Weekends out of Amman

I found my way to Salt which is a town set in a steep sided narrow valley. Wandering in the back streets taking in the bazaar, ancient Orthodox church and old Ottoman architecture, I was invited into a home handy supplies cave like shop for coffee flavoured with cardamon.

Sunset at the Dead Sea. This was a very different scene to the other times I had swum at the public beach and grand hotel. Rula found a private beach spot just for us. She lamented the times when she use to come; there were hot sulfur springs and waterfalls. The level of the Dead Sea has been falling by about 500cm per year for the past 20 years because there is no supply from the now stagnant Jordan River and because evaporation is so high. In addition water in vast quantities are taken to manufacture potash. It was a gorgeous day and we splashed and floated about for hours. The salt made stalagmite sculptures hanging down from the tops and the build up of salt on the rocks made for a unique scene as we looked up from the thick syrupy waters.

Wildflower in Jordan

Mum in the Middle east

My heart fell as I opened the computer site that tracked mums movements to see that her plane had been delayed by a whole day. When I finally went to pick her up she was wheeled out by ‘a lovely man’. I could see she had already struck Arab hospitality. She launched into a description of adventures and trials about staying in two luxury hotels and having been wheeled from one end of Dubai to the other by a young lad who knew as much idea about where to go as she had.

Determined not to waste any more time, we launched into a hectic pace catching the local buses everywhere. We set off on the first day to the Dead Sea. After passing herds of goats, sheep and villagers mum declared it was a real education. I was less excited as we took far too long and had to make a bus change. We ended up having to hitch the last couple of kms; finding another lovely man who drove us directly to our destination; the Movenpick hotel. It cost but the enjoyment couldn’t be measured as we wallowed in warm pools with the Dead Sea stretching out below. The occasion was slightly marred when mum fell into the Dead Sea thick salt water cutting herself on the sharp rocks . She had to be administered to by a handsome lifeguard and hosed down with band aids applied. All was forgotten as we sat looking out over the sun setting over the Dead Sea, drinking coffee and eating cake.

I wondered how we would fare as we climbed on a minibus the very next day bound for Wadi Musa near Petra. I did try to warn mum about the toilets en route. However when we were faced with reality it didn’t help as we faced both filthy squat toilets and a man who asked for money. For what I wondered as we covered our noses.

Mum - 'I don’t like nodding off, I might miss something, even though it’s all the same.’ as we drove through kilometres of unrelenting desert. Finding a hotel, never content with the first one I did the rounds somehow still ended up in a seedy but cleanish place run by two fat brothers. A sleepless night for mum in NZ time, we at 6am faced boiled eggs and pita bread, looking at a dismal morning of howling winds. It was hard walking for mum so I bargained hard for her to ride through the Siq on a horse to save her energy. The ride turned out to be only a km to the beginning of the Siq and then we had to walk after all.

With all the hard sell and commercialism, it’s hard to remember that the locals are trying to scratch out a living in a very competitive market place. The Siq; created by tectonics, narrowed to 2-5 m in places. The walls towered 200m above finally leading to the ancient city and the Treasury. An awesome sight with its symmetry, scale and grandeur. Carved out of solid iron and sand stone to serve as a tomb for the Nabataean King. The swirling colours of the rocks struck me – a local told me there were 50 shades.

The Nabateans are Arabs that dominated the region in pre Roman times chose Petra as it was concealed from the outside world. It really did feel like that as you entered and left through the Siq. We pushed through the cold wind past the theatre down Colonnaded Street stopping for a cuppa in a cave with a welcome fire. A poor donkey took mum to the Monastery climbing up steep precarious steps with her clinging for dear life, leaving her near the top to be befriended by a Bedouin girl selling trinkets as I went up onto see the view way over the Rift Valley. Meanwhile the girl gave mum a present of a necklace that I had to pay for dearly; however mum had learned all about her life being bought up in a tomb cave and enjoyed the experience.
We retraced our steps through the Siq, tired and dusty back to a new hotel this time with water problems but a tasty buffet dinner.

