CHAPTER 36 - JORDAN

- this file has NOT been spell checked -top

Exchange rate 0.7 Jordanian dinar to US$1, 100 pastres in 1 dinar (qirsa), 10 fils in 1 pastres.

-Jordan highlights- Roman Decapolis of Jerash Crusader Fortress of Kerak Rock hewned lost city of Petra Wadi Rum desert Dead Sea

-Syria highlights- Roman ruins of Palmyra Crac Des Chevaliers (Crusader Castle) Markets of Aleppo Ancient city of Damascus

We 2/17/2000 - Wadi Rum, Jordan (cont'd)

Peter, Sue, Robin, a load of other travelers, and I arrived the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. In Aqaba Port everyone was detained to a large room, waiting for the Visa officer. Three gates with signs blared national origination - "Jordanians", "Arab Nationals", and "Foreigners". They were written in Arabic and English. When we walked through the door into the building there was no mistaking that the signs were there for us. Foreign travelers with dark skin and turbans were first led through the processing leaving those carrying backpacks, then we were called through by nationality to pay our respective visa dues. Maybe we were called in ascending visa cost for Peter and Sue (JD23) went before Robin and I and two other U.S. passport holders (JD33) followed by Canadians (JD39). US$47 is a hefty visa fee, but we knew Jordan and Israel are the most expensive Middle Eastern countries to travel to.

Most of the dozen or so backpackers were talking of finding a room in Aqaba, but outside taxis offered transportation to Petra and then that became the line of action. Peter and Sue previously decided to head straight for the desert town of Wadi Rum an hour away. Robin waned between the two and choose the taxi-van for Petra when she was told Wadi Rum had only tents and no rooms. I was torn because Wadi Rum was a "must see". I could have stopped by on my way back through Aqaba and Nuweiba but I wanted the flexibility of moving straight toward Jerusalem in Israel if I desired. We said goodbye and I left her running for the van. But on the road to Wadi Rum we stopped near the van on the roadside. Joe from Calgary said Robin wasn't in the van, and they drove off. What!? Even though she was told there was room when I left her, that situation must of been reappraised. I wonder what happened to her, I felt a little worried and guilty for abandoning her. That would be the last time I would see Robin although I would hear that she did make Petra.

A taximan with too many sad stories charged JD12 for the hour ride to Wadi Rum. Outside the port, when competition struck, he was forced down to JP10 then later incessantly complained. He said the competition was "stupid", that they were "local taxis only", and he claimed that JD10 wouldn't pay for gas. At a roadblock he was fined JD10 for carrying a tapeplayer without a permit, which was never clear to me. He spoke English well, but his stories didn't jive. Peter and Sue passed him JP5 each, I wanted to give him JP10 total, and instead I pitched in JP4.

Our ride to Wadi Rum was in darkness. We ascended away from the sea and to a magical Middle Eastern location. We were dropped at the government campground within the small village. Surrounding us were high sandstone mountains silhouetted by stars and moonlight. I looked forward to investigating tomorrow morning.

Less than a hundred meters along the road is Wadirumbedouin Restaurant (aka Ideal Restaurant). We enjoyed a great dinner and the calm, friendly, and smiling staff and quickly found our local haunt for food while in Wadi Rum.

At the camp we had been assigned to yellow canvas tents, two of a military straight matrix, most with broken zippers that allowed the cold night air in at will. I slept with only shoes and pants off and watched frost produced by my breath.

Th 2/18/2000 - Wadi Rum, Jordan

The Muslim country of Jordan is one percent the size of the United States with two percent of the population, bordered by Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Syria, and Israel. Aqaba, on the Bay of Aqaba, Red Sea, is Jordan's only port. The biggest draw of Jordan for many tourists are it's ancient city of Petra and the desert of Wadi (Valley) Rum, both in the south. The country's capitol, Amman, and the major sights are in a north-south line, making Jordan an easy and integral part of a trip between Syria and Egypt. In comparison to Egypt, the people are relaxed, well mannered, and warm. The traveling cost is higher, although lower than Israel.

Contrary to rants of the media, most Middle Eastern countries are very safe for traveling. Belongings and person are not targets, wallets and patience are a different story. The phenomenon is true due to the strong Muslim fate and harsh penalties for offenders. Egypt has little crime, and Jordan is even safer. The story goes that if a bag is left behind in public, you can expect to find it later unmolested and intact. It's amazing. In a few days from now, when walking through Petra early one morning, I came across souvenir shops with carpets, books, postcards, and curios left outside for the night.

My curious Middle Eastern travel chain continues, meaning this. My only reason for stopping in Egypt was due to the cheap air ticket I purchased in the States that happened to be on Egypt Air, who allow a free stop in Cairo. I thought I should take advantage of the opportunity to visit. While traveling Egypt I heard too many people talk of Petra and here I am in Jordan. I also hear and read of Jerusalem, maybe the land of Jesus will be next in the dominoes.

In general, travelers are also raving about Syria, very similar to people raving about Laos in southeast Asia. People get that dreamy look and have a hard time explaining their fondness. Turkey, in particular eastern Turkey, is also a favorite yet fairly unspoiled traveling destination for hardy travelers. Kerry visited and thoroughly enjoyed her time there, in fact, all people I've met seemed to enjoy Turkey very much.

Had I the chance to travel the world again, well, maybe I have a plan. Imagine this - Greece, Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and into Tibet. Hmmmm.

I was eager to see my surrounds, to witness the mystical and romantic World War One stomping ground of T E. Lawrence, aka Lawrence of Arabia (Seven Pillars of Wisdom). I was up for the early morning light at 6am and walked aimlessly for two hours. Behind the campground is a valley cutting right and better information, was as good as anywhere to scout. Of course, part of the goal was to go up, to ascend something or other, didn't matter what - what's with this obsession for being high?

