It is true. Our trip has ended. They all do eventually. Or do they? Isn't the whole point of sacrificing material goods to instead experience, that these immortal memories live with you forever? If one chooses, these jewels of actions past can never be returned, broken or discarded. They are our memories to either exercise and utilize in these more "practical" days, or to cast aside under the guise of being past tense. So as I bask in the comforts of home, and wade through the familiar feelings associated with returning, I remind myself that I have a free ticket to my precious memories anytime anywhere. And although some was sacrificed in the production of these memories, the benefit and accessibility of this mental round trip ticket far outweighs the costs.
So I'd love it if you continued to come with me as I enjoy the privilege of excavating the hours and days spent with my wonderful husband in a far away land, that added up to create one of my most precious possessions.
When hastily purchasing our airline tickets for our trip to Israel we decided 10 days sounded like plenty of time to tackle this tiny country. Were we ever wrong. We didn't conceive that Jerusalem itself would demand our utmost attention for 5 days. That being the case, we were left with about 3 whole days aside from traveling to see something outside of Jerusalem's old city walls. With advice from our Couchsurfing host/ Part-time Israeli tour guide (lucky us), Suzana, we settled on a trip to the Dead Sea.
The lure of floating on the water free of water wings, and the rumored desert temperatures was enough to be the catalyst which propelled us out of our beloved Jerusalem. We struggled to find our bus in the massive bus station as the Hebrew language persisted to dumbfound us. Finally getting on, Cory and I were the last ones for who there were seats available. This didn't stop the bus driver from continuing to usher on passengers, whom were destined to awkwardly stand and sway for the next 3 hours. Cory being the gentleman that he is, gave his seat to a girl who was standing and he sat on the ground. I, not having such gentlemanly tendencies continued to hold tight to my seat wedged between 5 family members in the long back seat. Standing practically on Cory was a young Jewish guy who decided that he would hold onto the bars that ran above him down the length of the bus for the rest of his ride. This decision coupled with his decision to apparently not shower...ever, made this a very long bus ride for a lot of people. The girls who I was sitting in the back seat with started to make faces at each other and fan fresh air at themselves as we all stared at the perpetrators pits with horror. We did not technically share a common language, but I soon found that there is a lesser known universal language of BO disgust. It spans borders and brings all those who choose to maintain hygienic standards together. These girls and I were hysterically laughing as we gasped for fresh air and shrugged our shoulders in dismay. This was the worst body odor I had EVER smelled. I was silently praying for Cory and the people positioned directly under his pits...the pits of hell. There was nothing I could do for him now. The perpetrator had quite obviously settled into his expansive stance, and there was nothing to do but wait. The girl next to me took out some perfume scented wipes, tore a sheet in half and handed one half to me. As soon as she did I looked at her with tears of thanks in my eyes and held it to my nose. It smelled like girl. It smelled like freedom. Eventually, to our disbelief, he started to make his way to the front of the bus and got off early. The whole bus heaved a sigh of relief. Cory, bless his sweetest heart, was the only one who couldn't tell who the smell was coming from being that he was sitting on the ground at his feet. When we got off the bus and I said, "How did you survive that guy's BO?!", he confessed that he was terrified it was his own stench the whole time. The thought of Cory believing for two hours that that came from him, made me want to cry. You might wonder why I even mention this slightly crude anecdote, in contrast to the fantastic subject. It's only because these little moments of getting from A to B, and the absurd in-between is what really makes my heart swell when I think about traveling.
When we got to our stop, the Masada Guest House, we hopped off and lugged our backpacks to this apparent desert oasis. This giant compound sits at the base of the palace of Masada, which is hidden in the barren hills of southern Israel. Masada was originally built by King Herod some 400 meters above the Dead Sea in 43 BC. Masada was his plan B. He wasn't the nicest guy, and apparently he knew it because he built this massive palace in the ends of the earth to retreat to in case of a Jewish revolt or trouble from Mark Anthony or Cleopatra. In the end, Herod died before he had to use his lavish hideaway. That wasn't the end of Masada's usefulness however. The Jews revolted against the Romans in 66 AD, and a group of Jewish zealots captured Masada, using it for what Herod had intended for himself...a hide out. When the Romans had suppressed the uprising of the Jews some 4 years later they focused in on those pesky Jewish rebels hiding in the mountain-tops. Thus began the building of the huge ramp which eventually led to Masada. When it appeared the Romans were getting close, the Zealots began setting fire to their homes and possessions to keep them from falling into Roman hands. They then decided that they too could not fall into Roman hands, and that that they would rather die. They cast lots to decide which 10 of the 967 would be the executioners. When the Romans finally broke through the walls, they found 2 women and 5 children who had survived by hiding. The mass suicide marked the end of the Jews presence in Palestine.
