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Published: October 25th 2013
Sat in the harem of Nabil in a rectangular room of cushions and a central dancing pole, everyone chanted in near harmony those words, all the while wondering if this serenade had actually worked on a local Jordanian as a pick up line. Nabil’s hotel in Dana, our next destination, offers not only match making services but is an adventure travelers agency for tours into the dry mountainous valleys south of the Dead Sea.
Sadly after one night we departed the Dead Sea Spa Resort, the swanky rooms, muddy therapeutic shores and smoke filled foyer, cramming our refreshed bodies into the minibus with bottles of water and backpacks at our knees. Goodbye to the non Western women clad in burkas wearing full-body-lycra aquatic clothing, goodbye to the lifeguards that have never seen a competent swimmer from Australasia knock off a few laps before breakfast, and goodbye to an idyllic back drop of an early morning Israel and rising haze over the water.
G Adventures guide Abraham presented us with a new agenda for the day feeling the strain of our faces the day before when a land based Onix spotting trip was mooted. Although there
were some concerns raised, we managed to get enthusiastic about rappelling up a sand stone canyon with minimal safety gear. The Mujiba reserve is approximately 20 minutes from the hotel strip of the Dead Sea, and after signing away our lives and first born children in a waiver, we headed into the dimly lit canyon amidst steep ochre walls, penetrated 200 plus metres away by piercings of bright sunlight and a comfortable temperature in the early 20s.
Our guide, ever the charmer and a tad lady killing with his chatter, took great care in ensuring the females in particular were safe in their ascent of each stage of the 90 minute up river walk. We heaved our limbs through mini rapids with loose pebbles and holes, the rapids becoming increasingly wild as we advanced, all with the aid of ropes, metal ladders, permanent hand holds and common sense. Straddling a rock face with gushing cool water was invigorating and scary, and after a bit of river bashing it culminated in a heavy waterfall and sliding back down a rock face into thigh deep water. Saturated, we floated back down to the start by lying on our backs
as we stared upwards and counted our fortune at seeing this place.
Lunch time nigh and back into dry clothes, we bid our young muscular guide farewell, sensing his disappointment that his advances had not been taken up on. A brief stop on the coast to take photos of the salty cliffs and home to the Sodom and * tale (where the term sodomy is believed to have originated), we headed to remote Dana village passing over impressive high mountains of sandstone akin to Colorado or the Chilean and Argentinean Andes. Our true ascent would be 1200 metres making us at approximately 1000 metres above sea level, as we had come from 400 metres below.
The post lunch slump kicked in about 2pm, yet the entertainment en route courtesy of Abraham including religiosity, marriage parties and the Jordanian music scene.
Our home for this night was Dana guest house, with the owner Abed and his staff of turban clad men making us immediately welcome. Built 15 years ago on the edge of a cliff with a first class view of the valley and setting sun, it was a feat that this
hostelry had flushing loos, high pressure showers and an presented an elaborate dinner for us. The cats were friendly, the dogs vocal, and wind was howling severely.
But the fun had only begun. Once we were all full of sugary tea and had the requisite extra cautionary warning from Abraham about scaling cliff sides in the morning, we were shepherded around the corner to the local village drummer and karaoke aficionado, Nabil, for an equivalent Jordanian rave and jive. Nabil knew how to rock the party that rocks the party and before long, fortified only by mint tea and sugar (and I suspect some other complementary herbs), we were clapping and chanting “ah le ah le Welcome to Jordan” with my fellow travelers in a caravanserai of love.
Nominated to demonstrate a belly dance, with little persuasion I may add, I pulled a few crimps and moves with Nabil and the crowd went wild….well they just kept clapping with blank faces so I assumed they were simply being kind. Sometimes ones best moments are stone cold sober as the Jordanians do so well, but if they dialed up some ‘Let’s Jack’ by Breach, or
as suggested by our German techno loving doctors, ‘I like to move it move it’, I am sure that I and the joint would be rocking so hard that the slanted floors that pull you sideways on your way out might collapse.
