Nightfall in Petra

As daylight dims, I come across two signs. One reads, “All Places From Here,” the other, “View End Of The World.” Both point to a path creeping farther up the mountain. Near the peak, I see flashes of vibrant red and green as a Jordanian flag blows wildly in the wind over Petra. A Bedouin man in dark black robes sits tending a teapot in a small shelter a few yards away. His white mule, still bearing its colorful saddle, gazes at me sleepily. The welcoming scent of mint from hot tea wafts toward me on the wind. The man gestures encouragingly up the path. Good enough for me. I set my tired feet into motion once more, feeling the crunch of dry terrain under my boots. I am determined to see the sunset, and the end of the world seems as good a place as any.

I reach the top. The sheer height of my position takes my breath away. Mountains of jagged desert rock rise before me and stretch out to the horizon, their rugged slopes glowing a fiery gold in the setting sun. The light plays in the dusty haze that hovers between the mountain peaks, creating halos of pale pink and glinting gold. The very air around me seems to blush with the warmth of the dying sun. The sun dominates the scene, as if the whole world is focused on its radiant descent. With a final flourish of deep red the sun disappears into the waiting desert.

A Bedouin man heading my way offers to take me back down the mountain on his mule for free. I am guided down the path, enjoying the rhythmic rocking of the mule’s step and the casual conversation with the Bedouin. As I approach the Monastery, a towering wonder of ancient Nabatean civilization, its façade seems to emerge from the rock. Its giant pillars reflect the final golden glow of the day. Beyond the Monastery a man sits silhouetted atop a craggy outpost of rock, strumming an instrument. The music falls from his perch, one note slowly follows the next, echoing off the cliffs and through the canyons. Farther on, we pass an old Bedouin woman packing up her stand, full of jewelry and little statuettes for tourists to buy. She flashes me a toothless grin as we pass. In the wrinkles of her face I can see the faint blue traditional tattoos that line her cheekbones and chin.

The heat of the day gives way to the cool desert breeze. A star appears between the walls of twisting sandstone that now rise on either side of us. As the sky settles into a royal navy another handful of stars scatter themselves above the ancient tombs and temples coming into view. Before long the sky fills with a million glittering stars. The Milky Way creates a bridge across the cluttered cosmos. I lean back on the mule trying to take it all in, blissfully overwhelmed by nightfall in Petra.