The desert village of Wadi Rum is caught tightly between long mountains in a flat valley, so the morning sunlight hid behind the mountains and hesitated to assist with my photos, but it didn't matter, the air was cool and crisp, the morning still, and the scenery impressive. I walked up into the valley, unsure of what I would find on my first day in Jordan. It was nice to be moving my body and exploring with my senses. Ribbons of soft red and yellow adorned sheer sandstone walls. The sun lit the highest reaches of the western hills of the valley and quickly moved down its flanks to unveil more like a large spotlight slowly taunting the curiosity of an audience. After 45 minutes of walking up the slightly inclined valley, I labored nervously with some free climbing to find a nice spot with exposure to sit and enjoy the views. I pulled my handheld from the daypack and typed, occasionally glancing to see how the light was progressing.

I met Peter and Sue at the Ideal Restaurant for breakfast, another treat by the owner who is very relaxed and friendly and a welcome changed to the mad Egyptians.

A group of various backpackers gathered and discussed a strategy for renting four by four vehicles for a foray into the heart of Wadi Rum. The group of us split into two cars - I joined Peter and Tanya from Germany and an older retired gentleman from NYC. The other Landcruiser held Peter, Sue, and Roy (ex Connecticut) and Jennifer (ex New York) from San Francisco.

We sped into the desert, a flat sea of sand contain huge fabulously formed sandstone mountains. It appears that most tours into the Wadi Rum cover the same set of highlights, so we were on a set plan to a degree, although the tourist season was low and few others were seen throughout the day.

Lawrence's Well was our first stop and only ten minutes from the village. Our trucks parked at the base of a hard, dry sand mountain, we were directed to scale the slope to a particular point beneath a shear wall, and away we went leaving our drivers smoking and chatting while watching us - an easy lifestyle for tour guides. I believe many of these trips are self-interestedly tailored to burn time by engaging the tourist in silly activities. I didn't mind, I looked forward to the short laboring climb, the mysterious well, and our first good views of Wadi Rum.

The well was evasive, we think we found it, just a dribble from a crack within the mountain. Spread about the slope of rock and firm sand was succulent tulip leaf plants. Besides the steep mountainside affording promontories for views, there were also two children herding goats who were happy for a diversion. They curiously walked toward our scattered group and stared and smiled. Far below a chain of ATV's and motorcycles raised dust from the desert floor as they raced past and deeper into desert.

Wadi Rum has many natural and striking attractions. We explored Al Khaz Ali Siq ("seek", meaning chasm) and visited three rock bridges - Rakehbt Al Wadak also called Little Bridge, Rock Bridge Um Fruth (Middle Bridge) where I busied myself by jumping up and down on top. Lastly we lunched and deliberated at the base of Jebel Burdah, a special mountain and home of a not-to-miss hike and the largest bridge - Rock Bridge Burdah.

I fear I downplay Wadi Rum with brusque writings. Each leg of our tour would yield changing and majestic desert beauty both in transit and at each destination. Our vehicles were equally colorful - beat but brawny old desert Toyotas with Arabian decorations of colored yarn balls trimming the windows and multicolored dashboard coverings. Our drivers were turbans and robes and yellowed and missing teeth. Occasional Bedouin homes are tucked near mountain bases. T. E. Lawrence didn't over romanticize Wadi Rum.

At Burdah the group was thoroughly indecisive. We had the opportunity to climb to the longest bridge and were split over the worthiness of the effort. We tended to believe our drivers underestimated the climbing time and we finally split - all but xxx and I left for further touring while we skipped up Burdah. We made the correct decision. After forty-five minutes of sucking wind we were amply rewarded with the finest views of the day - an enriched landscape of large, unusually shaped, and colorful mountains firmly planted into the desert floor, a scene impossible to aptly described. The large mountains were like thick, rounded, and partly melted mounds of wax, the scale was lost without reference, and I fruitlessly waited for a lone camel or Toyota to enter the desert portrait. Nearly as impressive was the top of Burdah - the long rock bridge (forty feet), deep rock cuts, and fun broken levels and stones to hop across.

A large crew turned out for dinner at the Wadirumbedouin Restaurant, another pleasing and reasonable affair.

Sa 2/19/2000 - Petra, Jordan

I'm in love Wadi Rum and wished to spend one night camping in the desert. I'd walk for an hour or two and lay my sleeping bag out near a jebel with a clear view of the night sky. This is a good time of year, low season for tourists, the air is cold at night but comfortable during the day. But, I decided instead to stick with Pete and Sue and join them in Petra.

Two more notes of interest. Firstly, Wadi Rum has world class rock climbing. Secondly, the park area most visited by tourists is rather small (especially when comparing Egypt's Western Desert) - the official map measures 32 by 20 kilometers. Only the southern half is normally toured.

After another early morning walk, we breakfasted at Wadirumbedouin Restaurant. There we watched children tending camels and men idly standing near their Landcruisers - all waiting for prospective tourists, but without the sickening Egyptian pushing. A taximan pulled up near the restaurant and I became intrigues by his automobile made by Samsung - Mercedes engine, Samsung electrics, Nissan Maxima chasis and body. I gave the restaurant owner a blue and rubber beach bat ball.

While many travelers also heading to Petra waited in a new, clean, comfortable 22 seat bus, I walked behind the camp and part way up a hillside. Between the camp and myself sat eight four by four cars, ten four wheel ATV's, and eleven dirt bikes. I sneered at them with disdain - yesterday the ATV's tore across the desert floor, last night the bikes broke the silence while we ate by screaming through the village. Noise can be so detestable, a shattering of solitude while enjoying this (Wadi Rum) generous gift of Allah, an evil tearing of a pleasant melodic dream. Since I wasn't part of the group I thought this way, of course I'd love the power between my thighs while bounding across the desert plains. And so I excluded the machines from my photograph of the camp and village beyond and the mountains of Wadi Rum further still.

Our trip to Petra started on the main route between Aqaba and Amman called the Desert Highway, a modern divided dual carriageway, with sections so long and steep that many gruesome truck accidents occur. When then turned onto the scenic King's Highway with nice views across the Rift Valley.

Petra is laid out poorly for travelers. Most accommodation resides kilometers away from Petra up a hard slog in Wadi Musa. The village center also contains grocery stores, most banks, internet, and restaurants. At the bottom of the hill, close to Petra, are the most expensive five star hotels like Movenpick but also one cheapie - The Sunset Hotel. Everyone in our taxi-van booked here (JD2.50/1 shared room of four, JD6/1 no bath,JD12/2 with bath, no breakfast). I chose to share with Peter and Tanya from Germany. There was already an Australian girl named Casey there.

