‘Bedouin never get lost in the desert – no, never. We follow the stars.’

There was something in those words and in the way he said them that struck me profoundly. We sat in silence for a moment, letting the night sky wash over us. Inky black waves in an endless sea of stars. A new moon meant no moonlight – without the stars to show the way through the void, we would’ve been encased in total darkness.

The Milky Way leapt gracefully from horizon to horizon, touching the silhouettes of desert canyons and mountains.  As the stars reached the zenith, the curve of the earth was clear and vast. I felt small and insignificant, completely in awe at the immensity before me. To know these stars as the Bedouin do – to learn their names and read them like a map – seemed impossible. Yet our guide knew them by heart, and he pointed out the brightest constellations.

From our perch on a massive boulder, the entire world seemed laid out before us. The White desert of Wadi Rum was empty and silent. Our voices echoed off the distant mountains. Alone in the darkness, this world was ours.

My fiance Patrick and I spent one day and night with Bedouin Directions in Wadi Rum, Jordan. Our guide, Ahmed, had earlier taken us on an incredible private Jeep tour of the Red desert – an experience that could only compare to an exploration of Mars. Then, as the sun and temperature dropped, we made our way to the Bedouin camp in the heart of the White desert.

Shrouded by two great mountains and a blanket of stars, our camp of eight traditional tents was well protected from the cold winds. A warm fire and thick, camel-hair blankets welcomed us to dinner with fellow travellers in a large, communal tent. Our hosts served us delicious Zaarb, a BBQ dish cooked under the hot sands, and we sipped spiced mint tea while our hosts sang and danced.

After dinner, Patrick and I separated ourselves from the group to take in the night sky. With just a few steps, we left the warmth, light and safety of the camp and entered the great black abyss. I remember feeling uneasy – admittedly more afraid of lurking creepy crawlies in the sand than anything else. But with that fear came a strange sense of freedom, and that is the strongest, most enduring memory of our time in Wadi Rum.

To roam and explore without rules. To live among nature and bask under the stars without the intrusion of civilization – it’s a freedom I’ve missed since living in the city and one I hope to find again. Until then, it remains a testament to the incredible life of the Bedouin and the beauty of Wadi Rum, the Valley of the Moon.