Turkey Dinner 2006

עץ אחרון בירושלים

  

Serpentine Sunrise

  

Morning in the Park

  

Marble Arch, London

  

Before The Show

  

Thursday, or Good Night Vienna

I realise that I am too tired to enjoy well, anything, until I got some proper rest. I go to the Sued station to collect my suitcase from the locker, and get my ticket to Munich for Saturday morning. Back at the apartment I take a shower and a siesta. In the evening I go out almost reluctantly: the weather is shit, and I don't really fancy the idea of cruising the streets soaked with rain. However, I would never forgive myself had I squandered an entire evening in Vienna just sitting in my room. I drag myself out, and go to the Vienna Eagle. The bar is very quiet, I chat a little with the barman, a big bear of a man, kind and friendly, and he introduces me in turn to a young man who joined us at the bar, a local or at least regular as he seems to know the barman well. Michael and I engage in a conversation, and we become best of friends. He even gives me his phone number as I am about to leave. As the bar (a major port of call on the leather scene in Vienna, I am told) doesn't seem to be waking up I decide to do the sensible thing and go home while the U- Bahn is still running. I catch one of the last trains and give myself the first good night's sleep since I've had since Tuesday. Bliss.

Thursday, or Lunch with Atmosphere

After all my trials and tribulations I decide to reward myself with a sumptuous lunch at the recommended Augustine Keller. It's full of old world charm with low ceilings, vaulted chambers, large refectory tables, serving mainly Austrian fare. The food is presented simply but attractively by efficient, curt waiters. I ask if they have a non-smoking area. Hurrah! They have. I sit down, take a beer and peruse my guidebook and notes while I wait for my food. I start with a hearty goulaschsuppe (probably misspelt), then some dish with some meat and things. It's all delicious but... The waiter comes back to me some two minutes into my meal. "Excuse me sir, but would you mind if we let a group of six women take the (empty) table nearest to you - you see, some of them are smokers". So, I am on the spot here. In a moment of weakness which I shall regret to the end of this blog (or a little longer than that) I say OK. The bad news: out of six, four smoke, so there is a lit ciggy at that table at all times. The good news: the smoke doesn't seem to drift in my direction that much, but I rapidly lose interest in my food, and my meal is virtually ruined. Still, as I think of what had just happened here I become resentful. The waiter did put me on the spot. Here is a table with only one guest, who is asked to veto a gaggle of six paying customers (had I said no, they would either stand quite near me while waiting for a table to become free at the smoking section or they'd have left, taking their credit cards elsewhere). I leave a derisory tip and decide to take my coffee elsewhere. Since that was my plan anyway, I set off and reach Hotel Sacher (which is some three minutes away, situated as it is just around the corner. Got to try the original Sachertorte! Now it's early afternoon, I am resplendent in my rain-soaked clothes: Blundstone hat (from my nephew Roey, a gift from happier times, when my head must have been a little smaller. What's that about?), a wet T-shirt, faded green cargo shorts, and my beloved butter coloured Crocs, not even trainers. Just the type they really like to welcome into the velvet and oak salons of this classy joint. In for a penny, in for a pound, say I and line up quietly and patiently out, in the drizzle, still smarting from the smoked lunch I had just had. The maitre-d' looks me up and down, barely able to conceal his contempt. With resignation he leads me to the table for (this one he utters loudly, almost venomously) "one person". They are very popular, and the turnover here is faster than they can cope with, so I overlook the fact that my table is still dirty from the previous guests, and the carpet around it is covered with crumbs and other tea-room debris. I order the cake and the house coffee. They arrive very quickly, but my expectations and hopes are shattered: Both items are disappointing, big time. I am despondent. I look around me. The crowd is far from glamorous. Why, they all look like me for heaven's sake. Only not in shorts. Or Crocs. So that's why I keep getting funny looks from people... I must be the person who makes the place look untidy!

