I am not quite sure what I liked more - Arava desert or Asif's place, where Yotam, my host, works. Nice and artistic place, self-built constructions and furniture from wood and iron. Yotam's house is a fabulous one-room space with almost every musical instrument around you can think of. I will take from Shaharut the touch of the strong wind, the taste of the Yotam's delicious home-made beer, the view from the top of the hill, the sound of Yotam's guitar playing in the evening and the smell of the pasta prepared with potatos and ... sweet potatos, which surprisingly could go together.

Shaharut showed me another desert beauty. More rocky, windy and flat. Almost lack of sand, which makes the orientation more difficult and the feeling of safeness weaker. Still, because of my host's oasis I enjoyed the calm Bob Dylan's mornings and warm, quiet nights in the middle of the desert in a village of not more than 100 people with no shop in it.

After three months Bedouin desert life, Israel seems to me like a jump back to Europe - good English everywhere, malls, cinema halls, alcohol, short skirts, sex shops, sushi bars, beach, topless girls. Just on the opposite sea shore black clothes with eyes are washing themselves in the sea along with their fat husbands and countless children. Same sea, same coast, divided by a line. I never understood what kind of unit is the land with borders, called country. But I should confess that sometimes one step away makes a huge difference.

I've never crossed a border so easily till now. Almost an airily walk from Aqaba to Eilat, which will provide me a month more staying in Jordan.

Some cities have a shape, like Paris. Some have a colour, like Leuven. Some have smell, like Eilat. Very concrete smell of a certain type of parfume, worn by most of the women in the street. Obviously, it's a modern one. And who can imagine it defines the smell of the whole city :)

The airport is just between the mall and one of the beach's gates. The airplanes are landing and flying off meters above your head. You can see the faces of the people trough the plane windows. I stopped, smiled and waved at them for a while.

I found myself with a strange taste for earrings and even stranger reflex to answer in Arabic. What's more, I even found myself far away from the city a couple of hours later, in a small village in the desert, called Shaharut, where I am hosted by a young carpenter, in whose home I am writing this post, sitting on an antique Christian wooden chair with a cross on the back. 

Here, the desert matches with the image of the desert, created by the movies and cartoons. Tomorrow I will unleash my senses around. Good night.

Several shots from my home in Wadi Rum.