July 7, 2008 (Posted by Christopher)
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On towards to the south of
We headed to the Hautes Alpes region (which is pronounced “OAT-alp” by those crazy locals who waste so very much time writing down letters they’re never going to use). First stop was near Die, FR (a public relations nightmare in their international marketing) but we selected it for it’s nearness to 1) another good kayaking river and 2) WiFi. Both turned out to be less accessible than we’d hoped.
Our campground in Die was a resort – complete with bar, restaurant, big swimming pool with triple-lane 10-meter water slide and TWO ping-pong tables, miniature golf and even an inflatable jumping house for the kiddies -- which during high season is now a red flag to us because it tends to draw that dreaded aspect of French camping: the family. Maybe we’re uber sensitive to it but it seems to us that the French let their kids run a little wild at these RV parks. Lots of loud laughing (not too bad), screaming (not good) and incessant crying (VERY bad) with little or no opprobrium (Kelli says: for those of us reaching for our dictionaries…that word apparently means “criticism” but I lost the wrist-wrestling match with Christopher to change it to “supervision”) from their parents. And it seems to go on until after 11:00 pm. Don’t those little hellions ever sleep? Apparently this goes to explaining why they “awaken the dwarf” as we call it (“they wake up Grumpy”) so the screaming tantrums start again soon after first light the next morning. So now we’ve wised up and look for “adult” sections of these resort campgrounds. We must be getting old! But soon our hearing will diminish and we won’t be so bothered by these things.
The Die campsite also failed other tests – for example, it
had a long stretch to reach the electrical hookup, a long carry to dump our
buckets of grey water, and a terrible sewer water dump. We left early. (Kelli
adds: We do have to mention though, on our way to the restaurant to eat a
rather wonderful lunch (Remember … all food is wonderful here, it’s La
The next day was another scenically spectacular drive across
another mountain range where we averaged about 25 miles per hour and only about
14 mpg, enjoyed threading the needle on the roads between on-coming trucks and
RVs and a sharp drop-off on the right shoulder and getting Kelli to please take
her hands away from covering her eyes and praying so loudly for no accidents
that she was bothering the line of cars and trucks stacking up behind us. And did I mention, it hailed, too. In the
first of July! (Kelli adds: But we had amazing views of French villages and mountains
and knew immediately when we got close to the
We made it to an old favorite campground by nightfall… the Green Park Camping outside Cagnes sur Mer (near Nice) on the French Riviera.
This campground was one of our very first finds last year –
it scores 9.5 out of 10 for it’s sewer dump alone – and we were assigned the
very same pitch we had last year. This year we stayed a few extra days however,
which gave us the chance to take public transportation into
In Nice, as usual, we took the open-air, hop-on-hop-off bus orientation tour of Nice as soon as we got into the city. It was one of the best we’ve experienced…. In just 2 hours we were driven through the best sights in the whole city including the coast life cafes and the narrow winding streets of the upper town where the well-to-do people live. “Well-to-do” in this case meaning the BILLIONaires live in that part above the mere MILLIONaires who have to tough it out in the lower section of Nice.
Wow, I could live here.
Breath-taking ocean views from modest multi-million-euro villas on the
hillsides, each with their own tiled and shaded terraces and many with their
own swimming pool. Kelli and I did the math and figured we could afford
to live in Nice. Just for only about 2 days a year. We took the commuter train back
to Le Petit Chateau and our little campsite and were pleasantly (and
financially) comfortable. We did agree that if we come back again next year, we
gotta try parasailing off the coast of
Weather’s been great – lots of sun, not really too hot and not a drop of rain. Praise God! Tomorrow we’re headed just down the road a piece to Cannes to check out a campground for next year if we can swing the timing to coincide with the Film Festival – which is also only a week different than the Formula 1 race through the streets of Monte Carlo (the last remaining F1 race-on-the-streets on the planet). We timed it just slightly wrong last year and hope to correct that mistake next summer.
It’s fun to be penciling in stuff for next year already….
June 28 (Posted by Christopher) Back in the Ardeche.
The Central Massif mountain range drains a good portion of
On the way to the campground yesterday, we did something a little unexpected: we took a wrong turn. We were “going naked” – no, not that kind of naked -- we were driving with our GPS turned off. We continued in the wrong direction partly because we didn’t know any better and partly because the scenery was so spectacular… steep mountains, lots of greenery, the river twisting below us.
