Moses wasn't the only one in the Wilderness

Leaving Petra was kind of a relief. Not because I had seen it all, or was even sated by its many wonders, but because it was physically so demanding that I needed some time off to recuperate. That was a pipe dream. Everything worth seeing in the Holy Land is up, up, up!

On the way out of Petra, we stopped to see one of the natural wonders of the region, Mose's Spring. It is and has been the major water source for Petra for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. It still flows strong and clear from nearly the top of the mountain. The esteem in which it is held is evidenced by the edifice that houses it. Everyone had to take a drink, of course. The local legend is that Moses caused the spring to flow, so up to this point we were still on the trail of Moses and the wandering Israelites. That was soon to change.

Next stop was the Machaerus Fortress which is the traditional site for the beheading of John the Baptist. I asked our instructor and guide how they knew that this was the site, since it is not mentioned in the Bible. His answer was predictable. When the Byzantines arrived in the Holy Land in the fifth century, the local Christians told them that this was the site. This is a fairly common explanation for a site's authenticity and one that you can accept, or you can just keep asking. There never seems to be any other.

It seems strange to me that anyone would chose to build a fortress/palace in such a remote location. Not that it did not hold some beauty of its own. High above the Dead Sea, with probably a view of Masada, another remote, Dead Sea retreat of the Herod family, on the horizon, it could certainly provide a respite for a weary monarch. It took the bus long enough to get there, but trying to imagine a caravan from Jerusalem, or some other inhabited place, with a royal entourage and all its supplies and luxuries, is impossible to conceive. It must have taken weeks even to find the place! I guess they were less hurried than we are, or they were a lot more comfortable with accepting their limitations. Some of the many caves in the mountain face are believed to held prisoners, but the actual one that held John the Baptist has eluded detections, so far. Again, there was an hour long climb to the ruins, and incredibly, in this instance, there is a steep climb both ways as one has to cross a valley to reach the ascent. So, its down and then up, up, up both ways. It never seems so far down, until one has to return and climb up.

Next stop was the outskirts of Madaba, where we had lunch at a restaurant which is famous and attracts customers from miles around. It is owned by a Christian family who have been its proprietors since the Ottoman empire, for some 150 years. The food was excellent, but I have yet to have a substandard meal anywhere since my arrival. What set this place apart was the ambiance of the old court yard, and a particularly talkative parrot.

Madaba proper was our next destination. Its church, Saint George's Orthodox Church, has one of the most famous mosaics in the middle east. It is a map of the Holy Land in the fifth century, and is directly responsible for opening up serious archaeological inquiry into that era of Holy Land history. It is, of course, incomplete because subsequent conquerors leveled, rebuilt, leveled again, rebuilt again, and leveled again and again the original church. It is a miracle that any of it survived. There is an interesting history of how it was found. The Christians had left Madaba many years earlier, (got tired of rebuilding, I suspect), but under the more tolerant Ottomans, made a request to return to Madaba and rebuild their church. Since it was outside of the existing town, and posed no discernible threat to the Moslem majority, they were given the site of the ancient church on which to rebuild. That was in 1909. It was in searching for a stable foundation that the discovery of the mosaic was made, and now it is one of the major draws for the entire city. In fact the city now surrounds it. Not only that, but it has revitalized the local mosaic industry. There are mosaic shops everywhere, and several schools which teach the techniques of mosaic production, a beautiful but very, very expensive way to produce art.

