Roll Jordan Roll

We spent four days in Jordan over Easter weekend. It's a popular trip from Dubai--Sheikh Mo's second wife is from Jordan--with a three-hour flight and an hour's gain on arrival due to the time difference. We headed straight to the Dead Sea, with a driver picking us up at the airport. I am glad we chose not to rent a car. Unlike Dubai, there are very few signs in English, and our comprehension of Arabic road signs is nonexistent.

Our driver was a Palestinian named Ibrahim. He quickly offered to pick up any other drives we might need, and helped us map out an itinerary for our visit. We were staying at the Dead Sea Kempinski for one night, then heading south to Petra for two nights, then back north to the Kempinski for our final night. He would drive us to Petra the next day along the Desert Highway, and then pick us up there two days hence with several stops planned along the King's Highway on our way back to the Dead Sea. We would not be able to spend any time in Amman or to make it as far south as Wadi Rum or Aqaba on the Red Sea.

The first thing I noticed as we drove from the airport was litter everywhere. Mostly it looked like paper and plastic bags, white and black, but it was all over the place, along the roads, in the fields, in the bushes and trees. Coming from Dubai, which puts a real premium on cleanliness and appearances, it was a sharp contrast. Ibrahim didn't say anything about it, and I didn't want to mention it. The next thing I noticed was that Jordan looks nothing like Dubai in terms of modern development. The houses, shops and towns look old and worn-down. There's little to be seen in terms of local industry and no sign of US chains which seem ubiquitous everywhere else. We passed a big cement factory, chemicals factory and salt factory, but mostly we saw a lot of shops and small produce stands. Apparently Jordan does not have oil like the Gulf States and relies mainly on tourism to support its economy. Which makes for tough times given that tourism is down due to the Arab Spring and the continuing unrest in Jordan's neighborhood, especially Syria, Iraq, and the occupied territories including the West Bank. We discovered after our arrival that Jordanian warplanes destroyed a number of cars thought to be affiliated with Al Qaeda along the northern border with Syria. It occurred to me, belatedly, that Easter might not be the best time to visit Jordan.

Arriving at the Kempinski, we passed through heavy security with armed guards. Everyone is checked going in and out of the hotel--reservations definitely required. The police presence in Jordan is very obvious and somewhat reassuring. Despite it being the high season, we had no trouble booking a room a few days ahead. (Petra, however, was a different story and we had to settle for less than ideal accommodations there on late notice.) After being greeted at the front desk of the Kempinski with portraits of the late King Hussein, the current King Abdullah II and his son Hussein, the crown prince, now 19 but looking about 12 in his portrait, it was like we left Jordan behind as we entered the fancy resort.

View of Dead Sea from Kempinski.

We enjoyed tremendous views of the Dead Sea and the West Bank across the way. The Sea looks invitingly blue while the hillside beyond is a golden brown. But then you notice that there are no signs of life on the water or across the way--no boats, no houses, no people. There are places roped off along the shoreline where hotel guests can venture into the sea for a float and mud bath, but that's where all activity ends. After that, there's nothing. Since the Dead Sea is the border between Jordan and the West Bank, which was taken from Jordan by Israel in the Six Day War, it is under constant guard and anyone attempting to cross would be immediately stopped and suffer dire consequences.

Going down to the beach, we passed a sign that told us we were at the lowest place on earth, 420 meters below sea level. It is considered healthful due to higher oxygen levels, ultraviolet-filtered light, and the concentration of vital minerals. Of course, we went for the obligatory float, which was very comfortable provided you only attempted to go backwards, as going forward was much more difficult. Reaching down you could grab a chunky of salt crystals, but you definitely wanted to keep your head above water and avoid getting anything in your eyes. We applied plenty of Dead Sea mud as instructed, using the handy mirrors to ensure full coverage and removal. Some people even applied mud to their hair and heads, which seemed disastrous to me--my hair would never survive the salt. Not to mention the smell of the mud, which I found moderately repulsive. What amazed me most about about the water, in addition to its well-known salinity, was its oiliness. The water, which looked so refreshing and blue from afar, was rather murky and oil-streaked close up--not terribly inviting--but pleasant enough once afloat. But it didn't take long before I had had enough of the Dead Sea. I was glad we were heading to Petra the next day.

Dead Sea beach at the Kempinski Hotel. Note people in black waiting for mud to dry.

