Random adventure 2010: Prague

On Wednesday morning, we got up bright and early and headed to the airport with our passports, a wad of cash and our bags backed for four days in Bulgaria on the Black Sea beaches.

Three hours later we were on a plane to Prague.

Shortly after getting off the plane, I was struck with a very unusual sensation that niggled the back of my memory. What was it? Ahhh! I know! It is the sensation of feeling cool and comfortable! All hail 20C, cloudy with scattered showers! It was simply wonderful.

We had five great days of exploring all the nooks and crannies of the city which people say is the way many European cities looked before everyone started to bomb each other's cities to smithereens in WWII. I feel cultured now. A little over cultured. I saw so much art that I started looking for the most handsome Jesus, and giggling at the most spectacularly incorrect depictions of Jerusalem.

I feel like I spent a greater part of my savings on museum entrance fees- but it was worth it. There is some great art and architecture to be seen.Our favorite was the private collections of the Lobkowitz family. Amongst all the priceless paintings, letters and furniture, I saw a chair that looked strikingly familiar with its spiral dowels, ornate carving and wicker seat. There was one almost exactly like it in my grandfather's house that we kids were NEVER allowed to sit on. Now it doesn't get sat on in my parents' house.

A little known fact about me is that between the Irish reddish hair and the Scottish freckles, I am one 32nd (or is it 64th?) Czech. This is one of the great things about being a multi generation immigrant; you end up a crazy variety of mutt. Because of the Lobkowitzs' chair, I spent the rest of our trip trying to convince James that I am descended from Czech nobility. "Yes, Milady" was all James would drone as he pulled me off to the next site to see. I posted pics of both: you be the judge.

We also spent a day taking the train out to some random town, checking out a fantastic gothic cathedral. I have decided I like Gothic way better than Baroque. The Gothic gargoyles don't freak me out nearly as much as all those creepy Baroque cherubs with just wings and a head and no body. When I die, if those freakish things are leading me to heaven, I hope I have a baseball bat with me.

On the way back out to the train station, I entered one of the creepiest chapels known to man, decorated by the hands of 40 000 former residents – but also their arms, legs, ribs and heads. Cremation, my friends, is looking better and better.

One of the evenings we went to the State Opera house and saw a production of Verdi's Aida, which The Chicken described as a sonic assault with over 60 people on stage at times. We both agreed the skinny-b^&$* pharaoh's daughter was far more interesting than the perpetually suicidal title character.

In no time at all, it seems we were back on the plane taking the red-eye home. I *planned* to go to work today, but I fell asleep instead.

Weekend Warrior Princess goes to Nazareth

On Friday I hopped on a bus and ended up sitting next to a Texan who was still shell shocked from the ultimate back-packer in Israel story. He had forgotten his back pack under the last bus he took and when he remembered and ran back to get it.... well, the scene wasn't good. They blew it up.
A guy in a bomb proof suit handed him his shredded belongings in a garbage bag.
Seeing as the Texan still had all the important stuff in his day-pack, he was laughing rather than freaking out.

Then on to Nazareth, where I spent the afternoon wandering around through the old city, a very un-touristy Arab market, in and out of some churches, up a huge hill for the view, and into one of the tastiest restaurants I have been to in Israel. Lemon grilled chicken, rice with almonds and middle eastern spices, a roasted red pepper, and a big tall beer. Mmmm. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

Just so you know, the haze in the above picture isn't pollution. It was the humidity as a side order to go with the 30 degree heat and blasting sun. Climbing the hill to get that picture, even at 6 pm was a bit of a sweat-fest.

The old part of Nazareth has many confusing narrow streets against a tall hill. Many of the streets are lined with big mysterious green doors closed with padlocks. During business hours, the green doors open to reveal shops for simply everything: clothing, spices, coffees, cafes, felafel stands, veggies, fish, notions, fabric, underwear, head scarves, shoes, toiletries, pot and pans, appliances, upholsterers, metal workers and even carpenters (yes I found carpenters in Nazareth!)

I spent the night right at the heart of the town at a convent, which was actually fantastic. Those sisters know how to keep a pristine dormitory, or a "dormatoria", as one of them called it. The 10 pm curfew wasn't a bother since I wasn't planning to wander around after dark anyway.

2000 years ago, Nazareth was only 400 people, making my home town of Dorset look big. Now it is 70 thousand and bustling. The crusaders, as you can imagine, had fun there building lots of churches. Although there is only one big noticeable mosque in the center of town, there is also a large Muslim population in addition to the endemic Christians, judging from the number of hijabs I saw.

The next day, I went to a great outdoor exhibit on village life 2000 years ago. I learned how they made wine, about the synagogue (which wasn't sex separated and was more a community centre) and other little tid-bits. I might force James to go back with me in the fall to see them work the giant olive press. And maybe another meal at that restaurant.

