Wadi Rum, Jordan 2018

They say you can't go back again. Because it's never quite the same. Sometimes you can, and it works. Wadi Rum desert in the south of Jordan has been a beacon to me since first visiting in 2007 and then having the perfect camel ride in 2008.

The expanded visitor centre was to be expected because of the intervening years, but it's almost featureless, and deserted. It's still early morning despite the hour's drive from Aqaba; by the time the sun becomes ferocious at noon, we will be on our return to town. Our timing permits only a hasty once-over in a shop barely opening up; no chance to see if the interpretive display has also been enhanced. Our group is hurried to several old pickup trucks for the ride to a desert rendezvous, perching two on a side in the back with some sunshade. The transport always varies for these desert incursions.

The experienced locals had estimated in advance how many camels would be required. This time three companions decide to join me. Would-be women warriors ☺

They are friendly (indicating well-treated) animals. Who doesn't love a hug as we mill around to mount? The Scot is a magnet.

Taking the lead camel was almost as good as being alone. My problematic hip joint allows some latitude for hooking my knee ‒ so much more comfortable ‒ but not perfect form. No racing today! As we amble along, the handler lets the camels nibble at some low-growing crunchy savoury grass smelling like thyme. Why is the desert strangely colourless this morning?

Riding high ... Ah. There is no feeling to equal this, merged into a timeless, magnificent planet. We drift along the sand, skirting the majestic cliffs. Carvings and petroglyphs on the rock walls are a common sight. Wadi Rum is a Protected Area and a UNESCO-designated natural and cultural landscape.

Always over too soon, our journey catches up with the non-riders who are shopping for crafts in a large tent. Familiarity. There's the boulder remembering Lawrence. Over one hundred years since the Arab Revolution against the Ottoman Empire, "Aw-renz" is imprinted on the collective memory here; this is only one of the modest commemoratives to him throughout the desert of the Arab Revolt.

After visiting the base of enormous dunes that beg most people to climb, away we rattle in the trucks for a refreshment stop at one of the desert camps. The temperature has risen slyly and fast. The large size of Captain's Desert Camp seems surprisingly anomalous to me. Tourism on a managed scale creates income for many Bedouin families. Here is welcome shade, musicians happily entertain as we sip mint tea, eat dates and small cookies.

The sun is then high above us as we finally turn toward the highway. But we're not leaving the desert before we have a look at the Hejaz Railway train. The railway was built by the Ottomans in the first decade of the twentieth century railway for transport to Aqaba and access to the Red Sea; this restored steam engine now shows its stuff only on special occasions. Ghosts of the filming of "Lawrence of Arabia" hover here.

Who can say if that was to be my last camel ride? Thank you, Wadi Rum, and thank you, Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, for your hospitality. Please stay as fabulous as you are.

© 2019 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Wadi Rum, Jordan 2016

Photo of my camel ride in spectacular Wadi Rum, possibly the most beautiful desert in the world:

That's right. No photo. Didn't happen. No visit. No camel!

My wildly anticipated third visit to Wadi Rum was a bust.

In fact, our entire promised schedule was destroyed by Mother Nature in a fit of November pique. Brings you face to face with climate change, this rainfall that "normally" would have occurred two months earlier. For us, the storm began in Sharm el-Sheik (Sinai, Egypt). Witnessing the dramatic thunder, lightning, downpour, wind, and hail was rather overwhelming in such an arid area. Sharm received its "average" annual rainfall in that one day, its streets turning into rivers of mud.

  

The same deluge had hit south Jordan by the time we reached Aqaba, at the south end of the King's Highway (and the north end of the Red Sea) leading to the high desert. In good faith we set off on the one-hour trip to our destination but at the Wadi Rum Protected Area boundary we were turned back. Although only a few mild rain showers were occurring by then, flash floods from the surrounding mountains had wrecked the tents and preparations of our Bedouin hosts ― impossible to receive us. Not only that, the road was eroding and officials clearly wanted to avoid facing stranded, woebegone tourists.

