Alright, I finally finished up my account of the Oregon camping trip (those pesky classes are always getting in the way). To read the postings in sequential order click here, and then click the "next" link at the bottom of each page.
Enjoy.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Low Elevation!
So, we finally had a warm night last night! We pulled into a campsite alongside the "Wild and Scenic" Rogue River (Oregon's state tourism board didn't have to think long about how to describe this one). The campsite was at an elevation in the hundreds of feet, instead of thousands, like the nights before. I've never been so excited about wearing flip-flops. This was our back yard:
Perhaps the most notable event that evening was stopping in Union Creek (in between Crater Lake and the Rogue). The little mountain town is home to Beckie's Cafe, home of what is quite possibly the best piece of pie I've ever had. The house special was Huckleberry, so we brought a few pieces back to the campsite. We couldn't eat them there, after all, we were roughing it.
This morning was spent hiking along the gorge carved out by the Rogue and the Lava streams before it. I was as amazing as what I've come to expect from the Oregon wilderness. Take a look:
One of the coolest parts of this region is a natural bridge carved out by Lava flowing underneath the surface rock. It was a big shortcut for getting back to our car, so we hopped the fence and put it to use.
Our next stop was the product of some logging executive's guilty conscience. The Boise Cascade company set aside some of its privately owned forest. It was a nature preserve containing the aptly named Avenue of the Giant Boulders:
and Mill Creek Falls:
We got back in the car and headed to the Whisky Creek portion of the Rogue river. We had found a great little place to hike to and camp in. It was pretty secluded--we had to take 15 winding miles of backcountry roads to get there (think Deliverance, plus trees, minus Ned Beatty). For a trip that was suppposed to be all backpacking, it was about time we left the car for a bit. The trail ran through the cliffs above the river and had one of the best views of any I've ever hiked.
After a couple hours of hiking, we came to the campsite, and I could have sworn that is was straight out of a North Face ad.
It was a wonderful place to spend our last night.
As I was unpacking my tent, I saw a huge spider crawling around the inside. And since it wasn't unzipped between then and the time when I was in it...Ugh, I don't want to think about that.
A few minutes after we set up camp, a group of boaters came floating up to the river bank and asked if they could share the campsite. We agreed, and were especially happy to have done so once they took out their half keg of beer (one of four). They called themselve the PLRG--Puffy Liver Rafting Group--and were a hilarious bunch of guys.
While they were unpacking their 2 grills, overhead canopies and iPod speakers, us low-level campers were out picking blackberries. Believe me, that's way more manly than it sounds. The bushes (weeds in OR) posess spikes that could hold a shish-kabob. Or in my case, a whole lot of skin. [Fast forward: it was completely worth it once I had them in my oatmeal the next morning. Mmmm.]
We made it back to the campsite just in time for the PLRG's 3-course dinner, in which they happily let us partake. Over torillini and beer, we talked about the electric fenced area in the campsite. It was clearly to prevent Yogi and pals from partaking in our dehydrated niblets. One of the PLRG (a first-timer) paid particular interest to this device, or better yet, the need for it. He hadn't spent much time in the outdoors, and the thought of a two-ton hunk of furry muscle didn't sit too well. Of course, the other guys jumped on the opportunity to scare the shit out of one of their buddies. They all traded bear stories, and I laughed along with the old-timers. But I was crying on the inside. Here I am, a fairly well traveled adventurer-in-training, and I was crapping myself over a couple of bear tales. But in all fairness, my usual romps aren't too bear-friendly, so it was a relatively new concept for me. But a relatively scary one, also. (Looks like I'll get to use those bear jokes, after all.)
I didn't want to brave a trip to the outhouse that night, so I held everything. I didn't need much help staying awake the night, and that definitely didn't help. I went in and out of consciousness, jumping up everytime the wind rustled my tent ("That's a bear. No it's not. Yes it is. No it's not, stop crying."). Every time my campmates rolled over in their sleeping bags, and every time nature played another note in its evening symphony, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Every time I woke up, I'd peek out from under my tent to see if the Sun had made any progress (as if bears, like vampires, scurry at the first sight of morning rays). I've never been so happy as I was when I heard the PLRG getting started on breakfast.
That morning, I took one of the top 3 poops of my life.
The next day was spent hiking our way out of the park (with me cautiously peeking around every blind corner). But the view made my bear-scares disappear.
We did end up surviving, although there really wasn't much to be afraid of (except my imagination). After a quick stop in Eugene for some amazing ice cream, we collapsed into our Portland beds for some amazing shut-eye. The next day, we took another tour around Portland, stopping in the city's Chinese and Japanese gardens.
Despite the snow, spiders and bears (oh my), I had an amazing time. Travel takes on a whole new dimension when you're sleeping under the stars. The nature was wonderful, the company was better, and the tranquility was perfect. But it sure is nice to be back under a roof.
See you next trip.
Perhaps the most notable event that evening was stopping in Union Creek (in between Crater Lake and the Rogue). The little mountain town is home to Beckie's Cafe, home of what is quite possibly the best piece of pie I've ever had. The house special was Huckleberry, so we brought a few pieces back to the campsite. We couldn't eat them there, after all, we were roughing it.
This morning was spent hiking along the gorge carved out by the Rogue and the Lava streams before it. I was as amazing as what I've come to expect from the Oregon wilderness. Take a look:
One of the coolest parts of this region is a natural bridge carved out by Lava flowing underneath the surface rock. It was a big shortcut for getting back to our car, so we hopped the fence and put it to use.
Our next stop was the product of some logging executive's guilty conscience. The Boise Cascade company set aside some of its privately owned forest. It was a nature preserve containing the aptly named Avenue of the Giant Boulders:
and Mill Creek Falls:
We got back in the car and headed to the Whisky Creek portion of the Rogue river. We had found a great little place to hike to and camp in. It was pretty secluded--we had to take 15 winding miles of backcountry roads to get there (think Deliverance, plus trees, minus Ned Beatty). For a trip that was suppposed to be all backpacking, it was about time we left the car for a bit. The trail ran through the cliffs above the river and had one of the best views of any I've ever hiked.
After a couple hours of hiking, we came to the campsite, and I could have sworn that is was straight out of a North Face ad.
It was a wonderful place to spend our last night.
As I was unpacking my tent, I saw a huge spider crawling around the inside. And since it wasn't unzipped between then and the time when I was in it...Ugh, I don't want to think about that.
A few minutes after we set up camp, a group of boaters came floating up to the river bank and asked if they could share the campsite. We agreed, and were especially happy to have done so once they took out their half keg of beer (one of four). They called themselve the PLRG--Puffy Liver Rafting Group--and were a hilarious bunch of guys.
While they were unpacking their 2 grills, overhead canopies and iPod speakers, us low-level campers were out picking blackberries. Believe me, that's way more manly than it sounds. The bushes (weeds in OR) posess spikes that could hold a shish-kabob. Or in my case, a whole lot of skin. [Fast forward: it was completely worth it once I had them in my oatmeal the next morning. Mmmm.]
