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.

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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.

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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.)

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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

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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

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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.

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

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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A few thousand words about Israel

[This is post 3 of 3 for the day, so scroll down if you haven't read the others.]

A pretty standard Israeli scene: white shirts, cheap food, beautiful soldiers.


Airport or shopping mall?


Market adaptation.


Jew-itos.


A high-school field trip with assult rifles.


Where am I?


Three peoples, three languages, one powder keg.


P.S. These are the pics from a few posts ago that weren't working:

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Pant Shitting at 500 Feet

Today, in an apparent effort to scare us into prayer, the group organizers took us repelling near the Dead Sea. There's not much more to say, so take a look.

Putting things in perspective:


My sister, Arielle, for those of you that don't know her:



Some goober crapping himself:

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Terminally Undeclared

Unlike Argentina, I haven't had much free time to just sit down and write on this trip. Accordingly, my posts have been nothing more than straight-forward activity lists. Those types of posts are no fun to write, and presumable no fun to read. But I'm finally over the jet lag, so I'm going to skip a nap and explain something. I hope it's worth it.

So the story today, kids, is about the Jewish phenomenon of yeshivas. Anyone who read Chaim Potok in middle school knows about kibbutzes--essentially self-contained Jewish farm communitites. We're talking circumsized hippies, here. Yeshivas are a similar concept, just replace working with studying, and you've got it. Men of all ages come from all over the world to give up material trappings and read the Torah together. Fun stuff.

A few things probably come to mind, like where does the money come from? Kibbutzes can grow their own food, or at least make stuff to sell, but yeshivas don't make much more than introverts. The solution? Everything has a benefactor. The only thing that rich American Jews like more than Barbara Streisand is their names on shit. The Seth Berger study center. The Samuel Cohen door handle. The Abe Goldstein urinal. You get the idea.

The other thing you might be wondering is, why? I can think of a trillion things more interesting than studying ancient Jewish law, to say nothing of the no-sex issue, but the Jewish culture places a very high emphasis on learning. Hence the disproportionate number of ivy-leaguers. So, at first I though, "Wow, these guys are really into their beliefs." And a few guys training to be rabbis really are. But it seems like the vast majority of them are the type of guy that still didn't have a major by senior year. The type that gets tripped up over paper or plastic. These guys haven't decided to devote their lives to Judaism, they haven't decided shit! Here comes along a school that is not only free, but it pays you ($500-$3000/month)! The men in these centers have wives, they have kids, but they don't have jobs. Seems off to me.

Is that lightning forming?

M

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The greatest day of my life

That's it, I'm hooked.

So, for all the gentiles out there, the day of rest is serious business for the Jews. It starts at sundown on Friday, followed by a meal that could only be described as fit for a king. A really fat king. We're talking double-digit courses, huge quantities and homemade deserts.

I spent the evening with a local family, who offered me room and board for the weekend. We spent Friday evening after the meal talking and relaxing; writing, physical stress and making plans are prohibited. I could get used to this.

I woke up the next day (way into the next day) to find a giant tray of amazing pastries waiting for me. After slowly getting ready, I went to another family's house for a lunch that was just as big as the last night's dinner. This was followed by an equally huge third meal, and an evening walk through the neighborhood. I'm still full.

It's Sunday today--the start of the work week--so we're back in our routine, but I'm already counting down to next Friday. Resting this hard takes preparation.

Talk to you soon,
Myles

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Indiana Jewnes

Hi there,

Last night we toured underneath the wailing wall that I told you about yesterday. It's an active archeological site that's only been operating for the last couple of decades, but the area's amazing. Some of the tunnels were recently created, others are ancient aqueducts, and others are simply spaces between the wall and buildings that were built next to it. As we went deeper into the tunnels, we saw modern Jerusalem turn into remains of the Muslim, Christian, Roman, Herodian, and original Hebrew periods. We went hundreds of feet down below the current street level, to the level it was at in ancient times. This was some really cool, seriously historical stuff. In fact, a few years ago, when an entrance to the base of the temple mount was found, a very quiet operation was started to enter what was essentially the basement of the original temple. This is underneath a very important mosque, and the worldwide Muslim community went into an uproar, as they saw it as undermining their territorial possessions. The conflict quickly escalated, and within a day of starting the excavation, the UN had to step in to avoid another all out war. The entrance was filled with concrete, and that's how it remains today (I saw the actual gate, it's huge). The Jewish community was extremely disappointed, since they suspect some very important artifacts to be down there, like the Arc of the Covenant and the original gold menorah from the second temple (you know, the one of Hanukkah fame). This is such an important site (for several religions), and I'm pretty surprised at how close we got.

Today was spent walking around a huge Jewish marketplace as the locals got ready for Shabbat. It was just as you'd imagine, lots of black suit-clad men buying food and supplies from actively hawking merchants. Yet another step back in time. I've got a few pics, but my sister's got the camera cable, so I'll have to post them tomorrow.

