Tales From The Jordan Trail

No matter how much of a globetrotting self-regarding nomad you claim to be, you can not travel somewhere without the country presenting you with something unexpected. These people, places or experiences will always fly under your radar of expectations and if embraced they can often contribute something unforgettable to your trip. In Jordan, this surprise came in the form of the Jordan Trail. This trail started to form officially in 2015 and runs from the northern border with Israel at Um Qays, all the way down to the Red Sea at the Gulf of Aqaba. While still new in its development and hiking infrastructure, the trail is a modern adaptation on an ancient practice. Jordan has been crisscrossed by trade routes since before the development of the first written language and so walking among its varied landscapes is a way to pay homage to the valleys, ridges and woods that brought life to Jordan through the millennia. In the modern day, for the modern traveller, this is my patchy and unhelpfully anecdotal equivalent to the knowledge passed down from generation to generation. So without further ado, everyone settle around the virtual fireside that is the glaring LCD screen of your phone and hear of my adventures along three sections of the Jordan Trail.

Iraq al-Amir to Hisban

After months where leaving your house for a loaf of bread was met with a convoy of large armour-plated Hummers with a turret-mounted machine guns, I was ready to go full Andy Dufrain. The full days of lockdown were lifted and only the 6pm curfew with the prohibited movement outside your governorate remained, therefore, our limited options for adventure were laid out quickly. Our idea was that if we went wild camping in the backend of nowhere, the air raid sirens marking the start of curfew, the police and any sort of anxiety surrounding fast approaching prison showers could be avoided. So, we packed up Firas’ camping equipment and set about creating our hiking motifs which would stay with us through many of the hikes to come (for better or for worse). These thematic constants were: starting inexplicably late, always having essential supplies to buy at the last minute and always carrying an enormous hunk of watermelon with us. Somehow watermelon, the least convenient fruit to carry a long way, became the unnegotiable constant in our walking lives and, in fact, the more hikes we did the further it was carried. 

We got a taxi to Iraq al Amir and stopped to get fresh bread just before being dropped off. The bread acted as a tasty radiator in a car (that didn’t need any sort of extra heat) but the solution of eating it was a welcome one. Once we got into the village itself, we walked along quiet lanes bounded by fruit trees to Qasr Al-Abd. This Hellenistic palace dates back to the second century BC and is built from some of the largest single blocks of any building in the Middle East. Although, it was never finished it was an impressive building, in dire need of a bar, but impressive nonetheless. After clambering around the overgrown interior and admiring the heavily decorated exterior, we had worked up a sweat and in lieu of an ice cold beer our watermelon was a welcome alternative. So, we sat in the grand columned entrance, seeking out any morsel of shade to escape the midday heat and demolished half a watermelon. Feeling refreshed and possibly over-hydrated, we loped off to find the start of the trail. 

First, we followed a gravel track that took us beneath the large houses on the outside reaches of the village and then we continued our steady descent into the valley. The views slowly opened up into the larger Wadi Al-Seer as we emerged from Iraq Al Amir’s sheltered location. We could see in detail the sparsely populated extent of the verdant river valley. Eventually, we had to cross this river which marked the end of the easy descent and the start of a tirade of strongly worded muscular complaints from my legs. We climbed fairly steadily from the river, which didn’t elicit any serious pangs of discontent, but after that the Jordanian road system threw in one of its most hilarious practical jokes. Its existence. More often than not, the roads in Jordan are manageable if not a little speed bump heavy, but the more you get about the country, the more you see that Jordanians will drape a load of asphalt on anything. “Landscaping”, “terrain” and “surveying” are all just words, forget about those. If there’s a place they want a road, the road will be built. 90% gradient? Ok. Goes through your kitchen? No problem. Will it stand the test of time? Inshallah. One of these roads confronted us and by the top we were dying but luckily at the top was a main road. So, we found cold water, we dug out oranges from one of our bags and chilled outside an abandoned building which looked out over where we had come from. 

Soon it was time to reshackle ourselves to our backpacks and return to the uphill struggle. Thankfully, the sun’s power was starting to wane as we rounded the mountain, looking down the valley towards Palestine’s peaks, so our walking became easier. We crossed from long grass and boulders into a pine forest that welcomed us with its shade and strong natural perfume. Soon, we had to leave it to cross a road and start our walk to the next forest on the other side of a golden valley. The view was beautiful and unbroken by buildings, however, we soon discovered that the visual beauty was a sickening trick to lure us into a minefield of pain and fear. As we were zigzagging through the rough terrain we heard a shout as a teenage shepherd woke from his nap under a tree and saw us walking close by. Then, according to Firas, our much needed Arabic translator, he was trying to get his dog to attack us. Not excited to become the large dog’s chew toy, Firas turned back and told the boy to calm down and that we were only hiking. Crazed by an unwelcome end to his afternoon nap (we’ve all been there) he refused to listen and refused to believe Firas was from Amman. He then kept pointing at me (I had kept walking away from the dog) and shouting at Firas, who replied with “something something Britani” (I’m paraphrasing) but he was saying that I’m British. This was met with a shake of the head and more heated arguing but soon a “Hello, how are you?” was shouted my way. I replied in my best, harmless, Harry potter, tea drinking, God save the Queen tone and his disbelief was followed by apologies and we were left alone. Our relief only lasted for a few seconds though because we soon had to cross a narrow yet truly evil patch of plants. Every single one had some sort of seed, thorn or spike to lodge into our bodies. The spikes went through my shoes into my feet, the seeds clung with an iron grip to my socks and the thorns made sure my legs were crosshatched with small bloodied cuts. We finally got to the road and sat on it, picking as much as we could from our legs and continued uphill to the forest where we decided we had had enough for the day and made camp. 

