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I gaze in awe at the tombs of the great lords,
at the niches and carvings, accompanied by a
Japanese convoy dutifully following the guide’s
flag with Nipponese order, their curious chat-
ter pulling me momentarily out of my “budding
explorer” moment — as I stroll alongside Indy
(Harrison Ford) and his charming father, Sean
Connery, in The Last Crusade, while Queen
Noor and her children, Ali, Hamzah and Has-
him, watch us from the set. Or why not? Pla-
ying the role of a spy with the Swiss Johann
Ludwig, posing as Bedouins and rediscovering
the Nabataean kingdom in 1812.
And then we enter Petra by candlelight. Silence
and solemnity accompany a few spiritual mo-
ments in which you feel very small, part of so-
mething so vast. I, overwhelmed, remain silent,
moved as I see one of my companions shed
tears — fulfilling the childhood dream of see-
ing Petra. Perhaps he weeps for the dreamlike
beauty before him, I think, or perhaps becau-
se, having achieved that dream, a void opens
where a new one must now be found.
The truth is, if it was spectacular by night, then
by the light of the next morning, the appea-
rance of the Treasury is no less breathtaking
— despite the joyful singing of the Japanese
tourists and the horse carts and mules weaving
through the crowds.
From dream to nightmare
The little climb up to the Monastery is no joke.
I’m fully aware of how my face changes when
I look up and see the nine hundred ascending
steps, as my companions earnestly suggest
I go up on a mule. “What are you saying?” I
respond to the brilliant idea of seeing myself
swaying on the animal’s back, on the verge of
falling into the abyss at every curve of those
steps — which vary in size, height, and texture
— or collapsing from dehydration under the in-
fernal sun. I start climbing, quietly, so as not to
waste energy, measuring each step, and finally
relying on the camaraderie of my friends, who
pull me up the last rocky stretch until we reach
the façade of Al Deir, the Monastery. Truth be
told, it’s not quite the same as that first vision
of the Treasury. I don’t even glance at the Mo-
nastery — I march straight over to buy a bottle
of water and pour it over my head, while my
friends film the unusual spectacle. Once I’m
watered both inside and out, I take a moment
to admire the admirable Al Deir of Petra.
MANENA S WINDOW
From Japón to Petra
Small amid the grandeur of the climb to the monastery
Resting at the Monastery
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