I've Seen Your Flag on the Marble Arch But Love is Not a Victory March

Septemeber 29, 2010

Only slightly more eventful than the day before, and that was just fine with me.

With no real guide book, and having already seen most of the major London sites over the course of the collective months I've spent here, I felt little specific urge to do anything in particular, so instead opting on going for a long walk -- across the border of Kensington Gardens, past the Marble Arch, down to Hyde Park Corner, along Picadilly (fancy people), up Bond Street (fancy people in suits), down Oxford Street (crowded, yuck), up to Regents Park (I saw a real English barrister with a wig), and then down Tottenham Court Road and Charing Cross Road, through Leicester Square to Trafalgar Square, where I met up with Natalia and her friend Grace to visit London's National Gallery where for a class 10 years ago I would visit weekly to learn about 17th and 18th century Dutch, Flemish and English art and where 5 years ago I visited with an Australian hostel mate and joked about the paintings about which I had little real insight to provide.

Along the way, I stopped for lunch at a place called Jet Lag, which featured street foods from around the world, with flags on the menu to designate the country of origin of these street foods. I regretfully passed over the Japanese options, and cautiously passed over the burrito, and chose an Indian curry served in a roll and an Asahi. I liked it, although it could have been spicier. The bar had the feel of an airport bar, but in a good way. The was a loud, older American speaking extremely loudly (even louder than I usually speak), but despite his volume I could not figure out whether he was actually making keen observations on the role of religion in the modern world, or just spouting nonsense. I read through the middle section of Amsterdam, which was getting better and better.

After the museum, the three of us had a snack at Pret a Manger, one of my favorite fast food spots from my study abroad period -- cheap and reasonably good prepackaged sandwiches. I ate a poppyseed pretzel this time, and it had started raining outside.

Tube back to the flat, where Natalia's cousin Mary and friend Catherine were waiting. Chit chatted with them and Joe and later Remy, Natalia made dinner, which I didn't eat until much later.

I finished Amsterdam and at the suggestion of both family and a coworker started Leon Uris' Exodus, which I am told has something to do with the establishment of the state of Israel.

Natalia would be off for Spain the next day, so we each thanked the other for being a great travel companion.

Leonard Cohen -- Hallelujah

I Took Her To a Supermarket, I Don't Know Why But I Had to Start it Somewhere

September 28, 2010

Finally, after a week of action packed days of Israel, here is a day that shall be very easy to write about: On Monday I hardly left the Notting Hill London flat, only twice I think, and both times to go to the Tesco supermarket to buy food.

I spent approximately the whole day on the computer, finally responding to emails that had been sitting in my box for days, updating 4 very busy touristy days in Israel, even reading Pitchfork and listening to the new Sufjian Stevens and Corin Tucker albums on npr.com.

Daylight came and went, and I was fortunate enough to have dinner made for me by Natalia and Joe and their roommate Remy (the doctor). In fact, we had two dinners -- the first being Remy's pasta and sauce and the second being Joe's lamb stew. With some red wine and Israeli arak, of course. Their friend Catherine visited too. We had a lively conversation recounting the Israel trip.

At some point in the evening Joe and Natalia watched the Princess Bride of their large projection screen. I watched about a third of it with them.

Pulp -- Common People

'Cos Everybody Hates a Tourist

September 27, 2010

Blech, really didn't feel like leaving Israel, as I truly did enjoy the place. Crazy large food servings, prices not too outrageous, great beach, some very friendly secular people, weird cultural encounters (West Bank). The weather was hotter and humider than I would have liked, but I could have learned to find even lighter and more breathable clothing to wear. Maybe I'll go back one day.

After breakfast at the falafel place near the hostel we sat on the beach for about an hour and a half. I only spent maybe 20 minutes in the water, bobbing up and down, watching the bags sitting on the beach, feeling sorry about leaving. Otherwise, I started reading Ian McKewan's Amsterdam, as I had just finished Freedom the night before.

The cab driver to the airport was wearing a large white yarmulke, was missing a few teeth, and was excited to make chit chat.

And the airport was a pain in the neck:

1) Lots of questions again about my bar mitzvah and hebrew school and what temple I attended and why am I in Israel and why now and do I have any family in Israel and did anyone give me anything to take on the plane.

2) And waiting through the passport check line (no signs identifying lines for citizens and foreigners) and being informed when I reached the end that I was in the citizen lane and would have to switch.

3) And waiting forever behind maybe 2 people as I waited in line to purchase arak at the duty free.

Watched parts of the 2010 version of the Karate Kid, which despite semi-positive reviews, I thought was very, very bad. Then again, I watched it without the sound (I was listening to music) and the only dialogue I got was the Chinese dialogue, which was featured in subtitles.

I ate the chicken. With hummus.

And arrived at Natalia and Joe's place in Notting Hill at something like 10:00 p.m., pretty tired. Ate some very good tasting grilled lamb, a little bit of red wine, and went to sleep on the same bed on which I slept almost 3 months ago.

Pulp -- Common People

And the Trees Are Burning in Your Promised Land

September 26, 2010

An 11:00 a.m. wake up time following a 5:00 a.m. bedtime isn't too embarassing, right? Especially if it means waking up feeling remarkably refreshed, albeit slightly disturbed by the bizarre/retarded conversation going on in the dorm room between a very tanned and tattooed Dutch Jew (who actually ended up being a much more complex, and...better character than he had seemed at first) and a slightly deaf Jewish U.S. military veteran from Brooklyn about drinking beer in the morning.

We had breakfast at a place that I think was called Sheinkin 10, but I can't find the link for it. Our yoga-outfitted waitress was extremely cold, and the iced coffee was full of cream and sugar, but my grilled bagel filled with tuna and cheese was delicious and huge.

We returned to our favorite spot, the Tel-Aviv bus station for our last day trip, this time to Haifa. Because of our late start (we caught a 2:30 p.m. bus) it would be a short day trip, but we had been recommended to visit Haifa by so many people (and our tour book described it as the prettiest city in Israel) and figured our time was better spent on a short trip than sitting at the beach in Tel-Aviv. Running to catch the bus, I spilled half of the cup of espresso I was carrying all over my hand and on the ticket. The highlight of the bus journey was the Israeli soldier couple sitting in front of us who made out the entire hour and a half bus ride. Watching strangers make out is funny enough, but when both are in uniform, and in the middle of the day, it was even funnier.

Haifa itself?

1. A typically confused attempt to find the bus to the Bahai Gardens, which I had been told by many folks was very beautiful.

2. The Bahai Gardens closed 5 minutes after we arrived, but we were told that we wouldn't have been permitted to visit more than a small portion without a guided tour anyway. They consisted of a series of terraced lawns going up Mt. Carmel that I think looked pretty good. I would have liked to have had the opportunity to run to the top though. Despite my religion major in college, I did not learn then, nor since, what the Bahai religion is all about.

3. An approximately half hour walk to the top of Mt. Carmel to the Stella Maris Carmelite Monestery and the chapel built above the cave where the prophet Elijah supposedly lived and died (according to the Hebrew Bible, he never actually died, but rather ascended in a whirlwind, making him the only other person besides Jesus to never really die). The view of Haifa and its beaches from the top of the monestery was impressive.

4. At the top we met a terrific Australian from Perth in the middle of a 6 month travel holiday before returning home and taking certain certification tests for his profession, which seemed to involve medical blood tests. Had been all over the middle east, as well as Africa, and was soon to visit Europe.

5. Dinner in the German Colony. Without even placing an order, we were served with about 9 different plates of food -- hummus, tahini, taboule, pita, eggplant salad, something gross with a lot of mayo, pickles, olives -- which would cost something like 10 bucks each if we didn't order an entree. Which we did not do.

6. Bus ride back listened to music on the iPod, and chatted over it, probably annoying other busriders.

The Israelis from the night before had invited us to a party this night (Sunday) in the Yaffo neighborhood, which we intended to attend. Although when we tried to buy a bottle of wine at around 11:15 pm, we were told that it was prohibited to sell alcohol after 11:00 p.m. and were refused. However, Israel had taught two important lessons for which our friends had provided no warnings:1) if one person says something is not allowed, another person may be much more lenient and 2) it is ALWAYS better to provide no information unless asked. We tried another liquor store, maybe 15 minutes later, did not mention the 11:00 p.m. rule, and were very promptly sold a bottle of wine. Not only this, but the guy tried to sell us a whipped cream canister.

The "party" was more of a gathering, Mikey, Asaf, Noa from the night before, another Noa, two guys whose names I can't remember and Boaz. There was a wall calendar for a company I could not identify where each month featured an American Apparel model looking Israeli girl. We drank Goldstars and arak at the apartment and then the party migrated to a nearby bar where we were joined by even more of their friends, drank more Goldstars, more shots of arak and ate herring, corn chips and salsa (inappropriately called "nachos") and pickled radishes. This night was slightly less exciting than the night before, but I still enjoyed the crowd. Dogs were running around the outdoor table at which we were sitting.

