travel – robinchartier

The Lost Jerash photos

I was finally able to pull all of my pictures out of “the cloud” and now I can share the other thing we did at Jerash. Not only were we able to explore the Roman ruins for ourselves, but we also had the opportunity to see a show that was about the Roman army, gladiators, and chariots.

Waiting for the show to start. I wasn’t sure how hokey or boring it would be, but we were all pleasantly surprised at how interesting and well done it was.

The narrator explained how the Roman army units functioned, battle strategies, and other interesting details while the guys on the ground demonstrated. They were so realistic that when they started marching and fighting Camille got scared and started crying.

They trained 7 days a week so they were able to move in unison while in this formation.

Some old sandals

After the demonstration by the Roman “army,” they brought out the gladiators and explained that they would fight, but not always to the death. When one of the men lost it was up to the crowd to decide: thumbs up to let him live, thumbs sideways for him to die. Apparently, they didn’t like killing them too often because they were expensive to maintain and train.

The last part of the show was a chariot “race” with two chariots and two teams of horses racing several laps around the arena.

After the show concluded, they boys got to go down and see the horses up close

and go for a very short (but fast!) chariot ride.

The rest of our time was spent exploring the ruins. These are some of my favorite photos from the newly found set.

An Egyptian in Jordan . . .

They had bagpipers in the coliseum to show off the acoustics

There was a circular depression in the center of the floor to mark where the speakers should stand. From that spot we could whisper and hear it projected back at us.

Caleb scootching down the stairs on his butt so he doesn’t fall . . .

Was this a house? A store? Imagining the possibilities . . .

the Mother of all dinners

I’m busy today getting ready for Josh’s mom and dad to arrive tomorrow, but I have to tell this story about our trip to Jordan before it disappears into the recesses of my brain, never to be seen again. Our last night in town we were invited to dinner at Mohammed’s sister’s house to meet the entire family. On our way there I gave the boys specific instructions to eat whatever they were served without complaining and Josh threw in a “children should be seen and not heard” advisory and we were all set.

We find the building and go up to the apartment on the second floor. Except it’s not the right apartment. The very nice people inside let Josh use their phone (because his phone wouldn’t dial out the entire time we were in Jordan) and he called his friend and eventually we figured out that the correct apartment was exactly one floor up. We had forgotten that often (or always?) over here, the ground floor counts as 0, not as the first floor.

Anyway, we made it to the right place, met the family and then the eating began. I had heard rumors and legends about Arab hospitality and how the food is endless and they expect you to keep eating and eating, but it’s entirely different when you are the one facing the mountains of food.

We started with Turkish coffee and chocolates. BTW, Camille ate chocolate all night long. If she picked one up, in a flash she had someone unwrapping it and handing it to her. I tried to remind myself one night of sugar overload wouldn’t kill her, but I wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill me the next day on the plane when she was bound to be a screaming mess.

Next we moved on to the main feast — roasted chicken served over saffron rice with raisins and almonds, seasoned with nutmeg. It was fantastic. However, the portions they served everyone were insanely lavish. They piled heaping mounds of rice (6 inches high covering the entire plate) and a 1/4 of a chicken on each boy’s plate — it was more food than I would have served Josh at a normal dinner at our house. So we ate. And ate. And ate. And as I just began to feel like I was making progress, another mound of rice appeared on my plate, filling in the dent I had made in my mountain. And then another 1/4 of a chicken. Plus the salad, and the olives, and the juices, and the yogurt. And I knew we had to keep eating because that is the custom. Eating a lot shows that you like it and appreciate it.

After consuming more food in one sitting than I ever have before in my life, we finally gave up and assured them that we loved the dinner and yes, the boys loved it too even though they still had enough food left on their plates to feed us all again tomorrow . . . yes, they really did like it. See how much they ate? No, really, they don’t need any more chicken. It was wonderful. All of it. Really.

Then we moved back into the living room and it was time to unsuccessfully keep Camille away from the chocolates. But then came dessert — a special pastry made just for Eid with dates inside and powered sugar on the outside. Gamely we each ate one. Mine nestled in on top of the rice, right at the base of my throat. But that wasn’t dessert. Next came huge plates with 2 squares the size of my palm of a pistachio/custard/bar cookie thing that was served with sugar syrup poured over the top. It was delicious, even if it had to fight for space in my stomach. As we were complimenting the dessert, they brought out a second, Tiramisu type dessert, followed by trays of coke and sprite. (Yes, the fear of a diabetic coma did cross my mind.)

