Tuesday, July 08, 2003 :::
I felt drugged. I staggered to the bathroom and filled up the huge European-style tub, all the while wondering why Americans choose to bathe in tea cups most of the time. After a good soak, I pulled the tub stopper causing the floor drain under the basin to bubble up. I spent the next ten minutes corking and uncorking the tub stopper, watching the water sluice slowly down the drain wondering what Americans know about plumbing that the rest of the world doesn't. Is it as simple as smaller tubs? I tossed my damp towel on the floor to soak up the remaining plate-sized puddle around the drain.
Dressed and with my guidebook in my hand, I soon found myself standing in the courtyard within the walls of the Tower of David near the Jaffa Gate. I shielded my eyes against the late afternoon sun and studied the stone plateau in front of me where the ghost of Pilate lingers still. I could feel him peeping around the riot of colored Chihuly sculptures littering the layers of ancient excavation within the fortress walls. They seemed out of place, those glass sculptures, like Christmas ornaments hanging from the rafters in a manager ready to fall and bop the Baby Jesus in the noggin. Whatever statement they made escaped me. Blown glass reminds me of boardwalk carnies and I can't get past it.
::: posted by Stormy Malone at 10:49 AM
::: posted by Stormy Malone at 9:10 AM
Friday, May 16, 2003 :::
My room was on the main level of the hotel, which to an American like me is the second floor. A good room - no tv, but a phone and heat for the cool early spring nights. Hard to tell the age of the hotel. Was it 100 years old, 1000 years old? More than likely a bit of both. A small casement window opened on the street below. At eleven in the morning, the city was about its business as European cars made tiny honks, Hebrew and Arabic chatter floated in the clean air and portable radios strained to the putrid harmonies of middle-eastern pop music. I stretched out under the llama poncho I'd bought at Machu Picchu and took a power nap. Four hours later, I woke up.
::: posted by Stormy Malone at 7:26 AM
Tuesday, May 13, 2003 :::
I stood on the curb inside the ancient walls near the only entrance to the city that allowed cars, the Jaffa Gate. The non-stop trip from Newark had gotten me to Ben Gurion Airport around 10:00am. From the airport. I called the Hotel Gloria in Jerusalem and booked a room. The entrance to the narrow street that led north from the Jaffa Gate was blocked by a piggy blue Mercedes, so my driver dropped me off at the curb and I walked a few hundred feet up the steep incline to my hotel.
::: posted by Stormy Malone at 8:51 AM
Tuesday, April 29, 2003 :::
What good was the street guide? I folded it in quarters and stuffed it in the passport wallet I wore around my neck. Instead of stumbling from one ancient sight to another, I decided to forget the map and travel at random through the alleys of Old Jerusalem.
::: posted by Stormy Malone at 9:07 AM
