My back was killing me by the time we reached the Israeli border. The taxi that we had taken from the Delta Sharm in the Sinai to the border of Israel was not equipped for two-hour trips. After the driver decided to make a short stop in order to change his tire (neglecting to tell us to get out of the car while he did), he drove all the way to the border just like he promised. We hung on for dear life in the back as he slammed the car over potholes and speed bumps, the metal springs in the far-from-cushioned seats digging into us as we prayed he didn’t crash. My mom thought she saw him hastily put away a beer at the start of the ride, and the way he was driving did nothing to prove her wrong. We searched for seat belts to no avail, eventually giving up and merely trying not to whimper from pain as he rounded wild turns definitely not suited to our long-backed family. With every bump, the wire coils dug into my spine as I tried to focus on schoolwork. When we finally reached the border, I was out of the car before it had even stopped moving. If only the bus we’d taken to the Sinai went to Israel too!

If I wanted to be standing instead of sitting, I got my wish going through the Israeli border. I took the equivalent of several X-rays in radiation, going through metal detector after metal detector. My already aching back was excruciating by the time we finished from putting my heavy backpack down to be checked and then back on again. When we finally emerged from our third full body pat down, my dad and sister trying to zip their backpacks after they’d been completely emptied and then searched, we were blinded by the light. About an hour ago, we’d practically given up any hope of actually getting through security. I swore several times that I would empty my bag of every single thing that wasn’t absolutely necessary, in order to make it lighter. We were far from done though. We were still a taxi ride away from the border of Jordan, and then another ride away from Aqaba, where we would spend the night.

We trudged down the row of beat-up cars with owners yelling, “Taxi! Taxi!” We arrived at a nice one with a white haired wrinkled owner. He smiled greedily at the walking dollars signs carrying huge backpacks that were coming up to him. Just as we were about to approach him, a policeman stepped up and told him to move his car; only buses were allowed where he was parked. He shouted back aggressively, “Customers! Customers!” while pointing at us. We hadn’t even talked to him yet. He eventually moved a little farther down, and started gesturing at us to come. We warily approached, not particularly wanting to get in the car of someone who obstinately refused to move when the police told him to. My mom asked what his price was. “Sixteen, seventeen.” he replied. Surprised, since she had thought the meter was 30 shaqls (Israeli dollars), she asked if that was the meter. “No, no, my price. My price.” “Well, what’s the meter?” She inquired. “Very much. Very much.” He said elusively. Since the internet stated the meter was around 30, she shrugged and told us to get in. We obeyed gratefully, dumping our million-ton backpacks into the trunk, which sagged under their weight.

When we got in the car, the first thing I noticed was how nice it was. Weird for someone who charges a mere 17 shekels per ride. I brushed the thought away though and listened as my parents talked with him about Jordan and Israel. He chatted away in nearly perfect English, baring his snakelike smile the whole time. I was comforted by the sweet smell of the multiple air-fresheners, and nearly fell asleep as we cruised down smooth Israeli roads, breathing the fresh air.

In about ten minutes, we arrived at the Jordanian border. We weren’t looking forward to going back into a developing country after having a short taste of squeaky-clean Israel, but we trudged out of the car anyway. My dad had recently visited an ATM to get Israeli money in order to pay the driver, so he only had big bills. He handed the driver a 50, and asked for change. “No change, you owe me 20 more.” We all looked at him funny. “Somebody needs to go back to kindergarten,” Zosia whispered to me. He claimed that he had said sixty, seventy, not sixteen, seventeen. When my dad demanded the money we had overpaid back, he slammed his door and drove off.

As we shouted after him, a disheveled police man trotted over, hurriedly tucking his uniform in over his potbelly. “Great timing dude.” Zosia muttered. “Might as well have just continued with your nap.” My dad told the man our predicament but to no avail. “Did you get his license? Well, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a holiday anyway, so everyone charges that much. He earned the money, working on a day off.” “There were about two dozen cars waiting. It certainly didn’t seem like a holiday.” My mom said. “If we had known he was charging that much, we would have found a better deal.” “Sorry ma’am. You didn’t use the meter, so he didn’t break the law. It was just a misunderstanding. Happens all the time.” He yawned and walked back into the “guard”house.