Our stay in Madaba had one interesting twist. In the evening, after an Anglican priest from Amman had given us a briefing on the state of Christianity in Jordan, we had plenty of time to wander around the streets. Suddenly, there was great hubbub, with horns blaring, people leaning out of windows and cars waving flags. On the street in front of me, between the mosaic shops and my hotel, a car pulled into an intersection, threw open its doors, discharged about a half dozen young men, who promptly fired up the radio to excessively noisy, and began to dance and chant in the street. They were quickly joined by a hundred more young men (no women), while hundreds of cars drove up and down the main street, honking their horns and waving flags as well. For those of us who had no idea of what was going on, it was a little scary! Someone made note of the fact that the date was September 11, and that didn't help our nervousness. However, one of the shopkeepers overheard the comment, and reassured us, emphatically, that what was going on had nothing to do with 9/11. Jordan had just won a big soccer match against Australia in Amman, and this was the local celebration. Think, da Bears win da Super Bowl, but with no one drinking. The party went on half the night, but it was all fun and excitement and there were no bad side effects except for those who were trying to get through town on the way to somewhere else or those trying to get a decent night's sleep. Incidentally, listening to the Jordanian priest describe their problems and issues, was kind of familiar. One would have thought he was talking about Saint Anne's, Morrison: Aging populations, difficultly attracting and holding young people, diminishing resources to carry out the church's social ministry. Another concern is the emigration of their people to better and safer countries. Thanks be to God, our emigration situation is seasonal and not permanent, so far.

Next morning, we were back with Moses on our way to Mount Nebo. In case you've forgotten your Deuteronomy, Mount Nebo was vantage point from which Moses was
permitted to see the promised land which he was forbidden to enter, because of a fit of pique earlier in the trip. We were told that on a clear day, one could, in fact, see all the parts of the promised land. The tradition holds that Moses died on Mount Nebo, and scripture testifies that no one knows where his grave is. So, the site to which everyone goes to pay homage to Moses is in a Franciscan Monastery which holds the "Moses Memorial." That still attracts a huge number of people, Christian and Moslem. The good news was, we had arrived at a place where the bus did the climbing, and ours was a fairly long, but pretty easy walk. Once again, the Holy Land haze obscured the view. So we were left to imagine what Moses saw. Biblical joke of the day: "Did Moses ever set foot in the promised land?" "Yes, but only for several minutes during the Transfiguration."

We had lunch at a very toney Hotel situated on the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea area has become a very popular resort with dozens of very expensive hotels to cater to those seeking warmth and "healing" in the Dead Sea waters, but more especially in its mud, which is supposed to hold miraculous powers of healing. The whole area warrants the title international spa, I think. Another sumptuous buffet, and we were off to one of the most compelling sites we've yet visited, the site believed to be the location where John the Baptist was baptizing and Jesus came to be baptized. There is a very developed site on the Israeli side of the Jordan, but the Jordanian side is much more natural, and has a better claim to authenticity due to the abundance of ancient ruins that attest to the importance of the location in ancient times. The most fascinating one is an artificial extension of the Jordan River which adjoins the ruins of an ancient Byzantine church. On one of the foundation rocks there is a cross inscribed which was meant to designate the actual site of Christ's baptism. Our chaplain took the opportunity to have us all renew our own baptismal vows, which was both very meaningful and extraordinarily appropriate considering the place, and some went down to the river to claim some water to take home. My personal feeling is that the water Christ was baptized in disappeared into the Dead Sea years ago, and there is no shortage of polluted water in northwestern Illinois. So, I did not participate in that exercise.

There are several impressions which come from that day. One of the first is how very small and narrow the Jordan River really is. To be sure, a great deal of its water, today, is diverted for agricultural purposes, but records indicated that it was never a rival for the Mississippi, maybe the Peccatonica. Today, it looks like what we would not hesitate to call a creek. Nevertheless, it moves a great deal of water and flows very swiftly as it drops 4000 feet in a matter of about 50 miles. Ancillary to that observation, the respect which the site receives is attested to by the absence of border guards and barriers placed in the way of getting there. No other place, and I mean no other place along the Israel/Jordanian border has such unimpeded access, and such a notable lack of military supervision or even presence. It makes one just a little hopeful that peace and cooperation is still possible, some day.

The less serious observation pertains to what we witnessed taking place on the Israeli side of the Jordan, busloads of people making their way to the very well developed site. Some jumped in, some took pictures, a few seemed to be praying. Mostly, it seemed like a quick tourist's stop and then a rush back to the bus. I'm glad we were on the other side, and had plenty of time to take in as much as we could reasonably absorb and carry away for future spiritual ruminations.