Thursday, or Room and Errands

My host shows me my room, and very nice it is too. There is a small trolley (or a cart) with a kettle, a coffee maker and such, but the breakfast part of the deal is contained in a mini fridge on top of the washing machine in the... bathroom. Every morning he will leave some bread on top of the fridge, and I can help myself to whatever I want. I pass. On the positive side he is charming (and very good-looking, a delicious blend of Austrian and Italian), and he plies me with local info to the gay scene, and to the best beaches around Vienna. Unfortunately there would be no beach fun for me here as the weather has turned rather autumnal, and it looks like it would rain for much of my stay here.
My first priority, oddly, is to get to the local Apple store - I had looked it up at the Misery Cafe. I make my way there with my sick i-Pod, and soon run into navigational problems - the street is so small its name is not printed on the map. I know I am in the vicinity, but can't find it. A pleasant, friendly, polite and helpful man, busy arranging the window display of his store (did I mention what it was? a gun shop) willingly shows me exactly where it is. Am I the only one who find it ironic? It puts a wry smile on my face, but his directions are perfect, and I find the place easily. It really is a small side street, and the "store" is barely visible but for the black apple sign outside. Something tells me we are not in London anymore. The place is just a little workshop of a sort, with a jumble of various parts and bits on display, really a service centre, a small service centre. The girl I talk to tries to charge, reset, look at the other side of the patient, but can only utter "no warranty, warranty expired, you vill haff to buy a new one". WHAT?!! That's another £300 one year and 3 months after I bought my first one. I don't think so! And what about the 11 GB already on it? Lose it all - yet again? (OK, some of it is not strictly mine, but from Limewire, but still, I love it so) I see that no joy will come from this place. Frustrated, I leave, resolving to take it to the Apple Store in London, where I bought it, and give them a piece of my mind.

Thursday Morning or @cafe of Misery

While in the neighbourhood, I pop into the Stefandom, the huge gothic cathedral, then find a nearby large internet cafe, where the girl at the desk seems to be as cheerless as the light rain that is now falling. Oh, well, she speaks English when she speaks at all. The hardware here is less than impressive, only two computers have a webcam and a headset, but when I try to open a messenger it turns out to be MSN, not Live Windows, and I can't get to hear, let alone see my dad who is online in Israel. I call little miss misery chops, and she tries to "do something", but soon gives up, saying: "I can't understand a computer that gives me problems I can't solve". Oh, that was deep, wasn't it?! My fairly up to-date guide book (Marco Polo, one of my favourites) mentions this cafe but under a different name so I assume it has changed hands recently, and I speculate it must have been a friendlier place before. Or even worse? Still, I check my emails, catch up on the news from the Israel-Hizbollah conflict, fire off a few emails, and make my way to the EBAB apartment. When I spoke to my host I told him I would be a little late, maybe 10:30 or later, would that be OK? He replied that he would wait for me. I feel a little guilty for making him wait at home. In my rush to keep our appointment I forget to return to the train station to collect my suitcase. Damn! At the flat I find him in no hurry as he is spending a relaxed day at home. I have fussed and rushed for nothing.

Wednesday Night, Thursday Morning or Krakow to Vienna

Groom walking his horse across the street (lane, really)


























Trainer takes a horse out for morning exercise at the Spanish Riding School, Vienna
מאמן מוציא לאימון בוקר את אחד הסוסים של בי"ס הרכיבה הספרדי, וינה

















A courtyard in the Museum Quarter. These were the Imperial Apartments of the Habsburgs.
חצר ברובע המוזיאונים בוינה. אילה היו הדירות של בית הבסבורג


Thursday Morning

Around 6:30am and I wriggle free of my cramped cubby hole AKA sleeping bunk. Actually I have been up almost since we crossed the Austrian border. At the station I first buy a Vienna Card - a three day travelcard. It will serve me today, Friday and Saturday morning. I then leave my case in a locker, take my back pack and go in search of that internet cafe I read about in the guide book. You see, when I called my host in Vienna he told me he had a guest who was checking out this morning, and could I arrive around 10am, so I have a few hours to kill. I take the U-Bahn to where that internet cafe is, and find that in my haste I failed to notice that the time of 6:30, when the highly recommended place opens its doors, was joined by "PM". I have wasted precious walking time on a wild goose chase! Annoyed, I decide to take a trail suggested by another book (Frommer's Guide). It's a stroll around Imperial Vienna. Naturally I start where I should finish, and get lost a few times, but no matter. Vienna is just spectacular. I am stunned by the grandeur of the buildings, and enjoy the almost eerie calm of a city waking up. I happen to pass the Spanish Riding School when out emerge the grooms (or whatever they are called), thin and elegant in riding gear, walking their horses out of the stables, hidden courtyards, across a narrow street into a dark passage, until they all disappear again. To them, a daily routine, to me a sudden flash of a secret world, intensely interesting. I try to capture the moment but my crappy old camera with its relaxed attitude to a fast moving world takes forever to respond to my finger pressing the shutter. All I want to do is take some snapshots, but not with this one. "Eventual shots" would better describe them. I've dragged my feet for some time now on the painful (i.e. costly) subject of a new camera but really, there is a limit!



