down by the river jordan: kul 3am u intum bekhair

I figured I would start this entry at the peak. This, my friends, is the monument at the peak (fowg) of Jabal Haroun, or the Mount of Aaron, where Aaron the prophet was buried. It was a long journey, over three hours ascent with our guide--forgive us for forgetting his name--and his donkey Simo3. If you can't pronounce that 3, don't worry. Here's Simo3:

From 3id al-Fitr - Climbing to il-Fowg

It was a pretty awesome climb, especially having woken up at 4-something in the morning to catch our first bus to Ma3an, then catch a bus from there to Wadi Musa--which did not exist, by the way. We made plenty of friends along the way, discussing everything from breakdancing to Allah knows what. Our descent was very nice, each of us taking turns riding Simo3, and we crashed at about 9pm after a gigantic and delicious dinner provided by our hotel.

Day 2, 6am, we crawl our sore bodies out to the bus. We ride down to Wadi Rum, the whole way working out the details of our day and a price that is suitable to the group for our voyage to Jabal Umm Adaami--the tallest point in Jordan--and accommodations for the night. No we are not rich, yes we have been to Wadi Rum, and yes we know exactly what we want to do. So we did it.

From 3id al-Fitr - Climbing to il-Fowg

So three of us made it up, the trail nowhere to be found until the way down. We pushed ourselves up, trying to hydrate and stay strong despite our lack of sleep and tough climb from the day before. We literally climbed this mountain, lots of being on all-fours and figuring out the best and safest way to get to the next plateau. At the peak, we enjoyed some of Assad's Arabic music, rusks with peanut butter, and views of all of Wadi Rum and Saudi Arabia, as the mountain is situated right on the Saudi border with Jordan.

Here's what happens when three adventurers hit delirium due to excitement and dehydration:

We watched the sunset from a small rock mountain near our camp and returned to a delicious dinner. Chicken that slides right off the bone and into your stomach, onions that were crisp on the outside and molten on the inside. Yeah, dinner was great. We became pretty close with the guys who worked at the camp, particularly Salim, who played the 3oud. Assad and I learned some songs from him and 3oude, another guy who worked at the camp, and we sang well after dinner until it was time to watch the stars. Along with Stephanie, the three of us followed shooting star after shooting star until it was time to go back to camp and sleep. We lost the camp, though... We see a white figure running towards us. Salim! It's no coincidence that Salim means "safe" because he ran after us to make sure we did not walk all the way back to the village as opposed to the camp, which we simply bypassed. I swear, this man treated us with such loving kindness, mostly expressed through song and the expressions that his eyes made.

The next day, all but the three of us left. We spent the day in Rum Village, getting ourselves invited into house after house, as children from the village kept promising us we could find camel milk in their homes. Most everyone treated us with the most polite hospitality, though unfortunately none had camel milk. We accepted some tea offers, then went to the Guest House where we played some cards to kill time. We made a friend, Mahmoud, with whom we exchanged card tricks, some games, and lots of language. In fact, by this day, my Arabic had progressed so much. I began to feel confident in explaining myself, describing my experiences, asking questions, and even getting to know people in the language. Especially with Assad's persistence in communicating in Arabic with everyone we met, I was able to be pulled up to a new level of understanding and ability that I am extremely proud of.

We returned to our camp in the afternoon, played some more cards with the guys at the camp, met some travelers from all over, and went back to the sunset. We ate dinner, followed by songs. This time, however, we knew the songs, and Salim played the ones he knew that we would follow. The other travelers got a kick out of us, and we felt great, comfortable, at home.

Then, something happened. Assad argues that he could write a thesis about this one experience alone, and I believe it. We had brought materials to make s'mores the night before, but our friends had left. So, the three of us offered s'mores to the entire campsite, not too many people, and our hosts. Excuse me? Something as American as s'mores were brought to a Bedouin campsite in Jordan? The reaction that the French, the Bulgarians, the Australians, and especially the Jordanians had to these sandwiches left some in bewilderment and others in disarray! Salim was amazed at such a creation, but could not eat because he had bad teeth--which we sang about in Arabic after that, while he had a roasted marshmallow on a stick sticking out of the tuning peg of his 3oud. 3oude did not enjoy the s'more so much, but he was pleased to see us try. The foreigners liked them or didn't, but either way, they were pleased to see a positive aspect of American culture. I guess we didn't factor in the effect it would create to bring s'mores to the bedouins, but it was really interesting, for sure.

We went back to the desert to watch the stars, and exhausted from the week, I felt pretty contemplative. In the past few days I had climbed two of the tallest mountains in the country, seen ancient monuments to even more ancient events, gazed into Israel and Saudi Arabia, and began to communicate--really communicate--in a language that before one month had been almost completely foreign to me. On top of that, I had done this with people that I barely knew but had become extremely close with in almost no time at all. It stuns me that such a deep relationship can form instantaneously given the right circumstances and experiences, and we had them. We did Jordan the right way on this break, and I can't be more proud of the improvised success that we found.

Today was the journey back to Amman and civilization. Dirty, covered in sand, and sore, we got back to the village where we, of course, met some Syrians who made us welcome in their cities when we get the chance to visit. Our friend Mu7amad came on the bus with his dad to collect us, and we went back to Petra, where we were to connect buses to Amman. Mu7amad sat with us the whole way, no longer the tourists that tried to bargain him down a few days before, we were now his friends and welcome to visit any time we wanted. We extended our invitations to our places in Amman as well, and the whole ride was filled with story-telling. We got to Wadi Musa (Petra), and went for a little walk with our friend. He took Assad and I (Stephanie resting on the bus) to the fruit market where we met a few uncles--they are all great men, all fat, but soft, we were assured. We got some fresh fruit and ate riman (pomegranates) on the ground of the market, saying hello and kul 3am u inta bekhair (may all year and yourself be in goodness, to translate that literally) to all those that passed, most relatives of sadigna (our friend). And that was it, really. We took the bus back, went to our respective homes, and showered out the sand and dirt that enveloped us from our awesome adventures.