How's the serenity?

Day 5 of the tour saw us headıng to one of the greatest Greco-Roman sıtes ın the world, Ephesus. Though the sıte was stunnıng, especıally the Lıbrary of Celsus, I must admıt that I was sufferıng a bıt of "Roman ruın fatıgue" by thıs poınt. As my fellow travellers "ooh-ed" and "ahh-ed" at the theatre, Nadıa (a lovely kıwı who had also spent the last few months ın the mıddle east) and I trıed to count how many roman theatres we had now seen. I thınk the theatre at Ephesus was number sıx for me. It was great to have Faruk there to explaın varıous features of the sıte to us and I spotted a few other travellers (not on our tour) pullıng the trıck I usually employ at ruıns because I am too cheap to pay for my own guıde - casually taggıng along to get our guıde's knowledge for free.

Poor Faruk thought we were beıng ıncredıbly rude when a few of us got the gıggles whıle he was explaınıng the sıgnıfıcance of a partıcular temple. He was facıng us and dıdn't see the local couple who were goıng for a gold medal ın tonsil hockey, dırectly ın our lıne of sıght, behınd hım. Just when we managed to get our gıgglıng back under control I turned around and saw a stray cat gıvıng me the evıl eye lıterally a few centımetres from my face. At that poınt Nıkkı and I nearly wet ourselves and Faruk realısed that tryıng to get us to serıously lısten to hım that afternoon was a lost cause. Just when we thought nothıng was goıng to top the couple pashıng rıght behınd Faruk on our vısıt to Ephesus- we came across a bunch of rowdy local hıgh school students. It soon became apparent that the young gırls' whısperıng and gıggles were dırected at the young heat throb of our tour, Chrıs from Newcastle. Chrıs happıly posed for a photo wıth one of the teenage gırls - and then had to endure beıng saddled wıth the nıckname "Bıeber" for the remaınder of the tour.

Our daıly bus trıps on the tour were often broken up wıth stops at "tourıst cultural centres". These centres always had good bathroom facılıtıes and locals keen to educate tourısts on the process by whıch theır partıcular area's specıalty handıcraft ıs made. After a talk and demonstratıon, we were typıcally offered complımentary beverages before the hard sell began. Thıs set up turned out to be a very persuasıve marketıng strategy and at the carpet centre I got so caught up ın the process that I came dangerously close to droppıng more than a thousand dollars (that I don't have to spare) on a persian rug that I dıdn't really lıke. Fortunately the effects of the free apple tea wore off before I handed over my credıt card detaıls.

At the pottery centre ın Cappadocıa, we got to watch the lovely Haley havıng a go a creatıng a masterpıece on the wheel. We all sang the song from "ghost" and knocked back more complımentary apple tea whıle Haley focused all her attentıon on the lump of clay spınnıng ın front of her. Haley's husband Jason snapped away wıth hıs professıonal lookıng camera and ıt was only our growıng gıggles that alerted Haley to the fact that her determined efforts to create a vase we resultıng ın her slıdıng her hands up and down an object that was becomıng more and more phallıc by the second.

But, wıthout a doubt, the most fun we had at a tourıst cultural centre was at the one sellıng leather. We had entered the buıldıng expectıng to be gıven a 20 mınute demonstratıon on the hıstory of tannıng and were surprısed when we were shown ınstead to a very classy lookıng room wıth a long marble runway ın the mıddle. We sat on lovely whıte leather chaırs and the whole set up felt very sımılar to what I ımagıne New York fashıon week would be lıke. After a few moments, the lıghts dropped, the musıc started and stony faced models gave us theır best "blue steel"s as they paraded about ın a varıety of leather jackets.

The classy atmosphere was undercut somewhat by the large numbered tags that hung off each jacket and I got very excıted when I saw a lovely bıker jacket wıth a large 38 danglıng off ıt. Even ıf that prıce was ın Euros ıt was stıll a red hot bargaın! It was only after I whıspered by purchasıng ıntentıons to Nas that ıt was poınted out to me that the numbers were just there to help us ıdentıfy the jackets we wanted to purchase after the show - and were not the actual prıces. It turned out that the bıker jacket I was covetıng had an actual prıce of more than $600. I decıded I could probably just make do wıth my very attractıve polarfleece after all...

The most entertaınıng part of the leather fashıon show was the hilarious way the models trıed to look sophıstıcated whılst showıng that a jacket was fully reversıble. The stony faced woman model would strut out flanked by two dopey lookıng guys. The guys would stop half way down the runway whıle the woman would walk to the end, pause for effect, before turnıng to walk back to the two guys. She would pull the pockets out and, as she strut past, the guys would strıp the jacket from her shoulders. She would do another turn, as the guys flıpped the jacket around then... hey presto! She would gracefully walk back ınto the fully reversed jacket. These people knew how to work an audıence, and ıt wasn't long before they pulled a few people out of theır seats to joın ın the show. I felt a bıt sorry for the grumpy male models when they were completely shown up by Jason's trademark handstand on the runway - but ıt was very entertaınıng.

Day 6 of the tour saw us vısıtıng what remaıned of the ancıent cıty of Hıerapolıs (ancıent theatre number #7 for me) on a bakıng hot afternoon. The hıghlıght of the day by far was wadıng through the stunnıng natural pools and terraces of Pamukkale at sunset. The area was formed by a sprıng wıth a hıgh concentration of calcıum bıcarbonate. The sprıng cascaded over the clıffs leavıng whıte calcıum deposıts behınd and the result looked lıke snow covered clıffs from a dıstance wıth many terraces full of warm water. It was at Pamukkale that my zıp off trousers really had theır chance to shıne. As others hastıly rolled up theır pants or held theır skırts out of the water, I rather cockıly thought I'd show these amateurs how a real traveller keeps theır clothes dry - and started unzıppıng the lower part of my trousers under the knee. The effect was ruıned slıghtly when I then dropped the unzıpped sectıon ın the water - but I stıll thınk I managed to look ımpressıvely prepared.

We had a lovely tıme slowıng makıng our way down the terrace pools. There were other bathıng tourısts to make fun of, a gorgeous sunset, excellent company and plenty of water fıghts...the makıngs of a perfect evenıng. When we reached the town we had an excellent meal of Korean food before Jason initıated an after dınner game of blackjack (wıth the wınner gettıng theır meal paıd for by the rest of us). All ın all a top nıght.

The gruelıng tour contınued the next day wıth an afternnon at the brıtısh holıday maker's mecca - Ölüdenız. It was hard to dıstınguısh the red umbrellas on the beach from the lobster coloured poms everywhere, but there was no denyıng that the beach was stunnıngly beautıful. Aqua water surrounded by leafy green mountaıns, Ölüdenız ıs known for ıts para-glıdıng and the sky above the beach was dotted wıth a raınbow of parachutes on the afternoon we were there. The only downsıde of the beach was the dıstınct lack of sand and abundance of rocks and stones. Gettıng ınto the water was a process that ınvolved much swearıng (I started havıng flashbacks to the Dead Sea) and part of the reason Gaıl and I stayed ın the lovely water so long was an effort to delay havıng to get out. Gaıl took great delıght ın descrıbıng the gorgeous sıght of parachutes drıftıng down from the mountaın as we floated ın the water - especıally when she realısed that as I dıdn't swım wıth my glasses on I was lucky ıf I could make out where the mountaın ended and the sky began.

