January 2020

It was roughly 8:30 in the morning as Hanka and I stepped out onto the streets of Amman, Jordan. We were greeted to the smell of freshly baking bread, the sound of morning traffic, and the feel of cold January rain. The first place we needed to get to on our journey was the cities bus station, but since that was an hour and a half walk and neither of us had an umbrella, we decided to hail a cab. Our driver was an older man with a kind demenor. He did not speak much English, but we were able to explain to him that we needed a bus to Petra. Thankfully, he took us to the right station and pointed to the correct bus. We thanked him and ran to the bus.

The rain was still pouring as we got on. A large majority of the seats were empty. Aside from us, there were just a handful of middle aged men. All we could do was sit and wait… and wait… and wait. Over the next two hours, a few more people boarded. Meanwhile, each of the middle-aged men went through about half a pack of cigarettes each. Apparently smoking is permitted on Jordanian busses. Finally, just as we were about to get black lung, the engine started and our journey began.

Since it was our first time in the country, the two of us stared out the window as we went along, far more captivated by the landscape than our fellow riders. Slowly, the urban city setting dissolved into semi-arid surroundings with scattered plant life, then ultimately to a dry desertscape. My first ever desert! By now, it was no longer rainig and the sun shone bright. I was so excited I even forgot about the clouds of smoke steadily filling up the bus. This was a time of wonder and exploration… health concerns could be for another day.

After about two hours, we came to a rest stop. The driver said something I couldn’t understand, so I assumed it was how much time we had before the trip continued. Hanka and I stepped off and breathed some much needed fresh air. At the station, there was a mini stop selling snacks, tea, and coffee. We walked over. Usually, I would have ordered a coffee (due to my borderline addiction), but Jordanian tea had been really growing on me since we arrived, so I went for that instead. “I don’t think we smell very nice.” Hanka said to me with a little smile. Instinctively, I smelled my jacket and quickly agreed. Shortly after, we got back on the smokey bus and continued on our journey.

Another two and a half hours of changing desert landscape went by until we reacher our exit point. Since there are no direct buses from Amman to Wadi Rum, we had to get off at an intersection of a side road that lead off into the red rocks of the desert. Unfortunately for us though, the driver let us off on the opposite side of the highway, meaning we had to walk across it (and by walk, I mean run quickly). Although there weren’t so many cars on the road, the few that were drove incredibly fast, and there were no traffic lights either.

When a small gap came, we bolted across and thankfully didn’t become roadkill like so many unfortunate squirrels around the world (RIP squirrels). At the start of the side road, a car was waiting. The driver was an older, local man of about 60 with gray stubble. “Wadi Run?” he asked. It seemed as if me made a living transporting people like us. We both nodded. “Five dinar,” he said (apporximately 7USD or 6 Euro). We decided not to get in and walk instead. It felt good to stretch our legs and we wanted to slowly take in the incredible surrounding landscape. The air was warmer than in Amman, about 50F/10C.

We walked for about 20 minutes and then saw a sign indicating another 15km to Wadi Rum. It would be dark before we got there, no matter how fast we went. Just then, the driver from the start of the road came back to us. “Wadi Run?” he asked again. I nodded and asked to confirm, “Five Dinar?” This time, he shook his head. “Ten Dinar.” On principle, we had to refuse and continue walking. Just because we’re wandering alone in a desert doesn’t make us saps. However, not five minutes later, another car pulled up besides us. This driver was a young man in traditional bedouin dress with three female passengers. The car was a pick up truck. “Are you going to Wadi Rum?” he asked. His English sounded very good.

“Yes,” I said, “how much?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “I’ll take you there for free. Get in the back of the truck.

Happily, we climbed in and he instructed us to sit up against the back to shield us from the wind. Off we went into the desert, bouncing into the back of the truck. Soon, large rock formations began to appear on all sides. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Now usually, I would describe it to you, but I’m gonna take the lazy way out and just show pictures.

