Jerash, Jordan

The road signs in Syria are unreliable for distances. Zoom in and look at all three distance for Daraa (20, 24, and 13km?).


A migrant worker's tent near the farm fields they work in.


The last town I saw in Syria was very typical of most of the towns I passed through.
My ride out of Bosra in the morning started out really well. I had a great tailwind and was flying out of town. After 3.5km, I realized I had forgotten my GPS tracker at the hotel. Going back against the headwind to the hotel was not nearly as fun. However, the rest of the ride to the border was with that amazing tail wind. I think I was averaging 30km/hr over 2-3 hours without tiring myself out.


Welcome to Jordan!


I love skipping these lines at the border.
My border crossing was easy. I had to buy the exit stamp again. It only cost 500 Syrian Pounds instead of the 600 that I had been charged the last time. Oh well. Once I was in Jordan, the wind turned against me. Then, it got really hot. I pulled off the road into a mini shopping mall to get out of the sun. One store had a couch outside that I commandeered to take a nap. After noon, I set off again. I started a long mountain climb. It turned out, it was still too hot for me, especially while climbing the mountain. Another nap was in order so I pulled into a shady grove and snuggled up in the dirt. After it cooled off, I finished the 15km uphill slog. Then, I was all set to enjoy the reward of coasting back down the other side into Jerash with plenty of day light to spare. Unfortunately, that coast did not happen.


This is the mall I took a nap at. The one store had a couch outside its front door.
Within a kilometer of the top, something was fouling up on my back wheel. The rear gears/cassette was not able to spin independently of the wheel without force. That caused the chain to stay still which caused the derailer arm to pull forward until it hit the chain again and again. If I pedaled, I didn't need to freewheel and it was fine. Unfortunately, I could not pedal faster than the bike was already moving downhill. I pulled over to fix it, but I wasn't comfortable trying to fix it on the roadside. My guess was that I would have to open up the wheel and reset the ball bearings. While I was messing around to figure out what was up, some off duty policeman stopped to help.


Jordan forested mountains were a welcome change from Syria.
They called one of their friends who came up but could not help. Then they called another guy who brought a van up to get me. He said they knew a bike mechanic in town. We went right to the mechanic's shop. He was closed, but they called him and he agreed to come in. It was not a bike shop. I think it was a motorcycle shop. However, the guy was a brilliant engineer who could figure stuff out. He pulled the wheel apart, but got stuck on the last bit. To work on that part, he ground a monkey wrench down on my gear teeth to get a hold of the wheel. I wasn't happy about it, but communicating that was not working. With the monkey wrench attached, he jumped up, down, and all around to impose his will on the wheel. While he did end up making the wheel temporarily functional, he did not fix it. There is no way I could do more than ride it around town. I decided to catch a bus the next day to Amman where I knew there was a quality bike shop that could fix it.


Hadrian's Arch at Jerash, Jordan.
That night, I did not do much. When I was looking for lodging, I met some Austrians who had also come down from the North. They were driving my same route and had seen me taking a nap in the shady grove earlier in the day. I can't believe that I ended up meeting them in town. After finding a spot to camp by some RVs, I went in search of food. I found a place that skipped the sandwich part of falafels and went right to the good stuff. They sold the falafel balls by the bag, fresh out of the fryer. They were fantastic and ridiculously cheap.


Oval Plaza measuring 90 x 80m.


The Cardo street with its original stones that they say you can see chariot wheel ruts in. I couldn't.
The next morning, it was time to explore the best Roman ruins in Jordan. The site is still being uncovered and if you look around, you can see teams of people unearthing old artifacts. The ruins are nice, but watching them work is fascinating. I think that might have been the best part, but I suspect that is because at this point I was Roman ruined. I had just seen too many ruins and needed something different. Jerash was nice, but it wasn't as inspiring as I was led to believe, so I think the problem might have been me.


The Nymphaeum, a fountain constructed in 191 AD.


The Temple of Artemis.
The ruins are basically laid out over a long colonnaded street with a couple side streets. The entrance to the site was through Hadrian's Arch, built to celebrate the visit of Emperor Hadrian in 129AD. Just past the arch is the hippodrome where they are reenacting chariot races twice a day. You have to pay extra to see the race and I had considered doing it. I heard it was hokey, but fabulous because they know it is hokey and make fun of themselves in the commentary. However, after visiting the site, I still had to wait a few hours for the race and was anxious to get to Amman to get my bike looked at so I could back on the road as soon as possible.


