Only 176 more steps to the top.
How many Israelis does it take to secure a lookout?
Meet the press.
But where can I get souvenirs from John the Methodist?
Monday, August 31, 2009
Let's be random
Now if we turn the dish this way . . .
How many Israelis does it take to secure a lookout?
How many Israelis does it take to secure a lookout?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
How to get to En Geddi . . .
It started out simple enough. Hike up Jaffa St., catch the bus to the central bus station, and then find the 8:00 bus going to En Geddi. So I boarded the bus for the central station . . . and cluelessly stayed on as we went by. I realized my mistake when I looked out the window to my right and saw a sign saying, "Central Station is that way." (It didn't say it like that exactly, but that's what it meant.) It turned out that "that way" was where we had just been.
We were stopped at a traffic light and one passenger had just talked the driver into letting him off there. So I tried the same thing. I don't think the drivers like to do it though because when I asked if I could get off there, the answer was quite negative. I believe it was your basic "no". So I said, "Okay."
Seeing I was a clueless tourist, he wondered where I wanted to go. "Central bus station," I said. Next thing I knew, the doors opened and I was on the street -- or more accurately, the sidewalk. I made it back to the bus station in good time, and after going through security (that pretty much ignored me thankfully), I wandered into the special departures section. This is where the cab drivers hang out. These guys prey on unsuspecting foreigners by charging exorbitant rates to transport them from point A to point B.
Usually they say something like, "You're going to the Dead Sea, yes? I have to go there and pick someone up. I'll take you there. Right now." If you ask how much, he will say, "Normally 500 shekels, but for you -- 200 shekels." This is your cue to stare at him in shock and disbelief, because you know that you can take the bus for 34.50 (shekels). AND it's even cheaper to buy a round trip bus ticket. But you may not be able to feign shock and disbelief if you don't know you can take the bus for 34.50.
Anyway, one of the cab drivers was kind enough to direct me to the bus terminal area, where later another cab driver found me and asked, "You're going to the Dead Sea, yes? I have to go there to pick someone up . . . " And Etc. You already can guess how that conversation went.
On the way to En Geddi, we had to go through a checkpoint complete with soldiers and AK 47's. One of the cars in front of us was receiving much lengthy instruction from one of the soldiers. Our dear bus driver who was not known for his great longsuffering character promptly laid his hand on the horn, and followed this with sweeping motions of the hands complete with facial contortions. She looked back and glared at him, causing him to honk even more. This had the desired result of producing another soldier at his window who made motions that could be interpreted to mean that he needs to cool his jets, which in turn caused the driver to lay forth into a barrage of Hebrew which could be interpreted to mean . . . well, I'm not sure, probably something along the lines of, "Get that other guy out of the way, and let us get on with the show!" But in the end the driver couldn't do anything but sit there anyway. I mean, are you gonna ignore the instructions of people who have AK 47's and know how to use them?
We made it to En Geddi without casualties (no holes shot in our tires), and got off the bus where we were greeted with a warm reception. Like, a hundred degrees farenheit (well, almost). We happened to be right beside the Dead Sea. It's August in the wilderness, and we were 400 meters below sea level. It felt like a desert, hot and dry. But in the midst of this wilderness are these springs with clear, cool water. Pretty nice.
They have quite a few hiking trails, and some of them are fairly steep ascents. It turned out that all the high ascents were closed due to extreme temperatures. After hiking the area that afternoon, I can understand. The heat just saps the energy right out of you. Also it requires a lot of water to keep going, which of course means more pack weight, which requires more energy to carry, which generates more body heat, which requires more water to keep cool . . . well, you see where this is going.
View of the Dead Sea.
En Geddi Lookout. My original plan was to hike up here.
Instead of the black trail, I followed the green and the red one into The Dry Canyon. Pretty neat.
We were stopped at a traffic light and one passenger had just talked the driver into letting him off there. So I tried the same thing. I don't think the drivers like to do it though because when I asked if I could get off there, the answer was quite negative. I believe it was your basic "no". So I said, "Okay."
Seeing I was a clueless tourist, he wondered where I wanted to go. "Central bus station," I said. Next thing I knew, the doors opened and I was on the street -- or more accurately, the sidewalk. I made it back to the bus station in good time, and after going through security (that pretty much ignored me thankfully), I wandered into the special departures section. This is where the cab drivers hang out. These guys prey on unsuspecting foreigners by charging exorbitant rates to transport them from point A to point B.
