Hiking in the Qadisha Valley Lebanon

“I have to stop and adjust my bag. It is unbalanced and there is something hard poking my back!”
Rummaging through my day-pack, I find the culprit: a bag of cucumbers I brought along as part of a picnic lunch spread.“Hahahahaha!” Laurence bursts out laughing hysterically. “Now that you are no longer being raped by a cucumber, can we move on?”

After almost two months traveling through the arid deserts from Egypt to Syria, a few days of hiking in the Qadisha Valley of Lebanon is a welcome change! Here the area is covered by lush green forests, and the air feels fresher. All along the valley are thundering waterfalls and serene monasteries, set among fruit and olive groves. As this is a predominantly Maronite Christian area of Lebanon, the towering minarets and frequent Islamic call to prayers, typical in the rest of the middle-east, are replaced by soaring steeples and church bells. Red-roofed villages with quaint squares and outdoor cafes line the rim of a deep valley, giving the whole area the look and feel of a European alpine resort.

 

Staying in the town of Bcharré, most of the main sights of the valley, including the highest peak in Lebanon, trails to the valley floor, and one of the last remaining strands of old growth cedars, are all easily accessible. The best (and sometimes only) way to travel between the villages is by hitchhiking, and many of the friendly locals are more than happy to oblige by picking up hitchhikers. Some memorable hitchhiking experiences here involve squeezing two people into the front passenger seat of a peanut seller's station wagon, whose rear seats and trunk were completely filled with all kinds of nuts and dried fruits, and riding with a painter whose truck reeked of leaking gasolene..all the while watching him attempt to light a cigarette and thinking we could go “Boom!” at any minute! 

After two grueling days of mostly uphill trekking, including a failed attempt to hike up to the highest peak in Lebanon (due to an unreliable hand drawn map), I am starting to discover muscles in my butt and calf area that I never knew I had. None of the trails in the area are marked, and some are overgrown with weeds.

The entire Qadisha Valley region still feels somewhat rustic, somewhat untouched. Maybe it is because we were off the main tourist trail, and the only foreign travelers I've seen in the area are backpackers. Maybe it is the relaxed village atmosphere, or the solitude of the mountains where goatherds and their herds roam free. Standing high on the peaks looking down into the valley below, the late afternoon sun slowly descends and low clouds roll in engulfing the lowlands in a thick fog, one cannot help but imagine why some consider this area to be one of the most beautiful places in all of Lebanon.

 

Another Cup of Tea

“Is salaam 'alaykim!”, I greet two men sitting on their front porch with the commonly used Middle-eastern greeting of “peace be with you” as I walk by. Nodding and a waving back, they smile and respond, “Wa 'alaykum is salaam”, and all of a sudden, I find myself being invited in for another cup of tea. This would be my fourth glass, all with strangers who I had just met, and I have only been wandering around the city of Hama for just a little over 3 hours.

Some of my most memorable experiences while traveling through the middle-east have been meeting and interacting with the hospitable and friendly people of the region. Earlier in day, while walking along the Orontes River, photographing the ancient norias or water wheels that dot its banks, I am drawn to the voice of a little child screaming “heeello”. Turning around, I see a young boy, peering curiously at me from behind an iron fence. Returning the greeting, I wave back at him,which only prompts him to scream “heeello” a few more times. Behind him, his grandfather is lounging on a plastic chair in front of a little hut along the water's edge, and he is waving at me to come on in and sit with him. Not wanting to be rude, I oblige, and I am offered a cup of tea.

Although the grandfather spoke no English at all, we were still able to exchange greetings and a few basic niceties with each other. I found out that he is a carpenter, and the little hut that we were at is his workshop. His job is to repair and restore the ancient waterwheels in Hama. Soon his sons, who also work there joins us, and through a mix of basic English and Arabic, I learn further that his family has been performing this task of repairing and restoring the waterwheels for generations. And in the past, the wood used to come from the forests of Syria, but due to deforestation, the wood now mostly comes from China.

