chris willett

Friday, June 30, 2006

Some Holy Land Jokes

Q. Who makes the ice cream is Israel?

A.Walls of Jericho














Customer; "Do you have a sheep's head?"

Butcher;"No, it's the way I part my hair!"

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

I don't like Jerusalem



The next morning and I was ready for the most excellent breakfast served in the Kibbutz cafe (included in the price of my log cabin and the swimming pool, and the lagoon complex, and the Australian wildlife park and a whole load of other stuff for about 29 quid). Being on my own made me the perfect candidate for chatter with one of the serving wenches who said I would be crazy to leave without taking a dip in the lagoons. The conversation ended abruptly when I failed to appreciate that the chilli sauce I had daubed on my omelette was made out of radioactive chillis and nearly choked as I broke out in a violent sweat. Curse those chillis and curse that woman too- two hours after I had left for Jerusalem I was still lounging in the lagoon complex- ah well I'm on holiday. I also got to play underwater with my new camera for the first time and discovered that although there aren't so many ankle biting dogs around here there are ankle biting fish.

Finally I drove to Jerusalem, a journey punctuated by mobile Army check points (set up without notice at choke points overlooked by armoured vehicles). Navigating into the city wasn't so bad and I went straight to the old city having found not only a useful parking space just outside but one with time still on the meter. Where would I go first...yep, the TIC which was typically difficult. The guide book and maps said there was one in the Civic centre- but there wasn't, imagine how happy I was after a good half hour of forlorn searching to find one just inside the old city where the maps predicted. I entered to find a very small office staffed by three octogenerians- one of whom was the security guard who made a weak attempt at searching bags as people hassled his colleagues with outrageous requests like mine. I was tempted to point out the futility of searching for bombs once inside but that would have been uncharitable so I focused on getting served. "can you recommend a clean backpackers hostel, please", old lady looks at map of city, babbles in Hebrew to accomplice and after sufficient time to make me wonder if I have disappeared says "no". I take a couple of breaths and determined to control the sarcasm aching to burst out of me say "OK, do you have details of any backpackers or cheap hotels?"Reply "no", this time I let the silence work and just stand there saying nothing, confident she'll find this uncomfortable before I do- she does and suggests I talk to another lady who is walking around the small shop with a trail of tourists behind her vieing for attention. Hmm, I pick up a South African twang in her voice and mimic it with 'excuse me" in my best SA accent, this had the desired effect and she instantly satisfies me with a list of places and a recommendation to try the Lutheran Hostel. "Excellent, can you suggest a good place to park if I stay there?", "this lady will help you" and refers me back to the half wit I initially spoke to, okayyy- "me again, can you suggest a good place to park over night?" Reply, "overnight you say, not really", fu****ng hell! Go back to South African lady tell her of predicament, she says "what! I heard her giving someone directions to car parks just before you walked in" directions duly given I stagger out into the afternoon heat and think 'I don't like Jerusalem'.