Usually they say something like, "You're going to the Dead Sea, yes? I have to go there and pick someone up. I'll take you there. Right now." If you ask how much, he will say, "Normally 500 shekels, but for you -- 200 shekels." This is your cue to stare at him in shock and disbelief, because you know that you can take the bus for 34.50 (shekels). AND it's even cheaper to buy a round trip bus ticket. But you may not be able to feign shock and disbelief if you don't know you can take the bus for 34.50.
Anyway, one of the cab drivers was kind enough to direct me to the bus terminal area, where later another cab driver found me and asked, "You're going to the Dead Sea, yes? I have to go there to pick someone up . . . " And Etc. You already can guess how that conversation went.
On the way to En Geddi, we had to go through a checkpoint complete with soldiers and AK 47's. One of the cars in front of us was receiving much lengthy instruction from one of the soldiers. Our dear bus driver who was not known for his great longsuffering character promptly laid his hand on the horn, and followed this with sweeping motions of the hands complete with facial contortions. She looked back and glared at him, causing him to honk even more. This had the desired result of producing another soldier at his window who made motions that could be interpreted to mean that he needs to cool his jets, which in turn caused the driver to lay forth into a barrage of Hebrew which could be interpreted to mean . . . well, I'm not sure, probably something along the lines of, "Get that other guy out of the way, and let us get on with the show!" But in the end the driver couldn't do anything but sit there anyway. I mean, are you gonna ignore the instructions of people who have AK 47's and know how to use them?
We made it to En Geddi without casualties (no holes shot in our tires), and got off the bus where we were greeted with a warm reception. Like, a hundred degrees farenheit (well, almost). We happened to be right beside the Dead Sea. It's August in the wilderness, and we were 400 meters below sea level. It felt like a desert, hot and dry. But in the midst of this wilderness are these springs with clear, cool water. Pretty nice.
They have quite a few hiking trails, and some of them are fairly steep ascents. It turned out that all the high ascents were closed due to extreme temperatures. After hiking the area that afternoon, I can understand. The heat just saps the energy right out of you. Also it requires a lot of water to keep going, which of course means more pack weight, which requires more energy to carry, which generates more body heat, which requires more water to keep cool . . . well, you see where this is going.
View of the Dead Sea.
En Geddi Lookout. My original plan was to hike up here.
Instead of the black trail, I followed the green and the red one into The Dry Canyon. Pretty neat.
On my way back, I met some hikers that were Israelis but were from New York originally. One of the guys said they live in one of the caves around here.
But he was joking, of course. This picture wasn't even taken at En Geddi, for that matter. ;-)
But he was joking, of course. This picture wasn't even taken at En Geddi, for that matter. ;-)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
As we relaxed, enjoying the nice view from Mt. of Olives . . .
We heard traffic approaching with much honking of the horns. Lo and behold, it turned out to be a wedding celebration/party of some Palestinians . . .
They poured out of their respective vehicles and started dancing. The groom ended up on the shoulders of his comrades . . .
Soon they were done and left honking and waving and shouting "thank you". It was not unlike a parade. (I'm still not exactly sure what they were thanking us for.)
They poured out of their respective vehicles and started dancing. The groom ended up on the shoulders of his comrades . . .
Soon they were done and left honking and waving and shouting "thank you". It was not unlike a parade. (I'm still not exactly sure what they were thanking us for.)Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A Fair Fare
"In spite of many of the advances made in travel in the last 30 years, many American tourists are surprised to learn that many foreigners still speak foreign languages." ~Dave Barry
So it seemed to be a typical day. We had made our way to Tel Aviv via taxi (van), where we had gone to help pack food parcels. After doing some sightseeing in Old Jaffa, better known in biblical times as Joppa, we headed back to the central bus station to find a returning taxi (otherwise known as a sherute). As I said, the day had been a fairly normal. Well, there was blowout I had on one of my sandals resulting in the loss of part of my soul. Uh, sole. Actually, that would be the sandal's, not mine. Thankfully the Lord has rescued my soul from loss. But I digress.
We boarded one of the sherutes and settled in for the approximately 1.5 hr. ride (wherein Daniel could forthwith catch up on his sleep), when we suddenly realized . . . that we were on the wrong taxi! Since we didn't desire a sherute to shuttle us to an unknown part of Tel Aviv, we removed our fleshly parts complete with their belongings from there and sought a sherute that was indeed going to Jerusalem (in Hebrew it sounds a little like "ye-ru-she-lem").
