Day Four - Petra

Day Four – The romantic only goes so far.

I really hate to admit it, but I wanted to enter Petra on horseback, with only a few others around me, such as Indiana Jones did in The Last Crusade. We, however, chose poorly and took a tour. So we were picked up at our hotel by our guide who was really quite nice but terribly loquacious (and stood by some specious history of the Nabateans). There was the obligatory stop at a souvenir stand (It’s run by a friend of mine), but with the opportunity to capture photography of the terrain we were about to enter.

I found it to be stunning, even absent the wonders we were about to see. On our trip was the usual assortment of tourists: a gay couple from L.A., a gay couple from Sweden, a couple from Florida who were moving to Sonoma, a couple from Australia, a Malaysian, a young woman from Oregon who is working at an NGO in Jerusalem, and assorted others.  Of all of us the woman from Oregon and we were the only ones to be making two days of it.

I thought we would be staying in a village outside of Petra. It’s a minor city, and the entrance to Petra is filled with tourists, vendors, camels, donkeys, mules, horse-driven carriages (which would save us at the end), and hundreds of little boys (postcard? 1 Dinar.) The romantic went out the window fairly quickly, but the hike down the passage between the rocks is simply beyond description.

At first you get glimpses of what is to come with minor tombs, wall inscriptions, and religious tablets. Soon, however, all of this closes in on you with only a glimpse of the sky.

Wind and rain have formed these spectacular passages, and the multi-hued walls add to the wonder. There is a water system very much like the one at Masada, and there is a Roman road very much like the one on the via Appia. All the while, you know the mystery that is going to be revealed, and the natural surroundings only prolong the suspense.

Do you see it, peeking through at the end? The whole panorama will soon be revealed. Even though I knew what was coming next, the reality of the scene stunned me. It was much larger than I expected.

The Treasury, as it is called, is simply magnificent, and the colors make it ever so much more engaging. Just this view would make the trip worth it. But we move on.

There is a theatre, not as refined as at Ephesus, but delightful none-the-less. That it is carved out of the native sandstone makes it even more of a wonder. The stage, destroyed in an ancient earthquake, was Roman, but the seats of the amphitheater are all Nabatean.

There are “royal tombs” constructed as if one had a set of blocks full of columns, tympanum, arches, friezes, and all such architectural wonders. That and the other Roman ruins, and a Byzantine Church with mosaics will wait for tomorrow. We are determined to see “The Monastery”, and will need to climb some 900 steps to see it. I’ve never felt so old. It took forever and I had to stop from time to time. I’m certain that our Bedouin guide was perfectly bored with us. When we got to the top however we were met with another wonder.

Modeled after the “Treasury” and just as spectacular. On the way down I managed to slip and fall and damaged my knee. Now I have one to match the one I damaged at Neuschwannstein! We do make it down, but my ankle and knee are tender and so Arthur arranges for a carriage ride out of Petra. A pretty bouncy ride with a university educated driver who works at Petra from time to time.

We check in at the tour office, to make our arrangements for the following day. Several things strike me. In the midst of our negotiations, one of the officers – the one at the biggest desk – pulls out a prayer carpet and begins the evening prayers. How many of us say evening prayer – in public – in the midst of daily duties? The other striking observation was that the office, and later the staff at the restaurant, were all men. I quickly recalled a feeling I had when I joined my high school classmates for a 50^th reunion at Saint Paul’s in Concordia, Missouri (which our tour guide pronounced as “misery”). We were invited to the Eucharist at St. Paul’s Church in town (although the bulletin politely let me know that as a non-Missouri Synod Lutheran I was not welcome to receive.) Getting ready for the communion, Eucharistic ministers went to help the clergy. As I looked, I realized that the chancel was full of men – all men. There and now here in Petra something is missing – the vibrant life and leadership of women. I found that I was missing that.