Full of cheery faces and red hands from so much applause, we then all dawdled home at 10:30pm musing how mental one can be when a night was not complemented by alcoholic beverages.
Some sleeping like babies and others like the young and restless, we had a civilized departure at 9am the following day. Whipped into line by guide Abraham number 1, we were aghast at how our minivan had shrunk in length overnight, making Abraham number 2 our driver frustrated when packing up. Only just all squeezed in, we toddled over the hill to the entry to Dana Nature reserve and spectacular views that would rival, in no particular order, Colorado, Western China, Bolivia, The Grampians, The Kimberleys (Australia) and Cappadocia (Turkey).
Stunning scenery at every turn graced us, and it only got better as we weaved a course through sandstone rock, light scrub, medicinal plants (with anti
malarial properties) and up to the final summit, ready for a cup of sugary tea with cinnamon and the colonels secret recipe of herbs. Our guide was so bothered by his mobile phone, we wondered if it was wife number 4, 5, 6 or his recent internet date on the line checking up on when they would be home for their cup of tea!
The promised Onix, Hyena and cat species were no where to be seen, if only for small geckos that were the only wild life there. So, hot and bothered but very satisfied, we weaved back to the road lower in the valley and made a rendezvous with Abraham number 2. His distinctive appearance of a rotund bronzed Jordanian man with trendy spectacles could easily gain him a job as a Penfold lookalike if he wants some extra cash when G Adventures is not employing him for his superb driving skills.
Deftly packing our van daily, imparting advice on the best viewing spots, and providing a picnic that covered all major food groups, he gets my vote. In fact, this particular picnic was so well executed that he jokingly claimed it
would cost us 20 Dinars. “Can I dance for you as payment?” I offered….”I don’t need you to dance, as I saw you rocking out some zumba moves this morning down the road before breakfast and by golly was it a fine example of a paralysed hyena!”. As they say, live like no tomorrow and dance like no-one is looking. Abraham had seen much wild life as a driver, but I suspect this was his first introduction to paralysed hyenas.
After a roadside feast, we traveled to Petra via Shoubak castle, and chanced upon a derelict VW with a man sleeping in it sharing his grapes sweet as the sugary tea we so regularly are given. This castle was the result of the French crusaders, some 1200 years before, in pre Ottoman times, and therefore differs to the Ajloun castle we saw 3 days earlier. Shepherds working their herds and dusty patches, we headed onwards to our hotel, the Oscar aware winning Oscar hotel.
Anything but it was, with congested plumbing causing reflux from the shower hole, carpet circa 1915, curtains circa Julie Andrews, and an A to Z guide of what this hotel
offered being out of date. I propose at R they put Rip Off as given our accommodations in the past 4 nights, this placed stunk. In concert with the mecca that Petra is, I donated to the local economy by paying an excessive 12 Dirans ($21NZD) for a bunch of bananas, few small cucumbers, 2 pomelos and an avocado for our picnic tomorrow. Bartering was my weakness here but despite the financial low of the day, a shining light touched me when I had to relieve my bladder, the attendant opening the dirty squatter of a hammam and refusing my tip for doing so. The locals are as genuine as they are at being enterprising, but wearers of the Gap Adventures T shirt get special privileges…and so I keep wearing my Galapagos souvenir day in day out.
The venue for that nights feast was a local family outfit who hosted a buffet of a special meal of lamb, rice and hot yoghurt, as opposed to hot yoga, but I wonder what is hottest as the hot yoghurt was runny meat juices with a white hue. Nonetheless, a disappointing dessert of a soft diet, fit for one without
teeth, was followed by an instant Jordanian disco whilst our guide took a break to bond with his friends via Shisha. Blasted with revolving disco balls, significantly dimmed lights and the heaving bass-lines of Yolanda Be Cool played on worn out speakers caused some to flee, leaving the Germans, a few Brits and myself to carve up the floor and show them how it’s done. Before long there was a small conga line from another group which lead into an ill timed Macarena with the Chef at the helm. Go the Chef!