Knowing that after this pantomine I have about 20 minutes on the parking meter I return to the car and grab some lunch, sitting on a bench near the car so I can jump up and move it if necessary while eating. I then move the car to the car park in the Old City knowing that it will cost a bit but accutely aware that if I park in a commercial one until the next morning it's going to get locked in because tomorrow is Friday- the Sabbat' starts at 4 pm. So, I drove through the medieval gated tower into the old city and slowly progress past the TIC. Next thing I have a total stranger siting in the passenger street, he's Arab, about 45, well turned out in smart pants and a tidy polo but he desperately needs a shave and a trip to the dentist. Anyway, he says "you go car park?", naturally I answer in the affirmative because I am and he festoons me with directions. "now listen matey, I didn't suffer at the hands of the TIC for nothing, I'm going to the car park and I know exactly where it is", he was too busy chopsing off about me buying carpets and jewellry for my girlfriend to assimilate so to the car park he came. At the car park he jumped out as if to do a deal with the attendant on my behalf, he was very good because he got me the same price it said on a huge board at the entrance (as a note I was paying more to put the car in a bay overnight than I was to put myself in a bed overnight). Having locked up I grabbed my bag and walked off as my new buddy flitted around me. As luck would have it we passed his shop which was locked up, he opened specially for me and then suggested every dust covered item was perfect for me. Gradually his ardour was broken down as it dawned on him that I would not be buying his entire stock for my many wives today, when finally I even declined a sun bleached postcard he began to cry. He sat sobbing into his hands wailing "not even a tip, and I walked all that way". Well not to be totally heartless I did give hime a tip, two in fact "if your shop was open and you were in it you may sell more than running around jumping into people's cars- oh and don't plant your begonias too soon or the frost will have them".
I went and found the hostel which was sufficient and cheap at a fiver a night with a lovely roof top garden. The journey to and from was plagued by hawkers like my friend who believed a sideways glance at their wares as you walked by was a binding contract to trade. I found that cheerfully and confidently saying "I'm not shopping, thanks" was more effective than ignoring them which suggested they should do more to get your attention before you passed onto the next one in the never ending line. I don't like Jerusalem.
By now it was dark and the town looked even more ancient under the light of the full moon. I went for some food, picking an Armenian restaurant in the Armenian quarter. It was crap, and expensive crap at that, despite the chill of the night I sat outside, when passing tourists stopped to peruse the menu proffered by the fat surly waiter I could pull detering faces behind his back and they would move on. Life I have decided, is about scoring little points when you can.
I went back to the hostel to write up my journal. In the common area my fellow guests were in deep religious conversation led by John from California. He came over to me to say hello and within about 10 seconds asked me if I had found God- obvioulsy I said "no" but held back with- if you can't find him I strongly suggest you check out the TIC in Nazareth. Spotting his opportunity for a little soul saving before bedtime he continued "Jesus was this guy who lived over 2000 years ago......" No shit, I wondered what all the fuss was about here. He continued to tell me with a string of contradictions that Jesus was God and Christ was the son of God and the holy ghost was something else and I would continue to live in darkness until I gave myself to God when I would see the light and Jesus would take away my sins and much much more. If I were not the polite gentleman I am (deep down, honest) I would have ripped into him but it was late and I had a tough afternoon so I made the mistake of nodding and hmmming. He then introduced me to all the other guests "this is Chris, he hasn't read the Bible yet", cheers. Time for bed still not liking Jerusalem.

Got something to hide????????

I don't mean you've got more skelingtons in your closet than a politician, I mean you've nicked the Mona Lisa and you need somewhere to keep it safe till you find a buyer or it's getting near Christmas and the kids are tearing the house apart looking for their presents when you are out.
Well....I have a cunning plan..........
Nazaret' (remember we talk Gangsta now and don't pronounce the last letter in words wit a TH at the end).
It wasn't mentioned in the Bible- unlike most of the buildings in Nazaret' but it was mentioned by Simon and Garfunkel in their song 'Mrs Robinson', "hide it in a hiding place where no-one ever goes".......Just to add that certain something, unlike most good hiding places this actually has huge roadsigns indicating that not only does such a place exist but gives a hint as to in which direction it lies....can you tell what it is yet???

It's the tourist information centre.....oh yes...on the outskirts of town you are given a little confidence that you'll be guided to it's very door and there's a fair chance that it may even be open and not staffed by batty old women (see Jerusalem). It's only when Nazaret's ring road fires you into a labyrinthine sytem of one way cobbled streets and you begin to wonder if you'll ever get out again never mind find the TIC. Anyway, I found an excellent free backstreet parking place and went walking for that elusive TIC. On my way I came across the Orthodox Christian church- very nice if slightly cluttered (just like the ones I went into in Romania last Easter). I came across a cave which judging by the monumantal arches built to protect it was the site of something significant- shame it smelt like the stairwell of a 60's multi storey car park. I came across a street of car repair shops- each specialising in something different and nothing overlapped. There were exhaust places, brake places, suspension and welding shops- most of them full of grubby guys waiting for some business. waiting for business seems to be the major way of spending time here. Given that, the shop specialising in vehicle upholstery was the winner, those guys had very nice car seats upon which to lounge while they waited for business which I suspected would be a long time in coming.
I came across another market but unlike the one in Akko the tourists appeared to have found it, shops selling mobile phones and fake trainers vied for frontage. I decided to buy myself a vest (which in common slang is known as a 'wife beater') and found a stall with some displayed for NIS10- a couple of quid. The stallholder man spoke a little English, well enough to ask what a vest was called in English- well obviously a 'wife beater'. My joke went a little too far when he asked me to write it large on a piece of card to enhance his display, I should have taken a photo "wife beater NIS10" will get him some interest.

