I looked over Jordan and what did I see? Something like the surface of Mars.

Second leg of my Holy Land tour took me to Jordan, where I played around in Petra and Wadi Rum.  I signed up for a three-day, two-night tour that really took me all over Jordan. I mean, I feel like I crossed every nook and cranny of the country.

How-to in the porta potties at Petra

Petra was the obvious highlight. An abandoned city in stone, what you saw in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” was only the tip of the iceberg. And also untrue. The façade where you see them leaving from was only the front door. There was no interior (at least that was open to the public) and certainly no chalice-guarding knight.

But, around the corner from the façade, there was a much larger city, consisting of a monastery, cave homes and tombs, churches, an amphitheater, etc. All carved into the limestone.

A lost city for hundreds of years – except for the Bedouins, who lived there and still inhabit the surrounding caves – Petra was stumbled upon not too long ago (relatively speaking) by an explorer masquerading as a Bedouin. Probably some Indy blood in there, too.

How I felt after a day in the sun at Petra

Our tour guide (catch phrases: “my friend” and “by the way”) did a short introductory lesson in Petra, then my group was turned loose. We had about 15 people in the group, and I and a small handful took off to the monastery, which is the farthest point. It’s not only at the end of the road, but it’s at the end of the road up 950 stairs, but I refused to rent a donkey and cheat. I figured if I could climb Tiger’s Nest in Bhutan, I could do Petra. And I did! It was very cool and I took lots and lots of pictures. (Over 700 total from the week.)

Besides the donkeys, camels abounded in the city, and you could also ride a horse out. I opted for the horse ride, but was a little disappointed when I was led instead of being allowed to trot on my own. The guy led at a trot, but still. However, it was still fun. I had to do that for Wendy.

The next day, we went further south, to a desert called Wadi Rum. The tour package said it had spectacular views, with mountains coming up out of the dunes and barren land. What I didn’t know at the time was that it was also used as the setting in “The Martian.”

Camels at Wadi Rum - mission to Mars

It wasn’t my first trip into the desert – I’d done the Sahara trip in Morocco – but boy, it was cool. We didn’t go that far in (we only toured it for two hours), but it was still pretty phenomenal. And on the flight back, I watched “The Martian” again, reliving the moment.

Crossing the border was a nightmare. For whatever reason, Israelites are really picky about who comes in. I’d gone with a tour, and several of us – including me – were completely grilled before being allowed to enter. I’ve never thought that being turned away at the border would ever be a possibility, but boy, I was nervous.

I’d traveled without my diplomatic passport to Jordan, and coming back into Israel, the border guard had a hard time understanding that. I kept explaining (or trying to) that I was not a diplomat in Israel, therefore no need for it, but that went nowhere. She questioned several of my visas, insisting on the full stories of why I’d been to Indonesia, Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan. The stories of those trip are a little bizarre, but I flat-out told her the truth. I’m not going to lie to a border agent, so when she said why here, I just said, “because I didn’t want to work our national day party.” She gave me a really hard time about not having my boarding pass available, but again, I wasn’t flying out for three more days, so I’d left all that info at my friend’s house.

In the Old City

Honestly, I was just so relieved that I got through. Three other people were held longer than me. One had to hand over her phone, where the border agent questioned her on her photos. Another, who was in the country for a wedding, was grilled on how she knew the bride. They’d gone to primary school together, so the agent kept saying the girl was Jewish. She was Uzbek, and when asked, then, why the bride insisted on being married in Israel, really had no answer, as she wasn’t the bride and therefore not her decision. Her boyfriend was threatened that if he lied to the agent, she “would send him back to Jordan.” He wasn’t lying; he just didn’t have a plan.

So that whole land-border-entry-thing was a nightmare, and a sweaty one at that. I couldn’t imagine being there in July or something. We were all toasty.

After safely getting back to Jerusalem, I toured the old city in Jerusalem. Saw the Mount of Olives, where the Garden of Gethsemane was, the Jaffa (Joppa) gate and all four quarters: Armenian, Muslim, Jewish and Christian. Most impressive to me was the Church of the Sepulcher, which is built on the site where Golgotha stood.

The window where Golgotha is

Golgotha itself has been more or less leveled, but parts of the rock still stand and have been built around. There is one alter-like thing (run by the Greek Orthodox church) where you can stick your hand and touch the rock that Jesus’ cross was planted on. Next to it are other stations of the cross: where His body was taken off, where it was anointed, etc.

