Getting from here to there

It seems rather obvious to me.

One of the really neat things about successful European cities (where success is measured by the scale and nature of living) and a few American metropolises (shouldn't this be metropolii?) is the ease of getting about within them. My view holds that public mobility is the fundamental reason for a city's viability, and is at the heart of economic progress and civil harmony. In this, I agree with most Europeans.

Buses, trams, underground metros, light rail, economical taxi networks and other people-movers, are then good for people. On the other hand, you can blame automobiles, at least partially, for virtually every urban economic and social pestilence you can mention: economic deprivation, pollution, squandering of natural resources, social estrangement, political and corporate corruption, and the general decline of public worth and health. It is one of the most inefficient, impractical and expensive gadgets you can own. But then, what do I know. I own two of them. Obviously, the car serves a purpose; we are just not certain whether it is to promote transport or ego.

It's not that Brussels doesn't have cars on the street; it has far too many. Streets are narrow and parking is sparse outside commercial parking garages. But if there is a plus to Brussels' account, the cars are by necessity mostly small, fairly economical when compared to their American cousins, and they operate in parallel with not one but four large and interconnected public transport networks. As well, automobiles here contribute in some measure to balancing their social costs through large annual assessments (especially for luxury cars) and petrol taxes. A thorough, mandatory annual inspection of all vehicles from cars to public buses ensures some degree of public safety and conformance to pollution abatement. For the most part, these measures work, as cars remain small on the average with economical but efficient engines, and fuel consumption is necessarily low. (30 miles per gallon is not unusual for in-town driving, with petrol at about $6.50 per gallon.)

But if you live anywhere in Brussels—anywhere in Belgium—you have an inexpensive and readily-available public transport system near your door. Each of the four systems—tram, metro underground, light rail and bus—connect at various points, and fares are cheap and structured so that you can start with one system and use the others where necessary to reach your destination, as long as you're going one direction. Until the tram was extended in our neighborhood, for example, we would take the bus downtown; now we would have the choice of the bus, or a combination of tram and metro. We took the bus even though we had a car; it cost more to park the automobile than to ride the bus.

An important reason Brussels works is because you can get around so easily and cheaply. I believe there is no better investment for a city than to provide citizens with an affordable, clean, reliable and pervasive public transport. Virtually all European cities (and those U.S. cities that still support viable centers) point this out: public mobility is essential to a thriving and workable core.

J-Ville complains a lot about the decline of its downtown. Its solution is to provide 300 parking spaces. I think that central to its problem is the inadequacy of the city's public transport, ergo, the failure of government to so provide. When I last checked, they couldn't even arrange for bus shelters.

There's no doubt public transport is expensive to operate, and private enterprise is ill-suited to underwrite the costs and subsidies required, a big negative in America. (Why involve a profit-making company when the public assumes responsibility for capital and risk and tops-off operating expenses.) But if a city thinks of itself as a city, and not an amalgamation of neighborhoods and shopping centers, clean, secure and reliable public transport is the first consideration it should make.

The Weekly Market

A bit primitive, but it works for me.

Every week, rain or shine, holidays or not, there is an open-air market in Uccle on Wednesdays. In theory, it only stretches along one city-block-long median parking, but in fact, cafés and a variety of stores along a three-block stretch of the street take part, along with a good number from the side streets. It's a great business opportunity, and everyone wants to get into the game. Quite aside from the offering of everything from snacks to meats to cheeses to clothes to vegetables, it is one very big happy-hour, as wine booths selling by the glass and bottle are set up to take advantage of the crowds.

Virtually every neighborhood in Brussels has such a market at least once a week. Many of the vendors move their trucks and goods between markets each day and have for generations. When we lived here, our market was on Sunday and, due to its weekend appearance, drew people from miles around. There was very little that you couldn't find at our market, and if it wasn't there it probably wasn't worth having.

Weather is always a factor when outdoors in northern Europe, of course, but Bruxellois are used to rain, so crowds still appear in the most miserable of seasons. But yesterday the weather was incredible: warm, with mostly sunshine, and the market was subsequently packed. If you don't like crowds the market is a place to avoid, but if you're a people-watcher, there is no better opportunity to enjoy the variety of dress and attitudes people put on for public places.

The market is a favorite meeting place for locals and business professionals working in the area. To walk through the wine stalls is to be inundated with a sea of passionate greetings and air-kissing. Every country has its traditional method of greeting friends and relatives; in Belgium, we use three kisses, aimed at the ears from alternating cheeks. (Please; no jokes.) Since you have to do this with everyone you haven't seen since lunch, there is a lot of kissing going on most of the time. Somehow, no one seems to mind.

I bought a glass of white wine from two men selling off a card table. I chose them because: a) they had the biggest crowd, always a good sign of quality product and value for money, and b) they had the cheapest price; an advantage of low overhead, I suppose. Now, here's where buying wine in Belgium makes a difference: the wine and glass was chilled just right, it was served in a clean, proper glass (plastic never touched my lips), and it cost about $3. I could have had the entire bottle for $12.

I had to give the glass back, of course. Each glass is painted on the bottom to identify the seller, necessary because people buy here and wander there; you have no idea where the glass winds up at the end of the day. No one seems to be bothered by this, as drinkers maneuvered for the sunlight or groups of common friends.

I sipped my wine while walking down the aisles formed by the booths and browsed the luscious vegetables laid out to view, the huge cheese selections, the olives, spices, sausages and hams, etc. One large booth specialized in leather watch bands. Puce seemed to be a popular color. The owner seemed happy, but I wondered how many people would search out a watch-band shop at an open-air market; I would think of it more as an impulse sale. Perhaps she was there for the ambiance, the sun and the wine. I know I was.

A commercial for Lumix

And now for a short commercial break. After many years of carrying tons of photo equipment over five continents and shooting many thousands of pictures, I finally see the advantages of travelling light. My wife, who has shared the burden, says: "It's about time."

We're on the road this trip for about 120 days and it includes two weddings, big photo events, so I planned on two cameras: the big Nikon with just the minimum zoom lens, flash and required accessories, battery chargers, etc.; and a little Lumix DMC-LX3 plus an external flash. You could put the latter with all its accessories in one pocket; in fact, the external flash is larger than the camera. The Lumix LX3 qualifies as just one step up from a point-and-shoot. After a month of using the Lumix, to my surprise, and quite to the contrary of what I anticipated, the little camera has become my constant companion; the Nikon didn't even make the cut for Europe. I am now a Lumix Lunatic.

There are minuses, of course: there is no eye-level viewfinder and the lens has a limited zoom range. It uses a detachable lens cap and you can't easily mount a protective filter as a replacement. It is slower to start up and focus, the screen washes-out in sunlight and lacks the flexibility and power of the DSLR. As I write this, Lumix has announced a new, improved version, the LX5, to be available in the fall of 2010. It apparently addresses this very list of complaints.

