Jordan (November 19-24, 2008)

[FINALLY finished and posted!]

The Levant. The Holy Land. Though technically part of the Middle East, Jordan is drastically different from the Arabian Peninsula in environment, history, and culture. The landscape is gray and rocky, with trees, shrubbery, and grass making regular appearances; the hilly contours of the land provide for some amazing vistas; and the weather… well, it’s cooler and it rains more. The region is also rich in history and archaeology, including biblical sites such as the Dead Sea and the River Jordan, ruins from the heyday of the Roman Empire like the cities of Jerash and Umm Qais (as well as theatres, the remnants of temples, and other vestiges of the city’s ancient origins in Amman itself), castles from medieval times, like the Crusader fortress of Karak and the Saracen stronghold of Ajlun, and world wonders like the ‘lost city’ of Petra. And for a history lover such as myself, where the oldest monuments I had yet encountered were from the Age of Discovery, a country steeped in history and monuments from the ancient and medieval periods alike, this was an unprecedented event.

Martine, Sunali and I are the faculty advisors for our school’s Model United Nations team. For those of you unfamiliar with what Model United Nations is, it’s basically just what it sounds like: an organization that models itself on the real United Nations. We assign country delegations to the students, give them issues to research, have them draw up proposals and resolutions, and defend and debate those positions in ‘sessions’. The Amman MUN conference was our school's first conference this year (and incidentally, the first conference ever for Sunali and myself, as well as for fifteen of our twenty-one students; Martine had never taken students to a conference before, but she had some exposure with how conferences were run due to her school having hosted one when she was at university).

We stayed in the Radisson SAS Amman, the site of a car bomb explosion during a wedding in the hotel in 2006. Every time we entered the hotel we had to go through a metal detector and submit to a pat-down. This actually ended up being the norm in most buildings we entered, including at the host school of the conference and at a group dinner with all of the faculty advisors and children that took place in a tourist dinner venue housed in a trader compound built in the 19th century. And yet, as with the poverty and disease that were so blatantly prevalent in Bangladesh, the history of terrorist attacks and instability in the region didn’t stop the residents from smiling and being friendly. Thus far, with every country I’ve visited (excepting Oman (because I was only there for about two hours), and Russia (because… well, it’s Russia)) the people do seem to be quite friendly and welcoming towards visitors (ostensibly because they want their country to get a good reputation from foreigners, but also likely owing to a sense of civic pride in one’s culture and heritage…something we see far too little of in the artificial, shallow, transient world of Dubai).

The first day in Jordan was spent traveling, getting settled in, and exploring a little bit of Amman. More than any place I’ve been thus far in my international travels, Amman reminded me of home. I don’t know if it was the mild weather (like the cool, crisp Autumns in Tallahassee), the rolling hills, or the city planning itself (its road systems, buildings, and whole feel reminded me much more of Tallahassee (or even Jacksonville, the other Florida city I’ve been frequenting over the past few years) than did the spread-out, mall-, hotel-, and highway-philic city of Dubai, the dirty, decrepit and overpopulated city of Dhaka, or the historic bustling city of Rome (getting ahead of myself…)). It was probably a combination of the three. And the fact that the city had a soul. A soul I could relate to (as opposed to the soulless artifice of a city that is Dubai, or the impoverished city of Dhaka which undoubtedly has a soul, but our stay there was too brief, and its ‘soul’ too foreign to be quickly related to). Walking the streets (not like that!), especially some of the quieter, more residential streets in the cool of the afternoon, the gray skies overhead portending rain that wouldn’t come, shading us from the heat and glare of the sun… that was a fun experience. And we (in this instance, being Martine, Sunali, myself, and about half-a-dozen of our students) were all but alone on our little walking journey. Very few other pedestrians were in the area, and even fewer cars. Moreover, despite being in the largest city in Jordan, there was very little ambient noise – automotive or otherwise – intruding into our peaceful escapade. But enough about that.

In the interest of expeditiousness, I’m going to cut most of the MUN part of the trip from this entry (e.g. the sessions, the interactions with the kids, et al), and just focus on the four historical excursions that the three of us undertook. And I’ll be doing well just to keep those rich experiences from turning into a novel-length entry. Here goes.

