June 22 - Mount Shasta

Our team of 10 people successfully sumit Mount Shasta on Sunday June 22. As the "old man" on the trip, I try (and I think succeed!) to provide some excitement for all the youngsters on this trip.

Mt. Shasta

Things get off to an auspicious start when Avis does not have the full size rental car and substitutes a Jetta. It does have a huge trunk and I decide to go with it, first collecting Marie-Luce from Palo Alto. Armed with Google maps and ML's excellent navigation skills, we make our way flawlessly through San Francisco's streets to Alex's, only to find that he's out grabbing a bite to eat. No worries, Arnaud lives four blocks away and can be picked up before Alex, but wait, Arnaud is naked in his living room trying to decide what to wear on this trip (He's French and you know how they have to keep up with fashion.)

The drive up is very entertaining, especially Arnaud's story of his uncle peeing on a car door lock in order to unfreeze it (winter in Grenoble). Turns out that his uncle was drunk and peed on the wrong car and when the owner of the car sees a man peeing on it, he knifes him in the back! Not to be outdone, Alex tells us of a time when he goes into a bar asking for a drink and the bartender pulls a gun on him. Alex leaves the bar with a big smile on his face. (Check with Alex to find out why.)

All this fun in the car leads naturally to a great evening at the Bunny Flat campground (located at the trailhead for our hike/climb up Shasta). Most of the group have never sampled Fred Steak, so this is a chance to try something new.

http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Cookbook:Fred_Steak

Salad, potatoes and a home-made rhubarb pie (Arnaud's famous French recipe) round out our meal. Everyone thinks the food is fabulous, although the two bottles of wine may have something to do with things tasting good. Arnaud cracks a few, "old man", jokes when he learns I'm 49, and we all laugh so hard we have tears streaming down our cheeks. I confess that I can't remember what the jokes are - guess my memory must be going.

The evening is memorable for another reason. It's such a beautiful night, and we're all bloated blimps at this point, that we set up our sleeping bags on our sleeping pads without bothering with tents. Thirty minutes later a few drops of rain scare ML and Arnaud into putting up their tent. Alex and I have read the weather reports, talked to the ranger and are confident that worst case will bring only sprinkles this evening. After several episodes of sprinkles, the rain fly of my tent is pulled over our sleeping bags.

An hour later finds both of us awake, itching mosquito bites. Alex and I are still tough and just pull the tent from its stuff sack, and drape it over our heads to deny the mosquitos their pound of flesh. It is stuffy and claustrophobic with the tent fabric lying on our heads, and neither of us gets much (any) sleep. An hour later brings enough rain that we shed our tough mountain men image and rush to assemble the tent and clamber in. So much for a good night's sleep prior to Saturday's hike to Hidden Valley.

The weather continues to be ugly on Saturday, with overcast skies, wind and occasional sprinkles. Although it seems like wretched weather, its actually much better for hiking. With a cloudless sky, temperatures can rise to 100 degrees or more in this area. Climbers coming down the mountain tell how they had to retreat from 12,000 feet when high winds, rain, snow and lightning forced them back.

We arrive at Hidden Valley by 11AM and are able to claim good spots for our tents. People continue to arrive until 8PM, with about 40 tents scattered over the valley.

The West Face is clearly demarcated and is, in fact, the only continuous strip of snow up the mountain. With such a narrow chute and so many climbers, we move up our planned departure time to beat the rush, in order to minimize the chance of climbers above us knocking rocks down. Waking up at midnight allows us to set off at 1AM. We have split our party of ten into two teams, Alex, ML, Arnaud, and myself comprising one team while Dan, Francesco, Ian, Nina, Bridget, Dan are the other. 

It's cold, but we make great time and reach the summit by 6:30AM. I've been up Shasta three times before but still find the experience emotional, shedding a few happy tears this time. The obligatory photos are captured but it is cold and windy and lingering at the summit is not an option.

There is a glissade track on the main face and I volunteer to go down first, set up my camera at the bottom and get photos of the others coming down the track. The sun is only now starting to hit the glissade track so it is pretty icy. It makes for a memorable ride and I have to stop frequently and go slowly to avoid sliding out of control. Descending about 1500 feet, I reach a sunny area that looks like the best spot for photos. Getting out of the track, I realize that my shorts, poly pro long underwear and regular jockey shorts have all been abraded by the icy snow in the track. I suppose its a good thing the cold icy snow has numbed my butt, else my ass would be feeling the missing skin. Fortunately, the crown jewels are still intact.

Photos are taken but everyone agrees that putting crampons back on and walking down the remainder of the way is the thing to do. We take a break after a while, removing our packs to fish out food and water. I'm fifty feet lower than the others during this rest break, and when I see a water bottle come loose and come hurtling down the hill towards me I attempt to be a hockey goalie and stop the errant bottle. It's coming fast and I have no time to watch my foot placements, instead keeping my eyes fixed on the incoming bottle. 

Moving quickly, my right foot lands on the side of a snow cup, rolling on its side, sending a shooting pain up my leg, and causing me to collapse on the slope. I don't hear anything pop so I assume its a bad sprain and not broken. After a few steps, it's clear that I cannot put any weight on it. Putting our heads together, we try to figure out a way to get down the steep snow slope. I dismiss anything that involves walking as it is way too painful to load my right foot. 

Glissade! That's the way down, my bottom protestations notwithstanding. But how to do it safely and keep my right foot from bumping on the snow? Somehow, going down the track needs to be done in a controlled manner. Answer: fasten a tether to my backpack, someone walks beside the glissade track holding my tether, thus lowering me at walking speed. I still need my ice axe in case my, "keeper", stumbles and lets go my tether. The plan works and slowly we make our way down the hill. At some point Alex sees some blood on the track. We determine that liposuction is a better option for reducing the size of my butt and place a garbage bag under my bottom. Ahhhhh, the simple pleasures in life. So much more comfortable!