Leonard Cohen -- Diamonds in the Mine

I've Seen Old Israel's Arid Plain -- It's Magnificent, But So Is Maine

September 25, 2010

I persuaded Natalia that we should take the suggestion of several Tel-Avivites to have breakfast at Benedict, renowned as a great "breakfast place", serving just breakfast 24 hours a day. More than any other restaurant in Tel-Aviv, it reminded me of the United States, and in a good way. First, the menu was unambiguously not kosher, bacon and ham in clear view on the menu. The staff was warm and friendly, and the waiters who served us at the bar were jokey. The menu itself had the humorous feel of an American menu in a hipstery restaurant in a newly gentrified neighborhood (and the Hamburger Factory in Reykjavik). And the food was good. Dark coffee, eggs benedict (with lox instead of ham) on brioche bread, many extra glasses of tap water. And the people we watched looked more like American Jews than many of the folks we've seen in Israel.

From Benedict, which was located near the top of the map provided by the hostel, we walked to the new port, which depending on the person asked, is either a beautiful, fun place full of great bars and restaurants, or is cheesy and avoidable. Since we were there during the day, rather than at night, I'm not sure we got the full flavor of the area, but I was fine with this -- it was a pleasant walk along the boardwalk, had a good chat about Proust and David Foster Wallace, and stopped for a refreshing Coke.

Then we went to the beach for a bit, the beach just a 2 minute walk from the hostel. The water was warm, so warm that even I felt comfortable, but I'm not that strong of a swimmer so I got out soonish to read on the beach. The lifeguard screamed at the beach on a loudspeaker almost throughout: "YELADIM!!!! Blah Blah Blah Blah!" Every time he yelled, I assumed it was at me, even though I couldn't possibly have been violating any Tel-Aviv beach rule. But to be clear, the beach was a highlight, even with the screaming lifeguard.

By the time we walked to old city Yaffa (the oldest continuously operating port in the world) the sun was setting over the water. The old portion of Yaffa had a similar flavor to Old Jerusalem at night, but absent the orthodox Jews. Instead it was mostly populated by jewelry and art stores. But there were pretty palm trees, and all of it was made of stone. We found a free art gallery and looked at photographs by what I can only assume were Israeli photographers -- good stuff! And then got a drink or two at a cafe on the harbor.

When I asked my friend Lisa K to tell me where the hipsters in Tel-Aviv lived, she recommended the Florentin neighborhood, which turned out to be accurate enough. Like the rest of Tel-Aviv, it was dirty, slightly smelly, but we found a place Florentin 10 that we very much liked -- cool crowd, huge servings (I had chicken fingers for the first time in forever), great outdoor place to sit.

We then migrated to Hoodna, a mostly outdoor bar, with no apparent walls. People milled about in the street drinking Gold Star beers (we were drinking whiskies) and across the street, hip Israelis were making paintings. In one of the semi-open building, some sort of experimental live music performance was taking place. Natalia (and then I) struck up conversation with two friendly looking Israeli guys leaning up against a car, Mikey and Asaf. We soon learned that they were the founders and owners of Ierous, a company that makes arak, an Israeli anise based liquor. These guys were a very lucky find. They invited us to another bar in Florentin called The Chaser, run by some of their friends, and we we were introduced to more of their friends. Unlike the religious types we encountered in Jerusalem, these guys were all extremely secular, and had many insightful things to say about politics, which I will not repeat her. The bar music was terrific: LCD Soundsystem, Vampire Weekend, Robyn, the Knife, Hot Chip...It was a late night, but super worth it. Got to meet some authentic Tel-Aviv types.

Jonathan Richman -- New England

Silent Eyes Watching Jerusalem, Make Her Bed of Stones

September 24, 2010

See, now I'm 4 days behind on this, and most surely I'll be leaving out the many details of the last few days that I've forgotten. On a slightly related note, this feeling of behind several days behind on the blog, as well as very behind on my email (due to expensive internet prices at the hostel, lack of free time, and my blackberry not really working in Israel -- it is working now that I am in London again) reminds me somewhat of the feeling of being back at work, of the list of things "to do" creeping up very quickly on me. Now, in addition to blog, email, I also have to catch up on unpaid bills, and figuring out what the heck I'm going to do between now and October 13 when I leave for Iceland. Am thinking of renting a car and driving up around Scotland, and if any of the 3 or so people who read this have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Okay, back to the story.

Friday morning, last day in the Little House in Baka in Jerusalem. I forced down breakfast yet again (theme of Israel -- now that I am finally confronted with large sized portions, my reduced appetite has become a real liability; I see huge portions of delicious food in front of me that I can hardly bring myself to eat!)

The next step was returning the car to Avis, which should be a one liner here, simple, right? But no, the place is packed, once again with Orthodox Jews. Even though it is only 10 in the morning, it is hot, and I'm sweating. And I remember we have to refill the car with gas, which ends up costing about 60 dollars (this for a tiny car). We consider how much more convenient it would be to drive the car to Tel-Aviv, and drop it off there, thus avoiding the bus as well as facilitating any last minute touristy stuff in Jerusalem. We discover that even though we would not be charged extra for this, this plan will not work because:

1) The Avis in Jerusalem closes at 1:00 p.m. because of Shabbat, which last time I checked starts at sundown and

2) The Avis in Tel-Aviv closes at 2:00 p.m., also because of Shabbat.

3) Meaning we would have to leave almost immediately to drop off the car and thus forgo anymore touristy stuff in Jerusalem.

I found this incredibly frustrating, but quickly accepting that this is just part of travelling in Israel -- being inconvenienced by Shabbat.

There was a group of Germans and an American of Swiss/Dutch background at the Avis who had trouble figuring out Natalia's accent.

We walked to the Israel Museum, the largest collection of ancient Israeli artifacts in the world. The walk from the Avis (because we had to return the car) was up steep hills in the sun, and my body melted, the Orthodox guys with black suits and beards and hats carrying lulavs seeming completely undisturbed by the heat. The Israel Museum would close at 2:00 p.m. because of Shabbat, which starts at sundown, so we had to hustle. The ticket line was long, and I was one of few guys not wearing a yarmulke. A guy behind me in line wearing a yarmulke laughed hilariously while watching a woman clumsily attempt to push a baby stroller through a revolving door. The security was relatively lax. I was asked:

"Do you have a weapon?"

"No!"

"Do you have a gun?"

"No!"

"A knife??"

"No!"

"Then go ahead!"

The museum was excellent, but I need not bore you with the details of its contents. We focused on the section containing artifacts from the Holy Land starting from prehistoric times through about the Ottoman Empire. Really great stuff, not just from the Hebrews (which was cool too) but also the Canaanites they replaces, the Phoenicians, the Philistines, and the Assyrians. Lunch was at the museum cafe (pasta again). I attempted to sit down at a table at a cafe next door to the one at which we had ordered and asked the waiter if this was okay: "it is very not okay! This is a meat restaurant and that is a milk restaurant!"

Across the street was the Knesset. We didn't go in, but we looked at it. It does look like a fortress.

While intending to walk to the bus station (about half an hour away), we were approached by a very aggressive cab driver offering to drive us there. Given the heat, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded but I talked down the price from 40 shekels to 35 shekels. Once in the cab, he aggressively attempted to convince us to take a cab all the way to Tel-Aviv for 300 shekels (about 80 bucks). Why on earth would we do this, when the bus cost only 35 for the two of us?

The small bus we rode back to Tel-Aviv was different from the large bus we took there, and initially a bit more expensive (60 for the two of us). Throughout the ride, however, this Indian guy screamed at the driver, for reasons we could not exactly understand, but seeming to do with the price. At the end of the ride, the driver refunded everybody enough so that the price was only 22 shekels each.

I had not taken a close look at the area around the Tel-Aviv bus station when we had first arrived there a few days before. This time I noticed that the area looked quite different from the rest of Tel-Aviv. Not only was it even dirtier, everybody was either African, Thai or Filipino.

So what, it's now Friday at around 5 p.m. and we have plenty of time before any sort of evening plans. I spent some quality time on the internet (the last time until now), and then we went on a walk north up the Tel Aviv beach. There we so many runners, that Natalia was inspired to go on a run herself, so we walked back to the hostel, she went running for about an hour and I read Freedom on the balcony of the dorm room.

The plan was to eat at Manta Ray, a fish restaurant recommended by my friend, as well as the hostel, located on Alma Beach near Yaffa old city, but of course, it could not be found. The cab drivers hadn't heard of it. No one had any idea which beach we were on, or where Alma Beach was. When I called the restaurant, she said I couldn't miss it, since it was the only restaurant on the beach. This was not true, so we ended up at another restaurant, the name I can't remember, but which was quite good. Some not so expensive but very good wine from the Golan Heights, a salad appetizer with pickles, olives, garlic bread, Challah, lettuce, and a whole fish and veal sausages for entree. And right on the beach.

