I've fallen in love

with Omani Markets.  We have discovered the most useful souq in Doha: fresh catch of the day fish market, a garden market with everything from pots, spades, flowers, and shrubs, and the best of all - fresh vegetables and fruit - all at more than reasonable prices. 
I am so excited!  This is so much better than shopping at the local supermarkets where you sometimes have to pick over spoiled goods to find something that is edible, then stand in long lines behind others with bags and bags of vegetables and fruit that need to be weighed, and then pay exhorbitant sums at the cashier.  I have not bought a Romaine lettuce in a long while, the price is too high.  I can't afford the pumpkins and various other squash types.  Most are flown in from Europe and at 20-30 riyals per kg, those heavy morsels add up quickly.  We have eaten a steady supply of apples and bananas, but berries and grapes are on the no-no list. 

Yesterday I was like the proverbial kid in a candy store - see picture of all the vegetables I was able to buy for the princely sum of about QR30 - that's $10!.  And then over to the garden market for a beautiful blue pot, and a poinsettia that the vendor repotted for me on site for the sum total of QR65 and then kindly placed it in the car as well.   I went armed with a cooler box and ice to the fish market, appropriately dressed in crop pants and closed shoes to wade through the gunk and slush on the floor and checked out the enthusiastic sellers of Persian Gulf fish varieties - you can buy blue crabs for QR7 each (that's just about two dollars) and they will do all the cleaning and gutting for you - thank goodness!! (worth the price and a large tip for that little duty).

Now I wish I could find a really good bakery for really good bread.

Omani market has captured my heart.

The Lives of Ex-pat Wives.

I am sure that many of you are wondering what I do with my time. After years of full-time employment, jetting across the nation to do various and sundry work and juggling hours of assessment and treatment, together with dreary waits at airports and driving to the back of beyond thrown in. Mix that up with with gardening, errands & chores, shopping, fixing, visiting, and socializing and you end up with a veritable cocktail of busyness. And 24 hours no longer seems enough to contain your needs and desires.

Fast forward to Doha where I am unable to work without my husband's approval letter and even once that is accomplished the question is - what to do? Most husbands are in specialist managerial level posts covered by a contract of 1 or 2 years that may or may not be renewable. Most other jobs outside of management still require experience and skills - teachers, librarians, secretarial, computers, HR, store clerks, etc and come with the added and usual 'bonus' of required Arabic as well. Trailing spouses are not usually the group of choice for these jobs - who knows when we will up and leave to trail the husband elsewhere, and third country nationals are that much cheaper too.

So what's a wife to do? (It's always a wife, and not a partner, as you need proof of marriage to live with your husband here.) The home front is pretty much taken care of with gardeners, houseboys and in-house maintenance crews. And even when you do bits about the house, there are only the two of you....so how much accumulates anyway? Cooking only one meal a day can hardly keep the brain cells buzzing either. Another issue is that most of us have limited household objects, gadgets, and stuff (all left behind in our other lives) that would usually have kept us occupied. Just so you know, I am not speaking for the ex-pat wife who has children here - that is a whole new level in challenge not covered in this discussion.

The answer for most of us though, is to join ranks and form large phalanxes of camaraderie and support. We create spider webs of information gleaned by those who have gone before us - best route to the souq, best hairdresser and most important - hairdresser to avoid, doctors and dentists ditto. We beat the drums and pass messages down the line: "Megamart has a shipment of Heinz ketchup - go get it now" and "Ladies, I have found a great place for plants, for skirts, for thread, for books, etc, etc. Smoke signals waft all over Doha filled with the latest and greatest, and must haves or must dos.

Friends become friends quite quickly - spurred on by common experiences and the ever present nesting instinct - we want home, wherever it may be, to become a real home even if temporary. Interestingly, our homes in our current country of residence are reflections of our husband's previous placement, so it is always a delight to have coffee with a friend - you can be instantly transported to Greece with goat bells, India with rugs, Singapore with puppets and treasure chests, and never forget the ever-present photos of children and grandchildren displayed strategically. Conversations flow with ease as stories unravel, sparked by picture, beads and baubles.