The grade starts to level off and the snow starts to run out. I don't fancy the idea of being pulled on my ass over the sharp rocks between me and our camp, even with the garbage bag to sit on. About this time we notice a CHP chopper circling overhead. They've probably been wondering what the heck is going on down here. I conclude that there is no way I will be able to walk from our camp back to the trailhead and suggest that we signal the chopper and see if I can get airlifted out. 

The chopper tries to communicate with us via loudspeaker but it is unintelligible over the sound of their engine and the blades beating the air. They eventually land and Alex piggy-back's me over to the helicopter. The California Highway Patrol chopper has been looking for a couple who phoned in the night before saying they were unable to continue down the mountain and are lost. The two officers, Bob and Tara, are incredibly nice. They first express their amazement that Alex has been able to carry me 1/4 mile over rocks and snow cover. Tara especially has her eye on him. Then they load me in the back seat, tell me not to touch ANYTHING or I'll make the chopper crash, and off we go. 

They spend a few minutes searching for the lost couple, before flying me over to Shasta's Mercy Hospital. After landing, Tara takes my blood pressure (122/80) and wants me to remove my boot so she can have a look at my foot. She and Bob must justify picking me up and they want some evidence that I am sufficiently hurt that I would not be able to walk out from camp. Bob jokes that he wants to see broken bones sticking out and blood spurting but they settle for a big bruise on the right side of my foot.

The hospital is all of 100 feet from the helicopter landing pad but they must send an ambulance to greet me. What a day of firsts for me! First helicopter evacuation, first ambulance ride, what's next??? Perhaps I shouldn't ask!

The staff at Mercy Hospital are incredibly friendly, admitting me immediately, and Dr. Grover Shipman is in to see me within minutes. I learn later that he has an ulterior motive, to learn about snow conditions on the mountain. He and his girlfriend are planning to hike in to Hidden Valley and climb Shasta next Thur, Fri, Sat. I give him all the details he'll need and in return he sends me in for X-rays. 

The technician takes two X-rays and has me wait on the gurney while she develops them. When she returns and takes a third, I'm suspicious that something in my foot is not quite right. Grover shows me two fractures, one in a metatarsal called a pseudo-Jones fracture and a distal fibula fracture. He is surprised that I am not in more pain, and sends me on my way with a splint, telling me to check in with my doctor in Palo Alto within the next five days. He also gives me some vicodin, a powerful painkiller. 

So ends our Mt. Shasta expedition. Several of the team will travel to Rainier next weekend. I wish them good luck and hope that none of them share my fortune of having a helicopter ride off the mountain!

FYI, I actually make the news in some papers that print the US Forest Service press release verbatim. I'm the male with the broken leg mentioned in the last sentence in the press release below:

http://www.fs.fed.us/r5/shastatrinity/news/2008/releases/024-june22-mt-shasta-search.shtml

Fri, June 6 - Mt Whitney Summit

Summit Day, Mt Whitney Trip

There are two main routes to the summit from Trail Camp. The standard route winds its way up 99 switch backs (someone more anal than I must have counted them) while a chute to the climber's right provides a direct snow ascent at an angle of 35 to 40 degrees. The views while walking up the chute are spectacular, the early low angle sun lighting up the yellow rock faces on our right side. The view looking east from the top of the chute shows Trail Camp, the surrounding mountains, and the Owens Valley with the Inyo Mountains beyond.

An hour at the summit is enough time to enjoy the view without getting too cold from the 30 mph winds (there are many big blocks of rock at the summit acting as wind breaks). We enjoy the first 30 minutes alone and then 4 other groups make the summit. A 60 year old gentleman is wearing a kilt. Dunkley inquires as to whether he is a "real" Scot and learns that he has taken precautions to reduce drafts under his kilt.

I had last climbed Mt. Whitney in 1984 with a good friend, Dave Parlour, and try calling Dave from the top. My phone has intermittent reception (not sure why) and I'm not able to reach Dave. I talk to Dave later and he tells me that I must be doing pretty well to reach the summit as an old man (Thanks Dave!)

We hike back to camp, pack up and make it back down to the trailhead by 5PM. A ranger tells us on the way down that the small store in the trailhead parking lot has the best burgers within 50 miles. It is true that everything tastes better after a few days climbing in the mountains, but these burgers are "really" good and the good selection of beers further enhances this. Most of us have sore feet but we all enjoy the hike and climb, looking forward to the next mountain adventure.

Dunkley and I make our way toward Santa Barbara, where he has some good friends, Mike and Fiona. Following the Kern River, Dunk navigates and is able to provide enough entertaining driving to keep me happy for months. Dunk may have selected different roads had he known what he was in for as the passenger. 

Thur, June 5 - Mt. Whitney Trail Camp

At 9AM, Dunk and I meet Alex, Eric, and Arnaut at the Whitney Portal store, near the Mt. Whitney trailhead before starting up the trail. We make good time and reach Trail Camp by 2PM. Weather is clear and about 70 degrees, with only a few patches of snow to negotiate below the 12000' camp.

Trail Camp, Mt. Whitney

The trail winds through pine forest, passing some beautiful alpine lakes. The sun lights up the golden-yellow rock and highlights it against a sky bluer than those of Nepal. There is plenty of water flowing in streams along the way, meaning we don't need to haul water up the mountain.

Arnaut, Eric and Alex have brought all the fixins' for a wonderful steak dinner while I supply the wine. Everyone gets more than enough food to carry them up Mt. Whitney. Winds are gusty, occasionally reaching 40 mph, but our tents are well anchored (after Eric and Arnaud move theirs) and everyone except Eric, who has a bad cold, gets a good sleep.

