Entries this day: AAM_Tashkent Bye_Tashkent Dream If_the_Buddha_dated Made_it! Not_a_Rob_update.txt Old_City_Jerusalem

AAM Tashkent

4:13am Tashkent Thursday 6 October 2005

Have arrived in Tashkent. Queues to get off the plane give me a moment to type.

Flight was uneventful, unless I count chicken dinner and cold sandwich breakfast as events.

I had a personal event of changing from shorts to jeans in my seat.

I want to video the supervac toilets; they suck hard!

Been practicing mindfulness per the Buddha dated book.

Wondering how cold it is outside; it's a bit cold here on the plane, and I only have a T-shirt in my immediate possession.

If I understand correctly, I'll be on another flight at 5:30am or so.... to Tel Aviv, baby!

Bye Tashkent

5:16am Tashkent Thursday 6 October 2005

On the plane now from Tashkent to Tel Aviv. The transfer was a bit choppy with our bus from the plane to the terminal stopping for at least 10 minutes before the terminal was unlocked or something.

A bit of confusion (on my part, and maybe other passengers) about where to go, but got it all sorted, stamped, checked, separated, transfered, stowed, seated and we're ready to go!

Dream

7:12am Tel Aviv Thursday 6 October 2005

We are about an hour from landing and I plan to stay awake from now. I had an interesting dream:

I was seated on a toilet, waitig for nature to do its thing and I cut a huge fart, that was like "oh yeah; that's a relief," but it kept farting blasting and stinking up the room and I thought, "okay; that's quite enough," and it kept going and going until I realized it could not be me (I would have been completely deflated) and realized the toilet was backspraying stinkbomb air at my ass while seated..

I then heard somone say "excuse me," and I thought, "heh heh; good joke" but then I realized she really wanted me, but when she asked for water, I woke up.

It was the woman (Osnat) beside me asking the cabin attendant for water.

If the Buddha dated

8:28 Tel Aviv Thursday 6 october 2005

Have just gotten to another quite interesting part of the Buddha book. Talking about different levels of connections. I've thought about this a lot. I need more than just physicl connection. I need intellect and shared interests. So I figured if I go *do* the things I wat, then I'll meet someone doing the same thing and have that part sorted. Physicl attraction and interests all in one. just check for intellect and be on our way.

But... there is far more than that. I knew that, but hadn't ever written it down. The bok as it written down in a pretty well thought ut maner, it sees. I'm not calling this a bible, but quite cool that I hae come to many of the same conclusions... Just didn't go to the same lengths of discussion.

About to land very shortly. The landing gear just dropped at 8:33am.

Made it!

11:34am Jerusalem Thursday 6 october 2005

Awesome. I made my way to Jerusalem, and Damascus gate, and to Faisel hostel, and have met Hisham, a quietly smoking man who manages the hostel. He's apparently pretty popular; a large "WE LOVE HISHAM" poster hangs above the counter in the tea room.

I met Meri (sp) from France (and heading back in 5 days after being here for months (since Feb in the country) and Olivier (sp), about whom I know very little. They are eating cheese and bread at the next table.

Hisham said he'll show me to my room soon.

- - - -

I was a bit lost once I emerged victorious through customs and baggage claim. ain't go no money, no map, no idea where the shuttle/train to Jerusalem might be.

Found an ATM, but it wouldn't give me cash on my card. Same with another ATM. Same with a third, and fourth (but they were the same companies at the first and second).

An actual bank, however, put an end to my cashless situation. Pulled out 400 NIS (the website said expect to pay 100 per week) in 50 NIS notes.

Found the trains and shuttles. Train to Jerusalem was 19 NIS. shuttle driver wouldn't quote me a price but I ended up taking it anyway, trusting I would end up closer to my destination that some train station in Jerusalem.

