DONKEYS UP A MOUNTAIN!

Petra turned out to be far bigger and more spectacular than anyone anticipated. We woke up at around 6:30 and had a quick breakfast at the buffet (toast an hard boiled eggs, mostly.) Then we started walking down the street towards Petra. After passing several interesting shops, including “Rock City” and “The Indiana Jones Café” we arrived at the gates of Petra and started the hike through the city. The first place of real note was the Siq, a huge canyon which leads to the heart of Petra. The cliffs in here were absolutely massive, and none of the pictures I’ve been taken even begins to capture the scale and the grandeur of it all.

We soon came to the Treasury, which according to Ra’ad was actually not a treasury but was in fact an enormous tomb carved into the face of the mountain. Sculptures of Amazon warriors stood next to one of the Egyptian god Isis, which shows the milieu of cultural influences behind it’s construction. All throughout Petra are huge tombs cut into the face of the rocks, and nothing I write here can truly convey the majesty they conveyed or just the sheer overwhelming size of them. It really makes you feel very small to walk in Petra. Over each tomb was a carving of a set of stairs going sideways up the top of the tomb. Ra’ad explained that these were called “Crow Stairs” and represented the first few steps up that a crow takes before flying and was used to symbolize the beginning of the flight of the deceased into the afterlife.

We stopped at a stand owned by a woman named Umm Raami, which translated means “mother of Raami.” She also went by Marguerite, because as it turns out she’s something of a famous figure, having been born in New Zealand and taken a vacation to Jordan, from which she never returned since she became married to a Bedouin. He’s since passed away, but she remains, operating a stand selling products made by local women and also a book she wrote called “Married to a Bedouin.”

Speaking of Bedouins, we encountered quite a few of them in Petra. Many people draw parallels between the Bedouin people and the Gypsies, and for the most part these are good comparisons. The Bedouin are exceptional salespeople (Dr. Haddad walked away from a stand having spent 15 dinars when originally intending to only spend 1) however, they can be a bit offensive if you are not used to how hard they are willing to push to make a sale. Every person we passed offered horse rides, trinkets, cold drinks, or whatever they had to offer. Unlike in America, where street salesmen or store owners will maybe try twice to get you to buy something (no, are you sure you don’t need it?) Here they’ll try four or five different tactics before giving up, even following you a short ways and always ending a failed pitch with some variation of “think about it and come back, I’ll be here.” Not all of the Bedouins were so pushy, however. We stopped and bought a bottle of water from a man at a rest stop, and whereas most of the Bedouins I encountered would continue to try and get you to buy things as long as you are near their shop, he invited us to stay and sit in the shade. He stopped and talked to us ,occasionally stopping to shout “hot drinks, cold drinks, Coca-Cola, and Bedouin Red Bull!” (which I never asked about, for fear of initiating a sales-pitch) at passers-by. A small boy came over and we got to see the Bedouins teaching him English. He was wearing a slightly rumpled suit, and told us that it was his eleventh birthday, which set all the Bedouins singing “Happy Birthday” and calling out “Mabrouk! Mabrouk!” which means “congratulations!” to him. Some even joked good naturedly, asking him who he had married to be dressed so nicely.

While at the rest stop, the owner told us the story of how so many Bedouins had come to work at Petra. Apparently, the Bedouins used to squat in the many caves and tombs around Petra, but in 1987 or 1989 Queen Nour came to them and offered them a plot of land nearby and help building school and a clinic if they would agree to move out of the caves so it could be restored. They agreed, and just over the hill is a town where the Bedouins live. People here are very positive about the King and Queen, much the way as it is in England.

We later visited the ruins of a 6th century Byzantine church, full of mosaics on the floor. Ra’ad told us that many of the mosaics had been defaced by the Iconoclasts, a group of people who really apparently hated images of living creatures. However, there are quite a few mosaics which are undamaged, apparently because, according to Ra’ad’s theory, the Iconoclasts saw one particular mosaic which had a woman whose breast was exposed and just decided to burn the whole church down.

Sporting the Qafir headscarf I had purchased from Umm Raami, I felt pretty good about midday when we stopped for lunch, pre-prepared peanut butter and jelly pita sandwiches. After lunch we hired some Bedouins to let us ride up the mountain behind us to a site called “The Monastery” on the back of some donkeys. Let me just re-state that in case anyone missed it. WE RODE UP A MOUNTAIN ON THE BACK OF DONKEYS. THIS WAS EPIC. I even managed to snag a couple of photos one-handed from the back of mine. All the way up behind the far more nervous Becca LiCausi, my donkey was determined it needed to be the one in front, and so took every opportunity to cut off Becca’s donkey. This meant that I didn’t always go up the route I expected to (i.e. the stairs up the mountain) and sometimes ended up going up the things that were not stairs (i.e. the rocky, crumbly parts of the mountain) eventually my donkey took advantage of a traffic jam to take the front position and then he seemed to calm down. Eventually we came to a stop and dismounted before venturing on to the top of the mountain and The Monastery.


The Monastery itself was absolutely gigantic. By far it was the biggest building in Petra. Me, Sara Schaaf, and Fletcher Fletcher (another case of “Mitchell-Mitchell-ism” I think) climbed up about a four six foot rock face to actually get inside the Monastery itself. Inside was a large, very tall room covered in signatures in English and Arabic from those who’d come before. We didn’t want to sign the walls, and so instead looked at the very, very faded cross painted on the back wall, which had originally led to its being called “The Monastery.” In actuality it was probably used for city meetings or something official. Whlile we were standing in the doorway a man asked if he could take our picture, and then proceeded to take about twenty photographs, taking a deliberate two steps to the left before he took each one. I still have no idea what he was doing.

