Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Jerusalem
Evan and I are reunited in Jerusalem. I just spent the past two hours copying some of my travel notes to the blog. I will provide an update on my bicycling adventure to the Sea of Galilee and down through the West Bank to Jerusalem soon. Evan is good. Jerusalem experienced another terrorist attack while we were biking and there is an elevated security alert that has everyone conversing. We will have a lot to talk about and information to blog to you soon. Michael
Nazareth
Nazareth is a city of stray cats. They roam the streets of the old city, slinking their way through the market shadows and alleyways, jumping from rooftops to terraces, agile and energetic. They are friendly and swift, not stopping long for a pet stroke. But it hasn't been my fortune to touch one yet, even the little ones shy from my hand.
From the balcony of the Fauzi Azar Inn, I watched one today tiptoe down a trecherous strip of concrete bricks strung 30 feet above the street. It made every jump perfectly, a natural acrobat, and I envied it's ability to perform so severely and accurately in this precarious environment.
The Fauzi Azar Inn is located deep in the heart of the old city. It is a maze to get here. One must first find the Old City which is tucked away so secretly behind the Bascillica of the Annunciation, the entry way is narrow and unassuming. Once inside though, the life of a market bustles, and what seems like hoards of people pass through slender pedestrian streets lined with shops of many varieties. There are vendors selling shoes and clothes. Some sell toys, others jewelry and there are rows of vegetables, oils and spices. Breathe deeply and you can smell the sweet scent of cardamin, cumin, cinammon, mint and crushed red pepper. Walking up the hill, you make a series of lefts and rights, then rights and lefts until finally arriving at the door of the Inn. All of the buildings adjoin each other and blue and green tarps drape the streets below them, shading the markets.
The Inn was once the home of Fauzi Azar and his family a rich merchant in the early 19th century. There is a great courtyard in the center supporting stone arches and a cavernous sitting room towards the rear. On both sides are quarters, converted into modern bedrooms. Up the stairs to the right is a patio overlooking the courtyard and a great hall with more rooms situated around it on two sides. The ceilings are high, about 20 feet with impressive decorative painted designs made popular in Palestine during the late Ottoman Empire. The windows are high and arched with shutters on the outside and draperies on the inside. There is a kitchen upstairs as well with a balcony that has the most phenomenal view of Nazareth I have found.
Gaby is the night manager of the Inn and is very hospitable and nice. He drove Evan to the hospital this morning and stayed with him for most of the day. The hospital in Nazareth is extremely slow, overcrowed and understaffed. Evan will need to stay there overnight to be monitored and treated. He waited over 6 hours just have have an initial look from a doctor. Gaby came back finally looking very tired and told me Evan had bloodwork done and an ultrasound on his foot.
A night in the Nazareth hospital cost over 3,000 shekels. Two nights is more than Evan can afford. I am not sure at this point what will happen to him or our tour. Hopefully Gaby will drive me there tonight and Evan and I will make new plans on what is to be.
It is still my intention to bike to the Sea of Galilee tomorrow. I will go alone and when I return I hope Evan will be well enough to meet me in Jerusalem. He has a friend who will lend us his grandmother's apartment for a week and we are counting on that connection for accommodations. I am hopeful that the situation with Evan's foot will improve and that also I will begin to grow more accustomed and comfortable with this miserable noonday sun. So it goes, I remind myself.
From the balcony of the Fauzi Azar Inn, I watched one today tiptoe down a trecherous strip of concrete bricks strung 30 feet above the street. It made every jump perfectly, a natural acrobat, and I envied it's ability to perform so severely and accurately in this precarious environment.
The Fauzi Azar Inn is located deep in the heart of the old city. It is a maze to get here. One must first find the Old City which is tucked away so secretly behind the Bascillica of the Annunciation, the entry way is narrow and unassuming. Once inside though, the life of a market bustles, and what seems like hoards of people pass through slender pedestrian streets lined with shops of many varieties. There are vendors selling shoes and clothes. Some sell toys, others jewelry and there are rows of vegetables, oils and spices. Breathe deeply and you can smell the sweet scent of cardamin, cumin, cinammon, mint and crushed red pepper. Walking up the hill, you make a series of lefts and rights, then rights and lefts until finally arriving at the door of the Inn. All of the buildings adjoin each other and blue and green tarps drape the streets below them, shading the markets.
The Inn was once the home of Fauzi Azar and his family a rich merchant in the early 19th century. There is a great courtyard in the center supporting stone arches and a cavernous sitting room towards the rear. On both sides are quarters, converted into modern bedrooms. Up the stairs to the right is a patio overlooking the courtyard and a great hall with more rooms situated around it on two sides. The ceilings are high, about 20 feet with impressive decorative painted designs made popular in Palestine during the late Ottoman Empire. The windows are high and arched with shutters on the outside and draperies on the inside. There is a kitchen upstairs as well with a balcony that has the most phenomenal view of Nazareth I have found.
Gaby is the night manager of the Inn and is very hospitable and nice. He drove Evan to the hospital this morning and stayed with him for most of the day. The hospital in Nazareth is extremely slow, overcrowed and understaffed. Evan will need to stay there overnight to be monitored and treated. He waited over 6 hours just have have an initial look from a doctor. Gaby came back finally looking very tired and told me Evan had bloodwork done and an ultrasound on his foot.
