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.

Nuts to this One-horse Roman town, I'm going to Nazareth!

I have never been the one to sit around and mope for my missing hubby. (Well, except for last X-mas but that doesn't count.) I have an independent streak that's a mile wide. For my Chickenless weeks, I have to find something to do on the weekends out of mere principle. I can smell adventure in the air.

So tomorrow, I am hopping on the 12:40 bus to Nazareth. Even though I have been there twice, I have yet to explore beyond the BIG CHURCH. This is the perfect opportunity since The Chicken has a short attention span for all things religious and frankly, doesn't love baklava the way I do. There is an awesome looking museum on rural life 2000 years ago, a few restaurants worth visiting and a couple more religious sites. All of which will be open on Saturday! Wooo Hooo!

You may be questioning the safety of a single female heading to an Arab town. However, when I mentioned my adventure to my labmates, they were all gung-ho for me going. That is saying something, since they have to be even more careful than us Christian tourists. Of all the Arab towns in Israel proper (i.e. not in the West Bank) Nazareth is most like a pair of pink fuzzy slippers- well maybe more like a pair of pink fuzzy hijabs, but you get the drift.

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.

Abu Gosh

On Saturday we headed to Abu Gosh, a little town only 15 km or so from the city. We went with Max and Noa whom we know though our Ulpan classes. It seemed like the whole country was out having a picnic in the near by national forest reserve since the day was sunny and warm. Furthermore all the spring flowers are out making the hills look idylic with wee yellow dasies, red poppy-like flowers and purple flowers that I have only seen before in florists. We went for a small hike to work up an appetite for Abu Gosh's other main attraction: Hummus.

Abu Gosh totes itself as the Hummus capital of Israel. We had lunch at a restaurant that is supposed to be number one and should not be confused with the hummus restaurant next door with the same name and claiming that they instead are number one.
Out in the street, men are directing you to their restaurant in a rushed hurried way. "Come come, my friend! Best Hummus in Israel! Sit here. This table for you! "
When they aren't hassling passers by, they are hassling each other: taunting, making faces and even calling each other liars. I hear a rumour that this hummus rivalry has gotten serious in the past. One of the hummus places burnt down mysteriously not that long ago. I let the taunting wash over me in a wave of little understood Arabic and Hebrew and enjoyed our table piled with plates of three types of hummus, pita, salads, pickles, eggplant, french fries, stuffed grape leaves and stuffed peppers.

People come from all over to eat the Hummus of Abu Gosh, especially on a sunny Shabbat. The place was so packed that even at the odd hour of 3:30 pm, if you weren't chewing you got kicked out to make room for the next party. I think the picture sums up the whole scene nicely. People mulling outside waiting for a table. Man on left trying to entice people to HIS restaurant. Two restaurants next door to each other both claiming to be number 1. The only thing missing from the pic is the ten year old waiting tables like the was born with a plate of fresh pitas in his hand.

I ate so much that all I could do when I got home was curl up in a little ball and sleep. I didn't get hungry again until this morning.

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.

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.

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.

Bethlehem, THE WEST BANK. DUNH DUNH DUNH.....

If you look out from our bedroom window you will see an expansive valley flanked on the other side by hill with a monastery on top. Literally just behind that hill is Bethlehem. Forgoing the 100$ tours run by local companies, we got up early, headed to the Arab sheruts near Damascus gate, paid our six shekels (2$), got cosy with a bunch of Palestinians and some backpackers and made the twenty minute treck to where no Israeli is allowed to go. No kidding. There was a big sign on the way into Bethlehem reminding them it was illegal for Israeli Citizens to enter the city.








We did the necessary visit to the Church of the Nativity, but meh, I think I am getting all churched out. It was a big church. Ancient Floor. Crusader paintings. Lots of lamps. Cave beneath. Nuf Said.














But the city and the market were fabulous. Saturday is the busiest day and it was lively and vibrant. The Markets of Bethlehem seemed markedly more colourful than those of Jerusalem. Perhaps it is because in contrast to the sedate and humble colours encouraged by Judaism, the Muslim and Christian Arab women seem to show their humility by wearing a lot of clothes, but are not limited in their colour pallate.











Since the wall went up a few years ago, the economy in Bethlehem has tanked. Most work is in Jerusalem and getting work permits and going though daily security checks is difficult. Compared to the Arab Market in the old city of Jerusalem, the market in Bethlehem reflects the depressed economy. Although full of people and vibrant, most of the wares were used: piles of used clothes, housewares and used shoes were for sale. I also figured out why the churches and mosques of Jerusalem don't have pigeon problems. Live pigeons were for sale next to rabbits and chickens. Yummy, Pigeon.

