Rachel EM in JerusalEM

I was here.

2008-12-22T03:56:00.003+02:00

I spent four wonderful months in the Holy Land. The experience was worth the struggle of four simultaneous jobs and full credit hours for a year before I could afford it. It was worth every penny. It was worth it all. Worth it for so many reasons. Thanks for reading my blog, it has been a pleasure to share some of my joys with you.

You may see the world for its enticing tourist allure. This is different. It will permeate your thoughts forever afterward. You'll never forget it. If you have the means and a desire to go, I encourage you to GO. Forget about London, Florence, Vienna, or Moscow; forget Sri Lanka and the Caribbean. So many have spoken to me about my experience and said "I've always wanted to do that," when I know they've gone other places instead. I tell you it won't happen until you choose for it become a priority. If you have the means, GO.

Afraid to pick your way through the dangerous and foreboding Middle East? Pittsburgh is more dangerous than Jerusalem. For that matter, so is Paris. Afraid that a terrorist attack will strike when you're there? You should be more worried about a car accident, it is much more likely to happen. Don't know your way around? Join a tour group--there are many, the guides know their stuff, and you'll love traveling in a group of people you can relate to.

If you have the means and a desire to go, GO. It will be easier to get there than you think.

Church of the Holy Sepulchre

2008-07-15T21:39:00.005+03:00

Accepted by most Christians as the site of Golgotha, where Christ was crucified, and the site of his sepulcher (spelled Sepulchre by our Latin-loving-Oldy-Anglish European churches). Hailed as the "most holy site in all of Christendom," thousands of pilgrims pay homage to the location every year.

Our faculty hoped we would not only tolerate, but learn to appreciate and love the faiths of others. And though it would never have occurred to us to be disrespectful, we knew that anything irreverent in one of their holy places would result in severe punishment, likely over-our-dead-bodies. But like I said, that never would have been a problem with us. Every denomination received the same quiet respect from all of us.
For myself, I felt Islam and Judaism easier to respect than the many varied branches of Christianity. My closest friends voiced similar opinions. One friend joked about wanting to write an essay entitled, "Are Mormons Muslim?" as a play on words to the common topic "Are Mormons Christian?"

For those of you who may not know, "Mormon" is a nickname for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints. We are encouraged by our church leaders to say we are members of the Church of Jesus Christ to dispel the belief that mormons are not Christian; faith in Christ and devotion to him is the center and core of our religion. At orientation I learned that for the next four months in the holy land I had a new mantra: "We aren't Christians. We're Mormons." While not changing our beliefs in any way, we hope that by making the distinction between us and what the rest of the world sees as followers of Christ. And now, having seen the difference between how Mormons and Christians interact with Muslims and Jews, I understand why. Particularly the difference between Mormon leaders and Christian clergy.

Okay, I'm coming across clear as mud, I'm sure. Sorry. I can't really explain it in words. The best example, I think, is given by Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof when he indicates the Catholic priest and says "we don't bother them and so far they don't bother us." Muslims treat the Christians in mostly the same way. If they were to ask a direct question, sure, they'd talk to you. But on the other hand, Muslims and Jews talk to Mormons much more freely. Now having said this I can think of a dozen exceptions to this example--mostly involving the difference between Jews and Jews, Muslims and Muslims, Catholics and Born-again-Christians. No matter what your religion, some people just won't socialize with you. The easiest example of this are the Orthodox Jews, who don't talk to anyone else, make eye contact with anyone else, and will walk around you as if you aren't there. Still, I'd get the same level of disdain from some Christian tourists while walking through the Christian quarter--one glance at my Mormon fanny-pack and they'd look the other way (not kidding). Once in the middle of small-talk with a preacher from Alabama who, seconds after learning I was a student from Utah, perceptibly changed his cordiality to distant formality. Contrast that to the woman who saw Mormon students reading the New Testament outside the Garden tomb and was moved to tears, crying "bless you kids!" But that's another story. For now just pretend to understand what I can't seem to explain, and I'll move on. Pfffff.

Sorry. Obviously I got carried away. The difference between Mormons and Christians is a passionate subject for me. Which brings me back to the subject I meant to discuss: Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Basic Information:

Who originally built the church is a touchy subject, as many factions claim to have been responsible. For centuries the Church of the Holy Sepulchre has been managed by a joint collection of religions:

Greek Orthodox (mostly in charge)
The Eastern Orthodox
Armenian Apostolic
Roman Catholic
Coptic Orthodox
Ethiopian Orthodox
Syriac Orthodox

In 1555 when the church was renovated, control of the church oscillated between the factions, often through outright bribery or violence, neither of which were uncommon. In 1767 a temporary solution was reached: a territorial division of the church between the different factions. In 1852 the situation became permanent. Times and places of worship for each community are now designated and strict, though many areas are labeled "common ground."

Sadly, even this tense situation could not stop the violence, which continues to break out every so often--"in 2004 during Orthodox celebrations of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, a door to the Franciscan chapel was left open. This was taken as a sign of disrespect by the Orthodox and a fistfight broke out. Some people were arrested, but no one was seriously injured (Wikipedia)."

Many holy sites are managed the same way, including Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (which had a fist fight between priests this Christmas after someone cleaned a part of the church that wasn't part of their jurisdiction). This situation really is no joke. But it does have some amusing results. The "immovable ladder" for instance.

My first day in Jerusalem I asked my teacher about a small wooden ladder over the door of the church that I thought made the place look rather shabby. My teacher Richard Draper said, "I wondered that myself when I first came here in the 70's." That got my attention. What did he mean that the ladder had been there since the 70's? I did some research and discovered that all anyone knows about the ladder is that it was placed on that window ledge "sometime before 1856," but no one knows how long it was there before that. Here's a picture of the ladder in 1891. You see, no one church faction controls the entrance to the church, and the ledge beneath the windows above the door are "common ground," and thus cannot be altered unless all factions agree to the change. Will they ever agree? Who knows.

In sum, the best description of the Holy Sepulchre is that it is a strange collection of shrines. Both gaudy and primitive, frequented and forgotten, humble and resplendent, antiquary and modern, all can be found within its many spaces.

RANDOM FACTS:

1. Do not underestimate the staircase. You risk your life (at least your future mobility) climbing up or down the perilous flight. Most dangerous staircase in Jerusalem. BEWARE!

2. The church has its own crest.

3. In 1808 a fire (not the first inside the church but hopefully the last) collapsed the dome, which then had to be rebuilt.

4. Constantine decreed that the church should be built.

5. I took a few slightly-used candles out of their trash cans and brought them home. Shocking! ...and now you know. I hesitate to use the word "took" as that implies that I stole them, when they were in the trash and thus unwanted. I do not, however, deny that I removed them.

6. You can worship at FOUR different calvary sites under one roof. Take your pick.

7. The "Stone of Unction" is traditionally where the body of Jesus was anointed and prepared for burial. The stone is kissed by AT LEAST a hundred different people every day. I never touched it.

Genuine Reproduction Guaranteed!

2008-07-15T21:30:00.003+03:00

No Pradai or Prado here. (See the movie "Serendipity" for the joke)

Photo actually taken in Istanbul... but I couldn't resist posting it here.

Damascus Gate

2008-07-11T21:43:00.003+03:00

In this picture: Muslim matriarch, and Israeli soldier sitting in the "window."

Visits to the hub of the Old City nearly always travel through Damascus Gate. The largest entrance to the city, and most traversed, it connects to the divide between the Muslim and Christian quarters of the city.

Orientation here is standard European, with North being at the top. (5 faces east, which would be at the top if we were in the mid-east... everything has an eastern orientation to them. So the Damascus gate faces slightly Northwest, if you get it.)

Flanked by fruit stands and falafel shops, shoes, clothes, hats, music, ripped off dvds, fish, sesame butter (which is really sweet and tasty), jewelry, sugar dates and pistachios, and dozens of little boys running around you. The little boys believe they are adults, but with less responsibility and thus more freedom. ATTITUDE. But just the boys--little girls are always with their mothers aunts or grandmas, often all three. I swear the boys have no supervision, though. They scamper everywhere and won't hesitate to bowl you over with their produce carts if you don't get out of their way. They command you to move, in fact. They won't budge out of your way. I'll have to post more pictures of Damascus gate from the inside with all the people and stuff, but for now--just this one of the outside-top.

Follow this link for a virtual-tour of the exterior Damascus Gate. If you do, you'll see the independent boys and carts that I mentioned, as well as groups of women who are (as always) moving in flocks.

1890

To the left side of the bridge

Israeli soldiers monitoring gate activity (No SG-1 jokes, please)

What's inside

Solve the mystery! Based on the cars in this picture, what's the date of the photo? Care to guess a year, Dad?

Friends, last day in town. The dark haired girl with the orange bag is my sweet-awesome hip roomate AMBER, whom I love to death. I love her so much she had to leave Provo when we got back just to escape me. LOVE LOVE LOVE Amber.

Another great old shot. Wish I could've seen it when it looked like this.

Inside the gate today. Need some new socks?

Outside today, from top of the ramparts. Wares are sold along every stairway.

This Way to Paradise

2008-06-17T19:51:00.003+03:00

I went to Eden, by the way, did you know? Twice, actually. Once in northern Israel near "Tel Dan," which was...admittedly the prettiest natural spot I saw in Israel, and again in central Israel, where this sign came from. HA! Funny. Now all I have to do is go to Missouri. It was funny with all the students looking at the signs for Eden and sniggering, "wrong continent, bucko!"

East Jerusalem Backgammon

2008-06-14T02:54:00.003+03:00

The only game I ever saw being played in the streets of the Old City, backgammon, was spied around many a corner. The men were very nice and would let the Mormon students watch over their shoulders during a game.

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. I haven't felt much like doing anything lately; a bunch of personal adjustments have consumed my mental processes, and I broke my leg, had surgery, can't get around easily, etc. I just made it back to work, and should be writing some more posts soon. Good ones, too. ;)

Do Not Cross

2008-05-29T02:17:00.001+03:00

This is typical.

Here Come the Brides

2008-05-21T19:22:00.004+03:00

During an average week, two Palestinian brides come to the Jerusalem Center to take engagement and/or bridal photos. I'm told this is because of the beautiful landscaping and architecture that the center has.

Security asked us not to gawk at them, or to take pictures of them, or to bother them in any way. :( Sad! I wanted to. And it was very difficult not to gawk at a pretty Palestinian girl in a fluffy, fluorescent lime dress covered in rhinestones. Or neon blue, pink, or yellow. They seem to prefer bright colors.

Note: I stole these pictures from Bridget's Jordanian blog. The little girl in each picture is Miriam, her daughter.

Money Lenders

2008-05-09T21:59:00.004+03:00

These are our money lenders! Recommended by the center, we all get our shekels, dinars, dollars, and Egyptian pounds from these guys. Small exchange rates. Trustworthy. Aladdin (pronounced Allah-deen)is the white haired man. He owns the establishment, "Aladdin's Money Changers." Extremely friendly and talkative, he'll even offer you fruit if you really talk to him. He has posters for the Utah Jazz behind his desk, as well as bumper stickers for the U of U (which he says he only keeps for business.) He loves BYU. Why wouldn't he, we bring business to him like mad. Still, he does have posters that say "my daughter and my money go to BYU." Very fun.

The guy in the striped shirt was my favorite. I don't remember his name, which is sad, but I always tried to go to him--he'd tell me jokes while he counted.

Believe it or not, I still have a fake-money business card with Aladdin's picture on it where George Washington should be. The heading reads, "in Aladdin we trust."

In this picture: Ashley Eskelsen (going on a mission to Budapest soon,) and Carlee Painter.

FOLK DANCE

2008-05-09T20:13:00.006+03:00

First things first, skip about forty seconds into the first track and be transported outside music shops in the Old City. I know music can trigger memories, but when I heard this I was flooded with all the scents and stresses of the city. My shoulders unconsiously tensed and I became alert, but I smiled! I felt among friends again, and I was picturing myself rounding a corner to Damascus Gate with some sage bread in my hand--geez, I'd forgotten about that stuff. Man is it tasty.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a member of my University's folk dance club. I'm on a dance team, and I take loads of classes, from Chinese to Hungarian. My favorite style has long been Israeli, if you can believe that. Since long before I ever thought I'd travel there, actually. I love it. Why? I think its because it is the closest representation of they way I like to dance--and the reasons why I dance. With Israeli dance I feel joy, energy, grace and power, and worship. And unlike Ukrainian, Scottish, or American clogging, Israeli feels natural and human. I searched everywhere for a traditional Iraeli-folk dress, but couldn't find one. Ah well. So I thought I'd post about the dancing that I saw while I was there.

First, a note to the music. I found "The Sabras," a band which seems to be the Israeli version of the Beatles. I haven't been able to stop humming "aleinu shalom alechem," since this morning. I've been laughing as much as I can, but I'm still listening. "Yerushalyim Shel Zahav," is the famous song "Jerusalem of Gold," by the way. I learned it in my Hebrew class--forced to listen to Barbara Streisand sing it, actually. "Ehab Tawfik" is currently famous in Egypt. Good Hebrew music was harder to find than Arabic, dash it all. Unfortunately I couldn't find anything good on project playlist. :P

If your ears can't stand the noise any longer, listen to "Ma Navu." It's beautiful. Hebrew at it's best. The English the words mean, "How beautiful on the mountains are the steps of the messenger bringing tidings of deliverance, bringing tidings of peace." LOVE IT.

Back to the dancing...

While we stayed in Kibbutz Yotvata on our way to Egypt a band played for us during dinner, and afterwards they taught us simple dances. It was rather bland, but novel to most everyone. Mildly fun. I had a better time dancing with the Torah in the streets during Hanukkah (with Israelis, I might add.) Dancing joyfully with the scriptures--I know a dozen seminary teachers who might encourage that.

I'm not sure I mentioned, but every Friday sundown at the Western Wall during the Shabbat welcoming ceremony CROWDS of Jews dance in circles, singing as well. Teenagers especially. Repetitive patterns and formations, hands joined in a ring of friendship, smiles wan and broad--the girls huddled in the back of the women's courtyard, respectfully far enough away from the worshipers at the wall, but singing and dancing sweetly all the same. Respectful.

The young men were...boisterous. That's putting it mildly. Mosh pit? Almost. More like mosh-circles or chains that start on the far plaza and move closer and closer to the men's courtyard. They sway, they sing, they yell, and they'd smile bigger than most teenagers are capable. Full of energy. Full of emotion. But still doing the teenager thing, hanging out together. Hanging out at the wall, arms around shoulders, tzitzis from their tallit hanging from beneath shirttails--dancing.

I caught notice of their clothes the first time I went and dressed similarly the next. I wanted to join. I had to borrow some clothes from other center girls, but I found some long-sleeved black tee that worked okay, and a skirt conservative enough to blend in. Or so I hoped. The next Shabbat at the wall, I was terrified. I didn't want to offend them. Would they even let me in their circle? There's no etiquette for intrusion. How was I supposed to do this? I inched forward, hovering at the fringes of their circle, trying to pick up on the melody enough to mimic it. Incredibly reluctant, I was too afraid to make a move. Just before I was about to back away some girls behind me moved in and swept me with their momentum. I joined hands with a dark-eyed girl and a red head. Their hands were warm.

I only stayed in the circle two minutes, but I recalled my experience with them months later; I'd heard of a poetic girl who'd written, "I walked to the wall and touched it, and it touched me back." I smiled and thought to myself, The wall didn't touch me, but they did. I remember edging out of the circle after the song was over. A girl called out, "Rachel!" and I turned around only to see another Rachel answering her call. I grinned, although she had not called me. Life's quirks are often surprising. My parents never knew when they gave me the name Rachel that I would love Hebrew culture and study it. They couldn't have known. But I don't think it was a coincidence. Not really. And what luck that as "Rachel Mildenstein," I was mistaken for Jewish often enough. A fish salesman on Ben-Yehuda street even made a bet that I was a jew from Norway. No kidding! He lost five shekels when I told him I was American.

Again, back to the dancing.

The young men at the wall were...boisterous. That's putting it mildly. Mosh pit? Almost. More like mosh-circles or chains that start on the far plaza and move closer and closer to the men's courtyard. They sway, they sing, they yell, and they'd smile bigger than most teenagers are capable. Full of energy. Full of emotion. But still doing the teenager thing, hanging out together. Hanging out at the wall, arms around shoulders, tzitzis from their tallit hanging from beneath shirttails--dancing.

I know I've heard my teachers say over and over "Americans don't dance." But I didn't really understand that truly, we don't. Community dancing just doesn't translate into American suburbia. The suggestion would probably wouldn't meet with friendly reactions either.

When I went to a synagogue on Shabbat (did I talk about that? Somebody please tell me if I haven't, and I'll write that up POST HASTE, you'd love hear about it)someone in the congregation was a groom, getting married the next day. The men's side of the partition shouted and vigorously danced in a large circling snake, their arms around each others shoulders. I saw connections to mormon baby blessings, actually.

Cultural dances follow holidays and celebrations: national, family, and religious. All cultures. (Except perhaps Americans. Haha.)

Last summer I saw a college dance troupe of Israeli's from Netanya. They were fantastic, despite the Barbi dance. In Jerusalem I saw a poster for El-Fonoun, a Palestinian folk troupe. They were putting on a concert and I wanted to go, but realized we'd be in Jordan while they were performing. I never mentioned it to anyone and I bet I was the only one who'd noticed. I'd scribbled the name on a slip of paper so I could try to find tickets. That scribble helped me find a picture of them online--looks like it would have been a good show.

I never did get to see any Palestinians dancing, though I've heard of dances in Bethehem's square. I found pictures of that too. That would have been something to see, I believe.

Also, I sadly do not have pictures of dancing at the Western Wall. Cameras are prohibited there during Shabbat, and unlike many of my JC counterparts who sneaked pics anyway, I observed their rules. So no, I have no good photos. I tried tracking some down the internet, but could only find dancing on Jerusalem Day. Still, I guess it's better than nothing.

Listen to the music, even if all you do is scan to choruses. Imagine something for me. Or if you remember the words of Porthos the Pirate on Three musketeers, hear the music and say,

"Ah. A lively tune. I'm inspired to dance!"

More on Modesty

2008-05-07T01:27:00.002+03:00

The Orthodox-Jewish perspective.

Photos taken in Mea Sharim, Jerusalem.

Syrian Hijab

2008-05-06T18:09:00.004+03:00

OPEN THIS IMAGE IN A NEW WINDOW TO VIEW FULL SIZE. PLEASE.
"Adventures in Syria" is blog much like mine--a mormon lady recording her experiences abroad. (http://bridgetpalmer.blogspot.com) Bridget Palmer, the author, is featured here with some of her Syrian friends--yes, she's the blue eyed one. Anyway. She posted this picture on her blog and I recognized all of them but four from Palestinian/Jordanian women (I don't think I saw any native Egyptian women while I was there, now that I think of it). So while the caricatures are "Syrian" in nature, I saw these too, and it's the best way I can think to show you. The rest of the pictures are all of Palestinian women.

"Manto Sport" was by FAR the most common. Believe it or not, "Hijab sexy" was everywhere too. Kind of took you by surprise, especially the first three times you'd see it. Note the knee-high boots as well. I'd bet every Israeli and Palestinian 20 year old girl has a pair of those boots. I was tempted by a couple pair, actually.

What is Hijab? To quote Wikipedia:
Hijab or ħijāb (حجاب) is the Arabic term for "cover" (noun), based on the root حجب meaning "to veil, to cover (verb), to screen, to shelter." In some Arabic-speaking countries and Western countries, the word hijab primarily refers to women's head and body covering, but in Islamic scholarship, hijab is given the wider meaning of modesty, privacy, and morality.

And no, I don't know how to pronounce "hijab." Any help on that would be great. Isome things I learned: head coverings needent be black or drab--I saw many sparkly-pink head scarves, robin-egg blue, and other bright colors. Also, beauty and modesty are linked. REALLY. I had several discussions with Jerusalem Center friends about how ALL of us noticed and believed that the more modest the clothing, the prettier the girl. Women wearing head scarves were often breathtaking--I'd catch myself doing double-takes. The difference was apparent: if you want to make yourself prettier, alter your modesty. The changes will alter your soul and shine in your countenance. Americans could learn a thing or two from these beauties. I know I did.

Note #1: "Puppeteer" in the bottom corner is the artist.
Note #2: "Does My Head Look..." is a book about a Palestinian-Australian girl who chooses to wear traditional garb to school.

PETRA, Jordan 9 BC - 40 AD

2008-04-28T23:22:00.014+03:00

On 07/07/07, July 7th of last year, they announced the "voted" for NEW seven wonders of the world. I hear that the Egyptian government was so upset about the pyramids not making the cut that Khufu's pyramid now has an honorary "8th" position. Good grief. As if the pyramids could lose their mystique and people would stop going to see them. Anyway, I noticed that PETRA is a seven wonder now. I thought I'd write a sketch about when I went there myself.

Here's the basic skinny on Petra, according to the 7 wonder site:

On the edge of the Arabian Desert, Petra was the glittering capital of the Nabataean empire of King Aretas IV. Masters of water technology, the Nabataeans provided their city with great tunnel constructions and water chambers. A theater, modelled on Greek-Roman prototypes, had space for an audience of 4,000. Today, the Palace Tombs of Petra, with the 42-meter-high Hellenistic temple facade on the El-Deir Monastery, are impressive examples of Middle Eastern culture.

My skinny: Walk first through a skinny canyon and then poof, the place opens up to the famous "treasury" and there's tons to look at. Still an ongoing archaeological site, Petra is a national-parkish place that takes more than an hour to cross on foot. Arches, Capitol Reef, Moab, Goblin Valley--any of those places are similar in weather, red rock, and dust. The difference? Two, really. One, the eye-catching things at Petra are man made, while the Utah's are natural; two, southern Utah has breathtaking things all over the place, and Petra's ONE glory is the treasury. At least the treasury is so awesome that it's the only thing you need to be in awe. You'll walk around for hours see a bunch of ruins that are AMAZING...as far as ruins go (trust me, I've seen a lot of ruins,) and be impressed by a few things, like the odd swirly colored rocks. Also, it's a great place to find those cool souvenir camelbone necklaces. The Nabateans really were "masters of water technology" as the above paragraph mentioned; they even made raingutters to keep water from dripping off the canyon walls and onto the streets.

The heading photo for my blog is a diagonal cut from the "treasury" of Petra--the famous part--and if you look carefully at the urn, you can still see all the bullet holes in it. Some local chaps thought there was gold hidden up there (or so rumor has it,) and so they'd target practice on the urn to see if they could break it. (Insert eye roll here.)

Coolest things about Petra:

1. The scenic pictures, Jordanians included.
2. Camels everywhere.
3. Chariot ruts in the stone streets through the canyon.
4. Playing the Indiana Jones theme on my "iClaudius" iPod and sharing w/friends.
5. Pretty red rock w/color swirls that even geologists don't understand.
6. The chance to be in a canyon again. YES. Comfy, homey feeling there.
7. Talking to Tim about random musicals like Umbrella's of Sherbourg and anything that Sondheim has written, and discussing the contrast between Alfred Hitchcock's black and white and colored movies. This is where I really got to know Tim, who was a very quiet person that I'd tried to talk to before but with no success. Tim has good taste in movies and musicals. In fact, later he let a group of us watch "Sweeney Todd in Concert" that he had on his laptop--I'm now addicted to the "Johanna" song, and familiar with all the music. Thanks, Tim.
8. Everyone had a good time, no mishaps, and we all smiled and laughed.
9. Karey and Mike having to hoist everyone in our group 8ft in the air so we could get into the "Monastery" at the top of Petra that you have to hike 40min to get to. Come to think of it, I owe Karey brownies, actually--I better get on that.
10. Declining to ride a horse because I thought talking to Tim was more rare.
11. The picture-proof that I was THERE! WAH Haaa!
12. Realizing that the sunset-feature on my camera pulled the rosy color from the rock more than the plain. (see example)
13. Finding a grasshopper that would have scared my sister Melissa silly. Freaky! (Don't look Budds. It's black and yellow.)
14. Talking about "colored stones" the way Gadzooks the bear does in the Easter Bunny claymation movie when Sunny tells him that the eggs are really colored stones, so that Gadzooks wont eat them. "What does Gadzooks want with colored stones?"
15. Debating whether or not a rock formation looked like an Easter Island head. See picture below.
16. Wondering whether the Nabateans were related to the Anasazi. Check out the "indian dwellings," you'll know what I mean.
17. Thinking about swirly rocks and have "I'm doodles, and I'm Sw

Okay. Here comes the parade of pictures. I'm sorry there are so many, but at least I'm not writing a ton, eh? Believe it or not, I have more than twice this many. Be glad I'm not posting more.

In the pictures with me: The red head my arm is around is Shannon. We hung together for the first 45 minutes. Lance Evanson and Mikelle Laker are posing by the gorge. Rebecca Redd and I are showing off our Indi hats. Tim is walking ahead of me through the canyon as we were leaving, during our Soundheim discussion. I don't remember any other people other than the Arab dude whose name I sadly do not know. Drum roll...

P.S. The last picture is what's REALLY inside the door of the treasury. No grail, no knight, and no really really cool "leap of faith" test. But of course not. That was all destroyed in the early 40's when that stupid Nazi chick took the grail past the seal. DUH. This is all that's left. Tragic. ; )

No Jesting

2008-04-28T23:17:00.003+03:00

This car can be seen in Tel Aviv, Israel. ("you jest!") Nope, no jesting.

Happy Passover

2008-04-27T22:33:00.005+03:00

In celebration of my favorite movie of all time--and I'm not kidding--I always watch at least part of the Ten Commandments on Easter. That Christian holiday came so early this year that instead I've bumped the tradition to Passover. It is appropriate, for Passover was the similitude foretelling of the redemption of Easter. And so, on this the last day of Passover, I watch again the lovely Debra Paget singing "death cometh to me."

I'm obsessed with this movie. I even own a 1956 commemorative book filled with concept art painted by, ironically, my favorite artist-- Arnold Friburg--the 94 year old genius of iconic imagery. I know random trivia about the whole movie too. For example: did you know that Debra Paget, who plays Lilia, was the only slave who wore shoes in the film? Apparently her feet were misshapen by the 1950's heels of the time, and to hide the fact and preserve authenticity, Cecil DeMille made her wear moccasins? Ha!

When we watched the movie at the Jerusalem Center, I spouted tons of information (during the credits only) and my friends made me swear to keep quiet during the film. I was silent. ...and it was really hard. I LOVE this movie. And the Sinai scenes are even more spectacular to me now, because I mingle my own memories of climbing its peak to the scope of the film. How majestic are the mountains of the Sinai! And what spirit they possess.

This time I noticed something new, and I nearly choked for laughing. When talking to Jethro, Moses says "Health, prosperity, and life to you, Sheik of Midian." That is a near reproduction of a common Egyptian phrase, "Life! Prosperity! Health!" used when mentioning the Pharoah. (I learned this in my Ancient Texts class this semester.) It's kind of like saying "King Rupert...may he rest in peace." It appears in some texts so often that translators abbreviate it, if you can believe that. Every other sentence sometimes has "LPH!" in it. Dig Cecil DeMille and his details. WOW, that's funny.

Oh, and another funny-- upon learning of Charlton Heston's recent death, my friend Greg said "Wow. Moses finally died." AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAA! Way to go, Greg, that was hilarious.

Can You Picture That?

2008-04-22T19:32:00.004+03:00

http://www.3disrael.com/jerusalem/kotel_prayer.CFM

Now YOU can go to the Western Wall too. In all its heyday. Take a "virtual tour" of Israel at this site, and you'll get to see a clear picture of what I really did see for myself. That link will take you a virtual tour of a 'prayer at kotel.' The "Kotel Tunnel Tour" lasts 45 minutes, and they take you underground modern Jerusalem to the base of the Western Wall. I'm not sure exactly what "kotel" is, but it must have something to do with the wall. Anyway--do the virtual tour! I order my family to do so (you hear me, guys?) Eh. They'll love it anyway. It was new for me too--I got to see the men's section.

The funny thing is that I saw this picture before I saw the date and I said to myself, "hey, this is really recent." I could tell because the flag that's flying in the courtyard has a rod in the top keeping it straight, and that feature wasn't added until December. Which is when they took the photo for this tour. :D

If you don't watch all of them (even though you should,) I strongly recommend the Muslim Quarter tour, and Church of All Nations 1 & 2. If you view Church of the Holy Sepulcher tour (holiest site in all Christendom, or so I'm told) be sure to scroll up to the ceiling or you'll miss the best part. Trust me, I used to stare at it for minutes at a time--and yeah, it's that big. Seriously, do them all. You won't regret it. "Yehuda Market" is in West Jerusalem--frequent visits there--dig the Jewishness. It's a really odd angle of it though. Not even a long shot of the fruit stands or the bakeries with the pastries. HA! What a funny rhyme.