A night in the Nazareth hospital cost over 3,000 shekels. Two nights is more than Evan can afford. I am not sure at this point what will happen to him or our tour. Hopefully Gaby will drive me there tonight and Evan and I will make new plans on what is to be.
It is still my intention to bike to the Sea of Galilee tomorrow. I will go alone and when I return I hope Evan will be well enough to meet me in Jerusalem. He has a friend who will lend us his grandmother's apartment for a week and we are counting on that connection for accommodations. I am hopeful that the situation with Evan's foot will improve and that also I will begin to grow more accustomed and comfortable with this miserable noonday sun. So it goes, I remind myself.
Scorpion Sting
In the morning, we awoke on the beach. It was 5am. Straight away we set out biking and covered a lot of ground, about 45 km. Around 9am we stopped for breakfast and then rode another 10km before it got too hot. We found a bridge and stayed underneath it for 3 to 4 hours, writing, sleeping and talking.
After the sun cooled a bit, we began again and biked until just after dark. At dinnertime we stopped at a gas station to find some food. There was a small cage attached to it so we parked our bikes, sat down and ordered a varitey platter of vegetables.
Food in Israel and probably the Middle East in general is incredibly delicious. It is also a very populist thing. One could spend close to one hundred dollars on a meal of fine French cuisine at a fancy restaurant and it would not rival the taste of a bountiful platter found in a gas station cafe in Israel.
We were in a mixed area of the country, half Arab, half Jew and I could not tell which ethnicity our server belonged to. He saw our bikes, our dirty clothes and tired bodies and asked us about our travels. We told him our intentions of biking through Israel and then heading down into the West Bank.
"I have an uncle in Bethlehem," he said. "There is a problem, a conflict of course but it is very complex." Straight to the point I asked, "How do you think it should be solved?"
"I would say to them, come to my house, to my village. See my family and the way I live. Then I come to your house and see how you live. Then we will understand. We have this one land. We need to share. There is too much fighting, not understanding, we do not talk to each other. That is what we need-to talk to each other."
I smiled at that and told him I agreed. Evan and I accepted an espresso from him and then were off again after shaking his hand.
That evening we rode until after dark. Evan thought we should stop sooner but I pressed him to continue. In my mind, I had a goal plotted out on the map that I wanted to reach before camping and we were still about 6km shy of it. I wish now that I had listened to him and stopped.
When it got too dark to ride any further, we got out our flashlights and walked our bikes forward looking for a good place to camp. We must have walked nearly 2km like this. On both sides of the trail it appeared in the dark to be nothing but rocky desert with scrubby growth on the ground. Finally I decided to park the bikes. I took a flashlight and headed up the hill to the east, hoping to find a suitable spot to camp.
To my surprise, about 300 yards off the road I found a fenced-in square lined with trees. The gate tothe fence was opened and I discerned raised graves on the ground. I ran back to tell Evan the good news and we both walked the bikes up and found a nice spot to lay down inside. Evan said it was a Jewish custom to wash your hands before leaving a cemetery and that there must be running water somewhere near the entrance. Evan found the fountain quickly and we filled up our water bottles. Next we spread out the tarp, unrolled the sleeping bags and triend to get some sleep. We planned to leave at 5am so I set an alarm.
It was one of the worst nights of sleep in my life. We woke up ervery half hour or so and 5am came much too early. In the morning, Evan noticed a bite near his ankle and said that his foot felt numb. I couldn't tell if it was a spider or a scorpion bite but it definitely did not look good. I asked him if he could continue riding or not and he said he'd give it a try. We really had no ther choice at this point.
About 3 hours later, Evan was exhausted. His foot had swollen slightly and he felt light-headed. I felt his forehead, he may have had a fever but it was impossible to tell in this heat. Evan told me that he could not bike any further and would just hitchhike into Nazareth with his bike on a truck. He impressed upon me his confidence in this venture and told me that I should continue biking on. I said okay and left him on the side of the road, then continued down the mountain. I had at this point, only one full water bottle left. Guy's map indicated that there was a store and gasd station about 4km away. When I got there however, it was closed down. The next station was through a large field and at least 18km away. It was getting hot in the day at this time but I thought that I could make it.
I started out on the trail though the field. In the valley it was much hotter than in the mountains. I slowly drank the rest of my water and just hoped that the store would be near. It seemed to never come. Turn after turn would only reveal more dusty trail. Finally, the heat began to get the better of me, I was exhausted, hot and my throat was parched. The Israeli military was practicing fly-bys in the sky with loud jets and I seriously considered starting an alert fire on the ground of some sort. I kept riding but felt seriously fatigued. I was seeing traces of light, flashes in my vision and I thought I might just pass out. It was 11am.
A small trail off the main trail I was riding on appeared to the left and there was a line of trees at the end of it. I thought it would at least offer some shade so I rode towards it. I couldn't believe what I found on the other side of the trees. Miraculously, through the trees was a Jewish cemetery. I remembered what Evan had told me the night before and just as it is customary, there was water piped into a fountain from a nearby stream/ The pipes were made of black rubber and the water was hot but I drank two liters of it none-the-less. It was so refreshing. I drank and drank, filled up my water bottles, took a quick rest then rode further northeast. There was a town less than 9km away.
Before I got to the town I found a place where cows feed. I decided to sleep for a few hours and wait for the heat to dissipate. Around2 or 3 o'clock I left and arrived in town, bout some food then headed up the mountain for Nazareth 14km away.