We join groups that make sense to the individual: like American Women Association, South Africans/Canadians/Germans etc in Qatar, clubs such as book, garden, bridge, knitting and mahjong. We attend lectures and speaker forums. We explore and tour the local sites. There are opportunities for being on executive committees, for volunteering and fundraising for charities. On the homefront most of us have created hobbies and interests in everything from photography, reading, blogging, correspondence, web design, online learning, languages, art, jewellery making, gardening and all the rest. Some of us are into Nintendo DS and virtual farming and fish tanks. All of us are on voip and facebook and active participants in the online community of the world wide web. Am I bored? Never. Do I get homesick? Yes. Do I question this stereotypical role? Sometimes.

It's not all koffee klatches, tennis and bridge. If all this sounds like the glory days of a permanent tourist or pampered other half - think again. All of us have left families and friends behind us, usually going "back home" only once a year for flying visits to reconnect with our children, cuddle with our grandbabies, and renew our friendships. We build a new life from scratch, sometimes over and over again. Daily, we contend with unfamiliar cultural practices, get lost on foreign roads, buy unknown and sometimes questionable produce (cans with labels in Arabic, so no comprehensible ingredients listed and no country of origin to be seen). We spend days in isolation as our husbands toil from early morning to evening. We get used to silence in the home - no doorbells or phones ringing constantly, and no children in and out. We have no specific structure to our day except the one we choose to impose on ourselves. We need to remain ever mindful that we are in a foreign land and to be respectful of our host country's laws and culture. This may mean anything from dressing differently, watching how you speak to others, and being vigilant during special occasions like Ramadan. Pole, pole - Swahili for go slowly, go carefully.

Like always, there are blessings and curses that come with this lifestyle that seems part antiquated Victorian extensions of our husbands, and part free spirit adventurer given an opportunity of a lifetime. Everything will depend on positive outlooks, flexible attitudes and the ability to live in the moment and let go of yesterday. This experience will humble you and broaden your horizons and you will learn from it, if you let it. The ex-pat wife holds the key to the outcome of her experience in foreign lands. Depending on your point of view - success or failure as a trailing spouse.
Whilst I have not talked about him, the ex-pat husband is the centre of our universe in our home on foreign shores. They will need a whole blog of their own, and at the very least - a gold medal for bringing in the bacon - oops! maybe it should be mula - slogging away tirelessly, working very long hours for six days a week, under precarious circumstances in lands far from home. We wish we could carry some of the burden.
To those of you sharing these ex-pat experiences: hats off to you! I am humbled by your courageous spirit. To those we have left at home: you have laid footprints on our hearts that will always lead us home.

It's not just my opinion...

Of course this is about my favourite topic - driving - what else?? Just so you know it's not just me ranting and exaggerating, I will quote from the Qatar 2007 Crime & Safety Report compiled by the U.S. Embassy and State Department:

"Driving in Qatar is likened to participating in an extreme sport; drivers often manoeuvre erratically and at high speed, demonstrate little road discipline or courtesy, fail to turn on their headlights during hours of darkness or inclement weather, and do not use seat belts - all resulting in a high vehicular accident rate (in excess of 70,000 annually). In fact, traffic fatalities are the leading cause of death (estimates are in excess of 130 annual foreigner deaths and in excess of 300 annual locals deaths). Foreigners who lose their temper and engage in road rage could face civil and/or criminal penalties, or even a travel ban preventing the offender/traveller from departing the country until the matter is resolved to the offended party's satisfaction."

