What does Shmita have to do with Mount Sinai?
After an introduction to Tel Aviv, a tour of a kibbutz, a trip to the north and a visit to Jerusalem, NB takes his cousin to his favorite place in Israel: Sinai. Yet, the peaceful routine of drinking tea, swimming in the Red Sea, and smoking joints, is threatened by an energic Canadian idea for a trek through the mountains. Will the Ambassador overcome?
But the most amazing combination of a beach, desert, mountains, Beduins, feta cheese, tranquility, and grilled fish, can only be found in one place on our fast warming globe: Sinai. Oh, and stoned Israelis too.
Sinai - the most beautiful place in Israel
When Martin asked me to take him to my favorite place in Israel, I knew exactly where to go. True, technically, the Sinai Peninsula is in Egypt, but give our current leaders some time, and we will no longer need a passport to get there. But let's not dwell in politics.
On the High Mountain
So we found ourselves in Tel Aviv's new central bus station waiting for the midnight bus to Eilat. I took a small pouch with everything I need for a vacation in Sinai: goggles and rolling paper. Martin, on the other hand, carried a 115 liter Lowe Alpine backpack. I carefully inquired about it and the young, healthy, Canadian answered that the Lonely Planet says that trekking through the High Mountain is an experience that shouldn't be missed.
He kept going on and on about Santa Caterina, and I could feel the tension growing. Horrific images went through my head: A huge backpack on my fragile bones, chasing a camel up hill as Martin is jumping besides me. I could feel my muscles cramping, my callus feet burning, and the taste of a stale Bedouin pita. I even pictured being kidnapped by an Al Qaeda cell forcing me to crash over City Tower. "Hey," Martin woke me up from my nightmare, "isn't this our bus?"
Abyss
Some say that the biggest gap in the world is between the "Philippine Abyss" – the deepest point in the ocean – and the top of Mount Everest. Others, point at the gap between Ehud Barak's ego and his chances of betting reelected. I, on the other hand, claim that the sharpest contrast in the universe is between the tranquility of the Sinai beaches to the havoc of an overnight bus ride to Eilat.
The bus was packed with herds of teenagers carrying darbukas (Arab drums), cell phones and energy drinks. They made me miss the 42-hour bus rides on Indian buses, with a goat, a chicken, and three cheerful Indians in my lap. At 6 am, tired and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I explained to Martin the rules of natural selection: The ones wearing Beduin pants and carrying a Sinai-made rope bags, will obviously, stay in Eilat. The others three shared a cab with us to the border crossing in Taba.
The holy five
Crossing the border was, as always, a hot, messed-up, annoying experience but then we were on another cab headed south towards the beaches. I showed Martin the massive construction of ugly hotels and clubs that slowly, but consistently, take over the peninsula's scenery. "In 10 years time," I sadly explained, "Sinai will look like a typical oil kingdom with 5 star hotels, sunburned Swedes, and a $35 drinks," Martin could not understand what was so tragic about it. I told him that in three days - he will.
The art of choosing the perfect beach
Choosing the right beach is tough: Years of trial-and-error, experimentation, and thought, taught me about the "Holy Five" - the five must-have elements of a perfect vacation: No electricity, a bungalow on the water front, a reef, an alert cook, and most importantly - though quite rare – no Mosh Ben Ari (an Israeli singer).
One of the beaches in Bir Sweir provided the goods along side a stretch of golden sand not very common in Sinai. P-e-r-f-e-c-t.
A moment of happiness
After settling in with a cup of tea, a swim, and a joint, I sat on a chair to stare at the sea ready to continue this routine for the duration of our 3-day stay. Yet the Canadian leech arrived. "So, what do we do now?" he asked like any first-time Sinai vacationer. "Nothing," I answered, "have a seat, watch the water, smoke something." Martin looked at me disgusted and said, "I'm going for a swim, then I'll read a book." I thanked him for sharing.
A ticking bomb
At dinner, as I was chewing on a dry piece of chicken and smiling at a pretty girl, Martin appeared and said that he made all of the arrangements: "Tomorrow the jeep will pick us up at 6 am, we'll go to Santa Caterina, climb up to the best observation post, swim in the frozen pool and sleep under the stars." Now read this sentence aloud in a French accent and you'll understand why I choked on my tahini. The concept has failed once again.
Happiness
Seems that the explosive device known as "a trek in the mountains," was still ticking. So, like any rooky Mossad agent knows, in such cases, the goal justifies all means. I showed Martin all the pretty girls sitting in the restaurant, the moonlight rays on the water, the black mountains and did what I had to do. You would do it too. I mixed some hash into his tea.
Two hours later I found Martin lying on the beach looking at the sky. "Tell me, NB, did you ever notice how many stars there are? They are so bright! You realize that on one of these stars there's someone just like me laying and watching the sky?" He smiled and so did I. I was safe.
Previously on the Ambassador:
