"You want to see the viewpoint?" My friends and I had barely made it out of the Siq, the gorge that leads to Petra's famous Treasury in Jordan, when the first Bedouin approached us to offer his services as a tour guide. "You want to go to the viewpoint?" The man pointed to the left, where we could clearly see steps leading up to the edge of the gorge.

"Do we really need a guide to get up those steps?" We discussed among ourselves in Dutch. "Isn't the viewpoint supposed to be easily accessible to tourists with a map?" We didn't understand the need for a guide to get to the viewpoint at all. Besides, we wanted to get to Ad Deir, the Monastery, as soon as possible. So we politely declined and started our hike to another famous Nabatean ruin.

A few hours later, after visits to all the main ruins, we still couldn't quite get the idea of hiring a guide to take us to the viewpoint out of our heads. We decided to do it - if the price was right.

Back at the Treasury, the three of us waited for one of the Bedouin to approach us again. The first to do so was a young guy, who can't have been much older than 16. He started at 20 dinars for the three of us. Way too much for a simple walk up some steps. After a few minutes of negotiating, we were stuck. We offered 15 dinars.

"Sixteen. I take you for sixteen."

We all looked at each other, about to walk away. "No," one of my friends said.

"No," I repeated.

"No," my other friend completed the set.

The guy sighed and gave in. "Okay. Fifteen. Come."

Happy with our deal, we followed him to the far left of the gorge in which the Treasury is located. I was still doubting if we weren't getting scammed though. Then I noticed a sign, which we completely ignored: "Exceeding this point is forbidden". What had we gotten ourselves into?

As we reached the end of the gorge, we noticed that the staircase we'd noticed was incomplete. It started a meter or so above our heads, which led us to wonder how we were supposed to get up there. The answer: we weren't. The guy showed us a rocky slope.

"Up here?" we asked, our voices full of disbelief.

"Yes. Up here. I help you."

"How am I ever going to get up there..." I whispered to myself. It seemed impossible, at least to me, but our guide had already started climbing and looked at us expectantly. So we followed him, careful not to smash our cameras to smithereens against the rocks, careful not to drop our water bottles. When our guide saw us struggling, he took our water bottles and carried them for us. He jumped from rock to rock, ledge to ledge, without a care in the world. Following was no easy feat, but he showed us where to position our hands and feet and pulled us up when we were about to fall right back down. We tried to work together as a team; there was no other way to make this trip to the viewpoint work. And just as I thought I'd gotten used to climbing up the sides of the gorge, I looked around and realized just how close I was to an untimely death.

A small ravine had opened up to the left of me. When I turned around, I got dizzy. We were high up already, to the point where one wrong step could mean the end of everything. My friends had come to the same realization. Every step, every move, every breath was filled with fear for our lives. Turning back wasn't an option though: that was at least as risky as continuing the climb.

"At least we'll get our money's worth," we kept saying. "If all three of us survive this, of course..."

I became hyper-aware of all the places where I could slip and fall. If that'd happen I'd break a few bones at the very best. That thought made me tense, which actually made it more difficult for me to focus on the climb. Fear was taking over. I had no idea how long I still had to go, if I'd be able to do. In my mind, I started apologizing to my parents for being so reckless. That's when I scraped my knee as I slid down a rock. My foot had slipped, resulting in my knee meeting the rough surface of the ledge I was trying to climb. The incident had no major consequences, except for my knee hurting like hell. There was no blood to be seen, but the pain grounded me in that moment and allowed me to focus again. Mentally, the climb became easier. Physically, it was still as hard as ever.

It seemed like we'd been climbing for ages, basically living in fear, when the terrain flattened out. Admittedly, there was still a ledge and a deadly drop right next to our path, but that didn't seem so scary anymore now that I could walk instead of climb like a discount Spider-Man. All of a sudden, we spotted a little hut, a stick with the Jordanian flag next to it: the viewpoint.

That was the moment when we realized we'd climbed to an unofficial and illegal viewpoint. Not that we cared then. We were just happy we'd survived the climb, happy to experience something both so scary and unique.

We were greeted by another Bedouin, who sold us some incredibly sweet tea. I was enjoying my adrenaline rush - until we were invited to sit on the edge of the gorge and let our feet dangle into the scary nothingness below. Now I loved the view, so I did get close to the edge... on all fours. Vertigo petrified me. Eventually I scooted towards the edge on my butt. I'd love to say I enjoyed the experience, but in reality I was leaning back as far as I possible, so I couldn't slip and slide down to my death. I can laugh about it now, and I'll never regret this dangerous adventure, but in that moment I was still afraid I was going to die.

After the initial adrenaline rush was over and all the tea was gone, we realized we now somehow had to get down to Al Khazneh again. Just like on our way up, our guide ran and jumped ahead while I was almost shitting myself. We took a slightly different route this time. Not that this made the descent any less scary: now, we had to cross a ravine on a bridge that was no more than a few planks. First our guide crossed without blinking an eye. Then my friends went after him. I was left on the other side and again, vertigo got the better of me.

"I can't do this!" I yelled.

"Come on, just run!" came the answer from the other side.

I took a deep breath and looked at the planks. What if I'd lose my balance? I did the only thing I could do to prevent myself from getting permanently stuck right then and there: I ran.

I sprinted towards the edge, planted one foot firmly in the middle of the makeshift bridge, half-jumped and landed on the other side. I felt like I'd literally ran away from my fear. I'd found my footing in the gorge and started jumping and running down the steep path now. Our guide looked at me in surprise, then concluded: "You are a sportswoman."

"Yeah." I beamed with pride. I felt so in control, so in my element. I still knew that what I was doing was reckless, but now I had faith in myself. I could do this. And so I ran, skipped, jumped, walked and slid my way down to the start of the prohibited path.

Before I knew it, all of us where standing in front of the Treasury again. I felt euphoric. Adrenaline was running through my veins agains and I couldn't contain my excitement. Okay, we had gone up a path where tourists weren't allowed to go and okay, we'd all thought we were going to die. But let's be honest, life would be awfully dull if we always played by the rules. Sometimes you need to take a risk. Walking Petra's prohibited path was one of those risks. I will never forget the fear for my life, the breathtaking view and the euphoria that followed it all.