Here’s the update I sent to family and friends soon after an encounter with quite agitated and heavily-armed military personnel in Jordan:

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So I had an exciting morning that featured a very tense and worrying confrontation with the Jordan military. I briefly wondered seriously whether I was about to be shot.

Woke up early this morning and decided to go for a long walk, both to work off the previous night’s episode of overeating and to help with a sore, tight back. Went about 2 kilometers up the road, one hill bigger than the previous: the views over the Jordan Valley (and over into Israel and the West Bank) were getting better and better with each hill as I continued up the road.

At the road’s end, another road intersected to the right while to the left was a dirt & gravel path going up another nondescript hill that seemed to promise the best views yet. It was marked with a series of stacked stones, the same as had been common in the back areas around Petra to mark tourist and Bedouin trails. There was no other signage, so up I went. And as expected, the views were breathtaking and the extent of the valley to be seen was astounding. So I pulled out my phone and started taking a picture.

That’s when the yelling started.

I turned around and saw somebody in desert camouflage fatigues who was screaming in Arabic and motioning me to go away. So I waved back in acknowledgement and started back down the hill. The screaming only got louder at that point. And no only louder and more urgent, but there were now multiple voices joining in. I stopped and turned back around. The first soldier was still screaming and motioning me to go away but now I noticed two other soldiers — one of whom had a rifle — running toward me. A very bad feeling hit my gut.

I turned my attention back to the first soldier and I pointed down the hill since it still seemed he wanted me to go that way. He signaled “No!” but continued to make the same motion. I realized that he didn’t want me to go back down the hill; no, he wanted me to go down on my knees.

Oh, holy sh*t!! What the **** have I stumbled into?

I went to my knees on the gravel. Now soldier #1 started coming my way while the other two continued coming at me fast. I very slowly put my phone on the ground and raised my hands in the air. And I really did wonder whether I was about to be shot. And how long it might take for the Habitat group to find me, whether it might be in a police station, a military installation, a hospital, or a morgue. And I regretted having gone out alone without my passport or any other ID.

I started screaming “American! American!” over and over to indicate that I didn’t speak Arabic.

Fortunately — very!! — I didn’t have to worry long. Once I put the phone down and raised my hands, the second two soldiers slowed to a walk and the tension eased considerably. Soldier #1 walked up to me, said “Salam” (literally “Peace” but more accurately “Hello” in this situation) and offered his hand as greeting. I shook his hand and wonder now whether he heard the sigh of relief I know I must have breathed in that moment.

After some period of frustrating communication failures, I finally understood that he wanted to see the pictures I’d been taking. So I picked up my phone and showed him the last several, only the latest one of which had been taken from this hill. He shook his head and forefinger vigorously, so I stupidly asked whether he wanted me to delete the photos, as if he was going to understand this latest bit of English. I selected one photo, hit the delete icon, and showed him the delete confirmation message, at which point he nodded, gave me a thumbs up, and indicated that I should delete the several previous pictures, as well.

Once done, I was allowed to stand up and was directed back down the hill. I said thanks and goodbye in the best Arabic I could recall in the moment, which was repeated back to me. Not knowing the word for “sorry” in Arabic, I used English but placed my right hand over my heart — a sign of sincerity here — which was met with nods and waves that were probably not friendly so much as tolerant (“dumbass foreign tourist!”). And then I turned and started walking back down the hill again, rather slowly at first in case I’d misunderstood.

And for the remainder of the walk back, my phone stayed in my pocket.

When I got back to the Habitat house and told everyone what had happened, it was agreed that when out on our own, we’ll remain within sight of the house. Our local Habitat host and translator explained that I’d gotten lucky as an American: had a Jordanian been caught taking pictures in the area, that person would almost certainly have been taken into custody and interrogated. Being an American definitely has its privileges around the world.

So what interesting bits of trouble did you get into today?

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Lessons learned:

1. Find out a bit more about the area before venturing about

2. When possible, tell someone where I’m going and when I expect to return

3. Carry ID at all times, including a copy of passport

It’s a great story that my fellow Habitat volunteers and I laugh about now, but it could easily have ended rather badly.

I also want to point out that the military personnel were quite professional and simply doing their job. Yes, in the U.S., such an area would likely have been marked with signs warning against entry, but this was not a place that sees significant numbers of outsiders, and the locals simply know not to venture up into that particular area.

Perhaps most importantly, based upon some reactions I got, I feel it necessary to point out that the people in Jordan showed tremendous hospitality wherever I went, with the exception of the scam artists and vendors around Petra (you must visit, but be prepared for hard sales pitches). I was invited into homes (and even Bedouin caves!) for tea and food on countless occasions by people to whom I was a complete stranger. Fantastic!