Dr. Zahi Hawass/History Channel

If you haven’t tuned into Chasing Mummies on the History Channel, you haven’t experienced ancient Egyptian history. I know, I know it’s a History Channel reality show following the adventures of the very, shall we say, “energetic” Dr. Zahi Hawass. And whatever you think about him–and a lot of people think he’s a dramatic, mean, crazy, self centered, narcissistic, scene stealer or just cruel–the man has a way of talking about Egyptology in a way that you can’t help but be excited and somewhat jealous of someone with the coolist job in the world. Yes, he wears a Indiana Jones hat and rules the Supreme Council of Antiquities with an iron fist (even going so far as to close the pyramids to tourists in order to preserve them) and he has to appear in every documentary, interview, show or special about Egyptian history, but can you blame him? Prior to Hawass’s arrival, can you name a time we cared so much about Egyptology? Or a time when in Egyptian history where so much care was taken to protect Egypt’s most important treasures? In Chasing Mummies, a group of somewhat buffoon-like “fellows” and camera crews follow Hawass from site to site–bothering him and even peeing in a temple. And he alternatively praises them, screams at them but ultimately educates them on the importance of history, Egypt’s history. And he makes every scene pure Egyptian. I love hearing him talk (or rather scream and order everyone about like a general on a power trip). He makes me want to go back and take another trip to Egypt! I loved my time in Cairo and felt such a vibe with the city. It was my favorite place to visit on my trip overseas last month. If you’ve got a history buff in your house (husband, child or both) it’s an interesting show. I don’t know if they’ll be another season, but I love Egyptian history. It’s so awe inspiring at times. And if you’ve got a chance to go, visit Egypt! You can see my Egypt pics here. And check out Chasing Mummies.

I’ve officially hit the lowest point of my trip. The Dead Sea is 1,385 feet below sea level and borders Jordan, Israel and the West Bank. Salt cakes rocks and burns cuts on your skin. It’s blistering hot here but all around families are huddled under beach umbrellas barbecuing, lounging on rented chairs, enjoying the occasional cool breeze and briny scent of the sea water. It’s strange to walk onto a beach area and see women covered in conservative clothing not swimming. I know they’re hot. And in black and hejabs they have to be roasting but most simply sit under their umbrellas watching male family members and young children run into and out of the water. One woman has placed a chair at the edge of the water and raised the hem of her abiya high enough to cool her feet and shins. I roll my pant legs up and walk into the water. It’s warm and gritty. And all around swimmers are bellyup floating on the water (the salt prevents sinking and makes most everything buoyant) but many more are covered in black mud. Others are rubbing it on their face and backs. Dead Sea mud is an exfoliant. It’s sold in stores here as a beauty supplement and you’ve probably scene it in stores in the U.S.–either the mud or official Dead Sea salt. We walk along the beach to find good mud and spot an area where swimmers have started a dirt hole. Two young men are deeper in the water. They reach down, elbows deep and grope for gooey mud. They pull it up by the handfuls and rub it on their arms. I follow their lead and feel around. It’s best under and between rocks. It collects there and has less silt. I pull up a few fingers full and rub it on my nose and cheeks. We brought a bag with us to collect more and the men generously haul up huge mud balls for us. We load them up and slip-slide up the sand to a shower area where we rinse off the mud and sand. The water is hot and reeks of salt. Today, the Dead Sea is alive with wonder, salt, mud and people in search of a relaxing afternoon. See pics here.

It’s close to sunset now and the desert spread out before us is a desolate place dotted here and there with signs of life. On the Jordan and Saudi Arabian border, Wadi Rum is the famous backdrop of Lawrence of Arabia. We rent a 4×4 and set out into the sands where dunes form lizard spines and crawl across the desert floor on hills and embankments–I hate to disturb the perfect mounds with footprints but camels have already walked these paths. Their half moon hoof prints march ahead. Massive rocks shoot up into the dusky sky made hazy by sand kicked up by the 4×4 we arrive in and two more that have arrived in the same spot–a group of Asian businessman jump out and start taking pictures. Here and there an isolated tree pops up and the driver says in the Spring grass covers most of the now red and brown sand. He takes us to a cavern area where spring water flows. And we pass solitary tent camps. You can stay the night here but only with advance notice and not by yourself. This is still the kind of place where a man can kidnap a woman and take her as his bride–in fact, we spot no women. They are very well hidden here. This is what isolation feels like. We pile back into the jeep and grind our way up a hill to watch the cloud sunset. It’s peaceful and reassuring. No one is talking loudly. This is a site to behold. This is where civilizations started, where rocks tell the history of people and sand dunes start time and end each day. It’s the best way to end a trip to the Middle East. The wind has picked up and I wrap a scarf around my head Bedouin style. The driver watches and says he wants to dress me in traditional style. We drive back to a tent and two men try to help me into the dress head first like my wedding gown. They like shoulder pads here and I have to struggle a little but manage to get in. The driver hands me a black head scarf and we take pictures. I kind of feel if I were out here by myself and tried these clothes on with the driver I might end up married to him! We pose for pics and I purchase some Bedouin necklaces and say our goodbyes. It’s dark now and the stars are bright. Our long, cool drive back to Amman is followed by a near full moon. I doze in the cab but every time I look up the moon is there following the trip, saying goodbye. See pics here.