Then I decided to head home. Since it was shabbat and the buses weren't running till after dark, I had to take a couple of sheruts. The Arab sherut vans run all the time, but go only once they are full. I headed to where they were waiting, and an old man with three teeth from across the street asked "Tel Aviv?"

When I nodded yes, he motioned me into a blissfully air conditioned room where I spent the next 45 minutes waiting for the sherut on a white plastic lawn chair. The other occupants of the room were six Arab men who were checking out the deals in the Super-Pharm flier, discussing/yelling about something or everything, gossiping on their cell phones and smoking the odd cigarette. In simple English we discussed where I am from and my favorite Israel foods. When I said I like baklava they all exclaimed "bakLAAAAva! YES! GOOD!"

They made a pot of Arab coffee by tossing a whole bunch of grounds in a special silver pot, boiling it at length over a gas burner, and adding copious spoons of sugar. The smell of coffee and cardamon filled the air and they graciously served me some in a itty-bitty cup. The tiny cup was all I needed; one sip of that stuff has more kick than an angry donkey.

As for the bakLAAAva, Nazareth boasts a fantastic shop of these tasty nuts-coconut-dripping-with-honey treats. Got a glove and a box and picked out a selection. The problem is, with so many to choose from....., well I got a tummy ache from eating too much.

Ashkelon

I came, I saw, I avoided the dead jelly fish.

They were huge and simply everywhere on the beach (but not to be confused with the any litter of plastic bags. Eyal points to the difference). Live ones were laying in wait in the shallows. Yehonadav bravely went for a five minutes swim and got stung three times. As much as I love water, I passed.

Eyal and Ehud went for a run in the morning and spent the whole time dodging the carcasses and got stung anyway from the slime they leave around.

My talk went well I think. People laughed at my dumb jokes and all my labmates told me I look spiffy in my new suit. This was a double compliment since I had taught them all the word "spiffy" a few months ago and it means they were listening.

The Turkish Bath

After an early morning in Eilat, surviving the border crossing though to Jordan and a whole day wandering though Petra, our family - or Team Turtle, as we like to call them- was feeling a little dusty and dirty two weekends ago.

Being in Jordan, we decided to follow the phrase "when in Rome..." and all partook in an ancient Arab tradition: the Turkish Bath. There was one at our hotel, and of our party James, Colin and I were the first victims *achem* volunteers. We had absolutely no idea what happens in a Turkish bath besides something about a steam room and a massage.

When we arrived there was an older British gentleman wrapped up in about six blue fuzzy towels so that all we could see of him was his flushed face and knobby knees and feet. "There is a fine line between pleasure and pain" he said with a cryptic smile when we asked what would happen to us.

In bathing suits and thin striped cloths to wrap around us, we were directed with broken English and a waving arm to the steam room. We sat down on the marble benches and as soon as the guy turned on the steam, Colin and James' heads began to disappear into a cloud. Although they were close enough to touch, I soon found my self chatting and giggling with disembodied voices over their hairy shins and wooden clogged feet.

Many minutes after I thought my lungs couldn't take it one second more, a lady came in and said "Yes, excuse me" (her only English line) and lead me into a room with a massage table and smooth stone walls and floors. I started getting really worried when she started rolling up her pant legs. But it wasn't so bad. it was very pleasant actually.

While laying on a massage table, I had bowls of warm water thrown over me. Then with something akin to a sand paper mitt, a layer of my skin was taken off any piece of skin not covered my my bikini bottoms. You may think I'm kidding but she actually showed me the skin she took off. Every part of me was scraped. Let me tell you, I have had breast examinations that were gentler. Then I got soaped and massaged all over right down to each of my fingers individually and more bowls of warm water thrown on top of me. Then, feeling cleaner than I have ever felt before, she wrapped up in those towels like a big blue burrito and sent me out to a rug covered reception room to drink chamomile tea and await Colin and James.

All the ladies in my family had very lovely experiences. We all oohed and awed and sighed pleasantly as we were pampered. James told me that from the waiting room he could hear my mother who sounded like someone was making love to her.

But my father sounded like he was being tortured on the rack. The men, it turns out, had a different masseur and their "massage" was a little more vigorous with their limbs and joints yanked and bent in all sorts of directions. There might have been tools of torture involved. They probably should have known it was coming; the masseur was wearing latex gloves. If the guy found a knotted muscle, he would push till you couldn't take it any more and then push a little farther. Although all the men said they felt like Gumby afterwards, some weren't sure that they liked it or not. James said he'd go again. Colin flatly said once was enough for him. I thought they were just wimps. My massage was great.

Two days later, we were swimming at a beach in Tel Aviv. Dominic had a pair of weird markings on his back, and when my brother turned around to head out into the waves, I noticed he had them too. Their red welts matched those that could be seen James- even though his were masked a bit by freckles. Dad also had similar pair of lighter marks. I have a feeling that his screaming must have made the masseur go easy on him compared to the others. Those marks must be the masseur's trademark or something.

