In Jordan: "Special Price for You"

It was interesting to see different prices for different people posted for all to see throughout Jordan. All of the national parks I visited had prices for both foreigners and for locals. For instance, for Petra, foreigners were asked to pay 50 Jordanian Dinars (JD) for a one-day visit or 90JD if one's visit would be the only visit in Jordan without an overnight stay in Wadi Musa--I was told that the 90JD rate was set up to discourage Israelis or other Western tourists from crossing the border for just a day's visit.  As far as Jordanians go, they were asked to pay only 1JD every time they entered Petra.

At the Dead Sea tourist beach that I went to and wrote about, they charged me nearly three times more, 15JD, while my Jordanian counterparts were asked to pay 4JD. Even all the way south in Aqaba, the beach parking asked that foreigners pay 4JD while the locals paid a single JD.

Some of the travelers that I ran into along the way did not agree with this price difference and thought it was discriminating to pay more for the same product or service.  They would often say that a policy of that sort would never fly in a Western country; everyone pays the same price no matter who you are or where you come from.  Actually, when I thought about it, even Morocco didn't have different price schemes for foreigners (at least not posted officially).

I had mixed feelings about the issue. On the one hand, I can see why a government would seek to exploit something that is so unique and so in demand to generate revenue for the government. The question then is do the people benefit from the extra revenue or is it eaten up in government bureaucracy? A number of Jordanians would argue that it is probably the latter.

Also, a higher sticker price can stem the flow of tourists thereby reducing the environmental impact of tourist traffic and keeping the country's fragile historical treasures intact.  That does not seems not to be the case though for Petra.  In fact, just last year a Jordan Times article reported a 42% increase in tourist traffic at Petra National Park during the first six months of 2010 in comparison to the same time period in 2009.  The Art Newspaper worries that too much traffic may endanger some of the most remarkable sites in Petra like, for instance, the recently restored and conserved one-of-a-kind Dionysiac wall painting found in the Siq of Little Petra.

Dionysiac painting in Little Petra

Another Jordan Times article goes on to say that the Petra Development and Tourism Region Authority (PDTRA) plans to use some of the funds to rehabilitate sites and upgrade services to enrich visitor experience, and that the new price scheme was setup with those needs in mind as well as the needs of the kingdom.  In essence, there seems to be little effort to cap numbers, and when things are going this well, I can't see the authorities doing much to contain the flow even if it's for environmental concerns.

Regarding the locals, I think it's wise that the Jordanian government mandate a reduced price for its citizens because the current foreigner price would put many sites out of reach for many.  Reducing the price also encourages domestic consumption of tourism-related services thereby boosting the local economy.  Not only is it good for the economy, I think it's wise that a country's citizenry be well traveled and know their country and their countrymen and women.

For the meantime though, if you're a foreigner traveling in this foreign land, get ready to pay up. But take it from me, floating on the Dead Sea is an experience like no other and walking through the Red-Rose City is once again something for which there is no equal.  Did it hurt to pay? Yes! Was it worth it? Totally!

Chowing Down Some Jordanian Maqlouba

Sometimes when you travel, you set goals for yourself as to what you'd like to accomplish that day. Let's say for example you're in Paris. In Paris, you must, of course, visit the Tour Eiffel, Sacré Couer, Moulin Rouge, and perhaps other landmarks. Some people get a kick out of going to these historical, architectural wonders. I too enjoy taking in the scenery, but other times I like to indulge other senses. So when I woke up in Kerak, already on my third day of what was supposed to be a one-day visit, I got up with only one goal in mind— EATING MAQLOUBA!

The Peace Corps volunteer (PCV), Peace Corps trainee, and I had a very light breakfast so as not to spoil our hunger. Last time when I was treated to mansef, I was not as hungry as I could have been. I didn't want to make that mistake again. Jordanian families like Moroccans don't just suggest that you eat more; they order you to eat and I was planning to comply.

We walked to the Christian part of the town and arrived at the home of a Christian family that had befriended the PCV.  Upon entering, we were engulfed by an assortment of aromas indicating that something good was in the works. Our empty stomachs were ready. The father took us directly to the dining room, seated us, and then called his grand-kids and son to the table. The mother was still rummaging around the kitchen setting the table and giving a large pot its final stir.



Maqlouba

Then came the moment we were all waiting for: the unveiling of maqlouba. The mother brought over a the large pot and a serving tray, placed the serving tray on the pot, and flipped the contents of the pot onto the serving tray in one swoop. In front of us was a mix of Jordanian basmati rice, fried cauliflower and eggplant, and what looked like pan-fried chicken. It looked messy, but it smelled delicious.

Jordanian Maqlouba

The mother and father went about filling our plates. I savored every bite trying to take in all the flavors and spices. I ate and ate until I could eat no more. Everything in that dish was so juicy. The cauliflower and eggplant were cooked just right. The chicken had been seared, but it was still tender. It was a wonderful combination of ingredients that produced another Jordanian masterpiece.

Shortly after filling our stomachs to the brim, the mother brought over some pitch black Turkish-style coffee. A sip of that and any desire to lay down quickly dissipates, and perhaps it was given to us for a reason. Any normal person would simply collapse after that meal. We still had to walk a few kilometres back to the PCV's house.

Jordanian Red Bull - Turkish style coffee

The father told us that he had private classes starting in a few minutes. That was our cue to go, but not before exchanging hugs with both the father, mother, high-fives with the two young boys, and thanking everyone profusely for the marvelous hospitality they bestowed upon us.

Our gracious host

Once again, I thanked my lucky stars and the cosmic forces of the universe for what had just transpired. I didn't see any tall buildings or historical landmarks, but I was fortunate to have been the recipient of some amazing Jordanian hospitality. Muslim or Christian, they have given me the best that they could offer and did it out of the kindness of their heart. We shared stories, ate together, and sipped a little coffee or sweet tea to cap our encounter. I'll forever remember maqlouba and the folks that made that day a day to remember.

___________

Click here for maqlouba recipe Jordanian style.

Breaching Kerak

The first time I heard of Kerak (الكرك) was through an email correspondence with a potential couchsurfing host.  He told me that the city and its famous crusader castle could easily be another day trip from Amman.

Even though at one point I had trudged through Karen Armstrong's exhaustive account of the medieval crusades in her book Holy War: The Crusades and their Impact in Today's World,  I still wasn't all that interested in checking out the sanctuaries and other crusader ruins.  I think my indifference stemmed from having read the gory details of their slaughter campaign through the Holy Land or was turned off by their general ignorance and arrogance.  To be fair, the Crusaders weren't the first to go on a rampage in the Levant.  Prior to them, Canaanites, Israelites, Moabites, and other tribes went on their killing spree sometimes at the behest of a god or for strategic purposes.

So before arriving in Jordan, I had heard of Kerak, but I had no intention to go until a fellow volunteer living in Kerak, who I ran into while traveling Jordan's shamal (north), suggested that I crash his place. I thought, “Why not?” 

No Loose Change Around

To get to Kerak, I took a bus from the South (janubia) Amman Station and arrived in Kerak about 2 hours later.  I think the fare was about 2.5JD.  I remember upsetting the money collector when I gave him a 20JD bill.  Small bills and coins, like in Morocco, are a prized commodity. 

I still don't understand why change is so hard to come by in these countries.  Is it because the central bank is not minting enough coins or printing only a few small bills?  Are the general banks and central bank forgetting to turn in and replace the bills that have lived out their life-cycle?  For instance, Morocco's lowest denomination bill of 20 Dirham was the grimiest bill of them all.  Sometimes you could barely make out the images on the bill because everything was so smudged.    