I tagged onto a group of middle aged English women (all 'churchy' types so I didn't look a bit out of place) and their excellent guide to get into the church of the Enunciation (or similar). The guide pointed out the most fantastic mosaic diplays provided by 100 different countries- when I say fantastic I gawped in awe at the beauty and marvelled at the skill used to make some of them. When the group stopped every 5 minutes for a reading I decided we should part company just in case it came round to my turn and I did the rest alone. The church, like so many was architecturally impressive and at three storeys high had a shaft from top to bottom lighting the cave at the base where the enunciation took place. As I so often do in such places I sat in deep contemplation interupted by a bit of people watching. It never ceases to sadden me (especially at the Vatican) how such oppulent religious buildings were built in a time and place where the money could have been used for something so much better. The poorest of people give what they can't afford because they are told it will save their souls or whatever.

The church exited on the top floor and hence higher up the hill and I went for a random wander around the backstreets and found a proper Souk market where nobody hassled me and I could poke around as I wished. Click on photo to see the Ibex.
By now I had seen everything Nazaret' had to offer and still not found the TIC. Time to leave.
South to Bet Shean and one of my best overnights, the town is obviously up and coming, surrounded by lakes and fertile fields. I picked a Kibbutz to stay at and followed a track through it's farm and factory parts (every Kibbutz has a farm and a factory) to turn up in a village of log cabins and blue lagoons fed by a spring within the grounds. It really was a great place to stay- never mind live. After driving out into the country to see the ruins of the original Belvoir Castle (it was shut) I raced back into Bet Shean to pick up some beer and pizza which I scoffed on my terrace before catching up with an episode of Extras on my Sky TV, a whole series I missed through the winter.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Nimrod


