Back of beyond, beautiful nowhere, cemetery of the Sun. You must click on the photo, to enter its immensity!
To get to this strangely inhuman place, I had to enter a chain of human relationships. I befriended a hotel clerk in Amman, or he befriended me, via whom I met a van driver, who took me a relative’s hotel, where I was introduced to another bus driver, who took me to a village, where I met a family of Bedouin guides. I suspect that, all the time, I traveled the networks of one clan. Finally it came down to one son, with a Range Rover, who took myself and two Australians, out into the big, big desert to his family compound. He took us to the ‘house’ of T. E. Lawrence, he stopped for us to photograph a natural bridge, while he smoked a cigarette. After we arrived, he cooked some lamb and potatoes for dinner. Then he left.
At night, just us, a few coyotes crying, and a starry sky big enough to crush your eyeballs.
In the morning, strange tracery of tracks on the paper of the sands: signatures of snakes, rabbits, even a fox and a tortoise.
On the way back, a long and disputatious cup of tea with another Bedouin, from a different clan, across whose property our guide deigned to make free passage.