Red Sea to Dead Sea

Kara and I had never ridden camels before, and it was decided when we arrived that the best time would be on our way out of Wadi Rum. I had time for one last rock scramble before breakfast, and was able to see our camels in the distance slowly being led to our camp.

The ride out was a little over an hour, which was long enough to confirm that camels are very awkward creatures when it comes to standing up and sitting down, and that they’ll get excited about eating the tiniest scrub of plants along the way. For some reason the scenery and the situation reminded me of the American West, and I felt compelled to start singing cowboy songs.
I can only imagine what the camels and their Bedouin handler thought of this.

Riding camels (Leon's view)

My attempt to capture the moment, and evidence of how hard it is to get a level shot while riding a camel.

The other way to leave Wadi Rum.

Unfortunately, my decision to wear sandals proved unwise, as the bug bites on my ankles from this brief ride would stay with me for weeks afterward. Back at the entrance to camp, we quickly changed and were off to the next adventure.
On our way in to Wadi Rum, we’d passed a museum commemorating where Lawrence and the Arabs had captured a train as a part of their campaign against the Ottomans. We’d planned to stop and were disappointed when the train wasn’t there, only to discover a few minutes later that it was being used in a re-enactment of this event. Men in traditional dress on horseback were at the ready, and we were able to watch them race after the train and overtake it. Apparently Americans aren’t the only ones that like to recreate their history.

Re-enacting the train capture.

We also passed a camel crossing sign, only to have it prove accurate as a family of camels crossed the road.

Camel crossing

Sure enough

Back on the highway, it was only a few hours winding down through rocky valleys to the coastal town of Aqaba. Jordan has a narrow access to the Red Sea, and standing on their shore you can see and easily distinguish its neighbors. Egypt is mostly empty and mountainous, though I’ve heard they’re building small timeshare communities along the coast for Europeans. Israel’s portion of the shoreline reminded me of Atlantic City, with a large airport and plenty of skyscraper hotels for tourists. I’d later learn that in all their efforts to secure their coastline, the Israelis have sadly bombed and destroyed most of their reefs. The Saudi coastline was just out of sight, but I imagined it as a continuation of what we saw in Egypt. Driving through Aqaba, it appeared modest in size compared to its Israeli neighbor in both height and extent, with tree- and palm-lined streets in the older area.

A short drive past Aqaba and its port were the swimming beaches, with the reefs almost coming up to the shore. Navigating the pebbly beach in flippers was no easy feat for me, but as soon as we were in deep enough to swim it was effortless to explore. Jordan’s reefs are as colorful and diverse as any place I’ve ever been, and while the effects of coral bleaching were evident, it was a delight to see the variety of fish and corals.

Red Sea snorkeling

Snorkeling at Aqaba

It was also refreshing to be in cool water after the sweltering heat of land, and we stayed in so long on the first round that I actually started to shiver by the end. Coming out to dry off, the intense heat quickly warmed me up and I diligently reapplied sunblock…or so I’d thought. 

Round 2 we went a little further from the shore to see an old boat they had sunk (peacefully) to create an artificial reef, and the divers far below were easy to spot from their bubbles. We set off next to explore the reefs a little further down the coast, and along the way I heard some mysterious noise. Coming up out of the water, I realized I was hearing the call to prayer. To top it off, at that moment someone was giving camel rides along the beach. It was fun and a little surreal to partially submerge to a point where the camel looked like it was walking on water, or by turning your head to the side you’d see tropical fish in one eye, and camels in the desert in the other. It also made me wonder what the ancient Israelites saw when Moses parted the Red Sea and they crossed through here, or at least nearby. At the next beach over we encountered some friendly Jordanian men who were also snorkeling, and while I was glad to see the locals appreciating their marine treasure, it did make me wonder how often Jordanian women get to do this, since the only ones I’d seen at the beach were on land and fully clothed. I love swimming and could’ve easily been talked into a round 3, but it was around lunchtime and another drive to further adventures awaited us. While changing, it dawned on me that when I’d reapplied sunblock, I was only focused on protecting my face and front, which is the least of your concern when snorkeling. The resulting burn would rival the one I’d received in Tobago, and has me sold on the idea of buying a rash guard (not to mention it insulates so you can stay in longer).

