Travel Biography - Index.

With the Travel Biography completed this week, I'll assemble an index of all 129 weeks. The idea is that if you wish to read one or two blogs or a whole section (e.g., America 1995 or Round the World 1997), you can access the appropriate week without the need for excess scrolling. Since indexes don't make exciting reads, I have added photos of myself to this blog. All of them are original, either taken by a family member or by a passing stranger.

Grand Canyon Hike, 1995.

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Weeks 1-3. Childhood, Holidays with Parents, College Life, First Trip without Parents in 1972, First Backpacking Trip to Italy in 1973...click here.

Weeks 4-8. The 1975 Trip to Rome. The first Backpacking Trip to Israel in 1976...click here.

Around 2 or 3 years old, circa 1954.

Around 19 years old, 1972. 

A little older, aged 20, taken in 1973.

Week 10. Trying to get a Visa from the US Embassy in London, 1977...click here.

Weeks 11-16. First Transatlantic flight to North America in 1977, landing in Toronto and then entering the USA at Detroit...click here.

Weeks 17-23. 2nd Trip to the USA in 1978...click here. The start of my first Grand Canyon Hike...click here. Week 24 is a pictorial not related to the 1978 trip to America. Weeks 25-26, the 1978 trip to the States resumes...click here.

Weeks 27-29. Backpacking northern Italy, 1981 - Pisa, Florence, Cinque Terre, Italy before the rise of local tourism...click here.

Week 30-35. Backpacking Southern Italy, 1982, including up Mt Etna...click here.

Weeks 37-40. France, Cycling across Western Europe, mid-1980s...click here.

Inside Hezekiah's Tunnel, Israel, 1976, aged 23.

Hollywood, as it was in 1977. I was 24.

Niagara Falls, Canada, 1977.

About to hike the Grand Canyon, 1978, aged 25.

Weeks 42-45. John O'Groats to Land's End, or End-to-End Cycle Ride, 1990...click here.

Week 46. The 1991 Lulworth Cove-Dover Cycle Ride plus crossing into France...click here.

Week 47. The Lake District with Gareth, 1992...click here.

Weeks 48-51. The 1993 Trip to Israel begins after a review of past trips...click here.

Weeks 52-55. Staying in Israel as a volunteer, 1994...click here.

Weeks 56-72. the 1995 Trip to the USA, including the 2nd Hike down the Grand Canyon. Weeks 58-61...click here for the hiking details. San Diego, weeks 63-66, including Tijuana, Mexico...click here. Weeks 67-70, Santa Monica, Disneyland, Downtown LA...here. Weeks 70-72, San Francisco...here. 

Weeks 74-107. The 1997 Round the World - Singapore, Australia, California...click here.

Weeks 74-78 - Part One: Singapore...here.

Weeks 78-96 - Part Two: Australia.

Weeks 78-81 Cairns, Green Island Coral Cay, Low Isles Coral Cay, Great Barrier Reef...here.

Weeks 82-87, Townsville, Arlie Beach, Fraser Island, Brisbane...click here.

Weeks 88-92, Byron Bay, Coffs Harbour...click here.

Weeks 93-96 Sydney, Blue Mountains National Park...click here.

Week 96 - The Trans-Pacific Flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, the domestic flight from L.A. to San Diego...click here.

Weeks 97-107 - Part three: California.

Weeks 97-100 - San Diego 1997...click here.

Weeks 101-104 Santa Barbara...click here. San Luis Obispo, Avila Beach...click here. Hollywood 1997, click here.

Weeks 105-107 Santa Monica 1997...click here.

My fittest years, 1986

At the Grand Canyon, 1995, aged 43

Cairns, 1997, aged 44.

Weeks 108-112 New York 1998...click here. Boston, weeks 113-116...here.

Week 117 - The 1998 Hadrian's Wall Hike with Tim and Dan...click here.

Week 118 - The attempted cycle ride to Llangollen, North Wales, 1998...click here.

Week 119 - My future wife Alex joins me at the Stoneleigh Bible Festival...click here.

Week 120 - My final backpacking holiday as a singleton - hiking at the Lake District from Kendal to Keswick, 1998...click here.

Our Wedding in 1999, I was 47. 

Wedding suit long gone! This was Eilat, Israel, 2000.

The birth of my 3rd Daughter, Victoria in 2008.

Week 121 - Our Wedding and our Honeymoon in Rhodes, Greece...click here.

Week 122 - Tim and I take a weekend away at Corfe, Dorset. Little did I know...click here.

Weeks 123-128 - Alex and I celebrate our first anniversary in Israel...click here.

Week 129 - The birth of our firstborn Daughter...click here.

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Correction of Error.

While I was composing this index, I unintentionally deleted a week's blog due to a bug in the dashboard displaying two identical blogs. The blog that was deleted was Week 31 which was about backpacking in southern Italy in 1982. 

This covered my journey to Naples from Milan, then on to Sicily, the destination I had in mind to set foot on for the first time in my life. From Naples City Centre, I boarded a local train to Pompeii, where I spent a day at the excavations, walking through the Roman streets, empty of tourists, of a town which perished under the ash of the AD 79 eruption of Mt Vesuvius. 

By the time the sun was setting, I then boarded another train out of Naples to continue my journey to Brindisi on the Adriatic Coast. After arriving the next morning, I spent another day at this port, where ferries sailed out to Greece. At the beginning of the coming night, I boarded a train to continue with the journey, economising on night travel rather than hotels. From Brindisi, the train I was on followed the coastline of the southern section of the Italian Peninsula. At the small hours of the morning, I had to change trains at Taranto Station, and there was an hour's wait for one to arrive to take me to Reggio Calabria to cross the Messina Strait, where this part of the journey is then taken up in Week 32. 