Wed, June 4 - Sierras

Gary Dunkley (Dunk), a good friend, flies into San Jose with all his climbing kit. We drive through Yosemite, over the Tioga Pass, and down #395 to the Lone Pine ranger station, arriving 5:30PM, 30 minutes before closing time. Other than being a bit cool over the pass, it is ideal "top down" weather and we enjoy a good chat and a few rays on the drive.

The ranger has just done the mountaineer's route on Mt. Whitney and explains that the main chute has unconsolidated snow which could avalanche, while the upper portions are mixed rock and ice with significant vertical exposure. In contrast, conditions in a chute adjacent to the standard route are excellent. We take the permit for the standard route, which will have us camp at Trail Camp (12,000 ft) tomorrow, and summit the following day. The other three members of our party, Alex, Eric and Arnaut, leave the Bay Area at 6PM and do not arrive till the wee hours of the night. 

Drive to Whitney

Dunk and I spend the night on BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land, sleeping under the stars. BLM land is very lightly regulated. The good news is you can camp wherever you like at no charge. The bad news is you sometimes share the land with kooks having guns, motorcylces, jeeps, booze or combinations of all the above. We are fortunate and have the place to ourselves, enjoying a beautiful starlit evening.

Mon, June 2 - Home!

I'm back in the USA, safe and sound. Ambian again helped me to sleep on the long flight home. I learned several things about Ambian.

1. Don't mix Ambian with Alcohol
2. Stick with 10mg of Ambian until you learn more about how you react to it
3. You cannot remember things done while under the influence of Ambian

I take two pills, a total of 20mg, after eating the chicken dinner at the start of the flight. I consume three of the small bottles of wine served on flights. The following occured and I have zero recollection of it:

I am sitting in an aisle seat and the two women sitting next to me ask me to get up so they can go to the bathroom. I apparently stand up and start wandering aimlessly about the cabin, in a very confused state. The flight attendents shepherd me into the galley where they lay me down and give me oxygen for some time, after which they return me to my seat and let me, "sleep it off". Very interesting to be told what one has done and have no recollection whatsoever of any part of it. Many lessons learned during my travels.

To round out all of the new experiences on this trip, I take public transit back to Mountain View, catching first BART, then Caltrain. It costs $5.50 and takes a little under two hours.

What a long strange trip its been! Nice to have a day to recover. Stay tuned for a short Sierra adventure.

-D.

June 1 - Wadi Rum to Tel Aviv

Joseph, his buddy and I leave his Bedouin camp and pile into his truck at 5:40AM and make our way to Bait Ali. We arrive at the playa, a dried up lake, on schedule at 6AM. I still harbor some doubts as to whether the plane will really show up. I've arranged for a pilot from the Jordan Aero Club to fly a small plane in to the desert playa north east of Bait Ali and pick me up for a flight around Wadi Rum and back to Aqaba. 

I get out of the truck and scan the horizon, listening intently for the buzz I know will accompany the plane. I assure Joseph that it will come, be patient, there is likely bureacracy involved in leaving the ground in Aqaba. Then I hear it. I scan the horizon and there it is, a tiny insect flying above the vast Rum desert. I feel like a small kid anticipating a new toy at Christmas, excited, not quite sure what to expect.

Flight to Aqaba

"Are we in the right location? Is it too bumpy to land? Will I like the pilot? Will they let me fly the plane or ask me to keep my hands off the controls?" These are a few of the thoughts running through my head. It quickly closes the distance, circles, descends and is on final approach before I know it. They do a go around on the first pass, landing the second time round. 

The pilot is Houda, an Algerian woman who is a delight to be with. Very good natured, a very competent pilot, and as you can see in the photo, very attractive. She has a passenger, Jim, who I assume is staying at Bait Ali. I discover only much later that Jim is met by a friend and taken quickly back to Aqaba. More on this later.

With trepidation I ask Houda whether she is an instructor. 

"Of course!" is the bubbly reply. 

"Can I fly the left seat?", this is code for, "I'm a pilot and want to be 'pilot in command' of this aircraft so I can log the time."

"Of course!", is the bubbly reply.

We clamber into the Remos, a German made Light Sport Aircraft. It has gull wing doors that fasten to the bottom of the wings when open. It is made from composite, weighs about 650 pounds empty, carries a load of 21 gallons of fuel, cruises at 130mph, burns 3 gallons per hour and is powered by a 100hp Rotax engine. Quite a piece of engineering!

She helps me power up, as I've never flown this type of aircraft before. It's the first time I've used a stick to control the plane, everything else I've flown has a yoke (like a steering wheel). Houda tells me to, "Take off". "Full power", she repeats several times. I see us heading for a berm a few hundred feet away and can't believe we will clear it. The plane leaps off the ground well before reaching the berm. Take off roll when fully loaded (and we are 200 pounds shy of full load) is 330 feet. This thing is a dream to fly!

I realize too late that I do not have a map of Wadi Rum handy and so we fly south for a while, snapping photos but not really knowing what we are shooting. Heck, I don't care, I'm having a blast flying this small plane over beautiful terrain in a new country (I've flown before in the US, Canada, France, Portugal but not Jordan) with a delightful woman beside me. Life is good.

Houda points out a camel racetrack and a farm that has the shape of a man. You can see the two long legs in the picture. We spend 45 minutes in the area before heading back to Aqaba, the home base for the plane. Houda lets me fly it to within 50 feet of the ground and then she takes over as I'm not a member of their club and hence not insured for landings.

For the pilots in the crowd, Aqaba ATC (Air Traffic Control), is not used to handling many planes. We ask whether we can fly along the coast in a practice area and we are told that, "No, there is incoming traffic." I feel like grabbing the mic and saying, "So???" At Palo Alto airport, they routinely have planes coming in from 3 or 4 directions at once, 8 or more planes "in the pattern", and have several planes maneuvering over Stanford or over the salt marsh on the shore. Aqaba ATC telling us that there is another plane in the area so therefore we can't go along the coast is underwhelming at the least. No matter, the flight has been a blast.

