Jordan Part II: Petra

Up the Desert Highway
The taxi dropped us off where the bus was parked alongside the hazy highway. It was full of people, mainly travelers, and we found out it had been waiting half an hour for us! Only in Jordan! We felt so ashamed to have caused so much waiting for so many weary travelers yet so glad to take the 5 dinar bus rather than a 50 dinar ($75) taxi. I made myself comfortable sitting in the aisle and Ben sat upon the steps in the front. We were able to get seats a half hour or so later when two Dutch women disembarked somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The rumbly little bus rocked me to sleep like a baby.

Petra: Day 1
Upon arrival in Wadi Musa, we were greeted by a man with a white van who said "Valentine Inn?" This is indeed where we had thought to stay, so we climbed in with him (white vans not having the same connotation they do in the US). Though not settled on this place, it was a free ride into the town center anyway. We spoke with the man at reception who was a Coptic Egyptian with a cross tattoo on his wrist. Somewhat stoic but not unpleasant, looking at us dubiously and skeptically, he offered us tea and we looked at the bunk room and pondered over booking beds here. Not eager to shlep around town with our packs, we paid the Egyptian and walked down the steep lane towards Petra. We stopped in a market for Ben to buy cigarettes and snacks, having heard the food in the archaeological site was expensive and mediocre. Once at the entrance, I very painfully paid my 55 dinar ($80) two-day ticket. No national monument, UNESCO world heritage site, or any such historical attraction has cost me half this much. Thievery! Ben has Jordanian residency so was entitled to the $1 dinar entrance fee. (Even more painful to see this, jealous but happy for him.) This took a while as he had to argue since he doesn't look the part, and I waited impatiently, being heckled by souvenir sellers and vowing not to spend another dime here. Eventually we were on our way into the Nabatean capital city and made our way down the lane toward Petra village through the canyon and marveled first at the tomb monoliths, then the cave dwellings, then the splendid rock carvings, then the Byzantine mosaics. We thoroughly enjoyed the wonders of the ancient city, and in the afternoon, stooped to buying an overpriced Turkish coffee to refuel.
As we went to see our last monuments for the day, two Bedouins around the age of 19 or so, both wearying Bedouin eye shadow, twinsy-looking, on donkeys (hereafter referred to as donkey twins, purple shirt, or white shirt) pleaded with us that we needed a ride up to the monastery to watch the sunset. "You won't make it in time if you walk, it is the best place to see in all of Petra!" and so on. But we had planned to visit the monastery the next day, so declined over and over again. When they kept reappearing every time we got back to the main path, we decided it was worthless to try and escape them, so we chatted with them as we all walked the long way out of the park together. Ben had a dislike for them so had a hard time chatting. I always chat with everyone so it was fine for me. We declined a donkey ride with them, then turned them down for tea, then declined again when they offered to share their cab up to town with us. I thought we had escaped but when we got into town, we ran into them again as we were navigating in the dark and missed our street (dangit!) They invited us for dinner and we turned them down. But we cordially talked about how we'd be at Petra tomorrow, and perhaps see them then.

A Pleasant Surprise
As we turned to walk down to our turnoff the right way this time, donkey twins still yapping at us, there in front of us wandering up the street was Ahmed, our guide from the desert! Looking halfway between thug and lost boy, he had hitched his way up the two hours from Wadi Rum and was looking to find us! He had heard us mention the Valentine Inn and was asking around how to get there, hoping that was actually where we went. What a coincidence I thought! Though it actually was not at all, he had worked it all out that afternoon and hoped for the best. We had in fact invited him to join us, but made no particular plans of such. Glad for a very legitimate diversion from the twin troublemakers, we gleefully joined him and went to our hostel where a buffet awaited us! Unfortunately the management wasn't fond of Bedouins "they're the ones (besides the tourists) who come in and buy alcohol" (this, one of the only places in town that sells it as it is forbidden in Islam). The skeptic Coptic only trusts ones he knows, and Ahmed, neither a local nor a frequenter of Wadi Musa was not acquainted. With his red checkered headscarf, Ahmed had to sit in the smoky lobby all apartheid-like, away from the tourists who were chowing on the sunset hillside patio. When Ben and I finished eating (several courses--there were over 30 dishes to choose form and I was in heaven) we rescued Ahmed from the segregation and went with him and his friend to an unofficial campspot for a bonfire.

