Petra-home to one of the oldest, greatest, and least known (at least insofar as I was concerned) civilizations in the history of the Ancient World. It seems that the tombs, monuments, and homes painstakingly carved out of the majestic boulders surrounding this area were once alive with the urban hustle and bustle of the millenia old Nabatean people. We commemorate their legacy of innovation and creativity by trampling on their ruins, littering on their streets, and growing trinket-shops in every fortified nook and cranny that can accommodate them--for real, these shops eek out of Petra's walls like some sort of pernicious weed who thrives not on sun and water but the starry-eyed ignorance of enthusiastic tourists.
However, don't think me a pure cynic. It was truly amazing to have had the opportunity to walk in the places that people walked in the early years before JC. In order to beat the crowds, we scraped ourselves out of bed before the sun had risen to ease our wake. We threw on some clothes, rolled ourselves down the stairs, and began the long trek through Petra. With the lukewarm, early morning sun on our backs we combed through the narrow stone paths and beaten walkways the Nabateans had so kindly prepared for us. At 6 o'clock, Petra wasn't teeming with its 21st century permutation of urban life. The only people to be seen, were my daring SIT compatriots and I, two other tourists, and the groggy trinket-shop owners who rose to greet their prospective customers. (*A note: the shop owners we saw were rising from sleeping bags sprawled out on their shop floors. Apparently, after the Nabatean people left Petra, they were replaced by nearby Bedouin communities. Athirst for places to live and spaces for their grazing livestock, they moved here. However, the Jordanian government, likely under the prodding of UNESCO and various tourist agencies, wanted the Bedouin out. So, they built them houses, all complete with the same standardized, indistinguishable, and purely functional government aesthetic that defines all public housing, just outside of Petra. Still, as we walked, smells of biological waste, assumedly both human and animal, and sights of the aforementioned sleeping bags made it quite clear that not everyone was taking (could take?) advantage of the King's generosity.) Being 'alone' amongst the natural and artistic beauty Petra had to offer was truly amazing. We walked; we climbed; we rested; we gazed; we soaked up; we breathed in; we sat; in silence.
On the way down, the number of tourists chasing after the vistas we had just enjoyed had multiplied exponentially. Given the narrow paths the Nabateans had forged for us, we were forced into awkward close encounters with our fellow sight-seekers. Growing up in a culture of obligatory courtesy, I felt painfully uncomfortable passing by strangers at only a distance of a few inches and not saying 'hello.' However, I was presented with a dilemma. Billions of tourists visit Petra every year from billions of different places. So for a while I decided I would just stick with the warm and hospitable Arabic "sabah al-khair." However, I soon realized that hardly anyone knew what I was saying. Stubbornly determined to be cordial with the fair-skinned passersby, I began to just rattle off every greeting I knew in an Indo-European language. "Hello; bonjour; buenos dias; guten tag"--they were all up for grabs really. Yet, alas, I elicited only laughs in response.
Soon we reached back to the main area and were greeted by an elaborate carnival of tired camels, smiling tourists sporting lavish kuffiehs, fully decked out Bedouins, Roman guards carrying severely plastic swords, and loudly eager salesman. It seemed like every group of people muddled together in this mass of commerce, exotification, and exploitation was in competition with the others to see who could produce the most ridiculously authentic parody of themselves. I think it's pretty indisputable that the Bedouins and the Roman guards won, everyone wanted a picture with them.
Dana Nature Reserve: "Dont pick up rocks, dont pick flowers, the creatures below them serve us"--these were some of the first words we heard upon our arrival to Dana, a beautifully preserved stretch of Jordanian land. At first, the restrictions that guided our every move felt like unnecessary steel bars blocking our path to discovering the nature surrounding us. However, once I sat to enjoy this land and talked with the people who work tirelessly to conserve and preserve it, I realized how fragile it truly is. The picture you see here is just a clumsy digital reproduction of just one of the many breathtaking vistas that surrounded our camp site. In this one picture you can see more than four different geological formations, countless types of flora and fauna, and just one piece of the ecological system that encapsulates it all.
During the day, my friends and I walked around looking and not touching the nature that surrounded us. We followed the guided tour led by a few strategically placed rocks and sticks; however, we got off the 'gently disturbed' path a few times to sit on some rocks and chat about life. It was here, in these moments, that I found an unexpectedly profound sense of connection to my friends and the scenery that housed us. It was then that the once seemingly unnecessary impediments to our own self-lead discovery became critically important shields protecting and guiding both us and nature to a place of harmony and coexistence. Really, you need to check this place out. Perhaps then these words would seem less corny.
Aqaba-Basically Aqaba is the Jordanian equivalent of Destin, Florida. A burgeoning sea-town for tourists both Jordanian and foreign alike, as I walked through Aqaba I got the strangest feeling that I was in a different country. The palm trees, salty air, and vast stretches of beach transported me from the predominantly desert country I had been living in and took me to a place where I could get delicious fruit juice and cheap fish in the same place.
Almost immediately after our arrival we went for a watery adventure. It was here, snorkeling along the world-famous coral reefs of the Red Sea that I met the cast of Finding Nemo. When we first dove into the icy Red sea waters, off the side of our faithful Glass Boat (called such b/c of the glass square on the boat's underbelly that allowed passengers a goggle-like view of the sea floor beneath them), we couldn't see much. Swimming around in circles, never straying too far from the boat for fear of being sucked into the busy propeller of a rival boat, we floated around oogling the colorful sea floor too far to examine closely. However, soon, some of our Aqaban sea-mates offered to take us to where the coral really shines. Following closely behind the bubbles of our able and knowledgeable skippers we begin to see the reef inching closer and closer to the bare feet propelling us forward. Soon, we find our selves floating only feet above a mosaic of rocks, inanimate animals, dancing anemone, hesitant fish, and brave coral. We can see rough, jagged scars torn through the reef, permanent memories of where indiscriminate boat propellers pillaged an ecosystem.
If there's one thing that this trip confirmed for me it's that finding beauty both unblemished and natural is near impossible.
Wadi-Rum-was no exception to this pithy aphorism. But because the face of Wadi Rum is naturally both mutable with the forgiveness of sand and jagged with stature of rock, the history of human contact with this area is not written on its surface but in the minds of local community members who have seen the area transform in the wake of budding tourism. Here we stayed in a mock-Bedouin tent site. We were served meals prepared with special ingredients and purportedly centuries old tradition, cooked in a sort of Dutch oven-style. The pot containing the veritable banquet we were served that night was buried deep under the sand. Its unveiling was a spectacular event. I think, perhaps for a brief moment, the simultaneous barrage of our camera flashes created a premature dawn in the deep darkness of the Wadi night.
We slept in tents arranged in a neat little semi-circle concluding at a sort of apex with the majestic Bait Shar--a grand daddy tent, elaborately decorated with traditional Bedouin fabrics and furniture. It reminded me very much of the Badia. However, there were a few striking differences. For example! In door plumbing--even though we were living in tents and cooking our food in sand, the bathrooms in this joint rivaled some of Williams College's finest. I mean generally, this place lacked all of the significant downsides to Bedouin life that seemed to figure quite centrally in my experience. Then again, I can't imagine that tourist would want to pay 25 bucks a night to enjoy Bedouin living and the poverty all-too often associated with it...
All in all though, friends and family, Southern Jordan is amazing. Tomorrow I'm heading back there for 3 more days. I think I need another healthy dose of contrived authenticity and desert livin'. Yalla.
No comments:
Post a Comment