We had become quite close during the two previous weeks of the middle east tour. Hiking together and chatting happily, we only met people coming down the trail as the afternoon was quickly slipping away. Terri was fit, smart, and funny. I liked her a lot.
We arrived at the Monastery, a giant copy of the “Treasury” building featured in Indiana “Jones and the Last Crusade” with the sun still high. We discovered that six American men were the only persons there. They were part of an Army unit stationed in Jordan that had been given a day pass to visit Petra on this Christmas day. All were enlisted men led by the eldest of them, their platoon sergeant.
The men seemed quite pleased to run into us. Truth is, Terri and I looked pretty good that day in brightly decorated pants and Arab shemagh head scarves we found in Egypt. We felt confident flirting a little because the guys were polite, respectful, and eager to talk about their adventures in Jordan. I had a giant chocolate bar in my pack I planned to share with the tour, but decided our new Army friends might enjoy it more. We divided up the chocolate, munched, and marveled at having the amazing Monastery to ourselves.
While the guys couldn’t tell us exactly what they were doing in Jordan, they hinted that it was a “just in case” kind of thing for 12 months. They were all buff with giant pistons for arms and shoulders and backs that would normally melt me into a puddle of “oh, hell yes.” It occurred to me I could duck into one of the small caves around the Monastery with any of the guys and give him a little Christmas present. Terri told me later that night she had the same naughty fantasy.
As the sun was setting, we all hiked down the cliffs to the main trail and slot canyon that was the entrance and exit to Petra. We laughed as we wished we had the horses Indiana Jones rode in the movie. It took us two hours to get back to the town and parking lot where our vehicles were parked. It was genuinely hard to say good-bye to these soldiers stationed far from home, serving our country, separated from friends and family on Christmas Day.
The sergeant was the only married man in the group, so he didn’t get heartfelt and sometimes lingering “Christmas Kisses” from both Terri and me. He did, however, get hugs and sweet pecks on the cheek.
Our tour group, waiting at our mini-bus watching us say farewells to the GIs, lost no time playfully harassing us about the guys calling them our “harem of men.” Terri laughed, “Hmmm… three for Sparks and three for me. That’s about right, I think.” I gave her a high five.
