A trip to the Dead Sea

Before we set out for Israel, the bride asked if we would like to join about half a dozen other guests from the UK on a trip to the Dead Sea, accompanied by her tour guide friend, Gil Zohar (www.GilZohar.ca). The OH and I were delighted with the offer and accepted immediately, and the trip was planned for the day before the wedding, 15^th June. Gil collected the guests from three hotels, two in the centre of Jerusalem, the Montefiori and Jerusalem Tower and another in East Jerusalem, where at this point, I realised I might need some cash to supplement what I’d brought in. Three of us set off to an ATM, but typically, I got somewhat confused and had to repeat the operation. Later, in the holiday, when I did it on my own, I found it was actually quite easy – although I must say that one ATM refused to deal with me. I may have been unlucky and it was just going through a bad day.

We set off eventually, the scenery changing dramatically en route. Having said that, the views over Jerusalem are pretty impressive anyway. The OH was interested in the tectonic plates and discussed the possibility of earthquakes with Gil. I read that seismologists have shown that the fault line running through Israel and under the Mount of Olives is connected to many other major fault lines. Along our journey, Gil pointed out to us the area of the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls had been discovered, and beyond this, we arrived at more or less sea level, as shown by the marker. I subject you to these unflattering portraits of the OH and myself, purely so that you can see this.

The heat was intense outside the bus, but I went to visit the camel, based there, and at first thought he was just a model. However, with a passenger on board, he suddenly rose up. One of our party tried him out. We went on then to one of the commercial outlets that functions near to the Dead Sea – the Ahava factory and showroom, which manufactures creams and lotions. These creams are created from minerals that exist in this part of the world, for the Dead Sea does not flow away into rivers and oceans but loses its liquidity purely through evaporation, leaving behind in the waters a high concentration of salt and minerals.

Shortly after, we arrived at our destination, the Mineral Beach, and our party collected towels and went down to the water’s edge. There you could bathe in sea (never on your front, because it is almost impossible to turn over) get coated in the therapeutic mud, have a rinse under the shower and bathe in the pure water pool. I paddled my feet and dabbed my hands in the water, but as a non-swimmer, I avoid going in anywhere where I am likely not to have control of the situation; this was one of those occasions. The OH nearly lost his shoes in the water – they floated off. He couldn’t right himself from his position, floating on his back and had to paddle backwards, and beach himself on a rock, to get out of the water. The minerals can damage jewellery and I had left a ring, watch and pendant behind at the hotel, and put sticking plaster over my wedding ring, but I wasn’t in enough to do any damage. Then I headed for one of the shades and chatted to the bride’s mother, before going to the café for refreshments under cover. It was too hot for me to be out in the sun.

The bus was like a furnace when we returned - 45°C, I think, but fortunately the AC brought it back to a reasonable level after a few miles. We stopped then to look at St George Monastery at Wadi Kelt (or Wadi Qilt – various spellings), but when Gil said that if we were prepared to climb up, we would see a wonderful view of it and the surrounding area, I eyed the climb and opted out. The OH took photos of the monastery.

In the evening, we joined the family for dinner at Beit Ticho (The Ticho House), in Jerusalem. The temperature drops dramatically by night, and even though I had a long sleeved dress on, I was cold. What a contrast to the day.

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And in complete contrast to that, we eventually took ourselves out this afternoon to Wisley Gardens, where we spent some time admiring the Bowes Lyon rose garden. I didn’t take my camera, which was a shame, but one of the first things we encountered near the entrance to the gardens was a treat for all the senses. The tea place was planted all around with edible plants and herbs, little green patches of parsley and mint and tall tomato plants, interspersed with marigolds. There were also round courgettes and tiny chilli peppers. And before we noticed what they were, we could smell the herbs and tomatoes. At the same time, a little band of men, wearing dinner jackets and bow ties, which having looked at the Wisley website, was probably the Panama Café Orchestra, playing music from the twenties and thirties. Apparently there’s live music at Wisley every Sunday afternoon throughout August. We would have sat and had our tea there, except that we hadn’t walked long enough to deserve it. We did have tea and cake later, when we'd walked long enough, but regrettably at one of the other cafes.

Holiday in Israel

With the aid of photos, I hope to recreate my holiday in Israel, as it’s now more than a month since we went and returned.

We were going to the wedding of the daughter of a friend, which is the reason we have taken many of our holidays in recent years. And more power to them. We hope that a) people will continue to get married, b) continue to invite us, and c) hold the wedding somewhere we haven’t yet been (but not too far away.) Up to now, the weddings have taken us to Yorkshire, Scotland, Ireland, Sweden and New York.

The bride – a tour guide - had first given us quite a lot of information, which was extremely helpful, and had also arranged a trip with another tour guide, the day before the wedding, which was to take place on 16^th June. We left home on 13^th and had a good flight there, in the middle of the day. The bride herself picked us up from the airport, late in the evening. We stayed in a hotel just off King George V Street (a relic of England’s history in Israel) in a pedestrianised road, which also had a little café at the end of it, and this proved useful for sandwiches, pizzas and the like. Many of the Israeli restaurants are dairy only, as meat and milk are not cooked or served together in kosher establishments. Because of the predominance of these dairy places, we had a lot of light meals – unlike at home.

