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