Despite the wealth of historic monuments in Jordan, one is undoubtedly the most famous. Rediscovered by the Western world in the nineteenth century, popularized by travel journals and pictorials, and immortalized by Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, the ‘lost city’ of Petra is by far Jordan’s most famous archaeological site, making an appearance on most ‘new’ Seven Wonders of the Ancient World lists (as six of the ‘original’ seven have been lost to antiquity). I admit that, prior to going on this trip, I was unaware of the myriad ‘non-Petra’ castles and ruins that Jordan can claim.

Our trip to Petra was one of the three excursions offered by the conference for students and faculty advisors alike. The others, to Jerash and to the traditional baptism site of Jesus at the Jordan River, were interesting to be sure, but my desire to see those sites paled in comparison to that of seeing Petra. Martine, Sunali and I, along with five of our students (the other sixteen went on other excursions with other advisers from other schools) boarded a tour bus from our hotel and started on our three-hour journey south. And on my head, of course, I wore my Indiana Jones ‘lucky adventuring hat’. It just wouldn’t be right any other way.

From the main entrance, the first hour or so of the journey travels down the Siq, the high-walled canyon that meanders through the rocky region. The path was dotted with idols and miniature shrines, the details of which had long since been blasted away by the sands of time. The cobbled stones of the old Roman road, built when the Nabataeans (the ancient near-east civilization who inhabited these hills and built the edifices that we had come to see) finally relinquished control of their lands to the all-powerful Roman Empire. The well-preserved remains of the Roman dams, now long dry on both sides. The meticulously calculated trenches cut into the side of the Siq, taking advantage of the natural downward gradient of the channel (its ancient riverbed origins being the cause of the canyon’s existence in the first place) and mirroring the preciseness of the gradual slope that the Romans would later use in perhaps their greatest architectural and scientific achievement: the aqueducts. The Nabataeans were a nomadic people originally from Arabia, not unlike the Bedouins, who forsook their wandering ways and took up a permanent residence in the environs of Petra, using the natural surroundings (such as the single narrow entrance (and thus, easily defended) and the natural slope (for irrigation purposes) of the Siq to their advantage in the relatively inhospitable region. But Petra isn’t a world-renowned site, a marvel of antiquity, because of the resourcefulness of its settlers. It is famous because of its tombs, the myriad sepulchers and facades built into the very walls of the cliffs themselves. And the most famous of these tombs, the most elaborate and well-preserved of these facades, belongs to the site that Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford helped to make world-famous as the mythical resting place of the Holy Grail: the monument known (seemingly fallaciously) as the Treasury.

I’ve seen dozens of pictures of the Treasury; I’ve seen it in movies; I’ve studied its history and design. I was obviously excited to see it, and I knew that it would be a monumental (no pun intended) experience for me, a lover of all things historical and all sites archaeological. And yet, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted me as I rounded that last turn in the Siq before the façade of the Treasury, shining dust red in the daylight at the end of that sun-starved alley of twisted stone we had been traversing for the past hour. You must understand, too, that we had no idea exactly around which turn (for there were many in our long, winding journey) that imposing sight would greet our eyes. Even if we had known exactly how many steps lay between us and that fateful sight, though, I have little doubt that my reaction would have been much the same. My reaction? It quite literally took my breath away. I was quite excited when I caught my first glimpse of the easily recognizable monument, but when I finally stepped from the maw of the Siq and into the open canyon floor in front of the Treasury, my breath caught in my throat and I very nearly staggered in wonder. I don’t know if it was the sheer magnitude of it (it was even higher than I had anticipated), the fact that this towering monument dated back before the time of Christ (it is believed that the Treasury was built in the First Century B.C.), or the fact that I was finally beholding one of the great historic, archeological, and, at least in the popular mythos, mystery-filled sights in the world. I was living out a dream of mine, seeing one of the sights that I had always dreamed of beholding. Petra. The Grail Temple (actually, I checked inside, and it’s much more boring than in the movie (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, if you haven’t been following along). Either Spielberg staged the whole thing on a set, or the drab stone walls and ceiling with the rectangular, unadorned doorways are what’s left of the temple after Ilsa tried to bring the Grail across the seal and the whole place came crashing down around their ears). Okay, so enough of my adventure-nerd humor. Back to the story.

