Day 10 1/2: Petra

The day before, Marco had quizzed me on camel etiquette, or, how not to get your ass kicked by one. This is what he told me: Don't stare a camel directly in the eye. Don't touch it. Never approach one from behind. Or from the sides. Or even from the front unless it knows you're coming. Go slow! Always slow. Don't forget to speak in hushed tones. And, heaven forbid, if it bares its teeth at you, RUN.

I was determined not to leave the Middle East without having ridden a camel. And here in front of the treasury at Petra were dozens of tourists, vendors, and camels. Our guide told us this was the end of the tour anyway (hallelujah!), so we were free to do as we liked. James and Raj weren't nuts on my idea, but I whined so much they relented. Ecstatic, I ran around to find me a camel.

There were plenty of camels, and they were all lying down with their legs folded underneath them. Camels aren't particularly warm creatures, in fact it's generally known that they have a huge disdain for human beings. And when they grunt, it sounds like Jabba the Hut.

I saw a huge one, single hump, draped with traditional Arabic blankets on the saddle and a small number 23 hanging around its neck. It was him. My camel. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I approached it from behind and walked right alongside until we were face to face. I looked him directly in the eye and in my most normal voice I said, "Hi."

He grunted, then bared his teeth. It didn't look scary or threatening though, in fact, it looked like he was smiling. So I put my hand out to scratch him behind one ear, and he leaned into it like my dog Bluetooth does, eyes closed. I was thunderstruck - he liked it.

There was no way in hell I was leaving Petra now without my own camel tour, on this camel, and I stood my ground until Raj and James found their own creatures to ride. We paid our five dinars, and jumped on.

Well, strained to get on. Getting on a camel is hard work, especially when it's a big one and you have no boost or stepping stool. The top of the saddle came to my chin and you all know how tall I am, but I made it with a lot of squiggling and pulling myself up. The Bedouin who owned the camels (and happened to look a lot more like an Australian Aboriginal) informed me that I'd chosen Zuzu, 15-years old and raised in Petra. Then he made some strange hissing noises and nudged Zuzu on the rump, signalling him to get up.

If getting on a camel is hard work, being on one while it stands is even harder. A sitting camel doesn't just rise up on all fours, it goes up back legs first, then front. Meaning you're yanked forward onto this crazy slant, then suddenly pushed backwards really hard, all while grabbing onto the saddle horn for dear life.

When Zuzu got up I closed my eyes and shrieked, happy as a clam. I was even happier when I noticed that of all the camels here, Zuzu seemed to be the tallest, giving me the best view of all. This was more like it! I settled into the saddle, waited until Raj & James were functional with their camels, then prepared for our Bedouin to lead us through the ruins of Petra. But then the Bedouin did something completely unexpected. He gave me Zuzu's reins. And then he walked away.

What the hell was this? I don't know how to ride a camel, I'm just a useless city girl, really. So I called out, "Excuse me, sir? Hey!" I gestured with the reins to the questioning look on his face. "Isn't this your part?"

The Bedouin laughed. "You stop, you pull. You push, you go. He smart. You fine."

Okay, then. I was supposed to do all the work. That didn't sit well with me at all and so I yelled back, "This wasn't in the brochure!", but the Bedouin just walked off anyway. I heard James clearing his throat, and Raj muttering something. They were both behind me, their camels tethered and being led by yet another Bedouin, who made no move to assist me. From the looks of it, I was in charge. Fabulous. Let the clueless white girl take the lead. My family could read all about it in the papers tomorrow: PETRA MASSACRE: DOZENS CRUSHED TO DEATH BY CONFUSED CAMEL. TOURIST TAKES BLAME.

James cleared his throat again in the most sarcastic way possible, and I swore at him with some of Arabic I'd picked up. We did have to start at sometime though, and it might as well be now. "Alright camel, it's just you and me. Be nice, okay?" Zuzu grunted. Here goes. I gently kicked, and he took a few steps forward. I panicked and jerked on the reins; he came to a dead halt. Well, that wasn't so bad. I leaned forward to pet Zuzu on the neck and heaped mountains of praise on him for being such a good boy - force of habit from my dog - and then sat back up, more confident, ready to try again. Another slight kick, and off we went.

It was marvelous. Riding a camel is nothing like riding a horse. You're much higher, and constantly being thrust forward then back again from their slow, almost awkward gait. Instead of hooves there is the soft thudding sound of their large, padded feet. The Bedouin was right: Zuzu was very smart. He knew the way with barely any direction, and was never temperamental. I got confident and strapped the reins around the saddle horn, hanging on with my legs so my hands were free to take pictures.

Petra is magnificent. Once you turn past the treasury, the narrow roads disappear and the city sprawls before you in the most remarkable way. Everything, everything is carved from the rock and so the city itself is part of the mountains, and not the other way around. There is a monastery, there are tombs, there are entrances in caves absolutely everywhere that show where people and the famous Nabateans, ancient traders, once lived. The architecture is superb; the notion itself is staggering. And I saw it all from Zuzu's back, where for that one short hour, I was Queen of the desert.

One of my favourite Arabian moments started out as a scare: a seniors tour group was up ahead, and they were moving slow. I pulled on the reins to stop, but Zuzu had seen some pistachio trees up ahead and wanted some of those leaves. He was bearing down quick, and even though James' and Raj's guide started whistling and calling out, "Attenzione!", the seniors and their canes didn't move. If something didn't happen soon, we'd be in the middle of one giant, geriatric slush puppy.

I stood up in the stirrups, and at the top of my lungs shouted out, "Yela!" ("Let's Go!"), and to my amazement, the sea of white hair in front of me turned around. Shock registered on every face at the behemoth of Zuzu, and I'll be damned if they didn't clear the hell out of the way!

I was having so much fun that when we reached the end of our road and caught sight of the Aboriginal Bedouin waiting for us, I opened my wallet while still on Zuzu, and paid him right there for the ride back. I had even more fun hearing a heavy thud thud thud and turning around to see James's camel running at top speed, and the other Bedouin guide running behind them.

Mine and Raj's mouths dropped open, and James shot us a mystified look before galloping off into the horizon. We caught up with him later, and he told us that the Bedouin had purposely smacked the camel to make it run, and then led James into a cave to take pictures of him with his cell phone.

Featuring in Petra: the Great White Hope. Look out, Britney.