It might seem dangerous to step out, mostly alone, through the heart of the Middle East. That, in part, is exactly why I did it.
In 2012 I had walked across the largest sand desert on earth — the Empty Quarter
on the Arabian Peninsula — and in 2014 I explored some of the Persian world, following Iran’s longest river from its source to the sea.
They were different experiences but the region as a whole, let’s call it the Middle East, is captivating: it is chaotic and frenzied in the cities and wild and rugged in the countryside. Above all, I found it to be safe and friendly, a far cry from the place that features in newspaper reports.
This disparity encouraged me to see more, so I set off to walk 1,000 miles (1,600km) from Jerusalem to Mount Sinai. My intention was to focus on people rather than politics as I immersed myself in the Holy Land.
I left Jerusalem on a dull December day. My first few steps took me through the Old City, an area of less than a square mile that is home to some of the holiest sites in Christianity, Judaism and Islam.
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Within a few hours the narrow, cobbled streets and the complex, contemporary tensions of this religious hub were behind me as the desert hills of the West Bank took over.
Accompanying me was Dave Cornthwaite, a friend from England, and together, step by step, we noticed the landscape slowly change: a sea of rolling brown crests and valleys followed by a crumpled blanket of green, then an artist’s array of pastels as we reached the fertile Jordan valley.
We edged along the side of Wadi Qelt, a narrow canyon from Jerusalem to Jericho, and could almost feel the layers of history, culture and faith ingrained in the land.
This gorge is rumoured to be the “valley of the shadow of death” referenced in the Bible (and the 1994 film Pulp Fiction). At its far end lies Jericho, at a reputed 10,000 years, the oldest city in the world and home to Mount Quarantania, allegedly the Mount of Temptation where Jesus is said to have resisted the devil.
If the names were familiar, everything else was a pleasant surprise.
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Each day, hours would be spent with Palestinians in towns and villages along our way. They would shout greetings from passing cars or invite us in to their homes and workplaces.
Matriarchs in colourful headscarves would feed us big plates of makluba — a delicious mix of rice and chicken, cooked in a pot and served by upending it like a sandcastle — and as we ate they would instruct us: “Eat more, this is the best food in the world. Have another bit of chicken: what would your mothers say if they knew you were so skinny?”
Hospitality is innate in all the cultures of the Middle East, and commonly manifests itself with the sharing of sugary black tea, usually made over a fire on a hillside by a Bedouin resting on his haunches. Ritual tea drinking became as much a part of our adventure as sleeping and walking.
We crossed the Separation Barrier out of the West Bank into Israel. Suddenly we were surrounded by the chatter of Hebrew rather than Arabic; the sight of synagogues instead of mosques.
The Israeli v Palestinian is one of the great struggles of our time in both the geopolitical and
humanitarian senses. It felt important that the journey that Dave and I were making took in life on both sides of the barrier, so to speak.
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Unfortunately for Dave, much of his time in Israel and as we crossed the border into Jordan, was spent nursing a pain in his left foot. I used my medical nous to diagnose him as a wimp. Sadly, however, my analysis was lacking, and we found that Dave (after seeing a doctor) was suffering from a stress fracture. His journey was over, and I would continue alone for the remaining 800 miles.
Nervous of what lay ahead, I plodded out of the Jordanian town of Um Qais. The settlement is a remarkable reminder of the eastern frontier of the Roman empire, where ancient beige columns combine with the black-rock ruins of an Ottoman village and today’s international geography — Israel, the Golan Heights and Syria. It gives a poignant insight into a land that has seen the rise and fall of so many cultures and rulers.
Despite the complex circumstances of many of its neighbours, Jordan is safe, and it was with this comforting thought that I turned south . . . straight into a tremendous rainstorm which flooded much of the northern mountains.
It may be strange to think of rain and greenery here but northern Jordan looks more like Mediterranean Italy than the deserts one might imagine.
I stayed in the hills as much as I could. There were three great gorges (or wadis, as they are called here) to cross in the central region, each requiring an 800-metre descent to the valley floor before I went straight back up again.
