A Little Wander with Pete
This was written in December 2011 and I have now given up trying to download photos from my phone so there aren't any. A bit of a pity a couple of them are quite decent.
We were both warned several times that we would end up killing each other. The trouble is that we are a bad influence on each other – we might go out for a couple of beers, in theory at least, and it will invariably be 3 in the morning if we have a quiet night. Pete can also be a bombastic, opinionated sort so it is a good job that I am a quiet, retiring chap who readily admits his own faults, or we would have had no chance.
So where to go? Much dithering later we had decided on Jordan. The primary reason for the trip was to escape Christmas. Pete has got bored with staying with friends in Manchester and I have not spent a Christmas in the U.K. this millennium – a trend I have no intention of breaking because Christmas is the most boring time of the year in the UK for anybody who is not a brat or infested by them.
The only reason for choosing Jordan is Petra but first you have to deal with arriving in Amman. Clearly Johny Foreigner has to be impressed with the arrival of the imperial masters so we arrived in white suits. Johny was duly impressed so we weren't quite last at immigration. We took the precaution of getting a litre of gin and a litre of vodka. The problem was that we arrived at the hotel at 1.00 a.m and Amman was shut. No chance of getting any mixers so we retired to the roof terrace for a couple of hours until we froze our bollocks off. Amman is at 800 metres and it was bloody cold - a degree or three above freezing. We decided to retire but neither of us was sleepy. So testing the TV was the option or we would have to talk to each other. We started at channel no. 1100 and worked our way down. The problem was that most channels were filled with talking heads in Arab headdress. “Jihad TV” says Pete. Next channel was “Jihad TV”. “Jihad TV”, “,Jihad TV”, “Jihad TV”, “,Jihad TV” the cry continued. We then found a sports channel with a distinctly good looking young woman in western dress talking to an immaculately dressed “towelhead” as the ever PC Pete called him, but that was too boring to persist with. This went on through about 300 channels with occasional pauses to talk shite. We were still at it at 4.30 and we decided not to pull an all nighter but get some sleep. A slight problem – the first call to prayer from our next door mosque occurs at 4.40 – call for a swig of vodka – followed a few minutes later by the call from another mosque. Response? Another swig, Fifteen minutes later? Yep, you have guessed it. About 6.30 we got to sleep.
Up with the lark at 1.00 p.m. I sallied forth leaving Rude – as he is called with good reason – to sleep for a bonus hour. I was back in five minutes. I had been offered the complimentary breakfast so got Pete up. When mine host offered this delight, I pointed out that breakfast finished at 10; he replied that they were quite flexible. Not a bad start when considering the Jordanian character.
So out for a stroll through the markets. When we went into the fruit market to get some fruit Pete was particularly impressed with a cow's head in a bucket and the fact that you could buy guns in the shops. He was also surprised by the number of incomplete buildings – I consider that normal but I have spent a long time outside Europe. The map we had was also incomplete so we climbed lots of steps to get to the area where there might be some bars. Pete was sceptical about my navigation; I cannot think why. We found the most important street and there was a real contrast with the downtown area where we were staying – clearly richer and more westernised. We sampled a couple of bars – incredibly expensive, a 33cl bottle of Amstel costs £5 upwards - €6 or $8US. (A Jordanian Dinar is approximately one Euro and all prices from now on will be in JD.)
On the way back to the hotel we paused to buy me another jacket (I already had one on) as I was cold but when the guy asked for 38JD Pete countered with 30 – much too high as an opening offer - so I walked out. Pete followed five minutes later minus 25JD but plus jacket, he had learnt a lesson about buying in Arab countries.
The hotel directed us to a local area for a half reasonable dinner, back up the hill for a few drinks and back to the hotel by one. Trouble was that we had bought some orange juice to mix with the gin and vodka and this time we had no trouble pulling an all-nighter.
So down for breakfast at eight. Trouble was that it was identical to the day before's – omelette, pitta bread, humus, soured cream, cucumber and tomatoes so Pete went into a rant about variety. Those who know Pete will not be surprised - every day since he has gone on about the inadequacy of breakfast – and on – and on - and on.
