Breakthrough, Baidu and Baaaaah

Breakthrough
I had my first “Holy cow, I can really understand Chinese!” moment the other day. Interestingly enough, it was not while trying to bargain at the local market or directing a cab to the right drop-off point. My “Eureka!” moment came while watching the DVD of last summer’s Stiller installation, Tropic Thunder. Without giving away too many spoilers, the movie focuses on a band of bumbling actors in search of Oscar nods filming an Apocalypse Now style Vietnam epic. Since the film is set in Vietnam, you’d expect the locals to speak Vietnamese, right? When they first appeared on screen, I instinctively lowered my eyes to the subtitles. But then I heard it: “Tamen qu nar?” Wait a second. That’s Chinese for “Where are they going?”!!! You learn later in the movie just why they speak Mandarin rather than Vietnamese, but that’s besides the point. I can understand Chinese even when I’m not expecting it to be spoken! The movie itself was rather mediocre, but I’ll forever remember it for my linguistic epiphany.

Baidu
Baidu is China’s version of Google. For some reason, the Web site keeps hijacking my Google searches and interfering in my general Internet interaction. I’m not quite sure if this is as a result of the Great Firewall or if my internet service provider has some annoyingly whacked settings. Probably a little of both. For example, today I couldn’t get on my credit card’s Web site because it kept diverting me to Baidu. I’m slowly being driven mad. Baidu, mind your own baidusiness.

Baaaah
You know you’re in China when …

… you walk out of your school cafeteria and witness seven odd chefs and waitstaff gutting a just-slaughtered sheep in the middle of your campus. I so wish I happened to have my camera last week when we witnessed this surprising scene outside the campus Muslim restaurant — one of the tastiest in the town. Guess I know why, now. The meat is just so damn fresh!

Tel Aviv-aporting Home

Homeward bound, at long last. Well, not entirely as I did not have a home, in the traditional sense of the word, to return to. But back to America, to New York City, to Sean … to the mosaic of sights, sounds, smells and people that constitute “my” home. As I awoke, I thought I would feel something grand: a feeling of excitement and anticipation, or, perhaps, sadness. Oddly, I felt nothing more than the urge to get my errands done.

And so I strolled through Tel Aviv’s streets and alleys for the final time, pausing to get a few additional shekels, post a few postcards for overseas friends and absorb the flavor of a city to which over the past 10 days I had grown quite accustomed. The night before I told Shirley to sleep in, and while she slumbered, I made my way through Nahalat Binyamin for the final time, picking up a few thank you presents for my ever so accommodating hostess. I only took one other picture that day, at the market:

There was also time for a final personal indulgence. Ever since our shopping day, a multi-strand silver necklace from a store called Ruby Star tugged at my mind, heart and wallet like an overeager child begging her mommy for a new bauble. Having received confirmation of my stimulus payment, I procured that beauty for my jewelry collection. I do hope the Israeli economy felt a bit of a lift from the US dollars I dumped there!

I picked up Shirley and we indulged in our own version of The Last Supper at a cute cafe off Allenby, right up the street from her apartment before heading to the airport.

A traveler has never really witnessed airport security until he has flown through Israel. The shoe removal, the plastic baggies with travel-sized liquids, the huffy-gruffy TSA agents — that’s all security theater compared to tried and true Israeli airport security. With here unnamed regimes threating Israel’s annihilation, not to mention the long history of suicide bombers’ propensities for planes, Israel means business when it comes to the lives of their citizens and all those traveling in and out of the country via air. So while racial and other profile leads to heated debate in America, it’s a way of life in Israel. And as a single, non-Jewish, non-Israeli, backpacking young female one-way ticket holder, I’m suspect numero uno. For people like me, thorough and intense luggage inspections are de riguer. What’s worse, Shirl’s last house guest (same profile as me) was even strip searched. Now, my mother didn’t nickname me Lady Godiva for nothin’, but even I was a bit turned off by the idea of having to peel off my layers for a stranger.