Before leaving Aqaba we had lunch at a local café with two of my new Jordanian favorites, mint lemonade and spiced french fries, and briefly explored the remains of a fort from the early 1500’s overlooking the coast. 

Fort of Aqaba

exploring the fort

On a slightly newer note, we stopped at McDonald’s for McFlurries to enjoy during the drive. I usually prefer to eat at non-chain restaurants when I travel, but it’s interesting to see how they tweak their menu to a given country; and while there were a few other Americans in there, it was clearly the locals giving them most of their business.

Our drive north started by going up in elevation a little, but as we got closer to the Dead Sea we descended and drove past the lowest place on earth. I can’t say it felt different than being at sea level, but the geography nerd in me was still excited to be there. The region we drove through was mostly uninhabited, and what few buildings we saw were relatively small, and usually had rebar coming up out of the corners. I’d seen this on the drive to Petra, and somewhere along the way learned that they leave the rebar poking out in the expectation of someday adding another floor, perhaps for their kids and grandkids. So not the most aesthetic sight, but it was still a symbol of hope in the future in its own way. We also occasionally saw tents—whether Bedouins or refugees was hard for me to say, but a few had the UNRC logo on them. Looking west, in the distance you could see the green of Israeli agriculture. We passed a few fields on the Jordanian side, but they were paltry in comparison. As we got closer to the Dead Sea and as it became later in the day, we were stopped several times by large herds of goats being herded across the road; a novelty when you’re not in a rush. Our first glimpse of the Sea was sectioned off areas for mineral extraction, and it looked like a fairly industrial place. We stopped to watch the sunset near a rock formation traditionally believed to be Lot’s wife, and even in the water’s reflection you could tell the water was a little different than the Red Sea we’d been in a few hours earlier.

sunset over the Dead Sea

Lot's wife

Further up the road was a small cluster of luxury hotels that had recently hosted an international conference, and the last leg had all the security checkpoints that come with such a gathering. At last, we arrived at our hotel.

For the record, I tried to stay at a rustic eco lodge run by a partner NGO, but it was closed for renovations. Instead, we splurged with a night at the Jordan Valley Marriott Resort and Spa. Honestly, there weren’t really mid-range options in this area, and I enjoyed every minute of our indulgence. After a dinner of sliders and ice cream, I headed to the lowest pool for a little night swimming. The lights of Jericho glimmered across the dark sea, and I imagined Jerusalem being just over the hill.

Our Dead Sea accommodations

Despite the late hour, it was still quite warm and a sign by the pool posted the week’s weather forecast to confirm the heat—highs well over 100 degrees every day, and I think one of them was 113. Thank goodness for AC! It felt great to take a proper shower, but sleep came a little less easily. I lost rock-paper-scissors to “win” the spare bed, and when I finally came in from the balcony and tried to sleep, there was a small, hard knob right in the middle of the mattress that hit my back. I eventually figured out poses that avoided it, but was still baffled in the morning when I peeled back the sheet to discover it was the knot in a seatbelt tied around the middle of the mattress for no apparent reason. This place felt like a castle, but I didn’t think I’d be the Princess and the Pea.

Wandering in Wadi Rum

These tents are sealed tight, and any doubt of it was erased when I woke up in the middle of the night and was unable to see my hands in the darkness. That tight seal allowed them to heat up quickly in the morning sun, though, so sleeping in wasn’t really an option. Opening the little hatch window let in blinding sunlight, and I sluggishly poked in contact lenses so I could wear sunglasses against the glare. I shuffled into the dining tent for breakfast: pita bread with lebnah and zatar (plain yogurt and spices), and an assortment of “breakfast cookies.”

Our day would consist of driving and exploring this vast protected area. Wadi Rum is a combination of Arabian oryx habitat and Bedouin reservation, many of whom now make a living as tour guides. I’d later learn it’s the largest wadi in Jordan, and contains Jordan’s highest peak.

