Swimming in the Dead Sea

Today I took a day trip to the Dead Sea with my new friends Rachel and Kevin. Rachel and Kevin are from the U.S. and have basically been paralleling my journey here in Israel. They were at the hostel in Haifa where I stayed, but we didn't actually meet or speak there. When I was waiting for the bus from Haifa to Nazareth last Wednesday, having already missed the bus I intended to take and having to wait for the next one, I noticed them walk up and stand near the bus stop with their luggage. I thought they looked slightly familiar, and Kevin's blonde hair and casual look made me think that perhaps they were Americans, and I started to say something to them. But then I noticed Kevin's shirt, which had a bunch of Hebrew on it. "Ah, well, they're probably Israelis and don't speak English," I thought, and didn't say anything to them.

When the bus to Nazareth came, they got on, and when we got to Nazareth, they got off at the same spot. The three of us pulled our luggage out from under the bus at the same time, and I heard them speak English to each other ("Ok, let's look at the guide book," I think Rachel said), but I didn't say anything or really acknowledge them. I just set off down the road, thinking I knew where I was going from the map that I had copied down from another girl's guide book at the Haifa hostel.

Rachel

After wandering the streets of Nazareth for a while and getting confused and lost, I finally arrived at the Fauzi Azar Inn. When I arrived, I was talking about how lost I'd gotten, and the person at the desk said, "Ah, hi! Are you the one who called me?" "No," I said, "I didn't call..."

As the receptionist was checking me in, who walked up the stairs and into the reception area but Rachel and Kevin! We looked at each other and smiled, clearly recognizing each other. There was no getting around some communication now.

"Hi!" I said. "Were y'all at the hostel in Haifa, too?"

They said they were, and we laughed at how random it was that we were all headed from that hostel to this hostel at the same time. After we got the orientation tour to the Fauzi Azar, we all went to put our stuff in our rooms. I went into the kitchen to eat some of the free cake that the staff provides there each day, and pretty soon Kevin and Rachel appeared to do the same thing. Over cake, we started talking and got to know each other.

I asked where they were from, and they said the U.S. -- Rachel lives in NYC and Kevin in Philadelphia. I told them how I hadn't approached them because of Kevin's shirt with Hebrew on it, and Rachel laughed and said she'd gotten him that shirt as a joke because the Hebrew is all incorrect and the math equations that were on it were all messed up as well... so it looks really intelligent and whatnot, but it's really a joke.

Kevin talking to some "monkeys"

Rachel and Kevin are both anthropologists working on their Ph.D.s... Rachel in Jewish studies, which was part of why she was on this trip -- she is interested in Israel and the phenomenon of Jews "making aliyah" -- that is, choosing to immigrate to Israel as their homeland, even if they weren't born and raised there -- and Kevin in "primatology" -- that is, he studies monkeys. Who knew monkeys' social lives were studied under the academic discipline of anthropology? Rachel was going to be in Israel for a month, and Kevin was joining her to travel with her for two weeks.

We had several conversations over the course of our time at "the Fauzi," as people called it. We were staying there for about the same amount of time, too -- I was leaving on Friday morning and they were leaving on Saturday. Thursday night I saw Rachel out in the courtyard checking her email and said we should keep in touch, so we exchanged contact information -- or rather, friended each other on Facebook -- and that was that.

When I arrived in Jerusalem, I got on Facebook to send Rachel a message about the fact that I'd been to Safed, which she had said was where she and Kevin were going after they left Nazareth, and it was the first I'd really heard of the town, from her. I noticed on her Facebook wall that she'd posted something about going to Jerusalem just a few days before, so I sent her a message and said, "So, are y'all in Jerusalem now, too??" Turns out they were, and would be in Jerusalem until the 4th (I'm here until the 9th). She invited me to come along with them to the Dead Sea on Thursday.

I wasn't quite sure what the plan was for the trip -- if we were going to observe the Dead Sea, or learn about the Dead Sea, or swim in the Dead Sea, but I brought my swimsuit and towel just in case... and it was a good thing I did, because basically the whole point of the trip down there was just to swim in the Dead Sea and spend the day on the beach there.

