Petra, Jordan                                                                                Visited May 3, 2000
(By Dick Baughn)                                               Travelog "Completed" June 26, 2000

Starting Out
Our day trip to the ruins at Petra was a microcosm of what made Israel and the Middle East a fascinating and frustrating place to visit.  Our trip was booked as a package with the major intra-Israel airline.  Witta made the arrangements through a travel agent in Haifa, and received a voucher for the Petra excursion.  The first thing we noticed was that there was no time specified for us to be picked up at our hotel in Eilat.  A phone call cleared that up.  Despite the relative expense of the trip (about $140 per person, lunch included), the instructions indicated that there would be a few additional costs to be paid -- departure and border taxes, tips, etc.  We figured maybe $20 – $30 each should do it and made sure we had sufficient cash for that plus a bit of spending money.  So, the first thing the tour leader asks for is $82 each for visas.  That’s just a few more shekels than we can scrape up between us.  Fortunately, there will be a currency exchange office at the border where we can cash traveler’s checks.  Fair enough, but it would have been nice to have been told.  As it turns out, Jordan’s visa tax depends on your passport.  It reflects what Jordanians to pay to enter other countries.  As the USA charges a lot, it cost us more than most of the other tourists.

Another minor complication pops up when Witta cashes the traveler’s checks. The Israeli folks automatically take out their border-crossing tariff as part of the money exchange.  But we’re already paying that as part of the extra dough the tour company is collecting.  Another chat with our fearless leader.  He’ll credit us; no problem.  We asked for 10 dinars of Jordan’s currency as part of the deal.  Of course, that guaranteed that we would leave at least that in Jordan.  I got some water, pistachio nuts, cookies, entry to a restroom, and a couple of souvenir coins for my dinars.  Witta paid for our expensive sodas at lunch.

As an aside, if you’re going on bus tours, and this was our fourth in Israel, one of the bonuses or drawbacks, depending on your perspective, can be the tour d’hotel during which all the participants are picked up from their accommodations.  On each of our tours, we were among the first to board and spent the next hour or so watching the guide debark and return with a few more passengers, slowly filling the bus.  Sometimes these passengers were even going on the same tour we were.  Choice upfront seats went to the handful of German or French tourists, so separate translations of the guide’s English spiel wouldn’t have to be broadcast via microphone over the entire bus.  Two of the tours were in Jerusalem, and it was actually intriguing to watch the bus driver maneuvering through the narrow streets and trying to avoid totally tying up traffic while waiting for the guide to fetch our fellow tourists.

The Border Passage

The Middle East’s "It may be desert, but it’s my desert" attitude complicates the journey from Eilat in Israel to Petra in Jordan.  As relationships here go, Israel and Jordan get along quite well, but it still takes up to a couple of hours (each way) for a busload of tourists to cross the few hundred yards of scrub that defines the border.

The guides follow a strict protocol.  Our Israeli guide Steve, (actually a great Kiwi bloke who had emigrated) explained that, once we were in Jordan, he would only be able to talk about procedures and scheduling.  We were to be guests of Jordan.  They would provide the guide who would actually lead the tour and talk about the sights.

In Israel, we left our bus behind and queued for the Israeli border police to glance at and stamp our passports, and collect our fees.  After maybe a half-hour, we walked the 100 yards through the gates flying the flags of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.  There we boarded a Jordanian bus.  Our Jordanian guide, Wasfi, then boards, introduces himself and collects everyone’s passport so the Jordanian authorities can examine them at their leisure.  We had been made aware that this would take somewhere between one and two hours. Coincidentally (right!), there was a souvenir shop handy for us to start collecting mementos of the trip while we waited.  Fortunately, the morning temperature was still mild, and there was a shady patio for reading or chatting.  After about an hour, we were suddenly instructed to go into the shop and pick up our complimentary bottle of water, a signal that the journey was about to commence.  We then boarded the Jordanian bus that would take us to Petra. This change met with Witta’s approval.  She had been wondering about the wisdom of tooling around an Arab country in an vehicle plastered with Hebrew writing.

After the bus climbed into the hills above the Red Sea on an Italian(!)-built highway, we began to cross the desert landscape toward our destination, about two hours away.  Wasfi proved to be an excellent host.  He went through the bus and introduced himself to everyone.  Turns out he had tried to get into S.F. State last year, but his application somehow got lost.  His English was very good and he kept up an informative stream of chatter for much of the ride (in both English and French).  He and our Israeli/Kiwi guide seemed to get along well.  They even reached an agreement, perhaps rare, that Steve could provide a Hebrew translation of Wasfi’s comments for those weak in the other languages.

