Driving into the heart of Wadi Rum, I strongly suspected that the Milky Way Campsite would prove to be a galactic disappointment. Raindrops stung my face as our pickup juddered across corrugated dirt. The sand faded to a sickly smoked-salmon hue as bruised clouds pulsed overhead, snuffing out the last flush of dusk. In the gathering gloom, the massif dubbed the “Seven Pillars of Wisdom” glowered dour rather than sagacious.
And yet. An hour later, emerging from the Bedouin tent where I’d feasted on succulent lamb, chicken and vegetables roasted in a traditional zarb (subterranean sand oven), I was greeted by the celestial menagerie: lion and goat, bull and bear, crab and ram, twins and hunters. Glittering constellations marched across clear heavens — and the campsite earned its grandiose moniker.
This stay in Jordan’s southern desert, which just about qualifies as glamping (beds in sturdy tents are comfy and the shared shower block is clean), is a multi-star experience in more ways than one.
Along with Polaris, Sirius and Betelgeuse, luminaries spotted in Wadi Rum include Will Smith, who plays the genie in Guy Ritchie’s live-action remake of Aladdin, which was filmed here. The forthcoming Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker wrapped here last year, while earlier visitors included Matt Damon, battling solitude in 2015’s The Martian, and Peter O’Toole, who famously loathed riding his camel, in Lawrence of Arabia (1962).
The best way to appreciate Jordan’s cinematic good looks isn’t by dromedary or spaceship — it’s on foot. The recently launched Jordan Trail links ancient paths to create a country-length trek across mountains, wadis (valleys) and mesmerising historic sites: crusader castles and Islamic forts, Byzantine mosaics and biblical redoubts. Fortunately, that 650km route is divided into bite-sized chunks, so this spring I joined a small-group tour interspersing sections of the trail with visits to Jordan’s historic wonders.
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We began in the capital, Amman, a largely modern metropolis. Don’t come for Marrakesh-style souks; although tempting perfume and spice shops stud Downtown drags, there’s none of the Arabian Nights allure of Cairo or Fez. Instead, Amman offers a welcome slice of everyday Jordanian life: low-hassle, warm-hearted, a place where haggling doesn’t start pushy and end grumpy.
Sights are similarly low-key. We explored Jabal Al Q’ala (Citadel Hill), on which Ammonites, Romans and 7th-century Umayyad rulers left chunky traces, and a 5,000-seat Roman amphitheatre, scooped from the hillside in the traffic-choked heart of Downtown. Then, in search of walking opportunities, we headed off into the countryside.
This compact nation’s big hitters are strung along a north-south axis, connected by relatively short drives (and the Jordan Trail, of course). Jerash, for example — one of the best-preserved Roman cities in the eastern Mediterranean — is a mere hour north of Amman. Buried under sand and rock by the AD749 earthquake that devastated many sites in Jordan, Jerash was uncovered only 200 years ago. Strolling beneath Hadrian’s Arch — a memento of the Roman emperor’s 2nd-century sojourn — we explored temples and theatres, colonnaded streets and Byzantine churches. Standing in the hefty hippodrome, the roar of a bloodthirsty 15,000-strong mob roared in my mind’s ear.
At dawn two days later, having arrived in Wadi Rum through rain-spattered gloaming, the impact of opening my tent was amplified to jaw-dropping levels. Crag martins flitted from the massif looming over the camp as we sipped rocket-fuel coffee and munched a breakfast of flatbread, halva, za’atar and luscious hummus.
In truth, Wadi Rum is no Empty Quarter. Jeeps buzz to and fro carrying tourists to dozens of campsites, plastic litter flutters across the sand, and the most photogenic sites — rock arches and mushroom-shaped monoliths — can get congested. But, as elsewhere in Jordan, head off on foot to escape the space invaders and you can imagine yourself in a galaxy far, far away. Walks across sand spangled with tiny pink flowers, blooming after that early-spring rainstorm, yielded encounters with Bedouin goatherds and hobbled camels. We roamed past skeletal desert fig trees and mind-bending sandstone columns, squeezing into rock gorges etched by the camel drivers of Umayyad-era trade caravans: images of ibex, feet and people, and graffiti in 1,300-year-old Arabic.
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If Wadi Rum is the desert of Hollywood dreams, Rummana campsite is where the rocks are the stars. This delightfully off-grid spot perched in the upper reaches of Dana Biosphere Reserve, 130km north of Rum, was our home the next night. Don’t come for luxury: there’s no electricity or hot water, and beds are simple mattresses in basic bell tents. The allure is the setting — amid vertiginous sandstone crags, with spectacular valley views across rock domes jumbled like bones in an ossuary — and the silence. No paved road equals perfect peace.
