The desert wind has picked up pretty hard outside, so we've all come inside the communal tent here at the camp. The sun is setting and the light filtering through the goathair tent is becoming burnt orange and red. Everyone's talking, but I feel I need to write about these last few days. I'm not such a tourist anymore, even though I still write like one.
I haven't told my story here yet. Seems I'm so absorbed by the present to write about the past. Bailey and I arrived in Amman at 2AM. I had made a Jordanian friend on the airplane and he helped us wiz through customs to our taxi driver waiting outside. We drove to Madaba, slept, and awoke to hammering. I guess we were sleeping in a little late. Once we were dressed, we walked around the town for 2 hours, looking tall and foreign. There were women with full Burkas and military with AK47s mingling on the sidewalk. We ate falafel and hummus in a pita in a cafe full of traditionally dressed men - a bit daunting, but they paid no attention to us. The town was bustling and a street fight broke out between some teenage boys. Exciting, but we were ready for the quiet of the desert.
Our taxi driver was the same as the night before. We drove a while through a brushy desert, occasionally spotting a herd of goats with a shepherd. A few times, they were standing in the median, all 20 or so goats, eating the precious grass while cars buzzed by at 60mph. We drove beyond the sunset to the Wadi Rum.
Our first stop was the Welcome Center, which seemed more like a police checkpoint. They were curious about us and had us come in a sit down in the office. I was ready for an interrogation, but instead they came out with the most delicious sage tea. We had some friendly conversation and got back in our taxi for Mohammed's house. We had to ask around, but finally found the low concrete house. There are no streetlights in Rum. Only moon and starlight.
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