Middle East Part III : Like Jordan

Travels continued southwards from Syria, on dusty roads in a dusty car driven by a dusty driver who nonchalantly stopped to hide at least twenty boxes of duty free cigarettes in every panel of his car prior to crossing the border into Jordan. It's in this third entry that the focus is on one particularly amazing aspect of the Middle East: the people. 

The folk around these parts, particularly in Syria, are remarkably nice. Nice being an understatement; adjectives do them no justice. 

Our tale starts in Madaba, a place where you'll be pushed to the limits of MFS (Mosaic Fatigue Syndrome) within an hour. It's here that I was innocuously about to walk past a trinket shop when a small, haphazardly secured sign hanging at the door caught our gaze. It cryptically and boldly stated "You wouldn't know what you are missing by avoiding this shop." With a grandiose claim such as that, a visit was pretty much mandatory. 

Inside was a man named Joseph (Yosef). Joseph came to epitomise everything lovable about the people of the Middle East. Upon entering his shop, rather than being fed a concocted and robotic sales pitch so common around the world, tea was immediately offered with a comfortable seat. He described his tea as the "best tea in Madaba". It looked much like the tea everyone else brewed; his title was undoubtedly self-proclaimed by himself and probably many others.

Joseph spoke about his great grandfather who had helped build Madaba as a new place for Christians to live after fleeing persecution. He spoke  about his family, which to him and every other Middle Easterner, is everything in life. He asked us about Australia and was grateful to have company from the other side of the world. It was a brilliantly interesting afternoon powered by sugar and cultural sharing. In the end, so much time was wiled away in his shop that the original destination for the day was long forgotten. In fact his company was so good that the next day was also spent visiting him again for more tea and chats about everything and nothing. To me Joseph was exactly what the Middle East was all about; unrequited hospitality. To top it off, I could not actually pay for anything in his shop, on both occasions leaving with merchandise as a gift despite total reluctance. It has never been this hard to pay for something.

Just like the people, Jordan is a beautiful country spoilt for natural wonder. Looking upon the promised land of Bethlehem and Jericho from the top of Mt Nebo in a Moses-esque moment is an unforgettable experience. Driving through the middle of truly epic Wadi Mujib canyon. Clambering over the awe-inspiring Karak Fortress. And then, coming to some of the most astounding, jaw-dropping, camera-battery-draining things one can see: The Dead Sea, Petra and the Wadi Rum desert.

I'll start with the Dead Sea. The severely overweight and underworked lifeguards are testimony to the ridiculous buoyancy of this vanishing body of water. It is freakish beyond compare to walk out into the water and then suddenly start to lift off the ground leaving you to do a kind of vertical doggy paddle with your entire upper chest still sticking out of the water. A word to the wise though, the salt content is higher than a happy meal, so you'll discover wounds you didn't even know you had. It also pays to not ignore the sign that says don't swim on your stomach or dip your head under the water as the experience can be truly blinding. 

Next up, Petra. Nothing can prepare you for this archaeological wet dream. The sensation of walking through a mile long chasm and then being tantalised by glimpses of the ancient structure lying at the end is epic. Sadly you cannot go inside the Petra treasury anymore, but I've seen Indiana Jones so I'm guessing this is due to the fact that "only the penitent man may pass". I can't remember the last time I saw a penitent tourist.

Sadly, for all it's wonderment, Petra is showing the signs of rampant tourism now that is officially a new 7th wonder of the world. The entry fee is quite simply ludicrous ($90 USD) and it's not really clear where or how that money is being put to use. I expect this fee to have risen substantially by the time you read this, and again by the second time you may read this.

It's also nothing short of a travesty that the Crown Plaza has been allowed to set up a restaurant right in the middle of the "protected" area, filling the valleys with the romantic sounds of generators. Worse still they have somehow manipulated the main walking path so that it literally leads everyone straight into the restaurant. They might as well have just chucked in some trapdoors that literally slide you straight into the restaurant seats.

Another peeve, Petra has a Monastery that is as equally amazing as the Treasury. You reach the Monastery via a very long and precarious rocky staircase. It's quite a spectacle the entire way and well worth the hike, however for the elderly and less able it’s potentially insurmountable. But then, one day. an enterprising Bedouin thought to himself "I know, I'll take the less able up on the back of my donkey for a small fee!". 