A tour of the local Roman Amphitheatre - all of 100 metres from our door - had proved beyond us the previous day but we now corrected that for the price of 1JD. Not the biggest or best of its kind that I have ever seen but well preserved/restored with the usual excellent acoustics. We then walked up the hill – Amman was built initially in the valley but has spread to the surrounding hills - steep hills. Population sixty years ago was 2,500; it is now 1,000 times bigger. The higher areas are now more fashionable, popular and, presumably, a bit cooler in summer. We walked the direct route - straight up the hill – thus unintentionally avoiding the entrance fee to the rather impressive citadel. This is well worth a visit should you find yourself in Amman – some Roman stuff but also some later Greek Christian and early Muslim constructions in a very good defensive position.
Perhaps not surprisingly, we were tiring fast and went for lunch in a fish restaurant we had spotted the previous evening. The food tasted pretty good, but then that is to be expected when you wait an hour between ordering your food and receiving it. Service is normally pretty good in Jordan – in fact often too good – main courses arrive before you have finished your starters and the waiter – and it is always a waiter - will often try and whip away the remains of your starter. (Jordan is one of the more liberal-minded, by western standards, Muslim countries but women still definitely belong in the home.) As the food can best be described as monotonous and uninspiring this would not normally be too much of a disadvantage but if you have taken the trouble to order a starter you probably think it is worth eating.
Back to the hotel and we managed a desultory beer on the roof. By the time I had got the TV working – shockingly, I am the technological expert on this trip – Pete was asleep at 6.30. I was determined to stay awake for long enough to make sure that I didn't wake up in the middle of the night so got through all eleven hundred channels, two hundred of them twice before I settled for the last half an hour of “Panic Room” (Jody Foster and Forrest Whittaker - I thought it was indifferent the first time round so you can see how desperate I was) before sleeping, sober, at 10.
Christmas Eve and we really got cracking – essentially with our own taxi for the day that cost 90JD and would end in Petra. Stops to look at a two thousand year old mosaic and to admire the view where the mythical Moses is alleged to have snuffed it took us to the Dead Sea. This is to be thoroughly recommended. We had dropped 1.600 metres to the lowest point on the land surface of the earth (this was so we can outboast Bart about going to the highest airport in the world at La Paz) at 450 metres below sea level and dropping by a metre a year.
Joe had told me it was just about worth swimming in. He was completely wrong – you can't swim in it. I normally do breast stroke; this is desirable in the Dead Sea because you can keep your head up so the water does not get in your eyes or mouth – a thoroughly unpleasant experience. The trouble is that you cannot stop your feet coming out of the water behind you even though you are laying face down because the density of salt is so great. If you tread water in your local swimming pool you can keep your nose and mouth out of water by tilting your head backwards; in the Dead Sea your feet are off the ground and you are not paddling but your head and shoulders are clear of the water. When you get out of the water your skin dries and it feels and looks like you were covered in a white lotion.
We had, obviously, taken the cheapest option (a mere 15JD each) of a place to swim. We found out one of the reasons it was so “cheap”. The sea had retained a good quantity of heat from the summer, the showers had not.
The level of the Dead Sea continues to drop – mainly because of the amount of water the Israelis steal from the River Jordan to fill their swimming pools – so it is getting ever more saline. The Jordanians are planning to build a pipeline from the Red Sea to keep it reasonably topped up. The Israelis originally refused to participate but have now changed their minds – according to our unbiased Palestinian taxi driver. Incidentally, over 60% of Jordanians are ethnically Palestinian rather than Bedouin but this no longer seems a basis of conflict, unlike forty years ago, and inter-marriage seems normal.
On to Karak. This is a true mountain-top castle and the best castle I have ever been in – and I have been in loads - with the possible exception of the rather later dated Rethymnon in Crete. It was originally built by the evil Norman bastard Crusaders and was never taken by storm or starvation until after the “Horns of Hattin” when Saladin (who had already tried to take Karak twice) comprehensively defeated the Crusaders and forced their withdrawal from everywhere but a coastal strip on the Mediterranean in modern Lebanon. Even so Karak held out for eight months before they were starved out. The Arabs then added a further outer ring of fortifications to the Crusader keep and bailey. Much of it still exits and a lot of the rest has been restored. Pete's enquiring mind came to the fore; if there was a hole in sight he would disappear down it – and there are a lot of holes. There are holes in the walls, holes in the ground and holes in the holes – he went down all of them. The steepness of the walls and surrounding rock faces (some of which were modified to smooth them out so they could not be climbed) made you realise why it was impregnable to force. Karak is a must not miss if you visit Jordan and have the mildest interest in history.