We swam and then ate lunch on the beach under the palm trees and then took the bus back to Jerusalem, where we had dinner together at a great vegetarian restaurant in the market close by Rachel and Kevin's hostel. It was a wonderfully relaxing day and a great way to decompress after all the hecticness in the city the day before.

I'm really glad I went with them, because swimming in the Dead Sea is an experience I'll never forget. The water's salt content is so high that you naturally float, without needing a raft or life jacket or anything of the sort. And when I say you naturally float, I don't mean the way you can "naturally float" on your back in "regular" lake or sea water. I mean, it is physically impossible to press your legs down into the water -- it's like trying sitting on a basketball or a raft in a pool or lake -- how the basketball or raft keeps wanting to push itself back up to the surface, no matter how hard you hold it down -- that's what your BODY itself naturally does in the Dead Sea. It was a crazy feeling. We also got to give ourselves a little natural spa treatment with the mud from the Dead Sea -- which is packaged and sold in spa shops around the world, but here we could just grab a handful of it and start rubbing it on ourselves. It was definitely a unique experience that I'm glad I had... and I'm glad I had people to enjoy it with and share it with. This is definitely an example of something that would NOT have been much fun to do alone.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures with Kevin and Rachel. I thought we were going to get together on Friday as well, so I thought I'd be sure to get a picture then. But that wound up not working out, and we didn't see each other again before they left Jerusalem... so the pictures you see here were snagged from their Facebook pages... ;o)

The down side of traveling alone

During my time here in the Sea of Galilee region, I've done some more "touristy" things, in addition to visiting the sites of religious significance and taking time for silence and worship in this sacred place. It's at the moments when I'm doing those more "vacation-like" activities that I most notice the absence of my husband and feel lonely traveling alone.

Sunday evening, I went down to Tiberias and walked on the boardwalk by the Sea of Galilee. I had dinner at a nice restaurant, sitting outdoors on the boardwalk and looking out at the lake. There I got my taste of "St. Peter's fish," a fish native to the waters of the Sea of Galilee that supposedly has been living in these waters since before the time of Jesus, and thus the fish that Peter and James and Andrew and all the other disciples who were fishermen before Jesus came along would have been catching. When the waiter brought my plate, I was in for a bit of a surprise -- the entire fish, lying on my plate, head and fins and all!

This really put my new fish-eating habits to the test! When I became a vegetarian, part of the reason was because it felt hypocritical to me for me to eat meat that was slaughtered and prepared by other people when I knew I wouldn't be able to do so myself. I felt like if I was going to eat meat, I should be able to catch it and kill it and prepare it myself. (Incidentally, this is why I've always had respect for hunters as a vegetarian, but not for those meat-eaters who give hunters a hard time ("Oh, don't kill Bambi's mother!") and then go order a Big Mac at McDonald's.) When I started eating fish recently, I reasoned that I could probably deal with fishing... I'd probably be able to catch and prepare a fish if I needed to. Well, here was the test of that! Could I eat this very un-disguised fish in its natural state? I did... and managed not to get TOO grossed out.

Sunday night I also went to a worship service at St. Andrew's Church near the Tiberias boardwalk. It's part of the Church of Scotland, in partnership with the Anglican and Lutheran churches in the Holy Land, and services are in English.

Monday I went up to Safed (Tzfat), the hilltown above the Sea of Galilee that is famous as the spiritual home of Kabbalah, the Jewish mysticism. Unfortunately, I didn't really know what I was looking for, despite the guide book I'd picked up from my hostel with map and all, and wasn't sure if I'd paid enough money for the parking meter, so I didn't spent very long in Safed. I walked up and down the main thoroughfare and had some ice cream, and observed all the very observant Jews walking the streets of Safed, many of them speaking English with American accents, interestingly enough.

On the streets of Safed

Then I went to Ginnosar and saw the "ancient Galilee boat," a boat discovered in the mud off the shore of the Sea of Galilee during a drought in 1986. Scientists have dated it somewhere between 50 BCE and 50 CE, putting it within the time range that Jesus and his disciples would have been active in the Galilee region. It was pretty amazing to see the boat and to think about the fact that this boat was an actual physical artifact from the time of Jesus -- regardless of whether or not he actually traveled on this boat, which of course cannot possibly be known, despite the boat's nickname as "The Jesus Boat."

