AirBnB in Jordan

AirBnB in Jordan: Cave Edition - The Gazelle

AIRBNB IN JORDAN: CAVE EDITION

It was late in the evening, and none of us had a working phone. Because we were traveling in Jordan, phone credit that normally lasted three months was eaten up in 32 seconds. The weather was getting cold, and we had no idea where we were and what we were going to do.

“Guys, I think I am out of balance,” said Miha as we exited a highway somewhere on our way to Petra.

“Just ask somebody where Little Petra is,” said Abhi.

Little Petra was where our AirBnB host had directed us over the phone, before our call was interrupted by the silence of deficient phone credit. 

When we stopped the car and started questioning random pedestrians, everyone told us something different. Most agreed that Little Petra was a hotel. This did not square with our original plan, however, because our host was supposed to be a man living in a cave.

Two weeks earlier, I had walked in on my friend Miha looking at an AirBnB listing for a cave. We had been swayed by the novel idea of living in the mountains of Jordan, as well as the host’s claims to have decent Wi-Fi, so we booked it.

Now that we were driving down a highway in Jordan, however, we were beginning to doubt our plan.

So we did what most people would do: We continued on straight, hoping to see a miraculous sign pointing us to the right place. And there it was — a board showing the directions to Little Petra.

From the expression on Max’s face, I could read the following words: “Guys, I have no idea where we are, but I am not willing to sleep in one car with the three of you, and I also don’t want to die tonight.” So we continued. It was 11 p.m. when we arrived at a dead end of only mountains and desert. I think all of us, at that moment, had lost hope.

Suddenly, a sharp light illuminated our side windows, and we looked over to see an old, pink SUV rolling to a stop next to us. Max put his window down, and a stranger with a big smile on his face repeated the phrase that we had been hearing at least 50 times a day:

“Welcome to Jordan!”

A few minutes later, we were in our host’s car somewhere in the mountains. In addition to the four of us, there were two strangers sitting in the back.

“Sprichts du Deutsch?” Ghassab, our host, addressed Max.

Though Max had been working on a project that required him to take a pledge of silence for the day, Ghassab did not give up. For 15 minutes, he continued his monologue in German as Max occasionally nodded or smiled.

“You know, my friends, you did not call me. I was waiting for you the whole day,” Ghassab explained.

“We are sorry, Ghassab, but we could not reach you on the phone and then we ran out of balance,” Miha tried to excuse us.

“Don’t worry, my friends. It’s OK. You can come anytime, in the evening or in the morning. Doesn’t matter,” Ghassab was trying to cheer us up a little bit, since he probably sensed that things had not gone according to plan for us.

At this moment, however, a strange noise came from the back of the car and we suddenly stopped.

“Oh, what is it now?” I thought. When we got out of the car, my fear materialized — a flat tire. “Great, we’re in the middle of mountains surrounded by desert without water or food.”

That thought suddenly made my other fears, including my future major declaration and recent midterms, seem much less relevant.

“How far is the cave?” I asked Ghassab.

Ghassab pointed at the big rock next to us. “It is right here, my friend.” 

Ghassab opened the door and let us in. Though it looked like a big mushroom from the outside, the cave’s interior was really welcoming and appealing.

“This cave is thousands of years old. We built only the fourth wall,” said Ghassab proudly.

The two other strangers, a French woman and a Jordanian man, came out of the car and introduced themselves while Ghassab lit a gas lamp and began making us tea. 

We spoke a bit as we got comfortable, listening to Ghassab explain how he inherited the cave from his Bedouin family. He pointed out the lights across the border with Israel, which we could see due to our cave’s proximity. 

The atmosphere was perfect. After six hours of traveling, we felt we deserved the most beautiful view in the world.

“You know, I studied in Germany when I was younger,” he told us. “I had to learn the language perfectly in one year, otherwise I would not be able to stay there.”

Later, I went for a short walk and climbed a nearby peak. Sitting on the edge of the cliff, surrounded by darkness, I could only see Israel in the distance. There was something about the atmosphere that made me uncomfortable, and it took me a while to realize that it was the silence. 

