So You Just Showed Up on Their Doorstep?

Most of my escapades and gripes take place inside the city limits of Beit She'an. It's taken time to feel confident enough to venture on my own either for exercise or to feed my own curiosity, to see what's around me in the Valley of the Springs area. 

Whenever I go out on runs or walks that take me beyond the bounds of the city, there's a clear change in the infrastructure, landscape and atmosphere. You can tell you've left the bounds of Beit She'an when the deluge of trash strewn haphazardly on the ground ends.  When I'm on foot (which I often am) I can easily observe the shift to wide open stretches of farm land; the winter weather brings out lush greens, health and vitality in the earth.  The bucolic countryside can at times almost resemble the stereotypical Tuscan countryside with neatly manicured rows of budding green extending out as far as the eye can see. Bike and walking paths meander around the fields and if it's sunny and pleasant, people might be out walking their dogs or running.  It's really quite beautiful to behold.  It's so sad to me that the city where I reside has such a detrimental and abusive relationship with the environment around them.  But the kibbutzim have a deep-seated respect and connection to the land and it clearly means something significant to live where they are and harvest their crops. 

Since arriving in Beit She'an I've been looking for a volunteer project of something that might align with my personal interests. More and more those personal interests have turned to health, wellness and nutrition - mostly because they were aspects of my personality and western world that I held in high regard, but I've been unable to find much of a respect for this lifestyle living whilst in Beit She'an. 

My coordinator and others with fancy titles who introduced themselves to the ITF group and feigned excitement for the different possibilities of our presence, floated ideas by me of walking groups or exercise classes at the JCC as something for me to pursue. Neither of these ideas were really my cup of tea, but in the spirit of trying new things and being open to new experiences, I said that I would love to give those options a try. However, it made little difference in the end, since there was no follow-up and sometimes they were never mentioned again. 

It seemed that my existence in Beit She'an was doomed to be limited to the unrewarding and repetitive task of days spent in a drab classroom, or feeling like a fish out of water in a place that I found difficult to feel at ease and accepted. 

One day, I was in my coordinator's office - I believe I was making alphabet workbooks for my fourth grade group who are at a learning the ABCs level. This is rather ironic, since I was making these packets with renewed vigor, at the suggestion of Yael, the English teacher who was supposed to be on sabbatical, but was brought in for five hours a week to try to balance out the damage being done by the English teacher, who is actually a substitute for Yael and my assigned "host" teacher. The fate of those worksheets that I hopefully assembled that day was to lie in a pile on the floor of my room. They were never used since there hasn't been much opportunity where I have a day structured enough, or when I'm not trying to play catch up on the skipped around style of teaching that they're enduring.  Eventually, I showed the packets to the substitute English teacher when she was complaining to me about some of her issues with the book that she herself had chosen to order. She liked the sheets and ran off to make copies of them and probably used them in class later that day, because it's unlikely she had a lesson plan. So that's how I came to provide materials for my host teacher. 

Back to the office, way before all that with the worksheets came to fruition, the coordinator mentioned to me that he thought he remembered that there was a food cooperative on a neighboring kibbutz that might be worth my checking out. From him, I found out which kibbutz and the times the cooperative operated, so I resolved that coming Thursday to go and see for myself. 

In the meantime, another fellow I live with, Ian, said he was interested in checking out the kibbutz cooperative with me. He was motivated, not by an interest in the food, but out of curiosity of the kibbutz community. He had preciously expressed a desire to explore the kibbutzim life around us, but been told that he was not possible for us to venture there. In our own ways, both of us were buckling under the crush of living in Beit She'an at the far and forgotten reaches of Israel and struggle with the strain of trying to fit into such a narrow-minded society. But this glimmer of an idea of a cooperative market offered a sliver of hope. 

Thursday rolled around and we caught our bus. We arrived at the kibbutz, which as a rule, are gated, but they typically remain open during day time hours so you can just stroll in. The two of us asked for directions to the "fresh food market" and eventually, between phone calls and mangled English and Hebrew exchanges found ourselves in the most heavenly one room market and pantry. 

Kibbutz Bet Alfa's cooperative market is by no mean glamorous, although to me, it is a salvation. It's a square shaped room, divided into sections for dry goods, like avocado oil, gluten free pizza crust, cacao, etc. Then there's a cooler filled with locally provided salad mixes, vegan cheeses and even tofu made by a German family that lives on a nearby mountainside [because when you're German and make tofu, where else would you live?!]. The other two walls are devoted to organic greens picked just hours before by Eli, a local farmer; plus fresh fruits and vegetables from farms around the area. 