An early rise bound for Wadi Rum by minibus, which the guidebook described as a myriad of moods and dramatic colours. We ended up at a place where a guide did a hard sell to get us to go to his Bedouin camp to stay the night. Tempted but knowing it would be freezing cold we begged off that one. Mum had her heart set on a camel ride.Wondered the village until I found the brother from my trip last time here. He organised a trip for us for three hours – a long time on a camel with new anatomy I never knew before. Although I was not sure this was my idea of a way to travel it turned out to be an unforgettable way to go; a great way to enjoy the desert without the roar of a vehicle churning up the sand. Our guide was great; an older Bedouin man and his young friend. Getting on and off the camel was as difficult for mum as it was me. It was worth it though to experience Wadi Rum the way the Bedouin have for centuries.

The Red Sea

We successfully hitched a ride to Aqaba spending the rest of Christmas day wandering around in the balmy winter climate. Aqaba is surrounded by high desert mountains and feels like a holiday town looking out on the Gulf of Aqaba sea. Eliat in Israel is just 7 kilometres close by. Crossing back to Egypt I had by now sussed out a nice spot for us to stay and enjoy the sea and surf for a day. By now I had the procedure at the customs worked out. Avoiding yet another man who wanted to marry mum we found a a ride to the bus for perfect timing to get to Nuweiba right by the sea. We stayed in a bach in a low-key camp and ate delicious fish meals, relaxing by the turquoise waters edged by fine, sandy beaches and rimmed on both sides by barren, rugged mountain chains. Very nice and warm, a pleasant place to spend a few days.

Moving on to Cairo we got a ride in a small mini van with our knees up around our ears. Here mum is pictured our fellow travelers who treated us with kindness, shouting us cups of tea, lining up the taxi and ringing our hotel on arrival. All with very little English. We were to find throat-rasping air pollution, chiefly caused by traffic. Apparently Cairo out-pollutes LA every day of the week: breathing the atmosphere downtown is reputedly akin to smoking thirty cigarettes a day. The seething immensity of Cairo, with its bazaars and mosques, the streetlife, where medieval trades and customs coexist with a modern, cosmopolitan mix of Arab, African and European influences. We found our backpackers on the 7th floor - reached by a antique cage lift.

From the lonely planet: 'The sole survivor of the Seven Wonders of the World, the Pyramids of Giza still live up to more than 4000 years of hype. Their extraordinary shape, geometry and age render them somehow alien constructions; they seem to rise out of the desert and pose the ever-fascinating question, 'How were we built, and why?'.

Centuries of research have given us parts of the answer to this double-barrelled question. We know they were massive tombs constructed on the orders of the pharaohs by teams of workers tens-of-thousands strong.' Despite all the tourists, buses and hype the pyramids were spectacular. Dimmed memories from all those years ago when I first went, I will not forget this time.

Eager to get to Egypt.......

‘We are going to Dahab.’ A woman beckoned toward the van, ‘we’ll give you a ride.’ They were words of magic in my ears.

It had been a big day getting from home in Amman to the Red Sea in Egypt. The boat trip from Aqaba, Jordan to Taba Heights, Egypt was to leave at 12pm which was when my bus from Amman arrived so it was a mad dash by taxi to the Port. The boat had been delayed so that was a relief. However the lovely boat trip was short reprieve for what was to come. No visa for Egypt, I had to wait about an hour for the official to come. A couple didn’t have their name on the passenger list so were sent back to Aqaba. Stuck in an airless small building I wondered if my fate was to be the same. Finally a man came and gave me the go ahead with a stamp and payment made so with a sigh of relief I was allowed to go.

This set the scene as the next month of traveling; peppered with highs, scares and frustrations. Meeting Roula who offered me the ride was lucky. As we rode through the Sinai to Dahab I thought of my next test – finding a bed. However she took care of everything including negotiating a good rate for my own room by the sea. Someone use to sorting out things, she is lawyer in Amman. Speaking Arabic she did all the talking whenever we needed anything. A keen traveler she comes to Dahab whenever she can, and is passionate about snorkeling in Dahab waters. It was lovely eating out with her, snorkeling in the best poises and advice. I went on a day trip to climb Mt Sinai to watch the sunset and enjoyed the sun and swimming. It was idyllic mixed with sadness. The place has changed out of sight since the twenty or so years since I had last been there; a few Bedouin camps scattered on the water edge. Now it is half built abandoned hotels from when three bombs went off in 2005 driving the tourists away, rubbish and an obvious lack of thought in planning.

