My Trip to Jordan

At the time I didn’t realise it, but I was impelled to travel with my husband to Israel for a week of business (for him), and I would take tours during the day, and we would tack on a week-long holiday to Jordan at the end. We opted to walk the border from Israel to Jordan, as flights were problematic, and we would be near the border while visiting the Dead Sea.

The walk across was a debacle (but travel can be that way). We had to meet up with a “handler” who met us at a picnic table at the Israeli border. He went over everything (absolutely everything we could expect while attempting to cross the border). Then he told us we would be going alone. Israeli citizens are not allowed in Jordan. That’s when it all became “real”. I then began to ask a few more questions. We were then shuffled into the small house where they thoroughly scanned our baggage, and the dogs sniffed everything. I was glad - I didn’t want any problems. (gulp). 

That took a while as they were super thorough. It was all extremely intimidating as the border patrol carries LARGE semi-automatic guns. They (obviously) take this very seriously. The fun was taken out of the word “holiday” really fast.

Once we finished that part, we were pointed to a fenced area where we walked through a long, narrow stretch over the desert, pulling our suitcases between Guard Towers on each end. No accompanying guides….we were on our own. Just the 2 of us. 

We were warned “absolutely NO cameras, out and definitely no phones. 

We were instructed to just walk across the border, no dilly-dallying, walk straight to the next guard station, where our Jordanian “handler” would greet us and get us through the border crossing on the other side. We had money to give him (to give to the border guards). 

It was all too much (honestly, if I had known all this, I would have opted to skip Jordan altogether). I found myself walking towards the Jordanian border (Wadi Araba). Ready mentally or not. I mean, how does one actually prepare with that much short notice? I had no idea! I tried to keep myself cool and calm, all I could think was we were both in our late 50’s with grey hair, we certainly don’t look like “trouble”. In truth, I was far from cool and calm. 

This trip exposed a lot about my character (things I didn’t know about myself), one of which was the hidden talent of a ventriloquist. I discovered this ability while walking the 500-meter walk from Israel to Jordan. 

 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband reach into his chest shirt pocket and start adjusting “something”. I knew instantly what he was doing, and I wanted NONE of it. I didn’t even want him moving his “hand”!  

So, without moving my head or my mouth (because I worried someone would notice my head looking at my husband fidgeting in his pocket and maybe they could lip-read watching me). I said in a very shaky voice. “Please do not do that, do not touch your phone or your shirt. Hands down, please”.  (of course, I make it sound so polite, my voice was shrill and sharp, and I’m not sure I even said “please”). I know my husband could feel the pleading and shaking in my voice - he was kind and lowered his hand. Later, he admitted that he wanted to put the voice recorder on to record the crossing! I was beside myself learning this. 

Another character trait was when I saw the abuse of donkeys while in Petra, it was ALL I could do not go over and stop the madness (slap that kid silly for harming the poor animal). This took a great deal of restraint for me, but the vision of large trucks carrying military equipment and “stuff” on the highway most likely to the Syrian Border kept me quiet, as did the time we were in a Sedan being driven to Wadi Rum Desert for a tour. Our guide stopped at a checkpoint, the guard came out, and they chatted and blew smoke for a while. We sat passively in the backseat. 

When suddenly people from the Guardhouse came out and stood in a line with their hands in salute position, the guy hanging off our car ran to stand in line. We turned to see what was coming, and a procession of Black SUVs and sedans with blacked-out windows pulled up beside us. Our driver didn’t move or turn his head (neither did we). Then the caravan slowly pulled away. That sure gets you thinking about life as we know it. 

Back to the border walk, we finally get to the end of the 500-meter walk (seemed like 2 miles and 2 hours in the heat of the day with all eyes on us from both sides. What a crazy feeling.

We arrive, and no one is there to greet us. (Turns out nobody was actually watching us!) So we stand around for a while, maybe 5 or more minutes. No one. We discuss what to do. Because that scenario wasn’t relayed to us on the other side!  We waited another 5 minutes, maybe longer, who knows - no one was checking the time.  Finally, I get indignant (yea me!) We were damned if we stayed put and damned if we walked around. So we walk to a little house with a window. No one inside. Walk to another one. No one inside. We keep walking and pulling the suitcases until we get near a fence where you would exit. We come around the corner I’m leading, and behind the house, sitting on the ground is a group of 3 or 4 young men with machine guns sitting in the shade. I startled them. They jumped up and started shouting. I’m certain that seeing a woman helped they didn’t raise their guns. Gulp. 

