Life in the South: Ice Skating Edition.

Happy 2017 everyone! Like most people, I plan to start the New Year with every good intention…and then see if I can make at least one of them last until February. Let’s hope keeping up with this blog sees through January 31^st!

I’m in the middle of my second year in Savannah, Georgia, and my husband and I have just returned home from visiting my family in Minnesota for the holidays. It was a lovely visit, as always, and while home, I had many friends double checking their recollection of which city (country?) I currently live in. I’m used to this. I’m also used to an array of responses when I tell people where I live, but this time I received the most smiles and “ahs” of jealously. I admit, the transition from Minnesota to Savannah has been quite idyllic on the surface: warmer weather, no snow, tons of butter (thanks Paula Deen), 20 minutes from the ocean, and 2 hours from the world’s largest population of retired people (shout-out to Florida.)

Yes, these things are wonderful, but there have been some aspects that I have discovered during my time in the South (I call it my “cultural experience” to my Northern friends) that most Minnesotans might not realize about living in the South. I’ve started some posts about ‘Life in the South,’ and would like to do a series of entries this year as we begin our last full year in Savannah. So, without further ado, I would like to share my very first experience of 2017: Ice Skating.

             Growing up in Minnesota, with more frozen surfaces than unfrozen surfaces during the course of a year, and with cold-weather-born parents, it was pretty inevitable that I should learn how to skate. Starting with skating school and progressing to my debut in not one but two skating shows (spotlight roles as: Poppy #7 and Snowflake #4), I like to think that I can hold my own on the ice. Skating used to happen once a week through high school, which transitioned to once or twice a year since college, if that, but I still love the activity and enjoy it. One of the highlights of living in Moscow was outdoor skating at Gorky Park, as well as purchasing a pair of ice skates for about $10. These trusty Russian skates (strange that I was never able to find a pair of Russian shoes that fit me, but I managed to find ice skates) have stayed by my side for the past three years. I recently pulled them out yet again for their Southern experience, the likes of which I would like to share with you, though it may disappoint many a Northerner.

             Once a year, Savannah, Georgia sponsors what they call “Skate Fest.” For about two weeks at the end of December, Savannah floods its Civic Center and creates an ice rink. They charge about $7 for admission and skate rental, but you are only allowed to enter at the beginning or during an hour and a half session. There are about four to six sessions a day, and I assume they do this to keep numbers controlled. Despite my inherent feeling against this poorly timed endeavor, I ended up going to the last session not only of the day, but of the entire skating season. I went with my friend Taylor, whom I was astonished to learn had only ever skated at Skate Fest, and had actually LEARNED TO SKATE on that ice. Why was I astonished? Let me share my experience by telling you what you might be in for. However, please keep in mind that although I will share some interesting details, I still highly enjoyed my skating experience for the novelty of having access to a skate rink again, and that I plan to buy the punch card next year for even more skating access.

What to expect at Savannah’s Skate Fest:

1. There will be many, many people there. More than you imagined could possibly fit on a small surface of ice. Most of these people will move in a slow, steady circle around the rink, but there will be some lost along the way – those that actually make it out of the whirlpool to the wall (usually just relying on the wall to stop them instead of knowing how to stop) might not make it back. Steady on, brave ones.

2. If your behavior becomes viewed as questionable to the harm and safety of others, your articles of clothing will become top identifiers for the barking female voice on the loudspeaker. She will personally speak to YOU, the one in the red hat! She will tell you to either slow down, turn the right way, stop throwing ice flakes you picked up on the ground, or get off the ice. She will never actually appear, but her voice will be a threat enough to keep you in line. She may also potentially cause accidents, because once she announces the articles of clothing, everyone will lift their heads up to look around and see who it is, therefore taking their eyes off the ground and increasing the danger for everyone involved.

3. You will automatically become Keeper of the Ice. If there’s some small object lying on the ice, there is not a soul who will pick it up, no matter how many times there are near misses and blade chops near the object. After many carefully positioned circulations I finally managed to pick up both a straw (questionable) and a broken piece from a skate strap (dangerous from more than one point of view).

4. You will also become Safety Patrol. I rescued not one but two children from the throes of wiping out on the ice and becoming prey to the dozens of slashing ice blades, much closer to one’s hand when one’s butt is on the ground. One kid rebounded quickly and just needed an extra hand to pull himself up to the wall, but the other poor child looked up at me in terror because he couldn’t figure out how to get up, so I essentially scooped him up and half pushed/half pulled him to the wall.

5. You will very quickly age many decades and become quite curmudgeonly (unless of course, you are already a curmudgeon. Then you’ll just behave as normal.) When some young whippersnapper speeds past you and you watch said whippersnapper cut in and out of people like he’s practicing soccer footwork, you will most likely say to the person next to you, or just out loud to nobody, “that kid needs to slow down or he’s going to hurt someone!” If that kid falls as a result of not paying enough attention or not being careful enough, you will probably snicker or smirk to yourself.

6. If you go skating with someone, you will become very protective of them and you will most likely assume a death grip on them. I saw mothers fiercely drag their little ones along the wall to safety, with determined looks on their faces to HAVE FAMILY FUN, as well as couples hanging on to each other for dear life. I nearly skated through a couple of these ironclad companions, before realizing I would be better off just going around them.

7. Not only will you be better off going around the death grips, you will also be wise to avoid going directly next to the wall, for fear of becoming sucked into what I called “the snail wall.” The snail wall is composed of a variety of people who are not confident enough in their skating ability to let go of the wall, therefore they bravely trudge around the rink by clinging onto the wall and half pulling/half pushing themselves around the rink. Kudos to them for trying, and better luck next year!

