Sat, May 24 - Masada, Dead Sea

Oren is the ultimate host. He spends hours digging up information for me to help with any travels in the area. It is all I can do to get to bed by 1AM, with Oren showing me all the roads I can take down to Masada, and then discussing the various options for a Dead Sea experience. I finally collapse in bed but I'm up shortly after 3AM as I would like to watch the sunrise over Masada and it is at least two hours drive from Tel Aviv.

Oren is still huddled over the computer when I get up, ferreting out additional info for me. After a final briefing, I take to the streets in Oren's car. The last thing he does is strongly encourage me to take a mug of coffee with me. Between the caffein and the excitement (fear?) of navigating Tel Aviv's streets by myself, I manage to get clear of the city without incident. 

The sun does indeed rise over Masada. Masada, for those like me who are not well versed in Jewish history, is a fortress stronghold in the Negav desert between Jeruselam and Eliat. It is about five miles west of the Dead Sea. The fortress was built on a mesa and because of the mesa's steep walls, the settlement was naturally fortified and relatively easy to defend against attackers. 

Masada & Dead Sea

Herod took the fortress in 43 B.C. and turned it into a desert hide-away/fortress/palace. In 66 A.D., during the "First Revolt", Jewish zealots took the fort from the Romans. The Zealots held the fortress until 73 A.D. when the roman army laid siege. The Romans used slaves to build a huge earthen ramp up the side of the mesa. The Jewish zealots committed mass suicide before the walls were breached. The story is more involved, but suffice it to say that it figures strongly in Jewish lore. 

The sunrise over the top of Masada is moving. The ruins are being rebuilt and with a little imagination you can see what the fortress once looked like. The Roman ramp has forever changed the landscape and is likely to remain after all other human changes have gone.

The drive from the western side of Masada (I'm the only car in the parking lot - everybody goes from the Dead Sea side) takes about an hour to reach the Dead Sea. It's another hour or so to putz north and get to a low key beach (Kalia), and do my obligatory float in the Dead Sea. I can attest to the fact that you do float, the mud is black (can't speak to the medicinal properties of the mud) and the water tastes absolutely horrible. 

The road signs through Jerusalem (at least the English ones) are poor and it takes me thirty minutes to get "unlost". I make my way to three wineries Oren has identified, Castle, Latron and Sorek. The first, run by monks, has a bartender who speaks no English. He rattles off a list of languages he does speak, one of which is French and our conversation is sufficient to try the four open bottles he has and get him to open one of the "good" ones. I'm not too keen on any of the wines, even the so-called good one and end up buying a Sangria, which is relatively sweet and inexpensive. I figure it will be good on a hot day. 

I try to memorize my route into Tel Aviv, so I won't need to consult a map while driving back to Oren's. I do pretty well, getting to Oren's front door. I circle the block twice looking for street parking but can't find a spot easy enough for me to park. I plaintively call Oren and Inbar kindly comes down and parks the car for me. 

It's the last thing Inbar does before going to a ritual cleansing. Inbar is dipped into a pool and must not touch the sides or bottom while submerging herself seven times under water. This is part of the official Jewish wedding ceremony, and although Inbar was happy to do it once, she swears it is the last time.

After Inbar heads off, Oren, Sarah (Oren's friend from Australia), and I head to the NG restaurant where I have the best lamb chops I've ever tasted. Sarah and Oren have different beef dishes which are very good but we all concur that the lamb is stellar. 

Oren and Inbar stay at the Intercontinental Hotel, a few blocks away from where they live. It's interesting that when they tried to book a hotel room a few weeks ago, they were not successful. It was only after getting the help of Microsoft, where Inbar works, that they were successful. Much of the world's economy may be languishing, but things in Tel Aviv are still booming.

Fri, May 23 - Tel Aviv

Friday evening is a special occasion for Jews, being the start of the day of rest, Shabat. It is very common to have a dinner with good friends. One of Oren's father's best friends, Zeve, is hosting a dinner this evening and Oren and I are invited. Inbar is attending her bachelorette party.

In the gathering of a dozen people are folks from Spain, the Canary Islands, Germany, US (me) and Israel. Quite a cross section! 

Shabat commences when the woman of the household lights the Shabat candles before sunset. Before sitting down to dinner, the men sample and bless the wine. The wine glass is passed round and I do my part in sampling the local 2004 Yardin Cabernet Sauvignon. The Israelis are making some really good wine these days! Some Jewish families sing songs and have a special reading empowering women and thanking them for taking care of the family and home. The last thing before the meal can start is blessing the bread and distributing a small piece to everyone to eat. 

The food, well let's just say it is really really good. I learn later that one of the restaurant chef's prepares the food. I don't yet have the name of the chef's restaurant but will get that and make sure I visit when I next return. In addition to the standard hummus, there are various dips made with salsa, avocado, spices, tomatoes, asparagus, and a dozen other ingredients whose names I forget. All this before the main courses of chicken and lamb. It's a great feast.

After the meal, the kids drag Oren and I over to their Wii game console. For others like me who don't keep up with the gaming community, wii (pronounced "we"), is a virtual reality game. There is a "glove" which you hold while throwing, batting, bowling or making other arm motions. Accelerometers in the glove determine the motion and the game console translates your hand/arm motion into how well you do at various games (baseball, bowling, tennis, etc). It is quite ingenious and mimics the real games much more accurately than pushing a joystick in traditional games. 

Thur, May 22 - Nazarath to Tel Aviv

I think it best that I leave Nazareth early, before all the locals have a chance to lobby me. I plan to catch an early "sherut" to Tel Aviv. Sherut's are small vans used as a long distance shared taxis in Israel. In Africa they are called "Bush Taxis" and in Africa they would be packed with at least 20 people while here in Israel, ten is the comfortable limit. As in other parts of the world, they leave when they are full, thus ensuring the owner makes a profit every time his van drives.

I'm determined to get at least one photo of something historic in this town. It would be criminal to come to Nazareth and not do so. Well, maybe criminal is a bad choice of word at this juncture. 

Mary's Well is close by and on the way to the sherut station. I'm sure Mary would never recognize the well she used when living in Nazareth. It looks nothing like any well I've ever seen, with three big spouts from which water can pour. All the wells I've seen, especially old ones, are holes in the ground, but I suppose holes in the ground are not as photogenic as this edifice. 

I grab something resembling a pizza from a local bakery, eat half and share the rest with the Arab drivers in sherut station. They are pleased and give me several cups of Turkish coffee in return. 

The sherut follows a set route between Nazareth and Tel Aviv and passengers routinely get off while others get on, usually at marked bus stops. I'm sitting smack in the middle of the van and this gives me a good view of how sherut drivers are paid. A passenger enters at a stop and sits behind me. They mumble something to me in Hebrew (the location where they want to get off) while handing me some money. The money trickles up to the front and eventually the driver makes change and money then trickles back, from hand to hand, to the original passenger. Fortunately, the woman sitting beside me quickly realizes I do not speak Hebrew and she repeats the mumbled exit locations to the driver every time I pass money forward.

Today is Lag Ba-Omer, which means the 33rd day after the Omer count, which follows the Passover holiday. It is the Israeli equivalent of Guy Fawkes Day in the UK. Children light bonfires in the evening and stay up late while eating BBQ food, usually with their parents. The bonfires have historical significance as in ancient times, they would be lit on hilltops to pass messages between settlements. Lag Ba-Omer also signifies the victory of the Jewish people's rebellion in Israel over Rome.

Oren and I head over to spend the evening with Yosi, a good friend of Oren's who has a seven year old son. You would think that finding Yosi and his son gathered round a fire in Tel Aviv would be easy. However, every vacant lot of any size has multiple fires on it. The three acre lot across from Yosi's apartment has at least thirty fires burning.

Yosi's fire is very modest in size but sufficient to keep a constant stream of hot dogs, sausages, baked potatoes and other treats headed my way. Yosi has at least three times as much food as he needs. He keeps pushing food my way, despite my protests, until I put my foot down and say, "NO!" Apparently this is the sign he has been waiting for as the food stops coming. 

Children scavenge the neighborhoods for weeks prior to this day, collecting wood. The construction companies donate piles of wood to prevent kids from breaking into construction sites and steeling wood. The companies are less concerned about the loss due to pilferage and more concerned about children getting hurt while wandering around dangerous sites at night. The largest fires have flames leaping thirty feet into the air so some people take this seriously.

Yosi's son is already getting tired when we arrive at 10PM, and continues to get more and more cranky. At 11:30PM Yosi walks him home to bed. It is interesting that kids the world over have the same behavior, determined to stay up and not miss an important event like this, getting more and  more cranky until someone forces them to bed. I must be a big kid because the same is happening to me and Oren finally sends me home to bed at 1AM.

Wed, May 21 - Nazareth Rest Day

3:30AM, wake up, look at ceiling with my left eye and see a big red Rorsch splotch in my field of vision. I suddenly think of doctors in the US and wouldn't it be a good idea to check with my Palo Alto clinic and get their opinion on treatment, prognosis, etc. It is 5:30PM in the US and if I call immediately, I may get through.

