Petra
(photos are no longer uploading for some reason...hopefully ill add em next time???)
The Jordanians of Petra are truly their own people. It's a bit wack.
On our way to our hostel, we wanted to visit 'Little Petra': a free site. It was like an underwater city. Beduins wearing
kafir and cooling dresses lay in caves enchanting us as they play on the whistle. A few boys walked us through even though we had no money
(being the only people there). Weaving between rock allys you look up to curvy rock patterns melting down from a frosty top:
They melt into doors windows steps; all perfected with intricate detail which completely flatters the rock formation.
After a flight of stairs to 'the best view in world' we hung out with some beduins who held shops and told riddles:
Something you own
But everyone uses more than you.
No clues, cept we learnt it's not love, heart, weaknesses, hospitality etc: and Gassib thought all those suggestions stupid.
We were delivered to a cheapo hostel downtown where
we bargained some cheap rooms with Mohammed (who now and often gambles over tricks with David) the husband of another
one of our friend's wife. Everyone's connected here yet somehow I havent picked up on any incest. It's the huge families.
So Anyway we settle at the hostel, I catch up on some shopping (shampoo, camera batteries - the 4th packet as all the
others havent worked!!!!, sunscreen (which I hadnt had till now)). We find american tourist, resort to cheap bread and dips
for dinner again (1 dinar each), chill with him in a shisha cafe where we play more cards and relax (by Naiv's birthday celebration)
No money no honey
No wife no life
knife for wife
No hurry no worry (my favourite)
Stop for tea, stop for me : They're full of crazy phrases here ("because the tourists are too serious"). The people are really their own.
I insisted David and I go to Petra early in the morning (It's amsolutely MASSIVE) and we cab it to the Beduin village
where we're told we can walk into Perta rather than pay 60 dinars for entrance. We are at the beduin gate for close to an hour
having tea with the tourist police. We would have to hitch back to the main gate and buy a ticket. The weirdest part
was that once inside, half the beduin workers there knew who we were(beduin of Petra have free entry: naturally, as their families have
lived in Petra for centuries, sleep in the caves/tombs, and work with the tourists in the day time. They were, however
"kicked out" a few years ago...). One familyof many tiny children all remembered David from last time and invited us for
dinner. The tiny children are scattered around offering donkeys and post cards and stones. Many had seen us in the Beduin
village, and some had even seen us wandering Wadi Rum/little Petra the previous day. Although the four of us split up,
they all knew we were travelling as a four. Our other half (ana and andrew) was known as 'your rasta friends' (Andrew has dreads).
It seemed they were tracking us. As we wandered Petra, they all knew who we'd spoken to, who we were with, where our
friends were and what we were up to in the next few days.
See due to polictics theres been a decline of tourists, so apart from the guided one day tour groups we were one of the
few people wandering who were prepared to just chill and hear out the gossip and twisted family history of the Petra beduins.
So Petra day one: We're inside. As we bump into more and more of David's little friends we end up accepting their dinner
invite. Their father khalife has over 15 children, two wives, and a baby on the way. This is quite normal.
The carved rocks were pretty cool.
So every 10 minutes of walking we'd bump into someone and stop for tea. Namely; one girl Hadia had a stall on the steep
walk to the sacrifice point. She'd given David her necklace last time and thought it approprait to give me a necklace too.
She's gorgeous. At 14 she's learnt a perfect english as well as arabic from being free to talk to tourists. Moreover she's
very intelligent (they all are), and says that she doesn't want to marry (even though her father tried to set her up already).
Hadia smokes in private, as do many of the Jordanian women. The petra Beduins view islam with the most open minded attitude
I've come across, and I believe it to be due to their association with tourists. The men seem to chain smoke, see, from the cheap tailored
types to a unique home grown tobacco-like plant.
So soon enough we met Abdullah Abu Sac-Succah (father of the beard). At 29, he'd only left Petra to do minor travels,
and seemed to know everything about the whole of Petra. He assumed the role of our tour guide and walked us around the cascading
cliffs and to the spring. I love Petra, but my favourite part was the spring. I ride behind Feras on his mule (as David walks behind:
an unfortunate experience which happened about 6 times without my being able to stop it). As we meander the cliffs,
more and more of the caves appear dressed up, fenced with colourful fabric weaved into sticks. Goat homes, chicken coups
etc and not to mention actual homes: complete with cables. Yes, the beduins of Petra never loose reception and moreover
they have a bigger range of TV stations than Australia in their caves. Wandering out of our tourist map's range, I see
Petra come to life. Then, tumbling down the mountains: Fig, grapes, olives
all blossoming with health in the middle of summer's desert. We follow the greenery towards pink flowering trees
which snake along the valley, framing the sparkling spring water. Goat herds drink from the water, donkeys are showered
and elderly men sip tea around a fire. One man (we saw his ID) proved to be 120 years old. The beduins usually live (youthfully) for
ages (due to camel milk, partially) but I think the newer generations are being poisoned by cigarettes alchohol and supermarket
products in general.
