Writing from Aqaba: About to leave the Middle East for Egypt

13 September: Syria – Aleppo and Damascus

So as already mentioned, I was on what felt like my death bed in Aleppo. What I didn’t mention was that the kind woman who showed me the Baron Hotel had also asked Paul and I out for lunch and I also didn’t mention that she is a doctor. Over lunch she admitted that she didn’t know how it quite happened but when she met me she decided to ask us if we wanted to meet again? I accepted her offer gratefully as it was clear that Aleppo was going to be a tough city to get to grips with. During lunch her son, who is working in Edinburgh, called and was shocked to hear his mother was inviting people off the street out to lunch! I have seldom been more delighted and grateful for having met such a charming person. We had a very long lunch at the best restaurant in Syria; dinned on some of the best food I’ve ever eaten and indulged the most enjoyable conversation. Afterwards she sorted me out with all the relevant medication I required to get better. It just seemed too uncanny that, once again, my needs were being met in some special way.

I’m not a big one for believing, and even less so for religion but I couldn’t help feeling that something was looking after me. I know there are people of all backgrounds and all religions all around the world praying for our safety, and so thank you!

Early the next morning, before the rest of Aleppo got out of bed, we set off for the drive to Damascus. I don’t know why I hadn’t realised that being Friday (being the equivalent of Sunday) would mean a lot less traffic and a relatively hassle free journey. The only real hassle was that I wasn’t yet better and so wasn’t able to appreciate grand places like Krac de Chevalier. I did drag my body to the castle, but the parking lot would have been just as interesting.

We went to a campsite only 4km outside of Damascus that is supposed to be a stop over point for overlanders. With the exception of a “travelling hotel bus”, we were the only people there. We’d been hoping we would meet up with other people doing the same trip and thought that given October is the best time to cross North Africa…where was everybody? At a guess it’s a combination of things: the Egyptian carnet going up to 800% making the West coast more affordable, increased tension between Islamic and non-Islamic peoples, the media contributing to the hype, Israel causing hassles again, and then individuals like myself with worries of anti-Western feelings in the Middle East. Quite honestly, I doubted there had ever been a booming tourist trade in Syria.

Damascus turned out to be a much more accepting city. People from around the Mediterranean have congregated here and so are much more tolerant towards strangers. I’d read about the souk (market) a number of times in travel magazines and Dan Cruikshank’s Eighty Treasures. I like the way Cruikshank describes the little holes in the arched roof of the souk as twinkling stars in the heavens above. He gets really lofty and romantic about what is a market but it did give me a smile as I looked up at the scrappy roof and thought: one man’s rags can certainly be another man’s robes. The souk’s main street is the oldest known road and Damascus is also the oldest city that has been continually inhabited. It is a charming city and although extremely jam-packed with people, cars and beasts, it’s still a pleasant one to walk around.

Having been a bit blasé about the souk, the prices did get me very excited and frustrated too as we can’t shop! There are hundreds of stalls chock-a-block, side by side selling a fantastic assortment of goods. From shops with scarves in every fabric and colour, to ice cream parlours, to kitsch shops with every sort of plastic flower in lurid colours to wedding dress shops strategically placed next door to the kinky underwear shops. Perfume shops that mix your scent while you wait and tombstone shops with fellows chipping out the deceased’s name and shops selling nothing but decorative hubbly-bubbly pipes. It is a huge market with all of these wonderfully exotic things to buy and at such unbelievably low prices. I bought a scarf and the guy asked for the equivalent of £1.50. The woman before me had haggled this fellow so much I thought they would come to blows. I just didn’t have the heart to haggle over what would amount to 50p especially since I would have paid at least £10 for it in London. In this instance, it was a win-win with two happy people doing easy business.

I felt like I was practically skipping about for feeling better and no longer being stressed out because I’m a Western woman. In Damascus nobody cared who I was and that I was wearing trousers and a t-shirt.

I was having such a carefree time that when I realised that Paul hadn’t been to a mosque before I immediately insisted that we visit the Umayyad Mosque, even though this meant me having to wear a big baggy robe covering my clothes, head and any shape at all, while Paul only had to remove his shoes. The mosque is spectacular and has some wonderful mosaics but what really struck me was the calm atmosphere and people going there to chill out and sit in the shade on the cool marble floor. I also really enjoyed seeing other tourists looking all baggy, misshapen and slightly peeved. I know I looked equally silly but we looked more like slovenly Jedi out of Star Wars than meek Muslim women. The men with shorts had to wear long green skirts and were clearly out of their comfort zone.

