Afford'n Jordan

We recently visited Jordan, no, not she of the silicone valley, nor even he of the basketballs! No, we went to that plucky little Middle Eastern country that lies betwixt powerful and dangerous neighbours, and a Red Sea. Now I must admit, the last time I visited Jordan, it was as a bag-carrier to the then President of the Australian Senate and his partner. King Hussain had parked his Super Puma helicopter just on the other end of the Allenby Bridge, which crosses the River Jordan between Israel and Jordan. After lift-off, we flew first to the ancient fabled Nabatean city of Petra, over the Crusader castle at Kerek, and then to Amman. Sheer luxury! So this time, when we landed at the Queen Alia International Airport and emerged from the Economy Class section of our Gulf Air squeezebox, I knew that we were 'slumming it'. "Here's lookin' for you, kid" I said to my wife, as we navigated the gloom of an airport that was straight out of Casablanca, and I was somewhat surprised that tourists weren't given a white cane as a navigational aid! We found Fahdi, our driver, whose nose suggested a centuries earlier Greco-Roman dalliance, and whose hair was slicked back to the 50's. Then, after a few mandatory military road block checks, we drove out of the airport, and with a certain amount of dead reckoning, set sail for the Dead Sea.

You realize instantly, two things about Jordan; it is old, and it is poor. Just to look at the place names, and those of the 'leading players', shows that you are in the cradle of civilization. Egyptians, Romans, Moses, Herod, Jesus, John the Baptist, Salome, the pilloried Lot, Disciples by the dozen, the Prophet, Saladin, Turks and even those latter-day Johnnys-come -lately, Lawrence and Indiana Jones, have all trod these parts. Then, there are the place names; the Jordan River and the Dead Sea, Bethany, Madaba, Sodom, Gomorrah, Kerek, Jerash, Petra, Wadi Rum and Aqaba, to say nothing of Amman itself. Once, it was Philadelphia, and that is a story in itself, although I must say I still find "a Philly that became Amman", to be a trifle incongruous, even in this age of sex-change normalcy. Then again, Amman Cream Cheese doesn't seem to have quite the same commercial pulling power, does it? From Jordan, you can see the lights of Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Jericho. The point is, that in Jordan, you 'feel biblical', or if a Muslim, as though in Sham, for the Koran encompassed the whole area from Syria to Egypt, in times long, long ago. Here it is easier to talk about ABCD, rather than BC and AD, as everything seems as closely inter-twined as a jungle creeper.

Jordan is one of those few Middle Eastern counties that does not have an abundance of oil and gas, and has to rely on potash and phosphate exports, limited agriculture, tourism, and the acumen of its nearly seven million people, of which over half are refugees from Palestine, Iraq and other regional neighbours. Like the good global citizen that it is, Jordan has, over the centuries, taken in waifs and vagabonds, the displaced and dispossessed, and first through King Hussein, and now through King Abdullah, continued to play the role of a peace broker, and an Arab engager of Israel. The huge Palestinian encampment of Al Baqu'a, on the outskirts of Amman, has long acquired permanence, and it shows that the process of peace is an arduous and difficult one, and that little Jordan has carried more than its share of the burden. Furthermore, many of the refugees, while happy to accept a Jordanian passport, have also avowed to return from where hence they came when the situation changes, or the State of Palestine receives full international recognition, so there is often little commitment to Jordan

From the airport, we took a short cut to the Dead Sea via the ancient town of Madaba, a scramble of mess and mayhem, but also the site of the Madaba Map which in mosaic tiles, set out the 'known world' in 527AD. Afterwards, we drove through the cluttered grubby streets, past a memorial comprising an F-104 Starfighter from a best forgotten war, and to a 'Mosaic Factory' for Madaba self styles itself as the mosaic capital of the world. We were immediately bid welcome with a small, strong, Turkish coffee, for which you need some Terry Thomas dentures to strain out the grounds, and introduced to a vast array of collectables and kitsch. Now while I am hardly inclined to a day or a night on the tiles, the 'hard sell' was relentless, and when we left without booty, the sales-person did not realise how close he had come to finding some mosaic tiles shoved up a southern orifice! It was, mind you, the only place in Jordan were people were so pushy, for elsewhere, our "No thanks" to a host of tack, was met with a smile which seemed to say "Nope, I wouldn't buy it either"!

On the way to Madaba, the land was gently rolling, with a brown, cow-patish soil, more Milo than Horlicks. There were no fences, only fields of stone, which farmers still plough in the manner that those people with hair, can run their fingers through it. Everywhere the little runnels were full of stones, and I wondered why, in 2000 years of cultivation, little attention had been given to clearing the stones away! Think of all the stone fences that could have been built! Why, with borders set, there could have been an early rendition of This Land is My Land, That Land is Your Land! No, for thousands of years, the grain has fallen between the stones, and for thousands of years, the harvest has been by hand, and it probably will be for another thousand years. Even now, at the beginning of winter – and it does snow in Jordan – tomatoes, egg-plant, cabbages and spinach were being sold by the roadside, while later when we drove through the more fertile valleys between Amman and Jerash, there were oranges, plums and pomegranates. And betwixt and between, there were the olive groves and Cypress pine stands we associate with the countries of the Levant. With such a pedigree, no wonder the Jordanians lay claim to the best olive oil in the world, although clearly they need a good Italian PR person to broaden their olive oil appeal!

