Day 59 ~ Reflections on Wadi Rum

We’re relaxing on the Gulf of Suez today. The Pacific Princess has slowed to a crawl as we near the town of Suez at the southern end of the canal. We’ll drop anchor there at about 6 PM and wait to be told what number we’ll be in the queue of ships transiting the Suez Canal tomorrow.

But for now, I have more to share about our yesterday.

On the way to Wadi Rum, we got a chance to see a bit of Jordan. It’s a mountainous, arid desert, but like its neighbor Israel, it’s fertile. All that’s needed for agriculture is water and fortunately, the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan has a good source. Deep beneath the desert, there’s a large aquifer they tap into for irrigation and drinking water. To maximize the liquid sunshine and protect tender plants from too much real sun and sand, Jordanian farmers shelter their crops in long plastic casings, like low to the ground greenhouses.

I snapped this next pic of railroad tracks for my dad who was a railroad engineer for many years. A train runs along this track every three days or so—as long as it takes to make a full load of ore from mines in the mountains. I think our guide Akram said they mined and exported potassium from  there, but he was hard to understand sometimes because a rather surly passenger behind me kept loudly asking his wife where they were going, and why, and when they’d get there, and generally grousing about what a waste it all was. (Note to other would-be travelers: Don’t be this guy. If you aren’t interested in discovering new things about the place you’re visiting, please, please, please, stay on the ship!)

Wondering if the sand on the track could lead to a derailment...

The Jordanians have discovered that tourists like the “desert experience,” so numerous camps haves sprung up to cater to these adventurous souls. Most are Bedouin-style tents but they’ve been spruced up with western amenities like AC and electricity, all run by generators growling away behind them.

But one enterprising soul has built a “Space Camp,” inviting guests to stay in other-worldly pods a la the movie The Martian. You can just make out the white, rounded pods to the right of this photo.

Wadi Rum refers to a dry river and Akram told us the whole area was once covered by a shallow sea. When the waters receded they shaped the red sandstone into fantastic formations and cut deep and wide paths through the stone.  Below you’ll see the Seven Pillars of Wisdom (though I count only five myself) so named because that was the title the real Lawrence of Arabia gave to the book he wrote. He’s still held in high esteem there.

By this time it was nearly noon and on the ship we’ve been conditioned to eat at specified times of day, just like Pavlov’s dogs! So our next stop was a Bedouin camp. 

The tents were arranged in a rectangle around an interior courtyard, and the temperature dropped considerably as we stepped into the shade of that thick goat hair roof.

We were greeted with dates and hot tea, bottled water and soft drinks. A pair of musicians serenaded us with a stringed instrument called an “oot,” (probably misspelled but that’s what it sounded like the musician said) and a simple drum.

The vocals were difficult for western ears, but in some eastern cultures, their sense of tonality is actually more sophisticated than ours. We divide a major scale into ½ tones. In India, for example, they divide a scale by ¼ tones, which sounds either flat or sharp to us. Anyway, the more the DH and I clapped for the Bedouin band after each tune, the more others did, too. (The moral of this mini-tale, my dears, is that we can’t judge another country’s art by ours. We need instead to discover what their art means to them. Hmm…which now that I think about it means that have to rethink my distaste of and bias against rap music. )

The meal was served buffet style. A young man was preparing shirok (Again probably misspelled. This is my phonetic version of their word for flat bread). He rolled it out and spun the thin circle of dough until it was big enough to fit over this heated dome to cook. When he handed me a piece, I told him “Shukra” (Once more, my best guess at the spelling of the Arabic word for “thank you.”) He positively beamed at me.

Isn’t it something that almost every culture on earth as some version of flatbread? Tortillas, lefsa, pitas, unleavened bread… Bet you can come up with more.  It’s just a small way in which we’re all alike.

And here’s yet another way we’re all alike…   

The comfort station was a little...ahem...rustic.

PS. I have to tell you about a little adventure Vicki had on her excursion in Aqaba. She and Craig went to Petra and after seeing the Lost City, they went to lunch at a nice restaurant nearby. After their meal, Vicki went to check out a small souk nearby. She was dressed conservatively, but she’s quite a pretty blond and the young men who were selling things wanted to take her home with them.

“No,” she said.

But they wouldn’t take no for an answer, still trying to talk her into going with them. Then she remembered that her Jordanian guide had used the word “exactly” with great emphasis. So she told the young men, “No! Exactly!”  

Evidently, that was the magic word. It shut them up and they left her alone.

When our tablemate Dave heard this story, he said to her husband Craig, “That’s a shame. I bet you coulda got three camels and a goat for her.”

“No,” Craig said. “I’d never go for that. I’d hold out for an old donkey too.”