I woke early on a beautiful morning which indicated a scorching day and followed my instructions to go to the dining hall between 7.30 and 9.00. At 7.30 it was all locked up but food was laid out so I sat around for 10 minutes enjoying the fresh air. Then the planner in me took over and I realised that I could be packing my kit and went back to my house to do it. I returned at 8.02 and saw that I had made a disasterous mistake- there was about a hundred young teenagers milling around the door. I know kids this age are no respecters of queuing so I wangled my way through them towards the middle, the front being a step too far. I was shocked to see that their group leaders were armed. Some with rusty semis, others with gleaming nickel plated pieces. Most of them didn't look the type who could use them but to an Englishman it's a very alien sight. When the doors were finally opened and the swarming masses hit the buffet all became apparent and I not only understood why they were armed but I seriously doubted whether their firepower was anywhere near sufficient to control the mob. After an unexciting breakfast I went to leave, meeting a man on a quad with a trailer full of laundry, he chatted for about 3 minutes and at the end I said 'ken' and he waited for me to go and get my sheets- I can speak Hebrew- cool! Nimrod Castle-a phonecall the night before to Dan (I checked in most nights for top tips and he was brilliant) gave me a plan to drive past the castle and into the next valley where I would walk down a gorge and then up a steep hill to the castle- rather than driving into the car park. At the start of this route was a war cemetery to mark the fighting between Syria and Israel in the 6 day war. In the 70's this whole area had been in Syria until one day they decided to roll some artillery pieces down the hill where the Field School was. They began shelling nearby Isreali towns and settlements until the Isreali army pitched up and after some tough fighting kicked them off the hill and pushed the border back several miles.
The most interesting thing about the small clumps of rock gravestones amongst the rocks and long grass was the sow wild boar with their stripey piglets charging through the undergrowth.
After about 20 minutes I retraced my steps to the start of the gorge walk. To my horror another party of school kids were just heading down into the gorge- and their escorts had assault rifles. This must be a serious bunch of kids if such measures were needed. As invariably happens a few stopped and I found myself in the middle of the group. For ages nobody acknowledged me then a woman turned round and said 'are you English?' This surprised me a bit- although it is usually English, American or German (I sometimes have some fun and reply to that in German) I congratulated her on her accuracy. I then heard a murmer go along the line that the tall bloke was English- easily discernable in Hebrew which brought an uncomfortable smile from the lady who spoke. She offered me to move through the group who were taking an eternity to pick their way through every obstacle, and there were many but it was too dodgy at that point so I walked in the group for another half hour. Eventually they stopped and I was able to make some progress. By now the heat was fierce and the stench of a rotting wild boar carcass in the stream was overwhelming. My knees complained with every jolt but rock hopping across the boulders and over the pools was something my body was made for and I love doing it, every landing on the edge of disaster but timed perfectly to spring into the next leap.
After about an hour I was heading up the steep and craggy hill to the castle, soaked in sweat with the hot heavy air causing every breath to labour. The track brought me out by the gate to the castle grounds where a crusty old man looking just like Antony Quinn got arsey with me becasue I didn't have change and offered him what was the equivalent of a fiver for the three fifty charge. A quick study of the map showed a walking route to the castle up an even steeper hill for which one was supposed to obtain a guide- yeah right! I scrambled up, getting an appreciation of why they built the castle here in the first place. Finally entering through a hole in the base of a tower i spent a very enjoyable 2 hours exploring the ruins, learning about their history and some of the fantastic architectural features- such as the cisterns to preserve water from the rains. As I wandered down the road to Tony Quinn's gate I herad the school kids thrashing through the bushes behind, they had doen well considering the heat. I now faced a long walk along the road up a steep hill back to the car while their bus was brought round to the car park- good plan I thought.
By the time I got back to the car a long drink and a chill was in order but the car's complementary aircon was more attractive so I set off South for another attempt at visiting Zefat. En route I passed through several villages of Druze comunities. Druze are a small closed religion who venerate Abraham's father in law- or something like that. Anyway, curious as to what it was all about I spotted a guy hitch hiking in one of the villages and gave him a lift. What a brillaint idea it was too, Joe was a psychology student at the hospital in Zefat and gave me a massive insight into the area as we drove. It was interesting to hear that Druze were actually pleased to have gone from being in Syria one day to being in Israel the next, simliy because of the job opportunities which arose. I dropped him off at the hospital and exchanged numbers should I ever need his help- how nice. I wander ound Zefat was short due to sieata time and after stocking up on food I blatted South and the Sea of Galillee. The main town on the banks is Tiberius and I planned to spend the night there. The tourist information was not sign posted as usual but I had a question to ask in the car hire office and since the woman therein was widly excentic I took the opportiunity to ask here, Following her expilicit instructions I found the TIC, complete with opening hours which I was well within. However, the place was well locked and in darkness. Improvising as best I could I cahtted to theway too flashy lady attendant of the nearby public toilets who, having charged me to spend a penny gave directions to the nearest hostel FOC. The route took me past the shittiest hostel on the planet which I was relieved to avoid, only to find I was entering the second shittiest. I was totally knackered by the day's exertions and would have slept anywhere so the doss house I climbed the steps of was a choice I should have thought more about.I quickly secured safe parking for the car from Anthony Quinn's older brother and after a shower and change went for some food. I picked the restaurant because it had wicker seats rather than plastic patio furniture and no greasy blokes in tight black T shirts standing around outside with nothing to do but gob off in front of their mates- what exactly are they about? The meal was leisurely except for the effort required to separate my fish's meat from it's infinite number of small bones. In the end I gave up- will I never learn. I did see an old guy rummaging through the litter bins for plastic bottles which he collected in a bag marked 'Saga Tours'- is that offered as an optional extra then?
Back at the hostel I had 3 beds to choose from, the one with shit (honestly) on the sheets was definitely out so it was a choice between the brown map of Africa or the pubes- thank God for my silk sleeping bag liner.I slept well.

Akko or Acre

Continuing North from Haifa is Akko or Acre (that's what they called it in the movie Kingdom Of Heaven which is worth watching if you've been to these parts or have a thing for Orlando Bloom). I followed signs for the town centre and lucked upon a brilliant free parking space on a patch of dirt. I wandered into the town and followed my nose to the sea front- and there I found the perfect place for a second home. The most spectacular sea view was looked over by a row of derelict houses which you could knock down and rebuild for about a tenner. Even though this is the Med and there are no beach signs it looked pretty clean to me and the weather is totally guaranteed.

Just about getting my bearings I walked along the front towards some ancient buildings- a small Fort which in turn led to a labyrinth of back streets where I suspected the tourists didn't go- and missed out. Obviously Islamic with three stories rising above narrow lanes and dusty courtyards it was utterly timeless. The seafood of the night before was having some effect and I happened upon a man who spoke no English but had a toilet- like you do, and I paid him one Sheckel to use it. Thankfully supply met demand not a minute too soon!
After about ten minutes wandering I joined the bustle of the market. This one was for real, Muslims, Jews and Christians rubbed shoulders around the giant fish, super sweet confectionary (1 million flies can't be wrong) and toothless hags producing pancakes by speading hot batter on an old cushion. There was no edge to the place and as an obvious stranger I was able to hop and skip over the streams of fish blood and water which meandered through the cobbles just as everyone else did.

