TRANSIT

We left Tiberias on a rainy Wednesday morning, and I have to say, service taxis are the way to go. Originally we were going to bus it, but it's amazing what a little haggling can do.*Note: don't be fooled... behind the pretty blonde hair and the innocent blue eyes, Julia has become a shrewd, tough wheeler-dealer. She definitely is not one to be taken for a couple extra shekels. or dinar. or dirham.]

So, anyways, the taxi took us to the most unorganized, unoccupied, border crossing you've never seen. Getting into Jordan from Israel was painless, but unneccessarily confusing. There were no signs or directions (or people, really, for that matter). We ended up going through 4 checkpoints (2 of them twice) and waiting 20 mintues at a bus station to catch a bus that took us through a gate and to the Jordan side which was approximately 70 metres away. Once in Jordan, it was the usual baggage x-rays, metal detectors, and a weird registration process where we were taken into an office, gave our names, sat for a bit, and then let go. Whatever, we got the stamps, and that's what matters. The real fun began once we hit the taxis.

The driver of our taxi was a lot like a 12 year old playing Mario Kart on the old N64. The theory is simple- drive as fast as you can until you hit a road block, then slam on the brakes, honk the horn, weave a bit and then punch it again. Only we weren't travelling on Rainbow Road, or even in Wario Stadium- we were en route to Amman, Jordan, in the Middle East, on Election Day. The place was absolute chaos.

The roads were crammed with people galore. Screaming people, dancing people, old people, angry people. People playing music, people passing out flyers, little people running alone amongst traffic, and teenage people hanging off pickup trucks like kittens on a screen door (what's up BK and GK).It was absolute madness driving through towns, and every time someone tried to shove a flyer in his window, the driver became just that much more ornery. I think he was fed up, so he took us on a winding, narrow, unfinshed mountain road, all the while maintaining breakneck speed. Julie and I just looked at each other. It was all we could do. Julie thought that we were hostages (which, I guess, in a way we were), and I was playing Houdini and imagining escape routes.

Finally we got to Amman, where we had to fight with the guy to take us to our hotel-
Him: "Where you go?"
Us: "Toledo Hotel please"
Him: "You stay Sandy Palace (as we pass). Is good place. Very cheap"
Us [losing patience]: "No thanks, take us to Toledo"
Him: "30 Dinars"
Us: "What- no, you said 25"
Him [now angry]: "27"
Julie [after a few more minutes of arguing]: "No. Forget it. 25, that's it. Final."
Him: eyes shifty, moustache quivering, defeated.[told you she was good].

So that's the taxi story.

The rest of our stay in Amman was delightfully uneventful 3-star luxury. King sized bed and all. Plenty of R&R- perfect for what lie ahead, and a pleasant reward after 2 months of backpacking.

Election day in Jordan: check.