“When the police stop your car, they’re just making sure you’re okay.”
That’s what the guys says when he meets us at our hostel in Amman, Jordan to hand over the rental car.
“To ask us if we’re okay?”
“Yes. He’ll be able to tell you’re a tourist by the license plate. He’ll want to know if you’re enjoying yourselves.”
We nod. And try not to steal a look at each other.
We decided to rent a car in Jordan. Something we hadn’t considered a few days earlier but we’d met a few women on our Nile Cruise in Egypt who were going to rent a car. And they said it’s cheaper and easier. H drove in Napoli so we’re basically ready for anything.
We don’t get stopped until we’re close to our destination, Wadi Rum. A desert in the south of Jordan where we’re camping in rustic glamping style tents for the night.
The officer flags us over and we stop.
We say hello, and on hearing us speak English one of the officers steps to the front.
The questions are fast: “Where are you headed? What do you think of Jordan? Are you enjoying yourself?”
And we’re on our way. It’s a bit like a greeter is meeting you.
We make it to the outskirts of Wadi Rum, show our passports and Tourist visa and head in. We’re meeting the “brother” of our host. (This term is used loosely it seems. We met multiple brothers.) We do a three-ish hour tour of the desert before heading to camp. We hike sand dunes, scamper up rocks, climb down caverns, snowboard down hills—H falls epically and has sand stuck to his body for 48 hours.
Before sunset the brother drops us back at the camp and we watch the sunset, have a traditional Bedouin dinner that’s made in a covered fire in the ground, and then stay up watching the stars with a French woman.
In the morning we wake for sunrise, H does a more aggressive walk up a rock face while I lounge on a daybed outdoors and talk to a woman from the US.
I didn’t expect to love the desert this much. But I do. Note to self, seek out more deserts.
As we finish the tour around Jordan—Wadi Rum to Petra to The Dead Sea to Amman—we only get stopped once more. We slow down and the man asks, “what’s your name?” We respond, and he waves us on.
