October 29 - Is there sky, sun, and sea?
New day, new adventure! To start, the alarm clock rings the end of our dreams at an hour when even breakfast is still debating whether to get out of bed. My brain feels like it’s pickled, and I’ve got a runny nose! Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly warm in the early morning… Not cold, but not exactly warm either! Luckily, those few winters spent in my native Ardennes toughened me up! Comfort-wise, even though I was far from my extra-wide mattress, very far from my fluffy duvet, and *very* far from my daily bowl of Banania served in bed by my wife, let’s not complain—I’ve had it worse! Uh… about that breakfast in bed, stop fantasizing—I lied! And if you know Sandrine, you probably saw that coming! But I won’t lie to you when I confess that last night, I had murderous thoughts… It wasn’t the sweet melody of Ali the muezzin’s call to prayer that woke me up, but the snores of the Israeli from the tent down the way, gently hammering my eardrums like a jackhammer. Sleeping in the desert of an Arab country and being woken up by the snores of an Israeli—admit it, that’s pretty ironic, right?
Anyway, the sun’s rising over Wadi Rum. But unlike the sun, we won’t be going to bed here tonight. It’s our last day of sandy trekking, and we’ve got to get moving. Everyone in camp is still snoozing, so I can’t properly thank our friend Mohammed before we leave. Anyway, Mohammed, if you’re reading this travel journal—thank you! It was as great as a Jordanian can be!
For today’s hike, no need to set any records! Just an hour of walking max to get back to the village of Rum. In other words, after yesterday’s trek, this is more of a leg-stretch than anything else! Still, even though our muscles are protesting, mentally, we’re dressed to the nines! I said *mentally*—I’m not talking about fashion here! Because when it comes to hairstyle, cleanliness, and outfit choices, we’re closer to *The Deschiens* than Christian Dior! If I ran into myself, I’d probably toss myself a coin just to ease my conscience. No, I’m talking about the goofy grins plastered on our faces this early in the morning! But why are we so happy to be up at an hour when the sun still has sleep in its eyes? Well, guess what—I planned one last little desert activity as the cherry on top of the cake… Or should I say, the *watermelon* on the cake… : We’re all four taking to the skies over Wadi Rum! To avoid any questions your male hormones might be asking, let me rephrase: We’re going to fly over the desert in a microlight! Better like that?
With a program like that, no need to tell you I don’t need to pump up the troops to get our legs moving! At my command—forward, march!! In a few strides, the loop is closed, we’re back in the village, with our trusty Mitsu and the tarmac. The sand is gone—rest in peace!
We’re meeting the Hungarian microlight pilot (yes, *Hungarian*!) at eight o’clock at the gas station in Diseh, a little hamlet a few kilometers from the reserve. From there, I arranged for him to escort us to the airstrip for tea. Then come the safety instructions, and finally—the reason we’re here—the U.L.M.! As you can see, I’ve thought of everything, prepared, planned, scheduled… Uh… We’re just missing one tiny detail: Where the heck did they hide the gas station? No big deal—it’s a new excuse to chat up a local Bedouin. Hey, let’s ask that nice-looking old man over there! No luck—the guy speaks English about as well as my dad! If that’s the case, I’ve only got the words “weekend” and “shorts” to make him understand I’m looking for a gas station! No problem, I’ll rise to the challenge!
“Gas station?” (I try in English anyway—we’ll see…)
- !??!!!
- Station service? (In French, but with an English accent—you never know…)
- ?????!!!!!
- Service station? (Alright, I’ll go all out with an Arabic accent…)
- !?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
- Diesel? (I’m reduced to miming someone filling up their tank…)
- Ahhh! Diesel!
- Eureka, he got it!!!... Uh, why’s he asking me to follow him home?
- No money, no money!
Ah, I get it now! The guy thinks I’m looking for diesel and wants to take me to his place to give me some—for free, no less! Man, Jordanians are *so* nice!
Nice, but no dice—when it comes to charades, he’s hopeless! The guy doesn’t understand a thing I’m trying to explain with my hands! Yet I swear, I was doing a *great* impression of someone who’s *not* out of gas and has an eight o’clock meet-up at the Diseh gas station with a Hungarian microlight pilot… I’m sure *you* would’ve recognized it right away! Luckily, a young guy who speaks a bit of English came to my rescue and quickly pointed us in the right direction. Phew!
When we got there, there was a gas station attendant, a couple of camels, a few customers… but no sign of a Hungarian microlight pilot. Eight ten… eight twenty… eight thirty… still no one. The guy clearly stood me up. Our microlight plans are flying away without us! We’re starting to accept it when a man finally walks up to me. Bad luck—he’s got a beard, wears a djellaba, and looks about sixty. In other words, if *this* is the Hungarian microlight pilot, he’s really gone native in Jordan!
“You got a problem? What can I do for you?” (A guy this nice—definitely Jordanian…)
- No problem, we’re supposed to meet a microlight pilot here at eight…
- Okay, just half an hour to wait!
- No no, you misunderstood—the meet-up was at eight o’clock!
