A Trip to Kanzaman

Welcome to Once Upon a Time.

N., S. and I made a late evening excursion by taxi to the Jordan tourist and craft center called Kanzaman, Arabic for "A time in the past", or, as S. put it a bit romantically: "Once upon a time". This is a complex of craft shops and a large buffet restaurant, popular with tourist groups, but set in what seemed to be the end of nowhere. At night, It's like an oasis in the middle of the ocean. It is near several villages, but as street lighting is not common outside the city proper, it can be pretty dark while getting there. We experience so much light-pollution in the U.S. cities, true rural blackness is intimidating.

The taxi ride was worth the five dinars. Kanzaman is south of Amman, off the airport road, and for us about a twenty-minute journey. Jordan highways are generally good-to-excellent, but once you leave them for less populated areas they tend to follow the natural grade, and all bets are off. Lane markings on these secondary roads have faded away long ago, with drivers free to use whatever part of the road they feel opportune. It's rather like Italy on steroids. Underpasses are particularly thrilling.

For the most part, taxi drivers are skilled and cheerful souls who keep up a friendly chatter while answering cell phones, honking at anything that doesn't move to their liking, and threading their car through the intense, crazy traffic. To call their driving aggressive is to make a HUGE understatement. I usually sat in the front, called the death seat, and spent much of each journey fighting the seat belt and rediscovering my faith.

Kanzaman was created from stables sturdily built in stone, and Jordan did a good job in accommodating and integrating a number of craft shops and souvenir stores with the large restaurant. Someone put some money and thought into the place. Items offered, particularly local craft items, were up-market in quality. Prices were reasonable-to-outright cheap. Kanzaman is not your usual souvenir stop for your tourist bus.

There is an in-house bakery, a very large dining hall and an equally-large, comfortable open-air lounge covered with billowing, brightly-colored panels (think "tent", you're supposed to). Perhaps because it was the end of the summer season, selections were a little thin on the ground. No alcoholic drinks are offered, of course. Also, avoid the cranberry juice as it's a disappointment and overpriced. Stick with the teas. By all means order the flat bread with zata herbs/spices and white cheese; hot from the oven, it's delicious.

If you take a bus tour in Amman you may well end up at Kanzaman for a meal. The food seems okay and the décor superior to most of the large buffet-style tourist stops. Every shop seems either up or down some stairs and the natural stone floor and steps can be a little awkward to navigate, so if walking is a challenge, hold on to someone. It's clean, staff seems trained, and if you're in the market for a little silver trinket, stop by and see Samer the silversmith at his little shop where hand-made jewelry is priced by the gram. Some interesting things can start around $15. Don't forget to bargain.

The Citadel of Ajloun

It's a fixer-upper with a great view.

We invested the middle of the day to a trip to the north of Jordan to visit the city and fortress of Ajloun. This is a well-resurrected Islamic castle built during the Crusader period at the orders of Saladin. While N. and I have visited most of the southern touristy sites over the decades, for some reason we skipped the north of Jordan until this year. This was wrong on our part, for the countryside is quite impressive, mountainous and scenic. It also holds the second-largest city in Jordan, Irbid, a university town.

I won't give the history of Ajloun here—Wikipedia and the Jordan tourist agency sites do fairly well in describing the background of the Islamic castle's development. As any threat from the great Crusader castle at Karak disappeared with its fall to the Ayyubids only two years after Ajloun's construction, the fortress never had a chance to fight back the Crusaders, its apparent original purpose. It did, however, suffer slings and arrows through the centuries in internecine fighting, and was captured and severely damaged by the Mongols. It had mostly an administrative function in latter centuries. Two earthquakes (in early nineteenth and twentieth centuries) didn't help.

I was surprised at how little I could find on this pre-Islamic history of the fortress and the important, strategic mountain it sits upon. While not talked about much, it was earlier a Roman construct and the site of a Byzantine church, the latter revealed through recent excavations, but not mentioned much officially. History has so much baggage in this region that you can pretty much select from and interpret events as they suit your previous convictions. A cursory inspection provides evidence of several reconstructions and a varying quality of stone work.

