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Not long after I watched the sunrise from my seat, the Jordanian heat hit my face through the window of the bus. As I leaned my head against the glass, I wiped the drips of forehead sweat away with the sleeve of my linen shirt. It had been four hours since we left Amman. As we pulled up to the entrance of Petra, I shook the exhaustion away and lifted my hair into an unflattering ponytail. Just two weeks ago I had been sitting in my room, wondering where I could go to escape the daily routines that were uninspiring. Friends and family members insisted that I refrain from going to the Middle East, especially alone. It didn’t matter though because I was determined to immerse myself in Arabic culture. Visiting a tourist destination made me wonder if I was cheating. Until I met Mohammad. As I wiped the lens of my camera, I noticed him walk towards me. “Kefik?” He asked. I became familiar with a few terms during my time in Jordan and told him I was doing well. He smirked and responded with, “Not bad for a tourist.” “Mohammad,” he said with pride and lifted his hand out. What I learned in the short moments of meeting him, under his wisdom and accent, is that many people walk the same paths in Petra; however, not many see the ancient city beyond common routes. This compelled me to see what he meant. I could not refuse his offer to hike. The further I climbed, the more I wondered why I allowed a stranger to guide me through narrow stones and sharp rigid edges. I could taste the dust on the corners of my mouth, and other than the blue sky above me, I saw nothing intriguing. Where was I heading? Mohammad wrapped his fingers around crumbled red rocks and put them in the palms of his hands for me to see. Not only did the open space make room for echoed voices, but I could hear the trickle of the rock drip through the cracks of his hand. He lifted a rock and swiped it across the cheekbones of his face. For a brief moment, I felt like Indiana Jones, trekking into an unknown territory. From prior research, I discovered that the history of Petra dates back to 312 BC. I also knew thousands of Jordanians lived there long ago. What I didn’t know was that Mohammad was leading me to a cave amongst sand and rock. Or as I like to call it, a "little pocket" in the enormity of Petra that his family calls home. As we drew closer, I was welcomed with open arms and traditional hot tea. “Welcome to the real Jordan,” his mother said.