The road was tiny. So tiny at one point our worst nightmare came true when we met another big RV (“camping car”) coming the other direction on a tight turn. But we were both driving slowly and attentively; he went to the edge of his side and I went to mine and our rear-view mirrors missed each other by a good inch. Finally we realized our mistake in route and did a u-turn (did I mention how tiny the road was?) and headed back the way we’d come. That’s when we saw the Ardeche equivalent of the Swan Ranch. Perched on a hillside 20 meters above the burbling Eyieux river, in sight of a ancient bridge, was a little stone cottage (of course!) with tile roof, small terraces to yield little porches, stone decks and planting beds alive with blooming flowers. Wonder if the owner would like to trade homes for a few months during runoff season….
June 27 (Posted by Christopher) Soldes in
Kelli took the metro from the campground into the city unencumbered by her pack-animal-avec-credit-card (moi) so she could cover more ground in less time. Soldes is all about strategy, don’t you know. But I came into town by myself in the afternoon to bring her fresh encouragement and a fresh credit card and we agreed to meet at the Starbucks on Rue de Republic. “Where’s that exactament?” I asked via cell phone. “Well, you walk up from the Bellecour metro stop, and head towards FNAC the electronics/book store. Pass it on your right and walk down the boulevard towards Printemps, the department store. Keep going past Darjeeling the lingerie store and that shoe store I love with the black leather sandals in the window, then ……” You get the idea; when it’s Soldes, street addresses become meaningless.
June 26 KELLI SAYS:
Natalie! Beth! The
huge glass and metal modern building they were putting up on Presqu’ile on
Chris and I went to market in
And oh what a visit!
Chris and I went to see Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis, the French film of
2008 which has passed all box-office sales records ever, including the
previous record last set by Titanic! Now
mind you, it’s all in French with no subtitles but Chris was laughing his head
off. (Which BTW, is a no-no in French theaters...) The film is a story about an undistinguished Postal
Manager who tries to maneuver his promotion to a station on the southern coast
(where all good Postal Managers aspire to be located) and in the process runs
afoul of the Administration and ends up being banished to the horrible North of
France – to Bergues in
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So it’s time to change the oil in the RV. Although bringing an oil filter was on the list I prepared at the end of the trip last year, I managed to lose the list between then and when we left Les Etats Unis so I neglected to bring one along. An expensive (time and money) oversight. So today I set aside the entire day to acquire a new oil filter so I could have a mechanic change the oil. Good thing I’d made no other plans for the day.
Driving back to the campground in Lyon one time, we’d noticed what appeared to be a full-fledged
I leave the campground on foot late morning and using no map of any kind (how brave of me) I simply walk along back streets of the little
My reverie is short lived, however, as the automatic doors to the showroom fail to open in welcome as I approach them…. at 12:05 pm. Surprise of surprises, the dealership CLOSES for 2 hours for “dejuner”. Can’t tell you what happens to people out on a test drive when the clock strikes noon, or to the greasy mechanic who is one foot-pound away from the correct amount of torque on an engine bolt at the stroke of 12, but I can tell you they don’t just open up again because they see a parts customer at the front door.
So I do the French thing, I walk to a little restaurant and have a quick, inexpensive lunch: my BBQ chicken plate and fizzy water costs just 20 euros ($30 !) and is consumed in just 90 minutes. By the time I read a little of my book in the shade of a spreading pine tree (made a little less enjoyable by an army of French ants bivouacked at the trunk) and walk back to the dealership, the “closed for lunch” time window has passed and we all can resume our lives.
So I go inside and look for the big sign that says “PARTS.” Well, that c’est n’exist pas, pal. There’s clearly an area for the car salespeople to hang out and another clearly marked “service” desk, but no parts counter.
And I can’t locate the parts counter because there isn’t a set of parts catalog binders in sight and there’s no exhaust pipes nor luggage racks nor special tools hanging on a pegboard wall anywhere to be seen.
As I’m loitering near the service desk trying to plan my next move, God sends me a clue. A Toyota employee appears and hands a pair of hubcaps in plastic bags to a man standing in front of a non-descript counter, sweating, in full Tour de France bicycling garb, holding upright a bicycle worth at least 1,000 euros. No, I don’t ask why he needs two hubcaps. But surely this counter near the service desk can’t be the parts desk… it looks like it might be the temporary workstation for a summer intern or something.
But apparently it is the parts counter. After “Lance” pedals out with his new wheel covers bunged to his bike frame, the man behind the counter makes oblique eye contact with me – kind of like an afterthought, as if helping me is not really in his job description – and asks if he can help me.
In French I explain my “besoin” for a “filtre d’huile” and he finally makes himself understood that he needs the VIN number of my vehicle. I’m ready for this because I learned last year that car dealerships here speak only the international language of VIN numbers – make, model and date of manufacture mean nothing. So the “parts guy” goes to a computer screen, hits a few keys, looks up and says “C’est tout?” [That’s all you need?] “Oui oui “ I gush.