Maybe their massage was a bit rough. Six days later, I could still see the welts on James' back. Here is a pic to prove it.

Guess the Instrument

One of the more unexpected and amazing things I heard in Munich was this busker. Crank the volume, play the video and see if you can guess what instrument is playing.

The Family in Israel

Sorry folks that I have been away, but as you can imagine my life is meh-sho-gah. Crazy. Here is a quick update.

All of my family, save Al, arrived safely in the hours before I flew back from Europe. Thank goodness James was here to get them organized. Al's flight was canceled so he decided to postpone his visit.

So far they have taken a tour of the old city, seen Bethlehem and gone through the infamous wall and checkpoint, purchased supplies for Shabbat dinner at the shook, touched the Western Wall, strolled around the Dome of the Rock, floated in the Dead Sea, baked at Masada and today most of them have headed North for the day on a tour.

This morning, James, Mom and Dad picked up the BFV (Big Flipping Van) for the next week and we will be heading to Eliat and Petra. James managed to "parallel park the mother f*$@er" (his words) and right after that demanded a high five from my father who witnessed this act of supreme skill. I guess James is officially part of the Suburban-driving Mac-d family if he can parallel park a 9 seater van.

James' mom Judy is on cloud nine because James took her to high mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on Sunday at the ungodly hour of 6:30 am. I disagree with the Islamic notion of prayer being better than sleep, so I declined to attend and enjoyed every minute of my extra two hours of sleep.

The Mac-d family has also discovered sheseks (the best of the mystery fruit) as they are in season and a couple of the neighborhood trees are laden. We were all wondering how to get some of the juicy -looking higher ones and were eying up who was the lightest member of the family. Baby Vivian would probably just start chewing on a leaf if we hoisted her up. My pregnant sister is in no position to be grabbed about the waist, so before we new it, my brother suddenly lifted my sixty year old mom into the air so she could pick a bunch of us.

As for me, I am doing well, but a little frazzled. It is great to see my family again and have taken on new roles in life. I have become the chief master of organization, solver of problems, finder of Q-tips, quartermaster, source of extra flip flops, loaner of shekels, purchaser of stamps, player of paddy cakes, finder of tour guides, writer of lists, translator of grocery store cans, and above all else, herder of cats.

Yodel Eh Hee HOO!

I am in Austria and have spent two lovely unexpected and unplanned days wandering around Salzburg.

I now understand Mozart a little better and why he was so desperate to leave Salzburg. Only 16 000 people lived there when he was alive. Let me tell you, the H-hole is two thousand larger and I was desperate to leave too as a teenager.

But that is where our similarities end. First there is the genius, which I am lacking. And to tell you the truth, the guy was a complete twerp, his whole life.

Salzburg also can lay claim on Haydn and Paracelsus.

Myself and the other Israelis included, managed to snag a secret, not-published-on-the-internet flight home tonight from Vienna. We hopped on a train this morning.

Sadly, the only sights in Vienna I have seen are the train station and the airport. Neither are very inspiring. I will have to come back to Vienna again sometime, and for now can be satisfied with the sights I did see by volcanic accident.

While I sit here at the airport, I hope my family has made their connections in Paris and Zurich and are now arriving at the rental apartment in J-town. Poor Al, is still in Toronto, since he was to fly though Heathrow and resultantly his flight was canceled yesterday.

I should also tell you that I got the interrogation again at the El Al check-in desk again. And I got some very ominous yellow tags on my luggage when all of my friends got green ones again. It makes me sorry that I washed all my dirty socks and underwear in the sink two nights ago. Two weeks of dirty laundry to search through would be sweet revenge.

I am gong to avoid flying El Al from now on. I am going to get my stuff searched every time since my story does not fit in the little pigeon holes of "tourist" or "businessman". I think I will stick to the slightly less security crazy airlines.

Well hopefully soon I will be home and with my camera cable so I can post some pics of my adventures.

Auf weidersehen!

Guest Post: James versus The Volcano

Uh, well, I'm doing fine but James sounds like he is going to bust a blood vessel. Here is what he has to say:

The volcano. Eyjafjallajokull. Whatever its name is. I hate it. I hate it so freaking much. I have turned into a volcano of hate toward everything to do with the volcano to an extent which surprises myself.

Let me tell you how I got to this point.

Over the past few months, Janet and I have been making plans. Ambitious plans. Plans for a big family visit. How big? We made plans to transport 8 family members, from 3 different cities, all to Jerusalem, and all on the same day within 2 hours of one another. We also made a whole bunch of other plans for the two weeks they would be here. Like, for example, booking an apartment for everyone to stay in. And a trip to the Dead Sea. And a trip down to Eilat (found cheap hotels too - not easy) followed by 2 days in Jordan visiting Petra and riding camels in the Jordanian desert near Wadi rum. But wait. There is more. We rented vehicles. I called around for a 9 seater van (with car seat- I had to make sure of that) and a second car so that we wouldn't get all smushed. Janet found a stroller for Vivian. We even hunted down our old Ulpan classmate Taufiq to see if he could be our tour guide in Jerusalem for a few days. And we mailed shekels to everyone several months in advance so that when the Big Day arrived, everyone could take the sherut from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and pay in Israeli currency.

