"A rose-red city half as old as time"

So said the poet John William Burgon in 1845, and I first read the line at Kamini's Tales of South India.

I re-read it the other day, and the poem rang so true, now that we had enjoyed the privilege of seeing this wonderful wedge of timelessness. It took my breath away and I did not even try to put into words the wonder of it all.

Instead, I turned to a person, who has a better way with words. (Clever, aren't I?!)

So, here's a post by Sekar, with his pictures as well!

(Click on any of the photos for a more detailed, enlarged view.)

There are few places I have visited blind, as it were. Usually there are photographs I have seen, at times I have read a travelogue or history, and in these days where the internet is an outpouring of information, dipping into both official and personal websites before a trip has become as much a part of the trip as the actual travel.

With Petra, there was the memory of two movies, as well.
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was fun, an Indian masala movie in the western idiom, with special effects well beyond what Bollywood was capable of and a memorable climax which I learnt later was filmed at Petra. The sandstone cliffs and the Treasury were striking and filed away in my memory for possible followup later.
The second movie was Lawrence of Arabia. I had seen it as a child. Peter O'Toole's performance was powerful enough to stay in my memory along with the siege of Aqaba and a few other scenes. So much so that I was motivated to search for Aqaba in an atlas. I never found it – Aqaba was too insignificant to merit inclusion – and eventually concluded that I had misheard and that they must have been talking about Addis Ababa (which I did find) instead. Never mind that this meant stretching the geography a bit. 'Lawrence' was restored many years later and I duly made the pilgrimage to watch Lean's masterpiece in 70mm and surround sound. O'Toole was as impressive as I had remembered and the movie even more so. The stunning desert vistas around Wadi Rum, spectacular in 70mm, really took my breath away.

My sister had visited Petra some months earlier. Her account and the photographs she had sent us tempered my expectations. Yes, the setting was very special and the Treasury every bit as spectacular as the photographs and Indiana Jones suggested. What seemed incongruous, though, were her photographs of the shops clustering around the entrance, their signboards garishly proclaiming the Indiana Jones connection. I was half expecting what we normally see in India – the aesthetics of a bygone era juxtaposed with an in-your-face, ugly, modernity. Minus some of the crowds, dirt and noise.

I was pleasantly surprised.

Petra is some 300 kms south of Amman. We soon left the hills of Amman behind and found ourselves surrounded by largely featureless desert. Some hills dotted the distance, there was little vegetation and only the tall, wind blown swirls of sand broke the monotony. I had half hoped for some pale imitation of Wadi Rum, but no luck: the desert was not giving up its jewels to casual passers by. Featureless settlements had come up around the few crossroads, each with an oil-stained garage, a shop or two, a very basic restaurant and some windowed concrete blocks that served as houses. Amman itself was spick and span: these wayside hamlets were shabby and run down, though, outposts uninviting even in the midst of the dreary sands.

The Silk Road Hotel - terrific location, large rooms, but less said about the food the better!

We turned off the main road (which went on to Aqaba – THE Aqaba) and were soon among rolling hills with attempts at plantations and agriculture evident on the odd hillside. The road wound through the hills and suddenly, abruptly, we were dropping steeply into a valley. Sandstone bluffs stood out from the hills and hotels, restaurants and shops hemmed the road in. This was clearly tourist country. We wound our way down through traffic to our hotel, the Silk Road Hotel, wonderfully located by the entrance to the Petra site.

Indiana Jones was there all right, but was not the overwhelming presence I had expected. The visitors center blended well into the surroundings, the shops stocked with the things tourists looked for (water, caps, souvenirs, camera essentials) stood off to one side with Indy beckoning discreetly. The place was clean and people helpful. Warned to be back before dark, we set off down the path to the site. We walked down a shallow valley under clear blue skies, the barren hillsides glowing in the evening sun and some sandstone outcroppings giving us a glimpse of what was to come.

The walk from the visitor's centre to the entrance of the Siq
Much of what remains at Petra is a necropolis. The caves and structures carved out of the sandstone are mostly tombs. Of the city that thrived for several centuries, we can only see the remnants of a colonnaded street, a ceremonial arch and the ruins of several temples, only one of whose walls partially survived an earthquake which brought ruin to the city. No houses, palaces, baths or anything else survive. It is likely that most lesser structures were built of far less durable materials and either perished in the earthquakes which spelt Petra's doom or to looters once the city was abandoned.

