I love the desert. I always have. The desert holds mysteries and secrets. Some people think mountains do, but I don't. I think mountains are gorgeous and impressive and I respect them and love the peace I feel when I'm hiking, but there are no great secrets to be revealed in the mountains. I grew up in Canada and mountains were part of the culture. Of course, I belonged to one of the dozen families in the entire country that didn't ski–that's what the Winter Olympics were for, after all–but the mountains were something familiar and expected as a Canadian kid, even Toronto's suburbs. But a desert? What was that about? This is my roundabout way of saying that Wadi Rum was high on my list of places to visit in Jordan.
My new Dutch friend, Amber, and I joined up with Fay and her mom, a Turkish/British duo I had first met in Amman and bumped into again at Petra. The four of us booked our overnight dessert excursion, not really sure of what to expect.
We got to the Wadi Rum Visitor Center and met our guide, Ahmed. The four of us piled into the covered pick up truck and quickly learned the hard way to hold on!
Ahmed drove us to our first stop, Orange Spring.
Ahmed swore there was water up there so off Amber and I set.
This reptile, just a few inches long, kindly posed for a photo.
It was stagnant and slimy but we did find water!
The view.
Ahmed started up the truck and drove us a few minutes to our next destination, Gazelle Canyon.
The rocks were beautiful with drips like melting wax.
I wasn't the only visitor to be taken by the rocks. Caravans crossing the desert generations ago left their graffiti.
There were perfect wind ripples texturing the deep orange sand.
As we climbed, we kept pausing to rest and wonder why on earth we were climbing up this damn thing under the scorching sun.
I started to run up the dune to avoid inevitably sliding backwards with each step.
Exhausting, but we made it! And as I skied down in my shoes, I managed to collect enough sand to drive me crazy for weeks to come.
Camel graffiti.
This pile of stones? Once upon a time, it housed Laurence of Arabia.
Despite the heat, I had a huge appetite after a morning of hiking, climbing, and sand skiing. Under the generous shade of a rock, we set up a mat and Ahmed got a fire started for tea. (It's never too hot for tea.)
The wind picked up so our picnic lunch had an extra crunch to it. Once we had cleaned up, Ahmed announced we should all rest. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's nap. I mastered the fine art of power napping in college and it has since served me well in my travels. So while the wind whipped up the sand, making it awfully uncomfortable to rest while getting pelted in the face with sand and tiny rocks, I quietly covered my face and was dozing in no time flat.
We got up from our heat induced collective stupor and checked out a small dam.
Piling back in the truck, Ahmed said we our next destination was an arch. I was excited to climb up it and pose for stupid photos.
By now, Ahmed was having a great time himself. “Hey, want to see me do a handstand?” he cried and had upside downed himself before I could even respond.
I can do a headstand but only with considerable wobbling, so I stuck to a classic jumping photo.
The arch was actually the last scheduled stop but Ahmed was having as good a time as we were and eagerly showed us around a couple of his favorite spots. He couldn't have been happier if he were a kid in a candy store.
I amused the hell out of myself by doing little hand/big hand with my shadow.
Ahmed invited us to jump off the hood of the truck. He jumped and was the epitome of grace, gliding artfully down the dune.
I, on the other hand, was more like the fat kid at the community pool who was constantly on the verge of a belly flop. I went about four feet and landed on my ass.
Driving to our next stop, there was a problem with the engine. A coincidence. Just a coincidence.
No one else was interested in climbing up Cow Rock, so Ahmed and I climbed up the small but challenging rock which resembled a decapitated bovine.
In the late afternoon, we started the drive to camp. In all the hours, Ahmed had driven us all over the beautiful yet completely lacking in roads/tracks/landmarks, never once losing his way. The desert was his beloved home, not the house he owned.
Arriving at camp, we met a dozen university and grad students participating in a short term study abroad program.
Amber and I would share this comfortable tent. Inside were two beds and plenty of blankets to ward off the cold desert night.
There was still work to be done. Ahmed and his team got dinner started by burying it in the ground while the rest of us enjoyed our sweetened tea by the fire.
Night descended quickly and we hustled back to camp in time to watch our dinner being uncovered. It was a feast of perfectly cooked veggies, hummus and pita, and fresh salad.
We sat around the fire sipping tea, constantly moving to avoid the unavoidable smoke. The guides began to sing traditional Bedouin songs and Fay's mom stole the show with her impressive belly dancing. Ahmed pulled us away from the fire and laughter of the group to star gaze in peace and quiet. I can't remember seeing so many shooting stars.
I brushed my teeth in the token trickle of water in the bathroom's sink (thank goodness I didn't try the shower!) and crawled into bed, stacking the wool blankets high on top of me. In the morning, we packed up and had a satisfying breakfast but I was incredibly disappointed to be leaving. Wadi Rum is one of my favorite places in the world and I need to return there so Ahmed can take me to do some proper rock climbing.
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