Petra, known as the Rose-Red City, is testament to the power and wealth of Arabic peoples, the Nabataeans, who settled in southern Jordan in the 6th century BC. Most of the city was built in the century around the life of Christ, built utilizing a 1.2 kilometer siq ("seek", chasm) and the surrounding rough sandstone mountains of Wadi Araba as natural defense. By 106AD Petra joined the long list of Roman assets and was transformed into a Roman style city.

The magic of Petra is in the large hewn facades of its many buildings - a city of great buildings carved into red ribboned sandstone mountains. Equally amazing is the entrance to Petra, the long red and yellow glowing siq, not a carved chasm but the result of tectonic shifting, snaking at pitch down into the once lost city. By the 16th century the Rose-Red city was forgotten when harbor cities gained power as commercial centers, Petra was cast into tales of fantasy, until 1812 when it was "re-discovered" by a Switz explorer.

Jordan and in particular Petra's have reputation for being an expensive excursion. After paying JD30 (US$45) for a three days (JD20/1, JD25/2, JD30/3 w/ forth free) I saw the reason for this, and after seeing a sign reading, "No food allowed, availabe inside", I may have seen the reason it's called the world's biggest tourist trap. Money aside, Petra is considered the Middle East's key attraction.

From the gate a new dual pathway provides glimpses of the beauty to come. To the left is a four obelisk tomb hewn into the sandstone hillside, on the right large carved blocks.

A natural entrance between towering walls marks the beginning of the siq, a descending walk both mystical and breathtaking. The chasm is a long flat trough winding through 150-meter high red sandstone walls with ribbons of yellow, black, and white. Peter, Sue, and I strolled in time for a while with a group that included a guide, listening to details that were lost on the non-English Europeans who ignored the man. Some of the pathway is large cobblestones, lasting works of Romans, 1900 years old.

Into the sandstone walls are carved stairs, eroded statuary, dams, platforms, and windows. Running the length on each side are water channels (troughs and 2000-year-old clay piping) used for transportation into the city.

Twenty minutes through the siq reveals the most famous of Petra's views. Through the rippling crack of the red chasm the Treasury (Al Khazneh) inches into view, a large elaborate facade carved in the first century AD. as a Nabataean king's tomb. The Treasury is 30 by 43 meters high carved with columns, eagles and gods. Inside is a plain but huge room, remarkably straight walled and square cornered. This is the location for the final scenes in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

This is what Petra is about and there are many such buildings - tombs, temples, mausoleums, and homes, fantastically carved buildings into sandstone, the man hours must have been incredible. The most glorious tombs are along the main way through Petra, many others of the varying sophistication (more than 500) are carved throughout the mountainsides.

We wandered in wonderment passed these magnificent huge carvings - the Street of Facades and Uneishu Tomb. Without prior warning I was wide eyed in seeing a 7000 person amphitheater facing the street, row upon row of long arced benches. In one stretch is a series of large and impressive high tombs, the Royal Tombs - Urn, Silk, Corinthian, Palace, and Sexituis Florentinus. Amazing! Urn Tomb has a large upper story open terrace with colonnaded Hallway. The other impressive Royal Tombs curve slowly along the mountainside. While Peter and Sue rested and relaxed while sitting in the amphitheater, I climbed above for the first few of the many pictures I would take of the Urn Tomb. Here on the balcony I watched a Muslim man praying, repetitively moving from feet to knees to forearms.

Our walk continued down along main street, the center of the former grand city. Here were marketplaces, baths, houses, and more temples. I read the map and became very excited to learn a Nymphaeum was here somewhere, but then I lost enthusiasm when I learned it was only a public fountain. We continued along Colannaded Street, past the Winged Lion Temple, and the impressive Qasr al-Bint Firaun (Castle of the Paraoh's Daughter).

Here we detoured left in search of a route to a series of tombs starting at the Broken Pediment Tomb. We were well lost, there are virtually no signs in Petra - what do you expect when there are up to 3000 people per day paying up to US$30?! I split with Peter and Sue, wanting to reach the High Place of Sacrifice, in other words, I was lost alone.

On a hillside I first heard kids playing, screaming, and then crying. I saw some Bedouins were living in some tombs, as they did for centuries before the government displaced them for Petra: The Attraction. It must have been a much more interesting and colorful place in 1812. I walked toward the screaming kids and they came careening down to meet me. One industrious boy offered a photo and gathered up six younger ragamuffins, some cute little, filthy girls in layers of tattered dirty clothing. I took three photos with the overwhelmingly helpful older boy. I attempted to position the little crowd of munchkins with a camel and tomb behind. The boy pointed to his home in carved tombs at the top of a small canyon, "Stop!", then pointed to the left, "Sacrifice!". I chose "sacrifice" but first they wanted something from this old tourist. They were cute and potting and excited for something, for baksheesh. I left all my food - one triangle of cheese, one piece of Sirian bread, and a cookie - jumbled in plastic and then walked away quickly to avoid a confrontation because of leaving too little for so many. I glanced back to see that the seven had run a little way down the hill to sit and mull over their cache. Two minutes later I was higher on the hillside and one child let of a wail of siren, "Hmm, sounds like someone was short changed."

I walked alone without seeing another for a long time, and only a few before descending the far side from the High Place of Sacrifice. There was one old women though, dressed in black and sitting on a flat rock before the Soldiers Tomb and the Triclinium. After I walked by she looked toward me and called out loudly, her tongue fluttering off the roof of her mouth. Strange. I was walking into a closed canyon with high sheer walls, I assumed other Bedouins were the focus of her calls, but no one was left this late in the day. Stalls and tables for tea, curios, and rocks were closed or covered. Her fluttering call had a haunting air to it, then she called toward me like a crow and with nervousness I thought aloud, "Witch. She's a Bedoiun witch of the siq. Black, bird calls, yup - witch" The canyon ended. I puzzled until I eyed the ground to find dusty footmarks aiming for a wall. Ah, there was a hidden staircase rising from the canyon. The stairs were steep and I huffed my way up. Still the women called, her calls echoed through the shadowed canyon. To my right a sign said, "Lion Fountain". I looked up and a curious goat head attached to an overly shaggy body stared down at me, "Blaaa blaaa!". "That's no lion, I'm going to ask for a refund." When I reached a protrusion of flat rock I leaned over to see the women. She also stared at me. I tempted fate and took a picture of the witch. "Damn! How could I do this?! Taking a picture of a Bedouin witch whilst climbing to the High Place of Sacrifice!"

