Almost 30 years ago I first visited Petra. Even though I was only eight it made such an impression on me that it has lasted three decades and I was keen to see whether these memories were accurate or embellished by Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

I remember driving up to a practically empty piece of waste ground, walking through a rusty fence, which did little to keep anything in or out, and my father being stopped by the ticket man, who didn’t offer us a ticket. I’m sure a lot of haggling went on, but eventually we were shown two ponies and the five of us (my parents; my sister, aged six; and my brother, aged four) trotted down the Siq, over a very rocky path, right to the Treasury entrance. I remember worrying about the ponies’ ankles and flinching when they were whipped.

The Treasury was an impressive sight even to my young eyes, beautiful in rose sandstone. I remember seeing Bedouins living in the tombs carved into the rock face, and young boys harassing my father to give them his pen. Not understanding the material desire of people who have nothing, I was upset that my father was being asked to give something away under duress.

Thirty years on, I had a conversation with one of the hotel staff and recounted the story of the pen. He laughed and kindly put everything in perspective. Thirty years ago there were only pencils in Jordan. Pens were so rare they were a desired status symbol. It was not a charming attempt to mug my father, but in the Bedouin spirit, they were offering him the chance to show his generosity. There is no need even to say thank you to the giver. The act of giving is something that is marveled and develops a man’s reputation and community standing.

Petra itself has not changed. The narrow Siq walls still form a dark veil from the visitors’ first glimpse of the Treasury. Rock endures more than three decades of visitors. The sheer size of the site is staggering, and the resourcefulness of the local tribes inspiring. How do you carve such beautiful statues out of the face of a rock? And then how do you burrow into the mountain itself and create chambers that dwarf today’s mansions? My only thought is that religious belief sustains man in his endeavours. I can say this with little understanding - I observe and respect all religious beliefs, observe being the operative word. If man needs to create shelter for his family, surely he creates something basic but practical. There is no need for two storey, awe-inspiring grandness when the work is arduous, dangerous and painfully slow.

I’d like to say the place is timeless, but there are changes, and not all good. For the protection of the site no-one lives in the ruins anymore. A new village was created above Wadi Musa where damp, dark caves were exchanged for modern prefabs with windows and electricity. With the number of visitors you can no longer travel by horse right the way through the Siq unless you pay for a carriage. And the boulders underfoot have been replaced by a neat concrete path.

But it is the question of money that frightens me most about this place. It has to be the most expensive tourist attraction I have ever been to, particularly as it’s in a developing country. Don’t get me wrong. I studied history at university and I’m intrigued by the past, and long to protect it from the wake of unthinking development. People should be allowed to visit in order to understand how the world has changed, how all the jigsaw pieces fit together. And if there is a choice between building discrete tourist facilities or letting people pee in the tombs, I’m for the former even if it does slightly detract from the aesthetic look. The aim should surely be about giving access, but within certain boundaries.

I support entrance fees where profits are ploughed back into projects to aid further historical research or protection. But I’m not in favour of extortion, where it is difficult to see where the profits lie. Petra is an example. Without exception a tourist has to pay JD50 (GBP50) to enter the site. This includes an 800m horseride to the entrance of the Siq (but the money doesn’t go to the horseman who depends on tips). The entrance fee also includes a guide (who was nowhere to be seen.) Additionally you are welcome to pay for your own private guide, and hire a carriage when you’re tired.

As money transfers hands in a cash form only, we were practically wiped out. And I just don’t know where the money goes. The visitor centre was still under development, although there was little evidence of work, and our 2009 guidebook suggested a completion date of 2011. It was a relief to find that there were toilet facilities, but they were filthy, often with broken taps. There were hawkers everywhere and untidy little makeshift shops. I’m all for entrepreneurial spirit, but in all fairness, this was simply about ripping off unsuspecting tourists, who at the end of the day had little cash, or desire, to buy extras after the extortionate entrance fee, meaning that those who could really have benefitted from an extra dinar were ignored. As I say, it seems unfair and not really in the true spirit of archeological preservation or exploration.