However, before I blame the government or the bankers, maybe the root of the problem is a lack of planning and coordination on the part of the local bus companies who forget to keep change in hand.  I remembered not too long ago in Israel giving a bus driver a 50 shekel bill for a trip that cost 12 shekel and getting my change in bills and coinage in a snap without the frustrated look or rebuke.  It just made me wonder why is something like having a proper flow of currency such a big issue as soon as you cross the River Jordan or in Morocco's case as soon as you cross the Mediterranean.   Fortunately, about halfway through my trip after collecting money from everyone that boarded at the station and the stray passengers they picked up on the way, the money-man gave me and everyone else their change back.

The DL on Kerak

The PCV in Kerak told me to get off at the outskirts of the city near a truck stop.  I got out, and he was there a few minutes later.  Lining a major street leading to his house were a few shawarma stands. We went to one that he frequented and were greeted like family.  We had the Jordanian fast-food combo meal of a shawarma sandwich, a small dish of sour vegetables, and Jordan's sweetened black tea.

On our way back to the PCV's home, the PCV shared some tidbits about the make-up of his community.  He told that there were two to three prominent tribes that controled most of the local government and that the family ties were really strong.  In addition to tribal affiliations, Kerak had a significant number of Christians who actively practiced their faith.  In his community, most of the Christians lived on the north side of the city near their churches, parochial schools, and cemeteries.  He said that in general both groups respected one another and shared some of the power in managing community affairs. 

He told me that both Christians and Muslims made wise-cracks about each other.  For instance, when the volunteer visited a Christian family once and felt sick the following day, his Muslim neighbors blamed his sickness on what they said was the Christians' notoriously bad hygiene.  Christians, on the other hand, would joke that Muslims must believe that Allah is deaf so much so that he needs to hear them say 'Allah u Akbar' (God is Great) so many times during their prayers.      

@ the Castle

Kerak Castle

The following day the volunteer and I went out to see the Crusader's Castle.  The City of Kerak itself is perched up on the same hill as the castle.  We took a small transit van that zig-zagged its way up the narrow and congested city streets and dropped us off a few blocks from the entrance.

I paid a small entrance fee.  The volunteer went over to one of the gate attendants and told him that he lived in Kerak, showed his Jordanian ID, and dropped his host father's tribal last name, which immediately brought a smile to the attendant's face. They spoke to each other for a bit, exchanged a few God phrases, and soon thereafter, the attendant told him to proceed without paying.

The views from the castle were quite stunning.  Most of the fields in this dry and hilly terrain were plowed waiting for the winter rains to come.  Off in the distance, one could make out the blue of the Dead Sea and the silvery haze that hovered over it.

View from Kerak Castle-Dead Sea in the distance

The castle was a labyrinth of tunnels with all sorts of nooks and crannies.  We snaked through the tunnels, checked out some of the major halls, rooms, and wells, climbed to the top, and imagined the siege of Salah al-Din's army.

Angry birds at Kerak Castle

I can see why Saladdin had such a hard time conquering the post.  It was nearly impossible to scale it without getting shot at, burned by any type of scalding liquid, or run over by whatever debris was thrown from the top.  The narrow windows on the fortress walls protected the archers very well.  One had to be quite a marksman to be able to squeeze an arrow through such a narrow opening.  Even though I'm no fan of the Crusaders, I had to marvel at the ingenuity of the fortress architecture.

After an hour or so walking through the castle, we made our way down to the city center where we made a small pit stop to refuel on some delicious kenafa--that mozzarella and crunchy filo dough drenched in honey confection that just never seemed to get old for me.

Kerak City - Making haram billboards halal

On the way there, I saw a number of young girls dressed in fairly revealing Western wear.  I pointed them out to the volunteer, and he knew that the families of those young girls were Christians and that in general Christian girls and guys dressed a little more Western than their Muslim counterparts. 

Change of Plans

A few blocks later, the volunteer and I parted ways.  I went to the bus stop in hopes of catching an afternoon bus to Ma'an, which is about 40k from Petra, where I was hoping to crash for the night.  Once at the station, I asked about going to Ma'an or Petra.  I was told that the only thing available even at 3PM on a weekday was one last express bus to Aqaba, the southernmost city in Jordan.  I didn't want to go to Aqaba to then ride up north again to Petra; so I called the PCV, asked if I could crash, and he obliged.  I went north to the truck stop where I was dropped off the first time and met up with the PCV and with a Peace Corps Trainee (PCT) who was sent to Kerak to observe a day-in-the-life of a PCV. 

Later on that evening, we got an invite for tea from a Christian family that the PCV had befriended.  Coming from Morocco where 95% or so of the country is Muslim, our walk through the streets of the Christian neighborhood seeing crosses, parochial schools, and Christian cemeteries in what is still a predominantly Muslim country was surprising.  At the door, we were met by the father of the house who greeted the PCV with the same God phrases I had heard earlier when the PCV greeted his Muslim friends and neighbors. 

We were escorted to the living room where his wife and a couple of young boys greeted us.  Even though the volunteer had told me that most Christian families don't follow the same protocol that many Muslims do in protecting their women from male strangers or segregating male and female interaction with respect to foreigners, I still hesitated when greeting his wife, who was dressed in a simple blouse and casual dress pants with no headscarf.  For some reason, I felt a sense of relief walking in.  I felt that I could probably be more myself in this home. 

The Holy Bible in 3rabia

We had a nice little chat over some coffee and some cookies.  The father spoke English and translated for his wife whenever she had something to say.  It was a very open environment.  A few boys, who happened to be their grand-kids, were playing in the living room.  One of their younger sons came out of his room to greet us, but then went right back inside to continue working on his latest techno-house-rave mix, which served as the background music to our cross-cultural exchange.  The mother half-smilingly told us that he worked as a DJ for private parties. 

The father shared some stories about some of the scuffles some Christians had with their Muslim neighbors, but he said that for the most part everyone respected each other.  He asked if I and the PCT were Christians to which we nodded yes.  I told him that I wanted to take a look at his Bible if he would allow me.  He brought it over and read a few of the first verses of the first chapter of Genesis.  Knowing already how these verses read in English, it was easy to make out Arabic words in use.  He went on to tell us that the Arabic language Bible is a closer translation than the English version because Aramaic is within the same family of Semitic languages.  He added that the Arabic translation is also much older than the English version having been translated all the way back in the 5^th century.  I asked if I could hold it.  I browsed through some of the pages and just sat in awe of it. 

For the longest time, I had associated Arabic with Islam and the Qur'an.  Here I held the very book I had read ever since I was a kid, but in Arabic.  Here was another book, considered sacred by many Arab Christians, that was written in the language many Muslims claim to be the language of God.

From then on, Arabic took on a more multifaceted look.  Not only could this language be the language of Islam, but also Christianity; of not only Muslims, but also Christians.  It was a language for all Arabs no matter what one believed.  They both prayed to Allah, but in different ways.  They both recited scriptures in the same language, but in distinct ways.  Sure, I had heard that there were Arab Christians in the Middle East, but once again just like visiting Jerusalem, meeting various people of different faiths, and seeing the Holy Scriptures in Arabic makes much of what I heard and read much more real.

More Kerak to Come

Before we left though, the father invited us to come back for a special lunch treat.  He asked his wife if she could cook up some maqlouba, which supposedly means upside down, and she smiled and said, “Yes.”  The PCV was super excited to hear this.  The dish was on my list of must-eat, must-try Jordanian meals, but all I had heard was that it was kind of like mansef with more vegetables and different spices.  If it was anything like mansef, it was bound to be delicious.