We had read that Masada was best to be hiked before sunrise, so we had the whole rest of the day to head to the Dead Sea. We jumped on a bus to the resort town of Ein Bokek, just about 10 miles down the road. There is big business in the Dead Sea. Ein Bokek is right in the middle of it all. People come from all over the world to reap the benefits of the unique concoction of salt and minerals which brews at that, the lowest point on earth. Spending extensive time basking in this brine can apparently help cure what ails you, specifically respiratory problems. To say we were not prepared to visit the Dead Sea would be a laughable understatement. I had no bathing suit and neither of us had towels. The, "We'll figure it out" mentality we had employed up until that point left us high and dry at this point. Actually high and soaking wet would be more appropriate. Amidst the smatterings of our obviously wealthier counterparts (a.k.a. those who could afford bathing suits), I charged into the water in my rattiest tank top and shorts. It was not warm, but that was not going to stop us from doing what we came there to do. Float.
And float we did. It is really a wild feeling. You are just...well...buoyant. It's like I got pumped full of air like a beach ball and thrown into a giant pool. It was really cool. But alas, we're not beach balls...we're humans, and there was actually a natural force keeping us afloat. The Dead Sea is mainly fed by the Jordan River but there isn't an outlet. It is like...mega hot there most of the year, so the water level is kept in balance by the excessive evaporation. The water arrives with normal mineral concentrations, but evaporation causes the mineral levels to rise dramatically. It is 10 times more salty than the ocean, and with that 30% salinity comes the awesome perk of becoming a beach ball! We hadn't done a lot of research on the repercussions of being in this salty sauce, but figured rather we'd just figure it out as we went.
Fail.
As I ran, flailing towards the shore through the oily water, rubbing my eyes with all my might...I realized a little research could have been useful. Who knows maybe the signs of red, squiggly Hebrew letters actually did read, "Caution: Do Not Get Water In Eyes. It Will Buuuurrrrnnnnn." But we still couldn't read Hebrew, so we'll never know, will we? All I know that is if you got the smallest drip in your eye, it will burn really really badly. Oh, that is why I'd never seen a picture of a person swimming laps in the Dead Sea. Got it.
We laid in the sand and soaked in the rays for a couple hours, all while receiving pitiful glances for our obvious lack of all and any beach gear. They had no idea that we had spent the last month and a half traveling through -10 temperatures, and that is was a miracle that we both had shorts to wear. To make it even weirder, we decided to spend our precious Shekels on a Dead Sea body mud pack. These packs of slimy mud supposedly have many good things to bestow onto ones epidermis. As we were making this decision, assessing our abused and somewhat reptilian skin...we settled on this splurge. The process of publicly slathering each other was well worth it, but as a bonus it did actually give us silky smooth skin for the rest of our trip. Thanks Dead Sea.
The day after Dead Sea, we woke up ridiculously early to take on the hike up the Snake Path to Masada before sunrise. This is said to be the best sunrise view around...and was it ever. Not to say we didn't have to work for it. That Snake Path, dotted with about 20 other die hard hikers was no walk in the park. We huffed and puffed our way up the desert mountainside beginning at 5:30, for an hour as the sun began to hint at it's arrival that day. With every step the arid sky morphed into an unforgettable twilight. Masada was bathed in a rosy pink hue when we finally reached it. It was massive and complex, and it felt like we could explore forever and not see everything. King Herod apparently was not a frugal man, and Masada was living proof of this. For a "backup" palace he never even had the chance to use...this place was decked out...in a BC kind of way, of course. After we spent a couple hours exploring we felt the incoming hoards of Israeli students approaching.
Apparently it is a requirement to visit Masada before they graduate, so this historical site is frequented by masses of them daily. We had such a peaceful and serene morning up there by ourselves, that we felt it was time to head back down the Snake Path before it got more congested.
