Bacardi Nights

Not for the first time it's felt as though we've not had enough time on this trip. Our sprint through the Middle East has taken us to sensational sites and through spectacular landscapes, leaving you wishing you had more time to explore in depth, get a bit more off the beaten track and linger to absorb the atmosphere. There is simply so much to see and do here that the weeks could roll by without ever getting bored.

Our journey southwards in Jordan took us to Lawrence of Arabia country as we overnighted at a Bedouin camp in Wadi Rum. This is a magical desertscape with towering sandstone escarpments rising out of the wadi floor like abandoned ships in a dried up sea. The crags have been sculpted by the wind and sand into all manner of contortions and give the impression of pock marking where the rock surface has eroded. The red stone runs a gamut of colours as the sun descends in the evening offering you the full romance of the desert as depicted in countless movies, many of which have been filmed here. These days you tour around in 4WD jeeps, though when Lawrence was holed up here plotting his dramatic seizure of Aquaba during the Arab Revolt of 1917-18, it was camels which powered you around the place. That and the Hejez Railway which was the target of many sabotage actions, but which still cuts a swathe across the landscape on its long journey to Mecca and Medina. We had a riotuous night around the campfire winding down from an exhilarating day, and discovered that despite Islamic prohibitions on alcohol, the Bedouin are rather partial to Bacardi, and oddly, favour beer as their mixer of choice.

Aquaba was our point of departure for catching the ferry across to Egypt and the Sinai Peninsula. The Red Sea clearly isn't named for its colour, as I don't think I've seen a stretch of water quite so blue. The coral reefs give the inshore waters an acquamarine tinge which complements the stark yellow of the Saudi and Sinai mountains either side. Unfortunately we were not allowed on deck so had to content ourselves with porthole views of the world outside while munching on something with a passing resemblance to a cheeseburger. I celebrated my arrival by promptly cracking my head open on the lintel of the truck door while being inspected by customs, so have been touring around Sinai with my own elasticated bandage version of an Islamic headscarf, covered up as far as possible with a Yasser Arafat number which I purchased in Aleppo. Fortunately there is no permanent damage, other than to my image, which is now firmly established as reigning truck plonker.