My mouth dropped. I think I almost cried, or was at least overwhelmed by emotion for finally making my way to this gold mine! I didn't know that food and thinking along the line of local cooperative existed where I was! I've been plagued by bloating and stomach aches from the richness and quantity of food; the tendency of Israeli eating is essentially to make things as processed and as sugary as possible and then give you a lot of it. I've been missing quinoa, kale and smoothies, as well as the pursuit of making these things!...I'm not saying that the entire world needs to follow my suit and eat this way, but it's what I enjoy and like to pursue.  It's made me feel so sad and lonely finding that no one else around me shared my interests. 

The locals involved with the running of the cooperative were almost as happy as I was to have to have two volunteers from Beit She'an have wandered into their midst!  Idit, the woman running the cooperative and arranging the member volunteer schedule, was so happy to have us and got our contact information so we could begin to volunteer with them right away. Idit even arranged for us to get a ride home to Beit She'an with one of the members; the guy and his crying baby only could get us around 3km outside of Beit She'an, so we had to walk the rest of the way, but it barely felt like our feet touched the ground as we walked home underneath a starry sky to the sound of jackals howling. 

Idit turned out to be a kibbutz fairy godmother to me. After my first week volunteering in the co-op, I messaged her and asked if she knew of any other people in the area who were involved in eating organic, local and leading a healthy lifestyle. She sent me back a list of places with the associated numbers to call up. 

If you've ever had a job where you need to cold call, take the anxiety and awkwardness of that and multiply it by 1,000 to understand what calling a random number in Israel and not knowing if the person who answers the phone will speak English and be able to understand you. Amazingly, Hila, the first number that I called roughly understood what I was saying to her, or at least was intrigued enough to invite me to visit her on Kibbutz Neve Eitan the next day and check out the institute that she assisted a man named Uri Mayer-Chissick in operating. 

So that's how I came to literally show up on the doorstep of the kibbutz Neve Eitan, and be welcomed with open arms to Mekomi.

Mekomi, which means local in Hebrew, is part deli - providing the area with teas, almond milk, cashew cheese and a host of other tasty options; teaching institute - where students from across Israel can come to learn how to eat healthier, lead a lifestyle grounded on concepts from ancient medicine and nutrition and be educated on an environmentally sustainable lifestyle; and go on foraging tours - where participants learn history of the edible plants around then make a tasty meal with them. 

That day when I spontaneously showed up at the doorstep, Hila, Tami and Yael were just about to sit down for lunch, so I had excellent timing! They served up a fresh herb salad topped with homemade, vegan yogurt dressing, sweet potatoes with baked garlic cloves and beet, zucchini and frehki [an ancient grain from the Levant] stew. It was delicious and my stomach was happy, although my mind however was being blown by all the research and activities the three women, Uri and the institute were involved in. 

We swapped stories over the meal; I couldn't believe that all this was at my fingertips, just waiting for me to find it! It did take a lot of my own legwork, courage to really get out there and perseverance. 

Noga in the wild

Within two days of finding Mekomi, Tami had arranged for me to go on a foraging tour with Uri that Friday.  Bright and early Friday morning, Uri picked me up in a white van playing Israeli music from the 80s that was a favorite of his young daughter Noga.  We drove to a park near Megiddo; the morning was overcast, a little wet and the park was a deep, dynamic green. We parked the van on a hillside and walked over the park entrance where around 10 or so Israelis arrived in various levels of outdoor gear for Uri's foraging tour.  In truth, I was surprised by this turn out, I didn't know that many people were interested in these pursuits, plus they turned out to be incredibly good natured group and well versed themselves on plant-lore.  Uri lectured in Hebrew, but his father who had come along for to help, was from England originally so he translated so I could understand .  Noga ran along with the tour in bare feet, more than adept herself in the lush wilderness, where she seems to be at home climbing ancient olive trees, and eating fresh, wild asparagus and flowers she picked.  

Foraged greenery 

Over the next few hours, I lost myself in a complete immersion of all things green and leafy in the vicinity.  I poked under rocks, tasted leaves and buds and gained a new found respect for the land I'm living in. 

A work of art and tastes

At the end of the foraging lecture, the group was turned loose to collect our own plants.  Ever the stalwart group, these Israelis had come equipped with their own foraging tools, thermoses of tea and even a bottle of wine.  Uri, his father and Noga turned their attention to building a fire and beginning to chop up vegetables, and make preparations for a meal centered around the foraged materials.  Vegetables were chopped, green leaves and herbs were minced and a wholewheat pita dough found its way onto an ancient, traditional-styled oven.

