I finally floated comfortably in water! After years of thrashing around in pools failing miserably at trying to glide effortlessly across the top of the water like even the least athletically inclined 4-year old, I actually bobbed like a cork for once. It took me jumping into a body of water six times as salty as the ocean, but, well, I can't be too choosy about these things.
I clearly have not taken the headline to heart:
The Dead Sea was on our way to Amman and everyone wanted a chance to go for a dip to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out we created most of the fuss just by showing up. There was a "beach" (aka rocks) en route that was free and popular with locals because of the springs nearby to wash off the salts and minerals from the Dead Sea. And, trust me, you want to wash all that off your body or risk becoming encased in a salt shield as the water dries.
So, following our we-pay-for-nothing mantra, we parked BiRT along the road with about 30 other buses and cars that had ferried in the approximately 436 men that could be seen levitating above the water. Yes, that would be 436 men and 0 women. Definitely not bikini land. Recognizing that it would likely cause a riot among the horde of Muslim men if they wore anything revealing, four of the women on the trip donned long shorts and shirts before heading to the water. It was like chumming for sharks. Along with death and taxes, the third thing you can be assured of in life is that four women together (let along four white women) are guaranteed to draw a crowd in a Muslim country.
Within seconds of appearing at the water's edge, a jostling, splashing scrum of leering men encircled the women. There was no way that we could fend off the horde, and, inevitably, the women began to feel sly hands pinching and brushing up against them. After one too many lingering touches, Diana went ballistic and started punching one fellow in his late teens that had been sneaking up on all the women to touch them. He immediately became the laughing stock of his buddies. All the men backed off after that incident (watch out for the crazy Western woman!), but it was just too uncomfortable for the women and we all left shortly after feeling as though we had swallowed a bit of the acrid Dead Sea.
Thankfully, Amman had 24-hour falafel shops to raise our spirits. BiRT need to undergo some repairs and so we had several days in Amman to explore its hidden treasures like banana shakes and sushi (I know, it's shocking enough that I had a craving for sushi, let alone that I managed to find a rather spectacular place serving sushi during lunch.) I've definitely reached a point on the trip where food trumps culture every time, and didn't see a single historical site in Amman.
I did, however, make a bit of a splash with the locals. One night at the hostel another traveller told us about a marathon taking place in Amman the following day. We all thought it sounded like great fun to run it and arranged for a taxi to pick us all up at 7 a.m. the next morning. The decision to run a marathon is either planned months in advance to accommodate a disciplined, arduous training schedule or, in our case, after a few drinks in to the evening. A few drinks turned into an epic night and it was a bit of a struggle to wake up after hitting the pillow barely an hour before the alarm went off. Despite pounding loudly on doors and pouring water on my formerly eager marathon participants in a desperate effort to wake them, I managed only to wake the entire city block and three other delusional, still moderately sauced Hot Rockers.
Looking fresh in the morning L to R: Me, Diana, George, Aidan:
Although still slightly swaying when in the strenuous upright position, George, Aidan, Diana, and I managed to throw on dresses, obscenely short running shorts, crop tops, and load ourselves down with climbing gear. Yes, we planned to run roped together in our climbing harnesses. Someone had taken it upon themselves to cancel our taxi and so we hit the street in our understated outfits to find a cab at 7:30 in the morning. It was clear at this point we would not make it in time for the start of the marathon, but we figured we could at least jump in on the 10k. We had managed to get ourselves up and barely dressed, dammit, we would not be denied!
We hailed a cab in a surprisingly short amount of time -- apparently seeing a fit 60-year old male in a neon yellow and pink crop halter top was not quite the deterrent we thought it would be -- and the driver claimed to know the start of the marathon was located. Ten minutes later, he delivered us to a large sports complex. High-fiving and well pleased with ourselves, we eagerly hopped out in search of the start. Four and a half minutes later we noticed that the complex was strangely quiet as we headed for the enormous stadium. We were sure that everyone had already started, but there still should be some noise, a few booths, music, and maybe even some people milling about. It soon became evident that our friendly taxi driver had no clue what we were talking about when we asked for "marathon" and had simply delivered us to the most logical place for an oddly dressed group of foreigners mime-ing running: a stadium far from the rest of rational humanity.