And so, in the dark, to Petra – as full a day as you could wish for. Once in Petra we did manage to find two places that served alcohol in the evening and Pete bought some things that Motor Racing drivers wear across their noses (or used to) for me to try and reduce my “night noises”. He claimed that they work but I just think that he just got used to them, the noises not the nose attachments, like most people do.
I am lucky or skilful enough, depending on your opinion, to have been to many of the world's great, large archeological sites – Macchu Pichu, Luxor, Angkor, The Great Wall, Borrobodur and Tikal being the largest; most people think it is luck. Petra is right up there with the best – it is even tempting to say that it is the best after Luxor but time will tell what my view will be.
You have seen photographs of the view of the treasury building through the rocks as you walk in down the high gorge called “The Siq”, you have probably seen photographs of the monastery; you ain't seen nothing.
First of all, it would be an utterly spectacular walking area if there were no Nabatean tombs, Roman remains or pretty girls. The gorge is truly impressive, actually deeper and as narrow as the Samarian Gorge in Crete but it, and the whole area, is wonderfully coloured. I can't remember seeing anywhere with such variety of colours on the surface of rocks – unless they are lichens. Some of the cliffs are naturally vertical, other places make good scrambling, there is plenty of easy walking if you want it and the views from the peaks are also well above average.
Secondly there is a fair bit of Roman stuff. The Nabateans surrendered to Trajan in 106 A.D. The Nabateans were extremely wealthy because they had control of water on a key trading route in a secure place. The Seluccids (one of the successor states to Alexander the Great) had been unable to defeat them and neither had the Romans but the Romans had diverted the trade routes so Petra's importance was declining. Nobody with any sense fought Trajan – the best of the warrior Emperors under whose reign the Empire reached its greatest size - so a fairly amicable agreement was reached and Petra became part of the new province of Arabia. The Romans were their usual industrious selves and started building. Some of what you can see is pretty good but there is lots still under the sand and it is one of the areas of Petra where archeologocal teams are busy every year.
But without the Nabatean tombs Petra would not be famous. There are, literally thousands of them. Just to reassure my dear reader I can speak English – I know what “literally” means and do not use sentences like “Oh my God, it was, like, literally very unique you know.” Please tell the other reader.
Some of the tombs have frontages in the styles of the Treasury building or the Monastery but are not complete or as well preserved as those two. These can easily be thirty metres high and are carved out of the solid sandstone back to a depth of twelve or fourteen metres and some of the rooms are five or six metres tall – yes multi-floored tombs. Others have had the floors dug out to reveal the bare rock and cavities dug for multiple bodies. There are not many of these but there are many just holes dug in the side of the cliff – Rude obviously had to explore dozens of them – with “streets” layered one above another up the side of a cliff. How the people got to these holes is difficult to imagine although you can see traces of steps carved into the rocks in many places. The effect of wind and sand blasting away for two thousand years has clearly taken its toll on some of the flights of steps.
How did they chisel these things out – OK it is only sandstone but drills and dynamite were not an option, just hammers and roughly made, presumably, pretty blunt chisels but these are not widespread on the site. How the Nabateans lived is not yet clear – some believe that the tombs also served as living places with some sort of screening across the front. This would be relatively cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Others believe that the people lived in tents and the thousands of carved holes were only for stiffs. That is one of the things that makes Petra so fascinating – much is unclear and you can allow your imagination free rein. And what happened to the Nabateans? That is also unknown – they seem to have disappeared as a distinct tribal group not long after incorporation into the Roman Empire.
We had two, admittedly fairly short, days exploring and we might have seen about half the stuff worth seeing. The best bit for us was going to the “High Place of Sacrifice” which has a wonderful view after a relatively easy walk but, more importantly, has some of the best buildings when you walk down the steep return route. You could try for ten or twelve hour days but, for us, five or six hours with no food and little rest was enough especially with Pete constantly hassling to look at the next hole. If you plan to visit Petra once in your life then three days would be about right – see most of the interesting stuff but not too repetitious. Even though I am now an old fart I think I will be back. Of the big sites I have been to: various parts of the Great Wall are an eye-opener but only Luxor has lured me back – Petra is that good.