I've been wanting to go to Petra ever since reading "Married to a Bedouin," the fascinating story of a young Kiwi nurse named Marguerite van Geldermalsen who goes backpacking in Petra in 1978 with a friend. Petra is the ancient city of caves, tombs and monuments built into walls of rose-red rock, made famous by Indiana Jones, and now considered one of the must-see wonders of the ancient world. Marguerite and her friend stayed too long and missed the last tourist bus out, so a Bedouin named Mohammed put them up for the night in his cave. The friend leaves but Marguerite decides to stay, eventually marrying Mohammed and learning to live the Bedouin life in his cave, where she had two of their three children. After he passes away, years later, she returned to New Zealand, thinking she was leaving Jordan for good. But then she wrote her memoir and decided to go back. She lives near Petra to this day, as does her son, who runs a tour company. She has a jewelry stall in Petra past the theatre, where she sells autographed copies of her book. Sadly, I didn't find this out until afterwards so I didn't know to look for her there when we visited. Families like hers who used to live in caves in Petra were moved to a nearby town in the mid 1980's to protect the site and improve their quality of life; many of them open souvenir stands and return to the site on a daily basis.

This might be Marguerite's jewelry stall on the left. There's a poster outside with a picture of her book. New bathrooms are on the right.

Petra was definitely the highlight of our trip, even more impressive and expansive than I imagined. We were told to start early and got there by 7:30 am, with a line for tickets already forming. The big new tourist center was not open, so there was only one ticket booth. The tickets are expensive--50 Jordanian dinar, or $80. Two- and three-day tickets seemed like bargains at 55 and 60 dinar, but we were going to see as much as we could in just one day. We opted to hire a guide for another 20 Jordanian dinar, well worth it since we were mostly uninformed about the site and it seemed massive. Mahmood took the two of us straight away so we didn't have to wait for a larger group. It's a long walk from the main entry gate, where there are stables and horses, and even horse-drawn carriages for visitors who can't walk. The rocky gorge leading to the city was spectacular and reminded me of Utah (Moab, Arches and Canyonlands). But the city to follow was even more amazing.

We were offered many chances to ride a donkey but they seemed dangerous, especially on the steps. Camels, horses, and horse-drawn carriages are also available for hire.

The most famous site is the Treasury, which you can't see until the last minute when the gorge opens into a large expanse. This is also where souvenir stands, donkeys and camels first make their appearance. The city is so spread out and huge that it never seems crowded, although this space by the Treasury is probably as crowded as it gets. Mahmood told us that the people selling souvenirs are still mostly the former residents of Petra who live nearby but are allowed to run the stalls. Many of them ride donkeys to work each day and leave them parked by their stall. I noticed that most of the locals wear scarves wound tightly around their faces, for good reason as the wind picked up like in a tunnel and we could feel the sand whipping around.

First view of the Treasury.

My husband and I found the donkey handlers and souvenir sellers annoying, as they were pretty aggressive, trying to get you to stop and buy something, but there was never any pursuit, except for a few small boys and girls pushing postcards under your face. It got more irritating as we lumbered up the 900 steps to the Monastery at the top of a big hill. Around every turn we encountered yet another stand, and the donkeys seem crazed charging up and down the rocky steps with passengers in various states of upset aboard. But learning of the history and tradition behind the practice, and the fact that Jordan's economy needs every dinar it can get from the tourist trade, we found we could ignore the minor annoyance and wish these hard-working people the best. I found it absolutely necessary to stop and rest with refreshment a couple of times along the way. Prices seemed high--2 dinar, or $3.20 for a coke--but worth it, considering. By the time we got to the very top--picking one of three possible places which claimed to offer the "Best View"--I found that my feet were too small for my Nike Free shoes and each step involved considerable pain. I did see a few people who seemed even worse off, including one man who needed medical attention and had to be helped onto a donkey "ambulance" to get down the hill. Even after a good rest at the top, I grimaced the entire way down, which was probably disconcerting to those still heading up, some of whom I could not help but notice were wearing even more inappropriate footwear (flip flops! heels! wedges!). When I was finally able to take my shoes and socks off, I found that they were filled with red sand. We celebrated our climb with a barefoot buffet lunch at the very busy Basin Restaurant right where the steps start for the Monastery trail.

One of the best views of the Monastery, from a Bedouin tea stand at the top of the hill.