While initially ambitious about a night out in Tel-Aviv, after dinner we were kind of tired and returned to the hostel, to find this really obnoxious guy (Jewish, from Orange County) I had met in the afternoon fighting with a young German girl about feminism. Of course, he was portraying it as a threat to mankind, and an attempt to strip men off all rights, which I attempted to counter, although I don't think I got anywhere. He later shifted from misogynistic to racist, and I won't get into that aspect of his rant. We did meet an Australian guy though, right around this time, who argued alongside us, who had done some amazing traveling around the middle east, including to Iran I think. First of two extremely fascinating Australians we would meet in Israel.

Paul Simon -- Silent Eyes

O little town of Bethlehem, How Still We See Thee Lie

September 23, 2010

This was a hectic and busy day and we covered much territory. Having a rental car made life infinitely easier.

We returned to the Old City, primarily for the purpose of visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the supposed location of the death of our Lord the Jesus Christ. It seemed wiser to attempt to visit non-Jewish sites, given that Sukkhot had rendered much of the city, especially the Jewish population, closed.

We parked near the Western Wall, and walked again through the shops. It appears that my previous observation that all of the visitors to Jerusalem are extremely religious Jews was somewhat inaccurate. Yesterday we saw all types of visitors, Christians, non-religious Jews, etc., which I suppose was somewhat comforting.

We walked along the Via Dolorosa (Jesus' supposed path to his death, although there isn't much historical support for its mapped location), and stopped for a moment at a convent memorializing the location of his flagellation. We then spent about 20-25 minutes lost in the city, asking for directions, most of which were not helpful (surprise -- NO ONE GIVES GOOD DIRECTIONS HERE!), saw Arab children running around and attempted to avoid the sun. I got hungry, so we stopped for falafel sandwiches and diet coke (both of which I can't seem to get enough of).

[EDIT, October 3, 2010: I forgot to mention this when I first drafted this. After walking around the Via Dolorosa, we stopped again at the Western Wall, once again dividing up by gender, as it would somehow offend the male portion of the Western Wall to have a woman present, and presumably the converse is true for the women's portion. Both portions are more or less identical, except the men's side has access to a cave that allows access to even MORE of the Western Wall. I walked into this cave, and a praying guy with a beard stopped me and told me that there was a mitzvah I had to do for Sukkhot. He directed me to another guy with a beard, standing at a lectern, who unlike the Lithuanian who guided me in wrapping tefillin, looked at me suspiciously. He asked where I was from ("U.S.A.") and whether I was Jewish ("Yes") and his eyes suddenly lit up. He handed me the etrog and the lulav, and the other leaves that form that bundle that Jews wave around during Sukkhot, and guided me in prayer and the waving around of this bundle. I probably hadn't done that since Hebrew school.]

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre was, to me, different from most of the churches I have visited on this trip in that most of the people there were extremely psyched about the holiness of the site, kissing relics, lighting candles, praying. Priests with long beards, grim looking nuns, people waiting in long lines to get close to particular items which we were not able to identify. Incense smoke was everywhere, so we enjoyed that strong "church smell", which I do like. It was dark, and very, very old feeling -- I think it was built in the 4th century. The people watching was truly excellent, I must say. Unfortunately, our discreetly taken photographs of praying Christians are all on my non-Blackberry camera so will not be shared quite yet. We leaned against a wall to avoid the sun, and agreed that while we would have liked to take the walk along the city walls, the estimated 3 hours were longer than we had alotted, and that our time would be better spent visiting the old city of Bethlehem (It was not until this trip that I realized that Bethlehem was actually "Beit Lechem" (בֵּית לֶחֶם‎) or "City of Bread" -- I noticed this when I read the Hebrew letters for the first time), the birthplace of Jesus.

Thus, we saw both Jesus' supposed birthplace and deathplace all within one day.

We followed the city signs to Bethlehem (our map was useless) and passed through the fairly lax checkpoint into the Palestinian Authority (signs stating that Israeli citizens would not be permitted across). Much like crossing the border from San Isidro to Tijuana, the city terrain changed more or less dramatically immediately. However, observation: While the West Bank is of markedly lower economic status than Jerusalem, it was by no means what I would call a hellhole, it was at worst, kind of "run down" and "really crowded," and definitely not "very nice".

The main tourist spot for American tourists is the Church of the Nativity, one of the oldest continuously operating churchs in the world (present structure built in 565), and above the site where Jesus is claimed to have been born. We got most definitely lost driving around Bethlehem trying to find it. We'd find a sign pointing to the church, but then approach yet another junction with no guiding sign. We drove all over town, past poor children running around begging for money, women dressed in relatively attractive hijabs (although some were dressed in a more or less western style), and men mostly in t-shirts and jeans (although some had the white scarf on the head with a band wrapped around), a surprising number of English language signs. Bethlehem is a hilly city, so again, I was glad to be in a car as we went up and down, darting around aggressive taxis and buses, as well as the honking horns of private citizens. All and all a wild experience.

But we found the church, but not before walking to a small grotto built during the crusades, where we found a crowd of (Russians?) praying to an icon of sorts. Outside, we asked for directions from a Spanish tour group, who were indeed helpful.

We darted past tour guides attempting to offer us their (unnecessary and not free services), and finally made it into the church, through the tiny, tiny door (5 feet tall maybe?) opening into the old, colonnaded nave, a long line of Christian tourists waiting in line for (what appeared to be) communion. The ceiling was wooded, and the floor stone, although a few spots of the floor opened to the mosaiced design that must have once covered it in past (Byzantine?) days. The line to visit the actual supposed birthplace was long, but we were informed by a security guard that because we were only 2, we could bypass it. Which we did, and walked the steps down to the level beneath the altar with the marked holy spots. We took some pictures of other tourists (monks, priests, hokey white bread American types, Latin American Catholics) getting super excited about being there. Which I suppose made me excited too, vicariously, or something like that.

After emerging from below, and exiting the church (a very friendly Spanish speaking lady asked me to take a photograph of her in the tiny door, which I gladly did), we walked through the Bethlehem square to a short row of falafal and kebab shops, one of which served us both chicken shwarma sandwiches wrapped in that tortilla type thing (for which I do not know the word), and filled with cucumber, hot sauce, tahini, etc. One of the best of this type of sandwhich I've ever had.

Then walked to the Bethlehem square and people watched for about 20 minutes. Watched little Palestinian children playing, holding each other's hands, young men in jeans trying to look cool, girls in hijabs (one with a full burka!). I noticed a priest and a monk attempting to take pictures of themselves together in front of the sites using the Myspace Photo technique of extending one's camera arm and offered to take a picture of them, both very jolly guys, who turned out to be from Serbia. In fact, I'll observe that the Christian tourists all seemed very happy to be there. There was no one that I was able to identify as a Jew.

We walked up what appeared to be a shopping street, built onto a hill, Palestinian men gawking, and the women ignoring us, children and old men in shops attempting to lure us into purchasing scarves or other trinkets. I would have taken pictures of it all, but it seemed potentially inappropriate. We walked down a different street, back to the main square and got back in the car.

Getting back to Jerusalem was slightly more difficult than getting to Bethlehem had been, mostly due to poor signage, and the very, very useless advice given to us by the folks we asked along the way. Even worse was when we finally arrived, relieved at an Israeli checkpoint, happy to finally be back and were told that because we were not Israeli citizens, could not use this checkpoint and would have to return to the Palestinian Authority and use another checkpoint. Also, the guy who told us this didn't know the directions to this other checkpoint. Despite his lack of helpfulness, we found it on our own, were waved through without any inspection and followed signs back to our hotel. In summary (in case I haven't made it clear -- I am afraid sometimes that when I explain the difficulties travel involves, I'm not making clear enough how rewarding these activities all are), the trip to Bethlehem was amazing, a window into some very different culture, met some very friendly people, ate great food, great opportunity to compare culture with Jerusalem, and the Nativity Church was pretty cool itself, even if the historical basis for its location is most likely (in my opinion) bogus. It was built in the 6th century anyway, so I'm not complaining!

After this long day, we opted against going out again in Jerusalem and ate dinner at Polly, the restaurant attached to the Little House in Bakah hotel. Although Sukkhot was technically over, we were seated in the outdoor Sukkah (I don't know if I've ever had dinner in one before). I was the only guy there not wearing a yarmulke. I had a pretty good, although not amazing spaghetti arrabiata, with a pretty good, although not amazing Gold Star beer (Israeli). Dinner was this pear and ice cream thing. This was followed by a drink at the Polly bar, where we conversed with the owner, a very friendly bald Jerusalemite, with 4 kids. He explained that the restaurant was a milk restaurant because it would be too much effort to have two kitchens, and that he though cats were like squirrels.

