Bastard Children

Stage 14: Amman to Aqaba (432km)
Day 1: 98.0km Wadi al-Mujib
Day 2: 92.8km Just short of Tafila
Day 3: 98.1km Bedouin Camp, Petra
Days 4&5: Petra
Day 6: 143.2km Aqaba

Mr Stick is many things: he's a stand for my bicycle, a dog beater, a good listener and a favourable critic of my singing. On the road from Amman to Aqaba a new skill was added to his CV: keeper-awayer of feral children. I don't know what changed, but just south of Amman on the King's Highway that runs down the central part of the country, children turn to demons.

This being a muslim country, I'm sure they are born within wedlock, but they are bastards none the less. One kid spat milk at me while another tried to push my bike over as I was cycling uphill. When I stopped, they ran off. 1km down the road I got the usual "stopstopstopstopstop" and then :"f*ck you" as I cycled past (after I had waved and smiled and greeted the little gurrier).

Then the stone throwing began. Kids see you approaching, and stop to scoop up a couple of respectable sized stones. I had it alright, none hit me. I'd wave and smile at the kids and give my greeting "assalam aleikum", then watch them with eagle-eyes until I was out of range. It did mean not seeing where I was actually cycling, but fortunately there wasn't much traffic on the road. Even with my staring, I still occasionally got a stone fall harmlessly off to my left or right. I went back a few times to confront the stone-thrower with a shrug of my shoulders (french fashion). I didn't get angry, or try to chase them; I'm sure that's half the fun for the kids.

On cycling up one steep section, I spied 4 shepherd kids pick up handfulls of stones and as I approached they started waving their sticks (used to hit the sheep) in a slightly menacing fashion; that was when Mr Stick took up his new roll. I held him aloft as I cycled by (again smiling and greeting them but showing them I meant business) and they kept their distance. No stones came after me, but a few (I can only imagine unprintable) shouts were heard when they were a long way back.

Cyclists I met on the road had it worse; some had been hit by rocks rather than stones. We all got the ubiquitous "money-money-money" by snot-nosed 8-yr-old kids with outstretched hands as we cycled by. I'd love to meet the tourists that do give money to cute children by the side of the road, then give them a serious beating. Nothing good comes from it.


Apart from the children, the cycling was fantastic. For the first time since leaving the mountains of Turkey can I say that the scenery was spectacular. Steep gorges afforderd fantastic views, but gave my calves a good workout. My first night out of Amman, I camped at the top of one and was invited to gorge on a large buffet dinner by 23 German pensioners travelling down to Aqaba in a convoy of 12 camper vans. It was not the last time I met them, or benefitted from their fantastic friendliness and hospitality.

The first night in Petra I had been invited by the germans to stay in a Bedouin camp with them 10km outside the main town. The setting was stunning with red sandstone hills completely surrounding the camp and I got drunk on 8% beer and schnapps made from white strawberries of the Black Forest. Cycling back to Wadi Musa (the town by Petra), my throbbing headache was aggrevated by my first puncture of the trip. Just over 5000km and a steel wire was the source of my woes.

Petra was as stunning as every superlative used to describe it. I'll let the pictures do the talking.







From Petra, I did the 143km to Aqaba in one day. I'd heard stories of 70km+ of downhill, and although these were true, a strong wind managed to make the downhill seem like uphill. Having expected an easy 70km descent into the city, I found myself struggling to even make 20km/hr on steep downhill section, sapping my energy and enthusiasm. Jaded, I arrived into Aqaba 11.5hrs after leaving Petra; 9hrs in the saddle.

Kenny and Magnus, along with the whole contingent of German campervanners, were present in the campsite next to the Red Sea. I drank a few beers to celebrate the crossing of an entire country without once being transported by a motorised vehicle. In Beirut, I took a couple of taxis, and in Turkey, a shepherd drove me 800m to his house for some food; provided I get to the border with Israel (20km away) as planned, Jordan will be the only country in the world in which I will not have had to rely on fossil fuels to travel.

Woohoo!


Sicander was mercilessly bullied by the larger vehicles until I threw rocks at them.

These children were nice. I stayed at this house the night before arriving in Petra

Troglodyte me

Red Sea Sunset