Dahab To Petra

 

 

 

After deciding that I didn’t need a slice of Thailand in Dahab because I would have the whole pie in a week, our group of three (Alf, Gerrit, and me) boarded a mini bus from Dahab towards Nuweiba. The stunning coastline and sparkling blue water greeted us as we crested a mountain ridge overlooking Nuweiba.  The coast town was little more than a port to ferry passengers across to Jordan with a few beach camps located a little north for what I have heard is some great waters for diving.

The mini bus pulled up to the ferry ticket office and left us on our own.  We walked to the ticket counter, which was closed.  There was no sign of life behind the gated window either.  A few locals lingered about, but we had no idea what was happening.  Had the ferry left already?  Do we need to stay here for the night?  Where is the information at?  There was one sign on the wall posted in both Arabic and a smattering of English regarding the ferry but it was of little use.

Soon we notice one of the locals waiting around is a tour guide and is buying tickets for one of his clients.  Luckily, he knows English very well.  He briefs us on the situation.  No, the ferry has not left yet.  It has left Jordan and is on its way here, and then will need to unload before we can board.  So we haven’t missed it but will need to wait a few hours at least.  It came as a relief to us because waiting was a far better alternative to staying in Nuweiba for the night and catching a ferry the next day.

Our fortune increased as the guide described to us the process of getting the tickets, helped us out on purchasing them, and let us know how to get to the passport control station and then on to the waiting area.  A few hours passed and finally the ticket office came to life.  We waited our turn, purchased our tickets, and made our way through to get our exit stamps for our passports.  We then passed the time in a rundown waiting area with other ferry goers.  There were a mix of foreigners and locals here, including about 10 people from another tour group.

Finally the ferry arrived and incoming passengers disembark, and then we board buses to take us to the ferry.  From there we wait in line for far too long as each passenger’s passport is checked, and we are then funneled up into the boat.  We then have to wait in the cargo hold as cars are brought on board from passengers who brought them from Jordan.  After about an hour we finally get into the ferry proper and take our seats.

As the boat heads offshore on its way to Jordan, we rest for a bit.   On the ferry we need to hand over our passports so that they can receive an entrance stamp from Jordan.  We will then receive our passports once we arrive in Jordan.  After that is taken care of we settle into our seats.  Much to our amusement, a now much-too-familiar movie starts to play on the tiny TV screens.  It is that dastardly comedy, El-Lemby.  We groan together.  Can you believe it, we say to each other?  We are haunted once again by this movie!

The ferry arrives in Aqaba without incident an hour or so later and we slowly, and I mean slowly, funnel through the one exit like cattle.  From there we dash on to the passport entry office to receive our passports.  Alf and Gerrit by this time have befriended Jordi, a guy from Spain who has been living in Egypt the last two years.  He has been working as a dive instructor and is on a short weekend vacation to check out Petra.  We have now added a fourth member, a good one, to our team.  Jordi fits right in and as a bonus he knows Arabic.  Score!

We are told the passport entry office is upstairs.  We can’t find it.  Then upstairs we are told by a guard that it is downstairs.  We hustle back down the stairs.  We still can’t find it.  It can’t be this hard, can it?!  We are told downstairs that it is back upstairs.  NO WAY.  At this time we see the tour group of ten people that were way behind us when we left the ferry.  They have their passports.  Dang.  We are told yes, it is on this floor.  Where?  Well there is a sign posted on the wall, but that sign is hidden by another sign that is standing on the ground!  Of course, that makes perfect sense, we sarcastically respond.  We cram into the tiny office and each take our turn stating the reason we are here, etc.  It is an easy process.  Bam, we have our passport stamps.  Now off to find a taxi to take the four of us to Petra!

We head towards customs.  Oh no, a HUGE line.  This will take forever.  Jordi notices the tour group is getting pulled ahead.  Of course we inconspicously plop ourselves right in the middle with the group.  Yes, of course we are with this group.  We get to the front of the line, get our bags scanned, and out the exit door we go.  Yes, score number two.

OK, now for the taxi, but where?  The tour group has their own mini bus.  Punks.  Must be nice (I say this knowing how awesome and lucky they are and since I’ve been on my own share of tour groups where everything is taken care of.  It is much tougher on your own trying to arrange everything.)  We go to one side of the building.  Nothing.  We exit the building.  Nothing.  We are told the taxis are back the way we came.  Crap.  Does this mean we might have to enter the building again and go through customs again?  Oh boy, that could be disastrous.  We sneak back through the gate successfully.  No taxis back here.  We go the other way this time, past another gate at the other end.  From there the security guard points us in the direction of the taxi stand.

Jordi, our awesome translator, goes to nab a cab.  There are a group standing together.  The first offers us a price.  Another intervenes, slashing the price.  They turn and hurl Arabic words at each other, possibly insults. The price that started at 50 JD moved down to 40, then to 35.  This is when things got heated between the drivers.  Jordi later told us that there is a standing agreement between taxi drivers not to go below the agreed-upon price of 40JD.  So 40 JD it is.  All is well.

Gerrit, the biggest amongst us, claims front seat.  The other three of us, all about the same build of 6’2, 190 pounds, climb into the back.  Immediately curse words flow like the Nile river.  The seats in front are pushed all the way back and we are absolutely crammed.  We need some space, man!  Pull those seats up!  It’s torturous back here!  Seats are adjusted (slightly), and we are on our way.  Oh, and who gets stuck with the hump seat?  Well that would be me, of course!

Off to Petra we head.  The taxi driver is taking what seems like five lives into his hands, screaming around curves, tires squealing, going 140 km/hr in a what was only a 60 km/hr zone.  I know.  I checked his speedometer and the road signs.  I think the taxi driver might just be a madman with a death wish.  Surely we can’t go at this breakneck speed for two hours all the way to Petra, can we?

About ten miles later the taxi pulls over into a car shop.  “Need to get the car fixed up”, states the driver.  Are you kidding me?  Two 11 year old boys hop on up and check the tire pressure like we are in some kind of NASCAR race.  One of us comments how safe it makes him feel that our car is getting checked by 11-year old kids.  This is crazy and hilarious at the same time.

A few minutes later another dude hops in to the front seat.  Who is this?  This isn’t our driver.  The driver pops his head in the window and explains to us, this is his brother.  He will drive us to Petra.  Oh, just great.  What kind of ride is this?  But ok, whatever.  As long as we get to our destination in one piece then no worries.  We are on our way again.

A few miles down the road our new driver turns on the radio and BLARES IT.  Full volume.  No, this can’t be happening.  What is this torture?  I can’t stand it.  I pull out my iPod and put in my headphones.  Alf doesn’t.  He politely asks to please please please turn the volume down.  The driver acquiesces after Jordi translates.  Success.

Does the driving get better?  Hell no!  We are still screaming down the highway at top speed, only now we have some issues.  Scattered in various places along the route are speed bumps.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Speed bumps.  The driver barely sees the first batch, and slams on the break.

BUMP.

BUMP.

I can’t believe I didn’t break my neck on the roof.

Off we go again.  After some time another set of bumps.  The driver notices them and slows way down.

Nothing.

These are tiny baby speed bumps, and have almost no effect.  Of course it is just our luck that we speed at full bore over the huge bumps but slow way down for the baby bumps.

More speed bumps.  More getting bounced around the backseat with no control.  What a ride.

We pull in to Petra a few hours later, after just another day of unexpected transportation and a ride that is worthy of a world traveler.

Just another day on the road, making my way around this crazy/awesome world.