NO REFILLs

PRELUDE

It had been a while since we'd taken a break together. The last time we were on shvil yisrael was the new year's day wash-out. (http://shvil-yisrael.blogspot.co.il/2014/01/50th-day-and-god-laughs.html) . In March we had a few days in Burgundy. ( http://2ndtimefrance.blogspot.co.il/ ) We regularly meet for hummus, a late afternoon beer, a newly discovered restaurant or just a cup of coffee, but we hadn't been away together to escape the nitty-gritty of everyday life for a long time.

Upon discussion of the when and where, Yoni discovered on-line a coupon booklet that allows you to eat your way around the Ramle market.( http://www.yallabasta.com/ramla-bite-card) I'd been to Ramle many years ago with the family, Yoni 30 years ago during his army service and Garry never. Since I was the relative expert on Ramle, for the first time ever, Yoni happily relinquished the planning reigns to me. For once, he wasn't the supreme commander of planning, guiding, timing and sleeping, but was content in joining Garry's role of being happy to be away with friends. The mantle of planning, guiding, timing and sleeping weighed heavily on my shoulder.

As usual, we were slightly delayed getting going, principally because of the aggravations of every day life. Garry's Chinese suppliers decided to give him grief in the morning before he was to meet me in Carmiel. Yoni got into the car, grumbling about his cheating, stealing Indians, and only I had the joy of receiving final confirmation of a Czech couple who were employing my services on a culinary tour of the galilee. It didn't really matter. Once we were in the car and heading south, business successes or difficulties became almost external. We would definitely talk about them, but almost in third person, relating to it as something in our day-to-day lives, not something here and now. And that is the way it should be.

The weather in late October in Israel is perfect. Not hot, not cold, with just a bit of cloud. Exactly the wrong conditions for 3 people sitting in a car who can't agree about air conditioning.  Garry hates it, prefering the wind of an open window in his face, and it certainly isn't so hot that you need it. I don't care either way, though I tend to be on Garry's side of the air-con(less) fence. Yoni has the aircon on in his car when the outside temperature goes above 10 degrees. Farenheit. Yoni mostly got his way because when you travel above 100 kmh with the windows open, conversation can be difficult. And he complained of hot flushes. I suspect manopause.

RAMLE MARKET

 Waze got us to Ramle ok and I got us to the municipal museum, where we had to pick up our market-fress coupons. As we approached the top of Shlomo Hamelech Boulevard (This dusty narrow street would make the title "boulevard" perhaps the misnomer of the century, but that's how it's listed), where the museum sits, we noticed a large, modern, ugly white building, towering above the other low, older, middle-eastern style surroundings. What could that be and who would have the gall to place such an incongruous monstrosity at the main intersection of Ramle? I guessed that it was the government administrative compound. (kiryat hamemshala) Unfortunately, I was right. Only the government would have such total disregard for the local community by putting up an eyesore that has no place in the centre of this very middle-eastern city.  "I can do what I want, I am large, powerful and couldn't care less what you think". Ho hum.

tacky clothing and food. it's a market, right?

where there's a market' there's nah-nahim', trying to save your Jewish sole
Judaism's Hare Krishnas

The first inkling that Ramle was making an effort to get in on the tourist market was with the municipal museum. The thought of a municipal museum brings to mind dimly lit, mothballed exhibits that haven't changed since the museum was officially opened by the assistant minister of culture 25 years previous, with workers who are related to the mayor and take home wages far greater than their output. (or workers who are not related to the mayor and subsequently earn about 30% of minimum wage).  Usually such places have exhibits alluding to the former greatness of the city, the current greatness of the mayor and of the assistant minister of culture and are about as interesting as watching screw tops being fitted to soda bottles on a production line. But the Ramle Municipal Museum is different. It has a modern feel, lots of light, and exhibits that interestingly show Ramle's former greatness and truly rich history, including intricate mosaic floors from nearby churches and a collection of gold coins from across the ancient Muslim world. I wouldn't cancel my next visit to the Louvre in favour of this museum, but if you're in the area….

