Adventures in Umm Queis

Like most Jordanian adventures, this one begins with a taxi ride. I merely wanted to go to the North Bus Station, the Bus Station in Tabarbour, which is in Tareq. Now, I told my taxi driver this: "Tabarbour. I want to go to the bus station in Tababour." He said okay and I assumed that was it. We came to a turn-off for the general area and he asked, "Where?" I told him, "Tabarbour, you know, in Tareq." Tareq is the larger neighborhood and Tabarbour is the more specific area, or vice versa; maps and street signs are rather inexact sciences here. He said okay again and took the turn; I saw the signs pointing out that we were indeed in Tababour. He started driving down random streets that did not look like that streets I had seen before when I went to this particular bus station. Maybe, I thought hopefully, maybe he's taking a shortcut?

No, he wasn't. He gestured around. "Here's the mall in Tababour," (really just a small cement building), "where do you want to go?"

"MaHatat al-Bus fii Tababour."

He gestured in frustration and we took off in another direction, finally arriving at our destination. Why he didn't understand it the first time I told him and he agreed, I will never know.

I got on the public microbus, going to Irbid, sharing a seat with a young mother and her two children. This is where I noticed the difference a head-covering makes; every time I've been on a public bus in hijab, the lady beside me always strikes up a conversation and I generally wind up playing with her kids. Without hijab, there wasn't any conversation and she did her best to keep her (cute, pudgy!) little toddlers from annoying the strange Western woman.

In Irbid, I asked several people and finally got another bus going from the south to the north bus station in the city. From the north bus station, I found the bus going to Umm Queis, waiting in the hot sun for it to finally leave.

Finally, the bus made it to the modern town of Umm Queis and most of the passengers exited on its meandering streets. The bus pulled up to the end of a street and the driver pointed to a brown sign announcing "Ruins" that-a-way. I thanked him, and hiked up a rather steep hill.

Despite passing a Jordan Department of Antiquities guard lounging in a chair - to whom I showed my Jordanian ID - there was little to no marked entrance. I wandered about the premises, a bit overwhelmed by the large, partially restored basal structures in their grass coverings. Finally, I found a path - and realized I had come in the back way.

I entered the outdoor museum, where I signed the guestbook in Arabic, much to the impression of the curator. The museum had some fine first century medical tools; alas, no pictures. It also had some amazing sets of stone doors - some of which worked! (I was strongly reminded of Charn and greatly amused myself by pretending to be Jadis. The walls didn't shiver like silk, however, for me. So the the world is still safe, I guess.)

I meandered through the beautiful ruins, eventually stopping at the beautiful (but overpriced) outdoor restaurant to order some tea and babaghanouj. I then had my typical problem of getting the waiter's attention to remove my stuff and then even more of a problem getting his attention to give me my bill. With about 10 white-shirted waiters waiting around, one would think it would be easy - but nooooo. It seems that diners are supposed to linger for thirty or forty minutes, drinking in the scenery before a waiter will condescend to attend to such paltry matters as payment.

More exploring, surrounded by hordes of school-children and Jordanians. I was reminded heartily why I dislike traveling with crowds. I saw the theatre - you've seen Roman theatre, you've seen them all - and enjoyed walking about the town. I had wanted to see some specific basilica ruins, but couldn't find them. Being on an intense time budget - I had arrived around 12 and needed to leave by 3pm in order to catch what I supposed would be the last public transportation back - I hustled through the black ruins with a haste that was slightly frustrating. The scenery was absolutely stunning: you could see Israel and Syria in the distance, separated by the Sea of Galilee.

Rushing down the Cardo, I explored several small remainders of the once thriving city. I found a glorious old church, nearly taken over by wildflowers now buzzing with bees. There was a mausoleum and temple remnants, all being slowly hidden by the ever-encroaching green.

Among the eroding ruins, I found myself in a veritable Paradise; standing in the semi-circular remains of a basilica and surrounded by riotous flowers, I knew that if I could just remember the right words - if I could only put together the proper sequence of incantations - Aslan would come. I knew some of the trees had cousin in the Wood between the World or other distant relations in Archenland or perhaps even in Lantern Waste itself. Alas, I could remember no particular Words of Magic; but then, getting Aslan to come has never been about saying the exactly proper words, has it? So, just like Scrubb and Jill and their first attempts, I was disappointed. Not too terribly disappointed, though: I was still standing on a Roman road, in the midst of fields and fields of glorious color with Galilee just before me. What more could I want?

Well, a bus back to Amman, I suppose. I hurried to the end of the Cardo, noting the older French lady tourists and also seeing the biggest bulls of my life! (Thought Dad would appreciate that. Although some of them were cows, too. It was fitting, given that Umm Queis is in biblical Bashan) I left the ruins around 3:30, hustling down to the town. There was no particular bus stop - and the bus that morning had followed no particular route as it dropped off people to their given destinations. I realized I should have established with the driver when I needed to be picked up; but then, I hadn't been sure if it would be the same bus or not. I didn't want to wait until later, because I had heard horror stories from other students about having to pay a large amount of money to get back. I walked along the town's road, stopping at a small "super market" to buy a water and inquire of the owner how I could get the bus back to Irbid.

I pulled out the water bottle and approached him. He smiled, "Just water?" he asked in a very strong accent.

"Yes, just water," I replied in Arabic. He gave me a huge grin. "I want to take the bus back to Irbid. Can you tell me when it is? Where do I need to go?" His grin increased. He told me that there would be a bus coming along - 10 or 20 minutes - and I could wait there. As he slowly maneuvered about the shop, I had a thorough conversation about what I was doing in Jordan, what I thought of the country, the people, and the University. He motioned to a bright purple plastic chair, and told me I could wait there. I pulled it out to the porch, and enjoyed waiting my 30 minutes for the bus to arrive, surveying life like a local.