CIA Investigates Missing American in Middle East

Petra Overnight

the narrow mountain alley leading to the Treasury

Atop the limestone cliff, 300 feet above the ground, after having hid from what we thought were police spotlights (it turns out they were!,) in a Petra cave, we awoke on the limestone cliff, with the gentle nudge of the dawn sun, marveling at just how caked in dust and dirt we were. I think even a heroin addict placed in our grimy shoes would choose a shower over actually catching the dragon.
I used to believe that if I lived in the time of Lewis and Clark, I would be the first to volunteer for their expedition. After one night out in the wilds of the Jordanian mountains I might be reconsidering my application. “No Richard, you need a real job! Apply dammit, apply!” I can hear my Father yelling in the background.

Strategizing our departure from the Petra, we decided to wait until the gates opened at 7 AM, and then proceed out as other tourists entered to avoid being arrested for our overnight activities.

“We came, we saw, we left. Sooo lame,” I informed utterly confused tourists as we walked the trail away from the Treasury during the first few minutes of the park’s opening.

“I thought we were the first people in line,” remarked the British woman to her husband.

“Mommy, how did they get so dirty?” asked their little girl.

We arrived at the park entrance, trying to sneak out as casually as possible, but the guard got very excited upon spotting us. “You are the American!” he exclaimed.

“The American?” I responded, feeling as though I had just been picked out of a police line-up for a robbery I DID commit.

 “You spent the night here last night?” The evidence was all over my clothing. I nodded. He animatedly shouts Arabic into his walkie-talkie.

“The tourist police will be here shortly, please wait here.”

The police. After us. In the Middle East. And we knowingly broke the law … This would bode a lot worse if not for the fact that the guard seemed genuinely happy to see us.

Ten minutes later the police haven’t shown up. Zuzka walks away, then doesn’t return. Yoni and I are confused. We begin to look for her, and not finding her, I hire a cab for a couple dinars in hopes of chasing her down. On the second time up and down the hill we spot her. She’s furious with us, apparently having told us “let’s go,” and neither of us following. She refuses to get in the cab. I leave Yoni to deal with her, agreeing to meet them at their hostel in an hour or so.

I walk into my hotel. (the hotel owner who I described in this post) Mahmoud’s jaw drops when he sees me. “That wasn’t nice,” he states.

I am momentarily confused, Mahmoud explains: “Last night I made dinner for you. The park closes at 6. I thought you’d be back by 6:30 at the latest. 7 o’clock arrives, and you still aren’t back. No doubt he’ll be back at 7:30. 8 PM and you still are not here. He MUST come back by 8:30, there’s nothing to do in this town for God’s sake. 8:30 comes, dinner is totally cold, I haven’t eaten because I  am waiting for you. 9:00, I call tourist police and report you missing.”

“I spent the night in Petra,” I explained, “Surely someone has done that before.”

“No!” bellows Mahmoud, “Aside of the fact it is illegal, No one else is stupid enough to pay $50 for a bed so they can sleep out on a dusty cliff with scorpions.”

As if on cue, two policeman enter the hotel. They point to me and utter, “The American!”

I haven’t done anything that bad, have I? They aren’t going to cut off my feet for stealing a few extra steps in Petra after closing time? I mean, this isn’t Saudi Arabia, right??! Hell, they already tried to gas me. I stand frozen, no place to run, no place to hide.

They walk over to me, and honestly, are beyond polite. They explain that I was reported missing, and that they just wanted to make sure I was alright. Tourism is one of Jordan’s few forms of foreign currency, and they take the protection of travelers very seriously, not wanting to have their reputation as a safe destination stained. They laugh when I tell them I spent the night in Petra, shaking their heads at the crazy American Cowboy. They leave soon after.

Mahmoud shakes his head. “You make me worry about you. You big asshole. I wake up at 2 AM and call to find out if you came in. I don’t sleep.”

“I’m really sorry Mahmoud.” Really I was. How could not be for putting out someone who cared for my well being and had made me dinner. “Is it okay if I go shower?”

