After a week spent in Israel, Josh and I only realized en route to Egypt that the plural of shekel (Israel's currency) is not shekels, as we had been so fondly calling them. The proper pluralization, apparently, requires the addition of '-im.' Still, I think the shekel is my all-time favorite name of a currency. I have also taken poetic licenses and more than once told Josh, "A shekel saved is a shekel earned." I'm not sure how Mr. Franklin would feel about my alteration of his well-known adage, but I choose to think he'd take it in moderation.
I'm not sure how to describe the plane flight from New York to Tel Aviv. I suppose turbulent suffices for both the cloud-induced bumps, as well as the behavior of the passengers. I've never thought that flight attendants were so close to using physical force -- those Israelis did not want to stay seated, did not want their seat belts fastened, and did not want their seat backs and trays in the upright position. I cannot count the number of times a flight attendant had to announce, "Get back in your seat! Yes, you, sir. You are the one in the aisle." And when I deplaned I had never seen such disarray! The mess left on that plane is nearly indescribable. There were cups, in-flight magazines, plastic utensils, and airline blankets, and pillows strewn everywhere. It was as if all airline-related paraphernalia had tried to stage a revolt.
As we stepped into the Tel Aviv airport, we readied ourselves for the high level of security scrutiny about which we had been forewarned, but traveling through the airport was a breeze. In fact, that was a repeated pattern: our expectations pleasantly debunked. To be perfectly candid, I haven't written sooner because I haven't wanted to take time to stop exploring Jerusalem and then Tel Aviv. Jerusalem was more than anything I could have expected. Not only was it amazingly traveler-friendly, it was amazingly friendly in general. Without a doubt, our typical Western notions of the city do it a great disservice. There was merely a fraction of the conservative attitude we had been lead to expect, and where the conservative did exist, it seemed the only expectations on visitors were simply to respect it, and not to adhere to it. Except for a rogue tout (who, after we refused his services, in hindsight, deliberately told us the wrong path to take to Mt. Zion) everyone was immensely welcoming and helpful. The residents of Jerusalem seem almost as if they want visitors to love the Holy City the same way they do, and were especially handy to help with directions. We experienced this within 5 minutes of entering the city after our sherut (shared taxi) dropped us off. Because where would it drop us off if not on a random street corner in the middle of a strange, new city? And what could be more comical than Josh being completely convinced the sherut driver had pointed down the street, and me being absolutely sure he had pointed us up the street? In the end, it seem we had been pointed across the street. As we stood with our backpacks looking up at the street signs, down at the map, and up at the street signs again, not one, but two passersby, stopped to offer us help.
After that, navigating was a piece of cake. We walked our feet off in the Old City, where Christianity, Islam, and Judaism coexist in one gigantic walled-in city, filled with souqs, markets, restaurants, churches, and mosques. Over two days we toured the Old City, visited the oh-so-new-and-modern Israel Museum, walked the Via Dolorosa (Way of Sorrows aka the stations of the cross), hiked down from the Mt. of Olives, visited the sight where Jesus was believed to be buried, and I had some mighty delicious bagels and lox, shawarma (scrumptious seasoned meat, usually in a sandwich or pita), and a few other Isreali staple foods. Then, it was off to Tel Aviv, where I put my academic pants on and presented a paper on publishing at Israel's First Academic Writing Conference and later attended some interesting lectures. Then, I had one of the best burgers of my life, topped with grilled eggplant and Bulgarian cheese. Tel Aviv is exciting. Every street has its own personality, and we stayed in the city center, and then by the beach, where I thoroughly enjoyed a dip in the Mediterranean.
So, on Sunday we took a four-hour bus ride from Tel Aviv to the border city of Eilat, took bus 15 to the border crossing in Taba, paid our 98.5 shekel (25.26 USD) exit fee in Israel, and walked over the border to Egypt, where I am writing from now. I can't wait to follow all the advice on my brother Mike's "Egyptian To Do List" which mostly includes the cheapest places to acquire food. We are off to eat dinner at one of his recommendations in Dahab called Koshary House, which features an authentic Egyptian dish consisting of pasta, rice, spicy tomato sauce, lentils, and fried onions. I will let you know how it is!
