Nomads, Nabatean orgies, and a bus ride I'd rather forget.
March 15th 2007 It takes 20 minutes for the minibus in Aqaba to fill: a few dour old women shuffle in with plastic shopping bags, a man in a red-checkered kuffiyah limps in with a gnarled wooden cane. He makes a few wisecracks clearly delivered at my expense. “Enjoy the ride, young American,” his wrinkled face suggests. “It is my sincerest wish that a goat’s foreskin finds its way into your morning coffe
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