Day 1:

The trip begins as soon as I finish work, by getting changed and heading out. I catch the train and meet mum at a mutual point and we head out to the airport. 

Traffic treats us well, we land a pretty good parking spot as well and I make some last minute changes to my carry on bags.

Inside, it’s the usual – check which counter to check in at, which gate I need to board, times etc. I also get my check in luggage plastic wrapped as mum won’t let me leave the country without it – “piece of mind” she says.

Checked in, baggage dropped, cash gotten and a quick bite – I’m ready to go to the gate. In that moment mum remembers that she can’t come to the gate. I laugh and ask mum if she’s going to cry, she says she won’t. Hugs and goodbyes – mum cries. That’s not my thing – I am just going through the motions.

Fast forward through the security checks, gauntlet of duty free shopping and I finally make it to the gate. A short wait – and its boarding time. As is standard, there is the call for families to come first, then only the first section of the plane to board. I see a lot of people lining, priming for best position to get in and board coming from all angles. I see countless people turned away because it’s not their turn yet. I considered giving in to my more animalistic nature, rules be damned and joining them – but I decide to try and be more civilised. They haven’t even called my section anyway so it would have been for naught. 

The plane boards, we all settle in and it’s time to depart. My first long haul flight is under way. The 14 or so hour flight to Dubai didn’t feel as long as I thought it would thankfully. I divided my time between watching movies, trying to sleep and balancing just the right level of hydration/dehydration that would mean I would rarely need to visit the bathroom. 

We start our decent into Dubai, and although feeling a little tired from just kind of waking – I’m feeling pretty good. Speaking of sleep, I check my Fitbit to see how I went on the plane. 3 hours – that doesn’t seem right. Another entry says 5 hours – its listing two days but with overlapping hours. Let’s just all agree I got both lots of sleep recorded and I’m ready to rock on 8 hours sleep. The captain announces that the local time is 5.30am and the temperature is 33 degrees. I laugh – welcome to the Middle East.

I have caught up with others on my tour and the game of trying to remember people’s names begins. Dubai airport is something else – we catch a train from the section we arrived in to the section our next flight departs from. The signs make it easy, and we keep walking following the directions of the signs passing a pleather of shops, and food outlets. My fellow travellers begin to long for coffee, and with each cafe we pass there is the question, “I wonder if there’s good coffee there”. 

There comes a point when we start to question if our gate will ever come, we’ve walked a long way and the terminal seems to never end. That very short train trip could have brought us a lot closer to it. But we do make it, and meet up with more people in the group (read: more names to remember). The timing is good, they’re almost ready to board – so enough time to freshen up and coffee etc, then we are off again.

Arriving in Amman, Jordan – there’s not much to see out the window. It’s looks vast, flat, dry and hazy. We have arrived in the desert. The airport is older, has a bit of a 70s/80s vibe and there is the slight smell of mustiness. A representative helps us get through on our group visa – we hand over our passports and then collect our luggage. It’s an odd feeling handing over your passport and then walking away.

With everything processed, passports returned and our luggage collected we’re met by our tour guide for today in Jordan – Jaffa. He is a well groomed and presented Jordanian man, rather than orange flavoured chocolate. Outside the airport, and about to board the bus I try to take in my surroundings. There isn’t a lot to see – you can’t see too far into the distance because of the haze – but there was a smell, a certain smokiness that I can’t quite describe.

On the bus we proceed from the airport to the city of Amman. Jaffa is extremely knowledgeable; archeology, geology, history, politics, economy, the Jordanian royal family and religions are all covered as he gives us the background of Amman, Jordan and the surrounding areas. I think my favourite quote from Jaffa for the day was, “To the north we have Syria, to the east we have Iraq, to the south we have Saudi Arabia, and to the west we have Israel. As you can see, we live in a tough neighbourhood.”

We drive through a suburb which is essentially Amman’s version of Beverly Hills. The rich and powerful build their houses and live here – the prerequisite to build? Houses must be white limestone. This is also the area where all the consulates are located – so we saw plenty of those and we were taken especially to see the Australian one. We were asked to take note of the difference between our embassy and America’s – and it’s quite hilarious. 

Australia: a simple consulate, coat of arms on the fence out the front, a basic concrete fence and a little area for our single guard to reside.

America: its nickname is the fortress, and it’s not wrong. Huge compound, large fences, armored vehicles with mini guns on top, 100 armed guards, signs everywhere saying no photos. Oh, and it’s going to get bigger, because we could see an extension being built.