We start out at 6 a.m. on a three hour trek outside of Amman to the place just named one of the New 7 Wonders of the World (and there’s a sign telling you that in case you get lost on the way). Petra is the rose red city our guide tell us–the sand here is a mixture of yellow, red, and tan. It’s blistering hot and many tourists have opted for a horse drawn carriage ride through part of the city. (It’s quite a massage as most of the stone pathways were washed away in a flash flood and now are teeth jarring ruts that aren’t very fun to ride over but the three mile walk back in desert heat isn’t that much fun either so we opt for a carriage later in the trip). Even in the early morning you feel the heat cooking your sunscreen. First, a horse ride into the gates of the Siq, the entrance into Petra. The high sandstone walls offer cool respite as we cut through the walkway were the city splits. As you look up you understand why this is one of the wonders of the world (and the ticket price emphasizes that too, by November it will cost over $100 USD to get in). This is the most amazing place I’ve seen on my trip. The guide keeps talking but the stones speak for themselves. On the wall, no larger than the size of a piece of writing paper is the carved image of the tree of life–a symbol of fertility and faith. And look, there’s the image of an elephant, a camel, Nemo. They’ve practiced this speech many times and know what tourists want to see and to hear. “You look Mexican,” the guide tells me. He’s right. I’m half and it’s eerie for a Bedouin guide with mascara under his eyes to notice it in me. About half way in we see the treasury, the scene made famous in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It’s carved top-down from sandstone the guide says. And once there was a pyramid on top. It was later replaced with an urn, guarded now by two crumbling eagles ready to take people into the afterlife. Before it was a protected site, locals tried shooting the urn hoping to get the riches it contained. There weren’t any. In the front courtyard a man is offering camel rides for 2 JD. Why not? I take a slow swaying ride across the yard and the tour guide calls us down further to the tombs section. There are hundreds of holes carved in the hills here. They’re tombs of both wealthy and poor. And mummies discovered here have disappeared. The rest of the walk is into the Roman area and into the heat that’s slowly boiling our water bottles. There aren’t stone mountains here just exposure and barefoot children selling postcards for 1 JD. We end out tour with a tip to the guide and opt out of a 2 hour hike up to the monastery. There’s so much to see in Petra and on some nights they allow visitors after dark for special candle lit tours. There are hiking trails, donkey trails and more for visitors to explore but the heat is a battle we aren’t prepared to fight. We grab a pair of donkeys for 5 JD and save a few steps. Four hours gone and you barely notice it. See pics here.

Jerash columns rise high into the morning sky. The remnants of Greco-Roman architecture, this city is one of the most well preserved ruins in the Near East and it’s a photographers dream. We start our morning off with a gladiator show–they tell us it only takes a week to train the actors. They play theme music from the film The Gladiator and each man is channeling his inner Russel Crowe as he thrusts toward his opponent. It’s a lighthearted spectacle and a good way to start the morning. And as we walk through the remains of what’s described as the Antioch on the Golden River, we’re struck with a sense of smallness against such grand structures. Even the crumbling stone has historical significance and you can’t help but admire the Roman sense of purpose and permanence. They didn’t build things to fade and be forgotten. They’re empires may be gone but they’re remembered forever in places like this. It makes our concrete and drywall seem so temporary, so useless. We walk down the roman road to a court house. Here, a huge stone sphere is still stained red with the executioner’s blood–sacrifices they tell me. Later, we walk to amphitheaters where they still hold festivals. It’s certainly an actor’s stage. The steep incline of seats all point toward center stage and you get the feeling that for so many this was the place to be entertained. No jumbo screens or loud music needed. When you have the audience’s attention you have power. We make our way to the remains of a church. I scrape the toe of my tennis shoes along the dirt and more mosaic is revealed. In Jordan, mosaic tiles are everywhere and in Jerash they line the church floor. I reach down and try to pull a stone out but the tile is glued in stone. What must it have been like to walk in this city? To live here? How awe inspiring would it have been to walk through rock terrains and see Jerashon the hill top. Even in ruins with columns tumbling down the hillside you can imagine Jerash in all its glory and for a few hot hours picture your tennis shoes as Roman sandals carefully walking across the stones, avoiding the chariot ruts and cracks in the street.

