Tag: Wadi Rum

The King’s Highway: The Aftermath

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

The King’s Highway Day 6: Wadi Musa – Aqaba

Distance: 83.05 miles

Time: 7:06:16

Elevation Gain: 5,020 feet

Average Speed: 11.7 mph

So, I was stuck in Wadi Musa, three of my four inner tubes had punctures. There were no bike shops in the area, and realistically the only place that there was any hope of getting a replacement one was in Aqaba, 80 miles away, and where I planned to finish.

The way I saw it, I had several options:

  1. Repair as many inner tubes as I could and set off, hoping to cover the 80 miles to Aqaba, largely across the middle of a desert.
  2. Repair as many tubes as I could, struggle the 65 miles to Wadi Rum village and hope to catch the 18:30 bus to Aqaba. 
  3. Cycle the 20 or so miles to the end of the King’s Highway, then bail out the other way, along the desert highway, heading for Ma’an and hoping to find a bus. 
  4. Take the 17 mile direct route to Ma’an and hope to catch a bus. 
  5. Pay a Bedouin to take me all the way to Aqaba…  

Those were the options I had, until I interrogated the website for the intercity coach company JETT a little further and discovered that, although Ma’an was a major transport hub in the desert and that the Amman – Aqaba bus passed quite close, it didn’t actually stop there. The only buses leaving from Ma’an were minibuses, which were small, had no schedule, and waited until they were full before departing. That didn’t sound ideal to me. My options were narrowing towards needing to cycle all the way to Aqaba, I’d better fix some punctures…


Before dinner, I investigated the two spare inner tubes that were in my bag. Finding a tiny tear in one, I repaired that quickly enough, then, turning to the other, I discovered that the repair I’d attempted the day before hadn’t worked, so I replaced that patch with another. By this time the first one had deflated again, and I found a second hole on a seam.


After dinner, these tubes were still inflated, hanging as I left them, so my attention turned to the remaining punctured tube on my bike. I was down to my last puncture repair patch so I hoped for the best.


Waking in the morning, I found this third tube was flat again, eventually finding, it too had a second hole. Luckily, I hadn’t thrown away the patch from the earlier failed repair, and although its condition looked questionable, it was the best I had.


Setting off at half past 8, I started the long climb out of Wadi Musa, assuming I departed the way I came in, I climbed up a steep hill out of town, then realised that I was heading the wrong direction when I stopped to take a photo.


Back on track, the road climbed at a gentle gradient, the heat of the sun tempered by a pleasant cooling breeze. When a tour bus pulled off the road up ahead, I followed suit, looking out over the Shara mountain range, and the outer extremities of Petra’s extent.

Having started at 1250m elevation, the road had soon climbed up to 1550m and I wondered if this was the top as I skirted around the shoulder of the mountain. Alas no, as I dropped into the quaint mountain village of At-Taybeh, I could see the road rise again in front of me, and soon I was at 1570m.


Rolling through a police checkpoint, I was afforded a choice, Ma’an to the left of me, Aqaba to the right. With over 15 miles gone and not yet any wheel-based concerns, I was happy to commit.


After 20 miles, I had only just passed some Bedouin farmers tending a herd of goats, when I reached the highest point of the whole route at 1695 metres.

Eventually, I reached a dilapidated cafe building, high on the plateau, pausing momentarily to take in the stunning Wadi Rum views.


Soon afterwards, the road started to trend downwards, and it wasn’t long before I reached the desert highway, and conversely, the end of the King’s Highway.


As I turned onto the highway I was waved over by the police, and this, I felt, was the moment of truth. I knew that organised tour groups required police chaperones to ride parts of the route. How would the police feel about a lone cyclist setting off along the country’s major highway for 40 miles. ‘Wadi Rum?’ (I’d understated my ambitions a little) ‘en bicyclette sport?’, ‘have fun’ came the stern rebuke…


The first few miles along the desert highway were sensational, the beautiful tarmac surface, expediting my arrival down to 1200 metres elevation, and a significant temperature gain. As I flew, I overtook lorries as I went, perhaps treating my brakes a little less cautiously than their drivers were.


