From: pf@info.ucl.ac.be (Pierre Flener)
Subject: Egypt - Jordan Trip Report [2/2]
Organization: Computer Science Department, Catholic University of Louvain
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 19:12:38 GMT


This is the second (and last) part of  my  report  of  a trip  to 
Egypt and Jordan. Comments are welcome. Enjoy,

                                         - --  ___@ 
                                       ---- __T\  \_ 
      Pierre  (pf@info.ucl.ac.be)     - -- / /\_>/\ \
___________________________________________\__/__\__/____________



Day 16: Hurghada

Over breakfast, we decide to stick it out here in  Hurghada,  and
to try everything the town has to offer. So this first day is for
beach-bums. The public beaches are pretty uninviting, so we drive
out  by minibus to the private beaches around the Sheraton Hotel.
Of course, we first try to sneak into the superior beach  of  the
latter: twenty minutes later, we're kicked out from the north end
of their beach, and another half an  hour  later,  somebody  else
kicks  us  out from its south end. So we pay the cover charge for
the Shellghada Beach, which gives us an equal  amount  of  credit
towards  drinks  and pizzas. The whole day goes by in total inac-
tivity.

Islam

Most Egyptians are Muslims, and often proud to be so. Egypt is  a
secular  state  though,  and  the  Sharia  (Qur'anic  Law) is not
directly applied. You actually see precious few devotees kneeling
down  for  prayers in the streets, at the five daily prayer-times
announced by the muezzin. This Allahu Akbar (God is Great)  chant
can be very overpowering, depending on the voice and your immedi-
ate surroundings. It contains all the mystique of the Orient. Too
bad  it's recorded on tapes today: I've spent nearly 4 months to-
tal in Muslim countries, and have never seen  a  muezzin  calling
from  a  minaret.  Attendance  in masdjids (mosques) also is much
lower than I expected, as street-life goes on in total  indiffer-
ence.  Except  on  Fridays (the Muslim rest day) and Ramadan (the
fasting month), where most businesses close down, and where green
carpets  are rolled out in many public places (such as the Ramses
Railway Station  in  Cairo),  transforming  them  into  temporary
mosques.


Day 17: Hurghada --> Giftun Island --> Hurghada

More action today. At 8am, we're picked up and crammed with other
travelers  into  a  minibus  heading for the port. We embark on a
large motor-boat and set out for Giftun Island. We  throw  anchor
off  its  beach,  near some island corals. Susan explains to Marc
and me how to use our snorkeling gear, and soon we jump into  the
water.  For  us beginners, it turns out to be surprisingly diffi-
cult to learn breathing through the  snorkel,  plus  keeping  the
mask  watertight.  So  this first experience kind of turns into a
flop, especially because of the high waves, which  mess  up  even
more  expert swimmers' outings. Nevertheless, we get a good first
glimpse of the amazing submarine life with fish  and  flowers  of
all imaginable colors and sizes.

After a rice and fish lunch on the boat, a siesta on  Giftun  Is-
land  is planned. But Marc and I don't feel like sun-tanning, and
we soon remount our snorkeling gear for perfecting our  technique
in the shallow coastal waters.

Then we head back to Hurghada, but throwing in another snorkeling
outing  at  another  island  coral. This time, everything is just
about perfect. Afterwards we happily trade our stories, bent over
the Red Sea marine life charts of Shaky (New Zealand).

Back at the hotel, we wash off the salt, and head out for dinner.
Since  it  is  my birthday, I offer a round of Stella beer, and I
have to blow out a candle to complete the "party".

Food

Egyptian cuisine is excellent in  terms  of  appetizers  (already
mentioned)  and  deserts  (especially the gorgeous pastry), but I
don't like the main dishes  too  much,  except  kushari.  Indeed,
you've  got  to  like  chicken,  kufta (grilled ground meat), and
kebab (grilled meat)  a  lot,  because  there  isn't  much  other
choice,  and  they  are often very greasy. Staple food like bread
(the Egyptian-Arabic word, eysh, also means "life", and that says
it all), fuul (beans) in all variations, falafel (patties of fuul
beans mixed with spices), or shawarma (the same thing as  Turkish
doner  kebab or Greek gyros), makes for great snacks. Restaurants
come in many variations, though most are very  basic  places,  if
not  mere  cookers mounted on bicycles. Many hotels think they do
you a favor by including a  dull  continental  breakfast  in  the
price.  Most  Egyptians are vegetarians, though not by choice. It
is a pity that a lot of good land is wasted on growing  food  for
cattle, so that the rich can eat meat, while this same land could
feed so many more (poor) people. Indeed, Egypt has to import food
to cope with its galloping population increase.


Day 18: Hurghada --> Sharm el Sheikh --> Dahab

The ferry (LE60) is quite small, but not too  crowded.  Departure
is  being delayed by only one hour, and we meet Ed, a sensational
Californian retiree who loves to travel solo  around  the  Middle
East. Once past Shedwan Island, the Red Sea becomes pretty rough,
and our little boat sways precariously. Faces turn green, discus-
sions  stop, people disappear downstairs, others crowd around the
toilets, as the ship slowly prowls forwards. Very few people  are
unaffected,  but we eventually cruise into Sharm el-Sheikh's har-
bor. Again, this is not a  place  to  stay  (too  expensive  this
time),  so  all travelers split service taxis in groups of seven,
heading for Dahab.

