Middle East - Anthony Ham [11]
Jenny Walker
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For an intimate picture of the ways that the Bedouin, like Mahmoud, make Petra their own, read Married to a Bedouin by Marguerite van Geldermalsen. The author met her husband in 1978 while backpacking around Jordan and spent the next two decades living near his extended family within the ancient city, raising three children and running the local clinic.
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Careful Handling in Wadi Rum
We gripped the frosty rails of Vehicle Number 1 and headed for a sandy rise, safe in the hands of our Bedouin driver. Having written our own off-road guide, we knew exactly what he would be thinking – is it the right speed for the incline? Will the engine cope? Can we reverse downhill if necessary? But today it wasn’t our responsibility, so when Vehicle Number 1 ground to a halt, spraying sand from all four wheels independently, we just laughed.
Time for Vehicle Number 2: a stranger bundled us into his cosy pickup and sailed competently over the dune, finding time with one hand to wrap me in a goat-hair blanket while answering his mobile with the other. He was ‘on business’ at a nearby camp but detoured to unload us into Vehicle Number 3.
Number 3 was a work of art – dashboard padded with sheepskin, dangling talismans against the evil eye, a door attached with masking tape and an absent handbrake. Unfortunately, there was an absence of petrol too and so we unwrapped our picnic, resigned to a long wait. One bite into a cow-cheese triangle and Vehicle Number 4 arrived, backfiring like a mule on chilli. Five minutes aboard this bucking bronco and it sneezed out the drive shaft.
The sun sank behind great auburn pillars of sandstone and it was mind-numbingly cold so we were pleased when a whistle produced Vehicle Number 5 – with its 14-year-old driver. With superb skill he delivered us to base and drove off without waiting for thanks.
Our memorable journey was a seamless display of care. None of the drivers asked us for money; they simply delivered us hand-over-hand into safety. The Bedouin don’t pay lip service to ‘hospitality’ – they live it.
Jenny Walker
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TE Lawrence didn’t have the luxury of mechanised transport in the desert but he did document the extraordinary hospitality (not to mention irascibility and stubbornness) of the Howeitat of Wadi Rum in Seven Pillars of Wisdom. This epic account of the Arab Revolt, in which he took part, remains the most intimate account of this region ever written in English.
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ISRAEL
A Hard day at the beach
There’s no better a day in Israel than one spent on the beach in September. The weather’s perfect – hot but not blistering; breezy but not sand-blinding – and the Mediterranean’s warm and glassy as a soothing bath. The crowds of international tourists have gone home, the Israeli kids are back at school, and the local, vocal lifeguards have closed their megaphones for the season, leaving vast swathes of sparkling sand for the rest of us to relish.
Our usual lazy location is a beach just north of Tel Aviv, since there’s safe paddling for the children and a strong line in passionfruit margaritas for the grown-ups. We pick a shady spot, strip our tribe of toddlers down to the bare essentials, and settle in for sandcastles, sun and snacks. It’s the most mellow day out you could hope for in the midst of the Middle East.
Today, I’ve brought along a British friend’s two little children to play with our gang of four. Armed with buckets and spades, I head down the steps to the beach in sole charge of my group of six blonde-haired, blue-eyed under-4s, constantly counting the numbers to ensure no one’s gone AWOL.
‘French fries, everyone,’ I call, as the legion of little children trots eagerly along behind me all the way to the waterfront. At this time of year, the beach’s usual crowds have been replaced by a regular clientele of squawking old ladies, gossiping, smoking and playing cards beneath their parasols. I