Right about now, my mom is freaking out reading this. My daughter went WHERE? But Palestinians are extremely friendly people and other than an annoying pushy "tour guide" near where the sherut dropped us off, everyone politely answered out questions for directions. In a crowded market in a town that is trying to do their very best to keep the foreign tourists coming.... well there wasn't much to worry about as a Canadian. If I were Israeli, or James was a kippa-wearing Jew, I wouldn't have made the trip.




We stopped for a yummy lunch of felafel and shawarma at a place full of Muslims but was owned by Arab Christians (we noted the cross and the Madonna and child above the counter. The felafel dude was very impressed by James' ten words of Arabic and said so in fluent English. Then we hopped back on a sherut. Five minutes later at the wall we got out of the sherut, stood in a line, had our passports and visas scrutinized by a 20 year old with an assault rifle and got back in the sherut.

Palestinians are also very photogenic people I discovered. I took lots of photos from the hip and posted them up on facebook if you are interested.

Tel Aviv

Since the big smoke is only a 45 minute bus ride away, James and I decided to do a day trip to Tel Aviv on Friday.

We had hoped to get party decorations for Canada Day from the consulate, but that just was a hot and frustrating misadventure. I won't go into details because the rest of the day sounds worked out well.

We gave up on decorations and went to Ben Gurion's house, the first Prime Minister. Dude, did that guy have HAIR. The tufts off the side of his head made him look like he had great white horns. Complete with a slightly paunchy Napoeonic stature, I am trying to remember what cartoon character Gurion reminds me of. He offered the presidency to Einstein when he was in the PM's office, and had Einstein accepted, they would have been The Hair Pair.

We ventured into the market area, which was about half cheap clothes and beach stuff and half fruits, veggies and meat. It was more touristy than the big market in Jerusalem, but touristy in that it is geared to Israeli tourists and beach goers. If I hadn't have been so hot, I might have made a better effort to get a new bathing suit for 7$ out of this big bin surrounded by elbow-armed, bargoon hunting women. Since it was Friday, there was also a big street craft sale on. We walked the several block length and admired all of the posh stuff that is pretty to look at and nice to have, but clutters shelves and eats into the weekend warrior budget.

After J-town, Tel Aviv seemed positively Dyonisian. The hot and humid weather matches the culture: dancing glittered swan street performer ("Not a closet in the world big enough for that guy," exclaimed James), bikini tops, shameless amounts of leg and- gasp!- pork at some of the restaurants. We passed this one restaurant and peeked over the hedges where we saw two women on pedestals in angel costumes swaying and playing fake white violins to strange electronica as middle aged people in polyester lined up for a buffet. I really didn't know what to make of that, but it all seemed very Greek and excessive to me compared to the more religious and restrained Israel I am used to.

Since Shabbat was well on its way, there wasn't much do do in the afternoon but do what most of the locals do on a hot weekend. Go to the beach! I got to go for my first swim in the Mediterranean along with what seemed like half the city. I always forget two things about the sea: to remember to swim with my mouth shut, and how easy and pleasant it is to just float. The beach was super crowded with bathing suit clad folks with perfect tans.
We stood out for our extreme pastiness, but this other dude stood out for his extreme creepiness. Notice in the pic of James here, looking studly. Now look to the right. See the dude to the fully clothed and on his laptop? I caught him aiming his web-cam at passing melons. Ick.

As I was taking my swim, the dude in the life guard hut started yelling stuff out over the PA system and people frantically started running out of the water and flocking to one part of the beach. I had to ask another swimmer for a translation. It wasn't a rip tide or a shark, or even an angry eel. Turns out, two guys started fighting on the beach and the lifeguard was running commentary through the PA system to the great amusement of the crowd. Having seen that wonderful display of professionalism, I don't really trust the lifeguards to save me now.

Two mild sun burns, two ice creams and a bus ride later, James and walked home from the Jerusalem bus station in the setting sun, tired and happy.

Weekend Warriors go to Haifa and Acco!

On Friday morning The Chicken had the dangerous job of waking me up at the god-forsaken hour 4:45 am. After I grunted a few times and my feet reluctantly made contact with the floor, we quickly packed and caught the first bus to Haifa for another Warrior Weekend.

Haifa is a beautiful deep-port city on the Mediterranean which only in modern times has surpassed the importance of the ancient natural port of Acco across the bay. It is through Haifa that the long lost package from my mom that accidentally came by sea snail entered Israel (Thanks mom for the chili powder and the cofffee!). Haifa is built on the side of a steep hill that only the poorest of backpackers walk up as there is a five-stop subway that tracks up and down the hill.

In the last hundred years or so, Haifa has become a major religious site for the Baha'is: a widespread six-million-strong religious group that believes all of the major religious figures of history are messengers of the same god within their own historical and cultural contexts. The latest two prophets lived both in the 19th century. The Bab and Baha'u'llah, both have ties to the area around Haifa. In a wide swath down the hill is the shrine to the Bab (his bones are interred there) and all the administrative buildings for the religion. To glorify the site, believers have made 18 terraces down the hill with impressive and heavily manicured gardens that in 2001 were finally finished. But if I know gardeners, I am sure there are still more plans in the works.

