Petra, Jordan—Indiana Jones and a Few Other Movie Memories

Today we took another long journey—eleven hours—from the port of Aqaba (they don’t bother with the “u” after the “q” in this part of the world) to the lost city of Petra. You may remember Petra—it was featured in one of the Indiana Jones movies. He got there a lot more easily than we did, I’m sure! The bus ride is about two and a half hours each way, through some pretty desolate (and hot!) country. Mostly rocky desert (if you’ve ever driven through Yuma, AZ on route 8, you know what I mean) with villages perched precariously on the sides of the mountains. But Jordan has some stuff you won’t find on Interstate 8, like camels, Bedouins in their huge black tents, and mosques, lots and lots of little village mosques.
While on the bus our tour guide proceeded to give us his two-hour rendition of the Old Testament, from Adam and Eve, on to Moses and then through most of the major prophets. It was pretty interesting to hear the same Bible stories I’d heard in my childhood recounted through the eyes of an older Muslim man. Actually, it was even more interesting to note how little difference there is in the stories between the Christian version and the Islamic one. There’s a slight slant to the stories, though, because in his stories all roads lead to Mecca. And, of course Mohammed (peace be upon him) is always in the starring role. Speaking of that (the “peace be upon him” thing) our guide, Iue (pronounced, Eye-You) told us that in Islamic tradition you are supposed to say PBUH after speaking the name of any major prophet—Mohammed, Moses, Jesus (they don’t say “Christ” here), or Isaiah and so on. That’s the first time I’d heard that since I’ve heard the PBUH thing a bunch of times but only associated with Mohammed. Perhaps our guide was trying to be egalitarian with the tourists. There’s a lot of “misinformation” (it’s tacky to call it “propaganda”) on these tours. One gets the feeling that there’s a state-run “tourist bus guide school” in every country and they must pass a rigorous test to be allowed to collect tickets, hand out sani-wipes and point us to the restrooms. Seriously, these guides have a LOT of information in their heads (and they say it all in English, so that’s pretty amazing in itself) but I suspect some of it is rather slanted to promote the local regime.
The bus ride took us from sea level to about 4500 ft. in elevation. Then, it was up to us to hoof it back down into the deep canyon (they call it a “valley,” I call it a “canyon”) that holds the lost city of Petra.
The walk down was estimated to be a mile and a half into the “siq” (pronounced “seek”) that is the entrance to the long corridor of tall sandstone rocks that guard the city. Supposedly in ancient times the siq was only wide enough to allow a horse and rider to pass through. Later, it was widened (by the Romans they assume, when the Roman Emperor Trajan conquered Petra in the first century) to allow two chariots to pass side-by-side (all the better for chariot races, I presume). Anyway, we walked down, down, down a rocky path with occasional large cobblestones for a l-o-n-g mile and a half in the blazing sun (it was nearly noon) until we reached the opening to the siq. Once inside the siq, it was a bit cooler as the towering rock walls provide shade. The walk through the siq was another mile and a half and we were getting pretty worn out by the time we finally glimpsed the stunning façade of the Treasury—the most iconic symbol of Petra. This building is the one you see in the Indiana Jones movie. Although the Treasury was built as a mausoleum for a king of the Nabataeans (the people who originally carved Petra from the sandstone rocks) he was never buried there as he died in the Sinai and was laid to rest where he died (they bury people within 24 hours of death so there was no time to haul his remains back home). And, although it’s called the Treasury, it’s not a place where they made or held money. It was rumored that the Treasury held a fortune in gold hidden in the urn carved at the top of the building. Bad idea to get that story rolling. It seems for centuries people tried to get to the gold by any means possible—cracking the rock, shooting it, and so on. The urn is riddled with bullet holes, but so far the only gold that’s been found has come from box office receipts from the Harrison Ford movies.
Once inside the city, we saw camels (you could ride them but they seemed too ornery for my taste), vendors of various Petra-style souvenirs (the most popular was little glass vases filled with decorative Petra sand), and tourists. Lots and lots of tourists. It reminded me of that scene from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” where, in the middle of nowhere, all these people suddenly descended on Devil’s Tower.
We walked around and took in the sights of the ancient city. There were tombs and cave homes and an amphitheater and so on, but by that time the sun and the long walk were starting to take a toll so we headed back before seeing everything. Actually, there was no way we would see everything. Petra is some 70 kilometers square (about 40 miles square) so even on a cool day one could only visit a small portion of it.
On the way back up the steep incline I started to fade at the exit from the siq. There were guys there (later we found out they were Bedouins) with horses and tiny one-horse carriages who would take you the mile and a half back to the top. Supposedly, the horses were paid for by our tour, but the carriage cost about $36 (which seemed to us like a ridiculous price for a short ride). We opted for the horses. The guy who led Tom’s horse (you ride the horse but the horse’s owner actually leads it so it doesn’t bolt and go flying over the rough terrain) told him he lived in a tent and had never gone to school as Bedouins don’t believe in public education. So it’s difficult for Bedouins to earn a living once they grow up. The Jordanian government gave him the horse to use (he’s not allowed to take it home, he keeps it in the state-sponsored stable at the visitor center) to earn a living. They hinted that tips were appreciated but not required.
Well, you can imagine how that turned out. Once at the top, when we gave them each five dollars (for a fifteen minute ride) they started flipping out as if we’d ripped them off. It was completely in keeping with the local custom of making every tourist feel as if whatever they offer is never enough. We smiled, thanked them for the ride, and went to the hotel for lunch. We still harbored Yankee-American guilt until we did the math and realized that these guys had a free horse which they walked up and down a path for 8-10 hours a day. At five bucks a pop they were making around $160-200 a day—which they take back to their tent every night. The Bedouins don’t own property so they have no taxes, no home upkeep, and they wear traditional Arab garb which goes for about $15-25 at the souk. Where do these dudes spend their money—on fancy vacations to Dubai? It’s a mystery.
We had a traditional Jordanian lunch of whole lamb and rice (I stuck to the rice, thank you) and then made our way back to the bus. We had a short stop at a “women’s store” sponsored by Queen Noor, the American-born queen who married King Hussein, the much-loved king who died of cancer in the ‘90’s. His son is now king (not Noor’s son but a son from one of Hussein’s other wives—he had four).
It was a long ride back, but thankfully our guide was silent for most of it. Petra was a long walk but as it’s one of National Geographic’s 40 Places You Must See, it was one of the highlights of our trip. But it’s nice to be back on board the ship and sitting down. To quote John Candy from “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” –“These dogs are barking!”