London and Spain

Monday morning initiated phase 3 of the trip - London! I'd decided to stop off in London on the return home so I could make a side trip to Santander to visit friends and colleagues as long ago promised. In a passing conversation, I'd once told Paul that I hated London, so he was determined, in a day, to change my impression of one of his favorite cities. I'll have to say that he succeeded. My last trip to London was a whirlwind in not great weather chasing two very dear but very tall and fast moving friends through the city. This time was far more leisurely. And it was actually sunny! We started off the morning with a breakfast picnic in Hyde Park and continued on to the Natural History Museum. He had gotten tickets of a special exhibition of wildlife photography that was fabulous. It is an annual competition with a dozen or so different categories, and the photos are stunning. Plus the presentation is really nicely done such that the room is dimly lit, and the photos are strikingly backlit so the colors pop and everything is sharp. That also makes them really easy to photograph, so I got some nice images of my favorite ones. The winner of the whole exhibition was a great shot of leafcutter ants captured from through the leaf so you see just the silhouettes of the ants with a few peeking through a hole they've removed from the leaf - their little hairs glowing from the light behind the leaf. Simple and gorgeous. After the exhibit, we made a pass through a few of the permanent exhibits to satisfy my geek needs and saw the taxidermied jerboa they have in the mammals collection. I have yet to see a jerboa mounted in true posture, and this was the worst of them all. I may have to write a letter of complaint :)

On from the museum, we caught the tube to Westminster and walked across the river to the Thames river walk. There weren't as many mimes and street performers this time as when I was there last, and we apparently missed the Mime Convention by about 6 weeks. Disappointing. But the river was lovely, and it was a splendid walk with a stop for meat pies - mine was steak in a red wine gravy with just a hint of Stilton. Mmmm, good food. Yes, I know I write a lot about food, because that's one of the greatest things in life, and dinner was no exception! After a stop for pints of English ale in a truly authentic pub, we made our way to an amazing north African restaurant that is a favorite old haunt of Paul's. With good reason. The atmosphere was beautifully decorated and cozy, and the staff were lively and fun with great North African/Middle Eastern music playing in the background. Suddenly, in the middle of dinner, the lights went down and the music went up, and the whole staff were dancing joyously between the tables. Turns out it was someone's birthday. And they took their sweet time celebrating. After a couple of warm up songs, a cake with candles made its way to one of the tables, and the strikingly beautiful hostess pulled a lucky man from his seat for a quick dance before returning him to his dinner companions. Great fun. And the meal ranked up there as one of the very best ever - starters of chicken livers with smooth hummous, pomegranate seeds a walnuts, delicately fried little triangles of cheese wrapped up in pastry with an apricot paste, and my favorite was the savory pidgeon pastry gently dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar over slices of fresh tomato and orange. Followed by the best lamb tagine ever that fell away in heavenly tenderness. I'm now inspired to perfect my culinary skills with that dish.

Following in the food pilgrimage, I made my way solo from London onward to Spain where I was picked up at the airport and whisked away to yet another fantastic dinner. Croquettes! I'd forgotten how lovely are the Spanish croquettes. And chorizo, jamon, and cecina. A heavenly trio of meats. On Thursday, Marian, Federica, and I drove up into the Picos de Europa for a stroll through some of a old farm villages with the white peaked mountains looming over. Lunch was the long awaited cocido. It's a stew made with chickpea and cabbage that has about 6 different kinds of meat including hunks of pork, fat, chorizo, and morcilla (blood sausage) that was sooooo yummy. And coma inducing for the long drive back down the mountains to Santander - fortunately I was not driving, and the narrow windy road with nets to stop the falling rocks was enough to keep Federica white knuckled and awake. Friday things had to turn away from food and fun and back to work as I visited the lab and gave a talk for the institute. It was in part to bookend a great collaboration that will soon result in what we hope to be a really nice publication - with more work to be done on future potential projects, I think my stomach and I will have to return to Spain for longer next time.

These trips get more and more surreal with each one as it feels like I've been gone far longer than I have while I'm away, but it seems like a dream and I never left by the time I'm home again. Unfortunately, there's not another on the immediate horizon, so the itch will just have to build for awhile as I'm grounded back in reality.