While I was waiting for the train at Taranto, I decided to walk down a narrow deserted street lit by streetlamps. A few metres further along, the street was blocked by a huge dog. As it turned to look at me, having attracted its attention, I turned and walked back to the station. I didn't run, as that would have provoked the dog to start chasing. When I finally passed through the barrierless station forecourt and onto the platform, I breathed a sigh of relief.

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This is just a summary of the deleted blog of Week 31. Next week will be the last weekend before Christmas, therefore, I plan to create a photo extravaganza on the entire biography. I'm hoping to include the photos that would have been featured in the deleted Week 31.

Travel Biography - Week 129.

The Birth of our Daughter - Reflecting on the Past.

By mid-October of 2000, we finally landed at London Gatwick after a 4-hour flight from Tel Aviv.  A train ride home marked the end of my travel career as Alex's pregnancy progressed.

Excluding foreign holidays with my parents during the sixties, my overseas travel experience as a singleton spanned 26 years, from 1972, when I flew to Spain with a college friend, to 1998, when I flew to New York to escape the World Cup football tournament. As a married man, our first trip overseas was our honeymoon to the Greek island of Rhodes in 1999, followed exactly a year later with a two-week celebratory trip to the Holy Land. The last overseas trip to date was the 2019, one-day trip to Brussels in Belgium, using Eurostar.

Christmas 2000 came and went, and expectations were building. This included installing a cot next to our bed while we were still living in the bachelor's bedsit apartment, my home since I flew the nest in 1976.

I cuddle my firstborn daughter.

February 2001 came around, and our firstborn daughter Rosina was born at Wexham Park Hospital in the Slough area of Berkshire. At the age of 48, I became a father for the first time in my life - an age when my school classmates would already be grandparents. Unfortunately, the baby was in a breach position on the day of delivery, therefore, we agreed with the maternity medical team for an elective caesarian birth. The operation was successful. When the purple-skinned baby was lifted out and started to cry, my own legs gave under emotion and two or three nurses held me up as I blubbered.

Alex was then wheeled into the recovery room before settling in the post-natal maternity ward, her general anaesthetics keeping her asleep for the next hour or so. That was when the newborn was handed to me and I sat alone in a separate room with the child, asleep in my arms as I watched her chest under some clothing rapidly rise and fall.

From that moment, life would never be the same again.

Yet, I felt so much affection for my daughter as I kept on looking at her. As I sat there with the baby cradled in my arms for the first time ever, I dwelt on all the happenings of the past - from the time I was bullied at school for my inability and uselessness in team sports, my first job in a family-owned furniture factory, pushing a broom across the workshop floor and told by the foreman that I was virtually worthless, the one-year courtship with my first girlfriend and how she terminated our relationship, my conversion to the Christian faith in December 1972, and the benefits arising from this, including the time I brought a Gideons New Testament to work, and the same foreman who thought that I was of little worth, turning red with fear at the sight of the small holy book. As a result of the conversion, I enjoyed a knowledge explosion, especially on geology and natural science - which led to my love for travel.

As I held my daughter, I concentrated on all my past trips as a single backpacker.

I thought about all the trips to Israel - Jerusalem! How privileged I was to have walked its streets as an independent traveller, and to gaze down at its historic beauty from the summit of the Mount of Olives. Not to mention the Sea of Galilee with its fishing boats and nets spread on the ground back then. That was where Jesus spent a large part of his ministry. To see the Bible come to life! My first trip to the Middle East on my own in 1976 stirred gossip in the engineering factory where I was working, and my colleagues saw this trip as something of a sensation, the talk of the town. 

I thought about the wonders of the North American continent. How the Niagara Falls in Canada, Salt Lake in Utah, the majestic Grand Canyon in Arizona, and even the tropical species of coconut palms of Florida contrasts with the buzzing life of New York, the semi-tropical setting of San Diego, the fun at Disneyland in the Los Angeles district of Anaheim contrasting with the sorrowful news of the death of the King of Rock, Elvis Presley, while I was walking the streets of Chicago in 1977.

Ah, the Grand Canyon! I recall the two hikes there. The first hike was in 1978, the second in 1995. Both were on the same trail - the Bright Angel Trail leading from the Village to join with the North Kaibab Trail at Phantom Ranch at the Canyon floor, close to the Colorado River. And it was towards the end of the 1995 hike that I went down with hyponatremia, a potentially fatal condition caused by the thinning of the bloodstream by excess drinking of water without the adequate intake of salts. As I lay in agonising muscle pain on the deserted trail under a darkening sky, two hikers arrived, and seeing the state I was in, one of them carried my heavy rucksack over a short distance to the Mile-and-a-Half rest station, where I spent the night alone in the hut before resuming the hike after daybreak to finish unassisted at the trailhead. Afterwards, a cup of electrolyte drink helped me on my way to recovery before heading south to Phoenix.

Who knows - had it not been for the timely arrival of those two hikers, my daughter Rosina, sleeping soundly on my lap, might never have existed!

My beloved daughter, Rosina.

Then, less than two years later in 1997, after five days spent in Singapore, I found myself snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef. I visited three islands, Green Island, Low Isle coral cays, and Border Island one of the Whitsunday archipelago which are continental islands with a fringe reef attached to them. Together with the Blue Mountains National Park with its waterfalls at Katoomba near Sydney, in reflection of all these destinations around the world, it looked as if Providence had compensated for the wretched teenage years I went through - failed academically and bullied at school, or the Lost Years as I sometimes refer to that period of my life, lousy at team sports, hence rejected by the team captain, both my parents and my first employer giving me a low worth evaluation, and yes, at times I felt suicidal.