After setting up our tents in a small clearing within the forest, we all rushed to the edge where the last sunlight of the day was pouring through the thin needled canopy. There at the forest’s edge I sat on a rock and looked down on one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever witnessed. The sun, that was setting over the ridge to my right, was diffusing soft pinks, radiant oranges and deep reds into the sky. This scattered light caressed the constantly shifting clouds, catching their feathered edges in steadily deepening colours. Ahead of me and behind a row of cypress trees, the rolling mountains dipped away into the Dead Sea basin. This was the first time I had seen the Dead Sea and as I sat watching it mirror the full spectrum of a Jordanian sunset, it appeared as an opalescent gem hidden from the world beneath an indistinct horizon. That night we cooked and then listened to Arabic music as we stared up at the stars through the tree branches.

I slept terribly thanks to some nearby dogs having a particularly rowdy night with the boys and my mattress refusing to inflate. However, we had a decent hike to get to Hisban so we got packed up and got going quickly. The second day was less spectacular than the first and the path was a illusive mistress so, other than the cool Exmoor-esque rocks at one point, it was an uncomfortable off-road slog to reach the promise of a falafel sandwich and cold water.

Beit Idis to Ziglab

This hike began as many of our hikes do, with indecision and bread. The indecision came in the form of where we needed to park the car, a process that took too long but ended with the kindness of a local family letting us use their gated driveway. Bread came in the form of Manaqeesh (flatbread that has different toppings but in this case za’atar) and it literally burnt my hands because it was so fresh from the fiery rotating oven. If fresh, hot, tasty bread is heaven, then that oven is God. And to be honest, from my less than sparse knowledge on theology, I’m fine with it. Our plan was to walk along the mountains that border the Jordan Valley from Pella to somewhere near the Ziglab dam. Then after camping the night we’d find a ride to Beit Idis for a walk back down to Pella. A vague yet complicated plan that we executed with accidental grace. 

We started from Pella and headed uphill fairly steadily. The path was clear for the most part but we were forced to do a Theresa May at her naughtiest for a small stretch. Soon after that, our watermelon was unearthed and we got stuck into it, sat in the shade of a large rock arch. From there we climbed on a steep gravel track and the views of the Jordan Valley became seductively panorama-worthy. It was a monumental banquet of green that faded into haze along its length. The patchwork of agriculture, the barrier of life that separated the dusty parallel mountains of Jordan and Palestine, was breathtaking in its scale and beauty. We reached the top of our steady climb to be met by a Bedouin camp and lots of dogs which we skirted with caution. Soon, we were flanking hills of tall golden grass and walking among beautiful fruit trees who’s greens contrasted with the ground underfoot. Unfortunately, this bliss was ruined when we were attacked by bees. A load of beehives stood either side of our path. With no clear way around and filled with confidence from surviving the dogs, we walked slowly through them. It turns out bees don’t take kindly to strangers in their neighbourhood so they came out in force. We ran and they stung us but most annoyingly of all they tried to take up residence in my thick hair. No amount of honey is going to make up for this breach of trust. They say that if bees go extinct all of the human race will follow soon after. Well, I say its worth it, let’s kill the bastards and get this whole charade over with. From there we made it to a small town on the border and we were in desperate need of water. Asking around for a shop, a lady called to her family to bring us ice cold water from their house and they chatted with us on the small road. After astounding everyone again with the fact I’m British and Firas is Jordanian, we had a laugh and continued onto the tiny shop which had ice cream and a tatty sofa in the shade to eat it on. 

We only had a single prolonged climb left, but Ahmed was starting to feel the strain so lagged behind as we strode upwards through the swaying aureate grasses. Racing the sun, Firas and I powered ahead in the final section in order to find the camping spot before it got dark. We found a good spot which looked over the best view I’ve ever had while camping. To our left was the Jordan Valley, which we saw extending towards Jordan’s northern border; behind the emerald swathe the sun was setting on the mountains of Israel. This low-angled light highlighted faces of the mountains in front of us and revealed their sinuous ridges. Finally, to our right was the Ziglab dam from which the mountains continued to rise to a tree-dotted horizon. As the sunlight faded, the lights of the Jordanian and Israeli border towns flickered into life, I realised they were as indistinguishable in the dark as they were among the green of the valley during the day. The mountains in front of us had been shrouded by the night but their outlines were known by the lack of light on their slopes. It was as if we were hidden from the modern world by this narrow geographic feature, peering beyond it, we were only spectators of their inadvertent light show.