Frustrated by our taxi incident, thirsty from the heat, and unbearably hungry, we forced down some soggy tuna fish sandwiches that were bordering on moldy after a day in the heat. It did nothing to lighten the mood. We walked up to get permission to leave Israel, the preliminary step to being allowed into Jordan. There we were told that we had to pay over a hundred American dollars in order to leave, even though we’d been in Israel for less than a half hour (not counting the forever-long security lines). My dad thrust the money across the counter, and stormed to the next building in order to get a Jordanian visa. All of us got our passports stamped and then lugged our packs into the parking lot behind the small building. Jordan at last!

The ride to our hotel in Aquaba was, for the most part, uneventful. At the very end, the driver actually agreed to paying less than the high price he had quoted at the beginning, and saying he would be happy to get us a ride to Wadi Rum the next day. We parted with much thanks and were met with another pleasant surprise in the hotel. With no additional charge, we had been upgraded to a bigger room, which had a small sitting area/mini living room as well as a porch and two huge bedrooms. Zosia and I each got our own bed, and even had an extra bed in case we had guests. It was put to use as a second closet. We meticulously arranged our clothes and other supplies in the drawers, and placed our empty backpacks neatly on top of each other in the closet. We ran through the small kitchen and living space, and into our parents room. My dad was just finishing up organizing his clothes, in almost exactly the same manner we had. My mom was sprawled across the bed in almost the exact manner as the contents of her backpack, which were sprawled across the room. It looked like a bomb had gone off on her side of the bed. We suggested some food -we hadn’t eaten very much of the disgusting tuna at “lunch”, and that had been about an hour ago, before the taxi ride to Aquaba. We walked down to the sea, in pursuit of sustenance.

After a quick walk on the beach, we realized there were very few restaurants by the water. We headed back up into town, getting more desperate by the minute. Zosia spotted it first. She screamed and started jumping up and down at the sight of the burger restaurant. We had all been craving something American and immediately crossed the street into the building. We got a table for four, confusing our waiter with our complicated order; we wanted everything on the burger, including tomatoes and lettuce, but the knives with which the vegetables were cut were washed with city water, which could make us sick. Therefore, we had to get the vegetables on the side, and then wash them with our own bottles water to be safe. It took twenty minutes to convey this to him through our primitive sign language and his broken English. The wait was worth it though. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a better burger. Zosia’s huge double one was gone in a matter of seconds.

Finally full, we made our way back to the beach to watch the final traces of pink fade from the sky. My mom had brought our swimsuits in case we wanted to go swimming, so we waded into the water for a better view of the sunset. Soon, the sky was nearly dark, and we were pushed out of the water by the sight of floating garbage coming towards us. We turned around to walk home under the starlit Jordanian sky. It was the perfect end to a not-so-perfect day. As amazing as the burger was, and as stunning as the stars were, there were still reminders that we weren’t yet in squeaky-clean Israel or back home in America. Jordan was a big step up in cleanliness from Egypt, but when we went swimming we were still barraged by floating bottles and wrappers, along with other trash. This must have been what Egypt looked like before the government sent it plummeting into extreme poverty. It wasn’t bad for a beach in a fairly larg city

We made it back to our rooms in no time. One hot shower and a movie later, we were nestled in our sheets, ready for an early 10:00 bedtime. The day after we had set aside for Wadi Rum, a hot expanse of all desert and sand. It sounded just about as far from “fun” as you can get, but it actually turned out to be the highlight of my trip to Jordan.