However, we only had two days left so it was the night in the local “Bedouin camp” and on south. However, we needed something edible so went to the local Chinese restaurant first. Not too bad – Hong Kong style food but expensive. The Chinese are not famous for pudding but I tried for fried bananas as they were on the menu. No bananas, but after some language understanding I ended up with sugar coated battered pineapple – actually very tasty and you dip them in water just before you eat them to stop the sugar running. Rude will not let me live this down for three reasons – he claims to have worked out that the sound coming out of the Chinese lady's mouth meant pineapple not egg before I did and, secondly, that the pineapples were tinned rings and, finally, I could not initially remember what the cold water was for. .
The only reason that I had agreed with the camp idea was that you can get a fabulous view of the stars if there is no ambient light and the winter sky is clear. Being brought up in rural Derbyshire means that I am quite familiar with this sight, or was fifty years ago. Rude is a confirmed city boy so has little real exposure to this view. After some crap food, smoke filled tent, horrible music and enforced jollity there were still plenty of lights on around the “Bedouin camp” and it was cold when we gave up so Pete spent about 20 seconds looking at the sky which was pretty good. Actually it was up to its usual spectacular winter show as I found out when I went for a bit of relief at 4 a.m. But, for some strange reason, Pete did not leap out of bed to look.
A few words from the man himself at this point:
There are elements of this place that are a nightmare and much of it is boring old cunts, who not only insist that they are sole travellers but who insist on foisting themselves on you. Not once, but twice did this happen. One dried up old hag from NZ but then a boring older bastard who has simply been everywhere. Boy was he happy about telling me all about it too. What with him on one side and Ed “No, no... let me tell you about China” on the right of me.
Wadi Rum. Wadi means river or river course. Well there ain't much sign of a river in Wadi Rum. People go there because of the rock shapes sticking up out of the sand and because of “Lawrence of Arabia”, These (the rocks, not Second Lieutenant Lawrence) have been blasted by the wind and sand into some pretty interesting shapes. Lawrence, that well known self-publicist, spent a fair amount of time in the area although there is no evidence to suggest that he actually stayed in the places claimed.
The day started badly – a “photo opportunity” for no apparent reason in the middle of nowhere, some very doubtful “Nabatean” carvings, a visit to T.E. Lawrences “house” which he didn't stay in and was probably a Nabatean construction. However, I did climb my first genuine desert sand dune, the rude one did climb over a natural arch (no way was I going that high in the air with only a metre wide bit to walk over), and we went down some genuine rough sandy areas on the way back in the four wheel drive that was the most battered and oldest that we saw.
We then had an hour's ride on a camel. Half way round our guide stopped and we got off – me relatively in control, Pete by catching his marriage equipment on the wooden bit that sticks up
on the front of an Arabian saddle as he pitched head -first off his mount as he, his mount not Pete, bent his front legs to the knee. A laying camel (the position on which you mount them) after mounting by some fat git like me gets to her knees with the front legs (so you have your arse sticking backwards) followed by the hind legs going to full height (so your head is sticking forwards) and the front legs coming up to full height so you are now relatively stable. The reverse is true when you dismount so the camel going to her knees at the front was normal when she pitched the rude off. Naturally I was all sympathy. We were rather surprised when our host requested tissue paper. He started a “traditional” Bedouin fire with paper and a cigarette lighter whilst we fed the camels on dried bushes. The paper was a bag that was sticking up out of the sand. Nothing bio-degrades there and everybody – especially the locals just chuck everything out of the window of the 4 by 4. I was glad when we finished the camel ride and will resist making comparisons with knowing how a hard-working lady of the night feels after a busy shift. Let me just say that I will not be rushing to repeat the experience.
If you ever go to Wadi Rum take a few bin bags with you and collect rubbish. Also make it clear that you driver must do the same or no tip. They will get the message but it does need doing. Once you have sown the idea camps will advertise themselves as the ones who are “eco-friendly” by collecting the rubbish. What happens to it after that...
Not much more to report really.
On to Aqaba, Jordan's only port on the Red Sea, which is a tourist diving centre. Main attraction – bars and cheap off-licences plus a greater variety of food. Oh yes, and quite warm. We had failed in one of our objectives – riding a camel in our white suits (too cold) so we wore our suits in Aqaba and didn't feel out of place. We dipped our toes into the Gulf of Aqaba and off up the highway on a bus and back to Amman.
Suits back to England just proved what a pair of plonkers we are.