We made it back to the campsite just in time for the PLRG's 3-course dinner, in which they happily let us partake. Over torillini and beer, we talked about the electric fenced area in the campsite. It was clearly to prevent Yogi and pals from partaking in our dehydrated niblets. One of the PLRG (a first-timer) paid particular interest to this device, or better yet, the need for it. He hadn't spent much time in the outdoors, and the thought of a two-ton hunk of furry muscle didn't sit too well. Of course, the other guys jumped on the opportunity to scare the shit out of one of their buddies. They all traded bear stories, and I laughed along with the old-timers. But I was crying on the inside. Here I am, a fairly well traveled adventurer-in-training, and I was crapping myself over a couple of bear tales. But in all fairness, my usual romps aren't too bear-friendly, so it was a relatively new concept for me. But a relatively scary one, also. (Looks like I'll get to use those bear jokes, after all.)
I didn't want to brave a trip to the outhouse that night, so I held everything. I didn't need much help staying awake the night, and that definitely didn't help. I went in and out of consciousness, jumping up everytime the wind rustled my tent ("That's a bear. No it's not. Yes it is. No it's not, stop crying."). Every time my campmates rolled over in their sleeping bags, and every time nature played another note in its evening symphony, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Every time I woke up, I'd peek out from under my tent to see if the Sun had made any progress (as if bears, like vampires, scurry at the first sight of morning rays). I've never been so happy as I was when I heard the PLRG getting started on breakfast.
That morning, I took one of the top 3 poops of my life.
The next day was spent hiking our way out of the park (with me cautiously peeking around every blind corner). But the view made my bear-scares disappear.
We did end up surviving, although there really wasn't much to be afraid of (except my imagination). After a quick stop in Eugene for some amazing ice cream, we collapsed into our Portland beds for some amazing shut-eye. The next day, we took another tour around Portland, stopping in the city's Chinese and Japanese gardens.
Despite the snow, spiders and bears (oh my), I had an amazing time. Travel takes on a whole new dimension when you're sleeping under the stars. The nature was wonderful, the company was better, and the tranquility was perfect. But it sure is nice to be back under a roof.
See you next trip.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Caves, lava and craters
After another brisk night, we visited two lava-themed National Monuments. The first one was the generically named Lava Lands park in central Oregon. The entire Cascade mountain range is one long string of Volcanoes (think Mt. St. Helens), so it shouldn't be surprising that much of the nearby landscape has been carved by their activity. This park had one giant cinder cone (caused by explosions of volcanic dirt, as opposed to magma), surrounded by a moon-like rockscape.
After an hour or so of hiking along the paved trails, we headed over to Lava River Cave. This particular geologic feature was formed by an underground river of lava (long since cooled) that carved a tunnel through the Earth's upper crust. It emerges at the surface, allowing visitors to explore it (albeit with a lantern and a jacket), so we spent an hour checking the place out. Because of the pitch-black surroundings, the place wasn't very conducive to photography, but our next stop will more that make up for the lack of pictures.
We went back to the car and headed south, dropping in elevation as well ("Watch the thermometer fall")! An hour car ride (or so, I lost track of time between the z's) brought us to one of the most amazing natural features that I have seen in this country or any other.
Crater Lake National Park is one of the Wonders of the Natural World, and should be a requisite destination for any good American. (And I use that term with the purest of intentions, unlike the linguistic hijackers littering D.C.) Words don't begin to describe the view, and photos don't do much better, but here's an 8x10 glimpse into what needs to be seen in person.
After wiping up our drool, we headed for a two mile hike (straight up) to Garfield Peak for an even better view than the first.
We then hiked our way back to the lodge for a locally fermented treat (from Deschuttes brewery, worth tracking down). Refreshed, we headed back to the car and made our way south.
After an hour or so of hiking along the paved trails, we headed over to Lava River Cave. This particular geologic feature was formed by an underground river of lava (long since cooled) that carved a tunnel through the Earth's upper crust. It emerges at the surface, allowing visitors to explore it (albeit with a lantern and a jacket), so we spent an hour checking the place out. Because of the pitch-black surroundings, the place wasn't very conducive to photography, but our next stop will more that make up for the lack of pictures.
We went back to the car and headed south, dropping in elevation as well ("Watch the thermometer fall")! An hour car ride (or so, I lost track of time between the z's) brought us to one of the most amazing natural features that I have seen in this country or any other.
Crater Lake National Park is one of the Wonders of the Natural World, and should be a requisite destination for any good American. (And I use that term with the purest of intentions, unlike the linguistic hijackers littering D.C.) Words don't begin to describe the view, and photos don't do much better, but here's an 8x10 glimpse into what needs to be seen in person.
After wiping up our drool, we headed for a two mile hike (straight up) to Garfield Peak for an even better view than the first.
We then hiked our way back to the lodge for a locally fermented treat (from Deschuttes brewery, worth tracking down). Refreshed, we headed back to the car and made our way south.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Up, up, and away! (And then up some more.)
After a short drive (of which I saw only the back of my eyelids, you know what cars do to me), we arrived at the Mirror Lake trail head in Three Sisters. Looking up at the mountain tops, it had clearly snowed a lot over the last few days, but the trailhead was dry, and we thought that the campsite was at a lower altitude (and therefore warmer), so we set off with 50 pounds of gear and food strapped to our backs.
Don't we look adventurous? (And how cool is that hat hair of mine?)
As we hiked, we started noticing more and more snow on the ground. We were slowly ascending, which didn't make sense, since we thought that the campsite was below the trail head. But we trusted the map, maybe the trail went up before it went down. So we kept going.
And going.
And going.
At this point, we were getting a little worried (and a lot colder), so we double checked the map. What we had thought was an altitude reading of 5000 feet at the campsite was actually 6000 feet, well above the snow line. Oops. For the record, although I'm much more prone than most to clumsy travel slip-ups, the map reading error was comitted by my very well seasoned uncle. The guy's one click below park ranger, so if he's getting mixed up, there isn't much hope for the rest of us. But we had already traveled 3/4 of the way (and we're stubborn), so we trudged on, thinking that we'd evaluate things once we got to the campsite. As soon as we got there, the situation was obvious, we'd either have to pack back out or freeze our little tushies off. This is where we would have been sleeping (keep in mind, this photo was taken around 2pm, it was only going to get colder).
After a little pow-wow, we decided to throw in the towel. Better to swallow our pride than lose our testicles, after all they've already been in quite a lot of jeopardy on this trip. (Speaking of which, I'll take stale joke for 400, Alex.)
We hiked back down the mountain, thinking we'd camp out at a lower elevation. We saw a nice, secluded lake a couple miles back, so we were going to take our chances there. It was pretty and had some flat spots to put our tents.
We got there around 3, dropped our packs, and took it easy. Jeremy and I took a nap (some things never change), and Richard explored. When we woke up, he pointed out that it was 4pm--the hottest time of day--and still couldn't have been more than 45 degrees. We needed to keep going. We ended up leaving the park altogether, getting back to our car around 6. We had essentially taken the most geared-up day hike in the history of the sport.
So, we're again without a destination. Let's recap:
Glacier National Park
Marble Mountain, CA
Mirror Lake, Three Sisters, OR
Three Sisters, second try
As we drove away, the clouds broke, giving us our first view of the mountain that we had spent all day trying to climb.
Irony's a cruel mistress.
Driving off, we saw a little campsite just a couple of miles from the trailhead, and it was well below the snow line. We had initially stopped to check out the area, but we knew this was the place. Here's what convinced us.
The view only got better as the sun went down.
And then got back up.
