If you go down in the woods today / You're sure of a big surprise

After another week of teaching, hanging out with Iraqis, and drinking their tea, I decided to head down to Petra for the weekend with my friend Katkuta.  All things considered, visiting Petra whilst one is in Jordan is a comparatively normal thing to do, but after we got off the bus, this was a decidedly peculiar trip, filled with running, jumping, jumping off of dangerous heights, and moments of serenity at midnight in a cave.

After walking through the Siq, getting our first glimpse of the apocryphally-named Al-Khazneh, the Treasury, we decided to climb on top of the peaks overlooking it, rather than staying at ground level.  Our confidence exceeded our skills in mountaineering, and we found ourselves within earshot of the Treasury, but unable to locate it after a two-hour hike up the mountain.  Due to fasting, our level of goofiness was quite high, and being lost on top of a mountain in Petra seemed like the appropriate time to discuss which stringed instrument would be most useful in fighting off a bear attack.  'Ouds would be useless because they're so light and a Flying V would be too unwieldy, but a nice Les Paul or a Telecaster would be JUUUST RIGHT.  After singing "Teddy Bears' Picnic," which resulted in Katkuta laughing so hard she nearly fell into a pile of goat dung, we retraced our steps and made it to cliff overlooking the Treasury.

After sitting and sketching with mixed results for an hour or so (just long enough to get a sunburn on my feet), we began our descent.  Now there's a well-marked trail that we could have taken, but in the spirit of questing for the unknown, we headed down something that looked like it had been stairs a couple thousand years ago.  For the first few hundred meters it wasn't bad: we crab-walked down a huge rock and squeezed our Ramadan-emaciated bodies through small passages.  After about thirty minutes on our "short-cut," we realized that the path we chose doesn't have an outlet; it's 25-30 ft to the ground.  We can't get back up the way we came without climbing equipment.  At the edge of the rock face, I saw a tree poking out of the rocks.  The leaves were green, and it seemed pretty sturdy.  I shimmied out onto a low branch and then hung until I was sure I wouldn't hit the rocks on the way down.  Then I jumped.

After hitting the ground and rolling, I was mostly uninjured, with adrenaline pumping like I'd never felt before.  Katkuta, who later informed me that she has a fear of heights, followed suit...eventually.  Despite weighing significantly less, the branch began to crack as she hesitated, sitting there for a minute before jumping.  Surgically-repaired ankle intact, we walked around Petra the rest of the day with a sense of accomplishment.

As strange as this sounds, the day got even better.  We hiked out of the Siq and I again sang "Teddy Bears' Picnic," while we waited for someone I'll call "Ahmad" to pick us up.  Ahmad is a Bedouin, and the Bedouin of Wadi Musa used to all live in caves in Petra.  The government forced most of them into a pre-fab village a mile or two away, but he doesn't much like settled life.  So he has a cave in Petra that he keeps as his bachelor pad.  After having mansaf for dinner with his wife and kids in the Bedouin village, we piled into his 4x4 and drove into the canyons, picking up his 'oud-playing brother along the way.

That night is something I'll never forget.  Outside the door to his cave, we sat around a small fire, drinking tea, singing songs, and staring up at the stars.  Seeing Petra on a tour or visit is an incredible experience, but when you compound that with hanging out and sleeping in a 2000 year old rock-cut cave, the night takes on a new meaning.  Passing cigarettes and shai and switching off on the 'oud with Ahmad's brother, under the Ramadan moon, more stars than I could count, and the moonlit mountains of Petra, life was serene.