I do get through and their comments are:
1. You can see. This is very good. Especially that vision has improved since first getting hit.
2. The local people are best positioned to comment on whether the edema is caused by trauma or is macular degeneration. Stay the course with Dr. visit later today.
3. Call back if you have any more questions.

Just talking to a doctor in the US makes me feel better and red splotch notwithstanding, I get a bit more sleep this morning.

Wed May 21 Face

Suraida, the woman whose family built and owns the building in which the Inn is located, comes in this morning. She works at the Inn during the mornings and takes me back to the hospital for the follow up eye exam. The senior opthamologist does a thorough exam and explains that indeed there is an edema, it is caused by the blunt trauma to the eye, and it should subside over the coming weeks. I am to have another eye exam within five days and a complete check-up after six weeks, when I am back in the US. I continue to feel better and better about my situation and my fear of permanent eye damage diminishes a bit more.

Fauzi Azar Inn, Nazareth

On the drive back to the Inn, Suraida points out several points of interest including the sherut stop (small taxis that shuttle between cities, in this case between Nazareth and Tel Aviv), the best humus place in town, the best falafel place, etc.

I spend most of the day inside the Inn, relaxing, unwinding, and processing all that has happened. Most of the questions floating through my head last night remain unanswered. As my personal situation becomes more solid (ie, it looks more and more likely that I will suffer minimal or no permanent damage), my thoughts come back to this community and what is best for it.

For lunch, I walk down to the main street and find the humus place that Suraida pointed out this morning. I have humus, falafel and several drinks. The restaurant is non-descript but the food is excellent. I sit at a sidewalk table and watch the world go by. The doctor told me to keep my sun glasses on to reduce strain on my eye. I would keep them on anyway to reduce the strain on local pedestrians who see this guy with a big black eye. The bruise continues to redden and spread to a wider area, now moving to the right eye as well. I beleive this is because of the broken nose bone in the area.

During my walk back to the Inn, several residents pull me aside and express their shame that this could happen in their neighborhood, and they hope the assailant will be caught and dealt with harshly in order that others in the community see that this behavior is not acceptable. One gentlemen lived in North Carolina for a few years and speaks very good English. He tells me that if I need anything, I am to call on him in his house (he points it out). Ramsey, the husband of a local shopkeeper, is a policeman and he expresses the same sentiment. I am a bit surprised to get this feeling of solidarity from the residents, but am relieved that it appears to be uniform, hence this event may not cause the community divisions I worry about.

This feeling is shortlived as another resident pulls me aside and tells me we don't need any trouble with the police, it is best to leave the police out this. I can see this is going nowhere. He says that Maoz, he and myself can sit down and work this out over coffee tomorrow morning. This strengthens my resolve to leave Nazareth early Thursday morning, else I will be lobbied by both camps and quickly find myself in a no-win situation.

An hour later, Gabby, a local resident who is doing some construction work at the Inn, comes to me and explains that the brother of the assailant is downstairs and wishes to speak with me. Whoaaaaaa. What is this???? This is straight out of a soap opera or a movie western. I try to explain to Gabby that I am very uncomfortable having a discussion with the brother of my assailant. Gabby explains that the assailant has another brother who is in jail and the brother who wants to speak with me would like to avoid having his younger brother in jail as well. As I'm trying to explain again to Gabby that this is really not a good situation, two young men come up the stairs.

What to do??? Gabby and I sit down with the two brothers (Ramsey tells me later that both of them are brothers of my assailant). I don't recall everything that was said but I believe they start by saying they are sorry for what has happened. This apology lasts thirty seconds and then we get to the meat of the discussion. They want to avoid trouble with the police. I explain that the police already know about this incident and that the hospital has filed a police report explaining the damage that was done to my face. It is too late to remove the police from this case.

"Could you identify our brother from a police lineup," they ask?

"I don't know," is my honest answer.

"My brother was drunk and did not know what he was doing."

"And I have a broken nose and was nearly made to be blind in this eye," I reply, realizing after I say the words that I put more edge on them than I should have, given the circumstances.

"What exactly happened?", they ask.

I relate as accurately as I can the events that happened, thinking all the while, I should not be doing this, where is a lawyer when you need one, I bet a lawyer would send them packing. I can't believe this conversation is taking place. I am EXTREMELY uncomfortable during this discussion. For all I know, these two guys are packing knives and if they don't like what I say, perhaps they dispose of me. One of the brothers already dispatched me almost instantly with major wounds, think what two of them could do with a little forethought and planning.

Gabby senses that the conversation is not going in a productive direction. He calls Maoz, who has maintained good relations with the local community, has a cool head and usually knows how to navigate difficult waters. I take the opportunity to excuse myself, on the pretense of getting some water. I go into the dining area and explain to Anna, the Inn manager during the afternoons, what has just happened. She is appalled. I explain my fear for my personal safety and she understands. I ask whether we can call the police and have them come here. She is about to do so when we see the two brothers leaving.

Whewwww. I breath a huge sigh of relief but am visibly shaken and remain shaken. I am wondering how safe I am in a place where a fugitive's brothers can waltz in without opposition, in fact, assisted by someone on the inside.

I talk with Gabby and try to explain my view of what just transpired. He is adamant that I am perfectly safe and all my fears are totally unjustified. I try to explain that you never know how stable people are, how they sometimes crack under pressure and when they do, results are unprectable. He does not understand my position at all. "But the brothers would dishonor me if they hurt you," Gabby says.

Realizing that Gabby cannot understand my point of view I stop the pointless discussion. It's fascinating to see the two cultures so strongly at odds, with Gabby and I each passionate about our beliefs.

Anna goes a long way to make me feel safe at the Inn. She has talked to Maoz and relates that the police detective will come talk to me between 5PM and 6PM. By 6:30 he has still not showed up. I see magnificent light on some of the old buildings and decide to make a quick photo foray, leaving my cell phone number with Anna so she can call me if the detective turns up. I walk not more than two minutes when I pass an open door and see a clutch of police officers inside. I pass by, but then wonder if perhaps the detective with whom I am to speak might be inside the small office so I return and poke my head inside.

Indeed, the detective is there and I am ushered in to sit down next to him. There are five men in the small office. In addition to the detective, there is Ramsey, who must be an undercover officer, two uniformed officers and another one like Ramsey in street clothes. I later learn that this man is not an officer at all, he is just a curious resident who saw me enter the police station and wanted to see what would happen and perhaps hear my story. I guess it is good that there is nothing which I tell the police in confidence.

They offer me some coke before they start chain smoking. The detective speaks little English. Ramsey and Mr. Street offer plenty of translation services. Sometimes all five men are jabbering at me together. Detective records my passport number, age and a few other particulars. Then he questions me about what happened, but the questions are quite narrow. Assailant's age (about 20), color of skin (brown), eyes (don't know), hair (black), height (2 inches shorter than me).

"Did I know the assailant?" I try to explain about seeing him enter the hotel upon my leaving, but they are not interested. They just want my, "No, I don't know the assailant."

After answering his questions, there are several other things that I specifically call out, the fact that two others were with the assailant prior to and during the attack, the brother's visit this afternoon, the assailant yelling into the hotel prior to attacking me. None of these make it into Detective's report.

I am then shown a page of Hebrew notes which he has taken and am asked to sign at the bottom, which I do. I wonder how this would stand up in a US court? I have way of verifying whether he captured my statement accurately. I suppose it is the same as an Arabic person traveling to the US and having to make a statement, he would have no way to verify the English report.

When I mentioned the brother's visit, Ramsey pipes up and says that they came to see him as well and he told the brothers that, "No, he had not filed a report against the assailant." I get the impression Ramsey will tell people whatever they want to hear. He tells me that after the attack, the assailant followed Ramsey, cursing, for 200 metres. I'm thinking, Ramsey is a police officer, his job is to arrest thugs. Why didn't he nab the guy when he had the chance? I have since spoken to several Israelis about this and they point out that sometimes even the police are scared for their own safety and decisions like this which we might think are wimpy, are really made out of concern for personal safety.

It's interesting to note that I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and got punched by an angry man. Bad luck for me. How will all this shake out? I don't know and frankly, as long as my wounds heal properly and I don't suffer any permanent damage, I don't care that much what happens to the man that punched me. If I'm honest, I have a preference that he be taken off the street for some time, but I am willing to abide by the collective wisdom of the community if it chooses a different option.

However, it may be that my assailant picked the wrong person to pop on the nose. I'm attending a wedding in Tel Aviv in two days. It may be that some of the 450 guests will take an interest in the outcome and apply some outside pressure. In that case, perhaps it will be my assailant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That would be ironic.

Would I stay in Nazareth again? Absolutely! In fact, I WILL be back. I did not get a chance to see all the great sights here and there is much to see. I regard my accident as a one time event where I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nazareth is a very safe city and the Fauzi Azar Inn is the place to stay when you visit. It has a very central location, the rooms are great and I can say authoritatively that the staff are among the best anywhere. Book Now!

Tue, May 20 - Excitement in Nazareth

The following narrative is rated "R", Restricted, for violence and graphic language. Children under 18 should not view unless accompanied by an adult.

