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Saturday, October 23, 2010

How to get lost on the West Pennine Moors


England, October 2010.

Step One
Go to Lancashire. Various other parts of England will do just as well, I daresay, but this one I can vouch for from experience.
Select a small, godforsaken town or village that most people have never heard of. You can choose one with an impossible name to pronounce (plenty of those in Wales, of course, unless you’re born-and-bred Welsh), or any other seemingly plain, innocuous place. Do not use a GPS /SatNav – that would be cheating. Or not. I was actually told by my hostess, Jenny, how previous visitors, as well as the Royal Mail, got discombobulated because their sophisticated navigation device got it wrong. Let’s say you’ve chosen the unquaint town of Chorley. (Any Monty Python fan may choose Notlob instead.)

Step Two
Ignore town center. Drive out of  town to its outermost limits, to places like Heath Charnock, where the lanes are narrow, the green pastures and water reservoirs plentiful, there are more horses on said lanes than bicycles, and the actual residential houses are at least a kilometer apart. Back Lane would be a good point of departure. To ascertain that you are still in Civilization, make sure that there’s a pub in the vicinity. Say one called the Yew Tree.

Step Three
Pick a direction. Any direction. So long  as it’s away from the Yew Tree and the cottages along Back Lane, away from town, and preferably not leading  straight into a water reservoir, as that would be counter-productive.
Walk briskly  to counteract the chill and work up a moderate sweat. Cross a bridge or two. Follow a more-or-less beaten track. Keep an eye out for small gates or stiles with the innocent looking sign Public Footpath. Climb over stile, find yourself on soggy grass and convince yourself that this is what a Public Footpath indeed must look like.

Step Four
Do not let the sheep, cows, flies, sheep dung and other natural aspects of the scenery put you off. Just because you happen to be wending your way among them does not mean that you have any less of a right to be in the midst of that soggy meadow. The sign did say Public footpath, did it not? Okay, so the path is a bit hidden among the green thingies and brownish mounds… and the public seems to be mostly composed of the bovine and ovine type. So what. Carry on in a true sporting spirit through another gate, fence or stile, to a similar pasture, until there is nothing around you but Nature and its creatures.

There, you have arrived!
You are thoroughly lost on the West Pennine Moors!
Wasn’t that fun? Didn’t that imbue you with a true, countryside sense of accomplishment? No? It did not? You want to go home? To the safety of the Yew Tree? Well, I hope you remembered to bring along your cellphone! Call your host and try to describe exactly where you are. Though that may prove to be a bit difficult, what with one meadow looking pretty much like the next…
Ah, wait, there’s a tall white wind-turbine to your, er, north-west… or is it to your east? No matter – it’s the only wind turbine within miles. You’re in luck.

We got back safely to Rose Cottage on Back Lane.
The only casualties were my no-longer-black boots.
I don’t think I shall ever wear them again.
But look at the bright side – there’s a sale at Clarks!

Friday, October 1, 2010

How to choose pictures of your trip for your blog

Our next trip is approaching, and I never finished writing about the previous one…
Each time I look at the hundreds of pics we took and try to decide which one/s are worth expounding about, I feel faint. And that's after we reduced the collection from over a thousand to a mere six hundred.

Of course, when two people do the sorting, compromises must be made. "No way we keep this horrid picture of me!!! I look fat!" says one of us, guess who. "Okay, but if we delete that one, we also delete the one of me where I'm pulling a face," goes the counter-offer. "Be my guest, but I'm for deleting this brown spot." "It's not a brown spot, it's a bear!" And so it goes.

Photos carry memories, but writing about them can easily become tedious. You know, like in the bad old days when you were invited to friends to see the slides from their trip or from their son's bar-mitzvah/graduation/wedding:
"Ooh, here we are at the castle [which? What? Where?], you remember? The one with the tea parlor where the tea was lousy and the waitress was rude?"
"Ah, here's Auntie Rose! Doesn't she look great?" [Who's auntie rose? Who cares?]

Nowadays you get a link by email which you can "accidentally" delete, or follow and just skim through in a few minutes. You choose one pic at random, comment on it or click "Like" on Facebook, et voila – you've fulfilled your social obligations. The rest of the digital photos will continue to snooze safely(?) on some faraway server, at least until the next solar flare wipes the slate(?) clean.

Back to sorting photos and the dilemmas involved.

Take the Grand Canyon, for example.
First of all, I didn't realize it's a whole Industry. In my innocent imagination, I thought you parked your car in a dirt parking lot, walked over a few meters to a sort of rail or fence, and looked down and beyond at the Canyon. Since the canyon is long, tourists could spread out along its length… You look, ooh and ahh, take pictures, and that's it.
Maybe it used to be like that, more or less, scores of years ago. But for quite a while now it has been practically a Country with big Commercial Centers and a Transportation System.

In the evening, we went – with droves of other tourists – to Yavapai Point, to watch the sunset. It was beautiful. The sky changes from blue to pink to lilac to to orange-red to dark mauve… But how many of those two-dozen photos do you end up uploading onto your fave website?... Just for you, I struggled and chose one:


 As for the canyon itself, my amateur pictures simply cannot do it justice, no matter how hard I tried and how many pictures I took. Cousin Bonnie, a more experienced photographer who fiddles with the light, contrast and focus settings, achieved better results. Still, you have to be a National Geographic photographer, with fancy equipment, possibly including a helicopter and a space shuttle, to capture it in all its glory.


Here's one pic of the canyon:
If you look carefully, you'll actually see the water at the bottom of the canyon. 



"I swear I don't have such a big belly – it's the T-shirt!":


"Can't you see it's a bear?!":


Next stop: Wahweap, Lake Powel and Glen Canyon.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Newsflash: Insurance Company Pays!

While I was going through the 1000+ photos of our recent trip, and my two trip-notebooks, trying to decide what to tell you about next, something amazing happened: The insurance company paid out!

I was so pleasantly surprised, I was nearly lost for words. But only nearly. I said to the 12-year-old-sounding clerk, Vered, over the phone: "Really?! That's great! Why hasn't anyone bothered to tell me?"