The boys were such good sports because I know if I was struggling to fit it all in, they must have really been stuffed because there were no kid-sized portions in sight. I started to think that it was about time to pack it up and head back to the hotel because it was after 10pm by then and we had been eating since 7 and my chocoholic baby was flying high on her sugar rush. And then came the roasted nuts. Not in little candy dishes, but three huge platters of roasted cashews and pistachios. And along with that was tea? I can hardly remember now because all the edibles are running together.

By that time I was getting a little antsy because I had mentioned to Josh on our way over that we shouldn’t stay too late because we had to travel the next day and nothing is worse than traveling with overtired kids. I’m sure some things are worse, but that’s my personal worst. So I had been waiting for him to pull the trigger and announce that it had been lovely, but we really must be going . . . and I kept waiting. We had dinner, pre-dessert, 1st dessert, 2nd dessert, drinks galore, nuts and tea so we must be done, right? So I said, “We really should get going so we can put Camille to bed” and I was met with, “But we must do fruit! Can you stay for fruit?” Of course. Besides, fruit should be easy enough to cram in on top of everything else.

They brought out a plate for each person and on each plate was a whole banana, a whole apple and a 1/2 of an orange. There was no way humanly possible for me to consume this food. Thankfully Camille ate the banana and while I was feeding her they brought out a pomegranate the size of Camille’s head that had been dissected and spooned into 5 bowls, one for each of the honored guests, so I set to work on the little pomegranate seeds. Easy right? I think my pomegranate seeds were mating and multiplying in the bowl for as many as I ate, there were still a million more. And inside each of the seeds is the hard white part that actually required chewing and chewing and more chewing and in my head I was trying to figure out how much more I could take in before I threw up and wondering if I could chew some up, sneak into the bathroom and spit the white part into a napkin and give myself a little breathing room. All this while I was keeping a watchful eye on each of the boys trying to monitor if they had eaten enough to keep everyone happy. Hilarious.

The last thing served was Nescafe. Mohammed’s mom asked how I wanted my coffee and I tried to beg off and she declared, “We must do it!” So we all laughed and I took mine with milk and it was delicious, just like everything else. By then it was almost 11:30 and it really was time to get our poor baby home.

As we left Josh and I were trying to figure out how they eat like that and we realized — they don’t. We were the guests so they fed us more of and the best of everything they had. It was a wonderful evening where they treated us even better than family.

petra2

Yesterday’s Petra post was interrupted by the sudden realization that it’s almost Thanksgiving, which means it’s time to create my annual photo calendar that we send to the grandparents each Christmas. So I spent all day yesterday poring over pictures from this past year and trying to pick and choose the ones that best represent the last 12 months.

I was completely surprised by all the memories and sadness that surfaced when I opened the files containing our pictures from Egypt. I guess I’m still grieving that somewhere in the back of my mind. And then to see how much Camille has changed from the chubby cheeked infant who slept her way around the pyramids to the lanky toddler who hung off my back as we hiked Petra is somewhat unreal. I also think I look a lot less tired this time last year, but after looking back at all the places we’ve been over the last 12 months, it’s easy to see why.

Anyway, back to Petra. The previous post contained photos from our hike in to the Treasury. That temple-looking thing carved into the wall of rock is what everyone pictures when you say “Petra.” Now made even more recognizable by its appearances in the Indiana Jones (Holy Grail) and Transformers 2 movies. To get to the Treasury you have to walk through a long narrow gorge called the Siq (seek). When I say long, I mean almost a mile. Back when I was in Monterey in Arabic class, one of the students gave a presentation on Petra and when she said that it was a mile in and only accessible on foot or by donkey, I remember thinking, “I could never do that.” Not because of the strenuousness, but the claustrophobicness of being surrounded by rock on all sides. It ended up not being bad at all. Partly because we went in the late afternoon after the tour groups and crowds had died down and partly because Zoloft works.

Once we reached the Treasury (you can’t go inside so we just looked from afar and kept going) there are lots and lots of things carved into the rock. House looking things, cave looking things, temple looking things . . . great right? Well, it turns out that our boys have been spoiled by our trip to Turkey where there were caves and rock structures that they could climb on and in and around so this orderly way of looking at things without climbing on them sort of cramped their style. They were under the mistaken impression that when we said “hiking” that they’d be able to forge their own trails and scale mountains. Not here at Petra.

