Dromedary Date And Nut Bread

Al Urdun Awwalan later

is a pleasant noise the sound of high notes of violin music on the radio mixed with Mohammed Ahmed who paints in the other room. Yesterday I entered my new (temporary) home on the slopes of Mount Qassiun, Muhajirin district. In one fell swoop I have the impression to have achieved many of my expectations for the next (last) two months Damascus to live in this area, outside the village with the locals, perhaps even interesting. Certainly, compared to the previous home I can not say I have seen many improvements in terms of comfort home, here there is not even a washing machine and antiquisssima imagine, even the fridge. But I feel very well be the same, talking and listening to stories of penniless thoughts and eccentric painter, musician, and enjoy the cool solitude of the neighborhood.

For the record, in any case, this is a temporary arrangement and within two weeks, we should look for another set casa... ma l’idea rimane quella.
Domani iniziano anche i corsi di arabo all’università.
E oggi il presidente della Siria viene “rieletto”. Una storia tragicomica e angosciante di cui vorrei parlare molto, ma non credo sia il caso. Diciamo solo che è un momento molto particolare per la storia della Siria, che fa capire molto di questo paese, ma che lascia anche totalmente sbigottiti, increduli, e incazzati. Cercherò di inventarmi qualcosa per parlarne.

Sarà invece il caso di proseguire e terminare il racconto sulla Giordania, altrimenti chi lo rivede più.

Friday, May 11
The Jordanian public transportation system sucks. To be precise, there is a declared willingness to suck. A istritatijiya as they say in Arabic, to encourage tourists to take taxis and public transport and spend more. From Amman to Petra there are no problems, but the situation becomes dramatic when you want to go to the village of Petra: only one bus at six in the morning, but as a charter party only if there is a lot of people. And that's what we have taken the morning after visiting Petra. Travel by bus at the dawn of a gloomy Friday then, to the pluriesplorate expanses of Wadi Rum in the company of a lonely Japanese girl who speaks little English, and two Jordanian boys cute and slightly obsessive.
Before arriving in the small village close to the desert we stopped the huge Visitors Center, a brand new and quite disproportionate to those wastelands, who runs the tourist traffic and organize all sorts of excursions: the Wadi Rum is a protected area the risk of environmental and economic impact on the fragile nature and Bedouin populations.
We can only stay in front of shocked at prices much-more-than-European guides, camel rides and 4x4, up from 20 € per person for a couple of hours. And so we agree that we will discover Wadi Rum on foot, alone, with a rough map. Perfect, if only we reach the village of Rum enveloped in a thick fog that leaves no space nor imagination nor the desire to discover. The German girl just climb on the bus tells us how we move from here also giving us a hearty breakfast, then turned into a main meal of the day. I got off the bus in the middle of the village, welcomes us into the house a certain Mohammed Sabbah, we discover to be the largest manager of Rum about every type of excursion, in the various pluricitato LonelyPlanet and Routard . An interesting character, from strong across the desert, very professional and serious in the way of welcome, not like many others, obsessively looking for something to sell. And the rooms for sleeping, which shows us, quite spartan, but only 2 dinars a night, convince us without any hesitation. He explains that his is an advertising system, keeps prices low, so the tourists speak of him, spread the word to friends and the Internet, and so does business: it seems a good system. Although dusty mattresses, friends cockroaches, toilets flooded, the greasy kitchen, make us realize that something in the economic system of Muhammed could be improved.
We are a bit 'put off by the thick fog, even begins to rain, so we throw a couple of hours on the mattresses sperando che qualcosa migliori e cercando di fare passare un po’ il sonno e la stanchezza del giorno prima. Ma alle 10 e mezzo è ancora tutto grigio, e decidiamo di andare lo stesso, non si può certo stare tutto il giorno chiusi in una fetida stanza a contare le zanzare. L’uscita dallo spettrale villaggio è a sud: semplicemente finisce la strada e comincia il deserto.
Davanti a noi, il nulla, solo le tracce delle jeep sul terreno, e a destra e sinistra enormi fantasmi neri, le montagne che chiudono la valle del deserto. Se non altro possiamo osservare il colore della sabbia sotto i nostri piedi: rosso, un rosso impallidito dalla poca luce della giornata. Cartina alla mano, acqua di rubinetto, sandwiches with cheese and camera: via the first two hours long in a straight line through the mist and the silence, a few Jeeps running away, carrying a Bedouin dressed in white and red Kefia greets with polite smiles, and back tourists intrigued by the presence of two neutral crossing the void. Walk along the left side of the mountain, the mountain Rum, which we leave behind to go to the other deep-sea can be seen just ahead of us. When the valley opens up, after saying goodbye to a group of friendly camels a bit 'shabby and feet tied by thick ropes, we pause on the high rocky hill above our great mountain where we come from there a poco. Il ristoro è ottimo, e regala una vista discreta sulle infinite distese rosse, mentre il cielo comincia a schiarirsi lentamente e la nebbia risale paziente verso l’alto.
Un’altra mezz’oretta a piedi sulla sabbia fortunatamente indurita dalla pioggia, e arriviamo ai piedi del ripidissimo monte dal colorito rosso e dalla conformazione simile alle pareti di Petra. Sotto l’ombra, in lontananza, un gruppo di macchine parcheggiate, dei bambini e dei punti neri e bianchi che si muovono confusamente: la grande famiglia beduina si riposa e beve tè, e le donne ci chiamano gridando “welcome, welcome”. Un po’ sospettosi, ci avviciniamo, ed è la svolta of the day: the householder makes us sit down and immediately offered us tea and roasted lamb, we present sheepishly and eat under the gaze of curious children, women and girls in group sessions at a distance. All barefoot, the older lady in solitude, far behind a car, the father and Kefia jalabiyya (white dress) and his mother sitting next to us while we are being offered to all without stopping. Unfortunately, the Arab raised does not seem to be enough for discussions to take longer than two sentences with the lady. We discover that the driver is headed for Aqaba, and even friends who arrive shortly after, più anziani di età, lo sono. Sul mega-videofonino ci mostra prima un video in cui fa acrobazie con la jeep, e poi la scena di come viene tagliata la testa ai capretti che stiamo mangiando, il giorno prima. Arrivati gli amici più anziani, lui si mette da parte, e anche il gruppo di donne eccitatissime dalla nostra presenza si fa più in là. Dopo lunghi sorseggiamenti di tè, qualche foto e tanti sorrisi, uno dei colleghi si arrampica velocemente verso l’alto, un altro più anziano lo segue... e anche io non perdo tempo; ma la ripida parete e i vestiti poco adatti mi creano qualche problema, dieci metri in verticale, decisamente un fisico fuori allenamento da un ventennio... ma alla fine ce la faccio lo stesso, con l’aiuto paziente dell’amico autista e le urla di incoraggiamento della famiglia tutta. Forse i problemi più grossi però li ho visti al ritorno, che in effetti è durato molto più tempo e ha richiesto la totale assistenza per ogni mossa da parte dell’agile autista.
La lunga sosta con la famiglia beduina, da cui ci congediamo dopo poco, è stata decisamente la dritta , il contatto più diretto e naturale con la cultura del posto e anche il giusto riposo nelle ore più calde della giornata. Insistono molto per invitarci a passare la notte nel loro villaggio, ma per questioni tecniche non è possibile, abbiamo la roba in ostello e ripartiamo la mattina dopo.
E noi leave here happy and relaxed through the desert under a blue sky and a sun that finally even beats so its rays on a sandy increasingly red. We visit the minicanyon the end of our mountain, in front of an oasis shaded by green trees, and we continue through the clear desert, returning to the north, trying to follow the directions confused the map. We go well in a narrow valley between two mountains, more dunes, lots of pictures as the sun moves eastward, and the coolness of the afternoon gives well-deserved relief. At one point, however, lose sight of the path of the map and pros eguiamo undeterred into the steep mountains that close before a noi (sono io a insistere e Giulia, dal senso dell’orientamento decisamente più acuto, mi segue poco convinta). Attraversiamo così la lunga e strettissima valle tra le rocce del monte Afshanie – nome che avremmo scoperto molto dopo: un percorso alternativo di trekking attraverso massi aguzzi e una folta natura favorit a dall’ombra della valle. Il percorso-avventura come lo chiamerebbo i tour operator ci porta ad un punto completamente diverso da quello previsto, e per fortuna, appena ridiscesi sulle pianure sabbiose, un gentile autista ci indica la strada. Tornati sulla valle principale davanti al villaggio, mentre sale il vento e le gambe tremano dalla stanchezza, another Bedouin invites us to a passage, and in fact is what we need after eight hours of walking on the sand ...
an evening spent relaxing and un'agognatissima pasta with tomato sauce ... another absolutely beautiful day.

