Jordan - Day 1

Sunday, Nov. 16

And so it begins.  The adventure.  My first trip to the Asian continent, to an Arab country, to a place that doesn’t write in characters that I can read even if I don’t know the language.  And only two words of Arabic.  One is walou, which means “nothing”, at least in North African Arabic, but is more like the “whatever” that my daughter used to hand me, complete with an eye roll; I don’t think I’ll be using that very much.  The second I’ll use a lot: shukran (thank you).
       The taxi is on time - a huge van, just for me and my one carry-on.  No handbag this time; just a coin purse around my neck, barely large enough for my passport, a few credit cards and
some money.  No computer, no phone; just a camera.  For those National Geographic moments, of which there will be many.  Because...
       I’m going to Petra!

The Royal Jordanian flight to Amman (half the cost of Air France) takes four hours and 20 minutes.  My daughter would approve of the safety instructions projected because they’re in cartoon form, albeit not nearly as much fun as those on the LAN flights we took in South America.  There is also an ad using stick figures for reporting child abuse, which is interesting; I’ve never seen that on any other airline.
       I set the screen to the “map” function so I can follow our progress.
       This is obviously not an American flight.  Peanuts are served with the drinks - the fear of anaphylactic shock has obviously not overtaken Jordan yet.  The next surprise is the meal choice:  no pasta, but rather a choice of chicken, “white fish” or... beef!  To be eaten with silverware!  (Well, maybe not silver, but metalware, not plasticware.)  And after-dinner tea comes with an optional lemon slice. How civilized.
       We take off and head east - the opposite direction than I’m used to.  The sky remains cloudy all the way, except over the Mediterranean, which shines golden to starboard.  According to the digital map, we fly over Trieste, Sarajevo - now peaceful - Greece and then in over Israel.  The clouds warm to an iridescent rose as the sun sets and we arrive in Amman in the dark.

     The brand-new airport - open only a year and a half now - is spacious, clean and all marble.  Queen Alia, for whom it’s named, would be proud, had she not died in a helicopter crash years ago.
       At the airport, I change euros to Jordanian dinars - which the young clerk calls piastres.  (I thought that was an archaic currency but the word is on one of the coins; it turns out to be our equivalent of “cents”.)  With my new money, I buy my visa (40 Jordanian dinars), then have my photo taken and my passport stamped... and that’s it.  I’m officially in Jordan.
       With only carry-on, baggage claim is one less hurdle to clear, and Fakhrey is waiting for me with a sign as I exit, as the hotel promised.  He will become my driver for my entire stay, but I don’t know that yet.
       Traffic is sparse on the backroad into Madaba, but a bit lawless.  Fakhrey uses the shoulder to pass a truck, I think is probably not allowed, but I say nothing.  What do I know about Jordanian driving etiquette?  Then he points at a truck driving along merrily on the wrong side of the divided highway.  Lucky there are no on-coming cars!
       In spite of all that, Fakhrey brings me safely to the Mosaic Hotel (which has no mosaics, but the town’s churches do).  Here I dine alone in the cavernous dining room, and I do mean alone.  I’m the only one there.  They either eat later than 7:00 or maybe there’s no service this Sunday, because that shy girl behind the desk (whom the reservations people have left all alone) says the chef isn’t there but I can have a mixed grill.  It comes with pita bread, a roasted whole tomato and onion... and enough meat for a family of four (chicken, lamb and kefta).  They’ve gone to some trouble to make me this, so I finish it off, every last bite, and waddle up to my room.  (An hour later I go back down and the restaurant is dark again. So yes, they opened up the kitchen and cooked some food just for me.)
       I make an early night of it because Fakhrey will come for me at 8:30 tomorrow morning and drive me to Petra.  Provided we meet no trucks on-coming.

Madaba skyline (left to right):  belfry of Greek Orthodox Basilica of St. George,
minarets of Muslim King Hussein Mosque
& steeple of Roman Catholic Church of St. John the Baptist