Wednesday Night

The platform is buzzing with anticipation. Passengers awaiting the arrival of our train, some waiting for the train from the other side of the same platform - a short (only four carriages) old looking Russian train, destination Kiev. The crew, quite a few of them, in smart uniform, milling on the platform, I try to crane my neck to get a good view if the sleeping compartments but fail. They are already late but don't seem bothered. I see my train has arrived, and there is a certain sense of excitement in the air. Everybody start shifting and picking their luggage, and we start boarding. The handsome, bookish conductor collects my ticket as I climb aboard. "you get it back in the morning" he replies to my query. Oh well. Now, where is my couchette? Ah! Found it. It's the top bunk - that is, the top one out of three! My fellow room-mates are a middle-aged Polish man under me, and finally an Italian man in one bottom bunk, his teenager daughter in the other. They trundle an enormous suitcase in, and it completely fills up the gap between the bunks, rendering use of the ladder impossible. That means I have to tread, ever so gingerly on everybody's beds whenever I want to leave or return to my own bunk. The middle bunk above the Italian girl remains empty but I'm fine where I am. It is cramped - impossible to even sit upright, it is hot, but not unbearable, and something just around the head area is squeaking incessantly, but only when the train is in motion. I perform amazing feats of organisation by placing my luggage in the most unobtrusive way possible, and keep my back pack on the shelf near my head for easy access to drink.
The compartment next to mine is full with more Italian girls, I assume they are all school chums with the one in my compartment. She seems resentful for having drawn the shortest straw here. No gabbing with the girls for her. And what if it isn't her father at all but say, her school's headmaster or a teacher?! Nah, that would be illegal, wouldn't it?
To add to my chagrin, my i-Pod froze on me in Krakow, and although I have a few tracks on my new Nokia N80, they are mostly The Dixie Chicks, and Dynamite by Jamiroquai. This is my second i-Pod - the first one started freezing me out while on holiday in Gran Canaria with my friends Jan and Jean-Francois. For 12 agonising hours we were deprived of our breakfast recital, and I had a very quiet day on the beach. It was hell I tell you. That i-Pod kept playing up till it went into a coma, and not even the Apple Store "genius" could unleash any of the 13 GB of music, drama, comedy and pictures I had stored on it, not all of which was backed-up. I had to start afresh with a "new" (reconditioned, actually) unit. This one has been in my possession some 3 months, just over the limited 3 month guarantee it came with. It already had on it 12 GB, and again it slammed the door in my face, just when I needed it most.
The night seems long - I manage to sleep a little, and if not for the constant noise of some mysterious part squeaking I would sleep much better! We are woken up a few times along the journey, by border control upon leaving Poland and entering the Czech Republic, then before entering Austria, and unless I've dreamt it up, somebody must have established another temporary country because there is another passport reading session by severe looking uniformed people, somewhere along the line.
It is morning, I find the Polish man gone - must have left at one of the stops along the way. Seems I slept longer and better than I had imagined. The conductor, who throughout the night stayed in his uniform but kicked off his shoes in favour of homely slippers, emerges from his office at one end of the carriage, and true to his word hands me back my ticket. about half an hour later the train lazily rolls into Vienna South station. I have arrived at my second port of call.

