We're OK, back at work behind our chipboard desks trying to amaze the world on the wonders of insurance.  But instead of writing about those wonders that could verbally tranquilise a raging bull, I'd thought I might recap on our recent trip to the middle east. 

Flight to Amman (capital of Jordan) was OK apart from the arrival time of 2am.  It wasn't too long before the taxi hounds were spitting arabic in our ears we spotted the chief with an english badge. He translatted our hostel request to the dusty old driver of a 70s merc and wasn't too long before we're driving through the dead of night into Amman (25km).  We reached the hostel at around 3am, lights out and the front door locked in some random residential area surrounded by mosques.  Our kebab delivery driver helped wake and pi55 off the hostel owner who was sleeping on the couch at reception.  Bed by 4am.Mosque prayers on the PA system at 6am.  Up at 7am.  Left at 8am and contemplated whether the room was actually worth it.

Met Christie and Sam, our fearless driver and tour leader and fellow passengers on our ex-german military truck beautifully named "era". Don't know the background behind the birth name but I assume it's because the truck was built in a prehistoric "era", possibly once steam powered?! It was the ultimate camping machine and with mod cons like a tape player and a collection of pre-chewed 80's cassettes. 

First day we drove down below sea level without getting wet to the salty dead sea.  A lifeless sea as the name obviously suggests with the buoyancy physics of a cork on water. I did unfortunately cut my hand on the salt that had crystallised on the bedrocks which I'm sure everyone at the time heard about it.

Back on the steam engine and through the mountains to a small shantytown near Petra. That evening we walked aimlessly hunting for Moses's spring.  It was a rock that Moses cracked his stick on, that consequently burst into a stream, well that's what our 8year old tour guide told us in his 30 minute audio-visual presentation.  He found us a few hundred metres away, dumbfounded and lost, and guided us back to the spring before showing us every conceivable product of his father's tourist shop next door.  Quickly learning that there's always an underlying business proposition in every conversation with these people.  Up at a sparrow's fart the next morning to trek in to the ancient city of Petra.  We were guided with an old local who was born with a cigarette in his mouth and a memory full of tired jokes. An old french couple tagged along, with the intention that they would pay for an additional two hours of local knowledge seems as we had already paid for the first two.  It was a spectacular entrance through "The Siq", a long windy tight canyon opening up to "The Treasury" (as appeared on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade).  It was just as amazing as the movie itself!  The city then opended up to houses cut into the walls of the cliffs, amphitheatres and decrepit donkey rides. In all, 5 hours of being marveled and totally gob-smacked.  Back at the hotel just before 3pm we were quizzed on the sites of Petra.We unfortunately failed the quiz, as we were unable to identify the building that was on every single picture in the hotel foyer - the spectacular monastery.

The Monastery is a 4hr return hike from the entrance to Petra, perched in the hills, 800 steps high.  We had to go back!  Setting a groundbreaking tourist record of 2hrs as we had to beat sunset at 5pm.

Attempting to catch a taxi was like finding pork in an Arabic butcher.  Two farmers in a rusty tin can pulled over instead, and without knowing it, we were in the back seat attempting to break the language barrier.  They were supposedly on their way to Petra, coincidence or not, we didn't care.  It seems we were both worthless on the hostage stock exchange as we arrived safely at the entrance to Petra.  We both ran to the Monastery in complete exhaustion and were rewarded to have the Monastery tourist and local free. With the fear of being trapped at night in Petra we quickly stumbled back down the steps and negotiated the last bit of pocket change and lint for a lepracy-ridden donkey back to the Treasury (40min journey). At the Treasury we switched to a flatulent horse and coffin cart to take us a majority of the way back to the entrance for practically the vapors of my empty wallet.

Following day we drove to the vast lands of Wadi Rum, home to the Bedouin tribe and Lawrence of Arabia in earlier days.  A local Bedouin did take us in the back of his arabian horse (ute) to Lawrence's house but he wasn't home.  That night the Bedouins entertained us with a tantalising all-male belly dance - surprising when gayness is forbidden in Jordan law.

Next morning we feasted on arabic breakfast mush before the drive down to the Jordan port of Aqaba (Ak-a-ba).  I definitely made sure that I completely digested the evacuation charts (twice) before the onward ferry voyage to Newieba in Egypt (seems a similar passenger ferry sank only months ago).  The ferry was mainly full of arabs, seeking a better life in another desert.  Sweaty passengers and evil looking police were running around with passports and aggressive toned speech.  Drawing near to our destination, the police separated the westerners to the back of the boat away from the mainstream raging locals.  As we were reversing into the port, one psycho local burst through the doors, down through our compartment and out the back doors ready to make the leap of faith.  The officials held him back, with a cowboy loop throw of rope and some punches to the spine.  It was sad to see the attempts people make to flee their country, considering our Australian passports can basically get us anywhere.  If he did manage to break free, he would have been minced in the propellers of the reversing ferry.  The westerners were then told to leave immediately with their vehicles before any local set foot on to dry-land.  Our driver said this is abnormal and we should evacuate quickly as trouble was brewing.