  

At a standstill while our driver contemplated a tricky about-face manoeuvre, we had to suck up the huge disappointment. Our local guide hastily (and inadequately) improvised his planned discourse. Distant views across the desert did not compensate. Nor did a makeshift tour around Aqaba. Even the inhabitants were excitedly gathered at the vista of a newly-born turbulent river, rushing to the sea beside the highway.

What a terrible shame in more ways than one. Tourism in Egypt everywhere suffered a mortal blow after last year's explosion of a Russian airliner departing from Sharm. So many Egyptians depend on the industry to support their families. They are warm, friendly, good-natured people, trying to stay optimistic. Atmanna laka al'afdal (I wish you the best) from me and my fellow travellers.

Wadi Rum nostalgia:

(https://camelchaser.blogspot.ca/2014/07/wadi-rum-jordan-2008.html)

Photos: BDM

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Baida, Jordan 2007

A side trip, ten miles from Petra, through more stunning country to a mini-Nabatean site. Baida is often called "Little Petra" because of its similar geology and evidence of human occupation. From here, one descends to Wadi Araba, part of the Rift Valley. Like Petra itself, it's a canyon ― you would not want to be caught here when rain causes flash floods ― lined with tombs and grottoes in the cliffs. The ancient Nabatean cisterns are still in use, collecting winter rain for local needs. Intriguing staircases once led to dwellings.

Photo without benefit of sunlight somewhat enhanced

 This is land of the Bedouin, the Bdool tribe. It has been suggested, due to their being unrelated to other nearby tribes, that they are descendants of the original Nabatean inhabitants. In the village of Um Sayhoun they were given homes and government resources along with perpetual use of the surroundings in exchange for abandoning their seasonal cave dwellings in Petra. But their traditional tents and goats continue to dot the landscape. Children were excited to greet some unexpected visitors.

A woman was weaving while someone quickly thought to display local jewellery to tempt us.

Probably the most awesome site here is the partially excavated Neolithic village. Dated to 7,000-6500 BC, it has been called the oldest known site where human beings were agriculturally active. "Some of the archaeological finds date to the 9th and 10th millennia BC."[1]

The village was rebuilt over hundreds, thousands, of years. In the oldest section, house foundations were partially dug into the ground and would have had some shelter overhead. An ancient winepress speaks to their cultivation ― Nabatean wine has been found in tombs in Egypt. The climate was more salubrious and the land more fertile 9000 years ago!

Contemplating this manifestation of (Jordan's segment of) the Great Rift Valley was breathtaking ― absorbing the visuals, feeling the textures, hearing the kids' chatter, breathing the air. Moments out of time.

  

With the assistance of "Petra and Nearby Baida," Ruth's Jordan Jubilee (http://www.jordanjubilee.com/visitjor/petra4.htm : accessed 14 November 2016).

[1] Site plaque: seventh photo.

Photos: BDM, 2007

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Military and Police Camels

What an excuse for extraordinary photos! In the Middle East, South Asia, and parts of Africa, camels have long served in terrain where a horse could not perform. In fact camels still serve a useful role in strategic army and policing commands.

Probably the most exciting and popular part of India's annual Republic Day parade is the Border Security Forces contingent. You would scarcely believe a 36-piece brass band is included in the camel brigade. True! Even Google did this:[1]

Photo: NPR

Just as incredible is the mounted military pipe band of the Pakistan Desert Rangers. The old Empire has a long echo! In daily life the riders and their steeds are in far less colourful attire, musical instruments safely stowed elsewhere we presume.

Photo: Aamir Qureshi

But wait. Not to be outdone, how about the Royal Oman Police Mounted Pipe Band!?? Purely ceremonial, the band along with its camel cavalry exists to promote cultural traditions. Sultan Qaboos clearly has respect for his educational days at Sandhurst Military Academy and subsequent service in a Scottish regiment of the British Army.