The scenery is absolutely spellbinding: rocks are glowing red  in
the  sunset,  distant mountain ranges fade into various levels of
grey and blue, occasional Bedouin tents with camel or goat  herds
are  scattered  across  the  plains.  We  talk  our driver into a
photo-stop. I'm quite happy here, since I prefer these  mountains
many times over the boring plains of the Nile valley.

Finally we arrive in Dahab, or actually the Bedouin village  near
Dahab.  This is a leftover from old Hippie times, but people here
pretend nothing has ever changed. The magnificent golden  (dahab)
sand  beach  forms  a  1.5km  long half-circle, along which camp-
grounds, bars, restaurants, grocery stores,  and  souvenir  shops
cater to the exclusively young guests. The architecture is pretty
much as if the Swiss Family Robinson had been  living  here,  and
palm  trees  actually  grow through many huts. There is music and
food for all tastes. Drugs were freely available until  a  recent
crackdown, but even today keeping your ears open suffices to spot
the dealers. Dahab's  reefs  are  well-known  for  their  amazing
snorkeling  opportunities, while beach-bums, wannabe-hippies, and
Nubian rastas hang  around  all  day  doing  nothing.  The  local
Bedouin  are  used  now to these crazy Westerners, and they offer
jeep and camel rides into the desert. Egyptian playboys  show  up
here  for  the  obvious reasons. The legend holds that some trav-
elers have  never  left  this  place,  and  indeed  quite  a  few
Westerners are running their own businesses here.

We check into one of these look-alike campgrounds--they are actu-
ally composed of mud-brick huts, with two bunk-beds each--and en-
joy a good pizza at the... Hard Rock Cafe (where else?).


Day 19: Dahab --> St. Catherine --> Mt. Sinai

In the early morning, Marc and I split a taxi to Dahab town, with
Ed.  We catch the bus to the St. Catherine village, in the middle
of Sinai, while Ed heads north to Nuweiba, on his way to  Jordan.
Our  ride is spectacular again, as we slowly gain elevation. Long
sandy plains stretch out between the mountain  chains.  At  11am,
way  too  early  for our plans, we are at our destination. Only a
handful of travelers get off, all sharing the same ideas.  So  we
settle  on  the  terrace of a cafeteria, and slowly get ready for
the ascension. Two guys just come down  from  the  mountain,  and
volunteer  us  all  the  relevant information. A late and filling
lunch gives us the needed energy burst.

So at 5pm, we share a taxi with Jane and Nick, two girls from New
Zealand, to the St. Catherine Monastery (1,570m). We drop all our
luggage, except for sleeping bags, water bottles, and cameras, in
the  storage  room. There are two ways onto Mt. Sinai (2,285m): a
long, switchback camel-path, or a short, steep  path  with  3,750
steps hewn into the rocks by a penitent monk. We take the obvious
decision, and steam away. There are food and drink  stalls  every
few  hundred  meters,  with rising prices as you get higher. It's
not too hot any more, and we  soon  arrive  at  Elijah's  Hollow,
where  we  shoot some great mountain pictures, as the lighting is
pretty good right now. This is where  the  camel-path  joins  the
stairs,  so  now comes the fun part. Some package tourists are on
their way, too.

Once on the summit, where a small chapel precariously hovers over
the  precipices, we enjoy great views all over Sinai. A fraternal
spirit reigns over this holy place--after all, Moses received the
Ten  Commandments here--, even between budget travelers and pack-
age tourists. Sunset turns out pretty dull, because of  some  low
cloud  layers  on  the  horizon. While the package tourists climb
down again, the fifteen travelers who decided to spend the  night
here,  get  to know each other. It gets significantly cooler, and
we put on our sweaters. At 8:30pm,  it's  totally  dark,  and  we
spread  our  sleeping  bags over the various tiny terraces around
the chapel. Some rent extra blankets, just in case.  Unfortunate-
ly, one of the Bedouins operating the food and drink stalls right
on  the  summit,  has  been  totally  spoiled  by  tourism,   and
desecrates  this holy place by actually shouting at us for buying
our tea from the other guy, and by trying to con us into paying a
fee  for  sleeping  here.  Pathetic. Huddled in our sleeping bags
between the two Kiwi and two Danish girls, we crack a few  jokes,
and  trade  travel  anecdotes  in the candle-light, until we fall
asleep.

Important archeological find

Remember Mel Brooks' irreverent movie on world history? Well,  in
a  niche way off the path, I stumbled over a stone-plate with He-
brew inscriptions. I had them deciphered by an expert later,  and
they  turned  out  to  be  those infamous lost Five Commandments.
Here's what they say:

	11: Thou shalt not overcharge travelers.
	12: Thou shalt not ask for baksheesh.
	13: Thou shalt leave travelers alone if they wish so.
	14: Thou shalt not harass female travelers.
	15: Thou shalt not smoke.

Too bad these got lost.


Day 20: Mt. Sinai --> St. Catherine --> Dahab

A short night, as by 4am, many  loud  and  obnoxious  German  and
Italian  package tourists start flocking all over the summit, not
caring about our sleep, and literally sitting down on our  blank-
ets,  not  to speak about inadvertently kicking us while climbing
all over us. Our choice spot on  the  east  terrace  is  becoming
nightmarish.  And the greedy Bedouin nearby doesn't stop shouting
"coffee, tea, milk" at every newcomer. We soon abandon our  posi-
tion,  and  huddle on some rock. Eventually, the sun rises, above
the low cloud layers, and an Israeli group engages in some Hebrew
songs.

