Road to Siq
“Hey Bahrain!” the Jordanian cowboy called out as he waved me down. “You want your horse ride today? It’s free, part of your ticket.”
“Sorry,” I told him. “We are allergic to horses. Plus, we arranged for a donkey today.”
“With Juomaa?” he asked.
“Yes,” we confirmed.
Defeated, he shook our hands and said good-bye. The game was over.
9:20. Of course, we were late. The tour groups had already made it to the Treasury. A sound floated our direction – a whistle? Our eyes followed the sound to the grinning Maaz, still dressed in brown. We hardly recognized Juomaa sitting next to him, looking regal in his thobe and gold ghuttra.
Our Salams said, we boarded our 5-star donkeys. Our tent-mates insisted we could make it to the High Point of Sacrifice by ourselves, but Joumaa’s promise to show us the unmentionable place held my curiosity. Maaz led my donkey while I texted my husband. “If you don’t hear from me by the end of the day, then send someone to look for the circling buzzards.” Following narrow trails, we reached a silk-rock cave.
“This was a classroom.” Joumaa pointed out the markings on the walls. They were early 19th century, nothing ancient.
“And here is the place,” he said ushering us around the corner before he hurried away.
The unmentionable – a reminder of the Goddess’ rites practiced under a full moon – a huge phallus carved in the back wall. After seeing that big boner, I understood the Old Testament tirades against Baal.
The visit took ten minutes. 4,000 years later, save the lone phalli, there was nothing left of those wild, fertile times. When we returned, our donkeys were gone.
“I sent the boy ahead.” said Juomaa. “We will walk this way.”
He led us through trees and boulders, narrow passages. We were not the first to cross the ancient steps, but we definitely needed a Bedouin’s guidance.
I heard humming, the echo of a thousand, gathered voices and whispered to Juomaa.
“Shhhh, he said pointing at Louise.
Still wearing her gold shoes, Louise broke through the brush.
“Close your eyes,” I said. “Hold out your hands.”
“Why? What are you going to do to me?” Conjuring the vestal virgins, she stood tall and held out her palms.
“We will guide you.”
As if she knew her fate, she asked in a regal tone, “Where are you taking me?”
“Trust us,” said Juomaa.
It took us a dozen steps to walk her across the boulders.
“Stop here,” Juomaa commanded only centimeters from the edge. Gripping her forearms so she could not break away, he said, “Now – open them.”
Startled, she nearly fell. Then tears swelled in her eyes as she took in the Treasury below us. From our ledge, the tourists and the Bedouin looked like ants.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “I am overwhelmed.”
“Surprise,” said Juomaa.
To be continued …
ABOUT JUOMAA KUDBLAN THE PETRA BEDOUIN GUIDE
Juomaa Kudblan, Mr. Friday, was a man we instantly felt comfortable with. His mobile is 00 962 7 7753 5425.
You can arrange to meet him at the Petra entrance, or, if you are lucky, arrange to meet him at Haroun’s for a sunset trip to the Monastery. He charged us each 50JD for our four-hour tour. His rate matched the rates quoted on Frommer’s. His donkey were well-cared for, and he is a kind, stable individual.
Tales of Dragons, Rabbits and Roosters 