Petra - day four - Jabal Haroun, donkeys and horses

This was really our fifth day at Petra, having started with Petra by night last Thursday, but it was our fourth, and sadly, our last day here.

We decided to each do out own things today, with me having arranged to ride a donkey up the 1,400 metres of Jabal Haroun, the mountain which dominates Petra at 8 am, Fred decided on a lie in and a day to relax. He ended up being a virtual prisoner in the hotel as he tried to avoid our old 'friend' Ibrahim, who had tunred up at the hotel and had phoned him out of the blue. This is another story and one which Fred tells in Dutch on his blog.

So, I met up with Nasr at 9, an hour or so later than planned, as one of his donkeys had run away during the night and he had to find another one from a friend. Off we set on what turned out to be a very enjoyable 6 hour (including stops along the way) trek through the Petra site up the great mountain.

Donkeys are amazing creatures, picking their way between the rocks, on their tiny feet, carrying heavy loads, like me, never complaining. Riding these donkeys is no problem as they know their way around and require the minimum of steering, just the occasional giddy-up. The sick ones here are looked after free by the Brooke Donkey Hospital.

Jabal Haroun marks the end of the Petra area and the top affords the most beautiful views, back north and east towards Petra and west where the high ground plunges away, the rocks change colour and the lowland desert which reaches Sinai begins. Above us, the thin moon could still be seen. An eagle swooped by us and then rode the currents up and up, round and round in complete silence.

We snacked on bread and tuna before meeting back with the donkeys who carried us back with occasional breaks for photos, including the blue lizard and loose horses. We arrived back about 6 hours after we had left, having had a great trip and having the whole mountain to ourselves.

The Petra site on the other had was quite busy with 700 Spanish descending, making it a bonanza day for the camel riders with whom I chatted a bit before making my way back, past the Treasury and up through the Siq, saying my goodbyes. For the last bit I hitched a ride with Fred's friend from yesterday and he took me up to see the Eagle Tomb before we galloped back to the main gate.

There, I noticed one of the riders having a conversation with one of the 700 Spanish, an elderly plump one, who seemed willing only to pay half the going rate for her ride. I started chatting with him and before I knew it I was arranging to see him again in an hour for a ride up the hill for a view of the sun setting over Jabal Haroun... and so it turned out. The rider's name was Aiman.

So at 6 we set out together on two grey bedouin horses, in contrast to the two grey donkeys we were on earlier in the day. This felt a lot better to be honest. Admirable as donkeys are, horses give much better rides, at least over easier terrains. This turned out to be a great way to end one's stay in Petra. The view of the sun setting was brilliant and Aiman made for very good company. Not a word of gossip, not a word about having sex with women tourists, just polite quiet talk about the history of the area, mainly related by his grandfather (maybe great grandfather) who died three years ago at the age of 98. He had been born in and had lived in the caves and tombs before moving to the settled village of Wadi Musa. He said life was better in those days, with the goats and the donkeys, no tourists and rushing around after money and TV and all that. Just a simple life.

Aiman told me that after school he had worked in a hotel. Often for 16 hours a day and all for a pittance of a salary. He left and now rides horses, taking tourists down from the entrance to the Siq and then every now and then trips like these. He is outside, living with horses and meeting people from all over the world and he is very happy doing this.

In the meantime, the sun had set, Venus and her cohort Jupiter lighted up the sky followed by all the constellations before we made our way back in the dark.

Roddel en achterklap

Daar we besloten hebben om nog een nacht in Petra te blijven, was het voor mij vandaag de kans om eens een keertje niks te doen. Lekker om 9 uur ontbeten (i.p.v. 6 uur). Zelfs tijd voor een tweede kop koffie. De rest van de dag alleen maar gelezen. En bijna in een dag mijn nieuwste Amin Maalouf (The Rock of Tanios) uitgelezen.
Gisteravond hadden we een ontmoeting met meneer A, die voor ons de reis naar Wadi Rum heeft geregeld. Via hem waren we ook in dit hotel terecht gekomen. Tijdens het onderhoud vertelde wij hem dat we in Syrie een Jordaanse chauffeur waren tegen gekomen met wie we in Amman een tocht hebben gemaakt. Maar tijdens deze tocht begon deze man ongevraagd een verhaal over een Amerikaanse vrouw die hem bedonderd had en waar hij nog veel geld van kreeg. Volgens hem waren alle Amerikanen dan ook hufters. Toen we geen belangstelling toonden voor zijn aanbod om ergens te gaan lunchen (commissie) en niet spontaan een nieuwe reis bij hem boekten, nam de vriendelijkheid af.
Aan het eind nog motorpech. Maar goed we hebben hem betaald met fooi en netjes gedag gezegd. Toen we in het hotel terug kwamen hebben we tegen de manager gezegd dat dit voor ons een eenmalige zaak was.
Het bleek dat onze man (meneer A) hem ook kende en vertelde dat de persoon in kwestie vandaag in ons hotel zal komen met een Japanse gast...En dat hij een leugenaar was met een te grote mond.
Daarnaast vertelde hij het verhaal over de bedoe'ienen, die allemaal vies waren, ziektes hadden en eigenlijk geen echte bedoe'ienen waren. Hij illustreerde zijn verhaal met een anecdote over een Argentijnse vrouw. Het schijnt dat tal van Westerse vrouwen hier heen komen om (een) gezellige nacht(en) met bedoe'ienen te hebben. Ja en die bedo's doen het met iedereen en met alles...
Vandaag heeft Charles een tocht gemaakt per ezel naar de berg waar A'aron begraven ligt. In de taxi op weg naar Petra vertelde de taxi chauffeur dat bedoe'ienen vies waren en tal van ziektes hadden...
Charles is de hele dag met de eigenaar van de ezel, Nasr opgetrokken. Deze is een van de bedoe'ienen. En hij kende de verhalen en dacht het er het zijne er van.
Vanavond tijdens het eten werden wij confronteerd met onze chauffeur. Hij was aller aardigst maar op een gegeven moment noemde hij de manager van het hotel in Amman en dat deze gezegd had dat we nooit meer met hem in de auto zouden stappen. Hij geloofde het verhaal niet... Wij ontkenden. Hij ging zelfs zover om de persoon in kwestie op te bellen. Wij bleven ontkennen (hoor ik een haan kraaien??). Toen liet hij het er maar bij.
Hij vertelde ons nog wel even dat we op moesten passen voor meneer A, want die vroeg teveel geld voor zijn trips en was niet te vertrouwen. En... ' oh ja moet ik voor jullie nog een hotel in Aqaba regelen?' Wij hebben vriendelijk bedankt en verteld dat we nog even wilden gaan internetten.
Toen we uit het hotel liepen kwamen we meneer A tegen. Of we een kopje thee wilden drinken? Hij had ondertussen een hotel voor ons geregeld. We hebben dat maar afgeblazen en het gesprek kort gehouden. We legden uit dat er teveel geroddeld wordt en dat het toeristen-wereldje erg klein is en dat je steeds via via weer hoort hoe slecht de ander is en hoe goed ze zelf zijn. Dat vond hij ook daarom deed hij niet aan roddelen. Wij ook niet....

(Op)offeren

Vandaag deel drie van ons Petra bezoek. We waren weer vroeg maar dit keer moesten we delen met 6 anderen. Iedereen scheen hetzelfde te willen vandaag: plateau van de offering. Wederom een lange klimpartij. Dit keer langs graven van Romeinse soldaten en obelisken. De obelisken lijken niet zo indrukwekkend maar men moet begrijpen dat ze massief zijn en dat de rest van de omgeving weg gehakt is. Dus een hele prestatie. Of de obelisken symbolen staan voor goden en godinnen of dat ze vruchtbaarheidssymbolen zijn, dat is nog steeds de vraag.
Uiteindelijk kwamen we aan op het plateau. Dit is een vlakte dat uitgehouwen is. De vraag blijft of hier dieren werden geofferd of dat er ook mensen zijn geofferd. Volgens sommigen zijn er alleen dieren geofferd omdat de bloedgootjes zo klein zijn, alsof menselijk bloed dikker en zwaarder is. Volgens weer anderen is met Abraham een eind gemaakt aan het offeren van mensen. Volgens de christelijke traditie moest Abraham zijn zoon Isaac offeren van God, maar op het laatst stopte God deze actie en stuurde een ram. De ram werd geofferd en Isaac overleefde het. Volgens de Islam moest Ibrahim zijn zoon Ismael offeren maar Allah stuurde op het laatste moment een ram. Vandaar dat moslims na de Ramadan een schaap of lam slachten.
Na een bezoek aan het plateau hebben we nog een aantal graven en tempels bewonderd. Op het laatst nog met een archeoloog gesproken die uitlegde dat ze bezig zijn om het gebied voor de 'schatkamer' te onderzoeken. Men heeft daar veel oudere vloeren en muurtjes ontdekt. Maar geld speelt een belangrijke rol. Het onderzoek kost veel geld en de regering wil de toeristen niet lastig vallen met een opgebroken plein voor een van de belangrijkste gebouwen in Petra.
(Voor meer informatie over de bewoners van Petra, de Nabateans zie:
http://i-cias.com/e.o/nabateans.htm)
Bij terugkomst zat Ata op ons te wachten. Door deze meneer zitten we goedkoper in het hotel. Hij kwam even langs om te zien of er nog vragen waren of dat we hem nog ergens voor nodig waren. Hij kan namelijk alles regelen, aldus zijn eigen zeggen. Als je niet oppast dan boekt hij ook nog een hotel voor je in Jemen en in Zuid Afrika. Allemaal heel goed bedoeld maar deze opofferingsgezindheid heeft natuurlijk ook een andere zijde: commissie. Via hem hebben we een tocht geboekt naar Wadi Rum. We blijven nog een nachtje in Petra en Ata wist de prijs nog weer lager te krijgen.
De prijsverlaging heeft meer te maken met het aantal toeristen. Het hotel is bijna leeg. We eten 's avonds met zo'n 14 mensen (groep Spanjaarden en wij tweeen). Het toerisme zat na 9/11 eindelijk weer een beetje in de lift maar de aanslag in Aqabar, vorige week heeft er geen goed aangedaan.