Saturday, May 12
Once awake at dawn to be able to take the bus ghost that should lead us to Aqaba, Red Sea, bordering Saudi Arabia . The Wadi Rum is bright and clear morning, and we're sorry a bit 'not having experienced the thrill of spending a night repaired on some high ground under the stars.
this time the bus is full of ladies in black, many with the burqa, and boys who go to work somewhere. Travel just an hour, passed the checks - Aqaba economic zone is protected - and we are on the outskirts of the seaside town. Our goal is a bit 'further south, about fifteen miles from downtown, on South Beach , the river just before the border with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where we have to look for accommodation for our holiday at sea. The square, Omar, a taxi driver, convinces us that there is no public transportation - they have suspended a month ago, says - and brings us directly to one of two resorts on the present coast, from the unattractive name Bedouin Garden Village. In fact, the village, about twenty meters from the beach, it is very friendly and well-appointed, styled "Desert Castle", with all the comfort , swimming pool and rooms with air conditioning. Once again, our pockets looking sad we have to give up the luxury and beautiful bungalows with cool air, and for 12 dinars (a lot) tend to settle down in a mo 'of the Bedouins, with blankets and the air suffocating. Okay so we are in Aqaba to rest, sunbathe and swim among the corals, we only sleep there. So we throw
immediately to the sea, the uncrowded beaches and a bit 'shabby - dirty and moist sand. And that's the only hassle out of these two magnificent days Mariners Arabs and women in bathing suits. Difficult to judge and not get caught up by the nerves at the beginning: boys and men who pass you stop and stare insistently and brazenly kidnapped by several centimeters of flesh visible to the extraordinarily alive. Passano, giggle, talk, turn the corner and back, sit close, and perhaps worst of all truck drivers are on their way to Saudi Arabia who stop by the roadside and close the curtains to watch from afar. You do not control, it is evident, for example because they do not seem notare che le (poche) straniere presenti sulla spiaggia sono quasi sempre accompagnate dal marito o dal compagno. Credo che il tipo di ragionamento che facciano è questo: il marito permette che la donna sia nuda e visibile e per questo potenzialmente “disponibile”, perchè non dovrebbe essere guardata? La cosa dà estremamente fastidio all’inizio, ma poi, dopo averci fatto l’abitudine, non ci si fa più caso, o si comincia a immaginare cosa significhi per loro la vista di un’occidentale. Alla fine, a noi non cambia niente, dà un po’ fastidio, e basta, ma a loro? Non è ancora più maledettamente frustrata la loro sessualità dopo un episodio di questo tipo? E ancora, pensi a loro and feel a strange compassion (wrong, probably) and you understand that from our point of view, certain things are beyond and above them the situation is always very frustrating. How could I ever imagine my life thinking that it could not even know a girl in costume, unless it is my wife.
However Aqaba city looks like a very closed and traditional, as we have seen further sightseeing in the afternoon. Strange, it seems, not only because it is a maritime city, but also a crossroads of four countries: Jordan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel.
After touching the clear blue sea and walked tra i coralli, e stabilito che davanti a noi c’è Eilat, la città più a sud di Israele, a sinistra c’è il canale di Suez, e a qualche bracciata di nuoto, l’Arabia Saudita – tutto così vicino in questo disgraziato Medio Oriente! – decidiamo di fare un giro in città. E così facciamo una rilassante passeggiata sul lungomare illuminato dalla dolce luce del tramonto, Parte dal porto e finisce al centro città, molti baretti sulla spiaggia, bancarelle di souvenir, e i bambini che fanno il bagno. Anche qualche donna fa il bagno: vestita, col velo, o col burqa. Uno spettacolo che lascia inevitabilmente sbigottiti e perplessi. Per esempio... come fanno ad asciugarsi? È un sentimento di angoscia and incomprehension at the sight of these scenarios, contrasted with the serenity of the sunset and sip mint tea that we under palm trees, the beach.
The rest of the city, McDonald's, the little park where children play happily, the shawarma restaurant in the open, flowing all peaceful this evening with the scent of Sicilian summer and makes a great desire to come home.

Sunday, May 13
It is offered on Sundays as a day dedicated to that wonderful thing that is the sea. The Arabs there are few people working, and we tan in the shade of umbrellas such as salamanders and under the clear water of the Red Sea. Masks, fins and tube, three hours past heavy browsing on the beautiful coral reef, extricating himself among the millions of the beautiful, harmless but annoying jellyfish violet and trying in vain to capture the beauty of the silent landscapes with a little machine underwater photography. Living stones sinuous and labyrinthine surfaces, from vibrant colors, illuminated by soft rays filtered water. And all around, a lively population of a thousand different fish that wander around with engaging and colorful tranquility of the strange forms of corals. And all this even twenty meters from the beach ... really gives the impression of being an extremely fragile. We hope they have the proper care ...
the evening in the calm of our beloved village could only end with a well-deserved dinner of fish, the better.
Beach holidays ended much too soon ... I love life by camping! (In May and September faqqat )
It leaves us in the Red Sea also present a beautiful tan-colored lobster, which nevertheless looks more like a shining burn, so much so that our poor shoulders and everything to burn to tan crazy, and make up our backpacks became the worst nightmare. And change definitely our plans to go even to float in the Dead Sea and insalinarci: the idea that they were still in the sun leaves no doubt and we decided to bring forward by one day of departure. Also because there are no money ... Last
then spent days in Amman, a walk, fuck, sleep, read, eat fried chicken in the only restaurant open across the middle (!). We also tried a quick visit to the Roman ruins of Jerash, an hour from Amman to, but it was just a nice walk around the bus and entrance to the site, because we got a bit 'late.
And on Tuesday, after another anonymous cazzeggiano before Roman amphitheater in Amman, the 15 hours we are on our luxurious Jett return to the beloved Sham - Damascus. She welcomes us into the cool evening with the warm feeling of a traffic and return home. hamdulillah al-salama!

