So I missed the one daily bus from Amman to Petra at 6:30am. I went to one of the bus depots and found someone claiming to be a servees (shared taxi) bound for Petra. It turned out to be a crazy ride: a graying South African man, straight off the plane, made for constant entertainment by waving his guidebook in the air, grabbing the driver's seat, and shouting things like "Stop! Stop right here! I'm getting out! Slow down! I have a kid to raise! He's not my kid, but I'm raising him anyway!" And then, when this didn't convince our toothless driver to reduce his speed: "You're just showing off because there's a girl in the car!" Yehya, the driver, was unamused, and kept telling me in Arabic that the man had a jinn in his head. Meanwhile, halfway through the 3.5 hour drive, which took us 2.5 hours, we discovered that Yehya had not slept in 48 hours but because he was fasting would only douse water on his face to stay awake. This led to him begging me to drive for half an hour so he could take a nap. I did not think this was a good idea, so I refused. When we (happily) rolled into Petra at last, the skinny souvenir salesman in the backseat crooned in that English accent shared by all souvenir salesmen and only by souvenir salesmen throughout the Middle East: "Weelcoom to Beeetra!"
Being alone at Petra was a sublime experience whenever I could catch a moment of peace from the pea-sized postcard vendors who came to trot along beside me at regular intervals. Or the donkey drivers shouting: "Bedouin limousine! Think but don't think too much." (Or the Petra pickup line, "Come have a beer in my cave!" Tempting.) One enters the main area of Nabatean Petra through a long, cool sandstone gorge that would have served as the approach to the city 2000 years ago as well. The city's architecture is a blend of Roman, Greek, Egyptian, and other influences, as Petra was a commercial crossroads that bridged the West with the Eastern trade routes from India and China through Arabia. When it opens, you've arrived at the Treasury, the jewel in Petra's crown. Here I am doing my thing at the Treasury:
For the whole day I just padded along down the main road of Petra, visiting the Urn Temple, the theater, the rockcut tombs, and the Great Temple (where a Brown U. dig has partly reconstructed things). A long-haired Bedouin guy who was working on the dig -- who looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean, it was uncanny -- struck up a conversation with me for awhile and told me how many tourists at Petra are quite mean because they assume they're being cheated and will fight tooth and nail for the last penny. Hm - I could see both sides. By the end of the day, I had earned a reputation among the camel and donkey guys as the girl who walked too much, since I continuously refused their offers of a ride, but also made friends with many of these guys. Eventually I reached the beginning of the ascent to the deir, or monastery. In the blazing heat, this was a pretty arduous hike, with the added hazard of donkeys scrabbling up and down the rocks beside me. But at the end I arrived at the top in one piece and was rewarded with a sweeping view of Wadi Araba -- as a sign noted, the top of the world. When I turned around to head back, a Bedouin who had invited me to tea in his tent at the top of the world (it's a shtick) told me, "See you soon, big baboon."
Petra was certainly a hard act to follow, but I did have another full day in Jordan and not enough time for the fabled Wadi Rum. So I set off from Amman for Madaba, a city with a larger proportion of Christians (1/3) than most of Jordan. After flourishing in the Byzantine period, the city was depopulated between the 9th and 19th centuries, when Christian families from a neighboring area moved back and revived the place. People go to Madaba for its mosaics. Despite this, I seemed to be the first visitor of the day just about everywhere and the caretakers were holed away reciting Quran. First I hit up the archaeological park, built around the Church of the Virgin from the 6th/7th c. and an earlier mansion. The massive floor mosaics were virtually intact, my favorite being the mansion's scene depicting the characteristics of the Greek tragedy of Hippolytus and Phaedra frolicking about. The pint-sized Madaba Museum had yet more mosaic fragments to offer, and then, at the Church of the Apostles (of which only the floor remains), I was permitted by the guard to enter the cordoned area and examine close up the depiction of the personification of the Sea. Interesting as the main event in a church devoted to the apostles. I saved for last St. George's Orthodox Church, known for its mosaic map of the Holy Land -- or at least bits and pieces of it. It is, I was told, the oldest surviving map of the Holy Land (550s AD), but despite its longevity I had a hard, hard time making out anything other than the cluster of homes that marked Jerusalem and the River Jordan.
