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bironicContinued from here.
Day 11: Tel Aviv to Masada.
Shock of shocks, Friday morning we had no mountains to climb. (Those came later in the day and by bus anyway.) Instead, we took a mini-tour of Tel Aviv, beginning at the posthumously named Rabin Square, where Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995. Sort of Israel's equivalent to the shooting of JFK.
In the front courtyard, overlooking the platform where the politicians spoke that day, is a pyramidal Holocaust memorial.
Out back, where Rabin was actually shot, is a memorial made with basalt imported from the Golan Heights. It looks like nothing more than a giant campfire pit filled with charcoal, albeit with one chunk polished and carved with a message; I'd like to know the reasoning behind it, whether it represents Rabin's connection with the land or something.
There are also some plaques and graffiti.
Next we visited Nihalat/Nachlat Binyamin market, one street brimming with fresh food, clothes and toys every morning and the other street filled with arts and crafts stalls twice weekly. The food—more olives, fruits, vegetables, pastries, bread, dried kiwi slices, etc.—smelled great, but since the plan was to come back after a trip to Independence Hall, I gave that aisle a skip and checked out the artists lane. Found some beautiful blue and white holiday-dish glasswork by one guy. Here are some pictures—warning, the first image is huge. Wavering over the price, which actually wasn't bad but I was hoping to negotiate, I decided to come back after Independence Hall—only we didn't return after all, so, unable to shake my fondness for them, I took the bus back there the next week and picked up some pretty Passover dishes as my only souvenir.
The reason we did not go back is that the "quick" walk to Independence Hall turned out to be more like a half-hour hike across the city in the sweltering midday heat, and, considering our 48-odd limp bodies when we finally arrived, our leaders decided not to make us do the whole thing in reverse at the peak temperature of the day.
The walk was nice other than the heat and surprising length. Blue sky, lots of trees bisecting the main road, interesting-looking shops, and nice people handing out samples of Fanta. It felt like we were marathon runners gratefully accepting cups of water as we plodded on.
Flags on the main thoroughfare, Rothschild Boulevard:
Independence Hall reminded me of those grand but stuffy buildings in Philadelphia where the country's history was made, complete with tales of how the most important event to take place inside—the signing of the Declaration of Independence—took place in an incredibly overcrowded room on a hot day. Difference was—well, one of the differences—that this history happened 60 years ago, not 230.
So we only went halfway back to the market afterwards for lunch and, in my case, sunscreen replenishment. They gave us 25 shekels for lunch when we were allowed out on our own, but that day my best trip friend and I decided to splurge and have a nice subsidized meal at an Italianesque café. Mm. A tomato-and-squash tortellini island in a sea of falafel and hummous.
Forthwith we commenced our two- or three-hour drive across the country to the Judean desert, where we'd be spending the next two days (one resting, one for getting up at OMG a.m. and climbing Masada and swimming in the Dead Sea). The landscape started to change soon after we left the city.
I was excited to see the desert. In fact, one of the disappointments of the trip for me was that we didn't get to visit the Negev, even if people tell me it's practically the same as Judea. The Negev desert is the huge, famous one, and I would have liked to see its varied faces and unique crater-like formations. They told me we couldn't go because it's too hot in summer, but the other two MOTL groups, I believe, will be able to see some of it as they travel down to Eilat on the southern tip of the country.
Oh, well; it's fine. I came to terms with it not happening as soon as they distributed the itinerary.
We stopped at a gas station on the way—for snacks, I suppose, and also for bathrooms, a frequent necessity since we were two-thirds girls and we all made our choices throughout the trip regarding adequate hydration—at which there were cowboys! With horses, and also this clipped-eared dog. And okay, they were not cowboys but Bedouins, desert nomads. Or former nomads, since the Bedouins have gradually been settling. Most are not doing so well economically, particularly as some tribes have been relocated to certain areas within Israel and allocated certain amounts of water and electricity, like Native American reservations.
More views as we drove.
