Jerusalem

            I’ve been trying to find the words to express what Jerusalem is like for a couple weeks now.  That entails summing up a city that contains thousands of years of history, a lot of hard feelings between several parties and honestly, great beauty. 

            Some Israelis have complained to me that Jerusalem shuts down on the weekends for Shabbat.  Others embrace it. 

            Since I work during the week, the majority of my travel opportunities fall on the weekend and so I found myself in Jerusalem on a Friday night and Saturday. 

            I arrived just in time for Shabbat to begin (and like I said, it’s Jerusalem, so unlike Tel Aviv, everything actually closes).  I had tea with Tami just in time to hear the siren sound for the start of Shabbat (it’s a single tone alarm that rings across the entire city at sunset).  It's the only city in the country to do that.  Then, I took a taxi to my accommodation. 

            Abraham Hostel, where I stayed, held a Shabbat dinner, so I joined several other travellers for dinner.  I was completely mind blown when a girl from the United Kingdom I befriended, who had just arrived to Jerusalem to study for four months, mentioned that she spent last semester living with a host family in the West Bank (Nablus) studying Arabic. 

            There were also a ton of Americans, many from MIT, who were teaching entrepreneurship and doing internships around Israel.

            I was exhausted from all the excitement earlier in the day, and crashed out early, because I had yet another eventful day ahead of me. 

            On Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed, headed down to breakfast at the hostel, and then took a taxi to the Inbal Hotel where I met up with my guide for a bicycle tour of the city.  

My guide at The First Station, Jerusalem

            My guide fitted me with a helmet and bike, and as it turns out, I was the only one who had signed up that week so I got a private tour.  We wove through the streets of Jerusalem, taking tight corners, and I very quickly discovered how ridiculously hilly the city of Jerusalem actually is.
            It wasn't a bike ride for the faint of heart.  You have to like biking, hills, and be ready to take tight corners.  And bring lots of water (but that's a recurring theme in Israel)!  Luckily, my mother instilled a love for cycling at a young age, so it was a perfect way to see the city.  First, we arrived in the first Jewish neighborhood to be built outside of the Old City.  Even though the houses were bigger and nicer than in the overcrowded Old City, people were nervous about moving in at first since it was beyond the protection of the walls of the Old City.  But, they were paid a stipend to do so, and eventually people obliged.  Looking out from that neighborhood, you can see the walls of the Old City.  

Looking out at the wall to the Old City, Jerusalem

Mahane Yehuda Market

We passed by a Greek Orthodox Monastery located in the Valley of the Cross, named such because the tree used to build the cross Jesus was crucified on, came from there.  

Greek Orthodox Monastery

The First Station, Jerusalem

Next, we approached Jaffa Gate, at the entrance to the Old City, and then doubled back into the newer part of the city.  One of my favorite parts of the whole experience was the picture you see below.  That's the main Shuk in Jerusalem on Shabbat when it's closed.  When we first rode in, there was a cat, just chilling out, nestled into one of the tables.  As we cranked through on our bicycles, I was startled by the striking disparity between Mahane Yehuda market on Shabbat versus the Tuesday morning when Tami took me there when I first arrived.  It's a good metaphor for the whole city, emphasizing the importance of taking the seventh day of the week off, and the sheer reality of how strictly that is observed.  Also I forgot to ask the guide about the graffiti on the walls (or at least that's what I assume it is), but feel free to comment if you know anything about it.  

Leaving the Shuk, we headed for Parliament and snacked in the park, discussing Israel's culture and religion and the guide's background on growing up in Jerusalem.  

We passed by the Israel Museum and Shrine of the Book, where I was bound after my tour, and then rode to The First Station, an old train station that has been revitalized as a cultural center of Jerusalem.

Finally, we rode up into the hills, where we stopped to look out on a great view of Jerusalem.  

At the end, we weaved through switchbacks in a park, which was an eye opening experience as I heard prayers echoing up from the Arab villages below.  We capped the experience off with a visit to the Memorial of Yonatan Netanyahu, the only Israeli soldier killed in a hostage rescue mission in Uganda, Operation Entebbe in the 1970s, the first operation of its sort successfully carried out by Israel.  Yonatan Netanyahu was also the older brother of the current Prime Minister of Israel, Benjamin Netanyahu.

Overall, I was impressed by Jerusalem's beauty, was happy with the opportunity to get a good work out and spend some time outside, and recommend the bike tour to anyone who's tired of sitting in a tour bus.

Wintertime: What a Wonderful Time of Year

            A coworker complains about how depressing winter is.  But I’m biased because flashing back to last winter, I remember how awesome it was, as my teammates and I zipped through the streets of Worcester in the dead of night on our cross-country skis, and how agonizing it was, as the piles of snow got so high in our front yard that there was no choice but to perform a science experiment on how much snow my car could get through.  