8. If you use your cell phone while on the ice, you will probably fall. Or, you will make someone else fall. Or, you will drop your phone, causing a crowd panic as you fling yourself to the surface of the ice without a second thought. Why are you on your phone with razor blades strapped to your feet again?

9. Due to the extreme amount of people, the lack of proper temperature control, and goodness knows what else, the surface of the ice will become wet by the end of your session. Not post-zamboni wet, but 32-degrees-outside-and-sunny wet. Indoors! This was baffling to me, yet also a little funny when I noticed people with large wet spots on their back and/or front sides due to a fall instead of whispy white patches like normal ice spills. 

10. Finally, the last thing you should expect at Skate Fest is: to have fun. Despite all of the minor mishaps, the experience of both exercising and socializing with a friend while sharing in a fun activity with nearly half of the city of Savannah is a fantastic time. Skating in the South is…different than my previous skating circumstances, but hey, it’s still skating. I’m already looking forward to going next year. But I might bring a poncho in case I fall in the puddles. 

Flashback Series Continued: Welcome to New York

Welcome to New York

(Written January 2015)

                Now, after spending all that time catching up and posting the remainder of my travels, I’m writing from yet another ‘home base.’ I’ve been living in New York City for the past five months, and so far it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It hasn’t been easy, by any means, to live comfortably and survive here, but it’s been an adventure filled with new opportunities, experiences, and excitement.

Ice Skating field trip in Bryant Park!

                I’m working as a part time English teacher in Midtown, the area with most of the ‘big stuff’ such as Rockefeller Center, Times Square, Grand Central, Empire State, etc, in the mornings. My school is an international language center, and my students come from all over the world to study English in one of the United States’ most dynamic cities. Imagine how exciting it is for a foreign student, young and ready to see the world, to come and live in the city they’ve grown up seeing on television and in movies. They come here, they want to improve their English, and they want to enjoy New York City. Most of my students are early to mid-twenties, within the five year range of starting, in the middle of, or ending their university studies. Most of them want to improve their English for their jobs or future job potentials, and most of them have studied English in the past, in their home countries.

             Teaching adults has been a wonderful transition after three years of teaching kids. They listen to me, they do what they're supposed to do, they don't try to kick soccer balls in class, they don't crawl under their chairs or out the window, and they don't try to hide behind doors to jump out and scare me. They're the best behaved students I've ever had! What I love most about teaching adults is their willingness to learn. They make me want to do a better job as a teacher, and I strive to create engaging lessons that will interest them and provide practice for what they're learning. Another bonus for me is that most of them do more sightseeing and touring in one month than I've done in five, so I get excellent tips and advice from them about museums, restaurants,

and even bars.

Middle School swim

                In the afternoons I’ve been fortunate enough to make coaching swimming my second job. When I first imagined coming to New York, my dream was to do some combination of teaching and coaching, which is exactly what has happened. This past fall, I coached for a pre-season club team at a private school on the Upper East Side. Now, I’m coaching for both a middle and a high school team for a different private school on the Upper East Side. I hadn’t been involved in the sport for nearly four years, but these schools and athletic facilities gave me a chance and I’m happily immersing myself back into the smell of chlorine, writing workouts, and learning how to transition from swimmer to coach.

                I’ve been working with wonderful co-coaches, which has made all the difference, and we’ve been able to use each other for help and balance, and I’ve seen it as an opportunity to shadow and learn from more experienced coaches and athletes. Though the evenings can get late with away meets, and the mornings can get early with 6 am practice, that’s the life of a swimmer, and I’m happy to be reliving it on the opposite side. I remember so clearly thinking “I would give anything to be the coach right now” while swimming an especially tough workout, and now I have my chance. I wonder how many of my swimmers think the same…

                So that’s enough about me. I’m sure you would love to hear more about New York City. First, I’d like to draw attention to the title of the post, and mention that Taylor Swift’s new album 1989 has been playing on repeat in my headphones ever since I got my hands on it last fall, and her title song about moving to and living in New York City has become my new anthem. It’s fun, it’s catchy, and it’s the perfect song for those days when you choose to take the long way home and walk the extra ten blocks instead of taking the subway. As a bonus, I got to see her perform it live in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, which I see as the epitome of my New York experience.

Hanging out with Taylor Swift on New Year's Eve

 Present Day, April 2016:

Speaking of Taylor Swift, she just released a live recording of her 1989 tour concert on Apple Music, which I jumped at the chance to watch and relive my New York days. I will always associate that album with that city. New York seems like a dream away, a year later, but I still have flashes of nostalgia for walking the city streets, being a part of all the rush and hustle, and even cooking in my tiny apartment kitchen. I’ll be meeting up with my former New York City roommates this weekend in Boston, and I’m sure we’ll be reminiscing about “the good old days.”

I will be returning to New York City this June, to coach swimming for the summer. Although I’ll be away from my soon-to-be husband, the time will pass by quickly, and he’ll even be able to visit me for a few days up there. I have another post to come about NYC, so stay tuned! 

Flashback Series: Israel Final Part 3

Tel Aviv

July 2014

Tel Aviv was the absolute perfect way to end my trip in Israel, relatively speaking. Part of the reason I had wanted to go to Israel was so that I could visit the beach. No joke. I had been beach deprived for a year and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I planned to hit Tel Aviv last. I figured if I started with the beach I would be reluctant to leave and see what the rest of Israel had to offer. So, to go all in, my choice of accommodation for Tel Aviv was: The Beachfront Hostel.