The morning after the taxi incident and the amazing burger, we got up at the crack of dawn- 9:00 AM. I know, overkill, right? We had till 9:15 to get out of our room! Plenty of time. Still, we didn’t want to be late, so we made sure we had some leeway in order to get ready and eat breakfast before getting into the taxi we agreed would take us to Wadi Rum. We ended up getting out ten minutes late. Shocking. Thankfully, our driver decided to wait a while before deciding we weren’t coming, so we caught him before he deserted us. He drove us all the way to the gate of Wadi Rum, then dropped us off with a jeep driver that the hotel manager had helped us hire. The jeep was pretty small with big, dust-caked wheels and a canopy of patched cloth over the back of it. As we got closer, we saw that a low bench lined both sides of the back, under the canopy. A dark wiry man in a robe and dusty turban climbed out of the front. He greeted us with a bright “Salam Alikom”, then gestured to the back as he clambered back up into the driver’s seat. Zosia and I leapt aboard, fighting over the spot that would be the windiest once we started to drive. Our slightly more safety-conscious parents followed, positioning themselves in the least windy spots, and casting a hopeless gaze around the benches in search of non-existent seatbelts. The jeep shuddered, then shot out of the parking lot at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for such a small, ramshackle vehicle. We rocketed over the uneven dirt road to our first stopping point, with Zosia and me singing into the roaring wind the whole time, and my parents holding on for dear life.

We careened into our first of four destinations for the day, about five minutes later. The Jeep jerked to a stop, and almost sent Zosia and me tumbling headfirst onto the sandy ground. We recovered from the abrupt stop, then leapt out of the back of the truck and took a look around. We were surrounded by desert on three sides, with a skyline of formidable rock formations disrupting the flat horizon in the distance. A scruffy tree with camels munching on the leaves was the only visible source of vegetation for miles around. Directly in front of us, a massive cliff of red and orange rock rose from the dry sand to tower over the insignificant onlookers. To the left, a line of troughs filled with water for the many camels scattered around cut through the plane in a neat row. Just past the troughs, a small tent shaded a few Bedouin men in white robes who were crouched over a tea kettle, or simply sitting on the threadbare cushions lining the sides of the tent as they simmered gently in the merciless heat. Our driver/guide told us that a spring at the top had provided water for two beautiful trees at the top of the rock in front of us. They were the only one of their kind in all of Wadi Rum and were considered sacred. We took one look at the huge mountain of stone and decided to pet the camels for a while as we gathered our courage to climb in the extrem heat.

Eventually, we were convinced by the thought of some real shade at the top and started the climb. We struggled up the steep slope, slipping on loose rocks as we made our slow way to the top. Finally, we saw one of the sacred trees at the crest of the cliff. We finished the climb with newfound energy, and recovered in the cool shade beneath the quiet green leaves. We had almost exhausted our water supply before we realized we should probably save some for later and sipped what we had. So high up, you could see for miles and miles around the hot expanse of golden sand and red rock. The camels far below looked like colorful stones scattered across a tan pond, with their brightly embroidered saddles especially vivid against the light brown sand. They lay in the sun, sleeping in the heat of the day while little ants of men wove around them, hoping to sell a ride or two to the tourists.

All too soon, we decided we had kept the driver waiting too long and headed back down the slippery slope. Zosia and I made it down before our parents, not being afraid to use the slide-more-than-hike technique and were greeted by our driver and offered tea in the hot tent while we waited. The tea tasted great, and we were more than thankful for it, given that we now had only one bottle of water for the rest of the day in the desert. Our parents soon followed us into the tent and accepted a cup of tea as well before getting up and climbing back into the car. We started off again with Zosia and me hanging halfway out of the car and my parents huddled in the middle, praying fervently.

The next stop was a massive sand dune that was even bigger than the rock formation we had just come from. Another tent was set up at the base, similar to the last one, except selling inanimate goods rather than camel rides. We started the hike with zest, sprinting up the first two meters with a burst of energy. After falling onto the scorching sand several times, we continued at a more controlled rate. Soon we were out of breath and, panting heavily, turned around to see how far we’d come. Our guide was laughing at us in the shade of the tent, barely farther than five meters away. Not quite as far as we’d thought. It took us almost an hour to reach the top, but the view was more than worth it. Unlike the rock mountain with the trees at the top, the dune was situated in the center of a cluster of rock formations like the first one we’d visited and had a 360 view of sheer cliffs and a gorgeous sea of desert dunes.

The deep blue sky was completely clear of clouds and set off the white, crimson, scarlet, orange, maroon, and light reds of the iron-filled rock. I was taking in the beauty of it all when I heard screaming from behind me. I whirled around, and was met with the sight of Zosia bounding down the dune, shrieking with exhilaration. Within a few seconds, I’d forgotten the view and was bounding down after her. The slope was so steep, it felt like I was walking on the moon, each stride more than three times my usual step. We reached the bottom in under five minutes, crazy fast compared to our snail-like ascent. We took a short break in the tent, then clambered back into the Jeep and flew across the dirt road to our third stop.