Now looking back, how well I was compensated. And now, about to enter a new phase of my life albeit rather late - fatherhood.

About an hour after the procedure, a nurse summoned us as Alex was wheeled from the recovery room to the post-natal ward, where she needed to spend the next few days before being transferred to Heatherwood Hospital Maternity Unit in Ascot. Daily transport to Wexham was very difficult by either bus or train as there were no direct services, so I had to depend mainly on my inlaws, Alex's parents, as well as church friends, to take me there and to bring me back home for the night, the distance on the road being over 17 miles or 27 km.

After three days at Heatherwood, Alex was deemed good to return home with the baby, the start of a new life with a fledgling family.

Living in the Present Day.

As I write this blog, at present, I'm 72 years old, and a State pensioner. I find walking difficult, gaining leg muscle aches if the distance is long, say, more than half a mile. Hence, I now keep walking well under restriction - quite a contrast to hiking the Grand Canyon in 1995, the strenuous Dorset Coastal Path in 1996, or even the Broadway Walk through Manhatten in 1998. 

I have never driven a car in my life, therefore if I'm not using public transport, I ride a bicycle to get where I need to go. But even this is becoming more difficult, especially on Sundays in inclement weather, when I need to cover 4.5 miles predominantly uphill to get to our church in Ascot. Again, this contrasts with 1990 for example, when I rode the length of Britain from end to end, as well as competing in triathlons across the country.

Having suffered from a regurgitating aortic valve by 2015, I had to go under the knife at Harefield Hospital, Uxbridge, for a major cardiac procedure to have the valve replaced which involved open heart surgery. Sometime after recovery, I attended a special exercise class twice a week for six weeks at Windsor Leisure Centre specified for cardiac patients. When the twelve classes were over, I was advised by my GP to carry on exercising, which I did at the Bracknell Leisure Centre. On my 63rd birthday, I retired from paid work two years earlier than the legal age of 65, yet still later than many professionals who tend to retire at 60. 

I tended to injure myself in the gym at my hometown of Bracknell, with one instance being taken by ambulance to Frimley Park Hospital directly from the Leisure Centre, I have swapped the rowing machine and treadmill for the swimming pool, and to this day I lane swim for an hour once a week.

As for Travel, at my age and declining health, it's no longer a priority. Right now, it's just Alex and I living together, secure in a safe, robust marriage. This year, we celebrated our Silver Wedding Anniversary with a meal at a self-serving buffet restaurant in the town centre. But gone are the days of overseas travel, yet remaining rich in memories, backed by many photo albums.

Alex with Rosina and her younger sister, Louise

I was very fortunate to have taken advantage of overseas travel when I had the opportunity! In my day, we were a member nation of the European Union. Take 1991 for example. That year, I rode on a bicycle from the Weymouth area to Dover, then the morning after arriving in Dover, I cycled from the hostel to the harbour, bought a return ticket to the French port of Calais, and boarded the ferry as easily as boarding a train. Absolutely no hassle. All I had to do was show my passport at the appropriate site.

Now that we had left the EU, if I wanted to board a ferry to France, I would first have to apply for ETIAS, that is to receive authorisation to enter the Schengen countries of Europe. And there's a price to pay for the authorisation. Furthermore, at the port or airport, there's talk of facial recognition scans and fingerprints taken before boarding. This, to me, who has travelled, is the sad consequence of Brexit - a national mistake that should never have occurred.

Likewise, for Britons to visit the USA, the ESTA, an electronic visa-waiver authorisation document was introduced after the 9/11 attack at the World Trade Center in New York in 2001. At the time of that disaster, Rosina was seven months old, thus long-haul travel was already past. But before 9/11, buying an air ticket to the USA was as easy as buying a train ticket.

At age 55, my 3rd daughter, Victoria, was born.

Hence my Travel Biography is complete. For all those who have read all or most of it, I hope that it was an enjoyable read. Just a final reminder: that it wasn't my original idea to write it. It was started after giving time for consideration when several of my readers requested it. Some even suggested writing a book, but since the Internet has taken over our lifestyles, the humble book seems to be going out of fashion. I look around the church. Some read their Bibles on an electronic tablet. Furthermore, using the Internet eliminates the risk of rejection of the manuscript by the publisher.

What I will try to do next week is create an index blog of this Biography with links to each section. For example, there should be a direct link from the index to my childhood and teenage years, my first backpacking experience, in Israel in 1976, the USA in 1977 and 1978, a direct link to the USA in 1995, and Round the World in 1997, along with links to other parts of the Biography. Thus, if you wish to read any part without excessive scrolling, I hope this index will enable you to do so.

I thank you all for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

Travel Biography - Week 128.

A Review of the whole Trip to Israel 2000.

Our two-week trip to Israel in 2000 was more adventurous than expected because we arrived just before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Unlike in the West when New Year's Day always falls on the first day of January, in Israel, the date is movable, as with our Easter corresponding with their Passover.

Therefore, our first few days were difficult. We were stranded in Haifa without cash to pay for transport to our destination, Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre in Isfya, a village about ten miles or 16 km from Haifa. Yet, at the summit of the Carmel Ridge, a kind taxi driver who was also a church minister offered us a free lift to the Centre. We then returned to the city a couple of days later with the erroneous idea that the holiday was over and all shops reopened.