Petra - 2

After the eventful day of Petra 1, I could barely move. It was clear that I had done way more that someone my age and in my condition should have undertaken. Brad and another athletic member of our group, decided to meet up with Tamam, once again to see the sights she promised to take them to that most tourists don't see. I told them to tell her that I was too old for that much adventure. Instead, I teamed up with Sherry, the Dean's wife who has been extraordinarily generous with her time and advise about how to navigate in the Holy Land, and the two of us, who are much more suited to a slower pace, decided to take on the trip to the High Place of Sacrifice of the Nabateans. It meant more climbing, but this time with no time restraints and at a more leisurely pace, better for those of us who are less vigorous. It was a very steep assent with lots of steps and lots of switchbacks, but we made good progress and arrived at what was supposed to be the High Place of Sacrifice, with some other travelers we'd joined on the way, but we couldn't find it. Everyone had a picture of what it was supposed to look like, but we couldn't see anything that resembled the picture. However, the view and the rock formations were spectacular, so it wasn't a complete disappointment. Just as we were ready to head back by the longer but less arduous trail, one of the kids yelled out, "Here it is. It's this little thing here." Sure enough. Everyone was looking for something large, like stonehenge or something, and what we found was about a yard in diameter. I guess one doesn't need a lot of room to sacrifice. The interesting part of the High Place was the channels etched in the rock for the blood and to carry away the water during the clean-up. There were a number or cisterns and places to channel run-off. I guess I'd never considered what all one might need for a sacrifice in such a remote setting especially if it were in high demand. We all took turns putting ourselves on the altar and taking silly pictures. I don't think we made very good sacrificial offerings, but it was worth a try.

The trip down from the High Place was terrific. I expected it to be mostly more desert/mountain scenery, and it certainly was that. But, along the way, there were many more buildings and artifacts to be discovered, which are not in the official park area. Many of them reflect the later influence of the Greeks, the Romans and the Byzantines, but there were also a number of original Nabatean tombs not usually seen on the pictures and in the guidebooks. I'll include a few in the pictures with this post.

We made it back to the floor of the valley in pretty good time. Sherry said she had had enough, hired a horse and took off for the hotel. I decided to stay a bit longer (I guess I'll never learn!) because I wanted to look more closely at the Great Temple on the valley floor which is being excavated and studied by Brown University. It is a massive building and one of the best preserved temples from the Greco-Roman era, although it was almost certainly Nabatean in its origins. I was planning also to look at the mosaics on one floor of one of the church ruins, when I realized that I'd waited too long, and was going to have to hustle if I was going to make my Turkish bath appointment at 4:00 pm. So, I finally gave in and hired a horse to get me out of there as fast as possible. It cost me five Dinar, about $7.50, and it was worth every penny.

I made it back to the hotel with 15 minutes to spare, and I was off again to the neighborhood Turkish bath. I hardly knew what to expect, except I knew that there would be steam, scrubbing and splashing. Well, it was certainly all that and quite a bit more. I've never encountered steam so thick that you can't see your hand in front of your face let alone find a place to sit. Prior to the scrubbing, there is an exfoliating with something like sandpaper, and the splashing tends to be with cold water, at least it was in my case. Then there was a massage, of sorts, not as good as I get in Clinton, but the intentions were commendable. To be fair, it think the attendant did a great job on me. When he was done, he rapped me in warm towels and pushed me out into the lounge, where the "host" was waiting with a large fan, turned up to high, a box of Q-tips, some other cleaning devices which I did not recognize, and a hot glass of aromatic tea. He then changed the channel on the T.V. from something in Arabic to CNN. The Arabs are always great hosts, unless they intend to kill you. I think I was just supposed to sit there until I was dry, but I wasn't patient enough to do that, so I got up, went into the dressing room and finished drying off and got dressed. When I came out, there was another glass of tea and a little pastry, which, of course, would have been rude of me to ignore. I thanked him, paid my bill (24 Dinar), left a tip for the scrubber, and returned to the hotel for a sumptuous dinner and a very clean night's sleep. I don't think I'm going to lose any weight on this trip!

Petra - 1

It's been several days since I posted anything and that means that I am way behind. I just finished the first course at Saint George's this morning, and have bid farewell to those who are leaving. I'll try to catch up in the next couple of days. I left off with a night of eating and dancing at Wadi Rum.