Because transits to Ma'an only ran in the morning, dining with that family would mean I would have to chill out in Kerak for another full day.  The PCV had no problem letting me crash so just like that I extended my stay for another couple of days.  On our way back, we walked back through the Christian neighborhood and then back onto the surrounding streets leading to the PCV's home.  I thought to myself, “Wow, in just one day I went back in time imagining the days of the Crusaders, had some mouth-watering kenafa again, learned a little about the community dynamics between some Christians and Muslims in this small corner of Jordan, and got to see and hear verses from an Arabic language Bible."

I would have to agree with a quote I read a while back from Saint Augustine that said, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."  I probably got a few pages worth that day.  Even though I was tired, I laid awake in bed as my mind raced to process, categorize, and archive all of the experiences. I finally drifted thinking tomorrow would undoubtedly bring even more surprises.

In Jordan: Umm Qais

Sometimes I travel for a change of scenery and other times I travel to be transported in time.  The great thing is that in Jordan you can do both or as some animal cruelty perpetrators would say "kill two birds with one stone"--Why do people say that? Why kill two birds? What did the birds ever do to you? Are you gonna eat the birds?

Umm Qais Main Street

Anyways, on my last blog I wrote about my trip to the Dead Sea, a place with no equal on the planet, certainly a change of scenery.  When I took a trip to Umm Qais, one of the ancient cities of the Roman Decapolis (Ten Cities) also known as Gadara in Jesus's days, walking through the ruins was like stepping into another time period.  The architecture, the layout, the Corinthian columns, the intricately carved stones, the plazas, the theaters, the remains of their paved roads, and the living quarters were all so different from their present-day surroundings in Jordan.  I presume that their architecture stood out in quite a contrast back then as it does now, and it makes me wonder why the architectural elements of these microcosms of Roman life took little root in this region of the world.  It's true that some elements of Roman architecture can be found in some of the most famous mosques.  The columns and arches are examples of that.

However, aside from that, I wonder if the people of the Levant had so much pride in their culture and past architectural accomplishments that they saw Roman architecture as inferior or too foreign/western?

Umm Qais Corinthian Column

Or maybe there were building codes that prevented the occupied to emulate the architecture of the occupiers?  Was it a way to distinguish between classes? Or perhaps, did adding Roman architectural concepts to your home or city made you a sellout?

I enjoy visiting the ruins of old cities because it reminds me of the transient nature of societies and civilizations--how quickly power comes and goes, how cultures clashed or adapted to one another, how people organized themselves in terms of social hierarchy, and what those individuals way back then valued.  One can draw a lot from the architecture.

Umm Qais Roman Theater

For example, the many theaters demonstrate their love of storytelling, the administrative centers show their hierarchical bureaucracy, and the paved roads were there to facilitate commerce.

To me, these relics of the past given that they seem so out of place in this region could be seen as a cautionary reminder of how western experiments exporting western aesthetics or ideals can go wrong.  It's interesting that even today contemporary western powers continue to prod, nudge, and in some cases take complete control through force as the Romans did of vast areas of the Levant.  I don't necessarily think that all incursions or even all invasions are bad.  Humans have been roaming and invading territories since the beginning of time.  Different groups learn to co-exist while others fight tooth and nail to expel whatever they consider foreign.  Perhaps physical features serve as a basis for separation or maybe a family lineage, heritage, language, religion, type of garment, or even their architecture.  

I wonder would the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan be what it is today without its ancient Roman history?  How would Jordan be different if say the Mongols or the Crusaders had not invaded the territory centuries ago or if it had resisted Ottoman control? What would Jordan look like if colonial powers had not demarcated its boundaries?  I think that these interventions and invasions are part of the human experience with one idea replacing another and old ideas re-emerging as novel.  It's tough to say what's good or what's bad or better or worse.  That's not to say that one should sit idly as change occurs before one's eyes, although if that's someone's choice than so be it, but one could also be part of the change or of the resistance to change.  In some way each and everyone contributes to it whether it be passively or actively.

Stone-carved theater seats at Umm Qais

Time will tell if new experiments, incursions, or invasions will be embraced by the current residents of the Levant.  I guess if they are, we will see replicas, and if not, someone else a thousand or so years from now will be writing another reflection about the ruins leftover from our contemporary world and will perhaps wonder if their new endeavors in this region will be successful.

See links on Umm Qais with up to date travel details and other interesting historical facts :

http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/tourism3b.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umm_Qais

http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=176

Safe travels! Thanks for reading.

In Jordan: Journey to the Dead Sea and Back

After a few days chilling out with Peace Corps volunteers in Jordan's shamal (north), I headed south to Amman for what would be an extended stay filled with a number of memorable day trips and some surprisingly fun nights. When I was scoping out couchsurfing opportunities, most of the couchsurfers recommended using Amman as a base for checking out some of Jordan's most famous tourist attractions. They said transportation to several destinations was readily available and pretty cheap, and if you wanted to go in comfort, you could always hire a private taxi.

It was kind of strange that almost every other taxi driver no matter where you hopped on in the city was ready and willing to go all the way to the southernmost or northernmost point in the country at a moment's notice. That was in stark contrast to Morocco where most taxi drivers had to get permission from gendarmes (rural police) if they were to transport anyone outside of their assigned route. Moroccan taxi drivers still pitched driving tourists to far-away destinations, but those hagglers were limited to the grand taxi (old-school Mercedes Benz) that generally hung around the airport and train stations. Morocco's city taxi drivers on their miniature Fiats rarely left the city limits.  In contrast, in Jordan, nearly all taxis were new model Toyota Corollas equipped with digital meters, leather seats, power locks and windows, and AC making them totally ideal for those long hauls.

Determined to travel on the cheap, I relied on locals, travel blogs, and a Lonely Planet guidebook appropriately titled Middle East on a Shoestring Budget for information on public transportation, directions to and from stations, and pricing estimates to avoid getting ripped off. Not surprisingly, I got conflicting information wherever you looked or whoever you spoke to.

Asking locals for information was quite entertaining. When I asked one person, another individual perhaps a relative or friend would inch closer as the conversation progressed and then later would add his two cents about the information discussed. When one of the individuals thought some of the information was incorrect or could be improved, the other individual began raising his voice until he drowned out the other and then touched my shoulder to direct my gaze towards him. If the other thought that the new information was worse than the original suggestions, he would raise his voice even higher and would begin flailing his arms to explain his point. Sometimes there'd be a bit of name calling, but it was all done with smiles and laughter. Naturally, all this commotion attracted other people, nearby shop owners, customers from their shop, and even passersby. Before I knew it, my one-on-one exchange turned into a group counseling session.

Sugar cane juice cures everything

Some individuals did want to help while others who expressed a desire to help were also in the business of helping themselves by offering you transportation, hotel stays, and packaged tourist trips for a handsome price. Each one would say that the other didn't know anything, so most often than not you left more confused than when you first started. After the dust settled though, my brain would start to process the info, I'd jot a few notes down, and then proceed to matching some of the advise to the info in the guidebooks and on the blogs.  Eventually, I would develop a rather loose outline of what my next few days would look like.

Another memorable taxi ride

As you can imagine, doing all the research and asking the locals gets a little tiring, and I was tempted to just hop on a taxi to the next destination.  I wanted to go to the Dead Sea, but was undecided about taking the cheap route detailed in the Lonely Planet guidebook or take the prearranged tour option from the hostel, Farah Hotel, which was charging about 15JD for a small minibus transit for groups of 5 or more.