And this one:

"The existing road network in metro Doha, though generally in good repair (?!), is increasingly strained and unable to handle current traffic levels. This is exacerbated by the use of dated UK-styled traffic roundabouts. In spite of aggressive road construction plans, the government will not be able to keep pace with projected traffic volumes for the next 3 to 5 years. Outside of the city, the roadways range between average to poor, are rarely lit, and unshouldered, are subject to wandering animals in the road, and frequently are muddy or washed out during the winter rainy season."

So there you have it - I am participating in an extreme sport .....wonder if my insurance agent knows that??

Inevitable Topics of Conversation in the Land of Sand.

You know those conversation pieces that crop up at get-togethers at the coffee station and the water cooler. In Canada they might cover weather, taxes, and hockey; in South Africa they would usually include rugby, sunny skies, and a touch of crime stats. Here in the land of sand subjects of choice are temperatures, driving, and ... well, driving.

So here is my contribution to the chat. First off, temperatures: 105F/41 degrees C is not! the recorded high, but rather an average low (very low) temperature in summer. You will be grateful for 32C in the fall. You will hardly remember the last rainfall you experienced, but you will rejoice in the pity drizzle that produces the 5mm annual rainfall statistic. You will always carry bottled water with you, no matter what the eco-pundits scream at you (except in Ramadan, when you will carry a big black bag as camouflage). Oh yes, and when you leave the compound you will have a cooler box of ice and water for your trip. You will not be surprised to see ladies, young and old, hoisting parasols in the blazing midday sun. Also, do not, under any circumstances, leave cd's, computers, food or flowers in your car for any length of time - they will perish. When potting new plants, do bring the bag of soil inside first so that it is cool enough not to bake the delicate roots of your baby plant. Do not swig that milk down - test it first - there were probably many hours that elapsed between the container dockside/cargo plane and the store refrigerator. Same goes for eggs - crack them carefully! Do not expect cold water to flow from the tap marked cold. To wash lettuce,please place ice cubes in the water or your leafy greens will surely wilt. On the plus side - you may never have to use the hot water tap and thereby save on electricity. On the negative side - you will buy a stand alone water cooler, you will watch your plants wither and die when you give them their daily dousing, and the pool will not be good for a refreshing dip, more like a hot tub without the jets. And just how decadent is four a/c units and a wall unit?? - but I use them all and ignore the electricity meters furious spinning. I really would love to be more eco-friendly, but I'm afraid I would just melt.

And finally driving - what more can I say! Watch it, watch it - be very, very careful. The powers that be are trying to clean up the mess out there by changing behaviour. The radar guns are on just about every dual carriageway. There are also cameras at most intersections. Not too many traffic police though - they are mostly deployed to round-abouts trying to shove traffic through bottlenecks. The fines are hefty - $2000 US for running a red light, $150 Canadian for parking illegally, and anything in between depending on your speed (normally legal between 80 and 120km), and do not flip the bird - that will cost you $1000 US! MVA's are particularly nasty - no collision repair without a police report and depending on the nationality involved in your melee, the cost may be all yours. Each time you get into the drivers seat, please expect to have to avoid at least a half dozen accidents along the way. There is no good wishing you will get off scot free - accidents are consistently inevitable. Just make sure your insurance is paid up. The most innovative concept we have come across here - car registration is linked to drivers licences, which are linked to id numbers, and linked again to passports - don't bother trying to go home without paying your fines - they will stop you boarding that aircraft until all fines are paid up (and just so you know, there is no kiosk at the airport). The good thing about this - you can check online a couple of days before your flight to see if there are any infractions on your record and hop down there to pay same.

