If truth is stranger than fiction, that would explain my trip to the Cairo post office.  I had all of this stuff: the 25 pillowcases and Bedouin floor coverings, a laptop, Lonely Planet guidebooks, kids’ souvenirs.  A heavy load.

It was May 2011 and Egypt seemed empty.  President Mubarak had been recently overthrown during the Arab Spring and most tourists were gone, fearing danger.  At the border we had to wait for the guard to slowly finish eating.  We engaged in the necessary red tape, paper shuffle, and dollar dance.  Are you staying in Sinai?  Yes.  You can buy Visa here, but if you go to Cairo you need a different Visa from a tour operator.  Our plan included a couple weeks there but then on to Cairo.  A tour operator pulled us aside.  For a minor service charge we could be on his tour and get our visas.  Minutes later we found ourselves in Egypt.

The only people we see are old men taxi cab drivers. That morning we had left Israel, the land of liberty, women’s faces uncovered, curves, tight jeans, unashamed; Egypt was barren mountains, sand and the sea. Most women hidden behind a long burka, a veil covering most faces.

In Dahab, we had negotiated with a Bedouin lady, she had a dark face and tattoos; the years showing in the deep crevasses that etched her face.  We purchased from her the floor coverings for our home, picturing a scene from 10,000 nights.



We carried our souvenirs along the route to Cairo; mom, dad, the two boys, backpacks and weighed down heavy needing to drop some pounds.  The bus stopped.  Soldiers ordered us off.  Our bags were searched.  Surrounded by sand dunes and men with semi-automatic rifles, a feeling of uneasy excitement filled the pit of my stomach.  And a ship is sailing through the sand.  The Suez Canal.

So tired of the scams I refused immediately his offer of assistance and walked clumsily with my parcel to a DHL station just down the street from Tahrir square.


He followed – May I help you sir?  No – thanks I’m good, knowing there were strings attached.   I was finding it difficult, this load weighing me down, on foot trying to find a post office.  I stepped aside, off the sidewalk, to avoid the bulletproof barriers and gun toting guards at the Israeli embassy.  Still pursued by the taxi driver I surrendered, at which time I found myself sitting shotgun with my load, in his beater car.  It pushed, nudged, honked, and bumped its way through the streets of Cairo.DSC_0486_5799601208_o



My postal consultant escorted me into the 1950s era building, smoke filled with that incessant sound of tape being pulled and torn, pulled and torn, placed, cut, box turned, SLAM!  People are feverishly packing boxes.  Some into burlap bags.  A man wearing a gallabeya and a fez packs.  He is bearded.  Some have no mustache.  Some are dark, others are white.  Muslims and Christians.  Moros y Cristianos.

Men in line

The cigarettes burned and so did my eyes.  A fan moves the air.


Take a number.  The number is meaningless.  The line, what line?  Get in front to get it done.

Lady processing

From behind glass I receive my work.  Forms, Bill of lading.  Descriptions of the items to ship.


Sir, give me $5 to buy the tape.  My god, I have been here for an hour.  I’m afraid you cannot ship that laptop.  Don’t ask why.  You send to United States.  He raises his hand in a motion like a plane flying.  You want to send like zis or on the Nile?

I’ll ship via the Nile.


Six months have passed since I decided to pull out this blog entry and publish.  Then I shelved it.  I am going to publish it today.  Here is what I wrote:

Just over a year has passed since we returned from our round the world adventure and I sit here in my front porch, with my dog at my feet, and the fan blades move, and the swamp cooler hums, and an airplane flies overhead, a car passes by, a horn honks, the kids are playing, people walk their dogs in the park, the sun is hidden behind the clouds, an antique fair on South Broadway, a Blues music festival on South Pearl, a cub scout regatta, car washes, watering my plants, washing the car, road construction, marijuana dispensaries, theatre shootings, and the world turns and things happen and we go on and on and we are all working, and the job is good and we do our jobs and the beat goes on.

And I hear on the news about the fighting in Syria and it is sad.  And I hear on the news about the buildup of troops in Sinai, and the kidnapping of the reverend, and the craziness there and I remember that I wrote a blog entry about Sinai and never published it.  Molly is talking about putting our blog into a book and I think… we better finish this blog!  So today I go to wordpress and find this entry that I wrote over a year ago – May 11, 2011, about our entry into the Sinai peninsula in Egypt.  I am leaving it unedited.  I am only adding pictures.  I hope that you enjoy it.

DSC_0170MAY 11, 2011

We ride aboard the tourist coach on a bus not full headed to Cairo. We are in the desert. Rocky mountains to the left and to the right. Sandy hills, white dust, black rocks, blond rocks. The bus slows to a near stop, there is an army checkpoint, a speed bump that requires almost a full stop. Guns are pointed in the direction of the road. It’s hot here, the sky is blue with a slight haze. Large towers look like robots, connected by electrical wires which carry electricity through the desert. The land is flat, with broad long ups and downs, a gentle slope. The mountains in this desert go on as far as the eye can see. This is the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt. DSC_0235We began our tour here by entering from Eliat, Israel, a town with a fingernail of a coast line among its neighbors: Jordan borders east, Egypt borders West, and standing from the coastline one can see the fires burning from the oil refineries in Saudia. Israel is an oasis of a sort. One can find modern electronics, bagels, espresso coffee, and women. Women. Women appear in Israel. Not only do they appear, but they wear shorts and shirts. Their heads are naked, without headscarfs. They work. They wear army uniforms. The border crossing from Israel requires a hefty payment: 100 Sheckels per person, paid by credit card. The bags pass through x-ray machines and out we go to Taba, Egypt. Besides the Indonesian tour group of Holy Land pilgrims, the border is empty. So empty that nobody is sitting in the border post to stamp passports. So we wait. And wait. We are at the front of the line and nobody is there. So we wait. An official sits down, still chewing his lunch, and takes our passports. Where are you going? Dahab. Only Dahab? Then Cairo. You will need a visa. If you stay in Sinai, you do not need a visa. But if you go to Cairo you need a visa. Are you on a tour? No.

The border guard speaks with the tour guide of the Indonesian Pilgrims in Arabic for a little while. Then the tour guide explains to us that we have to buy Visa’s through a tour agency, and he just happens to be able to help us. So we part with $35 per person and with Visas in hand we enter Egypt. This was probably a scam of some kind because the Visas are only $15, but we’ve decided to forego the tedius research, argument, and losing battle that would ensue with the border guard.

We’ve had a good travel day so far considering that we left Jerusalem at 8am and it is now 2pm and we’re headed for Diver’s House in Dahab. The mini van driver barrels down the road, on our left is the blue water of the Gulf of Aqaba, we can still see Israel, Jordan, and Saudia. On our right it is pure, mountainous desert, the same destert that I am looking at now from the bus window as we are headed away from Sinai and towards Cairo.

DSC_0164We passed the next few days at Diver’s House, an inexpensive and very basic accomodation that is situated on the water. From there we rent our snorkel gear and walk off the property and swim over a 80 foot drop off and explore. The scenery is spectacular with purple and white corals, tiny schools of fish, and groups of very large colorful fish. We’re all practicing our best snorkeling moves, holding our breath and diving as far as we can, clearing our ears, and letting our buoyancy carry us to the surface. Along the way we can view the sea life on the wall from the bottom, front and top.

DSC_0428 DSC_0441The town of Dahab is devoid of tourists. The hotels and restaurants are at 0-5% capacity. Everybody, I mean everybody, is starving for business. They are riendly, they are endearing, and they are persistent. Everybody wants to welcome our family to lunch and dinner, they offer half price for children and free salads and deserts. It has been this way for almost three months now, since the unrest and revolution in Cairo. The feedback we receive is that the current situation, the current government, is no better than the past. All hopes are placed in the elections in September for the senate, and the presidential election following it. There are rumours of a second revolution on May 27th. We should be out of Cairo by then.