Dromedary Date And Nut Bread

Al Urdun Awwalan later

is a pleasant noise the sound of high notes of violin music on the radio mixed with Mohammed Ahmed who paints in the other room. Yesterday I entered my new (temporary) home on the slopes of Mount Qassiun, Muhajirin district. In one fell swoop I have the impression to have achieved many of my expectations for the next (last) two months Damascus to live in this area, outside the village with the locals, perhaps even interesting. Certainly, compared to the previous home I can not say I have seen many improvements in terms of comfort home, here there is not even a washing machine and antiquisssima imagine, even the fridge. But I feel very well be the same, talking and listening to stories of penniless thoughts and eccentric painter, musician, and enjoy the cool solitude of the neighborhood.

For the record, in any case, this is a temporary arrangement and within two weeks, we should look for another set casa... ma l’idea rimane quella.
Domani iniziano anche i corsi di arabo all’università.
E oggi il presidente della Siria viene “rieletto”. Una storia tragicomica e angosciante di cui vorrei parlare molto, ma non credo sia il caso. Diciamo solo che è un momento molto particolare per la storia della Siria, che fa capire molto di questo paese, ma che lascia anche totalmente sbigottiti, increduli, e incazzati. Cercherò di inventarmi qualcosa per parlarne.

Sarà invece il caso di proseguire e terminare il racconto sulla Giordania, altrimenti chi lo rivede più.

Friday, May 11
The Jordanian public transportation system sucks. To be precise, there is a declared willingness to suck. A istritatijiya as they say in Arabic, to encourage tourists to take taxis and public transport and spend more. From Amman to Petra there are no problems, but the situation becomes dramatic when you want to go to the village of Petra: only one bus at six in the morning, but as a charter party only if there is a lot of people. And that's what we have taken the morning after visiting Petra. Travel by bus at the dawn of a gloomy Friday then, to the pluriesplorate expanses of Wadi Rum in the company of a lonely Japanese girl who speaks little English, and two Jordanian boys cute and slightly obsessive.
Before arriving in the small village close to the desert we stopped the huge Visitors Center, a brand new and quite disproportionate to those wastelands, who runs the tourist traffic and organize all sorts of excursions: the Wadi Rum is a protected area the risk of environmental and economic impact on the fragile nature and Bedouin populations.
We can only stay in front of shocked at prices much-more-than-European guides, camel rides and 4x4, up from 20 € per person for a couple of hours. And so we agree that we will discover Wadi Rum on foot, alone, with a rough map. Perfect, if only we reach the village of Rum enveloped in a thick fog that leaves no space nor imagination nor the desire to discover. The German girl just climb on the bus tells us how we move from here also giving us a hearty breakfast, then turned into a main meal of the day. I got off the bus in the middle of the village, welcomes us into the house a certain Mohammed Sabbah, we discover to be the largest manager of Rum about every type of excursion, in the various pluricitato LonelyPlanet and Routard . An interesting character, from strong across the desert, very professional and serious in the way of welcome, not like many others, obsessively looking for something to sell. And the rooms for sleeping, which shows us, quite spartan, but only 2 dinars a night, convince us without any hesitation. He explains that his is an advertising system, keeps prices low, so the tourists speak of him, spread the word to friends and the Internet, and so does business: it seems a good system. Although dusty mattresses, friends cockroaches, toilets flooded, the greasy kitchen, make us realize that something in the economic system of Muhammed could be improved.
We are a bit 'put off by the thick fog, even begins to rain, so we throw a couple of hours on the mattresses sperando che qualcosa migliori e cercando di fare passare un po’ il sonno e la stanchezza del giorno prima. Ma alle 10 e mezzo è ancora tutto grigio, e decidiamo di andare lo stesso, non si può certo stare tutto il giorno chiusi in una fetida stanza a contare le zanzare. L’uscita dallo spettrale villaggio è a sud: semplicemente finisce la strada e comincia il deserto.
Davanti a noi, il nulla, solo le tracce delle jeep sul terreno, e a destra e sinistra enormi fantasmi neri, le montagne che chiudono la valle del deserto. Se non altro possiamo osservare il colore della sabbia sotto i nostri piedi: rosso, un rosso impallidito dalla poca luce della giornata. Cartina alla mano, acqua di rubinetto, sandwiches with cheese and camera: via the first two hours long in a straight line through the mist and the silence, a few Jeeps running away, carrying a Bedouin dressed in white and red Kefia greets with polite smiles, and back tourists intrigued by the presence of two neutral crossing the void. Walk along the left side of the mountain, the mountain Rum, which we leave behind to go to the other deep-sea can be seen just ahead of us. When the valley opens up, after saying goodbye to a group of friendly camels a bit 'shabby and feet tied by thick ropes, we pause on the high rocky hill above our great mountain where we come from there a poco. Il ristoro è ottimo, e regala una vista discreta sulle infinite distese rosse, mentre il cielo comincia a schiarirsi lentamente e la nebbia risale paziente verso l’alto.
Un’altra mezz’oretta a piedi sulla sabbia fortunatamente indurita dalla pioggia, e arriviamo ai piedi del ripidissimo monte dal colorito rosso e dalla conformazione simile alle pareti di Petra. Sotto l’ombra, in lontananza, un gruppo di macchine parcheggiate, dei bambini e dei punti neri e bianchi che si muovono confusamente: la grande famiglia beduina si riposa e beve tè, e le donne ci chiamano gridando “welcome, welcome”. Un po’ sospettosi, ci avviciniamo, ed è la svolta of the day: the householder makes us sit down and immediately offered us tea and roasted lamb, we present sheepishly and eat under the gaze of curious children, women and girls in group sessions at a distance. All barefoot, the older lady in solitude, far behind a car, the father and Kefia jalabiyya (white dress) and his mother sitting next to us while we are being offered to all without stopping. Unfortunately, the Arab raised does not seem to be enough for discussions to take longer than two sentences with the lady. We discover that the driver is headed for Aqaba, and even friends who arrive shortly after, più anziani di età, lo sono. Sul mega-videofonino ci mostra prima un video in cui fa acrobazie con la jeep, e poi la scena di come viene tagliata la testa ai capretti che stiamo mangiando, il giorno prima. Arrivati gli amici più anziani, lui si mette da parte, e anche il gruppo di donne eccitatissime dalla nostra presenza si fa più in là. Dopo lunghi sorseggiamenti di tè, qualche foto e tanti sorrisi, uno dei colleghi si arrampica velocemente verso l’alto, un altro più anziano lo segue... e anche io non perdo tempo; ma la ripida parete e i vestiti poco adatti mi creano qualche problema, dieci metri in verticale, decisamente un fisico fuori allenamento da un ventennio... ma alla fine ce la faccio lo stesso, con l’aiuto paziente dell’amico autista e le urla di incoraggiamento della famiglia tutta. Forse i problemi più grossi però li ho visti al ritorno, che in effetti è durato molto più tempo e ha richiesto la totale assistenza per ogni mossa da parte dell’agile autista.
La lunga sosta con la famiglia beduina, da cui ci congediamo dopo poco, è stata decisamente la dritta , il contatto più diretto e naturale con la cultura del posto e anche il giusto riposo nelle ore più calde della giornata. Insistono molto per invitarci a passare la notte nel loro villaggio, ma per questioni tecniche non è possibile, abbiamo la roba in ostello e ripartiamo la mattina dopo.
E noi leave here happy and relaxed through the desert under a blue sky and a sun that finally even beats so its rays on a sandy increasingly red. We visit the minicanyon the end of our mountain, in front of an oasis shaded by green trees, and we continue through the clear desert, returning to the north, trying to follow the directions confused the map. We go well in a narrow valley between two mountains, more dunes, lots of pictures as the sun moves eastward, and the coolness of the afternoon gives well-deserved relief. At one point, however, lose sight of the path of the map and pros eguiamo undeterred into the steep mountains that close before a noi (sono io a insistere e Giulia, dal senso dell’orientamento decisamente più acuto, mi segue poco convinta). Attraversiamo così la lunga e strettissima valle tra le rocce del monte Afshanie – nome che avremmo scoperto molto dopo: un percorso alternativo di trekking attraverso massi aguzzi e una folta natura favorit a dall’ombra della valle. Il percorso-avventura come lo chiamerebbo i tour operator ci porta ad un punto completamente diverso da quello previsto, e per fortuna, appena ridiscesi sulle pianure sabbiose, un gentile autista ci indica la strada. Tornati sulla valle principale davanti al villaggio, mentre sale il vento e le gambe tremano dalla stanchezza, another Bedouin invites us to a passage, and in fact is what we need after eight hours of walking on the sand ...
an evening spent relaxing and un'agognatissima pasta with tomato sauce ... another absolutely beautiful day.