Photo: sickchirpse.com

A photo of the Saudi National Guard eludes me. Qatar has a mounted camel unit, and probably so do several more countries of the same climate and traditions.

Qatar Heritage Police. Photo: www.news.CN

Of course what you are seeing are ceremonial dress uniforms and displays. Everyday routine requires their appearance to be much more suited to their desert surroundings. While some camel units have been replaced by tanks, others have transitioned to public law and order duties with high visibility as tourist attractions.

Jordan Royal Desert Forces. Photo: Warrick Page, NY Times

Photo: camelphotos.com

Photo: BDM

Placing Egypt's mounted police in tourist areas was a smart move. A quiet job, perhaps a bit boring?

Historically, army camels have been known since ancient times, at least from Hannibal's crossing of southern Europe. They were far superior to horses as pack animals in terms of cargo weight and distance coverage. As cavalry, they were equally fast and when couched would serve their riders as gun placements or shade from an unforgiving sun.

Recently a Bactrian camel skelton was uncovered in Austria, believed to be part of the Ottoman army besieging Vienna in 1683.[2]

Photo: BBC

The British became accustomed to using camels in their historic campaigns in Africa, India, and the Middle East. Australian troops formed the first companies.

Imperial Camel Corps Brigade, First World War. Photo: Capt. Douglas G. Pearman

Here is the Imperial Camel Corps's ambulance transport, an amazing photo from http://australiancamels.com/camels-in-war/:

The United States Army imported camels to be pack animals in southwest desert areas, a previous post here. Compare the results to Australia's importation of camels in the same nineteenth century period for similar purposes: Oz now has an explosion of feral camels whereas the American southwest has none. 

US Army Camel Experiment reenactment. Photo: Texas Camel Corps

Interestingly, one Australian police force is bringing camels back for desert patrols after a sixty year hiatus.[3] New South Wales has come full circle.

Camels are familiar to United Nations troops who now serve in missions in countries with demanding equatorial terrain, for instance Sudan and Eritrea.

Photo: http://www.defensemedianetwork.com/stories/camels-at-war/

It seems unlikely that the stolid beasts will be completely replaced by tanks.

[1] http://tech.firstpost.com/news-analysis/google-doodle-celebrates-indias-67th-republic-day-with-bsf-camel-contingent-296624.html.

[2] Jonathan Webb, "Intact Ottoman 'War Camel' found in Austrian cellar," BBC News, Science and Environment (http://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-32145248).

[3] NSW Police Force, https://www.facebook.com/nswpoliceforce/?fref=nf.

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Two Years Already?

Jerash, Jordan

Two years is quite a long time in a writer's world. In a few days it will be two years since this blog began. Bloggers tend to mark that sort of anniversary thing, taking ourselves seriously once a year ... if at all. Makes us feel efficient. Or anxious. Will I run out of camel stories before the next one rolls around?

One gets addicted to travel. Not of course to the dreary, practical details (weather forecasts ahead; packing to be hands-free; airport torments) but to the idea of being there, somewhere significant and wondrous, somewhere pulling seductively at your curiosity. What will I have in common with them? Are they much different from us?

Add in a family history addiction and target lands become obvious. Thankfully I have fulfilled most yearnings for the old family origins but it's difficult to decide between ancestors and other attractions. I have no connection to the stunning landscapes of Vietnam or the ancient people of Ethiopia and yet I long to see them.

Then again, my personal travel agenda looks for camel opportunities (oh really?) which further complicates travel decisions. After all, the budget is limited and the body declines. Cruising has become a (not entirely satisfactory) means of exploring new places; comfort becomes an unapologetic necessity at my age but day-long excursions are seldom quite enough.

