With any luck this video depicting an apparent violation of the laws of physics will be amusing enough to make up for my forgetfulness.
I had decided I wanted to acquire a Hebrew New Testament, and I'd been told that the Church of the Redeemer, a beautiful Lutheran church in the middle of the Old City, had them. Travelling through the Old City, of course, requires buying a delicious sticky pastry of a type you don't recognize.
The church was closed -- actually, quite a few of the Christian churches in the area close early on Sunday, that being the day when they need to not have tourists flooding it if they want to hold services. Which some do, even in a country where Sunday isn't part of the weekend!
Anyway, my quest having been cut short, I decided to visit shop after shop until I found something I hadn't seen anywhere else. (And yet I also bought a small wooden recorder of the extremely cheap kind that half the shops have in barrels outside their doors.) That's one of the depressing things about the Old City: at first everything looks so new and unique, but if you spend a day there you realize they must all have the same supplier.
Which reminds me of haggling for a second set of wooden prayer beads on behalf of my friend Amir. I had bought a similar set earlier for twelve shekels, so I knew they weren't worth very much. When I went into one guy's shop for the second set, he pulled one out of a plastic bag -- one of several identical ones -- and said it was normally a hundred, but for me, eighty. I decided to be a little generous and say twenty, and stay there. Eventually he gave in ("Don't always be pushing!" he advised me), but along the way he said they made the sets themselves. This, while his walls were lined with all the exact same trinkets as every other shop!
Some of the more interesting and unique shops are the ones that sell antiques.
Sadly, those are way out of my price range... last year, I asked about a small dagger of the material in that last picture, and the opening price was twelve hundred. Twelve hundred dollars, that is, not shekels.
My new quest to find a unique item turned up very little, but I did find a weird double-flute that is, as far as I can tell, physically unplayable if mildly pretty, and a French-speaking shopkeeper from whom I bought something just in gratitude for the conversation.
The trip ended at a restaurant. Which of these pizza-type objects would you be willing to buy?
No doubt the usual good social things happened that evening as well -- time with friends and apartment family. We can only guess.
On Monday Lars accompanied me on another foray to the church to get the Hebrew New Testament.
Those of you who read along last year might remember the insignia above the door here. I've always liked it, though this was the first time I came by when the church was actually open.
They did have free Hebrew New Testaments, so I took one for myself and one to give away. I figured someone in my class would want it -- after all, we had two Bible teachers from China.
The church also offers tours of the basement. We weren't terribly interested, but we did get some good views of the typically amazing architecture in the old churches of Jerusalem.
And then Lars and I did the same as I'd done on Sunday. Another type of shop that's more interesting than most is the bootlegs, largely for the poor packaging evident to anyone who knows the product. Like this game:
The year of release is wrong; the developer studio is wrong; the tagline is composed of seemingly random keywords; and, most amusingly, this game was released for free online anyway. At least it's only ten shekels, which even beats Walmart's shelf of $5 obscure computerized board games from the 90s.
While we're on the subject of odd packaging, would you trust any of these items from your local grocery store?
Not that there's anything wrong with "snack sticks". But how will an Israeli kid who moves to Canada when he grows up know to ask for "pretzels"? If you worked at Loblaws and a customer inquired where the snack sticks were, would you know where to direct him?
Okay, okay, enough teasing for one day. Moving on, although I don't have a cat picture to end the whole post with, we can at least end this day with one.
Tuesday was equally restful. In Hebrew class we were emerging from the forest of infinitives, which made me happy since they greatly multiplied the sentences we could produce.
In the afternoon Caper and I practised for an oral Hebrew quiz the following day. We had to write a Hebrew dialogue and perform it for the professor; the translation runs something like this:
Luke: This cafeteria is not amazing. I don't like the coffee.
Caper: Well, the tea's good. How's the cake?
Luke: Fine... Shani said you're going to see a movie this evening?
Caper: Yeah! Ya'el and I want to see the new movie at the cinematheque. Are you coming?
Luke: Only if we eat falafel at a restaurant after the movie.