Ask questions and I'll discuss details--feedback, people!

P.S. Zoom and self-controlled scrolling features exist. Use them!

PPS, My posts are low because I'm having troubles uploading pictures. Aggravating. Sorry.

Rachel's a Sweep

2008-04-17T23:30:00.004+03:00

This winter semester I've been taking Bro. Ludlow's Isaiah class at BYU. It has a reputation for being...difficult. We had a project due--an 8 page outline of an Isaiah topic. We were told to be creative in our topic and to make it interesting. I have a genetic talent for writing, so it wasn't that difficult to be clear, concise, and to do it with the proper grammar. Besides which, it was an outline, and thus did not require intricate-formulated-paragraphs, so you'd think it would be easy schmeasy. But no. Not with Bro. Ludlow. It has to be perfect. Being familiar with his teaching style (having spent hours with him daily in Jerusalem,) I didn't spend too much time on it, thinking that I'd do okay. That's really all I was expecting.

I designed a lesson outline targeted for early-morning seminary students. I called it "discovering Isaiah through latter-day hymns," and I tried to show how much Isaiah is in hymns we sing frequently... just to show kids that they needent be afraid of Isaiah because they already know more of his verse than they think. I also attached a chart that I had made of every Isaiah hymn, with the theme of the doctrine, and the scripture reference along with it. (There are over forty, by the way.) I also mentioned how Janice Kapp Perry and Kenneth Cope quote Isaiah in their albums as well. Surprise, kids! Isaiah isn't that daunting.

Who knew? Like I said, I didn't spend that much time on it. In fact, I think it was short of the length requirement even. But guess what? I got a 96%. Ah ha! That's right, hail me--I got the second highest grade in all of his three sections. You can't tell, but I'm extremely smug about it. I totally swept the curve!

Too bad that the score I'll get on the final will drag my grade down so far that it won't do me any good. I'm taking it tomorrow morning. Holy-finals-of-doom, Batman!

Off the subject. Sorta.

2008-04-15T21:55:00.006+03:00

PERCY JACKSON & THE OLYMPIANS, by Rick Riordan.

THE LIGHTNING THIEF
THE SEA OF MONSTERS
THE TITAN'S CURSE
THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH (coming soon)

I've fallen in love with a new children's fiction series! Yay! I luhhhhhhhhhhhhhve: PERCY JACKSON & THE OLYMPIANS. Imagine a cross between Harry Potter and a series of unfortunate events, cram it full of mythology, and you'd have this. The first three books are out, and the fourth comes out May 9th. I'm dying to get my hands on it.

What is it about?

Percy Jackson is a sixth grader suffering from ADHD and dyslexia who discovers that his teachers are not quite...normal. Then he sees the fates knitting socks. In a flashwhirl of events, Percy learns that the Greek gods are currently living on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building, and that his long-lost father is... one of the olympic gods. (I won't tell you which, it'll give the story away.) Anyway. Because of who his father is, Percy is accused of stealing a "divine" artifact of great importance, and to clear his name he undergoes a quest to the underworld. Along the way he meets dozens of characters from Greek mythology.

I love ancient stuff. Hence, my major. I owe most of this to my favorite teacher of all time, Pam Fossum, sixth grade, Wasatch Elementary. She introduced me to many of my life's passions: astronomy, good stories, and ancient history by locale: Roman, Greek, and Egypt especially. I still take notes the way she taught me to. I still measure my timelines by the duct-tape measuring sticks she had along the ceiling of her classroom. (I ran into her last week and recommended Percy Jackson. I was surprised she hadn't heard of it. She's excited to read it now, as should you be.) t was during her class that I was exposed to greek mythology, and I tell ya--this book is what her class was all about: exposure to things you hadn't heard of or considered in fun ways you want more of.

The books are hillarious! The similies and metaphors are classic. At one point, Percy describing the way monsters smelt said it was "as if a skunk had been living off leftover mexican food." Great mirth and merriment gained from these books. Furthermore, it helped with my mythology class by familiarizing me with the Greek olympians. I was the only one who remembered who Dionysus was on our last quiz. Huzzah!

READ THEM. Screen them for your kids, see if you're okay with them reading it, whatevs. I strongly recommend them.

if you wish to read more of my pretending-to-take-notes-during-ancient-texts-blogging-surreptitiously ramblings, continue, otherwise, goodbye:

I love to read, but I am picky. I don't like to waste my time on "classics," because I so often disagree with whoever decided that they were "classic." Who makes those lists, anyway? Take Wuthering Heights, for example: he digs up her corpse and cradles it in his arms, weeping. After she's decomposed for ten years! Sick. Not a classic in my book. The Scarlet Letter? Don't get me started. I'm sorry, call me uneducated if you wish, I know that so many of my college friends adore reading Les Miserables for enjoyment purposes. In French, even. And yes, I've heard that Dostoevsky has a "beautiful soul made evident in his literary pain." But so help me, no English teacher will ever again compel me to read literature from Walden, Nietzsche, or Shakespeare. Nor am I likely to listen to a friend's endorsement. If I like the plot, and the first chapter is engaging, I might. Otherwise--forget about it, pal. I'm picky. Most of the things I read are targeted for children. Again, call me crazy, but I get more out of those than I do the er... "adult" "dignified" texts. Besides which, I'm a sucker for stories. Yaaaaaaay for rambling!

Truly Scrumptious

2008-04-10T22:08:00.004+03:00

Many American cities have hot-dog-stands. Including my hometown--"j dawgs" is a common food source for most BYU students (my usual is a polish dog with special sauce and onions, but that's beside the point.) West Jerusalem might have had a hot-dog stand, but I never saw one. The CREPE stand on Ben-Yehuda street, however, was to die for.

Homemade crepes made on a pan at least a full foot wide, and options for over twenty toppings. I'm not exaggerating. So good. They were huge, and the one time that I bought one I split it with Jason Bentley. I'm trying to remember what we put on it-- white chocolate, dark chocolate, hazelnuts, raspberries, whipped cream, pecans, caramel...and a couple other things. OH MAN. Delectable goodness. The crepes were almost better than their toppings. It was hard to remember that half of that concoction belonged to Jason. I wanted more. Which reminds me of a song. Melissa and Alicia eat your hearts out:

"I'm Greeeeeeeedy, yes indeedy. Gimme gimme gimme gimme more!"

(In this photo: Amie Ostler, and Whitney George, who is now Whitney Tanner. Posed holding their crepes in front of the crepe-stand. These sweet girls were inseparable. And because they always shared a seat near the front of the bus, they were often my companions as well. Ha. I have a ton of pictures of them asleep on the bus, now that I think of it.)

Technical Space

2008-04-08T22:12:00.002+03:00

Students are not allowed to go into the space underneath the Jerusalem Center, fondly known as "technical space." We were told in no uncertain terms to keep out. After begging the center's director, Eran, for months and months if we could see the technical space with supervison, like a lecture or a tour. He agreed to take us! I couldn't believe it. We got to see all of the wiring, plumbing, and water storage for the entire center, and also the 150 foot deep cement pillars that anchor the center deep into the heart of the mountain so that it is entirely earthquake proof. So exciting! Last Winter I worked on a research project with a professor of mine, Blair VanDyke, and with him I was privileged to research the beginnings and history of the Jerusalem Center. I knew all about how it was built. I couldn't wait for the opportunity to see TECHNICAL SPAAAAAACE. (Said in booming tones akin to Bill Nye announcing his whatchagigger popsicle stick-of-science.)

What surprised me most about about our tour is a) we had to wear hard hats, and b) that Eran let us write our names on the walls with chalk. I inscribed, "MILDENSTEIN-07," and drew a small white pillar to go with. :D Unfortunately, I did not have my camera at the time. But no matter--the walls bear testimony that I was there.

In this photo: The lovely Mikelle Laker.

PHOTO OP: Cairo Museum

2008-04-08T04:04:00.001+03:00

"Egyptian Museum." Yes, I was there. For full details, read my published works. (The whole three-part volume is on my blog. You'll probably die before you finish reading it . If you try to read it all, that is. Most people see the length and burst into tears. If it helps, just think of how long it took me to write it.)

Mosque of Muhammad Ali, Cairo

2008-04-08T03:22:00.006+03:00

I will not attempt to give full details on the history and scope of this mosque. If you're interested, there is always Wikipedia. I was tested on all of it, and I have no further desire to dredge it from my memory. Study on your own time, please. In the meantime, here are pictures. And a few basic--

FACTS:

1. The dome has a perfect 21 meter-diameter. It's 52 meters high.

2. The interior is lit by over three hundred circled orbs of light, suspended from long chains from the high ceiling. They represent each day of the year. (Some of the lights had gone out when I was there, and I was thinking about how those must have been dreary days for someone.)

3. The largest mosque built in the first half of the nineteenth century (took 18 years to build,) it was commissioned by Muhammad Ali Pasha (its namesake,) and was a memorial for Ali's oldest son, Tusun Pasha, who died in 1816.

4. The interior walls are alabaster. The exterior is mostly marble. That's a lot of expensive rock.

5. The carpets inside are OLD. Really old. You have to take off your shoes. How old are they? Um, older than my grandma. By a few decades. They've only been replaced once, and the mosque was completed in 1848, so you do the math.

6. The balcony has a superb view of all of Cairo. I stood there with Greg and we talked about how just one city had 13 million people in it (and yes, I realize that there are cities that scrape a billion, but work with me) and we realized that if we took every Mormon in the world and shoved them into Cairo-- we would only make one city.

7. I have been there. But at the time, I was so exhausted (it was the last thing I saw before leaving "Egypt" for the Sinai peninsula. Egypt is in quotes here because the Sinai is part of Egypt, it's just not... Egypt. The Sinai is its own piece of barren wasteland, I don't see how its tied to Egypt at all. ...but don't tell the Egyptians that. Where was I? Oh yeah. The Mosque.

8. I did not take all of these photos. I just took most of them. ;) In fact, I took the night capture from the highway when I was inside a bus. Aha! Top that.

9. I posted way too many photos, and I talked much more than I intended to. Ooops.

HOLY ROCK CAFE

2008-04-08T03:06:00.003+03:00

A shopkeeper once joked with me about how everything in the Holy Land is holy. Even the colored pencils have "holy pencil" brands. My favorite was "Holy Bagel," a shop in west-Jerusalem (the ultra-modern, Jewish side). Mmmm, scrumptious. The only downside of Holy Bagel is that it's kosher--so no cream cheese and meat, or even any dairy products at all. Strictly parve. Oh well. Parve's not so bad now, actually. There was this parve ice cream at our kibbutz in the Galilee-- Nick Shelley once took a huge bite and said, "No cream was used in the making of this dessert." Ahahahahaha. Parve!

[For those of you who don't know, "kosher" kitchens cannot have milk and meat cooked in the same vicinity. It's a rule derived from the law of Moses about 'not seeing the kid in its mothers milk.' And they've extended it to say, 'no meat and milk together at all.' It's a Jewish thing. Although, not all Jews keep kosher kitchens. ...just fyi. "Parve" is the word for all things that can be consumed freely with either meat or milk, and thus, contains neither itself. Saltine crackers would be parve. Carrots too. Um... yeah. So our "ice cream" was probably made from some plastic-margarine-substitute. We weren't picky--it was sweet and cold and Israeli. Whoo hoo.]

I love this picture of the "HOLY ROCK CAFE." They had t-shirts too-- look just like the Hard Rock shirts. Except they're not Hard Rock shirts. They're Holy Rock shirts. Okay, we've established the distinction. Anyone for falafel?

Mormon University, Mt. Scopus

2008-03-29T09:38:00.004+03:00

*These photos were taken in the last remaining hours of sunlight I saw over Jerusalem, each from the same standing point. The landscape faces the South, and the other faces East.*

This is me with the road sign just outside of the JCenter. I miss that place. "Mormon University." You might be able to squeeze some recognition out of "BYU," but if you say "Jerusalem Center" or "Brigham Young University," very few people in the city will know what you mean. Church of Jesus Christ? Don't even think about it. One whisper of the word MORMON will get you a lot though. We have a reputation. Because of the respect we are known to show to holy sites, we are often invited to access places others cannot go; like the entire section of the Garden of Gethsemene that only Mormons, priests, and nuns are allowed to enter. Or when three complete strangers steered two American girls to a VERY nice hostel in the city, getting them a much better deal and a much bigger, cleaner place to stay. Why? All because the girls had made friends that morning with a couple 'a kids from the Mormon University. I remember the guy's faces when they heard the girls were going to a hostel across town. Horror struck, they said, "No no! Mormons cannot stay there. We show you much better place. Come this way." I couldn't believe the place they led us to--incredible. And all because they knew some Mormons.

5 shekels to taxi. "Mormon University on Mt. Scopus, please? Shukran."

(P.S: Shukran--Arabic for "Thank you." Todah--thanks, in Hebrew.)

Road Sign

2008-03-27T21:05:00.003+02:00

Not quite Sesame Street. (Although, they do sell sesame butter nearby.) All the road signs in Jerusalem were tri-lingual: Hebrew, Arabic, English. This street is named for King Faisal, who once ruled Saudi Arabia.

Sabra

2008-03-25T20:20:00.002+02:00

Israelis who are native to Israel, or in other words were born there, are known as "Sabra." Sabra is the Hebrew word for this type of cactus. The cactus is difficult to remove and grows naturally throughout the land. I am told that Israelis are like the sabra because they are tough and prickly on first inspection, but are sweet and soft hearted underneath and inside. I thought that was a cute analogy.

Spotlight: Lynne Gabrielsen

2008-03-20T20:36:00.007+02:00

Lynne Gabrielsen was one of my Jerusalem Center roommates. Meeting new roommates is an experience few look forward to without butterflies in the stomach. When I met Lynne, I thought I had hit the jackpot. She is very cool and on top of things. That being said, I also figured that we'd have a personality conflict at some point or another. We're very different. School is important to Lynne--she studied constantly. She is currently majoring in Civil Engineering here at BYU, and is incredibly dedicated. Skyrockets are required to reach her GPA. Other first-impressions that I had of Lynne included a sense of fashion, and the awesome ability to wear make-up well. She always looked good. And clean. Haha--I just remembered that she had the only working flat-iron in our apartment. Luckily for us, she was kind and merciful and voluntarily shared it with us. Also, out of the four girls in room 408, Lynne was the only one in the "other" class, taught by Richard Draper instead of by Victor Ludlow. We valued her input because she filled us in on the different side of things, etc.

I really began to get along with Lynne when we'd find something to talk about. So much fun! A sensational conversationalist, Lynne can't stop once she gets going. It wasn't uncommon for Lynne and I to have "bedroom chats," she sitting on her bed and me on mine all the way across the room, talking for an hour or longer about boys, clothes, or music. Lynne was in Jazz band in High School, and when I'd play my WWII music she'd hear a snippet and say, "Isn't that "Taxi War Dance?" or, "Count Basie! Turn it up." I fell irresistibly in love with Lynne when I found out that she was familiar with the music of Jason Robert Brown, one of my favorite broadway lyricists and composers. We had long conversations about broadway music, and we listened to each other's music frequently. I loved it when she'd ask to borrow my ipod so she could go to the gym. Ah! There's another thing about Lynne. She takes very good care of herself: early to bed, early to rise, healthy food, and exercise. She went out of her way to buy fruit and vegetables.

Did we ever disagree? Yeah. I'm extremely opinionated, and I'm afraid that I offended Lynne occasionally. Something I regret and did not intend. I remember one specific circumstance when I insulted her favorite actor, Carey Grant, and that by doing so I unforseeably provoked her, starting one of those hideously honest finger pointing conversations. But it was all good. She helped me to see the way other people see me, and in many ways she pointed me on the path of learning things about myself that I needed to learn. Way to go, Lynne. ...I've heard that I am intimidating, quite by accident, I assure you, and for Lynne to say something difficult to me must have taken a lot of guts. Go, Lynne!

Lynne was out in the city a lot. Even at night. She saw as much as she could, and she took a lot of really good pictures to boot. I've posted several of them here. An incredibly gifted and bright individual, Lynne is a master student. Not only that, she reads classic books. For fun. (and she put up with me for teasing her about that fact.) I caught her reading Crime and Punishment frequently. She loves it. Frankly the thought of reading that again makes me ill, but Lynne sees so many things that I do not. She has a gift for analysis. She has good taste, too. She wisely spent her money on things that were worth it, and never on frivolities that didn't matter.

In many ways, Lynne reminds me of my oldest sister Melissa. Huh. I respect Lynne greatly, and I wish that I saw her on campus more now. When we see each other we go nuts, but I hope she'd agree that I haven't seen each other enough lately. I miss her smile. I LOVE YOU, LYNNE!

Note: I love that I'm not asking these people's permission before talking about them. Oh well.

Augusta Victoria, My Heart

2008-03-18T18:19:00.005+02:00

Dozens of churches of varied denominations scatter the Holy Land. Cavernous cathedrals, cozy chapels, traditional synagogues with the separate balcony for women, mixed seating synagogues, cramped mosques, spacious mosques, quiet places of wilderness, and any other sort of a place of worship you can figure. Most of these places are centered in concentrated clusters in the Old City of Jerusalem. For the purposes of this post, I will refer only to Christian churches.

After touring seven or eight chapels, including Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Church of All Nations, it seemed to me that each "place of worship," had very little to do with praising and worshiping the Lord Jesus Christ. Rather, each seemed to be ornate encasements for shrines. Recognizing the dedication and sacrifice each of these places had required inspires a feeling of respect. They're beautiful! The details of a mosaic, the spectacular architecture is breathtaking. I could sit for hours in the large hall in Church of the Holy Sepulcher doing nothing but staring at the dome ceiling and the pillars. (Though, I'm not sure I recommend it. That's what I was doing when I caught a hard piece of pigeon poo in the eye.) Each place was lovely and a dedicated crew of religious folk kept it so, and looked after it. But church after church failed to remind me of the divinity of the Christ, or of his glorious sacrifice for each and every man woman and child who has or ever will live on this earth that we might live again.

I discovered for myself that "shrine," was often synonymous with "idol." Yes, it is spectacular to see a stone slab that may have been where Jesus was laid after his crucifixion, and such a place should be regarded as sacred and held in worthy awe. But does that mean that we should worship that rock? Or kiss it? I believe that every man should have the freedom to worship according to the dictates of their own conscience, and that every man will feel and show the evidences of their faith differently. For me no rock, location, or place could ever capture the spirit of that Christ without quiet reverence. And no place will convey to any man a knowledge that Jesus is the Christ. "Walking where Jesus walked," as the saying goes will not influence you in the slightest.

I have touched the waters of the Galilee. I have stood on the peak of Mt. Sinai. I have visited Mt. Tabor, traversed the length of Israel, and I have waded through the grasses of the Mount of Beatitudes. I have visited Nazareth, Capernaum, Tiberias, Bethany, Bethphage, and Nain. I learned much. I saw more than I expected to. And having been there, I can say with conviction that my testimony and knowledge that Jesus is the Christ, the son of God, the Savior and Redeemer of the world did not change an iota from the time before I had seen such places. It is not the place that testifies of Christ. It is the holy spirit that testifies of him. You need not visit to Jerusalem to know that for yourself. Read his words! Follow his teachings. Pray unto the Father in his name, asking whether or not he is who the scriptures have proclaimed him to be and you may know for yourself. Don't have to take my word for it. Excuse me. My heart suddenly overflowed and I wished to explain myself. I have however, yet again, digressed from the topic.

I couldn't understand why anyone thought that lighting candles to a golden image of Mary and the babe Jesus was worship at all. Where was the soul or the heartfelt love of God expressed in such an act? And could a written prayer or creed express your gratitude and praise for all He has done for you? For your family and for all mankind? For the world? Was this worship, kissing a rock?

The Church of Augusta Victoria, and the accompanying hospital adjoined to the same, stands east of the Old City on the Mount of Olives. There is a tower, an orchard of olive trees, and a large pipe organ inside. The interior is breathtaking and ornate. What makes it different from the other churches? To me it was the cleanliness and the focus of the architecture. No pillars or walls blackened by soot, and no shrines to kiss or cry at. Images of the Savior and his prophets were everywhere. Books of hymns could be found nearby, and there was a pulpit. The resonant acoustics certainly didn't offend me either. The "Augusta Victoria Tower," so easily seen from the city, was VERY tall, and VERY difficult to climb without becoming winded. So many stairs! And such a view from the top! Even while I knew the church had first been built to solidify a "german presence in the Holy Land," directed by the Kaiser, I still felt a spirit of worship and a focus on the Savior was the center of the building. It was peaceful. It was quiet. You felt lighter, and better after spending time there.

I visited Augusta Victoria three times, and still I itched to return. I would love to go there again someday.

Enjoy the photos. I took a few myself, but the others I found.

"Fig Leaf Position"

2008-03-13T23:47:00.004+02:00

These are fig leaves. As in, what Adam and Eve made clothes out of. WHY anyone would choose fig leaves I can't imagine. They're prickly and don't have much surface area-- the holes in the leaves wouldn't be ideal for modesty, you know. Go figure.

I found this plant in the "garden of Eden," which is of course at Tel Dan in northern Israel. Garden of Eden, huh? HA!

American Gothic?

2008-03-13T23:44:00.003+02:00

In this Photo: Rebecca Price and Sam Stapp

BWA hahahhahahaha

Church of Pater Noster

2008-03-11T00:18:00.006+02:00

The Church of the Pater Noster stands where it is believed Jesus gave the Lord's prayer, and is now known for having tiled panels with the prayer in over 100 languages.

I looked all over for Hmong, and couldn't find it. Sorry, Jared. I was surprised to see Cornish, Tagalog and Flemish side by side. There was no rhyme or reason to the placement. The Hebrew prayer looks funny--they extended the final mem so much that it looks stretched. I thought it was so cool when I found Guarani, because they are the people in the movie "The Mission."

It was fun going with so many return missionaries-- we had enough in our group to say that we could read the text in 20 languages--which, a nun there told me was a record for as long as she had been there. Nifty, eh?

Take a look.

Take a look.

Grumpy Old Men

2008-03-08T20:27:00.000+02:00

Photo taken by Carlee Painter.

"The Sea of Sunset"

2008-03-08T00:59:00.004+02:00

A friend took this--Kendra Crandall--and I had to share it. Why? For the simple reason that such a sight was typical of every sunset at the Jerusalem Center. (These windows are from the auditorium.) Every window in the building faces "full west," (a detail Lady Catherine DeBourg would surely notice,) and each night the last remaining embers of light would warm the city, bathing it in the glow. A molten setting sun touched clouds with fire, and for the first time in my life I learned the literal meaning of the phrase "tripped the light fantastic." The warmth would swell and stretch itself, as if holding for as long as it could until in a final flare it slipped beyond the horizon and was gone.

...And I know it's cheesy, but I once stood on the observatory deck in a sunset and recited tailored phrases from my favorite poem, "Ulysses," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs;
Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
My purpose holds;
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.

Tiberias Branch

2008-03-08T00:47:00.003+02:00

Across the Sea of Galilee from the Ein Gev kibbutz where we we stayed, lies Tiberias. At dusk I would watch the lights of the city come to life and send their glow across the waters. For Shabbat services, we bussed around the sea to the "Tiberias Branch" house. YES, there is an LDS branch (aka, congregation) in the Galilee.

On the backside of the house, a balcony overlooked the lapis sea. The most tranquil sight my eyes have seen. Complete peace. Roses outside the front door. Spotless cleanliness inside and out. A piano and a pulpit. The air was different. It was noticeable. I drank in the feeling of it, breathing deeply the peace and the warmth. I knew it had "dedicated building" feel, just like the Branch in Amman, Jordan. The change in the air was palpable. I walked slowly and quietly, just feeling the reverence.

On a slightly different note, I'll mention that the members of the branch speak four languages. Russian, Hebrew, English, and Spanish-- and the listing of the Hymn numbers was so amazing I had to show the picture.

I loved that day.

Parsley, Sage, Saffron, and Thyme

2008-03-08T00:45:00.003+02:00

Buying Spices in the Old City.

Where's My Purse?

2008-03-08T00:41:00.002+02:00

WARNING! WARNING! Keep personal items with you at all times. Why? Because if Israeli police find an unattended bag or item they will put it in something like this and incinerate it. Why? In case it was a bomb. I watched a box of pastries get blown up. Seriously! No joke. Thought you'd like to know.

Models in this picture are, from left to right: Caleb Merrill, Ashley Eskelsen, and Kendra Crandall. (Note the "exploding" gestures.)

Friends

2008-03-01T22:55:00.003+02:00

Last night I spent at Brandon's apartment (where I met his charming fiancee, Hannah) and we had a mini-reunion of Jerusalem people while we ate cheesecake. It was delightful. A refreshing reminder of the friends I've made and the good times we've had. A certain song came to mind.

I decided spur-of-the-moment to post some pictures of Jerusalem friends.

Spotlight: Greg Marsh

2008-03-01T21:20:00.004+02:00

I've decided to introduce you to my very good friends from Jerusalem. What better person to start with than the first one I met? GREGORY MARSH, also known as "Greg." Not knowing anyone and wondering if I would make any good friends, I walked into the Jerusalem Center Fall 2007 "Orientation" meeting: a much anticipated event at which I was to meet my fellows for the very first time. With eight minutes to go before the meeting started, I walked inside the packed auditorium of strangers, wondering where I could find a place to sit. I'm a front or second row sitter and (as usual,) there were spaces empty up front. I waltzed down the stairs to the front, and cut across the stage to the opposite aisle where my eye had caught another person sitting by themselves, sans the parents that most others had in tow. I sat next to the sandy-redhaired kid from Salt Lake City and instantly took a shine to him.

In the months to come I would often mention how funny it was that the first person I introduced myself to was Greg. Greg, who became one of my closest friends and who I spent oodles of time with. It might have been anyone from the center--any number of the sixty girls that I grew to love--but how odd that I instead first met Greg and second, Brandon, the two guys I seemed to always end up spending time with. I am often surprised at life's little quirks. Anyway, I digress. I'm talking about Greg today.

Greg is a Modern Near Eastern studies major. That means that he's obsessed with the Middle East, its peoples, and its future. Greg is something of a linguist, speaking fluent Armenian, and quickly growing to a fluent Arabic speaker. He is also an expert in German, and also speaks bits of Russian, Farsi, Hebrew. When we went to the Israeli Philharmonic Orchestra they displayed flags that said "Welcome," in at least five languages, and Greg said, "That's funny. I can read all of those."

Greg is an expert listener. I think someone new was having a deep conversation with him on every bus trip. And we had a lot of those. People love to talk to him because he is genuinely interested in you--a great friend. Also, Greg is comfortable introducing himself to new people. No matter what language you speak. We never went anywhere without Greg sidling up to someone and IN ARABIC, carrying on a conversation. I snapped tons of pictures of this, including one outside of Jerash when he's in a group of men talking to them like old friends.

I included a picture of Greg outside a pottery shop in the Armenian Quarter of Jerusalem. He's reading the sign in Armenian--funny, but I think the characters remind me of the ancient runes on Lord of the Rings. (It's so pretty, but impossible to read.) Greg was so useful to have around. I'd be in a cathedral and pull him over, point to some weird text, and usually he'd be able to roughly translate. This worked out really well in Lutheran Chapels, he could read all the German. Rebecca would translate the latin for me, and she was often with Greg, so that worked out too. One of my favorite stories to tell was when we were in Church of the Holy Sepulcher, in the Greek Orthodox section, and after teasing Greg about how he can read anything (but knowing he couldn't translate this one,) I rolled my eyes and said, "Gee Greg, what does this say?" He smirked and dryly replied, "It's all Greek to me." Oooooh!! Insufferable! Punning when I least expected it, the genius.

Another awesome thing about Greg is his taste for fine things. I've forgiven him for liking Opera, and he's forgiven me for loathing classical literature. He loves classical music, musicals, and can play the piano and the organ. Lots of Shabbats I'd spend singing hymns loudly while Greg blasted the organ because I knew he couldn't hear me over the noise. Greg has this weird talent of knowing which hymn number goes with which song. It's fun to quiz him on it--you can say, "258" and he'll say "What Songs of the Heart," or you can say "208" and he'll say "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear." (Though he'd say those are easy ones, and his specialty is guessing hymns you'd never recognize.) He's fond of quoting, "let's spend more time in our green scriptures," meaning the hymn book.

Greg would fall asleep on the bus curled up like a cat on this counter-plinth-thing right by the back door and stairs. He could have tumbled down and broken his neck, but he did it anyway. Weirdo. He also is the culprit punster, coming up with things like "These tombs are Luxorious" when we were at Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt. He's a quote master, too. He can beat me at movies I've see a dozen times--especially at Danny Kaye's Court Jester--Greg has the whole thing memorized, I swear!

