Petra and Wadi Rum

Before I came to Jordan, many people asked me in some form or another, “Why the Middle East? Why Jordan?”  I’d respond, of course, with the obvious: “I’m studying Arabic” and usually that would suffice.  Now, I have a new answer: Petra and Wadi Rum.

Or really, Wadi Rum and Petra, since that is the order we visited them in.  Bright and early on a rainy morning in Amman, 70 CIEE students gathered under the enclosure by the pedestrian walkway, waiting for the buses that would start our adventure.  When the buses finally came we clambered on, eager to escape the cold.  As we left the city of Amman the landscape slowly changed from the rocky russet hills, sometimes with shrubs or grasses on them, to rolling hills of sand – red, yellow and sometimes black.  Buildings grew sparse and became uncommon as we drove south towards Aqaba.  Most of the time the only things marring the – to me – alien beauty of the desert landscape were power lines, stretching along the highways as far as I could see.

About an hour and a half into our trip we stopped at “Midway Castle” a glorified tourist stop complete with a large gift shop, snacks, coffee & tea, and most importantly for us, bathrooms.  We paused here for about twenty minutes, and I managed to buy 10 postcards for 1JD, so keep an eye on  your mailboxes! Once back on the road, we continued to drive into the desert.

Two hours later we arrived at Wadi Rum.We were given some free time for lunch and many of us took the opportunity to grab some of the first views of the desert beyond.  

Then, after a short informational video (that had some pretty hilarious English translation) we piled into the back of pickup trucks in groups of six. 

Neal, Collin, and I, ready to head out into the Wadi!

Imagine: a caravan of small trucks - colors white and grey and tan, faded and marred by past travels through the desert – stringing out for at least a mile.  Hear the whipping of the wind and the groan of engines as the trucks wind their way up, down and around dunes.  See the monolithic red mountains rising on either side, shaped by wind and ancient water, beneath a clear sky with the occasional wisp of white streaking through the blue expanse.  Taste the crackle of sand between teeth; hear the laughter and exclamations at the beauty and wonder of nature preserved as it should be.

The trucks turn and begin to slow, collecting at the base of a long, steep sandy incline.  Without being told, we all knew exactly what was going on.  As soon as the truck stopped I leapt from the back and my feet sunk into the soft red sand below.  All of us walked and ran at various bases to the bottom of the sandy incline, and climbed it.  It was tough going, hiking up as my feet sunk continually and the wind blew the sand back into my face, but at long last I made it to the top and then…they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so let me show you.

I could have stayed at the top of that rock all day, staring at the landscape.  I want to go back someday; إن شاء الله .   Twenty minutes or so passed, and it was time to go back to the trucks.  I glanced at the slope and then sprinted – no flew – down it.  The sand that had hindered my climb on the way up now acted as a launch pad for my feet.  Sometimes gravity can be exhilarating.

Once back in the trucks the journey continued a new.  The further we drove the more isolated we seemed to be, the more beautiful the Wadi became.  The mountains were taller, the sand richer in color, and the air cleaner.   As we rode across the desert, our drivers blasted Arabic music from the front of the truck, setting an adventurous tone to our ride.  Here’s another highlight:  Rasha, a student from the University of Jordan who works at the CIEE office, hanging out the window of a black Surburban SUV as it careened across the desert, yelling her exhilaration with camera in hand and oftentimes singing Rihanna at the top of her lungs. 

Our drivers!

Our second stop was probably one of my favorite parts of the entire weekend.  This time there was no steep sandy incline, only rock.  The mountain towered high above us, but had many crevices and footholds for the daring to take advantage of in order to scale the mountain to the top.  In a past life, I think I must have been a rock climber.  I took to the mountain like spider monkey, carefully testing my holds before climbing as high as I dared.  There is no better feeling in the world than pull and strain of muscles as I hoisted myself up onto the rock; no better sense of accomplishment than the one I felt when I made it to the top and looked out at the desert below. 

