Petra by Night, the unguided tour
The air is cool and the town quiet as we make our way down the deserted streets to the ruins of Petra below. The ancient city of Petra was inhabitated by the Nabataeans, a Semitic Tribe that were the forerunners of modern arabic and the designers of vast tomb structures hewn from the sandstone cliffs. The height of their "empire" (more a region of influence) came at the 1st century AD when they controlled trade routes through Arabia. Their main source of revenue came from spices such as frankincence and myrrh and with their wealth they built lavish tombs where their kings and influential citizens could be laid to rest. Xabi and I spent two days exploring the colours, details, and design of the tombs as the sunlight life to the now abandoned city. It was on the second day of our visit that we slipped off the well worn tourist path and discovered the hidden beauty of area surrounding Petra.
At seven am Xabi and I sat sipping our nescafes from the cool damp of the cave that doubled as a cafe. As we looked out over the theatre we began chatting with Khalid and Ahmed, two bedouins running the friendly coffee cave. Khalid, whom we've dubbed "Johnny Depp" for his uncanny resemblance to the actor's portrayal of Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean, is quiet and hospitable. Ahmed, his cousin is more assertive and has that ability to work the tourist scene. Both are incredibly friendly and open as we talk of the bedouins of Petra.
The situation of the Petra Bedouins is a tale that resonantes with many of the indigenous cultures the world over. In the past there were many thousands of bedouins who would stay within Petra, but now there are only forty families that remain. Ini the 1980s the government relocated them to a village outside of the tourist attraction. The bedouins never wanted to move but were forced to do so under central planning. The conditions in the village are less than acceptable and as the bedouin way of life is threatened so are ageless traditions such as hospitality. As we talked with the bedouins we began to understand some of the prejudices they face.
The bedouins have a tainted reputation in Wadi Musa (the town up the road that is filled with dozens of hotels and cheap tourist trinkets.) The group of backpackers I was traveling with were warned repeatedly by hotel staff of the danger of associating with the bedouins: "they are not trustworthy...they will rob you...they are lazy...they only want money..." These complaints sounded typical of a racial / class majority operating within the constraints of fear.
The bedouins we spoke to throughout Petra had a different perspective on life. On route to the monastery we stopped to talk with a bedouin family. The conversation soon turned to the contrasting of our cultures: "In your country you work and work and for what?" the father related as we watched his three year old daughter teasing the donkeys a short distance from us. "Here we relate to people; we work and relax at the same time." Another bedouin spoke of understanding each other. "Many tourists come and go, but few speak with us really wanting to learn." From my brief time observing the bedouins it seemed to me that they are a minority relegated to selling trinkets and giving rich tourist kids camel rides.
The coffee cups were emptied as the sun filled the canyon with light. Khalid and Ahmed invited us to spend time with them and learn more about their lives. We eagerly took up the invitation to spend a night with them in their caves up in the mountains of Petra. We retrieved our bags from our hotel and stashed them inside the cave. We promised our new friends that we would be back by 5pm after exploring some new corners of Petra. Xabi, Claire, her Irish friend and I headed up to the high place of sacrifice for lunch. After a stiff twenty minute climb you are welcomed with a scene that stirs the imagination. Two obelisks framed a raised altar with drainage canals perched over a cliff with stunning views over the royal tombs and the ancient city tucked in the valley below. How many sheep and goats walked the steep hand carved stone step way to their final moments as curious children and royalty gazed up from the city below. The wind blew with a sudden chill as we sought shelter a rock outcropping.
After lunch Xabi and I headed for wadi (river valley) that looked very inviting. We passed by olive groves and farmers coaxing their donkeys weighed down with succulent fruit of the valley, which they shared with a smile. We continued on ascending the steep valley walls up the sandstone pathway until we reached a vantage point where the view drew us in and refused to release us from its enticement. A strip of green ran the length of the valley floor as sandstone rose from the Earth's bowels in a flux of colours: dusty brown, salmon red and soft purples swirled their way up the cliffside. At the end of the valley the rock changed to a deep, dark shale, the colour of coal - ominous and strangely inviting. We could not resist the pull of this scene that resembled the dark flanks of Tolkien's Mordor. We traveled based on the assumption that we could easily veer back over to Petra and beyond to the cave cafe to meet our friends. Well, you know what they say about assumptions. We definitely proved the rule on this one.
