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Silence in the wilderness

Wadi Rum

The 40 days of Lent are typically a time to reflect on Jesus’ 40 days being tempted in the wilderness, and the Israelites’ 40 years wandering through the wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. So it seemed somewhat appropriate that on the second day of Lent, Lois and I headed south from Amman to the desert wilderness of Wadi Rum in Jordan.

It may not have been 40 days, let alone 40 years, that we spent there, but we did manage a bit over 40 hours taking in the wild majesty of that place.

How does one convey the wonder of such a place? It was unlike anywhere I have ever been before. The barren, thirsty land of rocks and sand; the huge, towering landscapes of weathered rocky outcrops; the deep, shadowed canyons; the unexpected fields of purple and white flowers; the seemingly lifeless shrubs and trees that nevertheless sprout green shoots; the wandering flocks of sheep and goats; the Bedouin tents defiantly holding forth against the harsh and bitter terrain; the muted palette of ochre, sienna, russet and olive; the vast and vibrant blueness of the sky; the symphony of stars dancing through the heavens …

For me there was something deeply emotional about being there. At times I felt quite overwhelmed by it all: to be present, in complete, deep silence, surrounded by such timeless grandeur, within which my own life seems but a momentary speck of dust. As I sat on a rock in the early dawn light, I felt I had no choice but to be silent myself.

Let all mortal flesh keep silence…

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Laos: Adventures in a land of serenity III

Caving and Kayaking in Vang Vieng

 

It was dark. Very dark. So dark it was impossible to distinguish between having your eyes open and having them closed. And it was quiet. Not a sound in the still air apart from the odd drop of water from a stalactite and the occasional little rustle as one of us shifted to a more comfortable position. We were sitting on a rock deep in a limestone cave some 20 km north of Vang Vieng – Lois and I, a German fellow-tourist, and our Lao guide. And we had switched off our head torches for a while to take in the awesome silence and stillness of the underworld.

I don’t think I have ever experienced such total darkness and silence. It was awesome. And, surprisingly, not at all oppressive. There was a certain peace and majesty in it – something that touched beyond time, beyond the frantic busyness of the world outside. We were perhaps half a kilometre deep in the mountain and all was still and unchanging. And yet, at the same time, it was changing – imperceptibly, gently, one water drop at a time – the stalactites were growing, changing, forming their wonderful, mysterious shapes in the darkness.

Our one day ‘Discover Vang Vieng’ excursion with Green Discovery was proving to be a good choice of activity – the ‘trekking’ was, in fact, a very gentle amble round to the caves and then past a Hmong Village. But that suited us well, as Lois was struggling with a nasty chest infection while I, unbeknown at the time, was brewing my own mystery fever. We visited three caves – one great tortuous cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites; a second smaller tunnel into the rock which apparently was used by local villagers to provide a route through to the other side of the outcrop and fresh fishing grounds; and a third, flooded cave which we entered in large rubber tubes. As we first got into them, the water, coming straight out of the cave, was cold. But we soon got used to it, and enjoyed the experience pulling ourselves along with a rope into the low-ceilinged darkness.

Outside, the sky was clear and blue as the sun beat down on dry, harvested rice paddies. Water buffaloes wallowed in mud patches, and villagers scooped water from irrigation channels onto their vegetable plots. A profusion of butterflies of exotic shapes and colours fluttered by. And ever over us, the limestone karst hills towered, carrying their own sense of mystery and grandeur.

After a half hour amble along a water course, we were picked up by our tuk tuk and transported to a launching place 10km up river from Vang Vieng. A gentle kayak down the Nam Song in the shade of the limestone hills brought us slowly back to the town. Ignoring the fleets of mad Korean tourists, shouting and splashing from their kayaks, and the riverside rave bars for the young Western backpackers as they went tubing down the river, we simply enjoyed our own leisurely pace, speeding in places over shallow rapids, then drifting slowly down in the deeper stretches, all the while taking in the beauty and peace of this land of serenity, to arrive an hour or two later beside the main bridge in Vang Vieng, pleasantly tired and ready for a refreshing iced tea and a shower.