Today was our final day in Jordan.
The previous four days had been packed with archaeological wonders, long drives, ancient cities, fabled biblical landscapes, Roman engineering, desert vistas, sounds, smells, and tastes that linger. Today was deliberately quieter. A day to pause before moving on.
We were due to leave for the airport around 3:15 pm, so the morning was spent packing, resting, and enjoying one last relaxed lunch. The Fairmont Amman had been a genuine refuge for the 21 hours we were here. Calm, elegant, and restorative. Exactly what we needed at the end of a demanding leg of travel.
After a lazy morning, Mardi and I decided to head out to see what a local shopping mall might be like. The hotel staff suggested somewhere nearby and, within minutes, we were in an Uber. Six minutes later and for less than AUD $2, we arrived.
The mall was… unexpected.
The dominant themes were hijab shops, modest clothing stores, and erotic lingerie shops. An odd juxtaposition. Mixed in were shoe stores selling familiar global brands like Poom (Puma) and Noke (Nike). Perhaps not so . The entire place carried the heavy smell of cigarette smoke. A stench that clings to clothes, hair, and skin. It’s everywhere here and hard to escape. We needed to leave.
As always as we left the mall Mardi befriends two cats. A real theme for the adventure. 
Mardi googled a fabric store and found one about a 5-minute walk away. We set off into the mid-morning sun. Traffic was chaotic, but manageable. We crossed several busy roads safely and eventually found the shop.
It looked closed.
A dark storefront, walls lined with bolts of fabric barely visible. We tried the door. It opened.
Inside sat an older gentleman at the counter. He greeted us quietly. The shop felt dim, almost cave-like. Mardi found a fabric she liked and asked the price. He mumbled what sounded like 10 Jordanian dinars. She kept browsing, selected another fabric, and again asked the price.
That’s when the mood shifted.
Realising he had a genuine buyer, the owner walked to the corner and flicked on the lights. Suddenly, the shop came alive. Colour everywhere. Pattern after pattern. Texture upon texture. He explained that the entire second floor upstairs was also filled with fabric.
Mardi selected four to five styles, we finalised the purchase, and the total came to 70 Jordanian dinars.
We left, called another Uber, and 10 minutes later we were back at the hotel. Another AUD $2 fare. Jordanian rideshare is efficient, affordable, and refreshingly straightforward.
Back at the hotel, we met David and Kerrie for lunch, although Kerrie joined us a little later as she was mid-massage. Lunch was relaxed. Dips, bread, salad, chicken. We reflected on the past three weeks across Egypt and Jordan.
We had seen a lot.
After lunch, it was back to the room for final packing. Checkout followed, and we boarded the Viking-arranged transfer to the airport.
About an hour later, we arrived at Queen Alia International Airport. Ironically named, given Queen Alia died in a plane crash in 1977, a fact not lost on travellers passing through.
Airport processes in the Middle East are rarely simple, and this was no exception. A security checkpoint just to enter the terminal. Bags scanned before check-in, meaning you physically lift heavy suitcases onto large X-ray machines yourself. Then check-in. Then another security screening. Then pat-downs and searches.
All up, about 45 minutes.
Eventually, we made it to the Royal Jordanian Crown Lounge. “Lounge” is generous. It’s essentially a fenced-off area on the airport floor. Smoky, crowded, and noisy. Mardi and I were travelling first class, but getting David and Kerrie in required a bit of negotiation. Thankfully, Emirates and Qantas status helped smooth the way.
We spent around 45 minutes there. Not particularly enjoyable, but a place to sit.
We boarded on time and departed Jordan for Dubai, arriving about 2.5 hours later. It was close to 11 pm when we cleared customs, collected our bags, and were met by our Emirates-arranged car.
Even late on a Monday night, Dubai was buzzing.
A city of around 3.6 million people, where nearly 90% of the population are expatriates. A place built on oil wealth, ambition, and relentless development. Skyscrapers rose on all sides. Cranes dotted the skyline. Roads were immaculate. Lights glittered endlessly. A hyper-modern city planted firmly on the edge of the desert.
We arrived at the Pullman Downtown Dubai just before midnight. Check-in was seamless. Another Accor hotel. Another comfortable bed. We were shown to a corner suite on the seventh floor, overlooking one of the man-made canals that weave through the city. Below us, traffic flowed. Above us, towers shimmered.
Dubai is a city that never really sleeps.
This was our final night of the trip. Another short stay. Another 21 hours in a hotel. Not a complaint. Just the rhythm of this journey.
We shared a quick video of our room with David and Kerrie. They were staying at a luxury hotel about 20 minutes away. Kerrie sent back a video of their two-storey apartment. It was extraordinary. They’ll spend the next few days in absolute indulgence.
We’ll catch up tomorrow for lunch at Trèsind Studio, a Michelin-starred restaurant that has reimagined Indian cuisine in Dubai. A fitting final flourish.
For now, we sleep.
Tomorrow, we head home.
