It is Easter Sunday and although it is a complete coincidence, it seems quite fitting that this is the day we have chosen to tick the 'sites of religious significance' box on our Jordan itinerary. Up first is Madaba, home the most dense population of Christians in Jordan, followed by Mt Nebo, where Moses is supposed to have been shown the 'promised land', which we now know as Palestine, then on to a small portion of the River Jordan that for the last century and a half, Christians have believed to be the site of Jesus' baptism. After taking in all the facts, figures and fictions we will end the day floating on our backs in the super salty Dead Sea. Better than an Easter egg hunt? We'll find out.
The town of Madaba lies 35 km south of Amman, and is a quaint little village with narrow winding streets and a hand full of tall crosses jutting out into the sky above. Our point of interest is The Church of St George, named after the supposed dragon slaying knight, which houses a partial Byzantine mosaic map which dates back to the fifth century AD. A Greek Orthodox priest wishes us a , 'Happy Easter', on our way in, and as we exit, we are greeted with a nearby Mosques call to prayer. With the castle ruins of the bloody Crusade era just kilometers away, it's heartening to wittness these two religions existing peacefully side by side, in amongst the colourful souvenieer shops and multi story hotels. We drive off holding onto that thought, trying not to question it's veracity.
Our taxi climbs up the 800 mtrs to the summit of Mt Nebo, where the tourist busses have arrived, spewing out their Nikon strapped, collapsable tripod carrying tour groups, who stream up the pathway to the viewing point, in matching white caps. Under a large tarpaulin are more Byzantine Era mosaics, looking as pristine as those we have seen hanging on the walls of the souvenier shops around Madaba. A monk in earth coloured robes walks serenely amongst the throngs of tourists, some of whom file neatly into an unassuming chapel for an early morning Easter Service. As I marvel at the condition of the ancient mosaic, trampled over for centuries and still virtually intact, I am in awe of the faith of these tour-bus pilgrims, tieing prayers scrawled on toilet paper to branches of the olive trees that grow resolutely on the summit. Their religion is predates the mosaic and it appears, like the mosaic, to show no signs of weakening.
Looking out across the undulating desert into the hazy distance it seems that this 'promised land' is endless, a vast expanse beyond the still blue waters of the Dead Sea; continues for ever. You don't need to hear voices from the sky to feel inspired by the sheer potency of this landscape. It is both revealing and mystical, in parts sprouting forth life from its dusty soil, its barren craggy peaks threating those who would dare to scale them.
We begin the steep desent, bound for Bethany Beyond Jordan, alng with the camera carrying hordes all vying for an eyefull of the sacred spot, the wilderness that surrounds it once inhabited by a camel hair clad John the Baptist.
Bethany Beyond Jordan is to Christians what Disneyland is to cartoon watching kiddies. Buy a ticket, take a seat on the shuttle and jostle your way to the front of the queue at the rivers edge to dip a hand in and fill your water bottle with murkey water. No one's selling hotdogs, so if you've a keen eye for a franchise opportunity, now is your chance. In spite all the frantic water decanting hype, the facts we can be sure of sure are fascinating. From about 500 years (so, we're talking generations) after the death of Christ, locals built churches along the banks of the river, and as quickly as nature would destroy them with floods and earthquakes, they would rebuild them. Why exactly they chose this spot to build is not known, and cannot adequately be explained. But build they did, and continue to do, the most recent church having been built just seven years ago, it's gaudy gold domes glinting in the hot sun. On the Palestinian side of the river the Israeli flag flies defiantly. Both sides sport an abundance of barbed wire, and rifle carrying army patrols remind you that, fact or fabrication, this site represents the tensions that seem so wonderfully absent in nearby Madaba. Our guide hurries us back to the shuttle bus, and I gladly quicken my pace, glad to have seen this historic site, but gladder still to be heading away from the desert cam clad soldiers and their automatic machine guns.
Within ten minutes of jumping back into our yellow cab, we arrive at Amman Beach, a resort style waterfront with aquamarine swimming pools set against the backdrop of the expansive Dead Sea and the hills of Palestine beyond it. Down a steep flight of stairs is a sandy beach that leads to the salty water. The entrance price stings almost as much as a drop of Dead Sea water in your eye, but here there are no plaques or diaramas, no facts to wade through, just cool water that literally lifts you up, nothing metaphysical about this buoyancy. I can't tell you what my soul was up to, but my body was floating, and I've got the pictures to prove it.
No comments:
Post a Comment