We left the story of me leaving the Fauzi Azar Inn to search for something to slake my thrist. As I exit the small door from the courtyard to the street, I close the door behind me. Almost immediately, a dark complexion man of about 20 walks down the street, opens the door and proceeds to yell stuff that I don't understand, but I have a good inkling that he's not trying to sell apples to the hotel inhabitants. No matter, I'm on a mission for a drink.

I know there is a store closeby, but the way old Arab cities are laid out, the streets are a confusing maze. I know from my experience caving about how far I can go without getting lost and its not very far. I walk for perhaps two minutes without finding a store and then turn around and retrace my steps. I get to within about 50 metres of the hotel when I see the same friendly apple seller being escorted by a couple friends. I figure his friends have pulled him away from the hotel, perhaps he is drunk and they are taking him home to sleep it off. We are walking in opposite directions and will pass each other in a few seconds.

I am now next to this man when quick as lightning, he punches me square in the face, with his fist hitting my nose hard and extending to a point directly below my left eye. I fall backward to the ground, blood gushing from my nose. I'm a bit fuzzy on what happens next. I suppose that his friends have hauled him away before he can land any more blows. I recall trying to sit up, lots of people milling about, someone pouring water on my face to wash off the blood and perhaps rivive me, and me squeezing my nose shut to prevent blood spewing all over my clothes. My nose is quite sensitive and I have lots of practice with nose bleeds and containment is always a priority. I recall the left side gushing more and I jam some paper from my pocket into my left nostril.

Tue May 20 Face

My left eye hurts a lot and the central field vision is quite dim and blurry. I am glad that I can still see something from the eye but worry that permanent damage has been done and perhaps the eyesight will go completely.

Very soon I recognize voices of the hotel staff, and see them looking shocked as they take in the scene. They quickly ask whether I can walk and without really waiting for a reply, start shepherding me toward the relative safety of the hotel. I want to be inside that courtyard and have the door shut and perferably locked behind me. It is extremely comforting to have the familiar faces of the hotel staff surrounding me.

"Do you want something cold to drink?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"What's your name and how old are you?"

"Where do you hurt?"

These are a few of the questions I remember. At some point I get a wad of toilet paper in my hand and use it to contain my dripping right nostril. Someone, Nate I think, suggests that he stops nose bleeds by plugging the nostril with paper. I've been so used to having my left nostril bleed that it was instinctive to plug that one, but I never thought to jam them both up. I proceed to do so.

I can feel my left eye start to close up and realize with a start that I need ice on it. Immediately. I have someone get ice from the freezer, then look around for a plastic bag in which to tie it up. The only one I see is not ideal, about 2 feet long and 2.5 inches in diameter, used to hold plastic drinking cups. Someone empties the cups and Nate and I put the ice into the bag and I keep it pressed over my eye for the next hour and half. It does the job.

There is much discussion amongst the hotel staff. They have summoned the police. It takes the police about 15 minutes to arrive. I later learn that they have a post all of two minutes away, 60 seconds if they hurry. I suppose they are all off on important missions elsewhere in the city.

Maoz (the owner of the hotel business) and Suraida (building owner), have both been notified and are aghast at what has happened. A couple other people who have cars have been contacted but no-one has a car readily available, so a taxi is ordered to take me to the hospital.

I am sitting, icing my eye and nose while the staff frett about the fact that the police have not yet arrived. They realize that ten minutes have passed since the taxi was ordered, the length of time the taxi expected to be before arriving. The staff feel it is more important for me to get to the hospital than talk to the police. A quick discussion ensues. Who will accompany me to the hospital? Nate has experience as an EMT and is voted onto the hospital team. Someone suggests Yaron, who is a hostel owner from south of the Dead Sea. He just happens to be here and is fluent in English, Hebrew and Arabic. Others could come but the feeling is that some of the other males should stay at the hotel in case my assailant is still at large and returns. This discussion and round of decision making takes place over the course of 60 seconds.

I am glad that a couple of men are with me as we walk down the alley where I was punched. I had visions of making my way alone to, "The White Mosque", the area where the taxi is to wait for us. Earlier in the day, I had seen a number of youths hanging out in that exact spot and I had no desire to encounter them alone in my current condition. I am also happy with the selection of Nate and Yaron, feeling that both prior EMT experience and language skills are probably the two most valuable skills to have with me at this time.

About the same time, Maoz leaves his home on the coast and drives to Nazarath, wanting to meet me at the hospital and offer any assistance he can. He and all the hotel staff have been incredibly supportive during this whole incident.

We start walking and meet a policeman headed our way. We talk briefly, giving him the bare facts and telling him that others at the hotel know additional details, and that we are on our way to the hospital. He continues to the hotel and we continue to the White Mosque. As it turns out, the taxi is not yet there. We wait a couple minutes and then begin to think of alternate ways to the get to the hospital when the taxi pulls up.

Nazareth has three good hospitals known as the English, Italian and French hospitals, after the missions which founded them years ago. I think each of these countries continues to provide funding for them but they are very much locally run at this point. We go to the Italian hospital.

Admission is ridiculously easy. There are a couple patients in the emergency waiting room, but nothing like the lines I am used to at my clinic in Palo Alto, California. I am able to see the check-in person immediately. My passport number is the only thing needed in order to admit me. Within two minutes of entering the building, I am ushered in to see a doctor. The doctor cannot believe what happened to me. He is shocked and apologizes profusely for his countryman who have done such a thing. He cleans me up, gives me a couple simple eye tests, pokes and prods my eye and then sends me in for X-rays.

I chat with Nate and Yaron for twenty minutes while the X-rays are processed. They do a great job of keeping me occupied, asking about my past, telling about themselves, anything to keep from dwelling on the current situation, possible loss of eyesight, further medical treatments required, etc.

The doctor comes by and with a playful spring in his voice says, "You told me that you had a contusion of your eye but why did you not tell me about the contusion to your nose?" At this point there was a cut under my left eye but no obvious damage to the nose area. The X-ray shows that the bone around the nose is fractured. Fortunately, both "orbits" (the bone around the eye socket) are intact. With serious damage to both the eye and the nose, I need to now travel to the French hospital, who have specialists for both eyes and nose.

The doctor writes up a report of all the damage. One copy is for the insurance company and a second copy is a police report. I can't read a word of it because it is all written in Hebrew. Perhaps it will make a nice wall hanging one day. We get a CD copy of my X-ray so that when we go to the French hospital, they can access the data.

The taxi driver has waited to hear what happens to me. He also expresses his shock, amazement and apologizes for what has happened. Everywhere I hear the same story. This never happens in Nazarath. How could it happen here? It's a common refrain I hear throughout Israel when I meet people and lift my sunglasses to reveal the mess below. It's a case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In a strange way, this incident has probably made Nazareth a safer place. With the increased awareness toward violence in the area, future violence will be reduced. I'm like a lightning rod that has discharged a dangerous force that was building, making it safe for those who follow.

I first see the nose doctor, whose first action is to pull the toilet paper plugs from my nostrils which I have used to eliminate the constant stream of blood from my nose. He prepares a two inch long cotton swab, squirts some stuff on it which will staunch the bleeding, opens up each nostril in turn with a special tool that looks like a pair of pliers, and pushes the swab two inches into my nasal cavity, rotates it around the nasal cavity so that his cauterizing juice touches all the fleshy areas in my nose and then leaves it in position. I'm a bit squeemish about such things and when he sees me turn white, he has me lay down on a gurney while he completes the procedure.

With the bleeding stopped, he is able to complete his nasal investigation, poking various instruments up my nose and using different lights to illuminate the nasal passages. He then highlights the fact that my nose is way off center, because of the fracture. While I'm wondering how on earth you re-center a broken nose, he starts pushing the nose back into position. I'm glad he is able to straighten my nose, but folks, this is not an experience you want to try. It is unpleasant and uncomfortable to have someone pushing your nose sideways, hard, for five minutes, trying to get the bone fracture to line up along the break.

Maoz, the proprietor of the Inn, arrives from the coast. He expresses his deep sympathy for my situation and says the Inn has waived my room charges and is paying all the medical charges associated with this incident. I'm very grateful for his generous support, and the support of everyone at the Inn. They have done everything they can to make this experience as positive as it can be under the circumstances.

After a twenty minute wait for the eye specialist to get free, I spend time with him. The standard eye chart shows both eyes to have close to 20/20 vision. He prods the area around the eye asking if specific spots hurt. That turns up nothing. Then he presses on the eyeball itself. That is certainly uncomfortable, well, more than uncomfortable, but no worse than he expects. He has me rest my chin on the standard optician bench used to examine eyes. He shines light, usually in the form of a bright vertical slit at all places on both eyes. He puts florescene dye in my eye which will highlight any scratches to the cornea. Everything turns up positive.

The last test he does is a retinal examination. This is more uncomfortable than most of the tests as your eye is fully dilated and he looks through a large lens while shining a bright light into your eye. He spends some time on this one and keeps moving back and forth between my left and right eyes. I sense that something is amiss and ask.