A real picture from the rooftop! The sign was posted above the railing. 

Yes folks, I spent my last three days in Israel on the beach. Not the entire time, of course. It’s not every day you’re in Tel Aviv. But it’s not every day you’re at the beach either, especially when you’re from Minnesota.

Tel Aviv Beachfront

Tel Aviv itself is a modern city, created only in 1909, though it was built on the banks of the port of Jaffa, a city which has existed for at least 4,000 years. Tel Aviv, meaning ‘Hill of Spring’, was a primarily Jewish city in an Arab-dominated town. It was a part of the Zionist movement, for Jews to return to their homeland which they had been banished from so many centuries before. The Jews turned Tel Aviv into a modern, urban center with running water among a wasteland of dust and dirt. They did a pretty great job. The Beachfront Hostel did not disappoint: there were nice, clean rooms right across from the beach, with a lovely rooftop and common area with a view right to the water. I chatted with some of my hostel roommates, who were girls from New York City (Brooklyn) spending a few weeks in Israel with the Birthright program, the same organization of young people I had seen on top of Masada.

Views of Old Jaffa from the beach promenade

Though it’s a new city, the area has been around and well known for a long, long time. Do you remember in Jerusalem I entered the Old City via Jaffa Road and the Jaffa Gate? The Port of Jaffa is historically the port city of Israel, and it was right down the road from my hostel. As a bonus, there were fantastic paved sidewalks along the beach promenade for walkers, joggers, and anyone in between. (Fun fact: when Cody visited Tel Aviv during his station in Egypt, he he participated in a half marathon that took place along the same beach promenade I'm discussing). 

I spent many many hours on those paved trails, but I quickly learned to go only early in the morning, and once the 9 or 10 AM sun hit, it was either stay inside or put on tons of sunblock and go swim in the ocean, because the July heat was extremely hot. However, around 5 or 6 pm things started to cool off a little again, and the evenings were very pleasant for walking and exploring.

Old streets of Jaffa

Though Tel Aviv is supposed to have a cutting edge nightlife, I wasn’t too interested and instead limited my exploration to the areas around the beach and down to Jaffa, which held more to explore than I could see in weeks. I took a free walking tour of Jaffa (read more about its history here) and enjoyed wandering up and down the small hills, peeking into some of the galleries and shops, and even sampling from one of the city’s most famous bakeries. There was a fantastic city market that stretched for blocks and blocks, with beautiful handmade goods and brightly colored fabrics. It was good my backpack was near to bursting by then, or I would have been in trouble. 

During the days I laid out, read books, and swam in the turquoise waters to my heart’s content. Aside from the Jaffa tour, I didn't visit any museums or do any learning other than my books, as I simply needed some time to relax, especially after my jam packed few days in Jerusalem. It was a perfect way to end my time overseas. 

View of Tel Aviv from Jaffa

 However, as most of you know already, that wasn't exactly how my time in Israel ended. 

Here's the story:

All throughout the Israel posts I've been updating you on the then-current situation in Israel, in regards to the public tension between the Israelis and the Palestinians. The childrens' deaths, from both sides, that happened just before and during my time there turned out to be fuel to the fire. Ashamedly so, as I was traveling in Israel, I did not keep up with the news as well as I should have, because I was in for a big surprise. 

I headed to the airport on Tuesday, July 8th to wait for my afternoon flight to Budapest, where I would have two more nights and fly home on the 10th. (I was actually supposed to fly out on the 9th and spend a night in Amsterdam, but the day before I went to the airport I discovered there had been a mistake with my booking, and after an hour on Skype with the company they ended up rerouting me and gave me the extra day in Budapest). As I went to the Israeli airline to check in, the lady informed me that there was an overbooking situation, and she asked if I would be interested in giving up my seat in exchange for a hotel stay, a $600 voucher, and airport credits to use while I waited to hear if everyone checked in for the flight. Now, this is a typical overbooking situation that has happened to Cody I don't know how many times, but had never happened to me. At that point, I had the extra night in Budapest anyway, and I would have a free hotel stay, so I said why not? Sure, I'll give up my seat if everyone checks in for the flight. She said excellent, gave me my airport vouchers, and said to come back in two hours to see if I will be able to fly or not. 

So, I trotted over to the coffee shop and treated myself (my journal reports I had a free coffee and pastry), before finding a place to sit on the floor next to an electrical outlet to charge my iPod and hang out. I put my headphones in and started listening to music. 

There were frequent muffled announcements, which is typical for an airport, so I paid them no mind. However, about a half hour later I looked up to see a large, red-faced man dressed in a uniform yelling at me and pointing to my right. Alarmed, I took off my headphones to see what the problem was. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of "rockets, airport, go to shelter!" All I could ask was "who?!" He replied, "Hamas, from Gaza! Now go!"

At this point I noticed the airport lobby was nearly empty, and everyone was heading to the doors down the stairs. I tried to put two and two together, and realized that the Hamas, the Palestinian militant group, must be firing rockets and aiming at the airport. I guessed the trigger had been the incidents with the children, which was partially true. 

I thought the stairs down to the bottom of the airport would never end. Clearly, they had something like this in mind when they built it, because I went down no less than thirteen flights of stairs under the airport. I was with a multitude of people, most of them looking rather calm and even laughing with each other, others of us looking fairly terrified. I wished I had stayed on the wifi long enough to message my parents and tell them I was okay, but it was too late at that point. We just had to wait. 

