Our journey started in Eilat, the Israeli city on the Red Sea. We crossed the border into the twin city of Aqaba, the port city of Jordan, then took the double carriage highway north towards the capital Amman.
The road rises through barren mountains to a plateau, with desert vistas and isolated mountains, then west on the King’s Highway, a narrow tar road that runs along the lip of the plateau before dropping down into rugged broken country, a desert of canyons and precipitous peaks.
Finally there is a three mile hike into the wadi, dropping hundreds of feet, the narrow canyon flanked by vertical walls of sandstone, and the increasing evidence of an ancient civilization, carving tombs and homes into the rock faces, some of them a glorious testimony to the artistic talent and perseverance of a by-gone age.
The highway to Amman.
Right of way.
Inselberg mountains on the plateau.
Roadside store.
Bigger version, a bazaar, selling curios and art of various forms. You can buy a three piece set of two chairs and a side table made of oak with mother of pearl inlays for under R200 000.
The lifeblood of Jordan, trucks from the port of Aqaba to the capital of Amman.
Older and smaller, a truck parked off the King’s Highway.
A statue of Mary and child near a roadside bazaar. Behind and below the statue is Petra, hidden in the confusion of wadis. A sign of religious tolerance?
Looking down into the desert which hides the canyon of Petra. Note the Bedouin camp in the yellow foreground.
It was hot. The fountains before the Petra Visitor’s Centre provided relief.
The first five hundred metres of the walk down towards Petra you could do on horseback, or hire a chariot which would take two of you the full three kilometres to the bottom.
The first carvings. Homes and tombs, the latter distinguished by the inscriptions and images carved above their entrances.
Descending into the wadi.
It gets deeper, the sandstone walls rich in colour, reflecting the predominance of various minerals.
The chariots thunder by, iron horseshoes on stone.
“Why are your feet so big grandma?” The stone feet of two men guarding the entrance to the city, both largely eroded until only the lower legs and feet remain.
The prize of all at Petra, the magnificent “Treasury”. It was carved from the top down. Look at the surrounding rock and imagine yourself, on a scaffold high above that canyon floor, striking the first blows with your chisel.
With the patience of Job.
Appropriate attire for a camel ride?
The other beast of burden, before the Why Not Shop.
On the way to our overnight stop, in those mountains in the background, at the Bait Ali Camp in Wadi Rum.
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