Notes From The Django Jazz Fest - France

Friday, June 27

Yesterday I hitched a ride into a large town with the Dutch couple I’m camped next to and loaded up on supplies. The pantry in my tent is fully stocked until Sunday. I never made it to the actual festival on Thursday because it looked like it was going to rain and I kept getting distracted. The festival includes five days of music and I figured I’d pay for two nights. Otherwise, you can hear the music perfectly in the village right outside the venue. The first night I could faintly see Pat Metheny perform thru the trees but could hear everything perfectly.

 I’ve been meeting all kinds of people from all over the place. I met a woman in the campground from Iran who is a classically trained violinist. We talked for quite a while about Iran. She said in Iran she can only perform underground. As a woman she is very limited as to how she can do her music. For example, a women singing is strictly forbidden. She and her husband come to the festival and Europe every year for a couple of months to try and make some money performing. She said living in Iran was like living under water and being in Europe was like coming up for air. So why stay in Iran? She says it’s her home and she still loves her country. I asked her about all the accusations of Iran trying to build a nuclear weapon. She said she really didn’t know anything about it and even if Iran ever had one they would never use it. She says the current administration is much better and stated that the country is really very safe but there are many rules.

The music around the campground has been quite phenomenal but last night was a lot livelier than Wednesday with the music going until 6am. I noticed some drunken guy yelling across the grounds at around 2 am. Remarkably, I’m sleeping through most of it with the help of ear plugs. 

Many of the guitar players appear to be Django Gypsy jazz junkies. After a while the choo choo train rhythms and quick wispy leads can be a bit much but it’s as if the players can’t get enough of it. Circles of jamming musicians form all over the campground. While most groups are very informal there seems to be a certain etiquette to playing with some of the more advanced musicians.   

The campground still has plenty of room and from what I can tell there’s never more than two employees, on site, for what must be the busiest week of the year.  The snack stand appears to be getting the most attention but I did see someone cleaning bathrooms this morning. People are just pulling in and setting up. The office looks empty. No one is checking to see if anyone has paid.

Maybe France is a pay optional country. So far I’ve ridden four trains and no one has checked my ticket. Anyone can walk on a train at any station. I’ve only seen one person actually working on a train and he was simply checking windows. There are no gates or anything requiring a ticket before boarding. Train tickets are expensive in France. I think it’s set up so the honest paying customers compensate for those who don’t pay.

Nonetheless, France is an absolutely beautiful country to visit this time of year. Maybe the French spend the rest of the year getting ready for summer then slack off until the fall.

 Monday, June 30

By time Sunday morning arrived I was ready to leave the scene by the Seine. Four nights of camping in Petit Barbeau with gypsy jazz going all the time had me a little tired out. Surprisingly, each night I got some decent sleep, if not enough, with the help of ear plugs and the good luck of picking a quieter location. The music, all acoustic, really did not bother me when sleeping but a few loud people did.

Overall, The Django Jazz Festival was great. The location and setting are beautiful. I paid to attend the actual festival on Friday and Saturday night. On Friday I witnessed some outrageous guitar playing within the gypsy jazz genre.  Saturday was a mix of Jazz styles with Snarky Puppy from Brooklyn putting up a great Jazz Rock Funk Set. The internationally acclaimed Grammy award winning Gipsy Kings closed out the evening. The downside to Saturday is that it rained all day and night. Still, the crowds turned out.

Saturday morning I rode into Fontainebleau with a British farmer and his son from Devon, England. They both play Gypsy Jazz guitar. With it being a rainy morning I saw it as a good chance to get out the campground. We visited the Chateau and I got a great laugh out of seeing an ornate fountain with dogs pissing. We toured around the exterior, grounds, chapel, and got some coffee.

Saturday afternoon I met a raspy voiced Louisiana Cajun blues man in his late 30’s. He came across as very friendly but a little rough around the edges. He said he was living in Romania and playing a nice gig at an American themed restaurant. With good pay, a legitimate contract, and a very low cost of living he was happy enough but explained how living there is weird. He had arrived at the festival with his girlfriend but she couldn’t take the camping thing so she left him for Paris. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn't like camping because she was a hippy. You could tell the situation with his lady friend was buggin him so meeting another American from a neighboring state gave him a chance to vent. In a rough straight talking uncouth sort of way he explained his side of the story and seemed to work it out in his head as he spoke. Based on what he said I told him I thought they each had different expectations. With that, he dropped the subject and starting talking about music related topics. I asked if he had his girlfriend’s festival pass. He said he did. I offered to buy admission for Saturday off him at a discounted rate. He was happy to give it to me for half price.