He leaves me standing there and retreats through a back door into the what I guess is “warehouse”. He’s gone about 10 minutes and I begin to wonder if he just went to lunch. But it’s way past 2:00 so it can’t be that. But there’s no phone at the parts desk, no one else comes in to order a part; I’m kind of standing around wondering if in fact I made myself clear afterall or maybe the “parts guy” wasn’t really a dealership employee at all and is off stealing the identity of the RV or something sinister like that. But before I can make a more mountainous molehill of the situation, he’s back handing be the little box with my treasured “filtre” inside. I guess I didn’t really have to sweat the language thing: the outside of the genuine
As the pats guy prepares the invoice and bill of sale, I make small talk with him – in French, so it’s going to be VERY small – about our
So the cost for the filter is 15.20 euros (about $23… for a stinkin’ little oil filter?!?!?!) but, hey, I get to enjoy it in
Well, my parts guy’s machine doesn’t have the swipe functionality capability so apparently it’s all going to stop right here. He’s doing the French huffing-through-puffed cheeks (a sign of complete surrender to an unsolvable problem) and even the hunched shoulders (that eloquently say, “I can’t think of any way to solve this.”) But, cash to the rescue.
I pull out a 20 euro bill expecting this will cut expeditiously through all our payment problems. Mai non! My parts guy in French says to me to “gather my things” (ominous, wouldn’t you think?) and follow him into the dealership. I’m thinking “Oh, OK, he’s showing me the way to the cashier.” But instead we head for the side wall, where I follow him up two flights of stairs and part way down a corridor. We reach an executive type office door on which he knocks and enters and beckons me to enter too. He introduces me to the young woman seated behind the desk and I catch him say to her in French words to the effect that I don’t speak very good French. No brownie points for trying to converse in their language I guess.
Seated across from her, I thought for a moment I was in the midst of a application process of some kind. Maybe I’d have to pee in a cup or demonstrate acceptable knowledge of the correct succession of French kings since 1650 in order to get her to accept my cash payment. But eventually, she becomes somehow satisfied with me and she – I’m not making this up – reaches into the bottom drawer of her desk, removes a ring of keys from her purse and then slides her chair over to a small wall safe. She opens the safe with a combination known only to her, then extracts a smallish tin “money box” the kind you buy at WalMart for $4 to hold the bake sale loot, and uses her key to open the lid.
Inside is a wad of paper money seemingly thrown in at random and three small plastic drinking cups which hold 10-, 20- and 50-euro coins. I wonder if any 6-year old’s lemonade stand is missing its cash box. Anyway she counts out my change, rubber stamps my invoice in several places, each time punctuated with a loud “thunk!” smiles and bids me a bouncy “bon journee!”. I exit her office and walk back to the campground, marveling at the financial sophistication of this country which used to enjoy a global empire in almost thre same league as those of
Back at the campground just 5 hours after I’d left for my “little errand”, sitting in my folding camp chair with a cold San Pelligrino water in my hand, I realize what a fun day it’s been.
June 25 (Posted by Christopher) Dinner in
Took another side trip, this time we trained up to
June 23 (Posted by Chrstopher) Roman Holiday!
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Vacationing is such exhausting work we decided we needed a break – at least from the rain – so we flew to
Plane flight to
I really felt like a rock star or a former English royal being pursued by unrelenting paparazzi on scooters. When we and the buzzy motorbikes entered a tunnel even though it was broad daylight and in
The hotel was a real find – Hotel Capo D’Africa in case you get a chance to use this tip – terrific location, lots of great artwork on the walls, atypical décor, super friendly and helpful staff who spoke flawless English, an outdoor shaded terrace for breakfast every morning …..and air conditioning (which is very atypical for a mid- priced
The weather smiled on us each day. Never saw a drop of rain, sunny every day all day. I’d forgotten what that was like.
We started our
Miscellaneous observations and myth-busting about the great city of
And what about “When in
Comedian Eddie Izzard describes them “vroom, vroom, Caio! machines” and I must hold the minority opinion on them because in
You’ve heard it said that while economizing is a good thing, “You can’t save your way to prosperity.” Well,
But the surprise was the popularity of the Smart car. It seemed that about every 10th car was Smart. We saw literally thousands of them – one morning for fun we counted over 100 sightings during a 2-hour walk – almost never seeing two with the same color scheme. A tour book I read confirmed our impressions. It said that world-wide, in the first 8 years of production, Smart has sold about 750,000 of their pint-sized runabouts. 250,000 of them were snapped up by Italians and an astounding 50,000 in the city
And as diminutive as they are, Smart cars were not the smallest cars on the road in
“Those Italians, they talk with their hands.” Well, I’d have to say yes and no. Of course the typical interchange we witnessed on the street between two Italians was punctuated with hand and arm gestures, and usually several from among the catalog of hundreds of facial nuances, puffed up cheeks, low whistles and so forth. But I think if an Italian lost a hand in a freak accident, he could still speak because every Roman’s second language is the car horn… beeped, honked or “laid on” to suit the particular situation or emphasis needed. I expected to see some Romans in the heat of an argument on the sidewalk retreat to their cars and their horn buttons to gain access to their favorite means of expressing their point of view.