As you may or may not recall, while we were celebrating with family at the Tapatio Cliffs Resort in Phoenix, AZ, I got a dreadful nosebleed and had to be taken to the Mayo Clinic . Everything was hunky-dory, and at the end of the procedure, described in all its gory details on this blog, we were asked to shell out US$300 as a down-payment, and we'd get the full invoice in the mail. Which we did, in due course. A mere US$1,634, minus the down-payment.

We're quite conscientious about issuing travel insurance before our trips abroad. So we downloaded the forms, did the paperwork and sent it to Israeli insurance company the Phoenix (total coincidence, I assure you.) After what seemed like a longish time, I called to ask what was happening. Now, the prepubescent-sounding girls who comprise the call center are sweet and polite once you get through to them. The trick is to get through. An absolute Kafkaesque experience, only Kafka's protagonists didn't have to contend with automated recorded menus and automatic answering services, or else Kafka would have written another nightmarish story, I'm sure. A girl called Malki said my claim was being handled. Weeks later, without any notice from Phoenix Insurance Co, I discovered that the initial sum ($300) had been deposited into my bank account (minus a reasonable deductible.)

More weeks passed. Again, I went through a nerve-racking, hair-pulling rigmarole in my attempt to find out what happens next. I didn't want the Mayo clinic to think I was ungratefully and ungraciously ignoring their bills; nor did I want to pay them if the insurance company was going to, which I feared it wouldn't. I mean, I expected to be told to pay first and be reimbursed later.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Clerk Vered – buttonholed after a thunderous intervention by someone less soft-spoken than I – said the balance of US$1,334 has been paid directly to Mayo!

"Now," I plan to say to the Pooh-Bahs at Phoenix (Ramat Gan, not AZ) "was that so difficult? So why didn't you write to tell me? Why keep it a secret and make me extort it out of you?"

------------

Stay tuned for more (non-bloody, non-financial) adventures.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Las Vegas – Money, money, money, money…

Lest you should think that I spent all 30 days of our RV trip roaming in nature, sleeping in the wild, gazing at mountains, cliffs, geysers and waterfalls, I shall quickly disillusion you: We went to Las Vegas, where we stayed with friends for a couple of days.

Never having been to Vegas, nor to Atlantic City, I was quite excited over the prospect. The Strip! The glamour! The backdrop to so many memorable scenes in movies! Why, Nicolas Cage alone starred in several movies featuring Las Vegas. Remember Con Air, and the plane crash-landing on the Strip? Or Leaving Las Vegas, where Elisabeth Shue watches Nicolas Cage drink himself to death?

Our dear friends, Sheila and Sandy Epstein, don't live on the Strip, of course, but a short drive out, in a spacious house with a beautiful garden complete with hand-painted mural:









 Hubby had been to Vegas in the past; so had my beloved friend Lynne Richardson,  who flew over specially from Dallas, TX to see us.

But for me it was all new: the glitz, the charm, the art, the fake, the sham, the astonishingly well-executed make-believe:
The Ornate ceilings at The Venetian…













extravagant hotel facades -












the artificial "Venetian" canals,



complete with skies that gradually darkens as evening falls…












The posh, pricy shops …


But what really got me was the casinos.
I'd only been to a casino once, for a couple of hours, on some short vacation in Rhodes. It was nothing to write home about (or blog, not that there was such a thing at the time).

Here, on the other hand, was the Real McCoy, apparently. The ones we walked through looked nothing like the well-lit, glamorous establishments where a suave James Bond coolly wins or loses fantastic sums in a game with the villain, while elegant, bejeweled, mysterious women watch on with a sultry expression, sipping Champagne.  I assume such posh places do exist somewhere; that is, other than on a movie set. A VIP room, perhaps? Or somewhere like Monaco?

These casinos were huge, dimly lit, with hundreds of gambling machines and games, and full of totally ordinary people, many in shorts and flip-flops:


And all these ordinary people were sitting there dumbly, persistently, apathetically, hope-filled or inured, just throwing out perfectly good money.

I don't get it.

These casinos are full of people, day and night, 24/7, who come from far and wide, come especially for the thrill, or the hope, or the escape from one's daily grind, or a host of other reasons. Most of them don't even look as if they're enjoying themselves. They just sit there and throw dollar after dollar of their presumably hard-earned money at these machines.

I just don't get it.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Who wants to live in a tent?

Getting back to our trip experiences…

The RV parks we stayed at had sections for vehicles and section for tents. Both sections were highly heterogeneous in appearance and character. Unfortunately, I did not take pictures of any RVs but our own (of which we took around forty… new toy and all that, you understand.) But I assure you there was a huge variety.
From cute egg-shaped units like this:


to huge ones with all sorts of appendages that bulge out once you're safely parked, like this:

Or see more on this page, for instance.

I'm still curious to know where's the button that makes the bulging parts slide back into the main body of the mobile home, and what happens to all the furniture that's in it…

Anyway, as you can see, these constructions are relatively spacious, and more luxurious than many homes. So, I can understand people wanting to spend their vacation in them.

But tents – that's a different story.
Why anyone would want to give up solid walls and indoor plumbing for a flimsy, primitive, fabric "shelter" is beyond me.

The tents in the camping grounds came in all sizes, shapes and colors. Some were ridiculously tiny, others definitely large enough to sleep, say, 2 medium sized adults and two smallish kids… See pics below:



But on windy nights – and some nights were exceptionally windy, not to mention a couple of rainy nights – I was truly worried that the tents would collapse or be blown away. They didn't. I guess tent people know what they're up against and how to secure their collapsible fabric abodes.




















From the window of our RV, I saw the Tent People crawl out of their tents in the freezing morning, walk in their PJs to the public toilets, towel slung over shoulder, toiletry bag in hand, then emerge a few moments later, shiny-faced, moist hair, bluish fingers. Or maybe that last detail was just in my imagination; I myself was so cold, I either dressed under the covers or had the heating on for a short while to take the chill out of the "room".

