Travelling through Israel, day two. Sea of Galilee

Today it´s hills and tels that are scattered all along the Tiberias Lake. Some of them are Christian sacred sites – they are easy to discover because there is always a church on top, with the matching monastery or nunnery attached to it.

It´s funny to bet which site belongs to which part of Christianity. Roman Catholics nuns (“would you please cover your shoulders, woman?”), Roman Catholic monks (“shhhhhhhh keep quiet, this is a sacred place”), Greek Orthodox (“no shorts no shorts get out of here”),  Egyptian Copts (“cover everything”!),  Armenian Patriarchate (“your shoulders! your knees”!)… it is absolutely impossible to make out who is who – except that the monks from St. Francis never bother to shout “cover yourself up”!

There is Mount Tabor, where Jesus the Christ said “blessed are the meek for they shall inherit”. There is Mount Kedumin, where Jesus the Christ was tempted (“but sir, how can a God be tempted?” – I earn an irate look from the whatever-it-is priest and my question goes unanswered).  There is Meggido, where the last battle shall be fought.

There is a beautiful view from each mount. The valley of Jezreel lies at our feet, and the breeze plays with our hair. I end up deserting the group to try my skills at walking on water.

Lesson learnt: never try to walk on water or through water when not appropiately dressed to walk on water.  The bottom of the Sea of Galilee is rocky – and the rocks are slippery. And if one wears white linen trousers the best advice is to stay away from a muddy shore.

Specially when you are part of a group and the group is waiting for you shouting “come back, we´re going to miss our boat!”. Damn, it is difficult to run uphill when all your clothes are wet and stick to your body.

And I wouldn´t miss my boat trip for anything. An old wooden boat which sails the Sea of Galilee while old Jewish songs are being played and I can sing and dance on the deck.

The little harbour, Kibbutz Ginosar

From the upper deck.

Travelling through Israel day one. Tiberias.

Just arrived to Ben Gurion Airport.  I have, very obviously, brought my new laptop along with me.

The rest of the group is due in two hours,  so it´s going to be a long wait. There is a big fountain in the lobby and children are running to and fro, peyots flying wildly about their faces.

The cafeteria has the best lemon cheesecake I´ve ever tasted, and that´s a hell of a compliment for an airport cafeteria. Cheap, too. Lovely.

And having left Madrid-Barajas Airport six hours ago, where if you want to connect to the airport WiFi you have to pay six euros for thirty minutes, finding a free of charge airport WiFi here feels wonderful.

Mmmmm. I think I´m getting another piece of lemon cheesecake.

My group has finally arrived, and I´m having a quick cigarette with the girls after my bit of a squabble with our guide (who was a bit surprised at the “you´re the one I was waiting for” legend on my T-shirt). It is very hot outside though it is already dusk. But it´s dry. No humidity, so it does not feel bad at all.

We´re headed for Lake Tiberias, it’s a two hours drive from Tel Aviv. I wonder what we will have for dinner.  I have had a most delicious lemon cheesecake tea, and I´m ready for a whatever the future may bring delicious dinner.

Our dinner is waiting on the lawns. Funny because is dark, dark, and the paths are lighted with torches. The first one we take leads us to the bar – how thoughtful! – where I go for the freshly squeezed mango juice and the girls for cold beer. Apparently we have to follow the paths and get bread hmmmm I want that bun covered with sesame seeds, and then go on walking and fill our plates with salads, meats, falafel, fish, sauces. I get falafel and salad,  Mediterranean cucumber is so tasty.

But the Heaven on Earth is the dessert table, just beside the pool… white chocolate, black chocolate, chocolate covered fruits, almonds, nuts, coconut… my poor mates say bye bye to their diets… and I fill my dessert plate with as many varieties as I can get.

Now that´s what I call a reception!!

Everybody drifting towards the drinks hut. Lake Tiberias.

