Just last month, as the Ministry of Health sanctions and guidelines regarding the coronavirus outbreak were loosening up, I went on a nice little trip with a nice friend. Similar to our trip back in December 2019, when we visited Khirbet Luza and other Crusader ruins, this time Avner Touitou and I had similar intentions. Still struggling with thesis ideas for our MAs in Crusader Archaeology, we figured that going about and actually visiting some lesser-known ruins might help spark an idea that would lead towards something useful.

Chateau Perelin jutting out into the sea

Whereas last trip we focused on the Jerusalem area, this time our attention was turned a little north, to the Atlit region, where the Kingdom of Jerusalem came to an end. The focal point of our planned trip was the ruined fortress of Le Destroit, which neither of us had ever been to. Interestingly enough, I had passed it hundreds of times during my army service, and had actually attempted to even visit it, however unsuccessfully. At last, thanks to Avner’s gung-ho spirit and vehicular capabilities, the visit to Le Destroit was to become a reality.

Approaching the old stables

Avner picked me up outside our apartment in the morning and we made our way posthaste up Roads 4 and 2 towards our destination. We had some more Crusader sites picked out, as well as a spot for lunch, but Le Destroit was first and foremost. Some forty minutes later we pulled up outside the small nature preserve, officially called the Karta Ruins Nature Reserve, just outside of Atlit. Accordingly, the ruins goes by several names including Karta/Qarta, Districtum and Khirbet Dustray, as explained in various archaeological sources that I examined whilst writing this blog post.

Le Destroit layout as drawn by J Dikijian

Le Destroit was built sometime in the 1100s, following an incident where King Baldwin I was attacked and wounded by highway robbers along the coastal road. The exact location of the Crusader fortress is between two deep passes cut east-west in the sandstone ridge, just along the coastal road, which provided a perfect hideout for robbers to leap out from, catching their victims unawares. Thus, in efforts to safeguard the roads for the benefit of all travellers, the Crusaders erected this small fortress as a watchtower.

Looking at at Chateau Perelin from within the stables

Interestingly enough, the Crusaders themselves were the ones to destroy it, for when they built the grand Chateau Perelin at Atlit as a regional base, they were concerned that someday the Muslims would use the smaller fortress as a defensive position against them. Surely enough, the Muslims did arrive within that decade, and their leader the Ayyubid sultan Al-Mu’azzam Isa razed the rest of Le Destroit to the ground, not leaving very much for us happy visitors to see.

Avner examining the hewn sockets

Avner and I explored the sandstone ridge, examining the small cave-like stables that was hewn not far from the fortress itself. From within the windows we had quite the lovely view of Chateau Perelin’s ruins, jutting out into the blue Mediterranean Sea. Continuing along the forged trail, we arrived at the northern side of the fort, and took stake of our surroundings.

The eastern side of the tower with its hewn moat

A small hewn moat was clearly visible on the east side, so we climbed up atop the rock podium from the northwest corner. Not really knowing what to expect, we were slightly surprised that there wasn’t much more than the literal base of the original construction. In the southeast corner we found a small cistern, fenced off and containing just a little bit of water. With not much to see below our feet, we focused on enjoying the sprawling seaside view and picturing what it was like to be here in Medieval times.

Looking back from whence we came

Consulting the Wikipedia entry for the fortress, we learned that an interesting ancient inscription was found nearby. We descended and gave the southern and eastern walls a good lookover, admiring the construction of the manger on the eastern side.

Looking out to sea

Dropping down from the elevated sandstone ridge, we scanned the rock walls from the east, looking for the cryptic letters. Much of the rocky area around the fortress was used to quarry sandstone ashlars for construction, so we knew to look for the more natural patches.

Ancient inscription in the rock wall

At last, lo and behold! Clearly cut letters carved out of the rock face! We stood below it, admiring and wondering how someone found it, until we were ready to move on.

A closer look at the carven letters

Taking one of the passes, hewn east-west out of the sandstone ridge, we made a loop back to the marked trail, returning to the fortress. Along the way we encountered what is believed to be a guard booth, also hewn from sandstone.