Wednesday 2nd August 2006

The Salt Mines
מכרות המלח בוויליצ'קה



























My lovely guide
המדריכה החמודה שלי



This morning I am picked up from the apartment to go on the other guided tour I have booked on my arrival at Krakow, to the salt mines of Wieliczka, a small town just outside the city. Today's minivan is a slightly larger Chrysler Grand Voyager (yesterday's was a Seat Alhambra), the driver doesn't crave my company next to him, but politely opens a middle door and I sit behind, quite content to do so after yesterday's experience. Turns out I am in fact the entire group. At the mines I arrange to meet my driver at around midday, and he attaches me to an existing group and takes his leave. The visit proves to be fascinating. Our guide, a young, enthusiastic local girl who lived here all her life - she even studies locally - is simply charming. Her English is limited: most of the commentary she provides is read out of memory, I reckon, and her way of mispronouncing almost every other word, yet never losing track of her speech, never faltering, is at once illuminating and hilarious. Never mind - any imperfections are completely made up for by her natural charm and sincerity. The mines are very impressive. First the climb down a seemingly bottomless staircase, flight after flight of wooden stairs. Then the walkways, various chambers carved out in rock salt, including chapels - one enormous one: at that stage you are told you can no longer take photos unless you buy a special permit. As my crappy camera doesn't perform well in the dark I simply put it away (having already taken some pictures before it became "restricted"). the statues carved in salt are eerily beautiful - look and feel like granite or marble, but a little translucent when you shine a light through them. At the end of the tour I find myself the only person lining up for the additional tour of the mine's museum. I then am treated to a personal tour through the archaeological finds from the mines and the area. That is also where my doubts about my guide's command of English are confirmed, but that doesn't stop us from having a good communication and she skips effortlessly between the official mode (declaiming fluently and clearly her knowledge of the subject matter) and the informal (struggling to express herself on general subjects such as her studies and work). We end our stroll by ascending back to the surface in an old looking (but modern and fast) workmen's cage-lift. I am squashed into a corner by three big fully uniformed guides, my tiny little guide is in there somewhere too - I can hear her - but totally obscured by her large mates. Out side, it still rains, lightly but I am wet before I reach the car. I now look forward to my simple Polish lunch at the local greasy spoon!
After lunch the weather brightens up. I go back to the apartment, check out and take my suitcase to the station. My night train to Vienna is not till 10:25pm. I want to be so tired by then, that I should sleep the whole journey!

Tuesday Night in Krakow

Back in town, and I need lunch! The crazy driver sets me down by my apartment, I bid my new friends goodbye. I will miss the Swedish (half Turkish on his father's side - how cool is that?!) guy especially. But now I must forage for food. I go into a modest, local little restaurant, much like a school canteen only here you can get a beer and smoke. The lady behind the counter confounds my prejudice by speaking English and being helpful! I want the pierogi (let's not go too deep: we'll call them Polish ravioli). They are fresh out. I settle for the Polish version of schnitzel, the local beer and enjoy a simple, tasty fare in an unadorned, basic local diner. Perfect. In the evening I walk around town, again all the way to Kazimierz, and I stop for dinner at an Italian restaurant, on a small, desolate square, flanked from the south side by the Great Synagogue. I sit out on the terrace, and order Polish dishes. I keep it as light as possible - still carrying inside of me that late lunch... It had been drizzling down all evening, and now it is raining so I stretch my stay at the restaurant till the rain thins out to a drizzle again, and I set off to the club I wanted to go to the night before. I get there, this time quite easily, I go in. The club is called Ciemna - it means "The Dark". It's a well, dark (or dimly lit) space, with darker corners, partitions made to look like prison bars, few people but definitely not empty. The area, and some of the patrons may look sinister but the barman is nice and friendly enough. I stay for a couple of beers, then head home. I even manage to catch the night bus this time, and before long I am home and (almost) dry.

Tuesday, 1st August 2006

Memorial site in Birkenau
יד זיכרון בבירקנאו

















the Birkenau monument
אנדרטה בבירקנאו

















one of the tracks into Birkenau
מסילה לתוך בירקנאו

















The gallows in Auschwitz. Its final client was Rudolf Hess in 1946 (not the one who died at Spandau prison in the 1980s, of old age...) The commander of Auschwitz shared that name and was caught, tried and executed after the war.
הגרדום באושויץ. הלקוח האחרון פה היה רודולף הס בשנת 1946. כמובן לא רודולף הס שמת בגיל מופלג בכלא שפנדאו בברלין בשנות ה-80 אלא מפקד אושוויץ שנשא את אותו השם