Scampering about the ruins makes a great afternoon—there are a lot of nooks and crannies to investigate—and we had exceptional weather for it. Jordan has done a good job in making this a comfortable tourist site, and an excellent work of reconstruction where necessary. We were a bit off season, but there were a number of groups passing through and the castle was well staffed with guides and security. A. tells me that they once picnicked on the castle grounds, but this is no longer allowed.

One area where Jordan could put additional effort: directional signs to the castle. It's a little unfair for me to mention this, as they have done a great deal already in basic highway signage, but even Jordan residents get lost trying to find their way to the citadel. Advice: get good directions.

For those on a pilgrimage, there is a Catholic school, church and shrine on the route to Ajloun where the Virgin Mary is said to have performed several miracles in recent years. One miracle was said to involve the cure of cancer for a Moslem woman, which, in a small sense, illustrates the religious tolerance evident in this country.

The roadsides are packed with vegetable stands, pottery factories, bakeries and every imaginable shop. On the way back, we stopped at one of the villages and bought some fresh goat-milk lebaney, a yogurt-based product that I dearly, dearly love, some bread from the local bakery as it came out of the oven, and some of the local white cheese (the latter must be soaked overnight in water as it comes naturally with a degree of salt that will still your heart). It made a great snack as we drove back into Amman as dusk fell.

Across the Bridge to Jordan

It's not the Allenby, but nearby in Jericho; a bridge over a very dry wadi.

Crossing the Jordan River via the Allenby Bridge is much easier than it used to be. I can recall being poled through barbed-wire gates amidst a mass of humanity, animals, food stuffs, bags and luggage, and anything else the authorities would allow to transit. There was no air conditioning, no nice terminal building, and, certainly, no posters welcoming you, one direction or the other. One year I remember we had to walk across the rickety bridge into Jordan carrying our own luggage like refugees. The old, crowded and un-conditioned buses were rudimentary, to say the least.

That experience seems to be firmly in the past. While there is still a small dose of arrogance involved on the Israeli side, procedures and administration, especially for foreigners, is immeasurably better. The similarity to an airport is stretching it a bit, but most of the trappings are there: glassed-in passport controls, luggage handlers and carts, taxi and bus zones, currency exchange, customs officials, and signs with best wishes for a speedy and pleasant trip. On the Jordan side, it's even simpler and much friendlier. There's even a free-tax shop! We didn't even get off the bus.

The Allenby used to be the only land route between Israel and Jordan; now there are three crossing points, one to the north and one at Aqaba on the Red Sea. The Allenby crossing, named after a British officer, is still heavily militarized on the Israeli side, with multiple check posts and tedious vehicle, passport and visa procedures—particularly for the Palestinians. Foreigners are treated somewhat differently, though only marginally. The two groups—Palestinians and those with foreign passports—are segregated at the bridge and don't meet up again until the Jordan side.

Both governments recognize this as a money-making enterprise, a common denominator for most Palestinians dealing with governments, even their own. Israeli exit fees for a foreigner amount to over 200 NIS, and you should be certain keep some shekels, as the exchange rate at the Bridge is simple usury. Then there are mandatory bus fees and luggage handling charges exacted in dinars. Also, don't attempt to enter Jordan from Israel via the Allenby as a foreigner without a Jordanian visa—you'll be turned back at one of the Israeli check points.

The border has been peaceful for generations now, and there are few visible reminders of the war fought across this river in 1973. There used to be a few burned-out armored vehicles on the Jordan side where there was a spirited defense of territory, but they've either been removed or have fallen into history. As a sign of how relations are now between the two countries, there is a freeway being built between Jerusalem and Amman. A freeway! How Western can you get? Already, cars with Jordanian license plates are already visible in Israel.

Jordan is an enlightened country and an example of how an Arab country can cope—and thrive—with peace and religious minorities. While it is an absolute monarchy, there is a balance between parliamentary rule of law and royal dictates. In a sense, the King provides the moral compass while the government worries about macro and micro management. Make no mistake, though, the King is the power in Jordan.

