ISRAEL 1996 - day 1

Text by Pink Oboe.

This trip arrived almost out of the blue. I knew that there were to be some tests conducted against structures by the Israelis through membership of a strange committee. I also knew that the UK people who dealt exclusively with such things were involved and hence thought that they would attend and I would hear their report at the meeting. But my strange customers asked me to attend. At first I was not keen. For some reason the prospect of an overnight flight, a six hour drive and a non-participatory role in the heat did not appeal. But I am here and suffering from Gyppy tummy (or perhaps flu) after only my first meal so what the hell.

We flew from Heathrow and I anticipated some compensatory pleasure from the Business Class ticket. Wrong. We were packed in like sardines so God knows what the poor souls in steerage were like. We arrived after what seemed an incredibly short flight and I could see the lights of Tel Aviv sweeping north and south as we crossed the coast and made a perfect landing. I had expected the third degree from immigration from the tales that I had heard from my peers but the formalities were simply that and we were through to find our bags and obtain the hire car. We had been on at Ben to get a decent sized car as we did not fancy suffering in a cramped, hot vehicle for six or seven hours. After some muttering, he upgraded us. When we arrived it was announced that we had been upgraded yet again which if I was a suspicious soul would make me wonder. Added to this fact was the presence of a mobile phone. Again, innocent enough under normal context but not with the reputation of the people playing host to us. Still, the final result of all this upgrading was a Mazda 323 which is about the size of Rosemary's car. Not very big for four grown men (in some cases, i.e. Ben and Maurice rather well grown men!) and their luggage.

We had had little in the way of water to drink so were gasping. There was no hurry so we went to an all night fast food outlet in the airport. As we left the Hire Car firm I noticed a sign saying Immigrant Absorption Agency, which sounds rather like blotting paper. As we sat drinking our cokes a muscular young man in civilian clothes made a thorough search of our surroundings, looking into every litterbin, discharge chute of the Pepsi machines, every corner and nook and cranny. He did the same routine scarcely ten minutes later. I remarked to Maurice on the lack of overt signs of guns. Maurice commented that he thought there were enough around, they were just out of sight.

We left the Herz compound with some dispute over which direction we should be heading. The golden orb of the sun showed where the east lay without too much dispute. I had bought a guide book two days before and suggested that we followed the route in there. Maurice had a map so with some compromises we headed out north, swung around the airfield and then drove directly south towards Beersheba. The towns looked poor and run down, with rubbish by the road and corrugated iron in abundance. Large concrete complexes would appear and sometimes carefully landscaped communities complete with Biblical poplars. Pause while I dash to the loo. The joys of the Middle East.

We arrived in Beersheba on the Sabbath and at about seven o'clock in the morning. There was nothing open. In fact various comparisons were made with early Sunday mornings in hardest Welsh Wales. We circled around what was described as the old City which does date back to Abraham and Isaac and the original pact with God that made the Jews the chosen people. Nothing seemed to be open and what was more, no sign of the road we were to take south to Eilat. We spotted a sign, which said 24 hour garage so pulled in there. Did he speak English? No. Did he have anything to drink? Blank expression but a simple look past his shoulder showed the absence of anything except oil. We were about to disappear when Maurice noted another more promising garage over the road. There we did find a Pepsi machine and emptied Ben's small change into the machine so that we could re-hydrate.

It was a glorious morning so we sat on the concrete central reservation of a divided highway without vehicles and drank in the sunshine and the cokes. A palm frond looking all the world like the saw shaped proboscis of a swordfish lay in the road. Onward and by circling the town we eventually found the road south towards Eilat, our promised breakfast deferred.

Almost as soon as we had left the town we entered the desert. The guidebook says that the Negev was not always desert: in Roman times it was like Egypt, a major source of grain for the Roman Empire. The climate changed in the seventh century. The other factor must have been overgrazing. In seemingly impossible conditions we saw the Bedouin encampments with their straggling hordes of brown sheep, which must total any stabilizing vegetation. There was also the odd camel but seemingly more for show than for transport. There is little other sign of life in the desert except for he occasional military outpost miles from anywhere: squaddies waiting at desert bus stops became quite a feature of the trip.

Every now and then there were oases of green so the desert can bloom. We stopped after an hour at an overlook and climbed off the road to look down on the scene from a height. The hills showed the effects of erosion and beneath us was yet another Bedouin camp. The signs were all in Hebrew, which did not help us much. I was surprised to hear Hebrew sound so much like Arabic which is silly really as the stock must be similar despite the bitter enmity between the two.

