Wadi Rum Diaries

Cool, powdery red sand slides between our toes as we stand in the silent vastness of Wadi Rum. We've just run up a sand dune which feels more like flour than sand. The jeeps look tiny on the desert floor below surrounded by sand and protruding rock formations. We run, leaping down the dunes like playing in the snow to continue our prehistoric cruise through the sandstone. Staring at the cliffs, you could begin to see pharaohs, pyramids or Petra coming out of the walls. Our Bedouin guides grew up in the Wadi, just like their nomadic ancestors, and were more than happy to tell us that T. E. Lawrence was a punk. As amazing as the red sand and rock formations were, it was the stillness that was overwhelming. The sun on your back, feet in the sand, you could listen to the same silence that caravans of traders heard 2000 years ago.

We found the perfect rock looking west over a valley to watch the sunset in the distant hills. The dramatic colors of the day shone in the golden light. We made our way to camp in the evening glow finding six goat hair tents at the bottom of a tremendous rock face. After a fire, a few cups of Bedouin tea, along with some singing and drumming, we stepped out into the crystal clear night to gaze at the beaming moon. We got back to our tent and dumped a day's worth of red sand out of our shoes.