| March 2nd 2009
I once lived in a water
tank. It was up a wadi from route 90 just South of Eilat in the
country of Israel.
There were two of them, side by side. Big rusting hulks, each about the
size of our kitchen. Left over from the Ottomans I always hoped. It was there too that I first met Americans from
the USA.
The one water tank was filthy, full of
burnt paper and had been used as a latrine. The other one was
cleaner. At night when the sun retreated, I would climb inside to get
away from cold breeze.
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The Americans had sleeping bags and
lived in the Youth Hostel. They would visit Post Restante to pick
up their checks from "back home". It was the Vietnam War
and they were mostly finished with university.
Sometimes their money wouldn't come, so they would borrow from each
other. Sometimes they would wait with me at the 'Red Sea Fish' to
find work and then spend the night in what I would insist was "my water
tank."
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