Keeping Afloat
When our trusty leader, Denise, told us we’d be getting a wake up call in our rooms this morning, we thought she was joking but sure enough, a friendly little recorded voice down the end of the line told us to get out of bed, albeit in the nicest possible way. After a big buffet breakfast, we loaded our day packs and climbed aboard our surprisingly luxurious coach (it has a fridge!) to be shown the sights of Jordan by our friendly guide, Rami. Two things we learnt about Rami today, just from his commentary: he’s an extremely patriotic Jordanian and he loves a good animal sighting.:“Look! There’s a camel!!”; “Look! There’s a sheep!!”;“Look there’s a goat!!” Rami is also an absolute encyclopedia on legs, managing to sprout enough fascinating facts about Jordan to last the entire bus trip. Did you know, for example, that Petra, in Jordan, only gets 2-4” of rain per year and that 72% of Jordan is desert? Or, that olives on olive trees can’t be picked until the day it rains because the lack of rain makes them so dusty and dirty? Also, did you know that Jordan contains 7 of the 10 decapolis cities of the ancient world? I could continue…but you know how it goes…some things that are said on tour must remain on tour.
Our first destination was Mount Nebo - the place God took Moses to in Deuteronomy 32 to give him his first glimpse of the Promised Land - and we were feeling every one of those blazing 33 degress as we disembarked from our airconditioned comfort. The heat here is very dry and oven-like and it feels like you are being blasted with hairdryers. It is actually a lot more bearable than that steam-room, tropical humidity you might experience in Southeast Asia. Make no mistake though - it is HOT!
Mount Nebo was incredible! The views from the top were phenomenal and it was so easy to envisage Moses looking out over the vast plains towards Israel, all the way down to the Dead Sea. You really could see for miles. There was a beautiful big building to walk through up there, which was part-church, part-museum, and contained gorgeous, fully preserved ancient mosaics, painstakingly put together 4 centuries before Jesus! One of them depicted a giraffe that had been given a hump to middle-easternise it a bit. This was still a functioning church and, being a Sunday, was conducting a service as we wandered through. It was one man’s difficult job to walk around and loudly shush all the chattering tourists.
After descending the mountain, our bus deposited us at a mosaic workshop and retail outlet where we were given a quick demo and gently encouraged to part with our denars (JDs for short) in exchange for their wares. Many of our crew obliged. The fact that a good proportion of the proceeds from all sales would go towards mosaic-making people with disabilities, was a great incentive to invest in their handicrafts and many came back to their seats with all kinds of Jordanian treasures in tow.
As we wound our way around the gentle curves, towards ancient city of Jerash, the scenery out the window of the bus was fantastic. Sandy, barren mountains with pillowy undulations rose up on one side of us and the hilly landscape was dotted with olive trees in neat rows with clumps of boxy white Lego houses in various states of being finished, nestled in the hills. it’s not uncommon to see big tufts of concrete reinforcement sprouting from the top storeys of buildings, like stems in a vase. According to Rami, generations of families all live together in the one dwelling and one generation will only build what they need, leaving their offspring to take up where they left off, when their time comes. We also passed clusters of tent-dwelling Bedouins with their goat-herds and goat-hide tents and also some gypsy settlements in more colourful canvas. The overwhelming majority of the houses are made from white limestone so Amman is also known as the ‘White City’.
Jaresh is almost as full of pushy salesmen as it is chock-a-block with ancient ruins. We were accosted en masse as we entered the bazaar with skilled conmen wrapping us with headscarfs and urging us they were the quintessential Jordanian souvenir that we just had to have. It took a great deal of persistent fortitude to ward them off and resist their ever-being-slashed-prices, but judging by the number of tourists getting around with brand spanking new ‘authentic’, wrapped headwear, they were very good at their job! I got sucked into buying a top and almost succumbed when my head was wrapped in record time. I just kept telling myself to look down because once you’ve made eye contact you’re a gonner.