The drive itself was interesting.  Although the entire region is arid, the nature of the terrain changed frequently.  The one constant (now and for the last few thousand years!) was the presence of Bedouin nomads and their small herds of sheep and goats.  I find it difficult to even imagine what the lifestyle of these remarkable people must be like.  A couple of ramshackle tent structures (with corrugated tin roofs) surrounded by land on which only the hardiest of plants grow is the typical community.  Days are spent following their animals as they forage. Surprisingly, given the amount of edible plant life that seems available, the animals look quite healthy.  In some stretches, it is clear that the land is being cultivated with a coarse grass that is so sparse it simply tinges the underlying soil a faint green.  The agricultural equivalent of Rogaine is needed on this land.  I especially enjoyed spotting camels along side the road or in the distance. Folks, you don’t see this kind of stuff just wandering around the U.S.

Petra At Last

Once at the parking lot, getting to Petra involves about a 3-mile trek down to the ruins, some walking around or climbing, and then hiking back up in 90+ degree heat.  This would obviously be a challenge for some of the folks on the bus.  The descriptions from brochures quite understated the walk’s strenuous nature and also, I think, led some to believe that carts would be available on request.  This was partially true.  A limited number of horse-drawn carts were available from the Bedouins who ran the ground transportation at the site (also available were horses, donkeys, and camels.)   Wasfi made it clear that he would only be able to negotiate for three or four carts for the most elderly or infirm.  The process was complicated by the necessity of requesting and paying for the carts before arrival, or twice the price would be extracted should a ride need to be arranged later, if that were even possible.  As for the return trip, one-quarter of it could be done on horseback.  This was included in the trip cost.  I prefer to ignore horses, and hope they’ll ignore me; Witta rode and loved it.

After a short wait outside (of course, more souvenir shops) we’re finally led through a gate onto the rocky, dusty path, which would terminate in Petra.  A downhill walk of about a half mile past several large tombs carved into rock faces gets us to the beginning of the narrow trail which winds through what can be best described as a crack in the mountain.  This unusual natural feature was responsible for Petra’s positioning.  The next leg of the walk takes us three quarters of a mile through a canyon, averaging maybe 12 yards wide, with vertical sandstone walls rising hundreds of feet on both sides.  A formidable defensive position could be easily achieved.  The Nabataeans, an industrious Arab peoples from 2000+ years ago, were apparently quite adept on dropping large rocks on those foolish enough to attempt forced entry.  The city’s founders held fast, until the Romans realized that they could cut off the water supplies, which were built adjacent to the path.  Surrender was inevitable.

We walked downward and gazed at the brilliant sandstone colors.  Our only worries were to make sure we were paying attention to the uneven footing on the path, some of the stones dating from Roman times, and listening for the echoing clip-clops that preceded speeding carts, whose right of way it was unwise to challenge.  We stopped a few times for words from Wasfi, but for the most part, just ambled along, often with necks craned upward, taking in the natural beauty of the canyon’s varied earth hues.

After one such stop, we were told to proceed down the left side of the narrow trail.  Almost immediately, it was apparent why.  The vision ahead in a wide opening was magnificent.  If you’ve seen the movie, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, you’ll recognize what comes next.  If you haven’t, go rent the flick and check out the Temple, one of Petra’s premier attractions.  The ancient Nabataeans must have had too much time on their hands to have come up with the effort necessary to conceive of and construct this monumental, carved sandstone hillside temple.  Not to mention the dozens of other crypts nearby.  The builders took advantage of a unique environment -- vertical cliffs of brightly colored sandstone.  Sheltered caves and little rain to cause erosion led to its present state of preservation.  Today teams from 5 countries are excavating or working on reconstructing damaged areas to regain the splendor of ancient times.

Petra is in the middle of nowhere now, and that’s traveling at 50 mph.  In its heyday, traders took weeks to get there from the closest major areas, and there weren’t very many of those.  It’s fascinating to mentally picture what it must have been like living here.  The city had about ten thousand inhabitants nestled in homes built into the rocks in a quite small valley, a high population density.  In addition to their obvious fixation with the afterlife, the Nabataeans valued entertainment.  A 3000 seat stone arena sits right in the middle of town. Inhabitants had limited resources, tools, etc., but with lots of time on their hands and a penchant to think big, they literally carved out a masterpiece in a very harsh land.

Looking at Petra today one can’t help but wonder: what are the odds that 2000 years from now, anyone is going to be impressed with anything current societies have built in the last hundred years?  Or for that matter, whether anything contemporary will still exist?  Perhaps we’ve simply changed from a society that values permanence and solid immutable structures into one that focuses on change and new ideas.

The End.

(Yeah, yeah!  I know this kind of just petered out toward the end, but my muse has temporarily deserted me, and Witta is (very!) tired of waiting to post this piece with the great pictures she took.  Sorry.  I’ll try to do better next time.)

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