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Published: October 29th 2013
Saying goodbye to the Jordan leg of the trip was odd. Having spent 9 days with a great bunch of like minded people and a fantastic guide, Ibrahim, made it feel like a family holiday without the arguments.
Our final night was celebrated with an authentic Jordanian BBQ, at a local hang out in Amman. Bundling 16 of us into 4 taxis, we made our way through intense traffic and roadsides of teenagers hanging out with their friends at the different ‘circles’ (roundabouts) and no doubt waiting to do what teenagers do. Friday and Saturday are the weekends here, with Sunday being like a week day.
Having organized the group tip and a hand made card, and sitting in sluggish traffic for the restaurant, Julia, Sally and I decided to write some poetry on the back of the tip envelope to add to our visual artistry on the card (my camel left a lot to be desired, but the ‘1 dinar’ Julia suggested was so fitting as everything costs 1 dinar it seems, except the taxi!!)
“Abraham was a trusty
guide
Always advising and by our side
We took the herbs and did not die
From Amman to Rum, it was a fabulous ride”
Walking into this bustling establishment I approached a staff member to find the cash window and was shepherded kindly to get some change. The helpfulness of the Jordanians is a resounding feature of this trip, and my attitude towards this part of the world and its people has been upended and deservedly so.
The meal was perpetual and every time they brought out plates we wondered if we were getting a 3
rd dinner…but the knife and forks became useful when they started to carve flora and fauna out of fruit. I got a grapefruit made into a flower, one lady got a banana dolphin and a guy got a dancing apple. Memorable and all for 13 dinars plus tip!
Leaving the restaurant, we were shafted to a side street, our group request coming true to buy the famous sweets which the locals love. Anything with pistachio
goes (the tree is prolific here), and hesitant as to what NZ customs may allow, I asked for 2 nutty ones and 4 flat minimally nutty ones. ‘” how much?” I asked. “3” “Oh 3 dinars?”…”No, ‘free’”. I insisted I pay but they gave it away. I was well chuffed that my charm had worked its magic and the kind gesture.
Back at the hotel, final farewells, airborne hugs by giant Scots, and offers to meet again some day were made, and both Sally and I started the packing process and made it to bed after midnight. Luckily one of the G Adventure offsiders was about as we said our goodbyes, and as he had no record of my taxi reservation I made one for the following day as intended. Phew… that was lucky.
Rousing at the call to prayer, 5am came and went and I wondered if Sally had slept in. Turns out the smart phone had also slept in and so in the nick of time she was off at 6 and I was on my own until my departure a few hours later.
Abdullah the taxi driver took me to the fancy new Queen Alia airport on time, a one year old building sitting next to a messy demolished one and built at great taxpayer expense. We chatted a lot about his lifestyle, NZ and basically like all other conversations, it ended with the adage that we are all the same but different, you know.
After sharing a small tip, buying the wine Ibrahim recommended and spending my last dinar on caffeine, Emirates carried me 3 hours to the megapolis of Dubai, one hour ahead of Jordan time. Unexpectedly, the Jordanian U-17 football players were on this flight en route to the international competition in Dubai, and just so happened to not only be staying at an adjoining hotel but were sat beside me in the middle aisle, with a friendly Jordanian man to my left.
Being teenage boys, they could ham it up like the best, and I got cheeky requests to plug into my laptop with their smart phones, snatch my sunglasses and use my hand cream. My Jordanian companion told them ‘it’s for ladies’ when hassled
but this did not curtail their antics. Dressed in full robes and headdresses, they patted me on the head like a cat as we began to descend letting out an almighty cheer of as the pilot successfully landed our A380 airbus. If they play with the same exuberance as they shout, they are destined for greatness.
Not over yet, they grabbed at least 5 photos of me and various members of the team on their phones so I took the opportunity to record that I had stood next to future champions myself.
Bidding farewell to my sporting friends, I whizzed through customs and baggage claim, and within half an hour was at the Crowne Plaza Festival city gazing drearily at the chandelier in the lobby of this 5 star hotel I was to be living in for a week. Wandering along the plaza waterfront, at the backwaters of Dubai creek, the sun began to set and what a yellow sight it was. Hot and breezy at 30C around 6pm, I tested out the lap pool and started to wander towards the adjacent Festival City mall.
