It’s said that the Stone Age didn’t end because we ran out of stones. If that’s the case, Jordan is still well and truly in the Stone Age. They are everywhere. Even the desert sands around the Wadi Rum monoliths were strewn with random rocks. We just passed a truck taking a bunch of large rocks somewhere and you have to ask, what is the point? It would be like filling up a tanker with sea water, taking it to another place on the coast and putting it back in the ocean.

But if stones are pretty much all you have, you have to make the most of it. So you build forts out of them to dominate trade routes like the Romans and Crusaders did or you carve monuments and tombs out of them like the Nabataeans did about 2200 years ago at Petra. It’s just a pity they didn’t foresee the influx of tourists a couple of millennia hence or they would have made them a lot closer to the carpark.

Apart from a couple of stops on the way back to Amman, Petra was our last day devoted to another wonder of the ancient world of which we have seen plenty on this trip. By this stage there’s a lot of lead in the saddle-bags so the 4km stroll in the shade, early in the morning down to (almost) the end of the main Petra drag becomes what feels like a 40 km slog, uphill all the way back to the start, mostly in the midday sun. At least there’s a bar at the turnaround point so a liquid refreshment can be had prior to confronting the walk back.

Of course there are alternatives to walking in the form of horses, donkeys, mules, camels and some other combination of two of the preceding or you can choose the rich man’s camel – a golf buggy to take you back. But that would be cheating says he now sitting in the shade in a 5 star hotel sipping an ice cold ale. Then it was stubborn pride, hubris, stupidity or something that kept the head down and the bum up and the legs relying on muscle memory i.e. remembering how to walk, to get me back.

Had we done Petra on day 1 of this trip the CB and I may have even attempted the 900 steps up to what is known as the Monastery, right at the end of the walk in. But half way in you reach the Treasury which is what you see in most of the pictures of Petra and the Monastery is a similar shape and size so there didn’t seem much point. Besides, if the Treasury and all of the other incredible sights don’t blow your mind, you need to get back to Bali.

Unusually for us, the CB and I have really behaved ourselves vis-a-vis bar visits on this trip. Concessions have to be made for the fact that this is the Middle East with all of the connotations that implies but it’s also bloody hot and bloody dry. Notwithstanding, it’s been a couple of beers or wines after a long day touristing and then collapsing into bed. Souvenir shopping has been kept under control also so we have spent very little during the majority of this trip. Then yesterday we went to a mosaic and carpet shop and the spending restrictions of the previous two weeks went BOOM!! We’re suckers for hand-made carpets, especially if made by charity organisations. So two rugs later, the credit card was woken from its slumber and had its arse severely kicked.

We have one more day in Amman because of rearranged flights after the Israel leg cancellation. The positive from this is being able to sleep in and not worry about alarms which have been going off any and every time between 3.30am and 6.30am in the last two and a half weeks. The negative is it’s Friday, the Muslim holy day, and everything is shut. Religion still trumps mercenary mercantilism in this part of the world, it seems. Give them time. Still, it means we save our last few Jordanian dinars which are worth A$2.20 each so everything here is pretty expensive in Aussie dollars. The upside is that like most places in this part of the world, you can bargain. That doesn’t mean you can challenge the barman over the price of a Heinekan but it does mean we were able to beat the carpet man down and save a few hundred bucks

Wadi Rum is like an alien planet (are there any other sort?). Apparently that movie The Martian was made there and big chunks of Lawrence of Arabia amongst many others. We seem to have spent a lot of time recently visiting movie lots – this one plus Indiana Jones sets round Petra, Mad Max in Namibia, Game of Thrones, Gladiator and others around Spain and Morocco, Star Wars and Lawrence of Arabia (again) in Seville; the list goes on. Apart from Seville most of these places are spectacularly inhospitable and we invariably leave them hot, sweaty and exhausted (us not the locations). I hope the pampered pricks who star in those productions also get grit in their togas or experience weathering in their nether regions like we do.

Of course we’ve never actually been to any of these places when a movie is actually being made but despite the privations, like the stars, we at least have nice hotels with airconditioned bars to return to at day’s end. Returning to a tent perched on a rock in the middle of nowhere after a hard day’s extra..ing does not appeal. You wouldn’t be a Bedouin for all the camels in the Middle Eastern sand belt8

Speaking of Wadi Rum, we saw a lot of it. We did not one but two trips round the traps in the back of a hilux. And I don’t mean in the back seat of a dual cab I mean right in the back – bench seats in the tray. The first expedition – five hiluxes each with six people precariously perched in the back with a few lucky ones inside the cab, took us….somewhere, through spectacular scenery to a location where there was a table covered in glasses and a man pouring champagne into them. That was the most “and now for something completely different” Monty Python moment I have ever experienced.