These cold mornings were in Yellowstone National Park, by the way. Once farther south, say in Zion National Park, mornings were balmy-to-warm, until the sun peeked over the rocks, when it became boiling hot. Which doesn't mean the Tent Dwellers seemed any saner to me.

I got to thinking when was the last time I slept in a tent of my own free will. I add this qualification so as to rule out my time in the IDF basic training. The big, solid, 10-bed tent on the IDF base was fine; the tiny 2-person tent that we put up ourselves during an overnight march was not. I think the only other time I spent in a tent was oh, around 1976 or 1977, when, with a few friends, we spent Yom Kippur on Dor (Habonim) Beach.

Enough nostalgia. Back to Yellowstone, Zion, North Rim. Had I been more outgoing, I probably would have gotten into conversation with some TDs and asked to see their tent from the inside. I'm sure they'd be happy to. We invited some curious people to see the inside of our "establishment".
Oh well – next time!

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Reading on the Road

As usual before a trip abroad, I was dithering about what books to take with.

It was a long trip, and I thought I may have time to do a lot of reading. As it turned out, there wasn't much to do in the various RV parks once nighttime fell. The national parks are nature reserves, and as such are kept as "wild" and "natural" as possible, for the sake of the local fauna mostly. Which means that except for the public toilets, there are no lights at night. The bigger parks, like Yellowstone , and the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, have quite a respectable commercial center, with shops and restaurants. But even those close down at a relatively early hour. No city-type night life (unsurprisingly). Some families sit around the fire and yak for a while. But on the whole, park rules dictate Quiet Time between 9 or 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., depending on the individual park.
Some RVs have TV sets, and some RV parks have hookup to cable TV. We didn't have a TV, and didn't miss it. Long and the short of it, once curled up in bed, I read.

As you may recall, I ended up settling on three books:
Frederik Pohl - The Case Against Tomorrow
Robert A. Heinlein - The Day After Tomorrow (a.k.a. The Sixth Column)
Larry Niven - A World Out of Time

I read them in the above order.

The first – the Pohl – comprises a novella – The Midas Plague – plus 5 short stories. Sorry to say that, except for the first one, I don't remember what the others are about… The Midas Plague is a somewhat silly but amusing social satire story, describing the possible (?) ultimate development of an advanced, industrialized society, where people can't possibly consume everything they manufacture. At least it has a sort of happy end. In fact, they all had not-too-depressing ends. As if saying, no matter how badly we screw up this planet and the future of society, all is not lost, there is a bit of silver lining.

The second – the Heinlein – was rather gripping. The Western World, in the shape of the USA, has been brought to its knees by the PanAsians, with all government and the military virtually wiped out. Unbeknownst to the enemy, a small group of men (women here play a *very* marginal, nearly invisible, role), in a safe location somewhere underground, are determined to save the day. At some point the plot begins to unfold in a rather mechanical way, since Heinlein does not want to bore us with a detailed report of the workings of the Underground. Or maybe he couldn't think of any plot complications or crises. But no harm done – the reader is really quite anxious for the Rebels to wipe out the baddies. I trust that this wasn't a spoiler. I liked the use Heinlein made of religion. The Great Lord Mota was an ingenious invention. The major protagonist, by the way, Major Ardmore, is quite human, he has his weaknesses, he gets irritable, he's not a super-hero. So much the better.

The third book – the Larry Niven – is a bit weird. And not just because much of it takes place three million years from now. It's my first L. Niven, I didn't know what to expect; I just vaguely remembered that my son Daniel was enjoying Niven's Ring World when he was 13. I'm on page 138 out of 246, and I've been told it gets weirder. The landscapes described are a bit difficult to visualize, and at the moment I'm feeling very sorry for Corbell (the protagonist).

Aside from those three books, I read what I always read on trips abroad – i.e, practically anything: signs, ads, ingredients on products, and of course the leaflets and magazines issued by the national parks. See, for example, the online version of the Yellowstone Guide. Not only are these publications chock-full of clear, useful information, but they provided me with zero material for my writing/editing-related blog – I could not find a single mistake in them! Fancy that.

To illustrate, here are a few pics:

This one is a typical view of Grand Canyon, which totally does not do it justice. You just go on clicking and clicking the camera all the same hoping to capture a bit of the awe you are experiencing.

The next one was taken at sunset:

Before sunset, though, you light a fire in the fire-pit next to your RV or tent, and grill your steaks:

For entertainment, you can attend an interesting slide-show and explanation by a well-informed, cute Park Ranger at the park amphitheater. Just remember that once the show is over, it is pitch-black out there, and even with a flashlight you may have difficulty navigating your way back to your tent or parked van.

And here are a couple of typical signs I read along the way:
 Ponderosa Point at Bryce Canyon

... and Ruby's Inn, just outside Bryce Canyon. The RV park was actually full, so we were given a spot in the "overflow" section, sort of behind the inn. No complaints.

- To be continued....

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Goodbye, Phoenix; see you around, America.

Phoenix airport. After five p.m. From experience I know that it's the heat of the day out there. Around 40 deg C., which is 104 F. We've experienced worse during this trip. But how would I know what it's like outside -- I'm the privileged user of the BA Executive Lounge, and it's freezing in here, according to my standards... I'm wearing a thick sweatshirt, for Heavens' sake. Outside, the land is flat and boring, surrounded by mountains. Mountains are pretty. When I get home I'll post some pics of pretty mountains for you.

This morning we returned our RV to the CruiseAmerica offices. Having heard horror stories about customers penalized severely for leaving some cookie crumbs lying around, I scrubbed the interior of the vehicle more thoroughly than I ever scrub my own home. I had a container of antiseptic wipes and another of window-and-other-shiny-surfaces no-streaks wipes. And a mop and what-not. But the only guy on duty, Scott, didn't seem impressed with my hard work; all he was interested in was reading the meters and gauges -- how many miles we'd done, how many generator hours we'd used.