And finally, what’s all the fuss about Roman numerals? Most house numbers are like this one – a “12”. What’s up that that? I mean, come on, if they don’t use Roman numerals in
I’m including here photos of some of the must-see tourist sites like the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps where we encourage you to play a quick game of “Where’s Waldo Kelli?” Email us if you can’t find her in the photo.
Our hotel room had a view of the Coliseum and what a sight in broad daylight or at night. We got there early one morning and wanted to rent an “audio” guide – where you carry a small receiver unit that plays pre-recorded audio messages as you pass key points, usually identified by a number. But as we approached the counter, we saw that for only another 1 euro we could rent a “VIDEO” guide. We did. So we carried around a small video player that must have had GPS because it knew where we were at a times and played the appropriate message for what we were looking at. But it also played video clips from movies which helped illuminate the ideas being presented and – Kelli’s favorite part – it asked us to pan across the stadium and as we moved the player, it showed us an artist’s conception what that part of the place would have looked like in all its splendor. Move left, right, up or down, it showed you the detail of the “virtual reconstruction.” It was REALLY cool! It also showed the REMOVABLE FABRIC ROOF that they now think was temporarily stretched over part of the Coliseum to provide shade for the spectators.
Other Coliseum trivia: Why did the Roman games in the Coliseum include fights with exotic wild animals? To emphasize to the people that wide reach of the
Then it was Vatican day… we booked an official, English-speaking bus tour that started and stopped right at our hotel, not just so we could pay more and learn more but to avoid the notorious lines to enter the Vatican and related museums. Those lines (in high season where we find ourselves now) can mean standing in the sun for over two hours. We paid, we breezed right through.
High technology has come to these tours as well. Maybe you all already knew this but nowadays, each tour participant received a little ear bud and low frequency received on a neck leash. The tour guide has a microphone and transmitter. So he can speak at a conversational volume – no having to shout the be heard at the back of the crown – and still be clearly heard by everyone in the group. What a great idea. Really helped when we toured “quiet” places where the old-fashioned way would have been very disruptive for everyone.
The
Probably nowhere else than in this commentary will you hear the artwork in St. Peter’s reduced to mere “pomp and circumstance.” It’s really phenomenal, the
Since the time I last saw the statue, it was desecrated by a hammer-wielding sicko who amputated one of Mary’s hands. The sculpture -- repaired -- now rests safely behind bullet-proof glass and the world is worse off for it, in my view. One thing I noticed this time, however, was the anachronistic treatment of Mary and Jesus – the scene depicted is the day of Christ’s death and although the Bible never says Mary got the chance to hold the body of her son, we know that had it happened, Jesus must have been in his early thirties, making Mary at least in her mid-forties. Yet Michelangelo carved her face as that of a teen-aged virgin. But this is just Renaissance hair-splitting; the Pieta is a spell-binding work of art.
Of course the highlight of the
The Chapel is named after the Roman Emperor Sixtus (“the 6th”). Kinda like if president Bush built one, it might be named The Bushian Chapel. The walls already had been decorated with other famous paintings by the time Michelangelo was asked to do the ceiling frescos. The sitting Pope gave Mickey (if I may call him a nickname I’m sure he never enjoyed) the commission and said “I want the ceiling panels painted to depict the lives of the Apostles.” Mickey said “No. On two counts. First, I’m a sculptor, not a mere painter! And second, the lives of the apostles is not a big enough theme; I’ve got a bigger and better idea. “ Pope: “I’ll paying you, I’m telling you what I want.” Mickey: “Then I’m outta here.” The artist went back to
A few months later, the Pope capitulated, offered a generous “until your death” annual stipend, and freed Mickey to execute his own concept on the ceiling. (BTW, that “living stipend” was maybe not the shrewdest financial investment the Church has made: Michelangelo accepted the contract at about age 35 and lived to 89.)
