52nd day (Soft Landing)

36 hours away, 9 hours driving, 10 hours walking,

 840 km driving, 30 km walking

Sounds insane? To me too. The things we have to do to finish the shvil.

Initially we had wanted to hike for 4 or 5 days in order to get the majority of what remains for us to do on Shvil Yisrael out of the way. However, as we've seen so much over these past few years, life gets in the way of shvil (And the distance we need to travel to get to the shvil doesn't help much, either.) So in the end, it was a quick dash down to almost Eilat, walk a bit and dash back home. It's better than nothing.

So there I was, 4.30 in the morning, waiting for Garry and Irwin in Carmiel. Irwin is a recently retired prison officer who, besides being an old friend, came along to make sure we didn't get out of line. I hope he was more successful this time than what he was 40 years ago, when he was our madrich (group leader) in the youth movement back in Melbourne. Conversely, I hope we gave him less of a hard time now than we did 40 years ago. It's probably taken him these past 40 years to forgive us for the mayhem we caused back then. Who, us?

The plan was to drive four and a half hours this morning so we could walk 3 hours to Shacharut, which is about 45km north of Eilat. After that we planned to backtrack to Sapir and complete the leg that got washed out on new year's eve 2014. Despite Yoni's general lack of satisfaction in the overall planning of the trip, describing it derisively as laissez fare, much to his surprise, for once, almost everything went to plan.

By 10.30 we had met up with Mark, driven a good way past the most southern point we had walked to till now and turned off route 12 to route 3390876, or some such back road, which is also the road to the Ovdat military airport. At least if we got lost today, they wouldn't have far to get the search and rescue going. The shvil markers that would tell us that we hadn't driven all this way for nothing were meant to be somewhere opposite the airport. Soon enough, we found the shvil marker that would take us into the Casui sand dunes national park. These are the only sand dunes on shvil yisrael and thought it might be fun to roll down the dunes like little kids. The sign at the top of the path, however, said we were about to enter the Sacharut Cliffs national park? Not good. Now I am the first to admit and my friends readily agree that I am dysmaptic. I cannot read a map. It's a spatial recognition thing that my brain refuses to process the information properly. Perhaps it's just my feminine side being stronger…you know…it's a known fact that women can't read maps and can't throw balls. Neither can I.

 Dysmaptic, feminine or whatever, my reading of the map was that we had over shot the day's starting point. We backtracked a bit and found a sign that pointed us to the Casui Dunes. I still wasn't satisfied. I insisted that this was the exit, not the entrance. Over the course of these past 5 years on shvil, 10 years of walking together or 40 years of friendship, my companions have justifiably learnt that when I say north, go south. And yet, they listened to me. And I was right. So 20 minutes after we arrived to the general area of Ovdat Military Airport, Shacharut Cliffs and Casui Dunes, we parked both cars (Mark lives in a different part of the country to us and comes in his own car) at the top of the shvil yisrael marked path that would lead us to the dunes. Logic would dictate that once we had found the correct starting point, we park a car at the end so we can easily get back to the car at the start. This, however, would entail jumping back and forward now with both cars and it was getting late in the morning. We had been in the cars since 4.30 and I just wanted to start walking. My skew logic said that the settlement of Shacharut, which is our finishing point, is so out of the way, that anyone going past will stop for us. On Tuval, where I live, you stand at the entrance and everyone going past stops to give you a lift. Here too, I had so much faith in human nature that no driver would zoom past you if you were trying to hitch a ride in the middle of the desert. My friends had less faith in human nature and even less belief that a car would come along the most remote road in Israel. Yet somehow, my friends bowed to my warped logic and we parked both cars together, at the beginning. They made me promise that if we didn't succeed in hitching a ride, I would walk the 15km back along the road to pick a car up. You're going to have to wait till the end to see who was right.

The walking turned out to be quite nice. Not "wow" "amazing" "stunning". You generally have to work really hard, climbing up mountains, to get the "wow" views. That would come tomorrow. Meanwhile, we had "nice". The trail started along an undistinguished route, sand and pebbles under foot, hills and dry creek beds around. There obviously had been some rain this season, because the creek beds were lined with very pretty, little desert flowers, blooming after some winter precipitation. Nice. Yoni, being grumpier than usual at the easy going, it'll-be-alright, laissez fare approach, was convinced something wasn't right, since we were heading east rather than south. He should know by now that Mr Shvil Painter often takes us west, east or even north, when he wants us to head south. Sure enough, after 20 minutes of walking, the path took a sharp right hand turn, up an equally as sharp a hill and in the general southerly direction that we were meant to be walking.  The short uphill we had walked brought us to the sand dunes. Once again, they were nice enough, but not any more amazing than what I remember of Woolamai on Phillip Island as a kid. Certainly not so amazing that I would drive 5 hours from Tuval to see it, but if it's on shvil yisrael, shoyn, we walk it. After walking another 30 minutes or so on a sort of plateau above the dunes, the path dropped down a bit, twisted a bit, and took us back to the road, where we had thought that this was the starting, rather than middle, point.

