I continued past the sign -- without a guide! I was a daredevil. Living on the edge. Who knew what danger might accost me at the next turn? Oh, it was just another guy with a donkey.

 

I passed a few cave openings, tombs and dwellings, and then the staircase I’d been looking for appeared. This was the approach to what many people had told me was the best part of Petra, up the mountain to the monastery. I’d heard it was a long climb, but more than worth it, and I was up for the task.

 

The stairs themselves were interesting, sometimes cut into the rock, sometimes built up with flat stones, and the scenery around grew increasingly impressive. Cave after cave, tomb after tomb went by and there were ever more chambers cut in the sides of the red mountain in places only a goat could have reached. And there were plenty of those as well (goats that is). They climbed where people couldn’t, clinging to rocks that seemed impossible. I imagined the Nabateans doing the same in order to carve out their neat chambers and intricate porticoes.

 

Soon I came to a sign that said ‘Tomb of the Lions’. It was something I’d read briefly about in a guide book and thought I might want to see. But where was it? I saw nothing that even vaguely resembled lions. Then I noticed that the sign pointed down a barely visible side trail. In my estimates from the small map I had I thought the Lion Tomb was approaching half way up the stairs, so I figured I had plenty of energy to make a side trip. I followed the direction the sign was pointing and found myself in a narrow crevice climbing over fallen stone. It wasn’t exactly easy but I wouldn’t rate it as overly difficult either. When I arrived, I still didn’t see much in the way of lions, but there were several rooms cut into the cliff. It wasn't really a set of tombs, though, but probably intended as chambers for funerary feasts (a triclinium). I finally noticed the carvings on the side of the main facade that were indeed lions. I decided I’d climb up and look at them even though it was on a steep face. So I hauled myself gingerly up and examined the carvings. They sit at the base of the eroded, keyhole-like entrance in the photo to the left and can be seen more clearly on this National Geographic page (I recommend looking at their other wrap-around shots as well). Then I went inside, but the interior of the chamber was unimpressive to say the least. I also found, to my dismay, that it had been used as a toilet. Recently. And often.

 

Quickly climbing back down, I sat in the shade, drank some water, and thought. I suppose caves, tombs and former feasting chambers offered privacy, but crapping in them seemed rather disrespectful to history. Then again, the entire area was a toilet for goats and the goatherds needed their space too. I’d seen the same thing in many such places in Syria (like the tower tombs at Palmyra). Nevertheless, the thought of UNESCO World Heritage Sites as public bogs struck me as odd. I shrugged my shoulders and headed back down the crevice to rejoin the staircase.

 

Up and up I went. Soon, I came to realize my belief that the Lion Triclinium marked anything near the halfway point was completely erroneous. But even here, winding up a steep mountain on narrow stone steps, I passed large clumps of booths selling knick-knacks -- from Bedouin jewelry to simple stones collected from the canyon. And I was frequently passed by mule trains of tourists going up or coming down the trail. I was impressed by the mules' ability to carry overweight tourists so far and on such precarious terrain, but I felt sorry for them as well.

Surprisingly, I passed the American couple that had entered the site with me hours ago, but they were coming back down the mountain. I'd spent some time at the Lion Tomb, but if they'd already made it to the top and come back down since thhen, they were much more fit than I had judged. Maybe they were too tired to make the whole journey, or were getting too badly sunburned (I don't understand the American belief that fewer clothes is better in sunny weather, what you need is light, covering clothes that protect from the sun but still breathe). Or they'd gotten on a particularly fast donkey up and walked back down?

 

The Bedou on the sides of the path tried many a sales tactic, not wanting to take no for an answer. I told one group I might look at their wares when I came back down, expecting they would forget me. But I found they remembered me quite clearly when I did come back down many hours later. Business was not exactly booming here in the heat of the low season. In fact, I passed a lot of booths that weren’t manned at all, just covered with old cloth. Presumably it’s much busier in the high season.

 

I kept climbing and at one point thought I was on the right path but then found a sheer drop off directly in front of me. On the other side of the chasm, I could see an awning of sorts that seemed to be erected for people to sit under, so I couldn’t be far from something. Of course, reaching that something from here would be impossible. Where was the path? I’d just come up some weathered stairs with a lot of gravel on them, or so I thought. I heard another mule train coming by and watched them snake along where I had been only minutes ago and they continued into what I had thought was the mountain itself. I went back down and found that the path went along a very narrow space and into what had looked to be nothing more than rock. It was a trick of perspective, though, and beyond was a switchback that continued upwards.

 

It was getting hot. The sun was riding high in the sky and few shadows appeared. Plus I’d been walking up stairs for what seemed like hours. I’d been offered countless necklaces, fake Roman coins, and miniature boxes, plus the mule masters now gave me that knowing ‘I told you so’ look. That just wouldn’t do. I’d conquer this mountain on my feet, thank you very much. But maybe I’d rest first. A helpful Bedou woman smiled and told me it wasn’t far to the top. Only three minutes more. But, she said, I should sit with her in the shade. No, she wasn’t selling anything. But if I wanted to buy something…

 

I sat despite knowing she would give me the hard sell. She was an interesting person, or at least her stories were. How much of them were true, I don’t really know. She said that she and many others lived up here at the top of the mountain, in the caves and in the monastery itself, making things to sell to people like me. It was their only livelihood and I should look at her wares. Very nice gifts, she assured me.

 

I looked politely at the items she unfolded, but of course, when you show any interest, the seller isn’t going to let up. It’s an interesting certainty. I looked at one of her camel bone boxes, she said it was handmade and was 80 dinars. I chuckled (you have to take all of this in good humour or you go crazy) and looked at a few Roman coins she presented. They were fakes. I told her so. She said they came from a friend but she had real ones. I said I couldn’t afford anything and tried nicely to make my way away. She showed the box again and said ‘how much?’ I said I couldn’t offer her a fair price, so I would be on my way. She wouldn’t take that answer. “How much?” I inched up the stairs. She followed. “How much?” Desperation now. I smiled and waved, then left with her following most of the way.

 

At the top of the stairs, the woman turned back to her post watching for another potential buyer and I turned onto a short descent that led to a plateau of sorts. This had to be the place, but I only saw the flat area opening out in front of me. The awning I’d seen was up here and accessible now, though a bit distant. Still I didn’t see anything else.

 

Then I turned the corner. My jaw dropped. [to be continued…]