The 320 sq km Dana Reserve spans altitudes from the chilly heights of Rummana, at about 1,500m, to below sea level in the Jordan River valley, and its diverse habitats host wolf and ibex, caracal and some 190 bird species. As the setting sun painted the skeletal outcrops first amber then ochre, I plonked myself on a ledge to watch for some of those avian specialities. Rock partridges erupted from shrubs below, an iridescent Palestine sunbird foraged for nectar, and an endangered Egyptian vulture circled nearby cliffs. Dusk enveloped me like a blanket until the hoot of a distant Scops owl roused me to head back for a typically hearty hiker’s dinner. If you’ve enjoyed a Lebanese mezze, Jordanian cuisine will be familiar: baba ganoush (here called mutabal), falafel, flatbread, olives and the richest, smoothest hummus.
The Jordan Trail descends 1,000m from the Ottoman-era Dana village near Rummana into the arid valley below — and for 15km, so did we. First, we traversed wild herb gardens of sage, artemisia and squill. Lower down, alpine swifts, hoopoes and grackles flitted between rock faces that seem to drip like candle wax, variegated with minerals and smudged with slagheaps from pre-Roman copper mines.
The mercury soared as we descended, so it was with sweaty gratitude that, emerging from the gorge at Feynan Ecolodge, we drained cool drafts of hibiscus juice in the shady inner courtyard. Designed in the style of a traditional caravanserai, this exemplar of sustainable tourism is redolent of romance, not worthiness. Electric lights are confined to bathrooms; elsewhere, candles shimmer and local Bedouin provide a warm welcome, fine service and a post-dinner astronomy lesson, wheeling out a telescope to introduce some of the more obscure constellations.
Think Jordan, of course, and you think Petra, the 2,000-year-old city carved from red rock by the ancient Nabataeans and accessed via the Siq. That narrow canyon was assured silver-screen immortality when Harrison Ford galloped through in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and thousands now follow in his hoofprints: time your visit wrong and you may be overwhelmed by crowds rather than by ancient marvels. From mid-morning, the Siq spews a stream of selfie- snappers into the cliff-ringed grotto fronting the Treasury, shading the grandeur of its 40m-high, urn-topped façade.
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To sidestep frustrations, stay several days, start early and stretch your legs: this sprawling site is laced with trails and pocked by hundreds of temples and cave tombs, some inhabited still by descendants of Bedouin encountered by the Swiss explorer Johann Burckhardt when he “discovered” Petra in 1812. Led by Mahdi, a local guide, we took to the trails for three days of dramatic walking. First we followed the main thoroughfare through Petra from the Treasury, past elaborately carved high-status tombs and along the Colonnaded Street, pausing to admire baths, the amphitheatre and exceptional mosaics in the Byzantine-era church.
Beyond the Great Temple, though, we veered off on to a little-tramped route along Wadi Farasa and into the hills. Carved marvels can be found in these side valleys too: the Coloured Triclinium, its smooth columns candy-striped like seaside rock, and the grand Renaissance and Broken Pediment Tombs, with their proto-Treasury designs. Our goal was the High Place of Sacrifice, where animals were offered up by the ancient Nabataeans to their supreme god, Dushara, and which today provides panoramic vistas across Petra.
A second hike began a few kilometres north of the Treasury in Siq al-Barid, known as Little Petra. The source of Nabataean wealth was international trade, and Little Petra served caravans as “a motel strip, with food, wine, women and song”, Mahdi told us with a smile. The executive suite here was the Painted Biclinium, its surviving 2,000-year-old ceiling frescoes depicting grapes, Bacchus and Cupid, a visual menu of the era’s hospitality.
From there we followed a glorious (and gloriously peaceful) route, another section of the Jordan Trail, winding for 13km south past Neolithic ruins and modern Bedouin encampments before climbing to the “back door” of Petra, guarded by Ad Deir, the 48m-high monastery, etched from a vast rust-red monolith — the city’s most jaw-dropping single monument.
On our final day in Jordan we shed boots for a saline soak in the Dead Sea, where the bizarre bobbing sensation set me giggling like a sugar-crazed toddler. Swimming was impossible — any attempt to turn on to my front was stymied by the supernatural buoyancy. Instead, I simply reclined, peering over my knees as I flapped hands to gingerly scull forward. Perhaps, I mused, that’s an apt metaphor for Jordan. The best way to enjoy this fascinating land? Feet first.
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Need to know
Paul Bloomfield was a guest of Ramblers Walking Holidays (01707 331133, ramblersholidays.co.uk) on its 12-night Jewels of Jordan trip, which costs from £2,599pp, including flights from Heathrow, half-board, the services of a guide and walk leader, entrance fees and local transport. The next departures are on October 18 and November 15. The longest walk is 14 miles, taking about six to seven hours
