PETRA REVISITED

We started early, to undertake the slog down the Siq before it got too hot. We paused to wonder again at the Treasury, then carried on down the valley. Wherever one looked, there were monuments. Every available space seemed to have been shaped by unseen hands.
Some of it was on a very human scale, small memorials to lesser men, now wearing a little thin and showing signs of age.

But then some were on a grand scale, like the Tomb of the Urn:

The Urn tomb, high on the cliffs, was also showing signs of the ravages of time, but the beautiful colours in the rocks made up for the loss of detail.
There is a thesis that the damage to the lower part of the monument is caused by rising water levels. I think this is nonsense, and that the Nabateans cut into the natural water level and thereby sealed the fate of the lower sections. There is a huge chamber inside the Urn tomb. It was quite clear why - and how - it had become a Byzantine church, in the 5th century AD.

From the platform in front of the Urn tomb, the mountains across the south of the site loom large. The Monastery, which we visited next, is behind the left-hand hill. In the shade, it was pleasantly cool. Out there, in the desert, it was HOT!

There followed a long slog down the old Roman road, through Roman ruins being restored, accompanied by a marvellously persistent couple of local children leading a pair of donkeys. Why were we walking? - We could ride! It was very hot, and at the bottom of the valley there was a cool cafe and a chance to have something to drink and admire the museum. Then to brave the climb up 600 steps to the Monastery.

When we came out of the museum into the afternoon heat, our courage failed us. The two children were summoned, and, to the amusement of the professional muleteers, who advised us that the children were not to be trusted, off we set up the mountain. The path was narrow, and the drops on either side soon became impressive, but nothing was as impressive as the sure-footedness of our tiny mounts. Finally our guides said we should walk the last few hundred metres, so, shakily, we made our way along the path, through a narrow gap, and down onto an open plain. Ahead was another cafe, and we were halfway there when I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, and there, behind us, was a truly spectacular piece of work.

The scale beggars description. Suffice it to say that the step up to the door is 2m high, and the white blob at the bottom left of the doorway is in fact a reclining figure, exhausted from the scramble up! One had to wonder what had moved people to carve such a monument on such a scale so high on a remote mountain.

After a cooling drink, it was time to brave the ride down. The Traveller was terrified! "Lean back!" I would call, as she threatened yet again to take a dive over the donkey's head. The youngster insisted on holding her arm - "Don't worry, madam." I was laughing so much I forgot to take a picture.

Finally we were down. More ruins to explore, and then the long slog back to the Siq. It seemed to be even hotter. At that moment, a man hove in view leading three camels. Protracted negotiations, then we were off!

The camel's expression says it all!

We were dropped at the Treasury, and made our way one last time up the Siq.

There were clear ruts in the cobbled stones, made by Roman carts two millenia ago. At the top left you can see one of the water channels carved by the Nabateans to bring water down the Siq. The gathering of water from every single crevice, and its storage in wonderfully made stone dams that dotted the entire site, showed a high degree of engineering skills.

On the road to Petra

The hotels in Amman have security all round. The one where we were staying had been the scene of a bombing. So I was called to certify that the rental car being delivered was really mine. The local Europcar had done us proud. It was a slightly battered Peugeot with some 150 000km on the clock - but no, it was a very good car (we were assured!) The differential growled, and the brakes probably needed new pads, but it worked.

We were soon on the Desert Highway, heading south towards Wadi Rum. The main surprise was the size of the phosphate mines around Al Abiad. For about 20km we passed through large mine dumps and saw clouds of dust in the desert which clearly marked open-cast mining operations. Finally we turned off towards Petra. But first, we had to pass through the little community of Shobak, and a brown sign said "Shobak Castle." Our Lonely Planet guide said it had a wild, remote feel to it. The description was perfect!Strictly speaking, it was the Crusader castle of Mons Realis or "Montreal." Much of the top was in a state of ruination, with the great spherical boulders catapulted there during a siege to show why it was in such a bad shape. Best preserved was the North-West watchtower, reconstructed by the Arabs in the 13th Cent after they had destroyed the original while capturing the castle.