Next, the castle at Ajloun built in 1184 by a general in Saladin’s Army during the Crusades (see Kingdom of Heaven for more information) the castle sits on what used to be the road between Damascus and Egypt. High on a hill top, archers slits are cut into the stone. And stone stairs lead to room after room with high pitched ceilings. This is a fortress and its military purpose is clear. Colored stone shows in places. I’m not sure if its moss or paint. Large stone balls are stacked in corners–catapult ammunition. They’ve electrified the castle and drum lights guide us through the dark stone. It’s not quite torch fires but does cast a soft glow on the passageways as we walk through step by step. It’s exhausting climbing and you wonder how men managed in chain mail and armor. On the roof top, the panoramic sites of Jordan and Palestine can be seen. Trees dot the hillside and two lane roads cut through the scene before us. A bus slowly rolls through the hills zig zagging up and then down and around. We walk back down the castle road slowly leaning back as the tar pitch pulls us forward. Back home to Amman.

I’ve never really been that into the World Cup namely because I can’t stand soccer moms and the soccer snobs that clutter North Dallas fields with their matching uniforms and impossibly high league fees. Give me a walk-on pitch where all are welcome any day. But abroad you really get what the World Cup is about. Everywhere everyone is cheering for teams and discussing scores. They hang country flags from the sides of buildings, in taxi cabs, in cubicles and storefronts and restaurants have installed special flat screen TVs to encourage audiences to watch and buy. And anyone with a cable connection has called in a favor to a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy for a card reader (they put in cards that give access to Arabic channels showing the game into their cable boxes). In Egypt, everyone loved America. They waved American flags my cab driver told me. Who knew a game like soccer, excuse me football, could help seal relations between the United States and Egypt (though the Algerians probably aren’t too pleased). And after the U.S. defeated Algeria, my Egyptian cab driver told me they had a huge Barty (Ps turn to Bs here). “We had a big barty! Yeah America!” Yes, it’s good to be an American traveler. And the easiest in to any conversation nowadays is World Cup talk even if you’re cheering for the losing team (darn you Mexico!) It kind of makes the huddle of people at the few places that actually show the World Cup in Dallas rather pathetic. Because the vast majority of Americans don’t respect or care about soccer because of the privileged image it has in the U.S. Afterall, we invented the cardigan-wearing-Starbucks-sucking-soccer moms. And it’s why the rest of world continues to spank America’s ass in soccer. Thankfully, there are still those brave souls in the U.S. who find empty fields and wear whatever feels comfortable and play for the shear joy of playing not the matching gym bag and jersey. But I was proud of how well the U.S. team did. And even the fans over here had only good things to say about how the U.S. team has improved. And my husband will be proud to know that I actually don’t hate soccer that much anymore, and I won’t be making the pouty face at Trinity Hall or the Londoner when he drags me to watch matches that end in 0-0. OK I’ll still pout a little cuz that’s some B.S. Who gets to end anything tied?

I guess it’s only appropriate to end my Middle East vacation with a tour of holy Christian sites. First stop, a Greek orthodox church in Madaba where the remains of a sixth century mosaic can still be seen in the floor of the chapel. Today, we asked to take photos but somehow hearing the click echo in the church felt uncomfortable. They assured us it was fine and as we walked around believers praying and lighting candles, the sound of hymns echoed in the church. On every wall and pillar are the images of saints and history. Mentioned in Numbers 21:30 and Joshua 13:9, Madaba is a town that caters to believers. And the church itself is a living witness to history. Below the sanctuary floor is a room of treasures that we’re told were originally in the sanctuary but were moved here for safe keeping. Mosaics and photos are behind plexi glass that people have scratched their prayers into–at first it looks like vandalism but on close inspection you can make out Greek letters. One image of Mary behind glass has hand written prayers folded tightly and stuffed inside a wooden case where Mary’s image is surrounded by gold necklaces.