Then the drama: Marc turns out to be extremely weakened,  plagued
by  sensations  of  cold, fever, headaches, nausea, muscle sores,
and dehydration. I immediately walk him down, acting as his sher-
pa. At Elijah's Hollow, he opts for the camel-path again, because
there is no way he could concentrate on more steps than the  ones
so  far.   In hellish slow-motion, we eventually arrive at 8am at
the monastery, where I put him to bed in  the  storage  room,  so
that  he  can  sweat it all out, and I provide him with plenty of
water.

At 10am, while he sleeps, I head to  the  monastery  proper  (337
AD),  which  is only open in the mornings. I meet Susan and Steve
there, who come today just for the monastery, not for the  actual
climb  onto  Mt. Sinai. We visit the Greek Orthodox basilica with
its spectacular gold decoration, wood carvings, and icon  collec-
tion.  "It's  beautiful"  Steve  says to the young US-monk at the
doorway, and this one almost snaps  back:  "It's  not  beautiful,
it's miraculous." OK, OK. The monastery also features Moses' Well
(where Moses met his future wife Zipporah), a descendant  of  the
Burning  Bush, and a Charnel House. The latter is quite spectacu-
lar with its heaps of  skulls  and  bones--the  cemetery  is  too
small--,    plus  the  all-dressed  up  sitting  skeleton  of St.
Stephanos, the whole display being submerged in a suffocating pu-
trefactive stench.

Back to Marc: we catch the 1pm bus to Dahab, check in at the Hard
Rock Cafe's campground to which Susan and Steve have moved in the
meantime, and eventually decide to locate a physician.  He  diag-
noses  a  gastro-enteritis and hands over tons of medication, all
together for an incredibly low LE10. Health services are actually
free for Egyptians.

Money

Most people, especially package tourists, have no clue about what
money  is  worth  in  other  countries. For instance, the average
Egyptian worker earns LE4 a day. Small wonder that baksheesh  for
little  services is a welcome complement to such meager salaries.
But it is frightening to observe the vicious  circle  created  by
mass  tourism.  On  the  one  hand,  it creates jobs and attracts
much-needed money. But on the other hand, the  whole  economy  is
messed  up,  not to mention the mentality of some Egyptians, when
foreigners start literally throwing money around.  This  behavior
attracts contempt of the locals, to which the tourists react with
scorn, and it becomes difficult to escape these stereotypes.

Even if souvenirs or other items seem  dirt-cheap,  that  doesn't
mean  that you should not bargain over them, as you are likely to
be overcharged many times. If you don't haggle them  down,  which
is actually almost considered an insult, you leave the impression
that all Westerners are rich and don't  care  about  money.  This
makes  life  unbearable  for the budget traveler who wants to pay
Egyptian prices, not tourist prices. Ana mish sayyeh (I'm  not  a
tourist)!  And  it turns those who do business with tourists into
greedy money-monsters, screwing up their personalities.

Beggars, cripples, and homeless people usually easily survive  on
the  sole  donations  made by Egyptians (zakat is one of the five
requirements of Islam), and rarely seek out tourists.  Those  who
do  often  don't  need it, and are crooks, or spend your money on
cigarettes anyway. Some children have learned that simply  asking
for baksheesh works well in touristed areas: but if a father sees
that they make more money than himself,  and  in  a  much  easier
fashion, he will actually send them out to do so, preventing them
from going to school. Mafish fulus (there  is  no  money)!  Other
kids  ask  for pens or candy, but again you'd better refrain from
donations, so as to prevent a  dependence  Egypt  could  well  do
without.  The meaning of baksheesh has significantly changed with
time: originally, it was a gift to the guest by the host, then it
became  a  gift  to the host by the guest, nowadays it's mostly a
tip for lesser services, and soon it will be mere alms.


Day 21: Dahab

Another lazy day of playing beach-bums and snorkeling, while Marc
slowly  recovers  from Pharaoh's Revenge. At the spectacular reef
at the north end of the bay, we spot many new varieties of  fish.
Here's  what you experience when you swim out. When stepping into
the lagoon, you're about knee-deep in very clear and warm  water.
The  ground is a mixture of stone and sand, but dangerous because
of sea urchins, so you'd better start snorkeling right away,  un-
less  you  are  even  more  afraid  to scratch your chest. As you
proceed forwards, you swim through schools of damselfish that are
flitting about, and encounter starfish, sea slugs, clams, anemone
fish, clownfish, butterfly fish, blennies, and so on. Next  comes
the  reef  flat,  not  much deeper actually, with cutting corals,
anemones, damselfish, angelfish, parrotfish, snappers,  and  oth-
ers.  All in amazing colors. Finally you get to the reef crest, a
sheer drop-off whose depth you  can't  fathom,  where  yet  other
varieties  of fish await you. The water is deep-blue, and the in-
dividual sunrays exploring the depths give a surreal feel to  the
whole  scenery.  Susan  even encounters some Napoleon fish, which
are larger than herself, as well as a water-borne  LE10  note.  I
didn't  swim  out  further,  but a submarine pillar often follows
where you can watch more fish without needing diving gear. Beyond
that, you might encounter sharks...


