From Amman to Wadi Musa: seeking the real Jordan.

So the plan starts well, a fairly leisurely breakfast and a quick shuttle back to the airport terminal to collect the hire car, obviously nothing can go wrong. Except that a slightly surreal misunderstanding means that our bodies and our car are some 90 minutes apart, with our car, bizarrely, waiting for us at a military airport instead of the main one. We only know this because a guy from the same hire company spots the paperwork in our hands, and asks who we are! But the guy, and his company, Omaish Rental, are just so helpful and so eager to please that they find a replacement car and get us on our way still ahead of schedule.

And so we are away, out of Amman and on to the evocatively named Desert Highway. It lives up to its name and is exactly what you would picture, nearly 200 kilometres of dead straight road through flat barren land. An occasional small town passes by, as do colossal petrol stations, but the only other interruptions are random speed humps which appear without warning, and a handful of police stops. The desert stretches as far as you can see, in every direction. 

Only some distance after we leave the Desert Highway does the terrain start to change, first scrub, then genuine greenery, followed by the first of the foothills as we approach the mountains which will be our home for the next few days. Dropping back down from the highest point, our first sight of Wadi Musa is fantastic, the small Bedouin Arab town nestled right down in the valley below, then scaling steeply up the opposite side. We pull over just to stare, it’s a terrific view.

From 15 at the top, the temperature has risen to 22 by the time we leave the car and take a sunshine stroll around this delightful town, so pleasing on the eye and with a sense of identity drawn from its proximity to Petra. We take a light mezze snack in the sun at Restaurant Al-Wadi before we contact Ahmad, our next host.

We go in search of our home for the next 3 nights, a traditional Bedouin house next door to our host Ahmad and his family, in a tiny hamlet nestled in the mountains surrounding Petra, Its location better than we expected, the perfect rural retreat to live amongst the local people for a while.  Just a handful of houses in this remote setting, silent apart from the crow of a nearby cockerel and the giggles from a group of children as they waved and eyed us up with interest. Our house is very rustic, solid bench chairs surround the lounge covered with a red carpet like fabric to match that which drapes from the ceiling.  The tiled floor is covered in rugs, an animal pelt at the entrance, the huge ornately carved wooden bed, this is one quirky little house. 

Ahmad invites us to join the family for tea, we sit in his garden surrounded by fruit trees and birdsong, glasses of mint tea are served, members of his family join us, the tin pot of mint tea seemingly endless as were the introductions of Ahmad’s family as they came by to say hello and join us for a while. The young ladies of the family intrigued by Michaela, snapping away on their phones and no doubt photos of this blonde lady from England instantly sent to their friends.

We talk with Ahmad about Jordan, village life, his love of the outdoors and of his Arab horses, and listen and learn about Bedouin history and tradition. Ahmad’s mother is preparing the evening meal indoors as we adjourn till summoned for the evening. 

Right on cue at sundown, one of the family arrives to take us next door for our evening meal. We’re taken upstairs to a rectangular room full of bedouin style furniture but with a huge bowl of food placed on a rug on the floor, and are invited to sit on the floor with Ahmad and dive in. The dish is makluba, one of the most traditional Bedouin meals, originally cooked in a pot on a wood fire buried in sand. It’s utterly delicious, but there is an awful lot of it and we are expected to do it justice. The food is delightful though, and all the better for knowing that every single ingredient was grown, or reared, in this tiny village.

Ahmad’s entire family live in this village, and there is an awful lot of them. It works the other way round too: the entire village is Ahmad’s family.  So after dinner we sit in the same room as different relatives come and go; we sit surrounded by Arabic chatter, Ahmad often our interpreter, occasionally another offers some English, especially Ahmad’s father Mahmoud, clearly the family kingpin. There is an endless supply of mint tea, they drink gallons of it and it’s clearly an integral part of the social scene. The shishas are passed around, all of the males take a turn. We decline tonight, but it’s a fair bet we’re going to have to take part before we leave this country!

As the evening evolves, so we are made to feel more and more welcome. This wonderful family epitomise the famed Jordanian hospitality; but more than that, the love and togetherness they share is huge, and we feel both humbled and privileged to be sat here in their home. We learn much of the family’s history, from its beginnings as cave dwellers to creation of their village which, incredibly, has only happened in the current generation. Ahmad himself was born and raised in a cave. 

We try to remember each person’s name, but there are just too many. As one group leave, their 2-year old daughter kisses each of us goodnight…. and, in Arabic, says “goodnight aunt, goodnight uncle”. We are so touched.

Only one full day into this Jordan adventure, yet so much has happened. A day we will never forget.