Dune(s)

Senior year is supposed to be a relaxed year- the worst of the standardized testing is usually done by now, GPAs have been calculated such as to give colleges an impression of a student's scholastic aptitude and comparative ranking. Not so in our home. Our oldest ones have been working harder than ever! Both are taking three college classes each while competing for academic scholarships at the school where they have both committed to attend next fall. The grades they get in these courses will follow them and bear weight on their scholarship eligibility. So at four in the morning, you might catch Dominic trying to make sense of the words now swimming on the page of a literary insight paper on Dante's Divine Comedy. Or perhaps you will catch Noemie practicing her Russian verbs with consternation as she misses another night of youth group or has to pass on a beloved session of chokehold-escaping body slams.

For one more week they must power through Theology, Rhetoric, Physics... before they can rest. And of course, by rest we mean perform cello recitals, write scholarship essays, catch up on correspondence and pet projects, prepare for the spring semester... I feel their pain. Danny's office has been understaffed for months and he has had to help carry the portfolios of the three empty chairs in his office. From the time we returned from our summer R&R in early July till Thanksgiving weekend, our family didn’t leave the city of Jerusalem (with the exception of Gigi’s sprints to the orthodontist in Tel Aviv). For much of that time we were under security restrictions that prohibited us from traveling outside of those 5 square miles unless it was to Tel Aviv, where American diplomats were also on lockdown. Feeling overwhelmed with work and just a wee bit claustrophobic, we made plans to take a break in Central Europe for Thanksgiving, but after Israel struck Iranian military infrastructure in the last week of October, all international carriers began suspending service to Israel and by mid-November our flights were canceled. We were stuck, as the remaining Israeli carriers’ flights were either full or unaffordable. The first week of November, security restrictions were lifted so that we could move about a little more freely, but areas north of Netanya (Nazareth, Galilee, Caesarea, Haifa) were still off limits. So were Bethlehem, and Jericho. But we still needed a break. While Danny dropped his head in defeat, I used my womanly charms to convince him that he needed to save our vacation (i.e. I threw a fit). With two weeks left till the holiday, my hero secretly threw together a stellar weekend retreat. 

 

 Thursday morning we made a 4-hour drive south through the Rift Valley along the western shores of the Dead Sea, past the city of Hebron where King David established his government before moving the capital to Jerusalem. We passed the storied fortress of Masada, and the arid town of Zohar named for one of the kings who ruled there before God destroyed it with Sodom and Gomorrah, ultimately arriving at the Red Sea resort town of Eilat where we had our Thanksgiving dinner in a Brazilian churrascaria. Just before sunset, we crossed the border into Jordan and found the lush, sprawling resort that Danny had booked for us in Aqaba.

This Movenpick property was the last tourist establishment on the Red Sea resort strip before the Saudi Arabian border. (We know because we made a wrong turn and found ourselves nearly at the border crossing.) There was a dead bird on our patio to greet us. On Friday, I would spend the day staying close to restrooms, nursing digestive troubles, well deserved for assuming it was safe to include ceviche among my breakfast buffet choices. Maybe in Peru… but not in the Middle East. With temperatures in the high 60s/low 70s only Tovi and Gigi were brave enough to enjoy the water. The resort, with its thousands of rooms, was nearly empty. Tourism in the area has tanked since the start of the war, and the staff was eager to put their industry to work, giving Gigi a face painting she didn’t really want, photographing the kids playing golf, taking Danny up on a match of table tennis. 

 

 

 

Saturday we drove to Wadi Rum (population 2000, supposedly all descendants from a single man) where we spent the afternoon exploring the Bedouin desert and its history with our gracious guide Mohammad, who would stop to pray at most of the sites while we scrambled up mountain sides and across rock bridges.

Freedom!

 

 

 

He took us to climb its famous landscapes, wander its canyons, and surf its red sands... recognizable as the backdrop for other-worldly movies such as The Martian, Dune, and Star Wars.

He showed us ancient inscriptions carved into the canyon walls. 

 

And he took us sand boarding down a steep dune. 

 

 

Danny didn't bring a jacket and was frozen through as we rode through the dunes on the back of Mohammad's modified pick up truck, especially as the sun started to get lower in the sky. 

It's a testament to how truly cold he was that Danny accepted Mohammad's offer to loan him his long Bedouin coat called a farwa. Watching the sun set over the silent desert mountains was a truly special experience. And craning our necks out of the windows to see the stars on our drive home as well...

While Gigi loved drinking black tea, sifting the red dune sand through her hands, and climbing to her heart's content, the highlight for Tovi and Dominic was seeing the expansive views. 

We smelled so badly of campfire and cigarette smoke (not ours) and dirt when we returned to our hotel room that we all had to take showers, and we didn’t make it to dinner till 9:30. It turned out to be a private dinner as we had the elegant Italian restaurant to ourselves. Nothing like having an entire restaurant's wait staff watching you eat. Yeesh.

We hadn't eaten anything all day except for a little bit of pita left over from the restaurant the night before, and black tea-- consequently we overindulged with appetizers and then couldn’t finish our dinners. Teetering on delirium, Danny cradled his head in his arms while the rest of us argued; four tired, cranky teens and their tired, cranky mother trying to coordinate the perfect gelato assortment. The waitress looked on in panic. We asked for takeaway (carryout) for our leftovers...which instead were delivered by cart to our hotel rooms exactly as we had left them, on the very same plates. Except it was now 11pm- and our dinners seemed like food-spirits sent to haunt us. I was so over-stuffed, the smell made me nauseous and I had to leave the room, and Danny was left to sort out the fiasco.

Back at the hotel the next day I put my detective skills to work to find Bedouin farwas like the one that saved Danny the evening before. 

The concierge consulted her colleague and scribbled down in Arabic the name of a place where we could find one in town, saying something about Baghdad Street. Somehow, miracle of miracles, we found them. And at $20 each, we bought a bunch! 

We probably won't wear them around Jerusalem but I have visions of collecting chicken eggs in December on my North Carolina farm someday in these hooded super-coats and we are going to just be the fanciest farmers in Asheboro! Someday...