I learned a lot from Greg's example. Including something I've always needed practice with: Optimism. He is very positive. Hmm, what else can I say and brag about him? Hmm. He downloaded the Muslim Prayer Call from online because he missed the sound of it so much. (Not something that I miss, I'll admit.) He floated in the pool of Siloam. He uses really fun words like "alas," "madness," and "hence." We share a love for early church history and missionary work in the Near East and had long discussions about it--I got him hooked on that "Holy Lands" book I did a project on. He had to facebook me when he went to Camden and Sunset to say how cool it was (it's a Singing in the Rain thing.) Um... there's much too much about him to explain everything. You'll just have to meet him sometime.

In short, Greg is a friend to everyone, and devilishly fun to have around. He's brilliant, and an excellent addition to any excursion. Also quirky. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:

GREGARIOUS MARSH.

P.S. The pictures are of Greg at Karnak, Greg and Me at the model of Second-Temple-Period-Jerusalem (time of Christ) at the Israeli museum in West Jerusee, Greg sleeping on the bus, Greg reading Armenian, and Greg talking with the men outside of Jerash, and with a man outside of Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. And I think that's it. He's awesome! Everybody should love Greg!

Welcome to Tartonia

2008-02-26T00:47:00.006+02:00

My favorite movie as a child was a musical version of the classic fairy tale, "The Frog Prince." Made by "Cannon Movie Tales." I watched it so many times my brother hid the tape after he couldn't take anymore. I loved it so! I still watch it frequently, and seem to find myself in the main character--Princess Zora. I sing the songs and I'm in love with the Prince and "sometimes...it helps." Helps me remember who I am and what I should be worried about, how I should act, and which things really matter to me. I love the music. In fact--if ever anyone could figure out the music-box melody and play it for me, I think I might just kiss them... which is big for me, because I've never kissed anyone. Sorry to have bored you with my personal details. It really is a good movie. Helen Hunt is in it--if that helps to endorse it.

It wasn't until just this last summer that I discovered that "The Frog Prince," as I know it, was filmed in Israel. NO WAY! That made me even more excited to go. And when I got to Israel I found a number of places that could have been duplicate locations for the film. Showing here: The fountain outside the JC (one of many that reminded me of "THE fountain" from the movie, The gate (which is really a door outside of Dormition Abbey), a clip picture from the movie, and the Woods of the Dark Heart.

I love love love love love this movie. In fact, the hard drive on my computer is actually labeled "Lucky Ball" and it has a golden colored tag. Why? After Zora's lucky golden ball. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm fully aware that I am nutso. Greg told me it was really funny to watch me when I'd find a place that reminded me of the movie-- like when everyone was gaga for the lookout tower over the cactai at Zippori, but all I wanted to do was stay in the shade of the wind-blown trees that reminded me so much of "the woods of the dark heart" when Zora risks her chance to be a princess all so she can rescue her friend Ribbit, the "too tall frog." Anyway. I just wanted to tell everyone about how cool it was for me to find similar scenery.

Nope. Not Jesting.

2008-02-26T00:11:00.006+02:00

Wrong wrong wrong. On so many levels. No one should have to see this. You must excuse me for sharing the pain, but it is too hideous for me not to mention.

These pictures were taken on our group field trip through Tel Aviv. From what our tour guide told us, all of the sculptures are done by the woman who owns the property. The two larger women are "Rachel and Leah," according to the... sculptor.

EEEEEEEW.

My friends freaked when I started taking pictures--after all, why would you want to remember something so awful? Because it's so awfully funny! I had to share this, I just had to. So pay attention, because I took these pictures for you. Blow them up--they're much harder to bear at visual range.

Can't resist it

2008-02-19T07:23:00.002+02:00

I love music. I love singing. And while I'm sure you would prefer that I post some music befitting my posts, I would rather post music that I listen to on a daily basis. That's why you get stuck with Simon and Garfunkel, and weird quotes from movies about "Abby Normal" and brains.

Today's selections are in honor of one of my favorite broadway stars, Robert Westenburg. He's brilliant. LOVE HIM. Break out of your shell and listen to "Lily's Eyes," fro the musical "Secret Garden." He's the baritone. Also listen to "Agony," from my favorite musical of all time-- "Into the Woods." The song is from the perspective of the princes from the Cinderella and Rapunzel stories-- who just can't quite seem to get a hold on the girl of their dreams.

I also posted more Jon Schmidt for you instrumental purists.

Actually I posted it for myself. "Song of the Ocean" is one of my favorites. ; )

Two Picture Tuesday

2008-02-19T06:55:00.002+02:00

This picture was taken at temple ruins just inside the city of Amman, Jordan. The pillars are huge, as you can see. They dwarf me.

The second picture is of Me, Lauren Timmins, and Kerri Regher modeling our "HEBREW U" sweatshirts. Five people at the JC bought the same type and style--one in black, one in brown, and us three hotties who snagged the red (shown above). Quite by coincidence we all happened to wear them on the same day--no, it was not planned. We were all shopping with different groups that day and our three groups collided near the crepe-maker-stand (ohhh, the crepes are to die for, I wish I had five shekels right now and a way of teleporting myself to that stand.....drool). Anyway, we ran into each other, noticed that we were matching, and posed for the picture. "And thus we see," that good taste is common among friends.

Lauren and Kerri are great. Lauren played the piano for me for the JCenter's talent show and would chat late with me about boys and all sorts of stuff. She's in the Marriott business school @ BYU--isn't she spiffy? And Kerri is the life's blood of the party. She is loud and always in a good mood. She's infectiously funny. In fact-- she coined a phrase that everyone ended up using at least once fall semester: "that is all." She would tell a long story or explain a homework assignment and then instead of saying "the end" or just changing the subject she'd announce with finality, "that is all." Sort of like Porky the Pig saying "that's all folks," only Kerri is way cooler than Porky the Pig. Kerri also founded the sarcasm game, Jerusalem style, in which you say (every time) I'M CLEAN, I SMELL GOOD, AND ________ then you fill in the blank. It was the sarcasm game because due to the nature and location of our field trips we were often neither clean, pleasant smelling, or whatever. A good example of the sarcasm game, in Kerri's own words:

"I'M CLEAN, I SMELL GOOD, AND.... I THINK CISTERNS ARE FASCINATING. THAT IS ALL."

I Like Linoleum

2008-02-12T19:52:00.000+02:00

I could write a textbook about all of the mosaics that I've seen. Probably. I'm sure it wouldn't be very accurate, but it would be interesting. I could call it, "the Average Guide to Amateur Mosaic Observers" or "Why All Mosaics Look the Same" or "Bet You Didn't Notice, but This Is Supposed to Represent the Goddess of the City--Read Further for Full Details" or "Blah Blah Blah Mosaics Blah Blah."

Hmm. On second thought, that doesn't sound like a good idea. So I won't write anything and you can just look at the pictures.

New Music

2008-02-06T04:29:00.000+02:00

Ha! That title is a pun--it's a song from my second favorite musical, "Ragtime."

Anyway. I'm announcing the edition of music to my blog. Ta da! I would have done it ages ago, but I didn't know how to do it. My sister Melissa graciously taught me how. It's not music that matches the posts-- its just music that I love. Enjoy (if you dare to listen to my tastes.)

The tracks that should be visible are "All the Wasted Time," from the musical Parade (that I've recently discovered due to a recommendation from a deeply trusted friend,) "My Romance," by Wynton Marsalis, "Arabian Nights" from Aladdin, Rockapella's "Carmen Sandiego," "Sleep," an Eric Whitacre choral piece, and the last song is mis-labeled--it should read "Stars and the Moon" from the hit musical "Songs for a New World" that incidentally is written by the same man who wrote Parade. You've gotta love that guy-- Jason Robert Brown is a genius for unconventional (but captivating) harmonies and syncopation. The piano is intoxicating! A friend of mine can play it and I practically drool all over him when he does-- he's amazing.

If you have the time, please listen to the selections from the musicals--they may be long, but they're excellent. And forgive the woman singing for Lucille Frank in "All the Wasted Time." I don't like her voice either, but her placement is clean. And Stars and the Moon is guaranteed to move you. It's a classic choice from dozens of Musical Theater buffs like myself. I'm so glad that I have an outlet to share this good stuff with you! Sadly, the best Musical Theater stuff cannot be found for public sharing... like the song "How Can I Call This Home" from Parade. That song would actually apply to my blog. ; )

And I do so STRONGLY apologize if the wrong playlist like it did for me and you get stuck with a bunch of songs that scream and swear at you-- that happened to me once and it took me half an hour to recuperate from the shock. I don't listen to that filth, so please forgive me if that erroneously happens here.

Oh yeah! The sample picture is of my friend Emma Hanks at the "Bell Caves" in Israel. I picked the picture for this post because the acoustics in the caves were fabulous--we sang hymns for a good long while inside, and the reverbs were overlapping. It was a cacophony. Later I ended up whistling the Andy Griffith's theme... and smiled to myself.

Friends

2008-02-02T00:55:00.002+02:00

This ice cream was SO chocolatey. Probably because it's from West Jerusalem.

This is at the entrance to Hezekiah's tunnel. Tiffany looks like she's gonna explode with deviousness.

Inside the water channel underneath Meggido. Moldy walls.

The only proof I have of having been on a camel. Sad, really.

Halloween Costume: I went as a Zombie from Thriller (a good likeness, no?) And Caleb here was Lawrence of Arabia. You see, CALEB has dignity. Oh, and-- we're both Ancient Near Eastern Studies majors. Just the two of us. I have classes w/him now too.

This was the night the group of the girls here ordered pizza. We were up in the lounge loft having girl talk when Lance Evanson showed up and inserted himself into the group. Then he started to make cheeky comments about how all the girls were there for him, and how he's irresistible. So we snapped a picture of how we're all ADORING him.

"Something in the way of a tour..."

2008-01-31T21:06:00.000+02:00

("I'm sorry Grimm, what was that?")

This picture (which has nothing to do with the post,) features a prophetic looking Bro.Ludlow and his er, "attentive class" visiting a synagogue in Capernaum. (Yes, the same one where the Savior would have taught, excepting that the synagogue where we're sitting was built right on top of that one.... so not really the same place, but you get the picture.) I highly recommend blowing this picture up--it's really fun to see everyone's expressions.

http://ce.byu.edu/jc/hosting-video.cfm

Follow this link and you'll get to see a movie-tour of the Jerusalem Center!

OH MAN, this movie made me laugh. I got sentimental too. They call it the "Hosting Video" of the Jerusalem Center, but what it really is is the movie that they play at the beginning of a tour of the center. They have the whole movie in five different languages available at the center. And they use at least four of those languages every week. No, really. The center often takes through more than eight tour groups per day. Anyway--the movie. It's really slow-going, so I'll understand if you skip through bits of it, or all of it, in fact. And I'm sorry that the window is so small.

Just as a note, after this film, you will NOT hear a short organ recital, OR tour the center's gardens. But watch the video anyway. And you can skip through the part about BYU Provo, unless you want a good laugh at everyone's 90's clothes.

Other things to note:

They claim that the center accommodates "some 800 students each year," but last year the number was only 280, so keep that in mind. The full capacity of the building per semester is 160 students (4 busses,) but my group was the largest and only had 81 (two busses.)

I loved the library soooooo much. I was in there all the time.

The "theater" that is shown in the film we called the "dome room," because the ceiling was a dome and the whole thing had really good acoustics. It is where we had relief society meetings.

The forum has orange seats--and was my favorite classroom at the center. And it was never as full of students as the movie portrayed, but that's okay.

At he end of the movie he says something in Arabic, and then says "broochim chabaim," which is Hebrew for "Blessed are they who arrive." It is a fond welcome greeting.

The Hebrew teacher featured on the movie is Judy Goldman, my teacher--and I loved her!

The "multipurpose room" is now an art gallery filled with beautiful photos of Jerusalem.

The shot of the "student housing" is.... let's just say that the rooms were only that clean during cleaning checks.

The "aged olive tree" in the movie looks like its dying, but now its branches are covered and flourishing. In fact, the whole place looks barren in the photo compared to the wildlife that's there now. We had way more plants than the movie lets on.

Brand New Camel

2008-01-29T19:02:00.000+02:00

Left to Right: Bailey Porter, Jessica Bringhurst, Daniel Murdock, and Lauran Lloyd.

I am proud to admit that I took this amazing picture from atop a moving camel. With the pyramids in the background and everything. This photo was voted "one of the best" for the semester slideshow dvd that we're all getting. I am so proud. Ahaha.

I am however sorry that no one got a picture this good of me when I was on a camel. If there are any pictures of me on a camel I haven't seen them. : ( Ah well. The important thing is that I have in fact, ridden one. And I have.

For you beginner camel cowboys I will elucidate the finer points of riding. You mount the camel when it is kneeling down, and lean forward as far as you can when it stands front first, so you don't go sliding off the end. Then, if you want to do it properly, do whatever your Bedouin guide tells you to do. (For full explanation, watch Lawrence of Arabia.) They cal the camel the "Ship of the desert" because it glides across the sand with a rocking motion--quite similar to the sensation of riding in a small boat. Hold on and enjoy the ride. When it comes time to dismount, prepare yourself; dismount is the hardest part of the ride. Lean as far backwards as you possibly can. Trust me. Because when that camel starts going down, front first, it feels like the ground has evaporated. Suddenly you're falling--pfoom! So lean backwards as far as you are able and enjoy that lurching sensation. (For a demonstration of a perfect dismount, observe Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia. I couldn't believe it when I re-watched that movie and saw how he dismounted from the animal. Unbelievable class!)

And I don't know what the deal is with camels "spitting," because I never saw any of that, but their lips are certainly pliable. Extremely pliable. They'd flap them around and around at you in the oddest form of communication--but you know they were trying to send you a sign for something. I'll say this for camels: they are intelligent. Too intelligent to put up with some people. And when they're mad--don't be near their head. They have teeth! Other than that, I've observed that they are in fact sweet, and "adorable" as Evelyn said in "The Mummy." They are playful too--when they aren't looking at the world through lethargy glasses. I really liked it when the camel's owner would open a liter water bottle to give to the camel. It woud grab it with its teeth and tilt its head back--draining the bottle! It would actually do that! So cool.

Oh--and--almost every girl on our tour had offers of marraige from Arabs who claimed that they would pay our fathers a thousand camels for our hand. "You such pretty girl, I pay one thousand camels for you!" He'd say with a smile. To which my awesome friend Shannon said, "I'm worth TWO thousand." Ha hahahahaha!

I Feel Pretty

2008-01-28T07:29:00.000+02:00

The thing about being a tourist is that certain souvenirs appeal to you, when of course they appeal to other tourists too. (Say that ten times fast-- tourists too-tourists too-tourists too.....blech!) Take these Egyptian soccer jerseys for example; out of the eighty JCenter students, I'd say at least nine of us bought one. And every time you'd wear yours, someone else would too. This field trip--to West Jerusalem's Mt. Hertzl, in honor of Theodore Hertzl--four of us did. Quite common. From left to right: Daniel Murdock (our Canadian boy,) Kendra Crandall, Rachel EM... uh... me, and Craig Estep. (I'm making a hideous face in this picture, but it proves my jersey point. Plus, my hat and sunglasses prove how bright it was that day. OR it just proves that I'm extrememly photo-sensitive. Either one.)

Some of the jerseys would say "Egyptian," but others would say "Egyption." Mine is the latter, and I would always joke that mine was more exotic because it was made by poor Egypt-shawn people.

The same thing follows for these red shirts-- if you think it's cool, other cool people will too. If they have taste, that is. This next photo is, as I'm sure you cn guess, a Coca-Cola label. And, contrary to prior belief, it is NOT arabic. It is hebrew script. I say script, because they use different characters to write (script) than they do to read (block letters). I think that's nutter though, because then you have to learn TWO alphabets--but whatever. This picture was taken at Ein Gev, a lovely place in Israel with a fresh water spring, stream, and waterfall--and those are rare in that country. From left to right: Ryan Haynie, Kayla Partridge, Tiffany Dunn, Rebecca Price, and half of Rebecca Redd's head. And a note-- I realize that none of them are looking into the camera. I snapped this picture when they were posing for someone else. I learned that taking random pictures of people instead of making them pose usually paid off.

Ouila!

2008-01-26T04:01:00.000+02:00

I've started to play with some of my favorite pictures, tweaking them to seek improvement. Can YOU see the difference, because I can! I think I did a good job.

Anyone? Anyone? I'm sure I have at least two family members that will see this and think that I've ruined it, or that I could have done better, but I really think that it looks awesome. Opinions, anyone?

Galilean Bonfire

2008-01-23T23:53:00.000+02:00

These pictures are of sunsets over the sea of Galilee--northern Israel. (Though, it really isn't a sea, because it's fresh water. The Jews have it right, they call it "Lake Kinneret," the word for heart, because it is heart-shaped. Anatomic heart--not valentine.) The sunsets are lovely there; the atmosphere is relaxing and sweet. After nine days of living in a kibbutz on the eastern shore, it was time for a final bonfire--our last party. We split class by class into two fire-pits for our fun.

Somehow we procured marshmallows (that weren't like Jet-Puffs at all) and we made s'mores. Cookies were also on the docket, as well as Mirindas soda--a very tasty substance. American sodas are sweetened with corn syrup, even when it is common knowledge that corn syrup isn't half as scrumptious. Mmm, Mirindas soda. The green-apple flavor that I had in Egypt made me think that I was actually drinking a liquid jolly rancher. So good. Anyway, the treats were good.

We started to sing and play silly games like Murder-in-the-dark, charades of things we'd done over the semester, and telephone. Emma (our wilderness chief, by title--she's run those wilderness intervention camps for troubled youth and all that--she can make backpacks out of palm fronds and stuff) anyway, she pulled out her guitar and her drums that she bought in the old city and started playing songs and stuff. Then, with a wicked smirk painted on her jaw, she announces that we're going to learn a chant. She taught us to sing uga-chaka-uga-chaka and overlap it in a "round" with "Book of Mormon Stories." The result was a half-crazed aboriginal war cry/rain dance. Then the really brilliant plan began.

Emma had us tiptoe silently towards the other class until we had them surrounded, and then we got em! Booming yells and flailing limbs, we tramped in a ring around the other class--singing and uga-chaka-ing. "UGA-CHAKA Lamanites in UGA-CHAKA...ree! Long ago our UGA-CHAK from far across the UGA-CHAKA!" and if you know the song you can get the drift. We were fearsome to behold. And very loud. No doubt the Israelis staying in the kibbutz that night were shaking their heads and saying, "stupid Americans."

I wandered down to the beach and gazed across the water to the night lights from Tiberias, and then up at the stars. Orion had come out, and I was very glad to see him. After the bonfire, it was a very peaceful night. My last sleep in a kibbutz. :D (for the near and foreseeable future, anyway.)

Tour Busses and More

2008-01-23T05:14:00.000+02:00

PHOTO EXPLANATIONS:
These are all pictures that I took FROM our bus, or busses if you want to be technical--we rarely had the same bus for more than two days. Shown here are 1) a Jordanian bus, 2) The "Sunshine Bus," 3) Soil Conditions in Northern Israel... note the large limestone deposits, 4) Me and Janessa, the musical theater buffs--sorry that it's upside down, 5) Driving back to Jerusalem from Akko, (note the stickers on the bus window,) 6) Danny. Asleep. Obviously. 7) Israeli freeway signs, tri-lingual as always, 8) a galilean wheat field (all that green grew in three days! Whoa!) and 9) Kerri Regher asleep on James Heaton's shoulder... they were the best of friends and were usually in each other's company. And I love that they're wearing matching sweatshirts from Hebrew University. (I have one just like hers!) Anyway... the blog post... 10) At Jericho, exhausted from a hike to a monastery and bored from waiting for everyone to get back on the bus.

GONNA RIDE ON THE BUS:
When I grew up, my mother would play a really cheesy cassette tape for me full of the energetic songs kids love. My nephews now listen to the same songs, running and jumping around to lyrics that say "this is my jumping song, jump jump jump." One of my nephew Ben's favorite songs on this tape is about traveling. I wish that I could play the song for you, because if you aren't familiar with the tune you'll have no idea how repetitive and obnoxious it can be. List it in the ranks of songs like, "It's a Small World," and the song that never ends. (My sincere apologies if either of those songs are now running through your mind because I mentioned them.)

The traveling song's first verse is about riding a bus, the second about a plane, and a train, etc. The first verse of songs being the verse that people usually remember--most people have no idea that there is more than one verse to the Star Spangled Banner; furthermore, who knows more than the first verse to Amazing Grace? Um, no one. Needless to say, the words to that drasted traveling song that our family usually mentions are from the first verse. About the bus.

"Gonna ride on the bus, chucka cha-chucka-cha, gonna ride on the buh-us..... Guh-nah ride on the buh-uuuuuus, gunna ride on the BUS."

Gaaaaaa! This is not a song that I wish to have repeated in my head every day! It's painful. To quote a movie, "My ears are too delicate" to listen to anything so klitchy and catchy. Nevertheless, during my sojourn through the Holy Land I rode almost exclusively... on a bus. Many many many many many busses.

Long busses, short busses, old busses, new busses, hot busses, cold busses.
Red busses, blue busses, orange and yellow,
The driver may chew, but he's a nice fellow.
Busses with flies, and busses sticky,
Busses clean and busses icky.
I declare I've had my fill--
No more, I say! Or I'll get ill.

What's remarkable is the fact that I never was ill on the bus. PHENOMENAL. I have extreme motion-sickness tendencies, and yet, somehow I avoided the awful nausea and embarrassment related to the same. After three years of riding a charter bus through the canyon to girls camp, and barfing every time, I finally got permission to ride up with some of the leaders instead of on the bus.

Before I left for Jerusalem I was mortified; thinking of how many field trips I would be on a bus, driving over mountains and through deserts and here there and everywhere. I don't know HOW the marvelous blessing occurred, but it did, and I wasn't sick. Hallelujah! I have three bottles of motion sickness pills that I get to save for the next time I ride on a bus. As far as I can tell, I've either A) grown out of my motion sickness, 2) the lower-altitude lessened the affects of it, or D) I went on so many bus trips that I grew accustomed to the ill-affects and learned to deal with it.
(note the subtle movie-quotation in that last sentence.)

Did you know that large-scale tours are so common in Cairo, Amman, and Israel that they make up-scale tour busses? Really nice ones. I've spent many an hour riding in a mercedes tour bus. Yes, you read that correctly. MERCEDES. There were a lot of busses. Often more busses than cars filled the traffic lanes in the cities. Again, odd. Or perhaps, just not familiar to our way of thinking.

What did we do with our time on the bus? Sleep, talk, listen to iPods, listen to Bro. Ludlow as he explained various geography/culture/doctrine, etc. Lip sync with the person next to you while you share headphones and listen to American standard fare, sleep, drool while your mouth hangs open and your head lolls from side to side, debate whether or not you're allowed to lean on your neighbors shoulders, TRY to sleep (more common than actual sleeping), look at the window, try to not get grime or dust from your shoes on the rest of your clothes or on the seats, re-stash everything you're carrying on your person on the shelf above your head, duck when your stuff rolls from off the shelf above your head and hits you--or the unsuspecting person across from you, sleep, sleep, fall asleep in various degrees of unattractive slumber, discuss politics, sleep, get into movie-quote wars, OR if you're a GOOD person you could study.... sheesh.

I'm sure that most of you have noticed that on school buses the same people tend to drift toward the same seats every time. Our bus was no exception; though Brother Ludlow encouraged us to mix it up. Most of us would sit with a variety of people and sit all over the bus. Where was I, you may ask? I am a front-sitter. MY customary spot was right behind Bro. Huntington and Bro. Ludlow's seats... the second seat behind the bus driver. I liked sitting up front because I could get on and off quickly, hear the lectures easier, and see out the windshield to where we were going.

I also had easy access to the bus question-answer-ambush sessions that I was so fond of. I'd point to something random and say, "Bro. Huntington, what's that?" or "where are we going?" or ask for more details about where we had just been. After visiting Caesarea Maritime, I had an in-depth discussion with Bro. H about how Herod may have managed to engineer the underwater cement for the harbor that he built--opening Palestine to another port. I peppered the teachers with questions, and I got a lot of answers. And let me tell you, it also had its benefits. Bro. Huntington made me his assistant a couple times--sending me to get the group's tickets and hand out stuff to everyone. He would pay me in ice cream bars. Mmmmm Nok Outs..... ohhhhhh.

I also have to mention that there were about 45 seats on each bus, and that for our 81 students + faculty, we had two buses to share: "Bus One," (pronounced Buh-Swan if you're an Egyptian tour guide,) and "Bus Two," which later became known as the Black Pearl. Bus One carried Bro. Ludlow's class (and hence, me.) Bus Two carried Bro. Draper's class.

A few other details.... hmm. Every bus had a front door and either a back door or a middle door. The stairs were steep. The seats were covered with that typical fabric that all tour busses seem to have, and the curtains were a variety of colors---ranging from gray to Zeal... Brandon's word for the "zealous teal" that we had in Egypt. I called that color lapis, and Brandon told me that no one cared about my high-falutin designer words. I particularly enjoyed what I dubbed the "sunshine bus," a Jordanian bus with chipper goldenrod curtains that made the whole bus look like it was full of SunnyD.

On long trips some people would daringly fall asleep in the 1 1/2 ft wide walkway. Also, a bizillion photos were taken of people when we were asleep on the bus; I only have a couple of them, including a great one of Danny, who drifted off behind me on our way home from Haifa (a 1.5 hour drive that took almost four hours when we were trapped in traffic.)

And I think I covered everything. That was life on the bus.

P.S. I can't BELIEVE that I forgot to mention how we took roll on the bus. Bro. Ludlow divided us into groups, and each group was supposed to look out for each other and make sure that we didn't lose anyone. We named these groups by giving them bible names--which brother Ludlow would only say in Hebrew, so we eventually learned it in Hebrew too. In English (Hebrew) format: Noah (M'noach), Moses (Moshe), David (Dah-veed), Solomon (Sh'lomo), and my group--Boanerges (Bne're'am). [I named my group Boanerges, because in Greek it means "Sons of Thunder." It is the surname Christ gave to James and John.]

Anyway, before leaving anywhere, we'd have a head-count on the bus. Bro. Ludlow would call for a group's head count, and then the group would sound off on their own jingle-ish-thing. Moshe usually said "Moses-supposes-his-toeses-are-roses-but Moses-supposes-erroneous-ly" with each group member saying one section. It was VERY fun. My group said "AND-my-father-dwelt-in-a-tent-amen," and I had the privilege of saying "a." It was a great, quick way to take roll, 'cause if any part of the phrase was missing, we'd immediately know which person was missing. Great idea, Bro. Ludlow!

I'm Back

2007-12-30T19:31:00.000+02:00

I returned to my blessed country, the lovely United States of America, on the 21st of December. I was home by 1:00 pm, and by 2:30 pm, I was at a job interview. At seven thirty in the morning on the 22nd of December I started a 12 hour-per-day job that I'll have for the holiday break. That's right everyone, I am a student with no cash! And yet somehow I'm expected to pay for tuition and books. Hence, I'm killing myself with a crazy psycho killer job.

The only reason I mention this is because it will explain my recent non-postage. BUT, I am happy to announce that during Winter Semester, I will be working an hour a day on THE INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES OF RACHEL ABROAD, due to air on January 8th. Tune in then for the untold stories of my exploits! Including such things as, "My week in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan," "I Saw Masada," "Tour Busses and More," "Armageddon Exposure," "The Dead Sea Tastes Like ______," "Galilee Bonfire," and, "Bethlehem Reflection."

Don't forget to come back for these snippets, folks. They are the best yet, I promise you!

Happy New Year,

--R

P.S. This is the group picture of all the students, faculty, and staff from the Jerusalem Center Fall 07.

Egypt, Photo Selection

2007-12-11T17:13:00.000+02:00

The photos to sweeten the deal on the hideously long post entitled "Egypt, parts V-X" are shown below.

This is me at Karnak. (Note the Arab man in the background...they snuck into every picture, I swear!)

The colossi of Memnon-- I remember reading about these things in my Childcraft encyclopedia when I was nine. I never thought I'd see them for myself, that's for sure.

This was the Oasis Hotel's lobby--the nice place in Cairo.

Here I'm standing at the entrance to King Tut's tomb. Ryan Haynie is in the background looking a little dazed.

I love this picture. lots of people took pictures like this, but I think mine looks especially nice. My friend Jessica in Zurich saw this and said, "I always knew you were into older men." Hahaha.

The funerary temple of Rameses III, note that I'm still wearing my headphones and passport carrier.... I'd forgotten to take it off for the picture. Ooops. I really liked this place.

This was taken in the wee small hours of the morning atop Sinai.

