Reporting from Tahir Square, Cairo and Cruising the Nile

Egypt Museum, Cairo (in background is Min of Interior building burnt during last January's protests)

 It is January 20th.  After a few days in Cairo we flew to Luxor where we rambled the streets behind the tourist area.  From Luxor we joined a four night cruise on the Nile Shams, a 70-room ship, finishing in Aswan and returning to Cairo on the overnight sleep train.  From Cairo we took a day's excursion via train to Alexandria.

A few observations about Egypt:

Despite appearances, (ubiquitous machine gun-carrying security guards and security checkpoints), we feel welcome and safe everywhere and in all conditions.

Enjoying views of the Nile as we cruise on the Nile Shams

 
Top Kapi chicken is the best of the breed ever eaten.  Chicken pieces, with bone, are stuffed with rice raisins, cinnamon and other spices, wrapped in foil, baked, and the tops broiled. Yum.  This was served at Doka Restaurant for Nubian style food in Aswan.  Of other Egyptian food, we also enjoy vegetable and rice stuffed grape vine leaves, Babaganoush (grilled eggplant, garlic, lemon, and a bit of yogurt), and oriental salad (tomato, cucumber, red onion, parsley soaked in lemon juice).

Nubian tea service

Radios blare pop Arabic music, yet are switched off upon the muezzin’s first cry to prayer.  Initially soothing, the first muezzin is joined or usurped by others.  When lucky this generates a lovely harmony.  However, more often, the competing chants, (many not melodious), grate like chalk on a blackboard.  We wake up, sometimes as early as 3:30 a.m., not to an alarm clock but to the first cry to prayer.

Beyond the melodious call for prayer, another sound fresh to my ear is the slap of slippers smacking the hard packed dirt road.  Part of the Muslim street costume includes the practical plastic or leather slippers that are so easy to remove before prayer, before nesting into a pile of cushions at a café, or before entering any home.

Rosy dust from the ubiquitous unpaved roads coats clothing up to the knee.

Pervasive cigarette smoke is cloaked by frankincense, when we are lucky.

In Cairo, shoppers port their purchases

A tourist cannot escape from the lures into scent shops.  Thrice we became captives yet were rewarded with insightful conversation.  We learned:
            - Minute details of the Revolution’s beginning days, January 25^th through 29^th, 2011, from a shopkeeper who sells wares directly on Tahir Square.  Mohammed, the shop owner, believes this Revolution will be successful because of two indicators:  1) A young man and a young WOMAN attended a table in Tahir Square where lost cell phones, wallets, etc were displayed for the owning protesters to come by and collect.  To his knowledge, no one stole from this cache of belongings.  2)  None of the stores surrounding Tahir Square were looted or damaged.  I saw a poster in one of the metro stops that advertised, (paraprhased), "President Obama wishes to see American students educated in the same fashion as the youthful Revolutionaries of Egypt".
           - Egyptians welcome the Revolution, recognizing it to be so badly needed:  “Enough is enough” they sigh in despair.  Most young Egyptians would rather emigrate than stay and fight, if they only could.  An emigration lottery grants 15,000 Egyptians a year to depart for the United States, one of the most preferred destinations.
            - The Nubian bride prepares herself for the wedding day with a cooked rice scrub, followed by a full body immersion in a frankincense steam bath, and tops off the treatment with a full body henna tattoo.
            - Concocting perfume from pure essential oils is straightforward, as is preparing and applying medicines from essential oils.

Plenty of columns, statues and hieroglyphs to see on a Nile cruise

We squirm in our shoes with the guilt of the blessed as we tolerate innumerable prods, literally physical, from desperate street vendors trying to make an Egyptian pound.  Tourism is substantially down during this high season.  Our Nile cruise boat was only 75% capacity and that was way more than any other we saw.  Of the fleet of 450 cruise boats, it is my estimate that no more than 50 are in operation.  We found ourselves dining alone in restaurants that would normally be swarming with tourists.  At some historical sites, we might be the only ones in any given square or room, when normally we would have been fighting for foot space, shoulder to shoulder.  We are surrounded by poverty and it is impossible to ignore it.