It almost made us happy that we couldn't stay in Sisters. Almost.
Don't we look adventurous? (And how cool is that hat hair of mine?)
As we hiked, we started noticing more and more snow on the ground. We were slowly ascending, which didn't make sense, since we thought that the campsite was below the trail head. But we trusted the map, maybe the trail went up before it went down. So we kept going.
And going.
And going.
At this point, we were getting a little worried (and a lot colder), so we double checked the map. What we had thought was an altitude reading of 5000 feet at the campsite was actually 6000 feet, well above the snow line. Oops. For the record, although I'm much more prone than most to clumsy travel slip-ups, the map reading error was comitted by my very well seasoned uncle. The guy's one click below park ranger, so if he's getting mixed up, there isn't much hope for the rest of us. But we had already traveled 3/4 of the way (and we're stubborn), so we trudged on, thinking that we'd evaluate things once we got to the campsite. As soon as we got there, the situation was obvious, we'd either have to pack back out or freeze our little tushies off. This is where we would have been sleeping (keep in mind, this photo was taken around 2pm, it was only going to get colder).
After a little pow-wow, we decided to throw in the towel. Better to swallow our pride than lose our testicles, after all they've already been in quite a lot of jeopardy on this trip. (Speaking of which, I'll take stale joke for 400, Alex.)
We hiked back down the mountain, thinking we'd camp out at a lower elevation. We saw a nice, secluded lake a couple miles back, so we were going to take our chances there. It was pretty and had some flat spots to put our tents.
We got there around 3, dropped our packs, and took it easy. Jeremy and I took a nap (some things never change), and Richard explored. When we woke up, he pointed out that it was 4pm--the hottest time of day--and still couldn't have been more than 45 degrees. We needed to keep going. We ended up leaving the park altogether, getting back to our car around 6. We had essentially taken the most geared-up day hike in the history of the sport.
So, we're again without a destination. Let's recap:
As we drove away, the clouds broke, giving us our first view of the mountain that we had spent all day trying to climb.
Irony's a cruel mistress.
Driving off, we saw a little campsite just a couple of miles from the trailhead, and it was well below the snow line. We had initially stopped to check out the area, but we knew this was the place. Here's what convinced us.
The view only got better as the sun went down.
And then got back up.
It almost made us happy that we couldn't stay in Sisters. Almost.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Come back to me testicles
Well, we're crossing destinations off right and left. Not only was Marble Mountain's air fouled by a recent forest fire, hunting season opens today. And none of us were too keen on getting popped by an overzealous Bubba. I'm often mistaken for things that I'm not (smart, funny, a decent writer...), and I'd hate to add venison to the list. So yesterday we decided to head south to the Three Sisters widerness area near Bend, OR. We started the trip off right, taking the historic Columbia River Highway. The road bisects our country's only National Scenic Area, a title well deserved. Take a look:
Along the way we stopped at some little state park gems, Multinomah Falls and Smith Rock. The falls are just 30 minutes outside Portland, and are one of the state's top tourist destinations. Again, a picture is better than me yapping.
Smith Rock is, well, a rock. But a really cool, big rock. It's a popular climbing destination (in fact, we saw a few Peter Parkers doing their thing). Pic time:
Because of all the detours, we wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Three Sisters. We decided to spend the night at Turmalo State park, 25 miles outside of Bend. As the sun set, the temperature dropped. Fast. By the time we were ready to hit the sleeping bags, it had fallen to about 30 degrees. It was in the twentys overnight (hence the post's title). Now, I've spent several posts detailing the experience of an overnight deep freeze, so I won't belabor you with details. But let me tell you, the pull out maneuver that every guy employs before he goes #1 takes on a whole new level of difficulty when your fingers are popsicles with knuckles. I decided to hold it. Every time I woke up last night (and there were lots), I pulled the drawsring on my sleeping bag tighter and tighter until I could barely suck in air. I seriously considered sealing it shut altogehter, wondering how long I could live on the air in my sleeping bag. It wasn't long.
We woke up the next day to find the site just as cold as we left it. Comment of the day: "It's frozen!" says my uncle about the plate that we washed the night before. Brrr. Second place: "Look at the Sisters," says my uncle, "there sure is a lot of fresh snow up there."
"Oh shit."
(But we went anyway.)
Along the way we stopped at some little state park gems, Multinomah Falls and Smith Rock. The falls are just 30 minutes outside Portland, and are one of the state's top tourist destinations. Again, a picture is better than me yapping.
Smith Rock is, well, a rock. But a really cool, big rock. It's a popular climbing destination (in fact, we saw a few Peter Parkers doing their thing). Pic time:
Because of all the detours, we wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Three Sisters. We decided to spend the night at Turmalo State park, 25 miles outside of Bend. As the sun set, the temperature dropped. Fast. By the time we were ready to hit the sleeping bags, it had fallen to about 30 degrees. It was in the twentys overnight (hence the post's title). Now, I've spent several posts detailing the experience of an overnight deep freeze, so I won't belabor you with details. But let me tell you, the pull out maneuver that every guy employs before he goes #1 takes on a whole new level of difficulty when your fingers are popsicles with knuckles. I decided to hold it. Every time I woke up last night (and there were lots), I pulled the drawsring on my sleeping bag tighter and tighter until I could barely suck in air. I seriously considered sealing it shut altogehter, wondering how long I could live on the air in my sleeping bag. It wasn't long.
We woke up the next day to find the site just as cold as we left it. Comment of the day: "It's frozen!" says my uncle about the plate that we washed the night before. Brrr. Second place: "Look at the Sisters," says my uncle, "there sure is a lot of fresh snow up there."
"Oh shit."
(But we went anyway.)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
I'm tired, this'll be short
Alright, we've got a plan now: we're heading to the Marble Mountain wilderness in Northern California. It looks nice, it's not too far, and the weather's good. There are some wildfires nearby, so hopefully the air will be clear--we'll see how that goes. We're getting up early tomorrow, so I'm not going to chat here too long, but I did want to check in.
Portland is fast becomming one of my favorite US cities. Nice people, clean air, beautiful scenery, and plenty of parks. Here's one:
My aunt, cousin and I spent they day walking around and taking the FREE metro train. I'd probably gush more about the city if I didn't have to get up so early, but take my word, it's nice.
So, unless Bullwinkle's got himself an internet cafe, I don't think I'll be posting anytime soon. What I'll do is write down the inevitble wilderness hijinks in a paper journal (if they still make those), and put them online once I get back to civilization.
Talk to you all soon,
Myles
Portland is fast becomming one of my favorite US cities. Nice people, clean air, beautiful scenery, and plenty of parks. Here's one:
My aunt, cousin and I spent they day walking around and taking the FREE metro train. I'd probably gush more about the city if I didn't have to get up so early, but take my word, it's nice.
So, unless Bullwinkle's got himself an internet cafe, I don't think I'll be posting anytime soon. What I'll do is write down the inevitble wilderness hijinks in a paper journal (if they still make those), and put them online once I get back to civilization.
Talk to you all soon,
Myles
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
A summer twofer
I must have done something to tickle the travel god's fancy, because I'm 24 hours away from setting off on summer '06 trip number two (not counting the weekend romp in LA). This time it's with my cousin, Jeremy, and uncle, Richard. The plan was to meet them in Portland and head up to the soon-to-be-irrelevantly-named Glacier National Park. But the weather took a turn for the crappy and we decided to spare ourselves the weiner-sicle inducing stow storms. We're going to have to come up with a new plan tomorrow. (Which is too bad, because I lined up a pretty solid list of "I'm afraid of bears" jokes. Oh well.)