“My mom and dad took me to Petra and all I got to do was walk on the boring path!”

There were camels, donkeys, and horses available for hire for those who didn’t want to walk in or out. For $30, I’d have to be *really* tired, especially since some of the running and slipping animals looked a little scary.

There was a temple to see that looked very similar to the Treasury, just located halfway up the side of a mountain, accessible by several sets of stone steps.

The main event for us, once we were inside, was the hike up to the monastery. Everyone says it’s worth the walk, even though the guidebooks warn that it’s 800+ steps straight up. You can hire a donkey to take you up, but I was watching some of those donkeys slipping around on the rough hewn rock steps and I decided I would much rather take my chances on my own two feet.

Stopping for a quick rest — many more stairs to climb!

It turned out that I was the donkey that day as I carried Camille all the way up the mountain on my back. I should have known by the looks of sympathy and surprise that people cast my way as they encountered us on their way back down that I was in for a long trek. After half an hour I started trying to catch a friendly eye, hoping that someone would put me out of my misery by reporting, “You’re almost there!” No such luck. Over the span of 10 minutes I had 3 different people say, “Only 10 more minutes!” only to have the 4th one say, “15 more minutes to the top!” Good grief.

Actually, finally, almost to the top! It’s beautiful and peaceful and like everyone said, worth the trip. I think it was about 45 minutes up, but I didn’t keep track. Carter reported that there were only 643 steps, but he only counted the actual steps, not the stretches of inclined slope.

So I get to the top and think, “hmm, not too exciting. It looks kind of like a campground.” Until I look to my right and see this huge thing:

See two of the boys right at the opening? It’s that big.

It was the perfect time of day to see it. As the sun was setting it was the only thing illuminated while everything else had moved into the shadows.

Josh boosted the boys up and they were able to climb around inside.

Worth the trip!

The sun went down and it started to get chilly so we headed back down the mountain.

The 643/800+ steps were much easier going the other direction.

Petra — no words necessary

but since I’m more of a writer than a photographer, I have another post coming — with words!

Water, water, everywhere . . .

Our next stop after the Jordan River was the Dead Sea. It wasn’t a great day to visit because it was cool and overcast, but the following day (today) would have been Eid (essentially the Muslim equivalent to Christmas) so Mo couldn’t go with us, and the weather forecast was the same. That’s what happens when our vacation schedule is limited by the school schedule (both Josh’s and the boys’), we have to take our trips at less than optimal times of the year. It probably would have been fine for a normal person, but I like my swimming water to be at bathtub temperatures.

But the weather didn’t dampen anyone’s excitement about visiting the famous floating body of water. Caleb was nervous that it was going to burn and kept asking if he was really, really going to be able to float and eventually I told him he’d just have to try it out for himself.

My understanding is that you can only “visit” the Dead Sea by way of private resort — or maybe that’s the only smart way to do it because you have to shower after leaving the water or you’ll end up with itchy, rashy, burning skin. Unfortunately that means you end up paying stupid amounts of money for admission because they know they can get it. At this beach adults were $25 and the kids were $15. Mo was only $7 because he’s Jordanian. On top of that there was a charge for towels, a charge if you wanted to use the mud, and the showers were cold and half broken. (All the other beach access options were much more expensive — crazy, huh?)

Wait up!

The Dead Sea is really beautiful — the beach is more like sandy dirt.

Please stop trying to eat all the nasty cigarette butts. They aren’t food.

The entry is rough on the feet. Lots of sharp rocks covered with salt crystals. Ouch!

Testing it out . . .

It works! We’re floating!

The water feels strangely slick and slippery. It does burn a little bit at first, but that quickly goes away. The buoyancy is so strong that lying on your stomach causes your back to arch and your feet to be pushed up into the air. Trying to flip from stomach to back isn’t easy either.

Camille liked it, but she kept trying to taste the water, which is a bad idea because it tastes like salty battery acid. Mo brought a bottle of water into the water with us for emergency mouth rinsing and eye flushing. Holding Camille was like holding a grenade because she kept smacking the water and splashing it everywhere and whoever was holding her had to constantly dodge the flying liquid shrapnel.