The people did say yay for now all could share the glory of the Monastery. But, things have gone a bit pear shaped since then. Now there are seemingly two donkeys for every tourist and are certainly no longer restricted to the less capable. The hike up to the top is now a constant battle against a veritable swarm of Donkeys who seem to be trained to defecate every ten steps where the path is at its most narrowest. 

Now add to this scene a bunch of "rock traders" that have set up tents every ten metres. I don’t mean they have set up a trading stall ON the rocks, I mean they are literally trying to offload rocks onto you for money. It’s a hard job and thirsty work, which means as a professional rocker you need a good cup of tea and this means you need a good fire! But hey wait, there's no trees for fuel! Not a problem, just burn garbage!

What you are left with now is having to negotiate a path of god knows how many steps, in the blazing sun, being strafed by donkeys delivering a deluge of donkey effluent whilst only being able to breathe a charming mixture of donkey butt stench marinated in burning plastic.

Petra is a beautiful place, I can only hope they do more to manage it or in 20 years time it will be a wreck.

Moving on, the final experience in Jordan was the greatest; the Wadi Rum desert. I find myself searching for bigger and better superlatives to describe this place; the desert landscape is just so eerie and evocative and all that was known beforehand was that you might not be able to remember your own name and that you should walk without rhythm. 

One cannot come to these parts without being in a group led by a Bedouin guide. They know the desert like the back of their hands. Our group's guide taught us a lot about how they survived here, we taught him how to play rugby. We spent New Years Eve at his Bedouin camp under the stars clapping and dancing to traditional Bedouin music, eating hearty Mensaf, sipping sugar while discussing Lawrence of Arabia followed by a flaming torch led procession to a nearby valley to watch New Years Eve fireworks that echoed through the desert mountains.

Hiking in the desert mountains is the perfect antidote to the craziness of Middle Eastern cities. This is the way to escape it all, although civilisation is never TOO far away, especially when climbing mountains bordering Saudi Arabia; the hills came alive with the sound of mobile phones. Apparently Saudi Arabia has very good mobile coverage. 

Camels rides are par for the course. Strange creatures they are, offering odd stares and random groans and grunts at nothing. The ride quality on a camel is, if anything, a little too animated. Especially if you have a very hungry camel who wants to eat every shrub in the desert and nothing but bones for an arse like I do to absorb the frantic ride. On the bright side though, the Bedouins are all too keen to offer at least 10 camels for any females in the group, like some sort of wife swap. At about $1300 USD a camel that's not a bad trade!

Jordan was a gem of the desert though, for all it's visual marvel, it really was all about the people. The people that house you when you are weary, offer potatoes in times of gastrointestinal discomfort, talk to you about their misunderstood ways over cups of sugar, drive you to weird and desolate sights or just chill with you in cosy transportation momemnts. I think it's sad and a touch ironic that so many tour groups walked straight past Joseph's shop sign in Madaba. I can authoritatively say they didn't know what they missed out on by avoiding this shop.

Middle East Part II : Syriasly Cool

The next Middle Eastern leg was to one of the most wonderful (and certainly one of the least touristic) places we have been - Syria.

The journey there alone was quite something. I could only describe the common forms of transport know as Servis' as “Scoobie Doo Mystery Wagons” capable of speeds well beyond their appearance on roads resembling open strip mines. Bags haphazardly strapped on the top aid aerodynamics considerably and the bag straps endlessly banging on the window and roof settle the nerves to no end. 

Sometimes Arabic pop music is played to distortion when it suited the driver, other times you just listen silently to fellow passengers of whom none spoke English. Add to this a seemingly endless barrage of border checks filled with moustached men floating on paperwork, several unexpected detours for cigarettes / batteries / potatoes and then, finally, being dumped on the outskirts of a destination straight into a bunch of crazed taxi drivers and you have an unforgettable cultural voyage. Insane as it all seems at first, it is an experience that fast becomes the norm here in any length of stay.

The final destination was Damascus; specifically the “Happy Nights Hotel” situated above a men’s club, beside the main motorway and right next door to an under construction Mosque that looks like it will rival to the size of the Pentagon. Consequently, despite the hotel’s name, I guarantee nights were happier spent away from the hotel.

