Our Second Day in Petra

On our second day in Petra, despite our very best intentions, we have not managed to beat the crowds, and when we arrive at the gates around 9:30 am, there are bus loads of tourists streaming down the gravel path to the Siq with their bum bags and overstuffed fishing vests, chatting loudly in anticipation of the spectacle of this ancient city.

We decide that rather than walking down through the narrow Siq to the Treasury, bottlenecked in with this eager crowd, we will take an alternate route- a narrow canyon that will lead us straight to the roman amphitheatre in the heart of the city, allowing us to bypass the name badge wearing tour groups.

We descend down past the sign that declares,

'Warning: danger without guide',

and only get a few metres before we hear shouts from above. It is the blue clad Tourist Police, gesturing for us to come up and join the rest of the tourists.

Disappointed, but not yet beaten, we return to the main path to confront the Tourist Police, proffering our maps and pointing firmly to the path we intend to take.

They shake their heads and mutter something about 'danger' and 'winter' and 'too much water'. Even at this early hour the sun has a sharp bite to it and it's hard to conceive that this path might still be flooded from winter rains.

'Where you from?' they ask us suspiciously.

'Min Australia', three of us reply in chorus, the German wisely staying silent.

The Policemen make pretence at tearing up our map whilst considering our nationality, but finally decide that we can have our map back, and attempt this 'dangerous' route. It's hard to tell what they have based this decision on, but, however arbitrary, we waste no time thinking about it, and hurry back to the canyon.

The Siq which yesterday led us to the ancient sandstone tomb inappropriately named The Treasury and made famous by Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade was formed by an earth quake, that split the huge rock face, leaving a narrow corridor that the Nabataens blocked off to deter invaders.

The canyon that we take today has been formed by the flow of water, and we can see as we enter though the tunnel that thousands of winters rainfall has shaped these rocks, carving smooth patterns as it rushed through from the overflowing dam.

Within a few hundred meters we are alone and the steep sandstone is blocking the glare of the morning sun. It is cool and silent, far from the crowds.

We can clearly see our path- a river bed of rocks that winds through the canyon. We scramble up and over and through tight openings.

Around a corner we come face to face with an elderly Bedouin man, who we greet with,

'Salam aleikum'.

He silently watches us as we slide down further into the canyon, passing bags and water and cameras down first in order to jump safely from the rocks.

Our path becomes muddier as descend and eventually we come to deep pools of water collected at the base of the narrow canyon, which we carefully climb around. It is the only thing to remind us that we are at the tail end of winter here in the desert, and that weeks ago, during the nights, that are now a temperate twenty one degrees, could go below zero.

The canyon widens, and we emerge to see another Bedouin man leaning up against the rock face with a teapot and cup of tea. High up in the distance are rows of tombs cut into the sandstone hills. We and the Bedouin man are the only people for as far as the eye can see, alone with the amazing landscape and it's millennia of history.

Around the corner we come across a donkey, unattended, tethered to the ground. He regards us as the Bedouin men did, with mild interest, and nothing else.

Consulting the map we conclude that we must follow the cliff around, which should take us to the Tomb of Sextius Florentinus.

Sure enough, after the remnants of some Roman walls, we see the Tomb cut into the rock, with an old Bedouin woman camped out the front with rows of sliver jewellery. It is an impressive sight- as imposing as the Treasury, but without the crowds that constantly surround it.

We each grab our cameras to capture this image, and as we do, a group of hikers emerge from behind the tomb, their aluminium walking poles glinting in the sun. We recognise them as the group of French walking enthusiasts we encountered the day before up at the High Place of Sacrifice.

Our time alone with the desert has come to an end, and we take a final glance behind us at the empty landscape, before pressing on towards the point where our path less travelled joins the regular tourist route, where we will blend in with the other cargo pant clad adventurers, haggling over the price of donkey and camel rides, standing in awe of these imposing structures and trying to imagine the Nabataens going about their daily lives in this barren beautiful land.