"There is a fluid edema in the macula of your left eye. Normally this occurs in both eyes at the same time and is an indication of macular degeneration. You have it in only one eye and I don't know if it is a result of macular degeneration or a result of the trauma. I would like you to come in tomorrow and see one of our senior doctors who has more experience in this area."

Macular degeneration is a bad deal, where the image in your eye degrades to the point it is unusable and you are effectively blind. I have a few things to ponder as I head back to the hotel to sleep. What will the outcome of tomorrow's exam be? The eyesight in my left eye has improved over the course of the evening. It is no longer dim and blury in the central field of vision. Will this improvement continue? What happens to my assailant? Will they lock him up for a few years? What does the community think about this whole situation? Will the community want my assailant to be dealt with harshly, to set an example to others or will they feel that this was a random event that should be ignored? Will this divide the community into two camps, those wanting retribution and those favoring leniency? So many questions. It's amazing to think of all the repercussions caused by an event lasting less than one second.

Tue, May 20 - Akko to Nazareth

8AM finds me on a bus to Kvar Tavor, a small town at the base of Mt. Tabor (lots of biblical references) where the Hoo Ha Cyclist House is located. Dror and his wife are incredibly nice. When I call from the bus station, Dror comes to pick me up within minutes and already has my bicycle prepped and ready to go. He reviews and blesses my plan for cycling to Zippori, Nazarath, Tiberias, then clockwise around the Sea of Galilee to Beit She'an before returning to Hoo Ha (three days cycling). He suggests that I stick to roads, even though I have a mountain bike, and further recommends that I stay at the Fauzi Azar Inn while in Nazarath.


What did I say a couple days ago?, "I forgot what fun it is to cycle" I also forgot:
1. How quickly one's bum gets sore when you haven't cycled in a long time.
2. How hard it is to cycle into the wind.
It is great fun. Initially the scenery is rolling green hills and golden wheat fields that gradually get drier and more rocky as I get closer to Nazarath. The shoulders on major roads are paved and six feet wide, making it quite comfortable and safe, despite the large trucks that whiz past. I stop a couple times for half hour breaks but make it to Zippori National Park by 3:30PM, leaving enough time to see the Roman mosaics. There is more to see but my major reason for coming is for the mosaics.

I know from taking pictures of dusty mosaics in Portugal, that even though the colors appear dull and muted, Photoshop recovers the original colors and the results are stunning. I can't wait to play with these.

Zippori

I'm only 6km from Nazarath but it's quite some 6km. There is a 1000 foot hill that must be climbed to get into town. I know this is no big deal for regular cyclists, but its been twenty years since I've done anything this ambitious. The locals know exactly what I'm going through. The looks and calls they deliver as I huff and puff my way skyward tell me that none of the locals cycle up this hill and not many tourists do either. Once again, I'm a novelty.

The owner of the Fauzi Azar building is Suraida, and she is the great-great grand daughter of the original builder/owner. It dates to the time of the Ottoman empire, is built of stone, has beautiful arches and an inner courtyard. The ceilings in three of the rooms have frescoes painted by a Lebanese painter in the style of Michelangelo, meaning he spent a long time on a scaffold with a bent neck painting the scenes. The ceilings are twenty feet high. Suraida explains the door frames are made from cedar imported from Turkey.

A picture on the wall shows her grandfather, who died many years earlier, as a result of burns inflicted when he saved the building from a fire. His wife lived in the house until her death in 1989. The house fell into disrepair until Maoz Inon found it and wanted to restore it as a guest house. Maoz and Suraida have worked out some arrangement that allowed them to restore the house and open as the Fauzi Azar Inn. The house is saved, it stays in the family, provides work for Suraida, draws tourist dollars into the heart of this Arab city and provides a wonderful place for tourists to stay while visiting Nazarath. Talk about everyone winning!

I check in, store my bike in the ground floor kitchen and set off to find a store where I can buy a beer, as I'm parched after my day of cycling. Alas, I did not find any beer, but I did find some excitement. Read On!

Mon, May 19 - Tel Aviv to Akko

Today's objective is to make it to Akko, ideally in time to snap a few pics and catch a nice dinner. My first obstacle is a taxi driver who keeps asking me, "What number?" when I tell him I want to go to the train station. I'm about to pantomine a train by making a long thing shape with my hands and going "Choo-choo". Fortunately someone hears the frustration in my voice as I tell him "Train station", louder and louder and he sets the cabi on the right track (ouch).

Akko

The ticket woman at the train station is surley. It takes me two or three goes before I'm pretty sure about track one at 1:04PM. I go wait at track one. There is a video sign but the trains are listed in Hebrew. Every third or fourth train shows up in English. I wait quietly, hoping the Israeli trains run with same efficiency as those in Switzerland, so at 1:04 I can stand up, walk the few feet to the track and find an open door in front of me that admits me to the correct train.

12:50PM a cute girl sits down beside me and I ask her about trains to Akko. She tells me that the train which just left was the correct one - Dohhhhh - Is my name Homer?

"But the surley ticket woman told me...." Maya asks around and says this one is a slow train but if I take it to the terminus and change trains, I will end up in Akko. I sit with Maya for the 50 minute ride and it goes by like a flash. She is a psychotherapist by training who is currently a manager in a sushi shop. She recently learned about "channeling". I don't fully understand her explanation but it has something to do with energy flow in individuals. I don't know how she reads people but after a few minutes during which I say little, she turns to me and says, "I sense that you are very honest, you will use your writing, photography and music skills to do something new." I'm surprised and tell her that indeed, I like writing and photography and would like to leverage them more in the future. Not sure about the music part, I don't consider myself very musical, but I'm still impressed. She goes on to say that I'm too "stiff" and would do myself a favor by buying a T-shirt (I'm wearing an ex-officio long sleeve shirt). It is an interesting conversation and amazing to see how perceptive Maya is.

Akko is is dominated by a citadel that reached its zenith during crusader times when the town was known as Acre. The town has been rebuilt many times and excavations continue to uncover interesting history. Ten years ago a resident complained about a sewer problem. While fixing the problem, the plumber broke through into a hidden tunnel, "The Templars Tunnel", which connects the citadel to the harbourfront. This castle escape route was forgotten through the centuries.

Modern Akko is driven by tourists and fishing, not necessarily in that order. Lonely Planet says of Akko, "While cities like Jaffa have turned their attention primarily to tourists and historical livelihoods have taken a back seat, Akko is the opposite. There is no doubt that this is still a fishing village at heart."

The port, which has been in use since 2000 B.C., has fishing boats alongside tourist yachts. You can find the village men fishing from their boats or casting from the reef that borders the west of the village. If they are not fishing, they are likely in a cafe smoking a water pipe. Every country has their own name for water pipe but in Israel they are called narghiles. Don't knock it till you try it.

I have dinner at Uri Buri, a top notch restaurant recommended by Oren. The Coque St Jacques is to die for. The waiter brings me a second loaf of fresh (hot!) bread with which to soak up the remainder of the cream sauce. No dessert needed this evening!

Sun, May 18 - Tel Aviv

For those not familar with Israel, the work week starts on Sunday and finishes on Thursday. Friday is their equivalent of Saturday and Saturday, called Shabbat, is their religious day, equivalent to Sunday in the US. Inbar heads off to work early and Oren stays and helps me with logistics for my Israel travels later in the week. It is invaluable to have Oren work out the bus and train schedules/routes for me. Oren comes up with routings that are more efficient than the bus stations on-site are able to recomend. A couple of times I tried to buy tickets to locations and had the ticket vendors try to sell me something different. When they consulted their schedules, they would shake their heads in disbelief and sell me the tickets I asked for, knowing that in fact, I had the better routing. Thank you Oren!

Oren drops me at the Jordanian embassy where I get a visa for next week's travel. I chuckle at the embassy security check. They have a metal detector and ask me to empty my pockets onto the desk beside the metal detector before walking through. After walking through they ask me to take my stuff from the desk and put it back into my pockets. This is all fine but I'm surprised they don't examine the contents of my pockets and find my pocket knife...

Oren and I go for a bike ride along the Tel Aviv waterfront. It is a vibrant place with shops and restaurants all humming. The cycle is delightful - it is flat (knee-friendly), the pathway broad, more than twenty feet in most places, there is section designated for bikes and one for walking, but like most things in Israel, people ignore the signs and do what they like. Fortunately it is not crowded and we navigate easily to the Speedo restaurant where we stop for a beer and watch the sun set. It is idyllic. I forgot what fun cycling can be and vow to do this more frequently.

10:15PM, head off to dinner at the Nanuchka, a Georgian Restaurant Bar having great food, great drinks and which is very hip and trendy. Sunday evening is "Arab Night", and they play Arab music (a bit too loud, but never mind). The food is outstanding with our favorites being cheese momos, and meat chinkali, beef and goose stuffed in a breaded crust. Oren and I have something called a Georgian margharita, which is really a mohito on STEROIDS. Can you taste the mint over the internet??