I'm not sure how to describe the plane flight from New York to Tel Aviv. I suppose turbulent suffices for both the cloud-induced bumps, as well as the behavior of the passengers. I've never thought that flight attendants were so close to using physical force -- those Israelis did not want to stay seated, did not want their seat belts fastened, and did not want their seat backs and trays in the upright position. I cannot count the number of times a flight attendant had to announce, "Get back in your seat! Yes, you, sir. You are the one in the aisle." And when I deplaned I had never seen such disarray! The mess left on that plane is nearly indescribable. There were cups, in-flight magazines, plastic utensils, and airline blankets, and pillows strewn everywhere. It was as if all airline-related paraphernalia had tried to stage a revolt.
As we stepped into the Tel Aviv airport, we readied ourselves for the high level of security scrutiny about which we had been forewarned, but traveling through the airport was a breeze. In fact, that was a repeated pattern: our expectations pleasantly debunked. To be perfectly candid, I haven't written sooner because I haven't wanted to take time to stop exploring Jerusalem and then Tel Aviv. Jerusalem was more than anything I could have expected. Not only was it amazingly traveler-friendly, it was amazingly friendly in general. Without a doubt, our typical Western notions of the city do it a great disservice. There was merely a fraction of the conservative attitude we had been lead to expect, and where the conservative did exist, it seemed the only expectations on visitors were simply to respect it, and not to adhere to it. Except for a rogue tout (who, after we refused his services, in hindsight, deliberately told us the wrong path to take to Mt. Zion) everyone was immensely welcoming and helpful. The residents of Jerusalem seem almost as if they want visitors to love the Holy City the same way they do, and were especially handy to help with directions. We experienced this within 5 minutes of entering the city after our sherut (shared taxi) dropped us off. Because where would it drop us off if not on a random street corner in the middle of a strange, new city? And what could be more comical than Josh being completely convinced the sherut driver had pointed down the street, and me being absolutely sure he had pointed us up the street? In the end, it seem we had been pointed across the street. As we stood with our backpacks looking up at the street signs, down at the map, and up at the street signs again, not one, but two passersby, stopped to offer us help.
After that, navigating was a piece of cake. We walked our feet off in the Old City, where Christianity, Islam, and Judaism coexist in one gigantic walled-in city, filled with souqs, markets, restaurants, churches, and mosques. Over two days we toured the Old City, visited the oh-so-new-and-modern Israel Museum, walked the Via Dolorosa (Way of Sorrows aka the stations of the cross), hiked down from the Mt. of Olives, visited the sight where Jesus was believed to be buried, and I had some mighty delicious bagels and lox, shawarma (scrumptious seasoned meat, usually in a sandwich or pita), and a few other Isreali staple foods. Then, it was off to Tel Aviv, where I put my academic pants on and presented a paper on publishing at Israel's First Academic Writing Conference and later attended some interesting lectures. Then, I had one of the best burgers of my life, topped with grilled eggplant and Bulgarian cheese. Tel Aviv is exciting. Every street has its own personality, and we stayed in the city center, and then by the beach, where I thoroughly enjoyed a dip in the Mediterranean.
So, on Sunday we took a four-hour bus ride from Tel Aviv to the border city of Eilat, took bus 15 to the border crossing in Taba, paid our 98.5 shekel (25.26 USD) exit fee in Israel, and walked over the border to Egypt, where I am writing from now. I can't wait to follow all the advice on my brother Mike's "Egyptian To Do List" which mostly includes the cheapest places to acquire food. We are off to eat dinner at one of his recommendations in Dahab called Koshary House, which features an authentic Egyptian dish consisting of pasta, rice, spicy tomato sauce, lentils, and fried onions. I will let you know how it is!
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