Much of our thinking power is absorbed with negotiating prices for even the smallest of purchases or determining the appropriate level of baksheesh.  The U.S. dollar is now worth 6.7 Egyptian pounds.  Given slow tourism and general unemployment, demand is low making prices low as well.  It is impossible to apply U.S. tipping or pricing paradigms here.

Practically all vendors and service providers are men.  On a rare occasion I overpaid for a small bag of peanuts just because I was thrilled to be negotiating with a sales woman.

Dinner Club boats on the Nile in Cairo

Buying an embroidered Egyptian cotton tee-shirt as a gift for a five year old Italian friend, I was (unusually) enjoying the banter and lengthy fussing over price that is the expected means for making a purchase.  With the price differential at my offer of 10 and the seller’s asking of 70, bored Karoline and Gerhard meandered on to the next store.  Some five minutes later I had reached the final handshake at 20 Egyptian pounds when Gerhard returned to the scene.  The salesman bellowed, “How much, sir, is your final offer for this tee-shirt?”  Gerhard, thinking it would be helpful, pulled a stern face and growled, “Never more than 40!”  The seller caught me groaning and rolling my eyeballs.  Fortunately, he had enjoyed our little game and, grinning broadly, honored our handshake.  Winking, he informed in parting, “If you wish to have another husband, I am at your service Madame.”

I have learned to fold small bills into the size of my thumb nail so as to discreetly slip “thanks” into open palms.  While baksheesh is expected, a frontal display of the tip is considered terribly gauche.

Experiencing sheesha at a tea house in Cairo

We experiment with the tea house scene and indulge in samples of Turkish coffee, mint tea, hot hibiscus tea, falafel sandwich and a sheesha.  As for the sheesha, I found puffing on the hookah to be a relaxing pleasure.  However, upon learning that one serving is equivalent in nicotine consumption to five packs of cigarettes, I refrain form all subsequent offers.

Egyptians may very possibly be the world’s most friendly and outgoing of all peoples.  Folks on the streets approach us for formal introductions and a chance for friendly banter.  My favorite:  a married Muslim woman, and fellow traveler who is about my age, catches my eye on the train platform.  She is covered in black drapes from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes.  From behind her chadar her eyes twinkle with curiosity.  She extends her right gloved hand and we shake heartily in greeting.  She speaks—jibberish to me—and, taking a cue from street kids who like to practice their elementary English, I ask, “What is your name?  My name is Karen.”  She hears my jibberish and her eyes fog with confusion, then fear, then disappointment.  However, her male escort (husband?) murmurs something to her and replies on her behalf, “She name <something like> Chilia.”  I direct a reply to her, “It is nice to meet you Chilia.  My name is Karen.”  She beams upon hearing her name repeated by me.  We lean in to kiss one anothers cheeks and my heart warms.  The train whistles and carries me away.

Magdi tour guide with Nubian school teacher

Men are more becoming than women here.  While not seriously preening or prancing, the general presentation is well groomed and with a pleasing aesthetic sensibility.  There is something rather handsome about the galabeya gown and kefiyeh head scarf, or shawl casually laid on the shoulders.  Many women are over weight and seem to struggle with their step.  With wincing faces, they stomp side to side rather than glide forward.  I wonder if this is related to their enforced indoor and sedentary lifestyle.  When a woman is attractive, she can be exotically so.  The unmarried woman may be colorful, even if forced to drape herself from head to toe.  The rare beauty knows how to defy Islam’s modesty code with curve-clinging full length gowns, sparkling head scarves framing delicate kohl-ringed eyes and brightly painted pouty lips.  Get one to smile and the surrounding men can do nothing but melt into submission.

Nile in Aswan from Old Cataract Hotel

Exploring Egypt is like partaking in a multi-day excursion to Disneyland, Sea World and the zoo—only this is the real thing.  Of all that we have seen of Egypt, I find the views of the islands on the Nile at Aswan to be the most beautiful, especially at sunset.  My favorite activities have been snorkeling at the Blue Hole in Dahab, walking the halls of the Egypt and Islamic Art museums, and observing the scenery from the top deck of the cruise boat as we glided along the Nile.

Gerhard has decided that living Hell would be reincarnation as a Cairo taxi driver.  I posture that if we had stayed in Cairo much longer I would become another one of the scarf-clad chain smoking coffee drinkers--scarf to dodge the stares, cigarettes to reduce tension generated from dealing with the chaos of the city, and coffee to help cope with the many times during the day when things don't go right and patience is the only recourse.  

