Category: Middle East 2017

Wednesday 11 October 2017

We arrive in Casablanca at 1pm, after an 8 hour flight from Dubai.  Emirates offered wonderful service and an extremely comfortable flight.  We are full of praise this time.  Our luggage had been checked through all the way from Amman (we had an 11 hour stopover in Dubai and had booked a hotel room in the terminal so we got some sleep) but when it didn’t come through after an hour at the carousel we were convinced it was in Romania. Or somewhere it shouldn’t be.  However, it had been removed from the carousel 50 minutes earlier by an efficient baggage handler because it said “urgent international transfer” and so he kindly hid it to a corner in the terminal for us.  Eventually we found it and exited to the public area where we had been told we would find our guide.  No guide. After another 15 minutes we went outside, and indeed there he was.  We were met by Obi-Wan Kenobi (aka Mohammed)

 

 

And our driver Jillali,who was dressed in a black suit with collar and tie. It is 36 degrees.  He looks like an undertaker.  We enter the hearse and are spirited away to tour the huge Hassan II Mosque, which was opened in 1993.  It can house up to 25,000 worshippers.  Obi waits outside and the undertaker in the hearse.  We then re-enter the vehicle and commence our one hour drive north  to Morocco’s capital, Rabat, on the Atlantic.  It quickly becomes obvious to us both that Obi is not the guide we want to spend the next three weeks with.  He is extremely traditional, is strongly accented so that neither of us can easily understand him and has not a hint of levity.  However, we know that we need to give him the benefit of the doubt and that he may, after all, work out well.  Finally he goes to sleep in the front seat, giving us some respite.  Until the undertaker wakes him up.  Three times.  He awakens with a start and just starts talking again, as if the narcolepsy had never kicked in.  To hear him we have to lean forward in our seats and strain our ears.  To make matters worse, Obi doesn’t like air conditioning and so the car windows are open to all the ambient noise.  And the heat.

When we arrive at our lovely accommodation in Rabat, in an old private villa, we email our travel agent with a heads up that perhaps Obi is not the man for us, but we  offer tomorrow as the test day.

We go downstairs for dinner and find James Morrison in the bar.  Shouldn’t he have been in Jericho?

Thursday 12 October

Obi and Jillali (still in black suit) take us on a tour of Rabat, the greenest city in Morocco. It is very pretty.  We visit the old Roman city of Chella and the Andalucian  gardens, all at Obi’s pace.  Heaven forfend if we want to take another route.

 

 

We visit the Medina, where Obi walks us through the bustling markets, with strict instructions not to take photos. It’s a shame because there is so much to shoot.  The only things Obi points out are the women’s underwear (which we have mistaken for pyjamas), and the bakery which he says is for lazy women – why buy bread when you should be making it?  We, as is to be expected, defy orders and Cherrie takes a few clandestine shots, of black olive oil soap and some cute tortises, which are apparently for pets not consumption.

After the Medina we visit the Kasbah,  En route see lots of hawkers, who Obi says are refugees from Africa and who are ruining the country, for the ‘real people’.  This man must be related to Tony surely?  The Kasbah must have one of the best views in Rabat.  It’s right on the Atlantic and we see why it was the first place settled.

Originally we were to visit the botanic gardens but Cherrie has researched them and is not overly keen.  We ask to visit the Museum Mohamed VI of Modern and Contempory Art instead but Obi resists and eventually seeks permission from his local office for this outrageous deviation in the itinerary.

But first to lunch.  At a restaurant of Obi’s choice, whether we like it or not.  Mercifully he does not join us. We are noting the major language barrier in Morocco. The two main languages are Arabic and French, which is understandable, but no English written anywhere.  Di McDonald, we are missing your language skills.  We recognise none of the dishes on the menu (we can always find our way around a menu in France) and as a result we consume some rather unpalatable fish, albeit with wonderful ocean views.

The Museum is wonderful.  This time Obi accompanies us, and takes more photos  on his mobile than Cherrie does on her camera.  He clearly is surprised at how pleasant the gallery is.

There was even an abstract of us rolling around in the Dead Sea

We return to our lovely accommodation in time for a swim in their delightful pool surrounded by the beautiful gardens

An email to our travel agent confirming our concern that we don’t want to spend any more time with Obi is responded to with admirable sensitivity and speed.  Obi is called to administer his special skills on a delicate job in Casablanca and tomorrow we proceed to the magnificent blue city of Chefchaouen with just our driver, to pick a local day guide in situ.

Forgot to post these two pics. The first is the shoreline. Pebbles and salt.

Second is the sea bed cliff.  Looks like something in a lolly shop I think  it’s salt and something else (Bryan?) and crumbles in your hand like a biscuit

 

 

Sunday 8 October 2017

Aqaba is on the Red Sea. We were so close to it at Wadi Rum that it seemed a shame not to take the opportunity to dip our toes in. This is where Lawrence successfully led the Arabs to overtake the Turks from behind. Victory.