All was set for the big day, which was to be this Wednesday: 2 days from now.

But we failed, dear reader. We failed to plan that a BIG FRICKING VOLCANO would suddenly erupt, and leave Western Europe ensnared in a huge cloud of volcanic ash, effectively shutting down air traffic and delaying/canceling/inconveniencing the flights of hundreds of thousands of individuals around the globe.

Clearly, Wednesday is not going to happen the way we planned. What is going to happen? I am not sure.

One thing I am sure of is that I dislike this volcano very much. I got so upset on Saturday night that in a flurry of activity, I started an "I HATE THE ICELANDIC VOLCANO" Facebook group and sent messages to all my friends to join it. In this whirlwind of activity I am ashamed to say that I even joined Twitter. Never in a million years did I ever imagine I would join Twitter. But there I was, on Saturday night, twittering to the world. One of my first tweets was " I VOTE WE NUKE THE VOLCANO".

I have calmed down considerably since then. But I am still immensely frustrated. My mom is stuck in England, Janet is stuck in Munich, and we have all these busted plans for a trip we were so looking forward to and we aren't sure how to proceed. It's heartbreaking. We aren't sure what the prognosis is or when/if our family will get to visit us after all. It's still a work in progress. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the jetstream starts dispersing the ash.

Of course, if a well-placed nuclear warhead right down Eyjafjallajokull's pie-hole was sufficient to do the job, I'd still be all for it.

Volcano

It is official. My flight was canceled and I am stuck in Munich.

I am far more Zen about this that I usually am about everything. Israel has really made me more relaxed about travel. Really, is there any point worrying about a volcano? Is there anything I can do about a volcano? James wants to nuke the volcano, but I am not sure that will help or hinder the situation.

Unfortunately, there is a big convention in Munich this week and the hotel prices are astronomical starting tonight. My place here in a 2*, shared shower, straight from the 50's hotel is going from 40 Euros a night to 250.

But I say, with my new found Zen, when a volcano spews out lemons, make lemonade! I think I am going to hop on a train and head to Salzburg for a couple of days. Heck, why not?

Since I never did the back pack though Europe thing at the age of 20, I guess this is now my chance at the age of 30. The only difference really, is that I am back-packing with a suit jacket, dress pants and laser pointer in my pack.

Wait a sec here, my computer just made a booping noise telling me I received an email...

It was The Boss, just emailing me to tell me me he "hopes the flight situation will open up" and "here is a paper for you to review." It is a 37 page manuscript. I guess my lemonade making is going to have to wait a few of hours.

SNOW!

It is SNOWING big puffy white flakes that are drifting down to the earth. I realize most of you are getting over winter and are happy for spring, but I haven't seen snow in two years, and I love it.

The four Israelis traveling I am with are probably freaking out right now, thinking the world is going to end.

Munich so far has been great wandering around. I must admit, it has been a bit frustrating, slowing down to the pace of my friends. I am the kinda person who grabs sandwiches and eats them walking run so we can see just one more site, so it sometimes has felt like we have wasted hours wandering around deciding not to eat lunch in restaurants.

I loved the palace of the Bavarian Kings called the Reidenz. The gilding just went on and on and on. We spent two hours, barely stopping moving, though one insanely ornate room after another. I don't understand why Ludwig II had to build other castles. Wasn't this one decadent enough?

I also say in another palace, the king's thirty-odd portraits of beautiful women called the Gallery of Beauties. Like 19th century pin-ups. They ranged in rank from princesses down to the daughter of a shoe maker. I could have spent all day sitting there and wondering about each of them, who they really were and what happened to them. Wikipedia supplied a glimpse of one of them, Jane Elizabeth Digby, who loved every cliché of romance novels heros. She married a Count, then and Earl, had an affair with a King, at some point two of her lovers dueled. Then there was a Greek tycoon and last but not least, a twenty eight year marriage to a Sheik in Damascus where she spent the rest of her life.

Yesterday we went to Dachau which is only 20 minutes by train on the public transport from the city. Ehud initially joked that he wasn't sure he wanted to go to Dachau...on a train. All I could do was let out a horrified giggle. In the end all of us went.

My friends warned me that their macabre humor might come out, but no one peeped a joke until we were back on the bus heading back to the city. It was intense and silent. There was even a soccer team of Canadian, grade 9 boys and they were quiet too. Everyone visits the place in shock and horror because the exhibits and movies really don't hold back on the truth. It is funny, I have now been to some of the holiest places on earth, and yet Dachau was the one where people in their entirety behaved the most respectfully.