Next morning, after a great outdoor breakfast, we climbed on the bus to cross another mountain range on our way to Petra, the ancient capitol of the Nabateans. These are the mountains of Edom, which Moses and the Israelites had to skirt in order to avoid the Edomites who were not interested in providing them passage or hospitality. Our Jordanian guide, Maha, reminded us that the valley in which Petra is situated is called by the Arabs, Moses Valley, and it is sustained by what is called the Moses Spring, which has been supplying the town and area around Petra with fresh, clear water, non stop, for centuries. The tradition is that Moses called forth the spring when the Israelites were passing that way, many years before anyone had heard of the Nabateans.

The decent into Petra is impressive enough. But, it is only the beginning of a long and amazing adventure. As soon as we checked into the hotel, we headed for the valley to see the elaborate rock carving for which Petra is understandably world famous. I had no idea, nor do I think did anyone else, exactly how far downhill we would be traveling that day. The entrance to the reserve is several hundred feet above the actual passageway that leads to Petra, which is several hundred feet above the first real sight of The Treasury which is the first spectacular building you see when entering the city proper, but it is far from the end of the descent. The passage to the Treasury is full of interesting sidelights. There are numerous shrines and points of interest along the way. Most fascinating to me were the elaborate water collection and control efforts which were part of the infrastructure of the ancient city. Being in a desert meant that water and its storage was very important. Being at the bottom of a valley surrounded by high mountains meant that flooding was a real possibility whenever it rained. So, the Nabateans carved out and built elaborate cisterns, dams and diversion channels to both collect every drop they could and still protect the valley floor from the deluge. I'll have to let the pictures tell some of that story.

The entrance passage into Petra proper is quite long but very interesting. It is easy to see how the town could have been lost to the outside world for so many years. It was only in the 1820's that a British explorer "discovered" Petra after almost a millennium of its being forgotten by the rest of the world. The basic stone in Petra is a reddish sandstone, which made it both aresting to behold, easy to carve and quick to erode. Nevertheless, the buildings carved into the rock which remain, are truly remarkable, not only for the quality of the carving, but because what remains were almost exclusively tombs, with the possibility of a few religious sites thrown in. Petra, today, retains no remnant of the residences and businesses which must have been part of a thriving desert capitol.

At about 2:00 pm, we finally reached the bottom of the valley, where there was a nice American name restaurant, I think it was a Crown Plaza, for us to rest and eat lunch. The trek had taken nearly three hours. We had the rest of the day to ourselves. Some decided that the best thing to do was to go back the the hotel, since it had all been downhill on the way in, it must be all uphill on the way out. It turns out that they were the smart ones.

I did not choose the smart way. I decided to continue the adventure by climbing the trail that led up to the Monastery, another Petra iconic building situated almost atop one of the steep mountains enclosing the valley. One could have taken a donkey for what turned out to be a pretty reasonable price, or one could walk, or better said, climb to the top. I was certainly not going to wimp out, or depend on a donkey to carry me up to the goal. I partnered with Brad Clark, a priest from the Boston area, who had just completed a biking tour of Bataan. He is 10 years younger than I am, and does not have one ounce of fat to be seen anywhere on him. I was definitely out of my league! Brad was patient with my struggle up the mountain, but at one point, he decided to stop for a cup of tea and conversation with some Bedouin merchants who had set up a shop on the route. I went on ahead, knowing that if I stopped, there would be no going again. Surprisingly I made it all the way to the top, took my pictures of the Monastery, to prove I had done it, and proceeded on to the summit, where there was supposed to be a spectacular view of the whole Moses Valley. Of course, it was mostly obscured by haze. But, along the final passage, I was befriended by a young Bedouin girl, names Tamam, who must have thought that I looked like I needed help. At any rate, she became my guide and companion for the rest of the day. She was only in seventh grade, which I figure would make her about 14. At one point, I explained to her that I was waiting on my hiking companion who was behind me. She took a quick look and said,"There he is," pointing back down the mountainside to the trail I'd just climbed. I looked but could see no one except a few miniature people growing ever smaller in the distance. I said, "where?" She pointed again, and said, "There, in the white hat." Looking a little exasperated at my blindness, she said, "What is his name?" I said, "Brad." She yelled "Brad!" Then she said, "He's looking for you. Wave at him." I took off my hat and waved, and sure enough, way down the path, someone took off his white hat and waved back. What they say about the legendary ability of the Bedouin to find things in the desert had certainly proven itself true. In a few minutes, Brad had joined us at the top of the mountain, met Tamam, and we all began the descent, together. As we were leaving, I asked Tamam if I could give her a little something for her help. She said I should buy something from her shop. I picked out a silver bangle which I thought would look good on my wrist. The price was ridiculous, of course, something like 30 Dinars,or the equivalent of $45.00. I didn't have anything like that kind of money on me, and I told her so. She asked me what I had, and I showed her the $8.00 I had in my wallet, which was entirely too little for her to consider. However, I still was carrying a 10 euro bill left over from my trip to Austria and Bavaria in 2011. With that and a $5 bill we completed the deal, and everyone was happy. I've concluded that the point of bartering, which is so much a part of this culture, is not to get the best deal, but to find the deal with which everyone can comfortably live. I checked with our expert travel agent later, and she reassured me that I had not been taken.

