In Jordan: Journey to the Dead Sea and Back

After a few days chilling out with Peace Corps volunteers in Jordan's shamal (north), I headed south to Amman for what would be an extended stay filled with a number of memorable day trips and some surprisingly fun nights. When I was scoping out couchsurfing opportunities, most of the couchsurfers recommended using Amman as a base for checking out some of Jordan's most famous tourist attractions like the Dead Sea. They said transportation to those destinations was readily available and pretty cheap, and if you wanted to go in comfort, one could always hire a private taxi.

It was kind of strange that almost every other taxi driver no matter where you hopped on in the city was ready and willing to go all the way to the southernmost or northernmost point in the country at a moment's notice. That was in stark contrast to Morocco where most taxi drivers had to get permission from gendarmes (rural police) if they were to transport anyone outside of their assigned route. Moroccan taxi drivers still pitched driving tourists to far-away destinations, but those hagglers were limited to the grand taxi (old-school Mercedes Benz) that generally hung around the airport and train stations. Morocco's city taxi drivers on their miniature Fiats rarely left the city limits. However, in Jordan, nearly all taxis were new model Toyota Corollas equipped with meters, leather seats, power-windows, AC, and totally ideal for those long hauls.

Determined to travel on the cheap, I relied on locals, travel blogs, and a Lonely Planet guidebook appropriately titled Middle East on a Shoestring for information on public transportation, directions to and from stations, and pricing estimates to avoid getting ripped off. Not surprisingly, you got conflicting information wherever you looked or whoever you spoke to.

Getting sugar cane juice in Amman

Asking locals for information was quite entertaining. When I asked one person, another individual perhaps a relative or friend would inch closer as the conversation progressed and then later added his two cents about the information. When one of the individuals thought some of the information was incorrect or could be improved, the other individual began raising his voice until he drowned out the other and then touched my shoulder to direct my gaze towards him. If the other thought that the new information was worse than the original suggestions, he would raise his voice even higher and began flailing his arms to explain his point. Sometimes a collegial Hmar (donkey) name calling was exchanged with smiles and laughter. Naturally, all this commotion attracted other people, nearby shop owners, customers from their shop, and even passersby. Before I knew it, my one-on-one exchange turned into a group counseling session.

Some individuals did want to help while others who expressed a desire to help were also in the business of helping themselves by offering you transportation, hotel stays, and packaged tourist trips for a handsome price. Each one would say that the other didn't know anything, so most often than not you left more confused than when you first started. After the dust settled though, my brain would start to process the info, I'd jot a few notes down, and then proceed to matching some of the advise to the info in the guidebooks and on the blogs.  Eventually, I would develop a rather loose outline of what my next few days would look like.

Another memorable taxi ride

As you can imagine, doing all the research and asking the locals got a little tiring, and I was tempted to just hop on a taxi to the next destination. In one instance, one taxi driver proposed taking me to the Dead Sea and back for 15JD (Jordanian Dinar). Not a bad price considering that the hostel I was staying at, the Farah Hotel, was charging about the same for a small minibus transit for groups of 5 or more. As we drove to the Sweimeh transit bus station from the hotel, the taxi driver insisted that he take me to the Dead Sea. I conversed with him in a mix of Fusha and Moroccan Arabic. His English was pretty rough so he appreciated my effort to converse in Arabic and said that because of that he would lower his starting price from 30JD to 25JD. He then asked where I had picked up my Arabic. I told him Morocco and he gave me a hearty ahalan wa sahalan fik, a pat in the back, and then said, “Welcome to Jordan”. He said that because I lived in Morocco that he would give me the Arab price of 22JD.  I tried to tell the taxi driver that I was not a typical tourist and showed him my knockoff second-hand clothes and tattered plastic bag where I was carrying my swim trunks and towel. I told him that I couldn't afford 22JD. He followed up by asking me where I was from because I looked Arab. I told him Venezuela and he became ecstatic. He told me how much he loved Chavez and because I was from Venezuela he would lower his price from 22JD to 17JD. 

He shared that his assl (origins/roots) were Bedouin and that he was not like other Arabs from the city who only care about money. He reiterated as he had done in previous offers that he couldn't go any lower. I told him that 17JD was a good price, but still too expensive for me. As we drove into the Sweimeh transit station, he presented his final offer, “Okay, 15JD, excellent price!” I said, “Thank you, but no thanks.” The meter said .600 pistares or just a little over half a JD.  He said that I owed him 2JD. I told him that he was crazy and gave him 1JD and asked for the change. He repeated that I owed him 2JD. I repeated that I wanted my change.  He told me to xrrj (get out)! I repeated rather sarcastically and mimicking his accent, “Welcome to Jordan.”