Before heading home, I stopped at Mt. Nebo. This is the spot where Moses supposedly looked out at the Promised Land -- and died. A sign at the small shrine pointed out landmarks, but mostly I saw barren land (no spires of Jerusalem) and what I think was the Dea Sea. My wanderings brought me to an evening stroll around through the average areas of Amman and to Husseiny Mosque, where while allowing myself a moment for contemplation an Egyptian tea-seller bamboozled me into drinking suspect mint tea from the giant pot on his belt. At maghrib, the crows naturally evaporated and I had a clear run up to Wild Jordan. Not only does this Jordanan-inspired health food restaurant offer stunning views of Amman's Citadel and glittering lights, it organizes eco-tours, runs some kind of library, and other trades. Nevertheless, Jordan is actually kind of known for its ecotourism and environmental projects, so hopefully these initiatives will be successful. After dinner, I met up again for a nargileh with Mahmoud the perfume distributor and let him reminisce about his days in Cairo.
For the whole day I just padded along down the main road of Petra, visiting the Urn Temple, the theater, the rockcut tombs, and the Great Temple (where a Brown U. dig has partly reconstructed things). A long-haired Bedouin guy who was working on the dig -- who looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean, it was uncanny -- struck up a conversation with me for awhile and told me how many tourists at Petra are quite mean because they assume they're being cheated and will fight tooth and nail for the last penny. Hm - I could see both sides. By the end of the day, I had earned a reputation among the camel and donkey guys as the girl who walked too much, since I continuously refused their offers of a ride, but also made friends with many of these guys. Eventually I reached the beginning of the ascent to the deir, or monastery. In the blazing heat, this was a pretty arduous hike, with the added hazard of donkeys scrabbling up and down the rocks beside me. But at the end I arrived at the top in one piece and was rewarded with a sweeping view of Wadi Araba -- as a sign noted, the top of the world. When I turned around to head back, a Bedouin who had invited me to tea in his tent at the top of the world (it's a shtick) told me, "See you soon, big baboon."
Petra was certainly a hard act to follow, but I did have another full day in Jordan and not enough time for the fabled Wadi Rum. So I set off from Amman for Madaba, a city with a larger proportion of Christians (1/3) than most of Jordan. After flourishing in the Byzantine period, the city was depopulated between the 9th and 19th centuries, when Christian families from a neighboring area moved back and revived the place. People go to Madaba for its mosaics. Despite this, I seemed to be the first visitor of the day just about everywhere and the caretakers were holed away reciting Quran. First I hit up the archaeological park, built around the Church of the Virgin from the 6th/7th c. and an earlier mansion. The massive floor mosaics were virtually intact, my favorite being the mansion's scene depicting the characteristics of the Greek tragedy of Hippolytus and Phaedra frolicking about. The pint-sized Madaba Museum had yet more mosaic fragments to offer, and then, at the Church of the Apostles (of which only the floor remains), I was permitted by the guard to enter the cordoned area and examine close up the depiction of the personification of the Sea. Interesting as the main event in a church devoted to the apostles. I saved for last St. George's Orthodox Church, known for its mosaic map of the Holy Land -- or at least bits and pieces of it. It is, I was told, the oldest surviving map of the Holy Land (550s AD), but despite its longevity I had a hard, hard time making out anything other than the cluster of homes that marked Jerusalem and the River Jordan.
Before heading home, I stopped at Mt. Nebo. This is the spot where Moses supposedly looked out at the Promised Land -- and died. A sign at the small shrine pointed out landmarks, but mostly I saw barren land (no spires of Jerusalem) and what I think was the Dea Sea. My wanderings brought me to an evening stroll around through the average areas of Amman and to Husseiny Mosque, where while allowing myself a moment for contemplation an Egyptian tea-seller bamboozled me into drinking suspect mint tea from the giant pot on his belt. At maghrib, the crows naturally evaporated and I had a clear run up to Wild Jordan. Not only does this Jordanan-inspired health food restaurant offer stunning views of Amman's Citadel and glittering lights, it organizes eco-tours, runs some kind of library, and other trades. Nevertheless, Jordan is actually kind of known for its ecotourism and environmental projects, so hopefully these initiatives will be successful. After dinner, I met up again for a nargileh with Mahmoud the perfume distributor and let him reminisce about his days in Cairo.
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