After a few nights of eating on cushions, sleeping in until we wake up, and snorkeling in the cool blue water, we decide it is time for an excursion. The Sinai peninsula is part of most major Holy Land tours because it is the home of Mount Sinai. The base of this mountain is the location where God reputedly appeared to Moses as a burning bush. St. Catherine’s Monastery, built around the fifth century, is on the site. Moses received the ten commandments from God at the top of the mount.DSC_0178

It is the desert so it is hot. This mountain requires a two hour climb up rocky steps. We decide to arrive at Mt. Sinai in the mid afternoon for an evening climb, dinner, sunset, camp under the stars, then sunrise at the spot. After passing through numerous military checkpoints, I counted five, and presenting our passport documents once we are dropped at the tourist site. We are armed with our two backpacks which hold our sleeping bags, sandwiches, salad, mango juice, a bottle of red wine from Hebron, a swiss army knive, some cups, cereal, milk and canned coffee. A man informs us that a guide is required to summit Mt. Sinai, for our safety. We insist against it, and they insist by leading us to the tourist police. Thirty bucks later we are accompanied by our very own bedouin guide.

DSC_0406 DSC_0405It is hot until we are greeted by shade in the form of an imposing mountainous rock. We ascend for about an hour and a half, taking breaks when necessary. Our guide starts to warm up to us after our initial meeting was tainted slightly by the friction of this slight tourist extortion. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, especially in Egypt where beneath the extremely friendly and loving nature of the every day Egyptian there lurks a tension that can be felt, handled, and carefully considered.DSC_0186

The rocks of this mountain are hard, not sandy except in spots where it has blown onto it. The views are nothing short of holy, reminding me of the movie I saw years ago called The Ten Commandments. I regret leaving behind my head cover and robe so that I can pose as Moses at the top. The effect of the strong wind at the top, with my robe and kaffeah, plus my long hair (not white though), would have been really epic.DSC_0238

We rent four mattresses and place them at a flat spot with a sunrise view. After getting into our comfortable nighttime clothes, we take our drinks and dinner to the other side for sunset on Mt. Sinai. We feel the breezes. We smell the smoke of someone’s cigarette and someone else’s joint. A joint, on Mt. Sinai? We suppose that the joint belongs to one of the Bedouin rather than the pilgrims, but we’ve seen stranger things.DSC_0213
As the earth’s rotation resulted in the sun disappearing from view, the colors radiated, the mountain ranges took shape in various shades of red and gray, the mountain ranges appeared and disappeared with the light, our camera snapped, manual settings adjusted, the camera snaps again this time with a longer delay to capture the image. And the pilgrims disappeared. And we were left there at the top of Mount Sinai almost alone. Except for the Bedouin who wanted some of our wine if we had some left, Insha Allah, but he rejected our offer because there wasn’t enough left to justify the sin. Eventually he left, and we found ourselves back in our sleeping place, and the moon rose an orange color in the west, above Saudia Arabia.DSC_0274

For the past month I had been having some fun email conversations with my brother, who is a very well educated and knowledgeable person, and more importantly a Catholic. I, on the other have, have very little knowledge of the bible and biblical sites. So it was my brother’s guidance that I sought as we entered what is known as the Holy Land, over a month prior on our entrance to Jordan. What resulted was an excellent collection of emails in our iTouch spelling out the various sites, cross referenced to applicable passages in the Old and New Testament. Score!! Thanks Gabe!! So we purchased a Net Bible and set to reading. Today’s reading was large portions of Exodus, so we felt fairly knowledgeable and in the spirit of things there at the top of Mt. Sinai.DSC_0278

As we zipped into our sleeping bags we thought about these stories, that Moses may have slept in this very spot. Actually, the cave was below us and to the right a bit. But during that time that Moses might have been there, he might have watched the same moonshine, and he might have watched the same sunset, and he might have waited in that same spot and he might have talked to God. Or, he might have been on a mountain similarly named, in Jordan. But we were there too, so we should have our bases covered.

And so my body was warm and wrapped tightly inside my sleeping bag and the moon was rising and the family was content. DSC_0337And Molly and I had finished a bottle of wine so we were feeling chatty. So we busted out the satellite phone. Molly called Laura to chat a bit. Then I called Gabe. He had taught me so much about these sights and I have been thinking about him a great deal during our time in the middle east. I knew that he would enjoy hearing from me from Mt. Sinai. We had a nice conversation chatting about Egypt, Moses, and the Coptic Christians. He was on his lunch break from work and I could hear my nephew and nieces in the background. Gabe said to Karen: They’re on the top of Mount Sinai!!DSC_0308

We slept soundly and woke up the next morning around 4am. There were about one hundred tourists gathering below our camping area, most of them were Russians. Slowly we woke and watched the light gather about the horizon. We poured our cereal and milk, ate and drank and became awake. DSC_0390We took our time that morning and eventually packed up our stuff, returned our mattresses, drank some coffee and started down the mountain. Once decended we waited about two hours for St. Catherine’s Monastery to open.

This was an amazing site! I had no idea what it was. This monastery was built prior to the advent of Islam in the 6th century AD. It has been continuously inhabited by monks since then. In fact, there was a church built on this site, prior to the monastery, in the 3rd century on the location that Moses reportedly saw the burning bush. The Monestary was built later and named after Saint Catherine, who was tortured and beheded in Alexandria, and her unscathed remains were reportedly found on the nearby Mount Saint Catherine. DSC_0408There was a mosque built on the site as well, originally for the use of bedouin servants. This monastery was granted special protection by Mohammed when all other Christian relics, churches, and icons were destroyed. Inside there was a museum and library containing ancient religious manuscripts and books written in Latin, Greek, Slavic, and numerous other languages. DSC_0411 DSC_0414It was nothing short of awesome in the truest sense to view ancient books, the paper over a thousand years old, handwritten, the first letter of each chapter written much larger than the others with colorful pictures adorning the letter. Paintings on wood of Moses receiving the commandments and interacting with the burning bush brought us very close to this Old Testament story that is the basis of the faith of billions of people in the world. We toured the Basilica of the Transfiguration, most of which was roped off, and walked amongst the elaborate thrones, casks, lamps, gold and silver, incense burners, and other ceremonial items. Outside and to the right we were able to view “the burning bush.” They claim that this living bush was placed inside the cathedral using a transplant of the original bush. Who knows, but everybody around seemed to think it was pretty special. It was funny that there was a fire extinguisher on the ground right next to the bush, as if someone was expecting another fire someitme soon.DSC_0409

What is so interesting to me is that fact that this Christian monastery sits peacefully in a lonely desert surrounded by an otherwise devout Muslim community. I suppose that peaceful is in the eye of the beholder, and truth be told the five checkpoints we passed to get to this site were there to guarantee safe passage in an otherwise dangerous place. But if you think about it, the story of the site is believed by Jews, Chrisians, and Muslims alike. The story of Moses is written in the Old Testament and speaks of something that the Jews, Christians, and Muslims together agree to be the truth.

With pleasure and satisfaction we concluded our visit to Mount Sinai and made our way to the awaiting taxi, two hours later returning to Diver House to continue our beach vacation in the desert.

It was only a couple days later that we departed on a motor coach bound of Cairo. I knew I was finally in Africa when, stopped at a checkpoint, I saw what appeared to be a ship sailing through the sands of the desert. It was true, a ship was actually cruising along the Suez Canal, a most surreal sight.

Springtime in Hebron


The Wall Which Surrounds Palestine


Street in Hebron


Muslim Man Praying in Mosque


Tomb of Abraham Located in the Center of the Mosque/Synagogue


Viewing Abraham's Tomb, Notice the Viewers in the Synagogue Behind the Glass


You Are Not Permitted on This Side of the Barricade




Muslim Market. The Fencing is to Protect Shoppers From Debris Thrown Across by Israeli Settlers and Palestinians

I wrote this blog entry on May 28, 2011 during our around the world trip.  It remained unpublished due to a variety of circumstances.  First, one of our two laptops died making it difficult to get the requisite time for blog writing and picture posting.  Second, one of our tenants back in the states became difficult, so we spent a good deal of time handling the situation.  We were also spending time with another family who was also on an around the world trip.  We shared meals, toured, and generally hung out together.  Lastly, our time in the middle east was exciting and with a slight sense of danger.   I left this blog entry in draft form to post later.  Now I’m back in the states, we’re settled back in our home, we’re working.  Actually right now I’m on “winter break” as I work for Denver Public Schools.  My two week break has been most welcoming to me.  I can appreciate what it means to have this kind of time.