Thanks to my enforced early night, I am up very early. The minivan should pick me up at 9:00am, then few more people from the city centre and take us to Auschwitz. I test my visa card at a nearby ATM - it works! The burly driver is punctual, and I get the honour of sitting next to him all the way. This proves to be an error: I never asked for, or expected a rollercoaster ride but that is what I get. The man feels around for his lighter, not easy when your other free hand is holding a cellphone and you're trying to run over some frightened pedestrians on a (green light) crossing. He criss-crosses his way on every road with more than one lane, and is determined to race to the bitter end every other vehicle on the road. How I manage to fall asleep for the better part of the journey is a mystery to all but the keenest of psychiatrists. What little view I do get is lovely - all very rural and aching for an artist to paint it.
The visitor centre in Auschwitz is packed with people, and seems to be chaotic. My small group - a U.K. residing Irish couple, and a cute thirtysomething Swede and his youthful mother are my only mates. Our driver runs us like a demented shepherd this way and that, sits us down, walks us in circles (I may be embellishing a little...) eventually we are shown into the auditorium where the official visit starts with a screening of a short film taken during the very first days after the liberation of Auschwitz. It is a disturbing, even harrowing film, yet I can't help feeling the whole presentation is designed to avoid upsetting the visitors too much, or, even worse, boring them with a lot of historical facts and figures. We are then attached to a larger group, one of very many, and our walk through what remains of Auschwitz begins. It is a tough experience, and I still feel disappointed that our guide, a nice enough bloke, is just churning out the same text he speaks almost with no need to think about it as he must have memorised it over time. I don't mind the dull delivery, but I feel cheated out of some of the experience because the commentary often drifts to the anecdotal, almost trivial, with a clear emphasis on fascinating, at times heroic events involving mainly non-Jewish Polish people. As a Jew and the son of two Auschwitz survivors I feel like the very core of my experience here is missing. What did I want to happen? what did I expect? The infamous blocs, home to unbelievable inhumanity, are now surrounded by lush green grass, with tall, beautiful trees along them, making the place look like some suburban avenues. My dear friend Rafi had half jokingly said before my trip that you should only visit there when it rains. Well, today the sun is out and the weather is lovely. Rafi wouldn't stand for this kind of nonsense for a minute!
With the chaos I have by now come to expect we all pile up onto the bus that will ferry us over to Birkenau - Auschwitz 2. It's some 3 kms away, built by the Nazis when the original camp proved too small for the scale of killing they planned. It is said to be 20 times bigger than the first one, and it is indeed shocking to see the enormity of that place. Most of the blocs there have been demolished, partly by local folk desperate for firewood and building materials. The ones remaining intact are grim and dark, and it is almost impossible to imagine the living hell endured by the inmates of that place - had it not been so fully documented by the SS themselves, for as long as they felt they would never be called to account for their crimes.
Our guided visit is at an end. All five of us are met by our scary driver. This time I sit at the very back of the car. Let some other sap sit up front with psycho driver. Our maniacal journey back to town is easier to stomach now that I have my own seat. I look at the countryside rolling back through the window. It looks so serene, so picturesque. How different could it have looked when my mom and dad were incarcerated only a few kilometres away, condemned to death through slave labour and starvation for no other reason than being Jewish. Did the church bells still ring on Sundays, Could my parents hear them in the distance? Could they listen out for them?

Monday, 31st July '06, Krakow

This is a little street in the Jewish Quarter, a square in shape, actually
















Me at the gate to the cemetery. No head cover so I was unable to enter.