Okay, the LX3 is not a professional camera, but then, so what? I'm taking snapshots for my own enjoyment, not for professional submission. The advantages of packing a light-weight camera with low system complexity and moderate cost, and that interjects fun into picture taking again, far outweighs any concessions required. And I LOVE that fast, wide-angle lens, as I like to shoot natural light and the wide-angle is great for indoor scenes.

The Lumix LX3 is excellent for ambient light, even in dark cathedrals, and its ability to focus under low light conditions is amazing. I have great affection for this camera, and carry it everywhere. One caveat: if you're going to shoot in really dark venues and must use flash, don't rely entirely on the little built-in unit. The camera has an accessory shoe and it allows for more powerful, external flash units. I consider one a good investment.

I'm suggesting that if you like to take pictures while you travel—or at any other time—you should consider the new ranges of smaller cameras, and don't assume that a big DLSR is required for quality shots. My next step will be to the Lumix GF1, slightly larger overall but with a bigger, more sensitive sensor and that accepts interchangeable lenses. It's still small and light, but offers the capability of excellent, high-quality and high-resolution photography at a reasonable cost. From what I've seen of its smaller LX3 cousin, the GF1 with two lenses and an external flash will be virtually all I will need to carry. It even shoots HD video! While the LX3 will come along too, the Nikons are going to get lonesome.

A Spanish Mass

I accompanied N. and her sister, L. to Catholic Mass Sunday morning to view a special ceremony where a young friend and acolyte led the choir and sang. The Mass was in Spanish, and among other things, recognized the national day of Peru (and sang its national anthem!). I haven't lived in a Hispanic country in 34 years, but during that simple, informal Mass, all the warmth, the sense of family, and the delightful and honest humanity of the Hispanics came rushing back to me from those days. It was delightful…and the music was great, too.

The church was in repair; that is, it showed signs of repairs made. Why split hairs? Because little is now happening to finish the works, so the church is covered in primer and spackle. Money is an issue, of course, and many of the churches in Belgium are showing signs of deterioration.

This is not an insignificant building. It is in the middle of Brussels near the Bourse (stock market), an important location as a significant congregation lives nearby. It was built over 100 years ago when it once represented the great wealth and strong religiosity of the Belgians. It is now a bit sad, with its more spectacular features and statutary painted over or simply overlooked. The church's out-buildings, which could easily become valuable housing have been ignored to the point they are thoroughly disreputable.

In a sense, the condition of this church represents the state of the Roman Catholic Church in Belgium, where church attendance has fallen precipitously in the last half of the last century. Only about 7 percent of Belgians now claim to attend church weekly. It was over 60 percent in 1960. The clergy is shrinking, money is in short supply, congregates are getting older and fewer in number, and buildings are slowly decaying.

At the nation's formation the Church was a major land owner, wealthy and influential. In a stupendous land-grab in the 1800's, secular Belgium required the Church to sign over its substantial lands, churches, monasteries and seminaries to the state, and in return, the government promised to pay the priests and maintain the property. There is thus a state entity responsible for church repairs and for paying a stipend to the clergy. There is a process whereby Belgium officially recognizes religious faiths, and new arrivals are now claiming their share of the state's attention—and funding. And, like most government promises everywhere, there has been some hedging and fudging.

This is secular country with a history of strongly Catholic kings and political parties. (King Baudouin abdicated for a day to avoid signing legislation granting limited rights to abortion that conflicted with his strong Catholic faith. The legislation passed in his absence.) However, the Church's influence has been shaken by recent political losses. Public support for the Church has been diluted by damaging, and revisited, charges of molestation and pedophilia, and the State points to the drop-off in attendance to justify the shift in its attention to other budgetary and social issues.

The church Sunday was packed. A parallel was easily drawn to the Roman Catholic Church's strength in Hispanic countries. But, northern Europe has become predominantly humanist and no longer seems to be the Church's stronghold of faith and adherents. That's as it will be, but it's difficult to be ambivalent about the Church's decline when you consider its mixed history and incredible contributions to architecture.

Belgium's National Day

A seriously bad hair day

We returned from Reims early enough to walk to the Sablon district and enjoy some of the celebrations of Belgium's National Day. We're staying with L. just off Avenue Louise, so it's an easy walk to the Place Louise on the old inner wall to connect to any transport, the Toison d'Or for up-market shopping, and, of course, to be intimidated by the Palais d'Justice, the wholly disproportionate center of legal jurisprudence built to put people in their place when faced with the law. I have a hard time deciding whether the building, which is in major renovation, is impressive or simply God-ugly, but either way, it certainly diminishes human scale, a purpose it was, no doubt, intended to serve.

They had closed Blvd Royal to traffic and installed many booths and demonstrations. Most of the stalls were closing and we had to do with one of the last batches of frites, a gaufre (Belgian waffle) and a bottle of orange Fanta, hardly a celebration of Belgium cuisine, but the beer and other stuff was gone. The truth is, other than gaufres, Belgian fries (NOT French at all), beer and sausage, Belgium doesn't do fast food very well in the American sense of the word. This, of course, is a GOOD thing; more on food in future blogs.

The Palais d'Justice is part of the high town of Brussels, built up in the 13^th century when residents finally got fed-up with being flooded in the marsh below. We stood on the parapet along the escarpment in front of the building and overlooked much of the city center, from the Atomium near Park Osseghem in the northwest, to the summer carnival installed along the old inner wall road to the south, and to the west as far as the earth's curvature allowed. As night was setting on the city it was an impressive sight.

Brussels was originally built on an island. Centuries later the river was completely covered (it had turned into a sewer and a major health hazard) and the surrounding marsh drained. Now, there is interest in uncovering the river (the sewer problem having been solved in the 20^th century) and making it part of the city again. There is already a large canal cutting through the middle, and the city imports many tons of sand to create a "beach" along it for residents.

What drew us downtown was promised fireworks near the Place Royal. It was live-music synchronized to fireworks and, although we didn't get close enough to enjoy the full effect, we did get the tail end of the aerial display as we walked back to Place Louise and the tram. I understand there is a video of the event and we'll watch that. Such is the aging process.

You may have read that Belgium is going through another threatened dissolution of the federal state. The two language communities, French and Flemish (a Dutch dialect), are again at each other over perceived imbalances in financial responsibilities and social consciousness. Like so many political issues, this is a tempest in a teapot serving the interests of a few and benefiting even fewer, based on clawing economic advantage and prestige. There is a lot of simmering antagonism between the two regions that go back a century or more. You could say the French are getting what they deserve for their past arrogance, or the Flemish are selfish, self-important prigs with no sense of community or tolerance. From the turnout at the national celebrations in Brussels, you could also say that most of the people are bemused by the issue and wish the protagonists would move to Poland (It's a joke, Poland). As an English speaker with friends in both camps, I'm in the latter group. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Brussels is a region in itself, and now probably represents the true Belgian generosity and heritage. In a curious way, it is as cosmopolitan as Jerusalem with an astonishingly diverse population, very high multilingualism and an amazing embrace of cultures, languages, and histories. To walk in its streets and listen to conversations is to be anywhere in the world at a given moment. It is the most livable city I have ever seen, and in modesty, I've seen a lot of cities.