Day 22: Dahab --> Nuweiba --> Aqaba (Jordan)

In the early morning, seven travelers split a service  taxi  from
Dahab  to Nuweiba. They are Susan, Steve, Marc, and I, plus Shaky
(the Kiwi), Mark (Canada), and John (UK). The harbor turns out to
be  flooded  by  people: Egyptians returning to their jobs in the
Gulf States, and dozens over dozens of  buses  filled  with  pil-
grims.  Yes,  the  hadj  season  (annual pilgrimage to Mekka) has
started. There are huge waiting lines,  in  the  already  blazing
sunlight. But some friendly military policemen take us in charge,
and whisk us through some back-door into the ticket office, where
we  have  to pay $25 cash each. But at customs, in a shaded hall,
we have to wait like everybody else, although nobody  bothers  to
check  our luggage. Emigration is pretty straightforward, too. We
are asked to wait in a huge hall until the ferry is  ready.  It's
9am,  and  departure  is scheduled for 10am. Of course, with this
mess, we're not too optimistic about accurate timings.

Eventually, they tell us to board one of the bus-shuttles  cover-
ing  the  500m  to  the  ferry.  Easier said than done: after two
failures to get even remotely close to a bus-door, we imitate the
locals,  elbow-push  our  ways through, and board across windows.
It's pathetic: it's plain obvious that the ship won't leave until
everybody  is on it, and yet people insist on beating the Guiness
Book filling record with every shuttle. Moreover,  why  can't  we
just  walk  to the ferry? Oh well. Once there, we're kindly asked
to drop our backpacks on the parking deck, and to  climb  to  the
passenger  decks.  We  have to abandon our passports as well. The
A/C Pullman seats are already taken, so we climb onto  the  upper
deck,  and  sit  down  on  some boxes on the west deck, where the
shade is. During the next 3 hours, it looks like they  also  want
to  figure  out how many people will fit onto the ferry. A lot! A
long column of trucks, loaded with zillions of sheep that are  to
be  sacrificed in Mekka, enters the ferry. Meanwhile, the sun has
turned around, and our choice spot selected for  a  morning  pas-
sage,  turns into a baking oven. But nobody cares, nor complains.
Fatalism. Eventually, only 6 hours late, the ship leaves.

We swiftly cruise north. There is no wind, and we have to abandon
our positions for a more shaded one next to the captain's bridge,
where a small Italian package  tour-group  has  found  refuge  as
well.  The  Gulf of Aqaba is closing at the horizon, and we enjoy
the rare opportunity of seeing four countries at the  same  time:
Egypt, Israel, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia, in clockwise fashion.



			Part II: JORDAN

Once in Aqaba Port, we are among the first ones to be whisked off
the ship. We retrieve our backpacks, and head for the immigration
office, in order to get our passports. Marc's and  my  visa  cost
only  2JD  each, a tremendous bargain over the 16JD the Jordanian
Embassy in Brussels wanted to charge us. The visa for US-citizens
is  free  (because of US-aid? or because Queen Noor is US-ian? or
both?), the Kiwi and Canadian pay 3JD, while the poor Brit has to
pay  10JD (a revenge for the Sykes-Picot Agreement?). At customs,
nobody  bothers  again  to  look  at  our   luggage.   Exchanging
traveler's  cheques  is pretty steep in Jordanian banks: the com-
mission is 3JD per cheque, which amounts to 22% of a $20  cheque.
So you'd better keep some strong foreign cash handy.

Like in every port of arrival to any country,  transportation  to
the  next  town (Aqaba is 10km away) is organized by cut-throats.
The taxi-drivers want 1JD each, which would  normally  cover  the
five-fold  distance. And they know they have the monopoly, as the
last bus is long gone. We eventually bargain them down  to  0.7JD
each,  but should rather have hitchhiked. But this was already to
be our last complaint about Jordan. The Brit  leaves  us,  as  he
wants  to catch up with his travel group. Aqaba turns out to be a
very lively city at  night.  Hot  gushes  of  desert  air  stream
through the city. The Jordanians, if not indifferent to travelers
(this is paradise), display their legendary friendliness in  case
you  do  need  assistance  (paradise  again). A man actually tem-
porarily leaves his cup of tea at a bar to show us the way to the
Jerusalem  Hotel.  Once set up there, we head out to the Mohandis
Cafeteria for a very filling falafel and shish kebab dinner.


Day 23: Aqaba --> Wadi Musa --> Petra --> Wadi Musa

By now completely accustomed to the Arab way of life, we  get  up
at  5:30am  to  catch  the first service taxi to Wadi Musa. As we
head north, the road gains elevation. Most of the  Jordanian  and
Iraqi (since the Gulf War) economies depend on Aqaba, so enormous
truck columns are to be seen on this  road.  When  it  eventually
splits  into the Desert Highway (a boring straight road to Amman)
and into the Kings Highway (an age-old caravan route,  zigzagging
through  spectacular  mountain  scenery  until Amman), the driver
chooses the latter in order to avoid having to overtake all these
trucks.  Past  the  Wadi Rum plateau (see below), the taxi slowly
escalates a tectonic rift to the  next-higher  plateau.  Then  we
turn  west,  and soon arrive at Wadi Musa. I'm very surprised how
green Jordan actually is  here:  fields  are  rife  for  harvest,
bushes  and  flowers  abound,  and there is the occasional wooded
patch.

Our hotel is right next door to the rock that Moses  once  struck
with  his  stick,  whence a source miraculously appeared from it.
Thus the name of the village: Wadi (river, valley) Musa  (Moses).
Note  that  Muslims accept the Bible and the Thora as Holy Scrip-
tures, though with major restrictions: Jesus is a only considered
a minor prophet, and didn't die on the cross, Maria is not a vir-
gin, and the Church is accused of significant alterations to  the
Bible and Gospels. The whole area here is full of places that are
mentioned in the Bible, but I do not delve into these details.