To try to avert a skivvy-clad Colleen in security, Shirley accompanied me to security. Unlike other airports where you only go through security once you receive your boarding card, in Israel, you go through this rigorous search and release as soon as you enter the airport. Shirley spoke with an agent and gestured for me to come over. A rapidfire Hebrew conversation ensued and another guard was brought over. Then began the interrogation: “Why are you here? Who do you know? Are you Jewish? How did you two meet? Where were you before?” On and on. I was definitely sweating, but trying to stay cool. The guard left and came back with a third woman, who again spoke to both myself and Shirley. Finally, I was given a sticker on my bag and told to put it through the machine. Success! Shirley told me that the guard was asking her questions first in Hebrew then me the same questions in English, trying to match up our stories and catch any inconsistencies. With Shirl’s help, I didn’t even have to open my bags. What a relief. Anyone planning to travel to Israel, take note: The guard said it was very good that Shirley came with me otherwise I would have endured a lot more hassle.

When I finally boarded the plane, I realized there were kids everywhere. Not little kids. Teenagers. Loud, antsy teenagers. Uh-oh … Birthright. Now, don’t get me wrong. Birthright is a wonderful thing. It’s essence is that every American Jewish young adult is entitled to a free trip to the Holy Land before the age of 26. But Birthright or not, when I’m on a plan full of hyperactive, hormone-fueled high school- and college-aged kids recently back from two weeks of bonding with Bedouins and each other, I’m flying the unfriendly skies. The next 11 hours proceeded with people running down aisles, pushing chairs way too far back, drinking too much, shouting to each other — just about everything you don’t want to happen on an 11 hour flight. I will never complain about a crying baby as long as I live.

Eleven hours, five movies, two barely edible meals and multiple Diet Cokes later, I was in my real home — back in the arms of Sean and NYC.

Randomness from the Road: Men, Movies and Mosquitoes

If you have participated in a Passover Seder, you should be quite familiar with the 10 plagues that befell Egypt in the wake of their enslavement of the chosen people. The Israelites may have avoided locusts, lice and the murdering of the first born, but three plagues currently run rife through Tel Aviv. I call these plagues “The Three M’s:” men, movies and mosquitoes.

Men: It’s no concealed fact that Israelis are hot. Especially Israeli men. The beaches and parks even feature workout jungle gyms for the already toned, tanned Tel Avivi sexy specimens to get all the more buff. With military service required of every young Israeli, boys start getting into IDF-shape around sophomore year in high school, and the culture of fitness continues for years after service has ended.

That said, either these men know they are hot or the culture encourages a degree of machismo — probably a combo of the two — because they just won’t leave a girl alone. Don’t get me wrong; the attention is flattering. But when you can’t walk down the boardwalk by yourself without someone pulling up besides you to chat you up for the duration of the walk or enjoy a coffee and a book by yourself, it gets a bit irritating. And no polite turn down works. “I don’t speak Hebrew.” “I’m in a hurry.” “I’d like to walk alone.” “I’m not interested.” While practically every Israeli guy speaks English, apparently none of these phrases were translated for them into the international language of “No.”

I never felt threatened by these eager young gentlemen, and women travelers will feel completely safe in Israeli, particularly in Tel Aviv. But you might find that it’s best to bring a friend if you’d prefer a pick-up free afternoon or evening.

Movies: And here I was thinking that Hollywood, Bollywood and NYC were the hubs of movie production, when all along, Tel Aviv’s streets were flooded with would-be Scorceses and Spielbergs. I saw no fewer than three shoots on any given day in Tel Aviv. Even Jerusalem swelled with video cameras. I’m not sure if they were commercial shoots, film student flicks or low budget features, but make sure you’re gussied up in TA as you never know when your face might end up in lights.

Mosquitoes: I don’t know if its the lack of crosses compared to the more Christian-oriented cities, but those tiny vampires, mosquitoes, bloom in Tel Aviv’s hot, humid climate. I awoke every morning to a few more mini Vesuviuses dotting my lower and upper limbs and refrained from snipping my nails for fear of losing scratching power. After the first few days, the sanguine suckers stopped stabbing as frequently; perhaps they had slurped me dry.

