The ‘steps’ are long and steep, in parts it’s more a clamber than a hike. And now, guideless and blonde, I’m prey to all of the Bedouin merchants and donkey handlers that dot the path, ‘Long climb miss! Where you from? Taxi!,’ they offer, brandishing a donkey, ‘free air conditioning!’. It grows hotter as I climb, and the merchants more agressive. It’s like the path to hell.
I feel like Nadir is babysitting me. I suspect he feels the same way.
Nadir had warned me about persistent tour guides (and, having survived India, I can gild mine into the hardest of hearts and coax my lungs into the loudest ‘la’a, shuukrand!’) but he hadn’t warned me about this!
Let loose on Amman with a dying iPhone and precious little Arabic.
Where I meet the Troy & Abed of Amman.