Half Time!

November 7^th, 2010:  Huzzah, back home after successfully completing my first half marathon!!!  Things went well in spite of much angst and I am excited (relieved?) to share that my time was 1:58:17, so I cleared the two hour hurdle.  But things didn’t begin smoothly…

Set my alarm for 5:45AM to get out the door by 6:30AM.  I was figuring a half hour to reach downtown Wilmington and then it would be scramble time to park and catch either a trolley or water taxi over to the battleship.  I thought training for a half marathon was a learning curve, just trying to reach the starting line was a challenge as well.  My butterflies would fly away quite easily, however.

Downtown Wilmington was eerily quiet as I puttered down the streets.  The only sign of life was several street cleaners picking up discarded beer cans.  Of course this meant I could snag a premier parking spot right on the corner of Second and Chestnut (metered parking, but not enforced on Sundays!).  Now for my first conundrum:  it was cold and windy, so I didn’t want to freeze to death waiting for the race to start…and particularly crossing the river if I wound up on a water taxi.  I put my jacket on, hoping that I could safely stow it at the starting line (I had read in the registration pamphlet that you could stuff things in a plastic bag and drop them off there).

Walked down to Water Street and spotted several other folks in running gear who were aimlessly wandering about, reassuring that I wasn’t the only lost soul.  Quickly spotted a trolley and made a beeline towards it, with the reward being that it was headed to the battleship and free!  The first wall of tension was breached and I arrived at the battleship around 7:20AM.

No lack of people like downtown, this place was teeming with humanity.  The initial mission was to find where junk could be stowed, but despite venturing inside a building there were so many people that I didn’t want to battle crowds with no clue as to where I was going.  I tarried in the entrance for a few minutes because it was warm and returned to the great outdoors around 7:35 to visit the port-o-potties.  The training book I read strongly urged you to avail yourself of such facilities before the starting gun sounded and I could see the lines were already starting to queue.

Was glad I opted to visit the facilities when I did because even when I exited the lines had already grown considerably.  After this I just walked around and took in the stands offering various wares for runners (massages for after the race, etc.) and experimented with the best way to tuck my jacket into my water belt so that it was out of the way.

Didn’t reach a successful solution to the jacket dilemma, but realized it was near enough to start time that I was okay taking the jacket off.  Well, this is when a lot of the tension evaporated as there was just the run facing me now, so let the cards fall where they may.  There was palpable excitement with the crowd pushing close together around the starting line and music blaring loudly (several local radio stations had booths set up).

Next thing I knew the announcer had released the hounds and we ambled towards the starting line.  The neat thing these days is that they embed small devices in your number tag that get sensed as you pass over the starting line, so it doesn’t matter how far back you start.  Since there were over 1,200 runners you can wind up pretty far away (they do make an announcement to allow the premier runners to congregate up front).

Though I was mindful of my doctor’s counsel to maintain a slower pace over the bridges in the beginning, the advice was for naught.  I think it was almost mile two before the mob blob broke up sufficiently for me to hit the stride I wanted, but I wasn’t complaining.  It was nice having the mild pace enforced.

Being my first long race, the first shock was witnessing how folks just toss off their warm apparel.  Right when we started I saw a hat fall off by the road side and started to holler but caught myself --- there were so many people that any squawking would have been pointless.  However, as we pushed on I noticed plenty of hats and gloves following suit and assumed folks either abandon these layers or retrieve them afterwards.  As for me, I wasn’t about to ditch my jacket…but admit feeling a bit silly with it jammed into my water belt.

Medal for completing 2010 Battleship Half Marathon

It was a good deal having two miles under my belt before picking up the pace, though I didn’t accelerate dramatically.  At every mile there was a water station, though I had to be careful and make sure I snagged a cup of water and not Gatorade from the folks manning the stations.  I was impressed by the number of volunteers they had recruited to manage the affair, and equally by the tons of people who lined the streets to cheer us on.

All of the well-wishers were enthusiastic and most seemed to be awaiting a specific participant.  It was kind of crazy how many times I heard verbal exchanges between my fellow racers and the crowd --- it was quite touching the few times I heard children shouting at mom or dad!  The constant hubbub was a welcome distraction from the solitude of my training runs and the miles slipped by.

I kept to the pace, sneaking a peek at my watch every mile marker to confirm I was tracking nine minute miles.  The other equipment malfunction I experienced was with my heart monitor.  Even though I suited up with the device strapped to my chest, by the time I made it to the battleship and started running I guess it had slipped a little and gave me crap for feedback.  It was a plus that I had abandoned the monitor as a way to set the tone, and I’m pretty sure my pace was consistent throughout the entire course.

Another concern was the plan to chow down a Clif Bar after the first hour.  I had consumed two packs of crackers before the start and constantly checked in with myself to assure I wasn’t slipping into low-blood-sugar-land.  Felt pretty good after the first hour and decided to wait a little.  The delay got a little extended because the only mile marker I missed was for mile eight, and I was beginning to doubt I would ever see another one when I glimpsed the next one and it said NINE!

