Everyone Begged Me Not to Travel to This Destination. It Was One of the Best Trips of My Life

When is it safe to visit the Middle East? 

“So, who are you voting for?”

Nothing strikes terror in my heart more than a stranger asking me about my political views in public–especially one who is hosting me for dinner in their home, and in a foreign country no less. I cringed into a neutron star. 

It was my first time meeting the Khzouz family, eating an elaborate homemade meal in their home in Amman, Jordan–a mere 50 miles away from Jerusalem and the escalating Israel-Hamas war. 

“It’s interesting that you’re watching the U.S. election so closely,” I replied carefully. “What do you think of the candidates?”

Elias Khzouz, the family patriarch, laughed. “Well, what we really are curious about is what Americans think about Jordan. ‘Is it safe–is travel to Jordan safe?’ What do the people of America think when they think of visiting Jordan, do they think it is safe to go?” 

Is it safe? This was the same question I had received from every loved one, friend, and colleague leading up to my trip to Jordan in September 2024. The Israel-Hamas war hadn’t yet expanded to Lebanon, but it was brewing with intensity. I’d been dreaming of visiting Petra for years now–decades even–but always with concerns: Is it safe? 

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When I finally summoned the courage to arrange a trip to Jordan, I did so in a way to ensure that my loved ones (and myself) felt more reassured. I booked a small group tour with Trafalgar Tours: six days and five nights exploring Amman, Petra, the Dead Sea, and the red sand desert of Wadi Rum. I’d be with a guide and a driver, plus a few other intrepid travelers who prioritized their desire to see the Rose City over their need to play it “safe.”

There’s always conflict happening in the Middle East, I rationalized. And Jordan consistently plays the role of Middle Eastern diplomatic neighbor. And Petra is one of the 7 Wonders of the World. And you only live once. And. And. And. 

And so I took a deep breath and booked my trip. 

And that’s how I ended up talking politics at a Jordanian dinner party. 

The trip started in a minivan. 

“You can call me ‘Handsome!’” instructed my Jordanian driver, a jolly grandfather of a man whose actual name is Haytham.

“That’s what you prefer?” I asked him and laughed, surprised by his kindly flirtation. 

“Of course!” he said, motioning up and down to himself. “Don’t you agree?”

I laughed and agreed. For the next week, Handsome would be driving our van all across Jordan, from the Greco-Roman ruins of Jerash to the rust-colored sands of Wadi Rum’s desert and everywhere in between. From Petra to the Dead Sea, Handsome, in tandem with Salah Khleifat, our lead tour guide, guided us through Jordan, narrating the history and their present reality of living in the Middle Eastern country known for its uneasy peacekeeping role and steadfast neutrality in a region strife with conflict. And I was enraptured.

Salah, who liked to be called Sal, had many stories to entertain me on our long drives. Handsome spoke less proficient English but always knew when to crack a joke or stop for provisions. But Sal’s bilingual fluency and breadth of cultural knowledge floored me. At 60 years old, Sal seemed to me a man who had lived many lives, the tales of which he peppered throughout his docent lessons. For the first 16 years of his life, Sal lived as a nomadic Bedouin in the desert–no modern technology, no permanent structures. He then went on to university and graduate school, studying the history and archeology of the land where he was born. 

1. Camels are Bedouins’ main source of transport and also provide meat for food and wool for warmth. 2. Wadi Rum’s ruins and inscriptions illustrate 12,000 years of human occupation in the desert. These petroglyphs are anywhere from 2,000-5,000 years old.Rachael Levitt

 Sal didn’t say what made his family leave the nomadic life permanently for the residential town of Wadi Musa just outside the historic walls of Petra, but it isn’t lost on me that in the 1980s, the Jordanian government relocated Petra’s Bedouins into permanent settlements. A combination of introducing access to education and healthcare to nomadic people, as well as putting Petra under UNESCO World Heritage designation to provide resources for preservation and maintenance, seemed like a win-win. But many Bedouins’ reactions were mixed. 

Sal seemed accepting of life in his four-walled house now, and mentioned how especially proud he is that his three adult sons have degrees and career paths in the capital city of Amman. However, wistful comments about nomadic life made their way into conversation. His parents, he told me, also live close by and refer to their apartment as “a prison.” He mentioned the guilt he carried that his sons would never know “the freedom of living in the desert.”

“To wake up every day under the sun, to go to sleep in nature–there is no freedom like this,” he told me. “Sometimes nowadays, my friends or cousins and I will take a goat or two and put them in the back of a truck. We’ll drive out to the desert with nothing and just camp for a week or two, remembering the old days.” 