The Dead Sea is 420 meters below sea level, and sinking each year. As we crossed the peaks of the Judean hills and began to descend, these elevation markers started to show up on the side of the road. If it's too small, this one says -100 meters.
First glimpse of the Sea!
More of the Sea and spa-resort hotels to the right, and desert to the left.
Until, in the middle of nowhere, we reached our guest house, right at the foot of the ancient Roman palace/Jewish stronghold/mass-suicide site, Masada.
Our bus driver had been going at what were probably unsafe speeds in order to get us in the building an hour before sunset to do Shabbat for the people who observe.
Remember in that House episode, where the woman asks 13 and her husband to help her bring the light to her face? That same concept is why the people in this photo have their hands over their eyes.
The view from our room, over a menagerie of fascinating, chalky marl formations, the Dead Sea in the distance, and Jordan on the far shore.
Day 11: Shabbat at Masada.
Saturday = Shabbat = Mandatory Fun day. Enforced Rest day. Etc. It felt a little like driving 80 mph and hitting a wall, this full-speed week followed by not having anything to do but lie around, eat, swim and talk to people. On the other hand, not walking around all day was nice, even if it was at least 110 degrees outside.
Not a bad view from the pool, eh?
Looking off to the left behind the pool.
Courtyard at the guest house. The whole place was made of this stone. Very pretty and spare.
The best thing about Saturday, and one of the best things about the entire trip, was an optional (!) hike Assaf led that night through the marl canyon things. Wow, was that beautiful. I hope the girl who took her camera posts some photos so I can relive it and show you. Being white and chalky, the marl glowed eerily, towering over us on either side when we reached the bottom and shut off our flashlights. And between the—cliffs, for lack of a better word, though they weren't more than a few dozen feet tall—was a strip of sky full of stars, finally, so clear you could see the band of the Milky Way. When you weren't gazing helplessly at the ground, that is, trying to make out where the stones were in the dark so you didn't trip and sprain an ankle just in time to climb Masada.
Which will be coming up next.
Day 11: Tel Aviv to Masada.
Shock of shocks, Friday morning we had no mountains to climb. (Those came later in the day and by bus anyway.) Instead, we took a mini-tour of Tel Aviv, beginning at the posthumously named Rabin Square, where Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995. Sort of Israel's equivalent to the shooting of JFK.
In the front courtyard, overlooking the platform where the politicians spoke that day, is a pyramidal Holocaust memorial.
Out back, where Rabin was actually shot, is a memorial made with basalt imported from the Golan Heights. It looks like nothing more than a giant campfire pit filled with charcoal, albeit with one chunk polished and carved with a message; I'd like to know the reasoning behind it, whether it represents Rabin's connection with the land or something.
There are also some plaques and graffiti.
Next we visited Nihalat/Nachlat Binyamin market, one street brimming with fresh food, clothes and toys every morning and the other street filled with arts and crafts stalls twice weekly. The food—more olives, fruits, vegetables, pastries, bread, dried kiwi slices, etc.—smelled great, but since the plan was to come back after a trip to Independence Hall, I gave that aisle a skip and checked out the artists lane. Found some beautiful blue and white holiday-dish glasswork by one guy. Here are some pictures—warning, the first image is huge. Wavering over the price, which actually wasn't bad but I was hoping to negotiate, I decided to come back after Independence Hall—only we didn't return after all, so, unable to shake my fondness for them, I took the bus back there the next week and picked up some pretty Passover dishes as my only souvenir.
The reason we did not go back is that the "quick" walk to Independence Hall turned out to be more like a half-hour hike across the city in the sweltering midday heat, and, considering our 48-odd limp bodies when we finally arrived, our leaders decided not to make us do the whole thing in reverse at the peak temperature of the day.
The walk was nice other than the heat and surprising length. Blue sky, lots of trees bisecting the main road, interesting-looking shops, and nice people handing out samples of Fanta. It felt like we were marathon runners gratefully accepting cups of water as we plodded on.