Prearranged tours can be a lot of fun sometimes, but they can also be a bit dull.  In arranged tours, you usually don't get lost in the way so you never experience those moments of panic and confusion when all you're thinking is how the heck did I get here and how the heck do I get out.  I know this sounds weird, but to me that challenge can be exhilarating and more often than not total strangers have been incredibly hospitable and helpful.  Also, in prearranged tours someone else has done the price negotiations, which means that your trip is devoid of all the haggling, posturing, or name calling.  This can also be a lot of fun because after the name calling I've sat down with those same people for a cup of coffee afterwards.  Lastly, in prearranged tours there's usually a guarantee that you'll arrive at the publicized destination, whereas on your own a lot of things can go wrong from getting on the wrong bus, transit breaking down, or on the upside seeing areas that would have been passed over.

Since I had no specific date to be anywhere at any point in time, I decided to take the cheap route.  I took a taxi from the hostel to the Sweimeh transit bus station.  As soon as I got on, the taxi driver asked where I was headed and told him the Dead Sea.  He immediately insisted that he take me there directly. I conversed with him in a mix of Modern Standard Arabic and Moroccan Arabic. His English was pretty rough so he appreciated my effort to converse in Arabic and said that because of that he would lower his starting price from 30JD to 25JD. He then asked where I had picked up my Arabic. I told him Morocco and he gave me a hearty ahalan wa sahalan fik, a pat in the back, and then said, “Welcome to Jordan”. He said that because I lived in Morocco that he would give me the Arab price of 22JD.  I tried to tell the taxi driver that I was not a typical tourist and showed him my knockoff, second-hand clothes and tattered plastic bag where I was carrying my swim trunks and towel. I told him that I couldn't afford 22JD. He followed up by asking me where I was from because I looked Arab. I told him Venezuela and he became ecstatic. He told me how much he loved Chávez and because I was from Venezuela he would lower his price from 22JD to 17JD. 

He shared that his assl (origins/roots) were Bedouin and that he was not like other Arabs from the city who only care about money. He reiterated as he had done in previous offers that he couldn't go any lower. I told him that 17JD was a good price, but still too expensive for me. As we drove into the Sweimeh transit station, he presented his final offer, “Okay, 15JD, excellent price!” I said, “Thank you, but no thanks.” The meter said .600 pistares or just a little over half a JD.  He said that I owed him 2JD. I told him that he was crazy and gave him 1JD and asked for the change. He repeated that I owed him 2JD. I repeated that I wanted my change.  He told me to xrrj (get out)! I repeated rather sarcastically and mimicking his accent, “Welcome to Jordan.”

Onto the Dead Sea (Bahar Meillet)

I asked a few gentlemen leaning on one of the small passenger vans going about their customary chain-smoking if their van went to Sweimeh. They grunted, which just like in Morocco means yes. The money collector sitting inside asked if I was going to the Dead Sea and I grunted back. He then asked for about .600 pistares, and once the transit was semi-full, we took off. We winded through Amman picking up passengers on the road. We got out of the city limits and went into smaller towns on the outskirts. About 30-45 minutes later, I was dropped off in an intersection on Highway 40 near the Dead Sea Highway and not in Sweimeh where supposedly, according to the Lonely Planet book, there would be transportation in the form of private transits or taxis to the Dead Sea. The driver told me to talk to some gentlemen leaning on some other smaller transits and taxis. I told some guys that I wanted to go to the bhar meillet (Dead Sea). They asked me where I was from. I said that that wasn't important. I was trying to use my Moroccan Arabic and several of the gentlemen murmured that I was Arab. Another guy approached me speaking fluent English and said that he could take me in his private car for 5JD. I said I'd go for 2JD. He laughed and said 4JD. I told him 3JD and he finally obliged at 3.5JD.  

Amman Beach Resort pool

We were on the Dead Sea Highway for about 10 minutes or so before we swooped into the Amman Beach entrance. I wanted to go to the people's beach that Lonely Planet said would cost 4JD, but the driver said that this was the only option for tourists--another lie. The Amman Beach Resort was super clean, with a sparkling pool, nice tables and lounge chairs, equipment rentals, shops, and food and beverage stalls, but there were very few if any Jordanians. I wanted to go elsewhere, but I had a taxi driver who was probably getting a kickback for taking me to this particular resort telling me that there were no other options and front desk personnel confirming what the driver was saying. 

By the time I arrived at the resort, the sun was at its peak. Not willing to endure a sun-scorching walk on the Dead Sea Highway, I budged and paid the extravagant 15JD sticker price intended for foreigners; Jordanian citizens paid only 4JD for access to the same facilities. Later on, back in Amman, hotel staff told me that the Jordanian government had just begun to raise prices on all their main tourist attractions and I had arrived on the second wave of increases.
 

Dead Sea

Dropping 15JD hurt, but I was consoled by the fine state of the facilities and the cleanliness of the place.  There were no hotties at the pool.  In fact, the place felt more like a South Florida retirement community center.  Lots of pensioners were basking in the sun soaking up the rays and enjoying the therapeutic benefits of this one of a kind natural wonder.  Various waves of tour groups seemed to come and go.  There were a few young couples here and there, but in terms of solo travelers I think I was the only one.

These two are either related or in the same tour group

I quickly changed into my swim trunks, went down the steps leading to the Dead Sea, and parked my belongings next to a plastic lawn chair provided by the resort.  It was funny to look out and see people completely covered from head to toe with the dark blue Dead Sea mud.  It was as if the Blue Man Group had come to chill out on the beach.  A couple of gentlemen were manning a stand next to the on-duty lifeguard that sold the full-body mud treatment for 3JD.  Family members and friends helped each other lather  up.  I went up to get my treatment and paid the 3JD, but I was told to take a dip first and then apply it.

I didn't run into the water because Dead Sea water is not the type that you want running down your face.  With roughly 30% salinity, a little drop in your eye could turn things ugly.  I had also shaved that morning, something my guidebook advised against.  So I walked out treading ever so slowly to a depth of no more than 4 or 5 feet deep.  Once I reached a location away from the commotion of the various tour groups, I reclined back slowly and lifted my feet off the ground.  As I fell back, it was as if the water pushed back and propped my feet and legs up, a water Lazy-Boy that engulfed me, but held me in suspension.  I had read about the amazing buoyancy of the water, but to feel it was like something completely out of this world.  The water was warm and the sun's rays were dispersed in the haze that hovered over the water.  I took a deep breath, took in the surroundings, relaxed my muscles, and just floated.

After a good 20 minutes in the water, I went to get my mud treatment.  Coming out of the water was really interesting.  The water was so thick and slimy that exiting was like emerging from a vat of egg whites.  No matter how much you shook, a clear, thin film stuck to your skin, but the slime was exactly what was needed for a smooth application of the Dead Sea mud.

Dead Sea mud-treated

I grabbed a couple of handfuls and began applying it making sure every inch of my skin was covered.  With no partner in crime on this leg of my journey, one of the attendants applied the rest to my back.  I was told to let it dry so I went back to my plastic lawn chair and finished a couple of articles from an Economist magazine a fellow Peace Corps volunteer had lent me.