The next morning, we awoke happy to have survived a late night scorpion attack and were met with the sight of three hot air balloons rising into the cool morning air in Israel. It took us no more than an hour to get down from our mountain perch to the Ecopark next to the dam. There we had a big breakfast, organised a lift to Beit Idis and left Ahmed to sleep while looking after our bags. We drove a good distance, all uphill and began walking from Beit Idis after Sebastian had scrounged some more water from a local family. The way was all downhill and after a little stint on a gravel track we descended into the dry wadis that we would follow all day. Unfortunately, my shoes were still terrible and these wadis were designed to exploit that very weakness. These plant equivalents of medieval weapons not only attached themselves to my body and clothes but made their way through the very fabric of my shoes. Apparently I was asking too much of my shoes to withstand what I consider to be glorified spinach. So, too often to count, I had to take off my shoes and socks, pull out various spiky things that were lodged halfway into my toes and then continue. Eventually, after finishing the dry wadi walking, we came down the final hill through a forest and arrived at Pella (which will be discussed at greater length in a history heavy post on the Decapolis). 

Dana Valley & Beyond

Dana lies close to Tafilah and on the precipitous edge of a cascading mountain range. This was the same mountain range we had walked up during our Wadi Ghweir hike, however, to get to the desert start point of that hike we had to walk down Wadi Dana. We first saw the valley as we drove to our accommodation for the night. Seeing that the ground had dropped away to our right we pulled off the road and stared down at the magnificence of the valley. Looking along the enormous rift valley, the mountains on either side were reduced to narrow undulating ridges as they reached for the valley floor, the scale of the place was breathtaking. The next day we would start our walk in this sheltered cradle of mountains and see where the day took us.

First, we had an evening at Al-Nawatef camp which was out on the side of a steep-sided wadi. We had our posh canvas tent/building hybrids, each equipped with a solitary light and windows (true luxury). As the day wore on it got cold and we all were glad we had brought jumpers and blankets to wrap around ourselves and I was glad I’d put my stuff in the tent that had all of its windows. David had no such luxury. Another method to stay warm was to drink the sweet tea that was constantly presented to you by a smiley employee, a man who changed things forever. Once he knew our nationalities (it was always a fun thing to explain to everyone that asked that we are Belgiki, Britani, Amriki and Urdoni) they became our names. From that windy mountaintop until the end of time, I will be known as “The Britani” here in Jordan. How will I cope with people using my actual name again? I think with utter dissociation. 

We started our hike at the nearby Dana Village and then began the seemingly endless switchbacks on the unstable gravel path to the bottom of the valley. The fact we were heading downhill meant that the 40 degree heat was almost bearable, but the main drive to continue was the watermelon in Sebastiaan’s bag. Halfway through the valley the temptation to tuck into the watermelon became too much and we sat under a tree to enjoy it. Despite a strict ‘human only’ policy on the door, an endless stream of flies were getting in on the watermelon party uninvited. After this we kept walking and the flies decided to take special interest in exploring the inner sanctum of my ears. All I wanted to do was admire the towering walls either side of us as we walked towards the flat plain but no. All I could focus on was swatting the tiny buzzing incarnations of the devil away from my face. Soon, I appeared as a man who seemingly lost his mind in the desert sun, shouting insults alongside every wearied swipe at the air but I came up with a solution. My spare t-shirt was used as a bandana. This kept the sun off me and the flies away from my ears. I regained my sanity and continued.

At the end of the valley (15 km into the hike) was Feynan Ecolodge, a pricey hotel in the middle of nowhere and somewhere we hoped we could fill our bottles. It was closed but the local bedouins who looked after the place in off-season welcomed us and we had tea with them outside under the mostly ineffectual shade of a tree. After refilling some bottles, we set off through the nearby tents and then out into the desert hoping to get closer to our start destination for the next day’s hike. We walked through the flat rocky desert for 10km or so, crossing dry wadis and keeping the towering mountains we had descended from on our left. Calling it quits in the late afternoon, due to a lack of energy from a much more serious lack of ma’amoul, we set up camp next to a desert graveyard. As the dinner began to cook, I clambered up a nearby hill to check out the sunset and look around at the vast arid beauty of the desert we had made camp in. 

That night we were plagued by flies until night fell and then plagued by mosquitos once the flies had called it quits. Just as I stood up to go to bed, a praying mantis decided to use me as a hunting platform which was pretty rude. Long story short, I had a terrible nights sleep in a hot tent, tormented by the sounds of insects and worst of all, sleeping next to a Belgian man who can snooze off anytime anywhere. Infuriating.

The next day we realised we had misunderstood where we were heading and so had to retrace our steps for 6km and start Wadi Ghweir.

Final Thoughts

The Jordan Trail has gangs of bees, packs of dogs, unfriendly scorpions and decidedly arrogant praying mantises but if you weigh that against the views, the people and the experiences you get from walking in the Jordanian wilds, you start to see that it’s something not to be missed. I hope to do more sections one day (especially further south), but with the current temperature down there clocking in at 60 degrees I think I’ll avoid what is practically a stroll through Hell’s fiery pit. The south of Jordan, much like Satan, can wait until the time is right for me to make my long awaited appearance.