In a city of closed shops, it was also next to a miracle that we found just one shop open for trading during the holiday, a pharmacy that with caution, cashed a traveller's cheque, enabling us to pay another taxi driver to take us safely back to the Centre.

We then took an Egged Bus south to Jerusalem where we booked into the New Swedish Backpacker's hostel where we were allocated a hotel-type private bedroom with a double bed.

The Jewish Sukkot, or the Festival of Booths, was ongoing by the time we arrived at the Jewish capital. Although this was a special week in the Jewish calendar, all shops and public institutions were open for trading and administration. The number of coloured booths temporarily installed on the streets of New City not only created a spectacular sight but also brought Biblical life to a first-hand experience.

It was while we were staying in Jerusalem that we went out on two separate day trips. The first one included a four-hour bus journey to Eilat. There was a resort that seemed so far away from any unrest taking place around Jerusalem, and it was here on the west coast of the Gulf of Aqaba, the natural home of a fringe coral reef which made the four-hour journey worthwhile.

On another morning, we took another bus to En Gedi, in the desert bordering the west coast of the Dead Sea. It was in this dramatic mountainous oasis at the Rift Valley where we followed the Nahal David, a freshwater stream flowing down several waterfalls from a spring, and flowing towards the Dead Sea. One of the waterfalls fed a shallow pool where public bathing was allowed. We took advantage and managed to swim in the natural setting.

Our Last Day was spent in Tel Aviv.

At Tel Aviv Beach.

Tel Aviv coastline, looking north.

As my Travel Biography has always testified, every good thing must come to an end, and the morning of take-off back home in the UK was only 24 hours away. So on our final morning in Jerusalem Old City, we vacated our hostel room and with a rucksack on my back, we completed our final walk through Jaffa Street to arrive at the Egged Bus station to board a bus for Tel Aviv.

This was to be the very last time we walked the streets of Jerusalem for the rest of my life, as I hadn't returned since 2000, and there was little chance of ever returning in our present lifetimes. One reason is my age and declining health. Another reason was the construction of the West Bank Barrier along the Green Line. It was first proposed as far back as 1992 by then-Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. 

Began in 1994 with a short 2 km stretch between Bat Hefer and Tulkarm, the latter just over 61 km or 38 miles north of Jerusalem as the crow flies, construction along the Green Line bordering the West Bank with Israel is still ongoing as I write. It's an ugly concrete monstrosity blemishing the Beautiful Land, but Israel felt the need for extra security following a spate of Palestinian terrorist attacks. However, if I wanted to walk through the streets of the Old City and stand on the Mount of Olives, I wouldn't see much of the barrier or any of it at all, as its nearest point from the city wall is around two kilometres away. However, at present (2024), if I wanted to take a bus out of Jerusalem to Bethlehem, Hebron, En Gedi, Masada, or Eilat, we would need to pass through the checkpoint at least once, probably twice for the southernmost regions in the future. 

All that is a deterrent from ever visiting the Holy Land again. It's such a tragedy for humanity - especially for Christian and Jewish believers!

However, there shouldn't be any checkpoints for Journeys from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, Haifa, and other coastal points north. Such was the case in 2000, when Alex and I boarded the express bus to Tel Aviv. After leaving Jerusalem, the hilly terrain on which the city is built recedes into the distance and the land flattens out as we headed towards the Mediterranean. This flat strip of land is the Plain of Sharon.

Facing south towards Jaffa (Joppa)

Modern hotels line the seafront.

We arrive at the Tel Aviv bus station after about an hour's journey. This city, once the capital of Israel before the status was handed over to Jerusalem in July 1980, saw Tel Aviv as a modern Western city bustling with life. Although a Jewish settlement, it was almost entirely secular with little religious influence, unlike Jerusalem Old City, instead with its coast lined with hotels, not unlike the shoreline of Eilat. Rather, I would rate Tel Aviv as brash, very much like Brighton in the UK.

South of Tel Aviv is Jaffa or the Biblical Joppa. It's the site where Peter lodged at a tanner's home before the servants of Cornelius arrived to escort a reluctant Peter to the home of the first Gentile, a non-Jewish Roman Centurian, to be converted to the Christian faith. Unfortunately, we didn't get around to visiting Joppa, even if we were able to see it from where we were on the beach. A monastery dominates the city, as it's built on a hill. It's part of St Peter's Church, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's on the site of the former tannery.

But with the heavy rucksack on my back, and also realising that we had no bed for the coming night, I wanted just to wind down, to spend the last full day in Israel relaxing on the sandy beach.

A beach holiday? Why not? It's only for one day and there will be no nightclubs or alcohol consumption. Funny that. Back in 1976, I also spent the last day in Israel on the beach at Tel Aviv and I had the same thoughts. The dreadful experience in 1972 with excess alcohol consumption in Spain apparently had lasting effects, perhaps even stretching over 28 years (or 52 years now).

The respite included having a swim in the sea under warm sunshine in a cloudless sky. However, if I wanted to make a comparison between the Mediterranean Sea and the Gulf of Aqaba, the latter would win hands down. Not only do the corals thrive in the Gulf where snorkelling with an underwater camera would result in spectacular photos, but the sea is backed by the mountains of Jordan, with the colour of a pink hue during the late afternoon and early evening, therefore, giving a true otherworldly perspective of foreign travel. By contrast, the Mediterranean is seen, especially by the British but probably by the Germans as well, as a sunseeker's paradise, an ideal location to spend a two-week escape from the harsh realities of life, especially under cool grey skies and chilly winds characteristic of a temperate climate.