I'm happier with Brussels this visit than I was last year. The city looks cleaner, and less chaotic, although it may have to do with the fact that we're in the holiday season and many Belgians are in France or elsewhere. Nonetheless, I am content.

In Reins

The Cathedral at Reims, France

Yesterday being Belgium's National Day, we decided to do the natural thing and go elsewhere; in our case, to Reins, France, home of, among other things, one of the world's largest medieval cathedrals. An added incentive for the trip was that Reins is sort of the capital of France's champagne region, and there are many caves there that offer tours and FREE SAMPLES.

We decided to approach Reins directly from the north, driving from Brussels through Charleroi and Philippeville, then directly south through parts of the Ardennes forest and subsequent, rolling, French farmland. We hadn't been in this area for over a decade; the last time was to view the August 1999 solar eclipse from within the totality, a vantage point for us just over the French border with Belgium. I remember I got out of bed during a severe illness just to see and photograph the event, and while there was some cloud, we did get a look and pictures of the total eclipse—it engendered a very strange feeling as I recall.

Some things never change, and other than some decline in infrastructure, the Belgium countryside in Wallonia looked much the same as I remembered it: that is, lovely. At this time of the year Belgium is green and lush—so green it almost hurts the eyes. The roads, though, seem to be suffering from a lack of maintenance and investment. I noticed many buildings boarded up and derelict, including at least one beautiful, large house.

We saw quite a bit of the damage from the last massive wind storm just this year. The winds apparently formed vortices that could twist some large trees in two while leaving adjacent stands alone. We drove along through the forest when suddenly, we would come upon a new clearing where the trees were thrown down, twisted and mangled. It reminded us of the storms of 1987 and 1990 when Belgium (and other countries) lost a large percentage of its forests.

We crossed the French border before stopping at a small village, found the town center, and got their last four croissants. Is there anything better than a fresh, French croissant and a cup of strong, French coffee? This is a rhetorical question.

Reims is ungodly flat, good I suppose for its agriculture but a bit boring, otherwise. This is a very old and historic city, however, and it's rich, too. There's a lot of construction going on and the architecture is interesting and worth the extra effort and time to view. I suggest lunch at the town center, although avoid the outside tables and eat inside; they are repaving the streets and walks. It will be beautiful when they finish; until then, it's noisy and dusty.

But the reason we were there was to see the Cathedral of Reims, which fairly reeks with history and culture, and is of an impressive size. This building has been around, in some form or the other since the 400's, and has been significant in the anointing of European kings and such for over a thousand years. The existing structure, although damaged in WWI and WWII (and numerous other wars), has been rebuilt into essentially the same edifice that stood here 800 years ago. I may have a few dates wrong, but if you're that picky, or want to know more about Reims (and you should) go to Wikipedia. For sure, it is one impressive cathedral and a must on your list of things to visit in northern Europe. The stained-glass windows are fantastic (the Chagall windows are particularly famous) and the scale of the structure is just stupendous.

They are busy cleaning the accumulated soot of centuries and renovating statues, etc. It is a huge job and about a third done, using my estimate. There are some snaps published for my followers and distribution list, but for some various perspectives on the cathedral and Reims, go to http://Picasa.com and search the public photo archives for Reims Cathedral. There are some really great photos. Bookmark this site for future use. If you want to be added to my distribution, add a comment below with your email address.

A note on French drivers: avoid angering them. They can harbor the worst cases of road rage in Europe, and can be outright dangerous to themselves and others. No joke; they can act as insane, behave irrationally, and use their vehicles as a weapon. If approached or threatened, act toward them as you would a rabid monkey and avoid any eye contact.

A Fashion Statement

I can't resist an opportunity to prove that I am still "with it" and "have it", by identifying important trends that will help those on-the-hop to remain hip. I have picked up on two style trends that will, no doubt, make it across the water to the USA shortly and become adolescent icons. On the other hand, I could be entirely wrong, but then, that's fashion for you.

I first noticed these trends in Italy and have now confirmed their presence in Belgium. Italy as a style-setter speaks for itself, but for these trends to penetrate to Brussels, which has the style-consciousness of a post-war Soviet archipelago, they must have strong mojo indeed.

The first trend is the growing popularity of digital watches. Not the desperate compromises where a tiny digital read-out hides behind an analog face; I'm talking 70's and 80's digital dot-matrix with plastic bands and indecipherable digits, just as we once cherished. Again, we can count on time being measured to the tenth of a second, an accuracy that escapes analog hands that only vaguely point somewhere. Of course, the watches are still set to what we think is the current time, but with digital, we can once again be certain in our ambiguity.

Secondly, gone are the small ear-buds that used to indicate a person had escaped reality and was deep into a musical nirvana created by their MP3 player. Apparently they let too much noise escape the ear and failed to render the advocate completely deaf. The ear-buds are now being replaced by gigantic earphones, the more exotic and grand the better. They lend the wearer a certain alien look from the rear, which we can only assume is intended, but they must enhance the musical experience. On the plus side you no longer have to share the musical tastes of the enthusiast when you share a common space; on the down side you have to look twice to see if they really are listening to music or can be confirmed as from an alien planet. The odds are about even.

In Bergamo

Looking up at the High City

Perched at the edge of the foothills of the Italian Alps is the small city of Bergamo. It calls itself an "Alpine Village", but this is mostly hype; while it's very pleasant, and a portion of the city is elevated somewhat, it is certainly not alpine by most definitions of the word. It IS charming, however, and we enjoyed our entry into Europe by spending a couple of days in one of our favorite places in the world: Italy.

We surprised ourselves by avoiding car rentals and taxis, walking wherever we wanted to go. After five years in the U.S. it was nice to discover we still had legs. Unfortunately, it was hot as hell both days we were resident, so walking wasn't all it should be, but we stuck to our guns, so to speak. Our hotel was close to the airport, but the newer—and lower—part of Bergamo was an easy stroll away. Be prepared to walk through some of the industrial district to get there.

One of the things we noticed right away is the number of immigrants. Italy is full of them as it's a favorite country of entry into the EU. The good news is that they all eventually migrate to the UK. (Just kidding, UK.) They are easily profiled as they don't look at all Italian and are thus not entirely welcomed by residents, who, like residents everywhere, suspect recent arrivals of loose morals and contributing to the crime rate, taking away jobs, etc. I will say, however, that the level of tolerance is higher in Europe toward just about everything than in the U.S.

