Days 11-14

Ahlan wa salan ! Welcome (back)!

I have just returned from our three day excursion throughout the south of Jordan and I’ve never experienced such an abrupt change of scenery, weather, comfort zone and wildlife in such a short span of time. I hope you'll stay with me through my journey as I try to convey to you as abreviated a version possible of my personal experience.

Our trip began on Thursday morning as 80 of us boarded the two luxurious coach buses southward to Wadi Rum. Wadi means valley, and Rum is the name of the valley (this is what Lawrence of Arabia called the Seven Pillars of Wisdom in his book, where the gerbil is from and where Transformers 2 was filmed). The scenery on the five hour bus ride down the country was arid and flat with the occasional breathtaking mosque or camel to break the monotony. Arriving at Wadi Rum was awe inspiring with a tinge of unease as we knew we were to be spending the night in this vast array of nothingness. How would one traverse Wadi Rum without a program like CIEE? Quasi impossible. After a scrumptious lunch of pita and tomatoes (with, quite unfortunately, our first of six suspect hummus dishes…) we drove down as far as the buses could reach without getting their wheels stuck, at which point we were greeted by 80 camels.

The idea of riding a camel was yet another romantization on my part. I thought it was SUCH a brilliant idea our program had decided to let us ride these adorable primitive creatures from point A to point B- a legitimate form of transportation, as opposed to recreation. Oh, silly Alex. Little did I know that the FOUR hour camel ride through the desert in the mid-day heat with a pseudo-saddle would only leave me dirty and bruised. My legs will never be the same shape again. I named my camel Muhammad, but his real name was Batman. He was a grumpy sucker, but I would be too if my tribe chained my forearms to my shoulders as to not allow me to rise independently until I was to carry an adult and her bags for the afternoon.
PETA would have a field day watching the treatment of the camels and other creatures we would later encounter in Jordan.

For the entire duration of the trip, we did not see one cloud and the sky was the color of unwashed blue jeans. We stopped at a few Bedouin tents to see what they were selling on our way to our final destination. The surroundings at this point require words I do not have in my vocabulary and any description I try to give will not do it justice. The desert sands varied from four distinctive shades of golden to fire red and the desert was divided by rock formations ranging from pebbles to terra cotta jutting cliffs climbing 1840 meters high. They were cavernous and wide, acute and rigid and when the sun hit the cliff tips on its journey westward, it left a pink stained sky. Sometimes, we would see cut into the cliffs small tents where the Bedouins would set up camp for the “time being”. Seeing a small black and white tarp embedded in a magnificent rock complex was off-balancing. Every now and then a woman or child would appear in the horizon seemingly walking to nowhere from nowhere.

When we finally arrived at out camp, a Bedouin camp, we where humbled quickly by the realities of life in the desert. We knew that given the scenario, ours was a camp of luxury. We had beds and pillows made of some sick combination of Styrofoam and tarmac. We did have running water, tissues (to be used as toilet paper) and hubbly bubbly (hookah, if you will recall) for dinner. We were served our second round of foul hummus with, surprisingly, pita and tomatoes. I believe this time we were offered a kebab too. Our live musicians worked us into a camp fire ring of madness with half of the program holding hands and doing jigs in a round encircling a fire. We then did a limbo. It all seemed surreal then and seems surreal now.

We awoke early the following morning in order to consume (you guessed it) pita and tomatoes (with yogurt, alhamdulillah) and to mount our Jeep 4x4s for a couple hours heading to Aqaba. Now the drivers in Amman have a reputation. They are just nuts. Absolutely out of their minds, and it’s simply accepted. But when you think of a Bedouin man, I’ll be willing to bet that you do not necessarily conjure up the image of a suicidal driver. Oh but my friend were you wrong! These men know the rocks and crevices on the ground like no camel or ant but choose to maneuver the desert like chickens with their heads cut off just to bask in the reward of the screams from the girls in the back. Some of us believe the 4x4s made us more sore than the camels. Well worth it, though, you should try it sometime. It’s like Wadi bumper cars.

Once we arrived in Aqaba, we ate pita and tomatoes to change it up a little bit and headed to the Red Sea for a boat ride and a little snorkeling. Arriving in Aqaba from Wadi Rum is confusing for the senses since the dry, yellow nothing becomes blue, lush everything. The roads are beautifully paved and lined with palm trees, the drivers are (more) relaxed, there is seafood (apparently), and from any given point you can very clearly see one land mass that is the defined border between Israel and Jordan. If you were staying at a hotel in Aqaba, you could run to Israel (and be deported). Riding the boat is an awesome experience as from the base of the Red Sea you are able to see Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel and Jordan all at once. The Red Sea is as clear and blue as the sky in Wadi Rum. I’ve never seen such water. Snorkeling was a joy, especially the part where my boat driver decided to lure me down to the floor of the ocean (with a snorkeling mask) and poke at something that remarkably resembled a blow fish. When he poked it and it in fact blew into a fish, he gave me a crinkly eyed smile and laughed as I scrambled to the nearest shoreline. Americans…so silly, afraid of blowfish… We stayed on the water for another four hours (CIEE’s favorite number) and were able to bond over ridiculous stories of crazy men who were suppose to keep us safe in the water.