Petra, Day 2

The second day of Petra was a little more leisurely but still an invigoratingly active day. We got off to a slightly later start at around 10:30 am, which put us at the gates as large busloads of tourists were pouring in. It's common for people to visit Petra in one day by coming over from Israel and then back again. Seems ridiculous to me when you consider the border crossing and 3 hours of round trip driving. And the fact that the entrance fee is almost twice as much for a single day as it is for two days. A lot of the package tour folks also seem to see only a 10th of the site. They work their way slowly through the Siq listening to a sarcastic tour guide make the same jokes day after day and pass through to the Treasury in processional line to exclaim "WOW!" on cue as they catch their first glimpse. But while it was different and perhaps not as serene and mystical as our first day, it was a hoot to join in on a group and laugh at what a different experience they were having to what we'd had just the day before. And it gave us a chance to learn a little bit about the history of the site. But we quickly ditched the masses and continued our climb through the rocks to explore some of the royal tombs and return up the mountain to the Monastery for a second time.

I think the Monastery is my favorite of the two major buildings, and that is primarily because of its location and grand scale. It's about a 40 minute climb up the mountain to a point where you come around a corner, and the Monastery just appears before you in all it's splendor. It's not as elaborately carved as the Treasury but is perhaps twice the size. All impressively carved in one piece out of a solid rock face. Across from the Monastery and up a hill just a bit is a gift/tea shop that I think has the best view of most any tea shop of the world. They have rows and rows of low sofas with comfy pillows and delightful black tea with fresh mint leaves, so we got a couple of tea cups and unpacked our lunch picnic. Paul has accquired an appreciation for the picnic and has been collecting beautifully staged food photos from various travel destinations. I think this will turn out to be one of the best - fresh pitas, tinned sardines, dried apricots and figs, salted almonds, and amber cups of tea set against a backdrop of the Monastery. While we sat enjoying our lunch and view, a couple of the local Bedouin boys bragged that they could reach the top of the Monastery and set off to scramble like mountain goats up the rock face and to the very top of the spire 30 meters from the ground below. It was nervewracking and exhilerating to watch. And not something I'd EVER dare attempt.

The view from the top of the mountain to the surrounding area is again stunning. Not something a photo can even remotely do justice. They've called the best lookout point the "View of the End of the Earth", and it truly is. Not a tree in sight and jagged cliffs all around dropping off to the valley between the mountains of Jordan and Israel and the Dead Sea far out of sight in the distance. We made it back down the mountain and through the park to the entrance again right as they closed at dusk and were welcomed into the city by the haunting call to evening prayer. A delightful dinner of the best tabouleh, falafel, and hommous ever, a good rest, and we were off at daybreak to return to Israel.

And here came the next hiccup. We'd calculated our combined finances to cover everything down to the last Jordanian Dinar thinking, on my failing, that the exit tax was 5 JD per person. Between the two of us we had 11.5 JD remaining when we got to the border with no ATM machine, no willingness to take foreign currency, and a request for 16 JD to cover our exit. Oops. Fortunately, we crossed at just the same time as a good natured Kiwi couple who had enough to get us up to 15.5 JD, and the border agent reluctantly let us pass with the short change. Thank goodness for that since we had a 10 am flight to catch to Tel Aviv and not a lot of time to spare. Especially considering the Israeli airport security. Wow. Before we could even check in for our flight, we had to wait in a long line for security clearance that placed us in front of a grim-faced young woman who wanted to know where we'd been, why we were traveling, and how we knew each other. Then she asked Paul to step out of earshot to wait for her colleague and started in on me with the Spanish Inquisition. Another woman came along to give Paul the same questioning. How did we know each other? How long had we known each other? How did we meet? Why were we traveling? Where had we been? Where had we stayed? Where had we eaten? What did we do for a living? Why were we at the conference? Who had invited us? Why had Harvard decided to send me rather than someone else? Did I have a business card? (no, scientists don't carry business cards) Did I have proof of the conference? Would I show her my presentation? And each time I had to dig for a hotel booking or meeting roster, she started in on another question that would distract me from finding the first answer, and she re-asked the same questions several times trying to find inconsistencies in my story. After a good 15 minutes of drilling us both, the two women conferred on whether our stories were consistent and released us to catch our flight. They apparently do this to ensure we aren't using each other, or no one else is using the two of us to compromise their security. And they're really good at their job. Once the woman questioning me was satisfied, her whole demeanor changed, and I was joking with her that I couldn't have kept anything from her if I'd had anything to hide. Super intimidating!