I’m hoping these sour memories will fade and not become another pen story to niggle me for the next 30 years. It really is an amazing place and the climb over to the High Place of Sacrifice and over the other side to the Qasr al-Bint was well worth it, even with a five and three year old in tow. Despite the six mile hilly route they climbed like little soldiers, bribed onwards by the promise of a snack.

Waking up to a view of the mountains in the Dana national park was pretty special. Last night, on the roof terrace we star-gazed where the only light pollution was the full moon. Through a telescope we viewed the craters on the moon and the suns around Jupiter.

At breakfast we ambled down to a communal buffet, and were greeted by a camel. The children were very excited and even before food was on the plate the girls were bouncing around on top of the patient beast.

We were given a packed lunch (of fried onions and mushrooms wrapped in wheat flat bread!) and pointed in the direction of a wadi where we could wander until the girls were tired. We followed the instructions and practically tripped over some Roman remains, probably part of the local copper industry. Lack of money meant that the archeologists had to pack up their tools, but we could plainly see rooms and dwellings, along with pestle and mortars just lying around.

Our next stop was a hotel near Petra, on the other side of the mountains, which required a rocky, twisty and steep drive through valleys and over peaks. Luckily the 4x4 could cope with it, and I was in charge of the wheel. While we gingerly crept up the road, respecting blind corners and brows, we were greeted by locals in pick up trucks blatantly ignoring the dangers. The views were amazing though – when I had the chance to take my eyes off the road. A land full of promise.

Amman has rickety old buildings perched on steep hillsides with a maze of roads weaved inbetween. Driving out of the city the countryside began to flatten and we reached the bustling market town of Madaba, home of a sixth century Byzantine mosaic map. Apparently 95% of the population here are Christian, which doesn’t surprise me given the number of churches, but it does lead to an interesting investigation of the populace. Jordan has succeeded where other countries have failed. It is a melting pot of different nationalities, ethnicities and religions and people seem to live in harmony. Circassians fled persecution in Russia and found a home in Jordan, Christians settled here, not finding a welcome mat at the door of other countries, and Muslims moved in when the Roman empire softened it’s grip; everyone seeking a spot in the holy land. Looking into the eyes of Jordanians you’re never quite sure who you’re looking at. Everyone looks different. Everyone’s family roots can be traced back to different places and not necessarily from the same tree. You can spot a European or an Arab, but not a Jordanian. There are some fascinating genealogy stories to tell.

We’ve seen some spectacular scenery today. From Madaba we visit Mount Nebo, where Moses is said to have viewed the promised land, and then died. We took in the same sights of the Jordan Valley, with Jerico and Jerusalem just 40km beyond.

From there, the flat road broke away in front of us and just south of Karak (which has an cliff hugging Crusaders’ castle as its pinnacle), we found ourselves on the edge of plateau diving into a steep valley to meet the shimmering Dead Sea, which looked almost like a mirage. This is Wadi Mujib or the Grand Canyon of Jordan. The Dead Sea is 400m below sea level and it’s impression, as the lowest point on earth, was made on us just by the changing shape of the water bottle we had in our car. It was virtually crushed by the pressure. The views were breathtaking, despite the sides of the mountains glimmering with discarded packets, tins and other waste.

We’ve left all mod-cons behind for the night, having driven half an hour from the Dead Sea Road to Feynan Eco-lodge. The only electricity is solar, water has to be pumped here, and the rooms are lit by candles. Ironic that I’m using 21st century technology to record my experiences then. I’m feeling guilty so I’m going to shut the computer down and read a book… on my Kindle.

Ok, we’ve been here three hours now and Andy and I have already had our first clash. It’s dark, the children are tired, the roads are terrible and we have several maps, none of which seem to bare any resemblance to the surroundings. We’ve stopped at a petrol station and six people collectively had to work out where on the map we actually were. We knew we were on the main highway into Amman from the airport, we just didn’t know how far along. They didn’t even seem to know which road we were on. Oh, and that’s another thing. The hire car company helpfully gave us a car empty of fuel, because as a new visitor to the country the first thing I’m longing to do is heighten my stress levels and find a bl**dy petrol station. Rant over.

