FYI

In the Amman, Jordan, airport I struck up a conversation with a Muslim woman. After a few minutes of her describing the difficulty she has traveling, "the extra hoops I have to jump through," I asked if she was Palestinian. Yes. She was going to Chicago to visit her son.

As we talked, pretty soon I felt like we were friends, so I asked her to read the sign above the nearby door--two lines in Arabic.

She reminded me that they read from right to left, and it is true I had been looking at those two lines from left to right. (Not that I could have read them anyway.) And I remembered seeing her read her book. What is for us the back of the book is for her--and all who read in Hebrew or Arabic--the beginning.

"Yes," I said, "I had forgotten."


A man from the FFL tour was sitting across from us, listening to our conversation. At this point he said, "Oh yeah, you people read backwards."

She--her name is Majda--said, "No. You people read backwards."

I liked it.

The Sea of Galilee

The Galilee. I loved it here.

From our hotel room in Tiberius

Sunrise over the Galilee

As I recall, there were clouds over those eastern hills every morning.

I didn't need to tell you that I loved it here; our room overlooked the sea. What could be better?

Mornings were still. Nighttime brought the people and the nightly light show. (Not my favorite part, you might guess.)  But all things come to an end, they tell me, and we left after three nights. But wait, I have other pictures of this water. The ones below aren't even the last.

The sun is up now, and soon it will burn off the clouds.

 

My last picture from Tiberius.

Hard to take your eyes off of water, especially lovely water places like this. Like fire and babies. Hard to take your eyes off of them, too.

We left Tiberius the day I took this picture.

In a day or two I'll post pictures of this lovely Sea of Galilee from other places on its shores.

Yes, We were always safe, revised

Syria in the news, as usual, but today's story begins with "Several children killed in latest Syrian attacks." That number is actually 32 children and 60 adults. This is a civil war, and clearly a war upon civilians. These people were shot in the streets of their own town, some in their own homes. And it wasn't only gunfire.
Government forces engaged in the most inhuman behavior, “including stabbing and ax attacks on women and children.”

I do not pretend to understand the minds of those people, the ones who continue to kill their own, and their own children. I cannot understand it. Killing. Continued killing, especially in the brutal manner of this, yesterday's, attack. I do not pretend to understand all that divides the Syrian people. But recently, it's politics, a desire for freedom, a wish for change. I don't know where religion comes into the picture, if it does at this time.

This I know. The Syrian government's response to the Arab Spring protest of 2011 was so brutal that Syria was ejected from the Arab League. Nothing has stopped that brutality.

I have seen pictures of President Bashar al-Assad, and he appears "civilized," almost dignified. But clearly he is not. He continues this bloody slaughter of Syrians, his people.

Here are two pictures of Syria, taken from the Golan Heights, which Israel has occupied since the 6-Day War in 1967 but which Syria still claims.

Syria, beyond the body of water. How calm it looks

You're looking at Syria, beyond the cultivated area, and beyond the second fence. Israel up to the first fence. Neutral zone between the two fences.

Of course, we could go no closer. But Syria's war is not, at this time, against Israel. It is, I must say, against itself.

To change the subject:
From this spot on the Golan Heights we saw the road to Damascus, which Paul traveled on the day that changed his life forever.

I Really Love Israel

We are in a boat on the Lake of Gennasaret. Sea of Galilee to you. We're looking at our hotel, the Hotel Leonardo in the Lake town of Tiberias. Yes, Sea of Galilee is also called Lake Tiberias.

Unlike the Dead Sea, Galilee has much life around it. Including human life and all that goes with it.

Calm Sea this night. 

Michael reminded us of when the Sea of Galilee was tossed by a tempest so great that the men in one small boat feared for their lives. That was the time Jesus walked to them on the water. A frightening, incredible sight. Just imagine. And they were afraid, but he called to them to be unafraid.

