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.
A not-particularly-coherent and a little messy post from Emirates airline seats over the Indian Ocean and Saudi. Consider skipping this post and waiting for the next one, which will be set in Jordan and probably quite funny.