You have noted by now that there are two Bergamos, with the older, walled city looking down on the newer part. Essentially, as it is in so many cities, the higher you go the fancier things get. There are funicular rails that at nominal cost will lift you up the escarpment into the old city, although there is a bus route as well for those wanting to keep their wheels on the ground. Movie buffs will observe that a scene from an award-winning foreign film Il Postino (foreign to the U.S., at any rate) was shot at one of the Funicular stations in the old city, where we enjoyed a delightful chilled wine and snacks for a ridiculously inexpensive 11 euro. Now that I mention it, we found the city to be very inexpensive, especially considering the quality you enjoy.

Italy is unchanging; it still offers the best food in the world, bar none. This is obviously an opinion, but it's my blog, so there. After five years in the U.S. we had forgotten what pasta was supposed to taste like; how wine can illuminate your spirit without clogging the senses, or how good, professional service can make you welcome instead of pushing you aside to make room for another seating. We ate fresher vegetables prepared just-so, cheeses that were to die for, breads that fully qualified to be so called, and fruit that actually tasted like it was supposed to. Did I mention the ice cream? Honest-to-Pete, if Americans had any taste buds left they would have rioted against their food industries and preparers generations ago for the sacrilege they commit.

We're going back to the region before leaving Europe this summer and are looking forward to spending more time in the surrounding mountains; at the lakes (Como is near, among others), and in some of Italy's great cities (Bergamo is 45 km from Milano). The only downside to northern Italy is that the English, whom, despite their peculiar affinity for the bizarre and their propensity toward weird, manufactured foods, have recognized a good thing when they see it and have now occupied much of Tuscany. (Well, wouldn't you?). Fortunately, they tend to clump together, so they can be avoided. (Just kidding, UK.)

The Airport in Tel Aviv

For some reason, while entering a country you don't seem to notice the airport around you; perhaps it's because your prime objective is to put it behind you after hours of dehydration and breathing other peoples' air. But when departing, what with the requirements for allowing time for security, there's enough leisure to look about and get the sense of the place. Such was the case for us in Tel Aviv.

Security was onerous, of course; the airport variety was practically born in Tel Aviv, but deep inside your brain there is a certain gratitude for the efforts expended. Flying is bad enough without adding the risk of some idiot deciding to change the odds of your safe arrival at your destination. Allow time for security: there is a lot of it, and the process is thorough. I've grown to feel that airport security is a bit like prayer before a flight: you may not need it all the time or even believe in its effectiveness, but you can't prove that it's NOT necessary, nor how much is enough. I think the book of Forrest Gump would paraphrase it as "security is as security does".

Once into the departure lounge you'll find one of the largest—and busiest—so-called "Free Tax" shops you'll see anywhere. Not that I believe in Free Tax, but who can resist the opportunity to buy something you'd never consider otherwise? It must have something to do with voluntarily getting into a sealed aluminum tube and putting yourself into the hands of technologies known to occasionally fail. There's a certain portion of fatalism in plunking down $85 for a small bottle of scotch—or $565 for twenty-five cigars—where the end purpose is to turn it into urine or the cigars into ashes. (If I recall correctly, Israel is said to be one of the few countries remaining that still support U.S. demands for an embargo of Cuba. If true, why are they selling Cuban cigars in their Free Tax? Not that I'm complaining. Just asking.)

The Lod or Ben Gurion airport (both names work) is completely different than we remember it from years past. We found it very modern, efficient, clean and comfortable; just about everything that the old airport terminal wasn't. Of course, technology has helped make security less tedious, and the pursuit of wealth now offers conveniences to us poor consumers only dreamed of twenty years ago. The airport is now polished and generic: you could now be just about flying into or out of anywhere else—if the signs were all in Hebrew.

Water, water, but not everywhere

One of the three primary sources of the River Jordan

Nothing, it seems, including the security measures taken by Israel, is as aggravating to Palestinians –or is as crucial to their future as a people or as a nation—than the availability of potable water.

We were collectively invited for lunch a few days ago by a family in Beit Jallah, a highly contested piece of real estate adjacent to Bethlehem. Beit Jallah occupies high ground (on a clear day they say you can see Jordan), and as this is held as desirable by the Israelis, a good piece of the town has been declared by the Israelis as Zone C. That is, it is under the direct control of Israel. Although firmly in the West Bank, and thus technically in the administrative sphere of the Palestinian Authority, the PA has little to say about anything here—it's a situation where they have some responsibility but no authority. An example would be policing. This unfortunate dichotomy can be found throughout the West Bank.

Upon arrival, I was sitting with the host, a genial man with experience in balancing between Israeli and Palestinian wonderlands, and he was telling me about the features of his apartment that overlooks the city. One of the first things he mentioned was its capacity and technology for holding potable water. For, as in many parts of the West Bank, water distribution by pipe is completely in the hands of the Israelis, and they restrict his apartment, and many other Palestinians, to a few hours of water per day. What he finds so incredible and unjust in this is that the water is out of the Palestinian aquifer in the first place. In his view, and held by almost all Palestinians, their water is being stolen and then sold back to them. It's not cheap, either. To fill his apartment building's reservoir costs almost 50 NIS a cubic meter. And you don't drink it. Some countries pay less for fuel oil.

I'm reminded of a similar situation in Belgium, where Walloons hold that their region provides Flanders with a crucial water supply. They say this is not recognized by Flanders as a real contribution by Wallonia to the general good of the nation. They consider "their" water a counter to Flemish gripes that Flanders, in turn, funds much of the social cost of Wallonia.

Water is a finite resource in the Middle East and this is certainly true with Palestine. Israel has industrialized the local agriculture business and imported millions of new consumers, collectively putting a strain on water supplies and resources. And more, this demand is asymmetrical: by estimates, one Israeli national on average consumes three times the amount of water used by a Palestinian. This is not because he spends more time in the shower; it recognizes Israel's commercial and agricultural use of water for exportable cash crops. But, whether by nature or by necessity, it is clear that the Palestinians exercise greater conservation.

The Israelis have taken charge of all utilities in the West Bank, including water treatment and distribution, sewage treatment and collection, electricity generation and distribution, fuels, communication trunks, etc. The Palestinians are increasingly dependent upon Israeli for many of the most essential aspects of daily life. In Beit Jallah, it may be as great a problem for my friend to get rid of his sewage as it is to get water. There is no sewer collection, and septic tanks and leach fields are over used, threatening ground water. Either way, life for him will not get easier or cheaper. This trend toward dependency—and exploitation—was observable twenty years ago, and the practice is almost complete today.

The control of water is to master the fate of those dependent upon it. Many believe the entire reason for past Israeli incursions into Lebanon was to attempt control of water, and that future wars are inevitable to assure new sources. Be that as it may, there is no doubt in my mind that Israeli control of the Golan is fundamental to their control of the headwaters of the Jordan, which feeds much of the northern, fertile Galilee, and which is ultimately the source of the Sea of Galilee, the primary reservoir for the industrial and populated central costal region.