On that high note I tore into a Clif Bar.  I had never eaten one of these before, least of all while running.  My sole experience with road snacks was the single Hammer Gel consumed during my ten mile training run.  As easy as the Hammer Gel had been, the Clif Bar was a bit awkward: it was difficult to open and chewing and swallowing were uncomfortable while running.  Definitely prefer the Hammer Gels but since the Clif Bar provides more fuel that lasts longer I tried to enjoy the meal and stretched the bar out over a half mile.

Hammer Gels seemed to be the snack of choice as I noticed quite a few wrappers discarded by the roadside.  Not certain whether it is acceptable to just toss trash like that, but they might do a thorough clean-up of the entire route afterwards, so perhaps the disgust is only a product of my ignorance.

An incredible realization was how the training had altered my perceptions of length.  If you had asked me six months ago to run four miles I would have paused, but today it was an easy no-brainer (this after having already plodded nine miles).  Even though I was mired in my nine minute pace, I felt no urgency or desire to try and pick it up.  At the end of the day I was now comfortable with simply registering under two hours.

Close-up of Medallion detail

The next few miles we started closing in on the battleship again, with the looming obstacle being ascending another bridge back over the Cape Fear River.  We had been forewarned to be careful not to tumble while running over the metal grating of the bridge, so I didn’t want to kill myself in the uphill preceding the grates, but still passed a few folks and had no issues.

With perhaps a mile to go I finally started to turn it on and passed more companions, though nearly as many passed me.  This is a big part of the attraction of these struggles.  You gain reassurances your efforts have elevated your fitness level, simultaneous with being compelled to recognize how much further you could go!  I was joyous when I saw the clock at the finish line and realized I would (just barely) complete the trek beneath two hours.

Phew!  It was glorious crossing the finish line and not feeling too bad.  I was herded into a line where a medal was draped over my neck, the standard token bestowed on everyone who completes a half or full marathon.  A nice memento as I crossed off the first hurdle en route to Reunion…

Journey to Jordan VI: (October 15th, 2007) “Petra-fied”

Today was Petra!  This was the goal, and there were only a few bumps along the way.

We kicked off from the Dana Guest House around 9AM with Clowda (sp?), the Irish back packer from yesterday’s hike.  During all the gab yesterday we mentioned driving down here and she eventually asked if she could hitch a ride – she has been traveling by bus and a bit weary of that mode.  I admired her courage, being a woman venturing solo through Arab lands, but she was comfortable with making sure she had accommodations secured for each night.  In addition, she pointed out the annoyances had abated considerably once she started wearing a ‘fake’ wedding ring!

On the hour drive to Wadi Musa, the town outside Petra, we learned Clowda is a college student in Brisbane and has been roaming the planet since February.  Her trip wraps up at the end of November in Egypt, where she hopes to connect with an old friend for an extended visit.

As it turns out, her hotel was about the first place we crossed in Wadi Musa, and after carrying her bags in and wishing her well, we pushed on.  Our destination was the offices of the tour group I had arranged all of our Petra investigations with, Petra Moon.  We pinned down their location without ado, very near the Petra entrance gate, and after correcting the bill for the next three days (they had multiplied rather than divided when converting currency, thereby doubling the price!) got introduced to our guide, Ra’ed (pronounced Rad, to make it easy…you have to ululate the ‘a’ a bit).  Ra’ed came down from Amman Sunday and had been told he would be hosting a large group of Canadians, lol.

In addition, he had not been informed that we wished to hike in through Petra’s ‘back door’ --- Little Petra, where our camp site would be for the next three nights.  Ra’ed didn’t look like an avid hiker and quickly dissuaded us from the original itinerary.  So it wasn’t long before we did the standard entry through the main gate, but DANG…we were going into Petra!!!

It is probably about a kilometer from the gate until you enter the Siq, the narrow passageway into Petra, along a sandy track.  But there are Nabatean ruins even along this entrée, and it only adds to the excitement.  There are a lot of horse carriages racing along this stretch, which is annoying, but there is too much magic about to be terribly bothered.

Eroded sculptures along the Siq into Petra

Soon we entered the actual Siq, a narrow fissure between two rock walls.  As we walked through, Ra’ed (who holds a Masters degree in languages and speaks Arabic, English, German, Russian and French!) pointed out the concealed pipes built by the Nabateans on either side.  Originally they were unnoticeable, a remarkable aspect of this amazing civilization.  There were also niches for gods and various pieces of artwork woven into the walls, just a fascinating journey all the way.

Around each bend in the Siq I was expecting to be floored by sighting the Treasury’s façade, but the Siq persists for quite awhile.  I confess that Ra’ed’s continuous monologue caught me off guard when he had the three of us line up against a rock wall, hold hands, close our eyes, make a wish, and walk seven paces towards the other side.  Of course when we opened our eyes our noses were practically rubbing up against the opposite side, but Ra’ed told us to look right --- and there was the Treasury (and yes, our wish had come true).

