the long days and nights of Petra

Petra
(photos are no longer uploading for some reason...hopefully ill add em next time???)
The Jordanians of Petra are truly their own people.  It's a bit wack.
On our way to our hostel, we wanted to visit 'Little Petra': a free site.  It was like an underwater city.  Beduins wearing
kafir and cooling dresses lay in caves enchanting us as they play on the whistle.  A few boys walked us through even though we had no money
(being the only people there).  Weaving between rock allys you look up to curvy rock patterns melting down from a frosty top:
They melt into doors windows steps; all perfected with intricate detail which completely flatters the rock formation.
After a flight of stairs to 'the best view in world' we hung out with some beduins who held shops and told riddles:
Something you own
But everyone uses more than you.
No clues, cept we learnt it's not love, heart, weaknesses, hospitality etc: and Gassib thought all those suggestions stupid.

  We were delivered to a cheapo hostel downtown where
we bargained some cheap rooms with Mohammed (who now and often gambles over tricks with David) the husband of another
one of our friend's wife.  Everyone's connected here yet somehow I havent picked up on any incest.  It's the huge families.
So Anyway we settle at the hostel, I catch up on some shopping (shampoo, camera batteries - the 4th packet as all the
others havent worked!!!!, sunscreen (which I hadnt had till now)).  We find american tourist, resort to cheap bread and dips
for dinner again (1 dinar each), chill with him in a shisha cafe where we play more cards and relax (by Naiv's birthday celebration)

No money no honey
No wife no life
knife for wife
No hurry no worry (my favourite)
Stop for tea, stop for me : They're full of crazy phrases here ("because the tourists are too serious"). The people are really their own.
  I insisted David and I go to Petra early in the morning (It's amsolutely MASSIVE) and we cab it to the Beduin village
where we're told we can walk into Perta rather than pay 60 dinars for entrance.  We are at the beduin gate for close to an hour
having tea with the tourist police.  We would have to hitch back to the main gate and buy a ticket.  The weirdest part
was that once inside, half the beduin workers there knew who we were(beduin of Petra have free entry: naturally, as their families have
lived in Petra for centuries, sleep in the caves/tombs, and work with the tourists in the day time. They were, however
"kicked out" a few years ago...).  One familyof many tiny children all remembered David from last time and invited us for
 dinner.  The tiny children are scattered around offering donkeys and post cards and stones. Many had seen us in the Beduin
village, and some had even seen us wandering Wadi Rum/little Petra the previous day.  Although the four of us split up,
they all knew we were travelling as a four. Our other half (ana and andrew) was known as 'your rasta friends' (Andrew has dreads).
  It seemed they were tracking us.  As we wandered Petra, they all knew who we'd spoken to, who we were with, where our
friends were and what we were up to in the next few days.
  See due to polictics theres been a decline of tourists, so apart from the guided one day tour groups we were one of the
few people wandering who were prepared to just chill and hear out the gossip and twisted family history of the Petra beduins.