My course continued towards the more touristy area of the Citadel which I paid to enter and got the recorded guided tour too. The history and it's brutality were amazing, although we Brits (as a European Christian Army) had conquered the place we were the only ones not to kill all the inhabitants and raze the city to the ground when we left. Over successive centuries excavations had unearthed ever deeper buildings, covered or filled in by newer civilisations. Pride of place were the great halls of the hospitalers or Knights Templars, walking on the same floors as the Kings, Knights and soldiers who travelled from England to fight Sal'adin for the Holy Land was pretty good. I explored the secret tunnels which they used to move around the city while under attack, read inscriptions on stone tablets left by their own Monk Soldiers (who by the sound of it were pretty handy) and dodged the souvenir shops and street hawkers just as they would have done- probably.
After picking up some fresh fruit and veg for lunch I went back to the car and hit the coast road again. At the extreme North West corner of Israel, slap bang on the closed border with Lebanon is Rosh Hanikra. A series of grottos carved in to the cliff face by the sea to produce an outstanding visual effect as turquoise waves crash against the white chalky rock. Alongside is a rail tunnel dug by the post war British to link Israeli cities with Beirut- known at the time as the Paris of the Med. Access to all this was provided by a cable car from the top of the cliffs made by Doppelmeyer, who you may guess do all the Austrian ski lifts, it was a bit weird to say the least having been raised and lowered over so many metres in the preceeding months by their contraptions.

After the grottos it had to be East and along the broder towards the Golan Heights where I planned to overnight. Dan had told me there would be a festival in this area and it would be busy, what I hadn't anticipated was that whole towns would be blocked off. This was made very clear when I ran into a Police road block outside Zefat and was very politely turned around, having been in the game long enough to know that one doesn't ask why. This caused a rapid re-evaluation of my route and took me further North towards Quiryat Semona. The scenery was awesome, Golan being the Snowdonia of Israel and a bit of a playground for the masses. At the time it was dead, the season not having got going and many places were pretty dormant. Having driven through many small towns, stopped off at various Kibbutz and even asked at a petrol station the options for accommodation were bleak and I was being forced further East than I wanted to go in my quest for a bed for the night. Eventually I happened upon a Field School which is a bit like a youth hostel where groups of young people stay to learn about Israeli countryside. They gave me a spartan 4 bed detached house for thirty quid which by that time I was glad of. This hit my cash funds by some and after a stroll in the hills to watch the sun go down I was in the embarrassing predicament of having to walk into a nice country restaurant and tell them I needed beer and food for NIS100. Luckily it was dead quiet and they liked my style so I ate well, drank strictly speaking more than I should prior to the very short drive back and still was able to give a tip to the waiter with the left over change.
The Field school was well located to see the aforementioned fires being lit in the valley below(think Guy Fawkes night) and I went to bed.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Back On The Road Again

