Our poor, exhausted and tired legs made the last push to the River Jordan, where Jesus and John the Baptist were baptized. (Or so they say). 
Behind me you can see the Israeli side. I am not sure why there weren't men outside with machine guns. Borders in this area are always tightly secured. Maybe they figure if you have enough gumption to swim in that gross, murky water you deserve to be in Israel. 
This boy is ready to get dunked this fall. I am tempted to bring him back here. He can not only tell his friends that he was baptized in the Jordan River, but also a chocolate milk stream.
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