The climb to the High Place of Sacrifice was full of turns and staircases and views along the way. At the top of this mountain is a large flattened area with interesting carved circles and squares with drainage troughs - sacrificial tables. But sorry, animals only best I learned. Now the sun was less than an hour to setting, the air turned cooler, the solitude welcome, and the views were great. Considering the location - the High Place of Sacrifice - the quietness and height was a very special experience.

I didn't double back, instead I quickly descended toward the main street, bounding the many stairs and flying through siqs and landing near the city end of the main siq. I walked beyond the amphitheater to the left, Urn Temple to the right and ascended with sun bright into my eyes for a vantage point of Urn. I sat on a piece of flat sandstone and waited for a good sunset photo of the temple. Three backpackers in shorts were in vigil for their sunset, no Arabs in long flowing robes and headdresses. I waited and hoped and left just as the sun hit the mountain tops behind me.

Although I walked as quickly as possible, I spent nearly thirty minutes through the siq and along the dual walkway to reach the gate. I met Peter and Sue in the lobby at 6pm, we dined in the hotels downstairs restaurant called Sunrise (JP3 plus 10% service charge). Peter and Jennifer lent their Middle East Lonely Planet. I was given a free ride by two young local men in a Mercedes to the top of the hill into Wadi Musa for photo copies and to buy a few provisions (JD1/1kg bananas, JD2/1kg oranges and film JD7/100 ASA Ecktachrome). Casey wanted help in looking at a used Minolta which she didn't buy.

Su 2/20/2000 - Petra, Jordan

Up at 6am, breakfast in the hotel (hard boiled egg, yogurt, processed cheese triangle, jam, butter, orange drink, and tea. JD2), and out with Peter and Sue at 7am. Our goal was an early morning attack on The Monastery (Al Deir) in Petra.

Petra is quiet this early. Once again I enjoyed the walk through the siq. The sun was too low to light much of the chasm, but the sheer walls and snaking walk was again fun. We ambled before the many facades, the amphitheater, the Colonnaded Street, past the opposing restaurants and onto the 800 steps up to the Monastery.

The rippled patterns of red were exquisite through this ascent, a mixture of stairs interspersed with walkways. I moved ahead of Peter and Sue and then passed only a few others. Thirty minutes on the route and I reached the Monastery. Only one cafe worker was there, otherwise I was alone, the first up to the sight this morning. The air was comfortably cool and so still voices carried easily. I ignored the tout when he insisted on the attention, certainly he knew I could hear him and being one step ahead of me, he ignored the fact I was ignoring him. You just can't win with these guys.

The Monastery is the largest of Petra's facades (50 by 45 meters) and in relatively good shape. It was an important place of worship and ritual high above Petra.

With Peter and Sue, I walked to the right of the tomb and temple (the Monastery started as a tomb and temple, and later was used as a church) to an incredible overlook and our breakfast spot. Directly below tough sandstone pinnacles, ledges, and gullies fell away to Wadi (Valley) Abada one and a half kilometers below. Somewhere to the east through haze was Israel. To the south was the high peak of Mt. Hor and tomb of Aaron, brother of Moses. The view was breathtaking. We sat and gazed and ate breakfast, then leaned back to listen to only the wind whispering by.

We returned to the Monastery. Now the sun was edging onto the face, a few people were present, wandering at a distance from the large facade.

I spent from 8:30am to 3:40pm around the Monastery. After the view of Wadi Abada I scaled a short but steep sandstone bump directly in front and 100 meters away from the Monastery. Soon, Peter and Sue left, and I sat alone on my perch typing, eating, and watching a magnitude of tourists come and go.

A curious thing of the Monastery, the building is so large that tourists have to stand far back to view it comfortably, so although there are hordes of people, the view is rarely obstructed. Best for perspective however, is to include at least one person near the doorway.

I loved my perch, my place above others, let them be jealous of my views. Actually, I was too absorbed in typing and finding a comfortable position, I only casually noticed who was below and what they were up to.

But then came the big American guy. He sat at least fifty yards from my perch with a satellite speakerphone and two equally big and equally American friends standing at his side. On the other end of the line was his wife, and I could clearly hear strained conversion between the four of them of the days activities. Without a problem the wife's harsh, drone accent carried up to my perch. Obnoxious!

As I typed away I had a nagging thought in the bowel of my brain, "How are you going to get down?" I scaled had the steep front of the hump which was short on handholds, going down is always more difficult. Other options were less promising. I waited for an opportune moment - when the crowds were thin and thus fewer people would see me tumble and bloody myself. I'm typing again, so although I was nervous, I did make the descent without embarrassment.I walked forward to take a photo while inside a dome of hollow sandstone, framing the temple through an irregular doorway. To the right of my perch was a higher and larger stone hill, similar to many others with well-eroded stairs. The top was flat and layered with a thin crust of sandstone. With pieces of the crust someone had made two concentric circles, I added to it with a lower case "T" extending from the outer circle. I then explored the views and strained to see and recognize ruins in the distance. Further along to the right were still higher sandstone hillocks and that's where I went.I came down the eroded stairs and by the buzz of tourists in front of the ancient monument. Out of the main tourist track I found recent remnants of Bedouins life including the remains of a donkey. The skull and spine were clear bone, the legs were still fur covered, and the ribs were scattered nearby. I wondered what ate the dead animal - dog? man? It stunk so I ignored my urge for a Blacky photo.