I even read in one travel magazine (an issue of Wanderlust) some years ago that there are more interesting places to visit rather than the boring Mediterranean - and then proceeded to give a list of faraway places around the world. At this point, I disagree. The lands surrounding the Med offer plenty of historical sites, ancient - even predating the Roman period - and more recent such as Medieval. Adding to all that, there are many spectacular geological sites of natural beauty. I could conclude that the Med is either a paradise for the hiker, photographer or historian, or a sunseeker's haven where sun, sand, sea, and alcohol dominate. Or worst of all, before my Christian conversion in 1972, spending what was left of the night sleeping in a Spanish bathtub, wet with my own vomit.

But I also understand where Wanderlust was coming from. For someone who fell in love with corals making up a reef teeming with marine life, the average Briton would need to travel further away than the Med. Indeed, aquariums housing coral in an artificial environment would make it ideal for a family's day out, but the aquarium would never equal the sheer joy of actually diving or snorkelling along the reef and experiencing marine life firsthand.

Preparing for the Flight Home.

Beach life with our luggage.

Sunset at Tel Aviv,

Alex and I spent most of the day at the beach in Tel Aviv right until sundown. Afterwards, it was time to head for the airport and spend the night in the check-in lounge. However, I was concerned about security. They will ask us where we stayed whilst we were in Israel, and I have to answer that we stayed in a Palestinian-owned hostel. That alone would step up security.

The bus to Ben Gurion Airport was slow, passing through the residential estates. But we eventually arrived. We were checked at the main entrance security (like at Tel Aviv Bus Station) and we were free to wander around the check-in terminal, as our flight to London was one of the first take-offs of the day. We both sat down and tried unsuccessfully to sleep as we tried to pass that long night.

About halfway through the night, a female security officer approached and offered us to pass through security. We were led to the security room and we had our luggage thoroughly examined. When they were satisfied that we posed no threat, our luggage had a zillion stickers plastered over them, eliminating any further security searches.

Hence, when the check-in desk opened, we passed through easily with no ado. We then proceeded to the upstairs departure lounge.

However, the plane we were in remained at the terminal for a long time. The announcement came through the tannoy. A passenger has changed his mind about flying to London and refusing to board, the luggage hold had to be opened and his property retrieved before the plane could take off.

As I looked out of the window at the scene below, I recognised Rhodes straight away. The walls of Rhodos Old City stood out in the sunshine amidst the rich blue Mediterranean. Afterwards, as we landed at London Gatwick to be met by the chill of Autumn, I knew that one chapter of my life was about to close and another open.

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Next Week: The one event which ends this Biography.

Travel Biography - Week 127

Looking Back at my 1993 visit to En Gedi.

Someone once told me, You're a man of Israel, after returning to Isfya from a day trip to Acre, on the Mediterranean coast north of Haifa and 18.8 km or 11 miles south of the Lebanese border. That was in 1994. How I was defined as a man of Israel was down to personal opinion. Maybe I became more deserving of the title six years later when I took a bus journey to Eilat from Jerusalem. Until then, the most southern location I ever visited in the Middle East was the Palestinian town of Hebron. Then, having travelled far south to Eilat, the total distance between Acre and Eilat is 372 kilometres or 230 miles as the crow flies. Perhaps I can claim the title of a man of Israel!

Eilat wasn't the only place we visited south of Jerusalem. On another day, we took another bus to En Gedi on the west bank of the Dead Sea. Fortunately, in 2000, this saltwater lake was at a higher level than it is today (2024). But unlike in 1976, 1993, and 1994, this time we didn't swim, or should I say float, on the syrupy water of the Dead Sea. Instead, we went inland to explore the desert environment of En Gedi.

The day passed off well. That is, except for the moment when I hit an area just above my forehead hard against a solid, unyielding rocky surface. This happened while I was climbing out just after we were bathing at the shallow pool fronting one of several waterfalls. Fortunately, although the impact was rather intense, there was no bone fracture nor was there any bleeding, or else I would have been escorted to a hospital, even for a minor procedure of having the wound stitched.

That morning, we arrived at a bus stop in the middle of a desert. From there, we walked to the Reservation entrance gate where we had to pay to get in. We then did some hiking, mainly along Nahal David (the Stream of David). The trail ran alongside the stream which flows towards the Dead Sea through a steep valley.

We arrive at En Gedi.

A pair of Ibax.

Alex by the Stream of David (Nahal David)

In Nahal David Canyon.

The name En Gedi sometimes referred to as Ein Gedi means Spring of the Kid, that is, a young goat or ibex. In keeping with its name, we did see a couple of ibex grazing nearby as we hiked along. There are two main streams or creeks about a mile apart, the Nahal Arugot and Nahal David. Each of the two creeks cuts through a canyon, the two valleys running roughly parallel to each other, forming the largest desert oasis in Israel. Further upstream along Nahal David is a shallow rock pool, and in 2000, it was accessible for a cool dip. It was fed by a waterfall. Above the water on one side, a natural recess consisting of a level floor and a low ceiling provides shade from the warm sunshine, and it was here where I bumped my head on the ceiling. At least the pain didn't linger for too long.