Well, a few past favourites (actually, all from land trips):

Dutch camel - http://camelchaser.blogspot.com/2015/05/dutch-camel-love.html

Pushkar camel - http://camelchaser.blogspot.com/2014/08/pushkar-india-2008.html

Tozeur camel - http://camelchaser.blogspot.com/2015/10/tozeur-tunisia-2013.html

Shaolin camel - http://camelchaser.blogspot.com/2015/11/shaolin-china-2014.html

And the unforgettable camel show at the docks in Djibouti. Even a panoramic shot would not be wide enough to show the extent of the sheds and the liveliness of the young beauties.

Djibouti camels - http://camelchaser.blogspot.com/2014/04/djibouti-east-africa.html

My draw to a particular part of the world is clear, and is coming not just from the magnificent beasts I admire but also from the mysteries of the Rift Valley ― origins of mankind ― and monuments of age-old civilizations.

Since the earth will drastically change in the next few generations ― is changing now! already polar bears are swimming for their lives to find sanctuary ― I am grateful for whatever historical/archaeological bits I can still see. Regrets? Oh yes. Not going to Syria in 2007 before daesh(1) began destroying humanity's heritage! Not having the suppleness of a 30-year-old to undertake an extended camel safari!

Nonetheless, forging on. Estonia, you are still on my list! ☺

(1) See http://www.northeastern.edu/news/2015/11/3qs-what-using-the-name-daesh-rather-than-isis-or-isil-really-means/.

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Petra, Jordan 2011

Third time lucky? Who said that?

Half a year after the Arab Spring began, a one-day expedition was a choice of Wadi Rum or Petra. Since the cruise Nazi excursion leader said no camel ride option at Wadi Rum, I chose Petra. Our leader has only one priority: getting us on the bus, off the bus, and finally getting us back on the bus at the appointed time. How many times did we hear this: no bus, no boat, no cruise, goodbye vacation.

Our entry port is Aqaba, still the small town of four years ago, destination of savvy scuba divers. I see further signs, though, of a developing, stand-alone tourist resort. Away we go on a two-hour drive up, up into the mountains, 5,000 feet, how high the desert is here! ... and the spectacular scenery I remember. My heart gives a strange lurch as we bypass Wadi Rum off in the distance; I would rather be there. Turning onto the King’s Highway (the ancient route), there are more villages than I recall.

Not much later, we begin the winding descent into Wadi Musa. Four hours here: allowing almost an hour each way for the entrance walk, not much time to traverse the entire “city.” I tell our guide Talal I’m gone once we enter Petra. No problem, but do not miss the bus departure! The entrance walk itself has no shade for the first half; the second part is rough footing through the wadi leading to the Siq. The return hike needs more time because then it’s uphill and the sun in the final part is blistering. Avoiding dehydration is a must.

Some Bedu continue to return to the caves on a seasonal basis. Once we enter the ancient site, I head myself along the cityscape trail. I’m not sure about the timing for reaching the little museum at the end of the trail. My plan is to have a glorious ride back to the Siq (camels are not allowed on the long entrance walk for obscure reasons). In hindsight I’m sorry I didn’t take a camel both ways within the “city” but was enjoying the lack of tourists compared to other times. The vendor stalls are fewer now, indicative of the sudden tourism decline. Marguerite’s (Married to a Bedouin) son Raami has moved to a different spot.

I’ve been walking briskly for about an hour, pausing here and there to buy trinkets or take photos. Only one or two camels pass me. As usual, many donkey rides are on offer, for climbing the surrounding mountains. It would take a young Olympian to attempt the entire ascent on foot, consuming the better part of the day to reach acrophobic heights like the shrine of Aaron (brother of Moses). 

A youngish guy with a donkey spots me. No, I want a camel, I say. Big mistake to speak up: he will get me one. No, I’ve already seen my destination ahead: the camel station by the museum. The ensuing conversation gets more annoying as I understand he doesn’t want me to reach the camel station. I don’t stop. He quotes US$35 to ride back to the Siq. In my bag I have a sole JD$20 bill, but some American cash. I laugh and say JD$15 .. not telling him three years ago I paid a fair price for a first class ride. He is indignant and we have a largely incomprehensible dialogue about the American dollar exchange rate. The camel station still offers more promise. Onward.