Still on driving, but talking more about maps, signs, etc - the city is changing so fast that even steadfastly gluing your eyes to a map and whipping out succint directions to the driver, may not be sufficient - there are always extra round-abouts, traffic intersections and new roads that are nowhere to be seen on any "up-to-date" map. Streets go unnamed and street numbers are nonexistent, even villa compounds are no-name. Directions to your home are accomplished with much descriptive narrative: "Pass the BMW dealer, turn right at the Television R/A, go left at the big Lusail sign, do a u-turn at the gas station and when you are across from DQ, look out for the line of trucks on the side of the road, and then....". So apart from being in a dodgems derby, you can also feel like you are particpating in the Dakar motor rally. In addition, you will climb in a taxi and the driver will ask you for directions. You will provide first-timers to your home with a fully descriptive map, along with your cell phone number, and you will expect a frantic call starting with "Where are we??!!" or sobs accompanied by "I really, really can't find it!" Calling for home delivery is an exercise in patience, with the added bonus of not understanding one another and resorting to pidgin' English. Oh and one other thing - there is no peak hour traffic - the roads are constantly jam-packed and roaring to go no matter what the hour - which means that even the 30 km trek to the office takes one hour and thirty minutes of teeth gritting and white knuckling.

Ah well, the joys of ..... I feel better now - hope you do too!

Permits, Documents and Licences.

There are many hoops to jump through when applying for residency status here: required documentation is proof of identity, passports naturally, proof of sponsorship by employer, proof of certifications, proof of marriage, letters of reference, letters of recommendations, letters from husbands approving of their wives working here and another allowing them to obtain drivers licences.

We now need a whole new wallet to carry the kilograms worth of new identification: residency permit, drivers licence, liquor licence, e-gate passport identity, and Hamad medical card just for starters.

The journey to procure these precious documents is not an easy one. For each step forward, there are always two steps back. As a friend quipped "It's the land of ...almost". The path is littered with obstacles and objections, and fraught with the perils of second language ordeals, cultural peculiarities and capricious agents of public service. The same goes for convoluted websites, absent instructions, and elusive information. Emails are sent off into ether space never to be heard from again, and phones ring for endless minutes at a time and nary a human voice is heard after the twenty minutes of the Arab world's answer to elevator music. Venturing to an actual office should be classified as an Olympic sport - After you have macheted your way through the jungle of traffic; and lost your way a few times in order to backtrack/u-turn/reverse. After you have cursed the potholes, narrow streets, and triple parked vehicles; and toured the circuit umpteen times for a legitimate parking spot. Then you can finally celebrate by joining the long line of sorry looking humans sweating it out in humid temperatures in line-ups a mile long, that inch forward at a snails pace, contingent on tea breaks, staffing load, prayer times and the inevitable 2 to 4 hour break between midday and 4pm when most business' close down for siesta - we should all get a medal for being so brave and patient.

Oh, and woe betide you make the mistake of not observing the males only and females only doorways! You will be very quickly and politely shuffled out and directed to the relevant building or section. I can't speak for the male halls, but the female enclaves are certainly not bastions of care and compassion, or efficiency and organization. We all become our other selves and transform from Jekylls to Hydes - we line up 10 deep and 8 wide, pushing against each other in the hopes that the women in front can magically melt through the walls and windows of counter space that divides us morons from the cool and calm abaya-clad black ladies on the other side of the counters. We scream and holler, and wave our hands in the air clutching our precious paperwork and a bunch of riyals. We hope that the daggers we are sending through our eyes will strike those with the effrontary to push in front of those of us who have already waited two and three hours to get this far. (My advice for the novice - wear football gear - it should clear a path for you.) Meanwhile, we stand, we slump and we sit. We watch, fascinated, as someone just gives in to frustration and starts screaming about fairness and whimpering about "my turn", "my turn". We comfort and pass tissues to those unlucky not to be on the magic list of approval for that day.

These scenes are everywhere: at the medical centre where you have to have blood screening and chest x-rays; at the finger-printing bureau, at the driver licence centre. I haven't ventured to the employment bureau yet - dreading the thought after all these other encounters.