Moreover, there are brochures highlighting the city sites, that look like they were designed last year and not 30 years ago, in Hebrew, English and French. Now all they need to do is convince the Israelis, Americans and the French that Ramle is not just crime and drugs, but has lots to see. And it does.

But let's get our priorities right. We had ordered online a card containing coupons that allowed you to eat a variety of different delicacies in the market area -  shuk fress cards. We hadn't eaten breakfast and could almost smell the Tunisian sandwich on the card itself. So first thing's first, and Eli's Tunisian sandwich bar was definitely first stop. Eli's Tunisian sandwich has 2 items on the menu; Tunisian sandwich and Tunisian fricasse. (not to be confused with the chicken-in-a-white-sauce fricassee of Spanish or French origin) The difference is that the sandwich is made with really crispy rolls and the fricasse is made with a roll that is not baked in the oven but deep fried. The filling is the same; Boiled egg, tuna, vegetable salad, boiled potato cubes and lots of harissa. We couldn't decide which to order, so we had both (naturally). Our diets start tomorrow. Maybe it was the Ashkenazi in us, but we preferred the crispy fluffy roll over the soft fried bun. Not that the fricasse was bad. Certainly worth voucher number 1 from our 6-ticket coupon card.

When I mention that it might be the Ashkenaz in us, it's not just the preference for baguette style over fried style. We were the only whiteys in this very busy little restaurant. I can't say for certain that all the patrons were necessarily locals, but I can say for certain that we were the only ones around whose heritage was north and east of Istanbul. If there are Russians in Ramle, they certainly didn't come here to get their morning feed. 

Now we were fed and quenched, we could head for the market, eager to taste what other delicacies our voucher card would get us. The next voucher allowed us either Iraqi bagels from Kadoori's bakery or a spice pack from the neighboring Sasson spice shop. I love spices and spice shops, so it was ras-el-hanut for me. My partners chose the bagels. All three of us were happy. Next on the list was the Turkish Bourikas Bar, but not before we wandered around, admiring the noise and smell, the different "tribes" and the wonderful fresh merchandise. There was also a broad array of pickled, preserved, smoked or salted goods and the obligatory tacky clothing stores that seems to be in every market. And the cleanliness. Seriously. This market might be as middle-eastern as Assad's Auntie, but it was clean, modern and well looked after. You couldn't ask for more.

As we wandered from stall to stall, feeling at once, at home in this lively, warm mix that stretched from Uzbekistan to the Maghreb and yet foreign, having by at least 4 shades, the lightest color skin of anyone there.  Never had our Ahkenaziism been so obvious and to a certain extent, irrelevant. And then we stumbled 4,000 miles into Sanjay Cohen's spice shop. We were no longer in the Ramle Market. Hebrew was replaced by Hindi and English, saris replaced dresses and there was garam masala instead of harissa. If this wonderful market hadn't won us over already, then now we were totally captivated. To think, we hadn't even gotten to ticket no. 3 yet. The Turkish Bourakis took me back to the little hole in the wall in Karakoy, (Istanbul), where I would have bourek for breakfast.  In the space of an hour and a half we'd travelled from Tunisia to Iraq to Mumbai, Morrocco, Haleb (Alleppo) and Istanbul, with a visit to our very own Arab Israeli local greens stalls along the way.  We'd used up 3 of the 6 coupons and could barely waddle down the aisles.

Eating makes you thirsty. There was no coupon for the home made lemonade, so we'd have to pay for it with real money. We ordered 2 large, 500 ml cups of the sour and slightly sweet liquid from the man at the lemonade sttall. I put my hand in my pocket and asked how much. "6 shekels" he replied.

 "No" I said, "we had 2 cups".

"that's right".

We looked at each other in astonishment. In the days when the whole country is howling at the absurdly high cost of living, we paid 3 shekels for a cup of home made lemonade. 20 km from here it would be 15 shekels for the same cup.