Bound and determined to find the damn marathon, we started asking hapless people in track suits if they knew anything about it. Due to a mutual language barrier, the people usually gave a confused look and hurried on without stopping. I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with our appearance. Eventually we found some friendly policemen who did their best to help us -- even calling in to headquarters -- but, although people seemed to know some type of race was happening, they had no idea where. After a few photos, we headed undeterred to another main road in hopes of finding a cab driver that knew something.
With the morning patrol:
George, Aidan and me get our daily dose of culture:
After several unsuccessful attempts, we eventually hailed a cab driver that appeared to understand what we were trying to communicate and agreed to take us for a reasonable sum. We had caught our second wind and were once again excitedly laughing and joking while we drove and drove and drove and drove and finally started to become somewhat concerned when we wound up in a random neighborhood far from the center of Amman. Were we being kidnapped? Who on Earth would want to kidnap us? Especially in our outfits. We decided screw it, we had come this far let's see what happens next. Suddenly, the cab driver stopped next to a house, shut off the engine, got out of the cab, and disappeared. For 10 minutes or so we sat in the cab wondering what the hell was going on, but didn't really feel like going for leisurely walk around the neighborhood. A few minutes later a different man jumped into the cab and we drove off. Once initial questions established that he spoke no English, we settled back to enjoy what we figured might very well be our last ride in a car. A few nervous miles later I saw a billboard for the Dead Sea Marathon. Forget Amman, at least we were headed toward a race.
We caught our third wind and became downright hysterical when we finally saw a runner. At last! We stopped the cab, burst into a store for a quick breakfast of potato chips,
Breakfast of champions: 
tied ourselves together with the climbing rope, then started running down the road laughing uncontrollably. We had no idea where we were, but we were in the race!
It didn't take us long to figure out that it was hotter than Hades, we were following the last runner in the race, and, most importantly, running while tied together is a pain in the ass. Then we jogged by a sign that said 30k.
Was that 30 kilometers from the start or 30 kilometers to the finish? When we saw that the next sign was 29k we started trying to hitch a ride from the ambulance that was bringing up the rear. They weren't particularly keen on taking us to the 10k point, so we once again stuck our thumbs out.
Would you stop for these people?: 
A truck carrying empty milk crates took us part of the way
Me and Aidan enjoying the breeze:
George The Bathing Beauty:
and our next ride was a van with empty paint thinner cans in the back. Not exactly the best smell when you already have a touch of nausea. We asked the driver to take us to the 10k sign, but it took him about 1k to actually stop -- probably because he had been smelling paint thinner for the better part of the morning -- and he dropped us off at the 9k mark. We were finally in the race two hours, two cab rides, and two hitched rides after we had set off from Amman.
So, with our fourth wind we joined the ranks of runners and jogged our way to the Dead Sea, climbing gear clanking merrily away. It was such a blast, despite the fact that I was sweating profusely under my climbing helmet. I couldn't complain though because there were Muslim women running in long sleeve shirts, trousers, and head scarves. Talk about hardcore!
People loved us. Other runners laughed or gave us a weary thumbs up, passing drivers honked and waved, and, at one point, a car screeched to a halt in front of us and a man with an excessively big camera jumped out of the passenger side and started snapping pictures. We felt a bit like celebrities while running, but were unprepared for the onslaught of attention once we actually crossed the finish line.
Everyone wanted to talk to us and take photos with us. We even met a fellow who was living in Syria that was friends with the head of the climbing club in Damascus, our next destination.
If the race itself wasn't fun enough, the party at the finish line was, by far, the best post-race party I've ever seen (and I've seen a lot). It was in an open air complex with two swimming pools on the shore of the Dead Sea and was absolutely jammed with local runners and their friends and families. People were dancing on the dance floor, splashing around in the pools or in the Dead Sea (I jumped in, as well),
Pool party!: 
drinking and eating great food, and just having a good time. It was a completely different scene from our first Dead Sea hoodlum experience and we spent the entire afternoon there. One bus and a claustrophobic car ride (8 of us in a car smaller than a Mini Cooper) later from a couple we had met at the party, and we were back at our hostel.
George and I struggle to get out of the car with legs that had long ago fallen asleep: 
Definitely another lifetime highlight day!
George The Bathing Beauty:
