Dead Sea Day — Carry On, from Amanda Kellner Klein

Years and years of friends’ Birthright trips to Israel filtered through social media showed jaunts to the hyper-saline Dead Sea. Consuming the images of bright blue sky and eerily buoyant water, it hadn’t quite occurred to me that if one were to follow the Sea up and around they would encounter the occupied Palestinian territory of the West Bank and, eventually, run right into the environmentally diverse country of Jordan.

After two days spent traversing the ruins of Petra and climbing the red rocks of Wadi Rum, our group of four relished the opportunity to relax and float around in the world famous, salt-heavy Jordanian lake. After a day of bouncing around the bed of a pickup truck exploring the sights in the desert, we hopped into our rental car and hit the road again. This time, we drove straight west; if we kept going straight we would hit Israel itself.

Just before the border we made a 90 degree turn right and headed north. The mountains of Israel were clearly visible in the distance. Up we drove, eventually along the side of a large, dried-out body of water. This is when we realized that the Dead Sea is slowly, surreptitiously shrinking.

The first body of water we drove past was the Dead Sea Evaporation Basin. The lowest point on Earth at 1,380 feet below sea level, the Dead Sea maintains such a high salt concentration that it is physically impossible to sink in it. The Middle Eastern sun beats strongly, day after day and year after year, evaporating the waters that reside there and decreasing the water levels by as much as 3 feet per year. That said, it is generally agreed within the scientific community that the Dead Sea will not disappear completely. There will become a tipping point when the salt concentration ratio to the amount of water in the Sea finally prevents the water from evaporating any further.

A few minutes of research led us to purchasing a day pass to the Crowne Plaza Dead Sea Hotel. The hulking resort was a fortress to enter; metal detector screenings were required, as they were all over Jordan. We quickly changed into our bathing suits and scrambled to begin the process of experiencing the Sea in all of its mud-and-salt glory.

Dead Sea beach attire was represented by a range of bathing costumes worthy of the juxtaposition of west and east found in Dubai. We sported American-style swimwear and the guys donned their board shorts. To the right of the Sea section cordoned off for swimmers was a group of women wearing burkinis, enjoying the sweet relief of the lake in the midday heat.

Time to get muddy. On the advice of some nearby Jordanians we followed this approved sequence: mud up, let it dry, rinse off, bathe in the Dead Sea. Certainly don’t go into the Dead Sea wearing the mud! I’ve heard your skin will burn (…according to them) but can’t be sure as there were a few bathers wearing their mud proudly in the water.

The locals suggested we repeat the process as many times as we pleased for added health benefits. With limited time we opted for once, although with my increasingly complex skincare regimen, I could have spent days identifying the proper routine for optimal glow.

Getting muddy involved heaps of brown, clay-like mud slathered on all visible body parts from a small sink adjacent to the water. We roasted in the beating sun for a few minutes, then utilized the many showers to free ourselves of our mud coverings.

For comparison’s sake, I have had a floating experience before. In the clay-filled El Totumo volcano in Cartagena, Colombia the pool in which we floated, unusually, was mud itself. This day in the Middle East was quite different. The body of liquid significantly larger and less dense, the personal space more present, the popularity of the experience better known throughout the world.

I waded into the Dead Sea, skin smooth from the mudding and eyes peeled on the glowing bulb of the sun hanging low above the water. The floating, at first, goes unnoticed. The Sea water feels like regular water. It looks like a regular old oceanfront at a beach resort. And yet, the small waves whisked me away slowly with feet peaking above the water line as I bobbed on the surface sitting in an invisible lounge chair made of Dead Sea liquid.

Let the games begin. We attempted a boat pose, lounged on one another and enthusiastically let the Sea take us where it may within the confines of the swimming section. The transparent water morphed into a childhood bathtub where no strange body configuration was off limits; often we couldn’t help the way our feet fought with our arms for access to the air. Playfully embracing the moments in the Sea, I continued to notice that I had never seen the sun so big and so low to the water, as if it would scoop up the Sea in its impending sunset.

A shower rinse and a race to the airport would send us back to Dubai to finish out our time in the Middle Eastern March sun. Indeed, we could have had our hair a bit more dry or our skin a bit less salty as we savored our glasses of white wine at the Petra Lounge of Queen Alia Airport (the nicest Priority Pass lounge I’ve encountered). But in the spirit of the Dead Sea, I felt alive knowing it was still a part of us.

Visit Jordan, 2018 on Film for more on our travels throughout the country.