Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Anyway, I am posting this to let you know that unless Jeff can fix it (and I really doubt he, or anyone, can fix it), then I won't have a big chance to blog anymore until we get home. That goes for uploading photos onto flickr too.
So you'll just have to wait (on pins and needles, to be sure) until next month to hear about our trip to Turkey. And Egypt too, I guess, as I haven't got around to blogging about that either.
We still aren't sure when excatly we are coming home, but it will be the first week of April.
See you stateside!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
"It is the worst thing for an Israeli to be, a freier in his own eyes and in the
eyes of other Israelis."
--Tom Segev, Israeli journalist and historian
Thou shalt not be a freier
By Shahar Ilan
It doesn't just seem that the term freier (sucker), or more exactly - the abysmal fear of being a freier - is a completely Israeli matter. Several local researchers have investigated the Israeli institution of "the non-freier" in depth. One of them, Dr. Linda-Renee Bloch of Bar-Ilan University, explains that the term, which has Germanic roots, exists in other languages, including Russian, German, Polish and Romanian. But in some of them, its meaning is completely different. Even in other places where it describes someone whom others can easily fool, the concept of freier is not a cultural symbol like it is in Israel. Even the English word "sucker" doesn't play as central a role. During her research, Bloch collected more than 1,000 articles that mention being a freier. In the Haaretz newspaper alone, the word has appeared more than 1,000 times in the last decade.
It seems like being a freier applies to most everything. Rules especially. A freier follows the rules. And everyone knows that those who follow the rules are suckers. Those who get ahead in Israeli society know how to bend the rules to fit their own goals. I am not sure if that's why there are corrupt politicians here (there are corrupt politicians everywhere). But I know there is a whole lot of illegal parking!
I am now convinced that Israelis are not cheap. I don't think they haggle neccessarily to save money. I think they haggle (both sides, the seller and the consumer) because they do not want to be taken as a freier. Once when I was in the process of being short-changed at the shuk, the guy who was trying to cheat me smiled broadly and gave me back my correct change and an extra piece of bread. I think he was giving me his approval, "She may be an American, but she is no freier!"
Anyway, if you think about it, it's quite a big conundrum. Here you have a society where in almost every situation absolutely no one wants to be seen as a freier. Unstoppable force vs. immovable object. But compromises happen. People argue/negotiate. Things eventually get done. To me, though, it all seems like such a big waste of energy.
Here's some one's great blog post of being taken as a freier in a supermarket: http://bogieworks.blogs.com/treppenwitz/2007/10/waste-my-time-s.html
Another about not being a driving freier: http://zabaj.com/2007/08/15/udi-manyaks-guide-to-not-being-a-frier-tip-25-driving-etiquitte/
Finally, what torah.org has to say about kindness: http://www.torah.org/features/spirfocus/kindness.html#
Monday, February 9, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Tu B'Shvat is the new year for the purpose of calculating the age of trees for tithing. The Torah states that fruit from trees which were grown in the land of Israel may not be eaten during the first three years; the fourth year's fruit is for G-d, and after that, the fruit can be eaten. Each tree is considered to have aged one year as of Tu B'Shvat, no matter when in the year it was planted. It is customary to plant trees and partake of the fruits of the land of Israel to mark the occasion.
Jewish tradition posits that time is both linear (we are progressing) and circular (that each time of the year has a spiritual similarity to the same point in the other years). And so, just like a place can be holy, a particular time, being simply another dimension, can be holy. Just like a place can have a certain attribute, a particular time can have a certain attribute.
To put it in larger terms, Jewish holidays are _not_ a re-enactment of an event, or simply a memorial or remembrance of an event, but rather it celebrates an appropriate time for a particular aspect of human growth.
So the holiday used to have more of a practical purpose (determining tithes) rather than a fun one (trees are great and lets eat almonds). Now, the newspapers have huge special supplements advertising all the activities, and it's a day for people to visit the kibbutz and plant a tree. It *is* somewhat ironic that these special supplements in the newspapers are quite thick... But back to the holiday, it seems to have become very secular and more of an Earth Day kind of thing than anything remotely spiritual.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I have to explain why we both look so tired and terrible in this picture. It's 3 a.m.! The game started at 1:30 and we went to bed at 5. Here's the story.