Christians, amounting to only about three percent of the population, have a vibrant public life and churches are common. No one seems to be put-upon or suffer discrimination. Palestinians are well represented in government and ministries. Such accord is not only extraordinary in the Mid-East; it seems to be increasingly uncommon in Europe or even, with its ultra-conservative political insurgency, America. I don't want to be a Pollyanna, but it has been thirty years since I was in Jordan, and I am much impressed with its accomplishments in becoming a modern, civil and progressive country.

King Hussain's Auto Museum

One of his favorites toward the end of reign. Like the king, an exceptional example of its kind.

The King Hussain Park in Amman is a large, entirely landscaped public park on the side of one of the city's hills. While the trees are still in adolescence, it's a pretty park and offers some great views of the city spread out below. It's a favorite place to walk and picnic by residents, especially in the early evening, well protected and clean as a pin. If I wanted to find just one remarkable difference in Amman from the city I first visited in the mid-Seventies, it would be how clean it now is. Put the reason down to security, or culture, but there is almost no litter, and public spaces are clear of the vandalism found in almost all urban centers. That this city is in the mid-East makes its tidiness all the more exceptional. Jerusalem is a mess in comparison, and Ramallah should be ashamed of the comparison.

The late King Hussain was extraordinarily fond of automobiles and motorcycles, and Jordan has built a special building for the public display of his collection and of the automobiles used for state purposes during his long reign. I've been in a lot of automobile museums in my day, and Jordan's effort will stand up to any of them. The park and the museum at the top of the hill deserve the attention of any visitor.

Not all of the cars were used by the late King; some are donated or on loan. It's an eclectic display, with everything from early military armored cars and motorcycles to the latest 1001 hp Bugatti, and if you like Rolls Royce, this collection will make you very happy. The King obviously searched out the mechanically unusual and was intrigued by technological advances in auto design. There's a Cord, a 1949 Chrysler "Woodie" convertible, some truly exceptional Ferraris, a few armored Cadillacs, two Lincolns, at least one Packard, a BMW Z1, an old Lotus, a smattering of Porsches…well, you get the idea. Aside from antiques and rarities, the 50s and 60s are well represented. For some reason best known to him, he liked Buick.

All cars are neatly and effectively displayed and you can (but shouldn't) get close enough to touch. You have to resist the temptation to climb inside some of the cockpits. I do wish they would raise the illumination level in places—it's difficult at times to read the descriptions and stories behind the cars, which are well done for the most part. Harley Davidson fans will enjoy the exhibit (there's a ridiculously opulent example that he liked to ride), and there are some very early German two-and three-wheelers, although I'm personally cool to all cycles—I've laid down my share.

As with the best of museums, there are multimedia presentations of the King racing many of his cars. He seems to have really enjoyed speed and was an accomplished hill-climber, setting some records that resisted betterment for more than a decade. He loved to rally, and several of his rally cars are here.

I think that one of the things that make the museum so interesting is that he used these cars. He had affection for his autos and cycles, they were an important part of his private life, and somehow this makes the man, already exceptional, all the more one of us.

Water, water, but not everywhere

One of the three primary sources of the River Jordan

Nothing, it seems, including the security measures taken by Israel, is as aggravating to Palestinians –or is as crucial to their future as a people or as a nation—than the availability of potable water.

We were collectively invited for lunch a few days ago by a family in Beit Jallah, a highly contested piece of real estate adjacent to Bethlehem. Beit Jallah occupies high ground (on a clear day they say you can see Jordan), and as this is held as desirable by the Israelis, a good piece of the town has been declared by the Israelis as Zone C. That is, it is under the direct control of Israel. Although firmly in the West Bank, and thus technically in the administrative sphere of the Palestinian Authority, the PA has little to say about anything here—it's a situation where they have some responsibility but no authority. An example would be policing. This unfortunate dichotomy can be found throughout the West Bank.