Aqaba is a tourist destination. The cruise ships come in here and the passengers take day trips to Petra (I suspect they don’t go beyond the Treasury) or to Wadi Rum (where probably, like me, they stay glued to the seat in the back of the ute)

We visit the beach

Indeed, there is good reason that Australian beaches are so lauded. This is one of the most popular beaches in Jordan. Men sit and smoke hookahs, and women sit with their bodies covered and look after the children.

We don’t dip our toes into the Red Sea on this occasion, but we do lap the water with our hands. Which then smell of diesel. No, we don’t want to swim in this part of the Red Sea after all, but at least we’ve touched it.

We then walk through town, a typical bustling seaside affair, with shops full of beach toys, leisure clothing and nuts and spices.

A lunch of grilled fish today, a nice change from chicken, rice and dips, and then back in the van headed to the Dead Sea. We’re taking the coastal route, which can’t be driven safely in summer for fear of tyres melting on the hot road! This is more verdant country,

with water catchment from underground aquafers

 

And, hang on, that green over is Israel!

We are so close, but Murad tells us that if we walked the 50m across that field bullets would ring out within seconds. Jordan guards Israel at gunpoint. One Jordanian in our car is not impressed. Raed is more quiet about his feelings. We have passed through a number of checkpoints, where the cars pull up, guards check with the driver as to destination and who he is carrying, occasionally a guard might look in the car, even open the boot, but we are always waved through. We are grateful that we are with our trusty guides but never have we felt even vaguely threatened or unsafe in this country.

It’s a pleasant drive and a relief to see some greenery. We pass a huge potash mine, which helps the economy of Jordan, and a bromide plant.

And then we sight the Dead Sea.

It’s 90km long, with Jordan on one side and Israel and the West Bank on the other. All within easy sight. Tragically, the sea is in real danger. The level is falling at an alarming rate of 1m per year. Due both to global warming (Tony, oh Tony), and because the Jordan River, which feeds the Dead Sea, is being harvested by both Israel and Syria. No wonder those trees on the border were green! It’s 10m lower than it was 10 years ago and the signs are clear. There is some talk of pumping water from the Red into the Dead Sea but that has been talked about for many years without any progress. Politics are the same the world over, eh?

We arrive at our luxurious accommodation and say a fond farewell to Murad and Raed, both of whom have looked after us so well. We are particularly fond of Raed, who is a quiet man with a lovely sense of humour and a lot of eye work going on, which speaks volumes. Murad is a typical tour guide, with excellent English and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the things he talks about. Its exhausting trying to absorb it all and a little unnerving because we know we will be tested within the next few hours. He doesn’t like it when we don’t listen, or when we are distracted by some remarkable sight and move our eyes from his to the camera. Could it be that I have finally met someone bossier than me? But, we are very grateful for everything they have shown us and the care they have taken of us and we wave them off. They have an hours drive to home in Amman and it’s already 5pm. A long day for us, longer for them.
We manage a swim (I have to go in the kiddies pool because my leg is still Petrafied and I can’t get out of the big peoples pool), and then have a drink on the terrace.

We are directly opposite the West Bank and we see the lights of Jerusalem and Jericho

Where are those trumpets when you need them?

Monday 9 October
Here we are, our last full day in Jordan and it is a day at leisure at the Dead Sea. Hallelujah! After breakfast we make our way down the steps, many more than there used to be and more each year, to the Dead Sea. The lowest place on earth. 430m below. Next year it will be 440m below and by 2050 it may no longer exist. Without human intervention. It’s a tragedy

WARNING WARNING

Those of you with a weak stomach, I suggest you log off NOW.

The Boom Booms hit the Dead Sea. I mean how low can you go? Well, 430m below sea level actually. Never before have Cherrie or I have posted a photo of us in swimmers but these seem to be special circumstances.

We are floating on the Dead Sea. Not even we can sink

It’s a weird sensation. The water is warm, and sort of a little slimy. A bit like floating in baby oil. No matter how hard you try, you simply cannot do anything but float. Makes you laugh. Makes everybody laugh the first time. It is recommended that you float in the Sea for 15-20 minutes and then go ashore and cover yourself in Dead Sea mud, full of minerals (and salt), wait for 20 minutes and then re-enter the sea and wash the mud off.

WARNING WARNING WARNING

We’re not the only muddy folk around

but it is mercifully quiet down here. It’s highly likely the sirens have been activated, warning of beached whales down on shore. The ‘Life Guard’, who we are pretty sure can’t swim, is always happy to give a helping hand

We wait for 20 minutes, an uncomfortable wait since we can’t sit and I’m not good at standing for long (without a bar to lean on) so we wander a little (a Dead Sea stroll). I have faith that this cure-all will do its job and that I will be sprinting back up the steps within the hour.
Back in the water for more bobbing and washing the mud off. It’s quite an experience.
I’m cured enough to use the grown ups pool today (with Cherrie being the human counter weight to get me out) and we have a refreshing swim in the infinity pool overlooking the West Bank

And we are joined by a harem of hookahs

I cannot believe the location of where we are. I was shamefully ignorant of the geography of the Middle East, and here I am in Jordan, at the Dead Sea, looking at Israel and the West Bank, in sight of Jerusalem and Jericho. I find it amazing.

