| Submitted by: John Mittler, Finland |
| Submission Date: 28 March 2007 |
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Having seen two movies in shaking seats during the day, it was a bit disappointing to be sitting still for 50 minutes in this 3D theater. And unlike the historical and educational movies in Coral World and King’s City, this film had no reasonable theme or message. I still prefer the traditional movies and movie theaters, but some 3D shows would be nice variety from time to time — if you also give me the shaking seats.
At 22 o’clock I was back in my hostel room, tired but quite diversely entertained. The trip meter of my car showed 1550 km, of which 280 km had been driven today.
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Sun 24 December 2006 (ChristMas eve)
It did not look much like ChristMas in the warm and sunny morning, as I visited the New Lagoon beach of Eilat at 06:30, to take more photos of the area. Then I left Eilat and drove towards northwest on highway 12, intending to drive along the border of Egypt all the way to Nittzannah. Somehow I missed the junction to the border road number 10, however, and realized my mistake only when I saw a road sign pointing to Uvdah airport. Never mind, I decided to drive to Nittzannah via Mitzpeh Ramon instead, as both of these places were included in my plans for the day anyway.
At 9 o’clock I arrived at the Bio Ramon zoo in Mitzpeh Ramon, which hosts a very modest collection of some small animals that live in the desert. Then I went to the Visitors Center next to the zoo, which has a miniature model of Ramon Crater, and plays an educational film about the processes that once formed this uncommon landscape.
After spending one hour in Mitzpeh Ramon, I continued north and then west towards Nittzannah, which is located on the border of Egypt. Tourists or any civilians are quite rare in northwestern Negev, because it is far from the highways between Eilat and the northern country, and nothing in this region motivates people to come here just for the sake of coming here. (Excluding me, who came here to take photos of the ancient Nabatean cities in this region.)
I arrived at the ruins of Shivtah (25 km east of Nittzannah) at 11:15, and explored this relatively large ancient city for fifteen minutes. Then I continued further towards west, and took a panoramic photo of Sheyzaf sands north of highway 211. (The most northwestern part of Negev is covered by sand dunes.)
At 12:20 I finally reached the ruins of ancient Nittzannah, which is not listed among the official national parks, due to the rarity of visitors in this region. (Shivtah 25 km to the east is listed among the official national parks, but has no service desk or cafeterias, due to the rarity of visitors.) I did not see any other people while I climbed on the hill for 20 minutes.
I had planned to drive from Nittzannah to Eshkol (50 km in the north) via highway number 10, which goes along the border of Egypt all the way to Rafiah and the coast of Mediterranean Sea. All maps have a highway marked between Nittzannah and Rafiah, but none of them bother to mention that the road is not available for civilian use.
I drove to a dead end 10 km northwest of Nittzannah, near a place called Kadesh Barnea. The two-lane highway simply changed into a one-lane military road, and a traffic sign notified that entrance is forbidden for cars. The local people living in the region told me that there is no civilian road from Nittzannah to Rafiah — I wish that the maps would have told the same already beforehand. I returned 40 km to the east, along the same road on which I had come to Nittzannah, and then at Mash.abbey Sadeh I turned north towards Eshkol.
A soldier was hitch-hiking near Mash.abbey Sadeh, and I picked him into my car. We exchanged some national military stories, as I explained how Russian computers would calculate the exact location of a Finnish mortar unit, and how many seconds after firing the exact place would be bombarded by Russians (in a theoretical war scene). He in turn explained what happens to Israeli soldiers on the Golan if they walk carelessly in places visible from the Syrian side of the border — as the Syrian troops have quite accurate snipers, and the state of war has never been officially ended.
After dropping the soldier at his military base, I saw an ostrich farm along the highway, and stopped my car to take photos of these large and flightless birds, which taste very kosher when fried.
I picked another hitch-hiking soldier along the highway, but he was of the more quiet sort, and hardly said a word during the ten kilometers that he travelled in my car. After dropping the soldier off at a road junction, I arrived at Eshkol national park at 14 o’clock. I only took this photo of the nature in the region, and then continued my journey without entering this park.
I chose the shortest route from Eshkol to Ashqelon, which goes via Sederot just outside the corner of Gaza Strip. I was aware of the frequent rocket attacks from Gaza to Sederot and northwestern Negev, but when I tried to calculate the probability of a rocket hitting a target as small as my car, exactly at the moment when I am there, I concluded that the risk of driving on any road in any country is greater than the risk of being hit by a kassam when driving to Ashqelon via Sederot. (Next day I saw in the news that rockets had been launched to Sederot on this day, but no damage was done to cars driving on the highway — as I correctly predicted.)
At 15 o’clock I arrived at the national park of ancient Ashqelon. I jogged from the parking lot to the city wall (to save time, wishing to reach yet one more ancient site before the usual closing time 16 o’clock), and took a 360° panoramic photo set of the region. Then I returned to my car — after being stopped by a park guard and questioned why I was running and why I was taking photos. Well... why not?
