The Dead Sea

What would a visit to Israel and the West Bank be without a trip to the Dead Sea?  Lively.

The Dead Sea.  1300 feet below sea level and over 1200 feet deep.  Known for millennia for its healing and therapeutic qualities.

Those who were interested could bring their swimsuits to change into so that they could take a dip.  Why would we want to get into a body of water that has “dead” in its name? Beats me.  Interestingly, none the folks who had “bathed” in it before were bringing a bathing suit.  That should tell you something, shouldn’t it? 

Me?  I had on a pair of my trusty convertible PFG (Professional Fishing Gear) pants (in which I have never gone fishing, then again, I’m fond of cowboy boots and don’t have any cows, and for that matter, I love french fries but I don’t have a French bone in my body).  You know the pants I’m talking about – you can zip off the pant legs to make shorts.  They have nifty sewn in mesh panty-like things just like swim trunks – to . . . well, keep everything in place.  Guys, you know what I’m talking about.  They are great for travel, at least to warm arid places.  They are lightweight, comfortable and quick-drying.   And, they have lots of pockets. They served me well in Africa.  And, while here,  I made use of the convertible feature for the baptism (remembrance therof) in the River Jordan (discussed earlier).  You can wash these pants (and their counterpart shirts) in the sink or bathtub and they dry in no more than 3-4 hours.

I don’t know what I thought we would see on the shore.  It is in a desolate location.  Afterall, you wouldn’t expect a sea called “dead” to have lush developments around it, would you?  But, there was this little mini day-resort.  It had shop area where you could buy snacks and drinks, with tables and chairs under an awning, and where you could “rent” towels.  There was a separate facility housing the changing rooms and bathrooms.  Nearer the water there were outdoor showers, little gazebos and a lifeguard stand.  Funny, a “life”guard stand.  At the Dead Sea.

So, most of the ladies in our group could not wait to get changed and into the water.  The water of the Dead Sea.  More than one said that they wouldn’t normally think about donning a bathing suit in front of all these people, but for the fact that we were at the Dead Sea.  I didn’t get it.  I still don’t.

Some strangers floating in the Dead Sea

By the time that I got down to the shore, most of our folks were already in the water -- floating on the surface (you float more easily in the water because of its salinity and thus its density) or rubbing the brown-ish, black-ish gooey mud from the bottom all over themselves or each other.  Too bad that some of the men walking around didn’t have some PFG pants with the zip off pant legs.  They were clearly European, and I say that not because they were wearing capri pants.  They were wearing those small (tiny) European swimsuits, which make every man look like the Prince in the Nutcracker, if you know what I mean.  Like most of my experiences here, this was surreal.  Sorry gang, I promised not to post pictures of these festivities.  But, I do have them, just in case I ever need them.

My PFG convertibles and my feet in the Dead Sea

I decided that I would wade in to about my knees.  Surely the medicinal therapeutic qualities of the water could be absorbed through my skin, right?  Maybe my feet would be restored to their youthful vigor.  Whatever.  I wanted to see what it felt like. 

Wading in was like walking on ice, coated with a thick layer of melted chocolate while wearing Teflon slippers.  It was slick.  And, the water had an oily feel to it. I didn’t expect salty water to feel oily.  Ironic.

I did learn the power of the Dead Sea waters though.  After wading around in the muck for a while, I didn’t really rinse my feet but rather just wiped the mud off.  I put my shoes and boots back on.  No problem -- until the next morning when I woke up.  My feet looked like those of a 90 year-old man (no, they didn’t look that bad before).  They were dry and cracked, like what you would imagine the feet of that nasty witch on Snow White or like you remember your grandmother’s feet.  Yuck.  In fact they’re still dried out almost a week later, even though I keep coating them with lotion.  By the way, is hard to feel manly rubbing lotion on your feet.  I know what you’re thinking, enough already.  Hey, I had to get your mind somewhere else after describing the ladies rubbing mud all over themselves and each other – and the guys in the banana hammocks.  But, my point is that the healing qualities of the Dead Sea and its mud were anything but.

You know what the primary source of water is for the Dead Sea?  The Jordan River.  The River Jordan.  The river that brings life to this area, that is used for irrigation of crops and as a drinking supply for the people.  And, the river that most likely served as the mechanism by which Jesus and his disciples symbolically received new life through baptism.  How ironic.