A Trip to the Negev Desert

On Sunday morning, June 19th, we’d been offered a lift to the Jerusalem bus station, but we had to be up early. We travelled light, with all but an overnight bag left at our hotel. I wish we could say all our behaviour was sensible, but in fact, the next bit of our journey was not as simple as I’m sure it should have been.

We got the impression we had to go to the enquiries hall at the bus station, whereas in fact, had we made straight to the bus, it might all have been a great deal simpler. Then again, it might not. At any rate, we did not go straight to the buses, but went up to the next level which was vast, and jam packed with people, most of them soldiers returning to their bases after the weekend. Marooned in a sea of people, we looked around frantically for a kiosk or a person to ask where to go. A person approached us - did we want help? I knew immediately that he was touting for business; sure enough he was a taxi driver, and within minutes we were agreeing to go with him, rather than search for the correct bus. When he initially asked where we were going, I said - Be’er Sheva, because that’s where we were catching the connection. We agreed a fee of about 600 shekels, and to start with, he had to take us to draw cash, because I didn’t have enough. Of course, once we were in his taxi, I told him we wanted, not Be’er Sheva, but Midreshet Ben-Gurion, 60 km beyond that town. My understanding is that this is part of the Ben Gurion University, which is at Be’er Sheva, but our taxi driver got, I think the wrong impression about the length of this journey. Consequently, as he drove further and further from his home territory, he got gloomier and gloomier. We heard that he was not a well man, the details of an impending operation - and that his wife would kill him if she had known he was going so far away. He hinted he would want a very big tip in addition to the additional 4 or 500 additional shekels we had negotiated for the extra journey.

It was miles from Be’er Sheva before we began to see signposts to the college, and we had to put the driver on to our relation who we were visiting, for final instructions. In the meantime, our cousin had privately texted, ‘Don’t give him any more than 700 shekels.’ Too late for that. We’d agreed a figure, but when we finally arrived, we didn’t add to that. Consequently, I felt guilty just in case all his angst was genuine, even though I feel that taxi drivers who purport initially to be helpful strangers deserve what they get.

The journey took us further and further into the desert to the settlement of 1200 people, which Wikipaedia rightly describes as arid. The college itself specialises in the study of solar energy and waste water. When we collected the children from their nursery with our hostess, the heat was intense and unbearable, even walking for less than ten minutes. But building is going on, and more people will come to populate this area.

It was a relief to get to the house, which with its high ceilings was quite cool. Our hostess showed us how they used ‘grey water’ pumped from baths, etc. to irrigate the garden. A pergola was attached to the house, over which grapes grew in abundance from a vine which weaved its way through it. The children played just outside in a paddling pool, shaded from the sun.

Overnight, we stayed at a nearby B & B, and once again, high ceilings and cool, spacious rooms were welcome. We had no problem falling asleep that night.