june 25, 1999
petra, jordan
okay. i’ve driven the kings’ highway from daybreak and finally arrived. without
incident. petra. rose colored city of the nabateans. the one must see sight in
all of jordan.
by eight o’clock, i’ve changed some money with an ATM card at the local bank of
jordan in wadi musa, eaten a quick continental breakfast (even though i’m on a
different continent), and i’ve paid my twenty dollar admission to the once-lost,
but now very-found, ancient city of petra. in fact, that’s my first impression
of this great triumph of the ancient arabic world – it’s now the voracious and
commercial disneyland of modern day jordan. i mean, there are a lot of people
here. busloads and parking lots full. i automatically feel my anti-tourist
antennae flare up. but c’mon, what did i expect? how many times can you hear
about the fantabulous-ness of a place and then not expect to see people there to
enjoy it?
well, people there are. i feel like i’m making my way down the two and a half
mile fissure in a continuous, unbroken caravan of human cargo. there is a
pedestrian lane for most of us camera-toting common shutterbugs, and there is a
camel lane for the adventurous and more materialistically endowed. young,
bronze-skinned bedouin boys walk the camels down with their sedate, overweight
tourist loads, and then gallop them back up in the “return” lane in a swaggering
display of adolescent machismo. it’s part of the show, and makes us hoofers
smile.
at the end of the towering, wind-sculpted “siq” (the only entrance to the city)
lies “khazneh”, or “the treasury”, petra’s greatest memorial to the gods of the
dead. sculpted with the pain and ingenuity of human hands only, it’s nearly
impossible to fathom the amount of labor and dedication it took to carve these
gigantic, several hundred foot raw mountain walls into such delicately-ornate
and aesthetically-pleasing temples to the gods. it can’t help but remind you of
the power of the egyptian pyramids at giza. or of the mayas’ temples of the moon
and sun at teotihuacan near mexico city. but here, five centuries before the
birth of christ, this formerly nomadic arab tribe, the “nabateans”, settled into
It helps to maintain the flexibility of arteries and help blood pressure receptors for more accurate buy levitra BP adjustment. A curse begins with the exchange of small molecules Discover More Here buy viagra line and ions (the second messengers) that affect cell communication and signaling. Empowerment is the main power of Project Walk to viagra sales canada rehabilitate the lives of SCI sufferers. It results in early ejaculation, semen leakage and levitra 60 mg sexual weakness.
this naturally fortified and spring-fed valley and carved this monumental city
out of the raw, rose-colored sandstone of arabia. inspired by greek, roman, and
egyptian architecture, and then lost for centuries to all but a small inhabiting
bedouin tribe, petra was rediscovered in 1812 by a Swiss explorer named
burkhardt. fortunately – or unfortunately – depending on how you see it – it has
since been re-leashed upon the world through the glamorous big screen adventures
of indiana jones and through the well-worn pages of every middle eastern
guidebook written in the twentieth century. and with the friendly
israeli-jordanian border still open to backpackers and fat cats alike, petra has
not been lacking for visitors.
well, i’m here. and rather than indulge my already easily-provoked touro-phobia,
i proceed further into the scenic and historic canyon. from the main path, i see
“djinn” (ghost) caves, sacrificial altars, royal tombs, triple-arched roman
gates with giant corinthian columns, palaces, tombs, winged temples, and even a
column (“zib faroun”) sculpted into a pharaoh’s penis. ahhhh, those clever
pornographic nabateans. my favorite stop however, is into a little refreshment
cave where a couple of red-kaffia-ed hashemites indulge my touro-sarcasm by
trying to get me to buy an admittedly over-priced bottle of water and some post
cards. “have a cup of tea, my friend. no charge. and buy a few more postcards –
for your girlfriends back in america.” i laugh with them, ask them several
questions about their lives down here in the caves of petra, which they answer
either truly – or falsely – it’s hard to tell – and i do – buy some more
postcards and an overpriced bottle of water. at least these dudes have a sense
of humor about the whole touro-trade. they make me feel real and human again –
instead of like a wallet or a commodity. at least, for a moment.
it’s still early afternoon. i have a decision to make. i can continue on deeper
into the bowels of petra, more off the beaten path into the sprawling wadis and
desert splendor of the naked canyon itself, or i can tramp up the sik with most
of the gang. i thought i’d be staying overnight in petra, but now with my still
growing touro-phobia, i consider my options. first off, i’m once more without a
sleeping bag. it will be dark by the time i hike in, and i’m not quite prepared
for any further unknown discoveries of the desert night – without at least a
veil of protection. second, i haven’t really apportioned enough time to immerse
myself into any one place in my three day, whirlwind, see-it-all drive-through
of jordan. i mean all i heard was “petra, petra, petra”; i didn’t really expect
to find such a rich, fascinating and beautiful county. anyway, my time and
rental car are running out, and another place – further south – is calling me –
urging me on.
