"The nazi tank smashed into my side as I rode my horse at full gallop towards the lost city of Petra. The sun was rising over the northern wall as bullets flew past me on either side, I turned singled handedly returning fire at the enemy my magazine final finished leaving me defenceless the pain in my arm a vivid remind of my countless shots. Desperately I dug my heals into the flanks of my stallion and sprinted for the gates swung of my horse and dismounted into the entrance.."

I returned to reality as I touched the ground before the gates of Petra, the nazi tanks faded away, my semi automatic morphed into a bottle of water and my whip turned back into my backpack over my shoulder. Petra has a surreal and magical quality, a rose painted city basking In the morning sunshine. Like pioneering explorers we scrambled round the ancient ruins of the city dipping under arches and climbing over broken doorways. The high place of sacrifice was our goal. 850 steps to the summit (finally years of living in my flat and the 82 step climb has proved useful for this one moment in my life) we reach the top and the Petra valley opens before us, so powerfully it is like a punch in the face. Mile upon mile of wasteland, sand dune and rock formation.

We return to our hotel tired, dirty and exhausted. We drag ourselves to the pool, it's frosty depths divibrilating our finished muscles back to life. A cool can of Petra Lager awaits our return upon the distant shores of the pool a whole 3.2m away. The first gulp past patched lips is delicious my first beer in 5days an eternity for a Scot. The gentle aroma of apple shisha raps itself around my neck like and old friend in a loving embrace. Tonight will be a good night!