update
33.
bedouins, bikes and brats
Cycling in the Sinai, Jordan and Syria
26 February 2009
Total kilometers cycled: 50,083
Specific country info on routes & roads/food &
accommodation/the locals available here.

My
first vision as I popped out of the tunnel linking the African part of
Egypt with the Sinai, was that of young soldiers peering down
from
the cliff top pointing their rifles at me. Tensions run high
in
this part of the world and the situation in nearby Gaza meant everyone
was on edge. Next, the long line of lorries came into view.
The authorities had conveniently shut down traffic in both
directions so we could peddle through the tunnel in complete safety and
traffic was backed up. Thankfully, I wasn't wearingconspicuous lycra cycling shorts. My bare elbows
seemed
to provide enough thrill for the men.
After the mayhem of Cairo, the solitude of cycling through Sinai,
surrounded by rugged red granite mountains, was soothing to the soul.
But, boy was it cold. St. Katherine's Monastery at
the
foot of Mount Sinai lies at about 1,600 meters above sea level and in
the morning a thin layer of frost covered the tent.
It was
with some difficulty we dragged ourselves out of our snug
sleeping
bags to face the elements.

After
plummeting back down to sea level, we arrived in Nuweiba, a coastal
resort cum ghost town on the Red Sea. Tourism has all but dried up with
the renewed troubles between Israel and Palestine.
Shops
are boarded up, hotels lie empty, there are no full moon parties and
Bob Marley doesn't blare in the bar. I loved it.
A modern ferry boat with air-conditioning (I was freezing and had to
put on my hat and gloves) and cheesy Egyptian videos (luckily I could
block them out the sound with my MP3 player) whisked us across the sea to
Aqaba in Jordan. Supposedly the boat leaves at 2PM, but it's
notorious for being behind schedule and, true to form, we didn't set
sail until well after sunset. Arriving at a port, at night,
in a
foreign country could be a disconcerting or even scary experience in
many places. Not so in most of the Muslim world.
Sure, you
might have to dodge car bombs and snipers in some Middle East hot
spots, but personal safety isn't an issue in most of the region.
Nobody's going to knife you in the parking lot just to rob you of your
cell phone or hijack your bike at a lonely intersection. We
rode
through the dark trouble free in to Aqaba.
My first impression of Jordan was that of a very developed country.
The roads are smooth and well-lit. The local
Safeway
supermarket offers 20 types of imported breakfast cereals.
Plenty
of Land Rovers, BMWs and Mercedes flood the highway. Power
cuts
are as likely as snowstorms on the sea. Nobody begs and we're
the
worst dressed people on the streets.

The
ancient rose city of Petra is Jordan's biggest tourist draw and even
though it meant a climb up the King's Highway to over a thousand
meters, we didn't want to miss it.
The King's Highway is the world's oldest continuously used
trading route and passes by many historic sites including imposing
crusader castles and Roman ruins. Unfortunately, this
stretch of road also has a nasty reputation for stone throwing
children. With all the low-flying stones we'd dodged in Ethiopia, we
were confident we
could take anything they dished out. But the Jordanian kids make
the Ethiopians look like amateurs. Kids on the King's
Highway don't waste their time with low-flying stones. They
go for rocks and aim for the head. The welcome in Jordan is a
case-study in polarizing extremes. On the one hand, there are the
kids with the rocks. Who might even start off being quite
friendly to you, saying hello and asking your name. Till you turn
your back and start peddling off only to be pelleted. On the
other hand, there are the smiling shopkeepers who won't let you
pay for bread. The families who wouldn't dream of letting you spending
a night in a cold, damp tent and welcome you into their homes with a
meal and a soft bed. Bedouins who invite you to drink tea with
them in their warm, cozy tents. The truck drivers who honk and wave and
shout out a hearty 'Welcome to Jordan'. I just don't get it.


