Mamilla Court (Jerusalem)

There is a cute shopping area behind the Mamilla Hotel, not far from the Jaffa Gate in Jerusalem.

It is a nice mix of old and modern architecture.

There are a lot of posh, trendy shops there.

(Rolex and Crocs)

(My daughter and Tomer Aharon in front of Abercrombie & Fitch)

There are also more than a few restaurants and cafés.

(Aroma Espresso Bar)

(Roladin Bakery & Café)

What you see as you stroll through the area are a lot of sculptures.

(Ben Gurion standing on his head. Apparently, something he liked to do)

They’re everywhere!

And they are all for sale!

You’ll love them.

Some of the buildings have been reconstructed, stone by stone, all numbered so they could be put back in the same order.

Amazing.

If you want a really fun time…

(It’s a stone’s throw from the Tower of David)

And you’re ever in Jerusalem and have an hour or so to spend…

visit Mamilla court…

(Relax! It’s only a sculpture!)

Have a limonana…

(Lemonade with fresh mint leaves)

Maybe some shakshuka…

(Shakshuka – poached or fried egg with tomato sauce, served with tehina)

You’ll be amazed!

(in a good way)!

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Shuk Yerbouti!

Until last month, I’d never been to a shuk. [1]

(One of the many lanes in the shuk in Yaffo [aka Jaffa])

When I was in Israel, I had the opportunity to visit a few and I have to tell you, there is a real appeal to shopping in a shuk.

(Entrance to the Iraqi shuk in Jerusalem)

There is also a great shuk in Tel Aviv!

(Bagels at the shuk in Tel Aviv!)

And it featured one of my favourite drinks in Israel…

(Limonana – lemonade with mint leaves)

Limonana!! Especially when it’s hot out, limonana really makes my day!

(Entrance to Machane Yehuda Market – Jerusalem)

My favourite one is the Machane Yehuda Market in Jerusalem (aka “The Shuk”). [2]

(Machane Yehuda Market – Jerusalem)

There is an energy and a vibrancy there that is quite powerful.

(Machane Yehuda Market – Jerusalem [Image: Wikipedia])

Another good market is the long narrow shuk that runs from the Jaffa Gate to the entrance to the Western Wall.

(My daughter’s photo of me & Tomer Aharon at the Old City shuk - Jerusalem)

My dear friend Tracy went to Morocco last year. She says that the shuk in Marrakesh is beyond belief.

Never… EVER… pass up an opportunity to walk through an authentic shuk. It has to be experienced to be believed.

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[1] A shuk [souq or souk (Arabic: سوق‎ sūq, also spelled soq, souk, esouk, suk, sooq, souq, or suq)] is an open-air marketplace or commercial quarter in an Arab or Berber city. It entails the concept of a free market where vendors can command the going market price for their products. The term is often used to designate the market in any Arabized or Muslim city, but in modern times it appears in Western cities too.

[2] Mahane Yehuda Market, often referred to as “The Shuk”, is a marketplace in Jerusalem, Israel. Popular with locals and tourists alike, the market’s more than 250 vendors sell fresh fruits and vegetables.

Except where indicated, all images taken by Daniel Ventresca.

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Ahu’ula – molten lava flow (Hawaii)

Ahu’ula [1]

A river of molten lava pours into the Pacific Ocean

(Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii)

Photographer: G. Brad Lewis

(Photographer: G. Brad Lewis)

Facebook:    www.facebook.com/G.Brad.Lewis

Websites:    www.gbradlewis.com

www.volcanoman.com

Image details at: http://www.photobotos.com/hawaii-volcanoes-national-park/

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[1] Ahu’ula is a Hawaiian word, meaning “feathered cloak.”

Thanks once again to PhotoBotos.com for this and countless other eye-popping images!

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The Western Stone

I visited Israel this year for the first time from February 11th to the 25th. It was a mind-blowing experience.

One of the top, if not THE top, “must see” sights is the Western Wall in Jerusalem.

This is the view most people have in mind when they think of the Western Wall.

What most people fail to realize is that section of the Western Wall is only about the top 55 feet or so. It continues down underground for another 100 feet! This is because the section of the Western Wall Plaza you see above was built on a series of arches extending up from true ground level.

In order to more fully appreciate all of the Western Wall, you really need to take what is known as the Tunnel Tour.

Once you get underground, you can see how the Plaza above rests on top of huge arches leading up to the Wall.

The first thing you encounter when you reach the Wall is what is known as the Western Stone.

It’s big. REALLY big. The stone is 13.6 meters (44.6 feet) long and 3 metres (9.8 feet) high and has an estimated width of 3.3 meters (10.8 feet).

This single stone is about the size of a modern day bus. It is one of the largest building stones in the world. It weighs 570 tons!!

(Right section of the Stone)

It starts here at the right…

(Centre section of the stone)

… continues on… and on… for almost 45 feet..

(Left section of the Stone)

And ends at the left of this frame.

(Me obstructing the view of the Western Stone)

No one knows how the Jews were able to place a block this big in this spot!