We built up a fire further down the spring, boiled some sugar (tea) and lay down to cool during the hottest part of the day.
Their politics here generally has the attitude of 'this is life. we accept it and find happiness amongst it'. They seem
to all spend their money as they recieve it (making low tourist season a struggle) saying who needs money when their dead?
They also seem to think the shit life women are forced to live is inevitable - and they may as well gather all the wives
they can, and abuse their freedom. This is a generalisation. But it's so hard to talk to women here: the few who work in
petra are the few who can speak english, most are stuck at home to cook and make babies.
We left Petra then and head off for the Beduin village to follow up our invitations on Abdullah and Feras' mules/donkeys.
The houses here are colourful and decorated with pretty gates, and many vines/trees. Moreover, the streets are coloured
with tiny children playing, mules, horses, donkeys and camels.
The beduin village was built to kick the beduins out of Petra (where they lived) in order to make Petra a tourist attraction.
Most of them use their houses for showering and still camp out most of the time, however. One man even lived in one of
the tombs in Petra which was blocked off for tourists by a gate. I thought it was for preservation reasons, but no - its
for privacy.
First to Abdullah's brothers house where the wife and their baby boy lounged around the living space. Abdullah took me onto
the roof where they keep a bedroom-sized cage full of pigeons. Looking across the rooves of the village, it's a common
hobby. The cage is left open, and after around a year of cage-life they now always return home. We drink tea.
Then to Abdullah's wife's house, where she lives with their babies and her mother (and where many our brothers, cousins,
I can't even keep up) are lounging around and talking. More tea. Despite being married, he lives on his own and had a
girlfriend a while back. Men here love love.
Then to the Khalife's house. The inside of Beduin houses are the collest. Colourful and decorated with
a gazillion fake flowers in colourful vases, stickers on the walls, tacky posters of fake landscapes, many family photos etc
yet it all looks really attractive in all it's tackiness. The funniest part is the posters and the TV (often on)
while the view from their windows overlooks the awesome Petra.
Keep in mind all the beduin in Petra and little Petra know each other: they're all related
one way or another. The house is tiring with babies. Suddenly we're in Khalife's car with his wife (no english) and
some of his kids. We drive onto a mountain in little Petra, eat an awesome BBQ and drink more tea. Somehow
some beduin friends we've made popped up to join us (which was nice as they spoke english) and played the oud as we sipped
tea around the fire, singing arabic love songs.
Ferras and Abdullah pick us up in Ferras' jeep (everyone shares his jeep: as everyone in the village are like brothers and
his car is my car). and we drive dangerously onto a mountain overlooking the village, wadi musa and some of Petra.
Kassib rides his donkey up to meet us. I've learnt drink donkey riding is far more intelligent than drink driving:
donkeys simply know the way, moon or sun. Conversation here revolves around gossip mostly, and they expect me to remember
who lives in which cave, whose cousins/brothers/sisters, who has how many wives/children/brothers etc and oh my god it's
complicated.
We drive even more dangerously home where I my cheeks hurt from laughing as I fall asleep.
Petra day two!
I lost my ticket so we talk our way into letting me in (this time from the correct entrance). As we wander sleepily through the
streets of rock, we are stopped even more often by familiar faces. Petra's so big and we want to see streets we haven't yet
climbed to. Ferras offers us lunch in his cave and we accept. We hadn't yet seen anything new, but after stopping for tea
so many times it's already lunch time. It's a donkey ride to his cave and I can't talk Ferras into letting David ride
occasionally. Beduin are charming. And they love women (and charming them). It's no wonder so many beduins have married
and had babies with tourists. Mostly it doesn't work out and the women live in their own countries again, but many
actually live in the village and have stalls in Petra.
Ferras' family's cave has two big rooms within: a kitchen lounge and a bedroom carpeted with thin mattresses as well as a tent.