Sarah Mclachlan -- O Little Town of Bethlehem

You'd Still Enjoy it With Your Foot on Masada

September 22, 2010

Not to keep restating this, but this was a remarkable day, and even though completed less than 24 hours ago, I am having trouble remembering all of the mention-worthy details of it. To summarize, we visited Masada, the Dead Sea and an amazing Arab restaurant.

Breakfast: Due only to my discipline and persistence, we woke up at 8:00 a.m., probably earlier than I have in many weeks. This was extremely important due to the number of activities we had lined up for the day, and accounting for all of the potential problems we would potentially face. Not only did we wake up reasonably on time, we managed to catch the hotel breakfast, while not amazing, was by far the best "included" breakfast I've had on this trip (and most definitely milchigdecha (sp?)) and included scrambled eggs, various cheeses, olives, freshish bread, coffee and fresh fruit.

Car Rental: Our hotel had given us a voucher for Hertz, telling us that a reservation would not be necessary (I had making reservations for car rental). We were incredibly efficient finding the rental car area, which was located near the King David Hotel. When I showed up at the counter, somewhat damp from walking, the girl told us that no cars were available, so much so that if we had a car she would take it from us. Just as I did in Avignon, I walked next door, this time to Avis, where we encountered a true circus of angry Orthodox Jews. Men standing dressed in black, with beards and hats, reading from prayer books while picking up/dropping off their cars, screaming at the people working at the desk. We prodded one guy who had been screaming at the employees to tell us where he was from originally, which was Toronto, but like the girls from Olympia, he almost seemed ashamed of this, much rather wishing to identify as either an Israeli or a Jew. I was struck by his somewhat smug attitude and dismissive attitude as to our proposed plan to visit Bethlehem in the Palestinian Territories because, of course, he's a Jew! The good news was that we got our car, a small, very easy to drive Nissan, for an amazing price far below that which I paid in Finland, Avignon, and long ago in Iceland.

The Drive to the Dead Sea/Masada: Was incredible. While the desert region on the way to the Dead Sea was particularly scenic, the roads were well maintained and we entertained ourselves listening to the mostly Arabic music on the radio (no idea what any of it meant), and once reaching the Dead Sea the cliffs alongside were very pretty. But as I had been warned, Israeli drivers are CRAZY! Super fast, super aggressive, never pleased to just drive at 10-20 above the speed limit, stacking up behind me in an effort to pas

s. We found both locations with relative ease.

The Camel Ride: While driving to the Dead Sea, we noticed a camel sitting on the side of the road and stopped to take a picture. Or rather, Natalia stopped to take a picture. When I noticed that she had been gone for a while, I looked back to see that she was riding the camel being guided by a young Palestinian

guy (later revealed to be from Jericho (we were nearby)). He then invited me to get on as well, which I did. As scared as I am of horses, I think I may be even more scared of camels, especially the part where they lean to get up or sit down. We walked around in circles for a bit, then got off. I thought it would be free, but he ended up charging us 100 shekels. BOOOO!!!!

Masada: We drove up a hill, parked in the free parking (whoo hoo!!!!!) and walked into the air conditioned Masada center. Masada is an ancient Roman fortress within which the Zealot Jews of the first century were besieged, and upon realizing that all was lost, committed collective suicide. It is also considered a symbol of Jewish resistance. I thought it was a pretty amazing/famous historical site, with first class views of the Dead Sea and the surrounding desert. After waiting through an embarrassingly slow line (behind a Catholic monk no less!), we got to the counter and eagerly asked for two "hiking" tickets -- that is, we wanted to hike up the 45 minute, 350 meter altitude gain, trail up to Masada, both being the semi-competitive types we are. The lady at the desk refused, saying "uh....maybe it is too hot...." This seemed strange given that it was less hot than it had been in days, rather pleasant in fact, and we had been looking forward to the hike. But rules are rules, so we purchased the more expensive tickets that included a ride up with a Gondola. We boarded the Gondola (which admittedly provided an excellent view down) and watched other hikers who had somehow been permitted to climb up the path. What the hey! We semi got over this disappointment and arrived at the summit, which featured many old ruins, the old synagogue, the old mikvah, the commandant's residence, the store room, as well as some solid views. Up here we finally saw the more "varied" types of tourists that had been apparently missing from Jerusalem before -- Christian religious groups, secular but curious tourists, non-religious Jews, and of course Japanese with cameras. Heard a nice bit of Spanish too, which I always find comforting. We walked down the path, which was of course much easier.

The Dead Sea: The lowest point on earth (422 meters below sea level), one of the saltiest places on earth (8.6 times saltier than the ocean!), famous touristic spot. Instead of merely finding a beach and sitting upon it, we turned on the Ein Gedi Spa (which reminded me in many, many ways of the Blue Lagoon in Iceland).

1. Our first activity was the mud baths. We walked clumsily to a clearing centered around a large bucket full of dark grey/greenish mud, which other tourists were excitedly applying to their bodies, which we copied. Supposedly these muds have some beneficial value (like the silica at the Blue Lagoon) to one's skin, who knows, it felt good and we both looked quite silly (pictures on my camera, but not my camera phone so will not be posted). I felt slightly like I was in a minstrel show.

2. The second activity was the pool. It was an ordinary pool. We walked in, and walked out.

3. The third activity was the sulfur bath. These were located inside, within the locker rooms, so were separated by gender. I sat in the hot water bath with a fattish Russian guy who tried to speak to me in Hebrew. I have no idea if the sulfur actually does anything, but just sitting in hot water and not worrying about sweating felt heavenly. One can only sit in such hot water for so long before feeling lightheaded, so this was only a 10 minute activity.

4. The fourth activity was the Dead Sea itself. Because the sea has receded so dramatically as a result of salt mining (SERIOUSLY) it was a LONG walk along a road (in flip flops) to the beach. We also only had about 20 minutes to enjoy it, as the beach "closed" at 3:30 because of Sukkhot, a holiday which I have hardly ever acknowledged in the United States. But it was just as well. The water was much more noticeably salty that I would have suspected. I, who finds floating in water impossible, was able to easily float in the Dead Sea, and found the water to leave a pleasant slimy film on my skin. I liked the way the water felt on most of my body, except for any place where there existed even the smallest irritation -- a small spot on my foot burned due to a slight rubbing from my flip flops, my arm pit was on fire as I had scratched it within the last few hours, any contact with my eyes was unbearable. That being said, I enjoyed it. On the bus ride back to Ein Gedi, an Israeli/American (hard to tell) guy with a shaved chest was talking about how it was okay that Israel was stripping away the Dead Sea through mining because it needed the money. He commented that Israel didn't have diamond mining like some countries, and I observed that it had quite a bit of diamond trading which seemed to be doing very well, and that the countries with mining seem to almost always be in not so good shape. "Maybe that has something to do with the people there", he said.

The drive back to Jerusalem: Again, very pleasant, although the drivers are insane. Heard an English song by Medina, the Danish Lady Gaga, that I saw perform in Tivoli, on a Jordanian radio station. I think it was called "Addiction". The sun was setting as we approached the city. SO PRETTY!!!!!

Dinner: Given that the evening was Sukkhot and all of the Jewish restaurants would likely be closed, we asked the guy at the front desk if he could recommend an Arab restaurant. His suggestion was the Ambassador Hotel, which ended up being a good one. We drove there (I drove there) without a problem, and ordered an amazing mixed appetizer that was enough to make me nearly full -- plates of salad, tabouli, hummus, tahini, eggplant sauce, olives, goat cheese, pita, garlic bread, and a bottle of local wine (only 60 shekels and wow!) I can hardly remember my entree, which I was hardly able to eat -- various types of lamb, french fries, rice. We had a good conversation with two guys visiting on behalf of the European Commission, one Irish, one Canadian about the various places they had traveled, as well as policy surrounding incarceration of criminals. The Irish guy went upstairs since he was tired (older) and the Canadian guy bought us drinks on behalf of the EC (only one each). Lots of fun.

Vampire Weekend -- Horchata

There Will Be Feasting, and Dancing, In Jerusalem This Year

September 2, 2010

With my newfound "expertise" on Tel-Aviv, I attempted to take Natalia to a breakfast place recommended by my friend. Somewhere along Rothschild, we realized that we were completely lost, attempted to find another place recommended by a guy working at a coffee shack (Benedict?), couldn't find that, and gave up, settling for a spot (by now it was after noon) that was very satisfactory (food almost identical to my previous day's lunch), and in extremely large serving.

Again, it was oppressively hot, the people still good looking in their way, the trees still providing shade. But was this it? Was this all there was to Israel? Another very hot beach city with good food, and which stays open late? No.

After an exhausted attempt (it's hard to get stuff done in the heat) to rent a locker, fill it with what we wouldn't need for a few days, and extract what we would need for a few days, and then fill those items into two smaller bags, we left Hayarkon 48, got on a small van/bus (are these the Tel-Aviv city buses? What?) to the main bus station for our trip to JERUSALEM!!!!!!