The travel bug hit after a few days making a massive bus trip from 4pm until 10.30am the next morning to Luxor. However it made me happy beyond feeling tired that I was going places. The only lone woman on the bus, the men didn’t bother me apart from stares and they were helpful. Back to the lush Nile valley and to the touts. Greeted by a chorus of felucca captains singing out and stepping into my path, it’s hard to remember that they just want to make a living. I later learned a great way to avoid all the attention is to pretend you are talking on a cellphone. Hired a bike and enjoyed finding Habu temple – so grand, how did they build that? A cup of tea gazing on the ruins then cycled back through a village meeting a family who invited me to their two dirt floor rooms. As the moon was setting over the fields and the Muslin women bustled past carrying loads of bread on their head I realized I was lost and better get the bike moving in the right direction or it would be dark and I had no lights. A helpful motorcyclist got me on the right road and so the day was saved.

Rose early the next morning to bike to the Valley of the Kings to avoid the busloads. Where do they come from? I never knew there were so many tourists around, sheltered in my seedy hotels. Retracing my steps was great, especially now it is winter and cool. Last time I couldn’t walk and had to take a donkey it was wickedly hot. I particularly enjoyed seeing the tomb of Ramses VI and his son. The entrance façade was carved out of the rock with long inclined rock corridor descending into an antechamber leading to the burial chamber. Decorations were painted all over dealing with the afterlife, taking place around 1550-1069 BC. The colourful market and touts had to be dealt with next, now why didn’t that bother me? The next day was a bit of a bummer with the train delayed for three hours to Aswan, which meant more stress as none of the announcements were in English so back time and time to the stationmaster to track progress. This is no Japan. The next day travel weary set in as I suffered an awful trip in the bus with tourists starting at 3.30am to Abu Simel but it was worth it. The temples were remote and fell into disuse and were covered in sand until the British discovered them in the late 1880s. The building of the Aswan dam created Lake Nassar and would have completely submerged Abel Simbel except in 1965 UNESCO approved the raising 200ft and 600ft sideways to the edge of the lake. Cutting 30 ton blocks, reconstruction was exactly the same as the original. It was breathtaking rounding the corner to see the temple for sheer size and grandeur. Old King Ramses sure thought a lot of himself. Enjoyed learning about the Nubians and the Philae temple and more fun at the market drinking straight orange juice in lieu of beer which is hard to find.

Back on the bus again peering at the Nubian houses through dirty windows, with polystyrene squeak, a rattly old bus bound for the Suez Canal – another biggie; to see the ships heading into a channel. I found it mesmerising watching the ships go by and could have sat there for hours but no....time to pack up and head off. A couple of nights sleeping in a grass hut by the sea (at 15 Egyptian pounds a night it was pretty basic!) and back to Amman in prep for mums arrival.

Wadi Rum

Karen (another teacher from school) and I were oohing and ah ring the whole time we were there. Wadi Rum - T.E. Lawrence described in his famed ‘7 Pillars of Wisdom' as ‘Vast and echoing and god-like.' Wadi Rum is a protected area covering 720 square kilometers of dramatic desert wilderness in the south of Jordan. Huge mountains of sandstone and granite emerge, sheer-sided, from wide sandy valleys to reach heights of 1700 meters and more. Narrow canyons and fissures cut deep into the mountains and many concealed ancient rock drawings. The day was perfect - sunny, warm and cloudless. Our guide drove us round in his ancient jeep, letting us out to wander up (actually it was a grunt) giant sand dunes and eventually to our destination his family Bedouin camp - complete with toilet. The colours kept changing. Night time bought an impressively dense blanket of stars. Bedouin tent are not the authentic homes of the Bedouin, but are erected for the tourists. It was nevertheless a special experience to sleep out in the desert. I slept for about 12 hours just waking to pull up blankets and put my jumper on - a trifle chilly now it is autumn. The bed was a little gritty with sand but hey. Dinner was delicious - a hungi of chicken and veges baked in a drum in the sand.