We had to check out of the hotel by 2 p.m., the drive to the airport was short, our flight doesn't leave for hours, so we're very luck to have the use of this Lounge: a fully stocked bar and lots of delicious munchies. Free WiFi. Comfortable desk and office chair. Not half bad.

My one disappointment was that there are no proper Duty Free shops! I could hardly believe my eyes, and mentioned it to Shira (on Google Chat, she being in Toronto as we speak.)


- "Yes, duty free in Israel is way better than it is in many places," said Shira. "Often they have different terminals for domestic/international flights, so you'd think the international terminal would have duty free. Which airport did you say this is?"
- "Phoenix, AZ.," I reply. "I'm spoiled -- used to TLV and LHR."
- "Ha ha," responds my daughter,  "Yeah, like Phoenix would have anything good to offer."
[Ouch, said Phoenix.] 
- "What do I know about Phoenix???"  says I -- "It's a big city. Huge. I expected it to behave like one."
- "But it's not a major city, it's just big -- there's a difference," elucidates Shira. "There's a big enough population in the States to support many big cities, but it's like Orlando won't have anything but Disney-world to offer. The cool cities are the ones you see in movies."
- "Hmm... interesting point of view," I concede, "haven't thought of it in those terms. You mean there's no good movie about Phoenix?..."
- "Not many, anyway." shrugs Shira, "maybe a football movie or something like that."
- "Is that a wild guess or are they known for their football team, or do they just sound like a city that would have gung-ho football players?... "
- "Wild guess -- what do I know about football? I don't even know if they have a football team."
- "Still, you're probably right..."
- "I usually am," grins my daughter.
And indeed she usually is. She just did some swift googling and has informed me that the Arizona Cardinals are based in Tempe, part of the Phoenix metropolitan area. 
 
But by now, dear readers, you have probably lost interest, so I shall quit, and go have a few of the cute sandwiches that are being passed around by our gracious BA hostesses. That should sustain me until supper is served aboard our flight. It's a longish flight to London.

The main part of our trip is over, but this blog is not. I have around 150 pages of handwritten notes, and hundreds of photos. There's still plenty I'd like to share with you. Au revoir, chers amis.

- To be continued...

Sunday, July 4, 2010

RV Driving & Living – 3rd Impressions & Tips

As I write these words, I'm sitting inside the RV, which is parked in Watchman Campground inside Zion National Park, within walking distance of the Visitor Center.
It's boiling out. Not as bad as yesterday, but still pretty bad. Large trees are scattered around the campground, but our vehicle is not close enough to any of them to enjoy their shade. So we've turned on the a/c. It's making a hell of a racket, but it must be doing some good, otherwise we'd already be well-done. Which brings me to the first observation in my third installment of Impressions and Tips.

1. An RV does not offer the comforts of a hotel room in terms of climate control. Bear that firmly in mind. If you don't have power (electricity) hookup, don't even dream of turning on the heating or the a/c, because you'll use up your battery real fast. If you do have power hookup (which is the only hookup we have here in Zion Park), you can turn on the a/c or heating, which will make an awful lot of noise.

2. A pull-through parking spot. In my previous list (Impressions & Tips #2), I spoke of reversing into your spot. Just think how much easier life is with a pull-through spot: drive in, drive out. Nothing to it. Keep it in mind when looking for potential RV parks.

3. There is no privacy inside the RV, unless you draw all the curtains closed. So don't leave the tiny toilet stall before zipping up your pants. Make sure you have your big bath towel with you when going into the tiny shower. In our RV (a 25-footer) there is a curtain that can be pulled across, separating the "master bedroom with en-suite bathroom" from the rest of the living quarters. So if one of you is an early riser, he/she can leave the "bedroom" curtained off, and enjoy daylight in the "dinette". I think I saw an RV with tinted, one-way windows. Worth investigating.
Also, RV walls are thin. Just as you can hear the guys having fun in the RV next to you, they can hear you.
Some veteran RV travelers, who stay in one location for an extended period, develop a whole outdoor existence around their vehicle: carpet, flower pots, swing for the kids, clothesline (if park regulations allow it), bins and containers, easy chairs, and a huge assortment of other items. Their lives are open for all to see.

4. Outdoor cooking: There's more than one way to light a fire and grill a steak. If you opt for the fire-pits provided by some (most?) RV parks, make sure you buy the Instant Charcoal (or something to that effect), or you'll be spending half the night coaxing the fire into existence, only to spend the other half putting it out.

5. Use the oven above the gas range as a bread box. If you like onion bread, you can store your dry onions there too, alongside the bread.

6. Some folks like to listen to talk shows and interviews on the radio as they drive. Others, like my husband, prefer the BBC World Service if they can get it. But most drivers like music. Personally, I like the rolling-rolling-rolling, feel-good, lively kind of tunes that help keep me awake and energized. Tip A: Don't rely on reception – bring your fave CDs from home. Tip B: Don't tap your foot to the music.

7. When a 16-wheeler rumbles past you or some other heavyish van or truck whizzes by, hang on tightly to the steering wheel and keep it steady. Your RV can easily be "pushed" aside and veer off its lane.

8. Switching drivers: You may decide to switch drivers every 2 hours, say, or every 100 miles. But that might not be possible, so don't count on it. Sometimes, there is simply nowhere to pull over or stop for miles on end, or else you catch sight of the turnout (layby) too late; or there's 9 miles of road work where you planned to stop; or the next Rest Area has been closed off, and the other one is miles out of the way. And no, you can't get up and go to the toilet at the other end of the vehicle while your partner is driving.


Since this park, as beautiful as it is, is marred by its WiFilessness, the actual posting of these p of w (pebbles of wisdom) is delayed until we reach a more civilized location.

---------------

Quick update:
We are now in a slightly more civilized place -- the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We happened to discover that the General Store has WiFi. It is now 9 p.m., the store is closed and dark, but on its porch a few yellow lamps still give off some light, and the WiFi is still working...

That's all for today. More tips keep accumulating in my notebook, so stay tuned.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Hi, Lucy! I've been to BYU, Provo!

