Day 10 3/4: Petra

My time with Zuzu was over much too soon, and with great reluctance, I slid off the saddle. I took his picture, he smiled. I shot a video clip, he smiled. I pet him on the head, scratched him behind his ears again, then leaned over and touched my nose to his. "I'll never forget you, Zuzu," I told him, and he grunted in return.

I seriously considered kidnapping him via jumping back into the saddle and riding like the wind, but our relationship could never last. There isn't much sand back home and besides, I couldn't afford the entire two rows of plane tickets Zuzu would need to fly comfortably. Camels live for something like 30 to 50 years though, so I took comfort that we just might see each other again someday.

Rides over, we now had a bit of time to run around Petra. We climbed in and out of caves, up and down dilapidated staircases, and played hide-and-go-seek in the hundreds of chambers that used to be rooms. And, we talked to more Bedouins. Bedouins here, Bedouins there, Bedouins everywhere, mostly selling handmade jewellery and knick knacks at atrocious prices. We spoke with two Bedouin sisters selling handmade necklaces who let us take their picture. Then, wouldn't you know it, I got proposed to for the second time in two days.

One bracelet selling Bedouin (who wouldn't give me a discount on any of his wares, by the way), offered half a camel for my hand in marriage. Half a camel? That's not even alive. After Adham's stellar pledge, there was no way I was settling for half a camel. Raj mentioned that I'd scored a two million deal just the day before, so the Bedouin changed his offer to 100 camels for my hand, IF my family was rich.

Let's contemplate this. If my family is loaded, I get 100 camels in return for a smelly man who sells overpriced souvenirs in a tent. Honey, if I was loaded, I could buy a better husband off ebay. Second, if I'm just as poor as he is, all I get is half a camel's worth of meat. If he'd offered me Zuzu I might have consented, but only before spiking his drink with valium and smuggling my new pet onboard the plane.

We were getting antsy, and so started the long walk out of Petra. Raj didn't want to walk, though, and hired out a little donkey named Zorro to carry him back. It took two people, a lot of patience, Raj clawing a rock and James and me doubling over in laughter until he made it onto that donkey's back. He clippety clopped until we got back to the horses, where I was given a fine Arabian mare to ride this time back. Nice horse, nice Bedouins. I was a happy camper.

Raj rubbed the magic lamp, and Abu Fadi flew out to do our bidding. Joke, joke. He did respond to the text super fast though, and we went back to the hotel to relax a bit before dinner. We relaxed for 10 minutes, then went down to the bar for... drumroll... happy hour! The great thing about happy hour in Islam is, there's always *plenty* of seats available at the bar. James had beers, Raj had wine, I had martinis and an iced coffee spiked with who knows what. We hadn't eaten since breakfast either, and absolutely devoured the platter of cheeses and olives the bartender made up just for us, on the house. James discussed Jane Goodall's masturbating monkeys; Raj and I giggled like schoolgirls. Good times, my friends, good times.

Abu Fadi reappeared to take us to dinner in town, to a restaurant called the Sand Stone. The restaurant proprietor was a slick Arab with too much Brylcreem in his hair, a brown 70's suit and thick, gold pinky rings on both fingers. He recommended the lamb chops. I looked at the menu, but it took me awhile to recognize "Lamp Shops" as lamb chops. I ordered the chicken.

And then afterwards, we did a bit of walking, some browsing, and almost some shopping. If you're planning on shopping in Petra, bring lots of money because the markup is insane. For instance, Jordan is famous for sand bottles. Bottles of any and all shapes and sizes, full of coloured sand arranged in such a way to make pictures. The most popular ones have mountains and camels in them, big surprise. I wasn't intending on buying something so cheesy, I mean that's almost as bad as getting an "I heart Jordan" t-shirt, but then while in Petra I saw this small bottle about the height of my index finger, with a very simple picture of a woman from a Picasso painting inside. Price: $220 dinars.

This thing wasn't even three inches high. I started coughing out of shock and spluttered up some of my complimentary tea when I got that figure. I backed off so quick I actually forgot to give the cup back, and had to make a return trip. Just for laughs, James asked if they had a sand bottle with "Guernica," but the vendor didn't get it. I got it though, and flipped out laughing. James had to carry me out.

The rest of the night was your usual night in. James and I watched a Bruce Willis movie while tossing each other Arabic pastries, and Raj shuffled around the room wearing just a towel and digging through all our bags, wanting to know where on this great earth his special moisturizing body wash was.

OPENING SCENE: MESSY HOTEL ROOM, OCCUPANTS CRANKY.

James: What are you looking for?

Raj: Anything to wash my bum with!

James: Use what I put in the shower.

Raj: No, I want my special stuff. I packed it!

James: Packed what?

Raj: My stuff!

James: What is it, what's your stuff?

Raj: Pfft! My stuff!

Me: Did you want to borrow my soap?

Raj: NO!

BATHROOM DOOR SLAMS; END SCENE

In anticipation of spending the night in the same room as two hairy men, and remembering Raj's crashing subway-like snoring from our school days, I brought my earplugs with me and slept like a dead woman.

Fast Forward: After I'd arrived back home and developed my stacks of pictures (mostly from disposable cameras), I found a shot of me and Zuzu. I've just gotten on the saddle, but he's still on the ground. Raj took the picture without warning: I was in the middle of saying something, and Zuzu was halfway through a grunt. We both look like we're in protest. It is now in a frame on my windowsill.