Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
Graeme Robin travels the world in his trusty old Fiat Tempra, and writes about his journeys.
If you enjoy reading this, you should consider buying Graeme’s second book
Israel
Oh what a difference a border makes!!!!
The Israeli border guards with their rifles slung at the ready were not in uniform but just random col-
oured tee shirts and jeans. These men are not young casual conscripts doing their compulsory service
but seasoned soldiers protecting their country’s border from the outside violent world. They were
serious, fit, and alert.
All country’s have their customs inspection which sometimes means a casual look into the Phe’s boot
and in rare instances I have had to lift the bonnet for an inspection of the engine compartment. Not
Israel! Oh no! I had to empty everything out of the boot onto two luggage trolleys and take them into
a building and load every single item through an xray machine the same as at airports. And when I say
everything, I mean everything – a big suit case, my little green back pack, dozens of maps, some books,
a tray of my little kitchen, a dirty washing bag, (empty) and even the spare vacuum pump from Phe’s
brake system that had to be replaced in Poland a couple of years ago. This one gave them a fright
because I am sure they thought it was a new style of incendiary device. While the xray machine was
doing its bit, Phe was driven away into a workshop where they went through her like a dose of salts.
She was up on a hoist and examined from top to toe, even the rear windows were wound down – a
thing I have never done – and the door cavities examined.
The whole exercise was skilful, thorough and professional – even though irritating. I was put out at
having to empty the boot because other people have homes to go to each night but I have had
only Phe for these past three months – she has been my home - and of course it was not like I was
a regular holidaymaker with a couple or four bags to lift out, I had stuff everywhere (and most of it
covered in Syrian dust). But then I got to accept that this is their country, and their borders, and their
neighbours - most of whom are unfriendly towards Israel – and it is their right to do anything they
want, to protect their country.
When they set us free it was half past six and dark so we drove for a few kilometres towards lights
– a sign to Jerusalem but that was 130 kms away so too far for today - but then a smallish town and
a posh looking guest-house with hardly a parking spot left in the car-park. The sheila on the last gate
coming out from the border wasn’t very reassuring when she asked if I had friends in Israel – I said
“No”, or do I have a hotel reservation – another “No” , and then she said it may be difficult to find a
hotel that is open so late on a Friday night!
I drove around the almost empty streets looking for someone to ask if there was more than one
hotel in town until we came across a bloke walking with his wife and kids. I think he understood the
question and I think I understood the answer that there was only one hotel in town and that was the
posh looking one we had passed.
It was expensive at 341 (I don’t even know what they are called, but I got 3 of them for every Jorda-
nian dinar) but without a road map I have no idea where we are, or where we could go for a second
choice. So to hell with the expense – throw the cat another gold fish!
But with water, the land here on the West Bank is just as productive as across the river in
Jordan with orchards of apples and citrus, olives, bananas, date palms and brown grass –
the sort beef cattle would graze on, not that there are beef cattle grazing here, they will be
stuck away in a feed lot somewhere. And a few gum trees.
It’s a good road map of the country and it shows that the Sea of Galilee – just ahead of us – is all
in Israel territory whereas the bigger map of the Middle East shows the eastern side and the Golan
Heights area as being disputed territory. Not far to the east across the river and into Syria is the town
of Al Quneitra where 3 weeks ago the military would not let us pass and made us return to Damas-
cus and use the motorway to get to the border crossing into Jordan, but here on the Israel side there
appears to be no restriction on driving right up to the border.
So rather than going to Tiberius on the left of the Sea of Galilee, I reckon the road to the right side
of the Sea may be more interesting, so maybe we can follow the edge of the Sea and head straight
north to the Golan Heights and Mount Khermon, the highest point in Israel. If we get stopped we will
have to put in a U-turn.
The cows are on a closed circuit of milking bail back into the barns for a feed of hay and in eight
hours back to the milking bails. Sure it smelt a bit but there were no flies which is surprising consider-
ing how thick they were around the Dead Sea area – ‘as thick as flies’ one could say! The complex
took up very little land space – just the 3 or 4 big open sided barns and the milking shed with a big
vat. Right next door was a banana plantation on one side and a holiday resort on the other.
I came across this beaut picnic spot on the River Jordan before it flows into the sea of Galilee. fisher-
men, picnickers and a flowing river.
The River Jordan before it flows into the Sea of Galilee - fishermen, picnickers, a couple of
canoes and a flowing river.
Israel - The Golan Heights on the Northern Borders and then to the Mediterranean Sea
Sunday 17rd October
But then, close by, there was a helicopter pad with four choppers - three with their blades still turning
- and 20 odd men. They didn’t look like military though, more civilian, but there was a military camp
nearby with a battery of army tanks covered and parked close to the roadside.