Five women walk through the Palestinian neighborhood in Hebron. Most of this ancient town is inhabited by about 160,000 Palestinians. Some of them are Muslims and others are Christians. These ladies are headed to the mosque. This mosque is built on the Tomb of Abraham, and one of the holiest sites for Muslims. Interestingly enough, sharing the same building but separated by a wall, there is a Jewish Synagogue. The remaining population of Hebron is about four hundred Jewish Settlers.

The ladies reach a small road in town, really more of a “lane.” This road is only used by Jewish settlers and the Palestinians are forbidden from using or crossing the road. However they are permitted by the armed Israeli guards stationed at this particular post to cross the road only to reach the Mosque entrance and the Arab Market.
We are on a Political Tour of two West Bank Towns: Hebron and Bethlehem. Our tour has first taken us to Hebron to see the reality of life in this particular area where the Jewish settler minority is holed up, and where tensions are high. The women cross the road to the designated Palestinian walking lane, on the other side of the three foot concrete barrier.


They approach the guard, and as we watch it appears they are requesting permission to cross the road to the coffee shop where we are sitting, which is Palestinian territory. The guard refuses. The ladies are forced to walk down the Palestinian lane and attempt to walk up the street to the cafe. The guard blocks their entry. The ladies go home.


Being Searched After Mosque Visit


Scene in Hebron


Above to the Left Israeli Settlers live, on the right Palestinians

The Palestinian territories are occupied by Israel.
There are three well known territories which I will now describe in my own words. The Golan Heights are located in the northeast of Israel. This area borders or is very close to Jordan and Syria. The Gaza Strip is a sliver of land bordering Egypt’s Sinai peninsula and has Mediterranean coastline. The West Bank comprises about 40% of Israel, and borders the Dead Sea and Jordan River to the east.
Israeli occupied Palestine in the West Bank is divided into three zones: Areas A, B, and C.


Our Tour Guide


Checkpoint to Enter Mosque

A: Palestinian security and control
B: Palestinian control and Israeli security
C: Israeli full control (this is 80% of the West Bank)

A very challenging environment indeed. Our drive through Hebron is complicated. Our guide is a Palestinian Christian, and because of that our bus cannot drive through certain roads.
But he has some alternate identification as backup, and we pass through the Jewish settlement. He explains the process. Everybody has ID cards that are color coded to indicate whether you are Palestinian Muslim, Palestinian Christian, Palestinian from Jerusalem, Jewish Settler, and so on. There are different rules for everybody. Your identification card governs what roads you can travel and what buildings you can enter. I always wondered what life was like in the U.S.A. when Blacks and Whites were segregated.

There is a wall which surrounds large portions of the West Bank.
It is over twenty feet high. There are armed Israeli guards. There was graffitti all over.
I never visited the Berlin wall, but it reminded me of it. The feeling of it.
Physically separated by a military, ideological force. But the wall has gaps, big gaps.
It is said that the wall is located on the official border of Israel and the West Bank. Others contest this, saying that the wall is located inside Palestinian territory and a way to grab more land. I don’t know. I don’t argue about these things. I just look.
Later that day we visit a glass blowing shop. DSC_0921I walk out the front door and take a left and begin walking. DSC_0918Two Palestinian kids ask me where I’m from. America I say. Welcome they say. What is your name? Bryan I say. You are welcome here Bryan. Everybody says this to me, to us, here in the Middle East. You are welcome here.DSC_0914

I continue on towards the butcher. We’ve spent lots of time at markets and butchers, but this is the first time I’ve seen a slaughtered Camel. DSC_0913The men inside give me permission to photograph. Cool. On my way back up the street I walk by a Hooka shop. They call them Hubbly Bubblies here. Funny. I don’t smoke, but it looks like fun.


Unused Entrance Gate for Refugee Camp, Remains as a Reminder to Residents


Street in Refugee Camp

At home I watch the news online, I listen to the news on the radio. On the news you hear about the violence and the bombs and the tension and the hatred. The news is so down, horrible and bad that it becomes noise that we filter out. The news will sound different to me now that I have seen the divisions: the Wall, the Guardposts, and the glimpse to the Mosque from the Synogogue through Bullet Proof Glass and Iron Bars, where both sides can view the Tomb of Abraham at the same time.
In the afternoon we visit the Dheisheh Refugee camp, run by the United Nations. DSC_0958 It was enclosed during the years 1986-1996.  We listen to Hamden speak about his experience.  This is his story.  He was born and raised in the refugee camp but tells us that he is from Jerusalem. DSC_0953 In 1948 his family lost their lands in Jerusalem.  This was the 15 of May war. Four thousand people comprised of three hundred seventy families moved into the camp.  They had tents and blankets provided.  The Red Cross was there from 1952-1955 providing medical care and housing.  In 1955, the United Nations build three by three square meter houses, no bathrooms.  They built schools and medical care, a restaurant.  The second war was 5 of June, 1967.  The Israeli army tried to occupy the West Bank again.  Many Palestinians left for Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Egypt.  In the 1970s, many people escaped and came back to the West Bank.  Those who didn’t leave cannot come to the West Bank unless they are tourists.

He participated in the first intifada (uprising) in 1987 on the Hebron – Jerusalem Road.  DSC_0946There was tear gas, blasting bullets, and they were throwing stones.  DSC_0945DSC_0948To punish them, the Israelis put a fence around the camp 8 m high, only allowing entry and exit from  7a-7p. In 1994, the Palestinians knocked down the fence.   Before the second intifada in 2000, Jerusalem was open to them.  Now it is not.  They can’t go.  Hamden says I don’t want to die here.  
The Palestinian authority issues IDs to the people in the camp.  They can work in other countries.  They can come back to the camp.  But there’s no economy in the camp.  After 2006, the aid from the United Nations to the camp ended.  Hamden says I want to die in Jerusalem.  

A camp resident can visit Jerusalem for one day every twelve years.  It is a thirty minute drive.  Hamden believed in the two state solution.  Now he smokes his cigarette and talks to people, tourists, whoever will listen.  He is obviously frustrated, angry.  Hamden says that everybody is talking about a third intifada.  The people in the camp have no way to leave, no way out.
This was a very interesting tour.  It was also the most intense tour that I have ever been a part of.  As our bus drives away from the camp and our driver talks to us about his thoughts he says: “I wish I was a cat in France.”  He doesn’t care where he lives, he just wants some quiet, some peace.


Desert Days

And so our road trip through Jordan continued, uninterrupted, after our oh so appropriate Easter Sunday celebration, complete with Easter Egg Hunt and Crusader Castle visit.  We stopped at the first hotel available near Petra and checked in.  We’d be staying there for three or four nights, enough time to absorb the World Heritage Site called Petra.  Oddly enough, the hotel was called the Rocky Mountain Lodge.  We felt quite at home.

Petra is known to most people by one famous monument, the Treasury.  However, Petra is comprised of hundreds of structures, tombs, a monastery, sacrificial rocks, homes, boulevards, and even a city centre.  The oldest of monuments dates back to the second millenium Before Christ.

Many people visit for only one day, but we purchased the three day pass. Since we had plenty of time and the food is so good, we might as well take it all in.  We began iour first day very early in the morning.

One of the difficult parts of travelling is getting used to saying “No” politely.  There are constantly people who want to sell something to you or have you ride their camel, horse drawn carriage, or donkey.  We had to practice saying “No” on this particular day.  We walked along what is known as “El Siq” which is a trail through Wadi Musa (Moses’ Canyon).


View of Treasury Via "El Siq"

This was a very cool walk because it involves walking through a narrow slot canyon speckled with ruins of homes, an ancient aquaduct, carvings of camels, and ultimately opening up to a view of the famous Treasury.  The ancient peoples who settled Petra were gatekeepers for water, for they had an elaborate dam and drainage scheme which allowed them to control water in this desert passage.


Boys on Camels in Front of Treasury

We decided to exit Petra via a secret slot canyon.  The canyon started out fairly wide and got smaller and smaller…  We had to scramble over some boulders at one point, which made the whole endeavor that much more fun.  At one point, the canyon opened up again and we came across a woman making some tea.




That night we set up a picnic for dinner near some of the ruins.  We watched the sun set  and the effect the sun’s rays had on the stone.