The restaurant is divided into several rooms. There is a main room having a bar extending out into the room. The "business part" of the bar is wooden, two feet wide, fashioned in a U shape that extends eight feet into the room, runs for 15 feet down the middle of the room and then eight feet to the back wall. A couple of servers tend bar from the middle of the U and patrons outside the U lean against the wooden bar surface while consuming the libation of their choice.

Our table is in a room behind the bar but a large window hole is cut in the wall between the rooms and our table is raised and set against this hole along with high stools upon which we sit - so we have a comanding view of the entire bar area.

At 11PM on Arab night, a belly dancer usually stands on the bar and does her thing. Inbar has booked this table at this time knowing all this. We are in prime position! It is 11:15 and we have ordered a malabi dish and crepes for dessert. The hope is that the belly dancer appears before we are finished (they will seat people until 1AM!, some Tel Aviv restaurants seat until much much later)

11:30AM a hush comes over the crowd - "There she is!" hisses Inbar. The DJ starts a suitable track with a good beat and there before my eyes is a real live belly dancer. She is good!

The artist in me just enjoys the dancing. The engineer in me breaks down the motion into its constituent parts, the pelvic thrust, the hip twist, the jiggle, and the boob thrust. These are combined with looking around at people while smiling, making graceful wavy motions with her arms, ocassionally lowering her whole body very close to the bar surface - all done in synchronism with the pulsating beat of the music. Sound easy??? NOT

Dancer does a few numbers, steps down, and a 50-ish woman steps up from the audience and takes over. She doesn't have the fancy outfit and tassles like Dancer but she has most of the moves and has clearly been practicing. The crowd initially enjoys this but after a few numbers, they want her to step down. The DJ puts on a modern tune, figuring she will get the hint, but she adapts her dance style and keeps going, the crowd getting increasingly edgy.

She does one more before stepping down and letting Dancer back up into her rightful place on the bar. But wait, a tall thin male from the crowd joins her, and he also has the moves down too - the crowd loves it! He plays frequently to Dancer, dropping to his knees and extending his arms up to her, showing her off, so to speak. It's a fun memorable evening.

Sat, May 17 - Kathmandu to Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv

You recall that I started my travels by attending Raj's wedding in Hyderabad, India. I'm finishing my travels with another wedding, Oren Elkayam in Israel. Oren is out galivanting around the desert with his good friends attending his bachelor's party. Hence Inbar, Oren's fiancee, meets me at Ben Gurion Airport after a series of flights from Kathmandu through Delhi and Amman. The most interesting story Oren relates is being lowered down a two foot diameter well in a leather sack, exiting the sack in the dark and swimming with his friends in the subterranean lake. You'll have to inquire directly with Oren if you want to know the other things that happened during his bachelor party.

The best hummus restaurant in the world (according to Inbar's friend, Metal) is located in Jaffa and indeed, it is outstanding. Metal rattles off all the restaurants and what their specialties are as we pass through, but we don't stop until we hit Ali Caravan. In addition to the great food, the atmosphere of this hole-in-the-wall place is great. Metal warns us that Tel Aviv residents flock to Jaffa for the hummus, especially on Shabbat (Saturday), when traditional Jewish businesses (including restaurants) are closed. There is a constant din as the waiters are yelling in Arabic to the cooks and the patrons are yelling at each other in many languages to make themselves heard above the banter of waiters and cooks. We eat till food leaks from our ears. It is delicious!

We waddle down to the Jaffa waterfront, which has a rich history. Jaffa is one of the oldest port cities in the world, with maritime settlements dating back to 3000BC. It has always served as a gateway for frankincense, myrrh and spices to transit from the middle east and northern Africa to the Mediterranean. Arabs inhabit Jaffa today, and the restaurants and other businesses reflect this. However, it is becoming a trendy place for wealthy Tel Aviv residents to live and this is driving up land prices squeezing out the current residents, similar to what has happened in Silicon Valley with farmers being squeezed out. I'm just glad to be moving, albeit slowly, burning off a few of the recently consumed calories.

I'm finally back in the first world and can upload photos without the download program crashing half way through the upload. This occupies much time over the next few days.

Oren returns from his bachelor outing about 7PM and he and Inbar review my current plan for Israel travel. They both have coronaries when they see, "cycle around Sea of Galilee for three days". Oren, ever the meticulous organizer, gets on the web, calls a few cycle shops in the Galilee area, and surprised, says that yes, it is possible.

Watermelon with cheese is served for dinner just before retiring. It's an unusual combination but goes down very well.

Finally Some Pics!

I finally have access to a decent internet connection and have loaded up a bunch of photos under the April 22 Namche Posting. I realize this is less than ideal but the blogger tool does not allow me to create new posts and insert them in the chronological flow....

Bottom line, look in the first Namche posting and the Island Peak Climb for some new photos.

-D.

Thur, May 15 - Pokhara to Kathmandu

Pokhara

4:30AM take a taxi up to Sarangkot, where there is an awesome mountain overlook. The sky is relatively free from cloud and lined up from West to East are Dhaulagiri (8168m), Annapurna I (8091m), Annapurna South (7219m), Himchuli (6444m), Machhapuchhre (6993m), Annapurna III (7555m), Annapurna IV (7525m), Annapurna II (7939m), Lamjung Himal (6905m). It's an impressive sight!

The trail down is very hard to find and requires frequently asking people along the way. One person is extremely helpful and leads the way 100m back onto the path down. He wants 50Rs in return. I have no problem telling the beggars "rupe china" (no money) but I have a hard time giving nothing to folks that perform some service that I have willingly accepted. The other case that happens on the way down is a young girl asking for money after I take her photo. It leads to far fewer people photos on my part, and perhaps that is a good thing. Go to Sikkim for people shots, where everyone loves to have their picture taken.

A small juice stand beckons on the walk back to the hotel. The watermelon juice is exquisite, sweet and pulpy, with a taste that is subtle and wonderful.

The Pokhara airport is what airports should be. Total time taken with all administration including: check-in, checked baggage X-ray, hand baggage check, pay airport tax takes a total of five minutes. I arrive 45 minutes early but could have arrived 10 minutes before flight time and comfortably made my flight.

On the arrival in Kathmandu, they have a unique way of delivering checked baggage. The plane stops on the tarmac and everyone boards a "transporter" (a very wide bus). In parallel with people boarding the transporter, the checked luggage is piled onto a cart which is pulled by the transporter. When people and luggage have deplaned, the transporter trundles off to the place where domestic passengers leave the airport. By definition, your baggage is there as soon as you are ready to leave the airport.

Khum comes by my hotel after I have checked in, to return my garbage deposit to me. It is a ritual for any climbing expedition. The purpose of the garbage deposit is so expeditions remove their trash from the mountain. This works well for big peak expeditions which have lots of trash (oxygen bottles, food wrappers, batteries, etc) AND a Nepali liason officer to verify that this trash is indeed carried off the mountain, but for a single person trekking peak, which is what my "expedition" consists of, it seems like a needless set of paperwork. Nevertheless, I appreciate getting my $250 back.

Khum and I spend an hour chatting. He is very interested in western culture and asks about my family. After he learns that I am divorced, he quizzes me a great deal about divorce. The concept is quite foreign in Nepal, and he says that he would damage his family's reputation if he would get divorced, hence there is very strong family pressure against divorce. I explain to Khum a couple of dynamics which have increased divorce in western countries. (I'm sure there are many more factors but these two come to mind as I share a coffee with him.)

Divorce is very expensive. Wealthy people have been able to divorce for the past 1000 years. The amount of wealth in the west has increased and more people are able to afford the overhead of divorce. More importantly, the west has moved more strongly to a society seeking instant gratification and seeking short term individual happiness. The thought of living with someone for another thirty years if you don't like them drives many to divorce, even if they know other family members will not be happy. As with most things, there is no one right solution, we only exchange ideas so that we each have a better understanding of each other's world.

Wed, May 14 - Pokhara (Shitty Day)

I thought I had finished with my stomach bug but at 12:20AM I learn otherwise. That's when I sit bolt upright in bed, knowing that something is not right. I hastily take up my position on the porcelain throne and within seconds I'm squirting from both ends. It's not pretty folks, in fact, it's downright ugly. The good news is that after 10 minutes, things have quieted down and I'm able to go back to bed..... waiting. I do manage to get a couple of Cipro (strong antibiotic) and lomotil down.

I sit bolt upright again at 1:20AM for a repeat performance. And again at 2:20 and 3:20. Mercifully, the trains stop running after 3:20. The 2:20 and 3:20 performances are like no others I've experienced. I've heard of projectile vomiting before, but shooting water out my ass like it was a water cannon, that's a new one for me.

I happen to look out the window at 5:30 and see Machupachare (Fish Tail Mountain). I still feel like shit (well, OK, brown water) but the view is compelling. And I know that a much better view awaits on the roof. I must be feeling either much better or really cocky, as I drag up my camera paraphenalia and proceed to take photos for the next 45 minutes.

I sleep in till 9AM, getting up slowly and lounging about most of the day. I'm feeling better by evening and go to the lakeside to catch the evening light and look for some western food. I find a pizza place and the peperoni pizza is not bad. A couple pieces are saved for tomorrow's early morning pilgrimage up to the local mountain viewpoint (assuming no more fireworks tonight).

