Hello Dear Readers!
I’m writing to you from the roomy comfort of Alaska Airlines’ first class, on my way home from an interview. Ah, the jetsetting life.
I kid, I’m actually exhausted and would like to sit down for a while.
I last left off talking about mine and Harrison’s weekend to Jordan, discussing our pleasant journey all around Amman as I showed him my old digs. But you know what I didn’t talk about?
Our trip to Petra.
This actually marked my third visit to Petra, and at a staggering $70 per entry, I’ve spent a great deal more money to look at old rocks than most people. Still, the adventure is always worth it, and it gets easier every time.
That is, of course, unless you have food poisoning. You know, like I did shortly before our arrival. And somehow, despite my stubborn insistence that I was fine, I actually didn’t happen to be fine at all.
Cue me trudging down the path to the Treasury at Petra, my head spinning and my stomach cramping, attempting to plaster on a smile for Harrison as the breathtakingly carved stone opens up in front of us.
It was busier than I’d ever seen it, with hordes of tourists crowding around the lone two camels for the best pictures possible.
Harrison and I took the obligatory photo in front of the building, before I woozily made my way to the shade. It was here that I informed him there was no possible way I was fit for the 3 mile hike up the mountain to the top, where the monastery was located.
He was very understanding, of course. He always is.
Until the glint of an idea began to glimmer in the back of my mind. Sure, I couldn’t walk up the steep stone steps of the mountain. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t ride.
I recalled my first visit three years prior, where, exhausted at the end of a long day, several friends had ridden donkeys back to Petra’s entrance.
So it was that we found ourselves ascending the steep climb up Petra’s mountainous walkways on the backs of donkeys, me attempting desperately to keep from vomiting and Harrison holding on for dear life as his animal kept attempting to plunge into ravines.
It was so bad that once we reached the top, Harrison was thoroughly infuriated, and I shamefacedly told him we didn’t need to ride back down. Truth be told, the judging stares from passerby as they watched my donkey struggle to ascend the slopes with me on his back had shamed me into the decision, food poisoning or no.
But we did get good photos!
-Carissa “Sorry I Exploited a Donkey” Rawson