After asking everyone all over for a place that might be showing the game, we just happen to walk past an Irish Pub two blocks from our hotel that had a sign outside advertising the game! It's amazing what you find when you take the wrong way back. The place was just perfect for watching the game. Lots of big tvs, and good beer, and they served a free buffet at half time.
So we took a nap from like 9pm until 12:30 or so and then got up and heading out to the pub. The place was crowded but we managed to get seats. On either side of us were groups of American exchange students. And holding court in another corner of the bar was a rabid Steeler fan, an American who has been living in Athens for 14 years, running a Mexican restaurant. Everyone tells everyone what town they are from, and where they went to college, and we all talk about how long it's been since we have been home.
It sounds corny, but I got very homesick during the national anthem. Not because it was the national anthem, but because it was quiet and I was in a bar surrounded by Steeler fans. This is a constant no matter where we have lived. There is always a Steeler bar, and there are always Steeler fans. Even in Athens. I wished the tables next to me weren't filled with exchange students, but my friends. You don't really miss home when you are taking on new adventures, but a slice of the familiar will make you well up. Or maybe it's because it's because it's one in the morning. I get weepy when sleepy.
But the game was so tense it was definitely keeping us awake. There were so many highs and lows, and we were sitting on the edge of our seats most of the time. Towards the end of the first quarter, we notice that there are some Cardinals fans in the house too, as they begin ratcheting up their score. And then, at the very end, our team won! After four hours sitting next to strangers, we were all high-fiving each other.
The night manager let us into the hotel and said, "your team won!" Our team won!
From the moment we stepped on the plane to the tune of piped-in bouzouki music, we knew we were taking off for some place very different from any place that we had been to before. We had 8 days in Greece, which is not a lot for this country, and we were going to make the most of it.
It's winter in Greece, so our plan was to skip the islands, all of them, and instead concentrate on sites close to Athens and the Peloponnese. We decided to rent a car and tour around the country, seeing as J. has the chops now to drive almost anywhere. We would hit the Peloponnese first, then drive to Delphi and finish up our stay in Athens.
We took a very early morning flight into Athens and through much trial and tribulation got the car and set off. Armed with just a couple of simple maps, we made it to the ancient site of Epidaurus. We met a curious couple on the way in (an older gentleman and his young companion...shades of ancient Greece?), but otherwise, we were the only ones there.
Allow me a digression. As I mentioned, it is winter in Greece, but all of the sites we visited were deserted. We were often the only ones staying at the smaller inns. We had all of ancient Greece to ourselves. There are troubles in all of the countries that we want to visit, but Greece seemed to be doing better since the huge riots of December (tens of thousands of people protested the police killing of a man then). I had read of some problems with the farmers of Greece the week before our trip, but thought it was the typical gas crunch issue. When we rented our car, the agent told us that up until a few hours earlier, the main roadways in and out of Greece had been blockaded by farmers. http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Farmers-Protest-In-Greece-Over-Agriculture-Prices-Causes-Fuel-Shortages-Through-Road-Blockades/Article/200901415211127?f=rss
He assured us that the route we wanted to take in and out of the Peloponnese was open now, but to keep a watch on the news. We entered through Corinth and then drove the seaside length of the Peloponnese to exit over the new Rio-Antirio bridge (which was so modern and sci-fi looking) to get to Delphi.
Back to Epidaurus. We were the only ones there. It was a little spooky at first, but after while it got to be fun. No one was around and we had the huge site to ourselves. The main attraction at Epidaurus is the Theatre. Set into a beautiful rolling hillside, the Theatre seemed to me to have perfect proportions. I had read in a book that from the very top row, you could hear a person rustle a piece of paper on the stage. J. went to the top to test it out. The acoustics are not quite that perfect, but the sound of one's voice resonating back from all that marble is quite simply the best karaoke machine in the world. We took turns singing, and then harmonizing from the stage, turning our heads every once in a while to make sure we were the only ones there.