So Petra day one:  We're inside.  As we bump into more and more of David's little friends we end up accepting their dinner
invite.  Their father khalife has over 15 children, two wives, and a baby on the way. This is quite normal.
  The carved rocks were pretty cool.
  So every 10 minutes of walking we'd bump into someone and stop for tea.  Namely; one girl Hadia had a stall on the steep
walk to the sacrifice point.  She'd given David her necklace last time and thought it approprait to give me a necklace too.
She's gorgeous.  At 14 she's learnt a perfect english as well as arabic from being free to talk to tourists.  Moreover she's
very intelligent (they all are), and says that she doesn't want to marry (even though her father tried to set her up already).
Hadia smokes in private, as do many of the Jordanian women.  The petra Beduins view islam with the most open minded attitude
I've come across, and I believe it to be due to their association with tourists. The men seem to chain smoke, see, from the cheap tailored
types to a unique home grown tobacco-like plant.
  So soon enough we met Abdullah Abu Sac-Succah (father of the beard).  At 29, he'd only left Petra to do minor travels,
and seemed to know everything about the whole of Petra.  He assumed the role of our tour guide and walked us around the cascading
cliffs and to the spring.  I love Petra, but my favourite part was the spring.  I ride behind Feras on his mule (as David walks behind:
an unfortunate experience which happened about 6 times without my being able to stop it).  As we meander the cliffs,
more and more of the caves appear dressed up, fenced with colourful fabric weaved into sticks. Goat homes, chicken coups
etc and not to mention actual homes: complete with cables.  Yes, the beduins of Petra never loose reception and moreover
they have a bigger range of TV stations than Australia in their caves. Wandering out of our tourist map's range, I see
Petra come to life.  Then, tumbling down the mountains: Fig, grapes, olives
all blossoming with health in the middle of summer's desert.  We follow the greenery towards pink flowering trees
 which snake along the valley, framing the sparkling spring water.  Goat herds drink from the water, donkeys are showered
and elderly men sip tea around a fire.  One man (we saw his ID) proved to be 120 years old.  The beduins usually live (youthfully) for
ages (due to camel milk, partially) but I think the newer generations are being poisoned by cigarettes alchohol and supermarket
products in general.
  We built up a fire further down the spring, boiled some sugar (tea) and lay down to cool during the hottest part of the day.
  Their politics here generally has the attitude of 'this is life. we accept it and find happiness amongst it'.  They seem
to all spend their money as they recieve it (making low tourist season a struggle) saying who needs money when their dead?
They also seem to think the shit life women are forced to live is inevitable - and they may as well gather all the wives
they can, and abuse their freedom.  This is a generalisation.  But it's so hard to talk to women here: the few who work in
petra are the few who can speak english, most are stuck at home to cook and make babies.
  We left Petra then and head off for the Beduin village to follow up our invitations on Abdullah and Feras' mules/donkeys.
The houses here are colourful and decorated with pretty gates, and many vines/trees.  Moreover, the streets are coloured
with tiny children playing, mules, horses, donkeys and camels.
  The beduin village was built to kick the beduins out of Petra (where they lived) in order to make Petra a tourist attraction.
Most of them use their houses for showering and still camp out most of the time, however.  One man even lived in one of
the tombs in Petra which was blocked off for tourists by a gate.  I thought it was for preservation reasons, but no - its
for privacy.
  First to Abdullah's brothers house where the wife and their baby boy lounged around the living space.  Abdullah took me onto
the roof where they keep a bedroom-sized cage full of pigeons.  Looking across the rooves of the village, it's a common
hobby.  The cage is left open, and after around a year of cage-life they now always return home.  We drink tea.
  Then to Abdullah's wife's house, where she lives with their babies and her mother (and where many our brothers, cousins,
I can't even keep up) are lounging around and talking.  More tea.  Despite being married, he lives on his own and had a
girlfriend a while back.  Men here love love.
  Then to the Khalife's house.  The inside of Beduin houses are the collest.  Colourful and decorated with
a gazillion fake flowers in colourful vases, stickers on the walls, tacky posters of fake landscapes, many family photos etc
yet it all looks really attractive in all it's tackiness.  The funniest part is the posters and the TV (often on)
while the view from their windows overlooks the awesome Petra.
  Keep in mind all the beduin in Petra and little Petra know each other: they're all related
one way or another.  The house is tiring with babies.  Suddenly we're in Khalife's car with his wife (no english) and
some of his kids.  We drive onto a mountain in little Petra, eat an awesome BBQ and drink more tea.  Somehow
some beduin friends we've made popped up to join us (which was nice as they spoke english) and played the oud as we sipped
tea around the fire, singing arabic love songs.
  Ferras and Abdullah pick us up in Ferras' jeep (everyone shares his jeep: as everyone in the village are like brothers and
his car is my car).  and we drive dangerously onto a mountain overlooking the village, wadi musa and some of Petra.
  Kassib rides his donkey up to meet us.  I've learnt drink donkey riding is far more intelligent than drink driving:
donkeys simply know the way, moon or sun.  Conversation here revolves around gossip mostly, and they expect me to remember
who lives in which cave, whose cousins/brothers/sisters, who has how many wives/children/brothers etc and oh my god it's
complicated.
We drive even more dangerously home where I my cheeks hurt from laughing as I fall asleep.

  Petra day two!
  I lost my ticket so we talk our way into letting me in (this time from the correct entrance).  As we wander sleepily through the
streets of rock, we are stopped even more often by familiar faces.  Petra's so big and we want to see streets we haven't yet
climbed to.  Ferras offers us lunch in his cave and we accept.  We hadn't yet seen anything new, but after stopping for tea
so many times it's already lunch time.  It's a donkey ride to his cave and I can't talk Ferras into letting David ride
occasionally.  Beduin are charming.  And they love women (and charming them).  It's no wonder so many beduins have married
and had babies with tourists.  Mostly it doesn't work out and the women live in their own countries again, but many
actually live in the village and have stalls in Petra.
Ferras' family's cave has two big rooms within: a kitchen lounge and a bedroom carpeted with thin mattresses as well as a tent.
  We sit in a tent out side the cave (it's verander) with the 20 odd children smiling around us.  The women have made
a large dish of mushed up bread and potato tastiness which we eat with our hands.  I couldn't help to lick my fingers,
but your not meant to until your actually finished (since we all eat out of the same platter).  Looks like I didn't
need to work onmy table manners, Dad :).  Beduins so rarely drink water, and use it mostly for tea and washing their hands.