The trip back to the hotel was grim. I was exhausted from playing mountain goat. Between my slowness and our engagement with Tamam, time had slipped away, and we were due back at the hotel for a meeting at 7:00 pm. It takes at least one hour to make the journey back to the entrance. With me, it took more like one and a half hours to return from the bottom of the Petra valley, so we were late. But one look at me, and I think nothing more needed to be said. There was no need for chastisement. I had obviously suffered enough!

Is Wadi Rum some kind of drink?

After nearly being run over by a young punk on a camel, in downtown Aqaba, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful. I should mention that when we arrived at our hotel, Al Captain, (don't stay there, they charge a lot for Wifi which only works if you are within twenty feet of the front desk, and not very well then, also the A/C leaves a lot to be desired) the streets were deserted and many of the shops were closed. As soon as the sun went down, it was a different place. The streets were humming, the stores were open and horse carriage rides were everywhere. Interestingly enough, each carriage came equipped with a loud speaker system which blared Arabic music as they drove up and down the streets. It was kind of like a battle of the Good Humor trucks in Arabic.

Early the next morning, we headed out to swim in the Red Sea. We went to a nice looking public beach, but only the most hardy made it into the water, because the rocks began where the sand ended, and the water was still a ways off. I for one, don't have the feet that can tolerate that kind of challenge. I might have gone in off the pier, except that it was full of new recruits for the Jordanian Marines who were their, apparently, to familiarize them with the idea of water and swimming. I don't think the desert prepares one for a career in the Marines. Anyway, it was pretty entertaining just taking in the nice warm sun, and watching the drill instructors coax, cajole, compel and otherwise harass their new troops into this alien medium.

A short stop at an Episcopal mission for seafarers, and we were off to Wadi Rum. I've learned that wadi is an arabic word for a dry riverbed, or more often, a valley. But I had no idea why we should go there. According to our guide, Maha, it was the next stop after Aqaba for the Israelites leaving Egypt. I still didn't know what to expect.

Wadi Rum is a desert landscape of incredible beauty and solemnity. It is the bed of and ancient sea, now, of course, all sand and these momentous rock formations. There are rock paintings and writings which predate the Nabateans, and we toured the place in jeep trucks. I'll include some pictures which will speak for themselves. In the evening we went to the Jabal Rum Hotel, an encampment of tents which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. We had a great dinner with so much food we nearly made ourselves sick, all cooked Bedouin still, underground. After dinner, the staff, all dressed as Jordanian soldiers, brought out the hookas and many partook of this after dinner tradition. I'm not sure what was in the bowls, but it didn't smell like any tobacco I've ever known. Afterwards, there was dancing, and a staged wedding complete with processional drums and dancing by the staff. We all fell into bed, after an exhausting but quite memorable day.

Nabatean City of Avdat - amazing

Dawn at the Dead Sea

beddin' with the Bedouins - 2

Abimeleck's well? well, maybe?

