Morning reflections by the lowest point on Earth

It's barely past 9 in the morning, and I've already been awake for hours. Something about being 430 meters below sea level makes sleep feel different here - or maybe it's just the anticipation of turning 50 in a week.

I woke before sunrise and stepped onto my small balcony, watching darkness slowly give way to a strange, hazy light over the Dead Sea. The air has a mineral heaviness to it that feels almost tangible. According to the resort's information booklet, the atmospheric pressure here is 5% higher than at sea level, with increased oxygen concentration. I can't scientifically verify that, but there's definitely something different about each breath.

The weather forecast I checked shows we're in for potentially stormy conditions today. A low-pressure system north of Cyprus is bringing heavy showers and strong winds to the region. I noticed the winds picking up last night, and this morning there are dark clouds gathering over the Jordanian mountains behind me. The sea itself looks strangely still, though - like a giant mirror reflecting the turbulent sky.

After a quick breakfast at the hotel restaurant (where I was, as usual, the first guest to arrive at their 7:00 opening), I took a morning walk along the shoreline. The landscape here feels almost otherworldly - crystalline salt formations creating bizarre sculptures along the water's edge, the barren hills of Israel and the West Bank visible across the water.

I spent nearly an hour photographing the salt formations. Some look like coral reefs, others like miniature stalagmites emerging from the water. The contrast between the white salt crystals and the mineral-rich blue-green water is mesmerizing. I kept thinking how these natural formations are both beautiful and harsh - nothing survives here except the most specialized organisms.

Yesterday's floating experience was unlike anything I've experienced before. The buoyancy is so extreme that the challenge isn't staying afloat but keeping your legs down. I managed to find a quiet spot away from the main resort area and just lay there, suspended in the hyper-saline water, staring at the sky. It felt like being in some zero-gravity chamber, oddly meditative.

The mineral-rich mud treatment afterward was equally fascinating - coating myself in the black mud, letting it dry, then washing it off to reveal noticeably softer skin. I'm not usually one for spa treatments, but when in Rome (or rather, 430 meters below sea level)...

I've noticed there are fewer tourists than I expected, likely due to the season and the weather warnings. The hotel staff mentioned that flash floods can be a serious concern in this region, especially in the valleys leading to the Dead Sea. I'll need to keep an eye on the weather alerts today.

My plan for the morning is to visit the resort's spa for a proper Dead Sea mineral treatment - might as well take full advantage of being here. The spa opens at 10:00, so I have time for another coffee while watching the increasingly dramatic sky.

This place feels like a fitting location for reflection as I approach both my 50th birthday and the approximate one-third mark of my journey (129 days down, 371 to go). There's something poetic about contemplating life's midpoint at Earth's lowest point - as if the physical geography is mirroring my own journey.

The Dead Sea is dying, they say. The water level drops about a meter each year due to upstream diversion of the Jordan River and mineral extraction operations. Standing here, watching this ancient body of water that has existed for thousands of years, I can't help but wonder what it means that even something so seemingly permanent is changing, diminishing within a human lifetime.

Perhaps that's the most valuable perspective travel provides - seeing both the vastness of the world and its fragility, all at once. Nothing stays the same, not even seas. Not even us.

Time for that second cup of coffee before my spa appointment. The clouds are definitely gathering now.