The Rose City - Petra, Jordan
Trip Start
Nov 30, 2005
1
22
Trip End
Jan 11, 2006
Petra, Jordan
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
The walk over to the Jordan crossing was a very short distance. Again, we were asked for our passports. Another 30 minutes or so of milling about and we were cleared to enter Jordan. As promised, a van finally showed up with an English speaking guide and we climbed on board. It is now 10 a.m. and it's a 2 hour drive to Petra. Hmmm....
Our guide said we would first take a drive through Aqaba, Jordan's port city. It is a beautiful, new looking city. All the while the guide was extolling the virtues of investing in Jordan. At long last, we headed out through the desert. Very similar to the desert of Israel of course, barren mountains but really beautiful. We were told we would stop about mid-way for a short break; our stop was at another typical tourist trap. Once again, I had an opportunity to "practice my patience." Hey, I just want to get to Petra!
Back on the bus we rode for another hour and at last pulled up to the gaggle of buildings set up as the entrance for our trek into Petra. Our guide spent more time explaining the procedures, passing out white baseball type caps for us to wear for group identification, and noting that if we wanted to ride a horse for the first leg of the trek into the city that was included in our tour price. Though I played with the thought for a moment as I had no idea how far the first trek would be, my life-long unease around horses won out, so I declined the offer. A few in our group did, however, decide to ride. It is now 1 p.m. But, anticipation of what I felt was soon to be seen, the purpose of this whole day, gave me hope that soon my goal would be reached.
I have little concept of distance, but whatever it was, I determinedly set out and at some point arrived at the next gathering spot for our group. Ah, there was the opening in the rocks which would lead us into Petra. During the previous hours, a nice dentist from Sweden and I had sort of teamed up as he too was traveling solo. (His family had remained back in Eilat to lounge about the pool.) We kept looking around for the group but seeing no one we recognized, we decided that somehow perhaps the group had already started through the slit so we hurried to catch up.
I had expected something quite different, a much narrower entrance; but, the way in was wide enough that horse drawn carts with passengers rumbled past on the rough stone floor. Again, I can't determine the distance but eventually we did emerge into a large open area with hundreds of tourist milling about. Still no sign of the group. As stopping for lunch had been mentioned by our guide, my new travel companion ventured the guess that perhaps we had inadvertently missed the group who had stopped for lunch. It is now 1:30. We decided to just wait where we were, make pictures and assume that we would eventually be reunited with our group. Nearing 2 p.m. we spied our guide and group emerging from the first narrow opening. Have we missed lunch? No, no. That is farther on.
As I am now writing this journal entry some weeks past the experience, some of the details are getting confused in my mind. Suffice it to say, we walked with our guide who pointed out this and that. We eventually arrived at what was our lunch appointment. There are a number of restaurants grouped around. Ours was a buffet of sorts. It was now 3 p.m. Our guide cautioned us again for the need to be back at the main entrance and on the bus by 4 p.m. Rather than retrace my steps on foot, by this point I am really getting tired so decide to pay for a donkey ride back as far as possible.
A number of donkey owners eagerly jumped forward offering me the very best animal to be had. Closing my eyes, I said "that one." When I asked the young owner his donkey's name he smiled and said "Jack." I figured that surely calling this beastie by name would help him understand the necessity of giving this old lady a gentle ride. I cooed, "nice donkey, nice Jack" as I gingerly climbed aboard. Having been assured by the owner that he would stay with me the entire time, I nearly had a heart attack when he looped the lead rope on my saddle, got behind the animal and said "giddy-up" in Arabic. Lordy, lordy! I clung on for dear life, determined not to fall off that critter and break whatever in the process. Ole Jack, oblivious to my terror, began his trudge back along the path I guess he takes many times a day. He took no notice of anyone, unashamedly plowing into whomever failed to move out of his way. I began to laugh and shout out to the unawares ahead "hey, beep-beep! I have no control over this animal!" The spectacle I must have made seemed to amuse those in my pathway; so, with much good cheer, I arrived back at the Treasury building all in one piece, still nervous but at least laughing and feeling a bit proud of myself for once again conquering a fear.
I contemplated engaging one of the horse-drawn carts I had seen earlier for the final climb back out of Petra but the going rate was $50 and that was more than I wanted to spend. Forgetting what a distance that walk had been, I started out. Fortunately, my new travel friend had remained with me and would wait patiently with me while I stopped and rested. It's a gradual climb up but when we finally emerged, I was definitely stressed. We were late for the bus. Everyone else had already arrived. I apologized profusely but the group was very gracious and received me back as one of them. It is now 4:30 p.m.
We leave. We stop for about 20 minutes for an opportunity to take picture of the Jordanian sunset from an overlook developed for that purpose. Back on board we rode 2 hours straight back to the border crossing. Thirty minutes or so processing out of Jordan. The short walk back to the Israeli crossing. It is now 7:30 p.m. We enter a building where our belongings are security checked and we are interrogated as to our purpose for entering Israel. We are eventually allowed to leave that building.
It is dark outside. It is very cold. The wind is whipping the flags. We join an enormously large herd of folks seeking to get to four windows, behind which sit persons who are checking individual passports against whatever records they must have on the computers in front of them. An Arab, with his Muslim wife and two small children, continues to try to break in line, pleading for the discomfort of this wife and children. The crowd refuses to oblige him. There are many, many other families with small children also having to wait. This goes on for about 30 minutes. Eventual a security guard takes the man with his family and several others around the side of the building. We wonder what is going on; but as they never reappeared, we began to wonder if he had been given some special treatment to eliminate the potential for a full scale break-down of order. What is it about "the squeaking wheel gets the oil?"
The crowd is getting more and more agitated. A rumor begins to float that a bomb threat for this border crossing had been received and that was why the passport check was proceeding so slowly. Time passes and it is getting colder. We have been standing in this crowd for an hour as the four semi-lines inch forward. People are now jockeying for position.... Carefully guarding their places..... Arguing over who's next in line. I find myself beginning to feel territorial and definitely less than tolerant of those who are seeking to push ahead of me. It is an uncomfortable feeling for by training and cultural background, it is my desire to "be nice; no, you go first." That sort of thing. So the aggressive feelings weren't sitting well...but, pooh, I'm tired....I'm cold.....I'm hungry.....I want out of here! If I give up my spot, when will my discomfort end?!? An interesting life experience about which I will think on later.
At last, with elbows extended and my loyal dentist friend running interference, we stood before the window. I smiled at my companion of the day and said "after you." And, when he unhesitating offered his passport through the window, I stood firmly next to him, passport at the ready. My passport information gets recorded and I yield my spot to the fellow just behind me, who had been jealously guarding his position from another couple who continued to insist they were next. By deciding to turn left instead of right, this man, with a young family, was able to out-maneuver the challenging couple. He smiled at me and said "thank you." I didn't feel particularly noble; but I had been watching the struggle for some while and had decided the challenging couple were not in the right. In that one brief moment, I chose to become the judge. If I had just stepped straight back, each of the antagonist would have had equal access to the window. Should I have done that, and let the chips fall to the strongest? As I moved away there was an approving murmur among the crowd whom I guess had also been observing this little drama for nearly an hour. An interesting life experience.
As our group had been dispersed among the crowd, we at last counted heads and determined all were back on the bus. It is now 9 p.m. Hotel drop-offs....quick goodbyes....I'm the last on-board. The end of an interesting day. Worth it? Yes, though our actual time in Petra was only 2 hours out of the 14 total. Worth it to me, for I think I am really a traveler, not a tourist. I can honestly say I find the adventure of greater importance that the "seeing" of things.
So, laters, all! I move on....