The time was approaching for the next activity. We could have wandered more, but I guess next time we'll discover other things. There are more famous and larger markets here in Israel and certainly markets with a wider variety of merchandise. I can't imagine, however, a more genuine, untouched market that tourists from other parts of Israel or the world haven't yet discovered.

THE KARAITES

It was a good thing that the Karaite Centre was a ten minute walk from the market, because we'd succeeded in putting a full day's worth of food into our stomachs in an hour and a half, and had lunch and dinner ahead of. If the walk had been half an hour, all the better, but it did help slightly reduce the bloat. 

Ramle is a mixed mixed Arab and Jewish city. We saw evidence of this in the short walk to the Karaite center. Along the backstreet we were walking along, a mosque sat peacefully next to the Iraqi Jewish synagogue. I don't think there are many other places in Israel that these two houses of worship sit so naturally side by side. 

When booking the tour, I was told that they were attaching us to another group, since the three of us does not constitute a group. Fair enough. So there we were, the three of us and forty members of the Petach Tikva Geriatric Society, waiting for Mr Shlomo to start his explanations as to who and what the Karaites are. The "out of place" feeling didn't stop when we left the market.

The Karaites are an ancient stream of Judaism that believe only in the tanach. (The written Jewish texts). The interpretations of these texts that make up the rules and regulations of today's mainstream Judaism are largely ignored, unless they are directly in accordance with the Biblical scripts.  The simplest example is the prohibition of eating milk with meat. This is an interpretation of what the Bible says, put in place by Rabbinical edict, but not the direct ruling, which only forbids eating a kid in its mother's milk. The Karaites therefore view eating meat and milk together as permissible. Yoni, Garry and I were fascinated by this different and logical view towards Judaism. There is no doubt that if they had was such a thing as registration forms, we would have signed up on the spot. Or to put it into AFL terms for any Australians reading this (and apologies to the rest), we would have been the Karmichael Hunts of Judaism.

I couldn't help observe that a good many practices were actually not dissimilar to our sister religion, Islam. A Karaite synagogue has no chairs or benches, as they pray standing or kneeling on the floor. Shoes are removed before entering the synagogue. Muslims also take their laws directly from the Koran and not via interpretations. When I asked Mr Shlomo about this, he pointed out that Rabbinical (mainstream) Judaism changed only when Islam started to become popular and the rabbis had to differentiate it from the Islam. I am in no way a biblical or Islamic scholar, but it all sounded very logical to us. The Karaites number only 50,000 adherents worldwide (+3 potentially new ones), of which 40,000 are in Israel, with the centre in Ramle being their world headquarters. Needless to say, traditional Rabbinical Judaism doesn't exactly view the Karaites with a warm fuzzy glow. Just ask the Reform and Conservative movements.

Mr Shlomo presented the facts in a dry, informative and fascinating lecture. The Petach Tikva geriatrics and the Galilee almost geriatrics left the Karaite centre an hour later, extremely  impressed with what we'd seen and heard and felt as if we'd had a good dose of brain food, as opposed to the enormous doses of stomach food that we'd already digested.

THE ARCHES POOL and ROWBOATS

After deliberating between the chauvinism of Rabbinical Judaism vis-à-vis the egalitarianism of Karaite Judaism and the effects of Islam on the formation of Jewish prayer methodology, we needed something a tad lighter. Even though the weather was mild, Yoni was still having his manopausal hot flushes, so the Arches Pools and Rowboats was just the answer. Built in 789 by the last Halif of El Rashid (Don't you just love Google and Wiki?), it is an underground pool, whose arched roof is supported by 20 metre high stone pillars. You descend the stairs at the entrance and arrive to a small jetty, where you carefully step into a rowboat and row around the pools, between the pillars.