The piece de resistance of the meal was a work of art served up on huge, silver center piece consisting of colorful stripes of natural tahini, just picked and squeezed wheat grass, the best olive oil Israel has to offer, sumac, spicy sauce and the roasted insides of eggplant, all topped in sesame seeds. The idea was to take a piece of pita bread and scoop up everything from the platter.  

The tastes, setting and humble atmosphere came together to create something very genuine and pure. A lot of the experiences I've had in Israel have come from the hands of program organizers, who from time to time seem to have their own agenda they're pushing or have kind of dropped out and don't seem to really care at all any more.  As a result, a lot of the me this experience can feel disconnected, or like a "drink the koolaid" pressured sort of experience to feel the same sense of belonging that others are having, although I'm clearly not.  I feel lost, and angry when this happens.  So this experience was completely refreshing to me and made me at the brink of something amazing and like I needed to completely reevaluate my entire perceptions of the country around me.  

A well made pita 

The end result of the chickpea stew

Fixing the fire

Traditional pita cooking methods.

I returned home smelling like wood-smoke, exhausted and exhilarated.  I had little time to rest, since Uri and Noga had invited me to join them, his other daughter Ayla and his wife, Tali at her family's house for Shabbat.   

Her family welcomed me with great excitement and curiosity; it seems it's not every day that a random American just arrives at their doorstep looking to volunteer, so I was something of an anomaly.  Tali and her family were gregarious, personable and animated; the entire family was fluent in English and had no reserves answering all my questions on religion, politics and Israeli culture that I had felt unsure about how or who to ask these of.  

The evening was amazing, I was in a lovely, warm bubble of connection, plus excitement over what finding the Institute and a welcoming group at the kibbutz; the potential seemed limitless and I felt like I was on the verge of learning something new and really meaningful.

After that first week of introduction to Uri, Hila, Tami and Yael, who all have their own vital roles at the Institute, I have now been volunteering with them for around a month.  It's become a meaningful and harmonious place for me to spend my days both in mind and body when I can orchestrate an escape from Beit She'an, which is typically two afternoons a week.  The work I do varies from cataloging academic articles, to helping with Taglit (Birthright) group visits.  I'm also learning new recipes for everything from almond milk, fermented lemon dip infused with mallow and lentil cakes.  My heart feels involved in everything I do there, as well as the new things I'm learning, which hopefully helps others in the pursuit of something that I really believe in.
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In case you are curious, click here to link to Uri's website and background on Uri and what he studies. 

The Institute/Mekomi that I refer to is called in Hebrew as המרכז להנהגת הבריאות which is tough to translate but means something like "Center for Health Leadership", but that doesn't quite encompass everything it does with foraging tours, the deli stocked with Rambam tea, cashew cheese and olive oil, plus lectures on a wide range of topics including eating local and green architecture. Click here to link to a webpage that will give more background on the "leadership" element of the Institute.  You may need to right click and then choose an translate option to be able to view the page in English.

The Institute attracts a wide range of disciples all from different walks of life curious about what can be learned and new skills that can be acquired.  Most people hail from the center of Israel; since it's such a small country, it's not usually more than a two hour drive to get from Tel Aviv to Kibbutz Navay Eitan. Click here to see on a map where the kibbuz is located, so you can see where I spend my days.  Unfortunately, there are no locals from Beit She'an involved in what's happening at just one of the kibbutzim merely a 6 minute drive from their homes. 

Hanukkah - Part 3: In the Footsteps of Lawrence of Arabia

Crossing into Jordan was a song and dance of bureaucratic stamps, inspections, screening and judgmental glares. We had, by this time been joined by other Westerners who had signed up for our same tour to Petra; with us there were two backpackers, three senior members of a flight crew, two Mormon girls on the tail end of a mission trip and the three of us! We were helped on the Israeli side by an older, sarcastic Israeli man in a Bill Cosby sweater, who collected our $65 border crossing fee from us and ushered us through Israeli passport control and customs. This took place in a series of low buildings stretched along an expanse of empty, flat land. We went from one building to another to complete each phase of the process. 

When it finally came time to cross from one country to another, we walked out onto a single lane road that spanned maybe 100 yards; it looked like a scene from a spy movie where we were part of a prisoner exchange. The group of us walked with our bags from the edge of one country to another.

Welcome to Jordan!

On the Jordan side, we were greeted by much the same process, but this time the atmosphere had changed. Shark-eyed guards looked us up and down warily, like they were daring us to do something wrong for the chance to shoot their weapons. 

