A Farewell Anthology

Here we are. I’ve finished my three post chronicle of Amman and warbled on about the rest of the oddly shaped, but beautiful country that is Jordan. However, there are a few places I have neglected to mention. To rectify this nagging issue, to show you the most complete picture of Jordan that I can, I will write this post. Unlike my other entries, it’ll have three sections that are completely unrelated to each other. Each is a place or memory that would’ve felt out of place in other posts or didn’t have the anecdotal weight to hold down its own. So, here it is, my farewell anthology to Jordan. Enjoy.

Aqaba

Aqaba is a small city on the narrow slither of land that Jordan has managed to grab next to the Red Sea. As Jordan’s only coastal city, it has been vital for defence, trade and jet ski rentals throughout history. At around 1500BC the city of Elath (modern day Aqaba) was established and from there all of the major powers of the region swept through and took it. First, the Assyrians in 735BC with their new fangled iron weaponry, then the Babylonians (towards the end of their culturally important but geographically small state) grabbed Elath and made it a trading hub in the region. Then the Persians poured in under the might of the enormous Achaemenid Empire which was subsequently dismantled by the Lebron James of conquest, Alexander the Great. The Greeks took control and then the Nabateans (the masterful builders of Petra) swept in and kicked the Greeks out with ease. But then like the rest of Europe, Rome said, “I want it so give it to me,” and so in 64BC Aqaba obliged. The city now named Aela grew to its zenith under the Romans thanks to the new road Trajan built through the country to the coast.  The Romans had a fair few centuries of chilling in the Middle Eastern sun, sipping margaritas and establishing Christianity. Now we all know the ending of this story, the Middle East isn’t full of bible waving, cathedral building, splash your baby’s head with special water people. Instead, in 650 AD the Islamic conquest came through (bascially a whole load of folks talking about Muhammad who had just died). They took the Roman town and collectively thought, “Nah” so abandoned it and set up outside the walls. Despite coming in as victors, the new Islamic rulers presided over mainly Jews and Christians. Islam spread and integrated itself within the country’s culture in waves, each wave was a new caliphate (an Islamic state similar to an empire but with the leader of the entire Muslim world in charge as caliph). After the caliphates dissolved, Aqaba was in relative turmoil during the crazy crusades (check out this post for details) and then after some earthquakes Aqaba fell into disrepair and not much happened apart from fishing for centuries.

Then the Arab Revolt came around. Arab forces unified to oust the Ottoman Empire from Arabia with the support of the British (because it allowed us more freedom to operate in the Middle East while the Ottomans were busy fighting). In return for the Arabs’ help, we promised that after victory we would recognise a single unified Arab state stretching from Allepo in Syria to Aden in Yemen. T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) had volunteered for the British Army and after being stationed in the Middle East he began to get involved with the Arab struggle for independence. In 1917, he helped orchestrate a victory over the Ottomans in the battle of Aqaba and despite all of his camel riding, knife wielding masculinity, he did manage to shoot his own camel in the head with his pistol. This less than productive move nearly cost him his life, but he recovered his wits and they won the battle anyway. Soon the Ottomans were defeated and the Allies had won the war on all fronts. So time to give the Middle East to the people who had fought alongside us for the freedom and unity of their people? Haha this is isn’t some sparkly fairytale nonsense, this is real life (direct quote from the British government). Age old enemies Britain and France took a knife to the Middle East and carved that puppy up into mandate territories. These were territories no longer ruled by a monarch following the war and who’s people were not considered “able to stand by themselves under the strenuous conditions of the modern world”. Instead their fate was “entrusted to advanced nations who by reason of their resources, their experience or their geographical position can best undertake this responsibility”. Now despite the intervention of us “advanced nations” the Middle East is the most divided area of the world, Arab nationalism and unity has been worn away and a future of cohesion and peace seems to some an impossibility. Obviously there are a lot of other factors (in many of which Britain goes incognito to do a little bit more meddling) but we don’t have all day, so back to the seaside city at hand. 