Eventually we return to the tourist's heart of Petra where we venture through the unbelievable cliffs, relieved to be free
of other people, and find ourselves half way up a long long long line of steps which we can't find on the map.  We sit for
ages not knowing what to do.  David and I are so comfortable together we know what eachother want and don't even need to
ask! It's a lifelong friendship and I'll take the opportunity to tell all you sticky beaks that it is simply a friendship.
  But we were to meet Ana and Andrew at the top of the monastry (a 45 minute walk
up 800 steps) for sunset so we went back down and hurried through the hot desert.  Lucky we hadn't gone the full way:
it was simply a lead to another cave like the 1000 others in Petra (with a nice view).  The monastry was monstrous (good)
and one Beduin climbed it and went swinging up and around it's tips and toes!! AHHHH! He's a one hundreth of it's size.
  The view from up here was gollygosh breath taking, and I collapsed to have a nap on the brink of the cliff face.
  We met Abo SacSuccah and Ferras at the bottom of the monastry and the 6 of us began to drive up to the Beduin village.
  Then another beduin boy jumped in, along with the Beduin chief.  The eight of us hang out the windows (and roof) as we sailed
into town.
  Eventually the 7 of us drive up to the tip of a mountain (me up on the roof of the car with the bedding) holding on very
tightly as we rock in all directions over the rocks.
  We cook up a BBQ and stay up until four (most of us).  Although I found Abdullah Sac-Succah the most intriguing Feras
was my favourite.  Abdullah's father had died when he was young and I'd say hes had some drinking problems since.
  They're all sensitive, and aren't afraid to talk about their weaknesses.  They also arent afraid to cuddle their friends.
Yet they reek with masculinity and strength that you rarely find in western men.  Feras is the only young beduin
I've come across who doesn't smoke.  He's also very loyal to his (huge) family.  But hey; they all are to a fair degree.

  Woke up to the sun hot on our faces and so one by one we re-located, dragging our mattresses under the shade of a rocky verander.
  We had run out of water, and while the beduins didn't need any, us Aussies did.  So Feras was going to get some from
a local guy's cave and I offered to help out.  The car clonked out a few metres down the hill so we walked over mountains for
half an hour before finding an old man asleep in a sheep shed.  We woke him up as we were taking from his
water supply and he kindly offered us tea.  He dragged a wounded Palestinian refugee from the border to his home when he was
 a fit man.
  So we return and the car is out of gas so we call friends who come and bring us lunch - canned fish, cheese yogurt and bread.
  We end up stranded in the sun for another 4 hours trying to jump start the car (its actually out of battery).  We're also
out of water again, so the friends who were with us drive their car back to town to buy ciggarettes and one single bottle
of water to share. They were surprized when it was empty.
  Finally return to our hostel in Wadi Musa and sleep.

  Day four of Petra
  We wander in without much to do except find a particular friend who invited us over (he said to just say his name
and he'd appear...turned out a bit more difficult) and to walk through the siq.  The canyon carved by water.  It was stunning!
  The scenery here continues to amaze me.  Colours and patterns are constantly evolving like the sand in the wind.
Remember, Over the years Petra's been known to have hundreds of thousands of tourists per day - but bam it's now practically
empty and the workers are simply keen to have tourists to talk to.
  So David is known as the Jewish guy here because they recognised him to be so straight away and he couldn't deny it
as straight away each beduin would start speaking to him in Hebrew (they know touristy phrases in all languages).
 
  Practically all of the beduins were pro-Israel, which rather interested me.  They're frequent tourists for one (and they
like tourists because tourists mean business), partly because they live so locally.  Moreover the
 tour groups who come and left good impressions.  One beduin expressed hostility towards the Palestinians as he felt
the queen (and king I spose) were helping them while the beduins were simply left to help themselves.
  For a while I played a cool beduin game with some wise-old-men.  I was their good luck and seemed to be the cause
of any chance which played out.  They convinced the tourist police to let us into the siq to begin with (since its apparently
too dangerous without a guide.  All guides do is hold your bottom as you climb and offer to take photos.)