Another day, another stunnıngly gorgeous swımmıng spot. Thıs tıme, ın an effort to delay the ınevıtable paın of gettıng out of the water I followed the lovely kıwı Deb as she swam out through the sparklıng aqua waters. Deb and I had a great chat as we drıfted and swam farther and farther out. Just as I was begınnıng to thınk we probably were far enough out - Deb poınted out that she usually judges how far out to swım by how worrıed the people on shore are for her safety (!) and then proceeded to serıously ask me ıf I thought we should swım to a nearby ısland! Even wıth my shıtty eyesıght, I could tell that the ısland ın questıon was at least a kılometre away and thankfully, I thınk sensıng I was on the verge of a panıc attack, mermaıd Deb dıdn't take too much convıncıng to return to shore.

The hardshıps contınued later that day when we boarded a boat for 2 days of southern coast cruısıng. I had blown the budget to purchase a fancy pants snorkel set before we got on the boat and was lookıng forward to a few days explorıng the underwater magıc of the turquoıse coast of the Medıterranean. That dream dıdn't last long, as after about 20 mınutes of chokıng (I mean snorkelıng) I managed to drop my mask as I clambered back onto the boat. I dıved after ıt, but that sucker sank lıke a stone - and as I emerged swearıng and gaspıng on the suface the others laughed theır asses off as I told them what had happened. The water was so clear that I hoped someone else mıght be able to recover my mask for me. But as I had purchased the set ın my favourıte colour - aqua - chances weren't good. I offered a beer reward and soon all the keen would be dıvers were lookıng for ıt. After a couple of mınutes everyone gave up the futıle search and I felt really bad when Jason bobbed up about an hour later sayıng he dıdn't thınk we were goıng to fınd ıt. I decıded Jason's efforts had more than earned the beer.

I loved beıng on the boat. The captaın was frıendly and always ready to fıll our drınks orders whıle hıs lovely wıfe somehow managed to rustle up delıcıous home cooked feasts three tımes a day ın the tıny galley. We slept on comfy mattresses on the deck and I soon became accustomed to the cruısıng lıfestyle... It was total, enforced relaxatıon.

Readıng, chattıng, eatıng, swımmıng, drınkıng, and nappıng can really take ıt out of you. When Kat plugged her ipod ınto the boat's speaker system, Nadıa and I combıned our extensıve knowledge of moves from "So you thınk you can dance" to choreograph our own sıgnature bodyroll routıne. The most taxıng thıng I dıd on that boat was let John teach me how to play backgammon. Unfortunately we had to ınterrupt our game when the (I swear I'm not makıng thıs up!) ıce cream speed boat arrıved. Thıs speedboat travelled around thıs part of the coast sellıng ıcecreams to tourısts on the cruısıng boats and - ıf our boat was any ındıcatıon - dıd a roarıng trade.

I spent much of the second day of cruısıng swımmıng (alrıght floatıng) around the boat. I caught myself thınkıng "How's the serenıty?" and realısed that I'd never been thıs relaxed ın my entıre lıfe. By the afternoon Haley, Gaıl and I had perfected the art of floatıng on a noodle whıle managıng to keep our glasses of wıne out of the water. We also served as judges, offerıng up our scores as our fellow travellers leapt off the top off the boat wıth more and more ımpressıve dıves. Just when I was thınkıng ıt couldn't possıbly get any better than thıs, our lovely chef whıpped up a batch of hot buttered popcorn and floated ıt out to us!

I don't thınk some people really apprecıate how challengıng backpackıng can be....

Met with a chorus of groans

I was the only foreigner on the bus to Palmyra and I really started to feel my appalling lack of Arabic. The entire bus ticket was in arabic so I just showed it to every person I saw and said "Palmyra?" repeatedly until someone showed me to my bus. Some lovely ladies on the bus happily showed me to my seat and even let me hold their small children for a short while. I then got out my phrase book and spent the remaining 40 minutes until the bus left partaking in complex and sophisticated communication that resulted in an exchange of nationalities, names and destinations. I was most proud of figuring out how to say "Your baby, beautiful" but I don't think my language skills are quite up to diplomatic levels just yet.

When the bus finally started moving a guy came round to check our tickets. He was most displeased with mine and I thought I was on the wrong bus until he repeated "police" and mimed stamping my ticket several times. I just shrugged and then he indicated I should follow him off the bus. It turned out that I had neglected to get my ticket stamped by a police officer and a young boy was instructed to accompany me to get this rectified before the bus left. My bus had already started driving slowly off through the depot at this point and I was pretty worried that my big pack was off to Palmyra without me. We had been told to run so we took off weaving through several hundred buses in the depot and after 5 minutes came to an abrupt halt. Thank god I had my young guide with me because how on earth anyone was supposed to identify the rather non-descript man sitting at a table in front of us as I policeman was beyond me. Anyway he roughly stamped my ticket so it now had a blue smudge on it and we took off again to find the bus. The driver seemed very happy with my blue smudge and soon we were heading off through the desert towards Palmyra.

The ruins at Palmyra stretch over an impressively large area and there is no better way to take in the scope and beauty of the sight than by visiting the citadel, high on the hill, at sunset. You can see the vast expanse of sandy desert, the nearby valley dotted with tombs, the long colannaded street of the roman ruins with the Temple of Bel and the palm groves stretching out in the far distance. The situation in Syria has meant that many tourists have left the country and no where has this been more apparent than at locations that only exist to service tourists, like Palmyra. At the citadel I met the most persistent souvenir sellers I have encountered thus far in the middle east. My frequent repetition of "La, shukran" (no thankyou) was met with cries of "No tourists for 5 days" and "Why you not buy? Because I am Bedouin?".

By far the highlight of my time in Palmyra was the excellent company I had from my fellow guests and the host at the Al Faris hotel. The guests were a young frenchman who was living in Latakia with his wife, an older french couple (who are the frenchman's parents in law) and the lovely latvian Kristine and her czech partner Jan (diplomats living in Brussels). The hotel was a recommendation from Barbara and its location, directly opposite the ruins on the road that lead to the citadel, could not have been more perfect. We shared breakfasts and dinners sitting at the communal table in the front garden and enjoyed the entertaining company of our host Mohammed almost as much as his mother's outstanding cooking.

After dinner each night, we relaxed with glasses of arak while Mohammed tried to teach us rude words in arabic and would always challenge any females present to play the coin game with him. The loser of the game would have to dance on the table, which was why our host only ever wanted to play against the females. Mohammed would fold a tissue and place it over the top of a glass. He would then place a coin in the middle of the tissue. The players had to take turns using a cigarette to burn small holes in the tissue, and the loser was the player who made the burn that caused the coin to fall through the tissue into the glass. The quality of a particular game was judged by how many cigarettes were used before the coin fell. The game is very entertaining as it progresses and the players take longer and longer to decide where to place their burns. In the final stages when the coin is held aloft by a few tiny shreds of tissue each new burn is met with "oooohhh"'s and "aahhhh"s from the spectators. I played the first night and won - and despite much protesting Mohammed did not dance on the table (he promised to do so the following night). Kristine lost her match the following night but in the end we all got up and had a great time dancing in the lounge inside the hotel.