After quite a lot of antics featuring people with distinctly two sets of outfits (that I will grossly stereotype as Arab and Jewish), yabbering in Hebrew (not enough of that coughing sound to be Arabic (I think!!)), getting on and off and on and off the shuttle, (during which time I began to visualize my luggage and I safely arriving at Damascus Gate for 20NIS, and I felt through the fears welling up in my brain,) we finally left.

After quite some distance traveled through open desert and rugged hilly terrain, a guy asked me where I was from and where I was going and stuff. I told him United States and Damascus Gate, respectively. He made sure my destination was communicated to the driver (who I thought had already been told by the guy on the curb who I told in the first place), and then said it was all good.

We dropped off various people at various places and then I was asked to get off and transfer to another shuttle in the middle of the street. (Just like in Acapulco on those crazy cool bumpin' buses...) I gave my driver a 50NIS note (as the other passengers had been, and got 5 NIS back. I trust (and have a bit of evidence (when two guys got off, they gave the driver 100NIS and got one coin back) that) it was the right price.

Changed shuttles, didn't go but about a kilometer or 2 and then was dropped off at what could have been the middle of the edge of a city, and I had no idea where to turn.

Asked some guy for directions to Damascus Gate and he pointed me down a street. I didn't get too far when I saw a couple about my age and appearance. Meri and Olivier, and they were headed to the same hostel.

Not a Rob update.txt

We arrived in Tashkent, Uzbekistan around 4am, piled out of the plane
onto buses on the tarmac, and headed toward the terminal building.  We
generally sat or stood in silence, like a train in Tokyo, but slightly
less crowded.  Interesting to feel the queries boil up in my brain as
we stopped for fully 5+ minutes in front of the terminal with the bus
doors closed, and the bus engine and interior lights actually turned
off.  Someone began knocking on the glass to express his/her interest
in exiting the bus, but no answer was returned.  We just waited until
the bus came back to life, the doors opened, and we herded into the
terminal.

No clear indication of where to go, but I was keenly aware my next
flight planned to leave in 45 minutes.  About 1/3 of our group was
crowded around a counter, but I wasn't sure if that was required for
everyone or if passengers to Tel Aviv should go elsewhere or what; I
didn't want to waste time in line, but I felt a bit afraid to ask
where to go, fearing everyone else knew what was going on, wouldn't
speak English, or worse.

After a bit, someone said "Tel Aviv" and I began to see what I needed
to do.  Gently asserted my way toward the desk to get stamped and then
headed upstairs to another line, where one overworked man was checking
passports.  Eventually someone announced that some people needed to
leave soon and they (including me) should move to the front of the
line.  Got stamped, scanned, headed down the hall to wait at the gate;
I was headed in the right direction.

Another bus to the plane, another 767-300 for a four or five hour
flight from Tashkent to Tel Aviv.  This flight had fewer Japanese
passengers, more backpack carrying passengers than the previous
flight.

I got names and numbers of the couple sitting next to me, and they
gave me some advice for how to get to Jerusalem.

The Ben Gurion Airport is far more beautiful than I had imagined.  In
my mind, the immigration counter would be a table next to a gate in a
chain link fence stretched across a rather large sheet metal hangar,
with holding cells nearby for when they caught activists trying to
enter the country.

Instead, a beautiful modern terminal with large glass windows greeted
us as we glided down moving sidewalks down a huge corridor of hewn
rock that reminded me of Egyptian architecture.

At the bottom of the last sidewalk, a couple of doors led to the
immigration counters.  I filled out my form and waited in line,
gawking at the hasidic Jewish clothing, beards, and hair styles.  I
was no longer in Japan.  Or the US.  Or anywhere else I've ever been.

I presented my passport and form to the woman, and was a bit flustered
when she asked me what I was going to see; I hadn't been preparing in
my mind what to say, so I just stuttered that I wanted to see some of
the famous sites.

"What sites?"

"Um, the um, dome thing with a rock, and the olive mountain thing.  I
don't really know, but my friend knows."

"Who is your friend?"

"Niveen."  (oh dear, I had said the wrong name, and hoped it didn't give me away.)