Before we delve deeper into the subject matter of the ceiling, I was interested to note that the decorated walls (not done by Michelangelo) depict scenes of Biblical prophets and –get this – scenes of pagan “sylphs.” Are you telling me one of the most religious places on the planet, decorated with an apparently unlimited budget, couldn’t figure out how to fill the space with non-pagan images? Too bad they didn’t talk to me about it before they got the project going. Probably never crossed their minds.
I visited the Sistine Chapel about 35 years ago and what I saw then doesn’t hold a candle to what the ceiling looks like today. And candles were the problem. After 450 years of burning them during the masses, the ceiling had taken on a murky cast which seriously muted the vibrant colors and delicate treatment of light captured by Michelangelo when he created it in 1510. Back when I first toured the Chapel, I remember the guide telling us, “These muted colors are the way it looked in 1510.” Wrong, as it turns out. In the mid-eighties, a massive restoration project was undertaken where a team of devoted restorers took 10 years to remove the dirt and grime accumulated over four and a half centuries. The result is a ceiling fresco alive with color and nuance of lights and shadows. Working alone, Michelangelo finished the entire ceiling in just 4 years of backbreaking, exhausting work. In other words, it took a team of modern day craftsmen 2 and a half times longer to clean it than Michelangelo took to to create it!
But the result is breath-taking even though the ceiling is WAY up there. Mickey’s bigger idea to make the panels represent “Genesis” – the beginning of life -- is a much larger concept. The famous touch of God in the Birth of Adam is just like every picture you’ve seen of it (although I hope that all this time you haven’t been calling that panel “Giving of Knowledge” as I had). But in my defense, the Bible says that God blew breath into Adam giving him life, so why the need later for a finger touch? Not sure; I’ll ask God about it when I see Him.
Didn’t know this before but I’m sure the art history majors did: Michelangelo frescoed his face into his famous works in the Sistine Chapel in lieu of a signature. It occurred in two places, once on the ceiling in the panel depicting the “beheading of a man in the Biblical book of Judith.” (Ummm, where is that Bible book located in the King James, again, I can’t seem to find it in my copy. Catholics, can you help me out here?) Mickey’s face is on the detached head on the platter. Mickey did a “Hitchcock” again many years later when he was asked to return to the Chapel and paint the large wall behind the altar. That painting of “The Final Judgment” includes a depiction of Bartholomew – who was reportedly skinned alive for his faith – holding his skin. The face on that skin is apparently Michelangelo’s.
Other fond memories of
Like a bad centime, we keep coming back – to
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ve just enjoyed several days of fun since our last post. We left Millau (which we finally learned was pronounced “me-YO”) and drove over the famous Viaduc Millau. I’d heard a lot about this huge suspension bridge and was prepared to be unimpressed, but it was spectacular. An engineering marvel that, like the
Then we pressed on to Laguiole, the knife-making capital of
I love factory tours anyway and this one was especially great. Very intimate (4 visitors in our group, including Kelli and me), unhurried, and full of interesting tidbits of knife trivia. For example, in Europe, pocket knives are considered tools; in
Then it was off to another little town called Issoire which is on the
Then back to
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June 12, 2008 (Posted by Kelli) (Christophe's post below that.)
We’ve managed to move farther south today. We’re a few miles away from the Le Viaduc de Millau but we’re a bit exhausted from driving in the rain and the hills of the Midi-Pyrenees so we decided to stay overnight in Millau and tomorrow we’ll “cross that bridge when we get to it” (tee hee).
Of course, as we’re driving into town we see the wide
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For the last couple of days we've been camped on the bank of the Dourbie River about 1/4 mile before it joins the Tarn (a famous boating river here) in a little town called Millau, in the south of France. Millau is the GLOVE capital of France -- but you probably already knew that. We love the campground, nice pitches, right on the river, and plenty of room for our cabana so Kelli could do her nails, outside --yes, I did a photo of that -- and best of all, free unlimited WiFi in the rig. What luxury. Only drawback is the sewer dump is going to be a job for my macerator. If you don't know what I'm talking about -- believe me, it's best left unexplained.June 9, 2008 (Posted by Christophe -- as I'm known here)
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Today we're in one of our favorite French towns -- Le Puy-en-Velay, about 2 hours south and east of Lyon. It's quaint, with narrow streets and a stupendous volcanic mountain with a chapel on top. And we're at one of our favorite restaurants -- Le Tam Tam Cafe -- which offers great food, American and French soft rock on the Musak, and free WiFi with any food purchase. Kelli and each had our usual, the Croque Monsieur Plat which is a grilled cheese sandwich (or sand-WEECH) plus a veggie and a green salad. Delicious. And free WiFi and free toilette -- it just doesn't get any better than this. Oooops, it just did get better: the sun came out! First appearance de soleil since we left Israel. Hold that thought, the soleil just went behind the clouds again. Sigh.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. A couple of days ago, just as were about to leave our favorite campsite in Lyon (yes, we have a favorite campground AND a favorite site in it -- semi-secluded and with maximum WiFi connectivity) our frigo died. That means our refrigerator in the RV succumbed. It had lived to a ripe old age -- 15 years, or 45 in frigo years -- so we weren't all that surprised. "We'll just get it fixed or replaced, pas de problem." Mais non!