Have I mentioned the roads here? Terrible. Just accept it. People will cut you up on both sides, forcing you into a pot hole the size of a moon crater, and there are no road signs. “Just turn right at the 8th circle” is meaningless when the road actually goes under the circle and you are completely unaware that you’ve passed it. We found our hotel and passed it three times as we encircled it like a lion and its prey. It’s simple to say: “Whoops, we’ve gone past it. Let’s just do a u-turn.” Sometimes the road goes over the highway, sometime under, never in the anticipated direction and before you know it you’re at the Syrian border crossing (at the time of writing not somewhere you want to be.)

Let’s move on to more positive experiences of the trip so far. I immediately relaxed after seeing Amman in daylight. Yes, it’s run down, confusing and barely visible under a layer of rubbish (finished with that can of drink, just chuck it in the road. Same with the plastic bottles and bags. Not a problem. Why would you want to live in filth that is completely preventable?), but it’s perched prettily on a hill with olive groves and fig trees, and after a few years of living in Chicago (where the sledging hill was manmade) and Dubai (where views are only obtainable from the top of skyscrapers) I felt at home. I first visited Amman 30 years ago with my parents, and although young, I can remember it in parts. I don’t think the city has developed that much since then, which is surprising considering that it was little more than a village when it became the capital city in 1921.

We decided to take a day trip to the Roman ruins in Jerash today, as well as the 12th century anti-Crusader castle of Ajloun. En route we passed snapshots of everyday life. Colourful souqs under Bedouin tents, mounds of pomegranates for sale at the side of the road, hill top mosques next to hill top churches. We started to point out the pens of sheep to the children explaining to them that that’s how people bought their meat. And then we saw the A-frames beside the pens, and quickly released that these we effectively drive-through abattoirs.

The ruins in Jerash are spectactular. Andy and I made Monty Python jokes about “what have the Roman’s ever done for us?”, and when that wore thin (after about 30 seconds) we turned our attention to trying to find interesting ways of getting the girls to see the site with excitement, rather than a pile of broken rocks. We tested out the ampitheatre and examined the chariot wheel ruts in the road. But explaining 2,000 years of history to children who think the age of five is the pinnacle of maturity is a bit of a tall order.

Ajloun Castle, however, did seem to capture their imagination. It feels off the beaten track and I’m not sure we spotted any other Westerners. This means that there is no shiny visitor centre and you don’t get on a conveyor belt to rush you through the experience. On the plus, we were able to wander and explore at our leisure, led by two excited girls looking for soldiers and princesses (why does Disney have to spoil everything?!). On the minus, we were able to wander and explore at our leisure, which means children (other people’s) clambering over ancient and delicate parts of the past that should be respected, leaving empty crisp packets in their wake.

The children have been treated like minor celebrities since we’ve been here. People want to touch them and have their photograph taken with them. I remember this used to happen to my blond little brother when we lived in Kuwait, and three decades later, blond curly hair and blue eyes can still cause a stir. I was rather taken aback, and flattered, when a young lad around the age of 16 wanted to take my photo (I have dark hair), and even more aghast when a young man asked to have his photo taken next to Andy. We joke about his hair being blond but it really is white!

Filled with enough history we drove back to Amman, and fed up with the roads (after only a day!) dumped the car and hailed a taxi to take us to Rainbow Street, where we ate Egyptain food on the street and watched the night life. Interestingly, the British Council is on the same road, surrounded by a huge security fence, massive metal doors, and a concrete barricade to protect it from car bombs. Security really is on a high here. We had already passed an armoured van with a machine gun post on top, armed police and even our hotel has a bag x-ray and body scanner. Our car is checked for bombs before we can even enter the car park. I’m not sure whether the Arab Spring is expected to spread here or whether it has passed.

We’re moving out of the city tomorrow and heading to see a sixth century Byzantine mosaic map. I’m sure the girls are as excited as me.

We’ve escaped the comfort of Dubai to explore a little further and are spending a week in Jordan. 

We could be sitting by a pool, with the children safely tucked up in the kids’ club, sipping mojitos and catching up on our fiction. But of course, we’re scared of comfort and are not taking the easy option. 

What can go wrong dragging the girls around another country? They enjoyed our American road-trip didn’t they? 

So let’s see.