Unfortunately, just as we arrived, a group of 9^th year pupils from the Hadera 4^th district school nabbed all the boats.  The rather disinterested girl at the ticket office told us that we'd have to wait about half an hour, as she begrudgingly looked up from either the game she was playing or the text message she was typing on her cellphone. 

To be honest, sharing a roofed, 850 year old pool, in a rowboat, with 45 screaming kids, is not exactly my idea of a fun day out with my friends. As it happened, our morning schedule had been a bit tight and we hadn't had time for our regular double machiatos. Garry in particular was starting to suffer from advanced caffeine withdrawal and at one stage I feared he was going to rip the cellphone from the insolent cashier's apathetic little hands, as if it was her fault that Hadera had descended unto Ramle. So I ran (drove) off to the local Aroma, ordered 3 coffees and we happily waited for Hadera to go back to Hadera. Eventually we were allowed into the subterranean cavern, and the regatta started. It wasn't surprising that Garry was at a bit of a disadvantage here. Yoni and I have never been known for superior coordination, nor have we ever rowed. Garry seemed a little frustrated that we couldn't coordinate our rowing, and when we tried to pass between two pillars, would inevitably bump into one of the pillars that we were trying to avoid. And you can forget about anything that resembled a straight line. It was, however, cool, (temperature, not hip. We're never cool-hip), peaceful (we were the only ones there) and fun (if you're a 14 y.o. kid from Hadera). We must have looked pretty silly, and not for the first time. A boat with 3 middle aged men rowing in circles around a 30 cm deep wading pool 20 metres under the ground. And the day I start to feel silly, self conscious, or too adult to do this stuff, is the day when its time for me to check out.

LUNCH

Once we'd finished the sporting activities of the day, it was time for lunch. It had been all of 2 hours since we'd eaten. Not really very long and we were still quite full from what the coupons had provided. However it's not every day that you get the opportunity to eat at one of Israel's few authentic Indian restaurants. And a vegetarian one at that. Garry has been a vegetarian forever and Yoni is a recent addition to this misguided world, further evidence of his manopause. Oh well, that left me to rue the fact that the paneer aloo, as tasty as it was, still isn't rogan josh.

I'd eaten here before and remembered that I enjoyed the thali. The business combo lunch menu also looked good, so we ordered 2 thalis and one lunch special. This threw the staff off a little. Most people order either the lunch special, or the thali for three, but not a combination of the two. They seemed convinced that we were trying to find a way of getting more food for less money and not a wider range of food for the same money, as was the case.. Eventually we succeeded in showing them that we had indeed ordered 3 portions for 3 adults. The waiter agreed to our order, but with one condition. No refills. With the amount we'd already eaten and the 3 curries, daal, naan, rice, pekora, and sambusa, washed  down with sweet lassi, "no refills"  was never going to be an issue.

GOODBYE RAMLE

We liked Ramle. Very much. Driving down the main street, it reminded us of the old, naïve Israel that we first visited to 35 years ago. A real time warp. It is a slice of unaffected, old style, oriental Israel that I thought had disappeared, having been replaced by the modern western country that we like to think we are. Yet someone has realized that this genuine side of Israel is interesting and via tourism, can bring some well needed money to the local economy. There's a terrific Ramle tour app that you can download from the app store, great value market food coupons, well thought out tourist maps and a good museum. There is much we didn't see. Two beautiful mosques, an old city, a whole road of local oriental restaurants which I'm certain are fantastic and more.

We didn't finish all the coupons. Yoni pocketed the remaining ones, saying that he wanted to bring Sigal here. Kim and Susan and a bunch of girlfriends are starting to do some overnight trips together and this would be a great place for the girls to do. There's a rhododendron forest, artichoke farm and the museum of concrete (really) in close proximity, not to mention wineries, micro-breweries and lots of other fun things. We'll be back.

WINERIES (SORT OF)

So the time had arrived for some culture of another variety. Viniculture.