I know I'm making a weird face in this picture, but the angle was really cool (thanks to Greg, who took the photo,) so I posted it anyway.

A single shot of Sinai during the sunrise. The mountains in their various shades I think stand out nicely.

My nonchalant stance when standing on the third stack of stones from the Great Pyramid @ Giza. (" I went to Egypt and I appear to be exotic.")

That's all for now.
"Unfortunately, this wire is already too expensive. Sincerely, Rolf."

EGYPT, Parts V-X.

2007-12-11T17:05:00.000+02:00

V. WEDNESDAY

We arrived in Luxor and hurried to get off the train. At least a number of people hurried. I’d been up for hours. “Susie” thought that wake up call was at 4:00am, when it was really 5:00, but Susie and myself (along with the pair of girls next door that our room connected with) had gotten up more than an hour early. We were done long before we needed to be and had ample time to gather our things and get ready. Unlike most other people, who had no idea we were getting off at five thirty and who just had time to change out of their pajamas. Some of the guys hadn’t shaved, others were in an amusing state of half-shaven-ness. Greg brushed his teeth on the train platform while everyone was collecting their bags. His excuse was that he “hadn’t had time on the train.” My response to not having tooth-time would have been ‘where’s the gum?’ But we can’t all be like me. Only I am me. Gee, that sounds like philosophy. …and I’m NOT trying to rhyme—that was incidental. Anyway.

We loaded onto another bus and after settling in for ten minutes (reaching that point where you’ve just gotten comfy) we had reached the opposite shore of the Nile and had to get off the bus. We reached our destination early to make use of the cool morning air; which of course lasts only fifteen minutes after sunrise. Even so, a few degrees can make all the difference in…none other than…the Valley of the Kings! For those of you who don’t know, Valley of the Kings is a small canyon near the ancient city of Thebes, today known as Luxor. The Pharoahs of the New Kingdom (1550 - 1070 BC) were buried there, including the well known King Tutankhamen. Also Rameses III, Thutmosis—the biggies. With the exception of King Tut, all of the kingly tombs have been open since antiquity.

I’m sure you’ve all heard of King Tut. You’ve probably also heard that he was one of the “minor” Pharaohs, un-significant and un-wealthy…comparatively. Having been inside his tomb, as well as the tombs of the other dead guys around him—I can say that it’s true. His tomb is TINY in comparison. Tye-knee. Okay, imagination time.

Early morning. A sun that has not yet risen casts a pink hue through the deep gorge before you—a narrow valley set between pale-buttercream pebbles and stone. There are no trees. There are no shrubs. There are no birds. There are no bugs. There is only parched stone. A bone-dry wilderness—whose bones were long since carried away.

Over your shoulder you see your exploratory party. Your comrades-in-travel carry laughter and words. Focused on the other travelers, they care for each other, speak with one another. Their eyes see and they walk, but do not stop and hear. Smiling at your friends’ cheerfulness, you walk out from them to meet the canyon. And walking ten feet from the group is like stepping away from a boisterous party into an empty room across the hall. It’s a world apart.

It’s like stepping into a fog of diplomatic dignity. It’s everywhere, and hushed. The stone of the canyon watches you. It sneers at you with nonchalance as if to take notice and then look away with indifference. The stones seem to know why you have come; they’ve seen it all before. Why should you be any different? It’s like they are the sentries of the Kings. They take note of you—as if writing your presence on their list of ‘those who dared trespass on the home of the dead.’ But are silent, as if with all they have seen—decades of artisans coming and going, funerary processions, conspiracy, murder, thievery, discovery, centuries upon centuries of sight seers—the stone speaks silence. It knows all but keeps secrets with out intention of revealing a single detail. It keeps mum (but no mum-mies….ahahahhaa.) Reverie over. Promise. But it was really eerie. …just so you know.

Then everybody else caught up to me. We took a tram further up the gorge, dust clouds going everywhere. We passed old arab men wearing their mu-mu equivalents: gala-bay-ahs. (I have NO idea how to spell it.) Very old, weary men, sweeping dust off wooden plank sidewalks. It’s horrible to see; they execute a task they do all day, every day, all the time. And with no satisfaction, because the dust will only come back. And you know they do it because it’s their only option. And you think to yourself how awful it is that you have everything and can travel to a foreign country just for fun when they have nothing---and have probably never seen anything but Egypt. Their dismal existence is all they have ever known. And what hope do they have? No bright horizon, no bends in the road, no vacations or rests—just blah. Poor man in an constantly impecunious state. And you think, “I don’t deserve this….I really don’t…why am I here? Why me? Someone else deserves this…they would do a better job…” And what would he do with my opportunity? What would he see and feel, what would he do?

And then Greg and Brandon came up behind me laughing; the source of which started the battle of the puns. Horrible puns. …the best kind. “What were you thinking about?” Asked Greg. “I was pondering the condition of our hotel,” I replied. “Hmm,” Greg answered, “I’ll bet it’s very Luxor-ious.” Ogh! Hahaha. It was splendidly awful.

We picked up our tickets from Bro. Ludlow, vaguely paid attention to our tour guide, and then filed inside tomb #’s 1-3. They were all the same, sans the name of the King in question. Well, no they weren’t all the same. Each was in a differing stage of completeness. Rameses III, I think was most impressive. Here, I’ll walk you through. Each tomb has a “false door,” or a façade placed in front of the real door to make it look like any other rock to any passersby. After that there is a long cubical-corridor. I say cubical because it is square. Floor, ceiling, walls—they might not be, so don’t take my word for it—but they seem to be equidistant from each other, like a square. The light diminishes as you walk deeper, but can-lights spotlight significant features every few feet, lighting the way. What is called the “book of the dead,” is a record of things the pharaoh has done, what the gods have done for him, how he takes his place among them, how he is “innocent” of all sin, etc. The examples of “the gods” presenting eternal life, or holy power are VERY intriguing. You remember that as horrid as Egyptian theology was they did still possess “doctrinal debris,” as Elder Maxwell put it.

On the left wall near the ceiling, 10 ft past the door, his cartouche (or his “royal” name) repeats again and again, followed by a proclamation of his unimpeachable guiltlessness. Reading thus: [cartouche, innocent of all ______]. Over and over for 6ft down the hallway. Here’s an example. “I Akhenaten, am innocent of any murder.” The next would be similar. “I Akhenaten, am a pure being…..I Akhenaten, have never been rude or inconsiderate or committed adultery or unjustly taxed my subjects or conquered nations and subjected them to brutality or belched or farted or forced artisans to carve me a tomb hewn of stone hidden in the middle of the blistering desert.” “I Akhenaten am a god, worship and fear me” might come next.

The opposite wall would have incredible depictions of the journey of death, chiseled into the stone and painted. Elaborate work—amazing to see and believe that it is still there, still in color, still so much of it intact. I’m sorry I couldn’t take pictures of anything inside a tomb—ever. Not inside the pyramids, not inside the Prime-minister’s tomb in Zozer, not in anyplace not previously exposed to sunlight. Sheesh. I suppose my descriptions will have to do the work. *sigh* (I WILL finish this blog post. I will! Stupid, long-winded tendencies….)

Anyway, the whole tomb is really a long square-ish corridor with chiseled paintings on the walls and ceilings, doorposts, supporting beams, and pretty much everywhere you don’t walk on. Five-pointed stars especially adorn the ceilings. They are representative of the privileged mortals who have passed on and now live among the gods. SO amazing. And there were hundreds! White five-pointed asterisk-looking stars on a navy blue painted background; astonishing, even with a few chips of paint missing. On one of the ceiling beams (“beam” only used to describe its location—it’s still solid rock,) there is a large falcon with outstretched wings. Think Timpview thunder-birds if you’re from Provo.

I promise that I’m getting to the point—at least I’m describing all six tombs at once and not individually—then I’d NEVER finish this, would I? Any-way… the farther into the tomb you get, the less finished the tomb becomes. Soon the ceiling isn’t blocked off or painted, walls aren’t chiseled, the burial chamber itself is…hastily and sloppily completed. In point of fact I don’t think any of the tombs we visited in valley of the kings were completed. One of them had outlines of hieroglyphics drawn out on the wall around the account of the pharaoh’s innocence, but no chiseling had been done. I told Greg that he had lived a “sketchy” lifestyle. (YES! I finally came up with a pun! Huzzah!)

King Tut. How sad it is that most modern people know a little about King Tut and nothing about Akhenaton or Thutmosis. Very sad. Even my BYU friends, poor dears, had never even HEARD of Akhenaton. My sixth grade teacher would have been crushed. King Tut is pathetic in comparison to the other Pharaohs…even his tomb is miniscule in comparison to the others in Valley of the Kings. Not even a 1/3 of the size. Why wasn’t Tut’s tomb raided like the others? Well… a fresher tomb is in-between Tut’s and an older guys…sorta like the alphabet being A-B-D-C-E, and Tut’s tomb being C. When the tomb for D was cut out, the rubble was piled on top of the entry door for C—thus hiding Tut’s tomb underneath a thick pile of rock chips. Soooo, finding Tut’s tomb was a real discovery. Valley of the Kings had been excavated over and over and gone over with the fine, soft, er…brush… and an overlooked tomb really was an extraordinary find. Especially with that much GOLD inside. Incredible.
So yeah, I’ve been to Tut’s tomb. Whoopee. Haven’t even been to Mount Rushmore, and I’ve been to the tomb of a snotty, rich dead guy. Go figure.

A few days later I had the privilege of seeing the Cairo Museum’s exhibit of the King Tut cache. And now, having been inside the tomb it all came from I am ah-maze-ehd. There is no WAY they fit it all in there! I can’t describe it—you’re going to have to look up the exhibit if you want to hear about it all—but imagine a small bedroom, imagine that the walls are made of wood and lined in gold, and then make it a box instead of a room. Have the picture in your mind? Okay. Now take that box, squeeze it down a shimmy-able passageway, through a 4ft ceiling balcony spot and then, I don’t know, re-inflate it inside it’s actual size space.

Impossible! I don’t know how the Brits got the box OUT of the room, let alone how the Egyptians fit it inside. We (the students) figured that they had either built it inside the tomb or re-assembled it inside. Either way it’s still impossible to get in and out. I felt sorry for the artisans having to do it everyday to get inside to paint.

The next thing on our itinerary was Hatshepsut’s temple. Which…we didn’t end up seeing. It was a security risk; we drove by it. Kind of. I couldn’t even see it from where I was—on the wrong side of the bus, you see. Hmph.
We went to our hotel next. Hardly a step in the right direction. At least it wasn’t the train. The hotel, “Mercure,” in Luxor. Poison water. And I will make no mention of the condition of the bedclothes. Trust me—you DON’T want to know.

After lunch…where I ate nothing but meat, potatoes, and dessert…we went to my favorite place in Egypt. Well… I say “favorite” loosely. It was my favorite experience—where I had the most fun. Karnak was the most impressive… but that was the next day. Where did we go? Ah ha! The Funerary Temple of Rameses III—“Medinet Habu.” (which is just another name for it.) Nothing more than the ordinary fare—hieroglyphics, pillars, and stone. And of course the creepy Arab men that pop up behind you as if you WANT to get a picture with them. Ihhhhhh…[shudder.] And they’re there to yell at you if you stand on something you shouldn’t, touch something forbidden, etc. But unlike Karnak and the flashy pyramid-esque touristy places, Medinet Habu was deserted except for us. And the…creepy men. So we wandered around taking pictures and having a good old time. Yes, a grand time under the broiling sun. Sunburns and squinting, anyone?

We went swimming at the hotel—first time I’ve been swimming in public in ages—and it was fun! The water was cold and it was so nice to be immersed in water (that was safely chlorinated). After drying off we went for a faluka ride on the Nile. What’s that? That’s what happens when you’re trapped on a ramshackle sail-boat with two Egyptian men wearing galabayiahs sitting cross-legged…likely with no underwear under their skirts (their already see-through skirts,) moving three feet per minute across near-stagnant water. All the while the sun is glinting off the surface of the murky plain while you’re cursing yourself for not wearing sunscreen, dying of the heat, and thinking ruefully of the phrase, “water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.”

I wanted to get back to shore and fast. I could have been doing SO many other things. I could have seen the Mummification museum that I ended up not having time to see. Oh! Well it might have been better if there had been any wind. Though I doubt there ever is such a thing as a breeze in that country. However, that may be a blessed thing indeed…I doubt the sands would allow the breeze to be pleasant at all. Still, there was one funny thing. I realized where I was, and started thinking of all the movie references I’ve seen when they’re on the Nile, or they mention it… you can bet the Ten Commandments was running through my head—when Nefretiri corners Moses and calls him a “man of mud.” But I think my crowning moment was when I turned to Carlee and said, “Quick! Wish for something outrageous, wish for the Nile—“ and she said, “I…I wish for the Nile?” And I said, “No way! Ahahahaha,” Just like the Genie does on Aladdin. It was great. In fact that was then end of great, and we were back to hot, sticky, and trying not to sit by the arab guys. FORTY minutes later, we were taken back to shore.

We went back for the hotel for dinner…or should I say for bread, meat, and dessert? Poison water. Poison vegetables. Lots of dessert, yes. Only edible things to be had. Which really was a shame because there were plenty of nice vegetables to be had. And fruit. The watermelon smelled nice. Which reminds me of a story…

Once upon a time there were two American college students who spent a week in Egypt. Their names were Caleb, and Sam. And while they were in Luxor, the ancient city formerly known as Thebes, they walked into a dinner buffet. Both boys were very hungry, and the tastes and spices of the Nile twitched their senses as their tummies grumbled a hungry roar. They loaded their plates with potatoes, bread, and chicken, and when they saw dessert they snatched up cakes as well.
“Wait,” said Sam, before they went to seek their seats. “Check it out,” he finished, pointing to a bowl full of watermelon.
“But we can’t, can we?” asked Caleb. “Won’t we get sick?”
“They were exaggerating,” said Sam. “We’re healthy. We’ll be fine. Besides, it’s the rind that’s touched the water, and we’re not eating that anyway.”

And with that, Caleb and Sam each took a plate full of watermelon back to their table along with their meal. They went to bed and all seemed well. But oh, the awful feeling those two had the following afternoon! Poor Caleb couldn’t sit up straight and had to lay down, even in the airport terminal on his way back home. His face turned a queer shade of chartreuse, and his stomach churned and spilled its contents multiple times.

And what is the moral of this story, children? The moral of the story is to OBEY THE RULES FOR HEAVEN SAKE, ESPECIALLY AFTER THEY’VE BEEN QUOTED TO YOU SEVERAL TIMES. For goodness sake. Caleb really was green though. I felt really bad for him, but it was his fault, after all. Stupid boys. What were they thinking? As it turns out they might have been okay… BUT…and there is a big but, the fruit vendors often inject extra water into their watermelons to make them feel heavier. And of course this water is just like all the rest of the water in Egypt. Hmm. Yummy.

VI. THURSDAY

Karnak! Kaaaaaaaaaaahrnack, Karnak, Karnak! EEEEEH! Okay okay okay, it was SOOOOO great! YAY! I loved it loved it loved it. So much better than the pyramids. But then again, lots of things are cooler than the pyramids. Like…Alaska. Hahahaha, okay, no. Well, yes, Alaska’s colder, but no, it isn’t even in Egypt, so a comparison between the two is moot. I liked how many commas I used in that last sentence. Wow, am I on a zainy kick or what? WHOO! Haha. This is kind of the way I felt before Karnak, so I guess I’m reliving the experience. I was so excited to go; I was giddy while I was drying my hair, and hyper at breakfast. I had gotten most of my enthusiasm when we walked out to the street for our taxi…carriage. First time I’ve ever ridden in a carriage. But I don’t think it counts as a normal carriage, because it wasn’t a normal one. “Normal,” being the tourist carriages I’ve seen in American cities, anyway. I probably sobered up because bubbly enthusiasm and Eastern culture do not mix. You want to get molested? Get caught smiling at the wrong man…easy as that. In affect, I was excited because I realized where I was, and I was sober because I realized where I was.

I walked across the enormous parking lot that they’re building… it’s going to be huge…and I realized that our faculty had us go in carriages of four people instead of bringing the buses. It’s much easier to get in and out of that place without a bus, and since it’s one of the few places that isn’t a security risk, we took the chance. We could have walked from the Hotel to there in 10 minutes, but where would the fun have been in that?

And there it was. Karnak!

And everything I knew about the place evaporated in ten seconds. I knew it was a temple finished and extended by many successive Pharaohs, and that there were a lot of pillars. I had no concept of just how big it really is. Standing next to the giant pillars, (to quote a phrase from Into the Woods,) “little more than a glance is enough to show you just how small you are.” The pillars! There are so many of them! A soaring forest of stone.

Since coming to Israel and Egypt the monologue of Katherine Brooke on Anne of Avonlea has run through my mind repeatedly. She recounts that as a child she stared at a painting her uncle had of camels in the desert, around a palm spring. She said, “I have always wanted to travel and see that place, to see the Taj Mahal, and the pillars of Karnak. I want to know, not just believe, that the worlds is round.” And I thought of that as I stood beside the towering stone…and my good fortune to get to see these things. I mean, who gets to see stuff like this? Schweet!
After Karnak we went to the “Luxor Temple.” Every year during the appropriate season a court procession would start from the Luxor Temple and bring offerings down the nile and through the streets to the Karnak temple. A big hullabulloo: fanfare, rituals, pagan-god offerings, yadda yadda yadda. The Luxor Temple had a large columned hall, a courtyard, and four large statues of Rameses out front. Toward the back of the temple evidences of crusaders appear. They chiseled out sections of hieroglyphics and replaced them with large crosses. (One icon for another, I suppose. Oops…did I say that?) My favorite part of the Luxor temple was the part where Alexander the Great had ordered a relief of himself made in the usual trappings of a Pharaoh. VERY amusing. Looks just like any other Pharaoh, but with a great big schnozz. It portrayed him sending an offering to Amun Ra. I was all sad that he was wearing the traditional hat-crowns because it would have been so funny to see if he had either a) been portrayed with straight black hair, or b) had his traditional curls done in Egyptian style. It would have been funny either way seeing his prime characteristics defined, but I guess the beak-protuberant-nose was good enough.

We walked back to the hotel from the Luxor Temple. Yeah—it was within walking distance. No way, right? Our walk home involved strutting down a lane flanked with three dozen or so sphinxes 9ft tall, and then walking through another market place-mall. A “mall” is usually a place where goods are openly viewed, usually linked by a hallway/street with the doors and windows of the shops facing the trafficable lane. In the near-east the owners of the shops sit or stand at the entrances and invite you in. (That should conjure the image of Ursula saying to Ariel, “come in, my child.” …a tad unnerving because of understandable trust issues.) Walking through this mall with all the shop keepers trying to draw me in I felt that I was on display more than the shop-wares. Ick. Thankfully I was with fast-walking friends so it was a little less uncomfortable.

After eating, more of a chore than something to look forward to (since you know you have to eat something but also know that deciding what is edible and what isn’t yields less than satisfactory results,) a few of us went to the Luxor Museum. The museum had been renovated the previous year, and had an excellent interior. It was air conditioned, dimly lit, and reminded me distinctly of the MOA (museum-of-art, aka the “mow-ah”) on BYU campus. The items on display weren’t that spectacular if you compare them to the Egyptology department of the British Museum, but were fascinating all the same. A few stelas, some busts of _____ the IV, two mummies, statues of various gods, and domestic tools and furniture of the common people. The only sad thing about the museum was that there were no plaques to tell you anything informative—only a nameplate telling what the devil it was.

Greg is an advantage to the near-eastern traveler. In Egypt he was great to have around because of his previous job experience; he worked in a mortuary this summer. He’s seen enough modern embalmings for his perspective on the conditions of mummification to be of note. (in my opinion at least.) When we saw the 3000+ year old corpse of this general-advisor dude Greg was fascinated by the toenails and hair. “No way—this is what a body normally looks like after three days,” he said. “It’s incredible,” he finished. He also would say things like ‘what the Egyptians could have done with _____ fluid, or such-and-such needles.’ His enthrallment added to our experience.

I provided a similar enthusiasm when we rounded the corner and saw the sign, “Egyptian Military Advancement and History Exhibit.” My first thought was, “Dang, my Dad would love this room.” And he would’ve! There was a Hyksos chariot that was discovered only three years ago preserved by the desert sands. There was a display case of long bows, short bows, composite bows, armor, shields, and etc. There was a rack full of spears and such. So cool.

Again, sadly there was no information or historical stuff to be had. I spouted off everything I knew about the Egyptian military, why they had so much control, why they were feared, common materials for armor, and the one-or-two tactics I could remember from my previous readings. In short—not much. (Five days later I called my Dad and told him about it and he instantly let loose floods of information about the Iron chariot wheels and why they were so advantageous, and he answered my questions about the differences between a long bow and a composite bow and why they were so nice to have. Honestly, the man’s a genius, I’m amazed he can fit all of his information in his head.)

Upstairs there was a guard who very energetically introduced himself and made conversation with me. And the other girls. He didn’t talk to the guys we had with us…which I at least noticed. I shooed the girls away from him and herded our party away from his post. He followed us. One of the guys with us noticed my irked expression and he came over to say “hello,” to him, with various undertonings of “you’re not allowed to talk to them, thank you, goodbye.” Then he left us alone. Urg—that’s Egypt for you—even in a quiet museum they make advances.

The upstairs exhibit showed how pots and baskets are made today; noting that they’ve been made the same way, with the same materials, for thousands of years. A large building-model of a sailing barge was in a case, with a label stating only that it is one-of-a-kind. I have no idea what it was. But it was very big, very old, and mostly intact. In historical museums that should be enough to illicit “ooohs and ahhs.” Mostly we were thinking, “yeah, we’ve seen a lot of this stuff this week.” If I had to pick a favorite Egyptian Goddess I’d probably pick MUT—a woman’s body with a panther head with a moon headdress. Eye catching to say the least—and easily identifiable. There were three statues of Mut (Moot) upstairs, too.

My favorite exhibit from the museum (Aaron and Diana please pay attention to this one,) was a golden amulet with the eye of Ra on it. It kind of made me smile, thinking of Stargate, but then I read the identification placard. It read, “Found at Abydos Digsite.” BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Ahahaha hahahaha hahaha. PROOF! I thought. Full on proof that Stargate is real. Ahahahahaha. (For those of you who haven’t a clue as to what I’m saying, just smile, nod, remember that I like science-fiction-tv, and move along.) Photos weren’t allowed inside the museum, but if they had been I would have taken a dozen of that amulet. Priceless.

After dinner we went to the Luxor airport to fly back to Cairo. It took less than an hour to fly back, but I’m glad I had the experience of flying on Egyptian airways. All of their English stuff is British-ified, so it was amusing to watch British computer animated “in the case of an emergency” videos. I was laughing hard, and I wasn’t the only one. Do you remember that I said that everything in Egypt has a metal-detector, and that they’ll let you in regardless of whether you beep or not? Well, how does this policy work in an airport? Emma Hanks, a great friend of mine here, had to remove her hat for the metal detector lady to “pass” her and wave Emma on through. The metal grommets on her hat set off the ‘beep.’ The best part about that story though is that her HAT set off a metal detector when her POCKETKNIFE, at the time residing in her jeans… made no sound at all. Isn’t that great? Heaven forbid her hat be taken on the plane, but the lethal weapon is okay. Hahahha.
During the flight I read a magazine article about the GEM—the “Grand Egyptian Museum” that is being built soon. It’s gonna be enormous, state of the art, and very expensive. Luckily they’ve gotten tons of gazillionaires to donate. The author of the article expressed his wish that certain items of importance taken by other nations (namely the Italians, Germans, French, and esp. the Brits) be returned to Egypt. He was saying that he hopes they’ll lend them to the GEM when it opens. Items of importance specifically mentioned as the head of Khufu, the bust of Nefretiti, and the Rosetta stone. I agreed with him on those three objects, especially the bust of Nefretiti. It’s one of the most famous artifacts ever discovered in Egypt, and I thought it should be returned. (I THOUGHT that. I do not think so anymore. I’ll explain later….)

We arrived in Cairo. We flew over 300 miles in little more than an hour, but it took the next two hours to get across the city from the airport to our hotel. But I liked that! We got to see a lot of the city that way without ever setting foot off the secure bus with our safe American-Mormon compadres. We saw enormous sky-scrapers, extreme poverty, ridiculously large billboards, and camels on the freeway. We saw piles of garbage, palm trees, and the pyramids—all in one glance. And I got to see what I’d been waiting for—I saw the Cairo museum! I was so happy I squealed. For some reason excitement for a more-than-hundred-year-old museum is a strange thing for a twenty year old girl, but I enjoyed my friends’ looks of incredulity. I was super excited to get to go there the NEXT DAY! When we finally reached the Oasis Hotel I was more than happy to see the nice clean bathroom again. Sure, the water was still poisonous, and the bedding was untrustworthy, and I wouldn’t have walked barefoot on the carpet for thirty shekels, but it was better than nothing.

Greg told me a great joke that night. The concierge says over the phone, “At this establishment we take pride in the fresh bedding….yes, maam, we change the sheets every day,” he says, hanging up the receiver. “Change them from bed to bed, that is.” Hardee har har, Greg. That kid is always good for a chuckle.

I brushed my hair, laid out my clothes for the next day, changed into pajamas, washed my face and teeth as best I could with bottled water, re-stuffed my suitcase, and settled myself in to sleep. I put my own towel over the pillow so as to not infect my face with the sheets from the hotel. My last thought as I closed my eyes was “Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Sparky.” And from there my thoughts dissolved in the slumber of the exhausted traveler.

VII. FRIDAY

Bright and early. I ate the cautionary breakfast of a hard-boiled egg, rye bread, and pre-packaged butter tabs. Mmm. If I could have had some of the orange juice my breakfast would have been complete. I was nonetheless pleased. I hadn’t had real eggs since leaving Utah, because at the center they serve fake-scrambled eggs. (And YES, I can recognize the difference.) It was then that I had a revelation. I watched sixteen other BYU kids eat hard-boiled eggs (I counted). ALL of them picked out the yolk and ate only the white part. What were they thinking? I couldn’t believe it. I thought at first that it might have just been the skinny-conscious girls doing it, but nope, three boys did it too. I ask you what the point of eating an egg is if you don’t eat the yolk? No fat, yes, but thus no nutrition either. Go figure. “What’s the matter with kids these days?” ; )

We loaded our luggage, and then we were on the bus again. We tried not to fall asleep in the middle of our tour-guide’s lecture. Usually its quite a struggle, but I was too excited to sleep. The Cairo museum! I was going to the Cairo museum! Who was the first person off the bus? (not me.) Who was the second person off the bus? Me! (right after the security guard.) I knew cameras weren’t inside the museum, so I didn’t even try to get it through security. I didn’t even take it inside the courtyard. Don’t worry—I still got a picture of me in front of the gate with the museum behind me. Then I was pacing back and forth trying to get inside as fast as possible. Brother Ludlow made that difficult. I had to wait for the other class to go first! Grrrr. When I finally did get inside, I was surprised. VERY surprised. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. But it was almost more cool the way it was. Almost.

The inside was humid, smelly, and hot. That’s disappointing when you’ve been looking forward to a few hours inside a climate-controlled environment. That was surprise #1: the museum didn’t even have air-conditioning. Now, there are reasons why museums are climate-controlled, and it isn’t to keep the visitors sweat-free. It’s to keep the visitors’ sweat off of the artifacts. And to keep ancient mummies that are supposed to be in DESERT conditions from being gooified by humidity! I couldn’t believe it. The entire place was humid from millions of carbon-dioxide-exhalations, and I couldn’t believe it. What on earth was going on? Curse the Egyptians for not spending their private funding on a decent air-conditioning system. It’s dangerous for the exhibits! This is how I suddenly became glad that the British museum is full of Egyptian artifacts that they’ve stolen. At least in London the bust of Nefretiti is residing in perfect climacticly controlled state of the art preservation. (I still think she should be returned for the opening of the GEM, but she should never ever ever go to the Cairo museum on loan. Not ever!) …excuse the outburst. I have now regained my composure and will continue with the rest of the experience.

I saw the duplicate model of the Rosetta stone (it looked authentic, but then I remembered that it’s in London.) I was a mini-factoid tour guide for my friends Rebecca and Greg that went with me through the museum. We had so much fun. Neither of them know much about Egyptian history, so it was fun for me to get to explain stuff to them. They hadn’t even heard of the Rosetta stone! Greg ended up saying an hour after we had seen it and I had made reference to it at least five times, “and why is this rock so special?” I was startled, but then I explained and their faces lit up with OH expressions. It was so fun.