When Peter knew who it was, he asked Jesus to bid him to walk to him, to Jesus. Jesus said to come ahead. So Peter got out of the boat. I'll say that again. Peter got out of the boat. That's the part of the story I think about often.

Peter began to walk to Jesus and then, the way of many of us, he began to doubt. He saw the storm was all about him, and he began to doubt.

That's what I have often said of us. Of people. Our first inclination is to believe, to have faith. And then we turn our minds to it and begin to question and doubt. That's the natural man. Peter was walking on the water and then began to realize what he was doing and turned his natural man mind to it and likely decided that what he was doing was impossible to do.

He began to sink. Jesus caught him and pulled him up and, no doubt, helped Peter back to the boat.

Yes, I know, this sounds like a sermon. And I could go on and tell what I learn from this. But I won't. You can make of it what you will

Sea of Galilee before sunrise.

North end of the Sea of Galilee from atop Mt Arbel. Capurnaum is near the upper right hand corner. We'll be going there.

Another view from Mt Arbel. The small town in the left of the picture is Magdala, home of Mary Magdalene.

 Yes, we're up there, too, on Mt Arbel. Just so you don't forget.

The Call to Prayer, revised

As of 2010, about 20% of Israel's inhabitants are Arab/Palestinian and most of those Muslim. Yet you will see their mosques and minarets nearly everywhere. So? You say.

But some Israeli Jews say, So their 5-times-daily calls to prayer--from the minarets or, if a mosque has no minaret, from the mosque itself--are loud. And they, the Jews, are getting tired of it. Especially in small towns. Especially the 5:40 a.m. call.

Legislation has been introduced to insist that while Jews recognize the Muslim right to worship, they would like their Muslim neighbors to find a quieter way to call to prayer.

I've been there, as you know, and heard the calls to prayer. They are loud, and, yes, especially in the pre-dawn darkness. I have no solution for this "problem," but I will say that faithful Muslims know when to pray anyway, as I have seen with people who live where there is no call to prayer. And as I saw on the Royal Jordanian Airline flight that took us home. Up near the galley, a faithful Muslim laid his mat on the floor and had his prayers.

What I have written sounds political or biased or something, and it came as a surprise to me. I had intended only to show a picture or two of a minaret.

The Dome of the Rock, a most sacred Muslim place, on Temple Mount in the heart of old Jerusalem. There's more than a small irony here because Temple Mount is also sacred to Jews. Solomon's temple and the Second temple, built by Herod, stood at this place. I am in the picture also.

You can hear the adhan, call to prayer, on You Tube, if you like. You will hear a man's voice chanting in Arabic. We heard it firsthand--or ear--and glad I am of it, because I had never heard the like of it in my life.

At first I wondered if someone went up into the tower to chant, although I thought that unlikely in this age of technology. And it is true. They don't send a guy up to chant. No. The sound is recorded, and I actually saw large loudspeakers sticking out of one small minaret tower in Jordan. Kind of spoiled the beauty, you know. But okay. I suppose the function and purpose is more important than the aesthetics of the place.

Minaret in Jordan near Petra. Notice the dome of a small mosque to which the minaret is attached.

This is at Caesarea in Israel, on the Mediterranean Sea. You can see a minaret in the distance.

Just one picture

It's Ann in red, her mother in orange. 

This is the way of our trip, Ann writing furiously, her mother just sitting there. I am listening, though. Can you see the cord to my headphones?

Masada, Part 2

I'm providing a link to Wikipedia's article on Masada. There you will read the story we heard as we walked around the ruins of that fortress. It's about the siege of the place by the Romans in 73 AD (or CE, as we now say). Josephus, the Jewish historian whose name you have no doubt heard before, took part in the First Jewish War, about 63 AD. He provides a first-hand account of what happened here in 73 AD. Hollywood made a movie called Masada in 1981. Peter O'Toole and such were in it.