All of the tourists had left.  There were a few bedouin people who were wandering about, closing their gift shops, or just hanging out.  It felt as if we had the place, the desert, to ourselves.  It was a great moment.





After Picnic Dessert in the Desert!


Julian Met a New Friend on the Way Back (All the Baby Animals Love Him)

We decided to get a bit more creative the next day.  Although we did not start out as early as before and were subjected to a greater level of heat than the previous day, we had a great time.  Our goal was to hike up so to a spot called the high point of sacrifice.  From that spot we could see Mount Aaron, the burial site of Moses’ brother.  While this was extremely cool in itself, especially after having read about it in the Old Testament verses cited by Gabe (Bryan’s brother), what was even more fun was the walk down from the high point of sacrifice.  Why was this fun?  Well, there were very interesting tombs all of the way down, some of which had been only discovered in the past five years.  It seems that every year new tombs and ruins are discovered in Petra.  We decided that it would be fun to make some family movies on location, our own versions of Indiana Jones I suppose.

The hike finally ended at a Roman City Center that was built during the Roman occupation of this area.  That afternoon, Molly and I (Bryan) had a Turkish Bath.  We felt quite clean afterwards, but we didn’t get the beating that Turkish Baths are infamous for and were a little disappointed.


After our Turkish Bath, so Clean

Later that evening, we set out as a family for a course in Jordanian cooking at the Petra Kitchen.





Now, if you’ve been following our blog for the last year, or if you’ve known us for long, you will know that always the envelope gets pushed further.  For example, every year for our anniversary Molly and I do something more adventurous than the last year.  Well, entering Wadi Rum through the standard tourist entrance via the Siq Trail just wouldn’t cut it any more since we had done it twice.  And there was this Monastery that was supposed to outshine even the famous Petra Treasury which we had to visit.  We said many a “No” to vendors offering horseback and camel rides to the Monastery because, through a guidebook that Molly found back in Amman, we knew of a very special trail.

To find this trail involved driving our rental car in a direction that appeared to be AWAY from Petra, even though the Monastery is to be found by going in to Petra.  So the next morning we drove the car through a nearby Bedouin village.  The Bedouin are nomadic people who have inhabited the Arabian deserts for thousands of years.  Well, we drove our rental car into one of these Bedouin villages where many have settled into since the major growth of the Petra as a tourist site.  We turned left off the main road into, well, the desert and parked in front of, well, a Bedouin tent.


Parking Spot at "Trail Head"

The decision had been made that we would hike a lesser frequented trail from outside Petra to the Monastery.  We were greeted by a Bedouin man who insisted that we take tea with him on the sand floor of his tent.  This was nice, but he and his wife ended up trying to sell us a bunch of stuff that we didn’t want.  When we didn’t buy his stuff, he invited us for dinner that evening.  We knew there would be strings attached, there usually are.  Then he tried to sell us the guiding services of his ten year old son, to take us through the desert.  Again, we politely declined.  The man was nice though and didn’t push it too far.

Interestingly, the Bedouin used to live in the caves inside of Petra until fairly recently.  When the Jordanian government wanted to promote Petra as an international tourist destination, the government built a group of attached houses just outside of Petra and required that those living in Petra relocate to the new town.  Most people did relocate and now work in tourism (bringing camels, donkeys and souvenirs to the sites to sell).  Those who didn’t want to relocate to the town live in wool tents that are set up around the border of Petra.  From our encounter with the Bedouin man above, it appears to be a lonely existence as those who decided to continue living in this manner were left without a community like they had before.


Bedouin Tent Outside of Petra

We set out on our hike through the desert and tried to take all of the right turns and follow the trail appropriately.  It turned out to be a gorgeous desert hike, we were very isolated and we were without much human contact until we finally arrived at the Monastery in Petra.



Well, We've Gone This Far...




The Route Gets a Little Sketchy


Picnic at the Monastery

It was very impressive and we had a picnic there for lunch.  This took most of the day, and we were quite tired afterwards, but the trip did further solidify in my mind a certain respect for desert landscapes.


They have a beauty that, provided you have food, water, and a hat, can be very peaceful and satisfying.


Date Break


Cool, Clear, Water... Water


My Hat

and a tv.


And it’s a good thing that we had built up such a respect for desert landscapes, because in the coming weeks there would be more where that came from.

But first, it was off to Aqaba, a beach resort on the Gulf of Aqaba which is in the Red Sea.


Falling Pitas at the Bakery




And for all of you out there who love borders as much as I, from the rooftop of our hotel I could see fires burning at oil refineries in Saudi Arabia to the south, hotels in Israel to the Northwest, and the coastline of the Egyptian Sinai peninsula across the gulf to the West.  I was in border heaven.  Lots of fun.  As I stood on the roof pondering these borders, I also thought about the cultural differences one would find by simply crossing those lines.

We decided to take a break for a couple days and just swim in the pool and do some snorkeling.  That day we rented some snorkels and headed to the beach.  What we found was quite a party with very interesting company.  This beach scene hosted western tourists like myself, and when I say western this means Americans, Europeans, Australians and the like.  But the beach was mostly covered with locals and Saudis who come to Jordan so they can drink beer and hang out in mixed company.

Some people told us that we could snorkel around a submerged army tank.  We had a great time swimming around it, taking pictures, and diving down far to try to touch it.  We exited the water in a different part of the beach, and I (Bryan) did feel pretty conspicuous exiting the water in my bathing suit, shirtless, and walking back to our beach towels.  Why?  Because all of the women were swimming in full burqas and most of the men were in long robes smoking their water pipes on the beach and in the water.  It was actually pretty hilarious.  I felt all eyes staring at me, but I just took it all in, smiled, waved and said Salamalakem.

That evening as we ate dinner back at our hotel, we took a double take because we saw this other family that seemed to be a carbon copy of us.  The mother was sitting at the dinner table reading her Amazon Kindle, had an iPod Touch in the charger, an Acer Laptop, and some travel books on the table.  Her husband was reviewing photos on his Mac Air laptop and they appeared to be making travel plans.  To top it off, there were two other western children playing in the pool.  We came to make friends with them, the Lipsens from Marin County, California, who were also on an around the world trip with their children Adam (12) and Kira (9).  We had a great time sharing our experiences and the kids had a blast playing.  It was comforting to meet another family who, like us, was wandering throughout the world.  We would later get together with them in Jerusalem and Luxor, Egypt.

After an epic three week road trip in Jordan, it was time for us to return our rental car, so we contacted the rental car company who was apparently looking for us for over a day, and met them to return the car.


Trying to Call Rental Car Co on Sat Phone

There were a few dents and scratches, but $20 cash did the job and we were on our way to Wadi Rum.  What is Wadi Rum?  It’s the desert.  It is the vast and beautiful desert that tourists usually visit for one or two nights, stay in a bedouin tent with other tourists, and take Land Rover tours of the various sites that Lawrence of Arabia visited in the early 1900s.  Again, we push the envelope.

After presenting the options and taking a family vote, we decide that we will hire a bedouin guide, hike through the desert and camp for five days with a bedouin guide, a camel, and a Land Rover that carries all of our tents and food.


This was quite a beautiful and amazing experience because for long portions of time we just walked through the desert landscape with no other people in sight, just us, our guide, and our camel.  They cooked our food over a fire.  We slept outside on mattreses next to a fire.  We drank Bedouin tea.  We watched the sun set in the desert.  We saw the stars come up and shine bright in the night.



The kids wore their Gallabayas.  We called my dad on the satellite phone and he told us that Bin Laden was  killed.  We had a Bin Laden discussion with our guide.  He said that what Bin Laden did to the World Trade Center was “not very nice.”  We appreciated his candor.   He asked if he could make a call on the Satellite Phone.  We said yes.  Shortly thereafter, the owner of the trekking company showed up with his wife and a fresh chicken for dinner.  We were happy that the Satellite Phone came in handy.


We saw some interesting things in the desert.  Probably one of the funniest things we saw was a tent that is inhabited by a Saudi man, his wives and kids who have lived in this desert for ten years.  He has a small fuel tanker and crosses the border to Saudi Arabia each day to purchase gas.  He comes back over the border and sells it to other people in Jordan for a handsome profit.  It is interesting to imagine the border in the desert when it is simply a line in the sand.