The upside of the lack of tourists was that when I set out to explore the vast ruins the second day, I had large sections of the site completely to myself for half hour stretches of time. Palmyra is certainly the largest area of roman ruins I have seen so far, and their location, rising out of the desert next to an oasis, lends them an eerie atmosphere of a city abandoned. I've discovered that whilst I find deserts interesting places to visit, I start to feel a bit unsettled if I'm there for more than a couple of days. Something about the vast emptiness, quiet and lack of greenery unnerves me a bit - and so whilst I was sad to say goodbye to Kristine and Jan, I was quite happy to make my way to Hama after 3 days at Palmyra.

Given that most of the large demonstrations, and subsequent troubles, occur after midday prayers on Fridays - I had planned to arrive in Hama on Thursday, buy some supplies, and hole up in the my hotel for much of Friday. The Riad hotel was the perfect place to execute my plan as it is run by the very outgoing Abdullah (whose Aussie accent is so good I thought he was from Australia) and I managed to get a cheap room with a TV there.

In the end I joined an early tour to the majestic Crac des Chevaliers on Friday and spent a lovely morning exploring the crusader castle and enjoying the spectacular views from its ramparts in the company of a japanese backpacker, an energetic German lady called Irene and a surly South African guy. The South African had been living in the UK and was so overwhelmingly negative and pesimistic that he provided much entertainment for Irene and myself throughout the morning.  Some of  Mr Wet Blanket's pearls of wisdom were:
"I HATE the English. They are all so spoilt"
"Don't bother going to the Dead Cities - they're lame"
and upon hearing from our driver that we would have two hours to explore the Crac des Chevaliers, "Oh really?! (Sigh) I won't need more than 10 minutes."
Of course he was the last of us back to the car after more than two hours and Irene couldn't help but comment, "Gee, that was a long ten minutes!"

We got back to Hama just before midday and the streets were so deserted that I half expected to see tumbleweed. Thankfully there were no serious clashes on that Friday and I had a very pleasant afternoon enjoying a picnic of bananas, nuts and chocolate on my bed as I watched the Royal Wedding on BBC World.

In the days that followed I relaxed walking by the river and sitting in the lovely gardens in the centre of Hama. Everywhere I went I was met with a chorus of groans from the many norias (giant wooden water wheels) that line the river in, and around Hama. The norias still operating in Hama date back to the 12th century but in the museum I saw a mosaic from the 4th century which depicted a water wheel - so it seems as though they have been a feature of the region for quite some time. The mournful groaning sound comes from the friction between the wooden wheels and the blocks they are mounted on and my favourite times of day occurred when the groans from the norias battled for supremacy with the calls to prayer from the local mosques. The largest of the norias is more than 20m in diameter and on warm days I saw that the cool water and the thrilling height lured a few local teenage boys who climbed into the wheels, rode around to the top and jumped off into the river.

While based in Hama I also took a day trip to visit the citadel of Shayzar, Apamea, the dead cities of Al-Bara and Serjilla as well as the mosaic museum. Given my usual snail pace for sight seeing (visit a single sight, then rest up for 3 days) this schedule was a bit full on for me but in the end price and convenience won me over and I joined the tour with two swiss ladies and a russian gentleman.

Prior to getting in the car that day, I had not even heard of the citadel of Shayzar and was rather shocked to see how gorgeous the remains of this 10th century fortification were. The citadel is perched on a rocky hill and towers over a small town on one side and a stunning river gorge on the other. The ruins were covered in wildflowers and the surrounding landscape, not to mention the presence of thousands of flowers that bore an uncanny resemblance to the scottish thistle, brought back wonderful memories of the highlands.

The scenery at Apamea was no less striking, as these roman ruins are located high on a grassy moor. On the day we visited we had the entire 2km of Apamea's cardo (colonnaded main street) to ourselves. Looking out through the columns at a sea of red poppies in the surrounding fields was a sight that will stay with me always. Contrary to the surly South African's prediction, I also loved wandering around the abandoned buildings and tombs of Serjilla and Al-Bara. I loved that the ancient tombs were dotted around rocky olive groves, vinyards and apricot plantations. The houses, inns and hammams in Serjilla are in remarkably good condition given that they haven't been inhabited for some 15 centuries! Our only company at the site was a local family and, after hearing where I was from, the father took great delight in getting his children to show off their English to me by reciting the alphabet and counting to 10 several times each. My clapping seemed to extend the performance, rather than end it, and I'm not sure how I would have made a polite exist had our driver not started honking the horn indicating that it was time to leave.

Our last stop for the day was the mosaic museum and it did not disappoint. I was particularly taken with an enormous animal scene mosaic, in which the animals all had very detailed facial expressions. Being able to clearly depict a look of utter defeat on the face of an ox, using only the medium of tile, must be a rare gift for an artist. As with the last three museums I have visited, we had the place to ourselves which meant that each room had to be unlocked and the lights turned on before we could enter. My visit to the museum in Hama had obviously interrupted someone's morning tea as turing my head, even momentarily, away from a particular display resulted in the lights being immediately turned off by the impatient curator at the door!

The world is Beiruting again!

Apologies for the long delay between my last post and this one, but internet cafes in Beirut were harder to find than a Lebanese person with nice things to say about Israel. I didn't expect there to be so much to see and explore in Lebanon and after only a few days I knew I would have to extend my stay to make the most of my visit. So now, 14 days later, I find myself back in Damascus trying to corral my many recollections into some kind of cohesive narrative...Here goes!

My first impressions of Lebanon were of  lovely cedar trees and the abundance of soldiers that I glimpsed through the mist and fog as my bus inched its way across the mountains and down towards Beirut. I found Beirut to be a fascinating city filled with many contradictions. There are the many Palestinian refugees living in poverty and there are the ridiculously over-groomed women with no eyebrows (it seems as though you are not fit to be seen in Beirut society unless you have had your natural eyebrows completely waxed off and replaced with thin penciled in lines) buying designer clothes. There is the soulless perfection of the sparkling new Beirut Souks shopping district downtown and there is the quiet dignity of the bullet hole riddled old houses that are still standing on the green line that used to separate East and West Beirut. There are the proud declarations made by many locals that the best thing about Lebanon is that people of so many different religions manage to live peacefully side by side - and there is the history of years of bloody civil war.

The country is very keen to put its violent troubles behind it and is happy to promote itself as the up and coming destination for the rich and famous. As you walk to the Corniche past several new building developments downtown, you are bombarded with large billboards declaring "Beirut is back on the map!" and, the sign that never failed to raise a giggle from the Australian travellers who saw it, "The world is Beiruting again!"

Lebanon is such a small country, and the public transport is so cheap, that the easiest way to see the country is to base yourself in Beirut and visit the many sights both north and south of the city via a series of day trips in the many mini buses that run as service taxis around the country. The minibus to the lovely seaside ruins at Byblos cost the same as the minibus to the northern city of Tripoli, 2000LL or $1.50. The sight at Byblos of the red poppies growing amongst the Roman columns, with the waves of the Mediterranean Sea crashing in the background, is one that will stay with me forever.

