Back to Amman: The Dead Sea Highway

The evenings in the Wadi Rum Bedouin camp have all been so good, sitting by the fire sipping sweet herbal tea, eating food cooked in the zarb and listening to the gentle Bedouin music of our hosts. Our third night last night took a further twist as a party of Russian travellers arrive, guitar in tow, so we are treated to a heady mix of Bedouin and Russian folk songs. 

Travelling as independently as this throws up some remarkable twists; we talked more last night with Karolina, from Poland. It turns out not only that Karolina lives only 60 miles from us in England but, incredibly, spent New Years Eve in the same square as us, in the same city, in Mexico – and now we meet in Jordan! 

And so this morning we are away straight after breakfast, bidding farewell to all our new friends and off on the long drive north. We sweep around Aqaba, a sprawling port city spread around our first ever glimpse of the Red Sea, and turn northwards on to The Dead Sea Highway. 

We turn another corner and the Dead Sea is ahead of us, impossibly aquamarine water made more vivid against the pure white of the cliffs of salt at its edge. Across the water Israel and Lebanon reflected in the stillness of this inland sea, the lowest place on earth.  The salt cliffs give way to gentle salt slopes, the blue sea lapping at their edge depositing yet another layer of salt.

Last night Karolina told us of a place away from the expensive spas and tourist beaches to experience the Dead Sea,  we head straight there and are handed 2 bags of the famed Dead Sea mud and our instructions on how to tackle this highly saline mass of water and were left alone to enjoy the experience; don’t try and swim, don’t put your head under the water, walk in backwards, and just lie on your back.  The pebble beach gives way to small boulders encased in salt crystals, we gently edge our way in and just sit backwards and we are in, lying on top of the salty water, unable to sink, such a strange feeling. Now we are wet it’s time to use the mud, we smear the thick sticky black mud all over each other, giggling like children and wait for it to dry then it’s back into the water. We float around effortlessly, lying back and relaxing and enjoy this surreal moment.  Salt and mud washed from our bodies we feel rejuvenated, skin soft and cleansed we are ready to continue our journey.

It’s 32 degrees as we hit the road for the last leg, stopping for another bowl of mansaf as we hit the Amman suburbs, drop off the car and hit our hotel. This is a significant moment, the end of the desert section and into the city, we have had a week of terrific experiences.

The idea is that after seven days of rustic desert it’s time to treat ourselves, so we arrive at our hotel with pretty much everything tinted with the red dust of the desert, backpacks scuffed and dirty, bodies smelling of mud pack, Michaela’s hair matted with salt. We have long hot showers, we empty the backpacks, we put clothes in a wardrobe, we dress for an evening, Michaela puts on makeup. It’s a week since any of those things happened. 

It’s a week since any alcohol too. Out there in the desert, you don’t even think about beer; here in the city, it may be different.