Our Longweekend

We did this touristy kind of thing, a long weekend at the B&B on Kibbutz Dalyia in Ramot Menashe.
Firstly the accommodation was up to scratch and even more so. Not some hastily converted volunteers’ quarters in some neo European kibbutz setting, but a tastefully modern and utile room. I’d call it business class. I like the grounds too. The rolling hills can still be felt on the kibbutz grounds and walking around to your room there’s the feel of walking through a botanical garden, well kept but not symmetric, all different shades of green, and most importantly it felt Mediterranean, not some mutation of central Europe like you usually get on an Israeli communal farm.
The staff is friendly too. You almost want to pinch yourself. Can this be real, in Israel?
We got in a bit late and started with a wander down to the creek between the fields. Though I had the Carmel Range in mind when booking, the brochure we found, placed us in the Emekim region of the country. But rather than the flat stretches of the Jezreel Valley this region is hilly and pastoral, reminiscent of parts of southern France. And this being the end of winter and relatively northern Israel, the fields were all explosively green and yellow, with blankets of mustard flowers lapping our trail, like something Van Gough might have painted if he’d put his brush to it.
Then being Friday evening we had to deal with the problem of a finding a place to eat. This was something we hadn’t planned ahead, figuring that escaping from Jerusalem would be enough in itself. Apparently there are plenty of restaurants in Ramat Yishai but we chose to head for Zichron Yaakov, as its more familiar territory for us. But there was hardly anything open in the old tourist quarter. However we did manage to find a shopping centre off the number 4 road with a noodles shop open, Frangelico, which got us through the night without starving. The nosh was decent and the atmosphere familial and they served good solid Gamla wine as standard house wine to boot.

The breakfast the next morning was fine, somewhere between rustic and your obligatory Israeli hotel breakfast, but without the feeling of manic fress. You know that feeling you have in the dinning rooms of Eilat? Stuff your face with as much as you can shovel on your plates 'cause you never know, the Germans might burst in and drag you off screaming at any minute.
Our tourist program started off with the ancient Caesarea Port. Our Matmon membership got us in with a multimedia explanation of the port. I think that service is a great success because an archaeological site is just a pile of old rocks, even on a pounding seaside, without an overview of what the ancients had built before it turned into rubble. Now after seeing the show I can say that I’ve got an idea of the immensity of what Herod built in Caesarea back in the days of the Roman Empire. After the sea we headed up to the Carmel and Daliat el Carmel. Crossing over the number 70 road you go from the rolling pastures of Ramat Menashe to another savage type of beauty. Feigning a late 60s hit the road and drop out movie kind of spontaneity, we stopped off the cuff at a makeshift druze truck stop, with hot pita and fresh salads and labeneh and sizzling felafel, and humus, tehina with all the get up of oriental hospitality and scoffed it down at a makeshift table in a grove of olive and almond trees bursting in colour, then washed that all down with a pot of tea and marvah (sage).
We had some time to kill so we took in the views from and around the Muchraka Church and found some quality time activity for my wife shopping at Osafia. Then we took off to Ein Hod down the road past Beit Oren, which must have the wildest and most beautiful scenery in the whole country.
Once night fell and Shabbat was over we could turn up at the legendary Ben Ezra fish restaurant in Atlit. Apparently they’ve moved and now it sits right along the railway line. When we found the place we discovered that there was some function or other being held at the restaurant, which pissed me right off at first because we’d tried to book ahead, and they’d said it was unnecessary. But they were true to their word and there was still a side room for regular guests. The place is what you’d call blue-collar, even though they’ve made it flash in the Israeli reception centre style. Even if they’ve tried to upgrade I've got to admit the service was homely, and even personal. But more to the point the fish was delicious, especially the bass which I helped my wife demolish. As for the wine, I suggest sticking with the beer, but I’d go back again any day.
The last day of the long weekend was meant to be split up between a nature reserve in the Ramot Menashe area and Habonim Beach, but the morning plan fell apart because there are no road signs in the Ramot Menashe region pointing to the parks I was looking for. Damn pity ‘cause its beautiful countryside, and I had to make do with looking through the car window. The local council could take a leaf out of the Hof HaCarmel Council’s book when it comes to giving directions for the occasional tourist. So if you wanna be hip and take that Ramot Menashe trip get your routes worked out before you hit the Zichron Yaakov turnpike.
I won’t bore you with another sally to Osafia but we finished our visit off with a tried and true favourite of ours, a walk through the dunes of Habonim Beach, one last jewel of unraped coastline on the Israeli Mediterranean. The dual coves of Habonim always remind me of Dick and Dora, (as in The Happy Venture Readers) if not Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot.
From there it was just a short hour and a half jaunt along route 6 back home to the mess our kids had left in the apartment during our absence.