At the heart of Damascus lies a labyrinth of streets layered upon other streets over countless thousands of years. Markets of melodramatic sellers flog everything from exquisite metal wares, to mountains of saffron (that we could only dream of the street value of back home), to some of the most elaborate party pipes you have ever laid bloodshot eyes on. Intertwined in the old shadowy alleys are remnants of even older Roman ruins which just further heightened the epic sense of history as we waded through hordes of children practising their “Hello, how are you?!” greetings.

Christmas Day was spent in Damascus. Though the original plan was to make it to Bethlehem for this occasion, the fact it sits in the West Bank and Israel being on Syria’s “not cool list”, it didn't seem like it was worth the hassle or risk of being turned around or spending Christmas in a cosy border interrogation room. In any case the Christian Quarter in Damascus was lit up beautifully with Christmas lights so it was certainly very cool to celebrate the day in the oldest city on Earth instead.

Of course being the oldest city in the world means, Damascus has had plenty of time to get recipes right. The food here was unforgettable example of Middle East cuisine; something I ended up having a dangerous love affair with. Intestinal battles followed laced with epic “out of body experience” food poisoning. At one point I thought I was going to die right there in a bathroom still thinking about how awesome the food was and unfair that it should end in such digestive contortions.

Even the bread is more than just a mere staple here. No one in the Middle East would be caught dead eating anything other than the freshest most delicious bread, lovingly served from tiny little “hole in the wall” bakeries scattered throughout every town and city. When the morning bread session is over, the bakeries kick it up a gear and conjure delectable pastries in the afternoon that people queue as fervently for as if they were free concert tickets. After you taste them you can understand why!

Shwarma is another staple. It’s essentially the “anything goes platter”; an awesome mix of all sorts of hot foods that you can just tuck into anytime, anyplace. It’s comfort food at it’s very best and each region has their own variation (which is naturally always the best), adding a few local delicacies in the mix. One of the favourites was Kibbeh – little fried balls of various beans. Someone informed later that it is a holy food that represents Jesus getting stabbed in the ribs by Roman spears. Lovely!

Want something to drink? How about some tea? How many sugars would you like, three or four? Regardless of what you answer you will seemingly get about six, and you’ll be cordially offered relentless cups of it – splitting your pancreas clean in half. Arabic countries have a long history in Alchemy and Chemistry and these guys have truly mastered the art of reaching sugar saturation point in a cup of water.

Last but not least, and possibly the pièce de résistance of Middle Eastern cuisine, Sayadiyeh. This is a seafood dish par excellence. It makes my mouth water now just thinking about it. It makes me sad that I probably won’t find it again for some time.

In fact it’s a genuine travesty that there is just so much Middle Eastern dishes that haven’t infiltrated our homes in the west. I guarantee you they are worth the effort to track down if you have the opportunity. Do note however that I’ve also probably got the spelling of all of these foods wrong too = converting Arabic vowels to English is more of an approximate art form than a science.

Besides food, Syria of course offered wondrous places to see. The Umayadd Mosque was beautiful (and has a massive courtyard constantly and meticulously polished by small children rolling/sliding around in it for fun every morning), desert roads traversing old towns of traditional Syrian mud brick houses (now with satellite TV dishes) that looked like something out of Star Wars, and Crac des Chevaliers was possibly one of the coolest “Life of Brian-esque” castles you could ever get lost in.

Perhaps the most noteworthy site was not a building, monument or mountain, but experiencing a real story teller spin a tale over a cup of tea (sugar). Once upon a time these chaps were the main source of public entertainment in coffee shops but unfortunately are now a dying breed for one reason or another. A husky voice and a body bent permanently in a story book holding pose evidenced his lifelong passion to the art and his walking cane dramatically cracking down on the table of people not paying attention was priceless. Sure not a single word could be understand, but the way he wielded the words and entranced a crowd was something very special.

Syria, one day there shall be a return to brave your sugary treats again Insha’Allah!

Middle East Part I : Lebenezer Goode

At Christmas time an odd notion formed. Rather than sit in the comfort of a warm house and engorge on  silly amounts of food, a backpacking adventure around the Middle East somehow became the logical alternative. For a fleeting second there were thoughts you might have right now such as “why?” and “surely life is going to suck once you are dead right?”. Such musings were brushed aside, a mocking laugh was conjured at those sitting in the comfort of pool side hotels somewhere and instead a challenge was issued to experience an ancient area of the world few westerners ever make it to.

