From Dover to Calais

Every now and then I make plans to join a cruise, but nothing comes out of these plans as I am afraid of seasickness, 'mal de mer', as the French call it. This kind of fear prevents many people from taking a cruise vacation; it's no secret that seasickness can turn a pleasant trip into a miserable, embarrassing experience.

I 've been on boats and ferries for short trips, never on a big cruise ship. I'm told a big ship has huge stabilisers and so less motion. The larger the ship the less it will rock, and if you position yourself in a midcabin, that is, in the center ,where the least motion is felt, and prior to the voyage you take some precautions , then the chances of not getting seasick are very good.

I'll never ever forget the ferry voyage across the british channel or as the french call it La Manche ( the sleeve), from Dover port in south-east England to Calais port on the northern coast of France. The channel is " an arm of the Atlantic Ocean that separates England from northern France and joins the North Sea to the Atlantic" (Wikipedia) . The most cheap and convenient way to cross the channel was by ferry, departures occurring every thirty (30) minutes.

On the day of the voyage the sea was rough, but visibility was good and the service to Calais was running normally. On the ferry, people around me were talking, laughing, eating, having fun , and only I had terrible nausea, and loss of color in my face. Even the color of my eyes, normally green, was fade and lifeless. An english lady wanted to help and gave me something to smell, but that made things worse and I began to vomit and feel cold. At this point, I was willing to accept medical intervention. I was administered an injection which brought about quick relief.

The trip lasted for about an hour, but for me it seemed like eternity. Looking back, I think that a bottle of soda water would have done a good job from the start in helping me get rid of the nauseous feelings, but for some unknown reason I forgot to ask for one.

They say the cause of seasickness lies in some disturbance in the inner ear. There are lots of theories as to what could prevent it, but I knew almost nothing about that at the time. Anyway, the most mentioned tips to deal with seasickness are: accupressure wrist bands, ginger capsules, scopolamine patches behind the ear, taking deep breaths, being on the deck in the fresh air facing forwards , staring in the distance and not focusing on the moving ship etc...

By the way, WHY did the wave rush up on to the beach? IT was feeling seasick.

"SaharaSorbonne" Couscous

It was because of a bad neighbour that I came to believe there might be some grain of truth in the saying: " you can take a man out of the desert, you cannot take the desert out of the man". The neighbor, Mr. A, was born in a small town on the fringes of the moroccan Sahara , which like some other towns and villages in that area served as a gateway to the vast desert.

[This region of Morocco is nowadays a very popular and highly exciting tourist attraction. Towns like Marrakesh, Quarzarzate , Merzouga , Zagora have become famous as starting points for treks in the Sahara desert. Here is the place where all the arrangements are made to ensure that tourists get a one-time experience which includes riding camels, feeling the dunes of sand, watching the nomads and palm grooves, sleeping in tents, and listening to the the unique stillness of the desert].

It so happened that when this neighbor was about 10 years old, a french movie producer spotted his elder sister and found her fit for the role of a native girl who could ride a camel and speak the local dialect. When the film shooting was over, he took her with him to Paris. The moroccon family followed her and settled there permanently . After graduating from Sorbonne (philosophy ?!) Mr. A couldn't 'find himself' in France, so he came to Israel, where he 'found us' and made our life a misery.

It started with the little garden which was common to both appartments: his and ours. Whatever my mother planted, he destroyed. She kept planting flowers and trees , he kept destroying them and levelling the earth. It went on to the water issue. He warned us not to"waste" water on the garden, but he shamelessly used the garden water pipe to wash his car, and there were many other things that made us unhappy, to say the least. My mother didn't want to file a complaint against him. We were afraid , he had "friends" who were apparently close to the philosophy of Sicily not to that of Sorbonne.

It was only when he started demolishing walls in his appartment, and changing his cars as often as one would change one's socks - that my mother finally understood the situation was hopeless. " It seems the man has the desert in his blood and veins" she said bitterly. "He doesn't want a garden but an arid plot, he 's restless in his appartment, he'll feel at ease only close to earth, perhaps in a tent, cars don't seem to suit him well, probably only camels will do." "But Mom, he's got a diploma from the Sorbonne university in Paris, I saw it with my own eyes." "Well , education has its limits ; it probably cannot always, if at all, change the essence of a person, only the outer layers, and in his case not even this," she said.

After her 'discovery', we felt that the only thing to do was to pray to God to help us get rid of him by way of making him consider moving to another place. God heard and accepted our prayers. . At the end of that year, Mr. A finally got tired and bored of constantly demolishing and remodelling the walls which seemed to strangle him, and moved to another building, in the center of the town. I knew where he lived so I kept away from that area to avoid bumping into him.