Commemorative plaque at the courtyard of the old synagogue
















Rynek Glowny
















The indoor market in Rynek Glowny




At Krakow airport, small considering it's one of the major ones in Poland, I use my visa card to get some money - there was no time for it at Gatwick - then head into town. After initial orientation difficulties (they kept quiet the fact that all around the train station there is nothing but building work, hardly any paved paths to roll a suitcase on, and there is very little signage in English...). I finally manage to find the right tram, in the right direction, having purchased a day pass. I reach the B&B, settle down in my large and comfortable room, and head straight back out the door to explore the old city. I love it - it has old buildings, squares, market places, a wholly touristic fleet of horse drawn carriages of varying shapes
and sizes, but it feels less frantic or exploited than other, more obvious cities in Eastern Europe. I find an official tourist office and book two guided tours: Auschwitz for tomorrow (Tuesday) morning, and at my mom's insistence, Wieliczka's Salt Mines for Wednesday morning. Next I must get my train ticket to Vienna - I plan to take the night train on Wednesday, to arrive Thursday early morning. The train station is lively, old fashioned, with the mandatory service, provided by grumpy, hairy chinned women. At the international bookings a big Russian man is behind me in line. Well, not quite behind me - in true Russian form he is practically trying to mount me from behind, then progressively sideways, staring curiously at every piece
of paper I produce, my visa card, and all the while carrying on a conversation with an unseen woman he is apparently with, with total disregard to my personal space. I read long time ago in some paper that a Russian man will cross an empty Red Square to step on your foot. I remember chuckling at the absurd image... Not any more. Finally, with tickets, reservations and no permanent damage to my person or dignity I walk over to the Jewish district Kazimierz. A visit to the old synagogue, where I realise
I left my hat behind. Typical! the area is really charming, and at places poignant with plaques on the synagogue courtyard commemorating people and families that lived and thrived there till World War II broke out, and the process of mass murder kicked off. I leave the area deep in thought, and as a result get slightly lost... Later the same evening I come out of the apartment and take the tram back to the old town square. Krakow may be no Prague, but it seems quite lively and happening, even on a Monday night. There are stylish bars everywhere, inexpensive restaurants serving almost any type of food you could possibly desire (with the exception of vegetarian - it's all there but a little harder to find). I take a beautiful Polish dinner at a smart restaurant, sitting out on the terrace as it is so warm outside, despite the light rain that had been falling. I order the zurek soup - it comes served in a round
bread loaf that had been hollowed, filled with the soup then covered by the top slice as a lid. Not only does it look good, it is delicious! I can't help wondering what do they do with all that left-over bread - I hope it is used as animal feed or something, ot it would be such a waste... I follow with the grilled (actually fried, in butter) whole trout, all washed down with the local beer. After paying for my meal I realise I need to draw some more money. The first ATM I use refuses to cough up for me. "It's broken" I delude myself. Off to another one, same result, with a curt message to contact my bank. This really annoys me. What shall I do?! I still have a few zloty, so I decide to stop at the one gay club/bar that could possibly interest me in Krakow (there are only two worth their name anyway) on my way back to the apartment. I walk there, just as well after a hearty Polish meal. I get there - it's located in a narrow, dark street, with nothing but (seemingly) lost souls stumbling here and there, hanging silently and menacingly on the barely lit corners. I try to look confident and sure of myself, but who am I fooling? I get there, having finally found it among the dark doorways, I discover I have barely enough money to get in and maybe even get one drink. As I am in a lousy mood by then, I decide not to stop this time, but catch a night bus or tram home. Damn! Just missed one, next one in 30 minutes. I walk instead. In the room I call my bank, trail through the automated, annoying menus until I reach a real person at the Lloyds TSB helpline. "We detected an unusual activity on your card, so as a precaution we decided to stop it" they explain. But why didn't you try to check it with me first, I vainly plead. No, really, they have my phone no... "Oh, now that it is all cleared up you can go back and use it even right away if you like". I don't like, it is way too late and I have to be up early to visit Auschwitz. Anyway, it's been a long day. I turn in.

My Grand Tour Summer 2006

It had a promising start: planned by myself, flight one London Gatwick to Krakow, rooms arranged through EBAB (the German website fixing the gay community for B&B around the world), flight two from Hamburg to London Heathrow shy of two weeks later, printed material about places I would visit, timetables checked, alarm clocks set. But as I am hurtling towards Gatwick on an early Monday morning train, it dawns on me that I had cut it very fine - too fine in fact. And sure enough as I make it to luggage fast-drop (having checked-in online) I realis I had missed the 40 minutes before departure deadline. An indifferent BA ground crew man tells me: "The flight is closed. You'll have to go to Customer Service and they will get you another one". In a state of panic, and now profusely sweating I start the run around from zone this to zone that as the clock ticks away faster and faster, making it less likely I might still make it. Luckily a kind and helpful BA lady agrees to let me go on and board the plane with my smallish suitcase as hand-luggage. She prints a new boarding card and we rush to the top of every queue, including security check ("You can't rush this" says a calm, flying-nowhere ground security man. "Oh, of course, I fully understand" I lie politely). I am now in the duty-free hall, looking for the departure gate. Found it. I run like a madman, shoppers, moms pushing baby buggies, they all scatter as I steam forward. I am finally at the gate, one BA hostess left there, looking frosty... I hand over my boarding pass, embarrassed by my appearance (the sweat is pouring off me. Charming) I say: "My Goodness, you look so calm and collected while I am all over the place..." She just hands me back my pass with a stern "have a nice flight". No smile, of course. Oh, what the hell, I'm in and that's all that matters right now.
On board (and to my surprise I don't seem to be the only latecomer) I settle nicely on the seat I cleverly allocated for myself online - window, first row of Scum Class (running the risk of sitting with baby - holding people). Any minute the sweating will stop, I can calm down now. A lady asks me: Is this seat 4F? Yes it is. "I think you're in my seat" says the irritating woman. I fish for my pass, and proudly show her how stupid... but wait - the ground crew gave me a different seat to my own choice. How dare they?! glasses please, what does it say? 2E? isn't that in Club Euro? It is? oh, I apologise to the sweet lady and vacate her seat (in slightly more moist state than she would expect, but hey, that's economy for ya). I move the two steps to my newly allocated seat, to find another lady already occupying it, and would I mind terribly? Her own seat, 2B will do just fine, indeed even better as it is a front row isle seat and has more legroom. The air hostess says: "Front row passengers must store all hand-luggage in the overhead lockers, including handbags. Not you sir, obviously". I reply: "Of course not. Mine is already up in the locker". Hostess laughs. I laugh. It's going to be all right. My Grand Tour has begun.