We gassed up -- this photo is an optical illusion; we actually DO fit underneath gas station canopies like this -- and then drove to an RV service mechanic in Lyon who pronounced the frigo "mort." "Can you sell us a new one?" "Mais non, monsieur."
He fobbed us off to another RV place -- right down the street as it happened -- where a second mechanic confirmed the frigo was DOA. The second mechanic was able to make himself understood (and vice versa) to why we couldn't just buy a new one: first off, French RV frigos (frigoes?) work off the 12-volt chassis battery (a function denied to us for mysterious reasons) or off BOTTLED propane. Our system is ON-BOARD LPG (or GPL as it's known here) which is incompatible with a bottled system. Well, of COURSE it is. As we drove away without knowing exactly what to do next, the mechanic asked if he could take our picture... no doubt to support his story at dinner tonight, "You're not going to BELIEVE this crazy American couple and their ancient camping car that showed up today..."
But he underestimated our resourcefulness. Hey, we remodeled the rig last summer, why not do it again?
Our solution: go to Auchan (France's answer to WalMart) where we bought an apartment sized frigo that runs on 220-volt French current. (We'd converted the RV to French current last year.) Now all we had to do was find a frigo that would fit through our drawf-size doors.
Oh yeah, and if we can get it through the door, where exactly does it go then? Not where the dead frigo is because (that would be too easy) that would entail tapping off the existing propane line -- a potential show-stopper if we couldn't get it done and done right. (All threads on all connectors are American, not French, BTW). The dead frigo had to stay where it is. Now what?
As y'all know the RV is pretty small -- photo here is also an optical illusion. The kitchen is actually SMALLER than it appears....
Recalling an episode (maybe in my mind) of Extreme Makeover / RV we decided to put the new frigo in the SHOWER stall -- where else? All we had to do was take off the frigo's doors, the trim, the hinges, and unbolt the compressor to get it through the bathroom door. Then re-assemble it all once it's INSIDE the shower stall. Pas de problem. Hah! It was a very tight fit; If the frigo had had 2 coats of paint, it never would have fit.
But there you have it: a new frigo (with freezer!) safely ensconced in the bathroom, complete with hold-down straps stolen from my whitewater raft. Hey, we really never used the shower anyway. I guess the RV is now a "half-bath" model but, praise God, we've got cool food again! And even ice cubes if we do it right. When RV Architectural Digest Magazine publicizes this, EVERY RVer will want to do the same thing to their rig.
Plus, now we have a new euphemism for "going to the bathroom." Now when one of us feels the urge, we tell the other, "I gotta go frigo."
Anyway, after the remodel was complete, we headed south and east, passing through another favorite town, L'Arbresle, and on to Le Puy.
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June 5, 2008: (Posted by Christopher) Israel!
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We took 10 days off from vacationing in
We jetted from Lyon to Tel Aviv which is the twin city to
Next morning we were off to our first sightseeing stop:
It was a gorgeous day in
Another interesting note at
Anyway, “amending the records” in this way was a common practice. Officials in
Conjecture is that in Pilate’s time, the workers assigned to erasing his name got lazy before they finished their assignment and just turned the slab upside down for a seat in the theater figuring nobody would ever be the wiser. Now 2,000 years later that innocuous incident has provided a major point of vindication of the Bible’s mention of the Roman ruler.
In the Bible, Jesus’ earthly father Joseph is described as a carpenter – or tekton in the original Greek– and most sons beginning at age 12 were trained at home in their father’s trade, so we assume Jesus was a carpenter too. But
The recreated Village also boasts an authentic, yet reconstructed, olive press (big revolving stone) for the first (virgin) pressing and then weight-assisted apparatus for additional pressings. There’s even a live donkey walking around.
Mary and Joseph’s house in
The landscape around
MIGIDDO
The town itself is on a tel, or man made hill. Why man made? Because it was easier to bring in dirt and cover over the rubble of an earlier town than to scrape it clean. So the taller the tel, the greater the number of previous towns at the same site. It’s a boon for archaeologists.
From the hill of Megiddo we looked down on the valley where the final battle described in Revelation will be fought – it will be at Har-Meggiddon, or Armageddon. Guess what’s in the valley right now? An Israeli air force base! Convenient location.
