Saturday ended up being a highlight experience, but knowing
how much I like deserts and in particular Masada this should come as no
surprise to anyone. Despite the torrential rain through the night we were
blessed with picture perfect weather and a comfortable fifteen or so degrees.
After a brief stop at the sign marking sea level and camel rides for a few
individuals, we made our way along the picturesque road that winds along the
Dead Sea.
Woot! Desert!
I was able to work on my cross stitch for a bit and then recognised
the plateau.
Reunited!
I made an arrangement with the guide that I would meet the group
back in a few hours at the food court, so that I didn’t have to experience the
guided tour again. I mentioned what I was doing to Nadia who had also been to
Masada before and we schemed to leave the group as soon as we left the cablecar
and head down towards the most northern of the palace tiers, where previously I
had silently discovered some excellent fresco work. Sadly there was a rowdy
American group there so we didn’t stay long, but the sight was still every bit
as marvellous as in my memory.
I have pics of the frescos from last time.
Meanwhile, I should take advantage of the fact I am photogenic lately.
Also last time I had a phone without the capacity to take panoramic shots!
After a quick walk through some of the northern
palace including the baths and commandant’s house, we tried to find the group
briefly and waylaid two others who had broken away. They ended up joining us
for the descent down the Snake Path, which was my primary reason for wanting to
abandon the group.
Ready, set, GO!
The following things struck me while walking down which I
had not really considered when making the ascent for sunrise two and a half
years before:
- I must have been delirious with excitement not to notice how steep the steps and most of the path were;
- Regardless of whether I was going up or down, I am considerably slower than others when making the attempt – they say to allocate forty minutes and it took me just over an hour, with very minimal photo stops.
- Finally, how on earth did I manage to make it up there in the first place!
As per usual fashion my face was beyond flushed after
finishing the trek and I was most certainly going to take advantage of the
opportunity to swim in the Dead Sea later that afternoon. I’m fairly sure that
contributed to my knees not screaming blue murder to me the next day, as I had
anticipated they would. It was a different beach than the one I had visited the
other two times and required climbing down a small hill rather than the more
flat environment. From prior experience I was being overly cautious about
keeping my head up and paid less attention to the rest of me. It was much more
slippery than I remembered and I ended up scraping my knee on the rocks by the
mud as I waveringly made my way into the water. Naturally, this resulted in a
permanent stinging while I was in the water, however it was still such fun that
provided I didn’t get any infection I didn’t mind at all. The sun was setting
as we made our way back to the bus and almost everyone concurred this had
pretty much been one of the best days of the trip.
The next day was the trip to the North. Having previously
been to the Syrian border and the Golan Heights I was not as apprehensive or
excited or horrified as many others seemed to be. Because we were going to be
away from the hotel for more than twelve hours I knew I’d get heaps of cross
stitching done so I was looking forward to that most, and now I’m only a few
hours away from finishing the Big Ben L. Our first stop was at Sepphoris/Zipori
and although I remembered it once I got there, my memories of the site were
fairly vague, so it was nice to revisit the Roman provincial city and to see
the cardo, synagogue and mosaics.
Our second stop was to a kibbutz, a concept we had heard much
about as a result of our studies of the residence of many refugees and
displaced people on arrival in Palestine/Israel in the years following the war.
One of our survivors also lived on a kibbutz, and we arrived with
preconceptions that were shifted and modified on arrival. The kibbutz where we
were staying had a hotel on the grounds which provided employment and revenue
for many members. We were ushered into a room where we met a lovely lady also
named Frieda who told us about her reasons for survival as a kindertransport
girl in the mid 1930s from Germany to England. We then toured the site which
was reminiscent of a slightly derelict caravan park – this impression was given
because of the narrow roads and poor landscaping and similar house designs. It
did seem that the heyday of this kibbutz was prior to the seventies, and our
guide did say that while the 700 strong population had abour 400 kids and many
young adults who had left after the army or university had returned and
strengthened their roots, that there was not a sustainable quantity of people
returning.
The experience rather alarmingly reinforced to me that I was
born, raised and will die a capitalist, because I am so materialistic, even over
the needs of others, and while it saddened me because in theory I love the idea
of communal support, I am so ingrained in my own progressive actions that I won’t
give them up. I have found that study of the holocaust – through the discussions
about emigration, resettlement, fleeing or whatever other forms that required
people to pack up their lives in a suitcase or less – make me so burningly
aware of how many possessions I have, and how comfortable my existence is.
I’ve
willingly thrown away clothing to make space for some of the new possessions
(typically many are books) I’ve acquired, and when I return to my home, I will
wonder anew at how I would possibly pack up my life were I placed in a similar
quandary as the Jews or other refugees were, and I am not even needing to pack
30kg for a family but just myself! I have so much more than I need, and yet am
so programmed to believe I need more than I have. Travel is so often a chance
for me to reassess directions in life or to reflect on the blessings I have,
and this experience has so amply provided opportunities for that. I do wish I
could view my personal infirmities as blessings in some way though – I think
this will forever remain an area that requires growth. That being said, I really
have made progress, and my health has improved to the extent that a few years
ago I couldn’t have done what I’ve been able to do this trip, and I have
managed to make it through these weeks without any episodes. Instead there has
just been the continual tiredness which is largely a byproduct of dealing with
the emotional trauma I’m studying. I’m hopeful the tiredness will reduce as I
return to school and try and deal with the situations I will encounter this
year.
Following the kibbutz visit (and lunch was nut central so I
went for what has been my absolute staple meal this trip – corn soup) we headed
towards the Syrian border. I think a number of people were underwhelmed for a
bit at the view, but sobered at the sounds of shelling in the distance which
rang through the air every few moments. Needless to say we didn’t stay long.
If you can see any fences/barriers, that's the border.
The UN compound near the right is on the Israeli side. The mountains are Syrian.
To provide some bizarre type of juxtapositioning of the
haves and havenots a few minutes later we arrived at a winery and had a
winetasting before returning on our way back to the hotel. Once again, I was
incredibly thankful to God that he has placed me in such a secure environment
at home, in a place which is rarely threatened by invasion, war or political
unrest, and in a genuinely beautiful area of the world which offers me so many
opportunities whether I take them or not.
Sunset, 10/01/16
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