Needless to say there are many characters at the Django Festival, however, at camp Petit Barbeau hardly any were actual gypsy's. The real gypsy's have their own place somewhere else nearby for camping. There was one obvious gypsy camp in Petit Barbeau. They seemed pretty comfortable and well to do with a couple nice trailers and hosted a great group of musicians but the circle felt little closed. Call it social conditioning or whatever but I’m a little leery of gypsy’s in general.

I stayed all four nights at the campground without a problem. I paid for one night and was going to pay for the other three, however, a British group camped near me said they had pre-paid for two people who did not show up and that I could count as one of them since they were not going to get  a refund.

I packed up my wet camp Sunday morning and had hoped to hitch ride with someone form the festival to Lyon in route to the Alps. I wasn’t having any luck so I asked a Belgian couple leaving the campground if they would be willing to give me a ride to the train station. They were happy to help.

It was a about a 45 minute train ride to Paris where I got the opportunity to witness some fine French inefficiency at the Train station while waiting nearly an hour to purchase an overpriced ticket to Lyon. In Lyon I more or less dropped in on some friends I haven’t been in contact with for 3 years. I sent a couple of emails beforehand and just kind of turned up. Luckily my timing was good and it’s worked out well. I’m staying with my friend Frederic who owns and runs a Yoga Studio. Stephanie, another friend, just happened to be in town from the countryside and is staying at Fred’s studio. I met both of them through the European Yoga festival four years ago.

Today I walked around Lyon and purchased my ticket for Les Houches in the French Alps where I’ll meet up with my friend Debbie from the England and we will hike a 100 mile route around Mt Blanc call the Tour Du Mont Blanc. Hoping for Good Weather!

France - Normandy To The Seine

“Follow the trail by river until you hear the music. The campground will be on the left hand side. About 2 km.” It was a lovely walk along the Seine as I passed river barges along a forested path. At a park I faintly heard music and saw the campground a short distance to the left.

“Do you have reservation? We are all full.” “No, I do not have a reservation”, I replied. “I am so sorry, we are full, but I can allow you to stay one night, tonight, then you must leave. “Ok”, I replied. “Oh, you are very lucky”, replied the attendant. I then asked if I could find someone who would be willing to share their site if it would be ok if I stayed longer. The attendant then said, “Maybe, talk to me tomorrow afternoon, you are so lucky to have a campsite tonight”. I then asked where I should camp. The attendant told me anywhere. I left with a gracious smile espousing numerous “Merci Beaucoup’s” .

Stakes with numbers, orderly placed, but temporary, added to a little bit of confusion as to where I was supposed to pitch my small one man with gear tent. After all, I did not have a reservation and I was so fortunate to be allowed to camp on the premises for the night. I found a nice spot next to a Dutch couple who said that only saw a few sites actually marked reserved and I could camp wherever. It was then that I figured it out. The numbers didn’t really mean anything. They were just a way to get people to set up in an orderly fashion as the campground, like many European campgrounds, does not really have marked spaces. It’s all free range. How silly, the quirky French.  There is plenty of room to camp, they just wanted to let me know that I “Should” have had a reservation.

The campground is mostly fully, nobody is issued a number, and from what I can tell only two people really work here. Considering the lackadaisical ways of the French coupled with long lunch breaks I am certain I can stay. I’ve paid for one night but have no intention of letting them know I am here until I Ieave. It’s then that I’ll pay them for the remaining nights and I’m sure they will have long forgotten. Sometimes I wonder how France has managed to do as well as it does. The French can be quite peculiar when it comes to doing business.

I arrived in France on Monday after staying a night in Portsmouth, England. I hopped a fast ferry to Cherbourg  that only took 3 hours. From Cherbourg I took a train to Bayeux where I camped for 2 nights and visited Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery in Normandy. Needless to say visiting the cemetery and beach was very humbling. Today it is a beautiful vacation spot. I can’t even imagine what it was like 70 years ago. I give thanks to the greatest generation and to some of the bravest men who ever lived.

After a short stop in Normandy I spent Wednesday getting to Samois Sur Seine. Three trains combined with the Paris underground and a bus got me to the former home of Django Reinhardt, the famous Gypsy Jazz Guitarist. I am here to attend the Jazz Festival named in his honor.

After a baguette and coffee I walked the mile and a half to the campground. I set up camp next to a friendly Dutch couple named Martin and Hanaka. We instantly hit of off and Martin chilled the 3 cans of beer I had in my pack. I got situated and we talked into the evening.

