Aqaba to Dahab

After a stroll down the sea-front at Aqaba for a quick look at the castle (not much to see but shown round what was there by a helpful - or bored - bloke, Showed me the execution room with its two gibbets for when hanging people one at a time is just too-o-o tiresome.), set off at midday on the ferry to Egypt.

This was our only sea border crossing and it wasn't fun. We found, only by virtue of a young waiter at the restaurant, that we were supposed to gather together our passports and hand them into the immigration official, pushing ahead of the huge line of local men queuing it seems for work visas. Worryingly, we didn't get our passports back, but rather a receipt, which we could use to reclaim our passports back on the mainland once we had paid for our visas. Although the journey across the Red Sea was little more than an hour, the whole process including loading and unloading took more like three.

Luckily our guide met us at the other end and could steer us through the chaos to a grotty little office where we handed over our 15US dollars visa fee and got a little sticker in exchange. Then off to another grotty little office to hand over our stickers to the bloke with the passports, who duly stuck them in, stamped the passports and at last we were free, apart from security and customs. So we had to darg our bags to another shed and load them on to the scanner. Luckily our stash of high explosives would have escaped attention since the bloke with the scanner was actually texting on his mobil ephone rather than examining the screen. And finally an exhaustive serch at customs. "Hello. Have you any alcohol?" "No" we lied. "Welcome to Egypt" said the man and at last we could get back on the bus, my blueberry wine from Turkey escaping all scrutiny. Clearly the Egyptians feel no need to impress visitors from Aqaba!

Fortunately our guides are great, and we were soon off through the granite mountains of the Sinai to the coastal resort of Dahab. We felt much better on arrival. By far the best hotel of the trip (and the one in Aqaba had been the best before that, so things are looking up). And on a personal front, my room mate Mike and I have been put in different tour groups, although staying in the same places, because he is going on to Luxor while I end the journey in Cairo. As a result of which we are technically two odd males in the two groups and we get our own rooms. Result!

Dahab is officially a Bedouin village, although one that has about a hundred dive centres. Great place for diving or snorkelling which some of our group have opted for. But for me, a day by the hotel pool. Last night we had a great meal at one of the huge number of restaurants here. Its very much a tourist spot, but in an honest way. The whole sea-front is devoted to restaurants looking out onto the sea, with the street behind devoted to shops, banks and internet cafes. And that's pretty much it. Restaurants specialise in seafood, and last night I was full to bursting. If I had realised the seafood soup was a meal in itself I wouldn't have bothered with a main course. Managed to waddle back to my room, and a very peaceful night's sleep.

Ideal spot this for some winter sun. Very sunny and I guess about 30C, BUT very strong breeze so actually feels very refreshing. Probably could get very burnt quickly, but after the amount of travelling I have done I am pretty much inured to it. Doubt I will ever get as much of a tan as this again!

Petra, Wadi Rum and Aqaba

Despite hundreds and hundreds of tourists (I understand Petra surpassed a million visitors last year), the blokes selling camel rides (which actually added to the colour of the place), those selling donkeys (which added to crowding and poo), those selling pony and trap rides (for which there really isn't the room) and all the kids of barely primary school age who can sell you postcards in 7 different languages, Petra still couldn't disappoint. The Treasury coming into view through the narrow gorge through which you enter the site (the Indiana Jones moment) is still quite something. So are the temples. It takes about an hour and a half to get to the restaurants at the end, even if going at a fair lick.

However the "end" isn't really the end. Beyond is the climb to the Monastery, to which to my disappointment large numbers of visitors still flocked, despite the sign warning that venturing beyond that point without a guide is dangerous (bollocks), the 800 plus steps and the fact that it was midday and 30C. But the Monastery is still a great sight (like the Treasury it is in fact a great rock cut tomb, but on the scale and superficial appearance of a temple). But having plodded all the way up there (with a handily placed restaurant opposite doing a roaring trade in cold drinks to the gasping and expiring pilgrims), there are then further temptations - a series of great viewpoints. But all just a bit higher requiring just a bit more climbing, and when you have come so far, well it would be a pity to to stop short wouldn't it? Sadly my photos don't quite capture the enormity of the drops as my vertigo kicked in near the edges. Indeed as I type I can feel the backs of my knees going weak at the mere memory.

Well I was up there from 8 am to 4pm (well 5 past 4 to be accurate, so I was 5 minutes late getting back to the bus - black mark!). On return to the coach, I must admit every muscle I had below the waist was begging for submission and tendering their immediate resignation from my carcass, including many muscles I didn't know I had but only indicated their presence by sending messages of pain to my brain. But yes worth it all. What is particulary amazing is to try and imagine Petra in its pomp. It had a water supply, fountains and trees and so would have been this lush oasis of grand temples and colonnaded streets in the middle of the desert concealed by the mountains. And the Naboteans (who originally built the place) had the endearing habit of absorbing the best bits of the artistic styles (and just in case, the Gods) of all the big powers of the time, Syria, Greece, Rome and Egypt. So the Treasury has statues of Castor and Pollux, Isis, Tyche and Nike Athena with a couple of Amazons thrown in for good measure (all sadly defaced (literally) by the moslems), Roman columns mix with Egyptian oblisks in designs, and the great temple doesn't just have bog-standard Corinthian capitals which you find throughout the Roman Empire, but ones with elephant heads added.