Tue, May 13 - Kathmandu to Pokhara

A 70 year old Indian man is sitting next to me on the bus to Pokhara. He was a school principal, well read, and is travelling with his wife, son, daughter-in-law and grandson. It's wonderful to see a family unit like this happily travelling together.

The Indian family brought more food than they need and I'm their adopted child for the day, eating the extra apple, mango juice, Indian finger food and whatever else they throw my way. I don't mention that my stomach is still a bit unsettled, I just hope for the best. If worst comes to worst, I'm sitting beside a window (now that I think about it, that works for effluent escaping my mouth, but it makes for a pretty comic scene if I have a repeat of yesterday - I suppose I could paint a passing bus brown???)

The roads are incredible ribbons pinned to the sides of steep hills. At times the road makes a big loop, following a constant elevation contour around a big hill. This allows you to see the road for miles ahead. On one such curve, a long line of Matchbox cars and trucks are lines up in both directions. We encounter the traffic jam ten minutes later. It is caused by a low speed head-on collision, apparentlly without injury. After an hour, our bus creeps by the accident.

One side effect of the roads being either twisty or in poor condition (or both) is that speeds rarely exceed 30mph and are often much lower. I expect this is why no-one bothers with seat belts in Nepal. The same applies for most of India, although Delhi now enforces seat belt laws, but they do see speeds up to 50mph.

All but the very steepest slopes are terraced and everything is lush and green at this time. The entire corridor between Kathmandu and Pokhara is inhabited and heavily cultivated.

We have a short pee break at 9:30AM and my Indian "father" plies me with more food and drink. I hope the dam holds! Back on the bus, he pulls out a deck of cards, spends some sorting through them, then asks me to pick a card from the deck, and without looking at it, ask a personal question about my future. I ask him whether I will marry in the future. As far as I can tell, he has not looked at my hidden card and he has not examined the deck from which it was pulled.

He says, "I knew you were going to ask that, because you drew a heart, didn't you?"

Looking at the card, "You are right."

"The real question is when. The card is a seven. You will make a decision in July, the seventh month."

I ask him how he knew it was the seven of hearts. Is it a special deck full of nothing but the same card? He turns the deck over and I see that all the correct cards are present.

He asks me to repeat the exercise. It looks like he is gently putting one card ahead of others as he proffers them a second time. I very deliberately take one from near the beginning of the deck. He smiles. "Interesting that you would select the same card twice."

I have no idea how he knew, but indeed, I ended up with the seven of hearts a second time... Go figure. For the record, no plans on the books to get married anytime soon, so either he is wrong or something pretty special will happen in the next couple months.

The travel agent in Kathmandu has booked me a really nice hotel. The rooms are well appointed, having toilet, hot water shower, air conditioning and ceiling fan as well as a sitting chair. The grounds are immaculate (I see women cutting the grass by hand each day). There is a beautiful outdoor restaurant and the staff are very friendly and helpful. I ask where is the best place to photograph the surrounding mountains and the desk clerk, Amit, tells me the roof. I take a peak and indeed, it likely is the best place on the valley floor.

I've recovered from yesterday and am feeling in the mood for a G&T. The tourist part of Pokhara is built along the shore of Lake Phew (I never heard the official pronounciation but ph in Nepali is NOT an "f" sound so I believe it is pronounced as, "pee-you", what a place for tourists to hang out). There is NOBODY in any of the bar/restauants that I pass. Eventually I pick one that has second story open air seating with a good view of the lake.

Indeed, gin & tonic is on their bar list. But wait, they have a margarita. But wait, this is like no other margie I've ever seen. Tequila, lemon juice and coke. Well, I'll given anything a try once, and if this is good, who knows, perhaps it will start something back in the US. Well, perhaps not. It is the worst margie I've ever had, and I've had some bad ones. I quickly switch to the venerable G&T. The service at this place is horrific, but what a great place to just hang out and watch the world go by.

There is a distinctive style of boat that plies the water of Lake Pee-you. It looks like a narrow dory, with bow and stern higher than the middle and is paddled like a canoe. A dozen or so are flitting across the lake. There are about 200 pulled up on the shore, giving a feel for how few people are visiting Pokhara at the moment. The place had a bad rap due to Maoist trouble in the past, but with the Maoists winning the election here in Nepal, that is no longer the case. It appears to be taking longer for the tourists to rediscover Pokhara.

I have a light dinner and head off to bed.

Mon, May 12 - Kathmandu

My stomach has been churning all night. I decide not to visit the Bodnath Stupa. Instead, I hang around the hotel, eating a light breakfast.

My stomach churn turns into intestine churn and I make a quick dash to my room, letting loose an incredible shit-storm into the toilet. Well folks, it seems the stomach bug has finally caught me with my pants down. Today is a day of limited activity and, light food and lots of water. I use the time to arrange my flight to Tel Aviv and pick up my travel documents for Pokhara.

Sun, May 11 - Kathmandu

Kathmandu: Swoyanbunth Stupa

Kathmandu: Durbar Square

Arrive Swayambunth temple at 5:15. There are low clouds on the horizon, preventing the sun from shining directly on the large stupa. It gives me plenty of time to set up my tripod for photos. It's not until 6AM that the light is really good. I bring a different kind of Nepal beer and get another beer shot for Niall, this time with the large stupa in the background.

I retrace yesterday's path to Durbar square, get a number of photos in the early light, then sit on some steps watching the people go by. Quite a slice of humanity, ranging from very upscale tourists to Nepali porters, old men and women, but very few children. I see some children later going to school, perhaps that is where they all are.

I think of doing some bike riding or another physical activity but have conjectured that my ailment may in fact be a cracked rib, and hence taking it easy for a few more days is likely my best course for the time being.

Sat, May 10 - Kathmandu

Wanted to get up at 4AM and walk to the Swayambhunath Stupa to catch the good morning light but was just too tired after yesterday's marathon DVD session. Sleep in till 7AM (still the first up at this place).

I walk to Swayambhunath at 11AM to check it out. It's about 30 minutes from the hotel. I see more beggars in the vicinity of the temple than I have seen during my previous 20+ days in Nepal.

The stupa is huge, about eighty feet in diameter and about as tall. Each side has the Budha eyes and nose painted on it. Very well known in Nepal.

There is a Nepali funeral parlour next to the Swayambhunath hill. It looks like a party until you see the funeral pyres. A loud procession with music approaches down the street and I set up to get photos of a marching band. I realize too late that it's a funeral procession.

Next stop is Durbar square, another thirty minute walk. As I go through the streets, which are muddy and covered with much water from the previous night's rain, I wonder how much has changed since Tenzing Norgay walked these streets. All the doorways have carved lintels and door jambs. The amount of craftmanship that went into Kathmandu is enormous. In Durbar Square, there is a huge amount of carved wood on the roofs and roof supports of all the temples. At the base of some of the roof supports, one finds very erotic carvings. They are not a main theme so perhaps it was the workmen having fun.

Fri, May 9 - Kathmandu

Yves has a Kathmandu newspaper showing the Chinese carrying the torch to top of Everest. What a great piece of PR. They have selected a Tibetan woman to be the person who carries the torch the last few steps to the top. Meanwhile, the Tibetan people here in Kathmandu continue to demonstrate (I see a small but peaceful demonstration) about the abuses the Chinese are inflicting on them. Nepal locks up the demonstrators as quickly as they can.

I spend the entire day backing up my photos to DVDs. Normally there are power outages every evening, but this evening there is none and I complete writing the last DVD at midnight. There was a big storm that dumped a good bit of rain, perhaps that is why the power stays on?

Thur, May 8 - Kathmandu

I am up at 5:30AM, WAY before the other guests. The sun is up and the garden is inviting. It's an opportunity to finally make serious headway on my journal.

Yves turns up at 6:30 and suggests that I move to a chair further from the adjacent building, where they are doing brickwork. I move and shortly thereafter, some mortar falls onto the chair where I was sitting. Hmmmm, what if it was a brick that had fallen? Yves says that builders are required to leave 30% of a lot as green space, but in practice, builders will bribe government officials and build out 100% of their space. Hence the reason for a five story wall abutting the garden.

In addition to good food, Yves has good coffee at the Garden House. I order a small pot and am quickly wired. I also order curds for breakfast and they are superb. Creamy and sweet, they go perfectly with some apples and bananas I bought from street vendors yesterday afternoon.

At 11AM, Khum Subedi, one of the owners of Unique Adventure, comes to meet me at the hotel. He wants to know, "Was I happy with the trek and climb?"

"I'm very satisfied." However, there are many things which I think could be done better, starting with a good gear checklist. Khum asks me to write down any improvements and I will send him a list of my ideas in June which he can either use or not. His situation is very similar to Bikash in Sikkim. The competition is fierce, with over 300 trekking companies in Kathmandu, and he needs to differentiate his company in some way. He has a certificate for me in his office which documents that I successfully climbed Island Peak.