Originally I had hoped to fit in 4 vineyards, but knew from the start that the chances of it happening were somewhere between slim and non-existent.   By late morning, our 2 o'clock tasting at Tzorah was dead and buried, so that got cancelled. We left Ramla about 2.45, knowing we would be fashionably late for our 3 o'clock tasting at Emek HaEla winery at kibbutz Harel. A phone call was made to inform them of our tardiness. Problem is,  Emek HaEla winery is at kibbutz Netiv HaLamed Hai,  and not kibbutz Harel. It's about about 1/2 an hour away. My bad. I was forced to ring back and apologize for screwing up royally. Next on the list was Soreq winery at kibbutz Nachshon. By the time we got there it was 3.20 and there was no way we were going to get to Flam, and excellent winery that demanded outrageous prices just for tastings, so I asked Yoni to ring and cancel. Yoni seemed to get mixed up with the phone numbers and didn't ring. At 4.15 they rang and I was left to embarrassingly mumble something about not being able to make it. At Soreq they received us very nicely, but would have clearly preferred we not come, since they were busy finishing the press of the grapes from this year's harvest. I am now officially a persona non grata in the wineries of the Jerusalem hills and Ela valley, permanently etched into the blacklist.

blacklisted

At least we did make it to Soreq winery and it was indeed at kibbutz Nachshon. What I didn't know when I booked the tour was that it is also a wine school. It produces about 15,000 bottles a year of its own wine and the same amount of students' wine. There's a temperature-controlled store room with about 100 demijohns, each labeled with the name of the producer, date and grape variety. We were given a detailed explanation about the school (Yoni and Garry were impressed by the business model) and how it worked. Garry has started his own backyard winery from this year's grapes, stomping the Cabernet with his feet. Maybe he'll get serious and come do the course. In any case, every year in May the top students\backyard producers put on a wine fair at Soreq. I imagine we'll come down and taste some of the amateur production. 

After the school explanations,  we got down to the serious business of tasting the vineyard's own wines. We sipped and spat cabernets, merlots and blends. To be honest, in my opinion, the wineries that I semi regularly patronize here in the North produce better wines. They did, however, have a very interesting pair of wines. Each was made from the same grapes, vintage and vines. The difference is that one is matured for 13 months in oak barrels, the other only in stainless steel vats, without any contact with wood what so ever. The idea is that you buy the two (clever marketing, huh?) and open them together. That way you can compare the enormous influence the different maturation process has on what is essentially the same wine. Yoni and I both bought a set. Garry liked the merlots.

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF

Almost every single time we go away, Yoni has to make a conference call. Garry and I have found ourselves forced to wander around the local supermarket in Spoleto, kick the dirt restlessly on shvil yisrael or drink another bottle of cider in Normandy, whilst Yoni argues, cajoles and discusses with people in 4 different places around the globe.  "it will only take 10 minutes" he promised. Garry gave me a knowing look, as if to say "why does he even bother?" We found a local shopping centre in the bustling metropolis of Modi'in where there was an ice cream parlour and coffee shop that would have us for an undisclosed period of 10 minutes whilst Yoni found a pillar that he could lean against for those same 10 minutes. I had a totally unnecessary ice cream and Garry a macchiato, after he explained to the 16 year old "barista" in the coffee shop what it was. Whilst sitting at the plastic tables and chairs we couldn't help but notice that we were the oldest people there, by at least fourfold.  Many of the kids around hadn't even hit puberty yet. I was worried that at any moment the local Neighborhood Watch would approach us, asking why two 55 y.o. men insisted on sitting amongst a gaggle of young teenagers. Somehow, the answer "we're waiting for our friend to finish a ten minute conversation with the Indians" might not cut it, as truthful as it might be.

As usual, after 45 minutes the 10 minutes finished and we could make our way to Mark's place not far away.

CHICKENSHIT

We arrived at Mark's knowing that he was going to be late. When I'd spoken with him a few weeks earlier, he had every intention of joining us today and tomorrow. Unfortunately for us all, today got cancelled because some children called each other names and Mark had to act like the responsible adult and explain that being called chickenshit really isn't that bad.

