21 January 2009

Aqaba, Jordan

On my last night in Dahab, I stood in the streets at a schwarma stand listening to the owner tell me why his schwarma was the best in the world, when a group of black girls walked by. They enthusiastically hawked their schwarma at them shouting "Hey! From Nigeria? Hakuna matata! Hakuna matata!" So Americans get "aloha" and Africans get "hakuna matata." I knew getting to Jordan would be tough. There's a slow ferry that runs between Nuweiba and Aqaba, but everything I read suggested that this is most emphatically NOT recommended for tourists, and it was better to talk the fast boat. There is only one fast boat a day, and it leaves Nuweiba at 3 PM according to my guidebook, 2:30 PM according to my hotel. Either way you have to be at the port 2 hours before departure to complete departure formalities. The problem is I was in Dahab, not Nuweiba. The only bus that would get into Nuweiba on time for the ferry left Dahab at 10:30 AM and took 1 hour. So assuming it got in on time, I would have to find the ticket office (not located at the port), buy a ticket, then find the port. I would get one shot, or I would have to spend a night in Nuweiba. I got to the bus station plenty early, where I was greeted by the friendly taxi driver who had first taken me to my hotel in Dahab two days earlier. He was a young guy, and reminded me a lot of an Egyptian version of the Ukrainian character from "Everything is Iluminated." We talked, and I told him I was going to Nuweiba. Oh, you know, the bus may be late. Yes, he has a friend who can take me to Nuweiba right now, I would get there in 45 minutes. Since I honestly didn't trust my odds of getting to Nuweiba by bus anyway, I went for it. This worked out fine, and I was taken straight to the ticket office. Nuweiba was like goat city. I had never seen so many goats in my life. For some reason, ferry tickets have to be purchased with US dollars. Luckily, I knew about this ahead of time and was prepared. I got my ticket, then tried to figure out where to go. I wandered around the ramshackle port with no signs or anything, then finally I saw a long line of people shoving themselves into a terminal. There was an official in charge here checking IDs, so I showed him my passport. He opened it and asked "ismak eh - what is your name?" Then "ginseak eh - what is your nationality?" This happens a lot, and I was always baffled why I was asked my nationality after presenting my passport. Then it finally occured to me that they can't read the Roman script that says "United States of America." Then I had to go through a metal detector and have my luggage x-rayed. I asked the official there if he spoke English, and he shook his hand indicating a little. I asked him what time the ferry left, and he replied "no time." I should have known something was wrong. Then I was stamped out of Egypt and the immigration official who spoke good English said to me "4 o'clock, OK." 4????? An hour later than I expected. I went to the departure gate and managed to ascertain from the officials there in Arabic that the boat did indeed leave at 4. Then I surveyed my surroundings, starting with the wall size picture of President Mubarak waving goodbye. This was the single most disgusting building I had ever been in in my life. There were more flies than passangers. Yes, if Earth were to have an enema, they would stick the tube in the Nuweiba ferry terminal. As I was sitting there becoming one with the flies, a young guy approached me and said something in Arabic, then realizing I didn't understand he asked me in English if I was alone, and invited me to sit with him and his friends. He spoke fluent American English with just a tiny bit of an accent. His name was Omar, and he was originally from Madaba, Jordan but he had lived for many years in the US, in Ithaca and Detroit. His family had recently moved back to Jordan because of the high cost of living in the US, but he wanted to go back to the States. He went to college in Egypt, because his grades weren't very good and Egyptian universities are easier to get into than Jordanian ones. He remarked to me "I bet you couldn't find anything this disgusting in the US." He's probably right. He didn't understand why I had studied Arabic and asked me if I was with the army. We talked for a while about many different things. Then his friend Musab wanted to talk to me with the few English words that he knew. He was from Petra, Jordan's biggest tourist site, and wanted to know if I was going there and when. He was asking because his father was the manager of a hotel there. Unfortunately, it was a 5 star hotel costing $150/night for a single. I told him that I was looking for an inexpensive hotel, and he understood and assured me that I would find many nice, inexpensive hotels in Petra. His friends started making fun of him for trying to talk to me despite not really speaking English, and he responded pointing out to me one of his friends who was from southern Jordan, where all people are stupid, like donkeys. They all told me that Jordan was a much more civilized country than Egypt with much more educated people. Also, they told me that Jordan is more liberal, because Egypt really has a lot of religious fundamentalists. I agreed. A lot of men in the terminal were wearing the traditional Arab keffiyeh headdresses, either in the traditional style on the head with the black bands or around the neck or over the shoulders. Omar explained to me that they wear them to indicate whether they're native Jordanian or