In the end it was so noisy on the roof with people shouting down to the street below that I had to move to another corner. And someone ate my apples, which is a bit off (and one would be heavenly how).

The muezzin loudspeaker considerately clamped on to the balcony must be loud enough to reach Eilat (it points that way), so woke up at 4.30am. Got up not much later, and walked out to the ferry road, where a monster truck picked me up and took me to the depot. A bus took me to the junctrion, on which I entertained all with my Arabic. Another truck took me most of the way to Rum, during which time I became bosom friends with the driver (wanted to take me home to his family in Amman). And not long after that, piled into the cab of a local lorry which went bucking along Wadi Rum proper with little respect for the grand scenery. Thus arrived safely at 8am, just as resthouse guests were breakfasting.

Camel prices were a little steep, so I pored over the wall map, made a copy and set off. My feet sank deeply into the orange sand so I was going terribly slowly, but eventually settled into a rhythm. Occasionally the sand becomes gravel, or even caked (perahsp it does get water) and the going gets easier, but the clumps of low bush stretch into the distance and to the sides, turning into dots and making the massifs look nearer. Straight ahead is Khaz Ali, with an enormous crevice through the middle, but I trun to the left where another wadi extends perhaps 15km straight ahead. I’m accompanied by a group of flies which crawl over my glasses and nose as they peek through my headscarf, but I get into the habit of lazily wafting the away. As the heat gets oppressive, I head for some shade – I semlll the cool air vefore I reach it, and beneath the rock it is very pleasant/ But my mouth is almost too dry to eat bread.

I change into trousers, button down my sleeves and head off on a last leg before siesta. I’m walking into the sun, breathing throught my nose to conserve water, and when I turn my back, the air turns cool across my face as the sweat meets shade. I think the egal is a sweat band as much as anything. The colours are amazing – the sky an exquisite, clear blue, the rock and sand gentle pink and orange, the low bush a pale green. All is so incredibly clean. Only the skin of my exposed hands has a sickly yellow cast. Looking around for some shade, I see past an abandoned water truck the end of a washing line. Climbing the rise, 2 Bedouin tents come into view, and a man beckons. This is too perfect, I think to myself. The man, about 35, dressed Western style and slightly balding, offers me a rug under the black wool roof. With him are a bunch of ragged, smiling kids, and a plague of buzzing flies. These are not a usual feature, he assures me, as a tall thin daughter brings a wide rimmed aluminium bowl to drink from. It’s certainly cool. Suleiman grew up in Rum, now has 2 wives, 6 daughters and 3 sons, the youngest of whom he kisses and plays with incessantly. His eldes daughters, 14 and 15, are out tending his flock of over 200 sheep, with the help of donkeys. No camels here, but an antique jeep. His wife clad in black emerges from behind the patterned partition and begins pounding leben in a big brass mortar. It is rock hard, and very salty. We drink tea as she turns it into powder. Meliha, the tall, purple dressed 7y old, refills my glass, and I have to keep waving my hand over it to stop the flies drowning in it. The kids run around mplay with elastic bands, and dribble (seem to have coles – and Madame has laryngitis!). We look out across the wadi, past his brother’s tent, and sacks of proviskons are tucked away high among the rosk which the kids samper up to. Suleiman puts a jellabiyeh and keffiyeh on, performs ablutions, and prays to Mecca. I’m about to take a nap when food arrives – torn up pancakes and diced potatoes in a creamy leben sauce. Hands of course, and only the two of us and one son eat. I don’t get to see what’s happening in the 2 other parts of the tent.

Then we sleep. I need to cover my face to ward off flies, but it gets really hot. It was pleasant before, but now the breeze too is scorching, and I wake up parched. Suleiman goes in search of firewood in the jeep – they are having guests to a mansaf (I’m surprised that I’m not invited) – with hardly a word of farewell. So I thank Madame profusely, and Meliha, and stomp off.

The cool wind means that on the level I sweat insensibly – up a rise, and I begin to drip. I keep looking up to the massifs on my right, shading my eyes from the sun looking for el-burdah, the Arch – but I manage to tramp past the whole mesa into yet another enormous wadi without seeing it [3 hour hike to reach it! Maybe not easily visible then]. Rather than walking back, I continue round and begin making my way back up the other side. A short cut turns into a dead end (my own fault for trusting my shoddy map) so now I’m very tired, and an hour later, not entirely sure where I am. A twinge of panic. Underfoot there are a multitude of jeep, camel, sheep, bird and lizard tracks; but looking around, and into the blue yonder, this is probably the most isolated place I’ve ever been. Not good for getting lost in. So I walk on, only sipping water, determined not to pitch until I’m (fairly) certain where I am. Then, despite the gnawing in my stomach, I put the tent up, a symbol of security in this wilderness. The moon rises full as the sun sets quietly – tonight, I think, is the Pleiades meteor shower. I hope I’ve timed it right. But I’ll have to wait for the moon to set. I’m gently rehydrating from my 3.5l water supply, then I’ll try to nibble something.