Yes, the west has a pretty dim view of the Middle East as a whole. In fact if you were to believe the media you basically expect to land at the airport, walk outside, be kidnapped and then appear in a grainy hostage video shortly thereafter. Such sensationalisms could not be any further from the truth. This Middle Eastern experience was so much more than one could ever imagine, may you enjoy reading about it, may it perhaps change a few minds ever so slightly along the way.

The first and most difficult hurdle was decided to go, that was conquered. The next was to actually escape the UK. Heathrow Airport was completely shut down due to snow and it took four days to escape England’s icy clutches. It was a pretty harrowing sight really, thousands of people camped inside the terminals on newspapers, more outside in makeshift tents at sub-zero temperatures. The flight was to Beirut, Lebanon and upon touchdown there were Palestinian refugee camps in better condition than those at Heathrow. It was also a balmy 22 degrees too; a thing of utmost beauty.

Lebanon is a very picturesque country, surrounded by epic mountains that make for impressive views but also sadly trap all of that loving exhaust and dust in for you to marinate in. Seeing the actual horizon is impossible, seeing the sun fade into a reddish brownish ball at sunset is beautiful but disturbing at the same time. Possibly no place on Earth bar Mexico City will benefit from the electric car more.

Beirut is surprisingly cosmopolitan in nature; it is sometimes called the ‘Paris of the East’ and if you dig deep enough into the layers of dust permeating everything you can start to see why. Walking along the Mediterranean water front, enjoying a drink with the waves crashing right beside you in the afternoon sunlight watching people of all sorts walking and jogging by – in Beirut - is a scene you just can't picture until you are here. Sure the Holiday Inn has a massive chunk taken out of it from a missile and bullet riddled walls here and there are not entirely comforting, but generally everything feels much more sedate than you steel yourself for. The folk here are most certainly not anesthetised to their recent troubles, but they seem to want to move on and be done with conflict – which I got to tell you is tough with military checkpoints at almost every intersection.

On a practical note though, these checkpoints don’t seem to achieve much other than slow traffic (they merely say hello and wave you through with a twitch of an M-16). Actually, I take that back, slowing traffic is a brilliant, wonderful thing. Being the first part of our journey, this was the first exposure to driving in the Middle East, which is a combination of a rickety roller coaster ride and Grand Theft Auto the video game. A car driver here embarks on their journey protected by no road rules; only a love affair with the horn, whatever safety systems are afforded by a 1970’s Mercedes Benz, a mound of good luck charms and a level of spatial awareness hitherto unseen in any mortal.

Basically there is one lane on the road, cars going both directions then “fill” that lane as it seems appropriate. If you need more overtaking space, you just make yourself another lane – and since you created it, the people coming 100kmh in the other direction are supposed to admire your cunning tenacity and give way. This, naturally, doesn’t always happen and side to side neck whiplash occurs as your car darts back into safety of more established lanes.

But it gets better. Typically the major roads have no breaks in the concrete median strip/wall for miles. What this means is drivers who pull onto a road that want to only go a few minutes down the road in the opposite direction to the flow of traffic on their side of the median strip simply drive against the flow of traffic down the hard shoulder. If they want to overtake each other then they just “make more lanes”. Knuckles … going … white …

Oh wait, there’s more. If you have the misfortune of still being stuck out in a car after nightfall, a new driving technique comes into play. When approaching an intersection you just turn off your lights to see if any other headlights are coming, if not you just cruise on through. It’s a foolhardy practice at best when you consider pedestrians, but when you realise that the entire nation is doing it, the possibilities dawn on you. Knuckles … fluorescent … white …

Lebanon boasts remarkable sights. Baalbekis arguably the most impressive Roman ruins in the wild you can find; greater in scope and scale than Ephesus in Turkey, more intrepid and personal than the Colosseum in Rome. Sitting amongst the stones in solitude, imagining what the place would have been like thousands of years ago is uplifting.

Also impressive was the ruins of Anjar; arguably the world’s oldest shopping mall. Here amongst the sprawling columns of a long forgotten Arabic trading centre, thousands of pots and chests have been recovered showing it as a crossroads for rare and exotic goods from Africa, Asia and Europe. Quite simply superb to ruin hop through.