At this point, we returned to the bus on the way to Petra. Now I would just like to mention how I have not by this point mentioned any form of bathing to you. The series of events include a camel ride, through the desert, in the heat of the day, followed by a Jeep ride, followed by a beach, and swimming in the water, and basking in the sun. I smelled at this point not unlike the bed I would sleep on that very night. Our drive to Petra was as stark a contrast from Aqaba as possible. The streets turned dark (and not because it was night), there were shoeless children with flies in their eyes riding and smacking donkeys with sticks and water bottles through the streets (what did I say, PETA). The houses were dilapidated and the streets littered. We were told that these were a “primitive” people, a tribe of Bedouins who were recently forced to give up their nomadic style due to their prime tourist location (the Petra you know) and the King and some rich fellows built up this land in order for hotels to flourish and the people to be civilized. I wasn’t sure what to think at this point, but that is a struggle I don’t yet want to touch upon. We kept driving into the oblivion which turned into absolute darkness and a couple of us agreed that camp Marriott sounded quite preferable at that moment.

Instead, we pulled into a dark hole surrounded by large mountainous shadows with wailing dogs chewing the legs of some ex-creature. There was a massive gulp at this point and we felt like puppies being dragged by the collar into a bath as we left the bus. Once we exited our comfort zone, we walked not 300meters to find a beautiful Bedouin camp hidden away from all the frightening scenes. This was an Ammarin camp, a tribe of Bedouins who graciously offered us pita and tomatoes for dinner. Just kidding, I mean, we did have pita and tomatoes, but they were ineffably kind for housing 80 smelly students.

The next morning was a lovely 6am wake up call for our four hour hike (what did I tell you) to the monastery and treasury of Petra. Since there were 80 of us, we assumed the hike would be one that would accommodate all levels of athleticism and pre-hiking experience. As a reasonably athletic person, one who enjoys mountains, outdoors, running, etc, I am astounded that 100% of my peers made it out alive. They “ joked” at breakfast (of pita and tomatoes) that there is a 90% survival rate on this hike. HA! The hike into Petra was most certainly not for the faint hearted. And with my backpack holding my life for three days, walking on a cliff edge not half the size of my sneaker and up inclines of 50% that may as well have been extreme skiing ledges, I wondered about the legality of this in the US.

A few Ammarin children saw us huffing and puffing through their backyard and ran up to us, held our hands and lead us as far as they could without their caretaker running after them. Remarkably, this was most of our journey and the only thing that ran after them was a goat. This goat was not your ordinary European goat, oh no. This one chased the children and in straight up Lassie fashion, herded them to their camp. Remarkable.

A couple of us were debating about the children we had seen. Some had stated they felt sorry for them, or that they should be sent somewhere since they were under 5 and developing dreadlocks, were dusty with dirt and sand and didn’t even try to wipe the flies off their mouths. They most likely wore those clothes every day. They seemed like the happiest children I had ever met. They had chants, they made up stories, they explored, they were fed. Should we feel sorry? At what point do you send them to the US? They looked like a UNICEF ad. They were probably happier than any child I had worked with. The Bedouins don’t appear to get sick, but if they did, and they died, that is the circle of life there. Is that wrong?

In all our emotional and physical pain and suffering, our breathlessness leading us into a hazy dehydration, the peaks appearing steeper and steeper, and the views seeming more and more impossibly like the Grand Canyon, we turned a corner and were completely taken aback by the sight that appeared like a mirage in front of us. The monastery of Petra appears out of nowhere and because I have no words, I have attached a picture below. It was a stunning sight and everything you have seen and wanted to see in the pictures. At this point, we were all so dehydrated, dirty and scorched from the 38 degree sun that walking yet another 30 minutes to what is truly known as the village of Petra seemed impossible. We dragged our feet to the village and were told that we were to sit for lunch. After a table of 8 consumed its number times 10 of water bottles, we were lead to a buffet of pita and tomatoes. But wait. There was more. Oh my gosh. There was rice. There was falafel from heaven. And there were potatoes. MEAT. AND….FRUIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I consumed three plums and an orange. My stomach did not digest three plums and an orange, but I was too busy worrying about the risk of scurvy to care.

After our bellies were full, mostly from water, we continued our trek of Petra. We left the restaurant and saw from afar what all believed to be the treasury (the building that is the Wonder, the one in the postcards) we were slightly disappointed since it was not all we had expected. About five of us climbed to the top of this monument to take a picture to say we were there. Our lackluster experience, or (bratiness from exhaustion) made us queasy and anxious to get home. We were told that we then had another walk through the gorges. Ready to cut off our own feet and buy a camel, we hauled our bodies through the blistering sun and listened to the guide lecture us once again on the miracles of the Nabataens and their god-forsaken 100BC rose red city. Finally, we turned a corner where the shade lifted away a thousand pounds of anxiety and there she was. We had not yet reached the Treasury and the sight of her was enough to make us all forget that we had spent over four hours being beaten down by the oppressive heat. It was magnificent and we spent a solid amount of dumbstruck.

We were then told there was a half hour walk to the buses from there, at which point we realized that what they had done to us was take us the backwards 4 hour non –touristy hike instead of the flat, shady 30 minute walk from the parking lot. I felt as if I were in an M. Night Shyamalan movie. We walked the thirty minutes, which in our state felt like thirty hours, and was certainly still not for any incapacitated being. We walked like lost prophets through an uncanny time warp of Greek-style horse drawn carriages, the random camel and Arabic script on the walls. Seeing the bus was a watershed moment for us in this trip.

We realized how much we missed home, and how funny that was seeing that by home, we were envisioning Amman. This was a general consensus. All we could think about was walking into our apartments and getting the smell of 100BC off our feet. Amman was home and we were heading there. The drive back was full of exhilarated, exhausted and exceptionally stinky students; we were so grateful to be home again.

This morning I awoke in my bed, grateful for my bed, my pillow, my luxurious living room and most importantly, my shampoo. Breakfast involved no form of white bread or tomato and when I looked out of my balcony to reflect on the weekend that seemed so surreal, I wondered if I had only dreamt it.