Wadi Araba to Amman

The plan was hatched sipping tea and taking in the panoramic view of Petra and the surrounding landscape of Wadi Araba. Having walked up to view the ruin of the Monastery with Keksey and A.J., I wandered into a small tea shop that stirred strong nostalgic memories of Nepal. Benches covered in brightly colored pillows, a 360 degree view of nature in all her glory, and a warm cup of tea. Abed, a local Bedouin (he even has a picture in the Jordan Lonely Planet playing the ut), immediately drew me in with his bright eyes and charismatic conversation. Also enjoying some tea was a Spanish man by the (apt) name of Jerusalem. 

View from Abed's tea shop.

The conversation started benign enough, commenting on the plethora of clearly homemade tattoos covering Abed's hands and arms. Proudly, he told me he had done them all, and inquired as to whether I wanted to come by his village the next day to have him ink my arm. When I demurred by explaining my plan to head south to the touristy Wadi Rum, he just shook his head. Why was I going there? To hike? Because I was better off staying in Wadi Araba and going hiking with him. Things progressed pretty quickly from there, and it wasn't five minutes later that both Jerusalem and I planned on meeting Abed in his village the next morning to set out into the desert for three days. 

Looking out over Wadi Araba.

Excitedly, I told Kelsey and A.J. of my plan, as they were leaving for Israel the next day. Kelsey wisely advised me to play it safe on my crazy desert trek with two complete strangers, and make "good decisions."

The next morning, after hasty and heavy hearted goodbyes with Kelsey, I carefully packed my mochila for my desert stroll, leaving some heavy unnecessary items behind. Catching a taxi to Abed's Bedouin village just outside Wadi Mousa, I met him and Jerusalem outside a small market. It all felt very surreal, making conversation while packing water bottles and fresh veggies into our packs. I clearly had the largest and heaviest pack, but I was not deterred, hoping that my time trekking in Spain and Nepal would have prepared me for the strain. 

The next two and a half days and two nights were a wonder. 

Wadi Araba 2014

The Good:

1. The indescribable beauty of the desert. On par with the Himalayas for most awe inspiring place I have ever been.

2. A magnificent connection with my surroundings. We saw zero other tourists or backpackers, and only a handful of Bedouin goat herders.

3. Sleeping under the open night sky, an endless twilight courtesy of a full moon (speaking of moon, receiving my Arabic name of "moon" from Abed)

4. The thrill of finding springs of water and drinking directly from the trickling source. Oh oasis!

5. Discovering early on that Jerusalem is a 20 year veteran of the Spanish civil police and he has a wife and two daughters. Also, being able to communicate with Jerusalem in Spanish when the need arose.

6. Abed's skill at creating delicious, healthy meals composed mostly of fresh tomatoes, cucumber, spices and pita.

7. Learning how to make cardamom chai over an open fire, and drinking it at least four times a day.

8. Watching a simultaneous full moon rise and sunset on an open ridge.

9. Being pooped on by a bird (I hear this is good luck).

10. Making it back in one piece.

Abed and Jerusalem.

The Not So Good:

1. By far the most dangerous trekking I have ever done. Think scrambling hands and feet over scree and boulders with fairly sheer drop offs into the valley. Then magnify this with an ungainly 30 pound-ish pack. Scary.

2. Abed's determination to get me to fall in love with him. 

3. Spiders, scorpions and snakes.

4. Struggling to keep up with two fit dudes. A few times I completely lost sight of them for endless minutes, and had to follow my instincts to find them. 

5. A fairly nagging preoccupation with thirst and wanting to chug my precious, rationed water. 

The Ugly:

1. Abed's henna job. Good thing I didn't go for a tattoo.

2. Slipping and falling on a scree hill, and in my desperation, breaking my fall with my bum knee and ripping off all the new skin into a bloody mess.

3. Immediately consuming a Fanta and two KitKat upon my return to civilization.

Henna on my birthday!