Saturday, May 12
Once awake at dawn to be able to take the bus ghost that should lead us to Aqaba, Red Sea, bordering Saudi Arabia . The Wadi Rum is bright and clear morning, and we're sorry a bit 'not having experienced the thrill of spending a night repaired on some high ground under the stars.
this time the bus is full of ladies in black, many with the burqa, and boys who go to work somewhere. Travel just an hour, passed the checks - Aqaba economic zone is protected - and we are on the outskirts of the seaside town. Our goal is a bit 'further south, about fifteen miles from downtown, on South Beach , the river just before the border with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where we have to look for accommodation for our holiday at sea. The square, Omar, a taxi driver, convinces us that there is no public transportation - they have suspended a month ago, says - and brings us directly to one of two resorts on the present coast, from the unattractive name Bedouin Garden Village. In fact, the village, about twenty meters from the beach, it is very friendly and well-appointed, styled "Desert Castle", with all the comfort , swimming pool and rooms with air conditioning. Once again, our pockets looking sad we have to give up the luxury and beautiful bungalows with cool air, and for 12 dinars (a lot) tend to settle down in a mo 'of the Bedouins, with blankets and the air suffocating. Okay so we are in Aqaba to rest, sunbathe and swim among the corals, we only sleep there. So we throw
immediately to the sea, the uncrowded beaches and a bit 'shabby - dirty and moist sand. And that's the only hassle out of these two magnificent days Mariners Arabs and women in bathing suits. Difficult to judge and not get caught up by the nerves at the beginning: boys and men who pass you stop and stare insistently and brazenly kidnapped by several centimeters of flesh visible to the extraordinarily alive. Passano, giggle, talk, turn the corner and back, sit close, and perhaps worst of all truck drivers are on their way to Saudi Arabia who stop by the roadside and close the curtains to watch from afar. You do not control, it is evident, for example because they do not seem notare che le (poche) straniere presenti sulla spiaggia sono quasi sempre accompagnate dal marito o dal compagno. Credo che il tipo di ragionamento che facciano è questo: il marito permette che la donna sia nuda e visibile e per questo potenzialmente “disponibile”, perchè non dovrebbe essere guardata? La cosa dà estremamente fastidio all’inizio, ma poi, dopo averci fatto l’abitudine, non ci si fa più caso, o si comincia a immaginare cosa significhi per loro la vista di un’occidentale. Alla fine, a noi non cambia niente, dà un po’ fastidio, e basta, ma a loro? Non è ancora più maledettamente frustrata la loro sessualità dopo un episodio di questo tipo? E ancora, pensi a loro and feel a strange compassion (wrong, probably) and you understand that from our point of view, certain things are beyond and above them the situation is always very frustrating. How could I ever imagine my life thinking that it could not even know a girl in costume, unless it is my wife.
However Aqaba city looks like a very closed and traditional, as we have seen further sightseeing in the afternoon. Strange, it seems, not only because it is a maritime city, but also a crossroads of four countries: Jordan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel.
After touching the clear blue sea and walked tra i coralli, e stabilito che davanti a noi c’è Eilat, la città più a sud di Israele, a sinistra c’è il canale di Suez, e a qualche bracciata di nuoto, l’Arabia Saudita – tutto così vicino in questo disgraziato Medio Oriente! – decidiamo di fare un giro in città. E così facciamo una rilassante passeggiata sul lungomare illuminato dalla dolce luce del tramonto, Parte dal porto e finisce al centro città, molti baretti sulla spiaggia, bancarelle di souvenir, e i bambini che fanno il bagno. Anche qualche donna fa il bagno: vestita, col velo, o col burqa. Uno spettacolo che lascia inevitabilmente sbigottiti e perplessi. Per esempio... come fanno ad asciugarsi? È un sentimento di angoscia and incomprehension at the sight of these scenarios, contrasted with the serenity of the sunset and sip mint tea that we under palm trees, the beach.
The rest of the city, McDonald's, the little park where children play happily, the shawarma restaurant in the open, flowing all peaceful this evening with the scent of Sicilian summer and makes a great desire to come home.

Sunday, May 13
It is offered on Sundays as a day dedicated to that wonderful thing that is the sea. The Arabs there are few people working, and we tan in the shade of umbrellas such as salamanders and under the clear water of the Red Sea. Masks, fins and tube, three hours past heavy browsing on the beautiful coral reef, extricating himself among the millions of the beautiful, harmless but annoying jellyfish violet and trying in vain to capture the beauty of the silent landscapes with a little machine underwater photography. Living stones sinuous and labyrinthine surfaces, from vibrant colors, illuminated by soft rays filtered water. And all around, a lively population of a thousand different fish that wander around with engaging and colorful tranquility of the strange forms of corals. And all this even twenty meters from the beach ... really gives the impression of being an extremely fragile. We hope they have the proper care ...
the evening in the calm of our beloved village could only end with a well-deserved dinner of fish, the better.
Beach holidays ended much too soon ... I love life by camping! (In May and September faqqat )
It leaves us in the Red Sea also present a beautiful tan-colored lobster, which nevertheless looks more like a shining burn, so much so that our poor shoulders and everything to burn to tan crazy, and make up our backpacks became the worst nightmare. And change definitely our plans to go even to float in the Dead Sea and insalinarci: the idea that they were still in the sun leaves no doubt and we decided to bring forward by one day of departure. Also because there are no money ... Last
then spent days in Amman, a walk, fuck, sleep, read, eat fried chicken in the only restaurant open across the middle (!). We also tried a quick visit to the Roman ruins of Jerash, an hour from Amman to, but it was just a nice walk around the bus and entrance to the site, because we got a bit 'late.
And on Tuesday, after another anonymous cazzeggiano before Roman amphitheater in Amman, the 15 hours we are on our luxurious Jett return to the beloved Sham - Damascus. She welcomes us into the cool evening with the warm feeling of a traffic and return home. hamdulillah al-salama!