We sit in a tent out side the cave (it's verander) with the 20 odd children smiling around us. The women have made
a large dish of mushed up bread and potato tastiness which we eat with our hands. I couldn't help to lick my fingers,
but your not meant to until your actually finished (since we all eat out of the same platter). Looks like I didn't
need to work onmy table manners, Dad :). Beduins so rarely drink water, and use it mostly for tea and washing their hands.
Eventually we return to the tourist's heart of Petra where we venture through the unbelievable cliffs, relieved to be free
of other people, and find ourselves half way up a long long long line of steps which we can't find on the map. We sit for
ages not knowing what to do. David and I are so comfortable together we know what eachother want and don't even need to
ask! It's a lifelong friendship and I'll take the opportunity to tell all you sticky beaks that it is simply a friendship.
But we were to meet Ana and Andrew at the top of the monastry (a 45 minute walk
up 800 steps) for sunset so we went back down and hurried through the hot desert. Lucky we hadn't gone the full way:
it was simply a lead to another cave like the 1000 others in Petra (with a nice view). The monastry was monstrous (good)
and one Beduin climbed it and went swinging up and around it's tips and toes!! AHHHH! He's a one hundreth of it's size.
The view from up here was gollygosh breath taking, and I collapsed to have a nap on the brink of the cliff face.
We met Abo SacSuccah and Ferras at the bottom of the monastry and the 6 of us began to drive up to the Beduin village.
Then another beduin boy jumped in, along with the Beduin chief. The eight of us hang out the windows (and roof) as we sailed
into town.
Eventually the 7 of us drive up to the tip of a mountain (me up on the roof of the car with the bedding) holding on very
tightly as we rock in all directions over the rocks.
We cook up a BBQ and stay up until four (most of us). Although I found Abdullah Sac-Succah the most intriguing Feras
was my favourite. Abdullah's father had died when he was young and I'd say hes had some drinking problems since.
They're all sensitive, and aren't afraid to talk about their weaknesses. They also arent afraid to cuddle their friends.
Yet they reek with masculinity and strength that you rarely find in western men. Feras is the only young beduin
I've come across who doesn't smoke. He's also very loyal to his (huge) family. But hey; they all are to a fair degree.
Woke up to the sun hot on our faces and so one by one we re-located, dragging our mattresses under the shade of a rocky verander.
We had run out of water, and while the beduins didn't need any, us Aussies did. So Feras was going to get some from
a local guy's cave and I offered to help out. The car clonked out a few metres down the hill so we walked over mountains for
half an hour before finding an old man asleep in a sheep shed. We woke him up as we were taking from his
water supply and he kindly offered us tea. He dragged a wounded Palestinian refugee from the border to his home when he was
a fit man.
So we return and the car is out of gas so we call friends who come and bring us lunch - canned fish, cheese yogurt and bread.
We end up stranded in the sun for another 4 hours trying to jump start the car (its actually out of battery). We're also
out of water again, so the friends who were with us drive their car back to town to buy ciggarettes and one single bottle
of water to share. They were surprized when it was empty.
Finally return to our hostel in Wadi Musa and sleep.
Day four of Petra
We wander in without much to do except find a particular friend who invited us over (he said to just say his name
and he'd appear...turned out a bit more difficult) and to walk through the siq. The canyon carved by water. It was stunning!
The scenery here continues to amaze me. Colours and patterns are constantly evolving like the sand in the wind.
Remember, Over the years Petra's been known to have hundreds of thousands of tourists per day - but bam it's now practically
empty and the workers are simply keen to have tourists to talk to.
So David is known as the Jewish guy here because they recognised him to be so straight away and he couldn't deny it
as straight away each beduin would start speaking to him in Hebrew (they know touristy phrases in all languages).
Practically all of the beduins were pro-Israel, which rather interested me. They're frequent tourists for one (and they
like tourists because tourists mean business), partly because they live so locally. Moreover the
tour groups who come and left good impressions. One beduin expressed hostility towards the Palestinians as he felt
the queen (and king I spose) were helping them while the beduins were simply left to help themselves.
For a while I played a cool beduin game with some wise-old-men. I was their good luck and seemed to be the cause
of any chance which played out. They convinced the tourist police to let us into the siq to begin with (since its apparently
too dangerous without a guide. All guides do is hold your bottom as you climb and offer to take photos.)
So the beduin boys are so aware of the romanticised idea tourists have of them and they love it. They seem to
all want western girlfriends (despite whether they're married with children). One guy looked like Jack Sparrow
and was dating an english girl. I found it interesting to talk to her but couldn't ask the questions I longed to.
