Tue 26 December 2006

I left Nazareth after 6 o’clock in the morning, and drove 25 km southwest to Tel Megiddo national park, which would not be open so early in the morning. I only took a photo from the road outside Megiddo, and then continued east towards Beyt Shean and the border crossing to the Kingdom of Jordan.

After a breakfast in a cafeteria along the highway, I arrived at the parking lot of Sheikh Hussein border crossing terminal at 07:50. I left most of my luggage and all Hebrew publications in the car, because the law of Jordan forbids importing any Hebrew publications into the country. The trip meter of the car showed 2600 km, of which 75 km had been driven this morning.

The border crossing to Jordan would have taken half an hour only (as there were very few travellers so early in the morning), but I was unlucky to just miss the border bus by one minute — and the next bus would go half an hour later.

At 9 o’clock I was finally on Jordanian soil, and a smiling middle-aged man helped me to find a taxi, after which he asked if I had any “baksheesh” for him. I had already learned from travel accounts on the Internet that this word means “tip”, so I gave him a dollar, and another 25 dollars to the taxi driver for taking me to Jerash. (The taxi prices were fixed, written on the wall of the taxi station, giving the impression that there was no bargaining about the price — for anyone who looks like a western tourist anyway.)

Jerash is located 50 km southeast of the border terminal, and we should have reached it in half an hour, but instead we soon found ourselves in Irbid, which is 30 km northeast of the border terminal. The taxi driver blushed a bit, when he realized that he had driven astray, but he did not comment the issue in any way. I actually enjoyed getting some extra sightseeing in rural Jordan.

We arrived in Jerash at 10 o’clock, and I agreed with the taxi driver that he would wait for me at the parking lot while I visit the tourist attractions of Jerash, and then he would take me to Amman (which is 30 km south of Jerash). These arrangements cost me another 20 dollars.

Local men dressed in traditional suits were playing bagpipe and drums in the amphitheater, as I climbed on top of the theater to take a 360° panoramic photo of the ruins of ancient Roman Jerash.

The walled area of ancient Jerash used to be nearly 1 kmē. Half of that has been preserved as a national park, and the rest of the ancient city has disappeared under the modern town. Horse race shows are arranged in ancient Roman style on the hippodrome of Jerash, but the show was not running during the winter months as I visited the site.

The air was not very fresh in Jerash, it carried the scent of exhaust gases of cars, to the extent that may disturb some visitors. In the countryside of Jordan the air was fresher, but to compensate this difference, my taxi driver smoked in the car while driving.

At 10:45 o’clock I had seen enough of Jerash, and we continued towards Amman, arriving on the Citadel hill at 11:30. If the air quality had been poor in Jerash, in Amman it was yet worse. Air pollution due to exhaust gases of cars is a common problem in large metropoles around the world, and Amman seemed to be a prominent example of this. A holiday to destinations of this kind might change you permanently, either into an asthmatic or into a nature activist.

I spent half an hour at the ruins and archaelogical museum of the Citadel hill, then another half an hour walking to the amphitheater (which is located one kilometer from the Citadel hill), and yet half an hour exploring the amphitheater and its two small museums.

Just across the street from the amphitheater there was a pet shop selling monkeys, rabbits and other small pets. Monkeys are not a common pet in the western countries — I have no knowledge about the details of this issue, how well monkeys would behave compared to other pets, how large living space they would need to be happy (the cage below looks too small for sure...), and what restrictions the western legislation sets for owning a monkey.

I was feeling a bit hungry, but the numerous fast food kiosks along the street did not look very inviting to me. I had forgotten to take the recommended vaccinations before the journey, so I would not have much immunity if the food happens to be contaminated. I wanted to play safe, so I took a taxi to the nearest international fast food restaurant. The driver suggested the Burger King at the university of Amman, but while we were driving there, I noticed a shopping mall with McDonald’s, and we stopped there.

I picked a Quarter Pounder meal into a takeaway bag, while the taxi driver was waiting on the parking lot, and I ate the meal in the taxi while we were driving to the southern bus station of Amman (from where all buses to Petra depart).

It was 14:15 o’clock as I arrived at the southern bus station, still eating my hamburger. I consulted the local people to find the platform for buses leaving to Wadi Musa and Petra, and I was directed to a queue where five or ten other people were waiting for a bus. When the bus arrived and I stepped in, the driver told that this bus is not going to Petra, and I should go to another queue.

I was directed to another platform nearby, but soon a man in uniform came to explain that also this was the wrong queue, and I should hurry to a bus that was just about to leave. I did so, but again the driver told that his bus is not going to Petra, and the man in uniform must have made a mistake.

The man in uniform orchestrated yet two or three changes of platforms and queues, until I finally was sitting in the correct bus with other foreign tourists, next to a young man from Japan. Majority of the passengers in the bus were local people, and the ticket price was moderate, less than ten dollars. The bus left at 15:10, and the 270 km long trip to Petra took less than three hours, with a 15-minute pause at halfway.

During the pause at a gasoline station I visited the toilet, which was the standard western model (not the “hole in the floor” version that is still quite commonly used in the Middle East). It seemed that no cleaning or maintenance work of any kind had been performed in the toilet for several years: the stench was indescribable, and the doors of some toilet closets were either out of place or hanging askew from one hinge only.

I took the camera out of my pocket to take a photo of the toilet, but then I decided to save my artistic creativity for more cultivated purposes, and photographed this double-decker animal transportation vehicle, on the parking lot of the gasoline station.

As we continued driving towards Wadi Musa and Petra, the bus driver listened to Arabic music from the radio. But then one of the passengers offered a Koran cassette to the driver, and for an hour we listened to Koran verses slowly recited in ceremonial style, and played as loud as the car stereo was able to perform.

I checked in at Petra Gate hostel at 18:10, and spent the rest of the evening with other foreign tourists in the lobby of the hostel. One young lady was from USA, another lady from Norway, two young men from Italy, one from Canada, one from Britain, and several backpackers from Russia.

It was so cold in the hostel rooms that I slept with jeans and jacket on, under the blankets. The chilly temperature of the water did not entice me to take a shower, and naturally there was no toilet paper in the room. I opened the drawer of the night table next to my bed, and found a half-eaten bread — left there by the previous visitor, I hope, but possibly the one before that, or then the one before the one...