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By the time I reached the Ottoman-era village of Dana, clinging to a cliff-side, the landscape was epic. All around, great mountains reached for the sky and I wandered on trails in the slot canyons between them. One of these paths led me to Petra, the ancient capital of the Nabataean kingdom and among the most famous sites in the Middle East (perhaps as much because it was featured in an Indiana Jones film as anything else). It is characterised by geometrically perfect rock-cut architecture with great facades carved out of sandstone; an entire city created by burrowing into the sides of mountains.
Beyond that lay Wadi Rum, where a shepherd told me: “Here there is simply sand, God and the Bedouin.” A hundred years ago the British military intelligence officer Lawrence of Arabia based himself here as he co-ordinated an Arab revolt, and he called it “vast, echoing and Godlike”. It is no surprise that most descriptions of it reference a deity: it is beautiful and intimidating and radiates an ethereal quality unlike anywhere else I’ve been.
By the time I reached the Gulf of Aqaba, the sea along the eastern side of Sinai, I was beginning to feel the strain of three months of walking. I chose to walk not just because I love walking, but because it is the truest way to experience a place; to move slowly and thoroughly and to give the greatest opportunity for human encounters.
It does, however, require energy and enthusiasm. The last part of my journey, across Sinai, was made in the company of Musallem, a local man and expert navigator, and Suleiman, a quiet but wise camel-wrangler. Harboush the camel rounded out the team.
Musallem’s infectious joy for everything lifted any greyness in my mood. “Life is good!” he’d shout to the wind first thing in the morning.
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In more hushed tones he would confide: “It’s not difficult to be happy. We just need to be good to each other, and take care of the place where we live. If we do that, everything is nice and lovely.”
The landscapes in Sinai were rugged and wild beyond anything I had seen, vast swathes of barren, sandy desert punctuated abruptly by sharp and vicious black rock that grew into huge, gothic-shaped mountains. There is a magnetic beauty to such harsh environments.
We finished together on top of Mount Sinai, the supposed site of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.
A thousand miles had passed beneath my feet and with them I had seen the land grow, shrink, change colour and consistency; I had been part of hundreds of conversations, and shaken thousands of hands.
Near the city of Kerak in Jordan, a man invited me to spend the night in his house. When I accepted he said, “Great! Now, you must be tired from so much walking. Please allow us to wash your feet.”
I was fed and looked after by strangers rich and poor; Muslim, Christian, Jewish and Samaritan (perhaps the smallest and oldest ethno-religious group in the world); Palestinian, Israeli, Jordanian and Egyptian.
A better way to think about it, of course, is to remove the complicated titles. I found the kindness of those I met was not influenced by their nationalities or religions. People are people and I returned home humbled and overwhelmed by the genuine generosity and care that I found.
These are special lands. They are a great place to hike.
I can happily report that I found them to be safe as well as beautiful, and the combination of this and the exceptional people makes it a wonderful, life-affirming place to travel.
I may not have had a spiritual epiphany atop Mount Sinai but this revelation was more than enough.
The Land Beyond: A Thousand Miles on Foot through the Heart of the Middle East, by Leon McCarron, is published by IB Tauris on September 30, priced €19. thelandbeyondbook.com
Hotfoot it across the Middle East
To give some structure to my wanderings, I followed three exciting new hiking trails that have been established in the West Bank (masaribrahim.ps), Jordan (jordantrail.org) and Sinai (sinaitrail.org).
The idea of a walking path in the Middle East might seem audacious — and it is — but these routes have been pioneered by a combination of local enthusiasts and international experts.
They are still being developed but there are resources available and, in many sections, guides for hire, too. Most of the way, however, the route is simply in the form of GPX data (or on a map online) — with some way-markings in certain areas.
The trails mainly connect thoroughfares that already exist. This means that in order to follow a section, you will need to be proficient at using a GPS, or willing to hire a local guide.
Be sure to follow the online advice very closely because these hiking trails are new and are changing all the time.