After my little 3 week sojourn in the Sinai and Jordan, I returned to Jerusalem and Michal. Before I got to Jerusalem, though, I had to convince the Israeli border security that they ought to let me back in:
Apparently the Palestinians are only one dull knife away from a third Intifada.
I really don't understand the border guard mentality. A border guard (an Israeli border guard particularly: many, many Israelis travel as I am) should take one look at me and see that I am nothing but a harmless backpacker. I've got long hair, a suntan, scruffy clothing and am wearing a HUGE F'ING BACKPACK. Why do I want to come to your country? Who cares! I'm going to introduce foreign currency into your economy! Maybe I deserve some closer scrutiny if I'm coming from Columbia, or whatever, but in general, chill the fuck out. I'm here to take a look around, drink a few beers and then move on. It's what I do.
Big gun, no sense of humor. (photo credit: James Emery)
I'm sorry, I just needed to get that rant off my chest. It's been building for a long time and many border crossings. Phew. Better.
Moving on..
Michal had two weeks off between semesters, so we finally got to do some traveling together in Israel (in all fairness, she had originally suggested that I not arrive in Israel until this break. I was the one that showed up 2 months early, not her). The first weekend we headed down to the Dead Sea to stay at a fancy 'seaside' resort. Michal's parents have lots and lots of bonus points that they very generously used to get Michal and I a way nicer room than we could have afforded.
Mmm.. salty and depressed.
It's not actually depressed, silly. It's just the lowest place on earth. 1,388 feet below sea level. And without an outlet to the ocean, the water is super salty: by weight more than 33% of the sea is actually salt. That's why you float so well: the salt content makes the water denser so it takes a smaller portion of your body to displace a volume of water that weighs as much as you do.
These facts brought to you by: BUOYANCY!
Riiiiight..
First, though, we headed for the famous Roman era fortress of Masada.
You can see why they decided to put a fort there: it's an isolated segment of the heights that rise above the Dead Sea. (photo credit: Sem Paradeiro).
Here's an even better shot, courtesy of National Geographic. That's the royal palace spilling down the cliff at front left.
See what I mean? Very defensive (No I'm not!). (photo credit: electric_kitty)
There's an expensive cable car or a free footpath. Guess which one I took?
"It's a stupid hat."
There's a visitor's center down there, somewhere, and a Dead Sea beyond it.
I just can't help myself.
One the biggest concerns at Masada was the collection and storage of water. This stairwell leads down to one of the main cisterns..
..it's big.
Most of the plateau is empty rockscape, but at the northern end there are some pretty decent ruins.
I mean, look: it's a mosaic. Everyone loves a mosaic, right?
The royal palace as it probably looked 2,000 years ago. Jerusalem can get damp and chilly in the winter.. can't you just see Herod the Great nipping down for a little warm desert air? Maybe a dip in the theraputic waters of the Dead Sea?
Looking back toward the Dead Sea from the lower terrace. Pretty nice view. Fit for a king, one might say.
It is widely agreed upon that she looks better in my hat than I do.
Yes, yes, fine: you're cute.
But enough generic ruins. That's not why people come to Masada. People come to Masada for the blood and guts.
In 66 C.E. during the first Jewish-Roman war, Jewish extremists overran the Roman garrison and then used it as a base from which to harrass the Roman oppressors. As might be expected, the Romans proceeded to kick the ever-living hell out of the Jewish rebels, and by 70 C.E. Jerusalem had been razed and the Second Temple destroyed. The Romans then set about mopping up the remaining rebels, laying siege to Masada in the year 72 C.E. Masada is one helluva defensive position but the Romans were nothing if not patient, so they settled in, built themselves some barracks and then started working on a ramp.
Wait, are you frickin' serious?!
Yes. Completely serious. You can still see most of the 375 foot tall ramp nearly 2,000 years later.
Imagine standing atop the walls for 2 or 3 months watching this slowly grow up toward you. Yeesh. (photo credit: wikipedia)
Even if, as recent archeological work has indicated, the ramp is mostly built atop a natural bedrock spur, wow. After a couple of months of construction, the Romans prepared for a final assault only to discover the walls deserted and undefended. Entering the fortress, they found that nearly 1,000 people, including women and children, had killed themselves overnight rather than allow themselves to be captured. According to the Jewish-Roman historian Josephus Flavius, who received the account from two women that concealed themselves in a cistern, the defenders drew lots to determine who would be the last to die then, in order to avoid committing actual suicide (which Judaism frowns upon), allowed themselves to be killed, one by one. In this way, only the last man alive would be forced to kill himself.
Madness.
The remains of the Roman camp. You know you build well when a temporary military structure is still visible nearly 2,000 years later.
Two fun facts regarding Josephus Flavius: he survived a different mass suicide of Jewish rebels by first hiding in a cave and then, when the cave was discoved by the Romans, by suggesting a novel way to draw lots to be killed. Every third man around was killed and Josephus, slippery devil that he was, arranged to be the last one alive and then surrendered. This has led to an interesting mathematical problem called the Josephus problem, or Roman Roulette, which asks how one can determine with complete certainty who will be the last man killed (or, alternatively, the sole survivor). Huh. Weird.
Anyway..
After all that depressing history, some extravagant luxury was just what the doctor ordered. It was great fun walking into the lobby still sweaty and dusty from Masada, strolling up to the front desk and informing them that yes, we did in fact have a reservation. It was probably even more fun for me than Michal, because the whole transaction was conducted in Hebrew. I just stood off to the side and tried to look magnanimous: "Why, yes, this is my lovely translator. I take her everywhere I go."