More Pix - 3

Bedouin sheik holds court

More Pix 2

More Pix 1

Violated door and walls a Latourn

Beddin' with the Bedouins

We entered Jordan, today, about 4:30 pm, at the Arava-Aqaba entry point. The temperature was a little over 40c, which translates to a little over 104f. The border crossing was uneventful except for the fact that we had to walk in because Israeli law will not allow Palestinians to leave or enter except at the crossing point near Jerusalem. So, we lost our bus, driver and guide at the border. Fortunately St. George's had it all arranged, and when we finally got into Jordan, after dragging our luggage and backpacks for almost a mile, the Jordanian guide with a new bus and bus driver were there waiting for us, air conditioning running, ready to serve and commiserate. This evening, after a huge supper, I stepped out of the hotel to have a look around at downtown Aqaba, (its still in the nineties) and was nearly run over by a young kid, obviously in town for a Friday night of devil-may-care fun, riding his camel down the sidewalk outside the hotel. It was at that moment, I decided that I could better spend my time recounting some of the happenings of the last few days, and leave the Friday nite festivities to those who are better suited to them. There were also a couple of kids galloping horses down the street. It all looked a little too wild, wild east for me!

The first full day of the course, three days ago, now, was spent on a bus trip around Jerusalem, to get the feel of the place: Mount of Olives, Mount Zion and Mount Moriah, from all its different angles and approaches. It is fascinating to see how quickly a city of 800,000 people can turn into a dried up wilderness. It is only a matter of feet! Literally! So the answer to the first question is: You don't have to look for wilderness and desert, it is everywhere, sort of like the swamp in Louisiana.

The next morning, we began our pilgrimage in ernest. First stop was a Trappist Monastery, Latroun, west of Jerusalem, famous for its management of a huge tract of semi-arid land which it has owned for years. It is famous for its wine, olives and honey, and for having the only statue of a Madonna in the world with her holding a suffering child. But that day, they were even more famous because of an attack the day before by a bunch of Jewish extremists who were blaming them, somehow, for having them forcibly removed from their illegal settlement. They burned the door and spray-painted Hebrew obscenities on the walls. They must have been pretty bad words, because we could not get anyone to translate them for us. The place was full of emissaries from other religious groups. The Roman Catholic Patriarch of Jerusalem was there, as were several delegations of Jewish leaders. This is apparently a standard reaction whenever any religious site is attacked or vandalized. It is somewhat comforting to know that while the religious representatives seem powerless to stop such things, which happen fairly frequently, as least they are there to offer condolences.

We travelled from there to have a teach in from Frere Francis, a brother of The Community of the Beatitudes, which oversees and offers hospitality at one of the sites which claims to be the location of Emmaus. This one has the ruins of a Byzantine Church which was interesting to explore and they served us a pretty good lunch, and we were on our way to Leqieh to hear a lecture from a women who runs a center for Bedouin women who are trying to provide some leadership and meaningful alternatives in a society that is very ancient, but is rapidly changing, because of Israeli policies which prevent the Bedouin from pursuing then traditional ways. The Israelis are trying to gather the Bedouin into towns and cities, and to confiscate their land for agricultural expansion and additional settlements, and the consequences are dire for the Bedouin, and not a great deal different from the disastrous disorientation and dislocation that befell the American Indian, or the Maori of New Zealand, or the Aborigine of Australia, for that matter. In fact, I was not the only one struck by the overall similarity between the appearance of the Bedouin villages, and that of a town on any given Indian reservation in the U.S. The Bedouin women are trying to bringing in much needed revenue through the sale of their embroidery and sewing which they are just beginning to market. One can only wish them well. Most Bedouin women and children are illiterate as are many of the men. The twenty first century is certainly providing a new wilderness for them, and many challenges in addition.

We travelled through some of the most desolate country one can imagine to reach our first "Bedouin" overnight. Way in the distance, a patch of green, then trees and then a bona fide oasis, appeared amidst the desolation. Run by a Bedouin family who have learned that catering to tourists is a great way to make money out in the desert, the head of the family, a sheik, talked to us more about Bedouin life, this time from the man's point of view, and served us coffee and dinner. There should be a picture of two of the adventure and the accommodations that evening. Primitive, but not unbearable, is how I would describe it, and kind of charming in a Hollywood authentic sort of way. Of course, nothing would do but that we have a camel ride to begin our stay. You knew it had to happen!