Onward to Petra, Jordan

So as I said, primarily I was away for the conference, but those of you who know me well know that I will take every opportunity for adventure as it presents itself. A good friend for years had been to this same conference when it first occurred 3 years ago and had decided that if it happened again he wanted to hop over to Petra. I don't have to be asked twice. So since I enjoy trip planning so much, and life had taken over his time, I just decided to take on all of the arrangements for that leg of the journey - border crossing, taxis, onward flights, etc. With only a couple of minor hiccups that really amounted to no worries. We realized a day before departing the conference that the border closed 2 hours earlier that I had thought. Stupid military time. So it was a little bit of a rush getting there and getting across to Jordan, but ended up being perfect since we avoided any of the border traffic. Out of Israel, down the long walk through "no man's land", and into Jordan in about 15 minutes. The driver was supposed to be waiting across the border when we arrived, but no one seemed obviously expecting us. I called the number I'd been given. No answer, and the vultures were descending. I called the hotel owner who I'd made the arrangements with, and he apologized profusely that he'd forgotten to finalize the time with the driver who was at that moment 1.5 hours away in Wadi Musa (the village near Petra). Oops. The collection of drivers at the border told me one of them could take us for 60 JD. Uh, no, I had an agreement for 45 for the driver I arranged, so why should I pay more? They nodded in admiration of the good deal I'd made and insisted on talking to the hotel owner. So after some discussion and negotiation, a deal was struck that one of the drivers at the border would take us for my pre-arranged price. So we hop into a cab that takes us into the city of Aqaba and into a residential neighborhood to behind an apartment building where we hop out of the one cab and into another to make the rest of the drive. Don't ask why we had to change cars. Sometimes these things just don't need to be known.

In fact, the timing of everything was perfect, so getting into Jordan in the evening meant we could be at the gates of Petra by around 7:30 am. That let us get the amazing morning light and avoid the hoards of tour groups that pass through at the mid day. The entrance to the city of Petra is through the Siq - a long and narrow canyon with dramatic red sandstone cliffs rising on both sides that form a passage through loosely joined puzzle pieces. The city itself was build by the Nabateans more than 2000 years ago and was a central location for trading in the region. It must have been absolutely amazing at the time. This was at a pinnacle of art and science in the middle east, and the evidence for their advanced society is impressive - water channels were cut into the rock face that were covered to prevent contamination and had built in filtration for sediments. They even somehow calculated the gradient of the slope so that the channel is level throughout the city, thus controling the rate of water flow. And looking around the absolutely barren landscape, it's obvious why water was so precious.

The first "wow moment" is at the exit from the Siq into the front of the Treasury. This is one of the two most famous buildings at Petra, and it really is breathtaking to walk through the narrow rock passage and catch the first glimpse of the columned building. Made even better by the two resting camels in front and no people littering the view. We hung around the Treasury for quite awhile watching the sunlight rise over the rock wall to briefly bathe the glowing face of the Treasury. It's beautiful how the color of the rock changes depending on the light. The building itself is the best preserved of the site, and the intricate carvings of the pillars and sculptures just reinforce the amazement that all of this was done more than 2000 years ago, not built from stone but carved out of a solid rock face.

Onwards and further, you start to appreciate the massiveness that must have been this city at it's peak. There are caves and elaborate tombs carved into every rock face stretching through the valley for miles. We had decided to clamber up a mountain to the High Place of Sacrifice (where I managed to avoid the threat of bloodletting) to see the view of the surrounding valleys and then passed over the back side of the mountain past other monuments and tombs to work our way back around to the main route. I had thought that would be the end of our first day, and we'd save the major tombs and the Monastery for day 2 but was easily convinced to climb up to the Monastery with plenty of afternoon remaining. This meant a grand total of about 20 miles of hiking and probably over 5,000 feet in total elevation gain. I was pretty proud of my endurance and refusal to be "broken".