It had been a remarkable piece of road, but I should have known it wouldn’t last. As I started to pass between the towering stacks of the Wadi Rum desert, the condition of the surface deteriorated rapidly, with large cracks stretching across the carriageway and huge gouges right through to the road bed.

As I approached the turn off to Wadi Rum village, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a cycle tourist pull out of a petrol station up ahead and join the road in the direction I was travelling. Accelerating to catch up, I moved alongside.

This was Gabi, a cyclist from New Zealand who had been living in Georgia and had just started a 1 and a half year adventure to pedal down the east coast of Africa, and, if she had any time left, to cycle west to east across Europe afterwards. She had started her trip – her first ever cycle tour – in the north of Jordan and had been cycling down the desert highway, having driven the King’s Highway beforehand.

We soon realised that Gabi had missed her turn – as she was headed for Wadi Rum Village – so we stopped to chat a little more by the roadside. Before long, a vehicle pulled up, a man travelling to Aqaba was wondering if we needed a lift, but once he heard that Gabi was making for Wadi Rum, he rushed to give her the details of his family home, so she had somewhere to stay when she got there. As for me, grateful of the offer as I was, I politely declined, today was a day for making amends for some of my cycling performances earlier in the week…


Although the road threatened to climb a few more times, it never did, and I found that I’d been cycling for mile upon mile at over 18 miles an hour, the downward gradient bolstered by a light tailwind. For the last 5 miles, the road careered downwards at a yet more significant rate, as the road cut through a narrow cleft in the rock.


As I rolled down the fine boulevard of Al-Hussein Bin Ali Street, after more than 80 miles in the saddle, the sun was setting as I made for the Red Sea coastline. Reaching the front in Aqaba, my satisfaction was tempered by the fact that I couldn’t actually get there due to the unbroken chain of exclusive hotels with their own private beaches.


By the time I found a vantage point, the sun had already set, as it had on my ride. After some trying days earlier in the week, this journey really had ended on a high. I’d loved my extra day in Wadi Musa, glad I gave myself the time to see Petra properly, and today’s cycle had been fantastic. The road had climbed for almost 20 miles, but at a manageable gradient and with special views, and the 40 mile stretch down through the desert of Wadi Rum, was probably the best descent I’d ever had.

All that remained, was for my bike and I to make it home. but for that, a few little uncertainties needed to be ironed out first…

The King’s Highway Day 5: Wadi Musa – Wadi Musa (Petra)

At the Town Season Hotel, breakfast was served in a pleasant dining room on the 4th floor, offering good views over the valley below. They had my new favourite foodstuff so I ensured to ask what it was. I still couldn’t make it out clearly, but I believe it to be pistachio halva, the crumbly consistency of Wensleydale cheese, but made with tahini (a sesame seed paste), and pistachio. ‘It’s good with honey’ the waiter continued.


I had finally made the decision to stay in Wadi Musa for another day, that would allow me a full day to see Petra and I knew I’d probably regret it if I didn’t. It would also give me the time to repair some punctures before I started moving again.


Access to Petra was through the 1.2 km long gorge called the Siq, just long enough to build the anticipation fully for the dramatic reveal of Petra’s most famous monument, Al Khazneh, the Treasury.


The area around it was a riot of noise and colour as the local Bedouin people tried to make their cut. If you were keen you could pay them for: a seat on a camel, a donkey ride, photo taking, or to ‘guide’ you up a few steps to a viewing platform. I don’t know what the price for this guiding was at sunrise, but I was later offered the ‘good price’ of 7 JD, a good price that I managed to resist.


Keen to find a more relaxing part of the site, I carried on towards the Street of Facades, an impressive assemblage of Nabataean tombs hewn into the rock. Apparently, to deter grave robbing, the bodies were sometimes hidden in attic spaces, a fact betrayed by tiny skylights cut into the area above the main entrances.


Stopping briefly at the theatre, believed to be the only one in the world cut directly into the rock, I started to climb up to the High Place of Sacrifice, a sacrificial platform dedicated to the Nabataean gods Dushara and Al ‘Uzza, located atop Jebel Madbah. It also made an excellent viewing platform to appreciate the enormity of the area that Petra covered.


