Today was… an education.

We learned that when a bus is destined for a place, it doesn’t always take you all the way there.

We learned that three straight hours of listening to a man screaming (no, really, he yelled the whole three hours) sermons in Arabic is very tiring.

We learned that many Jordanians are willing to go out of their way to help lost strangers out. Like the guy from the bus who got us a taxi, told the driver where to go, rode with us there, and then paid for the ride.

We learned that fog can be so dense, you cannot see an entire village while standing right next to it. When we walked back, we saw the building we were standing next to, and directly behind it at least thirty more that were invisible before the fog lifted.

We learned that following a local down a side path while looking for a village is not a very good idea, especially when he doesn’t speak much English. (This particular lesson involved an hour long mountainous hike, down then back up, but no danger. No worries.)

We learned that a random stranger’s kindness can turn a day from being stressful and overwhelming to something beautiful and powerfully touching.

We learned that Jordanians love their king fiercely for helping everyone regardless of nationality or economic standing.

We learned that to Jordanians, the way they treat women is a type of extreme chivalry. Women come first in all things. Men should help women carry things so that she doesn’t have to. A man must work to provide for his family, but if a woman works it is because she wants to. She keeps the money for herself and may spend it as she wishes. But if only the woman works, the shame for the man is extreme, including social shunning.

We learned that eating once at seven in the morning and not again until seven at night makes you very, very hungry. But we also learned it is very easy to ignore when you have a thousand other things to worry about. Like will we be sleeping on the side of this rural mountain road tonight? Or, I have to use the bathroom so badly I might go on the side of this rural mountain road right now.

Mostly we learned that things seldom turn out the way you plan, but somehow they often turn out to be amazing nonetheless.

(Photos will no doubt be on Loren’s Twitter. I didn’t really take any… sorry!)

Last night we ate at the hostel: lentil soup, hummus, bread, and this green chili salsa stuff that all hummus should always be served with. Always. Yummmm. And hot chocolate. It was a bit of comfort food and location. We just stayed in and decompressed a bit. Ended the night well.

Today, we did a few things. We walked through Souk Jara, a huge market in downtown on Fridays. The market is for natives more than tourists, and we saw everything from the standard stuff (clothes, vegetables, odds and ends) to the unusual. I think the biggest surprise, in terms of goods being sold, was the poultry. Chickens, turkeys, and pigeons, being sold by the bird in big cardboard boxes. Cardboard boxes… full of pigeons… for sale. To eat? Guess so! Also being sold were live rabbits, and I don’t think those were to be pets, either.

The other surprise was that, for the first time ever at an open-air market, we were not the target audience. The vast, vast majority of the people shopping were men. A conservative guess is that one in a hundred people were women. This may seem self evident to you reading this, since it is easy to just assume women are not allowed to go out on their own etc. But when you’re here and you’re used to markets, and you’ve seen the fair number of women walking about and doing their business, you might still expect more men than women. But not at such a high ratio, maybe more like 10 to 1.

Then we took a taxi to the Royal Automobile Museum, which is a tribute to the late King Hussein, who loved and collected cars and motorcycles.

this is just one room of the less impressive cars

Also at the museum was a mock up of Amman during the Arab Revolt and they had a currency exchange store front thing with tons of different bills from all around the world.

find the US dollar!

Then the weather was CRAZY windy and cold, so we took a short taxi ride over to a nearby mall. We had frozen yogurt, window shopped, ate kebab sandwiches for lunch, window shopped more, and grabbed some hot chocolate/coffee and read Time Magazine for an hour or two, while it dumped rain outside.

Back at the hostel, we have been sitting downstairs chatting and drinking tea with a man from Iraq.

In other words, it was a good, solid day. Tomorrow we’re headed out to the Dana Nature Reserve for some hiking. Keep your fingers crossed for us that the transportation to and from goes smoothly!

While there we saw a goat herder herding his goats across the lawn of one of the temples, and a bag pipe performance in the theater. Go figure.

And then we wanted to go back to Amman. We got directions to get to a bus stop, and on the way a taxi driver approached us and said he would take us to Amman for 2JD each. This is a service taxi, which fills up all four spots before leaving. We decided to go for it, since it is less hassle than a bus and not a bad price.

First we got gas. Our taxi driver smoked the whole time at the gas station.