On the way to his office, we pass the Rum Doodle Bar, which I remember from 1986, when Caroline and I stayed in Kathmandu for a few days. That's about all I remember from Kathmandu.

The hotel relies on a shallow well for most of its non-drinking water and this afternoon the pump gives out. People are asked to please not take showers till this crisis has passed. Yves laments the fact that it is late and will be impossible to obtain a new pump this evening. A plumber is called and he does show up. They discover that the windings on the pump motor are burned out. Rather than buy a new pump for 8,000Rs, the plumber spends the next two days repairing the motor by rewinding it. I'm staggered, but this is far cheaper than getting a new pump or new motor. In the meantime, we borrow water from the hotel next door.

Wed, May 7 - Lukla to Kathmandu

It's 9:30AM, and I'm waiting in line to check in with Sita Airlines, one of the small regional carriers that operate only in Nepal. It has been cloudy this morning and although a few flights have made it in, they are running at least an hour behind yesterday's prediction. The check-in area has small counters around the perimeter which are dominated by large scales. With small planes (18 people), and a high altitude airstrip, they take weight seriously. Everyone is jostling, trying to get to the head of the line, despite the fact that checking in and getting on the plane are two totally unrelated activities and getting checked in quickly has no bearing on where you sit on the plane (open seating). The fighting, queuing and pent up frustration are legendary after a few days of bad whether when no flights come or go. It would likely make an interesting psychology PhD. Fortunately, flights have been reasonably regular over the past few days.

Our flight arrives and the 18 of us lined up on the tarmac, waiting for the signal to board the plane. Everyone, including (Especially!) the Sherpa guides who must make this flight hundreds of times over their lifetimes, have the objective of getting to the frontmost,right hand side seat, which affords the best view of the mountains (assuming the view is not obscured by clouds). I am no different but there are some really pushy people who work to the front of our little phlanx. However, I spot the signal from the flight attendant that now is the time and get a half step jump on everyone. I confess that it is quite satisfying to ace out the pushy people. They are still trying to worm into position ahead of me so I put a hand on the railing and a foot on the first step as we are being held now at the base of the stairs until the captain climbs in the front.

There is no mountain view, with cloud ceilings at 12,000 feet. We fly most of the way at 150 knots as the pilot clears mountain ridges by hundreds of feet. Definitely a bit closer than I would fly. The views looking down at the heavily terraced slopes are interesting, especially when the soil changes color.

I'm booked at the Kathmandu Garden House, a 20 room guest house at the north end of Thamel, the tourist enclave in Northern Kathmandu. It is recommended in Lonely Planet. It's great! at 400Rs a night, it's less than one third the price of the Tenki, the hotel booked by Unique Adventures for my initial two days in Kathmandu. As the name suggests, there is a beautiful outdoor garden with several tables for guests to relax or have meals. It is owned by a French couple, Yves (French) and Sagmita (Nepali). Yves was an executive chef in a previous life and came to Nepal to help set up the kitchen and initial menus for a large Kathmandu hotel.

Yves had no plans to stay but met his wife here and is happily married with two children. He is not allowed to officially work, but he does oversee much of the hotel's operation and has certainly had a big hand in the menu, which is very good. I've enjoyed talking with the other guests, most of whom are in their twenties, but there are a few oldies like me as well.

They have a roof terrace, like many hotels here, and I watch the sunset. The light is beautiful. I scan the neighboring buildings, some of which are hotels and some of which are private residences or appartment buildings. I feel like a distant observer, watching the world go by. I wonder whether Camus and other great authors have had some of their work inspired by similar observations. It reminds me of the Hitchcock movie staring Jimmie Stewart in which Stewart plays a recuperating photographer who sits in his appartment and watches the antics of all his neighbors.

Tue, May 6 - Namche to Lukla

I've arranged for breakfast at 6AM, in order to get an early start. All is quiet as I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen. I wake up the cook, who is sheepish when I wake him from his sleep in the dining room. The Nepali make good use of public areas for sleeping. Often porters, guides and lodge staff will use the dining area as a dorm room for sleeping.

The way down from Namche involves an immediate drop of 600m down to the Dudh Koshi River. I make a stop at the first Everest lookout (ie, when you come up the trail, the first point from which you can see Everest) but Everest is obscured in cloud. In fact, clouds are gathering everywhere and I worry about rain. I turn on my ipod and cruise down the trail, making it to Lukla by 1PM. By 2PM, it is pouring rain, and I'm happy I started early.

Namche to Lukla

A hot shower, in a real shower stall, is an unbelievably pleasant experience! My feet are finally clean, free of the Everest dust that works its way into your shoes, through your socks and into the pores of your feet. My socks will probably always have a brownish tinge to them, but I am able to get my feet clean. I feel like a new person and am ready to explore after the rain stops.

Another unbelievably pleasant experience is being re-united with The Mother of God, which I sent down with Lal when we parted in Dingboche. It contains, in addition to my ice axe, crampons and a bunch of other useless stuff, CLEAN CLOTHES!

Being a pilot, I'm naturally attracted to the Lukla Runway. At 1100 feet, it is about half the length of the runway in Palo Alto where I have done most of my flying. It also has a mountain at one end, meaning you can only land in one direction (06), and take off in the opposite direction (24). It also has an 8 degree slope. There may be other runways in the world with such a high slope, but I'm not aware of them. I walk around the runway and get a few photos of the slope and the control tower.

I have a hankering for a real coffee. By "real", I mean something other than Nescafe instant coffee. Nothing against Nescafe, but I want a coffee that has less than a one shelf life. I stop at the Sherpini Lodge, located at the end of the runway, and having a "high brow" look to it. I figure it might just have the real deal. I'm wrong, BUT, I do find a Brit (John), and an Ozzie (Sean), sitting beside the standard heater (burns yak dung), drinking San Miguel beer. They have concluded their trek with an organized group and over the next three hours I meet a dozen folks from their group, as they trickle out and join us for brews around the fire. A most pleasant way to relax and spend the afternoon. Coffee can wait till Kathmandu.

I head back to my hotel to eat, sleep and prepare for the flight back to civilization tomorrow. Because the weather plays such a key role in flying into Lukla, you never know in advance quite when your flight will leave. You book a date and check with the airline at 4:30PM the day before your flight to get their best estimate of your flight time. I learn that my "expected" flight time is 9:30AM tomorrow.

Mon, May 5 - Gokyo Ri to Namche

Up at 3:50AM and on trail by 4:15AM. I'm worried that the two inches of snow the previous evening will make it impossible to follow the trail but I'm determined to give it a try. It turns out that the trail is mostly dirt and dust and when the snow hits this, it is absorbed. The result is a trail that is clearly delineated by an absence of snow.

I'm about 100m up the mountain when a glint of light catches my attention. I look back at the village of Gokyo and see a headlamp, about 15 minutes behind me. For reasons I cannot explain, it spurs me to go faster, especially when it appears the lamp is gaining on me. I suppose I'm more competitive than I realize.

Gokyo Ri

At 5:15AM, I'm still 100m down from the summit and the summit is enveloped in cloud. I stop and set up my tripod and take a few pictures of Alpinglow on nearby peaks. The clouds clear shortly, I continue to the top of Gokyo Ri and the panaramic view is stupendous. The top extends for about 100m in a broad ridge and there are prayer flags everywhere, covered with thick frost. I'm the first at the top and others gradually trickly up over the next hour.

I blithley take a 360 degree panorama shot. A guide is among the next folks up and he is kind enough to point out the major mountains to me. I will never remember their names, but I will find a photo in Kathmandu that has all the peaks labeled. He points out Everest, which has been hiding behind the sun, and it looks more prominent from this vantage point than from any other I've seen.

I linger at the top, wanting to bask in this beauty, but knowing I have a LONG day ahead and I need to get going. I make it back down to lodge a little after 8AM, pack, have some tea, and say my good-byes to Didi at 9AM. While having tea, I look at the map and set some milestones along the way so I have some idea of when I will arrive in Namche. I estimate 4 hours to Dole and 6 hours to Namche.

I make a slow start but pick up steam along the way. Villages are located in ravines so they have water sources. The trail drops at least 100m into each village, and then climes back up 50m or so on south side of each village. I encounter a village every hour and stop each time on the climb out of the ravines, taking some water and eating a snack. I make my 4 hour estimate for Dole but the push for Namche takes another 4 hours, ughhh. The last hour is really painful as my feet start to hurt and the trail skirts the mountain on which Namche is situated. The mountain is very serrated so you keep rounding corners, thinking that Namche must be around the next corner, only to find yet another corner ahead.

I get myself situated in a guest house in Namche and then think about dinner. I have lugged around a full bottle of beer (650ml - heavy!) so that I could get a picture of a local Nepal beer with Mt. Everest in the background. Niall Battson makes a calendar every year with a local beer in front of a famous monument or site in different countries around the world. I figure he can use one with Mt. Everest in the background. However, Now that it has served its purpose, I'm intent to consume it and my thought is to make a special sandwich with French bread, cheese and salami.

