Accommodating Caves, Impromptu Friends, and Learning to Survive the Jordanian Bus System

So, last weekend I was lucky enough to be able to schedule two and a half days in the South of the country exploring and sightseeing by myself. What follows is an account of my travels. As always, please check out my Facebook photos for an accompanying visual overview of my adventures!

Staring out the bus window, I watched the Jordanian countryside flash by as I scarfed down two large falafel sandwiches – an impromptu lunch eaten on the go as I traveled to Amman for the first leg of my expedition. I had managed to get out of class an hour early to so I could get to the capital in time to catch the last bus to Shobak, an ancient village embedded in the Jordanian mountains south of the Dead Sea. Watching the massive agricultural plateaus of Northwest Jordan speed past no longer conjured the same feelings of excitement and untested opportunity they did two months ago when I arrived in Jordan and as such I was in search of further adventure in the South.

Barely catching a routing bus to Shobak – every seat was taken in the bus (including the floor) and I sat between the driver and the passenger seat on an informal futon-thing – I arrived in the village at about 6:30 PM. Taking a quick taxi to the Hotel I had reserved – the Cave of Abu Ali كهف أبو علي – I arrived just in time to catch a quick glimpse of the reason I had arrived in this outlying town: the ancient crusader fortress of Montreal, also known as Shobak Castle قلعة الشوبك. Its history is described in a short passage from my Lonely Planet guidebook:

“Formerly called Mons Realis (the Royal Mountain), it was built by the Crusader King Baldwin I in 1115 CE. It withstood numerous attacks from the armies of Saladin before succumbing in 1189 after an 18 month siege. It was later occupied in the 14^th century by the Mamluks, who built over many of the crusader buildings.”

Unfortunately, I had arrived too late to do any real exploring that night, so I settled into my hotel, the entrance of which had a beautiful view of the castle perched on the mountain. Quite literally, the hotel was a single cave carved out of the rocky hillside in which Abu Ali and his son Ismail lived. It was rather decorated, the walls plastered with pictures of the country, guests, and Abu Ali while two large ply boards were covered with business cards from all of Abu Ali’s “friends” – guests who had previously stayed in the cave. There was no heating but a large number of massive blankets. The cave was closed by a metal door which helped preserve heat during the relatively frigid nights. A small stove top and refrigerator flanked the entrance from which Abu Ali made a filling dinner of sardines and vegetable mix as we made introductions and got to know one another.

Funnily enough, a rather large family of mountains cats were common visitors at Abu Ali’s Cave, and joined us for dinner the night I was there. Gradually, one calico cat turned into seven as more and more meandered in, sprawling over the floor and fighting each other for the scraps Abu Ali would throw to them as he mixed love with abuse. When I commented on how cute the family was, he laughed and asked me to take the cats off his hands.  After dinner, we feasted on a basketful of fresh sweet and sour pomegranates – which I had never eaten before – and shortly thereafter went to bed.

I woke up at 8AM and immediately went outside, curious to take a second glance at the castle in whose shadow we had slept. I was blown away. The sun now sat behind the cave’s hill and completely illuminated Montreal and the mountain on which it stood, giving a breathtaking view of the ancient fortifications. We ate a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, before Abu Ali introduced me to a friend of his who worked a souveneir stand at the castle entrance. Abu Marwal – Abu Ali’s friend – offered to drive me for free up to the entrance of the castle and I graciously accepted, glad to avoid a 30 minute uphill walk. Shortly thereafter, I entered Shobak Castle.

In total, I spent about two and a half hours exploring the castle. One particularly notable aspect was descending the 375 step secret tunnel inside the castle that leads to a small underground stream before surfacing at the bottom of the hill down from the castle. The descent was somewhat intimidating, as the steps were extremely steep and in some cases had literally withered away to dust. My flashlight – hastily bought two days prior – revealed Arabic script on the ceiling, hundreds of years old. Every time the path turned, a beautifully constructed stone wall supported the tunnel – perhaps foundations to the castle itself or specially built for the tunnel. At the bottom, the spring was little more than a trickle but climbing up small ladder shaft and exiting at the base of the hill was glorious.