Our receptionist calls two taxis for the 5km ride  to  Petra.  We
purchase  site  tickets,  and  head  into the Siq, a 2km long, at
times only 2m wide, but 100m high gorge, which was created  by  a
rock shift. Package tourists of course rent horses for this hike,
a decision they are to regret until the end of their  lives.  The
gorge  gets  narrower,  and higher, and then... probably the most
stunning sight in the world. Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones and
the  Last  Crusade  had  us all prepared, and tense with expecta-
tions, but reality literally takes your breath away. At  the  end
of  the  Siq, we get the first glimpse of the rock-hewn facade of
el Khazneh (the Treasury). The morning sun splendidly illuminates
this  temple,  and  we  stand  frozen  in awe at this magnificent
sight. Once we have "recovered", we enter the  temple.  It's  not
caves  behind,  but  actual rooms with vertical walls, horizontal
ceilings, and right  angles  all  over.  All  surfaces  are  very
smooth,  and  the naturally alternating rose, red, yellow, amber,
brown, and grey tones of the rock are very pleasing.

Here starts Petra (Greek for stone), the  2,500-year-old  capital
of the ancient Nabatean Kingdom. They were a prosperous, peaceful
people of nomadic ascent, and the first Bedouin democracy.  Never
vanquished  by the Romans, they nevertheless joined the Roman Em-
pire towards the end of their glory days (106 AD). Then Petra got
forgotten,  except for a short occupation by early Christians and
crusaders. Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, a young  Swiss  orientalist,
"rediscovered" Petra in 1812, but not without converting to Islam
and  using  considerable  ruse  in  order  to  delude  the  local
Bedouins.  The  area of Petra covers about 200sqkm, so a few days
are more appropriate than Japanese-style  lightning  visits.  Not
all  buildings  are rock-hewn, though the free-standing buildings
have all but one crumbled under their age or the  various  earth-
quakes.  El  Khazneh has long been believed to contain a treasure
in the urn on top of its 40m high facade, and that  urn  is  thus
pock-marked  by  rifle shots aiming at breaking it up. Otherwise,
because of its natural protection from  wind  and  water  erosion
(it's  situated  in a basin), Petra's monuments have survived the
millennia very well, transforming the hike through the Siq into a
ride on a time machine. The architecture is distinctive, was how-
ever long believed to be Roman. Instead of  working  against  the
stone,  by  cutting  it  from quarries, hauling it over long dis-
tances, before assembling it into monuments, the Nabateans worked
with  the  stone, using it where they found it, thus skipping the
transportation and assembly tasks. The Egyptians used this  tech-
nique  only  sparingly,  their grandest example being Abu Simbel.
The choice location assured the  Nabateans  of  continuous  water
supplies,  ingeniously  distributed  by  aqueducts. Their Bedouin
descendants live here, but the Jordanian Government has  recently
relocated  most  of  them,  in order to protect the most valuable
monuments.

We stroll to the Roman Theater, past  a  series  of  tombs.  From
there,  we  climb the ceremonial stairs towards the High Place of
Sacrifice, where spectacular views all over the area  reward  our
effort.  A little used path past the Lion Fountain, the Triclini-
um, and the Tomb of the Roman Soldier takes us to downtown Petra.
We  refuel  on  sandwiches  and  Pepsi  at  one  of  the numerous
Bedouin-operated refreshment stalls. Next we walk down the  Cardo
Maximus,  through  the  Monumental  Gateway, towards Qasr el-Bint
(Castle of the Maiden), the only remaining freestanding  building
here, though it looks like it will crumble anytime. The valley is
very beautiful with its numerous flowery bushes that perfume  the
whole area.

On a temporary sugar-high,  we  steam  upstairs  to  the  Ed-Deir
monastery,  so called because early Christians hid there, a long-
ish climb across superb rock scenery. This temple is a larger and
higher (45m) version of el Khazneh, and is well worth the effort.
It's depicted on the 5JD bank-note. A cool and shady cave  is  on
the  plain  just  across  it,  and  that's where we sit down, for
another Pepsi, in order to take in this awesome sight.

A young Bedouin decides to offer  us  a  breathtaking  stunt:  he
climbs  on  a  rope  to  the 30m high frieze, posing for pictures
there, thus showing the size of the temple very clearly. Then  he
angles like an ape to the top of the triangle, over the difficult
onion-shaped sphere, and eventually to the very top, standing  on
the  9m  high urn. All judiciously spiced with intense moments of
drama. Then my heart stops: he actually jumps off the urn,  land-
ing  a  few  meters below on the roof, ... and keeps his balance,
il'Hamdulillah (thanks to God)!

Back to downtown Petra, we slowly proceed  back  to  el  Khazneh,
which  is  by now glowing in amazing purple, rose, and red tones.
Petra well deserves its surname of rose-red city. Across the Siq,
into  a  taxi, and into a well-deserved shower. "Down to one meal
per day", as Steve observes, we feast on chicken, rice, and salad
on the pleasantly cool terrace in front of our hotel.


Day 24: Wadi Musa --> Petra --> Wadi Musa

An emotional start for the day: after 18 days together, Susan and
Steve  finally  leave  us.  They head back to Cairo via Aqaba, to
pick up their luggage and finish their trip in Greece. Mark  goes
with  them, and Shaky leaves for Amman to get a travel permit for
the West Bank.