I sat chatting with this family for over an hour, trading stories of my family with theirs, and even going as far as discussing politics, religion and how tourism in Syria is affected by global economics – all the while using only a simple mix of English and Arabic. Being invited to a cup of tea and having the opportunity to interact in such an intimate setting with a Syrian family that could not be more different from my background was indeed fascinating. This is the reason why I enjoy traveling, to have the opportunity to expand my global perspective through encounters like these. As I got up to leave, the grandfather takes my hand, and tells me that if I ever returned to Hama, I must find him right here at this same spot again, and instead of paying for a hotel, I must stay with him and meet the rest of the family. Truly remarkable.

However, occasionally my attempt to speak Arabic goes horribly wrong, often leading to confusion or down right hilarity. When arriving into Damascus, Syria from Amman, Jordan, Laurence and I shared a service taxi with two middle aged Syrian women. They didn't speak any English, nor we Arabic, and conversing was next to impossible. Pulling out the Arabic phrase book that Laurence carried with him wherever he goes, I attempted to break the ice by asking them a few common civilities like “How are you?” in Arabic. After I had exhausted all the questions in the chapter titled “First Encounters”, I moved on to the chapter on “Family” and asked the two ladies casually, “Inti mitgawwiza? (Are you married?)” - knowing full well that I probably butchered the pronunciation.

After starting at us blankly for a few seconds, the ladies started pointing at both Laurence and I and proceed to giggle amongst themselves, speaking rapidly in Arabic. Turning to me, Laurence narrows his eyes in a state of realization and whispers quietly to me, “I think you just told them that we are married...to each other!”

Hitchhiking to Mesopotamia

It is Friday, a bad day for traveling, and in particular hitchhiking as it is the traditional day of rest in Islamic Syria. Not only are there fewer buses and public transportation running because all offices and shops are shuttered, most of the local population are also staying home with their families.

Sticking our thumbs out horizontally, making the internationally recognized (or so we thought) sign for hitchhiking, Laurence, Helen and I are walking along a deserted stretch of country road, about 10km northwest from the town of Abu Kamal along the border of Syria and Iraq. We had just left the ruins of Mari, and we heading west towards Dura Europos. The occasional car or truck going by are speeding past us at breakneck speed, showing no indication that they had seen us, or had any intention to stop. It was mid-day, and the sun was beating down hard. Suddenly, a tractor with several women on board appears out from the fields on the south side of the road. We wave frantically and catch their attention. The women smile and wave back, but they were just crossing the road and heading to the fields on the other side.

It would be another 10 minutes before we finally flag down a truck, by waving up and down with the palm of our hand (which is the customary way to hitchhike in Syria). Running up to the cab, we shout out the name of the town we were heading to in Arabic, and the elderly driver nods and waves us up into the cab.

The ruins of Mari contain some of the oldest and most significant archeological finds of our time. Dating back some 5000 years old, over 25,000 clay tablets have been found here, unlocking the history of the earliest of human civilization. Still an active archeological site, the main ruins are covered under a protective tent, and significant artifacts are still being unearthed.

Sitting high on a desert plateau, the Roman fortress city of Dura Europos, with its imposing gate, overlooks the Euphrates river. From the top of the cliffs, the ruins offer commanding views over the Euphrates, as it meanders gently through the plains below. Beyond the river on the other side, stretching out as far as the eye can see is the fertile valley between the Euphrates and the Tigris – the ancient land of Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization!

As it has been since the earliest of human civilization, farms line the Euphrates on both sides of its fertile banks. With the urging of farmers down in the valley waving at us, we climb down a set of cliffs to the fields below. The cool clear waters of the river seem so inviting under the sweltering heat of the Syrian desert, but our intention to strip down and jump in was cut short when the caretaker of the ruins (who had been following us) shows up suddenly and sternly instructs us to get back up as tourists were not allowed down on the farms.

How the whole incident played out was a little odd, and we were practically escorted back to the gate by the caretaker. My assumption is that with the border of central Iraq (that is closed to foreigners) just over 20km away, they did not want foreigners wandering off the beaten path and interacting with the local farmers in the area.
 

 
The area around eastern Syria is well off the main tourist path, and aside from a few backpackers, there are not a whole lot of foreigners in the area. This is also the area where the United States government have alleged that the Syrian authorities have been supplying insurgents in Iraq with weapons and ammunition. My travels through eastern Syria and along the Euphrates however have only been met with the open arms of Syrian hospitality – from the friendly men at the coffee shops, to the farmers, and especially the truck drivers who picked us up and brought three hitchhikers safely to our destination.
 

