A Searingly Hot Daytrip To Israel

"But why don't you want your passport stamped?"
It was something I couldn't think of a decent lie to argue my way out of. So I just told the truth. "I might want to go some countries that don't like Israel".

An English man who had just run the Israeli desert told me it was in the high forties today, maybe 48 degrees. Why would his judgement be wrong? It was certainly hotter than I’d ever experienced, and definitely hot enough to make you wonder if it was even worth taking that third shower today. I flicked the sweat off my forehead, only for it appear again a few seconds later, and was cleared to enter Israel.

I took a taxi, one that was considerably more expensive than those on the Jordanian side of the border, to get me to central Eilat, one of Israel’s centrepiece tourist resorts. The coastal city was crammed with expensive hotels, and the dockside flocked with beautiful young girls in short skirts and low-cut tops, dashing about giggling. All the time still remaining stunning, and without the slightest hint of sweating. I remained firmly distinguishable as a non-local. I probably should have just gone straight to one of the high-rise hotels, checked-in and fanned my semi-naked body by the poolside.

But no. I walked. And I kept walking, all over the city, despite the fact there was very little of interest to see in Eilat. The crystal clear sea would have been amazing to paddle in, but getting there would’ve required navigating another sea - a sea of people that didn’t leave a single square inch of beach space free. There were quieter beaches, but these belonged to the multi-storey hotels and were firmly closed to people like me.

After a couple of hours I had run out of areas to walk around, and more so out of energy. I went into a blissful air-conditioned supermarket and bought a pint of fruit juice and some chocolate. Needless to say, the chocolate was an error. Even the fruit juice became an error - less than fifteen minutes after it was bought it had became intensely warm and unpleasant.

I had now been in Eilat around three hours. This was sufficient and, being so sweaty and smelly, I felt I needed to leave, get back to Jordan, and get into the shower as soon as possible! I don’t know what went on in my mind to make me even consider doing it, but I then decided to try and walk back to the border. Maybe it was the desire not to pay another small fortune for a taxi. Maybe I felt a bit more energetic from the juice and chocolate. Or maybe the sun had gone to my mind. Whatever, it was a stupid decision.

Dust flew into my eyes, my throat and mouth grew ever drier and, more than anything, the sun continued to beat down upon me, seemingly more fiercely than ever. I was walking along the side of a straight desert road that hadn’t seemed half as long in the taxi as it did now. I desperately tried to cover my increasingly sunburnt face with my t-shirt, but this only exposed my back. Moreover, the sweat-ridden t-shirt over my face was far from pleasant.

The road now headed uphill and my legs threatened to give way. I frantically tried waving down the few vehicles that passed me, but to no avail. At the top of the hill I rested under the small patch of shade provided by a bus shelter. I didn’t want to stay long though; I needed water - I was no longer sweating.

Finally, across in the distance the checkpoints of the border came into view. I had to pause again in the shade by a concrete wall. I was now so near, yet it felt so far. This was my lowest point and I crouched down into a ball, all the time the sun still beating down. I knew full well I’d have to go back into the sun at some stage, and that kept be by the wall for longer than I would have liked.

Around fifteen minutes later, I staggered into the Israeli border checkpoint. They could see my sunburn and exhaustion and immediately fetched me at least ten cups of water. I sat down on a stool and downed cup after cup of the cold water. It was bliss and I began to feel a bit better. But another sensation soon took over. As red as anything and surrounded by half a dozen concerned border guards, my embarrassment grew at the situation I had put myself into. I soon as I felt able, I got onto my feet again, endlessly thanked the guards and headed to the Jordanian side of the border. Needless to say, I caught a taxi back to Aqaba.

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