Hi, Lucy,

Guess what – I went to Provo! I visited Brigham Young University and went looking for Helaman Halls, where you stayed in 1977-78.
Bet you never thought I'd get there, did you? I didn't, either. It's a bit out of the way for me. But thanks to Michael Klein's wedding, which gave us the excuse to travel to that part of the States [Phoenix, AZ], and my Michael's ambitious and detailed planning, there we were.

You'd barely recognize the place, Sis. So many new buildings. And many of the old ones have been renovated. Couldn't find your exact dorm – they all look alike, and none look exactly like the picture you sent me in 1977… The mountain is a good landmark, of course, but in some places it's hidden by trees and tall bushes which weren't there in your days. Still – here I am by Helaman Halls:


I also saw Hinkley Halls, where the guys – Amiram and Gadi – lived, and Wilkinson Center where you lunched frequently. And I saw the Marriot Center with its huge stadium, which you mentioned. Everything you wrote suddenly came alive. I have, in the past, read those three tiny notebooks of yours, containing your notes from August 25, 1977, the day you left Israel on TWA flight 849, until your goodbyes in Provo, April 25, 1978. But so much of it didn't mean anything to me. Couldn't picture it. Now I can – much of it, at least. Now I can re-read those 3 small notebooks and appreciate them more. I admired the same mountain you used to admire from your window. I walked the same paths. I saw the young, clean-faced Mormon students and exchanged a few words with a few of them. I know where University Mall is; I could meet you there for a spot of lunch and shopping…

Here's the Marriot Center, where you went to hear the President of the uni speak. The stadium inside is far more impressive. Our guide, Jake, took us in.



Your favorite Mountain, and the Visitor's Center which didn't exist in your time:

We found the statue of Brigham Young easily enough. Holding your photo in my hand, I had my picture taken next to it. Couldn't reproduce the effect accurately, because they'd gone and moved the statue slightly, and re-did the pedestal, and added a wing to the Administration Building. But the general effect is the same:
 And here's a better pic of the Administration Building and the statue -- both of which were renovated since you were there:


Your letters from BYU were so funny, so perceptive and touching; your notes are more matter-of-fact. You kept careful track of what you did – what you spent, where you ate, who you wrote to, who you still owe a letter. You corresponded with a lot of people, both family and friends, and complained bitterly when we – Mom and I – failed to write. The letters from Israel to Provo took 14 days by airmail!!! Can you imagine? Yes, of course you can. That's one of the things you kept complaining about.

You made the most of your time in Provo; you traveled to Yellowstone Park, to Las Vegas, to Los Angeles, not to mention places "around the corner" like Orem and Salt Lake City. You got good marks, like 92 on the paper on Moby Dick. I couldn't have done that – never finished reading the darn thing…

At times like this I wish I believed in eternal souls, in some sort of Life after Death. I'd like to think that you saw me there in Provo, walking around Helaman Halls, trying to figure out which was "your" building. But I don't. Oh well – this visit was for me, not for you, dearest Lucy. I'm sure you would understand.

--------------------

Here is the text of the notice which appeared in the Jm Post on April 1st, 1977 (Clara kept the clipping!), as well as (I believe) on the notice board of Gillman bldg, TAU, and which led to the trip of two guys (Amiram and Gadi) and three girls (Lucy, Ditti, Vivian) to BYU, where they spent an unforgettable year:

Five
Undergraduate Scholarships
are being offered by
Brigham Young University
Provo, Utah, U.S.A. (near Salt Lake City)

The scholarships cover one academic year from August 1977 to
April 30, 1978. Interested students may contact the office of the University Academic Secretary in Haifa, Tel Aviv, Beersheba or Jerusalem.
Application Deadline is May 15, 1977

Monday, June 28, 2010

RV Driving and Living – Second Impressions & Tips

Days later, and my mind is a jumble of roads, landscapes, canyons, waterfalls, bad coffee, mosquito bites, 16-wheelers, casinos, huge bison, and blue lupine galore.

After three days in Yellowstone Park, and a leisurely drive through Grand Teton, we're comfortably parked in a small, well-tended RV park called Montpelier Creek KOA. Three terrific advantages to this place: Full hookup, level ground, and WiFi. I'll elaborate below, in my second installment of impressions & tips.

1. Full hookup. This means that your spot has three small but all-important things to connect to, right alongside your vehicle: electricity, water, and sewage. So you can leave the lights on just as you do at home... And charge your appliances -- camera, cellphone (even though there may not be any coverage), PDA, laptop, etc. You can take long showers, wash the dishes (if you want to eat and drink from real, rather than disposable, dishes;) and you can "dump" -- get rid of your waste water.
When Michael made the reservations for the RV parks, we didn't realize how important full hookup was. Now we know, and so do you. Sure, you can put on a brave face and say you don't mind getting up in the middle of the night and going to the public toilet at the other end of the park when it's dark and freezing out. But you don't have to.

2. Level ground. If you don't want to sleep, eat and use the toilet/shower feeling that you're aboard a sinking ship, look for a level parking spot.
I don't know whether you can ensure such a spot when booking far enough in advance. For all I know, maybe these coveted spots are reserved for regulars, like our neighbor Hans, who comes to the same park with his family several times a year. This is Hans:
And if you look carefully at the image below, you may see that our RV slants both backwards and sideways. Weird feeling:
Many campsites are on hilly ground. That makes for a pretty view but awkward life aboard the RV.

3. WiFi. No need to elaborate. No, I don't want to read work-related emails. Yes, I do want to blog, and say Hi to my kids. And Michael is much happier if he can follow the World Cup, of course.

4. Signaling. Inevitably, sooner or later, you will have to reverse. If you weren't a member of the Boy/Girl Scouts or some other youth movement where they teach you useful things like tying knots and arm signaling, this is the time to develop such a system with your travel partner. Absolutely vital when he/she is reversing into a tight spot (and with an RV, every spot is a tight spot), and you're hollering at the top of your voice "Right, right, no, stop, enough, straighten up, now a bit forward, enough, try to keep parallel to the pavement, turn the wheel a bit -- I said A BIT -- mind the side mirror -- STOP -- you're about to scrape the exhaust pipe on this rock --"

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More stories and tips another day, WiFi permitting.
Now it is time to help Hubby with dinner, and hope that the new anti-mosquito ointment we just bought is more effective than the previous one.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

RV Driving and Living – First Impressions & Tips

You wouldn't believe how much experience can be gained in a mere week or so in an RV. It's nothing like any vacation or trip I've ever been on and obviously takes some getting used to.