Of course, there was no explaining because Arabic isn’t our language, and we weren’t about to pull out a phone to translate. We showed our Passports and gestured to the Guardhouse. One of them walked us back to a window and left us. No one was in there. So we stood waiting, eventually a young man about 17 came walking, smoking a cigarette, all cool and collected. He wanted our passports. I then got angry and said, “Who are you?” We are not giving you our passports until you tell us who you are and why you are here. He got a bit cocky and defensive, knowing we did not have the upper hand. However, he said he was late and came to help navigate the border crossing; he told us the tour company sent him. 

We then dug around and handed him our passports. 

Here is where it went sideways. While in Israel, we visited the Dead Sea - yup, floated around there like a couple of corks and much longer than I would have liked (I was having one heck of a time getting back on my feet). When I asked my husband to come lift me, he ended up flipping on his back and was stranded as well. It’s crazy but true, the salt water is super buoyant and honestly not a lot of fun when you can only lie on your back! Lol Splashing is salty and burns the eyes. I wanted to just walk in the shallow water, but our guide was adamant that we get in for medicinal reasons…so we politely complied.

Then, while in the women's only change room, a man waltzed in like he owned the place, pretending like he lost something! It was a basic room, with only benches and no doors. I sent him packing - he had no shame and took his time. Sheesh! I packed up as fast as I could realizing that I was basically alone and possibly cornered in this house while half naked. 

I threw the towel and wet bathing suit all into my backpack and rushed out. Turns out the passport was next to the bathing suit, which I didn’t wring out - due to obvious time constraints.

The passport pages were swollen and expanding, the ink was running, and the fellow behind the window was losing his mind about this and blowing cigarette smoke in my face while shouting in Arabic. gulp

He stood it up like a tent, intimating that it needed to dry - I nodded in agreement and told the “fixer” to tell him we could wait, and I was sorry we went swimming in the Dead Sea (that I didn’t really want to, but…). It all fell on deaf ears. 

My husband steps up and hands his passport’ you know the thick version you can opt for in the U.S., for those who travel A LOT. He had pages and pages of stamps. The guy couldn’t find a blank page or the one with the Israeli stamp. He was not happy about this. We found that the Asian countries didn’t really ever try to find the last page in your passport; they just found a blank page and put the stamp in. And there would be multiple stamps on one page. So his passport became a random stamping ground of Asian stamps. Eventually, it all got sorted, and he shut the window, waving us on.

Then the “fixer” pulls us aside, blowing cigarette smoke at us, telling us he needs the cash for the next window. So we give him the money and off he goes. Again, my paranoia became heightened, remembering a friend who had left the currency from her last visit in her passport and handed it to the border agent on her next visit. She was taken to a room and asked about the money tucked inside! He took it as bribery! (An honest dude). She talked herself out of that one, but it stuck with me. Admittedly, this was much easier; I do believe it was payment expected to cross the border. (I think). 

We were now free to go. That’s when I started to properly breathe. We looked around and saw through the rolled barbed-wire fence a black van. Our fixer pointed to the van, and we walked towards it. 

A friendly man with good English jumped out and asked how our passage was (we said “fine”), and he took our suitcases and told us to jump in. 

The fixer then opened the large sliding door and opted for the best front seat before we could even get in. 

The Guide with our suitcases sees this - grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him out, speaking harshly in Arabic. Shaming him - then motions for me to get into the van first and to take that seat. He then gave him a tongue-lashing in English about being late and motioned for him to get in and take a seat at the back of the bus.  Karma worked swiftly then and there.

We were then driven to a hotel in Aqaba City for one night, as the group tour officially started the next day. We would get a free meal at the hotel and meet in the lobby in the morning.

The hotel room was less than optimal, with narrow halls, cigar and cigarette smoke wafting and permeating everything. Our room was tiny with an awful bed and a bathroom that was the smallest I had ever seen!

This is where I discovered the smell of Sandalwood was a trigger, yes, it hid the cigarette smoke, but….I just wanted to lie down, but couldn’t bring myself to lie on that awful bed and smell Sandalwood and cigarettes. So we opted to go find dinner.