The bus station had a 1970s looks to it, almost a sinister atmosphere, but lots of food shops that I was tempted to try. Israeli soldiers everywhere, stairs, and escalators too.

Another observation: People give really bad directions here! I can't believe how many times we have been told that something was "down the street" and it wasn't or "15 minutes away" and it wasn't, or #7 and it wasn't. Fortunately we had 15 minutes to find our bus terminal, and we needed every second of it.

And as soon as I sat down on the bus, I thought about the fact that it was a Jewish holiday (Sukhot), and of the bus bombings that seemed so regular in Israel during my childhood. I of course did not mention this to Natalia as I did not want to spook her (she would be sitting next to me for the entire hour long journey, and I preferred to deal with my anxiety over being the victim of terrorism alone), but after I saw the large number of buses coming out of the terminal, I realized that the odds of being on the bus that ended up getting bombed were so low as to be negligible. And I made this (positive) observation out loud.

The landscape between Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem was unremarkable. As I'll mention later, I DO think this to a remarkable country, for many reasons. But far from every inch of it is scenic, and much of the "countryside" is not even particularly attractive desert (when compared to parts of the Mojave, or the Arizona desert (wow!) for instance). But fine.

As we approached Jerusalem, we could already tell it would be very different from Tel-Aviv. Stone buildings along the hills, orthodox people EVERYWHERE (Shira (?) was right!). We took a taxi to our hotel, the Little House in Bakah, which ended up being a prize find by our mutual friend Ben (if you are reading this, Ben, good work on the suggestion!) While slightly away from the Old City, the Little House has nice, clean, rooms, not terribly overpriced, a friendly staff willing to offer suggestions and attempt to be helpful (not all advice was accurate though), real showers (wow!!!!!!!), and a little restaurant/bar next door. We planted our belongings, discussed plans with the guy at the front desk, and headed out by foot to the Jerusalem Old City (we were told it was 15 minutes away, and easy to walk to).

After walking about 5 minutes, we asked for directions from a guy in his 20s, looking to be in a big hurry. What direction to the Old City, we asked? Old City! That's 50 minutes away, you need to take a bus. Really? Yep! Are you Jewish? I am, she isn't. Well, no one's perfect (laughter). He directed us to a bus, which did take us, in fact, to a spot near the Old City, from which we walked (and stopped along the way for falafel sandwich and a shwarma sandwich and all the spicy salad that accompanies it) to the Jaffa Gate of the Old City.

The Old City is divided into four quarters, Jewish, Armenian, Christian, and Arab. Supposedly the Jewish one is the one we were supposed to spend the most time in, and we had been suggested to be wary of the Arab quarter. Our first impression upon entering the Jaffa Gate was that the old city was bustling with activity, shops selling menorah, synagogues, churches, signs directing to historic sites. And SO many orthodox people. We hardly saw anyone within the city walls that appeared to be even moderately secular. What's up with that?

We followed some Orthodox looking guys (and the signs) to the Western Wall, the last vestige of the second temple destroyed in 70 AD, and probably the holiest site in Judaism. Natalia and I were forced to visit the wall from different sides, separated by gender. Noticing a sign

that instructed all to wear appropriate head coverings, I grabbed a kipa

from the bin, and was immediately greeted by a bearded Lithuanian man in 19th century garb, asking me if I was Jewish, what is my Hebrew name, was I bar mitzvahed, have I ever wrapped tefilin (no!) To which he proceeded to have me recite Hebrew prayers after him (some vaguely familiar, some less so, I knew the Shema, but was surprised at how rusty I have become at the Ve

ahavta), while he wrapped a leather strap around my arm and another around my head, each attached to a small box containing several verses from the Torah. While I do not believe this had any spiritual meaning, it was truly something to participate in the ritual, and even more so to feel so included in something I don't understand, by someone I've never met. This, I suppose, is how recruitment works. Here is a picture of me in front of the wall. Don't I look so very Jewish? We stood around for a while and discreetly took pictures of people praying. Not to be cheesy, and really, I don't buy the mystical stuff, but it was a gorgeous place to me, and we were kind of happy just to be standing around there.

We spent the next hour or so exploring the Old City, narrow streets, lined with vendors selling menorahs, virgin Mary paraphernalia, food (we bought delicious backlava and other honeyed, oily middle eastern snacks), shawls, t-shirts with super patriotic slogans, t-shirts promoting Palestinian tourism, ordinary groceries, camera batteries. The Arab quarter was particularly striking -- women with heads covered everywhere, men speaking in Arabic, teenagers roughhousing. The whole area was great, actually. And we came to following conclusion: unlike many of the "old" places we have visited, the Old City of Jerusalem is not merely a museum for foreign tourists, populated by just vendors and guides, but rather a living city, where people actually live their lives.

We exited, walked through a mall area near the Jaffa Gate (boring! and so many children in traditional clothing!), and then walked to the German Colony where we had a few glasses of wine each, as well as an Israeli anise flavored liquor (like Pernod/Uozo, etc.), and split a bowl of pasta, recommended to us by our very charming Israeli waitress Noah who commented that we looked like "Ken and Barbie." I don't think either of us have ever been referred to in such a way, so very, very funny. Everybody in the restaurant was wearing a kipa.

Then we got a frozen yoghurt next door with WAY too many toppings (again, way too much food is Israel!)

We got slightly lost on the way back from the hotel, but found directions from two girls with American accents, one admitting only after prodding that she was from Olympia, Washington. Observation: Foreigners in Jerusalem are remarkably willing to shed their foreign identities and to merely self-identify as Israelis. I find this very strange. We have met several people from the United States or Canada, who seem to have no desire whatsoever to acknowledge that they are from these places.

Stopped for a coke at the bar/restaurant next door and talked to a guy sitting next to us that, based just on his appearance could have been a Jewish Silverlake hipster. Until he revealed that he keeps strictly kosher. Whaaaaaahhhhh?

Mountain Goats -- This Year

I'm Not Your Land of Canaan, Waiting For You Under the Sun

September 20, 2010

Natalia would arrive this evening at around 9:30 p.m., so this day was my chance to, as quickly and efficiently as I could, get my hands on Tel-Aviv, and get a vague sense of the lay of the land. In this task, I believe I succeeded.

Even though, as usual, after a restless night sleep, I did not wake up until after 10:00 a.m., thus missing breakfast. And emerged outside into painfully hot and humid weather. I walked down Allenby Road to an internet cafe, and from there called Verizon in hopes of getting my Blackberry to work without using "Roaming." In this I was entirely unsuccessful.

An observation: Tel-Aviv is a little dirtier, for lack of a better word, than I expected. That is, it almost has a bit of a third world feel to it (this may partially be due to the heat). There is a certain smell that comes up from the street, many of the buildings look old.

Another observation: I thought that Tel-Aviv was supposed to be a super modern, western city, as opposed to religious Jerusalem. I have since discovered that it is MUCH less religious than Jerusalem, but I was shocked at how many yarmulkeled men I saw walking down the street.

Another observation: A lot of old Jews.

Another observation: Strange to see poor/homeless Jews on the street begging for money.

Another observation: There are many attractive women on the streets of Tel-Aviv.

Another: The young men are strikingly cheesy.

I walked down Allenby until I reached what I believe to have been the Carmel Market. This Carmel Market was lined up along a covered alleyway, people selling fruit, nuts, pastries, cheap clothes, and begging for money. I didn't buy anything, but it was a "cultural experience" and I good chance to get out of the sun.

Upon emerging from the market, I was inspired to purchase a glass of fresh squeezed carrot juice from a vendor for approximately 2 dollars or maybe 2 dollars 50 cents. The same glass of carrot juice would have cost me about 6 dollars at my gym, and it would have been sold based on its aging reversing anti-oxidants (a word so overused and misunderstood that it sometimes deters me from purchase). The carrot juice was delicious, and I was almost tempted to follow up with a glass of pomegranate juice.

Another observation. In Tel-Aviv, I've had a good deal of juice, all of it fresh squeezed, and there has been no hoighty toighty, fancy talk about the fact that it is fresh squeezed. The fact that it really isn't that complicated to run a few oranges through a squeezer seems to be acknowledged here, and for this I was happy.

I spent about 10 minutes after that lost in a small neighborhood with narrow streets, mazelike, with little shade. I was glad to get out and find my way to Rothschild Street, one of the major avenues of Tel-Aviv. Immediately, I found an outdoor espresso shack, planted myself on a stool, and continued reading Freedom, while the vendor played the Sunset Rubdown from his speakers. A glass of sparkling water came for free. Very nice!

Rothschild Street was worth walking down once, although there didn't seem to be as much going on as I had expected. I was very much impressed by the thick, shady trees lining the street, making it bearable in the unbelievable heat. I saw runners, women with strollers, couples, etc., and I listened to my iPod now. I walked past a cafe where I saw an old women dressed in 1920s style with thick, dark lipstick on.