This time we found one, and it had seats for ten. There were five seated as we boarded. Daniel paid the obligatory fare for both of us. When it was finally filled, we were ready to take off. So we thought. But sometimes our thought processes don't line up with the reality of the situation as we shall see.
Apparently, the driver had collected nine fares and there were TEN PEOPLE ABOARD! Somebody did not pay, and he was not amused in the least. Some of us stared blankly at him as he went off at us in Hebrew. Well, mostly I stared blankly. That happens a lot when you don't know the language. (Also, blankness can sometimes be construed as innocence.)
Well, he thought he knew who didn't pay, the lady in black. But she insisted that she had paid by passing the fare to the women in front her, who in turn were supposed to pass it to the driver. This they vehemently denied. They said they'd never received it. So we were at an impasse. This taxi was not going to take ten people for the price of nine. And none of the accused would pay. So we sat there.
One guy suggested everybody kick in a few extra shekels to cover for the missing fare, after all, he pointed out this was the only sherute going to Jerusalem. (They wouldn't send another one until this one was filled apparently.) And if we didn't pay extra, we'd be stuck in Tel Aviv. Nevertheless there were some that held a dim view of aiding and abetting a supposed thief by paying extra themselves. So we sat some more . . . and some people's blood pressures continued rising. (Anyone know some good jokes in Hebrew?)
Finally the driver refunded everybody's fare, except the lady in black. Then we sat there.
A passenger got off.
Other drivers entered our taxi with the intention of talking us into paying but to no avail.
We sat there some more.
Another passenger got on.
After sitting there yet more, Mr. Kick-in-a-few-extra-shekels-everybody finally got enough passengers to listen to his voice of reason, and we had enough to to cover ten fares. After this we proceeded to make it to Jerusalem without casualties. I think it cost, like, 2.5 shekels extra per person. This is the equivalent to something like the outragous sum of $.65 USD!!
I know that might not seem like much, but think of all that it could buy! ____! This represents the blank my mind is drawing in answer to that statement. Not much. So even though it may not seem like much . . . in reality it's really not that much when you think about it. Okay, now I'm repeating myself repeating myself.
"Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." ~Jesus of Nazareth
So it seemed to be a typical day. We had made our way to Tel Aviv via taxi (van), where we had gone to help pack food parcels. After doing some sightseeing in Old Jaffa, better known in biblical times as Joppa, we headed back to the central bus station to find a returning taxi (otherwise known as a sherute). As I said, the day had been a fairly normal. Well, there was blowout I had on one of my sandals resulting in the loss of part of my soul. Uh, sole. Actually, that would be the sandal's, not mine. Thankfully the Lord has rescued my soul from loss. But I digress.
We boarded one of the sherutes and settled in for the approximately 1.5 hr. ride (wherein Daniel could forthwith catch up on his sleep), when we suddenly realized . . . that we were on the wrong taxi! Since we didn't desire a sherute to shuttle us to an unknown part of Tel Aviv, we removed our fleshly parts complete with their belongings from there and sought a sherute that was indeed going to Jerusalem (in Hebrew it sounds a little like "ye-ru-she-lem").
This time we found one, and it had seats for ten. There were five seated as we boarded. Daniel paid the obligatory fare for both of us. When it was finally filled, we were ready to take off. So we thought. But sometimes our thought processes don't line up with the reality of the situation as we shall see.
Apparently, the driver had collected nine fares and there were TEN PEOPLE ABOARD! Somebody did not pay, and he was not amused in the least. Some of us stared blankly at him as he went off at us in Hebrew. Well, mostly I stared blankly. That happens a lot when you don't know the language. (Also, blankness can sometimes be construed as innocence.)
Well, he thought he knew who didn't pay, the lady in black. But she insisted that she had paid by passing the fare to the women in front her, who in turn were supposed to pass it to the driver. This they vehemently denied. They said they'd never received it. So we were at an impasse. This taxi was not going to take ten people for the price of nine. And none of the accused would pay. So we sat there.
One guy suggested everybody kick in a few extra shekels to cover for the missing fare, after all, he pointed out this was the only sherute going to Jerusalem. (They wouldn't send another one until this one was filled apparently.) And if we didn't pay extra, we'd be stuck in Tel Aviv. Nevertheless there were some that held a dim view of aiding and abetting a supposed thief by paying extra themselves. So we sat some more . . . and some people's blood pressures continued rising. (Anyone know some good jokes in Hebrew?)