The camels we saw squatted contentedly, chewing the cud and pretending to look wise
The donkeys hung around forlornly, looking stupid and bursting into loud hee-haws at random moments.

We visited in early June, towards the end of the tourist season. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Visitors have the choice of riding a horse, a donkey or being pulled in a horse drawn buggy, and once at the Treasury, camels are available as well for the ultimate authentic desert experience.

The Siq - water channels carved into the walls

The Siq narrows, hiding the treasure at the end of it

We walked. Despite the groups of tourists making their way back, despite the riders on horseback racing back and forth looking for custom, despite the cluster of shops at the entrance to the Siq – the long canyon that winds its way to the Treasury and the rest of Petra – there was this sense of timelessness. We were walking into the past.

Petra, ultimately, was all about water. We passed dry waterways as we entered the Siq. In the Siq itself, water channels were carved into the rock. At various places, openings were dammed and the water flow managed. Petra grew at the crossroads of several ancient trade routes that criss-crossed the Arabian desert. Water, and its inhabitants' ability to manage it, allowed it to grow and assume importance. We saw plenty of evidence of this as the canyon walls closed in on us. Fantastically coloured and contoured sandstone rose in jagged walls above us. At places we could barely walk three abreast, at others the passageway opened up, allowing glimpses of sky, the odd plant that had struck roots in unlikely crevices and painted earth where the sun caught the rocks' dizzying colours. Patches of two thousand year old paving forced us to walk with care. We felt like explorers.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, after more than a kilometer of random meandering, the Siq opens up. Ahead, carved into a towering sandstone column, is the Treasury (Khazaneh). There are times and places when photographs cannot prepare you for the real thing, when the real overwhelms the imagination. The Treasury is one such. Classical perfection almost untouched by time.
Al Khazneh, as you emerge from the Siq

The lower half - Al Khazneh
The upper half. This was carved first. All rock carvings in Petra are believed to be top-down
The inner, now bare chamber

The Treasury is actually a tomb. There are signs that the walls were originally ornamented, that there was more to it than just rooms carved into the rock. But what remains is hugely impressive. The smooth walls, the soaring, colonnaded entrance, the decorative carvings, all hewn out of solid rock, take our breath away. We lingered, wanting to make the moment last, unwilling to pull ourselves away from this place. For it was not just this structure, but the entire setting around us. We were in a broad cul de sac, blocked off at one end by a wall of sandstone broken only by a couple of fissures snaking their way up. A narrow break on one side was the Siq. Across it rose the Treasury. Away from the cul de sac, the canyon opened up and curved away, leading down to the rest of Petra's treasures. The twenty first century had become a distant thought; the ancient canyon walls spoke louder than our cameras, plastic water bottles and backpacks.

Evening was nigh, though, and we had to move on.

Petra does not ration out its treasures. There was something everywhere we looked: a tomb, steps leading into the hills, facades, more tombs and, our final stop for the day, an entire amphitheater, large enough to seat several thousands, carved out of solid rock.
The amphitheatre
Here and there were more of those phantasmagorical colours and patterns, completely unreal, nature's surprises for us jaded urbanites. People had lived here once, they had done mundane things and had worked hard carving these wonders out of unforgiving rock. Their lives, their ways, their thoughts have all vanished and we are left thankful that they left some lasting imprint that has cheated time.

Tomb of Uneishu, opposite the theatre. Look to the upper part of the hill.
Street of Facades - multi-storey necropolis

The shadows were lengthening and we needed to get back. It was uphill all the way back and we were ravenous as we sat down to dinner at a streetside restaurant just outside our hotel. The town was quiet, with little traffic. Many visitors to Petra are day trippers from Amman and they had left with their large tour buses. Those staying at the fancy places did not venture out. Budget tourists and some hopeful shopkeepers stood around, snatches of conversation floated up into the cool night, Petra bedded down for the night.

We had a flight to catch from Amman the next afternoon and wanted to make an early start, taking in as much more of Petra as we could before heading back to the airport. The hotel had promised a 6.30AM breakfast. We were at the restaurant at 6.30 along with a fellow tourist with similar ideas. An empty restaurant and a row of empty food heaters greeted us. Silence prevailed. We knew we were going to be delayed, but the row of heaters suggested a substantial breakfast. We sat and waited in anticipation. Someone finally emerged with a plate of toast and dumped it in one of the heaters. We waited some more and it became evident that the Silk Road was not planning to pamper us with a lavish breakfast. We grumpily made what we could of an unpromising situation and set off once more.

Dawn and dusk are cut and dried events in the desert. There are no lingering clouds and haze to soften the transition. The sun comes up and that's it: daylight is on you.
Beyond the amphitheatre, in the morning light


Walking past the amphitheater, we came to a row of tombs situated up on the hillside. Seen from a distance it was almost as though someone had constructed wax models based on the Treasury and then partially melted them. Unlike the Treasury which was sheltered from the wind and the sand in its canyon, these were exposed and two millenia worth of erosion had worn away the smooth walls, the carvings on the pediments and much else. Like abandoned houses, they looked on with blank and unstaring eyes as time took its toll, reducing grandeur to mere shadows of a better past.
The massive Urn Tomb, from ground level
The Urn Tomb, from the terrace
The Corinthian tomb, next door

We made our way up the hillside, and as we got closer the scale of these tombs became apparent. Up close, we had a much better sense of what these structures must have been like in their prime. Some were larger and much more ambitious than even the Treasury. Erosion had exposed the rocks' striking colours and the overall effect took our collective breaths away. Here, we also had a sense of location. The broad valley that lay before us was surrounded by hills and was well protected. We were in the desert – the sand, the lack of vegetation, the rocky sandstone outcrops, the dry air and clear skies all evidenced this – but in a relatively secluded, sheltered corner of the desert. Add the water and the Nabateans had chosen well.
Looking across the valley from the tombs
Below, we could see the remnants of a colonnaded road. Shops must have lined the road at one point, with a covered walkway supported by the columns providing shelter from the harsh sun. Remnants of temples - roofs, columns and walls missing - stood on either side. One - the South temple - was being restored and the scale of what had been was astonishing. Along with the ceremonial archway which framed the far end of the road, the feel was that of a Roman ruin, much like Jerash in northern Jordan.
The road, far below that led to the free-standing ruins
The colonnaded road, being gradually restored
The South Temple
On the far side of the archway was the only freestanding structure - the Qasr al Bint - that had survived the last of the earthquakes that, along with the loss of water, eventually led to Petra's abandonment. The roof had collapsed, but the walls, while damaged, still stood. This had been a temple and, as with so much else we saw at Petra, the scale of the temple and the imagination that had gone into its conception boggled the mind. We take progress for granted as also the notion that man's creations improve with time. These ruins, some two thousand years old, made us realize just how far mankind had come at the time of their creation and put our current situation in some sort of perspective.

The Monumental Arch
The south Temple - upper level
Qasr-al-Bint

Columns line a tomb
Roman-style amphitheatre
Tomb of the ObelisksPetra was a crossroads and its architecture was influenced by many of those who must have stopped by. There are obelisks reminiscent of Egypt, Roman amphitheaters, Greek columns and much else. Today's visitors come from further afield and leave their imprints in different ways. An old man had chosen a shady spot on the path we had climbed to display his wares. Trinkets and earrings, refrigerator magnets, coins and stones were all spread out before him and he called me over. These, he said in a conspiratorial whisper pointing to one pile, are Chinese fakes, and these, pointing this time to an adjacent pile, are genuine antiques. They looked identical. He didn't look in the least put out when I declined his custom and cheerfully waved as I left.

Time was running short. Two days, perhaps three, were needed to see all of Petra at leisure. We had hurried through as much as we could and as we walked back past the growing crowds we turned to take a last look at the monuments, stark in the mid morning sun, and somehow brought to life by the presence of humans, the canyons and caves once more echoing to the sounds of voices and passing feet.

The Monumental gate in the foreground. The bulk of the Al Khubtah mountains in the rear, with the line of carved tombs

Petra and history were a world away that night as we waited under the cold lights of Dubai's newest terminal for our flight back to Madras. Time and geography have strange ways of dealing with reality. Sitting in twenty first century Dubai, Petra felt unreal, a dream almost. We couldn't help wondering what, if anything, would remain of modern Dubai two thousand years hence. Petra would still be there, though. A little the worse for wear, but there, nonetheless.


Dead Sea ramble here.