Jerash was a thriving city in the 4th century BC and is famous for Hadrian’s Arch and the plethora of ancient ruins it is home to. The magnificent (massive) arch forms a gateway to the ancient city and, made of solid marble, stands fully intact, virtually as it did when it was skilfully built back in 130AD. Once again, the incessant head-wrappers were out in force and I was wrapped again before I knew it. It did make for a good photo opp before I managed to remove it and shake my harasser but we really did have to have our wits about us. Walking the Roman road -that still has deep grooves from the chariot wheels (!) - it was column overload with an abundance of incredible and beautiful ancient architecture to marvel at. Molly forgot for a minute she wasn’t a mountain goat and scaled an ancient walled house and climbing to the top of the Temple of Zeus was thirsty work for us all. On this tour, we are pausing at certain points to read the bible and hear stories from the places we are visiting. It is really bringing the bible to life and I don’t think I’ll ever read it in the same way again after this. It’s pretty cool.
We visited the hip and happening Hippodrome, where ancient rivals had battled it out to the death in years gone by and then we took a stroll around the very well preserved ancient theatre. A couple of guys in traditional Jordanian garb took to the stage (ie the big patch of dirt in the centre of the ring) sporting a big bass drum and what looked like Scottish bagpipes, give or take a few extra tassles here and there. We were treated when they put on a little show for us and the instrument that looked an awful lot like bagpipes turned out to sound a lot like bagpipes too. When they broke into a rendition of ‘Scotland the Brave’ my feet took over and I felt a Scottish jig bursting forth. The piping, drumming duo had an entourage of sorts - a moustachioed bloke in a suit, complete with a head scarf - who took it upon himself to gently request my phone so he could get video evidence of my silly dance. He then instructed me to stand in various positions around the theatre so he could take a clever pano shot of me standing beside myself. He was super proud of his efforts, showing me the photo, saying “look, you are HERE, and you are HERE!!” Och aye the noo. How could I not give the man a tip?
After a lengthy sweaty romp around the ancient city, it was time for us to descend back to the lowest geographical point on the globe; the belly button of the earth - the Dead Sea. We were keen as mustard to don our swimmers and get ourselves wet. Our hotel, being situated on the shores of the salty sea, has its own patrolled area for swimming, with banana chairs and umbrellas on the slope overlooking the shore. Our quest for attaining supernatural buoyancy had us champing at the bit to get in, so we grabbed our complimentary hotel towels and made a bee-line for the water. Now, being such a hot day, I’d love to tell you the sea was cool and refreshing, invigorating even but, alas, if it was invigoration we were after we would have been better off in Scandinavia. This was a little warmer than a luke-warm bath - admittedly not as refreshing as we had hoped - but oh so fun to float on! The rocks underfoot were covered with big clumps of salt. Obeying warnings to keep the salt out of our eyes and to not have shaved any body parts in the recent past, we were amazed at how soft and silky the salt-laden water felt. Lifting your feet off the ground, you almost bounce into a horizontal position. It was SO fun! The hotel had a cordoned off area for swimming, bordered by salt encrusted lane ropes, essentially to make life easier for the lifeguards I assume, but this rattled Deb, who wanted the freedom to swim in the vast sea of salt unrestrained. With the promise of cooler currents, she enticed a few of us to join her rebellious ways and swim outside the enclosure but the lifeguard angrily pointing at us and blowing his whistle like he meant it, had us slinking back into the corral feeling very sheepish indeed.
We had also all heard about the therapeutic and skin restoring properties of the Red Sea mud. Our hotel had great big tubs of mud = a little something they had prepared earlier - for the purposes of slathering your skin with the stuff. Of course we had to partake, feeling oddly politically incorrect but enjoying the process immensely. Who doesn’t look better with a tan? The mud was so black and deliciously squelchy. Maisy’s skin had reacted a little to the salt so she was our chief photographer and remained clean and untainted. All of us maintained, without any proof whatsoever, that our skin definitely felt softer (and our swimming cossies would forever be a dull shade of grey).
The salty ‘pool’ closed at sundown so we ascended the hill and witnessed the sky turn a pretty shade of apricot and pink, the horizon blurring with muted pastel colours. Deb suggested it felt like being inside a French impressionist’s painting. What an experience!
