The next
day we were picked up from our hotel along with two other ladies and we set off
into the desert to see the natural beauty of Wadi Rum. Unfortunately, before we even managed to get
into the 4x4 to start the tour, the driver, Housan, came across as very unfriendly
and aggressive. The ladies we were
taking the tour with asked him when he arrived if there would be a second car arriving
for them as they had booked a private tour (as had we, but we weren't too
concerned about sharing the ride).
Housan simply pointed out a taxi and told them to go back to town if
they weren't happy about the travel arrangements and got in to drive away. His response shocked us all a bit as the
ladies simply wanted to know if we should all get in the one car or wait for a
second one. We all looked dubiously at
each other, shrugged it off and loaded into the 4x4.
So we
set off into the desert with our unfriendly chauffeur and drove non-stop until
the first tourist point which was to see some cave paintings. We were slightly confused when we arrived as
we’d read that on the way into the desert you need to stop at the Visitor’s
Centre to pay the entrance cost, and the cost of our tour had included the
entrance fee however interestingly we never saw the Visitor's Centre and
instead took a back way into the desert.
This annoyed us a bit as the fee goes towards conservation of the area
and we would've much preferred our money to go to keeping the desert beautiful
than into the back pocket of our dishonest driver.
![]() |
Camel train in Wadi Musa |
We got
out to examine the cave paintings, although we actually had no idea what they
were of or who had done them, and Housan had no interest in explaining anything
to us (he was distracted by the famous Jordanian TV star who happened to be
there and spent his time trying to get a photo with him). Housan then retired to the Bedouin tent to
enjoy a tea with his friends, while we sheepishly asked the tour guide of an
Italian group to explain to us what it was we were looking at. We were finally invited in for the customary welcoming
Bedouin tea which was essentially a small cup of mint tea that took 5 seconds
to drink followed by 10 minutes of trying to escape the hard sell of all the
items on display nearby...
After
escaping buying any combs or cups, and avoiding climbing aboard a camel, we
visited the “Forth Rock Bridge” and Sarah climbed up to the top for a photo while
the rest of the group remained down below as they all decided the view was
sufficient from the ground. We then saw
the remains of the house of Lawrence of Arabia, which were not overly
impressive as all that remains are a few mud bricks, but the location is stunning! While we were there we noticed a few other
tourists had a useful map with the major sites shown and described and we enquired
as to where they got it from. They told
us that when they'd paid their entrance fee at the Visitor's Center they'd received
a map of the desert. This confirmed our suspicions
that our driver had deliberately avoided the center so that he could keep our
money.
Out of
interest we asked one of the guys if we could take a look at his map as none of
us knew really where we were. Housan
noticed us take the map and came directly over and asked the young guy if he
spoke Arabic, he said yes, and then the situation got tense and weird. From what we could tell through tone and body
language, Housan started threatening the young guy who then told us in English
that he didn't want to get involved, took his map and retreated, shaking from
the incident. Housan then turned to us
and angrily said that the tour was over and he'd take us back to Aqaba. We were all very confused about what had
happened and thankfully another tour guide who spoke better English intervened
and was able to smooth over the situation and after a few minutes we were able
to continue with our tour.
We
figured out later that Housan must have realised that we knew that he’d been
dodgy by not taking us to the Visitor’s Centre and he probably thought that we
were discussing it with the other tourists and if he was reported he would be
in a lot of trouble, which may explain his aggressive reaction. Regardless of the reason, all four of us were
fairly uncomfortable with continuing the tour with him, but since our only
other option was to return to town we decided we did want to see what else the desert
had to offer and bravely got back in the car.
![]() |
The Mushroom Rock |
The rest
of the tour included the Burdah Rock Bridge, which we only saw from a distance
as it’s a half days hike to climb up it, we saw the famous red sand dunes and
the mushroom rock (which was one of those things that only looks like a
mushroom cause someone called it that, otherwise it would’ve just looked like a
large, strange rock).
By
5.30pm we arrived at the Qutaish Camp where we would be spending the night,
however our travel companions had only booked a day tour and they gratefully
left once they’d seen the camp we were to stay in. We farewelled them and they wished us the
best of luck for surviving the night… The
tent itself wasn’t too bad – the tent that is.
Inside was a dirty mess with blankets that we were afraid to touch, let
alone sleep on. We were glad we’d
thought to bring our silk liners as it’s in situations like these it’s nice to
be cocooned in a protective layer! We
won’t go into details about the state of the toilets, suffice it to say that
behind a rock in the desert was a much nicer option and any form of shower was
completely out of the question as neither of us could hold our breaths long
enough…
![]() |
Carving of Lawrence of Arabia |
Strangely
we were the only people in the entire camp, asides from the six or so ‘staff’
who were lazing around. When we’d put
our stuff in the tent they told us we’d be served a welcome Berber tea so we
sat in the open dining area and waited for half an hour. When nothing had arrived we went and got the
UNO cards to help pass the time and some of the free water we were
promised. They tried to charge us for
the water until we insisted that we’d been sold the tour with the promise that
all water was included, which further enraged our ‘driver’ (who we had worked
out was actually the camp owner) into a screaming fit at us, then he left. Ten minutes later, he had a personality change
(again, which probably is a sign that he has schizophrenia!), and offered us
our free tea – he was truly insane.
Soon
after a busloads of girls rocked up and soon the place was filled with kids
being typical teenagers. We had a half
decent buffet dinner that fortunately we got first dibs at before the teenage
horde… although being all female there was quite a bit of food left over. After dinner was cleared away the ‘party’
started, i.e. terrible, loud music with interesting dance moves mainly done by
the teachers. After about 20 minutes of
being deafened and watching old people grind each other to the pervy leers of
the camp staff, we were bored and decided to go for a walk out into the desert
to watch the sunset.
Thankfully
once we were out in the desert the experience improved. The change of colours was beautiful, as was
the solitude and peace and quiet, and we sat and watched the moonrise from
behind the cliffs. It was a full moon
and it was so bright that we actually had moon shadows!
![]() |
Moonrise over Wadi Musa dunes |
When the
distant boom boom of the music died down, we decided it was time return to the
hellhole camp. We were surprised to find
that all the girls had left which meant that it was only ourselves staying the
night. We felt a little uncomfortable
being the only two tourists in the camp with six burly male staff out in the
desert a long way from anywhere - so we quickly retreated to our tent to try
and sleep as we needed to be up early anyway to catch the morning bus to Wadi
Musa.
Needless
to say, if you’re considering going with these people or booking a tour in
Aqaba – you should avoid Qutaish Tourist Camp and Wadi Rum Desert Services in
Aqaba at all costs. They are dodgy frauds
and shouldn’t be operating a business and don’t care at all about their clientele
or the state of their camp.
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