The driver stopped in the shade of a huge slab of rock with a big crack running down the middle of it. We were instructed by the guide to go in the crevice, which had a narrow path down the middle. Although the outside looked a lot like all the other rocks we’d seen, the inside was incredible. Light lavenders and peacock blues swirled through the mineral-packed rock, having not been bleached out by the sun like in the rocks outside. The most impressive part though, was the rudimentary pictures of stick figures hunting and designs of different animals, all next to an early version of Arabic writing. Our guide told us that a people sort of like the American Indians had lived there before in ancient times. We were astonished at how detailed the old Arabic was and how deeply they had managed to carve the hunting pictures into the rock. We walked past countless faint letters and drawings until we got to the end of the path. In front of us was a wall of stone, and our guide told us there was a spring at the top, which was where the “Indians” probably got their water. He told us that it was too dangerous to climb though. “Easy get up. No easy get down,” he elaborated, just as we heard yelling from the top of the wall; some tourist hadn’t listened to their guide, and now had several Arabic natives collaborating on how to get down. Feeling very lucky we had listened, we walked back to the Jeep, and rocketed off to the final stop of our day in Wadi Rum.

The final stop was the ruins of a temple, built by the same people who drew the pictures and writing on the wall we had just come from. Our guide left us here, so we were without much information and ended up just playing tag across the tops of the ruins – archeologists in the making. Our shoes probably weren’t the best thing for the preservation of the ancient temple, but by the time we thought of that, it was already too late.

Out of breath and seeking food and shade, we hiked up the hill behind the temple, which was shaded by a huge cliff in the back of it. We found the perfect rock to sit on, then dug in to a long-overdue lunch. Once we finished eating, we walked back down to look for our taxi, which was supposed to be waiting. We had taken so long at all the stops, our driver had driven away, but he sent his more patient brother in his place. We thanked the brother for waiting, then climbed into the cab to be driven back to our hotel.

By the time we reached Aquaba, it was getting close to dark, so we decided to get some take out Mexican to eat later for dinner, then spent the hours before sunset enjoying the warm beach. We had learned from our last swim not to go in the water though. Soon all of us were sound asleep in bed, completely unprepared for another early wake up to drive to Petra, which ensued a mad rush to get packed and ready the next morning.

After a hurried breakfast, we sprinted out of the hotel with our backpacks, late as usual. Thankfully, our driver was patient again and had waited for us in the parking lot. We haphazardly flung our bags into the back, then climbed zombie-like into the car. News flash: we’re not morning people. Zosia immediately spread out across the entire backseat with her feet on my lap and her head on my mom’s. I suffered through several hours of her feet jabbing into my stomach as I halfheartedly tried to do some schoolwork. She woke up in a great mood, bouncing off the walls of the very small space with energy. Eventually, my mom was forced to sedate a grumpy me and an overly energetic Zosia with our electronic Kindle books.

The rest of the ride passed without incident. We arrived in the evening at our hotel, more than ready for dinner and a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t wait to get back on our 10 o’clock wake up schedule. Unfortunately, the hotel had rented out the room we had paid for and reserved to someone else, so we had nowhere to put our bags down. Tired, uncomfortable, and bleary-eyed from working on screens all day, my family wasn’t in the best mood, and the news was not received well. We threw down our bags in the tent area opposite the hotel, and began to read again to pass the time and watch videos about Petra, our next destination.

Thankfully for the hotel managers, dinner came soon enough that we didn’t have time to get too frustrated. We cleaned our plates in a matter of minutes and stared longingly at the fresh fruits and vegetables offered. Fresh produce tended to be washed in tap water and cut with knives that had been washed in tap water. The city water made us sick, so we couldn’t have anything fresh. I couldn’t wait until we were back in Israel, where we would be able to actually brush our teeth with the water from the tap instead of with bottled water that I ended up spilling everywhere every time I rinsed my toothbrush. Being able to order fruit and vegetables from any given restaurant for the first time since Greece was exciting to everyone. Unfortunately, we were stuck with canned or cooked foods until we got through Jordan.