I've adjusted to constantly walking by young, bright-eyed IDF soldiers with M-16s slung over their shoulders; riding the bus with 20 or so guns leaned across their associated soldiers' laps, plus any time I want to go to the movie theatre or mall I consent to metal detectors and bag searches. But all the time, you're aware that these soldiers are young, they're only 18-21 and they're someone's daughter or son. They don't want to be there any more than you do, but their whole life they've known that this service was coming for them and they had to pay their dues. So they approach it reverently, alertly and typically as a span of years which must be passed. 

Conversely, the Jordanian soldiers were all men, older and eyed us ferociously, just waiting for the chance to flex their muscles and show the full might of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan!

Just like on the Israeli side, we were met by a guide from the tour company we had arranged the visit with and we were ushered through the process of receiving many passport stamps, before walking out onto a dry flat plane that was our first look at Jordan.  We were divided into vans and then those vans shut their doors and we headed off from the border, through the suburbs of Aqaba and onto the highway heading north towards Petra.

So first things that I did not take into account is that Petra is far. It is around a two hour drive from Aqaba. It was still around 10:00 in the morning and I hadn't eaten more than a yogurt for breakfast. In the van, it seemed that our driver doubled as our tour guide as we raced over the road - top speeds on the highway include around 55-65mph; every few miles or so, there are speed humps to keep everyone from maxing out at crazy speeds. We were also stopped two or three times by police check points on the road. The driver said that since he had Americans [and Canadians] in his van, we'd have no problem. But every time, we were eyed over suspectedly.

As he drove, our driver told us about Jordan - "very nice and clean country!", which to his credit it was - at least where I was taken.  He told us about the royalty of Jordan, a dynasty which began with King Hussein, who looks like a kindly Sean Connery and governed through a huge span of years and events encompassing 1952-1999. When he passed, his son Abdullah II succeed him as king and still sits on the throne today. King Abdullah's son Hussein is the Crown Prince of Jordan and currently next in line to inherit the throne, however, at the moment, he apparently attends Georgetown. 

We stopped at a lonely outpost to break up the drive and use a bathroom. Inside the outpost we were greeted by a plethora of sales people ready to help us find the Jordanian scarf, trinket or souvenir of your dreams. Haggling was expected and encouraged, but you sort of knew that the merchant had the upper hand; we were trying to negate three different currencies - the American dollar, Israeli sheckel and Jordanian dinar. Trying to do conversions across all these different currencies to avoid being swindled, undoubtedly gets you swindled. And the merchants at this shop - and really every other person we encountered selling things - had nothing else to do rather than hone their craft on how to get the most money out of tourists. 

We all loaded back up into the vans and continued our trek. Now we were the only vehicles on a road that wound over hill tops that were mentioned in the bible. We passed a range of scraggly mountains of which the tallest was said to be the tomb of Moses' brother Aaron. 

Small building with the mountains that house Petra in the background

The vans descended through a small, but pleasant looking town called Wadi Musa, the town centered upon a rich, green stretch of stream, which was said to the the spot that Moses struck his staff and caused water to flow from the earth. 

Moses himself never entered Petra, nor the land of Israel for that matter. He was fated to never set foot inside the land of Canaan (Israel), he died at a biblically ripe old age and the location of his tomb is unknown.

We pulled up to the entrance to the expanse of Petra and left the vans. The tour group walked into a recently built circular courtyard with bathrooms, a small UNESCO Heritage Site plaque, restaurant with a loud yellow sign declaring it had WIFI and falafel, and three shops all selling the same scarves and trinkets as each other; each had shop keepers standing in front of them eagerly eyeing our pockets and bags. 

The tour group gathered around our Jordanian guide Adnan. He was younger, maybe 30ish years old, donned a checkered headscarf and had noteworthy burgeoning huge biceps. Two other travelers - an American, and an Argentinian joined our group and we headed along the dirt road out of the courtyard and into Petra. 

"One word of caution before you enter" said Adnan, whose English, as well as his French was flawless, "do not buy anything from the children who are trying to sell you things. They are supposed to be in school. Jordan is working on this." 

So with that, we began the tour and our walk into the ancient red walled city of Petra. 

The formal entrance of Petra is called the Siq, but even before you reach it you walk by the homes of past Nabateans, which intermix with the tombs of even more passed Nabateans. The more than 2,000 year old society had a very complex relationship with how they honored their dead. The intricate structures that the ancient city is famed for were built with the purpose of honoring their dead ancestors. Those who lived and walked the streets, were constantly reminded of those who had come before them. 