Pinnacle Pctv Media Center 150 Descargar

Al Urdun Awwalan

A ow yes it is hot. The six less than a quarter of an afternoon in late May and it is quite unthinkable to leave the house. The cheerful room Jada Quli, Sarujah Suq district, dusty and messy, empties slowly, while Musafir prepares to revolutionary changes with enthusiasm and serenity. I will miss this house, the still air that is breathed, the long, relaxed conversations in the afternoon, the doors and windows painted blue, the endless games One and paste the weekend, his neighborhood is so intimate and welcoming, where you all at the palm of your hand, the girls veiled timid salute from the window beside the horse that pulls the cart of vegetables, tea ... by Firas Yes, it was a good time spent in this place.

M to switch to serious things: first that the violent waves of university social life overwhelm me, I wish I could say something about that beautiful trip ended just a week ago in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan . A couple of points, I think, as usual.
Note: Photos of Al Musafir have moved: no more can be found on Flickr but on the new Photobucket . Maybe a little 'less beautiful and functional first, but at least there are no limits as to the ridiculous number of photos you can upload: this is the link, enjoy! All photos on Flickr were transferred here. Just to get an overall view of the recent trips I've done ...

Wednesday, May 9
8 Hours: 48 hours even after the end of the stage to umami Muttahida , And sat on the luxury coach Jett that will take us from Damascus to the nearby Jordanian capital Amman. A trip prepared relatively quickly, with little attention to detail, as it should be, funny, spontaneous. Exactly what it takes to separate the two periods and two completely different experiences, the internship and study, half of my long stay perfect in this strange and complicated Middle East. A country of which I have heard (a little) and that for a while 'I wanted to visit, but never got the chance. And what better time, in May broke from all these changes, and the pleasant company of fellow-roommate-friend Julie?
Routard Jordan in his hand, then, and we start south. Travel between the capital lasted little more than four hours total, of which two large waiting at the border, the rest of the short stretch that separates Damascus from Amman. Usual controls, excessive and extremely superficial usual formalities, a nice new stamp on the passport, stop forced the huge Duty Free border, where everything should cost less (but the Syrian border when they buy cigarettes in the street are cheaper do not understand them) : and we are on the other side. Scroll down briefly on the recent history of Jordan Routard , its liberalization and peace with Israel, the new king and its problems with terrorism and with the Palestinians, that there is oil, that straf ** in Rania. Incidentally, the Urdun awwalan, "Jordan First" is the phrase that always accompanies the pictures of King Abdullah scattered cities of the country.
From the window of the bus to greet the Faccioni Assad father and son, and, twenty yards ahead, "Welcome to Jordan", we meet the new couple, the former King Hussein and his son, King Abdallah. Habit, therefore, in these countries, megaritratti in pairs. Even if Ataturk had no one close to him ... Even wearing clothes
Abdallah military, whites, however, and one thing I know subito: ha la faccia più simpatica, un sorriso più sincero e gli occhi che guardano dritti nell’obiettivo. Come se fosse più sereno, più sicuro della sua posizione, più convinto dell’appoggio del suo popolo. Una sensazione avuta più volte in Giordania, anche sulla gente. E fare paragoni con la Siria è diventato il metro di giudizio più naturale per farci un’idea del paese durante tutto il viaggio, e, per quello che ho potuto capire in una settimana, le differenze sono tante.
Arriviamo ad Amman nelle ore più calde del pomeriggio, anche se il cielo è leggermente annuvolato e un forte vento soffia tra le colline su cui si stende la capitale. Ci diamo un paio d’ore per visitare la città and put something in his stomach: by the evening we want to be in Petra, our first goal. Once past the horde of taxi drivers and tour operators local shady looking to offer their services to convincing us that there is no alternative, we are moving heavily toward the center, passing the first terminal Abdali, to understand how to proceed later to the south , and a crazy driver of a servis arrive at the "center" of Amman. Curious, that servis taxi in Jordan are painted white, dented vans and fast, as in Syria.
Amman: plenty of low houses of rectangular gray carpet and seven colline, nessun centro storico, solo una cittadella con un paio di colonne e un teatro romano. Nulla, ma proprio nulla di quell’antichissima Philadelphia , capitale di non mi ricordo quale regno presemitico. Una città che dà l’impressione di essere moderna, ordinata e pulita, ma che non sembra offrire nulla di particolarmente attraente, nè sembra particolarmente attiva intellettualmente. Il centro, disposto sulla valle più importante, è stranamente poco frequentato, e posti per prendere un té o riposarsi ce ne sono pochi. Non vale la pena neanche di entrare dentro la cittadella per pagare due dinari (due euro) e vedere uno stupido museo. No, decisamente meglio Damasco, più vivibile, più interessante, più autentica.
Shawarma e Kebab al ristorantino sul terminal Abdali , dunque, e prendiamo l’autobus verso il terminal sud, dove ci aspetta un altro mini autobus stracolmo che ci porta sulla lunga strada per Wadi Musa, villaggio alle porte di Petra, nel sud est del paese. Quattro infinite ore di viaggio, distrutti, arriviamo al nostro Sabaa Hotel , in pieno (mini)centro di Wadi Musa. Un costosissimo (6 dinari!) ma squisito mix arrosto ci allieta il riposo, e nel semplice e confortevole alberghetto prendiamo subito sonno, pronti per lunghe e avventurose escursioni tra le valli rocciose dell’antica capitale nabatea.

