And heading back

Our hotel was right across the street from both the mosque and the madrassa. The call to prayer went off three times while we were asleep. It's eerie- rising and falling and wailing, with no real words distinguishable through the distortion of the lousy speakers they use- hard to even tell the wailing horn apart from the wailing human voice. And it goes on for so long! 20 minutes or more. I had no idea. Then, at 7, all the boys were gathered in the courtyard of the madrassa, singing some form of anthem.

Back to Petra. Walked the stretch from canyon to city that we had ridden before, so we could explore the thousands and thousands of tombs, and the Greek theatre cut into the cliffside (surrounded by tombs, of course). The huge, probably royal tombs in the gorgeous colors were later turned into Byzantine churches, with elaborate Byzantine ramps and stairs and arches leading up to them- but nothing can compete with the tombs themselves, carved straight into the rock. Finally to the elaborately restored Byzantine church just up the hill from the collanaded market street, where D dug when he was here. The mosaics are gorgeous, and the preservation is astonishing. The church was restored so elaborately partly to cover up the Roman brothel found underneath (its mosaics also astonishingly well-preserved, according to D!).

Then just insane-taxi part two back to the border crossing. Jordanian border guards really can't be bothered much- never seen people so laid back. It's scarier going the other direction- bomb dogs and explosive residue checks and x-ray machines and utterly humourless Israeli guards.