Petit Barbeau is a lovely forested campground next to the seine at the end of a road that dead ends into a small river side park. Everyone camped on the grounds is here for the festival and many are musicians. The musicians are here to play music. Most play guitar but there is bass, violin, clarinet, saxophone, and some accordion. People come from all over the world and the talent is amazing. Music echoes across the forest continuously from about 9 am to 4 am. It’s all acoustic, no singing, and at a nice level. People drink a little but no one gets rowdy. It’s all about playing the music. Old school traditional gypsy jazz of France and Europe fills the campground but the actual festival covers all ranges of the Jazz Genre. The atmosphere is very pleasant and relaxing.

Last night I turned in around midnight with the forest full of music and easily drifted off into a nice sleep. It feels like I'm in the right place for now.

 

A Walk Around The Isle of Wight, UK

 

I had an hour to get from London’s King Cross station to the Waterloo station via the Tube but for whatever reason I was a little disoriented by the underground. The Northern Line didn’t read quite the same in real life as it did on the map. I was on the wrong train and it was taking a long time stopping at each stop. A little flustered I asked to barrow a tourist’s Underground map. Suddenly it all made sense. I got off, switched lines, and still made my train to Portsmouth with minutes to spare. Good thing as I had a time specific ticket. I straightened out my misdirection ok but felt a little off my game and out of practice. I made it much more difficult than need be.

In Portsmouth I got off at the Harbor and caught a ferry to town of Ryde on the Isle of Wight. On a relative whim I had decided to walk the 70 mile coastal path around the Island. First I needed some info, a can of stove fuel, but most of all a map. The path passes thru plenty of villages as it’s a mix of trail, shoreline, and mixed roads.

I got a little irritated when tourist information had no information on walking as the Isle of Wight is known for it but I found a small local bookshop that did. It was there that I found a proper Ordinance Survey map for the entire Island and a small easy to carry guidebook for the route. I figured it would take a little over 4 days. By late afternoon I began hiking.

About 4 miles into the walk I came upon a campground. Since it was getting kind of late in the day it was an easy decision to stop. I paid the 5 pound fee and began setting up my tent. Just as I was about finished a nice orange haired girl in her late teens approached me and said her mother cooked too much food and would I like to join them for dinner. Of course I said yes. Timing couldn’t have been better since I hardly had any food and wasn’t sure what I was going to do about dinner. I assumed I’d roam around for a Pub or something. Not only was I served dinner but it included beer as well.

The mother daughter were very nice and we all enjoyed good conversation. They were from London and on a 5 day get away. They arrived with a packed car and a huge tent with  all kinds of stuff for a comfortable set up. Auto camping with a large tent is very popular in the UK and Europe. Right after dinner the daughter got all dolled up, in an artsy sort of way, and we went to pub for drink but called it an early night.

When I left the campground the next morning at 9 am the mother and daughter were still sleeping. The skies were cloudy and there was a light mist as I passed through the seaside village of Bembridge and bypassed what should have been some nice coastal walking because of landslips. At Sandown the shore began to become more attractive as I started to pass through the touristy seaside villages of Sandown and Shanklin. At the end of Shanklin sits a storybook like pub right next to the Sea. It was impossible for me to pass it up without having a pint. I paused to do so.

The path continued to hug the shore as I skirted along past Ventnor and more rural hiking. I left the shore and climbed up past the sleepy village of St Lawrence to a ridgeline whose top gave way to farmland stretching to the north. I wasn’t sure where I was going to camp for the night but I decided to drop down off the ridge via a side trail to an apparent campground.

The side trail took me down to a road where I walked a short distance and inquired at a house where I saw two kids playing. The idyllic stone brick house was being rented by a hippy couple in their 30’s or 40’s. They said the campground had been shut for various reasons in part due to landslips. They offered their garden as a place to camp and their 7 and 11 year old daughters seemed pretty excited when I took them up on the offer. The girls rounded up the chickens while the mother suggested a spot. The garden was pretty messy with stuff, half finished projects and plenty of tall grass with weeds but comfortable nonetheless.

Once I got my tent pitched I was offered a cup of tea and given a bowl of chips (thick French fries) that I counted as dinner. I wound up talking to the husband quite a while. He was a welder by trade with Scottish roots who has turned to environmental design, gardening, and alternative living. He seemed to know a lot about geology and explained the landslip situation. The road, not far from where I accessed it, was recently cut off on one end due to a landslip (landslide in the USA). He told me how unstable a lot of the land is on his portion of the Island. The two daughters were also very friendly and everyone appeared to be very happy to talk to me. Their location, although pleasantly nice, did have sort of an isolated feel.

