In Hauran, the Northern desert region of Jordan a few kilometers from the Syrian border there are the ruins of a great black basalt city dating from the 1st Centurary A.D. : Umm al Jimal (Arabic: ام الجمال, “Mother of Camels”) also known as Umm el Jimal or Umm idj Djimal.
It is a rare and wonderous treat to walk alone in silence through the huge site as the late afternoon sun fades to sunset. Of all the places I visited on my trip to Jordan, the solitude of wandering there for a few hours was one of the most calming and surreal.
Much more information about the site can be found over at the great UMM EL-JIMAL PROJECT website.
Music credits:-
Flute – field recording of unknown musician, Petra, Jordan, 2012
After the man made wonders of Petra we headed a little further south to the spectacular natural splendor that is Wadi Rum.
T.E. Lawrence described it beautifully in his book “Seven Pillars Of Wisdom” :-
The crags were capped in nests of domes, less hotly red than the body of the hill; rather grey and shallow. They gave the finishing semblance of Byzantine architecture to this irresistible place: this processional way greater than imagination……. Our little caravan grew self conscious and fell dead quiet, afraid and ashamed to flaunt its smallness in the presence of the stupendous hills.
It is (to use the word again) an awesome place. Red/Orange sand and huge rock formations rising out of the desert. The silence only interrupted by the jeeps of other tourists of which there were thankfully few.
There can be few experiences more calming and beautiful than spending a night on a mattress on a sand dune under the stars as the moon illuminates the mountains around you and waking up at sunrise to the mountains glowing in the morning light.
The video shot again with the trusty GoPro suction cupped to the bonnet of the jeep and some panoramic photos of the stops along the way.
The music was sung and played by an unknown Bedouin musician and was recorded in Petra.
Special thanks to Hussein from wildwadirum.com who was our driver, cooked us a wonderful lunch in an amazing spot and was a very funny man.
Big thank you to the couple who shared the trip with us too ( yep I’m talking about you A and T! ), truly lovely people who became fast friends and made the trip even better by giving us some smart interesting people to share the experience with.
(T thanks for getting us down from the rock bridge! would have been a whole lot scarier without ya ;)
Don’t forget to check out the other posts in the أنا من القمر – Jordan series:-
I’ve seen some pretty amazing places in my life, places that have stopped me in my tracks as I stared slack jawed in amazement. Often the horribly overused word “awesome” escapes ones lips at these moments and yet there are few places that truly “inspire awe”.
Petra IS one of them.
All most people know of Petra they learnt from Indiana Jones, but this really does the epic Nabataean city a disservice as it is SO much more than the amazing temple hewn from the rock face known as the Treasury.
We owe our knowledge of the almost 3000 year old city, populated at its heyday by around 30,000 people, to a real life Indiana Jones – a young Swiss explorer, J.L. Burckhardt who in 1812 ended the hidden city’s isolation by riding in disguised as a Muslim holy man.
(Burckhardt was a pretty amazing fellow, he is also credited with re-discovering the Ramases II temple at Abu Simbel in Egypt as well as exploring Mecca and Medina in disguise all before he died of dysentery in Cairo in 1817 at the age of 33, just 5 years after his ride into Petra)
There is no denying that the first sight of The Treasury (known to the Bedouin as Al-Khazneh) after the 1.2km walk down the 200m high, 2-3m wide canyon known as the ‘Siq’ is a magical one, especially if as we did, you do it for the first time at night, when the Siq is lined with candles.
The sense of entering some magical hidden city is made even stronger knowing that the Siq is the only real way in to the ancient city that spreads over a vast area of the surrounding mountains and wadis.
(Technically the Siq is not a canyon as it was not carved out by water but is a fissure in the huge single block of rock formed by tectonic forces)
The Treasury gets it’s name from a story that an Egyptian pharaoh hid his treasure in the urn in the middle of the second level, but in fact it was a tomb for the Nabataean King Aretas III.
From Al-Khazneh the Siq curves off to the right and the true Petra adventure begins.
We walked for about 17km one day and saw all the ‘big name’ attractions but it was clear that there was so much more to see.
Whilst exploring I constantly thought that this was once a city, not a temple or some mausoleum, but a living, breathing city. It must have been truly a spectacular place when the Nabataeans were living there in their thousands.
It would take weeks if not months to explore everything this incredible site has to show you and the mere 48 hours I spent there has left me with a feeling of wanting more unlike I have ever experienced from a ‘World Heritage’ site before.