On our first day, we took a taxi to Yad Vashem, the memorial to the Holocaust (Entrance shown above.) As I have recently said, the two books I had been reading had been on my mind, anyway, but the exhibits are a grim reminder of the way that Hitler and his armies swept through Europe, destroying the many millions of people he regarded as ‘second class citizens’ as a matter of policy. The exhibits show the outrages committed by the Nazis, from many, many countries – where previously people had had reasonable lives and saw no reason to leave. However, the countries that fell under his control are so numerous – one sometimes needs to remind oneself of that – so when people left one country and fled to another, he soon overpowered that country too. Those who succeeded in getting to the UK and America were lucky (in general). However, there is nothing to say that we could not have been overwhelmed too, had things turned out differently. Thank goodness for that little stretch of water between us and Europe. Without it, things might have been different. We spent about three to four hours there, and then, very tired, both emotionally and physically, we left.

A taxi driver pulled up and we gratefully jumped into the cab and asked to go to our hotel, but our driver wasn’t having it. ‘Why,’ he asked us, ‘do you want to go to your hotel in the middle of the day?’ We replied that we were tired and we hadn’t eaten. ‘I will take you somewhere to eat,’ he said, ‘and then I will take you on a tour of Jerusalem.’ And that’s what we did. The Dome of the Rock - from a distance.The cemetery at the Mount of Olives

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The Glass Room

Before I went on holiday, I read The Glass Room for the reading circle. I started off feeling, now this is a relief after the last fragmented book – a traditionally written literary novel. However, some of my feeling of appreciation faded away during the course of the book, which I felt lost its way a bit and for me lost impact in the latter half.

The Glass Room is based on a real building in Czechoslovakia - the Villa Tugendhat, designed in the late 1920s by Mies van der Rohe, which (I quote) is a celebration of steel, glass and space, an enduring reminder that modern materials can make for exquisitely sculptural architecture. (Personally, I have never been convinced by this modern preference for glass and steel. Bricks are much more homely and cosy. To work in an office with a huge window is a nightmare in summer - as I found out in a very modern building at a temp. job in Guildford.) However, let’s put all that to one side and get back to the book.

I was very interested in the couple who first instigate the design and building of the house, Viktor and Liesel, who having built the place, need to leave it, when Viktor, a Jew, becomes aware how Nazism is sweeping through Europe. The problem for me here is that while they leave the house, we do not follow them through their lives. Instead, we are forced to revisit the house and see who else occupies it in the ensuring years. The author may have been fascinated by the house, but I was not, and seeing that Viktor and Liesel had occupied a large percentage of the book, the other characters introduced later seemed irrelevant to me.

Others have commented on the coincidences which also take place in the book, some of which I was prepared to forgive, but others seemed contrived. At my book group, we also noticed the amount of fairly explicit sex that took place. As someone commented, the only thing left out, was a variation with animals. Was it necessary? I didn’t think so, myself.

The wartime events were of the most significant to me – and I particularly noticed how Liesel was reluctant to leave Czechoslovakia, even though the Germans had invaded Austria and subsequently, the Sudetenland. She didn’t think they should worry about things across the borders. That, of course, was the downfall of many victims of Nazism – that they couldn’t believe that it would happen in their land.

New writing from the 20th & 21st century

July 2011

I have read four books recently, and not commented on them at all. As a result, they are fast fading from my mind. The most recent was An Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamond Lehmann. She was on the fringe of the Bloomsbury set, and there are echoes of Virginia Woolf in the way she concentrates on a very short space of time and presents the thoughts of the main protagonists, rather then telling a story with a strong plot. On the one hand, I have to say that it was amusing and endearing to get under the skin of the teenage girl, Olivia, as she prepares for the all-important first dance. On the other hand, this is not a book I would pick up thinking, I really must find out what happens. I think the latter half was slightly stronger, when Olivia is actually at the dance and having to suffer as she waits for partners - the indignity of being forgotten by one of them – the misery of being stuck with another unsuitable one, and so on. I had read, many years ago, Dusty Answer, which was a darker sort of book, and which I found strangely haunting, although unsatisfactory to me, in some ways, because I could not identify with the type of people who were the main characters. I simply didn’t live in those kind of circles.

The book which I read some weeks ago was If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, which I was going to allow to simmer. Well, to be honest, I don’t think the soup improved, because my memory of it is sketchy. This is undoubtedly a post-modern book. It doesn’t flow like an old-fashioned novel, where someone has a story to tell. It is more of a construction. As such, as far as I remember, various people tell of what they remember of a particular day and a particular event in a particular street. I don’t feel I have the time to read many books twice, but this would probably lend itself to that. The first time you read it, (rather like Behind the Scenes in the Museum), you spend a lot of time, working out who everyone is and where they fit it. I think perhaps on a second reading, you would feel you know the characters better, and you would pick up the various clues. Perhaps, because I’m old-fashioned, I like a traditionally told tale, and so I wouldn’t give this book, or Invitation … full marks, but I think, possibly, I didn’t give If Nobody … quite enough opportunity to shine.