Petra - day three - High altar of sacrifice

Up again at 6 and at the Treasury before 7 and today we decided to go up to the High Altar of Sacrifice.

Again a great walk up the mountain, up steps cut out of the beautiful multi-coloured layered rock more than two thousand years ago. At the top, a large square flat altar dug out of a plateau, with drains for the blood to run out and steps facing the great mountain (Jebel Haroun). Debate surrounds who or what was sacrificed up here, with stories abounding that humans here were sacrificed, as if it were an Aztec shrine. A bit of wishful thinking on behalf of the tourist guides wanting a good story.

Down to the wadi the other side was even better than the way up, with numerous tombs carved out of the rocks, and many beautiful natural features sculpted by wind and rain. In fact it is such a wonderful combination: Nabatean tombs and sculptures, wind and rain sculpted natural features, desert vegetation, limestone rocks, mountains, gullies, canyons, gorges and bedouins.

We are constantly amazed about how few people we have seen here, especially the last couple of days. One hears differing stories, but it seems that tourist numbers took a dive after 11th September but are now recovering year-by-year. Really, the world's tourists are missing out on something very special.

Anyway, to end the day, we managed to get Fred to ride a horse for teh last kilometer or so but it was not an experience he enbjoyed. I had better fun, as I was allowed to gallop the horse back and then was allowed to ride one of the prize Arab crossbreds a little as they tried to sell me another trip.

Further, we have arranged to stay here another day, then go to Wadi Rum for two days on Tuesday, then two days Aqaba, then to Amman on Saturday before flying to San'a on Sunday afternoon. Maybe a donkey ride for me up to Jebel Haroun, Fred to a mosaic-floored church.

Gefeliciteerd Els

Lieve Els, Gefeliciteerd met je verjaardag. We hopen dat je een fijne dag hebt met vrienden en familie. We denken aan je met veel liefs, Fred en Charles

(Generatie) kloof

We zijn nu zo'n drie dagen in Petra, een geweldige en unieke plaats. Donderdagavond begonnen met een 'Petra at Night' een tocht door een met kaarsen verlichte kloof tot aan de 'treasury' oftewel de schatkamer (bekend uit Indiana Jones).
De volgende dag waren we rond zeven uur bij de poort. De tocht van het hek naar de ' schatkamer' is ongeveer een half uur. Maar dat is niet zo maar een half uur. Je loopt door een pracht van een kloof. Zo'n 3o meter hoog, uitgesneden door de rivier (alleen 's winters), roze, blauwe en oranje gloed. Een wereldwonder opzich. Aan het begin zijn een aantal graftombes uitgehouwen. Na de kloof komt de ' schatkamer' . Dit gebouw is in zijn totaliteit uit de rotsen gehakt. De bewoners, pre Romeins, waren erg onder de invloed van Griekenland en Egypte. De ' schatkamer' ziet er dan ook uit als een griekse tempel. Als je denkt dat dat het is, dan kom je bedrogen uit. Het gebied is zo'n 45 km2. Om de meter is er wel weer een graftombe of iets anders. Na een tijdje zagen we een Romeins teater, ook totaal uitgehakt.
De eerste dag hebben we misschien een 2 a 3 km2 gedaan. Veel gezien met als hoogtepunt een koninklijke tombe dat later in een kerk is veranderd. het zijn gebouwen van ongeveer 35m bij 35m. Het plafond is net een kleurplaat i.vm. de verschillende lagen en dus kleuren in het gesteente.
Naast alle bezienswaardigheden zijn er vele souvenierwinkeltjes/stalletjes aangevuld met ' cafeetjes' waar je even bij kunt komen onder het gbenot van een Turkse koffie. Naast alle ' winkeliers' zijn er tal van jongeren die je hun ezel, kameel of paard willen verhuren. Deze ambulante handel is op zich niet storend. Men vraagt of je iets wil kopen maar als je nee zegt dan houden ze meestal ook direct op.
Vandaag waren we voor zevenen bij het hek. We waren de eerste en het was een genot om lekker het hele gebied met zijn tweeen te hebben. De tocht door de kloof blijft iets unieks. De ezelverhuurders sliepen nog. Afentoe zag je een baaltje deken met een jongen er in die niet van plan was om op te staan voor de vroege vogels.
Vandaag stond eigenlijk maar een gebouw op het menu: 'monastery' oftewel het klooster. Nee dit is geen luiheid maar het klooster ligt hoog in de bergen. Op onze weg naar het klooster zijn we eerst wezen kijken bij een tempelcomplex, dat terecht de naam' the great temple' droeg. Na een behoorlijke tocht, begon de klimpartij. Voor ons een tweetal ezeltjes met watertanks en begeleider, die zoals als later bleek, het cafeetje van spulletjes moest voorzien. De tocht was geweldig. Ook al was het af en toe wat afzien, het was zeker de moeite waard. Onderweg kwamen een aantal koopvrouwen tegen. De een deed me erg denken aan een Maria met kind op een ezel. De andere was weer een bijdehandje die vond dat we bij haar thee moesten komen drinken en vooral iets moesten kopen.
Na de lange tocht, de beloning. We zagen opeens voor ons een cafe. Dat hadden we niet verwacht. We zaten te wachten op een ' klooster' en niet op een horecagelegenheid (gelukkig was het nog net geen McD). Maar... het 'klooster' stond rechts. Een gebouw van 48 m hoog en 47 m breed. Prachtig uitgehouwen en wederom versierd naar Grieks voorbeeld. Het gebouw was ooit een tempel maar omdat de Byzantijnen er in de 5e eeuw kruizen in hebben gekrast, wordt het nu een klooster genoemd.
Na de koffie (dank aan de ezeltjes voor het brengen van het water) hebben we de omgeving bekeken. Een prachtig uitzicht op Jabal Houroun: de berg waar A'aron ligt begraven. De tombe is te bezichtigen maar die tocht duurt 8 uur. Ondertussen bij een schaapherder thee gedronken. Hij heeft ons een grot laten zien met de afbeeldig van twee mannen en twee kamelen. Daarnaast vertelde hij het een en ander over de potscherven die daar in honderden liggen (kleine stukjes).
Men doet nog steeds onderzoek in Petra. Archeologen denken dat er nog zo'n 80% van de stad onder de grond verborgen ligt.
Na de geweldige uitzichten bemerkten we dat we niet de enigen meer waren. Het was ondertussen rond 12.00 uur en er was een groep Spanjaarden aangekomen. Op de terugtocht steeds meer toeristen die in de hitte naar boven klauterden, steeds vaak gevraagd of we een ezel wilden, want dat spaart tijd en energie , niet waar. Ik grapte maar steeds dat je dat zo'n beestje niet aan kon doen. Maar ik zag mensen op een ezel zitten waar ik mij toch redelijk slank bij kan noemen... maar goed dat is hun zaak.
Na de terugtocht even rustig bijgekomen. Maar al gauw overvallen door de heertjes ezelventers. Een van hen was net getrouwd en zat te wachten op zaken. Samen met een bewaker zat hij lekker tegen ons aan te kletsen. De heren vertelden hoe geweldig hun nachten wel niet waren als ze een slok kamelenmelk op hadden. Toen ze ons vroegen hoe oud we waren, bleek dat ze dat maar een rare zaak vonden: veertigers!!?? Ze voelden zichzelf al oud en waren begin en eind twintig. Een kloof dus.
Na hun verhalen en moppen nog wat water gedronken en toen weer door die mooie kloof... ja daar ga ik niet op een ezel doorheen, dat hou ik voor mezelf.
Morgenvroeg maar weer voor zevenen bij het hek. Uitslapen kunnen we altijd nog wel.

A green Wadi, Petra

Petra day two... Monastery and bedouin barbecue

We spent another day at Petra, getting up at 6 am and being one of the first to the Treasury at just before 7.

Today we were off to the Monastery, which meant carrying on from where we were the day before and walking down the main Roman way - the Cardo Maximus, as we have seen in so many sites, this one with columns and temples. After this began the long walk up to the top, through another river bed (wadi) and up the 800 or so steps,passing spectacular views all along the way, as we followed two donkeys carrying water and their handler.

The Monastery, once we made it there at 9, in the still cool morning air, was another massive temple carved into the rock face, this time without the statues, but with an urn sitting on top. Beautiful. We spent about two hoursup at the top, drinking coffee at the bar up there, watching the beautful birds, notably the pink sparrows (to match the stone) and green Palestinian Sunbirds, chatting with an old goatherd who took us off to see a small temple with camels, carved into the rock at the entrance and who showed us lots of fragments of Nabatean and Roman pottery just lying in the sand, waiting to be picked up.

Down was easy, and it was getting busier, many people taking the donkeys up. At the bottom, I was persuaded to take a donkey out with Nasr, who we had met at the top. We would go to the Spring, over and round ot the bedouin village and out to the desert for a chicken barbecue. Fred preferred an easy afternoon back at the hotel.

So off I went with Nasr and as good a time as we had it wasn't quite what was promised as the last bits we did by jeep and in the middleof it all, I had a couple of hours to snooze at Nasr's family's house.

It was great being out in the desert, watching the rocks change coloursas the sun set to the west, then watching first the planets and then the stars come out, the Milky Way suddenly throwing itself across the sky. Even got to see a couple of shooting stars, a wish attached to each.

Nasr talked about his family, his village, his tribe, his new wife, who I had met previously, and how much she cost (lots of gold and 15 goats) and his various experiences (mostly sexual) with the tourists who come to Petra, while he prepared the barbecue of chicken and tomatoes, washed down with 'bedouin whisky' (which we know as sweet tea!). It was a good evening.

Desert flower, Petra

Petra

We made it down to Petra in the early evening yesterday, just in time to make it to Petra by night.... maybe a separate blog.

Today we were up at 6 to be at the site before 7 in order to make the most of Petra before it became too hot.