There are several churches in the complex, and, so no strain of Christianity can claim to having the “best” part of Christ’s death and resurrection, a Muslim family has held the keys that lock the church’s doors. The family has kept the key for something like seven generations. It’s the only way to keep it fair.

Not being Catholic, I have some issues with the whole “tradition” thing. I’m pretty skeptical if it’s not in the Bible. The worst ones to me were two places where Jesus allegedly stumbled on His way carrying the cross. There are “handprints” in the stone. The guide explained that these weren’t Biblical, but were “tradition.” It was like, um … but you just finished explaining that Jerusalem has been built and rebuilt, and 2000 years ago the road was two meters lower than the road we were walking on. It’s just not possible that Christ’s hand hit that wall. That’s not to say He didn’t, but there’s just no way that’s Christ’s handprint.

But that doesn’t take away from the experience of the church and the whole Old City. Praying at the Wailing Wall was a moving experience in itself, and that was just one of dozens of things that cropped up along the walk.

My tour that day ended with a Dead Sea jaunt. I’d heard it was disgusting and indeed it was, but you have to do it. You can’t sink to save your life, but there’s some slippery mud to amuse and smooth you. I lathered up in it (so much as you can lather in mud) and hung out as it dried. I accidentally got some on my lips and oh, my, what a horrid taste. It smelled weird and was the saltiest stuff ever. Even after rinsing off, I still had a layer of salt on my shades.

It was quite nice to be off an entire week without having to take a single hour of leave. I pretty much dread going back to work tomorrow.

Jesus' hometown and the last crusade

Church of the Nativity

This entire week is a holiday in Turkey, which means I used it as an excuse to get out of Turkey.

At the moment, I am sitting in a hotel 800 meters from Petra, the morning's destination.

So far on the trip, I've tooled around, but not toured, Jerusalem, saw Jesus purported birth spot, visited the Sermon on the Mount site and the Sea of Galilee, viewed the Promised Land from Moses' vantage point and spent a ton of money.

Sermon on the Mount site

Since I am tying this on a smart phone and under a time constraint, I'm going to go off photos.

Church of the Nativity.  This is supposedly the exact spot where Jesus was born. I am really skeptical that that is the exact specific spot, but you never know. I followed a large tour group in, and did not get any time to myself in the little room. It's kind of in a cave, which is far more realistic of the actual event than the whole Shepherd field thing. Never actually says in the Bible that the shepherds were close to the site. They probably travel the ways to get to the manger, which was probably in a cave. This church had been built out of a cave. So maybe it is the right spot.

This is the spot off of the sea of Galilee where Jesus gave the sermon on the mount. There is currently a church there now, and it was closed to the public so we couldn't get into see from there. But the view was very pretty and the church at the bottom of the mountain is called the loaves and fishes church. I had gone with a small group, and one of the people had no idea what that meant.  It made me sad.

Temple of Aretemis 

Temple of Aretemis at Jerash. This was another City of ruins that, like Ephesus, was amazing to see. There were ruins of all kinds of things, including three churches that still had mosaics on the floor fairly intact. I forget how far back they dated, probably the second or third century.

Panorama from the top of Mount Nebo. This is the site that Moses would have seen however many years ago when God gave him a view of the promised land. Of course, he could not enter since he had struck the rock out of anger and all. That was why he had to wonder for 40 years and not step foot in the land of milk and honey, but God relented and gave him a view. If you look closely you can see the Jordan River and across that is Israel.

This morning I head out to Petra, where I hope to do the geek thing and ride in on horseback like Indiana Jones.

Mt. Nebo - what Moses saw

I have to sign off now so I can recharge my phone so that I can take a million pictures there.

Georgia on my mind

Took the three-day weekend to head off to Georgia. As in Tbilisi. Departing on Friday night and returning Monday evening gave me the perfect amount of time to spend in the city, get my fill of Dunkin Donuts and see the house where Joseph Stalin was born. In addition, I witnessed a “flash mob” concert in Old Town, rode another cable car and toured a cave city.

This living abroad thing is really cool, and the coolest thing for me is that I get a new starting point to travel from. I still make quick trips, same as always, but now I can start from somewhere that’s a seven-hour time difference from the East Coast. The trip to Tbilisi, including commute time to the airport (which is a solid hour), took me less time than my drive up to see a Braves game in Atlanta.