My wish come true!

Petra is a place where your fantasies get fulfilled and then expanded.   I won’t dwell on all the miscellany I’ve read about this massive façade or the tidbits Ra’ed added, but it simply takes your breath away.  I simply cannot fathom how modern man, let alone folks two thousand years ago, could craft such a marvel.  We stopped for tea and just reveled in the majesty.  It was time well spent.

Details of the Treasury

Then it was on to the Outer Siq, where the canyon is still somewhat narrow and proceeds past a myriad of tombs in varying states of decay.  Immediately after is the Street of Facades, where you begin to get overwhelmed by how dang industrious these Nabateans were.  Things start to open up a bit after this, and then you pass by the Theater.  The Theater had a seating capacity of 8,500 and the back of it is entirely carved in a mountain side.  There were walls encircling the Theater which have since tumbled due to earthquakes, but it is an impressive structure.

After the Theater things open up completely towards the City Center.  Much of this landscape is entirely littered with rubble, a testament to how much of Petra is gone (virtually everything that wasn’t cobbled into a mountainside).  To your right is the impressive East Cliff, which requires a visit.  Here is the home of the Royal Tombs, including my favorite, the Urn Tomb.  Situated well above ground level, but easily accessed by steps which the Nabateans carved into the sandstone walls, is an old tomb which got converted into a Christian church around 300 AD.  Why?  The acoustics inside the Urn Tomb are awesome.  I can only imagine a choir singing away in here because even my humming a few bars wasn’t painful!

The Urn Tomb at Petra

We climbed back down from the East Cliff to check out the Great Temple.  This is an enormous Roman addition which they only discovered and began excavating in 1993.  The columns here are magnificent and this temple sits right beside the Palace of Pharaoh’s Daughter.  Ra’ed told us that this temple, built by the Nabateans, withstood earthquakes because they had incorporated wooden planks into the walls to absorb the shocks.  Although the wood is plainly visible, I’ll confess that the walls appear a bit reconstructed and the wood seems a bit fresher than I would anticipate 2,000 year old lumber to appear.

At City Center are several places to dine, and we enjoyed lunch at the downscale buffet (still 8JD), which was okay.  Then we scaled the wall right behind the café to the Archaeological Museum, which was free, but very small and not terribly informative.

Mark at the Great Temple – can you identify the Urn Tomb back on the East Cliff?

After lunch we braced ourselves for the ascent to the Monastery, starting about 3:15PM.  The way up is steep but entirely safe and not difficult.  It is also studded with more facades and monuments almost the entire duration.  We arrived at the Monastery a little after 4PM which I highly recommend, because this masterpiece is bathed in sunlight at that time and beyond description!

It was rather incredible that Ra’ed accompanied us here.  He had suggested hiring donkeys several times and after we repeatedly declined started complaining how heavy his boots were, followed by developing mysterious leg cramps.  But Mark and I would not be dissuaded and when I told him we could just meet him at the gate on the way out, Ra’ed valiantly decided to tag along – and his company was enjoyed!

Mark heading up the trail to the Monastery

The Monastery was a highlight for me.  Not as ornate as the Treasury, but so immense.  There was a solitary Bedouin playing a flute in the Monastery’s chamber when we arrived and this added a dreamy air to everything.  Unlike the hoards of tourists around the Treasury, the crowd here was sparse. We were surprised because this is the time of day when the façade is bedazzled by sunlight.

The Monastery with a person to gauge how enormous it is

We excused Ra’ed to return while we scampered about a bit, as there are other ruins and some great views towards Israel from these heights.  The location also proved to be a magnet for prior acquaintances.  Once again I bumped into my lady from JFK, and of course Clowda was there at the same time as well (she gave us her camera to record her presence before the Monastery).  Best was Mark running into Tim, a colleague from the American University of Sharjah, who took a picture of us in front of the Monastery.

Tim walked back with us to the gate, probably about an hour and a half long trek, and we bid goodnight to him and Ra’ed.  We headed for the Amareen camp site, a Bedouin camp which would be home for the next three nights, and arrived just in time for dinner at 7:30.  Our tent was a spacious canopy comprised from woolen blankets suspended above the ground.  They weren’t tied down, but blew languidly back and forth and left a refreshing breeze pass through.  The camp was only half filled and we had an entire section all to ourselves.

The Amareen camp site is situated just beside Little Petra and nestled in rock faces that make you feel like you never left the Siq.  There were about twenty other guests, all belonging to one of two separate groups of French tourists.  Since we couldn’t communicate with the other guests, we had a lovely time sitting around the campfire with our Bedouin hosts drinking tea.  Although the English was sparse, it was certainly enough to have a good time.  I was terribly impressed with one of the younger Bedouin, who shared he could get by in five different languages, all learned from sitting around this very fire.