And on top of that there is a whole other discussion on the intricacies of trying to disrobe for the chest x-ray in a room the size of a modest bathroom with 20 other females - thank goodness for the ex-pat grapevine that told me to wear a white t-shirt and no bra so that I could avoid the grey rags called hospital gowns. And what do you say when you are herded into the x-ray room with 10 other poor saps and stand under the sign that says "Radiation in progress" with a big skull and crossbones, just a few feet away from the xray machine zapping away at a steady pace? "Lucky me, I had ten chest x-rays in one day." or "Ten for the price of one - what a bargain." On the plus side, the abaya-clad nurses are jabbing needles into arms at the rate of 100 per hour - so it is a fast and fairly painless ordeal - we're just trundled onto a conveyor belt - like being the jam in the jam factory.

I have had to rely on stories regarding drivers licence procurement and can only say that I am so happy I am not American, or Belgian, or Indonesian etc. My licence is accepted and just exchanged for a local one. Other nationalities are not so fortunate - according to those who have persevered their way through this morass - it takes about 5 visits to get a licence. Reasons being: you are given an instruction book after you have failed the first traffic sign test - it's not a u-turn, it is a backward turn; it's not a highway, it's a carriage way, silly. Also, hopefully you have an ear for foreign languages, as the instructors appear to speak every Asian language, but none that you can understand - hence you will fail to properly understand instructions and will fail to execute required manoeuvres, and will fail...period. Finally, the piece de resistance is a test drive with a stick shift car and too bad if you have never driven one .... you will be back for another visit.

The silver lining in all of this - you become instant friends with the ladies sitting or standing next to you - you can learn a lot about a person in 3 hours in a waiting hall, after all you now have a lot in common and banding together like musketeers is the only sensible solution.

However....like all things everywhere - the end does arrive. And then the sighs of relief and the smiles of celebration when your documentation is approved and paid for, and you hear the delicious sound of a stamp of authority coming down with a bang onto your now legitimate papers.

Yes! and the world is a lovely place again, and bonus - you have at least another comrade-in-arms to swell the ranks of friendship.

The Doha Debates

Last night, I was lucky enough to attend the Doha Debates. (Unfortunately, Patrick had to give up his ticket as he was called to an evening work meeting at the last minute). My friend and I had a great girls night out evening instead.

It is a debate format created in Doha back in 2005 and now quite well known and televised around the world. According to the website, the Doha Debates are: "a unique venture in the Arab world, providing a battleground for conflicting opinions and arguments about major political topics of the region....For the first time in their lives, many young Arabs are having their say on key political questions and challenging politicians and experts face to face." It is now called the leading forum for public discussion in the Arab world.

In a part of the world where battles are being fought with real weapons and bombs, and lives torn apart by the conflict of war; the Doha Debates seek to introduce possibilities for change and dialogue using the very powerful weapon of words. As the mission statement reads: "....the Doha Debates unleash the power of words: to change minds, to re-examine conflicts and to project new solutions."

The motion discussed last night related to the release of the Lockerbie bomber to Libya. The house stand: it deplores the release. The debate is always chaired by Tim Sebastian, previously a BBC foreign correspondent who was quick to challenge and question each of the speakers and their points of view. The speakers were a British MP Mr. Daniel Kawczynski and a Libyan writer and political commentator and critic of Libya, Guma El-Gamaty on the FOR side of the motion. Speaking AGAINST the motion were Dr. Swire, whose daughter was a passenger on Pan Am Flight 103 and Dr. Mustafa Fetouri, a Libyan professor.

The debate was fast and furious, with both sides presenting laudable arguments that set one thinking. The questions from the audience were mostly relevant and interesting such as: "What moral message are we sending to the world?", "How can we be concerned with the release of one man against all those held in Gauntanamo without trial so far?", "Why did the convicted al-Magrahi not go forward with an appeal if he was innocent? and "When has Libya dealt compassionately with any of the dissidents jailed for years without trial in Libya?"

Dr. Swire's words rang loud for me when he said that we had visited enough destruction on the world and that it was about time we behaved like brothers. However, I could not get the pictures of wounded and destroyed families of all those victims out of my head. In the end, I voted for the motion, together with 53% of the rest of the audience of 350.

