“We can’t walk that way.”
“No? What about over there?”
My guide Hamoudi Enwaje' al Bedul is offering a lesson in freedom of movement.
We slog north in the vast, dry, white Dead Sea Valley. We walk the shoulder of a busy highway: a road beaded with enormous cargo trucks that tilt under tons of harvested tomatoes. The road: a conveyor belt of tar, built for machines, inhumanly straight, strewn with small, dead birds hit by onrushing windshields.
The bronze dunes of Wadi Araba lie far behind us—their soft sands replaced by hot gravel. Behind us lie the old camel trails that wend through the Transjordan Range, a wall of ...