            The part of me that misses skiing is at constant odds with the part of me who enjoys staying warm, so while I will argue little about "missing winter", I also won't be complaining when it's time to hit the slopes in the act of late Spring skiing.  

           But everyone here, used to mild and warm temperatures is shocked by my complacency under these distasteful weather conditions.  Is it weird that I like running when it's raining out?  It's better than being hot.  I mean, I could take or leave the wind, but as long as it's not torrential downpour or hail (yes, Buffalo, I have not forgotten being pelted with hail in May, 2013), who am I to argue?

          I look out the window, confused.  The weather forecast is constantly calling for rain, but it’s only as bad as they say it will be about half the time.  And, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I keep listening to the forecast, I’m going to end up spending every Friday night and Saturday I’m here, curled up on my couch with my Netflix account, a loaf of Challah, a container of hummus and a bar of chocolate (not that that’s a terrible way to spend Shabbat or anything).  Plus, what’s the rain going to do?  Melt me? 

Not that the forecast is never right, and not that I haven’t silently complained about the cold at any point of me being here (or had moments when I asked my winter coat why I hadn’t brought it with me).  That said, if I were to genuinely complain about the weather here, I would actually incur the wrath of all my friends and family back home, and open myself up to an onslaught of angry snowball throws and hailstorms. 

And I bet if I came here in the summer, I would be whining more about the weather, because if you’re like me and 70 Fahrenheit is too hot for a run, then hit the Tel Aviv Promenade (running path along the beach) in the summer and prepare to die (or cry). 

            Speaking of which, race day is in 5 weeks, so I truthfully did spend this past Saturday afternoon curled up on my couch with a loaf of Challah, dried fruit and chocolate, take a long nap, and then watch more Netflix than I’m proud of (but only after I spent the morning on a 19-mile training run). 

            Running on Shabbat is always an interesting experience, because by custom, a lot of people won’t run on Saturdays.  It’s a day to go to synagogue, spend time with family, and rest.  The same goes for driving.  There are cars on the road, but fewer than usual.  Generally, it’s a pretty dead/calm day.  There are always a handful of runners out, but not a whole lot, because it’s the Sabbath.  You see more people out walking with their families or their dogs. 

            Within a couple of miles, even with a little rain, I’m burning up wearing anything other than a T-Shirt and shorts and instantly regret my layers (complete 180 from Buffalo, New York, it’s hailing on Mother’s Day weather). 

            I discover parts of Herzliya that I didn’t know existed.  Didn’t actually know Herzliya had an airport (okay, so it’s more like an airfield), and when I bring it up to my supervisor at work the next day, he mentions that it’s always in danger of being shut down because it’s primarily private planes that sometimes disrupt things.  I found a little village and some fields, which is actually a really beautiful area.  Then, I managed to loop back to that little village again and again without trying and I found out that the way I say “Herzliya” to people when I’m trying to ask for directions apparently doesn’t sound like Hebrew and if they don’t speak English, they don’t seem to understand me even if all I do is say the word with a questioning look on my face and point.  Guess I need to step up my game on the accent/pronunciation. But, luckily 19 miles is a long way, so if you’re lost, you have plenty of time to find your way home again. 

            And basically, if you’re wandering around a city for that long, you start to develop an understanding of all its nooks and crannies.  It’s also pretty interesting to see it after hearing all the local’s interpretations of it.  What they called a gravel road, I have yet to see any gravel on it.  Or maybe, I was just on a different road?  Maybe we’ll never know. 

            What they call “running in the fields for a really long time”, I would call “running in the fields for a kilometer”.  Just like what they call “raining on and off”, I would call “drizzle”.  It’s all perception.  When you hear someone explaining something, your mind instantly snaps a picture that usually barely resembles the original. 

            Isn’t that why we travel in the first place?  Why I came here?  We can read travel books and look at pictures of a foreign country.  But, it doesn’t become real until it’s more than just words or pictures on a page.  I say this, not to undermine the importance of travel books, pictures, or even this blog, but to emphasize that famous quote, “It’s not the destination, but the journey”.  Yes, I know how cliché that is, but that’s okay, because it’s true. 

            Running is like that.  Most people don’t run to go somewhere.  We run to cover distance, but what happens in those miles (sorry, kilometers)?  What do we see?  How many cats and snails (yes there are a lot of snails here; it’s weird) do we count as we pass them on the sidewalks?  How many kite surfers launch themselves into the air as we run by and how many cricket matches and soccer (sorry, football) games do we witness?

             Who do we talk to?  Where do they tell us to go? 

            Where’s the pride in having everything go as planned?  What about the moments where you can’t find your accommodation anywhere, and you’re forced to step back for a minute, take a deep breath, and look harder?  What about the sense of relief that floods you when you finally arrive at that destination you sought out for so long?  What about when you’re hungry but everything’s in an alphabet you can’t read?  Or when you’re nineteen miles into your nineteen mile run but you planned it wrong/got lost one too many times, and now you’re still a mile from home? 