The program will be broadcast on BBC World News on 24 and 25 October 2009. According to the blurb, the Doha Debates have the largest audience of any BBC television service.

It was good to feel a tiny part of the changes that are slowly happening in the Arab world.

Oktoberfest Doha Style.

Oktoberfest in the middle of the desert in an alcohol barren land - who knew it could be such fun. Tonight, we spent a great evening at the Intercontinental Hotel Beerfest tent hosted by all of the German companies present in Doha right now. It was a huge event under a massive marquee and attended by thousands of predominantly German speaking people, or so it seemed. The long tables and benches stretched out over the space, covered in gallon-size biersteins. Lederhosen and dirndls were everywhere (where do these people get the space in their luggage for this one time only apparel??).

There was hardly room for breathing, but there was certainly a vast amount of drinking and toasting going on. Singing, swaying and stomping reverberated through the place. The buffet was fabulous - tables groaning under the loads of Bratwurst, potato salads, sauerkraut, beef, and mouthwatering apfelstrudel. No pork...go figure??

A German oompah band had been flown in and added to the merriment and atmosphere - the sounds of the tuba and horns, the accordion, and the yodelling made for distinctly volkmusiek.

We joined with our companions at the table swaying from side to side, but refrained from standing up on the benches and didn't join those other brave folk dancing on tables. Space was limited (phew!) so we weren't able to join in the line of mensch being taught a German linedance equivalent or maybe it was the Polka? All in all, happy to be enthusiastic observers in our first real Oktoberfest, even if it was outside Germany.

Another memorable event in Doha.

31st Wedding Anniversary.

Living in the Middle East this year has given us an opportunity to celebrate our anniversary in a very different culture. It started off with the choice of restaurant - it had to be local as it was hardly going to be memorable if we dined at Applebees, Chilli's or even the ever present steakhouse or Chinese restaurant. So off we went to Al Khaima, an Arabian restaurant on Al Sadd not ten kilometres from the villa.

It was a pleasant, balmy 32 degree C Wednesday evening, lending promise of the hospitality to come. We left the compound at 6.30pm in an attempt to get an early start on dinner, before the rush that usually develops from 8pm. Astoundingly, we arrived at the restaurant at 7.30pm - one hour to travel less than 10 kms. The hour was taken up in a variety of "pleasant" ways - firstly: by 20 min standstills at a number traffic lights. To explain further - traffic lights are controlled sequentially here, so that each quadrant has 2 (yes 2) loooong minutes to move vehicles across the intersection. If you do the math you will realise that it therefore takes 6 minutes for your row of cars to have their chance, and if you are unlucky enough to be at the back of the queue you will wait another go-round .... or two ....or three. The result - long lineups of cars bumper to bumper, revving impatiently, horns blasting every two seconds, and the real frustrated jumping their 4x4's onto sidewalks and into side streets. We spent the final 15 minutes searching for non-existent parking, in the end electing to drive to a mall parking garage and trekking through the dust and sand on unfinished sidewalks to get to our destination. Oh, and the final indignity in a city with no left hand turns available, you need to spend an extra km or two at an extra traffic light or two, to find an intersection where u-turns are allowed.

So we left all that behind us, still determined to enjoy our evening. We took a deep breathe to relax once again, opened the restaurant doors with a flourish, and made a grand entrance into a hushed silence, head turned stares of patrons, and waiters who stood back hesitantly. The restaurant manager approached us, and with a slight bow directed us to their restaurant next door as this one was for males only, and that being accompanied by a female, he would be pleased to serve us in the family section. On looking around at that point...he was right - tables full of males.

We proceeded next door to have our meal. Quite nice Shish Tawoug for me (bbq'd kebab chicken) and a mixed grill of bbq'd chicken, lamb and koffta (ground beef kebab) for Patrick, accompanied by a mixed salad and muttabal (minced eggplant with tahini (sesame seeds)). We toasted ourselves with a glass of water (no alcohol served anywhere except in international hotels).

