290808-310808 - Jordan 2

290808 – Jordan, Petra to Madaba

The morning felt like a hangover.

I think everyone had been suffering a bit of dehydration after the last two days exploring the dry city, most of us having a return of gastro problems. The simple breakfast was monotonous, but served its purpose, and soon all of us were on the bus.

A drive of several hours through countryside that I simply can't remember was highlighted by two features.

The first was a stop at Karak, a crusader's castle that was in various stages of restoration and ruin. It was on the tip of a triangular shaped hill, featuring a moat and heavy fortifications. The entire hill had been fortified at one time and there was some interesting history about the place, having a number of disreputable owners.

Tales of attacks during wedding parties (with the bombardments directed away from the honeymoon suite) and sieges, we walked through the expansive corridors. While in the UK, I had seen a fair number of keeps an castles. This had the most impressive interior by far, with great barracks, kitchens and hallways big enough to drive trucks down. Suitably poetic photos later, a number of us waited in the town near the visitors centre. Buying a coke, I did my best ignoring the local vendors before FINALLY finding the same type of silver bracelet I'd seen in the desert. Bargaining it down to half of the price I'd heard from both sellers, my small prize was secured.

The second highlight was us stopping by the side of the road. About 50m further down was a Mercedes with the bonnet up, adjacent to us was a sign.

“Sea Level. ZERO METRES”

Behind us was the tall hill that we had just descended, stretching into the distance was a great valley reaching all the way to the horizon.

The rest of the day picked up from there, we descended to the level of the Dead Sea, took photo's of the “Pillar of Rock” that had once been a biblical woman ignoring her husband, did our part to save the dead sea by throwing a rock into it and feasted on a most impressive buffet lunch. Satisfying our cravings for meat and fish, we caused a respectable amount of damage to the ladened tables, I for one avoiding the breads and eggs as much as possible. I think I've seen enough bread and boiled eggs to last a life-time. I felt like I'd had my first real meal in over two weeks.

Moving onto the “swimming resort” we rented lockers and towels before the mad-dash across the hot sand to the Living Water of the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea, I believe, was primarily fed by the river Jordan. In recent times, Israel dammed the river in order to better define the boarders and assist in improving the mineral mining across the plains surrounding the Dead Sea. Currently situated at 400m below sea-level, the dead sea is shrinking at 1 metre per year due to the dam. In order to combat this, the Jordanian government is building the “Red-Dead canal” or the “Dred canal” to fed the inland sea from the Red Sea. Without this effort, the Dead Sea will be all but gone by 2050.

Swimming in the dead-sea is a mind-boggling experience. If you float on your back, it is almost like a giant fluffy bean-bag. On your front, it is a real challenge to get your legs below your waist, leaving you to “crawl” almost on top of the water. The saltiness is so extreme that a single drop in your mouth will make you screw up your face and look for fresh water. Every cut or chafe really needs to be covered up or sealed before entering. Even then, you can get some “interesting burning sensations” in places that could only be described as “strange and unusual”. Under no circumstances should you put your head below the surface.

Retreating from the boyant water, we showered nearby and jumped in the pool next to the change-rooms. In complete contrast, we could barely keep our heads above the water! Over the next hour we returned to both waters a few times and had a “Dead Sea mud-bath”.

Back on the Air Conditioned bus, we escaped the 40 degree heat and 90% humidity and made our way up, out of the low-lying plane. Sarah-british was silent for almost this entire trip, motion sickness having saddly turned her into what we call on the Leeuwin, a Mushroom. She was really suffering for this stage.

A mid-afternoon stop was held at the Jesuit monastery that is believed to be the site of Moses' grave. The walk up and around the hill included some mosaics and part of the ancient buildings, the main sections were closed for renovations. Photos and stretching done, we pressed on to Madaba, arriving there in the late afternoon.

A big day of travel done, the bus went past Faisels failed marriage proposal. Hissing and booing at the unresponsive building, we stopped a few minutes later at the hotel.
Hotel Mariam is nice enough, located about 5-10 minutes walk from the town centre. Featuring cold swimming pool (that could use a little heating) and not-so-big rooms (that could use more than a little cooling), we settled in until the dinner meeting. Snoozing, showers and utilising the free WiFi from a nearby transmitter, I whiled away most of the afternoon.

Dinner time arriving, Faisel took us for an orientation walk of the town. Nerves growing thin, I wasn't the only one wanting to bite the head off of one of the two “louder” members of our group. Finally Faisel declared that we would have tea and coffee at his home, once we'd been through the tourist district. My heart sinking that dinner was a long and boring wait away, I know I wasn't able to appreciate Faisel's hospitality at all. Doing my best to stay awake and occasionally glance at the bulk of family photos that were passed around, I realise most of the group were getting a real kick out of the experience. I just wanted to have some bland dinner, a lot of cold refreshing drinks to wash down my tablets, and an early night. It's just as well I didn't bring my back-pack or I might have used its contents to set fire to the place.

Goodbyes MERCIFULLY done, the group went back up into the main town and found a “Mystic Pizza” (safe enough). A glare that possibly scorched her eyebrows later, one of the girls swapped me away from the louder member of the group who had been slowly plucking my every last remaining nerve. Sarah's mercy was followed with pizzas and at least one cold refreshing lemon drink. I hurried through my portion of the meal and then the bill and bolted for the exit before the red-rage took hold. Following one of the other Australians (who also confessed a desire to break every piece of furniture in the place), we made our way back to the hotel while trying to stay in close enough proximity to the girls so they wouldn't be hassled.

A hurried descent into sleep, I hoped that tomorrow would be easier to manage.


300808 – Jordan, Baptism site to Amman

Getting up around 9ish, I gorged on pancakes for breakfast and finalised the plans with Nick and Sarah-british. We would be going to the site of the Baptism of Christ in a private car, returning to the hotel and then on into Amman. In only a little better mood than before I went to bed, I did my best not to glare while a hung-over Nick and a frazzled Sarah got ready to leave. Mercifully away from much of the group, I looked forward to a chilled trip to the world-changing site. Deciding that complaining about how bad they thought Emam and Linda were, I tried staring out the window. 10 minutes later, a deep breath and counting to 10, I calmly asked that they stop whining about shoddy service, getting ripped off, complaining about EVERYTHING and deal with the cards they'd been dealt instead of whining all the time. Please, change the topic.

Growling done, we arrived at the Jordan river in a much better frame of mind (well, hey.. at least I was, and they were talking about much more fun things). If they hadn't let it go, at least they were quiet about it, which was enough for me. Sarah had growled at the driver briefly, which had resulted in a slightly less break-neck pace.

The site of the Baptism of Christ is pretty much a big nothing. Buying a ticket and hopping on the back of a small truck, we were driven through the Jordanian military area towards the river-site. Only recently re-discovered, there were ongoing excavations and construction. The river itself no longer runs by the site, the digging yielding a muddy green trench that certainly doesn't look particularly pious or holy. There are ruins of churches and mosaics, a short walk taking you away from the real site to the actual Jordan river. Passing a pretty little baptism font full of clear water, you can walk down next to the green-brown stream that separates Jordan from Israel by less than 5 metres. Taking photos and stopping by the new church at the top of the hill to light candles and by small vials of water, we headed back. The gift shop is quiet impressive, with some beautiful, reasonably priced gifts. I bought some “official” holy water while Sarah got a little cross. Exiting the shop, we began the return journey.

The summary of this visit was that there were no impressive monuments, no great monasteries or churches. Nothing but the significance of the site. For me, this simplicity was absolutely priceless, highlighting the true nature of much of the region. Each and every place only holding as many memories and as much importance as you choose to give it. I found this site whole-heartedly worth while, witnessing the site where Jesus was recognised as the Son of God is nothing to sneeze at.

After a much more peaceful ride home, the afternoon was sure to be trying. We traded Nick for Debbie and set off for Amman.

The afternoon going to Amman was somewhat challenging. Keeping up with Debbie was difficult for both Sarah and I. I spent most of the trip there and back with my head stuck out of the window. In Amman we saw the Citadel and the Amphitheatre, other than that we just drove past the Mosque and the shopping district. One thing that amazed us all was the sheer density of living. Looking up into the residential areas, it was building upon building upon building, bearing all the way down upon you. No matter which vantage point you used, it was astounding how packed in the houses were. Like an impenetrable forest of apartment blocks.

We returned to the hotel mid-afternoon and exhausted. Sarah-british and I wandered into the town for snacks in the form of extremely rich and sweet Turkish pastries, two small pieces of Balkava and some of a similar sweet that was suggested but not formally introduced.

The rest of the day revolved around snoozing, relaxing by the pool and then dinner in the town. this was the “Farewell Dinner” at a restaurant that Faisel suggested. There was an “excellent local singer” who appeared at 830 (shortly after we were seated) and we ordered drinks and dishes for a good few hours. I don't think that this was the kind of place that any of us were looking forward to, but we were beyond the stage of arguing with something that did not require us to organise ourselves. Tonight was a celebration in part, Debbie had announced that she had passed her exams as a sign-language interpreter.

Dinner done, Faisel was tipped and took us to a nearby ice-cream shop. Refreshments of the frozen dairy type was absolutely most welcome.
The return to the hotel and decent into sleep was only delayed by sticking my head into the “drinkers room” to say hello, tending to teeth and other such requirements. I'd begun to dose myself again due to the return of “Nasty-Butt”. It may have been the lingering effects of the original course of tablets, but I just didn't have the energy to suffer through it considering the upcoming flights and trains.


310809 – Jordan, Mabada to Airport

Today was wholly and entirely unremarkable apart from two features, preceded by one point.

Point one, sleeping in exceptionally late, saying multiple goodbyes and venturing into town for lunch at a street-side sandwich shop that Debbie had found. Relaxing by the pool and utilising the free internet for most of the morning.

Feature one, Dinner with John, Troy, Sarah and Scottish at the same restaurant as yesterday after drinks in the cafe downstairs. We ordered the more extravagant meals (steak and the such), which was a little more passable than the local items on the menu. It was a very pleasant meal for everyone involved, with fireworks in the distant city and photos all-round.

Feature two, an attempted scam at the hotel.
On return to the hotel to collect my bag, there was a ~little~ trouble... The receptionist had decided that I was an illegal tenant. The owner was called just as we were waiting for the airport transfer to arrive. The owner decided that calling the Tourism Police and blocking my exit at the airport would be a good idea unless I paid for an extra night.

Needless to say, none of us were impressed. Scottish immediately fired up and it was here that I could see why he is entrusted with tens of millions of pounds back home...

Keeping it brief and civil, Troy and Sarah, Fraser and myself sat in the reception while the owner ranted. His opinion was that because my backpack had been left in the room that I shared with Fraser, it had prevented the hotel from having another guest (Fraser had paid for the room for an extra two days as he was staying on) and that I must pay extra. He threatened to have me stopped at the airport, the tourism police where on their way.. blah blah blah..
We all smelt a bit of a scam...
Troy and Sarah were most eloquent in expressing their displeasure while Fraser argued, ducked and weaved like a debating champion. Probing and testing his every interpretation of “the rules”, the three of them argued in perfect synchrony. It could almost have been choreographed. I made a point of remaining quiet, as I felt I'd already caused problems for these friends that were staying on for at least one more night.

With the owner appearing a little more frustrated and bogging down amongst the logic, and the time for the airport transfer to arrive drawing close, I piped up by pointing out that I hadn't used any of their facilities, I hadn't changed anything thing in the room and that I hadn't tangibly cost the hotel anything.. The cheap shot of bad-cop, good-cop seemed to work as he appeared to grudgingly settle on this and “phoned to tell the tourism police not to come”.

Saying thankyou and that I was very sorry for being so thoughtless as to not tell the reception that I would be leaving my bag in the room, the owner continued to rant that “this always happened with intrepid” and various examples of rooms being tied up for almost entire extra days... Sarah and Fraser started to bare their teeth again by pointing out to take this up with Intrepid.. I apologised again and that appeared to be the end of it.

While something of the frustration in his face told me that he was genuine about having had significant problems with Intrepid Tour guests in the past, I got the unmistakable impression that the owner had though he would recoup those losses through us.. “Retrospectively teach those westerners a lesson”... oops...
Had he presented us with an acceptable compromise, I would have happily paid the difference. As it was, my bag had been in an already occupied room and it was out of the question to pay for an entire extra room at a premium rate for that privilege. It had definitely started out as a scam.
That said, had this little drama gone on for another 10 minutes, I would have paid the $50USD (or whatever the equivalent was) to avoid missing my flight. I think the owner realised that it would not be an easy win for him. Our little presentations would have also communicated that if he pressed us much harder, he might have gotten his little bonus but that we would have made sure that Intrepid never used them again.. In this attempted fleece, the sheep had sharp teeth and claws..

All four of us were wildly impressed with each others displays of diplomacy, logic and argument in the face of this fiasco. There was still some waiting for the airport taxi after the owner glared his way off out the door. Debbie and John appeared before long, John had smelt blood on the wind and wisely hidden in Debbies room lest the owner try a similar act on him. Debbie had paid for a whole extra day beyond what she was staying (a golden bullet we hadn't used in the argument yet).

We shortly said our goodbyes, with promises to stay in touch. Debbie, John and I boarded the cheap mini-van and departed. This driver was different the the excellent one we had used earlier that day, “he is sick” or some such story. This driver took an agonisingly long time to drive to the airport, I did my best to be amused by Debbies dialogue with John.

Arriving at the airport with only a little time to spare, I rushed to the correct terminal after a guard pointed out that I was in the wrong building. Amazingly, I beat Debbie and John, who had given the driver the correct directions. Rushing through several security checks and jumping the line into the business class check-in, I did the mad run to the gate. Mournfully by-passing the gift-shops containing the last two or three little souvenirs that I wanted for myself, I got frisked for a third time and sat at the gate, my ticket processed.
I sat for nearly an hour...
So much for the rush.. those last little bits of Jordan that I wanted to display at home on the other side of the security glass, mocking me for nearly the whole wait..

Oh well, iPod will console me with sweet sweet music...