Supposedly, Dead Sea mud is highly sought after for its healing mineral properties.  The high concentration of calcium, bromine, and potassium are considered to be therapeutic for the skin and other ailments.  Consequently, there is no shortage of companies extolling the mud's benefits.  What I can say in full confidence about the mud is that after 10-15 minutes when the mud begins to dry various parts of your body will get itchy fast.  Perhaps the itchiness is part of the healing process, but as soon as I felt it, I went back to the water.  The last thing I wanted was to get some sort of allergic reaction.  What's great is that if there is any hidden bacteria in the mud, a trip back to the water will undoubtedly kill it.  I took off the mud and then proceeded to recline back to my gravity-defying Dead Sea rocking chair.

On my Dead Sea lounge chair

I got out of the water when my fingers and toes had turned to raisins.  I stepped out for a while, did some respiration meditation, and then went back to my beach chair.  Within 15 minutes, the transparent, slimy film that coated my body turned pasty white.  I went straight to the outdoor sprinklers to try to take off some of the salt and sand and then afterwards took a long dip in the resort's pool.  It was around 4PM when I decided it was time to leave.  The facility had nice showers where I was able to soap it up and take off more salt.

The taxi driver that dropped me off told me to call him when I got out, but as I soon as I walked out, there was a gentlemen chilling by his car that offered to take me to Amman for 10JD.  He said he had finished work and was heading back home.  I told him I just needed to go to the bus stop to Amman.  He said he could take me there for 5JD.  I told him 3JD and he agreed.

Now, Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide claim that hitchhiking back to Amman is pretty easy from the Dead Sea.  I think that's probably true if you're a white Westerner and more so if you're a female, and I'm guessing most of the travel writers are one or the other or both.  Other couchsurfers I spoke to experimented a little by having either a guy or girl flag down cars.  Another American traveling through Jordan with ethnic roots from Iran said that people would just honk at him to tell him to scoot off the road.  While his travel partner, a tall, blonde female, could have a car stop at will--this may not be just in Jordan, but probably worldwide other than maybe Nordic countries where every other girl is a tall blonde.

If you are Latino and look Arab, like I do, and wear the same second-hand clothes that some of the locals wear and carry around a tattered plastic bag like others do, some people just think that you're just another local trying to get a free ride.  I got many free rides in Morocco and I figured Jordanians would probably be just as generous.

Whenever I do hitchhike, there's a big difference between hitchhiking with a white Westerner, male or female, and hitchhiking solo.  When I'm with a white Westerner I get to ride shotgun with my white Westerner travel partner.  When I'm not, I'm told to hop on to the back of the truck with everyone else, sheep, chickens, and all.  In some cases it's nice to get that star treatment, but in others, it's nice to blend in.  Normally, I wouldn't object to riding with sheep and chickens, but I had just showered.

I got to the bus stop on the opposite corner (northbound side on Highway 40) from where I was dropped off earlier.  I paid the bus driver 1JD, and he gave me .600 pistares back.  The bus ride back was no more than 20 or so minutes.  On our way to Amman, we rode a pretty scenic four-lane highway overlooking a number of parched valleys with isolated plots of vegetation.  By the time I got back, it was already dark.  The bus dropped everyone off at the North Station on the outskirts of Amman.  From there, the usual scammers were there offering to take people downtown for 7JD.  The taxi cab that had overcharged me 5JD to take me to my hotel the first time around recognized me and offered to take me again for 5JD, but I told him that this time I'd go by the meter.  He explained to me that the meter is nothing or not worth it for him.  Another taxi driver walking down from a little snack shop approached me and told me that he would be willing to take me downtown for 2JD.  I said, "Yallah (Let's Go)!"

By the time I got into the hotel, I had dried up and felt some white residue behind the ears, around the back of my neck, and my hair felt like it was moussed up.   I took one last shower, scrubbed well, washed my hair, and then promptly climbed into bed.  Lying in bed made me think of my time floating in the Dead Sea.  It was simply unbelievable.  I think my mind was still trying to comprehend how that was possible.  As I began to dose off a bit, I turned sideways on my pillow and felt as if the skin around the back of my neck had stretched. I felt around the ears and near my hairline and felt a bit of caked up salt.  Two showers later and I still had salt on me.  I thought, "Eh, what the hell, souvenir."

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Before you rush into buying the Dead Sea mud or salt, be mindful that although it is "all-natural", excessive exposure to high levels of certain minerals could be toxic.  The National Institutes of Health National Library of Medicine has several research studies on the Dead Sea mud.  Some highlight its antimicrobial agents and its effect on alleviating rheumatoid arthritis symptoms, but it also has another study that does not recommend a high percentage of the mud in everyday hand and body lotions.  Read them before you buy.

Anti-microbial properties of Dead Sea black mineral mud

Mud pack therapy in rheumatoid arthritis

Low levels of toxic elements in Dead Sea black mud and mud-derived cosmetic products

On a side note, I ran into some Spaniards at the Dead Sea resort who said that they had come from Madaba.   The Spaniards had a lot of good things to say about it and it is fairly close, so it might be better to do the day trip to the Dead Sea from there if you prefer a smaller town feel rather than the sprawling Amman metropolis.  Plus, if you're big into checking out Byzantine-era relics, chapels, and cathedrals, Madaba has a large number of fine mosaics.   

Referenced Reads: Bear in mind that the shoestring budget hotel recommendations from the Lonely Planet book can land you in some pretty dank places.  The regular Jordan guidebook offers accommodation options at varying prices, so it's worth moving up a notch if you can afford it.  As with any advise, compare and contrast it with other info or if you want to make it even more interesting, ask the locals :-).

Back in Jordan: Holy Land Divided and Partitioned

After a few days in Jerusalem, I made my way back to Jordan.  I had to go back the same way I went in by way of the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, but the second time around took a lot less time.  On my way up Bayt She'an, I stopped at the King Hussein crossing, but was told by one of the border guards that I could not cross because I had an exit stamp from Jordan meaning that I would need to pay for another visa to cross into Jordan.  Essentially, Jordan considers the Palestinian held territory to be theirs as well--granted it was at one point--so visiting Ramallah for instance to Jordanian authorities would be as if you had never left their country.  So in order to make it back to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, I would need to go through either the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or head all the way down south to Wadi Araba.  I knew that a bus headed to Bayt She'an would come around in about 20 or so minutes so I parked my stuff on the west side bus stop and waited for the next northbound bus to pass through again.

Delicious falafel and Hebrew brew to wash it down

Once I arrived in Bayt She'an, I grabbed a falafel sandwich and a kosher beer at a fast-food joint just down the block from the bus stop next to the McDonalds.  The kosher beer was a decent pilsen, but nothing too exciting; however, knowing that I was on my way back to a Muslim country where drinking is haram (forbidden) even though it does happen in tourist areas , I took my time taking in what little scenery there was while I savored the brew.  The falafel was quite good actually mainly because of the tangy yogurt they slathered all over the bread.  After finishing the beer, the restaurant manager asked if I needed a cab to go to the crossing.  I said, "Yes," and within minutes the same cab driver that brought me to Bayt She'an a couple of days ago was there to take me back.  Whaddayaknow, small world!

This time around, though, he said less offensive things about his neighbors on the other side of the river and was mainly interested in how I spent my days in Jerusalem.  Towards the end of the short trip, he gave me his business card and told me to call him next time I pass through so I can dine with his family.  It was a nice gesture to leave on.