It turned out we were only down there for about fifteen minutes. As we went back upstairs, I went straight to the desk, and was informed that everyone was checked in for the flight, and they were going to take off as soon as possible. I was staying overnight. I asked if she thought we would even be flying out the next day and she said we would have to wait and see. She said that the missiles had stopped firing, and that they were going to try to get as many planes out as they could. I had a 6:45 am flight the next day. Once again, there was nothing to do but wait. I filled out the paperwork for the voucher and went to the transport desk to arrange for my airport transfer. As it turns out, I was put up in a very nice hotel, in a suite, which I tried to enjoy as much as I could.

As soon as I got into my room, I connected to the wifi and was able to catch my mother on Skype, who had luckily only heard the news a few minutes before and didn't have too much time to start worrying. I told her all I knew, and that we would just have to wait it out. The news was sounding pretty bad on her end, and after we spoke I turned on the TV to find the news announcing the attacks, and that the leader of the Hamas was quoted to say "we are not going to stop." Ten minutes later, the alarms went off in the hotel. Back to the shelters. 

Wednesday, July 9^th

I woke up the next morning after an uneasy night of sleep. We only went into the hotel shelter once, for about half an hour, but I had anticipated needing to go back one or two more times. I stayed up to watch the news, and just kept hearing about the attacks and that there was no sign of ceasefire. I tried to think about what might happen if I had to stay in the country. Should I go to the embassy? Should I book more nights at a hostel? I didn't know what I would do if my flight didn't get out, but I knew it was a real possibility. At one point during the night, I opened up the window and looked out into the sky. Though my view was blocked with trees, I could hear faint booms, like thunder. Later I learned what I had heard that night were the missiles from the Iron Dome, Tel Aviv's defense system, firing back at the missiles coming from Gaza, to intercept them and keep them away from the city.

I dressed, packed, and went down to the hotel lobby, where I was greeted with a lovely breakfast bag and directed towards the coffee while I waited for my pickup. I spoke with the taxi driver on the way about the situation, and he said that it is sad, but this is the way of life in Israel. He said this wasn't anything new, that they were so used to bomb shelters and potential attacks that it seemed normal to him. This explained why it hadn't seemed like people were too concerned in the shelters. I tried to imagine living a life in constant threat and danger. 

When I got to the airport, the lady at the desk informed me that again, they were going to try to get as many planes out that day as they could. The airport was busy, and I headed through security to wait for my plane. Everything went seamlessly, all the way until we were buckled in and waiting to taxi to the runway. Then, the captain got on the intercom and informed us that "due to the current situation, we will have to wait a few moments before we try to take off." My heart sank. It was one thing to be worried at the bottom of a bomb shelter, but it was quite another thing to be buckled in a plane outside of the airport, like a sitting duck. That next half hour was the most scared I had been the entire time. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity (45 mins), we began moving. We crawled to the airstrip, began accelerating, and lifted into the air. Many people began clapping, and I'm sure I breathed an audible sigh of relief. Once we were a reasonable distance away from Israel, I relaxed, put in music, and slept. 

Budapest. 

From my journal: “I’m safe – in the literal, true sense of the word. I don’t think I’ve really gotten it all together in my head, but now that I’m out of Israel and can relax, I’m processing.”

When I arrived in Budapest that day, I made my way to my hostel, dropped my bags, and headed to the modern shopping and tourist street – I just wanted to sit and relax. I got a coffee and did some writing – along the way I checked Twitter updates and discovered that the airport I had flown out of had been evacuated and closed just three hours after I took off. I never felt like I was in immediate danger, but I hadn’t been sure if I would be able to leave the country. Waiting on the runway exacerbated this anxiety, but when we landed in Budapest it was all over. From my journal, I recorded some of the Twitter updates, and ended with "The one good thing to come out of this is that I'll be paying a lot more attention to Middle Eastern politics. I travel to learn, and now I have a much more in-depth and personal perspective of so many places. I must remain aware of the world."

The End. 

I still enjoyed the rest of my time in the city, and ended up doing a little bit of shopping and even got a haircut. One of the World Cup finals was on that evening, so I walked around and found a place to sit down and watch – tons of young people were out gathered around outdoor TVs and screens, socializing and enjoying the game. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you who played and who won.

From Budapest, I had a layover in Amsterdam, then a hop across to Reykjavik, Iceland. I had grand plans to get out and walk all around the city during the midnight sun hours, since I had such a long layover, but as fate would have it, it was cold, rainy, and pretty miserable outside the entire time I was there. Instead, I inspected every item at every gift shop and restaurant in the small airport and had a few successful naps on some benches.

When I finally boarded the plane for my direct flight back to Minnesota, I was ready. Reykjavik was the last stop of my unbelievable journey around the world, and as much as I would have loved to stay and continue exploring for the sake of adventure and knowledge (in any city along the way, for that matter), I knew it was time for me to go back home for a while. United States, here I come. (written July 2014)

P.S. If you'd like to read more about the situation that unfolded in Israel during my time there, it is now documented (I can't say how credibly) on Wikipedia as the 2014 Israel-Gaza conflict, link here.

February 2016. Savannah, Georgia:

Thank you for checking back in with me! So ended my time overseas. Aside from a quick trip to Canada last summer, I've stayed in the States for nearly two years now. I'm so glad to have finally caught up with these blogs, but of course I have more that are half started/finished. I'll follow these up with some from my time in New York, some of my travels in the States the past year, and catch up to living in the South. Take care ya'll!