We pull up to the hangar and I see someone that looks a lot like the passenger, Jim, that she took to Bait Ali. I ask whether Jim has a brother or close relative that looks much like him. They both laugh at me as they explain that it is Jim, he took a car back to Aqaba and arrived before I did? He goes on to explain that he is the Chief Pilot for the Aero Club, recently coming out of retirement from South Africa to have some fun in Jordan (and distance himself from a political situation that is gradually becoming less friendly to whites).

The flight is a great way to finish off a trip! I cross the border from Aqaba to Eliat and catch a bus to Tel Aviv, a 5 hour ride. The bus stops for a break along the way and while buying a drink I see an incredible display of pushing, shoving, cutting lines in order to get to the cash register. Old women, especially, seem to think it is their God given right to cut in front of you without looking at you or saying a word. I employ chicken wing and pack bashing techniques to make my way to the register. With the chicken wing technique, I put my hands on my hips and extend my elbows as far laterally as I can, using them to keep others from creeping ahead of me. In pack bashing, I turn my body quickly and my heavy backpack (full of camera gear), tends to clear the area directly behind me. As it is, I barely get back on my bus before it continues to Tel Aviv.

I arrive back at Oren and Inbar's appartment to find 15 open bottles of wine! They are mostly the same kind of wine, left over from the wedding. I sample several by the time they return home after work. 

Finally, I get Oren and Inbar to agree that I can take them out AND PAY for dinner. They have been diligent about not letting me spend a cent (shekel) on food. We go to GooCha, a seafood and fish restaurant bar where the house speciality is Mokika, a Brazilian seafood dish with fish, shellfish, chili, coconut milk and tomatoes. It's very similar to cioppino and it is excellent. 

Then there is desert. Inbar takes us to her favorite ice cream shop. I decide to be good and order fig ice cream and pitango yogurt, which I've never heard of but which is quite tart when you first taste it but quickly mellows to a subtle sweetness to finish. However, Oren goes next door to get his favorite desert. It is affogato al caffe, a simifrado of white chocolate smothered in espresso. Folks, I've never tasted something this good. It's from Amore Mio in Tel Aviv and if you make it to Israel, you MUST try this.

What a great note on which to finish a wonderful and rejuvenating vacation. So many memories, new friends, great photos. It has been life changing.

May 30, 31 - Wadi Rum

Fri, May 30

Bait Ali is the camp in Wadi Rum where I stay today. This compound has all the amenities you could want - swimming pool, showers, toilets, sleeping in either chalets or tents, great food, bar, evening music, quad bikes for exploring the desert, horses and great desert views. What they don't have within their facility, they can easily arrange (hot air balloons, airplane ride, jeep tour, Bedouin home stay,...) 

The owners, Susie and Tahseen Shinaco are amazing people. I meet Susie but have yet to meet her husband. They married 30 years ago, raising their children in Aqaba before moving to this location 10 years ago. Among other things, Susie is a proficient equestrian, and her dream when starting this camp was to offer horse riding vacations. She discovered that the market for people riding horses was very small compared to those that want an easier vacation (jeep tours or driving four wheeled ATVs (quads) so horses are now a sideline. 

Wadi Rum, Jordan

Susie spends at least an hour with me, helping me plan my two days in Wadi Rum. She is full of ideas and suggests a good desert walk this evening and tomorrow a morning desert jeep tour with a Bedouin guide she recommends, Halil. We also arrange for Houda, an instructor with the Jordanian Aero Club, to fly at sunrise in two days and collect me. Stay tuned for this!

Susie is quite modest but if you get her on a roll, she'll talk about her husband's exploits, first explaining how his parents escaped the Causcuses on horseback, arriving penniless. Her husband worked his way up from nothing and ended up owning a salvage business. Many interesting stories about weird stuff they raised from the sea. She likes to do endurance horse rides in the desert and knows the area very well.

I spend the day "hanging out" around the compound, mostly catching up my journal, reading about stuff to do in the area and sleeping, not necessarily in that order. At 5PM, Susie gives me a ride in her 4WD to an area she reckons will be picturesque. Within minutes of being dropped off, a small gaggle of Bedouin children swarm round me, very excited. It's not everyday that a foreigner waltzes through the desert in their backyard!

They don't speak a word of English and I don't speak a word of their language. After many attempts to communicate, they resort to the only thing they know I will understand, they ask for money. Sorry kids, this big kid don't give no money to no-one (not quite true but they don't know that). After a few minutes a jeep appears and the parents drive off with the kids. Despite the fact that the parents speak no English, they are very friendly and we spend several minutes gesticulating, grunting, smiling, and speaking in a language we know the other cannot understand. The gist of their grunting, gesticulating and smiling is, "Welcome! Enjoy yourself while viewing our beautiful land." The gist of my grunting, gesticulating and smiling is, "Thank you!"

The low angle sun lights up the reds and yellows in the sandstone rock as well as the sand. It's beautiful. I spend much time photographing isolated plants and rocks before realizing that I have about 5 miles to walk before 8PM. I don't want to be lost in the desert tonight! To that end, I have water, compass, GPS and headlamp with me, in addition to 15 pounds of camera gear. If I do get lost, at least I can capture pictures of my slow dehydration and emaciation, not that anyone would be interested in viewing them...

I see a large French camp in the distance. Susie tells me that it is for a TV show which is trying to find the person most adapted to desert life. There are many, "survivor" tests like eating grubs, riding camels, walking in the heat of the day, finding water, etc. It seems this type of show has become popular around the world. I saw people watching similar shows in India, Nepal and Israel.

The desert in this area is characterized by colorful sand as I mentioned above, and large rock formations that rise up from the sand. They remind me of battleships, with all sorts of protrusions sticking up, and the general shape of these outcrops is relatively long and thin, having a prow and stern. The sand dunes even provide large colorful waves for my ships. Occasionally you see a mound of football-sized rocks. These are ancient burial mounds.

