Off we go wandering in Jordan!
November 1st - On the road again, ... again!
Usually, on Mondays when I get to work and someone asks me "How’s it going?", I shoot back "Meh, just another Monday!" But today, if you’re kind enough to ask, I can’t exactly say that! As Claude François sang, "Monday in the sun is something we’ll never have!" Except here—well, we’ve got it! And on top of that, today’s a public holiday—All Saints’ Day. Happy All Saints’ Day, everyone! But All Saints’ in Jordan is a bit like Halloween in Zimbabwe—everyone’s happily giving it zero thought!
Alright, enough philosophical musings—let’s get to today! Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to head back north and spend pretty much the whole blessed day on the road... Well, almost! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still planned a few quick *click-clack Kodak* stops to air out the brain cells... But before that, how can we leave the Red Sea without taking one last dip? Shh, I’m being sneaky this time—because the head I dipped? Yeah, I kept it as a souvenir... Okay, I’ll leave...
Extra round! Same players, play again: Come on, girls, let’s slip back into our masks and snorkels one last time—here we go again! And after a few fin strokes, bam, I come face-to-face with a massive turtle who clearly isn’t a fan of my mug since she bolts in a flash... Helicopter mode engaged, I switch to Alain Bernard at the Olympics and start sprinting like crazy in her wake! I’m not swimming—I’m flying! You should’ve seen the turtle’s face when she saw me catch up! Okay, fine, I’ll stop lying to you. Truth is, I was more like Michel Blanc in *Les Bronzés*—gasping for air just to catch a glimpse of her shell... The turtle was way faster than the hare. Too bad for Chloé, who was close by—she missed the show. It all came down to a hair’s breadth.
Alright, let’s not just sit here waiting for the wave to come to us! It’s time to say goodbye to everyone and hop back on our trusty steed, Mitsu, who’s got the tough job of swallowing up the entire drive back to the capital. All aboard, travelers—the caterpillar isn’t always on time... We came down via the King’s Highway, and now we’re heading back up via the Desert Highway. And the Desert Highway? Well, it’s monotonous. No need to wiggle your butt—it’s a straight shot! And it’s rockier than Garou’s voice and flatter than Carla Bruni Sarkozy’s. Oh boy, I’m gonna have problems!... We drive like this for over three hours straight. Not even a smoke break for Chloé or a bathroom stop for who-knows-who... Speaking of which, it reminds me that our little Sandrine is on the mend... The traveler’s diarrhea I recommended to the girls to lose a kilo or two is officially over. Sandrine even thanked me for the tip! Though, more seriously, she mostly praised me for booking a room with private bathrooms...
Once we’re off the Desert Highway, we need to find our way to Kerak, where I’ve planned a stop. And now, all you folks who criticize French road signs—own up and go stand in the corner with your hands behind your head... Because here? It’s chaos! First, signs are few and far between, and second, when you’re lucky enough to spot one, it’s plastered with posters of Mohammed, Ali, or Youssouf running in the next local election. Yet on our map, it looks simple—there’s only one road... But on the ground, it’s like we’re in Los Angeles—minus the girls in red bikinis! Roads are going every which way! And with a co-pilot team of three girls and their *ahem* sense of direction, we could’ve ended up in a ditch just for fun! But since there’s still a man on board, we manage to get our bearings and finally spot Kerak Fortress in our camera’s viewfinder... And let me tell you right now—visually, Kerak Castle is way closer to a WWII bunker than Chambord Castle! As for the town, it’s clear Mr. Leroy Merlin hasn’t set up shop here... The architectural style in vogue? Exposed cinder blocks and rebar everywhere. In other words, charm-wise—you can forget it...
But before the visit, it’s time to raise an elbow and a fork—if we can find one. We settle into a little hole-in-the-wall (no, not the little guy with the yellow car—that’s *Oui-Oui*). We order something to refresh ourselves. A little drink is nice, but just a little! Because, my friend of fancy appetizers and canapés, you’d better hope your digestive system hasn’t seen the state of the kitchen facing the street. We’re not usually picky, but here? Poor Mr. Clean must’ve been kicked out of this place a long time ago—it’s not even possible! So, what do we do? Are we here to eat or to call the health inspectors? Because honestly, we’re not risking traveler’s diarrhea here—we’re risking the next Europe Assistance flight! The verdict: "Sir, your application has caught our attention. However, we regret to inform you that we will not be proceeding with your order..." So, the little guy tries to rip us off like a pro, charging an outrageous price for the four cans we quickly downed. But watch out—this young monkey has grown into an old one, and you can’t pull a fast one on us anymore! We’ll pay the usual rate, and that’s that! We end up at a supermarket that’s anything but *super*—except for the owner, who insists we taste every product in his store. At this rate, this meal’s gonna be cheaper than expected... At checkout, we ask if he sells bread... Once again, the kindness of Jordanians shines. Since he doesn’t sell any, he calls over a little kid from the street who runs off to fetch us some flatbread from who-knows-where. Now *that’s* what I call customer satisfaction!