Another twenty minutes or so and we scrambled back to the trucks and drove again, this time to experience history.  Our third stop was in front of a rock wall inscribed with drawings from the Nabataean Period. 

Then, a truck showed up full of kunifa’s; basically scarves that show nationality; the Jordanian one is red and white, the Palestinian black and white, other countries in the Near East have them as well.  All of us were given Jordanian kunifas to keep and then it was onto the trucks one last time.

Also during our last stop, one of the trucks got stuck!  Luckily some of us stepped up to help. 

I started to make out humps of tan and brown – a few black – against the sand as we drove.  On the wind, I heard moaning and groaning, saw small four legged shapes running in between the humps.  As we drove closer, the humps had heads, and legs, and saddles; the four legged shapes turned in to dogs, and Bedouins in traditional dress roamed between the Camels making sure everything was in order and keeping the animals calm. There was a camel for every student.  I don’t think I will ever see 77 camels (yes, 77) all laying in one place again in my life. 

The camel ride across the desert was surreal.  I think the scariest part would have been when the camel first stood up; they get up on their back legs and then their front legs, so for about five seconds you feel like you’re going to be pitched straight over their head, but I had been warned profusely about this and was determined to use my horse-back riding skills to just cling on and not freak out.  I succeeded in this for the most part.  Once mounted we started across the desert.  The camels were tethered together in pairs, and generally there was at least one Bedouin guide for every two or three camels.  In a few cases there was one guide per camel; but you get the idea. 

My camel (who I nicknamed Altair, of course, though I think it was a girl) was thankfully well-behaved.  Altair’s only quirk was that he/she seemed to have a thing for the rear ends of all of the other camels.  There were some troublemaker camels in our ranks.  One person even got bucked off of their camel early on in the ride!  Luckily he wasn’t hurt at all.  A few others made quite a show of moaning and groaning for the entire two hours, or simply did not play well with others.

The views of the desert from camelback were the most isolated I had seen so far.  At times we would 


fall behind or ahead of the majority of 
the CIEE group, and then it seemed like we were truly alone in on the plains – two camels, two students, and a Bedouin guide.  The once clear sky was cloudy more often than not at this point, and the wind – no longer obstructed by mountains – was dry and cold.  We could have been the only people in the world in those cold, clear, yet somehow chillingly beautiful moments of isolation. 

Juxtaposing solitude was the time we spent in a literal herd of camels, packing in like sardines next to one another as a result of our camels’ whims, the Bedouin guides around us talking and joking in Arabic and playing games with the dogs that accompanied them.  I started chatting with one of our guides in halting Arabic, and I can honestly say that he was one of the happiest, most joyful people I’ve met so far in Jordan.


 

Bedouin puppy! D'AWWWWWW

We arrived at our campsite just as the sun was about to set.  With a final farewell to Altair, I gathered inside our camp with the rest of CIEE to hear what the night had in store.  After showing us to our tents, Ahmed told us two spots near the campsite to watch the sun set over the Wadi.  One was a twenty minute walk out into the desert, the other was to climb the mountain by our camp. After taking some time to scribble down the day’s events, I hurried to scramble up the mountain in time to see the sun set.

Home Sweet Home, Wadi Rum Style

Note the firepit to the left and the two guys playing traditional music to the right.

I have a thing for photographing the Jordanian Flag

Tents!

My shoes got just a little bit sandy during the day...

The Sun Sets over the Wadi...

On my way back to camp, I ran across several CIEE students and a local Dad and his kids playing soccer.  I joined in.  It is always nice to see that, even across cultures and languages, some things truly are universal.  Play is one of these.  At times we played keep away, and would shift seamlessly into volleyball or punting contests.  We played until the sun had set and we could no longer see the white and black ball against the darkening sky.

Not long after the impromptu soccer match ended, dinner was served. It was delicious. It had all the typical staples of a Jordanian feast; hummous, tabuleh, various salads, kabobs, bread with meat and cheese inside, and all kinds of rice.  The bread we had that night was fresh, and being made right in front of us as we ate.  I could have eaten nothing else and be satisfied.

