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

Midway in Jerusalem

Greek Orthodox Monastery of the Cross;  Jerusalem, Israel

It is hard to believe that we have reached the midway point for our year abroad.  Already so many experiences and memories.  The home schooling is working fabulously, particularly when supplemented by local attendance at the gymnasium (high school) and after school lessons in piano and painting.  I am on target to publish my book in late summer, having attained the expected milestone.  Dear hubbie has exhausted his list of home improvement projects on the Sifnos cottage.  We are at liberty to experience the reciprocating end of home exchange stays.  We leave Sifnos in good shape for three months of suitcase living.  First on the itinerary is Israel.

And here we are in Jerusalem, already for several days, ready to celebrate Christmas by treading in the path set by Jesus.  We sense the contradictions, harmony, conflict and unity that is this community of people in Israel.

Lost our way and found friendly hospitality   

Home exchange

home exchange living room

Forever needing friendly advice with map

Well settled into our incredible home exchange apartment  in the German Colony, we strike out for the famed Mehane Yehuda souk to stock the pantry.  Along the way, we consult our city map and navigate our way past more lovely Jerusalem stone clad multi-family buildings, lush sculpture filled parks, the Jewish Theater, the President’s and the Prime Minister’s residences, and on to the souk.  Each time we huddled around the map, a pedestrian or panting cyclist stopped their own progress to inquire, “You look lost, may I help”?  Not only are we given helpful directions, but a conversation is launched and we learn of each other’s heritage and reasons for being in Jerusalem at this time.  Curiously, we are always asked if we have family or friends in Israel.  Why?  We know not.   

Mahane Yehuda souk

Once in the souk we admit that we know no Hebrew, yet find that for every vendor who cannot speak English there is one who can.  Meanwhile, we hear in the crowd a cacophony of different languages, (recognizing Arabic, French, Italian, Greek, and German). We fumble with the money system, struggling to calculate 3.8 shekels to the U.S. dollar, learning which coin or piece of paper money represents what amount, calling upon the aid of the stall vendors.  We ask the vendors to teach us how to say in Hebrew “hello, excuse me, thank you”.  We are treated to tastes not ever explored before.  We discover that here there are as many baffling varieties of hummus as one finds choice in morning cereal boxes on a U.S. super supermarket shelf.  We are gifted small treats accompanied by toothy smiles and exclamations of heavily accented, “Welcome to Israel”. 

Hookahs for sale

 

Pyramid of thyme with Gold Dome atop

Not wishing to drag heavy bags on the almost two mile return walk, we join the hoards in the bus line, consulting with waiting passengers to learn the bus system routes, time tables, and ticket payment practices.  Despite the well qualified lessons, we bungle it anyway, finding ourselves unwittingly taking an illegal free ride.  On board we meet a lovely young woman of dual U.S. – Israeli citizenship who assuages Karoline’s concern about safety aboard public buses.  She confirms that there have not been incidents in Jerusalem for many years, although, she says that her family was very worried in the 1990s when she had to rely on the bus to get to school, even when suicide bombers found these buses to be a favorite venue for their martyrdom.  Back in the apartment we lay out a picnic spread on the balcony table marveling about the chaos of the souk, the friendly helpful strangers, and the luscious food finds.

Old City of Jerusalem

Our new friend Moses 

Santa embellishes Armenian pottery

On Dellarosa Street -- you know, the one celebrated for being the path on which Jesus carried his cross to his death -- while working our way from the wailing wall and towards the Holy Sepulcher church, I stop to replace a depleted camera battery.  Gerhard, waiting and antsy to move on, occupies these moments by window shopping at a jewelry store.  Its proprietor emerges and attempts a low key friendly dialogue, trying to guess Gerhard’s nationality.  By asking for Gerhard’s help to spell out a sign “German spoken here” (in German) he lulled us into his store, offered a peppermint tea, settled us into a cozy pile of oriental rug clothed pillows, and we began to exchange stories.  The proprietor explains that he is very happy at the moment, having enjoyed a very profitable day because he had just sold three diamond and gold cross pendants to a wealthy Canadian.  He enchants us with stories about his unusual upbringing, having been sent away to board at a Greek Orthodox monastery school outside of Jerusalem where he was taught the classics along with silver craft and carpentry.  Hearing about Karoline’s exploits in making earrings at Berkeley’s bead shop, he teaches Karoline a life lesson about how one can not always rely on academics and, instead, can develop a lowly hobby, such as jewelry making, into a profitable profession.  His personal example:  he started as a private driver employed by a four star hotel catering to the rich and famous.  He would guide his clients to his jewelry atelier in their evening spare time for their exclusive *wow* jewelry purchases; them training him on how to market and sell his craftwork.  And so on.  

