Summer Travels - 2017: Walled Off Hotel

A few more pix from Banksy's Walled Off Hotel (June, 2018)

Summer Travels - 2017: West Bank

While visiting Bethlehem this past June, I posted a couple Facebook notes that I’d like to keep [slightly revised] here…

It’s gonna be a while to process this part of the trip: staying at both an embarrassingly upscale room one evening and in the much more low-rent "barracks" of the Banksy-affiliated Walled Off Hotel whose rooms justly boast the "worst view in the world" (a section of the 8-meter security/occupation barrier built after the Second Intifada); hearing a decidedly pro-Palestinian argument against the Two-State Solution by an Israeli Jew who could not cross over into Bethlehem with us; and, of course, meeting this fellow in a refugee camp from the 1948 Arab–Israeli War who, despite his threatening pose, was obviously just having some fun with us clueless tourists.

[Written on our departure] The word “surreal” begins to lose its meaning here. I’m writing this in an air conditioned bus, arranged to seat 17. Jenny and I are the only ones here. We paid dearly for this privilege in hopes of a smooth transfer out of the West Bank, but no amount of Shekels could safeguard us from the nearly hourlong wait at the guard-post separating Bethlehem from the Jerusalem suburbs. Hawkers walk up and down the line of wheezing cars offering bottled water and other sundries. We inch our way toward the border in fits and starts, annoyed at the sight of young dudes pushing their cars into the line from a side street. These small annoyances, each its own survivable frustration, add up.

Protected by our U.S. passports, Jenny and I know better than to complain. First, one hour is hardly that long, and eventually we will leave. Many of the people who live here, treated as potential criminals because of their names or family connections; cut off from family, jobs, hospitals, and religious sites just a few kilometers away; tired, hot, and frustrated; many of them have little hope for escape. In front of us, cars are inspected by soldiers in their late teens. Trunks are opened, passengers are sometimes called to exit their vehicles. But when we pull up to the checkpoint, the driver flashes his pass and one of the troops gives us a cursory look through the windows; we scoot right through.

Behind us, the eight-meter walls and guard towers recede into the background. Even so, the disciplinary apparatus designed to protect Israeli citizens, augmented by walled roads, tunnels, and heavily armed soldiers (and a few civilians), does not disappear; it just merges into a different sort of concrete reality. I am reminded of something that Mike Davis wrote: “Ramparts and battlements, reflective glass and elevated pedways, are tropes in an architectural language warning off the underclass Other. Although architectural critics are usually blind to this militarized syntax, urban pariah groups… read the signs immediately.”

Earlier today, another strange moment packed with tourist guilt: eating the tastiest shawarma I've ever had - in the Aida refugee camp. This morning, we visited without guides, and felt safe and welcome. In fact many children seemed delighted to practice their English (and, of course, guide us to shops run by family members). Walking the streets, photographing murals and stencil art, we were joined by a thin Palestinian dude who invited us into a shop packed with local folks waiting for their orders of sizzling meat (chicken, I suppose), drenched with hummus, cucumber, yogurt, chili sauce, and grilled onions.

We waited our turn in the stifling heat, grinning at folks who smiled at us, thanking them for their greetings, “Welcome!" and grateful to buy bottled water for Jenny and cold cans of apple soda for me. There are no tables in this joint, so we say our goodbyes and head back out into the heat in search of a stoop or stairs where we can eat. Before long we find our perch, near murals dedicated to people lost to the violence that sometimes sweeps this camp. Only later do I learn that some of the same artwork we came to photograph was shrouded by tear gas and pepper spray earlier this year.

Having not planned my attire with any precision, I am wearing the most obnoxious tourist garb, topped with a cheesy panama hat to block out some of the sun. I am nakedly, obviously, a fortunate interloper. But local folks are happy to see some currency flowing their way, so long as we don’t wave our privilege too odiously. As I have found in all my travels, a genuine smile and a constant inner refrain that I am traveling by or through someone’s home, melts many (but hardly all) barriers.

Summer Travels - 2017: Jerusalem Street Art

Here are some of my favorite examples of Jerusalem street art (photographed in Summer 2017)

Summer Travels - 2017: Jerusalem (additional pix)

Here are some more pix from beautiful, fascinating, overwhelming Jerusalem!

Summer Travels - 2017: Jerusalem

While visiting Jerusalem this past June, I posted a Facebook note that I’d like to keep [slightly revised] here…

Now I know why some folks go a little mad in Jerusalem, wrapping themselves up in the hotel bedsheets and proclaiming themselves to be prophets. This intersection of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam is a pulsing hive of sound, movement, and tempers kept in check by a largely mutual desire to keep cool under the scorching sun.

Souk pathways snake underground, connecting the old city via ancient tesseracts. Young Arab kids sport high and tight fauxhawks (many waiting outside subterranean barbershops to get their cuts done right). One dude lifts up a tight shirt to reveal chiseled abs; another scrapes a piece of bent metal against the wall, sneering as he passes. Israeli cops occupy strategic intersections, keeping a wary eye and wishing for shade.

