When I initially proposed traveling to Jordan to Nick, he wasn't jumping at the idea. With Petra being the main stop, we realized it would be a bit more difficult to travel. Reaching our desired destinations would require flying into the capital, Amman, and then setting off by car into the desert - all in a whirlwind 4 days! Thankfully, we decided that the jet lag and extra navigation would be worth it. After a long flight to Frankfurt, we touched down in Amman in the middle of the night and rode in a taxi down empty streets to our hotel in the heart of the old town.
The morning after we arrived, we arranged for a car to drive us to the Roman ruins inside the city limits. After a light breakfast of hummus, cheese, and dips, our taxi driver met us in the hotel lobby. We exchanged small talk as we walked to his car. After hopping in, he asks where he could take us. We explained our plan to head to the ruins, a quick 10-minute jaunt. He listened politely, and then - less politely - told us we were doing it all wrong. He said we couldn't miss traveling to the Roman ruins in Jerash, which was only an hour north, and that he'd have us back to the city by early afternoon. In a haze of jet lag, Nick quickly agreed, and before I even understood what had happened we were heading north, entrusting our morning adventure to a complete stranger who called himself Crazy George.
As we wound our way out of Amman and into the countryside, George told us about the history of Jordan, bragged about his 7 children, and shed some light on his past life driving a bus for King Abdullah. Each story was enhanced by a page from the thick photo album he kept in the back seat: a map of the area, portraits of each of his kids, and photos of a much younger George, standing in front of his bus with the King. We stopped along the way for fruit at his friends fruit truck, and George helped us pick out a proper snack.
When we arrived in Jerash, George was insistent we first have hot tea. He pointed in the direction of the sun and told us that enjoying hot tea on a hot day is customary. The heat of the tea makes the June sun feel less imposing. The offering is supremely hospitable, and it's rude not to accept anyone's offering. After a nice tea, we left George in the comforts of the shade and walked toward distant fallen ruins and into the blistering hot sun.
The first set of ruins, the hippodrome, was originally built in the 3rd century (220 AD) for chariot racing, years later transformed for gladiator fighting, and eventually ending as a massive burial site for hundred who died from the plague. Standing inside the massive, ancient sports arena hinted at its former splendor... while the absence of life was a reminder of how time has passed by this corner of the world. The ruins were massive, and nestled beside them is the modern Jerash; the old and new, together. Walking amongst fallen columns, on a blue bird day was wonderful, and we had the run of the place. Save for a few small vendors, it was nearly empty. George pointed out that most tourists can't handle the heat, but let me clear: we almost couldn't either! I can not express just how warm it got, and at some point we decided it was best for our jet-lagged bodies to just head back for our first real Jordanian meal. With the restaurant slow in the early afternoon, we acceded to a simple preparation of "mixed BBQ" and a cold Coke. Little did we know that mixed BBQ is basically a Jordanian tradition, a house special of grilled meats and assorted fresh salads. Still, after a day in the sun, it was a welcome delight. We jumped back in the car, and tried our best to keep our heavy eyelids peeled as we made our way back into Amman.
