As we did the obligatory walk of no mans land between the two borders, our world was transforming around us. The sour and strict face of the Israeli border control was replaced with those of happy, relaxed Jordanians. We traded in our Shaloms for Salams, and we entered my first truly middle eastern country. A country of cheap falafel, intermittent western money worship, beautiful people and stupefying desert. We had entered a different world, a world of stricter customs and old traditions. On the third day we were there, after wandering the cul-de-sacs of culture, winding roads of inquisitive kids and intense bedouin experiences we came to a tourist village called Wadi Rum. The gateway to the graceful and stoic sand dunes and time depleting desert plains that lay home to countless generations of Bedouins - desert travelers. On arrival to this village the tourist welcomers on the gates tried to extract 5 dinar (about 5 euros) from us each to enter the magical desert. After a few minutes of standing in almost principled defiance of refusing to part with 5 euros to enter such a place of natural beauty they caved and one of the people took us to his house to stay for free.
We were then picked up by a bedouin as we were walking in the desert who was returning from the village to his camp far into the desert. We clambered into his car, I tried my best to imagine that we were living 100 years previous and that actually the transportation device we were now in was a high speed camel, and sped off to his desert home. That night with the bedouins was a mystical and intense experience. So many unspoken traditions and rules in the middle of this vast sandy freedom. The women and men were divided in to two separate compartments of the same tent, every two or three months it was all packed up and moved on to another location of their choosing and all that would be left at their previous home setting was a dim brief imprint in the sand of the curious culture that had thrived here. They traveled with neighbours until I suppose they got bored of each other. But apart from that there was no one else around in the desert for miles. Just the dogs, goats, chickens and camels who also accompanied the bedouins on their travels and who I suspected had a little less freedom to choose when their bedouin masters bored them.
We played Oud around a campfire for many hours before I went to sleep that night, the stars were amazing, although still not a patch on the beautiful night jewels I remembered of Suffolk nights. The next day me and Jacky wandered off to stay by ourselves somewhere in the desert, we had a tent, but still the sandy accommodating bed of the desert would get bitterly cold so we took a shade netting/carpet from a nearby camp. In the morning we were greeted by a hardcore bedouin detective looking for his carpet, he had followed the footprints from the camp and asked kindly - in bedouin terms - for it back.
That morning I was exploring the desert sandstone hills. It was here that I fell in love with climbing. I loved the physical observation of intricate curvatures that nature had taken hundreds of years to make, in the side of any mountain it pleased. All so one day someone would have a foothold to further their pursuit for the top of the mountain. I was mind boggled by the fact that this place, that we - along with thousands of bedouins - were calling out temporary home had been an ocean at one point. I was constantly seeing whales and sharks gliding lazily by on the cold currents above our heads, drifting in and out of the underwater caves.
The whole place was magical and impressed upon us such a deep and personal meditation. It filled me with inspiration, and a yearning to create, endlessly create. Anywhere but in the desert, the desert was perfect as it was, with all its grandiosity and carefree apocalyptic scenes. I wished to impart on all my future creations some of the enormous humble pureness of the desert.
Jacky then left the next day, and since I was in Jordan the least I could do was to visit Petra. Its been a long time ambition of mine to see the caves. So I hitchhiked up from Aqaba, the city 300 km to the south, so I could plead with the tourist office there to waive the 50 euro entry fee to let me in. I got there after an eventful 6 hours of hitchhiking, hitching is really easy there and I never had to wait for more than 20 minutes. I begged with the tourist office for 2 hours but to no avail. I left a little disappointed and immediately a Jordanian came running up to me. He had eyeliner built in to his genes - like some ancient Egyptian king -which exaggerated the insanity flashing periodically across his eyes. We talked for a while and he led me on walk in to the desert. After about 40 minutes or so we got to a cave. He told me I could sleep there for the night and he showed me a hill that in the morning I could walk over to see the caves of Petra for free.
He left me to sleep as the sun went down, and said he might be back at some point. At about 10 o'clock I was kicked into bleary consciousness by him shinning the torch in my face and shoving a big bowl of his mothers home-cooked food at me. It was delicious and for dessert he led me on a whirlwind partial-insanity driven, Las Vegas inspired night tour of Petra. He took me in taxis and suddenly we were going into restaurants and cafes and shops, living the high life of Petra, all gratis. He dropped me off about 2 hours later on the road nearest my cave. I assured him I could find my own way to the caves because I didn't really want his company anymore. An hour later I was cursing myself that I hadn't got him to show me the way, the desert looks so different at night and I found myself wandering around the big desert boulders, unsure I was going to get back. Half an hour later I was reassured as I turned a corner to find my cave. I slept in an uneasy sleep for the rest of the night, and in the morning took his advice to walk into the caves of Petra. I was seen immediately by the guards and told to leave. So still no caves of Petra for me.
The temperature sharply dropped and instantly it was cold and raining, the sky emptied its contents on to us. Suddenly I was spectator to the grand Petra water race, all this water sloshing down the street, and falling over roofs like it was pretending it was in The Shining desperate to get to the bottom of the mountain. I made my way to the bus station and got a bus back to Aqaba. Where I crossed the border with two dutch guys I met on the bus. With some (expected) difficulty at the border, Im now back in Israel. And am grateful to be back in the land of warm beds and showers. The intensity of all the experiences of Jordan mentally extended my stay from the 1 week I was physically there to about 1 month.
