Discover Petra and step back in time

The Nabataeans carved their awe-inspiring monuments out of the rose-hued rock 'Match me a marvel save in Eastern clime/a rosered city half as old as time,’ wrote John William Burgon in his poem Petra.I had always wanted to see the city before shuffling off this planet

, and I fulfilled that dream during a trip to Jordan. It would have been a privilege visiting the country in any weather, but we went in early December when the temperatures were in the mid-70s. It was definitely better than travelling in the scorching days of summer.
And politically, things have remained relatively sunny with Jordan – it has largely avoided the troubles that have affected neighbouring countries. Foreign Office advice is positive: ‘The majority of visits to Jordan are trouble-free and there are no specific threats to the safety of British visitors or residents.’
During our fabulous five-day stay, we saw the city of Jerash and Mount Nebo and also went to the bottom of the world, the Dead Sea, which is nearly 1,400ft below sea level. Our Bmi flight to the Jordanian capital Amman is worthy of a mention too.
The service, food and helpfulness of the staff were all exceptional.
I last visited Jordan aged 19 when I met the late King Hussein at his splendid palace, walking in under the gleaming crossed swords of a line of guards to receive delightful hospitality.

Part of the amazing 6th Century mosaic in Madaba
I remember the palace having richly planted gardens and being in the heart of town. Seeing it again just as it was took me back – it’s an oasis of green in the bustle of what has become old Amman.
Tall, sleek buildings have shot up all around. The city is streamlined, international, with top cuisine  and a throbbing nightlife. It hugs the sides of seven hills called jabals.
We had stayed overnight at the contemporary Four Seasons Hotel, high above the city, and intended to see Jerash the next day, but instead I wanted to head into old Amman – where you can still bargain in the Gold Souk – for a nostalgic glimpse.
Jordan has noisy neighbours, but it has usually managed to stay quietly above the fray. It is a kingdom with exceptionally deep and ancient roots: biblical, Nabataean, Greek and Roman.

Petra is accessed from the narrow Siq, a soaring entry gorge
It has played host to both Moses and Lawrence of Arabia – and it has Byzantine mosaics, Crusader castles and Petra, its crown jewel. Our guide, Sofian, assured us that Jordan is cultured, welcoming and harmonious. It is a Muslim country, but churches flourish and there is a mosque named Jesus and Mary.
Following our trip to Amman, Sofian took us to Jerash, where the land is more fertile and pine, olive and fig trees grow. It was one of the Decapolis cities – ten cities on the eastern edge of the Roman Empire in the region, and is sometimes called the Pompeii of the Middle East.
It is magnificently preserved. Arriving via Hadrian’s towering triumphal arch, built in his honour when he dropped by in 129 AD, certainly set the 2,000-year-old scene.
Sofian bypassed an earthy chariot racetrack and took us straight to the stupendous colonnaded oval forum. He showed us theatres, temples that became Crusader forts and the optical illusion at the Temple of Artemis – looking up the long flight of steps, you see only every seventh step.
Wandering down the colonnaded, wagon-rutted central cardo, I imagined people from those times  buying bread warm from the oven, shouting across trestle tables at the corner tavern, and girls bathing at the fountain.
Jordan’s biblical history, too, lives on. It was before our eyes at Mount Nebo, from where Moses was shown the Promised Land. It was intensely moving gazing across the valley and the northern tip of the Dead Sea, and seeing the buildings on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem.
The view seemed to reach out over time and make the past dazzlingly tangible. At a 4th Century sanctuary built to honour Moses (it still functions as a monastery today), fine pieces of mosaic were on display and our enthusiasm for them prompted Sofian to whisk us off to a nearby school of mosaics.
We saw young students at work, learning and keeping alive this ancient art. It isn’t a skill for butter-fingers like mine – I’m much better off using a pair of tweezers for plucking my eyebrows than trying painstakingly to arrange tiny pieces of glittering decorative stone.
The students’ finished works were for sale, along with other handmade crafts. The jewellery section proved irresistible and my husband Michael bought me a gorgeous silver and jade-green tassled chain.
It brought smiles all round – the only loser was his bank balance. Of Jordan’s many ancient mosaic treasures, its most wondrous is a 6th Century map of the Holy Land.
Its home is the Greek Orthodox Church of St George in Madaba, a hectic little market town six miles from Mount Nebo.
The map is a glorious masterpiece. Elbowing our way to a prime position, we gazed down in awe while Sofian unravelled its symbols and Greek captions like clues on a treasure trail.
Only part of the mosaic has survived; in its day it was vast – it measured 52ft by 20ft, contained two million stones and covered a large section of the church’s floor.
Jerusalem, with Emperor Constantine’s domed Church of the Holy Sepulchre the focal point, was amazingly clear, as were palm trees at Jericho, ferries, fords on the River Jordan and the Dead Sea.
‘Look at the fish, turning away from the salty waters,’ said Sofian, pointing out the exquisite detail.
It was remarkable too, for what it did not show. The Dome on the Rock, the shrine built where the Prophet Mohammed is said to have ascended to heaven, wasn’t there. That’s because the mosaic was created before Mohammed was born.
From Madaba we took the 5,000-year-old King’s Highway, stopping at a roadside cafe for a lunch of houmous, chicken and rice before arriving at the supremely atmospheric Shobak Castle.