FYI: The Rosetta stone is named for its location of discovery, near Rosetta, Egypt. It is a black stone with a single message repeated in three different texts: Hieroglyphics, Demotic, and Greek. Why do we care? Because in 1822 that stone became the key to unlocking the code of hieroglyphics, and until then, ancient Egyptian texts had been impossible to read. Basically because someone could read Greek and Demotic they figured out that they were the same thing, so they figured out that the hieroglyphs said the same thing, and they figured out how to decipher it after that. Get it? Yeah, that rock is a big deal. And I got to see the fake! Yay. Ahem.

Remember how I said the museum wasn’t what I expected, but that it was almost cooler because of it? Almost? This is because of the format of the museum. Imagine a very large late-nineteenth-century building is a bookshelf, and each of the shelves is packed with a number of incredible articles to see. That’s what the Cairo museum is like. There are very few labels or explanations of what an item is. Often the DATE & DYNASTY was available, but nothing else. Mostly there are a bunch of huge statues crammed into every available nook and cranny. Which is good—anything other than stone in that place would deteriorate very quickly. I was afraid for the mummies.
We only had two hours to spend in the museum, so we moved pretty fast. The next room we went into was full of animal mummies. The crocodile mummies were awesome! Why anyone would want to mummify one of those is beyond me…someone probably wanted to pacify the gods. Again, Greg was invaluable here. He pointed out details I would never have noticed; things like textures and isolated areas that “must have been difficult to preserve” were especially of note to him. He was almost as excited by them as I was of the leather rugs that we saw next. How can leather last over 3,000 years? I guess the desert dryness can do amazing things.

I saw over a hundred 10ft statues of various pharaohs and queens, false gods, etc. I saw the Amarna letters. I saw Ptolemaic reliefs. I saw the Mernepta stela. I saw dozens of things I’ve read about. I saw the entire King Tut exhibit. Yeah—all of it. And yeah, there’s that much gold. I couldn’t believe that they fit it all inside his tomb. Even the most space-conservative organizationalists couldn’t find enough space in that cave for all of that stuff. There’s just no way it would all fit. And let me tell you, whoever makes “the next Tut” discovery is going to be one rich man. When I was looking at all of his loot I thought, “just a handful of this stuff would make me richer than the sultan,” (from Aladdin,) and it made me laugh.

The museum is incredible, and not just because of the stuff inside. It’s incredible because it’s little more than a stash of incredible artifacts. You can stroll through a hallway crammed to the gills with things you’ve only seen in encyclopedias. It’s amazing. It’s a treasure trove that’s unorganized. So surreal it reminded me of the words from a musical, “The Light in the Piazza,” when Clara sings, “I’m just a someone in an old museum, far away from home as someone can go…I don’t understand a word they’re saying. I’m as different here as different can be,” and I sang the song to myself in my head. (It’s great musical, in case anyone’s interested—came out in 2005. My favorite modern actress, Kelli O’Hara, plays the lead.)

My favorite thing from the museum was a statue of some Greek guy. I have no idea who. Why was it my favorite? Because it was evidence of conquest and change in Egyptian history. The statue was at least 15ft tall, sandstone, and very unusual. The torso and legs were fully Egyptian, in form and style. The headdress was also Egyptian. The face was not. The face was three dimensional and had multiple facets and planes to the expression—very un-Egyptian. It was extraordinary. It reminded me of the face from Michelangelo’s David. …but attached to an Egyptian statue’s body. Unique. It was a surprise. And I like surprises.

Towards the end of my allotted two-hours I went to the gift shop and bought postcards for much more than their worth. I figured it was worth it, but now I’m not so sure. I think if I could go back in time I would rescind my purchase, but I have them now; what’s done is done. And so that was all. I walked outside into the scorching sunlight once again. And back onto the bus. This time it was a short trip—only twenty minutes. To where, you ask?

Hard Rock Café. In Cairo. Whoo yeah, baby! It was the first Hard Rock I’d ever been to. I can honestly say I have never been more happy to see American culture again. I was so happy to hear American music that I wasn’t even upset by its lack of taste. Lunch was okay. I ate three helpings of Enchilada soup, and I ate two pieces of Double-Chocolate fudge. I didn’t dance with the over-enthusiasts, but I did sing a few choruses and bob my head a lot. After lunch it was time to leave the safety of the pseudo-american lifestyle and enter the most untrustworthy part of Egypt we had seen yet: the Khan el-Khalily Bazaar.

Everyone that’s seen Aladdin (hopefully that’s all of you,) picture the “market place” in your head. All the shop keepers that say, “Would the Lady like a necklace? A pretty necklace for a pretty Lady…” “Fresh fish! We catch ‘em, you buy ‘em!” “Sugar dates! Sugar dates and beets! Sugar dates and Pistachios!” and the Persian rug sellers, and the guy that sells dung on the corner? That’s it! Welcome to the Bazaar! No, really. That is exactly what it was like—only dirtier. And you fear for your safety. Groping is rampant in Egypt, and we were told that if anyone was going to be groped it would be here.
I was on edge before I even got off the bus. This was not a friendly place, and I could tell. I made sure I was with a guy I trusted (I ended up going with Greg,) and I tried to stay as close to him as possible. I wish the other girls that were with us had done the same. I was panicked for them! They started walking up alleyways on their own, walking 10 feet ahead of everyone else. I wanted to scream at them—they were just asking for it. It’s like they were oblivious to the eyes that were following them everywhere they went. Sheesh. One of the girls ended up saying, “thanks, Mom,” to me. I wasn’t perturbed at all. It’s all fine and good for you guys to think I’m obsessive. I’ll note that YOU didn’t notice when that guy started following us, or when I deliberately moved us so he’d have to keep going. And I’ll note that you didn’t complain when three minutes later I noticed he was following us AGAIN, and I said loudly, ‘hey Greg, that guy is following us,’ and Mr. Creepo bolted. Yes, I noticed that. I also counted how many times my butt was tapped when we were in a huge crowd of guys coming back from Friday-Muslim-services. And yeah—a girl got groped. She was horribly shaken up about it for days, and she’s likely emotionally scarred. So excuse me for trying to take care of everybody.

But seriously, how stupid can you be? When a twenty-something year old jumps out at you and says ‘come to my shop over here, I have it cheap,” and leads you down a secluded alleyway that’s even farther off the beaten path, WHY on EARTH would you walk AWAY from the group you’re with to FOLLOW HIM? Dunce! Clueless! Gaa! And one of the girls in my group did that. Twice. I could have killed her. I was always having to say, “whoa, guys, catch up with her please.” EGADS, she could have been pulled into somebody’s shop and gagged and raped and we’d never have found her—what was she thinking? Obviously she wasn’t.

I was MORE than happy to get back on the bus and get out of there. With our tight security I was surprised they let us go there at all. I didn’t see any other tourists the whole time. We were a novelty there. Therefore, we were a target. I may have been the only one to notice the fact that our faculty was tense about it—oh man. Mark my words, that’s the place we went that parents should have been concerned about. Ohhh man. I’m tense just thinking about it.

We went back to the hotel that night, and Greg, Brandon, and Rebecca and I sat on a table and chairs outside on the grass for a few hours talking. Mistake. That’s where I got all my bug bites from. They were grotesque, too. I dunno, maybe I had a reaction or something, but they were really big and really red and really gross. (not to mention really swollen and itchy. *whimper*) Special reaction or not, these bug-bites were the start of something ugly. Ugly in the sense of the Three Musketeers, “Whoa, ugly!”

VIII. SATURDAY

I know that the title of this section reads, “Saturday” but it should really say something like SUNTERDAY, or SATURUNDAY, or summat similar. Why? Well, because I didn’t sleep in-between the two days. All right, that’s a lie. I slept for an hour and a half. If you ask me, that’s more of a nap. And a nap is simply too small to separate a Saturday from a Sunday, thus creating the hybrid day of SUNTERDAY/SATURUNDAY. But for the sake of common clarity, it shall remain “Saturday.”

We visited “Old Cairo.” This means that we drove to a bunch of what I would normally call “really old” sites, but considering that the relative age of a really old place in Egypt must range more than 3,000 years before the discovery of the Americas, I should call these places slightly-new. We visited a really old Mosque. (Yes, you read that right. I got to go inside a mosque!) It was the Muhammad Ali Mosque (Ali Pasha, not Ali-the-boxer,) at the Citadel; otherwise known as the “alabaster” mosque, because it is covered inside and out with the material. Built during the first half of the 19th century. The minarets (towers that the call-to-prayer is broadcast from,) stand more than 80 meters high, but have bases only three meters wide. It is quite spectacular inside. Follow the link for a quick peek at pictures of the place. (http://www.touregypt.net/featurestories/muhammadalimosque.htm)

What was the real experience? Well, I’d never been to a mosque before, but you take off your shoes, and you can’t set them down on the carpets. I thought this was a holy-site thing, but I was told by our tour guide that it was actually just to preserve the more than 130 year old carpeting. !!!! Oh-kay, that’s the oldest rug I’ve ever seen. (No wait, it’s not! Hahahaha, I saw a leather rug in the Cairo museum that was thousands of years old! Hahahaha, I take it back!) Ahem. What else? Before entering a mosque be sure to wear modest, conservative clothing. Otherwise you’ll be “invited,” to cover up with the one-of-a-kind shawls that have touched who knows how many tourists. And whatever else. (Yeck.) The lights came not from the thickly grimed windows, but from hundreds of lit orbs hanging from the very high ceiling.

We sat on the floor holding our shoes in our lap and stared open-mouthed at the people and the sights, taking pictures when we could. We listened to our tour guide as much as possible too, picking up a lot of basic information about mosques and the history of this particular building.

The balcony on the west side of the Citadel was nice—it overlooked all of Cairo. I stood and looked out over one of the largest cities I had ever seen, thinking to myself, “Thirteen million people.” Thirteen million in one city. There are approximately 13 million members in the whole religion of my religion, and there are more people living in one city than… whew. And I thought about them—the thirteen million I had never seen. And I thought of what a difference it would make to those thirteen million if they could only know the things that I do, feel the things I feel, and have the privileges and conveniences that I do. What would they do if they had my life? I had no answer to that; only the thought that they’d likely be a much better steward over my life than I have been. With many quick thoughts of gratitude that I am where and who I am, I got back on the bus and headed out for a few more quick trips to churches and a synagogue, again of the “old” variety.

I don’t remember the churches. (That should tell you how notable they were.) The synagogue has two claims to my memory. First, it looked remarkably like the synagogue in the movie Yentl with the balcony for women, and second, we heard the story of how they had collected piles of written prayers that had been stashed in a box daily for more than 300 years. These prayers became part of an on-going archaeological recovery project. Our guide said that the details of the individual prayers provided information about the populace during the times they were written, and that it was thus a valuable piece of cultural-anthropology… yakkity yak yak yak. Since Judaism changes so much over time, it is rather nice to see benchmarks through history of how today’s heresy was yesterday’s doctrine. I say “yak” however, because at this point all we students wanted to do was get back on the bus, sleep, and drive to Sinai. Which, thankfully, we did. Forty long minutes later.

Have you seen the great epic film, Lawrence of Arabia? I have. Twice. (I recommend it, but it might be better to watch in stages. We tried watching it at the center and out of the forty students who were watching at the start oft the film, only six held through to the end. I noticed the second time that there were places in the film where the dead space can last an awfully long time, however, I find that the suspense enhances the experience…if you don’t fall asleep.) I love epic films, and L.of.A became much more significant to me after I had seen so much of what the movie is all about. For those who have seen it I hope you remember this part—after taking the port city of Aqaba and riding across the desert to get to Cairo, Lawrence loses his compass and becomes lost in the desert. Close to the point where he can go no further, he collapses in the sand. He hears a strange noise. When he looks up to investigate, he sees a ship that appears to be floating behind the sands. After ruling out hallucination you realize that he’s actually looking at the Suez Canal, a water channel cut through land adjoining the Red Sea with the Mediterranean.

I’VE SEEN THAT! It’s so crazy! Through the windows of my tour bus, I saw a ship smoothly sliding along—seemingly through the sands. When we drove a little closer, we saw a bit of the canal itself. We nearly got into a heap of trouble for doing so. It’s a sensitive area for military security because control of the canal is of major importance. I understood this, but was still a little surprised that we weren’t allowed to take pictures—even from inside the bus. So while I can’t share my experience, it was still awesome and I’ll never forget it. I also got to drive under the canal in a tunnel. Using the l-o-n-g tunnel as an indicator, I’d say that the canal is a heck of a lot wider than I expected. And knowing even a little of the history about the canal, I consider it to be one of the engineering marvels of the world. Truly it is an extraordinary accomplishment.

The bus turned away from the canal and we plunged into the fiery furnace of a desert, snug inside our air-conditioned bus.

And then there was nothing but desert. Two more things from Lawrence of Arabia (the movie): 1) he refers to Qur’an, saying that “the desert is an ocean in which no oar is dipped.” I think that’s a perfect metaphor. Like an ocean, the treacherous desert stretches as far as the eye can see, with no “land” in sight. 2) When asked what he liked about the desert, he replies “it’s clean.” I didn’t understand this the first time I watched the film, but this last time I laughed my head off because it’s so true! The sun bleaches the desert. It is an environment no germs could ever withstand. It’s the water from the Nile that makes Egypt a filthy place. I learned quickly to fear Egyptian water, but once you learn to overcome the menacing heat the desert really isn’t so bad.

Another great thing about the desert is that you feel very little pressure to stay awake to capture the scenery—because there is nothing to see. If you ever drive across the Sinai Peninsula, I recommend that you remain alert just long enough to capture the essence of what you’re seeing. Appreciate the harsh climate, imagine the harsh endurance of the poor souls through history that had to make such a trip, and then fall asleep. Preferably with a neck pillow, or your neck will regret it after your head floppily sways back and forth for a few hours. My mom almost lent me her “bucky,” a buckwheat neck pillow she heard about on Martha Stewart—she loves that thing—but I turned her down, thinking that it would take up too much space in my carry on. I have since repented of this, and have kicked myself repeatedly for not taking her advice. Kids, please—listen to your parents—they’re right more than you are.

We drove. And drove. And drove. The sunset across the desert reminded me of the one in Forrest Gump when he’s running across the US, and he talks about how pretty is. That was the only highlight. Then we drove at night. And drove. And drove. Then the overhead lights started to flicker and the headlights went out. Next the engine started to sputter. The air conditioning blew. When it came time to climb a small hill the bus moved so slowly I was afraid it would give out and roll helplessly backwards and that we would be stranded in the Sinai, condemned to wander aimlessly for forty years. Aren’t I dramatic? Katie Vargo asked everyone around her if the bus stalling was an omen that we’d get to spend the night on the bus. Brandon asked Brother Ludlow if we were going to have to collect manna in the morning for breakfast, and if there would be any quail on the menu. “With the right spices I think quail could be quite tasty,” he said. Bless him, it was funny. But we got to our destination soon enough.

Then it started. The beginning of the end. Imagine a swarm of lethargic ants, slowly making their way over the land to their food source—that’s Jerusalem Center students trying to get their luggage after a long bus trip. I gathered my things as fast as I could and got the key to my room. “Susie,” my designated roommate had made friends with one of the porters who saw her struggling with her bag—he started carrying it for her. I wondered if she realized he was going to want a tip, or rather, require one. On the way to our room, she got distracted by someone and left the porter with me. And her bag. All the way to the farthest building. Turned out I was correct in assuming she had not remembered that he was wanting a tip. When we got to our room, he opened it. And went inside. I had to follow him to put my stuff down, and then I was in the room with him alone—glad that I had left the door open and that there were BYU kids in the hallway, but cursing Susie for being such a dunce. He put down her stuff and stood looking at me. I paid him: mad that I didn’t have smaller change, but relieved that he was leaving my room. To this day Susie remains unaware of this. But that’s not the best part.

The best part is that while I was setting out my alarm clock and such Susie came back with her friend—and her friend’s luggage. Sorry they said—we were exchanging rooms yet again. I was amazed at my composure when I said it was no biggie, gathered my things and left her the key. I discovered that my new room was on the other end of the complex. And I re-discovered just how heavy my bag could be. I shuffled the sidewalk, growing increasingly bitter about the cluelessness of certain people. The nicest thing about Sinai was that the stars were pretty bright. I searched and searched for it—my favorite sight in the heavens—but he wasn’t there yet. Stars are so hard to see in Jerusalem, I had been looking forward to seeing the stars—especially my favorite constellation, but I still couldn’t see it. The moon was bright though. (This became very important a few hours later.)

I roomed with Rebecca Price—to this day I think I hit the jackpot with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. She had led dozens of sunrise hikes over the summer, and told me all the ins and outs of preparation. All I had to do was copy-cat what she was doing, and I ended up great. It was the only thing Susie did right for me.

I went to dinner expecting the same buffet type foods you always get in Arab countries, but was astonished to see pasta! And rolls! And… the rest of the same buffet type foods. But rolls were a lifesaver. Until it hit me. The sensation of being overheated combined with a strange unease in my midsection. I am often overheated, it comes naturally to me, but the queasiness was something else. It was almost time for our brief church services however, so I ignored it.

I saw Brother Ludlow at dinner. I informed him that Susie was staying with the other girl again, that I’d taken her spot, and asked if it was okay. He looked at me, and said “Susie is with her, and you’re with…” I repeated the information, and he nodded that it was okay. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “is it okay?” His words asked me if I was okay with switching rooms, but his expression and tone of voice said a whole lot more. He was letting me know that my ordeal was not unnoticed. I knew that he knew how I felt, but also that he knew I was putting up with it anyway—and that meant a lot to me.

We held church services in a room that reminded me of my grandfather’s barn—only empty, and with chairs and cats. Yup. Cats that were inextricable from the premises. That’s something I don’t think I’ll ever see that again—cats playing with the tablecloth from the sacrament table, and cats pouncing on the speaker’s shoes while he was bearing his testimony of the divinity of Christ. But I was barely registering any of what was going on in the meeting. Why?

Nausea: “a feeling of sickness with an inclination to vomit,” combined with moderate abdominal pain. I say moderate not because it wasn’t so bad—because it was—but because it wasn’t severe. The overheated feeling came back. I tried to cool my head down with my hands. Didn’t work. The lights in the room seemed awfully dim. Weren’t they brighter when I came in? I wondered. I started to lose it and almost fell off my chair. I wanted to rush outside into the cool mountain air, but instead focused all my will into sitting straight so people wouldn’t notice my intense… discomfort. That word is important because while I sat there fighting to stay awake and fighting the urge to hurl, the meeting was very good. So good that instead of bolting outside I stayed to listen, and then rolled my eyes to myself when I twisted lyrics to say, “dis-comfort, but joy—let nothing you dismay.”

I held out until the start of the next speaker, and then charged to the door, scattering cats as I went. I knew everyone saw me leaving since I always sit front and center, but I didn’t care. I needed to get out. I laid down on the cold stone outside, doing what I always do when I’m physically off plumb—I regulated my breathing to the count of eight. Inhale for eight counts, exhale for eight counts and you’re guaranteed to stave off panic, if not hyperventilation. Sorry—I’m making this into a long story that leads nowhere. Compare reading this blog to watching Lawrence of Arabia—if you can stand the sluggish bits and not fall asleep you’ll feel more of the scope of the experience and not just the highlights.

I scooted out of sight when everyone left our church meeting to go sleep, (at this point it was fifteen minutes before midnight,) and then went inside the church to Sister Hayes, our doctor’s wife to see if she had any idea of what was going on, and if there was anything I could do to feel better. I was nervous about this because she has a habit of withholding participation rights to those who are “infirm.” She wised up the situation quickly.

“Rachel, tell me how you’re doing,” she ordered. “Um, I’m… (lying slightly about the severity of my symptoms…) not feeling 100%. ” She nodded. “How would you feel about skipping the hike in the morning?” She asked. “I was afraid you’d say that,” I said. “There is nothing, not nobody, not nohow, no way, that I am skipping this. I’m going,” I said with finality. Much to my surprise, she didn’t argue. She didn’t rule out food poisoning, but decided that more than anything I was dehydrated. Bless the woman, she went on a wild goose chase trying to track down some bottled water for me. She was a saint! And she was right about me being dehydrated—I hadn’t been able to get anything safe to drink since lunch…more than 13 hours before.

IX. SUNDAY

Water in hand, I shivered back to my room and changed out of my skirt and into my hiking clothes for the climb, using Rebecca’s advice to sleep in my clothes to save time getting ready. I fell asleep instantly. Less than an hour later I turned off my alarm, fixed my face and pulled my hair back. I donned a jacket and scarf, picked up my Camelbak, and headed off to the common building to get my sack-breakfast. I filled my Camelbak with water—and greedily sipped as much as I dared, careful not to drink too much in case of… whatever. I stuffed my breakfast into my Camelbak, and my jacket too. The rather tight stuffing of the bag made my breakfast interesting later on. But I’ll explain that once we reach the summit.

Brother Ludlow organized our class into groups that organize certain events. Sort of like student government; there is a music government, a first aid committee, a memories committee, etc. Each group is named after a person from the bible. We got to pick the names, but then he translated them all back into ancient Hebrew. Moses=Moshe, M’Noach=Noah, Daveed=David, Shlomo=Solomon, and Boanerges=Bne’re’am… we usually call ourselves the “sons,” which is short for Sons of Thunder. I say we because that’s the group I’m in—I named us—something I’m proud of even if you think it’s ridiculous. We take roll call in groups and it makes brother Ludlow’s life easier. I didn’t mind the groups until he commanded that we all get into our groups, hike with our groups, and remain in our groups at all times—the entire way up the mountain. Then I was very much against groups of any organized nature.

If I hadn’t felt so dizzy I would have been able to summon the energy necessary to be furious. I should have, actually. Not only were Susie and her friend in my group, but they moved at a snail’s pace and insisted on using their flashlights the whole way up. [A) swirling flashlights make you dizzy, B) they ruin your night vision, and C) they make the stars disappear.] It was also horrible trying to stay with them, mostly because they started and stopped, started and stopped, started and stopped. That more than anything was increasing the feeling of “barf, barf, get a plate… two-four-six-eight, regurgitate.” Thankfully Brandon was in my group as well. He’s so spry I have no doubt he could have bounded up the mountain before I made it halfway, but what a sport, he saved my life that morning.

The two of us moved farther and farther ahead of the rest of our group. When I explained that the starting and stopping made me feel a little dizzy (understated,) he made the decision that we would let the rest of our group fend for ourselves and just keep going. Brother Ludlow was with our group anyway—and they seemed to be the take-your-time-we’ll-make-it-eventually people. So Brandon and I kept going by ourselves. Here is where my narrative becomes more interesting, I promise.

Mt. Sinai in the moonlight is a red-black jagged bed of rolling razor rocks. I don’t how they did it, but someone carved a path of stairs out of the rock up the face of the cliffs. For those of you who’ve seen Lord of the Rings, the stairs of Cirith Ungul (or however you spell it) should ring a bell. Bless Brandon’s heart I turned to him and said, “Please tell me there isn’t a giant spider at the top of this mountain waiting to paralyze us and suck out our blood,” and without missing a beat he slipped into his Gollum voice and said, “soon they will be eaten.”

We quoted I don’t know how many references to that movie on the way up. It was blessedly distracting. There is no way I could have made it up to the top without Brandon. He never complained or even seemed halfway annoyed when I had to stop and get my bearings, and every time I almost fell over (several times) he would grab my backpack and haul me upright. “I’m fine!” I’d say. “I know.” Was all he would ever answer. Bless him, he deserves an honorary medal for what he did for me. …or perhaps a plate of brownies. We’d talk about Star Wars and Lord of the Rings and he’d chastise me for not reading the books, and promise to read them to me. I pointed out the constellations and told him as many of the corresponding myths that I could remember. He didn’t even make fun of me when I told him that Orion is my boyfriend. (Though I guess that isn’t as strange a joke as when another girl here explained her obsession with Alexander the Great—she has a laminated picture of his statue!)

Climbing Sinai will always stand out in my memory. I don’t think anything could pry it out of my skull. The purple hue that the red rocks turned in the gray moonlight, the campfires from the Bedouin camps in the valley below, the vivid stars twinkling overhead, the fresh mountain air that I hadn’t tasted since leaving home—so many lovely pictures to remember. Of course, I wont forget the edgy feeling I had everytime Brandon and I would pass a group of Bedouin camel-ride-sellers that would insist that you take a camel up the mountain. Persistent little buggers, too. They followed us a lot. With the camels, of course, who attempted to eat my scarf and left just enough perfumed packages on the stairs to make you have to watch your step. The smell of Camel dung and the Bedouin’s cigarette/cigar smoke was around just often enough to catch attention, but most of the time it was intermittent.

Stars. Blue velvet darkened stars. I kept watching the south-eastern peak of the mountains, waiting for Orion to appear. I kept checking the tilt of Cassiopeia to orient myself to where he should show up. When 3:30am rolled around, I saw him completely—and consented to tell Brandon the story and why I like Orion so much. The story started in sixth grade with my favorite teacher, Mrs. Fossum, who introduced me to both my passion for astronomy and ancient history. I asked Brandon all about why he wanted to study Molecular Biology. We had a great conversation, watching the pigment of the morning sky evolve from misty gray to yellow blush.

After holding me steady for the fifteenth time (“Brandon, I’m fine.” “I know,”) we stopped to turn around again and look at the steep descent and how far we’d come when Brandon started laughing fit to burst. “Share, please,” I asked. He laughed harder. “I just realized the miracle of the burning bush!” he said. “The miracle wasn’t that the bush wasn’t consumed by fire, the miracle is that there was a bush at all.” I looked around to check, and sure enough, he was right. I hadn’t seen a speck of anything green for hours. After laughing some more, and drinking some more water, we plodded on. Brandon prevented me from falling over a few more times, I tried not to hurl a few more times, kept my eyes on Orion, and climbed up and up and up and up.

Just before 4:30am we found the top. (Just before I was ready to collapse, I might add. From the nausea—not from exhaustion.) Brandon and I wedged our way in between Greg and Rebecca and pulled out our breakfasts. Remember how I said that I’d shoved my jacket into my camelback? As it turns out, the force behind that action burst a container of honey all over the rest of my food. I have not have good luck with liquids on this trip—my shampoo burst all over my suitcase on the trans-continental flight, my sunscreen gushed all over my clothes in Cairo, and now honey had exploded all over my food. It was sticky.

I yanked a hunk off of a dried roll that could have been a stand-in prop for British hard tack, and dipped it into some butter that only had trace amounts of honey on the wrapper, only to find at the first taste that it did not taste the way I remembered butter tasting. After a little investigative sniffing I determined that the butter was rancid and warned people not to eat it. Rebecca said, “You know, I thought that tasted funny,” and Brandon, who had just buttered his entire roll and eaten a bite said, “Aw, sick—you’re right!” and spit it over the edge of the cliff we were dangling our feet over.

The sky’s hue was really starting to brighten as I pulled out a hard boiled egg and started licking the honey off it so that I could peel off the shell. “ARE YOU LICKING AN EGGSHELL?” Brandon yelled. “Why yes, Brandon, I am.” “YOU SAID YOU TOOK CATERING, I ASSUMED YOU HAD HEARD OF SALMONELLA.” “Of course I’ve heard of Salmonella, Brandon.” “THEN CUT IT OUT! I DIDN’T DRAG YOU UP HERE SO YOU COULD DIE OF FOOD POISONING BACK IN JERUSALEM,” he said. I tried to pacify him by promising to stop licking the eggshell, but he was still irked when he saw I had only stopped because the honey was already gone. Ha hahahha. It was light hearted and fun—and that egg was the only thing edible in my breakfast so it was a good thing I had licked the honey off.

I’ve gotten up before sunrise many a time, but had always managed to be inside during the actual event. Besides that, my home is so close to a mountain that sunrises are completely hid from view, so it’s difficult to watch one in the first place. Anyway, I am proud to announce that the first sunrise I have ever seen was viewed from the top of Mount Sinai. I took a gazillion photos, and I’m willing to bet that sunrises over Sinai are unlike any others in the world. In fact, I’d say that the sunrise at Sinai was the only thing I saw in Egypt that could not be experienced through a photo or movie. I did make a video, however. I ran around commanding people to smile and wave, starting to feel a bit better. Rebecca made a really funny face in the movie too—it was hilarious.

We had a class devotional after the sun was fully up, singing hymns that made Greg and I giddy at the context: “High on a Mountain Top,” and “The Day Dawn is Breaking.” I laughed so hard. All of the good seats were taken, so Greg, Brandon, and I ended up sitting on a platform behind Brother Ludlow during his speech about Moses and the ten commandments. I remember seeing Bro. Ludlow’s teary face when he looked at us and said, “Seeing you gathered here—Moses would have been proud.” And then I remember feeling much better than I had all morning. I also remember the sun being very warm, but bright in my eyes. I remember closing them because it was so bright I couldn’t see when they were open anyway. And then I remember waking up.

