In Petra

Dear Bunty, enervated by the heat, was languishing in bed with curtains drawn and a large carafe of iced water to hand.  Having assured herself that her friend needed only a day of rest in order to attain a full recovery, Kitten left the Petra Gate Hotel and walked alone through the soft morning light towards the siq.


They had both visited Petra for the first time the morning before.  Kitten had experienced the thrill of walking the twists and turns of that dark, narrow gorge - feeling her way at times as the sides closed in and the siq seemed more tunnel than ravine. Later, she saw flashes of light and colour ahead,  glimpses which told her the mile-long passage was at last reaching an end.  


Suddenly the siq opened up and Kitten gasped at her first sight of the great Treasury building.  A wave of awe enveloped Kitten as she gazed on this glorious structure, chiselled centuries before from the living rock.  All that day Kitten and Bunty had wandered the sun baked valley of Petra marvelling at its wonders - the amphitheatre, the tombs, the monuments - and everywhere surrounded by the warm, magical, rose-tinted rock.


Today Kitten wanted to explore further.  As she again approached the entrance to the siq she noticed, on her right, a small valley or dry river bed.  Never one to take the beaten path Kitten struck off along this side route.  Perhaps it would lead nowhere. No matter.  She would just turn around and retrace her steps.  There was no hurry.  She carried plenty of water and this small gorge had been formed from the same glorious red rock as Petra itself.  Kitten was happy just to walk.


She had been rambling along for perhaps twenty minutes, and was beginning to think of turning back, when another valley opened up to her left.  A few steps along this route and Kitten found herself again among the full splendour of Petra valley.  Which way next?  As she gazed around herself in happy indecision Kitten heard a polite cough near at hand.  Surprised, she turned to find a dusty donkey, solemnly shaking his ears at her.


"Surely donkey's don't cough in that manner", Kitten thought.  "Perhaps I'm suffering from the heat as much as poor old Bunty".  However, another gentle cough alerted her to the presence of a black-robed Bedu man seated on the ground nearby.  He was using the shelter of a boulder to protect his small campfire and this had, at first, shielded him from Kitten's eyes too.


"As-salamu alaikum", she greeted him, politely and he responded with the usual "Wa alaikum as-salām".  There conversation faltered for some moments since Kitten's command of Arabic was sadly feeble and the man spoke no english.  Nonetheless he soon contrived, through the medium of  signs and gestures, to invite Kitten to sit and take tea with him.  In similar fashion Kitten expressed her thanks but conveyed her wish not to deprive the gentleman of his morning beverage - Kitten could see only one tea glass to hand.  However, when it transpired that this fine man was happy to forgo tea in favour of some medicinal arak taken straight from the bottle, Kitten gratefully submitted to his hospitality.


Kitten had discovered a particular fondness for the sticky, sweet tea brewed by the Bedu people.  She had learned the correct method of preparation while sojourning in Wadi Rum:  Place water and large quantities of sugar in a kettle and leave in the fire 'til the concoction comes to a rolling boil.  Sprinkle tea leaves, sparingly, onto the bubbling surface of the water.  Pour and serve in a small glass.  


A Bedu man had once informed Kitten that the sugary tea soothed and protected the throat in the dusty, arid conditions.  Kitten was also of the opinion that the warm drink had helped her body to acclimatise to the desert heat.  Bunty never drank the tea and where was she now?  There was also the fact that Bedu tea tasted like nectar to Kitten - a trifling consideration but  not insignificant.


So, there we shall leave Kitten for now.  Sipping sweet Bedu tea in the company of a quite, gentle old man and a dusty donkey.  Sitting crossed legged and happy among red earth and monumental architecture.  In Petra.

Episode the first...

Kitten Kondie stretched herself, luxuriantly, along the deep, wide sofa. The sound of the wind raging around the house made her feel all the more comfortable as she lay, bundled in soft blankets. The cat, Baba Ghanoush, purred and bumped her head lovingly against Kitten's outstretched fingers.

Her dear friend Bunty Carruthers sat knitting in a chair opposite. Kitten smiled, tenderly, as Bunty earnestly counted stitches, the tip of her pink tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth. “Bunty darling, you are a duffer” she giggled.

The butler, Beamish, quietly entered the room and coughed discreetly. “Excuse me Miss Kitten. Tea", he said "is served”.