Exhausted, filthy and utterly at peace with myself (as only nature and walking can make me) we returned to Wadi Mousa on the afternoon of the third day. Jerusalem and I parted with Abed to the lovely Rocky Mountain Hotel, where we feasted on a delicious Arabic dinner and drank prodigious amounts of water.

The next morning, I woke early to begin a journey to Amman on King's Highway via Shobak Castle, the Jordanian side of the Dead Sea and the Jordan River site of Jesus' baptism.

As close as I could get to the Dead Sea with my gnarly leg. Also it was over 100 degrees, but Middle East modesty compelled me to cover up my slightly see through (only clean shirt left) shirt.

Jordan River.

A group of Christians on the Israeli side preparing to be baptized. On both sides, soldiers stood at the ready for any riffraff.

I arrived in Amman, and promptly found food before passing out until the next morning. I slept in and was awakened by a new hostel roommate. Manuela, a Portuguese-German physician traveling around Israel and Jordan came bursting into the sunlight room with energy pouring off her. She immediately invited me to share a taxi to the northern town of Irbid and the ancient Greco-Roman ruins of Jerash. Meandering through the stone pillars and worn paths, we laughed about love, life, and the possibility of moving to Jordan and finding Bedouin husbands to roam the desert with. It was so wonderful to chill with another girl in the days since Kelsey left. Back in Amman, we sought out a famous hummus and falafel landmark and lingered for a few hours over tea and pita.

Manuela with the classic Jordanian dessert of knafeh from Habibah.

This morning, I said goodbye to my new friend, and headed to the Israeli border at King Hussein/Allenby bridge for my last few days in the Holy Land. To beautiful, splendid Jordan, I shall be back...

Dead Sea, Gamechange, Petra

Last Friday night, Kelsey and I had an authentic and touching family Shabbat dinner at Jared's (our Jerusalem guide) house. It was even vegan! It was a perfect way to spend our last evening in Jerusalem. There will be more on Jerusalem in another promised post, but I can definitively say that my time in this city of wonders has been the one of the most enlightening and wonderful in my life. 

We took off early from Jerusalem on Saturday to our destination, the Dead Sea. After a fairly uneventful desert drive we arrived at the David Dead Sea Resort. We figured after a couple of weeks of hostels we would pamper ourselves with a proper hotel. Sadly, David did not deliver. Within two hours of our arrival, we had canceled our two follow on nights and were plotting an adventure to...Petra!

My knee gash prevented me from floating around in the salty water. I did sprinkle water on it to test it out and immediately regretted the decision.

Sunday morning, we groggily dragged ourselves to Masada at 0430 to hike the Snake path to the top of the desert mountain fortress for sunrise. Masada, built by Herod the Great around 30 BCE, was the site of the Roman siege of 960 Jewish rebels in the First Jewish-Roman War in 73 CE. Rather than being taken captive, the besieged Jews committed mass suicide the night before the Romans breached the fortress walls, garnering admiration from the Romans that discovered them. The sunrise walk was so worth it.

Leaving the Dead Sea, we continued south towards the beach city of Eilat and the border crossing to Jordan. Prepared for long lines and mass confusion at the border (as we had been warned), we were pleasantly surprised to find a free parking lot at the border, and exactly two other tourists crossing at the same time. We breezed - as relative a term breeze is - through seven passport checkpoints, and found ourselves whisked towards Petra, our taxi driver Issa, explaining the landscape  and history. 

Over dinner that evening in our hotel, we met A.J., a native Vermonter living in London, who was visiting Petra before attending a wedding in Israel. Bright and early the next day, Monday, we took Petra by storm for an epic 11 hours of hiking, climbing, gasping in awe, and general wonder.

Petra, here we come.

The Treasury appears dramatically around a bend at the end of the 2 km canyon walk to Petra.

Classic shot.

The Monastery.

Heaps of camels.

Built as early as 312 BCE by the Nabateans, it is a sprawling, unimaginably beautiful city built in the rose colored mountains. The city was abandoned and lost in the 14th century and only rediscovered in 1812. How amazing would it have been to stumble on this place!

Lunch on the ruins.

