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I was waiting for my mum outside the café halfway up to the Sacrificial Site in Petra, Jordan. Mum clearly wasn’t used to the traditional Jordanian dish mansaf – lamb stewed in fermented yoghurt (jameed) on a bed of saffron rice, sprinkled with toasted almonds – we had eaten the night before. I walked away from the tourist-laden café, to find a quite spot of shade whilst waiting for mum. I located an almost-completely-smooth shade-covered boulder just around the corner. I jumped on top, facing in-between the café and the seemingly endless steps we were about to take up. I heard the clattering of hooves before I saw the animal creating the echoing claps. I turned towards the sound, and saw a gleaming mythical-like creature gracefully emerging down the steps, reflecting the sun off her white coat. The closer she came, the more beautiful she looked, decorated in purple, red and orange tassels on her forehead and chest, with little bells ringing from the side of her barrel. She glided past me, and I looked up at the man riding her with ease down the steep steps. He dismounted and tied her next to me. “Sabah al-khair.” “Sabah al-nour,” I greeted back. “Your horse is beautiful.” “She is not a horse, she is a mule. Her name is Monica – what’s your name?” This man was smooth-talking, and I was prepared for the plethora of jokes that could come after I introduced myself. “My name is Mercedes – ” I nearly added “like the car” to get the joke in before he did, but instead he replied with, “I’m Hamzeh, I come from here. We call ourselves ‘Rock Bedouins’.” I was stunned. I, ignorantly, had no idea that people still actually lived in the Nabatean site. We exchanged details about our lives, admittedly, both flirting a little. Our language-barred flirtation halted when I heard the steady-paced crunching of gravel and sand working its way towards my voice: mum had finished her business. Mum arrived, looked at me, then looked up at man who was clearly flirting with her twenty-something daughter. “You must be Mercedes’ mother, nice to meet you.” “Oh! Hello! Yes, you too!” “I live here, shall I show you around?” Mum hesitated – “Yes sure!” I chirped. Mum looked at me, with that knowing twinkle mothers have. “Sure. But the Sacrificial Site first, please.” “Yallah,” chuckled Hamzeh. We clambered up to the Sacrificial Site where Hamzeh explained its history and former ritual usage. He pointed opposite and showed us a tiny speck resting on the rocky terrain ahead of us: Aaron’s Tomb, a site mum and I would not have seen otherwise. It is no wonder that Petra is one of the seven wonders of the world. The sites are breath-taking, and to think that Petra was established as a trading route as early as the 5th century B.C. is as staggering to take in as the monuments themselves. Throughout the day we explored parts of Petra unknown to most, certainly unknown to us had we not have met Hamzeh. He showed us the monastery; we shared sweetened black tea with his friends looking over The Soldier’s Tomb; he showed us the Palace of the Pharaoh’s daughter; he even took us to a place where tourists don’t have access to – a little wadi tucked away in the heart of Petra, where Monica-the-mule stopped to have a drink from the little stream trickling through the rose-gold rocks. We ended the day with an introduction of one of Hamzeh’s friend, who proudly owned three well-kept camels. “Want to race the camel’s back to the Treasury?” Hamzeh’s friend asked with a cheeky smile. “Yallah,” I sang. I raced back with Hamzeh’s friend, leaving mum, Hamzeh, Monica and a cloud of orange dust behind. I met mum back where we started, by the Al-Siq corridor in front of the Treasury. Unlike the start of the day, however, we had made new connections and new friends with the local people of Petra. Hamzeh and I exchanged contact details, and, two and a half years later, we still keep in touch. I am forever thankful for connecting with Hamzeh, and his unveiling of Petra's real hidden city and secret gems.