In 1993, I was by myself when I spent a day at En Gedi Oasis. Although I was aware of the rock pool at Nahal David, I didn't swim back then as I arrived unprepared, that is, without a change of clothing. Instead, I hiked along Nahal David and followed the trail as it switchbacked up a canyon wall to a level plateau separating the two streams. After a few hundred metres, I arrived at the ancient ruin of a Chalcolithic shrine, dating back to 3,500 BC, according to archaeologists (for further reading and accompanying photos, it's Week 51. The link is at the foot of this blog post.) In 2000, we didn't exert ourselves too much. But unlike at the Sea of Galilee and the Gulf of Aqaba, at En Gedi, I was happy for my pregnant beloved wife a dip in the freshwater rock pool.

In the Bible, the story goes that after the young David, a descendant of Jacob (renamed Israel) through one of his sons, Judah, had killed Goliath, he had to flee from the wrath of King Saul, whose jealousy was aroused by David's success on the battlefield. David fled to En Gedi with his men and hid in one of the caves there to stay safe.

Our Visit to En Gedi Desert Oasis.

One of several Nahal David Waterfalls.

A cool, refreshing dip.

Alex enjoys the waterfall cascading on her.

When we first arrived.

That morning, after a long walk through Jaffa Street, we arrived at the Egged Bus Station and boarded a bus bound for Masada. Like the journey to Eilat, this service stops at En Gedi but unlike to Eilat, this one was not as a refreshment stop but a normal request stop. Once alighted, the bus pulled out to continue southwards, and we were left alone to take care of ourselves.

The road was Route 90 which begins in Metula, an Israeli border town with Lebanon, and runs southwards to Eilat. From Jerusalem, Route 1 runs eastwards, plunging below sea level as it enters the west side of the Rift Valley, to join Route 90 at the northern end of the Dead Sea, and also close to the border with Jordan. From Jerusalem, buses for Eilat, Masada, and En Gedi use Routes 1 and 90 respectively. Our bus journey to En Gedi took up to ninety minutes to cover a distance of 84 km or 52 miles.

After we had alighted, looking south, we saw that the Dead Sea was to our left, and the oasis was to our right. Towards the east and across the Dead Sea, the continuous range of Jordanian mountains testifies to the Rift Valley, as it does at Galilee and Eilat alike. We then made our way to the main entrance and paid the fee. After passing through a car park, we found a trailhead that was to run alongside Nahal David.

Although I tend to use the word hike a lot in this Biography, it wasn't any longer than a kilometre or so before we arrived at the rock pool. As we walked along, we passed a couple of ibex grazing. As for the coming swim at the rock pool, I was already prepared this time, and so was Alex. We found what looked like a recess in one of the cliffs surrounding the pool, and here we stripped off our day clothes (just the shirt and footwear for us) to reveal our swimwear. The quarry-like recess had a low ceiling, and I was mindful not to bump my head on it! At first, the water, less than a metre deep, was crystal clear and its coolness refreshed us from the warm sunshine. Not that it was that hot - after all, it was October. But autumn in Israel was as warm as a clear July day in Britain. 

Alex enjoyed standing under the waterfall that fed the pool. We had the pool to ourselves at first, until several families arrived to join us. It was then that the water turned cloudier as we all splashed about. In a sense, I felt like a child again, splashing in a shallow pool without a care in the world. It was quite a contrast to the snorkel swim at Coral Beach, where I examined the corals with a degree of seriousness and took underwater photos.

Standing by another Nahal David Waterfall.

Alex by the Creek, En Gedi Oasis.

With a slight headache, I relax by the stream.

The En Gedi Waterfall

When we had enough, I made my way to the natural recess in the limestone cliff. As I suddenly sat up, my head hit the ceiling, making quite a loud noise. I fell and rested on my back as if unconscious. But I remained conscious as I lay there. Strangely enough, the pain wasn't that intense but more of a dull ache. Rather, I was suffering from shock, and I felt my energy draining away, and I just lay there, inert as Alex tended to me. Almost immediately, a female officer, dressed in a military uniform, suddenly appeared from deep within the recess, as if she had suddenly materialised. That was when I realised that the facility was staffed, even when the whole site looked deserted and no one else could be seen.

The officer examined me and asked me questions. She allowed me to keep resting, and I cannot recall her phoning for an ambulance. She was right. I wasn't bleeding, there was no evidence of a fracture, and I was more shocked than in pain. She allowed me to rest on site until I was well enough to rise up and move on.

When I felt right enough to get up, we both left the recess with special care until we stood by the pool. We then followed the trail further inland from the Dead Sea. Soon we came to another waterfall. This one was greater in height than the last one we saw but had no pool. I remember this waterfall. In 1993, I stood under it, fully clothed and allowed a drenching, knowing that the hot summer sunshine would dry me out after a short time.

I knew this as the En Gedi Waterfall and being further upstream, could be the source of the Nahal David. There is apparently a cave entrance behind the waterfall, if so, this could be nicknamed, the Window Waterfall. Could this be the cave where the young David hid with his men from King Saul? To be honest, I couldn't tell, as there were no information signs throwing light on the matter, as found at most sites of special interest.

Yet the whole area was dramatically spectacular. It's an oasis, fed by two streams cascading down the western face of the Rift Valley from its springs to the Dead Sea. The walls of the canyon in which the stream or creek flows are steep, and from the streams, wildlife flourishes, including the ibex from which the oasis is named, along with various species of birds. Lush vegetation also thrives here, providing an ideal habitat for wildlife.

Desert and City Bus Stop Contrasts.

Us at En Gedi.