Anyway there were no challenges so we kept going past the idle chairlifts up the mountain. There
were plenty of signs but they were all in Yiddish. It’s a very strange writing, similar in appearance to
Arabic - and they do write backwards from right to left as do the Arabs, but with the Israeli writing I
find it very difficult to work out which is up and which is down so often the docket or whatever I am
trying to decipher is up-side-down.
We came to a fork – so I chose the road to the right. Wrong! A barrier and a sentry with a gun. Not
at all friendly, just waved his gun at me to tell us to buzz-off! Back to the fork and the road to the left.
Wrong again! Another sentry with another gun! But this bloke was bored to tears and thought it was
great to be able to spend a few minutes having a chat to practice his English, which was great for me
too. He showed me on the map the extent of the military no-go zone that covered almost all of the
north and north west of the country, including the road that I had thought would have been interest-
ing – in fact all of the borders with Syria and Lebanon are intensively guarded by the military. So we
had to backtrack it to the town of last night’s bed and turn to the west from there keeping us 50 kms
or so out of harms way of the border..
Driving in Israel so far has been great. The drivers obey the laws – don’t double park, are not aggres-
sive, and hold to the steed limit. They give pedestrians at pedestrian crossing a fair go too. The roads
are good and the road signs excellent as they most times relate to the road map. The road numbers
on the map are the same numbers as on the ground as are the town and city names. Even the white
lines are clear and distinct – first time since France I think. Also it’s a small country so distances are
short.
We were soon down from Mt Khermon and back into agricultural land again. They are getting water
up onto any land that is half way to being flat and where fruit trees and bananas can be planted
between the rocks. Most of the bananas are enclosed in a light mesh ‘house’ of sorts – and I have no
idea why this would be. Surely not insects as the full hand of bananas are in the blue plastic bag as is
normally the case. Maybe the ‘house’ conserves moisture. I have no idea.
Then the ‘green road’ leaves the Syrian border and shifts to running south along the border with
Lebanon. It winds and twists through the rocky hills but there are plantings along the way so there are
villages and towns where the farmers live. It’s going to take me a while to put a handle on this Jewish
way of living because today is Sunday and it’s like the country has been evacuated. It’s one o’clock and
my belly is touching the backbone having had no breakfast this morning and no open cafes sighted
along the way.
There are a number of ponds down in the valley and they keeps on going along the valley – surely
not storage – are they growing something in the water?
The next village - on the right this time - was the same, high wire fences security gates, armed guards.
Then a heap of grapevines – haven’t seen grapes for a long time.
It has been a great drive this morning along the border with Lebanon. We are up on the top of the
hills and right down below us, the valley is cultivated wherever there is a piece of land half level and
within reach of an occasional drink of water. The river at the bottom of the valley appears to be dead
stone dry – but then it is barely autumn yet.
Unfortunately all good things must come to an end because we had to leave the ‘green’ roads and
take to the highway for the last stretch through the more heavily populated area around the Mediter-
ranean coast and south to the port city of Haifa. There were big shopping centres along the way and
many were open and doing good business if full car-parks are any indication.
Graeme Robin travels the world in his trusty old Fiat Tempra, and writes about his journeys.
If you enjoy reading this, you should consider buying Graeme’s second book
Israel and Palestine - from Haifa to Nazareth and an expensive bed in Jerusalem
Monday 18th October
It was almost twelve by the time we got away today because of the chores – first, at nine o’clock into
the Visitors Information Office just up the street and secondly get the good oil on ferries to Turkey.
Well the woman at the Visitors Info office was the worst! Absolutely bloody useless. I’ll say it again just
in case you missed it! Absolutely bloody useless. I reckon she had only ever travelled from her home
to the office in her longish lifetime. Where the hell do they get these people from!
Then another downer at the Passenger terminal at the Port. Just a week ago the bloke at the Israeli
Consulate at Amman had said that there were lots of car ferries running out of Haifa and there would
be no problem getting a car ferry from Israel to Turkey – just a three hour trip he said.
The Basilica itself is recent – 1969 – but the site is believed by Roman Catholics to be the original
home of the Virgin Mary. There was a Byzantine church on the site in 427AD and in the 12th century
a Crusade church was built over the ruins of the Byzantine church. They reckon there are the ruins of
four churches under this new Basilica.