Middle of the night ramblings

Boker Tov!

It is 3:58 am and I have successfully made it through airport security and am chillin' out at my gate. I keep finding security stickers all over me and my stuff. I must have gotten 10 stickers in the last hour. I think I may have looked at the first security guy strangely or maybe he didn't like my "I am going to a conference but I live here" story, because all of my stuff got X-rayed, pulled apart, fished though and swabbed inside and out before I even checked in.

As the guy was putting on the plastic gloves he rhetorically asked "I can look through this?"

I replied with "As long as those gloves aren't for me, I am happy."

The guy laughed and proceeded to violate my luggage thoroughly with the swabby wand.

And then at the regular security check, my carry-on got swabbed and searched though and swabbed again and swabbed some more and then just for good measure, swabbed again. As a research chemist, the excessive swabbing for chemicals is a little disconcerting. One of these days, they are going to find something and those gloves will be for me.

Speaking of violation, on Good Friday, after over two months, my paper was rejected based on one review 'cause the second reviewer agreed and then didn't bother to do the review. And somehow, one review constitutes thorough peer review. The Boss wasn't very impressed either, but there is no point in appealing since that process will take months and it still might have gotten rejected. I just wish they hadn't sat on our paper for over two months.

Even though Katrine, Simon and James were mulling around the house and I tried to put up a good front, I was hard to hide that I felt pretty down. In the awkward silence I asked "Is everyone's job like this?"

Katrine, a librarian, without hesitation answered "Disappointing and Heartbreaking? Yes, Yes it is."

You know, of all the things people said to cheer me up, that one really worked the best. It turns out, getting stomped on and feeling like poop every once in a while is just part of life and it happens to everybody.

Not to worry, I am laughing about it now, and have since resubmitted the paper- yet again- to a third journal. We are tossing the paper as high as we can and hopefully somewhere it will stick.

Now you may be asking, why is she in the airport at 4 am? Well I am headed to Munich with four colleagues to go to a conference and do a little sight seeing.

One of the undergrads I worked with in Alberta is in Munich, so beers will be had with him. And also, my PhD boss is also going to be at the conference. I asked him to bring me a U of A hoodie, but what I really wish he could bring me is a large double double and a boston cream.

Epic Road Trip and the Seder

We took Friday, Saturday and Sunday off work (I told every one it was a Christian Holiday, which technically Palm Sunday was) and zipped around the north of Israel with my old friend Katrine and our new friend Simon.

Every time they merely stopped for breath, I gave them the chop-chop and we were off to another site. We made it to Caserea, Haifa, Acco, Nazareth, Tiberias, and got royally lost in the Golan Heights again.

A highlight for me was Nasareth in which we made a one hour stop to do the required Church visit. The FAN-tastic signs put out in the main square in view of the church by some fanatic Muslims for the benefit of the Christian pilgrims made us laugh. I guess I am firmly ensconced in loser-dom. Next door at the arab candy shop the charismatic backlava guy wanted to know if Simon dyed his red hair as we were pigging out on the wares.

James loved getting lost for a whole day in the Golan again. The getting lost might be my fault. As James says in his fake Hebrew accent “When God made me perfect, he did not quite finish the job.” I fell asleep in the passenger seat as we weaved though the rolling hills, and consequently we took a 30 minute detour. As a consequence, I got hoofed out of my spot as chief navigator.

Katrine was entranced by the old city of Acco, which was once one of the most important Mediterranean ports. Although there are lots of sites to see, unlike J-town, Acco is not a tourist trap and much of the stores and shops are for the people living there. Simon, who is pretty much new to organized religion in any format, is still trying to process the baptismal site on the Jordan river and all the people in the white gowns. He wasn’t to sure about getting dunked in the murky water with the giant catfish and a muskrat but we all thought the big happy earnest hug from the preacher afterward looked good.

The day after we got back, I sent Simon and Katrine to the shook and told Simon that he had to buy a Kippa for the Passover Seder at the boss’ house. Simon, skipped the simple ones and went for a bright red one with the Pringles logo on it. We headed to The Boss’ and had a Seder with about twenty of his friends and family.

Most of us were dressed nicely, with the men in just shirts and nice pants – except the boss' eight year old son. Edo came to the door wearing a three piece suit and tie and was by far the best dressed person there. (Predictably for an eight year old, as the evening went on his outfit came apart; first the kippa, then the jacket disappeared followed by the six inch clip on tie which James decided to wear during desert) As we worked our way though the Haggadah book, which has the ceremony of the seder written in it, James and I had no idea what was being said as it was in “Old Hebrew” and Katrine and Simon were even worse off. But it is Passover, so the food afterward makes it all worth it. I wasn't again hungry until four the next afternoon.

To atone for the sins of too many falafel pitas on the road trip and passover seder, I have gone for two runs in the last 16 hours.

