We had been told the hike up to the Monastery was approximately 900 steps. From our experience hiking the tombs earlier in the day, we figured we had a good idea of what to expect. The more than two thousand year old steps would be rough, uneven, and carved from stone. There would be nothing to hold to for balance or safety just as there would be nothing to keep a person from falling over the edge.
We had little to no discussion about it. There was only a general agreement that we would go for it and that we needed to start sooner rather than later. Our guide had given us the option of meeting the bus at the visitors center at 2:30 or 4. It was noon, so I knew the 230 option was not feasible or even up for discussion. I also knew we would be pushing our luck to make it back by 4. We finished our lunch and headed toward the mountain.
The beginning of the hike was a dirt path with loose rocks scattered about. The incline was negligible to gradual. We meandered along the base of the mountains exposed to the midday sun. My legs had gotten a decent rest at lunch, but they were still feeling the effort from earlier in the day. It was going to be a long, hard climb to the top.
We rounded a corner and got our first glimpse of the steps. I can not put into words any particular emotion I felt. It did not appear impossible. Nor by any means did it appear easy. It simply looked like a task that needed to be done.
The steps themselves were exactly as expected. What I had not bargained for was the amount of traffic we would encounter on them. Within the first twenty steps, we stopped more than once to let faster hikers pass by. There were hoards of people coming down the mountain as well. The steps were wide enough in a lot of places, but I still found myself stopping to let people go around. I have balance issues. I have been told I look like I am swaying in the wind sometimes. This made it difficult to maneuver the steps with so many people going up and down around us. My defense was to come to a complete stop when the steps were not as wide.
Not only were people coming at us from every direction but so were donkeys. Donkeys, along with camels, are a common site in Petra. As you walk through Petra, you are constantly inundated by offers for a donkey or camel ride. Tourist pay to be carried on the donkeys’ backs up the hundreds of steps to the top of the mountain to the Monastery. The animals also carry people from site to site inside Petra or basically, anywhere you pay their bedouin owners to take you.
The guides bringing tourists up on donkeys had little regard for other trail users. It was up to us to hear the donkeys coming up the mountain behind us or charging down the steps in front of us. We would have to squeeze against the rocks to make room or risk being run over.
Besides other people and donkeys, the biggest obstacle we had to overcome was my nonfunctioning right leg. The Monastery hike is going to prove difficult for most people. It is steep and exposed to the elements. The sun is relentless and unforgiving. The only reprieve is found in the shade under the bedouin tents you pass through. You accept their harassment to buy their goods in exchange for a few moments out of the sun. As difficult as the hike is, I had decided to attempt it with one working leg.
We discovered in the first few steps that my right leg was not going to be participating in the hike. We had worked out a method for getting me up steps earlier in the day. Misty would be on my left side and we would lock arms. At the bottom of the mountain, I needed her there mostly for balance. The further up we went, the tighter I held to her.
I felt myself relying on her more and more. I was worried with every step I was pulling her this way or pushing her that way. I would catch my toe and stumble and she would catch me. I was on the constant verge of an anxiety attack. My mind screamed that I should be able to do this myself. Less than two years ago I could have sprinted to the top of the mountain, now I needed someone to escort me and practically carry me.
My breath would become uneven and my heart would race. My face would sink further into the scarf that was wrapping my head and protecting it from the sun. I hated needing help. I hated my friend seeing me that way. I hated everyone on the mountain seeing me that way. I hated no longer being able to be me.
Then, as I had already done several times on the trip, I reminded myself where I was. I did not want to waste a moment on negative emotions. I was with a great friend in an amazing place. I pushed the tears aside. We continued on to the top.
As worried as I had been about getting to the top, I was even more worried about getting back down. My balance is awful and my AFO makes maneuvering down steps difficult. We even removed it from my shoe and carried it briefly. We discovered it is best, and safer, to leave it on.
We did the same process to get me down the steps. Misty and I locked arms and took it one step at a time. She assured me we were going faster than we had come up, but I think she was only being nice. I felt I could have crawled down faster if the terrain had allowed for it. We took lots of breaks and eventually made it back to the trailhead.
Next was the part I had been dreading most. We had to walk up the sandy path we had come down earlier. After climbing hundreds of steps to the top of the mountain, I still had to make it back to the Treasury.
There is no sugar coating this part. We made it. I needed lots of breaks. I drug my foot through the sand and stumbled over dozens of rocks. I annoyed myself as I talked nonstop to distract my mind from an impending anxiety attack. My body was past fatigued and I kept pushing it. I did not feel we had completed our mission until I spied our guide waiting for us in the shade. We helped ourselves to fresh squeezed juice and ice cream. We rested and, true to my MS, I recovered and was ready for our next adventure.
Next up is our adventure in Wadi Rum!
(M)y (S)tory 