Somewhat surprisingly, nestled away in the beautiful Bekaa valley between the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountain ranges, lay a few hidden vineyards that make incredible wines. A legacy from French occupation, the Lebanese people have continued this tradition with gusto. One such winery, Ksara, possessed a maze of natural caves underneath where years and years of future wines now lay in rest maturing. Much of it was taste tested, it helped mentally prepare for more excitement on the roads.

Sadly, time in Lebanon was limited due to the Heathrow debacle. This time was long enough to be able to identify a car purely by it’s exhaust perfume but certainly not long enough to see all this small land has to offer. Lebanon is modern and the people know how to enjoy life but at the same time has some issues with their southern neighbour that become apparent with a mere scratching of the surface in a conversation. It’s infinitely less dangerous then you would believe and a place to remember. I’d hoped to be ‘Phoenician’ on a witty double entendre here with a Lebanese context but nothing came to mind really. 

Danish? Yes please!

Sticking out of the top of Germany and a stone’s throw across the water from Sweden lies Denmark. It’s a cute little country that boasts the world’s oldest flag and seems to be a series of islands mainly made of pig farms.

The original goal for visiting Denmark was predominantly based around my kindred urge to visit THE Legoland. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out (basically the bank account would have transformed to a  burning crater) but a visit to the great Danes happened anyhoo. I mean, who could turn it down with tourist promotional brochures that said it would “Denmark will almost dazzle you”. 

Before I begin recalling the Danish adventure in earnest, let me remark that getting to Denmark from Germany is perhaps the coolest train ride on the planet. Basically, the train tracks go to the edge of the Baltic Sea, at which point they put the entire ICE train on a boat (with you still on the train!) and take the train across the sea where it can recommence it’s journey on the other side. It was really quite cool.

If you have not heard it, the Danish language sounds a little like a happy children’s song. People chirp it rather than say it and the inflection flies up and down the octaves every second word. It was not my first encounter with it, having met a very friendly Dane in Germany a year ago who laughed hysterically as I writhed about contorting my face in attempts to pronounce the simple phrase “Rødgrød med Fløde” (red pudding with cream). The sound required is perhaps best likened to Goofy clearing his throat.

I was assured that this was more than just an entertaining Litmus Test for tourists, it was actually the case that this phrase was used to weed out foreign spies in WW2 as no non-Dane seems to be capable of conjuring these unearthly sounds.

The adventure in Denmark was relatively short, only really visiting the capital Copenhagen; quite a nice city that has a love affair with copper roofs here and canals. It’s also fairly quiet in tourism terms too, I guess it has big prices and doesn't really have any Colosseums or Arc de Triumphs ... but it most certainly has one attraction worth the pilgrimage – Tivoli Gardens.

More than making up for the sad Legoland omission, Tivoli Gardens is a collection of some of the most antiquated and death defying fun park rides in the world, centrally located smack back in the middle of Copenhagen. Who could forget the rollercoaster still driven by a guy on board with a big lever, or the excruciating Hans Christian Andersen “experience”, or the gigantic spinning seat on a flimsy chain ride possibly built in the early steam age that shatters perceptions of real fear, and I especially cannot forget the male fertility destroying ride in the far back corner now known only as “the ride that shall not be named”. Stay the hell away from that.

Danish food isn't really that amazing unfortunately, although there was a local food fair that sold some traditional cold Herring dishes which were quite ... special. I certainly also enjoyed watching the free kitchen demonstration – it was the closest thing we have experienced to the muppet Swedish chef in real life. Additionally and amusingly the Danes have some great names for everyday foods – for example their name for mashed potatoes translates as “burning love”. Awesome.

Denmark was a good bit of fun but you know, even though Legoland didn't materialise due to financial concerns, the bank account was still a smouldering crater after going to Denmark. A cheap place it ain’t; when I saw there was actually some money left after the visit I was almost dazzled.