As I was listening to it, I was struck by the realization that I had not heard real silence for a very long time. There was nothing. No air-conditioning blowing in my room, no people chatting in the library or in the quiet rooms. It was real silence.

Since it was warm outside, we decided to sleep outside the cave that night. I remember waking up at 4 a.m. to the most beautiful sky I have ever seen — pink-blue and with a spread of stars. 

When I entered the cave in the morning, Ghassab looked at me and said something in surprised Arabic. I suddenly got scared that I had inadvertently done something inappropriate.

“You have a round face and you are blonde,” he explained. “You look exactly like my daughter’s friend from Europe. Are you him?”

“No, I don’t think I am him. And I don’t think I am blond,” I said.

“No, no, my friend, you are blond. Jordanians girls will really like you. You go to Amman and you will get a lot of girls,” Ghassab insisted.

Miha, Abhi and Max joined us in the cave for breakfast. Ghassab offered us some hummus, bread, donkey milk and what he called camel eggs.

“I brought camel eggs only for you — look how big they are. I also had to milk a donkey this morning!” he said.

“So, is donkey milk healthy?” I asked.

“Very healthy, my friend. Look at me. You will be strong like me,” Ghassab reassured us. “You know my friend, I am a psychic. I can tell you about your future.” 

“Ok, go ahead. Try me.” 

“Take an egg. I will tell you based on the inside of an egg,” he said.

I did not hesitate and started peeling the egg, sprinkling some salt on the top and digging at the soft white surface with a small spoon. As soon as the yolk appeared, Ghassab sighed. He then glanced at me with a pitying expression that made him look like he had just swallowed something very sour. My heart started to pound.

“Well? What does it mean?” I asked impatiently.

“Oh no, my friend.” He sighed again.

“Ok, what is it?” I joked. “Am I going to die soon?” 

“No, my friend. You know. You and ladies, it is not that positive. You are friends, but no more,” he predicted.

Meanwhile, Abhi was opening his egg. Ghassab looked at him and said: “But you, my friend, you are going to have many girls!”

I didn’t like my prediction, so I attempted to open another egg. However, Ghassab stopped me and said, “Only one egg a day my friend — no more.”

After the breakfast we started discussing our origins. Miha said he was from Slovenia. I followed by saying that I come from Slovakia.

“Oh, Slovakia! You know this word Slovak – it is where everybody comes from,” he said to us.

Miha tried correcting him. “Ghassab, the word is Slavic, not Slovak — ” 

“Yes, Slovak. Slovenians come from Slovakia. Everybody from Europe comes from Slovakia,” he insisted. While Miha helplessly struggled to accept his new origin, I was suddenly very proud of my country.

We packed to leave, but there remained one problem – the flat tire. After saying goodbye to the cave, we had to wait 20 minutes for another SUV to pick us up. Then we sat in the back of the trunk for the most wild and dangerous ride of our lives since Ferrari World opened. 

Staying in a cave with Ghassab had been an extraordinary experience. I would definitely do it again for the silence in the mountains — trust me, you haven’t heard such silence before — the view and, last but not least, Ghassab himself.

All photos courtesy of Peter Hadvab. Peter Hadvab is a contributing writing. Email him at feedback@thegazelle.org.

Neolithic aesthetics

At the Jordan museum, I came across these lime plaster statues. Hmmm, interesting, I thought, and decided to take a closer look, and did a double take.

8th Milennium BC?! Neolithic period??!!

I could not believe my eyes, and I was a bit sceptical of the claims being made until I returned and did some background reading - which meant that I googled, basically.

Statues of Ain Ghazal, that's what these models below are called.

They were found in the settlement of Ain Ghazal, a Neolithic settlement quite close to modern-day Amman in Jordan. I was very fascinated by those eyes.

Even now when I look at these pictures, the age of these statues just boggles my mind. 9,000 years ago, our ancestors were already into statue-making, isn't that amazing!