I was not overly impressed with Tripoli as a city and found 2 hours more than sufficient for me to take in all the sights. I may have been unfairly comparing Tripoli's old city and khans to the souqs of Damascus but I did really enjoy my visit to the Khan as-Saboun (the soap khan). The Lebanese use soaps as fragrant decorations, as well as necessary aides to personal hygiene, and I took great delight in observing the craftsmen and women as they fashioned prayer beads, high heels and bunches of grapes from soap. It was difficult to limit myself to only two soap purchases (out of the 400 varieties on offer) and as I paid for a bar of rosemary soap and lovely ball of sandalwood and amber soap I glanced around the room and saw that they even had a large open copy of the Quran carved out of soap!

Anticipating the higher costs that I would inevitably be faced with in Lebanon, compared to Syria, I elected to stay in a dorm at the New Talal Hotel in Beirut. The hotel had a dorm just for women and the owners took great pride in protecting our honour by locating the dorm at the top of five flights of stairs and vigilantly locking the door (which was a real pain in the backside as many of the dorm's occupants frequently forgot to take their keys with them when they headed out).

The social atmosphere of the dorm was a very good antidote to my normal hermit like tendencies when travelling and the real highlight of my time in Lebanon were the wonderful new friends I made there. The days I spent in the excellent company of Nina (American), Ruth (Belgian), and Clara (German) were filled with sight seeing, bad pop song sing-a-longs and much laughter. The glorious view of the clear aqua waters of the Mediterranean from the Sea Castle at Saida is forever linked in my memory with Nina's obsession with sampling every type of cookie on offer, Ruth's love of ice-cream and frequently shared comment that something was "too nice!" and my new friends' tolerance for my own Lebanese obsession as I dragged them through the souks in search of the soap museum.

Similarly I cannot recall our trip to the glorious Roman ruins at Baalbek without hearing Clara and Ruth singing songs by Technotronic in my head. Baalbek was far more impressive than I had imagined it would be and this was largely due to the fact that much of the site was still in excellent (almost original) condition. You were able to wander into temples and marvel at the engineering skills that allowed the romans to get a stone roof on top of columns that were five stories high. The six remaining columns of the Temple of Jupiter are the largest roman columns in the world. To give you an idea of the size, 4 of us with outstretched arms still did not quite encircle the girth of one column!

My hotel in Beirut was conveniently located close to both the Charles Helou bus station and the funky bars and restaurants in the Christian suburb of Gemmayzeh. The main street of Gemmayzeh had a bit of a Newtown vibe to it and by far my favourite restaurant there was Le Chef. It is a bit of a Beirut institution and serves a delicious array of traditional Lebanese "worker's food". Whenever you enter, or indeed walk past, Le Chef you are met with the deep booming voice of the owner as he bellows "Welcome, welcome" in a tone that makes his words seem ironic. The menu is hand written in French and changes each day. I had a delicious chicken and rice dish on my first visit there (the rice had minced lamb, walnuts, pistachios, almonds and assorted herbs in it) that was so good I literally dreamed about it afterwards. When I tried to order the same dish the next day the owner boomed "yesterday is yesterday, today is today. Today is different". Luckily my favourite starter of hummos with pine nuts was always available. I visited Le Chef a total of 5 times in my 12 days in Lebanon and on my last visit there the owner smiled at me and after hearing my new friend Hannah's order pointed to me and said "I know - hummos with pine nuts and chicken with rice" - my favourite dish was back on the menu that day!

The drinks in Beirut were expensive ($10 for any alcholoic beverage) so I budgeted for two huge nights out on the town - during each of which I enjoyed two drinks. The combination of excellent company - Nina, Ruth, Sandrine (French) and Craig (the aussie I had earlier met in Damascus) on the first night and Nina, Ruth & Clara on the second- and the DJ's preference for pop songs from the 80's and 90's made our nights out at the bar called Rehab loads of fun. Our unbridled enthusiasm at finding songs that had been crossover hits in Australia, America, France, Germany and Belgium resulted in much loud singing and some enthusiastic chair dancing. I think the locals found us quite entertaining and the bar's owner supplied us with a free round of shots and numerous bowls of salted corn kernels in an effort to get us to stay longer on each night. The waitress at rehab was also very striking and as we left I asked her if she had read the book "The girl with the dragon tatoo" as Nina & I both thought she was a dead ringer for the Lisbeth Salander character. She was thrilled with our inquiry as she had indeed read the books and in her words had "based her whole look on Lisbeth Salander".

The many day trips we took in Lebanon meant that we spent a lot of our time in minibuses. We started to amuse ourselves by taking bets on how much longer it would be before the minibus left (you had to sit in the minibus for anything up to 45 minutes, waiting for it to fill up, before it departed) and once we were on the road, what our estimated time of arrival would be.

The trip back from Sour with Ruth was particularly memorable as a few minutes after we got in the minibus the driver and his friend proposed marriage to Ruth and I. Given that they spoke no english and the driver's friend looked like he was at best 19 years old, I politely declined the offer... But Ruth took a good long look at the quite handsome driver and accepted. The driver was understandably VERY excited by this news and so began a hilarious courtship that involved every passenger on our bus. The driver would keep telling the other passengers in Arabic what he wanted to say and they would pool their collective broken english to try to translate for him. So the driver would call out something in Arabic, there would be a few minutes of muttering up the back of the bus before one of our elderly passengers shouted at Ruth "Your eyes. Pretty!" We narrowly avoided several accidents during the two hour trip as our driver kept electing to direct long lingering glances at his fiancee in the rearview mirror rather than keep his eyes on the road. But the news of Ruth's impending marriage was not kept just to our minibus - oh no. Every other minibus we came near on the highway was called closer by the honking and wild hand gestures of our driver. Then his friend would roll down the window and relay the news in Arabic of the engagement to the other driver. There would be much excitement, clapping and shouting and many more near accidents as the other minibuses would then nearly slam into us so that their driver could get a look at Ruth. Sadly the path of true love ultimately hit the language barrier. I think that Ruth would have been quite happy to meet her fiance for a drink that night but we could not communicate where we were staying or where they could meet. Somehow I suspect that Ruth may have got over the disappointment a bit faster than our minibus driver!

My last few days in Lebanon were spent enjoying the view from the ocean front Corniche in Beirut and fitting in a couple more daytrips to The Jeita Grotto in the north and The Beiteddine Palace in the Chouf Mountains south of Beirut. By the Monday of my last week Nina, Ruth, and Clara had all departed and I was anticipating spending my last few days in the country alone. Thankfully a wonderfully eccentric whirlwind of energy by the name of Hannah (from the UK) arrived and we explored the Jeita Grotto together.

From its cable cars which take you the ludicrously short distance up to the caves, to its toy train that you take back to the entrance, Jeita Grotto has plenty of kitch to keep you amused. However the spectacular sight of the stalactites and stalagmites that fill the upper cavern soon help you to forget the pain of parting with the 18,500LL ($15) entry fee to the site. Hannah thought the upper cavern looked like the setting for the final episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and certainly the strange formations and eerie orange lighting made it sometimes seem like you were looking down into the seventh circle of hell. After walking around the upper cavern we boarded a small boat to explore the partially flooded lower cavern of the grotto. Ultimately the immense size of the Jeita Grotto is very impressive. I can understand why the Lebanese are pushing so hard for it to be selected as one of the 7 natural wonders of the world, although I cannot whole heartedly suppport its nomination as it is up against the Great Barrier Reef, Uluru and Milford Sound.