To my everlasting shame, I fell asleep during the speech I had been looking forward to most. And, to my everlasting shame—I had fallen asleep behind Bro. Ludlow on a raised dais—right where everyone’s cameras were angled. I still am upset about it.

After all of that, Bro. Ludlow pulled two packages out of his backpack, and started to explain that the more senses you use in a memory, the more vividly you can recall it. The two packages held Date-Newtons. Not even fig newtons, but DATE newtons. Ohhhh, they were scrumptious. “From now on, every time you eat a Newton of any flavor, I want you to think of Sinai,” he said.

Fifteen minutes later when we were scaling down the mountain Greg said, “Aw, no. No no no. From now on every time I smell Camel Dung I’ll think of Date Newtons.” He’s actually held true to that. Every time we’ve seen camels since he says, “Ope—there’s that Sinai taste again.”

As pleasantly cool as the hike up had been, the trek down was itchy and hot. And the landscape had completely altered from muted hues to vividly bright browns and reds. I pulled my scarf over my face to prevent a sunburn—it was so hot! I remember thinking, “well, at least the camel dung is easier to spot.”

X. THE WAY HOME

We made it off the mountain and back to the kibbutz to stay for a few hours before leaving on the bus. We were told that it was three hours to the border between Egypt and Israel, and that it would be four hours from there back to the JCenter. That estimated total of seven hours actually took ten; we were held up by Taba border control, and then trapped inside a tunnel less than half-a-mile away from the center.

The Taba border control Israeli’s are quite good. They scanned and interrogated all of us thoroughly. I was the first girl to get through. When the girl saw my passport and asked, “What is your purpose here in Israel?” I explained that I was a student at the Mormon University in Jerusalem, and that I would be staying until December. “It is illegal for you to be a student here in Israel. It says here that you are a tourist, but it is obvious that you are not. You are here illegally,” she forcefully said. It took some explaining. Then when she asked me how many people were in our group, and I said eighty, I thought steam was gonna start comin’ out of her ears. She picked up a phone and started to yell. A lot. Very fast. I was starting to get a little nervous when another guy came out, asked Jason Bentley twenty questions about where he was from, etc. what we were doing, and then turned to me and did the same… they let us through. Another girl from our group had her camera confiscated and some of the pictures were erased by the time she got it back—pictures of her with signs that said, “Welcome to Egypt,” and her pictures of the Suez canal that she wasn’t supposed to take in the first place.

While the remaining few of us were being interrogated, the rest of us had been playing along the rocky shores of the Red Sea. I saw some really cool fish and picked up a bunch of shells and rocks. Lauren jumped in—fully clothed. People thought it was so charming, but I was more than a little upset that she had done something like that—she had nothing to change into, and was therefore going to be sitting soaking wet on the bus next to someone—smelling like the sea, and ruining the bus cushion too. Whatever. I’m glad she enjoyed herself. Anyway, we made it home.

“Home again, home again, jiggity jog.” I can’t describe how nice it was to be back at the Jerusalem center where I didn’t have to worry about bed bugs, poison water, and molestation. The air smelled better, and it was so nice to see familiar surroundings. Not only that, we had modern conveniences again. Air conditioning! Yay! Laundry! Yay! Fruit and vegetables, porridge, and clean utensils, yay! Class the next morning at eight am—not so yay. Brushing my teeth in the sink and not having to rinse off my invisalign trays in my mouth with bottled water… priceless.

{Here concludes the ridiculously long saga that you wished I hadn’t written in the first place. THE END. Fhew, what a relief. Now if I could just get Jordan finished…}

Petra Preview

2007-12-09T17:30:00.000+02:00

More information about Petra coming soon. For now, just enjoy the vision of the "authentic" Nabatean spice trader who er, WAS common in Jordan once upon a time.

Count the Dishes

2007-12-09T17:08:00.000+02:00

How many Satellite dishes does one roof need? Mmm, maybe twenty. Why don't you count for yourself.
(Photo taken from a Protestant Church Tower in the Old City of Jerusalem. And Yes, dishes are thick as thieves around here. And since the thieves are thick in Jerusalem, you should get the picture.)

"Hey, Hal--should I write Prohibited, or Forbidden on this sign?"
"Why not both, Frank?"
"Hey, Hal! That's a swell idea!"

(This is a sign on the shore of the sea of Galilee)

"Kids, I don't want you trying to trick the pastor into answering any of your theological questions this week. You know they're not allowed."

(A sign I've gotten used to seeing on the doors of most churches. What they mean is "please-don't-talk-to-your-tour-groups-inside-our-holy-site" but the way they all try to explain it on the sign is most amusing.

In the Remembrance Book

2007-11-24T13:45:00.000+02:00

I was given the assignment to compose one paragraph and one picture for a book the memories commitee will leave at the center as a memento of we, the 81 students here this semester. Each of us are doing this, and each of our pages will be bound together. This is is what I submitted.

I will never forget the sensations, sights, sounds, and tastes of this land. The smell of fresh meat hanging in the Old City, the acoustics in Augusta Victoria as we sang hymns, the coral sunsets, the eyes of children when they’d say, “five shekel,” the chill of the forum during classes, my first taste of a Coconut Nok-out ice cream bar—each of these is a memory etched into my mind. But when I think of my time here my thoughts will turn first to the faces of friends. I have been altered more by their examples of dedication, spirit, and selflessness than by mosaics, stone, and holy sites. Months before coming here I obsessively studied all I could about the Jerusalem Center. I asked questions. I researched. I feverishly read all information packets available. I did as much as I could. And then I came—but I could never have been prepared for the people I likely wouldn’t have met in Provo, even if I had sat next to them. So to them I say thank you for making this time memorable. Thank you for being my friend.

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T17:37:00.000+02:00

Today is my favorite day of celebration in all the year-- the day Americans call, "THANKSGIVING." Greg asked me why it is my favorite. The first thing that came to mind was that I have no bad memories of a Thanksgiving...not one. But I dismissed that thought with a rue smile. That's not why I like it at all. And it isn't about the food either (although I would pay a great many shekels to taste my mother's stuffing today, I can tell you...and the cranberry sauce...and the her second-to-none pumpkin pie with extra spices and molasses, with thick whipped cream on the top...mmmm.)

What makes Thanksgiving the best holiday of the year? It may be the reflection of our blessings. It may be the gratitude we feel for the ones who came before us; a profound gratitude felt deep in the soul for their sacrifices so that we might live as we now do. It may be the joy that we feel in being together, rejoicing in the knowldege that our family feels the same, that we are united by our love and belief and gratitude.

Ah! And that is it. I realized that I had been saying "it may be because WE, or OUR." I used the group tense. And why? Because Thanksgiving, more than other holidays, is about family. Yes, Christmas is about family. Yes, on Independence Day we celebrate the immense gratitude we feel for our family and our country--but it is not quite the same. Thanksgiving is informal in my home, and formal all the same. but it is relaxing! (I can see my mother saying in her head right now that I think it's relaxing because I never had to do it all by myself.) But it is relaxing! Thanksgiving is peaceful. There is no tension, there is no feeling of having to get stuff done, it is first a time to say Thanks and Praise be to the Lord. Thanks for the health and condition of our family, thanks for the blessed and bountiful land of promise in which we live, and thanks for the knowledge of these things and the truths that bind us as a family.

These things being said, it is on to the traditional Mildenstein family thanksgiving in which I must participate, even from the opposite side of the earth. There are two things that must be done on Thanksgiving Day in my home: 1) my father must make a speech involving the Revolutionary War, America, and Abraham Lincoln--especially involving Lincoln. (My brother Matt and I usually refer to it as the Abraham Lincoln speech, and even when my dad swears it wont be the topic of his remarks it somehow always is.)and 2) Three candy-corns adorn each table setting, and each of us shares the three things we are most grateful for this year.

First--my own Lincoln speech!Actually, it's his own words taken from his "Proclamation of Thanksgiving," issued October 3, 1863. If you'll notice the date, he ordered a national day of thanksgiving in the middle of the blackness of the Civil War. Even in that dark time, he lists many things that they had to be thankful for. Read the speech, you can find it on google rather easily. I brought a copy of it to Thanksgiving dinner here at the center and passed it around. One phrase particularly caught my eye. He said, "I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the Untited states, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to observe...a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficient Father who dwelleth in the Heavens." I was so happy to realize that he'd included all American citizens, even if they're somewhere else at the time. That means me too! Huzzah! And now...

MY THREE CORNS:

1. I am grateful for my heritage. Grateful for my ancestry and my family line, grateful to be an inheritor of the privileges and honors of that family, and most especially--deeply grateful that I have had the honor of being the daughter of my parents, Keith and Deborah.

2. I am grateful for the restoration of the fullness of the everlasting gospel. To have the power and the work, the glory and the truth upon the earth once more is unfathomable. And that I am a part of it! This is surely a blessing above any and all else; for I know that there is none other way mankind can be saved but through Jesus Christ, Messiah, the Son of God, and I know that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is his true and living gospel. The Lord Jesus Christ lives! He stands at the head of this church and has from the beginning of time. He directs it. and it is through his power and authority that all things are and will be. I know it! And I am certain of the truth of it, for the holy spirit has made witness to my heart. The restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world has done more for my family and myself than I can ever know, and I am thankful for that on this day.

3. Finally, I am grateful for the Book of Mormon. Through my study in the Old and New testaments and their histories and factions of late I have come to truly appreciate what a gem the Book of Mormon is. It is simple. It is clear. It is prophetic, it is profound. I believe that man can grow closer to Jesus Christ by reading and understanding and applying its principles than by the words of any other book. I have a strong testimony that it was revealed and translated by and through the power of God, and that his servants have brought it to light once more. I am certain that it is a witness of the divinity and power of Jesus Christ--tailored to the needs of people today,now; and that it was recorded for the peoples of today's world to understand. It is pure. It is precious. It is holy. And it is the most incredible record of an ancient people that I have ever heard of. (And by coincidence it is freely available for anyone to read: http://scriptures.lds.org/en/bm/contents )

And so, on this festive occasion, it is my joy to wish you the very happiest of Thanksgivings. May your gratitude outshine the deliciousness of the food you'll eat, and may any shopping you may do on the morrow be limited (or in the least, inexpensive. You'll thank me for it later.)

Laila Tov! (Goodnight!)

--R

Bright Copper Kettles and Warm Woolen Mittens

2007-11-18T17:16:00.000+02:00

Sunday, November 18th

I just finished the "Palestinian Perspective" Final. Death by essay questions, anyone? Who among you can tell me in 1200 words the geographical details of the West Bank/ Gaza Strip? You must include details of: climate, population across the last 4 decades, refugee camp population, location, and their origin, water resources, and oh yeah--the entire political history of the palestinian people and the neighboring arab/islamic states. don't forget that Turkey and Iran don't count as Arab states but that you still have to know about the political relations between them. Also don't forget who controlled the sinai peninsula during which year, how the golan heights became annexed from Syria, and whatever you do, remember how the British Mandate finally fell apart. Define the terms "closure," "PLC," and briefly explain the terms of the Clinton administration's mediation between Israeli's and Palestinians. Oh, and while you're at it, name two arab countries that overlook the indian ocean, five Arab states (and their capitals) in Africa, as well as five major deserts in the middle east. Name the mountain ranges found in Iran and Turkey. What influence did the "White Paper" have in Palestine? And can you tell me what changes were made to the Sykes Pecot agreement following WWI? Bonus: 1919 was known as the "year of optimism." Explain.

Oh yeah, and I have another final tomorrow that's even worse: Jewish History. Whee. So I'm not much in the mood to describe anything else. Here's something fun...or at least fun for me. It's a list of some of my favorite things from 2007.

Full Moon Ski-Lift Ride at Sundance Resort
The Pyramids
"Stardust" and "the Robe"...great movies.
"Moonlight" and "Twilight"...books and a TV show
Talks with Aaron and Diana this Feb/Mar
Blackberry Pie
Getting to the Jerusalem Center the first night
Watching Shooting stars over the sea of Galilee
Voice lessons from Kerilyn Johnson. (I MISS THOSE!)
Grocery shopping with my Mama
Augusta Victoria Church in Jerusalem
The telescope my mom found second-hand
Ken Burns' forum on BYU campus
Hanging with Matt and Heather
Good new soundtracks (the mission and tuck everlasting)
Walks in the snow at night
Spending my Birthday in SLC
My new friends at the Jerusalem Center
Wanda, my new puppy. "Mine" is a loose term...
Stargate SG-1 parties with my niece Aubria
New love for the restoration of the gospel
Spending a week in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan
My Hebrew class
Visiting a Synagogue on Shabbat
Miraculously earning as much money as I did. Phew!
The whole day field trip I spent in Bethlehem
Medium cheddar cheese and wheat thins. Yum!
My first trans-Atlantic flight
Watching a sunrise from the top of Mt. Sinai
Practicing a Lithuanian Folk Dance Winter semester
Juggling 3 jobs, classes full-time, and a performance team
Israeli chocolate bars with pop rocks inside
Driving the tiny red convertible all summer
Watching Horatio Hornblower & Patton with my Daddy

Heh--I love reminiscing too. Can you tell? But now its time for dinner, and I am off to eating--the most festive part of the day. Mmmmm. I hope there's mashed potatoes.

Shalom! --R

Funny. And not as in ha-ha.

2007-11-12T16:06:00.000+02:00

Funny. When I first looked in the mirror today I noticed that my bottom eye-lid was red. Not puffy either--just red. Four girls at the center asked me if I put eye shadow under my eye today. Um, no. Why would I do that? I ask you. Maybe because it matches my recently extra pallor-ful countenance? Sheesh. So despite the fact that I had a fever when I went to bed and got no sleep last night, and despite the fact that I woke up shivering and shaking...but still with a fever (despite the two wool blankets on my bed,) and despite the fact that I have to move slowly and am weaker than a canary living in the coal mines, my cough is nearly gone! Yaaaaay! (And despite the fact that I missed my two classes this morning, I aced my Hebrew final this afternoon.) Huh. (Sadly to say, that isn't anything special. It was cinchy.) But hardly any coughing! And nearly no congestion! Yeah! I'm winning this thing, baby. Whoo!

Funny. Two of the guys I've previously dated are now engaged. And two of my friends from high school are now too. One party from the first part is actually engaged to a party of the second part. Go figure. That's great for them, yes? Yes. Wow.

Funny. I've dropped my World Dance minor, but I'm still scheduled for 4 dance classes Winter semester. Does this make sense? Well, if you know me I guess it does. The "rules" of schooling and which classes are for whom have always been off policy for me. By that I mean that I take pride in coloring outside those lines. Ah well. So far I'm registered for:
Readings in Ancient Near Eastern Texts, to 330 BC
Writings of Isaiah
Pearl of Great Price
Historian's Craft
Economy 110
Folk Dance Team
Hungarian Dance
Social Dance
...and tap. (if I can still squeeze it in.)
Trust me, I'm expecting something on this list to give. My schedule seems to fluctuate no matter what I do to make it stick.

No fair, I just found out President Monson is speaking at the BYU devotional tomorrow and I'm not going to be able to see it. Until it's online, anyway. I really was looking forward to seeing him in person again. Funny--that's the third apostle to speak at BYU fall semester. That's higher than the average. Wonder why that is.

Funny how no matter where I go I seem to face the same trials and challenges. This either a) means I'm not listening or paying attention to the things I should have learned, or b) verifies my theory that no matter what situation you're in and no matter where you are and what you're exposed to God will arrange the situation so that you learn exactly what he wants you to learn at that point in time. That's been my experience anyway. It could just be me then.

Funny. I've grown increasingly sure of myself and familiar with who I am and what I am prone to do. I know so much about myself. I know what motivates me and what repels me. I know why I do (most of) what I do. I know what colors look good on me. I know how I am likely to react in a given situation, and I know how I'll react to certain types of people. Usually. There are always wild cards and unknowns. I know my limitations. I know which foibles I have that limit my potential and limit my mind. I know enough about myself to know that I often have a big mouth. I know that I need to learn to govern myself with greater control. I need to teach myself to always put first things first, because I know that I wont do it otherwise. Funny how even with knowing myself better, especially knowing my faults, I continue to grow more and more confident and nonchalant. I stress less. That's great, I suppose. Good for my blood pressure anyway (which has always been extremely low, so I don't know what I care about it. Oh yeah, because my family has a history of heart disease. Ha ha...that's why.) Funny though (I promise I'm getting to the point,) that everyone today encourages confidence--we all need to be more confident, they say--and all this gained confdence has given me is more trouble.
The more confident I am the more comfotable I feel around people. The more comfortable I feel the more I open my big mouth. And the more I talk... the less people want to be around me. Seems like Rachel needs to learn a few lessons in un-confidence. Or at least needs to learn to go through one WHOLE DAY without saying a word. Hahaha. Perhaps I'll behave like Sir Ulrich Von Leichtenstein (from Gelderland,) and spend a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper.

Yeah, that'd do it.

--R.

P.S. Funny how I write crap like this and still expect my family to read it. Hahaha.

Happy Happy Joy Joy (Repeat)

2007-11-10T20:25:00.001+02:00

(Written on Tuesday the 6th of November, 2007)
I woke up today and it was windy. I could hear the leaves rustling outside my window. Oh MAN have I missed noise from outside. It's so noisy outside in the Middle East, but the plant life doesn't feel the same. In Jerusalem especially it feels kinda still--which is probably just because there is so much rock. No, I'm sure that's why. The rest of Israel is very much alive--it's just Jerusalem that feels like it's made of stone. AHA! No, I've got it. It isn't still... it's just like a deep lake when all the water flow is churning deep under, but the surface is still. That's what its like. Nevermind. I'm babbling.

I woke up knowing that I had a final in Old Testament. YIKES. But oddly, I woke up with the most inspiring feeling--that it didn't matter. Isn't that great? I love my nonchalance with these things. I was so chipper. I said good morning to everyone, I ate breakfast with relish, I enjoyed life. (I especially enjoyed the breeze when I stepped outside my apartment, because feeling the air stirring about me was ever so delicious.) I was having a great time. I reviewed my notes, went over some last-minute-things.

I did okay on the test. Multiple-choice/matching/essay. On the mutliples & matchings I bet I did fine, and I think I scraped by on the essay. So I'm good--I hope. If I could go back in time, would I study more? Would I have taken more notes? No. I'd be about the same. (Though I wish I had paid more attention when I was doing my homework...I'd have learned more on the whole, but it still wouldn't have affected my test score.) No, if I could go back in time, I would have scrunched in a way to pass my cleaning check. I'd have had to do it all by myself again, but what's so terrible about that?

I am embarrassed that I've miffed my cleaning check. The floor wasn't vacuumed, the sinks weren't washed, the toilet hadn't been scrubbed, and things. I did wash the tooth-paste spots off the mirror, and all the beds were made and the clutter was gone. The Lee's were lenient; they only docked us 1/2 of gig... which is ridiculous, we should have lost 4 or 5. (Maybe being her favorite student counts for something after all. Just kidding.) I talked to Sis. Lee about it at lunch, and she said, "No, no, you didn't fail, you passed. You just didn't pass with flying colors, so you didn't get candy."

So somehow I squeaked past. But I'm rather ashamed that I couldn't just scrub a sink, toilet, and vacuum a floor. I really could have done that the night before, you know? But therein lies the problem. Nobody believed our final would actually last the full two hours. It was matching and multiple choice--that lasted half an hour. However, I should not have underestimated the power of Ludlow's ability to assign thought-requiring essay questions.
One essay for one page, and a second for at least two pages. Whew. The first one I chose (from one of two options) was more of a chart than an essay; name the ten commandments and each of the following under each: an eternal principle of that commandment, a modern application, and how the commandment helped the ancient Israelites become a more zion-like people. That was pretty self-explanatory and I knew more about it. The second was longer, and required more planning. I scribbled a quick outline and started scribbling. (You know how when you're writing an essay and you start to run out of room, so your usual penmanship starts shrinking and the last sentence is microscopic and possibly running up the side of the page for space? This one ended up being like that.) #2: How do the books of the Old Testament, the Law, the Writings, and the Prophets, provide a spiritual "temple for the soul," and how will your understanding of them influence your future study and teaching of the scriptures, both Old and New Testament? (what a long sentence!) I went through each section--law, writings, and prophets, and said stuff about them all. I checked my score over Bro. Ludlow's shoulder, and like I said I got a 95%, so at least on the essay section I've done pretty well.

It looked like rain, and with my hacking cough I didn't want to get stuck outside, so I stayed in all afternoon watching movies and working on finishing my blog for Egypt. And of course, trying desperately to stop coughing. I've gotten whiplash in my neck from coughing all the time and it's really starting to annoy.

Later that night I was going to bed. now this is going to be hard to explain, but try TRY to imagine it. The Jerusalem Center is terraced, right? Built on the side of Mt. Scopus. There are eight different floors, (eight is at the top, one is at the bottom, but you ENTER at the top...cause it's the top of the hill...yeah.) The fifth--second floors are residential, the 6-7th are the classrooms and cafeteria, and the eighth floor is really just a hallway attaching the library, auditorium, public restrooms, and reception hall. The hallway to the apartments is open air, with occasional roof cover. This means that when you are in the body of the center, you open the hallway to go to your room and a gust of fresh air hits you... and rain, if it's raining (which hasn't happened yet,) and there are leaves on the ground, and trees in front of your porch, etc. If it doesn't make sense, I can't clarify--I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say, and I'm tired of typing...if you want me to finish this post, don't ask any more questions. MY POINT, ladies and gentlemen, is that I walked outside and it was COLD!

Yes! YEHSSSSSS! Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. FINALLY, it was cold outside. Ahhhhh. And there were clouds. And the stars were out. Hee hee hee hee. Those of you who know me know that with these conditions I did NOT end up going to bed straight away. I went to my room, dropped off my stuff, grabbed a water bottle and climbed back to the observatory deck on level 7 (my room is on level 4, ) and I was outside for over an hour. Hooray! Hooray for secutiry controlled conditions that let Rachel be outside after dark on a beautiful grassy platform with 20ft limestone arches, and the lay of lit-up Jerusalem within view. Oh, it is ever so nice. Especially when it was like last night.

Billowing clouds were moving fast, lit an oddly rosy-orange by the city lights below. A brisky breeze ruffled my skirt and blew wisps of hair in my eyes. I loved it. I cheered, I ran a weave through the pillars of the center, I raised my arms above my head and spun whirls across the grass, I gulped in great gasps of chilly air, and I stared in amazement at the lovely sights. The city looked so warm under the pink clouds and the glowing lights. I watched Orion (to whom I've developed an attachment... I like to say he's my boyfriend, but it's a long distance relationship and I only see him half of the year...and yes, I know they have psychiatrists for this kind of complex.) I watched all the stars drift, and I remembered the words of Tennyson: "my purpose holds; to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the western stars until I die." And I laughed at myself--at how corny I am--very much like Anne of Green Gables reciting the Lady of Shallot when she wanders through the forest, and I looked up at the stars and thought again of how fabulous it is.

I have often found solace in nature. Nothing cheers my heart faster than a cool breeze on my cheek, or sunlight on autumn leaves. Daffodils, rain, thick green grass, blooms on a hawthorn tree, and the chanting of pines in the wind--all these things bring me the same joy as "raindrops on roses," and "brown paper packages tied up with string." Because for me it is "simply remember[ing] my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad--" the nature is refreshing, and joyous.

And so it doesn't feel corny for me to cheer "yahoo!" and run around laughing in the wind under the stars. (I do it all the time.)

And I did make it into bed...and only one hour after I had set out to before. : D

Shalom! --R

P.S. I found out yesterday (the ninth) that I got a 90% on my Old Testament final. Better than I thought I'd do. I was most proud because (not because that morning I had tied my shoes all by myself [hoping that Alicia at least gets the Sesame reference]) but I was proud because I got a PERFECT score on my long essay. Hahahaha. ahahaha. HAhahahhaaha. Tee hee. Hmm.

Now Playing: Rachel EM as JEZEBEL

2007-11-06T10:09:00.000+02:00

A note to the wise:

I've been coughing up my lungs for more than a week and a half. It's getting worse, too. In fact, just last night a girl here said, "Rachel--no way! Even when you're coughing you're quoting movies. You sound just like the Albino in the pit of despair..." Aha haha. Ahahaha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha. Heh. Hmm. Psh! So I'm hacking and gasping for air, clearing my throat and then talking clearly as though nothing ever happened. (said with a swagger:) I can take it--I did this for months this spring. Nothing new there.

Note to the wise continues:

Finals are upon me. Looming ever nearer-- no wait. They're TOMORROW. Bet yer bottom dollar that tomorrow, I'll be done. Cooked. Toast. Poof--wiped out--watching movies in recovery. It's a fact.

More wise cracks:

Today in Biblical Archaeology (oh, about ten minutes ago...yes, I'm writing this in class...it was either that or forget it) our teacher Bro. Huntington (who I found out taught my brother Aaron in high-school seminary and thinks that I look like him/sound like him/act like him... which I took as a compliment) anyway, brother Huntington used a few students as visual aid-actors to display the royal intrigues and inter-marryings between Judah and the Northern Kingdom.

First he was asking for volunteers for Ahab. Everyone laughed when Nick came down because he's known as the clever trickster around here. Brother Huntington said, "of course--Nick," and then everyone laughed harder. The next question was, "Who wants to be Jezebel?" Only one girl raised her hand. Oho, you know it--ME! Mwa hahahahhaa! I sauntered down to the front and stood next to Nick... and we made snide commentary on the whole thing JUST loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. We played our parts well. We had people come up and play our kids, too: Ahaziah, Jehoram, Athaliah... and then we acted out everything that happened. Except for when I'm torn to pieces by wild dogs--that part I just fell over for and then walked back to my seat. But other than that.

I really enjoyed myself! It was so much fun to get to be the wicked woman that caused all the havoc. Great stuff. Oh! And Greg played King Jehu and pretended to kill my sons and he "sent me to my room" so that the eunuchs could push me out the window. It was pretty fun. No, it was really fun. We get into stuff like that around here. It was way funny because somehow the clothes the Judean Kings were wearing made them all look matching or related... while everyone in the Northern Kingdom ended up being 5'6". We all looked related until the "son" ended up being 6'4"... and then Nick turns to me and says, "wanna explain that?" I was ready with an "I don't know what you're talking about," followed by a wave to another guy--it was funny.

So if none of that makes sense, just know that I got to be a hamm and I really enjoyed myself.

More slightly-foolish excuses:

We just got back from another country--Jordan--and we were all exhausted. Nowhere near Egyptian exhaustion, but on the same scale.

So I'm working on posting stuff. I PROMISE. Really. Truly. Even some choice pictures. ...soon. ...ish.

Ta ta! --R

In the Meantime

2007-10-15T00:34:00.000+02:00

It's going to take me awhile to finish parts V - VIII of Egypt.

In the meantime, take your time scrolling through parts ix--IV and these other posts dated accordingly.

My Old Testament teacher requires journal entries from the class--two people are assigned per day in an attempt to catalog the ultimate goings-on around here. I've had to write two entries thus far and I figured since they were already written I may as well include them here.

AND it's twelve thirty in the morning here and I have to get up for breakfast at six, so ta ta and goodnight to all!

-R.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

2007-10-15T00:32:00.000+02:00

The sixth of October was a Shabbat unlike any other. For one, it was General Conference day. For another, we only had one church block meeting—fast and testimony meeting. We sang of Zion in our hymns as we looked out over the old city. It was awfully poignant, and not at all subtle.

A good many students bore succinct, powerful testimonies. You know, the kind that are short and sweet but knock you over with spiritual power? Yes. Those. Another member, not a student here at the center, shared the story of his conversion to Mormonism from Judaism. He spoke of his conviction that Jesus is the Christ.

My eyes are sore after focusing on the speaker in the Auditorium during Sacrament meetings; the white-light shining and reflecting off all of the limestone is rather bright. I remained after the benediction to write in my journal. It was a relief after the meeting to rest my eyes on paper instead of the city, albeit with much less of a view. After a few minutes I glanced behind my own chair. I was astonished to find so many people there, all writing in journals or reveling in thought.

I wondered then what each of us will take away from this experience. I wondered what succulent truths we will glean from the exposure to a new people, to the gospel, and to a land steeped in the ages of time. What will touch us most? What has touched us? Who will we remember? What have we done to merit such rich blessings? …and I wondered what everyone else was thinking.

At dinner we made bets on who we thought would be assigned as second counselor in the first presidency of the church and who might be called as the new apostle. Later that night we all piled into the forum, anticipation and expectation refreshing our souls. It was quite an experience, realizing that we had gathered in Jerusalem to hear the words of the prophets. Years from now I expect we’ll look back and recall that night in the Holy City when we sat among friends for an occasion we could never repeat—a night drenched in revelation and living water.

