Goodbye Saudi Arabia – its Bedouins, rangers, camels and royal friendliness

On each other trekking day, every rider had developed their own routine for preparing their camel. My routine consisted of packing all my gear, having breakfast, taking my "walk," and listening to the latest trekking gossip between 6 and 7 a.m.

Around 7 a.m., as the sun broke over the horizon, it was light enough to go to the camels, greet them quietly, and then saddle—or unsaddle—the camel I would be riding that day. Once everything was ready, I returned to camp, applied grease, put on my traditional Arabian clothing over my T-shirt and riding breeches, and zipped up my duffel bag to load it onto the trailer. Afterward, I coordinated communications with Rich and quickly went over all the points with Rory or the day's support vehicles.

I had largely let Tommo, Craig, and James develop their own routines and noticed that Craig preferred to prepare his camel early, while Tommo and James preferred to take care of their equipment and administrative tasks first and only then go to the camels, so as not to have to return to camp. Frankly, it didn't matter which approach they chose, as long as everyone was fully operational by 7:55 a.m. I can only recall one day when this wasn't the case, and that was more due to the Bedouins' "over-helpfulness" than anything else.

The day after our rest day, however, was different. At the end of our ride through Wadi Sorhan, we had to leave the camels behind in front of the camp because of farm fences. This wasn't anyone's fault – Simon had set up camp exactly as discussed and had approached it from the road. We hadn't known about the fences scattered along our route beforehand. As a result, it was impossible to walk straight or follow the contours to reach the camp before nightfall.

So we woke up clean and refreshed on this 14th morning, had breakfast, greased ourselves up, "emptied" ourselves, got dressed and the drivers got into the accompanying Defenders.

Simon and his team stayed at the camp while our two defenders returned to the camels, crossing the road and going around the fences. They were only a few kilometers away as the crow flies, but almost 12 kilometers by car. We found the camels rested and well-fed, and I thought they must have enjoyed their day of rest as much as we had. Little did they know that this would be their last day with us.

I saddled Shagra, who had been my favorite from the start: a huge animal, unusually gray with naturally short fur. While I tied up Sorpan, I spoke to him gently, as always. This camel had truly won me over. At first, the Bedouins had insisted on muzzleding him, saying he was a biter, but he was anything but. He was the opposite of a braggart, calm and reliable, more akin to SF than to Shagra's door-knocking boastfulness. Sorpan carried out his task, whatever was asked of him, without fuss. Had he been human, he would surely have become SRR.

When we arrived, we greeted the Bedouin, who had clearly enjoyed their day of rest – even more so when the final 50 percent payment for the camel contract arrived. This adventure had come as a complete surprise to them, but it changed their lives – the lives of their families and the camels, which, thanks to their proven endurance, demonstrated on television, were now worth considerably more.

We drove along the paved road that was supposed to lead us to Highway 65. Rory had tried to explore both sides of the road on his rest day and reported that farm fences to the east blocked our way, and reinforced border fortifications with restricted zones to the west made that route impossible. We had to drive alongside the road all day.

Although this wasn't quite the ending I had envisioned for our last day in Saudi Arabia, I reflected on the fact that the modern road followed the exact desert path that Lawrence and his men would have used on their way to Damascus.

As we approached the shoulder of the road and headed northwest, several Saudis stopped to photograph the “four crazy white guys with nine ‘British’ camels” ambling past. The atmosphere was jovial, and James and Henry asked if we could stop at a petrol station sometime to take a picture. I informed the KSRNR Special Forces rangers and spent several minutes explaining that it had all been a joke.

Whenever possible, we took access roads through small villages, but after the exertions of the past few days, today's ride was a piece of cake for both riders and camels. The atmosphere was exuberant.

Around midday, we stopped at an underpass to find some shade. We had made good progress. However, this was no ordinary underpass: it marked the beginning of Wadi Bayer – the very spot where Lawrence, Nesib El Bekri, Auda Abu Tayi, Sherif Nasir, and their remaining 38 men (three had died in Wadi Sorhan) had turned southwest to head directly for Aqaba.

Pausing there and gazing down into the wadi was an emotional moment. We would have preferred to follow the original route, but modern geopolitics, tank barriers, minefields, and barbed wire made that impossible. Instead, we had to detour 150 kilometers and three days northwest before rejoining the original route in the wadi in Jordan.

In the afternoon, James and Henry had their photo opportunity at the gas station, much to the surprise of the locals. We continued our journey, bypassing the town of Al Qurayyat to the south. Meanwhile, Prince Musaid and his local VIPs had joined us and led us to the recommended campsite, which bordered the restricted border zone.

Now it was time to say goodbye to our Saudi camels. As we removed their stalls for the last time, we knew we couldn't express our gratitude for everything they had made possible. When we parted ways, both the men and the camels were completely different from those who had set out from Al-Wajh. The camels had been magnificent and were now to be transported back to Tabuk by truck, where they could enjoy a well-deserved rest, feed, and breed. We also said goodbye to the Bedouin who had given us a smile every day, whether they wanted it or not.

We also said a sad goodbye to the KSRNR Special Forces rangers. These men had proven themselves not only as guardians of the environment but also as outstanding companions and protectors. Their desert experience and local knowledge were unparalleled. I once told their leader, Captain Sa'ad, that they were "one of us." He replied, "No, we are not like you." But to me, they were. I will always respect their work and am grateful that we were able to spend so much time with them.

Prince Musaid explained that he had informed the Saudi border officials that we were expected at 9 a.m. the following morning. He distributed gifts to the riders, and we thanked him profusely. I am certain that Prince Musaid al-Naif Sudairy played a significant role in the success of the trek; we owe this wonderful and kind man a great debt of gratitude.

The next morning, all our equipment was packed into the Defenders, which arrived about a kilometer from the border after refueling. (We knew that there would be no resupplies for three days after crossing Jordan.)

At the border, a smiling Saudi official in a kandura waved us to the first of three checkpoints. We were treated kindly throughout the entire process, from stamping our passports to customs, which was polite and straightforward. In the final zone, our documents were checked one last time before we entered no man's land and passed under a gateway bearing the Jordanian flag.

We were waved through and crept to the next barrier, which opened. The convoy stopped, and a familiar face stood at the roadside – Captain G of the Jordanian special forces. He had supervised me a few weeks earlier during my reconnaissance of the Jordan route. I jumped out of the Defender, and the others must have been astonished when we greeted each other with the embrace of old friends.

With this single gesture, Captain G embodied the welcome that awaited us in Jordan. Ahead of us lay nine days of sailing through the Nefud, the Hejaz, and Wadi Rum to Aqaba – and the challenge of surviving Jordanian hospitality.