Mahmoud dismisses me. I go upstairs and allow the cool water to wash away the dusty sin from my heinous crime. Re-birthed, I walk downstairs.

Mahmoud’s cell phone rings. He immediately switches to English. “Why should I call you? Police call you …” Suddenly I wonder if he’s talking about me. “No, no, you big asshole,” he yells into the receiver. “Okay, okay, I call you next time. Bye-bye big asshole.” He hangs up.

Exploring Petra

“That was CIA,” he explains. “My friend mad at me for not calling him the moment you got back. They were about to call your parents to tell them you were missing.”

I couldn’t imagine my poor, overly worried Mother reacting to the news that I was missing in the Middle East, on a trip that she begged me not to go on, telling me she had a “horrible feeling” about it. Turns out that while working with the American army in Fallojuh, Mahmoud had made friends with CIA operatives and had also called them to report that I was hadn’t turned up last night. They were mad that they weren’t the first people he called upon my return, and that it was rather via contact with the Jordanian police that they became aware of my reappearance.

For my part I can only thank God they didn’t call my Mom.

Exploring Petra, Jordan + Spending a Night Illegally in Cave like Al Qaeda

The Magnificence of Petra

Mahmoud drove me to Petra’s gate early in the morning, where I parted with the rather hefty $45 entrance fee, thrilled however to be seeing one of the Seven New Wonders of the World.

As I hike the trail, the mountains slowly close around me like the coils of a snake, until I am walking a winding path just a few feet wide, sheer cliffs on either side of me. Ahead, the tunnel opens, sun shining through, its golden light illuminating The Treasury.

Petra's treasury, discovered by Indiana Jones

The Treasury is carved directly into the limestone rock, and received its name because it was rumored that an Egyptian Pharaoh had hidden his wealth inside.

Check out the Treasury!! Move over Indiana Jones


(To see The treasury in person is jaw dropping.)


The magnificent treasury of Petra

Yoni and Zuzka

While admiring the Treasury, a 25 year old Israeli, Yoni, asks me to take a picture of him and his girlfriend, Zuzka.  We start walking around together, agreeing to jointly undertake the exploration of this ancient civilization, with me getting dibs on pharaoh’s treasure.


The many hones in the carved in the mountains of Petra, Jordan

Chiseled in the cliffs are the former residences of these long lost people. We pass by an outdoor coliseum, I daydream about what spectacles were once witnessed here: Gladiator fights? Public executions? Unveiled Muslim women? My fantasy comes to an abrupt end, as none of these are exactly appealing visuals for the imagination.



The coliseum of Petra

We climb the cliffs and admire the surrounding view of the parched mountains, enjoying a lunch consisting of canned tuna and pita bread. As I listen to their travel stories, I realize what I love about trekking the globe are the variety of adventuresome people you meet.

Yoni, in Israeli tradition, is intense, loud, and attempting to renegotiate my claim to pharaoh’s gold. He recently completed his required service in the Israeli army, and is looking forward to marrying his salsa dancing Czech girlfriend, Zuzka, whom he met in South America, the announcement of which I predict will be deemed by Yoni’s mother akin to dropping the Hiroshima nuclear bomb directly on her head, and the radioactive guilt she will release will have a half-life equal to her own.

Zuzka for her part, is a software engineer living in Canada, who lives to travel. She has a very nicely shaped face with a squarish jaw, and being adventurous, open, smart, and brave, I dub her as one of the coolest girls I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

A Brush With Death
We climb the cliffs up and down, dipping into caves, admiring the scenery, exploring as much of Petra as anyone could hope to. Yoni is the best mountain climber of the three of us, and generally leads. The cliffs are generally quite steep, and it becomes important to plan your moves in advance, not to just take the next easiest step.

We begin to climb another mountain, far beyond the path most tourists take. This time I lead. Near the end, the cliff becomes nearly vertical, with few places to grip or place your feet. I’m only ten or so feet from the top. It looks somewhat daunting, but with resolve, I push off from my resting place. I climb the first half with ease, but around ¾ of the way, my grip of the rock starts to slip.