Another glimpse of the majestic Monastery

We retired to our tent and started the next Spite & Malice contest for bragging rights to Petra, which abruptly ended at 9:45PM when they switched off the electric to the entire campsite à  “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the Bedouins bite…..”

  

Almost Time

November 6^th, 2010:  Dang, Sunday is the big day and I am at a loss to convey my feelings.  Even though I am not intimidated by the distance I am discouraged that I have no strategy and no experience for a run of this length.  I clearly recall trying to keep up with other folks in 10K runs from fifteen years ago and that was only inspirational.  In a race of this length it could bear severe consequences if I don’t pay attention to how I’m feeling.

Dispatched my final training run this afternoon, a simple twenty minute jaunt.  Didn’t feel that good and only registered an 8:40 pace, but the last thing I wanted to do was pull a muscle or otherwise injure myself before game day.  Scooted over to the USS North Carolina battleship this afternoon to pick up my packet, which included my number tag, t-shirt and a bag of goodies and coupons.

There were quite a few folks around doing the same thing, making me think it will be rather crowded tomorrow.  Only one wrinkle in the registration process: as I was making my way through the various stations I came upon a woman sitting by a container of safety pins which you use to fasten your number tag.  I started grabbing four and she instructed me that they were already in the plastic bag I was holding.  Well tonight I was nervously trying to ensure I had adequate snacks tucked into my belt and covering all of the other bases when I realized the promised safety pins were absent.  Thus ensued a twenty minute scavenger hunt and I caught myself wondering whatever happened to the omnipresent fasteners from my youth.  Made obsolete by Velcro?  Whatever, I finally discovered three in one of Kim’s jewelry drawers and attached the paper slip to the shirt I’ll be wearing tomorrow.

Now it is lights out, just a bit later than I had planned.  The good news is that we turn our clocks back tonight, so I will enjoy some bonus rest before tomorrow’s challenge.

Journey to Jordan V (October 14th, 2007): Manna in Dana

A wonderful night’s sleep left us recharged and ready for a challenging hike we had arranged.  Today’s conquest was Shaq Ar-Resh in Wadi Dana.  This time my attempt to secure a reservation with a RSCN guide went noticed, because at check-in in the night before we were asked if we minded sharing our guide with a group of “young people”.  Of course we agreed and looked forward to meeting everybody after breakfast.

But the buffet breakfast wasn’t served until 8:30AM at the Guest House, so Mark and I walked up to the splendid porch to revel in the sun washing over the wadi.  As we made our way towards the porch, everyone we passed was toting a coffee cup, but we couldn’t discover the source despite searching high and low.  Asking a guest revealed that you just walk into the kitchen, where a kettle of water sat on the stove with a lighter beside in case you needed to heat things up.  Cups, a container of Nescafe and tea bags were all nearby as well, so we soon got our caffeine fix.

Right after breakfast we hooked up with Tayseer, our RSCN guide and five others – four Americans attending college studies in Amman (all studying Arabic!) and a girl from Ireland who was on an extended backpack adventure.  Again we were driven to the trailhead and started marching down into the wadi.  At the very beginning Tayseer pointed to a triplet of stone pillars with a narrow streak of green between the two on the right.  He explained that the word Shaq was similar to Siq and meant “crack” --- and we would be scaling that green crack to reach the tops of those stone pillars!

As always, the course wasn’t nearly as difficult as first glimpse might suggest.  Probably the easiest part of hiking with RSCN guides is that like yesterday, we took frequent rest stops so Tayseer could smoke a cigarette!  The views were spectacular and we came upon our first Nabatean ruins.  Rising up the crack, we spotted niches where Nabatean guards were posted to guard the water supply lying in cisterns farther up.

The ’Shaq’ is that narrow green strip between the two pillars on the right

Up on top, Tayseer showed us where the Nabateans had ground channels into the rocks to direct rainwater into their cisterns.  The combination of natural beauty with ancient history made this hike one of my all-time favorites.  During our frequent breaks, Tayseer (who is attending college in pursuit of a joint degree in IT and English) educated us about the bountiful flora all around.  It was a splendid time, enhanced by spirited conversation with our college kids.

Atop the pinnacle at Shaq Ar-resh (I snapped this from the other pillar)

The view down from the pinnacle

The gang was returned to Dana around 2:30PM, and after (a buffet) lunch, Mark and I walked next door to investigate the village of Dana.  Sadly, it was as miserable as it appeared, but the spirit of the people who had returned was inspiring.  Though few spoke any English, we were greeted and smiled upon, with one father laughingly thrusting his baby into my arms and gesturing for Mark to take a picture!  It was a sweet moment and I played with the baby until he had a really good grip on my ball cap and daddy took him back.

They say Dana has been resurrected, but it still needs a strong life support system.  We concluded our tour with a stop at the gift shop back on the Guest House grounds, where I bought some jewelry for my wife that had been made by one of the villagers.  If you ever get to Jordan, a visit to the Dana Guest House will fortify your soul and provide a boost to these wonderful people who have returned.