Homo sapiens backpackeris in his natural habitat.
White robe, white hat. Oh yeah.
She's a classy dame.
It was a little too windy down on the beach. Good thing they had a pool.
One of the indoor pools has Dead Sea water. They weren't kidding about the floating thing.
It's almost eerie how far out of the water you are.
It was a fun weekend.
"Where do you live in Israel?"Aaaarrrg!
"In Jerusalem, with my girlfriend."
Eyebrows rising in surprise: "You have a girlfriend? She is American also?"
"No, she's Israeli."
Eyebrows ascending even further: "Really? And what do you do?"
"I'm unemployed."
"You don't work?"
"I've been traveling for about a year now, so, no. I don't work."
"I see, I see. How long will you be in Israel? Where does your girlfriend live? What does she do? Where did you meet? Where did you get the money to travel for so long? What did you do before you started traveling? Where did you work? Have you met your girlfriend's family? What do they do? Do you touch yourself at night? What do you think about? Etc., etc."
"Sigh."
(later)
"Why do you have this knife?"
"It's a dive knife. I SCUBA dive. See? I'm wearing a dive watch right now."
"Please have a seat and wait."
(10 minutes later a supervisor arrives, only to spend another 10 minutes examining the knife and showing it to all of the other security personnel)
"Why do you have this knife?"
"As I told that other guy just a few minutes ago, it's for SCUBA diving. See? Right here? Dive watch? Would you like to see my dive log?"
"But why do you need such a large knife?"
"I just.. didn't I just say? SCUBA. Diving. It's a dive knife."
"Please have a seat, I need to speak with my supervisor."
I really don't understand the border guard mentality. A border guard (an Israeli border guard particularly: many, many Israelis travel as I am) should take one look at me and see that I am nothing but a harmless backpacker. I've got long hair, a suntan, scruffy clothing and am wearing a HUGE F'ING BACKPACK. Why do I want to come to your country? Who cares! I'm going to introduce foreign currency into your economy! Maybe I deserve some closer scrutiny if I'm coming from Columbia, or whatever, but in general, chill the fuck out. I'm here to take a look around, drink a few beers and then move on. It's what I do.
I'm sorry, I just needed to get that rant off my chest. It's been building for a long time and many border crossings. Phew. Better.
Moving on..
Michal had two weeks off between semesters, so we finally got to do some traveling together in Israel (in all fairness, she had originally suggested that I not arrive in Israel until this break. I was the one that showed up 2 months early, not her). The first weekend we headed down to the Dead Sea to stay at a fancy 'seaside' resort. Michal's parents have lots and lots of bonus points that they very generously used to get Michal and I a way nicer room than we could have afforded.
It's not actually depressed, silly. It's just the lowest place on earth. 1,388 feet below sea level. And without an outlet to the ocean, the water is super salty: by weight more than 33% of the sea is actually salt. That's why you float so well: the salt content makes the water denser so it takes a smaller portion of your body to displace a volume of water that weighs as much as you do.
These facts brought to you by: BUOYANCY!
Riiiiight..
First, though, we headed for the famous Roman era fortress of Masada.
But enough generic ruins. That's not why people come to Masada. People come to Masada for the blood and guts.
In 66 C.E. during the first Jewish-Roman war, Jewish extremists overran the Roman garrison and then used it as a base from which to harrass the Roman oppressors. As might be expected, the Romans proceeded to kick the ever-living hell out of the Jewish rebels, and by 70 C.E. Jerusalem had been razed and the Second Temple destroyed. The Romans then set about mopping up the remaining rebels, laying siege to Masada in the year 72 C.E. Masada is one helluva defensive position but the Romans were nothing if not patient, so they settled in, built themselves some barracks and then started working on a ramp.
Even if, as recent archeological work has indicated, the ramp is mostly built atop a natural bedrock spur, wow. After a couple of months of construction, the Romans prepared for a final assault only to discover the walls deserted and undefended. Entering the fortress, they found that nearly 1,000 people, including women and children, had killed themselves overnight rather than allow themselves to be captured. According to the Jewish-Roman historian Josephus Flavius, who received the account from two women that concealed themselves in a cistern, the defenders drew lots to determine who would be the last to die then, in order to avoid committing actual suicide (which Judaism frowns upon), allowed themselves to be killed, one by one. In this way, only the last man alive would be forced to kill himself.
Madness.
Two fun facts regarding Josephus Flavius: he survived a different mass suicide of Jewish rebels by first hiding in a cave and then, when the cave was discoved by the Romans, by suggesting a novel way to draw lots to be killed. Every third man around was killed and Josephus, slippery devil that he was, arranged to be the last one alive and then surrendered. This has led to an interesting mathematical problem called the Josephus problem, or Roman Roulette, which asks how one can determine with complete certainty who will be the last man killed (or, alternatively, the sole survivor). Huh. Weird.
Anyway..
After all that depressing history, some extravagant luxury was just what the doctor ordered. It was great fun walking into the lobby still sweaty and dusty from Masada, strolling up to the front desk and informing them that yes, we did in fact have a reservation. It was probably even more fun for me than Michal, because the whole transaction was conducted in Hebrew. I just stood off to the side and tried to look magnanimous: "Why, yes, this is my lovely translator. I take her everywhere I go."
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