After the success of our previous 2-day shvil expedition we decided that we would repeat the same format in July. For those that couldn't be bothered reading the previous blog or have forgotten it since it was so long ago, we start walking in the late afternoon, about 4 p.m., when the temperature has dropped and the day is long. We did a short 10 km or so, keeping ourselves fresh for the longer, hotter leg the following day, which we started as early as possible so as to finish before the worst of the day's heat set in. The unknown in the equation is what has more of an affect; the mid July summer rather than early may spring heat, or the cooler Jerusalem hills rather than the hot Negev desert? Certainly the 38 degrees that the thermometer in Yoni's car showed had us worried that perhaps walking anywhere in Israel in July is folly.
When we disembarked from Garry's car at the starting point it felt like the temperature had dropped a bit and that we wouldn't get baked in the heat. At any rate, we had more pressing matters at hand than worrying about something we couldn't influence. Having left both guide books in Yoni's car which was parked at the end, we had to do these 10 kilometres without a safety net which so often proves to be not much help anyway. We promptly saw a clearly painted shvil sign on a rock leading up a path and thought nothing of the books we didn't have. The next marking had been painted over with grey paint, Mr. Shvil Painter's version of Tipp-Ex (Wite-Out for those on the other side of the Atlantic). We took this to be a bad omen. When the path led us to a dead end it became obvious that this was Mr. Shvil Painter's sick idea of a practical joke and we weren't laughing. Backtracking is one of our more common methods of shvilling but this just didn't feel right. We passed by the Shlomo Tussia-Cohen Memorial picnic ground that was in such a terrible state of neglect that we conjectured that Mr. Shvil Painter simply didn't want to bring unwitting shvillers to the vicinity. After searching in vain for the shvil path, we returned to Garry's car and drove up and down road 3866 hoping to find a shvil marking. Eventually, after wasting an hour, we found a real shvil sign and set of off at 5 p.m. I haven't mentioned that we had a guest shviller with us today. Yvonne, an old school friend of ours, had joined us on a previous walk and thought that joining us again was a good idea. After the shenanigans of forgotten books, unfound shvil markings and wandering around in circles in 35 degree heat, it would be safe to say that she regretted giving us the second chance.
The guide book that I read before starting (It wasn't with us, remember?) had us pass the tomb of a long dead Muslim sheikh. We couldn't find it, but didn't waste even a nanosecond trying to locate it. The only thing that we were looking for was shvil markings.
From the outset there were motifs that would repeat themselves over the next 2 days of walking. We were still in the area that may be defined as the Jerusalem Hills, which is part of the Judean Mountains. The "Jerusalem" part ensured lots of ruins, tels and assorted signs of 3,000 years of civilization. The "Hills" part meant starting the walk at 650 metres above sea level, affording us beautiful views and shady (very important in the summer!) forests.
Another pleasant surprise was the palm grove in the middle of no-where. The palm trees weren't date palms which are common all over Israel. These palms were planted close together in rigid rows and were tall, straight and had black and brown trunks. Obviously deliberately planted, we couldn't work out to what purpose they were here. Certainly not to sit under on a late summer afternoon, sipping cold ice tea and snacking on chocolate croissants, but for us that was a good enough reason for their existence.
After the short break we continued on, through a cactus maze, and then past scattered abandoned buildings that didn't look 2,500 years old, but far more modern, say pre 1948 Arab in origin. As we passed by a spent wheat field we spotted two women, shepherding four children in some afternoon play time. We arrived to the Mattah spring just as they did. They were from the nearby moshav of Mattah and seemed surprised to see 4 red-faced middle-aged Australians trot past their backyard. I can't imagine why. I would think that it's an everyday occurrence.
Next a short,sharp climb led us to the Hanut ruins. If the Dorban ruins didn't really leave much of an impression, the Hanut ruins did. They were larger and more impressive and included a 6th century Byzantine church that apparently has an original, intact mosaic floor, but we were in too much of a hurry in the failing light to investigate. The Byzantines held that this was the burial spot of Goliath, which has some logic since we would start our walk the following day at Tel Azikah, where the battle between David and Goliath took place. We did notice, however, the large stone steps hewn out of the rocks leading to and away from the site. This was part of the ancient Caesar's Way, from the port of Ashkelon to Jerusalem. The emperor Hadrian marched his army along this route to Jerusalem in 133 AD in order to put down the Bar Kochba rebellion. You just can't escape the sense of history in this area.
The Mattah Forest is a large natural forest in the hills on the outskirts of Jerusalem. The heat of the day had dissipated, the sun was dropping so the light was very soft and I can think of few better ways to spend a July afternoon than walking through this delightful forest. We spent about an hour walking though the forest, wondering how far we were from Yoni's car and whether we'd get there in poor day light or strong moonlight. When, at 8.15, we turned a corner and quite literally bumped into it, dusk was giving way to night. We were thankful that we didn't have to check out what it would be like walking in the light of a full moon.
Yoni had made previous plans for the evening, so he showered quickly and quick smart ditched his walking partners for better company . We were assigned the role of buying food for the next day at the local Bet Shemesh supermarket. Talk about culture shock! Over recent years Bet Shemesh has seen a large influx of ultra-orthodox Hassidic Jews, it being cheap and close to holy Jerusalem. They live in an uneasy co-existance with the Moroccans who have been there since Bet Shemesh's inception and the Russians who came during the immigration wave of the '90s. Supermarkets are the melting pots of local culture and no-where more so than here in the Bet Shemesh Supersol. Black-hatted Haredim and their long suffering wives and 10 children rubbed elbows with traditional, dark skinned Moroccan Jews, pale, gold-toothed Russians and an assortment of under-dressed and over-pierced teenagers. If only I'd had a movie camera…but that's an all together different project.
By 10.30 we were fed, tired and generally happy campers. By 10.35 we were asleep…or at least I was.
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