Perhaps drama is the wrong word… I don’t break any bones and the camel survives unscathed.

(Although if you’re looking for real camel drama, check out fellow travel blogger Young Adventuress’s scary incident during her Jordan adventures. Luckily she is fine!)

I always knew I’d ride a camel someday — it was just a matter of being in the right place, and Jordan presents the first opportunity.

When Nadjah arranged my trip to Wadi Rum, he mentioned that I’ll have the option of paying for a camel ride upon my departure. Local families who live near the entrance of Wadi Rum are happy to oblige any guests — for a nominal fee ($15), you can ride around the area atop a camel for one hour.

Spoiler alert: I only last 30 minutes.

This is Ali’an, the 13-year-old camel who kindly — but not too willingly — takes me on a short, bumpy jaunt.

It starts out innocently enough. I climb on, he stands up, and we clipity-clop towards the same ancient ruins I photographed upon my arrival in Wadi Rum.

I’m a little a lot obsessed with these silhouettes. Those legs! That neck! Our shadows photograph beautifully against the early morning sun.

My Wadi Rum tent-mate Ashley walks out towards the ruins and kindly snaps these photos of me on Ali’an. Here’s Ashley:

I climb back on and can already feel the impact of those clippity-clops on my hips. A cushion would help…

But the views are GORGEOUS so I shut my mouth and snap away.

About 30 minutes after we set out, I’m done. We arrive back on the main (read: only) paved street in Wadi Rum.

The teenager leading my camel ride points out this baby camel (on the right, below) with its mama.

Then Ashley and I split a taxi ride to Aqaba, about an hour away from Wadi Rum. It’s a city on the Red Sea, only a few miles from the Israel border where I’ll cross over by foot tomorrow.

I’m staying a few miles away from downtown where the resorts are located. One of them — International Arab Dive Center — also has dorm rooms available for a reasonable price given the location and amenities ($25 a night booked via Hostel World).

Upon request, a driver at the hostel / hotel will drop you off at the Red Sea and pick you up at a designated time. But it’s only a 15 minute walk if you want to go on your own.

The water is pretty and I’m glad to be here, but it’s less relaxing than it looks. I’m nervous to swim because it means leaving my (locked) backpack on the beach — and even in plain sight, I’m concerned about someone snatching it. It’s the bummer of solo travel… no one to watch your stuff! But I befriend a couple on the beach and they kindly keep an eye on it while I spend 10 minutes in the water. It’s rocky and I don’t have beach shoes with me, plus I’ve been warned there might be stonefish which can be deadly (oh joy). So I stick to the shallow water for a few minutes and then call it a day. I could’ve rented a snorkel and mask from the hotel — a good idea — but I’m running low on Jordanian Dinars and hope to stretch my cash until I get to the Israel border tomorrow.

I spend the rest of my time on the (windy) beach reading and snapping photos.

These guys — clearly in the middle of some sort of lesson — spot my camera and ask me to take their picture.

Then the rest of the class joins in!

And then a camel trots by. Only in Jordan. (Or Israel, or Egypt, or…)

Back at the hotel, I go for a dip in the pool and make more progress on my book until sunset.

The next day I call the same taxi driver who brought me here from Wadi Rum — his name is Hussain, a friend of Nadjah’s — to confirm a ride to the Israel border. The day before he promised me a good rate well below the standard fare and wanted to take me to dinner. Ha, such service! I decline dinner but take him up on a cab ride to Israel.

And this is where being a solo female traveler is handy. As I wrote above, I’m trying to make my cash last until the border, but I need to stop in town to pick up postcards (I bought stamps in Petra, but the postcards there were pixelated). So I ask Hussain if we can make one quick stop in Aqaba to buy postcards. As I expect, he readily agrees, and even goes into the shop to barter for me so that I don’t get the tourist price. Then he drives me around the corner to the post office and WAITS 20 MINUTES while I write and address eight postcards.

Did I mention he had fancy chocolates in the car? And that I ate them because I’d only ordered the budget-friendly hummus and pita for dinner the previous night?

If it sounds like I’m taking advantage, he’s having a ball driving me on these postcard errands — rolling down the windows to joke with his fellow taxi-driver friends that we’re getting married. It’s all in good fun and I’m happy to go along with the joke.

Shortly thereafter Hussain drops me off at the Israel border, where I pay him with all of my remaining pocket change and small bills (about $15 for about an hour of service). THANK YOU for the affordable ride and post office stop!

I have one more Jordan post coming tomorrow… a FOOD recap.