We visited Galilee, and the three primary sources of the Jordan River in the Golan Heights. Taken from Syria in the 1967 war, the intervening 43 years has seen the almost complete integration of the Golan into Israeli. They've made a national park out of a good part of the region. They even have a cute little goat as a mascot if you're into that sort of thing. It is a beautiful place and well worth the visit. Not too many foreigners come to the Golan but it's popular with Israelis. There is lots of military hardware around and old Syrian camps, mostly in ruins (but not all, a Syrian NCO club is now a Lebanese restaurant), but for the most part, you could be anywhere else in Israel. If there are souls out there that think the return of the Golan Heights is still a bargaining chip for peace with Syria, they should realize that it is highly unlikely it will ever be surrendered; it is absolutely crucial to Israel agriculture. I believe Israel will never again share the Sea of Galilee with anyone.

There is less to share, anyway. I was shocked, when overlooking the Sea, to find it substantially smaller that when I last visited it a quarter of a century ago. I recall it as a rather massive, inland lake, with shorelines almost below the horizon from any lake vantage point; not so today. At this rate, it will soon take on the dimensions of a Florida drainage pond. The countries adjacent to the Jordan valley are good at making lakes disappear; the Dead Sea has shrunk by kilometers thanks to Israeli and Jordan evaporation mining, and Palestinian lake-side resorts viable thirty years ago are high and dry today.

There is an international scheme to pipe water from the Red Sea to the Dead Sea, using the natural fall of 270 meters from sea level to generate energy, and renew the Dead Sea's rapidly evaporating body. That energy could be used to desalinate sea water and irrigate the Negev, among other things. While Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Europe and the U.S. are all busy surveying the possibilities, it is notable that the Palestinians are not considered partners in any venture. The feeling seems to be that they're just consumers, now.

The Wall at Bethlehem

I had intended to write today about my visit to the Old City of Jerusalem, but events today have put that off to another time. Today, I had my first experience with the Wall and the security between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. It deserves mention.

I have been in and out of Bethlehem several times, usually without trouble. I remained in the car, showing my passport when required. R. would get out of the car, walk to the check post, show his documents, walk back to the car, and we'd be off. Today, I had to leave the car, walk about 50 meters past the Wall to the pedestrian processing center, and be, well, processed. No explanation for the change in routine—that's apparently the point. R. drove the car through and waited for me on the other side. He had a long wait.

I got some direction from a soldier at the Wall, and walked down into the center. It was Spartan and strongly built—all galvanized steel and pipe barricades. I passed through the entry gate and into a long hall. There were no instructions in English and no one in sight. There were three barricaded gates out of the hall, and a marked emergency exit that was locked. None of the barricade turnstiles worked. I was starting to feel like a rat in a psychology experiment. I thought of finally calling out "Hello, anyone here?" but received no response. I tried all the barricades again. No luck. Then, with no exit possible, I settled down to wait it out. I figured that more people would eventually show up to be processed and that if nothing else, they would have to eventually let us through or feed us. After about five minutes, another group of tourists wandered in, milling about just as confused as I was.

Finally, a Palestinian who knew his way around arrived and, finding the gates locked, shouted loud enough to get some action. One of the barred gates' lights suddenly turned green and we could enter in small groups of two and three. Once through the gate it was fairly quick for us foreigners, although the Palestinians with us were queued in a separate line and received additional interrogation. They were still in the hall when I left. It took me about 25 minutes. R. tells me that, during the early hours, with workers trying to get to their job in Israel, as many as five thousand souls can be waiting for processing. Then, they all have to get home in the evening. I wonder how long it will be before someone realizes they can make a lot of money off the Palestinians by charging for passage. Of course, tourists usually stay on their buses.

I realized that I was misjudging the efficiency of the processing center. I initially thought it was just stupid, poorly managed, and almost tragic-comic. I now believe that the Wall operates not for my convenience, but precisely for the opposite: it is to discourage traffic across the "border" by making the daily process as humiliating, demeaning and just plain difficult as possible. It is foremost about separation and consolidation: separation of a populace from, and consolidation of territories within.

Palestinians can lose hours just trying to get one kilometer from their homes, and they absolutely hate the Wall. Make no mistake, regardless of the security benefits, which are dubious to me, if the Israelis ever want reconciliation with the Palestinians this Wall is a terrible mistake. The U.S. might take the lesson to heart at its borders. Once you build a wall, diminishing its memory will take more than a generation or two after it is gone.

I thought it was ironic that, after passing through security, I found a wall poster advising me that it was vacation time all year round in Israel. This seems a curious message to those desperately trying to earn a living for their families.

Over thirty years ago I used to pass from Jordan into Israel at the Allenby Bridge. This was well before Israeli built the separate border terminal for foreigners there, and long before VIP status was instituted; in those days we walked with the Palestinians through the barbed-wire-fenced open-air compound, a great mass of humanity poled through by soldiers on each side of the gate. It was chaotic, noisy, hot, dusty and dangerous. But, it had the sense of being temporary. Now all those miseries have been institutionalized, cast in concrete, and inflicted on many more Palestinians that ever once crossed near Jericho. Does anyone believe this is progress? Is there anyone out there so deluded that they believe this is a humane and proportionate security provision? I am saddened by a realization of all that has been lost, and how little has been gained in this country.

In approaching the Wall with its observation towers it's easy believe you're entering a prison, but for me, when you approach the gate at Bethlehem, I first think of the entry to Jurassic Park. It's absolutely eerie. The question is: which side of the Wall holds the predators?

Getting around

If you want to get from here to there in Israel and Palestine there are a limited number of choices. There is the public bus system and private tourist buses; there are taxis; there is (or will be, it's several years delayed) a new tram in Jerusalem; for long distance there are short flights; and then there is the car, by far the most popular way to get about. In Palestine, there are fewer options, and the car, whether private or a taxi, rules. Taxis and mini-buses don't really improve the traffic situation by consolidating passengers; they simply ensure greater casualties in the case of accident.

With the huge mix of different cars, trucks, buses, carts and everything else on wheels, plus death-defying pedestrians, traffic is almost the most chaotic system in the West Bank and Jerusalem. I say "almost" because there are so many competitors for the title of being the most confounding, inconvenient, offensive, unjust or just plain miserable service provided to a long-suffering populace. It's where every government best innovates: How can we make life more difficult for our citizens today? But I digress.

As public buses are outside my experience and are likely to remain so, this is about the use of cars, trucks and other self-powered vehicles.

Cars are expensive to buy, own and operate in Palestine, so it's a bit of a surprise to visitors to see late model Mercedes, Hummers, Audis, Range Rovers and BMWs on the roads. Don't kid yourself: this place is not all about cheerful workers singing and walking back from their agricultural Kibbutz; there's real money in this country, and it likes fancy cars. For the rest of us there are Mazdas, VWs, Hyundais, Skodas, and a smattering of just about everything else.