Sunday and it was time to cut loose from the wonderful D n D and head off to discover Israel. The plan to head North and cover the country in a big clockwise circle with the odd diversion into the central hills which is generally the Occupied Territories.
On a gorgeous morning my first stop was the Roman remains at Caeserea which was pretty outstanding but strange in that it was totally set up for tourists who weren't there. It made me a little self conscious to be one of a handfull in a system capable of handling thousands- so I didn't dwell. Dan had recommended a beach on the edge of a series of lagoons and it made an ideal venue for lunch and a slighlty self indulgent siesta. Again all but deserted the blue waters were difficult to tear myself away from but the road North to my destination that night beckoned and I raced to Haifa before the tourist information place shut.
Haifa is a place I didn't really got to the bottom of, home to one of the more obscure religions it has palacial buildings and impressive gardens, museums and a European feel slightly less sophisticated than Tel Aviv. I went for a fast wander to get the lay of the land and found that the tourist info was not in any of the places I expected it to be- where my guide book said or where the puiblic maps said they should be. At ten to five I gave them a quick phone call and was directed to the Port Inn down by the docks to stay the night. I had a suspicion this may be a refuge for the countlesss seamen who must be in need of a cheap bed while waiting for their next ship leaving from the nearby port but when I finally found the place it was a pleasant surprise. Clean, friendly, busy but not packed and above all very very cheap. I asked where the best seafood restaurant was and got directions (20 minute walk) before using my Gucci security lock to secure my pack to my bedframe. The walk turned out to be more like an hour and twenty and my knees were feeling it by the time I staggered from the darkness into the large but empty restaurant on the prom. I approached the teenade girls on duty (assured by D n D that the younger generation all spoke good English) and said I'd like sea food and beer in a blunt but clear statement of my reason for being there. Hence I was taken aback by the curt repost "you want beer you go to a bar, this is a sea food restaurant!" "Yes, I want seafood", "well have a seat then!" Once seated I was put in my place both literally and metaphorically and meakly said, "now can I have a beer?" The beer flowed and while I waited I caught sight of a lonely and forlorn Goldfish in a scummy tank I hoped that I wasn't expected to make my selection from the choice of live fish.
Plenty was happening outside; joggers, dog walkers and a youth group having a barbie- it was one of those nights where a perfect sun sets out to sea and one thinks of the deeper things, for some reason Eddie came to mind.
When the fish came- I opted for the local speciality there were more spines than meat and filled up on the 13 small bowls of salad they provided on the side. The prospect of the long walk back wasn't good but I wasn't paying for a taxi and it wasn't as bad in the end. I sat down with a coffee in the small patio garden at the hostel and heard a Texan drawl the predictable, "hey you English?" I turned to see a 20 something guy with a pretty looking girl who opened the conversation with "what's the right word for someone from Argentina- Argentinian or Argentine?" "Either goes" I replied, naturally wondering where this was going. After telling me that he was there to join the Israeli Army because it's the best in the World and he is half Jewish (for that I have to thank him because it reminded me that Jewish is an ethnicity and not merely a religion) it hit me, "can I ask you a question? What about all those Argentines you guys killed in the Falklands?", "sorry", "you know, all those innocent guys you wiped out on the Falkland Islands". I delivered a concise and accurate history of the Falklands war, generously not mentioning with Grenada or any other countless incursions by US forces into foreign territories. He doubted my version having seen something different on TV.I then asked how Israeli soldiers could justify shooting kids because they were throwing stones. He mulled it over and the best he came up with was that they were just conscripts and didn't know how to deal with it properly- good luck joining the best army in the World then buddy!

I went to bed to find that my new security lock would not open despite being 100% sure I had the correct code and used a keyring tool to cut it off, philosophicaly speaking if it was that easy to get off it wasn't worth the space in my pack to start with. Bed

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Sabbat'






Saturday- holy day in these parts, everything stopped happening at about 4 pm on Friday evening and all forms of work were prohibited- well the good bits anyway, like traffic wardens for instance, park where you want during the Sabbat'.
An early start was on the cards so I met D n D at theirs with a breakfast of fruit salad and nuts etc. We hit the road on the aforementioned cross country drive which should take about an hour and a half. It wasn't far off, the sights were as awesome as they were diverse and we stopped on the occassional hill top to view a landscape which was truly Biblical in every sense of the word. As we headed East the Dead Sea and the lowest point on the surface on the Earth appeared below us with Jordan's pink mountains as a backdrop- pretty breathtaking really. Soon we were making our way up the winding track to Masada- I'd never heard about it before and frankly feel I should have. Over 2000 years ago King Herod was under pressure and moved into the mountains- in style. He built a fantastic palace protected by a fort right on top of this monolithic mountain. He knew water would be a problem and fitted cavernous cisterns which collected enough rain water for the inhabitants to not only have enough to drink, not even only enough to have Roman baths, no they had bloody swimming pools! Because of this any beseiging army would not be able to force them out. In the end Herod died and the Roman power dwindled, the Jews took the fort and palace back but within a few years the Romans were starting to get a grip of the Jewish rebellion and wanted Masada back. They brought down a crack legion who had had a pasting up north and wanted some of their own back. They beseiged the Jews suffering the problems designed by thier own side- the Jews even threw water at them just to rub it in. The Romans offered terms to the Jews, give up and be slaves or stay and die. The Romans then filled in the valley between Masada and the next mountain with rubble, like you do in a desert with hardly any water supply, and made a tidy ramp of it up to the fortress walls. They then rolled a tower up the ramp and breeched the fortress walls. Unbeknown to them the Jews had formed a pact, the men had killed the women and children (except for 3 who hid in the water cisterns) and then drew lots to kill each other until the last fell on his own sword. To find this was a bit of a surprise and has since been hailed as a example of Jewish greatness. Until a few years ago anyway when it was discovered that the particular Jews in question were unusually radical and had been going round murdering everyone in the nearby towns and villages for not being Jewish enough. There was a film starring Peter O'Toole called- errrr, Masada which I will be looking out for if I ever get to a Blockbuster again.
We took the cable car up as temperatures hit the high 30's and tagged onto one of the many guided tours in various languages for each part we went to. There were massive store rooms, plunge pools, original frescos on the walls of senior officer's houses and the palace itself was built on a clifftop where it caught a gorgeous breeze most of the day. We killed a good few hours there and walked back down the dusty steps (7000 odd) to the visitor centre and over priced ice cream.
Dana drove back (I have to say she was a excellent driver) and I confess to nodding off a bit.We went out for dinner, I was determined to pay but not for the first time or the last did it get into an awkward contest when Dan would not let me- I'm still thinking of a way to make it up to them.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