And then the guy smiles with every tooth his jaw still has, telling me I must’ve forgotten to set my watch back an hour for daylight saving time! Coooool! Faster than the Concorde, the microlight just made its comeback on today’s activity list. News like that gives you energy like the first drink after a hangover—without the headache! Of course, *you*, being the meanie you are, will just remember that I messed up here. Guilty as charged, but in my defense, I *did* note the time change in the back of my mind—for Sunday. And today’s Friday. But in Muslim countries, Friday *is* our Sunday! Should’ve thought of that…
All that to say, in the end, we *were* picked up as planned, had our tea as planned, and took off in our flying lawnmower as planned! And the happiness—it was pouring down! I won’t even tell you about it… Okay, fine, I’ll tell you! But before we take off, let me introduce Szolt, our pilot. He’s Hungarian, lives in Aqaba, and flies to Wadi Rum every day in his microlight to give a few lucky people a bird’s-eye view of this desert expanse. When I asked, “Do you like your job?” he answered, “I love it.” Of course he does!!! Between sitting at a desk all day and flying a microlight over Wadi Rum, I wouldn’t have to think long…
Alright, ladies, as fun as it is to chatter like turkeys, maybe we should get serious—our Boeing’s parked at the end of the runway! Buckle up, clench those cheeks, and keep your eyes peeled! No wetting your pants allowed! Since there’s only one microlight, it’s ladies and children first! Chloé’s officially designated to test the machine, followed closely by Muriel, then Sandrine. Judging by the huge grins on their faces when they got back, it must’ve been worth its weight in peanuts! My turn! I get in, adjust my helmet… and *in ULM Gilberte*—the aerial version of “after you, Simone”! And then—*Whaouuuuuuuuuu!* I could keep going with the “u”s for pages… It’d be boring to read, but it’d be worth it! From up there, you can see our trek from yesterday, the mountain we climbed… and this desert straight out of a coloring book. I’ll let you check out the photos!
Needless to say, since this kind of landscape doesn’t exactly grow on trees back in the Ardennes, I’m soaking it all in and keeping my eyes peeled until my wonder-meter explodes! Like a five-year-old, after twenty-five minutes of nirvana, I’m struggling to get off my merry-go-round. Too bad for me—I should’ve grabbed the pom-pom for a second ride! Or just handed over another 40 dinars to the guy…
Well… that’s it—time to say goodbye to Wadi Rum. Like young lovers at the end of a vacation, our hearts are heavy and our throats tight. Except for the last endless make-out session at the campsite exit, it’s pretty much the same. We promise to see each other again someday, that we’ll think about these moments for a long time, and so on and so forth… Sure, one more day wouldn’t have been too much, but we’ll take what we got—and it was already more than great! By the way, you should really check this place out. I promise, cross my heart, you won’t regret it!
Let’s go, the show must go on! Further south in Jordan, as Moses so wisely said, the Red Sea opens up. It’s been ages since I dreamed of saying hi to all the fish living there. And since it’s only an hour’s drive from dream to reality, driver—if you’re up for it, step on it! Off to Aqaba! When we get to the outskirts of the city, it’s not pretty—we drive through industrial and port zones. It’s a bit like Le Havre, but with a little more sun! There, I’ve just made enemies with the people of Le Havre. Mission accomplished. Don’t worry, we’re not staying around here! We’re heading to the Bédouin Garden Village, a hotel with its feet in the water about ten kilometers south of the city. When we arrive, they’ve only got one room left for four—at 12 dinars per person, it’ll do just fine! And why would sharing a room with three girls bother me? The Jordanians will just think I’m a god! Anyway, we drop our bags in the room and swap our hiking boots for flip-flops in two minutes flat. We go from trek mode to chill mode! And here, it’s swimwear party time! I put on my tiny, *very* noticeable swim trunks, my cool-guy sunglasses… What else? I’m ready to dip my toes in the Red Sea for the first time in my life! Can you believe the luck?
Once my feet are in the water, I confirm we’re *not* in Le Havre! Temperature-wise, we’re light-years away from the English Channel, even on its best day! That said, this isn’t paradise for lazy swimmers or other water games. From the first steps, it’s coral galore! No big deal—I’m here to feast my eyes on the seabed. I grab my mask, fins, and snorkel… and straight into the water! Underneath, I’m quickly glug-glugging in water so clear you’d think Vittel was motor oil, with dozens, hundreds—no, *thousands*—of colorful fish swimming around! And the coral… I haven’t even mentioned the coral? Red, yellow, green…! It’s too much—I had to get the girls to see this! Chloé and Muriel take turns discovering what the Red Sea has to offer. It’s their very first time snorkeling, and like all first times, they’re a little tense. But judging by the grins stretching from ear to ear around their snorkels, wonder’s clearly winning over fear…
The late afternoon’s rolling in—maybe you’d like us to stroll around town? Uh… remember our baby-soft skin hasn’t seen soap in three days? We’re starting to smell like tourists who’ve let themselves go! Time for a shower! But one at a time—don’t get any ideas. We might be dirty and sharing a room, but we’re not animals!
Once in Aqaba, we get to use our favorite phrase again: “Jordanians are *so* nice!” In a supermarket that’s only “super” in name, while the editors of *Que Choisir* magazine are debating the pros and cons of a liter of orange juice versus mango juice, I slip away for two minutes to chat with the three employees munching on grilled chicken in the back. Next thing I know, I’m at the table with them, chicken and fries in my mouth! No need to get my hands dirty—they’re feeding me! For us selfish, suspicious French folks, this isn’t just hospitality—it’s *X-Files*! After a debate that crowned mango juice the winner, we’re now looking for a way to call France. No need to look far! When we ask a Jordanian how to use our phone card, he just hands us his personal phone. We’re in *X-Files* territory, I’m telling you! Anyway, all this kindness made me hungry! We sit down at the Syrian Palace, where they serve us some falafels and huge *mensafs*—lamb stewed in goat’s milk. Mmmm! We didn’t need all that, but we stuffed ourselves for barely 5 dinars each!
Back at the hotel—straight to bed! After a day like this, no need to count camels to fall asleep! Can’t wait for what’s next—bring on tomorrow! After all, tomorrow’s another adventure…