  So the beduin boys are so aware of the romanticised idea tourists have of them and they love it.  They seem to
all want western girlfriends (despite whether they're married with children).  One guy looked like Jack Sparrow
and was dating an english girl.  I found it interesting to talk to her but couldn't ask the questions I longed to.
Do they use condoms here!?????  The babies running around and male dominancy suggests a big pregnant no.
Hitched up to the beduin village to continue looking for our friend.  Got taken into so many people we'd met's houses
for tea.  We're now tea'd out.  Play with Feras' sisters for hours as they play with my camera.  I tried to relax.
My camera runs out of battery each day, so 3 dollars (if I'm lucky - some have costed 4.5) per day to take photos.
Not worth it.
  Hitch back to Wadi Musa with a car full of other people hitching - I think the lady beside me was pregnant, and we
were dropped off at the hospital...

I think we played cards and smoked shisha all night at our coffee shop.  Oh and we also got into a slight argument with a
tour guide who came and suddenly warned us not to talk to the gypsys (beduins) who work in Petra.  They aren't true Beduins.
See, theres a hostility between those who live in Wadi Musa and those from the Beduin villages.  This man said that the people
of Petra used tourists for money (psh) and that their donkeys are ruining the steps (this is very true.  But there are so
many steps!).  He said that they were not true muslims.  I understand this call because the bediuns are more liberal with
their approach.  The way I see it - life has been their teacher, and they see God in life.  They agreed when they
understood me.  The beduins see those who live in Wadi Musa as the 'farmer people'.  They were never true beduins
who lived out in the desert.

  Day 5
All we know is we want to leave Wadi Musa.  We call the number of one of the guys we met in little Petra and without
remembering us he says yeah come over it'll be sweet.
  We arrive and he's slightly on edge as his tooth needed to be pulled out.  But! Remember the riddle he asked us earlier?
  What do you own but everyone uses more than you?
He told us the answer. "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" We should have guessed it.  The answer was your name and that was the best joke/riddle he told
and he never stopped telling them.  Whenever one (of the four of us) said anything he'd interrupt with a story I couldn't
understand.  He drunk most of our vodka to numb the pain of his tooth and remained very hospitable.
  Now keep in mind the beduins of little Petra are of a completely different tribe.  They seem to be bigger fans of weed than
those of Petra (who turned to Alchohol), and they also have a different accent on their dialect.
Took an incredible sunset walk in little Petra - climbing over what looked like millions of 'The burrows' (harry potter)
made of rock.  Awadth is married to a Dutch lady who he clamed would jump off a rock for him, while he would not do the
same for her.  He was quite proud of this.  He'd also like to have four more wives, which she's apparently happy with.
  We got back to his cave and I helped prepare dinner (I wripped apart chickens).  We ate by midnight and were now starving.
Bloody Beduins rarely eat.  Our host Awadth was joined by is cousin Awad.  That took some difficulty.
  The cave was hand carved, probably over 1000/2000 years ago....something impressive, and was well furnished and comfortable
(save for the biting things).
 
  Day 6
  Awadth said he'd take us to spend the night in Wadi Araba for a price cheaper than any we'd come across so we took it,
and woke up thinking we were doing that.  Watermelon for brealkie, then we hike up Little Petra to Awadth's shop
to say hello good morning.  We chill there, he puts coal on my and Ana's eyes - ("healthy", "not make-up", made out of
the native trees).  He also gave us a pair of earrings each.  I felt like a princess!!! But it turned out
his car had broke down so we couldn't go to Wadi Araba but he promised to give us a good night. We accept the offer of a good
night and decided to head to Wadi Rum tomorow.  He disappears to buy cigarettes and  we look after his shop.
  All Day.
  One tourist came.  We played cards.  (we love Joker, but everyone here wants to play hand, a much simpler lame boring
version which makes me rude when a local insists we play it instead of Joker, a frequent dilemma).
  Eventually he returns and has bought dinner ingredients and fixed his car so we can go out.
  He wanted to take us to the same hill we'd already camped on, I think, but the car clonked out in the middle of the desert
and I was more than happy to start cooking dinner right there so we did Al Hamdullah (thank god).
  When you say How are you, the common reply is 'thank god', meaning God has made me what I am and I'm so thankful for it.
I love it.
  That night Awadth told many stories which I didn't understand, but Andrew retold them the next day.  The story of the gypsys
as well as the Genies.  The land is full of genies, (evil spirits) but the prayers which are played ward them away.
  Awadth makes a point in his life to retain the lifestyle of his parents and family, though it becomes more difficult each
year.  Slowly his people have been losing their culture and following Western habbits due to the Beduin villages set up
by the Government.
  Ana and Andrew (with whom I travel) worked in an Aboriginal community in Australia and have continuously pulled up
similarities between the two peoples.

