I’ve just come back from the desert of the UAE. My clothes stink of sweat and alcohol and barbequed meat, I’ve got dirt and grime all over my face, and, of course, there is sand in every place imaginable. I’ve got a few minor cuts and bruises to serve as evidence of the last minute dune bashing and my body aches from my feet all the way up to my neck. It’s an awful feeling, but, at the same time, it’s a rather satisfying feeling of accomplishment and knowing you had a bloody good time.We made camp in a bowl-shaped site in the desert 50 kilometres from Sharjah with a total of 11 cars and nearly 25 people, mostly members of the Sharjah Wanderers Dive Club that I myself am part of.The whole trip was organised by a German fellow named Uwe. Against the background of the setting sun, we watched him come crashing down the dunes followed closely by a tree trunk strapped to his German G-Wagon (which is one hell of an off-road vehicle). Spinning down one of the sand dunes, he arrived at the camp and screeched to a halt in front of us churning up the sand and enveloping the whole site in a travelling fog of sand.

Once out of his car, he pointed at the dead tree and exclaimed in his thick German accent, ‘Zis bastard here – he brok for – FOR! – off my cables. I vont to see him burn tonight!’
And sure enough, after we roasted our food and filled our stomachs with meat, we started on hacking the tree in half with a big axe he brought along. ‘Yes! Yes! Ve vill burn zis bastard after!’ he shouted eagerly.

Once we chopped ‘the bastard’ in two, we tossed planks of wood on top of each other and got a massive blazing bonfire fire going. The tree was bloody heavy and it took four of us to roll it into the flames. It burnt brilliantly.