After seeing the ancient boat, I tried to get a ride on one of the replicas of the ancient fishing boats that take tourists and pilgrims for sailing trips on the lake. (It was actually one of these boats, and not a real, authentic fishing boat, that I'd seen on my first day in Tiberias from the boardwalk.) One of my professors back at Sewanee had recommended that I spend more time in the Sea of Galilee region than I'd originally planned, saying that it is "more peaceful" than Jerusalem, and that "you can get a boat ride onto the Sea of Galilee that I wouldn't miss." And talking to my husband on Sunday night, he'd encouraged me to go for the boat ride idea as well, even if it was out of my travel budget, saying we could cover it from our own funds. So, despite the touristy-looking nature of the whole deal, I went out in search of a boat ride on Monday.

From some initial research on the internet, I'd discovered that the fishing boat replicas operated mostly just for groups, but that as an individual, I could approach one of the people in charge of the boats and ask if I could join one of the trips already scheduled for a group. I tried this in Ginnosar, but to no avail. A boat had just set sail, and there wasn't going to be another one until the next morning. So I went to Tiberias, where the "Holy Land Sailing" company's offices were, on the boardwalk, and figured I could ask there. Unfortunately, those offices were closed. Finally, I approached some vendors by the boardwalk who were renting out small motor boats and jet skis, and asked what the price was to rent one of those boats.

"125 shekels, half an hour. You drive," the man said.

I looked down at the boats bobbing beside the docks. This was probably the only means by which I was going to be able to get out on the lake.

"Okay," I said.

"You are alone? Or you have someone with you?" he asked.

"No, it's just me," I said, thinking, Thanks for rubbing it in.

"You must have someone with you," he responded. "Cannot go alone. It's not allowed. Must have someone with you."

"Oh," I said, my face falling. Great, I thought.

"But, it's ok, I send someone with you," he continued, thumping one of his employees on the shoulder and speaking to him rapidly in Hebrew, pointing to me, then pointing to the boat. The employee, who did not speak English, didn't seem thrilled about these orders.

So the employee begrudgingly led me down to a small white and yellow motorboat, motioned for me to get in, and then reached over me to start the boat and get it backed away from the dock. He then put the boat in drive and handed it over to me and sat back. I didn't know how to slow down or stop or anything, and I couldn't really ask him, since he didn't speak English, so I just took the boat out in one long continuous loop around the area in front of Tiberias. So much for my idea of getting out into the middle of the lake and stopping the boat and sitting and meditating and taking pictures.

I was supposed to have 30 minutes with the boat, but I probably only took about 15 or 20. It was just random and awkward to have this total stranger just like, sitting there in the boat with me, just so I had another body in the boat per regulations. It was kind of cool to be able to get out on the water, but mostly it was just lonely. If my husband had been with me, or my sister (with whom I've traveled a lot in the past), I would have had someone to share this experience with, and I wouldn't have had to take a grumpy   boat employee with me on my little excursion on the water.

On this trip, I've noticed that when I'm visiting religious sites and in prayer, I don't mind being alone -- in fact, I actually prefer it, not having to worry about anyone else or coordinate with anyone else and can see the sites and worship and pray at my own pace. But when I'm doing things that are more "toursity" or "vacation-oriented," they're really just not that fun alone. That's probably why I'm running way below what I'd budgeted for food on this trip, assuming I'd be eating out often. But I haven't really eaten out often, instead buying food at grocery stores or grabbing a quick falafel here and there for $4 or $5, because eating alone at a sit-down restaurant just isn't as enjoyable by myself.

Later that evening, back at the hostel, I had dinner with the geologists, and one of the American professors with the group was saying how even though he's traveled all over the world for work and gotten to see some amazing places, he always thinks how much better it would be if he had been able to share these places with his wife. It reminded me of Christopher McCandless's insight in the film Into the Wild: "Happiness is only real if shared."

Arriving in Nazareth

When I studied the map of Nazareth from the comfort of my hostel in Haifa, I had no clue that the map would basically be useless once I got there.