Turns out the hotel was more for locals than “American tourists, and we didn’t exactly feel warm and fuzzy on arrival (there were no English speakers to help us that evening). We arrived at the Restaurant to see Arabic menus and no one to seat us. We did not feel welcome. We did get some unfriendly looks, so we opted to see the city and find a meal on our own.

On our walk, we came across an American Chain Hotel. We walked into the lobby, and it was just like being home! We considered moving here for the night (or at least I did). But my husband pointed out the logistics. How would we explain to our current hotel's front desk what we were doing? We wouldn’t be able to call a taxi, and walking down the street with our suitcases, navigating the groups of Saudi young men who drove across the desert for alcohol and the nightlife, all made it insurmountable. And how would we let our Guide know where we would be at pick-up time in the morning?

I agreed, knowing he was right, but not looking forward to going back to the hotel, with a bad bed and sandalwood cigarette smell. (I’m a smell person, if it doesn’t agree with my disposition, it’s almost impossible for me to reconcile).

We moved on and came across a pizza shop where the owner came to the table, thrilled that Americans came to his shop for pizza. Turns out he taught himself from books how to make pizza and opened a restaurant. Once I sat down in what I felt was a safe and welcoming place. I began to feel the day's stress come up for release. Yup, tears began to flow, and the floodgates were opened. I was sobbing uncontrollably. I even had my husband change sides of the table with me so I could hide a bit better. I wanted to leave, leave the restaurant, leave the hotel, and most of all leave the country! What was I doing here!

My husband reminded me that the only way out was walking back across the border! Which was not anything I wished to repeat EVER again. It was best to stay and tough out the rest of the day and night. He assured me it had to get better on the tour. I agreed.

I noticed a man watching me, and I kept trying to get a grip on the crying. I ran out of tissue and was wiping my tears and nose on my shirt! I was a blubbering mess.

Soon the pizza came (it was good!), and as the owner stood and watched us eat it, I was forced to compose myself. After he left, we were then visited by the man who watched me cry. Ugh, I did not want to explain myself to anyone, as I didn’t even know what my problem was, and he looked local, so I didn’t want to share my long story.  

As a kind and caring person, he didn’t mention my crying, but his English was excellent, and he came to ask us how we were enjoying the pizza and Jordan and where we came from. He then happily introduced his “American wife” to us and told us all the highlights we should see that evening and in that city. It was kind and sweet, and in retrospect, I know that he was that “angel” that comes during times of need. The rest of the trip was amazing, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. 

I highly recommend Jordan, Petra and Wadi Rum are absolute highlights to this day. And I absolutely adored Israel as well. It was less “triggering” and more of a homecoming. I knew I had been there before and was led to places I had been.

When I got home, I opened the Akashic Records and asked why I was so upset after crossing the Israel to Jordan border to Aqaba City. 

I was shown myself as a small, younger woman being captured and put in a wooden box where 4 men carried me across the same border. It was a remembrance of a very scary time for me. As someone who realises the importance of clearing past life trauma, this was taken care of then and there. Of course, I had no prior knowledge, but there was Soul Awareness, and the need to release through experience and then crying. In a way, I relived the trauma by crossing again on foot with the freedom of someone with a choice. 

I was assured by my Guides and the Lords of the Records that indeed I had cleared the trauma of this particular lifetime. I was advised to stop my enquiry further, as the details could and would likely bring back the memories requiring me to relive and repeat the need for further clearing. I was happy to stop there with no further enquiry.

I share this story as it had a lot of “moments” that culminated in a major clearing (tears). When I accepted my situation and accepted the help from this Angel who appeared at the table, things shifted. We went to a candy shop, visited a few appealing stores, the hotel wasn’t as bad, the smell had subsided, the Guide was prompt with pick up the next day, and the rest of the trip was amazing! 

Honestly, I forgot how we “got back home.” So while writing this, I had to ask my husband how we got back home. He said we walked back across the border. I said “nooo”.  He said our flight was out of Tel Aviv, and there were no flights from Jordan to Tel Aviv, and we were on the border, so we were dropped off at the same border we came in at. We walked across with no problems. It was completely uneventful! 

I love Israel and Jordan and highly recommend visiting.