The end of Jordan

On a spare weekend in Jordan I visited Petra, recently voted one of the seven modern wonders of the world along with Ankor Wat and the Taj Mahal tandoori on Peckham High Street.  Modern is stretching it a bit when it comes to Petra which is pretty old by most standards, but it sure is a wonder.  After wandering the mile of the siq, the narrow crack in the rock where it is impossible to proceed without singing the Indiana Jones theme song, the moment where you catch a glimpse of the Treasury, presumably where Petra’s ATMs were, is magical.  The most amazing sight of the day, though, was the lady taking a photo of her son at the opening of the siq with her BACK to the Treasury and lots of tourists in the background of the photo.

Is that an ATM up ahead?

The Nabateans constructed some amazing tombs for their kings in the cliffs, and very efficiently installed a great many cold drinks shacks, souvenir shops and public lavatories nearby.

What the Nabatean kings would have looked like had they been entombed before being actually dead

An impression of a sacrificial victim on the altar at the High Place of Sacrifice

After Petra it was off to Wadi Rum to follow in the footsteps of TE Lawrence and roam the desert with tea towel on head.  Camping with the Bedouin was pretty good, and the scenery is stunning, but the selection of tourist sights on offer are limited to places where Lawrence may or may not have performed various functions.  Our guide also seemed to have little grip of the distinction between the historical character and the film; I think he believed that Lawrence was followed at great speed by a camera crew as he led the Arabs into battle.  Most disappointing of all was that we didn’t even learn where he got the inspiration for Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

This proves that ancient man had no imagination

The next day in Amman it was back down to earth.  The lock to my flat broke and could not be opened from the inside.  I called someone at the office, she called a man and he eventually turned up under the balcony and called for the key to be thrown down.  I reminded him that the door could not be opened from the inside.  He picked up the key, mounted the stairs, opened the door from the outside, came in and shut the door.  There were now two of us locked in the flat.  I was secretly hoping that he would call a friend who would do the same thing and soon the flat would be swarming with prisoners, but we were able to spring the lock quickly and safely with a carving knife covered in butter.

The next day I was called suddenly to Beirut to my great dismay, as I had just purchased a family-sized carnet of bar vouchers for the British Club in Amman.