ISRAEL 1996 - days 5&6

Text by Pink Oboe.

The next morning we were supposed to be off early but Ben did not appear. I cannot remember why but I spent quite a long time watching the scene outside the hotel. After the comments about the youthful and beautiful, it is as well to comment upon the coach loads of ancient souls who were having the equivalent of a Saga holiday. Caricatures of European Jewry would appear. "Tempermentavoll German Jews" came bounding out of the poem "Grantchester" by Rupert Brook into my brain. Some of the old dears looked as though they had walked off the set of Fiddler on the Roof: a fascinating blend of every country that makes up the bloodstock of modern Israel.

Eventually we got everything loaded and set off north. We followed the road up the rift valley and stopped periodically to allow the smokers to kill themselves slowly. At one such stop I wandered away from the car for a pee and noticed piles of ancient stones looking remarkably like flints. As I mused that this was impossible, I noticed a carefully crafted stone artifact and bent down to pick it up. I also found a fascinating piece of mineral with long columnar crystals. This I donated to Chris who had been fossicking with varied success since the start of the trip. The stone object looks like a flint knife but seems to be a kind of volcanic glass or obsidian. It is a sort of grey rather than the traditional black but shows unmistakable signs of having been napped. It now resides on the mantle piece with other relics from my wanderings.

I wanted to take a picture of me standing next to the sign for Sodom, for obvious reasons, but the locals are fed up with such idiotic behaviour and so have changed the name to Sedom, which is not half as photogenic. We motored into the southern area of the Dead Sea to find that the sea, which is really a lake, is really two lakes. The southern part is apparently the more strongly salty as the surface of the water has pieces of salt floating in it rather like pack ice. It also has a chemical works extracting magnesium amongst other things. We stopped for pictures. The outcrops of rock in the vicinity have attracted comment for years. The one called Lot's wife is not particularly prominent and is apparently slipping into oblivion.

Further north still to the Dead Sea proper and a series of large hotels which house health spas and other kinds of resort. My guide showed people bathing at a place called Ein Gedi so we determined to stop there assuming that some form of changing facility and showers were a necessity. The place is just past the bulk of the ancient fortress of Masada, which looks a good deal less isolated from the road: presumably the pictures which show it standing alone are taken from the range of hills looking towards the Dead Sea. We did not have time to stop. Another time perhaps.

We were somewhat sharp set by the time that we reached the resort so had lunch first. The whole place was full of German Jews from coach parties various and we only managed to avoid an enormous queue by having the sandwiches rather than the rather canteen type of meal. I acquired some wine, which tasted like anti-freeze. I was glad when I had finished it!

Then it was a case of gathering our swimming togs and paying an arm and a leg to progress into the health resort. The whole place was a bit like a French Spa with thermal plunges wreaking of sulphur but the main point of the exercise was to change in a room which looked suspiciously like the changing room in any UK swimming pool and then leg it the half mile down to the water's side. The management provided a sort of tractor train for the faint hearted but we walked. There was a warning that shoes were required as it was a fair old flog. The temperature was up in the high eighties so a hat was also a good idea. The majority of the punters were old and gnarled which is why I suppose they had the money to be there and the need for that matter. Who am I kidding? Have I looked in the mirror lately.

We arrived at the bathing area. The whole area looked amazing as the surface of the Sea has a light haze over it, which is some indicator of the enormous evaporation rate of the water from the surface. The hills tower over the area and look most spectacular too. The three gentlemen of the party slowly walked down the ramp into the water with me remaining on dry land to record the event for posterity. I ventured down the slope myself to get some close ups. The sight of Maurice and Ben's bulk floating on the surface was too much and I shouted, "there she blows!"

I carefully hid my camera and bum bag under my clothes and joined them in the water. It is a strange sensation. The water feels little different until you rub it over your skin when it has the same consistency of oil: very strange. There were instructions in how to float. Basically lay backwards rather like sitting down in an armchair. You float with little difficulty. What they do not tell you is that getting back onto your feet is bloody near impossible as your legs will not sink. The other strange sensation is that the density of the water makes you feel rather as though you are in free fall. If you are not careful, you can become unstable and spin around. (I was unstable before I went in there!) There were tales of a rather large lady who tried to float on her back but whose natural centre of gravity (I am trying to be discrete here!) made her spin around face down. She nearly drowned before someone pulled her out.

I had had enough after about a quarter of an hour. Once you have floated in the Dead Sea, you have floated in the Dead Sea. Maurice and Ben had found that they could float on their stomachs with their arms folded. This they did looking down the cleavage of an attractive lady. They showed no signs of removing themselves so when Chris had had enough, we started to walk slowly back to the changing area. There are showers near the seashore so the worst of the salt went then. Further back up the track there are baths of black mud provided which some souls were liberally smearing upon themselves. They were welcome. The treatment of the mud coupled with the swim in the Dead Sea is supposedly good for the treatment of Psoriasis, Acne and other skin diseases.

The other two Herberts eventually joined us and we remounted the car. The journey along the edge of the Dead Sea was interesting. It is not entirely Dead as there are a few bacteria who can survive in even the extreme salinity levels.