Nighttime in the Desert
Fast car on rolling hills, nearly catching air on empty highway into the desert night where nobody disturbs but the infrequent passing car making dramatic shadows on the big rock face like a spotlight on a stage show. From a quiet spot up on a hill we constructed a fire and set the charred teapot on the coals. The Jordanian equivalent to a park ranger, but in a beat-up sedan and traditional Bedouin dress checked on us several times--I wasn't sure if it was for our safety or the environments' but it spooked us each time the hum of his motor and headlights peaked around the rock and we hushed, wondering who would intrude.

Petra: Day 2
We met Ahmed at the Petra entrance and talked about our program for the day. Yesterday was all the main sites, today would be all the long hikes: the high place of sacrifices, another wadi (valley) the monastery and view of Moses' mountain, the narrow cavernous Wadi Mudlin on the way out. Ahmed was a slave-driver leading us to the top of the high place of sacrifice, but we rested and enjoyed the view before heading down into the valley again. Then wouldn't you know it, at one of the cafes on the hill, there sat the donkey twins, looking coy and sinister.
Trouble Begins
When I passed the one wearing the purple-shirt, he casually spoke "cheap woman" flatly with a grimace. I looked him in the eye, then continued walking. When we got to the summit, I told Ben about this, "What--and you just ignored it?!" "What's the value in doing anything? I am non-confrontational." "I would hit him." "Well you're young and passionate, though I really can't believe he said that." "I can't believe you just let it go, now I want to punch him." Ben is about 21, not the aggressive type, but had already been in a fight with a Jordanian in Amman when a guy threw rocks at him. We continued down the hill and I repeated the insult in my head. What right--the audacity to say that to a tourist! I should hit that little punk. He probably weighs 90 pounds. Cheap woman! Why, because I talked to him last night for an hour and now I have a different Bedouin with me? I guess I should not talk to anyone. My blood started to boil. If I see him again I will roundhouse him off his donkey. Now I really wanted to see him and set things straight. I should care more and have more self-respect I though, rectify the situation and put people in their place. So it was a while later he passed through the filmstrip reel of the already dramatic storyline of travels in Jordan. I had calmed down by now and in the meantime while I was in my head, Ben had taken it upon himself to tell Ahmed of the incident.

Violence Erupts
When we emerged from parsing the small museum of antiquities, Ahmed saw the purple kid on the trail. He walked up and asked him "Why do you say these things to the tourists? Leave them alone." The purple-shirt said something and pushed Ahmed in the chest. Uh oh. Bad move. Ahmed retaliated by pushing him back. The white-shirt twin emerged to the aid of purple, then out of the woodwork, ten or more people were wailing on each other. It's all a big blur as to who did what in the midst of the fighting, but purple-shirt was whacking Ben on the back with a stick. Ahmed's shirt was ripped across the shoulder and his face was wild with anger. The violence went on for at least ten minutes. Yelling in Arabic resonated throughout the canyon as people were being beaten on the ground and bodies were tumbling about. A French retired couple wedged themselves along the margin of the path, gingerly holding the videocamera in action. I had a fleeting thought that I hopeed they post it on youtube. I don't remember how it calmed, but we started to walk away and purple shirt yelled in English from atop his donkey. "Cheap man, you follow the tourists from Wadi Rum!" I shoved him and he fell to a nice angle, parallel to the ground before recovering a position of control on his donkey. No one touched me, being a girl, but the brawl then saw a reprise. Oops, maybe.

