Our time in Jordan has been packed full of fun, which I will get to eventually, but the internet in the room is only wired and the cord doesn’t reach to the bed, which is the only place I want to be after running around like a crazy tourist all day.
I fell asleep at 8 last night (and the kids were out even earlier) and slept until almost 8 this morning. It’s a good thing I was well rested because we hit three major sites today: the Jordan River, the Dead Sea, and Mount Nebo (the site where Moses looked out onto the Promised Land). We had a private tour guide today, Josh’s friend Mohammed who is from Amman. They met a few years ago when Mo served as an interpreter for Josh’s team in Iraq.
The first stop on our grand tour was the Jordan River, about an hour drive from Amman. Supposedly this is the place where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist. We parked and boarded a shuttle bus which brought us to the beginning of our walking tour. The price of admission included audio guides that the boys had fun playing with.
We followed the path and at the different places were little signs that had numbers on them and you were supposed to listen to whatever it was that you were looking at. I hope the kids learned something since they monopolized them. I was just happy to be out walking and not sweating. It was beautiful and on the cool side, but not cold.
I don’t know why they think this is where John baptized Jesus – maybe that info was in the audio guide. Today Jesus would be getting a mud bath instead. (Mo said that they’ve had very little rain the past few years and are on the verge of resorting to water restrictions).
After seeing this I thought we were done. I hadn’t been paying attention to today’s plans so I thought we saw the river, saw the baptism site, and would be headed back to the car. The path continued on though and led right up to the barbed wire fencing indicating that we were at the border. Then I saw that we were actually going to be able to go down into the river and my interest perked up.
The funniest/most amazing part of it all was that we were standing on one side of the river, in Jordan and there were groups mirroring us on the other side, in Israel. As they were taking pictures of us it felt a little like I was in the zoo. Of course we were taking pictures of them too.
So here we are on the Jordanian side standing on an old wooden dock-like structure, looking upon this huge expanse of white stone architecture. We got the poor man’s version of “The Jordan River Experience” for sure.
In order to enter the water you have to wear a white robe (I guess people buy them before the tour starts). On the Israeli side the groups were doing baptisms and singing hymns; on our side people just went for a swim. There were a few guys getting really into it and splashing a little too far from the dock so they ordered them back before the well armed Israeli police started getting twitchy that people were trying to crash the border.
Unfortunately the “robes” were tissue paper thin and became completely transparent when wet. A few of the guys had on speedos underneath, but one particularly large and well endowed woman in an effort to keep her clothing dry decided to remove everything under the robe. When she emerged from the water she was leaving nothing to the imagination, but she was surprisingly unbothered by it and even had her picture taken in all her glory.
Calvin whispered to me, “I get that the robe is white for purity, but why wouldn’t they make them thicker? Isn’t there a verse in the Bible about keeping your stuff to yourself?”
The boys were impressed that now I’ve been to the Jordan River on the Israeli side and the Jordanian side, although the river was a lot smaller than I remembered and the Israeli side was a much more official looking Tourist Attraction than it was when I was baptized there in 1989. In the olden days, I was baptized in my khaki shorts and peach tank top – or it could have been my peach shorts and khaki shirt. All the clothing I brought on the trip was peach or khaki so I could mix and match and everything would go together and I could pack as little as possible and follow the golden rule of travel with my dad: no checked baggage. After two and a half weeks I was sick of it all and haven’t worn peach since. Anyway, the point is, no white robe for me and I kept all my stuff to myself.
Yea! Family picture taken by a helpful tourist. Except . . . how the heck did she take it so crooked?