Then we stopped at a food kiosk where our driver got out and I dunno, ate lunch? It took him a solid 10 minutes during which he left the car on, music blaring, and the passenger in the front seat smoked a death stick.

Finally on our way… Five death sticks later, with ashes all over our clothes, and once having to yell for him to turn down the music, he stops the taxi and says “Amman.” We ask can he take us to downtown. He says this is Amman. We try again. He says there are buses to the bus station from here (which is nowhere close to downtown). So we just gave up, paid him, and got out.

It took another 5JD taxi ride to get us back to the hotel. He left us literally at the outer edge of the city.

It is very easy to feel down about a place after an experience like that, to be honest. The biggest part of it is that there are tons of little things adding up. The taxi drivers never just taking you where you want to go, but always trying to get you to pay 20 or 30 or 50 for some trip or another. The way men stare at you because you don’t wear a headscarf or skirt. The absolutely insane way people drive here (seriously, you ain’t seen nothing). The absurdly high prices to enter tourist attractions.

Don’t get me wrong. I can see the signs of culture shock as well as the next blog-reader. And I am not trying to say everything is bad or hard. There are lots of things I really like about being here, and I am glad we came and still have some time here. Right now, I’m just tired and my throat is raw from sitting in a cloud of cigarette smoke for the last hour. I promise my next post will be happier!

It’s GMC.

I laughed. So. Hard.

This discovery was made by our insane, illegal taxi driver who took us, our hostel roommate who is from Hong Kong, and another hostel-dweller from Japan to the Dead Sea.

The first thing he told us was that if the cops stopped the car, we would all have to lie and say we didn’t pay him, that we’re all just friends.

Then we spent the hour and 15 minutes on the way to the Dead Sea mostly listening to Abdullah, the taxi driver, telling us about how expensive everything is in Jordan. Camels cost 10,000 JD (fun fact: the Jordanian Dinar is stronger than both the dollar and the euro). Goats cost 3000. Donkeys 4000. Do we know how much a camel costs in the USA? No? How about a goat? Well, this car would sell for $3000 in the USA and in Jordan for JD 10,000 because of the crazy taxes.

That was when talk switched to cars and he mentioned Jims.

Actually, Abdullah (who was 21 and working under the radar until his license to drive tourists clears) seemed like a super fun, silly guy. He took us to the beach and even went down to the water with us to take photos, chat, etc.

Speaking of the Dead Sea… Wow!

Then we started home, and we were told stories of Abdullah’s huge family (8 uncles, 6 of which have between 6 and 14 kids, and that doesn’t even start on his aunties). And then a story about chasing a baby goat that was as fast as a Lamborghini. And then stories of his school days. And then the story of how he set his teacher’s house on fire for giving him poor marks.

Or something. To be honest I am very, very fuzzy on the details of what he was talking about (sometimes his English lapsed into a very heavy accent, although for the most part it was great). It may have been an office because I recall him saying “room” or maybe it was nothing and I misheard… but still.

He bought us dinner and was very reluctant to accept any money more than what we agreed on before leaving. We insisted, as a tip for being so friendly and for buying us dinner.

But still.

So the last post, and many of the ones before it, focused on the days that are frustrating and full of fail. These days are not the norm, obviously, and I hop that you, dear reader, do not feel that I frequently whine or complain. It’s just that days like those make far more interesting stories because, well, there are only so many ways you can say, “We went here, and saw this, and it was so amazing!” without sounding like a broken record.

The good news is, a picture is worth a thousand words, as they say. So on that note, here are some places we have been recently, and some things we saw, and they are all so amazing!

the 2.6 km bridge in Rio, Greece

the famous train ride from Diakofto to Kalavrita

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So as you can see, it’s easy to forgive Greece those crazy days when nothing goes right. The landscapes here rival those in Iceland for all-time favorites for us. And I didn’t even put any beach or sunset photos in!

We were traveling from Patras, Greece, to Kalambaka, Greece. We bought tickets for this route almost a week ago with the aid of the hardest working train employee in Greece (in all seriousness she was amazingly helpful and did a lot for us). As it was, it already seemed far more complicated than we had expected: a bus to Kiato, a train to Ano Liosa, a connection to Larissa Station in Athens, a train to Palaiofarsalo (say that five times fast, or even just once slowly), and there a connection to Kalambaka.

Well, that sounds awful but really isn’t bad. We already had to do all of the first steps in reverse to get from Athens to Patras, so all that was new was switching trains in Palaiofarsalo. Not too bad, right?