Yaffo: flea market of the gods

Yesterday The Chicken and I took a weekend warrior trip to Yaffo, the old city part of Tel Aviv.

We hopped on the famous and infamous train to get there. Famous for replacing camel trains and three day donkey rides from the Port of Yaffo to the Holy City, sometime around the turn of the century. Now infamous for taking a whopping hour and a half to do what is now a forty minute drive. Buy we were told the trip was pretty, and they were right. We snaked our way between rocky desert hills, now verdant green with the winter rains, the train gently rocking back and forth. I thought it was beautiful. When I asked James if he thought so too, his response was a soft snore. I guess we will have to take the train another time as well.

Yaffo is an ancient and once very important port with a colourful history- that colour being red, as in blood red. The Egyptians took it by hiding it in clay pots- trojan style- then breaking out and slaughtering a bunch of Caananites. Some other stuff happened and then notably Saladin took it and made it a Muslim port. Then there was Napoleon, who killed three quarters of the inhabitants and they say the smell of corpses could still lingered two years later. Somehow the Ottoman Turks then got it, probably with more blood shed. Then of course Allenby and the British took it in 1917 with the help of new-fangled guns to kill everyone off, followed by the state of Israel in 1948.

Despite the long and important history, there really isn't much there. A clock tower from the Ottoman Turks who realized that every important European city has a clock tower and so built them all over their empire in the hope to make their cities just as powerful. There is the ever preset monastery, a couple of mosques and the best part of all, the best flea market I have ever been to. Yaffo is where all the junk of Israel, seemingly hundreds of years of it, goes to seek new life. Pots, pans, mix-masters, TV remotes, shoes, clothes, furniture, old maps, crystal chandeliers, ancient hanukah candelabras, cassettes and LPs of bad Israeli music, a life size statue of Spartacus, a mannequin with ethnically correct giant bazungas, a rusty automatic xylophone, terrible velvet art, WWII green helmets, telephones from every era, and endless treasures to be found. Some of the furniture was particularly remarkable and sometimes very beautiful. The market must have extended 6 or 7 city blocks. Hundreds of people were wandering around and looking for a "good deal" on that perfect piece of junk.

James was taken by the framed old maps, and I think we will be back to pick one up as a souvenir.

Now, lately I have been getting emails and notes from people who have gone skiing, went tobogganing, or skating or other joyous winter activities. My family, in particular, went on a three day cross country skiing trip without me and hid it from me until after it happened. I must say, I am absolutely green with envy. But, on the flip side, it was 25 degrees yesterday in Tel Aviv, and we topped off the day by going for a swim in the Mediterranean. After reminding myself, yet again, that I have to swim in the sea with my mouth closed, I floated and floated and let the gentle waves rock me in the sunshine.

We also did some people watching since Tel Aviv is where the funky mesh of Old meets New, East meets West happens in Israel. This elderly Muslim lady was wearing a nice green velvet robe. I was shocked when she turned around and it said NIKE in big letters across the front. We also saw two girls head down to the beach with a coat rack. Sure enough, they set it up and hung their purses on it. Then there was the usual hairy men in speedos, seven year olds on child-sized working motor bikes with no helmets, and giggling fully dressed Muslim girls wading though the water. A very pleasant day all together. We must go to the beach more often.

Here Bussy Bussy Bussy!

Given the limited size of J-town (725000 people), the bus system is not so bad. The buses are usually on time and the ones we use regularly come every 20-30 minutes. The routes can be a little confusing though and for some bizarre reason the bus company doesn't print or have available route maps. (Perhaps they think that if there are no maps, suicide bombers won't be able to find the buses.) The only way to find out where a bus goes is a somewhat sparse wikipedia page which lists the streets the buses go on. But figuring that out takes a good map, a computer, a prior knowledge of Jerusalem geography and some serious patience. And now that I have mastered the online Hebrew bus schedule, things go a lot more smoothly.

The bus company, Egged, has almost a monopoly on all the city bus systems and the intercity buses throughout the country. Despite the monopoly and the legislation to provide service to almost every obscure little town, I have to give them props; the bus between cities is really cheap, reliable and not too slow. On top of that, they run almost like a city bus, where people can and do get off and on at all these little along-the-road stops. These guys put Ontario Northlands to shame.

The stops on the side of the road make me laugh. If you are lucky, they have a bench with a covering curiously shaped like a question mark. I think this must be an ironic joke by a civil engineer. It makes me think of the questions all waiting bus passengers are asking themselves. "Where is the bus?" "Is it going to come?" "Did I miss the bus?"

If you are unlucky, the bus stop only has the tell-tale yellow sign marked with the bus route number. On our recent trip the the Negev, we saw what we consider possibly the worst bus stop in the world. It was so bad, I had to take a picture. Imagine the poor sucker waiting out here. (And the other side of the road didn't look any better.) I'll let you be the judge:

A tough decision

During the big holiday months of April and October, it seems impossible to get things done around here. The nanocentre is closed down so I can't use the microscope, labmates drift in and out of the lab like feathers on the breeze and it is dangerous to work alone. So while the place is working and everyone is here, I want to get as much done as possible.