At the crossing, I paid my Israeli exit tax (98.50 NIS or roughly $30, ouch!), and on the other side I paid for another Jordanian visa (10 JD or approx $15, ouch again!).  Knowing that I would now have this visa for the next 30 days, I decided that I wasn't going to rush my travels in Jordan.  I called up my Peace Corps volunteer contacts near Irbid.  One of them told me that I could totally crash his pad for another night.  Unfortunately, the only way to get out of the crossing station on the Jordanian side was to pay 19JD or a little over $25 for a 12km ride to the Jordan River Crossing taxi service, which in NYC would be a bargain, but in Jordan, it's highway robbery.

The dispatcher was trying to convince me to go all the way to Amman and pay 35JD for the trip, which was even more obscene knowing full well that a Hijazi bus from Irbid to Amman runs about 2JD, but it was a better value per kilometer nonetheless.  This was one instance when traveling with someone else would have made the trip much cheaper.  A lot of Jordanians at the crossing were already traveling in twos or threes and split the fares to their destinations.  The few Israelis that had crossed over got into a tour bus that was waiting for them.  Finally, the dispatcher gave up trying to convince me to go to Amman and made the call for a taxi for Irbid, and I reluctantly paid the 19JD.

Once in Irbid, my volunteer host told me that he was sightseeing in Umm Qays with another volunteer and some of his Jordanian buddies that I had hung out with on my first visit to his village.  So from Irbid, I took a transit to Umm Qays for 1JD.  Normally, it's about .500 pistares/half a JD for the 15 minute ride, but because it was still Leid Kabir /Al-Adha or the Grand Holiday Feast weekend, the unlicensed, private transits wanted a little extra.

Upon arrival, they told me that we were going on a little road trip. I hopped onto another passenger van, and instead of going back on the road to Irbid, we went the opposite direction, downhill from Umm Qays and towards a military checkpoint.  Our driver and our Jordanian friend asked us for our passports, they handed them to the guards, and then went about asking the guards where they were from, which village exactly, family names, and then told them that we were American tourists passing through.  The guards took a peek in.  Saw all three of us and none of us looked stereotypically American so he asked our guide again if we were indeed American.  He confirmed we were, the guard nodded, and then signaled that we could proceed.

We went another mile or so until we reached another checkpoint.  Now, I was thinking, "Maybe I should have asked where we were going before jumping onto this van." For a moment, I thought that maybe we were headed to Syria, which seemed unlikely, but then Umm Qays is a stone's throw away so it wasn't too far fetched.  At the second checkpoint, our Jordanian friend followed the same procedure, but this time one of the guards mentioned a village that one of our friends recognized.  From there, they went back and forth dropping names of mutual acquaintances.  That guard only glanced at our passports and then handed them back.

After that checkpoint, our driver cranked the car into second gear as we climbed a hill overlooking the Yarmouk River Valley sandwiched between the towering Golan Heights and the Jordanian east bank hills where a few families were there picnicking and watching the sunset.

Golan Heights from Jordan

Our Jordanian friend asked a gentleman who was laid out on a blanket on the hill's edge to point out some landmarks for us.  The man pointed north to the Golan Heights, which is currently under Israeli control, but that he considered to be part of Syria.

He pointed east and said that the olive-tree-dotted hills were part of Jordan and then pointed west and said that the fertile valley extending towards the Sea of Galilee/Lake Tiberias was Palestine.

He then pointed specifically to a certain area in the valley and said that his family had lived there before the war drove them out.

He said that he came to that hill often to gaze into Palestine and he hoped that one day he would be able to go back and live there once again.

The sun was setting quickly so our driver and friend told us to get back in the van.  We descended down the same hill and got back on the road.  We stopped at another military checkpoint.  We showed our IDs and were flagged through.  We stopped on the side of the road about 2-3K from the last checkpoint to see the Palestinian territory up close and the barbed and razor-wire fences on the other side of the river.

We were told that this was the demilitarized zone and that entire stretches on both sides of the river were lined with land mines.  One of our guides commented that it was like fillaha (agriculture/farming).  Along with the land mine cultivation, there were some fancy irrigation channels with all sorts of tunnels going in and out of hillside.

After getting a few pictures, we made our way back to Irbid.  It took me a while to process what I had seen.  For so long I had heard about the tensions in this region of the world, had read about the Six Day War, and had watched one Al-Jazeera documentary after another about the Israeli occupation while living in Morocco, but now I had met someone, a  Jordanian national of Palestinian descent, who was personally affected by the conflict.  I had seen first hand how decades of unresolved border disputes had led to a buffer of land mines to prevent further incursions from either party.  It was just hard to reconcile the land mines, military checkpoints, razor-wire fencing, every other young Israeli carrying assault rifles, and the animosity on both sides of the river with the messages of peace and compassion that I had read in the Bible, and I wondered whether, if ever, the message to love thy neighbor and to do unto others as you would like to have done unto thyself that is central to all Abrahamic faiths would ever be manifested in the very place where it was preached thousands of years ago.

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I think we are all guilty of dismissing every other beauty queen's wish for world peace.  It seems preposterous in the face of the calamities this world has witnessed and the conflict-ridden state of affairs.  I also dismiss it because it is hard to imagine what that world would look like.  Where and how do you begin?  How do you sustain it?

In a follow up to her Charter for Compassion, religious historian Karen Armstrong talks of reviving the Golden Rule.  She mentions in the TED talk below how doing so has the potential to turn us from an ego-centric mindset to a transcendent state, "an imaginative act of empathy, putting yourself in the place of another", which has the effect of making us value the life of another as much as we value our own life.  Towards the end, she paraphrases a theme in C.S. Lewis's book Four Loves in which the author differentiates between erotic love when one looks deeply into another's eyes and friendship when two people stand side by side gazing out towards a goal.  She says, "We don't have to fall in love with each other, but we can become friends....and when people of all different persuasions come together, working side by side, for a common goal, differences melt away.  And we learn amity.  And we learn to live together and to get to know one another."  It's a thoughtful response worthy of some serious consideration.  See the full TED Talk below:

Is There Enough Milk and Honey for All?

So I got up early in the morning and my couchsurfing hosts in Israel dropped me off at a nearby bus stop where I was then able to take a bus to the central bus station in Jerusalem where I was then able to hop on an Egged bus to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge. The bus ride from Jerusalem to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge was 40.50NIS, same as last time, and the trek was about 2 hours or so.

The environs just north of Jerusalem and towards Bayt She'an are a stark contrast to the city of Jerusalem. In the city, you get the sense that water is not in short supply given the manicured lawns in some parts of town and grassy knolls south of the city, but as I moved north, I realized that much of what I had seen in Jerusalem was far from the norm.

The area north of Jerusalem resembled the dry desert wilderness that I had seen on my trek from Errachidia to Ouarzazate, Morocco. There were many dry river beds and plains scarred by precipitation and flash floods. However, unlike Morocco where the only patches of green could be found in the lush palmeries sprouting from the river beds, the north of Jerusalem had quite a large number of vegetable and fruit plots and an acre here and there of neatly lined palm trees in the middle of the pale, sun-scorched shrubbery landscape.  There were countless greenhouses and some plots even had black or clear plastic coverings for each row of whatever was growing underneath. The highway we were on was running parallel to the Jordan River Valley and you could see more green when you looked east, but it seemed like the farmers were trying to stretch out that green as far as possible and it looked like they were using the latest in irrigation know-how to make that happen.