Artistic rendition based on a real picture

After about 20 minutes, we arrived in a small town with a few pwoplw walking amidst a few houses and vendor stands. Our driver stopped his car. “Where are you staying? Do you have a campsite booked?” he asked. We told him that we did. It was called Gallaxy Camp. “I know the owner,” he said, “He’s my cousin. I’ll call him now for you.” Hanka and I looked at each other, both of us seemed equally surprised. “Good thing we didn’t get in that other car.” she said.

Minutes later, another young man with a pick up truck arrived. He, too, was dressed in traditional Bedouin attire. Our driver introduced us and then told us his cousin would take us to the camp. Again, we climbed into the back, but this time, the truck pulled off the road onto red sand. Turns out the camp was way out in the desert.

As we went, we struck up a conversation with our host. Like our cousin, he was friendly. “You two came at a strange time,” he said. “Jordan isn’t usually this cold.” He took out his phone. “Look. It actually snowed here last week.” He excitedly showed us a picture of himself standing in a desert covered in a blanket of wh"ite. Needless to say, it looked awesome. Off in the distance, we saw a few other pick up trucks driving into the vast desert, most likely going into other camps. Soon, ours appeared on the horizon. A collection of black tents were clustered near a large red rock formation.

Depiction of Wadi Rum on the day we were there.

The engine stopped and we stepped out of the car. “Here are the guest tents,” our driver/host said. “You will stay in number 19. Over there is the dining tent as well as my own personal tent where we can all get together and have tea this evening.” He was very welcoming and seemed excited to show us around.

“Great!” I said, “This all looks wonderful. Do you mind if we go on a walk? We would like to explore the desert a little bit before dark.”

“Sure. Just make sure to be back here at 6:00 for dinner.”

I checked my watch, which read 4:45. We had an hour. Quickly, we put our backpacks in the tent and ventured out into the vast Mars-like terrain. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. While there were no large sand dunes, the ground resembled small waves of a calm red ocean. Massive rock formations sprouted up just about everywhere, each looking entirely different from all others. But above all, everything was red. Deep red, more dark than bright, stretched out as far as the eye could see, coating the whole landscape.

After exploring several of the rock formations, I checked my watch and saw 17:30. (I set my watch on a 24 hour clock). It was time to go back. Being January. the sun had already set, and out surroundings started to grow darker. We both headed back towards the large rock I thought our camp was based around… but turns out my poor sense of direction got the best of me again. By the time we reached the rock, it was entirely dark, no tents were to be seen, and it was 6:00. What to do…? Since there were no artificial lights in the desert and many clouds blocked out the moon, visibility was almost none. We scrambled around in a panic. Who could have thought we might freeze to death in the Middle East. Not knowing what else to do, I looked at the ground and saw tire tracks. Maybe this could help, I thought.

Closely and carefully, we followed the tracks. We were now fully engulfed in darkness with only the faint glow of a phone light to guide us. Eventually we saw the tracks were leading to something illuminated. It was a camp! We had no idea if it was ours, but at least it was something! We accellerated our pace and soon we arrived… but it wasn’t our camp. Still, we had to do something. Hearing the commotion, the owner came out to see what was going on. Thankfully, he spoke English quite well. Quickly, we explained how we had gotten lost that night and needed to find our camp. With a sliver of hope, I showed him my reservation and asked if he knew where it was. After a moment, he nodded and spoke. “It is near. I can drive you there.” Suddelny, we were overcome with joy. My blunder wasn’t going to be quite so disasterous!

A few minutes later, we pulled up to our camp. It was now twents after six. Our host was there, waiting. “What happened? Did you get lost?” We both nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry or annoyed. We were relieved. “Ok, dinner is ready, you can join us in the tent.” Our journey for the day was over. We survived the smokey bus and weren’t going to have to spend the night wandering the desert. Our meals were warm and waiting for us. Life felt good.