When I crossed Dizengoff Street, once called the Champs Elysees of Tel-Aviv, and which I understand according to Wikipedia has declined since the 1970s, I turned left, and walked for a long time again past shoe shops, jewelry shops, money changing places with signs in Russian, cafes, but none of the falafel stands I had been hoping for. I did find a place to eat (the name I cannot remember), and had an omelet, one of those chopped middle eastern salads, a bottle of beet/apple juice, grilled eggplant, two large pieces of bread with jam, tahini and a small bowl of olives, which leads to another observation: Serving sizes in Israel are HUGE and not ridiculously expensive. Crazy value. These serving sizes are bigger than anywhere I've seen in America besides the Cheesecake Factory (which are truly sickening).

At one point, I kicked a dog by mistake because I stopped looking at the ground for just a few seconds. I felt really, really bad about this, and shouted out an apology.

When I got to what I believed was north enough, I turned left and walked down the beach until I found a spot I found satisfactory. I paid the 12 shekels for a chair to sit in, and the 50 shekels for a mojito to drink, while sitting on a very pretty beach (the water turned out to be very warm), and reading Freedom. I also eavesdropped on a conversation between what seemed to be an absolutely slimey youngish American guy and an irritatingly empty American girl. They seemed to be aggressively flirting with each other (which normally I have no problem with), except there seemed to be nothing redeeming about each such that the other would desire to continue such flirtation.

I returned to the hostel, took a shower, washed the sand off (most of it), spent an hour at the computer, charged my blackberry (just in case I felt like incurring roaming charges), and got back on Allenby, and walked towards the Nana Cafe, recommended by my friend Jonathan. Because it was only about 6:30, it was fairly empty when I arrived, but I was kept company by the bartendress/waitress Shira (sp?), who recommended the lamb burger (EXCELLENT), a trappist beer (familiar, but good), and two glasses of Israeli wine (!!). She gave me some recommendations about Israel (there are many orthodox in Jerusalem, Beersheba is boring, I do not need to go to Eilat), her perceptions of America (Brooklyn is all Orthodox, right? Not all? Then mostly, right?). family history (parents from Morocco), opinions on traveling to cold locations (never!) I also discovered that I had never made the connection that "L'chaim" is not just something you say before you drink, but the Hebrew form of "cheers!" (I asked to say "cheers" in Hebrew, and felt foolish when I heard this word I already knew). Laster in the evening, I met the owner of the restaurant and his girlfriend, who told me about how he had used to live in Los Angeles, near Jerry's Famous Deli on Ventura, and about how he wasn't kosher back then (but is now).

I walked back to the hostel, and read for about half an hour while waiting for Natalia to arrive. Which she did, sometimes after 10:00. After confirming that the hostel was acceptable, we took a walk to the ocean, swam (water was warm!), and got falafel sandwich from the same guy I dealt with the night before. We thought about going out, but it was already 1:00 a.m., and we felt like getting a good start on the next day, which we kind of did.

Indigo Girls -- Land of Canaan

Tell the Folks Back Home This is the Promised Land Callin', And the Poor Boy's on the Line

September 19, 2010

Having absorbed years of stories about the thoroughness of Israeli airport security, last night I first experienced the tests required to board an El Al flight.

The day Sunday was much like the last few -- unremarkable, mostly geared towards relaxing, packing, listening to music, again listening to that Mark Ronson interview on CNN and a delicious lunch and coffee at the overpriced but always reliable Le Pain Quotidian.

But at 6:00 p.m. both R.I.L and J.I.L. grabbed their bags, said goodbye (temporarily in his case, probably permanently in mine) to his comfortable apartment in Zurich, and grabbed a tram and then train to the Zurich airport for our international flights, his to Moscow for work and mine to Tel-Aviv for pleasure.

Having arrived at the spectacularly efficient, architecturally uncluttered and oh-so-very-modern Swiss airport several hours early, I had time to purchase a box of Swiss chocolates (all the better to melt in the hot Israeli sun), and have a late lunch, early dinner in a pavillion type area under large windows. I was tempted to order what would likely be my last ham sandwich for a while, but instead opted on a round flatbread with cream cheese and lox. When the time came to depart for our respective gates, we waved farewell.

While in line atTerminal E for El Al (my chosen airline) I experienced the familiar dread of the loudspeaker asking for a particular passenger to report to some location or another (quietly hoping "please not me, please not me, please not me"), soon followed by the utterance of my name, my face turning to the right in horror to see the lady at the El Al desk identifying me, and calling me over. When I arrived, she quickly placated my worries, and reassured me that nothing was wrong, but would I be agreeable to changing seats so that a family of Orthodox/Chasidic Jews could sit together? "Of course!", and I collapsed in relief, no longer terrified that some buereaucratic mishap at the airline had not precluded my travels. Soon thereafter, a very friendly looking Orthodox/Chasidic teenage girl approached me and thanked me for allowing her family to sit together. Given my experience with the unfriendliness of those types, I was particularly charmed by her kindness, and assured her that it was no problem. But was somewhat confused as to why her father had not thanked me, rather sending his teenage daughter to speak to the virtual goy.

Ahead of me in line three men with charming, but direct look-you-in-the-eyes stares at separate desks stood questioning the guests ahead of me in line. I eagerly awaited my opportunity to prove that I, in fact, carried no illegal materials, harbored no terrorist sympathies, and was merely a friendly secular Jew, ready to experience the Holy Land for the first time. When my time came, my interlocutor began to ask me a series of questions: "Are you religious?" ("not really...but I've been Bar Mitzvahed!") "Have you been to Israel before?" "Why are you going?" ("to see the sights?") "Name me some places that are in Israel?" ("uh...the Wailing Wall? the Dead Sea?") He gave me some typical Jewish guilt about the fact that I had not yet visited the Holy Land at this time in my life, as well as that I had not celebrated Yom Kippur while in Zurich, also that I was not able to speak any Hebrew. He asked me how my passport had come to be so wrinkled, and apparently weather beaten. I was forced to admit (for the first of several times) that sometimes I keep it in my pocket, that I sweat profusely when I walk, and that it had thus become so profoundly warped. "They let you use this in America!?" ("Well, I never really USE my passport in America").

To my chagrin, he then stepped away and conferred with several other security individuals, and my stomach sank. What was wrong? Had I forgotten to put my middle initial on my flight reservation, thus conflicting with the name on my passport? Would I miss my flight? I was so scared. He came back, said that I should sit down, and that I would be called later for an inspection of my bag.

After no more than 2 or 3 pages of Jonathan Franzen's Freedom later, I was greeted by an older guy, with a white beard, who led me through a metal door into one of the interrogation rooms I had always feared, and with much warmth, asked me to remove all of the electronics and electric items from my bag. This of course included an ipod, my phone, my chargers (with their tangled cords and converters), my camera, and God knows what else it turned out that I was carrying. One of my favorite parts of any security check is when I, without being asked, start to remove my insulin pump, at which point the security person recoils in horror, potential guilt that they will be blamed for forcing me to compromise my health and safety, at which time I, previously on the defensive, assure them that, no, no, it is okay, I take it off all the time, I'm happy to do a thorough check, I'll take it off. After explaining that I am diabetic, the guy told me that he too, was diabetic (people in airport security seem always to be either diabetic or a close relative of one, no doubt in far worse condition than me, which at least in my warped mind, earns me a bit of additional sympathy). I asked him about his numbers, if he tests his blood sugar, and told him to keep up the good work. He brushed a cloth on all of the items in my bag (I assume to check for explosive materials), which he then inserted in a machine for inspection, and wished me well. Very nice guy, actually.

I got on the plane with no problem. And the flight was perfectly pleasant. Ate a delicious dinner of hummus (huge serving), chicken, some sort of grain, a cupcake, water, and some of the best airplane coffee I've ever had.

But I'd like to make a few short comments about the movie Letters to Juliet, the second half of which I watched. Amanda Siegried is not a bad actress, I think Ryan Philippe is usually rather good, and Vanessa Redgrave is, of course, legendary. But the badness of this movie made my head hurt. The implausibility not just of the overall plot, but each cliched conversation, the horrible dialogue. I understand that movies need to be somewhat predictable to be pleasant for the viewer, but this one went way too far. Really, he ends up confessing his love to her after she inexplicably runs up a balcony? Ugh! And having just been an American tourist in Italy (where the movie mostly takes places), I felt shame having occupied even remotely the same touristic space as these characters. Still...on at least 2 occasions I got teary eyed, by myself, on a plane, without a drop of alcohol in my system. What can I say...

