Wadi Rum is locally known as the Valley of the Moon… and 720 square kilometres of stunning desert landscape. It’s a fully protected area renowned for its dramatic natural beauty and cultural significance… and characterized by vast expanses of red and golden sand, towering sandstone and granite rock formations… and deep, narrow canyons.
Truly spectacular.
The area is also home to the Bedouin tribes who have lived in the desert for generations.
Ok… so we arrive at the entrance to Wadi Rum quite early… and all that we’ve been told and all that we’ve read is that Jordan is so much more slack than Saudi Arabia. I had walked around Aqaba the day before and seen women scantily clad. So why wouldn’t I make the decision to put my shorts on… to go into a desert… in the back of a pickup truck.
It seemed like a logical choice for the day.
Yet… as soon as I got off the truck, Mickey made a rude comment about how short my shorts were. Short? Like… vixen-level short??
Fantastic.
Cue the wave of insecurity.
I changed and put on a dress that I had handy. And when I say ‘handy,’ it was a dress I never wore, I wasn’t comfortable in… and was stuffed into a bag that held a bunch of souvenirs.
Mickey has this way of framing her comments as “helpful,” but they’re nearly always condescending and cruel. She claimed she was worried I’d be cold.
Sure, Mickey.
Thanks for your thoughtful concern about my temperature.
While we were all waiting there, a few of us stepped up to pay for the three vehicles required to take us all into Wadi Rum. They were around 75 Jordan riyal each.
Get this…
Sue paid for one.
Warren paid for one.
I paid for one.
Then… Sue approached me and said “who’s in your vehicle so far?” I responded by telling her, “Me, Vic and Tania.”
That was it… so far.
We thought we were safe from Sue because she had paid for her own vehicle. But then it happened.
“Oh ok… I’ll jump in with you guys!”
Nooooooooo!!!!!
“After all… birders need to stick together.”
Tania was NOT impressed.
So it was Vic, Tania, Sue, Karen, myself and Stormin’ Norman. The real dream team.
Martin didn’t come because he was sick. I remember thinking that it was probably quite a good thing that he was in the front seat… away from contaminating all of us. Plus he never socialized with us anyway… so we’d hardly catch what he had.
I definitely had another think coming.
Anyway…
We found ourselves sitting in the back of a pickup truck, with bench-style seats running along either side. Each side fit three people, but the last seat at the very back of the bed was a bit nerve-wracking… as it had no barrier. With the truck constantly stopping and starting, it felt like you might fall out at any given moment.
Everyone in the group was considerate, taking turns in the middle and at the back… making sure it was fair for everyone. Everyone… that is… except for Stormin’ Norman. When I suggested we rotate seats to give everyone a fair chance at a safer spot, Stormin’ flatly refused, saying he was perfectly comfortable where he was… and wouldn’t be budging.
What a gentleman.
What a gentleman, indeed.
This left Karen and Sue to swap around on their bench side… each taking their turn nervously perched at the edge, frightened they’d plummet to the Wadi Rum death.
On top of being greedy and fastidious, Stormin’ had to jump up and be the first off the truck at each stop… even if it meant pushing us out of the way. He was always the first back into the truck too… to claim his prize seat.
If I thought Wadi Rum would be anything like Wadi Disah, I was wrong.
It was beautiful. Yes.
It was immense… so incredibly big, so vast, so open. It felt like stepping onto the surface of the moon. There were no lush oases, no palms, no trace of water… anywhere. Just an endless, surreal expanse of sand and sandstone and granite.
We climbed bright red sand dunes.
We saw the decrepit house of Lawrence of Arabia.
We hiked into deep, narrow canyons.
I wore the worst shoes imaginable for all the rocks and cliffs and canyons and climbing… but at least I wasn’t wearing vixen shorts…
I could see why so many movies were filmed here. The place had an almost dreamlike quality… out of this world.
I had so much lunch, I was feeling kind… (because I’m practicing kindness and tolerance now, of course) and I shared one of my previous evening pitas with Sue. She went from not speaking to me to being my bestie.
Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
Typical.
“Wadi Rum is more than just a desert; it’s a place of sublime beauty, where nature’s artistry and human history converge in a landscape that inspires awe and wonder.”
After traveling through the Wadi, we were all supposed to board a train that recreated some grand era of the Ottoman Empire. Don’t ask me for more details… that’s all I knew.
It was scheduled to arrive at 3.
It didn’t.
Typical.
From there… we were headed to Petra, where we would be staying for two nights.
On the way there… the Geisha sat in the vehicle ALL DAY, coughing relentlessly… hacking up phlegm… wheezing… and sputtering in a way that seemed like he might actually bring up a fur ball. His face was bright beat red… in near convulsions… while strings of mucus-loaded, sickly saliva visibly sprayed from the corners of his contaminated mouth.