After dinner the rest of the night was ours to do whatever we wanted with.  It was a night of authentic music, conversation and dancing.  Yes, dancing!  There ain’t no dance party like a Bedouin dance party, I can assure you. 

As the night went on, more and more of us students slipped off to bed, but I stayed up.  I was absolutely exhausted; but I didn’t want the night to end.  I sat around a fire inside one of the large tents, drinking tea and talking with Ahmed, Rasha, a few girls from CIEE and the remaining locals that were still up.   When I finally decided to go to sleep I was awe-struck by the sight that met me once I left the smoky tent.  While we had been talking, the clouds that had obscured most of the stars from view earlier in the night had dissipated.  The stars were literal diamonds ensconced in inky black; and the bright moonlight painted the mountains behind the camp in alabaster hues. 

Good morning!

Saying farewell to the campsite

The road to Petra

The next day, bright and early, we broke our fast and clambered into the buses, tired and weary from the day before, but equally as excited for what was to come.  It was about another hour and a half bus ride until we entered the city that grew up around Petra.  I slept most of the way but was once again struck with the beauty of the desolate desert road.

First glimpses of the city surrounding Petra

Gift Shops!  Sadly, this one wasn't selling the holy grail. 

We found a stray kitten just begging to be pet...

The "Siq"

Petra.  Try to imagine it:  walking through a crevasse in the earth.  High red walls rising above you, the sun just a glimmer in the blue sky high above.  And all around you, at every turn, hundreds of years of history. Natural history – the iconic siq of Petra - that was formed by the shifting of tectonic plates, and the history of man from the Nabeateans to the Egyptians to the Greeks and Romans.  Everywhere, ruins of temples or weathered carvings of shines are a testament to the people that were born, lived, and died in and around Petra since 1550 BC. 

Here is the reason I love the Near East: the legacy of history.  Empires rose and fell on the same sands that I have walked on.  Petra has thousands of years of history.  The United States cannot claim the same sort of heritage.  In Petra, I walked on a Roman road, built in Roman times.  It still exists today, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of tourists walk down in every year.  If those stones could talk, what would they say?  But I’m skipping the part you all want to hear the most. 

Roman road!

Can you see the elephant?

Can you see the woman?

We wound through the Siq for at least a half hour with our tour guide, stopping to learn about the ancient Nabeateans.  Then, our tour guide collected us on one side of the Siq, asked us to stay close to the wall.  Then he called us to the other side, saying the same thing.  Then he told us to look around the corner.

الخزانة. The Treasury. 

Chris Harvey, please give me a reason why Assassin's Creed hasn't done anything about Petra.  There is TOTALLY a Piece of Eden up there...

We lingered her for fifteen minutes, though one could spend a lifetime staring at the rose colored walls of The Treasury.  Glorious.  After, we saw the ruins of the ancient city of Petra; we saw roman roads and amphitheaters, Nabeatean houses for the rich and poor, tombs and crumbing statues.

Nifty geological features are nifty, and pretty.

Then, it was lunchtime.  After lunch, we had free time for the rest of the day.  We had to be back at the buses by 3:30pm, and it was noon.  We had been advised to go straight to see The Monastery ((الدير but I have a friend in the States who told me to check out the Temple of Winged Lions.  I had asked our tour guide earlier where it was, and so after lunch I set off to find it. 

I followed the directions of a sign up and around a long hill, and right as I was starting to think about turning back, I stumbled across the ruins of a Byzantine church.  

Figuring I minds well check them out, I entered, and found some gorgeous mosaics inside. While exploring the church I realized there was another set of ruins not too far away, so after a short visit in the church I followed a path to them.  Sure enough, I had found the Temple of Winged Lions. 

For you, Martin!

Sadly, there weren’t any Winged Lions to be seen, but the ruins were pretty awesome.  I was the only one there for the time being, so I took full advantage, and explored all the nooks and crannies I could get to. 