Walking down the pathway towards the first buildings of Petra

The Obelisk Tomb

Also on display in Petra, our tour guide's gigantic arms

The group approached the Siq, the naturally formed narrow entrance of the expansive ancient city of Petra. The path lined with original cobblestones slops down and bring the merchant with his caravan of camels, guard or tourist along a path chiseled through indomitable red canyon walls. The Nabataeans cut niches into the stone to honor their gods, as well as show their dominance and control over the resources of the area. The walls at times pressed so closely together so that you must stride through in single file. 

All the while, there are young Jordanian men with horses tied to colorful carts and donkeys racing - no careening past you. This is their sales pitch to try to tempt you into taking a wild ride with them to the more distant parts of Petra - the site is so big that it's not a bad way to see it all if you're short on time. 

Strolling down the paths, whilst dodging horse drawn carts driven by maniacs

The thing that doesn't come across in National Geographic, Indiana Jones, or guide books is that Petra was a living and breathing city. It's much more than the famously carved face of the Treasury, it's like walking through the frozen in time remains of New York City.

Hello from Petra

But oh, the Treasury, it's one of the wonders of the world for good reason. The pathway narrows before it opens up to reveal its breathtaking beauty. Tears came to my eyes when I saw it. It's just so overwhelmingly beautiful, impossible and represents what skilled human hands can create. It's bigger than I expected, more mammoth and resolute. But so, so, so impossibly beautiful. 

Camel for scale

Bedouin guards stand in front of the entrance.

Details of the columns and facade on the front of the Treasury 

Making friends with the locals

Against this backdrop of the possibility of ancient architecture, are the possibilities of modern capitalism. To the left of the entrance to the Treasury is a Jordanian restaurant with snacks, drinks and free WIFI if you buy something. Three camels are staged at artistic angles in front of the site for tourists to take pictures with, or pay a couple dinar for a ride. It just goes to show that you can travel to the ends of the earth, but you can never go completely off the edges any more. 

Past the Treasury, the real expanse of the full, vibrant city opens up. There's levels of buildings in a range of different styles stacked on top of each other - if you lived here, you'd have been in good shape from walking up flights and flights of stairs to reach upper levels of building. The ever present Nabatean tombs become more ornate and house more families.  There's even a Greek style amplitheatre present.  

It's a hard knock life for a Petra donkey.  

Row upon row of Nabatean houses

With the rest of our time at Petra, we had free time to explore and wander. I fell into conversation with Adnan, the tour guide and we had a really interesting conversation about the Nabateans use of Corinthian Greek architecture that led to talking about job prospects for young Jordanians and the market there. So just remember kids, you never know where your Classics degree might take you!

Black and white of Bedouin guards on top of Petra overlook.

By the time we had all returned back to Petra'a Welcome Center where we had started, the day was creeping towards 3:45. We still had not eaten. Our appetites had been distracted by the views, but now that we could think about it, we were really hungry. The vans picked us up and brought us to a Jordanian buffet. For me, this was the most real and solid thing I had eaten in almost three days. The food was flavorful and amazing and I ate like I might never see food again. 

But I actually would not have to wait that long. From the restaurant, we loaded back into our vans and one took people back to the Jordanian border where they returned to Israel, while the other took six of us around 2 hours south to a Bedouin camp for the night. 

When Jess, Joe and I had booked the tour, we read that we had the choice between spending the night in a Bedouin camp, or a hotel in Aqaba. Both sounded pretty cool to us, so we figured that we'd ask our tour guide which he'd suggest once we were there. But this moment never came. So we were just swept along to the Bedouin camp - which still sounded pretty cool to us. But then the sun set. And it got cold. So cold. I know it's the desert and it's Jordan, but it gets cold. Like you can see your breath and can't stop your body from shaking profusely cold. 

When we arrived it was pitch dark and we entered a stylish encampment of lines of modern looking canvas tents amid palm trees. It was jovial looking enough, but it's charming look hide its true sinister nature. Canvas walls don't do much to hold in heat, if you have any of it to begin with. We were given two gigantic blankets and that was to served for our heating unit. In the tent I shared with Jess, we both quickly changed into all the layers of clothes we had packed with us. We decided to go to dinner to see if there was any heat in the cafeteria building. There wasn't. A large fire was at the center, but it didn't do much good; the heat didn't radiate out. None of us were hungry, but we ate to keep up with the body's demand as it shivered. 

This is what brushing your teeth in the Jordanian desert looks like

What the camp lacked in actual walls and thermodynamic capabilities, it made up for in beautiful 360 degree views of stars and the Milky Way. I saw my first shooting star while wrapped up in a 1in thick Beduin blanket standing out underneath the night sky with Joe, Jessica and our two new friends Amber and Juan (the two who joined our tour later).