We drove into the tiny town of 'modern' Epidaurus for lunch. We were starving, so we just went into the first place we saw with people. Those people happened to be a half dozen or so scruffy old Greek men sipping wine and ouzo, flipping their worry beads and lounging over the dregs of their lunch. We sat down and were greeted by a fat and happy old lady who brought us beers and told us the menu: 'fish or lamb' was all she said. We'll have one of each. Both were absolutely fantastic. The fish was a whole fish, unidentifiable by me, which had been liberally season with salt and then fried. The skin had become so salty and crisp, it was good by itself. I pointed at it and asked the lady, "what is this?" "Fish." The tender lamb was served in a rich curry-like stew with carrots and potatoes. We sopped up the broth with bread. So a whole fish, a big bowl of stew, basket of bread, a big platter of thinly sliced fried potato chips, a huge salad and two half liters of beer...less than $20! Our trip was off to a great start.
We drove through miles of olive trees and ended up in our stopping place for the night, the charming village of Nafplio. "Legend has it that Nauplios, grandson of the sea god Poseidon, founded the city. Nauplion passed from the Byzantines to the Franks in 1247, then to the Venetians, who fortified the city and Bourdzi Island. Turkish forces occupied the region in 1540..." Then it was recaptured by the Venetians and then went back to the Turks, etc. The old town where we stayed is a tiny little peninsula with a dozen streets and one heck of a beautiful sunset. There is the island fortification (Bourdzi) and a hilltop fortress called Palamidi (from the second Venetian occupation).
The old town was built for wandering, eating, drinking and shopping. And that is what we did. Dinner was forgettable, but for one thing: the first (and last) time I tasted retsina. Retsina is a white or blush wine which has been aged in pine barrels. The nose, and unfortunately the taste, are all of pine resin. I woke up with a very bad headache the next day, and only after a couple of glasses of the stuff. I guess you have to try everything, even that which is bad.
Bright and early the next morning, we packed up the car and headed for Mycenae. This is also another site where we saw only one other couple. Another 'according to legend' story: Mycenae was founded by Perseus, son of Zeus and Danae who supposedly erected the city's massive stone walls with the help of Cyclops (yes, those Cylcops). The man who unearthed Mycenae claimed that he had found the grave of Agamemnon (though that was believed for a time, it was later discovered that these ruins were too old). But the really aren't new at all. They could be the oldest rocks I have ever seen. 16C BC. That's old.
You enter the site through a massive gate topped by two now headless lions. Immediately on the right after you enter are the double walled circular burial tombs. They are just so curious looking, almost alien-looking, ringed by these headstone-like rocks. Further up through the site are the remains of a palace and ramparts, but it's the graves that make this site interesting.
I guess it's the graves that give us almost all of the objects we see in the museums. Had people not been buried with this all this stuff, it would not have survived.
Anyway, back in the car and heading for the long drive to Delphi. Half of the drive is along the coast of the Peloponnese, which is beautiful. Then you cross over the bridge (we could have taken a ferry, but decided on the bridge) to the other side and it is almost mountainous. Very different landscapes. We drove alongside the mainland mountains for an hour and a half and then come upon a vast plane of olive trees. But as you drive the miles and miles through them, you begin to climb up a hill. Up and up and up the signs point to Delphi. Looking down you can see that there must be thousands of olive trees in the valley. They extend almost to the ocean, and that's what you see: a vast swath of green and then the very blue sea. It's breathtaking.
We walked through the little town of Delphi which seems to exist for tourists who aren't there. We found a restaurant and sat by the window and watched the sea and the olive trees until the sun went down. The wine tonight is much better than last night's retsina! We wandered around town until we find a semi-full restaurant. They must all be locals who live further up the hill. The place smells of wood smoke, so I know what I am ordering...meat, grilled meat. I get lamb and J. gets something unidentifiable (both are very good). From the edge of my seat I can see the kitchen. There is no chef, really, he is more of a butcher. He has a massive cleaver, and he cuts every dish to order. I see an order of lamb chops go through. A thundering and confident whack cleaves another chop off the big cage, and then he hammers it with the side of his blade to flatten it. A little seasoning, onto the grill it goes. Another fantastic meal, also very cheap.