So, I had my first big dinner in a long time last night (I love going home). However, my body forgot how to handle that quantity of food and I woke up having to take quite a dump. Problem was that I kinda slept in today (getting up at 4:30 is no easy task for me), but I figured I'd just go at the airport. I had a soon to expire coupon for free admittance to the terminal VIP lounge, and I hear that they have toilets you can drink a smoothie out of (poothie?). An airline credit card that I signed up for came with complementary access to that mysterious set of double doors that swallows up executives by the dozen. However, a nasty bout of gridlock on the way to the airport knocked my schedule out of whack. I had only arrived at the airport by the time I was planning to be knee deep in complementary danishes. So I booked it to the gate sans-breakfast (and sans-pooing).
By this point, I was squirming pretty bad, but I couldn't bring myself to drop a deuce on the plane; those bathrooms are just way too public for me. Short version: as soon as we landed, I linebacked my way off the plane and headed for the first bathroom that I could find. No time to lay down the paper cowboy hat, this was an emergency.
I had stopped in San Diego so that I could buy a round trip out of there and not Phoenix (I get in the night before school starts). I was also switching airlines, so I had to pick up my luggage and recheck it. This meant another sprint to the gate, but the security line was longer than Wilt Chamberlain's...well...you know what. (List of records broken, what were you thinking?) So to avoid the mass of liquid-toting, line-slowing rookies, I took out my airline credit card and headed for the first class line. I told the ticket checker that the credit card was actually a membership card to the elite frequent flyer program (it's not), and that bypassing the security line was a bonus perk (it's not, either). It's amazing what people will believe if you sound like you know what you're talking about.
[Ouch, I just got my knees bashed in by the douchebag sitting in front of me--hang on a second, I think we're going to have a little chat.]
Much better.
As you've probably guessed, I'm sitting on the plane again, this time heading to Salt Lake City. It's like a flying Latter Day Saints conference here. A lot of blond hair and blue eyes on this flight. [I'm restraining myself because I happen to have some high school friends that prove not all Mormons are Warren Jeffs, but there's just so much humor potential there.]
By the way, I thought that there weren't anymore hot flight attendants these days. I was mistaken.
Alright, I'll check in again from Portland, I need to get some sleep. Ahh, the safety announcement, that should help.
M
Monday, August 14, 2006
A little quickie
Hi there,
I don't have anything epic to report today, but I just got back from a little trip to LA, and thought that I could squeeze a few stories out of it.
So, one of the rabbis from the Israel trip called me last week and invited me to his house for Shabbat. Perhaps my motives were a bit less noble than he was hoping for, but I thought, "What the hell, I could use a few free meals." Now, I'm currently sans-car, so I told him that we'd need to figure out some type of rideshare. It turned out that one of his friends was heading up to LA for a wedding, so he'd be able to bring me up on Friday. However, I was planning on sailing with a friend on Sunday afternoon, and missing that was absolutely not an option (and oh yeah, I guess I've got class on Monday, too), but the rabbi said that he knew someone that was going to make the drive back to SD on Saturday night, so I was set. Or so I thought.
We left around lunch time on Friday to make sure that we got there in time. (Remember, Friday's sundown to a driving Jew is like sunlight to a vampire; they both explode on contact.) Leaving so early meant that we'd arrive during the pre-Shabbat frenzy, and believe me, It's madness. I was put to work installing an A/C unit for one of the rabbis--absolutely crucial in summertime Hell A. I've never been one of the city's biggest fans, but when you toss triple digit temperatures into the mix, and I begin to see why Bill Hicks kept praying for an Arizona coastline.
However, the LA neighborhood that we were in was actually pretty nice. It's called Hancock Park (tee hee hee) and looks like it was ripped straight out of Home and Garden magazine. It's predominantly Jewish, and felt very reminiscent of Israel. There were temples on every other corner, and orthodox families walked the streets. And big families, by the way. In Israel, I met lots of families with at least 8 kids, and Hancock park wasn't much different. There were packs of little Jewligans running around everywhere.
Dinner passed rather uneventfully. It was the usual, amazingly delicious fare of kosher delights that I had enjoyed in the Holy Land, but with a Southern California twist (whole grain challah, mercury-free gefilta fish, etc.). The only hiccup came when the rabbi told me that the person who was supposed to be my ride home didn't show. Shit. Since we were in the no-phone zone, the possibility of finding an alternative that night was essentially nil. So I put it out of my mind and enjoyed the tofu-ball soup.
The next morning, the rabbi that I was staying with asked me if I'd like to go to services with him. Generally, I'm not awake early enough to necessitate that question, but I went to bed early the night prior. To be honest, sitting though a 2-hour service is about as much fun to me as sitting through 2 hours of molecular biology. Except that I might get some credit for the biology. But I went anyway, since I was a guest of the family, and I wanted to follow their customs. So off we went.
A few minutes after things got started, one of the lead rabbis (there were several) came up to me and asked if I wanted to take the Torah out of the ark. Under normal circumstances, holy scriptures and I don't mix, but again I thought, "What the hell?" I went up to the podium and made a bee-line for the ark. As soon as I put my hands on the ark, the cantor (singing rabbi) stopped his prayer mid-note and shouted, "Not yet!" That was embarrassing. A few minutes later, once I was absolutely sure that I had my cue, I tried to pull the doors open, but nothing was happening. I was yanking the doors very hard, but there seemed to be some kind of lock on them. I just assumed that someone forgot to put in the key that morning (what luck). I looked at one of the rabbis, and he accurately read the "What the f's going on?" in my eyebrow raise. He came up and placed his hands on mine, and just the pressure of that slight movement slid the doors open ("Ahh, sideways").
Once the doors were open, I knew that I had to take the Torah out (see, I did learn something from my Bar Mitzvah), and I've never been more nervous. I took a good hold of the scrolls, but apparently, there's a specific way to hold the Torah, and a giant bear hug isn't it. I was instructed in the correct, awkward, method, and all I could think was, "don't drop them, don't drop them, don't drop them." Somehow I didn't, and as soon as I handed it off, I threw the doors shut and bolted back to my seat. But just as I thought I was out of the spotlight, the guy next to me leaned over and said," You're not done yet, you've got to put it away."
"Son of a bitch."
But I managed to finish my duties without any major catastrophe, and went back with the rabbi. A giant nap and two giant meals later, the sun went down and electricity was once again fair game. The inviting rabbi made lots of calls, but couldn't find anyone to give me a ride. He suggested that I take the train back, and gave me money to pay for the ticket (in all fairness, he felt really bad). Thankfully, I knew one of the other guys invited to eat with the rabbi. He let me crash at his parents' place and gave me a ride to the train station the next morning.