"Who?"

"Eilat.  I have her information here," and I began to dig through my
envelope.

"It's okay, it's okay," and she pushed the stamped passport and entry
permit back to me.

I had made it into the country.

Through the next door, got my suitcase, then headed toward the exit.
Out into the insecure area of the airport and realized I had little or
no idea how to get to Jerusalem.

And I had no money.

But I did have a credit card, which I tried with my pin at the ATM and
then the bank upstairs in the airport arrival area.  Got 400 NIS (for
US $85) and marveled out how cheap that was (I remembered the website
saying I'd need 100 NIS per week, but it actually said US $100 per
week..)  

5:46pm IST Saturday 08 October 2005

Bah; I was going to send this as a Rob Update email, but it's too long and boring; I'll just post it.

Old City Jerusalem

8:18pm IST Thursday 06 October 2005

I'm staying in a hostel that has an (angled) view across the street of Damascus Gate, a large arched portal into the Old City of Jerusalem. After becoming settled, having put together the last 24 (timezone affected) hours of travel, I accepted an invitation from Sarah to go explore the area.

Streets are well-paved, but dirty, with rubbish focused on the sidewalks and back alleys. Vendor carts covered variously in fresh breads, fruits, drinks, knick-knacks line the sidewalks. The vendors generally paid little attention to us, neither trying to have us sample their wares nor tantalize us with good prices.

Sarah bought a small bread loaf for 1 NIS, which she suspected was a ripoff price, but I must say I've no idea.

Across the street and then into the Old City, a set of narrow bustling streets and markets accented with narrow quiet streets branching off toward churches or blocked off areas. Walking slowly with the foot traffic, again being generally ignored by the vendors, we exchanged travel stories and comments about the various wares.

A quiet staircase appeared along one side of the street, so we ascended into the quiet courtyard area with copious litter tossed over the fence onto the roof over the sidewalk where we had been. We found a church built in 325 AD that featured large green doors and some sort of echo-chamber hymn room that we didn't actually seek.

On the way back to the steps, I was taken by the numbers of fences crisscrossing the roofs of the city.

Back down into the main sidewalk we turned left and found the dome of the rock, and headed that direction. We found ourselves in an old tall-arch hallway with small skylights periodically along the ceiling and vendor booths along each side. I wondered when someone had the great idea to convert this grand church wing into a glorified souvenir shop. Sarah guessed it had always been a market.

I looked up at the skylights and discovered they had become skybricks.

At the end of the hall, some steps led up to what is apparently an entrance to the dome of the rock. Cool!

Just before we arrived at the steps, a machine gun endowed Israeli soldier waved his hand at us. We were not allowed to go in.

Hmmmm. "Can we come up the steps and look?" I queried.

"No."

I didn't try to plead/flirt/debate past that point; we just turned around and headed back down the hall. A left turn brought us through an arch and into a bit of a foot-traffic jam near an entrance/exit featuring a metal detector. For some reason, a bunch of people went in through the exit, including us.

We found ourselves in the large generally-quiet courtyard overlooking the Wailing Wall, which Sarah said was part of Solomon's temple rebuilt by David. People are allowed to approach and even touch the wall, though it's apparently (one of) the holiest places / items in Jewish faith. However, the wall visitation areas are gender separated, with the women given about 1/3 or less of the available length of wall.

Hasidic Jewish men (with shaved heads except for sometimes-curled long tails on both sides, wearing two hats each (the bowl shaped form-fitting hat and the black top hat looking one) and long black coats and pants) read prayers / scripture in Hebrew that sounded like a low murmur while doing a repeated rocking bow type motion toward the wall. I wanted so much to get a picture of them specifically, but didn't think it would be appreciated.

We generally headed out of the city, stopping for humus and pita plus vegetables and drinks. It was scary to see the Israeli soldiers walking by with enormous machine rifles slung over one shoulder.

I also didn't take pictures of them.