I am a giant lobster that has been thrown at a cheese grater, and had its legs cracked so the meat can be sucked out!
After a nominal amount of sleep, I awoke this morning feeling like I was getting up to go to school. Jean awoke with the kind of excitement and spring in her step that you’d expect to see in a child about to visit Disneyland.
In an effort to delay my impending doom, I took a shower that was somewhat longer than my usual three minutes, and then we went down to get breakfast. Initially, I was excited by this, as I’d heard it was a buffet. But seeing the selection available, my excitement turned to fear of either starving or getting food poisoning.
Choosing between those two options was difficult, but I eventually decided to risk food poisoning and gathered the weirdest breakfast selection I have ever seen. First up was some sort of weird, wafer-thin meat that I can only assume was peeled directly from a depressed cow’s face. Alongside this there was something shaped like a sausage, but it tasted more like lard-soaked sawdust. Along with this was an attempt at scrambled eggs that had the texture of rubber. I nibbled at this mix for a few moments before my gag reflex kicked in and I spontaneously vomited into the coffee pot Jean had ordered. She didn’t look impressed by this, but was surprisingly tolerant.
I then considered having some of the cereals on offer, but really couldn’t trust that the white liquid claiming to be milk hadn’t come from a human. So, after exhausting those options, I stuffed my face with some strange pastries, which I think were one percent nuts, two percent flour, twenty seven percent air, and seventy percent sugar.
This was not a very good start to a day that could only get better... right? Wrong. We then set off to ancient Petra, for what would turn out to be the longest, most gruelling walk of my life. Not even the most elite military force in the world is subjected to walks like this, yet we paid for the pain.
There should be a warning at the entrance saying something like, “Imagine the longest walk you’ve ever taken and times it by a thousand, add in the hottest sun you’ve ever been exposed to, and an uphill climb to get you close enough to that sun to feel its radiation piercing your kidneys.” There was no warning, though, so I unwittingly entered thinking we’d be out of there within an hour.
The first part of the walk was almost the whole hour that I thought we would be in there, and it was mostly past burial tombs which are clearly put there as a warning that, for those who venture further, this is where you’ll end up. Aside from the tombs and other random buildings, we were mostly harassed by children trying to sell us stuff and unshaven men recommending we jump on their camels. Neither buying shit from children, nor riding camels, appealed to me, and considering the fact I believe I’m relatively fit, I didn’t see any reason to use the camel form of transport.
We eventually passed through a canyon which opened up, revealing what is known as the Treasury. It was pretty impressive, but only because it features in one of my favourite childhood movies. Of course, it was surrounded by a swarm of excited tourists taking selfies. I thought that was the extent of Petra, and that at this point we could go back to the hotel for a much-needed nap. Then Jean informed me there was another million miles to walk up to something called the Monastery.
By this point, it was clear that the walk was not for mere mortals, so when a donkey ride was suggested, I thought, why the hell not... because donkeys are dangerous! Nobody warned me how difficult it is getting on a wild animal. As I clambered up, it decided to start walking and I fell face-first into the dirt, with my foot caught in its stirrup. The mule clearly thought the pain of the fall wasn’t enough for me, so it decided to continue trotting for a further few metres until the owner, who was laughing, decided to stop it.
Whilst Jean briefly showed mild concern for my wellbeing, she was clearly more worried about her excessively heavy camera that had cushioned my fall. The camera, which I was only carrying because Jean thought the strap would protect my neck from the sun, came out unscathed, probably because it is designed to withstand such impacts, and because it makes you as top-heavy as the person this country was named after. I suspect my sternum is fractured from when I landed on it, and my neck just has a sunburn-free white stripe.
After dusting myself down and wiping the blood from my right eye, Jean insisted we continue upward as the tickets to get into the Petra assault course were so expensive she didn’t want to pay to come a second time. Clearly, I did as she commanded.
We walked and walked and walked, constantly fearing death from falling mountain goats, which gleefully scampered around on precarious ledges above us, or from heat exhaustion. After a torturous three hours, we arrived at the Monastery and found it was just a poor copy of the Treasury, which pissed me off beyond comprehension, as had I known, I’d have turned around at the Holy Grail. Then I had to face the return journey.
Walking back the way we came, my legs had turned to jelly and were quivering uncontrollably with every step. We made it, though, and I’m proud to confirm I’m as fit as a commando. Medals should be handed out to those who don’t get buried in the tombs or leave on a stretcher. If I was offered that option, though, I would have gladly accepted to be carried out. Even my sandals were knackered.
Jean should probably be employed by the Jordanian Ministry of Tourism for her review of Petra, although I don’t think she should document my breakfast incident in their brochure.
Jean’s version:
Simon vomited in my coffee this morning. A low point in what was otherwise an amazing day. After breakfast we set off to explore the awe-inspiring ancient city of Petra. From the moment we entered, we were met by stunning architecture that is all the more impressive knowing it was built at a time when they had no oil-powered machinery. The Treasury was undoubtedly the highlight of the structures, but the walk up from there to the Monastery was nothing short of spectacular, with mind-blowing views over a beautiful arid landscape and deep valleys.
Note how she makes no mention of my accident or injuries. It is all the more clear that she cares not for my wellbeing and that I am merely here as a mule to carry her excessive amount of luggage and that bloody camera.