So that's Marc and I alone again. We hitchhike down to Petra,  in
order  to  linger over details we skipped yesterday, and seek out
the odd place nobody visits. We start with the three-storied tem-
ple facing the Roman Theater. At the end of the Cardo Maximus, we
climb to the small Nabatean Museum on the hill  behind  Qasr  el-
Bint.  We  circumvent the hill to find the Crusaders' Castle, but
judge it unimpressive. An adventurous climb straight down, and we
are  ready  for  a  Pepsi-stop. After a cheese sandwich somewhere
else, we have a look at the two remaining great temples: the  Urn
Tomb  and the Corinthian Tomb. Pretty much exhausted, we climb to
the shaded upper levels of the Roman Theater and relax while tak-
ing in the beauty of this valley.

Eventually, we head back to el Khazneh, for another  awe-inspired
long  stare.  While  hiking  back  through the Siq, we can't help
looking back to this gorgeous temple. Petra definitely is one  of
the  most  spell-binding  places I've visited so far. In terms of
man-influenced landscaping,  I can only think of Cappadokia (Tur-
key) for a site that gave me similar emotions.

Our receptionist dishes up one of the  best  dinners  in  a  long
time.  We  enjoy  a good discussion with a French-Canadian pair--
gorgeous accent, as usual--, while  watching  yet  another  melo-
dramatic  Egyptian  soap-opera on TV, and then the English-spoken
10pm evening news, our daily reminder of what's going on  in  the
world.

The West

The onslaught of Western "civilization" is  resented  by  Islamic
"fundamentalists" who ask for a return to Islamic values, and the
rejection of Western influence, such as the dynamics of  unguided
progress.  The  aim  is  to turn one's back to the West, so as to
purify from all corruption, and thus restore  the  former  power.
Islam  only  seems  a  vehicle  of dissent, as the main grudge is
against the humiliations of the Crusades, of colonialism with its
betrayals,  artificial borders, and established ruling elites, of
the creation of Israel, and of Western double standards  and  in-
terventionism into their internal affairs. Indeed, let's not for-
get that Muslim civilization was the most advanced in  the  world
during five centuries in the Middle Ages, pushing science to lim-
its surpassed by the West only during the last century,  favoring
free trade, educating literally everybody, giving equal opportun-
ities to women. Read Sigrid Hunke's apologetic Allah's  Sun  over
the  Occident  for a comprehensive enumeration of Muslim achieve-
ments that have later been attributed to others. Is this the kind
of society they want to restore? Sometimes I doubt this. Funnily,
many Jordanians happily tell you that they "hate" the USA for its
foreign  policy  and  else, and yet, wearing blue jeans, drinking
Pepsi, or driving a  Chevrolet  are  considered  ultimate  social
achievements.


Day 25: Wadi Musa --> Ma'an --> al Quweira --> Wadi Rum

Lured by other travelers arriving with colorful stories,  we  de-
cide  to  turn  south  again,  and get to Wadi Rum. A rickety bus
takes us east to Ma'an, where Mustapha volunteers to show us  the
other  bus  terminal,  and insists on paying us a round of tea on
top of that. The bus-driver drops us at the  crossing  5km  south
of al Quweira, where the dead-end road to Wadi Rum starts.

There is a steady trickle of cars into and out of  Wadi  Rum,  so
we're  confident  to make it there. And the first car stops. It's
actually a jeep, and its occupants are Mohammad  and  Ahmed.  The
former  is  a  captain  of  the  Jordanian Desert Police, and the
latter is his driver. They bought their  daily  newspaper  in  al
Quweira, and are on the way back to their headquarters, 20km into
the valley. They are great fun to be with, and we're invited  for
tea together with the whole company. They tell us that their main
mission is to track down drug smugglers from  Saudi  Arabia,  and
that they are quite successful at it, although it often gets down
to shooting and killing. Soon a Danish family  (the  daddy  is  a
UN-employee on mission at the Golan Heights) on their way to Wadi
Rum is waved into the camp, to join in for the tea. What  a  hos-
pitable  people,  these  Jordanians! If you're not offered tea at
least three times a day, there must be something seriously  wrong
with your attitude.

Eventually, we get up,  exchange  addresses  with  Mohammad,  and
hitchhike  the  remaining 8km to Wadi Rum, across splendid desert
scenery. Monument Valley (Arizona) is maybe the  best  approxima-
tion I can think of.

Former "playground" of Lieutenant T. E. Lawrence's  military  ex-
ploits with Arab insurgents against the crumbling Ottoman Empire,
this place indeed  looks  out-of-this-world.  A  2km  wide  sandy
plain  over-grown here and there with the odd bush--green at this
time of the year--stretches between two ranges of  up  to  1,750m
high  cliffs,  plus a maze of similar side-valleys. If it weren't
for the occasional Bedouin settlement, a jeep-ride here would al-
most feel like driving a vehicle on Mars. This area was of course
chosen by David Lean to shoot his  monumental  epic  Lawrence  of
Arabia, romanticized from Lawrence's autobiographic Seven Pillars
of Wisdom. Lawrence was and remains  a  very  controversial,  and
enigmatic, character, but he has meanwhile been debunked and pro-
ven to be a "spinner of fantastic tales" (says David Fromkin,  in
A  Peace  to  End  All Peace) aiming at self-aggrandizement,  and
deliberately deceiving the Arabs about the true nature of British
plans  about  the  carving-up  of the Ottoman Empire (such as the
Sykes-Picot Agreement and the Balfour Declaration).

Splitting a jeep with the Danish family  for  the  afternoon,  we
head out into the desert. The driver takes us to Abu Aineh, which
is also called Lawrence's Well, because the latter liked to  hang
out  there,  and  on to Khazali, a narrow gorge with old inscrip-
tions on the walls. A long ride in total  isolation,  except  for
the occasional black Bedouin tent, camel or goat herd, gets us to
Burdah, a spectacular rock-bridge that is  about  15m  high.  The
remaining  stops,  at  Lawrence's  House  (nice view), some sand-
dunes, and more ancient rock graffiti, are  of  lesser  interest,
but the main thing remains of course the landscape.

The Danes leave for Petra, and Marc and I picnic on the groceries
we  brought  in from Wadi Musa, or just bought in the local store
because the government-operated Rest House  is  pretty  steep  in
terms  of  meals. In the starry evening, we relax and discuss the
highlights and flops of the journey, now that we've seen all  the
major  sites.  There are no hotels here, so we rent a tent behind
the Rest House.


Day 26: Wadi Rum --> al Quweira --> Ma'an --> al Qatraneh --> Kerak

After breakfast, we spend an hour by the road in order to hitch a
ride  out  of  Wadi Rum. The first five drivers are money-anxious
hawks, so we let them go by. The next Bedouin  is  very  friendly
though,  and  lets  us  sit  on the back of his ramshackle pickup
truck. At km 8, we spot our friends from the Desert  Police,  and
both sides engage in emphatic hand-waving to bid good-bye.

At the al Quweira crossing, Ayman, a young agricultural  engineer
on  his way from Aqaba to Ma'an, loads us into his powerful busi-
ness car. This is fortunate, because the road north to  Ma'an  is
very  steep,  and  the  trucks are of course awfully slow on this
stretch: about 30km/h. Moreover, quite a few  spectacular  truck-
accidents  make  us  decide not to try hitching one of these. The
music from the tape sounds like Algerian Rai, and Ayman is  quite
happy  that  I  know  something  about  it. The performer is Cheb
Khaled with his controversial lyrics, and Ayman wants to offer me
the tape when he drops us off in Ma'an.

We flag down a minibus north to al Qatraneh, the crossing for the
road to Kerak. Two enthusiastic young Palestinians--by now we are
pretty much out of the Bedouin area--offer  us  a  ride  west  to
Kerak,  where  we  check  into  the Castle Hotel. We take a much-
needed shower, and dress in our last set of clean clothes.

The Crusaders' Castle is pretty impressive, hovering on the  hill
amidst Kerak. Especially the huge underground galleries are worth
some poking around, with a flashlight. The  crusaders  must  have
been  happy to have these cool galleries, to escape the heat when
under siege. Built by Baudouin I (from Bouillon,  Belgium),  this
fortress is of course a must-see for Marc,  although we don't en-
dorse  the  misguided  fanaticism  of  the  Crusades:  read  Amin
Maalouf's  excellent The Crusades through Arab Eyes for the other
point of view, and for an analysis of the geo-political  and  so-
cial consequences.

Then a stroll through this lively small-town, where we try a  few
fruit  juices. Back at the hotel, we have a fun conversation with
Tariq, the young receptionist. George (USA) and Frank  (Ireland),
the  other  two  travelers  who just arrived, join in as well. We
dine on grilled meat at the nearby Fida Restaurant.

The Gulf War

King Hussein  and  his  people  aligned  themselves  with  Saddam
Hussein  during the Gulf War. The trade embargo on Iraq thus took
much longer than expected to take effect, as Iraq had a vital ar-
tery  from  Aqaba  to Bagdad. The growing rift between Gulf Arabs
and other Arabs became very apparent to the  West,  namely  as  a
rift between rich and poor nations. The former are accused by the
latter to have  repressive  governments  backed  by  the  Western
powers, not to share their wealth, to discriminate against Pales-
tinians and other immigrants. So it is little wonder that Jordan,
a  small, oil-less country, with a 30-70% Palestinian population-
-according to viewpoints--hailed Saddam Hussein as a restorer  of
Arab  dignity,  and  this  independently of his later attempts to
link the Gulf War to the Israel problem. Today it is still possi-
ble  to  buy  Saddam Hussein T-shirts in Jordan, and some restau-
rants feature his portrait right next to King Hussein's.

On the Desert Highway, the Iraq-bound  convoys  actually  contain
quite  some  illegal  cargo  circumventing  the embargo, and oil-
tankers stream from Bagdad to Amman as baksheesh. [Severe  checks
have recently been imposed by the CIA.] Amman's population, most-
ly Palestinian refugees anyway, has recently swollen  by  400,000
people,  refugees from the Gulf War. This 50% increase doesn't go
by without difficulties, and some Jordanians complain about feel-
ing  less secure, and about the disappearance of other values, or
is it a reappearance? George Bush is of course considered the ul-
timate  enemy,  but  US-ians  get easily by, as long as they make
clear that they  don't  approve  Bush's  interventionism.  Yasser
Arafat's  popularity is declining as Palestinians grow discontent
about his autocratic leadership that is  not  responsive  to  the
changing world scene.