Flashback Series: Israel Part 2

Israel Day Trips

July 2014

Tiberias/Sea of Galilee

For those of you who don’t know, my fiancé, Cody, was stationed in Egypt from summer 2013 to summer 2014. We had been hoping to meet up in Israel during the time I traveled there, but he ended up having to go back to the States earlier than planned. He was able to travel to Israel during a trip in early 2014, and I remembered him telling me through an e-mail how he had visited the Sea of Galilee and enjoyed the area very much.

Along the seaside

Since it wasn’t too far from Jerusalem, I decided to use one of my day trip days to head up to Tiberias – the city and its surrounding area is the location of many Biblical stories, including the site where Jesus fed 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two fish, the location of the Sermon on the Mount, Mount Tabor, Cana, and more sites. Unfortunately, these locations were all at least an hour or two to drive and there weren’t many buses running that frequently (only taxis who charged an exorbitant amount), so instead of risking missing a ride back to Jerusalem I decided to just enjoy the city of Tiberias and the Sea of Galilee.

St. Peter's Church, 1100 AD

Pleasant Street Art

It was beautiful to drive from Jerusalem towards the sea, where the vegetation grew a little more and the hills began to drop into cliffs. The road is up on a hill, and towards the end of the trip we were able to look down on the sparkling blue water. Now, if you recall, this was in the beginning of July in the Middle East – not the most ideal time to be there, as Tiberias was well over 100 degrees F. This detracted me from walking around too much because it was simply too hot. But, I still had a lovely morning walking around the shoreline, taking pictures, visiting some old beautiful churches, and chatting with the man at the tourist desk – a British man who had fallen in love with the area and never returned to England. He shamed me for only building in half a day to visit Tiberias, but as always, I just said "I'll be back someday." 

Tiberias and the Sea of Galilee

Upon my return, I learned that there had been some action happening in Jerusalem during my absence. I told you the last post that the day I went to Masada, the body of a young Arab boy had been discovered, as the result of an Israeli retaliation for the killing of three Israeli boys a week or so prior. The day I went to Tiberias, there was a day-long funeral procession for the boy on the Arab side of modern Jerusalem (outside of the City Walls, where I was staying). The funeral procession led to semi-riots, and there were still gatherings and demonstrations happening just outside of the Walls, so close that we could hear firecrackers and occasional loud roars. The local workers (hostel attendants) didn't think we (the hostel guests and tourists in the Old City) were in any danger, but they cautioned us not to wander around much beyond dark and not to go too closely to the Arab gate on the other side of the Old City. I had a trip planned the next morning, which I relayed to the hostel worker and he once again said that he did not think I would be in any danger, especially since I would be traveling outside of the city and wouldn't have to cross through any sticky areas to get to where I wanted to go. I decided to check on the news the next morning, but Esther (my Israeli hostel roommate) reassured me that she thought I would be fine and encouraged me to still travel the next day.

I spent the evening sitting on the rooftop of my hostel, munching on hummus and cucumbers, drinking tea, reading a book, and watching the sun set over the city of Jerusalem. I paid attention to the Muslim Quarter to see if there was still any activity, but all was quiet. It was incredible to think of all that these city walls had seen over the centuries, and that this was the place I had been learning about all of my life.

Good night Jerusalem

 Bethlehem

My last day trip was on Saturday, the Jewish day of rest. If you recall, I said that on Saturdays in Israel, the buses don’t run until sundown. So how did I manage to travel on a Saturday morning? I didn’t travel in Israel. I went to Palestine. To go see the city of Bethlehem.

Welcome to Bethlehem

Now, this probably sounds incredibly stupid to you that I would take myself to Palestine the day after there were warnings for riots in the city due to conflicts. However, once again, after speaking with some of the hostel staff and reading some online blogs, it was determined to be safe for me because I was a tourist, I was not an Israeli national or Jewish, and because it’s not uncommon for tourists to show up in Bethlehem on any given day. They wanted my money and business more than to ban anyone from going. So, bright and early the next morning I trotted myself down to the place I had been instructed to be picked up by the Palestinian bus company, and sure enough after a few minutes the bus slowed down for me. As soon as I boarded the bus I saw two African ladies speaking English and wearing conservative dresses, so I befriended them quickly and found out they were doing basically the same thing – just going for a few hours to see the church and the holy sites, then heading back. I was relieved right away, and settled back to enjoy the short trip. 

The Wall of Separation

The journey took us not too far out of Jerusalem before I began to notice the wall. Ashamedly, I didn't put two and two together and realize exactly what it was until we got closer. The Separation Wall, or Wall of Apartheid, as it is called in Arabic, stretched beyond what my eyes could see, yet the meaning of it was very apparent. In 2004 the Israeli government erected this wall to protect civilians from suicide bombings and other terror attacks. It is true that the number of suicide attacks decreased from 73 (2000-2003) to 12 (2003-2006), but there is still much controversy over this wall. Most Palestinians are still allowed in and out, but they must be searched and show documentation each time they try to cross to Israel. There was no stop or search on the way into Palestine, however, so we simply drove right up to it and crossed through the checkpoint. Although it was slightly eerie, my feelings were eclipsed by our arrival at Bethlehem a few minutes later.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

As I said before, I grew up going to church and weekly Sunday school, where I learned all of my Bible stories and participated in the annual Christmas play. My image of Bethlehem was tranquil, peaceful, and beautiful. The real thing, in modern times, was a little different. My main objective was to hike myself up the small hill through the main town to reach Manger Square, the location of the Church of the Nativity. I had spoken with some other tourists who said it's walkable and it's just up one main street, the map for which I had on my iPod. However, when I got off the bus, it turned out I was the only one with the idea to walk, as my African ladies were very set on taking a taxi. They offered to let me ride with them, but I politely declined, mostly because of the insistence of the taxi drivers, who were quite rude to me for wanting to walk. Instead, I walked away, wandered around the busy streets for a few moments to get my bearings, located my street (Manger Street), and started walking.