Train's comfortable sleep car from Aswan to Cairo

We leave Cairo happy for the experience, yet hoping to put behind us the constraints of hotel living, street grime, pollution, crowd congestion and constant probes for baksheesh.  Coincidentally, we depart on the eve of the January 25^th anniversary of the Revolution, which will be celebrated in Tahir Square.  The feeling of jubilation is in the air.  When looking for Tabouleh, a famed Lebanese-Egyptian restaurant, we found ourselves caught in the foot traffic of a pre-celebration protest.  Youthful crowds rumbled towards Tahir Square while official looking buildings and international hotels were protected by well equipped police guards.  Wondering about our safety, I asked a café owner what was causing the protest and learned that the issue is that reparations to families of victims slain by military police a year ago remain unaddressed by the court system.  He advises, “Don’t worry; today’s protest is very peaceful.”  This soothed me, until he added, “Insha’Allah”, (“God willing”).

Egypt Travel Resources
Travelling in Egypt is currently very cheap.
Wireless Internet service is crappy on landlines yet is ubiquitous.  We didn’t do it, but maybe quality is better when buying a 3G cellular card for the laptop?
The Lonely Planet Guide was our most helpful resource and we managed to hit all the touristic highlights using it as our primary information source.  While guided tours abound, we tended to prefer exploring on our own.
Longchamps Hotel, in Zemalek district of Cairo, was indeed the right choice of lodging in Cairo—for a chance to be close to real street life, yet offering an oasis of calm, clean large rooms, English/German/French communication, the best yet still slow Wifi internet service, and a guaranteed nutritious breakfast.
Mara House was a fascinating place to observe local person’s Luxor.  Away from the tourist hotels in a working class neighborhood is this well appointed Egyptian version of a B&B operated by a verbose Irish woman.  Insightful recommendations are on her hotel’s web site.
Selecting a Nile Cruise via the internet without an agent saves so much money, yet is nerve wracking and a bit arbitrary.  We lucked out and loved the Nile Shams for it’s luxury, creature comforts, quality of meals and service, and sound touristic itinerary that hits all the highlights through semi-private guides, and includes the fun of horse carriage and felucca rides.
The Dahab Paradise hotel was a perfect choice for a relaxing stay in Dahab:  luxurious; walking distance to town; short taxi ride to the Blue Hole for snorkeling (or diving).
Barbara Fudge is an ex-pat American living in Cairo and offers a casual travel agent’s service.  She was my primary aid in determining what to see and how long to stay in any one place.  If I had wished it, all could have been booked through her.  However, I preferred to be more hands on and engaged in choices. And even without her earning agency fees, she was a big help.  Of course, I managed to say thanks through a shared dinner out and a gift brought from Sifnos in gratitude for her own generosity of spirit. barbfudge@gmail.com

February 10 P.S.  Since writing this post, we see in the news that a) two American women were kidnapped by Bedouins while with a private driver going from St. Catherine's Monastery to Sharm El Shiekh, and, b)  66 people were killed during eruptions at a soccer game in Port Said.  Family members dangerously crowded Ramses train station in central Cairo to make sure their beloved returned from the game.  In both of those cases, it could have been us caught in the action.  Despite feeling safe, the risks need to be considered.

Up to Mt. Sinai and down in the depths of the Blue Hole: Dahab, the Sinai, Egypt

In the second week of January we passed from Petra, Jordan  through Eilat, Israel (again) to reach the Sinai, Egypt.  It was two hours before we straightened out our Egyptian tourists visas at the Taba border.  With nerves of steel, a chaotic scurry from one desk to another, gentle persistence, a helpful tour guide who could speak English, and extra dollars we passed through to the Egyptian side, meeting our driver at the expected hour.  The hair raising two hour ride, (sometimes headlights off in the pitch dark; speeding through switchbacks; passing through several checkpoints with machine gun welding plain-clothed guards; driver texting or talking on his cell phone continuously), we arrived safely at the aptly named Dahab Paradise hotel. 