As we passed over the ridge we ran headlong down into the valley over loose scree as the sun began its heavy descent to its habitual horizon of resting. Xabi and I contemplated our route in the fading light. We had gone too far to go back the way we came and so we pressed on. But which way: up or down? When in doubt go up. We did just that and it proved to be quite an adventurous route. As the sun went down the moon came up to light our way up the steep slopes. Soon the clouds danced with the moonlight as we came to a dead end. A cliff blocked our way and once again, and in our near infinite wisdom, we decided to go up once again. Climbing cliffs at night is not recommended by Jordan's ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. On the back of the ticket it reads: "ATTENTION: for safety reasons visitors to Petra are kindly requested to leave the site premises before sunset." Unknowingly, we may have wandered off the site premises by then.
For some reason it was in those moments that I felt alive.The moonlight threw our shadows down into the valley as the handholds presented themselves to our greedy fingers. The cold breeze blew the sweat from our foreheads that were creased with concentration. Alone with our thoughts nature gave us her undelible gift of life.
Several more uphll pushes and we reached a crest. To our disbelief we found tire marks in the sand and we became ecstatic. We stopped to snap pictures. We were home free or so we thought. After 45 minutes of following tire tracks in the sand we reacheda bedouin cave where men were lounging and cooking up some chicken. They invited us to join them but we felt an obligation to get back to our friends at Petra since we were far outside Petra's boundary.
After saying our "masalaamas" we followed a dirt path to the tarmac road. We felt that we had to sneak back into Petra to meet our friends and collect our bags if nothing else. Our walk down the road was filled with finding dead ends and barking dogs that in our imaginations were vicious savage beasts. Unsuccessfully we walked down the road and finally at 9:30pm a passing police vehicle stopped to pick us up. At the police station we were met by ten anxious tourist police, their commander, Claire and her friend. After twenty minutes filled with questioning, chai and furtive glances we parted ways and walked up the hill back to the town filled with hotels and tourists. We wrapped up the evening apologizing to our very upset bedouin friends who were sending text messages from their cave.
At seven am Xabi and I sat sipping our nescafes from the cool damp of the cave that doubled as a cafe. As we looked out over the theatre we began chatting with Khalid and Ahmed, two bedouins running the friendly coffee cave. Khalid, whom we've dubbed "Johnny Depp" for his uncanny resemblance to the actor's portrayal of Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean, is quiet and hospitable. Ahmed, his cousin is more assertive and has that ability to work the tourist scene. Both are incredibly friendly and open as we talk of the bedouins of Petra.
The situation of the Petra Bedouins is a tale that resonantes with many of the indigenous cultures the world over. In the past there were many thousands of bedouins who would stay within Petra, but now there are only forty families that remain. Ini the 1980s the government relocated them to a village outside of the tourist attraction. The bedouins never wanted to move but were forced to do so under central planning. The conditions in the village are less than acceptable and as the bedouin way of life is threatened so are ageless traditions such as hospitality. As we talked with the bedouins we began to understand some of the prejudices they face.
The bedouins have a tainted reputation in Wadi Musa (the town up the road that is filled with dozens of hotels and cheap tourist trinkets.) The group of backpackers I was traveling with were warned repeatedly by hotel staff of the danger of associating with the bedouins: "they are not trustworthy...they will rob you...they are lazy...they only want money..." These complaints sounded typical of a racial / class majority operating within the constraints of fear.