After a HUGE complimentary breakfast at the Masada Guest House (I overate with the financial excuse that I was stocking up meals in my stomach for the rest of our time in budget busting Israel...) we checked out and hopped on a bus headed back to Jerusalem, and then one to Tel Aviv. We stayed that night in the old town of Jaffa...killed the next day seeing more of Tel Aviv...then departed to the airport around midnight in a torrential downpour. We left Israel around 3 am that night with a sense of overwhelming satisfaction and underlying sadness. This place had meant more to us than we could have imagined when we had booked our tickets on a whim a month earlier. I can safely make the assumption that there is no where else in the world quite like Israel...and for being able to experience all this we are so grateful.
Thanks for seeing us through the Holy Land...next up...CRETE!
So I'd love it if you continued to come with me as I enjoy the privilege of excavating the hours and days spent with my wonderful husband in a far away land, that added up to create one of my most precious possessions.
When hastily purchasing our airline tickets for our trip to Israel we decided 10 days sounded like plenty of time to tackle this tiny country. Were we ever wrong. We didn't conceive that Jerusalem itself would demand our utmost attention for 5 days. That being the case, we were left with about 3 whole days aside from traveling to see something outside of Jerusalem's old city walls. With advice from our Couchsurfing host/ Part-time Israeli tour guide (lucky us), Suzana, we settled on a trip to the Dead Sea.
The lure of floating on the water free of water wings, and the rumored desert temperatures was enough to be the catalyst which propelled us out of our beloved Jerusalem. We struggled to find our bus in the massive bus station as the Hebrew language persisted to dumbfound us. Finally getting on, Cory and I were the last ones for who there were seats available. This didn't stop the bus driver from continuing to usher on passengers, whom were destined to awkwardly stand and sway for the next 3 hours. Cory being the gentleman that he is, gave his seat to a girl who was standing and he sat on the ground. I, not having such gentlemanly tendencies continued to hold tight to my seat wedged between 5 family members in the long back seat. Standing practically on Cory was a young Jewish guy who decided that he would hold onto the bars that ran above him down the length of the bus for the rest of his ride. This decision coupled with his decision to apparently not shower...ever, made this a very long bus ride for a lot of people. The girls who I was sitting in the back seat with started to make faces at each other and fan fresh air at themselves as we all stared at the perpetrators pits with horror. We did not technically share a common language, but I soon found that there is a lesser known universal language of BO disgust. It spans borders and brings all those who choose to maintain hygienic standards together. These girls and I were hysterically laughing as we gasped for fresh air and shrugged our shoulders in dismay. This was the worst body odor I had EVER smelled. I was silently praying for Cory and the people positioned directly under his pits...the pits of hell. There was nothing I could do for him now. The perpetrator had quite obviously settled into his expansive stance, and there was nothing to do but wait. The girl next to me took out some perfume scented wipes, tore a sheet in half and handed one half to me. As soon as she did I looked at her with tears of thanks in my eyes and held it to my nose. It smelled like girl. It smelled like freedom. Eventually, to our disbelief, he started to make his way to the front of the bus and got off early. The whole bus heaved a sigh of relief. Cory, bless his sweetest heart, was the only one who couldn't tell who the smell was coming from being that he was sitting on the ground at his feet. When we got off the bus and I said, "How did you survive that guy's BO?!", he confessed that he was terrified it was his own stench the whole time. The thought of Cory believing for two hours that that came from him, made me want to cry. You might wonder why I even mention this slightly crude anecdote, in contrast to the fantastic subject. It's only because these little moments of getting from A to B, and the absurd in-between is what really makes my heart swell when I think about traveling.
When we got to our stop, the Masada Guest House, we hopped off and lugged our backpacks to this apparent desert oasis. This giant compound sits at the base of the palace of Masada, which is hidden in the barren hills of southern Israel. Masada was originally built by King Herod some 400 meters above the Dead Sea in 43 BC. Masada was his plan B. He wasn't the nicest guy, and apparently he knew it because he built this massive palace in the ends of the earth to retreat to in case of a Jewish revolt or trouble from Mark Anthony or Cleopatra. In the end, Herod died before he had to use his lavish hideaway. That wasn't the end of Masada's usefulness however. The Jews revolted against the Romans in 66 AD, and a group of Jewish zealots captured Masada, using it for what Herod had intended for himself...a hide out. When the Romans had suppressed the uprising of the Jews some 4 years later they focused in on those pesky Jewish rebels hiding in the mountain-tops. Thus began the building of the huge ramp which eventually led to Masada. When it appeared the Romans were getting close, the Zealots began setting fire to their homes and possessions to keep them from falling into Roman hands. They then decided that they too could not fall into Roman hands, and that that they would rather die. They cast lots to decide which 10 of the 967 would be the executioners. When the Romans finally broke through the walls, they found 2 women and 5 children who had survived by hiding. The mass suicide marked the end of the Jews presence in Palestine.