I make it back to the Bait Ali camp at 8PM and gladly swill down the brew Susie proffers. Beer always tastes better in the desert, especially when its been a hot day (41 C). 

-------------------------------

May 31

Halil arrives at 5:30AM with a French couple who spent the night at Halil's desert camp (Bedouin tents, much more rustic than Susie's enclave). Philippe and Barbara rave about the desert experience with Halil and I arrange to spend the night at the same camp. 

Halil drives his 15 year old Nissan Patrol 4WD around the desert, taking us to a couple of large arches and other scenic locations. I climb up the larger of the two arches and Philippe captures me at the top. I can tell you it was a challenge to get back down! I'm in the front seat and I notice the large star on the windshield on the passenger's side. It doesn't take rocket science to figure out how it came to be. I keep my seat belt fastened.

After a couple hours of sight seeing, Halil takes us to his home in Disi, where his wife has prepared a traditional Bedouin breakfast for us. Hummus, milk (yoghurt), honey, olive oil, sliced meat, Bedouin spices all figure into the delicious meal. And tea with a healthy slug of goat's milk (Philippe is enjoying his in the photo.)

Halil goes to Amman in the afternoon and his son Joseph collects me for a late afternoon of sightseeing. This morning we toured the area around Bait Ali while this afternoon, the tour is in the heart of Wadi Rum. The rock outcrops (mountains) are taller and there is more red in the rock and soil. This is where most of the tourists come. There is a standard route they follow at the end of the day and we end up following the geriatric convoy. These folks don't waddle more than a few feet from the jeep when it stops at the next way-point. I find it rather comical to be trailing them around the desert. Fortunately we are about 10 minutes behind them so the dust kicked up by their jeeps has dispersed before we arrive at the next stop.

Joseph and his friend take great delight in showing me Joseph's new cell phone. It costs JD200 (about $380). It's a phone, internet browser, sms device, camera, camcorder, mp3 player all rolled into one. They took some video footage of themselves swimming yesterday and show me 5 minutes of video. Joseph then shows me pictures of his girlfriends which are stored in his phone. He has three girlfriends. One local. One further afield but still in Jordan and a real stunner who lives in Jordan. I ask if the Syrian woman has any sisters but he doesn't understand my question. Just as well. 

Joseph is constantly sending messages and talking on his phone. It dawns on me that cell phones have captured the young generation, providing them with the entertainment device of choice. Nokia and the big boys are executing to their strategy and it is working. For 500 million people in North America and Europe, the center of the universe today may be the computer, but for the other 5.5 Billion people on the planet, a mid to high-end cell phone is the cat's meow. Bill Gates look out! (I  know he is looking there too, but thus far he's not been successful.) 

I recall making a comment to Sarah (Oren's friend) to the effect that I get pissed when I am talking to someone and they take a phone call on their cell phone while we are talking (ie, the remote person on the cell phone is more important than me, who is standing next to them). Sarah says the young generation is different and that I just don't understand. I can see this is true. It makes me feel old, but I think I will always be pissed if someone answers a phone while talking to me. 

Another piece of Western technology has permeated life in Jordan (and Nepal, and to a lesser extent, India). It's called junk food, aka potato chips, fried onion rings and other convenience snacks packaged in mylar bags so they last several years. Joseph and his friend prefer these snacks to the wholesome chicken dinner prepared by their mothers. I see stacks of these mylar bags in the local convenience stores. The West will eventually win over the rest of the world, not through George Bush strong arming them, but through cell phones and junk food.

Joseph collects the chicken dinner from his mother and we take to his family's desert camp, two large tents that each hold 20-30 people. However, I am the only tourist this evening. After a quick dinner, he hauls out a few blankets for me to roll up inside. I sleep under the stars on a large foam pad. It gets cool in the night and I pull one of the blankets tight around me. I don't feel anything biting me but in 3 or 4 days I find myself covered with incredibly itchy bites. The only thing I can figure is that some desert bug had a field day that evening and left a slow acting itchy substance inside me. 

The evening is very clear and the stars fill the sky. I feel bad that I can only identify the big dipper. I think the low latitudes, the time of year and perhaps the time of day prevent me from identifying any other constellations. In any case, the stars are great, I see some satellites and a few shooting stars before falling asleep.

May 27-29, Petra

Tue May 27

Take a shared taxi from the Mariam Hotel in Madaba to Petra. Kim, Sanjay and I are car mates for the day. The driver does his best to make the trip along the King's Highway interesting by pointing out dams, Bedouin encampments and other points of interest. Sanjay makes the rest of us jealous as he is a teacher in London and gets 28 weeks of vacation per year. Still not sure how his students get more free days than learning days. Kim is a Kiwi who now works in London at a travel company (but she works on infrastructure, not travel).

We stop at Karak for lunch. This is the site of a Crusader castle which the Mamluks later conquered and enlarged, resulting in a well preserved castle of enormous proportions. 

The driver does his best to convince us to stay at a particular hotel but it is twice as expensive as one listed in our bible, Lonely Planet. The three of us have him drop us off at the Moon Valley Hotel. It appears at first to be a much better deal, but we discover that there is no hot water, and the cold water runs only intermittently. Sanjay and Kim find the TV broken in their room and the bed is not clean. And the price has increased above what LP says. To top it off, the manager is arrogant and tries to engage you in conversation long past the point when you want to talk with him. I plan to write LP and have this place removed from the next edition.

Kim, Sanjay and I head down to the "Cave Bar", which sounds perfect for me. It is built in a tomb and has a special ambience, or so we are told. It is closed for the season, being upgraded like many things in the Petra neighborhood. The day has been very hot (41 C) and we are in the mood for beers. One in four restaurants serves alcohol so it takes us a few tries to find the proper libation.