Oh, I'd love to tell about what happened in 73 AD, about the 800 people (the Sicarii, who lived at Masada then, and refugees from Jerusalem. Remember, the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and its inhabitants in 70 AD, leaving not one stone upon another of the temple). Those 800 took their own lives rather than be killed or taken captive by the Romans. Actually, they allowed their lives to be taken by the 10 who drew the lots to carry out that assignment. And there was an 11th. But just go here.

There's Ann amid the ruins. You had no idea how big this place was, did you.

The Dead Sea, of course, in the background.

Desolate

Have you thought about water? How to get water to Masada? Well they built cisterns to catch the rain water, but I can't imagine much rainfall there.

The view of the desert from the other side of Masada. Notice another Roman encampment, preparing for the siege.

Yes, this is still at Masada. Because I've been able to show you only a small part of what we saw, you really ought to read about Masada. Oh yes, Ann and I are in this picture. Can you find us?

The end.

Masada, Part 1, revised

The following photos were taken at Masada or from Masada. And, yes, you will see the Dead Sea again. I have suggested you Google Masada, that is if you want to know any more about it. I can tell you a few things.

Masada was built on a plateau in the Judean desert and overlooks the Dead Sea. Built by Herod the Great--you know, the one appointed by the Romans to be king of the Jews, the one who ordered the murder of boys under age two, hoping to kill Jesus--it is a spectacular place, even in ruins.

A word about Herod.
He was not Jewish, although he tried to claim he was. He was Idumean. He thought if he said he was a converted Jew, the Jews would like him better. They hated him.

He was a great builder: 1. Rebuilt Solomon's temple, hoping to win the favor of the Jews. 2. Built the beautiful port city of Caesarea, on the Mediterranean. 3. Built Masada, with its walls and baths and at least two palaces, as a fortified refuge for himself. But he was at the place only four times.

He was a murderous man, killing any he feared might try to take his power and place. His murders included his own--and beloved--wife, Mariamne, whom he mourned the rest of his life. He also killed two of her sons.

Masada.
I wish I had an aerial photo of Masada so you could see the size and grandness of the place. But I don't.

Here goes:

A model of the front view of Masada We went up via cable car. See the Dead Sea? See what I mean? That's the cable car. The square outlines are remains of sites of Roman regiment camps.

This is part of the sauna. See below. The sauna is in one of those buildings. Am I right? Masada was discovered in the 1840s, but most of the work of uncovering it was done 1963-1965. Some life in a dead place Enh. It is I. So I made a black line on the wall. So?  Just kidding. The black line marks the age of the wall, that is, below the black line was the original wall, Herod's time. Above the line was added later. Not sure when. To be continued. P.S. I forgot to buy sugar free lemon Kool Aid today.

Who Knew?

How to Clean Your Dishwasher With Kool Aid

Lemonade Kool Aid can be used as more than a tangy drink––it can also be put to a second use as a dishwasher cleaner. The citric acid content in it will remove lime and iron build-up from inside a dishwasher, leaving it nice and clean for the next round of washes.

Okay. I'll get back to my Israel trip, because I really love that trip and because I am about to post a lot of pictures of Masada. Masada, a storied place about which I'll say what few words I know and about which you should read on your own. Google it.

In the meantime, I couldn't resist this handy and helpful WikiHow. Truth is, I'm sure you know, I find most of these WikiHows strange and often silly.

But, just in case you're interested in this one, the first step says to buy sugar free Kool Aid.

We interrupt this travelogue for important news . . .

Yes, friend, this news is for you: Now you can make your hamster happy. Finally.

How to Make a Doll House Into a Hamster Cage

Turning an old unwanted dollhouse into a hamster home can be fun for you, thrilling for the hamster and entertaining for everyone who checks it out.


Come on. You know you want to.

P.S. Does this hamster looked thrilled?

On the way to Masada

These pictures show some of the caves near Qumran. The place is about a mile from the northwestern shore of the Dead Sea.

Question: What is important about this place?

Answer: Dead Sea Scrolls. Remember?