I have decided that if God decides that I should be his latest megaphone, my apartment in Jerusalem should become a shrine to the new Religion of Janet. I think Israel needs to be the home of one more major religion just to make sure the bickering never ends.

On Friday evening, I gave into my favorite food vice. I discovered that the ice cream at McDonalds is only three shekels. So for the low price of one loonie, I supported an international conglomerate and had a very blissful 10 minute respite from the heat of the sun. And then a few hours later, I bought another for desert.

Friday was spent visiting the gardens and walking the three kilometers up to the cave of Elija where I discovered that I can no longer speak French. I only speak Fre-brew now. I asked the french speaking caretaker to refill my water bottle with this classic phase of Fre-brew: "Je voudrais mayim shell robinet."

Visiting Haifa was a lot of walking let me tell you and the next day seemed like even more.

Saturday was spent exploring the old city of nearby arab Acco which is not just old, it is old old. Unlike the old city of J-town which in places is a pit of tourist despair, the old city Acco city is pregnant with he comings and goings of real life. No selling tacky pictures of the Virgin Mary here; instead they are selling tacky flip-flops from cardboard boxes, clothing, food and giant chest high water pipes in the market. The tourist sites were the best organized of any place I have seen in Israel and there was much to see. This was once the seat of crusader power so there is a giant crusader fortress and tunnel. There is the old arab bath house with a hilarious movie to go with it. We saw the spot where 250 Jewish resistance prisoners escaped from jail, and the sites were Napoleon unsuccessfully sieged the place for two months. This little fortified city busted Napoleon's dream of conquering all the way to India. I took my shoes off and visited my first mosque and watched kids jumping off the ancient sea wall into the Mediterranean to the delight of the music-pumping tour boats and jerks on sea-doos (yep, Israel too has jerks on Sea-doos).

When we finally got home late Saturday evening, I barely managed to make it though the door and grunt a few times. My feet happily relinquished contact with the floor for the next eight hours until The Chicken had the hazardous job of waking me up for work.

Irony on the River Jordan

The Sea of Galilee is a big stop for water traveling down the Jordan River on its way to the Dead Sea. A the North end, where the river feeds the Sea we stopped the car on the side of the road and checked it out the river. On the banks were a few fishermen watching the river go by. Several people, mostly Israelis, were getting out to walk the old bridge and road and there was even disheveled ice cream truck. I loved the marshy unruliness of the place. Before I leave I would like a chance to go back and spend my own time watching the river go by.

The south end of the lake, where the river drains the sea was another story. Instead of contemplative fishermen, on the bank was a modern center for full body baptismals to which busses of foreign Christians were flocking. Baptismals, i.e., holy dips in the river, were free but the white smock was not, nor was the kosher restaurant serving vodka as a special. As well there was a glitzy and overpriced gift shop decorated with pictures of baptized people in orgastically religious states. As well you can get video of your baptismal set to Pachabell's cannon in your choice of DVD or VHS. Around the wheelchair accessible baptismal sites were amphitheater like seating areas but you could also enjoy the view from outdoor cafe tables where you sip your four dollar coke or cappuccino.

Curious if I went for a dip? That rite of passage happened for me long ago with plain ol' Muskoka water. Plus there were giant fish swimming in the baptismal areas and a horse corral disturbingly close to the other bank. But don't worry; I am not all cynical about the place. I did fill up my water bottle for my infant niece. When she is older perhaps Vivian will think it a neat thing that she was baptized with water from the Jordan River.

Look up, look waaaaay up!

On our driving explorations of the Northern Golan, we visited the castle, or rather, fortress - not of The Friendly Giant, not of Nimrod of legend, but of Arabs defending trade routes from the Crusaders.

The falsely named "Nimrod's" fortress sits over 1000 m above the Sea of Galilee with a commanding view of the deep, green valley below. Although all of the structures have some level of damage by earthquakes, we happily spent over an hour exploring the complicated floor plans of the remaining standing structures. We even found a two-story circular staircase that seemed to lead into a dark abyss but instead rewarded our tentative and groping decent into the depths with nooks with slit windows for archers. Such was the architecture that I expected someone in full plate armor to come around the corner and I would have to defend my self with only my water-bottle as a sword and my back pack as a shield (The Chicken need not help- I never was the damsel in distress kind). The place was complete with moat even though the natural steepness of the hill would deter any invading army.



Sadly, Jerome the Giraffe did not poke his head though any of the windows to hear me read a story but I will be contented that I explored the castle with The Chicken. Unlike Rusty, James was not half in the bag at the time although we passed Israeli sightseers on the way out who were.