We woke up around 8, and he dropped me off at the depot (a small station in the LA suburbs). I barely had time to thank him before he made a bee line back to his bed. (Can you blame him?) The train was supposed to arrive a few minutes after I got there, but some murmurings at the ticket counter made me question that. It turned out that the train broke down at the last station and wouldn't be fixed for at least a couple of hours. (Don't they understand that I'm going sailing?) I immediately called customer service instead of waiting in the growing pack of pissed-off travelers at the ticket counter (a trick I picked up from my very frequently-flying dad). I learned that waiting for the train really wasn't an option, but there was one leaving out of downtown LA soon. I went up to a couple that I saw drive up, told them the news, and asked if I could hitch a ride to Union station with them. They were nice enough to let me tag along, and clearly understood that we had 25 minutes to make a 35 minute drive. Jeff Gordon would have taken longer. But I'm not complaining, we got there just in time to buy tickets, book it to the terminal, and hop on the train just as it was pulling out. Phew. The ride was pleasant, and got me back with plenty of time to meet my friend.
Wow, this is getting long, but we're almost done.
The sailing trip was one of the most enjoyable afternoons that I've ever had. Our destination was a Ben Harper concert at a bay-front stage. We were just one of many boats that had the same idea. As we were sailing, some of the girls that we were with thought that it would be fun to swim alongside the boat for a while. I didn't, but I did think that it would be fun to swim alongside the girls for a while. Now, for anyone who doesn't know, storm drains run into the bay, so it occasionally gets a little gross. Yesterday, it smelt like the type of shit that shit makes after a nice burrito grande. But yet again, I thought, "what the hell" and changed into my bathing suit.
We tossed a tow line in the water, but as soon as the first girl jumped in, the wind picked up big time and our boat took off. This girl wasn't a very strong swimmer, and quickly got left behind and started going under. I'm no Hasselhoff, but I was they only one in a bathing suit, so I jumped in and went after her. Now, I'd love to tell you about the heroic swan dive that took me gracefully to her side, but coordination has never been my strong suit. Had my eyes been open mid-flight, I might have seen the type of spastick belly flop that makes a beached whale look graceful. I almost got left behind, myself.
When I was a kid, I took a few lifeguard classes, but I only just remembered that now (as I'm writing this); at the time, I had no idea what I was going to do. But I swam towards her, anyway, figuring that I'd just wing it. (I'm sure that's lesson number 1 at lifeguard school.) When I got to her, she was struggling to keep her head up, so I wrapped an arm around her and treaded water for the two of us. I know that you're not supposed to do that, since she could have pulled me under, as well (especially since I float like a cinder block), but I wasn't just going to hang out and watch her drown. My friend had been turning the boat around during all of this, and a few moments after I got to the girl, the tow line was in reach. I grabbed on with my free hand, and our friends pulled us in. I struggled to hang on to the rope during all of this, which was no easy task while holding on to another person and taking mouthfulls of shit-water every time a wave came over us. But we eventually made it to the boat, dried ourselves off, and cracked open some much needed beers.
So, that was my weekend.
I don't have anything epic to report today, but I just got back from a little trip to LA, and thought that I could squeeze a few stories out of it.
So, one of the rabbis from the Israel trip called me last week and invited me to his house for Shabbat. Perhaps my motives were a bit less noble than he was hoping for, but I thought, "What the hell, I could use a few free meals." Now, I'm currently sans-car, so I told him that we'd need to figure out some type of rideshare. It turned out that one of his friends was heading up to LA for a wedding, so he'd be able to bring me up on Friday. However, I was planning on sailing with a friend on Sunday afternoon, and missing that was absolutely not an option (and oh yeah, I guess I've got class on Monday, too), but the rabbi said that he knew someone that was going to make the drive back to SD on Saturday night, so I was set. Or so I thought.
We left around lunch time on Friday to make sure that we got there in time. (Remember, Friday's sundown to a driving Jew is like sunlight to a vampire; they both explode on contact.) Leaving so early meant that we'd arrive during the pre-Shabbat frenzy, and believe me, It's madness. I was put to work installing an A/C unit for one of the rabbis--absolutely crucial in summertime Hell A. I've never been one of the city's biggest fans, but when you toss triple digit temperatures into the mix, and I begin to see why Bill Hicks kept praying for an Arizona coastline.
However, the LA neighborhood that we were in was actually pretty nice. It's called Hancock Park (tee hee hee) and looks like it was ripped straight out of Home and Garden magazine. It's predominantly Jewish, and felt very reminiscent of Israel. There were temples on every other corner, and orthodox families walked the streets. And big families, by the way. In Israel, I met lots of families with at least 8 kids, and Hancock park wasn't much different. There were packs of little Jewligans running around everywhere.
Dinner passed rather uneventfully. It was the usual, amazingly delicious fare of kosher delights that I had enjoyed in the Holy Land, but with a Southern California twist (whole grain challah, mercury-free gefilta fish, etc.). The only hiccup came when the rabbi told me that the person who was supposed to be my ride home didn't show. Shit. Since we were in the no-phone zone, the possibility of finding an alternative that night was essentially nil. So I put it out of my mind and enjoyed the tofu-ball soup.
The next morning, the rabbi that I was staying with asked me if I'd like to go to services with him. Generally, I'm not awake early enough to necessitate that question, but I went to bed early the night prior. To be honest, sitting though a 2-hour service is about as much fun to me as sitting through 2 hours of molecular biology. Except that I might get some credit for the biology. But I went anyway, since I was a guest of the family, and I wanted to follow their customs. So off we went.
A few minutes after things got started, one of the lead rabbis (there were several) came up to me and asked if I wanted to take the Torah out of the ark. Under normal circumstances, holy scriptures and I don't mix, but again I thought, "What the hell?" I went up to the podium and made a bee-line for the ark. As soon as I put my hands on the ark, the cantor (singing rabbi) stopped his prayer mid-note and shouted, "Not yet!" That was embarrassing. A few minutes later, once I was absolutely sure that I had my cue, I tried to pull the doors open, but nothing was happening. I was yanking the doors very hard, but there seemed to be some kind of lock on them. I just assumed that someone forgot to put in the key that morning (what luck). I looked at one of the rabbis, and he accurately read the "What the f's going on?" in my eyebrow raise. He came up and placed his hands on mine, and just the pressure of that slight movement slid the doors open ("Ahh, sideways").
Once the doors were open, I knew that I had to take the Torah out (see, I did learn something from my Bar Mitzvah), and I've never been more nervous. I took a good hold of the scrolls, but apparently, there's a specific way to hold the Torah, and a giant bear hug isn't it. I was instructed in the correct, awkward, method, and all I could think was, "don't drop them, don't drop them, don't drop them." Somehow I didn't, and as soon as I handed it off, I threw the doors shut and bolted back to my seat. But just as I thought I was out of the spotlight, the guy next to me leaned over and said," You're not done yet, you've got to put it away."
"Son of a bitch."
But I managed to finish my duties without any major catastrophe, and went back with the rabbi. A giant nap and two giant meals later, the sun went down and electricity was once again fair game. The inviting rabbi made lots of calls, but couldn't find anyone to give me a ride. He suggested that I take the train back, and gave me money to pay for the ticket (in all fairness, he felt really bad). Thankfully, I knew one of the other guys invited to eat with the rabbi. He let me crash at his parents' place and gave me a ride to the train station the next morning.