He tells me these stories as we wander around the mostly empty city of Petra–there are so few tourists visiting currently that Sal says he’s never in his life seen the site so deserted. We are able to take photos of the famed Treasury and the Street of Facades without any other people in them, as if they are plucked from a stock image archive. The solitude allows me to fully imagine life in this ancient sandstone city, awe at the genius of human ingenuity and invention.

Sal is pleased that we have such an intimate experience with the tourist attraction, but uneasy at the fact that there aren’t more tourists to fuel the economy. One of the few Middle Eastern countries without oil reserves, Jordan relies on tourism as a major economic industry. He tells me how different Petra is now–it’s usually bustling with influencers posing in tombs, visitors riding camels and donkeys, women stopping for kohl makeup tutorials, and children feeding stray cats. He says he’s been visiting Petra his whole life. He even has a photo of himself as a young boy climbing the facade of the Treasury, long before its designated significance. 

1. In high season, Petra can see up to 4,000 visitors a day. There were so few when we toured that many of my photos contain no tourists. 2. Petra’s amphitheater is carved out from the sandstone and was built to accommodate approximately 8,500 people. 3. The stairs were meant to compel the dead to move on from their burial tombs to heaven.Rachael Levitt

Sal’s unique perspective combined with a wealth of intimate and scholarly knowledge brought Jordan’s long history to life. But Sal also seemed to understand that a connection to a place isn’t purely about sightseeing and stories. He knew that if we wanted a slice of modern Jordanian life, we should attend a modern Jordanian meal. 

Elias Khzouz is Sal’s close friend of over 35 years, and a Christian Jordanian living in Amman. Christians comprise only 2% of the Jordanian population, but the level of religious tolerance is such that they are well-integrated in society. Elias, his wife Feryal Karadsheh, and their adult daughters own and manage multiple restaurants in the city. A spirited host, Elias welcomed us with drinks and cheers–Arak liquor (a remarkably tasty Arabic spirit derived from anise) for those who would partake, sodas and juices for Sal, a devout Muslim for whom alcohol is haram–and a traditional Jordanian dinner that could have fed the whole block. Everything was homemade by Feryal with the aid of their Ethiopian housekeeper, and Elias’ adult daughters acted in tandem as co-hosts, offering sparkling conversation, dishing out rice, and keeping glasses refreshed. 

With their tattoos and bare shoulders, I asked his daughters about their lives as adult women living in a modern Arab country. A genial shrug seemed to be the consensus, with mom and dad agreeing. As the managers of their family restaurants, they had no problem being leaders, living independently, wearing what they wanted–a narrative in the West I’m not used to hearing. 

“I do not worry about them going out at night, being out until 2 a.m.,” said Elias as he watched his daughter take a drag off her vape. “It’s safe.”

1. Scenes from Amman 2. Evening on the BoulevardRachael Levitt

As restaurant proprietors, they had questions for me about U.S. cuisine. “What sort of Jordanian food do you eat in the States?”

I had to think for a minute. I’ve visited countless catch-all Middle Eastern restaurants with names like “Aladdin’s” or “Ali Baba’s” serving Levant staples like falafel and shawarma and pita and hummus. But I couldn’t pinpoint any specifically Jordanian dish or restaurant. 

“I think a lot of Middle Eastern restaurants in the U.S. market are Lebanese,” I answered, trying to emphasize that I was generalizing. “I’ve definitely seen Syrian and Israeli restaurants, as well as Middle Eastern marketed as ‘Mediterranean.’ I’m not sure I’ve seen a specifically Jordanian cuisine restaurant before.”

The table erupted in displeasure. A flurry of good-natured huffing occurred. Immediately I was corrected: that so-called Lebanese food is actually Jordanian food. Those restaurants are lying! To claim it is not Jordanian food–how dare they! I figured this rivalry was something an outsider couldn’t take too seriously, the way every Southern state in the U.S. lays claim to the best barbecue. 