DAN
The city of
The ruins of the ancient city of
Also at Dan, I saw my first actual mustard seed plant. As many of us know, the mustard plant today is not a huge tree as the Bible says. The plant I saw was apparently typical size (couple of feet tall) and was dead for the season. But it still had some seed pods which when I broke them open revealed very tiny seeds, just like the Bible says.
The headwaters of the
The
We drove around a lot of it – stopping at the Mount of the Beatitudes for a prayer and discussion of why Jesus chose that place – the
After one of our days of touring around the lake, we took a boat back to the hotel in Tiberius. We encountered pretty stiff winds which made for vigorous exercise for the dozen or so windsurfers carving it up in front of the city of
The hilltop fortress of
We took a tram to the top but it gave us an appreciation for the determination of the Romans to defeat the Hebrews.... and the determination of the Hebrews to hold on. It took the Romans three years to construct a huge assault ramp. The Hebrew defenders rained spherical boulders onto the Roman troops (known at Masada as "bowling for Romans" ) but eventually one evening after dark the Romans breeched the wall and were assured of victory the next morning. In a chilling demonstration of how much the besieged Hebrews did not want to be taken into slavery, all 1,000 of them chose mass suicide – or freedom and victory as they saw it – during the night.
The logistics of this were sobering: each man was responsible for killing his children, then his wife. Then the men killed each other until there were ten left. These last 10 drew lots by writing their names on potsherds which were found at the site – to see who would kill the other nine and then take his own life. Two women and a few children survived the massacre – probably because the women were husband-less – by hiding in a cistern, told the tale to the mystified and disappointed Roman soldiers who broke through the gates the next morning to find their enemy already slain. Phew!
While we were in the Dead Sea area, I got to float in the salt water… it would be wrong to say I swam in the Dead Sea because the dramatic buoyancy of the water meant the crawl stroke couldn’t really be done. The backstroke worked but mostly I floated on my back with what seemed like most of my body on top of the water. That was a tremendous feeling of lightness. At least until a neighboring floater gently bumped into me and I got a little water in my eyes which burned like sulfur. Thankfully, there was a fresh-water shower on the beach.
How clean was the
You know how in New Mexico at our high altitude, people get winded easily due to little oxygen in the air and they get sunburned easily due to thinner air which blocks less of the sun’s rays? Well, it’s the opposite at the
Also while in the Dead Sea area we visited Qumran, where the
I was able to fulfill a longtime dream to be re-baptized in the
On the way to Jerusalem, we stopped for lunch at a re-creation of Abraham's tent which could have been pretty hokey but was actually great. We sat around on rugs and ate very authentic food. Turns out when God talked to Moses about "the land of milk and honey" He was probably talking about date honey which is plentiful, is made from dates and not beehives and is delicious.
A high point was getting to know Abraham's camels. They don't look too big when they're lying down ready to mounted, but as they stand up with you aboard, be ready! The trick is "lean back and hold on." A baby camelbehind the momma camel Kelli and I were riding -- the baby was tame as a puppy. tagged along
Then on to JERUSALEM!
The city is, of course, the story of three religions – Christian, Jewish and Muslim. But it’s really more than that if you are an evangelical. You gotta throw in the Catholic influence because those guys, while clearly worshipers of Christ, have dotted Jerusalem with Catholic churches to commemorate “the actual site” of Biblical events with apparently little or no evidence to support their assertions.
Take the
Or take Jesus’ “Tomb”. There’s a huge Catholic and Greek Orthodox Church (of The Holy Sepulcher) built on “the exact site of Jesus' tomb." OK, maybe they don’t say “the exact site” but that’s the implication. The church is ornate but oddly it didn’t move me much considering its importance to what I believe about Christ. Maybe it was too many tourists or maybe it just seemed all for show. And the tomb is supposed to be empty anyway. More on this later.
Side note to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher…. It seems many related countries want to share in the commemoration but by the time the Ethiopians asked, “all that was left was the roof, so the Ethiopians take care of the roof of the church.” Why do the Ethiopians feel related to Jesus? Through Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, of course. Huh? According to the Bible, when the Queen of Sheba visited Solomon she was impressed by his wisdom and wealth. According to Ethiopian tradition, the Queen of Sheba was so impressed that 9 months after her visit she gave birth to a son, another direct descendant to the House of David. (Come on, who among us hasn’t read the account of the Queen’s visit to Solomon in 1 Kings and wondered if the two of them hooked up? Especially given Solomon’s reputation as a ladies man?)