Beating the birds to rise but slightly late from the 5am call to prayer, we were up and Adam just after 6am as told to be, me to jog a circuit around Petra at dawn while I left Sally with the room to herself. Passing closed shops, and no more than 3 or 4 cars and women in their full regalia within a 45 minute period, I pondered where the working population hung out. Back at the hotel and its hideous décor (with a name like Oscar, everything oozed kitschy!) we left at 7:30am for the trek entrance. This would allow us to access the
Neolithic side of the enormous open air museum that is Petra.
Our guide for the day, Mohammed, came from his cave at the bottom of the mountain instead of us going to the mountain to see him first……He was a softly spoken man kit out in full robe and tea towel headdress with moderate English, and informed us on the medicinal value of local herbs. Those herbs get much mention, and ‘special’ they are!
Being Bedouin himself, he relayed stories of his grandfather living until 125 years using no medical care. Herbs such as the ‘handle’, a small melon, is believed to cure one of aching muscles or joints when cut in half and placed against the affected area. Now that could put me out of a job! Remedies for rashes and stomach upsets were also found and some fervently applied it to their skin much to the concern of G Adventure guide Abraham…..we guessed that was what medical insurance was for!!
Fortunately nobody fainted or died in that experiment, and so on we walked….and on and on…….on….and on and on….and on…. and all the while tuned in to our 2
educators. Interestingly the Ionian civilisation made their influence felt in many of the facades carved intricately into the sandstone gorges and hills in this reserve. This site had been home to Byzantines and Islamic over the last 2500 years, give or take a war, battle or more, and throughout the early phase of the Little to Big Petra hike there were ruins of sheds and homes for animals, supplies and the people themselves. Truly amazing!
Weaving up to a peak where with a promised ‘Best view in town’ we made a lunch stop with hungry cats, and discovered that indeed we had another 4 or 5 hours of walking left until reaching Big Petra. Once over the hill, a huge monastery presented itself, the trail thereafter snaking down 800 steps to the massive working archeological site itself. Abraham stopped for some tea with a perpetually smiling lady who perhaps was taking some special herbs herself.
Several hours into that, seeing tombs, a Christian church, and ancient citadel and passed by numerous asses (carrying those with sore asses?), we decided to split up and meet at the bus 90 minutes later at 5:30pm. We had
a brief stop at the memorial place of Marguerite Van Geldermalsen, a New Zealander that married a Beduoin and lived a cave lifestyle and being so hot and tired, many decided to head onwards themselves. Apart from the periodic sales pitch of a souvenir seller we were alone in the cavernous Siq that is the entry to the Treasury, and housed alongside an 80 metre water tunnel that was an engineering feat in its time 2100 years ago.
Back at base, we had a gorgeous meal, toasted it with a acidic Jordanian dry red and failed to do the Macarena which was probably the right decision as they just don’t get the ‘zumba gospel’ here….I tried. While some left for a Petra by Night tour, an early night was called for after 30km of walking, as too some blog writing and getting postcards to sorted…watch your letterboxes if I have your address!
2 options presented themselves the next day – sleep in or go back to Petra for more. Losing my ticket in my fatigue and growing sleep debt meant I chose the former, and Sally too did the same. Musing in our morning
slumber on what to take to our Wadi Rum desert camp (perhaps a nip of rum??), I made sure I took kinesiotape for a free physiotherapy consult with our wounded guide, and cucumbers for the canned hummus I had been dying to try out.
Both of us wondering what time breakfast ended, I called the front desk and spoke to Mohammed #2. He said 9am. “But the A to Z manual of hotel services says 9:30am?”….”Ok, 9:30am it is”. This happened at the Dead Sea Resort, and with several incidences on tour, and we figured it is the Middle Eastern tendency to ‘bakshesh’, as in, “we do it if we like and change our mind if not”! Breakfast is getting a tiring affair of boiled eggs, instant caffeine, cheese and cucumbers, but when you have Mohammed FM to entertain you it makes a boring breakfast that little bit more exciting.