We were only allowed to watch one session live before it was “off to bed.” The words “unable to stay, unwilling to leave” came to my mind as I climbed down the stairs to my room, and although I had wished to stay and listen for two more hours, I did not regret sleeping early when my head plopped to my pillow.

It had been a pleasant day. Truly a day unlike any other.

Friday, September 21, 2007

2007-10-15T00:31:00.000+02:00

The twenty-first of September. Yom Kippur Eve. Dawn’s gray light began dancing rainbows over the white limestone of the ” city of Gold” early that morning when nearly forty students from the Jerusalem center arose far earlier than necessary; each early riser wearing both modest clothing and a groggy expression. We met on the eighth floor to joint taxi to an orthodox-Jewish community in hopes of witnessing a kapparot ritual. Somehow in the wanderings in the city Amber Patterson, Rebecca Redd and I got lost. We had to call the center and admit that we were lost, but eventually the taxi-bus knew where to find us. We returned just in time for breakfast; which was a good thing because it was the first time chocolate muffins hit the menu, and everyone knows how tasty those are.

Later that day there was a rush on the laundry room. You see, the next day was Shabbat—when the laundry room is closed, and the day after that we left for Egypt. That meant that anyone requiring clean clothing for our week-excursion to Egypt was obliged to carry their clothes down to level two and perform the task—if they hadn’t done it already—which many of us had not.

The Jerusalem Center’s laundry room also serves as a bomb shelter. Only one way in and one way out. And not just for humans. For air as well. Ten washing machines with hot water, ten dryers effusing billowing clouds of steam, and a baker’s dozen of sweaty students soliciting the progress of their own clothing and/or hovering like buzzards over the next available machine. Three ingredients—a perfect recipe for sticky, sweaty, precipitous pandemonium. Add to that the incessant rumble of laundry tumbling within echoing metal drums and the endless shrill-squeak of that last dryer in the line and laundry becomes more than a chore. It’s a thrilling adventure with noise, a long wait in line, ping pong tournaments, and a 70% chance of heat exhaustion in the accidental sauna. Scratch that—bomb shelter.

One more thing about laundry at the center. Maggie Pertucci left her dryer sheets on the table on level two, and because it looked up-for-grabs the entire contents of the box were purloined in a matter of minutes. The poor girl had to organize a charitable institution entitled “donate-to-Maggie’s-dryer-sheet-fund.” At least everyone’s socks smell like Bounce now. And thanks to Maggie, we all had nice smelling laundry for our Egypt excursion.

EGYPT, Parts I - IV

2007-10-14T21:54:00.000+02:00

ix. BE YE THEREFORE WARNED

I spent a week in Egypt. In all it’s simplicity that sentence is fraught with emotion--both positive and… ugly. This seven part saga is organized into sections and headings under the day of the week in question (September 23—30, 2007). If you’ve read my post before you understand that I am long-winded, very descriptive, and that a day can last several paragraphs. …I’ll do my best to keep this short, but you must remember the glory of blogspotting is that the audience to which one is writing is in control. That’s right, dear readers, you are in control. You are free to read or not to read. That means I can be as long-winded as I’d like and you can’t complain about it being too long. So if you have complaints about the length of my posts I don’t want to hear about it/ end of story/ forget about it/ keep it to yourself/ don’t ask don’t tell/ no ifs-ands-or-buts/ conversation finished—the end.

I. WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN
This section is the 411 on what a tourist sees of Egypt behind the scenes. Sure, Cairo has a population of over 13 million, and sure you’ve seen what the pyramids look like, sure there are tons of ancient artifacts, and you might even have a clue as to what the people are like there… but do you know that any group of tourists is required by law to hire a tour guide? Do you know that Cairo is by far and away more dangerous than Jerusalem? Did you know that in order to use a bathroom you have to tip someone for handing you one square of toilet paper (that wouldn’t do you a lick of good even if you DID use it?) And did you know that more Italians visit Egypt than any other nationality? Did you know that tourism is Egypt’s main commercial revenue—six billion per year—nearly 2/3 more than their cotton industry? Well you do now. As for the other things I’ve seen, I’m about to let you in on the other little-known secrets.

METAL DETECTORS: Every building has a metal detector in the doorway. Why? Tis a mystery currently studied and debated by the finest of American students. Why bother to have a metal detector when walking through it is an optional procedure? Why bother to have a metal detector when it loudly beeps every time someone goes through and they’re never asked to turn out their pockets? We currently believe the common-practice of metal-scanning in Egypt is no longer a matter of security but a simple test to determine whether or not you have money with you to spend. If you fail to set off the alarm on a metal detector you will not be permitted to pass. Of course air-port security checks luggage and personal items thoroughly. Several of us had to remove our shoes and belts and pass through the detector again and again until receiving a metal-free bill of health. Or so they thought. Case study: a hat with aluminum grommets set off the alarm. The pocket-knife residing in the carry-on owned by the same individual slipped through security without notice, however. Isn’t that nice?

VENDORS: Age range—5 to 65. Very aggressive and complimentary. Everywhere. Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised to find them waiting to ambush a tourist inside of a bathroom stall. Anyway. They’re everywhere, and not in the “chicken man” sort of way. They’re everywhere in a creepy, pop-up behind you unexpectedly, breathing down your neck sort of way.
HEALTH RISKS:
Bug bites like you would not believe. (I myself have 26 swollen cherry colored bites on my legs. Pray that I don’t get… malaria or something. Can you get “west Nile” at… the Nile?)

There is a line in the Emperor’s New Groove that says, “Don’t drink the water—it’s poison—muffgkle….(he makes a dead face)” I repeated it over and over on this trip. You can’t drink Egyptian water. It’s contaminated. Bottled water to drink, rinse your toothbrush, wash your face, etc. I had to rinse my toothbrush by swishing it inside my mouth filled with bottled water. Not easy. And can I add that trying to keep invisalign clean with that system is exceedingly difficult. And time consuming.

Heat. HEAT. Hot hot hot hot hot blazing sun. Over 100 degree temperatures. Very hot. Scorching. Most unpleasant. 500% chance of sunburn and dehydration, especially considering the non-tap water issue. Rule number one: always wear a wide-brimmed hat, preferably one with ventilation. Rule number two: bring a camelbak, and if you don’t have one with you, tote water at all times and DRINK IT. A note that some students should have paid more attention to—carrying water won’t keep you hydrated unless you actually drink it. Hello!

Food. Food is iffy. Mostly because of the water. Only hot steamy foods could be trusted. And bread. Not even yummy bread. The only trust-worthy thing I could think of eating for breakfast was a hard-boiled egg…and even with those I had to check to make sure the shell hadn’t been cracked. Nearly all food in Egypt was…how can I put this delicately… um, distasteful? It was really un-tasting. Meaning all available food was either bland, off limits, or gross. We stayed in nice hotels where the food presentation was top notch—everything looked fantastic… until it was off of your fork and behind your lips. Blicka.
Egyptians have a smell. You know how everywhere has a smell? Well, Egypt is nearly too hot to develop a real smell. However—the Egyptians themselves have a smell. Thus, Egypt smells. Several people said on the trip that they were starting to “smell like Egyptian,” not smell Egypt, or ‘I like, smell Egyptian…’ no no, they implied smelling like the Egyptians. It’s a perfect description. The old city in Jerusalem has a smell too, but that is mostly a smell of spices and herbs in the food that they’re selling on the street. The Egyptian bazaars don’t smell nice that way. They just smell like Egyptian. Of course the tombs have a smell—oh, do they ever—but I’ll get to that in a minute.

The EXAUSTION CYCLE: I wasn’t super prepared for tired I would get on this trip. I wouldn’t feel tired on purpose—I’m good at suppressing things like that. A family trait, I think. I’m used to working through severe exhaustion, but not getting up at the crack of dawn so you can sit for an hour, walk through blistering heat and blazing sunlight for twenty minutes, sit for half an hour as the bus rocks you to sleep like a baby, walk and stand in blistering heat and blazing sunlight 40 min, sit for ten minutes basking in the buses’ air conditioning, heat and light, shade and sitting, heat and sun, sit just long enough to get drowsy, heat and sun (no water to drink), sit some more, sun and heat, sit some more, lather, rinse, repeat. Again. Again. Again. Hot hot hot. Die die die. Thirsty, tired, pooped. More hieroglyphics? Oooh. Aaaah. Hot. Thirsty. Repeat. Sweat. Gross. Sit on the bus. Blazing sunlight. Again and again. More hieroglyphics? Oooh. Aaaah. Hot. Thirsty. Repeat. Sweat. Gross. Sit on the bus. Not. Much. Fun.

II. SUNDAY
Breakfast was early. I got up especially early to make sure I could reserve one of the peanut butter sandwich sack lunches as my own. We drove for a few hours. Our first stop was Tel Beersheba. It means “well of seven,” and there were ancient city ruins there. And a model of an ancient well. Way cool to see a place I’ve done research on.
Then we drove to the “Wilderness of Zin Overlook,” and Ben Gurion’s grave. A group of Israeli soldiers were training there. I’m told they are taken to historical sites so they can learn patriotism. I snapped some pictures of the grounds that they just HAPPENED to be in. Tee hee tee hee. I love seeing Israeli soldiers. The grounds were very pretty, too. We ate lunch there. Then we got back on the bus for a few hours.

On the bus brother Ludlow told us that he was going to let us bend the Jerusalem Center rules. While we were at the kibbutz, he said, we were each allowed one date. Dating of any kind is strictly prohibited at the Jerusalem center, so we were a tad surprised. I was really surprised when he kept going. He said, “dates here usually turn out to be the pits, but I hope yours will be sweet…” and then we all started to catch on—we were going to EAT a date. Ha. Ha. Ha. Okay, courtesy laugh is over. Back to the fruit. I thought…Dates. Psh! There are much sweeter and tastier things to eat; why waste time and calories on a date, anyway? Right? Nope. Mmmm. Dates. I can now appreciate dates, having been in a land where tastier things are few and far between. Dates are quite tasty. With a texture both pleasant and surprising. I love dates.

Where we got the dates? Ah, now that is the question. I can now say I have been to a date plantation. I suppose the Dole plantation in Hawaii might have a similar appearance, but just imagine a palm tree forest underneath a cloudless lapis sky. This is the visual greeting of the Yotvata Kibbutz. Yotvata means “place of rivers,” and the name is intended to be ironic. There are no rivers there. At least, there aren’t any above ground. There are several aquifers, but no water you can see. Acacia, tamarisk, and mango trees line the streets there. Now I don’t have the time to explain what a kibbutz really is, so look it up if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Brief summation: communal living farmland shared and operated by a bunch of people who choose to come, stay, and/or leave. Kibbutz Yotvata uses drip-line irrigation (which they claim was developed broad scale there,) and uses only mechanical picking technique. The mechanical picking means that they don’t have to hire out for workers, but it also means that they can only harvest certain types of produce. No tomatoes, cantaloupe, or peppers that could bruise, you see. The Yotvata kibbutz is famous for its dates (they’re shipped all over the middle east) but they also harvest onions and manage a dairy farm. Their ice cream, too, is famous. It was okay ice cream, I guess.

As an ice cream connoisseur I believe my statement of ice cream quality is accurate. It was all-right; similar in texture to soft serve—you know, that underlying watery graininess? If you really want good ice cream over here you have to eat a “NOC OUT” ice cream bar. Rich texture, lush flavor, and lickable chocolate topping. And substance. You feel like you’re really eating cream—real ingredients! Coconut Noc Out’s are very popular—I also enjoy the hazelnut-chocolate Noc Out. Ohhhh, the first bite! I discovered where it’s name came from—it knocked me over. I’m going to miss them when I come home… but not too much. Each ice cream bar costs 9 or 10 shekels—that’s close to two dollars. So my tongue will miss them but my bank account won’t. And neither will my waistline. Hee hee. Maybe I should limit myself…nope. Still worth it. ; )

Where was I? Oh, yes. Dinner at the kibbutz. The kibbutzniks layed out a nicely spread buffet dinner; and after the monotony of food at the center I was grateful for the change. This food was flavorful! And while it was mostly the same fare, the spices were a tweensy different. Yum yum. Then there was the ice cream, and then TA DA! Folk singing! About five people led us through a few popular Israeli songs and dances. We passed around sheets with the lyrics listed, and followed after we grew familiar with the chorus and tune. During a few of the up-beat songs the MC of the group suggested that a girl teach us “a simple hora.” My ears perked up, you can bet, because that’s a folk dance step! All we really did was dance a simple step over and over around a circle…but it was fun. The BYU students were really getting into it. I was glad of that—it helped my crusade to convert my fellow students to folk dancing. (So far I have four people that have promised to try some! Yay! And two that will come to audition for a team! I’m proud of myself.) Anyway… dancing. And then sleep.

First night sleeping at a kibbutz. I’m sure that each kibbutz is different, but from all the iffy descriptions I had heard I was prepared to be sleeping in a hole—but it was clean. Cleaner than some hotels I’ve stayed in. American hotels, mind you. So it was nice. I’ll say nothing about the fact that the shower had no walls and no floor, well of course it had a floor, it was just a drain. In the floor. That’s what I meant. It was nice. I declined the shower since I knew I’d get water everywhere. My roommates did. I just washed my hair in the sink. All in all, I was clean, dry, well-fed, and tired. Three of four bases covered. And I was tired, but not exhausted. I can handle just about anything. Especially if I know it’s coming. That’s why I was so surprised when I was exhausted after the trip was over. I’m guessing that this is due to the germs I undoubtedly was fighting off. And I bet I… nope I’m sure it was that. But that story, boys and girls, is not part of today’s saga. Further details cost ten Egyptian pounds and are available in the sixth installment of Rachel’s memoir. (Translation: you’ll have to read Friday’s entry for that thrilling tale. The tale of how I got sick. And it is thrilling. Well. At least it is when I tell it.)

III. MONDAY
I woke up and had to lug my luggage to the bus and then go to breakfast. (First time I really noticed that “luggage” is called such because you “lug” it everywhere. Duh.) But I didn’t know which way it was to the busses and I had no clue where we were eating breakfast, let alone how to find the place. Fortunately there are enough BYU students on the trip to be like ants swarming over the mound we inhabit. And one thing I know about ants—there are ants that know what they’re doing, ants that think they know, and ant’s that can follow intelligently. In Egypt I was an intelligently following ant; which is how I found breakfast. Following the ants who either knew or thought they knew where they were going.

Breakfast was good. This kibbutz was the last place we could eat all food and water without fear of contamination. And we did. There were scrambled eggs (which don’t resemble eggs that you cook yourself--they’re more like those fluffy yellow fake things, but you aren’t interested in that. [I’m only trying to explain the food (that I would otherwise like to forget) because I know my family is wondering what-in-the-devil I ate that week. I mainly stuck to hard-boiled eggs (with an un-cracked shell,) bread and butter, bottled water, and any meats that looked okay. And smelled…edible. Oooh! I almost forgot dessert. We all ate dessert at every meal because it was one of the only things we could eat. So breakfast? Pastries of some sort wit chocolate sauce, probably. That about sums up breakfast. If we were lucky (and I think this only happened twice) they had hot-chocolate and not just coffee. The kibbutz owners were a little surprised, I think, when their sophisticated coffee-bar was unfrequented, but like the good Mormons we are, we don’t touch coffee. …Except for me. Piqued your interest?

Here’s the story. The kibbutz had hot chocolate. But there were three bowls of brown powder. Which were coffee, and which was chocolate? The whole place smelled like coffee so the scent could not be trusted. Which was it? Rachel to the rescue! I put my little finger in turn on the side of each bowl and then licked it off as I announced, “coffee…good coffee…cocoa.” Some of the BYU students said I was a weirdo, but I noticed they didn’t complain as they drank their cocoa. Mmm. Oh—and my mother was right. Coffee may smell divine, but it does taste pretty nasty.

After breakfast it was off to the Taba border crossing. Or I should say two hours of riding on the bus and THEN the Taba border crossing from Israel to Egypt, followed by five to six more hours of riding a bus? Yeah, that sounds more accurate. Okay, we weren’t allowed to drive the Israeli bus into Egypt; so we took all of our stuff off of it and lugged it three hundred yards to the initial passport check. After the initial check, we got exit visas and lugged our luggage an additional two hundred yards to the Egyptian section. Passport checks two and three. We put all of our bags, hats, and anything else through a metal detector (the only one in Egypt that I know of with a legitimate screening process) and walk through a detector ourselves. A metal detector test we had to pass. I had to take off my belt and go through a second time until I was beep-free. That was passport check number four. Pick up all your stuff, fill out a visa request slip, hand it to the guar, try your best not to look suspicious, passport check number five. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. They really look at your passport five or six times—and I don’t mean glances. They stare at it, look at you, stare at it some more, and then five feet later another guy repeats the process. I made it through that bit and lugged my stuff outside.

Northeast Egypt looks like New Mexico or Nevada—brown, dry, and mountainous. Mountains are a special treat for me, especially after staying in Israel for a few weeks. I missed them.

I was among the first in our group to pass through customs, and since I knew I wouldn’t have the chance again for awhile I decided to use the restroom inside. It was gross of course, but that isn’t the point. I came out of the bathroom, sat back down, and started chatting with my classmates. This is where the surprise came in. There are two sets of students—bus one and bus two, otherwise known as Ludlow’s class and Draper’s class. When I went into the bathroom Ludlow’s class was outside. When I came out of the bathroom Draper’s class was outside. I didn’t detect the change—to me there were thirty BYU students there when I went in and there were thirty there when I came out. It was ten minutes later when someone turned to me and said, “wait a sec, Rach—didn’t your bus already leave?” Cue panic mode.

Sure enough, no one in my class was anywhere to be seen—neither was “bus one.” Growing a little nervous, I gathered my by gag, backpack, hat, passport, and lunch and headed off at a trot to find my bus—hoping that it might be just out of sight on the other side of the gate. As I walked I argued with my own head. “They couldn’t have left,” I told myself. “There’s a head count on the bus! There’s no way that they left without me.” S u r e. I turned a corner and saw another customs gate and more Egyptian men in uniform, but no BYU students. And there was a bus. But there were three. Where was MY bus, and was it one of those? I walked faster. As I picked up speed, customs began to yell at me and ran over demanding to see my passport. Another passport check. Still no sign of anyone I knew. What if I got through customs and there STILL weren’t any BYU people to be found? What would I do then? I wouldn’t even be able to come back to the Israeli side without an exit visa from Egypt. What was I going to do? One last passport check later and I walked over the final border into Egypt. …and I saw my bus. A faculty member was just coming to look for me. At this point I wish I could say that I felt relief. On the contrary, I was still tense and anxious.

Mortified that I would be the last person on the bus (and by a wide-gap as well) I stepped on. Needless to say everyone had settled in—leaving no options for me to choose who to sit by or where to sit. I called to ask where there was a free seat. No one answered (and I knew they had heard me, I have a very loud voice.) It seemed that most people weren’t paying attention so I called again as I walked through the bus. All of the seats seemed taken. Finally I reached the back of the bus—where, there were no seats to be had, or if there were—no one was lifting a finger to make a space. I knew that Egyptian buses had four less seats than our Israeli buses, but I’d THOUGHT there were enough seats.

Growing more and more flustered between the mixed emotions of anger and hurt that no one would make room for me, getting held up on my own by Egyptian security, having accidentally grabbed the wrong lunch in my hasty getaway, and embarrassment in general…and being a very passionate person whose emotions are often close to the surface, I was on the verge of tears when I turned around (encumbered by my own luggage that I couldn’t set down.) Tears started flowing down my face—I couldn’t help it—and of course, FINALLY someone noticed that I was in distress as I was walking back to the front…you know, as soon as I wanted to NOT attract attention people started to pay attention. The only available seat was Bro. Huntington’s, but as he was nowhere to be seen I sat in it, eager to be out of sight. Bro. Ludlow came and saw me—the tears had stopped, mercifully—and he asked me to sort our student international cards…no doubt he noticed my distress and supplied me with a simple task to get my mind off things. –that’s why I love simple tasks…like cleaning. It’s mindless so all you have to do is work as fast and hard as you can while your mind is elsewhere. Then people started coming over to check if I was okay… and I put on a masterful show of being fine. (Props to Bro. Ludlow for providing me with that simple task, otherwise I would really have embarrassed myself.) Then of course, Bro. Huntington came back and I had to move. I sat in the middle of the bus in a seat that looked empty. …but of course it wasn’t. I moved again. Three minutes later (after interrogating people about who was sitting next to them) I reached the back of the bus without finding a seat. Again. Grrrrrrr. By then I was about ready to scream “IS THERE OR IS THERE NOT AN EMPTY SEAT ON THIS BUS?” someone said, “Hey, Rachel, you still need a seat?” Phew! Praise to Buddha someone gave me a seat. …of course it was in the rear of the bus and I have extreme motion-sickness, but beggars can’t be choosers. Attempting to cool down my emotions I pulled out my Ipod—“iClaudius” and started listening to Aida. Very Egyptian and all.

After a few more hours, yes hours, of driving we had our first Egyptian rest stop. It was very much like the rest of Egypt: coated in a dingy film, carrying an odd scent, Muslims praying just outside, men wearing “gal-ah-bay-ahs,” the dress-like Mumu-ish things that men wear, and feeling like your very presence is offensive and revolting…much like seeing a prostitute in a small American town would be. My HAIR is offensive to these people. Well, at least to the devoutly religious ones. The others I’m sure…”enjoy” the brazen display of my hair and figure a little too much. But of course, I am forgetting the most important part of a rest stop—it’s where you go, excuse me, when you wish to relieve yourself.

These are not the “restrooms” you are accustomed to. Have you ever heard of a “squatter?” If you have not, imagine a walk-in shower—the kind only large enough for one person with the glass doors—and replace the drain in the middle of the floor with a hole. That’s a squatter. No toilet. No seat. Just a tile floor and a hole. Hence the, uh, squatting. Now imagine a door that doesn’t stay shut on it’s own, and mold of many different colors. Grime, mildew, hardened blood spots and smears, mold, a mysterious pasty gunk, and last but not least—purple fuzz with spores. Ah yes! I do not lie! Oh, it was good. That’s a “rest stop.” Our hotel bathrooms were better. They at least had toilets. But do not underestimate the condition of the squatters. (Amber, my roommate, and myself have decided that the next time we go to Egypt we will bring plastic cups to pee in and forget the squatters altogether.) Oh and the sinks—some were…touchable. I usually would use the sinks to wash my hands—always with the requisite follow-up of hand sanitizer.

Then we had more hours of driving. Then we hit Cairo. Well, actually, then we hit Cairo traffic. I didn’t mind getting caught in traffic, as it were, because watching the traffic go by is plenty to look at on its own. First—method of transportation. Men riding donkeys, handcarts, Fiat’s, Mercedes, Volkswagens galore, tour-buses, carriages, camels, open trucks, cars so trashed you can’t believe they’re still rolling (and believe me, I’ve seen cars that were on life support—these were zombie cars—the living dead.) And the drivers and passengers either gawk or deliberately look anywhere but at you.

At one point we passed a bus full of locals. There were two teenage-girls giggling and waving and staring at us. Every time we passed them I would smile and wave back energetically—you should have seen their faces light up! Ooh, they would smile and wave back! Head scarves and all, I guess they thought American tourists were a sight to see—for the life of me I don’t know why… they’re everywhere in Cairo. Although it may have something to do with the fact that we are a large group of attractive, young tourists… together on one bus. Yeah, that was probably it. The only tourists I ever saw were middle-aged and older…and usually Aussies or Brits. Huh. Now that I think of it we probably were a sight to see.

Billboards are everywhere: on top of houses, on the sides of the road, all over the high rises, just plumb everywhere. You honestly can’t take a glance anywhere in the city without seeing five or six. And they’re enormous. For the first time I’ve appreciated that America has laws against billboards being that big and…frequent. Ick—they were all over! Of course, it’s rather fun to see an ad that says “TOSHIBA” that’s also littered in printed Arabic. And for some reason the streets are always crowded—well, not quite. I lied. On Friday—the weekly holy day for Muslims—the streets are less crowded. Heaven help you if you get caught in traffic just before the Ramadan fast for the day is coming to a close. Rush hour in America can’t compare, I should think. Well—maybe outside of DC. But whoo! MAN are there cars. And carts. And donkey boys. And camels. …All on the same highway. I saw the Egyptian Museum (aka the Cairo Museum) off the side of the road and felt my pulse start to race. But that was nothing to what happened next.

I sincerely hope that you have all read “The Polar Express,” by Chris Van Allsburg. It’s one of my favorite books. Going through Cairo for the first time—on a bus full of people my age who had never been there before—all of us waiting to see the “ancient wonders” so to speak, reminded me of The Polar Express because at one point when the children are riding the train through Santa’s city up at the North Pole one child sees something out the window and tells everyone about it and they all rush to see it. (you know… that part where it says: “Look!” shouted one of the children, “The elves!” Outside there were hundreds of elves…) It really was similar. Especially when a girl at the front of our bus shouted “Whoa! The pyramids!” and we all were scrambling to see them through the haze.

What a sight that was. There—hovering in the fog of a thickly industrialized city—ancient tombs from the first six dynasties of Ancient Pharaohs. It is a most peculiar landscape. One glance to the right and all is desert sands. One glance to the left—a tropical paradise with all the lush greenery water can provide; the smoky, reflective Nile slithering along just throughout the ages. And yes—there is papyrus growing on the banks. And yes—the sun is red. Red HOT.

Have you ever noticed the way sunlight is different wherever you go? I think I’ve mentioned this before, but in the western United States the sun is a lovely gold. It colors everything, making colors more vibrant. In Jerusalem the light is white—it washes out color. And now, the point. Ta ta tum! The Egyptian sun is a furnace of red-orange flame. It sears the landscape. …it also sears people. Haha! That reminds me. I took this awesome picture while I was in Memphis of three dogs all laying within two feet of each other. They looked dead. We all laughed and laughed when finally one started breathing—because we really had thought they were all dead. So take my word for it—the Egyptian sun is red. They call the Nile the “cradle of life” for a reason. Nothing in that place could ever survive without the water and fertile sediment the water carries. Without the Nile, all Egypt really is is sand and rock.

The rest of the peculiarity of the land is that there are high rises everywhere. Everyplace is more than one story and 87% of them have rebar sticking out the top of them. They have people living in them, but the tops of the buildings are constantly under construction. So you have three visual options in Cairo: city buildings, sand, and green. Of course, the irony is that the desert is the only clean thing in that list. The Nile is filthy, the buildings are filthy, and the desert is so bleached by the sun that it’s only danger is heat exhaustion. A few of us watched Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark yesterday. There’s a scene when Indy is in Cairo and someone calls it a “heavenly paradise.” I yelled, “Hah!” It’s a pick-your-poison place. I would hardly call Cairo a “paradise.” Ick. Just ick.

Just after sundown we finally hit our hotel. I couldn’t believe the look of the place. Marble floors and walls—no joke, it looked like something out of the movies. Or maybe the twilight zone. The bathrooms all had marble and alabaster flooring, and each had it’s own beday (I don’t know how to spell that, but you know what I meant.) It’s easily the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed at—including the Marriott. Of course, the Marriott I stayed in had water you weren’t afraid of touching…but that can’t be helped. I asked one of my teachers how much a room at that hotel cost without a group rate. Get this—he said around two hundred dollars! Aack! He told me that in Egypt “the one thing we don’t do is skimp.” Why? Because the faculty noticed that the nicer the hotel the healthier the students. I see. (Then I asked how much the whole trip to Egypt was costing per-student. …he guesstimated $2,000. Two-thousand schmackers! That’s more than my tuition for a semester in Provo! Yikes. Well, at least I did it in style this time so there’s nothing lacking as it were.)

We settled into our hotel and the option lay before us. Do we go swimming? (It was a very nice pool, and I think only nine or so students—including myself, abstained.) Do we take a nap? Do we lay out our clothes for tonight and tomorrow and then re-pack, and then pack a smaller suitcase for the train and two-day trip to Luxor? …that’s what I did. Tee hee. I also wandered around taking pictures of the hotel. We ate dinner there, and the presentation was as upscale as the rest of the hotel. Glimmering dishes with heaps to eat. We all felt rather badly that we couldn’t eat any of the fruits and vegetables… partly because they looked so tasty, and partly because we knew they had been difficult to prepare and we were letting the handiwork go to waste. I also had to smirk when all 80 of us drank hot chocolate in the morning, but no one even glanced at the gourmet coffee bar. Made the waiters a little testy when no one ordered alcohol, too. Food was good. Lots of potatoes, meat, onions, and bread. Mmm. Bread. And, of course, dessert. I was particularly fond of a lemon torte that every hotel seemed to serve.