Descending down the back of Jebel Madbah, I found myself in the most remote part of the route, the sprawling Wadi Farasa, the path meandering down the valley, passing the Garden Triclinium, Renaissance Tomb and some Stepped tombs en route.


Finally back on the main trail, I arrived at the great temple, remnants of one of the few remaining freestanding buildings.


After lunch, at The Nabatean Restaurant, I started the long climb, up 800 steps, to Ad Deir, or the Monastery. It was worth the effort, even bigger than the Treasury, and the demanding walk keeping the crowds at bay.

Lingering with a coke at a sleepy Bedouin cafe with a great view of the slowly-changing late-afternoon light filtering across the vast facade, I started to think about what I’d seen today. Caves with locked iron doors, mesh-wired fences and solar panels, camp beds in tombs, opportunistic jewellery sellers at every turn, old ladies offering tea from very permanent looking tents, and errant flocks of sheep. It was slowly dawning on me that when the tourists all went home for the evening, the Bedouin wouldn’t be following suit.


When Petra had been designated a world heritage site in 1985, the Bedouin people who had been living in the caves around Petra for hundreds of years had been forcibly relocated to Umm Sayhoun, a small village a few kilometres away. But, many of the tribe soon came back, illegally staying in the caves they’d long called home and making money from the large number of tourists to the site. I’m sure that it is not what either the government or the Bedouin would have wanted, but maybe it’s a compromise that just about works both ways.


After a long day of walking I was happy to take on the hotel manager’s recommendation for somewhere to eat, especially as Sajiat Al Janoob, was close by. It was quite an unassuming place, but the food was excellent. As the sizzling hot plate arrived at my table, my choice of Sajiah had a distinct Fajita vibe to it, especially when I scooped up some of the spiced lamb, pepper and onion mix and piled it onto a flatbread with some hummus…

Jordan 2023: The King’s Highway

Up In The Air

At the culmination of my lap of Iceland in the summer, I was asked ‘what’s next’? I quickly responded that somewhere warmer might be nice, like a winter escape to Jordan… And it might be nice, I’ll find out very soon!

Usually, when I’m planning a cycling trip, it develops gradually into a vague outline and a smattering of half-formed ideas, then I book the flights, and quickly those half-formed ideas become a plan. On this occasion, after several months of agonising over which flights to book, a sudden price drop forced my hand, and only then did I think to check out the news flash about the Gaza strip which had just flashed across my phone screen.

From that moment, an air of uncertainty hung over my planning: firstly when British Airways extended the duration of the flights in and out of Jordan, presumably deeming it prudent to take steps to avoid flying directly over a war zone; and secondly when they cancelled my homewards flight, offering up the possibility to postpone my trip until a time when the region appeared slightly less volatile. On considering my alternatives, I quickly realised that I would almost certainly end up claiming a refund on the flights to Jordan, then immediately replace them with cheap flights to Egypt, a country also bordering Israel and the Palestine Territories, but in which I had done no research at all. So, Jordan it was…


Jordan was somewhere that had appealed for many years, my interest piqued by photos of the red sandstone tombs of Petra glowing in the slowly-setting desert sun.
In recent years, the country had positioned itself as a safe haven for adventure in the middle of a turbulent region, so, when I first learned about the Jordan Trail, a mixed terrain mountain biking and trekking route running 400 miles down the middle of the country, I took notice. In calculating my remaining annual leave for the year, it was clear that I didn’t have enough days left to undertake the full thing, but surely I could find something to entertain myself?


In reading about the Jordan Trail route, there was regular mention of a road, ‘The King’s Highway’, an old communication path down the spine of the country, starting in Damascus, Syria, and finishing up at Aqaba on the Red Sea. Regarded as being one of the oldest roads in the world, it was documented in the bible and dotted with Roman ruins and Crusader Castles along its length.


The 250 mile stretch from the Jordanian capital, Amman, to Aqaba appeared to have some of the most impressive landscape features, bisected by the towering gorge of Wadi Mujib, tiptoeing around the edge of the Dana Biosphere Reserve, before descending to the spectacular desert landscapes of Wadi Rum on its final approach to the sea.


Oh, and in case I forgot to mention, it passes Petra along the way..