Sunday evening July 26, I found myself in Eilat, Israel's port city on the Red Sea post three ridiculously random unbelievably chill days in Sinai. After running into a hysterically drunken ex-naval Dutchman, I said goodbye to my traveling buddy, and checked into a hostel across the street from the bus station to grab five hours of sleep and wake up early to cross the border intoAqaba, Jordan. On my way to the dorm room, a friendly red-headed boy asked me if I wanted to sit for a second and chat. He asked where I was studying, and too tired to play games, I just told him Phys/Math at Harvard. Ends up he's headed to HBS (Harvard Bus School) this fall after a year of traveling and working in India, and is also an ex-banker as it were (I seem to run into those a lot) and was also crossing the border the next morning. So, we joined 7 a.m. forces, me, Jeff (the redhead), and his guitar strumming outdoor education alpaca-shearing buddy Dave from the D.C. area. The border crossing was relatively painless (especially compared to Egypt), and was accompanied with lots of Hotel California on the guitar. After we rolled through Aqabasenselessly expecting breakfast to be available at such an ungodly hour as 9 a.m. we consented to grab a bag of zatar pitas, and sit by the bus station to wait for the bus to Petra (the city with the ancient Nabatean ruins that was in Indiana Jones' Last Crusade). A bunch of the bus drivers came up to strum Dave's guitar, and before we knew it was a full-on clapping, tapping, tabla hitting, jam circle going on, though, I must say that bus driver's rendition of 'Do you love me, yes you do' on the guitar was probably the worst music I've ever heard. After an hour and a half wait, far faster than I expected, though long for my American friends, we boarded the bus North. I passed out quickly, and awoke slowly to beautiful, clear Quaranic recitations on the bus radio. In a half-dream state, I opened an eye and peaked out the window. Absolutely breath-taking, rolling dunes and rocks, and canyons and cliffs, to the West, stretching to the distant Edomitemountains, empty save for the rare Bedouin tent flapping forlornly in the wind.
We arrived in Petra a full two-hours after my travel companions had intended (they have yet to learn the sanity-preserving trick of abandoning your watch) too late to head into the real Petra ruins. We were told the inn that Lonely Planet recommended, the Valentine Hotel, was just around the corner and after a lovely half mile shlep up a steep hill in blistering heat, we finally arrived. It was quite nice, cloth tarps strewn over a pillowed lounging area; Nargila in the corner; walls full of maps, posters, rugs, paintings, tapestries; a friendly English-speaking hostess; tea while we were waiting for our rooms, and a nice view of the relatively small city of Wadi Musi, nestled in slopes of a small valley than runs into the Petra ruins and then the Edomite Mtns. We decided to splurge, and spend 3 Jordanian Dinar (5$) on a dorm bed instead of the roof (2 J.D.) left our bags and set out to explore the city. We walked 2.5 winding kilometers down the rocky hills to the Petra entrance, and tried unsuccessfully to get our hands on some free tickets in all manner of spotty and ultimately fruitless ways. After being completely shut down (serendipitously it would seem to be), we decided instead to see if we could hitch a ride to little Petra, another smaller, less well known set of Nabatean ruins an hour's walk away. We were turned down by trucks, cars, and camels and finally opted for a taxi, which we got for a cheap price and Jpreel promised to wait for us.