And the face proportions are much better than anything I have ever achieved in my various attempts at drawing. (Maybe my side of the family did not come from this branch of Neoliths!)

These statues are from the second Cache that was discovered, I have since learnt. The first cache seems to have had statues that were a bit more shapely, but the faces were more grotesque.

This second cache of statues typically had these large-eyed statues, but with these feature-less torsos, and where are the arms? Interestingly, the toes and feet are well-carved.

This two-headed statue has thrown all the historians and archaeologists into a tizzy. What could it possibly mean? Was it some God of theirs?

By the way, they were discovered by a road-laying crew in 1974! In a strange coincidence, a Neolithic site in the Indian subcontinent was also discovered in 1974 - Mehrgarh in Pakistan.

In South India, it seems that 7,000BC and we were still in the stone age. Neolithic culture came here only in 3,000BC or so. Burial urns from that time period have been found here.

I have always maintained that the large potholes and trenches in Madras are actually archaeological digs!

"A rose-red city half as old as time"

So said the poet John William Burgon in 1845, and I first read the line at Kamini's Tales of South India.

I re-read it the other day, and the poem rang so true, now that we had enjoyed the privilege of seeing this wonderful wedge of timelessness. It took my breath away and I did not even try to put into words the wonder of it all.

Instead, I turned to a person, who has a better way with words. (Clever, aren't I?!)

So, here's a post by Sekar, with his pictures as well!

(Click on any of the photos for a more detailed, enlarged view.)

There are few places I have visited blind, as it were. Usually there are photographs I have seen, at times I have read a travelogue or history, and in these days where the internet is an outpouring of information, dipping into both official and personal websites before a trip has become as much a part of the trip as the actual travel.

With Petra, there was the memory of two movies, as well.
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was fun, an Indian masala movie in the western idiom, with special effects well beyond what Bollywood was capable of and a memorable climax which I learnt later was filmed at Petra. The sandstone cliffs and the Treasury were striking and filed away in my memory for possible followup later.
The second movie was Lawrence of Arabia. I had seen it as a child. Peter O'Toole's performance was powerful enough to stay in my memory along with the siege of Aqaba and a few other scenes. So much so that I was motivated to search for Aqaba in an atlas. I never found it – Aqaba was too insignificant to merit inclusion – and eventually concluded that I had misheard and that they must have been talking about Addis Ababa (which I did find) instead. Never mind that this meant stretching the geography a bit. 'Lawrence' was restored many years later and I duly made the pilgrimage to watch Lean's masterpiece in 70mm and surround sound. O'Toole was as impressive as I had remembered and the movie even more so. The stunning desert vistas around Wadi Rum, spectacular in 70mm, really took my breath away.

My sister had visited Petra some months earlier. Her account and the photographs she had sent us tempered my expectations. Yes, the setting was very special and the Treasury every bit as spectacular as the photographs and Indiana Jones suggested. What seemed incongruous, though, were her photographs of the shops clustering around the entrance, their signboards garishly proclaiming the Indiana Jones connection. I was half expecting what we normally see in India – the aesthetics of a bygone era juxtaposed with an in-your-face, ugly, modernity. Minus some of the crowds, dirt and noise.

I was pleasantly surprised.

Petra is some 300 kms south of Amman. We soon left the hills of Amman behind and found ourselves surrounded by largely featureless desert. Some hills dotted the distance, there was little vegetation and only the tall, wind blown swirls of sand broke the monotony. I had half hoped for some pale imitation of Wadi Rum, but no luck: the desert was not giving up its jewels to casual passers by. Featureless settlements had come up around the few crossroads, each with an oil-stained garage, a shop or two, a very basic restaurant and some windowed concrete blocks that served as houses. Amman itself was spick and span: these wayside hamlets were shabby and run down, though, outposts uninviting even in the midst of the dreary sands.

The Silk Road Hotel - terrific location, large rooms, but less said about the food the better!