We left Nazareth in the early afternoon and the stop for tonight will be at Jerusalem – I hope. The
main road heading south runs to the east through Beit Shean where we spent our first night in Israel,
or, we can turn off onto this network of winding minor roads through the centre and almost on a
direct line to Jerusalem. Not much of a decision really, so the minor roads it will be.
We were no sooner onto this new route than there is an army post and barrier across the road.
I showed him my passport and then asked him “Why are you here?” and he said “It’s the border”. That
didn’t make much sense to this daft old fart from the other side of the world so I said to him “But the
border with Jordan is miles away” pointing way over to the east.
The cars have different number plates with a ‘P’ instead of an ‘IL’ but the money – shekels – is the
same. Suddenly it doesn’t look like Israel it looks like Syria - maybe a little bit cleaner, so maybe closer
to looking like Jordan. And the road signs in English have disappeared too – that could be a problem
because the map has a whole network of roads going every way which way. The land seems to be
being put to good use, with crops such as cabbages, and other things I don’t recognise and of course
olives – there always seem to be olives plus tilled paddocks ready for planting. There seem to be a
lot of men sitting around – idle at three in the afternoon. We passed through the large town of Jenin
soon after the border and after that there were a lot of small towns separated by not very much.
Then the quarries. The area just short of Nablus must be rich in a granite or whatever because there
were many stonemason yards along the road and each one was sawing and grinding away at their big
slabs of rock. The dust! The dust was so thick that even the olive trees had turned white! The prickly
pear, the orchards, the road, the buildings were all the same colour – the colour of the dust. Didn’t see
any bougainvillea – perhaps there was none or if there was, it was buried in dust also.
I missed out on seeing any commercial olive picking which must have been happening over the last
couple or three weeks as the crops have mostly been harvested, but there are a few trees on public
land and alongside the road where people are filling buckets and sacks with the little blighters. I tasted
a couple straight off the tree once and had to spit them out because they were so bitter. Apparently
the trick is to layer olive with salt, then olive, then salt, in jars or other containers for some months
and as soon as the skin starts to wrinkle it is time to start eating.
It was dark by the time we reached Jerusalem so the ‘Hotel’ signs were illuminated – but they all
seemed to be five star – and with a five star plus price tag. It must have been an hour of talking to
people and walking from place to place that I eventually had to pay the price or go without a bed for
the night. 518 shekels! And I thought half of that price on the first night was terribly expensive. Israel
seems to be a very expensive place for the tourist, food, accommodation, fuel, car insurance, parking,
even the sim card for the phone – all seem to be over the top.
It’s making me think that seven days may be enough in this country.
This is the Western Wall – or the Wailing Wall. It is Judaism’s holiest site.
Graeme Robin travels the world in his trusty old Fiat Tempra, and writes about his journeys.
If you enjoy reading this, you should consider buying Graeme’s second book
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is shared by all the Christian orthodox churches as it has the last
four stations of the “Via Dolorosa”, which is the route Jesus Christ took as he dragged his cross from
the scene of his trial to his crucifixion.
It was almost two when we eventually left Jerusalem heading for Jericho for no other reason than
that it is in the photo that I took through the arch on Elijah’s hill across the river in Jordan, but when
we got there I got wobbly knees about going further on to Bethlehem via the Judea Desert and the
mountains because there had been hardly any hotels in any of the towns we had gone though in
Israel. Even in the big cities there were the expensive 4 or 5 star places but I had been unable to find
the two’s and threes – presuming that they are around. So it has to be a big – and expensive – hotel
in Jericho for a night here and an early start in the morning.
When we were in Jericho and I saw a sign to a ‘sugar mill’, and it reminded me that we have not seen
any sugar beet growing hardly at all on this trip. And another strange thing is that the grape vines are
still green – it’s well into autumn and the grapes have long gone onto tables or into vats. There are not
a lot of trees around but only a few have leaves that have changed colour. Even allowing for the fact
that many of the trees were are pines, and therefore not deciduous, it still seems strange that autumn
is still a way off.
Israel and Palestine - The Dead Sea Scrolls, then Herod’s Castle and to Bethlehem,
the birthplace of Jesus
Wednesday 20th October
What a great day of touristing this has been!
We were away from Jericho reasonably early heading down the West Bank with the Dead Sea on our
left and the mountains on our right, towards Masada – the site of King Herod’s castle up in those hot,
dry, barren mountains. That’s the aim for this morning anyway, and then this arvo we will double back
to Bethlehem for a bed tonight.
The road from Jericho goes across the King Hussein bridge back into Jordan or in our case, we took a
right turn just before the bridge for a run south along the Dead Sea. There were a lot of date palms,
and bananas in their shade houses. There is only a narrow strip of land between the mountains and
the sea and they are trying their best to make the most of it. It is not on the same scale as over the
river in Jordan as here there are the patches of palms and bananas and then nothing for a few miles
and then another crop.