There was a site called Tel Ashdod marked on my maps, 10 km north of Ashqelon, and I hoped to find this site before 16 o’clock. I failed to find it, however, and when I asked a local man if he knew where the place was, instead of answering my question, he started with: “Oh, you are from Fiiinlaand! Listen, my friend, I will tell a story to you. Some years ago I was in...”
Five minutes and a colourful story later I was none wiser about the location of Tel Ashdod, and looking at my watch (which in modern slang means the time display of the cellular phone), I decided to end ruin-hunting for the day, and continued driving north towards Tel Aviv.
Arriving in Yafo at 17 o’clock, I spent one hour studying the Old City and harbour, and chatting with an antiquities dealer, who photocopied some old maps of Yafo for me from his books. The sun had already set, so the opportunities for photography were quite limited (with a tourist camera and without a stand). I decided that I would return here some other day, to take more photos in bright daylight.
This day was ChristMas eve (if you have forgotten this minor detail), and Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra would perform Händel’s Messiah oratorium at the Tel Aviv Opera House at 20 o’clock. Leaving Old Yafo at 18 o’clock, I had two hours time to find the Opera House — but I never imagined that I would need all that time, every single minute. This is what happened, however.
I had a map of Tel Aviv with me, and I loosely followed the names of streets on the map as I proceeded towards the Opera House. The trip should have taken no more than half an hour, but an hour and a half later I was still driving around and wondering why the names of streets sometimes matched with the map and sometimes not. I stopped at a cafeteria and consulted the local people, and they told me that while this was a map of Tel Aviv, we were now in Ramat Gan. So that is why the street names were mostly similar, but strangely in a different order...
With less than half an hour time left before the preformance would start, I made a U-turn on Derekh ha Shalom (this funny little avenue from Tel Aviv to Ramat Gan), and felt the same emotional pressure that so many mothers and fathers feel when making last-minute preparations for the merry ChristMas festivities.
Finding the Opera House became essentially easier when I was in the correct city. I drove my car to the underground parking at the Opera House, changed my travelling clothes into a dark suit in the car, and then casually entered the music auditorium, one minute before the performance would start. When I had found my seat, I took this photo of the orchestra and Latvian Radio Choir, and then allowed myself to be entertained with high-class ChristMas music for three hours.
After the concert I drove to Jerusalem, and parked my car on Mount Zion south of the Tomb of David. The trip meter of the car showed 2220 km, of which 670 km had been driven today.
I checked in at Hashimi Hostel in the Muslim quarter of the Old City, and dragged my heavy luggage all the way from Mount Zion to the Muslim quarter. The noisy coolers of the meat shops on Khan el-Zeyt street kept turning on and off, but could not stop me from falling into well-deserved sleep after this eventful ChirstMas eve.
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Mon 25 December 2006 (ChristMas day)
I woke up early on ChristMas day, after 5 o’clock, as the minarets of mosques began to summon people for morning prayer. I assumed that this invitation was not meant for Christians, so I turned in my bed and continued sleeping for another two hours.
After eating breakfast at Jaffa Gate (ice cream and some cookies), I went to Mount Zion to check if my car was still on the parking lot. To my delight the vehicle was unstolen and unburnt in its proper place, so I started driving towards Jericho. (It happened on one of these mornings that another car near mine had a smashed window and some property stolen.)
Jericho is controlled by the Palestinian Authority, so I had to pass a military checkpoint just outside Jericho. The Israeli soldiers stopped my car and greeted me in Hebrew, to which I replied in Hebrew fluent enough to save me from further inquisition. I arrived at the site of ancient Jericho at 8 o’clock, but the place was not open yet, neither was the cable car running to Mount Quruntul. The souvenir shop was open though, so I went there to do some shopping.
I intended to buy a few post cards or perhaps a poster, but after being attacked by the ever so enthusiastic Arab salesmen, I soon found myself at the cashier’s desk with a large Jerusalem poster, a pot of date honey, an ice cream, and a flag of Palestine in my hands. They also became convinced that I need a personal tourist guide, and some minutes later there was a short middle-aged Palestinian gentleman sitting in my car, ready to show me all the wonders of Jericho. He agreed in my presence (or did I actually agree with him?) that we would go to see the refugee camps, then the Winter Palace of Herod, and the tour would end on top of Mount Quruntul. The price would be “whatever I want to pay him after the tour is over”.
The refugee “camp” was actually an urban suburb with unpaved roads and slightly below average standard of living (according to Arab standards of the region). The place looked so ordinary that I forgot to take any photos there, as we encountered nothing that would have caught my special attention.
Our next destination was the Winter Palace of Herod, which was not in a very impressive condition either: the buildings had certainly been magnificent once, but only the foundations were remaining now. A renovated replica of the ancient palace might be very interesting, but destroyed palaces only make me wonder why they are not renovated.
The pace of this sightseeing tour was slower than I would have preferred, and I feared that if I spend too much time with this professional but slowly walking tourist guide, I might not have enough time today to visit also Qumran, Herodion, and a dozen places in Jerusalem. I agreed with the guide that we would watch Mount Quruntul only from afar, without ascending on the top, and I would pay him 100 shekels (equal to 24 US dollars) for his services. |
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| Copyright © - "John Mittler" |
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