Today has been wonderfully relaxing and we are grateful for the day off.

Tuesday 10 October

We are not being collected until 1.30pm today, so we venture back down to the Dead Sea early and do our float, mud, wash. We float for longer this morning, we are enjoying it. There is a bit of an art to it and we are just starting to find it. I think our skin feels pretty good. Silky even. Probably the fat cells floating to the surface. Pity our Dead Sea floats are all over. We do, however, have another swim in the lovely pool and lie on the lounges.

A lovely surprise on check out to discover that it is Raed who has come to transport us to the airport. We are delighted to see him again.

Arrival at Amman airport is an easy affair, pulling right up to the check in gates and our luggage is checked all the way through to Casablanca, despite our 11 hour stopover in Dubai. Once again we have booked a hotel room and have the basics with us in our hand luggage.

However, passing through security is another matter. We are both stopped and pulled aside. They have found drugs in both our bags. Indeed we are carrying prescription drugs, which the Berry Pharmacy kindly put into Webster packs for us. Mine are complicated and copious and they have never seen anything like it. I think the sheer volume of mine distracted them from Cherrie’s meagre offering of mostly vitamins, and it took 3 security guards 20 minutes to clear us. How grateful we were for the pharmacy’s forethought in providing me with a piece of paper (a large one) with a photo of each drug, a description, the chemical make up etc. I was a tad nervous about the vessel of white powder I am carrying, which is actually magnesium powder, with a number of natural anti inflammatories mixed in, but which might easily have been mistaken for something else. Again, it is in its original packaging and a description on the sheet of paper. None of this helped by the fact that I ring like a cathedral when I pass through security. Anyway, we were finally waved through and boarded the plane. Which stalled on take off! We were amongst only a few of the passengers who were not working on their computers, engaging in social media on iPads or talking on their phones during take off. During take off I said. Anyway, who cares about turning off electronic devices? Or a stalling engine? But we got off the ground with the Royal Jordanian Airline and arrived safely in Dubai 3 hours later.

We have loved our time in Jordan. We felt safe the whole time and lived the history. We wish we had more time here. We would have valued another day in Petra, to limp back in to absorb what we saw. We had amazement overload and really need some more time to sit and look. We wish we had a night at Wadi Rum and maybe even an extra night in Amman. The snorkelling in the Red Sea is apparently amazing and we might have liked a night in Aqaba too, to investigate less diesel infused waters. We highly recommend Jordan to you adventure travellers. It is wonderful.

And now we are now officially on the

Sunday 8 October 2017

After our big day in Petra yesterday, we have a long drive today. We are headed to Wadi Rum, the extraordinary desert landscape in which Lawrence of Arabia was shot. Cherrie and I watched the film for the first time just over a week ago, the day before we left Quamby. We are pleased that we did because it actually helped us to understand some of the history of Jordan and the other Arabian countries.  It’s a two hour drive from Petra to Wadi Rum and so we had an early start, especially since Murad and Raed have kindly agreed to take us to Aqaba on the Red Sea (and the scene of Lawrence’s greatest victory when he overtook the Turks) before turning back to our ultimate destination for the day, the Dead Sea.

We climb over the mountain (well, the comfortable van does) opposite Petra and we realise we are growing used to this sandy, rocky landscape.  There are fields ploughed, waiting for rain so that the barley can be planted.  Looks barely likely to me.

We are driving on the desert highway and we pass lots of Bedouin camps.  Where you see an animal, there will be a camp nearby. These people live so simply but it’s their choice.  Fewer are nomads these days but many still live in their tents and farm their goats, sheep or camels.  The animals obviously enjoy a menu of stones and sand.  I went to a restaurant once that served that food but I won’t be returning.

When we arrive at Wadi Rum it is a strangely familiar site.  Very reminiscent of my beloved Central Australian landscape, but more vast.

We see these wonderous sites from the back of a ute, an enterprise of yet another entrepreneurial Bedouin community. Oh what a feeling

4 WD safaris are not the domain of Africa alone. Here we meet lots and its still early morning

Lawrence’s preferred mode of transport is still very evident here and still used widely

And here’s their fuel

We were able to get out of the vehicle for some trekking but my leg was still complaining so I stayed put

I felt more like joining gramps in a smoke. What you can’t see clearly here is that he was also clearing his emails

Glamping is not exclusive to African safaris either. This moonscape is a very classy permanent camp site. We rather wish we had time for a night here. It’s so peaceful and such an inspirational landscape.

Even desert camps need water delivery. Just like at Quamby

And so after two hours of desert safari, very gently driven in deference to the physically impaired passenger, we reboard our van and, in the words of Lawrence, we’re off “To Aqaba”