I spend a good bit of time working out the angle of the sun at different times of day and come up with a plan of where to be at what time when exploring Petra.

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Wed, May 28

 I visited Petra last year with Oren Elkayam in a quick 6 hour whirlwind tour during which I arrived at 10AM and left at 4PM. The best photography light is prior to 10AM and after 4PM so I swore I would return. What's it like doing Petra the second time?

I have to say that some of the mystique is missing the second time. I remember being absolutely enthralled when the Treasury came into view as we walked down the narrow the siq. This time, it's more businesslike. Be in the right place at the right time, snap the photo, on to the next location. It's still impressive in its own right, but some of the magic is missing. On the other hand, I do see quite a few things that I did not see last year.

Petra

Much of Petra is located in narrow canyons and the light does not reach many of the interesting sights until 9AM or even later. My route takes this all into account, making early visits to high places that do get light, and which have good views of the surrounding area. Another thing I do is hike to overlooks which look down on the two main attractions, the treasury and the monastery. You can be the judge of whether I succeeded or not.

One new addition to this year is trying to get a photo for Niall Battson. Niall travels the world and any time he goes to an interesting place he finds a local beer and gets a photo of the local beer bottle with a famous monument in the background. What could be better than Petra beer with either the treasury or monastery in the background?

By 9AM the light has reached into the "Canyon of the Crescent Moon", to use Indiana Jones' words, and the treasury is in full sun. There are about 50 people milling about in front but they serve as good scale for the giant structure. Now its time for the beer shots. Niall has warned me that it is often difficult to find a suitable stand upon which you can rest the beer while still commanding a view of the monument. I find a small stool from the cafe across from the treasury which is almost perfect. You need to have the image of the beer can balanced precariously on the stool (having lacing for the seat, adding to instability), my tripod collapsed down to its lowest setting and me literally laying full out in the dirt so I can get my head low enough to view the image finder on my camera.

Some older Americans wander past, giggle at this sight and make some comment about the beer. I leap to my feet and in my best Crocodile Dundee accent, "It's naught jest ennee beeeer folks, its Petra beeeer." I tell the story of Niall and pretty soon its, "Can we help you?"

By this time I have my flash out to compensate for the low light on the beer can. I use a stretchy cable to connect it to my bad-ass camera, to increase the separation between camera and flash, thus reducing the reflected glare from the beer can. A clutch of followers starts to gather around this elaborate setup and the American's are whispering, "Yes, he's a professional over from the states making shots for a beer commercial." They also help by shooing people away from the area directly in front of the camera. The whole "shoot" lasts thirty minutes and I'm sad when my assistant's tour group has to leave the area.

There is a Byzantine church in the complex and this means mosaics. The one that really intrigues me is the mosaic showing a woman about to cut off her left breast and cover it with a fish. Apparently some long lost treatment for breast cancer. 

An Aussie tour guide tells me over lunch how he quit his secure job and became a tour guide. This is his sixth trip to Petra and he is spending his time smoking and drinking beer in the cafe. I hope my travels don't degenerate the same way. He still enjoys the travel very much, but clearly, much of the thrill is gone for him, replaced by more narcissistic pastimes. 

Many travelers cook their buns by trekking up to the monastery during the middle of the day. Me, I just hang out in the cafe under a shady tree, feeling the breeze while smoking cigarettes and drinking beer (just kidding, just watching the others smoke and drink). After the main heat of the day has past I make the thirty minute journey up to the monastery. This is the largest carved structure in Petra, well over 100 feet tall and about 70 feet wide. I'm enjoying a chilled mango drink at the strategically placed drink stand opposite the monastery when I hear one of the locals tell the vendor, "Show time!" She has disdain in her voice.

I look out of the drink tent to find a man holding a Jordanian flag atop the monastery. It's so high up that he is difficult to make out and I whip out my telephoto to capture this lunatic. He sits and stands and waves his flag for about five minutes, then the real fun begins. He comes down. Have a look at the close up and you can appreciate how scary it would be to climb down this structure. After getting onto the broad dome on top the urn, he leaps across a 6 foot gap (at least) which is 120 feet off the ground. Not for me. I'll make a spectacle of myself groveling in the dirt in front of these monuments rather than leaping in the air atop them.

There are various lookouts in the area and I wander for a bit. Any place where tourists frequent, you find a Bedouin stand with jewelry and other knickknacks for sale. I never buy anything from them and I don't see anyone else buying things from them. Musing to myself, I think there must be something more productive the Bedouin can do with their time than sit behind their little stands. The high wire guy probably gets a kickback from the drink stand. Food for future thought.

Sanjay and Kim have dinner with me at a restaurant with a fabulous buffet. It is almost 10PM and very little of this food has been eaten. It is the tail end of the tourist season and I suppose traffic is low. Sanjay is a scotch drinker and discovers that this restaurant will sell you a gin and tonic (which Kim and I sample), but in order to have a scotch, you must purchase an entire bottle! They are heading down to Wadi Rum tomorrow and I will follow a day later. We've enjoyed each other's company for the past couple days.

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Thur, May 29

"Petra by Night", is the main reason for staying an extra day, since it only runs on Monday and Thursday evenings. However, I make the most of the morning by hiking up Wadi Muthlim, a side canyon heading north from the entrance to the main Petra Siq. This is narrower and far more sporting than the main Siq. It requires boulder hopping and lowering yourself down a couple of 6 foot drops. The first part of the hike is through a 2000 year old, 80m long tunnel carved by the Nabateans. They used this canyon to divert water from their main passage to Petra.

You can still see remains of dams built by the Nabateans to collect water in this wadi. They were masters in hydraulics, and made good use of all available water. In some places, you can see their old terra cotta pipes clinging to ledges. 