Caper: Ah, sorry, I'm driving to Haifa tonight. I've got work there in the morning.
Luke: Tough break!
Caper: Maybe you and Ya'el can eat falafel without me -- I think she likes falafel.
Luke: Sweet. So what're you doing now?
Caper: I'm going home to meet my mum. And you?
Luke: I'm going to the Rockefeller Museum, since I volunteer there.
Caper: Nice. Good afternoon!
Luke: Bye!
So... not the most fascinating exchange, but it was fun to perform it in Hebrew. The last word is "yallabai", an expression Hebrew borrowed from Arabic (where its context was limited to ending phone conversations). You also hear "yalla" ("c'mon") on its own quite a lot in the street.
Later in the afternoon I revisited my beloved little Shepherd's Field; here's a quadtych from it.
And Lars and I had planned to go back to David's Kitchen (now Solomon's, you'll remember) in the Old City for another meal.
We decided to try Israeli garlic bread. It's much like normal garlic bread, except that since it's spiced with mint, it's doubly amazing.
And we walked home along the main street again, just because we could. I wonder if it's Israel that's the odd one out for having a sign in the middle of the street with directions to entirely different cities, or Canada for only having such things on highways??
(Incidentally, the Hebrew for "centre" says, less nebulously, "centre of the city".)
Wednesday's main event was the ramparts walk that Paul, Lars, and I went on. The Old City, as you know very well by now, is surrounded by tall Ottoman walls, and it's possible to walk along them. The catch is that someone or other controls the entrance and there's a small fee. But for the vistas it offers, it's well worth it.
The light rail is by now, of course, old news.
Their signs do have an interesting depiction of a cigarette, though.
The ads in Jerusalem are generally a little bizarre, I find, but this one is just as typically manipulative as we're used to:
It makes me a little frustrated how directly opposite the pitch is from the reality. Dreaming of the future is one thing, but who ever actually reached it by complacently sitting on their balcony, staring wistfully out over the ocean?
The entrance to the ramparts walk was by Jaffa Gate. Just inside the outer wall there was the remnant of an older wall, a scrappier-looking and shorter deal. We hypothesized that Paul could climb it using all the rough edges of the stone, and soon our hypothesis was tested:
It was slow going, though, and he dropped down once the possibility was established. Possible, but not efficient for capturing cities, I guess. A little bit of the rock came away and crumbled in Paul's hand, and he commented in reverence, "It's amazing to think that this piece of stone was put here fifteen hundred years ago and didn't move the whole time, but I just tried climbing it now and dislodged it." Makes you think.
Here's a clearer view of the outer wall (on the left) and the inner wall, as seen from a point where the outer wall suddenly rises drastically.
Above here, there was a double wall with a walkway through it:
A sign explained that one side was the original wall and the other a hasty job done by troops stationed here during one of the battles for Israel's statehood (if I recall correctly. The picture is kind of making me doubt myself. Anyway, that was the only explanation posted of any second layer of wall).
On the inside of the wall, there was a police station with horses:
As well as a steep drop:
This view faces backwards towards Jaffa Gate and the Tower of David, which is a citadel dominated by the minaret you see in the centre of the picture.
Paul and I mostly walked on top of the walls as we went. Lars later said she was terrified of the peril to our lives, but with a little caution to avoid the rough spots it was fine. They top is quite broad. (The worst was when a ticket inspector came along and I had to drop down, which I did with an audible "Ow!" that hurt more the next morning.)
As we progressed, we approached a corner of the walls. We were surprised to discover that they have enough space inside the walls for... a parking lot!
The views only improved, meanwhile. I would totally feel safe behind these walls.
This perspective also provides an opportunity for the comment that downtown Jerusalem is quite green, but not in the effortless way that Canadian cities are. It all feels as if it's been eked out of the deserty land.
There were a number of places where it was possible to drop down on the inside of the wall, if it were only possible to get back up...
We came to the corner at last.
Across from it was an Armenian cemetery. Notice how every grave seems to have an above-ground tomb. Impressive if stark-looking.