We turned off the main road (which went on to Aqaba – THE Aqaba) and were soon among rolling hills with attempts at plantations and agriculture evident on the odd hillside. The road wound through the hills and suddenly, abruptly, we were dropping steeply into a valley. Sandstone bluffs stood out from the hills and hotels, restaurants and shops hemmed the road in. This was clearly tourist country. We wound our way down through traffic to our hotel, the Silk Road Hotel, wonderfully located by the entrance to the Petra site.

Indiana Jones was there all right, but was not the overwhelming presence I had expected. The visitors center blended well into the surroundings, the shops stocked with the things tourists looked for (water, caps, souvenirs, camera essentials) stood off to one side with Indy beckoning discreetly. The place was clean and people helpful. Warned to be back before dark, we set off down the path to the site. We walked down a shallow valley under clear blue skies, the barren hillsides glowing in the evening sun and some sandstone outcroppings giving us a glimpse of what was to come.

The walk from the visitor's centre to the entrance of the Siq
Much of what remains at Petra is a necropolis. The caves and structures carved out of the sandstone are mostly tombs. Of the city that thrived for several centuries, we can only see the remnants of a colonnaded street, a ceremonial arch and the ruins of several temples, only one of whose walls partially survived an earthquake which brought ruin to the city. No houses, palaces, baths or anything else survive. It is likely that most lesser structures were built of far less durable materials and either perished in the earthquakes which spelt Petra's doom or to looters once the city was abandoned.

The camels we saw squatted contentedly, chewing the cud and pretending to look wise
The donkeys hung around forlornly, looking stupid and bursting into loud hee-haws at random moments.

We visited in early June, towards the end of the tourist season. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Visitors have the choice of riding a horse, a donkey or being pulled in a horse drawn buggy, and once at the Treasury, camels are available as well for the ultimate authentic desert experience.

The Siq - water channels carved into the walls

The Siq narrows, hiding the treasure at the end of it

We walked. Despite the groups of tourists making their way back, despite the riders on horseback racing back and forth looking for custom, despite the cluster of shops at the entrance to the Siq – the long canyon that winds its way to the Treasury and the rest of Petra – there was this sense of timelessness. We were walking into the past.

Petra, ultimately, was all about water. We passed dry waterways as we entered the Siq. In the Siq itself, water channels were carved into the rock. At various places, openings were dammed and the water flow managed. Petra grew at the crossroads of several ancient trade routes that criss-crossed the Arabian desert. Water, and its inhabitants' ability to manage it, allowed it to grow and assume importance. We saw plenty of evidence of this as the canyon walls closed in on us. Fantastically coloured and contoured sandstone rose in jagged walls above us. At places we could barely walk three abreast, at others the passageway opened up, allowing glimpses of sky, the odd plant that had struck roots in unlikely crevices and painted earth where the sun caught the rocks' dizzying colours. Patches of two thousand year old paving forced us to walk with care. We felt like explorers.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, after more than a kilometer of random meandering, the Siq opens up. Ahead, carved into a towering sandstone column, is the Treasury (Khazaneh). There are times and places when photographs cannot prepare you for the real thing, when the real overwhelms the imagination. The Treasury is one such. Classical perfection almost untouched by time.
Al Khazneh, as you emerge from the Siq

The lower half - Al Khazneh
The upper half. This was carved first. All rock carvings in Petra are believed to be top-down
The inner, now bare chamber

The Treasury is actually a tomb. There are signs that the walls were originally ornamented, that there was more to it than just rooms carved into the rock. But what remains is hugely impressive. The smooth walls, the soaring, colonnaded entrance, the decorative carvings, all hewn out of solid rock, take our breath away. We lingered, wanting to make the moment last, unwilling to pull ourselves away from this place. For it was not just this structure, but the entire setting around us. We were in a broad cul de sac, blocked off at one end by a wall of sandstone broken only by a couple of fissures snaking their way up. A narrow break on one side was the Siq. Across it rose the Treasury. Away from the cul de sac, the canyon opened up and curved away, leading down to the rest of Petra's treasures. The twenty first century had become a distant thought; the ancient canyon walls spoke louder than our cameras, plastic water bottles and backpacks.

