After a huge breakfast we packed our bags, did a last comb-over of the room, and suddenly remembered that we had made no plans whatsoever for when we actually arrived in Jordan.
Hmm, we thought, sitting back down on to our outrageously comfortable beds and letting our bags fall to the floor. Well that is a pickle.
But it wasn't! Because that is part of the JOY of traveling! Itineraries are overrated. We decided to take advantage of what few hours of free internet use remained (we would be cut off at noon) and pick the brains of the hotel staff for ideas.
After a few minutes of google-ing and a couple moments of deliberation, we decided that our best bet was to try and visit the Dead Sea. We were to stay in Amman that night with a friend we had found through Couch Surfers, but he wasn't expecting us til later and we didn't want to show up on his doorstep at 11 am. So the Dead Sea it was! Now the question was, how to get there.
In Jordan, as in Egypt, there are two ways to get anywhere: the clearly-marked, air-conditioned tourist way; and the local way. As poor college students in good health, we tend to prefer the local way, and generally, if you ask and if you know a little but of Arabic, people are more than willing to help you find out how to use it. However, we forgot that we were staying in a 5-star hotel.
We learned all about how Sheraton would love to take us to the Dead Sea on a fancy pants shuttle that would cost us about $15 each. It would leave in two hours and we were more than welcome to sign up for it and wait patiently til then.
What?? Did they know us? We were world travelers - certainly not willing to sit idly in a hotel lobby, wasting precious swine flu vacation time. And $15 was far above our budget.
We politely thanked the Avis desk, walked over to the receptionist, and whispered that we wanted the real way to get to the Dead Sea; there had to be a microbus of some kind.
A microbus? he asked. Are you sure?
Yes! We're from Cairo and Syria! We know our microbuses!
After finally convincing him that we were fully capable of taking a microbus, he was more than willing to help us locate an appropriate one. "Just one moment," he assured us, so we stood and smiled as he made several phone calls to several people about where the illusive microbus station would be located this particular week (they change all the time, because the "station" can be any unmarked stretche of road that the microbuses feel like grouping around). I swear, he was wonderful! At one point he mentioned that a question we had would better be addressed to the Concierge, whose desk was about twenty feet behind us. We expected that he would just have us walk over there, but instead, he picked up the phone. Confused, we stopped and waited; looked across the room - looked back - and suddenly heard "ring ring! ring ring!" right behind us.
"We can just walk over there..." Autumn assured him. "I mean...it's right there..."
But the man just smiled at us and said, "Oh no, really; I do not want to inconvenience."
Finally, after all the hard work of what seemed like all the downstairs employees (they like to get lots of people involved in everything), we were given an address, an expected price of less than a dinar, and were sent cheerfully out the door.
And we were on our way! We took a taxi to the proper spot, immediately saw a tiny bus with the words "Dead Sea" scrawled on the side, and hopped on board. In just a few minutes we were jostling along to one of the most famous sites in the world.
The Dead Sea! to be honest, is rather unimpressive to look at. The sand is more like compressed clay; the sun is piercing; the wind is high. Here's a picture:
See? Kinda bleak.
But you don't go to the Dead Sea for the view! You go for the outrageously salty water!
And let me tell you, it was outrageously salty. You can't even swim on your stomach; the water is so dense it lifts your legs (which are lighter than your torso) up so high that your head pitches forward and you find yourself paddling wildly to try and keep your body level. The best bet is to swim calmly on your back, no funny business. Most of us heeded this advice. Cory, on the other hand, tried to dive under - failed - and got a face full of burning water as punishment.
Turns out the sign says "No Diving" for a reason.
After a few minutes of swimming my poor tender skin had had enough, and I got off and ran frantically to one of the many outdoor showers. Autumn and Cory, with their nice healthy thick skins, stayed in, and by the time I got back they had big handfuls of Dead Sea clay and were painting themselves like mud monsters.
Like this:
So scary.
So that was the Dead Sea! Also worth mentioning is, most of the people there were foreigners come for a tourist visit (although there weren't that many people in general). However, isn't it just my luck: I left to jump under the shower, with Autumn and Cory still in the water - and when I came back to sit by our stuff, who happened to have sat down directly next to it but a sweet little, fully-covered, very traditional Islamic family.
"Hello," says the bikini-clad girl, to the mother in her naqab, the father in his galabaya, and their wide-eyed child who will never look at the world with such innocence again. "Sorry to corrupt you with my sinful Western ways.
"Would it help if I covered myself in mud?"
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