I do like the spires of the church(es? I forget) adjacent to it.
The Armenian Quarter proper followed. I remember walking down this street with Lyera last year.
The construction of this building demonstrates the stone façade that is legally required for every building in Jerusalem.
Views of the Kidron Valley followed...
Meanwhile, the things they had room for on the inside became more and more unlikely. Like these ping-pong tables.
And this basketball court.
After all, it's so crowded just a minute's walk away in the other three quarters! Not to mention outside the walls. It must be expensive to live in the Armenian Quarter.
We happened upon a set of steps descending into an ominous black pit.
It turned out to be some kind of guardroom.
Back on the surface, they were fitting more creative things in all their free space...
Soon we reached a surprisingly well-guarded gate (student entrance is only eight shekels, after all) ending the official part of the walk.
There's a bit of free, street-level walking after that. Actually, we soon came to one of the closest views of Temple Mount I think you can get without being on it or below it.
Down below, someone was singing and a crowd had gathered. We didn't really stop to listen, since Ivony had asked us to get back in good time for a special supper she was planning to cook.
Passing through the Western Wall plaza on the way back, we discovered that they can somehow get tour buses in there (there's a very narrow entrance). And this isn't just any tour bus. This is a wi-fi bus!
Somehow it felt like the Old City, which is of course perennially interesting, was even more so than usual today.
We figured it wouldn't spoil our appetites to try one of this guy's freshly fried falafel-style balls. So delicious. And he was so happy to pose for a picture.
We also passed a toy shop featuring some delightful engrish, like this interest composite picture.
Although the Armenian Quarter is the more obviously residential one, people live throughout the Old City. And if you're quick, you can glimpse children peeking at you out of upper-storey windows:
Soon after we finally returned, Ivony revealed her supper: chicken drumsticks with a lychee and (I believe) onion garnishing. NICE.
And now, so that you remember that this a transition between days, one of them night shots.
Followed by some of them extremely foggy morning shots.
I woke up on Thursday in a good deal of muscle pain (actually, at first I thought it might have been a fracture from that fall or something, but Paul explained it all to me at 4 a.m.), and, exhausted as I was, decided not to do much. But I was really beginning to feel my time in Israel running out and got the urge to photo-document the campus and its surroundings.
"Its surroundings" includes the lovely British military cemetery.
As so rarely happens, the monument/chamber that sits at the top of the cemetery was open. The inside is not as nice, though, as the view from its door.
Back on campus, we find the administrative building bathed in early sunlight.
And in the botanical gardens, the Nicanor Tombs, originally carved out two thousand years ago.
As well as, of course, all the scenery you expect from a botanical garden.
Another last visit was paid, this one to the roof of the Boyar Building and its familiar panoramas.
During a break from class (this was our second-last day!), Caper joined me up on the roof and we heard these explosions. They're the ones that we mistook for gunshots last year and that turned out to be fireworks, but these ones were accompanied by flashes of light and smoke from the windows of some buildings. Here's a short video -- the flashes aren't really visible, but (over some dialogue in which we puzzle over the explosions) you can at least hear the bangs.
Although they were pretty unlike any fireworks we'd ever seen and it was moreover the middle of the day, I was sceptical of their gunshotness. There really didn't seem to be any other signs of a fight. The controversy continued in class, where at least one student concluded it was gunshots. But in the end it was confirmed to be a celebration of some kind. So I guess that was a near miss, or perhaps not, depending on how you look at it.
This being the second-last day, there was a celebration ("mesiba") for the whole ulpan, which is to say all the Hebrew summer classes of all levels. Everyone was to meet in the auditorium/piano room, and each was expected to have some kind of talent to present.
We had talked about some songs, but there was no consensus (except on "Kol Ha'olam Kulo" ("The Whole World Is a Bridge"), which everyone was sure to be doing). For a while we were set on "Ein Khagigah Bli Uga" ("There's No Party without Cake"), but it's really a children's song, and Ateret said all the other teachers would laugh at her if we sang that. So we settled on a short one called "Hayamim Kholfim" ("The Days Pass") she had introduced us to recently. After we tried it out a couple of times, the good solos emerged: Caper and another student named Colin. We planned four rounds with different arrangements of singers.