One day, a friend of mine wanted us to meet in a small coffee shop located in that "red zone". Although I wasn't sure the 'philosopher' was still around, I was reluctant to meet her there, but she insisted. We sat at a table outside the cafe. After we had our chat and coffee, we asked the waitress for the bill. "It has been taken care of'' she said . "What do you mean, by whom?" She looked me into the eyes and said :"By Mr. A, my boss, who wants you to feel welcome here." So, he was the owner of the coffee shop. I kind of panicked, I didn't want to see him, and didn't want his free coffee.

My friend decided to do something about it. She felt guilty for insisting on coming here, so she went into the coffee shop, thanked him, using all her arsenal of charming french words , paid the bill , brought the receipt for me to see it and calm down. When I rose from my seat intending to leave the cafe, a heavy hand pushed me back into it and a known voice in a french accent said : "You're not going anywhere without eating my couscous first"; a bowl of hot couscous ( moroccon specialty based on granules made from semolina flour) was placed in front of me.

I forgot to mention that the only good thing I remember about my former neighbor was his ability to prepare the best couscous imaginable. Well, I could never resist the temptation of eating good couscous.

What a place...to die !

Someone has recently emailed me a little something with a sort of surprise ending. Here it is:

"Two women talking in heaven"

1st woman: Hi , Wanda

2nd woman: Hi , Sylvia. How'd you die?

1st woman: I froze to death

2nd woman: How horrible!

1st woman : It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold I began to get warm and sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?

2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was cheating on me, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead I found him all by himself in the den watching TV.

1st woman: So what happened?

2nd woman: I was so sure that there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking for her. I ran up into the attic and searched, and then down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted I just kneeled over with a heart attack and died.

1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer - - - we'd both still be alive.

The Chernobyl Curse

graffity seen in Prypiat

She looks like a shadow, moves like a shadow; it's only when you place your head into her hands and she gently starts washing it, massaging the scalp, and then styling your hair - only then does she look and sound human, a lively female creature full of energy and humor.
Ina (short for Irina) is a Chernobyl survivor.

Yes, Chernobyl- that dreadful region in Ukraine where on 26 April 1986 early morning , the most devastating nuclear disaster of all times occurred. They said the explosion in the nuclear plant, located close to the town of Prypiat at the border with the Belarus republic, was the result of faulty design of one of the reactors and mistakes done by workers.

[There will always be mistakes, ( " to err is human...") so what does that mean to us? It means that the end of the world is not utopy; all you need to make it happen , is some 'mistake' at a nuclear plant] .

Almost twenty-four years later, the affected area is still a 'dead zone' with deserted towns and villages, decaying ghost houses and high radiation which will remain high for hundreds if not thousands of years. At first, there was talk of a 30 km 'dead zone' around the plant, but as the years went by , it became clear that it was much larger, 300 km at least.
(I strongly recommend reading about it on the website elenaefimova.com It's a must).

Ina had been exposed to moderate radiation. When she arrived in Israel in 1991 she was diagnosed with two types of cancer. She claims that she's clean now of malignancy due to some unique treatment (combined conventional and alternative means) administered to her by a russian doctor living in Germany and specializing in radiation victims.

Anyway, on the day of my appointment with her, after she had finished 'upgrading' my hair , and I was above to leave the tiny hairdresser 's unit attached to her appartment, I said to Ina the following : "the person who has recommended you, told me that you are too good to be true, and I agree with every word".
"Oh , it's not me , it's my obsessive behaviour about hair", she said in surprising honesty.

It appears that as a result of her long periods of Hair Loss, side-effect of chemotherapic treatments, she has developed an obsessive need to touch and work with women's hair in its live, natural place- on the head. She's very skilled and her hairstyling is considered of high quality. Once a month she volunteers her services as a hairdresser to hospitals and aged people's homes in her area.

On that evening, I attended a festive event. A friend complimented me about the way my hair looked and asked who did it. "I'm afraid it's not Who, it's What - apparently, a 'neurobehavioral' disorder did it" said I , and told her about Ina and her confession.

Tough Question

The other day I went to do some shopping at the Azrieli Center shopping mall in Tel Aviv. The large mall is located in the circular tower , the tallest of the three towers composing the Complex, the other two being the square tower and the triangular tower. I hate towers , but since I was looking for a specific item and I couldn't find it anywhere else, this place was my last resort, and so I found myself standing in line for the security check at the entrance.

Nearby, a bunch of girls were giggling and trying to get the attention of a young soldier. They were repeatedly , between the giggles , humming a line from an english song:"...what a looker he was...". I was familiar with the line and the melody, but I couldn't ,at that instance, associate it with any known song or singer.