Once my I had fulfilled my Nathan Drake quota for the day (Note: that was a video game reference) I booked it for the monastery.  As I approached the beginning of the monastery path I saw two of my classmates exiting.  I asked them how far the Monastery was; they said it was probably a twenty minute walk, but it wasn’t bad.  I thanked them and started up the first staircase.

Over 800 steps and two conversations with locals later, I made it to the Monastery.  It was beyond exhausting. 800 steps would be challenging any day; but these are not grand staircase steps.  They are uneven, hewn out of rock, sometimes tall, sometimes short, sometimes steep or crumbling.  After at least fifteen minutes of climbing, I asked a couple passing by how much farther the Monastery was.  They told me I was half way.  Several times I was ready to turn around – but I had come so far! To stop half way would be the worst kind of defeat.  I soldiered on.

Twice in my climb, I stopped.  The first time I sat for a few minutes and had a quaint conversation with two Bedouin women at many of the impromptu shops that locals set up around Petra, selling jewelry and odds and ends to any tourist who fancies them. 

The second time I stopped because I thought I had made it to the Monastery.  At the top of a steep staircase, a Bedouin man in traditional grab greeted me by saying, “You’ve finally made it! Welcome to Alaska!” (Though it was colder as I ascended the mountain, it wasn’t that cold).  Once he found out that I spoke a little Arabic, he wanted to talk to me, so I paused and gave the run-down of being from America and studying in Jordan to improve my language.  We had been exchanging such pleasantries for five minutes or so when he asked me: “Is it okay if I give you an Arabic nickname?”  I nodded and said yes.  What did I have to lose? He said: “I name you قمر for the moon”. 

After I said my goodbyes to him, I found that I had not reached the Monastery yet; several sets of stairs remained.  When I did finally come across the Monastery, it was a welcome surprise.  I mounted the final staircase, panting, and looked up to see this:

Yeah, exactly.  The Monastery is larger than The Treasury, though less ornate.  The contrast between the two makes them that more amazing – in my opinion, at least. 

I met up with a bunch of my friends who were relaxing near the Monastery, and together we chatted and basked in the sun until it was time to go back to the buses.  Then we all began the long descent down the Monastery stairs and through the Siq, pausing at The Treasury for some last chance photos. 

Descending from the Monastery (and climbing up it for that matter)  make me feel like a character in Skyrim running to High Hrothgar.  Fast Travel, where art thou?

Horses!

As we emerged from the Siq and approached the final hill that would lead us to the buses, I had one agenda. When we had walked down this hill in the morning, there was a separate path for horses to one side.  Our tour guide had asked us not to ride the horses on the way to the Siq, because then we would miss out on parts of the tour.  We were more than welcome to ride them back up on our return, though. So I did.  
I told the man I had ridden horses before, and asked him if I could do whatever I wanted.  He said yes immediately – I had expected to have to do some convincing.  He led me to a bay horse, about 

The horse I rode!

Ain't he cute?

the size of a horse I used to ride all the time in Maryland, named Zani.  I mounted with ease and took a moment to gather the reigns and get used to the long stirrups (the saddle was closer to western than English).  Once situated, we walked.  Then we trotted.  Then I stood up in my stirrups, and asked for a canter.  We cantered.  I urged my horse further – we may have even galloped for a few strides.  I flew up the hill, past a few of my CIEE classmates who seemed to recognize me right as I rode past.  Shortly after them, I knew the hill was coming to an end, so I worked on slowing down.  My horse listened to my voice and aids as I “ho’ed” him, and we slowed to a pleasant trot for the last few meters of the path. 

As I entered the bus that would take me back to Amman, I was completely and totally spent in every way possible – but I was also wholly at peace and absolutely ecstatic.  Why would anyone ever want to study somewhere that isn’t Jordan?  In a weekend, I crossed deserts, climbed mountains, rode camels, danced with Bedouins, explored ancient ruins, and galloped a horse.  All firsts, all amazing. 

And my time in Jordan is just beginning.