It is raining and cold in the morning and we bundle up and lumber out to see Ancient Delphi. The story is better than the site: Delphi was founded by Zeus, and by the 2C it was a holy place dedicated to the Goddess Gaia and her daughter Thermis, who as the story goes was guarded by her son, the snake Python. "A hymn attributed to Homer tells how the god Apollo in 750 BC killed the Python and took his place, giving oracles through a priestess known as the Pythia (later called the Delphic Sibyl). The priestess (always a woman over 50 whose life was beyond reproach) would go into the temple and enter a trance, delivering ambiguous replies. ...During it's hey-day Delphi attracted pilgrims from all over the Greek World, from Spain to the Black Sea."
Blah, blah, blah: there's a treasury, sacred way, theater, temple and museum. Perhaps it's the weather, or the fact that we locked our keys in the rental car that morning, but we are not digging Delphi. As the rain starts to come down, we decide to leave for Athens.
High in the mountains we pass through a couple of ski towns (which are packed with tourists) and then come upon a taverna. We are famished, lunch is served. The taverna overlooks a mountain, and though the menu is in English and the place seems kinda touristy, the food turnd out to be great. We order the plat du jour, menu del dia, blue plate special and end up with a very filling and wonderful three course lunch. It starts with salads and snacks that include kebabs and stuffed cabbage, then onto a huge wood fired half of a chicken (for me) and then finally, some kind of apple strudel/pie thing with a thick cream anglais-style topping. I fall asleep in the car and Jeff wakes me when we get close to Athens.
It's a long day when we finally get to our hotel in Athens, the Ocher & Brown. It is plush and posh and the bed feels oh so good. I am too stuffed from lunch for dinner, so J heads out and gets a gyro. He loves it so much that we go back there in a couple of days.
The next day brings more rain, so after our included a three course breakfast, we head to the National Archaeological Museum. The museum houses the actual ruins of Mycenae, a huge collection of classical art, kouros, and most notably for me, Cycladic art.
Do me a favor and go to Google images and type in "cycladic art". I lack the capability to explain these pieces, but they are again, almost alien, and modern-looking, like Brancusi sculptures; though they are from 3000-2000BC. These sometimes faceless sculptural interpretations of the human figure are smooth and compact, with arms tucked close into the body. They have faces that look like the back of a shovel and totem-like bodies that are interpretation of human form, not the idealizes copies that you see in classic Greek sculpture. Like so much on this trip, Cycladic art is new to me, and a wonderful personal discovery.
You know what's cool? J. knows all of the ancient Greek myths. I am sure I took a class somewhere along the way, but I have long forgotten them. Though I am not sure if his knowledge is garnered by way of Graves, or Clash of the Titans, most of our trip has been comprised of him telling me stories. It's a lot of fun, being told stories, and he seemed to like telling them too.
The next day in Athens brings a lot of sun and the pinnacle of our trip, the Acropolis. The Acropolis is one of those places that I am almost afraid to see; one of those places that you have seen so many pictures of, you wonder if it can possibly compare to the images already lodged in your head.
Like most things in our travels, getting there is half the battle. The Acropolis sits on the top of seemingly the highest hill in the city, and you see it every time you turn a corner. So after climbing to the top, passing by yet another theater, you go through the grand Beule Gate. On the right is the Temple to Athena Nike and on the left is a massive pillar (atop which used to sit the Agrippa Monument). Though in a perpetual state of construction, this is all pretty impressive. And then you climb and come upon another gate, the impressive Propilea. Go through that and there is it. It sure is spectacular.
Much has been written about the Parthenon, about it's perfect proportions and intricate construction. I will say this, it's big and it's falling apart. It is undergoing massive renovations too. But I like it all tumbled down. Like your hair-do when you wake up on the morning after your wedding, or the table after a New Year's party: everything's all falling apart and somewhat smashed in places. But it still looks good, and you can see what used to be.
Also on the Acropolis is Porch of the Caryatids, see the photo at the top of this post, all of statues are copies. In the far corner of the Acropolis is a outcropping with a large Greek flag. Here's the story:
"When the Germans occupied Athens in WWII, the Evzone who guarded the Greek flag which flew from the Acropolis, was ordered by the Nazis to remove it. He calmly took it down, wrapped himself in it and jumped to his death.