Oh, wait, tomorrow is Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, so everything in the city shuts down, especially internet cafes. The group has arranged for a bunch of the neighborhood families to take us in, which means good food, a real bed, and (this is the best part) no alarm clock. Very religious Jews don't drive, don't use computers, don't write, and don't worry, they just sit around and eat. This is one custom that I could really get behind.

M

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Holy Walls and Shady Markets

Ok, finally some time to write a decent post. I'll start from the beginning.

As I hinted at yesterday, the dorms that we're sleeping in are a bit, well, basic; but it's nothing that I haven't seen a dozen times over in hostels. However, some of the guys on this trip don't stay in hotels with less stars than they have fingers, so it's been kind of a shock for them. My room has 6 beds, a closet, a window (very important in the desert), and something that I suppose once resembled a lock. My bed's tiny, no surprise, but I was especially shocked when I jumped up - exhausted from traveling - and I was swallowed up by the bed frame. I'm on a top bunk, and the bed was missing its support board, so I fell through the beams, mattress and all. I knew that I wasn't going to last long without a board under my bed, so did what any resourceful traveler would do in this situation; I stole one. At the time, there was an empty bed, so I "borrowed" a board from one, and went to sleep. That is, until until one of those 5-star types barged into the room, dumped his bags, and turned on the lights. He turned on the lights! I was too tired to start a fight, plus I didn't want bad blood between me and someone with a key to my room. But I'll admit, I couldn't help but laugh when he got swallowed up by his board-less matress. Touché.

The next day (yesterday), with the dorm shenanagins behind me, we visited the Kotel - or wailing wall. It's all that's left of the original holy temple of ancient Jerusaluem. We're talking big time significance, here. It's like St. Peter's, Mecca, and Sarnath all wrapped up into one. Here are a few pics:


(In the backround are hugely significant mosques and churches. Only in Jerusalem. The mosque was actually built on the actual site of the Jewish temple; talk about adding insult to injury!)

This was one that I took last night (I live way close), it's packed during the day. Religious Jews believe that this is a direct line to God. No secretaries, no answering machines.


Here's an artsy fartsy one that I took while walking around the Jewish quarter.


So, last night we went out to the bars (it was my little sister's first legal drinking experience), and it was quite a site to see American tourists, Hassidic Jews, and armed, off duty soldiers all sharing brews. Only in Israel.


My sister got back to her place just fine, but my friend and I started noticing the signs changing from Hebrew to Arabic as we walked back. Uh oh. We were getting more than a little bit nervous, but it turns out that we were just in the Armenian quarter, only 7.4 on the dangerometer. We made it back just fine, but it was quite an adventure.

I actually went to a bazaar in the Arab quarter today, after hearing from a Rabbi that it's not too bad in during the day. Nonetheless, I didn't want to take out my camera, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

Well, I'm late for dinner, but I'll check back in soon.

Myles

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Shalom from Israel!

Hi all,

After a grueling 24 hours of flying, we made it here in once piece! First impression: not that scary. Tell my mom that. But don't tell her that our city tour today was accompanied by an assault-rifle carrying guard. Or that almost every single store has a metal detector and/or an armed guard. Or that heavily armed military personnel line every street. Basically, there are lots of guns here. Our dormitory (very generous use of the word) is located right in the heart of the old city neighborhood of Jerusalem. I'm pretty much sleeping in the heart of all major world religions. Amazing.

Time out. The Hassidic Jew at the computer next to me (you know the type, sideburns, hat, suit, etc.) just started bumping Lil' Jon on his computer. Hilarious. Are we really all that different?

Computers here are expensive and crappy (Mid-East, remember), so I'll keep it short, but I think a quick overview of the country is in order to bring everybody up to speed. There are several quarters of the city, aside of the obvious Jewish one. There's the Muslim one, the Christian one, and the Armenian one, in addition to a few smaller ones. All of them are separated by mediaeval-age walls, and stumbling through the wrong one is akin to wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt in Compton; you just don't do it. Technically speaking, however, Israel in not a religious state, but that's like saying technically, RuPaul is a man. The politics are run by Jews and the businesses are run by Jews. Thankfully, I can play for a few teams, so I just bring out whatever side is necessary.

The entire city is cordoned off by a giant metal security fence that separates it from the West Bank (the Palestinian quasi-state). Needless to say, just looking at the place could get me blown up.

I had a funny story about checking into the dorm, but I'm already racking up the Shekels here, so I'll save it for the next one. Talk to you all soon.

Myles

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I'm back!

Hi everybody,

After a 6-month adventure travel hiatus, I'm back on the road, and I couldn't be happier! This time, I'm off to Israel. Yes, that Israel. There are a few philanthropies that offer free (or cheap) trips to Israel for Jewish students, and I've hooked up with one of them. I'm going on one of the longer trips, the only catch is that I have to pay a little bit. However, it's a very little bit. I'm getting airfare, room and side trips paid for; my contribution pretty much equals what I'd be spending on food during the three weeks that I'll be traveling, and I'd be spending that no matter where I am. So, I'm essentially getting a free trip to the Middle East simply for being a member of the tribe. Seems like the circumcision was worth it.