From Mons Realis, it was a short drive to the town of Wadi Musa (Valley of Moses), the base for exploring Petra. The town is a sprawling mess, right at the end of which we finally found our hotel. At about 4 in the afternoon it became cool enough to venture forth, and we sauntered down the valley leading to the entrance to Petra. Quite a long walk led to a cleft in the mountains, the Siq, up which climbed exhausted-looking tourists and horse-drawn carts bearing more of same.
We went down against the flow, deeper and deeper into the Siq. Sometimes it widened, and there were little tombs by the side of the path.
Finally (the Siq is 1.3km long) there was a glimpse of a really big structure at the end.
You emerge into the open, facing the "Treasury." It seems impossible that the intricate carvings should have been created from solid rock, but the evidence literally stares you in the face.



The chamber inside the Treasury was devoid of objects or decoration - but the natural decoration on the roof and walls fully made up for the lack! It was getting late. The camels were being gathered before being taken home. We would head up the narrow crack opposite, the entrance to the Siq, and head back to our hotel to return the next day.

JERASH = JARASH

One of the problems of trying to learn Arabic is getting used to the fact that vowels are rarely written. So transliteration into Latin characters can give a host of spelling variants. The old Roman town of Jarash/Jerash is just one example of the confusion that can arise in non-Arabic minds!

The town is about 50km north of Amman. We travelled there by local bus, which cost a total of 1JD (about $2) per head. The only disadvantage is that you have to wait till the bus is full. It was quite full when we climbed aboard. An hour later it was fuller still, but there was no sign of movement. Another thirty minutes, and the conductor and driver agreed they couldn't pack another soul aboard and off we went.

Then there was a drama over a young woman clad in a black burqa. She had a seat to herself, when a young man dressed in western clothes sat down beside her. This was definitely NOT ALLOWED, and the conductor came to the rescue of the damsel in distress. The young man was booted to the back of the bus, and another lady was found to act as chaperone.

After about an hour we crossed a significant river, the Zarqa, and climbed up through fertile fields over some hills, on the slopes of which nestled Jarash, ancient and modern. Through a turnstile, and we faced Hadrian's gate, erected in AD 125 to welcome the Emperor.

Then into the Hippodrome, where even today there are chariot races. This is a view from the race track back towards the starting gates:

Onwards, and one reaches the great South Gate, the original entrance to the city.

Through the gate, up a slight slope, and you find yourself in a huge, almost circular forum lined with pillars.

The hill on the left leads up past a great temple to a theatre from which came the unlikely sound of bagpipes. It was a local, uncannily clad in a kilt, welcoming visitors to his stage!The black splodge in the centre is the Traveller, hiding her fevered brow under a black umbrella. It was extremely hot.Looking down from the top row of the theatre, below was the circular forum and the great main street stretching out for several kilometers, lined by pillars, with modern Jarash in the background.

On either side of the main street were side streets, also pillared, which had been great shopping precincts around the time of Christ.

And, of course, there were marvellous temples where the faithful could go to worship Artemis, because Christianity had not yet reached the town.

It was therefore a surprise to find, in the museum on our way out of the site, a gravestone in the form of a cross. The date, which translated to 26BC, reminded us that Christian symbolism had a pre-Christian ancestory.

We never found the bus-stop for the trip back. Instead we were hailed by a passing truck - "Did we want a lift to Amman?" We did, and 8JD later we were merrily bowling back along the highway. It was noisy and bumpy, but we didn't have to wait until the truck filled up!

Art in Amman

The next day we just had to go to see the Darat al Funun, which our Lonely Planet guide recommended. No-one seemed to have heard of it, and our taxi driver went round and round, asking, while we tried to guide him from the map. Finally we pulled up next to what appeared to be a blank wall, with some Arabic writing - "Darat al Furun!" he said, triumphantly, so we paid him off and nervously passed through the only entrance, immediately faced another blank wall with a flight of steps down to the left, which we followed until we came out between two houses.