The contrast couldn't be more different between the lush, well-watered vegetation, wildlife and visitors and the location of the bus stop for the journey back to Jerusalem. The bus stop was an isolated structure surrounded by barren desert, even if the west coast of the Dead Sea wasn't far away. As the evening was beginning to draw in, it felt as if we were the only two people left on this planet. Even the main road, Route 90, was sparse in traffic, with an occasional passing car indicating that we weren't that alone. I grew up in a world where bus stops either stand on a residential estate or on a busy street backed by shops and offices among a bustling crowd of pedestrians, dog walkers, and pram pushers, and the road congested by standing traffic with a horn or two beeping, the delayed bus finally arrives as it crawls slowly among the traffic. Not to mention the miserable weather.

But not at En Gedi. Here, the sheer isolation, the desert environment, the quiet road, and the utter silence of the Rift Valley under a clear sky as the sun began to set had made me wonder how it could be possible for buses to ply here. On arrival, I carefully studied the bus times and we made sure that we allowed plenty of time for the bus to arrive. This resulted in a fairly long wait, perhaps fifteen minutes.

The bus finally arrives from the left of us and slows down as we are seen by the driver. We boarded, leaving behind the bus stop standing alone and isolated in the desert.

Back at the hostel, Alex began to prepare dinner.

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For further reading of my 1993 visit to En Gedi, click here.

Next Week: Tel Aviv, and the Flight Home.

Travel Biography - Week 126.

In 2000, we spent two weeks in the Holy Land, the second week at a backpacker's hostel in Jerusalem's Old City. During that week, I had an idea of a day spent in Eilat, the southernmost town in Israel, which is a short distance from the border with Egypt. One afternoon, Alex and I sauntered along Jaffa Road to the bus station to find out about the service timetable and whether the fares were within our budget. We then cashed a traveller's cheque at a bank.

Eilat Coral Beach, south of the town centre, is on the west coast of the Gulf of Aqaba, one of two fingers extended from the arm of the Red Sea, the other being the Gulf of Suez. Between the two fingers is the Sinai Peninsula, almost wholly in Egypt, and the traditional site of the Decalogue delivered to the children of Israel as written in the Biblical book of Exodus. From Eilat, the town of Aqaba could be seen across the gulf, backed by the Jordan mountains. The Red Sea itself is the arm of the Indian Ocean.

Our Journey to Eilat.

Eilat Town.

Coral Beach, Eilat.

Alex at Coral Beach.

View of the coral shelf seen from the jetty.

At the Pier or Jetty.

Our bus departed from Jerusalem New City at 8.00 in the morning for a four-hour, 366 km or 227-mile bus journey to Eilat. This included a short break stop at En Gedi, on the west coast of the Dead Sea, to refresh ourselves. Further along the route, not far from Masada, I caught a momentary glimpse of a peculiar-looking but famous pillar a little way above the bus window I was sitting next to. This was Lot's Wife turned into a pillar of salt when the family fled from Sodom, which was under divine judgement. Just as surprising was that as the bus was approaching the pillar, my thoughts were far away as I gazed at the seat in front. Suddenly, without any forethought, my head turned to see the pillar as we passed by - as if turned by an invisible hand.

I would love to watch a TV documentary about that pillar if the lab scientists ever load it into an MRI scanner. What would the image reveal? Just a solid block of salt? Or the outline of a well-preserved female body encased deep within the rocky structure? Such a positive scan result would cause a psychological earthquake for both believers and sceptics!

The bus travelled through miles and miles over the barren desert of Judah, bypassing the town of Beersheba a few miles west of the route. Across the valley on our left, the border with Jordan continues, backed by the Rift mountains once inhabited by the Ammonites towards the north of the Dead Sea, the Moabites along its east coast, and the Edomites by the time we arrived at Eilat.

Four hours after boarding at Jerusalem, we finally arrived in Eilat town centre. The air was warm, and along the sidewalks lining the streets were fine water sprays where anyone could stand and cool down. In all, the town itself looked somewhat tacky for a holiday resort, consisting of low commercial buildings and dominated by the single runway of Eilat Airport which, unlike all other cities, was in the heart of town. At the beachfront, modern multistorey hotels reached for the sky, obscuring the golden brown mountains of the Rift Valley that begin at Galilee and continue on along the Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea, and then the Gulf of Aqaba and the whole length of the Red Sea before crossing over to the continent of Africa to end at Mt Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.

However, I knew where I wanted to go, as the town centre held little interest to me. We found a bus stop for the route to Coral Beach, nearly 7 km or 4.3 miles south of the bus station. When we arrived, the bus carried on a little further where it terminated close to Taba, on the Egyptian side of the border. Amazingly enough, we were the only two people who alighted at this location. There were some people on the beach, diving and snorkelling but being off-season, there were no beach crowds like we see during the summer at Bournemouth on a warm, sunny weekend. By comparison, Coral Beach was virtually deserted.

View of Coral Beach from the Pierhead.

Facing towards the Egyptian Border.

A closer look at the shallow coral shelf.

The Mountains of Jordan are behind Alex.

We had to pay a fee to enter the beach area which was backed by a hotel. I thought that this would have been ideal for a week's holiday, or even a long weekend. As a hotel guest, I would have had unlimited access to the beach and the coral reef. At the hotel reception, I hired a snorkelling mask and also bought a single-use underwater camera like the ones I had in Australia. Alex and I came to an agreement for her to remain dry due to her pregnancy. She was cooperative, and although she would have liked to have sampled some snorkelling experience for herself, she agreed to remain on the pierhead for the baby's sake. She also took care of our picnic lunch and other necessities after paying for the use of one of the clothes lockers.