At the Jordan River, front story

It's a long walk from the bus to the river.

The Jordan. Remember?

The path is good, but it has curves and dips and rises and a few turnoffs. Ann took one of the turnoffs. I think there was a sign on that turnoff--RESTROOM--and that was of interest to Ann. I kept walking, slowly, knowing that Ann would easily catch up with me.

About a hundred yards down the path, when she didn't come, I stopped, deciding just to wait for her. She shouldn't be much longer.

I waited another ten minutes. No Ann. I wondered if she had found another way to the river, so I went on quickly. Quickly because the path turned and there was a rise about 300 yards ahead, and once over that rise, Ann, if she was still behind me, would not see me.

She was not at the river.

I went back. Traced my steps along the path, waited again, asked the last few in our group who were coming along, but no one had see Ann. This was familiar.

After another ten minutes I began to worry. I mean, how could she get lost here? But clearly, she was not coming. I went back to the turnoff, took it, and followed that path a long way, calling her name. She did not respond. I saw no restroom, and I saw no Ann.

I went back to the river. Lindsey (the young Fun For Less rep who traveled with us, actually the daughter of the owner) asked if something was wrong. "I can't find my daughter. I've been back and forth and do not find her. She turned off back there, but I've been there and she isn't there."

"Go sit down," Lindsey said, clearly not concerned. "I'll find her."

Obviously, Lindsey has no children. Like I could go just sit down and relax by the Jordan. Like, yeah, sure. I did go to the river. Michael was lecturing. I didn't sit down. I kept turning around, looking. I couldn't pay attention, didn't know what he was saying. I left.

I went back to the path and began another search. Lindsey was out there, but I didn't even know if she knew what Ann looked like.

I cannot know how long all this took, too long. I told myself that my fears were irrational. Ann is an adult; people on tours don't get lost. But I was worried anyway.

Of course, I was praying.

Back to the river, then back to the path, and this time, when I came up the rise, there was Ann walking toward me, not alone and not on the main path.

Jay Wallace and his wife

I didn't know the man who walked with her.  But I know him now. He's Jay. I know that at that moment he looked very good to me. He had found Ann.

We hugged--Ann and I. She had indeed been lost. This time she knew it and was very glad to be found. I could see the relief on her face. Maybe she could see the same on my face.

We went to the river. Michael was nearly finished speaking. We took pictures. I felt good.

See how good Ann looks.

The very last night of our tour, the night before we took off for home, eight of us ate together at the Cinco de Mayo restaurant in our Amman, Jordan hotel. The Shorts, the four Johnsons, Ann and her mother, and Jay and his wife. Halfway through dinner I said to Jay, "You will always be my hero."

"Oh? Why is that? he asked.

I pointed to Ann and said, "Because you found Ann." He shook his head and laughed. Ann laughed.

"You don't understand, Mom," she told me. "He didn't find me. We found each other and just stuck together. We were both lost."

At the Jordan River, back story

When Ann was between two and three years old, I lost her in Orem, Utah's University Mall. It was a big mall, 135 stores. Trust me, I know. We had been on BYU campus, been to the MTC to see her big brother Wayne, and thought we'd spend some time at the mall.

We went in to Mervyn's together, I spoke to a salesperson, turned around and Ann was gone.

It had only been a moment, she couldn't be far from where I stood, but I was frightened. She was a cute little blond girl, and people were snatching little blond girls in the early 1980s. I asked the salesperson if she had seen where my little daughter went. No.

I went all through that store, asking anyone. No.

Mervyn's was at one end of the mall. Just outside its entrance was a toy store. That must be where she went. I went in, looked. No Ann.

Then I started a frantic search of the mall. Every store, every inch, calling her name when I could make myself say it. I do not know what I looked like, my face, but I was holding back tears. And I asked people had they seen her. No.

Back the other way through the mall. No.