In fact it made me think that all “World Heritage” sites are not created equal. Some I have been too are frankly a bit “meh…” but Petra I know will live in my memory forever.
Words and indeed pictures can never convey the wonder of standing at the high place of sacrifice, or the satisfaction, after 900 steps, of the amazing views from up above the Monastery.
You’ll just have to go there yourself.
Trust me, you will NOT regret it.
Don’t forget to check out the other posts in the أنا من القمر – Jordan series:-
One advantage of not taking the bus for the 260km trip from Amman to Petra is that you can attach your GoPro to the bonnet of the taxi and take a time lapse of the entire journey.
Mix that in with some stills taken along the way and what you get is the video above.
The two notable stops along the way were:
Shobak Castle – Built by the crusader king Baldwin I in 1115 AD, it withstood numerous attacks from the armies of Saladin before finally falling in 1189 after an 18 month siege. It was occupied in the 14th Century by the Mamluks who built over several of the original crusader buildings.
Siq Al-Barid – Known more commonly as ‘Little Petra’, a 400m long siq (Arabic: shaft or canyon) opens out into larger areas with buildings carved into the rock faces including one known as ‘The Painted House’ which contains some faded but still interesting frescos which are a rare example of Nabataean painting.
Thought to have been an agricultural center, trading suburb and resupply post for camel trains heading to Petra.
Well worth visiting before heading to Petra itself as it gives you a small taste of the wonders to come.
Don’t forget to check out the other posts in the أنا من القمر – Jordan series:-
Finally a post about my Jordan trip where I make it out of Amman! Only about an hour away though, Just as far as the lowest point on the Earth at 408m below sea level – The Dead Sea.
Firstly a few facts:-
The Dead Sea is not in fact a sea, but a lake.
At 31 % salinity (9 times the oceans) it is the 2nd saltiest body of water on Earth after Lake Aral in Djibouti.
The Dead Sea is 3 million years old.
It has shrunk by 30% in recent years (at a rate of 1/2 meter a year) due to evaporation and the demands of the potash industry.
It is a spectacularly beautiful colour, and the salt rocks formed around it’s edges add to the feeling of being in some alien environment.
A crazily buoyant dip in it’s waters is all one imagines it would be and covering oneself in its (allegedly) healing mud a small tourist indulgence that was as much fun as it looks.
Take it from me though, do not get the water in your eyes as the 30m dash up the red hot beach to the fresh water showers feels like miles and you feel even stupider the second time.
It was also a strange experience for me to be gazing across to Israel/Palestine on the other side having done exactly the same the opposite way more than 10 years ago. In Jordan with it’s 30% Palestinian population the reality of the Israel/Palestine problem is never far away and to bob effortlessly in The Dead Sea gazing across to what are essentially occupied lands is a slightly surreal experience.
Anyway, a few pictures.
Don’t forget to check out the other posts in the أنا من القمر – Jordan series:-
In my travels there are certain hotels, not the opulent and comfortable but ultimately faceless ones, but the cheaper more full of character ones, that have left an indelible impression on my memory, stories can be told (some not in polite company) about them and occasionally years later I wake up from a particularly vivid dream upset to find that I’m not in the hotel room I was dreaming of.
The “Navrang” in Delhi, The “Hotel California” in Khatmandu, “Thai Thai” guesthouse in Bangkok, The “Regale Internet Inn” in Lahore and The “Z hotel” in Puri to name just a few. The scenes of some of the greatest experiences and the best friendships of my life have begun in these places and many of them will remain with me till I make it to a rocking chair on a porch somewhere to reminisce.
Well now I have a new one to add to my list of places of which I sometimes dream.
I’m speaking of “The Canary Hotel” in Al Weibdeh, Amman, Jordan.
Set in a quiet residential neighbourhood a 5 minute service taxi ride from downtown Amman, The Canary, thanks in large part to it’s friendly and wonderful staff became what all great hotels become to me, truly a home away from home, a base from which to have adventures.
What started as a one night stay after our taxi driver from Petra, Faleh ( A GREAT guy, please use him if you are ever in Jordan, you won’t regret it) dropped us off there turned into me staying for over a week, not my initial plan at all.
It’s a clean , cheapish place (22JD a night for a single, roughly $30 U.S.) with breakfast included, it has some fantastically kitsch art on the walls of the lounge and stair wells, satellite TV in the rooms and the lounge – good for keeping up with Al Jazeera while in the middle east, free WiFi (Take note expensive hotels-Paid WiFi is taking the piss) and some lovely lovely staff. Oh and they have beer!
