Thursday, November 10, 2011
Camel crossings and other hazards...
I hate flying. I'm too large for the seats (height and shoulder width being the main problems, not my gut...); I can't sleep in a sitting position, and jet lag uniformly kicks my ass. When I was a kid and visited Germany every summer, it would take a month to adjust to the change in time, and another month when I got home. After a few years of this, I just stopped trying and slept until noon everyday until it was time to go home. Needless to say, I drove meine Oma nuts. Nevertheless, Karl and I ponied up airfare and flew to the Hashimite Kingdom of Jordan to visit our father. He's been working here since February of this year, and he invited us out for visit.
The flight was out of JFK, and normally Karl and I would take Metro-North to Grand Central from our respective homes, and then take a bus to the airport. It's long and annoying, and not that much cheaper than simply driving. Driving involves parking, so I checked out a few off site parking sites, and found one for $100 for the seven days I would be away. I drove there, gave them my beloved Camry, and off to JFK we went.
After gettting irradiated, groped, questioned and eating McRibs, we made it to our gate. I had wondered if we would leave at all. Depending on which source you used, New York was getting either a severe rainstorm moving west to east, or a Nor'Easter. The rain would begin midnight on Wed. morning, and continue until Thursday. Our airports are not known for reliability under the best conditions, what would happen with 45 mph winds and 2 inches of rain? Not much, as it turned out. There were rain and high winds, but nothing close to the amounts or strength predicted. The flight was delayed by about an hour, but I hoped we could make up the time en route. 11:35pm we embarked. The flight itself was uneventful, though long. 11.5 hours in the air (and on the tarmac) is not my idea of a good time. Still, Royal Jordanian did a good job. The food was not toxic, and the in flight entertainment was actually good. We had touch screens for every seat, and I was able to watch 3 movies and stream music for the duration. This was good, since I couldn't sleep, no matter how hard I tried. On the other hand, Karl was stretched out and knocked out. Good for him, even if I couldn't follow suit. At least I got to see the most recent Pirates of the Caribbean movie. The display unit even had a USB port to charge your gadgets, which meant I could charge my cell en route.
Bleary, nauseated, and more than a little cranky (I blame Pirates 4), we landed in Amman. Though I would have loved to say we met with our dad, went to his place, then crashed, we still had a nearly 4 hour drive from Amman to Aqaba. Prior to that we had to honor the recirpocity between the USA and Jordan by paying the entry visa. Since we charge Jordainians to enter America, Jordan charges us. It was 20 JD, which is about $26. I had to take note of the exchange rate. Until the recent financial crisis, traveling abroad was cheap for Americans. Now, with the ritual debasement of the dollar, the situation is reversed. I would spout conspiracy theories about keeping Americans at home and isolated, but that's another blog post.
We finally escaped the airport and met our driver. It was late in the afternoon, so we only had a little daylight to observe our surroundings. It's cliche to speak of alien landscapes or an otherworldly place, but wow did it fit. The desert glowed in the fading twilight, with Venus sinking in the eastern sky. I would have loved to observe more, but sleep finally took me.
45 minutes later, the sky was dark and I could see no more stars through the desert haze. No matter, I wanted to observe Jordan on the street level. Unfortunately, there was nothing to see.
I'm serious; the road was almost entirely empty. There were a few buildings, and small stores selling fruits, or snacks, etc. Beyond that, the road was without features, save two: speed bumps and camel crossing signs.
It was strange to cruise at 60 mph for 20 minutes; slow down to 15; hit the bump, then start cruising again. All the while the road is otherwise devoid of cars. Once or twice (I may have been asleep), the speed bump was joined with a police check point. At first I was nervous, but no one paid any attention to me or Karl; it was all about the driver. After questioning him, checking his identification, then writing down the license plate, we were on our way. My passport was at the ready, but was told by the driver to put it away.
Speed bumps didn't scare me; they were just annoying. The thought of hitting a camel in out little car was another matter. I'd seen a Mythbuster episode on moose strikes in Alaska, and wondered if it would be worse, the same or somehow better. I'll blame fatigue, but I was paranoid at the though of a lumbering beast ambling across the road only to meet it's end at our front bumper. I was also a mite worried that we would meet a similar fate. I've survived car wrecks before, but always within reach of hospitals, police, an ambulance, and friends or family to rescue my stupid ass. Here we were on our own.
On the other hand, I was excited to see a camel in it's own environment, happily walking across the sands looking for water, or eating scrub brushes, or looking at us wondering what strange beast had invaded the landscape. I knew at this point it was official: the lack of sleep had made me loopy. Keep in mind we had only driven around 90 minutes.
As the lights of Aqaba finally came in to view, we started a long stretch of road with a steep incline. Our driver told us this was the most dangerous road in all of Jordan, and the trucks using their air brakes and downshifting attested to his statement. Since it was dark and hazy, I couldn't tell how much danger we were in, but if anyone has driven in Nevada from Las Vegas to Laughlin, it is much the same thing. Essentially, we were going from a (relatively) high elevation to sea level in the space of a few miles. The road was steep; 7 degrees according to the helpfully bilingual sign, and the trucks weaved in an out of lanes like they were drunk. The driver attempted to calm us, but I was not to be mollified. Finally the road leveled, and after going through yet another customs checkpoint, we arrived in Aqaba.
