Day 11: Wadi Rum

The next morning was your typical one in a hotel room shared by three people: foggy bathroom mirror, towels all over the floor, and a "get the hell out of here I'm changing!" or two.

The Petra Marriot breakfast was fantastic and, I hated to admit, a really, really nice break from breadsticks and jarred cheese. Eggs, french toast, pancakes, cereals, beef bacon, cheeses, a juice bar, and even a trio of French jams on the table. As in French. Any old hotel can give you Smuckers, but this is Bonne Maman we're talking here. After that we just checked out, Abu Fadi loaded up the trunk with our luggage, and we started the second part of our tour. Our morning today is devoted to Wadi Rum, the desert, and after that the city of Aqaba, on the Red Sea. But this morning it's all about the desert, and driving to our destination on the Desert Highway.

Everyone calls it the Desert Highway; if there is a real name, I have no idea what it is. The highways I'm used to are up to 16 lanes across and full of traffic and guardrails, but the Desert Highway is something else. Two lanes for the most part, scenery of sand and rock, Bedouins tending their flocks, mountains and sandstorms in the distance. Very different and exotic from what I'm used to. Very refreshing.

Wikipedia tells me that a "wadi" is Arabic for a dry riverbed that only contains water at times of heavy rain, and that Wadi Rum is a valley cut into the sandstone and granite rock. T.E. Lawrence was based there during the Arab revolt of 1917-1918, meaning Hollywood is also telling me that Wadi Rum is famous for being the shooting location of "Lawrence of Arabia."

After the Wadi Rum experience, I told myself that of everything I've ever seen in my life, it is one of the most miraculous places on earth.

I wasn't totally sold on seeing Wadi Rum. It's desert, it's rocks. Woopie. Not much to do, right? The process is even too simple: you get dropped off at a visitors center, go the bathroom, buy a souvenir if that's your thing, then go out to the parking lot in back that is chock full of pickup trucks. You pick your truck, complete with Bedouin to take you on a two-hour tour of the desert, climb in back and off you go. That's exactly what we did. Got dropped off, went to the bathroom (I got locked in and an attendant had to come rescue me), browsed through the souvenirs (and recoiled at the horrible prices), then went out to the parking lot. Chose a truck, met the Bedouin, got in back (makeshift benches, no seatbelts, sand everywhere), and off we went.

This is when it starts to get interesting. You're on road for all of ten minutes, then the truck goes right into the sand. Desertlicious, baby, and bumpy something fierce. I was thrown against Raj and James repeatedly, much to their disappointment, until we came to a very large rock, mini-mountain sized. Out of the truck, lots of people, more tour guides. We didn't feel like climbing any rocks, but pranced around the dunes instead, where I decided having sandals full of sand is no fun at all. I took them off, and spent the rest of my time barefoot.

Remember way back when I'd said I wanted to sink my feet into the desert sand? It is an extraordinary thing. I dug myself in, ankle deep and stared straight ahead. Sand for miles. I threw my hands up in the air and Raj took a picture, then I took both my girls for a ballroom dance in Wadi Rum. Thank goodness they humour me.

For those not climbing the rocks, Option B was having tea in a Bedouin tent. That sounded very nice, and so we headed in that direction. Since it seemed that everyone else and their mother had decided to climb the rock, us three had the place to ourselves. For one dinar we relaxed in a breezy tent, sitting on woven rugs and leaning against camel saddles, drinking tea with the Bedouins of Wadi Rum. Their tea isn't about bags, but herbs and spices: cardamom, sage, cinnamon and mint.

Back in the truck. More bumpety bump, and a short drive to the Seven Pillars of Wisdom. English for, gigantic rock formation containing what looks like seven pillars. Back out of the truck to join yet more tourists, to climb as far as you can in the deep crevices. This we did, James saved me a couple of times from almost breaking my neck (should've worn running shoes), and we admired the engravings and drawings made by natives hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

Again, back in the truck. I should add that the driver never actually opens up the back end of the pickup so you can get in and out with ease, instead it is sealed shut so you have to climb in and out like a moron.

We drove and drove, then stopped the truck again, chock middle in the desert, and parked next to a gigantic sand dune the colour of bricks. We got out. Our Bedouin pointed to the dune and said most stoically, "This was in Lawrence of Arabia."

Well, alrighty then. I've heard of tour buses driving by Aaron Spelling's house, but a dirty pickup driving by Peter O'Toole's sand? I wanted to ask if he was positive that each and every single grain was still in place from the original set in the sixties, but then his English wasn't all that good. I'd have to learn more Arabic for next time.

The Bedouin left us to ponder the sand. I don't know why, maybe he took his firstborn there or something. I didn't ponder it too much, because I was busy noticing something else. The truck was off, the Bedouin was now quiet, Raj and James were out of earshot. Everything around me was completely still; all I could hear around me was the wind, and my heart.

Stunning. Maybe sometimes, having nothing to do is the best thing of all.

Tour over, our Bedouin drove us back into Wadi Rum town and to Abu Fadi, who was waiting for us at a restaurant. We saw some camels by the side of the road and gracious Abu Fadi agreed to wait a little longer while we bought ourselves another go on the dromedary carousel.

Hoping to duplicate the magic of Zuzu from the day before, I saddled up with Shailan. Tall, grumpy, spiteful Shailan, who was the exemplary stereotype of a seriously pissy camel. I couldn't blame him, though. For one, his day job was lugging around stupid tourists like me. For two, the ride became extra long when Raj's happy-go-lucky, lazy camel decided to abandon the rest of us for a little snack. We didn't even notice Raj was missing until his shrieks of "HELLO!" forced us to turn around. And for three, James' camel bit Shailan's tail so much the entire time, it started to bleed.

Poor Shailan. If I'd had a treat he would've gotten it, but I had to settle for scratching his ears just like I'd done with Zuzu. This is where Shailan tried to bite me. What the hell? Dumbass.

Leaving Wadi Rum tugged at my heartstrings. I have been comfortable in a lot of places, and I have fallen in love with many. But something happened to me in the desert. Oli always tells me that when she is at the ocean, she feels at peace. I thought I knew what she meant, since I too love being near water, but being in Wadi Rum struck a different chord completely. I felt home.

No, I am not moving to any Arabian desert, the Sahara or even the Mojave. I know my place in this world, no matter what direction my soul points to. But I did get a Bedouin bracelet before I left. It looks like a friendship bracelet, deep red and sand coloured, handwoven from camel hair. Something to keep Home with me. I have worn it every day since.