After returning to the castle via the tunnel, I meandered over to the castle keep and spent half an hour atop the highest point of the castle, sitting at the very edge eating falafel, catching my breath, and taking in the astonishing views. It’s unfortunate that my pictures of the view can’t effectively convey the same feeling, but you could see forever. The rift valley off in the distance looked like the imprint from the spine of a giant fifteen miles tall. The very breadth of how much lay before gave a sense of my own cosmic insignificance in a way that was beautiful to experience. It was not so much a feeling of cold indifference from a monumental cosmos, but a surprised understanding of just how massive the world is – how much it contains. It would not be possible to see all the world contains – in terms of geography, nature, culture, life, experience – in a hundred thousand lifetimes and what a wonderful realization that was. No matter how old I grow there will always be more to explore, see, understand, perceive. There will always be something new to hear if I am able to listen. Sorry, this probably sounds kind of cliché, but it was still a really damn cool experience.

After exploring the rest of the castle (the Court of Baldwin I, the Eastern Watchtower, the ancient Church and a few catacombs beneath it), and returned to the exit and met with Abu Marwan where we talked and drank tea for an hour or so. He had a pair of binoculaurs which he let me use to survey the landscape in greater detail; I bought a small carved cylinder from him for a few JD as a way of saying thank you.

At this point, my original plan had been to take the bus system to Dana Nature Reserve, my second stop. However, the night before I had been informed by Abu Ali that as it was Yum Al-Jum’a tomorrow يوم الجمع, the Muslim Holy Day (like Sunday in Christianity), there were no buses in Shobak. Normally this isn’t a problem in Irbid, but I hadn’t anticipated that a smaller town like Shobak would not have service on Yum Al-Jum’a. Not relishing having to spend more money, I reluctantly made plans to take a 20 JD cab from Shobak to Dana when I was done exploring the castle.

However, fortune smiled on me; at the very least I got really fucking lucky. While I was sitting there sipping tea with Abu Marwan, a lone older man pulled up in a dusty car and struck up a conversation with us. I began explaining what I was doing and when I mentioned I was going to Dana his face broke into a surprised grin. He stated that he was going to Dana himself in about half an hour and offered to give me a ride for free. Astonished, I thanked him. Initially, I was a little hesitant, as this guy was a total stranger. However, it shortly became clear that he was a close friend of Abu Ali when I mentioned that I still needed to head back to the cave to pay him for the night and meals. I decided that I trusted Abu Ali and if Jabbar – my new acquaintance – was indeed a friend to Abu Ali then I was probably all right. So, after driving the five minutes to Abu Ali’s Cave, paying him and thanking him, I was off to Dana with my extremely generous new friend.

Arriving about thirty minutes later, Jabbar and I stepped out of his car and I took a second to process the view before me. Dana Village قرية دانا was an ancient, quaint village composed of old stone architecture – half of which was clearly in ruins – nestled in the central shoulder of a massive mountain covered in trees and overlooking a narrow valley stretching off as far as the eye could see. Which is to say – the site was breathtaking, and somewhat abnormal compared against the rather uniform desert geography which Jordan seems to be composed of when you leave the northwest corner of the country.

Jabbar, a handyman, spent the next twenty minutes repairing some sort of heat-vane contraption on the roof of one of Dana’s few restaurants before we entered the building and met its owners. Two men – a Jordanian and a Lebanese – owned the place. Previously been partners at a restaurant on the King’s Highway before increased competition had forced them out, they had only opened their restaurant in Dana ten days before Jabbar and I arrived. After talking for a short while, I realized that I was starving, and suggested lunch before offering to buy Jabbar’s lunch as thanks for his generosity. Shortly thereafter, we were feasting on lamb kebab made from locally butchered livestock and inspected by the Lebanese chef. Funnily enough, we were the first customers to eat meat at the new restaurant, and thus it seemed doubly a privilege being able to eat delicious lamb kebab in the warm afternoon shade.

Promising that we would see each other again before we left Dana, I left Jabbar and went to check in with my hotel. Shortly after receiving my room and key, I walked over to the outer courtyard to sit for a second and accidently interrupted the conversation of two Germans. Introducing myself and apologizing, we struck up a conversation and ended up talking for an hour. My new german acquaintances Phillip and Flo explained their situation in Jordan – they were both water engineers working in Amman with a consulting corporation which was attempting to modernize the Jordanian water system. Their work specifically focused on the well system. Both spoke German and English (as well as a few other various European tongues) but neither spoke a lick of Arabic. It was interesting listening to their stories and hearing a very different perspective on Jordan as they discussed their difficulties with the language as well as how frustrating the corruption and apathy within the Jordanian water management departments were for their jobs. They described visiting wells in the middle of the desert which appeared as green oases surrounded by plants and animals – all of which was the result of easily fixable leaks in the pipes which had gone untended.

We exchanged numbers and I promised that I would call them the next time that I visited Amman. This ended up being the next weekend, when I and a couple other students got drinks with Phillip, Flo, and some of their friends. Although it was an incredibly good time, it is a story best recounted in a different blog post.

