Mirage
Mirage
Order Now
'The best travel book I've seen this year' - Travelmag.co.uk
In 2019, Victoria set off for Rahat, the world's only Bedouin city. The plan was simple: she would single-handedly reinvent the cultural identity of city's formerly nomadic community. On paper, it all looked straightforward. However, the reality was quite the reverse.
Mirage is a story of failure and frustration. Of plans and promises evaporating into thin air. Of how one woman set out to change the world, but ended up in a deserted portacabin playing backgammon.
The narrative is interspersed with research, photographs and illustrated Bedouin proverbs, offering timeless wisdom for desert survival, both past and present.
A5 Paperback, 156 pages, full colour ISBN: 978-1-80068-251-1
£18.00
£18.00
Please enjoy the following short preview:
To Rahat
To Rahat
As I clambered up the coach steps several people attempted to dissuade me, making it clear, both through words and actions, that this bus was going to Rahat, not the Western White Person’s Town I was obviously looking for. I switched to my very basic Arabic to convince them that I did indeed want to go to Rahat. I tried, with limited success, to reassure the driver and his Prophets of Doom that everything was fine and that I knew what I was getting myself into. On reflection, I probably should have heeded them.
The driver reluctantly took my eight-and-a-half shekels and I boarded the bus triumphantly. Suspicious, confused stares followed me all the way to my seat. The huge black eyes of a small child across the aisle did not waver from my face for the entire journey, his attention wholly diverted from the noisy video game looping untouched in his lap. Smiling at him unfortunately seemed to alarm him even more. I felt a creeping sense of unease over what lay ahead.
For weeks I had agonised over what to wear in order to appear respectful of the town’s conservative Islamic culture and to blend in as much as possible. I had spent a small fortune on long skirts and long-sleeved tops that would cover me without cooking me, and in my bedroom in Scotland it had all looked very apt. But now my floor-length floral dress and thin cardigan felt entirely wrong. More Edwardian than exotic. More nun than nomad. More Miss Bennett than Miss Alkrenawi. No wonder they were all staring at me.
But as the stark silhouette of a tent and grazing camels appeared on the horizon, I knew it was too late to focus on my fashion faux pas. My heart swelled at the sight that seemed so familiar from various clichéd travel photos but still exotic and wildly romantic. As we drove on, increasing piles of rubbish and scrap announced the outskirts of Rahat, bringing a gritty realism to the romance. This was no airbrushed tourist trail - quite the reverse. Corrugated iron shacks, frayed tarpaulins and ramshackle pens of goats competed for space with littered shop fronts and gaudy billboards as civilisations strangely collided.
I began paying close attention to each bus stop. I had studied the map thoroughly in advance, aware that my ancient mobile phone would probably be little help. I was waiting for Al Salam Street, which looked to be in the town centre. The bus route map had shown it would go straight for several stops, then when it turned right that would be my cue to alight. I felt reasonably confident - like most aspects of my trip it all looked quite straightforward on paper.
The bus continued along the endless straight road. There seemed to be no sign of it ever turning right. I glanced around me and realised I was now one of very few passengers left onboard. The driver turned around with increasing frequency, looking at me agitatedly. With a sinking feeling I vaguely remembered many people alighting at a stop beside some shops - that must have been the town centre. However, that was at least five minutes ago and, due to the driver’s foot-to-the-floor style, probably several miles behind us now. As I peered out at the increasingly sparse houses and deserted streets, a discordant clang of alarm bells jangled within me. With horror I realised that, for the second time in one day, I was hopelessly lost. In the world’s only Bedouin city. Dressed as Elizabeth Bennett.
