The details to exploring Wadi Rum by Jeep were many and fascinating. We made quite a few stops on our tour, which turned out to be quite comical as some of the stops were less than two minutes apart... as in: Stop, sit in a tent, sip some tea, get back in the Jeep and drive for two minutes before stopping, looking at some rocks or seeing something else and then getting back in the Jeep.
You see?
It all reminded me very much of the Jungle Ride at Disneyland. You know the one. I hope you do.
But eventually we made our last stop for the evening. Nestled in a cleft between rocky cliffs, perched on a large shelf lay several Camel-hair Bedouin tents. We were to spend the night at Bedouin camp.
Our host for the evening was a wealthy Sheik by the name of Sheik Zahid. A fifty-something Muslim Bedouin man with a Wicked sense of humor and a comic's sense of timing.
The man was Fuh-knee.
Plain and simple.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
There will be an entire blog entry dedicated to the Sheik's comedy.
Meanwhile...
Our first order of business on arrival at Bedouin camp was to stash our stuff in a tent.
Travelers are worried about security. Did you know?
They are.
Constantly.
They are worried about their passports and cash and backpacks full of belongings. Because, well, wouldn't you be if those things were your lifeline in a foreign place?
So as we travelers all piled our backpacks into a tent, I spied nearly everyone staking out their own personal "corner" full of space and looking about themselves as if they were setting up an explosive-laden perimeter around their stuff.
When you have a good group of travel companions, a group you trust, it makes life much easier. We were a good group. And so even though we all initially eyeballed the situation in the tent as a possible breach of personal security, the consensus was quickly reached that heck, we were cool. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara desert together with no way out. So there. And then we left the tent.
Set up in the middle of a square of tents was a large, matted area. Geometrically patterned carpets covered the sand and floral foam mattress pads lined the perimeter of the carpeted area. We all took up residence on a mattress pad and staked out an area. And then we did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And we were quite thrilled with the change of pace and shell shocked at the same time.
You see we had been traveling hard and fast. And to be presented with the opportunity to do nothing felt both thrilling and extravagantly sinful all at the same time. But there really was nothing to do, no chores, no exploring, no task list. And so we lounged for a glorious hour.
Have you ever been in a place that feels calm? It feels wondrous and quiet and to talk would seem to breech a sort of ceremonious aura? This was what Bedouin Camp felt like. No one needed to chat or be loud and boisterous, as normally our group would have been. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Sheik. A respectful silence. I rather think so. Because when he talked, we listened. When he joked, it was done masterfully to a controlled, captive audience in nature's theater full of quiet sound and ambiance.
Around 6:30 the Sheik motioned for us to get up and told us it was time to walk a few yards over and watch the Sun set over the valley. We continued in a reverenced silence as we walked along and each found a perch along the rocky ledge.
It was an unforgettable sunset. Golden rays of sun bouncing off of rough, smooth, holey and solid walls of red. Copper-red sands blew gently on the valley floor, dancing in a light wind. The rays of light bent the colors minute by minute, constantly changing the scenery to deeper, richer hues and tones. And when the sun sank finally behind mountainous surrounding walls we were left with a blank sky, waiting for the moon to rise.
You see?
It all reminded me very much of the Jungle Ride at Disneyland. You know the one. I hope you do.
But eventually we made our last stop for the evening. Nestled in a cleft between rocky cliffs, perched on a large shelf lay several Camel-hair Bedouin tents. We were to spend the night at Bedouin camp.
One of the "Jeeps" parked outside of camp. I'm pretty much in love with that old truck. And this photo.
Our host for the evening was a wealthy Sheik by the name of Sheik Zahid. A fifty-something Muslim Bedouin man with a Wicked sense of humor and a comic's sense of timing.
The man was Fuh-knee.
Plain and simple.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
There will be an entire blog entry dedicated to the Sheik's comedy.
Meanwhile...
Our first order of business on arrival at Bedouin camp was to stash our stuff in a tent.
Travelers are worried about security. Did you know?
They are.
Constantly.
They are worried about their passports and cash and backpacks full of belongings. Because, well, wouldn't you be if those things were your lifeline in a foreign place?
So as we travelers all piled our backpacks into a tent, I spied nearly everyone staking out their own personal "corner" full of space and looking about themselves as if they were setting up an explosive-laden perimeter around their stuff.
When you have a good group of travel companions, a group you trust, it makes life much easier. We were a good group. And so even though we all initially eyeballed the situation in the tent as a possible breach of personal security, the consensus was quickly reached that heck, we were cool. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara desert together with no way out. So there. And then we left the tent.
Set up in the middle of a square of tents was a large, matted area. Geometrically patterned carpets covered the sand and floral foam mattress pads lined the perimeter of the carpeted area. We all took up residence on a mattress pad and staked out an area. And then we did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And we were quite thrilled with the change of pace and shell shocked at the same time.
You see we had been traveling hard and fast. And to be presented with the opportunity to do nothing felt both thrilling and extravagantly sinful all at the same time. But there really was nothing to do, no chores, no exploring, no task list. And so we lounged for a glorious hour.
Have you ever been in a place that feels calm? It feels wondrous and quiet and to talk would seem to breech a sort of ceremonious aura? This was what Bedouin Camp felt like. No one needed to chat or be loud and boisterous, as normally our group would have been. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Sheik. A respectful silence. I rather think so. Because when he talked, we listened. When he joked, it was done masterfully to a controlled, captive audience in nature's theater full of quiet sound and ambiance.
Around 6:30 the Sheik motioned for us to get up and told us it was time to walk a few yards over and watch the Sun set over the valley. We continued in a reverenced silence as we walked along and each found a perch along the rocky ledge.
You have to love a travel itinerary that schedules this in:
"Watch the sunset from a cliff-top in the Desert Camp at Wadi Rum."
It was an unforgettable sunset. Golden rays of sun bouncing off of rough, smooth, holey and solid walls of red. Copper-red sands blew gently on the valley floor, dancing in a light wind. The rays of light bent the colors minute by minute, constantly changing the scenery to deeper, richer hues and tones. And when the sun sank finally behind mountainous surrounding walls we were left with a blank sky, waiting for the moon to rise.
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