Palestinian-Jordanian. More than half of Jordan's population consists of people whose families are originally from Palestine but who left after the creation of Israel or the Six Day War. Native Jordanians wear red-checkered scarfs, and Palestinians wear black checkered ones, like Arafat. Omar himself was native Jordanian and was wearing a red-checkered scarf around his neck. Omar had never taken the ferry before, so was almost as clueless as me about how things worked. He told me that indeed the ferry was scheduled to depart at 3. But if you ask anybody, they'll just make up an answer because nobody actually knows. He warned me that when it finally came time to leave, I would have the shove a little to get onto the boat. Then his friend Hamza told him that actually I wouldn't have to worry, because they separate all tourists and get them on the ferry first. I thought he was joking, because I couldn't imagine that there would actually be this kind of segregation. Even if it was true, what would be the big deal if I stuck with them? I was incredibly naive. At about 2 the scramble to leave began. You have to make it out of a small door, then onto a series of buses that would take you to the boat. Once it became known that the boat had arrived from Aqaba, a few people, including us, gathered around the door ready to leave, only to be told to disperse by the very angry port police, who insisted it would be at least 3 more hours until departure. This continued for hours. Every once in a while somebody would think that it was time to leave and would gather to be first out the door, and the police would come screaming at them to stay back. Each time, the screaming got more violent until I thought I might actually witness some police brutality. The few Western tourists there were all sitting near the door, because it's the only way they would know what was going on and when it was time to leave. I understood this because I've been in that situation so many times myself. I joked to Omar that if I hadn't met him I'd be one of them. Finally, at about 4:30, the buses arrived to take us to the boat. Then complete chaos ensued in the scramble to get out the door. The police arrived and began to verbally attempt to control the riot, screaming at the people with pure hatred. It is hard for me to describe in writing the actual intensity of this situation, but it was scary. If I could re-enact it in person, maybe you would understand. Sure enough, they pulled the tourists from the group and ushered them out the door. Hamza suggested I go with them, but after everything I had witnessed I thought I would be safer with them. Again, I was incredibly naive. Then it got physical. The police actually started physically pushing people back, very violently. At this point I was a little scared. I know it sounds weird, having to be scared to death by the police just to get on a ferry, but that's how it was. Then a cop came up to me and was not amused that a tourist was still hanging around here and yelled at me "go!" So I ran out the door and jumped on one of the buses. Arriving at the boat we were screamed at more by the port police to get into two different lines to have our passport checked by an Egyptian official. Standing in line, a cop yelled at me for still having my luggage with me (come on, you've seen how small my suitcase is, why can't I just carry it on?). So I had to go put it in a giant cart. Just a cart, it didn't have an engine or anything. Everybody just threw their luggage in here, it wasn't tagged or anything. I never thought I'd see my suitcase again. Then finally having our passports checked by the Egyptians, we were directed into the hull of the ship to form one big line to have our passports checked by a Jordanian official, who was seriously taking his time. They screamed at us some more to stand against the wall, because they then began loading vehicles onto the ship. Mostly Mercedes and BMWs with Saudi license plates. Once I finally got to the front of the line and had my passport inspected for the fifth time so far, I was allowed to climb the stairs into the main cabin of the ship. I was shocked. It was beautiful. Felt like the first class cabin on a plane. I found Omar and his friends, they had saved me a seat. I remarked about how nice the ship was compared to the ferry terminal, and they were like "of course, because this is a Jordanian ship." Then a waiter came by and took orders for dinner. I ordered a cheese burger. Before the boat left, Omar said we should probably get in line to have our passports stamped, since they have the immigration control booths right there on the boat. For this we went further ahead in the cabin, where I saw all the tourists sitting together after having been segregated from the Arabs. Since all the tourists had already been proccessed, everyone in line was Jordanian and so the officials were just in the rhythm of stamping their passports and handing them back to them. Me showing up with a US passport caused a raised eyebrow. The official searched every page of it and not finding what he was looking for looked up at me and said "no visa?" I shook my head no. Oh please, don't turn me back now. I've come so far. He took a scrap of paper, stamped it, handed it to me and said "Welcome, get passport back in Aqaba." I was uneasy about this until I looked at the very official scrap of paper that said "Hashemite kingdom of Jordan, paper to get passport back at aqaba port." OK, it's all gonna be alright. When we finally set sail it was 6:50 PM and already completely dark. I