There is no "French" bakery in town but many of the villages in Nepal have German bakeries, so I check this option. They have no French bread so I get a brown loaf. They also have some cheese. I ask whether there is a place to get salami and they point me across the street to a grocery store. I check with them, but they tell me that salami has a shelf life of only 1 month and you won't find anything in Namche unless it has a shelf life of at least one year! He points me to some luncheon meat and I make do with that.

I eat half my sandwich before pitching it out in disgust. It's just not the same as originally envisioned. But the beer is great! (although at 3400m, it fizzes a lot when you pour it)

Sun, May 4 - Marlung to Renjo Pass to Gokyo

Marlung to Gokyo

On trail by 6AM. Pretty barren north of Marlung. See a few yaks on way to Lungden and a few trekkers and locals in Lungden. I make a critical route decision based on the map I have and it turns out to be incorrect. Bushwhack up a ravine for an hour before joining the correct trail. I realize by the end of my trekking that my map provides a rough idea of what's where, but I cannot rely on detailed info like trail positions and elevations.

Break out onto a plateau and go past a couple of rudimentary dwellings. Before heading up the wrong ravine, I saw three trekkers ahead, one of whom has a very distinctive boot print ("Mr. Boot"). I quickly appreciate the fact that Mr. Boot is ahead of me, as it gives me guidance when the trail braids and I'm not sure which trail branch to follow. This is especially important because it starts snowing, covering the trail, but Mr. Boot is less than an hour ahead so I can still make out his footprints.

My altimeter is telling me that I should be darn close to the top of the pass, but I see no break in the mountains. Finally reach a lake covering about a square mile and meet a group of folks coming down a giant staircase. I've found the way on! But oh my, it goes up and up and up! The first 50m up are like a staircase made from giant slabs of rock. It reminds me of Oberland's Causeway near Horse Camp on Mt Shasta. I slog up the steep trail and eventually reach Renjo Pass.

The weather at the top is sufficiently good for me to eat a quick snack, drink some water, tie a silk kata scarf to one of the prayer flags (one of the things that is done at sacred places), and take a picture of Gokyo Lake. Then it starts snowing in earnest. I meet a three person Polish party coming from Gokyo to Lungden. They ask whether it is a long way. I hate to tell them the truth and I worry about them after I descend. They did not look very experienced and it snows more on the Lungden side of the pass, AND it is long way down AND the trail is often quite difficult to find. I have not heard of any parties being lost up there so I assume they made it through.

I arrive in Gokyo at 2PM and select the closest lodge in which to stay. It is on the waterfront, has a great view of Gokyo Lake, Renjo Pass and the mountains to the west. Didi is the friendly proprietor. A number of travelers are already here. Brent, a fellow Canadian, is the most vocal and is cleaning his Leica and Hasselblad cameras. And I thought I had a lot of camera gear. His porter is earning his pay lugging around 40 pounds of camera-related stuff. Brent has been traveling the past few days with Sylvan, an ebulent Frenchman with a great sense of humor. I like him a lot and engage in some good natured banter with him.

Then there is "Stud", a swiss guy who could easily play James Bond and whose good looks would melt most women. He has melted a German woman who lives in Switzerland and the two of them are joined at the hip. Sophie and her German girlfriend, and the Chek couple round out the other lodgers.

After settling in to my digs, a double room with shared toilet, I order a bowl of noodle soup and inquire about availability of tchang. Like most places I've been, Didi initially tells me that there is no tchang. However, when pressed, she agrees to get me a small jug.

I go to bed early (9PM) as I plan to get up early and summit Gokyo Ri (5400m) before heading back down to Namche.

Sat, May 3 - Namche to Marlung

Namche to Marlung

First time in three weeks that I have slept through the night! Get up at 7AM and snap a few pics at the Namche market. Every guide book I've read talks about people coming for miles around to the Namche market. It is the heart of Sherpa country. The market is the soul of their economy....

Let me tell you folks, the Namche market MAY be a big deal for the locals, but they have much of the same stuff that you find at the San Jose flea market in California. Cheap Chinese cloths and running shoes. Basic foodstuffs like rice, flour, and other grains. San Miguel Beer. San Miguel Beer. More San Miguel Beer. Oh yes, and a healthy amount of Bagpiper rum. For me, the attraction was seeing a bunch of locals doing their thing and having a few photo ops.

Take my tripod to the watch repair place where they fixed my reading glasses a week ago. They tighten the leg on my tripod and charge me 10Rs to do so. Gotta like a place where you can do basic maintainence on expensive camera gear for 15 cents a pop.

My original plan when I separated from Lal and the organized trek was to head up to Gokyo, going over Cho La (a high pass). However, because I felt lousy, I burned a couple days in resting and going to lower elevation. Those that know me well will know that I don't let go of ideas easily, and I hatch a crazy plan that still allows me to see Gokyo while getting to Lukla on May 6, four days hence.

My plan is to hike to Thame, three hours from Namche, and see how I feel. If I feel strong, then I continue north this afternoon, going as far as Marlung or even Lungden. I cross the Renjo Pass and get to Gokyo tomorrow, get up early on May 5, hike to the top of Gokyo Ri and then book down to Namche, spending the night in Namche. May 6 will be realtively easy in comparison, heading down to Lukla and preparing for the flight back to Kathmandu on May 7.

I implement phase 1 and start hiking to Thame, where Tenzing Norgay was born. I meet a three young children on the way who are asking for money and candy. Instead of meeting their demands, I let them listen to my ipod. They get a big kick out this, one them starts dancing. There are three of them and they pass individual ear buds around so that two of them can listen at a time. The oldest suddenly has an inspiration and grabs both ear buds. The smile on her face when she hears the music in stereo is priceless. She listens for a few moments before letting the others share her new discovery.

I'm still not at full strength and am hiking at perhaps two thirds my normal pace. I get a major impetus to speed up when I'm thirty minutes from Thame. It starts to rain. Just spitting to start but gradually increasing to the point where I worry about my camera and the contents of my pack. I stop at Thame's Sunshine Lodge. If spending time anywhere can help the rain situation, it would have to be the SUnshine Lodge.

I order some lemon tea, preparing to wait for a bit. I hear a strong call, it's a crunchy, chewy sound. I purchase a can of Pringles potato chips that was packaged in 2006 and which says can be eaten until 2008. Probably not the wisest purchase made in my life, but I make the best of it. The first few go down great. The bottom of the can needs to be swilled down with another lemon tea. It helps pass the time and after an hour or so, the rain stops and I head north again.

There are still ugly looking clouds in the area and I worry that I will get dumped on. Each rock I pass is examined for its shelter possibilities. The hike is uneventful and I arrive at the RiverView Lodge in Marlung at 5:30, after 2.5 hours of walking.

The Lodge is run by a Sherpini (woman Sherpa). Her husband is a porter who specializes in Everest expeditions (she proudly shows me a faded picture of him at the top of Everest) (he is in Everest Base Camp, patiently waiting for the Chinese to open up the mountain after their PR event taking the Olympic torch to the top of Everest).

Her command of English is limited to about 50 words. My command of Nepali is limited to what can be looked up in little phrase book. I find the phrase book inadequate, in some instances she does not have a clue what I'm trying to say. It is foggy and snowing outside and I'm trying to make a statement that it will be sunny tomorrow, hoping to elicit a yea or nay response from her (as though she would know!)

The word for "sun" in my book is sur-ya, but it draws a blank stare no matter how many times I say with different pronounciation. I have better luck with the next entry,gha-mai-lo, "sunny". We carry on like this for some time, slowly communicating a few facts. She has three children, two daughters and a son. Her son is an Everest porter like his father, and is currently away on Everest. October/November is the busy season for them and they can fill their place.

A few words about their house. It is stone, like all houses in the area, having a stone fence demarcating a few fields around the house. Total area covered by their spread is 100 yards by 100 yards. The house proper has a kitchen and dining room. The kitchen is about 20' x 15', the dining room is about 20' x 20', and I think she has a private bed room but I did not look. The dining room is set up in the classic style I've seen everywhere, with a heater in the middle and benches/tables around the perimeter of the room.

The lodgers all stay in a building which is attached to the main building, but which is accessed by an external door. (ie, leave the house, go outside, enter the door to the lodging quarters). The doors are all about four feet high. In reading Jamling Norgay's book, he explains that the low height is to prevent the ghosts of previous occupants from entering the house and causing trouble. Apparently ghosts cannot bend over.

Livestock are kept on the ground floor, beneath the lodgers. I expect that this was the orginal house, quite small, and that the current house is a new addition. The lodging area is set up dorm style, with five beds sticking out from one wall and the other long wall having three beds placed end to end. They use all the space. I looked under the beds and found sacks of potatoes. Round yak dung patties are stacked against the walls.

I am the only lodger today and I think the matron of the house is very glad for the company, even if it is tough to communicate. She makes me an enormous dinner of vegetable chow mein. She has enormous strong hands, probably developed from years of working in the fields.

I have an interesting discussion about the toilet, when I don't think she has properly understood my question, but in fact she has. There is no toilet. "Go outside, far from the house", she says.

I go to bed early and get a reasonably good sleep.