I briefly mentioned my first visit to the city in my post about the wonders of lockdown in Amman, but there’s much more to the place than an English pub called “Rovers Return”. On my second visit to Aqaba we had completed most of our countrywide road trip and Aqaba appeared as a chance to take a holiday within our holiday (much like our visit to Issyk Kul in Kyrgyzstan). We had been scrambling around the vast beauty of Wadi Rum for a few days and unfortunately beauty comes at a price. In this case the price was sand in every conceivable orifice and an almost constant flow of sweat to allow this sand to stick to me. After three days, the Red Sea was a shimmering sapphire and we were all ready for the heist of the century. The drive from Wadi Rum to Aqaba is mercifully short and so the sea appeared to us through the mountains in no time. We spent ages searching for places to stay and then being turned away because apparently our patronage wasn’t enough to warrant opening. I can’t stress quite how ready I was for a swim, how tantalisingly close the ocean was, and how bloody long it took us to find somewhere. Eventually, we ended up at the same place I had hired snorkels from the first time I came to Aqaba, Darna Diver’s village. The place was lovely with a nice clean swimming pool, plenty of shaded seating and comfy clean rooms all for a decent price. While I was keen to head straight for the sea (after jumping directly into the pool) everyone else was more keen to collapse onto the beds and splay their sandy bodies down in the A/C. I managed to convince Sebastiaan to come out and we went and got snorkels. He had never snorkelled before but was keen to learn, so after we had found somewhere to dump our stuff on the beach, I did a snorkelling 101 class in the shallows. He picked it up pretty quickly and despite being nervous he came out to see the coral.

We floated around the living monoliths, every inch of their bulbous surfaces a complex network of life. As well as being plastered to the rock, life wallowed in the shade of natural arches, darted in and out of the swaying anemones or shoaled in clouds of shimmering activity. As the current slowly aided our movement down the shore I was especially thankful for the lack of jellyfish which had been so prevalent on my first snorkel a few months before. We were headed for my favourite part of the coral reef, the tank. After a bit of searching we I finally managed to find it. The tank had been sunk in the shallows next to the reef to act as an attraction for divers and snorkelers but also to give new coral a base from which to grow. The tank is only at 6 metres depth so is easily visible from the surface and a fun depth to duck dive and look around. It is full of nooks and crannies where fish and coral can shelter from the prying eyes of divers but on my first visit to the tank I saw a lionfish which is a very venomous but very pretty looking animal. Despite my severe levels of curiosity I managed to restrain the internal toddler from extending a hand to touch it. On the second trip, Sebastiaan and I had a quick gander before things got a little dicey. Sebastiaan was starting to panic. I had forgotten how scary snorkelling out of your depth can be when you first start. I slowly led him back towards shore but the large coral boulders were blocking our speedy exit from the sea. This coral blockade only intensified the panic and Sebastiaan started to forget how to use his snorkel. Now, in my days learning to snorkel as a young child I would also panic. When sea water gets into your snorkel or the seabed slopes away into the abyss, staying calm is very difficult.  Luckily, as a young whippersnapper, I had my calm and patient father to keep me from drowning. Hang on, no that’s not quite right. Above the churning sea’s surface where waves cut crudely through each other’s climbing crests he would meet my gaze. I can’t think of many situations where someone bellowing “calm down” at someone actually works (especially through the distorting tube of a snorkel) but to his credit it helped snap me out of it on the surface of the sea. I never worked my way into too much of a frenzy because despite being pretty scared of the sea and my dad in equal measure, he was kind of like a large whale who would guide me to safety. But, back in Aqaba, I was having less luck calming Sebastiaan down. Maybe I didn’t have the demeanour to force calmness into him but either way he began flailing for somewhere to stand. Eventually, I guided him towards a rock while he swam upright, fins thrashing wildly in the water. After a breather, we managed to find a zigzagging path through the coral and back to shore. After this marine madness, we went to chill out by the pool, where we enjoyed a less panicky, more sunny existence. Eventually, the 40 degree heat started to withdraw with the downward motion of the sun and this meant it was time for dinner. We rolled out into town with a place in mind and charged up stairs into Bukhara. No, not the host city of the still cruelly mysterious Silk and Spices Festival of 2019. In Aqaba, Bukhara was a simple restaurant selling rice and meat. Otherwise known as a culinary done deal. The men and women were separated by a curtain (like in many restaurants across the country) and we enjoyed the dips, the piles of rice and the heaps of meat, unhindered by a single womanly gaze. Perfect. In fact, in my journal I wrote, “The chicken was succulent and pure-spirited,” a review all restaurants should aim for. Aqaba is a very walkable little city and so after the piles of carbs we decided to stalk the streets in search of a sweet end to proceedings. There was only one thing on our minds. Our purpose was singular. Knafeh my friends. Knafeh. 

