October 27th - Are there toilets in Wadi Rum?
The night could’ve been perfect if our buddy Ali the muezzin hadn’t belted out his prayers at five in the morning through the neighborhood mosque’s loudspeaker. You better believe it—wakes you up faster than a cold shower! If I run into that guy... he’s gonna get his goatee pulled! Anyway, it’s six o’clock now, I open one eye… Six-thirty, I open the second… At this rate, it’ll take me all morning just to shower and get dressed… except today, no time for lazing around—we’re hitting the road! On the list of must-see spots in Jordan, you’ve probably already heard of Petra… Check! Now, does Wadi Rum ring a bell? No? Well, perfect—because that’s where we’re headed today! After one last hot shower (who knows when the next one will be?) and a hearty breakfast, we rev up our mechanical thunder and hit the road toward the mountainous desert of Wadi Rum. We get there in an hour and a half, despite a pit stop at the gas station, a police checkpoint, a herd of suicidal goats, some steep climbs in first gear… and, of course, the mandatory pee break. Yeah, remember—I’ve got three ladies in the Mitsubishi who need to go!
When we arrive at the Wadi Rum visitor center, another surprise: the price magically jumped from two dinars (as listed in the guidebooks) to five dinars per person. This tiny 150% hike apparently took effect on September 1st… Of course, it’s totally justified! I mean, who wouldn’t pay to enter a desert? Just think of the cost of hauling all that sand here! Anyway, moving on… Twenty dinars lighter, we’re off for two days with our feet and tires in the sand! And there, our tiny caravan suddenly fell silent, humbled by the sheer grandeur of the landscape… Look at me, showing off! But you know me too well—you guessed it… That’s not my line. It’s from that English guy, Lawrence of Arabia, who wrote a book describing the place. There’s even a movie about his life—check it out, it’s set right here in Wadi Rum!
We pass the Seven Pillars of Wisdom mountain. One, two, three, four, five… six rock spires! Where’s the seventh? Then we arrive at the village of Rum, where we’ve got a meet-up with the Jordantracks agency for a day trip. And there you go, I can already hear you laughing: *‘Oh, the noobs! They’re playing backpackers but still need a guide!’* Stop laughing and listen: Actually, we don’t really care about the guide. What we need is his 4x4 to take us south toward the Saudi Arabian border. I promise, tomorrow we’ll do everything on foot and solo! But hold on, don’t rush me—I’ll tell you what I thought of this agency later. For now, I’ve got other things to do, like loading our bags into the beat-up 4x4 that’ll be our desert chariot until tonight. Our guide, who looks newer than the car, is the one driving it! 438,192 kilometers on the odometer—anyone got a higher number? This thing is stripped of everything, including comfort! No handbrake, busted seats, windows that won’t roll up, a broken side mirror… But hey, the dashboard’s covered in sheepskin—that’s a sure sign the vehicle’s well-maintained! We wanted authenticity, and we got it! To wrap up introductions, our guide’s name is Awad, and he’s twenty-three. Alright, now that everyone’s met, let’s go—follow our 4x4 tracks and don’t dawdle, we’re not here to sunbathe!
Heading due south to Jabal Burdah, the mountain we’re climbing this morning! Before we get there, we’ve got an hour of bumpy roads while admiring landscapes that make you want to stretch your legs. Once we arrive, we fill our water bottles, limber up, and off we go! The climb takes about forty-five minutes. Nothing too tough—except for Sandrine, who’ll complain at every little challenge: *‘This is too hard! And the snow’s too soooft!’* But damn, the mountain is beautiful… How can landscapes this grand even exist? My jaw’s practically on the ground, mouth wide open—I can’t even close it. Check out the photos! Go on, feast your eyes—my treat!
On top of the view, the cherry on top is the natural arch perched at the summit… As you can guess, walking across it didn’t cross Sandrine’s mind. Me? I’m charging ahead, joined by Chloé and Muriel! No fear! Well… okay, maybe a *little* fear. Suddenly, we’re not so cocky anymore! Adrenaline pumping like crazy… Perched on my arch, I take the opportunity to show off and try to make Sandrine sick—until Awad one-ups me by crossing it… on his hands. *‘Oh, look at him showing off!’* Jordan, one—France, zero…
Alright, time to head back down? Shhh… Quiet, and just look. We sit for long minutes, soaking in the view in silence. Pure zen… The organized chaos of our French lives feels a million miles away. Speaking of which, there aren’t many places left where you can sit and hear *nothing*—no cars, no construction, no scooters, not even a Céline Dion song to ruin the moment. That’s one of the things I loved most about this desert… Not the lack of Céline Dion (though that’s a plus), but the lack of noise! Pay attention! And to think, back in France right now, there’s a general strike! I can just picture you in line, trying to scrounge up a drop of fuel… Meanwhile, we’ve got fuel in our legs! So, the descent? A piece of cake… despite the sweat pouring like a pressure washer and the sun cooking an egg in two seconds flat!