We also decided to say "Have a good year!" in as many different languages as we could muster between us: Hebrew, English, Arabic, Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin, French, Slovenian, German, and Danish, if I remember correctly. Now, the previous Friday, after the last Hebrew singing session, there was a break before class resumed, so I went up to the piano as people were leaving. But Ateret saw me and told the class they were going to stay and listen to me play. Surprised, I gave a mini-concert of four songs, and afterwards I agreed to Ateret's request that I play something at the mesiba. So our setlist was a piano song from me, a class rendition of Hayamim Kholfim, and our multilingual greeting.
The mesiba was enjoyable, if a little haphazard. Most every class did a song (and there were indeed several Kol Ha'olam Kulos, including one featuring an impressive rap breakdown), but only a few sang with coordination and motivation. They also played several YouTube videos of Hebrew songs. One class had appointed a member to be a robot responsive to everyone's Hebrew commands, mostly pertaining to dancing. There was also a soloist for a couple of Arabic songs who was nice to listen to.
In other news: in this season the moon is terrifically visible during the day. Fitting, I suppose, for the fact that I was napping not long after getting back to the Student Village.
The last day I'll cover in this post is Friday. On the first weekend in Jerusalem, I booked a tour with the school's Office of Student Activities to Old Caesarea, the ruins of a Roman city built by Herod, and to Zikhron Ya'akov, a modern but early Israeli city. None of the school tours really looked that interesting -- they mostly consisted of things I could easily see on my own -- but I didn't know how else I was going to get to Caesarea easily and what I would do once I got there, so I figured it might be worth it.
The tours are also accompanied by one or more of the madrikhim (student guides), who seemed likeable. Case in point: we were driving to Caesarea and Yonatan, our madrikh, was being asked a lot of mildly annoying questions by a pair of loud students who wanted to relate everything on the tour to figures in Christian history. After one such question, he just replied that he couldn't answer now because "holy music is playing". Sure enough, some faint type of rock was playing. "It's Deep Purple," he explained.
He also explained the origin of the surprisingly numerous pines in Israel. You see whole forests of them -- quite unnatural forests, though, since they never have any real undergrowth. Apparently the early Jewish immigrants from Europe, daunted by the desert they encountered, planted some of the hardier shade trees they knew of. These pines thrived, but as an invasive species they also competed with and eliminated huge numbers of native plants. Today there are organizations to prevent their spread and even to replace them with native trees.
Eventually we reached Caesarea. The tour guide -- whose English speech was characterized by the frequent use of the word "guys" to get our attention, a distinct lisp, and understandable misinterpretations of atypical words, like "Herod's beloving wife" -- explained how Herod had commissioned quite a large city on the coast of Israel in the Roman style.
This is the outside of the theatre, which still stands:
And this is the inside, apparently refurbished a little:
They now hold concerts here, and so this is the stage. The guide asked someone to get up and sing to demonstrate the acoustics. Someone sang "He Is Exalted" (and was pretty good, too!).
From there we went to the shore. One neat thing about these ruins, by the by, is that a block of stone was found (by then reused in a set of steps) bearing a Latin inscription mentioning Pontius Pilate.
Incidentally, here's a bit of contrast supplied by a large Israeli power plant.
The following structure was not originally submerged. An earthquake may have sunk much of the land on the coast, accounting for the extensive ruins now on the seafloor.
I guess if I lived here and liked fishing, I wouldn't have a problem with standing on the ruins to do it:
There was also a large open hippodrome for horse races.
The arches in this structure, the tour guide explained, were the Romans' main architectural innovation (and quite an important one).
Even if it is more or less stable, the central bricks looking like they've shifted over the years is a little unsettling:
The next area was the villas in which the wealthy lived. Their floors were mosaics, for crying out loud.
In the middle of the villa area was a neat public bathhouse and porch.