Back into Mervyn's. I asked the woman who had been helping me if I could have an announcement in the mall. She said I could have it announced over the loudspeaker in the store, but I'd have to find the mall office to get something throughout the mall. So I started in Mervyn's, describing Ann and what she was wearing. They announced it, but it was no help.

Through the mall again. Many people. But no Ann. And I did not find the mall office.

I did not know what to do. We didn't live in Utah. We had no cell phones yet. No way to get help from anyone in Utah or at home in Idaho.  I thought about calling the police or at least mall police. Okay, I'm pretty independent, pretty convinced nothing bad should ever happen to us (you know), but this was bad, and I was ready for that. It had been a long time now, and she was just gone.

Yes, I was praying with every step, every breath. And by now I could hardly breathe for fear.

Then, on one of those whispered messages we sometimes get, a hunch people might call it, I went for the third time into the toy store. I went down every aisle, trying to smile at the guy who worked there but not able to. I think I said something to him the first time I went in. Had he seen a little blond girl? No.

And she was there, squatting down in a corner, looking at something important, I'm sure. I suppose she had been there all along, but my searches had taken nearly an hour. That's a long time for a two-year old to stay anywhere.

When I saw her, I collapsed onto my knees, gathered her up and cried and laughed. Ann did not know that anything out of the ordinary had happened. When I had recovered enough, we went back into Mervyn's so I could tell the now very worried salesperson I had found my Ann. We held hands from then on.

The Dead Sea, residual

That's the thing, or one of them. After you swim in the Dead Sea, you want and need to get the scummy feeling off of your skin.

Hard to do. Two showers didn't quite.

Then, there are the swim clothes you wore, including water shoes, which for me were my Keen sandals. Maybe it's the salt, but the clothes never really dried. I ended up putting them in a plastic bag and using them for padding in my suitcase to keep the olive oil secure, the olive oil I bought from Mahmoud. When I got home, that was the first thing I did--get those clothes into the washer with some good old Tide.

In Amman I washed my shoes and carried them wet into Israel. Finally, after three days and nights, they felt dry enough to wear again.

These are things you'll need to remember when you go to Israel and swim in the Dead Sea.

You are going. Right?

This was Friday, the 13th

Can you guess where this is?  See number 2, below.

We spent a night in Amman before crossing into Israel. (I said I wasn't exactly going in order.) I have a picture from our hotel room, looking out upon a beautiful city, nothing like what we saw out the windows in Cairo.

Maybe you can't see it here, but the city was gleaming white. And clean.

However, before we laid our heads on Jordanian pillows, we visited two important places, seeing them from the Jordanian side.

1. The Jordan River, perhaps near where Jesus was baptized by his cousin, John the Baptist. You will note the color of the water, and perhaps you will notice the people on Israel's side of the river. They are baptizing themselves. That is what appeared to me to be happening. They looked very happy.

I know that Jesus was baptized in the Jordan, near Jericho. This place is near Jericho. Somehow, it does not matter to me whether or not we can know the exact spot. I do think about the joy of the two men that day, and we have the record of this event in all four gospels, what they said and what happened. (See Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22; John 1:29-34.)

"I saw the mighty Jordan roll" was not written about this place. The water hardly moves at all.
Either that or the person who wrote the song never went to Israel.

Here we are together at the Jordan. Next trip to Israel I'll take better clothes. I think. Trouble was that you couldn't always tell which day to wear grubbies and which to wear something decent.

2. The Dead Sea. I have many pictures of that water from the bus and from Masada, but I couldn't take pictures while in the water. Floating, of course. You can't do much else. It's so buoyant that walking is a challenge. Here's what you do in the Dead Sea: Walk in, lean forward a little, sit down. Then, when you want to get out, have someone, or two someones, help you stand up.

Thanks to Brian for this picture. I know right where I am, too.

A bus is a bus, but you could be wrong about that

I think I want my old blog design back, but I don't know how to get it. Google has made things more difficult for me. Is that age? Or is it Google messing around with something when they didn't need to?

