Egypt Leg Complete. Chapter Two Begins.
Well, that was an early start.
2:30 am wake-up. Bags outside the room by 3:00 am. One last look around the InterContinental Citystars. One last moment in Cairo. More on that later.
By 3:30 am we’re on the bus for the short drive to Cairo Airport. Our flight departs at 6:15 am, but Cairo airport doesn’t believe in easing you into anything. It’s an arduous process. Multiple security checkpoints. Bag scans. Body searches. Passport control. More scans. More queues. This is an international flight to Amman, and everything is taken seriously.
Eventually we make it to the lounge. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, we’re boarding.
The flight itself is short, about one hour and twenty minutes, but it doesn’t fly in a straight line. Instead, it curves deliberately, skirting contested airspace and looping around Israel and Gaza. You can feel the geopolitics even at cruising altitude.
We land in Amman at 8:40 am, greeted by clear skies and a sharp contrast in temperature. It’s 8°C. After Egypt’s warmth, the cold cuts through. Thankfully, we packed jackets.
We’re met by Viking staff and ushered through passport control to obtain our visas, then down to baggage claim. Or, as it turns out, baggage no-claim.
We wait. And wait. A few bags appear. Then nothing.
Of the 82 guests who disembarked the Viking Aton, around 30 have continued on to Jordan. As the minutes pass, it becomes clear something has gone wrong. Eventually, we learn the full scale of it.
44 bags have been left behind in Cairo.
Our Viking representative looks increasingly stressed. Guests are anxious. Some are angry. Both our bags are missing. David and Kerrie receive only one of theirs. We complete the paperwork and place our trust in Royal Jordanian Airlines to reunite us with our belongings before tomorrow morning’s 7:00 am checkout.
It’s going to be tight.
Everyone must lodge a claim before we’re allowed to leave the airport, so the morning drags on. It’s a frustrating start, but eventually all reports are filed and we’re escorted to the bus.
We meet our guide for the next four days, Oria.
As we drive the 70 minutes toward our first stop, Oria introduces us to Jordan. She describes it as a progressive Middle Eastern nation, politically stable, outward-looking, and pragmatic. She talks about the peace treaty with Israel and the shared responsibility for the Dead Sea, which will be our destination today.
We stop for lunch and enjoy a local falafel roll, simple and delicious.
The landscape rolls past. Wheat fields. Olive groves. Small villages. A largely rural way of life, shaped by climate and water scarcity.
Our next stop is the Panorama, a viewpoint sitting about 1,000 metres above sea level, with sweeping views across the Dead Sea. In the distance, across the water, lies Israel. Jerusalem is somewhere beyond the haze. The disputed capital. The weight of history is never far away here.
There’s a small museum at the Panorama explaining how the Dead Sea was formed. Scientifically, it sits within the Jordan Rift Valley, part of the great tectonic fault line between the African and Arabian plates. Over millions of years, the land dropped. Water flowed in. With no outlet, evaporation concentrated minerals until the water became intensely saline.
The Dead Sea is fed mainly by the Jordan River, but also by underground springs. It is now over nine times saltier than the ocean, which is why nothing can survive in it, and why everything floats.
After photos and a brief visit, we begin the descent to our hotel.
We started 1,000 metres above sea level. We now descend another 1,400 metres. It feels counterintuitive, but the Dead Sea sits at around 400 metres below sea level, making it the lowest point on land anywhere on Earth.
We check into the Mövenpick Resort & Spa Dead Sea and grab a quick lunch. Everyone is exhausted. Up since 2:30 am. No bags. A long, stressful morning. Some guests head to a pharmacy to buy essentials.
Despite it all, the four of us decide to head down to the water.
The resort sits directly on the shoreline. You can take a golf cart or descend about 150 steps. We do a combination of both, saving our legs for later.
As we approach the shore, the smell hits first. Sulphur. Salt. Minerals. The sand is gritty. The shoreline is rocky and uneven. This is not a soft, inviting beach.
Kerrie doesn’t hesitate. She’s keen to float and soon she’s out there, effortlessly drifting on the surface.
I’m more cautious. I wade in slowly. Instantly, my feet feel weightless. Each step pushes me upward as if I’m walking in zero gravity. The water is thick. Oily. Dense. It actively resists you. It’s one of the strangest physical sensations I’ve ever experienced.
It’s also cold.
Without spare clothes, and with bags still missing, I don’t go any further. Mardi does the same. A brief wade. Enough to feel it. Enough to understand.
We sit in the sun afterward, taking it all in. The shoreline behind us is lined with resorts, each carving out a narrow strip of access. Across the water lies Israel’s coastline.
Oria tells us the Dead Sea is shrinking by about one metre per year, largely due to upstream water diversion. We wonder quietly how long this natural wonder can last.
Back at the hotel, I sample chocolates during chocolate happy hour, which thoughtfully precedes alcoholic happy hour. Priorities.
We rest briefly in our room, then head down for drinks. The sun begins to set, painting the sky in layers of blue, pink, and purple. The light reflects off the water in shifting tones. David and I take photos as the colours deepen and the sky finally fades to dark violet.
Dinner is simple and short. A generous buffet. Chicken. Lamb. Fish. Vegetables. Everyone is running on fumes.
By 8:00 pm, we’re done.
Day one in Jordan has been difficult. Disjointed. Exhausting.
But we’re here.
Tomorrow, hopefully, the bags arrive. Tomorrow, we begin again.
For now, sleep.