I can already see the questions brewing, let me take a stab at a few of them.

Q: Wait a minute, are you even Jewish?
A: Technically yes, although anyone familiar with my level of Jeweyness knows that I'm quite a few candles short of a menorah. The thing is though, my Mom's a pure bred, so they can overlook the fact that my dad's from a Catholic family. Granted, if they knew that he's Lebanese too, they'd probably ex-jewmunicate me in a heartbeat. But we won't tell them that.

Q: But Myles, I thought you hated group travel?
A: You're right, I think that getting lost is half the fun of traveling (and I don't own any Hawaiian shirts, which appear to be compulsory). However, there's one thing that I hate more than prescribed itineraries, and it's getting blown the f up. I think I'll stick with the pros. But...

Q: Aren't you afraid of getting blown the f up?
A: Of course, but people travel to Israel all the time, and at least a few of them come back in one piece. Hopefully I'll be a lucky one. Besides, I'll be with a group, and terrorists would never strike a pack of wide-eyed American tourists. Especially if they're Jewish.

Oh man, what am I getting myself into?

I guess I'll see soon enough. Once I get there, I'll tell you more about the trip. At this point, I really don't know very much, except that it's free!

Now, what to pack...

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The last throws

Well, I made it. After a relatively uneventful day of travel, I'm safe at home, with everything intact. As promised, here is the ode to porteño culture that I promised quite some time ago. I figured that if I don't write it now, you'll never know just how much I loved the place.

1) Walk
This is immediately evident, and perhaps the most important step in becoming a true porteño. Cars are a last resort, and the ones the do use are about the size of a toaster oven. Although, in defense of our lazy asses up north, the city is set up for walking, unlike our post-Ford suburbias. Every neighborhood has a few small grocery stores that are easy walks, and bigger destinations like movie theaters, etc. are easily reached by public transportation. I've made plenty of jokes about how crazy the busses are from the outside, but once you're on one, they sure are nice.

2) Chew with your legs still
That's the best subtitle I could come up with, sorry. But the point is, when Argentines eat, they eat. They don't eat and drive, eat and walk, or eat and breath, they'd choke. They do have plenty of good conversations, though. Although, as late as they eat, that's not as nice as it sounds. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to yell, "NO, I DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU HOW A BICAMERAL CONGRESS OPPERATES, I'M FUCKING STARVING!" But I don't, my host family's nice.

3) Throw away your watch
I've been stating at my computer screen for about 20 minutes trying to think of something funny to say about this subject, but I can't. Without getting too Socratic on you, I'd like to point out that the to-the-second time concept is a purely imagined human construct, and completely arbitrary. It's a relic from the age of trains. Before then, it was, "I'll meet you sometime after noon." These days, we North Americans coordinate our schedules with railroad precision. But it doesn't have to be that way. Imagine not having to floor the accellerator to prevent a 2 minute tardiness to school or work. Two minutes! Granted, it's nice to be able to count on someone meeting you when you expect, but at what cost?

4) Know what's virtual and what's actual
People in Argentin talk in cafés, not chatrooms. The buy their books from nice old men down the street. They see the sun. Computers aren't nearly as popular as they are in the US. The economy might have something to do with that, but I think there's a difference in the people, too.

5. Buy your bread from a baker
I kind of hinted at this with the books from old men line in the last point, but small business are much more prevalent in Argentina than anywhere else I've seen. There are plenty of huge chains, both domestic and international, but they are the minority. There's a noticeable difference in the quality of food and products made by someone passionate about their work. Starbuck's hasn't broken into Argentina, yet. I was initially very surprised at that, since coffee is such a huge part of the culture, but the people are very loyal to their corner cafés, and the same can be said about the full spectrum of businesses.

6. PDA
Woah, I'm getting dangerously close to legitimacy, I think it's time for some boobies. I can't tell you how many personal displays of affection that I've seen over the course of the last several months. Old people holding hands on a walk, young couples picknicking in the park, teenagers sucking face on the busses, the list goes on and on. In general, the culture is just a bit more open than ours, and people do what they want to.

7) Moderation, moderation, moderation
This one might also be tied to the economy, but I think it's more of a cultural issue. And I don't just mean food, buy the way. I went to a computer store the other day for some CD-Rs to burn my photos onto, and the attendant asked me if I'd like them with cases or without, and I said without, so he went behind the counter and brought me back a single CD! It was actually all I needed, and was a nice surprise to not have to buy the 25+ spindles like in the US. There are a million other little stories like this, and the cumulative effect is obvious.

Of course, they don't have it all together; there's litter everywhere, the economy's junk, and they have very little regard for the lives of pedestrians. But all things considered, it's a wonderful place, and I would recommend it to anyone.

Well, that does it. This is my final posting for a while. It's the end of an adventure, or as I like to think, the beginning of the next. But don't worry, I'll be back; I have a habit of getting myself in interesting situations, I think that it's the only way to live. My next adventure is getting into med school, and that'll probably keep me away from the blog. But the next time I find myself with a story worth telling, you'll be the first to know, I promise. Talk to you all soon.

M