There is not a crane in modern day Israel today that is capable of lifting this stone.

(Me at the Western Wall)

So if you are ever looking at The Wall from the Plaza, think of the depth (in all senses of the word) of that structure.

May the Temple be rebuilt, speedily and in our time.

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All photos taken by Daniel Ventresca using a Canon PowerShot A2400 IS digital camera. Last image taken by Tomer Aharon.

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Going to Israel (2)

On Monday, I arrived in Israel for the first time in my life after so many years… decades… of waiting, hoping, praying.

I came alone.

I knew it was going to be emotional. I knew it was going to be intense.

I was prepared… or so I thought.

It was like being prepared to be hit by a bus… compared to actually being hit by a bus.

When the plane touched down in Tel Aviv, I began weeping. [1]

I could barely stand. Other passengers grabbed their carry on bags and headed out. I was in a daze.

I made my way through a blur of tears. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I moved as if in a trance. Was this really happening? Am I in one of the thousands of dreams and daydreams I’ve had over the last 30 or 40 years?

I was nervous about being questioned by Israeli authorities. Who was I? Where was I from? Where was I born? Why was I coming to Israel? Was I Jewish? A Jew with an Italian name? Were my parents Jewish? Did I convert? What rabbinical court converted me? My daughter lives in Israel? She immigrated to Israel? Where does she live? What is her address? Is this my first visit? What prayer does a Jew make when he embarks on a trip? Recite the first line. Do I wear tefillin? When do I wear them? When do I NOT wear them? What was the Torah reading for last Shabbes? What’s the Torah reading for next Shabbes? Was I married? Did I have an aufrufen? Did I read from the Torah? What was the Torah portion? Can I recite the first line from my haftorah portion? What holiday is coming up in 2 weeks? What book is read? Recite the blessings that are read before the book is read. Can you read the first few lines from that book? Do you know the melody that goes with that reading?

I had heard so many stories about Israeli security. I was nervous. I stepped up to the customs officer and handed her my passport.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

I explained that this was my first visit to Israel and that I came to see my daughter who made aliyah (i.e. emigrated to Israel) a year ago.

“Where does she live?”

I told her she lives in Ramat Gan.

“How long are you going to be in Israel?”

I said I was staying for two weeks, returning on February 25.

The customs officer looked at me for a few moments, sizing me up.

She smiled and handed me back my passport and told me to proceed to baggage claims.

I walked to the baggage claim area and searched for my luggage. A plain black suitcase. My dear friend (and international travel guide) Tracy suggested I attach some brightly-coloured masking tape or cloth to make it distinguishable. I found it. Both wheels were broken off.

I extended the handle and dragged the suitcase behind me as I moved out into the main lobby. I felt numb. It all seemed so unreal. I couldn’t help feeling that I was going to wake up at any moment.

A tall handsome young man with a wide smile. Tomer. My daughter’s boyfriend. He waves and comes to me, giving me a big warm tight hug.

And then I see my beloved daughter. I’ve not laid eyes on her in over a year.

I cry again. I can’t help it. Tomer helps me with my crippled suitcase.

We walk out into the fresh air. I breathe it deep into my lungs.

I’m here. I feel I’ve finally come home to a place to which I’ve never been before.

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[1] Actually, I started crying as soon as I heard the landing gear lowering. 

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Going to Israel (1)

For most of my life, I have dreamed about going to Israel.

I’ve imagined it countless times in countless ways.

Going with my family.

Arriving with my children.

My son’s bar mitzvah at the Kotel. [1]

Going with my new wife.

Moving to Israel. Making Aliyah.

Living in Jerusalem. Learning there.

In my imagination, I was often living in a tiny little room.

A bed. A desk. A chest of drawers. A chair.  A small library. I wouldn’t need much.

This Sunday (February 10), I fly to Israel for the first time. [2]

After a lifetime I will, G-d willing, be in The Holy Land.

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[1] Kotel:  The Western Wall in Jerusalem.

[2] I will be in Israel from February 10th to the 25th. I hope to keep posting blog articles as usual (Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays) but I may miss one here and there.

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The Yak is Back!

Last week, science writer Jennifer A. Kingson wrote in an article in the New York Times Science Section…

“What’s big and wooly and making a comeback on the Tibetan-Qinghai Plateau?” [1]

(A yak grazing on grassland on the Tibetan-Qinghai Plateau [2])

“Wild yaks are icons for the remote, untamed, high-elevation roof of the world,” said Joel Berger, who led an expedition for the Wildlife Conservation Society and the University of Montana that counted 990 wild yaks.”

(A big yak attack!)

“The yak population there had been decimated by hunting, much like the American bison population, so the expedition team, which included Chinese and American conservationists, was understandably best pleased to see so many of them up there.”

(We’re yak… and we’re back!)

Well done, yaks. Keep on going forth and multiplying!