That night, Kelsey and I had dinner, recapping this most amazing journey we have taken together in the Holy Land. The closest of friends, with Kelsey, I can speak spirituality, growth, fear, love and life. This second trip this year with her has been such a gift, truly. I miss my friend already.

Up next...a hike in the wild desert.

West Bank Art

Yesterday, I crossed the wall from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. Physically being in this area of unrest has allowed me to visualize an issue that has always felt so beyond my comprehension. I have heard the names of people and places, read the news, understood a cliff notes version of history, but I felt complacent in my full understanding. Talking to both Israelis and Palestinians, however, and it seems that even those living here grapple with understanding the reality in which they live. Everyone has an opinion, and a hope or dream for the future, but it is an ugly mess. It seems only a collective understanding from the entire spectrum of people living here will cause the issue to be pushed towards a resolution. 

Taking the number 21 bus from the Damascus Gate by the Old City in Jerusalem, Konrad (a brilliantly hilarious Londener we met at our hostel) and I figured we had plenty of time to find Elias, a friend of our Jerusalem guide, on the Bethlehem side of the wall. Unfortunately, we hopped on the wrong bus and  ended up in the city center of Bethlehem 30 minutes late. Bombarded by cab drivers hawking Banksy and Christian sites tours, we firmly directed a driver to bring us to the wall. Ten minutes later, we were dropped off on a random stretch of the graffitied separation wall and began to follow our noses to the checkpoint where we were to meet out guide. At this point I didn't have much hope of finding him, but as we walked through a narrow section by the wall, I made eye contact with a man driving a car right beside us. For whatever reason, I looked into his eyes and said "Elias?" and lo and behold it was him! So completely random. 

Banksy - Armored Peace Dove

Banksy

For the next two hours, Konrad and I learned about the sentiments of the conflict from a peaceful Palestinian perspective. Driving through the streets of Bethlehem, understanding the real day to day frustrations and restrictions of a people, we were able to see life in this confused area. Undoubtedley, there is pain and suffering on all sides of this complex issue, and I can make no judgement on it, as I do not live it. 

Midway through our tour, Elias had to tend to a family issue, and we were passed on to the dynamic, opinionated Yamen, who worked with Banksy's crew in 2005.

Stay Human.

Graffiti near the Aida refuge camp. The black blotch is where a hole was blown through the wall. The hole is about half an inch thick at its thickest point.

Some of the art was rooted in a deep hatred and prejudice, but I felt the majority of the words were words of peace and overcoming the "wall." Additionally, messages were sprayed in a plethora of languages and visual representations. 

Banksy

How and Nosm.

Throughout our tour, I did have the sensation of being an invasive, ignorant tourist. Who am I to come to this place and take pictures of Banksy art? It made me feel elitist and wrong. But alternatively, that is why the art is there...to expose a message to the masses. I had the comparatively unique experience of crossing over into the West Bank and glimpsing a little of what life is like...although very, very little. As Yamen took us to the pedestrian checkpoint to cross back over into Jerusalem, I felt deeply that I need to educate myself more. I have seen with my own eyes and I have passed on what I saw here, but there is more to learn and witness.

Banksy.

I REFUSE TO BE YOUR ENEMY.

Jerusalem is Lifechanging

Kelsey and I are in Jerusalem, a city of dreams, place of blood and worship, of ancient and contemporary conflict. I can only begin to understand the meaning and implications of this place. It is a city divided, and yet it unites thr faiths in one aura and location. To try to understand is to question, and I have been questioning much.

We arrived in Jerusalem two days ago and decompressed from our desert car ride with a long looped walk around the city

As it was the evening before Independence Day, the city took on a New Year's Eve atmosphere, with street parties and music ringing through the street until the early morning hours. Kelsey and I met an Italian medical student over dinner, and we wandered the streets with him, taking in the spectacle. 