The plaque by the flag commemorates Manolis Glezos and Apostolis Santas, the two eighteen year-old heroes who tore down the Nazi flag flying from the Acropolis on the night of May 30th, 1941. It is of particular interest because these names are known not only by Greeks, but by many Europeans, because this act of courage and resistance to Nazi oppression was an inspiration to all subjected people."
We saw many more ruins and museums on our trip, so these are the highlights. As usual, if you want to see more pictures, they are posted here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sudssister/
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Israelis are championship lane changers. Even on the open road they alternate lanes as if they were walking across hot coals. They can squeeze into even the tiniest gaps. It's like parallel parking at 75 miles per hour.
You could probably drive in Israel if you were blind but not if you're deaf. Israelis completely ignore emergency vehicles with their flashing lights. It's as if they were at some sort of disco. I've even seen people speed past police cars. They only pay them any heed when they have their sirens on. And if you're deaf you can't hear the most commonly spoken language in Israel, the car horn.
The car horn is used for a variety of purposes. For example, a short urgent horn while changing lines means, "This lane is occupied." A medium, insistent honk at a light means, "The light has turned yellow for the other direction, you should start accelerating". Two honks and headlight flashing from behind means, "I want to drive a higher multiple of the speed limit." And a long, agonized honk from a parked car means, "Someone triple-parked where I was double-parked and now I'm boxed in." I have heard many other car horns and even regional dialects but it is difficult to translate with the phrasebook while dodging motorcycles. So far the only thing I can say in my rudimentary car horn is, "Please don't kill me". It sounds like kind of shrill squeak.
Israelis are more predictable than US drivers. You don't know whether a US driver will let you in or whether he will be a jerk and accelerate. All Israeli drivers just go. In Israel, if you decide to let someone in as you would in the U.S., they won't budge. The secret is to act momentarily distracted by the radio, or by a map or the collar of your shirt. Then the Israeli instincts will kick in and they will zoom ahead of you. You can try to honk and wave and eventually they'll get the idea but they won't take any pleasure in it and you'll hold up traffic.
Another thing to get to used to is motorcycles and scooters. Traffic laws do not apply to motorcycles and scooters. Newton's Laws do not apply to them either. Motorcycles go between lanes, along the shoulder, up the median, across the sidewalk and circle your car twice before leaving the driveway. Looking both ways when crossing the street is not sufficient. You have to look both ways, up, down, behind you, around the corner and under the bushes before you can be sure that no motorcycle is approaching. We had to lay strips of spikes to keep them out of the bedroom. At first I was really uneasy about motorcycles passing me on all sides at high speed and between buses But I take some consolation in the fact that if I ever am in an accident that two or three motorcyclists will soften the blow of the collision.
Taxi drivers have to work particularly hard in Israel to distinguish themselves as crazy drivers. They do this by straddling lanes for miles, picking up imaginary fares in tunnels and using their turn signal only when changing three or four lanes at once.
Despite all this, there seem to be remarkably few crashes in Israel. I think that this must be due to drivers expecting everyone to drive like a maniac. I have seen evidence of only one serious accident. The wreckage was almost like a Hollywood prop. It looked like the Death Star at the end of the movie. Like it had suffered a head-on collision. Several. It was as if the police had left it there as a deterrent to other drivers.
The accident report will surely reveal that the root cause was a car horn malfunction.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Over the weekend we went to see Mini-Israel. It's replicas of all of Israel's attractions in miniature form. The buildings are nothing special. I mean, the real buildings are special, of course, this is the Holy Land. But the mini buildings are too small to impress. It's the teensy people the make this place cool. All of them are different. Or at the very least, a heck of a lot of them are different. Look at all of the little people in the pictures below. Everyone is wearing different clothing and stands in a unique position.
I didn't really notice that the people were different until we reached the Wailing Wall. You can't tell from the picture, but all of the people who are praying are unique. Above you can see people praying to Mecca. Their little backs are hinged! You press a button and they pray and go up and down. Looking at the Muslims, you think that they all are the same (because they move up and down at the same time) but get in closer and you will notice that they are all different, they are all wearing different clothes. At the Wailing Wall, all of the Jews are wearing the same clothes, but they move uniquely and are postured differently from one another.