It also seems to be one of those places that attracts a singularly interesting clientele, from Pakistani helicopter pilots to 80 year old Indian chemical engineers, each with a story to tell.
(It’s also where I met the Australians who I ended up getting rocks thrown at with, and the vet who took me to watch the autopsy of an endangered Arabian Oryx-coming soon!)
Throw all of these things together and you have the kind of hotel that chapters in autobiographies are made of.
The Canary, like all good hotels, has an accessible roof. In this case underutilized except for satellite dishes and water tanks, but after creeping through the tiny room at the top of the stairs where one of the night staff slept I was rewarded with sweeping views of Amman and a perfect spot for what quickly became a daily ritual of watching the sunset. Such a simple pleasure to watch the sun go down and yet one I rarely if ever get to enjoy in my daily life.
So it was everyday, to the strains of the call to prayer, I cracked open an Amstel beer and alone on the roof of my adopted home watched the huge orange sun disappear behind a cityscape that it burnt into my memory.
Special mention has to be made of Samer, the palestinian guy who works the morning shift serving breakfast and manning the desk. I had some truly spectacular conversations with him and quickly felt a bond of friendship unusual in its simple mutual respect.
When I finally left we hugged and I felt genuinely sad to be leaving a friend.
As much as I have liked most of the staff at the hotels that will form the chapters in the autobiography I’ll probably never write, Samer stands alone.
Samer, my brother, I know you will read this, so to you a special thanks. Inshallah we meet again soon.
Canary Hotel, I salute you and I hope some day to revisit your hallowed hallways not just in my dreams.
Some pictures (all shot either on iPhone 4 or the digital Harenezumi):-
The Canary Hotel
Al Karmali Street
Jebel Al Weibdeh
Tel: +962 7 4638353/4638362
Email: canary_h@hotmail.com
Be sure to check out the other posts in the Jordan series:-
Not content with nearly dying at The Australia vs. Jordan football game a few days before, when protests at the American made idiotic, offensive and inflamatory “Innocence Of Muslims” YouTube film erupted across the Muslim world, I thought…………
“Hey!, I’m in a Muslim country, why don’t I go down to the U.S. Embassy?”……..
So, just before the end of Friday prayers I found myself outside the U.S. Embassy in Amman, Jordan (one of the largest U.S. Embassies in the middle East).
The Police presence was huge and intimidating, armored vehicles and hundreds of officers in full riot gear formed a perimeter around the embassy and many more Police were on hand to ensure the protest here did not end up like those in other countries in the region. (It’s worth noting that not just at the protest but the whole time I was in Jordan the Police were some of the nicest I have ever met anywhere in the world. Usually not my favorite people (somewhere on my shit list between rapists and child pornographers) they were polite, courteous and at no point did I see any displays of unnecessary force which the police in the rest of the world seem to think is acceptable behavior. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, just that in a month there I didn’t witness it or hear of it from anyone.)
Soon after Friday prayers ended at the Mosque up the road people started arriving and the crowd began to swell. Banners were hoisted and chanting began – “Death to America” and “Allah hu Akbar” being the only ones I actually understood. Even at it’s most crowded point there was maybe only 150-200 protestors there and although the anger was very real, almost disappointingly, I never felt in any danger. Sure there were a few dirty looks from the obviously more hard line elements, but not a single rock was thrown ;)
It’s difficult not to feel some empathy with these protestors, especially the ones in Amman who remained non-violent.
If a Muslim made a similar film about Jesus then I’m sure the Christian right in America would be equally outraged, and that’s even before we take into account the bombing and killing of innocent civilians that’s been perpetrated by the U.S. and it’s allies in the region and beyond.
What happened in Benghazi cannot in any way shape or form be condoned but the demonization of the entire Muslim world by the West and it’s media can’t be either.
It bears repeating that “one mans terrorist is another mans freedom fighter”
Be sure to check out the other posts in the Jordan series:-
The day my wife left Amman was quite an emotional one, on the one hand I was sad to see her go (a few minutes sat on the steps of the hotel fighting back the tears, even though I’d see her again after only 2 weeks) and on the other hand that exhilerating sense of being alone in an unknown foreign country where all that there was was possibility.
Of course the possibility part is great but, it’s the alone part that doesn’t always suit (I’m a pretty social guy) so I wasted no time in inviting myself to sit with the table of westerners enjoying the warm evening in the front garden of The Canary Hotel later that day.
