Petra, “for the memories”

Adjusting to a distant time zone can be a slow process for me, but the adrenaline and excitement of an adventure helps immensely. That’s not to say I didn’t wake up completely alert in the middle of the night, but it does mean that we were up for an early breakfast and ready to go before the tour buses had even started loading.

I’ll admit, before planning this trip my knowledge of Petra was limited to what I’d seen in “Indiana Jones”—and other than the facade of the Treasury, that wasn’t accurate. Thankfully, PBS had a special about Petra a few months before the trip that gave me a deeper appreciation of what we’d see and the civilization who built it. Here are the highlights from what I remember: the Nabateans were mostly nomadic merchants who guarded the secret of where they collected frankincense and myrrh to secure their fortune. Petra was actually the Vegas of its time, an oasis in the desert that flaunted its wealth with pools, gardens, and fountains. Their engineers built clay pipes at just the right diameter and laid them at just the right angle to have a continuous flow of water from several miles away, through the Siq, to their fountains in the city. Most of the rock carvings that remain are tombs carved into the cliffs, and their architecture style shows the influence of Greek and Assyrian cultures but has elements all their own. It’s thought they opted for relatively smooth surfaces here to better show off the stone, which in this region has bands of red, white, yellow, and a bluish purple. An earthquake in the 300’s disrupted the water system when they were already struggling economically as the trade routes shifted away from them, and sped up its decline. Europeans would not know of its existence until a Swiss explorer rediscovered them in 1812.

Armed with this knowledge, I was excited to see some of these famous pipes exposed, at one time hidden behind life-size carvings of a camel caravan that barely remains as traces in the walls, as we walked through the Siq. Once again, the first glimpse of the Treasury through the canyon stopped me in my tracks. It was wonderful to have so few people around that early in the morning to appreciate the moment; in fact, it almost seemed like they had more camels than people.

first glimpse of the Siq

After getting our fill of that sight, we turned right and started to hike through the city, past tombs of all sizes and an amphitheater that seated thousands and could still host events. After walking up to see the royal tombs, we split up so Kara and I could see the Monastery, and Leon could go on a less popular hike to see something new. As we made our way across the valley, it was us and the goats. We stopped at the ruins of a freestanding Christian church from the Byzantine era that anywhere else, would’ve been the star of the show. Remnants of stone carvings lined the first area, and the chapel floor still had some of its detailed and colorful tile mosaics intact.

Royal tombs

early Christian mosaics

It was ~800 rock-hewn steps to the Monastery, broken up by occasional flat stretches, and Kara was kind enough to follow my easy, “shuffling” pace. I didn’t begrudge the couple who opted to ride the donkey up most of the way—other than having to avoid donkey souvenirs on the trail. Otherwise, we were practically alone. As we climbed up through the canyon you’d see what you thought was the top, only to discover a further vista behind it. “Are we there yet?” flashed through my mind as we passed each succeeding narrow stand, where Bedouin women sold souvenirs nearly identical to their competitors a few dozen yards away. At last, we arrived at the top and were greeted by the Monastery. Breathless (literally), I was taken aback by the sheer scale of it—none of the pictures I’d seen had anything in it for scale, and it was even larger than the Treasury. The carving wasn’t as ornate, either, but it was a powerful structure to look at. As we walked closer to it, the great acoustics became apparent and I challenged Kara to a little Monastery-oke. Her choice of “Say a Little Prayer” totally won, not only because it’s hard to top Burt Bacharach, but was totally a fitting serenade for this religious structure.

I'm that pink and black speck near the doorway!

When my legs had finally recovered, we began a mini hike to the “Best of View of Petra” (according to a homemade sign), only to be confused when we saw a competing sign with the same boast. Only having the time and strength for one best view, we kept to the first sign’s path, and it offered a great view of the naturally multi-hued cliffs and an overlook of the Monastery. It also provided a funny encounter with a group of Moroccan men. We asked them to take our picture, which they kindly did, and when we expected them to ask for the same they instead wanted their pictures with us “for the memories.” Never mind that we hadn’t had a conversation, they didn’t know our names, and we hadn’t actually done anything together--it was enough that we were American women. Ultimately we proved them right, as “for the memories” became an oft-repeated rationale for the remainder of our trip.

view of the Monastery from "the" best view of Petra

view in the other direction, and a glimpse of the natural variety of colors in these rocks

Kara and me "for the memories"

I practically hopped down the stairs back, and tried to encourage the handful of hikers we saw struggling on the way up that it wasn’t that much further, and that it was totally worth it. Near the bottom we encountered our first tour group of the day, and I was grateful we’d arrived so early to beat the crowds and the heat. Meeting Leon at the bottom, we had a quick snack break in the shade before seeing the sights in the wide open valley. An ancient colonnaded road the Romans would be proud of marched in a straight line across it, and would have been the heart of the town. To one side were the remains of freestanding buildings, a temple and a commercial center with a large plaza that would have included gardens and fountains with a drainage system under the plaza’s tiles.