Flags on the main thoroughfare, Rothschild Boulevard:
Independence Hall reminded me of those grand but stuffy buildings in Philadelphia where the country's history was made, complete with tales of how the most important event to take place inside—the signing of the Declaration of Independence—took place in an incredibly overcrowded room on a hot day. Difference was—well, one of the differences—that this history happened 60 years ago, not 230.
So we only went halfway back to the market afterwards for lunch and, in my case, sunscreen replenishment. They gave us 25 shekels for lunch when we were allowed out on our own, but that day my best trip friend and I decided to splurge and have a nice subsidized meal at an Italianesque café. Mm. A tomato-and-squash tortellini island in a sea of falafel and hummous.
Forthwith we commenced our two- or three-hour drive across the country to the Judean desert, where we'd be spending the next two days (one resting, one for getting up at OMG a.m. and climbing Masada and swimming in the Dead Sea). The landscape started to change soon after we left the city.
I was excited to see the desert. In fact, one of the disappointments of the trip for me was that we didn't get to visit the Negev, even if people tell me it's practically the same as Judea. The Negev desert is the huge, famous one, and I would have liked to see its varied faces and unique crater-like formations. They told me we couldn't go because it's too hot in summer, but the other two MOTL groups, I believe, will be able to see some of it as they travel down to Eilat on the southern tip of the country.
Oh, well; it's fine. I came to terms with it not happening as soon as they distributed the itinerary.
We stopped at a gas station on the way—for snacks, I suppose, and also for bathrooms, a frequent necessity since we were two-thirds girls and we all made our choices throughout the trip regarding adequate hydration—at which there were cowboys! With horses, and also this clipped-eared dog. And okay, they were not cowboys but Bedouins, desert nomads. Or former nomads, since the Bedouins have gradually been settling. Most are not doing so well economically, particularly as some tribes have been relocated to certain areas within Israel and allocated certain amounts of water and electricity, like Native American reservations.
More views as we drove.
The Dead Sea is 420 meters below sea level, and sinking each year. As we crossed the peaks of the Judean hills and began to descend, these elevation markers started to show up on the side of the road. If it's too small, this one says -100 meters.
First glimpse of the Sea!
More of the Sea and spa-resort hotels to the right, and desert to the left.
Until, in the middle of nowhere, we reached our guest house, right at the foot of the ancient Roman palace/Jewish stronghold/mass-suicide site, Masada.
Our bus driver had been going at what were probably unsafe speeds in order to get us in the building an hour before sunset to do Shabbat for the people who observe.
Remember in that House episode, where the woman asks 13 and her husband to help her bring the light to her face? That same concept is why the people in this photo have their hands over their eyes.
The view from our room, over a menagerie of fascinating, chalky marl formations, the Dead Sea in the distance, and Jordan on the far shore.
Day 11: Shabbat at Masada.
Saturday = Shabbat = Mandatory Fun day. Enforced Rest day. Etc. It felt a little like driving 80 mph and hitting a wall, this full-speed week followed by not having anything to do but lie around, eat, swim and talk to people. On the other hand, not walking around all day was nice, even if it was at least 110 degrees outside.
Not a bad view from the pool, eh?
Looking off to the left behind the pool.
Courtyard at the guest house. The whole place was made of this stone. Very pretty and spare.
The best thing about Saturday, and one of the best things about the entire trip, was an optional (!) hike Assaf led that night through the marl canyon things. Wow, was that beautiful. I hope the girl who took her camera posts some photos so I can relive it and show you. Being white and chalky, the marl glowed eerily, towering over us on either side when we reached the bottom and shut off our flashlights. And between the—cliffs, for lack of a better word, though they weren't more than a few dozen feet tall—was a strip of sky full of stars, finally, so clear you could see the band of the Milky Way. When you weren't gazing helplessly at the ground, that is, trying to make out where the stones were in the dark so you didn't trip and sprain an ankle just in time to climb Masada.
Which will be coming up next.