Here the great option lay before us. Sleep? Games? Or—pay a lot of money and risk your personal safety to see the city “night life,” in a land where night life hardly exists and is not appreciated. (“Night owls” really don’t exist in the Near East. Say that it’s due to poverty if you will, but they are a working people. They rise with the sun and sleep at night. …or it might have something to do with the fact that all of the nasty bugs come out at night. Hmm. You decide.) Back to the point of discussion.

I’d like to point out a serious mis-conception. Before I left Provo people would always say, “Jerusalem! Aren’t you scared?” I would flatly explain that Philadelphia is far more dangerous than Jerusalem. And now I can testify that that is true. It’s quite safe here---especially considering the size of the city. When I mentioned that I was also traveling to Egypt people would always say, “Oh, you’ll love Cairo.” No. no, no, no, no—OH, no no no. Anyone who thought that chase the thought straight out of your head. Even the quiet cities in Egypt are more dangerous than the big cities in Israel. Walking around Luxor a friend of mine turned to me and said, “Well, Toto, we’re not in Utah anymore.” And she was dead on.

Repeatedly before and during our Egypt trip our faculty gave numerous speeches about safety and discretion in the country, giving particular attention to the dangers of young women and personal safety. They told us that in recent travel studies a few of the girls had been groped. We were told that traveling at night was not forbidden, but strongly ill-advised. We were given explicit instruction for staying in groups, avoiding certain areas, to act only with certain behaviors, and to above all use our common sense. You can imagine my surprise then when near to sixty of the eighty students on the program finished dinner and immediately took taxi’s into the dark unknown of Cairo. It was 8:00pm. The sun had set more than an hour before.

Traveling in groups notwithstanding, I don’t care how careful you are or think you are—that does not smack of “common sense.” I have heard it said that ‘sense,’ as it is called is anything but common. It seems to me that anyone who disregards numerous blaring, blazing, flashing warning signs is UN-commonly stupid. It sickened me as I stood at the door of our hotel with Bro. Huntington, one of our teachers, with the check-out list…watching people scribble their personal seal of acknowledgement that they were exchanging reason for madness. Bro. Huntington asked me if I were going out. “I would rather know Egypt through it’s monuments and museums,” I said. “Besides,” I added, “I can’t imagine what my father would say if I told him that I had. He doesn’t like me out at night in front of our house in Provo! I can’t even imagine his expression.” I didn’t need to add that I wasn’t that stupid, either. Brother Huntington was so worried about everyone. *sigh* I was left with two options then. Go to bed early or play uno with the remaining few BYU peoples? Two good options, one better than the other. Greg and I both announced that we were going to bed, and so we did. He walked me past the pool and other outside buildings to the bank of apartments that was mine. I went inside, washed up as best I could with bottled water, and then I went to bed.

I woke up at 11:30pm, thinking that it was odd that my roommate for the night still had not come home. Curfew was 11:30, so she should have been back, but she wasn’t. I went back to sleep. When I got up and showered at 5:00am, my roommate was still zonked out. (Showering with my eyes squeezed shut and my mouth closed, hands plugging my and ears as I rinsed the soap off—focused on not letting water into any body cavity, all the while wearing flip flops so I wouldn’t pick up any horrible foot fungus, I might add.) After I had dried my hair I asked my roommate what she’d seen the night before and if she’d had fun. Then I asked when she had gotten to bed. She said “not until 1:30am.” Surprised, I asked why. She explained that she had been in Bro. Huntington’s room. Why? Answer: she was receiving counseling because she had been groped by her taxi driver and was very shaken up.

I don’t need to say anything more. I was sorry for her, certainly. No one should have that happen to them. I tried the best I could to help and console her, but could anything I said really have helped? I don’t think so. But I can speak for myself—asleep in my hotel room, ready packed for the next trip, and well rested for the excursions of the day, I was also preserved from the dangers she had encountered. The irony is the fact that none of the “night owls” from the J Center had seen anything special, anyhow. And so I ask, was that really worth it? Somehow I don’t think so.

[Thanks, Daddy for teaching me early in life that there are places a lady shouldn’t be after dark, and thanks Mom for reminding me that most everything will still be waiting for me after sunrise.]

IV. TUESDAY

In the immortal words of Riley from the movie National Treasure, “Who wants to go down the dark tunnel into the creepy tomb first?”

I repeated these words many a time in Egypt, but never were they more applicable than at Kafre’s pyramid. FYI the Pyramids were built as tombs for the ancient pharaohs. Imagine a steep crawl space leading to a small, dark room. You’ve probably considered that before. I doubt, however, that you have ever known about this detail: there is next to no ventilation. This means that every sneeze, every exhalation, every whiff of flatulence ever expelled inside that chamber is trapped inside—along with its humidity. That tomb has to be sitting in 78% humidity. It’s revolting! I hadn’t been in there 40 seconds when my clothes clung to me, and the sweat started to pour. I couldn’t breathe—I felt like gagging—how can you breathe water, anyway? (Heaven help me if I ever move to the South…I’ll be the first ever case of humidity asphyxiation.) I looked left, right, down, and up, saw the burial platform, and then announced “Okay, I’m done. Anyone else going out?” I tried as to get out get out get out as fast as I could, all the while climbing down a steep incline and holding my hat in front of my chest –protection from groping and pinching that often occurs when creepos hide in crevices and quick as a wink reach out and touch you. And then poof! [Gasp, inhale] I was out—drying instantly under the parched desert sun. The first words out of my mouth were, “Cool. Never doing that again.” I found Greg, Rebecca, and Brandon and started flashing as many pictures as I could, getting a bunch of myself, a few with friends, and obligingly taking shots of others.

It was a blast! Taking pictures at the pyramids is probably one of my favorite memories of Egypt. And hey, man—I’VE STOOD ON A PYRAMID! Whoo, yeah!

Then we loaded back onto the buses and drove a mile around the other side of the pyramids to the “overlook” point, where we took pictures of ourselves with the great three pyramids all behind us. …avoiding the uber-creepy old men that would suddenly appear with their arm around your shoulder. Or in my case, waist. I thought it was funny—no one at the center had done so before, who was is? I turned my head and Bluwayhahahahahahaha… scary scary dirty old man! Sicko! Honestly, I think the old men at the overlook point were the most brazen and filthy advancers of the whole trip. At least they were for me…. eeeeeew. I spent the next five minutes steering my girlfriends away from them, shifting them to the other side of me, and joining them as we scampered eagerly across to the camel caravan point saying, “Look! Mormon tourists! Lets-Go-see-them!.... now now now NOW,” and running as fast as we could.

And yes, you read the word “camel.” I rode a camel! Very fun. Archie and I shared a camel that I named “Benny the little stinkweed,” not because he smelled, but because he seemed like a mercenary sort of camel, and he reminded me of a movie character. (If you don’t get the reference, ask my friend Joni—she’ll be delighted to fill you in.) The next time you see a movie where people are riding a camel, pay attention to the dismount—IF they even show it. I’ve noticed that lots of movies edit it out because it is hardly a graceful procedure. The camel kneels down front legs first—and if you aren’t leaning back there is no way you’re gonna be upright when the back legs crumple in suit. They call camels the “ship of the desert,” because the rocking motion is similar to the way waves rock a sailing ship. It’s an apt description. I’ve never ridden a horse, but I can bet that it is far more uncomfortable than riding the traditional “ship of the desert.” …and yes, I’ve noted how odd it is that I’ve ridden a camel but never a horse.

We went and saw the sphinx—I got a schweet perspective-bending shot that looks like I’m kissing it… cliché, but oh, so enjoyable. Our tour bus, “bus-swan” that I will explain in a minute, took a group shot in front of the sphinx with the pyramids in the backdrop. Everyone bought a copy, so we each have an 8 x 10 picture of our class in Giza. SO great! Priceless material for sure.

Then we went to Memphis—and saw the sphinx of Rameses and the ridiculously well preserved statue of Rameses II—that’s right, likely THE Rameses. It’s laying on the ground inside a museum with an overlook deck, so I took some pictures and stuff, but I also walked over by his ear and said—of course—“let my people go.” Hee hee hee—it was great!

After Memphis, which is where I took the picture of the three dead dogs who weren’t dead but certainly seemed to be, we ate lunch and drove to Saqarra. Saqarra is there the step-pyramid of Zozer is found. It is the oldest pyramid known to man, and it was designed by: DA DUN DUN…. IMHOTEP! Chazah! Joni, you’ll appreciate this—as we passed the museum of Imhotep, where sadly we did not stop, half the bus was chanting zombie-like: IMHOTEP…Imhotep…Imhotep…Gaa hahahahhaha… and of course, I started it. Ooooh, it was so much fun. (Again, if you don’t understand who Imhotep is… watch the Mummy. And not the Boris Karloff version, although it’s great too.) Anyway, at Zozer I ended up getting 20 postcards for a dollar. Yay! –I collect postcards, so it was fun to get some. We walked around an ancient temple, the oldest of its kind, and stood in awe of the craftsmanship and ingenuity of the ancient architects, snapped pictures, avoided sunburns and dehydration and creepy-gown wearing old men, and then loaded onto the bus and headed across Cairo to dinner and… the train.

I’ve now waited on the platform of one of those train stations you see in movies—not like Chronicles of Narnia, or 9 ¾--I mean the filthy kind. The ones with litter and drunkards and filth and stench. If you’ve ever seen the true-to-life historical films set at foreign train stations… you’ve seen the type I mean. But it was so much fun. Greg, Rebecca, Brandon and I all set down our luggage and stood around making jokes and talking. We shared a bench with the Galbraiths (one of the J. Center service couples.) We let the gust of wind brought with the speeding train ruffle our hair. We stood near the edge of the platform and watched the “speeding freight train” rush past, zooming and moving like a bullet through a gun—hurtling along its given track. Greg and I were singing “snow, snow, snow, snow, snow” that they sing on the train in the movie White Christmas. (I wished that I had “held a cutted crayon” that I could write my “poem comprised of four letters” with…I dunno what four letter word… “math” or something like that. Ha ha…that’s a great song.) We counted the cars of our train as it slowed to a stop, 9—10—11—12—13… “this one’s ours,” and toted our things aboard. I rejoined my designated roommate from the night before, the molested one, whom I shall hereafter call Susie (to be more polite.)

My strategy in Egypt was to accept everything without question or complaint and keep my eyes half shut to the conditions and state of filthiness and keep my eyes wide open where Arab men were concerned. If only more of the girls had had similar thoughts they could have saved themselves (and me…who had to put up with it) a lot of anguish. My roommate “Susie” made a big deal out of a lot of things, but—and I grant that after getting molested she had reason—she was paranoid of the train car waiters. I took the responsibility of herding her out of the way whenever one was coming (ours in particular…he really scared her to death) and made sure she never said a word to him—I did. I hadn’t even noticed that I was doing it, but she did, and it was nice to be noticed I suppose. Especially when she told everyone I was rescuing her. (All I did was listen in on what he had said to each room in turn so that when he got to ours I repeated it all before he could say anything, said “No, shukran” forcefully and shut the door on him.) (and just by the way in Egypt that is NOT rude, in fact, if I do say so myself it was rather smooth.) So Susie walked with me when I had to use the train’s WC—an experience in itself, I rather wished I had had a plastic cup—and I protected her from scary train waiters and dingy door handles.

If you don’t allow yourself to think about bed bugs, sanitation, or anything else that might be occuping your bedclothing the train was kinda fun. I’d never been on a train before, but Greg and I both agreed that riding a train across the US would be really fun. And not exhausting, because you could sleep. But still expensive so there’s really no point I suppose. Anyway, random tangent… I was having trouble concentrating on falling asleep when I remembered the words of Lucy in CS Lewis’ “Prince Caspian,” ‘the best way to fall asleep is to stop trying.’ So I pulled out my ipod; and laying on my stomach I watched the rising moon’s light glimmering off the surface of the Nile from out my window. I listened to Enya and the soundtrack from “the Mission,” and the music made the scene before me quite picturesque. (Despite the dried blood smears on the wall near the light switch.) Heh. Heh. ; )

Wednesday to Saturday still to come…

I DID warn you that it was a saga. What's that? You didn't believe me? Shame on you! You ought to know I am always in earnest.

COMING SOON

2007-10-06T19:59:00.000+02:00

...the seven part saga of my experience in Egypt (with pictures!) followed by the back-logged stories of two field trips and the two-day field trip I leave on tomorrow in the Galilee.

Oh yeah--and the story of the original flight to the Holy Land... clear back at the beginning of September...that my mother jovially reminds me that I have not yet written. So sorry that I haven't otherwise written in a long time. I am trying to catch up, I promise.

One last word-- pray for my email. I say this because there were many screw ups in the administration areas of my BYU account lately, and then they were fixed. Just in time for me to not be able to log in at all. So I can't get any of the emails that I have been getting, and I get no news. #@%^$&#. I mean... uh.... grumble grimace... whine. Yeah, that's what I said. Ah huh.

Also, pray that I'll get rest. Not sleep--REST. There's a difference. And I need rest. Badly.

P.S.
....okay, for those who've been trying to reach me, go through your sent files and forward the letter's you've already written and forward them to EMPRESSJADIS_OF_SNOW@HOTMAIL.COM and if anyone makes fun of my junk-email adress I will flail you! There will be much smiting and persecutions at my hands to those who mock me! (okay, maybe not, but I figure the false intimidation might at least grant you a few chuckles.)

P.P.S. If I don't know who you are and you try to send an email to my hotmail account, I won't open it... unless you write something clever in the subject line like "I read your blog, and promise only nice things are written in this email," or "I'm praying that your regular email gets back online" etc. Or something else that's clever. Use your imaginations. To my family-- please write me, and I'll write you back. And hey, Heather-- if you could invite me to a Google account I'll totally take it. That way I won't need my stupid BYU office account, I can still keep in touch with everybody, and we'll all be happy. Yay. There will be much rejoicing.

Epiphany City

2007-09-20T19:51:00.000+02:00

I've learned a lot today. If nothing else, this program generates opportunities and environments that cannot be had elsewhere.

I woke up tired. I didn't sleep very well--no--actually I didn't sleep. I'd fallen asleep doing homework in my eye-makeup without having even finished my homework. (a note to the homework wise--prioritize. I've decided that as long as I finish my old testament homework I won't reprimand myself for not finishing the rest. I'm satisfied with this.) Anyway, I wanted to skip classes and sleep or skip Old Testament today so that I could finish my Judaism-Perspective homework and study for the quizin that class...but here you can't do that because not only is attendance mandatory, EVERYONE will notice if you show up to one class but not the other. I grudgingly got out of bed. I didn't wash my hair; it wasn't gross, but it wasn't clean either. I put on what I usually term sloppy-clothing: a t-shirt and jeans. I would never have worn today's outfit at the Provo campus, but here everyone wears them. I did minimal make-up. The foremost characteristic of my appearance was my grouchy, grim, and grisly expression. Which I proudly wore to breakfast.

That's one thing about me that not all of you may know--I like to broadcast my moods. I probably shouldn't, but I do. I grouchily decided that my bad mood was bad enough to warrant the avoidance of healthy food. So I ate french toast. Deep fried french toast that is too hard around the edges and doesn't taste good enough to be as fattening as I'm sure it is. Lack of taste--that is what breakfast here is missing. (actually, the cream of wheat is very good... so technically if I want flavor I should eat the healthy food. How's that for backwards?) I sat next to Brandon and proceeded to inform him that I was a very-bad-mormon because I was being deliberately pessimistic. "Today is going to be a very bad day," I sagely warned. From over my shoulder my roommate Amber said, "so in other words even if it were a good day you won't notice because your sour attitude can only ruin it?" ...to which I replied with a hunk of toast in my cheek... "exactly."

Brandon tried to make it better by mentioning happy things. I told him it was futile and explained my mother's favorite phrase for me: 'leave me alone. I want to be miserable...' and then I started to realize that my mother always helped me when I was in those moods by not trying to cheer me up. It's a funny thing about parents--but they seem to know more about you than you know about yourself. My mom knew full well that I knew I shouldn't be feeling that way and that the only person that could and would ever pull me out of it was myself. ...and she would listen and not say anything until I asked her something. I told Brandon that I really wished my mom were there as I ate breakfast, as she is when I eat breakfast at home. I told him about how she never tried to stop me from choosing to be angsty. When he asked, "so making things worse helps you to get better?" I said it helped a lot more than talking about sunshine, daisies, and butterflies. (noting that the authoress doesn't much care for either of those three things--she likes them, but they wouldn't cheer her up. Get it? Good.) At this point Brandon proceeded to curse my children with webbed feet and curly arm-hair. I chuckled. And despite my chosen mood of gloominess I started to feel better.

Then I went to Old Testament. We discussed covenants--with note to the temple and the sacrament. And I figured something out... epiphany #1 of the day: the sacrament prayers are an if-then statement. I already knew that, but I had never understood it with a key word in mind. ALWAYS. All-the-ways. Meaning in all things. Furthermore, we may always have the spirit with us if we ALWAYS remember him. And I knew this. But I had always supposed that it was only granted for always if during the entire period you always remembered, but... and this is the way I discovered it... we only have the spirit while we are remembering. when we remember we will, and otherwise it will touch our hearts and minds no further. That is the plainest set of instructions, and I hadn't recognized the pattern and simplicity until then. If we remember, then we shall have--no more no less. I should like to mention that this will likely not make a lick of sense to 99% of all those who read it, including my family, but alas. I shan't take the time to explain it further unless someone asks me to. I had another epiphany after that, but that one I'll keep to myself.

My day was going very well indeed by this point.

Then I went to my un-prepared class in such a good mood that I didn't even care about the quiz. Which was good--because I didn't read any of the tested material and I still got a 9/10. Yay for multiple choice questions!

I was happy by the end of the period. Then I walked down the hall and met my Hebrew teacher. She brought FOX IN SOX in Hebrew. The cover was backwards, the pages went backwards, and there were Hebrew block letters all over it. NOT FOX IN SOX. It couldn't be. How in the HECK can you translate "if you choose to chew blue goo sir, please sir, do sir! Chew blue goo sir," and have it rhyme and still retain the simplicity of a child's book? NOT POSSIBLE, said I. Oh contrare--said she. She said that it works, and I guess I'm trusting her. IMAGINE my SURPRISE when I discovered that Hebrew might be possible for my brain to handle. Might. Hee hee. The rewards are far and away worth the learning. Ready for epiphany #3? While explaining that many words have have a root base to a common theme, she used an example. the words

FULL. To PAY IN FULL. PERFECT. and COMPLETE.

all share the same root base. This brings me to another explanation... in the scriptures, when Christ says "be ye therefore perfect," the translation is a little sticky. The origional greek text uses a word "teleois" which describes a gradual coming into perfection over (think tele- as in telephone) a distance, or a space of time... not an all at once thing. This means that Christ was saying that we should gradually attain the attributes of perfection until we become perfect at a long-distant end--always seeking and continuing on the become-perfect-scheme. In Hebrew "perfection" has the same root as COMPLETION. FULLNESS. To be whole and complete is to be perfect. OHHHHHHH so interesting. That was epiphany #3.

Later I took a taxi-bus with a bunch of other students follwing as half of us took a voluntary trip to the Israeli Museum in West Jerusalem. I made the mistake of watching out the windsheild as we drove. Fear for our lives! Our taxi driver was insane! They are all insane! He sped up too much too soon and broke too late and aaAaAaaAAAH! SCARY. I counted at least 13 times when we should have collided with another car. Yikes.

Anyway, I walked through the museum with Greg--we took our time reading all the plaques next to the exhibits. We saw the giant model of Jerusalem in the second-temple period. Let's just say that I have pictures of Solomon's porch during a sunset and it's freakin awesome. I caught a great one of the Antonia Fortress with the Holy Place behind it--oh man it looks cool! Like I said, experiences here no one else gets to have. Then we walked into the "Shrine of the Book," and about died of relief. After the blinding light, heat, and humidity outside we strolled into a temperature-humidity controlled environment. Everything was SUPER dry and cold. Why? "Shrine of the Book," is an exhibit of dead sea scrolls and Qumran artifacts. The lights were extremely dim as well. Greg is from Salt Lake City, I am from Provo, and both of us immensely appreciated the sensation of dry air. We haven't felt dry air since the airplane and we've missed it. (I know that you're all thinking that Jerusalem in dry. It has a higher humidity than Utah. Easily. Think San Diego, California in the summer.) Anyway, Greg and I were in heaven and didn't want to leave. Let me paint this picture: Dim lighting. Fridgid, dry atmosphere. Isaiah scroll. Artifacts from 60 B.C.E. Oh yeah. It was Rachel paradise. Well maybe not paradise, but Greg and I sure felt the loss when we left the building and were assaulted by glaring heat, brightness, and sticky air. Blucka. :P.

Anyway--the exhibit! Fascinating! They had Phylacteries from ancient times that were tiny! the writing was I'd say a 4pt font--in script! (actually the Hebrew was in block lettering, not script... and there is a difference, but I meant script as in written material...) the writing was so tiny Greg didn't even know that it was writing until I pointed it out to him. But not only were the tefillin (phylacteries is a greek term, tefillin is the Hebrew word) writings small, the whole thing was no larger than a quarter. Greg and I were a little perplexed at that, having seen modern tefillin a few days ago that were just shy the size of a rubix cube. No, really. They're HUGE in today's world. So big that there's no WAY they would fit under a jacket, you'd have to wear it over your clothing. Can you say conspicuous? I don't think that's quite the point, but then again, I'm no jew. Even if my name appears to me Jewish, I'm not. I just have a very German name and parents who read the Bible.

Anyway, we saw a number of Qumran artifacts that were fun... but the coolest part was a GIANT scroll looking thing (imagine a huge rolling pin) sticking up out of the floor with the Isaiah inscription scroll displayed around it horizontally as if it were on the scroll instead of just mounted on it. I'd have taken a picture, but they weren't allowed. While we were in the blissful controlled atmospheric conditions of the exhibit, Greg had an epiphany "aha" moment that generated a discussion on the purpose of Brigham Young University--both in Provo and Jerusalem. This is epiphany city. Sheesh.

On the drive back to the center, Caleb and Rebecca (two more of my friends) fell asleep. Not sure how they managed this with the herky-jerky taxi driving and the accompanying chorus of honking horns, but they did. Sarah (one more friend) and I decided that it was unfair of them to be such attractive sleepers--just sitting there with their eyes closed. When WE sleep on the buses our mouths hang open with a 70% chance of drool and light snoring.

After dinner there was another group scripture study session. More epiphanies all around and juicy gospel discussions. I'm lovin this livin, let me tell ya.

SO. What started as a grim and grisly gruesome morning turned out to be a brilliant and adoring day. Not sure how that happened since I had decided to be miserable on purpose, but I think I "got by with a little help from my friends," and possibly some other sources of unseen assistance.

Today was a big day for me. Simple in the schedule of things here, but big in terms of my own progression on the quest for "completion," "perfection," and "whole-ness."

Wish me luck for tomorrow! --it's Yom Kippur now (seeing as it's after Sunset here,) and tomorrow will be an interesting day for sure.

--R.

All in Good Taste

2007-09-19T17:23:00.000+02:00

Today was our second cleaning check--which my room passed with flying colors again. It was also a "free" day--the first we've had. No classes, no schedule, no meetings. It was almost like a Saturday back home. No obligations. Just errands to run and homework to finish. A group of my friends (Rebecca, Amber, Jason, Archie, Brandon, Greg, and Caleb) and I went to the old city. We changed money for Egypt (where we're going next week... AAAAAAH! I'm so excited!) went to the Temple Mount, went to the church of the holy whatsit (I honestly can't remember the name,) scavenged for some food, and wandered around looking for stuff... passing through metal detectors and having our bags searched several times along the way. That might sound tedious, but I reminded people that even on an off day you still walk through a metal detector to get into the LDS Conference Center on Temple Square... and that the Israeli's that manage the inspections are very fast, so it isn't a trouble at all.

When we went out to eat we had to walk clear across town to the Jewish section OUT of the old city so no Muslims would see us eating during Ramadan. [Did you know that they're supposed to avoid even smelling food?] Wow. I only got a snapple... but I tried some of my friends falaffle. I think I liked it. Now THERE'S two words I don't use in a sentence very often. SNAPPLE. FALAFFLE. (here I am thinking tall-decaf-cappucino...hahahha)

Then we went back to the center. It was so hot and I was so sweaty that I went straight to my air-conditioned room and took a shower. Icky heat. I'm not going to like the temperature in Egypt much, lemme tell you. But I've promised myself that I won't complain about it for more than ten seconds. ...per day. ;)

Food here at the center is pretty good. Breakfast never changes: french toast, eggs, and cream of wheat, cereal, and juice. Brandon asked brother Ludlow if our breakfast was akin to the manna that the Israelites complained about--because it never changes and people are starting to get sick of it--even though a few of us are eating better than we ever have in a semester before. Our whole class laughed at that--very funny. As to the rest of food, Greg and I were lamenting the lack of pork in our diet. I suppose we can live with it. Pigs are unclean scavengers and all that Mosaic law stuff. *sigh*
I also miss triscuits, cheddar cheese, chips and salsa, garlic bread, cheerios, Costco spinach ravioli, my mother's cooking where everything tasted unreal it was so good, baby carrots, and broccoli. I have developed a fondness for bell peppers--I eat them every lunch and dinner because they're practically the only vegetables to be had... unless you count the coarse green beans that are dripping olive oil every time you spear one with your fork. At least I'm getting plenty to eat every day--that's a privilege few people in history have had. And I must say I am fond of two chocolate bars over here--there are strawberry filled chocolate bars (like cherry cordials, only strawberry) and the amazing-fantastic-holy cow-surprise pop-rocks chocolate bars.

THAT'S RIGHT. CHOCOLATE BARS WITH POP ROCKS INSIDE. You let the stuff melt in your mouth and the pop rock sensation continues. SO fun. And fairly tasty as well. Nothing on dark chocolate... but it's great nonetheless. And I like the rolls that the center serves and the quaint butter pats that come in super-accomodating packaging. Mmm. Rolls. Last night my favorite chef (of the two) made this scrumptious Turkey with a spice rub on the outside. It was fantastic. There were also sweet potatoes (mmm.) and rice with saffron. And lest you think I’m taking food for granted—ah no. I know how lucky I am. Besides that, last night’s dinner was a rarity—everything was so good I wanted more. That doesn’t happen very often here—but it did last night. (which was good, because at lunch there was only pasta in a sweet, pink sauce to be had. Not tasty.)

So yes, I’m doing well. Trying to keep up with my homework and still be social with new people and enjoy free time. …and I think I’m doing fairy well. Wish me luck with my Judaism reading—I have at least 150 pages to go! …and I’d better get started.

Shalom,

Rachel EM (Elizabeth Mildenstein)

P.S. There is a very Amish person here (for those of you who know my code words that I use...if you don't, please know that it's an extreme compliment). And I just wanted to alert the general public that it's VERY nice. Ahem. Yes.

P.P.S. We're going to a papyrus factory in Egypt where they make the Pearl of Great Price facsimiles just for Mormons! Schweet! (and if you don't know what those are then just ignore me...)

P.P.P.S: The pictures are as follows--
1. My favorite chair in the library... close to the Egyptian section
2. A small-group photo in the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden, dome of the rock visible behind.
3. A grainy photo of the Augusta Victoria church ceiling-mosaic.
4. A close-up of the German eagle inside Augusta V. IT makes a REALLY cool wallpaper for your computer if you're interested... great texture.
5. The snozberry bathroom stalls we had to pay a shekel to use
6. A roadside view of the natural Wilderness
7. A sunlight expose' of Nebi Samwil--tomb of the prophet Samuel.

Jerusalem Quartet

2007-09-17T08:48:00.001+02:00

There are concerts here on Sunday nights and Students are allowed to take any extra seats. This Sunday there were extra seats. My violinist sisters Melissa and Alicia would have died. The concert featured the "Jerusalem Quartet," a group of four Russian Master Musicians. Two violin, one viola, one cello. TO. DIE. FOR. They played [Quartettsatz, String Quartet in C minor, D. 703, by F. Schubert] and [Four movements of String Quartet No. 2 in A minor, op. 51 No 2. by J. Brahms.] Then for the encore they played Brahms again.

Perfect unity, brilliant flashing dynamics, sudden changes of tempo--oh! Deep, rich color! Smooth and creamy as melted butterscotch candy, and as upbeat as a leaping cricket. AMAZING. and I got the entire hour performance for FREE, all the while sitting in a glorious auditorium with a bunch of Israeli's, (There were a few guys dressed up like Jethro-- it was funny... there were also a few that were dressed like Prince Faisal. Ah well. It was incredible...) staring out the window at night-time Jerusalem with Dome of the Rock glowing back at me. I am the luckiest girl in the world. ...and the violist was kinda cute. Hahahahaha. In an old, Russian sort of way. ;)