30 October - The toilets? Follow the yellow line...
Are you coming for the holidays? I haven’t changed my address… I’m still at Bedouin Garden Village in Aqaba. And as I’m talking to you now, it’s five o’clock, Paris is waking up. Well, in an hour, because with the time difference, it’s only four o’clock in France! Yet, no, I’m not a morning person… And yes, if I wake up at this hour, it’s usually under duress—think torture: tears from one of my daughters having a nightmare or a bed-wetting incident and sheet-changing for the other. In those cases, it’s funny how Sandrine always pretends not to hear… Strangely enough, at this early hour, I’m already raring to go—or more precisely, my flippers, mask, and snorkel are ready. And yes, I must admit it was a pressing urge that woke me up so early… But no, not the one you’re thinking of! It was the urge to get out of bed and visit my fish buddies, who I met a little too briefly yesterday! And the weather is perfect for it… Okay, you might have noticed I’ve been avoiding talking too much about the weather to avoid bumming you out, but to set the scene, the sky is completely blue, and the temperature is like a scorching summer back home—minus the heatwave casualties of little old folks…
Here, summer is hot, summer is hot, in t-shirts, in swimsuits… By the way, I heard yesterday that winter is settling in in France, freezing the tip of your nose, and you’ve dug out your down jacket again. Well, no panic—I’m coming to the rescue with pockets full of sunshine and blue sea under my arm. You’ll be able to tan just by reading this!! So, who do we thank? Thank yours truly! Anyway, back to our sheep… or rather, our fish and our beach! Speaking of which, this is the perfect opportunity for me to have a little rant! Overnight, we’ve gone from Beachland to Dumpsterland! Imagine Marseille after a month of garbage collectors’ strike, and you’re still not close! Coca-Cola bottles, leftover nuggets, burger wrappers!… Even though you’re ten thousand miles from the U.S., it’s like a McDonald’s over here! Actually, every Friday night, it’s fiesta at the playa! Jordanians gather and camp on the beach… Too bad recycling and waste sorting aren’t invited to these little parties! There’s no respect for nature anymore, I swear… Everything’s going to hell, my dear!
But once you get your head underwater, it’s back to Frank in Wonderland: huge sea urchins here, clownfish there… Oh, look, a moray eel! Ooooh, what a beautiful anemone… And there, what a beautiful tank!… What? You don’t know what a tank is? Well, it’s simple—it’s an armored vehicle on tracks with a cannon for firing shells… I knew there was one that had been sunk around here at five or six meters deep to serve as an artificial reef, and lucky me, I stumbled right onto it! Incredible but true, presented by Jacques Martin!! I’m all tingly… My first wreck! So I celebrate with a whole bunch of colorful fish worth their weight in sushi! Speaking of sushi, that little dip made me work up an appetite! Perfect timing—it’s breakfast time, which we have every day on the hotel terrace, a place we’re really starting to love… I have to say, the vibe here is sooooo cool… The perfect peaceful haven, nothing like Le Havre! Now you’re going to think I’ve got something against the people of Le Havre… But over there, I’m sure life is just as nice. I’m just grasping at straws here…
Anyway, as soon as we devoured our Arabic bread, hard-boiled egg, tea, and Laughing Cow cheese, I ignored grandma’s advice and headed straight back to the water—no routine here! Or if it is routine, it’s nothing like the usual metro-boulot-dodo (commute-work-sleep), I can tell you that! So, girls, who’s following me? Same team as yesterday! As usual, Sandrine stays on the sand, eyes on the water—her dream was too beautiful… And I shouted, shouted… Sandrine, so she’d come back… But no, paradise is within reach, and she’d rather stay on the other side of the door doing nothing… Meanwhile, Chloé, Muriel, and I are having another fish feast…
When we got out of the water, the scene had changed! The beach had cleaned itself up, and there was a crowd… Actually, after thinking about it, the crowd was mostly around us, and as if by chance, it was entirely male… In other words, it wasn’t my muscular, tanned torso causing a sensation! The girls are cuter than they are scruffy, and they’re proudly rocking their little bikinis… So, just like us since we arrived in Jordan, the local guys are getting an eyeful!!! Okay, I like looking at girls walking on the beach too, when they undress and pretend to be shy, but I know how to behave! Still, it must be a bit of a change from the Jordanian women covered from head to toe. It was like watching ten-year-old kids sneaking a peek at the lingerie pages of the 1986 La Redoute catalog, pages 789 to 804 (What do you mean, ‘that sounds like experience’?). They kept walking back and forth in front of us, eyes popping out, tongues hanging, drooling… And let’s not forget the telling detail: their hands were buried deep in their pockets… Maybe it’s a small detail to you, but for me, it says a lot—it means their hormones are playing ping-pong in their underwear! Hands in pockets, if you catch my drift, isn’t to look cool. They’re fiddling here, and fiddling there!!! Yet, the girls had put their t-shirts back on, and we were behaving! You’d think it was love at the beach, *aouh tcha tcha tcha*, but not even close!