The rest of Petra was also amazing, though that moment, that encounter with the mythical monument at the Treasury, was undoubtedly the pinnacle of our excursion. From the treasury, we followed the main path deeper into the city. After a bit, the path opened up from the relatively narrow canyon floor we had been walking on to a more open area. The hawkers, who had made their first appearance at the plaza in front of the Treasury, were out in spades, selling everything from souvenir magnets and books to handmade crafts and ‘authentic’ coins from ancient Rome to rides on camels, donkeys, or in horse-drawn carriages. The sandblasted facades of once-ornate tombs dotted the cliffsides. One large tomb, seemingly hundreds of meters from the canyon floor, showcased a trail of tourists and explorers traversing the narrow precipice that led to its entrance, like ants to an unguarded picnic basket. An ancient Roman theatre, still in good repair after countless generations of its builders’ absence, was the greatest monument in the scene of the city’s Latin conquerors, the theatre-goers of yore watched in turn by the tombs and temples that surrounded the pavilion, a theatre of even greater magnitude and whose shows continue millennia later, the endless parade of tourists from worlds the Romans knew nothing of, still watched by the eyeless sentinels of ages past. Centuries of wind and sandstorms had sculpted the hills into a variety of shapes; in some places they were the rough edges of a broken lump of clay, untouched by the potter and left to dry and crack in the sun; in others, they were smooth and twisted, like the work of a glassblower, pulled and wrapped in beautiful, amorphous forms like taffy. And everywhere, the vestiges of its ancient denizens, Nabataean and Roman alike, caught the eye and screamed the resilience of their stonecraft, still standing, if a little worse for the wear, fifteen centuries after both peoples had ceased to inhabit these haunting hills. As we sat on a wooden bench facing this scene of ancient wonder, munching on a noontime snack of a Twix bar and a bottle of water, but one word flashed through my mind: wow.

Due to time constraints, we were unable to explore most of the city (although what we did get to experience was more than worth the trip), but I definitely plan to return sometime soon, probably camping in the hills and experiencing Petra as it was meant to be experienced. And yet, in great irony, my staying in Petra would have the opposite effect as to that of the first Nabataeans who called this city home: it would be much quieter, less-crowded, and more primitive than that of my normal city-dwellings, while the permanent city that Petra was to the once-nomadic Nabataeans would have provided the reverse experience. And beyond the adventure, the wonder, the excitement of exploring those hills explored by millions of other feet, thousands of years apart, is my other motivation: Petra will definitely figure into one of my novels, probably prominently. I’ve known that Petra would inevitably find its way into one, but my trip there more than confirmed it. If you ever get the opportunity to go, go.

Martine, Sunali and I also got to go visit the old Roman theatre in Amman, a colossal structure set against a hillside. I climbed the treacherously narrow stairs, crumbled in parts by the feet of countless patrons and visitors, the decay and wear of time, to the very top. Although the theatre was in a valley, the view was amazing. For those who are curious, the city we now call Amman is the important site known as Rabbah of the Ammonites in the Old Testament and was called Philadelphia in Hellenistic times, which explains the wealth of ruins of ancient grandeur that can still be found throughout the city today. The few remaining pillars of the Temple of Apollo, near the ancient Citadel and set atop the tallest hill in the city, could be seen from nearly anywhere in the older part of the city, as could a smattering of old palaces and mosques from the Byzantine and Islamic eras, a visual timeline of the long history of the city.

