The Petra site opens at 6:00. By 7:00 I felt it was “crowded” but that was nothing compared to the crowds of tour bus day trippers who showed up around noon. Add in the heat that just settles in, the sun directly overhead, and you realize that every travel article is right: stay overnight in Wadi Musa and be on the trail first thing in the morning.
Our hotel offers a fantastic breakfast, probably fifty different things from beans to corn, cheese to fried tomatoes, eggs cooked to order with beef bacon or chicken sausage, to donuts or pita bread.
Well who could miss out on that?
So we didn’t hit the trail until 6:40.
Because we have the Jordan pass we just walked right in. No waiting at the ticket booth. Our guesthouse is actually on the trail so it was really easy.
The first half mile is open, then you walk past the first carved rock building, the Obelisk, and enter the Siq, or narrow canyon that leads to the hidden city.
If the Obelisk is any indication of what is coming, this will be fantastic.
There was a very excited group of Bangladeshi hiking through close to us, kind of running back and forth, very colorfully dressed. For some reason we couldn’t figure out, they acted like we were movie stars.
Perhaps we were the first westerners they had met, or perhaps it was my gray hair, or the funny way we talked. Who knows. They insisted on taking photos with us; Gail with the women all with their arms around each other, the men with me, wanting to pose shaking hands like I was a long lost brother, or perhaps the president.
After the siq we kind of lost them, running into one or another randomly the rest of the day. It was really a bizarre experience.
We continued hiking along, and a guy named Lost, looking like Johnny Depp the pirate, but on a horse, ride up next to us. He, of course, wanted to guide us for the day but I was thinking, “Really? A guide named Lost?”
Anyway I knew where we were going, so we said no thank you.
And here was the surprise: that was OK with him. He continued to ride alongside us chatting a while, but he took us at no.
In fact, most of the rest of the day, with few exceptions, we were left alone after one no, a welcome relief after the badgering of the past few days.
So the four of us walked along, Lost and his colorful horse, Gail and me, commenting the shame of the trash, the thoughtless people screaming in this wild place, the sadness that no one is allowed to live here any more.
There are some neat things to see in the siq: the old water ditch running along the side, the dams to keep side canyons from flooding the main canyon, the carved hooves of camels and feet and robe of a Bedouin, remains of what must have been a fantastic relief mural.
Lost rode on ahead looking for a client and we continued to walk until we came around a corner and there, ahead of us, the rock walls shifted and cracked just right and we caught our first glimpse of the famous treasury facade carved into the sandstone cliff ahead.
This experience is just as you would imagine it, but more so.
It really was pretty fantastic.
We hung back in the shadow of the canyon a bit, soaking it in before venturing out into the hustle and bustle of the “wide” open square in front of the treasury where the camel and donkeys were parked, looking for riders, and the silver salesmen tried to sell bracelets.
“Ten JD” they call, showing you, then when you turn away it quickly drops to seven, the two for ten, then to one... but what you are not being told is that they want to sell them by the gram, not the piece.
Gail has a real talent for shopping, it turns out, and she befriended a young, perhaps ten year old sales boy. She was working out a deal with him, and the boys dad came over. (He sells too, of course) But he stayed out of the negotiations, letting his son learn, offering support as in letting Gail choose from his stock if the boy didn’t have what she was looking for.
She came out of it with two nice thin silver bands, stamped with designs from the treasury itself, for 10 JOD. total. As near as I can tell it was more than a fair price, the father was proud of his son, and we all walked away satisfied.
Like I said, most the time the tours would leave us alone after the first no thank you. I did have to get in one guys' face who wouldn’t stop badgering Gail. I pulled her aside, stuck my face in his and snarled “la!” Short rude and to the point.
He backed down.
It was actually kind of funny, the horse and camel guys. I mean, even at he end when we were literally 100 feet from the exit, a guy offered to take us there in a horse. I just laughed. I thought we were walking along briskly, at least I felt brisk and could go another ten miles, but in his eyes I must have been the old stooped over grey haired lazy American. Practically dead.
If you are not careful you can lose a lot of time in this area, bartering and fending off guides, so I kind of dragged her out of here so we could move up the widening, sunny valley towards the ampitheater.
I am not going to tell you of all the wonderful things we saw. You can look through the photos. A few highlights:
The sandstone isn’t just red, though that is the primary color and Petra is the Rose City. There are fantastical swirls and psychedelic patterns of color; groovy mixtures swirling in the solid rock. I tried to photograph it but don’t feel I really did it justice.
We climbed the 850 steps hiking to the end of the trail to the monastery, and then enjoyed a cold beer at the little cafe when we got back down off that part and into the main valley.
As you approach the start of the climb up the monastery trail, people warn you it is “one hour walk, fifteen minutes horse!” We putted along enjoying the views and climbed it in 40 minutes; I could have done it under 30 if I had a mind to.
The horses and mules contributed greatly to the fly problem. Lots of flies.
I saw what to me was the funniest thing: a lady walking in the full black burqa covered head to toe, only an eye slit visible; all black on this hot sunny day, and she was wearing a white straw hat! Certainly not for shade. Perhaps to cool her head? For style?
We carried four water bottles and drank it all plus two we bought. You can buy cold or even frozen water all along the trail, even up high on the way to the monetary for about double the in-town price. I thought that was reasonable and it is useful to know you can find water so you don’t have to carry so much.
I was pretty discouraged by the amount of trash, mostly water bottles, littering the trail. However there are people who are out picking up trash, but they can’t keep up with it.
We hiked nine miles, and when we walked out at 13:30 it was 95 degrees. Hordes of people were going in, many with no water, some using the trail map for shade (in the first half mile: they are in trouble). It was impossible to take a decent photo and I was thinking how we were lucky to hike in the “ cool” of the day.
The cold shower and two for one happy hour beers in the Cave Bar were a nice reward, and I got to see Iceland stymie Argentina in the World Cup game.
We had a great meal.
I had lamb mansaf (last nights was chicken, the lamb is better) and Gail had the other traditional Jordanian dish called maklouba, which was chicken, rice and vegetables, with yogurt. Her meal was better than mine and the bonus is I got to finish the half she couldn’t eat.
They served beer and wine, but as in Morocco, you are not allowed to drink outside in public (we were outside on the sidewalk). So they served our beer and wine in coffee cups! And we knew the unspoken rule to gulp it down if a cop were to walk up.
Since we were early and it wasn’t too busy we had a nice talk with our servers. They treated us to a special dessert of honey balls, crispy outside, sweet dough inside. Then, because the chef overheard us complimenting the food, he sent our complimentary watermelon.
All in all a great meal.
The call to prayer tonight, late, was mournful and sad in the dark. Not angry, but song like.
Haunting.
This was a great day. We have a great hotel. We are eating good food, drinking good beer and wine, talking to nice people.
So far Jordan is a real winner.