Petra

I went to Petra a couple of days ago. It was a beautiful experience on many levels. First off, I had to go alone. I was completely freaking out about it because I’ve never driven in another country, let alone navigate the crazy streets and ridiculous roundabouts of Amman. With the help of Jali, I made it out of the city and headed south. The ride was pretty straightforward, and I was accompanied by the music of Tamer Hosny, a tape that was left in the car. I remained stressed the whole way there, mostly because I didn’t know what to expect. But I got there fine, got into the hotel in the town of Wadi Musa, made some friends, and began my adventure.

After the ride, watching the sunset over the mountains was the first in a number of dramatic experiences. Far into the distance, the horizon looked like the ocean, but that’s the California in me. Sunset was characterized by men on horseback, kids on swings, and folks gathered around bonfires. Later, I went with some people from the hostel into the one of the many valleys. We drove until we were well away from Wadi Musa’s city lights. I couldn’t see the large orange mountains that surrounded us, but I could feel their powerful presence, and every once in a while, a car would pass by and partially illuminate the scene. I lay atop the car and gazed at the millions of stars that graced me with their presence. I made a wish upon a shooting star.



The next morning I got up early so that I could see Petra in the morning light. By then I felt pretty confident, pretty comfortable. I passed by a number of tour groups and politely turned down offers to take a horse down into the siq (canyon). I made my way alongside small facades carved into the mountains, imagining what the place must have been like when there was an abundance of water running through. When I made it to the siq, I was completely overcome, and truly overwhelmed. Being surrounded by that much rock, geological history, and human will filled me up. At one point I turned a corner and felt like I had been there. Being of hippy inclination, I understood the feeling to be of real significance. But it’s possible that the feeling was induced by the many pictures I’ve seen of the place. Or maybe it was a familiarity with earthliness. Maybe I had been there before in some terrestrial sense? I finally got to the treasury – the most famous image of Petra, but it was totally crowded with tourists. So I kept going and decided to spend time there on the way back. My destination was the monastery.

The most remarkable aspect of my trip to Petra were my meetings with some Bedouins. I thought I was going to have to deal with aggressive people trying to get me to buy things or take a ride on a donkey, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Once I said “no thank you” (and especially because I spoke in Arabic), people were okay with letting me walk on by. Most often, I was invited to drink endless amounts of the yummiest sweet sage tea. I sat around and engaged in talk about people, life in the mountains, Palestine, who married who and what kids they had, etc.

I was on my way up the mountain, over steps that at once trailed the mountain and led to the monastery (also carved into the mountain face) when I met this kid named Ahmed. He was going up with another fellow who had two English kids on donkeys while their reserved parents followed. I chatted with Ahmed and his partner as we climbed up, taking my time so as to make it through the day and its heat. I don’t know how long it took to climb up, but it must have been something like an hour. After a while, I realized that Ahmed was just going to chill with me the whole time, and that was fine by me. I chatted with another fellow nicknamed ‘Cave man’ who sat perched at the portal of the monastery and then made my way up toward the High Place of Sacrifice on the summit of Jabal al Madbah. From the mountain top, I could see all the way over to Palestine and the Negev desert. The wind blew around all the tourists who made the trek up, flapping the Jordanian flag in the wind. I sat for quite some time talking to Atef, the guy who runs a shop that sells silver jewelry made by Bedouin women with the support of the Queen Noor Foundation. Whenever people would get to the top, Atef would point to the various spots – Palestine, the sacrifice platform, and a mosque marking Aaron’s tomb. I hung out with Atef for a while and decided to buy an overpriced bracelet, especially after he so graciously gifted me a pair of beautifully crafted silver earrings. He and I connected and he invited me to stay overnight to sleep under the stars. I wasn’t quite sure about all that, so I said thanks, that it was a pleasure to meet him, and made my way back down the mountain with Ahmed in tow.

Most Bedouin men in Petra follow the tradition growing their hair long and lining their eyes in kohl. I asked another fellow what that was all about and he said that as long as they didn’t tie it up or manipulate it in any way, long hair is not deemed haram. I don’t know about the kohl, but it made for an attractive drama that I was quite drawn to. When I was walking down the mountain, I came across a group of three young men who were sitting down to lunch. I knew one of them from earlier. They looked like a bunch of sexy rocker guys with their long hair, cool looks, and unwillingness to smile. I understood why they were so reserved when an older German woman stopped to take a picture without asking and without the slightest idea that her action could make people feel on display, objectified, disrespected. One of the fellows, Ahmed, said, “excuse me, but you do not have permission to take my picture. We are simply trying to enjoy our lunch. Would you like it if you were disrespected in the same way?” It was cool, because though she seemed nice enough, she was clueless.

Another cool person I met was this sharp old woman. Again, it was on my way up to the monastery. She was sitting under shade selling jewelry, her fingers and hair orange with henna, tattoos marking her forehead. She sat cross legged with a cigarette and a cup of tea. She was wrinkled like those who’ve spent their whole lives in the sun get marked by time. She was the ultimate in coolness and she invited me for a cup of tea. I told her I’d sit with her on my way back so I could take advantage of the sun, which was still relatively low in the sky at that point. On my way back, Ahmed and I sat with her. There was another kid with her who was a bit of a spit fire and fancied himself a man. He couldn’t have been more than 14 or so, but he was smoking cigarettes in that awkward way that people who aren’t enjoy it do. So we sat and I learned about this Spanish woman who got married to a Bedouin man and gave birth to a daughter. Apparently, there’s lots of Bedu-Euro marriages, which I found pretty interesting.

But Petra was more to me than starry nights, stories of interracial marriage, friendly invitations, and gifts. Jordan was the first place in this voyage where I needed to rely on myself to get around. Renting a car and driving it out of Amman to a destination 250 km away by myself gave me the confidence boost that I needed. I’m still nervous whenever I go somewhere new, but I know have concrete proof that I can do it. And I do so successfully. In all honesty, though, I never do anything totally alone. Jali hooked me up by allowing me to follow him through Amman until I got to the freeway. And Mosleh, the man at the hotel in Wadi Musa shared wonderful places that I wouldn’t have seen without him. My experience in Petra would have been nice without the Bedu, but not nearly as memorable. And here I am again! Grateful for people in my life, and the people that I come across as I trek across life’s path.