In all of my travels, taking a taxi in a foreign country has required a minor leap of faith. A bus has a posted route and a time table--if you get on the right bus at the right time, your final destination is more or less guaranteed. A taxi puts you completely at the mercy of a driver whom you have never met, who does not have a schedule or a posted route, and perhaps may have ulterior motives other than delivering you to the right place at the right time. Taking a taxi means having faith in basic humanity, and it is always a relief when that faith is confirmed at the end of a long ride.
So I did not want to take a taxi in Jordan, but that's the best option for cheap and flexible transport where underemployment is the norm. Our story starts on the last day we were staying in Aqaba.
While walking past the taxi stand where men constantly call out "Do you want a taxi?" and we reflexivly answer, "no, thanks," I stopped and reconsidered. "Actually," I said, "we do want a taxi tomorrow from Aqaba to Wadi Musa (Petra)." I was instantly mobbed by three different guys. One guy promising a new car with great air conditioning and a driver with good English thrust his business card into my hand. We negotiated a rate, 35 JD for the two hour drive, and a time to be picked up in front of our hotel. We walked away, satisfied in the arrangement, only to find that same guy running after us. "Wait!" he called out. "I wanted to tell you, I have another client in the morning. I will send you with my brother, he's a nice guy. He will pick you up. Same rate." "Okay," we replied and thought nothing of it other than a small worry that no one would show up the next day.
Our worries were unfounded. A taxi (very old and with no working A/C) did in fact show up at the appointed time in front of our hotel. An older man with a smoker's winded voice said he had been sent to take us to Petra. I felt sorry for him having to manage our luggage--he did not seem fit for lifting heavy bags. When we got in the car he promptly drove us to a back alley in the city and asked us for a 10 JD deposit. 10 JD? We wondered if this was a type of extortion. 10 JD now and the rest when we get to Petra. Kenny handed over the money and we waited while he disappeared into the warehouse. He came back with a small can of gas and the top of a sawed off 2 liter plastic soda bottle. The bottle was a funnel to guide the gas into the tank. It was the strangest filling station I have ever seen. Later, we learned that the gas was a higher grade of petrol that was smuggled into Jordan from Saudi Arabia. The more legitimate stuff is imported from Iraq and is apparently not as good or as cheap. So, with the gas in the tank, we took off.
The driver's name was "Muosa" (pronounced "MOOSA") which is Arabic for "Moses" and is the same as Wadi Muosa the town near Petra named after Moses's Spring. He was very entertaining and even in broken English knew how to show us a good time. Upon approaching the first overlook to Petra he told us, "Now Muosa give you a good surprise. Close eyes. Keep them closed. Keep closed. Keep closed. Keep closed. Okay, now open!" We were perched on top of a cliff overlooking the rolling standstone mounds that surround the protected city of Petra. It was very dramatic. He took us into a nearby souvenier store and of course "negotiated" a good price for an antique coffee pot and cup that I liked. I wasn't that averse to giving him a commission. He was very nice. He even posed with Kenny for two "pictures with Mousa."
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| Picture with Muosa |
During the journey he kept asking us about our plans in Jordan. "After Petra, where you go?" We said that we were going to Wadi Rum to live with the Bedouins. "Ah, Zadayne!" he heartily exclaimed. "I know him, he's a good man. You have a good time with Zadayne!" We were really going with Zalabeyh, but when that was worked out, he assured us that Zalabeyh lived very close to Zadayne and was also a good man. We had planned to go by early bus to Wadi Rum but going by taxi would let us sleep in a few more hours so we said we could switch plans if we notified Zalabeyh not to meet the bus. He called them up, spoke to Ahmed in Arabic and confirmed the change, just like they were good friends. It was so easy! To hold our reservation with Muosa, we gave him another 10JD "deposit."
Caveat Emptor. I was looking forward to traveling again with Muosa, but when we were to depart from Petra a younger man in a pink and purple striped shirt appeared with a totally different taxi and assured us that he had been sent by Muosa, who was sick, to take us to Wadi Rum. We got in the newer taxi and were off. Again, we were taken to a souvenier stand--a different one--where I bought a small magnet (no more large purchases). Then, the taxi started to act up. Whenever the engine got above 2500 RPM it sputtered and jerked back and forth. He met a fellow taxi driver who stopped in the middle of the road (also with perplexed western passenger) and his friend proceeded to fiddle with things under the hood. That didn't help. When his friend departed, it was as bad as ever. He called Ahmed and told him that we would be late while he coaxed the poor car along the thankfully empty roads. We arrived in Wadi Rum only 10 minutes late, but that was no problem. Everyone in the parking lot offered me advice on how to find Ahmed and helped point us toward the village. Sometimes answering the question "where are you going?" truthfully really pays off. The taxi driver had shut off the taxi while we paid our park entrance fee but when we got back in the car to go to the village, it had miraculously recovered! The driver couldn't decide whether to celebrate or curse. He had turned down lucrative offers to drive to Petra so that he could take the car to a garage in Aqaba and now with the car working, he had no employment. He got us to our destination, no problem, but the fare was a flat 35 JD and the prior 10 JD that we had given Muosa simply "disappeared."
So, to sum everything up, taking a taxi is risky venture, but I always come away from it with some degree of restored faith in general human decency and fellowship. Our drivers were nice, trustworthy, and proud of their work. Muosa was a great character and I'm happy that I met him, although like most people in the middle eastern tourist trade, I'm not sure he was entirely honest.
When we got back to Israel, we took a taxi from the border to the bus station. When we asked how much it would be, the driver said, "it is metered." When we explained that in Jordan all taxi fares were negotiated up front, he replied curtly, "this is a country of
laws." Kenny was absolutely thrilled to be back in a country of relative law and order, but I missed the personal connection we had had with our cabbies in Jordan. We'll probably be telling these stories for many years to come.