Later, after checking into our desert glamp we headed out again. Incidentally there are dozens of these desert camps scattered round the hundreds of square kilometres of Wadi Rum. It’s like the Sahara desert camps in Morocco. When the sun goes down, you aren’t disoriented. Those lights aren’t stars, they’re the many other camps in the same area. Common as bums. Like resorts in Bali.

Coming back in the dark our driver obviously thought we needed to get back 30 seconds before the other four vehicles so regularly went off-piste, forging his own track through hitherto undriven rocky desert and I have the bruises to prove it. Fortunately none of the six of us in the back finished up in the dirt but I came within half an inch of nutting the bloke sitting opposite me and him me as we were flung towards each other at one point. The driver seemed very pleased with himself when we got back and oblivious to the bruised arses he had caused so I told him “fuck you very much”.

Before we leave Wadi Rum, just a short comment on the topography. It’s a moonscape – masses of pink sandstone and granite forming impossibly steep high and twisted mountains cut through by numerous metres thick, green-black glassy dykes (as we say in the geology biz). The road we were on  snaked through huge mountains of rock precariously balancing boulders as big as houses which would come crashing down with the slightest seismic encouragement. Speaking of houses, if you build one round here you’re basically in a giant’s bowling alley.

Seeing huge rock formations poking up out of a predominantly flat sandy floor reminded me of Halong Bay in Vietnam except the sandy floor there is sea. And the wadis down which water flows, hurtles more like, on the odd occasion when it rains were like jagged U shaped valleys which once accommodated glaciers. In this case we’d have mud glaciers travelling infinitely faster than a Greenland ice flow and you don’t want to be in the way when it arrives.

So as mentioned, the hotels have been a sanctuary from some pretty inhospitable landscapes and climate (weather actually). This part of the world is a political Housewives of New York at the best of times. Now it’s like an all-in brawl 5 minutes into a grand-final with an awful lot to play out before the dust settles, so security is ubiquitous. Every hotel we’ve stayed in has had a security machine at the entrance but appearances can be deceiving. At Aqaba the security attendant was staring at his phone and not even looking in the direction of the screen as bags either side of mine went through. We obviously didn’t look at all threatening.

The Israel part of this trip was cancelled before we left home (just) for obvious reasons.  Notwithstanding we’ve almost been there twice so far. The first time was when visiting the place where Jesus was baptised by John the Baptist, just north of the Dead Sea. Nearby where actual baptisms were taking place the Israeli flag was about 20m away just across a rather pathetic section of the Jordan River.

The Dead Sea is dropping a metre a year because too much unregulated water is being taken from the River Jordan, I guess for irrigation, and the Jordan is suffering accordingly. Give our Murray Darling Authority and the South Australian Government (or even the EU) a go at this problem and there would be waterskiing on the Dead Sea and cruises on the Jordan before you know it. And the farmers would be broke and the people would  be starving…but not thirsty.

The other time we got close to Israel was in Aqaba where two borders converge – Egypt and Israel and Israel and Jordan. So while the CB and I enjoyed not one but two buckets of ice-cold beer at the bar on our hotel’s private beach (how decadent) we could see three countries. Where else can you do that? A number of places I guess but not necessarily from such a salubrious vantage point.

Apart from those two times, we could also see Israel across the Dead Sea. The glow from the lights of Jerusalem were directly across from us with Jericho just to the north and Hebron to the south. Now without wanting to provoke an argument that could descend into violence, those places, mostly, are in the West Bank. Part of Jerusalem is in Israel but lights don’t discriminate.

Now’s as good a time as any to remark again on the quality of the beer. It is very good apart from the craft beer we had at a reception in Amman. That one tasted like many craft beers the world over – like mouthwash. Someone should tell these amateurs. It shouldn’t be surprising that the locals (generally) know how to make beer in this part of the world. I expect they have had even more practice than the Germans.

We were let out guideless last night in Aqaba because it’s friendly and safe. A teenage girl sitting drinking coffee said “hello and welcome to Aqaba” to the CB and I as we walked past so I guess that proves it. We found our way to an Indian restaurant as we are quite fond of the occasional curry. Their hot and sour soup made my teeth sweat. Unfortunately they didn’t serve beer which seems common practice (malpractice actually) in the restaurants in this country. Shame really because everyone knows that Indian food and beer go together like women and shoes.

Aqaba’s changed a bit and grown a bit since T.E. Lawrence and his sweaty band of brigands rode in, guns blazing and scimitars flashing over a hundred years ago when Ottomans were more than just something to rest your feet on. I’ve never been to Aqaba before but am basing these assumptions on the fact that unlike most other places in this part of the world the dominant architecture is Boomer modern although the ubiquitous archaeological dig was happening near our hotel.