Evening was nigh, though, and we had to move on.

Petra does not ration out its treasures. There was something everywhere we looked: a tomb, steps leading into the hills, facades, more tombs and, our final stop for the day, an entire amphitheater, large enough to seat several thousands, carved out of solid rock.
The amphitheatre
Here and there were more of those phantasmagorical colours and patterns, completely unreal, nature's surprises for us jaded urbanites. People had lived here once, they had done mundane things and had worked hard carving these wonders out of unforgiving rock. Their lives, their ways, their thoughts have all vanished and we are left thankful that they left some lasting imprint that has cheated time.

Tomb of Uneishu, opposite the theatre. Look to the upper part of the hill.
Street of Facades - multi-storey necropolis

The shadows were lengthening and we needed to get back. It was uphill all the way back and we were ravenous as we sat down to dinner at a streetside restaurant just outside our hotel. The town was quiet, with little traffic. Many visitors to Petra are day trippers from Amman and they had left with their large tour buses. Those staying at the fancy places did not venture out. Budget tourists and some hopeful shopkeepers stood around, snatches of conversation floated up into the cool night, Petra bedded down for the night.

We had a flight to catch from Amman the next afternoon and wanted to make an early start, taking in as much more of Petra as we could before heading back to the airport. The hotel had promised a 6.30AM breakfast. We were at the restaurant at 6.30 along with a fellow tourist with similar ideas. An empty restaurant and a row of empty food heaters greeted us. Silence prevailed. We knew we were going to be delayed, but the row of heaters suggested a substantial breakfast. We sat and waited in anticipation. Someone finally emerged with a plate of toast and dumped it in one of the heaters. We waited some more and it became evident that the Silk Road was not planning to pamper us with a lavish breakfast. We grumpily made what we could of an unpromising situation and set off once more.

Dawn and dusk are cut and dried events in the desert. There are no lingering clouds and haze to soften the transition. The sun comes up and that's it: daylight is on you.
Beyond the amphitheatre, in the morning light


Walking past the amphitheater, we came to a row of tombs situated up on the hillside. Seen from a distance it was almost as though someone had constructed wax models based on the Treasury and then partially melted them. Unlike the Treasury which was sheltered from the wind and the sand in its canyon, these were exposed and two millenia worth of erosion had worn away the smooth walls, the carvings on the pediments and much else. Like abandoned houses, they looked on with blank and unstaring eyes as time took its toll, reducing grandeur to mere shadows of a better past.
The massive Urn Tomb, from ground level
The Urn Tomb, from the terrace
The Corinthian tomb, next door

We made our way up the hillside, and as we got closer the scale of these tombs became apparent. Up close, we had a much better sense of what these structures must have been like in their prime. Some were larger and much more ambitious than even the Treasury. Erosion had exposed the rocks' striking colours and the overall effect took our collective breaths away. Here, we also had a sense of location. The broad valley that lay before us was surrounded by hills and was well protected. We were in the desert – the sand, the lack of vegetation, the rocky sandstone outcrops, the dry air and clear skies all evidenced this – but in a relatively secluded, sheltered corner of the desert. Add the water and the Nabateans had chosen well.
Looking across the valley from the tombs
Below, we could see the remnants of a colonnaded road. Shops must have lined the road at one point, with a covered walkway supported by the columns providing shelter from the harsh sun. Remnants of temples - roofs, columns and walls missing - stood on either side. One - the South temple - was being restored and the scale of what had been was astonishing. Along with the ceremonial archway which framed the far end of the road, the feel was that of a Roman ruin, much like Jerash in northern Jordan.
The road, far below that led to the free-standing ruins
The colonnaded road, being gradually restored
The South Temple
On the far side of the archway was the only freestanding structure - the Qasr al Bint - that had survived the last of the earthquakes that, along with the loss of water, eventually led to Petra's abandonment. The roof had collapsed, but the walls, while damaged, still stood. This had been a temple and, as with so much else we saw at Petra, the scale of the temple and the imagination that had gone into its conception boggled the mind. We take progress for granted as also the notion that man's creations improve with time. These ruins, some two thousand years old, made us realize just how far mankind had come at the time of their creation and put our current situation in some sort of perspective.