I slept pretty well and got started before the family was up. From there I hiked back up to the ridge and enjoyed a really nice day of hiking along trail atop the south shore cliff edges with very few people. It’s wide open with great ocean views.

I went almost all day before reaching another village. From Freshwater Bay I climbed the hill up to Tennyson’s monument where I left the path and dropped down to a campground at Stoats Farm.

Within the immediate area are 3 pubs within a 20 minute walk. After setting up camp and taking a shower I had pint at a seaside pub that was more like a restaurant with a great view. The next pub was a proper traditional village pub with a nice friendly atmosphere where I watch world cup soccer and ate Steak and Ale pie. The third pub was right near the campground. It was a proper pub but with a local crowd that seemed just tolerant of tourists. I watched the second half of the world cup soccer game with England getting beat a second time. The place didn’t feel too friendly.

The next day would be my longest day as I covered 20 miles of mixed trails and roads. I planned to stay at campground but I couldn’t justify paying the high price and questioned the attendant why it would be so expensive for a walker with a one man tent? I must have made an impression because the attendant gave me the code to the shower for free and suggested camping at a nearby bay. I took a shower and purchased some food from an onsite store and set up camp not far away on Thorness Bay.

I awoke early which is easy to do as the sun rises around 4 am this time of year in England. I got up at 6:30 to watch the first of 16,000 sailboats clear the point from Cowes for the around the Island sailboat race. Winds were light. It was going to be a long race.

It was a short hike to Cowes. At Cowes I considered staying because I thought it would be fun to watch the boats finish and take part in the party afterwards. With a little more thought I decided the party afterwards might be a reason not to stay. I continued on and arrived back where I started in Ryde late in the afternoon after numerous breaks. I checked into a cheap yet overpriced tired old hotel disguised as a B&B for the night.

It was a nice walk around the Island. The route has its pluses and minuses. The minuses come with a few miles of walking along a busy road. The pluses come with some very attractive shoreline. 

 

England - A Pit Stop Thus Far

Thus far England has turned out to be a pit stop. I arrived quite tired from my travels in Israel and allowed myself to fall into a lackadaisical role of, “Well taken care of Guest”. I’ve tempered my stay with morning runs, work in Grans garden, and a little help here and there, otherwise, I’ve allowed myself to be a bit lazy. I abandoned the drive of “Must Do” and have embraced the evening pint at a pub after a day of miscellaneous this and that.

The compulsion of “Must” and “Now” were put on hold in exchange for “Later” and “It’s not going anywhere”. For ten days I’ve been spoiled by Debbie cooking all my meals with a smile and driving me to the pubs without question. She’s been a good friend, gracious and generous. Her father’s open door and hospitality have been greatly appreciated. Time has passed much too fast. Meeting and spending time with her significant other, Esteban, and her longtime friend, Will, have enhanced my stay as I’ve been able to make new friends.

Tomorrow will mark 11 days which means I must resume my duty of traveler and thinker. I have a boat load of options, a few invitations, and the blessing of freedom. The coast of England, the French countryside, the Alps, and the shores of Belgium are all very likely. My plan is loose. I’ll fly as long as I can on the wings of a weak U.S. Dollar as I enjoy the lovely situation I am in.

 

Jerusalem To England - The Countryside

I lay atop the roof of the Hostel in Old Jerusalem for about 3 hours dozing in and out of sleep. It was a beautiful night with breezy winds, stars, and a partial moon. About 30 or so young backpackers slept squeezed in between 3 open sections. It was peaceful and quiet.

Around 2:30 am I grabbed my stuff to meet a shared mini bus to the airport. The driver showed up right on time at 2:45 am just inside Jaffa gate. As we drove around Jerusalem picking up other airport passengers at 3 in the morning. I couldn’t believe how many young people were out on the streets. It was Friday and I suppose the clubs had just closed. Seeing young partyers is one thing but there were also lots of Orthodox Jews dressed like someone from 1850’s Poland wandering all over the place. Some were alone, some in small groups. What were they doing on the streets at 3 am? It was surreal.

I got to the airport in good time. I had a budget ticket on Pegasus airlines based out of Istanbul. Security was a breeze and everything went smoothly. From there it was a plane change in Istanbul with a flight to London Stansted. After almost a month on the road I needed a place to relax. I decided to take Debbie up on her open invitation to visit in the English countryside.