I arrived on the bus, just south of the City Center and the large Basilica of the Annunciation, where tradition holds Mary used to live in a cave there and where she was visited by the Angel Gabriel to tell her that she would bear the Savior of the World in her womb. I'd looked at another girl's map of the city in a guide book that she had, and it seemed fairly straightforward in terms of how to find my hostel. Little did I know, the "roads" that were drawn on the map were not actually roads at all, but the narrow streets of the "Old City" area, much of which is a market, brimming with spices and fruits and televisions and scarves and shoes and toys and souvenirs, packed in so tightly that there's barely enough space for a walking path through the chaos. I'd read that Nazareth is a heavily Arab city, but I was surprised by how much the vibe had changed from Haifa. It felt in many ways like I was back in Turkey.

I also didn't know that not only were these streets narrow and tight and bustling with people and things and food and trash, but that they were mostly up-hill. When the Bible says Jesus was from the "hill town of Nazareth," it isn't kidding!!! My map was useless, and as I basically HIKED up these narrow streets with my backpack on my back and my side bag pulled around in front of me, I couldn't help but think, "Where in the world AM I??!??!" Finally I stopped at a souvenir shop and asked directions, since "Nazareth - Souvenirs from Holy Land!" was printed in huge letters on the top of the store and I figured they'd speak English.

"Ah, Fauzi Azar! That is in the market," the man told me. "But you can sleep here, no problem," he said, pointing to the Catholic guest house right beside the basilica.

"Well, I already have reservations at this other place," I told him, thanking him, and went on about my way. Once I got into the market area, I started to see signs for the Fauzi Azar Inn. And thank God for those signs, because it would have been hopeless trying to find it without them. The streets of Nazareth reminded me a lot of Venice, in that they were tight and narrow with no cars, and lots of little dead-ends and courtyards and totally disorienting -- almost like you're in a maze. I remember going out for a walk by myself one night in Venice and enjoying the peacefulness of the quiet in that city, only to suddenly realize that I might be completely lost! "Um, am I going to be able to find my way back to the hotel??" I thought, slightly panicked. I had the same feeling here. Luckily, in both places, I did indeed find my way back to the hotel.

Finding a restaurant for dinner was another story -- I went out Wednesday night in search of a restaurant supposedly close by to the hostel and that offered a discount to people staying in our hostel… but I wound up walking all the way up the hill to the other side of the city through the narrow streets of the Old City, often feeling like I was walking into people's backyards or garages, and once actually doing so! I made a HUGE loop around the city that took me nearly an hour and a half. (After it was all over, I realized I'd gone "off the map" that I'd had with me, so no wonder I couldn't figure out where I was!!) I eventually found myself back in the Basilica square, finally to something that looked familiar, and as I crossed the street toward a bunch of falafel and shawarma shops, resigning myself to a "fast food" dinner instead of the sit-down restaurant experience I'd been going for, a man walked out of the first shop on the corner and, smiling widely, said, "Welcome!" in English.

"Hello!" I said, with a sigh of relief. "I've just managed to walk all over the whole city unintentionally. I was looking for a particular restaurant and I couldn't find it. I'm ready to eat."

"Well, good!" he said. "I have the best restaurant in town! Come in, come in!"

Inside it was hot and greasy and smoky, as the grill where the food was cooked was right there with the eating area.

"You like sandwich or plate?" he asked. "Sandwich," I said.

"Shwarma or falafel?" "Falafel."

"Ok, sit down. You like to sit outside?" he asked, directing me toward the tables outside on the sidewalk. I decided to sit out there, and he came out, asking the requisite "Where are you from?" question, and telling me about an American man who'd come and sat there recently, who was studying Arabic and waited a long time for his Palestinian-American friend to arrive, who had gotten held up at the border and questioned for six hours, even though she had an American passport.

When I went in to pay (there was no cash register and no posted prices for anything, which I've noticed is relatively common here), he asked me, "What's your hurry? You want to stay? You can sit, it's ok!" "No, no," I said, "Thanks, but I'm ready to get back." He shrugged. "Okay. 15 shekels," he said, and then walked away. I looked around, confused, and saw the cook behind the counter ready to accept my money, for which he gave me change out of his pocket.