Nazareth, Tiberias & the Sea of Galilee: What Did Jesus Do?

Since the weekend proved a bit of a wash and my own go-out-’n-get-’em sightseeing thrust wained considerably, I booked another day tour to motivate me. Culling through the options, I settled on a tour to Northern Israel so that I could 1) see the North, the more fertile area of the Holy Land, and 2) get my history on once again. Recalling how moved I was by the historical and religious importance of Jerusalem’s sites, I wanted to see some more of these Biblical lands that existed in my childhood mind as mythical locales.

Forcing myself out of bed for the 7AM call time, I dozed the entire 1.5 hour ride to Nazareth, missing many of the guides more salient points. We pulled into Nazareth, a small, vibrant city with a sizable Arab population, and walked up a busy street to the Church of the Annunciation. This theme would be repeated: Major New Testament sites of old dropped in the middle of meccas of modernity. Progress doesn’t slow even for religion, encouraging my imagination to shift into overdrive in order to imagine the original settings of these momentous miracles.

The Church of the Annunciation as it currently stands was built during the 1960s, emitting a distinctly modern flair that I would see at other churches in this area. The Annunciation refers to when the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her that she was about to be God’s baby mama. The most striking feature of the church is the spectacular mosaics imported from Catholic congregations worldwide. Smaller mosaics line the outdoor courtyard, while in the second floor of the church, mosaic from the big kahunas stretch towards the towering ceiling. The American mosaic depicts a very contemporary take on Mary, her presence bursting forward from the wall in great relief. Perhaps the most beautiful and intricate, the Japanese mosaic includes real pearls dotting Mary’s kimono robes.

Next door rests the Church of St. Joseph. Joseph, a carpenter, was Jesus’ adoptive father. The church lies on the location of Joseph’s home. Still visible in the excavation work is his mikvah, the ritual bathing pool important in Jewish tradition.

Wrapping up the short stop in Nazareth, we wound through Cana — site of Jesus’ first miracle of turning water into wine — and stopped at Tabgha, the Church of the Multiplication of the Bread and the Loaves. Considered Jesus’ most important miracle, the site memorializes when Jesus took a basket of bread and one of fish and multiplied them thousands fold to feed the more than 5000 followers gathered to hear him preach. The plain church, maintained by the Benedictine monks, built its altar over the rock from which Jesus supposedly performed the feat. While I still can’t really commit to believing any of the story, the scenery sincerely touched me. Located in a hilly expanse of yellow grass, I could finally behold what the land may have looked like all those years ago.

Immediately following, we entered Capernaum, an archaeological site deemed “The Village of Jesus,” as this is where he lived out most of his short adult life with his BFF Simon Peter, thrice betrayer of his bud and the first Pope. Peter was a fisherman, and Capernaum provides easy access to the Sea of Galilee. Jesus and his bros used to take the boats out fishing, and rather than having a few Buds and dropping a line or two during a long, hot day, Jesus preferred trying out his preaching stylings on the captive audience the boats provided. In fact, the apostles were mostly fisherman.

The sweltering heat restricted our visit to Capernaum to a relatively quick tour through the ruins of the temple, the new church (shaped like a boat, of course) and the tumbled town square. The next few hours proceeded uneventfully, as we drove by the Mt. of the Beatitudes, stopped at a pricey lunch spot — though the time to wander down to the Sea of Galilee was priceless — and visited a diamond factory in Tiberias where we were given a sell harder than the stones themselves.

Final stop: The Jordan River, site of Jesus’ baptism by the appropriately named John the Baptist. But like all things in this war-torn land, the site was more *actually* the site where Jesus was baptized. Since the real site lay downstream in what used to be disputed land, the Christian world agreed to move the site to a more friendly area. It’s still the same river, just a different spot.