The first stop was to see ancient petroglyphs carved onto flat rocks. Bearing depictions of men and camels using this area as a trade route, we were told it was a map. As we examined more camel carvings on a nearby cliff, as if on cue a herd of goats wandered past us on their own route to an unknown destination. As the guide drove a route only he knew on desolate, unmarked sandy paths that crisscrossed Wadi Rum, I tried not to think about how helpless we’d be without him—no cell phone reception, hardly anyone around, and no clue where we were. Thankfully we were fine, and most of the time I just dwelled on how beautiful it was.

Petroglyphs at Wadi Rum

Petroglyphs at Wadi Rum

Nearby was a steep sand dune, where we tried something as foreign to me as it was to the Bedouins: sandboarding. I’d never used a snowboard before, and Leon was kind enough to teach me the basics by going first. With beginners luck and a lack of momentum, the first run went quite well. I was determined to get in a second run, and sang John William’s “The Call of the Champions” as I attempted to go "Citius! Altius!” (not so “Fortius!"). By this point the sand was getting so hot I’d have to stop every few feet and bury my bare feet in the burning sand for relief, but when I finally got to a higher (Altius) starting point, I had my faster (Citius) run, which went fine until the end. I’m still not sure how they managed to get a snowboard in rural Jordan, but it made for a great memory.

My brief foray in to sandboarding

One of our next stops was Lawrence’s hideout, or what is left of it, and we had a bit of extra time to scramble up the rocks behind it. The Malaysian and Italian girls quickly climbed out of sight, and once I’d climbed as high as I wanted I took the extra time to explore the geology of our playground. Textbook sedimentary layers, it had eroded in some areas to flat, dark surfaces with fractures giving it the appearance of a giant’s cutting board. Finding an eroded niche in the shade, I relaxed in my stone papasan chair for a bit before we continued on. Driving to a shady overhang, our guide spread out mats and we stopped for a picnic lunch of tuna and tomato pita sandwiches, juice boxes, and bananas. After lunch our guide dropped us off at a shady canyon for a short hike through to the other side. The shade created a bit of an oasis with a few trees and birds, and along one wall we saw a lizard’s scrambling that put ours to shame.

Exploring Lawrence's hideout

View from a scramble

Our last stops of the day were to natural arches. I’d seen these in Utah, but had never climbed on them quite like this.

Following our guide up the rock face.

We made it!

View from the top

On the arch

Back at our camp, it was an easy stroll to the entrance of Khazali canyon. It was narrow and didn’t go in very far, but the walls were so incredibly high and narrow that it contained a few pools of rainwater. After seeing so many petroglyphs elsewhere it was easy to take them for granted, but the carving of life-sized footprints on a wall overhead piqued my curiosity.

Khazali canyon

It was still several hours before dinner, and as I read outside for a bit I noticed the rocks enclosing our camp were perfect for scrambling. This natural playground abounded with layers and ledges at easy intervals that allowed me to quickly ascend with minimal effort for a bird’s eye view of the camp and valley below.

We also tried our hand at kite flying on the dune next to camp, and I thought of the dunes at Kittyhawk as we tried to launch our kite. It was my first attempt at stunt kites, and I felt like Charlie Brown with my inability to keep it aloft.

This night, we were joined by fellow travelers from France, England, Colombia, the US, and China. The Chinese woman baffled me with her erratic behavior, but I had to hand it to her for having the gumption to travel solo in an Arabic-speaking country when it appeared she only spoke Mandarin.

The combination of jetlag, heat, and scrambling could easily make for an early bedtime, but I had to enjoy the stars again from the top of the dune. I briefly turned on my headlamp while climbing, and saw black beetles the size of a quarter also making their way up the dune. Their zigzagging paths reminded me of my own paths while sandboarding that morning, but now the sand was cool and soft beneath my feet. I did a little moonlit yoga while enjoying the stars, and my patience was rewarded with a shooting star before calling it a night.

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.