Coming very soon – Not Rollerblading in Bessarabia
This was written in December 2011 and I have now given up trying to download photos from my phone so there aren't any. A bit of a pity a couple of them are quite decent.
We were both warned several times that we would end up killing each other. The trouble is that we are a bad influence on each other – we might go out for a couple of beers, in theory at least, and it will invariably be 3 in the morning if we have a quiet night. Pete can also be a bombastic, opinionated sort so it is a good job that I am a quiet, retiring chap who readily admits his own faults, or we would have had no chance.
So where to go? Much dithering later we had decided on Jordan. The primary reason for the trip was to escape Christmas. Pete has got bored with staying with friends in Manchester and I have not spent a Christmas in the U.K. this millennium – a trend I have no intention of breaking because Christmas is the most boring time of the year in the UK for anybody who is not a brat or infested by them.
The only reason for choosing Jordan is Petra but first you have to deal with arriving in Amman. Clearly Johny Foreigner has to be impressed with the arrival of the imperial masters so we arrived in white suits. Johny was duly impressed so we weren't quite last at immigration. We took the precaution of getting a litre of gin and a litre of vodka. The problem was that we arrived at the hotel at 1.00 a.m and Amman was shut. No chance of getting any mixers so we retired to the roof terrace for a couple of hours until we froze our bollocks off. Amman is at 800 metres and it was bloody cold - a degree or three above freezing. We decided to retire but neither of us was sleepy. So testing the TV was the option or we would have to talk to each other. We started at channel no. 1100 and worked our way down. The problem was that most channels were filled with talking heads in Arab headdress. “Jihad TV” says Pete. Next channel was “Jihad TV”. “Jihad TV”, “,Jihad TV”, “Jihad TV”, “,Jihad TV” the cry continued. We then found a sports channel with a distinctly good looking young woman in western dress talking to an immaculately dressed “towelhead” as the ever PC Pete called him, but that was too boring to persist with. This went on through about 300 channels with occasional pauses to talk shite. We were still at it at 4.30 and we decided not to pull an all nighter but get some sleep. A slight problem – the first call to prayer from our next door mosque occurs at 4.40 – call for a swig of vodka – followed a few minutes later by the call from another mosque. Response? Another swig, Fifteen minutes later? Yep, you have guessed it. About 6.30 we got to sleep.
Up with the lark at 1.00 p.m. I sallied forth leaving Rude – as he is called with good reason – to sleep for a bonus hour. I was back in five minutes. I had been offered the complimentary breakfast so got Pete up. When mine host offered this delight, I pointed out that breakfast finished at 10; he replied that they were quite flexible. Not a bad start when considering the Jordanian character.
So out for a stroll through the markets. When we went into the fruit market to get some fruit Pete was particularly impressed with a cow's head in a bucket and the fact that you could buy guns in the shops. He was also surprised by the number of incomplete buildings – I consider that normal but I have spent a long time outside Europe. The map we had was also incomplete so we climbed lots of steps to get to the area where there might be some bars. Pete was sceptical about my navigation; I cannot think why. We found the most important street and there was a real contrast with the downtown area where we were staying – clearly richer and more westernised. We sampled a couple of bars – incredibly expensive, a 33cl bottle of Amstel costs £5 upwards - €6 or $8US. (A Jordanian Dinar is approximately one Euro and all prices from now on will be in JD.)
On the way back to the hotel we paused to buy me another jacket (I already had one on) as I was cold but when the guy asked for 38JD Pete countered with 30 – much too high as an opening offer - so I walked out. Pete followed five minutes later minus 25JD but plus jacket, he had learnt a lesson about buying in Arab countries.
The hotel directed us to a local area for a half reasonable dinner, back up the hill for a few drinks and back to the hotel by one. Trouble was that we had bought some orange juice to mix with the gin and vodka and this time we had no trouble pulling an all-nighter.
So down for breakfast at eight. Trouble was that it was identical to the day before's – omelette, pitta bread, humus, soured cream, cucumber and tomatoes so Pete went into a rant about variety. Those who know Pete will not be surprised - every day since he has gone on about the inadequacy of breakfast – and on – and on - and on.