Roman road and ruins

Weaving behind it, we began our ascent to the High Place of Sacrifice. Once again we had mostly goats for company, taking refuge from the heat in the tombs. The tombs were all slightly different, and some were in a gated community, of sorts. Hiking up past gardens and the remains of fountains, I continued to marvel at their engineering. 

typical Nabatean tombs

Finally, we were at the High Place of Sacrifice, a stone altar carved out of the high, flat plateau with cavities and drainage holes to hint at out it was used. It is believed the Nabateans would have a large processional up here annually, and I can only imagine what it was like carving the steps up to it, or carrying the sacrifices up to it, given our laborious climb. If church had that kind of commute, I’d also only go once a year! 

altars at the High Place of Sacrifice

We hiked down the processional route, and I saw the only souvenir all day that tempted the geology nerd in me: small pieces of stone reflecting all the hues of Petra. But I couldn’t support something that would encourage damaging an already-fragile place, and continued my shuffle back to the valley floor. By this time it was afternoon, and I started seeing flocks of tourists being led by numbered signs. I eventually figured out they were part of a cruise on a day trip, and the hordes of tourists plaguing the Treasury made me grateful I had memories without them.

sharing the Treasury in the afternoon

Of all the hikes of the day, the gradual ramp back up to the visitor’s center felt the longest, but we had a taste of something that was unexpectedly, and sadly, probably authentic to the Nabateans. There was quite a thriving business of transporting tourists back to the top by carriage or by donkey, and we had to cling to the side of the canyon walls at times to stay out of their way. They raced the poor creatures so that their hooves would slide on the slick stone, and some of the drivers used electrical cords as makeshift whips. Pairs of carriages followed dangerously close to each other, while donkeys shuffled under the weight of disproportionately large passengers. There were signs at the top in English warning of these practices and encouraging the reporting of it, but I sadly think it wouldn’t have done much good. Before leaving, we stopped at the museum we had earlier raced past. It was small, but new and held an interesting collection of artifacts and information. Some of it would have been good to see and learn before our hike, but not at the expense of the solitude we’d enjoyed. It was interesting to think about the narrow window we had into their civilization, and to wonder what from our modern day would survive nearly as long as their tombs and temples. As a final stat, Leon’s fitbit registered over 13 miles and 200 flights of stairs; it was worth every step. 

We spent the remainder of the afternoon driving the winding roads out of Wadi Musa and south to Wadi Rum, where we would be “Bedouin glamping” for a few days. A wadi is a seasonal stream, dry most of the year until it rains, and this wadi was made famous by “Lawrence of Arabia,” who spent time here while working with the Arabs to overthrow Ottoman rule during WWI. We parked at the entrance, and were met by our Bedouin guide who drove us across the sandy tracks to his campground. Along the way we stopped at “Lawrence Spring” and saw a 100-year old acacia tree that our guide’s grandfather remembers being new. Nearby, our guide’s male relatives were busy setting up the black and white-striped goat-hair tents for a family wedding that weekend, which I was a little sad we’d miss.

an old acacia, and one of the only trees we'd see in Wadi Rum

Our camp was across the wide valley, nestled against rocks and sheltered by a sand dune with a monolith a short walk away. The only other guests that night were two girls, Malaysian and Italian, who were living in Jordan to study Arabic and would join us on the next day’s excursion. Kara and I shared one of the tent/huts, and after dropping off our things we walked to a nearby rock outcrop to watch the sunset. It had eroded to create an easy scramble to the top, and watching the sun dip behind the rock formations was a peaceful way to conclude a day of adventure. 

Panaramic view at sunset--the tents at the end are our camp

sunset over our camp at Wadi Rum

Back at camp, we sat on cushions while waiting for a dinner to be prepared. Tea is an important part of their culture, and the guide kindly knew from Leon’s previous visits to brew an herbal tea just for us. Our dinner was served in a larger tented space with the rocks as a wall and a sandy floor. We sat on high cushions and ate our fill of chicken biryani, cucumbers with yogurt sauce, and watermelon for dessert. I was tired from our day’s adventures, but leaving the tent I was struck by the beauty of the stars--no light pollution, no clouds, with just a bit of moon. Grabbing my headlamp for making my way up the dune, I lingered there for a while to take it all in and kicked myself for forgetting most of the constellations I’d learned in Astronomy all those years ago. Our nighttime routine was a bit of a group effort for the girls, who shared headlamps to the bathroom, which consisted of a squat toilet and a shower. Never one to pass up on a shower, I opted to take mine at night after hearing they were solar-heated and would likely be cooler in the morning--even so, it was brisk and brief. Our tent/hut had foam mattresses and plenty of blankets, but as a friend pointed out it’s hard to know how often they’re able to do laundry in the dessert. Covering the pillow with my towel, I opted not to think about it too hard and quickly drifted off.