I have no regrets about what happened on this day. I didn’t plan the events or expect to take such a physical and mental battering. As we set out from the hotel, it looked like just another day of sight seeing. The plan was to walk into the gorge, photograph the Treasury, look around and get back to the hotel and chill. But even the best laid plans.........
We head to the visitors centre and buy our tickets for the day. JOD 60 later we head through the entrance and start a gentle stroll down the hill towards the gorge. There are tombs left and right, carved into the rocks by the original occupants. We climb one, look around and return to the path. We are hassled (gently) by horse owners who want us to ride their horses. But we are British; we don’t ride we walk. At the bottom of the hill we buy water from a drinks station and head down into the gorge. It is cool inside as the walls are high and a gentle breeze takes the edge off the early sun. Tour groups abound, Japanese, Korean, French and German. The gorge winds left and right and finally emerges at the Treasury. I have been keen to get here for sometime. It is a photograph I have wanted to take since I first read about it in 2004. There are a lot of cameras around but I suspect many will be disappointed with the results when they upload or print their pictures. My pictures are showing severe over exposure due to light refraction of the rock. I wind the camera down 1 f-stop and then another which seems to do the job. We move to the right of the Treasury and move into a more open area, where caves (probably homes) are carved into the rock face. Just when it appears we have run out of things to see a set of stairs appear carved into the stone on our left. Charles asks a boy with a donkey where the stairs lead to. The boy doesn’t speak English, but the donkey says they lead to the high sacrifice place. We decide that it is worth seeing and anyway will provide a high vantage point for more pictures. This is where the plans all go out the window.
We start up the stairs. I believe we won’t be going very far. But as we climb, it becomes obvious that this is a much bigger undertaking than I originally calculated. We climb and climb on stone steps that have been in existence since before the birth of Christ. Every time we turn a corner expecting to be at the end another flight of steps appears and we have to go again. I am suffering. The camera rucksack is getting heavier as are my legs. Breath is at a premium and I start taking rest breaks sitting on rocks. My core temperature is at an all time high. At one stage a Boeing 777 flies past beneath me and the passengers wave up. Another corner and a group of tourists, also climbing, appear on a staircase 300 feet above. It is heartbreaking. Charles, having a lower centre of gravity, and 16 years on me, is ahead and having to wait as my lungs prepare to exit through my mouth. Finally we reach a fork in the track. There is a young woman, sitting under shade, who tells us where to go for the sacrifice area. She points in another direction and says that is where you can photograph the Treasury from above. Her name is Fatima and later we will be better acquainted with her. Now I have seen the photos of the Treasury from above online. It starts to play on my mind as we make one more climb up the steps and find a most welcome drink station. I must look ready to die after the climb. I am red faced, sweating and in the early stages of sunburn despite the hat and arab head dress. As we sit recovering a group of about 10 German pensioners arrive at the drink station. They are carrying rucksacks and don’t have a hair out of place or a bead of sweat on them. We spend the next 10 minutes looking for the secret cable car they came up on, to no avail. We are baffled how they climbed (According to my altimeter) 1200 feet and look like they are on a morning stroll. We decide in the drink station to go for the overhead shot of the Treasury.
We head back down and are told by another lady that we will never find the ledge over the Treasury without a guide. Again, we are British. We take advice from no one. For some reason this advice starts to sink in and by the time we reach Fatima again we are convinced taking a guide is a good idea. She offers to show us the ledge, making sound like a stroll in the park. It wasn’t.
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