Only in Bethlehem...

Manger Square entrance

I got a few curious stares from shopkeepers as the town of Bethlehem began its Saturday morning, but for the most part it was quiet, already hot, and peaceful. It was a strange feeling of rumination to think that these were the streets so fabled in the stories of the Bible, that so much was said to have happened here. I reached the top of the hill and came upon...Manger Square. As you can see, it was a little different from the Bible stories. To the left of the picture you are looking at, with the tower,

Source: Google Images

is the Church of the Nativity. Unfortunately, I can't seem to locate my photos of it, so I pulled one in from Google. This is a better picture, as it is, because the cars and tourist groups are absent. As you can see, the church is old. According to Wikipedia (I swear I really do learn these facts from the places I go but I can't always rely on my memory so I double check to be certain!) "The church was originally commissioned in 327 by Constantine and his mother Helena over the site that is still traditionally considered to be located over the cave that marks the birthplace of Jesus of Nazareth." (Wikipedia, 2016).

Church of the Nativity

The cave still exists today, and is the primary reason people still come to Bethlehem. I wandered around the outside of the church and Manger Square for a bit, but more and more groups of tourists were arriving by the minute, so I decided to delay no further. The inside of the church was beautiful, but unfortunately under heavy renovations, so it was difficult to see beyond the construction.

 I followed the crowd towards the back of the church, not exactly understanding that I was about to go into a cave, but I figured I would find out what was going on eventually. After waiting in line, being approached by a tour leader whom I politely informed that I wasn't interested in paying him to tell me things, yet still helped me out by leading me ahead of a tour group (I honestly didn't have change to even tip him for that), and waiting in another line, I suddenly found myself waved on by a church official, then descending down into a rock cave.

The Cave. 

Modern day manger

Once down, there was a small, crowded, dimly lit room with another line of people to wait behind. There were photos taken, tour leaders speaking, and people chattering. From my journal I have the following about my experience: "To actually go down there was similar to the Holy Sepulchre - crowded, busy, people scrambling for pictures, and not at all like the Christmas Cards. Still, it was as read as anyone else would every get, so I bent down and touched the site of the Holy Manger. Done."

This experience aside, I still wanted to explore more of the city when I was done. I escaped the busy crowds and crossed the street to Manger Square, where I was entranced by the beautiful shops and goods. I was so pleased at one of the shops, which sold hand carved ornaments out of olive branches, that I bought many ornaments to give as Christmas gifts. I also looked at the beautiful fabrics, but knew I did not need anything, so stopped after realizing so many of these people were surviving off of tourist money, and I did not want to get their hopes up. Palestine was a poor country, and it was evident that Bethlehem mostly relied on tourism. 

I became very interested in reading some of the information guides that were posted in Manger Square, which told the Palestinian perspective of the story. I think especially in America, we hear much more of the Jewish and Israeli perspective. If you read just a few sentences of each description, you will see that the view of events is very different. "The ugly wall has devastated what was once a thriving business district as you enter Bethlehem from Jerusalem." I would like to avoid anything political, as I feel under-educated on the topic and don't wish to state any views, but I do think it is important to keep both perspectives of a story in mind.

After concluding my time in Manger square and looking in the shops, I began my descent back down Manger street to reach the bus. On the way down I took notice of the beautiful mosaics depicting some of the Bible scenes from the birth of Jesus Christ. A jewelry store also caught my eye, and I decided to wander around to see if I could find any little trinkets as gifts. 

Unfortunately, many items were far too expensive for me, but the shopkeepers were quite friendly, and I was sure to tell them that I couldn't afford many of the nice things they showed me (saying I'm a teacher always works). 

Streetside Mosaic

However, they provided a high degree of hospitality and complimentary tea regardless (yes, of course because they wanted me to buy something, but I've discovered more of this treatment in Middle Eastern countries than anywhere else) and I enjoyed wandering around the store looking at the beautiful goods. Towards the end of my wandering, though I made only a modest purchase (remember that necklace I gave you, Mama!?), it turned out to be late breakfast time, and all of a sudden one of the back countertops became a feasting table for the family, and they invited me to join them. Who was I to say no to a kind, smiling, large lady gesturing me over to a counter full of delicious looking food? It was the best meal I had in Israel, with fresh Palestinian bread (they explained the difference to me, but I can't remember off the top of my head), falafel, yogurt, cheese, and vegetables. They were obviously not Muslim, as it was Ramadan, but Arab Christians, and they reiterated what the signs in the square had said, that business used to be better before the wall, but there were still enough tourists to keep the town going. I thanked them for their generosity and continued my journey down, thinking again about how there were two very different sides to the story. 

Graffiti on the Wall

To reinforce this, one of my last glimpses of the town of Bethlehem was when I took a slightly different route back to the bus (I may or may not have gotten a tiny bit lost) and found myself on the backside of the Wall. I knew that the secret UK artist Bansky had done some graffiti on the wall, (mostly a tour to see his work was repeated to me numerous times by the taxi drivers) due to its controversy in the world. Graffiti lined the wall as far as I could see, and though I didn't want to wander too far (as you can see, there weren't too many people around - my travel yellow light warning sign) I could see the feelings of devastation expressed in the artwork, most obviously "Free Palestine." There was a quick passport check on the bus on the way back to Jerusalem, with non-Palestinians required to stay on the bus while the Palestinians got off to be searched and checked before passing. 

