A Quick Trip to Jordan

There are trips you plan months in advance — and then there are the impulsive ones that you get drunkenly convinced sound amazing that end up meaning more than you expected. Last weekend, I flew into Amman for a whirlwind Friday-to-Sunday visit to see one of my closest friends, Ed, who was finishing his posting at the U.S. Embassy. It was his final weekend in Jordan, and since I had once promised him I would visit, we made it happen. Turkish Airlines also gives you the cutest S&P in the entire world.

My flight landed just after 4 a.m. on Friday. The city was still asleep, the streets empty except for the occasional taxi cutting through the fog. I grabbed an Uber from the airport, watching Amman’s hills unfold in the faint pre-dawn light. After a quick stop at the hotel to meet up with Ed, drop bags and caffeinate, we did what any rational traveler wouldn’t: pointed the car south and headed straight for Petra.

The drive to Petra — roughly three hours of twisting desert highway — feels like a slow transition from modernity back through time. The landscape shifts from pale beige to deep rose, and suddenly, you’re at the gates of one of the world’s great archaeological sites.

Carved more than 2,000 years ago by the Nabataeans, Petra was a vital stop on the ancient trade routes connecting Arabia, Egypt, and the Mediterranean. Walking through the Siq, the narrow canyon leading to the Treasury, is like entering a secret world. Then, in an instant, the canyon opens — and there it is: the iconic façade glowing pink in the morning sun, exactly as the photos promise but infinitely more powerful in person.

We spent the morning climbing through tombs and trails, surrounded by sheer silence and wind. Petra is less a destination and more a reminder that human ambition and artistry were thriving long before skyscrapers and Wi-Fi.

Saturday morning, we set out to explore Amman’s quieter treasures, starting with the Jordan Museum. It’s a sleek, modern space that houses some of the country’s most extraordinary artifacts — including fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Standing in front of those ancient texts — ink on parchment that survived nearly two millennia — is humbling. They’re small, unassuming pieces of history, but they bridge an unimaginable gap in time. The museum also displays statues from ‘Ain Ghazal, some of the oldest human figures ever discovered, their ghostly white faces both haunting and strangely serene.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun sank behind the hills, the call to prayer began. One voice rose from a nearby minaret, then another answered from across the valley, until the city was wrapped in sound. It wasn’t just noise — it was something ancient and alive, a reminder that faith and rhythm still anchor the chaos of daily life.

Later, we drove out to Carakale Brewery, Jordan’s first craft brewery, perched among the rolling hills just outside the city. The atmosphere was easy and unpretentious — locals and expats gathered under wide skies, music playing. Sunday night, I was back at Queen Alia Airport, watching the lights of Amman fade below the wing. It was less than 48 hours, but it felt like far more — a weekend dense with history, friendship, and perspective.

Petra’s red cliffs, the scrolls’ faint writing, the sound of that evening prayer — they all linger. And so does the memory of a final toast with an old friend, somewhere between the past and whatever comes next.