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Published: March 6th 2008
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Yes, this we heard everyday we were in Petra. It is the motto of the Bendouin. Well, at least for those living in Petra who would love the chance to invite tourists to sleep in their caves. A million stars, get it? Cause you'ld be sleeping under the stars? hehe.
Well, Petra was certainly a story. First of all, Mom and I found a taxi driver from the border to take us to Petra for a decent price (well, decent considering my bargaining skills are well, awful), and we ofcourse stopped for coffee along the way (the taxi driver insisted on paying).
We made it to Wadi Mousa, the town just outside Petra, and the taxi driver asked if we had a place to stay. We said no, what place do you recommend? Wrong question! Cause every taxi driver to Petra has his allegience to a particular hostel, so he took us straight to the Valentine Inn, "where you come as a guest and leave as a friend." Overwhelmed and a bit tired, we took it despite its somewhat dusty appearance. And the bathroom with the toilet in such a tight space that you have to sit on it
with your legs around it like riding a horse as to avoid bumping your knees into the wall. And when you bend over to wipe, your head hits the wall too. Yes, hospitality.
Also, the woman at the front desk was mean. She yelled at me when I suggested a lower price. She said that she was from Italy when infact she was from Syria. Poop.
But the dinner was good. One perk. And only 4 JD per person!
Anyways, by the time we settled in it was already mid afternoon, too late to pay the fee to get into Petra (its a park, not a city). So we went to a little are next to Petra called Little Petra (clever, I know). It was similar to Petra, with the Nabetean carvings and such, but much smaller.
So we arrived there, and within ten minutes of walking around, we were joined by two youngish boys (well, one teenager, and one my age) who quickly turned into our tour guides. I ended up doing some great climbing that day with the younger one (see pictures). At the end of the day I bought a kafiyah (did I
See that little white dot?
That's Aaron's grave. That's right. The Aaron. Moses brother. The High Priest. This is serious stuff. really have a choice?) and drank some tea. And we agreed to meet the next day in Big Petra, and they would be our guides (they seemed to know what they were doing, why not?)
Now, before I continue, let me tell you about one of the Beduoins, by the name of Momo (short for Mohammed, but insisted on being called Momo). That first day in Little Petra, Momo told us about his late girlfriend from California. Apparently he had a girlfriend name Peggy from California, who would visit him for a few months every year. Then she died tragically in a car accident while her father was drunk driving. Momo pulled up his sleeve and showed a tattoo of her name in big uppercase letters in between two hearts on his upper arm. He then showed us the picture of her on his cell phone, a beautiful young woman wearing a kefiyah.
So yes, the next morning, it was raining. Wonderful. So dressed in our Sunday best, raincoat and all, Mom and I met Momo, and his other cousin Talil, in Wadi Mousa, and drove down to Petra. We spent the day wandering the beautiful architecture, hiking,
riding donkeys, and trying our best (pretty much unsuccessfully) to keep dry. In the evening we drove back to Wadi Mousa to buy ingredients for dinner, and in typical Arab hospitality, was invited over to Talil;s Bedouin house (it was too rainy and cold for the tent), and ate a beautiful meal his sister prepared in 15 minutes.
Then the nargila was shared by all, and they drove us home.
Now another note. I would be lying if this story were that simple. You see, in someways it is unfortunate to be a girl traveling in Petra without a man. Especially if you are from a Western country. And especially if you are naive like me. :-)
As our day in Petra went on, Momo tried many times to give me what he called "bedouin energy," or a massage, or rather, an excuse to touch me. I guess it sort of makes sense, here I am, fresh girl meat, when all the girls he knows from his village are modest and do not touch men before marriage. I am a perfect way to be able to satisfy his desires.
Ofourse, I am a fool. I think,
oh, this guy is really into me (and I was flattered, but I'll tell you that the feeling was far from mutual). And so at the end of the day I give him my phone number, because hey, maybe me and some friends will want to go back to Wadi Araba and ride his racing camel or drive his 4x4 (hey, I promise, there are no puns intended there!).
Needless to say, that was a bad move.
For the next week, I was recieving 3-5 text messages a day, and occasionally a phone call. Messages like "Warda (yes, he decided to give me a bedouin name, and the name is Warda. Yes, I know.), I love you like the north wind blows north, the sun rises... (etc. etc) I am sad, I am lonely, I am depressed... all because you are there, and I am here.... I send you bedouin kisses, they are from my heart... and so on and so forth (blaaaaah!). I know, slap me across the face. I deserve it.
Anyways, just to top it off, a week later when Mom and I were staying at the Masada guest house, we had befriended the
head of the dining room there. He was a sweet Arab man, and we spent some time chatting to him that evening. I ended up playing with his phone, and flipping through the pictures on it. And low and behold, there appears the picture of Momo's girlfriend! Ofcourse, my reaction is: You know Momo the Bedouin? From Petra? Holy Shit! Ofcourse this guy looked at me like I was crazy. He took his phone and told me that the picture was of an Egyptian singer.
This is the point where the music rolls to a stop and I stand there, my head bowed in shame at my naivete.
And everyone bursts into laughter.
Well, needless to say, the next time Momo called me my friend answered and pretended to be an old Israeli man who didnt speak English, and Momo never called again.
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