Unlike most searches for this sweet Middle Eastern oddity, I wasn’t hysterical quite yet. The anticipation for sugar was definitely there but I was quite content with my carb induced waddle. The sea air was fresh but pleasantly warm and the streets of Aqaba were humming with life. We strolled through the busy avenues, wide-eyed at the bubbles of life around us. The groups of smartly dressed lads, who had presumably bathed in cologne, continued to grow as more of their friends appeared, and families with young children loped around with joviality and knafeh. Hey! Where’d you get that? In fact, give me that. No no, all of it! Despite this little scenario playing out in my head, some strong (maybe even saintly) part of me managed to resist tearing a plate of shimmering knafeh from the grip of a small child. Heroes don’t always wear capes. We followed the road and found what we were looking for. Unfortunately, the knafeh wasn’t all that great but it was the soft opening of the new place so I… no, I was still furious. Get your act together.

The night wasn’t over and so we followed Firas, apparently he had somewhere to show us. We quickly found out why he hadn’t been in charge of the map on our hikes, we were taking the zigzaggy, back alley route to somewhere. One of these alleys suddenly lost its asphalt and an old man led the way across the narrow bridge of dirt heading towards the dark and quiet Aqaba Fort. By pure undeserved luck, the old man in front of us was the castle gatekeeper and he was just about to close up for the night before heading home. However, as he opened the main gate he asked if we want to have a look around. Aqaba fort has been closed for years due to renovations, so as we passed through the small archway and into the central courtyard we felt very fortunate to be there. This fort was built during the Crusades but then Saladin destroyed it on his way to kill Big Ray (see my Crusades post for details), the Mamluks rebuilt it in the early 16th century and the Ottomans shacked up inside until the Arab Revolt. We wandered around the multiple levels, rooms and staircases of the fort’s front. Then once we came back down the gate keeper led us to more of the fort, explaining the uses of each room, where to avoid beehives and his favourite nooks and crannies. After his tour he offered us tea but Firas and Zaid declined for us, they already felt bad that the man was refusing any money so we said our goodbyes and continued our walk along the seafront to God knows where. Eventually, we turned off the beach-side promenade and onto a small road leading to somewhere to sit down. Hallelujah. The destination was a section of beach covered in open-sided gazebos. It seemed like half of Aqaba had made it down to the waters edge for a drink at one of the slightly impromptu looking cafes. The sweet smell of shisha, thumping music and the chorus of chatter coalesced into a strangely calm sensory background to our evening. We found ourselves a plastic table at the gently lapping limit of the sea’s advance and ordered tea almost as a reflex. Jordan has trained me to be a better British person, what is going on? As well as our tea order I also got an ice cold hibiscus (karkade) drink which I had tried warm at the hostel but I’d been told the cold one was supposed to be very tasty and lower your blood pressure. Once I had tried it, I was sure that the mountain of sugar added to the drink probably negated all of the previously stated medicinal qualities, but despite my teeth dissolving at a rate of knots, it was pretty tasty. We spent quite a while sat there, looking past the boats which slow danced on the ocean’s swell, to the other side where the diffuse trails of light finally tapered to their source in Israel. As the wave fronts of chatter from various tables collided and scattered sound in every direction, I thought about where I was. Sitting among Jordanian families, staring out over Israel and Egypt while only a couple of miles from Saudi Arabia, a tiny bubble of personal experience. In a sense thats all that life is, you’re always stuck within your own horizon. If you don’t move and take that experiential horizon over new lands and allow new and interesting people to enter into your world, you can become stuck, not only in location but also in outlook. Divisions have always been manufactured to strengthen and divide, to conquer and rule, but with rich cultural experiences these boundaries become hazy and the undivided natural world reveals itself. Sat there on Aqaba’s beach, watching Israel’s lights bound across the surface of the water like a playful toss of a stone, humanity’s tribalism seemed pretty infantile. Irrespective of religion or politics, the world and it’s mesmerising beauty goes on.  