As you all know, my project has been a big pain in the butt for the last few months. I only have two years here, and I want to get out as many research papers as possible as it is my publication list that will get me a real job. My PhD was merely average on that account, so this is my time to work hard and get 'er done.

Back in September when it was time to book flights for Christmas I had a project on the rocks, the useless month of October was looming ahead, and I couldn't justify making most of December a right-off too. I made a tough decision. I decided not to come home with The Chicken for the holidays.

I cried. And even now, I am dreading my two weeks alone while everyone is together at home.

What will I do? I will work like a dog so I can't get lonely, and on Christmas day I will lure my labmates over to my house with a little dose of pity and the promise of turkey with stuffing.

When one friend found out about my yuletide situation, he suggested The Chicken deserved a kick in the nads for leaving me alone over the holidays. First of all, I will be needing those nads in the future, so there will be no kicks. Secondly, The Chicken desperately misses his family, and hasn't seen much of them in the last two years. And after a MIT post doc and a Science paper, his future doesn't depend on his performance in his job the same way mine does. So he is going home. Why should I guilt and manipulate him into staying? I have already asked so much of him to put his career on hold and move across the world.

So don't feel sorry for me too much. I made this decision.

The Negev

Last weekend, The Chicken and I decided to rent a car and head out for a warrior weekend. South to the Negev Desert we went to see what was there. And yep, sure enough, there were bedouin shacks beside the main road, herds of camels grazing in the ditch, ibexes meandering though the towns, people riding horses bareback though the grocery store parking lot in Be'er Sheva, a giant field of sabras cactus, beautiful scenery, funky geology, a spy Zeppelin parked in the middle of nowhere, a "chocolate factory" that gives off gamma particles and some great history lessons.

A highlight was a visit to Avdat, an ancient city on the spice route high on a hill. What amazes me is how they collected enough water for all of those people! As I was walking though the ruins, pondering the amazing thing that was the spice route, I tried to imagine what it would have been like in the town. I imagined an overpowering smell of frankincense, myrrh, cardamon, pepper, cinnamon, camel and unwashed men. James was less moved. "Five bars, Hen!" he exclaimed as he held up the cell phone.

We spent much of the second day in Mishpeh Ramon, a huge geologic crater that looks a bit like the grand canyon. We did some hiking through a wadi to a spring that had dried up for the season, and are we ever glad we made the trip in December and not July. Hoooooot and dryyyyyyy.

Our friends Danny and Itai had told us to drive Route 227 as it was a pretty drive and at one time was the only way to get to Eilat. We turned off this wonderful straight, flat, wide, four-lane highway onto a one lane road of which a good foot of each side was eroded away. This is where the cursing of Danny and Itai began. We ended going up this intense set of switch backs with too few barrels full of gravel serving as the guardrail. I was petting the dashboard of our rented Hyundai Accent all the way, coaxing her to the top. She made the "scorpions ascent" in a noisy manner since James wisely insisted on honking the horn at every blind corner- which was every corner. Despite the tense moments the view to the desert valley below was worth it. Since it was near dusk, the shadows were long and the colours very red and the whole effect was breathtaking.

After getting lost in Be'er Sheva for the second time on the way home, we headed into J-town and back to reality. The real achievement of the weekend was renting the car and driving in Jerusalem. I would only recommend driving in this town if you know EXACTLY where you are going and how to maneuver though the maze of twisting one way streets. Like I said, this city was planned out by a four year old with a crayon.

Refreshed to Write Again

Last week, we got the first real rains of the winter which lasted three days nearly non stop. Since last winter wasn't wet enough and the land has just gone through six months straight of baking sun, it felt like the earth was singing with every drop. Little purple flowers have already popped up out of the mud in gratitude to the sky. Even the locals were not really grumbling about the rain, despite shivering in their damp apartments. And when the last day of rain came to an end, there was a wonderful sunset to be seen from the window next to the lab oven.

The rain unfortunately corresponded with Siu's trip. Which wasn't all that bad since it meant that it wasn't too hot to wander around all day and it gave him an excuse to spend a day napping and getting rest on his first vacation in a very long time. I had a great time visiting and exploring with him, and well, not writing blog posts. I know my dear, mostly-silent friends, I have been neglecting you. But have no fear, I am writing a heap of blog posts right now so there should be one every day for the next few days.

Ramallah

After a sleepy morning, we three amigos hiked our way through the old city to Damascus Gate and picked up a sherut to the famous city. Once there, amoungst the vibrant madness, we drank tea in a seventh floor cafe, got stared at by men gossiping and smoking shisha from big colourful water pipes, wandered the streets, walked though the colourful but very dirty market and fed Siu his first felafel (7 bucks three felafels and three cokes). Ramallah is a colourful bustling place, but there isn't much there- tourist wise- to see, so a few hours was enough for us.