On hostels and traveling independently

Despite my freak-out at the beginning of this trip and my understanding of why people use tour groups -- for the ease and convenience and for the security of always having someone with you who knows the local language -- once I settled in to the rhythm of things, it only reaffirmed my preference for traveling independently.

On a tour bus, you don't get to watch young Jewish boys riding the city bus on their way home from school, yarmulkes atop their heads and their side curls just starting to grow in. (I was reminded of the young Sikh boys I've seen with their small turbans atop their heads -- an image of youth and adolescence beginning to mature into the full stature of their faith -- the long side curls of the Orthodox Jew or the full turban of the adult male Sikh.) On a tour bus, you don't get to pass runners out on their evening jog on the side of Mount Carmel. On a tour bus, you don't get to talk to a young boy, probably 8 or 9 years old, on the train, who tells you to go to the beach for the "REAL Israel," and who points to some men getting agitated and talking with much expression and gesturing, clearly arguing over something, in the next set of seats over, smiles at you, shrugs, and says, "Israelis!," shaking his head.

On a tour bus, you don't get to share a dorm with people from The Netherlands and England and Australia and Germany and talk about politics and religious diversity and the increasing secularization in Europe and the integration and assimilation of Muslim immigrants into society. On a tour bus, you don't get to meet other independent American travelers, a Jewish woman who is a Ph.D. student in anthropology and interested in Israel and the phenomenon of "making aliyah" (Jewish people returning to the land of Israel to live there), and her friend, a "spiritual but not religious" type, raised Catholic, blonde, sort of Irish but maybe not so Irish according to the family history, despite his sister's shamrock tattoo on the side of her ankle.

But probably most importantly for me, in a tour group you don't get the freedom and flexibility to see sites at your own pace, to sit and pray for a long time if the Spirit moves you, to stay and soak up the presence of the place. You don't get the privacy to actually pray as you visit these sacred sites. That was the hardest thing to me about my foreign study trip in college -- being herded around like cattle from site to site, with thirty-something other people constantly, no space to myself to think or reflect. It was that trip where I first began to re-discover my introversion, often intentionally going away from the group and turning my iPod on (a brand new invention at the time!) and tuning out the rest of the people in order to create some private space and time for reflection. It's nice to have that space and time on this trip, and to not be answerable to anyone but myself in terms of my schedule and what I decide to do.

What was I thinking???

Today the reality of the fact that I am going to be traveling alone in a foreign country where I do not speak the language began to sink in. After a nice weekend spent with Naomi and Yinon and Aya, where they drove me around and ordered my ice cream and french fries for me by the port in Tel Aviv, it was time to venture out without my translators.

The thought of this triggered a great deal of panic.

"Stay calm," I told myself, "you can do this. Remember when you and Susan traveled to Paris together after foreign study? And your trip with Ashley to Germany in 2005? You can do this."

The only problem was, in neither of those cases was I alone, and in the first case, I spoke enough French to at least get by (calling back all those years of French in middle school, high school, and college), and in the second case, my sister was semi-fluent in German as we traveled together in Germany and Austria.

The one case when I was both without someone who spoke the language and traveling semi-alone was when Susan and I first left our school group in Rome at the end of our foreign study trip in college and headed towards Paris via the train. The Italian train company was having some kind of strike, so we decided to stop in Turin (Torino) that first night and spend two nights there. Problem was, we didn't have any plans or arrangements made for that visit.

We got off the train and found ourselves in the middle of a northern Italian city where English speakers were much more rare than in cosmopolitan Rome. We had a guide book with us and were trying to find a hostel listed in there, but were having trouble. We tried to ask someone on the street, and the person we flagged down didn't speak a word of English. I kept speaking to them in English and pointing at the map and waving my arms around and pointing, trying to communicate that we needed directions to this particular place. The person were talking to kept speaking in Italian and gesturing and pointing and looking at the map and pointing, but no amount of gesturing and pointing and continuing to speak in our own languages was going to help.

