The road to Wadi Dana is long and deserted. No signs indicate where to go. We walk to the edge and look out. An endless stony desert, interrupted by dry bushes that somehow survive with the little water they can draw from the ground and the occasional rain that falls. The valley stretches in front of us, turning into an ocean of hills and mountains in the distance.
We pass an invisible line and what opens ahead of us is breathtaking. Wadi Rum, this gigantic desert used to be an ocean, too. In a rudimentary truck we are flying across the desert. Time stands still. My eyes move across the sand, stretching to the horizon, the dark mountains rising majestically into the blue sky, dark masses connecting the beige ground with the blue sky. Fragmented forms reminding of human bodies, the waves of the ocean, freshly fallen snow and the leathery skin of a reptile are contained in the rock formations.
I breathe in, fill my lungs with salty air, and breathe out deeply. In front of me a paradoxical mirror of water stretches to the horizon. I know it’s tiny, yet it seems endless. We stand on red and beige rocks, with the occasional drifts into orange and a soft, greyish blue. On the one hand the silvery sea extends to the horizon, on the other hand an endless stream of cars and trucks passing rumbling.