Grand Prix minus the booze?

Last Thursday, with just over a week to go the Bahrain Grand Prix and the largest influx of tourists all year, all 1 and 2 star hotels in the kingdom were served with an edict banning them from selling alcohol and from providing live entertainment. 

The ban took effect last Friday. Yep, the hotels were given precisely 24 hours notice of a decision which has effectively crippled their businesses. So much for Bahrain having the friendliest business environment in the Gulf!

Rumour has it that 3 star establishments are next in line. Rumour also has it that our neighbour across the causeway may be influencing these decisions as a quid pro quo for helping in the current economic crisis. 

Hopefully this influence won't also extend to dress code. Much as I sometimes envy the locals their attire when I'm having a bad hair day, I don't think I could ever get used to the abaya. Or is black my colour - what do you think?

Aqaba and spiky black things......

Jordan has a tiny stretch of coastline at the north end of the Red Sea, sandwiched between Saudi Arabia and Israel with Egypt just across the water. Aqaba is the only town and the last stop on our visit. 

The main commercial activity is the container port. The main tourist attraction is the coral reef which runs along the coast and starts only a few metres from the shore. Diving schools have sprung up along with luxury hotels. 

We had promised to take the girls snorkelling. We checked out the deals at various dive centres and Mohammed Sea (apt name) had the best price and even threw a beach rug into the bargain - a necessity as the sand is coarse and uncomfortable.

We headed down to the beach and met up with Mohammed's uncle, who directed us to the best snorkelling spot. Masks were on, flippers were at the ready and then the uncle uttered the words that were to ruin the day: "Take care, sir, with your babies. There are sea urchins. Black spikes. OK if have shoes or flippers but just to know to take care."

Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks, her face frozen in horror. What are these spiky black sea urchins, she demanded. We explained that they were on the sea bed a little way out from shore and that she would swim right over them. Nothing to be scared of. They couldn't move and even if she put her foot on one by accident, they couldn't penetrate a flipper.

She refused to move. She started to cry.

"Don't you want to see the beautiful coral, see Nemo?" Ian cajoled. She was having none of it. 

Olivia backed her up: "We don't want to die".

So Ian and I went alone. The girls saw the reef later in the day from the safety of a glass-bottomed boat.

In the footsteps of Lawrence of Arabia

I'm not a keen camper. However, I was seduced enough by the tourist blurb to book us a night in a traditional Bedouin camp in the desert of Wadi Rum, about an hour south of Petra. Apparently this was Lawrence of Arabia's favourite spot, so if it was good enough for him.........

We arrived early morning and were having a day's jeep tour before our night under canvas. Luckily another British family with kids the same age had booked the same experience, so Isabelle and Olivia had playmates for the day.

Mohammed, our Bedouin guide, started the day by taking us to the base of a mountain in Wadi Rum (or Rum Valley). At the top was Lawrence's spring where the great man himself drank. At the base was an inviting tent with hot, sweet Bedouin tea. The girls and I set off. Ian told us to show him the photos. I ignored his lack of solidarity.

It turned out to be a good decision on his part. The spring may have been clear and sparkling in Lawrence's time, but is now a rather stagnant green pool. 

The morning's activities continued with a climb up a large dune ("Why?" asked Ian) and viewing some rock paintings. Our guides then dropped us off in a canyon and told us to hike straight ahead for half an hour or so. They would be waiting with lunch. We hoped.

It was a little disconcerting to be abandoned in the middle of the desert. Our confidence wasn't improved when another guide passed in a pick-up asking if we'd spotted a group of horse riders - he'd lost them!

We did find lunch - beans, Bedouin-style, cooked over a fire and accompanied by Mohammed on the oud (a sort of guitar) and more sweet tea. 

The girls also found a scorpion under a rock they had been playing near. Mohammed told us not to worry and then proceeded to batter the creature into tiny pieces with the rock and instructed us not to touch the corpse as it was still poisonous. I instructed the girls that rocks were out of bounds and that shoes were to be worn at all times.

By late afternoon we arrived at the camp site and I was relieved to see we could have a family tent and that there was even a toilet and shower block - albeit very rudimentary. 

We watched the sunset. Just at the right moment, one of the Bedouin headed off into the distance on his camel. The photo opportunity was somewhat marred when he whipped out his mobile phone. Obviously there was no reception in camp.

Dinner was excellent - tasty chicken, rice and salads, washed down with more sweet tea. By this point Ian reckoned his teeth were sticking together. He would have given away his eye teeth for a beer.  

We retired to bed. I have decided earplugs are a camping necessity as everyone around me snored. Must be the desert air. 

An experience not to be missed, but I did enjoy my shower in the nice 4 star hotel we checked into the next day.

 

Petra, Jordan

We had seen it in numerous photos and on the small and big screen, but still nothing quite prepares you. As you emerge from the kilometre or so walk through the Siq (a natural fault through the mountain which is the only entrance to Petra) the sight of the jewel in Petra's crown, the Treasury, is quite simply breathtaking.

OK, so the place is teeming with tourists and locals selling camel and donkey rides, but it is still humbling to take a moment and appreciate what the Nabateans achieved two thousand odd years ago.

Even Olivia was ecstatic - it was a dream come true, she said, to be where Indiana Jones had been before. Both she and Isabelle were somewhat disappointed to discover that the interior of the Treasury was simply a rock room and not the Temple of Doom they had been expecting.

Still , they were cheered by the promise of a donkey ride up to the Deir, or Monastery. The guidebook promised spectacular views of the Royal Tombs and of the gorges below. I didn't tell Ian about the zillion steps up the original Nabatean staircase to get there.

.

Our resident donkey trader, Fahad (who has been selling donkey rides for the last 5 years and is only 15) set off up the steps with the girls' donkeys at a good trot and with the agility of a mountain goat. Terrified the girls might fall off, I raced to keep up and by the time we reached the summit felt like I'd done a week's worth of workouts on the stairmaster.

And as we rounded the last bend and the Deir came into view it was, well, just like the Treasury - I didn't tell Ian that bit in advance either. But the views were spectacular.

Table manners

School is out. For two whole weeks. Already the children and I are getting on each other's nerves. Witness this little exchange earlier today:

Me: Olivia, if you don't start eating nicely and holding your fork in the correct hand there will be no TV for the rest of the week.

Olivia: I am holding my fork in the correct hand.

Me: Olivia, I taught you to eat properly aged two, and frankly you could do it better then than now. Put your fork in the correct hand!

Olivia: Well maybe I am holding my fork in the correct hand and you have been teaching me wrong since I was two. 

It's going to be a long week...........