This minor flaw doesn’t seem to matter to the hundreds — sometimes thousands — of Christians who come here each year to renew or first make their baptismal vows. When our group approached, a number of Christians draped in white robes were wading in the river, eagerly awaiting their turn to be dunked in the holiest of waters. I opted for some simple finger splashing as a photo opp.

On the way home, I gazed out across the Sea of Galilee — actually a lake — into the Golan Heights, and made plans to come back to do some more exploring of my own on a later trip.

Shirley wasn’t feeling too well that night, so I went for a long walk by myself on the boardwalk and attempted to digest all the sites and sounds I ingested over the past 5 weeks, a task that rendered me simultaneously dizzily giddy and exhausted. Pushing this intense contemplation off until my 11-hour flight tomorrow, I grabbed some McDonald’s for my last overseas meal. I know, I know … McD’s? I never even ate that in the US. But the meal provided a nice segue from the otherness of international adventures to the familiarity of the homegrown, becoming the perfect ending to this journey. Not to mention those chicken strips tasted damn good!

[08.06.30] Nazareth, Sea of Galilee, Jordan River and Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: Bau-housed

Saturday doesn’t even need to be mentioned, as the entire day consisted of sleeping, E! Television and leftover fried food. This was already planned, as Friday was a big night out.

I got back into the vaca groove on Sunday with some more sightseeing, though the lackadaisical pace signaled that this leg of my adventure was slowly winding down. Shirley and I walked in the warm breeze over to Rabin Square. On this huge municipal plaza, the site of many public gatherings both joyous and dangerously charged, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995, by a radical Israeli angered by his stance on the peace process and support of the Oslo Accords. He has just finished a rousing speech, and was shot while descending the main stage platform, the hospital confirming him dead upon arrival. Every year on the anniversary of his murder, the square fills with people supporting his memory. However, in recent years, the gathering has become increasingly politicized, for better or for worse.

After a lunch of hummus and a delicious dessert featuring stringing, syrup drench pastry enveloping chewy goat cheese clumps — forgive me for not recalling the name — we sauntered up the wide, tree -shaded Tel Avivi boulevards, including the most famous, Rotschild. Constructed mainly from the 1940s-1960s, Tel Aviv bursts with the angular, minimalist white buildings made famous by the Bauhaus movement, mostly an import from the German and other European Jews that immigrated to the area to build the country. The World Heritage Foundation even recognizes Tel Aviv for its proliferation of Bauhaus stylings. Over the past 30 years, since Israel had, um, more important things to worry about, many of these funky edifices have fallen into disrepair. Thanks to a huge push by the new mayor, there has been a flurry of renovations, slowly restoring the city to its once famous glory, known as “The White City.”

An unusually cloudy day helped deflect the suns singeing rays, and we were able to walk to Neve Tzedek, one of the first neighborhoods of modern Tel Aviv. With its haphazard, tight streets, Neve Tzedek is akin to the West Village in NYC — very historic, but confusing as hell to even native Tel Avivis. We managed to find the approximate location of the house in which Shirley’s mom was born before heading home for a nap and a chill evening in.

[08.06.29] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: I Love the Nightlife

One thing this trip has been missing is one of my favorite pastimes: partying. Ever since moving to NYC in 2002, dark rooms with bright, flashing lights have been a big part of my weekend itineraries. After whetting my appetite at Maxim, I was ready to see if Israelis live up to their wild reputation and see if Tel Aviv could handle this shizz.

But before we could hit the dancefloor, we spent the afternoon strolling the artist market at Nahalat Benyamin. On Tuesdays and Fridays, the pedestrian walkways in this small triangular section of the City Center swell with booths offering exquisite handmade jewelry, handicrafts and art, all decently priced. We had been briefly on Tuesday and returned to finish my souvenir shopping.