We reached the gate precisely at the closing hour and passed on offers for a cab ride up the hill into town. When you've already walked so far, what's another mile or so? Good decision, because as we passed through town we came across a bakery and decided to pop in for some bread to complete our picnic the next day. The shopfolks were extraordinarily friendly and gave us tastes of various sweets, so we purchased a couple of extra treats along with our pita breads. Off in the corner of the shop, there was a guy at a long table bagging pitas as they fell from the ceiling. Somehow we thought this was just the funniest thing ever - pitas raining from above, and I was taking video while we laughed and marveled at the whole thing. So some young guy came over and asked if we'd like to see where they come from. I said absolutely, and we followed him up two flights of a back stairwell into a room that was a maze of machinery. Every pita in the surrounding area must be made in this one bakery. Hundreds of pitas at various stages of production snake through the room, and they are running the marchinery from 3 am until 8 pm each day. The guy enthusiastically led us around to show us where the dough comes out in balls, how it gets flattened into pancakes, and where it travels along layers and layers of conveyor belts into the flaming furnace oven to be cooked. He even took our four steaming fresh pitas and replaced them with four that were straight out of the fire - doesn't get much better than that.

The lowest place on earth

I'm actually back in Boston now but sad that I wasn't able to keep this up while I was away, so I've decided to "back blog" the last couple of weeks since I last wrote from Jerusalem. 7 flights, 6 hotel rooms, 4 countries in 14 days, and maybe it's not hard to imagine why I found it difficult to find time to write. It truly felt like the Amazing Race at times. So here come a few catch up installations...

The primary purpose of the trip was an integrative musculoskeletal meeting in Ein Gedi on the Dead Sea. Best conference location ever. The meeting itself was fabulous - good speakers, good colleagues, and a great chance to catch up with old friends. But it also raised my standards for future speaking engagements...you cannot beat spending the afternoon before giving a talk relaxing at a resort and floating on the bouyant sea in the warm sun. A group of us, smaller than I'd expected, spent the free hours between sessions at the spa. Fantastic people watching. Folks from all over the world, and particularly the old israeli ladies, come to the dead sea spas for what are purported to be the great health benefits of the mineral rich mud and salty sea. So we joined right in the mud bath which involves slathering your whole body in slimy sulfuric mud that dries and cakes in the sun and makes it difficult to move. I joked about doing a slow "running man" until I froze in statuesque position. The guys took the mock mud wrestling approach. And then we strolled down to the sea to rinse off the mud and float. When I say "float", that's an understatement. It is impossible to sink on the Dead Sea. It is the craziest feeling ever. You aren't in the water. You're on top of the water. You can assume a full crucifixion position, fall completely asleep, and not drown. You might end up floating across to Jordan, but you'd arrive safely at least. But next time I will be bringing a little pair of surf socks since the shoreline is encrusted with thick salt deposits. The sea is apparently about 35% salt, which is pretty much super saturation, so the water's edge is almost like a coral reef of salt. Not fun on the feet, but worth the pain for the reward. And I do think my skin is radiantly healthy now!

Jerusalem

Warning: this is going to be a long post.

I arrived in Tel Aviv at 5:30 this morning and had an uneventful shuttle transfer from the airport to the Jaffa Gate of the Old City in Jerusalem shortly after sunrise. The scenery around here is lovely - rolling hills of vinyards dotted with green spaces and natural steppes of limestone rock. Every structure here is made of pale limestone which gives the city a calming quality. Especially at 7 am when you're one of the only souls wandering the narrow streets. I'm staying in a really sweet guesthouse that's a Lutheran Hospice. The best places to stay around here are apparently the ecclesiastical hospices for pilgrims who happily rent rooms to anyone regardless of religious affiliation. I picked St Marks because it was highly rated online, and the photos on their website made me swoon. Courtyard garden, roof deck with a panorama of the city, and recently remodeled rooms. All at a price that won't entirely break the budget.