After leaving my new German friends as they drove off to a nearby campsite, I descended into Dana Nature Reserve محمية دانا الطبيعية for a quick two hour hike before the sun set. Although the reserve rules clearly stated that hikers without guides should not deviate from main trails or wander, I… selectively forgot that bit and meandered off on an intriguing little side trail pretty quickly after leaving Dana. Interestingly enough, the mountain was covered with an impromptu irrigation system consisting of concrete trenches and black pipes that carried the water downhill – for what purpose I knew not. My trail was rather informal, at times narrowing off to a hazy six inches between fields of tall grass, certainly more of an adventure than the massive gravel main trail. After a while, it deadened. Carefully marking the location so I wouldn’t get lost, I explored the surrounding area and took some glorious photographs of the sunset. As well as a few selfies, cause, ya know, I didn’t really have anyone else around to take a picture of my great solo escapade.

Easily finding my informal trail again, I followed it back to a spot where it met with a rock-face and began to climb the rocks, more horizontally than vertically after I realized that the rocks were not the most stable and vertical climbing might lead to an unsightly end. Eventually, I made my way back to the main trail just as the sun vanished against the horizon and quickly made my way back to the hotel in the remaining light.  Eating a quick and filling dinner from the buffet-style options available at the hotel, I collapsed in my bed and easily fell asleep.

The next day – Yum As-Sebt يوم السبت – was the last day of the weekend and as such I had to return to Irbid. However, hoping to see more of the reserve, I woke up at 7AM and ate a quick breakfast before descending once again, this time focused on reaching the base of the valley instead of meandering. Although I did have a more concrete goal in mind, I still managed to meander, finding a particularly interesting rockwall about two-thirds of the way down and deciding climbing the rock would be more interesting than the main gravel path. After about twenty minutes of pointed exploration, hoping to climb down, I stumbled upon some sort of water facility towards which some of the irrigation system was directed. Pools of water lapped outside a plain concrete shelter, as the sound of flowing water dominated the early morning valley. Taking a breather, I sat there for about twenty minutes and just took everything in, listening to the water interrupted only by the occasional bird song. The light of the newborn sun slid across the valley prompting what was almost a dance between the shadow and light as both cascaded around the mountains and valleys. Eventually, I stood up and continued my descent.

After having hiked for about 70 minutes, much of which was spent on the rocks, I finally reached the base of the valley, where the hiking leveled off and traversed across small hills as opposed to mountains. Eventually, I stumbled across the “official” entrance to Dana Nature Reserve, a sign I only reached fifteen minutes before I had to head back and a testament to the gargantuan size of the reserve. Returning was far more draining than descending, as most of the trail was forty-five degrees, an unforgiving angle. Eventually however, I made my way back to my hotel, where I met up with Jabbar briefly, and waited for a ride into Qudsiyya – the local town past the mountain where the bus stop was located – so I could grab a bus out.

The bus ride back was rather exhausting, and an interesting experience of itself. My ride dropped me off at the side of the road on the outskirts of Qudsiyya القضسية and told me to wait for the bus as it had to pass through. I spent 45 minutes waiting for a bus that had an open spot, then spent another forty five minutes sitting in the bus as it drove around Qudsiyya trying to fill itself up before it drove over the Tafila الطفيلة , the next stop. The actual ride from Qudsiyya to Tafila was another 45 minutes. Luckily, as I was waiting I made a new friend – a local Jordanian heading to Karak named Ahmad who was only a few years older than myself. We chatted haphazardly throughout the busride. When we arrived in Tafila, the bus driver dropped us off about a five minute walk from the actual bus station, and I was extremely glad I had made friends with Ahmad as he helped me find a bathroom and guided me to the bus station where he hopped on a bus to Karak and I sat down in a bus bound for Amman, exhausted from my morning hike and the entire weekend. As Ahmad’s bus pulled out of the station, he excitedly waved at me, and I smiled back.

Unfortunately, my bus literally spent an hour and a half waiting in Tafila for every single seat to be taken. By the time we actually left, two people were standing because there weren’t enough seats. It was a relatively uneventful bus ride past that point, aside from the fact that my bus broke down about 20 minutes outside of Amman and the driver spent 15 minutes trying to kickstart the engine. I was legitimately starting to freak out, worried about finding a taxi into Amman on the highway, when the engine started backup and we resumed our route. Past that, it was relatively easy to take a service taxi from the southern bus station to the northern one and hop on the bus to Irbid. However, it wasn’t until 9PM that I finally stepped into my apartment, more than exhausted.