October 19, 2004
In the land the prophet Mohammed called home, there is an overwhelming sense of filth: plastic bags, discarded tires, or pieces of the same. Each settlement is surrounded by the usual mess associated with humans - even the poor camels don't escape it, as I saw one with a plastic bag lodged to his foot.
However, in Jordan, there was more of a respite. In the boiling desert sands, one can escape the mundane and receive internal messages clearer than at any other time. The first message I got in Jordan was to take a break, as my car nearly toppled off the side of the road and into the desert below when I fumbled for a tape in the passenger's seat.
Word to the wise: in Jordan, make sure you say you're originally Irish because you get much more kudos!
From journal Jeddah to Dublin to Dundalk in a hurry