BBQ in the woods


Friday- the first day of the Jewish weekend (Saturday being thier sabbath or as they say Sabbat (imagine you are a gangsta and drop the 'h'). D nD hatched a plan with the rest of their family to drive into the wilderness where they knew of a natural spring. We would have a barbie with



firewood, lounge around chatting with the occasional plunge in the pool- as temperatures climbed into the high 30's, all very agreable.
After calling round D n D's with breakfast our first task was to gather firewood. This necessitated a trip to the Kibbutz factory but their stack of pallets offered meagre pickings so it was off to the Kibbutz rubbish tip for a bit of bin diving. The place smelt so bad that as a result of parking neaby with the car doors open, the car stank for several hours afterwards, God knows what we were like. Dan's wood spotting skills were outstanding and we soon had a boot full of old lumber riddled with rusty nails.
We took off, collecting other members of the family at road juntions en route until a decent convoy had formed. Twenty minutes up a track we stopped and formed a line of porters reminiscant of Victorian expeditions as we carried food, wood, children and a massive rolled up carpet up a dusty track toward the spring. After some clambering we made our objective only to find that the spring was built into a seriously steep slope and all but the 'plunge in the pool' part of the plan was viable. After some kicking around an executive decision was made and and the expedition porters headed back to the car park. After a bit more kicking around and the usual family dynamics which led to a fair amount of frustration for Dan who is a switched on bloke and we were back in convoy looking for our alternate location. We drove past a roadside picnic area and onwards to a dusty track adjacent to a stream which would have been picturesque had it not been for all the warning signs declaring how incredibly toxic the water was. After a bit of stone throwing amongst the guys it was deemed inappropriate and we mounted up again. By now Dan was tamping- eloquently explained as a result of people who offered nothing, would not say what they didn't want to do but only pulled faces and whinged when it happened. We drove back to the picnic area and Dan found a shady secluded spot amongst the trees.
Then came the serious business of food preparation. Dan's brother (who was tolled up for the occasion which I intial found odd but learnt to realise that carry a gun is very normal in Israel) supplied the beer but was not told I was coming so supplies were a bit limited, as the guest I was looked after while fantastic spread was laid on. Dan's bro' had the disc off an agricultural harrow which, when placed over a fire made perfect pitta brerad. All sorts of salad and humous was cracked out while meat and vegetables were crammed into a cast iron pot (similar to the African Potje) which was left on the fire for a couple of hours. The result was a very tasty Napalm type stew, my kind of food (once you let it cool down a bit)- I had three helpings. The remainder of the time was spent chatting (everyone had very good English), playing with the children and I even managed to get a doze in- although I have a vague idea that I woke myself up when I farted, if anyone noticed they didn't take the piss.
It was then I realised that the best pleasures in life were simple ones. Dan kept apologising for the disorganised nature of the day but I was quite happy to sit back out of the decision making process for a change. I was pretty happy, the shady boughs had taken the heat out of a very hot day, the company was excellent as was the food and I had fun playiing with Dan's 3 year old nephew (or was it the other way round?) The only way to improve on the day was to strangle the twat who raced around our little spot on a souped up quad with no exhaust- and have a go on it myself.