Jpreel drove us through more rocky hills and desert sands to the entrance, a sliver between two rock faces. We were the only tourists when we arrived, and instantly two Bedouin kids, Amr andFaheed, came to ask if we wanted guides. Thinking it was yet another attempt to get money from us, we politely but firmly refused. But they insisted, still smiling, totally free of charge, so we couldn't say no. They ran us through the two crevices, and to the first temple etched into the red stone. Amr took my sandals and hit them in a rocky outcrop for me to come get later. The temple started 20 feet up the rock face, and there were no stairs to reach it. I was just about to content myself with snapping pictures below, when Amr started climbing up between two rocks to swing himself around a final rock and land on the solid temple base. Yallah, he insisted, grinning in Arabic, and Dave immediately set off, nice Canon in tow to follow suit. Of course, they didn't give me any break, through a fortunate combination of hoisting, climbing, and sheer luck, I was able to pull my white-skirt totting (bad mistake) self up the twenty feet of rock to run in and around the temple's columns, atriums, and rooms. The kids started hollering, and singing, the sound reverberating in and out of the open rooms and off the opposite rock face's walls. Climbing down was terrifying, more than once I thought I would die, to the exagerrated gasps of a small group of onlooking tourists. Once back on solid ground, it was up, over, down, and around ancient cisterns, shower wells, silos, kitchens, and dining halls. All of these rooms were fortunately either ground level, or had a shady set of stairs ascending into the rock face to reach them. In one series of kitchens we were joined by a 14 year old Bedouin kid, and we started beat boxing aboutmataam and taam (kitchens and cooking). Then, slightly bored, our two intrepid guides insisted we climb another stair-less rock face, this one only 15 feet, and ascend about a hundred steps to a rocky outcrop overlooking the ancient Nabataean temple ruins. Then, down running between the rock faces, up a hidden set of stairs through a tiny, barely passable crevice, into a shady enclave where Bedouins were drinking tea (thalith lil dayf, thalith lil kayf, thalith lil sayf...loosely translated to three cups of tea, one for the guest, one for the stories, one for the sword) which they offered us, and then another series of incredibly sketchy rock climbing (this one with 100 foot consequences as opposed to 20) to an outcrop over a beautiful, Utah-like canyon filled with rocky gorges and nestled wild olive and bougainvillea trees (a clump of flowers of which was offered to me in a mock-wedding proposal, along with an inquiry of what else would have to be conjured for me to move there). One of the kids had brought a Rababa, a one stringed guitar made with horse tail hair and goat skin, to play the eery, resonant Bedouin music at that magical overlook.
Then back to the hostel, driven by Jpreel who invited us to dinner at his family's house the following night (no joke), an amazing vegetarian buffet, recharging while watching a gorgeous sunset over the distant mountains, a candle-lit walk through actual Petra (too touristy for my liking after our incredible afternoon) and a short night of sleep before waking up to get picked up to come to the Dana Nature Reserve where I am now. My driver Waleed was awesome, he spent the whole time giving me an ameaa (spoken Arabic) lesson and detoured to show me off-the-beaten path ruins. I'm now at the (Harry Potter) Weasley house of the Middle East, a place I was supposed to be five days ago to do some volunteer work before being hopelessly swept up in a stream of spontaneous adventures. I'm overlooking a canyon and gorge even Steinbeck couldn't do justice. So I'll spare myself the embarrassment and leave it to you to google Dana Nature Reserve if you so please. Now off to wander through the tiny village (alone for the first time in ages) and stop by the Reserve Offices... That's all for now
We arrived in Petra a full two-hours after my travel companions had intended (they have yet to learn the sanity-preserving trick of abandoning your watch) too late to head into the real Petra ruins. We were told the inn that Lonely Planet recommended, the Valentine Hotel, was just around the corner and after a lovely half mile shlep up a steep hill in blistering heat, we finally arrived. It was quite nice, cloth tarps strewn over a pillowed lounging area; Nargila in the corner; walls full of maps, posters, rugs, paintings, tapestries; a friendly English-speaking hostess; tea while we were waiting for our rooms, and a nice view of the relatively small city of Wadi Musi, nestled in slopes of a small valley than runs into the Petra ruins and then the Edomite Mtns. We decided to splurge, and spend 3 Jordanian Dinar (5$) on a dorm bed instead of the roof (2 J.D.) left our bags and set out to explore the city. We walked 2.5 winding kilometers down the rocky hills to the Petra entrance, and tried unsuccessfully to get our hands on some free tickets in all manner of spotty and ultimately fruitless ways. After being completely shut down (serendipitously it would seem to be), we decided instead to see if we could hitch a ride to little Petra, another smaller, less well known set of Nabatean ruins an hour's walk away. We were turned down by trucks, cars, and camels and finally opted for a taxi, which we got for a cheap price and Jpreel promised to wait for us.