I arrived in Tel-Aviv at about 12:40 a.m., with not a shekel to my name, a huge backpack (the books, cords, diabetic supplies and other immediately unnecessary items I had stored with my brother would need to be with me if I wanted to bring them to LA), a hunger in my belly for more food (even after two dinners) and worry that my hostel would be no good. I picked up some money at the ATM (so much of it spent already...), changed my 50 Euros to shekels, and emerged into the hot (I think "balmy" might be the right word, but I've never exactly figured out what it means) Israeli night, which shocked me after the cold nights of the last few weeks (the hotness reminded me of arriving at night in the airports of San Jose, Costa Rica and Bangkok, Thailand), grabbed a cab, and began fiddling with my blackberry, which I could not bring to work without "roaming," which I understand to be a very bad thing. I still have not solved this problem.

Hayarkon 48 Hostel seems pleasant enough, although the guests are indeed predominantly male. I also have some trouble in Israel distinguishing Israeli guys being really "buddy buddy" with each other or just being gay. I checked in, dropped off my bag in my very hot (thank Gosh I chose I room with a ceiling fan) and dark (it's funny how one of the first concerns people make of hostels is the possibility of them being noisy with lots of people interrupting their sleep -- in my experience the greatest problem is arriving home last to a room of sleeping strangers and trying to get undressed, brush one's teeth, check blood sugar, eat any necessary final items, and possibly climb to a top bunk, without making too much of a disturbance) room.

Still starving, I walked down the street to a very much open falafel stand (okay, I'm liking Tel-Aviv already -- most of the cities I've visited turn into ghost towns on weekday nights, especially after midnight -- it was probably 2 a.m. by now), with a very friendly proprietor who was very eager to make me a falafel sandwich, tell me that everything in it was "the best" (bringing back fond memories of the Palestinian proprietor of International Delights in Durham, NC) and explaining the different types of spicy salads offered to garnish the sandwich. And then testing me on the names of those foods. The sandwich was indeed, quite good.

I spent another half hour fiddling with my phone, very worried now that I would not be able to make phone calls while in Israel, finally gave up, and tried to go to sleep.

For reasons I cannot explain (I was tired and it was late), it took me at least half an hour to fall asleep, sometime possibly after 4:00 a.m.

Chuck Berry -- Promised Land

Battle For Straight Time

September 18, 2010

Once again, I spent almost the entire day at home. My brother went with me this time for Pain Quotidian, and despite my general self prohibition against drinking milk, ordered a latte.

Between lunch and dinner, we made a phone call or two, listened to some music, and surfed the web. We may have watched part of a CNN program on Mark Ronson.

For dinner, we met up with my brother's friend Matthew, at Ristorante Italia. Very good Italian food, had a plate of spaghetti worthy of Italy, and we shared a big plate of sliced meat, cheese and olives and an exceptionally good bottle of red wine. This was followed by a lively debate as to whether the American system of low wages combined with variable tips or the European system of increased food prices, higher wages but no required tip is better for ensuring the best interests of restaurants, servers and customers.

Matt was kind enough to drive us in his very nice car (I was stuffed into the very, very small back seat) to the town of Aurau, and a music club called Kiff to see the Halifax band Wintersleep. I had only heard the band's album once or twice, but had a good feeling about the performance, but my expectations were far exceeded. Sounding roughly like Built to Spill, Midlake and even vaguely like Sigur Ros, but with frequent time changes, and furious drumming, the show was extremely energetic, the playing tight and professional, and the setlist engaging. But how strange to be in this small town, far outside of Zurich, in a club whose interior reminded me much of my favorite Los Angeles venues, watching a Canadian band, surrounded by Swiss hipsters.

After the show, we walked around to the backstage to meet the band, and spoke to the keyboardist for a while about the tour. The most surprising piece of information we learned was that, despite the fairly complex time changes in the music, most of the band didn't really know what time signatures were being used, and simply learned "how the songs go."

Matt drove home, and my brother and I took the train back to Zurich. We went to a club called Zukunft, stood in the bar area for a while and then moved to the dance area, where the music was exceptionally good -- and I usually don't much enjoy that sort of music, so that says a lot.

Grabbed a doner kebab afterwards, and took a taxi home.

A.C. Newman -- Battle For Straight Time

You Had Best Stay At Home, Sir

September 17, 2010

I'm still surprised when I speak to people back home about my trip, they sometimes mention how I'm "wearing myself out" and how traveling is "exhausting." It is true, traveling can be very much exhausting -- my last trip was. Then, I walked about 5-10 miles a day, spent most of the rest of the time on my feet, was up most mornings at 7:30 a.m. ready to see the sights and was in bed most nights at midnight or 1 a.m. During that time, sometimes I would need to take naps of 1-3 hours to refresh myself.

But this trip? With the exception of a handful of days where I went hiking (relatively short hikes, no less), I've been taking things VERY easy. For instance, Friday -- following a day during which I really didn't do all that much, I spent the entire day in my brother's apartment until about 9 p.m. I did step out for about 45 minutes to get lunch at Le Pain Quotidien, but besides that I spent the entire day in, sleeping, reading a little, answering emails, researching Israel, finding a place to stay in Tel-Aviv, transcribing the suggestions I received into my notebook. Nothing too exhausting there.

After my brother returned home though, we did go out for Friday night. His friend picked us up downstairs, and we headed to Terrasse, a fancy bar not so far from the river, packed with well dressed and attractive people, sipping what were probably fancy drinks (my vodka tonic didn't taste very fancy). Really nice place, if I ever go back to Zurich, I wouldn't mind returning.

We then walked to Amber, a less fancy, but more "clubby" type of place, near the train station. Not exactly my scene (although I suppose this misleadingly implies that Terrasse was!) but a reasonably good time. Met a girl working there (not exactly sure what her role was -- seemed to be to look generally good, dance and socialize, but not too much with any one person) who had just spent a month living in West Hollywood, on Hayvenhurst no less!

My brother's friend and I ended up driving around until after 5, looking for two after hours places we were recommended. I think we found them, but they appeared to be closed by the time we got there.

Modern Lovers -- Dodge Veg-O-Matic

I Rode on the Back of Your Bike All the Way to Lake Geneva

September 16, 2010

Years ago, before I was born, my mother studied French for a semester in Lausanne, Switzerland. To me, "Lausanne" had only an abstract meaning. I couldn't exactly picture it, not compared to other cities, or in any other way, just a place I knew she had lived. I visited Lausanne for approximately 24 hours in order to find out what it is all about.

After a restless sleep in the youth hostel (for no reason other than my own restless mind -- strange nightmares woke me up), I enjoyed the included hostel breakfast (or what I could enjoy of it -- my blood sugar was high, so I just had ham, some water and some espresso), and got on a bus and then metro (I learned just now that Lausanne, at only 134,000 people, is the world's smallest city to have a rapid transit system, and a good one at that) to the train station. I dropped off my big bag in a train station locker, rearranging its contents so that I could stuff it tightly into one of the small lockers.

Lausanne is a city built steeply upon a hill rising from Lake Geneva, so I spent the next 20 minutes ascending a steep hill, passing jewelry stores, a Starbucks, and cafes (I stopped at one for a 6 dollar glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and to listen to several excellent songs played over the speakers, including Fever Ray's -- "When I Grow Up", my second or third Fever Ray spotting in a public place this trip).

Finally, I reached Lausanne's 12th Century Cathedral. I spent some time resting (the walk up was tiring, and my legs were tired from the previous many consecutive days of hiking), and staring at the stained glass windows. It was pretty, just like the other cathedrals, and the fact that an organist was playing during my visit improved the situation.

I then walked west about 25 minutes (stopping for a small ham sandwich) to the Collection de l'Art Brut, a museum established by the artist Jean Debuffet containing art work by inmates of psychological facilities, criminals, eccentrics, and other outsiders who had not received formal training. This art work included many extremely "busy" paintings, a huge mural with an identical female face repeatedly drawn throughout, "guns" made out of scapped materials, objects furiously wrapped in yarn (by a woman with Down's syndrome), faces sculpted out of broken plates, and a wall carved by a man that had been places in solitary confinement for a few months. I was cold, and there were many stairs, so I stopped for a while to rest, sitting on a bench, while a baby next to met sat on her mother's lap and tried desperately to form words, but only making screaming sounds.

I walked on to the Richelieu Institut, where my mother had studied French. I took the elevator to the third floor, and got a peak into the offices, but did not want to disturb the employees.

I walked to Riponne Plaza, and took the metro one stop to Bessieres, and climbed about 100 stairs to Avenue Caroline and had lunch at the Bleu Lezard. I couldn't really understand the menu, but I had a meet and vegetable dish with couscous. I was starving so it was delicious. I stayed there for about an hour to read.

I then took the metro to the Le Sallaz stop to see the apartment where my mom had lived in Lausanne. It was very much still there, atop a car repair shop. I was surprised at how far out of the city they had placed her.

Then, took the metro to the other end of the line at Ouchy, where Lausanne sits upon Lake Geneva. Tourists and locals sat in the harbor and walked out on the dock to enjoy the lake, which I found to be a better view than Lake Zurich. It was a little windy, so the lake's waves splashed up over the breaker, occasionally spraying those sitting by. This was relaxing, and I could have stayed for hours, but I wanted to catch a 5:20 p.m. train back to Zurich.