It was revolting.
No.
It was worse than revolting.
This went on for the entire drive.
He made absolutely zero effort to cover his mouth… didn’t once bother to apologize to those around him… and never once thought to say “excuse me”… let alone use a tissue or napkin.
As if that all wasn’t bad enough, he polished off an entire bottle of red wine in between hacks and wheezes… claiming it was his “medicine.” With each sip, his coughing, his spitting up and his expulsion of mucus only grew worse. I have no idea who he thought he was impressing.
At one point, we stopped at a scenic viewpoint atop a mountain, with an adorable little gift shop. Somehow… his behavior managed to sink to an even more appalling level.
Hard to imagine, I know.
He stood there, at the counter of the gift shop, shoveling chips into his mouth like a starved animal… chewing loudly with his mouth wide open… chip crumbs tumbling to the ground and making a huge mess. To make matters worse, he was farting uncontrollably and generally making himself an unbearable embarrassment to all of us.
But the worst part was his abominable rudeness to the staff. Drunk and belligerent, he caused a scene when one of the clerks couldn’t break a large bill he’d handed over. Despite their polite attempts to upsell him on another bag of chips to even out the change, he threw a tantrum, shouting, “No, no, no! I want my money!”
It was disgraceful.
Eventually, the staff just had to cut their losses and give in to shut him up. He then strutted back to the truck, bragging about what a “great deal” he’d gotten… when, in reality, he’d blatantly taken advantage of their patience and kindness.
The entire bus had to wait for him when he then disappeared somewhere… leaving everyone annoyed and frustrated. Rosanna finally muttered under her breath, “Is this a booze cruise?”
The Geisha is a disgrace… and utterly disgusting. And somehow… and I have no idea how he manages it… he gets worse with every passing moment.
I knew we were going to get sick.
All of us.
What do you expect from someone who hasn’t worked since he was a teenager? Ya… he’s living on a large inheritance…
… and has no manners at all.
We arrived at Petra a little later than expected. Some of us briefly considered going to the nighttime light show… but exhaustion prevailed… and it was very cold.
Yes, very cold.
And yes, I’m Canadian… which apparently means I should be immune to cold weather, hailing as I do from the land of ice and snow. But trust me… it was cold.
I upgraded my accommodations again… because, honestly, I just can’t deal with anyone in the group anymore. At least not anyone that I would have shared a room with. I am desperate for my own space… every single day. I ended up spending most of the evening unwinding in my room, doing my own thing… before heading upstairs to meet Mickey for a few drinks. The hotel bar was eerily quiet… just the two of us… and while the alcohol was pricey, sometimes you have to make sacrifices when you’re at one of the wonders of the world… and haven’t had a proper drink in over three weeks.
Well… except for the other night…
The next day, after a slow, leisurely start, I made my way to the famous archaeological site.
It seems like by now, everyone in the group has settled into their own cliques… only spending time with the people they genuinely want to be around.
Maybe “genuinely” is the wrong word to use…
For me… that usually means I’m either alone or with Vic and Tanya. Sue and Persnickety are inseparable… much to the group’s dismay, as we inevitably have to endure the endless recounting of their torturous time together later… from Sue. Rebekah tends to tag along with them… while Stormin’ storms off solo, determined to claim “first there” status at every destination.
Then there’s Mr. Meat, who’s spent most of the trip grumbling about how he doesn’t have anyone to hang out with. Lately he’s latched onto the Geisha… and even though he doesn’t have many kind words to say about him… it’s slim pickings ‘round here. The Geisha provides Mr. Meat with his much-needed daily plans and information… so he’s forced to keep his mouth shut for the most part. Plus… they’re both Trumpeteers.
The Germans are always together and frequently team up with the Trump supporters, forming a solid foursome. Graham, who used to trail after Kind Brian, now seems a bit adrift… so he’ll often join the “freaky four”… or pretty much anyone who extends an invitation. Karen and Mickey rarely do much of anything, but when they do, they tend to pair up.
And then there’s Martin and Rosanna. Martin’s made it abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with the rest of us. It’s always just him and Rosanna, and he rarely lets her out of his sight… which definitely doesn’t sit well with Mickey.
Oh well.
Petra was about a 25-minute walk from the hotel… and thanks to my recently purchased Jordan Pass, I had easy access to the “Rose City.”The site itself was meant to be truly phenomenal.
I couldn’t wait.
As everyone knows, Petra is the ancient archaeological city, famous for its rock-cut architecture. It was the capital of the Nabataean Kingdom around the 4th century BC and became a major trading hub due to its strategic location at the crossroads of trade routes connecting Arabia, Egypt and the Mediterranean.