My last day trip in Lebanon took me into the spectacular Chouf Mountains. The Beiteddine Palace was built over a thirty year period starting in 1788, and in 1943 Lebanon's first president after independence declared it his summer residence. Its location alone, sitting majestically atop a mountain surrounded by orchards and stunning terraced gardens, makes it worth the trip and on the day I visited at least five different school groups were there on excursion. As students of various ages ran squealing through the museum and staged large water fights in the ornamental fountain, it took all of my willpower to restrain myself from using my teacher's voice to get the more boisterous of the kids into line. Instead, I enjoyed taking in the sumptuous interior decorating on display in the rooms and helping some of the older students to practise their English by talking to them about my travels and where I am from.

My last night in Beirut was a true reflection of my time in Lebanon in that it involved great food and excellent company in in the form of Hannah, Rihah (Japanese) and the very well travelled Barbara. Indeed had I not had the charms of Damascus, not to mention the rest of Syria, to look forward to it would have been very difficult to leave.

On that note, Happy Easter everyone! I hope you are all enjoying the break - especially any hard working teachers who may be reading this :-)

Basalt & Baklava

I've been soaking up the atmosphere here in Damascus for nearly two weeks now and am seriously in danger of never leaving what has become my new favourite city in the world to visit.

One of the thousands of things I love about Damascus is that almost everything is within walking distance of the backpacker hotels. This means that you become more familiar with the local sites, stores and people and can (kind of) start to feel like a local. I love that as I walk to the old city I pass my favourite falafel place, the place that sells the best lemon and mint juice mmmmmmm...the stall that sells the best quality bananas, the glass storefronts filled with towering, glistening pyramids of baklava and so forth. If you are detecting a common theme of food and beverages here that is because Damascus has an amazing array of deliciousness on offer at every turn. It has been a real challenge not to turn into a complete blimp during my stay here! I think I will have to do a separate blog entry later just on foods to do it all justice.

In the heart of the old city lies the stunning Umayyad Mosque. I knew the mosque was big and the LP said that it contained some nice mosaics so not long after I arrived in Damascus I paid my 50sp entry fee and donned what I liked to think of as a wizard robe - but in actuality was an ugly grey cotton dressing gown like garment with a large hood.

I had just tied my shoes to my backpack and entered the courtyard when I looked up and was completely gobsmacked. I was facing a wall about 4 stoires high, the top half of which was covered in stunning gold mosaics glittering in the midday sun. It was so beautiful I felt like crying. This is why you are here, I thought - this is something you have to experience in person because no photos will ever do it justice. No photos can capture the calm and peace of the enormous white stone courtyard and the surprise you feel when you walk under the cool archways lining the arcades that frame the courtyard, look up and see that even the undersides of the arches have been decorated in glorious patterns of golden mosaics. I felt all that - then took about a million photos anyway just to remind myself of the place.

Mosques really are the centres of communities and nowhere is this more apparent than in the courtyard of the Umayyad Mosque. Couples, familes and travellers recline under the cool arches and indulge in some welcome respite from the busy hub bub of the old city streets and souqs around it. You see some people talking, some people napping, some people praying and children chasing each other as they run in and out of the archways.

The mosque was built around 700 AD and its awe-inspring gold mosaics include a 37m long wall along the western arcade that depicts what Damascenes believe is the paradise that the Prophet Mohammed saw in Damascus. I wandered around enjoying the tranquility of the lovely, richly carpeted and enormous southern prayer hall and marvelled at the fact that the locals just got on with their prayers despite the many tourists taking photos and craning their necks to see the tiled magnificance of the underside of the domes. You do really notice that here - that islam is a religion but is much more a culture and just part of daily life. Locals go to the mosque to pray and to socialise. You will often see a store closed for just a few minutes as the shopkeeper either unrolls his prayer mat, turns to face Mecca and prays right there in his shop or quickly ducks out to the local mosque or prayer room to do the same.

I also visited the Iranian -built Shiite Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque in the old town. This mosque is dedicated to the daughter of the martyr Hussein (who was the son of Ali) and is a fascinating example of both religious devotion and gaudy interior design. The internal walls, ceiling and dome of the main prayer hall are covered in so many mirrored mosaic tiles that it actually hurts your eyes when they turn the chandeliers on. After recovering from the over powering glare I made my way to the women's section and sat on the thick carpet to observe for a while.

The women were kneeling and facing an ornate silver cage like structure which I think holds the remains of the daughter of Hussein. This is a site of sacred pilgrimage for Iranians and it was evident from the widespread weeping and wailing that most who visited it were truly overcome by the experience. It was really quite moving to witness such unguarded religious fervor...I think the daughter of Hussein may have been an infant when she died as many of the women, after kissing the silver structure and wiping their tears onto it, threw small dolls on to the top of her shrine.

I have always found when travelling alone that most of the time I adore the complete self-indulgence of the experience. Plans can change on any whim and no one complains when you stay in reading for a day because the book is just that good. But there are times when you feel a bit starved for conversation. Not lonely, just aware that somehow you have gone 3 days with the only phrases spoken being arabic for "hello", "Australian", "how much?" and "thank you". I was feeling just this way about a week ago when who should stroll across the courtyard as I ate my breakfast but Gillian - the Australian nurse I had met in Amman. So since then Gillian and I have been getting together for outings every second day or so and often chatting over our shared love of chocolate, nuts and all things kindle (and our despair that you cannot download any new books in Syria - damn American sanctions!).

It was with Gillian that I explored the National Museum. The great highlights of which for me were the lovely garden filled with statues they couldn't fit in the museum and seeing the tiny clay tablet showing the alphabet of Ugarit. The tablet contains 30 cuniform signs or letters of the Ugaritic alphabet, is from the late bronze age (1400BC) and is the first complete alphabet known of in the world. Thinking about how the development of a written alphabet changed the world really is mind blowing.

My first day trip out of Damascus was on Sunday when Gillian and I headed off to check out the Roman ruins at Bosra (see Elia I told you I would go there!). You could develop a serious case of roman ruin fatigue in this part of the world but thankfully that has not happened to me yet. Bosra contains a lovely theatre dating back to the 2nd century AD as well as some other ruins and colonnaded streets. The thing that makes Bosra different from the many other ruins in this part of the world is that the theatre, and indeed the entire town, was not built of limestone or sandstone but rather the easily available local building material : basalt. The black basalt lends the theatre and all the ruins a brooding atmosphere that is quite striking.

We enjoyed exploring all the dark, back corridors of the theatre but my favourite sights of the day were those instances where local practicalities met with ancient monuments. I love the fact that as the handful of tourists present were wandering and taking photos of the basalt columns, the colonnaded street was suddenly filled with sheep as a local sheperd moved his flock to find more tufts of grass poking up through the paving stones that are more than 1500 years old. A few times I lined up the "perfect" shot of the colonnaded street with the theatre in the background only to have a curious chicken wander into the foreground of the shot.