The night passed painstakenly slowly and bone-chillingly cold. The low point was around 3am when I had to leave my bed to sprint to the bathroom building located around 75 yards away. It was freezing! As I figure it, at around that time of night, it was probably roughly 30 degrees. 

Looking all jaunty and cute in the sunlight and hiding its true nature.

When the day dawned, I woke up almost amazed to still exist. I staggered out of the tent, my body stiff, clothing stuck to myself and hair matted. 

I joined my friends at the cafeteria building and ate a Jordanian breakfast. Today we were going on a jeep tour of Wadi Rum!

Wadi Rum enters Western cinema from the adventures of T.E. Lawrence, who's life gave inspiration to the film Lawrence of Arabia. Wadi Rum was also the backdrop of the recent Matt Damon film The Martian lending it's red sands for the surface of Mars. So, I can now say that I more or less have walked on Mars. 

Our Bedouin tour guide arrived to pick up the six of us in an amped-up pick-up truck with bench seats in the back.  The fun thing about the Middle East is that they don't have to adhere to the same safety regulations as the west. So when you're sitting the back of a pick up and the Bedouin driving it decides to take a roller coaster-esque drop over a sand dune, you enjoy the ride! 

For the next few hours our guide drove us to a few different sites around Wadi Rum to take pictures and enjoy the natural beauty. 

Desert expanse of Wadi Rum

More views of Wadi Rum

Since they're out there all day, Bedouin guides take some great pics.

Don't try this at home

Mushroom rock

Attempting to climb the Mushroom Rock

After our jeep tour, we returned to the camp, grabbed our bags, threw them back into the van and got the heck out of dodge to Jordan's southern city of Aqaba.  We had signed up for a tour of the city, but I'm not sure if it's the fact that there's nothing much to see in Aqaba, or the Mormon girls really needed to get back to their connecting flight in Israel, but we were not there for more than two hours.  In that time we had one last Jordanian meal that culminated in one last awkward monetary exchange of US dollars, Israeli sheckles and not enough Jordanian dinar when the restaurant did not accept credit cards.  

After that, we high tailed it back to the Jordanian/Israeli border, which was the same thing we did the day before, but in reverse.  There was relatively few incidents: a border agent forgot to give me a stamp with the right year, so I had to go back through a couple steps at one point, but we all made it!

Back safe inside Israel, we said goodbye to our new friends from our travels. Jessica, Joe and I went back to our rental car that we had decided to hang onto for the whole span of the trip since just driving back to Beit She'an seemed the easiest and most cost effective way to do the trek. By then, the sun had set over Eilat, settling behind the Jordanian mountains - mountains which we had only a day ago been traversing.

Driving through the Negev desert and the West Bank at night is a lot less interesting.  The five hours of the drive went by without a hitch and much of note happening.  Before we knew it, we had returned to our familiar haunts of Beit She'an, which of course, had not changed one bit.  It seemed relatively unperturbed by the fact that we had just crossed into a different country, visited a World Wonder, dipped our toes in the Dead Sea and the Red Sea and passed a night in the Jordanian desert.  But that's Beit She'an for ya!

All in all, it was a magnificent trip!  I found myself in places that I never believed my life would take me. Getting to visit Petra was just much cooler than I thought my life would be.  I love looking back at the pictures and seeing the evidence that it happened, since some parts were very dreamlike to behold. It's well worth getting up from the desk chair for the chance to get to see it in person!

Hanukkah - Part 2: Aquariums and Canyon Hikes

The next day in Eilat dawned bright, but had a chill in the air....I feel foolhearted saying that since I'm a born and bred Vermonter, who's survived many a bitter winter. But keep in mind, that I've been in the country for almost four months now, in a place that sits along the same fault line as the Great Rift Valley and gets some of its weather from Jordan and Syria. So in the past couple of months my blood has thinned and my cold resistance tolerance has plummeted. [This will be an important detail to keep in mind for later in this tale!]

The weather had a bit of a brisker quality about it, but we were still on the beaches of the Red Sea where the coral reefs are legendary and dolphins leap playful to the cheers of tourists and their children...all for the right price, of course.  Let's not forget, it's Eilat - a paradisaical dream with illusions of Vegas grandeur and Atlantic City prosperity, only to be tempered by a proclivity towards conservatism, not suited for gambling, fast women and binge drinking, so it abates itself with duty free shops. 

Little Dory fish swimming through her reef-y world

First stop for Jessica, Joe and I was to the Underwater Observatory Marine Park, a park and aquarium which features shark feedings, a glass tunnel completely made of glass for 360 degrees of exotic fish viewing and the ability to take selfies with stingrays as well as an underwater observing station so one can see the colors of the Red Sea coral reefs from 42 meters (137.8 ft) under the waves. 