It took 14 hours total with shuttle, planes, and a train but everything was on time. It had been 4 years since I had last seen Debbie. She picked me up at the train station in Peterborough. Jake, her dog, remembered me.

Deb lives a world away from Israel in one of the many story book country villages of England. Lots of the homes and structures were built starting around the 17^th century but the village history begins far earlier. Narrow streets with tightly built homes of stone brick topped with slate roofs fill a shallow farmland valley. The fields are thick with green as spring pushes into early summer. Now is a great time to be in England with long days, mild to warm temps, and usually not much rain.

Deb lives on a property with a Victorian brick stone home. Her father, 81, and grandmother, 99, live in two separate yet connected houses, townhome style. Deb and her Spanish boyfriend live in a small complex of structures down by the garden. I’m staying in a room on the second floor of her father’s house.

I’ve been in England now for a few days and it’s been absolutely lovely. Deb has been great. I’ve been getting a bit spoiled as she’s been fixing all my meals, taking me on walks with her dog, and introducing me to the local pubs. She’s also directed me to a local forest with miles of crushed stone paths that are excellent for running.

Yesterday Deb’s boyfriend Esteban didn’t bother going to sleep at 6 am when he got home. He was interested in checking out a market auction and asked in his thick Castilian accent if I wanted to go. Although it was Tuesday morning it might have well been Friday night for him. Deb and I joined.

The market was pretty interesting. It was partly farmers market, flea market, and auction selling produce, livestock, practical goods, and misc. There were all kinds of small lots of birds and farm animals. It seemed to be geared towards the small farmer and general public. There were a number of antique/vintage dealers that interested me. Deb loaded up with produce that was priced really cheap. Around 11 am Esteban wanted a pint so we headed to the pub on premises. I don’t drink in the morning but I couldn’t allow Esteban to drink alone.

Esteban is a hard working Spanish man with a heart of gold who speaks fair English smothered by his Castilian dialect. One must listen carefully with full attention to follow the flow of conversation not only disguised by vocal inflection but subtle cultural differences as well. With each ale communication difficulties increase but Esteban’s whit for humor expands via mannerisms and expression.

After two pints it’s back to the car with a large sack of potatoes costing 4 pound ($6.75). I carry them while Esteban rolls a cigarette and Deb runs back to get the car to beat the 2 hour limit before a camera snaps a shot and mails a ticket. In England, cameras are always watching.

Back in the village Esteban insists on another pint at the local pub. When it came time for a 4^th I apologized that I needed to pass. It wasn’t even 2 pm yet.

Right now it feels really nice to be England. The countryside is especially attractive to me right now. It’s been three years since I’ve been in the country. The air is fresh and everything is so green. The architecture, pubs, village walks, gardens, quirky English ways, and familiarity from past visits make me feel very comfortable here. I find the Brits to be very easy for Americans to get on with and the differences between cultures complement one another very well. After all, England did once rule America.

 

 

Israel - Final Thoughts

The day after my visit to the West Bank I had a chance to catch up with my friend Alon who is an Israeli who lives in Jerusalem. I wrote about him in the blog when I first arrived. We talked about my time in Israel, the West Bank, etc.,. Alon is on very informed and educated on the issues of the Middle East so discussing my time there felt a bit like a debriefing. It was really good to see him again and we talked of meeting up someday in the USA. I’m sure it will happen.

But now, let me back up a little. From Eilat I parted ways with the Dutch gals who headed off to Jordan and Petra. I returned to Jerusalem via Bus. It was Shuvat, a Jewish holiday, which meant most everything was closed except for the Muslim quarter. All of the hostels outside of the Muslim quarter were full and available hotels were too expensive so I consulted my Lonely Planet guide.

The Muslim quarter of the Old City is very colorful, busy, and real. Whereas the Christian quarter is touristy, the Armenian quarter empty, and the Jewish Quarter sterile, the Muslim quarter is gritty and alive. From a cultural perspective it’s the most interesting place in Jerusalem. Shops spill out along the narrow pavement stone streets selling everything from socks, cleaning products, meats, and vegetables. The entrance, Damascus Gate, sees a constant flow of people dodging one another as goods and people pass in and out. During the precise times of day the air is filled with prayers announced over speakers attached to the tops of ancient minarets. I checked out a couple of hostels recommended by the Lonely Planet guide.

The Hebron hostel was tucked in deep. It seethed character but looked tired and worn. An older American man sat in a common area and I asked him how he liked it there and he said it was great. The manager led me up to an open area where three middle aged Arab’s sat and smoked. They greeted and welcomed me as I passed to look at a couple of available rooms. It all appeared ok but I wasn’t feeling it so I went on to look at the Golden Gate Hostel.