"Petra by Night" is a mixed bag, some parts being good and some less good. Even though it is shoulder season, there are 150 other travelers all gathered at the start of the event. One of the positives is they have it well organized. There are 1500 candles set in paper bags weighted with sand. These light the path and show the way through the Siq to the Treasury. It takes 15 people to prepare and light all the candles. 

Participants are requested to walk in single file and maintain silence until we reach the Treasury. We are also asked to refrain from taking pictures until reaching the Treasury, we can take photos on the walk back. This has many positive attributes. It prevents running, keeps the noise down, and ensures that everyone gets to the Treasury within a reasonable time so they can start the evening's program. 

It is a magic time. The sky is gradually losing its blue color and becoming darker. Stars are appearing. The enforced silence and peaceful surroundings gently nudge one to think - think about life, how we fit in the world, what the future will bring - thoughts that are several levels above the normal mundane. 

The candles actually provide enough light to prevent one from stumbling. In spots with obstacles, the density of candles is increased to provide more light. The most difficult section has large square cobbles, about one foot square, which are lumpy and hard. Fortunately this lasts only 100m. 

The first glimpse of the candlelit Treasury through the crack is special. It's similar to the chills I felt a year ago when seeing the Treasury for the first time (in the day). People file in and take their places on Bedouin blankets stretched on sand. Mint tea is served and a short program follows with troubadours playing flute and Rahab (a spike fiddle having a square sound box, a single horse hair string and played with a horsehair bow). A Bedouin follows this with a bit of story telling and concludes by asking us to remain silent for 3 minutes. I look straight up at the sliver of sky visible and see a shooting star whiz by. My lucky day!

Just as people are starting to trickle away, a generator coughs to life and the harsh glare of big lamps cuts through the soft glow of candles. They light up the gift shop and try to hawk some CDs and other memorabilia from, "Petra at Night." What a crappy ending to a beautiful evening. It looks like most people share my thoughts, escaping the harsh light and generator noise to the Siq and the way back to the entrance. 

I think a much more effective way to sell stuff to this crowd would be to set up shop on the path back. It would leave the area surrounding the Treasury to remain free of noise and light, and I'm sure most people would appreciate it. Everyone walks the path back and would pass a stand located there. By design everyone is straggling back at different times, allowing the shop keeper to personally interact with every single participant in a meaningful way, "Hi, did you enjoy your evening? Anything that particularly excited you? Interested in a coffee or perhaps a picture of yourself surrounded by candles?..." You get the idea. 

I find myself frequently having these ideas on how to improve upon the local selling process. To be blunt, the locals just don't have a clue how to sell to westerners. Perhaps there is a contribution I can make in this area that would help both vendors and customers, as in the example above.

I walk back with an English woman who has been traveling for a few months. She broke off a nine year relationship and is "finding herself". She did marketing for a high tech company but found it to be very stressful and is looking to change jobs on her return. 

ok

Mon, May 26 - Tel Aviv to Madaba

The walk to the bus station is deceptively long, taking the better part of an hour. This includes a couple of course corrections along the way. The bus station is, well... the Tel Aviv bus station is to other bus stations what the Chicago Tower is to other sky scrapers, namely, immense. It is comprised of 7 floors. Buses go up a circular ramp and at any given time there are 200 buses at the station. Inside, the building contains 800 stores. This is like no other bus station on the planet. Like all other public buildings in Israel, you need to be screened to enter the complex. 

I'm tired of breathing through my mouth and tentatively blow my nose, having massive quantities of toilet paper at the ready in case it is necessary to staunch a gusher of blood. Not to worry, my nose is tired of being sidelined for the past week and cooperates. My black eyes have also healed and despite my nose being a bit tender (the doctor told me not to get hit in the nose for 6 weeks after the incident), I'm pretty much back to normal.

A taxi driver quickly finds me in the Jerusalem bus station and almost has me convinced to pay his high fee to the border. Something about him pisses me off and I refuse at the last minute. He goes on and on about all the hassles I will face at the Jordanian border. I turn to him and tell him, "That's part of the experience. I want all the hassles and delays they can throw at me!" This may be the first time he encounters this line. He's stumped and I stalk off, finding a bus that stops close to the border. It ends up costing me 35 shekels to get to the Jordanian border versus the 250 he was charging. And the hassles....

The bus lets me and a couple of Swiss travelers off at a lonely bus stop, two minutes walk from the Israeli check point. We pass through the checkpoint easily and then wait for a shuttle which is to take us to the Israeli exit booth, where they stamp passports and make sure you are not smuggling national secrets out of Israel. We paid 11 shekels for a 40 minute bus ride from Jeruselam, the shuttle driver demands 30 shekels each from myself and the Swiss for a 2 minute ride. Then he changes his story and asks for 50 shekels to cover all of us.

The Swiss guy is pissed and hands the driver 10 shekels to cover the three of us. We pass through the exit procedures quickly, then the driver returns with his boss, and a woman who runs the border post. She informs us that we need to pay the driver 13 shekels per person for the shuttle. A long argument ensues. We claim we could walk, she says we can't walk because the area has  not been cleared of land mines, we claim the road has been cleared else buses could not traverse it, she tells us if we do not pay, she will send for the police. We end up paying the 13 shekels each and are glad to be passed this point.

Mt. Nebo & Madaba

People are friendlier on the Jordan side, I'm given some Turkish coffee as I wait for my hotel's driver to show up. We stop at Mt. Nebo on the way to Madaba. Mt. Nebo is where Moses first viewed the forbidden Promised Land. He later died and was buried here. 

They have some good mosaics here, and there is a bronze memorial symbolizing the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross and the serpent which 'Moses lifted up'. 

Madaba does not disappoint.  One of the world's most famous mosaics is located in St. George's Church, dipicting a map of the region. The map is quite accurate and has lead to the discovery of more than one biblical city which had been previously lost from record. The center of the map is Jeruselam, and the city as shown in the map has not changed much in the 1400 years since the map was created.