North Theater.
Just past the hippodrome was one of the dig sites. The organizers seemed to be western with a few western grad students and locals doing the actual digging. From there on out, it was the usual set of Roman ruins with theaters, a colonnaded street, temples, fountains, and lots of other half buildings to let the imagination run. At the final tetrapylon, there was a woman doing a music video shoot. Her outfit made me think she was Indian, but I'm not sure 100% sure. It looked like she was working hard on a hot day doing the same hair flip or body turn again and again until the director liked it. While she worked, there must have been 15-20 other people standing around doing nothing. It is amazing how one person can sustain their own mini industry.


The North Tetrapylon, where the music video was being filmed.
When it was time to head to Amman, I was going to take the bus. Then, I found out a taxi might be almost as cheap and would take me directly to the bike shop. After challenging negotiations where I was told I'd be paying 10, then was paying 15, I was finally off. When we got to the city, my driver tried to drop me off in the neighborhood. Luckily, I had not paid him yet and insisted he call for directions and take me directly to the bike shop. He whined, but he did it. The bike shop looked promising for getting me out of Amman quickly, but that wasn't going to be the case.

Bosra, Syria

Getting out of Damascus was a little bit difficult. Fortunately, I was going the same way as the airport so getting directions was easy. Unfortunately, I was going the same direction as the airport so I was on a busy road. Once I passed the airport, things quieted down. They got so quiet that I even pulled into olive orchard to take a dirt nap. I had been tired for a couple hours and looking for grass, but there wasn't any. Finally, I just gave up and took what I could find.

After my nap, I had two guys stop to chat with me. The first one spoke Spanish and invited me back for a meal. The second guy only spoke French and Arabic. He gave up on me quickly, but I suspect it was the same type of offer. A couple hours down the road, I stopped at this bright orange market, smartly named the Orange Market, to grab a bite to eat. It made me feel silly for passing on the free meal earlier.

The Orange Market was different that most markets in Syria. It had a wider selection, was bigger, and things were laid out better. I didn't understand the difference until I started talking to the owners. They were three brothers who had been running T-mobile stores in the US for about a decade. The difference was a more American style of setting up a store. One brother had overstayed his visa by eight years. He walked away from his entire American life because he wanted to be able to see his family again and it was almost impossible for them to get visas to come to the USA. I can't imagine having to walk away from my life like that. It was really interesting to hear him talk about the differences and similarities in our countries.


Air Force jet hiders
The most exciting thing that I saw on the ride was a (hidden?) air base. Well, it wasn't terribly well hidden if I could see it from the road. However, the planes were all under grass covered cement structures. The one jet that I saw take off looked like it came out from an underground runway, but I think it might have just been an illusion of the landscape. The sentry booths discouraged me from climbing over to take a second look. Also in this area, I saw four attack choppers flying around. I saw them a bunch of times so I am guessing they were doing military exercises. Against my better judgment after my experience in Lebanon, I decided to take another picture of a foreign government's military position. I finished my ride getting nervous any time the military personnel carriers went by.


Roman ruins outside the theater.
When I arrived at Bosra, it was 5:15pm and the theater closed at 6pm. On my way in, a tout wanted to harass me about staying at his place. I politely told him I was in a hurry and would talk to him later. He just wasn't listening though. He started yelling excuse me, please come here, wait a minute, etc, while I biked to the ancient theater. He followed me inside where, after begging my way in because they were about to close, he got the ticket guy to ask me about staying the night. I finally lost my patience and curtly told him to bugger off because the theater was about to close and I didn't want to lose time talking to him. If anything, I'd talk to him on my way out.


Testing the acoustic center of the theater.


Part of the theater renovated for castle use.


Back stage entrances
The Bosra Theater is an ancient Roman theater. Most of the Roman theaters were built into a hills. This was free standing and, after the decline of the Roman Empire, reinforced to be defended. It was basically turned into a castle which is why it probably has lasted so long. The sun was setting when I arrived and the theater was pretty quiet. It was great to take sit in the ancient seats and imagine an ancient Cirque du Soleil being performed.


At 15,000 capacity, this holds 5,000 more people that my beloved Red Rocks.


Video tour of Bosra Theater.


