Middle East induction - fast cars, slow flights, tea towels and no sleep

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8 months ago booked, the departure day finally arrived on October 17^th. With broken sleep and nightmares of under-packing my underwear and over packing my overcoats, I woke early and headed to the airport with Inder the taxi driver from Blue Cabs. Unusually a driver of few words, we engaged in small talk about emigrating, ascertained he was from Punjab region, and most importantly that he could drive safely which is what I cannot say about Jordanian drivers...more later. He bid me a kind farewell and we shook hands, passing on the high 5s. These gestures I am informed are for the Hellensville golf course veterans only.



Check in was smooth, the airport quiet and the Koru lounge access a bonus for flying premium economy. Plenty food and coffee to awaken later, and the flight left on time. Seat row numero uno was mine, all mine, and unable to shove any more food in I slept a bit, chatted to the hostesses and got bad stories of the state of affairs in Syria and Jordan from the father of 2 archeologists. Raising my concern, I turned to the Herald for a light read, being entertained by the current Auckland mayor’s exploits with a mistress.



As if that story was not enough to choke on my nuts, two songs rolled over on my music playlist at the same time. First Hall and Oates told me she’s a Maneater, and then a zumba classic sung “I am that flight that you get on, international…..(flying) to AD…” (how did he know, Abu Dhabi!!)… ending with a chorus of ‘talk dirty’. Indeed, Mayor Len did to his mistress, and as like the plane I was descending on, so too seemed his public reputation. Media eh.



With 6 hours spare and reassurances I was allowed into the business lounge at Sydney airport, I headed into the city by train paying about 3 times as much as 4 years ago, work on my sunburn, and gain respite from the oppressive heat at the contemporary art gallery. When large skips of scoria failed to impress (some weird art installation) and the leg feeling sore I headed back to the airport. A gorgeous day and I met many tourists doing the same. Funnily, I also ran into a patient who had mentioned that he would be in Sydney on the same day several months before, and who would call out in the customs queue “Hey Pauline” but them! Yes, a small world it is.



The business lounge never happened, so thumbs down to Virgin Australia Trans Tasman crew for being misleading communication seemed lacking. However, the ladies loo was a perfect alternative for half an hour or so, enabling me to check I’d been paid and communicate with the world whilst plugged into the only power socket near gate 59.



Time flew (ha) and before long it was boarding time for the leg to AD. Held up with a lot of smoke lingering above the ground, the result of fires in NSW, we left half an hour late. Once the hostesses has displayed the drop down oxygen masks, how to open a seatbelt, read magazines behind the curtained off area separating us from the classier passengers ahead, served us tiny food on tiny plates with fake smiles and used the tiny facilities, it was time to spread eagle across several arm rests and aim for some shut eye. The premium economy experience was worthwhile for more room, but the male cabin crew with suave hair-sprayed fringes, well behaved 2 year old, endless tunes, audio comedies and sedative drinks made this mammoth 15 hours tolerable.



Reminding me of my old injuries, the elephant sized ankles could not wait to alight at AD airport where my pre booked transfer waited, customs was slick and I exited into the heavy heat of a very early Friday morning. Getting checked in was easy, yet as taxi's only took cash and my pre paid transfer was not going to happen, I ended up buying wifi access early morning to sort that and the money situation out. 5 broken hours of sleep later and a warm morning greeted me. Back on to the treadmill of life, I had time for a quick sweat in the classy gym, a dunk in the oval pool dodging jumping kids and met my taxi man, lets call him Abdullah, to take me to AD airport. And quick is an understatement. I'd say outright speeding at 14okph!

Of the 3 terminals at AD airport, Etihad flew out of T1, and all are connected with boardwalks internally which when it reaches 40+C in summer, is needed! The Emerati way seems to push in oftentimes in queues, so I gathered my assertiveness and made my way through customs, where not only purchases were free but so too the wifi. On to the flight in usual bus - plane fashion and we were airborne in a really old plane that felt like sitting on Grandmas beige couch. I got talking to my seat buddy, a man from Japan, who was doing business in Amman. What sort...it had to happen as it has before, an engineer. We hit it off in Englo-apanese and I showed him some photos of Takapuna and Milford beaches. Amazing, as they always say. Yet again, I know I'm a pampered westerner living in paradise.

But it is all relative. Arriving at Amman airport, to the generous welcome of the olive skinned immigration man, I got a 'welcome to Amman, Paulina', followed by, 'where's the visa?'. A trip of treats I was to expect they said. 'Paulina'? I like the exotic sound of that. Like the famous Ukraine model I said, perhaps got me a grin, but obviously not enough charm to avoid the 20 Jordanian diram cost.

Then it was out into the chaos of the taxi rank after a long luggage wait, and before I knew I was tearing into town with the driver (lets call him Abdullah) at 80mph dodging other cars and pot holes on a snake like motorway come suburban road redevelopment. Abdullah was' mad, yet got a tip of 3 (6NZD) when he fumbled for change and I got checked in to the Holy Toledo Hotel, without having to pass through the metal detector. Body scans, metal detectors....even in shopping malls...I will be glowing by trips end.



So Amman is a little like Tirana (Albania) with the main things in common being rubbish on the streets, horns used as communication devices, and machismo glares from men at a fair headed tourist. My room mate I met is so far lovely, and too very fair haired will be met with similar 'what are you doing here'? glances. 'Soldier on' is only way, and if that ain't a pun, we will be tomorrow as we enter the northern area of Jordan towards the military zone of the Syrian border. Our destination is a home stay in Ajloun with some hiking and exploration / adventure planned. I am reassured we are the equal distance of 10km across mountains away from the havoc or supposed shootings and refugee exodus, but am prepared for anything. An open mind as much as an open wallet when traveling, right?



Till I meet with the lowest point on earth (Dead Sea!), I leave Amman with contentedness and good feelings about the 8 days ahead.

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