Pool at the Dahab Paradise hotel

From the hotel we reached the town either by walking or catching private taxis to chill out in Bedouin Wifi cafes so that Karoline could complete schoolwork.  When returning one evening from a wonderful Egyptian dinner at the Bedouin Meya Meya restaurant, I was struck by how cozy the town felt.  Men (only?!) casually wondered the streets, greeting one another intimately, (often kissing, foreheads connected, whispering—likely Muslim blessings).  We too were openly greeted with much fanfare, feeling warmly welcomed.

"School day" at the Bedouin internet cafe Green Valley

On a picture perfect day we were driven the 10 minutes to the Blue Hole for spectacular snorkeling and more hanging out at a Bedouin café.  There we relaxed with, and were entertained by, the café owner nicknamed Zizu.  Together we smiled as busloads of Russian and Italian tourists arrived in waves from Sharm el Shiekh to ride camels into the dive zone, switch into wetsuits, take a 10 minute guided (!) snorkel swim through the Blue Hole, consume their token Bedouin lunch then hop back into their buses for the next “check that box” site. 

Fish and coral life on the reef at the Blue Hole

Karoline and Gerhard snorkel in the Blue Hole

Zizu is a young Cairene, who spoke with fellow hangers on in Arabic, Russian, Italian, a bit of Chinese, German, and English.  This 20-something year old confides that he is working his way to becoming marriageable.  This means that he already owns outright a house and the Blue Hole café, and is on the path towards buying 100% ownership in a restaurant in Dahab.  He still needs a bit more steady cash flow before he feels that he can become responsible for the welfare of a wife and children.  Yet, he is confident that he will be successful.  With a wink in one eye and a twinkle in the other, he proposes marriage to Karoline.  She fumbles, and—finally-- declares “ NO! thank you.”   In all seriousness, I heard from a tour guide that marriage is currently a huge issue for this country where the average age is something in the '20s.  High unemployment and the expectation that the man bear the economic burden of raising a family and taking care of a wife means that the marriage age is increasing and the percentage of people getting married is falling significantly.

Here everyone works, even late into the night.  Men are the vendors and interact with the tourists.  Women work hidden in their homes, or, when doing household marketing on the streets, behind heavy veils.  Poorly groomed modestly clothed children hawk handcrafts or services between bouts of street play and chatter with the tourists.

St. Catherine's Monastery, the Sinai, Egypt

Hiking to the summit of Mt. Sinai

Another day found us on the two hour drive to St. Catherine’s Protectorate, through desert, military checkpoints, and Bedouin enclaves, for a tour of the monastery and a 7 km hike up Mt. Sinai.  The monastery was interesting yet also a disappointment because it truly deserves a guided tour, whereas a guide speaking one of our languages was not available.  This is the longest—and currently--operating (Greek) Orthodox Christian monastery in the world.  Because of its remote location, it did not suffer the burning of books and iconography that other Orthodox Christian monasteries had suffered in one of the Byzantine periods.  Therefore, it holds the world’s most precious collection of Christian codices, manuscripts, and iconography—truly impressive.  I had hoped for more, yet could view only three of the largest collection of encaustic style icons. 

The top of Mt. Sinai is where Moses received the Ten Commandments and currently hosts a small Byzantine era Greek Orthodox church.   The hike to the summit of Mt. Sinai was the fourth such climb in seven days for us, (after Nimrod Castle in the Golan Heights, Israel and two climbs in Petra, Jordan).  Thus, while the views were magnificent, they were competing with the others for our gratification.  We loved the fresh air and vigorous exercise, yet did not care for the pestering camel ride vendors or the garbage strewn pathways.

A Dahab taxi ride

Like the rest of Egypt, Dahab is suffering from the news scare and consequential lack of tourists.  No Americans in sight.  What few tourists there were seemed to be Russian, Korean, Italian, and the occasional British.  Our hotel is normally at 100% capacity this time of year, whereas now it is 25%.  We were hounded by vendors desperate for business.  “For Sale” signs and abandoned building construction, along with uncollected garbage reign the streets.  For us this condition was largely a blessing as there was no competition from the normal hoards during this high season.  We received special attention, making acquaintance with many optimistic friendly people whose fortitude is inspiring.