The Rise and Fall of Palmyra

The end was near, and she could smell it in the air. Most of her men – men who went into battle with her, who fought and won in the conquest against Rome and the capital of the Province of Arabia – now lay dead or dying. With the army of Roman emperor Aurelian now encircling the city, the once great city of Palmyra lay desolate. Most of its population have fled into the hills and desert, leaving only its defiant Queen, Zenobia and a few hundred men holding off the advancing Roman cavalry. In a last ditch act of willful defiance, Zenobia, refusing a generous surrender offer from the Romans, rides off in the dead of night on a camel, heading west towards Persia to seek military aid.

Palmyra, mentioned in ancient texts dating back to the 2nd millennium BC, grew in prominence and prosperity during the 1st and 2nd Centuries AD, during the time when the Romans were expanding their empire. Due in large part to its unique location set between two mighty empires, the Romans in the west and the Persians in the east, Palmyra grew to be a major stopping point in the old Silk Route, commandeering all trade between Europe, Mesopotamia and the Far East. By levying taxes on the traveling caravans, the city accumulated untold riches, and built bigger and grander temples, with a great colonnaded avenue running through the center of the city.

The city's colorful history reached a peak when its sitting ruler, Odainat was assassinated, and his second wife, Zenobia (who some believe killed her husband) ascended to the throne. When Rome refused to recognize her as the rightful ruler and sent an army to dethrone her, she met the Romans in battle and defeated them! She went on to lead her army against the capital of the Province of Arabia in Bosra, even going as far as Egypt, conquering and putting all of Syria, Palestine and large swaths of Egypt under her rule!

Unable to stand such outright defiance, the Roman Emperor Aurelian sent a battalion towards Palmyra, this time defeating Zenobia's troops and laying siege on the city. With Zenobia on the run, the once great city was torched to the ground. Zenobia was later captured by Roman forces along the Euphrates river, and carted off to Rome to be put on trial.

  

Arriving into Palmyra on a bus from Damascus, the final few kilometers from the bus station to the center of town required some creative hitchhiking. First, on the back of an ice truck to a small ice factory, where the friendly owner invited me into his home for a cup of tea, and then hanging off the back of a tomato truck for the journey to the edge of town. Walking the final kilometer or so to the hotel through several neighborhood blocks, friendly locals constantly waved 'hellos' and 'welcomes', as kids of all ages swarmed around me, eager and excited to have their picture taken.

 

Having been captivated by the history of Palmyra and in particular the story of Zenobia, I woke up early the next morning to catch the ruins at sunrise – a wonderful time of the day when the low hanging sun casts long shadows between the standing columns and bathe the crumbled buildings in a warm orange glow. Most striking about the ruins for me, was how large of an area they covered, consisting of an entire Roman city stretched out over several square kilometers. Anchored by a hilltop castle on one end, and the Temple of Bel on the other, the city in between hosts structures of everyday Roman life, including public squares, fountains, baths, residences, tombs and temples.

Walking down the grand colonnaded avenue, it wasn't hard to imagine how this once great city might have looked like during Zenobia's reign. In my opinion, with a little Hollywood magic, the story of the rebel queen with a remarkable plot line involving valor, action, drama, murder and love, will no doubt make a successful summer blockbuster, casting Angelina Jolie in the title role. In the end, as Palmyra falls and the city lay in smothering heaps, Zenobia is trialed and paraded down the streets of Rome, bound in gold chains. Later freed, she remarries a Roman Senator and lived out her days happily ever after.

 

 

Through the Lens in Damascus

View of Damascus, Syria from atop Jebel (Mt) Qassioun. It is believed that when the prophet Mohammed gazed down upon Damascus from this mountain, he declared that he only wanted to enter paradise only once – when he died – and so refused to enter into the city. Vying for the title of the oldest continuously inhabited city on earth, the Damascus of today is a modern metropolis, cohabiting happily with an ancient old city. From ultra modern venues developing a young, bustling and vibrant art and music scene, to the labyrinth alleys and fragrant bazaars selling anything that can be traded and sold, this is a city that has outlived civilizations and outlasted empires.

The souqs or bazaars in the Old Town are a maze of alleyways that stretches for kilometers. Here, you will find shops selling everything from clothes to jewelery to toys to spices. This picture was taken in the Islamic quarter of Old Town, as evident by the way the women are dressed.