So top tips, don't think you can beat the crowds - they are there all the time - and don't use the toilets at the "cheap" restaurant unless very desperate. I won't explain why - this is a family blog and you might be eating as you read.

From Petra the standard trip is to nearby Wadi Rum in the desert. The theory is to stay at a Bedouin camp in the desert. What a swizz. Okay technically this might be a camp and there are a few Bedouins there to run it (badly), but it is a real let down. Imagine (British followers) a 1950s Butlins shut down by sanitory inspectors and you would have it. The camp is basically courtyards of conjoined chalets, only instead of solid walls they are of canvas. And they contain nothing but two camp beds and a light bulb. (One of our party, in passing further of these camps, described them as looking like concentration camps.) There were four toilets and two showers for the I guess about 50 male guests. And how about this for a euphemism from our guide - "there is just normal water here" (as opposed to hot water). And even cold shower doesn't quite describe it, since "shower" suggests some sort of water dispersion, and these were just spouts of cold water - just taps in the air.

Buffet dinner was taken sat in monstrous large versions of Bedouin couches, with a fire in the middle and piped music alternating between modern arab and standard euro disco stuff like the Macarena. At one stage guests were encouraged to join in what I can only describe as an Arabic hokey-cokey, in which I am proud to say only two of our party participated. The Germans and Dutch showed no such inhibitions. If you can picturee my lips curling in disgust and contempt at the whole charade - spot on! And if there is one thing the Bedouin are famed for its their coffee. We got instant for breakfast - just the powder and hot water. And no spoons.

Next morning, with little sleep (being able to hear every snorer in the group through our terraced canvas hovels), several mosquito bites and largely unshaven and unwashed (well you wouldn't lightly queue for a cold shower in those numbers), I went for my first camel ride. Compared well to horses and elephants, but I don't think I would have wanted another hour, nor to go any faster than the sedate pace at which we were led along. The Bedouin camel herders happily chatted on their mobile phones while they walked us round the block (the block being a huge sandstone outcrop. And after the ride I looked forward to spending the rest of the day with my aching thighs tightly clamped together. I have said it before, if God had meant men to ride horses (or camels) he would have given us wider legs.

Then onto a 4 x 4 trip into the desert to see a spring which Lawrence used (yes this part of Jordan is Lawrence of Arabia territory), some early rock-carvings and to climb a sand dune (which I decided to quit halfway up when my shoes had filled with red-hot sand.). But pretty amazing scenery, flat desert plain surrounded by rugged high mountains.

Then onto our final destination in Jordan, the rapidly growing resort and port of Aqaba. By far the most western and efficient city in Jordan. Full of proper (especially seafood) restaurants and hotels of western standards. Went on a trip in a glass-bottomed boat to see some local coral reefs. The younger members of our party proceeded to go snorkelling, but I just didn't fancy it, not least as it was only a few hundred metres from various container ships coming in and out of the port. Still, a pleasant enough city to be in and to end my stay in Jordan.

So time for a view on Jordan. Based on my extensive research as a tourist here for less than a week, well the people are very nice. The hawkers are nowhere near as persistent as in Egypt (deep breath as I have that to come). Not very well set up for tourists, though I am sure they would argue otherwise. But frankly they just don't spread us out enough, so their answer is just to pour more and more people into the same places until they become unbearable. Amman the capital is a bit of a hole - not an easy city to love. But the people are really friendly, right down to the child hawkers at Petra who are more sweet than irritating. A lesser man could have been persuaded to part with his cash for them, but I am made of sterner stuff.

As with Syria, it is growing rapidly, has the most tenuous of ecological policies (if in doubt, just chuck any rubbish out of a window and the pollution seems pretty bad) and the most superficial of democratic systems (lots of voting for a powerless parliament, no policies and pretty pointless as the king can just dismiss prime ministers at will). And unlike much of western Europe, its a very young country (ie you see lots of children and the population will get way out of control unless someone does something soon).

The Dead Sea

Everyone knows about the Dead Sea, so saturated with salt that you float without trying. But they always omit one vital bit of information. The flies. Swarms of them. So no, not my favourite experience of the holiday. Indeed even floating in the Dead Sea was disconcerting. Very hard to swim and because you float its hard to get all your body under the water. And anything that remains above the surface fries.

Much nicer to retreat back to the swimming pools just in from the beach. But as soon as you get out and get dry, the flies attack. Ok so they don't bite, but the constant crawling sensation irritates the hell out of you.