Dead Sea  

My first visit to the Dead Sea came late into my time in Jordan. We planned to nip by and see it after Aqaba, as the last stop of our road trip. We had filled ourselves with falafel at Al Mohandes restaurant and waited an utterly astounding amount of time for Firas to get new tyres on his truck (something he only decided to do on the day). As much as I enjoy sitting on the side of the road, in 40°C heat, waiting for tyres to be fitted, this last minute decision was eating into the amount of time we would have to get to the Dead Sea before the sun set. Finally, we left and set off up the open Wadi Arabah which is the dry and dusty equivalent of the Jordan Valley. The Jordan Valley is nourished by the Jordan River which runs from Lebanon in the north to the Dead Sea (making it a beautiful patchwork of green). However, Wadi Arabah receives no such water. The Dead Sea is an endoheic basin which pretty much means that “those who enter never leave”. Therefore, south of the Dead Sea is a barren valley stretching all the way to the Red Sea. Time was running out and the sky was already starting to get orange, usually not something to complain about but I would’ve been incensed to finally be at the Dead Sea, the lowest point on the Earth’s surface and then not be able to see it thanks to the lack of sunlight. I had laid eyes on it for the first time from a camping spot half way between Iraq Al Amir and Hisban during a cheeky mid-lockdown camping trip. But when we rounded the final corner of Wadi Arabah I saw its full close quarters beauty for the first time. Shimmering seductively in the low angled sunlight I felt a lucky to have even witnessed it but that wasn’t enough, I wanted, no, I needed to follow in the footsteps of a true male role model, King Herod the Great. I know what you’re thinking, it’s either: “Stop talking about history you insufferable nerd” or, “Isn’t King Herod that dude that ordered the death of all baby boys under the age of two, why on Earth is he your role model?”. Well firstly, history is the new… what’s cool?… skateboarding? Outing your friend as a bedwetter on the internet through the medium of a catchy dance?… I don’t know, but history is cool, ok? Secondly, Herod might not have ordered the death of loads of babies. What he definitely did do was have ten separate wives, kill a lot of his family members, set up a secret police, blah blah blah. Get off his back already. Herod came to power because his dad was pals with Caesar and despite Caesar getting severely ventilated, Herod managed to keep power and was granted the title of King of Judea by the Roman Senate. The Romans had been meddling in the Levant for a couple of decades by this point, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch for them. Soon, Herod had to choose a side for the power struggle after Caesar’s death and decided to bet on Mark Antony. Mark married Cleopatra and Octavian was that guy who bursts through the door with an objection at the wedding. However, not being one to half-ass it, Octavian sent a fleet. Mark killed himself after losing to Octavian and Herod quickly begged to keep control of Judea. Octavian enjoyed the grovelling so granted Herod’s wish. After he gained control he did some mad stuff like doing a full DIY SOS job on the Second Temple in Jerusalem, building the Western Wall and a whole load of fortresses. A complex man who built great edifices for the Jews but also garnered their undying hatred, a man who killed three of his sons but who also established a whole dynasty from nothing, he was as unpredictable as ferret on speed. But we all know that a man who was, “prepared to commit any crime in order to gratify his unbounded ambition,” needed a skincare regime to match the exertions of tyrannical ruling. You know what that meant? Boys spa trip! Herod built one of the world’s first health resorts and where was it? On the shores of the Dead Sea. And this is why he was a man we can all aspire to be, he was comfortable enough in his masculinity to look after his skin. Want to look powerful? Exfoliate, lads! 