On our dinner table:

– Ouzi: Rice and chicken (spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, seven spices, dried lime), pine nuts, almonds
– Grilled vegetables and potatoes
– Olives, pickles, tabbouleh, pita bread, roasted eggplant dip, hummus
– Labneh, a strained yogurt
– Arabic salad: usually includes diced-up cucumber, tomatoes, and bell peppers, dressed in lemon juice and olive oil
– Ara’yes: two layers of pita bread, stuffed with minced meat, onions, parsley, and spices
– Arak Haddad Crystal liquor with water and ice
– Various locally made sodas–but no Coca-Cola or Pepsi products
– Mint tea
– Kunafa: a dessert of gooey sweet cheese layered within delicately shredded filo pastry

After dinner, plates were cleared and the guests migrated to a cozy setup on the front porch. Mint tea was served, the hookah (shisha) fired up. Plates of flakey pastries were served around, desserts and mugs balanced on knees or on any available surface. 

Neighbors walking by paused to chat, or pulled up a chair; others on porches waved or shouted greetings. Someone dropped off a toddler-aged granddaughter, who grabbed her paintbrushes and plopped down in the middle of the party. Others dropped by to smoke the hookah or eat leftover dessert and meet with the tour group, all up for spontaneous chatting.

“American, eh?” they each asked me, in some sort of confirmation. “Who are you voting for?” 

Again! And again! I was stunned and stupefied by how much attention was paid to American politics. But for me, it was a chance to hear more about their thoughts about American policies and meddling in the Middle East. (“Why do Americans call us the Middle East?” one neighbor asked. “We are the Near East. Not middle. Who decided this?”) 

Neighbors kept asking Sal about his right arm, which happened to be in a sling. Sal said he had torn his rotator cuff while roughhousing with his son. An arduous recovery, we agreed, but his surgery had been successful and he would be able to soon move on to physical therapy. I asked how the healthcare system worked in Jordan.

“I went to get the surgery, and I got it,” Sal said with what looked like a slightly painful shrug. “Then I will have physical therapy.”

“And that’s all paid for?” I asked, incredulously. “PT included?”

“Of course PT is included,” he answered quizzically. “Why do the surgery at all if not to follow the prognosis plan to the end?”

I told Sal about my concerns about American healthcare, how I had given birth to my daughter in one of the best hospitals in the nation, and how I requested an itemized bill for labor. All in total, the costs were upwards of $95,000.

The party clucked with repugnance. Outrageous! Inhuman! I explained that the insurance that I received through my job had covered the majority–but not all–of it. 

“America may have the best hospitals in the world,” one neighbor said wryly. “But in Jordan, you can always get the care you need.” A social safety net I could only dream of. 

The overwhelming concern I heard from the circle of Jordanian neighbors is how their country was perceived beyond the Middle East region. And that’s how we circled back to the same question that had plagued my travel plans.  

“What do Americans think of Jordan, ‘Is it safe?’”

1. Jerash, an ancient Jordanian city that flourished during the Greek, Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine periods, is incredibly well-preserved.2. Down to the Dead Sea shore, 1,412 feet below sea level.Rachael Levitt

What do Americans think is safe? I wondered. I send my daughter to school every day with the hope that no one with a semi-automatic weapon and a manifesto guns down her class. I thought about the advertisements for bulletproof bookbags I had been served. I pivoted once again.

“Could you tell me about the metal detectors I’ve been seeing everywhere?” I asked. In hotels, malls, restaurants–basically every public entrance, I noticed that anyone entering needed to walk through a metal detector and have their bag searched. I heard about how these measures began in response to Al Qaeda attacks in the early 2000s. 

“At first, we hated [the metal detectors],” said one neighbor, passing the hookah hose. “Now, we don’t even notice them. And now, we can show how we take safety seriously.”

Besides the physical infrastructure, Jordan has focused on education and awareness meant to promote moderate thought and reject extremism–a major factor in diminishing terrorist cells. This also contributes to the “live and let live” vibe I was catching, and speaks to Jordan’s capacity for pacifism. Jordan also hosts the second-largest number of refugees per capita worldwide, a testament to their humanitarian culture. 

What is safe? I wondered again. Where in the world is safe? And for who?

“What are your fears for your safety as the Israel-Hamas war continues?” I asked, aware that I was venturing outside of my typically comfortable party conversation. 

“We earnestly desire peace and an end to the conflict,” said Sal as heads around him nodded in agreement. “However, we do not respond to violence with more violence. All these nations are our brethren, and we are concerned for their well-being–in Libya, Syria, Yemen, and Palestine. If our neighbors need to seek refuge in Jordan, they will find safety here.”

The night ended with hugs and thanks, contacts exchanged, and promises to see each other in the future, inshallah.

Upon my arrival stateside, the first question I was asked was more of the same: So, was it safe?

I still have no catch-all answer for the doubtful. But as for me going back to Jordan? It’s a safe bet.