Day 27: Kerak --> Amman

After breakfast, we take a bus  with  Frank  to  Amman.  Too  bad
though that the Kings Highway is closed for repair, because we'll
miss Wadi al-Mujib (a famous gorge), and Madaba  (well-known  for
its  mosaics)  by  skirting  around  them  on the Desert Highway.
Malesh. On the bus, Frank realizes he has forgotten his  passport
in  Kerak. We decide to call the hotel from Amman, so that George
can bring it along when he moves on tonight.

At Wahdat Station in Amman, we catch  a  service  taxi  (#27)  to
downtown  Amman,  where we check into the friendly Vinicia Hotel.
Fahmi, the receptionist, calls Tariq  in  Kerak  because  of  the
passport,  and the latter insists on delivering it himself, as he
has business to do in Amman anyway. This is quite  extraordinary,
and indeed, 2 hours later, Tariq is there to deliver the passport
to the grateful Frank.

Amman, the Greek Philadelphia, is a fairly modern and clean city,
built upon a series of hills. Traffic is just as mad as in Cairo.
But there are not many sights, the main attraction lying  in  the
legendary  friendliness  of the easy-going people. Downtown Amman
is a very popular area, and that's where the  traveler  wants  to
spend  his  time.  There  is  the  el Husseiny Mosque, the eldest
mosque in Jordan, and recently restored.  A  few  hundred  meters
down  the  road is the impressive Roman Theater (6,000 seats), in
front of which is a shaded park, and a large  pedestrian  square,
which are great hang-outs all day long.

While overviewing the place from the top ranks of the theater, we
are  temporarily  joined  by Nidal, a Palestinian student. As the
guardian doesn't seem to tolerate his being with us  (after  some
recent incident, Jordanians can technically be arrested for being
with foreigners), we go down for a cup of tea in the park.

The hill right in front has some remnants of a Citadel. We  climb
onto  it, and enjoy a pleasant view all over Amman. Ali, the pol-
iceman guarding the site, invites us for tea  at  his  house.  He
adds  some home-grown na-na (mint) leaves to the tea, giving it a
flavor I like a lot, just like in Morocco. He is  very  happy  to
have somebody to talk to: the poor fellow is alone all day.

From the Citadel, we spot two beautiful mosques that  seem  worth
the  detour.  We  first  head to the nearest, namely the recently
built King Abdallah Mosque, on Jebel Webdeh. It features  a  nice
blue   roof.  In  the  immediate  vicinities  are  two  Christian
churches, providing a nice reminder of the  religious  crossroads
Jordan is. On the way down, we are "abducted" by Mahmoud, a jour-
nalist of the Al Hasad monthly magazine. At  their  headquarters,
he offers us tea, and a recent copy of the magazine, while intro-
ducing us for a fun conversation to the  rest  of  the  editorial
staff.

Eventually, we get going, and walk down Sharia King Hussein,  to-
wards  downtown  Amman  again. We pass in front of some ministry,
where public writers wait for business  under  sun-umbrellas.  We
ask  one of them to let us have a look at his typewriter, because
we've never seen an Arabic keyboard before.

From the fruit market near the el Husseiny Mosque,  we  climb  up
the steep stairs onto Jebel el-Ashrafiyeh, in search of the other
mosque we spotted from the Citadel. The  Abu  Darwish  Mosque  is
indeed  very  original with its pleasant alternation of black and
white stones, and the view from there is even better than the one
from  the  Citadel. It strikes us that many houses feature minia-
ture Eiffel towers on their roofs: they are  meant  to  hide  the
disgraceful TV antennas.

By now we are pretty exhausted for the day, and slowly head  back
to  the  centre.  We  decide to celebrate this last evening at Al
Quds, one of the most famous restaurants in town. It looks like a
pastry  shop  from the outside, but at the back is a dining space
with classy waiters. We order the house's specialty, namely  men-
sef  (the  Jordanian national dish), plus their recommended lemon
juice. This dish consists of a bed of rice  topped  by  a  yogurt
sauce  with  cashews  and  raisin,  and finally a piece of mutton
stew. A butter sauce is served along. For desert, we  treat  our-
selves  to  some  of their delicious pastry. Total cost: only 3JD
each.

Jordan as a tourist destination

Considering the lack of oil, and all recent historic events (huge
absorptions  of  refugees  in  1948,  1967, and 1991), the Jordan
economy is in surprisingly good shape. But  the  "punishment"  by
some  Gulf  states  for their supporting Iraq might hurt badly in
the long run. The JD was a very strong currency, until its recent
50%  drop.  Only then has Jordan become an affordable destination
for budget travelers, although the  government's  tourism  bureau
has  totally  forgotten  these  by only building first-class Rest
Houses: well, agreed, they have to start somewhere,  and  package
tourists  bring  more  cash. Politics are relatively stable, too,
although King Hussein has been surviving  coup  attempts  for  40
years  now.  And as I hope to have shown, there is so much to see
there. So it is a mystery to me why so few people ever bother  to
go  there.  To  quote Hugh Finlay (Lonely Planet): "Jordan is the
most under-rated tourist destination in the world". Right!


Day 28: Amman --> Paris --> Brussels

After a breakfast at the well-situated Hilton Bar--a pompous name
for this tea house with a dominating view over downtown Amman--we
bid farewell to Frank. A service-taxi (#6) takes us to the Abdali
bus-station,  where  we  board  a bus to Queen Alia Airport (32km
south of  Amman).  All  procedures  are  pretty  straightforward,
though  a  hefty  exit charge (10JD) is levied by the airport au-
thorities. This is the end of a great journey.