We re-traced the steps we took last nihgt by candle- and star-light, it all looking very different. The colours of teh sandstone rocks, their shapes and the inscriptions and carvings in the rocks were all visible in their glory now as we traversed the 1.2 km of the Siq. This Siq is a narrow canyon through the rocks, coming out into a large open space. On the rock-face opposite is craved the Treasury, as shown in the photo. A really amazing sight, truly one of the world's wonders, espcially when you see just how big it is.

From there we followed the canyon round, until it opened out. The rocks were layered with multi-colours, red, pink, yellow, grey,black and white.

The joy of Petra is in the combination of the amazing natural formations and the monuments built but mostlycarved by the Nabateans (500 BC - 100 AD - when they were taken up by the Roman Empire).

We took the eastern route and climbed to the top of the cliffs (a high climb) for spelndid views over the site across to Haroun's Mount (Haroun being the brother of Moses).

Met up with three ladies from Italy (Milan, Bologna and Figline Valdarno) and an English lady from North London, as well as chatting with the bedouins.

The bedouins do not live oin Petar any more but they can run businesses there without paying taxes, so theye are seen renting out horses, donkeys and camels as well as selling refreshments and souvenirs. I did not find them intrusive and, to be honest, they were there first and added a lot of colour to the site.

We have only covered a tiny part and we wil return in the next 2-3 day, for more walking around, including the very high up Monastery - although I might take a donkey up there.

Petra by night

Three kilometres in the night, beneath the stars (the moon was hiding herself away), with just candles to guide our way from Petra Gate to the Treasury.

Our first visit to Petra. So magical. So little revealed. So much promise.

Bedouin with his flock

Further down the King's Highway, we stopped off again.
The afternoon was getting late, the air was cool. The sun was casting shadows.
A lone bedouin was down in the valley with his flock, just him and his goats, the rams with bells attached around their necks, accompanied by a few birds singing and twittering.
Added to thisbackground noise, was the sound of the bedouin's flute as he played to his flock.
It was a beautiful and treasured moment.

Anglo-Arab stallion, Kings Highway

Seen by the side of the King's Highway just south of Madaba. A bedouin tent, a number of beautiful horses tied up underneath the trees. We asked Khamis to stop and stop he did and we chatted to the father and his sons, as they showed us their two English-Arab cross stallions.
Opposite, there was an open site, with some starting stalls. The races were due to be held on Friday and they were going to race four of their horses.

Biblical lands

Yesterday, another trip out with our driver Khamis, this time up north to the hills above Jerash, to visit Ajloun Castle, then down through pretty countryside with goats eating the chaffe of this season's wheat, before plunging down into the heat of the Jordan Valley.
Here we stopped at Pella and Umm Qais (formerly Gadarene), both cities of the Decapolis of Roman Times, before rushing back to Amman to catch our travel agent (see post on Yemen).
Umm Qais is the place where Jesus cast the devil out of a madman and gave them to a herd of pigs who then prompltly charged off the end of a cliff. As much as I admire Jesus, principally for the Sermon on the Mount, I have never been too taken by his miracles, most of which had been performed by others before and after him. I would respect a man for what he says and does, not for a magic box of tricks or miracle-making - but that is by-the-by. One certainly didn't feel His presence as one had in Bethany the day before.
Umm Qais is interesting because from the commnading heights one can see Jordan, Israel, Palestine, Syria and even Lebanon. So many countries in such a small place. Mountains, fertile river valleys, lakes, deserts, plains and so on.

TO BE CONTINUED

Onward - Omo River expedition

We are putting the finishing touches to our plan to participate in the Omo River expedition, starting on 8th October. The expedition is organised by Remote River Expeditions and promises to be one of the highlights of our trip.
This will give us a month to get through Eritrea and Somaliland and hopefully, Northern Ethiopia.

Onward - Yemen and Aden

We had to delay our trip to Petra, along the ancient King's Highway today in order to sort out the tickets to Yemen and Eritrea with Yemenia Airlines. Wewere disappointed yesterday evening to find out that our travel agent had not managed to arrange everything yesterday, as promised(in fact she had done nothing on Monday, so we lost vital time). Anyway, we were told yesterday that we would need a visa in advance before Yemenia would issue us with tickets. Given that there are Yemeni embassies in both Holland and UK, it seemed as if we might not be able to get them here. These countries seem to work on the idea that if they go to the trouble of having an embassy in your country you should use that embassy to get a visa and not wait until you get to the border.

So, we have delayed everything a day and we spent this morning camped in the travel agent's office until we walked out with tickets. The embassy told us we could get visa's at the border, and bthey managed to convince their national carrier that this was the case as well. We will fly there on the 4th and leave on the 9th. This should give us time to visit Aden. This will be a happy and auspicious event for me because it seems that the first flight I ever took was in 1962, a flight from Hargeisa to Aden (which was then a British ' possession'). One of the very few things I still have from my childhood is the ticket.

I found an article in Yemen Times, talking about Aden having received a million tourists duriung the last Eid vacation. Apart from describing the attractions of the fabulous coastal city, the article worries about the influx of foreigners bringing in alcohol consumption and other unethical acts. So... it looks like alcohol-free beer for Fred. I bet it was different in 1962, wasn't it Dad?

Rockets in Aqaba

Just a quick rant, if I may. Many of you will have heard about the fact that three rockets were launched at Israel and a US Navy carrier from the port of Aqaba last Friday. The Jordanians have been swift in their response and seem to have caught 30 suspects, including the ring leader. Most of these people are Iraqis and people paid for by the Iraqis. The rockets all missed their targets and in fact one of them killed a Jordanian soldier.

I am quite appalled by this, as apart from it being a terrorist action, it is one which will only do harm to Jordan. One of their soldiers lies dead. The news of the rockets will deter tourists (Western and Arab alike) from coming to Jordan. This will affect so many people in this country, not just the big hotel chains, but small restaurants, hairdressers, fruit-juice sellers, general shop-keepers, the guys who sell coffee or water outside the sites, the camel drivers, car drivers, taxi drivers and all sorts of people.

These people have done nothing wong and, of all the countries in this part of the world, Jordan seems to have done its best to keep out of trouble, make peace with its neighbours, house millions of refugees, build a open modern state. Although bad, very bad things were done here in the early part of last century by the colonial powers (mostly the British), there has been plenty of time to heal old wounds, accept the State of Israel, make peace, get on with life and so on. While other peoples and countries seem to be content to trawl through history to remember all the wrongs ever done to them and to blame other people and countries for what is going on, Jordan seems to be a country which accepts the present and tries to make its best way forward.

No country deserves terrorism, but as far as I am concerned, Jordan would be one of the countries which would least deserve it. Keep up the good work, people of Jordan!

'De Khamis-voor-mekaar-Show'

We kennen Khamis, de 36 jarige Jordanier, sinds zondagmorgen. Al lopende in de straten van Amman werden we tegengehouden door een meneer in een oude, groene Mercedes. Zijn naam was Khamis en van beroep was hij reisleider.
Zonder blikken of blozen legde hij uit wat voor geweldige reisjes hij met ons kon gaan maken en dat allemaal in zijn groene trots... en de prijs viel reuze mee.
Maandagmorgen om 8.30 stond Khamis met zijn groene trots voor ons hotel. Voor z0'n 35 USD hadden we de hele dag de beschikking over hem en zijn auto. Het zou een Bijbelse dag worden. Eerst richting de Jordaan gereden naar de plek waar Johannes de Doper leefde en waar hij Jezus heeft gedoopt. Kamish bleef trouw bij de ingangspoort wachten terwijl wij uitleg kregen over de geschiedenis van het gebied.
Na deze plekken heeft hij ons langs de de Dode Zee gereden. Om de 50 meter stopte hij trouw zodat Charles foto's kon nemen. Langzamerhand ontstond er steeds een betere band tussen ons. Al rijdende vertelde hij dat dit zijn tweede Mercedes was. Van de eerste prijkte trots een foto op het handschoenenkastje. Deze Mercedes had hij sinds een jaar of anderhalf. De auto was door zijn vader in de jaren tachtig geimporteerd uit Duitsland en sinds diens dood, was Khamis de trotse bezitter. Ondertussen vroeg hij of Charles een aantal foto's van zijn auto kon nemen. In verschillende poses. Hij glimde van trots toen charles hem vertelde dat hij, zo gauw als we weer terug zijn in Nederland hem de foto' s zou toesturen.
Terwijl we Sodom bezochten, rolde Khamis zijn gebedstapijtje uit en voldeed aan zijn religieuze verplichtingen. Volgens de regels moet men vijf keer per dag bidden in een schone (reine) omgeving. Het begrip ' rein' is rekbaar. Een uitgeklopt (schoon) tapijtje langs de snelweg voldoet aan deze eisen. Men hoeft niet verplicht in een moskee te bidden, alleen op vrijdag.
Na Sodom en het bidden bracht hij ons naar een hotel aan de Dode Zee waar we konden gaan zwemmen. Het water is verschrikkelijk zout en men moet oppassen voor de ogen. Dicht bij het strand is er ook nog een soort van modder/klei dat gezien wordt als erg goed voor je huid. Als je niet oppast dan ben je lekker bezig om letterlijk zout in open wonden te smeren.
We waren dan ook snel uitgezwommen.
Dinsdagmorgen stond onze chauffeur om 9 uur voor het hotel. Vandaag een wat meer relaxte dag. Via de snelweg naar Pella maar ondertussen nog stoppen bij een kasteel van de neef van Saladin en op plekken voor leuke foto's. In Pella hebben we gegeten. Het restaurant bood een perfecte uitzicht over de ruines van Pella. Onder ons lagen dan ook de overblijfselen van een tempel uit de prehistorie, een Romeinse tempel en een Byzantijnse kerk. Het was de plek waar Jacob met de engel gevochten heeft en de naam Israel kreeg (= hij die met God gestreden heeft). Na het eten snel de ruines bezocht en toen richting Golanhoogte.
En toen gebeurde het. Khamis was erg blij te horen dat we de volgende dag met hem naar Petra wilden, i.p.v. met het busje van ons hotel. Terwijl we langs de grens met Israel reden, sprak hij opeens over ' Sharonite country' en 'Sharonistan' . Hij legde uit dat hij nu Sharon wel goed vond, i.v.m. Gaza. Opeens begon hij Arafat na te doen, toen Assad, koning Hoessein en tenslotte onze aller vriend Saddam. Het was geweldig, ook al verstonden we het Arabisch niet. Maar de variatie in stemhoogte en het feit dat hij er echt serieus voor ging zitten maakte het allemaal tot een komische show.
Na de show verder langs de grens met Israel en Syrie gereden en vaak gecontroleerd door soldaten. Foto's nemen kon niet en stoppen mocht ook niet. Maar onze dag kon niet meer stuk.
Khamis is een ras entertainer en op de terugweg naar Amman zette hij zijn lievelings muziek op en al tappend op het stuur met een tevreden glimlach zorgde hij er voor dat we op tijd bij het reisburo waren.
Donderdag met hem naar Petra, we hebben er zin in.

