Forgotten for more than 500 years, Jordan’s ancient city of Petra has made an astounding comeback. ELISE RANA visits an ancient wonder you need to see to believe.
Getting out of bed at 6am to look at a piece of hydraulic engineering – if we weren’t in one of the most incredible places on Earth, it’d be the school trip from hell. Certainly, there are stifled yawns as we make our way through the Gate of the Siq, a barely risen sun glimmering weakly on rocks the colour of uncooked pastry. The little cave tombs look so Tatooine-like I’m wondering if I’m actually still asleep and having that Star Wars dream again … until the intricate facade of the Obelisk Tomb reminds me that this is Indiana Jones country, and we’re on our way to find the Holy Grail.
OK, not strictly true. We’re quickly discovering, however, that despite its big publicity coup in The Last Crusade, Petra is more than just a film set – it’s a humbling insight into an entire civilisation that the history lessons seem to have left out. The Nabateans don’t get the publicity of the Egyptians, Romans or Greeks, but for centuries these settled Arab nomads presided over an empire that stretched from Al Medina in Saudi to Damascus in Syria.
With their capital Petra handily placed on the camel caravan crossroads between Egypt, Arabia, Asia and the Mediterranean, trade brought such wealth that, while the rest of the world battled, the Nabateans could afford to simply buy peace – and cherry-pick from other world cultures to create a rich, cosmopolitan one of their own.
The Romans finally took control of the Nabatean kingdom in AD106, but Petra’s heyday was soon to be over. Merchant cash was channelled through other routes, earthquakes levelled large parts of the city and, by the turn of the second millennium, Petra was a ghost town. In the eerie stillness of morning, it still is – making it the most atmospheric time to arrive.
The entire city is a monument to the two most important factors of Nabatean life: rock, of which there was nothing but, and water, as scarce and precious as life itself. Following the dry riverbed that snakes to the entrance of the Siq, the mile-long natural canyon leading into the city, we’re confronted with huge stone ‘god blocks’ standing guard over the water supply. Channels cut into the walls show the nifty Nabatean knack for hydraulics – our guide Mohammed draws our attention to the filtration points, the plaster-lined overhang to prevent evaporation, the separate networks for drinking water and irrigation. The Siq was a holy road, and as such is lined with sacrificial altars and niches carved for statues of deities like Dusharah, god of the mountain itself.
The more we learn, the more the city comes to life in our imaginations, but time is getting on – the sun is rising higher, tinging the uppermost reaches of the canyon walls. Soon the first rays will hit the Treasury. The first horse-drawn carriage of tourists clatters past us, but Mohammed reassures us that the best way to enter is on foot. No books, no films, nothing can describe Petra like your own experience,” he says.
Suddenly, glimpsed between the narrow walls of canyon, it’s there. A 40m-high edifice carved into the rock, soaring columns and capitals decorated with dancing Amazons, and statues of gods. At the top, a carved urn is pocked with bulletholes from Bedouin attempts to unlock the riches of what they believed to be the ‘Pharaoh’s Treasury’. It’s the Indy moment.
Or rather it would be were it not for the mass of donkeys, camels, hollering tat touts and rubble-strewn excavations out front. It’s quite a change from the deserted scene encountered by Swiss explorer Jean Louis Burckhardt, who ‘rediscovered’ the site in the 1800s. Travelling through north Africa in the guise of an Indian Muslim trader (an incomprehensible volley of Swiss German sufficing to convince people of his foreignness), fascinated by local rumours of an ancient city, Burckhardt was taken to the site on the grounds of making a sacrifice at nearby Jebel Haroun.
The ancient city of Petra had lain forgotten for 500 years and, following Burckhardt’s discovery, tourism to the site remained an undertaking only for the intrepid. In the 1980s the Bdul, a local Bedouin tribe living in Petra, were finally relocated, a bus service from Amman was introduced and development of the site proper began. Security fears continue to restrain tourism to Jordan, but that hasn’t stopped Petra being voted into the shortlist of the new Seven Wonders of the World.
Petra, though, is beyond wondrous. As we continue past the Treasury and on towards the Street of Facades, it’s impossible to fathom how Burckhardt could have concealed his awe. A vast ancient metropolis, buried to the waist in shifting sands, stretches out to the horizon, tombs and temples looming from the rock face, colours ever-changing in the desert sun. Petra has only just begun to give up its secrets – only 2% of the central city has been excavated.
Realising the foolishness of trying to ‘do’ Petra in a day, I give in to the Lawrence of Arabia urge and hire a camel to return me to the Siq. Hypnotised by the soft shuffle of the camel’s feet and the sheer marvel of my surroundings, I slip back through the centuries for a moment – until the haunting Bedouin melody my guide is singing segues into No Woman, No Cry. The modern world has discovered Petra, but Mohammed was right. Forget the books, the photos and the films – you have to see it for yourself.”