So I couldn’t help myself when a blond chap walked past with his green skirt on and I piped up with, “I like your look. Going for something out of Star Wars?”
Ice broken we introduced ourselves. His woman friend was starting to bake in her sack dress and so we decided to go to a more touristy part of the city where we could escape the heat and crowds and relax over a drink. She was going to spend a year in Damascus studying Arabic. I still don’t exactly understand why she is so determined to study Arabic but as she said, “It is a challenge.”
I’m could not agree more, and I suspect the whole experience will be challenging for sure (and I’m relieved it’s her doing it, not me).

Even though Damascus did offer a different and likeable perspective on Syria, it was still time to go to Jordan. What we have realised is that we are not quite up for the slumming it in brothels and fleapits or the camping wild thing – and so it costs more. If we can’t cut back on the cost of travel, we have to cut back on the time we travel instead.

17 September: Jordan – Jaresh, Madaba, Petra (via Dead Sea & Kings Highway) to Aquaba

When crossing country borders in Europe it is uneventful and often hard to tell the difference from one country to the next. Since we have crossed borders with controls, visas and officials I have also found that one culture ends and another begins.

We passed through border controls; stamped the carnet out and us out, then about half a kilometre later we went through the process of stamping the carnet in, buying insurance and getting ourselves stamped in too. I have heard real horror stories about border crossings but thankfully we have had at worst a stony faced official and at best a smiley jovial chap. And then, 3 hours later, we were free to make our way through the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

Before I left the UK I had done some research on visa requirements. Paul and I had heard that it was not possible to ride a motorbike in Jordan. The rumour goes: that the King went to Europe and thought motorbikes were far too dangerous and so banned them, with the exception of his guards who were allowed to ride motorbikes. As a result the only time a visa would be issued is if you got special permission from the King of Jordan himself. This information had me vexed for quite some time. I even went all the way to the Jordanian Embassy in London and asked if this was the case. I can now confidently say that there is no problem with motorcyclists being granted a visa to travel through Jordan. All you will need to do is all the relevant paperwork at the border.

So the motorcycle ban is just a rumour, but there were petty much no motorcycles in Jordan. I have only seen motorcycle cops and only one little scooter out on the road. This means that our two relatively big, flash bikes attract attention where ever they go. But it is good, friendly attention (or so it seems). Cars and trucks drive by carefully with a wave or “Welcome.” shouted from the window. Every now and then someone who speaks English will try to have a biker’s conversation with us but it is just so clear they have no idea about bikes at all. It is well intentioned and we try to be as obliging as we can be.

The traffic has been strangely law abiding. The roads are in excellent condition and the speed limits at time ridiculously slow. Yet, these big flash cars quietly drift by at 60 km per hour if that is what the limit is. It’s been frustrating at times! I get the feeling this is nation was not born to be wild.

Our first stop in Jordan was Jerash. Neither of us had heard about it before and so we were quite surprised as we rode thorough the town and Roman ruins appeared to be poking out every where. After all the Roman ruins we have seen on the trip, I was starting to glaze over and had to really think carefully if it was worth paying the entry fee to see more rocks. What makes Jerash well worth seeing is the live enactment of Roman chariot races, the informative demonstrations of an army of soldiers and the amusing burly gladiators. Finally ancient Rome entered my imagination and I was able to appreciate it so much more.

We then decided to drive past Mount Nebo and the Dead Sea to Petra. This is the very mountain that God led Moses up and showed him the Promised Land. I was much relieved to see the Promised Land included not just beautiful rocky mountains but also fertile valleys. As I drove up to Mount Nebo I felt a slightly tense anticipation because if I was Moses and had been living out in the extreme conditions of the desert for however long and had been shown the likes of dusty Syria, I would have been disappointed but the majestic mountains of Jordan were not a let down.

The police guard at the top of Mount Nebo asked if we wanted to go to the tourist office. I said, “No, its okay. We just came here to get the view Moses had.” He didn’t get the joke at all but it was a subtle one.
Then he asked where we were going. I showed him my map through the tank bag and described the intended route along the Dead Sea.
“The road is bad.” He said and shook his head.
I pointed to the tarmac and said, “Is the road like this or sand?”
“Oh no! The road is good but it is…” and he indicated twists and hairpins, “dangerous!”
Both Paul and I smile in relief and assure the police guard that the road is no problem at all. He waved us off with a, “Drive safely.”
We did ride carefully and stuck to the speed limit.