A new car is taxed at about 100% by Israel and this cascades down to used cars as well, so even ten-year-old economy cars can represent a substantial investment for young families. I bought a two-year-old Seat (a Spanish VW) for $15,000 decades ago. No A/C but with a willing, one-liter engine. The valve cover had an inexplicable "Porsche Design" stamped on it, which made the car all the more attractive, of course. I drove it everywhere. Were it around today, it would still command a decent price. For all I know, it's still whining around West Bank. I wish it well.

Insurance is also expensive, especially comprehensive or collision coverage, and ten minutes in traffic will amply demonstrate why. Most car owners thus carry the legal minimum liability insurance, or (it is said) none at all. Needless to say, uninsured motorists careening about make for a scary background to using an auto. For that matter, it is also rumored that there are a lot of cars that have a questionable provenance (read: stolen) and are running around without license plates. Needless to say, these vehicles are unlikely to be encumbered by insurance or other essentials like maintenance or responsible drivers.

The essential element to car use is petrol, of course, or diesel (there are a lot of diesel-powered vehicles in Israel and Palestine, many in very poor maintenance). It's expensive, about on a par with Europe: about $1.70 a liter or, for you metric illiterates, roughly $6.50 per gallon. On the plus side, there are attendants that will fill your car for you if you don't care for self-service. As in the old days, you don't have to leave your seat.

But by far, it's the local driving technique that's the most remarkable aspect of traffic in Israel and Palestine. It consists in the main of driving like a bat out of hell from point A to point B, with the devil taking the hindmost. I was not the most considerate or careful driver in my youth (now, I'm perfect) but driver attitudes here redefine the term "aggressive".

It is impossible not to have compassion for pedestrians, although they also have a seemingly fatalistic view. They are shepherded into the street (cars are using the sidewalks, if any are provided) and forced to share the roads with vehicles, to which they act oblivious. While some scatter at the approach of cars, others accept the challenge and try to stare down the approaching driver like a matador approached by a mad bull. Some just step out and dare the drivers to hit them. I don't think this is a good idea.

The number of vehicles on the street has more than doubled in the past two decades—and I'm being conservative. And while roads are far better than they were twenty years ago, improved highways and byways have not helped to make driving a safer experience. If anything, it has simply provided opportunities for the same idiotic behavior but at a higher speed. For the less-aware or self-destructive, driving in Jerusalem can be fun. Fortunately, most tourists use tourist buses to get about and simply marvel at the motor-madness around them. At least they're not behind a wheel—or under it.

Welcome back and see you later

Last one out turn off the lights.

The end of the wedding cycle has been reached. Last night we welcomed F and R back from their honeymoon with a dinner in Bethlehem, held by R's father. It officially closed the series of events that began last year with the engagement party, and that have, cumulatively, contributed many kilos of weight gain to family members and put a dent in at least two fortunes. The dinner was a bit anti-climactic and subdued, compared with what has occurred to date as I think we are all a bit exhausted by intensive socializing, food and drink. In theory, F and R will now go off and live their own lives, at least until their first born.

I say "in theory", because if they think they are going to have private lives and not have two mothers' close attention in the medium term, they have another think coming. It's in the nature of Arab families, and I find it one of the most valuable of their cultural attributes: their family coherence and mutual support over any distance and between even remote relationships. (An example: I'm blood-relative close to my brother-in-law's brother-in-law.) American families seem to fragment far too often and far too early; it's a cultural weakness. That said, there can be too much of a good thing.

After a couple of days in Taybeh, Bethlehem seemed cosmopolitan and hectic. Well, hectic, at least. A direct comparison between the two cities also points out Taybeh's accomplishments in neatness; Bethlehem has a disgraceful amount of trash everywhere. I'm not sure what Bethlehem's city administration is all about, but picking up trash is not one of their success stories. Public attitudes probably don't contribute to a solution to the trash problem—people just toss out anything, anywhere—but there are more concerns to this problem than just neatness. I saw one open-air grocery with an incredible pile of garbage that might well be older than I am. Sanitation is an issue, public health a concern, and it has to impact tourism as well. There is no excuse for all this crap.

In truth, I find Jerusalem equally culpable in leaving the streets, walks, parks and empty lots trashy, and the Israeli Jerusalem Administration's priorities as to frequency of trash pickup by geographic area might be suspect. Often, the only solution to the smell and congestion of public trash bins in the Arab neighborhoods is to set them on fire. I remember this technique for trash control was popular in Haiti, where public services were essentially non-existent. Hello, Israel is a modern, wealthy country; unless they can be more even-handed in their provision of public services (the Arabs are tax-payers, too), there remains a hint of discrimination in the treatment of Arab housing areas.

In another ten days or so we're off to Europe; first Italy then back to Brussels. Belgium has been in the news lately. The election was predicted to result in a political mess, and all such expectations were fully met. This is not entirely a bad thing as Belgium has usually operated very well without a government. It will be interesting to see how pervasively the reported schism is being seen by Belgians—we are notorious in our skepticism of political motives and agendas. In the meantime, we have much to see yet in Palestine and a notebook full of observations.

Rendering unto Caesar

The mosaic says God wants you to pay your taxes and support your local government. Not much has changed.

Herod (you know the one) built a lot of stuff around the beginning of the current era, including the beautiful and remarkable achievement of Caesarea. This was a large and successful sea port for the Romans and became a provincial capital before being abandoned, then repurposed, after Saladin razed the defenses. The crusaders, among others, rebuilt and, as a result, you can see more than a thousand years of architecture in a small area, including a 5,000 seat Roman amphitheater and a good example of a Roman commercial street. As the Romans scaled their outdoor theaters to the population of the city this would indicate Caesarea once had more than 50,000 inhabitants, comprising, among others, Christians, Jews, and later, Moslems.

The place has been well used. It even served as a settlement for a batch of Bosnian Muslims at one point. Now, of course, it's a tourist attraction. The Israelis have done a lot in the thirty years since my last visit: the car park has been expanded and moved, and excavations have been greatly extended. There's much more to see, even if it has been rather tamed for tourism. It certainly deserves a visit, although if Roman ruins are your thing, there are much better sites to be had (but none with harbors). It is the harbor that makes Caesarea unique and exceptional. Herod apparently developed (or first used) the idea of filling a barge with rudimentary cement and then sinking it in place to form the breakwaters, an idea borrowed in Normandy for logistical support for the D-Day landings (minus the cement).

We had a great, open-air lunch overlooking the old port, starting with messe salads and working our way through to fresh fish (it was politely introduced to us prior to being cooked) and calamari. We enjoyed the lunch a great deal, and such events snuggle close to my concept of heaven on earth as they involve at least three of my favorite things. After a bit of a walk-around, it was time to find the bus. It was a long ride from Taybeh to whence we returned by early evening. T. had arranged both the bus and dinner for the family group, which made him very popular with us all. It was a day of four hours in the bus, four hours of eating and drinking, and a half-hour of being tourists. We all slept in the bus on the return.

