From one dead place to another

I left the warmth of the bed for Amman - away from all the problems associated with our tangled sheets and our stilted conversations, flurries of touching. Into the night sky, past the clouds which seems fluffy from a distance and then vanish into a mist close-up.

From Amman we travelled south-west, encountering rocky hills which looked like organ pipes and ghost mountains evoking Namibia. We drive to the Dead Sea. Such a curious name, it has always conjured up strange images - a dead mass of water far below sea level. Salt as the killing agent. It is bizarre to think how much species need salt, to think of elephants traversing miles to a salt pan, or digging underground for the precious mineral. Yet too much salt exists here - 8 times more than the ocean - and only small amounts of bacteria and fungi can flourish in the habitat. Once there was enough algae to change the sea from blue to red. Around the edges of the water wildlife exists in the mountains, enough for both Jordan and Israel to have created nature reserves. From the last time I was here, much has changed. Instead of a barren rocky coast and rusty showers, a whole complex has sprung up, exploiting the tourists who flock to the Dead Sea for its healing properties.

Jordanian food I am sure also has its own healing properties. I love the pitta, humous, tsatziki, aubergine dip and my favourite: lamb hotpot with tomato, vegetables and rice. After dinner have coffee in a local shop, where the babble of Arabic and laughter fills the perfumed night. I feel very far from home and the chords of desire which have entrapped me in the muddy depths.