Dead Sea is quite scenic though, and got a few nice photos across to Israel (or the Occupied Territories if you prefer). And stood where Moses was supposed to have viewed the Promised Land. Unfortunately now a picnic site and the locals have a bad litter habit. Also passed the official site where John the Baptist performed baptism, official as the last pope declared it was. Papal infallibility is a great thing. If only he could ever get a moral question right...

Now in Petra, a "village" totally dependent on the tourist trade. Over 60 hotels, all full this time of year and all promising to disgorge their contents tomorrow on the unsuspecting ruins of the Rose Red City. Will try to beat them there - 7am start so have set alarm for 5.30am. Worse than work this...

Into Jordan, Amman and Jerash

Fun getting out of Syria. Object lesson in pointless bureaucracy from men paid to swan around in white uniforms.

Having turned up at the exit point with our passports and little blue piece of paper which we had to complete on entry and have stamped, we were all sent back 100 metres to another little office to pay our 500 Syrian pound exit tax, for which we were given a little white slip to produce at the office we started at. We were then given another white piece of paper to fill in most of the same information we had on the blue bit (name, parents names, occupation). Then we handed all this in, one at a time, to the moustached gentleman, carefully watched by two other staff otherwise unengaged. For some reason he asked each of us our jobs, which seemed a bit unecessary since were leaving, and it was set out on our visa and on all the little bits of paper we had given him. Maybe the idea is that if asked enough someone would blurt out "Zionist terrorist" by mistake and we would have been had. Anyway, eventually we got all the passports back and could advance, our passports being duly stamped and our white exit tax receipt neatly torn in half. So we drive forward a few metres and are then stopped by another chap who boards the bus to check the passports with the receipts given to us a few metres before.

At last, escape, and onto Jordan, where we had to wait and have our visa sorted out. And had to haul out our luggage to have it scanned, but only main luggage, so I could happily have smuggled anything in via my rucksack. Still this interlude allowed us to watch the normal crossing traffic. Now my guess is that if you cross the border with goods in a van or lorry there is duty to pay, but not if you cross in a car. This is based on the complete lack of commercial vehicles but almost every car was packed to the gunnels with boxes of everyting from fruit and veg to fags. As we soon found out, Syreia is much cheaper than Jordan. And when I say packed I mean it - boots are open and stacked with boxes tied in with string. Even the little "V" left between the open boot lid and the back window would have a few boxes precariously inserted. And naturally inside every seat was stacked to the roof with boxes, including the passenger seat. Needless to say you wouldn't see much through the rear view mirror beyond boxes of tomatoes. Luckily, arab drivers do not overly rely on their eyesight for driving. They rely on tooting their horns to signify their presence on the road.
And of course all these boxes had to be unpacked to be checked, then expertly squeezed back into the cars from whence they came.

Approaching our hotel our path was blocked by an inconveniently parked volkswagon beetle. Problem easily solved by driver, guide and some passers by. They just bodily lifted it a few centimetres out of the away!

So welcome to Amman, capital of Jordan. Bit disappointing really. None of the exciting Eastern atmosphere opf the souqs of Damascus or Aleppo. Downtown is just a lot of the sort of shops you might find in any western city, but a bit more down at heel and with less paving. Restaurants hard to find entrances to, as they are all upstairs over shops with no obvious means of entry. You have to be on the opposite pavement to even spot they exist. Last night Andrew and I ate in the type of back alley into which in other countries you would have been chased and robbed at knifepoint. But its really friendly and safe here (which is more than you can say for the food. Even I draw the line at boiled goat's head.)

All Amman really has to offer is a an impressive Roman theatre and the Roman fortress which has the usual collection of ruins and a little museum. The museum is far too cramped for the number of visitors, its really just one large room. But it does contain some clay statues of bug eyed people which are reckoned to be the oldest free-standing sculptures in the world, at about 6500BC. They would make good cartoon characters, and I doubt the ancient Chalcodians copyrighted them. Plus some good Roman artifacts and bits out of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

But about 45 minutes away from Amman, past the Palestinian refugee camp, is the Roman city of Jerash. These are really spectacular ruins, a terrific theatre pretty much in tact, whole paved and colonnaded streets, temples and an oval central meeting point, surrounded by Ionic columns from the time of its Greek origins. There is also the smallest hippodrome in the Roman world, in which they regularly re-enact chariot races, in a rather naff manner. What didn't add to the atmosphere were the bag-pipe players. Yes, they play the bag-pipes out here too. Think highland piper with tea-towel on head. The noise is every bit as awful as in Scotland but regrettably tourists encourage them by giving them money.

Jerash is very much a highlight, but sadly very hemmed in by the surrounding modern village. Hopefully not so Petra, which is next on the itinerary, after a little R & R in the Dead Sea.