Thomas Everyone tells you to go to Jordan in April or May. The travel blogs, the glossy magazines, your aunt who went on a group tour in 2004—they all say the same thing. They tell you the wildflowers are blooming and the temperature is ‘perfect.’ They are technically right, but they’re also lead-piping you into a crowded, overpriced nightmare. I’ve been three times now, and honestly? April is the worst ‘best’ time to go.
The July mistake I will never make again
In 2018, I decided to ignore the warnings and went to Petra in mid-July. I thought, ‘I’m from a place with summers, I can handle it.’ I was an idiot. By 11:00 AM, the Treasury felt like a literal kiln. I remember standing in the shade of a rock wall, watching a group of tourists try to look happy for a photo while sweat literally dripped off their chins onto the sand. I drank four liters of water and didn’t pee once. That’s not a vacation; that’s a survival exercise.
I ended up paying 45 JOD (about $63) for a donkey ride back up from the Monastery because I genuinely thought I was going to pass out. I hate donkey rides. I think they’re exploitative and the guys running them are usually aggressive, but I was desperate. I felt like a failure the whole way up. The heat in Jordan from June to August isn’t just ‘hot’—it’s heavy. It sits on your chest. If you go then, you aren’t seeing Jordan; you’re just moving from one air-conditioned shadow to the next.
Don’t do it.
The ‘Peak Season’ is a bit of a scam
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Peak season (March to May) is when the weather is objectively the best, but it’s also when the soul of the place gets a bit lost. You’ll be sharing the Siq with five hundred people wearing matching sun hats. Prices for hotels in Madaba and Wadi Musa spike by nearly 40% compared to the shoulder months.
I know people will disagree with me on this, but I think the Dead Sea is actually miserable in the spring. It’s too crowded. You’re bobbing in oily water next to a guy from Dusseldorf who is shouting into his GoPro. It’s not relaxing. I’ve found that the best time to visit Jordan is actually late September or October. The desert has cooled down just enough that you don’t die, but the water in the canyons is still warm from the summer sun. It feels like the country is exhaling.
The weird magic of a freezing Amman
I’m going to say something that might sound wrong: Go in February. Most people think I’m crazy because it can literally snow in Amman. I spent a week there last February and it was the best trip I’ve ever had. Was I wearing three layers and a beanie? Yes. Was I the only person at the Roman Theater? Also yes.
There is something incredibly cozy about drinking sage tea in a rainy cafe in Rainbow Street while the mist rolls over the hills. Jordan isn’t just a desert; it’s a high-altitude plateau. In winter, the light is different. It’s moody. Plus, you can get a room at a five-star hotel for the price of a hostel bed in May. I tracked the prices: a room that was $210 in April was $85 in February.
Pro Tip: If you go in winter, bring actual wool socks. Stone floors in Jordanian guesthouses are like ice blocks. I spent three days with numb toes because I thought ‘it’s the Middle East, it’ll be fine.’ It wasn’t fine.
Anyway, I was talking to this guy at a bookstore in downtown Amman—he’s worked there for thirty years—and he told me that the locals hate the spring tourists because they just rush through. In the winter, people actually stop and talk. You get the real version of the country, not the theme park version.
I genuinely hate ‘Bubble Camps’
I need to get this off my chest. If you are planning your trip based on those ‘Martian Bubble Tents’ you see on Instagram in Wadi Rum, please reconsider. They are a blight on the landscape. They’re plastic, they leak heat like a sieve, and they look like giant golf balls dropped in the middle of a beautiful, ancient desert.
I refuse to stay in them. I don’t care if they have ‘panoramic views.’ They are overpriced tourist traps that feel completely disconnected from the Bedouin culture they claim to represent. Stay in a traditional goat-hair tent. It’s cheaper, it’s more authentic, and you won’t feel like you’re living inside a Tupperware container. This is a hill I will die on. Total waste of money.
The actual numbers (based on my messy spreadsheets)
I’ve kept notes on my last few trips because I’m a nerd like that. Here is how it usually breaks down for me:
- March-May: 25°C – 30°C. Perfect for hiking, but expect 100+ people in every photo. High prices.
- June-August: 35°C – 45°C. Physical torture. Great for diving in Aqaba, but you will regret Petra.
- September-November: 20°C – 28°C. The sweet spot. The crowds start to thin out by late October.
- December-February: 5°C – 15°C. Cold, rainy, but incredibly cheap and empty.
I might be wrong about the winter thing for everyone—if you hate the cold, you’ll probably miserable—but for me, the solitude is worth the shivering. There is nothing like having the entire Monastery at Petra to yourself for an hour because it’s a Tuesday in January and it’s a bit windy. It makes the place feel like a discovery again, rather than just another stop on a cruise ship itinerary.
So, when should you go? If you want the ‘standard’ experience, go in October. If you want to actually feel the place, go when it’s cold. Just for the love of everything, stay away in July. My melted dignity at the bottom of that donkey trail is proof enough.
Is it weird that I still think about that donkey? I wonder if he’s still there, hauling idiots like me up the stairs in the heat. I hope not.