The Monumental Arch
The south Temple - upper level
Qasr-al-Bint

Columns line a tomb
Roman-style amphitheatre
Tomb of the ObelisksPetra was a crossroads and its architecture was influenced by many of those who must have stopped by. There are obelisks reminiscent of Egypt, Roman amphitheaters, Greek columns and much else. Today's visitors come from further afield and leave their imprints in different ways. An old man had chosen a shady spot on the path we had climbed to display his wares. Trinkets and earrings, refrigerator magnets, coins and stones were all spread out before him and he called me over. These, he said in a conspiratorial whisper pointing to one pile, are Chinese fakes, and these, pointing this time to an adjacent pile, are genuine antiques. They looked identical. He didn't look in the least put out when I declined his custom and cheerfully waved as I left.

Time was running short. Two days, perhaps three, were needed to see all of Petra at leisure. We had hurried through as much as we could and as we walked back past the growing crowds we turned to take a last look at the monuments, stark in the mid morning sun, and somehow brought to life by the presence of humans, the canyons and caves once more echoing to the sounds of voices and passing feet.

The Monumental gate in the foreground. The bulk of the Al Khubtah mountains in the rear, with the line of carved tombs

Petra and history were a world away that night as we waited under the cold lights of Dubai's newest terminal for our flight back to Madras. Time and geography have strange ways of dealing with reality. Sitting in twenty first century Dubai, Petra felt unreal, a dream almost. We couldn't help wondering what, if anything, would remain of modern Dubai two thousand years hence. Petra would still be there, though. A little the worse for wear, but there, nonetheless.


Dead Sea ramble here.

So, what's the big deal about the Dead Sea?

• Its the lowest point on dry earth
• Its salty, very salty
• There's no life in it

My son did not seem very impressed with these points, as a reason to visit. I argued with him, we're never going to stand on the highest point, so lets atleast go to the lowest point!

OK, we did not go all the way from Madras just to check out this geographical phenomenon, but happened to be in the neighbourhood.

6th June 2009. Amman, Jordan

10 am, and we set off for the 45 min drive to the northern tip of the Dead Sea. My son did not think this was a good idea, especially since I packed swim trunks - What? You're going in to the Dead Sea?, he enquired querulously. His mood improved significantly on seeing our mode of transport - a Mercedes (dont ask me which one), with our friendly driver cum guide, Fadi.

All through the journey, Fadi chattered on incessantly, about Jordan, the Dead Sea, the benevolent dead king, the dynamic current king, etc etc. The roads were good, his driving even-handed and the sun outside sharp. I feared that I would drop off to sleep with the drone of his voice and the gentle motion of the car, and so made sure that I asked questions every now and then!

So I learned about the therapeutic effects of the Dead Sea, the lousy neighbours that Jordan has to suffer (I didn't tell him that we had the same problem), the political problems of sharing the river Jordan and even some biblical history about Moses!

Suddenly, he brought the car to a halt, behind a huge tourist bus, and as I wondered why, I saw this board, on the roadside!

We were at sea level! Needing to descend another 300 m to reach the shores of the Dead Sea. See those red spots, thats where we were. The altitude of Madras, and where we would find the Mediterannean Sea as well.

It reminded me of another board a long time ago. 4,000m, Rohtang Pass!

So, we stood besides the board and had our pictures taken dutifully, as our driver took several quick puffs on his cigarette - I suspect that's the reason they stop at this board. So they get their puffs and we get our photos!

Here's the other marker in the sand, to convince us that we were at sea level! The terrain around is rolling hills, with olive groves in some of the valleys but generally bare.

We could see the road drop down, and the driver pointed out a blue speck in the distance as the Dead Sea.