Driving down from the heights of Taybeh on the coastal flats, you could feel the difference in air, humidity and temperature. To put it simply: it was hot and uncomfortable and a reminder that it's summer on the Med. I noticed again the extensive road network now in place. Think of the difference in interstate highways in the U.S. between 1950 and 1970 and you get the general idea. Gone are the long, wandering and limited roads that were used to get almost anywhere in the country. I can remember the route from Jerusalem to Jericho was so hair-raising that if not a believer when departing Jerusalem you certainly embraced the idea of a divinity by the outskirts of Jericho. Now it takes half the time and has lost all of its thrill.

Rumor has it that parts of the region we drove through to get to Caesarea are being considered for a swap trade with the Palestinians (or Jordan, depending upon who you listen to). In the deal, Israel would get to keep most of its larger settlements in the West Bank while they would rid themselves of over a million Arab inhabitants. It would do wonders for their idea of national demographics. If you're holding your breath in anticipation of such an agreement, exhale.

In Taybeh

A village on a hill in Palestine

We travelled to Taybeh today, a relatively short distance geographically (you can see the lights of Jerusalem from the hills of Taybeh), but several decades better in offering a relaxed pace of living. It's like taking a deep breath after hectic Jerusalem.

This is the N. family's ancestral village, and their name goes back far beyond the time when the Church, the supreme recorder of human events for centuries, started to collect records. No one can remember when the family originally arrived in Taybeh or where they came from. (Taybeh is not the phonetic spelling in English. We argue about this a lot, but it is really pronounced "Tiebay"—well, sort of. Even the Israeli's have differing opinions on how to spell the town name.)

Taybeh is a very, very old village. It is recorded in the Old Testament (as Ephraim), and got its current name from the great Arab warrior Saladin who, it is said, found the inhabitants of the town so hospitable and pleasing that he said the town should be called Taybeh (Arabic for gracious). It is suspected that as Taybeh held a Crusader castle (T.'s house, where we're staying, is near the remaining wall), Saladin came to remove the Crusader presence, and, finding no resistance, referred to the town as "the good one", or the gracious. So are legends born. The Old Testament reference is apparently true; the Israelis call one of their nearby settlements "Hills of Ephraim".

It is reputably the last completely Christian town in Palestine, as Bethlehem now has a large, dominate Moslem population. Even with Taybeh there is a suburb, if we can call it that, which is completely Moslem. Thus it is with the shrinking Christian population of Palestine. With the Jewish settlement nearby, all three faiths make some claim on the hills of Ephraim, with the Christians in the best placement (at least in my view). With its Christian heritage comes opportunity, and land values have increased substantially due to demand for land to build a house by those wishing to be part of the Christian town. Many of the newer villas are empty or see only temporary occupancy from Palestinians living abroad. Many are mammoth, elaborate structures but are semi-finished, as they are built by local family members as money is received from abroad.

I am astonished to see the size and sophistication of Taybeh today. Twenty years ago there was one paved road in the town (I seem to remember it was in front of the then-mayor's house); now, all are paved and guttered, and there are sanitary and storm sewers for all. The current mayor is civic-minded and proud of the town and what he has been able to accomplish. There are global associations with bi-annual conventions (this year in Taybeh for the first time). If you want to know more about Taybeh, there is a Website.

There is also some local industry, although many young still leave for job opportunities. This is the home of Taybeh beer, the only brewery in Palestine. I'm going to blog on this operation soon, because it really is a marvel of dedication and persistence in the face of incredible obstacles. I might also add that it is one very good beer. As a measure of the esteem it is held by those in the know, it is actually exported to Germany. I like the double-malt one especially.

I'm going to write more about Taybeh for various reasons, but can't leave this without mentioning T's house, or more accurately, castle. My brother-in-law T. is an exceptional, self-made man with an amazing skill set. He has designed the entire house down to the last detail, filled it with an eclectic collection of antiques, and created a completely original, fascinating and livable space marrying traditional architecture and modern technology. He can also be whimsical, as I found out in the shower this morning. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Once again with noise

If three family weddings this year weren't enough, we were treated to another celebration last evening held at the house next door. They started warming-up the disco equipment in the mid-afternoon, with guests arriving as the sun went down. I think it was a wedding, but from the sound level, it could have been an adolescent graduation party, a karaoke convention or an attack by Martians. The two families have been neighbors for generations—I met them when I first arrived in Jerusalem in the 1970s—and if the tolerance demonstrated toward the nuisance level of the partying was any indication, they get along really, really well. After all, they put up with my own wedding reception 34 years ago.

The first music system arrived in the back of a Volvo station wagon: enormous speakers blasting at an incredible volume. Apparently they were trying to test the neighbors' tolerance and find the pain threshold for their guests. Cars soon filled the cul-de-sac and parking was at a premium. Fancy-dress ladies in latest fashion arrived bearing gifts. It could well have been thirty years ago in my experience.

I was becoming concerned about the impossibility of sleeping, but by mid-evening all was quiet and the street relatively empty. I thought about how this would have been received in some U.S. neighborhoods, and I'm sure someone would have gotten VERY upset before it was over. (Gunfire from an irate neighbor offended by the noise, or parking, or just the principle of the thing would not have been unexpected.)

All of the neighbors let the inconvenience pass without comment; this is an accommodative world for the most part. The Palestinian Arab may belong to one of the most tolerant cultures we know of. They certainly cluster around family and religious conviction, but when left to their own devices, a balance is quickly found and priorities are focused around educating children and attaining a quality of life--unless exploited to advance someone else's agenda. If anything, as with their neighbors here, their sense of loyalty and fairness allows passions to enflame when faced with injustice. I know this may fly in the face of what you may have heard about religious strife in the Mideast, but then, evidence indicates much of what is reported from this region is intended as coercive.

Is it safe?

It would not be an understatement to say that Israel is a country absolutely obsessed with security. I'm not judging whether that should or should not be, but it is a fact. It pervades everything here: from car and house alarms to houses built like fortresses, internal and foreign policy, strategy and tactics, the army, public policy toward weapons, the massive wall separating Israel from its occupied territories (which I'll treat to a separate blog soon), where and what building is allowed to be constructed, the manner in which roads are routed and excavated—just everything. Almost all policy, whether Israeli or from the Palestinian Authority, is rooted or expressed as a subset of public security.

I don't feel threatened here at all. In fact, I would not think twice in walking through almost any Arab or Jewish neighborhood (except one of the Orthodox on a Saturday, where I would grievously offend and might suffer consequences). I had more qualms yesterday when getting into an elevator alone with a fully-equipped young woman soldier. It didn't seem to bother her, but then, she had the gun. I just smiled "hello" and kept my hands in sight.

