Israel's Negev Desert: A foodie oasis

Israel's Negev desert is not a forgiving place. For more than an hour we've been driving through the great nothingness of it, winding up the ominously-named Scorpion's Ascent that leads from the Arava Valley to the Negev Highlands. Across the vast plains of biscuit-coloured stone we've seen no signs of life bar a few blue-green tufts of saltbush and one lone (and possibly insane) cyclist pushing through the 40-degree heat. Our guide says that if my Kiwi travel companion and I jumped out of our van for a hike right now, it's so hot we may suffer the same fate as a recent teenage hiker who, due to the extreme temperatures, never made it out alive.

In desert terms the Negev is very small; at 13,000 square kilometres it's roughly 700 times smaller than the Sahara. Yet in Israeli terms it's enormous, taking up about 60 per cent of the country's land mass. It's also extremely dry, receiving less than 100 millimetres of rain per year. So when we arrive at our home for the night, a small farm and vineyard called Carmey Avdat that's an oasis of lush vines, gardens and trees heavy with figs, pomegranates and olives, it's completely surprising. But as we're about to find out, the Negev is dotted with dozens of artisanal food producers and boutique wineries just like it, set out along the Ramat HaNegev wine route.

Created in an attempt to re-establish the agriculture and lifestyle that existed along the ancient spice route that once wove through the Negev, this wine route is giving travellers a reason to stay longer in this region.

After settling into my charming desert cabin, one of six set on the hill overlooking the farm, I head down to the winery for a tasting. The Negev Highlands are set at about 600 metres above sea level and the combination of the high altitude, cold desert nights and hot days create an ideal climate for grape growing, the proof of which is in Carmey Avdat's flavoursome, hand-harvested cabernet sauvignons and merlots. Winemaking in the Negev, says the young Israeli woman holding our tasting, has been happening since ancient times. Wine presses and cellars dating back to the time of the Nabataeans, the ancient desert nomads, have been excavated here. Carmey Avdat itself is set on the remains of a 2000-year-old Nabataean vineyard and the owners still use the ancient terracing and irrigation systems they found when they started their farm here in 1998.

The next morning we set off to explore more of this unexpected food bowl. We start at Naot Goat Farm, one of several goat farms scattered along the wine route. On the terrace of the farm's small shop we meet the blue-eyed, silver-haired owner Lea Nachimov, who established this farm with her bearded husband Gadi 14 years ago.

"When we first arrived with our six children and 50 goats from Jerusalem, there was nothing here," says Nachimov, pressing glasses of cool goat yoghurt into our hands. "We slept in a tent for the first few weeks, then a container, but we didn't have water or electricity for a while, we had to build it all ourselves." The Nachimov's now have 80 goats for producing milk, yoghurt and cheese, plus 50 sheep for meat, products that they sell in their small store and to guests staying in their five rustic, self-catered cabins. Fourteen years on, Nachimov says that running this business in the middle of the desert still isn't easy. But as I'm starting to discover, the Negev seems to attract resilient, creative residents like this, who draw inspiration from the wild weather and isolation.

To get a true sense of the Negev's remoteness, we've been told we need to visit the Makhtesh Ramon, Israel's version of the Grand Canyon. A guided Jeep tour takes us around the crater's edge, where we get a spectacular view into what we're told is the world's largest erosion crater, then 300 metres down into the yawning chasm. There, surrounded by towering walls of lemon, rose and tangerine sandstone, we're shown snail-sized ammonite fossils as evidence of how this 40-kilometre crater was created 220 million years as the Negev evolved from ocean to desert. What's most impressive about this geological phenomenon, though, is how it makes me suddenly feel that I'm no longer in a country 367 times smaller than my own, but somewhere very vast indeed.

Later in the afternoon, we find ourselves eating lunch with a woman whose life was transformed by the expansive feeling of the Negev. Hadas Meir is the owner of Lasha Bakery in Mitzpe Ramon, the dusty desert town of about 5000 people, many of them New Age hippie types escaping big city life, on the northern edge of the crater. Sitting in the courtyard of her boutique bakery sipping Negev chardonnay and nibbling her crumbly cheese sticks, Meir tells us that nine years ago she was living a completely different life. Back then in Tel Aviv, she was successful in her corporate marketing career, but she wasn't happy. Until the weekend she decided to come to Mitzpe Ramon for a break.