By the time we finished dinner on the porch with a view of the mountains around Petra, the sun had set and it was dark. We were all exaughsted from our straining day of doing nothing but sit and couldn’t wait to get to bed. The rooms were disappointing -dirty corners, stained carpet, musty sheets, and no hot water in the shower- but we hardly stopped to look around before collapsing into bed.

The next morning, we set out for the ruins of Petra at noon, still sleepy-eyes from just having woken up. We were back on our late schedule. Deciding to start touring the ancient desert city at the hottest time of the day was probably about as smart as playing tennis in the desert at the hottest time of the day, but unfortunately nobody was prepared to wake up before then. We saw the gates of the city for the first time through the window of the hotel’s van that offered to drive us there. The driver dropped us at the front, and we all clambered out.

I was excited to see the ancient city of Petra. I’d heard it was amazing and couldn’t wait to see it for myself. On the way there, I learned via the internet that it used to be a major trading center, rich with the profit from the valuable goods frankincense and myrrh that people bartered for there. The city’s survival in a dry wasteland was the product of some ingenious inventions that ensued in a man-made oasis. There was a plumbing system in the city, that brought water from miles away into the city through clay pipes, the remnants of which are still imprinted in the walls of Petra today. Flash floods that happen in that area of Jordan during very rare rain were controlled by expertly placed dams that held back the water and made reservoirs out of it that the people of the city could use for extra water.

The most intact and most fascinating part of Petra are the tombs that line the streets. They were built into the very face of the rock, carved out of the sandstone. Greek, Roman, and Egyptian tombs were all freestanding, but the tombs of Petra were literally carved in the rock. They carved designs into the rock, instead of cutting rocks into bricks and then putting them on top of each other to create a new shape. They used the cliff instead, so they didn’t have to figure out how to build a base for a structure- the base was already there, had been there ever since the rock was first made by nature. They just carve a facade on it and used naturally formed caves as the inside. Because it was virtually impossible to knock these “buildings” down, they didn’t have to worry about building so high the base would be too weak to hold it or the wind would blow it over. They built on a massive scale, the huge mausoleum for the king of Petra that’s known as the treasury being a perfect example of the excellent craftsmanship and skill needed to carve so big, so well, and with so much detail. The people of Petra probably never thought twice about how incredible the structures around them were, just like it was normal for them to have streets lined with huge tombs on both sides, but historians today think it so impressive they count it as one of the seven wonders of the world.

My first sight of Petra was pretty unimpressive. A wide, flat path marched down the center, bordered by more flat, brown sand on both sides with the occasional crumbly boulder interrupting the plain landscape. My impression was not helped along by the fact that I was slowly melting from the inside either. I was in the middle of thinking of more words to curse the stupid, stupid sun for being so hot when I saw the first ruin. It wasn’t much, just a cube of orange rock. It certainly didn’t look impressive, but the sign nailed to the dusty ground in front of it told us that it was an early form of the intricate designs later built by the people of Petra- not a tomb, but a house for mythical fairies. It was just the start of the artists playing with the idea of carving in stone. You could almost see the ancient people as they shaved off chunks of rock in an effort to make something unique. I soon saw the true extent of the result of their effort to make something different, as I continued down the sandy path.

As we walked, the flat plains that surrounded me were interrupted more and more frequently by bigger and bigger rocks. Unlike the indistinguishable piles of brick and marble the Greeks and Romans left behind, the first “building” in Petra was both nearly perfectly preserved, and easy to miss. I would have walked right past it if Zosia hadn’t pointed it out to us. It was about two times as tall as me -not enormous- and seemed to grow out of the very rock, as if it had been there since the beginning of time. Artistic swirls of scarlet and maroon accented the carving, which looked like a mix between a Greek temple facade and a mosque front. It had intricate fake doors in the middle, overlooked by a Parthenon-ish design over them, which was topped by three tall pyramid-shaped obelisks, with a triangular arch above it to finish it off. If this was just one of the tombs on the outskirts, what was the main treasury like?

