It always sets my teeth on edge when people refer to Israel as "the Holy Land," as if the last 61 years of statehood never happened. I realize the term can encompass parts of Egypt and the disputed West Bank, but it also papers over Israel's existence, not to mention the unholy wars and disasters comprising the region's history.

"I've had groups come here to walk in Jesus's footsteps with no idea that this is the Jewish state," said our B&B host in northern Israel who also is a registered tour guide. "One woman actually asked me why Jews would want to live in the Holy Land."

Of course, the terminology is a minor irritant compared to all the other things one can get exercised about in that part of the world. Still, it's possible to avoid obsessing about "the situation" when you spend two weeks driving around the country with the goal of experiencing history.

It is not possible, however, to avoid the phrase "Holy Land" plastered across tour buses on the road. At one point they were so pervasive, I thought I was in a theme park in Texas. Luckily, the Hebrew and Arabic lettering, Bedouin villages, nutso drivers and Hasidic men apparently transported from a 19th century Polish shtetl signaled otherwise.

The only other time I'd visited the country was in 1980. The peace treaty with Egypt was a year old and many were optimistic about peace between the Israelis and Palestinians. I knew a lot had changed since then -- for better and worse, as is true in most places -- and had been wanting to go back with my husband, who'd never been there. Our 21st wedding anniversary was the perfect opportunity.

Most of those we told were excited for us. A few were worried ("For god sake, be careful!") or disapproving ("You should go to Gaza.")

"It's a completely different country now," friends said when offering travel advice. "You won't recognize it."

They weren't kidding. And it wasn't just because my memory is failing.

Tel Aviv is dotted with skyscrapers, Haifa is crowned with huge five-star hotels, the Jerusalem hills are plastered with housing developments, many of them political hot potatoes. Eilat looks and feels like a mini-Las Vegas on the Red Sea.

Thanks to the 1994 peace treaty with Jordan, we were able to visit Petra, the ancient city carved into a hidden sandstone valley in the third century BC. And may I just say, wow.

We also spent three days in Safed, the nerve center of Jewish mysticism in the northern Galilee and a good jumping off point for the Golan Heights, hard up against the Syrian and Lebanese borders.

The Baha'i Gardens on Mount Carmel alone are worth the trip. So are the sea wall at Akko, the Ein Gedi Nature Reserve with idyllic pools at the base of its waterfalls, the mud packs at the Dead Sea, the Western Wall tunnels in Jerusalem (another hot potato but absolutely fascinating) and the spectacular Chagall windows at Hadassah Hospital.

Where the rhythm of life was once Middle Eastern -- shops closed for afternoon siestas -- the pace now is faster and more insistent.

The Dead Sea used to lap at the steps of health spas along its shores. Now it is literally dying. The water has receded by nearly a mile, and we had to be shuttled to its edge in passenger carts hauled by tractors. Signs warned of sink holes caused by the receding water table.

The ancient mountain-top fortress of Masada in the Negev used to be a raw excavation that made you feel like an archeologist. Now there's a museum and a recorded tour to lead you through the ruins, plus a gleaming visitor's center with restaurant and gift shop.

In 1980, merchants in the narrow, winding streets of Jerusalem's Old City sold authentic hand-made items like hammered pots of copper and brass, woven baskets and rugs. Now the stalls are crammed with cheap merchandise from China and India.

"It's the situation," one vendor told us, shaking his head. Said another, "It's the young people. They don't want to carry on the traditions."

Visitors in 1980 could walk right up to the Temple Mount and into the Dome of the Rock, take off their shoes at the door and approach the famous slab from which the prophet Muhammad is said to have ascended to heaven. Now only Muslims are permitted inside the mosque and current hours for entering the mount are restricted.

At one point, we were driving south toward the Negev on Highway 90, the most direct route. But the rented GPS kept directing us elsewhere.

"In 500 meters, turn right," said the voice we named Gertie.

"Why does she keep saying that?" I muttered, looking at the map. Then it hit me (duh). Gertie was steering us around the West Bank instead of through it. I turned her off and we kept going.

"Yes," said the woman at the GPS window when we returned the device a week later. "The West Bank does not exist in its programming. The company does not want to be responsible." For our safety, that is.

This should not have surprised me. The map I was using showed no West Bank at all, but rather Judea and Samaria. Geography in this part of the world is not a set of facts; it's a political hornet's nest.

Back home, I keep dreaming of the desert, the mountain pools and the honeycombed corridors inside the Jaffa Gate. We did so much, yet we barely scratched the surface. Israel may be the Holy Land to some. To me it is a maddening, mesmerizing place. I hope we will go back.

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