After freshening up, Shirley’s parents picked us up for dinner in Yaffa. The restaurant, translated “The Old Man & the Sea,” is a Arabic-owned huge food hall overlooking the ocean serving overflowing plates of seafood and huge spreads of mezzes. Because Shirley’s parents are regulars, we got a perfect view of the sunset and gorged ourselves on hummus, bread, falafel, yogurt dip and a big plate of fried shrimp and calamari.

Full of fried goodness, we went home to rest up for the big night out. Things get started a LOT later here, so we didn’t even leave for the pre-party until 1AM. After hanging a the apartment of some of Shirley’s friends, we headed out to a club called Lizard for a party called Pacotek. The party focuses mostly on minimal techno and features a variety of local DJs. The club had a nice underground vibe; located in the outskirts of the city in a more industrial area, the back part of the venue is open, letting the cool night breeze waft over the sweaty dancers. Since John Digweed — a “superstar DJ” who became famous spinning at NYC’s legendary club Twilo — was playing that night, the crowd was a bit thin. Nevertheless, we had a great time letting off steam on the dancefloor and I got to know Shirley’s friends better.

[08.06.27] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: A Walk in the Park

Another free day and I was determined to get some exercise and see the city while at it. Tel Aviv’s large city park, Hayarkan, looked nice on the map, so I laced on my kicks and made my way north on foot. I quickly learned that there’s a reason Tel Aviv’s streets start to clear in the early afternoon — the heat is unbearable. On the hour walk up to the Yarkan River, I must have sweat out a few pails worth of perspiration. Grooving to my ipod, I barely noticed someone filming a few girls before he turned the camera on me! Faced with the decision to keep rocking out or embarrassingly stop, I obviously chose the former. So any Israelis out there, keep an eye out for a skinny white chic in red shorts lip syncing to Britney Spears somewhere in Tel Aviv.

At the park, I realized there was a good couple miles of sparsely treed paths along the river until the real park even starts. Taking in the palm fronds, muddy waters and blazing heat, I realized that Tel Aviv is exactly like Florida, minus the random rain storms. I finally found the pond and settled in for a nice afternoon of reading and sunning.

After another long walk home, I reunited with Shirl and we went out to grab sabhit, an Israeli stuffed pita that includes a hard boiled egg, hummus, cabbage and a whole lot of other good stuff. Then, we got ready for our first big night out. Tel Aviv has a vibrant party scene and there is a reason it’s known as a 24-hour city. Problem is that everything gets started a little too late. This leaves many hours for motivation to wain and the bed to beckon.

We rallied through the tough spot and headed out to an underground club called Maxim. The club instantly reminded me of Filter 14 or Sullivan Room back in NYC. The local DJs were playing some great minimal-type music that was just full enough to bring on a good dance vibe. Made some new friends and went home all smiles.

[08.06.26] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: Unique Boutiques

Shirley didn’t have any meetings today, so we stuffed our unemployed wallets with as many sheckels as we could afford to spend and made a beeline for the best boutiques Tel Aviv has to offer. While I was surprised to see NYC-equivalent prices in everything from food to beers to sunscreen, one place where great deals are to be had is at the small shops of Tel Aviv’s young designers. Handmade jewelry and handpicked fashion abound at relatively reasonable prices. One shop, Liliana, has become famous with Shirley’s New York friends ever since she sported some of her goods on her last visit to the States. I was one of the wooed, and, after trying on the entire store, I walked out with my own Liliana original. She promised me she would have a more user-friendly Web site up soon, which I will be sure to feature here.

We bobbed in and out of another handful of stores, and I fell in love all over again at each of them. I don’t shop too much because I’m picky, so when I find multiple items I crave on a single day, it’s epic. I found two necklaces I’m still deciding on, and bought a Romanesque cream-colored dress at a boutique called Israel Arie, owned by a fabulous former New Yorker-Israeli with a cuddly standard poodle. I love stores with dogs!

We caught the tail end of a great artisan bazaar on Nahalat Binyamin, and I decided to come back on Friday when it is open again.

