in Jordan) and was able to quickly explain the situation and get them contact Ibid to tell him that we were waiting. Within ten minutes he was there. The selfless kindness of Mohammed, the driver for the Spaniards, in wanting to assist us is so typical of the very many warm gestures that we had received from Jordanians. Watching the interaction between colleagues, casual acquaintances and strangers reinforces in me the perception that the variety of Islam practised here focuses on true brotherhood. It was lovely to witness.

It took about an hour to get to the Red Sea. The Red Sea gets it’s name from the red coral to be found everywhere and to the way in which the sun reflects against this at certain times of the day to give a red impression. This entire area is associated with the teachings of the Bible and also of the Koran which shares many of the teachings to be found in the Old Testament. It was here that Moses parted the Red Sea and a little further down the road bought Mt Nibo into view and at the top of that mountain we could make at a small white church. This is the site where Moses received the two tablets engraved with the Ten Commandments.

Half an hour later we arrived at the salt laden Dead Sea, so named because the salt content of the sea is 37% rather than the normal 5%. Such a high salt content renders the possibility of any sea life impossible. Yet many people come to bathe in the waters and most tourists who come to the area partake of the waters and enjoy the sensation of floating as such a high salt content makes inevitable. Ibid pointed out the rock formation said to represent Lot’s wife, the wife who was commanded not to look back at the destruction of Sodom, but defied this order and was subsequently turned into a pillar of salt. It was fascinating to observe the Israeli border was only metres away.

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