Ye Restfull Dana

Aid Milan Saeed David!! 29th (David's birthday)
DANA
We have now been in Dana for 3 restfull sleeps! Much longer than intended.  Our hotel here
is run by Soloman, with the help of Moonira (a philipino lady) who calls him Baba (father),
and understandably as he is a very father figure.  All the days here have mellowed into
one! So I'll talk in a muddled order.  The few families who live in Dana really care about
their home, and moreover: nature.  The prayers, also are my favourites here.  The mountains surrounding Dana were split deeply
by an earthquake many years ago (the same one which destroyed many of the castles
I've visited) and all around we have found fossils from when the country was ocean.
  Yesterday I met AtAllah at Mohammed's store when we sat down to eat some mish-mish (apricots).
  By bad arabic gets me into funny situations.  He showed me his collection of ancient
coins found in the old, ruined village of Dana.  My interest inspired him to give me a tour
and together we went stumbling through the rocky ruins, rummaging for broken tiles, fossils,
pretty stones, bones etc.  Our hands were cupped full of pretty things after a little while.
  I still feel bad, but the beautiful man ended up giving me three coins.  Two ancient
palestinian coins which we hooked onto my necklace as well as an anicent Romainian coin
which is hand pressed!! 'Remember' was his favourite english word and I shall not forget.
  Another young man invited us to his orchid where we sipped zartar tea (!!!) amongst the donkeys.
  After the first night of arabic card games and Mt Nebo wine with locals, David and I helped cook dinner.
  I wanted to learn the secret of their amazing cooking and oh gosh did I discover:
Everything (even before it's mixed in with rice or anything) is deep fried.
  A mahloube like dish involved a large pot.  At it's base sits a layer of tomato,
Which we layered with rice (mixed with chick peas and peas and noodle bits) and deep
fried vegies.  Plus spices and tomato puree. placed upside down like a rice cake!! Delicious.
   Chicken, beans, tabouleh, bread: yum.
  We stayed a third night here as buses don't run on fridays and so we couldnt get to Petra.
No Problem! Said Solomon - we would party here today for David's birthday. Inshallah. We'd cook
Mansaf (Beduin dish!), dance, play music, and party.
  So Today David woke up to my singing happy birthday in arabic.  I've told everyone we've
met here so far to come and celebrate with us together tonight, and David hates me for it.
  We set off after breakie towards the springs but got distracted by a group of young men
on a picnic, with whom we played magical games beneath a huge tree by a spring.  Since leaving Madaba,
I've met more actual "jordinians" who are from beduin families.  Humungous beduin families with multiple wives
each with many (around ten) children.  And although they are quite poor, they are so generous and rich in heart you
easily forget.  This is a generalisation, there are many beduin tribes (each with varying dialects and expectations)
and I couldn't have experienced all of em.
  The young men have been raised to be responsible regarding morals, family, respect, and yet they still know how to have fun.
  They came back later in the evening to celebrate David's birthday, and promised to speed home one handed after
I warned them to be carful. Jordanians all have a great sense of humour.
  Mansaf that night: cook watered yogurt in a pot on the stove.  Cook rice (with cumin butter and salt). Cook chicken (or
better: lamb).  Put rice then chicken then yoghurt. Simply delicious.
  It was devastating to leave the next morning.  I promised Moonira and Solouman I would go back Moonira insisted
on numerous photos together, under this tree and that, amidst discussing how we'd pay (as we didnt have enough cash
between the four of us and Dana has no bank).  Waving from the car window I felt really loved.  Lovely man Brahim was
taking us to Petra (Wadi Musa).

Karak

Karak Castle
Awoke to the morning prayers of Madaba and playful calls of children on the streets.
  It is school holidays here, so where
ever we have travelled we have seen many children
who have proven to be very playful and welcoming.
  We decided to have Abu Samir take us on our days journey again.
See here in Jordan its near impossible to travel by public transport
Which is very costly. So we have spent much time discussing how we're
going to travel to each place for maximum efficiency.  On the road again,
listening to Romanian club-mixs (which I now kmow the words to) we head to
Karak castle.  A town further south of Madaba built sloped down the hill, whereon
sits the castle.  circling the castle again is a dried up moat which separates
the scrawny and joyous streets (one way, with cars going two-way) from the spacious
and desolate kingdom.
  The castle made me feel quite powerful as I looked out onto a panoramic view of Jordan,
and I was not surprized to discover that its know as a spot for casting wars.
  Many have reigned from the castle over the years (as it was
built BC) but the story of Salah al-din (Saladin) is the most famous and interesting.
  Around 1140, While the crusaders were having some weird crisis in the middle east,
a leader named Richard was assuming control of Karak castle and would throw the locals
out of the windows (their heads in wooden boxs so theyd hit the ground conscious).
Salah al din, a Sunni Muslim, stuck up for his people always and fought against the crusaders
(he was quite a shrewd and gory fighter, a leader too)
So He was cast into Richards dungeon. Although, Saladin was such a nice guy that he
became friends with many of the crusaders including RIchard, so he was eventually released.
I think most of the people here could get out of dungeons, as they all seem so sweet.
Anyway so we had our first meal that wasnt (delicious) bread homos and falafel or shwarma.
We shared Okra and kofka with rice! (made by Abu's cousin) And found Abu Samir getting his hair cut next door.