Back on the street, I overhear a French couple who bravely tried their luck at *Kings*, a restaurant just as sketchy as ours. I’ll spare you the details and the gastric symphony, but let’s just say that compared to what they were saying, they’ll be new customers of *triple-thickness* Moltonel by tonight! Alright, off to the castle, where buses are parked like it’s a dealership...
Built by the Crusaders, this fortress has a few juicy little anecdotes—like this one: Renauld de Châtillon, one of the fortress’s leaders, got his kicks torturing prisoners and coming up with the most *fun* ways to finish them off. In the end, he’d toss them off the 400-meter-high walls with a wooden box on their heads so they wouldn’t pass out before hitting the ground... Pretty sadistic, right? No doubt about it—people knew how to have fun back then! Death, wars, torture... All for religion... Personally, I’m an atheist—thank God! As for the visit, no wide-eyed wonder or drooling here... Let’s just say if this fortress were in Le Havre, I’d tell you it’s really impressive... But after Petra and Wadi Rum, I’ll admit it leaves a bit of a... "now, I need more to be wowed" aftertaste. Am I sounding like a spoiled kid? No, seriously—if it’s on your way and you’re retired, it’d be a crime not to stop... But if you’ve got better things to do, keep moving—you can visit Le Havre when you get back to France!
That’s actually what we’re doing right now (hitting the road, not visiting Le Havre), because Kerak hasn’t had a makeover in two hours, and we’ve got no more reasons to dirty our soles here. Plus, if I don’t want my chances of seeing Wadi Mujib in daylight to melt like snow in a microwave, we’d better get Mitsu purring! Like a little beast climbing, climbing... we devour the kilometers, compass pointed due north. And of course, it wouldn’t be fun if there wasn’t a catch... Round two of the sign fiasco... and because it’s us, they’ve thrown in a detour that I’d quickly describe as having a life of debauchery with multiple paid partners! With that, we end up lost who-knows-where on a road that, after a few kilometers, doesn’t even have a name anymore... We needed this like we needed a good case of syphilis! All this to say we obviously arrived at the edge of Wadi Mujib completely last-minute, the day starting to get its butt kicked by night... I’ll hurry and give you the lowdown on what there is to see here: Nicknamed the "Grand Canyon of Jordan," this kilometer-deep, four-kilometer-wide rift splits Jordan in two. To cross it, you have to go down and then back up the 18-kilometer winding road... If you’ve been following from the start, we took a dip in the narrowest part of this canyon at the beginning of the trip... And when you get to the top, Wadi Mujib is so impressive and vast that photos can’t capture the beauty of the place—you’ll just have to take my word for it! But hey, I’ll still throw in a couple I just developed in my basement...
Our road trip wraps up around 7 PM when we land at the airport! No need to start sniffling—even if it’s starting to smell like the end, this travel journal still has a few pages left to read! We’re only here to return our Mitsu to its owner. The rest of the trip will be with local transport... The problem? At 7:30 PM, no one... 8 PM, still no one... Don’t pull the time-zone trick on me again! Seeing us take root, a kind Jordanian approaches and naturally offers to call the agency for us... Apparently, the guy we’re supposed to meet had a taxi accident and won’t arrive until 8:30 PM. Lucky we didn’t have a flight to catch! Once there, the guy apologizes and doesn’t make a fuss about the check-out, which takes two minutes tops. For the two flat tires, we agree on 10 dinars in compensation, which he pockets right away since he offers to drive us to our hotel for the same amount—including a nighttime city tour. Deal! We jump back into Mitsu, who plunges into Amman’s traffic...
We arrive at our destination, happy as can be, right in front of the Palace Hotel. And you’re thinking: "For their last night, they splurged and booked a palace!" Well, I’m writing this journal from my hotel bed... Oh, my *palace* bed, sorry... Actually, the most "palace-like" thing about the Palace Hotel is its name! The place has the charm of a reform school, but the main thing is it’s clean and well-located... Now, the last mission of the day is to find kebab for our stomachs—comfort food for our feet! For this, I’d spotted a local institution in the Lonely Planet: Hashem Restaurant! The result? We leave with bellies swollen like a five-month-pregnant woman, all for 6 dinars for four of us! Not even the price of a McDonald’s for one in France... And on top of that, it was so good I’ll have to confess this gluttony sin one day or another! As for Amman, the first impression is pretty positive—contrary to everything I’d read here and there. But I’ll tell you more tomorrow! After all, tomorrow is another adventure...
