Londoner About Town In Jordan - Madaba

After months of arduous planning, the holiday with the girlfriend (G) had finally arrived.  Months earlier I had sat down with G and looked at a list of the 7 New Wonders of the World.  One by one, the options were struck off for being too expensive, impractical for the time of year we were planning to travel or having already been visited by one or both of us until our only remaining choice was Petra.  Seeking to maximise the cultural experience, we had built up a 17 day itinerary taking us along the length of Jordan.  It would also be our first significant trip away as a couple; plenty of firsts.  Oh and neither of us spoke a word of Arabic!

Our trip got off to an inauspicious start when we boarded the Easyjet plane to Amman only to be seated in front of two children with ambitions to join the Moulin Rouge's can-can line and a desire to practise their routine on the back of our seats for the entirety of the 5 hour flight despite stern glances from a less than receptive audience.  G christened the boy Damien and the girl Regan.

We arrived at Queen Alia International Airport and were met by our hotel's driver, Amar.  Our first meeting naturally led to our first experience of Jordanian driving.  Not for the Jordanians the stifling rules of the Highway Code; instead, speed limits are set as bare minimums, texts must be read and responded to irrespective of the perilously close and fast approaching 18-wheeler and lanes should be chosen as the mood dictates.  We arrived at the Rumman Hotel grateful to be alive and were quickly checked in to our modest room.

Feeling peckish, not having been tempted by Easyjet's fine cuisine, we opted to explore our surroundings and find a restaurant for a light bite to eat.  We made it as far as the restaurant across the street (Ayar) and enjoyed a light dinner of hummus and chicken livers.  Well, the silky smooth hummus was as far removed from the paste served in supermarkets as it is possible to be and the livers had been cooked in a sweet and tangy sauce that G and I both mopped up greedily with torn hunks of pitta.

The next day, we set about exploring Madaba and had intended to take in the view of the surrounding area from the tower of the Church of the Beheading of St John the Baptist; however, with it being Good Friday, it transpired that services were running all day and the tower was closed.

Undeterred, we moved on to St George's Church (otherwise known as the Map Church).

As the alternative name alludes to, the prime reason for tourists to visit is the Byzantine mosaic map of the Holy Land.  The 3D representation of the cities is interesting and the guide books suggest that the geographical accuracy is impressive (and who am I to challenge that?).

As we left the Church it was clear that preparations were under way for that evening's service.

As often happens, I was now feeling hungry and we spied a restaurant across the road.  Trying to distance ourselves from the London mindset of "anything near a tourist attraction must be a money leeching trap with dubious standards"; we decided to give it a try.  Darna is a tiny takeaway restaurant with minimal seating upstairs overlooking the Church opposite; however, the food on offer lends credence to the old adage that one should never judge a book by its cover.

The shawarma (chicken or a rather dubiously titled "meat") was delicately spiced and the accompanying pickles boldly sliced through the fattiness of the meat.

Having wandered the streets of Madaba, perused the wares on offer at various stalls and visited Madaba's tourist information centre, which usefully had plenty of leaflets for things to do...in Amman, we had worked off our lunch and were ready to refuel.

Not far from St George's Church (in Madaba nothing is far) stood Ayola Cafe.  Taking a seat at a table set out on the street, we ordered water and, more importantly, one portion of each of the two Arabic sweets listed on the menu: baklava and kanafeh.  While both were good, it was the latter that made the stop a worthwhile culinary detour should you ever find yourself in Madaba.  If you don't know what kanafeh is, and don't worry neither of us did before this holiday, it is soft white cheese covered with a thin noodle crust and drenched in honey (Kanafeh - Wikipedia).  Enough sugar to perk you up after a long day of sightseeing (and presumably enough to help fund your dentist's latest extension).

We sat outside taking in the hustle and bustle of Madaba's streets and enjoying the shade when a man came over and introduced himself as Samir.

Samir and his cousin sat at the table next to ours and Samir explained that he had recently returned to Jordan after 20 years living in the USA.  He was able to offer us an insight into life in Jordan and the devastating effect the crisis in Syria has had on a previously burgeoning tourist industry.  While Samir talked his cousin concerned himself with arranging their hubbly-bubbly pipe just so and soon great plumes of smoke were pouring forth from his nostrils.

G proved herself every inch the decorous English woman as she took the proffered hubbly-bubbly pipe from Samir's cousin and took the smoke into her asthmatic lungs causing her to cough, splutter and cry.  The sound of her coughing was only surpassed by Samir and Samir's counsin's mischievous laughter.  Anglo-Jordanian relations; however, remained unsullied.  In fact, Samir was such a gent that he insisted on paying our bill, just one of the kind gestures by locals that was to make our trip to Jordan so special.

On our first night in Madaba, we had a reservation at Haret Jdoudna a highly recommended local restaurant offering traditional cuisine.  As soon as you step in through a stone archway you are transported from a loud street to an oasis of calm.  The open court is romantically set out with soft candlelight flickering across the stone facade of the building with bougainvillea lending a splash of colour.

Disappointingly, the food failed to live up to magnificence of the setting.  First, let us start with the positives, such as they were.  The pittas were served warm, puffed up so that they released a mist of steam as you tore into the light bread.  With a crisp outside coated with various seeds they had a lovely fluffy inner texture.  The labneh (strained yoghurt) was served with thyme and its salty tang added another flavour dimension to the evening's meal, although G found it too much - she felt her blood pressure rising with each mouthful.  We ordered our first of many (see future posts on Jordan) fattoush.  This salad consisted of tomato and cucumber chopped into small cubes served with slivers of green pepper and dressed in lemon juice and finished with a sprinkling of sumac before being scattered with deep fried pitta pieces.  The crunch of the raw vegetables and fried bread and the sour punch from the dressing made this salad a firm favourite of ours throughout our time in Jordan.