In the meantime, I will say that we left Egypt by air, and flew back to Amman, Jordan.

There we boarded a bus so that we could cross into Israel. Which crossing took nearly three hours. We waited on the bus a long time. Eventually, we were allowed to gather our luggage and wait in line to be looked over individually. They're careful.

In Israel we were privileged to occupy Mahmoud's beautiful bus. That'll be the day, I might have said, when I lavish praise on a bus. But this was not just any bus. And we did not simply ride it from here to there for fifteen minutes and be done, ta da. No. We were on that bus a lot. Every day. Get it?

And here it is with a beautiful girl standing by it.

Perhaps you can see it is a Mercedes Benz. What you can't see is that it is spotless, clean, sweet-smelling. And what you don't know, yet, is that Mahmoud is determined to keep it that way.

No ice cream bars on the bus. Only water to drink on the bus. Brush ALL sand from your feet after your dip in the Mediterranean Sea. Put all trash in the plastic bags Mahmoud has placed throughout the bus. And, goes without saying, no smoking.

I heard a grumble or two, but, after all, it is Mahmoud's bus. And we later learned that Mahmoud's bus is what we wanted. But I guess he could not go into Jordan.

I don't know the name of the last driver we had, but I know he smoked. So did Waled, our Jordanian guide who I'd just as soon "kind of" forget, "I'm just trying to tell you." No, they didn't smoke on the bus but right outside the door as soon as we parked. And I can guarantee that our driver had smoked on the bus, like night and day.

And this bus . . . well, it simply did not measure up. To be brief:  It stank. Double what you're thinking here. The windows were dirty. The whole bus was filthy so that you did not want to touch anything. Double what you're thinking again. Gross is a good word for it.

See? Mahmoud knew best. And not every bus is Mahmoud's bus.

And we ate at Macaroni Grill and Baskin-Robbins

Adjacent to our Intercontinental City Stars Hotel in Cairo was a mall. A fancy, beautiful, very big mall, frequented by rich people, not the people we saw as we drove through the streets of Cairo.

Wael told us that in Egypt there are only two classes of people now: very rich and very poor. The middle class is disappearing, going down. That is what's happening to Wael. Once middle class, he's going down. He cannot find enough work. His education prepared him to be a tour guide, which he does very well. But since last year's revolution, tourism--upon which the country depends heavily--is way down. With numbers like, before-12 million visitors per year, after-1 million.

The people we saw in this mall have money and time to spend it.

Here is a picture of one wall near a mall entrance.

It was in this mall that we saw our favorite T-shirt. A guy passed us wearing it, and we asked each other, "What does that mean?"

Just four words, but they proved useful to us from time to time. But I'll let Ann tell the four words.

A Day in Giza

You can't drink the water in Egypt (or Jordan). Nestle does a huge business there with bottled water. Bottled water is what we drank.

But here is the Nile. Water. And plenty of it.

Wael said he can drink tap water in Egypt, but we can't. People who live on the Nile drink water straight from the river. But he can't.

Tap water in Israel is safe. Nasty, but safe.

We crossed the Nile to go into Giza. Pyramids. Camels. Sphinx.

$2 to get on, get up, get pictures taken, and get off.  $20 to ride fifteen minutes down to the smallest pyramid. Our friends Eric and Juliana paid their $20 and went. Ann and I didn't but kind of wished we had. So when we got to Petra--the last day of our trip--Ann took a short ride in front of the temple.

Eric and Juliana Short--yes, that is their name, Short

Ann and her camel at Petra

Mother, daughter, Sphinx. I am really tired of what I'm wearing here. I did not wear that outfit every day of our trip, but this is all one day. Okay?

Other camel riders at the Sphinx

It's really camel country here. You might drive down the road (say, in Jordan) and see a house with a camel in the yard. The camels in this part of the world are Dromedary camels--one hump, long legs.