On the right, by what appeared to be an open-air café, two disgruntled men sat. They nodded in response to our enquiry, so we found our way into the house and quite a reasonable art gallery with a striking exhibition of black-and-white photos. Soon we were joined by a charming young woman, with whom The Traveller struck up a conversation. She led us to the house to the left of where we had come in, which had appeared closed but was in fact open. There we met the owner of the place, widow of the founder, who had been a prominent Jordanian banker. She showed us around the second house, which was in large measure a tribute to her late husband, but also a gallery for her own paintings, spectacular impressions of the rock colours at Petra in particular. Finally she showed us out into the garden, which was very dry and a little uninspiring. A path led downhill to yet another house with another gallery.





This is the grand entrance to the gallery. There were exhibition areas to left and right, in one of which was an original comprising a pile of sand on the floor of a darkened room. From above, a series of pictures were projected onto the sand, which became almost alive. There was also a marvellous library, with a fine collection of art books particularly rich in Middle Eastern work with which we were not in the least familiar. We spent several hours in the heat of the day enjoying the air-conditioned splendour and browsing the collection.


Under the house was a cave that had been used as a place of worship since the earliest days. Today it was used as a stage for plays on summer evenings.


As it became cooler, we braved the open air, and found our way downhill into the centre of Amman, and a series of small souks. Some were devoted to gold and silver, some to clothes, others to shoes and more shoes, and in between stalls selling spices and sweets and medicines. In the centre of it all was the King Abdullah mosque, a symphony in pink and white stone - built in the 1920's.

AMMAN = PHILADEPHIA

On a lower part of the Citadel, overlooking the centre of modern Amman, is the Roman Temple of Hercules, dating from about 150AD, during the reign of Marcus Aurelius. It connected to a Forum to the south (beyond the arch shown) where there was a mass of tumbled pillars. On a cleared section, tents had been set up, and a dinner was being readied for about 100 people.
There were yet more Roman ruins in the centre of the town. This forum was the entrance to a huge theatre.

It seats about 16 000 and is still in use today for rock concerts. The acoustics are, of course, amazing. I tried speaking from the stage, and could be heard clearly and distinctly at the top row of seats without really raising my voice.
We met up with a touring American, who asked "Is this place twinned with Philly?" "Why?" "Well, I cain't read this arab stuff, but I keep seeing the word 'Philadelphia'." We explained Amman had been called Philadelphia; he seemed cross "You mean, they tried to steal the names of one of the greatest American cities?" "No!" we explained, "It was called Philadelphia long before your city. It sounds Greek, but it was certainly Philadelphia when the Romans were here." He hadn't yet seen the ruins, and asked "Well, when were the Romans here?" "Oh!" I said, "Certainly at the same time they were in Jerusalem over the way." "What were they doing in Jerusalem?" "Don't you remember - they were hanging up Jesus?" I replied. Unfazed, he riposted "Well, that was a long time ago."

RUINS ANCIENT AND MODERN

The first part of this blog can be found at http://nutty-prof.blogspot.com/.

Amman is a rather ugly, modern city. Apartment blocks cover the hills in every direction. But proudly floating over it all is the largest flag in the world, suspended from the largest flagpole, all the gift of some grateful Saudis.

A hill in the centre of the town has the Citadel. There is evidence that it was fortified in the bronze age, but today the most prominent relic is the Umayyad Palace (6th Cent AD). Here, the Traveller admires part of the Audience Hall, which looks a bit like a Byzantine church because it was built on the remains of one.

Through the Audience Hall, a colonnaded walkway leads to the Throne Room. There were shops on either side, and under the walkway, very extensive water-collection systems.

In one section of the Citadel there was a small but fascinating archeological museum. I was particularly taken by the golden maiden - until I saw her ghostly chaperone, peering in intaglio from the stone below! The Museum also housed some of the Dead Sea scrolls. I had forgotten that they had been found in Jordan.