A tour of the local Roman Amphitheatre - all of 100 metres from our door - had proved beyond us the previous day but we now corrected that for the price of 1JD. Not the biggest or best of its kind that I have ever seen but well preserved/restored with the usual excellent acoustics. We then walked up the hill – Amman was built initially in the valley but has spread to the surrounding hills - steep hills. Population sixty years ago was 2,500; it is now 1,000 times bigger. The higher areas are now more fashionable, popular and, presumably, a bit cooler in summer. We walked the direct route - straight up the hill – thus unintentionally avoiding the entrance fee to the rather impressive citadel. This is well worth a visit should you find yourself in Amman – some Roman stuff but also some later Greek Christian and early Muslim constructions in a very good defensive position.
Perhaps not surprisingly, we were tiring fast and went for lunch in a fish restaurant we had spotted the previous evening. The food tasted pretty good, but then that is to be expected when you wait an hour between ordering your food and receiving it. Service is normally pretty good in Jordan – in fact often too good – main courses arrive before you have finished your starters and the waiter – and it is always a waiter - will often try and whip away the remains of your starter. (Jordan is one of the more liberal-minded, by western standards, Muslim countries but women still definitely belong in the home.) As the food can best be described as monotonous and uninspiring this would not normally be too much of a disadvantage but if you have taken the trouble to order a starter you probably think it is worth eating.
Back to the hotel and we managed a desultory beer on the roof. By the time I had got the TV working – shockingly, I am the technological expert on this trip – Pete was asleep at 6.30. I was determined to stay awake for long enough to make sure that I didn't wake up in the middle of the night so got through all eleven hundred channels, two hundred of them twice before I settled for the last half an hour of “Panic Room” (Jody Foster and Forrest Whittaker - I thought it was indifferent the first time round so you can see how desperate I was) before sleeping, sober, at 10.
Christmas Eve and we really got cracking – essentially with our own taxi for the day that cost 90JD and would end in Petra. Stops to look at a two thousand year old mosaic and to admire the view where the mythical Moses is alleged to have snuffed it took us to the Dead Sea. This is to be thoroughly recommended. We had dropped 1.600 metres to the lowest point on the land surface of the earth (this was so we can outboast Bart about going to the highest airport in the world at La Paz) at 450 metres below sea level and dropping by a metre a year.
Joe had told me it was just about worth swimming in. He was completely wrong – you can't swim in it. I normally do breast stroke; this is desirable in the Dead Sea because you can keep your head up so the water does not get in your eyes or mouth – a thoroughly unpleasant experience. The trouble is that you cannot stop your feet coming out of the water behind you even though you are laying face down because the density of salt is so great. If you tread water in your local swimming pool you can keep your nose and mouth out of water by tilting your head backwards; in the Dead Sea your feet are off the ground and you are not paddling but your head and shoulders are clear of the water. When you get out of the water your skin dries and it feels and looks like you were covered in a white lotion.
We had, obviously, taken the cheapest option (a mere 15JD each) of a place to swim. We found out one of the reasons it was so “cheap”. The sea had retained a good quantity of heat from the summer, the showers had not.
The level of the Dead Sea continues to drop – mainly because of the amount of water the Israelis steal from the River Jordan to fill their swimming pools – so it is getting ever more saline. The Jordanians are planning to build a pipeline from the Red Sea to keep it reasonably topped up. The Israelis originally refused to participate but have now changed their minds – according to our unbiased Palestinian taxi driver. Incidentally, over 60% of Jordanians are ethnically Palestinian rather than Bedouin but this no longer seems a basis of conflict, unlike forty years ago, and inter-marriage seems normal.
On to Karak. This is a true mountain-top castle and the best castle I have ever been in – and I have been in loads - with the possible exception of the rather later dated Rethymnon in Crete. It was originally built by the evil Norman bastard Crusaders and was never taken by storm or starvation until after the “Horns of Hattin” when Saladin (who had already tried to take Karak twice) comprehensively defeated the Crusaders and forced their withdrawal from everywhere but a coastal strip on the Mediterranean in modern Lebanon. Even so Karak held out for eight months before they were starved out. The Arabs then added a further outer ring of fortifications to the Crusader keep and bailey. Much of it still exits and a lot of the rest has been restored. Pete's enquiring mind came to the fore; if there was a hole in sight he would disappear down it – and there are a lot of holes. There are holes in the walls, holes in the ground and holes in the holes – he went down all of them. The steepness of the walls and surrounding rock faces (some of which were modified to smooth them out so they could not be climbed) made you realise why it was impregnable to force. Karak is a must not miss if you visit Jordan and have the mildest interest in history.
