Passport checks by the Syrian police at the border entrance was the first step (where I was congratulated on having such a fine wife - Anne was driving at the time which seemed to impress them), then we parked up and were directed to a low white building on the left where we had to present our Carnet to be stamped out of the country. Then it was back to a small booth to pay our 500 Syrian pound departure tax each (about £7), where we were waved to the front of the queue by all the Jordanians who were waiting to be seen; it sometimes helps to look foreign and lost. A short drive led us to passport control where we handed over our departure tax slips, the green immigration forms we filled in on entry and our passports. After a few questions about our occupations (which after “Where do you come from?” is the second most common question you get asked in Syria), we were ready to go. One final check of passports and we were out into a couple of miles of no-man’s land before the Jordan side of the border crossing appeared.
The police (who were having tea in the middle of the road) welcomed us to Jordan and started the paperwork process, producing a small yellow card on which they filled in our names (“Michael” and “Anne”, no last names required in Jordan) and vehicle registration. We were asked to open the back but they never looked in; we must have honest faces. We were told to make sure we got the yellow card stamped as we went as it needed to be presented at the document check station before exiting. Next was a vehicle inspection which we thought would take a while as there was a long queue of Jordanian cars waiting in line, but were again waved forward and headed for the inspection pits. The area is covered and whilst we initially just squeezed under, there was a speed bump which lifted us up and the roof tent caught on the roof. The liberal application of Arabs to the outside of the vehicle compressed the springs enough for us to free ourselves (with damage luckily limited to a couple of pinprick holes in our cover; nothing that a bit of gaffer tape won’t fix). A customs man presented us with a white A5 form, onto which he had entered our vehicle details, and sent us to passport control. We had to wait a few minutes for the visa office to open, but the visa man was a football fan and asked us “Chelsea or Arsenal?”, and like the fact that we lived “near Manchester” (nobody knows Harrogate or Leeds, so it’s easier). I had to pop next door to exchange some sterling into Jordanian dinar to pay for the visas (£23 for the two); I couldn’t see a cash-point, so was glad we had our stash of cash. Once we had our visas it was over to the office opposite to get our Carnet seen to and were invited to “Come in, come in, welcome” whilst everyone else was forced to wait outside; we could get used to this preferential treatment. We were sent a couple of doors down to arrange compulsory vehicle insurance, with the option of 3 days, a week or a month; we said a month and were charged about £26. Back at the main office we presented our insurance form (whilst they shut the window to the crowd in order to sort out our paperwork), and then it was a visit to a final office where we paid £18 for foreign vehicle registration - at least that what I think it was for - which signalled an end to the process. We drove off for a final document check where they took the yellow card, and then it was onto another passport check before they lifted the barrier and we were released into Jordan.
Our initial impression of Jordan was one of more wealth, with well maintained roads that are clearly signposted (always helpful), less litter (well, slightly), more private cars of a greater variety of makes (in Syria it had mainly been Kia and Hyundai, with some Renaults and Peugeots), and smarter buildings.
Jerash, one of the best preserved Roman cities in the Middle East, is only about an hour’s drive south of the border, so we arrived mid afternoon and checked into the Hadrian’s Gate Hotel. Thoughts of asking to camp in their garden were dashed when we realised that Jerash is surrounded by a sprawling modern town and is not in the splendid isolation I had pictured (not to mention the lack of garden at the hotel!). We’ll just have to rough it another couple of nights in a hotel. We had a late lunch on the patio outside our room in the afternoon sun, feeling like we were properly on holiday. The ruins look impressive and we’ve crossed our fingers for good weather tomorrow. SPOT
A wander into town to find a cash-point and buy some tomatoes and oranges was accompanied by several “Welcome to Jordan” and “Hello, how are you?” shouts; it seems like the Jordanians will be as friendly as the Syrians. We declined to buy camel from the butchers, although we were impressed with their presentation efforts.
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