The feeling that came over me at that point was one of sheer panic. "Holy crap," I thought, "I'm in a foreign country where I don't speak the language, by myself, and I have no way of communicating with these people! ACK!!!!!!!!" The feeling of helplessness and isolation was overwhelming. I never wanted to repeat that experience.

But today, I did.

My worst fears were realized in my very first solo outing. I walked down the street from Naomi's apartment to go to the ATM and get some local currency so I could take taxis and pay the balance on my hostels that didn't take credit cards, and I decided to go to the grocery store next to the ATM to get some hummus and hallah bread -- the same combination I'd had at Naomi's that was delicious and I figured that could be my lunch. Grocery stores are usually a cheaper way to go for eating anyway, I figured, it's right here, and if the person at the counter doesn't speak English, well, all that buying something really requires is seeing the total on the cash register and handing them the correct money. Half the time cashiers hardly speak to you in America anyway. I figured it was a safe first try.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. The check out cashier spoke no English, and apparently there was some issue, because she kept trying to say things to me in Hebrew, and all I could do was just smile apologetically and look uneasy, feeling increasingly panicked and helpless, as I had that day on the street in Torino. (I think maybe she was trying to figure out the cost of the bread, since it came from the bakery section and didn't have a price tag on it.) Eventually she punched in a bunch of things and told me the price, rapidly, in Hebrew. I peered over to the cash register screen and saw my total: 12.57 (a little over three dollars). I gave her a 50 shekel note, waited for my change, walked out of the store, and proceeded to burst into tears.

"What was I THINKING???????" I screamed at myself internally. "This was CRAZY! I can't do this!!! I want to go home. I will never travel alone to a country where I don't speak the language again. I don't want to be here!"

After retreating to Naomi's apartment and sobbing for a while as Naomi tried to assure me everything would be ok, I finally left for the train station. I couldn't stay holed up in Naomi's apartment forever. I have three weeks to kill before my flight leaves for the U.S.

The plan was to take a train to Akko, where I would stay overnight and then get up in the morning to see the Bahá'í gardens in Akko. Naomi walked me down and hailed a cab for me in front of her apartment building, and gave instructions to the driver in Hebrew. "Ok, he's all set," she said to me as she hugged me and put me into the cab, assuring me I could call her any time.

As we took off down the road, the cab driver spoke to me in English. A wave of relief flooded over me. Disaster averted in this particular case.

After I got to the train station, I made it through the security checkpoint and then tried to figure out how to get my ticket. After observing several people walk away in exasperation from the electronic ticket machine and go over to the cashier behind the counter, I inferred that the machine must be broken. So, I got my money out and got in line. At the counter, I timidly said, "Akko?" and accepted my change and my ticket. Unfortunately, the ticket was entirely in Hebrew and I couldn't make out any of the words as being anything close to "Akko" in Hebrew script (I do know the Hebrew alphabet, thanks to a biblical Hebrew class at Furman many years ago -- thanks, Bryan Bibb!!!).

There were several different platforms, so I stood helplessly in the middle of the station looking for some indication of where I needed to go. Finally I approached a woman behind the counter of a convenience store/fast food kind of place in the station and asked if she spoke English. She did, and helped me figure out which platform to go to.

After getting on the wrong train once, getting on the right train but barely (getting squished in, standing room only), being delayed for nearly an hour due to some reason I couldn't understand since all the announcements were in Hebrew, finally getting to sit down, falling asleep and missing my stop, and getting back on the train going in the opposite direction, I finally arrived in Akko, an hour and a half later than I'd planned to arrive.

I got a cab at the train station, but the cab driver spoke only a little English and didn't know where the hostel I was going to was located. Luckily, I had their phone number handy and was able to give it to the cab driver so he could call them and ask directions in Hebrew. That worked, and so finally I arrived at my first hostel -- the Western Galilee Inn in Bustan Ha-Galil, a small village north of Akko. It is actually a series of guest houses on a small farm, in what felt like the middle of nowhere. A woman met me and showed me in to my room, which was in a completely empty guest house. Despite having eight bunk beds, I am apparently the only occupant tonight. After the day's trials and tribulations, I am more than grateful for the silence and privacy.

My home for tonight.