Deserts and Desserts

I'm kind of getting used to the desert. Kind of. We're on the road, zooming through the Negev on our way back to Tel Aviv, having just enjoyed a day with the Bedouin in their village of Lakia. The Negev is very different from the Judean Desert of the Dead Sea. The latter is a confluence of sedentary chasms interspersed with mounds of salt deposits. We spent a very hot day in Land Cruiser jeeps, weaving our way between mountains of limestone. Fun, if incendiary. The Dead Sea resort areas are popular havens for those hoping to experience an inferno without any residual Dante.

This is the southern desert of Israel. Endless miles of flat expanse are dotted with hundreds of Bedouin enclaves, each governed by a tribal sheik. We spent the good part of a day with these most hospitable people, as they showed us their fine artwork (principally embroidery), their goats and sheep, their freshly kurded cheeses (bone dry for desert preservation) and the most precious commodity, their children.



Most nuclear families here contain ten children, whose modern lives couldn't be more different from that of their parents. Modern Bedouin in Israel have converted from tents to concrete structures within small tribal cities, although homes retain a colorful tented area so as not to lose nomadic tradition. The elementary school we visited could have resided on Main Street in any small Midwestern town, if you replaced the Hebrew and Arabic under colorful nursery rhyme wall hangings with English. Kids all wore contemporary kid attire, and the school's computer room was pretty much what you'd find in the States, except that the room also doubles as a bomb shelter ("Duck and Cover" drills are not retro here).



We were served a delicious lunch of freshly-baked chicken (we had noticed our meal strutting around earlier), Mediterranean rice and vegetables, humas, and hot pita bread that we watched being baked on the back of a cast-iron pan in the next room. Some of the Bedouin women then answered translated questions about the rigid mores of tribal life, and how far they have progressed to change them. That they were still wearing traditional garb, but their daughters can purchase tank tops and thongs, spoke volumes. Happily, there were no beheadings during or after our lunch.

And speaking of food, Israel is not a good place for a diet. Every delicious combination of Mediterranean meat, veggie, starch and grain has found its way to our plate, to great acclaim. We've become connoisseurs of the quality of falafel and humas, which vary greatly from purveyor to purveyor. My favorite meal has been, of all things, the hotel dinner buffets. Why? Well, there's this kosher cooking requirement in Israeli hotels that particularly suits lactose-intolerant me. At meals where any meat is served, all courses are dairy-free, including tables of desserts. My chocolate fix and (what's left of my) sweet tooth are more than satisfied at these feasts. Another point in favor of fundamentalism.

We're back in Tel Aviv, and my room overlooks the blue Mediterranean. Once again, it's like I'm at Miami Beach, but everyone has youthened by about 60 years. Amazingly, tonight is our Farewell Dinner for those concluding the main two-week tour. Nine of us proceed tomorrow, with a new guide, for a week in the Palestinian West Bank. It should be enlightening. I'm not certain about Internet access, but will report when I can next connect.