Upon arrival, I was sitting with the host, a genial man with experience in balancing between Israeli and Palestinian wonderlands, and he was telling me about the features of his apartment that overlooks the city. One of the first things he mentioned was its capacity and technology for holding potable water. For, as in many parts of the West Bank, water distribution by pipe is completely in the hands of the Israelis, and they restrict his apartment, and many other Palestinians, to a few hours of water per day. What he finds so incredible and unjust in this is that the water is out of the Palestinian aquifer in the first place. In his view, and held by almost all Palestinians, their water is being stolen and then sold back to them. It's not cheap, either. To fill his apartment building's reservoir costs almost 50 NIS a cubic meter. And you don't drink it. Some countries pay less for fuel oil.

I'm reminded of a similar situation in Belgium, where Walloons hold that their region provides Flanders with a crucial water supply. They say this is not recognized by Flanders as a real contribution by Wallonia to the general good of the nation. They consider "their" water a counter to Flemish gripes that Flanders, in turn, funds much of the social cost of Wallonia.

Water is a finite resource in the Middle East and this is certainly true with Palestine. Israel has industrialized the local agriculture business and imported millions of new consumers, collectively putting a strain on water supplies and resources. And more, this demand is asymmetrical: by estimates, one Israeli national on average consumes three times the amount of water used by a Palestinian. This is not because he spends more time in the shower; it recognizes Israel's commercial and agricultural use of water for exportable cash crops. But, whether by nature or by necessity, it is clear that the Palestinians exercise greater conservation.

The Israelis have taken charge of all utilities in the West Bank, including water treatment and distribution, sewage treatment and collection, electricity generation and distribution, fuels, communication trunks, etc. The Palestinians are increasingly dependent upon Israeli for many of the most essential aspects of daily life. In Beit Jallah, it may be as great a problem for my friend to get rid of his sewage as it is to get water. There is no sewer collection, and septic tanks and leach fields are over used, threatening ground water. Either way, life for him will not get easier or cheaper. This trend toward dependency—and exploitation—was observable twenty years ago, and the practice is almost complete today.

The control of water is to master the fate of those dependent upon it. Many believe the entire reason for past Israeli incursions into Lebanon was to attempt control of water, and that future wars are inevitable to assure new sources. Be that as it may, there is no doubt in my mind that Israeli control of the Golan is fundamental to their control of the headwaters of the Jordan, which feeds much of the northern, fertile Galilee, and which is ultimately the source of the Sea of Galilee, the primary reservoir for the industrial and populated central costal region.

We visited Galilee, and the three primary sources of the Jordan River in the Golan Heights. Taken from Syria in the 1967 war, the intervening 43 years has seen the almost complete integration of the Golan into Israeli. They've made a national park out of a good part of the region. They even have a cute little goat as a mascot if you're into that sort of thing. It is a beautiful place and well worth the visit. Not too many foreigners come to the Golan but it's popular with Israelis. There is lots of military hardware around and old Syrian camps, mostly in ruins (but not all, a Syrian NCO club is now a Lebanese restaurant), but for the most part, you could be anywhere else in Israel. If there are souls out there that think the return of the Golan Heights is still a bargaining chip for peace with Syria, they should realize that it is highly unlikely it will ever be surrendered; it is absolutely crucial to Israel agriculture. I believe Israel will never again share the Sea of Galilee with anyone.

There is less to share, anyway. I was shocked, when overlooking the Sea, to find it substantially smaller that when I last visited it a quarter of a century ago. I recall it as a rather massive, inland lake, with shorelines almost below the horizon from any lake vantage point; not so today. At this rate, it will soon take on the dimensions of a Florida drainage pond. The countries adjacent to the Jordan valley are good at making lakes disappear; the Dead Sea has shrunk by kilometers thanks to Israeli and Jordan evaporation mining, and Palestinian lake-side resorts viable thirty years ago are high and dry today.

There is an international scheme to pipe water from the Red Sea to the Dead Sea, using the natural fall of 270 meters from sea level to generate energy, and renew the Dead Sea's rapidly evaporating body. That energy could be used to desalinate sea water and irrigate the Negev, among other things. While Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Europe and the U.S. are all busy surveying the possibilities, it is notable that the Palestinians are not considered partners in any venture. The feeling seems to be that they're just consumers, now.