Middle East (Mis)AdventuresMiddle East (Mis)AdventuresI took an Arab bus to Bethlehem then an Arab service taxi to Hebron. The IDF (Israeli military -- 600 of them in Hebron) couldn't have been more surprised to see me walking around the Arab section of Hebron than if I'd suddenly dropped out of the sky in a flying saucer. "How did you get here? where's your husband? where's your car? why are you in Hebron," they asked. I was immediately confined to the IDP-controlled areas where there are soldiers every few metres and blockades and armed lookouts every 100 metres. While arguing with the soldiers about my rights to wander wherever I wanted, they pointed to two Arab men viciously attacking a third. I was shocked at their attitude -- they looked on sneeringly, saying all Arabs are barbarians -- and I realised the peace treaties achieved thus far are at best tenuous. I was put on a Jewish bus to return to Jerusalem (which didn't please me at all since it was four times more expensive and I had to wait 1.5 hours!) I know the Israelis were only concerned about my well-being -- in fact, on the following day four civilians were stabbed to death in the area where I was walking -- but I was not accustomed to being restricted.
Next destination was Jordan. I took a Jewish taxi to the Damascus Gate (the Arab section of the old city). In general, the Jews won't drive in the Arab sections and the Arabs won't drive in the Jewish sections, which makes it difficult when I was staying in a Jewish area and wanted to get to the West Bank. The Jewish taxi driver dropped me about a kilometre from the Gate and I walked the rest with my three pieces of luggage. I took an Arab service taxi to Jericho. In Jericho, I agreed on a reasonable fee for a driver to take me to the Mount (Monastery of Temptation, where Jesus was tempted by the devil). Then on to the bus station to get the ricketty Sharkeen bus to the Allenby Bridge terminal. The border is only open 8:30am to 3:30pm Sundays through Thursdays and till 1:30pm on Fridays. Friday is the Arab holiday and Saturday the Jewish holiday.
After four hours of bureaucratic nonsense, we crossed the bridge. There are numerous checkpoints. On reaching the Israeli border, we had four officials on the bus -- Israeli and Palestinian soldiers at the head of the bus with machine guns ready, and Israeli and Palestinian customs officials inspecting our documents. At the Allenby Bridge Terminal, our luggage was taken from us to a special security room for a thorough search. We went through the usual security checks and then waited for the JETT (Jordanian) bus to cross the bridge, the only means of crossing the bridge. This timing is normal, the crossing can rarely be done in less than four hours.
A young French traveller was the only other Westerner crossing the border so naturally we became instant allies amidst a sea of red and white covered Palestinian heads. We enjoyed the first day exploring Amman together.
The following day I went to Petra, the amazing ancient Nabotean capital, popularly referred to as the "rose-red city" because of the reddish hue reflected from the sandstone at sunrise and sunset. The city, "lost" for centuries and recently rediscovered, was the location for "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusaders. The entry to the rock city is by a spectacular, 3km-long siq.
Leaving Amman for Damascus the following day (Friday), I was enjoying the comfortable bus, watching the countryside pass by, and anticipating adventures in Syria. No problems at Ramtha, the Jordanian border, but when we reached the Syrian border everything began to go sour. The Syrians were obviously unhappy with my passport. I had followed instructions from the Lonely Planet guide -- I had gotten a new passport, a visa for Syria before leaving Australia, a "loose leaf" visa for entry to and exit from Israel, and a similar piece of paper to enter Jordan at the Israeli-Jordanian border -- all to avoid any evidence of being in Israel. The Syrians were not satisfied. They asked for my ENTRY stamp to Jordan as they know that the only entry point where I wouldn't get a stamp is from Israel. I was immediately accused of being in Jerusalem and sent back to Jordan. I now had a cancelled exit stamp at Ramtha (at the Jordanian-Syrian border) so my passport and visas were useless for both Syria and Lebanon.
It was about 11:30am on a Friday -- not enough time to get back to Amman and to the Allenby Bridge (King Hussein Bridge to the Jordanians) by 1:30pm. Assuming the new northern border to Israel (Al-Sheik Hussein), ~100 km from Ramtha, would have the same hours as the other border, I took a taxi. I had only a vague idea where the border was; the taxi driver, it turned out, knew even less. After many stops asking for directions, we reached the border an hour later. It was closed! The northern border is closed all day on Fridays. There was the Israeli flag flying just a few hundred metres from the Jordanian side -- so close yet unreachable. In turn, I reasoned, shouted, abused, and pleaded with the Jordanian officials to let me through but to no avail. The taxi driver, feeling sorry for me, suggested in his limited English that I stay with him and one of his two wives until Sunday morning when he'd drive me back to the border. I declined, politely, not wanting to risk becoming wife number three.