In Nazareth, I found the Fauzi Azar Inn, where David lives. He was away for a few days but Evan had made it there before me. He had indeed been able to catch a lift with his bicycle. His foot however, had not gotten better. Evan slept all day and night while I explored the city, taking pictures.
In the morning I awoke early to write. Evan woke up around 8am and his foot was still swollen. He couldn't walk on it properly. The people at the Inn decided it was best for him to go to the hospital. Plans for him will most likely need to be altered. We are not certain what he will do yet except for spending a few days in Nazareth to visit a doctor and recuperate. It is likely that he will take a bus to Jerusalem and wait for me to bike there by myself.
As for me, I am biking to the Golan Heights soon and then into the West Bank. I will meet him in Jerusalem in 5 days or so at his grandmother's house. David should be joining us there.
It has been quite an adventure so far. I continue the conversations with people, obtaining perspectives and sharing stories. At the moment, these are being collected separately. Evan will post the conversation with Yotam in a separate blog when he is up to it. Until next time, Shalom, Saleem, Peace. Michael
After the sun cooled a bit, we began again and biked until just after dark. At dinnertime we stopped at a gas station to find some food. There was a small cage attached to it so we parked our bikes, sat down and ordered a varitey platter of vegetables.
Food in Israel and probably the Middle East in general is incredibly delicious. It is also a very populist thing. One could spend close to one hundred dollars on a meal of fine French cuisine at a fancy restaurant and it would not rival the taste of a bountiful platter found in a gas station cafe in Israel.
We were in a mixed area of the country, half Arab, half Jew and I could not tell which ethnicity our server belonged to. He saw our bikes, our dirty clothes and tired bodies and asked us about our travels. We told him our intentions of biking through Israel and then heading down into the West Bank.
"I have an uncle in Bethlehem," he said. "There is a problem, a conflict of course but it is very complex." Straight to the point I asked, "How do you think it should be solved?"
"I would say to them, come to my house, to my village. See my family and the way I live. Then I come to your house and see how you live. Then we will understand. We have this one land. We need to share. There is too much fighting, not understanding, we do not talk to each other. That is what we need-to talk to each other."
I smiled at that and told him I agreed. Evan and I accepted an espresso from him and then were off again after shaking his hand.
That evening we rode until after dark. Evan thought we should stop sooner but I pressed him to continue. In my mind, I had a goal plotted out on the map that I wanted to reach before camping and we were still about 6km shy of it. I wish now that I had listened to him and stopped.
When it got too dark to ride any further, we got out our flashlights and walked our bikes forward looking for a good place to camp. We must have walked nearly 2km like this. On both sides of the trail it appeared in the dark to be nothing but rocky desert with scrubby growth on the ground. Finally I decided to park the bikes. I took a flashlight and headed up the hill to the east, hoping to find a suitable spot to camp.
To my surprise, about 300 yards off the road I found a fenced-in square lined with trees. The gate tothe fence was opened and I discerned raised graves on the ground. I ran back to tell Evan the good news and we both walked the bikes up and found a nice spot to lay down inside. Evan said it was a Jewish custom to wash your hands before leaving a cemetery and that there must be running water somewhere near the entrance. Evan found the fountain quickly and we filled up our water bottles. Next we spread out the tarp, unrolled the sleeping bags and triend to get some sleep. We planned to leave at 5am so I set an alarm.
It was one of the worst nights of sleep in my life. We woke up ervery half hour or so and 5am came much too early. In the morning, Evan noticed a bite near his ankle and said that his foot felt numb. I couldn't tell if it was a spider or a scorpion bite but it definitely did not look good. I asked him if he could continue riding or not and he said he'd give it a try. We really had no ther choice at this point.
About 3 hours later, Evan was exhausted. His foot had swollen slightly and he felt light-headed. I felt his forehead, he may have had a fever but it was impossible to tell in this heat. Evan told me that he could not bike any further and would just hitchhike into Nazareth with his bike on a truck. He impressed upon me his confidence in this venture and told me that I should continue biking on. I said okay and left him on the side of the road, then continued down the mountain. I had at this point, only one full water bottle left. Guy's map indicated that there was a store and gasd station about 4km away. When I got there however, it was closed down. The next station was through a large field and at least 18km away. It was getting hot in the day at this time but I thought that I could make it.
I started out on the trail though the field. In the valley it was much hotter than in the mountains. I slowly drank the rest of my water and just hoped that the store would be near. It seemed to never come. Turn after turn would only reveal more dusty trail. Finally, the heat began to get the better of me, I was exhausted, hot and my throat was parched. The Israeli military was practicing fly-bys in the sky with loud jets and I seriously considered starting an alert fire on the ground of some sort. I kept riding but felt seriously fatigued. I was seeing traces of light, flashes in my vision and I thought I might just pass out. It was 11am.
A small trail off the main trail I was riding on appeared to the left and there was a line of trees at the end of it. I thought it would at least offer some shade so I rode towards it. I couldn't believe what I found on the other side of the trees. Miraculously, through the trees was a Jewish cemetery. I remembered what Evan had told me the night before and just as it is customary, there was water piped into a fountain from a nearby stream/ The pipes were made of black rubber and the water was hot but I drank two liters of it none-the-less. It was so refreshing. I drank and drank, filled up my water bottles, took a quick rest then rode further northeast. There was a town less than 9km away.
