Next to me is Instagram model taking hundreds of selfies and photoshopping them relentlessly and a Zurich banker who tells me he comes here whenever he’s in Tel Aviv. To a soundtrack of banging hip hop I eat a spicy platter of dips and chillis, and ‘Battata’, baked sweet potato served in a brown paper bag that you eat with your hands. It’s all very delicious and I wander back through the buzzing crowds of revellers and diners, enjoying being stranded in such a cool city.

It’s just gone 2am and I awake, confused at first, and then in pain, lots of pain; proper, excruciating pain. My right ear, jaw and temple are pulsating with it, the pressure building up and getting worse with every minute, but it’s well over two hours of mind-numbing pain before salvation appears in the form of a bleary-eyed doctor, brandishing a needle with a pain-killing injection which he plunges into my rear, a prescription for antibiotics, a diagnosis of a middle-ear infection (otitis) and a note recommending I don’t fly for the next five days.

The ancient walls of Jerusalem have many gates, but our entry point is the Jaffa Gate, by the King David Citadel, which was started by Solomon and finished by Herod. Whilst the Jaffa Gate is a portal of history it sits next to a fully-fledged opening in the wall, created because back at the turn of the 20th Century, the then Governor of Jerusalem owned one of the first motor-cars in the Middle East and decided he wanted to drive it unimpeded from Jaffa to Jerusalem so knocked a bloody big hole in the wall to allow him to build a tarmacked road for his own pleasure. UNESCO would have gone nuts!

Our destination is the Church of the Nativity and once we are dropped off, we approach it by walking up Manger Street to Manger Square, where Ami introduces us to Abdalahad, a Palestinian guide and one of the few Christians left in the West Bank. He takes us first into the Church of St Katherine, where we descend underground into the grotto where, according to Christian legend, Jesus was born.

As we drive on towards the Dead Sea we pass the Biblical places associated with Lazarus, John The Baptist, Jeremiah, the Good Samaritan and more, past Bedouin settlements which look like shanty towns and rounding a bend enter the plains of the Great Rift Valley, which stretches south for thousands of miles from Israel to Mozambique. In the distance we see Jericho, considered potentially the oldest continually inhabited settlement in the world, and pass through areas where the majority of Israel’s kibbutz establishments are based.

Vibey and exciting, Port Said restaurant has got tables outside full of hipsters and diners and inside by the bar and kitchen the walls are covered in vinyl.  I grab the last available seat at the bar and order a mojito, whilst perusing the menu. A sticky and dark ratatouille, with a hard boiled egg is the name of the game, alongside a bottle of beer; the night time heat demanding an ice cool drink to wash down the dish.

During the day, coach loads of tourists descend upon Caeserea to wander through its archaeological streets and gaze upon where its ancient marina used to be, extending a kilometre out to sea but now lost to the waves. The ruins, columns and mosaics of the taverns, baths, warehouses and palace all tell tales, alongside the vast hippodrome which once saw chariot races for a baying crowd. In fact, the only stone inscription that identifies Pontius Pilate as the governor of Judea at the time of Christ was found here, so it's a major stop on tours of the Holy Land... yet for the next two nights we have it to ourselves.

The manicured beaches, with breakers out to sea creating circular bays and perfect waves, are golden and inviting with clear blue water crashing into shore. Everywhere people are living an alfresco vida loca, jogging and playing volleyball, using the outdoor gyms, swimming and surfing or racing past on electric bikes and scooters down the well-thought out cycle lanes.