Defeated, I returned to Amman where stores, markets, banks, travel agents and the Australian Embassy were closed. (At the time of writing this (February 1995), apparently the only way to visit Israel and other Middle East countries in one trip, is to either go to Israel last or fly to Amman, cross into Israel with loose-leaf Israeli and Jordanian visas and return to Amman. Inspection of the passport then shows that one has never left Jordan.)
I phoned a Jordanian (an air-traffic controller), I'd met the night before who offered to help me get out the following morning. At 8:30am we were at his friend's travel agency. First, he tried to get an entry stamp to Jordan for me, but it couldn't be done. We checked flights from Amman to Turkey (where I'd arranged to meet a friend). The next direct flight to Turkey was a week away. Flights through Cairo were booked out for the next two days. Other options were through Beirut and Damascus. Theoretically, this should have been ok since I would be in the transfer zone at the airport while changing airlines, but practically I was advised not to take these flights. No-one trusted the Syrians. So I had to wait (im)patiently until Sunday. Even though I knew there should be no problem returning to Israel, it was a terrifying experience to know I couldn't get out of the country immediately. Even though I told myself that I had a valid passport, cash, credit cards and health, all those stories of Western women being trapped in Islamic countries suddenly became frighteningly realistic.
On Sunday I left the hotel at 6:00am and after the usual four-hour crossing, reached Jerusalem about midday. Sanity and civilisation at last! In the sanctity of a Jewish friend's house, I phoned a travel agent and booked a flight that night to Antalya, Turkey; paid with a credit card number; arranged to pick up the ticket at the airport; and called the service taxi to collect me in time to reach Tel Aviv for the flight. So easy!
From Antalya, it was a 14 hour bus trip to Gaziantep (east Turkey) to meet another friend. At Gaziantep it was -5C and snowing. I immediately got a severe dose of flu and spent four miserable days trying to recuperate. The university visitors building where I stayed was a comfortable room with a private bathroom -- except the water was heated on Wednesdays and Sundays only. I'd arrived on a Tuesday and missed a hot shower on Wednesday as I discovered the following day that the water was hot between midnight and about 2:00am!
From Gaziantep I went to Konya, booked into a "good" hotel (i.e. one with hot water 24 hrs a day, supposedly 4-star but in the West maybe 2-star with a push), then left my luggage there for a week while I travelled around Turkey with a toothbrush and change of underwear. I went to Izmir, Canukkale, Anzac Cove (where Australian soldiers lost a battle against Ataturk in WWI), Kusadasi, Egirdir -- all by bus (approx. 2000 miles). The bus system is the most efficient feature of Turkey. They are comfortable (except that every Turk seems to smoke), frequent and cheap (about 1.5c/km). Antalya to Gaziantep, e.g., is ~450 miles and cost USD10. Feature films are shown, and a bus attendant supplies complimentary cologne, water, tea/coffee, biscuits, etc. The better buses are double-decker with the lower deck for non-smokers (so are relatively empty). The otogars (bus stations) are incredibly chaotic but fascinating. As soon as you arrive, touts ask where you are going and lead you to the company with the next bus departure, rarely more than an hour's wait no matter what time of the day or night or where you are going.
The rest of Turkey is not quite so efficient. Values change in the Middle East. In Australia, my list of essentials for survival and sanity include net access. Well, in temperatures of around -5C, happiness was having hot water and heating in a room, which I managed to get about every alternate night. I suppose even this reflects my spoilt Western values - there are many who don't have running water.
I returned to Konya for the last night, had a hot shower, washed some clothes and was a passable Westerner again. The following morning I took a dolmus to the otogar, bus to Ankara, service bus to the airport and then a long wait for my flight. The only other international flight departing that evening was a charter flight to Mecca, so the airport was filled with old men changing into white robes for their pilgrimage. Since it was sunset, out came the Turkish prayer rugs and the airport was transformed into a mosque while we half a dozen people bound for Frankfurt looked on in amazement.
What a cultural and economic shock at Frankfurt after 3 weeks in the Middle East. I complained about having to pay 6000 TL (~15c) for cay (tea) at the otogar when it was 1000 TL at the university. At Frankfurt airport it was DM5.6 (~US3.50)! But there were *clean European* toilets (not a hole in the ground that you squat over) and toilet paper!! There were telephones that worked, that took credit cards, and no long lines of people waiting to use them.
From the time I left the hotel in Konya to when I arrived at Sydney airport, it was 37 hours. I swear each time I return home that I'm never going to travel again ... this feeling usually lasts for about as long as it takes me to recover from jet lag.