We also met another aussie, Craig, at the corner store in Bosra and ended up meeting up with him for some entertaining conversation and excellent food back in Damascus that evening. Walking through the main souq in the old town on our way back to the backpacker disrict, Craig was being followed by some fairly persistant toy salesmen. Gillian and I enjoyed the cultural norm that meant we were ignored and all sales enquiries were directed to our male friend. At least we were enjoying it until Craig deflected the salesman's attention back onto us by insisting that he could not make a purchase without first clearing it with his "wives"!

On Thursday Gillian and I again headed out of Damascus, this time with a driver and car, to visit the town of Qunietra. Qunietra was part of the Golan Heights before the six day war in 1967. It was occupied by the Israeli forces until 1973 when a UN brokered ceasefire saw the Israelies withdraw and the town was again back under Syrian control.

I really enjoyed the hour long drive to Qunietra, partly because I got to see the farmlands in the most fertile part of Syria, but mostly because Gillian and I got to pick the brain of our driver Ramis about his views of the current political situation in Syria. It is very difficult to find out what locals really think about the government as they can be jailed for expressing any anti-government sentiment. But the seclusion of the car allowed Ramis to explain some of the different social and political forces at play in the current situation. Ramis did hasten to add that once we arrived Qunietra, and would be joined by a member of the local security forces (they have to accompany you so you don't wander into a section still riddled with landmines), we would have to stop asking our questions otherwise he would get into lots of trouble.

The Syrian government has elected to leave the town of Qunietra untouched since the Israeli forces withdrew and it now serves as an excellent PR exercise to heighten anti - Israeli feelings amongst locals and visitors alike. As we drove through the town we saw that every single house had been destroyed. The roof sat on the remains of each house -  indicating that they had not been hit by bombs during the fighting (as the Israeli forces claim) but rather systematically destroyed with dynamite. According to the terms of the ceasefire the Israeli forces were supposed to withdraw peacefully from Qunietra and instead, they destroyed every home in the town and used the church, the mosque and the hospital for target practice. The sight of the 3 story hospital riddled with bullet holes was particularly arresting.

Our local security forces guy also took us to the UN patrolled observer zone that now exists as a 100m buffer zone between the border of Israel and Syria. It should be noted that at the time when the Israeli forces were supposed to peacefully withdraw from Qunietra, they got some of their captured soldiers back from Syria. These soldiers reported having suffered terrible torture at the hands of the Syrians and these reports no doubt influenced the Israeli forces actions at Qunietra. For his part, Ramis thinks the Syrian government could leave a couple of the building as monuments, whilst still rebuilding the majority of the town. This way the excellent farming soil would not be going to waste. I am inclined to agree with him. But in a region where who did what to whom first is almost impossible to prove - the Syrian government is naturally reluctant to part with such overwhelming evidence of Israeli brutality.

Roman ruins & the road to Damascus

On my last day in Jordan I headed north to visit the Roman ruins at Jerash. I couldn't have picked a more perfect spring day for wandering around an ancient city, as the clear blue sky afforded plenty of sunshine and the weather was a lovely 20 degrees.

I knew before going there that Jerash was reputed to be one of the best sights for Roman ruins in the Middle East. The Roman city of Gerasa was established about 60BC and reached its peak around the 3rd century AD when its population was estimated to be more than 15,000. What I didn't expect to find, however, was that it would be a complete city nestled on a hill carpeted by grass and yellow wild flowers.

In other places, like Amman, you may see the remains of a temple, or a theatre. But Jerash has the entire city complete with south and north gates, triumphal arches, a hippodrome (where chariot races were held), a huge 90m long oval plaza/forum lined with columns, two temples, many churches, two bathhouses, two theatres - and it is estimated that 90% of the city still remains to be excavated!

Jerash is not Pompeii, but as I wandered along the cardo maximus (800m long colonnaded street) - and saw the grooves in the limestone pavers made by chariot wheels more than 1700 years earlier - I was transported to scenes of Caeciliuis translated from my Latin textbook in high school. I could see Caecilius meeting a banking associate in the forum, Metella (his wife) walking to the Temple of Zeus and Quintus (his son) relaxing at the baths. All in all, a lovely day and a great finish to my time in Jordan.

Early Monday morning I boarded a bus headed for Syria. Alas, I did not experience any "road to Damascus" revelations when I was on the actual road to Damascus - unless you count my unfortunate realisation that the bus did not have a toilet on board (as promised). This situation that was made all the more dire by the fact that I drank more than half a litre of water in the first hour of the trip.

The traffic in Damascus is horrific. Several times on our way into the city, on what I can only assume was a major arterial road, we encountered roadworks and were diverted off the main road. It appeared that our coach, along with several lorries and petrol tankers as well as many cars had been diverted down someone's driveway. Given that during these diversions we had to inch past fences and stone walls, whilst simultaneously destroying the over-hanging branches of several trees in the home owner's gardens, I'm not surprised it took us an hour to reach the bus station from the outskirts of the city. Central Damascus is quite modern and overrun with swarms of honking yellow taxis. I am not exaggerating when I say that at least 80% of the vehicles on the road are taxis.

The backpacker's part of Damascus where I am staying is made up of tiny winding streets and alleys that are really only accessible by foot. This gives it a lovely village atmosphere that is extremely convenient as many cheap restaurants, falafel stalls, bakeries, chemists and internet cafes are within a 100m radius of my hotel. The winding alleys and old town feel of the place reminds me a lot of Varanasi in India. I can see that I am going to be very happy parking myself here for two weeks.

Before travelling to Syria I had heard of political unrest and violent protests in Deraa and Lattakia. BBC world was estimating that at least 60 protestors in these locations had been killed by government forces. I wasn't too worried though and just decided that I'd be careful, monitor the situation and ask for local advice before heading anywhere out of Damascus.

Yesterday breakfast in the sunny courtyard of my hotel was interrupted by the sound of helicopters overhead and the excited hotel worker moving the tv into the courtyard so we could all see the huge protests. As the channel was arabic it took a while to figure out that these were pro-goverment demonstrations and that a huge one was happening today in many cities including Damascus. After getting vague directions as to where the demonstration was likely to be moving to, I grabbed my camera and backpack and headed out to see what it was like for myself.

Emerging from the alleys near my hotel onto a nearby main road I was met with a sea of people waving Syrian flags and posters of President Bashar. There was a real carnival atmosphere in the air and after watching from the alley for a few minutes I decided to head to a nearby overpass for a better view. Many roads were closed to traffic as thousands and thousands of Syrians old and young, male and female marched and chanted in arabic "God, Syria, Bashar - that's all!". There was no anti-government sentiment whatsoever and as most of the city had turned out to passionately express their support for the President - it seemed like an impressive show of national unity.

The people demonstrating seemed to be there of their own free will - but as (I later discovered) schools, goverment departments and many other workplaces were closed for the day "to allow people to demonstrate" it seems like it was at least in part orchestrated by the government. Very difficult to get unbiased reporting within Syria - but by speaking to locals and monitoring the international news websites I think I will be able to keep abreast of developments.

Today I moved hotels to a cheaper and better option that, despite the political unrest, was booked out until today. The Al-Rabie Hotel where I am now is so lovely I'm not sure I'm going to be able to leave. The hotel is a converted 600 year old house complete with stone walls and stain glass windows. The rooms face onto a gorgeous tiled courtyard featuring comfortable chairs clustered around small wooden tables, trailing vines, an orange tree and a fountain. It has amazingly retained its character despite the convenient additions of many mod cons  - including a retractable glass roof that makes you feel a bit like you're eating on centre court at the Australian Open :-)  No wonder LP refers to it as the best backpacker hotel in all of the Middle East!