View of Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives

My final afternoon in Jerusalem was spent with me tagging along with a tour group to walk by and through the Damascus Gate, the entrance to Jerusalem on the Muslim side, so that I could circle the city and walk up the Mount of Olives, to see the Jewish cemetery and further views of the city. The Jews had a tradition to bury their dead openly outside of the city walls, and as you can see, it is still an impressive memorial today. I was able to more clearly see the Dome of the Rock and the Temple Mount. It was a beautiful end to my time in Jersusalem, and as always, I hoped I would be back someday to learn more, immerse myself more, and experience even more. I knew I had to do more reading and research about the Israel/Palestinian conflicts, and that I had to take an objective approach, despite my personal interactions. But as always, I knew that my knowledge would be heightened by the fact that I had now seen some of the places to learn about, which makes history come alive and forever imprints upon my memory. I can only hope that someday peace returns to this beautiful place in the world, despite all of the conflicts it has rendered throughout history.

Jewish Cemetery

So ends my time in Israel, with one stop left of my trip: Tel Aviv! Stay tuned for one final installment of my Israel Flashback Series, thank you for reading!

Flashback Series: Israel Part 1

Israel: The Promised Land.

July 2014

You think Israel, you think holy. You think sacred, religious, mystical, and prophetic, right?

My first impression of Israel was: loud, smelly, busy, and hot. Can you find that in your Bible?

Kidding aside, Israel was in most ways completely different than what I had expected. A week in this dynamic little country wasn’t nearly enough, but at least I was able to scratch the surface. Once I got there, that is. I was searched and questioned for nearly an hour at the airport in Budapest because I was flying an Israeli airline. They took out every piece of my backpacker luggage and scanned it, leaving me to repack all of my bags (not easy). After this, I was questioned about my oversized passport and reason for so many stamps. I had to list the countries I had been, in order, for the previous three years or something. I felt like the questions guy and I were buddies by the end of the whole ordeal, but he had to move on to completely empty the next person in line’s luggage. He also informed me that things were a little tenser in Israel at the moment due to the incident in June 2014 of three Israeli boys kidnapped and killed by suspected members of the Hamas. I didn’t know it at the time, but that wasn’t the last I would hear of that incident on my trip.

My knowledge of Israel at the time was primarily from Leon Uris’ Exodus, one of my favorite books, recommended to me by my mother (and also one of her favorites). It’s a historical fiction novel that chronicles the foundation of modern day Israel through the struggles and hardships of the Jewish characters who made their way to the Promised Land. From 19^th century Russian peasants to Jewish orphans from the Holocaust, they made their way to the land they had been forced out of so many hundreds of years before, wanting to claim it as their own once again. The land was untamed and apparently uncultivatable, but through establishments like kibbutzes, or small collective communities, set up in the early 20^th century, they relied on what agriculture they could for survival. Eventually, the kubbitzes began to flourish. At first, in the novel at least, the Jews were friendly with the local Palestinian communities. However, as the British took control of formerly Ottoman Palestine and politics began interfering, tensions grew and created a divided state. The state of Israel was voted into existence in 1948, which immediately provoked an invasion and war with the neighboring Arab countries. The area has been in dispute ever since, rivaling for territory and rights. Though my knowledge was limited, I knew that things were not peaceful between the Palestinians and the Israeli people, especially in light of the then-recent situation with the three boys.

  But, I knew of at least three people who had traveled within Israel safely and without problems earlier that year, and they all said it was an incredible place to see in person. I remained cautious, but couldn’t wait to see some of the places I had read about numerous times in my favorite book. After touching down at the Ben Gurion International Airport from Budapest, I hopped on the first bus I could find to Jerusalem, my first destination of my tour of the Holyland. This bus was actually a little difficult to locate, and I had to cross a couple of busy streets, but I was assured that if I stood and waited, the bus to Jerusalem would come.

Jerusalem

Bus window photo.

The bus came. I spent the entire trip gazing out of the window, looking at “the Promised Land” and wondering how in the world the Jewish people had been so successful at creating communities. There was a fair amount of green in the area I was headed, but I imagined how long it had taken to create what I was seeing. Before long, we were pulling into the vicinity of Jerusalem, which is a rather large city (1 million metro population).  However, I chose to spend my time primarily in the Old City, due to limited time and safety. Though I’ve already written about my time in Jerusalem, I’ll work it in between my day trips. I already mentioned my hostel roommate, Esther, who is from Israel and encouraged me to see as much of it as I could. Thanks to her and her help in planning, I decided on three day trips for each day I would be there, though I had to plan carefully around the Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath, for there would be no bus service starting Friday night at sundown and ending Saturday night at sundown. I had a reservation in Tel Aviv on Saturday night, so that was silly of me to not plan more wisely, but luckily the buses would pick up and continue running after sundown. 

Masada

One of the most popular tourist attractions today in Israel, as well as a place of reverence for Jewish people to see in person is the ruins of the fortification atop Masada, a desert plateau. The top of Masada, after either climbing a steep path or taking a cable car up to the top, contains old ruins to poke around in as well as views for miles around, including the Dead Sea.  

View from Masada

Former palace

As the story goes, in times before Christ, Masada was built for the Jewish King Herod as a luxury palace. When the Romans invaded Israel and began the First Jewish-Roman war, there was a Jewish tribe that made their way up to the former palace and used it as a hiding place from the Romans. However, once the Romans discovered them, they built a vast ramp in order to more easily reach the top and capture the Jews. As the siege reached its final stages, the story is that the Romans reached the top, only to find that the entire population had committed a mass suicide, for they would rather have died than be captured by the Romans. To this day, the steadfast Jewish resolve to defend their holy land makes Masada a revered site and top of the list for travelers who make their way to Israel. If you're interested, you can read more about the Siege of Masada here. I believe there are even a few movies that depict the Siege. 

I had met a few people who were able to do the sunrise hike up Masada and recommended it. I decided to do the trip on my own (they had been with a group) and just take the local bus there. Unfortunately, the sun was already too hot mid-morning to allow the hike, so I had to pay for a cable car ride up, which felt like cheating. The sun was indeed excruciatingly hot, however, and made sure to have my sunscreen ready and plenty of water along. The ride up provided amazing desert views extending as far as the eye could see, with a glimmer of blue for the Dead Sea, and the country of Jordan extending beyond that.

View from the ground. 

There were plenty of ruins and diagrams to outline and explain the once glorious palace that had sat there thousands of years before. Although I didn’t have a guide, I did some careful eavesdropping on some of the other tours to learn a little bit more about what I was standing on – sophisticated plumbing, room design, etc. I noticed a group of young people, and realized they were a Birthright group, which is a Jewish organization that arranges for Jewish children (I believe they have to be at least 1 quarter Jewish) born outside of Israel to travel to the country and learn more about their heritage.

I spent plenty of time roaming around the ruins, looking at the views from all angles, before I decided I had had enough sun exposure and wanted to head back down. However, I had been determined to do the Masada hike, and to my delight I learned that even though I hadn’t been able to hike up, I was able to do the hike down the snake path. I was warned by the ticket collector guy that it would be too hot, but since it wasn’t closed off I figured I would give it a go.

Fun fact: I asked a woman to take a picture for me at the fortress, (who told me to ‘work it girl!) and if you look closely enough, you can see that I am in fact wearing two different sandals. I believe it was on the walk to the Old City that one of my flip flops snapped, yet the reason I had been wearing the flip flops is because I was having a difficult heel blister situation. I needed the flip flops for comfort because the sandals were so painful, so when one of the flip flops broke I decided to sacrifice fashion for a pain free journey and wear two different shoes, especially since the working flip flop was on the more painful foot. I doubt any of you would have noticed that if I hadn’t pointed it out, but I thought I would humor you all the same.

As it turned out, the trip down really wasn’t that bad, in spite of the weather and the shoe situation. There was a bit of a breeze and I was moving quickly enough to make the trip in good time. At one point about halfway down I looked back and discovered I was not the only one walking down the path – he was another tourist I had seen with his wife and baby on the tram ride on the way up. He caught up to me and we chatted the rest of the way down. I discovered that he and his wife were Jewish, lived in New York City, and were thinking about moving to Israel for a few years. He said that many Jewish people feel that Israel is their true home, but he and his wife just weren’t sure if they could make the move because of all the things they would have to give up. A life in the desert is certainly a contrast from a life in New York City.

We made it to the bottom and took a few pictures for posterity (which I will not be sharing with you because I was very sweaty), then he and his wife offered to give me a ride to Ein Gedi, the little beach town that I was aiming for after Masada to cool off in the Dead Sea. They gave me a few more Israel tips, as they had been there many times before, and then sent me on my way.

The Dead Sea

Not to be confused with the Red Sea, the Dead Sea is actually a saltwater lake bordered by the countries Jordan, Israel, and the West Bank. It has the lowest land elevation on earth and has nearly ten times the salt levels as the ocean. Although no living organisms can exist in the Dead Sea, it is still used today for healing purposes and the creation of natural products. In addition, it is sought after by tourists to soak and float in its high density water. Of course, this was on my list. The sea itself is beautiful, providing a striking contrast to the desert surrounding it. 

It was still extremely hot out, I was still dealing with my shoe situation, and I couldn’t leave my things for very long unattended, but my game plan was to make it as far down as I could, strip to my suit and slide in carefully with the one good shoe, and stay close to shore.

Safety first. 

The Dead Sea was one of the strangest experiences I’ve ever had, mostly because I’ve spent many hours of my life in the water. If I’m not floating, my legs go down to the bottom. This was swimming as I knew it. But in the Dead Sea, I was contradicted. My legs didn’t go down. If I tried to stand vertically, they just popped right back up. I could pretty much float and relax to my heart’s content without even thinking about it (like a personal floating chair) except it was over 100 degrees and that’s just not pleasant, no matter how easy the floating is. But it was still a fun time. 

My fellow floaters.

So instead I tried to defy the Sea once more and stand up, which proved too difficult, so I accepted my defeat and floated my way to the shore, stepping gingerly on the slippery rocks to reach my clothes and valuables. After this I made my way back to the shade in the little beach café, where I could wait for the bus back to Jerusalem. I had a little more time in the afternoon and evening for exploring the Old City, but I also had another excursion planned for the early morning, so it was an early night. However, this evening was when I learned that there was a new development in the tensions I had mentioned before: there had been a retaliation killing of an Arab boy, whose body had been discovered the day before, killed by three Jewish Israelis. It was sad to think that the places I was having such delight discovering and experiencing were still areas of deep conflict and tension below the surface.

Part 2 is coming up since this is already getting long: stay tuned!