The Nabataean Bedouins of Petra, Jordan (early January)

The Siq, Petra, Jordan

 Petra, Jordan was added as the “Eighth Wonder of the World” in 1985.  This is the land of "Lawrence of Arabia" and Indiana Jones.  If we had been asked, we would have enthusiastically caste a favorable vote. 

For this part of our journey, during the first week of January, we relied on Eco Tours to arrange for a package tour, to include all the logistics for getting in and out and in again from Israel. 

Petra needs to be experienced:  words and photographs simply do not do justice to its magnificence. 

Al Khazneh Treasury

After 3 km of walking through the silent, humbling, creepy Siq, mesmerized by the towering sandstone and quartz cliffs, we are stunned to find in stone curtained view the majestic Treasury.  One can only imagine what god-fearing awe impressed the hot, fatigued, fearful caravaners who arrived upon this view in the first century.  In an otherwise desolate desert setting, arriving at the Treasury promised water and protective lodging.   It also forewarned of the power of the nomadic Nabataean hosts.

Petra's caves used as home

UNESCO, the Jordanian government and local Nabataean councils agreed that Petra inhabitants would remove themselves from their cave homes so that Petra could become a tourist haven.  It took only one year for homes to be built in a newly created village on the outskirts.  The inhabitants migrated en masse in 1985.  Besides the offer of new homes, the citizens were also guaranteed jobs in the local tourist trade and the rights to return to the caves after the site is closed to tourists each night.  Some twenty five (probably more?) still live in the caves at the periphery of the tourist section. 

Nabadaean woman puffing a fat cigar

When taking an 8 mile hike into the back areas, we came upon two of these cave dwelling women, tattooed with decorative black lines on the face, and hands wrinkled and darkened from constant tending to brush fires for their tea, Arabic coffee, food and warmth.  On this cool morning, squatting in from of a small brush fire, they were enjoying a smoke of a powerfully aromatic herb, cast in the form of big fat cigars.

Ad Dier Monastery

Atop Ad Dier's pinnacle

After an 800 step climb at the end of a 4 mile walk we were treated to a view of the promised Ad Deir Monastery.  The treat we did not expect was an acrobatic performance atop the pinnacle of the monastery.  With heart in hand, we watched as the human ibex leapt from pinnacle to gable and back again, continuing the drama with one-legged yoga poses.  Why?  No clue!

For a taste of the Bedouin life, on offer are camel or donkey rides and tea or Arabic coffee served in a Bedouin style cave café.  Tessir, (head-dressed Nabataean man sitting on the camel in the photo), relaxes with us over tea at the café, eventually inviting us to stay overnight in one of the caves, Bedouin style.  Too bad we depart for Dahab or we would have gladly pursued the invitation.

Handmade jewelry is made by a Nabadaean women’s cooperative.  On the trek to the High Place of Sacrifice we come across Noor’s market for such jewelry.  She offers us a cup of tea and Karoline negotiates the purchase of a souvenir necklace made with a camel tooth embellished with camel bone beads.

Karoline buys Camel tooth from 26 y.o. Noor

Petra Resources:

1.   Eco Tours is highly recommended for arranging tours to Petra, Jordan from Eilat, Israel.  They also have a great reputation for organizing other tours throughout the Middle East.

2. In Eilat, Israel, we can recommend the Nova hotel.  Avoid the Blue hotel, (previously known as The Pierre).

3.  Caution:  Eilat is very expensive and schmaltzy; stay there as little as possible.  It does function well as a relay point for getting to Petra in Jordan and Dahab in the Sinai, Egypt.

4.  We recommend spending two days in Petra, as long as you are bothering to travel this far.  Ideally, we would have stayed in a Bedouin camp within one of the caves, (tour operators are hesitant to book such camps, for reasons unclear to me).
5.  Be forewarned:  Israel charges departure fees (in Shekels or U.S. dollars) when leaving for Jordan and for Egypt.  Country entrance fees are charged by Jordan (in dollars or dinars) and Egypt (only in Egyptian pounds).