Deciding to cater to the Marriott points whore beast that is inside me turned off to be a good move, too, as the Courtyard there is smack in the middle of Freedom Square, kind of the central area and a great place to be located. (The hotel itself was wonderful, too – a step up from what I remember Courtyards to be.) Oh, and there was a Dunkin Donuts right on the corner. I’m not ashamed to say that in the three days I was there, I think I ate (or brought home) half a dozen donuts. I did not, however, cave and purchase the “Georgia runs on Dunkin” mug, but it was a tough call.

Boarding planes in Turkey, though, is a monster. I think the little bus to the plane fries everyone’s brain because honestly, I’ve never been on flight that has seen more people have trouble finding their seats. It’s a letter and a number on a piece of paper and all you have to do is match up that letter and number with the ones on the top of the row. It never occurred to me that it might be difficult, but oh, wow. I stood in the aisle, trying to get to 22B, for probably 5-7 minutes as I waited on people not to struggle with their bags (although they did that, too), but to figure out which seat they were in. Someone would get to a seat and there’d be someone in there, and a long discussion would ensue. In some occasions, people would act surprised that their ticket, which read something like “14B” was not welcome in, say, seat “20A.” They were that far off. On the way back, I was seated in 10D and someone came and rudely flashed their boarding pass in front of me, insisting that I move. It said 10F. I was like, uh, no, your seat is over there – and pointed to one filled with a woman whose boarding card said 11F. Really, people, it’s not that hard!

Beyond those annoyances, though, the flights were fine. Turkish Airlines is pretty good and has good food, served by a guy wearing a chef’s hat.

I’d met a friend there and we set out to see the main sights on Saturday. In all, we walked about 20 kilometers up and down windy streets. The Old Town area was my favorite, with its little stores, homes and roofs all sticking out at various angles. We took the cable car up there – I’ve been in an abnormally high number of cable cars since joining Foreign Service – and the view of the little roofs was nice. At the top, we poked around the fortress and got an up-close view of Mother Georgia, the status that lords over the city. Women keeping watch is apparently par for the courses in former Soviet cities – my traveling companion said there was on in Armenia, too.

On the way down from Old Town, we heard live music and happened upon an outdoor concert. It seemed to mimic a flash mob, but was obviously planned. The musicians were dressed in street clothes, but stiff costumed, if that makes sense. The cellist wore a policeman’s uniform, the French horn players were dressed as maître ds, the wind instruments, for the most part, were either wearing work clothes or construction vests, depending on where they we were seated. The percussionists were wearing suits. And so on. Then, after each song, they’d disassemble for a minute or two, then the trombone and big brass players would return, sit down, and start, followed by the percussionist, and then the construction worker woodwinds would come in before the regular Joe workclothes wind instruments came.

It was clearly organized – they had several photographers taking shots of the crowd, plus a drone doing the same work. It was a nice break to sit for a bit and eat a donut. (Through the course of the weekend and trip home, I  had two each Boston Crème, caramel covered and the one they called “Georgia,” which looked like aa Boston Crème but had “GEO” written on it and was filled with caramel-flavored goo.

The next day, we’d planned to go to the Stalin museum but there wasn’t a train (or at least Marriott told us there wasn’t a train) at the time we wanted to go, so we went to this pioneer town-like thing where they had homes from the early 19^th century. Georgians love their wine, and each of the homes had wine cellars and winemaking materials. They stored it in the ground, in very large vessels they’d buried. I enjoyed it.

We met some friends of my traveling companion for dinner, and since they were new to Tbilisi and hadn’t seen the sights, we decided to hire a driver and see the Stalin museum the next day before going to the airport. It’s an hour away, and honestly, it was impressive but a bit depressing. Lots of photos of him, though. And the train car – supposedly bulletproof – was cool. It reminded me of touring Elvis’ plane at Graceland.

Speaking of … there was a restaurant called “Elvis”! Sadly, it was closed, but it’s smack dab in Tbilsi, between Freedom Square and the Hard Rock café!

At Gori, the city where Stalin was born, we also visited a rock city called Uplistsikhe. I’d never heard of it but out driver suggested it, as the Stalin museum only took about an hour. It had something to do with Queen Tamar, but I can’t say that I know who Queen Tamar was. We did no research for that stop; it was just there. I’ll have to look into it.

Visiting the former Soviet nations is kind of cool; it’s a different thing to experience. I decided to go to Moldova in October, so it’ll be interesting to see how they compare.

Next week, I’m off and am heading to Israel. I’m glad to be back in the saddle as far as traveling goes.