NLEK

It is a fair 38 degress when we begin our ascent up to the highest monastery in the Red City of Petra. The continuous erosion of surrounding relics begins to take a profound effect on my already suffering lungs. As the hot air thickens with ancient dust and warm sands, my mind transcends into a world of adventure, Arabian nights and forbidden treasures, perhaps a heavy influence of the glamorised tales of Indiana Jones. As I climb to the 500th step, I take the time to appreciate my surroundings at this half way point. The view rolls out of vision, emphasising the deserts vast size and intimidating nature.

To be at one with one’s self is a moment to be greatly appreciated and valued, unfortunately my dreamlike state is short lived and frankly, rudely interrupted. My first reaction to the sudden fanfare of noise is typically irrational, “Christ’s sake, this thing’s been standing forever and a day and it bloody well chooses to collapse today!” Almost immediately my fears are brought to an abrupt halt, and at once my concerns are instead shared with a small, bow legged donkey. The little brown haired creature, malnutritioned as he is, ribs visible and ankles as delicate as a ballet dancer is forcibly being directed up the cliff face by a small hairy Jordanian man wearing a rug, suitable attire I notice for the sweltering heat.

My climb has now not only been disturbed by an audio interruption but equally my aesthetically pleasing elements of the rolling mountains, built up like towers of spices, has also been brutally destroyed. As I attempt to return to my tranquil state of being, I am faced with what can only be described as a size 22, lycra covered, American arse!

“Oh gracious Lord! Jeremy, y’all gotta see this!” It turns to me and adds, “Jeremy loves rocks!”
Her wide brimmed straw hat it tied tightly under her several chins, constricting her neck resembling the way an anaconda pressures the air from its victims’ lungs. Even an ancient city in the depths of an Arabian desert can’t escape the Americans.