Well, it wouldn’t have been had there not been a strike today.

We got on our bus and made it to Kiato in okay time despite a hellish bus ride, and we hiked up the stairs to settle in at the platform and wait for the next train to leave to Athens via Ano Liosa. A minute or two in Loren suggests I (who was rummaging around the food bag simply for something to spend my restless energy on) go ask the ticket people when the train was coming. This is at 10:30am.

After finding someone who spoke English (I can scrape by in Greek, but it is usually much less painful for all involved if there is an English speaking employee), she informs me that the next train leaves at 13:25. (The trains should run once every 10 minutes or so.)

…. Our train to Palaiofarsalo left Athens at 14:18 and the trip to Larissa Station takes 1.5 hours. No can do.

So we taxi to the bus station in Kiato to catch the 11:00 KTEL bus to Athens, which takes 2 hours. We made sure it would drop us at Larissa Station, then started loading our bags in and before Loren even had a chance to load hers, the bus starts moving, with my bag on it and the two of us and Loren’s bag not. Thankfully he heard us start yelling and stopped, and I gave him an angry fist shake (more of a “what the hell!” shrug and glare in reality), and we boarded up.

Then we got to Athens, and ended up at Kifissou Station because **** YOU THAT’S WHY, where all KTEL buses go to hang out and laugh at any poor soul trying to use them. Kifissou Station is the best kept worst secret of Athens. It is in the middle of nowhere and nobody seems to know it exists. Thankfully we had wrestled that bear weeks ago and knew which bus to take to get to the metro station that would get us to Larissa (51 to Menandrou, walk to Omonia Square, red line to Larissa).

Well, we get to the metro station after the worst bus ride ever through truly unbelievable traffic… and everything in the station is roped off. Can’t get to the platforms. That’s when we see the sign that says there is a metro strike today.

I assure you that the words spoken at this point were neither ladylike nor polite.

Okay. Okay. Fine. We will get a %&*?#@! taxi to $*&?+#! Larissa Station.

Nope. We spent a solid 20 minutes trying to hail a taxi. All full.

Finally I remembered my phone had a map of Athens cached. We looked up the route and walked it. Down Aghios Konstantinou, across Metaxourgheio square, up Theodorou something-or-other street… all this with our 10-12 kilo back packs on. With just a hill and maybe a kilometer left between us and Larissa Station, we had 10 minutes until the train left. And we saw a bus, a 1 trolley, and it was stopped. We ran. We asked “Larissa?” And the guy said yes. And we got on. And we made our train with 4 minutes to spare.

Hours later the transfer in Palaiofarsalo went smoothly and now here we are in Kalambaka. Our hotel is nice, the receptionist super great and helpful, and a nice day in the mountains planned for tomorrow. Also we found this while looking for food:

No, we didn’t have hamb baby chops for dinner. A shame, I’m sure, but we found a Mexican place and how could we not?

So. A long, long time ago (and in which country, I have long forgotten so we’ll say it was just far, far away), I decided that my future holds a house boat. At first it was just a little boat, maybe even a yacht, if we’re dreaming big.

Well, suffice to say, we dreamed bigger. Here are some features that mostly I, and occasionally Loren, have dreamed up, roughly in the order of their conception:

*this tower:

(there's Loren on top!)

*a moat around the tower
*an orchard, not too big but with lots of variety
*a swimming pool
*a fishing pond for my sail boat
*a rearrangeable statue garden, mostly full of statues of Roman emperors and Doctor Who which will each be on wheels, situated right next to the
*RV parking lot for Loren, so she can bring her RV to come visit me on the boat
*(at this point it seems necessary to explain that the wheeled statues are wheeled so that, while Loren is sleeping in her RV, I can move the statues to surround the vehicle so she wakes up to Roman Emperors and the Doctor staring in her windows)
*a mountain (we’ve forgotten why, but I mean, it’s a mountain, so good idea regardless)
*a museum that you ride a ski lift to the top of, and then through which you ride a bike on a perpetual downward slope while coasting past interesting and large-scale installation art
*a library containing laminated books (it’s a boat. They’d get wet, otherwise.)

And I am very, very sure that I have forgotten another 10 or so things that will be on this boat. Typically, something is added in this fashion:

“Hey, that X is cool. I’m going to have one of those on my house boat, too! Only it will be [bigger, brighter, taller, wider, etc. (I am, after all, Uh-murr-ican)]!”