The Monastery is another monument on the sightseeing wishlist
Poised high on a hilltop overlooking a vast, barren landscape, it was the first of the Crusader castles.
Free of entry fees, guards and safety ropes, the only other visitors to the ruins were a gentle French couple with a small son who seemed to manage the various hazards with ease. I was more worried about my husband stepping backwards and losing his balance than I was about the child.
Built originally in 1115 to guard the road from Egypt to Damascus, Shobak housed 6,000 Christians at one time before falling to Saladin in 1189. Containing two churches, millstone olive presses, Koranic inscriptions in Kufic script and a shaft with 375 steps down to a spring, it was utterly fascinating.
The approach to Petra was startlingly majestic, with rugged canyons, Mount Aaron (where Moses’s brother is said to be buried), and the valley of Wadi Musa.
Our hotel, the Taybet Zaman, was located in the hills a few miles from the site, yet that small inconvenience was worth it for the staggering views. Houses that once made up an Ottoman village have been converted, so the hotel maintains a village feel.
Petra, like the Taj Mahal, surpasses all expectations. It is mythical, magical and immeasurably awesome. Created around the 6th Century BC, it became the Nabataean capital, being strategically
sited on the major trade routes and ideal for levying tolls on caravans carrying frankincense and myrrh.
The Nabataeans absorbed Egyptian and Greco-Roman artistry and skills and carved their inspirational monuments out of the rose-hued rock, but the city declined and by the 14th Century it
was completely lost to the world.
It was rediscovered by a Swiss traveller, Johann Burckhardt, only in 1812. You need at least two days and good walking shoes to explore the site. It was a trek of more than half a mile from the ticket office to the soaring entry gorge, the Siq, which is so narrow and dramatic it feels as if you are in a crack that might close up again.
Nothing prepares you for the first glimpse of Al-Khazneh – the Treasury. Named after the Egyptian treasure that myth has it is buried inside, it is the tomb of a Nabataean king and truly breathtaking.
In contrast to the Siq, it glows in sunlight – a towering, monumental, rose-coloured, unbelievable feat of engineering.
‘Time moves on,’ said Sofian firmly, before leading us to the Street of Facades to see other amazing, intricately carved royal tombs. Then, after a welcome cup of coffee at a stall, he took us to meet Raami.
Looking into Raami’s brown eyes while he chatted in educated English, it was impossible not to succumb to buying at least a copy of his mother’s book, if not his entire stall of stylish trinkets.
Raami’s mother, a New Zealander called Marguerite, came to Petra in 1985. She fell in love with a Bedouin villager living in Petra’s tombs and caves, married him and raised a family there.
Her story is a fascinating read. We also bought postcards of lyrical pictures of Petra painted by artist
David Roberts in 1839. They captured exquisitely its sense of the ethereal.
We later saw Petra’s colonnaded street with a nymphaeum. We missed the place to climb up for a panoramic view of the area, but we did, on our second day, struggle up 800 rocky stairs cut into the mountain, this time to be awed by the Monastery, Petra’s largest monument. Its scale and simplicity
made the climb worth every step.
It is quite a slog, but soft drinks were on sale at the top. Donkeys will take you up, but they stumble a bit on the slippery steps and I felt for them, wearily carrying the most bulging of tourists like vast sacks of potatoes.
From Petra we went to the Ma’In hot springs, where King Herod and Cleopatra famously bathed. We stayed at the Evason, a luxury spa hotel set among more dramatic scenery.
Within easy reach of the Dead Sea, the hotel was faithful in its use of natural materials and, from the balcony of our all-wood bedroom, a steaming waterfall tumbling down a craggy rock face was almost within touching distance.
The hotel had superb food, its own herb and vegetable garden, a large swimming pool where we were unfortunately plagued by flies, and a glamorous spa, where we had the treat of a massage.
After five days of walking, climbing and marvelling at Jordan’s wonders, a little pampering seemed not unreasonable. With Christmas coming up, never had I felt more fortified.