The road south to Madaba gave me my first glimpse of Jordan’s upper country. Outside Amman, you see modern, large houses for the commuting upper classes. There are many fields, and surprising amounts of green. Madaba is quite a large town, but very quiet. The map mosaic [6th century, oldest Holy land map known – https://www.thearchaeologist.org/blog/the-madaba-mosaic-map-the-oldest-known-geographic-floor-mosaic-in-art-history] was really impressive, although I couldn’t make out many places corresponding to modern towns. I’m amazed it has survived as long as it has, the way it sprawls across the floor between pews and around columns. The museum had a random collection – mosaics again, an old Bedouin (urban) house (alcoves open on to a large living room) , Bedouin jewellery (chunky silver, as recommended by the Prophet, with added Ottoman coins – Armenian workmanship).
Stranded in Dibhan by the bus, mobbed by kids (only one unpleasant) until chased off by old traditional man brandishing his egal. Sat with him and company on the high painted kerb in some shade until French aircraft crew picked us up. The “spectacular scenery” of the guidebook refers to the massive Wadi Mujeeb into which we descend steeply from the plateau. Hardly a trickle at the bottom, but some green.
Karak village is impressively situated on the side of a wadi, but the castle merges with the line of houses on the promontory. There/s not much standing above, but loads underground! I was shown around by an accountant with the antiquities department – the barracks and stables were non descript, but the olive refinery still had mill stones and troughs, the bakery an enormous kiln, and the prisons were suitably dank (should have been deeper though!). Two halls are in good shape, and atmospheric. Ahmed and Sami led me to a secret room, I was a bit nervous about disappearing from view with them, and it didn’t help when they started asking me about homosexuality in Britain. Ahmed eventually proposed that underdevelopment in the Muslim world was due to lack of sexual fulfilment in young men and women. I can see it being a massive problem, and you have to feel sorry for a society that forbids social contact between the sexes. SO, Sami explains, if you can’t find a woman, then you find a “lovely boy”. I’m glad he meant men over the age of 20 (I checked). Men are so desperate, they join the army to earn enough money to pay a dowry. Yesterday I ignored a soldier outside the post office who beckoned to me – he turned nasty, and checked my passport, questioned me. Later he called me again, made peace, took me aside, and asked shiftily – “you have magazine?” For his English, he said – maybe…
The twosome bought be falafel and tea – but they also suggested a commission at the end. Strange logic! I didn’t give anything because they had actually diverted me from the bus stop, and they didn’t seem upset. And in Karak I saw rugs being handwoven (stripy bedouin ones). The minibuses outside of Amman are a bit less plush, but not bad. A few day-glo feathers and flowers, red tassels around the interior lamps, curtains to ward off the sun. South of Karak we dropped into a relatively lush wadi, with grass verging on green rather than straw, but suddenly it burst into another canyon as grand as before. This time there were flocks of goats on the hillsides, and halfway down the ground suddenly sprouted trees, shrubs, long green grass. The long black hoses suggest it isn’t entirely natural, but there must be a spring. Opposite a black monolith we headed up a branch of the wadi to reach the plateau once more.
Stranded again in Tafileh, and somehow the tourist vehicles didn’t spot me hitching. Some mad guys in the care offered to put me up, but now I’m on a bus going to some village (not my original idea), the sun has set gloriously and 2 men are arguing over putting me up for the night. I’ve had 5 different offers today! And I’ve argued about Saddam Hussein with a supporter.
I’ve ended up with the older man, who wears a scarf and jellabiyeh and doesn’t speak a word of English (so my Arabic must have made some impression). He lives in an upstairs flat with his family – his wife is a good looking (wears make up), substantial woman, his 20yr old son is a policeman (no English either, surprisingly) and his daughter is pretty and retiring (wears scarf, jogging bottoms under skirt). His littlest son was circumcised a few days ago (about 3 years old!?). The flat is painted yellow, with Quranic rugs on the wall, pot plants in baskets, tubs; mats and cushions on the floor. TV in corner is focus until low table brought out for food. My gut isn’t ready for hospitality yet, I’ve only eaten 3 pittas and half a falafel in 2 days, but I try to show enthusiasm. Chunky pittas, small bowls of chips, fried egg, tomato and cucumber salad, tomato +cucumber soup (with tahini? What they top falafel with in Jordan), cucumber and sweet peppers, tuna. The women are invited to join but they refuse! Mint tea before, watermelon after.
The hospitality is incredible. I was spoilt in Egypt those years ago, that’s why Indonesia and Kenya disappointed. In Amman this morning, I walk up to a random person looking for directions, a crowd forms, and someone walks me there. I but a glass of tea in a café, and the owner doesn’t let me pay. I refuse to pay for a taxi, insist on going somewhere without a hotel, and someone gladly invites me home. My attempts at Arabic are always well received, a few words, they think you’re wonderful.
Bedouin tents are common place. Out in the desert, their massive, calm, mysterious appearance is enticing. Not that I’ll get my hopes up.
Ahmed and Said, despite being alcohol drinking, homosexual, anti-government, are still offended by people wearing shorts. And so many tourists do, even women. This is really bad.