Aforementioned selfie with stingray

Photo op from the top of the observatory, with Jordan mountains in the background

Afterwards, the three of us made a quick stop at a grocery store - after the previous night's disastrous subsistence (primarily for everyone but Joe) we were trying to take precautions of being savvy on our wallets as well as our bellies. So we swung by a grocery store and grabbed what I would call a college kid's worst nightmare of pittance - my haul included yogurts, a can of chickpeas and what I imagined must be a frozen meal of vegetables and couscous since that's what the delicious looking picture on the box depicted! (Foreshadowing). 

We stopped by the Airbnb villa, ate our pitiful lunch, from which I can report that eating a can of chickpeas is just as pathetic as it sounds, and headed back out, this time driving away from Eilat and along the Egypt border.  We were so close to the Egyptian border that the road took us right along the heavily fortified fence,so we could see views of the desolate Sinai Desert.

Jessica at the wheel, with the Egyptian border on the left.

A must have fashion accessory: the fanny pack

Our destination was a hike called Red Canyon, which I had found out about from some stunning picture from National Geographic, as well as the reputable source of Trip Adviser. The latest review of the hike said that the hike was posted as closed due to water damage, but to ignore that warning and hike on - it wasn't that damaged & the hike was negatable. On the way down some dirt and rock roads not meant to be traverse by Nissan Micra, we passed other tourists being turned around and a sort of park ranger who told us the trail was closed. But I held onto the words of Trip Adviser to ignore all of this and press on - not easy to convince my group of, but they did it! When we reached the lower parking lot and got out to take a look around, we saw people coming up the trail! Lots of people, actually - everyone from a stoner teenage kid to a mom originally from Canada with her three kids! I insisted that if they could do it, so could we, so I coerced my intrepid group to press on for views that would be worth it! 

Well, big thank you to the dauntless reviewers at Trip Adviser - they were not wrong. We maneuvered across some challenging descents by rung across some rock faces, but the reward was completely worth it! 

The closest thing the scalloped red rock faces of the canyon brought to mind was scenes of Tatooine from Star Wars [which still have yet to see!].

We wrapped up the hike and headed back over the mountains, the sun was slipping beneath the horizon casting showed lines across the ancient mountains.Their faces exposed colorful rock layers of black and red that had bore witness to thousands of years of history, different empires, religions and leaders.  It was a moment of profound awareness of how small of an entity I was, but also the kismet of being able to tread this are at this place and time.  

Naturally, we were all really hungry after the hike, so when we returned to the villa,Joe, Jessica and I got busy making our supermarket bought meals. Joe had a pizza of questionable taste (Israel is not a nation known for it's pizza making prowess) and Jess and I had the alleged frozen couscous meal, which I imagined was like the Annie's meals I knew and loved back home!  

Unfortunately, high expectations are never a good thing to have in Israel - the meal turned out to be just 2+ pounds of frozen couscous in a Tupperware and that was our one meal option.  So night two in Eilat ended with us dining on a meal of couscous flavored with dry soup mix made up by the culinary mastery of Jessica.  It was one of the most hilarious concoctions I've ever eaten, but hey it worked!

New lows of gourmet were reached that night.

We went to beds tucked into our little bunk beds, woke up the next morning and grabbed our bags to catch the van that would take us to the Jordanian border crossing.  

Hanukkah - Part 1: A Road Trip of Biblical Proportions

If your idea of a holiday doesn't involve driving a car through disputed territory, along the lowest, most uninhabitable place on earth, then hiking through deserts, crossing through heavily militarized borders, viewing world wonders and spending a frigid night beneath a sky full of stars -- well, you're not really living!

This odyssey began, as any does, with an idea: the lost city of Petra had peered out at me from the pages of national geographic, textbooks, and of course, Indiana Jones. 

In Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Indy and his father ( Sean Connery, since who else could be Indiana's dad!?) are archaeologists who preserve the moral balance of history, by following treasure maps where X marks the spot, knocking over thousand year old, undiscovered tombs and breaking a lot of stuff - all to the battle cry of "It belongs in an museum!!!" 

[Seriously, they don't make movies like that any more, unless Star Wars delivers.] 

Much to the chagrin of the Nazis, the Joneses are getting pretty close to locating the Holy Grail, reputed to grant eternal life, and if there's one thing that really gets the Nazis panties in a bunch, it's life granting wine glasses; it's very aligned with Hitler's plans of world domination. 