Man selling teas and other spices.

One of the many spice and herbal shops in the old souq. Oblivious to international law and the endangered species act, you can find everything from dried starfishes, turtles and even the skins of wolves and tigers with their heads intact!

A butcher working on a lamb carcass while his shoppers look on.

Right after snapping the previous picture, I turn around to see these two butchers waving at me from the next store. After the customary hellos, they ask me to take their picture. All around the souqs, friendly locals will constantly try to talk to me in the few words of English that they know, and invite me in for a cup of tea. I've had more people say “hello” and “welcome” to me than any other country I have visited.

Right around the corner from my hotel, a lone VW Beetle parked in an alley. All around town there are hundreds of narrow alleys that you can wander around and get lost in. And as one of the safest and friendliest countries I have ever visited, wandering these alleys was something I felt very comfortable doing.

With 36% of its population under 15, there are a lot of children in Syria, and you cannot escape them whenever you are wandering through the neighborhoods. While hiking up Jebel (Mt) Qassioun, swarms of kids would run up to me, wave, and say hello. I caught these two, who I assume to be siblings, sitting on the front steps of their house.

One of my favorite pictures. Also while hiking up Jebel (Mt) Qassioun, I hear footsteps coming up behind me. With my camera hanging around my neck, I turned around and snapped this picture without looking through the viewfinder. Only later when looking at my pictures on my computer, did I realize I caught this kid in mid-stride and in mid-air as he was skipping towards me!

While visiting the Umayyad Mosque, I was waved over by three elderly gentlemen and invited to join them while they were relaxing under the shade along the arches flanking the courtyard. One of them spoke perfect English, and I ended up spending about twenty minutes with them. In this picture, the oldest of the three is turning over to his friend, listening to him translate what I was saying.

The Storyteller. Almost a dying trade, the art of storytelling can still be found in the old quarters in Damascus. Here, Abo Shadi, the resident hakawati (storyteller) at the Al-Nawfara Coffee Shop reaches a climax in his story, picking up his walking stick, swinging it around and smacking it down on the side table for dramatic effect. Although the whole story is recited in Arabic, just hearing the rise and fall of his voice as he retells the story, his big expressions and animated gestures, was enough to make it an entertaining hour!

The Al-Nawfara Coffee Shop packed with people enjoying a late night tea or coffee while puffing on a nargileh (water pipe).

The courtyard at the Al Rabie Hotel, where I stayed at in Damascus. Converted from an old Damascene  house, courtyards such as this were a central part of the house, where the families would sit and relax, often by fountains or pools. Here, fellow travelers that I met are having breakfast together.

Outside of the Old Town, Damascus is faced with the same traffic congestion as any other city. However, the city is well organized with wide clean streets and modern infrastructure befitting of the modern global city that it is.

Damascus has a thriving art and music scene. This picture is from the opening night of a Salvador Dali exhibition at a local gallery. While I was in Damascus, an European Film Festival was also going on, and I was able to catch a free screening of an award winning Polish film.

This picture of colorful fruit, vegetables and pickled items laid out on display at the local fruit and vegetable market sums up my experience in Damascus. A colorful city full of surprises! A burgeoning  youthful population that is adding a fresh new vibe to a city that has preserved its heritage (by some accounts) for over 5000 years.

“To Damascus, years are only moments, decades are only flitting trifles of time. She measures time, not by days and months and years, but by the empires she has seen rise, and prosper and crumble to ruin. She is a type of immortality.”
                            -Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad, 1869

Road Trip Jordan (Part 2)

For Part 1 of Road Trip Jordan, please click here.

“Umm guys, I think we've just been locked in the castle!”
“No way!” exclaims Tom, as everyone leans over the edge, looking down towards the gate.
“I think Ken's right, the gate is closed and there is no one there!” Jay replies.
 

Taking advantage of our high vantage point, Tom points to an area along the north-west side of the castle, where the wall had partially collapsed, “We could climb out through there.” he says. Looking over, it does seem like a plausible way out of the castle, but one wrong move could send any one of us plummeting down 50 feet off a cliff!

