The flies woke us up, well me more than Djalma who found refuge under a blanket despite the heat of the morning sun, and we left our rooftop room to go and find breakfast. We had decided to go to a small canyon a few kilometres away from the village and set off to the falafel place to get breakfast and from there hitch hike to the canyon.
With water in hand and falafel in stomachs we waited by the road side in the shade of a tree for a few minutes until a small van/bus stopped to pick us up, agreeing what we thought was a half dinar, we set off dropping off one guy and then continuing on to where the road was near the beginning of the canyon. Paying what we thought was the correct amount we were about to get out before being stopped and told in Arabic, that no – it was five dinar – we hadn't paid enough. An honest mistake, but he left us without taking the full amount, but it was a damn expensive ride, the equivalent of five English pounds for a five minute ride, it would've been cheaper in a black cab!
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| From Mazra'a, Jordan |
We set off down the short wide dusty “road” to the entrance of the canyon. It was mid morning by now and pretty hot but as soon as we entered the canyon and were walking in the shade, in the fast flowing little river, it was really pleasant. The sides of the canyon were impressive and the patterns and colours in the sandstone were similar to that in Petra but the canyon was much quieter and more peaceful.
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| From Mazra'a, Jordan |
We splashed our way to a small two metre high waterfall which, after a little pressure and gentle persuasion from my ever adventurous husband, we climbed up. It wasn't all that difficult but ever since our day climbing in Al Hoceima I've been none to keen on climbing anything higher than the curb. We splashed about a bit and ate some biscuits and then headed back down the gorge, following the small river which, with the heat from the sun, was becoming quite warm, if not hot in some places. It took a lot less time going back than it had going up as we weren't messing around and splashing each other like the big kids we are. Soon enough we were back at the entrance of the gorge having enjoyed our few hours playing in the water and we waited by the side of the road to hitch a lift back.
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| From Mazra'a, Jordan |
Our ride was with a very friendly middle aged Jordanian guy who, after talking in broken English with Djalma for most of the ride, took us back to William's house, dropping us back right outside the door – now there was service with a smile, particularly because we drove past the road to his house at least three times before going down it, oops! We said goodbye and headed into the guest room where within a very short time we were given another gorgeous meal of the tomato sauce (made with onions, peeled tomatoes, plenty of oil and salt) with flat bead and foul. We sat and talked to William's older brother whose English was also good and then I sat and read my book for much of the afternoon interrupted only by Djalma who insisted that I learn how to make the tomato sauce.
I was called into the kitchen, away from my beloved book, by Khalut who instructed me to 'come here' 'look' and 'sit down' as she prepared the sauce. She chopped the onion into thin wedges in her hand, no chopping board, and put it into a warming pan followed by a glass full of soy oil which then sat while the onion cooked and then started to brown, peeled and chopped tomatoes followed and they also sat in the pan cooking – not much stirring here – and were pressed into a delicious chunky paste with a big flat spoon and sprinkled liberally with salt. She told me, although not in so many words, that I shouldn't put in too much salt because 'danger', words at odds with the amount of salt in the pan. The sauce was beautiful though and I wouldn't have believed that nothing else had been added had I not been there watching the process. She made foul with the remainder of the sauce, emptying a can of fava beans into the sauce to heat up, and took some out to Smile, William's wife (Smile is the translation of her name not what she is called) and her children. The rest of the sauce went into the fridge which Djalma and I demolished later. Meanwhile Djalma disappeared off with the Grandpa to visit another little gorge.
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| From Mazra'a, Jordan |
We sat in the garden, bereft of any green except that provided by a couple of trees which apparently thrived on very little water, for much of the evening. I spoke to Mum through Skype, who at the beginning of the conversation announced quite grandly and with a much enjoyed glass of wine 'this is your mother here' like I was expecting someone else having called her at home. It is always good speaking to Mum and video calling helps to keep homesickness at bay, especially when you don't even realise you're suffering from it, I always have a big smile on my face and a warm contented feeling after I have spoken to my Mum and my Nan, it helps to see big smiling faces as well as hearing loving voices. Thank god for Skype!
I finished my book, while Djalma played with the computer, standing under the bare low watt light bulb in the dimly lit guest room, my eyes straining to make out the text on the e-reader but not giving up until I reached the end. We finished up when the beds started to appear in the garden ready for the family to go to sleep, even though they showed no signs of sleeping any time soon, and tried to get comfortable on the dusty roof. That night was even more unbearable, the night air was close and I sweated like a pig in a butchers, the breeze like the night before, did nothing to relieve the heat but instead blew only long enough to coat uncovered sticky skin with the dust and dirt on the roof. I was so irritable and hot I'm surprised I made it to the Land of Nod (to sleep) but I did and I didn't wake up too much either.
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