Karl and I slipped the driver 20 each, his in dollars, mine in dinars. I can't say if we over tipped, but driver looked ready to openly weep. Anyway, after some confusion, and traffic caused by someone trying steer a riding camel through parked cars, we met up with our dad. We paid for pizza, and finally drove out dad's apartment.
A quick note about pizza, or more accurately, the pizza we were eating. To say it was sub-par is being kind. I realize any place dedicated to tourism will slowly but inevitably devolve to the lowest common denominator; it's built into the system. Moreover, pizza is simple, easy to make, and close to universal. So why does every slice I've had outside the USA suck? It's not like the directions aren't available online. Restaurant owners: please surf the Internet and learn to make acceptable pizza before I fucking snap, kill you, and end up on the next episode of "Locked Up Abroad." Anyway, hungry as we were, the pizza was soon devoured.
Safely at our dad's apartment, we continued to eat the remaining pizza and watch some television. The three bedroom apartment was nice and quite large, if a little out of the way. This was intentional, of course. Aqaba isn't big, but it is busy, with pedestrians popping out of nowhere, camels for hire, and reckless drivers careening through round-abouts at high speed. It's really a border town much more than a beach town, which is a few miles from the central business district. Expat managers want a little more peace and quiet, so they stay in a wealthier section. This doesn't mean it was exclusive or exclusionary (there were no gates or private security), just a hike for those in the center of the city. Unless you has a specific reason to be there, you wouldn't bother.
Right before we went to sleep, I wanted to hookup my phone to my dad's computer to charge it. This was for photos and back-up wifi if my Ipod was dead. I wasn't planning on making calls, as I believed I was out of reach of any service. This, as it turned out, was very wrong. It could also have been very exspensive. I found out the hard way that roaming international calls can be hazardous to my bank account. A weekend in Montreal added $200 to my phone bill for surfing the Internet and answering a few texts. Of course, since I'm conditioned like a Pavlovian puppy, I saw a new text message and immediatly read it and answered. Oops. I also found out that I had lost my USB cable for the phone, so I couldn't charge it. Under normal circumstances, I would have cursed, but I was too tired. Another text came though explaining why I had service and how much it would cost. A call was 2.50 per minute, but texts were 0.10 to answer and 0.50 to send. My personal financial crisis averted, remaining pizza stored for future consumption (and complaining), I stumbled to my room for a few hours of sleep.
Next: Why the fuck did I have cell service? OR: If World War 3 starts, this might be ground zero.
The flight was out of JFK, and normally Karl and I would take Metro-North to Grand Central from our respective homes, and then take a bus to the airport. It's long and annoying, and not that much cheaper than simply driving. Driving involves parking, so I checked out a few off site parking sites, and found one for $100 for the seven days I would be away. I drove there, gave them my beloved Camry, and off to JFK we went.
After gettting irradiated, groped, questioned and eating McRibs, we made it to our gate. I had wondered if we would leave at all. Depending on which source you used, New York was getting either a severe rainstorm moving west to east, or a Nor'Easter. The rain would begin midnight on Wed. morning, and continue until Thursday. Our airports are not known for reliability under the best conditions, what would happen with 45 mph winds and 2 inches of rain? Not much, as it turned out. There were rain and high winds, but nothing close to the amounts or strength predicted. The flight was delayed by about an hour, but I hoped we could make up the time en route. 11:35pm we embarked. The flight itself was uneventful, though long. 11.5 hours in the air (and on the tarmac) is not my idea of a good time. Still, Royal Jordanian did a good job. The food was not toxic, and the in flight entertainment was actually good. We had touch screens for every seat, and I was able to watch 3 movies and stream music for the duration. This was good, since I couldn't sleep, no matter how hard I tried. On the other hand, Karl was stretched out and knocked out. Good for him, even if I couldn't follow suit. At least I got to see the most recent Pirates of the Caribbean movie. The display unit even had a USB port to charge your gadgets, which meant I could charge my cell en route.
Bleary, nauseated, and more than a little cranky (I blame Pirates 4), we landed in Amman. Though I would have loved to say we met with our dad, went to his place, then crashed, we still had a nearly 4 hour drive from Amman to Aqaba. Prior to that we had to honor the recirpocity between the USA and Jordan by paying the entry visa. Since we charge Jordainians to enter America, Jordan charges us. It was 20 JD, which is about $26. I had to take note of the exchange rate. Until the recent financial crisis, traveling abroad was cheap for Americans. Now, with the ritual debasement of the dollar, the situation is reversed. I would spout conspiracy theories about keeping Americans at home and isolated, but that's another blog post.
We finally escaped the airport and met our driver. It was late in the afternoon, so we only had a little daylight to observe our surroundings. It's cliche to speak of alien landscapes or an otherworldly place, but wow did it fit. The desert glowed in the fading twilight, with Venus sinking in the eastern sky. I would have loved to observe more, but sleep finally took me.
