It’s a Wonder

Five of us headed to Petra for the weekend: two men in their 50s, one Palestinian, one American; one American girl working with the State Department; one Canadian/Sri Lankan doing public health research; and me. We found the perfect approach to discovering one of the new Seven Wonders of the World: stay at a Bedouin campsite, hike for hours through Petra, and then cool down with the five-star hotel's swimming pool and gourmet ice cream. I visited Petra eight years ago with my Grandmother - we spent long enough to get the highlights, and for my Grandmother to shock the Bedouin driving our cart through the Siq when she understood their Arabic curse words. My Arabic's not there yet, but I am getting the letters down. Sounding out words never has quite the same effect though.



We took our time exploring, absorbing both its vastness and its detail. We climbed the 45 minutes to the High Place of Sacrifice, with the carved altar overlooking a panoramic view. On our way down, I saw in front of me an older Bedouin woman. She was obviously struggling to maneuver the stairs with her cane, so when she moved to the side to let me pass, I extended my hand. She ignored it, so I passed. I turned back to watch, and offered my help again, and this time she accepted it. We walked like this for about five minutes until she paused, removed her glasses, and pointed to her two eyes - one blind, the other opaque from a cataract. She put her glasses back on, and we proceeded. Her English was ok - enough to understand that she lives in a nearby village and has 10 children. I couldn't quite get an answer for what she was doing at the top of the High Place, but I think she has one of the many jewelry tables you pass along the way (often quite unguarded). My answer to her "do you have a husband?" must not have been satisfactory, as she asked it, over and over, as we descended. At one point, we took a turn that did not seem intuitive to me, and I wondered just where she was leading me (and did that have anything to do with my not having a husband?). I called my companions (yes, cell phone service is everywhere) and they too were lost. Rather, they were lost. I was with a Bedouin woman. She got tired of my being on the phone and said, yallah, Petra, yallah, yallah. So we continued, arriving not to long after to exactly where I wanted to go. She gave me a kiss on both cheeks, and then went on, to her village.

Back at our Bedouin campsite, we sat on mattresses and rugs and sipped sage tea as we chatted with the other guests, surrounded by the mountains and stars. A number of them were foreigners working in Sinai, Egypt, with the Bedouin there, trying to help them maintain their local customs as development - mostly private sector - brings change. They said the Bedouin in Petra have done a really good job of engaging in the tourism sector while still protecting their traditions. It turned out our campsite even had a one-room museum, with photos, stories, and a collection of herbs.