With the cache found, the pressure is off the rest of my trip. Sure there are others dotted around where I'll be going and if I find them it'll be a bonus, but nothing more than that.
The next morning is another early start and I wake to find my body aching as though I've been to the gym for the first time in a year. It takes a while to get going, but soon I'm on the road again with Droopy and Carlton. I spend the majority of our three hour car ride watching 24 and writing some of this guff.
We arrive in Madaba, an old-fashioned town that is popular with tourists purely because of a Byzantine mosaic on the floor, an enormous work that was originally used over two million pieces to depict a map of the region. Sadly, like so much history in this part of the world, it has been largely obliterated by earthquakes. To be honest, what remains isn't all that impressive so after a quick glance and a gloomy photo, I snap the walls (this being a Greek Orthodox church, they are quite colourful) and head out into the streets.
This place is nothing like Dubai - it's a real Middle Eastern city with little English and zero fellow blondes. People randomly shout the few English words they know in my direction, to which I reply one of the few Arabic I do: shoo-kran which is definitely not spelt like that, but means thank you. Surprisingly, a lot of people also demand to have their pictures taken, which I'm happy to do.
The next morning is another early start and I wake to find my body aching as though I've been to the gym for the first time in a year. It takes a while to get going, but soon I'm on the road again with Droopy and Carlton. I spend the majority of our three hour car ride watching 24 and writing some of this guff.
We arrive in Madaba, an old-fashioned town that is popular with tourists purely because of a Byzantine mosaic on the floor, an enormous work that was originally used over two million pieces to depict a map of the region. Sadly, like so much history in this part of the world, it has been largely obliterated by earthquakes. To be honest, what remains isn't all that impressive so after a quick glance and a gloomy photo, I snap the walls (this being a Greek Orthodox church, they are quite colourful) and head out into the streets.
This place is nothing like Dubai - it's a real Middle Eastern city with little English and zero fellow blondes. People randomly shout the few English words they know in my direction, to which I reply one of the few Arabic I do: shoo-kran which is definitely not spelt like that, but means thank you. Surprisingly, a lot of people also demand to have their pictures taken, which I'm happy to do.
I also take some shots of people praying and a guy (not praying) comes over and starts babbling.
I'm unsure whether or not he's angry (annoyingly I miss the chance to capture someone yawning mid-prayer too) but decide it's time to go. When I walk up an alley a few minutes later and some youths shout to get my attention, this time I don't turn round - in fact I step up the pace a little.
Our next stop is Mount Nebo, the place from which Moses looked into the land of milk and honey that he'd been leading his people towards for 40 years. Now that I have a better understanding of the geography round here, that strikes me as remarkably inefficient. Seriously, I reckon you could walk from Egypt to Israel in about two months, even if you did have to take the long route around the Dead Sea like them. Anyway, because he took so bloody long, he ended up dying here on the mountain and, sadly for him, never made it to the Promised Land. These days, they grow grapes and sell wine from the mountain. I later pick up a bottle of red, hoping that my cultured palate can detect a hint of Mo'.
Our next stop is Mount Nebo, the place from which Moses looked into the land of milk and honey that he'd been leading his people towards for 40 years. Now that I have a better understanding of the geography round here, that strikes me as remarkably inefficient. Seriously, I reckon you could walk from Egypt to Israel in about two months, even if you did have to take the long route around the Dead Sea like them. Anyway, because he took so bloody long, he ended up dying here on the mountain and, sadly for him, never made it to the Promised Land. These days, they grow grapes and sell wine from the mountain. I later pick up a bottle of red, hoping that my cultured palate can detect a hint of Mo'.
There's a (reportedly easy to find) geocache round here too, but to be honest, I can't really be bothered looking - I just want to get to my hotel, mostly because it's on the shore of the Dead Sea. Since I was a wee boy, I've been fascinated by it - by the name as much as anything else - and swimming in it will complete a hat-trick of Red, Black and Dead seas and for some reason I see that as an achievement.
Just before we get there, though, Carlton asks if I'd like to go karting with him as a new track has opened nearby. For some reason, my mouth agrees to this and an hour and a half later, I am not bobbing in the sea, but sitting at a table listening to Carlton and the track owner jabber in Arabic while I glance forlornly out the window at the beautiful setting sun.
Since I started coming on these trips, I have pretty much followed my mother's advice to make the most of every opportunity. Last night in Petra, I was guilty of not doing that when I turned down Petra by Night (music by candlelight after a procession to the Treasury), my logic being that it was no good to go alone. Karma repays me for that laziness over the next four hours.
I get bullied into buying karting tokens, and then am made to sit outside for an hour, getting increasingly cold and bored. Now I don't like karting at all. Actually, I have an unreasonable fear of it (ask anyone who was in Tenerife when I was 18) and don't much fancy the indignity of failing to find a helmet that fits. I try to offload the tickets to Carlton, but he insists I do it.
But then all of a sudden I can't as there's a car show on and the karting has been suspended. Owning a fast car makes is roughly as appealing to me as smoking: both are a waste of money, both will increase your chance of dying young and both make you sme... Actually, the analogy falls down there, but you see my point: me no like (karting, meanwhile, ranks slightly behind these two and is perhaps on a par with a sandpaper wank).
I spend the time shivering and focussing on my anger to keep warm, willing there to be some kind of accident. But the track is far too small for any of the cars to really open up and only two of the drivers even have enough control to get round at any pace. My heart warms slightly at the heroics of the Dodge Charger, but the moment the last car leaves the track, I tell Carlton to take me back to the hotel and hand him the tokens for next time. I hate the master and commander bullshit, but this is easily the worst thing I've done on any of the trips and, having been bored shitless and foolishly passed up time to explore the Dead Sea, I make no apologies.
Cold and hungry, I immediately head to the restaurant and I am tucking into Plate One of buffet food, when to my surprise, Droopy turns up. He has managed to blag a room for him and his wife and he insists I join them for dinner. "I say her, look for the boy with the blue eyes and she find you," he says, which makes me smile more than it should.
Tired but still annoyed, after dinner and a final goodbye to Droopy, I head round the hotel complex with my camera. It's strange how much photography has taken hold of me since leaving, but now that I like it (and have people tell me I'm good at it) I find myself completely hooked. And as far as my obsessions go, this is definitely one of the healthier ones.