Onto the Dead Sea (Bahar Meillet or Mayit)

I asked a few gentlemen leaning on one of the transits doing their customary chain-smoking if their transit went to Sweimeh. They grunted, which just like in Morocco means yes. The money collector on the transit asked if I was going to the Dead Sea and I grunted back. He then asked me for about .600 pistares, and once the transit was semi-full, we took off. We winded through Amman picking up passengers on the road. We got out of the city limits and went into smaller towns on the outskirts. About 30-45 minutes later, I was dropped off at an intersection with the Dead Sea Highway and not in Sweimeh where supposedly, according to the Lonely Planet book, there would be transportation in the form of private transits or taxis to the Dead Sea. The driver told me to talk to some gentlemen leaning on some other smaller transits and taxis. I told some guys that I wanted to go to the bHar meillet (Dead Sea). They asked me where I was from. I said that that wasn't important. I was trying to use my Moroccan Arabic and several of the gentlemen murmured that I was Arab. Another guy approached me speaking fluent English and said that he could take me in his private car for 5JD. I said I'd go for 2JD. He laughed and said 4JD. I told him 3JD and he finally obliged at 3.5JD.  

We were on the Dead Sea Highway for about 10 minutes or so before we swooped into the Amman Beach entrance. I wanted to go to the people's beach that Lonely Planet said would cost 4JD, but the driver said that this was the only option for tourists--another lie. The Amman Beach Resort was super clean, with a sparkling pool, nice tables and lounge chairs, equipment rentals, shops, and food and beverage stalls, but there were very few if any Jordanians. I wanted to go elsewhere, but I had a taxi driver who was probably getting a kickback for taking me to this particular resort telling me that there were no other options and front desk personnel confirming what the driver was saying. 

By the time I arrived at the resort, the sun was at its peak. Not willing to endure a sun-scorching walk on the Dead Sea Highway, I budged and paid the extravagant 15JD sticker price intended for foreigners; Jordanian citizens paid only 4JD for access to the same facilities. Later on, back in Amman, hotel staff told me that the Jordanian government had just begun to raise prices on all their main tourist attractions and I had arrived on the second wave of increases.

Dropping 15JD hurt, but I was consoled by the fine state of the facilities and the cleanliness of the place.  There were no hotties at the pool.  In fact, the place felt more like a South Florida retirement community center.  Lots of pensioners were basking in the sun soaking up the rays and enjoying the therapeutic benefits of this one of a kind natural wonder.  Various waves of tour groups seemed to come and go.  There were a few young couples here and there, but in terms of solo travelers, I think I was the only one.

These two are either related or in the same tour group

I quickly changed into my swim trunks, went down the steps leading to the Dead Sea, and parked my belongings next to a plastic lawn chair provided by the resort.  It was funny to look out and see people completely covered from head to toe with the dark blue Dead Sea mud.  It was as if the Blue Man Group had come to chill out on the beach.  A couple of gentlemen were manning a stand next to the on-duty lifeguard that sold the full-body mud treatment for 3JD.  Family members and friends helped each other lather  up.  I went up to get my treatment and paid the 3JD, but I was told to take a dip first and then apply it.

I didn't run into the water because Dead Sea water is not the type that you want running down your face.  With roughly 30% salinity, a little drop in your eye could turn things ugly.  I had also shaved that morning, something my guidebook advised against.  So I walked out treading ever so slowly to a depth of no more than 4 or 5 feet deep.  Once I reached a location away from the commotion of the various tour groups, I reclined back slowly and lifted my feet off the ground.  As I fell back, it was as if the water pushed back and propped my feet and legs up, a water Lazy-Boy that engulfed me, but held me in suspension.  I had read about the amazing buoyancy of the water, but to feel it was like something completely out of this world.  The water was warm and the sun's rays were dispersed in the haze that hovered over the water.  I took a deep breath, took in the surroundings, relaxed my muscles, and just floated.

Dead Sea mud treated

After a good 20 minutes in the water, I went to get my mud treatment.  Coming out of the water was really interesting.  The water was so thick and slimy that exiting was like emerging from a vat of egg whites.  No matter how much you shook, a clear, thin film stuck to your skin, but the slime was exactly what was needed for a smooth application of the Dead Sea mud.  I grabbed a couple of handfuls and began applying it making sure every inch of my skin was covered.  With no partner in crime on this leg of my journey, one of the attendants applied the rest to my back.  I was told to let it dry so I went back to my plastic lawn chair and finished a couple of articles from an Economist magazine a PCV had lent me.

Supposedly, Dead Sea mud is highly sought after for its healing mineral properties.  The high concentration of calcium, bromine, and potassium are considered to be therapeutic for the skin and other ailments.  Consequently, there is no shortage of companies extolling the mud's benefits.  What I can say in full confidence about the mud is that after 5-10 minutes when the mud begins to dry various parts of your body will get itchy fast.  Perhaps the itchiness is part of the healing process, but as soon as I felt it, I went back to the water.  The last thing I wanted was to get some sort of allergic reaction.  What's great is that if there is any hidden bacteria in the mud, a trip back to the water will undoubtedly kill it.  I took off the mud and then proceeded to recline back to my gravity-defying Dead Sea rocking chair.