Do they use condoms here!????? The babies running around and male dominancy suggests a big pregnant no.
Hitched up to the beduin village to continue looking for our friend. Got taken into so many people we'd met's houses
for tea. We're now tea'd out. Play with Feras' sisters for hours as they play with my camera. I tried to relax.
My camera runs out of battery each day, so 3 dollars (if I'm lucky - some have costed 4.5) per day to take photos.
Not worth it.
Hitch back to Wadi Musa with a car full of other people hitching - I think the lady beside me was pregnant, and we
were dropped off at the hospital...
I think we played cards and smoked shisha all night at our coffee shop. Oh and we also got into a slight argument with a
tour guide who came and suddenly warned us not to talk to the gypsys (beduins) who work in Petra. They aren't true Beduins.
See, theres a hostility between those who live in Wadi Musa and those from the Beduin villages. This man said that the people
of Petra used tourists for money (psh) and that their donkeys are ruining the steps (this is very true. But there are so
many steps!). He said that they were not true muslims. I understand this call because the bediuns are more liberal with
their approach. The way I see it - life has been their teacher, and they see God in life. They agreed when they
understood me. The beduins see those who live in Wadi Musa as the 'farmer people'. They were never true beduins
who lived out in the desert.
Day 5
All we know is we want to leave Wadi Musa. We call the number of one of the guys we met in little Petra and without
remembering us he says yeah come over it'll be sweet.
We arrive and he's slightly on edge as his tooth needed to be pulled out. But! Remember the riddle he asked us earlier?
What do you own but everyone uses more than you?
He told us the answer. "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" We should have guessed it. The answer was your name and that was the best joke/riddle he told
and he never stopped telling them. Whenever one (of the four of us) said anything he'd interrupt with a story I couldn't
understand. He drunk most of our vodka to numb the pain of his tooth and remained very hospitable.
Now keep in mind the beduins of little Petra are of a completely different tribe. They seem to be bigger fans of weed than
those of Petra (who turned to Alchohol), and they also have a different accent on their dialect.
Took an incredible sunset walk in little Petra - climbing over what looked like millions of 'The burrows' (harry potter)
made of rock. Awadth is married to a Dutch lady who he clamed would jump off a rock for him, while he would not do the
same for her. He was quite proud of this. He'd also like to have four more wives, which she's apparently happy with.
We got back to his cave and I helped prepare dinner (I wripped apart chickens). We ate by midnight and were now starving.
Bloody Beduins rarely eat. Our host Awadth was joined by is cousin Awad. That took some difficulty.
The cave was hand carved, probably over 1000/2000 years ago....something impressive, and was well furnished and comfortable
(save for the biting things).
Day 6
Awadth said he'd take us to spend the night in Wadi Araba for a price cheaper than any we'd come across so we took it,
and woke up thinking we were doing that. Watermelon for brealkie, then we hike up Little Petra to Awadth's shop
to say hello good morning. We chill there, he puts coal on my and Ana's eyes - ("healthy", "not make-up", made out of
the native trees). He also gave us a pair of earrings each. I felt like a princess!!! But it turned out
his car had broke down so we couldn't go to Wadi Araba but he promised to give us a good night. We accept the offer of a good
night and decided to head to Wadi Rum tomorow. He disappears to buy cigarettes and we look after his shop.
All Day.
One tourist came. We played cards. (we love Joker, but everyone here wants to play hand, a much simpler lame boring
version which makes me rude when a local insists we play it instead of Joker, a frequent dilemma).
Eventually he returns and has bought dinner ingredients and fixed his car so we can go out.
He wanted to take us to the same hill we'd already camped on, I think, but the car clonked out in the middle of the desert
and I was more than happy to start cooking dinner right there so we did Al Hamdullah (thank god).
When you say How are you, the common reply is 'thank god', meaning God has made me what I am and I'm so thankful for it.
I love it.
That night Awadth told many stories which I didn't understand, but Andrew retold them the next day. The story of the gypsys
as well as the Genies. The land is full of genies, (evil spirits) but the prayers which are played ward them away.
Awadth makes a point in his life to retain the lifestyle of his parents and family, though it becomes more difficult each
year. Slowly his people have been losing their culture and following Western habbits due to the Beduin villages set up
by the Government.
Ana and Andrew (with whom I travel) worked in an Aboriginal community in Australia and have continuously pulled up
similarities between the two peoples.
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