Day 5 1/2: The Dead Sea

I'm not the kind of girl that goes around with an extra pair of shoes, but I'm a huge believer in beach flip flops. The busted Skechers were thrown (quite hatefully) into the back of the trunk, and my indestructible blue Havaianas came out. All hail plastic.

The drive to the Dead Sea was all of a half-hour or so from the Jordan River, and very scenic in the "look there's another Bedouin with his herd of goats" kind of way. We also drove by a nomad with his camel while I squealed in the backseat - baby's first camel in the Middle East! - then kicked myself when James said, "Why aren't you shooting any of this?" I'd packed up my Nikon and left it in the trunk. Champion photo girl was off to a really bad start.

Every picture I'd ever seen of the Dead Sea seemed to show a beach made entirely of mud, and perky looking people covered head to toe in the stuff. The ones in the water are perpetual backfloaters, faces mucky, reading newspapers. I thought we would go to this beach, roll around in the mud like beached whales then partake of the Dead Sea waters with the other happy, happy tourists. Heck, it's a giant spa. How can you not get along at a spa?

Well, it's not that way at all. Turns out you have to go through a hotel. As in pay the ticket for pool facilities, beach pass and towel service for the day. I highly suspect there is a public beach somewhere, but Raj wouldn't tell us because he hates mixing with the local riff raff. When he knows the scene and we don't, he really takes advantage of it.

Raj's hotel of choice was the Marriott, and right away it reminded me of the hotels on the Vegas strip. Large, immaculate, themed. Red carpet to the door, uniformed, smiling host ready with complimentary lemonade, overpowering air conditioning, yadda yada. Gorgeous, otherworldly, unnervingly perfect. We each coughed up 20 dinars for said services, and headed to the back.

It was breathtaking. At least four swimming pools that I could see, striped deck chairs, bridges, flowers of every colour. Stone trails heading downhill to more pools, more gardens, tiki umbrellas and hot hot hot cabana boys attending to your every need at the lowest point on earth.

I know what you're thinking and so I'll answer that question post haste: while in Nirvana, did Fat Girl partake of these glorious services? Very politely, for two out of three, no. The one I did use was towel service, only because James is large and wanted my extra towels. Pool and beach service I did not use.

Here are my two reasons, #1 being that I did not know about the pool. I didn't find out until the evening before the trip about the Marriot hoo-ha, I honestly thought all there would be was a beach. With that in mind I didn't even pack a bathing suit. In my defense I did check out the suits available at the gift shop, but lord, they were tacky. If you're thinking I'm a snob for missing one of the most gorgeous swimming pool opportunities in my existence, then yes darling, I am. Simply put, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a fuschia bikini with cartoons of fish skeletons on the boobs, and "I swam in the Dead Sea" printed across the ass. No way, no how.

So why didn't I pack for the beach? Reason #2: I am not allowed in the Dead Sea. Ever. I would love to tell you that I broke some international law, got in all kinds of trouble and was prohibited from entering the nation's precious resources - adds mystique, see - but the real reason isn't nearly so interesting. Da da dum... no Dead Sea for me because of health problems. Well, former health problem. I'll get into that later.

But I did get my feet wet. I rolled up my pants for the second time that day and waded in a little over ankle deep into the Dead Sea, and took pictures of everything I saw. Floating people, muddy people, a Chinese tourist swimming with all her clothes on. Raj striking poses up and down the beach, James pretending to be a viking boat. My toes.

After shooting more than just a few rolls with my dust-infected camera, I started to get bored. I couldn't use the beach, couldn't use the pool, I'd already walked around the hotel, wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty, and I didn't want to write anymore either. What's a girl to do?

Go to the spa. And not just any spa, the... most... heavenly... spa... I... have... ever... seen... in... my... whole... life. As a connoisseur of spas and paid luxury, you can take my word on this. A haven of soft music & lighting, desert ambience, plushy bathrobes, a gigantic solarium and indoor pool that just screamed "Nicole Kidman swam here." A menu of offerings that reading the descriptions alone, quite frankly, brought me to my knees. How's that for embarassing?

I didn't become a spa junkie until a couple of years ago, after throwing out my shoulder pretty badly. I was sent for weekly massages for six consecutive weeks, where Havel the Hippie Masseur beat the problem right out. Nowadays, a trip to the spa is the best gift you can give yourself. Heck, it's the best gift I can give myself, and after reading the treatments available at the Jordan Valley Marriott Resort and Spa, I was fully prepared to give myself Christmas and several birthdays right then and there.

The Jordan Valley Full Body Massage with Hot Stones, oh yes. The Purifying Dead Sea Mud Facial, oh yes yes. The Dead Sea Aromatherapy Salt and Oil Scrub, dee-lish, and whatever the hell a Dry Flotation was, that sounded good too. By this point I was salivating so badly I could have put Bluetooth to shame. It'd been months since I'd had spa anything, and all this sounded *so good* and had me so relaxed already, I almost fell over getting to the front desk.

This is when the concierge said the most terrible words I'd ever heard: "I'm sorry ma'am, but we're fully booked for the day."

WHAT?? NO!!! No pool, no Dead Sea, and no spa? No spa? All this and a broken sandal, dusty camera and whining Raj? Seriously peeved, grumpy and still clutching my spa menu to cry over later, I turned and left the garden of eden. All I wanted to do now was sulk in my deck chair the rest of the day... after I tried one more thing. This day couldn't be a total jinx.

I gathered up James and went back to the gift shop, bypassed bathing suits and my heart did a little cartwheel. Jewellery. Nice jewellery. If I can't have anything else I set out for today then dammit, I can have jewellery. I bought a gorgeous silver ring with a crown of spiralling turquoise beads on top. Funky and different. Jewellery always makes it better.

By the time we were done our shopping excursion and ogling the dining room waiters, the sun was going down and stomachs were growling. We left the Marriott in pursuit of fish in the middle of the desert. One hour and four wrong turns later we made it to the fish farm and restaurant that Raj's brother-in-law had told us about that was, quite literally, surrounded by desert. Our evening ended at a plastic patio table loaded with grilled fish, hummus, drinks, arabic music, the wind in our hair and the lights blinking in nearby Israel.

Once during the meal I got up to use the restroom when the restaurant manager stopped me and asked if my husband would be needing anything else? Husband? I turned and followed his gaze to James. Sheesh. Five days en route and I'm already married.