A Passionate Pilgrim

Two thousand years ago, Petra was a tollgate. The Nabataeans labored against the living stone, erecting forts and building watchtowers. Arabs seeking to trade along the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, had to cross the Jordanian desert, had to trudge past these towers, had to pay a fare.

They were good builders these early taxmen. A mastery of water systems and architecture had enabled them to push their dominance into a large part of Arabia.

But it was not to last.

In 106 AD, the kingdom was annexed to the Roman Empire. The Nabataeans yielded, like so many others, to the superpower of the Classical Era.

For a while the Nabataeans endured. Eventually, however, the trade routes that had brought caravanning Arabs to the edges of Petra were re-drawn. The lust for frankincense – the petroleum of the time – declined, and the red walls were left to ruin. Petra faded out of European knowledge.

Around 400 years later, in 1812, the Swiss explorer Ludwig Burckhardt rediscovered Petra. But the cultural inclusivity that showed in the Egyptian, Greco-Roman and Mesopotamian architecture and art had been replaced by a distrust of infidels. Burckhardt himself had spent years studying the Koran and learning Arabic, in order to disguise himself as a Muslim.

Bearded and robed, he walked through the siq, the ancient entrance that leads towards the city of Petra. Beside him, the cliffs rose 80 meters into the sky, their walls peppered with carvings. When he rounded the final bend, and looked on at Al-Khazneh - the treasury – he was awed by its beauty. He desperately lamented being unable to break character.

Over 200 years later, I’m retracing Burckhardt’s steps, adding my own footprints to a parchment that has been recording adventures for centuries. Beside me, the same cliffs rise 80 meters into the air. The same carvings are etched into the walls. When I see the treasury, I know exactly how Burckhardt felt. How can I not?

What is different though, is I’m not in disguise. It’s because Petra has turned again. The openness of the early Nabataeans has reappeared. My guide looks back at me. His eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah?” he beams.

I nod, grin, almost jump for joy: unlike Burckhardt, I’ve no need for appearances.