Before I got to the town I found a place where cows feed. I decided to sleep for a few hours and wait for the heat to dissipate. Around2 or 3 o'clock I left and arrived in town, bout some food then headed up the mountain for Nazareth 14km away.
In Nazareth, I found the Fauzi Azar Inn, where David lives. He was away for a few days but Evan had made it there before me. He had indeed been able to catch a lift with his bicycle. His foot however, had not gotten better. Evan slept all day and night while I explored the city, taking pictures.
In the morning I awoke early to write. Evan woke up around 8am and his foot was still swollen. He couldn't walk on it properly. The people at the Inn decided it was best for him to go to the hospital. Plans for him will most likely need to be altered. We are not certain what he will do yet except for spending a few days in Nazareth to visit a doctor and recuperate. It is likely that he will take a bus to Jerusalem and wait for me to bike there by myself.
As for me, I am biking to the Golan Heights soon and then into the West Bank. I will meet him in Jerusalem in 5 days or so at his grandmother's house. David should be joining us there.
It has been quite an adventure so far. I continue the conversations with people, obtaining perspectives and sharing stories. At the moment, these are being collected separately. Evan will post the conversation with Yotam in a separate blog when he is up to it. Until next time, Shalom, Saleem, Peace. Michael
Meeting an Angel
In the afternoon the next day, we set out by bike for Nazareth. We were unsure of out route, distance and time it take us to get there. Our only map at this point was the rental car map that Oliver had given us. But we decided to stay along the coast for as long as possible. The ride was nice. Just north of Tel Aviv we stopped on a beach and watch the sun set. We found a dirt path and continued north. In the town of Hertzliya we stopped again. Our pack racks were suffering miserably from the bumpy ride and it would be necessary to rearrange them if we were to continue. Evan and I were standing outside the entrance to a boardwalk when a man biked up to us and asked if we were touring. He spoke excellent English and was very pleasant. He introduced himself as Guy and said he had done the same thing last year, biking all over Israel from the north to the south.
"It is a great thing to be a tourist in your own country," he said. "Sometimes I just get the urge to ride the bike then I'm off. Sometimes for a week, or a month or whatever it takes." Guy has also biked in Europe, the eastern US and South America.I thought I had met my Israeli counterpart.
We inquired about the best route to Nazareth and showed him our map. He took a quick look at it and told us we would never make it with that. "The scale is too small and this only shows the major roads. If you want, you can follow me to my house, about 20 minutes away and I will give you my map. It would be an honor for me to let you have it." We said okay and then he offered us food and a shower as well. We had just eaten and had been on the trail for only 3 hours so we politely declined. "I understand," Guy said. "You do not yet feel worthy of a shower."
On the 20 minute ride to Guy's house, both of our racks began to fall apart and it was really difficult to keep our packs on the bicycles. When we finally made it to his house, he told us that he had a set of bike saddlebags that we could borrow. I felt like once again a fortunate godsend had fallen upon us.
Inside, Guy made us some juice and fed us watermelon he had left over from a party. "The national dessert," he called it. He made us relax on his couch while he looked for his map and saddlebags. Evan and I could not stop looking at each other while he was in the other room rummaging around. We just kept smiling, thinking about our good fortune. When we returned to the couch, Guy had a fold-out laminated map of Israel on a 1:250,000 scale. It showed almost every road and quite a few trails. He spent the next half an hour translating the names of towns and roads along the way from Hebrew to English. Then we exchanged Evan's pack for his saddlebags, lightened some of my load and tightened down my pack on the rack. I felt confident now that we could make it with this arrangement.
It was very good to meet Guy. When we told him of our plan to eventually travel down into the West Bank, he only expressed a slight hesitant warning. "There is a lot of talk about the risk and danger but in reality not much ever happens. I would not do it but I do not think you have to worry much. It is your decision, your adventure but still, be careful.
"There is a conflict. We do not need to talk politics about it. I am sure you are aware. There is not much trust between Israelis and Arabs, especially those in the occupied territories."
This was one thing that I was beginning to notice. Israeli Jews did not refer to it as Palestine or even the West Bank. It was always the occupied territories. Still to this day I have not heard one Israeli Jew refer to Palestine as anything other than that.
When Evan and I were standing on his fromt steps ready to bike back to the beach and camp for the night, I asked Guy if he would like to come with us.
"Yes," he said. "But no, I will see you again." We said our goodbyes and rode away. I felt like I had just met an angel.
"It is a great thing to be a tourist in your own country," he said. "Sometimes I just get the urge to ride the bike then I'm off. Sometimes for a week, or a month or whatever it takes." Guy has also biked in Europe, the eastern US and South America.I thought I had met my Israeli counterpart.
We inquired about the best route to Nazareth and showed him our map. He took a quick look at it and told us we would never make it with that. "The scale is too small and this only shows the major roads. If you want, you can follow me to my house, about 20 minutes away and I will give you my map. It would be an honor for me to let you have it." We said okay and then he offered us food and a shower as well. We had just eaten and had been on the trail for only 3 hours so we politely declined. "I understand," Guy said. "You do not yet feel worthy of a shower."
On the 20 minute ride to Guy's house, both of our racks began to fall apart and it was really difficult to keep our packs on the bicycles. When we finally made it to his house, he told us that he had a set of bike saddlebags that we could borrow. I felt like once again a fortunate godsend had fallen upon us.
