Mountains, Tombs and Evil Children

I spent a couple of days relaxing and preparing myself mentally for the hilly road to Petra. I left Amman feeling slightly rough after spending the evening with an Aussie girl with a forte for 10% strength beer and Vodka. Figuring an easy day down to the Dead Sea my will power was easily broken with the offer of a drink, although I stayed clear of the 10% stuff and stuck purely to 40% Vodka.

I was worried about the Dead Sea. Travelling alone creates strange feelings when it actually comes to being alone. Although my trip is very much a solo affair having someone, sometimes anyone, to share things with is important. I just had the feeling that you shouldn't go to the Dead Sea alone, a bit like going to Alton Towers alone, something that you would never do. My choice, my decision to go it alone created a feeling of fear, a fear I assume of loneliness.

Cruising down the 30km's of pure decent from Amman was exhilarating but like a junkie who needs a bigger and bigger hit each time the slight head wind kept my speed at only 30mph. I was hoping for 40mph plus speeds as that's what it takes for me to get a real buzz out of descents. The first major difference between the Dead Sea and anywhere else I'd been in the last three months was that it was hot. The temperature probably only in the early twenties felt purely tropical and was such a change to the chilly if not damn right cold days up above. I stripped off and took a dip. It was fun. I laughed and didn't feel lonely but I didn't stay in more than 10 minutes. I washed in a dirty stream flowing through what looks like a building site covered in rubbish, took a photo of Harvey (my bicycle) by the Dead Sea and pedalled away. I few miles later a put my tent up behind a bush, cooked dinner and relaxed in the 22c evening.

The king's highway runs at about 900m above sea level and with Dead Sea being minus 400m I knew the climb would be tough. I stopped to let a falafel seller rip me off and with a full stomach started the 1300m climb. I'm not sure how long it took me but it was a few hours to say the least. I pickup truck stopped and offered a lift, when I refused he looked at me as if to say, Why? And then said, "No money, No money". I shook my head; he looked more confused and drove off. Nice guy I thought and the situation balanced the tactics of the greedy falafel seller. The climb wasn't as hellish I had imagined but the last 3km to the town of Karak were steep and my energy was drained by then. I found a cheap hotel, the owner made me a cup of tea and put on the BCC. Later that night he invited me to eat with him and even though I had devoured a huge pan of pasta I still found room for his infinitely better Jordanian spread.

I left the next morning preparing for the climbs and descents. The road headed down into a gully, the 42mph decent was exhilarated, the scenery beautiful. Barron mountains with patches of lushness took my mind of the pain as I climbed back up the other side of the canyon. I pushed on and on eager to camp at Dana Nature reserve. I stopped to let another falafel seller rip me off cursing myself for not asking the price first, I just thought this guy would be honest.

Within cycling circles the Jordanian children are notorious for stone throwing, anything from small pebbles to rocks, tomato's and any other thing that they can get there hands on. Although I been lucky so far with only the occasion long distance stone which had never been on target I was eyeing all children as potential throwers and viewed they smiles and hello's with deep suspicion. Just when I was thinking it was all scaremongering and lies a rock hit me in the chest. I looked around and couldn't see anyone. Then another and another, the little shit was hiding behind a wall throwing the stones over the wall with amazing accuracy. I shouted and swore and then peddled faster and faster stones nearly hitting me at a distance of 30 meters away. I had to admit he was a good shot at such a distance, but really I wanted him severely beaten. After this incident more stones were thrown randomly throughout the day and I cursed myself again for not learning an Arabic obscenity my fuck off's falling on deaf ears.

The cold morning getting warmer and the desert continuing with an infinite scene of sand, rocks and mountains. A car stopped and a guy jumped out telling me he was a student and asking me to fill in his questionnaire on tourism. He obviously had an unrealistic view of wealth in the west as the box for, "How much do you spend a day?" the minimum tick box was under US$100! The bottom of the questionnaire had a small section for "Other suggestions to encourage tourism to Jordan??" I was temped to write: Have all falafel sellers shot and hang all children who throw stones.

I arrived at Dana just before sunset, placed my tent on the edge of the cliff and stared out at the beautiful sunset. At 6pm it was already 1C, I put on pretty much everything I owned and contemplated what the minimum temperature would be that night. My sleeping bag boasted a rating of -5C but I know I'm cold at +5C, I wondered whether at -6C I would simply freeze to death. I was sitting eating dinner when something caught my eye. I looked up in awe the sky boasting the most amazing stars. Thousands and thousands of beautiful stars strewn across the sky. With no moon or clouds it was one of the best skyscapes I'd ever seen. I wanted to lie down and stare at the sky forever but the cold quickly had me in the tent, in my sleeping bag complete with 5 tops, 3 pairs of trousers, 3 pairs of socks, hat, gloves etc. Needless to say I awoke a few hours later sweating, took off most of my clothes and then awoke at 6am cold. I needed to find a balance. Unzipping my tent the following morning I laughed to see snow falling from the sky. My magnificent views from the night before had been replaced with cloud and a visibility of about 10 meters.

I cycled across the steppe watching the wind blow icy cold clouds across my path before descending to Wadi Musa and the magical city of Petra. Petra was built as a city hidden from the world. The Nabetean Arabs started building the city in 800BC carving the buildings straight out of the stone cliffs. The Romans, obviously impressed with there efforts, adopted the city around 100AD and added an Amphitheatre plus the odd tomb. I was glad of my January visit, and at 7am I was one of only three tourists there, the hoards of summer were far away. I spent two days wandering around the tombs and climbing the mountains, catching up with travellers I'd met in other places and relaxing.

Crossing the mountains and down to Aqaba and sea level was an easy day and even the slight head wind and trucks didn't damped my spirits as I headed to the sea. I passed Wadi Rum to my left, the site made famous by Laurence of Arabica. I felt I'd done my camping in the desert so I missed the turn off and carried on.

Taking the ferry to Egypt the following day and entering country number 13 on my trip. I passed the farcical Egyptian security by wheeling my bike and myself around the metal detector and headed out to the warm Sinai breeze. The road from the port to Dahab was a killer with a steep climb followed by massive head winds which pounded me for the entire 30km of descent, reducing my speed to a mere 12mph. What I thought would be an easy day was turning to be hard cycling, down hill against the wind. The site of friends when arriving in Dahab and the cheap beer that followed relaxed my mind and body, the banging head the following morning a consequence of the night's behaviour.

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