The following day, with practically no sleep, we travelled the same desolate road back west to Arad, and the tell that is being excavated near there. A tell is a huge mound of earth and stones that holds many strata of archaeological remains from any number of previous occupants at a particular site. Arad is the first Canaanite city that the Israelites encountered after Egypt, and they got soundly whipped and retreated to the Sinai for forty years. Talk about withdrawing to lick your wounds. Our next stop was Tell Beer Sheva, where Abraham and Isaac both had dealings with a Philistine named Abimelech over a well, some women and a few other things. This is the area where the Negev blends into a more fertile region to the west, and is believed to be the general area in which Abraham settled. Then it was back over the same desolate country to a different "desert retreat house." This one didn't even have a paved road, or flush toilets or reliable electricity, and they couldn't manage to keep on schedule. What it did have was a spectacular view of the area going down to the Dead Sea. I'll include as least one photo. No more need be said.

Today, after revisiting the same old road to Arad, we travelled to the ruined city of Avdat, a Nabatean city on the spice route which ran from Gaza to the Red Sea. I'm beginning to think that the Nabateans are a fascinating people with a compelling history. The capitol of the Nabatean kingdom was Petra which we will be entering in a few days. So there may be a lot more on Nabateans later. Anyway, Avdat is an amazing ruin which is now a international heritage site, and well worth visiting if you ever have the opportunity.

The rest of the day was spent wending our way to the Red Sea and Jordan. Tomorrow we will be heading north toward Petra, but not before we take a dip in the Red Sea.

Some pictures relating to the above text will follow as separate posts. I hope you enjoy them. I've learned that Jordanian Wifi will not allow for many pictures. Eventually, I'll get them all to you.

Later....

Full Moon over Jerusalem

This trip has been an experience already. My arrival at O'Hare at 7:45 pm fit well into the plan to be present two hours before departure. An irritating but problem -free check-in and security check left me with over two hours to kill. However, boarding an Airbus 330 takes a while as the plane holds over 200 people, so boarding began pretty early. Turkish Air's selection of peacock blue for its upholstery made me think of theatre seating for the sultan's harem, and the space between seats is far too short for a long trip, and the galleys are blocked so that walking around a circuit of the plane which some of us have to do to avoid insanity and permanent disabilities, is really not an option, but, on the positive side,the food was pretty good (I didn't know that there were so many ways to make and serve eggplant), the service and flight attendants were courteous and responsive, and the flight was, for all intents and purposes, turbulence free, and most importantly, one hour shorter than projected. That turned out to be a very good thing since customs/passport check etc. in Istanbul was a mess and very slow and would have caused me to miss my connecting flight to Tel Aviv if it weren't for that extra hour. I also had a pretty good seat mate, a woman from Istanbul who loves to travel and was returning from a trip to the United States (hated Los Angeles, San Francisco was cold and the food was bad, but Chinatown was amazing [she didn't ride the cable cars{?}], had a great time in Chicago) and insisted on sticking both her feet in the pocket of the seat in front of her. Strange.

There was another unforeseen event. The flight resulted in a complete time warp, which I am barely overcoming a day and a half later. Leaving at 10:20 pm was a new experience for me. I've arrived in many airports very late at night but never departed late. It took me by surprise when the flight crew handed out the menus for dinner, followed by breakfast several hours later, but it didn't seem too strange. Presumably we would all sleep during most of the flight and wake up to breakfast. It makes some kind of sense anyway. The catch is, when you have dinner at 1:00 am, and you are flying east at the rate of 400 miles per hour, the sun comes up over the Atlantic at about 3:00 am. So to maintain time continuity and the illusion of night, all the window shades are pulled down to keep the cabin dark until breakfast time, by which time it is already 3:00 pm at your departure location. We arrived in Istanbul a little after 4:00 pm local time. What is the next meal to be? Lunch/Dinner/Supper? You can imagine what it did to my medication schedule! For those transferring, it was a moot question. Turkish Air made the decision for us. It was Dinner, served at the very smart hour of 7:30 pm.

