Eilat

Descending into the technicolor absurdity that is scuba diving in the Red Sea's Coral Beach feels precisely like stumbling into Poseidon's private rave-a pulsating neon spectacle amid waters clearer than a politician's empty promises. Here, at the planet's most northerly coral reef, nature seems to have gotten tipsy and painted the seabed in psychedelic hues you'd associate more with vintage rock album covers than marine biology. The Egyptians and Romans once navigated these waters in awe, presumably without Instagram selfies, marveling at the underwater universe teeming with parrotfish, lionfish, and moray eels that resemble disgruntled nightclub bouncers. Go early, arriving around sunrise, before boatloads of giddy tourists churn up the water; book at least a week ahead, or risk sharing your aquatic Zen moment with snorkeling hordes. Budget around $80 to $120 for a reputable dive company-don't skimp here; surviving underwater breathing generally favors reliability over bargains. And for Neptune's sake, don't forget sunscreen, dry towels, and waterproof cameras-otherwise, who's gonna believe you tangoed with a school of clownfish? Even if your diving is less Jacques Cousteau and more Inspector Clouseau, exploring the Red Sea's surreal submarine carnival makes for stories worth retelling, preferably over cold beers at sunset.

There's nothing quite like mounting an animal that's equal parts grumpy sofa and prehistoric transport, and Camel Ranch Eilat offers exactly that-a dusty, oddly thrilling amble atop the desert's crankiest creatures. Situated conveniently at civilization's ragged edge, where Eilat's neon lights reluctantly yield to the timeless, sandy expanse of the Negev, this experience is best savored at sunset or sunrise-times that mercifully spare you (and your camel) from midday's solar assault. Book at least a day or two ahead; surprisingly, even camels can pull a crowd. Twenty to thirty bucks should cover your ticket to ride, though setting aside extra shekels for the inevitable photo-op, camel snacks, or post-ride cold beer for your saddle-sore thighs is prudent. Bring sunglasses, sunscreen, and perhaps, a discreet pillow if your backside hasn't entirely resigned itself to discomfort. And why venture into the desert's outskirts to subject yourself to slow-paced jolting atop a cranky dromedary? Because few dinner-table anecdotes beat casually mentioning that time in Eilat you navigated the wilderness on nature's cheekiest form of public transport.

In the sun-baked, rugged wilds near Yotvata, the Hai-Bar Nature Reserve is the Middle East's dramatic attempt at a zoological comeback tour-think of it as the region's rehab center for wayward species with a storied past. Once upon a biblical time, the Arabian oryx roamed here like swaggering celebs, until poaching and habitat loss drove them toward oblivion. Now, they wander again, alongside ostriches, ibex, and other desert creatures, carefully coaxed back from extinction's abyss. Show up early-around sunrise if you can-to avoid the kind of midday scorch that would make even Lawrence of Arabia reconsider his plans. Book ahead, at least a couple of days in advance, and bring cash for the modest entry fee, typically around 30 shekels (9 USD). Also, pack water, a wide-brimmed hat, binoculars, and a potent sunscreen-this desert will fry you like an egg on a skillet. Ultimately, the Hai-Bar is worth it because it's a gritty, glorious second chance at redemption, a comeback story that's part conservation, part defiance, and wholly unforgettable in a rugged, back-of-beyond sort of way.

Timna Valley, an otherworldly lunar landscape plopped right in the middle of Israel's blistering Negev Desert, looks like the dramatic leftovers of a heated dispute between Mars and Arizona-a place where geology got creative after a few stiff drinks. Rock formations, whimsically named "King Solomon's Pillars," tower over ancient copper mines that once fueled Egyptian ambition around 1200 BCE-long before Cleopatra and Marc Antony turned North Africa into their personal soap opera. To dodge the cruelest heat and tourist herds, set your alarm early-like, offensively early-and roll into Timna Park at sunrise when the rocks blush in rosy embarrassment at your tenacity. Book at least a few days ahead, especially if you're after bike rentals or guided Jeep tours; budget around $10-$20 USD (40-80 shekels) entry per person, and don't even think about leaving without sunscreen, water, and a wide-brimmed hat-unless spontaneous combustion is your preferred mode of exit. Is it worth the sweat-soaked shirt, sunburned neck, and the gritty crunch of sand in every crevice? Absolutely. Because any journey where you get to casually drop "ancient Biblical mining area" into a dinner conversation is worth its weight in coppery anecdotal gold.

Only in the stark, lunar expanse of Israel's Negev Desert-where biblical prophets once wandered and today's nomads roam with Wi-Fi hotspots-can you witness stars exploding across the night sky with surreal clarity. Forget whatever you've glimpsed from your suburban backyard; here, beneath velvety heavens unmarred by city lights, constellations become rock stars and shooting stars streak by like caffeinated fireflies. Arriving at dusk is ideal-stake your claim on the soft dunes, unpack your hummus and wine (because cosmic pondering always improves with snacks), and let the darkness swallow you whole. Reserve your desert adventure at least a week in advance, pack warm layers (deserts get as chilly as your Aunt Esther's stares), and budget around 150 shekels ($40) for a guide who'll regale you with tales of ancient astronomers and space-age heroes. Sure, you'll return home gritty with sand and more philosophical questions than answers, but there's nothing quite as soul-stirring-and magnificently humbling-as lounging beneath a billion stars in the empty majesty of the Negev.