Bourdain’s Field Notes

It was after tear-assing across the desert in 4x4s, driving pedal-to-metal down the hard-packed sand of the wadi, and after the camels took us across the dunes, after dinner and the music. Our Bedouin hosts took to their tea and their songs, laughing and telling stories in Arabic among themselves. We, the non-Muslim contingent, slipped discreetly away to a nearby dune, where a bottle of bourbon was produced, a speaker that played music off our iPhones. In time, our senses pleasurably deranged, we—all of us, the shooters, producers, camera assistants, and I—sat there in the soft, yielding sand, listening to The Prodigy and Marvin Gaye, looking wordlessly out at an endless sand sea, a nearly full moon hanging swollen over the dunes.

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