|Title:||no problems at the border|
|Location:||aqabah, jordan (sea level)|
|Text:||55 933 kilometres on the road
we were in no hurry to leave the beach and it was truly a sad moment when we drove off through the sand. the spinning wheels shovelled heaps of sand toward the sea as we took off the other way.
the procedures to get on board were slow and complicated but nothing we hadn't seen before. in any case, our worries lay ahead: would we get into jordan with our bikes? we were obviously not of royal blood and therefore not officially allowed to drive in the kingdom.
i returned my egyptian license plates, "aswan 13". it is a funny coincidence that witek, my polish friend, had been travelling with the same plates half a year ago. i guess the number had brought good luck to both of us!
the crossing was boring and i wondered why it was on trains and ships that you always find a high concentration of dubious looking men. the older generation was of the sad type that would have looked just as miserable in a designer suit while the younger individuals acted like outgrown teenagers with too much gel in their hair, wearing their horrific, colourful shirts open to expose gold-plated chains. one of them snatched my water bottle, drank half of it, and thanked with a wretched smile of rotten teeth.
the air was full with the sound of ringer tones, which competed for originality, as we slowly approached jordan where we arrived at night. the rules for bringing bikes into the country must have changed lately and all we needed was an authorisation from the police which was promptly granted. "how many days do you want to stay in jordan?" the customs officer simply asked us and we took three days which was for free of charge.
i didn't expect too much from jordan. all i want to see here is petra, the ancient town, before proceeding to syria and lebanon from where i'll look for a ferry to europe.