ISRAEL 1996 - days 2,3&4
Text by Pink Oboe.
At four in the morning I awoke with a feeling that all was not well. After a short while I had to dash to the loo and realized that I had diarrhea. Within a further half an hour I was violently sick, the convulsions doing unfortunate things to my nether regions. I was in a quandary whether to sit or throw. Great fun. Finally, I managed to keep an Imodium down long enough for it to have some effect. I rang Ben at 6.30 to say that I was hors de combat. I knew that we were due for a briefing at 11 but had no idea if I would make it. I felt awful and was still having to dash to the loo. What was worse was the appalling headache and general feeling of flu that came with it.
At eleven, I dressed and joined the others. No one else had suffered ill effects so whether it was food poisoning or just gastric flu I do not know. There are occasions when I wish I was not so noble. I felt like hell but had been sent to do a job so do a job I would. We eventually were put on a coach and ferried about an hour inland to watch the first of the bangs, which do not concern this journal. More dead than alive, I got back about six o'clock and I gratefully ascended the lift and collapsed into bed.
I did not feel all that much better the next day. The sickness and diarrhea had gone but not the headache and feeling awful. Fortunately the day was clear for most of the time. We had an appointment to meet our hosts at 8.30 in the morning and then the day was ours. I dutifully dressed, explored the breakfast room tentatively and ate some fromage frais and a roll, (I had avoided anything solid the whole of the day before). I then tottered around the block: I am not kidding, I could scarcely stand. I made it out into the sunshine and headed around to the right. In about two hundred metres, I came to a patch of ground on which Police vehicles were parked. I crossed that and paused at a hostel where the young Israeli was just opening his bar come shop. I bought post cards for Mother, Sally and Bert before continuing slowly on. A group of navvies were getting themselves ready for work and were coughing and spitting into the gutter. They sounded worse than I felt!
Back in the hotel, I sat and wrote my cards and then was joined by the rest of the UK party. Maurice had been going spare having phoned my room, got no reply and so had come and pounded upon it. He assumed that it contained nothing but a cold corpse and had so informed Ben. Ever the practical man, Ben said that it was not a problem as the Embassy would sort it out. Finding an undertaker can be a problem on the Sabbath but Keith, our man in Tel Aviv said later that their contingency plan even catered for that and a little Armenian sorted the problem for him. Unfortunately for this macabre lot, I was not ready for the slab yet.
The British Party got the longest grilling, I suppose because we were the most use to them having suffered many such bombings. Anyway, our two hours stretched to two and three quarters. Finally out of school, we decided what to do. Ben is not one for walking so insisted on taking the car. We first headed out to the west and found ourselves speeding (and I use the term advisedly) along through a mixture of industrial wasteland and tourist hotels and beaches. We later saw that the best beach was directly along from the oil terminal, which delivers the Sinai oil agreed at the Camp David agreement.
Ben was about to negotiate a chicane of concrete blocks similar to many that we had seen manned by bored young Israeli recruits when I pointed out that this was the border with Egypt. Ben swore, (he is inclined to do such things) and executed a three point turn. We stopped for yet another cigarette break and stared into the clear water of the Red Sea. I had brought my snorkeling gear but had decided that I was in no fit state to use it. Then it was back to try and find somewhere to park near the North Marina as we had booked a trip on a glass bottomed boat to look at the coral reef. Finding a car parking spot nearly took us into Jordan but we eventually found a sympathetic soul who let us park in his hotel car park. We made it onto the Jules Verne, a red painted monstrosity of a boat, with minutes to spare. We stood on the deck watching the hotels gently disappear. Soon we could see the whole sweep of the bay: strange to think that you can travel from Egypt to Israel to Jordan and Saudi Arabia all within half an hour: or at least you could if it were not for the interminable delays at the customs posts. We drank Pepsi and ate hot dogs while watching the scene. We were not allowed down to the Glass Bottomed bit until we were on station so merely enjoyed the passing scene.
We were in the first shift of people who looked at the reef through the glass bottom. The small fish gathered around to look at us, which was rather fun: role reversal. The colours of the coral were much more brilliant than the pictures in my journal show, the sea water filtering the light. We saw sea slugs and even a Stone Fish, with its feathery fins and deadly sting. Dolphins bounced in the sea near the oil terminal. Strange place to build a nature reserve come pleasure beach but what the hell!
I was still feeling a little frail so retired to bed on our return and slept until evening. We headed out in search of a steak house, having been recommended to try one called Gauchos which Ben and others insisted on calling Grouchos. We asked our friendly man from Langley where the place was and he directed us down towards the sea. We walked along in company with a couple of Danish EOD men. We managed all the usual jokes about the Vikings such as " Rape all the men and kill all the women" but they were good-natured souls and took it all well. By the time that we got to the sea, Ben was ticking as he is not much into exercise for exercise sake. We eventually asked a waitress who assured us that we had gone in completely the wrong direction: so much for relying upon the CIA. However, all was not lost. She recommended that we try the restaurant attached to the Royal Beach Hotel and that is where we dined.
We all had Filet Mignons, which are one of the most expensive cuts. These had all been imported from North Dakota, which is a bit of a long way to come. Nonetheless they were delicious and did not cost much more than £14 a time. The waiter tried to sell us a bottle of wine at 700 Shekels. At just under 5 Shekels a pound that seemed a little excessive so we settled for one costing 80.
We strolled back and I decided to totter off to bed rather than push my luck further.
I felt considerably better the next day and got up and walked around the block, which is my usual habit when I am away. I had half heard that the Israelis wanted to see us again so waited downstairs to see if any of the other Brits showed. They did just before 9 o'clock and we found ourselves being grilled by our hosts yet again. The prime reason seemed to be that we possessed more information on urban bombing than anyone else and they valued our opinions.
Maurice and Chris had some things to do so only Ben and I went off on a mini-excursion. I had read in my guide that there was a spectacular area north of Eilat called Timna. These had originally been copper mines back in the Bronze age but were now more famous for their spectacular rock formations and residues of past mining activity which predated Christ by several thousand years.
We ran northward until we saw a sign and immediately had to do a three-point turn as the sign was only to a modern copper mine and there was no access to Timna Park. A mile or so further on we came to the proper entrance and pulled in. Ben paid, which was nice of him, and came back with two audio guides of the type I have previously used at the National Gallery in Washington.
The scenery was amazing but we unfortunately had to do the entire tour at break neck speed to see most of the place before our deadline for the coach at one. At the Arches were three or four busloads of young Israelis all looking at their hard won history. Come to think of it I believe we were in the land of the Edomites rather than the Jews but who is counting? Nonetheless there were military style escorts with the tourists to remind us that the border was not far away and periodically people took pot shots at other people around here.
Back at base, everyone mounted the coach come one o'clock and off we went again to the trials site. I certainly felt more like a human being. The big cheeses were there that day so we found ourselves observing the bangs from an open area of desert shielded from the harsh sun by a rather flimsy sunshade. The area was also a tank firing range and as we waited for the bang one of the tanks came very close, running fast through the loose sand. It is most peculiar when a tracked vehicle travels through sand: it becomes almost like a liquid. The whole profile of the tank track disappears. It also kicks up an enormous amount of dust. The knowing ran for their vehicles but we poor souls just stood there and suffered the sandstorm.
Finally the business part of our trip over, we returned to the hotel. That evening we were given a dinner by our hosts which consisted of a buffet with lots of wine. It was chiefly remarkable for the fact that, either because of the universality of English, or out of deference to us, the whole table seemed to be conversing in English. Considering that Reuben, our Mossad host, could speak at least five or six languages fluently, it was yet again an indication of how lazy the English have become when it is down to speaking other people's tongues.
After dinner we adjourned to the bar and watched as an ancient Israeli guitar player and a rather delicious looking blond singer got their act together. We drank and made our normal sexist comments but did appreciate the lady's singing. When she took her jacket off, we also appreciated the low cut dress that she was wearing. Her voice was not bad too. Our Italian member of the party played the gallant by presenting her with a carnation at the completion of her set. We later heard that she had started as a waitress at the hotel and was just starting out as a professional show business person. Watch out for the Eurovision Song Contest!
The members of staff were young and looked like off duty soldiers, even the girls. Somewhere in my past I have seen cartoons by someone like Jon of long legged dark skinned ladies in heavy army boots, something, which must have typified the female part of the Israeli armed forces. Strangely enough the style lingers in the costumes worn by the waitresses. Again somewhat later we learned that many of the staff took on the contract at the hotel directly after their compulsory military service and worked for a year receiving a bounty of about 5,000 shekels on the completion of their time there. Both Maurice and Ben seemed to fall in love or lust with the young Israeli ladies about every twenty minutes. When Maurice told Ann his wife that the place was crawling with totty, she just laughed. Poor Maurice!