I think the person working the front desk was the owner. He was a man of few words but I could tell he ran a tight ship. The place was very clean and felt secure. He didn’t have a room for a single but offered me a double for the same price. It was a good value so I took it. I paid for one night and told him I’d let him know in the morning if I wanted a second night.

Immediately after checking in I met a woman from Canada who was staying there. She was part of a Christian political activist organization made up of Canadians and Americans. Their focus was the West Bank and they were essentially on a fact finding trip to investigate the situation for their selves. They had been together for 12 days and were wrapping up the trip after touring extensively throughout the West Bank. She said they all felt safe while traveling there and sympathized greatly with the Palestinians. The only hiccup was getting involved with a protest that was tear gassed by the Israeli Army. I had a really nice conversation with the woman. However, I think if you’re with a group and being guided by Palestinians who you openly sympathize with, you might not get a totally unbiased clear view of the entire situation. She did encourage me to check out Bethlehem though.

The following day I explored Bethlehem and the west. The next day I caught up with Alon and moved to a different hostel near Jaffa gate where I safely stored my pack and paid for a spot on the roof where I’d catch a few hours sleep for my last night in Jerusalem. I figured since I’d be leaving at 2:45 am and I’d be up until 11 pm it didn’t make sense to pay for a room.

After catching up with Alon during the day I crossed paths once again with Peter from Holland. He had also explored the West Bank on his own and felt safe enough but a bit uncomfortable when the  public bus he was on had to work its way around a burning car during some kind of protest.

It was great to see Peter again. We made our way to the enclosed courtyard to an old Austrian consulate turned guesthouse in the Muslim quarter where it was quiet and peaceful, where we could talk. We swapped stories and shared perspectives. After awhile we walked over to the posh King David Hotel for decadent overpriced coffee before parting ways.

In the end, after a little less than a month, I think I covered Israel pretty well. From the beaches, to the hills, along the borders, political and religious, secular and indifferent, Israel is a land of contrasts that takes a while to get to know. At times it can feel like vacation land along the shores of Eilat and Tel Aviv whereas in places like Jerusalem a convergence of seemingly civil coexistence exudes a subtle tension below the surface. It’s a land of fundamental ideology and pragmatic objectivism. In other ways it’s downright strange as crowds of Orthodox Jews walk about in 19^th garb and Russians with French flock to tired beach resorts resembling something you might find along the Adriatic of Eastern Europe.

Israel is not a cheap place to travel. Israeli’s are indeed shrewd business people and have no problem admitting it. They are proud of it. One Israeli woman told me that Israeli’s don’t like it when people try to bargain with them. I asked if bargaining was deemed impolite as it’s a way of doing business with the Muslims. She said Israeli’s were not offended; they just don’t fall for it, and would rather lose the business than go down a little in price. I would say half the time I felt like I was over paying and the other half of the time I felt like I was getting a fair deal but I didn’t often feel like I was getting a good value.

Israel for me was a little hard to wrap my head around. It takes time to fully understand the common Israeli comment of, “It’s complicated”.  A month is nowhere enough time. How can a political dignitary from abroad on a 2 to 3 day dog and pony show have an accurate clue as to what’s really going on? I think this adds to the complications.

I can’t say I was totally comfortable traveling the country. For me there’s a tension and uneasiness, in an unsettled way, which comes out of a relatively new country set upon disputed lands. Is it a cultural misunderstanding, an intuitive vibe of sorts, or, simple unfamiliarity that contributed to my own uneasiness? I don’t know. There’s no disputing that Israel is a fascinating place for so many reasons beyond its obvious history and unique position in world so there was definitely a strong appeal for me wanting to be there.

All in all I am very happy to have traveled Israel with a brief two days in Jordon. I doubt I will return to the Middle East anytime soon. The world is a big place. There are so many other countries I want to visit and the Middle East does not draw or appeal to me like other regions and cultures of the world. However, I am very interested in the politics of the region and I believe my time in Israel will help me to better understand the challenges of thereof. 

For now, it’s back to the UK and Europe.

Bethlehem And The West Bank, Israel

Aside of visiting the birthplace of Jesus Christ I felt compelled to visit the West Bank to get a perspective from the other side of the fence. I’ll admit I was little out of my comfort zone as I brushed off a couple of Taxi drivers when I got off the bus in Bethlehem.

