From Dahab to Tel Aviv, April 1st - 18th 2012
...where Stuart meets the family, Lawrence Dallagio and Saddam Hussein!
The route for this stage would take me along the northern most part of the Great Rift Valley from the Red to the Dead Sea and north along the Jordan Valley. And you don’t need be a geologist to appreciate that such a valley is probably going to be hilly!! This was to be my last day in Africa, so it seemed appropriate to have my dad on the back of the bike. After all, it has been his idea back in 1972 to drive down through Africa in a VW campervan with a willing wife as a companion. Their trip was the initial inspiration for my own.
The early origins of the trip, before the author was conceived…
There were 6 potential stokers for the week from Dahab (Red Sea) to the Dead Sea, with this making up the family holiday leg. My family had kindly organised the itinerary and I therefore arrived in Jordan with little expectation.
When the lonely planet talks up a place as one of the most spectacular deserts on planet earth, it is going to attract tourists, irrespective of its proximity to Syria & Egypt. Enjoying another dramatic sunset that evening, I was disappointed to hear an English couple nearby discussing the similarities between the slate formation beneath us & the latest John Lewis bathroom tiles. Oh dear!
My Neice Alice at Wadi rum - beautiful mountains surrounded by deep red sand.
On the following day, we transferred to Petra, made famous partly by a Hollywood movie. I’m embarrassed to say that it was Indiana Jones rather than the true history that came to mind as I approached the iconic treasury at this most amazing ancient city.
I was joined by 3 stokers en route, in descending age. Mum joined for the first 25km from Wadi Rum to the main highway, becoming the oldest female stoker on the trip so far. Mothers can be nervous passengers at the best of times so I was happy that the road was 1) flat/downhill & 2) relatively quiet.
My sister then took over, just as the day was warming up. We had been warned by Akmed, the campsite manager that the desert highway climbed steeply before the turnoff to the famous Kings Highway. Unfortunately we arrived just as the sun hit its highest point for the day. All a bit too much for Nic, that night, my poor sister was taking on fluids through an IV drip!
Fi Prohpet, the only non-family member on the trip then took over for the next day and a half of riding to Dana some 100km along the magical & historic Kings Highway. The Bible notes that Moses attempted this route whilst heading north with the Israelites. It also served as an important ancient trading route. It is blessed with breathtaking views and rich historic sites from biblical times to the Crusades.
The Kings Highway - a route rich in history: at the Crusader Castle half way to Dana
We had a most relaxing day in Dana’s nature reserve and that restful day set up nicely for the final push of the family leg to the Dead Sea. With around 150km to pedal, my sister & I made an early start, creeping out of our tents at 5am. By 8am, we were enjoying breakfast at 1500m with most of the day’s climbing in the rear view mirror and building up to what would be an exciting 17km decent of nearly 1800m vertical to the Dead Sea.
On completion, we enjoyed a celebratory dinner, plus the token mud rub & float in the Dead Sea. Then I was left alone again to cycle solo into Israel. The family holiday had marked the end of my African adventure and the start of the homeward leg to London. Plain sailing, I contently thought as I pedalled towards the King Hussein Bridge, which marks the border between Jordan & Israel.
Floating in the dead sea...
I sensed it wasn’t going to be straightforward when I was stopped at the Jordan side. Having picked up my exit stamp (on a separate piece of paper to allow me to return to certain Arab countries after Israel), I was ready to get back on my bike to cross to the border.
‘You can’t cycle across the bridge!’ declared Saddam Hussein, the official whose name I would later learn.
‘Take a seat, you can come with me!?’ I offered, smiling. Such offers had regularly worked to placate officious policemen at checkpoint throughout my journey.
He retained his serious look, which answered my question.
“Why not?” I was feeling bullish.
“They will shoot you…”
‘Ha Ha, Who will shoot me?’ My attempt to laugh it off wasn’t working.
‘The Israelis – you know: snipers’. Saddam cocked his thumb/finger into the shape of a gun to emphasis the point.
‘You must take the bus’. ‘OK’, I reluctantly conceded defeat.
Saddam was actually a very nice guy; he was named after the brutal Iraqi dictator and had even called his sons after Saddam’s brothers. I decided not to voice my opinion on the late leader, reflecting on how he has obviously been portrayed in very different lights in the West versus parts of the Middle East.
The painful border crossing was just beginning, however.
Israeli security glanced me up and down and took the view that my beard and Sudan stamp could mean that I was a Palestinian sympathiser, especially when I failed to pronounce Haifa correctly – one of the places I suggested I would be visiting.
But they eventually let me through after an hour and breathed a sigh of relief having seemingly managed to answer their questions satisfactorily.
The combination of gradient & strong afternoon sun meant that it was never going to be realistic to get to Jerusalem. I conceded defeat at 6pm, 25km short & started looking for a place to camp. I discovered a semi –formal camping spot just off the road. David, a local Jewish settler with a vision to bring all people together through his campsite, has set it up 2 days previously. I ended up meeting a lovely family camping next to me and shared dinner with them. Tamir, the father was a keen cyclist, taking an interest in my trip. 4 days later, I would be enjoying wonderful hospitality with his in-laws in a kibbutz just south of the Sea of Galilee. It is funny how these things work out, I thought to myself that night, enjoying my first night back in my own tent since Luxor.
Wailing at the Western Wall...
The next 10 days cycling around Israel and the Palestinian territories reinforced two views. Firstly, that this is one complicated region; and secondly, on a more positive note, it reinforced my firm belief in Humanity. Whatever colour the skin or flag, height or shape of nose, 99% of people are kind and generally willing to help outsiders, especially in the developing world.
Finally, I’ve just started the Dallagio & Flintoff Cycle Slam. The Cranleigh parent who is overseeing the ride wants to average more than 150km per day. Luckily, I’ve got my very own bamboo bike, with the frame built by Zambikes, who we partnered with for the group ride last August. It has managed 300km in 2 days and is a great ride. Lawrence Dallagio told me yesterday that he wants one. He also asked me how much I value my beard… oh dear.
Thandie gets an upgrade! Dallagio tells me he wants to buy a bamboo bike...
I’m therefore going to try and summarise in a few bullet points the highlights for those interested. As a teacher, this is what I tell my students when they are running out of time to finish an essay in an exam!
Understanding the traditions of Passover with Hagai’s family in Jerusalem and visiting the Holocaust museum there. Such museums are so important to help the human race avoid such terrible genocide in the future.
Drinking tea and playing cards in a traditional tea house in the old town in Nablus in the West Bank with Mike Biggs.
Cycling through the lush agricultural valleys near the Jordan Valley and the vineyards on the west coast.
Observing & trying to understand the histories of the three Abrahamic religions at such a holy time for two of them with Easter & Passover happening during my visit. So many deaths have occurred due to the division in this region since the time of Old Testament. But do we not all believe in the same God?
Thanks a lot to my wonderful hosts & people who have helped me in the last 10 days; it has shown me that a solo riding trip really is impossible on your own!
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