We admired the first tomb, then walked on eagerly to see more. We were soon met not by more interesting tombs, but by an incredible formation of rock. On either side of the path, massive naturally-formed rock walls rose from the ground. Set into their huge faces were more marks of human existence, not just tombs but also the imprints of ancient pipes, as was promised to be there by the websites we’d used for researching Petra. Zosia and I took this opportunity to do some more rock climbing, enjoying the abundance of hand and footholds.

After about an hour, the walls on both sides fell away, opening the path to the sight of the infamous treasury itself. It was huge, at least twenty times as tall as me, and had all the natural magnificence of the first tomb, except with even more exquisite detail. If you’ve ever seen “Temple of Doom”, an Indiana Jones movie, the treasury was the actual temple that they filmed him walking into. There isn’t actually a maze inside like it shows in the movie -just a big empty room that you’re not allowed in- but it’s still just as amazing in real life. Camels and horses paced back and forth in front of it, making the scene even more unbelievable. Unfortunately, we were soon bombarded by requests to “take you to lookout! Good price! Good price for you!” We looked at the “lookout”, which was a piece of rock that jutted out from the top of the cliff opposite the treasury with a path leading up to it hung with signs that said “danger, no climb without guide”. We decided to move on. No railings = no go, even with the help of one of the 10 year old “guides” that offered to take us there.

As we progressed through the center of the old city, we started to see more of the lifestyle of an ancient Petra civilian. Just past the treasury, there was a huge amphitheater – more evidence of the influence the ancient Greeks had on Petra, whose prime was about the same time as theirs. At the top of a giant Mesa to our right, there was a huge monastery that you could go inside. The smoke from all the incense that used to be burned there had stained the ceiling with swirls of back and gray. It looked like an absent-minded artist had taken a brush dyed with dark paint and just randomly spread it across the ceiling in giant loops and lines.

As we were in the ancient monastery, a friendly guard came up and told us there was another monastery at the top of 6 or 7 hundred steps if we continued up the path. Excited to see even more Petrian handiwork, we rushed back down the path with newfound energy. We soon found over eight hundred steps, carved into a mountain with the promise of a monastery at the top. It was almost sunset by the time we’d made the hike to the top, and all of us rounded the final bend totally exhausted.

The monastery rose up in front of us, perhaps even more magnificent than the treasury, but the magic of seeing the first Petra-style architecture had worn off during the exaghsting climb, and we hardly noticed it. We instead continued on the the very, very top, about a ten minute walk past the monastery. As tiring as the hike was, the view when we finally reached the top was worth it – a 360 panoramic view of all of Petra. It was beautiful. Slightly less so because of the knowledge that we would have to go all the way back down, but still.

After the long climb back down, we walked all the way back to the entrance, where we were picked up right on time by our van to take us back. We took cold showers (the faucet broke), had to call someone to unclog the toilet (which she did with her bare hands, then left without washing them), and finally went to sleep in our threadbare musty sheets after a dinner where we again looked longingly at the fresh foods and instead ate some more bland pasta and cooked foods. Not the best end to the day, but it was brightened by the fact that every day that passed was a day closer to Israel.

We stayed in Petra for another day. in which we basically did the same thing as the first day. The second day was uneventful. It was ede, a Muslim holiday in which the head of the family sacrifices a goat to Allah, there’s a big feast, and a lot of praying. The day started on a happy note, when we saw a stray goat sprint up the hill, pause at our hotel, then continue on up the hill to the right. We sent wishes of survival with the goat, laughing over our breakfast. About fifteen minutes later, a group of boys with sticks and rope came running up the same hill, and asked in broken English if anyone had seen a goat. My dad and I said we hadn’t, while my sister and my mom pointed uncertainly up the hil, secretly hoping he would escape his fate.

When we got to the gates of Petra, we flashed our tickets and continued through. On our way towards the amphitheater, we saw another animal’s desperate bid for freedom. A camel raced past at top speed (which was very, very fast. I was terrified even imagining riding it), followed thirty seconds later by another camel, this time with a man aboard, that almost blew us off the path. We were still making bets whether the camel made it or not on the way down from the monastery, when we saw a crowd gathered at the edge of a pit. When we’d shouldered our way to the front, we could see a camel at the bottom, with a crippled leg lying crushed underneath it, writhing in pain and trying to stand. We got the full story from a man next to us, who was interrupted periodically by heartbreaking, desperate bellows from the camel in the pit.