We’re now in the initial stages of the Jordan leg of this Middle Eastern jaunt and already we’ve noticed the pace being wound back a notch although everyone is still looking forward to trashing their alarm clocks. The casualty list is becoming more extensive as we rampage through the historical sites of the land of the Ammonites which, incidentally were, when I did geology and still are I guess, coil shelled cephalopods. I’m starting to understand how Alexander the Great’s army felt after a long campaign. More like extinct shellfish than people from Amman I’m guessing.

Our tour bus is like a giant petri dish at the moment and has been for about a week but not in a good, penicilliny way. There’s nothing funny about being in a bus full of people constantly heaving their lungs up like they’ve been breathing in the Dead Sea. I think that also includes some of the people who still insist on wearing  masks. Someone should tell them. They probably still think lock-downs work and ivermectin is only for horses.

I was reminded of Athens and Rome when we were in Amman. You’d hardly be able to scratch the surface without digging up some ancient artefact so forget about digging an underground rail system. There’s a lot of housing development going on at the moment because they have a lot of spare land so instead of going up (5 stories max) they go out. A lot of land is being released so property developers obviously don’t run the local councils and state governments like they do in Australia. So regarding cultural heritage, I was about to ask our local guide how a landowner goes about building a house that needs minor excavations to level the land, say. Before he could answer, the squad turned up and in an instant we were talking about putting cardamom in our coffee so I left.

The squad is a group of six very nice people who have not left each other’s sides for the whole trip. It’s like the Human Centipede without the disgusting bits. It’s like the people who religiously sit in the same seats in the restaurant or on the bus day in and day out and mostly only talk to each other. As I may have mentioned previously, that’s not me.

We’ve now moved forward a few of thousand years. Whilst in Egypt we did occasionally encounter the 300 year Greek period commencing with the first Greek monarch, Alexander the Great and ending with the last (funnily enough), Cleopatra. But mostly we were firmly in the varios dynasties commencing over 5000 years ago and featuring many kings called Ramses with Ramses 2 figuring prominently. In Jordan, it’s very much now the Roman era with Roman ruins and Christian history as well as more recent developments with their next door neighbour (not Saudi Arabia, the other one).

Speaking or recent history, we are now retracing the camel steps of Lawrence of Arabia. Like the Japanese did with Singapore in WWII, Lawrence and his Arabs took Aqaba from the rear. Maybe the rumors about him were true. Like Singapore, the guns were pointing out to sea and everyone knows that despite their monika “ships of the desert”, camels can’t swim. I guess if you live in the driest places on earth, it’s a skill that they would rarely have cause to exercise especially if you have a barrel of water or two strapped to your back. Okay, I’m not entirely telling the truth here because some, not all camels can swim. But a camel swimming would be about as natural and elegant as me on ice skates or the child bride on a balance beam.

I’m pretty sure it’s Thursday today. That means we leave Egypt tomorrow for Jordan. I can say we’ll be leaving relatively unscathed in a global political sense but drilling down, there has been a couple of tweaks health wise. Overall we’ve managed a resounding pass considering this place’s reputation but no perfect score unfortunately. Last Saturday I was what an old boss used to call half f…d and let go. 14 hours sleep fixed that. Today the child bride got a fit of the vapours which is what I understand ladies get in these hot climates if their corsets are too tight or something. The CB had ditched the corset for today but was still wearing her wobbly boots.

The temple of Philae on an island in Lake Nasser is dedicated to Isis the goddess of healing (amongst other things) ironically enough considering the CB’s fainting spell. Incidentally, this is the largest man-made lake in the world and sits behind the High Aswan Dam. The temple has accommodated religious activities from the Pharaonic era, the Greek era, the Roman era and the era of Christianity so there’s quite a celestial turf warfare going on there. So when the CB went all glassy eyed, started shaking and sliding down the wall we were leaning against I didn’t know if she needed a chocolatier or an exorcist. After a sugar hit, a wet hanky round the neck and 15 minutes of vigorous hat waiving to keep the temple air moving around her and the spirits at bay, she began to function again. So an easy afternoon today and we’ll skip the boat ride which’ll show us stuff we’ve already seen from the land.

Tomorrow’s another 4.00am start. For God’s sake, we’re supposed to be on vacation and these things are meant to be relaxing. This one’s been in the vein of “if it’s Thursday, this must be Belgium” as we charge from one temple to the next like a rampaging Alexander the Great. His generals poisoned him because he wanted to carry on conquering, whereas they wanted to smell the roses or whatever was growing in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, after a decade long rape and pillage tour of the middle east. So our tour guide had better tap the brakes occasionally.