We saw some various watering holes.  The people who dwell the desert have to be creative by building cisterns which are fed by natural aqua ducts in the rocks and sand.  They bring their camels there to drink.  We also saw two different springs, one of which was named Lawrence Springs.  It is interesting to be in the sandy desert and come upon grass and trees.  We hiked over to one of the springs, ducked down into a small cave, felt the cool moist air, and saw a pool of water.  Desert springs are cool.


Hidden Spring


We enjoyed having a camel companion.  Camels have a lot of character.  Our camel carried Dorian and Julian across the desert on a rotating basis.  Molly and I walked for most of the time.  It was always a trip to watch the camel load and unload riders.  When it was time for a mount or dismount, our bedouin guide would stop, make some verbal commands in an authoritative tone, and the camel would moan in an annoyed fashion and drop down to its front knees.  The passenger would dismount, the other would mount, and a similar scene would ensue.  The camel would make all of its noises and the new passenger would be on its back.  Later, when we reached camp for lunch, the camel would be free to roam about.  One time, the camel tried to run away back to the town, so our bedouin guide had to restrict its freedom by attaching a rope to its two front feet.  For the rest of our trek, during free time, the camel could roam but not far.






One of the most enjoyable periods of our desert trek was after lunch.  We would spend a large part of the morning walking through the desert until we found an appropriate place for lunch.  What makes a place appropriate for lunch in the desert?  A wall that provides shade and a rain fed water cistern for the camel.  Our guides would set up all of our pillows and mats, and we would eat hummus, pita, stewed tomatoes, maybe some meat, some other vegetables, and drink bedouin tea.  Bedouin tea is black tea brewed with lots of sugar in the water, plus special spices.



After lunch, we would lay down, read, and sleep for the hottest period of the day.



This would last for several hours.  Laying down in the shade we would watch the colors change in the desert as the sun moved.  We felt the breeze, drank tea, and listened to nothing.  The camel walked around and ate leaves.

When hiking through the desert I was happy that I had learned a few things.  You don’t wear hiking boots in the desert, you wear sandals or flip flops.  I had a minor flip flop blow out along the way, but my right flop though handicapped remained useful.


The Flip Flop Saga Begins


I took a photograph which I could provide to the retail merchant back in Evergreen, Colorado when I go back to redeem the benefits of the warrantee.   I was happy to be wearing loose fitting clothes and a wide brimmed hat.  I was glad that we had lots of bottled water.


I'm Dying!

The last day of our desert trek, we climbed Burdah Arch. We started early in the morning and scrambled up and up and up until we finally came to the base of the arch high above the desert below. We climbed to the top of the arch and, oh my, what a view!




It was also a good idea to bring warm clothes for the evening.


Bryan, or Moses Again?


Sleeping under the stars was amazing, we were especially happy to be somewhere where there was no worry of rain.


After our five day trek, we found our way back to Aqaba for another day of swimming and a good night’s sleep in comfortable beds.  The next day we packed our stuff and caught a taxi to the Israeli border with Jordan at Eliat.  The Isareli border was a long and involved process that involved taking a number and traversing through multiple stations, searches, and x-ray machines.  It was unfortunate that our children had picked up bullet shells in the desert and packed them in their bags.  Fortunately the kids are cute, this was a minor infraction, and the border guards let us pass without much hassle.  We made it through and took a taxi to the bus station.  Funny that by just crossing the border there were now outlet malls and women wearing jeans.  I felt like I suddenly appeared in Boca Raton, Florida.

Road Trip Jordan



No excitement.

No cash.

No plans.

No arabic.

…all funned out.

We were at an all time low as we arrived at the Jordanian airport from India Airport.  It was one of those ‘overnight’ flights that left late and crossed so many time zones that we were completely out of sorts.  Before we could exit airport purgatory (the room where you have landed in the country, but are not yet in the country), we had to buy visas.  We had no money.  Luckily, there was a cash machine there for us to use.  Of course, it was not connected to an electrical source.  So, fearful that we would be the subject matter of a new Tom Hanks’ movie, we frantically asked around for a solution.  A guard escorted Bryan to another ATM which was also without power.  Finally, he found one and withdrew some cash.  We paid our visa fee and officially entered the Middle East.

Arriving to Jordan, we had our first serious conversation about ending the trip early and going back home.  Some combination of lack of plans and enthusiasm and leftover digestive issues from India led to STF (Severe Travel Fatigue).  The Middle East is in political turmoil and our initial plan of traveling from Jordan up into Syria and Lebanon had to be completely scrapped.  In the end, we decided to carry on, but not without seriously considering other options and coming up with a plan to get us back on track.

In Amman, we found a comfortable hotel.  Next, we needed to find flavorful, nutritious, clean, filling food, that did not have anything resembling masala in it.  Foodwise, Amman was heaven–hummus, falafel, fuul (beans), pitas, greek olives, fresh salads, fresh dates, good cheeses etc., etc.  We stayed in Amman until we were rested and re-fueled.

Our days in Amman were filled with wandering around, taking in sites, eating, and lazing.  Amman is a fairly modern city and it is nicely set up for walking.  We got a hold of a self-guided walking tour itinerary and followed the map to see where it led us.  We ended up having lunch at Hashem’s (Jordan’s deservedly most famous falafel stand), eating sweets at Habibas, visiting a Duke’s house, taking in a roman theatre and last, but not least, picking up some peanuts from a vendor who was on his way to Mecca from Ethiopia and got stranded in Jordan in the 1960s.


Coffee and Hubbly Bubbly - A Middle East Staple


Habiba's Sweets


The "Duke's Divan"

On our first walk through town, we were a bit nervous.  This was our first time in a Middle Eastern country and it was hard to tell how we, as Americans, would be received.  It was unfortunate when we met a Taxi driver who solicited us for a ride and when he found out we were Americans brought up the terrible things that happened to people in our war in Iraq.  We were sorry to be there at that moment.  As time went by in Jordan, however, this type of conversation was the exception and not the rule.  Whenever we would meet somebody, they would ask where we are from.  After telling them America, they would say, “You are our friend, Welcome.”


Roman Ruins in Center of Amman


Ethiopian Peanut Seller

At some point during our wanderings, we met some Jordanians who ran a puppet theatre.  They invited us in to have a look and told us that the show was running that night.  Sign us up!  The theatre was in Arabic, but we didn’t mind.  The puppet shows were a lot of fun, we felt like we could pretty much follow what was going on despite the language issues.  However, at one point a male puppet started yelling at a female puppet who started crying.  Eventually a little puppet veil was put over the female puppet.  Luckily, we had already had a long conversation with the director of the theatre who seemed very progressive, so we figured this segment must have had a meaning that was not readily apparent.

After Amman, it was time to head out into Jordan itself.  We realized that our usual backpacker and bus traveling style was going to have to be replaced for a while in order for us to get re-energized in our trip.  So, we agreed on “Road Trip Jordan.”  We rented a car and headed over to Jordan’s national park office, “Wild Jordan.”  For such a small country, the national park office is really impressive.  As soon as we walked through the door, there was a large sign advertising that much of the funding for their center came from USAID.  It was nice to see that sometimes foreign aid funds are put to great use.  We booked accommodations at various parks throughout Jordan, grabbed our maps, did some shopping, and set out.

During our trip, we adopted many of the teachings of our Yogi Pancho.  One of the fun things he had to say was “Every day is Halloween, dress as you like.”  When in Rome, do as the Romans.  So when in the Middle East… We decided to get dressed up.  Julian had been talking for some time about getting a turban in Egypt and dipping it in the Nile.  At this point of the trip, we had ruled out Egypt, so it seemed most appropriate to get some Jordanian outfits.

Dorian was the bravest, so we set out for a shop to pick up a floor length shirt called a Gallebaya and a head wrap called a Keffiyeh.  The men in the shop spoke no English, but once we pointed to the Keffiyeh they quickly started putting them on our heads.  We had to hold them back from selling us three of them, as they discarded the packaging of multiple Keffiyehs onto the floor in an urgency of selling that we became all to familiar within the mid-east.  It is the shock-and-awe sales campaign.  They just keep laying on product, stating prices, calling you their friend, smiling, and then when the bill is presented it is time to backpeddle.  Papa Bill would call this the “psychological aspect of the sale.”