Mobbing

I have been trying not to pay very much attention to anything at work. Ok, so I was the one who gave orders and now I´m on the receiving end. It does not matter. After all, I work for the money and that is all. Money is still coming and I am still being as capricious as always when it comes to buying clothes or books.

And to tell the truth and nothing more than the truth: I´m enjoying myself. No responsibilities, no decisions to make, no explanations to give. I go by the book: I do what is requested of me, and no more.

The son of a bitch of the station manager, though, seems to have decided that stripping me of all my privileges and sending me to the beginner´s corner is not enough.  “We have to give a lesson to that woman, the one who was a supervisor and now is not”. That was said right in the middle of a meeting.

And that was enough. Excuse me, but I´m not easily cornered.

So, I called the trade unions representatives and went right to talk with him.

He was stupid enough to say things like “I can´t send you to the cargo  ramp”, “I don´t think of you when I´m at home” (and who asked you that question, pray? What the hell do you mean) “I have hated you from the day I set eyes on you. I said to myself I have to get rid of that woman”.

How the devil has he reached his position?  He must have licked some asses, and  quite dirty ones.

“I´m sorry, but I don´t take kindly to mobbing. I am a proffesional right to my fingertips, and everyone knows it.  If you try to mob me, I am taking sick leave indefinitely. But before I go, I will sue you and I will sue the company. And I´ll win my case: I have recorded everything. So you choose: I just want to be left alone”.

The Barbie Rules

Now that the days are longer and sun shines (er, well, sometimes it does shine), barbie season begins.

It is an institution here; everyone who has a back yard has a BBQ. All barbies I have been to follow a quite definite pattern; and finally, someone somewhere has been able to write down the rules.

New Standard Operating Procedures Released Today

THE BARBIE RULES:

It is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity.

When a man volunteers to do the barbie the following chain of events are put into motion:

1- The woman buys the food.

2- The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegs, and makes dessert.

3- The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill – beer in hand.

4- The woman remains outside the compulsory three meter exclusion zone where the exuberance of testosterone and other manly bonding activities can take place without the interference of the woman.

Here comes the important part:

5- THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

6- The woman goes inside to organize the plates and the cutlery.

7- The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is looking great. He thanks her and asks her to bring him another beer while he flips the meat.

Important again:

8- THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

9- The woman lays the table, cuts the bread, brings the salads, sauces, meat, napkins and places them on the table.

10- After the meal, the woman clears up the table and washes the dishes.

And most important of all:

11- EVERYONE PRAISES THE MAN AND THANKS HIM FOR HIS COOKING EFFORTS.

12- The man, full of himself, asks the woman how she enjoyed “her day off”.

13- The doctor asks the man whether he has been hit by a hurricane.

Carousel

A friend sent me the link, and I´m still wondering how the hell did they do it.

It´s amazing!

http://beta.stinkdigital.tv/work/carousel

Expressions for high stress days

Someone sent this to me, and I can confirm I’ve used one or three more than once!

1.You! Off my planet!!
2. Not the brightest crayon in the box now, are we?
3. Well, this day was a total waste of makeup.
4. Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
5. I’m not crazy, I’ve just been in a very bad mood for 28 years.
6. Allow me to introduce my selves.
7. Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.
8. Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.
9. Do they ever shut up on your planet?
10. I’m just working here till a good fast-food job opens up.
11. I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.
12. Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven’t fallen asleep yet.
13. I can’t remember if I’m the good twin or the evil one.
14. I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?
15. You say I’m a witch like it’s a bad thing.
16. Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?
17. Chaos, panic & disorder – my work here is done.
18. Everyone thinks I’m psychotic, except for my friends deep inside the earth.
19. Earth is full. Go home.
20. Is it time for your medication or mine?
21. Aw, did I step on your poor little bitty ego?
22. How do I set the laser printer to stun?
23. I’m not tense, just terribly, terribly alert.
24. When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.

You’ve just got to love them!!!!

One thing about blokes from Oz is that their hearts and humour are
always in the right place!
 