Bike Trip

Well, not so much a trip as an outing. With Rafi, on our bikes, along the Grand Union Canal.

May 2006

Only one picture survived my scrutiny. Niv gave an Independence Day BBQ, I was head of lettuce department (made salad)

Budapest, March 2006

Szent István tér: This is the site of the famous St. Stephen's Basilica, Budapest's largest church, seating some 8,500 people. Built between 1851 and 1905. In the Szent Jobb Kápolna, behind the main altar, you can see an extraordinary and gruesome holy relic: Stephen's preserved right hand, which is paraded around town annually on St. Stephen's Day, August 20.



















View of the front facade of the National Museum


















Holocaust Memorial. Designed by Imre Varga, a wonderful contemporary Hungarian sculptor, the memorial is in the form of a weeping willow tree. Thin metal leaves, purchased by survivors and by descendants to honor relatives who were victims, are slowly filling the many branches.
















Freedom Square (Szabadság tér). Directly in front of you is the Soviet Army Memorial, built in 1945 to honor the Soviet-led liberation of Budapest and topped by the last Soviet Star remaining in post-Communist Budapest.



/>












The House of Parliament. Just a detail. a flock of geese can be seen over the tower.


















Dohány Synagogue. This striking Byzantine building, Europe's largest synagogue and the world's second-largest, was built in 1859 and is still used by Budapest's Neolog (Conservative) Jewish community. The synagogue is newly cleaned and restored.
















Former Post Office Savings Bank (Posta Takarékpénztár)

Hey, long time no update... Just back from Budapest. Long weekend, full of fun and adventure, and I can tell you about most of it! I arrived Thursday night, made my way to town the native way, shunning taxis and the like - it's so simple: you take the airport bus, reach the the metro's blue line, hop on the train and within few minutes you are at the very centre of the city. The whole thing costs less than £2 and puts some 10 minutes (if that) on top of a taxi or minibus service (which costs around 8 times that much - still not very expensive I guess).
More, and very few pics, soon.

טוב, אחרי סופשבוע ארוך בבודפסט אני שוב בלונדון. כמה מלים, אבל אעדכן יותר בקרוב - כרגע אני "עסוק". היה ענק - קר, ועד וכולל שבת היה אפור, רטוב ואפילו כמה פתיתי שלג, אבל יום ראשון ושני נתנו לנו קצת שמש. לצערי רוב התמונות - ואין הרבה, צולמו בימי ששי ושבת. אז זהו בינתיים, המשך יבוא

Israel pix, January '06

A street corner in Tel Aviv





















My sister Lea, with my littlest nephew Dor. Rothchild Blvd. Tel Aviv.

















At the piazza of the Tel Aviv Museum. The background is by Kadishmann.

















Lea at the Sculpture Garden, Tel Aviv Museum. This was taken on Jan. 27th, Mozart's 250th birthday. (I know because we went to hear a Mozart recital on that day)

Same dish, different angle

PC250001
Originally uploaded by lederon.

Can you see what it is yet?

Some Christmas Pictures

For our Christmas/Hannukah repast I made a massive cholent with dumplings in leu of kishkeh

















Trafalgar Square, with the Norwegian Christmas Tree - all 30m of it!