We took some fun pictures with the men and eventually purchased the Keffiyeh for Dorian, which we learned the Red color signified a Jordanian.  Later, Julian would purchase a black Keffiyeh, which signified that the wearer was a Palestinian.  Then we bought the Gallebayas and the kids were representing the locals – one Jordanian and another Palestinian.  The purchase of both colors proved to be an excellent choice as throughout Jordan, the boys were able to make friends no matter who we met.


Dorian Kickin it Jordanian Style

The first place we stayed was Ajlun, located in the north of Jordan in a scrub forest.  While we were there, we went on a great hike through the preserve and picnicked.


Bryan, or Moses?


We also took a drive further up north to the border of Jordan, Syria, and Israel.  Our destination was the Al-Hemma hot springs.

As an aside, driving in Jordan proved to be an interesting endeavor.  We had three different maps and a compass, yet were perpetually lost.  Eventually, we learned to scrap the maps and rely completely on the compass.  For example, if we needed to go north, we would just try to take any turns that kept us on a northern course.  While this method proved more reliable than using maps, it still had its issues.  On the way to Al-Hemma, the “compass strategy” took us on some strange back road that eventually dead-ended.  While whipping a u-turn, we went slightly off-road and heard a strange pop come from the undercarriage of our rental car.  Of course, we did not stop to investigate, rather, we continued on.  Eventually, as our car was driving lopsided down the street making the familiar thwapping, thwapping sound, we knew we had blown the tire.  Good thing Bryan married Molly because the tire was changed in no time (actually, I’m sure he could have handled it on his own, but I am pretty proud of my tire changing abilities) and we were on our merry way.

Instead of the commercial hot springs we read about in the guide, we ended up in someone’s backyard in a “warm” pool, but it was fun nonetheless.  What was most amazing about this particular site was that the warm springs that we were soaking in sat beside a small cliff that was on the border between Jordan and the Golan Heights, which is a strategic territory of Syria that Israel seized at some point in recent history.  We could literally throw a rock across the border.  Looking to the right, or northward, was Syria itself, looking to the left, or eastward, was Israel and the Sea of Galilee.  It was fascinating.  As we drove into the town, there were people wandering around on the streets, smoking their tobacco out of hubbly bubblies, not worrying about the cars aimlessly travelling on whatever side of the road they chose.  And these people who were there seemed to be a bit different from the other Jordanians we had met so far and I think that it is because of where they live and the kind of tension and turmoil that exists in such a place near such a border.  It was at this time that I (Bryan) realized I was a borderphile–drawn to places where cultures and political boundaries clash.

We spent about an hour there in the warm springs.  Just to our left, a group of men in white gallebayas (long robes) pulled up in their SUV.  They set up a picnic beneath a guard station.  There were other couples and families as well, there, looking across the border while the sun set.  I could imagine who they were.  Perhaps they were people who were displaced from their own homeland, dreaming of a return.  Maybe they were Jordanians who just like sunsets.

While staying in northern Jordan, we also visited the Ajlun castle.  The setting was especially spectacular combined with Julian’s new outfit.

On the way out-of-town, we decided to stop at the ruins of Jerash, an ancient roman city.  What is especially spectacular about the ruins in Jordan is that, at some point, nearly everyone passed through here–Persians, Byzantines, Turks, Romans, Crusaders, Ummayads, even Moses–and each left their architectural mark.  Jerash was really a spectacular site and we were really pleased to see a great Roman site given that we had decided not to go to Turkey or Greece on this trip.


Next up was Azraq.  It sounds a lot like Iraq, and in fact it is in the direction of Iraq that we travelled from Amman to get there.  We left the relative green of the Jordan River Valley and into the rocky desert of eastern Jordan.  This trip was especially pleasing for Bryan’s border obsession as we observed roadsigns indicating where to turn for Saudi Arabia, Syria, and even Iraq.  It was in the direction of Iraq that we were headed along with lots of 18-wheeler cargo trucks.  Finally we found our hotel in Azraq, whose main drag seemed more like a truck stop than a town.  Talk about seedy – this was a truck stop for some of the biggest headline grabbing countries!

On our first morning, we met a small group of Saudi Sheiks in the parking lot of the hotel.  They were accompanied by their falcons.  We were totally excited to meet some “Falconers.”  It was like a Saudi Arabian SNL skit.

The Sheiks explained that they use their falcons for hunting.  Hmmmm, I guess instead of a bird dog, they have a rabbit falcon.  Dorian was lucky enough to hold one of the falcons.  As soon as they took his mini-hoody off, though, he got pretty feisty.  Flapping his wings and going a bit crazy, one of the Sheiks got pretty nervous about their pricey bird (we later learned that a single hunting falcon can cost up to $30,000 USD).  The hood was thrown back on, the bird calmed down, and all was well.  We felt pretty fortunate to have avoided some sort of bad international incident.


It was the wetlands that we came for, as Azraq was known to be an Oasis in the desert.  What we found was a much shrunken lake with some very impressive bird life.  In fact, this area is a stop-over for migratory birds from all of Africa on their way north to Europe and Asia, the middle east is not just a crossroads for human civilization.  The condition of the wetland provided some insight into the current biggest challenge of Jordan – Water.  To feed the population growth and daily needs of Jordanians, water from the aquifer that feeds this oasis has been drained for the use of cities and irrigation of nearby fields through illegal wells.  Most interesting is the fact that to keep the oasis wet, Jordan has to actually pump the water from below the earth.  Unfortunately the current drain on the aquifer far outweighs its repletion by underground rivers.  At some point soon, there will be no water left.  It is unclear how Jordan will solve this problem.   It is both an ecological and political issue.  Over 50% of Jordan’s population is recent Palestinian immigrants and most Jordanians we spoke to blame the lack of water on Israel.


It is hard to describe the landscape around Azraq.  However, imagine harsh desert (hard packed sand and rocks), no water, extreme heat, and very few signs that anyone has or is permanently inhabiting the majority of eastern Jordan.  So, it is surprising that there are a series of desert castles, some of which still have paintings of ancient parties adorning their walls.  The name ‘castles’ is a bit of a misnomer, since no one really knows why these dwellings were built and for which purpose they were used.  The first castle we visited was Qasr Azraq, most famous as one of Lawrence of Arabia’s hideouts during World War I.

The second castle we visited, Amra, was particularly memorable as the scenes painted on the walls and ceiling in the 8th century were still in tact.  Because this is one of the best examples of preserved ancient Islamic art, this castle is a World Heritage Site.  Interestingly, the paintings depict ladies bathing naked, people drinking wine, lute playing, and all sorts of activities that are currently frowned upon for many followers of Islam.

Finally, we visited a castle called Kharana.  It was two stories and was nicely preserved.  It was hard to imagine anyone traveling to, let alone building, these castles out in the middle of the desert in 500 a.d.

The next stop on “road trip Jordan” was a town called Madaba.  On the way to Madaba, we decided to stop for a picnic.  Picnicking in Jordan is a national pastime.  Every weekend, the roadsides fill up with picnickers.  Location doesn’t seem to matter too much, as long as there is a place to pull off the road, set up a grill, and smoke the hubbly bubbly, a picnic is possible.  We purchased all the requisite ingredients for an excellent roadside feast (hummus, pitas, and orzo pasta salad with black olives, feta, and veggies).  We pulled up next to some fellow picnickers and started feasting.  In between bites, I looked down and saw a lamb hoof, furry and bloody.  It appeared as if someone had slaughtered a lamb for their picnic right at our very spot.  Interesting, I wondered how that would go over at home.