Shirley had a commitment, so I went to a cafe, Loveat, for sandwiches, beer and WiFi. Home around 11 and getting ready fro bed, Shirl burst through the door, goading me into coming out with her to a local bar, Foster’s, to meet her friends. The bar was cool but too narrow, and we kept bumping into people’s passing legs. A quick drink and some late night pizza later, we were home. I had an early 7AM call for a tour to Jerusalem.

[08.06.24] Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv: Jaunt to Jaffa

Since Shirley so graciously hosted me right after a big trip herself, she needed some time for meetings and errands, and I got pumped for a day on the town by myself. While I treasure traveling companions to share and make memories with, traveling alone comes as easy to me as talking too much. Well, maybe not THAT easy, but close. Having twice written for Let’s Go and being an only child, I’m more than happy to venture out one my own, armed with map, guidebook and wide open eyes and mind. I’ve even perfected the art of self-taken photos, serving as art director, photographer and model on all my shoots.

I started out late (around noon), going to the beach to figure out my plan. It didn’t take long, as I decided to walk down the beach to Jaffa, the old port city. I enjoyed the powdery white sand and omnipresent puck-puck-puck sounds of paddleball (“matkot” in Hebrew) which are an integral part of Tel Aviv’s fabulous beach scene. The beaches run the majority of the city’s length and provide a stunning stage for brilliant Mediterranean sunsets.

Braving the encroaching heat, I strolled down the beach a few kilometers until Jaffa loomed on the horizon, the tan rocks of the city seemingly rising out of the lapping waves. Out in the ocean, a visible reef supposedly houses Andromeda’s rock, where the virgin Andromeda was tied as an offering to Poseidon, the sea god. Before she met a watery fate, she was rescued by Perseus, riding atop that My Little Pony-inspiring winged horse, Pegasus.

Jaffa is one of the oldest — if not THE oldest — ports in the world. From here, Jonah set sail for his fateful voyage into the belly of a whale and much of the timber for the Second Temple passed. Like many places in Israel, Jaffa has been torn down and rebuilt many times as it moved from one ruler to another. Archaeological evidence shows people have inhabited the site for nearly 10,000 years.

Much of the current area is run down, consisting mostly of Arabs and older Jewish residents. But like many such neighborhoods, the gentrification has begun, with wealthy young Jews buying up residences. The tourist quarter includes a lovely park with panoramic views of Tel Aviv meeting the ocean, a few churches and mosques and twisting small walkways leading to many Israeli art galleries.

The best part of the area, however, is the flea market, a truly hodgepodge, yard sale type bazaar filled with bargaining Hassidim, countless tchotchkes and perhaps some truly unique finds, like the giant red Mao bust I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get home. I grabbed a pita with zaatar (a mixture of herbs named after the main ingredient, a cousin of oregano, along with sesame seeds, olive oil and other tasty toppings), and browsed the crowded stalls.

Bummed that I had to say goodbye to the Mao bust (though I doubt they would allow that in China), I walked back to Shirley’s place, where we reunited then parted again; I went for a long sunset walk while Shirley attended an appointment.

Before I came, we made a pact to hold off on seeing the “Sex and the City” movie until I was in Tel Aviv, and tonight was the night. After a quick beer at a fun local bar called Bar Giora, we took in the film (subtitled in Hebrew). I enjoyed it. Yes, pure fluff it was, but boring it was not. Perfect night cap with one of my best girlfriends. It was fun to point out all the NYC places half a world away.

[08.06.23] Tel Aviv

Dead Sea: Desert with a Dash of Salt

Hitting the road early after some pastry and coffee reenforcement, Shirley, her friend Noa and myself were off to the Dead Sea. This lifeless body of water rests well below sea level, at the lowest point on dry land. Stretching out in the desert area between Israel and Jordan, the salt levels in the sea are so high that no life can be sustained, hence the very appropriate name. But just because fish can’t swim here doesn’t mean humans stay away. The Dead Sea is one of Israel and Jordan’s most popular attractions.

