I have read and seen pictures about Petra my whole life, but was clearly unprepared for the sheer magnitude of the awesome site, the spectacular natural setting, and the harmonious juxtaposition of human and natural elements.

Photos really do no justice to Petra, as this is a place that must be experienced. We've all seen pictures of Petra's famous "Treasury" but seeing it in person causes your imagination run wild, dream about its 2000 year history, and appreciate its location nestled at the end of the narrow "Siq." Beyond the Treasury, Petra features the even larger "Monastery," hundreds of varied tombs, a Roman-style theatre, a Roman Road, and countless other treasures.

Arriving in the evening on New Year's Day 2009, our first experience of Petra was through the "Petra by Night" experience, where the entire Siq is illuminated with candles and literally thousands of tourists stroll down through the canyon to their first encounter with the Treasury. On January 2, we had a full day tour of Petra, and I fortunately had several hours to venture off on my own to experience the Monastery, get off the beaten path, and consider the paradox of how significant and insignificant man really is.

Settlements arose in Petra around 1500 BC, and it became the capital of the Nabataean kingdom around the 6th century BC. It was absorbed into the Roman Empire in 106 AD under which it continued to flourish until a major earthquake struck in 663. After Saladin conquered the Holy Land in the late 12th century, Petra was completely abandoned.

Three decades after the Nabataean capital was "rediscovered" by the Swiss explorer Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, the English divine John William Burgon wrote the following poem about Petra in 1845:

It seems no work of Man's creative hand,
by labor wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,
match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.