Doing the Dead Sea Float

The Dead Sea has got to be one of the coolest, weirdest, and most relaxing places I’ve ever been. It did not surprise me at all when Samy told me the story of how the people of Sodom & Gomorrah were smote underneath, which is part of what makes the sea so salty (6x that of the ocean) — if you’re staying in one of the fancy new resorts that have just been built (and more are planned) it’s positively decadent.

It takes a few minutes to get comfortable, in those Dead Sea waters; and it’s almost impossible to drown. Men, women and children get in the water (some of the more modest muslim women will get in fully dressed) and begin to laugh at the strangeness of being lifted up, buoyed by the water. I was able to read about 50 pages of a not-so-cheap-in-Euros paperback that I picked up at the airport in Frankfurt on my back in the water, once I got my sense of balance.

The Sea is incredibly warm, and gentle. I wondered a little what was going on geologically underneath me, but hey, why worry. If you lean back and close your eyes, the quiet on-going conversations of fellow floaters around you, in Russian, in French, in German, in Arabic, disappear and fade away, muted by the salt and the calm water. And you feel, or at least I felt, a little of what it must’ve felt like to be in the womb, I would hope — quiet, peaceful, warm, safe. It was amazing.

And better than Botox. Dead Sea floaters and bathers alike, if they’re so inclined, cover themselves from head to toe in Dead Sea mud; and wait and bake for 20 minutes. Then, rinse off in the water while floating, followed by a shower, and voila! any traces of eczema, pimples, weird skin stuff, et. al (none of which I have, by the way) instantly disappear. There’s a big cottage industry in Dead Sea skin products in Jordan; I nabbed all the hotel shampoo and body lotion and soap samples I could get.

I’m not sure about the claims, but I can tell you that my skin felt amazing, even when I was still in the water, with both my feet up in the air, splashing the mud off my shins, and marveling at how incredibly smooth they were, while I was floating. Fun to do, fun to watch, especially the bald tatooed Germans, who looked like lava creatures with their domes all covered in mud. It’s a lifestyle like Herod’s and Cleopatra’s; the Dead Sea was the original spa.

I have to admit, though, that my visit was a splurge; I stayed at the Kempinski Ishtar Dead Sea Resort. And Sultan will begin working there next month, go figure!! It’s definitely not one of those small, boutique, character hotels that I typically prefer; the Ishtar is new, and ultra-luxurious, and completely fabulous.

It was low season, still: a small Russian press tour; a few Jordanian families (with Dad on the waterpipe next to the pool), some British and French businessmen; and two American couples, one older, one younger, but that was it, for a very, very large resort. I got lost for a full 15 minutes on the way to the spa and it’s not just because I was missing the GPS. Between the Dead Sea float and mud scrub; the Thai massage I had in the morning; the very well-done cocktails; the nine swimming pools, multiple restaurants with fantabulous food, and very few patrons this time of year (I practically had the restaurants to myself — which made the service totally excellent) it was so fabulous that I decided I’d go back before I left Amman, for one last extra decadent float. I just hope I don’t end up like Lot’s wife.

Here are some photos of the hotel – it was good value for a lot of money.

Something rendered me speechless that night I stayed at the Ishtar, while having a fresh evening cocktail with just crushed-for-me strawberries and mint and smooth liquors, and seeing the lights of Jericho, the East Bank, Bethlehem, in the distance. Good thing there was noone I had to talk to; the bartender tried to make some polite conversation, but then just smiled. He told me that an Iraqui architect had designed the building; the furniture was from Lebanon and the limestone from Jordan; and the hotel was managed and owned through a German and Thai partnership. He told me he was from Bethlehem. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Los Angeles. And he said “very far away”. And then he had nothing else he could say.

The depth of the history, the wonder at the mysteries of this natural earth, and the warm breezes of the Holy Land, is to be shared and celebrated; and though the language and cultural barriers were difficult to overcome, I could tell that the bartender was pleased that I understood my extraordinary good fortune, just being there.

So, I gave him a very good tip, and went to dinner, and overslept for my massage appointment. But the drink didn’t show up on my tab; my massage ended up being longer than the promised hour, even though I was late; and the check-out man didn’t charge me for that drink, when I brought it to his attention. I think those were all very good signs.

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~ by mimi on July 1, 2008.