45 minutes later, the sky was dark and I could see no more stars through the desert haze. No matter, I wanted to observe Jordan on the street level. Unfortunately, there was nothing to see.
I'm serious; the road was almost entirely empty. There were a few buildings, and small stores selling fruits, or snacks, etc. Beyond that, the road was without features, save two: speed bumps and camel crossing signs.
It was strange to cruise at 60 mph for 20 minutes; slow down to 15; hit the bump, then start cruising again. All the while the road is otherwise devoid of cars. Once or twice (I may have been asleep), the speed bump was joined with a police check point. At first I was nervous, but no one paid any attention to me or Karl; it was all about the driver. After questioning him, checking his identification, then writing down the license plate, we were on our way. My passport was at the ready, but was told by the driver to put it away.
Speed bumps didn't scare me; they were just annoying. The thought of hitting a camel in out little car was another matter. I'd seen a Mythbuster episode on moose strikes in Alaska, and wondered if it would be worse, the same or somehow better. I'll blame fatigue, but I was paranoid at the though of a lumbering beast ambling across the road only to meet it's end at our front bumper. I was also a mite worried that we would meet a similar fate. I've survived car wrecks before, but always within reach of hospitals, police, an ambulance, and friends or family to rescue my stupid ass. Here we were on our own.
On the other hand, I was excited to see a camel in it's own environment, happily walking across the sands looking for water, or eating scrub brushes, or looking at us wondering what strange beast had invaded the landscape. I knew at this point it was official: the lack of sleep had made me loopy. Keep in mind we had only driven around 90 minutes.
As the lights of Aqaba finally came in to view, we started a long stretch of road with a steep incline. Our driver told us this was the most dangerous road in all of Jordan, and the trucks using their air brakes and downshifting attested to his statement. Since it was dark and hazy, I couldn't tell how much danger we were in, but if anyone has driven in Nevada from Las Vegas to Laughlin, it is much the same thing. Essentially, we were going from a (relatively) high elevation to sea level in the space of a few miles. The road was steep; 7 degrees according to the helpfully bilingual sign, and the trucks weaved in an out of lanes like they were drunk. The driver attempted to calm us, but I was not to be mollified. Finally the road leveled, and after going through yet another customs checkpoint, we arrived in Aqaba.
Karl and I slipped the driver 20 each, his in dollars, mine in dinars. I can't say if we over tipped, but driver looked ready to openly weep. Anyway, after some confusion, and traffic caused by someone trying steer a riding camel through parked cars, we met up with our dad. We paid for pizza, and finally drove out dad's apartment.
A quick note about pizza, or more accurately, the pizza we were eating. To say it was sub-par is being kind. I realize any place dedicated to tourism will slowly but inevitably devolve to the lowest common denominator; it's built into the system. Moreover, pizza is simple, easy to make, and close to universal. So why does every slice I've had outside the USA suck? It's not like the directions aren't available online. Restaurant owners: please surf the Internet and learn to make acceptable pizza before I fucking snap, kill you, and end up on the next episode of "Locked Up Abroad." Anyway, hungry as we were, the pizza was soon devoured.
Safely at our dad's apartment, we continued to eat the remaining pizza and watch some television. The three bedroom apartment was nice and quite large, if a little out of the way. This was intentional, of course. Aqaba isn't big, but it is busy, with pedestrians popping out of nowhere, camels for hire, and reckless drivers careening through round-abouts at high speed. It's really a border town much more than a beach town, which is a few miles from the central business district. Expat managers want a little more peace and quiet, so they stay in a wealthier section. This doesn't mean it was exclusive or exclusionary (there were no gates or private security), just a hike for those in the center of the city. Unless you has a specific reason to be there, you wouldn't bother.
Right before we went to sleep, I wanted to hookup my phone to my dad's computer to charge it. This was for photos and back-up wifi if my Ipod was dead. I wasn't planning on making calls, as I believed I was out of reach of any service. This, as it turned out, was very wrong. It could also have been very exspensive. I found out the hard way that roaming international calls can be hazardous to my bank account. A weekend in Montreal added $200 to my phone bill for surfing the Internet and answering a few texts. Of course, since I'm conditioned like a Pavlovian puppy, I saw a new text message and immediatly read it and answered. Oops. I also found out that I had lost my USB cable for the phone, so I couldn't charge it. Under normal circumstances, I would have cursed, but I was too tired. Another text came though explaining why I had service and how much it would cost. A call was 2.50 per minute, but texts were 0.10 to answer and 0.50 to send. My personal financial crisis averted, remaining pizza stored for future consumption (and complaining), I stumbled to my room for a few hours of sleep.
Next: Why the fuck did I have cell service? OR: If World War 3 starts, this might be ground zero.
Comments:
<< Home
Pictures, pictures, I want to see pictures! What is the native food like? Pizza? Yeah, that would not have been my option there, I don't think. LOL
Post a Comment
<< Home