Right about now, I am sure you're all thinking that I am now going to draw a picture of 'all of these different religions and cultures all living in one small area', or 'all of these unique individuals, everyone, at their core is human." But that isn't true. I guess that's why there is all of the fighting.
So no, I am going belabor the point of 'people are people' sharing a sacred area. Mini Israel, to me, is not really an accurate portrayal of the region. The problem here is that everyone lacks concern for the individual. If Mini Israel were an accurate representation of real Israel, then all of the Jewish faces would be the same and so would all of the Muslim. The real problem in this region is that the individual is not valuable, it's the whole that matters. Be it the Zionist's dream of a Jewish State or Hamas's human shields, both sacrifice the individual for the good of the whole.
But I will say this: if you look down on the Temple Mount (Mini version, of course), all of the areas seem exactly equal to me. It's like the architectural equivalent of my mother counting out the jelly beans in our Easter baskets...with four kids everything has to be even or there's fighting.
Back to the displays. There is a display of a kibbutz with farms and dairies and teensy animals, and a tiny speaker playing a tinny Jewish folk song. There is a tiny Ben Gurion Airport. Masada is big, though! There is a tiny Haifa, and a tiny Ceasarea with a tiny aqueduct and a tiny collesium. There is even a tiny version of the neighborhood I live in, and a tiny version of the street I walk the dog on.
I live in the Bauhaus neighborhood, for which Tel Aviv got it's Unesco World Heritage status as the White City. The architecture is Modernism, or what I like to call, "Boxy, but Good".
The street I live on is called Ahad Ha'am. Everyone knows it, it's a long street. But every time I try to say the street name, people have no idea what I am talking about. Cabbies give me a blank stare. I should preface this by saying that nearly everyone under the age of 40, and mostly everyone over that age, speaks English. As a result, and out of laziness and convenience, I have only bothered to learn very basic phrases in Hebrew. You know, "please", "thanks", and "I'll have another". But my pronunciation is horrible. In fact, when I am pronouncing things the correct Hebrew way, I feel like I am being offensive. Hebrew sounds like every terrible Yiddish characterization. It's very difficult for me to bring an "h" up from the back of my throat like I am going to spit. I feel like I am making fun of the language!
The Israeli newscasters on the English language channels speak with the Queen's lilt. Until they come to an "h", that is. One of them, a doppelganger for Julie Andrews, is the perfect Brit until she says the one word that's in all the news these days, "Hamas". Perhaps it's all of our disdain for the group, but even Mary Poppins spits at the camera when she says it! Hamas!
Anyway, as I was saying, I live on Ahad Ha'am. Try and say it while spitting the "h"-es. It's tough! Ahad Ha'am literally means "one of the people", and everyone points that out to me. It's also the pen name of a notable Zionist, Asher Ginsberg, who spoke of "a Jewish state and not merely a state of Jews". His grave is in Tel Aviv. From Wikipedia:
Ahad Ha'am's ideas were popular at a very difficult time for Zionism, beginning after the failures of the first Aliya. His unique contribution was to emphasize the importance of reviving Hebrew and Jewish culture both in Palestine and throughout the Diaspora, something that was recognized only belatedly, when it became part of the Zionist program after 1898. Theodore Herzl did not have much use for Hebrew, and many wanted German to be the language of the Jewish state. Ahad Ha'am played an important role in the revival of the Hebrew language and Jewish culture, and in cementing a link between the proposed Jewish state and Hebrew culture.
Ahad Ha'am's 'cultural Zionism' and his writings have been widely distorted however, or misunderstood and quoted out of context to imply that he thought Jews should not settle in the Land of Israel / Palestine, or that he thought it was impossible to ever establish a Jewish state.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
It is not easy to discover Petra. Each and every step of the way, from crossing the border into Jordan to fully exploring the site, is difficult. But as people coming down from El Deir told us as were scaling the mountain, "it is worth it."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Two major highways run the length of the country, one goes through the desert in the center and the other snakes alongside the Dead Sea along the border with Jordan. We decided to take the "scenic" route on the way down, even though it took us through Be'er Sheba (the site of some bombings). More than half of Israel is made up of the Negev Desert, and this might be our only trip south, so we wanted to see it. The highway that takes you through the Negev is windy and very scenic. We drove for desert for at least four hours. It was quite a spectacle. Just nothing for miles but deep craters and moonscape-like canyons of desert.