Below are my first impressions and tips, in no particular order. Trying to prioritize is more effort than it's worth at this point. More will follow as I become more experienced and,  hopefully, wiser.

At the moment of writing, I am sitting in spot # 21 
of Forks Campground at Bass Lake, California, 
not far from the southern entrance (or exit, as the case may be)
to Yosemite National Park, and my main concern as I sit in a rented folding chair under the tall pine trees is my sincere, ardent hope not to see a black bear emerging from the woods. My husband's sincere, ardent hope is the exact opposite, I'm afraid.

By the time I upload these pebbles of wisdom I will probably be comfortably seated at a real live computer with real live Internet connection at friends in Sparks, near Reno, NV. Here I'm as WiFi-less as a lost geek in the woods.
















But enough prattle. I promised you a list of tips and impressions:

1. Make sure your legs are long enough. A typical RV driver's cabin is not designed with petite, short-legged ladies in mind. During my first day of driving, I wore my chunkiest, thick-soled Timberland shoes, sat as far forward as I could and still my thighs were too short for the depth of the seat and my toes just about reached the gas pedal. Which meant I had to strain my right thigh and buttock muscles in order to get the van going. Once we got to Las Vegas, where we stayed with dear friends Sandy & Sheila Epstein, Sheila gave me a cushion she could dispense with. Placing that behind my back gave me the few extra inches required to drive more comfortably.

My short legs and the slipperiness of the step from the cabin to Earth also meant that the easiest way for me to get down was to hang on to the safety belt with both hands and rappel down until my feet touched solid ground.

2. Watch out for those side mirrors. They stick out about an arm's length from the body of the vehicle on either side. It's very easy to scrape them against anything on the right-hand side of the vehicle. If you're lucky, it's only soft, flexible branches of overhanging bushes or trees. If you're less lucky it could be a rock wall, another car, a lamppost or sign post, or a host of other obstacles.

Also, each side has two mirrors: a large one, and a smaller, convex one underneath it. When you're in the passenger seat, you watch the lower mirror to see traffic behind you as well as how close you are to the white line, while the upper one is useless. When you're in the driver's seat, remember to watch the upper mirror for a true picture of the traffic behind you. Both mirrors will show you how close you are to the dividing line. If you stay close to the dividing line, chances are you'll be a safe -- though often tiny -- distance from the right-hand line, beyond which may be an abyss, a steep cliff, or just very rough terrain.

3. Watch your head! During the first week you are guaranteed a few bumps and bruises. You may remember to duck when moving from the living space to the cabin, but you might very well straighten up too soon, too abruptly. So you'll either bang the front or the back of your head.

4. Cabinet attack! Similar to the above. There are so many cabinets, that you will inevitably bump into them and accumulate a few bruises. A cabinet door or drawer may also swing open suddenly, if it wasn't properly secured and the RV is not on level ground. This is all part of an RV novice's life.

5. Rattle, rattle, bang, crash. As you drive, your ears will tell you that the RV is falling apart behind you. Not so. It's probably just the pots, pans, cups, plates, cutlery, and dish detergent that are swaying hither and thither. Also the tube of toothpaste that you left, out of habit, next to the "bathroom" sink; the bottle of shampoo that came crashing down from the tiny shelf in the shower; and possibly the alarm clock you left on the dinette table. You get the idea. Lesson: Secure everything before setting out. Like on a boat, said my cousin Ellen, whose parents had a house-boat. But most of us did not grow up on boats, so this is a new lesson: Don't leave anything kicking around or resting freely on a surface. Yes, it's a bit of a nuisance to put everything away each time anew before starting to drive. But it's better than all that clanking and clanging. The RV will continue to make some clanging noises anyway, depending, I guess, on the age and quality of the vehicle. So you don't need to add to it.

6. If you suffer from motion/car/sea sickness, an RV is not for you. While it may be ideal for rocking a cranky baby to sleep, it tends to make a normal adult dizzy. When stationary, the vehicle sways and rocks gently with every move and step. If you're lying in bed and your mate takes a few steps in the "room", you feel like someone rocked your waterbed. When you're in the shower or toilet, you feel like you're in an airplane toilet in turbulent weather at 36,000 ft.

7. Assign cabinet space logically yet creatively, and be consistent about putting things back where they belong. Sounds like Mommy telling off her teenage kids? Well, if Mommy did her job properly when you were young, it will serve you in good stead. There are so many cabinets and drawers, but some are more easily accessible and sensible than others. I have placed my brand-new purple yoga mat in the cabinet right over my pillow. So before getting out of bed I reach up and pull it down, so I can drag it onto the floor for my sun salutations. I've put the spare bed linen and towels in the other cabinet over the bed, because that made sense to me. If your inner logic says these items belong in the cabinet over the "front door" – so be it; so long as it makes sense to you and you won't go looking for a fresh towel under the sink.

You know how cabin crew on board a plane always tell you to open the overhead bins carefully, because items may have shifted and might fall on your head? Well, same here. You may think you put that bottle of ketchup or tin of sardines on the right hand side of the cabinet over the kitchen sink, but…

Our washbasin has a neat-looking medicine cabinet cum mirror above it, just like in a real home. Only the bottles and tubes I placed there refuse to stay upright, and come tumbling down every time I open the cabinet door. Manufacturers – take note: I think you should have placed a thin rail or mesh thingy across the shelves, to help keep items in place.

Another obvious-sounding tip: To the extent possible, put heavy things in lower storage compartments and light, soft things in the upper compartments. You'd rather have your sweatshirt falling on your head than your hiking boots.