Our 31st wedding anniversary will be remembered for its anomalies and peculiarities rather than for the occasion itself.

To many more!!

Petra - The Rose-red City.

The one place not to be missed while in Jordan, Petra is most deservedly on the list of the New Seven Wonders of the World. Sculpted out of towering rock walls by a desert tribe called the Nabateans who settled in the area around the 6th century BC, Petra is an imposing, and spectacular ruin of breathtaking beauty.

Our journey started in the early morning heading through an area called Bab as-Siq (Gateway) which gives you a glimpse of wonders to come - Djinn blocks (possibly tombs) and also obelisks. And then you pass by an arch and enter another world - the Siq is like a canyon floor about 2 kms in length that wends it way between soaring walls of sandstone - sometimes the pathway is a few metres wide and sometimes only a metre wide, requiring a squeeze and a duck when a carriage clips past you. The Siq was not formed by water but was wrenched apart by tectonic forces, leading to inexplicable turns and views. Always with you are the glimpses of sunlight and blue sky way above. There is artistry all around - from the ancient carvings still visible in rock walls, to the channels that brought water to its inhabitants 2000 years ago. The most spectacular of all - the myriad of colours swirling like paintings within the rock face. Petra is called "The Rose-red City" because of the range of colours that blend and transform with the shifting sunlight. The air is electric, probably reflecting our own excitement at being in this serene quietness, inspired by awesome nature. The walk builds to a dramatic end with a partial view of the Treasury (Al-Khazneh) just as you turn a corner - it truly is a magical introduction to this ancient city.


The Treasury is almost beyond imagination - it is a vast facade carved out of sandstone rock that is astonishing in its artistry and grandeur. Even in the less crowded time of early morning, we are confronted by a crowd of onlookers gazing in hushed silence at the tall columns, dark entrance ways and delicate carvings. All of us pause, trying to take it all in, and find it impossible to do so. The question in my mind repeated itself - "How is this possible?" The date this gigantic memorial was constructed - 100 BC to 200 AD and there is still so much of it for us to see. And the scenes around us - camels kneeling down for tourists to clamber up; donkeys braying; Bedouins selling beads, postcards and rides; old-fashioned horse and carts trundling the unfit, the weary and the old; and stately Desert Army soldiers standing proudly in full regalia.

Hardly able to leave this captivating place, we hike further along through the Street of Facades and the Theatre cut out of rock three storeys high. We trace the Wadi Musa river bed and find the Royal Tombs standing like sentries lined up against the mountainside. Another km further, we walk down the Colonnaded Street, with the Royal Palace on our left and pass through the Temenos Gateway for wonderful view of the Great Temple and the Byzantine Church.


Our final destination - the Monastery, called Al-Deir by the locals. To reach it, we were obliged to climb the 900 steps of a manmade rock-cut pathway that follows the ancient processional route. Only for the fit or the foolish, we slowly made our way high up into the mountains, stopping every so often to catch our breathe again, and to take in moments that took our breathe away - deep chasms just alongside, sweeping views of the valley below us, Bedouin goats clambering on the rockface above us, and always sculpted sandstone and sheer cliffs. The most endearing sight - a weathered Bedouin woman with her young children lying under a goathair tent selling beadwork, an open fire and tea brewing beside her .... and a cell phone to her ear in garrulous conversation with someone far away. At the Monastery, a place for sacred ceremonies, you come upon a structure even bigger than the Treasury and you can only stare in wonder all over again. Once you can pull yourself away, a short walk brings you to the edge of the world - a lookout point where you can see Jericho and Jerusalem on a clear day.



It was very difficult to take that last glimpse of the Treasury as we made our way back through the Siq to the real world again.


This place has left its mark on us, imprinting itself in our memory banks as one of the most extraordinary adventures we have yet had the privilege of experiencing.
Ma'a Salaamah.