We slept in a little, ate a good solid breakfast, packed up and made sure we had water before leaving.
We took a taxi across Wadi Musa to the bus station where we paid 14 JOD for two seats on the mini bus to Amman.
Then we waited.
The bus leaves when it is full. We were at the station at 8:00 and left “right on time” at 8:55 after a family of six filled the bus.
The bus holds about 20 total and we were full of locals making the trip. We were the only westerners (tourists) on the bus.
We put our pack and suitcase up front instead of in the hold as instructed. The driver was friendly, and he asked where exactly we were going. It is too far out of his way for a direct drop off, but he will get us close and speak to a taxi driver on our behalf.
The alternatives are the Jett bus, direct, but it doesn’t leave til 17:00 and we hoped to be in Amman for the afternoon. Or we could take a taxi for 45 JOD.
So we set off, staring a little on the uphill out of town but then cruising the downhills and flats. It is a Toyota bus, so I know it will be really reliable. In fact most cars, trucks and busses here in Jordan are Toyotas, a testament to their reliability and marketing.
We really got into the whole spirit of the trip, catchy Arabic music playing on the radio. The kids on board slept or sat quietly, all in all it was a peaceful trip through the desert.
We stopped once to pick up a guy at the side of the road. He knew the driver and used my pack as a seat.
About an hour down the road the ac came on and we were pretty comfortable after that.
The desert is flat, brown in a white sort of shade, dry dry. The road is wide, two lanes each direction, bumpy. We are doing 100kmh plus. We pass a herd of sheep, a stone and mud village, with a simple mosque with small brown dome and the minaret just a green metal tower like those steel girder high tension electric poles.
The bigger richer villages have mosques with a taller green dome and a stone minaret.
We stop for a herd of sheep crossing the road.
Most people sleep, others cast a curious glance at me or Gail.
Nothing but the white brown as far as I can see.
The guy in front of me is wearing the classic Jordanian scarf of red and white, the Kufiyyeh. I have also seen green and white, black and white, but red is the predominant color. I have to get me one of those. I learned how to wrap them in Morocco and have a blue Taureg one from the desert. But these are worn differently; some tied different, some with the black head band.
It would be easy enough to drive here, the roads are well marked, the important signs in Arabic and English. The police stops might be a problem (thinking about my experience in Morocco), but we are mostly waved through.
I think it would be fun and comforting to rent a Toyota truck, the Hilux, the worlds version of the Tacoma.
Two hours into the trip we stopped at a little mini mart whose claim to greatness was being the half way point. We got off to stand around with the others for ten minutes; most bought a snack or drink, but we just drank our water. We have learned it is best to not eat or drink too much on these bus rides, don’t want an upset stomach and you never know when the next bathroom break is.
We stood around and got (and gave) a lot of shy smiles and head nods and thumbs up. It is nice, being a part of this little thrown-together group for a few hours. We don’t fit in by any stretch of the imagination, but we belong.
We are members of this temporary rolling community.
The number one thing stores around here stock is bottled water. Cases of it stacked into walls, at this store and every one we pass. I notice 0% beer is popular as well.
As the sun climbed higher the desert got browner. One guy was let off at a road junction to nowhere, and there was a quick flurry of activity as people re-shuffled seats behind us.
We passed what I could only guess was one of the king of Jordan’s castles. All crenulated top, big blocky walls with guard towers, the driveway was blocked off. Large pictures of the king smiled at us, blessing us as we passed, his hand waving us down the road.
Jordan is really named The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. You see photos of the king waving, smiling at you from government buildings, billboards.
We hit the outskirts of Amman about noon and started stopping at random wide spots in the road, intersections and curbs, just dropping people off in the most unlikely places. Were they walking? Catching the next mini bus to wherever? Somebody coming to pick them up?
We made it to the central bus station, where a taxi took us to our little hostel for just 5 JOD.