Or, like this:

“You know what would be awesome to have on the house boat? …”

Or:

“Why doesn’t this museum have bikes? You know what’d be sweet? A museum that you ride a bike through. I’m going to have one like that on my house boat.”

You are all officially invited to come visit me on my house boat. Feel free to bring your RVs, but I have just decided to add the world’s coolest hotel to my boat. You can pick from themed rooms (for example, the Shipwreck Room, or the Hammock/Tree House Room), and it will be built into the side of the mountain and next to the fishing pond. Every room will have a spectacular view, except the Mines of Moria Room, which should be fairly self explanatory as to why it doesn’t have a view, per-sé. (If not, shame on you, and go read/watch The Lord of the Rings.)

Yep. The house boat. Although, at this point, perhaps it should be the House Boat.

We have altered the course of our final month again and this time around it might be a little surprising for all.

Next stop, Jordan. Then Hong Kong, then Los Angeles, CA, and from there, probably somewhere on the east coast of the States, though we don’t really know yet. If you know a great place in the States (anywhere) that we could spend a week at and have plenty to do, feel free to suggest. Of course New York City and Washington, D.C., need not be suggested, as they are already prime considerations.

Lots of reasons for this but rest assured we are both confident it is the right choice. Besides, plenty to see in our own country too!

Anyway, here are some photos you may enjoy.

Loren at the 2004 Olympic complex in Athens

the 1896 Athens Olympic stadium at night

us on the island Hydra

a storm over the sea from Cape Sounion

a view among many at Sounion

The whole process began two days earlier than our visit, as we attempted to find out how to get there. First, we tried Google. The internet says take a KTEL bus from Athens to Nafplio, a city in the Peloponnese from which you can catch another bus directly to Mycenae.

Okay. So where do we pick up the KTEL bus?

Nobody knows.

We asked at the central train station. He says, ask at the metro station. We ask at the metro station, he says, ask a bus driver. Yeah, right, have you ever talked to a bus driver in Athens? They are a surly bunch, and no more helpful than the metro guy. We ask another metro guy, this time at the central metro stop, where we figure they get these kinds of questions fairly often. She doesn’t know. We even ask if there is a place where someone would know the information. Nobody knows. We ask our hostess here. She doesn’t know.

We ask Google again. This time we get creative and through superb googling skills discover there is a central bus station.

….

So, what question did we have to ask for someone to think to mention the central bus station? Couldn’t a single one of those people have said, “I have no idea, but I bet you could find out at Kifissou, the bus terminal.” Oh and to get to the bus terminal? It’s in a warehouse district on a tiny backroad where no sane person would venture. You have to take a bus, about which the only info we could find was, “you can pick it up at the intersection of X and Y near Omonia.”

Well, unwieldy long story cut into just a long story, we get tickets and make it to the bus with time to spare, and eventually are on our way to Nafplio.

We get to Nafplio and duck into the bus office, where we ask about the bus to Mycenae. It’s that one, right there, and it’s leaving now. Tickets outside.

Alright. Thanks to some pointing and repeating “Mykines?” We eventually have tickets and get on a bus and are on our way. We get to Argos, another town near Nafplio. Where the bus stops and everyone piles off and the bus driver gives us a funny look, says, “Mykines, wait.” Then we go a little further, and he issues us off and points at another bus. “Mykines.”

…uh. So we get on that bus and the driver confirms that we’re going to Mycenae and aska for our tickets. We try to say we’ve already paid but he doesn’t understand so we figure we’ll just pay, it wasn’t so much, just a Euro and a half or so. But, having already paid for the other bus tickets from a kiosk, we have no change left, only 20 EUR bills. He can’t break that, so he tells us to just go sit down.

Some 45 minutes later, everyone piles off the bus and, confused, we start to follow. Again our bus driver tells us to wait. He gets back on and we show him our tickets to Mycenae and he starts driving again. Lo and behold, we end up at the ruins, with about two hours to go until closing. Victory!

Happily the return trip was significantly easier.

Mycenae itself was super cool. I’ve been before, but it was fun to be back with Loren and share my minimal knowledge.

Here is Loren with the Cyclopean wall:

the view from the top of Mycenae

us atop Mycenae

the underground cistern, don't forget your flashlight