Inside, Guy made us some juice and fed us watermelon he had left over from a party. "The national dessert," he called it. He made us relax on his couch while he looked for his map and saddlebags. Evan and I could not stop looking at each other while he was in the other room rummaging around. We just kept smiling, thinking about our good fortune. When we returned to the couch, Guy had a fold-out laminated map of Israel on a 1:250,000 scale. It showed almost every road and quite a few trails. He spent the next half an hour translating the names of towns and roads along the way from Hebrew to English. Then we exchanged Evan's pack for his saddlebags, lightened some of my load and tightened down my pack on the rack. I felt confident now that we could make it with this arrangement.
It was very good to meet Guy. When we told him of our plan to eventually travel down into the West Bank, he only expressed a slight hesitant warning. "There is a lot of talk about the risk and danger but in reality not much ever happens. I would not do it but I do not think you have to worry much. It is your decision, your adventure but still, be careful.
"There is a conflict. We do not need to talk politics about it. I am sure you are aware. There is not much trust between Israelis and Arabs, especially those in the occupied territories."
This was one thing that I was beginning to notice. Israeli Jews did not refer to it as Palestine or even the West Bank. It was always the occupied territories. Still to this day I have not heard one Israeli Jew refer to Palestine as anything other than that.
When Evan and I were standing on his fromt steps ready to bike back to the beach and camp for the night, I asked Guy if he would like to come with us.
"Yes," he said. "But no, I will see you again." We said our goodbyes and rode away. I felt like I had just met an angel.
Monday, July 28, 2008
We Got Bikes.
This morning Evan and I ate cake for breakfast with Yotam and his family in their home in Tel Aviv. We were also offered cookies, brownies and coffee. The coffee was delicious. Yotam's father Jdi said, "This is because it is the best of two worlds. Italian coffee made the American way."
After breakfast we talked to about our plans to find bicycles at a shop in Tel Aviv. We had the location to the shop and Jdi said that he would drop us off on his way to work. Before we left though, he got an idea to call one of his employee's, Michael who is an avid cyclist. Jdi thought he may be able to find us even better bikes for a cheaper price. Evan gave him a call and made arrangements for us to meet in Or Yehuda later in the afternoon.
Yotam is Evan's friend and a soldier in the Israeli Army. At 20 years old, he is apart of a 250,000 member branch engaged in compulsory service. The night before, he had agreed to let us interview him when he returned home from work. We have not asked yet, but we are hoping that he will keep his uniform on for the filming.
Jdi dropped Evan and I off in the city center and we walked down Abraham Lincoln St in Tel Aviv until we found the bike shop. At an average of 1,500 shekels, the bikes were more exspensive than we reasoned. Fortunately, we still had the promise of Michael's assistance.
We decided to walk to the bus station to catch a ride to Or Yehuda. Tel Aviv is very hot during the afternoon this time of year and the streets are crazy with scooters. We passed a park full of Ethiopians relaxing in the shade and then through street after street of low apartments with flat red tiled roofs. Tel Aviv in this neighborhood is beige. The bus station seems to be the tallest building around and is actually situated within a shopping bazaar complex.
In the bus station bazaar, Evan gave the man Michael a call, we arranged to meet and then boarded the bus.
Michael is a well built man. He looks strong and fast and professes to be a very good freestyle bicyclist. He is 40 years old. He is also tan, quick witted and at one point in the afternoon showed is videos he posted on you tube of him doing some insane mountain bike jumps in the desert with his friends. Evan and I liked him immediately.
We met him at the bus stop in Or Yehuda and he drove us to a very simple neighborhood nearby.
The house that we parked in front of was small with a narrow pathway leading into a backyard. In the back were bicycles. Some were standing upright, others were hanging from a makeshift porch celing. Inside a shed in the rear were more bikes in boxes and lots of bike parts and equipment. There were three men outside, all orthodox and Michael introduced us to the oldest one, Amos.
Amos had a long grey beard, bright eyes and spoke very little English. He asked Evan if he spoke Hebrew and Evan said, "A little." Amos told him, "It is best to speak Hebrew and only a little English." We laughed.
We told Amos, through Michael, that we were looking for good mountain bikes with a rear rack to hold our gear. He showed us a few bikes for around 950 shekels. They were perfect except for the fact that they would not have fit us. You could tell that Amos was thinking, walking around his make-shift shop. Evan and I went inside the shed to look at bicycle equipment and Michael began telling us about Amos and his bicycle mission.
"He sells bikes very cheap here. The other shops don't like that but he is only out to make 20% and donates a lot to children's charities. Every year he raises mone, about 6,000 shekels to buy more bikes and gives them away to children. This is a very good place."
When Amos had finished thinking, he joined us in the shed. He said he had two bikes that he could rent us for three weeks. The price was 300 shekels a piece.
The bikes were better than perfect; dual suspension, 27 speeds, aluminum frames and disk brakes. They had good tires although you could see that they had been ridden hard recently in the desert. Both bikes needed a tune-up which I assured them I could do myself. Still, they changed the tubes and added back racks to both, and new brake pads and pedals on one. We paid the man Amos, thanked him and then insisted on taking Michael to lunch. He agreed.