            People say, “I’m going to Israel to swim in the Dead Sea.”  Disclaimer: As you probably know, you can’t swim in the Dead Sea.  You float.  But, the point is, no one says, “I’m going to Israel so I can get lost, hand the shopkeeper the wrong amount of money, struggle with ordering food and walk a mile when I’m more sore than I’ve ever been in my life”.  But, honestly those have been some of the best moments (and even if it wasn’t terribly enjoyable, it’s hard to deny the benefits of cooling down from a long run).  Learning the hard way that everything is actually closed on Shabbat, as I searched for water on my long run (finally found an open gas station), mastered the currency, negotiated a taxi fare down forty shekels (ten dollars), figured out where they keep the English menus at certain restaurants and finally got my computer to translate my lunch order (also on a somewhat unrelated note, Google Translate may still need some help considering that this was one of my lunch options today: Humus Mixed: Plus strips of India, spleen, heart and onions burnt charcoal, olive oil, parsley, spices, accompanied by two bread and pickles).

            So I’m here in Israel, a hybrid between a tourist and just an American new to town.  I had a picture in my head of what things would be like here, as I’m sure you all do.  And I’ll tell you, it’s a lot different than I expected, but that’s good.  We picture what we’re used to, and I can safely say that while the Middle East and the Eastern United States both have their charms, they’re just a little bit different. 

            So let me know when your flight lands and I’ll meet you at Ben-Gurion to show you “The City that Never Sleeps”.   

            Catch you later.  Thanks for reading!

Wandering Through The Desert (and other thoughts)

            Recently, I had the opportunity to visit the Ramon Crater, which is basically a giant hole in the middle of the desert.  I'm not going to talk too much about it.  It's primarily a cool landscape in the desert and a prime place to hike, so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.  Honestly it's one hundred percent in the middle of nowhere but I'm still a big fan.  It's pretty desolate, but in a good way, although as a result, most of the people living out there are very poor, because it's such an underdeveloped area and it doesn't have much happening besides tourism.  As Isa says, it's stark.  And she's right.  All the Israelis seem to like the green parts of the country better, but I grew up on a lake so I came out here for something new.    

            The Ramon Crater was definitely striking.  It's really dry, even in the winter (when all it seems to do in Tel Aviv is rain), although it was a little chilly and windy and the visibility was a little cloudy due to the dust in the air.  Definitely carry a ton of water with you.  You don't realize how dry it is in this country until you're super thirsty.  It's also unique because it was created by the process of natural erosion and not by an asteroid.  

            I was thinking the other day while hiking there, how Moses led the Israelites through the desert for forty years.  I was tired after a couple hours and I had a couple giant bottles of water, other people and a cell phone equipped with 3G. 

            Later in the day, when I was using Whatsapp with my friends back home, one asked how there was service in the desert.  My response was that when half your country is desert, you put up cell towers.  It’s also a tiny nation and Israel has the infrastructure and finances to do so.  But, I can definitely see how in other, less developed nations, you’d be pretty unsupported out in the desert. 

            It’s interesting how much travel has changed.  If you think about it, it’s existed forever, since before Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt.  But, when the first humans were moving around following their food sources, it wasn’t really about having a good time around the world, going for long runs along the beach, meeting new people of different cultures, trying different recipes/foods, picking up a few words of a new language and spreading your own, having an adventure…

            It was all about survival.  Survival… Going somewhere where you could find food and water to nourish you, shelter to protect you from outside dangers… A place where you wouldn’t be imprisoned, killed or mistreated… Or a place where you could expand your empire into and garner all the natural resources available to you… A conquest. 

            Today we hop airplanes on a daily basis… for work, family, adventures… to learn a new language, get some good pictures, meet someone new… To have fun, to explore, for a change of pace.  Sure, sometimes we get frustrated, but later, we’ll probably turn it around and say that getting lost in that random city was the best experience of our lives because we learned more about ourselves than we ever imagined…

            I wouldn’t disagree… We travel to learn how to fail and to learn how to succeed…  Or because we want to… To try new foods, dig into history, culture, religion, landscapes… to go to war… to escape it… to help parts of the world fraught with conflict and disrepair… To escape it… and so on…

            But, it wasn’t always like that. 

            When did it become for fun? 

            About snapping photos on the beach with your friends, riding a horse, racing alongside runners from all over the world, soaking up history, seeing sights that have been rebuilt just for tourists, gazing across the ocean into countries like Egypt that you are unable to enter? 

            But, move back a few paragraphs and understand that it’s not always fun, it’s not always an adventure.  Sometimes it’s a sense of duty.  Sometimes it’s a sense of fear.