Sipping spearmint tea

 An hour later, feeling relaxed, I inquire about where to buy low cost beads made from an Israeli material for Karoline to craft into friendship bracelets.  Clearly, I know this is not the shop to buy them since his offers are exquisitely hand crafted pieces using the finest precious stones and silver or gold, yet he might have a tip for us?  Fast forward to two hours later and we are *hugging and kissing* friends with the artist proprietor -- having spoken with him in German, halting Greek, limited Chinese, and English, and having heard him speak with his staff in Arabic and Hebrew -- and with plans to visit him again the next time we are in Jerusalem, or, perhaps, even a few weeks hence when we both plan to be swimming in the waters around Dahab.    Lowering prices “because he had a very profitable day earlier”, he has seduced us into buying a ring, pendant necklace, and ancient Roman glass beads for me to make into gifts for my girlfriends. Furthermore, we are *gifted* more ancient Roman glass beads, (certification of authenticity provided), for Karoline’s friendship bracelets, a cashmere shawl for me, and a small jewelry box for the yet additional gift of five moonstone beads for Karoline.  The ultimate was the moment when he gently asked Karoline and me to leave the shop because he needed to have a man-to-man discussion with Gerhard.  Gerhard divulged later the gist of that discussion:  because I was exceedingly hesitant to buy the pendant necklace, the proprietor was substantially reducing the price of it to well below cost “because he could see that…bla,bla,bla…and that we had adopted Karoline, therefore, we must be “giving, kind, humble people of lesser means”…and he too is sponsoring an orphan in a Gaza orphanage…and he is gifting us part of the cost of the necklace to share in the blessings of his very profitable day, so we really must buy the necklace.”   

Moses

 His final lesson to Karoline: “When you share the joy of your success with those around you, your happiness blossoms many times more.”  We walk away from his shop in awe:  either he is the world’s very best salesman and story teller, or, he is an authentically incredible example of they way we wish everyone would be.  We are not sure, and, because he is our new friend, we really don’t care, and I believe that is the way that Moses Salhab wishes it to be.

Happy Chanukah!

The Israel Museum

Dead Sea Scrolls Center, Israel Museum

Old Jerusalem and Mehane Yahuda souk are each about one and a half miles walking distance from the apartment.  In yet another direction of similar distance sits the Israel Museum.  We spent the afternoon there, wishing we had understood its magnificence so as to have arrived far earlier.  It is here that the Dead Sea Scrolls are studied. 

Equally pleasurable to the indoor exhibit halls are the well considered garden spaces that host sculpture while subtly guiding visitors through the flow of buildings and towards the exit.  The gardens encourage a frolick or two. 

In the gift shop any number of hamsas, menorrahs, kipas, pomegranates, 

mezuzah covers and dreidels are available for sale. 

On Christmas Eve we cycle throughout Jerusalem

Christmas Eve happens to fall on Shabbat, which means no cars, buses or taxis may drive the streets.  No stores or restaurants may be open.  We took advantage of the cleared streets to join a four hour tour on bike of the city.  To get to the meeting place we had to walk two miles, and then, of course there was the return two mile walk.  I am not sure what it would be like to deal with a habitual lack of services on Shabbat, yet, for this once, we completely enjoyed the tranquility and lack of pressure to "perform". In general, from our apartment we have been able to branch out to all of the city's attractions by foot, which means that we have been walking over five miles a day, and loving it.  

Happy New Year, with wishes for peace, good health and prosperity! 

No! Day, the Pelopponese, and a Sifnos Thanksgiving

What a whirlwind of activity since the last posting, including an unexpected visit to Northern Virginia for a visit with my dad and family, (because his oncology team advised "get your affairs in order").  For every story to tell, there is too little time to tell it.  Instead, offered here are a few flashbacks with photo supports.  Enjoy!

"Oxi" is Greek for "no".  There is no Halloween or rough equivalent celebrated on Sifnos.  However, the national Oxi Day is celebrated throughout the country on October 28th.  It commemorates the 1940 day when Greek Prime Minister Metaxas said "Oxi", refusing the ultimatum of Greece's accession to Italy by dictator Mussolini, thus launching otherwise neutral Greece into WWII.  The --usually cheerful--parades in Athens and Thessolonika were ruined this year when angry citizens and military marchers turned their heads away in disrespect from the governmental dignitaries in the viewing stands.  On Sifnos, the anger is not so strongly felt, yet resignation and sadness replace it.  These are troubling, concerning, and unstable times for Grecians.  A tiny little parade of school children promenaded the length of the main town square, offering another excuse for the villagers to pause for a social occasion.  

