Standing Istanbul airport in a queue for the Manchester flight I scan Phoebe Patel’s Facebook photos over her shoulder. She has just returned with doing an almost identical trip to Jordan with a boyfriend. Except. She did not seem to have gone much beyond the Treasury in Petra and in Wadi Rum they stayed in the Sun City Eco Dome Camp, which offers wifi, scented face towels and fresh on arrival. No hours in a dusty yard with miserable Mohamed playing games on his phone. I saw no pictures of rocks and dusty expanses. No sweat drenched selfies after scaling a jebel. There was not a speck of dust on Phoebe’s beautifully polished boots.
But ours was the authentic Beduin experience! We suffered for it. We rode on uncomfortable busses, we had cockroaches in our rooms, we took pictures of ourselves looking pained and parched atop sand dunes. We came back tired and dirty with cold and sore throats. And we have been doing similar stuff since 1974.
You should be looking over my shoulder Miss Patel. How jealous you would be see the real, authentic, traveller experience on my phone. Probably not. Must likely my pictures would induce a shudder and the thought ‘there but for the grace of god.’ No free wifi?!
But ours was the authentic Beduin experience! We suffered for it. We rode on uncomfortable busses, we had cockroaches in our rooms, we took pictures of ourselves looking pained and parched atop sand dunes. We came back tired and dirty with cold and sore throats. And we have been doing similar stuff since 1974.
You should be looking over my shoulder Miss Patel. How jealous you would be see the real, authentic, traveller experience on my phone. Probably not. Must likely my pictures would induce a shudder and the thought ‘there but for the grace of god.’ No free wifi?!