We arrived at Madaba and checked into a great hotel with a pool.  Madaba was a pretty happenin’ place during the Byzantine occupation of Jordan.  The town was pretty much abandoned after the Byzantines were thrown out by the Romans until 1880.  At that point, the Christian population in a nearby town (Kerak) was being persecuted and decided to relocate.  All over town were Byzantine mosaics that were uncovered after the Christian relocation.  The most famous was a mosaic map in St. George’s Cathedral.  The map showed many of the biblical sites in Jordan, Palestine and Israel.  Because the map was from the 6th century, this map was key in understanding where sites were in relation to each other in ancient times.
Close by Madaba were many biblical sites.  So, we downloaded the Bible onto the kindle and headed out.  First up was Mount Nebo, the mountain where, according to Exodus (thanks Uncle Gabe!), God showed Moses the promised land.  Due to my (Molly’s) lack of map skills, we didn’t quite make it to the actual Mt. Nebo, but we were darn close.  And, who knows, maybe we were at the actual spot where Moses was and everyone else was wrong.  At our “Mt. Nebo,” there were other families picnicking and it was an excellent place to watch the sun set behind the Dead Sea.


Mt. Nebo - ish


Baptism Site (With Israeli Side in the Background)

The second biblical site we visited was Bethany-Beyond-the-Jordan, the site where John the Baptist baptized Jesus in the river Jordan.  This was an interesting day.  The tour began with a bus ride that took us to a trailhead.  As we walked, we listened to our audio recorded tour tell us about the significance of the different sites.  The story revolved around John the Baptist, who was an ascetic, hermit, sadhu, choose your term, who hung out in the tree covered area near the Jordan River.  They brought us to the spot, fed by the Jordan River, where it was reputed that John baptized Jesus.  The trail then took us to the Jordan River, where we found another great opportunity to observe a border (excellent for this borderphile).  The Jordan River divides Jordan and Israel in this location.  The river is only about 25 feet wide, so we were able to wave and say hello to the tourists visiting the site on the Israeli side.  We were also able to stand knee-deep in the water on a wooden platform set in the water.  This is a very famous location for pilgrims to be baptised.  At this site, there is a delicate balance between freely allowing tourists to dip into the water and enforcing the very tense border that exists between the two nations.  As I stood in the water I wondered how long it would take for that guard with the automatic rifle to spur into action if I dove into the water for a quick breaststroke to the Promised Land.   Thanks again to Uncle Gabe for citing the various Bible passages that describe the baptism of Jesus.  We learned a lot about this story, and being at the reputed site made it a lot more interesting.

Back in Madaba, we also took in some additional Roman Ruins and even ruins of a wall that was built in the Iron Age.  Seems as if everyone made it through this town at one point or another.

Now this trip isn’t called the Fantastic Ferrer Family Fun Round the World Adventure Trip for nothing.  There’s no time like the present, so we figured we’d bust out of Madaba and hit some hot springs and do some canyoning as well.  This side trip was inspired by Dorian’s declaration that he was “all castled out.”  So, on our way to the Dead Sea we stopped in at Wadi Ibn Hammad.  Wadi is the arabic word for Canyon.  Now our little friendly four door family rental vehicle was really on a roll as we strolled along some windy bumpy rocky roads, turned around some traffic circles, pulled out the compass, looked at some maps, licked our finger and felt the wind direction and decided we were going the right way.  Eventually, we arrived at the trail head of Wadi Ibm Hammad.  Fortunately for the family, our bags were packed with a five falafel feast for lunch.  Don’t doubt that we brought some Dates, a definite delicious delicacy from the land of Saudi Arabia, that we picked up in Azraq.

The trail was a sandy sneaker soaking slog through some slot canyons.  The water was warm, and we waded where the water was weaving, winding, and waving along well-worn rocky floor.  We wandered around wild water to a waterfall which was in the way of our trail but, why worry, we borrowed some friendly folks rope and slid down the slippery slope.

After Wadi Ibn Hammad, it was onward ho to the Dead Sea.  This was proving to be a pretty epic road trip.   We stayed in a chalet that was operated by the Jordanian National Park.  Our little home was right above the coastline, complete with hammock.  We could not have asked for a better spot.  We spent two days floating in the Dead Sea, reading our novels, and having interesting cultural experiences.
The boys, being way more social than their parents, met some Jordanian kids who were  vacationing at the chalets, too.  They played with them throughout the day, bobbing in the Sea, running down the steep rocky-sandy-hill, and even a game of baseball using a stick and rocks.  In the evening, the boys built an illegal fire with the other kids, while we (Parents) were discretely sipping our wine (purchased in Madaba from the Christians).  Our date night was soon disrupted, however, when the parents invited us over to share their campfire.


It is pretty special when you are invited to a campfire with people who seem so much like you, until you find out that they’re so different.  It all began with an innocent conversation about the kids, school, our trip, what we do for work and all that.  We learned that the father is a water engineer working towards a master’s degree.  Water is a big problem in Jordan, especially with Israel stealing all of it (at least according to our new friend).  Then he mentioned “Bin Laden.”  He wanted to know if we believed that he was behind 9/11.  I (Bryan) shrugged and said, “Why, yes, I do believe he was behind it.”  He feels, however, that 9/11 was perpetrated by Israel.  The evidence?  Apparently many Jewish people were absent from work that day.  Hmm…  Uncomfortable silence ensued.  A spark from the fire landed on my polypropylene shirt, burning a clean hole.  Bummer, but at least the conversation shifted.  So the father asks me (Bryan), “What do you think about taking additional wives?”

Ahem, well, not that I (Bryan) have anything against it, but it just seems like a lot of work.  So the father says, “Work?  What do you mean, work?”  Well, uh, I guess it seems to me that one relationship is enough.  With more than one wife, things might get a bit, uh,  complicated.  So the father says, “What do you mean, complicated?”  In my (Bryan) mind, all kinds of thoughts are passing.  I am, in fact, enjoying this very funny moment.  Out at the campfire on the Dead Sea, my family around, mixing it up with some Jordanians.  And we’re talking polygamy.  And what I’ve learned is that it is legal here to have up to four wives.  Four wives!!!  Way too complicated in my mind, but I don’t judge and hey, if he wants to maintain that many relationships, then so be it.

At the same time that Bryan was talking to the dad about his views on polygamy, the mom whispered to me (Molly) that if her husband takes an additional wife she swears she will leave him.  Then she asks me if I know how to lose weight.  She is convinced that if she could just lose some weight her husband will not feel compelled to marry another woman.  I (Molly) think to myself how much the power would shift toward the man in a marriage when every argument or debate could end with a legitimate threat of “Well then, I’ll just go find another wife.”  Yikes!  Needless to say, my advice of eating healthy and getting lots of exercise rang pretty hollow, what I really wanted to tell her was to hell with a man who would even dare suggest finding another wife.


Campfire Family Waiving Goodbye

The next day we take in a panoramic view of the Dead Sea, have lunch, and explore an excellent museum which describes the Rift Valley.  We learned that the Rift Valley is a location on the globe stretching from Jordan south to Mozambique where two plates are splitting apart, leaving a valley that in some places is below sea level.  Our next stop on the Road Trip is the Dana Nature Preserve where we spend Easter Weekend.  It is a lovely national park with rock formations as the main attraction.
We sleep in a tented camp, and for dinner we hike to a spot that overlooks the Great Rift Valley, drink wine, and cook our dinner.  It is an amazing site after having learned about the DSC_0913
Rift Valley because from our vista we can actually see the valley: the plateau that drops like a steep cliffside into a flat valley that stretches west as far as we can see.  We enjoy meeting the management of the nature reserve.  We learned that the site manager has spent a great deal of time in California learning how the United States manages its national parks.  In fact, Jordan’s Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature, is funded in part by the United States.
On Easter Morning, we plant candy that we purchased back in Madaba around the rock formations and give the kids an authentic Jordanian Easter Egg Hunt.

That afternoon we head off towards Petra stopping along the way at an impressive crusader castle called Shobak.  This site is amazing for many reasons.  First and foremost, it is currently being excavated so the place is a mess, in a fun way.  The ruins are half buried, and to get to different locations we have to stoop, crawl, duck and adjust our vision to dark locations.  Most impressive was the stairway down 350 steps which reputedly leads to a spring.  In crusader times, this stairwell was used to gather water when under attack.  As we walked down the staircase we had to illuminate our headlamps because there is no lighting, and of course no guide.  The stairs were worn down and difficult to walk on.  There was no handrail.  As we looked on the sides, we found the stone balls used by  catapults strewn about.  On the walls there are holes carved for torches.  Eventually the stairs become steeper and steeper, ultimately disappearing only to be left with a slick downslope of dirt.  We decide to turn around before we start sliding down into the abyss.