 It has been a long day, and having already “escaped” out of one castle earlier in the day, did we really have to escape out of this one too? Heading towards the exit, Laurence, Philip and Tom find a flimsy construction scaffolding along the east facing wall, leading down to a steep retaining wall (that we could probably scramble down), and onto a ring road circumventing the old castle. But before any one of us risked climbing onto the scaffolding that was over 30 feet high without any safety equipment, common sense got the better of us, and we decided to try the main exit, hoping that someone would be there to let us out.

Walking towards the exit, we could tell that the gate was indeed closed. With the thick iron grills filling the entire archway, there was no way we could climb over it. Coming around a bend, the whole gate comes into view, and leaning against the outer wall, partially hidden from view, was the castle attendant grinning from ear to ear and smoking a cigarette. Somehow, I get the feeling that he knew where we were all along, knowing that we could see him walk away from the top of the castle walls. Unlocking the thick iron gates, we were freed – once again – relieved to be let out, and ending the day on a high!

 
The Dead Sea

  
Standing at the lowest point on earth at 400m below sea level, I gaze across a calm, clear, mirror-like lake. Across in a distance, are the lifeless barren peaks of the West Bank. The heat of the blazing sun is starting to feel unbearable, and wading into the cool salty waters of the Dead Sea offered a welcome reprieve.

Unwilling to pay an arm and a leg to visit one of the resorts along the Dead Sea, we found a secluded spot along the Dead Sea Highway, parked along the sandy shoulder, and hiked down an embankment to a quiet rocky beach along the Dead Sea. Floating effortlessly on my back, the silence is broken as Laurence and Tom dives head first into the water, surfacing to cries of agony as the salty waters burn their eyes, turning them bright red.
 

Spending just a few minutes in the water, my body starts to burn all over. Every graze, cut, and mosquito bite that I've been scratching all over my body has swelled up, turning bright red from the salt burning into the raw skin. After quickly posing for pictures typical of any visit to the Dead Sea, such as reading a book while floating on our backs, we call it quits, rinsing ourselves off with bottles of fresh water brought along for this very purpose!
 

Been there! Done that! And one more check off my 'things to do before I die' list!

Slip and Slide at Wadi Mujib

Moving through another canyon, another Sig. This one, like the one at Petra, is narrow, about ten meters wide on average. The cliff faces are streaked in the same bursts of orange and pink, dancing in the mid afternoon light. However, unlike the Sig in Petra, where the Nabataeans built dams and aqueducts to divert the water, we are wading through about a foot of rapidly flowing, crisp, clear, fresh water! One of the few inlets of fresh water into the Dead Sea, the Wadi Mujib Nature Reserve hosts a dazzling array of plants and wildlife, anchored there by this little stream, cutting its way through the canyon.
 
Taking advantage of the cool, clean, fresh water to wash the salt off our skins and hair, we hike two kilometers up through the narrow canyon. Along the way, small whitewater rapids, cascades, and natural slides. Around every bend, a surprise. Culminating at the end is a waterfall. Over thirty meters high, a torrent of water pours down from a crack in the canyon above. Like kids in a playground, we climb on the rocks, going behind the wall of falling water, jumping and splashing in the natural pool, and getting knocked around by the currents.

With no pictures to show, I make a mental note to get myself a waterproof camera for my next trip.

More Car Rental Woes!

After leaving Wadi Mujib, we continued driving north along the Dead Sea Highway, looking for a shady spot where we could have a picnic lunch. Having identified a site and parking along the side of the highway, we were surprised when a gray car suddenly pulls up along side ours. To our even bigger surprise, Ahmad, the service taxi driver who recommended his 'friend' the rental car guy to us jumps out! Seeing the five of us, he starts shaking his head, and goes on to reprimand Laurence and I for taking three more people along on the trip, claiming that it was illegal to carry more than 4 persons in that car! Was he following us? Spying on us? What was he doing hundreds of kilometers from his home in Petra, where he claims he is from, on a Saturday anyway?

“We rented the car...and we paid for the car. How many people we take with us is our problem!” Laurence argues.
“And besides there are 5 seat belts in the car, which means that legally, we can carry five people!” I chime in.

Refusing to get into an argument with Ahmad, who by now is on the phone with Bayan, we tell Ahmad that this issue is between us and Bayan, and is none of his business anyway, leaving him standing on the side of the road on his phone and walking off to have our lunch.

