Israel’s Dead Sea is a tourist attraction on the level of Disney World or Universal Studios. In fact, when vehicles pulled up to our designated hotel, I was shocked at the number of buses coming and going in all directions.
The hotel was abuzz with people walking around in white terrycloth robes and slippers, the “official” beachwear of the Dead Sea, making it easy for guests to walk from their rooms to the beach. The hotel lobby’s eerie sanitarium look caused me to make the following resolve: I would skip the terrycloth and just wear a bathing suit under a pair of jeans.
On the morning that my 35-minute long float in the Dead Sea was scheduled, I headed to the water with another member of my group. The beach was far from a glamorous looking place. There were a few umbrellas and chairs, but it really was a sad sight. The murky colored water with its eerie Twilight Zone “still” quality didn’t inspire the kind of ocean frolicking you see on Jersey or California beaches. After all, the Dead Sea is thoroughly DOA with no fish or vegetation, although one woman did report seeing a strange animal on the beach. Depending on wind currents, the sea’s powerful, natural sulfur smell will sail through your nostrils with the most unpleasant sensation. No wonder that alchemists and mystics have always claimed that the Devil gives off a strong sulfur smell.
There was no splashing or frolicking in the sea and there were certainly no beautiful waves crashing onto the sandy beach. The sea’s somewhat rocky bottom can be navigated barefoot if one walks carefully despite the general prescription to tourists to wear plastic shoes. As for floating in the Dead Sea, that is easy enough: All you have to do is assume a seated position in the water and, presto, the salt props you up like a log. Then you can lolly-gag on your back for hours or paddle out as far as you can. In my case, I wanted to check out a small island with trees about 400 feet off shore, but nixed the idea when I remembered that I was a fair-skinned man susceptible to sunburn and sun poisoning. I ended my float after an intense 35 minutes.
After a dip in the Dead Sea, a thorough fresh water shower is necessary or else your skin will redden to an alarming degree. I had missed a portion of my neck while rinsing in the open beachfront showers. My peers were concerned when they saw me and assumed that I had mutilated my neck while shaving. The redness lasted a good 24 hours and for a few unnerving moments I thought it wouldn’t go away. “It’s the sulfur of Gomorrah,” I said.
The sulfur in the Dead Sea can also be found inside balls of brimstone of various sizes all around the area. The Dead Sea area, in fact, is the only place on earth where you can find brimstone balls with unburnt sulfur inside. The ashen wilderness around the Dead Sea and the Cities of the Plain, also known as Sodom and Gomorrah, are still riddled with these balls. Although our tour did not give us an upfront view of the architectural remains of these lost cities, the ruins are there: the ash covered remains of walls, houses, roads and even sphinx structures built in honor of pagan gods. The brimstone-sulfur balls and the dusty ruins of these cities certainly point to an event such as the one recorded in scripture — that is an amazing thing to contemplate when you grow up thinking that Bible stories like this are merely gross exaggerations of reality.
On the tour bus, our driver headed towards Masada National Park. The park is site to the fortress built by King Herod the Great, the great paranoid schizophrenic who killed members of his family and friends at random and whom Saint Mathew says ordered the slighter of the Innocents. When you ride through the Judean wilderness in a bus, history comes down on you on all sides. In keeping with the Sodom and Gomorrah theme, our guide suggested we look out the window and see the site where Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar of salt. Poor Mrs. Lot: If only she had not turned around to look! The tour guide’s constant salt references reminded me of the sulfur burns on my neck, so I also felt like a pillar of salt.
A little further along, there was talk of rerouting the tour so as not to include Beit She’an National Park, a 400 acre archaeological excavation site where one can view the ruins of an entire ancient Roman city. The question was whether we would have time to walk through a wide avenue of colonnades, the ruins of an ancient bathhouse, a temple and an amphitheater that used to be a Roman hippodrome for horse and chariot races. We were behind schedule and there was also a request by some in our group to go shopping rather than visit the ruins. I liked all the members of our group, but when the subject of shopping came up, there was always a little contention. At this point, our guide had become so frustrated with these shopping requests that little tears began forming in the corners of her eyes. Did we really come more than halfway around the world just to go shopping?
Since I didn’t have any shopping money anyway, I opted to visit the ancient Roman and Byzantine city that had been built on the ruins of an even older Egyptian city many centuries before Christ. In the end, our group struck a deal: Those who wanted to inspect Beit She’an had twenty minutes to do so, while the shoppers would stay put near the bus.
My LA photographer friend and I then raced out into the ruins, walking up the main Roman street that seemed as long as South Broad Street. We touched broken columns, ran our fingers along Byzantine floor mosaics and snapped photographs all the while taking periodic looks up at Mt. Gilboa, where the ancient Israelites battled (and lost) to the Canaanites. There were so many layers of history in this spot it was difficult to assimilate it all.
After leaving the ruins we finally reached Masada, “last bastion of Jewish freedom fighters against the Romans.” The area is currently an immense tourist attraction. We went to the top of the mountain by cable car then walked through the deserted fortress in 95 degree temperatures. While inspecting the ruins, large groups of Israeli school children would wave and say hello, a far cry from what I would experience at the Western Wall when, after paying my respects in a white yarmulke, a young schoolboy kept bumping into our group while imitating the drag queen Ru Paul. Why this kid was imitating a drag queen in front of the Western Wall was a mystery to us.
The most fascinating thing about Masada for me was spotting the ruins of a fifth century Byzantine church where there were once as many as 10,000 monks. These monks were the last known inhabitants of Masada before being exiled by the Turks.
Our final stop was Jerusalem, a city that is holy to Jews, Christians and Muslims alike. Entering Jerusalem is a dramatic experience: One can see armed guards (guns drawn and ready to fire) along the roadway.
We arrived at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in time for early evening Vespers, walking through the Arab Christian and Muslim quarter to get there. Our guide urged us to stay together as a group as we walked the ancient narrow street where you can still see the groves left by Roman horses. On the first floor of the incense-filled church, we encountered the Catholic Franciscans chanting and singing while on the upper floor we watched as the Armenian Orthodox clergy in their high-pointed, black veils formed their own procession around the spot of Christ’s crucifixion. This spot is marked with a large star and is situated under a small altar. Pilgrims must get down on their knees to enter this small space. The mass of pilgrims and tourists inside the church is immense, with people exclaiming, “I cannot believe I am here.”
Most press tours offer at least one cheesy experience. In our case it was an unexpected pit stop. Nomadic Arabs were offering $5 camel rides around a parking lot next to a glorified Quick Stop and mini mart. Two camels, both decked out in exotic finery, lay on the macadam waiting to be mounted, and so, one by one, we each took our Lawrence of Arabia turn.
