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!
We didn't put up a fuss, tossed the bikes into the back, climbed inside ourselves, and started having pleasant conversations. It turned out the driver's name was Suleiman, and he was the brother of our guide (that is, the camp owner) Salman. Later I realized that it's a whole family business out there, because another guide in the camp, Ahmed, was also a brother of these two. How many more of these brothers there are will remain shrouded in mystery.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the camp, where Salman met us, immediately ushered us into a large guest tent (you have to take your shoes off before entering) and served us tea. Apparently, this is a ritual to welcome guests, but we were rushed in so quickly that we didn't even have time to plug our electronics into the outlets. This came back to bite us later, because the outlets are powered by a generator, and they only run it for two or three hours after sunset. They were calling us so insistently because dinner in the tent is communal, and it seems we were delaying its start. As soon as everyone gathered, they brought out the food: one dish with meat, a couple without, and another couple of vegetable salads — very decent.
There were five other tourists in the camp besides us: an Australian girl with her mom, a feisty woman from Montenegro, and a young girl and guy from France. We gradually got to talking. The Montenegrin, aptly named Veselinka, didn't need any gradualness, though. She was loudly broadcasting what she thought to everyone, across the whole tent. I particularly remember the phrase: “Everyone in my family smoked and drank until they were 80, and so will I! All this stuff about the dangers of cigarettes is bullshit, no one's going to make me quit!”.
She said she has an apartment in Amsterdam, and invited us to stay.
It was warm inside the tent thanks to a stove in the center, the dinner was tasty, the tea endless, albeit sugary as hell again, and the Bedouins were friendly and talkative. One of them, Ahmed, spoke with a cool British accent, and when I asked why, he explained that he had worked with tourists from the UK for many years. The Bedouins also brought out a national dish for their own enjoyment, which was basically rye rusks mixed with butter and yogurt. They ate it with their bare hands, praising it to the skies, and offered it to the guests. I joined in, even though I had just been petting a cat. After that, I got this obsessive idea stuck in my head that I had caught some parasites, and that's why I've been feeling so awful these past few weeks.
Left to right - Sasha, Veselinka, the Australians, and the French
Ahmed and the cat
It's very curious that the camp had incredibly clean, neat, and pleasant toilets and showers — the best we've seen in all of Jordan, except perhaps for the Montreal Hotel in Shobak. By the way, I forgot to mention a few details about that hotel:
1. First, there were disposable slippers in the room. I wanted to take them with me, but forgot
2. The toilet lid, if you let go of it, lowers onto the seat slowly and smoothly, rather than slamming down with a crash
3. Nearby, on the road below, there's a souvenir shop where goods are left unattended, and a sketchy shed with a “Motel” sign, so if anyone is pinching pennies, you could probably spend the night there for half the price. Although, I couldn't find it on the internet.
Back to the camp. The generator was turned off around eight o'clock, the lights in our tents went out, though in the toilet it stayed on from batteries for another couple of hours. One of the hosts mentioned that they're planning to replace the noisy diesel generator with solar panels, but it won't be right away because it's an expensive endeavor. In the main tent, however, a lantern with a warm yellow light was powered by a huge 40-liter gas cylinder, so the hangout continued until half past nine. Most tourists had taken off by then, leaving only a couple of Bedouins. Veselinka was looking at the stars somewhere on the outskirts of the camp with one of these guys, and judging by her booming laughter, she'd found some booze somewhere, though maybe she just has that kind of personality.
It was quite chilly at night, around 15 degrees, maybe less, but thankfully there was no shortage of blankets. They even offered to move me to a separate tent (I had booked it that way, hoping to sleep in peace), but Rybakov and I had kind of already gotten used to rooming together, so we declined. To the Bedouins' credit, they charged us less — for a double tent, instead of two singles. Dinner also cost very little for such abundance: something around five dinars.
By the way, in a few other places on booking.com there was no option to book a room with twin beds, but the situation was always resolved to our satisfaction: in both Shobak and Eilat we were put into rooms with separate beds.
The day turned out excellent, and the Bedouins left a wonderful impression. I recommend everyone live like this if the opportunity arises: you feel close to nature, but don't shy away from comforts. As for me, it's the best way to travel – as long as there's a shower and a bed. Unfortunately, I'm not making any plans for next year, because right now I can barely walk to the grocery store, that's how awful I feel sometimes. Well, the essence of life is impermanence. Everything is temporary, and this is too.
This is what the camp looks like by daylight