Petra
was amazing. We arrived early enough to have the place almost to
ourselves as we gazed up at the 40 meter high al Khazneh (the
Treasury)and marveled at the way it had been carved into solid rock.
Then we climbed the rough steps up to the monastery to be
rewarded with spectacular views over the valley and wandered around the
expansive site for the rest of the day.
Back on the King's Highway, we continued to climb before dropping down
into a spectacular deep gorge only to climb out again. Up and down, up
and down, up and down and then finally down, down, down all the way to
the Dead Sea.

We
were lucky to find a secluded camping spot near this beautiful body of
water some 400 meters below sea level. After a stormy night when
Jordan was sprinkled with the first rains of the year, the sun
started to peak out from behind the clouds the next morning and we
could fully appreciate the beauty of the surreal landscape.
More climbing (ugh!) and some stormy weather were in store for us on our way to Damascus.

We were thankful to cross over into Syria because we'd never
heard of any hostile kids propelling dangerous objects at innocent
tourists ion that country. Syrians have a reputation amongst
travelers as being some of the warmest and most generous people in the
region. We can now confirm that the reputation is well-deserved.
If you want to meet friendly and hospitable locals,
visiting countries on the US State Department's travel warning
list isn't a bad idea. Within limits. I'm not suggesting
you book a flight to Somalia or Afghanistan, but we've certainly
enjoyed or stays in Travel Warning countries such as Sudan, Sierra
Leone and Syria.
We were about 60 kilometers outside of Syria's capital city and looking
for a place to spend the night. We'd turned off the main highway
into a small settlement and were scouting around for a large property
where we might ask to pitch the tent.

Suddenly
a friendly voice called out, "Welcome, you are welcome. Come.
Come". And of course we did because we were cold, wet and hungry. Our
host, Salah, whose deeply lined face was the result of a long stressful
stint serving in the army stationed in Lebanon and years under the
harsh sun tending his large tomato farm, showed us to his home and
motioned for us to rest in front of a roaring fire. Slowly
family members emerged, shy daughters hiding behind their veils who
served us tea and sweets and excited sons eager to practice the English
they'd learned at school. His wife, a matronly woman who had
borne him 11 children, insisted on washing our muddy clothes and I
spent the evening in one of the daughter's hot pink track suits.
After a while Eric was escorted into another room where he spent
the evening with the men talking politics (Bush got a thumbs down and a
grimace) and watching satellite TV while I hung out with the
women looking at wedding albums and cooing at babies.
Sleeping was also segregated just like in a boarding school
dormitory and I was given soft cushions and thick blankets to spread
out next to the girls. All the excitement and energy expended
entertaining the family took its toll, and in the morning I was
suffering from a pounding headache. When I decided to go back to
sleep, an older girl kept watch beside me and brought me tea and
aspirin. I continue to wonder at the warmth and kindness of the
people I meet while traveling. It's an amazing planet we live on.

Damascus
is the oldest city in the world that has been continuously inhabited.
The vibrant Old Town is a labyrinth of narrow alleys filled with
pastry shops selling baklava and other Middle Eastern sweets plus
everything to delight Western tourists such as chocolate croissants and
cream-filled buns, bakeries turning out fresh flat-bread, hole in the
wall restaurants serving up falafel sandwiches and tiny pizzas topped
with thyme and olive oil, and mom and pop shops selling everything
imaginable to meet a family's daily needs. I never tired of
strolling the streets and I never made it back to the place we were
staying without asking directions at least a dozen times.

From
Damascus we continued climbing up to the Lebanese border. Strong
winds kicked up, rain started falling and, as we gained elevation, that
rain turned to sleet and finally to snow! We were chilled to the
bone but still exhilarated at the sight of the mountains dusted in a
brilliant white blanket. Road conditions were treacherous at the
pass and we ended up spending the night in a Mosque reserved for women.
It was warm and cozy and we were only disturbed a few times by
burqa-clad women coming into pray.
We're in Beirut at the moment, a place I never dreamed I'd ever
be visiting and which I fear causes my parents great concern.
It's exciting to be in sophisticated Lebanon, but we'll have to
save those stories for next month's update.
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