Playing soccer among the Roman ruins.
After a quiet hour at the theater, it was time to find a place to stay. The tout from before must have known I was irritated and would do my best to stay anywhere except his place because he was no where to be seen. Beside the theater, I saw a few kids playing soccer among on and among the stone of the ancient ruins. It was probably the best impromptu soccer field I have ever seen. When I finally found a place to sleep, they gave their rate in Euros which is never a good sign. However, it was nice to treat myself. They had a great pool and a balcony overlooking the theater, but even this fancy hotel did not have a dedicated night worker. They just had a day worker sleep on the couch in the lobby to be woken up if anyone needed anything, which I did at 5am when I checked out.


Cham Palace pool and the Bosra theater.

The human memory amazes me. While we tend to forget things in general, it seems we do a better job of forgetting the bad stuff. Is this how resilience is built, not through the courage to get up again, but through simply forgetting how bad something was the first time was? I once heard a woman say her forgetfulness about the pain of her first childbirth was the only reason she had a second kid. Anyway, this is my long way of saying I forgot the bad of almost T-boning a motorcycle on this leg of the trip. I had found a great rhythm and was cruising down the quiet highway when a motorcycle came out from a side road on the right. Instead of stopping anywhere before the road (I doubt there was actually a stop sign), he decided to stop half way on the road and just have people go around him.

I didn't have time to go around him at my speed. I slammed on the breaks, fishtailed behind him, and stopped about 3 inches shy of falling into a 3 foot deep ditch. I was not happy. I knew it was an accident, so I didn't go with my original hostile reaction. I just kept breathing and looked at the ground until I mellowed out. The guy scrambled to find his best English to say excuse me and check on me before heading off. I was glad I didn't go with my gut instinct to go off on him. He wasn't like the guy in the car who just drove away.

Damascus, Syria

The courtyard at Umayyad Mosque in Damascus.
Damascus and I did not start off on the right foot. After assuring me a ride to my hotel, my ride dropped me off at a minibus station about 10km outside of town. In my frustration, I left my brand new helmet in the bus. I wore it for exactly 2km and owned it for maybe eight hours. Also, my back rack's vertical supports broke on the van ride. It made for an interesting ride in to the city with the supports trying to grind on the tires. Lesson learned, never pay for your ride before getting to your destination.


My broken back rack.


My broken back rack.


A Damascus neighborhood.
Once I finally got into the city, life was better. I found a bike shop that would be able to help me the next day. Damascus had a good vibe and Lebanon had restored me enough to have patience with the unpleasant bits. At least, it did until I tried to buy a new rack and helmet the next morning. At first, I could not leave because I was locked in the hostel. The night guy would not wake up. I made vocal noises. I knocked loudly. He was having none of it. Not even a stir. Maybe, I should have jumped on or thrown stuff at him. Once he finally woke up, I headed for the bike shop I had checked out on foot the night before.


My new bike rack.
Miraculously, the price of a back rack had gone up 80 syrian pounds overnight. The honest old guy from the night before wasn't there. The morning young guy was trying to make a couple extra bucks. I didn't like it, but had grown use to this type of behavior and didn't let it get me fired up. However, not being able to buy a helmet in any bike shops and then getting hit by a car five minutes later did bother me. I was on the right side. The car was behind me. It pulled up on my left side and turned right. I said hello to his mirror and then bobbed, weaved, and was just able to keep my feet. The tire was misaligned and I had a couple cuts, but I was alright. The driver stopped for about 10 seconds and then drove away without a word.


Souq al-Hamidiyya. Check out the bullet holes in the roof.


Trendy winter jackets to wear over the boring burka.


An old Roman gate at the entrance to the Souq al-Hamidiyya


Bakdash ice cream shop prepares their type of ice cream.

The only solution to my car grumpiness was ice cream. After dropping by bike off at the hostel, I headed out on foot for Bakdash, an ice cream restaurant in the Souq al-Hamidiyya. On the way through the souq to the ice cream parlor, you could see evidence of Syria's national rebellion against France in 1925. There are bullet wholes in the roof from planes strafing runs.
When I got to the ice cream parlor, it was flooded with locals, a sure sign I was in for a treat. Bakdash serves up a pistachio-covered ice cream with an elastic texture from its main ingredients mastic and sahlab. I'm not going to say it was Ben & Jerry's, but it was enough to put a smile on my face.


Umayyad Mosque courtyard.


Umayyad Mosque courtyard.


Two different pilgrimage groups at Umayyad Mosque.