My directions for arrival in Tel Aviv were simple. After customs/passport check/baggage pickup/change money, go outside the airport and turn right. Taxis called sheruts, a kind of jitney service, will take you to Jerusalem and Saint George's College for about $16. What they didn't say is that the sherut does not leave until it is full which is ten passengers, and that your Palestinian driver may not be too sure where #31 Salahadeen Street really is so he will drop everyone else off first, getting you to your destination two and one half hours later. Twenty-two hours from the front door of the Rectory in Morrison to the front door of Saint George's. He unloaded my baggage and pointed across the street to the closed iron gate that said Saint George's College, collected his 62 shekels and departed. I walked toward the gate with dread in my heart. I squinted in the dark and saw a sign that said press button and identify yourself. I pressed the button, and behold, the gate began to slide open. I walked a few feet inside (quickly, before the gate could close again) and was met by another Palestinian who welcomed me, asked my name and intentions, grabbed my bags and told me he had a room ready and waiting for me. I have never been so grateful for a simple act of kindness, that I can recall. I collapsed into bed, exhausted at the conclusion of my 35 hour day with what may have been two hours of napping on the plane.

I awakened this morning, parched, hungry, and a little loopy from not enough sleep and dehydration (air travel is really hard on me). When I went in search of coffee, I ran into the desk attendant who told me that breakfast was being served at the guesthouse of the Cathedral since no classes were currently in session. I trudged my way over to the Cathedral Guesthouse and found some coffee, but also a schedule for services, today. I'd already missed the early one, and the Palestinian one was in progress, but there was an 11:00 am which I could easily make. A grabbed two more cups of coffee and hurried back to the dorm to shower, shave and dress, and I made it to the service with a few minutes to spare. Attached are some pictures which I took today of the College and the Cathedral. I ran into Graham Smith, formerly of St. David's Glen Ellen, and currently the Dean of the College, at church this morning. He was very surprised to see me and seemed pleased to have me here. He took me out for a typical Palestinian supper (lamb, yogurt/cucumber salad, humus and coffee) at a favorite local hotel and passed a very pleasant few hours outdoors with hibiscus flowers falling down upon us. I can't tell you much about Jerusalem yet. I spent most of the day cloistered in the Saint George's compound. Although I had an extensive, unintentional tour of the city last night, even a full moon would not permit me to see much more than a typography what would make a great setting for an epic biblical movie!

Striking out, New Places, New Adventures

The great day of departure has arrived, and in typical fashion, I am ready and yet not ready enough, because I keep wondering what I've forgotten. I'm pretty sure that if I had started sooner, I would only have obtained a prolonged period of anxiety and absoluly no improvement in my desired assureance of readiness. At some point, one simply closes the door, turns out the lights lowers the thermostat, and leaves. Not necessarily in that order. So color me gone!

I'm still trying to gaim some affirmation of my competance in this medium and so my departure post will contain some more pictures gleaned from various sources, just to see if I can really do it. (I haven't mastered a way to sucesfully label each picture. I hope there is someone in Israel who is cleverer than I. They are entitled: a couple of doors I won't be using... The view from the rear window, and I'm off.

Let's Call This Post "Strike 2.1"

Let's Call This Strike Two!

This is my second attempt at a new post.... not a good sign. It occurred to me that not everyone who will receive notice of my blog will be aware of why I have undertaken such a mind numbing enterprise. I am going on a sabbatical for two months. The first part will be spent in Jerusalem at Saint George's College enrolled in two travel/study courses. The first is a kind of emersion into desert spirituality, including nights with Bedouins in tents, monks in monasteries and probably undesirable critters in my sleeping bag.
The second is a course in ecumenical relations focussing on the Abrahamic faiths. Jerusalem should be an ideal place from which to widen my perspective. I thought that I would like to share as much of this experience as I could by means of this blog. However, making my new iPad perform the way I think it should has been a challenge. Let's see if we can get as least a few pictures published.