Finally the driver refunded everybody's fare, except the lady in black. Then we sat there.
A passenger got off.
Other drivers entered our taxi with the intention of talking us into paying but to no avail.
We sat there some more.
Another passenger got on.
After sitting there yet more, Mr. Kick-in-a-few-extra-shekels-everybody finally got enough passengers to listen to his voice of reason, and we had enough to to cover ten fares. After this we proceeded to make it to Jerusalem without casualties. I think it cost, like, 2.5 shekels extra per person. This is the equivalent to something like the outragous sum of $.65 USD!!
I know that might not seem like much, but think of all that it could buy! ____! This represents the blank my mind is drawing in answer to that statement. Not much. So even though it may not seem like much . . . in reality it's really not that much when you think about it. Okay, now I'm repeating myself repeating myself.
"Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." ~Jesus of Nazareth
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
. . . So then I ended up in Jerusalem, Israel. The end.
Oh, wait. I guess I forgot to tell about the beginning part. Let's see . . . I was born at a very early age and lived in . . . Okay, maybe not quite that beginning. How about several days ago I embarked upon a journey that would take me east across the Atlantic to the land flowing with milk and honey. That's more like it (although, I have yet to see very much in the way of milk and honey "flowing", as it were).
The first part of the trip went quite smoothly -- at least, the part of getting to the airport. And checking in. And going through security. I mean, there was hardly anyone else going through. But alas, I would be destined to have my bag searched, and in the bag they would find a very threatening substance . . . BEANS (oh, and salsa and horseradish sauce)! And then security officer would kindly allow me to return to my checked in luggage and pack it there. Which they did, by the way. Nevertheless, this would necessitate using the less than desirable option of eating the rest of my food "plain". Which turned to be no big deal anyway.
Our flights were early, and fortunately we ended up in Frankfurt 30 minutes early. This allowed me even more time to wander around in aimless confusion. The Frankfurt airport is not the least confusing place I've ever been. So as I wandered forth in search of Gate C-13 and listened to the bits and pieces of German being "sproched", I pondered upon the comments of a Holland bus driver who enjoyed making fun of the Deutsch language. Apparently he thought there were so many "sp" and "ch" sounds that caused enough, well, spit to fly, that he would often find himself in need of a shower after only a few of these conversations.
So I meditated upon this as I searched for my gate. After all, it was 7:30 in the morning -- 1:30 my time, not exactly the time of day that lends itself to deep and profound thought. It appeared that I needed to go through security to get to C-13, but they didn't look like they were open. However, there appeared to be another checkpoint that was open and I could see signs for C-13 on the other side. So I went through (without anything threatening in my pack), only to discover that I couldn't get to C-13 from there either. But it was no big deal because my flight wasn't 'til 10:15 anyway, and I learned that security for that gate didn't open 'til 8. So after locating a "toiletenn", I found a quite spot and laid me down to sleep. Or more accurately "laid me down to close my eyes whilst tossing and turning to find a more comfortable position every 10 minutes". But I was tired. I hadn't gotten much sleep on the flight to Frankfurt, seeing as how I've never been really skillful at sleeping in various contorted positions not unlike the shape of a pretzel.
When I finally made my way back to C-13, I found a nice long line of people awaiting their chance to get frisked by security. After running the wand over me and my shoes and socks, he discovered a suspicious substance in my water bottle known as "water". So out I went to dispose of it (never mind that I had gotten it at the airport), and back in line I stood in order to prove that this time I was appropriately nonthreatening. When the same guy ran the wand over me again later, he said, "Hey, you were through here before!" That's right. Maybe that's why he didn't check my feet this time.
I ended up in a row of four seats on a 747. I was between two French ladies, and there was a French guy two seats over on the end. So I heard plenty of French on that flight, but they did know some English. For instance, when the flight attendant presented the lady on my left with a cup of red wine, she responded with, "Oh that's too much. If I drink all that I'll start singing." Which caused the flight attendant to say something about having free entertainment on this flight. This exchange caused me almost as much amusement as witnessing a rushing flight attendant collide with an ultra orthodox Jew earlier.
But my turn was coming. After my meal, one flight attendant asked if I wanted what sounded a lot like "bailey and onions". I said, "What is that in English?" After another unintelligiable line, I offered a clueless, "I'm sorry?"