Michael took us to a small restaurant in town where we had the best falafel sandwiches I had ever eaten in my life. He actually said, "They make the best falafel in the world."
The conversation at lunch was sparse, we were enjoying our falafel too much to talk. Afterwards, Michael said we could load our bikes onto his car and he would drive us all the way back into Tel Aviv. It was very hot that day so we piled into the car and left for the city.
I began by asking Michael how long he had lived in Or Yehuda. He said all of his life but his mother was British and he had spent a few years a child in the UK. I asked him if he too, like Yotam had served in the army and he said yes. "My experience was good. They taught me many things, discipline, how to land a helicopter and I made many many close friends." I made the statement that is was somewhat unusual for me to see so many military personnel walking around the town and the city. In the US we have police but the army is not visible in this way. Michael looked at us and said, "Yes, but in the US, you do not have the Arabs."
"Arabs like to fight. It is in their nature. Every few years they just need to start trouble with us. The army is necessary to keep them away, to keep us safe."
I then asked Michael if he had any Arab friends. He said, "I know some Arabs but I would not count one as a friend."
We had reached Yotam's house by this time and Michael helped us unload the bicycles from the car. He had been tremendously helpful to us, funny and warm. For the past three hours we had been shown a genuine friendliness and we were grateful to him. Evan and I said our goodbyes and we decided to take the bikes to the beach.
The sun was hot and the water refreshing. It is evident that the people of Tel Aviv love their beach. I went for a swim in the Mediterranean and felt cool all over. Towards the south from the water I could see the city of Joppa, an Arab inhabitance over 3000 years old and the world's oldest seaport. The city's buildings, white stone, glistened in the sun and sea.
After we were wet, Evan and I found some chairs and an umbrella to sit and talk about the day.
My friend Evan is Jewish. Borned and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, he is of Ashkanazi decent, Jews from eastern European countries. His family is reformed and they are all very intellectually interestd in the Jewish culture and the socio-political reality of the state of Israel.
Evan asked me, "Do you get the feeling or sense right now that you are on a Jewish beach?" There was a big Israeli flag on a pole, blowing in the warm breeze not far from the surf but at the moment I was feeling rather tranquil and enjoying the beautiful view of this part of the world.
"No," I said "Except for maybe that big flag." We talked about the idea of the State of Israel. We began by agreeing how wonderful it was for Jews to finally have a home to recognize after so many years of national homelessness, how special and unique the Jewish culture is, how fascinating, tragic and triumphant, its history has been and how creative it is in its artistic and intellectual culture. Our conversation then began to dive deeper. We allowed ourselves to empathize with the city of Tel Aviv, less than ten years earlier when rockets were fired and bombers were blowing themselves up on buses, on the streets and cafes. We acknowledged the fear and insecurity that it's residents must have felt at this time and began to understand why the military was seen by so many as such an important presence. On the edge od the Mediterranean, amidst hundreds of beach going Israelis, we began to speculate on the possibilities for this place in the future. There are Palestinians not 10 kilometers east of here in the West Bank who may never see the beautiful beach (Of course, they do have Gaza...): Would a one state solution ever be possible?
"There is a distinction of character here in Israel, even at this beach that might make a multi-ethnic society a problem to realize," Evan said. But before we can even begin realistically looking at solutions, "after being here just days it is clear that a basic apathy and racial insensitivity are causal in the continuation of this political conflict. And the question is: how is that to be addressed? What is the most effective way to penetrate such narrowness? Is it possible to impose a political solution from the top and have everything fall into place, or will the hostility need to be addressed on a civic level before a political solution becomes possible? Clearly the two sides overlap. How do we address people like Michael, slinging racist epithets with this sort of casual conviction? Meeting Michael did make me realize that racism is not necessarily a defining characteristic. It is a paradox: how could a man so gregarious and warm be so myopic and parochial in his assessment of his neighbors, the Arabs, at the same time." And how then is it possible to approach this attitude and illuminate it until it changes?
Furthermore, it is somehow the powers that be that are responsible for this sea change of cultural and social thought. It really is no fault of Michael that he thinks about Palestinians the way he does, he is responding as he has been thought by the social and political institutions around him. We cannot hold him ultimately culpable for his ideology. Like all of us, he is a reflection or conduit of his culture at large. The question then becomes: how can a society- the State of Israel-- bethe vessel of such vibrant and rich, beautiful and intelligent culture, hold attitudes and practices toward Palestinians that are quite frankly morally reprehensible?
At the moment I am assuming I will approach the same sort of mentality in the West Bank, but that is still miles away by the the bike.
After the beach we headed up Shenkin St and stopped at Cafe Tamar. The place looked like Brooklyn from the outside. Soon after we were seated a man came onto the patio drinking a beer and sat opposite us. He had an English language map of Israel and asked if I could see it.
"You don't know how impossible it is to find one of these." I said
"Oh. My rental car company gave it to me." His name was Oliver, a German engineer doing bio-energy work near Shkelon. "Please pray for me," he said, "as it is very close to Gaza." I told him that we would. He asked what we were doing and I explained our project, giving him the website address as well.
"How brave. It is ironic that you come to this particular cafe. In all of Tel Aviv you come to the old leftest Tamar Cafe."
He then explained that he had been coming here for years. Across the street was the old "Histadrut," a trade union newspaper, now defunct, known for its socialist convictions. The Tamar Cafe has been run by the same woman, Ms. Stern for 50 years. She is still behind the counter today.