Later, we make our way to Mount Nebo, the place Moses is said to have died. In Deuteronomy 34: 1Moses’ death is explained, “Then Moses climbed Mount Nebo from the plains of Moab to the top of Pisgah, across from Jericho. There the LORD showed him the whole land—from Gilead to Dan, all of Naphtali, the territory of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the western sea, the Negev and the whole region from the Valley of Jericho, the City of Palms, as far as Zoar. Then the LORD said to him, “This is the land I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob when I said, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it.” And Moses the servant of the LORD died there in Moab, as the LORD had said. He buried him in Moab, in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is.” From up here you get a panoramic view of the Holy Land. Pope John Paul II visited this site and a monastery was discovered here. They have huge mosaics laid under burlap tents and everywhere in a a building we spot a monk. They’re restoring a chapel here and it’s become one of the go-to places on the Holy Land bus tour–I know this because a massive bus of Colombians on tour were ahead of me. This place feels like the kind of place Moses would go to die. It’s high, peaceful and is a 360 degree view of the land below. It’s strange to be here in the same place where Moses’ remains are buried. And to know that his grave can’t be found makes it that much more Mosesy–if that makes sense. That he wouldn’t have wanted a shrine to himself or a place where worshippers could come to pay their respects. Here, you can only imagine and wonder, “Is he beneath me?”

Next, the site where John is said to have baptized Jesus. I really didn’t think about where we were going today. It wasn’t until we loaded up in the back of the tour truck that I realized (in what has to be the most awe inspiring hour and a half of my Christian life) we were going to see the place where Elijah is said to have ascended to Heaven, where Jesus was baptized and where visitors can step into the Jordan River. All three major religions acknowledge this place to be the baptismal site of Christ (see Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22) and coming upon the now murky water hole (the course of the river has shifted since his baptism) you do feel a sense of surrealness. No, you can’t dip your feet in. They are excavating the area and have found the remains of at least three churches here. The Jordanians are very serious about maintaining the solemnity of this place and you have to respect them for that. But you can picture disciples here, you can visualize followers walking through these paths, along the desert floor, baking in the heat much like me headed toward the river. Later, we walk to the edge of the Jordan where we’re mere feet from Israeli controlled Palestine. A border fence divides the river. It’s wrong somehow to do that–a subtle reminder that even Holy sites are plagued with politics. But a woman with the group emerges in a baptismal robe (with a bikini underneath) and jumps into the Jordan river. You are allowed to do this but you may not swim in the river. You may only soak and “baptize”. I wasn’t prepared to be this close to the Jordan but I did step down to the edge and filled my lens with photos. Somehow it felt un-holy of me to just jump into the water in a pair of khakis and tennis shoes. But they have purified water on the wooden landing from the Jordan too. I grabbed handfuls and washed my face. When you’re not prepared to take in so much religious history, it kind of takes you by surprise and the chance to walk where Jesus trod, where John and the disciples may have slept or laughed and ate, where Moses died catches up with you later as you blog about it. It makes all of those Sunday school lessons and all the Old and New Testament references seem so much more real now, and I almost feel guilty for not going in with a Holy Tour heart. I’m a person of faith all the time but seeing the core places that make up your faith mere feet in front of you certainly makes you reevaluate your daily walk.

In Jordan and finally the weather has snapped. It’s in the 80s during the day and quite chilly at night. Hallelujah! First night in Amman we walk through the streets. It’s Thursday (they’re Friday night equivalent) and everyone is out enjoying the cool breeze. A caravan of boys in cars go honking by. One has his head stuck out the window and is hoisting a diploma. He just graduated and his friends and family are banging drums and driving up and down the street in celebration. They do the same thing for weddings. Later, we spot the same boy outside of his home surrounded by friends still celebrating. Who knew high school graduation could be so fun? We continue walking up the streets in a Jordinian/Palestinian area of Amman. Jordanian women do and don’t cover their hair and body in differing degrees and with much more color and flare than other areas. Covering your head is a choice here–though most around me seem to choose to cover. I have to say, if you go hejab, go hejab with color! On the street, we spot a falafel vendor. The brown bean substance is the best Palestinian street food. It’s tasty, filling but requires a big can of soda for digestion. Men in a shop let us peak in at their baklava counter and later we spot a huge tub of deep fried falafels. We take pictures of the forming and the falafel being dropped into the large vat of grease. It’s so tasty looking. We keep walking up hill towards the mall where we purchase large southern sun hats for our adventures at the Dead Sea today. A stop at the supermarket downstairs is an interesting adventure. Some of the best people watching is done in the most mundane of places as Jordanians go about their day to day lives at the meat counter and in the dairy aisle. I catch a few stares and double looks but not obstrusively so. They’re curious but not gawking and I appreciate that. As we wait for the butcher to finish cutting our meat, we stroll down the cereal aisle and a box of coco cereal catches my eye. The girl on the front has a hejab–she looks like a Muslim Barbie. But one row down the same girl is sharing a four pack of cereal with other girls who do and don’t have their head covered. Even in the breakfast aisle hejab is a choice. Find pics here.