Entry into the sea was not from the beach itself but from the end of a pier or jetty jutting some 30 metres out to sea. As the sandy beach sloped into the sea, the sand gave way to a shallow coral shelf, a very spectacular and colourful sight from the pier. The shelf continued on until it suddenly dropped to the sea floor, several metres down, forming a submerged cliff wall of coral. This was the coral garden I was about to see. The seafloor itself remains barren of any coral life as it consists of sand, and hard, firm rock is needed for the polyps to settle and establish a colony. Although I was able to make comparisons with the Great Barrier Reef, this reef was quite different. The Australian version has the reef spreading across the sea floor, whether surrounding a coral cay, a continental island off the mainland, or covering a range of seamounts such as the Outer Barrier Reef, all coral reefs need hard bedrock.

Another difference between Coral Beach and the Great Barrier Reef was the condition of the water. The sea within the Gulf of Aqaba has a greater salinity level than around Australia. The higher salt content makes the water very clear and free from the cloudiness common in the Indo-Pacific. Therefore, when it comes to underwater photography, the photos I got back were superior to those from Australia in clarity and sharpness of colour.

After I had changed into my swimwear, Alex and I made our way to the pier, passing the line that roped off entry into the sea directly from the beach. As we strolled along the pier, we watched the strip of sand turn into a coral bed as it sloped beneath the surface. At the end of the pier, a short platform had steps leading straight into the deep water. Alex sat on one of those steps whilst I swam straight out, with mask and snorkel fully in position.

Coral Detail using my underwater camera.

All these pictures were taken by me.

Coral detail.

Coral detail

As I surveyed the spectacular reef, my mind went back to Australia just three years earlier. The sheer joy of coral reef snorkelling returned, but with a difference. In 1997, I was free, single and with little responsibility. This time, I was married, my beloved wife was here with me, and a child was on its way. As I looked ahead, I'd be trading my reef snorkelling for sleepless nights as I tend to a crying child.

The fish I saw while I was snorkelling at Coral Beach Reef were more abundant than at the Great Barrier Reef. The most common was Sergeant Major Damselfish, which I saw also in the Indo-Pacific. Also, the Jewel Fairy Basslet swarming in great numbers around the coral provided a spectacular sight in itself, and actually swimming with them was an experience no visit to an aquarium could match. I also identified a single Emperor Angelfish with its beautiful shining blue body - beautiful to us, but a message to potential predators that this fish would not be good to eat. Bright colours are often associated with poison and a warning to predators.

I spent a considerable amount of time in the water while Alex watched and waited patiently. It's during those times - like I was at the Great Barrier Reef, and now here in the Gulf of Aqaba, I wished that I had done a lot better at school, and attended University (in my day there were no university fees. I would have lived on a Government student grant) and entered the field of marine biology - and then specialise in coral reefs. Instead of climbing a ladder in the cold to clean windows owned by shifty customers, I would have learned to scuba dive, work in a laboratory, and contribute to the reef's health. Dealing with bleaching caused by the warming of the surrounding water would have demanded full commitment - and the joy that would have accompanied such dedication when I saw the polyps beginning to thrive.

But in the sixties, the decade of schooling, I was aware of the existence of corals, but I knew nothing about them. Even right up to 1997, my knowledge of corals was very limited. It took a first-hand view of the coral polyps at Green Island for the scales to fall out of my eyes and discover what is to me an exciting new world. And a world I would have done my best to dedicate my living to protect and preserve.

We remained at the pierhead as Alex took out our lunch and picnicked over the sea. Afterwards, we took a stroll together along the beach while my stomach digested the food. I looked around this beautiful environment. Instead of the sea vanishing in a straight line at the horizon as all large bodies of water do, here the pinkish mountains of Jordan back what looks more like a large ribbon lake or a very wide river. By looking carefully at the base of the Jordan mountains, I could see the faraway town of Aqaba, after which the whole gulf is named.

There weren't many people at Coral Beach, but there were a small number. Some of the divers and snorkelers were crowding around a spot in the sea about 70 or 80 metres off the coast. I began to feel curious about what these people were looking at. After a while, Alex and I made our way to the pierhead. Once again, Alex sat where she sat before and watched. With the snorkel equipment in place, I swam out to where the offshore divers were.

What I saw was a small seamount, an isolated conical rock formation that had been colonised by a healthy-looking reef. Some divers were close to it, but from where I was, I still had a good view. Too bad that all the snapshots of the underwater camera were all exposed. I would have loved to have taken at least two or three of this isolated reef, with divers attending to it.

Sergeant Major Damselfish

Jewel Fairy Basslets.

Sergeant Majors and other species near Pierhead.

Returning to Jerusalem.

The schedule for the day was four hours to get to Eilat, and four hours to return to Jerusalem. Since our bus was scheduled to leave at 17.00 hours to arrive in Jerusalem at 21.00 hours, that allowed us a clear four hours at Coral Beach before we made our way back to the Central Bus Station. To us, four hours was enough. Within that timeslot, I saw as much of the coral as my heart desired. Furthermore, I have an underwater camera with a film of 24 exposures, all of the coral, the acetate film awaiting development and from it, prints made. All the underwater pics featured here are from that film.

We saw dusk as the bus headed north through Judah. The mountains of Jordan continued northward, uninterrupted, as these mountains are the result of a Rift Valley stretching as far north as Galilee.

Alex was not pleased with me as she slept next to me on the bus. She really would have liked to have seen the reef for herself, and I might have been overcautious in protecting our baby. Maybe next time I hope to be happier in watching her enjoy a swim. Fortunately, that opportunity wasn't far off. However, by the time we arrived back at the hostel, things between us were beginning to look up.

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Next Week: En Gedi, where I could have ended up in hospital.