Speaking of cooking an egg… isn’t it time to shove some food down our throats? Awad’s got it all planned! He finds us a shady spot, lays out a tablecloth, and pulls out the lunch baskets. The only problem? He invited *every fly in Wadi Rum* to the table! And not just any flies—*organized* flies! While three-quarters are chowing down on your meal, the others are distracting you by flying up your nose or into your ears. You don’t need to experience it yourself to know it’s *super* annoying, to put it politely! Anyway, now that our bellies are full, where to next? Apparently, nowhere—Awad’s setting up his mattress and taking a nap. Wake-up call: Three o’clock! How can he even close his eyes with a view like this around us? It’s a *guaranteed* eye-opener! As for me, no way I’m napping and risking some weird dream… My dream’s right here, in front of me, and I plan to enjoy every second. Camera in hand, I head straight for a rock formation, hoping to soak up panoramas until I’m sick of them. Memories filling my head, pixels filling my memory card… Detox’s gonna be rough when we get back to France!
Before I start thinking about going home, I’d love to keep wandering this patch of dried-up earth, because right now, I’m like a dog chasing its tail—I’m going in circles! *‘Awad, it’s time! Awad! Awaaad?’* It took a quarter-hour of door-slamming and fake coughing to finally drag him out of his beauty sleep…
On the agenda: red dune, Khazali Canyon, Barragh Canyon, Nabatean inscriptions at Al Faishiyya… Sounds exciting, right? Well, in the end… *nothing*! And when I say nothing, I mean *zilch*! Nada! Awad clearly had other plans under his turban and couldn’t care less about what I’d arranged with the agency. What a mess! Don’t get this confused with *‘party in my pants’*—totally different! And as if by coincidence, we followed the same route as two other guides he’s thick as thieves with… and socks. That’s too much—Awad gets a yellow card! Next time, it’s red, and he’s out! Alright, I’ll stop complaining, even though I’m French and *totally* have the right. But all this to say my opinion of Jordantracks—or rather, our guide—is mixed. Don’t worry, though, we didn’t just stand there like scarecrows! First stop in the middle of nowhere… Awad joins his buddies for a game of soccer. And us? Well, if we’re doing nothing, might as well show them how a Frenchman can kick a ball! Jordan, one—France, one…
The rest of the afternoon? Canyons that were *meh*, tea breaks, a tiny arch (way less impressive than this morning’s), more tea, and a sunset that won’t go down as the best I’ve ever captured. Long story short, I won’t bore you with the details of our afternoon adventures. Lack of inspiration? Temporary fatigue? Maybe it’s just because we weren’t blown away by what Awad showed us. By the way, if you think I’m getting jaded and not gushing over stunning sites anymore, feel free to give me a good smack to bring me back to reality…
More seriously, tomorrow we’re switching to solo mode. No more relying on Jamal, Youssouf, or Hamed (aka Pierre, Paul, Jacques). Tomorrow, *I’m* in charge of the program! So long, goofing off, tea time, and little naps! But hey! Don’t go anywhere, Wadi Rum—I’m not done with you yet!
For now, we’re at the Jordantracks Bedouin camp, where we’ll spend the night in Bedouin tents lined up at the foot of a cliff. Around us, a few camels are twiddling their thumbs… Speaking of which, in Wadi Rum, camels are mostly there to give tourists rides. For heavy lifting, the Bedouins use another beast they call a *Patrol*. Don’t bother looking it up in animal encyclopedias—it’s a 4x4! Anyway, back to the camp: everything’s set up to make us spoiled Westerners feel a little at home, except for the camels—you don’t see those roaming the streets of the Ardennes! They’ve even managed to rig up showers and toilets in the middle of the desert! For the record (because I *love* anecdotes), special mention goes to Kazim, the mastermind behind the toilet facilities. Since the showers and toilets are backed against the mountain, he simply cut large openings in the doors of each stall to let in light. You had to think of it! And it’s a great way to bond with other campers. You don’t look at Robert the same way after seeing his face mid-effort… or Monique after watching her struggle to do her business without touching the toilet. No, seriously, at first I thought it was a joke or a hidden camera. I kept waiting for Marcel Béliveau to pop out of a dark corner dressed as a Jordanian, yelling *‘Surprise surprise!!’*… But nope, nothing. As for me, I thanked the gods of constipation and only attempted the experience the next morning, when everyone was still asleep. You can never be too careful during those *deep-thought* moments… And even then, still no sign of Béliveau’s mustache! To be continued…
I don’t know about you, but all this has made me hungry! Four plates of *maglouba* later, my stomach’s waving the white flag. As for the vibe, it’s a bit *touristy*. Awad plays the oud while the other guides start dancing. Me? I’m not exactly in the mood for a wild night. Just food, a quick smoke, and off to bed—while telling you that one day, I heard on the radio that the odds of visiting Jordan are one in ten million. Just imagine some guy somewhere busting his butt for months with all sorts of equipment to come to that conclusion… Well, okay! Let’s say that despite those odds, it happens to you. And while you’re wandering around, you might just stumble upon Wadi Rum! Sure, after reading my travel journal, you’ll probably be dying to come to this desert. But then you’ve still got to pick a camp! And let’s be honest, there are *plenty* around here. But fine, let’s say you choose the same one as me. The ultimate twist? You’d have to be there on a day when you *really* need to go! And if by some miracle all that happens, think of me when you’re sitting on the throne, eyes glued to the little window cut into the door, waiting for Marcel Béliveau to finally show his face… Anyway, goodnight, folks, and hello, sandman! By the way, will we count you in tomorrow? Either way, tomorrow’s another adventure…