As we descended the windy road towards the Dead Sea it became eerily quiet. The air was completely still without as much as a leaf stirring. Sound seemed to be completely absorbed. It was the kind of quiet that made me feel uneasy. We stopped at a bathing resort that was very over priced but the only option around. Besides, it was midday and so the most sensible option was to get off the road for a few hours and go for a quick dip in the sea. It was a good laugh as we bobbed up like corks. It also made every cut and itchy bite burn like heck so we didn’t stay in the water very long. I don’t know where the water comes from that fills the Dead Sea or why the salt content remains so high or why the water is more like oil? I have many unanswered questions to research when I get back home. We passed through numerous police checks along the sides of the sea. With the strange silence, utterly still waters and military presence every where, it all felt a bit uneasy.

We found that away from the big tourist traps like Petra, people were generally quite decent. I get the feeling Jordan is specifically interested in older, wealthier tourists and possibly gullible American too. As a result, there is very little in the budget side of things, entry fees are outrageous and constant plaguing for tips is a real nuisance.

In spite of the smarting entry fee we decided to go to Petra all the same. Petra has been hyped up as the one and only place to go in Jordan. Well. It wasn’t that impressive. I think that after seeing Rome, Pompeii, Epheses and numerous other castles and historic sites, Petra has its unique beauty and intrigue but possibly not in direct proportion to the entry fee. The problem with entry fees is that they build my expectations and so far Petra is by a long measure the most expensive site we have visited… but not the most spectacular – and certainly not in proportion to the cost.

So what struck me as the whacky thing about Petra was that all that really remains is a whole lot of out-sized tombs that have been cut into the rock. I remembered Dan Cruikshank describing it as the city of the dead. I find it hard to imagine what city existed there in the past and what kind of people the Nabetaeans who lived there were. It must be a real feat of engineering to chisel out the tombs, some of which are absolutely massive and on the faces of sheer cliffs. These massive canyons were formed by the rock cracking and splitting. It’s a soft rock and coloured red, back, pink, green, yellow and blue. The landscape around is mountainous and rocky and I’m sure very difficult to pass through. The Nabetaeans took full advantage of their location and robbed any body who tried to pass through. Later they realised that by making people pay for safe passage, they could generate a lucrative income. The city flourished but there isn’t much to see of the actual city – just a road that the Romans built after taking over the city and a few temple remains.

By comparison with Syria, Jordan is unbelievably peaceful. It also has a very small population of only five million which I guess also means that the average person is better educated and more well off. However, in contradiction, Jordan seems to have a lot more street kids than I’ve seen any where else on the trip so far. In general they seem to be accepted as just one of those things. People don’t chase them away and they walk about begging or collecting cans without fear. I never know how exactly to react to these situations. Being tourists and comparatively well off means we have the scruffy little things pester us. I find myself very irritated by them and then later feeling very bad about being so irritated. The “What are we supposed to do about it?” mantra goes through my mind.

I watched a podgy, middle aged American woman with sweaty curls sticking out from under her hat call a little boy over and say, “DO. YOU. WANT. A. PEN?” in slow patronising American drawl.
She held up two rather expensive gel pens towards the little boy as if they were lolly-pops. The little boy grabbed the pens and scampered off. He ran straight past us and to a very big muscled man who sat on a camel in the shade and handed him the pens. The man took a look at the pens and added them to a small pile of pens he’d collected from tourists via the kids. I don’t know what the situation is. It could be “protection payment” or it could be his big brother. In another incident a tourist had clearly handed a lanky adolescent girl a note of money. The girl tried to give it back but the woman insisted and walked away. Not long afterwards, the biggest of the kids beat the girl and took the money. In any case, handing out pens or giving away small change isn’t the answer to the problem.

Another discovery in Petra that really impressed me was the humble little donkey. I had no idea this little beast of burden was such an off road whiz and was capable of carrying an outsized American man up all 855 mountainous tricky steps. It was also able to gallop down again. Their sligtly daft but cute looking faces give no hint of this exraordinary ability and strength.

We have arrived in Aqaba where we will take the ferry to Egypt tomorrow. We will finally be in Africa! Egypt is both in the Middle East and Africa travel guides so I’m not exactly sure which classification it falls into but I think I’m safe in saying it straddles both. I’m excited in anticipation of the deserts and pyramids but I have not heard anything positive about travel in Egypt and so I’m hoping for the best.