We pulled off the road as soon as we could and I began to leg it down the hill to the sea. The running soon became an unsteady dance as I carefully manoeuvred my way over the razor sharp slabs of solid salt trying to anticipate the unsteady sections that could tip at any moment. Eventually, I got to the shoreline which was paved with a smooth layer of solid salt. Its surface was grey-white and rippled, the gentle undulations of crystalline rock mirrored the sway of the water’s movement. Descending to my thighs the experience was pretty much your standard paddling fare. Wet legs. But after that, things got freaky. The further you descend the more the water repels you. And astonishingly quickly your legs are almost flung out from under you and up to the surface. At the surface the feeling is strangely hilarious. You can splash, bob and tumble around and you will always be supported from below. It’s like being held at the surface by a mysterious aqueous parent. Soon, David had joined me for a swim and it was even stranger seeing him almost float along on top of the water, like a majestic viking longboat. So, we’ve established that you can’t walk up to chest height in the water, but you can bob around at chest height. Yes, completely upright, with your arms at your side, up in the air, or doing the YMCA dance, it doesn’t matter. You will float like the miserable sack of organic matter that you are, a helpless and useless buoy floating in a lifeless sea.

As we both played around with our new found buoyancy (a thing extra incredible to me because I usually sink like a lead weight) the sun finally bid us farewell. Lying motionless on my back I became wreathed in Greek fire, the ridges of two countries forming a magnificent cauldron around me. The moon started to pierce the inky twilight and that was my cue to get out, regret wearing my shoes into the water and then leg it back to the car before it was too dark to see anything. At the car we were thankful for our forethought and we set up the least technologically advanced shower ever seen. We had a big plastic barrel of fresh water, a truck and that was it. When you get out of the Dead Sea you feel almost slimy, the minerals form a thin film which begins to contract and crystallise as soon as you leave the water so a shower is extremely necessary. We washed ourselves as quickly as possible so that we could head back to Amman and grab as much food as we could get our still salty hands on. 

Months later Sebastian, Tam and I headed out for our hike in Wadi Assal. To get to almost all of our incredible Wadi hikes we had to skirt the Dead Sea which is the end of the road for all of the fresh mountain water. On the way to Wadi Assal, we had stopped for a drink at a small coffee stop with views out over chevron salt formations lying just beneath the shallow edges of the sea. The bright alternating colours of these formations made the water above them seem even more blue and we thought that a swim around them might be an option for after our sweaty hike. We came across larger salt formations further on (just past Wadi Mujib) and we decided this was the place for a swim. The hike was just as sweaty as predicted and we got back to the car with plenty of time to spare, no running to the sea needed. We headed down to find an entrance to the water that wasn’t horribly spiky and found out that the water here wasn’t quite as clean as our last swimming spot but this wasn’t going to deter us. I got up to my waist in the water and was suddenly very aware of some chafing on the inside of my thighs from the hike. Due to the salt, it felt like my legs were being branded consistently with no let up in the discomfort. I reassessed the situation from the shoreline and tried again hoping the salt had had its fun and I could go and float in peace. My hopes were quickly dashed but I decided to continue anyway, I needed that obligatory reading a book on the Dead Sea photo and no amount of searing pain was going to stop me. 

Meteor Shower 

In mid-August we had heard on the grapevine that there might’ve been a meteor shower to see. Despite the hectic preparation for the beginnings of our mini restaurant at the hostel, we decided that we could take an evening off to go and look at the stars. Firas and I scoured the map and found a tiny unmarked road that connected the two desert highways that run the length of Jordan. Most interestingly of all, there was only one thing on it, a mosque slap bang in the middle of the two highways. Desert isolation, a mysterious mosque and a meteor shower? Sounded like an interesting impromptu trip. 