In the light of the street lamps, we followed crowds of young and old Israelis to the Old City. Following our noses, we tried to make our way to the Western Wall. With Antonio by our side we approached a harried looking ultra orthodox Jewish man. He swept past us, black coat swishing around him, and told us to follow him. Obediently we fell in line, struggling to keep up. Like a guiding spirit, his voice carried behind him, disembodied and matter of factly asking us, as non-Jews, why we would want to visit his country. Stumbling on answers, he abruptly peeled away from us as the Wall came into sight. Later we would learn that he hadn't looked at Kelsey and I as dictated by his faith. It was a strange, yet honest encounter. 

The Western Wall, the Wailing Wall. In the warmth of the evening, we approached the Wall. There were very few tourists at the late hour. A few Jews were praying in their Independence Day party clothes. I walked to the Wall, surrounded by women and girls, and placed both my hands on the stone. I tried to clear my mind, to open myself up to a spiritual feeling. I tried to meditate, slow my breathing, and let myself exist within the moment. I ended up focusing on those I love. It may have been a prayer, but I have no experience or anything to quantify that in my mind. The rocking motions of prayer were all around me, and feeling as an insider and outsider I walked backwards from the Wall, never turning my back. I felt silly, and sobered in the same moment.

Yesterday morning we joined a tour from our hostel to cross the wall to Bethlehem. This is what affected me:

We visited three holy sites: the Field of Shepards, the Church of Nativity, and the Milk Grotto. I felt that same detached curiosity familiar from our religious excursions in northern Israel. It was a bittersweet experience in Bethlehem. We were physically overwhelmed by the crowds of strangely aggressive Christian pilgrims at the Church of a Nativity. After being jostled and waiting for an hour, Kelsey and I were accused by a woman from a different tour of trying to skip the line to see where Jesus was born. With sadness, Kelsey walked away from the situation, affected by the woman's tone. I walked away indignant, skipped over to where the pilgrims exit from the holy chamber and ignoring all looks and the guard, walked the wrong way down to see the site that had incited such chaos. This is what I saw:

Our thoughts on the tour.

On our way back across to Jerusalem, we implored our driver to stop and allow us to snap some photos of the wall art on the Bethlehem side. Surprisingly, only six of the 13 tourists wanted to exit the bus to walk along the wall. Quickly I ran down the wall taking pictures of these words of hate and peace. The honking of the van brought us back after a only a few minutes, and I felt like I had missed the point of my trip to Bethlehem. We had been ferried into the past, and had glossed over the "now". It was humbling to be in this volatile area that for me has only existed as media words. There is so much I don't know, don't understand. So much struggle and suffering on all sides. How do we fix these human problems? How do we practice faith and spill blood? I am naive to be sure, but it leaves me sad, confused and wary of my ignorance.

On our tour, we met two young Americans, one of whom was wearing a University of Michigan hat. In a twist of life, he just finished his first year at the Ross School of Business. Grabbing a falafel in Yehuda market, Mark and I excitedly went back on forth on life at Ross, rock climbing around Ann Arbor, the difficult decisions between a social life and academics, travel, career changes and much more. School suddenly seemed real to me in a way that it hasn't yet. I am still waiting to hear back from Ross, but Mark sparked my curiosity to what life may look like in a few months. The world works in wonderful ways.

Heading off on our own, Kelsey and I walked through the Old City towards the Mt. of the Olives, Basilica of the Agony and Gethsemane. In this place, Jesus prayed with his disciples the night before his crucifixion. Amazing vistas of Arabic neighborhoods crowding the valley below the Old City accompanied us on our way back to the hostel. 

Of course, I fell HARD on the slippery streets of the Old City, tearing up and re-bruising my weakened leg (about five shopkeepers ran to my aid and tried to fix me with Turkish coffee and Kleenex). Luckily I didn't break open the scar and scab of my mini-surgery. Later I almost passed out trying to clean the wound with alcohol wipes. 

Kelsey can do layers with tiny scissors! She is just so fabulous, in every way.

Catching a leisurely dinner with our new friends, and firmly continuing our trend of European lifestyle, we turned in at 1 am to catch some sleep before today. 

The beauty of my day today will be difficult to express in words and I will attempt it in my next post. All I can say is it was lifechanging. I was shaken, moved, educated and provoked (in a good way). Jerusalem...shalom.