"Maybe you don't understand English either?" She offered not without a small amount of ridicule. After guessing that it was likely something alcoholic, I decided to decline this generous offer of "bailey and onions".
Finally arriving at our destination of Tel Aviv, the lady on my right opened the overhead compartment where she extracted both her pack and mine. No sooner had I thanked her, then the bag containing my laptop computer fell out the same compartment thus unceremoniously bonking one of the ultra orthodox Jews on the head. After expressing my regrets and condolences, he said he was glad it wasn't heavier, "Thank God." To which I heartily concurred.
Since my friend, Daniel was in a language class when I arrived he had instructed on how to get a taxi to Notre Dame (a hotel) where he would meet me later. It was a van that held 10, and we were on the road for about an hour and a half. It didn't take me long to figure out that "Mr. Benhur" the driver didn't enjoy people that lounged around in the left lane for no apparent reason. And indeed he communicated his displeasure quite freely on one occassion. Was the offending driver American? I don't know, maybe.
We made the first stop at Notre Dame de Sion to drop off some of the others, and since I had told him I wanted Notre Dame, I thought this must be it. Where was I going, he wondered? This isn't where you get off. "It's not? Okay, glad you said something," as I got back in. So we dropped off more people, while I wondered how many Notre Dames there are in this city.
Finally there was only me and another lady. Since her contact was waiting for her and the traffic was bad, could he drop me off 20 meters from Notre Dame, he wondered? It would save him 15 minutes. Fine with me. No problem. So he pointed the building out to me as he dropped off at an intersection. After walking up to the entrance and seeing the sign that said "St. Someone-or-other Hospital", I realized that this is not it. I wandered up and down the streets for awhile. I even went so far as to -- gasp! -- ask for directions! He said he didn't know English, so that didn't work. My bag (without wheels) was beginning to feel as though I had packed it full of lead weights, and I was beginning to perspire in a profuse manner. Finally I came upon a group of Christians that were singing and passing out tracts. After being evangelized to, I asked where the elusive Notre Dame might be. After wondering if I was Catholic and enquiring as to what I was, he gave me directions (that still seemed vaguely vague for a guy carrying a bunch of lead weights in his suitcase).
After talking to a guy there that was from Oregon, I headed back from whence I came in the direction of Notre Dame (hopefully). (It was a lot more than 20 meters from where I was dropped off.) I finally found it after experiencing the required sore shoulders from carrying my bag, and I waited. Fortunately, I was still a half hour early, even after all that rigamarole. I reclined my weary bones on top of a low retaining wall, and after some time was rudely interrupted by an ankle grab. It was Daniel! And we could go to the house where we would find supper, a shower, and last but not least, a bed.
. . . So then I ended up in Jerusalem, Israel. The end. Oh, wait. I guess we did that already.
Oh, wait. I guess I forgot to tell about the beginning part. Let's see . . . I was born at a very early age and lived in . . . Okay, maybe not quite that beginning. How about several days ago I embarked upon a journey that would take me east across the Atlantic to the land flowing with milk and honey. That's more like it (although, I have yet to see very much in the way of milk and honey "flowing", as it were).
The first part of the trip went quite smoothly -- at least, the part of getting to the airport. And checking in. And going through security. I mean, there was hardly anyone else going through. But alas, I would be destined to have my bag searched, and in the bag they would find a very threatening substance . . . BEANS (oh, and salsa and horseradish sauce)! And then security officer would kindly allow me to return to my checked in luggage and pack it there. Which they did, by the way. Nevertheless, this would necessitate using the less than desirable option of eating the rest of my food "plain". Which turned to be no big deal anyway.
Our flights were early, and fortunately we ended up in Frankfurt 30 minutes early. This allowed me even more time to wander around in aimless confusion. The Frankfurt airport is not the least confusing place I've ever been. So as I wandered forth in search of Gate C-13 and listened to the bits and pieces of German being "sproched", I pondered upon the comments of a Holland bus driver who enjoyed making fun of the Deutsch language. Apparently he thought there were so many "sp" and "ch" sounds that caused enough, well, spit to fly, that he would often find himself in need of a shower after only a few of these conversations.