Thursday, May 10
21 dinars, not even the Palacatania Laura Pausini: so much is the ticket to Petra, the most famous tourist and archaeological site in the Middle East after the Pyramids. Prices in Jordan tourist horrified us, we are incredulous at the figures used ridiculous for any type of purchase in Syrian territory. No reduction, needless to our international student card remedied illegally - by presenting certificates of Ca 'Foscari not really reliable - in Damascus. I understand they need to do their work Jordanian economy to grow, but a bottle of water may not cost me I would pay twice as much as the Venice. A constant throughout the troubled (financially) travel in the following days. The beauty is that sleep one night in a hotel is cheaper than eating a chicken dish, to Petra, Wadi Rum as the Red Sea. The only distinction made is between Jordanians and, that the Jordanians and tourists do not pay anything, they are Lebanese, Chinese and Sicilian, everything. Out of these three centers, among other things, the prices are only slightly more expensive than in Syria, but very little.
Ok, vent financial finished, continue with the story.
The day starts early, relatively, at nine o'clock we are at the entrance to Petra, to pay 21 dinars these blessed, and so to the long day of exploration.
Petra, from the greek Petra, the Nabataean or Batra ', I have not understood very well. Certainly if, as in Arabic, Batra ' means "the incomparable, the name fits much more.
The capital was built between the massive desert valleys of these mountains more than two thousand years ago, only to be taken and used first by the Romans, then by the Byzantines and then Arabs. Rich and influential political and commercial center of the Nabataean kingdom, he went to the long decline from the Roman conquest. But who are 'sti Nabataeans? One reminder: the nightmare of Semitic philology, one of really feared a few tests Ca'Cappello: here is named as a Semitic language Nabataean cuneiform, Aramaic daughter or sister, but as I know. It's enough to arouse a sense of disgust and contempt for the strange people. What can I say, these are crazy Nabataeans, to build a city so huge, ingeniously designed, self-invincible, unbeatable, exactly.
Few tourists, hamdulillah, already from the entrance. Although the ancient city during the day is filled with hordes of Trentino groups with hats and Arabic multilingual guides. The thing though is not heavy, because the place is big enough for everyone, and take various alternative routes you island quickly.
The day is not the best, and with a tendency all'uggioso early morning mist - a little annoying, actually. Soon, however, that we understand that time was a fluke: it would have been much worse march and climb mountains for hours under the scorching sun, with little space in the shade and water to quench our thirst tiepidiccia.
The valley in which lay the ruins of the city is huge, tens of kilometers long, a path full of twists and with dozens of branches that lead up the hills and hidden shelves. The mountains rise high out of nowhere in the middle of the desert that stretches from Syria south to Yemen. And certainly the thing that is clear more of these long mountains that cover the southern Jordan and come to Israel, the conformation is rocky. Red, the color of the huge valley. Millions of years of sedimentation have given to the walls of the valley of the shades in bright colors and magically mixed. Purplish red, ocher, yellow, bright blue, purple, white ... here the walls of Petra, a mosaic of colors in perfect harmony, the huge palette of a Dadaist who draws lines and sinuous shapes that intertwine and stained walls rising hundreds of feet ... Rounded rocks, tall thin mo 'stalactites, and a few plants growing between the rocks round the soft and beautiful landscape. And those crazy Nabatean decided capital to build their buildings by carving on the walls of these mountains.
The route of visiting Petra starts with a short walk outside, a first temple carved into the rock saffron, then to begin the path to true in the valley. It is a feast for the eyes and a nice prelude to the massive surprises that follow, to walk in the narrow street between the curved walls and stained, following the path of the water canals that supplied the capital, the silence interrupted only by some tourist and cart voices of passers-by. A landscape that immediately reminded me of the necropolis Pantalica , a couple of hours south of Mount Etna, with its grandi montagne brulle attraversate dal piccolo fiume Anapo .
E poi, all’improvviso, dietro una curva, la vallata si apre, ed in tutta la sua maestosità appare il Khozne (“tesoro”), l’imponente tempio che apre la strada all’ingresso della città. Una parete alta un centinaio di metri e dal colore rosso ocra tendente al rosa, all’interno della quale è scolpita la facciata del luogo di culto più importante di Petra. Le grosse colonne, statue, iscrizioni, perfino lo stipite è intagliato: l’importanza del tempio sembra risolversi tutta n ella sua facciata, e le stanze interiori risultano piccole e spoglie. Cerchiamo senza successo di immaginare come diavolo abbiano potuto costruire questi edifici nella roccia, partendo da che lato, e come abbiano fatto a levigarla e lavorarla così bene. Un mistero. I turisti si accumulano sul piazzale davanti al tempio, dove sono comparsi anche i primi bar beduini e un paio di poveri cammelli sfiniti e spaesati: meglio proseguire. Siamo alla parte iniziale della città, dedicata ad una serie di tombe poste ai lati, in basso e in alto. Ogni tomba è alta una ventina di metri, le più importanti anche molto di più: quella dell’ultimo primo ministro dei nabatei, posta in alto su un promontorio, vale una visita, e ci arrampichiamo subito sulle rocce scivolose. Ne vale la pena, perchè da sopra la vista the valley is beautiful: the huge buildings that are all one with the mountains, the colors, the silence ... the landscape is an epic tale of the best and most beautiful ... I'm not surprised you the great Tolkien had been inspired by here for a description of his Minas Tirith or better Rivendell. I think any description and no photo can match or transmit the sensation of vision in these places.
Later on, always on top, the whole of the Tombs of the Kings offer a view of a temple rebuilt in the Byzantine church, a veritable palace-tomb, gigantic, and some 'hidden, the tomb of a powerful Roman general, Sestio Fiorentino , credo.
Si scende verso il centro della città, su una sorta di via romana mattonellata, che pullula di bambini e ragazzi anneriti dal sole a dosso di un povero asino o di un cammello, che ossessionano i turisti offrendo di fare un giro. Mentre camminiamo, un bambino ci chiede “wanna go for a ride?” (con queste parole) e poi “da dove venite, da Israele?” La domanda ci lascia letteralmente sotto shock: l’ultima cosa che ci aspettiamo è pensare di trovare turisti israeliani in un paese arabo... dopo mesi e mesi di indottrinamento antisemita made in Syria suona davvero strano. Eppure vuol dire che ce ne sono, di turisti. Anche in alberg o del resto c’erano canali israeliani... ecco una grande differenza tra Siria e Giordania.
I bambini diventano fastidiosi, e non ci piace vederli picchiare i poveri animali o fare a botte per gioco, mentre mangiamo il nostro lauto pasto di pane e formaggino sotto l’ombra di un albero, vicino al centro di ristoro per turisti. Una cultura violenta e difficilmente comprensibile, per noi, figuriamoci per i turisti pacchetti-tutto-compreso-4-giorni. Non credo che una cosa del genere possa aiutare a sfatare i pregiudizi sui paesi arabi.
Ma la tabella di marcia ci impone di proseguire: ci aspetta una lunghissima scalata che porta sull’altura del Monastero , altro edificio importante di Petra: quasi un’ora in salita per più di 700 scalini sotto il sole che nel frattempo è spuntato, tanto sudore e poca acqua rimasta, ma la vista all’arrivo è ancora una volta splendida: il tempio, poi monastero bizantino, è ancora più imponente e affascinante del Khozne ; ma forse ancor più vale la salita la vista del paesaggio di aguzze montagne davanti alle infinite distese del deserto, che si scorgono nella nebbia bassa proseguendo dietro il monastero. Un silenzio ancora più mistico e intenso accompagna la vista. Ecco dove sta la bellezza estrema di Petra: il connubio felicissimo tra fascino della storia e della natura, tra interesse archeologico e avventuroso-naturalistico.
Un po’ di sano riposo, altro ottimo panino con formaggino and it's off to the next destination ... the other path proposed by the guides, the one that leads to the heights of the sacrifice. We return quickly back to the early graves, where the tour starts, perhaps in a hurry because they are the five Petra and closes at sunset. And another way to endless hiking staircase in the middle of beautiful nature this time, the shoes destroyed but should still see a lot, and at the top, the two obelisks fire red mark the place where it says once flowed blood of animals sacrificed to some god angry. The alternative route back is even more fascinating for a few seconds even if there is a doubt be lost and it does not reassure since it became a bit 'late. So much so that back on the road there is also no longer even a shadow of a tourist, and the thought of being locked in the ancient valleys for a night, though seductive, is ruled as unlikely and risky. On the walk back to the present, no tourist, but, very curiously, many many Jordanian Arabs, Bedouins, families, groups of friends, couples, went for a walk now and enjoy a bit too 'historic charm. Petra at sunset back to being Arab, very charming.
We even walk the path from the archaeological site to the hotel, some four kilometers in height: before the crazy prices of the taxis do not stop us even the fatigue of eight hours of hiking.
It was a long, wonderful and exhausting day, we are also destroyed and our feet are stinking it: the nice shower and rest lautissimo meal (with bread and hummus, canned sardines: yuck!) Comes without hesitation, a deep sleep and deserved.