On a final note for this post - the restrictions on internet usage in Syria mean that I cannot view the actual blog myself from here. It appears to be letting me edit and publish posts, but if someone could drop me quick line to confirm that this post actually appears on the blog that would be great.

Would you like salt with that?

I continued my exploration of downtown Amman by visiting the Roman Theatre on Sunday. The theatre was built in the 2nd century AD and was cut into the northern side of one of Amman's many hills. I had seen the theatre from the citadel, but did not really appreciate its immense size until I was standing on the stage looking up at the endless tiers of seating in front of me. To give you an idea of the size, the theatre can seat 6000 people and to say that the tiers of seating are steep is like saying that Gaddafi is not the nicest man in the world.

(By the way if you want a fun challenge check out the vlogbrothers video called "Sheen or Gaddafi?" in which you have to decide whether various insane ramblings were said by Charlie Sheen or Gaddafi - harder to pick than you'd think! http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers#p/u/4/WsiYvcn8oZw)

I saw that other people had scaled the tiers right up to the top so I elected to do the same. Going up the first 50 or so crumbling steps was not so bad. Then I made the mistake of looking down and though I continued on, determined to reach the top, I noticed that my legs had begun to stage their own protest by getting a bad case of the wobbles. I learnt from my mistake and did not look down again until I reached the top - all the while trying to block out the nagging thought that the trip back down was going to be terrifying.

Now contrary to Mum's beliefs, I don't think I have a fear of heights. I'm fine on aeroplanes, tall buildings and can hadle centrepoint tower with no problems. I think what I have is a healthy self preservation instinct, that is a fear of falling to my death from a great height.

Anyway, I got to the top and shakily turned around to face the stage and sat down.
I almost immediately very nearly brought up my breakfast.

I tried to enjoy the sweeping views of Amman - but it was like being perched on the very edge of a cliff. Thank god my camera has an anti-shake feature. I took a few shots of the scenery and quick one of myself (in which I have a smile so tense you would think that someone has a gun to my back!) to prove I climbed up there - before I begun the excruciating task of carefully side stepping back down to the bottom. Once I was on safe ground, I was pleased to see all the other tourists were side stepping down just as gingerly as I had - and a few also looked a bit green around the gills. In this part of the world I expect to come across quite a few more old Roman theatres - but I think in future I may be able to appreciate the awesome feats of engineering better from the stage :-)

On Monday I took public transport to go on a day trip to the lovely town of Madaba - about 45 min out of Amman. It was great to get out of Amman and enjoy the lovely scenery as we drove past grove after grove of olive trees. Madaba is renown for its amzing collection of mosaics dating back to 560 AD and has the added bonus of being small enough that you can walk to every site. I was initially consulting my map quite a bit until I realised that the easiest way to know how close you were to another site was to look at the concentration of souvenir shops on any given street.

The most famous site in Madaba is the mosaic map of Palestine currently housed in the Greek Orthodox church of St George, which was built over the remains of an earlier Byzantine church. The orginal map measured 16 x 6 metres and was made from 2 million stone tiles. They estimate it probably took 6 years to put together. The map is remarkably geographically accurate and you can still see Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, the River Jordan, Jericho, Hebron as well as The Nile Delta in Egypt. I spent about an hour looking at the map - but I should say about 45 minutes of that time was spent sitting back as another bus load of tourists bustled in and pushed to the front. I would dart foward for a quick look between each new busload. Those Japanese know how to run a tour don't they? Matching jackets, caps and head sets to hear the Japanese translation of what the local guide was saying in English -very impressive. My favourite part of the map was the fish swimming up the Jordan River away from the toxic salt levels in the Dead Sea.

Speaking of the Dead Sea, Tuesday saw me set off on a day trip tour to Mt Nebo, the Dead Sea and Bethany-beyond-the-jordan (the baptism site of Jesus). My companions for the day were our ever-smiling driver Hani, two Phillipino flight attendants and an older know it all American who used to work for an American oil company in the Middle East more than 25 years ago. Joanne and Nikki (the flight attendants) spent much of the car trip re-applying make up - which I found endlessly amusing - and Tom (the American) spent much of the trip delivering his pearls of wisdom relating to middle eastern politics in a most patronising tone. I usually interrupted his rants by leaning forward and asking Hani yet another question about the local area (why are there so many bridal dress shops in Madaba?) which he answered with endless patience.

I found my reaction to the biblical sites of Mt Nebo (place where God showed Moses the promised land before he died) and Bethany-beyond-the-jordan a bit strange. I thought, even as a lapsed catholic, I would find them a bit moving but I felt none of the historical significance whilst there. I found the sites more interesting for their geographic and political significance than for any religious connotations.

Mt Nebo was windy, crawling with more busloads of tourists but afforded excellent views of the region. The baptism site, now just a stagnant puddle as the river has changed its course over the last 2000 years, is located in a military zone as the jordan river forms the border between Jordan and Israel. The river, which used to be a mighty 60 metres across, is now a depressing 3-4m wide creek. I asked our guide what the cause of the drop in water level was and he smiled and said "we have lovely neighbours". He went on to explain that both Israel and Syria have built dams further upstream.

On reflection I think my reaction to these biblical sites has much to do with my reaction to the bible stories in which I first heard of them. As a child I suppose I viewed the bible stories as (apologies if I offend anyone) mythic tales. Jesus walking on water - to me occurred in a magical place - not a real location on the other side of the world. And naturally enough the brown waters of the River Jordan and the windy peak of Mt Nebo - though interesting - did not seem magical to me.

Anyway, for me the real highlight of the day was visiting the Dead Sea. As we drove down through the rocky desert landscape from Mt Nebo we would catch glimpses of the sparkling aqua blue water and I could feel my excitement building. It is a stunningly beautiful part of the world.

The only way to swim in the Dead Sea is pay to go to a "beach" which is more like a resort with swimming pools, good shower facilities and many refreshments on sale. We went to the cheapest beach, Amman Beach - though cheapest is a relative term as it still cost 15 JD to enter. The pools looked lovely but as soon as we got changed we all headed down the steps to the Dead Sea. My flight attendant companions were dressed in the tiniest of bikinis and I looked positively victorian covered as I was from neck to knee in my rash top and board shorts.

The beach is made up of brown dirt dotted with plastic chairs and the aqua water is dotted with buoyant tourists. The incredibly high salt levels mean that it is difficult not to float in the Dead Sea. Even you Dad, would float here! Though it allowed me to tick off one item on my "bucket list" - it seems as though god doesn't really want you to swim in the Dead Sea. To get beyond ankle deep water you have to clamber over small, sharp and very slippery rocks. This inevitably leads to small cuts and grazes if you're lucky, and a badly sprained ankle if you are not. I was lucky and soon knew I had acquired many small cuts and grazes as the salt was literally added to the wound!!

So with stinging ankles I floated on my stomach, on my back, and standing up in the Dead Sea. It was fun for a while but after a small wave meant that I got some water in my eyes and on my lips I realised that they really were not exaggerating about the salt levels. I soon headed back to shore and again marvelled that there is no way to leave the Dead Sea in a dignified manner. I joined other tourists around me gingerly crawling in low squats through the rocks back to the safety of the brown dirt and plastic chairs.