Back at our balcony, the Spite & Malice contest resumed and I scored a couple quick victories to knot the series, only to lose a marathon match that made us late for dinner.  Mark was the Dana champion.

After dinner we strapped on our head lamps and navigated a foot path back over to the village to stop by the Dana Hotel for a nightcap (of tea).  Though pretty beat up, we found the Dana Hotel charming, especially its spacious majlis on the second floor.  Our hiking buddies were all staying here, and we were glad to see them enjoying card games too!  Unfortunately they only served sweet tea, so Mark got mine and we left, but not before I bumped into the woman I had stood in line with trying to clear luggage at JFK.  Go figure.

An unexpected gift in Dana Village

Before bed time each night I would refill my water bottles and add water purification tablets so everything is ready for the next day.  Thus far I have always used tap water and no Montezuma’s revenge, so I am pleased that I am not buying any bottled water (they don’t recycle plastic in Jordan).  But tonight both of the shared men’s rooms were locked (there is a single shower in each bathroom, explaining the locked doors), so when I returned to our room Mark suggested I go up to the kitchen.  After all, our coffee discovery validated that it isn’t locked and there is a tap there.  So I hoofed upstairs and knocked out of courtesy before walking in.  When I entered, there were several guys in there doing dishes and I naively stated that I just wanted some water.  Before I could say “stop”, they had filled four of my containers with bottled water they use to serve guests!  I cradled the last two in my arms and said that was plenty, wishing there was a way to capture this generosity and share with those who can only see these people as terrorists.

Writing this journal on our porch at the Dana Guest House (I wanna go back!)

Game Day Approaches…

October31st, 2010:  Things are getting serious.  I’m back home and the half marathon is only a week away!  Despite having confidence I can cover the distance without ado, the pace is the whole conundrum.  What if I start off too quickly and completely burn up?  Diabetic concerns are also weighing heavy as my wife is away this weekend and the original vision that she would retrieve me afterwards is replaced with the responsibility to be doubly certain I finish with my head on straight to get home and insure my daughter and all the animals (four cats and a dog) are okay.

That isn’t a monstrous dilemma because my goal is to have no goals.  The ongoing battle in my head is to dismiss concerns around the time I register, but the competitive spirit is difficult to resist.  I really, really want to finish in less than two hours and feel like I could shave a few minutes off that with where I am at the moment.

But I am uncertain I have mapped my routes with accurate distances and could be kidding myself my paces are correct.  Worse yet, I discovered that I mapped out the dates of my training routine incorrectly: appears I was a week early on everything.  As someone who never followed any official regimen this should be easy to dismiss, but there is the combined tension of competing and diabetes.  Perhaps the goal needs to be simply demonstrating I can complete a half marathon with diabetes.

I’ve managed an eight minute mile pace for my runs this week, but they are only for thirty minutes as my program winds me down for the big event.  I will be so relieved after next Sunday, even though it will mark the beginning of training for the full marathon!

Journey to Jordan IV (October 13th, 2007): Ibex, Crusades and Wadis

Feeling like veterans now, today started perfectly.  We departed the Mariam and retraced yesterday’s path to the Dead Sea through Mt. Nebo, no longer intimidated by the military checkpoint.  In no time we were at the Wadi Mujib Nature Reserve, a rather rustic collection of shacks at the entrance to their best known hike, the Siq Trail.  We had arrived promptly at 8AM, the time we had been told to be there and hook up with our Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature (RSCN) guide to do the Ibex Trail.

But before the hike began we had to confront the usual plague of issues.  We had reserved our guide for 8JD each, but at the center we were informed there is a three-person minimum (and taxes), so it wound up costing us 30JD instead of 16.  Of course we weren’t terribly surprised, paid up and pressed on.  Our guide was Makmoud, a friendly and knowledgeable authority on Wadi Mujib.  We would be trucked to the starting point, but first we dashed down into the gorge to peek at the Siq Trail.  There is no question we would have opted for this trail had we realized how brilliant it is, but we had cameras and didn’t have bathing suits – the inverse of what you need to splash down this pathway to a waterfalls.  Other plusses for the Siq Trail include that it only cost a few JD and you didn’t need a guide.  Next time…

The Ibex Trail begins with a respectable climb, but soon levels out for the balance.  You get some nice views of the Dead Sea and the scenery changes quickly and frequently, but forget about seeing any ibex.  Makmoud informed us that the beasts we came to see take cover when the sun comes up, so the odds of seeing them are virtually nil.  This didn’t diminish the scenery a bit though, and Makmoud pointed out some ibex tracks for us.  There were many other tracks as Wadi Mujib hosts a remarkably diverse group of wildlife to complement its natural beauty.