We arrived at Mitzpe Ramon and nearly shot straight past. Ben backed up and parked in the car park of a modern looking complex. The guidebook promised that what we were about to see was the finest spectacle in Israel. We climbed up some steps to the accompaniment of classical music blaring out of a car stereo. The considerate family was exploring the area and obviously did not want to miss a moment.

The overlook beckoned but so did breakfast: breakfast won. The overlook restaurant did not exactly look the place for bacon and eggs but where is in Israel? We settled for some baguette style sandwiches and Cokes. These sandwiches feature in my journal of the time and were certainly nourishing but had to be consumed in the manner that a python absorbs its food, by first dislocating your jaw.

The meal over we walked out onto the overlook and stared at the amazing view. The crater-like area is about 25 miles long and 8 miles wide. It is also almost 900 feet from top to bottom. I am tempted to connect it with the Great Rift Valley, which starts up near the Dead Sea and makes its way all the way down to Kenya. It is certainly associated with volcanic activity as the photographs show. It gets its name of Ramon's Overlook from a member of the road making team who pushed the road through the Negev to Eilat.

We crossed over a modern bridge to another overlook which was busy with the sound of hammering as various people seemed intent on converting into a shop for various arty crafty items. I tried an arty shot myself of a suitable bush with a backdrop of the sweep of the crater rim. Then back to the car and onward into the desert.

We stopped next at David Ben Gurion's house. He spent the last six years of his life at this isolated desert retreat partly to encourage others to colonize the vast area of the desert. The place is obviously a place of pilgrimage as there were at least half a dozen of the strange lecture rooms that the photograph in the journal shows, presumably for some idea of the major role of Ben Gurion in the foundation of the Jewish state to be got across to the young.

The smoking members of the party having had their nicotine levels replenished, we continued. We stopped a little later where the hills with their bare outcrops of rock showed against the brilliant turquoise of the sky. Still further the road petered out into a cinder track, the noise waking Ben who was taking a turn in the back while he put down some zzs: another stop for cigarettes and a view of a narrow gorge. Soon after this we met route 9 which came down from the Dead Sea and Jerusalem. We would return that way ourselves when the job had been done in Eilat.

We finally ran fast, Chris pushing the little car up to 140 kph which was a little over the national speed limit of 90. We could see the mountains of Jordan on the other side of the valley, which I dimly remember from our flight into Aqaba en route to Petra: not that anything had been too clear then as it had been dark but moonlit. We swept down the last part of the valley as Lawrence and his irregulars did so many years ago to the distant ziggurats of the modern hotels. We had no idea where the hotel was that Mossad had booked us into. In fact I spotted it as soon as we entered the town: it was the first hotel. Nova by name and nova by nature as it had only opened this year. Every modern convenience including bugs in selected rooms connected directly to the Police Station across the road.

We parked and enquired about our rooms, the time being soon after 12 o'clock. Sorry, your rooms will not be ready until 4 pm and two of you will have to share. Ben said very quietly, "These rooms were booked by your Department of the Interior. I do not think they will be pleased to hear that we had to wait four hours and share rooms." Without a pause, four rooms miraculously appeared allowing us to take our bags up the lifts and crash out for several hour's kip.

As I walked into the room, I said "If this is voice activated, hello."

Much refreshed, we reconvened for a stroll. We met Wally in the lounge and drank several Maccabees, a local beer named after some religious fanatics. Wally works for the Feds and turned out to know my chum Petrousky very well. Suitably refreshed by the beers, we staggered off in the general direction of the sea. It was about half a mile and we could see the aircraft swooping low on finals to land at Eilat airport, which was quite close to our hotel.

We found a restaurant, which served an interesting variety of local food. Maurice said it was Moroccan but I think it was just Israeli. I chose a bottle of white wine from the Golan Heights. The first course was humus made from very coarsely chopped chickpeas and delicious it was too with every one tucking in with their pitta bread. I also chose a Grey Mullet, which came served very simply with cuts through its skin into which garlic had been inserted. Wally had the same, Maurice and Chris had St Dennis's fish from the Sea of Galilee. We had a jolly meal washed down by the wine.

Somewhat merry with all the sights and sounds of the day, general fatigue and the beers and wine we tottered back, first looking at the Red Sea. I wished the party goodnight and climbed to my pit.

day1 - days 2,3&4 - days 5&6