He won’t go away. We do more haggling with me up to US$20 and he is stuck at $US30. For like a forty minute ride? I’m getting a creeping Giza feeling — and I should have stayed with it. “His” camel is nowhere in sight but he has a cell phone and somehow his minion, an older guy, beams onto the spot with two decent-looking camels. More arguing, no attempt at charm. I’m almost at the camel station and he throws in the deal-clincher for US$25. His claim that the camels at the station are reserved for a shipload of tourists is highly suspicious but I cave. Maybe I’m having sunstroke. Donkey boy rides off before I can ascertain any names for men or beasts. 

Via sign language the totally taciturn (let’s just say surly) minion agrees to photograph me. Maybe he’s the actual camel owner for all I know. His photography is adequate as far as it goes but no long shot when the friggin’ camel is standing. 

Away we go with him on the lead camel so this is not going to be a thrilling, independent Zsou-Zsou ride. Where has gone the welcome of Petra’s Bedu people? Worries, of course. The slow economy and political uncertainty have made them desperate and more like the Giza rogues. But this year the Giza rogues, perversely, had more charm.

This little tyke was selling bits of stone, mama hovering in the background. The poorest do not have stalls; they spread their crafts on a blanket or send their children about — more children in evidence than previous times, with souvenirs and strings of beaded necklaces. 

About halfway between the midway rest stop and the Siq, my guy stops and at a silent command my camel folds up. What?!! No, no, I say. I’m not getting off – my ride isn’t over! (naturally, there’s no way I can make this camel stand up again.) Minion then informs me rather clearly for all his want of English that this is how far I get for $25. Looks like payback for not forking over US$35. I am so pissed off. He leaves with the camel. Me not happy with my failed bargaining. Now who’s surly? 

Youngster approaches to offer necklaces, quite the patter. One is cheap but two are cheaper (the chosen one is always the most expensive). He motions to sit down ... perhaps anticipating extensive but mutually satisfactory haggling. Or else he senses my now-vulnerable self-esteem. Why not. A couple more kids gather: a live customer! Maybe this is a kids’ co-op. We settle down with some Cokes. 

They have a few stock English phrases but not much interest in learning more. We struggle to find words for what one necklace is made of. Camel bone seems most agreeable to all. I pay for three necklaces trying to tell the boy I made his day. One of the little girls picks it up, “Make my day!” but I don’t think she has a clue about Clint Eastwood. Haggling is exhausting. She shyly gives me a small stone, striated sandstone, the kind the kids try to sell. It’s a piece of Petra to take home. 

Cruise people have mustered by the Siq entrance for a rest. The heat is taking its toll. Clearly, in the allotted time, they did not get far enough to see all the tombs, especially the higher ones requiring some climbing skills and a mastery of vertigo. Treading the sandy parts of the walk back is even harder than navigating the Roman paving stones. Dodging the careening horse carriages is another hazard.

Photograph by Jean Housen, 2010, Wikimedia Commons
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/17/20100925_petra045.JPG

When I stop to rest where the wadi opens into the sun, an unaggressive young man suggests a horse ride to complete the last mile of this trek. Included in my entrance ticket: who knew?! So I get on the horse, grateful for the relief; photo opp is the last thing on my mind. He’s happy to chat away about “Canada” and the Rocky Mountains and horses (among her multiple activities, Queen Rania sponsors care of these Arabian horses in their senior years). This is more like the relaxed, engaging Jordan I remember. The tip he gently recommended was worth it. My timing is good. Enough to browse the Rural Women’s Co-op Shop and not miss the damn bus.

© 2014 Brenda Dougall Merriman. All rights reserved.