The bedouins we spoke to throughout Petra had a different perspective on life. On route to the monastery we stopped to talk with a bedouin family. The conversation soon turned to the contrasting of our cultures: "In your country you work and work and for what?" the father related as we watched his three year old daughter teasing the donkeys a short distance from us. "Here we relate to people; we work and relax at the same time." Another bedouin spoke of understanding each other. "Many tourists come and go, but few speak with us really wanting to learn." From my brief time observing the bedouins it seemed to me that they are a minority relegated to selling trinkets and giving rich tourist kids camel rides.
The coffee cups were emptied as the sun filled the canyon with light. Khalid and Ahmed invited us to spend time with them and learn more about their lives. We eagerly took up the invitation to spend a night with them in their caves up in the mountains of Petra. We retrieved our bags from our hotel and stashed them inside the cave. We promised our new friends that we would be back by 5pm after exploring some new corners of Petra. Xabi, Claire, her Irish friend and I headed up to the high place of sacrifice for lunch. After a stiff twenty minute climb you are welcomed with a scene that stirs the imagination. Two obelisks framed a raised altar with drainage canals perched over a cliff with stunning views over the royal tombs and the ancient city tucked in the valley below. How many sheep and goats walked the steep hand carved stone step way to their final moments as curious children and royalty gazed up from the city below. The wind blew with a sudden chill as we sought shelter a rock outcropping.
After lunch Xabi and I headed for wadi (river valley) that looked very inviting. We passed by olive groves and farmers coaxing their donkeys weighed down with succulent fruit of the valley, which they shared with a smile. We continued on ascending the steep valley walls up the sandstone pathway until we reached a vantage point where the view drew us in and refused to release us from its enticement. A strip of green ran the length of the valley floor as sandstone rose from the Earth's bowels in a flux of colours: dusty brown, salmon red and soft purples swirled their way up the cliffside. At the end of the valley the rock changed to a deep, dark shale, the colour of coal - ominous and strangely inviting. We could not resist the pull of this scene that resembled the dark flanks of Tolkien's Mordor. We traveled based on the assumption that we could easily veer back over to Petra and beyond to the cave cafe to meet our friends. Well, you know what they say about assumptions. We definitely proved the rule on this one.
As we passed over the ridge we ran headlong down into the valley over loose scree as the sun began its heavy descent to its habitual horizon of resting. Xabi and I contemplated our route in the fading light. We had gone too far to go back the way we came and so we pressed on. But which way: up or down? When in doubt go up. We did just that and it proved to be quite an adventurous route. As the sun went down the moon came up to light our way up the steep slopes. Soon the clouds danced with the moonlight as we came to a dead end. A cliff blocked our way and once again, and in our near infinite wisdom, we decided to go up once again. Climbing cliffs at night is not recommended by Jordan's ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. On the back of the ticket it reads: "ATTENTION: for safety reasons visitors to Petra are kindly requested to leave the site premises before sunset." Unknowingly, we may have wandered off the site premises by then.
For some reason it was in those moments that I felt alive.The moonlight threw our shadows down into the valley as the handholds presented themselves to our greedy fingers. The cold breeze blew the sweat from our foreheads that were creased with concentration. Alone with our thoughts nature gave us her undelible gift of life.
Several more uphll pushes and we reached a crest. To our disbelief we found tire marks in the sand and we became ecstatic. We stopped to snap pictures. We were home free or so we thought. After 45 minutes of following tire tracks in the sand we reacheda bedouin cave where men were lounging and cooking up some chicken. They invited us to join them but we felt an obligation to get back to our friends at Petra since we were far outside Petra's boundary.
After saying our "masalaamas" we followed a dirt path to the tarmac road. We felt that we had to sneak back into Petra to meet our friends and collect our bags if nothing else. Our walk down the road was filled with finding dead ends and barking dogs that in our imaginations were vicious savage beasts. Unsuccessfully we walked down the road and finally at 9:30pm a passing police vehicle stopped to pick us up. At the police station we were met by ten anxious tourist police, their commander, Claire and her friend. After twenty minutes filled with questioning, chai and furtive glances we parted ways and walked up the hill back to the town filled with hotels and tourists. We wrapped up the evening apologizing to our very upset bedouin friends who were sending text messages from their cave.
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