Pinnacle Pctv Media Center 150 Descargar

Al Urdun Awwalan

A ow yes it is hot. The six less than a quarter of an afternoon in late May and it is quite unthinkable to leave the house. The cheerful room Jada Quli, Sarujah Suq district, dusty and messy, empties slowly, while Musafir prepares to revolutionary changes with enthusiasm and serenity. I will miss this house, the still air that is breathed, the long, relaxed conversations in the afternoon, the doors and windows painted blue, the endless games One and paste the weekend, his neighborhood is so intimate and welcoming, where you all at the palm of your hand, the girls veiled timid salute from the window beside the horse that pulls the cart of vegetables, tea ... by Firas Yes, it was a good time spent in this place.

M to switch to serious things: first that the violent waves of university social life overwhelm me, I wish I could say something about that beautiful trip ended just a week ago in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan . A couple of points, I think, as usual.
Note: Photos of Al Musafir have moved: no more can be found on Flickr but on the new Photobucket . Maybe a little 'less beautiful and functional first, but at least there are no limits as to the ridiculous number of photos you can upload: this is the link, enjoy! All photos on Flickr were transferred here. Just to get an overall view of the recent trips I've done ...

Wednesday, May 9
8 Hours: 48 hours even after the end of the stage to umami Muttahida , And sat on the luxury coach Jett that will take us from Damascus to the nearby Jordanian capital Amman. A trip prepared relatively quickly, with little attention to detail, as it should be, funny, spontaneous. Exactly what it takes to separate the two periods and two completely different experiences, the internship and study, half of my long stay perfect in this strange and complicated Middle East. A country of which I have heard (a little) and that for a while 'I wanted to visit, but never got the chance. And what better time, in May broke from all these changes, and the pleasant company of fellow-roommate-friend Julie?
Routard Jordan in his hand, then, and we start south. Travel between the capital lasted little more than four hours total, of which two large waiting at the border, the rest of the short stretch that separates Damascus from Amman. Usual controls, excessive and extremely superficial usual formalities, a nice new stamp on the passport, stop forced the huge Duty Free border, where everything should cost less (but the Syrian border when they buy cigarettes in the street are cheaper do not understand them) : and we are on the other side. Scroll down briefly on the recent history of Jordan Routard , its liberalization and peace with Israel, the new king and its problems with terrorism and with the Palestinians, that there is oil, that straf ** in Rania. Incidentally, the Urdun awwalan, "Jordan First" is the phrase that always accompanies the pictures of King Abdullah scattered cities of the country.
From the window of the bus to greet the Faccioni Assad father and son, and, twenty yards ahead, "Welcome to Jordan", we meet the new couple, the former King Hussein and his son, King Abdallah. Habit, therefore, in these countries, megaritratti in pairs. Even if Ataturk had no one close to him ... Even wearing clothes
Abdallah military, whites, however, and one thing I know subito: ha la faccia più simpatica, un sorriso più sincero e gli occhi che guardano dritti nell’obiettivo. Come se fosse più sereno, più sicuro della sua posizione, più convinto dell’appoggio del suo popolo. Una sensazione avuta più volte in Giordania, anche sulla gente. E fare paragoni con la Siria è diventato il metro di giudizio più naturale per farci un’idea del paese durante tutto il viaggio, e, per quello che ho potuto capire in una settimana, le differenze sono tante.
Arriviamo ad Amman nelle ore più calde del pomeriggio, anche se il cielo è leggermente annuvolato e un forte vento soffia tra le colline su cui si stende la capitale. Ci diamo un paio d’ore per visitare la città and put something in his stomach: by the evening we want to be in Petra, our first goal. Once past the horde of taxi drivers and tour operators local shady looking to offer their services to convincing us that there is no alternative, we are moving heavily toward the center, passing the first terminal Abdali, to understand how to proceed later to the south , and a crazy driver of a servis arrive at the "center" of Amman. Curious, that servis taxi in Jordan are painted white, dented vans and fast, as in Syria.
Amman: plenty of low houses of rectangular gray carpet and seven colline, nessun centro storico, solo una cittadella con un paio di colonne e un teatro romano. Nulla, ma proprio nulla di quell’antichissima Philadelphia , capitale di non mi ricordo quale regno presemitico. Una città che dà l’impressione di essere moderna, ordinata e pulita, ma che non sembra offrire nulla di particolarmente attraente, nè sembra particolarmente attiva intellettualmente. Il centro, disposto sulla valle più importante, è stranamente poco frequentato, e posti per prendere un té o riposarsi ce ne sono pochi. Non vale la pena neanche di entrare dentro la cittadella per pagare due dinari (due euro) e vedere uno stupido museo. No, decisamente meglio Damasco, più vivibile, più interessante, più autentica.
Shawarma e Kebab al ristorantino sul terminal Abdali , dunque, e prendiamo l’autobus verso il terminal sud, dove ci aspetta un altro mini autobus stracolmo che ci porta sulla lunga strada per Wadi Musa, villaggio alle porte di Petra, nel sud est del paese. Quattro infinite ore di viaggio, distrutti, arriviamo al nostro Sabaa Hotel , in pieno (mini)centro di Wadi Musa. Un costosissimo (6 dinari!) ma squisito mix arrosto ci allieta il riposo, e nel semplice e confortevole alberghetto prendiamo subito sonno, pronti per lunghe e avventurose escursioni tra le valli rocciose dell’antica capitale nabatea.