A short distance from the bus stop an Arab Palestinian approached me speaking perfect English and told me where the old city was and about catching the bus back to Jerusalem. He introduced himself, “My name in A’La. I was born in Bethlehem just like Jesus!” He claimed to have friends in Michigan. Obviously, it was a way to engage in conversation so he could try and get my business.  He made a good impression and I had a good feeling about A’La. You could tell he was experienced at dealing with tourists and quite the salesman.

I let A’La talk. He offered several variations of tours. All of which sounded reasonable based on prices at home but for the West Bank I didn’t really know for sure. I asked him if he was an official Taxi driver and told him I’d like to see his car. He led me to it, parked along the busy street. I noticed the Palestinian plates, meter, and Id. When I was convinced he was totally legit we made an agreement and I hopped in. Gut instinct told me he was honest and at the end of the tour I would not be disappointed.

The first place he took me to was the wall that separates Bethlehem and the Jerusalem area. The cement wall stands 8 meters high with lots of graffiti on the Palestinian side.  Most all of the graffiti is peace oriented and done by local and international artists. He then showed me a burned out lookout tower across from a UN school surrounded by a cement wall with barbed wire atop and bullet holes in a steel door. He said two school kids were shot there by Israeli soldiers. I didn’t ask for any details as to how and why.

From there it was through a refugee portion of Bethlehem seemingly dodgy with almost totally empty streets. A’La said not to worry, that it was safe and I could take photos. I asked him to explain the current situation in the West Bank and he was more than happy to do so. He spoke passionately about his love for his home and family. He spoke of his frustration with the news portraying them all as terrorists. He said it made him feel good to explain his side of the story to American tourists. I listened with a neutral mind and sympathized with what he as saying. I could tell A’La has a good heart. He talked of his kids, 6 months, 4, and 5. He’s just a man living in a tough part of the world trying to make the best for his family, wanting nothing more than peace.

A'La went on to explain how the wall and fence made him feel like a prisoner. He, like most Palestinians are forbidden from entering Jerusalem but can easily travel to Europe via Jordan which is a bit of irony I suppose.

As we drove out of Bethlehem he showed me some of the Jewish Settlements and explained the friction. He said he can get along fine with Israeli’s but didn’t agree with how things were being handled.

The settlements appear to be the biggest complaint.  Israel moves in and builds exclusive communities in the West Bank for Israeli, American, and Russian Jewish settlers who in turn ask Palestinians, like A’La, why they live there because the land belongs to the Jewish people.

For the first time I pondered the question of Jewish extremism. Why would an American Jew from Miami, or any Jew for that matter, want to live in a West Bank settlement of 500 that takes 2,000 Israeli soldiers to protect? There is no integration within the settlements. Settlers are totally separated by walls and dividers with Jews on one side, Palestinians on the other. It’s not like desegregation, as seen in American during the 1960’s, where blacks and whites were intentionally mixed in order to learn to get along.

In my opinion the settlements and divisions thereof are fueling tensions as the Palestinians see it as a land grab and occupation. In turn they feel like disrespected second class citizens. It’s easy to see how it can be interpreted as a civil rights issue more than anything.

A’La took me to the Shepard’s Field where Gabriel told shepherds that Jesus was about to be born. After that he took me to the Herodium, ancient Roman ruins where it’s believed King Herrod was buried. The Herodium, built atop a high hill, offers some great views of Bethlehem and the inside of the West Bank with few tourists.

From the Herodium it was bank to Bethlehem but by a different way. Israelis are forbidden to travel within the West Bank and there are large signs in Arabic, Hebrew, and English stating the danger. The signs are another big complaint of A’La and he stated how it creates fear by making people think all Palestinians are a threat and danger.  As we passed one of the big signs he said, “Now I’ll take you to where the terrorist are”, with a sarcastic tone as he rolled his eyes. We proceeded back to Bethlehem to the Birth site of Jesus and the end of the agreed tour. He had offered to take me to Hebron, which is kind of a hot spot now, but I felt like I had reached my limit with enough time to get a clear Palestinian viewpoint. Everything is a more intense when you’re alone.

When it came time to pay A’La there was no monkey business so I paid him the agreed price and a little extra. He proved himself to be a man of his word and I had no reason to believe he wasn’t being completely honest with me. Before we parted he introduced me to his friend who has a shop that makes carved items out of Olive wood. His buddy was extremely nice and I had a good conversation with him about Bethlehem and the West Bank.