The Nile river cuts through Cairo, a murky meandering water stream of faloukas, kayaks, boats and people. We rent a falouka, a sail boat and make our way out into the river. Ahead, the Cairo tower glows at night, its pineapple basket weave dotted with lights is a flashy reminder of Gamal Abdel Nasser’s attempt to build the biggest building in Cairo. It’s since been dwarfed by other structures but tonight its one of Cairo’s many glowing buildings cutting through the heated haze this evening. There’s no wind one captain tells us, but another crew is willing to row out into the river and anchor in front of the Hyatt. We sit in the darkness talking and relaxing. You can bring your own food and wine out here and in a city of such chaos this is a calm oasis. I stick my hand in the river just to say that I touched the Nile. It’s warm, brown liquid oozes around my fingers. Later, we book a ride on another boat–the Nile Maxim, a river boat that offers a three course meal, dinner (singers whirling dervish, and a belly dancer men can’t get enough of). It’s the perfect end to a Nile adventure.

The anticipation is killing me. You can’t be in Cairo without seeing the pyramids and this morning we drive out of Zamalek at 7 a.m. excited by both the cool weather and chance to see the triangle mountains in the desert. For some reason I thought we’d be driving in the desert over dunes not the Egyptian equivalent of an access road off the highway. I look over my shoulder and there they are poking out of the sand. It’s smoggy and dusty so a haze has settled around them but they’re magnificent. Suddenly, a camel comes trotting up the road, then another, and young men with whips in their hand stand on street corners waiting for tourists to take guide into the stable areas. We find a Ahmed who gives us the run down and two minutes later I’m hoisted up on an English saddle and being yanked down the road. I’ve never ridden in an English saddle only Western. I reach for a horn, for longer stirrups but they’re not there and neither is any seat padding. I have no sense of balance as my camera bag (which I had to have) keeps tugging at my left shoulder. Ahmed thinks it’s funny and the Texas girl in me sucks it up and clamps down for a long painful ride. Camels and horses and goats and truck loads of feed clutter the road. It’s so crowded here. Very stable like. We weave through streets as ATVs zoom by. The horses don’t scare easy. Some are being trained and are trotting up the street. We get off the pavement and hit sand and there the monster pyramids rise. A huge border fence prevents us from getting to close–you can get closer if you pay for the full fledged tour but today we opt for a more adventurous peak at the pyramids.

Ahmed hands me the reins and makes clicking sounds and suddenly my mount is flying up the dirt path. He knows exactly where to go, has been this way a thousand times and I just pray not to fall off in a crashing bang. I pull at its bit but he wants to catch up with the horse in front of us. Finally, a butt-pounding few minutes later, a convenient Bedouin tent offers a resting place. Pictures? Ahmed jumps off and has us pose for pyramids. The Bedouin offers me tea and kufiya (a men’s head dress) to wear (for 30 pounds). In Egypt, I don’t worry about pickpockets. Here, everyone is honest about how much they want to take from you. Everyone has their hand out. I take some snap shots. A Bedouin tent next to us is blaring music. This is the season for Gulf people (from the emirates and Saudi Arabia) and they love their horses, parties and women–especially bouncing American girls in saddles trotting by in the morning. They ooze money to the annoyance of everyone even the people taking their money. But the music is nice if a little out of place at 7:30 a.m. by the pyramids. I want to spend more time here. To get closer. Those are the freakin’ pyramids right there! I somehow imagined them different. Noon is the best time to go people tell me. But yesterday it reached something like 113 degrees here. Next time I’ll get closer. I’ll get a guide and spend hours here. They deserve more than one tour. They deserve exploration, and I deserve a nice hot shower. On the ride back, I loop my camera bag around my shoulders like a backpack and finally ease into the comfort of a lope in an English saddle. I can handle loping and I love the speed. I give the horse its head and race down the dunes. This is what Egypt is about–they are excellent horse people, as masterful as cowboys I’ve seen. You can somehow feel the weight of this place. And imagine others on horses and camels, centuries of riders who enjoyed a good mount on a warm morning in front of the pyramids with a kind of calmness that feels more peaceful than awe inspiring. I’m not really sure how to take in the pyramids. How to accept them or react. You want to drink them in but on horseback there isn’t time. My ride wants a stable and water and his hour is up. I’ll see them again.