The sun rises over Wadi Rum desert. The landscape is grandiose, it’s cold, the silence is oppressive, the light gradually reveals the splendour of the jagged stone and the red sand...
What have I come here to do, how can I do something other than create pretty postcards...
And yet there are traces in this red sand and on these rocks that will bring me back to the people who lived here, in times past in Patra, today in Aqaba.
The ruined city in the desert, where man has abandoned his dreams, his ambitions, his weaknesses, his futile pleasures, and the desert in the city already in ruins where man, like Sisyphus at the foot of his mountain, begins again unceasingly.
The sun, too, sets again and again over Wadi Rum desert.
Albert, was Sisyphus happy?
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