We had read that Masada was best to be hiked before sunrise, so we had the whole rest of the day to head to the Dead Sea. We jumped on a bus to the resort town of Ein Bokek, just about 10 miles down the road. There is big business in the Dead Sea. Ein Bokek is right in the middle of it all. People come from all over the world to reap the benefits of the unique concoction of salt and minerals which brews at that, the lowest point on earth. Spending extensive time basking in this brine can apparently help cure what ails you, specifically respiratory problems. To say we were not prepared to visit the Dead Sea would be a laughable understatement. I had no bathing suit and neither of us had towels. The, "We'll figure it out" mentality we had employed up until that point left us high and dry at this point. Actually high and soaking wet would be more appropriate. Amidst the smatterings of our obviously wealthier counterparts (a.k.a. those who could afford bathing suits), I charged into the water in my rattiest tank top and shorts. It was not warm, but that was not going to stop us from doing what we came there to do. Float.
Fail.
As I ran, flailing towards the shore through the oily water, rubbing my eyes with all my might...I realized a little research could have been useful. Who knows maybe the signs of red, squiggly Hebrew letters actually did read, "Caution: Do Not Get Water In Eyes. It Will Buuuurrrrnnnnn." But we still couldn't read Hebrew, so we'll never know, will we? All I know that is if you got the smallest drip in your eye, it will burn really really badly. Oh, that is why I'd never seen a picture of a person swimming laps in the Dead Sea. Got it.
We laid in the sand and soaked in the rays for a couple hours, all while receiving pitiful glances for our obvious lack of all and any beach gear. They had no idea that we had spent the last month and a half traveling through -10 temperatures, and that is was a miracle that we both had shorts to wear. To make it even weirder, we decided to spend our precious Shekels on a Dead Sea body mud pack. These packs of slimy mud supposedly have many good things to bestow onto ones epidermis. As we were making this decision, assessing our abused and somewhat reptilian skin...we settled on this splurge. The process of publicly slathering each other was well worth it, but as a bonus it did actually give us silky smooth skin for the rest of our trip. Thanks Dead Sea.
The day after Dead Sea, we woke up ridiculously early to take on the hike up the Snake Path to Masada before sunrise. This is said to be the best sunrise view around...and was it ever. Not to say we didn't have to work for it. That Snake Path, dotted with about 20 other die hard hikers was no walk in the park. We huffed and puffed our way up the desert mountainside beginning at 5:30, for an hour as the sun began to hint at it's arrival that day. With every step the arid sky morphed into an unforgettable twilight. Masada was bathed in a rosy pink hue when we finally reached it. It was massive and complex, and it felt like we could explore forever and not see everything. King Herod apparently was not a frugal man, and Masada was living proof of this. For a "backup" palace he never even had the chance to use...this place was decked out...in a BC kind of way, of course. After we spent a couple hours exploring we felt the incoming hoards of Israeli students approaching.
Apparently it is a requirement to visit Masada before they graduate, so this historical site is frequented by masses of them daily. We had such a peaceful and serene morning up there by ourselves, that we felt it was time to head back down the Snake Path before it got more congested.
After a HUGE complimentary breakfast at the Masada Guest House (I overate with the financial excuse that I was stocking up meals in my stomach for the rest of our time in budget busting Israel...) we checked out and hopped on a bus headed back to Jerusalem, and then one to Tel Aviv. We stayed that night in the old town of Jaffa...killed the next day seeing more of Tel Aviv...then departed to the airport around midnight in a torrential downpour. We left Israel around 3 am that night with a sense of overwhelming satisfaction and underlying sadness. This place had meant more to us than we could have imagined when we had booked our tickets on a whim a month earlier. I can safely make the assumption that there is no where else in the world quite like Israel...and for being able to experience all this we are so grateful.
Thanks for seeing us through the Holy Land...next up...CRETE!
2 comments:
wow, awesome pictures. I LOVE how you said you have a free round trip ticket to your memories. oh ga, that's such a comforting reminder. and poor coco thinking that hideous smell was his!! i laughed outloud. that's SO bad. athanksgod for the kindness of that girl who offered you a girl-scent. geeeeeez. so gross. absolutely LOVE your blog stories - you are such an awesome story teller. love you!
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