On the way home we had to go past some of the more interestingly gratified parts of "the wall". I am a little too chicken to take pictures of it near the checkpoint with soldiers around but the graffiti was witty. My favorite was "ctrl alt del". And every once in a while you see soccer balls stuck in the barbed wire on top.

The checkpoint was an eye opener compared to the other ones we had been through. The check point coming back form the Dead Sea was just a quick glance at the passengers in the car. Coming back from Bethlehem, we had to get out of the sherut. The soldier checked everyone's papers carefully and with gravitas, but it was all over in about three minutes. So I was shocked by this checkpoint.

Coming back from Ramallah reminded me of going to an abattoir. We got out of the sherut and followed the crowd though a parking lot to a big low building. Then through a wide set narrow, tall, iron barred passageways. Then to a crowded holding pen where we waited for about 15 minutes with a crowd of 40 or so in front of us. One nice young Palestinian student tried to help us get in the right line but it turns out we were to just crowd in with the Palestinians. The crowd moved forward slowly and haltingly to get pushed though a soldier-controlled turnstile - but only two or three at a time. Then to a metal detector and bag x-rays and to have my visa checked. The soldier at the checkpoint was way too immature for her job and to have such power over people. She treated us and everyone else with a nonchalant bitchyness and without any compassion for how humiliating the whole process was. She was an embarrassment to Israel. I felt great sympathy for the Palestinians. Even on a Saturday afternoon, the process was annoying and slow to just get to a city 30 km away. I can't imagine doing this every day during rush hour. Indeed, one lady from Ramallah in our Hebrew class told the class last week that she gets up at 5 am to make it to her job in J-tow on time at 8:30.

Siu's first days

For months I have been telling Siu Jerusalem is perfectly safe and that is never rains.
Sure enough, the day he gets here, there is the first rain in a month( but only ten minutes) and there are bad things going down in the old city. But these things blow over most of the time, and the old city is back to its usual self.

So Siu is off today for a most worthy endeavor: intentionally getting lost in the old city just to see where it takes you.

He arrived Sunday night and presented us with an entire suitcase full of halloween candy, salt and vinegar pringles, ketchup pringles, popcorn seasoning, coffee, halloween decorations, my long lost birthday present (collected set of Hamish MacBeth DVDs), and all sorts of treasures from the home land courtesy of my mom and Siu himself.

Two bags of mini coffee crisps. TWO whole bags!

I woke up the next morning to James tiptoeing over to the suitcase of yummyness, trying
to score some twizzlers before I woke up.

More City of David

I have been thinking more and more about my tour of the City of David, now that I my ego has been soothed in a couple glasses of wine and two good nights' sleep. Several things really struck me.

A few years ago, they found clay letter seals stamped with names of the owner. And some of the names are actually in the bible. Not really important people but political ministers etc. from the time of David, 3000 years ago. The guide actually brought out a bible and read places where these people are mentioned.

Also, there is said to be a huge layer of ash that they find in every dig that corresponds in time to the sacking of the fist temple and the burning of the city 2500 years ago as described by Jeremiah. Again the bible was whipped out by the guide for back-up.

The third thing was near the end of the tour. Around the first century, a dude named Flavius Josephus wrote several books (you can still buy them on Amazon) describing important events of his day including the mass suicide at Masada and the destruction of the second temple by the Romans. Apparently Josephus, who has been proven to have occasionally exaggerated, wrote something about the Romans tearing up a road to kill every last Jew. This odd statement was somewhat disregarded until only about five years ago when where was a wet winter in the city. The sewage overflowed and some serious digging and pipe laying was necessary. In the excavation, they found the original road that lead from the water pools up to the second temple. Some of the big paving stones were shifted and underneath, they found once hidden compartments with complete pottery. It is interpreted that during the destruction of the second temple, Jews hid in these holes under the road but were discovered by the Romans and were either killed or forced into slavery.

I will admit that I always question statements like this, especially when the bible is brought out for back-up. I always wonder if people are looking for proof of the bible and that colors how they interpret archeological findings. Goodness knows the city is full of shrines and churches probably nowhere close to the place and event they are said to celebrate. But the bible is not only about G-O-D; especially in the middle parts of the old testament, it is an important and sometimes very detailed historical record.

Had this been Athens, and the a historical document filled with religious rhetoric about Zeus, I would not have worried. My awe at the findings would have been immediate, because they have no real bearing on current life and politics. I don't have to worry about followers of Zeus waging a holy war, or a war because Zeus told them they could have the land.

After a good night's sleep of skepticism, I have decided I buy the names on the seals, the timing of the ash, and the story of the road. I am very moved by it all. Skepticism is often called for, but it is nice when sometimes your conclusion is belief.