The soldier 'played it' completely indifferent, but not so the young checker who was throwing furtive glances at the girls instead of concentrating entirely on the bag content of each visitor; which made me think that under the circumstances, a smart terrorist could have had no much difficulty introducing a little cute bomb into the building . Just like in the movies, using the distraction element. But, I was wrong, a security man appeared from nowhere, approached the girls and removed them from the spot.

Anyway, when I got home it suddenly struck me: the line "...what a mover/ looker/groover" belonged to a hit song performed by the british disco singer Tina Charles. I turned to Youtube to find out stuff on her, and I was pleasantly surprised by videos from her breakthrough concert in 1976 and from her performance thirty years later.

In the mid 70's she was a young, fresh ,sweet singer, but a bit plump, voice a bit too high-pitched, hair and dress lacking any particular style. Thirty years later she is mature, but looks cool, sounds cool, displays a stylish haircut, moves graciously in a black fashionable outfit .

Who do you prefer? Tina 'a' or Tina 'b'? Tough question. That's why I vote for the orchestra conductor , "..what a mover" (LOL)...,and for the songs ("Dance little lady dance", "I love to love") which make you wish to dance regardless of where you are or what you're doing at that particular moment.

Do watch the two videos; you'll greatly enjoy it.

Tina 'a'


Tina 'b'

No Hope at "Cape of Good Hope"

At the beginning of a New Year , along with the new plans and hopes, I tend to go back in time to review small and big happenings in my past that fall into the category of 'unfulfilled expectations' . This gives me a realistic perspective for the new year and provides me once again with an opportunity to test the saying of ' Dissapointments that don't kill you, strenghten you.'

I met Ethan (fictitious name) - a compatriot - in Cape Town, the cosmopolitan city of South Africa , the gateway to the huge african continent.
He said he was a doctor, at the beginning of his medical career, but when I tried to make conversation on the nature of his work, he changed the subject.

He was not what one would call good- looking, but there was something magnetic about him, especially about the way he spoke and moved his hands. Hands are the first thing I notice in a man, and his, were big with long, slim fingers like those of an accomplished pianist. He caught my eyes looking at them so I said, trying to sound funny, " Do you practice a lot on the piano?" "I practice a lot on dead bodies" he replied,"I'm a forensic doctor".

This came as a big shock to me, and for a few moments I felt sick. So that was it, that was the reason for his reluctance to talk about his work; Later on, he would say that he didn't mind talking about it, but he noticed I was sensitive and vulnerable ( I liked that, coming from him) and he wanted to spare me the unpleasant aspects of his profession.

During our conversation, I made an effort to look composed and behave naturally, trying to take off my mind from corpses and autopsies.. We discussed the two famous landmarks of Capetown: the Table Mountain with its flat top and sloppy sides, overlooking the city, and The Cape of Good Hope which had been named so, to mark the opening of a new hope - a sea route to India and the East.

He offered to take me the following day on a tour to these two attractions ; "no visit in the area is complete", he said, "without seeing from the top of the mountain, the spectacular views of the city and the cape peninsula with its Cape Point tip , the stunning cliffs and the rugged stretches of rock of the Cape of Good Hope, the mingling of the two oceans: Atlantic and Indian".

I accepted the offer although the weather was not friendly, and I could well imagine that it was probably windy and cold, up there on the mountain. Frankly, I was in a romantic mood, ready to get involved in a relationship with Ethan, so the weather and the anticipated wonderful scenery came second into my thoughts.

Soon after we had reached the spot , a young man approached us, and Ethan greeted him with such a big, warm hug that I stood there watching them with unbelieving eyes and a widely open mouth. Then he turned to me and said in his irresistible low voice something like: 'Meet my boyfriend and home mate ; he'll be our guide as he knows the place perfectly'.

'There goes my Romance, here comes the end of my Hope', I thought to myself, and plunged into the breathtaking beauty of the Cape surroundings.

Great-grandmother's Politician

Groundbreaking - Left to Right : Joe Forbes

One of my great-grandmother's grandsons, Joseph Goldfarb Forbes (Joe Forbes for short) was mayor of the city of Oak Park (1967-1970) and member of Michigan State House of Represantatives (1971-1984) . He was born in Detroit, son to David and Yetta Goldfarb, the fourth of their seven children. He resided in West Bloomfield where he was known for his friendly behaviour and affection for people. He died on December 2004, at the age of 88. May his soul rest in peace!