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You'll notice that I haven't really said anything about driving the 25-footer, except the bit about the side mirrors. I have done a few hours of driving so far, including two u-turns I'm very proud of. But I haven't done any tricky driving – just plain, straightforward, 55 mph driving. Some uphill with the engine groaning, some downhill with foot on brakes, but nothing fancy. Except  for contending with strong side winds. Throughout our trip so far, most days have been very windy. In Williams, Arizona, walking to the center of town, I thought I'd be blown away, literally.  Driving in open terrain with forceful winds buffeting the long rectangle that is the RV, you feel it very vividly as you hang on to the steering wheel and carefully correct your heading, trying to keep the vehicle from veering into the other lane.


The interior of the RV. Remember -- you can't leave anything on any surface while driving. Gotta put it all away


























Bass Lake:


















Monday, June 14, 2010

How to miss Frank Lloyd Wright and end up at the Mayo Clinic

Warning: Not for the squeamish

Knowing we wouldn't have much time in Phoenix after the wedding and before carrying on with our trip, I hadn't bothered to even look at the list of tourist attractions in the area. But when cousin Bonnie mentioned the Frank Lloyd Wright museum, I said Yes yes yes, that's exactly what I'd like to see. The cousins and Michael put their heads together, and came up with a plan to catch the noon guided tour, after which they'd drive us to Mesa to pick up our RV.
All this was to happen after we attended the morning's farewell coffee and cake at the hospitality suite, courtesy of parents of the bride.

So there was I eating chocolate chip cookies, drinking and schmoozing, when I felt something moist around my nose and grabbed a tissue just in time to catch a huge blob of blood. Darn, I said to myself, and retreated to a seat in the corner, applying more tissues and waiting for the onslaught to stop. Except it didn't. Bonnie, bless her, noticed that something was up and came to help, supplying me with fresh tissues and making the bloody ones disappear. I'm warning you again -- this is getting gory. You can stop reading right here, or skip to the Happy End at the bottom of the page.

Nosebleeds are common in the hot, dry Arizona weather, it had been explained to me. Cousin Bob gets them whenever he visits the region. So I sat there, mildly annoyed but resigned, expecting the flow to become a dribble and stop. Except it didn't. Luckily, there was a doctor in the house: our host, Neil Shernoff MD. He took a quick look and said Yes, that's quite a nosebleed you got there. And hearing what meds I was on, he added that it would take my blood three times as long to clot. (Low-dosage Aspirin and other stuff which may be fine for preventing heart attacks are not so dandy when you're bleeding.) He said if the bleeding did not stop of its own accord within 45 minutes, I should go to the hospital E.R., where they would locate the ruptured blood vessel and cauterize it. Bonnie asked which hospital, and it was decided that the Mayo Clinic was probably the fastest to get to.

There's nothing like having compassionate, efficient cousins around you in times of crisis.
Before I knew it, Bob was driving us -- me, Michael and Bonnie -- to the hospital. Michael and Bonnie and the whispering GPS system, plus Neil's instructions drawn on the back of a paper plate, were Bob's navigational aids, and Bon was all the time replacing bloody tissues with fresh ones. I was chocking on my own blood, swallowing a lot and coughing and spitting some, feeling rather low.

The Arizona Mayo Clinic pops up from the middle of nowhere. There's desert all around, fast roads, and suddenly there's a large building. Looked new, modern, clean, neat, with a barely-used sort of look-and-to it. Not the kind of inner-city hospital ERs that you see on melodramatic TV series.

I was dimly aware that there were a few other people waiting around, but the place looked more deserted than crowded. My details were taken. Questions were answered. Forms were filled. My blood pressure and temperature were taken. Then someone actually apologized for our having to wait, because it was a Monday morning and it was busy...

We didn't wait long.

As opposed to the ERs I'm accustomed to -- in Ichilov (Tel Aviv), Assaf HaRofeh, and others -- where only a thin curtain separates one groaning patient from another, and more patients are placed in beds along corridor walls -- this was luxury: a small but neat room of my own, with chairs for Michael and Bonnie to my left. And they never left my side.

Dr. Joseph M. Wood and an assisting nurse were extremely pleasant. Reassuringly relaxed and competent. Dr. Wood suctioned as much blood as he could from my mouth and nose, including one rather large, disgusting blob, then explained that he would dab an anesthetizing liquid inside the nostril then identify the offending vessel and cauterize it.

The entire procedure was rather unpleasant but not unbearably so. I concentrated on a point on the wall and did a relaxation exercise, and both the nurse (so sorry I didn't write down her name at the time) and Dr. Wood kept murmuring encouraging words, about how well I was doing. As if I had much of a choice.

To wrap things up, the doctor took something that looked like a very long ribbon, and stuffed it into my left nostril... and more of it... and more... until the left side of my nose looked and felt like a well-pumped up football; then closed it up with a thick piece of gauze and taped the entire creation across my face (luckily for you, dear viewers, the photo doesn't show the left side of my face):


At this point I complained that I could still feel a blob of blood in my throat that I could neither cough up nor swallow and that was really bothering me. Doc said if I opened wide and said Ahhh and didn't move, he might be able to get hold of it and pull it out. I did, and he did. Holy Mackerel! What he pulled out of my mouth looked like a 20 cm fish-shaped dark red bloody blob. UGH and YUCK are an understatement. But what a relief!

Okay. The main event was over. Instructions, antibiotics, leave bandaged until Friday or so, take care, goodbye. Oh, and pay. We paid a down-payment of $300 by credit cared; the full bill will be sent by mail to our home address. I have no idea how much it will be, and am very curious. This is America, don't forget. We did, of course, issue insurance before our trip. And we did make sure to take the receipt and the doctor's report / release papers. So we'll be reimbursed for most of the sum, whatever it is.
We said our goodbyes.

Outside the hospital, Bob and JoAnn were already waiting for us.
We were all hungry, and stopped for lunch somewhere. (Though I could not really taste the food or enjoy it, nor properly swallow, even, with my nose all taped up.) From there, Bob drove us all to Mesa, to CruiseAmerica, where we were to pick up the RV. My beloved cousins made sure everything was in order, and only then continued on their way.