We drove through Mitzpe Ramon, the location of a huge 28 mile-long crater, and Israel's largest national park. The highway descends steeply through its five mile span. It was thrilling and precarious, a great drive!
After five hours, we finally we arrived in Eilat! No wonder most people prefer to fly here!
For New Year's Eve, we decide to take the easy route of going to the dinner that our posh hotel is throwing. The menu looked great, and the stumble back to our rooms would be short. The only problem is that neither Jeff nor myself planned on going anywhere fancy. After deciding that no, my beach cover-up would not work as a dress, I put the one sweater that I brought and lipstick. Jeff wears his sneakers. The dining room is filled with either very elegantly dressed Jewish people on holiday, or tacky tables of Russians.
The night is like the weirdest wedding that I have ever been to, and it went on and on for 6 hours. Playing is a huge band of black Jews from America who sing a range of songs as varied as the crowd. The song list includes Islands in the Stream, Hello Dolly and selections from Depeche Mode.
There are a trio of Norwegians at our table, two of which speak English. We wait for an hour for food and by the time it comes, I have already probably consumed approximately two bottles of Yarden Chardonnay. Please let them bring food soon, I think. Jeff comments on the evening as being, "the strangest cultural juxtaposition as was ever found on the deepest, darkest shelf of Goodwill bric-a-brac." I think he has had some chardonnay too!
The food starts coming out and it is very, very good. I don't mean good, as in, "this is good for a hotel who is serving 500 people," but good as in, "wow, who's the chef?" There are maybe 8 courses served, and in between each, the band plays a few songs and more wine is consumed. A long night. The most memorable of the dishes was a starter that was a sliced torchon of foie gras with a sweet and tangy fig compote. The fish course was also great. It was a fillet of the local specialty called Dennis, wrapped around asparagus spears. We were also served lamb chops and fillet mignon. I was pleasantly surprised the food was as well-prepared as it was. It's very hard to turn to out dinner for that many and have it come out hot let alone tasty.
We love the band. The lead singer looks like one of the Commodores. He says something pithy about the war, and then scats What a Wonderful World. The band is the highlight of the evening, and they all wearing matching suits and dresses. I am momentarily blinded by sequins caught in the lights. Fueled by the bottles of vodka at their tables, the Russians are dancing. Everyone is dancing. Strapless dresses and yarmulkes and fur coats are flying. And I think to myself, after a certain age you really shouldn't wear satin. The band plays a Banana Boat version of Graceland and the lead singer shouts, "feel free, feel cool about yourself." And suddenly, we are imitating the band's moves and dancing with the rest of the crowd. Jeff is in a conga line and I get dragged in too. And the band plays It's Raining Men and I stop and look around at this varied group of people dancing: the Russian trophy wives with fake boobs and plastic faces and dresses, and older Jewish couples with ropes of pearls around their necks, and a trio of Norwegians and two Americans in sneakers. I laugh out loud. We all go out and watch the fireworks and come back in and drink some more champagne. I am falling asleep at the table when they serve dessert and too full to eat it. We head back to our room and I say to Jeff, "that was one of the best birthdays on record."
Monday, January 5, 2009
"Reports of visitors to Jerusalem being seized by a religious psychosis date back to the Middle Ages. In the 1930s, Israeli psychiatrists formally described the condition in which tourists assume the persona of a Biblical character and make strange pronouncements at a holy site. (In one 1969 case, an Australian tourist set fire to a local mosque, sparking a citywide riot and a 1998 film of the same name.) An article in the British Journal of Psychiatry in 2000 noted that 1,200 patients had been referred to a central mental facility with the disorder between 1980 and 1993. Some had previous mental disorders; others seemed quite sane before and later resumed normal lives. The authors warned tour guides to be alert for the disorder's seven characteristic stages: Sufferers appear agitated; seek to leave the group to tour Jerusalem alone; become obsessed with purity and cleanliness; prepare a toga-like gown "often with the aid of hotel bed linen"; shout Bible verses, then march to a holy site and deliver a confused sermon that often appeals to humankind to adopt a more moral way of life."