This has been a breath-taking tour both for the sites we have seen and the intense itinerary, but we were glad to see so much as we are unlikely to return. The last day was to be spent driving north from Petra and seeing the sites of Amman. We have moved efficiently for a group of 62 but today we were dogged by delays from the offset, one couple's hotel room door wouldn't open even with the master key so we left late. On the drive back to Amman we made do with a view of the old crusader castle of Shawback from the road as there was no time to visit, but its main impact is the emotional one of seeing a real crusader castle, the sense of history it evoked, a sudden distant memory of the television series of Richard the Lionheart fighting it out with Saladin each week in the early 60s.

After a 3 hour drive we checked in to a transit hotel next to the airport as we were to leave at 4am the next day to catch the flight home, had an hour to rest, ask for towels and snack on the plate of biscuits and baclava they provided in the room as we were to leave to see the city sights at 2. Of course we didnt get off till after 2.30 as it seems that once you enter a transit hotel you can only leave to go to the airport. It took 30mins of wrangling, while we waited in the coaches, for the guides to get us out without a full passport inspection and ensure that we could get back in that night to get our cases.

We stopped off at a baclava shop to buy presents; you choose from a bewildering array of boxes and tins, the guy gives you a chit which you take to the cashier to pay, he gives a receipt which you take back to the guy at the counter to get your box. There is one guy behind the counter serving 62 people, taking orders and dispensing, so of course it takes forever. Those on our coach help ourselves to offered samples of baclava for 'lunch' while the other coach goes off to find some falafel. From the nutritional info on our box I realize that there is so much fat and sugar in baclava that we had eaten the equivalent of a large fish and chip meal with a few tablespoons of sugar thrown over.

As we are late the guide suggests we skip lunch and go straight to see the citadel, seems sensible as we are stuffed with baclava. The rush hour traffic reminds me of Bangkok so we get there around 4pm and the guide runs through the site at speed pausing to give us a potted explanation, which is fine as it is still 34 Celsius and the ruins are less impressive than those we saw before. There follows a high speed chase through the downtown area, with us trotting after him in a long straggle. A few rebel and we pause to negotiate the terms of their release and directions back to the coach. I know I would never find it without the guide or be able to cross the roads without him and our personal tourist policeman to stop the traffic so we stick with him.

We fly past market stalls laden with fruit and green almonds (eaten here while still unripe in their outer casing and no hard shell inside, apparently like lemony apples I learn later), stalls along all the roads, a group of men discussing a set of red lacy camisole and knickers, perhaps to buy for their wives to wear under their burkas, sad-faced women sitting on mats selling cigarettes, a store selling heavily worn shoes and flip flops (a sign of the poverty our guide denies exists or the irreverent thought that someone is swiping the shoes from outside mosques to sell). We are given 10minutes to explore the gold shops should we wish, but I doubt that would have been sufficient time to haggle had we been tempted, which i wasn't. Finally the guide treated us to a sweet delicacy famed in Amman, a tart of mild goats cheese topped with shredded filo pastry and drowned in bubbling hot syrup cooked in large flat pizza-like pans and eaten from a plastic plate in the street outside. Despite the baclava overload we had to try it and it was delicious.

With no time to change we have a reception at an art gallery, a couple of talks on the health service in Iraq (the society president is from Iraq but he couldnt really have taken us there) and the farewell dinner at an Iraqi restaurant. Fresh carp are scooped from the pool with a net and split into' butterflies' and hung around an open fire to cook and served with a sour mango chutney. Carp is very bony we discover. Speeches, thanks, gifts for the president, a coach ride back to the hotel, arrive 12.15, ask for towels again and snatch 2 hrs sleep before getting up at 3am.

At the airport women and men go through security separately for a unisex pat down. There is nobody to help elderly or frail women to lift their cases on and off the xray machine. One asks a male employer, he ignores her. For once alcohol is far cheaper in duty free than a supermarket at home so we stock up on Grand Marnier, which I figure we deserve after a week of abstinence. Lulled by the turbulence I fall asleep on the plane.