So began the RV chapter of our holiday...

We watched an instructional video about the ins and outs of the vehicle, then were given a quick tour of the actual, er, car? As hard as I tried to concentrate, I wasn't absorbing much, and hoped that M was taking it all in. When we finally boarded it and began driving, it made such rattling noises that we turned around, returned it, and were given a different one -- very similar, but a bit older, I suspect.

Michael carefully drove us back to the Tapatio Cliffs Resort, for our last night there, before embarking on the next leg of our journey. It was a very hot day. My nose hurt. The roof of my mouth hurt. My head ached. I couldn't breathe. The last thing I wanted was to explore the desert, by RV or any other way.

But here I am, a week later, comfortably sitting at the dinette table, after a light supper and a nice cup of tea plus chocolates left over from the wedding as dessert... I can breathe, and I can drive the RV. Wherever I am, I'm also at home.

The RV, at our first RV park, in Williams,AZ:

Cousins to the rescue (pic taken at the Sedona Energy Votex):

Right to left: Bob & JoAnn Kirkland, Bonnie Kirkland, Steve Klein. Love you, guys!

Stay tuned for the next episodes:

  • Canyon Gateway RV Park, Williams
  • The Haunted Hamburger, Jerome
  • The Vortex
  • Sedona
  • Mather Campground, Grand Canyon National Park
  • Route 89 North
  • Wahweap Campground near Page (still in AZ)
  • Glen Canyon Dam
  • Lake Powell and Rainbow Bridge
  • Las Vegas


Ta-ta for now!

Sunday, June 6, 2010

The Tapatio Took Me by Surprise

How come I didn't google it? How unlike me! I saw the name "Pointe Hilton", ignored the smaller print "Tapatio Cliffs Resort", and just assumed it would be your typical city Hilton -- large white building, large, well-appointed, comfortable rooms, good quality shampoo, conditioner and body lotion...


So as the taxi drove up the mountain and through the stone gates, around the water fountain, and deposited us at the entrance to the lobby, I was taken by surprise.


The place is huge. A maze of buildings, pathways, staircases. We're in building 12. By now I think I can find my way from "my" building to the lobby and back. And I've been to two of the 8 pools.

I don't know how to characterize the architectural style. Mexican inspired? Desert inspired? The colors are earthen, red, mustard yellow, brick orange. The palm trees are so tall they don't fit into the frame of my camera...


The heat, 40 deg C and above, is enervating. I slather on sunscreen, wear a hat, drink lots of water, try to stay in the shade, but still feel knocked out. The nasty sore throat doesn't help. But oh well. I shall overcome.

Today, in a couple of hours, is the wedding we came to attend. Mazal Tov, Michael and Amanda! So I'll stop here, go shower, and change my mind another couple of times as to the black-and-gold outfit or the shiny striped dress.

In the pool, with cousin Bonnie:

Cousin Sandy lounging by the pool:

Friday, June 4, 2010

Aboard BA flight 207 to Miami

It's amazing how the cabin crew have managed to persuade a Boeing 747-full of passengers that it's time for their afternoon nap. But there it is: An early lunch was served, diners were offered white or red wine, and on a full tummy, soothed by tasty chicken tikka masala, a glass or two of wine, and strawberry mousse for dessert, everyone seemed willing to call it a day. The passengers, I mean. I trust the crew are always on their proverbial toes. Cabin lights were turned off, window shades pulled shut, et voila -- a plane full of people is snoozing for over an hour now.

It's also amazing -- to me at least -- how I've come to regard being suspended between heaven and earth, or more precisely up in the air, 36 thousand feet / 10 km above the Atlantic ocean, as soothing and relaxing. I used to be nervous about flying. One of those people who doesn't understand how such a heavy object can stay up in the air. The physical aspect has been, of course, explained to me more than once, and I'll take the mavens' word for it that the principles are sound and that it's not a fluke that these funny-looking caravans stay up in the air and actually get from airport to airport without flapping their wings and without any magic -- which is lucky, because I'd be more prone to believe in wing-flapping than in magic. I used to take a small pill shortly before boarding, to help me relax during takeoff and until I could convince my psyche that it's just like being on a train or bus or in a moving movie-house. But now, it's quite the spa: Just lounging, listening to Miles Davis or watching a recent release that people are talking about, eating and drinking without doing the washing-up.

I used to view my time on buses and trains as god-given (or at least ministry-of-transport given) time away from it all. A time where I no longer belonged to the place and the people I left, and not yet belonged to whatever duties lay at the other end of the line. Private escape time. Cellphones changed all that, of course. Everyone is always accessible. Work chases you and catches up with you wherever you are.

Buses and trains are no longer a safe haven. Looks like air travel has taken up the slack. In principle, it is possible to make a phone call right from my seat here on the plane. In principle, I can still be connected to the outside world. But I'm not really expected to. I'm truly on vacation.

Bumpety-bump. I expect the Buckle Your Seatbelts sign will go on any minute. The aircraft is dipping south of St. John's island, Newfoundland, on its way to Miami.

Later that Day

My first time in Miami. Not a very happy experience. The airport was somewhat confusing. Lots of Spanish all around me. No, the Spanish in itself was not confusing, but the insufficient signs and directions.

Though it was sweltering out when we just landed, the sky suddenly became a uniform gray, and sheets of rain splashed down, halting activity on the runways. So our flight was delayed.

Flight # AA 1007 wasn't a fun flight. The narrow-bodied American Airlines aircraft was crammed full. The housewifey flight attendants did their best, serving juice and awful coffee/tea. Blankets and pillows cost $8. A sandwich cost $10. Luckily we had our own earphones. Not that the inflight entertainment was very entertaining. And, in addition, through no fault of the airline, weather conditions made for a very bumpy, choppy ride.

Oh well. So long as it got us here safe and sound.

Next post: Pointe Hilton Tapatio Cliffs Resort, Phoenix.