Petra by night

Petra was like that special chocolate, outfit, or gift card. You instinctively save it for some undefined special occasion, always wanting to use it but needing/waiting for an event which often never happens. Thankfully, Leon provided the occasion by having an embassy post for a few years in Amman, Jordan. Before he left America I promised I would visit him/Petra, but since I do well with deadlines it took his looming return to make it happen. Things have a way of working out, and in that time I discovered Kara, who’d joined me on the Memorial Day weekend trip to Kirtland last year, also wanted to visit Petra. As we started to research and talk to friends who’d lived in the region, two things quickly became apparent:

1) there were more things to do than we could possibly fit into a single trip (though I’d try my best), and

2) that as long as we were “in the neighborhood”, visiting Israel was not only possible but practically required

Any doubts about visiting Israel were removed when we persuaded Danny to be our driver/guide there. And thus, an occasion was created.

With the uncertainty and instability that often haunts the region, I repressed getting my hopes up about the trip really happening for months. The anticipation of an adventure is so important to me, but as a result it didn’t feel real until right before our departure. In some ways, not until we were on the plane. As we crossed over the Mediterranean coastline on a clear afternoon, I eagerly and quickly took in the modern coastal city right next to an older area of low buildings and short, winding roads in a hilly inland. I was pleased to learn I’d correctly guessed Tel Aviv as the city, and tried to understand what I was seeing below. The feature that made the least sense to me was the border with the West Bank, which clearly stood out in its flat, pale barrenness but wound around the hillsides with greater complexity than any meandering stream I’ve seen in nature. The crossing from Israel to Jordan was easy to see, as it abruptly transitioned from green farms to desert. As we began our descent into Amman it was mostly tan and fairly flat as far as the eye could see from my side of the plane, only interrupted by a flock of sheep and a handful of distant buildings. The airport felt small but very nice and modern, having completed a major renovation just in time for our visit, and it was only a few minutes before Leon met us. Leaving the airport, I caught a glimpse of the familiar in the jacaranda and olive trees used in their landscaping, just like home. That was about the only thing just like home, and those sheep on closer inspection had oppressively thick coats of wool for such hot weather.

The first leg of our trip was to be a whirlwind of Jordan’s highlights, and we hit the ground running by heading directly to Petra.

Driving south on the Desert Highway, I tried to read the landscape to get my bearings. The area was sparsely populated, with occasional clusters of buildings along the road. To make sure the drivers slowed down, metal speed bumps crossed the road when you’d approach these settlements. The small freight trucks were brightly colored and reminded me a little of those I saw in India. And I was delighted when we saw our first camels by the side of the road. Soon we were on winding hills, and wound our way to the village of Wadi Musa just outside the park. We checked into our hotel on a hill above the town and went downtown for a quick meal of shawarma (grilled meats) and french fries sprinkled with spices. I was also introduced to Jordanian mint lemonade, a refreshing concoction of pureed mint that wasn’t too sweet. Sitting on the terrace and sipping my drink as the sun set behind the nearby cliffs, the call to prayer rang out from the nearby mosque. It would’ve been easy to linger and people watch, but the best was waiting for us just down the road.

A few years ago, a friend travelled to Jordan and visited Petra by night. The photos were captivating, and by luck we arrived on one of the few nights they open for this. We waited at the park entrance, which had also recently been renovated, until they allowed us in. Not wanting to be in the throngs, we hung back and took pictures until most of them had gone ahead. The path from the entrance stretched gradually downward, lined by candles set in paper bags just like my family does on Christmas Eve. The rock formations just off the path were full of mysterious shadows, and I wondered how different they would look the next morning. Soon we entered a slot canyon called the Siq, and my excitement grew as the sheer rock walls towered over us with only a few stars in view. At last, we caught a glimpse of the Treasury. They used some bright floodlights to light up the full building, but had also set so many lanterns in front that it gave the effect of coming just from that. 

By the time we arrived, they were at the musical part of the program where men in traditional dress appeared out of the shadows, playing traditional instruments among the lanterns. Yes, there was a noisy generator and fellow tourists taking pictures, but it was easy to ignore that and enjoy the moment with that incredible building, looking even more exotic and mysterious in the darkness than I’d anticipated. Besides, once it ended I was right there with them needing pictures in an attempt to capture the moment before they shooed us out of the park. It was easier leaving with the knowledge that I’d be back in a few hours, and with exhaustion from our travel setting in.