During the drive to Madaba, Laurence pours through the entire rental contract, and nowhere in there does it say that the maximum occupancy was four. And besides, we have driven through multiple police check-points over the last two days, and not once were we stopped for carrying five people. Knowing that Bayan was certain to ask us for extra money for carrying five people, we prepared to fight it out!

Getting into Madaba, we made sure to arrive at our agreed drop off point, a side street next to a popular hotel in Madaba, right on time, so as to not give Bayan any other excuse to charge us more money. Arriving over an hour late, Bayan first complains about how expensive it was for him to travel all the way to Madaba from Petra to pick up the car. Our response: That's your business – we agreed to a price, and we're sticking to it.

Next he tells us that he was going to charge us 20JD more for carrying a fifth person. And at this point, a full on argument ensues.

“You never told us that we could only carry four people. You agreed to a price, a price for renting the car for two days, not the number of people in the car, and then you raised it by 15JD, now you want to raise the price again? Is that how you run your business? You realize we will NEVER recommend you to anyone else ever, and in fact, we'll tell people not to rent from you!” Laurence argues.
Responding to Laurence, Bayan responds, “This car, not for five people. Two okay, three okay, four okay, but not five!”
“But you never told us! These are things that you need to tell the renters when they rent the car, not after the fact!
Jumping in at this point, I add, “There are five seat belts in the car, and I've rented cars all over the world, and as long as every occupant has a seat belt, we are not breaking any laws.”
“But not in Jordan!”
“Well then, show me where in the contract does it say that? If it is that important, it should be clearly stated in the contract!”
“Or you need to tell us that!” Laurence adds.

Realizing that he is getting nowhere with us, Bayan turns to a Jordanian passerby on the street, and rattles off to him in Arabic, clearly bad mouthing us and pointing to us! Losing my temper, I immediately jump between Bayan and the passerby, shouting, “Why are you getting someone else involved? This is between you and me! Don't be getting strangers involved!”

At this point, Bayan starts complaining about the condition of the interiors of the car. Pointing to the mud stains on the rear floor mats and food crumbs on the seats, which in my opinion, was making much ado about nothing, for the interiors were about what you would expect after a two day road trip that involved outdoor activities.

After arguing for about 15 minutes, we finally come to a compromise. Five more pounds for the fifth person to make the total 100JD! Agreeing to the deal, Bayan hands me back 150JD, a refund for the 250JD deposit we had to pay when we picked up the car. In the heat of the moment, I completely forgot about the 4JD we paid to get the brakes fixed, but in the big scheme of things, that wasn't anything to cry over either.

It is infuriating whenever an agreed upon price, even a price that is printed on a contract is a moving target, and can be renegotiated. Typical of the Middle-East, and many other parts of the world, I've actually seen this happen to both tourists and locals alike. The only difference is that locals are used to dealing with situations like these, and they have more leverage with unscrupulous business owners. I'm glad we stood our ground and fought hard, and overall, we made it out alright! 100JD for two days of car rental is about the standard going rate, and after splitting between five guys, it was well within my travel budget.

Glad that this ordeal was finally over, we left Madaba, catching a ride in a minivan taxi for the capital Amman. The last two days have been quite the adventure. Five people, five countries, one shared experience. In a day, we would all be going on our separate ways, we might never see or speak with each other ever again. And as for me, I will be crossing borders again, this time, on the road to Damascus.

Road Trip Jordan (Part 1)

The following is an account of a road trip through Jordan, from the town of Wadi Musa, just outside of Petra, up along the King's Highway, to the capital Amman.

The Players (from left): Herb (Jay), a chef from Austria whose real name is Herbert, but because he impersonated someone else when I first met him, I never knew what his real name was until we got to Amman, so for the purpose of this post, I will continue to call him Jay; Louis-Philippe (Philip), a student from Montreal, Canada with a very royal French sounding name but answers to Philip;  Laurence, a student from Buckinghamshire, Britain whom I've traveled with for several weeks now, and have been mentioned before in previous posts; Tom, a loud Italian from the Northern Italian Alps region who earns his keep working in the family farm during the summer months so that he can travel the globe the rest of the year; and me, the Lost Backpacker and designated driver. Some other important characters: Ahmad (not his real name) – because I cannot remember his real name – a service taxi driver; and Bayan, the car rental guy.