Whilst we certainly wanted Mark's company, it did give us an opportunity to talk to his wife Vered, something for no particular reason, we hadn't really done over the years. And Yuval, his son.

Eventually Mark got home and we sat around the table, consuming our last meal of the day. Garry, Yoni and Yuval are all vegetarian (what is the world coming to?) so naturally, the meal was as well. As tasty as it was, I almost suggested to Mark and Vered that we slip out for a quick T-bone, such was my despair at having so many vegetarians around me.  In honesty, after all we'd eaten today, even I couldn't have gone for a steak. And certainly no refills.

After dinner, we gossiped a bit, discussed the walking route for the next day, I got some instruction as to the proper use of Instagram from Yuval and just hung out. It had been a full day and by 10.30 I was ready for bed. Marks daughter's bedroom is in the bomb shelter (all houses built in Israel in the past 20 years must have a bomb shelter. Welcome to the middle-east). Since she is in the army, there was universal agreement that was the room that I should sleep in, it having the most chance of insulating the rest of the house from my snoring. For once, I didn't get the usual dirty looks when we awoke the next day.

NACHAL MA'ARAT HATE'UMIM

On trips away we like to spend some of the time outdoors. Besides it being fun, it also allows us to sort of justify the too much food we always consume. And this was no exception.

We would like to have done the full route, which leads to the large stalactite cave called Ma'arat Hate'umim, but life beckoned us for a relatively early return to the North. There's a shorter, circular route and that was today's choice. It was a good choice.

Not long after we'd started I spotted a row of really attractive caves about 300 metres above the path. Time and physical restraints prevented me from skipping up the hill to check them out. As usual when it comes to caves, I was the only one who was disappointed. This is an area with lots of caves. Besides these unnamed caves, there's the caves at the end of this walk which are apparently full of bats, the enormous stalactite caves near Beit Shemesh are very close and there was recently a news report that strangely enough only I saw, that upon laying the foundations for an extension to one of the kibbutzim in the area, an even larger, more impressive cave was unearthed. Maybe I should sell up and re-locate to here.

Not long after the caves we came to some ruins and after a sharp climb, a more impressive set of ruins. In this area, so close to Jerusalem, ruins are even more common than caves. These ruins are the remains of the Arab village Beit It'av which sits on the ruins of a Crusader fort from the 12^th century of the same name. There are rooms, cellars, and all the usual stuff, but the stand-out is the spectacular view over Jerusalem, the surrounding mountains and all the way down the plains to the (unseen from here) coast. Whilst taking in the breathtaking view we were lucky enough to see 100 metres below us a family of deer, happily prancing about. What more can you ask for?

After approximately a kilomtre, the path starts to descend in to the creek bed. We had no trouble finding a suitable tree to rest under, where the coffee, Sigal's cake, raw vege's and granola bars were taken out. After the break, the path led us into the forest that grows inside the creek bed. We saw a number of beautiful kotlav trees (wiki identifies them as Eastern Strawberry tree), with their impressive smooth red bark. An unidentified bird was singing in the trees. Apparently, this route, through the forest, would have taken us to the Ma'arat Hate'umim (the twins' caves), but we were doing the circular route and wouldn't make it to the cave. Instead, we headed back to the car. Oh well. Next time.

At the beginning, I mentioned that we hadn't been away together for quite a while. I think it has been even longer since we walked together. As always, the conclusion to be drawn is that there is nothing better than walking through the Galilee, the Jerusalem Hills or the Negev desert with 3 other friends that you've known for over 40 years. We really need to do it more often (like finish shvil yisrael, for example) In any case, w'd gotten going early, had completed 2.5 hours of pleasant walking and this left us just enough time for the obligatory cup of coffee at Latrun. From there, we parted with Mark and headed north, arriving back barely 30 hours after we started.

"Back to regular life" included humus with Garry for lunch. Some things never change.