The backdoor to Petra, The Rose Red City

The morning air on the high plateau of the Wadi Araba was thin and crisp, carrying the scent of dry scrub and distant thyme. This was not the famous, crowded entrance to Petra; this was the long way in—the pilgrim’s path, the shepherd’s shortcut, the backdoor trail.
I began with quiet, winding steps carved into the pale, sun-drenched sandstone. Unlike the dramatic compression of the Siq, this route felt expansive, a long, gradual ascension that unfurled the vastness of the Jordanian landscape. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional call of a local guide far ahead. The rock faces, initially tan and white, slowly began to deepen in hue, turning to shades of rose, gold, and violet as the sun climbed higher.
The path soon narrowed, becoming a strenuous climb. It was a pilgrimage of effort: switchbacks, uneven stairs, and sheer cliff faces etched with ancient rock-cut tombs, minor altars, and nooks where Nabataeans once sheltered from the midday heat. Each step was a commitment rewarded with ever-widening vistas of jumbled mountains, each one looking like a ruined, colossal city itself.
Then, around a final, agonizingly steep corner, it appeared.
The colossal facade of Ad Deir, The Monastery, burst into view. It was a shock of sheer, towering scale, carved not into a protected slot, but into the open face of a mountain peak. The air thrummed with the silence of high altitude and immense history. Compared to the Treasury, Ad Deir felt more austere, more powerful, and utterly alone. I sat on the sun-warmed ledge, dwarfed by the urn 45 meters above us, feeling like I had earned my view not just of Petra, but of the entire world.
From there, the journey shifted to a descent into the city’s main valley. The narrow trail opened onto the wide, bustling heart of Petra. I passed the monumental ruins of the Great Temple, the intricate mosaics of the Byzantine Church, and walked along the impressive Colonnaded Street, where the ghosts of Roman governors and Nabataean merchants seemed to mingle. The valley floor was a rush of color and activity—tea sellers, souvenir stalls, and the steady stream of travelers who had entered the main way.
The culmination of the back trail meant moving against the flow. Instead of seeing the Treasury first, I saw it last. I entered the famous, dark passage of the Siq and walked backward through time. The canyon walls rose higher, the light dwindled, and then, through a slender opening, the legendary sight began to reveal itself—the honey-colored columns and intricate carvings of Al-Khazneh, The Treasury.
It was a final, stunning reveal, framed by the canyon walls. It was the inverse experience: entering the world's most famous room from the interior hallway, not the front door. Having walked the rugged, isolated path, seeing the Treasury—the jewel in the Nabataean crown—felt less like a starting point and more like the perfect, historical exit.Leggi altro