Avner inspecting the guard booth

Making our way back to the car, I had a quick gander at the closest fishpond (or whatever the body of water serves as) and then we decided that it was time to go to the beach. We entered HaBonim Beach into the Waze navigation system and set a course which ended up taking us on dirt roads through fields and alongside banana greenhouses, providing loads of befuddled entertainment as we wondered if we’d ever get there. At last, after too long in the open fields, we arrived at a small parking area and disembarked.

Sea of white Queen Anne’s lace

Heading straight for the sea, passing a small tributary which would empty into the sea had there been more water, we made two interesting discoveries. The first was that we had landed exactly where the “famous” shipwreck is, the subject of innumerable sunset photographs, which turned out to actually be quite small. Where I had always envisioned a small ship, of impressive proportions, there lay a small boat which was a bit underwhelming. A little research revealed that this boat is believed to be a Turkish cement-carrying ship that somehow sunk, but in fact it seems that it was an Israeli fishing boat named “Netz” that sank during a storm in 1970. The boat was left in situ, and has slowly decomposed, but more pictures can be seen HERE, on an interesting Hebrew blog. Also, a very neat aerial shot can be seen HERE.

Sunken fishing boat at HaBonim

The second discovery was the presence of countless jellyfish washed up on the shore, belonging exclusively to the species nomad jellyfish (Rhopilema nomadica). This species has infiltrated the Mediterranean Sea, having migrated via the Suez Canal. Large and usually a semi-translucent white, these jellyfish have become quite an issue every summer and whilst we were not pleased to see their presence, we weren’t completely deterred. Slathered with sunscreen we braved the potential of stinging jellyfish and entered the surf bravely. Sure enough, we each began to feel the stings and while we could usually see them drifting about, the repeating waves concealed them and it was inevitable that we should feel their jellied tentacles. True, the sensation is unpleasant, but in all fairness it’s not that bad, so we stayed in the water and just tried to avoid the jelly beasts as they drifted aimlessly around us, their trailing stingers ever-dangling in search for prey.

Nomad jellyfish washed ashore

When we were done enjoying the beach we packed up and headed back to the car, noting paragliders and common terns sharing the crisp blue skies above us. There was another Crusader site that we wanted to take a quick look at, so we drove back out into the dirt roads which eventually led us to our destination, Tel Dor. In 2018, I had excavated for a day at Tel Dor (see HERE), and I remembered the developing discoveries concerning the small Crusader fort atop the precipice overlooking the ancient harbour.

The lovely colours of summer on Tel Dor

Merle, or Merla Templi in Latin, was a small castle of which, unfortunately, very little is known. It is believed to have been built sometime before 1187, the year that marked the fall of the first Kingdom of Jerusalem, and likely served as a lookout of sorts. Of the ruins, there was a small tower that survived until 1895, and today there’s some ghastly modern concrete marring the ancient construction.

Merle under excavation (photo from August 2018)

We parked outside the beach area and made our way to the small fort ruins, passing loads of beach-goers and some more washed up jellyfish. The tel was very unlike how I last remember it, the coastal vegetation covering the previously-exposed ruins from a myriad of time periods. Standing atop the ruins of Merle, I struggled to make sense with what I remembered from the active excavation, but, alas, the ruins are altogether quite underwhelming.

Archaeologists chipping away at Merle’s history (photo from August 2018)

We left without a sense of satisfaction, having not really understood any more about the old castle than we could have from glancing at the archaeology books. The hour was late and we had grown hungry in the full midday sun. Avner had researched a lovely place to eat at in nearby Zichron Ya’akov, so we drove over and parked the car somewhere in the chic town centre.

Common kestrel searching for prey

The lack of tourists, due to the coronavirus sanctions, definitely gave the touristy town a bit of a deserted feeling, and to top that off, the restaurant Avner had found was decidedly closed. So, ravenous in a small town, we scoured the cobbled streets in search for good eats. At last we decided on a simple sandwich shop called HaNadiv, where I ordered a schnitzel baguette and a cold bottle of American Budweiser (a recent import to Israel which Avner had not yet tried).

Schnitzel baguette and a Budweiser

When we finished our meal, which was downright delectable, we got back into the car and headed back down south. Avner dropped me off and rerouted to his own house, parting with solemn promises to take another Crusader-themed trip in the near future – which we did!