We were about to do something we hadn't done since the very first day on shvil and swore we wouldn't do again. For the next 3 kilometres, we were going to walk along the road. Gevult. We had no choice. This was an unavoidable section between two off road sections. And it wasn't really too bad. I guess 3 km out of the 800 or so we've walked thus far is sufferable. Depending on who you ask of the three of us, we've dodged or driven about 100 km of road walking. If we don't agree upon how exactly how many shvil kilometres we've skipped along roads, or whether we should add in to the count all the extra kilometres that we've walked as a result of getting lost, backtracking or not finding a marker, we do agree that we're not in the least apologetic or upset about not walking on roads. We made a rule at the beginning that we would avoid walking along roads at all cost and have pretty much stuck to it. This 3 km was a pretty innocuous exception to the rule.

After 40 minutes or so of road working, the shvil signs led away from the road, but not by much. The path continued adjacent to the road, but 50 metres away, I assume in order to take us pass some very ancient archeological sites that predate the Israelites entering the Land of Israel. Wiki says these sites are from the Neolithic (late stone age) era and were used as temples to hunter-gatherers in a time where this area was cooler and wetter. It was past mid-day, we'd been walking for a while and hadn't eaten anything at all. And low and behold, up popped a ruin, in reasonable condition, that gave some shade from the not very hot sun and allowed us to sit comfortably against the walls. Very considerate of Mr Stone-Age to put a structure here in 6000 B.C. so 5 idiots can lean against it 8000 years later. That is definitely the oldest wall I've ever leant against.

Well fed and relaxed, we set off, continuing up a hill, down a hill and across the desert. We walked for a bit along a ridge that on either side had valleys that went off in different directions. Nice. The only intrusion into the desert solace was the regular air force fighter jets, transport planes and helicopters that took off and landed from the nearby airport. A reminder that we are, after all, in Israel. Eventually we saw the settlement of Shacharut in the distance and the road that I had to hitch hike along to go back and get a car. I have to admit, it looked a pretty lonely road.

This was the moment of truth, when I had to justify my convincing of my walking partners to go against logic and security. We figured that anyone who might be travelling on this road and who might consider stopping for a hitch hiker might be more likely to do so for one middle aged lunatic rather than 5. My 4 other companions walked a few hundred metres up the road, hidden from anyone who might drive along. I sat by the side of the road, trying to decide how long I would need to wait before it became obvious that no-one travels on this road. Barely 10 minutes passed when suddenly a bus was seen on the horizon. Rubbing my eyes to make sure that it wasn't a Saharan mirage, I stood up and basically plonked myself in the middle of the road. This bus was going to have to run me over if it was going to get past me. The bus driver himself wasn't too sure if I was a mirage or a lunatic. When I asked him to stop for my other 4 lunatic friends a few hundred metres down the road, he perhaps hoped that we were merely a mirage. Tzvika turned out to be a wealth of local information and provided a very pleasant 10-minute ride back to the beginning. Like we've seen so often, this shvil adventure isn't just about walking from point A at kibbutz Dan to point Z at Eilat, it's about experiencing things that we would otherwise have no opportunity to experience.

We had a 40 minute drive ahead of us, so when we saw the Ne'ot Smadar restaurant and outlet shop along the way, a coffee stop seemed appropriate. It appears that kibbutz Ne'ot Smadar  is a new-age refuge for aging hippies and young politically correct do-gooders. The carefully designed restaurant and shop, made of wood (I hope no forests were chopped down to supply the wood), projected calm, serenity and a deep desire to make money. There was over-priced organic cheese, over-priced organic wine, organic soap, organic olive oil and more. Organic maybe, fair trade certainly not. The only thing that broke the chain of peace, love and show-us-your-money was the girl taking the orders at the coffee counter. She had a healthy dose of attitude, bad temper and grumpiness. Finally, something I can identify with. If I had to work here, I too would be as grumpy as a bear been woken in the middle of his hibernation. Nothing a quick puff on a joint around the back wouldn't cure. Still, the coffee was good and the atmosphere relaxed.

 So far today I'd proven myself right. Yoni remained unhappy with the loose arrangements of the trip, especially when he heard that I'd chosen our accommodation in Sapir based solely on price. Generally, you get what you pay for. The accommodation itself was a compromise, given that the rest of us were perfectly happy to camp out or stay in a Bedouin tent. As it happened, the zimmer in Sapir was far better than we had hoped for and far far better than we paid for.

The only decision we had to make, albeit an important one, was where to eat. In this area of the Arrava, our choices are somewhat limited. The Gamalia, where we ate last time we were here, is excellent, but closed on Mondays. The pizza joint sounded not very convincing, and Deck restaurant, located on the deck of the municipal swimming pool, well…what can I say? Luckily, there was a barbeque at the zimmer and having a cook-out orchestrated by chef Paul and sous chef Irwin was an excellent option. There may have been only 5 of us, but I had to prepare 3 different portions; marinated chicken breasts for the food eaters, Portobello mushrooms in olive oil for Garry the vegetarian and now salmon in fennel, olive oil and fine herbs for Yoni, who worryingly eschews poultry and beef these days (I heard a rumour that he has applied for membership at Ne'ot Smadar).

Sitting outside on the patio, drinking beer and eating a great barbecued dinner, in the pleasant winter desert evening, we couldn't help but be reminded how good it was to be back on the shvil.

** Author's note: I may have written some things that may be adjudged as not exactly politically correct. If so, please take them in proportion and in the humor they were meant. Alternately, take a straw and suck it up.