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The Jordanians pride themselves as being honest, so when the
petrol jockey ripped me at the garage, I was pissed, especially as when I
filled the tank the first time, I got the impression they wanted me to pay the
litre amount instead of the lesser Dinar amount, but I was not sure. On this
occasion they started filling without zeroing the meter. The attendant stood in
front of the pump and started speaking rubbish. On complaining he handed me
back probably half of what he stole. The amount was small, but I was cross for
getting stung and because we have really enjoyed not having to look over our
shoulders the whole time. I suppose there is always one to mess it up for
everyone.
We met our Bedouin guide, Abdullah and headed out into the
desert in his square shaped Landcruiser station wagon (Two models earlier than
ours, but as strong as ever).
The Rum Mountains rise literally vertically out
of the flat sand plains. It was interesting to see that some walls of rock were
flat, as if built or cut by man. We can only imagine that similar walls of rock
formed the basis of some of the tomb facades we had seen at Petra.
Some looked
like those sand castles we used to make on the beach or wax from a candle that
has dripped down a bottle.
Many of the rocks have engravings on them that have
been attributed to the Nabetaens. We were in our element, enjoying the peace
and silence that you can only experience in places like these.
The Bedouin are proud desert people, living a nomadic
lifestyle to find water and grazing for their herds.
As with indigenous people
all over the world, many have given up the old ways and moved to the city. I
suppose its hard to blame them, life must be pretty tough in the desert. 
Abdullah’s father is one of only 7 families still living in Wadi Rum, but it
takes the financial support of his children to allow him to continue.
Over lunch, which was spread out on a canvas sheet on the
ground, Abdullah answered our questions about Bedouin life and the changes he
has experienced. We detected a yearning to return, but the world has moved on……
As the sun dipped in the sky and the colors changed to
burnt orange, Abdullah lit a small fire and brewed sweet sage tea.
We sat in
silence each with our own thoughts until the last rays retreated below the
horizon. As we were leaving he gave me a headscarf I had admired earlier,
telling me to think of the Bedouin’s desert when I wore it. The cynic in me may
have attributed it as a ploy to increase his tip, but I got the feeling the gift
was sincere.
Dinner consisted of chicken, potatoes and other veg that had
been cooked in a hole in the ground, and then covered by a blanket and sand.
Maybe it was the place, but it was the best meal we had had in Jordan.
We had a cold night in a tent made of coarse, rough camel
hair. So cold that Lorna and I ended up in the one single bed, sharing our
blankets and body heat.
All too quickly it was time to leave, we set out on foot
leaving Abdullah to pick us up later in his old Cruiser.
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| Laurence of Arabia's house |
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