We gaan weer naar school

A day trip to Sodom

A day trip to Sodom... and Gomorroh and two of the other five cities on the plain whose people were subject to genocide by God when they mis-behaved themselves.

Lot escaped with his wife and two daughters as their town was subjected to destruction. Lot's wife turned back when told not to and was turned into a pillar of salt.

Then Lot escpaed into a cave with his two daughters and thinking they were the only ones alive, the daughters got their father drunk and then seduced him and had children, the oldest being Moab.

Funny stories, but we saw Sodom, Lot's wife and Lot's Cave as we made our way down and round the Dead Sea. Fascinating for us, these stories but the main attraction Bible-wise is the Baptism Site, which was just to the north of the Dead Sea.

This site was referrred to in the Gospel of John as Bethany-over-the-Jordan. Bethany is a place where hermits live. It is clear that the early church believed that this was the site as they built many shrines and churches and these were discovered as recently as 1996, after the area became a demilitarised zone. Since then, the Jordanianas have been developing this site with great respect and although there is not all that much to see by way of ruins and although the riverbed was dry, it was a magical place. It was a very odd feeling to be at thye place where both Jesus and John were and where Jesus himself was baptised.

There were some religious loonies from America at the site as well,speakinbg with suitably ridiculous Southern American accents, and we chatted to a group of bikers from Italy, who had travelled here on their bikes from Turkey having taken their bikes there by ferry.

After this we were driven by the very sympathetic Khamis, who had introduced himself to us yesterday morning, in his 30 year old green Mercedes, all the way down the East bank of the Dead Sea, with stunning views up towards the mountains on either side, every now and then broken by a shot of green as a creek wound down cutting canyons into the very colourful rock (reminiscent of the Andes near Uspallata last year). And on the way down,w e stopped to take a photo of Lot's wife... who interestingly looked more like a Victorian lady when we drove back up.... but I didn't ask to stop, yet again.

Khamis must have been a bit puzzled by why we so much wanted to find a deserted tell (hill) at the south end of the lake as he had only been asked to go there once before in 20 years, by a Frenchman and his family. There was not really anything to see there but white dust, but the views were beautiful and it seemd to be an eminent place to have a city. Apparently, to this day, gay people in Syria are called Loti's in reference to this story and, of course in English and Dutch we have sodomites or mietjes. Again, a very strange experience to be here at this very spot.

After that we were made to pay for bringing our driver all this way as he dropped us off at the bottom of a hill, somewhere half way we could find Lot's Cave. It was burning hot, but there was a little breeze and we still had a couple of litres of water so we made it to the site, which to be honest was a little less convincing than Sodom, but at least to was a cave.

The last stop back to Amman, in the hills was to one of the 12 fountains of Moses, where there was a tap with clear fresh clean water coming out of a spring. A popular meeting post, there was a minibus full of chaps there who had been in the Dead Sea, one of tehm offreing his friend's sister to us for 10 JD. We politely declined. We were more connected with the people of Sodom.

Jordan babes

After posting the last blog, Fred and I walked into a barber's shop and asked for a haircut and shave respectively. We came out having a complete facial with creams, steam, scrubs, scrapes and some extremely painful electro-treatment, and considerably poorer. But we both look younger and later I can put up a photo to show the difference. At least we have some sympathy now for what other people go through in the cause of beauty.

After that it was a quick lunch of hummus and falafel and then back to the travel agent to confirm our trip.. leaving Amman for Sana'a on the 4th, and travelling on to Asmara on the 8th, travelling with Yemenia. It makes a lot more sense for us in the context of this trip to stop off in Yemen, as this provides a cultural and historical bridge between the Middle East and Eastern Africa, as Yemeni merchants have been very active in Somalia and Ethiopia in the past, and still are. I am very happy with this choice.

And then we walked up a hill to find a good bookshop and a western-style cafe with a beautiful terrace and a view over downtown, in the cool late afternoon breeze, where we had a couple of beers while watching the REAL Jordan babes doing their thing..... looking gorgeous and acting cool. I think Alex will enjoy going up there later, if we catch him.

Which way now?

A rest day today and a chance to plan ahead a bit.

The main question is onward travel from Jordan and it seems as if we have found a way, even though we were shocked to be told by one travel agent that all flights out of Jordan until 17th September were fully booked.

The plan now is to fly down to Sana'a in Yemen on 4th September and fly on from there on 8th September to Asmara in Eritrea. I have been trying to check up on Yemen on the internet, without a lot of success. It seesm to be pretty quiet in the capital Sana'a and that would be the only place we woulkd probably want to visit. If we do, we will have been to all three of the cities claiming longest continuous human habitation (along with Aleppo and Damascus) and it will be a real treat if it matched either of those two cities.

Further, within Jordan, I have sketched out a plan which will include three day trips from Amman, one back up north past Jerash and another two west towards the River Jordan and Dead Sea, to include, for sure the Baptism Site (where John baptised Jesus) and the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

After that, a trip down the King's Highway to Petra where we could stay 3-4 days, then down to Wadi Rum (desert landscapes and dunes), wherte we might go on a camel trek for 2-3 days/nights, and then down to Aqaba, for some snorkelling in the Red Sea. It might be nice to spend longer down there to relax but I am very scared about how HOT it will be there (and humid too).

Amman is hot enough by day - about 34, but it has been cool enough in the evenings and the air is dry, so it feels mostly fine. In Aqaba it might be 40 AND humid.

Further ahead,we have decided to go for the expedition down the Omo River in Southern Ethiopia, which will enable us to experience the nature and meet the local tribes. More about this later... we first need to arrange payment.

Kitkatclub

Toen ik net mijn mail opende merkte ik dat ik een mailtje had gekregen van Ineke van der Sar over de gang van zaken op maandag 22 augustus. Ik zie de grote spandoeken al weer hangen: WE GAAN WEER NAAR SCHOOL!! Met name die bij Annemiek voor het raam. De gemeente of stadsdeelraad vond dat de beste plek om aan te kondigen dat de kids weer mogen ... het uitzicht van Annemiek was bijzaak.
Op een gewone zondagmiddag kreeg ik zo rond deze tijd (het is hier nu bijna 14.00 uur) vage kriebels in mijn buik. Oh ja wat moeten we morgen ook al weer doen? Welke klassen? Welk programma? Dat gevoel blijft mij nu bespaart: wat een enorme luxe-gevoel is dat.
We zijn nog steeds in Amman, de stad die ik donderdag nog afgedaan heb als grijs en kleurloos. Zo langzamerhand beginnen we wat te wennen. De stad is enorm en is opgebouwd uit verschillende ringen of lagen. Wij zitten downtown en dat is al groot. Er zijn delen, zoals het gebied waar de koning woont die rijk en groen zijn.
Via de verhalen van Charles hebben jullie natuurlijk al begrepen dat we vrijdag en zaterdag tal van plaatsen hebben bezocht. Vrijdag was het de beurt aan de kastelen, hammams en jachtlustoord die de Ommayaden (vroeg Islamitisch) in de woestijn hebben gebouwd (langs de handelsroutes van Amman naar Jerusalem). Gisteren was het de beurt aan Jerash, der stad met de Romeinse ruines.
We reizen de afgelopen twee dagen met Alex, een Canadees die na een baan bij Warner Brothers begonnen is aan een studie ' islamitische kunst en architectuur' Het is handig met hem te reizen omdat hij veel afweet van, met name de vroeg-islamitische periode.
Na Jerash leerden we Michael kennen, een Amerikaan die na zijn ontslag besloten heeft om zo'n jaar of anderhalf te gaan reizen. Een van de leukste dingen van reizen is wel het leren kennen van nieuwe mensen. En met name in de wat goedkopere backpackers hotels heb je gauwer contact dan in de duurdere.
Vrijdagavond zijn we na het eten op zoek gegaan naar een bar met alcohol. De meeste cafe's en bars zijn theehuizen. En soms wil een mens wel wat sterkers. Ok je kunt altijd nog een biertje kopen bij een slijter maar om nou in je hotelkamer een biertje te gaan zitten drinken, dat komt ook wel erg ' desparate' over. We vonden en bar, de zogenaamde Kitkatclub... rode verlichting, rokerig en kitscherige portretten van schaars geklede dames aan de muur. Alle drie hadden gelijk het 'oepsgevoel' moeten we hier wel zijn? Is het een bordeel? Hangen we straks als blijkt dat de biertjes zo'n 100 USD zijn? Toch maar de stoute schoenen aangetrokken. Het viel allemaal reuze mee. Er waren alleen maar mannen (oh was het dan toch een nichtenkit?) en de biertje waren 2.30 E (en dat voor 0.65 liter). Dus we hebben genoten van ons biertje en toen maar braaf betaald. Misschien was het meer de naam en de verlichting die ons op het verkeerde been hebben gebracht. (was de Kitkatclub niet de naam van de cabaretclub/kroeg uit Cabaret??)
Gisteravond hebben we een gelijksoortige bar ontdekt: de Hudson. Ook weer rode verlichting, rokerig, de portretten en alleen maar mannen. Dus men begrijpt het al: na elke avondmaal gaan de heren even een biertje drinken in een van de ' rode' kroegen. Amman heeft voor ons meer kleur gekregen.

