Ein Farah

On Friday morning, James’ labmate Danny picked us up in front of the Belgian consulate in his rickety old and dusty yellow jeep complete zip-up windows and tape deck. We clamored in the back seat and rested our feet on the heavy chain he uses to lock the beast to a lamppost at night so it won’t get stolen like his last one.

He drove us into the West Bank to Ein Farah National Park: a canyon in the Judean desert. Danny and his buddies were there to do some really impressive and hard-core rock climbing and we tagged along so we could do some hiking.

Up along the canyon wall, not far from the parking lot is a monastery that has been used almost continuously since the fourth century. If you have ever heard about ascetic monks in the desert who lived in caves, these were the dudes. There are square holes in the canyon wall, some of which, amusingly, now have doors. Some of the abandoned ones looked absolutely impossible to get to, even for rock climbers. I guess some of the monks back in the day could fly. A monk still lives there and apparently, you can still visit him on special days at special times. Danny has is phone number if you are interested.

Upon Danny’s suggestion we explored our way up the deep canyon. The river bed was dry but floods every time it rains in Jerusalem. We spent about three glorious hours walking and scrambling up the canyon taking pictures of cool geology, huge wild foxes and endangered birds. We saw caves high up on the canyon walls where the Bedouins keep their goats; who knows how the goats get up there. Maybe the goats can fly too? Many of the caves were inactive but two had the tell-tale sounds of bleating, hooves on rocks and clanging bells coming out of them. When we neared, i.e. passed on the other side of the big valley, our approach was welcomed by the barking of a mean Bedouin dog. “Don’t be afraid to throw stones at them to scare them off, ” Danny had said. I picked up a couple of pebbles when the barking started but thankfully I didn’t have to use them.

We eventually hit a dead end, where we could no further go without climbing equipment or risking broken bones, so we headed back. Five minutes later I hopped over a ledge and almost hurled. I was met by a mummified and neatly decapitated animal head. Giant canine teeth were exposed from desiccated lips and the jaundiced leathery skin only had whiskers and one tuft of bleached fur. It was gross. I found out later that the Bedouins kill coyotes for their pelts and to protect their livestock. I had unfortunately found the remains.

The one thing that was really shocking was the amount of garbage. The place was littered with plastic bottles, tin cans, broken glass and old tires interspersed with refuse jems like red underwear and teapots. Some of it has washed downstream in the frequent floods, but much of it has been tossed over the edge of the canyon. I don’t think the locals believe in responsible waste management.

For the next hour, James took a much deserved nap on a bench under a tree. I hung out with Danny and the other climbers, drank Arabic coffee from a camp stove and generally chilled out until we got kicked out at three by a park ranger with a megaphone. Everyone has to leave for the start of Shabbat an hour before dusk.

What a great day. I went to bed at 6:30.