The other two recent books have both been concerned with the Second World War and the Holocaust, and acted as appropriate bookends to my trip to Israel. But more of that another time.

Butterfly and books

If you've been missing me, I've been busy, holidaying and reading and generally trying to catch up. I'll try to get some of my holiday down shortly, but first a word or two about Tainted Tree, and thanks very much to Sharon Bidwell, who you'll find on Facebook and whose books are at Amazon, for her review of TT, which she's very kindly included on Amazon and which I've set out here:

I’m happy to say I took Jacquelynn Luben’s ‘Tainted Tree’ on holiday with me. Initially, I thought I was in for a slow read, but that’s only because it’s a very different book to the type I’ve been reading lately. In reality, this book moves at a gentle, steady pace, perfectly in keeping with the story. A bequest leads American adoptee, Addie Russell, to Surrey in the UK where she will uncover facts about her past that are both painful and bittersweet. The exploration of both her family's history and self-discovery are a slowly unfolding journey of revelations that the reader takes almost as a ghost hovering on Addie’s shoulders. Nothing is rushed; nothing is uncovered out of a logical, practical and perfectly paced sequence. I found the story refreshing, and although capable of making the reader tearful at times, well-balanced and realistic. The writer has said that every word in this book was necessary, and I quickly realised what she meant. I became as engrossed as Addie in the search for her past. A good and well above average summer read.

Thank you very much, Sharon. Much appreciated.

In the meantime, we at Goldenford have published A Brief History of the Whole World - an adapted version of the book written by George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury four hundred years ago. The launch took place recently at the historic Abbot's Hospital in Guildford, and the book is now officially available for anyone who wants to see how the world was viewed four centuries ago. It's been adapted and edited by the Master of the Abbot's Hospital.

I have three books that I want to write about here, but since I was at the Royal Opera House to see Madam Butterfly at the beginning of the week, I think they will have to wait. Irene and I went in the afternoon, and had a meal in Covent Garden, which was busy and noisy. Then up to the very top of the Royal Opera House, which is daunting if you're not very keen on heights. I don't mind sitting looking down, but I don't like walking down steps looking down. When we got to our row, I had to pass a man who was already in his seat, and rather than face outwards, I edged along face to face with him. I resisted the temptation to grab hold of him, as if he were a bannister, nevertheless, there was a point when we were almost dancing, if not quite embracing. However, you don't want to know about all that.

This was the first time I had seen Butterfly, although, of course, I know the famous aria, One Fine Day, and much of the story. I hadn't realised though what a cynical character Pinkerton is. I was quite shocked when at the beginning of the story, he says he will rent a house on a 999 year lease, but can terminate at the end of a month - and then applies the same attitude to his forthcoming marriage. What's more Butterfly is only 15. Butterfly was composed at the beginning of the 20th century, but what it's describing is no different from sex tourism today. I felt that unlike some operas, it had a really strong plot. As for the music, Butterfly herself was wonderful, and won a 'bravo' and spontaneous applause for 'One Fine Day'. I don't know whether it's right to applaud mid-story, but I do know from my half a year in a theatrical agency, that in the musical theatre, they love a show stopper. I thought the whole production was good, but I read a slating review on line from the Independant; hunting around I found a good one from The Guardian. However, they both approved of Butterfly, played by Kristine Opolais. My one criticism, which was also mentioned by both papers, was Butterfly's dying scene, when she starts flapping her arms (clad in her white bridal outfit) and lurching forward. What is she doing? I thought, and then realised she was being a dying butterfly. But it didn't work for me; I'd have preferred her to lay dying on the ground in view of Pinkerton. Her 'tacky, flapping gesture' as described by the Guardian, was not only undignified, but what's worse, almost comic - just at the moment, when one should be moved to tears.

Emotions are heightened by that sort of occasion. It put me in a romantic frame of mind and I noticed a couple in the street, as we came out to the street, kissing passionately. As we crossed the bridge to take us back to Waterloo, some young men passed us by. I could imagine that it was the sort of occasion - a warm night in London, buzzing with people - when such a group might turn to a couple of women and say, 'How about coming for a coffee, girls,' and a romance would be born. I had to remind myself that I was no longer in my teens or twenties, and that it would not be happening to me.

I got home at 12.30 like a proverbial Cinderella, and found the OM asleep in a chair. And, as Pepys might have said - and in fact, did say, And So to Bed.

Garden photos

Above and below - our garden in May, as described in my last posting. Various rhododendrons on the turning circle at the front, and the view of the back with different coloured foliage.

Below: The view over Surrey from the Space Science Laboratory. (Nice view, shame about the lecture - you can tell I'm not a scientist.



And now - Loseley Park




Above: Loseley Park near Guildford - the walled garden







Above: Some photos of Wisley Gardens on a recent visit.