Between mosque calling, church bell ringing and the regular door slamming antics of my fellow Italian residents of the Franciscan run hotel Casa Nova, it really wasnt that hard to get up with the cockerel this morning for our tour to the historic fortress site of Masada, the desert oasis of Ein Gedi and the obligatory Dead Sea pilgrimage.
Our guide today was called Ofir…as in “Can I make you an ofir you can’t resist?” Incidently he didn’t make any ofirs and neither myself or Maddy have had an impromptu ‘big fat Jewish wedding’ is that even a thing? I think not but there’s a hell of a lot of fried Falafels to offend any good and honest weight-watcher. Anyway, I mention this because yesterday involved a fair bit of knee rubbing that was literally moments away from being a full scale violation, albeit from my skewed and newly developed orthodoxology, that as you might imagine has no connection to the Torah whatsoever.
We started at Masada with a delightful cablecar ride up to the sun clad ruins of what was once Herods fortress and palace and later the end of the ill fated Jewish rebellion. The scortched rock seems completely impenetrable, standing high and mighty, never mind adding further fortifications and a Roman battalion or two! The views where stunning and for once this particular albino welcomed the warm desert heat – obviously slathered in factor 50 to avoid spontaneous combustion while Maddy on the other hand contemplated following Icarus directly into the sun.
Next we trekked through Ein Gedi which gifted us with the refreshing spray of waterfalls, the soothing gurggling of clear freshwater streams and lush green vegetation growing in beautiful contrast to the dry craggie rocks and burial caves that envelops this desert oasis. Whenever I witness such stark geological contrasts I can’t help but feel some kind of inspired awe. It’s so cool how life clings to the edge with such dignity in the face of oppressive heat and an almost lunar landscape.
Onwards but downwards to the Dead Sea where all but salt and muddy tourists reign, quenched fortunately by the lowest bar on earth. My first thought was that there’s far lower bars in Leith, but thankfully this pub refers to its location -430 metres below sea level as oppose to the clientele. I do however accept that my arrival and Maddys mud encrusted flesh may have lowered the bar slightly.
Colette once said that a drink in the air equals two on the ground…I’m now assuming that one below sea level means it’s worth even less? That’ll be my justification for having another beer then! And to top it all off it’s only fair the day should end with yet another Falafel before we board the 7pm local bus to the town of Tiberias, nestled upon the sea of Galilee. The main question you really need to ask is….Will I fit on board? Imagine a giant breaded falafel sporting a pair of jeans, wearing a pitta bread waistcoat and you’ve got a pretty good vision of what I’ve become. Please pitta stop to the endless Falafels!!!
Sharon Gallagher 