From heaven to hysteria

Since we left Bosra in Syria we've descended a couple of hundred metres which we feel mostly at the higher temperatures. It's the end of November and the approaching winter is perceptible very well at 1.000 metres above sea-level, even in the Middle-East. With every descent the temperature rises a couple of degrees until we reach a divine 26 degrees Celsius.
The visa-formalities at the Jordan border take about three quarters of an hour: after six months and 8.000 kilometres we cycle into our sixteenth country.
On the road to Umm Qays we cycle through a biblical landscape where we expect to meet one of Jesus' apostles any minute. That expectation doesn't come true, after a long climb we reach the village and put up at a run-down hotel that's far too expensive. Half an hour later its dark outside, from the roof-terrace we admire the hills and valleys around us. Thousands of lights belonging to the surrounding villages illuminate the eastern landscape in an enchanting manner.

On the acropolis of Umm Qays lies the old Gadara, a town originating from the third century before Christ. The ruins consist of underground water-storage-basins, baths, streets made of basalt, pillars and an amphitheatre. In the seventh and eight century after Christ the town has been devastated by earthquakes, but there are sufficient remains left to tickle our imagination. The view on the Jordan landscape, Israel and Lake of Tiberias is overwhelming. So is the penetrating odour of the dead cats that are lying all over the place.
Alongside the Jordan - Israeli border we cycle southwards through the Jordan-valley. We pas many police-posts and are being stopped once in a while to show our documents. In the fruitful valley we see bananas, citrus, palms, cactus, mimosa and acacia. It's just like paradise.
That feeling quickly disappears when children throw stones at us on the road to Pella and the ruins of Tabaqat Fahl. The atmosphere becomes diseased when children approach us in a very aggressive manner during a steep climb: shouting, begging and throwing stones. The flies had chosen us as a target once again as well and glue themselves to our mouths, noses, eyes and ears. At the government resthouse in Pella we find our peace again; the manager allows us to camp for free. From our tent we have a magnificent view over the Jordan-valley and the ruins of Pella. We're soon back in paradise. The Bedouin-family that's living a bit further down the road invites us for tea, fruit, water, music and biscuits. They think we're really interesting. Unfortunately communication is a problem, our knowledge of the Arab language is not sufficient to understand all of their questions and remarks. Hospitality and kindness don't need a language though.

Sunday morning we cycle out of Pella again, accompanied by children on their way to school that are yelling hysterically at us. One of them throws a stick in Peter's direction, strange enough none of the adults around think it necessary to correct the children. Adults here differ a great deal from the adults in the countries we were before. They are very much fixated on money. Overnight stays are a lot more expensive than those in Syria, articles in shops have no price tags so we never know whether we're being cheated or not. The behaviour of adults varies from shouting in a hysterically cheerful way to driving their cars at us at full speed and turning it just before reaching us, while shouting things in a so-called friendly manner. It takes some getting used to.
In a heavy downpour we descend into the Jordan-valley. On the other side of the valley we see Israel and a bit further the region of the Palestinian government. After passing some more police-posts we reach the Dead See. At first this is a big deception; everywhere around the lake are big fences, so you can't actually reach it. The only places of entrance are very, very expensive hotels and a government resthouse and only for a high entrance-fee. Since there are no possibilities to camp in the wild we are forced to put up our tent at the government resthouse. We pay and dive into the lake. Well, diving isn't exactly the right word. The Dead See contains about four times as much salt as other seas and oceans, so the buoyancy is four times as high as well. Your body lies very high in the water, every attempt to swim makes your body swirl around. It's a fantastic experience to float without even trying to do so, we take our time to enjoy it.

Cycling alongside the Dead Sea gives a vast diversity in landscapes: huge rock-formations, a wad and a heavenly wall of salt in hundreds of shades of white and light blue. Moments later we cycle past factories that manufacture salt-products, fertiliser, bromine and magnesium. At the village of Ghor as Safi we find a place to put up our tent between vast tomato-fields, where some men bring us some tomatoes and we are asleep at seven p.m.

We can use every minute of the eleven hours we slept last night today. We are going to climb out of the Jordan-valley (400 metres below sea-level) to the mountain-range that goes from north to south (1.700 metres above sea-level) to the ancient King's road. We wake up early and are gone before it's seven a.m. Still we're not the first ones: on the fields and banana-plantations lots of people are labouring away. We pass a herd of camels on their way to their daily portion of carrying things. Just after Fayfa we branch off to the left, direction Tafila. After a last police-check we climb into the mountains. A passing truck-driver offers us a ride. We'd like to try first.

Two kilometres further all Bedouin-tents have disappeared and we are cycling in the silence of the mountains. Only the flies are left; they are attracted to our perspiring bodies and try to crawl into our nose, mouth and eyes. Irritant, useless animals. The higher we climb, the more beautiful the views become. Limestone-rocks alternate with hard rock-types, which creates a whimsical pattern. The landscape reminds us of Cappadocia in Turkey. The climbing is hard, the road mainly goes straight up and behind every bend there is a new hill. It's already two p.m. when we finally reach Tafila, cycling forty kilometres took us over six hours. Here the King's road starts. This road also climbs and descends constantly. Climbing, descending, climbing, descending with a huge head wind. We are trying to reach Dana, a village with a guesthouse in a nature-reserve. In Ayn al Bayda we do some shopping for the last stretch of the day. The climb out of the village is very steep and tough. On this altitude the cold gets uncomfortable now the day nears it's end. We descend and see the next hill after the bend in the road, this hill is even steeper and longer than the last one. Our speed sinks to a miserable four kilometres per hour when we get stopped by a little car. Out of it get Sabine and Uli, the German/Austrian couple we met in Palmyra in Syria. They are visiting the sights with Sabine's parents. After talking for a little while, it's very cold by now, we say goodbye and cycle on.
Half an hour later there's still no sign of Dana and I've had it. I insist we stop and put up our tent. Peter doesn't want to stop, he wants to reach Dana. This time I am very determined. It's getting dark, freezing cold, the wind cuts through our clothes and we are tired. We stop at a little rock-field, where we put up our tent. A lousy place. The ground is covered with stones, we are visible from the road and the tent catches a lot of wind. Hunger, fatigue, irritations and cold get to much now. Peter can't restrain himself anymore and scolds at anything and everything he can think of. He's furious; at me because I don't want to go on, at the cold, at the everlasting damned head winds, those stupid Jordanian people and himself.

Today we broke our altitude-record. That was over 2.000 metres in the stage over the Grossglockner in Austria. Today we cycled 2.156 metres skywards. In sixty kilometres. One could get hysterical over this.