Jpreel drove us through more rocky hills and desert sands to the entrance, a sliver between two rock faces. We were the only tourists when we arrived, and instantly two Bedouin kids, Amr andFaheed, came to ask if we wanted guides. Thinking it was yet another attempt to get money from us, we politely but firmly refused. But they insisted, still smiling, totally free of charge, so we couldn't say no. They ran us through the two crevices, and to the first temple etched into the red stone. Amr took my sandals and hit them in a rocky outcrop for me to come get later. The temple started 20 feet up the rock face, and there were no stairs to reach it. I was just about to content myself with snapping pictures below, when Amr started climbing up between two rocks to swing himself around a final rock and land on the solid temple base. Yallah, he insisted, grinning in Arabic, and Dave immediately set off, nice Canon in tow to follow suit. Of course, they didn't give me any break, through a fortunate combination of hoisting, climbing, and sheer luck, I was able to pull my white-skirt totting (bad mistake) self up the twenty feet of rock to run in and around the temple's columns, atriums, and rooms. The kids started hollering, and singing, the sound reverberating in and out of the open rooms and off the opposite rock face's walls. Climbing down was terrifying, more than once I thought I would die, to the exagerrated gasps of a small group of onlooking tourists. Once back on solid ground, it was up, over, down, and around ancient cisterns, shower wells, silos, kitchens, and dining halls. All of these rooms were fortunately either ground level, or had a shady set of stairs ascending into the rock face to reach them. In one series of kitchens we were joined by a 14 year old Bedouin kid, and we started beat boxing aboutmataam and taam (kitchens and cooking). Then, slightly bored, our two intrepid guides insisted we climb another stair-less rock face, this one only 15 feet, and ascend about a hundred steps to a rocky outcrop overlooking the ancient Nabataean temple ruins. Then, down running between the rock faces, up a hidden set of stairs through a tiny, barely passable crevice, into a shady enclave where Bedouins were drinking tea (thalith lil dayf, thalith lil kayf, thalith lil sayf...loosely translated to three cups of tea, one for the guest, one for the stories, one for the sword) which they offered us, and then another series of incredibly sketchy rock climbing (this one with 100 foot consequences as opposed to 20) to an outcrop over a beautiful, Utah-like canyon filled with rocky gorges and nestled wild olive and bougainvillea trees (a clump of flowers of which was offered to me in a mock-wedding proposal, along with an inquiry of what else would have to be conjured for me to move there). One of the kids had brought a Rababa, a one stringed guitar made with horse tail hair and goat skin, to play the eery, resonant Bedouin music at that magical overlook.
Then back to the hostel, driven by Jpreel who invited us to dinner at his family's house the following night (no joke), an amazing vegetarian buffet, recharging while watching a gorgeous sunset over the distant mountains, a candle-lit walk through actual Petra (too touristy for my liking after our incredible afternoon) and a short night of sleep before waking up to get picked up to come to the Dana Nature Reserve where I am now. My driver Waleed was awesome, he spent the whole time giving me an ameaa (spoken Arabic) lesson and detoured to show me off-the-beaten path ruins. I'm now at the (Harry Potter) Weasley house of the Middle East, a place I was supposed to be five days ago to do some volunteer work before being hopelessly swept up in a stream of spontaneous adventures. I'm overlooking a canyon and gorge even Steinbeck couldn't do justice. So I'll spare myself the embarrassment and leave it to you to google Dana Nature Reserve if you so please. Now off to wander through the tiny village (alone for the first time in ages) and stop by the Reserve Offices... That's all for now
No comments:
Post a Comment