But doesn't the river Jordan flow into it? The river is dry, declared our driver flatly. Dammed by Israel, Jordan and Syria, so there's no water from the river into the Dead Sea. At this rate, soon there will be no Dead Sea. Already, the southern end has become mud flats, since the Dead Sea is really a lake, a very large one, and so needs the water to flow in.

We soon reach the bottom of the Dead Sea valley, the Jordan rift valley. Uh oh, should I be nervous? Isn't a rift valley not a very safe place to be? Arabia moved away from Africa many million years ago, and we have this huge "crack" in the earth's floor? I think thats a simple enough explanation for me.

The road is now flat and straight like an arrow. we reach a T-junction and turn left. The driver points out to me that this is not a T-junction but a four way crossroad - the fourth direction westwards, being the road to Jerusalem through the West Bank, and so blocked off and unused.

Now we were on the east bank of the Dead Sea, but it was hidden from view. Suddenly there was a check-post ahead, and cars were being stopped and papers checked. I did not have a jot of identification on me, having left everything behind at Amman. Hmmm, lets see how this pans out, I thought. But, Fadi was probably well known in the area and friendly phrases were exchanged, and all I could make out was "indo"...I guess he was telling the policeman we were from India, and we were waved through.

So, we arrived at the Dead Sea Spa Hotel. The oldest hotel on the block. How it works is like this. There is a "public beach", but we were advised against going there - its dirty, was the reason - and we were told to take a day pass into one of the private-hotel owned beaches, which is what we did. So, the package typically involves giving you towels, providing showers and a changing area, and there's a lunch thrown in.

We walked through the hotel, and on to the "sea front", to see this.

We came all the way to see this drab and still "pond" and these barren shores???, my head screamed out, but I maintained a non-commital face (Cant show the son how I feel can I?). Where are those dramatic cliffs and salt-encrusted rocks that I have seen in pictures? I must say, that I did feel let down at this moment. (Turns out, that the spectacular scenery is on the Israeli side. Oh well.)

I looked around and to my chagrin, the changing rooms were located behind this picture, if you know what I mean. So, we had to trek down the entire distance in our swim suits!! I began to chicken out, and then looked around and saw all the visitors quite happily roaming around in the briefest of swimwear, with nobody giving them a second look, and I said, oh what the hell, come on nobody knows us here, lets go!

So we did change and marched on down, the sun by this time quite sharp.

My son had this, oh-no, what-have-I-got myself-into, look, and so I had to lead from the front so-to-speak!

But reading this board, he perked up. Oh, so I dont have to swim, swim, and I dont have to put my head in the water. I just have to float and do nothing. Not so bad!

So it was, that we entered the waters of the Dead Sea, tentatively at first, but then with more gusto and verve. After a while we were enjoying ourselves! Its a bizarre sensation, especially if you are used to swimming in a pool or fresh water. The salt and mineral content push you up, and you can "walk" effortlessly in the water.

This is the view from the water, looking up at the Jordanian shore. Not very interesting is it? And there are hotel projects still coming up...

In case you are wondering about those people who look like they are wearing a scuba-diving outfit, they are visitors covered in the Dead Sea mud! I did it too, much to my son's disgust, but in order to prevent this blog from being rated as "horror" or grotesque", I shall refrain from posting visual proof!

Soon, it was time to leave, and here's a final look at the cliffs of Palestine...there was not a soul on the other side of the Dead Sea...I wonder if its a restricted area...

We showered away the oily waters of the Dead Sea, and attacked the buffet lunch with our healthy appetites!

Fadi was quieter on the return, though he did the usual touristy thing of taking us to a souvenir shop, where I bargained down the price of a Bedouin rug pretty dramatically, bought some Dead Sea mud and posed for a picture with the traditional Arab headgear!

It was an interesting day out. But since we were not into spa experiences or therapeutic swims, I wonder if it would have been better if we had gone off to the Mujib Nature Reserve, further south along the Dead Sea? Again, our Amman hotel concierge discouraged us from this. It was not a good season for such a trip I think.