Fingers of rock jutted southeast out and over the valley hundreds of meters below. I crossed natural bridges of earth and rock, hoping the next finger would afford a view down to Petra. On the third rock finger the bridges were exhausted, the forth was the last and therefore had an unobstructed view, but it was out of reach with a hundred meter drop in between. I walked across sand and rocks and around scraggy and wind beaten trees to the finger's terminus and found a very acceptable and dizzying view. Hundreds of meters below was a dry riverbed behind the restaurants, straight off was the High Place of Sacrifice, and at considerable distance the Royal Tombs and the Petra Siq. With the mass exposure I felt vertigo, and when I thought about it, my heart would well up to my throat. All noise was left behind, the sun was bright, I was solo and before me were incredible views of beautiful sandstone mountains and hundreds of tombs of Petra.

To the left was another interesting sight. A couple of kilometers away a lone and detacted, high and narrow red finger ran across the view. Above and beyond was a small city of simple white buildings set on a long hillside of light yellow sand. Above, the deep blue sky stood proudly. All three - the red finger, the white city on yellow sand, and the blue sky - ran perpendicular from me, they sat one atop the other, simple partitions of frame - like a national flag - in red, yellow, and blue.

I peeled an orange, sat comfortably with my back supported against rock, and unhurriedly captured every detail. The height was dizzying, an unusual feeling, maybe for the exposure of the great sheer drop. I kept tabs on my watch since I had organized a date for sunset in Petra.

Before heading down the carved siq, I blasted off a few more photos of the Monastery, then descended with many others, sharing a few words with some, and bouncing down the path.

My date was for a sunset view of the Royal Tombs to the left, including the Palace Tomb. A large tubular frame tent is covering a current American archeological site of a Byzantine Church and above is a mound of stone and dirt, the highest point for a straight view of the Palace Tomb. As the sun teased to set, I scoured around and like yesterday, noticed others also at a prime viewing spots for a Petra sunset. I took one photo of the Royal Tombs and then thought about perspective. Without a person or something for reference, the size of the facades would be lost. I peered hard before realizing that indeed people and donkeys were passing in front of the tombs, probably workers finishing for the day. My perspective objects were like ants, even I was fooled at the immensity of the city.I intended on starting the long walk out of Petra through the siq but with time available before dinner at 6pm, I diverted and passed close across the fronts of the Royal Tombs, finding them more impressive from a distance. Up close the torrent of time and erosion from weather has taken it's toll over 2000 years. Some of the main tombs in Petra, for example the Silk Tomb, have a melted wax appearance, like a Frank Zappa dream. That's singularly interesting - to see the colored ribbons of sandstone melting upon itself. From distance the carvings are more recognizable as buildings and when at distance I'm able to fantasize by placing exotic Nabataeans in colorful robes and white and black turbines leading camels through markets, women at hard labor crushing meal, and traders sitting cross legged waiting for customers with wares of blankets, produce, African animal hides and ivory, and Indian incense, silks, and spices.

Today was long and the third in a row with significant exercise and so I couldn't pump my legs through the siq again, instead I slowly dragged this weary boy home. The hotel was hosting a buffet in the restaurant (JD3 plus ten percent service) and four of us - Peter, Sue, Robin, and I - pigged out on boney chicken (or pigeon?), overcooked mixed vegetables, salad, aubergine sauce, hummous, and fried dough balls for desert under the watchful eyes of the staff.

In bed I started reading "Chromosone Six", a book not highly recommended and traded by Sue.

Mo 2/21/2000 - Petra, Jordan

Yesterday was an early riser for Peter and Sue, we agreed this morning would start an hour later, after a hotel breakfast we were walking the kilometer to the Petra gate at 8am.

I've been puzzled with Petra in trying to decipher the work of Nabataeans versus Romans. My sources conflict on the date of the famous Treasury, the Petra map claims it was built first century BC for a Nabataean king, the Lonely Planet dates if between 100 BC to 200 AD. Since the Romans took control in 106 AD, the builders could be either. The Urn Temple is built into the sandstone per norm, but the front is made of large neatly cut sandstone blocks - are the various ruins made of similar blocks Roman works? At many high places block buildings have fallen to ruin. On top of Umm al-Biyara are 8000 year old foundations of stone, not cut like the blocks of the Urn Tomb.

The most famous picture of Petra is of the Treasury looking from the siq. This temple, like other significant facades, is best photographed with the sun on it, since the Treasury was carved within the siq, proper lighting is limited to between 9am to 11am depending on the season. We had yet to meet these criteria so our important goal was obvious.

Coaches of tourists overran the twisting, colorful siq. We were appalled. How could we get a decent photo? We walked quickly down the chasm, swearing at the presence of the hordes and laughing at the sight of tour lemmings. At the end of the siq, the magical image of the Treasury was before us, it peered between the vertical walls like a keyhole. The sun was just coming down the top the temple. Peter, Sue, and I turned the corner right, and climbed up the wall of sandstone opposite the temple and above the crowds of people. The short climb is recommended for a commanding view of the most famous sight in Jordan. Below we watched the bedlam repeatedly build and subside like a breathing monster. Large groups would wander from the siq across the courtyard, some all wearing white hats, others with matching yellow carry bags and hats. In the center of the square was one Bedouin and his camel. People paid for thirty second rides in tight circle that allowed companions to photograph them on the beast in front of the monument. We were fairly obvious to these below, and others of varying nationalities joined for the view. As the light came across the facade we moved into camera mode. Peter had noticed a cool cut in the ledge to use as framing, I placed Blacky on the edge for a shot, then sat and joined him for another. The best available light lasted at most thirty minutes, the sun was the inverse of a shadow passing overhead. From out vantage point we were on level and with a horizontal angle to the facade. The eagles that adorn the top have eroded and lost their heads. Unfortunately, because the building was rumored to contains treasures, hence the name, locals blasted away at the second level with rifles in a failed attempt to penetrate the stone, the result are bullet speckled statues. Even with the aging and damage, the Treasury is one of the best preserved of Petra, mostly because of it's cramped location within the colorful siq.I tagged along with Peter and Sue to the High Place of Sacrifice via the Street of Facades. My previous trip was far more enchanting late in the day and without crowds. But the views now were different and we heard from a guide that they did indeed sacrifice willing young virgins, twice a year at that. Cool. We laid ourselves on a flat promontory overlooking the Street of Facades and dozed in the fine temperature and sun.