More of Israel: Eilaboun Near the Sea of Galilee, Tel Aviv, Jaffa, Bethlehem and the Dead Sea

Jelly filled donuts to celebrate Chanukah

Palestinian Christian Hospitality in Eilaboun

An enthusiastically friendly man in the convenience store prefers to speak German and this we do so that I may explain our dilemma:  We are attempting to meet Rafat in the town of Eilaboun so that he can escort us to his friend’s house where we plan to rest our heads for the next five nights.  However, our cell phone conversation with Rafat was cut short when our Greek SIM card ran out of pre-paid minutes.  Furthermore, because all the signage in the town is in Arabic, we are unable to tell Rafat where we are, other than “by the tree with a trunk brightly lit red with Christmas lights”.  No worries; the gentleman knows Rafat, calls him, and within two minutes we are making introductions.  We decline the offer of a coffee from the helpful convenience store owner because Rafat seems to be in a hurry to conduct his hospitality responsibilities.

Eilaboun is an old Palestinian Christian village near the Sea of Galilee, only 4 kilometers from Kana, where Jesus performed the miracle of turning water into wine.  Most of its housing has been re-built in contemporary style since the 1960’s.  Yet, our hosts, (in their 30’s and 40’s) are attempting to motivate more considerate renovation of the beautiful and simple centuries-old stone houses.  For example, the house where we are staying had been the grandfather’s, rebuilt in the 1990’s with new rooms and modern conveniences to accommodate the growing family.  Younger members cannot buy their own land, given legal limitations against Palestinians acquiring land in Israel.  Thus, the original simple house was built out within the family compound, and up by another two stories.  Rafat tells us about the “apartheid” suffered by the Palestinian Israelis, who are governed under a separate set of laws from the Jewish immigrants to Israel.  He also describes how Palestinian Christian lands were confiscated and 12 men executed in Eilaboun as immigrant Zionists made a stealthy land grab and ethnic cleansing in the late 1940’s, (http://sonsofeilaboun.com/ ).  The affected families in this town can never forget, even if they have forgiven.  He points to a valley seen from the rooftop of our exchange house where Jewish Israelis confiscated land from Palestinians in the last 20 years.  The land hosts a water pipeline that transports sweet water from the Sea of Galilee to support the actively growing areas of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa and beyond. 

Eilaboun house: new atop old

We are living in the expansive ground floor apartment that Rafat and his friends proudly renovated, (http://www.homeexchange.com/show.php?id=147953 ).   One hundred and twenty year old vaulted arched stone walls and ceilings were uncovered by chipping away layers of plaster.  The current store room had been the grandfather’s inherited home and still boasts the original rough wood ceiling.  Upstairs are the modern new apartments in which the brothers’ families live.  Rafat explains that it was not until 1962 that electricity was brought to the village, not until 1965 that the first water pipes were installed so that the women didn’t need to port water from the village cistern, and not until 1967 when the first car and TV arrived.  In the 1990’s a U.S.-based Christian group built a local school so that students didn’t need to travel as far as Nazareth, (40 minutes commute), for their school day. About 40 Muslims migrated to Eilaboun in the 1980s. When asked about the odd observation that there are two mosques to serve so few people, Rafat explains that the Muslim community is largely represented by two families who don’t get along with each other, thus each preferring to build and maintain their own mosque.  Today, the village appears to be experiencing an age of prosperity and our exchange home contains all imaginable modern conveniences and then some.

The narrow streets, originally only wide enough for a man walking astride his donkey, have been broadened by encroaching upon family courtyards, and still are narrow enough that one must politely wait one’s turn if encountering a car coming in the opposite direction.    Rafat guides us on a walking tour through the town of 5,000 people so that we know where to buy our food supplies and eat a simple meal.  Along the way he is greeted by everyone, and we are introduced to shop owners so that our way is smoothed when we return for purchases.  We are invited, “just knock on our door when you have a minute”, for coffees by his extended family members who live throughout the village.  We are especially grateful for these introductions since our German, English, French, Chinese and Greek will not go far in this dominantly Arabic speaking village.  As we travel, Wazzid, his 10 year old son, keeps disappearing then re-appearing.  His father seems to be quite unconcerned about his whereabouts, suggesting that Wazzid feels that he belongs everywhere and the villagers are vigilant protectors of their youth.  We stop at Rafat’s own home where his wife hosts us for Arabic coffee, dried fruits, tiny cookies, and fresh fruits.  Clueless about Arabic hospitality, I exclaim pleasure over the cardamom-infused coffee and find myself disallowed refusal of the gifted package of freshly ground coffee.  They teach me how to make the coffee, which I am sipping now as I write, pleased with my new skill. 

