6 July [continued… (again)…]

It was ad’Deir, the monastery itself. Bigger and in higher relief than al’Khazneh, it was astounding. Maybe it was the fact that I was out of breath from the climb, but it took my breath away.

 

It was enormous. Looking a lot like the Khazneh well below, it was nonetheless more impressive. More yellow in color than the red that dominates so many of the other places here, Ad’Deir is an astounding 48 meters tall and 43 meters wide. It has the same angled, engaged roof and mock support columns typical of facades all over the canyon, but it dwarfed everything I’d seen thus far. Scale was difficult to fathom, the people beneath, mere pebbles. I took pictures and then sat in the shade staring at this goliath of a creation. Finally I pulled forth a book, the Pepsi and cookies I had purchased the evening before and gallantly toted up the mountain, and I had myself a little picnic. I could have gotten a cold can of soda (for $3) and Pringles (for $5) under the awning in the near distance, but I preferred drinking my warm soda alone in the shade.

 

It was quiet, peaceful, and I really enjoyed that hour. The shadows, though, progressed from thin bands of protective warmth to bright, unrelenting heat. My peace had been interrupted by the ever-vicious sun. So I decided to move. I wandered a bit, took more pictures, and went inside the monastery. To get in, you had to climb a makeshift ramp, nothing more than precarious stones stacked atop one another and then a long, flat stone leaning against the lip of the opening atop which you had to balance and then step up. Inside was a square cut chamber and a roughly church like layout with naves and a carved out area at the back that would be something like an apse I suppose. I didn’t look around much because there were also salesmen in here, same stuff, different Bedouin. But one had a bazooki of sorts and played music that echoed through the chamber. That was a nice touch. They offered me mint tea but I didn’t feel like shopping or negotiating, so I left the building behind.

 

I explored some more and ended up in a cave facing the monastery. This one looked surprisingly like a skull, jutting rounded from the ground and pierced by openings resembling eyes and nose, but enclosed as it was it provided much needed shade. And it only smelled somewhat of goat droppings. So here I read for another hour and wrote in my journal.

 

Completely recovered from the long upward climb I now went to see the ‘views’. There were several signs, crudely handwritten and rather scary (like ‘sacrifice view’) pointing the way. Relatively short trails that branched off and away from the monastery led to them. And spotting them wasn’t difficult for they were marked by, what else, gift shops. These were tent-like as were most of the booths at Petra, and strategically located at the edge of the sheer drop that constituted the picturesque viewpoints.

 

I hiked over to one and looked out from the edge, ignoring the salespeople. In fact the sales were not so severe here and there were many tourists. I realized I was in the midst of the Spanish group I’d entered the site with at the beginning of the day. They were taking pictures of each other at the edge of the cliff. Behind them loomed a vast open space beyond which mountains rose and deserts fell. It was astonishing.

 

I went to three of these lookouts and looked out. They were all amazing, full of natural beauty. There were certainly people around and I preferred to find a spot where I could sit and just stare off into space, but such places weren’t that hard to find so the experience was quite good overall. The persistent heat was the real bother, but even that could be curtailed in shadowy tombs. Of course, many of these smelled rather vile.

 

I suspected I would be harassed by the Bedou woman again as I went down the hill. There was, after all, only one way out. And indeed, she recognized me and asked again, “How much you pay?” I admired her tenacity and that she wasn’t angry, so I told her I had at most $20 I could spend. We went about negotiating and finally settled on a deal that included the camel bone box and a few knick-knacks.

 

Downward I went. It was well into afternoon and I wanted to try the Cave Bar before being picked up at 6pm. And I had a long way to go to get out of the canyon valley. But the stairs down weren’t so bad. I often heard the clomp of hooves on the path ahead or behind and stood against the cliff to make room for the passing donkeys. I passed the side trail to the Lion Tomb without noticing the sign and before I knew it I was at the base of the steps. A few tourists just beginning the trail asked me how long it took to climb up there and I estimated 45 minutes to an hour on foot.

 

I got back on the colonnaded street and decided to check out the main temple. It’s a very large structure raised above and behind the street accessed by a grandiose staircase. This was one of the main foci of investigation for Brown University and as I topped the stairs I saw their flag flying over the building. The stairs had brought me to a wide open space with stone paving and that courtyard had the remains of columns. At the rear were impressive walls and niches, the remains of statues peering out of some. It was an enormous building and still quite impressive. I wandered around. Looked out over the street below, and finally came back down the stairs.

 

Ignoring the cries of ‘nice gift, one dinar’, I passed the theater once more and finally arrived back at al’Khazneh. I sat in front of it again, enjoying the new play of light from a different angle of the sun and realized I would be leaving the canyon valley soon. It had been a hot but enjoyable journey. There was a large group of camels sitting in the space in front of the Treasury building and one of the riders walked up, patted one of them on the head, and gave it a liter water bottle. The camel took it in its mouth, tilted its head back, and drank down the water without any assistance from his human counterpart. I found this most entertaining but didn’t get my camera in time to snap a shot. The camel drank the water quickly and then spat out the bottle.

 

Finally I turned to make the march back up the Siq. It had a lovely breeze and was quite comfortable in its shaded areas. But those didn’t last as long as I’d remembered. And then came the long open walk outside the Siq that had slipped my mind. Sun beat down on me but I made the gate around 5pm. I could use a beer at this point. OK, it’s not the best thing to drink in the heat, but I’d been drinking water all day and that day was almost over. I’d seen a sign for the Cave Bar near the entrance so I followed it but only came to construction. I checked my guide book map and this was where the place was supposed to be. Peering beyond the construction fence I saw what had probably been the bar’s exterior. It was supposed to have been a 2000 year old Nabatean tomb, but now it looked like a faux plaster facade. They were putting in a large scale resort here and apparently had closed the bar for refurbishment. Damn.

 

I saw a sign for the Crowne Plaza resort and it advertised the Cave Bar. I decided to walk toward the resort since I still had an hour and I might as well walk around. It wasn’t far and when I got there, even the doorman asked if he could help. I was wary at first since most who ask you that mean to sell you something. But this was one of the expensive places and they weren’t likely to be like that. So I asked about the Cave Bar. He told me it was closed for now but there was another bar inside. I decided to go in.

 

Here I met a very nice clerk who asked what I wanted. And not in the way the Bedouin, or rather sales people, outside did. He was genuine and sincere. I said ‘how much for a beer?’ He told me. No dickering, no ‘how much you pay?’ So, I said ‘OK’ and sat down. The beer was expensive but cold and it hit me pretty hard after a long day of walking. The bar was simple but air conditioned and the view through the plate glass window out over the canyon and cliffs was pretty amazing. I like roughing it but an occasional dip into the realm of minor luxury is nice and helps to keep me sane.

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…]