            Why do you get on that airplane or the ship?  Why do we study abroad?  When did our lives become a melting pot of friendships with people from all over the world?  When did it become so easy and affordable to call your parents back home? 

            You don’t have to wait for letters anymore or wait in line to use a payphone to talk to your mom and dad.

            The biggest obstacle now is the time zone (and that’s not going anywhere, but it’s a much smaller obstacle than what people faced a thousand, or even thirty years ago). 

            That said, I have a strange habit of expecting to get emails or Whatsapp messages from people back in the U.S. in the mornings.  But, then I look at the clock and realize that it’s 10:48 AM so at home, it’s 3:48 AM and no one’s awake… When I first got here, I made fun of my mom when I called her at 8 PM and she asked how work was, assuming I was there.  But, it’s really easy to get caught up in your own time zone when it’s super sunny out and completely forget that it’s pitch black out on the other side of the world. 

            Because the company who sold me my Israeli SIM card has a business plan primarily focused on the thousands of American students who take gap years and go on birthright and internship programs every year, they offer an American number attached to your line for $10 USD a month and then you can call your friends and family back home for free.  I initially wasn’t planning on doing that (I mean that’s why we have Skype and Whatsapp) but it’s honestly been incredibly convenient and has made it really easy for me to make any calls I need. 

            Subsequently, technology has opened an endless realm of opportunities for travellers.  From Google Translate to Moovit and Waze (apps for navigating) to the high speed train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem (that will hopefully be completed in the next decade; just kidding, make that 2 years), we have so many means available to us when in the past, we would shave been forced to rely on word of mouth and a paper map (that said, I spend a surprising amount of time with those). 

            Technology has also opened up an endless realm of opportunities for the world.

            This past weekend at Caesarea, I was looking out at the arena where the Romans would gather to watch deadly chariot races or make a day of skinning “rebels” alive.  Then, our guide led us to a well, where the Romans would toss the name of someone they disliked in hopes that the action would send them to hell and perform other spells. 

            I can’t say that humanity has changed completely since those times, that violence doesn’t exist and the age-old questions of whose land is whose or what religion is the correct one, have faded. 

            But, we’ve definitely strived to become more civilized and maybe in a thousand years, someone will look back and call us uncivilized.  We look back to the past to understand, maybe we’ve softened, but life expectancy has risen with that realization.  Would we be able to survive in the desert for forty years if we were to try right now?  Wouldn’t someone find us first, come to save us?  Wouldn’t we want them to as the sun beats down and it hasn’t rained for days or we are powerless to stop the wind?

            I’m pretty sure that Moses and his people were out there in the desert even before the Ramon Crater was even created.  If it had been there, what would they have said?  "Let's take some selfies?"  Or "Let's climb down.  Maybe there's water down there"?  Your guess is as good as mine.  Humanity has changed a lot, but maybe that's okay.  Maybe, that's simply to be expected.  It’s amazing how much has survived the last several thousand years, but how much has changed too.  We stand in the Holy Land, a land of history, of anguish, of hope… We dig up artifacts and fortresses, sometimes even one on top of the other.  But, we also walk through the fortress, and find ourselves looking at the piles of rubble that lay behind, the deep unknown that no one has found the time or money to excavate yet. 

            In how many years will this nation have stopped changing?  When will it be safe to say, “I’ve been there already.  No need to go back”?  When will the world have lost its charm, will history be a thing we can’t learn from anymore?  When will everyone stay in place, instead of wandering as nomads in trains, planes and automobiles?

            I have a feeling that travel won’t ever be a thing of the past.  The stockmarket waxes and wanes, foreign dollars strengthen and weaken.  Someone will always want to go somewhere, as long as it’s safe to do so.  As long as Tel Aviv is the "City That Never Sleeps", Jerusalem is the pillar of religion and the Dead Sea is there to float in, I think it's safe to say that people will always want to come here.  And who am I to say that if the nightclubs die down and the Dead Sea dries up, the history won't be enough to continuously bring tourists in flocks?

            Walk through the footsteps of our ancestors and their tormentors.  Listen to the stories of the people who first settled here and follow their customs.  Then bring your own to the mix. 

            That’s why in Israel, they eat hummus, Baklava, Turkish Delight, Sahlab (yuck), and even McDonald’s (apparently they have kosher and non-kosher ones).  They speak a smattering of languages and practice all sorts of religions. 

            And yet, the Jewish people own their nation too.  They speak the language of Hebrew, which they brought back and modernized as a spoken language over a hundred years ago.  A nation they fought for.  They shut down public transport and shops on Saturdays and focus on family. 

             You have the Holy City and you have the Sin City (Tel Aviv), just an hour or two apart.  People argue over the best way to handle the Sabbath, and yet the country pulls through on not becoming too secular. 

             Well, that’s all I have for now.  Catch you later.