"Back when the left was still the left, this was the place where journalists, liberals, intellectuals would meet in Tel Aviv. It is funny that you two just chanced upon it," Oliver said. I thought so too. He was very courteous. I thanked him for his map which he insisted on us keeping. After a short talk we headed back to meet Yotam. He was just getting off work.
Yotam would not wear his uniform but took us to a small pub in Tel Aviv where we interviewed him. Evan will be posting a separate blog entry of the conversation.
After breakfast we talked to about our plans to find bicycles at a shop in Tel Aviv. We had the location to the shop and Jdi said that he would drop us off on his way to work. Before we left though, he got an idea to call one of his employee's, Michael who is an avid cyclist. Jdi thought he may be able to find us even better bikes for a cheaper price. Evan gave him a call and made arrangements for us to meet in Or Yehuda later in the afternoon.
Yotam is Evan's friend and a soldier in the Israeli Army. At 20 years old, he is apart of a 250,000 member branch engaged in compulsory service. The night before, he had agreed to let us interview him when he returned home from work. We have not asked yet, but we are hoping that he will keep his uniform on for the filming.
Jdi dropped Evan and I off in the city center and we walked down Abraham Lincoln St in Tel Aviv until we found the bike shop. At an average of 1,500 shekels, the bikes were more exspensive than we reasoned. Fortunately, we still had the promise of Michael's assistance.
We decided to walk to the bus station to catch a ride to Or Yehuda. Tel Aviv is very hot during the afternoon this time of year and the streets are crazy with scooters. We passed a park full of Ethiopians relaxing in the shade and then through street after street of low apartments with flat red tiled roofs. Tel Aviv in this neighborhood is beige. The bus station seems to be the tallest building around and is actually situated within a shopping bazaar complex.
In the bus station bazaar, Evan gave the man Michael a call, we arranged to meet and then boarded the bus.
Michael is a well built man. He looks strong and fast and professes to be a very good freestyle bicyclist. He is 40 years old. He is also tan, quick witted and at one point in the afternoon showed is videos he posted on you tube of him doing some insane mountain bike jumps in the desert with his friends. Evan and I liked him immediately.
We met him at the bus stop in Or Yehuda and he drove us to a very simple neighborhood nearby.
The house that we parked in front of was small with a narrow pathway leading into a backyard. In the back were bicycles. Some were standing upright, others were hanging from a makeshift porch celing. Inside a shed in the rear were more bikes in boxes and lots of bike parts and equipment. There were three men outside, all orthodox and Michael introduced us to the oldest one, Amos.
Amos had a long grey beard, bright eyes and spoke very little English. He asked Evan if he spoke Hebrew and Evan said, "A little." Amos told him, "It is best to speak Hebrew and only a little English." We laughed.
We told Amos, through Michael, that we were looking for good mountain bikes with a rear rack to hold our gear. He showed us a few bikes for around 950 shekels. They were perfect except for the fact that they would not have fit us. You could tell that Amos was thinking, walking around his make-shift shop. Evan and I went inside the shed to look at bicycle equipment and Michael began telling us about Amos and his bicycle mission.
"He sells bikes very cheap here. The other shops don't like that but he is only out to make 20% and donates a lot to children's charities. Every year he raises mone, about 6,000 shekels to buy more bikes and gives them away to children. This is a very good place."
When Amos had finished thinking, he joined us in the shed. He said he had two bikes that he could rent us for three weeks. The price was 300 shekels a piece.
The bikes were better than perfect; dual suspension, 27 speeds, aluminum frames and disk brakes. They had good tires although you could see that they had been ridden hard recently in the desert. Both bikes needed a tune-up which I assured them I could do myself. Still, they changed the tubes and added back racks to both, and new brake pads and pedals on one. We paid the man Amos, thanked him and then insisted on taking Michael to lunch. He agreed.
Michael took us to a small restaurant in town where we had the best falafel sandwiches I had ever eaten in my life. He actually said, "They make the best falafel in the world."
The conversation at lunch was sparse, we were enjoying our falafel too much to talk. Afterwards, Michael said we could load our bikes onto his car and he would drive us all the way back into Tel Aviv. It was very hot that day so we piled into the car and left for the city.
I began by asking Michael how long he had lived in Or Yehuda. He said all of his life but his mother was British and he had spent a few years a child in the UK. I asked him if he too, like Yotam had served in the army and he said yes. "My experience was good. They taught me many things, discipline, how to land a helicopter and I made many many close friends." I made the statement that is was somewhat unusual for me to see so many military personnel walking around the town and the city. In the US we have police but the army is not visible in this way. Michael looked at us and said, "Yes, but in the US, you do not have the Arabs."
"Arabs like to fight. It is in their nature. Every few years they just need to start trouble with us. The army is necessary to keep them away, to keep us safe."
I then asked Michael if he had any Arab friends. He said, "I know some Arabs but I would not count one as a friend."
We had reached Yotam's house by this time and Michael helped us unload the bicycles from the car. He had been tremendously helpful to us, funny and warm. For the past three hours we had been shown a genuine friendliness and we were grateful to him. Evan and I said our goodbyes and we decided to take the bikes to the beach.
