Amman, Jordan 2 September
It is a strange thing standing in the desert along the highway waiting for a car, driven by last night's barman to take me to the Dead Sea. I though the air here would be hotter; instead it's dry and tastes like the air of Redding, California. Strange that I remember the taste so vividly of a place I've seen only once in the last 16 years, although I spent my childhood near there.
I'm standing in the shade to the side of the bustop with my plastic shopping bag full of beach supplies at my feet. I scribble this in the half shade off to the side of the bus stop as I am not interested in sitting near the young men eyeing me from the shelter. All of the cars stop whether they are a taxi or not to see if I'd like to pay them for a ride to the Dead Sea. I wonder if he's coming.
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Later, in the car...
I never understand the changes of life. Now I'm sitting in a car in the desert in Jordan and tomorrow I'll be sitting in a boat with the sea air whipping through my hair as I make my way back to my tiny island.
From the window I see many Bedouin, usually two or three men together lounging under a palm tree, perhaps their camels are lazily chewing on tufts of dry grass while laundry flutters in the wind. The camels are decked with brightly colored blankets and wooden saddles. Buildings in the distance rise up out of the stone of the desert they stand upon. They look thousands of years old, indeed, some of them are.
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At the Dead Sea...
My fondest dreams finally came true. I spent most of the afternoon covered from head to toe in the most wonderful, creamy, salty green mud. I wore a bikini in daylight for the first time in my life, but you could hardly tell as I walked around like a green monster from a B-grade horror flick. The sun was ruthlessly hot. I finally rid myself of the mud, rinsing first in the sea before dousing myself with fresh water. My skin felt like a new born baby's it was so soft. I took as much clay with me as I could carry.
In the parking lot, as I was leaving, there were a couple of young Bedo. One had a camel and the other had a small horse. For a dinar, I rode a camel. They certainly don't enjoy the experience as much as horses seem to!
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Back at the hotel...
Upon arrival, I knew I was late for my bus to the airport. I ran to my room, rinsed off very quickly in the shower, donned some clothes and began frantically throwing stuff into my bags. The phone calls and knocks on the door began. All I could answer back was, "Yes, I know. I'm wrong, I'm late, but I HAVE to pack and I need 10 minutes!" at which point the men shook their heads, threw up their hands and backed away or hung up. As I came downstairs, I was immediately recognised as the girl that should have been on the bus an hour before (3 hours before my flight..I thought that was excessive). Even as they chatted and clucked and tut-tutted in Arabic I could understand that they were all fussing about "The stupid girl who was late".
They put me in a smaller van which left five or ten minutes after I came down and checked out. They were all still fussing about my stupidity when the driver asked when my flight left. I told him, "I know. I'm late, I'm sorry," and upon hearing that my flight left in 1.5 hours, he replied with a gentle smile, "Well, it's not that late. You'll still make it without a problem." I smiled and we were off. I DID make the plane without a problem.
....as I sat on the plane, my sunburn from the day developing in the worst way (bikini, remember), I thought to myself, "and I even rode a camel!"