Naturally, the only place you could hide the Holy Grail would be a lost city, so the whole gang: Nazis, Jones and all, come to the lost city of Petra. The city of Petra actually once was  actually "lost".  It slipped from memory and history books and was only known by Bedouin shepherds who transverse the rocky mountainsides with their goats and camels. Then in 1812, a Swiss explorer, Johann Ludwig Burckhardt tricked and coerced his way with the Bedouins, into revealing Petra's location and the Western World became aware of its existence again. 

The mysterious nature of the ancient red rock structures of Petra would entrance the imaginations of many, including me as I watched Indiana race across the screen to "choose wisely" through his knowledge of archaeology and quick wits! 

Most likely, you are not reading this for a synopsis of the movie and historical background, you actually want to hear about my adventures. So how do three Americans on Hanukkah break get themselves to the famed rose colored walls of Petra? They rent a car, of course!

My roommate Jessica is one of those people who has the road in her blood, so she was naturally at the wheel to handle the enterprising idiocry with which Israelis approach driving. I was up front, next to her in the passenger seat to navigate and Joe rounded us out in the back seat of our little Nissan Micra.  On the stereo, heavy metal guitar pounded out a beat as we rounded the twists and turns of highway 90 towards the West Bank. Jessica and Joe love their metal, so my soft indie music suggestions were outnumbered. There's something about the timeless, forlorn, jagged edges of the desert that really vibes well with metal; so as soundtracks go, this felt apropos. 

It only takes a few minutes to reach the border of the West Bank after you leave Beit She'an (we are closer to Jordan and the West Bank than any major Israeli cities). From what you read in the news about the West Bank, you would imagine it's very well fortified and maintained, so that passing through it is an ordeal...well, we didn't even come to a full stop.  We were waved right through. 

The drive continued down 90 which wove itself between mountains and the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea is the lowest point on the earth's surface. Its surface and shores are 429 meters below sea level. All three of us have visited before on Birthright and subsequent MASA trips, so we didn't need to find a spa and take a dip in the salty waters, but we couldn't pass up the chance to take advantage of the photo op to kick off the road trip.

Road trip crew assembled!!!

Another notable site that we drove by was the alleged location of Sodom, a city mentioned in the Book of Genesis for its evil residents, who were smitted (Smitten? Smote? Please give me feedback on what's grammatically correct in the comments) by god in a rain of fire and brimstone - since god has never been one for half-assed measures. The only one spared was Lot, his wife and his daughters, who were warned of the eminent destruction of the city by angels sent from god. They packed their things and sped away, but not before Lot's wife dared a peek back over her shoulder at the destruction of their home. And poof! She turned into a pillar of salt! This being the area of the Dead Sea and all, she was in good company. 

If you want to read more about this, check out The Harlot by the Side of the Road by Jonathan Kirsch for a really daring, racy read. It's not every day that one drives through the location of the lewdest biblical tales, so we stopped for another photo. 

Yep, that's Mt. Sodom.  Not much to look at!

Now, nothing but miles of road stood between us and the southern tip of Israel, Eilat. This stretch of drive took us through the Negev desert. If you've ever wondered what it might be like to drive on the surface of the moon, to the best of my knowledge this would be the way to experience it. The desert is just endless stretched of barren nothingness as far as the eye can see. Rock structures rounded and twisted from the wind into strange foreign shapes pass by you. As the sun sets, the mountains on either side of you begin to turn a hazy purple,adding to the unearthly quality of this landscape.

It was just as the sun set below the horizon that we pulled into Eilat.  Eilat sits at the very bottom tip of Israel jutting into the Red Sea. It's bordered on one side by Jordan and on the other by Egypt and the Sinai desert. To best picture the city itself, imagine a shrunk down Vegas strip, wrap it in a shawarma to give it a middle eastern vibe and then throw in duty free shopping since everything there is tax free. 

For lodging, I had obtained a room in a villa for the three of us on Airbnb. Our host, Dan, greeted us and showed us around the house, which was neat, clean and functioned as a club house of sorts for Dan and his buddy's diving school! Pretty cool.

Since it was getting late and we hadn't eaten all day, we all grabbed jackets (since when you've adjusted to 75 degree temperatures daily, you chill easy) and headed down to the strip on the boardwalk. Over the next few hours, beneath the bright lights of Eilat that advertised duty free, American products, we learned that Eilat is not a city known for affordable or delectable food. Jessica and I, both vegetarians found some weird soy by-product to eat, while Joe adventurously filled up on fried tonsil or sweetbreads at one of those tourist trap restaurants.  

However, we had made it from Beit She'an to Eilat, down the length of the Dead Sea to the Red Sea in one piece.  We all went to bed in our bunk beds that night very excited for the next parts of our adventure over the coming days!