Over the border and Masada – Saturday 5th November 2016

(Distance walked today: 8.7km)

Photos at:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/ffnord/albums/72157676432838135

The group all met for breakfast in the hotel and we got our things and headed to our bus for the last time. The border with Israel is only a short drive from Aqaba and we arrived at the frontier just behind a coach load of people. This is a pedestrian only crossing so we all had to join the line and drag our cases behind us as we shuffled to the first checkpoint. It took around half an hour to get to the desk where we had our credentials inspected and said goodbye to Saleh. It was quite a hike between the Jordanian border and the Israeli one, and there was no shade between the two so the sun was baking us. The second border control was a completely different affair, where the Jordanian one was very low key with no sense of any urgency, the Israeli side couldn’t have been more different. Soldiers with guns everywhere, cameras covering every inch of the place, I know it’s a facet of modern international travel but it was quite a jarring difference from the past week.

We first had our luggage scanned in the same way one would at an airport and the full pat down and passport inspection. Some of our group had their cases opened for inspection which delayed things further. From there we joined the queue for the full passport check, although this would turn out to be more of an interview than a check. There were eight or so desks operating in parallel so we ended up playing the usual game of picking a line and regretting the choice. When I eventually got to the front, the soldier gave me the third degree: Who was I? Where did I come from? What was my occupation? What was my relationship status? Where had I been in Jordan? Who did I know there? No-one!? Why was I there then? Who was I travelling with? Who did I know in the group? No-one!? Why was I with them then? Why was I going to Israel? Where would I be visiting? Who did I know in Israel? No-one!? Then where would I be staying? He then went and got a second person, who proceeded to ask me all the same questions all over again. I was then grudgingly admitted in to the country and went to join the others who had got the same treatment. All in all it took two hours to cross the border, by far the slowest frontier I have crossed in all my travels.

We met our new guide, Ineke, and our new bus and set on up the road to our first stop of the day at the fortress of Masada. Masada is a flat topped mountain rising above the Dead Sea and was originally the site of the palace of Herod the Great. It was later the site chosen for the last stand of a group of Jews escaping Roman rule, they held the site for months whilst the Romans built a siege ramp at one side. On the night before the gates were breached the men all killed their wives and children, then drew lots and killed each other, leaving the last man to kill himself rather than be taken back in to slavery. This is seen by some as a valiant defiance and a fight for freedom at any cost, but it could also be seen as the danger of fanaticism.

For many years the only way up to the plateau was via the Snake Path, a narrow trail zig-zagging it’s way up the hillside, but fortunately there is now a cable car which makes life much easier.

The view from the summit is very impressive, you can see for miles over the Dead Sea, and you can still make out the outline of the Roman camps built during the siege.

The ruins of the site are very well preserved in places, the location and inaccessibility making reuse and robbing of the site an unwelcome prospect. Some of the buildings and walls have been rebuilt or repaired, but where they did so they made it clear by putting a thick black line on the top of standing walls, so everything below that is as it was from two thousand years ago.

The site is much of a muchness, with several cisterns and store-houses, as well as ritual bathing pools. The striking thing for me was looking down at the siege ramp and thinking of the decision the zealots had to make as they saw the ramp getting higher and higher with each passing day. They knew there was no way out, they could throw all the rocks and spears they wanted at the advancing soldiers and engineers but ultimately it was an inescapable situation.

After this cheery tour we went back down the cable car and had lunch in the cafeteria, a thoroughly western affair with only falafel to show for the location. We got back to the bus and headed further along the shore of the Dead Sea to our overnight stay at the Kibbutz Kalia, a communal farm with it’s own shops, school, tennis courts and the like that has a side line in tourist housing. We were shown to our pleasant little chalets and had some time to relax and explore before we met up with Ineke for our evening meal in the communal dining room. It was at this meeting that we were told that one of the optional trips that many of us were interested in was no longer available due to security concerns. This was a day trip to Bethlehem, Jericho, and Ramalla, the first two of which I was particularly looking forward to visiting. This led to some heated discussion as the tour was listed as an option on the holiday notes but Ineke explained that it hadn’t been run for a couple of years. She promised to get in touch with her office and see what she could do about arranging an alternative for those of us who wished to go.  The complicating factor in this is that it is illegal for Israeli citizens to go in to the Palestinian territories, however Ineke is Dutch and so she could take us in using her dual nationality.

After dinner we all retired to our chalets for the night I enjoyed a nice long soak in the bath for the first time in the holiday, as the previous hotels only had showers. The following day we would be moving on to Jerusalem and our last change of accommodation for the trip.