We stopped and looked at a very nice Hi youth hostel at Ein Gedi at less than a quarter of the price
of last nights beautiful five star, but they don’t have a map or even a listing of their hostels here in
Israel so how can work them into our plans. Then another at Masada – both noticed by accident as
we passed by.
King Herod’s castle was well worth stopping for – it must be great because there were 35 tour buses
in the car-park. They had an underground car-park out of the heat for Phe and a video film show to
introduce the history to the visitors, and then a cable car up the mountain to the castle itself. But, by
hell was it hot! I was wringing wet by the time I got back.
Herod built the castle (yes, that’s it, the little black spec right up at the top of the moun-
tain) 2000 years ago as a fortress as well as a castle but it’s fame today is in the folklore
surrounding the stand of the last remaining 960 Jewish rebels to hold off the Roman forces
taking over the country in around 74 AD.
We are almost right at the south end of the Dead Sea and had still not run into any big luxurious
beach resorts – and then at the town of Neve Zohar there were a heap of them. They were much
the same as in Jordan with beaches with imported sand, umbrellas, people in swimming.
There is a strange thing down here though because opposite the resorts, there were what looks like
sand-bars running at right angles from the shore almost to the edge of Jordan. They were no more
than 200 metres apart. They look to be man-made but I have no idea what they could be for.
So we left the Dead Sea heading to Arad which means Phe having to climb back up 400 metres to
sea level and then up into the hills again and this is the same awful country – hot, rolling, rocky, brown,
dusty, rubbish I call it, it’s not land at all. There are a few tussocks of a brown weed or spinifex or small
spindly scrub, and not even much of that.
I don’t know why I bother. We were at Arad and I had travelled around this country on the seat of my
pants with almost no guidance on where to go and what to look out for, just picking things and roads
off the map without really knowing, so when I saw a sign for the Arad Information Office it was like
a bit of magic. I parked Phe, packed up my maps and walked around there and guess what - it was all
locked up and looked as though it had been locked up for weeks. So I ask a lady at the cultural centre
next door and she said it was not closed “Just go around the side”. Well I did, and I hit every door in
the building and other than becoming Santa Claus and go down the chimney, there was no way I was
going to get any info from this mob! And to think that the smart arse at the border, when we came
into this country and I asked if there was any Tourist Information Centres and he said “Of course” as
if to say “what a dick head question is that”. So this is the second one I have been able to winkle out
– the first one had a woman dishing out information like a paper hanger with no arms. It’s a shame
really because Arad looks to be a nice looking town with wide streets plenty of street trees and some
green lawns.
Yvonne gave me a map and instructions on getting to the Basilica of The Nativity – the spot where
Jesus is believed to have been born – but didn’t warn me that the line of pilgrims would be long and
very, very, slow moving.
Even with only half a dozen people in the underground grotto I was still not able to get a good photo
of this spot which is believed to be the sacred site where Jesus was born all of those years ago. But I
guess a poor picture is better than none at all.
The Israeli town of Maher is another case of chalk and cheese really. You only have to have a look
around at the place to work out if you are in Israel or Palestine. Israel is clean neat, tidy manicured,
well laid out, - it’s a Western style of living. In Palestine there is litter , people every where – a middle
east style of living.
It’s now half past nine and it has taken an hour and a half to eventually get onto the road where I
wanted to be - on route number 386. A taxi driver tried hard and so did the little van-bus driver and
eventually we made it out of Bethlehem.
This is a strange land because now we have left the urban areas and are down on the valley floor
amongst pine trees so we really could be anywhere in the world. The hills around us are covered with
natural pines and the rock and brown dusty landscape has been left behind us – for the time being at
least. No wonder I try to find those roads highlighted in green on the map.
The last crossing to the south nearest the Egyptian border was a little different as this was
lined with semi-trailers and big trucks waiting to pass through border controls. “It’s food for
the Gaza” he told me – and I guess by this he means not so much only food but all of the
bits and pieces a community needs and does not produce on its own.
The land we have been travelling through down the edge of the Gaza has been quite flat and al-
though sandy looking and bordering on desert in some places, it had water enough for many of the
shade cloth houses which produce bananas, tomatoes, potatoes and many other crops so Iesiz told
me. Even lucerne being spray irrigated in places. I asked him why the shade cloth house but he could
not answer that – he either didn’t know or didn’t understand the question. I can only presume that
agriculture on the Gaza Strip would be very similar to what we have been travelling through.