We eventually left the Dead Sea and started climbing. Signs for Jericho appeared and the crossing at Allenby Bridge. No thank you. We had been climbing for at least half an hour up the zig-zag road, passing lorries and tourist buses when we came to a sign that announced Sea Level. It brought home the fact that the surface of the Dead Sea is the lowest point on the surface of the earth: 1230 feet below sea level.

It is only about 19 miles to Jerusalem and we could soon see signs of habitation. The Jews occupy the high ground in carefully sited villages, which proclaim their secondary function of defensive positions. Every now and then we would see the Bedouin tents and sheep looking rather like gypsy encampments. There is some ordnance that insists that all buildings in Jerusalem are faced with a peculiarly luminescent white stone. This makes for a pleasing overall appearance to the place, which sprawls over the hills. Ben wanted to show us the Temple on the Mount and we spent some time hurtling around the hills. Eventually, although we did not get quite where we should have been, we could look down from what I think was the Mount of Olives and see the golden dome of the temple. Next to it is a completely black dome, which is apparently another holy place for the followers of Islam. Ben said that it used to have a silver dome but some religious nut from Denmark set fire to the place and caused the silver to turn black. I do love religious souls. The Islamic authorities are still arguing about what to do next.

Ben has an amazing lack of tolerance for a man whose trade makes him the major international link with our friends. He particularly hates religious extremists and would swear and try to run over any member of the more extreme Jewish sects who wear black hats, long coats and patriarchal beards. For some reason he refers to them as Wrigglies.

The light was going, we had been travelling for a long time and we still had to get to Tel Aviv. There was also the small point that we had to check in our baggage or get to the airport at an even more ungodly hour than the five o'clock specified. The Israelis apparently give all their guests the third degree when they leave the country. Most of the airline employees are really Shin Bet, their domestic intelligence arm. They ask where you have been, what you have been doing, who did you talk to? When you have completed all that they then pass you on to another operator who makes you do it all again. And again. If you do not get it right to their satisfaction, you really get the works. With our profession and background, we would frankly much rather not get involved. We must either lie or tell them to get stuffed either approach probably requiring us to take a later flight. Ben had been working on our hosts to see whether strings could be pulled: a very Israeli pastime. As I have mentioned before, we actually had been quite helpful to our hosts, out of national self-interest. Ben therefore succeeded.

We entered Tel Aviv via a three-lane highway, shot straight past and were half way to Haifa before we realized it. The motorway heads almost due west from Jerusalem and then swings north without anyone telling you: I suppose it has to or you would get wet. The map provided had minuscule writing (that is my excuse). I tried to direct us to the general area of the hotels but we ended up hitting the coast far to the north. We stopped near a large hotel and asked directions. They were not much use and it took several more false starts before we found the Carlton, our final destination.

The Carlton is one of Tel Aviv's premier hotels and again, we had been booked in by our friends. It sits next to the Mediterranean as a tower block of some 1400 rooms. As we received our keys and gratefully headed for a shower or bath, Maurice mentioned "What a coincidence! I have only ever been to this hotel once before, three years ago. And I am in exactly the same room and you are in exactly the same room as Allen Feraday." They were at it again.

I managed my shower in peace and noted the free chocolates from the management. More of them anon. Ben 'phoned to say that our man in Tel Aviv had phoned to tell us to gather our bags and meet him at an Italian restaurant in town. This was a physical impossibility in the time allowed and there was a succession of order and counter orders, which eventually had us going to dinner in a cab. We dined very pleasantly courtesy of Mossad as the local incumbent had come out to assure us that we would be looked after at the evening check in place. After the meal, we hurtled back with Keith, our man, loaded the cases in his tiny car and suffered the three blocks journey with cases piled all around us. The lady there started her warm up routine when Keith showed her his card and mentioned one or two names. They were effectively so elevated up her organization that she smiled sweetly and reverted to the standard "Did you pack this bag? Did anyone give you anything to carry?" The rest of the coves answered in a manner, which satisfied the authorities. I later found that all three had placed their free boxes of chocolates into their hold baggage without checking it. I know the likelihood of our friends doing us a mischief was remote but I was b....d if I would trust them an inch and did a careful hand entry into my box just to be sure. And I checked the lining. Ask the Hamass man who used a mobile phone that the Israelis had supplied him with if he trusted them. Oh, you cannot because his mobile phone blew his head off. I do not blame them for playing rough. I sometimes wish we could do the same to our hard men.

In the morning my automatic internal alarm woke me five minutes before the alarm. I started to ring around to be sure that all the British party were awake. I rang Ben's room. "Stonehenge. Duty Druid speaking." The listeners must have wondered what sort of strange code we were using. I wandered out on to the balcony and listened and looked at the sea beneath me. Despite all the attentions of our hosts, it would really be a nice place to come back to one day.

I cannot say that I like the Israelis. The ones that we dealt with professionally were polite, cultured and very, very dedicated. I admire them for that professionalism but there is fanaticism lurking just beneath the surface. Maybe having your neighbours try to kill you for the last fifty years makes you that way. Their intrusiveness was a bit off considering that we were there to help, admittedly out of national self-interest. Still, it added a little zest to an otherwise fascinating trip. Perhaps they will have us back next year.

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