I have dinner with a couple of women travelers staying at the same hotel. We chat for a bit before they get tired and retire. I try a nargila (water-pipe). The taste is quite good and the smoke having bubbled through water is cool, but after a while I begin to feel light-headed, and not wanting to pass out in the restaurant, I stagger up to my room. (It's OK to make a scene in my room where only I will see it, not OK to make a scene in a public place, where I might be able to get help. I wonder if all males are wired the same way?)

Sun, May 25 - Oren & Inbar Marriage

Wedding Day! Oren and Inbar get married today in a forest north of Tel Aviv.

Sarah and I head off to the Manta Ray restaurant where we are to meet Oren and a few friends for a champaign breakfast. I've met a few of them before but most are new. Oren's father, Shalom, also comes. 

Andy Miller calls during breakfast to wish Oren good luck with marriage. Oren asks Andy when he will be getting married? Andy was originally going to attend Oren's wedding but figured with impending layoffs at Xilinx and fear of being laid off at home, he had best high tail it to China where Michael Wu had promised him a wild time. :-)

After a good meal and great company, Assaf drags Oren, Sarah, Yosi and myself off to the local massage parlor. Oren claims that if you want something organized with class, then let Assaf do it. It certainly proves true in this instance. We each get full body massages lasting over an hour. The masseuse does an awesome job, especially with my legs still sore from cycling in the Nazareth area. I almost fall asleep at one point.

After leaving the massage parlor, Oren is carried along a pre-determined track, with other grooming sessions, photo sessions, wedding prep at the venue, etc. He's basically a married man from this point forward!

Sarah and I get some rest back at Oren's apartment before being chauffeured by Aya and Metal, friends of Inbar and Oren. Oren and Inbar have put a huge number of hours of planning into this wedding. There are close to 500 guests. Oren would have prefered fewer but the list kept growing. The challenge of who is to sit at which table is a demanding task and Oren creates a master spreadsheet showing everyone's location graphically. The catering company has never seen anything like this but it makes Oren's job much easier when arguing with them on the phone, "Look at coordinate D-17 on the map I made. You told me there would be 8 tables across the hall and the 8th table must go there. I don't care what you think, I've given you the list of who is coming, it's your problem to fit them in!"

The map is really something, color coded for: friends of Oren, friends of Inbar, friends and family on Oren's side, friends and family on Inbar's side. They receive tons of input on who is to sit with whom and perhaps more importantly, who is NOT to sit with whom. By design, they seat Sarah and I with others who speak English.

The venue is located in a forest 45 minutes drive north of Tel Aviv, inland from Caesarea. The crowd of guests slowly swells over the course of an hour or so, with guests eating hors d'oeuvres and drinking. I know perhaps 20 people. Folks are dressed in tuxes, blue jeans and everything in between. The atmosphere is positively festive. At one point people start gathering in a little side garden, where a small stage has been covered with a transparent cloth. I think this represents a synagogue, at any rate, its where Oren, Inbar, their parents and the rabbi are standing. 

The ceremony is short and sweet. I don't pretend to understand the significance of everything I see. The rabbi says some words to no-one in particular for a couple minutes, then says some words to Oren for a minute or so. Oren then takes a big glug of wine from a glass proffered by the rabbi. The glass is refilled, the rabbi says a few words to Inbar, who is on the opposite side of the stage from Oren and then Inbar's mother lifts Inbar's veil so that she can take a big glug of wine. The rabbi then talks a bit more, rings are brought out and Oren again gets to have some wine. They are married by this time and so Oren is able to lift Inbar's veil so that she too can have more wine. I think both of them have been abstaining from drinking to this point and it marks the point when they can both drink with reckless abandon. 

It is at this point that Oren drops his glass (empty) to the stage and grinds it to dust with his boot. This is the moment the audience has been waiting for and they all cheer. Inbar warned me in advance that Oren was a bit apprehensive about this part. Would glass stick in his shoe? Would it fail to break at the correct time? Would it still be full of wine? Apparently accidents during this phase of the ceremony are possible, and Oren does not like to be surprised by such things. The ceremony lasts perhaps 10 minutes, short and sweet, very to the point. Oren tells me afterward that both he and Inbar worked with the Rabbi to keep things as simple as possible. They succeeded in creating a beautiful ceremony that executes like clockwork. Now it's time to party!

We move to the dining hall where all the tables are numbered, with people being assigned to specific tables as I mention above. The dinner is fabulous. Duck, beef, chicken, lamb, vegetables, fruits, salads, hummus, breads, wines, juices - you name it, they have it!

Unbeknownst to Inbar and Oren, their close friends have banded together to create a video, showing both of them growing up, interviewing their close friends and family. It is touching and hilarious at the same time, especially as it is all in Hebrew with no subtitles. I can make up whatever words I want. The real fun of the evening follows when a DJ cranks up some great dancing music. Everyone is up on the dance floor having fun. I told Oren afterward that a wedding in America would be lucky to have 50% of the attendees up dancing. It is normal in Israel for 90% of the guests to be dancing. This is what they come for!

Seema from the next table grabs me and leads me to the dance floor, where I too have fun. At one point, someone brings me a T-shirt that I'm to wear. It has a bunch of Hebrew lettering on it but I put it on. Folks laugh when they read it. Eventually someone shares the joke with me. The writing says, "Looking for Relationship, Will Settle for Sex." Apparently there were several versions of this shirt distributed to the singles at the wedding. I keep the shirt, perhaps it will help me in the Bay Area?

The party lasts until the wee hours but I head back with Aya and Metal a bit before 1AM. Sarah is on a roll and she and Seema shut the place down. Actually they head off to other establishments that stay open much later. Not sure what time they finally finish partying. 

As far as I can tell, the weeks of preparation pay off handsomely. Everyone has a marvelous time, including Inbar and Oren. What a great way to kick off their lives together!