Which was jam packed with people. I hadn't been on such a busy train in Switzerland ever, I think. I finished the Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet, loved it. Was surprised to see Texel (the small island I visited in the Netherlands) mentioned on the second to last page.

Arriving in Zurich, I walked down Bahnhofstrasse, listening to John Lennon, and spent 20 minutes in the English language book store I had discovered last week, and picked up Jonathan Franzon's Freedom, and Ian McEwan's Amsterdam. Now I have a large book and a small book to read, depending on the occasion.

I walked across the river for a quick dinner -- a sausage yet again at the ever reliable Sternan Grill (6.50 for a sausage and bread was the most affordable dinner I could find, at least it tasted good), took the tram back to my brother's place, dropped off my bags, and returned to the train station to meet up with him.

We went to two bars in Zurich, the names of neither can I remember. I remarked that in Switzerland, the price of beer isn't exactly outrageous, but the price of food most definitely is.

Fiery Furnaces -- Even in the Rain

Edelweiss, Edelweiss, Every Morning You Greet Me

September 15, 2010

How many times have I announced my ambitious plan for some portion of my trip only to have such plan be foiled? I had planned on a 6 hour hike, including the semi-famous Trift guesthouse located up in the mountains, but his was not to be, partially my own fault, partially not. Instead I took a wonderful 4 hour hike, through slightly different, but still excellent territory.

First, the part that was my fault. I woke up at 10:00 a.m. Whoops.

Second, the part that was not my fault. The guide I received from the unhelpful lady at the information desk listed the hike I wanted on the map as #30. I followed the trail marked #30 on signposts along the hike for about 2 hours before I realized that the numbering on either the signs or the map had changed, and that I was somewhere completely other than where I had planned.

It is still unclear to me whether it was the hike that I did take, or the hike that I meant to take, that was called the Edelweissweg, but I did walk through some flowery scenery, the first hour being fairly steep up, and then the next hour leveling out somewhat. I passed by many super old wooden buildings, and I wonder exactly HOW old are they? I wouldn't be surprised if more than 100 years, based on the condition of the wood. The first half hour of the hike I felt alternately cold and hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, but afterwards I started feeling stronger, and more energetic, and this feeling continued through the end. For much of the second hour, this view of the Matterhorn (different side than the hike the previous day) was to my left:

And this was behind me:

I turned around at somewhere around 2200 meters (up from Zermatt's 1620 meters), put on Robyn's Body Talk Part I, and hiked back, the final hour on a detour that took me higher up, maybe another 50-100 meters through the mountains, where I ran into a family from Oklahoma, before heading down.

On the way down, I encountered several cows standing directly in the path, facing away from me. Not remembering whether cows kick, or get angry or stampede, I climbed out of the path, up some rocks to detour around them. I was somewhat scared.

When I arrived in Zermatt, exhausted, I got a big bottle of water refilled from a public fountain and ate a doner kebab (only 50 cents more expensive than the Big Mac and MUCH more delicious). On the walk back to the hostel I stuck my head inside the main church and caught a bit of the Zermatt Festival (live classical performances) and ran into both the New Zealander (coming back from a day of mountain biking) and the two Australians from the night before (coming back from snowboarding for the first time -- the first time either had seen snow).

I showered, found that the shampoo I had mistakenly left in the shower the day before was still there (yes!), packed up my bags and got on a train to Lausanne, via Visp.

I arrived at around 8:30 p.m., and it took me until around 9:00 p.m. to get to the Youth Hostel Lausanne, a hostel that I didn't love for the following reasons:

1. Far away! End of the bus line! 3.3 kilometers from city center!

2. Expensive! 44 dollars for a hostel, better be something special!

3. Lame crowd! Some of these hostels have a bustling fun atmosphere. This one, everybody just seemed boring.

But it had some pluses:

1. Free maps at reception! Super helpful, especially after my blackberry died.

2. The shower had a knob for the water. Didn't have to press a button every 15-30 seconds to keep it going.

3. Power plug in the room worked (not guaranteed in some places!)

4. Bus/metro card for free travel given at reception. Nice!

That night, I took a bus and then the metro (in the rain) to Cafe Romand, in the city center (been around since 1951), highly recommended. I walk in at 10:00 p.m. to a bustling room full of laughing happy people, eating and drinking, 2-3 very experienced waitresses running around to serve everyone. It took me a while before someone instructed me to seat myself. I was

handed a menu full of traditional items, from which I could hardly make a choice. I was tempted to order fondue, as it is so delicious, and I was after all in the French speaking region of Switzerland (for the first time on this trip no less!), but I remembered how sick large amounts of cheese makes me, so I refrained. Instead, I ordered brains in black butter sauce, with noodles on the side, as was recommended by Lonely Planet. It came in a super hot pan, the sauces and flavors coming together. It's funny how back home I think of foods like this as "fattening", but here on this trip, after losing weight, and walking around so much the last few days, I think of it as "high energy", carbs and fat! I think there was some egg in there too. It was washed down with a delicious half liter beer. By the time I left, at around 11:30 p.m., most of the room had cleared. I caught the metro, but was out just a little bit too late to catch the last bus home.

So I walked home in the rain. Again.

The Sound of Music -- Edelweiss

Oh Max Schmelling was a Formidable Foe/The Ambling Alp was Too at Least That's What I'm Told

September 14, 2010

After my examination of the guide handed to me by the lady in the tourist office, I decided that Wednesday's activity would consist of a lift to Schwarzsee Paradise (a small lake at 2583 meters), and then a hike up to the Hornlihutte (3260 meters), the hut/restaurant at the base of the Matterhorn where climbing trips to the summit commence. While I would not technically be able to say that I "climbed to the base of the Matterhorn from Zermatt", it was estimated as a 2 hour 20 minute trip up and about an hour and a half down. This seemed like a good enough start.

When I woke up, I was cold and tired, and felt unmotivated. I had gone out later than planned, slept less. I crawled out of bed, and made myself a peanut butter sandwich to give me energy for the day, and packed my back with snacks and my "Warm Clothes" (scarf, gloves, hat, jacket), and through on a long sleeve shirt over my new wool undershirt.

Thanks to my Swiss half-off pass, the lift to Schwarzsee Paradise only cost about 35 bucks (!). Once there, I remembered that I had not yet had any coffee for the day, and walked to the hotel there (there's some sort of "hotel" everywhere in the Alps, it seems) and bought a hot coffee. There was a clear view of the Matterhorn, even at this point.

As usual, the first few minutes of the hike were rough, as my muscles got used to the uphill, and as I removed layers of clothes. About 15 minutes up, I was drinking a Red Bull and a group of three German hikers made a comment to me in German about how "Red Bull Gives You Wings" (I caught the word "Flugel" in there), I explained that I didn't speak German, and thus began a 2.5 hour exercise in communication using very, very basic English (for instance, when one asked me what I do for work, the answers "lawyer" and "attorney" were completely uncomprehended, and of course I know about 5 words in German). These guys were great though. One (Hansy) offered me one of his poles (made hiking much easier), another (Patty) makes jokes about his affinity for Fidel Castro, as well as the Austrian governor of California (they loved it when I told them he is called the "Governator"), and the third (Tomas) made fun of the other two for being old (these guys were all between 15 and 35 years older than me). The scenery on the way up was beautiful, as expected: great views of 4000 + meter peaks, covered in snow, the town of Zermatt way below. The most challenging aspect was the portion of the train covered with frozen over ice -- we had to hold on tight to a rope attached to the mountain to avoid slipping off. The second most challenging aspect was the steepness of he ascent, but these guys seemed to be in roughly the same shape that I'm in. Here's a photo from the trail:

At the top, we gave each other high fives, drank beer, and took pictures of the Matterhorn and of the view below. Here is a picture of the Matterhorn from close up:

Here's me in front of it:

My German friends:

A view of other Swiss peaks:

We actually made really good time coming up, just around 2 hours, which was 20 minutes faster than the projected pace, this even with several stops to catch breath and drink water.

The way down was much easier and much faster. Here's a spot from a scenic spot (we each only have one pole, because I'm borrowing mine from him):

I said goodbye in Zermatt, and they wished me luck that for my hike tomorrow I would meet three young German girls instead of three old German guys.

And the evening was more or less a repeat of the previous, with the exception that for dinner I ate a McDonalds Big Mac and a dried sausage from a local store. The New Zealander and I (the Swiss had left) went to the Papperla Pub again, hung out with the Dutch bartenders, met up with the Belgian guy and two Australians from the hostel, as well as an American from Florida, were given free shots of jager, drank a few pitchers of beer, and migrated to the Broken Bar. Where we danced until 2 again.

One more fact: walking around Zermatt at night was COLD. Even with my wimpy looking gloves on, I found the short distances between these bars to be painful! And it was probably only in the high 30s.

Yeasayer -- Ambling Alp