I was caught off guard walking. I've been running all over Petra for days now, up steep and broken, down steep and broken, everywhere. In coming down from the High Place of Sacrifice, I step on one end of a two foot wide stone, that end wasn't touching the ground. The rock pitched and I fell like a sack of potatoes onto my hands. My Nikon around my camera around my neck swung forward to bang into rock to smash my polarizer. Damn trick rock!

Along with the splendid views from the top of the High Place of Sacrifice, the backside descent was equally fun. The descent followed carved stairs and horizontal paths and touched exposed bluffs. Below us a man played a simple wooden flute and sheep bleated. The weather was perfect again - sunny with nicely balanced temperature.

On the far side there are a number of interest points - Lion's Fountain, Roman Soldier Tomb, Tricilium (Royal Hall), Renaissance Tomb, and Broken Pediment Tomb. These are fairly significant in size and lasting detail. What's absolutely amazing is the quantity of carved mountainside buildings in tombs, for every view from a high place the surrounding country is scattered with them, even outside the normal confines of Petra. There is even a "Little Petra" nearby.Peter laughed about their picture taking on the path down. We passed fountains, tombs, and palaces, but they photographed a donkey, a cat, and a baby.

I left them toward the bottom for a romp up Umm Al Biyaya, a high point across the valley floor from the High Place of Sacrifice and to the left of the Monastery. I was equipped with the simplest map and hearsay that the trip was three hours, so at 1:30pm I believed I was pushing the trip.

I passed a block monument and crossed a dry riverbed (they all are) and came to Umm Al Biyaya them tomb. Minutes before I asked a French group if they were privy to the hike's start location, and with the reply, "It is not possible to safely climb since there was a rock slide. I do not know where the start is.", I gave a two thumbs up, a big smile, and said, "Sounds good!". With this information, and hearing from Brent (doctor from Vancouver) that another couldn't find the path, I was half discouraged but happy for the clues. To the left of Umm Al Biyaya is a rockslide with a curved stone retainment wall. I assumed this the start to the top of this ominous looking mound of mountain.

I found the retainment wall was part of a good path and although the path was in parts broken, the trip up was straightforward and fun. It's well marked by cairns and iron laden red sandstone hewn steps in varying condition. From the wall were large ascending carved ramps folding back on one another - a huge amount of labor removed the stone.

I was alone, I didn't see another on my ascent or while on the mountain for three hours. It was all perfect - quiet, solitude, exploring an unknown edifice known to the ancients, walking paths and melted stairs millenniums old. I felt the history under my feet, the toil of many men to create this pathway, the centuries of religious pilgrimages to its summit. Even the gnarled and wind worn trees could tell countless, ageless narratives of men and their gods. I caught each view from every vantagepoint of the surrounding mountains and valleys.Contrary to the Lonely Planets claims of a dangerous and lengthy climb, I reached a cairn in the center of the expansive, slightly sloping mountain top in twenty-six minutes. On the way to the cairn I passed a 8000-year-old stone foundation, then made my way to the high side of the plateau, coming to a lovely, long, meter-wide ledge a hop down from the top in the west-northwestern corner.Here I sat on Umm Al Biyaya for two hours, the Biblical Sela where 10,000 prisoners were tossed to there death. I first finishing my food - pita, cheese, an orange, and cheap cookies, then typed. I found a perfect spot on a shelf. My feet easily reached the shelf edge, my back was against a wall of curling patterns of sandstone a few meters high, I faced directly west into the lowering sun and Mt. Hor. The shelf was nearly level, many meters long, and hung 300 meters (1000 ft) above the valley floor - dizzying! To my right somewhere was yesterday's viewpoint near the Monastery, the large fingers were lost in a wonderful mass of similarly colored and patterned jags of mountain. The view of Wadi Araba was beyond but not as clear.

With the setting sun the sandstone glowed yellow and brown, the swirls and ribbon patterns around me pulsated and radiated warmth through my sole, a feeling of fulfillment and happiness accompanied the warmth. Far to the west on Mt. Hor was a silhouette of the domed Aaron's Temple.

I wish to climb to Aaron's Temple, but a "Petra" book details two to three hours by horseback to the mountain, then six hour return trip to the summit.

Officially, the sun sets about 525pm, though earlier in these mountains. I struck out from my ledge at 430pm, planning to return to the hotel again at 6pm for dinner. The path down Umm Al Biyaya was now in shadow and I found the descent a little more precipitous, but going down is always more difficult, especially when I'm too lazy to reach down for handholds. The mountain path took twenty minutes, I passed the Pharonic Column at 5pm. Dusk was here. Old women passed by wearing long muted robes in green, red, and black. One very old woman had a crooked face and skewed eyes and thick and heavy glasses, quite an ugly - or cute - character and she was the only to return my "hello".

Here I made the decision to take the seldom mentioned second siq out of Petra. I wasn't familiar with the start, I only knew that the entrance was far to the left of the Palace Tomb, so I was chancing getting caught after dark. From the Pharonic Column I walked and walked along a dry river bed with mountain on my right - past the Royal Tombs, wrongly up siq and to its dead end, across narrow goat pastures tucked in the mountain, and so on. After walking so long in the coming darkness I was obligated to find the second siq rather than backtracking - but where the hell was it?!

Finally a crack appeared in the sandstone to my right and seeing the heaviness of path through it, I felt fairly confident I had found the second siq. The siq was great! Unlike the main siq that is often wide enough to simultaneously carry groups of people and horses and donkey carts side by side, this siq was extremely narrow. In parts the tight walls produced a crushing sensation. The slender chasms - the path and each colored wall - tightly snaked left and right harmoniously and continuously like a fun natural amusement ride. At times the walls were still attached, forming a "U", and then on curves I rounded like a using centrifugal force.