Usually, on Mondays when I get to work and someone asks me "How’s it going?", I shoot back "Meh, just another Monday!" But today, if you’re kind enough to ask, I can’t exactly say that! As Claude François sang, "Monday in the sun is something we’ll never have!" Except here—well, we’ve got it! And on top of that, today’s a public holiday—All Saints’ Day. Happy All Saints’ Day, everyone! But All Saints’ in Jordan is a bit like Halloween in Zimbabwe—everyone’s happily giving it zero thought!
Alright, enough philosophical musings—let’s get to today! Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to head back north and spend pretty much the whole blessed day on the road... Well, almost! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still planned a few quick *click-clack Kodak* stops to air out the brain cells... But before that, how can we leave the Red Sea without taking one last dip? Shh, I’m being sneaky this time—because the head I dipped? Yeah, I kept it as a souvenir... Okay, I’ll leave...
Extra round! Same players, play again: Come on, girls, let’s slip back into our masks and snorkels one last time—here we go again! And after a few fin strokes, bam, I come face-to-face with a massive turtle who clearly isn’t a fan of my mug since she bolts in a flash... Helicopter mode engaged, I switch to Alain Bernard at the Olympics and start sprinting like crazy in her wake! I’m not swimming—I’m flying! You should’ve seen the turtle’s face when she saw me catch up! Okay, fine, I’ll stop lying to you. Truth is, I was more like Michel Blanc in *Les Bronzés*—gasping for air just to catch a glimpse of her shell... The turtle was way faster than the hare. Too bad for Chloé, who was close by—she missed the show. It all came down to a hair’s breadth.
Alright, let’s not just sit here waiting for the wave to come to us! It’s time to say goodbye to everyone and hop back on our trusty steed, Mitsu, who’s got the tough job of swallowing up the entire drive back to the capital. All aboard, travelers—the caterpillar isn’t always on time... We came down via the King’s Highway, and now we’re heading back up via the Desert Highway. And the Desert Highway? Well, it’s monotonous. No need to wiggle your butt—it’s a straight shot! And it’s rockier than Garou’s voice and flatter than Carla Bruni Sarkozy’s. Oh boy, I’m gonna have problems!... We drive like this for over three hours straight. Not even a smoke break for Chloé or a bathroom stop for who-knows-who... Speaking of which, it reminds me that our little Sandrine is on the mend... The traveler’s diarrhea I recommended to the girls to lose a kilo or two is officially over. Sandrine even thanked me for the tip! Though, more seriously, she mostly praised me for booking a room with private bathrooms...
Once we’re off the Desert Highway, we need to find our way to Kerak, where I’ve planned a stop. And now, all you folks who criticize French road signs—own up and go stand in the corner with your hands behind your head... Because here? It’s chaos! First, signs are few and far between, and second, when you’re lucky enough to spot one, it’s plastered with posters of Mohammed, Ali, or Youssouf running in the next local election. Yet on our map, it looks simple—there’s only one road... But on the ground, it’s like we’re in Los Angeles—minus the girls in red bikinis! Roads are going every which way! And with a co-pilot team of three girls and their *ahem* sense of direction, we could’ve ended up in a ditch just for fun! But since there’s still a man on board, we manage to get our bearings and finally spot Kerak Fortress in our camera’s viewfinder... And let me tell you right now—visually, Kerak Castle is way closer to a WWII bunker than Chambord Castle! As for the town, it’s clear Mr. Leroy Merlin hasn’t set up shop here... The architectural style in vogue? Exposed cinder blocks and rebar everywhere. In other words, charm-wise—you can forget it...
But before the visit, it’s time to raise an elbow and a fork—if we can find one. We settle into a little hole-in-the-wall (no, not the little guy with the yellow car—that’s *Oui-Oui*). We order something to refresh ourselves. A little drink is nice, but just a little! Because, my friend of fancy appetizers and canapés, you’d better hope your digestive system hasn’t seen the state of the kitchen facing the street. We’re not usually picky, but here? Poor Mr. Clean must’ve been kicked out of this place a long time ago—it’s not even possible! So, what do we do? Are we here to eat or to call the health inspectors? Because honestly, we’re not risking traveler’s diarrhea here—we’re risking the next Europe Assistance flight! The verdict: "Sir, your application has caught our attention. However, we regret to inform you that we will not be proceeding with your order..." So, the little guy tries to rip us off like a pro, charging an outrageous price for the four cans we quickly downed. But watch out—this young monkey has grown into an old one, and you can’t pull a fast one on us anymore! We’ll pay the usual rate, and that’s that! We end up at a supermarket that’s anything but *super*—except for the owner, who insists we taste every product in his store. At this rate, this meal’s gonna be cheaper than expected... At checkout, we ask if he sells bread... Once again, the kindness of Jordanians shines. Since he doesn’t sell any, he calls over a little kid from the street who runs off to fetch us some flatbread from who-knows-where. Now *that’s* what I call customer satisfaction!