On this day we took advantage of no Greek school and a visiting Cretan performance to soak in a long afternoon of music and dance.  We heard that the event continued into the wee hours of the morning as waves of locals freed themselves to join the gaiety.  Crete and Sifnos share a cultural reciprocation program that has generated heartfelt friendships over time.  As the Cretan musicians faded from hours of performance and too much local moonshine, the Sifniots took over with their famed poetic repartee.

Ancient death mask, encaustic painting on linen, Benaki Museum, Athens

 

Even though this tiny island has only 1,500 residents during these quiet months, the opportunities to join activities abound.  One that has occupied both Karoline's and my time has been our lessons in encaustic painting offered by a local master.  Chryssa is currently feverishly painting examples for an upcoming exhibit at the Greek consulat in London as well as painting four icons that will adorn the blessed bread box in a local monastary chapel.

Chryssa with her youth class

She also teaches adult and youth classes in a monastery cell, while somehow single-handedly raising two active boys. 

Soup baked in public oven

There was no thought of celebrating Thanksgiving since we are firm believers in 'blooming where planted'.  However, interestingly enough, our favorite potters alerted us that it is possible to acquire a turkey for roasting.  This prompted the opportunity to reciprocate goodwill for our overly occupied and productive restaurant owner and potter friends. Until this season, business demands mean they have had no time to break away.  For the chance to experience Thanksgiving they closed shop on a slow Sunday afternoon and celebrated their gratitude with us.  For me this meant three days of focused activity:  1)  buying supplies, harvesting vegetables, and cleaning the house, 2) cooking in advance, and 3) setting table for 16, last minute cooking and entertaining.  While there are turkeys raised on the island, these are reserved a year in advance for their owner's Christmas tables.  Fortunately, our favorite grocer placed a special order from Germany for our frozen one, with thermometer included.  Beets replaced cranberries in an orange-arugula salad. We skipped the sweet potatoes in favor of mashed white ones. A black-eyed pea and greens soup baked in the public oven substituted for stuffing.  And, an apple crumble was a fair exchange for lack of pumpkin for pie.  Most importantly, our friends were thrilled to be relaxing, enjoying the rare occasion of being the ones entertained.  The cigarette break between dinner and dessert on the veranda turned into a loud philosophic debate about the state of the Orthodox church in Greece.

Aeropoli in Mani, the Pelopponese

Barely into the Fall routine of school work for Karoline, book writing for me, handyman projects and manly kafeion gatherings for Gerhard, we found ourselves seizing an opportunity of a car ride through the Pelopponese.  Calm weather, no strikes and functioning ferries meant a chance to reach Athens, rent a car, and drive 600 kilometers in a four day tour of mainland Pelopponese. This is the land of independent spirit that fostered feuding clans, greedy pirates and colorful renegades in bygone days.  Today the region boasts the distinction of breeding the best military officers and most successful politicians in Greece.  Four days did not do the region justice, yet we feel fortunate to have had a taste of this dramatic countryside and colorful people. 

When not tourist season, ghost towns abound in Mani, Pelopponese

Back on Sifnos, we enjoy our local friends, including our neighbor Yannis.  Until this year we have only known him as *that guy who rides his loud tractor at midnight without lights on the car road* after his ouzo hour with buddies.  If we hear his tractor it is a reminder to us that we are staying up too late.  Now, with a bit of Greek in hand, and plenty of body language, we have struck up conversation with him.  In this season, he has the habit of popping by unexpectedly for a coffee on our veranda from which he can keep an eye on his goats grazing just beyond our goat fence.

Yannis and his 44 goats

It has taken weeks of attempted conversation to patch together his story.  We have gleaned that he took the route of many an islander and left Sifnos as a young man to build skills, have adventures, and send money home to his wife and daughter by working as a crew member aboard cruise ships.  He retired early to return to his beloved family and island, now living directly from the land, not once stepping into the local grocery store.  He raises 44 goats, 25 chickens, 4 pigs and a milk cow.  In his orchards he harvests olives, almonds, lemons, oranges, clementines, mandarins and pomegranates.  In his fields he grows barley as animal feed and a variety of vegetables to put on his table.  In exchange for our coffee and accompanying snacks, he drops off bags full of extras from his orchards, hens or vergetable garden.