Still the sky darkened and now I wondered if I would be caught in this siq - I didn't know how long it was or whether I would choose a wrong turn. And my imagination had to wonder about crossing the paths of banditos, but that didn't happen. Instead I heard dogs ahead barking and snarling which brought back founded fears from Malawi. After minutes their noise settled somewhere ahead in the chasm and just when I relaxed a dog stealthily appeared from a shadow to stare at me, I froze, he ran back up the siq, I picked up two rocks for defense. I didn't see or hear the dogs again.

A fifty foot long man made tunnel ended this siq where the main siq started. I carefully tip toed through the blackness and departing at the far end found a sky full of stars.

That night Peter, Sue, Casey, Brent, and I dined at the Italian restaurant Pizzari one block down the street.

Tu 2/22/2000 - Petra, Jordan

Today was our forth day in Petra. After a great day of adventure yesterday, I offered to accompany Pete and Sue to the top of Umm al-Biyara. I actually convinced them into the hike, assuming they would appreciate the trail up and the views as I did.

From the open views on the ascent we listened to a chorus of bleating goats far below and marveled at the melted appearance of the ancient sandstone steps. Watching Pete and Sue navigate the rough trail, I then realized it wasn't so easy, that maybe the discouragement I read and heard was somewhat founded. We walked slowly, taking fifty minutes to gain the top.

We walked across the slanted expanse of the mountain's top. Pete was nervous with the ledge I used yesterday, instead we found another area with less exposure and crashed asleep, an incredible window over Jordanian beauty only a blink away. Once again the sun was out, but the wind was up and cold enough to be uncomfortable. I woke with a knot in my back. Pete and Sue enjoyed the walk up and views but had other sights they wanted to visit so left me behind.

I moved around to yesterday's ledge - also too windy, then found a perfect spot on a body length of ledge tucked away from wind. The narrow shelf was angled into the mountain and angled so my head was slightly above my feet. Even though the ledge was only a shoulders breath wide, and the drop was again 1000 feet, the angle held me tight to the wall. I slept for an hour in the warm sun and calm air.

At 4pm I descended Umm Al Biyaya, walked passed the Pharonic Column, and came across the most fortunate scene. The glow of the low and setting sun burned Petra into a red radiance, and silhouette against the facade of the Royal Tomb were camels and Arabs. I jumped with excitement, I'm sure I had a dumb smile on my face, and shot eight worthy photos.

Below the Urn Tomb I crossed the Umm al-Biyara's sun setting shadow, and raced it up flights of stairs to Urn's large upper terrace. The outer stairs leading to a large second story terrace are unique within Petra. Inside the tomb is a absolutely huge room, squared to perfection with hand tools. The sun shone through a door to the left, highlighting the colors and patterns on the hewn wall. Just outside were a nicely lit series of columns bordering a hallway and supposedly supporting the stone above them. I quickly walked outside, surveyed the four people there and asked a French girl to pose for my photo. She readily agreed. She posed just inside the doorway where the sun created an elliptical pattern against the wall textured by hand tools two thousand years ago.

We 2/23/2000 - Amman, Jordan

Peter, Sue, and I had spent four days in Petra, a nice amount of time for those who like walking and picture taking. Although Petra's entrance fees are high, they top out at three days - with a three day pass (we learned) you're allow seven days of visiting. Only an excursion up Mt. Hor would have made for a good fifth day.

At an early breakfast in the hotel I watched clouds building that would soon shower. The darkened day may have been an omen that things were to run astray, but only because of Jordanian honesty would I be spared. Three times today I saw acts of kindness rare for the Middle East, in fact rare for any country. I now believe when someone says that a suitcase can sit on a sidewalk unguarded and unmolested for twenty-four hours.

We boarded a mid-sized bus to the top of town and were transfered to a second bus for Amman. While the bus waited for other passengers, our hotel cleaning man came running onto the bus with my moneybelt raised high. The belt contained 400 Egyptian dollars, 250 American dollars, passport, vaccination card, and every other important document I owned. I had left it under my pillow. I was dumbfounded by the potential implications and extremely thankful to Allah for my good fortune and the man's integrity.

In Amman, after booking into the seedy but characterful Cliff Hotel (JD3.50 for three person share, no shower, no breakfast, very friendly staff), I ventured out for errands. A needed to attempt again to settle my British Airways ticket from London to Boston. In finding directions to their office, I obtained the phone number at the tourist office in the city center, and when I was told public phones do not take coins, all use magnetic strip cards, a man lent me his for the call. That was unbelievable act number two! Maybe this doesn't seem grand to the reader, but such a gesture has very rarely occurred over the sixteen months of travel - imagine a third world person giving to an American - wow!

I departed a bus on the outskirts of Amman and was lost and walking in circles around city blocks in search of the office. A man stood outside his shop, I asked directions, he pointed and halfway through an explanation said, "Wait here one moment". He grabbed his car keys and drove me to the airline office. Hat trick! Number three! Simple incredible.

The staff at the Cliff Hotel assisted in thinking of a wedding gift for Monica and Stu. In Lamu, Kenya I had purchased a tall mahogany giraffe that lost his ears in shipping from Nairobi. I learned this in Egypt and was now in a pinch for a gift. I dreaded the thought of returning home empty handed and having to buy a gift in the States. How boring. I needed to something cool, fun, exotic. I settled on a colorful rug. I had seen them in Petra and in shops through this city. The staff recommended a main street nearby, old and run down.

I walked down through busy retail and right at a main intersection. King Talal Street is wide with small shops and neat tourist stores giving way to low dusty buildings of labor businesses. Across the street bright rugs were stacked and hanging, framing a doorway to an otherwise featureless building. Inside, rugs and more rugs were piled and stuck everywhere. At center was a table (I assume) covered with more rugs. Three men tended to me since I was the only customer and in a friendly manner chatted and offered reasonable advice. Nearly all the handmade wool rugs had red and orange as major colors and came from Iraq. I choose a relatively large one (too big to lay out across the room), one that stood out amongst others. One man happily weighed it - seven and a half kilograms, it was rolled, tied, and placed in a plastic bag. Seven and a half kilograms - how will I get this thing home? The effort will certainly be a labor of love.

Tonight would be my last with Peter and Sue. Along with Brent and a Kiwi, , and a South African named Darien Superman, we pigged out at a cafeteria style restaurant hidden within a building next door. I somehow put down a half chicken, stuffed peppers, and mixed salad. Before sleeping I started reading John Irving's, "A Pray for Owen Meany".