I got out of the water when my fingers and toes had turned to raisins.  I stepped out for a while, took some more deep breaths, and chilled out on my chair.  Within 15 minutes, the transparent film that coated my body turned pasty white.  I went straight to the outdoor sprinklers to try to take off some of the salt and sand and then afterwards took a long dip in the resort's pool.  It was around 4PM when I decided it was time to leave.  The facility had nice showers where I was able to soap it up and take off more salt.

The taxi driver that dropped me off told me to call him when I got out, but as I soon as I walked out, there was a gentlemen chilling by his car that offered to take me to Amman for 10JD.  He said he had finished work and was heading back home.  I told him I just needed to go to the bus stop to Amman.  He said he could take me there for 5JD.  I told him 3JD and he agreed.

Now, Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide claim that hitchhiking back to Amman is pretty easy from the Dead Sea.  I think that's probably true if you're a white Westerner and more so if you're a female, and I'm guessing most of the travel writers are one or the other or both.  Other couchsurfers I spoke to experimented a little by having either a guy or girl flag down cars.  Another American traveling through Jordan with ethnic roots from Iran said that people would just honk at him to tell him to scoot off the road.  While his travel partner, a tall, blonde female, could have a car stop at will--this may not be just in Jordan, but probably worldwide other than maybe Nordic countries where every other girl is a tall blonde.

If you look Arab, like I do, and wear the same second-hand clothes that the locals wear and carry around a tattered plastic bag like others do, some people just think that you're just another local trying to get a free ride.  I got many free rides in Morocco and I figured Jordanians would probably be just as generous.

Whenever I do hitchhike, there's a big difference between hitchhiking with a white Westerner, male or female, and hitchhiking solo.  When I'm with a white Westerner I get to ride shotgun with my white Westerner travel partner.  When I'm not, I'm told to hop on to the back of the truck with everyone else, sheep, chickens, and all.  In some cases it's nice to get that star treatment, but in others, it's nice to blend in.  Normally, I wouldn't object to riding with sheep and chickens, but I had just showered.

I got to the bus stop on the opposite corner (northbound side of the Dead Sea Highway) from where I was dropped off earlier.  I paid the bus driver 1JD, and he gave me .600 pistares back.  The bus ride back was no more than 20 or so minutes.  On our way to Amman, we rode a pretty scenic four-lane highway overlooking a number of parched valleys with isolated plots of vegetation.  By the time I got back, it was already dark.  The bus dropped everyone off at the North Station on the outskirts of Amman.  From there, the usual scammers were there offering to take people downtown for 7JD.  The taxi cab that had overcharged me 5JD to take me to my hotel the first time around recognized me and offered to take me again for 5JD, but I told him I'd go by the meter.  He explained to me that the meter is nothing or not worth it for him.  Another taxi driver walking down from a little snack shop approached me and told me that he would be willing to take me downtown for 2JD.  I said, "Yallah (Let's Go)!"

By the time I got into the hotel, I had dried up and felt some white residue behind the ears, around the back of my neck, and my hair felt like it was moussed up.   I took one last shower, scrubbed well, washed my hair, and then promptly climbed into bed.  The next day I would be headed to Kerak to check out the famous Crusader castle and to get another taste of village life with another PCV.

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Before you rush into buying the Dead Sea mud or salt, be mindful that although it is "all-natural", excessive exposure to high levels of certain minerals could be toxic.  The National Institutes of Health National Library of Medicine has several research studies on the Dead Sea mud.  Some highlight its antimicrobial agents and its effect on alleviating rheumatoid arthritis symptoms, but it also has another study that does not recommend a high percentage of the mud in everyday hand and body lotions.  Read them before you buy.

Anti-microbial properties of Dead Sea black mineral mud

Mud pack therapy in rheumatoid arthritis

Low levels of toxic elements in Dead Sea black mud and mud-derived cosmetic products

On a side note, I ran into some Spaniards at the Dead Sea resort who said that they had come from Madaba.    The Spaniards had a lot of good things to say about it and it is fairly close, so it's worth doing the day trip to the Dead Sea from there if you prefer a smaller town feel rather than the sprawling Amman metropolis.  Plus if you're big into checking out Byzantine-era relics, chapels, and cathedrals, Madaba has a large number of fine mosaics.   

Referenced Reads:

I followed both books fairly closely, but bear in mind that the shoestring budget hotel recommendations can land you in some pretty dank places.  The regular Jordan guidebook offers accommodation options at varying prices, so it's worth moving up a notch if you can afford it and for a bit of peace of mind.  Like any advise, compare and contrast it with other info and then if you want to make it even more interesting, ask the locals :-).