Back on the street, I overhear a French couple who bravely tried their luck at *Kings*, a restaurant just as sketchy as ours. I’ll spare you the details and the gastric symphony, but let’s just say that compared to what they were saying, they’ll be new customers of *triple-thickness* Moltonel by tonight! Alright, off to the castle, where buses are parked like it’s a dealership...
Built by the Crusaders, this fortress has a few juicy little anecdotes—like this one: Renauld de Châtillon, one of the fortress’s leaders, got his kicks torturing prisoners and coming up with the most *fun* ways to finish them off. In the end, he’d toss them off the 400-meter-high walls with a wooden box on their heads so they wouldn’t pass out before hitting the ground... Pretty sadistic, right? No doubt about it—people knew how to have fun back then! Death, wars, torture... All for religion... Personally, I’m an atheist—thank God! As for the visit, no wide-eyed wonder or drooling here... Let’s just say if this fortress were in Le Havre, I’d tell you it’s really impressive... But after Petra and Wadi Rum, I’ll admit it leaves a bit of a... "now, I need more to be wowed" aftertaste. Am I sounding like a spoiled kid? No, seriously—if it’s on your way and you’re retired, it’d be a crime not to stop... But if you’ve got better things to do, keep moving—you can visit Le Havre when you get back to France!
That’s actually what we’re doing right now (hitting the road, not visiting Le Havre), because Kerak hasn’t had a makeover in two hours, and we’ve got no more reasons to dirty our soles here. Plus, if I don’t want my chances of seeing Wadi Mujib in daylight to melt like snow in a microwave, we’d better get Mitsu purring! Like a little beast climbing, climbing... we devour the kilometers, compass pointed due north. And of course, it wouldn’t be fun if there wasn’t a catch... Round two of the sign fiasco... and because it’s us, they’ve thrown in a detour that I’d quickly describe as having a life of debauchery with multiple paid partners! With that, we end up lost who-knows-where on a road that, after a few kilometers, doesn’t even have a name anymore... We needed this like we needed a good case of syphilis! All this to say we obviously arrived at the edge of Wadi Mujib completely last-minute, the day starting to get its butt kicked by night... I’ll hurry and give you the lowdown on what there is to see here: Nicknamed the "Grand Canyon of Jordan," this kilometer-deep, four-kilometer-wide rift splits Jordan in two. To cross it, you have to go down and then back up the 18-kilometer winding road... If you’ve been following from the start, we took a dip in the narrowest part of this canyon at the beginning of the trip... And when you get to the top, Wadi Mujib is so impressive and vast that photos can’t capture the beauty of the place—you’ll just have to take my word for it! But hey, I’ll still throw in a couple I just developed in my basement...
Our road trip wraps up around 7 PM when we land at the airport! No need to start sniffling—even if it’s starting to smell like the end, this travel journal still has a few pages left to read! We’re only here to return our Mitsu to its owner. The rest of the trip will be with local transport... The problem? At 7:30 PM, no one... 8 PM, still no one... Don’t pull the time-zone trick on me again! Seeing us take root, a kind Jordanian approaches and naturally offers to call the agency for us... Apparently, the guy we’re supposed to meet had a taxi accident and won’t arrive until 8:30 PM. Lucky we didn’t have a flight to catch! Once there, the guy apologizes and doesn’t make a fuss about the check-out, which takes two minutes tops. For the two flat tires, we agree on 10 dinars in compensation, which he pockets right away since he offers to drive us to our hotel for the same amount—including a nighttime city tour. Deal! We jump back into Mitsu, who plunges into Amman’s traffic...
We arrive at our destination, happy as can be, right in front of the Palace Hotel. And you’re thinking: "For their last night, they splurged and booked a palace!" Well, I’m writing this journal from my hotel bed... Oh, my *palace* bed, sorry... Actually, the most "palace-like" thing about the Palace Hotel is its name! The place has the charm of a reform school, but the main thing is it’s clean and well-located... Now, the last mission of the day is to find kebab for our stomachs—comfort food for our feet! For this, I’d spotted a local institution in the Lonely Planet: Hashem Restaurant! The result? We leave with bellies swollen like a five-month-pregnant woman, all for 6 dinars for four of us! Not even the price of a McDonald’s for one in France... And on top of that, it was so good I’ll have to confess this gluttony sin one day or another! As for Amman, the first impression is pretty positive—contrary to everything I’d read here and there. But I’ll tell you more tomorrow! After all, tomorrow is another adventure...