You can find this security mind-set in the way houses are built. Windows are double or triple secure, often with a glass pane, a metal shutter and heavy steel bars. Doors are reinforced steel with multiple, high-tensile-steel bolts, have enormous locks that could defy a nuclear attack, and are also often doubled with a welded steel outer door. The irony is that the precautions would not keep anyone from gaining entry if suitably equipped or passably motivated, like the police or a determined burglar. Every design I've seen so far has weak points that makes much of this shielding ineffective; you could get in with a simple battery-powered reciprocating metal saw in less than a minute or two.

Thus, I think most of this precaution is just to make you feel good, which is not bad in itself, if you get my drift. Like governments faced with threats, you want to do what you can, even if it's not as effective as you would like it to be. Even though the Jewish poor (or less rich) are heavily subsidized, Israel is a country with a lot of haves and have-nots. Think Gaza, here. And as for tension among the populace: Yikes! Yet, I have heard very little about burglary and theft other than normal criminal background noise. This speaks particularly well about the Arabs' moral compass. I have done some very stupid things in my life in some very dangerous places, but being in Jerusalem is not one of them.

I can't let this finish without a least one complaint about the damn alarms going off all the time here. People seem to think that you have to set the car or house alarm off periodically just to make sure it works. Believe me, it will work when needed. Time Magazine recently listed the multi-toned car alarm as one of the top-ten annoying sounds known to man. They are spot on. The thing is: everyone ignores the alarms anyway, so why have the accursed noise-makers.

Oh, I forgot, it makes you feel like you're protected. Point made.

Healing thyself

We had our first flutter with the Israeli health system yesterday. Generally held to be excellent by everyone, including the Arabs, the hospitals, technology and skills of Israel professionals certainly impressed me. We had a bit of a blood pressure fling, enough to encourage some professional intervention, so arrangements were made quickly to see someone highly recommended in the field. As luck would have it, he was also Belgian. Never mind why; this was a good thing.

As visitors to the State, fees were full-bore but surprisingly modest. The visit was less than $200 and medicine a derisory $6. You can't build a third-world medical system like the U.S. on those rates, where an emergency room visit can cost in the thousands, and medicines—for the most simple relief—in the hundreds of dollars. The blood test today was only about $55. Now I ask you: How can we possibly gain good health without being impoverished?

The doctor was all business and I was suitably impressed at his approach and manner, and—I know this is incredible—his sense of humor. We will continue with him until this little problem is put down.

Pharmaceuticals are in another world here. Medicine prices are regulated as in many European countries so we free-economy suckers in the U.S. pay the lion's share of global corporate profits. We were given a prescription, but it is quite possible—almost anywhere in greater Palestine—to buy drugs that would require prescriptions in the U.S. without paperwork (other than barbiturates, opiates or other habit-forming nonsense), and at ridiculous pricing. As a result, and often as a necessity for various reasons, people who do NOT have access to either Israeli treatment or national insurance often self-administer as their only course of action. It may well be that, with the Internet providing information to support diagnosis, indicated treatment and recommended drugs, self-doctoring may be entirely acceptable when compared to some of the medical systems I've seen in my lifetime.

The Palestine Authority is aware of its shortcomings in providing some sort of universal health support and I've been assured by people who should know that this is being addressed. I am not aware of its priority in the scheme of things.

Excuses and reasons abound. They have only limited access to technology—apparently the Israelis haven't licensed the import of more than a couple of MIR machines and a smattering of other gear—and staff is either untrained or absent altogether in meaningful numbers. Many Palestinians have been trained in the medical professions but practice elsewhere. Living in West Bank or Jerusalem is banned to most of them as it requires a permit that is rarely granted. Palestinians complain that this is part of the Israeli strategy of encouraging Arab exodus, and they may be right. Certainly, the evidence on the ground would seem to support their fears.

We're supposed to call the doctor Sunday morning and report progress. We hope that by then this will all be moot, and that we don't have to rely further on ANY medical system, Israeli, Arab or otherwise.

As a foot note to this, when I visited Jerusalem in the late 1970s I arrived with a condition that became life-threatening within days. I had visited a doctor in Scotland shortly before and been treated (with codeine), but I continued to deteriorate. It was only through the actions of a young intern at an Arab hospital on the Mount of Olives that the cause of the malady was discovered and a cure initiated, with no more technology than a quick, educated mind and a microscope. The cost of the medicine: $2. The doctor refused payment.

Driving in Jerusalem

I got to drive a couple of days ago—the first time behind the wheel in Jerusalem in over 20 years. It was fun but I needed constant direction. I drove from East Jerusalem, around the Old City walls and through the tunnels to within a minute of the New Wall bordering Bethlehem. It was an exhilarating drive and left me with the feeling of a great accomplishment—but to do it every day, especially during rush hour(s)—no way.

I used to know the city fairly well and move about with little difficulty, but that was then. Jerusalem, in area, now seems ten times as large as I remember, and far more complex; it is spread over an incredibly large area. It is not difficult to see why the Israelis want—and have usurped—so much of East Jerusalem and the West Bank: they want it for their view of Jerusalem development. Their success has not been benign.

As in any major city, especially one as layered with history as Jerusalem, road construction is a constant. Add in the impact of a new metro rail-tram system on traffic and the locals' rather belligerent driving technique, coupled with almost a total disregard of any but the most aggressive traffic regulation, and you have the equivalent of a carefully-orchestrated, incipient demolition derby. Everything works, but no one knows why. Religion must play an important part: drivers evidently trust in divine intervention; passengers rely upon it. Pedestrians are just crazy.

There are only pieces of the original road that I can recognize; they have added tunnels and multi-lane highways to the road system everywhere. I also note that the traffic signals operate on the German system where there is a yellow-light warning of both red and green signals. Funny, they must have had this twenty years ago but I don't recall. Like most things German, it makes sense and should be adopted in the U.S., in my opinion.

Arabs are particularly proud of the new roads they enjoy in most of the cities in West Bank. Some were damaged during the Israeli incursions in the current decade, but enough remain of the new waste-water and sewer systems, and curbed and paved streets to make a sizable beneficial impact on Arab quality of life. I was greatly impressed with the changes in Bethlehem; less so of those in Ramallah. Taybeh, N.'s family ancestral village, has been transformed in the last twenty years. New roads, both to and within the town have made a big difference to residents.

Part of the problem with getting around, especially outside Jerusalem, is the great number and variety of vehicles on the road. There are an astounding number of vans, trucks, motor scooters and cars, and everything else from hand-carts to burros in the Arab towns. It's similar to Hong Kong traffic. How they co-exist is a wonder; that they do so without notice is a testament to Arab patience, tolerance and grace.

Traffic isn't the only source of noise in Jerusalem, of course, but it certainly is a high-percentile reason for the cacophony in the city. Use of the horn is a key driving technique, and is used extensively—especially where it is most annoying. Long gone are the days when you could hear a donkey honk in the peaceful, early-morning hours. Now, you're lucky if you can hear yourself think. I miss the donkey.