Morris Dancing?!

Man, I wish I had time for this: the university is starting a Morris Dancing troupe to perform with their Vernacular Music ensemble. For those of you not familiar with Morris Dancing, it's a pagan dance tradition from the UK (before it was the UK) - it's the sort of thing that happens at festivals celebrating the Green Man. There is lots of jumping about and hitting of sticks, and it's no coincidence that Monty Python emerged from the same culture. Again, West Texas is ever surprising.

Water and Power

My trip to Israel this summer was the first time I've really experienced the desert. I live in a desert-adjacent area, but so far I've kept my hiking to a minimum. Israel's desert, as you may know from experience or from Biblical narratives, is quite serious - one feels like one is standing in the blast of a hot hair dryer, even at 4am (more on that in a moment). I couldn't help notice that at every tourist destination, there was much talk about water.

I stayed at a hotel in East Jerusalem, partly because it was close to the Episcopal Cathedral. I dropped in for a service, then walked around to look at the decor. I couldn't help but notice the full-immersion baptismal font.

This is pretty intense for Episcopalians, who wouldn't normally want to get their linen trousers wet, but a trip to the archaeological site by the Western Wall soon clarified things.

This is an old-school mikvah, a purification bath where people could undergo ritual cleansing before approaching the temple. I particularly like this one, with the divider down the middle to separate the clean from the unclean. This is part of the elaborate hydraulic infrastructure surrounding Herod the Great's Second Temple. During my day at the Western Wall (of said Temple), I took the much-recommended tunnel tour, which allows one to walk the full length of the Wall underground. The tour guide made much of Herod's architectural genius, continually noting the effective water system in and around the Temple. At the end of the wall, the guide did offer a caveat, reminding us that while Herod was a great builder, he was also a deranged and paranoid murderer (see Innocents, Slaughter of the) whose victims included his own wife and children.

I got to enjoy more of Herod's dubious greatness in Masada, a city built on top of a mountain by the Dead Sea, constructed to be virtually self-sufficient so as to survive a siege. The "thing to do" is to climb Masada at sunrise, partly because it's unbearably hot at any other time of day, and partly because it commemorates Masada's last stand. Its last inhabitants were able to resist the Roman invaders, as the city was well fortified and the only access route is a narrow winding path. That is, until the Romans, who wouldn't take no for an answer, decided to build a ramp up the side of the mountain. The Romans finished their ramp and breached the walls at dawn, only to find the inhabitants of Masada had committed mass suicide. It's all a bit grim. I arrived at 4am, put on my hiking boots, and headed for the top with a group of young soldiers on a field trip. Just as I set out, my taxi driver ran after me with another bottle of water, just in case. It was a good thing too, as the climb was long and broiling, even without the sun.

Here I am in Herod's summer palace, which is a dramatic cliff-trail walk from the elaborate baths (complete with caldarium, tepidarium, and frigidarium) and multiple cisterns that would keep the city supplied with water even through seemingly constant drought, not to mention the pools for Dead Sea water, with its healing properties.

These fierce birds frequent the area (one managed to steal some of my breakfast later that morning - I turned my back and was suddenly missing a knish), and this one was helpfully pointing out highlights on the interpretive model of the site. The palace is in the lower left corner, and the bird is standing near the swimming pool, a true luxury in the desert. This was an impressive, if somewhat hyperbolic use of water, and I imagined that it would make life in Masada quite bearable.

After a couple of hours I decided to start my descent, but just before leaving I walked past a small tour group, where the guide was talking about Herod's personality problems. He described him as utterly paranoid, convinced that everyone, from neighbouring tribes to his own family, were out to kill him. The guide then asked his group "Do you know Herod's preferred method of murder?" I slowed down, eager to hear the lurid answer: "Drowning."

Planning

I am in the process of applying for a Green Card, and have been enjoying the strangeness of the process. Yesterday I filled out a questionnaire where I was asked if I've ever been a Communist and/or a Nazi. More specifically, if I had been a Nazi back in the day, they wanted to know if I ever actually hurt anybody. Were you a nice Nazi?

They also want to know if I plan to engage in polygamy while in the US. My question is, does anyone ever really plan on polygamy? From my extensive viewing of HBO's hit series Big Love, about the lives and loves of fringe Mormons, it seems like polygamy is something that just happens - you take a babysitting job and "pow!", you find yourself surrounded by sister wives. Anyway, I don't have polygamy plans myself, so I was able to tick the "No" box on that one, but life is full of surprises.

Other questions addressed my involvement in prostitution, espionage, arms dealing, terrorism, forging documents, "helping with" genocide, working in concentration camps, arms dealing, drug dealing, murder, and coup-planning. As I said "No" to all of the above, I started to think of my life as actually pretty dull. Maybe I should step things up with some unplanned polygamy.

Missing the Point

Write your own joke.

Yum

This is chocolate baklava. Words fail me.

Photo Op

I arrived in Istanbul yesterday, and met up with two girlfriends from my Toronto days. Today we hit the Blue Mosque, which is indeed a beautiful place. I wore the same outfit I had worn through Jerusalem's Old City, i.e. my "Western woman who respects your religious traditions and is therefore dressed very modestly" outfit. This look got me mistaken for a Mennonite in Jerusalem, so you get the idea. I was well pleased that at the entrance to the Blue Mosque, where the fashion police were wrapping tourists in shawls and sarongs, they just waved me through. Once inside, I milled about like everyone else, until a Muslim Turkish family approached me and asked "Photo?" I nodded and reached for their camera, thinking that they wanted me to take their family picture, but as it turns out, they wanted to have their picture taken with me. They gathered around, giggling, and we all smiled for the camera. I have no idea what made me such a photogenic figure, but I am terribly amused that I will now live on in this family's photo album. A couple of minutes later I realized that I had missed the golden opportunity to then demand that they take the same photo with my camera. I'll be quicker next time.

After they left, I told my friends what had happened, and when they were done laughing their heads off, they tried to figure out what had made me a more compelling tourist attraction than, say, The Blue Mosque. They kept saying "it must me your shoes" (see earlier post). I had to keep reminding them that I was barefoot, because, you know, it's The Blue Mosque. By the way, they have a really fabulous carpet (no, really?):

Then we speculated that they may have been fascinated with my hat, which is itself a conversation starter. Maybe they were just stunned to see a Western tourist who was dressed properly, and felt they needed to document it for posterity.

Art of Conversation

Jerusalem is having a festival of lights, where artists have created nighttime installations throughout the Old City using various types of projections, lasers, and fiber-optic effects. I approve of public art, so I visited one of the sites, where they have illuminated the inside of a cave to look like an aquarium. Here we have a deep-sea diver:
As I was taking this photo, a group of parent-free Arabic-speaking boys sidled up to me. After they figured out that I spoke English, this exchange ensued:

them: How are you?

me: I'm fine.

them: F*ck you? [with strong interrogative intonation]

me: No, I don't think so.

They really need to work on their game.