Joanne and Nikki wanted to pay another 3JD to have some Dead Sea mud smeared on their faces and bodies. I felt, as I watched tourist after tourist ascend the stairs to the showers looking like racially offensive cabaret performers from the deep south with their black faces, that the Jordanians may have been having a bit of fun with the tourists whilst making sizable profits.

My skin did not seem to like the cleansing properties of the salt water. By the time I got back to my plastic chair my face looked like I had invested in a chemical peel. I had gathered my belongings and was headed back across the dirt when my foot went through the sand and I found myself falling up to mid thigh in the dirt. As other concerned tourists asked if I was OK I found myself laughing hysterically. I scrambled in the dirt to find my lost thong and a lovely old lady asked with real worry in her voice "are you SURE you are ok?".

I think she was relieved when I smiled up at her, covered in an attractive mixture of salt and dirt and said, "I'm better than OK. How many other people here can say that they got a Dead Sea pedicure for free?"

Citadel & Cigarettes

The area of Amman that I am staying in is called downtown - and it is a particularly apt name for this neck of the woods as it is surrounded by steep hills. The advantage of this is that when wandering around my local area I don't really need to worry about getting lost. When I want to return to my hotel I just walk downhill to the lowest point in the area and I will have found my street. The downside is that to get to anywhere else you have to walk uphill and the farthest uphill you can go is the Citadel.

Located on the highest hill in Amman the Citadel has been occupied as either a settlement or a fortress for the last 7000 years. I doubt any people over those 7000 years have had cushier jobs than the tourist police who currently work there. When I visited there would have been about 20 tourists spread around the site and about the same number of local families picnicing. To monitor such a dangerous group, there were about 20 tourist police reclining, smoking and enjoying the sunlit views.

What is left on the site now are the impressive columns of the Roman Temple of Hercules (161 - 166AD), the Byzantine Church (6th century AD) and the Umayyad Complex (730AD). One of the things I liked most about visiting the Citadel are the magnificent 360 degree views of Amman that it affords. They have helpfully put labelled photo maps at various viewing points so that you can spot all the major buildings/sites in Amman. This allowed me to see how close my hotel was to various other sites which I walked to over the next few days. The spectacular views make the Citadel a popular picnic spot for the locals of Amman and I was happy to practise a couple of my wobbly arabic phrases on them.

The highlight of the trip to the Citadel was the National Archaeological Museum: a small, low key building about the size of my flat that was filled with dusty glass and wooden cabinets. The Museum houses an extraordinary array of artifacts from all over Jordan, many of which are over 3000 years old. One of my favourites was a section of fresco wall that was unearthed by a team from the University of Sydney in the 1970's. I was looking at one rough statue that appeared to be shoulders and a neck and wondering why they had bothered to include it in the museum when I read the description next to it. It was an 8500 year old statue from Ain Ghazal thought to be the oldest example of sculpture in the world!

The National Museum is typical of Jordan's low-key approach to sites of major historical significance. A few days ago I did a day trip out into the Eastern Desert to view the sites reffered to as the "desert palaces". I found the stark beauty of the Eastern Desert mesmerising despite the insessent ramblings of an older Australian gentleman on our tour who was obviously uncomfortable with more than 3 seconds of continuous silence.

One of the sites we came to did not look like much from the road. As we approached I noticed it bore an uncanny resemblence to Luke Skywalker's home with Uncle Owen on the desert planet of Tantooine in Star Wars. Anyway inside the walls and ceiling were covered in the most amazing frescos dating back to the 8th century. To me half the fun of these sites is trying to guess the symbollic meaning of the art before having the truth revealed by a local guide. I accurately picked the map of the zodiac on the domed ceiling but was pretty far off the mark with the scene of hunting animals at night by torchlight - I thought it depicted an athletics carnival for children - (ok I probably should have noticed that even in the 8th century children wouldn't have had 4 legs - but in my defence it was pretty hard to make out some of the figures).

The travellers that I've met at the hotel and around Amman so far have been older than the usual backpacker crowd you find in South East Asia. I've met a few French, a few American one Swiss and a few Australian travellers so far. I was particularly lucky to meet a lovely Australian nurse, Gillian, in our hotel lounge a few days ago. Gillian's itinerary makes mine look very timid as she has just spent 4 months travelling through Libya, Egypt, Omman, Yemen & Jordan. I did point out to her that she has been a bit of a bad omen for stability in each of the countries she has visited so far - so I'm glad I won't be too far behind her as she heads to Syria, Lebanon, Turkey and Israel. I'm hopeful we may be able to meet up again in Turkey in May - fingers crossed! Apart from being excellent company, Gillian was also an excellent source of information on Petra, where to find the cheap local fruit market, where to find strawberry yoghurt and where I should go to buy a second pair of pants. This is how I found myself heading out to a place called the Mecca Mall yesterday.

The Mecca Mall is located in a far more affluent part of Amman than Downtown and at first glance is pretty similar to any big shopping centre you find in Australia. The guards and metal detector at the entrance are a bit of a reminder that you're still in Jordan but apart from that it was filled with an assortment of stores including Starbucks, The Body Shop, KFC, United Colours of Beneton, Pizza Hut and Esprit. It was of course mainly made up of local chain stores and food outlets - my favourite of which was called "Tender Loving Chicken".

My mission was to buy a pair of loose fitting, (hopefully cheap) cotton pants. Two hours in and my quest was looking more and more futile as store after store was filled with tiny pairs of tight fitting jeans and trousers. I had seen many women of  a more fuller figure downtown and so had not really anticipated having much difficulty in my search. But looking at the women around me I noticed that most women shopping at the Mecca Mall favoued jeans of the spray-on variety, often teamed with a lovely pair of knee high leather boots over the top... Hardly backpacking staples. I finally found what I was looking for in what I think is the Jordanian equivalent of Target: baggy cotton pants that had plenty of room for both my backside and my money belt. Just as I was rejoycing in my find I happened to glance up at the sign hanging over the section of the store I was in...Knowing the only clothes that you can fit into in a country come from the maternity section really does wonders for your self esteem! Still a bargain at 12 JD :-)

The Mecca Mall really highlighted for me the greatest danger faced by anyone visiting the Middle East - and it is not terrorism. It is the incredibly high liklihood that you will develop lung cancer during your stay.

Islam dictates that its followers do not engage in drinking or gambling and so far I think the men of Jordan are compensating for that by going to town on the cigarettes. I estimate that through passive smoking alone I'm currently on a pack a day and the Mecca Mall - with no outside air flow coming through - was particularly challenging for me. No space is too small, too enclosed to prevent a local from lighting up in it. I have frequently had to leave the very comfortable communal lounge in our hotel because it was no longer possible to see the BBC news update on the TV through the smoky haze. And rather than open a window (or heaven forbid ask people to smoke outside) the way the locals manage the ever present smell of smoke is to spray can after can of sickly sweet floral air freshner around the room. The only place you couldn't smoke in the Mecca Mall were the pristine toilets. Of course you wouldn't want your bowel movements impeded by too much smoke - but apparently oxygen is not required while eating as the food hall had its own layer of smog!