We woke up around 8, and he dropped me off at the depot (a small station in the LA suburbs). I barely had time to thank him before he made a bee line back to his bed. (Can you blame him?) The train was supposed to arrive a few minutes after I got there, but some murmurings at the ticket counter made me question that. It turned out that the train broke down at the last station and wouldn't be fixed for at least a couple of hours. (Don't they understand that I'm going sailing?) I immediately called customer service instead of waiting in the growing pack of pissed-off travelers at the ticket counter (a trick I picked up from my very frequently-flying dad). I learned that waiting for the train really wasn't an option, but there was one leaving out of downtown LA soon. I went up to a couple that I saw drive up, told them the news, and asked if I could hitch a ride to Union station with them. They were nice enough to let me tag along, and clearly understood that we had 25 minutes to make a 35 minute drive. Jeff Gordon would have taken longer. But I'm not complaining, we got there just in time to buy tickets, book it to the terminal, and hop on the train just as it was pulling out. Phew. The ride was pleasant, and got me back with plenty of time to meet my friend.
Wow, this is getting long, but we're almost done.
The sailing trip was one of the most enjoyable afternoons that I've ever had. Our destination was a Ben Harper concert at a bay-front stage. We were just one of many boats that had the same idea. As we were sailing, some of the girls that we were with thought that it would be fun to swim alongside the boat for a while. I didn't, but I did think that it would be fun to swim alongside the girls for a while. Now, for anyone who doesn't know, storm drains run into the bay, so it occasionally gets a little gross. Yesterday, it smelt like the type of shit that shit makes after a nice burrito grande. But yet again, I thought, "what the hell" and changed into my bathing suit.
We tossed a tow line in the water, but as soon as the first girl jumped in, the wind picked up big time and our boat took off. This girl wasn't a very strong swimmer, and quickly got left behind and started going under. I'm no Hasselhoff, but I was they only one in a bathing suit, so I jumped in and went after her. Now, I'd love to tell you about the heroic swan dive that took me gracefully to her side, but coordination has never been my strong suit. Had my eyes been open mid-flight, I might have seen the type of spastick belly flop that makes a beached whale look graceful. I almost got left behind, myself.
When I was a kid, I took a few lifeguard classes, but I only just remembered that now (as I'm writing this); at the time, I had no idea what I was going to do. But I swam towards her, anyway, figuring that I'd just wing it. (I'm sure that's lesson number 1 at lifeguard school.) When I got to her, she was struggling to keep her head up, so I wrapped an arm around her and treaded water for the two of us. I know that you're not supposed to do that, since she could have pulled me under, as well (especially since I float like a cinder block), but I wasn't just going to hang out and watch her drown. My friend had been turning the boat around during all of this, and a few moments after I got to the girl, the tow line was in reach. I grabbed on with my free hand, and our friends pulled us in. I struggled to hang on to the rope during all of this, which was no easy task while holding on to another person and taking mouthfulls of shit-water every time a wave came over us. But we eventually made it to the boat, dried ourselves off, and cracked open some much needed beers.
So, that was my weekend.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Safe and sound
Phew, I made it!
Our airport experience fell right in line with everything else about Israel. As we drove up to the airport, our bus was stopped and searched for bombs (at gun point), as all automobiles are stopped and searched for bombs (at gun point). We arrived to find out that there was a fire in the airport, so we couldn't enter. We could however, check out the toughest-looking firetrucks that I've ever seen. They were like battle tanks with hoses! Only in Israel. Once we finally were let in (it was madness, there are no such things as lines in Israel), we were subjected to several minutes of intense questioning to see if we were terrorists. As it turns out, we weren't. We then had to place all of our bags into a heavy-duty x-ray machine, whose technicians actually looked at the screen. Homeland Security, please take note. Another round of questioning, and we were finally allowed up to the ticket counter to check in. And all this before we even went through security! But as much as I joke about the ridiculously long security process, the fact of the matter is that I made it home safely from a country that receives far more that it's share of terror attacks. If you don't believe me, just turn on the news.
Every time that I return from a trip, I notice one more thing that I love about the United States. This time, I've realized how much I value not being searched by a heavily armed guard just to buy some groceries. It's something that I think most of us take for granted.
Well, I'm going to wrap up this installment, but I'm already planning the next adventure. We'll pick this up soon enough! Until then, all the best.
Myles
Our airport experience fell right in line with everything else about Israel. As we drove up to the airport, our bus was stopped and searched for bombs (at gun point), as all automobiles are stopped and searched for bombs (at gun point). We arrived to find out that there was a fire in the airport, so we couldn't enter. We could however, check out the toughest-looking firetrucks that I've ever seen. They were like battle tanks with hoses! Only in Israel. Once we finally were let in (it was madness, there are no such things as lines in Israel), we were subjected to several minutes of intense questioning to see if we were terrorists. As it turns out, we weren't. We then had to place all of our bags into a heavy-duty x-ray machine, whose technicians actually looked at the screen. Homeland Security, please take note. Another round of questioning, and we were finally allowed up to the ticket counter to check in. And all this before we even went through security! But as much as I joke about the ridiculously long security process, the fact of the matter is that I made it home safely from a country that receives far more that it's share of terror attacks. If you don't believe me, just turn on the news.
Every time that I return from a trip, I notice one more thing that I love about the United States. This time, I've realized how much I value not being searched by a heavily armed guard just to buy some groceries. It's something that I think most of us take for granted.
Well, I'm going to wrap up this installment, but I'm already planning the next adventure. We'll pick this up soon enough! Until then, all the best.
Myles
Monday, July 10, 2006
Goodnight moon
Hi everybody,
I know that I said that I wouldn't check in again until the US, but I had too much fun last night not to share it. Most of us are pretty wiped out by this point in the trip, so the bars and clubs don't have much appeal anymore. Instead, one of the local staff members took us up a semi-secret staircase to the roofs of the Jewish and Muslim quarters. In the middle of the night, from that vantage point, things looked downright peaceful. Judge for yourself.
Maybe peace does have a chance, as long as everyone's sleeping. All the best.
M
I know that I said that I wouldn't check in again until the US, but I had too much fun last night not to share it. Most of us are pretty wiped out by this point in the trip, so the bars and clubs don't have much appeal anymore. Instead, one of the local staff members took us up a semi-secret staircase to the roofs of the Jewish and Muslim quarters. In the middle of the night, from that vantage point, things looked downright peaceful. Judge for yourself.
Maybe peace does have a chance, as long as everyone's sleeping. All the best.
M
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Home stretch
Hi there,
If you didn't assume this from all the typos, I put up the last post in a rush. Most internet cafés charge in 15 minute intervals, and I was about to roll over into another one, and the internet's expensive here!
In my haste, I forgot to tell you all that my sister and I spent Friday morning kayaking down the Jordan river. You'd think I'd learn by now (we've been kayaking before), but all I saw for the hour-long trip was the water spraying off her paddle into my face. She thinks she's sooo funny.
Shabbat was more of the same good stuff, but with a little twist this time. The neighborhood we stayed in was a suburb on the outskirts of Jerusalem, and in the distance we heard loud blasts in the Palestine territories. One of the rabbis identified it as tank fire. Of course, we were plenty safe, but it was definitely one of those classic Israel moments. Good times.
I spent today going a bit deeper into the Arab quarter. I never felt at all in danger; there were plenty of tourists looking through the same market as me, but I did see plenty of rugs, drums and antique lamps. It was pretty cool stuff. I knew exploring it was a bit more dangerous than staying cooped up in my dorm, but you just can't find opportunities like this everywhere.