Entrance to the Siq Trail at Wadi Mujib

View of the Dead Sea along Ibex Trail at Wadi Mujib

Our hike concluded at a ranger station, where Makmoud phoned for someone to come pick us up and started brewing tea.  We sat in a majlis (informally, a room to entertain visitors) they had set up in the station and shared a great chat around Jordan’s environmental concerns.  I was most struck by our discussion of the Red Sea-to-Dead Sea venture, which aims to try and prevent the Dead Sea from disappearing by pumping in water from the Red Sea (the Dead Sea is projected to be gone in fifty years since mankind has so vastly reduced the water input from the Jordan River). When I interjected that we couldn’t fathom what might happen when the primary source was switched from fresh water (Jordan River) to salt water (Red Sea), Makmoud’s response was simply that the Red Sea is fresh water.  For Makmoud, water in the Red Sea was ‘fresh’ since creatures can live in it (recall there are no fish in the Dead Sea!) and it has only a fraction of the salt you find in the Dead Sea.  Another lesson that everything is relative…

Soon we were retrieved by truck and deposited back at the center, where we said our goodbyes.  It was refreshing to be away from the airport and all of the groveling for tips.  I asked if I was allowed to give Makmoud a tip and he graciously responded “only if you would like to”.

Now we pushed forward to Karak to visit what is touted as the world’s best preserved Crusader castle.  Temperatures declined rapidly as we began climbing out of the world’s low spot and we crossed through several more military checkpoints.  These were actually becoming comforting, knowing there were folks about looking for bad guys.  Folks who always smiled and said “welcome” when we announced our nationality.

The climb was once again twisty with steep drop offs, another dramatically beautiful landscape.  Before long a peak appeared with a large fortification embedded, immediately identified by both of us as Karak Castle.  Soon we entered the delightful town of Karak and parked right in front of the castle.

We jumped out and headed towards the square to score some lunch.  Downtown Karak is a wonderful criss-cross of streets with a unique blend of markets.  We walked past a tiny shop crammed with tons of cheap, plastic toys you would have expected to find in a 1960’s five & dime, right beside a butcher shop where five slaughtered lambs hung from meat hooks!  Eventually we sat down at a diner and ordered some

kebab sandwiches, which were okay, but nothing to write home about.

Salahdin (the hero who defeated the Crusaders) in Karak Square

Then onto the castle, where we plunked down one dinar to enter.  The physical presence of Karak Castle reminds me of Edinburgh Castle because it sits up high and is nestled in a residential community.  But the comparisons end there.  Whereas Edinburgh is still an active military post and much is off limits, Karak hasn’t seen active duty for centuries.  Everything is wide open and I actually found it refreshing:  put this castle in America and 98% would have been roped off for fear of visitors injuring themselves.

We spent several hours wandering around Karak, utterly fascinated with exploring all the nooks and crannies.  The slightest opening could lead into an expansive underground passage with vaulted archways.  Fortunately Mark & I were both packing our headlamps and we could leave most of the others behind as we plumbed Karak’s depths.  Our chief regret was that we weren’t ten years old again and running about with plastic swords!

Another regret was the lack of signage informing you about all these places.  The few placards we encountered were compelling and the site would benefit from getting a bit more in depth regarding its depths.  Even though a museum is located within the grounds, this too was a bit skimpy on details.  Nonetheless, a great place that is highly recommended.

Karak Castle (Mark Kirchner photograph, all copyrights reserved)

Assuming Karak would be our last brush with civilization, we entered a market to stock up on food supplies.  Of course I was only looking for some crackers to re-stock my supply of emergency snacks, but it was impossible to pin down anything that wasn’t chock full of sugar.  In fact, when we entered, the grocer pressed a small piece of candy on each of us.  Fortunately Mark whispered “just take it” to end my futile attempt to beg off - much easier to accept and slide Mark the treat later.  I abandoned the futile quest for sugar-free crackers once I stumbled across some roasted peanuts for sale.

We pushed off from Karak late afternoon and continued south on the King’s Highway to the Dana Nature Reserve (pronounced “donna”, as I learned from Makmoud).  The drive was pleasant, curving through mountain scenery and a few villages.  Though things seemed remote, they were positively metropolitan compared to the village of Dana.

This tiny hamlet sits on a ledge looking down into magnificent Wadi Dana (which begs memories of the Grand Canyon) and had been deserted by the late 1980’s.  Dana became re-settled after an effort to resuscitate the village with sustainable tourism was launched and we were excited to witness the recovery…but real life is a bit sobering.  Most of the ancient Ottoman huts are literally in ruins and those which are inhabited could all use some serious repair.

But we would have to take a closer look tomorrow, for it was getting dark and we had to register at the crown jewel of the revitalization enterprise, the Dana Guest House.  The Guest house sits right next to the village and is a fabulous piece of minimalist architecture.  Our room had a balcony peering down into the depths of Wadi Dana and the setting is a perfect description of peace.  If I had any stress before, it instantly evaporated once I sat on my porch and absorbed the view and quiet.  We enjoyed a buffet dinner with the other guests upstairs and then broke out the cards to begin the Spite & Malice championship for Dana on our balcony.  Mark took the lead three games to one before we turned in and I enjoyed one of the most restful nights of my life.