Karo's marzipan creations during a workshop at the Marzipan Museum, Tabor Winery 

Over coffee we learn that Ramat is a licensed electrician.  His immediate family lives in a ten year old apartment that he built himself on a second story within his father’s compound.  His three bedroom apartment is surrounded by his three other brother’s apartments, also built around their parents’ original house on the ground floor.  Ramat’s wife comes from near Lebanon, just inside the Israeli border, and thirty minutes north.  In Arabic tradition, they dated for a short period, seeking parental pre-approval, then married and a year later their son was born.  Unlike tradition, both were “very old” when marrying in their early 30s.  In addition to raising their 10 year old son and 5 year old daughter Sama, Rafat’s wife manages the office of her father’s furniture making factory.  Rafat is the Maintenance Manager for the largest tahini making plant in the world.  He also maintains the local schools as a charitable service.  By “maintain”, he means keeping the electrical and mechanical equipment in operating order.  We exchange notes, comparing the Arabic tradition of living within multi-generational family compounds versus the American habit of families separated by yards, fences, and long distances, (usually due to the pursuit of economic opportunities, am I right?).  Rafat’s wife laments that she can’t even sneeze without others in his family knowing about it.  On the other hand, she benefits from free childcare support from her mother-in-law who lives only downstairs, (and, as needed, from other family members living in the compound).  They think we Americans do it better, while we admire their close knit communal way of life.   

This is the land of olives.  With the local harvest completed only a couple of weeks ago, we exchange notes about technique and we sample their edible olives that have been curing in salt and sun.  Ramat is also proud to show us their other produce grown on the family’s property.  This is where Africa meets Europe and the bounty of the land is overwhelming.  He invites us to harvest the herbs and fruits growing in the courtyard of the house where we are staying.  At this moment I am brewing spearmint tea for Karoline’s breakfast from one such harvest.

Fireworks for the New Year

Today is a new day and we celebrated Sylvester with Rafat’s family.  Most definitely this was the most unique New Year’s celebration I have yet to experience.   On the walk to Rafat’s house, we found ourselves “Mahaba, mahaba”, and “Happy New Year!”-ing past clusters of family and friends surrounding their grills on outdoor patios.  At Rafat’s apartment the extended family had gathered around a temporary table filling the entirety of their kitchen, dining and living room.  Four types of meat and an array of vegetables from the grill joined four salads on the table.  Most unique to me were the homemade pickles, grilled eggplant topped with lemon juice and tahini, and the dessert of pumpkin preserves.  What space remained on the table became the spot to place a drink bottle. 

Rooftop view if New Year's celebration in Eilaboun

A few minutes after eleven o’clock the fireworks began.  We climbed to the rooftop.  The ubiquitous BBQ grills had thrown up a cloud of aromatic smoke that had settled over the town.  Fireworks from each family compound competed for our attention. We learned that the fireworks are sold by the owner of the convenience store who had helped us to meet Rafat when first arriving in Eilaboun.  He acquires them illegally from the West Bank.  Military flares and rounds from AK47s shot into the sky added to the scene.  The police, in full visible attendance at every street corner, turned a blind eye.  Most uniquely, paper bags inflated by hot air from attached candles rose into the sky, looking much like fast moving stars.  Just below us, villagers gathered around the main square waiting for the municipality’s fireworks display to begin at midnight. Bells from the town’s two Christian churches incessantly rang in competition with one another.  In the near distance was the five story house recently built by Rafat’s employer and owner of the tahini factory.  He had built 45 square meters of living space on each of the five stories for himself, wife and son.  To share in his good fortune, he promised to host a magnificent fireworks display from his new rooftop.  He did not disappoint us.  As the fireworks faded away, we settled back at the table for more food, drink and stories. Reflecting on this year’s fireworks displays, Rafat ironically noted that, while it is like pulling teeth to convince villagers to invest in a new school building, they enthusiastically spend many times more shekels on one-upping each other in firework displays each year.  Interrupting our conversation, a crowd of raised aggressive voices on the street below drew us to the windows.  From there we witnessed a brawl between twenty or more young men.  Screams from the womenfolk joined in as girlfriends, sisters, mothers, and even fathers arrived to pull apart the adrenaline-rushed young men.  Rafat had left the apartment in a rush, returning with one of the hotheads.  He forced the young guy to sit at the table, refusing to let him leave the apartment until he had fully cooled off.   No one in our party seemed unfazed by the ruckus.  Instead, they explained that this scene replays every year.  Apparently, there is an ongoing feud between two Christian families that triggers the young men to seek revenge through fist fights and heated words.  We waited until the tension on the street had died away, and then headed back to our beds, once again wishing the revelers sitting on their patios a “Happy New Year”.