After this the group split in two, most of them joining Mark in attempting to climb to the High Place of Sacrifice, which sounded impressive but the climb up deterred me, Fletcher, and Dr. Haddad, who decided to take a leisurely walk back to the hotel. It took both groups about three hours, with us climbing on foot all the way back down the mountain, through the whole of Petra, back through the Siq, and along the entranceway into the town of Wadi Mousa nearby where our hotel was. Needless to say, we were beat. On the way down the mountain, we were accosted by Bedouin women with names like “Noel Christmas” and “Turquoise Waiting” who took our acknowledgements of their greetings on the way up as promises to look at their wares on the way down. In addition, many of the shopkeepers told us that it was “happy hour, half price!” and one somewhat misguided man offering Dr. Haddad a horse ride back told her “I love you!”

Back at the hotel, we reclaimed our baggage and met up with the even more tired and sore group who’d climbed to the High Place. After a short break to regroup and eat some delicious date bread (as well as drink a prodigious amount of water) we loaded back onto the bus and drove to the Wadi Mousa market to grab some snacks and water (I got these little Arabic vanilla cookies, which were very good.) One thing I wanted to mention earlier was the prices of things here. You can get box of cookies for about 25 cents, a huge thing of water for 1 dinar (a little over a dollar) and my whole bill for enough snacks and water to last the whole trip to Wadi Rum that night and all the way back to Amman the next day was 2 dinars, which comes to about $1.60.

After the break at Wadi Mousa we drove to Wadi Rum desert to the campsite where we’d be spending the night. By now I was becoming quite skilled at grabbing short naps while we were travelling in the bus, so I took advantage of the ride to Wadi Rum to rest a bit. When I woke up, we were at the campsite and I grabbed my bags to disembark. Upon arrival, I discovered that since there were an odd number of guys and I was the last to arrive I got a whole tent to myself. Score! Dinner was to be later that evening so we took the chance to freshen up and use the facilities. After coming out of the bathroom and attempting to re-tie my Qafir, a man who worked at the campsite saw me struggling and came to show me a different style to tie the Qafir in. He didn’t speak any English at all, so I offered a “shukran” (thanks in Arabic) and he smiled and responded “afuan” (you’re welcome). It was quite an interesting experience to have a whole interaction with someone who doesn’t speak your language and whose language you only know a few random words in.

Dinner that night was an elaborate affair which we were told by Ra’ad was a traditional Bedouin wedding feast. We all sat in a huge tent while the hosts prepared a mean by burying huge cast iron pots under the sand on top of hot coals. When the time came to eat, we were treated to a sumptuous (and huge) meal of hummus, pita bread, vegetables, roast chicken and lamb, rice, potatoes, and couscous, heaped liberally upon our plates by our generous chefs. Dessert was a very sweet, sugary cake with coconut at the bottom. While we ate, a group of Jordanian men nearby us played their drums and aouds while they ate and sang songs to “habibi” or “my love.”

After dinner we were invited to a large ring of couches surrounding a fire pit, where several men performed dances for us and invited the tourists to dance with them. In addition to several of our group, some of the other Jordanian campers eagerly jumped in and danced enthusiastically. Ra’ad explained that the wedding dances being performed were traditional at Bedouin wedding feasts. Just as they came to pull more of us to dance with them Ra’ad intervened to save me and Alicia Chatterton from having to dance.


Then my wedding started.

Unbeknownst to us, Ra’ad had arranged for Alicia and I to play the bride and groom of the Bedouin wedding. I was given one of those long, white garments you see a lot of Saudi men wearing, my Qafir was already on my head so they didn’t bother with it, added a gun belt and a cape, and then makeup-pencilled on a goatee and gave me “Arabic eyes” with the makeup. I was told that I was Sheik Khamad, and my bride (Alicia, who’d been dressed in a fancy black and-other-colors garment with a headdress, and makeup in the shape of flowering plants on her face) was named Izuaeya.

We were led out of the house we had been costumed in and into the middle of a procession. A drummer led a series of chanting songs and banged on the drums as everyone, especially the other tourists, danced and sang wholeheartedly as the procession made its way back to the fire pit, where Izuaeya and Sheik Khamad were seated while everyone danced all around us. Occasionally someone would come over to us and say something in Arabic to us as he danced which contained the word “Khamad” so I nodded enthusiastically and smiled. Every time this happened, however, they went away dancing and laughing hysterically. I thought it was just part of the festivities (which everyone was enjoying with as much gusto as if we were actually getting married, which made me wonder for a moment). Eventually the same man who’d helped me with my Qafir came and led us into the middle of a ring of dancers and got us started with a simple dance, which we embellished with a swirl at one point (everyone loved it). Later we sat back down and the dancing came to an end, at which point everyone came by, shook our hands, and congratulated us, saying “Mabruk.” Then we were led back to the house where we changed out of costume. At the behest of Ben Baldwin, I kept the goatee.

After we returned, I asked Ra’ad what all those people had been saying to us as we sat during the dance. He replied something to the effect of: “Well, they were…uh… wishing…um…luck and encouragements to the groom…for…you know…after.” I suddenly wished I hadn’t nodded quite so enthusiastically.