Digital Wanderer

We live as long as we fly

Jordan — 18, day eight, arrival in Wadi Rum

As you remember, in the previous part we made it to the solid part of the desert just in time for a beautiful sunset. The asphalt was nearby, and to reach it, we only had to cross the railway. I thought there was only one railway in Jordan – from Amman to Syria, but after googling, I realized that there's only one passenger line, while the one near Aqaba is a freight line used to haul phosphates.

In the dark, we got onto the highway, figuring we'd need another couple of hours to reach the visitor center, from where we could call to be picked up and taken to the camp. The thing is, there are no hotels in the Wadi Rum desert, only overnight stays in Bedouin tents. There are dozens of such camps scattered across the Wadi Rum park, to suit every taste and budget.

Some of these tents are so luxurious that you don't even need a hotel. We, however, booked a camp that wasn't quite glamorous enough to have canopies over the beds, but judging by the reviews, it was perfectly decent, called Salman Zwaidh camp, after its owner. The camp hosts had been emailing us for a few days to find out when we'd arrive, but you know that letting them know our exact arrival time in advance is tricky for us, so I just told them we'd call upon arrival, but it would definitely be after sunset.

Just as we strapped on our headlights and started pedaling hard uphill, hoping to arrive in an hour or two, a jeep drove past, braked next to us, and, following the already familiar Jordanian custom, the driver asked where we were headed. Something put me on guard, because usually the greeting sounds like: “Do you need any help?”. But here the guy immediately asked where we were going. Exhausted, I didn't catch on right away, but a minute later I stopped and walked up to him again, and bam – he shows me a printout of our reservation.

Unexpected, and damn pleasant. The man had been driving back and forth in the dark simply because he wanted to meet us — and he didn't even know what we looked like or when we'd arrive, only that we were on bikes. Now that's Bedouin service!

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Jordan — 17, Day Eight, from Wadi Musa to Wadi Rum

The next day we were again facing an off-road descent, but first – an ascent along a built-up highway with an elevation gain of four hundred meters. The total route exceeded a hundred km, and we, mindful of the difficulties of the previous days, decided not to risk it and  not to sniff exhaust fumes - to hire transport. We asked at the hotel reception to find a driver to give us a lift for thirty km, that is, up the mountain. There were no problems with this; moreover, we agreed on a very moderate sum of 15 dinars. Considering that we were riding in a pickup truck so the bikes would fit, and for more than half an hour, I think it's practically free. In Cyprus, for the exact same distance (but a more difficult terrain), they wanted to fleece us for 120 euros.

A white Nissan pickup truck with several mountain bikes in the back is parked on the street in front of buildings housing a hotel and restaurants. Another truck and a person are visible in the background.

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Jordan — 16, day seven, Petra, part two

A woman in a traditional black embroidered dress and a red headscarf stands next to a male tourist in a blue jacket and dark keffiyeh. Both are smiling against the backdrop of a rocky desert landscape under a clear blue sky.

So, the previous part ended with us meeting a souvenir-selling lady. She chatted briskly in pidgin English, asked where my wife was, and almost without waiting for an answer informed me that her husband had died and left her with two children. Sounds sad, of course, but in a place like Petra they'll tell you enough sob stories to fill a whole book, so I didn't buy it. Seeing that she wasn't going to get any hard coin out of us this way, the lady pulled out a piece of metal pipe, which turned out to be an improvised flute, and started playing a two-note melody.

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Jordan — 15, day seven, the ancient cave city of Petra

The next day we finally had a hike around Petra planned, so we were able to take a break from the bikes. In the morning, a free shuttle took us from the hotel to the entrance of Petra (about two and a half kilometers away). It turned out to be just a beaten-up pickup truck, but the driver was dressed in what looked like a suit and tie, if memory serves, which is completely uncharacteristic for these parts.

I won't go into detail about the history of Petra, I'll just say, so you have an idea, that it's an ancient city in the rocks, the capital of the Nabataean Kingdom. You can only enter the city through gorges from the north and south, and overall the city is naturally protected from the outside world by sheer cliffs.Information poster for the "Care for Petra" campaign with the text "Think before you ride", hanging on a rough sandstone-clad wall between two windows with decorative dark shutters.

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