My heart skips a beat, a fall here likely means death, not only for me, but odds are I’ll be taking Yoni and Zuzka with me as they are directly below me. My hand continues to slide off the rock. 
Do something!  
I can’t breathe. With seemingly no other option but to take a mighty gamble, I use what leverage I have from my legs to push upwards on the rock, I rise just enough for my hand to find a slightly better grip. I push off with my legs again and scamper up the remaining distance, and onto a small overhang.

A minute later we are all resting safely on the ledge. I’m not sure if Yoni and Zuzka have any idea how close we were to disappearing in the Middle East, likely to be found by flies and scorpions long before any human.

Middle East Politics

Having survived another cliffhanger brush with death, I throw caution completely to the wind and start discussing politics with an Israeli.

Yoni tells me that he used to dislike thinking of himself as an Israeli, with most of the world hating his country, but today he’s proud of his heritage. I wonder whether just having completed his service in the Israeli army has anything to do with his changing mindset.

He wishes there was peace in his land. He doesn’t like the old guard or the fundamentalists, on either side, that help foment this never ending struggle and hatred. He is hopeful that his generation can do something to change that. He hopes to be one day involved with the political process.

He says that part of the reason the world hates Israel is that the Palestinians have a better PR machine, and control the story much better than the Israelis do.

“I want peace,” states Yoni.

“How would you accomplish that?” I inquire.

“I have a plan,” reveals Yoni, “When I arrive at the forefront, I will change the narrative the world hears. I will tell the Israeli side of the story and as the world understands the Israeli position, the Palestinians will not have the same leverage in negotiations they have now.”

I’m shocked by this response. Changing into a fancier suit and hiring a publicist to sway the opinion of your peers, is a positively futile undertaking, and will never change the underlying relationship between you and your wife, if she continues to show up for events with bruises all over her face. (and of course this goes vice-versa for the Palestinians, as both sides are guilty of shameful deeds)


Residence of ancient Petra

Later on in the conversation, Yoni does an about face, asking whether I know who Gilad Shalit is.

“Yes, the Israeli soldier who was abducted by Hamas in a cross border raid, and sadly, continues to be held, victim of the political struggle.”

Yoni pauses, and then says, with a seemingly guilty conscience, “One Israeli is kidnapped, and we go beserk as a nation. Most days, the IDF, (Israeli Defense Force) kidnaps three Palestinians off the streets, and interrogates, sometimes tortures them, because we think that those individuals will be able to provide intelligence on where the next attack on Israel might come from.”

Violence, coupled with the need to survive, begets more violence, and decency and morality are the first to be thrown by the wayside. Both sides are at fault, in this seemingly ceaseless ideological, egoic struggle for this “holy land.”

(Check out what lies outside the Treasury)

Overnight- Sadaam’s Chemical Weapons

It was getting late, and the three of us were sitting on a ledge high above the ground, playing a game of chicken to see who would buckle first at spending the night in this ancient civilization. No one blinked.

We had water, and some pita bread to last the night, and with the park now closed and the sun setting, and the government workers, apparently unaware of our remaining presence, unleash Sadaam Hussein’s chemical weapons.

A truck, drives down the gorge below, spraying the entire area with a thick poisonous cloud meant to eradicate flies from Jordan’s #1 tourist destination. It seems like overkill, literally, as the toxic haze drifts towards us, causing us to violently cough and flee to the other side of the mountain, moving as quickly over the rocks as the combination of low light and lethal gas chasing us will allow.

Eventually, we reach the peak and descend to the other side, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. Twenty minutes later, a series of SUV's clamber down the road, shining search lights on the rocks. Are they looking for us? Quite possibly, it’s illegal to spend the night here, not to mention dangerous. Perhaps we should hide.

We duck into a cave, and wait for an hour, murmuring amongst ourselves. The search lights disappear, we head out onto a limestone ledge, a couple hundred feet off the ground. We lay down on the flattest places available and look up at the stars. At three AM the full moon rises over the mountains, showering us with translucent light. Slowly, we go fall sleep, not knowing that the CIA is already working on the case of the missing American in the Middle East … (follow up story link)