Except that I couldn't check in until noon, so what to do besides hit the city and see what this place is all about. I brought no guidebook (didn't even look at one before I came), so I took a quick glance of the map in the hotel to get my bearings and set off. Old Jerusalem is divided into four quarters - the Jewish, Armenian, Christian, and Muslim. The guesthouse is more or less in the center of it all on the border of the Armenian and Christian Quarters. So I headed up through the Christian quarter, really only because I ended up following a group of kids make their way off to school, and realized I'd made one loop around and back to where I started. Back to George.

I'll start by saying that everyone here is extraordinarily friendly. I'm uber cautious, fully trust no one, and always have an escape route in mind. Also after 5 years in Boston and all my travels, it's hard to imagine anyone would want to just sit and chat without an ulterior motive. George was standing in for a friend as a tea and coffee vendor and had hit me up earlier in the morning, so I figured I'd stop off for a cup the second time around. He invited me to sit and visit, I figured I had nothing better to do with the morning, and thus started a charming conversation (through a smokers hack) with a sweet old guy who just likes people. He offered to meet me a few hours later for a personal guided tour, but while I like George and all, I couldn't see spending the rest of my day with him. So I bid a kind farewell and was off to explore further.

Not even knowing where I was going, another nice guy on the street quickly pointed me in the direction of the Western (Wailing) Wall. It was still quite wee in the morning, but the most devout of devout were out for the morning prayers. I went back by the wall in the evening, and it really is amazing to see all of the clearly different sects appear throughout the day from the various orthodoxies with tall hats and long locks of hair at the ears, or full beards with white stockings, shiny black robes, and big round fur hats that look like something from a car wash to rather western-looking young men wearing simple yarmulkes. People gather 24 hours a day to pray at and touch the wall - the men on the left and women in a separate and far smaller section on the right. A wide stripe along the lower margin of the wall is left from the hand prints of centuries of followers.

The outlook to the wall itself is an amazing vantage point for the religious aspects of the city, as from the wall - which is the most religious site in Judaism - one can see the Dome of the Rock at the Temple Mount (thought to be the ascension point of Mohammed as well as the site where Abraham was intended to sacrifice Isaac), as well as the Mount of Olives in the background. So from the wall, I wandered around to the outside of the Old City wall and up to where I could see enormous tour buses and throngs of visitors in the distance. The first site was the Garden of Gethesmane, where Jesus frequented with his disciples and went to pray the night before the crucifixion. The garden itself is still planted with centuries old olive trees, though I'm not sure if they're (probably not) the original olive trees. Though they look really old. From there I swam upstream to the Russian Orthodox Church of Mary Magdalene and the Dominus Flevit (The Lord Wept) Church. That is apparently where Jesus wept for the future destruction of the temple of Jerusalem. Onward and upward (all of the tour groups smartly start at the top and work their way down), I met Abraham, the streetside hawker, who gleefully showed me a panoramic poster and gave me a quick overview of the city skyline - for free because I'm from the same country as his new friend (and trainee) from New Jersey - and sent me on my way up the hill further to the Church of the Ascension. Unfortunately that was closed, but a nice young man whose name I didn't catch eagerly pointed me back down the hill to the Grotto of Gethesmane (where Jesus was arrested) and the Tomb of the Virgin Mary.

So I feel like I've had a whirlwind tour of religious history and saw so much so far, though I missed the Church at the site where the Lord's Prayer was taught to the disciples, and I missed the site of the Last Supper. Ah well, there's so much to see, and I'm doing pretty well without a guidebook. It's easy enough to pop in and out of enormous group tours and listen to their guide for awhile before wandering on to the next site. And the people watching is unbelievable - big groups of Fransiscan monks and Russian Orthodox Catholics in full religious regalia toting digital cameras and posing for photos in front of various churches and relics.

Evening here is hauntingly beautiful, and after a quick afternoon siesta, I headed back out for a dusktime stroll through the city again. It is really fascinating to hear each of the religions coexisting, if not completely peacefully then at least with some degree of respect. From near the Western Wall, you can hear the rhythmic chants of the Jewish followers, the Muslim call to prayer echoing hauntingly through the valley, and the various church bells clanging from all directions. But not all at once as if the mosques and churches are each patiently waiting their turn and one picks up moments after the last left off. I'm sure it's all random chance of clocks not perfectly set, but I'd like to think there's more to it than that.