We then took off towards the sun to Dana, where the springs trickle down hills of trees which
rustle with birds snakes and horned dears.  The village sits amidst the trees down the slope of the hill looking
over a great weaving valley to the west (where, ofcoarse, the sun goes to sleep).
  The village was founded by a beduin family tens of years ago and is made entirely by huge white stones.
Today, the same three families still live here anf use their land to preserve the natural
flora and fauna specific to the Middle East.  My insect collection is growing.
Abu Samir took us to his cousins hotel where he said we could camp cheaply, however as the
tents are "under renovation" we were put into the rooms for the same price.  As the sun set,
we were offered dinner.  Oh my Golly.  After so long of petty food dinner made me choke:
It was a banquet!!  A mountain of rice with a variety of curries salad and meat to serve yourself
as you fancy all cooked with VEGETABLES!!! After being taught it so many times, I finally
remembered how to say the meal was delicious in arabic.  A quiet evening of backgammon led us to a
lazy morning and I've been writing, drawing, painting laughing and singing under olive trees by the spring ever since.

We may spend a few more days here before we hit Petra.

Abu Samir's path

25th
Wow.  OK here we go, an attempt to talk you through the most formidable day of my memory.
In Madaba the previous day we met Abu Samir. to change his name to 'Father of Samir' one already knows how proud he must be
of his family.  A Romanian! He called himself.  He was beduin, so that was dubious from the beginning, but between Daoud's
Romanian, my arabic, and his fluency in all three languages (including english) he was pretty easy to communicate with.
We organized with him a day trip to three special sites.  Anna and Andrew are on a strict budget which is great because
it means I feel less frugal (in comparison) while we live a budget lifestyle.
First stop = Herrod's castle.  We were positioned at the top of one mountain, beside an even taller one, upon which stood two pillars.
In the spinning desert heat, all I could see clearly was that no spot of shade lay on our path.
  But it was special.  We found fossils depicting shells, from over 350 million years ago when the land was beneath the sea.
Moreover, it was Herrods castle where Salome danced.  Young Salome, dancing in competition For Herrod's hand so that she could fulfill
her mother's selfish desire to behead John the baptist.  The mountain was covered in tiny caves which had been caved over,
however it is known that the mountain had an underground system once (which is currently being researched).
  Back into Abu Samir's car, where we quickly noticed that he plays the same three Romanian club hits on repeat.  And he loves it.
It's hilarious.
  So Daoud and I had already gone to the dead sea, however it cost us 16JD as it was made into a tourist site.  Tourists are contained
into one tiny, modernised segment so no one can swim over to the Israeli side of the sea easily.  Abu Samir however is a man
of happy business.  Nothing bothers him 'smoking it's OK for me' said the man who chain smokes.
  We arrived at a part of the dead sea carpeted in salt chrystals and dipping ourselves into the thick salty brew heartily.
The patterns on the surface the sea are like a glittering petrol and we twisted into them as we slowly relaxed into it's
mood.
Next stop: The azarta ma'in.  So the hot water springs are also an expensive tourist attraction, however Abu Samir knew
where to find the springs which LED to the main springs.  A three hour hike through a grand canyon following a crystal clear
powerful creek.  The orange red green cliffs shot powerfully into the blue, though my head was lowered to my path sop that I
didn't slip on the mossy rocks.  Up the river, the water became hotter and hotter (and although we wanted cold water) we eventually
just collapsed into a hot pool by a (one of the many) slide where the water sucks you into the mineral pool so that you
resurface with a wild grin.
The end of our path was the waterfall.  By this stage we were out of drinking water but it was still fun.  We jumped from the highest
rock into the pool, swum into the cave behind the waterfall (like a sauna), and showered beneath a sister waterfall.
Beneath the fallic rock formations we splashed and laughed and the gaety shared was probably a good week's worth.
The camera fell into the water tragically but no worry no worry the memory card still worked.