So, what’s next, you ask? Well, off to Aqaba to satisfy our stomachs! I’m so hungry I wouldn’t leave a chicken on the street! We drop our fishing rods at Al-Tarboosh, a little joint where we wolf down a lamb dish for next to nothing… Al-Tarboosh—a place worth knowing (you’ll see why later)!!! After that, since I took the risk of traveling with three girls, I bravely endure the little shopping session that follows… Madame browses, checks things out, makes her choice, and hits you with the trap question you have to spot in a second: ‘What do you think?’ The trap question you obviously answer with: ‘Yes, yes, it’s great,’ even if you know it’ll end up at the next local flea market soon! You could even add, ‘I wouldn’t have chosen better,’ but that would be a bit fake, so I’ll pass! Okay, I’m joking—they’re reasonable, and we don’t waste too much time… And this is my chance to tell you another anecdote praising Jordanian hospitality… Don’t be shy, come closer so I can explain…
As we’re wandering the streets of Aqaba, we sniff out a good deal in front of a trinket shop advertising ‘Ten postcards for one dinar’! At that price, help yourself—I’m paying! And off we go with the ‘Who do we send one to?’ session. After deliberation, you’re obviously one of the lucky ones. Except when it’s time to pay, the vendor says in broken English: ‘Yes, it’s one dinar for ten cards! (so far, so good!)
- Okay, but we only want six…
- Yes, it’s one dinar for ten cards! (he insists)
- We only need six cards. It’s fine, we’ll pay one dinar…
- Yes, it’s one dinar for ten cards! (hello, McFly, anyone home?)
Clearly, the guy we’re dealing with only learned one English phrase…
‘Do you know why the Jordanians were fiddling on the beach this morning?
- Yes, it’s one dinar for ten cards!’
And in the end, when he realized we’d understood it was one dinar for ten cards, he gave Sandrine a bracelet to thank us for letting him keep the change. Price tag on the bracelet: two dinars!!! You see, when they’re not fiddling, Jordanians are really nice!
After that, we peacefully spend the rest of the afternoon on the terrace of the Mövenpick hotel, devouring a big ice cream and writing the postcard you must have received by now, until… ‘Groarrrgggrrrrrroa…’ No, that’s not Arabic—it’s Sandrine’s stomach trying to tell us something… ‘Grrrrrrroooa…’ And off she goes! Sandrine gets up and starts her short program. The audience is attentive… First, a triple Lutz over her chair, followed by a perfect double toe loop to avoid the neighboring table… So far, flawless… but the hardest part is yet to come, as a series of Axels sends her straight to the lobby… The pace quickens dangerously! She grabs a waiter by the arm and starts her pairs routine. An arabesque, two or three compulsory figures… Her partner can’t keep up and just points her in the right direction! She finally finishes her program, out of breath and relieved, sitting on… the toilet! The poor guys still remember it! Verdict: Technical score, eight out of ten. Choreography and synchronization, nine! Sandrine is crowned champion of this trip, hands down! Let’s applaud the performance!
Okay, it’s fun to joke, but the other three of us, me included, are starting to feel little rumbles warning of a big storm… But don’t worry—Sandrine, if she’s copied, will never be equaled… And since the alarm is sounded for everyone’s intestines, tonight, we’re going on a hunger strike! And worse, I’m going to bed with the chickens! No, I’m not talking about the girls—it’s an expression!
Good night, enjoy your meal if you’re eating, and if you ask me, avoid the lamb at Al-Tarboosh!… We’ll definitely be skipping it tomorrow… Anyway, tomorrow is another adventure…