Even with all the technological advancements though, it appears that all the countries relying on the Jordan River Valley and Sea of Galilee are headed to another standoff, not so much about the land, but about the lack of water.  Here's a brief excerpt from an Inventory of Conflict and Environment(ICE) study from American University titled Jordan River Dispute:

The consequences of unilateral action by each riparian [countries with water sources that feed the Jordan River] has been that both the aquifers and surface waters suffer from overuse use due to the large-scale diversion projects. The National Water Carrier and the East Ghor Canal almost dry out the Sea of Galilee year round. Diversion projects have also lowered the level of both the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. This has caused aquifer levels to drop and has increased their salinity levels. Both Jordan and Israel have also over pumped their fossil (nonrenewable) aquifers. On top of these projects, the population growth in both countries is raising the demand for water. Israel has attempted water conservation in agriculture, where most water is wasted, through introducing the drip irrigation system and recycling of sewage water. This has helped save water in the area while at the same time irrigating more land with less water. It does not make much impact, though, without any joint conservation. Therefore, conflict under these circumstances is highly likely, and these depleting factors have in fact led to conflicts in the past.

 Source: http://www1.american.edu/ted/ice/westbank.htm

Sea of Galilee or Lake Tiberias from Jordan

I also read that Israel has plans to begin building settlements in the Negev Desert (Here's a short article from Newsweek calling to question David Ben Gurion's dream to see the desert bloom: http://www.newsweek.com/2008/06/28/the-myth-of-water.html). While I sympathize with many Jews and their desire to move back to the land of their forefathers, after taking that drive up and down from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem and back, I wonder whether they're even considering the environmental impact of their decision.

Israel is a leading innovator in irrigation and water management and with good reason--nearly half the country is semi-arid desert.  (Here's an achievements-filled and rather optimistic outlook titled Israeli Agriculture: Coping with Growth) They're also leading the way in building state of the art desalination plants that will hopefully supplement their unreliable and dwindling supply.

I applaud their efficiency and I think many countries should adapt some of their techniques even those that have ample supplies, but I wonder how far technology can forestall what seems like an inevitable water war much like the ones we're already experiencing in Nevada and Colorado and to some extent in Morocco between the urban and rural farming and cattle ranching communities.  At least in Morocco and in our Western states, it appears that people can still gather at the negotiating table.  For Israel and its neighbors, setting a date to meet at a table requires an entire diplomatic corps, months of wrangling about preconditions, and then, even if it is set, not all stakeholders are present.

It is presumed that when Moses spoke of a land “flowing with milk and honey” that he was gazing out towards the Jordan River Valley, and that valley is certainly a beautiful fertile oasis in the midst of an arid wilderness, but I wonder how far can that milk and honey be stretched for everyone that wishes to live out their dream of living in the Promised Land.

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Other Reads

Timeline of Water Conflicts in the Levant: http://www.nad-plo.org/nego/permanent/water/related/Howb.pdf

Crossing the River Jordan and onto Jerusalem

Sometimes I regret not having researched my travel plans well, but then other times, I am glad that I don't. The moment I arrived in Jordan I began asking the locals, fellow travelers, PC volunteers, and anyone in the know about crossing over to Israel.  I read a few blogs prior to starting my trip and every single blog spoke of the tediousness associated with crossing into Israel also referred to as the Palestinian Occupied Territory.  It was interesting that when I speaking to Jordanians about crossing, most would refer to the land west of the River Jordan as Palestine (Filistin) and hardly ever as Israel.  When I asked Jordanians for details, they gave me a lot of contradictory information.  The volunteers I was with had heard of the various crossings, but most had not crossed personally so they weren't really sure which way was the best way to go.

Most of the blogs I read spoke of the King Hussein Bridge or Allenby Crossing west of Amman. Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide also had a lot more to say about the King Hussein Bridge than the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or the Wadi Araba crossings. They all said that crossing through the King Hussein Bridge normally is an entire day ordeal. I personally did not want to throw away an entire day crossing into Israel so I thought I'd go where others don't generally go. Plus, Irbid, where I was chilling at the time, was only about 15km from the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, so I figured I'd take that route and hopefully shed some light on the process.

Because it was still L3id Kbir/Al-Adha in Jordan, there were fewer buses running to Irbid so I woke up a little early in the hopes that I could catch an early morning transit. The transit dropped us off at the Moujemma Shamal Bus Station. The volunteer I was with was told that there were taxis that took off from the Moujemma Amman Bus Station to the border crossing so we headed over there only to find out that indeed there were taxis that would go there, but not legitimate/licensed ones and they were asking for 15JD to go there. We were told that it would be around that amount, but the illegal taxis looked more suspect than usual so we asked a policeman.  The policeman told us to head back to Moujemma Shammal and to take a legit taxi from there to the border.  He told us that the price would be from 12-15JD.  So we went back to the station, my PCV friend looked up a friend of his that worked at a cell phone boutique, and his friend pointed us to a taxi that was chilling next to a snack shop.  He inquired for us about going to the border and the taxi driver offered to take me for 12JD.

The taxi cab ride was rather interesting.  For the next 15 minutes or so, the driver went on to talk about all his sexual exploits and his disdain for Israel.  Of course, none of this was said in any sort of descriptive way.  When speaking of Israel, he would make a spitting sound and he said he prayed for the day when Israel would not exist.  When talking about all his sexual encounters, he would simply say how good or bad the sex was with different nationalities from a scale of bad/ugly, good, and to wonderful/beautiful fuck.  He had a lot to say about Russian girls, which struck me as odd, but later on I learned that many Russian girls travel to Jordan to work in strip clubs or to work as escorts.  A fellow couchsurfer also pointed out how it's usually Russian girls who are dancing in the disco video recordings that I would see on the street or at various cafes.  Supposedly there are other neighboring Arab nationalities that work at these clubs, but usually if they do, the girls are "Christian".  During a lull in his sexual expletives, I asked him about his family.  He said that he had 3 boys and one wife.  He said he wanted another wife, but could not afford it.  He did say that he was very happy with his family and his wife and that he no longer smoked marijuana or had sex with other women because he said that doing so would be haram(forbidden)--figures.

At one checkpoint, he handed over my passport to a guard.  The guard wanted to ask me something, but the taxi driver yelled at him that I was American and asked him, "what's the problem?"  The guard smiled and returned my passport and we were on our way.  After driving out for about 12km, the driver made a right turn towards another checkpoint.  The guards asked for my passport.  He handed it over and then they told the driver to pull over to the side of the road.  I thought there was an issue, but there wasn't.  That was simply as far as my taxi driver could go.

As he began unloading my baggage, another taxi pulled up with some tags on the sides that said Jordan Border Crossing.  I gave my taxi driver the 12JD we agreed upon, shook hands, and said our m3a slamas (Go in safety).  I hopped onto the other taxi and we headed towards the next checkpoint.  Once there, I had to take my luggage through a huge scanner.  This thing was massive.  My luggage went through without any problems.  I then picked up my backpack and got back on the Jordan Border Crossing taxi.  We went another kilometer before I was dropped off at the customs office.  I paid the taxi 1.10JD.

At customs, I told an officer that I was coming back to Jordan after a few days.  He said, "Good," that I needed to pay an 8JD exit tax, that my Jordanian visa would be "no good", and that I would have to pay for a new one to get back in.  I didn't ask about the exit stamp, but a tour group on a pilgrimage through the Holy Land that was ahead of me told me that they were going to have their exit stamp on a separate sheet of paper.  They had some cards filled out with their name and other information.  As soon as my passport was stamped, I was ready to cross over.

Due to the tight security, I couldn't just walk over to the border.  I had to exit the customs building and walk back out to the Trust Intl. Transpo kiosk right behind the Duty Free store and purchase a bus fare for 1.30JD.  The distance from the customs building to the border was no more than a couple hundred meters, but it was forbidden to walk to it.  The only way to approach it was taking the Trust Intl. bus and the buses only left at certain times, which for me meant waiting over an hour for the next bus to go out.

