Day 14 & 15 - Crossing the border from Israel into Jordan and onto Petra
To cross the border into Jordan, we drive through the desert to the
Yitzhak Rabin Border Crossing, near Eilat. The sun rises in the sky and its rays slice through the clouds for a particularly dramatic effect. It's like the halos around the heads of saints in medieval paintings. It's a fitting goodbye to Jerusalem.
At the border, we're charged a couple hundreds shekels for the privilege of leaving Israel. There's no one crossing here at lunchtime on a Tuesday. In the no-mans land between the two gates, Rob tries to take a photo of the Israel side and out of nowhere, a man with a gun wearing, I kid you not, a mustard turtleneck pops out and yells across the swathe of concrete, "NO PICTURES!" Now that is a fitting goodbye to Israel.
We're pounced on by a smarmy guy offering taxi rides to Petra before we've barely cleared the gate into the Jordan. He's offering 70 dinars for the one and a half hour taxi ride. That's NZD$126. A sign inside the terminal recommends tourists pay 57 dinars for a one-way taxi ride to Petra. Rob tells him so. He minces around with an excuse until someone overrides him, points to a guy with a bandage on his left wrist and says, "HE will take you to Petra for 60 dinars." The internet tells me that you can get this ride for as low as 35 dinars. The internet can go stuff itself. We're tired. We can't see any other taxi drivers. We just want to get to our hotel. So 60 dinars it is.
The guy drives like clappers, weaving up from the desert and into the mountains. I'm glad I can't see the speedometer. He tries to upsell his services - call me if you want to go to Little Petra, call me if you want to go to Amman, etc etc - but no way. The guy is shady. He makes us stop at a store and disappears inside for about ten minutes. There are stray dogs outside, dog poo everywhere, and the stock in the store is gathering dust. We buy water and Pringles. Rob hurries him up and we Formula-One our way up to our hotel in upper Wadi Musa. It is a relief to be rid of the guy.
A couple of metres down from the hotel is a mosque. We're right near the loudspeakers. There's a call to prayer three times in the evening, and twice between 5 am - 6 am. The guy on the loudspeaker is warbling and tuneless. He's a hack compared to the ones you hear in Jerusalem.
In downtown Wadi Musa, I excite the many men standing aimlessly around their storefronts by wandering around in a knee-length skirt. My temper is very short for this kind of thing now but here, you have to keep your cool. I've never been good at that sort of thing. There are goats parked on the side of the road. No friendly shawarma shops in sight. Jordan isn't making the best first impression on us. We hide in the hotel for the rest of the night. The
Rough Guides description of Wadi Musa is apt.
The next day, we're up early to get to Petra. I've always wanted to see it. It was discovered in the 1800s by a guy from Switzerland who unwittingly discovered it when it was still inhabited by Bedouins and untouched by the rest of the world. He played the long game, going back home, learning Arabic, reading the Qu'ran and disguising himself a local to get in, sketch the sights and uncover it to the rest of the world.
The guy is a boss.
We spring for a guide. He's worth it. Knowledgeable, relaxed, friendly. Many, many people hawk the same things over and over - donkey rides, horse rides, carriage rides, camel rides, stalls filled with the same stock of silver bracelets, fridge magnets, and scarves. We cannot walk a step without someone asking if we want a donkey/horse/camel ride or if we want to buy something, look at the shop, or "1 dinar for this or that." It is very very exhausting. At the beginning, I was more patient. By 5 pm that night, I just ignored them.