As per usual we were running behind schedule due to Firas’ profound inability to judge the procession of time, so we left the hostel at around 11pm. Luckily, at that time, the usually dreadful traffic of Amman had subsided so we could get on the dark empty highway in no time. Once we passed the airport it wasn’t far to the small turning of our secret road. The large factories and refineries that lit up the horizon slowly sunk below the hills around us until very little evidence of humanity remained. It was just us and the road which stretched out ahead of us appearing out the of the darkness in leaps and bounds. We passed the mosque which was an ugly stout building guarded by angry dogs who chased us onwards into the night.

The deserts of Jordan are crisscrossed by faint tyre marks and tracks, evidence of the Bedouins’ movement towards modernity. We decided to take one of these tracks not much further up the road. Much of the time they aren’t any better than the normal desert floor, the rocks are still the same size and the land is just as uneven, but following them at night gave us a sense of optimism that we wouldn’t drive blindly off a cliff. We spun the truck around on the top a small rise in the rolling land and set up camp. The back of the truck was opened up to reveal thin mattresses, chairs were pulled out and blankets were donned as warming shawls. As we reclined our view and began to tuck into chocolatey snacks, I thought how thankful I was for my situation. I was in the middle of the desert, eating Reese’s chocolate cups with good mates and staring at the core of our galaxy. Not bad at all.

We get the name “Milky Way” from the Ancient Greeks who’s mythology says that Zeus knocked up his mortal great-grandaughter (Alcmene) while disguised as her husband. Honestly, the Greek pantheon would feel right at home on Albert Square. Zeus (a genuine nut job with a power complex and dangerously unhealthy sexual urges) had successfully seduced Alcmene and now he took a back seat in the story to devise an array of plans to impregnate other unsuspecting women. Not cool Zeus. His bastard son was Heracles (rebranded to Hercules by the Romans) and Zeus’ wife (Hera) was rightfully enraged to find out Zeus had once again ended up with another child from another mistress. Heracles was born despite Hera’s best efforts to have him killed and Alcmene didn’t want to be exposed to Hera’s wrath. So, another God (Athena) scooped up the infant and took him to the halls of the Gods. There, completely unaware of who the baby was, Hera breastfed the baby out of pity. But Heracles was a juiced up gym lad even back then so he suckled too hard. Hera gave the infant a shove and in the process milk spurted across the sky. The Greeks called this great milky spirt the “Milky Circle” and it wasn’t until the Romans that the name changed to the “Via Lactea” or “Milky Way”. We get it you built roads, get over yourselves. Anyone who has seen the Milky Way on a clear night with open skies will know that it appears as a dense cloud of downy light arching across a cloudless night. For millennia our ideas about the Milky Way stayed the same and it wasn’t until the genius, Galileo Galilei, rocked up in the early 1600s that humanity got to see the truth about the Milky Way. He discovered that it wasn’t a celestial cloud of dust (a nebula) but a multitude of stars packed so densely in our view that they appear as a cloud. If we applauded Galileo for all of his achievements, our hands would be red raw nubs of worn-down flesh, so let’s just say he practically invented modern scientific thinking, the modern scientific method for experiments and fundamentally changed our thoughts on our place in the cosmos. This may seem almost inconsequential to us now, but the deeper our understanding of the fundamental forces and properties of the universe through measurement and observation, the less we have to rely on the say so of preachers and storytellers, myth makers and oracles. So, now thanks to Galileo we can look back at the scandalous tapestry of Greek myths with joviality rather than fear and study the texts of the Ancient World with intrigue rather than obedience. Science has complicated things, shone a light on objective truth, shown the turning gears behind the scenes. But no matter how fascinating, complex and unfathomable the universe really is, there is nothing we like more than a bit of scandal. This is why Greek myths have a special place in my heart. Science has incredible stories of creation, destruction and natural forces occurring over all conceivable spans of time and space. But there’s nothing better than tales on the shortcomings of flawed beings. A genre of story the Greeks excelled in. Their pantheon of Gods are just as deceitful, conniving and selfish as humans. Forget reality TV or soap operas, dig into some Greek myths you’ll get a lot more murder, incest, adultery, betrayal, heartbreak and torture for your buck than anything else out there. And when you look deeper, you get an insight into what those ancient people held dear, what they feared and the moral principals they upheld, all wrapped up in a whimsically imagined stories. 