And so, in the dark, to Petra – as full a day as you could wish for. Once in Petra we did manage to find two places that served alcohol in the evening and Pete bought some things that Motor Racing drivers wear across their noses (or used to) for me to try and reduce my “night noises”. He claimed that they work but I just think that he just got used to them, the noises not the nose attachments, like most people do.
I am lucky or skilful enough, depending on your opinion, to have been to many of the world's great, large archeological sites – Macchu Pichu, Luxor, Angkor, The Great Wall, Borrobodur and Tikal being the largest; most people think it is luck. Petra is right up there with the best – it is even tempting to say that it is the best after Luxor but time will tell what my view will be.
You have seen photographs of the view of the treasury building through the rocks as you walk in down the high gorge called “The Siq”, you have probably seen photographs of the monastery; you ain't seen nothing.
First of all, it would be an utterly spectacular walking area if there were no Nabatean tombs, Roman remains or pretty girls. The gorge is truly impressive, actually deeper and as narrow as the Samarian Gorge in Crete but it, and the whole area, is wonderfully coloured. I can't remember seeing anywhere with such variety of colours on the surface of rocks – unless they are lichens. Some of the cliffs are naturally vertical, other places make good scrambling, there is plenty of easy walking if you want it and the views from the peaks are also well above average.
Secondly there is a fair bit of Roman stuff. The Nabateans surrendered to Trajan in 106 A.D. The Nabateans were extremely wealthy because they had control of water on a key trading route in a secure place. The Seluccids (one of the successor states to Alexander the Great) had been unable to defeat them and neither had the Romans but the Romans had diverted the trade routes so Petra's importance was declining. Nobody with any sense fought Trajan – the best of the warrior Emperors under whose reign the Empire reached its greatest size - so a fairly amicable agreement was reached and Petra became part of the new province of Arabia. The Romans were their usual industrious selves and started building. Some of what you can see is pretty good but there is lots still under the sand and it is one of the areas of Petra where archeologocal teams are busy every year.
But without the Nabatean tombs Petra would not be famous. There are, literally thousands of them. Just to reassure my dear reader I can speak English – I know what “literally” means and do not use sentences like “Oh my God, it was, like, literally very unique you know.” Please tell the other reader.
Some of the tombs have frontages in the styles of the Treasury building or the Monastery but are not complete or as well preserved as those two. These can easily be thirty metres high and are carved out of the solid sandstone back to a depth of twelve or fourteen metres and some of the rooms are five or six metres tall – yes multi-floored tombs. Others have had the floors dug out to reveal the bare rock and cavities dug for multiple bodies. There are not many of these but there are many just holes dug in the side of the cliff – Rude obviously had to explore dozens of them – with “streets” layered one above another up the side of a cliff. How the people got to these holes is difficult to imagine although you can see traces of steps carved into the rocks in many places. The effect of wind and sand blasting away for two thousand years has clearly taken its toll on some of the flights of steps.
How did they chisel these things out – OK it is only sandstone but drills and dynamite were not an option, just hammers and roughly made, presumably, pretty blunt chisels but these are not widespread on the site. How the Nabateans lived is not yet clear – some believe that the tombs also served as living places with some sort of screening across the front. This would be relatively cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Others believe that the people lived in tents and the thousands of carved holes were only for stiffs. That is one of the things that makes Petra so fascinating – much is unclear and you can allow your imagination free rein. And what happened to the Nabateans? That is also unknown – they seem to have disappeared as a distinct tribal group not long after incorporation into the Roman Empire.
We had two, admittedly fairly short, days exploring and we might have seen about half the stuff worth seeing. The best bit for us was going to the “High Place of Sacrifice” which has a wonderful view after a relatively easy walk but, more importantly, has some of the best buildings when you walk down the steep return route. You could try for ten or twelve hour days but, for us, five or six hours with no food and little rest was enough especially with Pete constantly hassling to look at the next hole. If you plan to visit Petra once in your life then three days would be about right – see most of the interesting stuff but not too repetitious. Even though I am now an old fart I think I will be back. Of the big sites I have been to: various parts of the Great Wall are an eye-opener but only Luxor has lured me back – Petra is that good.
