Hospitality to foreigners characterizes Jordan. From serving endless portions of lamb, mansaf, coffee/tea, and other dishes, to treating the guest as king, visitors can look forward to the perpetual kindness bestowed from the Jordanian people. In my case, it extended to couchsurfing, hitchhiking, partying, and eating. A combination of being in the right place at the right time, blind luck, and friendliness made it an experience impossible to forget.
It all started with the fortune of a cheap flight. Booked 3 weeks out and granted permission to take time off work, I headed to Amman with zero plans, other than seeing Petra and Wadi Rum. The fabled rose city, half as old as time, and T.E. Lawrence’s camp are two of the most well-known landmarks in the country and easy to visit, thanks to entrepreneurial transport options. However, to see these wonders, I would first have to make it into the capital. A friend picked me up at the airport around midnight as we drove towards my hostel, making transit stops for coffee, shawerma, and sightseeing. It’s common for the proprietor to refuse to take your dinars, followed by you insisting that he must. This exchange goes back and forth, until he finally accepts. However, make sure to pay. This is a cultural nuance that is not quickly picked up on. What made everything more wonderful was the two hours of sleep followed by the 5 am call to prayer from the Muezzin, shattering the silence and the food-filled dreams of yours truly. This ride was the start of numerous encounters with the generosity of locals.
Fast forward a few days as we head off to Petra. Located in the town of Wadi Musa (Moses’ desert), for entry, it’s necessary to purchase a pass, either day, one, or two. The price decreases by duration to thwart the hoards of tourists taking day trips from Israel. I ended up couchsurfing, staying with THE most well-known host in the entire country, Ghassab. BBC even had a special on him. Having hosted over 500 surfers in both his village and cave, Ghassab and his pink jeep were celebrities within the community. Unfortunately when I arrived, his engine had exploded, making cavesurfing impossible. So I stayed in his village, at his house. Not content with me hailing a taxi, a friend of his offered transit. So we set off, conversing in charades and driving through the desert landscapes, with dabke blasting through the 4×4’s feeble sound system. After miles of dunes and passing through a small village, we arrived at Ghassab’s humble abode.
Ghassab laid plate after plate of bedouin cuisine in front of me, as we watched German news and talked about life. As luck would have it, he asked if I had accommodation in Wadi Rum, which I did not. He then made a call to his cousin, who owned a camp, and set a place aside for me. Ghassab had attended university in Germany, though returned years ago back to homeland, where he owned a tour company. A bedouin and native of Petra, he gave advice on the terrain, history, and possible scams that could occur. Later, his friends came over as they ate, drank bedouin whisky (tea) and discussed ongoings. They spoke no english, so he translated. For those looking for a couchsurfing host in Petra, it would be criminal to pass over Ghassab.
After exploring Petra for 2 days and nearly getting lost on the back trails in Little Petra, it was time to head south to Wadi Rum. Via a shared taxi, a fellow Danish backpacker living in Ramallah, and myself found ourselves at the gateway to the desert. This desert however, spellbinds all who look upon it. To quote Lawrence, “the crags were capped in nests of domes, less hotly red than the body of the hill….They gave the finishing semblance of Byzantine architecture to this irresistible place: this processional way greater than imagination.” Deserts have a powerful effect on the mind. So vast, so harsh, and yet so magisterial at the same time. Adding to this magisterial effect was the camp, packed with goat-hair tents, refugee from the rampant and relentless sun.
As nighttime fell, the desert heat subsided. With it brought a cool blanket of darkness, that illuminated the sands via the vast sea of stars. As the camp was enveloped by nightfall, a large family came out to celebrate. Seemingly on cue, twenty to thirty locals pulled out picnic tables, coolers, hookahs, and set up shop. The Dane and I wandered over to be social and were greeted with the typical “welcome to Jordan, where are you from?” However, it took a loop after. “United States” I replied. “Where?” responded Youssef, the man in charge of the operation. “Midwest”. “Where?” “Wisconsin”. “Where?”. “Milwaukee.” “Milwaukee!? – my sister lived there for 9 years! I lived in Houston!” Bonded by this location, Youssef exclaimed “Wisconsin, you must celebrate with us tonight! Help yourselves; we have plenty of food, drinks, whatever you want. You are with us”. True to his word, bottles of Johnnie Walker Black and Grey Goose emerged as we made ourselves drinks, ate hommos and tabbouleh, and partied into the night with this massive Jordanian Christian family. Youssef introduced everyone in the group, as hookahs were lit and music was blasted through the speakers in the communal tent. We tried dancing Dabke, as his Lebanese friend showed a few steps, but resigned ourselves to the numerous mint and apple shisha flavors. Welcoming complete strangers into a family event and treating them like long-term friends – the hallmark of Jordanian hospitality.
Acts like this, albeit not the same degree, happen all over the country. Being invited for tea, coffee, a meal, or just to talk are commonplace. By being open to experiencing their culture and pastimes as well, you open yourself to an entirely new world of potential experiences. Others, such as hitchhiking are frequent, and will be touched upon later. All in all, Jordan is a place where hospitality to guests comes first and is tantamount to a good relationship.
Dispatches by Alec 