These minor highlights, unfortunately, only served to show us what might have been.  The rest of the meal was distinctly underwhelming.  The sujuk (beef sausages) were a forgettable and rather greasy dish and the filo parcels of spinach and cheese were stodgy.  Our main (I forget the Jordanian name of the dish) was a lamb burger served with a yoghurt sauce and a scattering of pine nuts.  The lamb had been overcooked and lacked any depth of the flavour and what hits of flavour were present were washed out by far too much watery yoghurt sauce.  Finally, the baba ghannouj.  G had never tried this dish before and, while ordering, I had sung its praises.  I looked rather silly when we took our first bites of Haret Jdoudna's offering.  The astringent taste meant that Haret Jdoudna's offering had none of the wonderful smoky flavour traditionally associated with well made baba ghannouj and this dish was pushed to one side.  These failings were compounded by woeful service.  G and I were seated in the middle of the courtyard, yet we felt invisible for much of the meal and contemplated sending up flares at one stage.

We chose to share a carafe of St George a Jordanian wine having been told earlier in the day by a cafe owner that it was far superior to its main local competitor, Mount Nebo.  I'm afraid to say that if this is the best that Jordan can offer up French château owners will be sleeping soundly.  An initial tart taste failed to develop and shared all the qualities of a glass of vinegar.

Having enjoyed dinner's romantic setting, if not the restaurant's culinary offerings, we decided to order dessert.  Our waiter informed us that there was no baklava left, but that he would see what they did have.  He returned with what looked like a panna cotta topped with crushed pistachios.  I later discovered that this was the dessert known as muhallabiyyeh (if you would like to try to make your own, check out the recipe available on Lebanese Recipes).  This dessert is made using almond milk and the pudding had the perfect wobble lending it a creamy texture contrasting wonderfully with the crunch of nut.  As with any pudding flavoured with rose water there is always a danger that the resulting offering will taste like an old lady's bar of soap.  Thankfully, the chef on duty was a dab hand and the floral taste was merely hinted at helping cleanse the palate at the end of the meal and providing a high point on which we could end the meal.  Haret Jdoudna is highly recommended in guide books suggesting that it is worth a special visit from nearby Amman.  It is possible that we caught the kitchen on an off day, but our experience suggests that it is a beautiful restaurant to eat at on a warm summer's evening so long as you have low expectations of the food.

We had arranged for Amar to drive us to Wadi Mujib Biosphere Reserve early the next morning.  Once again we marvelled at our good fortune that, despite Amar's best efforts, we had arrived without suffering a messy crash.

The Wadi Mujib is a canyon which opens up to the Dead Sea.

The guide books had suggested that it was possible to take wander through the canyon and keep dry.  When we arrived at the chaotic reception in which people milling about seeking direction from the woefully few members of staff we were told that the only route available would require us to immerse ourselves in water up to our chests pretty much from the start and would take 2-3 hours to complete.  Before we could ask any further questions, the member of staff was off trying to deal with another party.

Feeling disappointed that we had spent an hour in the car to get to the Wadi and would now be unable to see it in its true splendour, save for the portion visible from the viewing platform, we returned to talk with Amar.  Our main concern was a lack of a change of clothes.  He reassured us that we should do it in our hiking gear and that sodden clothes would quickly dry in the Jordanian sun and any water/dirt we ended up transferring to his car seats would not be an issue.

Buoyed by this news, we returned to reception, paid our money, signed a disclaimer and were told to choose a life jacket.  Duly attired, we walked across the bridge to the ladder down to the Wadi.  Assuming that a guide would lead the group (there was a large group of Germans being processed at reception after us) we waited at the top of the ladder.  After ten minutes we returned to reception to enquire about the tour.  We were asked, "Have you had the talk?  No?  Do not take your life jacket off.  Follow the signs.  Only one way to go" and with that our safety briefing was concluded.

We retraced our steps and climbed down the ladder into the water, which was bracingly cold, and set off.  The initial 400m was a pleasant walk through ankle deep water, but after that point the bottom of the Wadi fell away and it was soon around chest height.  Ropes were on hand to lead us in the right direction (but as the man had said there were really only two options: forwards or backwards).  We floated along looking up at the clear blue sky and enjoyed listening to the calls of the birds as they fed their young in nests perched on rocky outcrops high above us.

We scrambled and leaped across slippery wet boulders and hauled ourselves up steep inclines with the help of handy ropes and, an hour later, reached the end.  It was worth the effort (and scraped knees), in front of us was a thirty foot high waterfall.  Two other groups were sat nearby, one of whom had had the foresight to bring a primus stove with them and were now brewing tea.

Retracing our steps was far easier - going with the current (in fact, at times, G leant back in the water and floated downstream).  On our way out of the Wadi, we met the large German tour party coming in the opposite direction.  True to form, the men were wearing eye-wateringly tight Speedos and little else.

G and I climbed out of the Wadi and sat down on a nearby rock in the sun to dry out and watch other groups as they made their way along the river bed below us.  Tristram's grackles flew overhead with their cheery call and drank from the water nearby.

Exhausted from our efforts, G slept on our return to Madaba while I stamped at an imaginary brake.  Having washed the Wadi water out of our clothes and left them to dry, we headed into the centre of Madaba for a snack.  Darna had been so good the day before that we were loathe to try anywhere else and its shawarma lived up to the eulogy we had already written in its honour.

Fed and watered. we returned to the hotel for a siesta.  We had dinner that evening at Queen Ayola (across the road from Haret Jdoudna) and it was an enjoyable meal of hummus, borek, fattoush and lamb saj (thin strips of lamb and sliced onions cooked on a flat pan, think fajita style).

Madaba done, we fell asleep ready to move on to the Dead Sea.