However, we only had two days left so it was the night in the local “Bedouin camp” and on south. However, we needed something edible so went to the local Chinese restaurant first. Not too bad – Hong Kong style food but expensive. The Chinese are not famous for pudding but I tried for fried bananas as they were on the menu. No bananas, but after some language understanding I ended up with sugar coated battered pineapple – actually very tasty and you dip them in water just before you eat them to stop the sugar running. Rude will not let me live this down for three reasons – he claims to have worked out that the sound coming out of the Chinese lady's mouth meant pineapple not egg before I did and, secondly, that the pineapples were tinned rings and, finally, I could not initially remember what the cold water was for. .
The only reason that I had agreed with the camp idea was that you can get a fabulous view of the stars if there is no ambient light and the winter sky is clear. Being brought up in rural Derbyshire means that I am quite familiar with this sight, or was fifty years ago. Rude is a confirmed city boy so has little real exposure to this view. After some crap food, smoke filled tent, horrible music and enforced jollity there were still plenty of lights on around the “Bedouin camp” and it was cold when we gave up so Pete spent about 20 seconds looking at the sky which was pretty good. Actually it was up to its usual spectacular winter show as I found out when I went for a bit of relief at 4 a.m. But, for some strange reason, Pete did not leap out of bed to look.
A few words from the man himself at this point:
There are elements of this place that are a nightmare and much of it is boring old cunts, who not only insist that they are sole travellers but who insist on foisting themselves on you. Not once, but twice did this happen. One dried up old hag from NZ but then a boring older bastard who has simply been everywhere. Boy was he happy about telling me all about it too. What with him on one side and Ed “No, no... let me tell you about China” on the right of me.
Wadi Rum. Wadi means river or river course. Well there ain't much sign of a river in Wadi Rum. People go there because of the rock shapes sticking up out of the sand and because of “Lawrence of Arabia”, These (the rocks, not Second Lieutenant Lawrence) have been blasted by the wind and sand into some pretty interesting shapes. Lawrence, that well known self-publicist, spent a fair amount of time in the area although there is no evidence to suggest that he actually stayed in the places claimed.
The day started badly – a “photo opportunity” for no apparent reason in the middle of nowhere, some very doubtful “Nabatean” carvings, a visit to T.E. Lawrences “house” which he didn't stay in and was probably a Nabatean construction. However, I did climb my first genuine desert sand dune, the rude one did climb over a natural arch (no way was I going that high in the air with only a metre wide bit to walk over), and we went down some genuine rough sandy areas on the way back in the four wheel drive that was the most battered and oldest that we saw.
We then had an hour's ride on a camel. Half way round our guide stopped and we got off – me relatively in control, Pete by catching his marriage equipment on the wooden bit that sticks up
on the front of an Arabian saddle as he pitched head -first off his mount as he, his mount not Pete, bent his front legs to the knee. A laying camel (the position on which you mount them) after mounting by some fat git like me gets to her knees with the front legs (so you have your arse sticking backwards) followed by the hind legs going to full height (so your head is sticking forwards) and the front legs coming up to full height so you are now relatively stable. The reverse is true when you dismount so the camel going to her knees at the front was normal when she pitched the rude off. Naturally I was all sympathy. We were rather surprised when our host requested tissue paper. He started a “traditional” Bedouin fire with paper and a cigarette lighter whilst we fed the camels on dried bushes. The paper was a bag that was sticking up out of the sand. Nothing bio-degrades there and everybody – especially the locals just chuck everything out of the window of the 4 by 4. I was glad when we finished the camel ride and will resist making comparisons with knowing how a hard-working lady of the night feels after a busy shift. Let me just say that I will not be rushing to repeat the experience.
If you ever go to Wadi Rum take a few bin bags with you and collect rubbish. Also make it clear that you driver must do the same or no tip. They will get the message but it does need doing. Once you have sown the idea camps will advertise themselves as the ones who are “eco-friendly” by collecting the rubbish. What happens to it after that...
Not much more to report really.
On to Aqaba, Jordan's only port on the Red Sea, which is a tourist diving centre. Main attraction – bars and cheap off-licences plus a greater variety of food. Oh yes, and quite warm. We had failed in one of our objectives – riding a camel in our white suits (too cold) so we wore our suits in Aqaba and didn't feel out of place. We dipped our toes into the Gulf of Aqaba and off up the highway on a bus and back to Amman.
Suits back to England just proved what a pair of plonkers we are.
Coming very soon – Not Rollerblading in Bessarabia
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