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.