I visited the Milky Grotto and Birthplace of Jesus on my own before making the 20 minute walk through the market streets of Bethlehem back to the public bus to Jerusalem. Before returning I was approached by another Palestinian tour guide offering tours to Hebron. He claimed to be with an organization for alternative tourism whose mission is to educate foreigners on the situation in West Bank from a Palestinian viewpoint. The tours take about 2 hours and are very inexpensive. We talked awhile, which was quite interesting, but I had had enough for the day and wasn’t comfortable taking off with the seemingly legit guide by myself.

Although I felt safe enough in the West Bank by more or less sticking to a tourist routine I was not totally comfortable. However, it was very enlightening and caused me to ask myself some questions. Social conditioning plays a large part in influencing our preconceptions and prejudices but so do facts. How much of a Westerners fear of the Middle East is caused by biased news, fact, or simple yet complicated cultural misunderstandings? Whereas A’La struck me as a good sincere man, and I’d like to believe most Palestinians are in line with A’La, you cannot dispute that some bad characters have come out of the West Bank.

The reason the wall and fence were built around the West Bank is because there was quite a problem with suicide bombers 10 and 12 years ago. The wall and fence have been extremely effective and now you rarely hear of any incidents. Of most concern is the question of what would happen if the Palestinians were to be given total control of the West Bank and held elections tomorrow. Most agree that Hamas, a terrorist organization that has vowed to destroy the Jewish people of Israel, would win.

I find the socio political situation of the Middle and Israel to be very interesting. Later in the day, back in Jerusalem, I found out that alternative tourism in the West Bank is indeed legit. You can go with organized groups for added comfort and safety and I might have done so if I had more time.

Visiting the West Bank and Bethlehem would be my last adventure in Israel as I would spend the next day in Jerusalem preparing to leave the country after almost a month of touring the nation.

Eilat, Israel

I’ve already been in Israel for over 3 weeks and it still feels like I just got here. Yesterday I completed the Med, Dead, and Red trifecta as I swam in the Red Sea on the shores of Eilat. Eilat is a full on Red Sea beach town located on a thin strip of Israel sandwiched between Jordan and Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula. It's northern shore is packed with hotels, shops,  and colorful night time signage. It's where Tel Aviv goes to party.

This morning I awoke in one of the quirkiest hostels I’ve ever stayed at. My single bed accommodation is like a small tool shed with bed on the floor, a toilet, shower, and air conditioner that runs all the time because of inefficient construction that allows plenty of hot air in. The owner, a colorful older gentleman, is an artist and wood worker who appears to have a talent for all mediums. The tables, chairs, buildings, paintings, and statues are set up in a diorama movie set fashion. The colors and style are reminiscent of gaudy Mexico with a Jewish Hebrew twist. Moses with day glow green is adorned with plastic flowers. African looking statues stand next to a small yurt like synagogue above a booth set up for check in’s. A statue of a monkey eating a banana reads the bible as reindeer fly across the top of my single bed shed. A large eagle spreads his wings above. I’m not sure if the accommodation is worth the 140 shekels I’m paying but the funk factor makes the place somewhat irresistible for at least a couple of nights.

I said goodbye to Peter and left the Dead Sea for Eilat with a couple of Dutch gals who I met at the field school hostel in Ein Gedi. We waited at the bus stop for about an hour. When the bus showed up it is was full, standing room only. About half of the passengers were military, all young kids just out of high school, some carrying guns, which is fairly common in Israel.

Before leaving  for Eilat someone told the Dutch women that the beaches on the Egypt side are nicer and that there are no tourists. They were interested in going straight to the Sinai Peninsula but I told them I thought it might not be a good idea. Recently Hamas has moved into the region and two tall blond Dutch ladies are liable to be noticed. They joined me for a short walk to the quirky hostel instead, checked in, and we all went for a swim in the Red Sea along the Eilat waterfront.

The following day, the Dutch women Inga and Eineke along with myself took a short taxi ride towards the border of Egypt and planted ourselves next to a beach bar dive center called Aqua Sport. Clear water reef runs ashore with the deep blue sea as a backdrop. Colorful fish swim up close as people dive and snorkel right off a beach where you can see Israel, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula.

Music played all day across the tops of the umbrella like Tiki Rattan shades firmly planted in the sand as we lounged, swam, napped, drank, and ate from morning till night. In the evening Inga rented a popular Arabian Shisha (water pipe) to smoke honey flavored tobacco and we took lots of funny selfies (photos).

For me it’s three more days in Israel with a desire to stay on the beach or return to Jerusalem to take in a few sights I missed. For Inga and Eineke it’s off to Jordon and Petra. I chose to return to Jerusalem.