Preface

Hitchhiking from Wadi Rum to Wadi Musa (Petra), Laurence and I were picked-up along the highway by a service taxi driver, Ahmad – a seemingly friend and chatty middle-aged man with a growing pot-belly. After a short negotiation, we agreed to pay him 10 Jordanian Dinars (JD) – equivalent to US$14 – for the 1.5 hour ride, about what it would have cost us to take the bus, but with the convenience and speed of a private car.

As with most conversations with taxi drivers throughout the middle east, our conversation soon turned to how long we were going to stay in Jordan, and how were we going to get to the places we want to go to. This always then leads to an offer to take us to all the places we mention for a fee. In his defense, Jordan is a relatively hard place to travel around cheaply. Long distance public transportation is nonexistent or unreliable at best, and most budget travelers end up hitchhiking their way up or down the King's Highway, where most of the major sights lie, or join a 1-day organized tour rushing through all the sights. Laurence and I had ruled out any possibility of joining a tour, and had been weighing the option of renting a car, allowing us to visit all the major sites over a leisurely 2 or 3 days. When we brought this up to Ahmad, he immediately tells us that his “friend” runs a rental car company, and he could get us a car. When quizzed about how much that would cost, he calls his “friend” – Bayan, and hands the phone over to Laurence.

After a quick conversation, we get the basics. Pick up in Wadi Musa, return in Madaba (about 1 hour outside of Amman – so we don't have to drive in the chaos of a big city) for 40JD a day, including all insurance coverage. “Hmm...not bad”, I thought, especially if we can recruit a few more people to split the costs. We tell Bayan that we will think about it, and let him know in a few days.

Over the next couple of days, we decide that two days was sufficient, and we had recruited Philip, Jay and Tom to join us on this road trip, splitting the cost five ways. Calling Bayan to arrange for the car, we are informed that the price now is 95JD for the two days, 15JD more than what we initially agreed on! Used to having to deal with this infuriating practice of bait and switch pricing, and frankly too tired to put up a fight over what really amounted to 3JD more per person over two days, Laurence and I agree to the new price and collected the keys to a light metallic green Hyundai Accent.

And We're Off

Packing five guys, five backpacks, lunch, water, and all of our gear into a Hyundai Accent was no easy task, but miraculously, we manage to fit everyone and everything in without anyone having to sit on someone else' lap!

Leaving Wadi Musa early on Friday morning, I quickly learn the rules of the road in Jordan. First, use of the honk is necessary and recommended! When honked at, it could mean a friendly 'hello', 'hey, I'm passing you', 'thanks for letting me pass you' or 'GET OUT OF MY WAY!' Second, two lane roads are wide enough for three cars, so driving three abreast is perfectly normal. And third, passing another car around blind corners on mountainous roads with no guardrails is a perfectly acceptable practice (remember, the roads are technically wide enough for three cars)! So when going around a blind corner on a two lane road, do not be alarmed when you suddenly see a bus passing a watermelon laden truck heading straight for you. There is no need to frantically swerve out of the way, for they will somehow manage to squeeze between the cliff and your car, going at 100km/hr, without causing a scratch or taking out your side mirror!

Escape from Shobak Castle

Crawling on our hands and feet, we inch our way down the steep incline of a subterranean secret passageway. Any remnants of stairs, or notches cut into the near vertical tunnel to provide any form of footing has long eroded away! Lit only by a headlamp and a hand-held flashlight, we slip and slide down the sandy pitch-black tunnel, kicking up clouds of dust, turning all of our clothes, skin and hair a pale yellow. One wrong move could lead to a domino effect, sending those in front of you sliding uncontrollably down into the pitch black hole! All of a sudden, I hear a frantic cry from behind, and the telltale sounds of someone losing their footing! Bracing for impact, I grab at whatever jagged rocks I can, hoping that I won't be taken down as well. First, a rain of sand and small rocks hit me, followed by back to back whizzing sounds as two rather large objects fly by my ear, bouncing off the tunnel walls, cartwheeling down into the black abyss below, and then silence! “Phew! That was close!” Tom exclaims, with hands and feet spread out, gripping at anything he can to stop sliding. “But I think I just lost my sandals!”
 