The thing I like about Bavaria …

Is that it’s so … Bavarian. This is the place where typecast waitresses carry far too many jugs of beer whilst wearing a wholesome smiles (in fact, it’s probably also one of the few places on earth where women are depicted just as much as men in beer ads, chugging down said massive glasses with all the social grace afforded by drinking a litre of beer). It's the place where little hats with feathers sticking out of them and lederhosen sporadically appear amongst the populace in all their stereotyped glory. The place where dinner and a show involves being fed inhuman amounts of meat while watching a guy jiggling some bells on a table. It’s here that everything everybody *wants* to represent Germany actually steps up and represents and it’s cool to see. Even if only a small part of Germany.

The visit here was roughly a week or two before the official start of Oktoberfest which is really a blessing in disguise as it meant prices were ‘not-yet-jacked-up’ so one doesn’t have to sacrifice their left nut/breast or firstborn to secure accommodation at late notice. Oktoberfest (in case you live in a cave) is that wondrous time where Bavarians unite from all around to appreciate their beer, food, culture and each other’s company over the course of three weeks in massive tents. Foreigners now also come from all over the world and appreciate the beer part more than anything else and proceed to fill the streets of Munich with their corpses. Truly magical. 

Near Munich, is one of the coolest castles ever built and the namesake of a favourite German restaurant back in Australia - King Ludwig’s Neuschwanstein Schloss. Supposedly the place that inspired Walt Disney’s castle, the semi-random layout of this castle’s parapets, walls and towers give it a feel of being certainly lifted straight out of a fairy tale. Perched on a rocky outcrop, surrounded by picturesque pine forests and waterfalls, set against a backdrop of snow capped mountains, Neuschwanstein is testament to one King’s love affair with folk stories, swans and Wagner … combined with the crazy intent (that can only come with being a king) to possess a stupidly difficult and expensive to build holiday home in the forest. The project sent him bonkers and bankrupt but the net result is an awesome castle that throngs of tourists will appreciate for a long time.

Higher up in the mountains nearby is the Eagle’s Nest, a scenic lookout perched in the clouds on the edge of a mountain. This place was actually built for Hitler as a birthday present for his 50th birthday (note to friends: start saving up for my 50th!), though it’s a shame no one really bothered to check if Mr Hitler was afraid of heights or not beforehand. Consequently he didn't really visit much which, in hindsight, is a blessing otherwise it probably would have been leveled. The views across the Bavarian Alps from the top are absolutely spectacular, made all the more enjoyable by a fresh brew at the restaurant! The all-brass elevator carved deep in the middle of the mountain for the final ascent is quite the feat of engineering too.

A little more solemn an experience; nearby lies Dokumentation, a memorial, housed above the Hitler’s emergency underground government bunker complex that now details the horrific loss of life suffered during World War 2. The bunker itself is open to the public and I must admit it is probably one of the creepiest places in the world. Inside is quiet, dark, cold, grim, cavernous and scarred with calcified drippings of nature’s reclamation. Several elevator shafts drop even further into the mountain into bleak abysses, always with that dripping …

Beside mountains and caves, literally and figuratively, Bavaria also has superbly azure lakes, gorgeous to behold but bestowing a thousand frozen deaths with but a kiss of our mortal flesh. Hiring a boat is the much better option. Simply consume two beers and a dozen sausages to strengthen the body prior, row to a quiet spot avoiding rocks and other boats, pull up the oars and soak up the sun - Wunderbar! When you realise you only have 30 minutes until the boat shed closes, row back like Popeye on speed!

In this little Bavarian sojourn much sausage was experienced (in fact from the oldest sausage kitchen in the world at Regensburg), beers of epic strength and volume were consumed, sun and rain was absorbed in equal proportion, I deployed my average Deutsch skills to practical effect and a stein was finally purchased for the pool room. One and all great achievements!

But on top of all of this, was the experience of something else all together amazing and shocking. An anomaly I had previously believed impossible in Germany; a failed/cancelled train followed by a very late train. This was something common in far away lands, but not here, NEVER here. If tourists are annoyed, the locals are furious. There is absolutely no more a perturbing thing to a commuter here then public transport failure; it means someone somewhere has let their guard down and allowed disorder to creep into the system and affect every day people. Perhaps a little comically, one gets the strong feeling that failure is so rare here that when it does occur, it is as if society is unraveling right before everyone’s eyes. At the very least it certainly came across as a stellar occurrence compared to the UK where a train runs on time only if the planets are all in alignment …

With these dark days of German transit chaos behind, the Schlafwagen was boarded, destined for the northern marches …