It’s now tomorrow and we have seen our last Egyptian temple or temples actually. The two at Abu Simbel down near the Sudanese border are basically a “get a load of this” to travellers from the south who may not be conversant with the Egyptians’ ability to build humongous edifices, the message being, “If we can do that to a mountain, it doesn’t bear thinking about what we can do to you if you step out of line. And by the way, do you want to buy this worthless trinket for only $1.”

Three flights later we are in the departure area of Cairo Airport. Back when I was travelling every month it was very unusual for me to travel on an airline I hadn’t experienced before apart from one of the occasional pop-ups that did the Kaohsiung/Taipei run in Taiwan. There were numerous airlines doing that then, in anticipation of being able to expand across the strait to service big brother. So much for that and probably most of them no longer exist. I’m referring to Egypt Air here. I never had a reason to come to Egypt previously so never travelled on their airline. I’ve now done four flights with them with one more, to Amman later today. Hopefully the admin isn’t a reflection of the other important stuff vis-a-vis airlines. We flew from Abu Simbel to Aswan then on to Cairo today. Same plane and flight number with a short stop in Aswan. But we were given different boarding passes for each leg so despite staying on the plane, our seats changed. What a cluster f…k. Forty people.all trying to move one row back or across. It was like a geriatric game of Twister – not a pretty sight.

The pace up until yesterday was relentless. To achieve what has to be achieved in the time allotted means all timepieces need to be synchronised, all loins should be girded and all starters should be on the grid with engines gurgling and there is no allowance for oversleeping (day 1 in Cairo), taking 1 hour camel rides when the window is half an hour (also day 1 in Cairo), lingering and adjusting for far too long over each photo (ongoing), just generally being really slack at time management (ongoing) and getting lost (day 3). Lost time cannot be made up when itineraries are to be slavishly followed. It just extends the day so on all of our heads be it.

The day we flew to Luxor started with a 4.00am wake-up call (shudder), a painfree traverse of Cairo Airport’s multiple security checks (you have to keep reminding yourself where you are) until we got to the gate. Then a full airbus A330 had to put its collective hand luggage through one secuity screening machine. A thoroughly modern airport with thoroughly India 1980’s procedures. This was followed by a one hour, ontime flight thankfully. Then the waiting began.

After half an hour three suitcases appeared on the baggage carousel. Those who triumphantly claimed them were immediately brought crashing back to earth when they realised they had to wait for the rest of us. This continued for another half hour or so as the occasional bag appeared. I assumed the worse. Maybe one of the baggage handlers was asleep and the other one’s wheelbarrow was broken. Or maybe they were only releasing bags after rifling through our undies looking for hidden jewels as has been customary here for thousands of years. Eventually the rest of our luggage came cascading out presumably when the futility of trying to open our bags became obvious. If only the Pharaoh’s tombs had the same locks as the modern suitcase, countless  treasures would be intact.

Getting out of the airport carpark meant battling four lanes of traffic for one security lane. A big lumbering bus doesn’t lose its place in the queue easily so after another half hour crawl we were on our way. It was now over eight hours since we’d dragged ourselves out of bed in Cairo and there was still a tourist itinerary to complete. A few hours at Karnak, the biggest temple complex in the world was followed by checking in to our Nile cruise boat then a traipse round Luxor temple then back to Karnak for the light and sound show before getting back to the boat for dinner at about 10.00pm. The previous day in Cairo was the same. It’s fair to say we are not the fittest bunch of safari campers so it’s also fair to say the gathering this morning for another temple visit resembled the aftermath of Rourke’s Drift.

Most of the people we have got to know on this trip are keen travellers like the CB and I so are determined to battle the fatigue and the heat to take in the wonders of ancient Egypt – that’s why we came here after all, although for those who struggle walking up stairs, let alone in and out of underground tombs, you have to wonder. There has however been one activity which got zero takers. An early morning (bloody 5.00am again) ballon ride over the Valley of Kings and the much smaller (I have no comment) Valley of Queens was given an almighty swerve when our guide pointed out that of the five companies offering this service, the one they used was the one that has yet to lose a passenger overboard. You’d have to assume the odds are shortening.

This is one example of conformity. In many other fields of human activity we are annoyingly consistent. So despite the guides telling us to sit in different places on the bus each day there are some who don’t with one pair always snagging the seats immediately behind the central stairwell. I think she sleeps there. At the meal tables on our Nile cruise ship, the Royal Lotus, people sit at the same table in the same seats for breakfast lunch and dinner. Except me who moves around, much to the CB’s occasional chagrin. Bugger the cliques which are beginning to form like our version of Mean Girls. No, that’s unfair but it was the most apt simile I could think of. As The Cars used to sing, “Shake it up”.