Wadi Dana from the balcony of our room at the Dana Guest House

Maine Event

October24th, 2010:   Another aspect you should be aware of is my love of Maine.  With luck my wife and I will be able to return here for retirement as it is where our hearts lie.  Even though we moved away from paradise nine years ago, we find ourselves frequently heading down east and I am gleefully back at the moment.

I was the Treasurer for a conservation land trust for several years in the early nineties when we lived near the shores of Merrymeeting Bay.  Merrymeeting Bay is a remarkable natural area and several years ago I was asked to return as the ‘virtual’ treasurer’ for Friends of Merrymeeting Bay…which I did.  The responsibilities are a minimal donation of effort, knowing that I am helping to protect and preserve an environmental gem.

The local membership of the organization are the ones really paying dues to ensure the Bay’s survival, but our Executive Coordinator recently resigned and I was asked to be around for interviews for her replacement.  What, come to Maine?  Sure!

The wrinkle was that I had to head straight there from a week at the home office in Dayton.  This complicated packing as I had to bring along office attire for five days and then a few days of potential winter wear.  A small fee to pay for the blessing of returning to Maine.

I adore catching up with Maine acquaintances and even though Saturday went on forever with six one-hour interviews, it was excellent to be home again.  Crashed at my buddy Ed’s place (he maintains a farm on the shores of Merrymeeting Bay) and as always, he provided several good book recommendations in addition to being an amazing host.

The only difference this time was training for Le Grand Raid.  Arose at 7AM today to complete a five mile run…I haven’t run down Maine roads since 2000 (didn’t "run into" Joanie, however…  J).  Apologies that I didn’t take my camera along, becuse the run was a scenic gallery.  Striding along the Merrymeeting Bay shores is gorgeous, and I was tickled to count four of my five miles along Pork Point Road, lol.

After getting back and showering, I followed Ed (the chairperson of Friends of Merrymeeting Bay) to walk about our latest conservation easement project.   Seems like these are always complicated ventures and this latest initiative is particularly complex – quite glad Ed walked me about so I could appreciate the different parcels and learn their relevance.

But being back in Maine I had grander plans for the day and planned sensibly to accommodate diabetic concerns (i.e., after running five miles and tramping about in marshy woods for an hour I was sure to have plenty of snacks in my pack).  I really treasure Camden Hills State Park, a spot where I would occasionally hike and camp when residing here.  This is the home of Mount Battie, the peak where Edna St. Vincent Millay was inspired to pen Renascence:

All I could see from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood

I turned and looked another way

And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line

Of the horizon, thin and fine

Straight around till I was come

Back to where I started from

And I all I saw from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood

After today I have been to the top of Mt. Battie four times, never using the car road to the top.  The best time was when I hiked up after arising in my tent and reaching the peak around 8AM --- there were no humans but a single pileated woodpecker.  This is the only pileated woodpecker I have ever seen, and it was just so enormous it took my breath away!

I was alerted to his presence by the loud beating of huge wings.  It was a beautiful moment and this pre-dated my appreciation of travel and the diversity of our planet.  Another take-away for fellow diabetics is that you don’t need to trot about the globe to appreciate life.  There is a multitude of beauty in your back yard which can be enjoyed.  Some folks frowned on the simple task of me camping out solo but I can only encourage you to get out there and experience the beauty of our world, whether it is nature or other cultures, nearby or distant.

Beautiful Camden, Maine from Mount Battie

Journey to Jordan III (October 12th, 2007): How Low Can You Go?

Not an aggressive itinerary for day one, so we casually arose, showered and went downstairs for breakfast.  Welcome back to the buffet line – I had forgotten this is how you enjoy virtually every meal in the Middle East.

Our first destination for the day was Mt. Nebo and the Moses Memorial Church, which commemorates where Moses finally got to see the Promised Land, even though he was forbidden to enter it.  Despite an early arrival around 8:30AM, the place was already cluttered with buses and tourists, which didn’t ruin the sanctity of the place.  There is still a special feeling as you look towards Israel and see Jericho off in the mountains.

Views were a bit compromised by haze, so we walked up to the church and entered the Old Baptistery.  People from all faiths milled about while a monk performed mass.  Somewhat odd to be viewing mosaics on display from around 500 AD while a monk conducts services.  Outside were more views and a modern sculpture of Moses’ staff entwined by a serpent (inspired from Jesus speaking in John 3: “as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.”).

We came across a very nice refuge from the milling masses, the Interpretive Museum.  Its footprint is very small, but it is brilliantly laid out and attractive.  Although the collection is also small, there are some exceptional pieces which we enjoyed.