At the northmost tip of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan sits the ruins of the Roman city of Umm Qais (known to the Romans as Gadara). The three of us traveled northward from Amman to this historic site. And what a sight it was! The city was situated at the top of a tremendous hill, from which you could see Syria to the north and, just west of the sparkling Jordan River, Israel was visible. It felt like the ‘see seven states’ motto of Lookout Mountain, Georgia. Only Georgia is somewhat lacking in the Roman ruins department. When the three of us were exploring the theatre and the tunnels beneath, we saw something none of us had seen since we had arrived in Dubai: rain. It wasn’t a downpour; more like a hard, persistent drizzle, but we relished it. The cool autumn air, the crisp smell of unadulterated nature, miles from the nearest urban area, the refreshing moisture from the heavens, a heavens we were already a good thousand feet closer to than was the highest adjacent valley, a moisture we hadn’t had the pleasure of dancing in for months. We laughed and craned our necks skyward, extending our arms in an expression of surrender to the blessing of the heavens, closing our eyes and drinking in the moment. When it was occupied, Umm Qais would have been quite a bustling place. A theatre, several temples, houses and outbuildings galore, and what may have once been a palace (the governor’s house, perhaps?). A long stretch of Roman road, glistening black with the recent rain, extended northward, lined by the ruins of tombs and baths. About a kilometer down the road, I encountered an active archaeological dig (though, strangely, using backhoes and other heavy equipment that didn’t seem quite appropriate for the meticulous, detailed, one-shot-only work of archaeological excavation, but then, what do I know?). A ranger station (or whatever they call them in Jordan) was also just off the road, perched at the edge of the cliff to maintain a proper vigil on the valleys below. When exploring the city, I noticed something that I had never encountered before: there were no guardrails, no blockades, no areas that were posted as being prohibited for visitors. So I just went nuts. I climbed, ran, hopped from structure to structure. The whole city was my playground; my two-thousand-year-old playground. I entered old houses, poked my head in cisterns, crawled through tunnels and passageways, climbed and jumped and wandered my way around the city. I had the most glorious time getting lost and then getting more lost, just wandering and exploring and discovering and satisfying my insatiable curiosity. I doubt that there was ever a Roman who lived in that city who had as much fun as I did just exploring. Good times.

The final historical site we visited dated not from antiquity but from the medieval era: Ajlun, the Saracen fortress built and manned by a nephew of Salah al-Din (known to the western world as Saladin, the great Saracen strategist during the crusades, revered in the Arab and Western worlds alike and generally regarded, alongside Richard the Lionheart, to be the greatest general of the era). When we arrived, the sun was beginning its long autumn descent into dusk, the waning light, breaking through the thick clouds at intervals, silhouetting the stronghold on the solitary hilltop, the modern town of Ajlun filling the valley at its foot like children gathered at the skirt of their mother, seeking protection and refuge from an enemy long-since vanquished. The view of the castle (my first medieval castle, mind you) was captivating. I think my first glimpse of it, its features shrouded by distance and poor lighting, its stalwart parapets jutting into the sky, the enigmatic sentinel standing alone atop its verdant lookout, filled me with even more wonder and awe than when I actually began exploring it, half-an-hour later. Which is not to belittle the experience of exploring a medieval castle, one that withstood every crusader attack launched upon it. On the contrary, exploring the fortress of Ajlun, its myriad halls, tunnels, chambers and passageways was yet another moment of magic and mystery that I will hold dear for the rest of my life. Peering out through the arrow slits in one of the outer walls, I found myself wondering: Who stood here eight-hundred years ago? What did they see in the valley below? Crusaders? Mongols? What went through their minds as they defended this fortress? It was the same rectangular hole in the stone, the same slit in the wall that provided an eye to the valley below, but though the window was the same, the situation of the man who looked through the window and the view itself had changed drastically. Some of the walls were ruined, some looked much as they would have in the twelfth century. Upon climbing to the top (again taking advantage of the lack of guard rails and other such safety measures/barriers-to-exploration that are a staple in American historical sites and tourist attractions), a magnificent view greeted my eyes. The valley that surrounded my vantage point was green with trees, gray with homes and offices. And it extended for miles. No red-and-white banners of the approaching Crusaders to be seen, no blood-curdling war cries of the feared Mongol hordes; just the idyllic sight of the verdant valley, the setting sun stretching shadows across the landscape, the whisper of the wind tickling my eardrums the only sound. Awed as I was by the view, I knew our time there grew short, as closing time was rapidly approaching, so, just as I had in Umm Qais (albeit with more of an element of danger, considering the sheer height of the edifice and its topographical position), I explored my heart out, clambering over wall and through tunnel, up precarious staircases, seemingly not intended for visitors, and down five-foot drops to levels below. At one point, while exploring an area of the roof, I encountered a shallow slope of pebbles and crumbling rock that ended at a thirty- or forty-foot sheer drop (which I actually got on video… yeah, I was running around doing this stuff with a camera in hand… crazy, eh?). ‘Intrepid world explorer’, indeed. All in all, a very interesting place that I want to go back to again and spend more time exploring.

So, in short, this trip, though we had to do teacher supervisor stuff much of the time, was my most enjoyable vacation to date. Great people, refreshing weather, beautiful vistas, and the ability to explore world wonders, ancient cities, and medieval castles mostly unhindered by barriers combined to make this trip one never to be forgotten, and in all likelihood, one to be repeated sometime in the near future.