I can't believe I'll be in Israel tomorrow!

Th 2/24/2000 - Jerusalem, Israel

Last night I felt very fatigued, slightly hot and dizzy. I left the decision of making a trip to one more famous attraction, the Roman city of Jerash, until morning. After repeatedly waking with an annoying bladder, I stared with blurry vision at my watch one last time - 5:30am. I gave up on sleep, through on my clothes, grabbed my coat and daypack, and then waited in the hall for someone to unlock the main door. I crossed the street, passed under an arch, and sat in a white taxi until it filled for a ride to Abdala bus station. There I waited for a bus north while most activity was for Jerash. I ate a large sliced circular bread stuffed with processed cheese and a boiled egg (JD0.40) and drank sweet mint tea (JD0.20). Finally a small bus stopped and I boarded, staring out the window for nearly an hour, watching the clouds and hoping the patches of blue would enlarge.

Jerash (JD5) has been in the process excavation for eighty years. It was once a prosperous city during the reign of Alexander the Great (332BC), and became even more important with the Romans. Halfway through the site is a small museum where I signed in the guestbook under someone named Alan Palmer, a builder from Britain, the last visitor from yesterday. He shares the same name as a favorite collegehood buddy (many stories to tell there). The museum houses artifacts from many periods - clay oil lanterns and water pitchers, mosaics, coins, jewelry, and a large model of the Roman city.

For each of the following ages is a display case with artifacts:

Palaeolithic Age 17000BC-8500BC

Iron Age 1200BC-332BC

Helenistic (Greek) 332BC-63BC

Roman 63BC-324AD

Byzantine 324AD-630AD

Umayyad (Arab) 661AD-750AD

Mamluk 1250-1516AD

The term Byzantine was derived from an original name of Constantinople, the place Constantine I moved the powers of Rome to. The Mamluk were once white slaves who got lucky and overthrew their predecessors at an opportune time.

Jerash has two theaters, classic granite and marble-arced structures in great condition, nearly circular in shape with steep bench seating. I climbed to the top of South Theater that afforded a good view of the Zeus Temple and Oval Plaza, a circular area surrounded by columns. If Jerash were to have a nickname, it would be "Column City". Columns are everywhere, including Colonnaded Street with about 120 columns on each side. Jerash is large, it should normally take three hours to walk through, but I was amidst a flash attack, and spent only one and three quarter hours. I checked out houses, quarters, churches, baths, fountains, temples, hippodrome (sports arena), and an esplanade. I was happy to find another nymphaeum here, and glad to learn it was a dedication to the Nymphs. This one is in good condition, a large ornate fountain with marble facings.

At the bus station in the center of Jerash was a man, a self-proclaimed station manager who waved at buses to move when they already were moving, to stop when they already had stopped, and who waved at people who totally ignored him. He was short, stocky, tattered clothes covered a protruding belly, and was heavily bearded. He held a thick cigarette from his mouth in a holder, but most unusual were his orange framed glasses and light blue plastic purse around his neck. He grinned madly when I motioned for a picture.

The return bus left quickly, an express regular coach, crammed (JP0.35). At the crummy Cliff Hotel, I showered (they charged for the shower!), packed, and hefted my back, daypack, and now a bulky 7.5 kilogram carpet to the reception to checkout before noon.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the 70 kilometer crossing from Amman to Jerusalem over the Jordanian and Israeli border. Associated with the confusion of crossing the border is the nervousness. Books describe in detail - which sounds complicated - the crossing, and many people have also anxiously discussed the topic. Entering Israel is often a grinding and thorough affair, which also adds to the anxiety. The process was actually nearly painless, except for needing four rides (five for me) from the hotel in Amman to a hotel in Jerusalem and worrying about passport stamps declaring a visit to Israel which would prohibit access to most Middle Eastern countries.

From the Cliff Hotel in downtown Amman, I again joined three others in a service taxi ride to Abdala Bus Station. Here, I hit the only snag of the day. The service taxi dropped me at the main station area, the same place I caught the bus to Jerash earlier today. When a man immediately approached me, instead of suspicion I thought, "Ah, this is Jordan, he's being helpful." He pushed his car on me for JD10 - no way, then asked that I talk to the "station manager", a man in suit, tie, and shoes who also doubled as a Spanish guide at Petra. A few others gathered nearby to listen. I resisted his initial attempts at pushing me into the JD10 ride, and further resisted other offers where I would pay JD5. I came across obstinate, that I would wait for a full car, and therefore pay about JD2. They chuckled and tried to convince me, "Your from America, you're rich, ten dinars is nothing." "I'm not rich! I do not wear a suit and shoes and a tie." "Ah, but it's used. No, you're rich." The bastards. They had me waiting for thirty minutes, waiting for more people to arrive to fill a non-existent car, before the well dressed man pointed to the bottom of the long block, "Perhaps there are people there waiting for a taxi to the bridge." I had been in the wrong section of the station being deceived for my dinars. I was pissed, but the worse people around the world are found within transportation services. This was my first and only issue with people in Jordan.

A very old and wrinkled man, big fleshy nose, red checkered turbine, and smoke caked clothes, drove five of us to the King Hussein Bridge at the border (JD2.250). His car was interesting, a thirty-five year old Mercedes Benz, three speed on the column, vertical speedometer, sunroof, and the interior decorated over the shambles of the original materials. We drove in silence, never one person to speak, the driver drew hard on butts.

From the mountains of Amman, we descended into the Rift Valley, the same that runs from Turkey to Mozambique. I leaned forward to peer through the windshield at the Dead Sea - the lake with over 30% salt concentration, where people visit for a float while reading the newspaper and to perform other silly acts only possible there.

(continued in next chapter)

-end

jalabiyyehs - long, loose robes

headcloth - kafiyyeh

'iqal - the black cord

Book to read - Seven Pillars of Wisdom, T. E. Lawrence Film to see, "Lawrence of Arabia", 1962

sierratradingpost.com - discount north face gear

English yaboo = groccle

-end