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When I was a young kid, I guess I would have been around ten years old, I saw Peter O’Toole for the first time. Piercing blue eyes under a shock of angelic golden hair. He was clad in white robes and was involved in some extremely adventurous escapades in the desert. Lawrence of Arabia, of
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“Twenty dollars for a carriage. Just twenty dollars. For the little one. For your daughter. It’s a long walk.” We have barely managed to pass the entrance gate before the onslaught begins. Our first impression of Petra, is a shoddy scramble for business. It will get worse than this as we proceed further into the
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It’s the nearness that astonishes me. Mythical names. Biblical names. Names that possess an otherworldliness that separates them from reality. And yet there they are now, right before my eyes as I survey the landscape: Jericho, Jerusalem. Across the Dead Sea, close, but just beyond reach. On the drive down from Amman, the driver, Mohammed,