Thursday, May 10
21 dinars, not even the Palacatania Laura Pausini: so much is the ticket to Petra, the most famous tourist and archaeological site in the Middle East after the Pyramids. Prices in Jordan tourist horrified us, we are incredulous at the figures used ridiculous for any type of purchase in Syrian territory. No reduction, needless to our international student card remedied illegally - by presenting certificates of Ca 'Foscari not really reliable - in Damascus. I understand they need to do their work Jordanian economy to grow, but a bottle of water may not cost me I would pay twice as much as the Venice. A constant throughout the troubled (financially) travel in the following days. The beauty is that sleep one night in a hotel is cheaper than eating a chicken dish, to Petra, Wadi Rum as the Red Sea. The only distinction made is between Jordanians and, that the Jordanians and tourists do not pay anything, they are Lebanese, Chinese and Sicilian, everything. Out of these three centers, among other things, the prices are only slightly more expensive than in Syria, but very little.
Ok, vent financial finished, continue with the story.
The day starts early, relatively, at nine o'clock we are at the entrance to Petra, to pay 21 dinars these blessed, and so to the long day of exploration.
Petra, from the greek Petra, the Nabataean or Batra ', I have not understood very well. Certainly if, as in Arabic, Batra ' means "the incomparable, the name fits much more.
The capital was built between the massive desert valleys of these mountains more than two thousand years ago, only to be taken and used first by the Romans, then by the Byzantines and then Arabs. Rich and influential political and commercial center of the Nabataean kingdom, he went to the long decline from the Roman conquest. But who are 'sti Nabataeans? One reminder: the nightmare of Semitic philology, one of really feared a few tests Ca'Cappello: here is named as a Semitic language Nabataean cuneiform, Aramaic daughter or sister, but as I know. It's enough to arouse a sense of disgust and contempt for the strange people. What can I say, these are crazy Nabataeans, to build a city so huge, ingeniously designed, self-invincible, unbeatable, exactly.
Few tourists, hamdulillah, already from the entrance. Although the ancient city during the day is filled with hordes of Trentino groups with hats and Arabic multilingual guides. The thing though is not heavy, because the place is big enough for everyone, and take various alternative routes you island quickly.
The day is not the best, and with a tendency all'uggioso early morning mist - a little annoying, actually. Soon, however, that we understand that time was a fluke: it would have been much worse march and climb mountains for hours under the scorching sun, with little space in the shade and water to quench our thirst tiepidiccia.
The valley in which lay the ruins of the city is huge, tens of kilometers long, a path full of twists and with dozens of branches that lead up the hills and hidden shelves. The mountains rise high out of nowhere in the middle of the desert that stretches from Syria south to Yemen. And certainly the thing that is clear more of these long mountains that cover the southern Jordan and come to Israel, the conformation is rocky. Red, the color of the huge valley. Millions of years of sedimentation have given to the walls of the valley of the shades in bright colors and magically mixed. Purplish red, ocher, yellow, bright blue, purple, white ... here the walls of Petra, a mosaic of colors in perfect harmony, the huge palette of a Dadaist who draws lines and sinuous shapes that intertwine and stained walls rising hundreds of feet ... Rounded rocks, tall thin mo 'stalactites, and a few plants growing between the rocks round the soft and beautiful landscape. And those crazy Nabatean decided capital to build their buildings by carving on the walls of these mountains.
The route of visiting Petra starts with a short walk outside, a first temple carved into the rock saffron, then to begin the path to true in the valley. It is a feast for the eyes and a nice prelude to the massive surprises that follow, to walk in the narrow street between the curved walls and stained, following the path of the water canals that supplied the capital, the silence interrupted only by some tourist and cart voices of passers-by. A landscape that immediately reminded me of the necropolis Pantalica , a couple of hours south of Mount Etna, with its grandi montagne brulle attraversate dal piccolo fiume Anapo .
E poi, all’improvviso, dietro una curva, la vallata si apre, ed in tutta la sua maestosità appare il Khozne (“tesoro”), l’imponente tempio che apre la strada all’ingresso della città. Una parete alta un centinaio di metri e dal colore rosso ocra tendente al rosa, all’interno della quale è scolpita la facciata del luogo di culto più importante di Petra. Le grosse colonne, statue, iscrizioni, perfino lo stipite è intagliato: l’importanza del tempio sembra risolversi tutta n ella sua facciata, e le stanze interiori risultano piccole e spoglie. Cerchiamo senza successo di immaginare come diavolo abbiano potuto costruire questi edifici nella roccia, partendo da che lato, e come abbiano fatto a levigarla e lavorarla così bene. Un mistero. I turisti si accumulano sul piazzale davanti al tempio, dove sono comparsi anche i primi bar beduini e un paio di poveri cammelli sfiniti e spaesati: meglio proseguire. Siamo alla parte iniziale della città, dedicata ad una serie di tombe poste ai lati, in basso e in alto. Ogni tomba è alta una ventina di metri, le più importanti anche molto di più: quella dell’ultimo primo ministro dei nabatei, posta in alto su un promontorio, vale una visita, e ci arrampichiamo subito sulle rocce scivolose. Ne vale la pena, perchè da sopra la vista the valley is beautiful: the huge buildings that are all one with the mountains, the colors, the silence ... the landscape is an epic tale of the best and most beautiful ... I'm not surprised you the great Tolkien had been inspired by here for a description of his Minas Tirith or better Rivendell. I think any description and no photo can match or transmit the sensation of vision in these places.
Later on, always on top, the whole of the Tombs of the Kings offer a view of a temple rebuilt in the Byzantine church, a veritable palace-tomb, gigantic, and some 'hidden, the tomb of a powerful Roman general, Sestio Fiorentino , credo.
Si scende verso il centro della città, su una sorta di via romana mattonellata, che pullula di bambini e ragazzi anneriti dal sole a dosso di un povero asino o di un cammello, che ossessionano i turisti offrendo di fare un giro. Mentre camminiamo, un bambino ci chiede “wanna go for a ride?” (con queste parole) e poi “da dove venite, da Israele?” La domanda ci lascia letteralmente sotto shock: l’ultima cosa che ci aspettiamo è pensare di trovare turisti israeliani in un paese arabo... dopo mesi e mesi di indottrinamento antisemita made in Syria suona davvero strano. Eppure vuol dire che ce ne sono, di turisti. Anche in alberg o del resto c’erano canali israeliani... ecco una grande differenza tra Siria e Giordania.
I bambini diventano fastidiosi, e non ci piace vederli picchiare i poveri animali o fare a botte per gioco, mentre mangiamo il nostro lauto pasto di pane e formaggino sotto l’ombra di un albero, vicino al centro di ristoro per turisti. Una cultura violenta e difficilmente comprensibile, per noi, figuriamoci per i turisti pacchetti-tutto-compreso-4-giorni. Non credo che una cosa del genere possa aiutare a sfatare i pregiudizi sui paesi arabi.
Ma la tabella di marcia ci impone di proseguire: ci aspetta una lunghissima scalata che porta sull’altura del Monastero , altro edificio importante di Petra: quasi un’ora in salita per più di 700 scalini sotto il sole che nel frattempo è spuntato, tanto sudore e poca acqua rimasta, ma la vista all’arrivo è ancora una volta splendida: il tempio, poi monastero bizantino, è ancora più imponente e affascinante del Khozne ; ma forse ancor più vale la salita la vista del paesaggio di aguzze montagne davanti alle infinite distese del deserto, che si scorgono nella nebbia bassa proseguendo dietro il monastero. Un silenzio ancora più mistico e intenso accompagna la vista. Ecco dove sta la bellezza estrema di Petra: il connubio felicissimo tra fascino della storia e della natura, tra interesse archeologico e avventuroso-naturalistico.
Un po’ di sano riposo, altro ottimo panino con formaggino and it's off to the next destination ... the other path proposed by the guides, the one that leads to the heights of the sacrifice. We return quickly back to the early graves, where the tour starts, perhaps in a hurry because they are the five Petra and closes at sunset. And another way to endless hiking staircase in the middle of beautiful nature this time, the shoes destroyed but should still see a lot, and at the top, the two obelisks fire red mark the place where it says once flowed blood of animals sacrificed to some god angry. The alternative route back is even more fascinating for a few seconds even if there is a doubt be lost and it does not reassure since it became a bit 'late. So much so that back on the road there is also no longer even a shadow of a tourist, and the thought of being locked in the ancient valleys for a night, though seductive, is ruled as unlikely and risky. On the walk back to the present, no tourist, but, very curiously, many many Jordanian Arabs, Bedouins, families, groups of friends, couples, went for a walk now and enjoy a bit too 'historic charm. Petra at sunset back to being Arab, very charming.
We even walk the path from the archaeological site to the hotel, some four kilometers in height: before the crazy prices of the taxis do not stop us even the fatigue of eight hours of hiking.
It was a long, wonderful and exhausting day, we are also destroyed and our feet are stinking it: the nice shower and rest lautissimo meal (with bread and hummus, canned sardines: yuck!) Comes without hesitation, a deep sleep and deserved.