Stepping in to the lift, I fumbled with the 3
rd-time-lucky-card slot to activate the lift. ‘You been swimming?’ came a question, from a rare Antipodean accent. Sure had and it felt damn good. Heading towards the same mall, we exchanged stories as to why we were in Dubai. So it was, Jerry was en route to Scotland for business, working on the storage tanks of oil rigs as a mechanical engineer. You’re the 6
th met on this trip, I mentioned. “Bloody boring %!$(MISSING)#@** aren’t they?” he said.
After 10 minutes of steady walking he pointed me in the right direction. I could only just make out the supermarket through the throngs of obscenely expensive chain stores, and even though it was one of the smaller malls, I got lost.
More malls were to come though…bigger, better and faster. After an average first day workshop at the congress, which officially started on the 28
th, I headed to my pre booked Burj Khalifa tour for a 6pm entry on Sunday evening. Tickets bought 2 weeks in advance are about one third of
the usual cost, and through sage advice gained through a friend of a friend, I took a taxi to Dubai Mall, where the entrance is. Not so simple though, and with a good 10 minutes power walking into this mall I found, gaspingly, the Khalifa entrance. Add another 30 minutes and you get the lift entry that ferries you to the 124
th floor in about 20 seconds.
This building has a few features. Started in 2004, it had over 10,000 workers at the height of its construction involved daily and the sheets of metal or glass panels could apparently extend nearly half way around the world if placed end to end. Surprisingly, there is an ecological feature, being that the condensation collected from air conditioning feeds the plants at the bottom of it. At least that might offset the yellow hue that made the sunset shots so vivid. Suspect air quality I believe, and highly apt descriptions given of this place (like parallels to ‘Las Vegas….on steroids’) are correct!
Waiting a good 20 minutes to queue for a taxi, and about 60 people going before me,
I finally made it back to base and got some well needed shut eye after a mammoth first day with far too much good food.
The start of the conference the following day was epic and being amongst such high caliber company there were many thought provoking moments. Kicking off at 8:30am after a swim in the infinity pool (such is the life…..’lapping’ it up, ha, ‘lap’), and fortified with caffeine, I gazed at the speakers, their power points, mesmerized and certain that this was going to be one seriously stimulating 4 days.
Breaking for a delicious hotel standard breakfast and late morning coffees, the sessions got more and more involved into the topic of pelvic girdle and low back pain, how we measure it, how we assess it, how we treat it, the evolving technology and bio-psychosocial issues.
In between the intense delivery of info came one particular ‘movement break’ and I would rate that the best part of the first day and apt for the 5:30pm slot when attention lagged. Within seconds, stood within this large conference
hall and like a religious cleansing session, we eliminated our neck and back tension and pain with the Franklin method. Bashing our backs with our fists, trapezius and concurrently moving our stretched arm and trunks sideways it could almost pass for zumba, but without the music this was no party.
Waddling out with a crook left hip this time, I headed to the spice and gold souqs at the entrance to Dubai creek, a bit later than planned. A long taxi ride with my 3
rd Pakistani driver and only 22 dirams later (about $7.50NZD) got me there and into the chaos of this old area.
Hassled to buy this and smell that, an hour of wandering sealed my market love and failing to get a specific souvenir, I left and made for base again. Sinking into the jacuzzi and chatting to 2 pilots as I stared out into the bright lights of this city, I swore I could not live here. For starters, I was dying to go for a paddle on the creek, explore or at least swim in nature (probably not the done thing
here) and besides, it seemed simply a superficial oil rich spot for accruing money and not much more. If you area chain smoker however, you will be in heaven. Not only are fags 10 dirams ($3.50) but the carbon monoxide is an added bonus.
The education continued intensely and with much debate, as did plenty of good food, coffee, meeting people from all over the world and listening to speakers of variable quality. One poor presenter tried getting us to place the holy bible under one hemipelvis to ‘fix’ sacro-iliac pain, and subsequently died a horrible presentation death by flop.
“State you name and affiliation?”….needless so say you needed balls to ask a question when faced with some seriously big names in therapy circles.
And so the days continue with the pattern of sleep, swim, educate, drink coffee, breakfast, educate, morning tea, nana nap, room service to clean for me, coffee, educate, food, talk, more food, more education, break, educate, shop, talk, drink, jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, write something intelligent down, ponder the enormity of this place, watch the local
praise channel, sleep.
In pondering Dubai, I wished on some shooting stars visible from the bubbling jacuzzi. There were many about, as in Wadi Rum desert camp, but in this case most were traveling low and horizontally across Dubai creek. When I realized they were mostly car headlights or distant lights from the fake Big Ben building, I relented…..my dream's already come true, I’m here.
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