Jerash

Jerash, is the old Gerasa, one of the cities of the Decapolis, mentioned in the Bible. It is 50 kms or so north of Amman, situated in green wooded hills, towards the River Jordan. It disappeared for over 1,000 years after the Muslims seized it and was re-discovered as a site in the early 1800's by a German. Since then the site has been excavated by Germans, French, Italians and now Danish, who were digging an old mosque.

It is the site of some beautiful Roman ruins, most notably the Temples of Zeus and (a giant temple of) Artemis (with columns which moved around in the wind), two major ampitheatres, many churches, a beautiful Oval, with columns (reminiscent of St Peter's in Rome) and a hippodrome. From next month onwards there will be daily displays of chariot racing and Roman military battles, and we managed to catch them practicing. Promises to be great. http://www.jerashchariots.com/

Jerash does not have the name or the size of Baalbek where we were last Saturday, but somehow, this site had more of a magic about it, maybe due to its hillside setting and fine state of the buildings and we spent the best part of the day wandering around, with Alex, the chap we had met yesterday.

No plans for tomorrow, but we are very close to the Dead Sea and the recently discovered (and exploited) Baptism site, where John baptised Jesus, so maybe we will go there. In fact, we will have a rest day in and around Amman... maybe find a hotel with a pool.

This eveniong we went out for dinner at the local Cairo restuarant. Delicious food. Fried fresh fish, stuffed with green peppers, served with delicious rice, all for just E 2. Drank down later in a bar with a very large bottle of Amstel beer. Shared with Fred, Alex and Mike (an American attorney... so amazing to be talking about Sarbanes-Oxley Act and associated horrors so far away from office life).

Into the desert - castles and bedouins

A better day today as we left Amman early in the morning for a tour around the so-called desert castles, more like desert retreats for Byzantine and Ummayyad rulers, all varied and all in the hot black basalt desert out towards the East of Amman towards Saudi Arabia and Iraq. It turned out that our driver was none other than Ibrahim, who we had come across in a desert castle in Syria three weeks ago and we were joined by Alex, a student of Islamic Architecture in British Columbia in Canada. We had high hopes for Ibrahim, but he proved to be a bit irritating and we will not be travelling with him again, I think, but Alex turned out ot be an interesting and friendly chap and we hope to make a trip with him again tomorrow.

We stopped at five castles/retreats in all, all different in their own ways, but all a little ruined, as well as the S. Wildlife Reserve near Arzaq. Highlight was Qasr Amra, a bathing house with beautiful paintings/frescoes on the walls. Odd in many ways because it was built by the Islamic Ummayyads from Damascus, but had paintings of people (including naked women), animals (some playing musical instruments and the signs of the zodiac, where Islam supposedly forbids the depiction of such things (except presumably in newspapers and magazines, judging from what we can make out from the newsagents here). Anyway.... they were very beautiful and quite well preserved and quite unlike any other art we have seen (although I did detect echos of the Etruscans in their portrayal of music, song, dance and nature).

Outside all calamities were going on as Ibrahim's car had run out of oil all of a sudden and he was worrying that his whole engine might have broken down, so we were invited into a nearby bedouin tent, where we were treated with sweet tea and stories of sex with foreigners! Apparently, the cardomon in the tea we were drinking was supposed to slow down a bedouin's sexual appetite (presumably for the days he is wandering the fields with his sheep and goats). Camel milk, on the other hand, was said to be a great stimulant (the bedouin viagra). Ali's big brother Hakim said he could do it it 4 to 5 times a night with some camel's milk inside him. He liked European tourists, especially Spanish and Italian and also liked Syrian women. They would come along and be so taken in by his charm that they would just decide on the spot to spend the night in his tent. Meanwhile, Ibrahim told us (quietly) that Ali himself could possibly manage 7 times, given that he was still so young (last year at school) - and then fantasised about all the (nasty) American women he had turned down after them pleading with him for...(likely story). Unfortunately, Ali had told us he had left the camels back in his village near Amman, so there was not much point in staying to find out..... It was a fascinating insight to bedouin life and the tea tasted good too!

All too quickly the engine was fixed and we were off to our last castle before coming back to a very BIG fruit juice back here in Amman. The last castle became 'Fred's' castle as he was given the keys and let us in and showed us around.

Low point of the was Azraq, which was not so long ago a magical oasis, with lakes, fountains, forests of date palms, water buffaloes and migrating birds, all water fed from the aquilifer's below the rock. Now to provide water to the massively expanded population in Amman, the water has almost run out and the area is an ecological disater. Buffaloes dead, palms dying, desert expanding and birds gone... ironically the Sea of Gallilee apparently.

We hear also that some idiots have been firing missiles at US and Israeli targets from Aqaba today, killing of course one Jordanian (why not?). We plan to make it down to Aqaba later in our stay here but will keep our eyes on the situation (of course).

Jordaans of Jordanees??

Vandaag was het dan zover: op weg naar Jordanie. Vroeg op omdat de taxi om 6 uur voor de deur stond. We deelden de auto met twee dames: moeder en dochter. Daar de dames en de chauffeur geen engels of frans spraken, bleef de conversatie beperkt tot het woord ' passport' . We hadden natuurlijk wel een angstig gevoel omdat we geen visum hadden voor Syrie. We moesten nu eenmaal door dat land om in Jordanie te komen.
De grensformaliteiten begonnen bij de Libanese grens; het land uitkomen is ook geen kattepis. Eenmaal eruit toen richting Syrische grens. Geen visum??? Nee dus... nou geen probleem dan konden we een transitvisum kopen. Engelsen betalen 52 dollars en Nederlanders 15. Het hoe en waarom is ons niet duidelijk geworden. Heeft het een politieke reden? Een koloniale? Maar we waren blij dat we doormochten. De volgende stap was Jordanie. De vriendelijke grenswachters stonden ons glimlachend op te wachten. Niets geen problemen. Even geld wisselen en voor 12.50 Euro de man konden we het land in... en we kunnen een hele maand blijven... jippie.
Het landschap richting Amman was grijs, grauw en vooral droog (semi- woestijn) en ook best wel saai.
De dames en de chauffeur waren ondertussen druk bezig om mobiel contact te leggen met haar familie die hun ergens ' weg van de snelweg' moesten oppikken. Gezien het geluid en herrie was het vast en zeker een ' long distance call' . Toen ze het na een aantal gesprekken geregeld hadden, stopten we voor Amman. Moeder en dochter kregen een warm welkom van hun familieleden. De dames betaalden en het feit dat ze Arabisch waren gaf hun schijnbaar recht op 50% korting.
Wij zijn doorgereden naar Amman. De chauffeur heeft ons afgezet (dit keer letterlijk) bij het ' Palace Hotel'. (iedere Blues Brother fan snapt de connectie). Waar we een kamer voor twee nachten hebben geboekt.
De stad zelf is grijs en grauw. Het viel ons op hoe weinig kleur en fleur hier is. Het provinciestadje heeft zich in de jaren zestig/zeventig erg ontwikkeld maar is ook vol gebouwd met lelijke betonnenblokken. Op onze wandeltocht hebben nog niet veel moois kunnen ontdekken. De moskee was ok en het Romeinse theater zag er indrukwekkend uit. De stad is op en tegen een heuvel/rots aangebouwd en het is dan ook pittig wandelen. Op de top is een kasteel met restanten van een Romeinse tempel. Maar zoals al gezegd en ontbreekt aan kleur.
Morgen gaan we met een tour mee richting woestijn. We gaan daar (zand)kastelen bezoeken.
Maar dat verhaal houden jullie nog te goed.

Amman

Well, all went to plan this morning and we were met just sfter 6 am by a man with a car from Jordan who whisked us off out of Beirut almost before we could open our eyes. It is a short trip up over the mountains, down the valley the other side and half way up the next range of mountains, stopping first for two very large Palestinian ladies, who looked aghast at the fact that they had to share the car with two men, two Western men, at that. Of course, the older one said she had a problem with her foot so she had to take my place at the front and I had to sit the rest of the journey in that lumpy bit in the middle of the backseat. Both had special Lebanese passports issued to Palestinian nationals and both had travelled by BA from London on July the 7th. Both wore very thick gowns and neither showed the remotest sign of interest or friendliness in their fellow passengers.

Now we just had to complete four sets of passport and customes controls and it would be a short run down from the Syrian border to Amman, capital of Jordan. Would we make it into Syria and had we needed to get a Jordanian visa beforehand or not, were the questions uppermost in our minds. As it happened all went very smoothly, if a little bit expensive at times. Fred had to pay USD 15 for his transit visa through Syria, being a Dutch resident while I was in the happy position of being a UK national and having to pay USD 52 for my two hours in the country. I wouldn't mind so much if I hadn't known that French get in there for free!

It was a good feeling being back in Syria, albeit briefly, as we really had good memories of the country and our hopes for Jordan were high, reading the guide book about the sites of Petra, Wadi Rum, Aqaba, desert castles and many Roman and biblical sites. Things looked good as we passed bedouins with goats, donkeys AND camels,shortly after crossing the border.

However, our experience of Amman has not been that good. I know we were a bit diappointyed when we first made it to Beirut and we grew to love the place but I am not sure we will see that happeneing here. It is a very grey city, the colour of the streets, the houses, the ruins, the mosque, people's clothes and even their expressions. All very grey. No political advertising, not even fast food chains, little graffitti, not even the paintings of the black rock of Mecca to denote a completed hajj. The city is laid out on hills, with the roads and the main centres of life concentrated in the hot valleys with very few landmarks. We are staying in downtown, but not being a very old city (apart from the Roman remains of the old Philadelphia) there are not many historical or old buildings, no souks, no hammams and a rather drab main Mosque. Lots of rubbish and rubble everywhere. Not suer why there should be so much rubble everywhere and why, just under the citadel there seemed to be a squatters area of broken down houses, there not having been a war here for many years, but no doubt we will find out (or not as the case may be..... seeing as it seems a lot more difficult making contact with the locals here than what we are used to). And anyway, we came to Amman more because there seem to be no hotels in the towns around than because we wanted to find anything here.

