Jordan

I have been in Jordan for the last four days and, in contrast to the Syrian expedition, everything has been running smoothly. One thing I have learned from the two trips is that crossing a border by air is much more preferable to crossing it by land. Upon arrival, people seem happier at airports and everything is more civilized. The dregs of the Earth use land borders (myself included) if you want to know the truth, and the people there are always dusty and irritable. Especially in the Middle East. And everyone knows that the land borders are shit, this is why it is reserved for the grumpiest and least helpful bureaucrats that the system could produce. Its the opposite at airports, where everything is "how do you do sir?" and such.

Jordan was no exception. The flight on Royal Jordanian Airlines (sadly not named "Air Jordan") was brief and pleasant. Amman is less than an hour from Beirut by plane, so the time in the air was quick, and made quicker by the attractive Jordanian stewardesses. (Whatever happened to American stewardesses? Alas, that's a rant for another time.) At the airport, I was greeted by my driver who was holding a piece of paper marked "Mr Patrick- USA". That about sums me up, I guess.

I got to my hotel and had tea with the owner to plan out my itinerary for the week. (He was extremely helpful and pleasant and later that night, after more than a few beers, he revealed that he once terrified a Japanese woman with the size of his penis. Me and this British guy listening to this were shocked by his boastful tale, but the owner had mentioned in passing and soon the shock was gone.) I spent the rest of the afternoon gathering supplies, like sandals and sun block.

That night at dinner, I met a Brit and two Americans. The Brit had been stranded in Amman for a couple of weeks due to some visa problems with Israel, where he lived (in Palestine). You could tell he was frustrated, but had a good sense of humor and his spirits were buoyed by the fact that his father and sister were coming for a visit the next day from London.

The two Americans were Mexican in descent, and they worked for a engineering firm in Tripoli, Libya. Every month they were given a paid week off and a plane ticket to anywhere in the world. Tripoli must be real shitty, I thought.

Sometimes when I find Americans living abroad, I am curious to see what sorts of things they miss from home, like food or whatnot. One thing I miss are burritos, which I eat on the regular and with a passion. I wanted to know if these two guys miss burritos too, but I couldn't for the life of me think about how to present the question without appearing like a total asshole. I dropped it.

After dinner, the four of us went out for a sheisa. We walked up to another part of town that seemed nicer than the area my hostel was in. The area is called "downtown", but don't let the name fool you. This is not the nice part of town. Its actually kind of an eyesore, and if we didn't walk up the hill to the other neighborhood, I would have thought that Amman was just another dusty Arab city. The other part was not Paris, but it still seemed a little happening, and that's all I need.

Once the sheishas were done, we headed back. The two Americans went to bed, but me and the Brit wanted a beer. We figured we would have it on the couch on the roof, where we could see the city, but the owner told us we should have it in the lobby, so we would not offend the neighbors by drinking in plain sight. In the lobby, he had put a sort of small thatched false wall up by the open door so people wouldn't walk by and see us drinking and be offended. Apparently, Jordan is more conservative than I thought. But the owner wasn't conservative. He seemed to have been drinking all afternoon (and possibly smoking weed) and the three of us stayed up late talking about God knows what. This is when he told his tale of Japanese horror that sounded more like some erotic Godzilla monster movie, with giant penises chasing terrified civilians through the streets of Tokyo, stepping on trains and bashing skyscrapers. There would most probably be some awful voice overs. Anyway, shortly thereafter, I decided that enough was enough and retired for the night. After all, I had to get up early the next day as I was going to Petra.

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I am better at describing human events than natural ones, so the bit about Petra is tough to convey. The driver drove us (me and the Americans) three hours south from Amman, right to the Petra gate, at the entrance to the park. We got our tickets and headed in.

This is the desert. It wasn't overly hot, maybe 90 or so, but the sun is very strong. It wasn't snowboarding in Lebanon, this time I knew my safety was at stake here. I lubed up with sun screen and put two huge bottles of water in my bag. I worn sun glasses. I covered my head. Picture above is the canyon you walk through to get to the main sites, but even before you get there, you must walk about a mile in the sun. Once you get to the canyon, its a truly welcoming sight. Not only is it amazingly beautiful, it also protects you from the sun.

The cliffs were formed not by water, but by earthquake, and as you walk along they get steeper and steeper. The daunting beauty of it slowly builds around you as you descend into Petra until you feel a humbling and overwhelming respect for the place. Finally, the canyon is so high on each side that you cannot see the top and it gives birth to you right on front of the Treasury, which you may remember from Indian Jones and the Last Crusade. "He chose...poorly." Even after the canyon, its an amazing sight. It was here that I realized I wished to carry on alone and I separated from the two Americans. This fantastic desert setting seemed like something best explored alone, especially by someone as paralyzingly introspective as myself. So off I went.

I was heading to this one area on a map I had, but my eye was caught by these unmarked stone steps that went off into the hills and without another thought I decided to see where they led to. What a fortunate impulse, because that hike was just incredible.

If I continue any longer with this, it will all turn into a blur of fantastics, amazings and incredibles. I would probably sprinkle in a few breathtakings and maybe a remarkable, but the point is this: I get bored very easily and this place held me captivated for two straight days. And I wish I was back there now. Just do a Google Image search for Petra and promise yourself that you will see it before you die. I promise you that its worth it. And its not just some sweet temples carved out of mountains, the entire landscape is mesmerizing.

After a second day of frolicking around in this desert paradise, I took one last look at the Treasury and headed back into the canyon. I had been climbing and exploring all day long in the desert heat and I couldn't wait to get back to the hostel, and have a shower, shave & nap. The trouble was that I couldn't remember the name of my hotel. I was sure I knew it at one point, but not in this condition. The sun had baked my brain and I was borderline delirious. I had been drinking plenty of water, but it was 5:30 pm and I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. Too embarrassed to hop in a cab and tell the man I had no idea where to go, I decided the best course of action was to walk the mile or so up hill to where the town was and hope to spot my hostel somewhere thereby. It worked but the cost was high, I had been sapped of all my strength and rationale. I did wake up once I was naked in the ice cold shower (not scaring any Japanese girls in that state, I reckon) and I managed to shave and have a wash. After the frigid rinse, I felt like a new man ready to face the world. Then I passed out.

I got some dinner and ventured out to find the ATM. My mission complete, I returned home to find some fellow backpackers playing this incredibly boring drinking game involving the naming of countries in alphabetical order. I was in no condition to play in my state and I was slightly pissed that someone managed to invent a boring drinking game. I stepped out to have a whiz and when I was finished, I scurried off to bed with nary a word to the others. Only one of the people there was not annoying me- this sensible Brit who talked like the Beatles- and the other three were locked in a Mexican standoff for the affections of this dopey Aussie red head. I was confident that I would absolutely "win" in this particular standoff- she just needed to be separated from the herd somehow- but the prize was not as appealing to me as a good night's sleep (sorry Aussie redhead) so off I went. After all, I had to wake up early to come to Aqaba.