About two hours from Tel Aviv, we made our way southeast across Israel. Since the country occupies a space smaller than the state of New Jersey, most sights lie easily within a day’s drive. First, we drive the Jerusalem. Before getting in the car, Shirley had warned me that we had to drive through (or rather right next to) the West Bank, though she assured me we’d be very safe. Upon passing through Jerusalem, I understood why: A large stone wall barricades the area, barbed wire winding along the top. An approximately 6-foot wide sand strip runs next to this wall, and Israeli security frequently patrols the strip, searching for footprints. If any are found, a chain of crisis security measures are immediately put in place. Pretty impressive.

Once past Jerusalem, the horizon devolves into wide open spaces of sand. This is the desert, sustaining little life for miles save small and infrequent Bedouin communities, making a meager living and offering camel rides to tourists driving by. Shirl then told me there is an entire division of the military devoted to tracking down lost camels, as camel-vehicle collisions are a real problem in the area. Camel crashes? Toto, I don’t think we’re in New York City anymore …

The roller coaster sand dunes changed to jagged canyons about and hour later, with another set of high cliffs sitting on the distant horizon in Jordan, Israel’s rather friendly Arab neighbor. Soon, the milky blue waters of the Dead Sea rose into view. Their opacity reminded me of those I saw in Iceland a few years back, and for good reason: the high mineral content of both waters lends the cloudy color.

When we got out of the car at the beach at Ein Bokek, I nearly lost my breath. The temperature had soared to a balmy 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees F). A dry heat, it was nonetheless oppressive, rising to 43 C (109 F) within an hour. With water, water everywhere, you’d expect a splashy retreat from the heat. Not when the water’s full of minerals and bubbling hot sulfur Springs! Staring across teh sea at Jordan, I gingerly tiptoed in for my first salty swim. Well, not really swim. More like float. The huge concentration of salt and minerals means bodies just rise to the surface, and I had a grand old time posing for the camera flailing my legs and arms above the water. Look ma! No hands! As warm as a freshly drawn bath, the water feels oily to the touch, and makes you instantaneously aware of any cuts or scrapes known or unknown, rubbing salt in every wound. At the risk of to much information, you even feel the salt’s presence “down there.” Floaters must be aware of two major dangers: 1) You can actually drown if you roll onto your stomach and are too weak to stand up, and 2) The salt and the heat leach water from your body, threatening dehydration. For this reason, we only spent about 15 minutes in the water before drying off. I had already burned the soles of my feet (I searingly experienced why water should stay far away from eyes and contacts and couldn’t find my flipflops) and experienced the faint inducing desert heat, so we packed up and drove off to Ein Gedi spa.

The first resort on the Dead Sea, Ein Gedi originally lay at the yellow and blue shoreline. However, rapid evaporation — the sea is actually two bodies of water because of such, one of which is predicted to dry up in my lifetime — has left the resort perched on dry land about a ten minute walk from the waters. The resort features a refreshing pool area, sulfur springs and a huge mud pit, all of which we took advantage of. A paltry $18 entrance bought one of the most relaxing afternoons on the trip. After sitting poolside to cool off, we got down ‘n dirty with the mud, known for its therapeutic properties, especially in treating skin disorders. Slathering the thick, black wet clay all over yourself is not only good for your body; it’s great play for your mind. Of course, we go silly with the mushy muck and posed for some of the best pics of the trip.

Shirley and I decided to dunk in the sulfur pools before heading home. Growing up with Florida vacations, I am already intimately acquainted with that foul sulfur smell. For those of you that have never had the pleasure of sulfur wafting into your nostrils, it smells like farts. Or rotten eggs. Or farts caused by eating rotten eggs. It’s nasty. And here I was, about to willing dip my entire body (and nice black bikini) into a vat of hot farts. Ah, the things we do for beauty. My bikini still smells four days later.

Fart-smell free and incredibly refreshed, we headed back to Tel Aviv, where, tired for the long day in the unbearable heat, we grabbed a quick dinner of stuffed veggies and couscous and called it a night.

[08.06.22] Dead Sea