24 hour friends

On the road you get a chance to meet a lot of people. Most of them you meet in passing – on the train, at the bus station, at a cafe – and you chat for a few moments before relegating those moments to the dustbin of travel mediocrity.

And then there are times where you meet people and you travel together for a long stretch of time, getting past the place of origin-work-places visited-small talk (usually, when the matter of religion comes up, that's when you've broken the threshold of casual traveler-leechiness).

And then again, there are times like when I met Carmine, Tan, and Natalie, and in a brief stretch of a day, we'd blazed past the usual muddled interactions of polite traveler-talk and sped up time to the point where it feels like we've known each other for ages.

Carmine and his brother Tan, both Italian-Australian, met Natalie (French and oh so leggy) while living in the UK.

The three are in Jordan for a wedding of a mutual flatmate back from their UK days.

"Eucalyptus!" Carmine gestured out the van window. "Those babies came from Oz, mate. Ah, I miss the smell of home! Hey, hey! Stop the van, Ahmed. Lemme take a look at these trees."

Carmine talks a lot.  Ok. He talks incessantly, bouncing like a ping pong ball between Australian barbies to extreme sports, from cubicle-slavery to Indian restaurants in East London.

"Ever been to Central Oz, mate? Oh, lovely. Just pick up some kangaroo meat – you like 'em rare or medium rare? Gotcha. That's lovely. My dad only has them all the way cooked through, but I like mine rare.. keeps 'em soft ya know... but yeah, set up your camp under some bluffs – sorta reminds me of the desert here.. wonderful... "

From beginning to end, Carmine stutter-stepped his way through a mish-mash of thoughts, and I was dragged along – I think he was so talkative because I was the new kid who actually put up with his verbal onslaught. I listened and responded.  The other guys? They've heard all this before, and kept their gaze out the van windows.

It was good – Carmine was like the grease in the cogs – his constant talk was the bridge between the different topical breaches where Tan, Natalie and I fell silent.

Tan is serious, religious and very bald. But sometimes out of nowhere, he surprises you with exclamations (and his choices of hats: berets and halfway through, a kerfiyah – Yasser Arafat style headscarf).

"Josh, will ya look at that. This was where Moses stood, right here, four thousand years ago.  These same mountains, the same river, the same lands. Jericho, mate.  You can see it from here. That's when the Israelites marched round the city walls seven times and blew on their trumpets, bringing down the walls... amazing isn't it? Amazing, amazing."

Sincere and stern, Tan breaks wide open when a topic of interest came up.  I revisited my Sunday school days with him.  We compared notes on John the Baptist, Moses' anger, and the conquest of Canaan, followed by the geo-politics of the Edomites, Moabites and Ammonites.  By dinnertime, we had exchanged recipes – his roasted garlic in virgin olive oil and peppers and my fresh tomato sauce.

Natalie and I exchanged knowing glances throughout the day: when our tour guide rushed us through Mt. Nebo so he can get commission on another group, when our Bethany tour guide scowled at questions about Israel's baptism site -- when the brothers posed for photos like Captain Morgan (of the rum fame) at each holy site.

It was strange, to travel with the trio – but at the same time, it was a welcome respite from the solitary experience. 

At the Dead Sea, Natalie and her legs slathered up with the grey mud while curious bystanders, mostly women in their head-scarves, stared.

"C'mon mate! The water is really brilliant!" Carmine shouted – his body, despite all attempts, just will not sink in the concentrated salt water of the Dead Sea.

"It's all right – I didn't bring any swimming trunks!"

"What are you wearing underneath those pants?" Slop. Schlopped. Schlopt.  Natalie was packing on the mud, looking very much like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator (without the huge biceps).

"Uh. Boxers?"

"That's fine! Just come on it -- free-ball it later!" Carmine was lying on his side in the Sea.  Tan cursed and walked gingerly to shore, his eyes red from the salt. "You have to try this! Bloody brilliant!"

Mt. Nebo, where Moses looked over the Promised Land. Bethany, where Jesus was baptized.  The Dead Sea, where tourists come to exfoliate in the mud and the salt waters.  We saw the three in one day – while Carmine enthused, Tan mused, and Natalie – she was bemused.

After the tour, we jumped in the hotel pool and played water polo while the other guests watched from their balconies.  Carmine brought out a bottle of Jameson ("Irish whisky is distilled three times while your American stuff is done only once, mate") to round out the afternoon. Famished and tired, we finally headed out to gorge-fest – of epic proportions – at 9 pm.

Two wine bottles, a couple of beers, 7 mezzes, and two large platters of grilled meats later, we settled onto the the pillows around a low table and sucked on our hookah pipes, cracking inside jokes like old buddies.

Satisfied that we had found our inner winos, we stumbled back, through silent sandy streets under a big ol' green moon. 

Our goodbyes: "Good night, mate – see ya around." Tan said. "Yeah, see you," Natalie added. "Really great day, innit?" rounded out Carmine.

"Later," I said –  not realizing that I would meet them again – in a different part of desert, in surreal circumstances.