Afetr a short walkabout and a delicious and very cheap hummus meal for lunch we went back to our Palace hotel for a sleep and got up again for an evening walkabout hoping for better things, and to some extent we did see better things but also lots of waste ground, battered old houses, nasty looking areas, hiostorical ares as good as completely neglected and so on. Jordan is a poior country. It has suffered from a large influx of Palestinian refugees and very large population growth and from being in a very unstable area geo-politically. So, we realise that we have been very fortunate to experience the richness of the multi-cultural life in Syria and Lebanon and maybe this is a good way to transition to what we will find in Africa on the next stage fo our trip.

We are also a bit stuck. We cannot go north to Syria, as we cannot get visas to Syria from Jordan, east is Iraq and is closed, south is Saudi Arabia and is closed, west are Israel and Palestine and we canot go there if we want to enter certain African countries without problems. There is a way west to Egypt and, of course, there is our planned air-route out to Asmara in Eritrea. We were told at the travel agents today that the only way of getting there would be a flight to Cairo with Egypt Air and down to Asmara for USD 470 each. I was rather hoping on a flight through Saudi or Yemen, as we would rather avoid anything to do with Egypt on this trip, so I will need to do some research on the internet to see what other possibilities there might be.

But it is not all bad. We saw the nearly new moon rise above the grey hills of Amman and watched as Venus moved from one column of the clocktower to the other column as we were served mint tea.

And tomorrow, all being well we are out on the road, visiting the desert castles (out east and south-east from the city). And after that... the whole country beckons.

Tyre and Sidon

Our last day in Lebanon.... and how quickly the time has gone. 15 days and teh country seeemd so small after Syria, but there is a heck of a lot of things to do and pklaces to visit here that we will be leaving having missed out on most of the South of the country and plenty of bits in the middle. Today, we made a dash down the coast to the two ancient cities of Tyre and Sidon, both mentioned plenty of times in the Bible and important places in the Crusades. Both have suffered more recently from the Israeli invasion and occupation and general neglect from the Beirut-centric government.

The mini-buses we took, took us along the coast, which was typified by string developments of furniture shops, tyre sellers, car spare part sellers, chassis sellers, petrol stations and the occasional grocers. Amazing how much trade can be made related to cars and how ugly it can all get. Anyway, in between there were very fresh looking banana plantations and olive groves and stretches of coastline, mostly rocky, looking out to a muddy then clear blue sea, and then every now and then... a beach, or more often a beach club, called Golden Sands or Bamboo Beach, all conjuring up prettier images than what was actually on offer (usually a swimming pool with umbrella shades, situated somewhere near the sea.

We drove into Sidon, past an impressive looking football grandstand on the beach, before changing buses and going on to Tyre, further down the coast. Here we were dropped off by the harbour, so the first thing to do was to take pictures of the pretty boats in the harbour and introduce ourselves to the local fishermen... all of which can be seen on the flickr site! Not exactly sure why, but maybe there is something in Islam against fish, but all of the fishermen were Christian, and in the middle of the harbour at the end of a jetty, there was a shrine to Our Lady of Lebanon and St Maron, complete with candles and other objects of devotion, while outside a grizzly fishermen was repairing his nets. Of course, there were pictures of Samir Geagea hanging all over the bar and we became very popular all of a sudden when we said we'd bene to Bcharre. The bar owner himself having been a member of the Lebanese Military Forces, soon to emigrate to Sweden. We were shown the way to the local Maronite church and found behind what seemed to be an 'unofficial' dig of a Byzantine church under the foundations.

Then it was off to look for the Roman ruins, first past the local souks but we both knew, with neither of us being fully fit, it being the hottest time of the day and these being yet another set of ruins, that it was unlikely that we woudl actually go in and see them..... and so it turned out. The view of the columns facing out to the sea southwards was a precious enough experience for us. On the south side there were some beaches, but as can be seen from the photo..... the beach was not all clean.

Back in town we were taken in by a family of furniture makers who showed us the antiques they were making (or repairing) in a building which had been bombed from the air by the Israelis (killing two) as well as showing us the bunker they stayed in to avoid the bombs.

We didn't bother looking for what is the largest remaining Hippodrome from Roman times (in Tyre) and decided to catch the next bus back to Sidon to give us a bit of relief from the hot sun and a bit more time there. But first, we bumped into Sarah, the New Zealand girl we had met at Aleppo and had bumped into later in Hama and Palmyra. She had not got her visa to Iran, so had stayed longer in Damascus and had only yesterday made it to Lebanon. We would see her again later in Sidon, where she and a new French travelling companion Sylivie, would join us for dinner and the bus ride back to Beirut. Maybe we will see each other again in Jordan.

In Sidon, the harbour was less interesting, despite there being medieval casle on the quay, but the souks had more to offer. Unfortunately, we ran into yet another German-speaking Palestinian who insisted on showing us around the souks. Very interesting it was as we visited a couple of beautiful mosques and an old Ottoman palace, in the process of being restored, but it was not what we wanted. Fred did his best to get rid of him but he stuck to us like chewing gum. Finally, back at the harbour, we managed to drop him, whne he came up with a story of him being unemployed and having two children and all that.... It wouldn't be so bad but this was our third bad experience with German-speaking Palestinians since we have been here, bringing back memories of domineering German-speaking Turkish women in Turkey 12 years ago. Oh well.....

As it was going to be our last evening in Lebanon (for this time) and as we were next to a lively fishing harbour, Fred agreed that we could stay in Sidon to eat a fishy dinner.... and so it turned out. An excellent dinner it was, by the harbourside, with friendly and efficient service, and to help us finish it off, along came Sarah and Sylvie. Fred enjoyed his alcohol free beer and I indulged in an alcohol free cocktail, washed down later on our return to Beirut with a bottle of real Almaza beer!!!

Back at our hotel, the Mace Hotel, which, thanks to Michel and Xena (thank you both very much), has felt like a home from home during our stay here in Beirut, we were surprised to find that our pick-up for Amman tomorrow leaves not at 7, as advertised, not at 7.30 as we requested, but at 6 am! So a short nigh tonight, after the photos have been uploaded. I have to pay the balance of the bill, but the sly, greedy man working the evening shift is trying to rip us off, so I have a plan to get back at him. A pity this sort of thing has to happen as his colleagues have been so kind and helpful.

Anyway, we leave Lebanon with much more positive thoughts than the ones we had when we first arrived and we have left enough to be done and seen to justify returning one day.

Rijlessen in Beiroet.

Zaterdag waren we in Baalbek. Zoals we al beschreven een stad met veel geschiedenis. 's Avonds konden wij vanaf ons balkon genieten van het concert van de lokale Shirley Bassey. Helaas weten we de naam van deze diva niet. Maar toen we in bed lagen met de balkondeuren open omringt door zwoele Arbische klanken, toen voelde wij ons de koning te rijk. We vergaten even de portretten van de martelaren en ik waande me in een van de sprookjes van 1000 en een nacht. Of was het was het toch de bijwerking van onze anti malariapil (Lariam).

Vandaag was het maandag -wasdag. Dat klinkt wat flauw maar wij als ' echte' backpackers hebben ook weleens behoefte aan schone kleren. Ik merk dat ik sommige dingen niet eens meer erg vind (ongestreken overhemden en broeken!!) zolang ze maar schoon zijn. Dagelijks en vooral vandaag wordt er driftig gespoeld en gewassen. We merken nu dat we veel te veel kleren bij ons hebben. Maar ja we moeten nog verder en in Afrika hebben we nu eenmal andere kleren nodig (trui bijvoorbeeld en meer lange mouwen ivm malariamuggen etc).
Charles was verbaasd dat ik zonder te mekkeren het hotel in Baalbek accepteerde. Hij dacht hier wil Fred nooit van zijn leven in. Maar men ziet... dingen veranderen snel. Krijg ik nu binnenkort mijn ' backpackers' diploma??
Ondertussen heb ik mij vanavond onder het genot van een biertje en een broodje kip shoarma zitten af te vragen of men hier eigenlijk geen rijlessen moet nemen. Waarom? Nou het klinkt wat vreemd maar volgens mij zijn er geen verkeersregels (makkelijk om je theorie te halen, niet waar). In de regel is het zo:' wie het eerst komt, wie het eerst maalt' ; zo lijkt het tenminste. Men komt luid toeterend aangereden en zorgt er voor dat iedereen dat hoort en bang aan de kant gaat. Hoe groter de auto, hoe meer kans op succes bij stoplichten en kruizingen. Het was mij al opgevallen dat als je in een taxi zit, rode stoplichten niet tellen. Ach en dat je door rood rijdt en je motor midden op het kruispunt afslaat... maashallah.
APK-keuringen zijn hier ook overbodige luxe. De meerderheid van de auto's buiten Beiroet en de meeste taxi's in Beiroet (oude mercedessen) vallen bij het woord APK al spontaan in duigen. Verlichting is ook zoiets. Leuk voor Kerst maar 's avonds op straat ... pure weelde.
Dus wie weet is er nog kans voor laatbloeiers zoals Annemiek van den Berg, Frits van Leeuwen en ondergetekende om de komende zomervakantie in Beiroet (of liever nog een provinciestad zoals Tripoli) rijlessen te nemen.

The Mulberry Tree

 

 

Juicy red and black fruits which squash in your hands when you try to pick them. The ground is always covered in a mess... left by the birds. The smell brings back memories of Tontenano, our house in Arezzo Province in 80's and early 90's.

In Sardinia, they make Mirto, a drink which warms hearts.

Out of the frying pan ..... into the fire!

 



Here we go again.....Beginning to hate internet cafes in Lebanon as they keep on making one lose one's work..... conking out just vas one is saving one's work...Oh well... here we go again...We have left the frying pan of Christian extremism and arrived into the fire of Muslim martyrs.... pictures of them line the street outside this cafe. All in military fatigues, fronted by red tulips, a picture of Al-Aksa Mosque on their right shoulder, a full moon on their left hand side. One after the other, all looked over by the banded head of the national Hezbollah leader....

We are in Ba'albek. Heliopolis. Sun City. Hot. High in the Bekaa Valley at 1,750 feet between the Mt Lebanon Range and the Anti-Lebanon Range, towards Syria.



Outpost of pagans, long after the others had been bullied in to Christianity.. in fact they almost missed out on Christianity altogether as the Muslims moved in shortly afterwards. In the meantime, they were having great fun honouring Venus/Astarte and Bacchus with wine and sex parties in the biggest temples ever built by the Romans. No wonder the Syrian monks and saints on their pillars didn't make much impact!

The temples are still here, the Temple of Venus, still virtually intact and make for the most popular site in Lebanon. They are SO BIG, some of the biggest man-made monuments even to this day, with 1,000 ton slabs of stone and others 400 tons and soem columns rising to 50 metres above ground level. Of course, the archeaologists have NO idea of how these stones were moved. We could only do it now with specially built machinery, if we would try.

Not only big, they are also very beautiful, especially being so complete (also the Temple of Jupiter/Baal is very well preserved). We checked into a tatty guest house right opposite the ruins, so we will have a good view of the concert later this evening.Atrtached to the site are two museums... the official archeaological museum, in an old Muslim building, with many sarcophafi recovered from the local necropoli... and then an unofficial museum of resitance, with very different figures from the ones we had seen in Bcharre... these ones all being Muslim, and resitance fighters in the war against the Israeli invaders in the south of the country, showing the seven occupied villages, paraphernalia from the dead miliatry heoes and also weapons captured from the Israelis. There were many wars going on during 'the Civil War' and they are all rememberd in different ways.




But first, we had to come over the Mount Lebanon Range, with Tony the taxi man who came to collect us at 8.30, as agreed. We reached up top almost 3,000 metres high, as high as I think I have ever been, as we passed over the range, leaving behind views of the Qadisha Valley behind us, snow above us, near the peak of what is locally referred to as the Black Mountain, the tallest peak in Lebanon. Over the other side, facing towards the sun in the east, were some foothills, which turned out to still be Christian, then a wide flat plain of the Bekaa and then the anti-Lebanon mountain range taking us to the Syrian border.We stopped here and there for photos, in a local village with its Maronite priest and by a potato field full of Palestinians digging up the largest potatoes one has ever seen. One of the guys made it clear to us that it was not so long ago that they were harvesting hash, in the opposite field. It had to be dug up quickly before the government inspectors came. Officially, Lebanon is not supposed to grow hash anymore, as this annoys its US and French backers alot. Anyway, it was a colourful site and we managed to chat to a few a take a few photos before moving on to Ba'albek, where we finally had to say goodbye to our last Bcharre Tony.

In de voetsporen van Sint Maron

 
Charles heeft de laatste dagen vele verhalen geschreven en ik loop erg achter en vertel misschien wel hetzelfde.
Op reis van Tripoli naar Bcharre was erg aangenaam. We reisden in een busje met voor de helft gevuld met militairen. De reis ging door de bergen. Steeds meer en meer kregen wij het ' Italie-gevoel'. Langs de weg stonden kruisbeelden en Madonna's. Automobilisten die luidtoeterend de scherpe bochten door racen... en overal lieflijke kerkjes. Wat een heerlijkheid. Maar hoe dichter we bij Bcharre kwamen, destemeer domineerden de foto's en posters van een persoon: meneer Geagea. In al onze gesprekken met tal van mensen kwamen we er achter dat deze man een lokale held is. Niemand die ook maar een fout woord over hem wilde horen. Alle opmerkingen over zijn oorlogsverleden en de moord op een rivaliserende familie (inclusief een kind van 3 jaar), werden afgedaan als Syrische propaganda. En opmerkingen over het neerschieten van moslims werd afgedaan met een opmerking als ' in een oorlog vallen nu eenmaal doden en gewonden'. We denken het onze er over maar kunnen ook weinig vinden over deze Geagea.
Geagea gaat proberen de komende presidentsverkiezingen te winnen en volgens de mensen inBcharre is hij de redder van het land.
Tijdens onze geweldige wandeltocht begrepen we al snel dat in dit gebied met vele haar vele grotten, legio mogelijkheden zijn om je te verstoppen.
De Maronieten zitten dan ook al meer dan 1000 jaar in de bergen. Ze werden vervolgd door hun mede-christenen omdat ze er ketterse ideeen op na zouden houden. Hun leider, de patriarch, zat verstopt in een klooster. De oudste kloosters uit dit gebied dateren van rond 400.
Het is ons niet geheel duidelijk geworden wat nu precies het geloof van de Maronieten inhoudt. De kerk is gesticht door St. Maro(n). Deze begon te preken in Syrie en vond dat men zich moest terugtrekken in kloosters. Zijn volgelingen zijn o.a. naar Libanon gegaan om daar het geloof te verspreiden. Een belangrijk iets heeft te maken met de menselijkheid en goddelijkheid van Christus, maar hoe en wat? De kerk doet erg Rooms Katholiek aan. Naast Mariabeelden natuurlijk een beeld van St. Maron. Voor meer uitleg lees: The Maronites and Lebanon
Het hele valleigebied (Qadishavallei) is Maronitisch en erg woont geen enkele moslim.
Men is hier zwaar anti-Syrisch en anti moslim. In gesprekken hoor je steeds weer de verhalen over de verschrikkelijke, roofzuchtige Syriers en hoe achterlijk moslims zijn.
De natuur is er wonder schoon en het gebied is bekend vanwege de ceders. Deze boom is bijna heilig in de ogen van de christenen.
Na twee nachten vandaag verder getrokken. We zijn nu aan de andere kant van de bergen en zitten niet ver van de grens met Syrie.
Baalbek is de plek waar we nu zijn. Deze plek is bekend vanwege de Romeinse ruines. Het is geweldig. De tempel van Bachus is nog grotendeels in tact en dat is erg spectaculair. Daarnaast een grote tempel van Baal. We zijn stiekum met een groep Amerikaanse Libanezen mee gelopen om te genieten van de uitleg van hun gids.
Het gebied is onder controle van de moslims. En is eigenlijk in handen van de Herzbolah. Onder weg naar de Romeinse ruines zijn we even wezen kijken in het ' verzetsmuseum' van de club. Ik werd er niet echt vrolijk van. Buitgemaakte wapens van de ' zionistische vijand' en tal van vitrines met foto's en persoonlijke spullen van gevallen strijders: ' martelaren' . In het winkeltje kon je een blokkendoos kopen met aan de ene kant het gezicht van de militaire leider. Daarnaast een foto van een jongetje dat gedood is door de vijand. Zijn lief, lachend gezichtje omgeven met hemelse wolken. Dus u begrijpt, even weer iets anders dan het christelijke Bcharre. Maar net zo fanatiek.
We vragen ons steeds meer af of hier gaat om geloof of om identiteit.
De politieke situatie is op dit moment rustig maar als je de mensen in deze gebieden hoort, dan is er nog lang geen sprake van een eenheid. Maar wie weet als er maar lang genoeg vrede is dan zal tijd misschien alle wonden helen.

A not so quiet afternoon at the source of the Qadisha

 

Back in the internet cafe and they have HIS song again... sounding like a Serbian military chant crossed with Ottoman style Eurovision. Geagea Geagea (pronounced Jaa Jaa) they chant over and over again.

Well, after we left earlier, we bumped into Tony from the patisserie and he was just about to take his sister up the hill, so he offered to take us up the the Cedars, along with a French woman who was visiting, so in a flash we were in the hands of a mad man.... tooting his way through the windy streets, taking the car to the wrong side of the road whilst lighting a cigarette, Bob Marley (a nice change from Samir) blaring from the speakers, as we raced up to the cedars.

Time for the French woman to wander around the grove and for us to grab a bite to eat, before we walked down the hill to find the source of the Qadisha River, which had carved out such a magnificent valley below. A few cars and truck stopped to offer us a lift down but the snake bend road, built either by the French or the English was great, offering us superb views up and down and across... until we came to teh hoetl which marked the spot... from there it was a 600 metre track cut alongside the mountain to the grotto.

Already at the entrance it was cool, as two volunteer Marionite scouts took our 2,000 LPs each, withwater gushing out of teh side of the mountain, racing to the valley below. The grotto was amazing... a powerful surge of water from the middle of the mountains, along streams into wider pools and then along streams again, beautiful forms of stalagmites and stalagtites, as the water dripped and dribbled from the tall ceiling. The grotto continued for much longer than teher was light, it was freezing cold and wet and we had no torch so we turned back. What a great way for a river to start, albeit a very short river, but a magical one.

Back at the road, some Jordanians who recognised us from before stopped to give us a lift back down to Bcharre, giving us enough time for them to tell us all the beautiful places we shold visit there, including their home town of Jerash. We are overwhelmed by the hospitality of the people here.

At the bottom, it was time for tea and cakes with Shakira and her cousin, before Tony 1 and Tony 2 turned up. Tony 2 (the one from Australia) sporting a tattoo saying Death before Dishonour). They eventually left to bring two skinned rabbits from their recent hunting expedition to Tony 1's mother... as long as rabbits are all what are being killed these days.... and for a long time into the future.....

A rest day in Bcharre

Enjoying the mountain climate and the friendliness of the locals we decided to spend an extra day here in Bcharre, to catch up on reading and our weblog. Unfortunately, the internet connections and computers here are very very bad, so no photos and not much chance to write... maybe later.

A green and pleasant land

 

We are back in the mountains, back in the Christian stronghold of Bcharre. We were maybe a bit stupid not to have brought our bags with us yesterday, but we got up early and took the 10 o'clock bus back up the mountain to Bcharre, where the only thing of interest to happen was that an old man feinted in his seat on the way up and had to be revived by the best of the Lebanese army.

Back up here, Tony the taxi driver met us and took us up to Tony the hotel keeper (well bed and breakfast) at the Tiger House where we just in time to meet three English and find out that one had worked in Uganda and the other had travelled in Ethiopia before their bus came to take them to Beirut, before we could exchange stories, a pity.

Anyway, after dumping the bags, we went down the hill to find Tony the Patisserie man, only to find his sister, who looks like a young version of Shakira. What she had underneath her skin tight white trousers is anyone's guess. Well, after another delicious cake and coffee, Tony turned up and gave us a warm handshake of friendship and soon he was showing us the way down to today's destination - the Qasisha Valley, a valley starting with a spring out of the mountains just above Bcharre and soon joined by other springs of water to form a river cutting its way through a mighty ravine/canyon through the mountians, 50 kms out to the sea at Batroun.

Tony took us to the start of a goat track winding its way down some very sheer cliffs to the valley below. Beautiful. So green, the path wound its way past olive trees, fig trees, apple and pear trees, wild roses, aniseed, mulberry trees, beautiful flowers, thistles, under clear blue skies with views across to the honey coloured rock on all sides, above and below, mostly covered with vegetation of some sort, crosses at the peaks and caves and grottoes etched into the rocks, a fountain on our left, water gushing along the track at our side and birds flitting out of the grass.

The big mulberry tree by the stream. Bursting with red and black fruit. The ground black and purple from the bird droppings after their feasts on these fruit. In Sardinia, they would make mirto from the fruit. A drink to bring people together and warms people's hearts. Here we were offered arak, made from the sweetest grapes and flavoured by the wild aniseed. However, here the smell brougt back immediately memories of our white mulber tree in Tontenano. What memories!

And so we carried on to the valley floor where we tracked alongside the fast-flowing river, a breeze keeping us cool, the sun above us, tracking the side of the gorge above us, with the crescent moon following about three hours later along the same trajectory.

This is the stronghold of the Maronite Christians, where they have come to escape persecution from other Christians (although they will not readily admit this now) and later the Muslims and this was their power base in the Civil War, home of course to Samir Geagea. (Tony tells us that when he is not studying in Beirut, he is Samir's bodyguard). The rocks are full of caves which housed Maronite hermits, their are monasteries and nunneries, burial places of the Maronite Patriachs, birthplace of some particular saint and so on... all in this beautiful wilderness (a UNESCO world heritage site). I liked to compare the valley to Rivendell (in the Lord of the Rings), which still held its magic while all around the world was turning bad. So, it will have seemed to the Maronites.

We decided to make our way to the nummery at the Monastery of Our Lady, which turned out to be a very long walk indeed, but incredibly rewarding. We would stop at the riverside and watch the water fall from the rocks above onto the rocks below or would stop off for a drink at a wayside cafe and be invited in for lunch, by a man who was busy making arak. We ate with the family and a friend of the son kept turning up. He was interesting for having a large tattoo with a cross, a red heart and the name Samir emblazoned on his arm. (All the time in this internet cafe they are playing horrible thumping music where the singers are singing the praises of Samir Geagea - he is a very big name and everybody swears that he is a good man... hmmmm... maybe...

Anyway, we finally made it to the Monastery where we were met by a very friendly nun who explained to us the mission of the monastery, the history of it and the meanings of the 17th century frescoes in the chapel. The valley of the Saints. The home of the Maronite Patriachs. Hermits who hid away and tilled the land and found a special relationship with God.



Time enough to find a taxi/bus to take us beack to Bcharre before dark and to have another big argument about the cost. We ended up sharing some beers and an ice cream with Tony from the Patisserie and to go back up to the guest house to find an Italian from Milano, called Fancesco, wanting to go out for dinner with us... so it as off to the pizzeria on the hill, to watch the moon chasing Venus down across the sky, enjoy the coolness of an evening up in the mountains, and a quick session in this internet cafe.

Tomorrow, we either stay here another day or go over the mountains to Baalbek, the city of the Sun, site of wild parties in ancinet times, now in the middle of a Shi-ite stronghold.... must remember to apck some beers in before we go....

At home with the extremist Christians

Today, we decided to go up to the mountains, to the east of Tripoli, to enjoy the beautiful scenery, to visit Bcharre, the home of Khalil Gilbran, Lebanon's most famous author and to visit the cedars, national symbol of Lebanon.

We set off from the station, well the bus company's office, after having been told by a taxi driver that there were no buses to Bcharre, with a bus loaded with soldiers, a Dutch film-maker from Amsterdam, ourselves, a student with a religious belt (offering a prayer to the Lord) and some locals.

The bus wound its way past olive groves and on upwards to the tall mountains immediately ahead of us, offering views up and then down to the valley floor winding around from one village to the other. Political posters abounded and the nearer we got to Bcharre the more posters we saw of the town's now infamous son - none other then the Samir Geagea, about whom I wrote a couple of days ago. In Bcharre itself, tehre was scarcely a house without some picture or flag or poster of Mr Geaggea, often with his pretty dark-haired wife. It was like the US and its stars and stripes after 9/11.

We said goodbye to our soldier friends and Dutch neighbour and set off for somewhere to drink a coffee and eat delicious cakes. Well, waiting for us was Antoine, an Australian Lebanese or Lebanese Australian. I asked about the man in the posters. Oh, he was family, his wife being a cousin of his. Samir, the hero who had fought off the dreadful Syrians and who had been freed once the Syrians had left the country. He was now in France, either on holiday, or checked intoi hospital to make sure that the Syrians hadn't poisoned him, (or more like meeting with his financial backers). This was the man who was going to sort out Lebanon.

So, after a short trek to a viewing point it was back to the village where we were invited in by a girl who turned out to be just 13, which was embarrassing as Fred asked her whether she was studyiung at high school or university. As it turned out she was studying at a convent in Beirut and she produced her American published English books and ased Fred about the grading system in the US, she being under the impression that we were both from the States.Things were going fine until we mentioned that we had been to Syria (how could we?, their faces seemed to be telling us). When we told them that we thought teh country was beautiful, they explained that Syria had stolen everything from Lebanon, including the taxes on petrol, airports and VAT.

Then it was off to the Gilbran museum, past the waterfall at the entrance of the village and up a short hill. Not an awful lot to see there apart from his paintings but the setting, overlooing the green valley was superb. There was another photo of Geagea in the shop and I asked the curator whether or not a museum was the place for political propoganda. He explained that it was just his personal choice and anyway now that the Syrians had gone, one was allowed freedom of political expression. Under the Syrians, one might have 'disappeared' for this.
Running out of time now, we decided to make a quick trip up the hill to see the cedars and engaged the services of none other than Tone Geagea, who explained that Samir was his 'master'.

The cedars were magnificent, especially against the backdrop of the pale mountains above. Pale because all the cedars had disappered. Taken by the Syrians, we had been told by one person (odd, because the Maronites had been living in this area for the past thousand or more years). Killed off by disease, we were told by another.

Back down in Bcharre now, waiting for the bus, I bump into Richy who as it happened was also on his way down to Tripoli, so we travelled together, Richy dealing out Efes Extra Strong to Fred, myself and the driver. Richy had studied for an MBA at MIT, Boston, so couldf tell me how Lebanon made its money. Lebanon Red (the best hash in the world and grown next to teh cedars) was responsible for USD 4 bn earnings a year, arms sales to fellow Christians such as the Serbs (we won!) and lots and lots of money given by the US. Hewas happy, happy that the Syrians had left and looking forward to the day in 3-6 months that Geagea would be made President. The US would ensure that this happened. A Christian President and a Western-friendly, anti-Syrian Muslim Prime Minister weas how it worked. His friend was less pleased. He wanted to be a Christian rebel. Proud to be extremists, both.

We had a date to drink more beer with Richy in Batroun this evening but he didn't show up. The Muslim chaps we met in Hama showed up exactly on time. Just shows.

Tripoli

We left Beirut this morning at a respectable time to take the bus up the coast to the Northern city of Tripoli, back past Byblos towards the Syrian border. Just after Beirut at Jounieh, the mountains come down to the sea. They are green and heavily built upon, mainly with high-rise apartments. Above Byblos, the mountains were lower and further back and the development along the coast even scrappier than it had been further south. A pity the Lebanese, who are obviously very proud of the beautry of their country seem to be doing their best to destroy what they have. The cedars have all but gone... trees 1,500 years old, felled to make a staircase or a cupboard. Rubbish is thrown out of car windows and just piled up on the streets or by the side of rivers, to be flushed out to the blue Mediterranean with the spring waters. The coast is destroyed by haphazard developments, no doubt making money for the friends of local and national politicians. And then they had a war and fought against each other for so many years.
Anyway, we made it to Tripoli in good time and eventually found our hotel after having been sent to al-Kourah square, instead of al-Koura hotel. The room was fine, cool and quiet, although teh place was as good as deserted.
We were promised that Tripoli would be like Syria, with its old souks, mosques, madrassas, markets and hammams, and so it turned out. We spent the best part of the day wandering around, chatting to anyone who seemed like they wanted to spend some time chatting to two foreigners, drinking coffee, eating cheese toasties, nectarines, grapes, tea, looking at soap manufacture (from olive oil - like in Aleppo, only they claim here that theirs is better than Aleppo's - Fred ended up buying a soap to be used to wash hair which stimulates hair growth), being invited in to watch carpenters making furniture, to visit a shrine, to wander around an old hammam, visiting the crusader castle on the citadel (no explanation at all), looking at the war damage here - lots of bullet marks on the side of buildings, having a look at the garbage area, which doubles as the river, looking at views out to sea and taking photos of as much as we could..... unable to upload today as the computer here does not register my camera.
The whole day, we would have seen maybe three or four other western tourists wandering around, at what is the height of the tourist season. We spoke to a man at the end of the day who claimed he was the head of the Tripoli tourist board but he was keener on talking himself than listening to any comments we had to make. Tripoli has a lot to offer but does a bad job at presenting itself to tourists. The tourist information office is far from the old town, there was no explanation for anything up at teh castle, despite them asking 4 euros entrance, there were labels for most of the main old buildings, but again no explanation of when they were built, there are no provisions for showing tourists how to get to the mountains and valleys, which are said to be so beautiful, no signposts to the hotels, few maps, few rubbish bins and so on.... I don't mean to complain, and it is great having the city to oneself, as it were, but we feel they could do themselves a favour.

What would these be?

Other names to be found, especially where we are staying in Hamra would include the following: Suzy, Sweet, Lime Light, New Caligula, American Dream, Magic, Company and so.... now what would these be?