After this leg and foot-busting climb to see the Monastery, I had zero interest in making a similar climb to see the High Place of Sacrifice, as I was sure to be it. There was plenty more to see down below, so we visited the Royal Tombs and other parts of the city. I was beat up enough from all the hiking (we covered at least 12 miles, according to my husband's pedometer) to gladly accept a horseback ride back to the visitor center, the price of which was included in our entrance ticket. I enjoyed talking to the horse guide, a young man named Saddam, who had worked in Dubai for two years before returning to Jordan to finish university in Amman, working three days a week in Petra. He offered me the chance to have a candlelit Bedouin dinner in a cave in nearby Little Petra, transportation included, which sounded great to me, but my husband was not interested, having been put off by the pushiness of the souvenir sellers. The people in Jordan are nothing if not resourceful in trying to get the most out of the tourist dollar. So instead of going to Little Petra to have dinner in a cave with a stranger named Saddam--which does sound a bit ominous--we stopped off in the nearby Mövenpick Hotel for refreshments in their high class bar before heading off to dinner and our much less nice hotel up an unfortunately located hill.

We tried to go to dinner that evening at the Petra Kitchen, which was recommended, but they were having cooking classes so we went elsewhere. Later I discovered that cooking classes are what they always do at the Petra Kitchen--that's their thing, with dinner to follow. My husband probably wouldn't have been up for that anyway. We lucked upon a place that served beer and wine, which cheered him up, as well as free wifi, which was great for me since I have no service otherwise. Free wifi seemed to be offered in most hotels and restaurants, and also at the airport. It even worked sometimes--service at the Kempinski was especially good.

Ibrahim showed up as expected the next morning to take us on our tour of sights along the King's Highway, which is the more traditional south-north route between the Dead Sea Highway and the Desert Highway. We saw both Shobak and Karak Castles, from the time of the Crusades. We saw the Wadi Mujib, like the Grand Canyon of Jordan. We saw the famous ancient mosaic map of Palestine in St George's Church in Madaba, happy to find ourselves in a Christian church on Easter Sunday. Madaba is famous for its mosaics to this day, and we also stopped by the Mosaic Center where we got a chance to see how they were made and make a purchase.

Karak Castle, along the King's Highway.

By the time we got to Mount Nebo, clouds and rain from earlier in the day had lifted a bit. But it was still very hazy and hard to see much of what Moses was said to have seen and called the Promised Land. On a clear day you can probably see considerably more green, the Dead Sea and perhaps even Jericho and Jerusalem. The church on site built as a memorial for Moses was not yet open but should open later this year with another famous mosaic being restored in situ. A large group of Spanish tourists all wearing orange vests celebrated Easter mass in a room next to the museum.

Looking out towards the Promised Land from Mount Nebo.

Ibrahim rushed us along so we could get to Bethany-Beyond-the-Jordan before it closed, the site of Jesus's baptism by John. Since it's on the Jordan River, which forms the border with the occupied territory of the West Bank, security is very tight. The site can only be accessed by shuttle bus with a guide, for a 45 minute tour. Our guide was there to meet Pope John Paul II when he sanctified the site in 2000, as well as Pope Benedict and Hillary Clinton, with Pope Francis scheduled to visit in May. The Baptism Site was located based on archaeological finds of the earliest Christian churches built near the spot. The Jordan River, however, is just a shadow of its former self and no longer reaches that spot, so a small channel was dug to connect them. There's another spot where you can go down to the Jordan River, with a large baptismal font for ceremonies, near a new gold-domed Greek Orthodox Church. Directly across the river on the other side is another church (or perhaps a synagogue? our guide didn't know the name) with three flags, including the flag of Israel, marking the occupied territory. Although the distance is quite small, less than fifty feet, it is quite clear that no one is crossing this river. It must be strange to have prayers and services with guards watching from both sides to make sure no one tries to go across. Sad to see what the mighty River Jordan has now become, a fitting metaphor for the plight of the Palestinians. Like Moses, they can't go to the Promised Land.

River Jordan with Greek Orthodox Church in background near Baptism Site.

Ibrahim drove us back to the airport the next day, where I saw the first signs of US chains in Jordan (Starbucks, a welcome sight, and McDonalds, not so welcome). He'd asked for the day off but his boss refused. He said he'll probably work more or less nonstop until the end of tourist season. In the summer things get really slow with mostly only tourists from the Gulf States, who are used to the heat. I was interested in hearing his story and asked him about it, but he didn't seem to want to say much. He was ten years old living with his family in the West Bank at the time of the Six Day War in 1967. Now that he's in Jordan he can never go back. He and his fellows feel like second-class citizens in Jordan, where Jordanians come first. He didn't have to say any more. Just being able to put his weary face to the Palestinian dilemma said it all.