There's a video of Yonatan describing the gluttonous feasts of the Romans in vivid terms (complete with mock vomiting) that was, sadly, ruined by the noisy wind.
The final area of the ruins was the Crusader redevelopment of the city into a fort.
We got a long history lesson on the Crusades. The tour guide characterized them as fundamentally boorish, which, if James Michener's The Source is to be relied upon, isn't far off. Still, I'm not sure I bought it when he told us that profanity replaced greetings among the Crusaders.
As an aside, no set of ruins is complete without the accompanying gift shop and restaurant.
This part is neat in that you can see all the remains of columns, which the builders were so hasty as to throw in with all the other rubble they needed to make impromptu walls:
Also very cool was this gatehouse, the only structure whose ceiling has survived. The steep arches, said both a sign and the tour guide, demonstrate the Gothic tendencies that would soon explode across European architecture.
The last thing we saw on our way out was the large dry moat around the fort. "Unlike in movies," the tour guide said, "most moats didn't actually have water in them. Guys, you can't get across it anyway. Why do you need water?"
From there it was off for a brief swim at a nearby beach. This beach, incidentally, features the ruins of the Roman aqueduct to Caesarea. Really gives it a certain atmosphere.
The beach was just covered in shells. In places they actually formed a carpet. A Swede implied to me that all the beaches of the Mediterranean are like this, but the density in Tel Aviv was much less. Who knows, maybe they clean them up there? They're pretty, but they're certainly not as pleasant as sand to walk on!
Which reminds me: if anyone wants my excess shells, ask. :p
And from there it was off to Zikhron Ya'akov (literally "the memory of Jacob"). Remember that this is in Galilee, which is a beautifully lush area -- compared, anyway, to the rest of Israel.
Along the way Yonatan said that banana farming in Israel was the stupidest idea ever, since bananas require a lot of water and Israel has a water problem. "They don't even taste as good as tropical bananas," he lamented.
In Zikhron Ya'akov we were given some time to wander down the main street and get food and buy things and whatnot. It would be less exciting (to a person like me, anyway) if the city weren't so pleasing to the eye.
This was neither the religious hotspot of Jerusalem nor the tourist hotspot of Tel Aviv. It was just a city where Israeli people lived. I was thrilled. Even to see a couple of young parents walking down the street, the mother holding the baby and the father pushing the empty stroller, made me excited just to think that I was seeing a piece of the authentic, unaffected Israel.
Not to say it it's completely uncommercial. The main street of Zikron Ya'akov is like 80% restaurants.
This girl was playing a cover of Yiruma's River Flows in You, but didn't seem to be aware of its origin when I talked to her about it.
Finally the very quaint street ended and I came to a slightly less quaint but still quaint intersection.
There was a restaurant there and they had...
...THE BEST SHAKSHUKA EVER.
How do you eat that steaming hot mess, you ask? Well, you take three baked pitas and gradually tear off pieces and scoop up bits of the stew-like shakshuka. I've never been much of a fan of typical Israeli food, and I feel no remorse in declaring shakshuka superior to hummus.
The last part of the tour was a little historical footnote as we walked around town.
Basically, the town was one of the first settlements of Jews coming during the First Aliyah (literally "ascension", here "immigration") a little over a hundred years ago. A hundred of them attempted to live here, but only after receiving funding from the major patron of Zionist immigration, Baron Rothschild, did the town take off. It housed Israel's first winery and one of the first steam pumps mechanically drawing water from a well.
We stopped by the Aaronson house, where the Aaronsons spied for Britain against the Ottomans during World War I.
The only question at the end of the tour was asked by Yonatan, doing a very good impression of a starstruck tourist: "Mr. Tour Guide, is the weather like this every day in Israel?" Indeed, you might have noticed that all the pictures include clouds (even on the cloudy mornings I've mentioned, they tend to be gone by noon). It was, as the tour guide answered, a spring day, not a summer day. And with that we were out of there.
So that's it for my last week, and my second last post.
On the ride back Yonatan asked for silence on the bus. It was time, he said. Time to play some Deep Purple. And I say: why not.
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