Plan your trip with our routes

September 11^th, 2007. It is the third day of our journey and the sixth anniversary of the Al Qaeda attack against the United States. We are in Jordan, a stone’s throw away from the most troubled spot in the world. Actually, no matter where you throw that stone, it is going to fall in the middle of a war, next to some terrorist group, or on some hot-headed beast. Even though we were told that Jordan was an exception among its troubled neighbours, the first day, we felt uneasy driving around those dark roads. What’s more, when we got lost so many times that we couldn’t do anything but continuously stop to ask for directions. If we are all the same when the lights go out, even more when you are dressed with a jellabah, with dark skin and a beard up to your belly bottom. Just like the receptionists at the hotel. Arriving at the hotel at night they all looked like Bin Laden, but in the morning, they were wonderful people. They were so good, that they even recommended a Bedouin camp to spend a fairy tale night, including a luxurious “hayma” (tent used by nomad people in the North of Africa), and a moonlit dinner.

Without a second thought, we went there. Wadi Rum is one of the most spectacular desserts in the world and the natural border between Jordan and Saudi Arabia. It was here, where Lawrence of Arabia learned to ride a camel. Walking on Mars cannot be much different from entering those reddish dunes. Just like meteorites fallen from the sky, hundreds of rocks sink around you, creating such an unreal landscape, that it is more a mirage about to disappear than the home of the man of the dessert. Or one of the few left, because most of the ones around here drive a 4×4 and have last generation mobile phones. They are impostors or ghosts that are going to call “The Oasis of the Dessert” any raggedy rug as long as they can pay their mobile phone bill.

Our Luxury Camp was one of those. Nothing of luxury and everything of camp. Only one thing: exclusively ours because there were no tourists in sight. Only a couple of skinny dogs, which rather lie down on top of a cactus than sleep on one of the filthy mattresses used as beds for guests. Given the time it was and that we did not have any other place to sleep, we put a brave face on it and decided to spend the night there. Sharing the evening in front of a bonfire with the Bedouins and listen to them and their stories about the unmerciful life in the dessert, did not sound so badly.

We pulled a stupid face again when, while dusting our sleeping bags, our Palestinian scarfed guides, taking advantage of the confusion, ran away. We guessed, to sleep in their homes, the real ones, of course. With Ikea furniture and warm showers. All of them ran away, except for one. Somebody would have to stay and watch us, just in case we had a rage attack and destroyed their camp to take vengeance on them. The poor miserable wretch, felt sorrier for us than the other way around. That is saying a lot! With his fake Adidas track suit, tried to keep us talking, in a macaronic English:

 “I understand you. You honey-moon don’t want problems. Sorry. I love too. My wife in Irak. I run from Irak because they want kill me. I worked for Sadam. She and my children cannot come because of me. I don’t see them in 4 years. From then, I sleep in the dessert everyday”.

We don’t know if it was the reflection of the fire, or our eyes open like two tennis balls, but for the first time we saw Sadam’s face, in front of us apologizing. If it was not Sadam himself, it was one of his doubles, because he looked very much like the one in the Mosad picture cards. Still looking at us, he put his hand in his pocket and started taking out a metal object. What would you think if you were in the middle of no-where in the dessert, with nobody near to ask for help, and with Sadam in front of you with a singular beeping object in his hands? With no second thoughts, we took his side. “Inch Allah and death to the imperialist pigs!” Whatever it is necessary as long as we win his affection. “Blair is not Bush”. And so on, we talked nonsense until we realized that the “scary beeping sound” was just his prehistoric mobile phone. His wife was calling him.  

“Habibi, habibi”(I love you, I love you)

Wadi Rum is near to nowhere and far from any location in which putting a mobile phone antenna would make sense. In spite of that fact, our Sadam double had enough coverage to receive a phone call from Irak in the middle of a civil war and to tell his wife he loves her over and over again.

If the trip was about seeing life, we can come back home now, because nothing can beat this.