And what about the Catholic-designated “Stations of the Cross” on the Via Dolorosa – it certainly isn’t the Bible that identifies “the actual sites” along the Via where Christ was given a coat, or stumbled and fell (twice), or was helped by Simon the
Biblical archaeologists have several reasons to suspect that a large stone house – now reconstructed – was the residence of Caiaphas the high priest. The large house is on the right road at the right location and has a deep dungeon or “pit” under the house – kind of a personal jail if you will, which apparently was typical of the time for a man of Caiaphas’s position.
Maybe it was the fact there were fewer tourists here, but as we walked through the pit, and the guide pointed out where an inmate like Jesus could have been tied to the wall to be whipped, my heart skipped a beat. Then we all walked into the holding cell in the pit. It was only about 12 x 12 feet and had obviously been chiseled out of the limestone rock. The guide stopped talking and we all were imaging the exhausted and beaten and bloody Savior lying there awaiting his final walk to the cross. The silence was deafening. After a few minutes one of the pastors said a prayer which moved most of us to tears. It was a minute or two after that before anybody could move and start the climb out. That’s an experience I expect to remember the rest of my life. More than imaging Jesus’ experience on the cross itself, my few minutes in that dungeon put into perspective the complaints I have about my life. The worst I’ve ever endured is like a paper cut compared to Jesus’ suffering and sacrifice for me.
We walked around the
Biblical archaeologists also seem to agree on the approximate site of the Last Supper. There is a reconstructed “Upper Room” in an unassuming building that seems to fit the Biblical descriptions. But Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting depicting Jesus and the disciples sitting at a long table is most probably incorrect, and not just because Dan Brown would have us believe one of the disciples depicted was Mary Magdalene (relax Christopher, it’s a novel, it’s a NOVEL!) .
Apparently the custom at meals like this was to recline while eating at probably a horseshoe or u-shaped low table. The diners would lie face towards the center with their feet towards the outside. That layout matches with the Biblical account of how at the supper Jesus could maneuver around the around the room washing feet and John could lay his head on Jesus’ breast. Tough to accomplish if everyone was sitting at a long table, Leonardo.
Supposing for a moment that you are open to interpretations other than the Catholic one as to the location of the crucifixion, there’s a much more likely candidate for the site of the cross than the ground under the Holy Sepulcher church. Near the “end” of the Via Dolorosa is a particular hill that’s outside the city – which matches the account in the Bible. On the side of the hill to this day you can clearly see a “skull” naturally formed in the limestone. It would make sense for locals to refer to the place as Skull Hill (
So Jesus was nailed to the cross on top of the hill? Not likely. The Romans used crucifixion to publicly punish and shame offenders. So they picked crowded highways for the crosses to maximize exposure. And I’ve always thought that putting a cross “on a hill, far away” might tend to glorify the event to onlookers– which it does for believers but the Romans were aiming for the opposite effect. Plus how could “many” have read the sign the Roman placed on Jesus’ cross if the cross was up on a hill, away from foot traffic? What makes more sense – and matches more closely with the Bible description -- is that the actual crucifixion was held at street level at the base of Skull Hill. There’s a bus stop there now, by the way, not a Catholic church.
And where was the nearby, new tomb, chiseled out of rock and owned by Joseph of Arimathea? Biblical archaeologists make a convincing case that it’s near the site of a large olive orchard. Experts know it was a large grove from the size of the huge water cistern and the large olive press (the biggest one ever found in
Our visit was especially memorable because the tour operators had provided a pastor (the Messianic Jew from California) to serve communion right in the garden. Spectacular!
Archaeologists theorize that the “rich man” Joseph may have owned the vineyard and been friends with Jesus. The April evenings during that Passover 2,000 years ago would have been chilly and out-of-town visitors like Jesus would have wanted to spend the night indoors – perhaps at the olive pressing facility owned by Joseph where Joseph also would have carved out a tomb for himself. After the crucifixion it would have been natural to bring Jesus’ body there.
It’s a rich man’s tomb – it’s big (relatively – it’s maybe 9 x 12 feet) and has a separate “mourning chamber” and “burial chamber”. As described in the Bible, the doorway is small and low and from outside looking in, Mary could have clearly seen Jesus’ empty linen grave clothes lying on the burial chamber platform.
And the rolling rock that closed off the tomb? The rock itself is missing but the track that contained it is clearly there. You have to step over it to enter the tomb. There is even a crack on the inside wall which matches the kind left behind after an earthquake which in turn matches with the Bible account of the earthquake at the moment of Jesus’ death. The tomb would have had to been dug before the crucifixion in order for it to be ready for Jesus’ body – and to endure the crack of the earthquake.
And inside the tomb is the best part of all: it’s empty! He has risen!
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