That one small act of pushy friendliness led to friendships that lasted the rest of my time in Jordan (and hopefully for long to come) and to some pretty crazy situations.
The first of which was the Australia vs. Jordan World Cup qualifying match attended by 16,000 people at the King Abdullah International Stadium in Al Qwaismeh, Amman.
The table I had forced myself on turned out to be full of Australian volunteers on the A.V.I. programme who were mostly only in Amman for a few days before heading off to their placements in other places in Jordan and beyond.
A very friendly bunch who after a few beers invited me to join them at the Australia vs. Jordan football match that was occuring the next night and for which they had free tickets courtesy of the Australian embassy.
Having never been to a football match and always in search of a new experience and some new friends, I quickly agreed. Though if I’d known what was going to transpire I may have said I was ‘washing my hair’ that night.
So it was that the next evening the 8 of us (3 men and 5 women) arrived at the stadium in 2 taxi’s after a 20 minute drive. We arranged a spot for the taxi’s to meet us after the game (oh, the wishful thinking!) and headed off in search of the Australian fans entrance amidst a sea of excited and boisterous Jordanian supporters decked out in Jordanian flags and face paint. The presence of the 8 westerners quickly drew attention and we were followed to the gate by hundreds of locals.
It felt overwhelming but not threatening but I guess I should have known from the huge Police presence that even if I wasn’t scared of the crowds the Police knew something I didn’t.
The game itself was quite exciting and it was fun to watch the 90 % Jordanian supporters in the crowd erupt into singing, dancing and flag waving as their team fairly comfortably but a little unexpectedly ended up the 2-1 victors.
It was clear from the noise and fireworks and the huge numbers of people who had scaled the floodlight towers and fences to watch that the figure later given of 16,000 attendance was at least matched by people outside the stadium who hadn’t been able to get in.
The atmosphere had been great and during the game as I headed over to the fence dividing the Australian and Jordanian fans, I passed many Jordanians on the Australian side wearing “I love Jordan” T-shirts yet waving Australia flags and once I reached the fence the Jordanian fans were eager to have their pictures taken and nothing but smiles.
The real story for us however began as we left the stadium after the final whistle.
Even from the small gate of the Australian enclosure to the actual exit gate of the stadium it became clear that the atmosphere was a little different outside. The thousands of supporters who hadn’t been able to get into the stadium were a lot more rowdy and as everyone poured out of the stadium the crowds quickly became huge and the group mentality that I had previously only experienced at large stadium rock gigs began to be felt by all of us as we looked at each other a little nervously and struggled to stay together in a group amidst the chanting and singing.
Once we exited the stadium things quickly became less friendly as the women began to complain of being groped by the mass of people that surrounded and followed us as we tried to make our way back to the place we had agreed to meet the taxis. I was very happy I had stashed my camera away in my bag and tightened the strap before we exited as suddenly I too felt hands grabbing at me and trying to take my wallet from my pocket, pulling on my bag trying to remove it from my possession. The crowd seemed to go from mildly threatening due to it size to hostile in a matter of seconds as I found myself pushing guys away as they grabbed at me and the women. We made a b-line for a police car we could see parked 50 or 60 meters away as the grabbing turned into kicks and angry shouts in Arabic. By grace, good luck and the help of a few Jordanian people in the crowd who valiantly tried to protect us we made it to the police car where we and the car were immediately surrounded by hundreds of chanting Jordanian fans.
One of the Australian guys who was much more dark skinned and less conspicuous darted off before we could stop him saying he was going to find the taxi drivers and get them to come closer to the stadium. The 2 policemen, thankfully doing their jobs well bundled all of the women but one (a slightly butch Arab/Australian woman who I hadn’t spoken too much but looked like she could look after herself and spoke fluent Arabic) into the car and pulled off through the crowds taking the women to safety.
Unfortunately that left me, P****** and S**** (the woman) stood in the middle of a crowd of several hundred less than friendly fans about 50m from the nearest entrance back into the stadium.
Before I had time to think several large Jordanian guys surrounded us and tried to deflect the grabbing arms and kicks that began to rain down and shouted what I later discovered to be “RUN” at us in Arabic and pointed to the gate. I didn’t need telling twice. With their help, without which I dread to think what would have happened we made it to the safety of the gate with only a few kicks and punches to remember the short trip by. Inside were thousands more fans streaming out of the stadium but also about 30 policemen and Jordanian army who quickly pushed us off to one side, protecting us, gave us water and cigarettes and apologized repeatedly for their countrymen. An unnecessary but warmly received gesture.