Looking for Peace
Some trying to break it up eventually succeeded and the three of us went on our original way up the path toward the supposed-to-be peaceful mountaintop monastery. Ben and Ahmed agreed that it wasn't over--the situation was not resolved but the fighting had to end. We climbed to a rock ledge off the path to rest. We checked for damage and found that Ben's glasses were not broken, no one sustained anything but minor injuries--these two did in fact have a size advantage over most of the troublemakers. Ahmed and Ben were now brothers. We had a serene hike for an hour up to the monastery and no one talked much. Ahmed's friend owns a tea shop on the tip top of the mountain, where we rested on the floor cushions in the shade of the tent. The old man served us hot thyme tea and we chatted for a moment until the conversation gradually became more and more Arabic and I dropped out and ate an orange. Ben went out to see the view, Ahmed wrapped up in pillows and blankets and fell asleep, and I read a few articles in the Economist (strangely enough an English copy) that was sitting on the floor. Encounters with Law Enforcement
Once back down to check out the monastery itself, we had barely begun exploring the interior when the tourist police showed up. We sat on the plinth and spoke with them for a moment and they wanted us to go with them to talk to the boss. We followed them into what looked like an empty cafe and spoke with 4 or 5 of them. We retold the story, then there was lots of unknown words exchanged in Arabic between the police an Ahmed. Don't worry, they repeated to Ben and me several times. You'll be safe now. I wasn't so concerned about being safe as I was of enduring unpleasant situations and wondered if this happened often with the donkey twins. The police proposed to us that we go to the city police department to file an official report for the record--they'll drive us there and back. Ugh--the last thing I want to do with my afternoon when I have limited time to explore Petra. Over the course of the hour or so we talked with them, a new development occurred. The donkey twins' older brother had caught wind of the event and was ashamed for the family. He wanted to speak with us to apologize on behalf of them. I thought this was a good gesture but not particularly useful as the problem was with the twins, not the family and if they themselves are not apologizing, nothing is resolved. We met with the brother anyhow in the paddywagon in the park with a few officers. A crowd of Bedouins gathered around the vehicle and tried to spy and eavesdrop. The brother was extremely gracious and tried to explain how they were young and immature. We accepted his apology and assured him that we did not have a bad impression of Bedouin people, which was certainly true. We had met so many kind and good-natured people so far. The police asked if we were okay with the situation and we affirmed, not wanting to pursue it further for the sake of our precious time at Petra. Ahmed was okay with this outcome too and he told us later that the family contacted him again apologizing and invited him to dinner any time he is in town. We emerged from the wagon like celebrities as all the guys surrounded, stared, and muttered.
We meandered down the Wadi Mudlin trail that experienced a flash flood several years ago and killed a dozen tourists. No rain was in the forecast this day. It was deserted, off the beaten track for most of the tourists here. We then had another encounter with the police--they caught up with us and asked to see our tickets. No problems here. They were looking for a group of Israelis who snuck into the park from the mountains without paying. I'm sure this happens all the time with the outrageous price they charge--if I knew the landscape a little better I would do the same thing. The sun sank low and the canyons dimmed. We made our way into civilization just in time to see the town illuminate.Another Beautiful Night
This evening, we went to another Bedouin camp, this run by Ahmed's friend. He had a brilliant array of a hundred candles set into little caves all over the mountainside behind the camp and it was truly captivating. A billion stars in the sky, twinkling flickers on the mountain face, sparkling moonlit sand below us. We sat under the communal tent drinking tea as some boys brought a small fire into the room to make it cozy and warm--the pillows, cushions, carpets, and blankets were still no match for the cold night. Rogue embers singed the rugs and the boys poked at the fire. Most of the western tourists were away at the "Petra by Night" show and the tent was full of Jordanian men and a few Saudis smoking shisha, the rest puffing up a cigarette storm and gabbing. Needless to say I felt a little out of place, the only girl, the only westerner. I sunk quietly into the pillowy corner and tried to pick out some words in Arabic. Ahmed made sure I was happy every few minutes and the boys ensured my teacup was full. When the westerners returned, we feasted on a delectable array of lamb, chicken, grilled eggplant and other splendid and spicy gastronomic pleasures. The next morning greeted us with typical pita and dips breakfast in the communal tent, cinnamon tea, and lots of swirling cigarette smoke trapped in clouds in the tent. Ben and I hired a driver for the day and soon the Taiwanese and the American set out northbound on the King's Highway toward the capital city of the Hashemite Kingdom.