Splurging, Floating

I left Petra with a bad taste for Jordan--out of money, tired, and ready to go to Jerusalem.  I said so long to Mary Ann, walked down to the bus station to go to Amman, was told to take a taxi, then the taxi driver told me to wait until three more people showed up, who never did, then was told there was a bus and shh follow me and get your luggage by another man, then after two hours the bus comes and I get pushed off by the mob who gets on first, then another bus twenty minutes later, then a three hour ride in the scorching sun, to arrive in Amman at last, then another bus to get to the proper station (there are several)--and I am again the only Westerner on this bus--and arriving at the station at last (with some help from a nice Jordanian--they're definitely around too) I am told that the bus to the border is no longer running.  So it's another taxi--by now I am dehydrated and have not eaten anything but one tomato and a piece of bread all day--and am hastily dropped off at the border crossing...taxi leaves quickly because the border is closed.  No hotels in the area, and I'm out, totally, of money.

I have two options.  Option one: return to the traffic and haze of Amman, find a hostel, sleep and wake up early to taxi back.  Option two: go to the dead sea. I wanted to go anyway in Israel but wouldn't have had time--the only catch--there are only five star resorts on the dead sea.  I didn't care.  At that point I hadn't had a hot shower or soft bed to sleep in for a month.  Literally.  For me, that is stretching to the breaking point, especially when you pile on my favorite--public transportation in foreign languages--for a long day.

CNN and Burger Binge

So I sprang for it. Never has the Marriott looked so good.  Got my room, took a shower, floated in the dead sea which is six times saltier than the ocean, so you can't go down even if you want--the salt kills everything, hence "dead" sea--it's the lowest place on earth.  But don't get the water in your nose--it will burn like wasabi, Tabasco, and gasoline mixed together, and it kills your eyes.  I slopped on dead sea mud, renowned for its health benefits (didn't see much of a change but what the hell), took a long hot shower, binged on CNN, got a one pound double cheese burger, and called home.  I slept like a log, took another shower, and that was the end of one very expensive, very long border-crossing-failure ordeal.

I'm noticing as I travel that I am less fazed by the ambiguity of situations--be it public transport or which hotel I will stay in over the course of the night--and that it's easier to meet people as time goes on. I credit each of these as good things.

I took a cab back to the border, met a couple from Barcelona who spoke only Spanish (thankfully my Spanish is still more or less accessible) and some Bible tourists from Seattle, got onto a bus, and crossed to Israel.  At that point it was mayhem.  You have to get your bags x-rayed, and all manner of pushing with carts and elbows happens as people pile up and try to get their bags and passports taken first.  Not speaking Arabic hurts, again.  (It is Israel, but all the baggage handlers are Palestinian).  I waited a good half hour, kept getting shunted aside in favor of other carts, so I did what seemed natural--pull out your wallet and open it slowly--plenty conspicuously--and take out a bill.  Catch the eye of one of the men--yes, that one, make sure that bag goes next, then after it is on the belt he takes care of other people until a safe interval has passed and he hands you your passport with one hand and talks to someone else while you shove a bill into his other hand.  Yup, I had to bribe my way into Israel.

Israel puts ridiculously beautiful women in its customs booths--who ask really hard questions.  So after going through yet another metal detector and then a machine that states solemnly "jets firing" while blowing air on you and making sure you don't contain traces of explosives (don't worry, only men like me who look like they could be terrorists get the pleasure), I got to translate Israeli border questions into Spanish for my new friends, then crossed myself.  Nice people--they gave me their number--perhaps I'll see them in Spain in a month!  Bye bye Jordan.  Hello West Bank.