For 45 minutes as the crowds dispersed a little we spoke to the women by mobile phone, relieved that they were ok, smoked nervous cigarettes, listened to the continuing rukus from outside the stadium walls, bonded over what had just happened and waited anxiously for A***, the Australian guy who’d left to get the taxi driver to return.
Finally (and Thankfully) A*** arrived with the taxi driver, both of them looking a little shaken.
Due to the crowds the taxi driver had been unable to get his car anywhere near the prearranged meeting point and had been waiting 5 minutes away realizing that there was little chance of us making it to him unmolested.
As we were all ok and the crowds seemed to have thinned out a little, though I did hear several gunshots and moments before the taxi driver had arrived some disturbance had caused 20 or so police and army men to run out of the gate looking like they were on a mission, the police suggested that we leave with the taxi driver and walk straight to the taxi without stopping and go home.
Once again, I didn’t need telling twice.
The four of us were barely 20 meters from the gate when the first rock flew past narrowly missing my head, I stopped and turned to see where it had come from only to watch the 15 year old, 5 meters away who had thrown it release another one that struck me on the chin. Instictively I yelled out words to the effect of “you little fucker” as A*** rightfully grabbed me and forcefully told me to keep walking and not provoke the gang of youths that was following us.
It was too late, the rocks started to rain down hitting all of us including the taxi driver. I was hit in the back of the head, my shoulder and most painfully in the ankle as we increased our pace and finally made it to the taxi some 3 to 4 minutes away. Helped again by some Jordanian guys, one of whom was a mountain of a man, we jumped into the taxi as the youths surrounded it still throwing rocks and after a few tense moments the taxi sped out of its parking space sending bodies sprawling.
We were safe.
The drive back with the windows down was one of my favorite taxi rides for a very long time.
The dual carriage way in the opposite direction was at a standstill for miles as the Jordanian fans hung out of car windows singing, waving flags and celebrated their countries win over Australia.
As the adrenaline wore off slowly the our taxi became very quiet as we sped back to the hotel.
The beer lubricated post mortem of the evening lasted until way past bed time as we bonded over our recollections of what had just happened and how lucky we were it hadn’t had a far worse outcome. I slept well despite the bruises that night and the heartfelt apologies, free food and gifts I received from Jordanians over the following week have gone a long way to mutating my memories of the evening into just another good travel story that I’ll tell a thousand times I’m sure. But if I’m honest there were a few moments when I was genuinely scared in the way only being a white boy in the middle of an angry mob in a foreign country can make you. My bravado will say otherwise but don’t believe it.
Oh and the moral of the story? the lesson learned?
Never, NEVER go to football matches, even if you get free tickets.
***Here is a little video from the night, shot on GoPro and Harenzumi (more on this later)……at some point I put all the cameras away and just ran, big wet girl that I am, when rocks are flying at my head my first instinct is to protect the hard earned cameras and stay alive not what the best angle is or how stable the footage is, so sue me.***
Be sure to check out the other posts in the Jordan series:-
I’ve just returned from an amazing 3 1/2 week trip to Jordan, I have so many stories to tell, some of which will be appearing here over the next week or two and some of which you’ll have to meet me in person to hear ;) The momentous task of editing 158 GB of photos is underway and I will be showing some of my favorites here, broken up so no-one has to pretend they’ve looked at 100 pictures in one sitting :) And so we begin with Amman, the capital of Jordan……….
Amman is a city of 2.8 million, almost half the population of Jordan of which 31% are Palestinian refugees. It is a beautiful city, the almost uniform beige colour of the buildings augmented by the clear blue skies and incredible orange light at either end of the day. The downtown area retains much of its charm and what really makes the city feel welcoming is the hospitality and friendliness of the Jordanian people. People stop you everywhere you go to ask you where you are from, welcome you to Jordan and offer you a cup of tea or coffee, completely without pretense or ulterior motive. For someone used to traveling in Asian countries it is a revelation to not have to be on guard for the inevitable attempt to extract money at some point in the conversation. Rarely have I felt so safe in a big city (apart from a few isolated incidents, to be blogged here soon). The food is wonderful and for a vegetarian like myself it is easy to eat well, great salads (e.g. the fantastic Fatoosh) and buckets of Humus and Falafel.
So, the first of many photo sets, Amman-The City
Be sure to check out the other posts in the Jordan series:-
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