The iconic and intricate carvings into the reddish-pink sandstone cliffs were breathtakingly. How they managed to carve such detailed façades into such a massive rock face baffles me.
In 1985, Petra was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site… and in 2007, it was named one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.
It was a lot of walking and I’m glad I took off my Birkenstocks or I wouldn’t have been able to make some of the treks and climbs I did while I was there.
The shopping options were plentiful… as usual in a tourist destination… with countless gifts and trinkets on display. I ended up buying a ring and a bracelet… but the shopping and browsing experience wasn’t without its frustrations. People hounded me. Hounded. The relentless badgering by vendors made it exhausting. Once inside a shop, prices were absurdly expensive… even something as simple as a small bottle of juice cost a small fortune.
We almost had the entire site to ourselves. There were probably no more than 400 people there… the entire day. The atmosphere lacked the liveliness and craziness I’d heard it was known for… though that’s hardly surprising given the turmoil in neighboring countries.
At times, the harassment went beyond overwhelming. It was too much. The constant offers of necklaces or postcards or donkey rides was relentless… and often they would literally block your path to pester and prod. One particularly persistent child wouldn’t leave me alone at all. It went from annoying to alarming… to quite frightening when he started following me and yelling at me. At one point, he even tried to grab for my phone.
Just as I was preparing to leave, I noticed him bothering an American couple. They were good sports for a while… but the husband finally snapped… turned around, and firmly told the boy off, screaming at him to stop harassing them.
The area is home to Bedouin tribes, just like Wadi Rum… and I completely understand that people are trying their best to make a living. But the constant badgering sometimes crosses the line… making it extremely difficult to enjoy the experience.
I ran into Vic and Tania after a while and they were enthusiastically urging me to take a donkey ride up to see the monastery. I was seriously debating it… but the trouble was, I was already feeling completely drained, like I’d hit a wall. I wasn’t sure I had the energy.
Then I heard that Persnickety was up there. That was all it took to seal my fate.
My day at Petra had come to an end.
It just felt like I was just going through the motions, not enjoying myself at all. Like an out of body experience… but there I was, in my body… and I felt absolutely awful.
I just couldn’t go on.
I had to return to the hotel.
Quickly.
My legs were so appallingly lethargic that I wasn’t even sure I’d make it… walking all the way back through the canyon. If someone had passed by with a donkey or a camel, I would’ve gladly jumped on.
I knew exactly what was going on.
I was sick.
And I knew exactly why…thanks to that barbarous clown coughing and hacking his repugnant germs all over us and everything we touched. Somehow… I managed to stumble through and catch a taxi back to the hotel.
It was 3pm.
I collapsed into bed and didn’t move until 8am, the following morning.
We were ALL sick.
Backlocker was set for 8:15am… with wheels rolling by 8:30am. I stayed in bed until the very last second… and then dragged my sorry, nauseated fat ass to the elevator. When the doors opened… there they were…Karen, Graham… and the goddam Geisha. I graciously offered to wait for the next one, not necessarily because I was being polite and knew I was too sick to be sharing confined spaces… but because I was miserable and right at that moment, I only had hated in my heart for the Geisha.
Everyone was sick… except for Graham.
That moron had coughed and wheezed all over the rest of us… spreading his plague like it was a gift.
When I stepped into the elevator, I couldn’t help myself but make a snide comment about how we might all benefit from EVERYONE using basic hygienic measures from now on… like covering our mouths when coughing. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my thinking. Right after the truck started rolling, Rosanna made almost the exact same speech.
I decided to be proactive and offered everyone a vitamin C tablet.
Well… not exactly everyone.
Norman declined, saying it would “contaminate” his water bottle… but he’s a special breed.
The Geisha proudly announced that he only had “a small case of the sniffles” and wasn’t as bad off as the rest of us. Oh, really?
The sniffles?
He’s the reason we’re all sick in the first place.
When I offered Mickey a vitamin C, she told me she preferred to “work off illness naturally.” As if I was offering her crystal meth… and not an effervescent vitamin tablet.
She’s… odd.
Speaking of odd, she told a rather peculiar “joke” the other day… about a kid at breakfast with his mom. Bear with me… When the waitress asked what he wanted, he said, “I want to eat the unborn.” Then his mom told the waitress he meant he wanted eggs.
Creepy.
Right?
… and appallingly unfunny.
Rosanna was in hysterics. I just stood there, waiting for the actual punchline that never came. That was it. That was the joke. Apparently, it was “so frickin’ funny.”
Someone needs to get me off this tour. Honestly, I can’t believe no one has come to my rescue yet…
The rest of the drive, I sat in the truck feeling miserable… wishing I could’ve just stayed in bed.
Oh… how I longed for a bed.
Every. Single. Night.
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