"And why do you not want me to stamp your passport?" The girl asked. She was the supervisor, assigned on at the attractive time of three in the morning, and the young girls doing the usual border stuff didn't want to make any mistakes. Even though my passport was blank, newly issued, they were oddly suspicious of me.
I gave a story about travelling often and visiting Arab countries, to which she wanted to know which ones - and I replied. Rather aticlimactic, but they seemed slightly offended that I didn't want their beautiful Israeli stamps gracing my passport. Although the damage had already been done to an extent - My entry and exit stamps from Egypt state right on them that I arrived from Rafah and left from Taba, and any government that is firmly aware of Egypt's borders with Israel will be denying me entry for the next little while. Note to self: hold off on Arab countries for the next few years.

In the early morning I walked from the border post into town, not a small feat as it seemed to be around 10 kilometres. I took my time, admiring how Israel has turned its tiny bit of shoreline on the Red Sea into both a completely militarized and commercialized dockspace and a prime diving location as well! Although officionados, apparently, will slam Israel's diving and perhaps rightfully so - given that not much marine life can co-exist with so much shoreline dock clutter. The lights of Aqaba in Jordan can clearly be seen on the other side of the bay as this tiny end of the Red Sea is occupied by the towns of three nations. I stumbled into a hostel(choosing one that would have clean showers, being wholly unimpressed with such facilities in Egypt) and passed out until late afternoon.






I had inadvertently entered a strange soap opera between an old Italian gent who liked to wander around the dorm room in his underwear and a beefy Israeli guy who liked his Hebrew Hip hop loud. He had blamed me for being in a total daze in the late afternoon while the sole key for the room was left inside by the Italian, and I, completely out of it, couldn't give a shit. I headed outside into Eilat's glossy hotel district, its steep hills and clean streets. Eilat was party town number 2 in Israel aside from Tiberias. Tel Aviv counts, but in terms of strictly party destinations, apparently those are the two major places to be.
And Eilat was just as disappointing as Tiberias. Barely anyone out at night, not too warm, and a few empty restaurants and bars were all that Eilat had to offer. Even outside of the partying, there was little to be found of interest in Eilat - aside from the Texas Rodeo Ranch on the outskirts of town with real live horses and other American Ranch stuff, a true novelty in these parts. And the peacocks who wander the parking lot around the dive sights, there was little to hold my interest.
Truly - Eilat felt like a completely manufactured town, founded on nothing more than it was far away from other Israeli towns. Nothing to excite the imagination, better diving(and cheaper) in its neighbours, Eilat proved disappointing. At least the shower was hot and the bed was comfortable. In the morning I found my way to the central bus station where I caught a bus to Beer She'va. This would be the town that I hoped could take me into my second West Bank journey, to the very unstable city of Hebron.

To Beershe'va and Hebron



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