Odors of saffron and ground pepper waft on static currents, occasionally blown away by unexpected cool breezes. We search for cheap cups of mint infused lemonade, learning the hard way that our initial price of 15 Shekels for a small amount is way overpriced. We pass by satiric t-shirts (“Jew Jitsu,” “Pika Jew,” “Guns and Moses,” and one that depicts a Google search for Israel: "Did you mean Palestine?" Little by little we’re finding our way through the old city.

Summer Travels - 2017: Finland

While teaching in Jyväskylä, I posted a few Facebook notes that I’d like to keep [slightly revised] here…

Just got back from Finnish Summer Eve at Varjola, a lovely forested place by a lake where we enjoyed sausages, chatted for hours, and savored the Finnish tradition of broiling in a smoke-scented sauna before leaping into the ice-cold lake - repeating back and forth, back and forth.

Many thanks to Risto Korkia-Aho for bringing me a huge sprig of birch branches for exfoliation and adding a charming scent to the moist furnace of the sauna. Special thanks also to Chuck Stevens for sharing a memorable cigar and conversation with me! Coming back, an extra treat: being serenaded by our Argentine students’ seemingly endless (but undoubtedly charming) repertoire of chants and songs.

First Weekend

After reviewing the great recommendations offered by my pals here in Finland, I decided to rent a car and head east toward Punkaharju and Savonlinna: lots of winding birch tree-lined roads, red farmhouses, and tranquil lakes.

At night I stayed at a former primary school turned into an apartment complex. It seems that the village didn't have enough kids to support the school. But the apartments are quite lovely. It's especially nice that I had an entire wing to myself - and a sauna they let me use for free. How nice to feel the cool evening air coming through an open window.

The next day was easily one of the nicest driving days I can recall. I savored lovely roads bisecting clean blue lakes, fields of yellow flowers, and plenty of time to reflect on how lucky I feel to enjoy this beautiful country. A special treat was the chance to rediscover my love of stick-shift driving, particularly around those winding roads.

Later on, I visited Kuopio market square and enjoyed cruising the curvy roads past red cabins and butter flowers and sparkling lakes. 

Second Weekend

There was something about the light last night, a sharpness and clarity that lasted just a few minutes, a brevity that summoned rare contemplation. The shadows stretched long and the sky seemed to pulsate. The lakes dappled with silver when clouds passed overhead. Pink streaks glowed across the horizon. As I drove toward the midnight sunset, a truck filled with cow manure raced by, dripping hot splotches onto the road; a kid hopped with delight in the passenger seat. Constellations of mosquitos danced in patches while fellows worked their combines in the fields. I went to bed in the gloaming that lasted another hour. Today I am drawn southwest and the tiny towns that dot the coast. I have no idea where I’ll sleep tonight.

One Last Trip

Woke up to the happy sound of Finnish kids playing in the rain. Proctored final exams, said goodbye to my classes, and celebrated JAMK summer school graduation. Then hit the road for a few hours of solo driving, After racing north with Midnight Oil as my copilot, I'm home for the night! The rain broke hours ago, and the sun is slowly setting amid a wash of silver and purple clouds. I'm sleepy but delighted. Tomorrow I'm heading for Tornio to photograph an orthodox church that's remarkable for its tiny size. Then it's further north to Rovaniemi, a city that - for the life of me - I still can't seem to pronounce properly. On the lookout for moose, reindeer, and Santa.

After visiting Rovaniemi: So, I've got the whole house to myself, but not the whole country. Turns out the nearest sauna is part of the house but accessible only through an external door. So I tossed on my "action pants" (don't ask) and a t-shirt and made my way to wood-paneled steamy oblivion, pouring water onto rocks to send paroxysms of steam into my lungs. About a half-hour later, wrapping up with a chilly shower, I said to myself, "Hey, I'm alone in Finland, surrounded by dandelion-covered fields and verdant forests. I don't need clothes to walk back!" So I started to open the door when my better judgment reminded me, "Wear a towel. Just in case." I'm glad I did because no more than ten steps later, I heard Pekka's cheery voice: "Was sauna good?" Well, let's put it this way. The sauna was almost a little too good, actually! Tomorrow begins the next leg of the journey, joining Jenny in Tel Aviv. I'll reflect more on this experience later but, suffice to say, I love this Finland and will be thrilled to return one day!

Truthfinder Clickbait

OK, here’s the overview: Truthfinder is one of those people-search sites that promises to deliver hidden insights about your friends, coworkers, romantic interests, etc., supposedly digging into the deep web for salacious morsels you can’t find via Google. Of course, if you check the reviews, you’ll find plenty of folks who say that their subscription model is a scam. Caveat emptor.

What freaks me out is the Truthfinder advertising approach: a young woman staring into the camera with a sultry come-hither look. Sometimes it’s a head-and-shoulders shot; other times it’s something even more creepy, a voyeuristic vibe. And then there are the alternating times: “Type in your name and wait… X seconds.” Sometimes it’s 7 seconds, sometimes 10 seconds, sometimes 14 seconds, sometimes up to 17 seconds. Always the same pitch but different length of time.

Why the skeevy images?

Why the different numbers?

Why do people click on these ads?