Alright, I'm off to pack up (I leave tomorrow night), but I'll check in again from the US.
M
If you didn't assume this from all the typos, I put up the last post in a rush. Most internet cafés charge in 15 minute intervals, and I was about to roll over into another one, and the internet's expensive here!
In my haste, I forgot to tell you all that my sister and I spent Friday morning kayaking down the Jordan river. You'd think I'd learn by now (we've been kayaking before), but all I saw for the hour-long trip was the water spraying off her paddle into my face. She thinks she's sooo funny.
Shabbat was more of the same good stuff, but with a little twist this time. The neighborhood we stayed in was a suburb on the outskirts of Jerusalem, and in the distance we heard loud blasts in the Palestine territories. One of the rabbis identified it as tank fire. Of course, we were plenty safe, but it was definitely one of those classic Israel moments. Good times.
I spent today going a bit deeper into the Arab quarter. I never felt at all in danger; there were plenty of tourists looking through the same market as me, but I did see plenty of rugs, drums and antique lamps. It was pretty cool stuff. I knew exploring it was a bit more dangerous than staying cooped up in my dorm, but you just can't find opportunities like this everywhere.
Alright, I'm off to pack up (I leave tomorrow night), but I'll check in again from the US.
M
Friday, July 07, 2006
Back in Jerusalem
It's been a while, sorry. In the last few days, we've gone to a winery, Tel Aviv, and spent the night on a kibbutz. Forgive me for not getting to a computer.
Ok, so the winery was located in the West Bank. Yes, that West Bank, the second most dangerous place in Israel (the first being the Gaza strip). The city we went to was right on the border with Jerusalem proper, so it wasn't particularly nasty, but we took a bulletproof bus just to be safe.
Alright, bulletproof busses are one of those terrible ideas that actually appears like a good one. Yes, it's smart to be protected in a turbulent area, but a much better idea might be to simply avoid such places that warrent a bus with plate glass windows. But that's just my opinion. Nonetheless, we really weren't placed in too much danger, because we were surrounded by--and I'm quoting our tour guide, here--"The good Arabs." In other words, people who just want to go about their day.
Here's a pic of the winery owner giving us a tour of his production facility.
Now look a bit closer, and you'll see that he's probably the only wine maker in the world that has a pistol strapped to his belt.
The rest of the day was spent hiking (with armed escorts) through the Jewish settlements in the region. The settlement issue is a complicated one, and warrants at least it's own posting, but I'll sum up the basic points. Ok, so Israel and Palestine are not exactly two equal states, the Palastinian territories (Gaza, West Bank, and a few others) are somewhat autonomous, but tecnically under Israeli control. Within them are Jewish outposts that are actually part of Israel, even though they may be surrounded by Palestine territories on all sides. They may not even be bigger than a single neighborhood, but are still part of the main state. Many were "settled" in a furious midnight land grab the day Israeli's prime minister signed an agreement halting all new territorial constuction (by Jews), so the residences are often no more than mobile homes or shanties placed on strategic hill top locations. But technically, Israel now has full control over the small areas, since its citizens own the land.
Personally, I think this whole issue (and the rest of the conflict, for that matter) is absolutely ridiculous. It's the type of juvenile behaviour that we had in grade school. Except that this game of King of the Hill costs peoples' lives. Arab land, Jewish land, who cares? There are bigger things to worry about than territorial claims.
Sigh.
On a brighter note, the next day was spent in Tel Aviv. We toured a tank museum run by the Israeli army, which was just what it sounds like. I did learn that women are allowed in the tank core, but only as instructors. Apparently the higher ups thought that beautiful Israeli women carrying M-16s might hold a guy's attention. I think that they were right.
The evening was spent downtown. If Jerusalem is God's city, Tel Aviv is the Devil's. All night parties, amazing beaches, alcohol that flows like water, and some of the most beautiful people that I've ever seen. How come we're only here for a day? There's not much more to say about an evening spent on the beach drinking beer and watching the World Cup on a giant projection screen, other than that it was one of those moments that really makes you love life.
We just got back from an overnight trip to the north, touring the holy cities of Tiberia and Svat. Tiberia was a quick stop, but we spent most of the afternoon in Svat, known as the birthplace of Kaballa. You know, Madonna's mysticism. The main attraction is a super-important Mikvah, a bath tub for the soul. Now, squeezing into a 1 meter pool with three other naked dudes wasn't exactly my cup o' tea, so I spent the day visiting a candle factory and rebuffing the intense barrage of tourist hawkers. ("My friend, my friend, I have good deal for you.")
Here's a pic of a fully intact mosaic floor from a 6th century synagogue.
And here's one of the top of our hike over the Sea of Gallilee.
Last night was spent on a summer camp-like kibbutz. It wasn't too much in the way of good blogging, but it was a nice relaxing evening of informal sports, good food and good company.
Alright, now I've got to rest up for Shabbat, I don't know if I'm ready for it yet. I'll check in after the weekend. All the best.
M
Ok, so the winery was located in the West Bank. Yes, that West Bank, the second most dangerous place in Israel (the first being the Gaza strip). The city we went to was right on the border with Jerusalem proper, so it wasn't particularly nasty, but we took a bulletproof bus just to be safe.
Alright, bulletproof busses are one of those terrible ideas that actually appears like a good one. Yes, it's smart to be protected in a turbulent area, but a much better idea might be to simply avoid such places that warrent a bus with plate glass windows. But that's just my opinion. Nonetheless, we really weren't placed in too much danger, because we were surrounded by--and I'm quoting our tour guide, here--"The good Arabs." In other words, people who just want to go about their day.
Here's a pic of the winery owner giving us a tour of his production facility.
Now look a bit closer, and you'll see that he's probably the only wine maker in the world that has a pistol strapped to his belt.
The rest of the day was spent hiking (with armed escorts) through the Jewish settlements in the region. The settlement issue is a complicated one, and warrants at least it's own posting, but I'll sum up the basic points. Ok, so Israel and Palestine are not exactly two equal states, the Palastinian territories (Gaza, West Bank, and a few others) are somewhat autonomous, but tecnically under Israeli control. Within them are Jewish outposts that are actually part of Israel, even though they may be surrounded by Palestine territories on all sides. They may not even be bigger than a single neighborhood, but are still part of the main state. Many were "settled" in a furious midnight land grab the day Israeli's prime minister signed an agreement halting all new territorial constuction (by Jews), so the residences are often no more than mobile homes or shanties placed on strategic hill top locations. But technically, Israel now has full control over the small areas, since its citizens own the land.
Personally, I think this whole issue (and the rest of the conflict, for that matter) is absolutely ridiculous. It's the type of juvenile behaviour that we had in grade school. Except that this game of King of the Hill costs peoples' lives. Arab land, Jewish land, who cares? There are bigger things to worry about than territorial claims.
Sigh.
On a brighter note, the next day was spent in Tel Aviv. We toured a tank museum run by the Israeli army, which was just what it sounds like. I did learn that women are allowed in the tank core, but only as instructors. Apparently the higher ups thought that beautiful Israeli women carrying M-16s might hold a guy's attention. I think that they were right.
The evening was spent downtown. If Jerusalem is God's city, Tel Aviv is the Devil's. All night parties, amazing beaches, alcohol that flows like water, and some of the most beautiful people that I've ever seen. How come we're only here for a day? There's not much more to say about an evening spent on the beach drinking beer and watching the World Cup on a giant projection screen, other than that it was one of those moments that really makes you love life.