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[1] OK. BIG question. Is it ‘wooly’ or ‘woolly’? Talmudic sages for generations have pondered this profound question. Here’s the answer.  The English (i.e. proper) spelling is ‘woolly’ (two Ls). “Wooly” (one L) is the American spelling. It’s kind of like the difference between humour and humor, travelled and traveled, aluminium – aluminum, burnt and burned.

[2] Frederic J. Brown/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

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Mt Fuji with a Sugegasa [菅笠]

Mt Fuji with a sedge hat or sugegasa  [菅笠].

(Lenticular cloud hovering over Mt Fuji, Japan)

This is an example of a lenticular cloud, also known as altocumulus standing lenticularis. These are stationary, lens-shaped clouds that are formed at high altitudes. They are included in the middle layer cloud family because the bases of the clouds are stationed between about 2,000 and 7,000 meters.

These clouds form when moist air is forced to flow up around mountains and large hills. The water is super cooled and condensed from air below the dew point temperature.

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Loonies I Have Lunched With (Part 17): ‘The Extreme’

Sweet Lord in Heaven, what would my life be without Tracy Charles in it?

(Tracy up north at the cottage in Parry Sound, Ontario)

Certainly a lot more dull, I can tell you that right now!

I live vicariously through Tracy. For such a normal looking girl, Tracy is The Extreme.

(Tracy and her dear friend, Shakira, in Morrocco)

Remember the 1996 movie Twister where the Bill Paxton character brings his girlfriend (Jamie Gertz) along chasing tornadoes and they end up at the farmhouse for lunch and she asks, “Why do you call him The Extreme?” The Philip Seymour Hoffman character explains, “Because he… is The Extreme!”

(Running down a zip line in Montego Bay, Jamaica)

That’s basically how I explain why I think of Tracy as “The Extreme”… because she… is The Extreme!

(Tracy making friends and influencing people in Cuba)

Tracy travels. Often. To a LOT of places!

But The Extreme is not content simply to visit these far flung joints. She has to go all out!

(Hang gliding in the Andes Mountains)

I swear, I get scared and exhausted just seeing her photos and videos and reading about what she’s doing next! The girl is a high octane adreniline machine.

(Repelling down a canyon river in South America)

The girl has boundless energy and an unbridled enthusiasm for trying something new, for taking risks.

(Rent a car? Hell, no! Tracy zips around  Baños, Ecuador, in a flippin’ go cart!)

Tracy is no mere adreneline junkie. She is a woman who has had her share of tragedy in her life and she has learned that you need to squeeze every drop of enjoyment from life. Never go to your grave thinking, “I wish I had done that!”

(Note the bad-ass barbed wire pattern on the helmet!)

So here’s to you, Tracy. You are an inspiration to me and all who know you.

Can’t wait until you get back from your present trip so we can talk more about it.

Until then, enjoy life to the fullest. If anyone has earned it, sweetie, it’s you!

(Tracy straddling the equator, being in two hemispheres at the same time!)

You’re the best. You are… The Extreme! [1]

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[1] At the time of this posting, Tracy is in the Amazon jungle, home to over 2.5 million insect species!

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Why I Miss The South (Part 5): The Tennessee Waltz

One night when I was driving down from Canada to Arkansas, I stopped at Jackson, Tennessee.

A few months before, an old girlfriend of mine, LK, introduced me to a wonderful place in Jackson called Casey Jones Village and I thought I would pop by to see if it was still open.

As I pulled in and parked, I could tell they’d had some kind of festival or concert there and, sadly, it looked like I’d missed it. Everyone seemed to be packing up. Rather than head back out on the highway, I decided to get out and stretch my legs and have a bit of a poke around.

I’ve never had bad luck meeting people in The South.

I headed toward the Old Country Store & Restaurant as there was group of musicians gathered there just to the left of the store. Looked like maybe they were a family. Two young ladies on violin. Two older gents on guitar. A stand-up bass. A banjo. Perhaps a harmonica.

I’d almost reached them when they lifted their instruments.

And that is when I heard it.

That small group of musicians started playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz.

I just froze in my tracks, taking it all in. I was transfixed.

I’m not sure if any of you have ever experienced a perfect moment. I did that night at that place.

The music. The night. The mild night air. A gentle breeze blowing the long blonde hair of one of the girls playing the violin.

I was in awe.

It was like looking at a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

Although I know it’s not possible, it seems to me I held my breath the entire time. I was so afraid that if I spoke, if I moved, if I did anything… I would spoil the absolute perfection of the moment.

I’ve always liked the Tennessee Waltz. But on that exact night at that exact time and place… it was the most beautiful tune I’d ever heard.

When they finished, they began packing away their instruments.

As I quietly came forward, I noticed a big old mason jar with some money in it. Not a lot of money, I’m sad to say.

I took all the cash I had on me and rolled it up, put a $5 bill around the outside and placed it into the mason jar. It must have been around $400, I think. And I actually felt guilty for not being able to pay more… to pay them as much as they were worth in my eyes.

You see, I wasn’t giving them money. I was merely trying to pay back a small token amount of what they had given to me that night.

You can’t put a dollar value on perfection.

I’ll always remember that night… and The Tennessee Waltz.

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