LIFE LESSONS

KATY HARRINGTON Got lost, then found myself in the desert

I’m in Jordan, Jordan the country that is. It’s the little one that borders Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia. ‘Be careful’ my mum texts before I leave, but once I arrive, careful quickly becomes carefree. Jordan is a predominately Muslim country, and therefore alcohol is very hard to come by. So, I’m treating my week away like a little trip to the Betty Ford clinic, just with more camels. This week-long alcohol hiatus is badly needed. In typical peak-too-soon form, the night before my trip I go out with my little Texan pocket-rocket pal and after losing a pair of shoes, a birthday card (blank) and a flamingo shaped pencil in a subterranean meat market called Dirty Martini, we end up back in her house. At 4am, I tell everyone I’m going home, which elicits boos and cries of ‘but it’s so early.’ I reply that while I’m sorry to be a party-pooper I have a flight to catch, have done no packing and have no idea where my passport is. Turns out, one of the random dudes from the random nightclub that we dragged back to the party is getting on the same flight. Someone who doesn’t have a maths-related learning disability can work out the odds of bumping into a guy in London who is getting on the same plane as you to the Middle East the next day.

Anyway, here I am, sober as a judge, staring out upon what I can only describe as some epic biblical views. Think planet Tatooine more than planet Earth (and if you don’t get that reference then I highly recommend you call in sick tomorrow because you have a LOT of Star Wars to catch up on). By day, we climb canyons, wade through waterfalls, walk over terracotta desert sand on ill-tempered camels, and are fed aubergines cut, mashed and cooked in every conceivable form. At night we sleep in tents under the glittering Jordanian sky. Who needs rehab?