We just got back from an overnight trip to the north, touring the holy cities of Tiberia and Svat. Tiberia was a quick stop, but we spent most of the afternoon in Svat, known as the birthplace of Kaballa. You know, Madonna's mysticism. The main attraction is a super-important Mikvah, a bath tub for the soul. Now, squeezing into a 1 meter pool with three other naked dudes wasn't exactly my cup o' tea, so I spent the day visiting a candle factory and rebuffing the intense barrage of tourist hawkers. ("My friend, my friend, I have good deal for you.")
Here's a pic of a fully intact mosaic floor from a 6th century synagogue.
And here's one of the top of our hike over the Sea of Gallilee.
Last night was spent on a summer camp-like kibbutz. It wasn't too much in the way of good blogging, but it was a nice relaxing evening of informal sports, good food and good company.
Alright, now I've got to rest up for Shabbat, I don't know if I'm ready for it yet. I'll check in after the weekend. All the best.
M
Monday, July 03, 2006
Another photo
Hi there,
Nothing much has happened in the last couple of days (a good thing in Israel), but I did find another photo from Masada, the mountain fort that I went to last week.
M
Nothing much has happened in the last couple of days (a good thing in Israel), but I did find another photo from Masada, the mountain fort that I went to last week.
M
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Camels, mountains, weddings and rabbis
Six months ago, if you told me that I would be spending Shabbat at a rabbi's house in the middle of Jerusalem, I would have asked if you were crazy. Or I would have asked if he had a hot daughter. But here I am, in the middle of Jerusalem, digesting three huge meals eaten in the home of a rabbi, who coincidentally has two gorgeous daughters--both married. But don't worry, I haven't had a spiritual upheaval, I met this rabbi through the trip. One or two of us students are paired with a local rabbi to chat for an hour a day. It's supposed to be a Jew & A about religious issues, but for me it's really more of a game of "stump the rabbi." I couldn't. Nonetheless, we hit it off and he invited me over to his house for the weekend. Just like the last Shabbat, I ate, I slept, I ate, I pooped. That's about it. As an aside, the cab driver on the way over tried to pimp some 16 year old girls to me. Sometimes I forget that I'm in the middle east, and then shit like that happens.
But I get ahead of myself, over the last few days, I've ridden a camel, climbed a mountain, drank with the trip rabbis (alcohol is ok with the Jews, sex too), toured nature preserves, floated in the dead sea and crashed a wedding.
So, the camel was an adventure. After my horseback experience in Argentina, I'm not quite back to trusting quadripeds, but I gave it a shot. The "saddle" amounted to little more than a sheet of leather (no stir-ups), and the beast was, well, a beast. Stubborn, unpredictable, and surly. Woo hoo.
Believe me, those smiles went away very quickly.
Jewish weddings are quite a phenomenon. A friend of one of the trip rabbis got married, and we were all invited to the ceremony. You're all familiar with the glass breaking, the garter removing and the dancing, but seeing it in person was something else. The first thing that struck me was the segregation. Look at the pic, there's a divider on the dance floor separating the girls from the guys.
This is one of those situations where so many jokes rush out of my brain that they bottleneck before my fingers and nothing comes out. You can add your own commentary.
Another difference between an orthodox wedding and others is that the guests are supposed to entertain the couple, not the other way around. This was done in the form of various dances, parlor tricks, flame throwers, and beat-boxing. Yes, even Snoop Jewey Jew got in on the mix, and he was actually pretty good. Bonus: I got to see all of my teachers (local rabbis) absolutely smashed. The next day's classes were a little awkward.
Speaking of Jews and booze, a few other students and I took the head rabbi out to a Hooka bar. For those of you who don't know what a Hooka is, it's like a bong with tobacco in place of weed (not that I've ever used either). If any religion has a chance of flying with me, there are certain prerequisites that must be met, and this is definitely one of them.
Yesterday, we were woken up at 2 am to drive to an ancient mountain fort in the south of Israel. Sunrise is a popular time to climb the mountain (for good reason), and was well worth the wake up call. Take a look:
I've climbed mountains a few times before, but never in 100 degrees of serious humidity. Needless to say, I stunk like a homeless man running a marathon. To de-funk, we took a dip in the Dead sea. For someone who has never been able to float before (being skinny has a price), this was quite a religious experience. That is, until the extreme salinity devoured every opening on my body: cuts, mouth, eyes, and others that I don't need to elaborate on. But suffice it to say, I've never enjoyed a shower quite as much as the one that I took when I got out.
Afterwards, we headed to a nearby nature preserve. I snapped a few pics. Enjoy.
Ok, I think that brings us up to date. I've got a few more big days coming up, so I'll try to check in soon.
Myles
But I get ahead of myself, over the last few days, I've ridden a camel, climbed a mountain, drank with the trip rabbis (alcohol is ok with the Jews, sex too), toured nature preserves, floated in the dead sea and crashed a wedding.
So, the camel was an adventure. After my horseback experience in Argentina, I'm not quite back to trusting quadripeds, but I gave it a shot. The "saddle" amounted to little more than a sheet of leather (no stir-ups), and the beast was, well, a beast. Stubborn, unpredictable, and surly. Woo hoo.
Believe me, those smiles went away very quickly.
Jewish weddings are quite a phenomenon. A friend of one of the trip rabbis got married, and we were all invited to the ceremony. You're all familiar with the glass breaking, the garter removing and the dancing, but seeing it in person was something else. The first thing that struck me was the segregation. Look at the pic, there's a divider on the dance floor separating the girls from the guys.
This is one of those situations where so many jokes rush out of my brain that they bottleneck before my fingers and nothing comes out. You can add your own commentary.
Another difference between an orthodox wedding and others is that the guests are supposed to entertain the couple, not the other way around. This was done in the form of various dances, parlor tricks, flame throwers, and beat-boxing. Yes, even Snoop Jewey Jew got in on the mix, and he was actually pretty good. Bonus: I got to see all of my teachers (local rabbis) absolutely smashed. The next day's classes were a little awkward.
Speaking of Jews and booze, a few other students and I took the head rabbi out to a Hooka bar. For those of you who don't know what a Hooka is, it's like a bong with tobacco in place of weed (not that I've ever used either). If any religion has a chance of flying with me, there are certain prerequisites that must be met, and this is definitely one of them.
Yesterday, we were woken up at 2 am to drive to an ancient mountain fort in the south of Israel. Sunrise is a popular time to climb the mountain (for good reason), and was well worth the wake up call. Take a look:
I've climbed mountains a few times before, but never in 100 degrees of serious humidity. Needless to say, I stunk like a homeless man running a marathon. To de-funk, we took a dip in the Dead sea. For someone who has never been able to float before (being skinny has a price), this was quite a religious experience. That is, until the extreme salinity devoured every opening on my body: cuts, mouth, eyes, and others that I don't need to elaborate on. But suffice it to say, I've never enjoyed a shower quite as much as the one that I took when I got out.
Afterwards, we headed to a nearby nature preserve. I snapped a few pics. Enjoy.
Ok, I think that brings us up to date. I've got a few more big days coming up, so I'll try to check in soon.
Myles
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