Ayaan Venkatesh Sand Without Time Haider Khan stepped down from the rickety minivan with the stiffness of a man far older than his 38 years. The heat pressed against his face like a hand that didn’t care for permission. Red sand stretched endlessly ahead, framed by towering rocks carved into bizarre, wind-scoured shapes. Wadi Rum. He’d seen it once in a documentary, years ago. “The Valley of the Moon,” the narrator had called it. But here, in real time, there was no poetry. Only stillness. Only silence. The group disembarking with him was an odd assortment — a French woman…