So I meditated upon this as I searched for my gate. After all, it was 7:30 in the morning -- 1:30 my time, not exactly the time of day that lends itself to deep and profound thought. It appeared that I needed to go through security to get to C-13, but they didn't look like they were open. However, there appeared to be another checkpoint that was open and I could see signs for C-13 on the other side. So I went through (without anything threatening in my pack), only to discover that I couldn't get to C-13 from there either. But it was no big deal because my flight wasn't 'til 10:15 anyway, and I learned that security for that gate didn't open 'til 8. So after locating a "toiletenn", I found a quite spot and laid me down to sleep. Or more accurately "laid me down to close my eyes whilst tossing and turning to find a more comfortable position every 10 minutes". But I was tired. I hadn't gotten much sleep on the flight to Frankfurt, seeing as how I've never been really skillful at sleeping in various contorted positions not unlike the shape of a pretzel.
When I finally made my way back to C-13, I found a nice long line of people awaiting their chance to get frisked by security. After running the wand over me and my shoes and socks, he discovered a suspicious substance in my water bottle known as "water". So out I went to dispose of it (never mind that I had gotten it at the airport), and back in line I stood in order to prove that this time I was appropriately nonthreatening. When the same guy ran the wand over me again later, he said, "Hey, you were through here before!" That's right. Maybe that's why he didn't check my feet this time.
I ended up in a row of four seats on a 747. I was between two French ladies, and there was a French guy two seats over on the end. So I heard plenty of French on that flight, but they did know some English. For instance, when the flight attendant presented the lady on my left with a cup of red wine, she responded with, "Oh that's too much. If I drink all that I'll start singing." Which caused the flight attendant to say something about having free entertainment on this flight. This exchange caused me almost as much amusement as witnessing a rushing flight attendant collide with an ultra orthodox Jew earlier.
But my turn was coming. After my meal, one flight attendant asked if I wanted what sounded a lot like "bailey and onions". I said, "What is that in English?" After another unintelligiable line, I offered a clueless, "I'm sorry?"
"Maybe you don't understand English either?" She offered not without a small amount of ridicule. After guessing that it was likely something alcoholic, I decided to decline this generous offer of "bailey and onions".
Finally arriving at our destination of Tel Aviv, the lady on my right opened the overhead compartment where she extracted both her pack and mine. No sooner had I thanked her, then the bag containing my laptop computer fell out the same compartment thus unceremoniously bonking one of the ultra orthodox Jews on the head. After expressing my regrets and condolences, he said he was glad it wasn't heavier, "Thank God." To which I heartily concurred.
Since my friend, Daniel was in a language class when I arrived he had instructed on how to get a taxi to Notre Dame (a hotel) where he would meet me later. It was a van that held 10, and we were on the road for about an hour and a half. It didn't take me long to figure out that "Mr. Benhur" the driver didn't enjoy people that lounged around in the left lane for no apparent reason. And indeed he communicated his displeasure quite freely on one occassion. Was the offending driver American? I don't know, maybe.
We made the first stop at Notre Dame de Sion to drop off some of the others, and since I had told him I wanted Notre Dame, I thought this must be it. Where was I going, he wondered? This isn't where you get off. "It's not? Okay, glad you said something," as I got back in. So we dropped off more people, while I wondered how many Notre Dames there are in this city.
Finally there was only me and another lady. Since her contact was waiting for her and the traffic was bad, could he drop me off 20 meters from Notre Dame, he wondered? It would save him 15 minutes. Fine with me. No problem. So he pointed the building out to me as he dropped off at an intersection. After walking up to the entrance and seeing the sign that said "St. Someone-or-other Hospital", I realized that this is not it. I wandered up and down the streets for awhile. I even went so far as to -- gasp! -- ask for directions! He said he didn't know English, so that didn't work. My bag (without wheels) was beginning to feel as though I had packed it full of lead weights, and I was beginning to perspire in a profuse manner. Finally I came upon a group of Christians that were singing and passing out tracts. After being evangelized to, I asked where the elusive Notre Dame might be. After wondering if I was Catholic and enquiring as to what I was, he gave me directions (that still seemed vaguely vague for a guy carrying a bunch of lead weights in his suitcase).
After talking to a guy there that was from Oregon, I headed back from whence I came in the direction of Notre Dame (hopefully). (It was a lot more than 20 meters from where I was dropped off.) I finally found it after experiencing the required sore shoulders from carrying my bag, and I waited. Fortunately, I was still a half hour early, even after all that rigamarole. I reclined my weary bones on top of a low retaining wall, and after some time was rudely interrupted by an ankle grab. It was Daniel! And we could go to the house where we would find supper, a shower, and last but not least, a bed.
. . . So then I ended up in Jerusalem, Israel. The end. Oh, wait. I guess we did that already.
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