Shobak Castle, built by the Crusader King Baldwin I in AD 1115 sits on a grassy knoll about 40km north of Petra. As one of the lesser visited castle ruins on the main tourist trail, it was practically deserted when we arrived, and free to enter! Scrambling through dark dungeons and remnants of vaulted arches, we spent about 30 minutes following the directions in the Lonely Planet guidebook locating a crusader cross, etched into a doorway inside of a ruined church on an east facing wall! Finding this cross was like a scene right out of the DaVinci Code, with five of us scouting out every doorway and scouring every east facing wall with a flashlight. When we finally did find the cross, it was rather underwhelming, measuring only about six inches across, it was faded from hundreds of years of weathering.

The highlight of Shobak Castle has got to be exiting the castle grounds through the secret tunnel. Not for the faint-hearted or claustrophobic, we managed to make it to the end of the passageway in one piece, without any more mishaps or lost sandals, and finally surfacing out of a manhole via a ladder at the bottom of the hill.

Spare Brakes?

“Shit! I think we have a flat!” was my reaction as soon as I heard the telltale woosh woosh woosh sound coming from the front right tire. Immediately pulling off to the side of the road, we jump out and inspect all four tires, strangely finding them still fully inflated and intact! Back in the car, we move on, and the sound mysteriously disappears. We were on the way to the city of Karak, to visit the Karak Castle, we had just departed the Dana Nature Reserve, where we stopped briefly for a picnic lunch overlooking a deep rift valley that was formed when the tectonic plates pulled apart.

Just outside of the medieval walled city of Karak, the strange sound reappears. This time however, I notice that the sound gets louder whenever I hit the brakes, positively indicating that we are having brake problems! Since this could potentially lead to a very dangerous situation, given the narrow hilly streets of Karak, we all agree to immediately find a workshop to get the problem fixed.

 

  
Finding a workshop, that happened to be open on a Friday (the traditional Muslim day of rest) was surprisingly easy. Explaining the problem to a mechanic that didn't speak a word of English was a whole different matter! “Faramil (the Arabic word for brakes)...Faramil broken...errr...Faramil Kaput!” Tom yells while animatedly pointing at the wheels, drawing a blank look from the mechanic and laughter from the rest of us.  “What language is 'Kaput' anyway? Is it an internationally recognized word for broken?” I ask. Only after a lot more pointing, and a quick drive up and down the street to let the mechanic hear the sound, were we reasonably satisfied that he knew what the problem was.

Calling Bayan to report the problem, and to make sure that he would be covering the cost of fixing the brakes, he tells us to look for the spare brake in the trunk. “Spare brakes? I know you have a spare tire in the boot, but are you sure there are spare brakes in there too?” Laurence asks.

Pulling all of our bags out of the trunk and piling them on the sidewalk, we lift the cover, and lo and behold, there together with the spare tire and accessories is a box of spare brake pads! I guess this happens enough that people in Jordan carry spare brake pads. Fortunately, the mechanic was able to quickly rectify the problem, and with the car back in business, we continued on our little adventure.

Karak Castle

  
One of the more complete and well preserved of the Crusader Castles, Karak Castle, unlike Shobak, is on the main tourist trail, and busloads of tourist visit it daily. Fortunately, due to our unscheduled pit stop, we did not arrive till about an hour before close and most of the groups of tourists were leaving as we were entering.
 
Wandering through what used to be stables and barracks for the soldiers that lived there, we ended up at the far southern end of the castle grounds. Climbing up a set of hidden stairs, and then scrambling up a crumbled wall, we found ourselves perched high atop the fortified southern wall of the castle. With nothing between us and drop-off of over 300 feet, we had commanding views of Wadi Karak, all the way to the Dead Sea, overlooking an area thought to be where the sinful towns of Sodom and Gomorrah, as described in the book of Genesis, once stood.

Descending next into the bowels of the castle, where a prison was once located, we find rows of tiny cells, lit only by a small slit on the back wall, or through a single hole in the ceiling, sending a dramatic beam of light into the room.

Staying well past closing time, we decided to climb up to the northern castle walls on our way out, overlooking the modern town of Karak, the dry moat, and the Ottoman's Gate - the main entryway into the castle. Looking down towards the gate, I see the attendant locking up, and walking across the bridge that was spanning the moat, heading into town.


“Umm guys, I think we've just been locked in the castle!”

...to be continued.