On the Road to the Valley of the Crescent Moon

We arrived in Wadi Musa (that translates roughly as Moses’s Valley River) after two days in the warm but pricey embrace of the Dead Sea. Staying in a five-star resort was the big splurge of our trip and we had to half-starve the kids to afford two nights there. I thought, therefore, that they would be relieved to go, but the hunger must have gone to their heads because there was much gnashing of teeth as we left the Dead Sea resort strip.

The Dead Sea cost such a fortune that we were left to scavenge for salt crystals

We had just stopped at an over-priced shop for a bagful of dry goods to keep us in eats for the trip away from the Dead Sea and back into the mountains, and were pulling away from the store when Tian sighed and said, “Silas, what was your favorite part of the trip so far?”

He sighed in response and looked out the window. “I loved the Dead Sea resort.”

Tian’s tummy rumbled (because she hadn’t eaten much in the previous 48 hours—no outside food allowed past the X-ray machines and the resort charged five-star prices) and then she sighed. “I also loved it. It was my favorite part, too.”

Ah, the medicinal mud

They sighed and reminisced for most of the first hour of our drive, while we followed the wide, two-laned King’s Road. “Do you remember when we floated in the Dead Sea? That was amazing.”

And the medicinal waters

 “Yes, and the mud scrubs we did? Those were great. My skin still feels soft.”

Lovin' the mud

Along the road up toward Petra

Looking back at the valley we had climbed. Sheep ahead...

They continued like this until we finally saw a small brown sign directing us off of the main road and up into the mountains. The road took us past a collection of canvas tents stamped in faded blue ink with UNHCR. “Refugee camp?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” These tents were another reminder of what we kept running into here—Syria and her plight. Tourism was down, the Jordanians said, because of Syria. Fewer jobs were to be had in the country in general because of the Syria. Food prices were up because of Syria. In the Dead Sea resort we had been insulated from this reality, although only barely. Just before we were waved through the final security checkpoint that guards the Dead Sea from the rest of Jordan, we had passed a ramshackle sprawl of UNHCR tents. 

Syria and the collection of refugees we were passing at that moment quieted everyone for a bit, but just a bit. Tian fell asleep. Silas gazed out the window at the mountains, and the rows of tomato plants that were ripe for harvest. Tehva listened to a book. We snaked further into the mountains and into a tiny village. And then another tiny village. None of these villages had names. Were we going the right way? I was once again reminded that we were without a map in an Arabic-speaking country where none of us spoke enough Arabic to get past, “Where is the toilet?” and “Give me the red ball.”

And then Tony brought the car to a screeching halt.

Oh crap

A sea of goats and sheep surrounded us on a crumbling road hanging off of the side of cliff. We sat like the Americans we are, unsure of how to react to a flock of livestock in the middle of road. Should we honk the horn? Turn around? Sit patiently and wait? Step out of the vehicle and flag the nearest shepherd?

“Silas, will you get out of the car, please, and get the sheep out of the road?” It came out of my mouth almost before I could conceive of the brilliance of my solution.

Instant shepherd

Silas jumped out, did a few “Yah”s, and the way forward opened, like the parting of the Red Sea. And how appropriate that this parting landed us very quickly in the town of Wadi Musa, Moses’s River Valley, and in the town that abuts Petra. You know? Petra.

Yes, you know. Petra.