On our way home Abu Samir took us back to his family home, and although he grew up in caves (being a beduin) he has now
built himself an impressive house in the outer Madaba where his Romanian wife and four children live with him. (on average
Abu Samir's siblings have around 12 children :O which is normal :O)
  We were too hungry to stay long so after the coffee and cakes we went back to our hotel.
I have mentioned the huge families who inhabit Madaba, well in the car we saw police men and army tanks scattering the streets,
and fire trickling along the roads.  Abu Samir explained calmly (although it's very uncommon) that a married muslim woman
had cheated on her husband with someone from another family.  The man she had the affair with was killed by the husband's
family.  Traditionally, When one person is killed from a family they thus can kill 4/5 people from their family.
So it was pay back time.  By maybe 1000 all the shops on the street were closed and our hotel advised that we didn't go onto
the street.  We were starved after the long day, yet resolved to eat the breakfast leftovers and drink David's birthday
present (Thai whisky).  I didn't know Jordan could be so silent.

Madaba: city of mosaics

PROLOGUE
It's difficult to type here, figure out the keyboard, and write from right to left :)

The 24th
We've now explored the North and decide to Head south (Anna, Andrew, Daoud and I)
Madaba! Home of mosaics. An early morning service bus weaves through the desert road to Madaba.  ALong the road you see repetitious
stalls of groceries, plants, as well as fields of molokheyye, olive trees (zeitoon!!), mishmish, fig, etc.  And lets
not forget the desert landscapes, layering volcanic cliffs with a constantly evolving series of patterns and colours.
Madaba is smaller and coiser than Amman.  It's made up of a few families, all making sure you know what his cousin's
business offers and unlike noisy Amman, the prayers that are played five times a day seem more appropriat and respected.

  One thing: no one here expects you to speak arabic as no tourist does.  I know barely a few phrases (far less arabic than their
english) yet they all grow excited 'you speak arabic! your very good!' they say and are genuinely impressed simply because
I try.  Australia - Jordan loves you more each day :)

We were all still exhausted yet decided to explore what the town offers.  Here, olive, grape, jasmine and fig trees grow out of every
gap between the stone streets and oh the tiny birds of jordan continue to excite me.

The town led us to a Christian Church (of St George) dedicated to the story of John the Baptist.  Hallelujah.  It was peaceful.
it's believed to be the site where he was beheaded (more on Salome later ;)).  The beauty of churches here are ineffable -
The paintings mosaics and stained glass preach the mythology of the land and I simply become entranced.  Later we got a lift
up Mt. Nebo - the site where Moses was buried.  From the top you could see the whole of Palestine...through the dust.  It
was dusty but I was happy to see the olive trees and birds which dribbled down the mountain. The bible stories are more
fascinating than Australia gives them credit.  I think Moses managed to live so long in the desert as he learned the beduin
desert skills like camel milk (works like yoghurt and ten times more effective)

Found an Al Hashims equivalent for more bread and garlic as well as a bottle of vodka which we shared over a bonding reflection.
The hotel we stayed in had us all on the roof for a cheaper option, as well as a kind frenchman who caused my arabic to twist
into a terrible confusion of three languages.

Jerash - city of ruins

The 23rd
Jaresh!! The anicent ruins of a city to all travellers, where markets, bath houses, churches, temples and ampitheatres
blossomed.  The intricate, sophisticated architechture told of Roman, Ottoman, and Helenistic influences which were
obviously inspired by the arable and cultured land.  To reach Jerash we took the service bus.  Understandbably, we tourists
pay tourist tax (as our friends Ana and Andrew have taught us).  We ate the old zartaa bread (manaeesh) for breakie and by
the time we were finished with Jerash it was evening, our water had run out long ago, and in the humungous and shade-less
city we were left drained of all colours save red from sun-burn.
  We have been travelling really slowly the four of us, as we all appreciate each nook and crany, end up befriending many
locals, find fossils and old paths, and frequently stop for chillout seshs'.
  We saw a man draw pictures within bottles out of sand (a skill beyond my logic), a Jordanian pipe band (dressed in traditional Scottish skirts),
and heard the cheers of a reenacted chariot race.
Jerash drew the skeleton of an oriental period full of mystisism and I felt like a lost princess.
My favourite site was the temple of Alemonia, the Roman goddess of fertility, (ironically) home to twisting fig trees and a young boy selling water!

sand artist

إضافة تسمية توضيحية

Arriving back in Amman we four voted on Al Hashims for our last dinner in Amman city of hustle and bustle.
Al Hashims provided my lunch and dinner diet of homos, falafel, bread bread bread for a consistently cheap price.
Slept well.

