The first thing that struck my eyes was the contrast in color. For the past 30 minutes shades of brown and gray waxed and waned through the Siq, but now in the distance was a brightly illuminated sliver of pink. I froze in my tracks while a slight chill shot down my spine.

Peter smiled, "The view is better up ahead."

The legendary Treasury

Almost content to stay right where I was, I continued to walk, wide-eyed and anxious, feeling like a cross between Indiana Jones and a snap-happy tourist. The breathtaking detail of the Treasury came clearer into view. Tall columns supported a base where intricate statues stood, each in their own colonnaded edifices - ancient rose-red guardians staring down at all who enter their kingdom, all of it flawlessly carved straight into a sheer cliff face. I walked, stopped, stared, and awed.

Peter had been here the previous day seeing the more touristy sites in the valley, and today he planned to hike to the High Place of Sacrifice. Since I would be here the next day, I opted to join him for the hike. We walked partway through the valley, stopping for a break at the Coliseum - a massive structure capable of seating thousands. Two entrance tunnels flanked the main stage, upon which stood broken columns and small arches. I sipped my now warm water, wondering what sort of entertainment I might find had I been sitting in these seats two thousand years earlier.

We started up a narrow, steep path behind the Coliseum, which led up the cliff to the sacrificial area. At one point we accidentally veered off the path and reached a small plateau. It was a scenic diversion, bountiful with lizards and several species of desert plants. One odd plant had the appearance of a head of lettuce partially buried in the sandy soil. A single stalk grew straight up from the center, with tiny white flowers blooming on top.

Soon we were back on the path and reached our destination. A flat area on top of the cliff had neatly hollowed chambers in the ground. Small altars were visible, complete with channels to direct the flow of the victim's blood. Indeed it was high, offering dramatic views of the utterly lifeless desert that surrounded us.

By this time we were hot and hungry, and finding a shaded spot atop a rock, we stopped for a lunch of pita bread and water. As we admired the scenery and talked, I could hear the sound of someone singing.

Sabah, a young Bedouin girl

A few hundred yards away I noticed a young girl walking. It was clear that she wasn't a tourist, yet she wasn't dressed in traditional Bedouin clothing either. While Peter rested I climbed down from the rock and walked over to her. The sun reflected off her bright red vest, under which she wore a long sleeved sweater. Her toes stuck out from the end of a broken sneaker, and her dusty black jeans matched a ruddy complexion. She was sitting precariously close to the edge of the cliff, singing, sometimes shouting out. She would yell something in Arabic, sending the cliff and valley echoing with her voice. Then an answer would follow from below.

"Sit," she invited in a coarse voice as our eyes met. Not quite as brave as her, I sat down several feet from the edge of the cliff, then cautiously slid forward until my feet dangled over the edge.

"I am talking to my brother," she added in broken English, as I watched the small figures roving about in the valley below us.

"Here, look," she said, offering me an old pair of binoculars. I looked through them and scanned the valley below, but I had already found what I was looking for. I thanked her, and tried my best to make conversation. A congested cough would often force her to pause. I learned that her name was Sabah. Although she looked in her early 20's, she was only 14 years old. Her father had died, but having two wives, she was left with two mothers.

"I'm sorry," I responded, unsure of just what to say.

"No, no, it's okay, it's okay," she answered, rebuffing any attempts of sympathy. But even from the little I saw and knew of her life, my sympathy was more than a platitude.

Not wanting to keep Peter waiting too long, I thanked her and dismissed myself. She also left, singing as she walked. I, however, walked in silence, meditating over the moment - two worlds colliding on the edge of a cliff, overlooking an ancient, lost city.

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