Apparently, the camel who we’d seen earlier had crossed the bridge (which had no railings) over the pit, and while it had made it across, its friend, who was carrying the owner of both camels on its back, was not so lucky. It slipped and fell, breaking its leg on the pit floor. The owner managed to roll off in time, and emerged with nothing but a sprained ankle. That would heal, but nothing could be done for the camel. It had to wait until dusk when the park closed so that officials could bring a rifle in to put it out of its misery.

Utterly depressed, we now continued back to the hotel to spend a final night at the shabby hotel before going to the Dead Sea the day after. Even in the morning, as we got into the taxi, I still couldn’t shake the image of the camel at the bottom of the pit, writhing in the dust.

Zosia and I burst out of the car, breathing heavily. We were both a light shade of green. The winding roads that lead down to the Dead Sea had no mercy on the weak of stomach. My mom thought we were being a bunch of babies, but my dad sympathized, coming out of the car none-too-gracefully and leaning on the side of it. #Henrysongenes. Once we had recovered, we limped through the enterance and to the locker room to change into swimsuits. Now that the car sickness was fading, we began to be exited about what was to come. We rushed down some steps to the fabled “sea”, which was about the size of a large lake and an inviting sickly brown color. We splashed in anyway. The first thing we noticed was the consistency – it was super oily, and much more viscous than water. We kept walking out, deeper and deeper into the warm water until we couldn’t touch. And then we walked some more. You literally couldn’t sink. We jut stood there, not moving but totally upright, with our entire shoulders sticking straight out of the water. The salt was holding us up. We marveled at it some more, flipping onto our stomachs and backs just like we would above water if we were laying on a floor.

Soon though, we noticed intense pain in spots across our legs and arms. We’re not the most coordinated people in the world and tended to get more than a few scrapes and bruises. Putting “salt in the wound” is the perfect way to describe the feeling. We sprinted out of the warm water onto the beach, screaming and hopping. After the sting faded, we got bored quickly, finally deciding it was time to drag the parents out of the water and coat ourselves in mud for five dollars. Sufficiently coated, we had a mud fight and took some pictures before running back into the salty water to clean off. Ow. This time it stung all the way up the beach until we could get under fresh water at the top of the stairs. After that, we decided to spend the rest of the time in the nearby, painless pool.

Soon after we left the Dead Sea craving air conditioning, deciding to hike 10 km to our AirBnB with our backpacks because none of the taxis fit our bargaining parents’prices. Thankfully two young men pulled over near us before we had gone very far and offered a good price out of pure sympathy. We arrived at our place soon after, having hired the men to drive us to the Israeli border the day after with a short stop at Bethany by the sea, where Jesus was baptized. With that taken care of, our parents were incredibly happy and let us watch a movie before bed, despite the late hour. The AirBnB was amazing, and incredibly clean with powerful air conditioning to save us from the stifling heat. We slept well, but despite that we still complained at having to wake up at 9 am in the morning the next day. Mabye the late night movie wasn’t such a good idea.

After a nap in the car we felt much better, and were wide awake when we reached the baptismal sight. We took a short tour leading up to the spot where churches had been built on top of churches that had crumbled, over and over through the years, marking the spot where John the Baptist baptized Jesus. It was amazing, not just to be on the paths that such an important and influential person once walked, but also to simply be in a place that was centuries old. We took a quick dunk in the actual river Jesus waded into, before heading back to the car again. It was quick but an amazing experience. We saw the spot the bishop blessed the area from, and learned that some of the trees growing along the river would have witnessed Jesus’ presence as saplings thousands of years ago. It was really amazing to have the chance to touch the water that such an important person touched back then.

Despite how incredible it was to visit Bethany by the Sea, the experience was almost overshadowed by the excitement of FINALLY reaching the fabled Isreal. We could smell the clean air before we even arrived there. When we arrived, we saw a man actually pick something up off the street and throw it away!!!! We were confused when a girl grabbed his arm and stopped him, speaking harshly. She pointed to a recycling bin instead of the trash can. We almost cried; we were finally in Isreal!