This place is growing on me by the day - as I gazed at the fire in the tent (with no ventilation) I reflected on what it was about Jordan I like the most; the people are warm, humorous and friendly.
Jordan has a unique beauty, rich cultural heritage, an ancient history (hard to get my head around dates) with many connections to Bible stories that seem so familiar.
People in Jordan’s metro areas speak English, and most signs are in Arabic and English.
Jordan has shown me that I held many misconceptions about the Middle East.
It’s hip to be square.
It's so safe.

Yalla! Let’s go!

http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/player/7117800 Some stats for the trip

http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/player/7117801

I always had the expectation it was going to be demanding because it said so in the blurb about the ‘Off Road Expedition’ weekend cycling trip. Just as well I had psyched myself up because the trip was long and required endurance. Having never done any true mountain biking, the butterflies featured until I got into it. Our group of about 10 arrived at Dana, setting off at 10.15am, not arriving to camp that night until 8.15pm. Less than 3 kms from the start, heading precariously steeply downhill over large jutting rocks - I got a flatty. Feeling bad about having the others wait as it was fixed for me by a couple of young life savers I soon realized it was par for the course as others fell by the wayside looking for repairs – it was tough terrain. The rewards for all the slogging it out were rich, as far below stretched intriguing hills and rock formations known as “jebels." I guess all of those shapes were forged by millions of years of geological formation, erosion and evolution. Starting at 1500 we stayed on the tops looking out at the wide vast desert below. One guy came off his bike showing me how easily it is done, I continued on cautiously until downhill when all was forgotten. The other so called ‘gun riders’ would stop and take photos giving me a chance to catch up. At the end of the day they were as stuffed as anyone. Thank goodness for the aerobics and RPM every night at the gym.

Bedouin families live in scattered nomadic camps and have inhabited the area we rode through for generations. Bedouins, "people of the desert," make up 30 percent of Jordanians. Their culture is old and has remained more or less unchanged for centuries; they herd sheep and goats in the desert and wear long dark robes, with red and white checked "tablecloths" wrapped in a specific intricate manner on their heads.

Much of Jordan actually once used to be underwater, so what I saw was the bottom of the ocean bed. I'll let the pictures do the rest of the talking. The magnificence of the desert and mountains, far away from the maddening crowds made the trip a unique experience.

Finally arrived at camp and wearily sat by the fire under a starry desert sky sipping a welcoming cup of Arabic tea with cardamom or rosemary (Jordanian tea is very sweet and minty). In the complete stillness of that desert I reveled at the fact that I was halfway across the world living Jordan. I surprised myself by how brave I was for this adventure.

Ahlan wa sahlan! Be as one of the family and at your ease

People always say 'Welcome to Jordan' on greeting me.

Arab traditions of warmth and kindness are part of the make up of Jordanians. The people are really easy to get along with. English is widely spoken and it is a safe country; helping to make living here easy.
I have included photos of a black goat hair tent of a Bedouin family. Some have opted for the old ways camping for months in one spot to graze their herd of goats or sheep. Things you get to see on a cycle, though it wasn't too far from the main highway it could have been a world away. Second photo is Saad's pad, the guy who runs the cycling club/shop where we ended up after making it down from Amman to his weekend place in the Dead Sea valley. The first garden I have stepped foot in since arriving in Jordan. Lastly hubbly bubbly - enjoyed a night out (yeah I know - radical aye) with a couple of school teachers to a bar where the air was thick with sweet smelling smoke - not nearly as offensive as normal cigarette smoke.

Cycling Club

In a desperate bid to get out of town I discovered the cycling club. After a couple of jaunts on different routes out from Amman down to the Dead Sea valley I am a very happy biker again. After missing my early morning daily rides with Julie C, I have found some adventure at last.
A few hours in the saddle over real mountain bike trails has me wowing all the way, especially on the steep bits as I gingerly head on my way.

Now this is the way to catch up on some history away from the tour buses - we popped into a rich persons pad constructed around about 2 BC. Any greenery amongst the desert is olive tree nurseries. Apparently it hasn't been a very good year for olives, an over hot and dry summer.

I miss my pink flowered helmet from home, among other things; my Jo (though thanks to Skype we chat daily) and fresh veges from the garden.