Right around 1:30PM, I and a whole bunch of Chinese tourists hopped on the bus.  It took no more than a minute to get to the final gate on the east bank of the River Jordan.  Once there, a guard came through to make sure all taxes were paid and everyone was stamped out.  He then gave the okay to the driver.  We crossed the once mighty River Jordan and then proceeded to the Israeli side.

We were dropped off at the Israeli customs entrance.  It was interesting to see such a stark difference in administration.  On the Jordanian side, I dealt entirely with older mustachioed gentlemen, some in formal military or police uniforms, and everyone appeared to be disgruntled about something.  On the Israeli side, I was greeted by a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, male and female, in polo shirts and khaki cargo pants and with a more relaxed vibe to it.  I walked over to the scanners, handed over my bags, and gave an attractive female guard my passport.  That guard called over another attractive female guard.  I was hoping for a frisking, but unfortunately they just tagged-team on the questioning.  I was asked what was the purpose for my visit to Israel, info on my passport, who my parents and grandparents were, and if I had been to any other Arab country besides Jordan.  After the quick interview, they smiled and said, "Welcome to Israel."

I picked up my bags from the scanners and then walked over to a customs window.  I gave my passport to another female guard who was being supervised by another young men.  She asked me a similar round of questions and then asked if it was okay to stamp my passport.  The same group on the Holy Land tour was also in the customs lines in the process of getting their entry stamps on a separate sheet of paper.  After taking care of the stamps, I was given another nice cordial "Welcome to Israel" and just like that I was through.

Now, the challenge was how to get to Jerusalem from there.  I asked a couple of customs reps if there were any transportation options from this crossing and they said that maybe, just maybe there would be some taxis waiting outside that would go the nearest town called Bayt She'an about 6km away.  They also said to ask the tour buses if I could hitchhike with them.  I thought I'd give it a try so I went out and asked a number of them if they had room for one more.  I asked one driver who said "no" rather frankly.  I asked some people who were awaiting to board another bus and their driver gave me the "I'm not in charge" line.  Another driver said he could get in trouble.  I got tired of the rejections so I decided to get a taxi.

Outside of the gates, there were a number of cars waiting to get through and a couple of taxi cabs on the curb.  I went up to one who told me that there was no transportation available from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem so he offered to take me to Tiberias for 200 shekels(NIS) (about $60) where transportation would be available for sure.  Tiberias was a good 40 kilometers away going northwest.  I only had about 60NIS, which I had gotten from the last $20 I had on me so paying out 200 something shekels was out of the question.  I walked over to the next taxi, I asked him about Bayt She'an and if there was transportation and he said there was and that he would drop me off at the bus stop.  When I asked him how much, he told me he would go for 60NIS.  I liked that this guy was at least willing to take me to Bayt She'an, but 60NIS seemed outrageous.  After some light negotiating, we finally settled on 50.  With not a lot of other options and with the sun setting, I still felt I was getting hosed, but I had little choice.  I shelled out the 50NIS and we drove off to Bayt She'an.

The winding road to Bayt She'an was quite refreshing as we passed farm upon farm in this stretch of fertile land.  When I told him that the other taxi driver wanted to charge me 200 shekels to go to Tiberias because transportation was not available in Bayt She'an, he made the same spitting gesture that the Jordanian taxi driver had made and said, "Arabi".  He said in a choppy English, "Those Arabs all they want is money; they don't care about people."  The whole time I was thinking, "...and this is from a guy that wanted to charge me about $17 for a 6km ride.  He asked me where I was from and I told him I was from the U.S., but had lived in Venezuela.  As soon as I told him Venezuela, he switched to a rough, but less choppy Spanish.  We spoke in Spanish for the rest of the trip.  He mainly went off about how much he hated Arabs.  The taxi driver took me to an ATM to get some cash and then he dropped me off at a bus stop on the side of a four-lane road that ran north to south close to a McDonald's.

At the bus stop, I asked a few young guys in military garb in English if they knew which bus was going to Jerusalem and they said that the 966 Egged makes the north to south journey everyday.  I went over to the 966 bus stand and put my bag down and finally took a look at my surroundings.  The infrastructure difference from Jordan to Israel was night and day.  The roads, the signposts, the paint on the roads, traffic lights, and the buildings were in order and well maintained.  Just across the river, there was significantly less trash on the street and more trash cans available.  Not to say that Jordan does not have things in order; it's just more chaotic and spaces that are well maintained and free of trash are like little oases in the midst of the disorder.  Like Morocco, the fancy esplanades and promenades that are meticulously maintained for tourist traffic are the exception and not the norm.  

It felt a little unsettling to be hopping on a bus to Jerusalem with about 20 uniformed young men carrying automatic rifles, but after a while I got used to it and found it odd when I didn't see some young person with a gun slinging from their neck.  They were probably wondering why I wasn't carrying one.  As I got on the dark green 966 Egged bus, I told the driver, "Jerusalem," and he said, "40.50NIS".  I handed him a huge bill and he didn't even flinch; he gladly took my money and gave me the exact change.  Even just an instance like this would have caused a heap of drama on most buses on the other side who always seem to be out of change.  I thought the 40.50NIS was a little steep, but perhaps that's exactly why the same ride is cheaper on the other side of the river; perhaps the convenience or the more efficient management hasn't been priced into the ticket.

It was a breath of fresh air to be in Israel and here I was on my way to the city that all three Abrahamic faiths call their own.  Soon I would be walking the streets and on my way to witnessing the grandeur and the mystery of this old city.  All in all, it was an easy and somewhat entertaining crossing.  In the end, all I could say is gracias a Dios, hamdullah, and thanks be to God and/or the cosmic forces of the universe for allowing me to be where I was.

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Please note that if you exit through the Sheikh Hussein Bridge and you wish to come back to Jordan from Israel, you will need to come back through either the Sheikh Hussein or the Wadi Araba crossings.  Likewise, if you cross through the King Hussein Bridge, you will need to return through there as well.  Reason being that Jordanian visas cannot be issued out from the King Hussein Bridge, but the Jordanian authorities are able to at the other two crossings.  Basically, according to Jordanian border policy, you are not leaving the country when you cross into the West Bank (formerly part of the Transjordan territory and currently in geopolitical limbo) and as such they do not ask people to pay an exit tax and do not issue exit stamps.  The con is that the King Hussein Bridge is perhaps the busiest crossing of them all, and from what I've read or heard, it can take an inordinate amount of time to get through.

If you're crossing back through Sheikh Hussein, please note that there are few transportation options available on both sides of the crossing.  Only private taxis run by the Jordan Border Crossing Company are available, which can take you to almost any major destination in Jordan, but for a pretty hefty price.  I paid 19JD to make it back to Irbid.  Knowing I had made the same journey for 13JD, I tried to bargain, but the dispatcher would not budge from the posted prices.  A taxi to Amman was around 35JD.  I don't think it is a matter of not enough demand because it appears that there are plenty of people crossing on a regular basis, but perhaps it's a tolerated monopoly.

So as far as convenience and less stress, I would cross through Sheikh Hussein again, but if I did not want an exit stamp from Jordan and/or to pay the 8JD ($12) tax, then King Hussein is the way to go.

For more info, visit the following links: http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=105
The exit tax info on the website says 5JD, but it is 8JD now.
http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/facts2.html

Also, visit the Israeli side of the web at: www.goisrael.com

Bon voyage everyone!