changed money on the boat. The Jordanian dinar is worth even more than a US dollar, in stark contrast to the worthless Egyptian pound. For a large brick of 100 Egyptian pound notes, I got back a very thin wad of colorful Jordanian dinars. The ride was pleasant and took just over an hour. As we were pulling into Aqaba, Hamza said to me proudly "now you will see the contrast between Egypt and Jordan." They wrote in Arabic on the back of a business card the names of a few good hotels in Aqaba, and how much a room should cost, but warned me that I would have to bargain. They told me to insist on paying no more than 2 dinars for a taxi into Aqaba, and told me how to say "turn on the meter" ("iftah al-3adad") and coached me on the proper pronunciation. When I saw that the tourists were being led out, I decided that it was probably best that I join them. I said goodbye to my new friends. They were good people. I gave Omar my email address and told him that if he comes back to the US he should let me know if he needs any help. I exited the boat with the tourists, and of course other passengers were trying to get off was well. The crew was yelling at them in Arabic and I think saying "No Arabs, No Arabs." I actually got my suitcase back from the carts that they had pulled into the hull, and then got onto the bus to the terminal. On the bus I noticed everybody else had those very official white slips to get their passports back. I was in the front with an Australian girl who was equally concerned about where our passports were. Hamza was right. The Aqaba ferry terminal was beautiful. What a contrast. As we came in a laid back official was there and said "please, have a seat." Then he told the Australian girl to come into his office, since she was first. After a few minutes she emerged, still carrying the white slip and no passport. I said "no luck?" and she told me that he did indeed have everybody's passport and was ready to stamp hers, but he didn't have the stamp! A few minutes later he returned triumphantly holding the stamp up in the air. Almost there. So close. Eventually I did get my passport back with a visa and entry stamp in it. Customs just asked me what was in my bag and let me go. Then one more passport check and I was out of the building. I found a cab driver who quoted me three dinars to Aqaba, and I insisted on only paying two. He agreed, but he would find more passengers because it was a four person taxi. Finding more passengers was difficult, since most people were going straight from the port to other parts of Jordan and not staying in Aqaba. When he had three passengers, he suggested that we each just pay three dinars and we could get going. One guy agreed, but the other guy refused and I didn't want to make him feel like an asshole so I refused as well. Finally he found a fourth passenger and we got going. He dropped me off at a place where he then gave me walking directions to the hotel Hamza had suggested. As I was walking away he said "where you from?" "USA" "Obama! Obama is president today!" "Yes, no more Bush." "Yeah, Bush - fuck him!" Of course I couldn't find the hotel that was recommended to me, but I did find a hotel. This place actually has a TV in the room, and I have a wide variety of programming, ranging from Al Manara (Hezbollah owned TV station broadcasting from Beirut) to Al Hurra (US government owned Arabic news station broadcasting from Washington, but only to the Middle East and unavailable within the US). I found BBC which was covering the inaugaration, and found out that Obama had already been sworn in as president. The contrast between Egypt and Jordan is intense. Jordan is VERY nice. Everything is so much cleaner and orderly. Jordanians are well aware of their country's good image in the West, and are very eager to prove it to tourists. Every five feet there's a picture of King Abdullah, but different pictures. King Abdullah in traditional Arab dress. King Abdullah in a western business suit. King Abdullah in his military uniform. King Abdullah on a camel. King Abdullah with his son. And of course, the family portrait of King Abdullah, Queen Rania and all of their children. Some people also keep pictures of the late King Hussein.

6 comments:

  1. Thanks for the great update. I could feel the intensity as you were describing the experience. Sounds like Omar was very nice. I loved the picture of you and the camel. Miss you, but am really enjoying living your experiences through this blog. Dad.

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  2. Passage to Jordan sounds way too eventful to me. Wonder what boarding the slow ferry would have been like!

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  3. No pussified travel experience for Dom.

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  4. Hey Dominic, I laughed so hard reading this a second time....just picturing all those goats, the earth's colon cleansing, and the situation you promise to re-enact. Jordan sounds incredible. Have fun.

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  5. Hi, I hope you will enjoy your stay in Jordan. I'm going to link to your post about the ferry from my website:
    http://www.your-guide-to-aqaba-jordan.com/ferry_to_aqaba.html

    All the best,
    Eszter

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  6. Hi Dominic, I couldn't post a comment to your 2 most recent posts...probably my computer's problem. So: Pyramids: check, Mt. Sinai: check, Petra: check. What's next?

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