T. B. Bechtel, a City Councillor from Newcastle, Australia, was
asked on a local live radio talk show, just what he thought about the
allegations of torture of suspected terrorists.

His reply prompted his ejection from the studio, but to thunderous
applause from the audience.
 
HIS STATEMENT:
‘If hooking up one raghead terrorist prisoner’s testicles to a car
battery to get the truth out of the lying little camelshagger will save
just one Australian life, then I have only three things to say,’
‘Red is positive,
Black is negative, and
Make sure his nuts are wet.’

As I grow old

Emotional blackmail

Every family has a black sheep. Mine is no exception. My little brother is the proverbial black sheep.

He used to appear at the most ungodly hours knocking at my door, asking for money. “You´ve got money sister, you work, I need it to cover up my debts or I´ll end up in prison”. It was blackmail, no more and no less. Because of course, much as I would like to send him to hell and face the consequences of his acts once and for all, I could not stand the thought of my mother travelling to jail to see her imprisoned son.  He took to ask my redneck in-laws for money, too.

When I moved, I asked everyone not to give him my address and telephone numbers; I simply wanted him out of my life forever.

So far I have succeed; but just so far.

Because my sisters are celebrating their daughters ´ first communion at my house. And one of them has spilled the beans: he told the black sheep all about it. And the black sheep has grabbed his chance all right.  He phoned my mother and poured his heart out, his unhappiness at being left out, his not understanding why his beloved sister does not want to see him again.

And so I am back to the emotional blackmail: either I accept the black sheep in my house, or my mother will not come. I will make everyone unhappy: the black sheep who do so loves me, my sisters, my daughters, my nieces who want to be with their grannie will be deprived of her company, everyone will be unhappy…. and it´s all my fault.

I am the most cruel of daughters, the most cruel of sisters, the most cruel person on Earth.

Glory days

Today the twins decided to open a box that had remained uopened for years,  forgotten since the day we packed our tings and moved. It was full of letters, school reports,  library passes. And there it was. It was taken on a Monday morning, the morning after Easter Sunday. It was a tradidion on such days to go on pilgrimage to a hill to eat and dance around a strangely shaped big granite rock.  A pagan festival, dating back to pre-Christian times.

And there we were, a bunch of youngsters sitting cross legged on the grass under the oaks, casually dressed in faded Levi´s and T- shirts, pullovers tied carelessly around our waists, with our bright young faces turned to the spring sun rays.

So gloriously young, so gloriously happy and carefree.

Andrew, the boy with the burning black eyes who was the first boy who ever tried to French kiss me. Henry and his girlfriend Lou, always so posh. Mick, with hs mane of curly brown hair and green eyes.  Moses, the one standing up, who was my parent´s  godson. Xavier, straw-haired Jara, who used to follow me everywhere when I was way out of hand to see that I was safe and come to no harm. Tony, who played the guitar so beautifully and who looked so much like Ringo Starr, nose and all.  Ginny, with her long blonde hair and whose teats all the rest of us girls envied. Mary, the blue eyed freckled little one. John, always so serious. Angel, who was so sweet and kind, always laughing and always generous.

And I.  The one half hidden behind Charlie, because I didn´t like to be photographed.  The one who was to become a stranger, because she was terrified of needles.

I never consciously realised that all the friends of my youth are dead. That not one of them ever reached adulthood.

But how can they be dead, when I can still see Xavier running on the beach, trying to evade the waves. When Tony still plays The house of the rising sun under the moonlight, while I sing Oh, mother, tell your children not to do what I have done.  When Titus and I still wade fully dressed across the sea, drinking vodka from the bottle and fishing conchies and kissing.

How alive we are, Titus and I. In the clear, warm, sweet afternoon, when time does not exist and future and past do not exist. The world does not exist, nothing is real outside us both kissing endlessly, holding our hands, oblivious of everything and everyone. Nothing exist outside his shining golden eyes locked with mine. Nothing exists outside our lips and our mouths, kisses sweeter than life, tasting of vodka and marijuana.

We are alive.