Sculpture of Moses’ Staff and Serpent at Mt. Nebo

Time to head for the Dead Sea, and it seemed like we should be able to proceed straight through Mt. Nebo, but there were a pair of military guys with automatic weapons at the crossroads, so we thought it prudent to double back to Madaba.  A bad decision as the streets were swarming since today was Eid.  The streets of Madaba resemble a kettle of snakes, and none of the streets have their name posted in English, so we went around in circles even when we weren’t on a rotary!  But we persevered and were successful in following a sign to Ma’in, a resort near the Dead Sea.

Along the way we came across the Dead Sea Panoramic and decided to check it out.  A recently built pair of buildings on a ledge with great views of the Dead Sea, entrance fee is 500 fils (about $0.70 US) to get beyond the gate.  The museum was closed since it was Eid and we were worried the restaurant went the same way since we didn’t see any other vehicles, but the door opened to reveal a well appointed diner.

It is illegal to take your car swimming in the Dead Sea

The food was tasty and reasonably priced so we dallied in hopes the mist would lift.  We must have been a good luck charm, as people streamed in during our meal and the place became reasonably crowded before we were finished.  The weather cleared and we got some photography in before heading on to Ma’in.  The descent to Ma’in was breath taking, but our view down suggested the road would dead end once you reached the resort.  Pulled out my trusty “Rough Guide” and sure enough, our suspicions were correct.  We made a U-turn and retreated a bit to get on the newest roadway down to the Dead Sea.

We weren’t on this road very long before encountering another couple soldiers with machine guns slung over their shoulders.  Coming to a stop, we were asked what nationality we were.  After we both responded “US”, the soldier asking us questions broke into a warm smile, extended his arm to gesture we could continue and said “Welcome”.  Now there’s some racial profiling I can take!

Another twisty descent ultimately brought us to the bottom of the world and we turned north to get to Amman Beach.  A few minutes later we paid 5JD apiece to enter the ‘low budget’ beach (next door is one for 10JD that has a pool and gives you a towel).

You can call me ‘Bob’

Soon we were taking turns bobbing in the incredibly buoyant waters of the Dead Sea while the other stood sentinel over our backpacks.  The sights included three ladies covering themselves in mud for a free beauty treatment (the Dead Sea is acclaimed as a health and beauty hot spot), a guy floating with a bright green turban wrapped around his head and fully veiled mothers wading into the water to keep tabs on their children.

Taking a dip in the Dead Sea is a very cool experience.  You can’t swim because it is so buoyant, but you can’t sink either – I grabbed my legs and rolled into a ball, but still bobbed away.  Unfortunately Mark ducked his head under water and was not happy with how badly your eyes sting!  When you get out it feels like you are coated in Teflon, so picking a beach with showers is recommended.

There is no life in the Dead Sea (beyond bacteria you would find in any other body of water), but Mark made an observation that there weren’t any boats either.  The destination seemed ideal for a fleet of pleasure craft, but not a single Chris Craft could be spotted.  We thought about this and decided that since the other shore was the West Bank, military concerns might be the reason, but also wondered whether the extreme buoyancy would require special boats? (subsequently confirmed that boats don’t fare well in the extremely salty waters)

On the way out we stopped at the ‘Preparations Store’ where I scored a tacky refrigerator magnet (the usual memento) before hitting the road back to Madaba.  Convinced we could return through Mt. Nebo, we rebounded via a different route and climbed back up, careful to avoid the goats and donkeys roaming everywhere.  Before long we espied the snake sculpture and now that we understood how easily it was for pasty, white males to get through military checkpoints, we simply salaam alekum’ed our way back to Madaba. (“salaam alekum” is a common greeting that means “peace be on you”).

But the traffic nightmares continued in Madaba and we missed our last stop for the day.  We had wanted to get to St. George’s Church, also known as the Church of the Map because on its floor is a mosaic map from the sixth century AD which has a very accurate layout of the Middle East, including many details of Jerusalem.  We drove more circles around Madaba but punted when it was 6PM, the time the church closes.

Back at the Mariam, we packed up to depart early the next day.  I went down to the front desk to ask if we could pay now and perhaps get an early breakfast.  We needed to be at the Wadi Mujib Nature reserve to meet our guide at 8AM Saturday and had to hit the road about 7AM.  The response was “yes” to both questions, but in Jordan, “yes” translates loosely as “I have no idea what you are saying but would love to help you if I could understand what you want”.  I stood around for a little, waiting for the clerk to start checking me out, but he eventually starts waiting on another person who walks up.  I know when to cut my losses and head back to the room.

Mark and I enjoyed another buffet dinner at the Mariam and after a few minutes of reading/journal writing decided that sleep sounded pretty darn good.  My final act for the night was calling the front desk and asking for a 6AM wake up call.  The response I get --- “that is very early, can you  pay now?”.  Sheesh!  I drag my tired butt back downstairs and endure a fifteen minute session of tallying up the bill and completing the credit card transaction.  I was ready to scream by the time we concluded everything, but the price was more than reasonable and I had seen the Promised Land today, so I could forgive.