Jaffa organised for us to have lunch at one of the best places in Amman. We arrive and the place is beautiful and it appears we are virtually the only ones there. A large table is prepared and fresh hot bread, salads, dips and other small entree items are brought out. It’s delightful, but the best is yet to come. The pièce de résistance is the meat share plate – lamb, chicken and I guess a kind of kofta skewer. Stalactites eat your heart out! So tender and delicious – if this is the type of food we get, I’m never leaving.

Lunch finished, it’s time to farewell Jordan for now – Jaffa and co drive us a couple of hours to the north to cross the border into the Israel.

We arrive at the Jordanian side of the border crossing, and Jaffa takes us through what needs to happen. Everybody off the bus, and get your luggage. The first stop is to get all our luggage X-rayed. It’s a small simple room with a young woman running the machine and a very basic metal detector that we walk through. My belt sets off the detector – I point to it and ask if it’s ok. She shrugs. Other people set off the detector – and still nothing is said. At this point, I presume the X-ray machine might not even be turned on.

The luggage is loaded back into the bus, as are we. Next is passport control to stamp that we’re leaving Jordan. The office is big, simple, old and musty. Locals get the priority queue, and once I get to the front and my passport stamped I realise that the young man has ridiculous ice blue eyes and could probably pass for a 12 year old.

One of the tour leaders makes an interesting point, that you get the sense that these people are just doing their job because it’s their job – as there isn’t a great sense of seriousness about it. And that perhaps the Jordanians check, just because the Israelis do – but to notice the difference between this and the Israeli check.

We farewell Jaffa, this is as far as he can go with us and the bus driver takes us across the border, and after a brief bomb check, we are dropped off the Israeli passport control and security.

We all shuffle in with our bags, and we’re promptly told to come in and go to the side and not wait around and block the door. I’ve noticed the difference already – these people are serious. Our passports are collected, and all the bags loaded on the X-ray machine – this one is definitely turned on.

On the other side of the X-ray machine, my name is called and I’m asked to open my luggage. The plastic wrapping for “piece of mind” is suddenly a pain in my ass. Thankfully for this trip, a little tool was included to cut off the wrapping. I can see some of my other travellers have had their bags briefly opened and checked. But I am the lucky contestant for today – everything is removed from my bag (God bless packing cells). I’m questioned about a few of my items and what they are and he seems happy enough with my answers. 

Once the bag is empty, it’s swabbed to be checked for drugs. By this point, everyone else appears to be not only done with the luggage, but also at passport control. The group leader reassures me that everything is fine, and they’re happy to wait for however long I need to wait and not to stress. I’m not stressed at all actually – they’re doing their job, and I haven’t done anything wrong.

It appears the first test hasn’t work, so they go again. I’m not a drug smuggler so I pass the test. The young Israeli man helps me repack my bag – very kind. It’s not as organized as it was – but the lid closes and so it’s good enough.

I have my passport back so next stop is passport control – this lady looks very serious. I’m polite and hand over my passport. I’m asked my full name – I answer. I’m asked where I was born, but I think she asked where I boarded – so I answer that question. Realising the error, I answer the question she actually asked. I’m asked what my father’s name is – I answer. I’m asked what his father’s name was – I answer (although that night I realise I was wrong, thank goodness she didn’t know that). I’m asked where I’m heading and visiting – I answer. “And then” she asks? I resist the urge to reference “Dude, where’s my car?” in my response. Between each question, she’s looking between my passport and me with suspicion in her eyes. It’s an interesting feeling – not necessarily disconcerting, but interesting. I decide it’s time to not only be pleasant, but also delightful and charming as with my answer. 

It worked! Or at least that’s the story I’m sticking with. No more questions, she smiles and gives me back my passport. One final check, a lady staring at my passport and my face to make sure I was really me. Once everyone is on the bus (a new bus with our Israeli guide Sam) – we’re officially in Israel and can make our way to Ginosar on the shore of the Sea of Galilee where we will be staying for the next few days.

It’s Saturday by now, so it is not a proper working day and not all the rooms are ready. The chosen ones are off to their rooms. The rest of us wait in the lobby, drink our welcome drinks and wait. I resisted sitting for a while but eventually do. It is now that the tiredness starts to creep in. I can’t tell you how long we waited for our rooms, it equally felt like forever, and also not that long. I and another girl were second last to get our keys – just enough time to get everything to my room, unpack essentials, prepare for the next day and then it’s time for dinner. We’re all tired at dinner, and none of us last very long. 

Dinner done, it’s time for a shower so I can feel human again, then bed and the sweet, sweet abyss of sleep.