Having not eaten a great deal all day, I stopped off for a post-sunset late lunch before heading to the hotel. Ordering falafel, hummus and fries, I was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of food that arrived. How could I finish all of this.
As I ploughed through as much as I could – to avoid looking too wasteful – I looked up the bus times between Aqaba and Amman, and realised that there was one leaving shortly, at half past 6 in the evening. That was in ten minutes time, did that mean the ticket office might still be open?
The overall success of the trip could depend on this moment. I’d seen anecdotal evidence online that the JETT coaches might accept bicycles without the need for a box. I hoped so, as that was my masterplan for returning to Amman, to pick up my bike box and fly home.
Discovering that the bus station was only 5 minutes away, I raced over, and was relieved to be allowed in. The attendant confirming that I could indeed travel with a bike and booking me onto the bus at 11 am the next morning. All the way back to the start for 10 JD, and in 4 and a half hours.
After a pleasant breakfast at the Bratus Hotel, a new build just on the edge of the town centre, I made my way to the bus. All that was required was for me to remove the wheels and place the bike in the storage lockers with all the other luggage. I then boarded a very full bus, I was glad I’d booked.
Following the rapid transit along the desert highway, and a short pedal down into the centre of Amman, I returned to the hotel. I didn’t recognise the man at reception, and he seemed quite sceptical about my ad-hoc booking that had been cobbled together the week before. Possibly conceding that I may be telling the truth, he checked me in.
Wandering through a busy downtown bazaar, I stopped at the barbecue restaurant Shahrazad for a fine mixed kebab. Having felt comfortable at arriving back in Amman after my time travelling through the country, I was reeling again at the reaction I’d had at the hotel, and what this meant for my airport transfer the next day, I had no idea.
After a restless night during which I was sure that there would be no van coming to pick me up, I got up before my 5 am alarm, and watched the road outside the Roman Theatre from my window, would there be a taxi if I needed one, and could I possibly fit my box in the back? It seemed to me like 6 am on a Sunday morning was a problematic time to find a new solution.
When I checked out, shortly before 6, another receptionist seemed even more dissatisfied with my claim that I’d already paid, than the one the day before, repeatedly asking how much I’d been charged, and seeming to think that I should have paid more, perhaps because the listed room price on the wall behind him was 35 JD a night, whereas I’d reserved the first two nights online, before I’d arrived, at 32 JD in total. Did the ‘manager’ who’d served me the week before even work here at all, or was it an elaborate hoax?
But then, at 2 minutes to 6, a van pulled up, and it was the man who’d collected me from the airport a week prior. ‘You’re lucky, he’s usually late’ joked the front desk receptionist, as he held the door for me. I would be going to the airport after all, what had I been worrying about…
Arriving at the airport, at just gone half past 6 in the morning, I now had plenty of time to spare before my 9 o’clock flight, the morning’s stress levels slowly starting to dissipate. Now finding myself flush with the money that I’d kept back in case I needed to make some alternative last minute travel arrangements, I decided that there might be just enough time for one last Shawarma for the road. And, maybe partially buoyed by the now almost certain success of my trip, but even from an airport fast food counter, before 7 in the morning, it tasted pretty good.
Thanks for reading,
Michael
PedalTheGlobeBlog 