Feeling somewhat woozy, we headed off towards Wadi Rum at 11, stopping for a money exchange, a pharmacy to get some anti emetics and bottled water. Organising a crew of 16 caused obvious strain to Abrahams 1 and 2, but we finally got away
and before long were on the Kings highway to Rum. At about 50km from Aqaba we turned left and entered a valley of sandstone peaks, of a majestic red brown in colour and dry desert conditions. Education today en route consisted of justice in Jordan, the change in behaviour after Al Qaeda and September 11 2001, public hangings for severe crimes (the death penalty no longer exists) Saudi Arabia and the Wahabi practices and to make a dour conversation better, what we would be doing on the camels the next day.
We were in the desert by lunch, eating the usual hummus, salad, pickled vegetables, pita and rice fare, and as usual there was no dessert in the desert. Piling onto 3 tray back jeeps, open top and 5 to 6 people in each, the Brits, Germans and myself made up what became the party jeep and our youthful Bedouin driver had exceptionally good taste in music playing it loud. He was a fan of Mohammed FM, deftly handling the stereo, steering wheel and likely texting his Beduoin girlfriend to meet him at the rock to the left of the 7
th hill of wisdom. Passing camels, nomadic
Bedouin, the Saudi border rose over the hills. Tracing hyena foot prints, the realization we were in such isolation became evident. A vivid red sunset atop a large rock ended our jeep ride, and we retired to the tent camp for a Bedouin hangi (called a ‘zurba’), campfire chats and for some, putting it in their pipe and smoking it. I settled for sharing some kiwi music with Abraham and my new German friends, gave myself a romantic cuddle and slept like a baby.
But all was not well in the camp…apart from me thinking a snake was attacking us before tea when my belt bag fell down from a hook, the howling stray dogs in this part of the desert made for an unsettling air about the place and echoed around the natural amphitheatre. I woke at 4am to go to the loo, and trying my best not to rouse anyone with my head torch, I walked across the centre of our camp where 10 or so people had fallen asleep under the stars. All of a sudden, one of the girls woke bolt upright in bed and screamed so loud that everyone thought she was
being murdered…then the sound died down and the guide, so he since told us, wearing nothing but the briefest briefs, realized either she was dead or was just in a dream. Either way, he need not worry and venture out in his undies!
So the final day dawned and a cloudy sunrise met our departure by camel for our breakfast stop, an hour away. Smelly things that they are, I offered mine a piece of Extra but he was so discerning he turned his nose up, as he only chews Wrigleys. That issue aside, we mounted our rides and wandered bump by bump around the dawn landscape of the camp, across tundra and alongside magnificent sandstone cliffs until our jeeps met us for a chilly trip to base camp, Zawaidee. The typical breakfast aside, we set off with Abraham 1 and 2 to meet our local guide for a desert hike.
Promised the 2.5 hour walk to be that, it became quickly a 4 hour version, interspersed with tea stops, wee stops, seeing an average canyon that was a bit of an anti climax and the relentless dry heat to accompany us back to
town. Lafi, the guide, was a slight man with simple English and unusually knew where NZ was. Resplendent in tunic dress, we commented on how hot he must get and maybe needs to change his shirt. T Pain sprung to mind ‘take your shirt off and twist it in the air like a helicopter’, but attempts at translation of this just made me look like that paralysed hyena from Dana Nature reserve again.
Marking our completion of another walk on Jordanian time with some Turkish coffee, we set off back to Amman. Fatigued and dirty, I passed the time with endless music, chatting with Abraham and the lightest of snoozes that made little difference to the state we arrived in 4 hours later. Passing Al Karak, Al Gahl and Al Dire, it was a fitting end to the 9 day itinerary, as although we were in dire physical condition, the cracks in our skin and gals on the trip……I don't know where I am going with this but nonetheless place names ‘karak’ you up here.
One more day and I will be off to the Emirate again, hopefully in regular internet coverage but I
must say being absent has not been a bad thing.
Until then……
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