Then I worked out that he and his wife had, five years ago, lived in the Gaza Strip but were re-located
into one of the purpose built village settlements in the Israeli territory when the Gaza was turned
over to the Palestinians. This is down in the south-east corner of the Gaza Strip. A nice friendly bloke.
He was on the phone to his wife and passed it to me to speak to her because her English was a lit-
tle better than his. I introduced myself to her but I am not sure just how much she understood. It is
doubly difficult on the phone. But then he asked me if I liked lamb? “Does that mean you are inviting
me home to lunch?” I said, and he nodded.
His wife’s name is Sharma and their youngest was barely a toddler. The other three are at school until
one thirty – they started at eight, just the one (morning) shift in the schools in Israel. To say that their
house and the area they live in was “basic” would be overstating the case.
Iesiz loves his job as a bus driver – he gets to know his passengers as they are all regulars. “He knows
more people than I do” Sharma told me, and I felt sad for her in this tiny little white concrete box
with the heat and the sand all around, only her feet for transport and four kids under six to care for
and to nourish.
For me it was a great experience to just get a tiny snapshot of life with a real Jewish family of battlers
– who probably know no better.
Soon after saying goodbye to these two lovely people, and the Gaza area, we were heading further
south-east and into a desert of sand, saltbush, spinifex and scrubby little trees. It doesn’t have the hard
crusty shale surface of the Sahara around Morocco, this is just loose sand and there is no way Phe
would get far on it. But then on the left of the road there was a huge paddock of bright green lucern
and on the right of the road a large olive grove. So there are spots where water is available here and
there.
This is my last night in this strange and complicated country of Israel and maybe it’s fitting that it
should be in this town with a beaut youth hostel - Mitspe Ramon. It’s not a big town but it does have
a nice restaurant where I managed a couple of beers and a nice Israeli farewell dinner. While sitting
there I got to thinking about today’s experiences and particularly about Iesiz and Sharma
I wonder what that couple are thinking about now. I just blew into their lives for an hour and then
blew right out again, doing something they could not even shape in their minds leave alone put into
practice. I wonder if they ever think of shifting away from their village to a better life. Maybe I have got
it all wrong. Maybe they are happy and contented in their poor and narrow existence – but it’s too
foreign to anything I have ever had to consider as a fulfilling life
Just out of Ramon there is a national park – very inhospitable country around here!
Then an oasis called Shittin. It must be a very sleepy little town or village as there was not
one soul around. I drove half way in and then got embarrassed and reversed back out again.
I wondered if it was a Bedouin camp?
Nearby to the oasis there was a huge oil tank with power coming to it. Looks as though it has electric
pumps and on the opposite side of the road to the oasis there are these ‘tap’ things sitting up out of
the ground with a wire cage around each of them. It is either water or oil. My bet is that it’s oil and
the tap things are there to bleed air or impurities or something else out of the oil line buried under-
ground. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it!
What would a real professional photographer give for a clear mist-free day - a clear hori-
zon – wouldn’t it be magnificent scenery out here? The pink colour is the reflection from
the desert sand.
I am starting to wonder about my call of an oil field because diesel in Israel has been around 7 sheck-
les a litre which is about the same expensive price as in France and Italy but three times the price as
in Jordan and a hell of a lot more than in Syria. So maybe Israel produces very little oil of it’s own. But
it does desalinate water down at Eilat so maybe it is water in the pipes and not oil after all.
Eilat is a thoroughly modern western town. It has all of the good things like an Imax theatre, super-
markets, brand stores, wide streets, trees, park lands scuba diving in the Red Sea, and a hell of a lot of
tourist hotels.
Then there was the border – Israeli style! Gone were the tough guys and enter centre stage a pen
pushing bureaucrat who wanted to plaster his big black Israeli stamp in my passport because I was
one day late. One day late! I entered the country last Friday around six in the evening and it’s now
just after noon on the following Friday. How in the name of hell can that be one day over a week. But
nothing would shift this bastard so I yelled at him and grabbed all the documents back from him and
then drove Phe to block the “Out” gate and demanded to see the manager of the joint.
Cranky old bugger! But I was really fired up because an Israeli stamp on the passport would mean
no entry to Syria and if Phe can’t go through Syria she will be in jail and can’t pass ‘Go’ so won’t even
collect her 200! I am laughing now but I wasn’t laughing then, but when the boss cocky fronted up and
I explained my dilemma he kindly held my hand through the process – gate after gate until we were
eventually released to the Jordan side of the fence.
So it’s Bye Bye Israel from all four of us.