Meeting Old Friends in Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv:  shopping on Allenby street

Prior to arriving in Eilaboun, and before leaving Jerusalem, we took a convenient public bus ride for a day’s excursion to Tel Aviv and Old Jaffa, enjoying the beach scene, searching for the Bauhaus buildings, marveling at the recent growth in urban architecture, and people watching in the bustling shopping districts.  As luck would have it, we were able to host colleagues from Gerhard’s Stanford Uni. days (over 30 years ago!) for a South Sudanese dinner in a restaurant recommended by Dani and Avi.  Dani told us about the unpleasant side of Israel’s entrepreneurial mastery, (well defined in the book Start Up Nation), as he lamented about his decade long effort and ultimate failure to generate a profit from his own start up firm.  Both of us, having been in similar U.S. high tech start ups, could relate.  Recently, in his late 60s, he is remaking a career as the head of the Energy Department in the engineering school of a municipal university.  Meanwhile, when also raising their three children, Avi pursued a career as a teacher, then administrator, of a non-academic program for the Tel Aviv municipal school district until her retirement at 65.  She has been courted back into the position, which she agrees to perform on a very part time basis.  We agreed that her role has no comparable one in the U.S. school system.  She establishes the curriculum for the arts and culture, sometimes teaching poetry and creative writing courses herself in an after school program.  Her favorite benefit is the free tickets that allow them to attend more Tel Aviv performances than they have time to enjoy. 

Bauhaus building in Tel Aviv

The South Sudanese dinner of falafel, humus and pita prompts Avi to describe the significant challenges that Israel faces with the ever growing number of immigrants who stay illegally and are draining use of real estate, schools, healthcare, and welfare programs.  In this case, the South Sudanese, who were not welcome in Egypt, escape northward to Israel where Jewish values empathize with the political refugee needs.  Despite the drain on public services, Israel’s lowest historical unemployment rate of 5% suggests that there is room for more people, should the visitors find a way to become legalized workers.   With high income taxes (70%, I read) and escalating real estate costs, it is increasingly difficult to lead a healthy middle class life in Israel.  Our guests lament that the wealthy few Israelis corruptly control the governing of the many, yet we wonder where in the world this is not the case?  Non-violent protests, lasting for months in the major cities, make these points apparent.

Upon our return from Tel Aviv we are surprised to see crowds of Orthodox Jews, (men in black top hats and suits; women in long skirts and heads wrapped in scarves), flowing through the bus terminal in great numbers.  We come to learn that in a village between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv a clash of beliefs has generated a popular uprising within branches of the Orthodox Jewish community.  An 8 year old girl was spit on by adults and called a “whore” when she arrived at school, apparently not dressed conservatively enough for this particular Orthodox school.  Less conservative Orthodox Jews are protesting:  “Stop imposing your ultra Orthodox beliefs upon us.  We don’t wish to be treated like Iranians”.  The Orthodox people we saw in the bus station were returning from the day’s protests.

A Scary Security Checkpoint in Bethlehem and the Dead Sea

Bethlehem's Manger Square

We departed from Jerusalem in a rental car and visited touristy Bethlehem and the dead Dead Sea before travelling northward through endless fields of hot house vegetable and palm tree farms to Eilaboun.  Towards Bethlehem, it was quite the experience finding, and then passing through, our first police checkpoints in and out of Palestinian territory.   Despite the polite inquires and pleasant faces of the young attractively uniformed Israeli guards, their automatic machine guns, and the pervasive barbed wire are intimidating and worthy of bad dreams.  

Kayla Beach on the Dead Sea