So, I was digging into my Reeses chocolate cups. I was hopped on the sugar rush and the sky was being a bit ridiculous, there were shooting stars all over the place. Annoyingly as humans we don’t have the widest field of view but luckily your weird out of focus peripheral vision finds its purpose in the depths of the night. All of your colour sensing cones in your central vision throw their hands up in the air and give in. However, the rods on the outer edge of your retina answer the call and gear up, allowing you to see much better at night using your peripheral vision. So, often I would be staring deeply into the galaxy and then my peripheral vision would pick up light and movement in the sky. This seemed a little unfair because it was difficult to turn my head in time for a good look before the meteor burned out. An “intelligent design” would’ve been rods and cones everywhere, but I suppose if God wanted his work critiqued he would’ve got back to me about the possibility of people having elephant trunks. As we all gazed upwards, people would shout when they saw a big one, a meteor that burned a long fiery scar across the atmosphere, something far beyond the reach of your average shooting star. Soon, however, it began to get a little light, we had waited too long to come out to the desert and the moon was starting to shine from behind the horizon. We savoured as much of the starlight as we could before the moon rose too high and selfishly dominated the night sky. All in all we probably got an hour of solid stargazing and then we decided to try and sleep.

I took refuge from the cold in the car, two people remained in the the back of the pickup where they could make use of the mattresses and their sleeping bag forethought while Tam wrapped himself in a bed sheet and sat deathly still on a reclining canvas chair. It was a very strange sight to behold. After what can only be described as a horrible, cold, physically restrictive semi-rest we all got out of our contorted positions and packed up. The sun was just about to peek over the far hills where the moon had come from hours before, so we watched it rise and soon our camping spot was revealed to us for the first time. Much like the vistas surrounding the qasrs of the East, the land here resembled the gentle swell of the sea; the desert floor pitching, rolling and covered in small black stones. However, this early in the morning the usually tanned earth was brick-red thanks to the early morning blush of the sun. We set off back to the road slowly and once we made it back to the tarmac, the true beauty of this area of Jordan shone through. The road was snaking past small dry wadis, rising and falling with the gentle lay of the land and as we summited a final crest back we took a long straight final descent towards civilisation. We made it back to Amman at around 8am and there was only one thing on all of our minds, getting as much falafel, bread and assorted Jordanian breakfast foods into our sustenance deprived bodies as possible. Tired, hungry and finally warm, that was without a doubt one of the best breakfasts of my life. 

Final Thoughts 

There we have it. Half anthology, half frivolous ramblings. This being my last post on Jordan I would like to dedicate it to what got me there. Actually, to what pushed me towards the best and most fulfilling experiences of my life. My obsessive brain. Slightly different to my stubborn commitment to do what I want despite “reason” or “responsible adult behaviour”, the obsessiveness is less controllable. When I have an idea about doing something, usually provoked by a long time looking at Google maps or some sort of inspirational Youtube rabbit hole, I suddenly need to find out everything. I spend every moment of my spare time reading, watching and learning about how to make it possible in the cheapest and best way I can. Sometimes these obsessive ideas can peter out when my priorities change or my interests shift but the ones that stick, that lodge themselves in my brain, they aren’t going away and nobody would be able to tell me that they aren’t possible or achievable. What drove me to Jordan was a little bit of an obsession too, but not for the country itself. I have known for a long time that I wanted to go and live abroad, it has always been a dream of mine. A chance to properly immerse myself in another culture, a completely different language and settle myself into a new life for at least a year. It seems like something everyone should experience. Jordan emerged as that place for me and despite a bank account running very low on funds I was confident I could get a job so I booked a flight and winged it. This confident attitude combined with being such an incredibly likeable, funny and charming human being somehow didn’t land me a job, turns out you need experience? But it did land me some friends who offered me a volunteering spot. It’s not what I wanted originally but I couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. My eight months in Jordan were far beyond what I could’ve imagined and I can’t wait to go back. But more importantly I look forward to grabbing my next obsession from the Rolodex and seeing where it takes me.