In the fields, while there were often large and generally grimy houses, there was an abundance of corrugated iron and tented ramshackle. Undoubtedly, some were temporary Bedouin camps with sheep and goats, donkeys and the occasional horse contained in a scrub stockade, but many had an air of 'permanence' and were as squalid as anything I have seen in the poorest parts of the Third World. By the road-side there were motor repair places and jumbled car carcasses, clapped out little shops not more than two axe-handles wide, and butchers shops where a skinned goat or sheep hung from its hind quarters, eyes in a death stare. And tethered outside, were more sheep and goats, soon themselves for the slit. "Look Ethel, there is Bert hanging up there. He does look thin without his fleece eh?"  It wasn't so much that things looked run down; it all looked as if they had never been run up! But then, when you are busy just eking out a living, civic pride isn't high on the agenda!

On all the roads that we travelled, there were an abundance of speed bumps, and this even extended to major roads such as the Desert Highway from Amman to Aqaba. I presume this is a security rather than a safety precaution, and indeed at a lot of the speed bumps there were police with little aircraft apron bats, and a machine pistol at the hip, checking on papers. Then too, there were the military check-points, with a passport seeking soldier covered by another in the turret of a HumVee, a big machine gun looking lethal on its cradle. Often there was a slalom entry and exit, and a set of road spikes which would turn tyres into coleslaw in seconds! In many parts of Jordan, hostile Israel is only a shell-shot away, and while we were at the Dead Sea, there were some enormous detonations that left a huge dust cloud in the sky. The locals hardly noticed. "Oh that's just the Isra Ay Lees blowing up something" they said with a nonchalance of those used to things going boom in the day or night.

From Madaba, we travelled to Mt Nebo, where the six-score yeared Moses saw the Promised Land, but was forbidden to enter it, surprising don’t you think, as he was hardly ‘under age’! Down below, you could see the Dead Sea, and where the Jordan River runs into it. Near the town of Bethany, is the place where John the Baptist baptised Christ, and ever since that time, young Christian duck-divers have followed suit, all over the world. Amongst all the brown and parched land, on both sides of the Dead Sea, it is the only green sward to be seen. The road down is tortuous and twisting, for it drops to 400 metres below sea level, and while there are plenty of Bedouin shepherds with their Sherpa sheep, a fall into one of the rocky chasms ensures that you are dead long before you get to the Dead Sea. I looked at the view, as the Pope did a couple of years ago, and reflected that if old Moses thought The Promised Land looked good, boy it must have been rough where he came from, because the land that I saw, made the term lunar sound like a veritable market garden. There were just canyons and jagged peaks, boulders strewn like hundreds and thousands, and what the sheep and goats found for feed, I know not. No wonder they were often on the road, for the chance of finding a discarded bun or a delicious McDonald’s wrapper, offered a better prospect than finding a single blade of grass!

Bedouin Camp near Mt Nebo, where the sheep seek feed

Later, as we travelled away from the Dead Sea, and climbed through the desolate peaks to the Crusader fort town of Kerek, the land became dun in colour, now more Horlicks than Milo, barren and unending to a hazy horizon, with jumbled towns and villages in-between. High on a hill above Machaerus, in a now ruined fort, Salome strutted her stuff for Herod, then John the Baptist and his head parted company, probably just as well as the climb down would have killed him! Towns had narrow, crowded streets, shops with wares spilled across the footpaths, while the footpaths themselves required the dexterity of a mountain goat to negotiate. Spagettied wires hung from every lamppost, air-conditioning units hung in space, and every building seemed an unfinished work. Grey concrete pillars and rusted re-inforcing wire protruded from every roof like lobster feelers, carrying the promise that one day, there would be enough wealth to add an extra story! Streets were rutted, dusty and dirty, while the surrounding fields were confettied with plastic and paper bags. It was clear that cleanliness and orderliness, were merely Utopian concepts for most Jordanians!

The view from Kerek Castle

We had scant chance to see Amman, but given that many people had picnics right by the roadside, falafels and shwarmas garnished by CO2, I suspect that there are few parks! Then again, the road system was orderly with bridges, underpasses and overpasses, to ensure the hills and valleys were not a transport problem. There were plenty of modern, stylish buildings, houses and apartments, and a large number of coffee shops, eateries and first-rate hotels. Policemen in Pickelhaube hats, as well as the separate tourist police, were in profusion, and while not a lot of English was spoken, people were friendly, approachable, and smiled a lot. We chanced the airport again, still gloomy and weather-burnt (a new one is being built), but coming as it did at the end, it didn't to detract from our holiday. There are many things to attract you to Jordan, and it has a historical ‘feeling’ that you simply cannot emulate anywhere else. Yes, food is expensive, petrol and accommodation too, and you have to tip when you use the loo, but see its wonderful sights while you can, before those clever people at Disney, or in Hollywood, take all its best features! After all, we have marvelled at bits of Jordan in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and in Lawrence of Arabia, but see Jordan ‘in the flesh’, so to speak, for like that ‘other Jordan’, it is well endowed with assets! 

Winfred Peppinck is the Tales of the Travelling Editor for Wandering Educators