Stay tuned for Jordan Road Trip pt 2, coming soon…


Hangin' with the Sadhus

After having a very interesting birthday morning, I decided to treat myself with an ayurvedic massage. Granted, I had no idea what an ayurvedic massage was, but it sure sounded nice. Bryan and I got the kids settled and presented ourselves to the hotel massage office.

I love massages. This year, I have tried to take advantage of opportunities to have ‘unique’ massages (water massage, fish massage, blind person massage, Thai massage). So, I was pretty eager to see what India had to offer in this department.

I’ll spare everyone the details and just describe the experience in a nutshell. First, I was completely coated in grease. That’s right, grease. Not the nice smelling massage oil that you might get at a spa back home, but grease. I can’t be sure, but it felt and smelled like the same type of grease one might use to repair a car. Hmmmm, okay. Next, the masseur took a giant pack of steaming herbs and started hitting me with them. The pack of herbs did not look freshly prepared. Somehow, the thought that others had been beaten up with this same pack of herbs before me was very disturbing. I just lay there, not saying anything and praying to Shiva that the end would come soon. At this point in the trip, we were all suffering from India Belly and enduring this smell was nothing short of heroic. After being smacked around with the herbs for about 45 minutes, the smell really started getting to me. It was if I was being prepared as a giant human masala dish. I got to the point when I nearly cried “uncle,” but, alas, the masseur stopped and informed me that it was over.

I got up, put my dress over my greasy self and quickly left the room. Outside, I ran into Bryan. Looking about as bewildered as I felt, Bryan declared that one ayurvedic massage in a lifetime was enough. Somehow, I think that the whole ayurvedic massage experience would be very different back home.

My massage experience was a fitting end to our time in India. Like most things here, it was interesting, very different from anything we’d ever experience, and smelled very strangely. Bryan and I both agreed that India was a lot of fun, but that it was just about time to break up with her.


Varanasi, We're Ready for You

From Varanasi, we needed to take one last train ride to Delhi where we would fly to Jordan. At this point, we all had severe digestional issues and Julian was running a high fever.  Thinking that we had one more day in Varanasi, we thought we would just spend the next day ‘healing.’  During dinner, while we were enjoying our beer, Bryan started having some doubts about when our train actually left.  He went to the room and got the tickets.  Upon checking the ticket, we realized that we did not have another day, rather, our train left at midnight.  Julian’s fever had continued to creep up and he was feeling really bad.  We weren’t completely comfortable boarding a 10-hour train while we were so debilitated, but we were worried about creating a messy ripple effect if we changed our reservation.  At least we had learned our lesson from our last night train in India and reserved beds in the 1st class a/c sleeper.   I figured that if I could just get everyone to the air-conditioned train car and into their beds it would all work out.  So, I rallied the troupes and we headed for the station.

We got to the station with plenty of time and checked the board to determine which platform our train would be arriving at.  The board directed us to Platform 7 and we dragged our kids and bags up and over.  Once at platform 7, we waited and waited and waited.  The time for departure was fast approaching and our train still had not arrived at the tracks.  While India has some issues, the trains are amazingly efficient and usually follow a regular schedule.  We finally asked someone who looked official why the train hadn’t arrived and were informed that the train had arrived, on platform 3.  Yikers!  We ran over to platform 3 and started frantically looking for the car that contained our air-conditioned beds.  The train started pulling away from the station and we were forced to jump aboard the train in one of the “sleeper class” coaches.

We proceeded to walk through the entire train, hiking through about two dozen platforms in order to get to our train car.  It is hard to imagine hiking through sleeper class train cars if you have never been on an Indian train.  These trains are about five to six times at capacity, so walking down the aisle requires you to straddle sleeping bodies, looking for small spots in which to place your feet.  We finally reached our car and were confronted with a solid metal locked door.  Apparently, the border between sleeper class and 1st class gets sealed when the train takes off in order to keep the riff-raff in sleeper class.  We were told that we would have to wait until the train stopped at the next station and get out on the platform and run to our car.

At this point it was 1 a.m.  I figured we could wait it out for a half hour or so and it would be okay.  We settled down on the floor of the sleeper class car for our wait.  At one point, the bugs started crawling out from under the benches and invading the space we had created for ourselves.  We continuously brushed them off, trying to be brave.   We ended up waiting on that floor for over three hours.  After 4a.m., the train stopped and we were able to get into our 1st class a/c beds.


Stuck in Sleeper Class

This photo may be fuzzy, but sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words.

We arrived in Delhi about mid-day.  In an amazing turn of events, Julian’s fever was gone and we were all feeling pretty good.  We decided that an “American” meal was in order and headed over to the Radisson, not even caring how much lunch would cost.  I had a hamburger (something of a rarity in the land where cows are worshipped) and I ate it with gusto.  Rested and Lunched, we headed over to the airport and boarded a plane that would take us to the next chapter of our “Year of Non-Stop Fun.”


You Ate a Hamburger? Really?


Ganga Aarti – Evening Worship of the Holy River

After spending nearly seven weeks in Nepal, we headed back to India. Our first real destination was Varanasi. Varanasi is a holy city for Hindus, Buddhists and Jains and, at any given time, hundreds of pilgrims line the bank of the Ganges.

Below, is a journal entry I wrote during the time we spent in Varanasi.


Today was my birthday. Sometime after turning 21, birthdays for me became a lot less about celebrating milestones and a lot more about reflecting on passing time and my own mortality. So how fitting was it that here, in India, I spent the morning of my birthday watching corpses burn next to the Ganges river. I hesitated as to whether I wanted to even visit what the guidebooks tout as ‘the biggest cremation ghat in India.’ Sometimes, the line between voyeurism and polite reflection is hard to draw. In the end, however, I found myself sitting on the steps of the ghat at a respectful distance away from the funeral pyres, quietly observing and reflecting on my own birthday (and eventual deathday).


Ghat Worker Carrying Wood up to be Weighed

As far as I could gather, the funeral ceremony usually begins at the home of a family member of the deceased. The body is placed on a bamboo platform that looks much like a horizontal ladder, wrapped in a shroud, and covered with marigolds. The grown men of the family then carry the body through the streets of old Varanasi to the bank of the Ganges where the body is completely immersed in the river (stilled shrouded and covered in marigolds). The male members of the family then wait while the funeral pyre is prepared, which includes a ceremony and blessing (puja). The body is then placed on the fire and the family leaves.
What occurs after the family is gone, appears to be all business. The morticians (for lack of a better term) all belong to the Dalit, or untouchable, caste. One member of this group unceremoniously pokes and prods the fire, body and all. At some point, the body starts falling apart and bits and pieces are visible through the burning embers. [While I was watching one fire a dismembered foot fell out rolled a slight distance away; the fire handler picked it up with his giant tongs and gave it a toss back into the fire without flinching]. Once the body is completely burned, the ashes are picked up into a bucket and thrown into the river. Another group of people are in the river, sifting through the ashes in hopes of finding jewelry.


Ghat Worker Standing by Scales

India is an extremely populated country. Perhaps because of a lack of space, things that are separated at home (in this case, death and economics) are blurred here. As three separate funeral pyres raged, men were hauling stacks of wood and weighing them on scales. Different types of wood will cost the family different amounts and one must choose carefully on how much wood is needed to completely burn the body.

The whole process, out there in the open for the world to see, is so real, so very personal. Of course, when confronted by something so different from what we are used to, my thoughts always return to my own customs and beliefs. At home, we inject a corpse with strange fluids, dress up the body in a nice suit, and cake the face of the deceased with makeup. How many times have I been at a funeral and heard whispers of “Oh, he looks so peaceful,” as if the plasticene doll that we are looking at in any way looks like our loved one at their death. If you were a complete outsider, which funeral custom would seem more strange or disturbing–ours or India’s?
At the same time, I would not want to think of my own body being churned in a fire at the side of the Ganges. I wonder, though, Is that just because I don’t want to think of myself as dead?
As I reflect on another year gone by, I am grateful that this birthday I was here, sitting on the steps of the Manikarnika Ghat. Death is sure to come us all and maybe it’s high time that I acknowledge that reality and live each day like I mean it.


Boys Being Blessed by Sadhu