3 incredbible days squished into a bad post

view from Ajoun castle

Ajloun castle...day 3

Dave David RObert K and a random in Amman first night

a lovely Jordinians house for shai - he brought out his oud!

mish mish orchid : admiring the well as Omar talks us through it

Journey of a cloud indeed, for I am dancing with the current of the wind.

  The first sign of this sat beside me on the plane.  That he was a boy my age on a gap year was exciting enough at first but it became creepier and eventually i stopped saying 'me too!!' because I'd simply said it too many times.
  What conjures my suspiscions of fate is probably the sense of belonging which I've been showered with since

OK PAUSE David just ran in to announce that a man we met yesterday (to whom we mentioned our accomodation) just called the hostel and has invited us over for coffee.  my 2$ watch says its 830am so I think its time i showeered and went!

Now where was I? So Dubai airport had me nervous.  The city sparkled with opolent lights, bleeding through the night sky while inside sparkled the whites of hundreds of eyes.  I was overwhlemed.  They spoke of hardship and desperate times and I felt embarrassed for having experienced so little.

I tried to tame my smile as I skipped around the airport.  I lost it for sure after I sat down at my gate, when all my bag's contents scatter across the floor and I realize I had been walking around with my bag (of importance) wide open.

  In Dubai, I began to fear if I would ever fit in with these people.  How silly that was.  Before I had left customs, two men had already warned me to be careful and given their number in case I needed anything.  Ironic, as if I were to follow their advice, surely it would mean that I had not listened their advice?)
  Every Jordanian thus far has made me feel welcome from the depth of my heart. It's as though Jordan is their home and I am their guest and it is their duty to show me a good time.  And have they what! I feel it's impossible for me to explain what I've been up to because since I've arrived it's been non-stop.
  Travelling with David has been really fun because he puts in an effort to get to know people and make them feel special, so everyone likes us.  On top of this whenever I say 'ana min Palestine' wella! She's from Palestine! Where in Palestine? Your father? Your mother? etc. I have learnt that around 70% of Jordan is made up of Palestinians.  The remainder are from neighbouring countries like Iran, Afghanistan and Syria.  The true Jordans mainly only consist of the Beduins.
  I am yet to meet the Beduins. It takes a while to do anything here because the country is lazy like the camels.  Slow and happy. You have to be in order to safe your energy in the desert.  Don't get me wrong: They work hard 7 days a week of 10 hour shifts is not uncommon.  But they face their task with a laid back attitude one practices while they smoke shisha.  On our first day we (David, David (australia), Robert & K (America)) ventured up to a film festival. as everything in jordan it took much longer than expected, for people care about you.  You ask for directions 'where you from? welcome! how long you sit down (stay))
It was also this journey which led us to the front porch of a Palestinian Christian man who invited us all in for tea, brought down his ouud (arabic lute) and told us about his family.  His kindness was touching.  I would bore myself to talk about every encounter with a Palestinian Jordanian who has spoiled David and I.  They're extravagent with generority and terribly proud about their home.  Still.  They lost their family home in Palestine yet still they are proud - Proud to have had a home in Palestine and proud to share with you in their new home in Jordan.
  The dead sea, similarly, reflects the lazy desert country.  It's thick with sparkling crystal clarity and you feel stoned as you wade your way through it in slow motion.  It was here that we met our first Saudi Arabians.  They were pretty awesome; bought us ice-cream (people here set you up so you cannot say no!!) and were open to discuss their culture, politics and general attitude.  David talks good politics with the people so I can enjoy listening and learning (and saying funny comments).

Omar, anas and mohammed's weekend house where we danced

YEsterday we visited some ancient desert castles and a cool church.  Very pretty, great views etc.  We met Omar there - a Palestinian who thought it fun to do tourist things on his weekend.  He and his three friends took photos of eachother doing everything everywhere and while taking photos with us they invited us to their house.  Three of them and four of us (for Daoud (davids new name) and I met an australian/austrian couple - very worldly and on the ball) the car was very squishy.  We ended up at Anas' mish mish orchid where we picniced on nectarines, apricots and the nuts inside their seeds.  The three men were very funny and when it started raining (!!!!) we all ran muddily to the car and ended up playing snap, discussing the world (slowly), and dancing in their livingroom.
  After the 10 hour lunch visit they drove us all the way to our hostel in the downtown.  Daoud and I were too late to make our dinner plans (for we were invited to another Palestinians' for a dinner made by his wife) but Jordanians don't worry - for we can call him today at 430 and hang out some more anyway.

the key board has been so hard to use and I have no time to polish up this mess of ideas flying in the sky so I hope you make something good out of it :D