John the Baptist's shrine at Umayyad Mosque.
With restored confidence, or at least a full belly, it was time to explore again. I went to two pilgrimage sites, the Umayyad Mosque, the 4th holiest place in Islam, and Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque. While I loved the buildings, the atmosphere was a bit overwhelming. As major pilgrimage sites, there were people making journeys from who knows how far to be close to the people who played important roles in the founding of Islam. Umayyad Mosque is rumored to have John the Baptist's head, but a few other places make that claim as well. I wonder if anyone has ever just opened the box to check. The site also has, more importantly, the shrine of Hussein, the son of Ali, the grandson of the Prophet. The Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque is dedicated to the daughter of Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet Mohammad.


Part of the Hussein shrine at Umayyad Mosque.


Reaching out to be closer to the Hussein shrine at Umayyad Mosque.


Umayyad Mosque.


Walking the street to a pilgrimage mosque.

Visiting those sites was a very emotional experience for people. Some came in large groups being told the histories of their religious heroes. It was interesting to see the different clothing styles of the different groups that came through. Other people came to the Holy sites as individuals. Some were quietly reflecting. Others were shedding tears and a few were wailing in sorrow. It made me a little uncomfortable to be passing through as a tourist with no emotional attachment. No one said a word to me. It was my own feeling.


Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque


Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque courtyard and inner shrine.


Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque shrine.


Praying at the Sayyida Ruqayya Mosque.

Along the way to see those mosques, I passed two great example of old architecture, Azem Palace and Khan As'ad Pasha. Azem Palace was built in 1750 for the Ottomans. It had two large areas, one private and one for public functions. In the center was a large courtyard. My favorite feature was the horizontally striped stone that is created by laying down a layer of black basalt followed by a layer of limestone. The Khan As'ad Pasha is the largest example of a khan in Damascus. Khan's were large inns with courtyards that housed caravans when they stopped in town. This one was conveniently located in the souq which, I am guessing, would be the main stop for any caravan passing through town.


Khan As'ad Pasha.


Azem Palace hamam.


Azem Palace.


These old courtyards make for great restaurant settings.
After fighting the masses going to and from the pilgrimage sites, I needed another refresher. I went back to Bakdash for a second helping of elastic ice cream. It was just as good as the first, maybe better, because it was hotter in the afternoon. When I got back to the hostel, I restarted a conversation I had been having with a Dutch bike tourer. She had come from Holland and was hoping to make it all the way to South Africa. She was only doing 50-60km a day, so she was, very smartly, taking it easy. One of the things about her trip that made it special was that she was hand delivering letters to people in towns along the way. I didn't know anyone in Africa to have her deliver to, but I took one from her to drop off with her grandfather in Buena Vista, CO. Ahh, to be a bike messenger again.


Standard cafe serving up coffee, tea, and hashish.


A different kind of spice rack.


The regular spice rack.

During my last night in Damascus, I was wandering the streets. I saw a juice bar that had a line half way around the block. I passed it by at first, but when I came back, I decided I had to find out what all the fuss was about it. The fuss, at least for me, was that they were not serving juice. They were serving smoothies and I had been missing them since leaving the States. After placing your order, you wait a few minutes before they serve up your huge drink in a glass jar. There are no to go cups. You just take the glass, drink it on the street, and return it when you are done. It was a neat set up and very, very tasty. It was a great way to close out my time in Damascus.


Juice bar.
The next morning, I hit the road. I just wanted to get out of the major cities and back to the rural areas. A recent University of Michigan study found that people learn better after walking in nature than walking in a busy urban environment, suggesting that the barrage of information leaves people tired. I was definitely feeling that through out the Middle East as I was always having my senses assaulted and rarely had quiet time on the bike anymore. As I was heading out to the rural area, my senses picked up one more thing that wasn't right. Something was rubbing on my tire. When weighted down, the new back rack was touching my back tire. I had to take if off and jump on it a few times to bend the metal so that it would not touch the tire anymore. It was a pretty silly, but fun fix at 6am on the Syrian streets. On to Bosra.


Pictures of the Syrian president Bashar al-Assad were everywhere, but sometimes there were also pictures of the Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and the Lebanese Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah like on this shawarma restaurant. The Syrian conservatives triumvirate?

Update

I've been crazy busy these past couple weeks in Jordan and Egypt. I just ran out of time to blog or as I like to say, I was out living instead of writing about living.

I fly out of Cairo today. After a 13 hour layover in NYC, I'll be in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving and my birthday. Then, I'm driving back to Colorado. When I get back there, I'll mix in updating this blog with the rest of my trip with job hunting and a possible South American adventure.