Slideshow: Petra

Click here to see it full-size.



No surprise, Petra is absolutely stunning. When you complete your walk down the narrow, mile-long Siq (sheer rock cliffs that have been rent apart by tectonic forces), and get your first glimpse of the giant Treasury facade carved from the rose rock cliff face, it takes your breath away.

What was utterly surprising for us was the immense size of the park itself. I had always thought that Petra was simply the photogenic Treasury, but it was a bustling Nabatean city 2,000 years ago, a city that sprawled through the valley and into the surrounding cliffsides. Petra has many impressive tombs (some of the larger ones look similar to the Treasury), carved in a manner inspired by the Greco-Roman style. There are large boulevards lined with columns, a giant amphitheatre that used to sit 3,000, and a religious temple (the Monastery) located on a twisting narrow path consisting of rubble, boulders, and 800 switchback steps carved into the remaining rock. Many of the cliffside temples and buildings had been eroded from centuries of wind and rain, and had surreal Dali-esque facades that looked like they could have been partially-melted ice cream.

It was on our second day at Petra that we decided to climb the long steep path up to the Monastery. Somewhat fatigued from our previous day’s 5-hour walk in the 95 degree heat (most of the day consisted of repeated exclamations like “WOW” and “Keith, look at that!”), we had a good night’s sleep, lots of water and sunblock, and some provisions for the trail. We were continually harassed by the Bedouin donkey-riders who take tourists up and down the trail for about five Dinars. The walk was full of great vistas and photo ops, some good exercise, and repeated recitations of laa shukran (no thanks, we don’t want to ride the donkey). After a good hour’s worth of climbing, when we were almost to the top, there was a boy of about 3 years that greeted us with raspberries—not of the fruit kind, but rather the spitty kind. These, naturally were met with raspberries from me, and this one-upmanship went on for a few minutes, ending with the boy giggling madly. Keith and I reached the top soon after; we sat to admire the view, rehydrate, and dig into the fruit and cookies we brought. The boy and his slightly older brother had made it up to the top too, in order to sell trinkets to the tourists disembarking from their donkey-saddles.

I held out a cookie for the younger boy to come and eat. He ran over to us at full throttle. He had bare feet, filthy clothes, and flies over his face, looking like one of those “Would you spend 50 cents a day to feed this child?” ads—but he was so happy and full of life. He had some paper in his hand—some random computer page printout from a German tour itinerary. He held it like it was precious to him, but I thought it would be more so if Keith used some of his skills to draw on the back of the paper. Keith drew cats and dogs for him. Peals of laughter from the kid. His brother came over and we offered him cookies too. Keith asked "Ramadan? Is this OK? OK with mom?" as if kids would actually turn down a cookie in any circumstance (they happily ate our cookies without hesitation). As we started packing up to make our way back down the trail, the older boy asked us: "English?" Keith answered: "No, American". And as we started to walk away, he said "Americans...are nice" quietly, almost more to himself than to us, as if he was making a pronouncement in order to imprint it upon his memory.

Travel thrusts us into other people’s lives unexpectedly, and can leave lasting impressions. I hope the ones we leave are always as good.