After making it back down from the High Place, K (the Saudi student I’d mentioned in an earlier post) and I meandered around a bit, looking for the way up to The Monastery. As we meandered, this adorable little fellow ran past and tried to convince us to save 15% on car insurance:
Upon finding out that there were about a thousand stairs between us and the monument, K opted to hire a couple of donkeys for us to make the trip up a little easier. Let me tell you, that’s an experience and a half. Donkeys are relatively placid, surefooted creatures, except for the one we saw freaking out over who knows what, landing himself in the oleander with an embarrassed look on his face. There are no pictures from the way up, since that time was spent clinging white-knuckled to the saddle-- I swear it shifted a good eight inches on the way up—and trying to relax enough to enjoy the view.
There is very little that is scarier than a donkey slipping.
Shortly before reaching the top, our guide stopped the donkeys and bade us go the rest of the way on foot, since the donkeys couldn’t go the rest of the way with passengers. We finished our trek upwards and saw this:
Like the Treasury, it is gorgeous on the outside and empty on the inside. K and I got some lemon juice with mint—I will make this at Meat and Fire Night, if folks would like—and went to relax in a lounge-cave. There were kittens!
Mamacat came over when she saw that K was eating Pringles. She nibbled an offered chip, then wandered away for a moment, only to return followed by her brood. They boarded K in the quest for more crunchy salty goodness, stopping only when he led them out of the lounge-cave and gave them some chips elsewhere. The kittens rushed about like hummingbirds on crack, hiding in the camel saddles (those knobby things between the lounge areas) and playing in a visitor’s untended sandal.
We decided to head back down on foot, since down was undoubtedly easier than up and there were a number of Bedouin craft/souvenir tents along the route. One older woman offered us tea; it was sweet and redolent with cinnamon and cardamom. Good manners dictated that we wait until the tea cooled some before drinking it, so she and K struck up a conversation in fast-paced Arabic. K explained to me at one point that she was bemoaning the lack of tourism, the river reduced to a trickle by the Arab Spring revolutions. While I couldn’t understand her words, her tone of voice and mannerisms were very familiar, particularly when K attempted to refuse a third cup of tea—she waved away his protests and poured it for him anyways. Suddenly, sitting in front of me in a black robe and colourful head-scarf, was my aunt! They are, if I’m any judge of age, contemporaries, and with similar cynical humour, strength of opinion, and sense of hospitality to those they call family and friend (K, being an Arab, was automatically family).
Thanking her for her hospitality and the wonderful tea, we set off again down the stairs. It seemed a bit perilous in spots to me, places where the stairs were mostly worn away, but we made it down safely. No matter where we went at Petra, the colours of the sandstone were absolutely stunning.
Upon reaching the ground, we met up with some of the rest of the group and went to look at the remains of the Great Temple.
The amphitheatre-looking place is within the remains of the temple, and is called the Theatron. Sorry, Michael Bay, it’s not a Transformer.
After the Great Temple, we climbed up (yay, more stairs!) to the Royal Tombs.
Some of the group climbed higher, but a few of us who are not part mountain goat chose to remain on the stairs and take in the view.
By the time the rest of the group came back down, it was about 4:00 and getting ridiculously hot. We made our way out of the rose-red city, bringing with us sore muscles, tons of pictures, a few souvenirs, and memories that will last a lifetime.
Wow is all I can say really.. Everything is so wonderous..!
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