DON'T: Searching For Stones in The Golan

By the time Roxy confiscates the Oxford Archeological Guide to the Holy Land from Harry, we're stuck on a dirt road somewhere in the middle of the Golan Heights. In front of us lies a stream through which we're debating driving, while on either side of the car are the barbed wire fences that here can only mean one thing: There are unexploded landmines in the area. With this in mind, the surrounding dried grass takes on a menacing character as it stretches out towards nothingness around us. Seen through the fly swarms and filfth covered windows of the car, it's not exactly a hospitable landscape.

Despite the outside dangers and discomfort, however, Lena is throwing the car door open and stepping away for a cigarette. I can't blame her for needing to take this moment and de-stress. We've been driving for four hours with growing hunger pains, never stopping to eat lunch because Harry is charging us to forge ahead. Apparently, archeology doesn't wait for a quick stop at Aroma. The low bloodsugars and untrustworthy GPS system have led to an unending stream of bickering back and forth over directions and, more importantly, the music selection. "Ask, ask! Don't touch," Roxy had finally cried as Harry switched the radio station for the tenth time in one minute.

We have to follow Harry's lead in more vital matters, however, because he's the only one who really knows what's going on today. That is to say, it's he who suggested this trip out to Rujm-el-Hiri in the first place. He's been on a sort of archaeological tour of Israel for the past few weeks through our former university. Now returning to the States in two days, he's recruited us to accompany him from Tel Aviv to the Golan Heights in order to see this one last site. All we've been told about the destination is that large circular formations of stones make up an impressive Stonehenge-like landmark. The Bronze Age site is said to contain the grave of a famous leader in its center and to, like Stonehenge, have served some sort of astrological function. Not much more is known even by the hyper-studious Harry, as archeologists themselves continue to have more questions than answers about the ruins.

We do too. We wonder, first of all, if we have really followed the directions correctly. Rujm-el-Hiri is a scholarly, not a tourist destination, so the only information we have concerning its location comes from a stark three line description in Harry's archeological guidebook. This immediately poses some issues, as the second sentence contains the phrase, "the road takes a dogleg to the south." None of us have any idea what a "dogleg" is and an emergency google search on Lena's phone yields little in the way of a definition. Blindly, however, we continue to forge ahead and immediately arrive at question two: If the site is supposedly so large, containing some stones that reach five meters high, why can't we see it already? Even if we were supposed to turn right instead of left at the t-junction, the site still can't be more than five hundred meters away and the landscape is perfectly flat, devoid of any trees or structures that might obstruct our view. A desperate phone call to another archeologically-inclined friend leaves us with the impression that, in fact, Rujm-el-Hiri is only partially excavated. But Harry insists emphatically that the site is still impressive and that there is plenty to see - he's viewed pictures on the internet in which people are walking through impressive ruins. Lena will have none of this. She paces back and forth in front of the car, waving her hands aggressively and repeating several times that this entire day is a conspiracy against her.

So it's in this tense climate that Roxy finally takes charge and wrenches The Oxford Archeological Guide to The Holy Land from Harry's fingers. "Be aware that the site is not easy to find" she reads aloud in a shrill voice that becomes increasingly shocked with every passing sentence. "Please refer to such and such a hiking map." Do we have said map? Of course not. She abruptly turns on Harry: "You're telling me you made us drive four hours for something that's nearly impossible to find? That requires a map we don't have? That may not even exist? I'm going to kill you. Do you see anything out here? Because I don't."

After another twenty minutes of contentious debate over whether or not we're in the right place and how practical it is to go further, even Harry eventually concedes that the best plan is to turn back towards the main highway. For the first time, the car is entirely silent as we make our way over the uneven, rock-studded terrain, wincing with every jolt of the car. The decision has been made to drive directly to The Golan Heights Winery, about fifteen minutes down the highway. It seems we may need a little libation to help us decompress from the events (or, rather, non-events) of the day and resume our friendship.

The break for vino proves a good choice and by the time we're back in the car, Nubian music is emanating happily from the speakers. Finally, I am the one in the driver's seat and Lena is giddy enough to inexplicably coo that an old tank we pass looks "sexy," while Harry looks further out the window at the desolate terrain around us and asks earnestly, "When you pair this landscape with this song, don't you feel like you're in Nubia?"

"No," says Roxy. "You're wearing raybans and a striped shirt. I feel like I'm in Urban Outfitters."