The sun was hot and the water refreshing. It is evident that the people of Tel Aviv love their beach. I went for a swim in the Mediterranean and felt cool all over. Towards the south from the water I could see the city of Joppa, an Arab inhabitance over 3000 years old and the world's oldest seaport. The city's buildings, white stone, glistened in the sun and sea.
After we were wet, Evan and I found some chairs and an umbrella to sit and talk about the day.
My friend Evan is Jewish. Borned and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, he is of Ashkanazi decent, Jews from eastern European countries. His family is reformed and they are all very intellectually interestd in the Jewish culture and the socio-political reality of the state of Israel.
Evan asked me, "Do you get the feeling or sense right now that you are on a Jewish beach?" There was a big Israeli flag on a pole, blowing in the warm breeze not far from the surf but at the moment I was feeling rather tranquil and enjoying the beautiful view of this part of the world.
"No," I said "Except for maybe that big flag." We talked about the idea of the State of Israel. We began by agreeing how wonderful it was for Jews to finally have a home to recognize after so many years of national homelessness, how special and unique the Jewish culture is, how fascinating, tragic and triumphant, its history has been and how creative it is in its artistic and intellectual culture. Our conversation then began to dive deeper. We allowed ourselves to empathize with the city of Tel Aviv, less than ten years earlier when rockets were fired and bombers were blowing themselves up on buses, on the streets and cafes. We acknowledged the fear and insecurity that it's residents must have felt at this time and began to understand why the military was seen by so many as such an important presence. On the edge od the Mediterranean, amidst hundreds of beach going Israelis, we began to speculate on the possibilities for this place in the future. There are Palestinians not 10 kilometers east of here in the West Bank who may never see the beautiful beach (Of course, they do have Gaza...): Would a one state solution ever be possible?
"There is a distinction of character here in Israel, even at this beach that might make a multi-ethnic society a problem to realize," Evan said. But before we can even begin realistically looking at solutions, "after being here just days it is clear that a basic apathy and racial insensitivity are causal in the continuation of this political conflict. And the question is: how is that to be addressed? What is the most effective way to penetrate such narrowness? Is it possible to impose a political solution from the top and have everything fall into place, or will the hostility need to be addressed on a civic level before a political solution becomes possible? Clearly the two sides overlap. How do we address people like Michael, slinging racist epithets with this sort of casual conviction? Meeting Michael did make me realize that racism is not necessarily a defining characteristic. It is a paradox: how could a man so gregarious and warm be so myopic and parochial in his assessment of his neighbors, the Arabs, at the same time." And how then is it possible to approach this attitude and illuminate it until it changes?
Furthermore, it is somehow the powers that be that are responsible for this sea change of cultural and social thought. It really is no fault of Michael that he thinks about Palestinians the way he does, he is responding as he has been thought by the social and political institutions around him. We cannot hold him ultimately culpable for his ideology. Like all of us, he is a reflection or conduit of his culture at large. The question then becomes: how can a society- the State of Israel-- bethe vessel of such vibrant and rich, beautiful and intelligent culture, hold attitudes and practices toward Palestinians that are quite frankly morally reprehensible?
At the moment I am assuming I will approach the same sort of mentality in the West Bank, but that is still miles away by the the bike.
After the beach we headed up Shenkin St and stopped at Cafe Tamar. The place looked like Brooklyn from the outside. Soon after we were seated a man came onto the patio drinking a beer and sat opposite us. He had an English language map of Israel and asked if I could see it.
"You don't know how impossible it is to find one of these." I said
"Oh. My rental car company gave it to me." His name was Oliver, a German engineer doing bio-energy work near Shkelon. "Please pray for me," he said, "as it is very close to Gaza." I told him that we would. He asked what we were doing and I explained our project, giving him the website address as well.
"How brave. It is ironic that you come to this particular cafe. In all of Tel Aviv you come to the old leftest Tamar Cafe."
He then explained that he had been coming here for years. Across the street was the old "Histadrut," a trade union newspaper, now defunct, known for its socialist convictions. The Tamar Cafe has been run by the same woman, Ms. Stern for 50 years. She is still behind the counter today.
"Back when the left was still the left, this was the place where journalists, liberals, intellectuals would meet in Tel Aviv. It is funny that you two just chanced upon it," Oliver said. I thought so too. He was very courteous. I thanked him for his map which he insisted on us keeping. After a short talk we headed back to meet Yotam. He was just getting off work.
Yotam would not wear his uniform but took us to a small pub in Tel Aviv where we interviewed him. Evan will be posting a separate blog entry of the conversation.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Here We Go!
Greetings. This is the first posting of my blog and I would like to begin by presenting our itinerary.
Arrive in Tel Aviv 7/20
Nazareth 7/23-24
Golan Heights 7/25-7/27
Nazareth 7/28
Jericho 7/29
Ramallah 7/30
Jerusalem 7/31-8/2
Bethlehem 8/2-8/4
Beit Sahour 8/4
Hebron 8/5
Jerusalem 8/6
Tel Aviv 8/7
Depart Tel Aviv 8/8
Arrive in Tel Aviv 7/20
Nazareth 7/23-24
Golan Heights 7/25-7/27
Nazareth 7/28
Jericho 7/29
Ramallah 7/30
Jerusalem 7/31-8/2
Bethlehem 8/2-8/4
Beit Sahour 8/4
Hebron 8/5
Jerusalem 8/6
Tel Aviv 8/7
Depart Tel Aviv 8/8
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