Several years ago, I embarked on an internet genealogical quest intended mainly as a tribute to my mother's memory, in an attempt to track her father's family saga. She had been very fond of her father (Hersh Goldfarb) and she kept telling me the story about his widow mother, his three brothers and three sisters who had emmigrated to America, leaving him behind as his wife was against departing from Romania. Sort of mini tragedy. Sometimes I think that the fact that I've never visited the USA and feel no urge to do so, has its roots in this story of hers. It is as if in my subconcious I resent the place that has 'robbed' my grandfather of his initial family.

The first of my great-grandmother's descendants I contacted after finding information through the internet, were a nurse from Cincinnati and a restaurant owner from Los Angeles. These people were fourth generation like me , so they knew little (the nurse) or almost nothing (the restaurant owner) about great-grandmother (first generation), her children(second generation) and grandchildren (third generation).

And then I came upon the name of Joe Forbes. He was a public figure, so I thought I would find some biography with information on his parents and siblings which could also lead me to the others. Well, I found no such thing. In those days people were humble ,not like today when the biography gets written on the first month of their public job. I did ,however , find in local newspapers, his obituary and also an eulogy on his service and integrity as a man and legislator.

Obituaries in Genealogy are of the utmost importance. It was from the obituary that I learnt about his three daughters. One of them who lives in Aghoura Hills , California, kindly emailed me some pictures and additional information on her father and his family.

Joseph Goldfarb Forbes was considered a key leader in the Legislature of Michigan. He was elected as the Democrat majority floor leader for five consecutive terms. One of his successors said that in order to survive as a floor leader (whose job is to run the floor debate) one needs a sense of humour and "Joe Forbes possessed humour in abundance". (Im sure of that. All those on my mother's family side had terrific humour that helped them overcome hard times).

Dachau

Memorial

I had in my right pocket a slip of paper with the name and address of a nice german woman from Dachau whom I had met on a tour in Greece. I thought I would perhaps go look for her after visiting the infamous concentration camp. Well, I didn't. I couldn't. I was in no mood to walk around or talk to any inhabitant of the city. I wanted to leave the place that had witnessed unimaginable horrors, as quick as possible.

[I am reminded of my visit to Dachau by the recent news regarding the theft of the iron inscription at the entrance of Auschwitz death camp: 'Arbeit macht frei' (Work sets you free or Work brings freedom).
The Dachau camp had a similar iron inscription at its entrance] .

The concentration camp was built by prisoners on the grounds of an abandoned gun powder factory outside the city in 1933. It was the first concentration camp and it served as a model for the other Nazi camps that followed. It had two main parts: barracks and a crematorium . Almost 30,000 prisoners are believed to have died in the camp and its subcamps.

No way people living in Dachau at that time didn't hear or see anything about the atrocities (slavery work, tortures, medical experiments, inhumane living conditions, extermination) that went on at the camp located east of their clean, peaceful town. More likely they ignored both the rumours and the visible facts.

Nowadays, europeans and germans in particular, claim in private conversations, that they feel they are being punished for what they 've done to the jews. Foreigners from third world countries, they say, have 'invaded' Europe, destroy its culture, traditions, landscapes - and the locals feel helpless about it.

Helpless? Well, they''ll probably come up with something (evil), they'll invent something nobody has ever thought of (like gas chambers), they'll find a (final) solution. History, I'm afraid, has the tendency of repeating itself.

Memories from the Lake of Tekir

I'm following a blog of a geography teacher (Viorel Irascu at plecatdeacasa.blogspot.com); one of his lasts posts focused on the lake of Techirghiol which is only three (3) kilometers away from the Black Sea. This post brought back to me memories of a traumatic and yet wonderful visit with my mother to the lake .

Techirghiol has its name in a legend: A crippled man of turkish origin, Tekir, and his donkey, arrived at the shore of the lake ( 'ghiol' in turkish) by mistake. Trying to get his stubborn animal out of the mud within the lake, Tekir noticed with astonishment that his own legs felt stronger , he could walk normally, and that the wounds on the back of his donkey got miraculously healed. Since then, the lake became famous for its healing properties. Tekir and his donkey are featured in a statue located in the center of the town.

I was a schoolgirl ( elementary school) on summer vacation. My mother who had been recommended mud treatment at Techirghiol, decided to take me with her. It was a very long trip from our hometown in the north-east extremity of Romania to the lake area in the south-east extremity of the country. We had to change trains, and it so happened that we lost a small suitcase that contained all my belongings. I arrived at the resort with nothing but what was on me. Big trauma .

Despite the traumatic beginning, the trip was a wonderful experience for me. Like Tekir and his donkey, I was mad for the mud and liked to be smeared with it all over face and body. At the pension where we were staying, we met a young couple, freshly married. This couple became fond of me at first sight, and asked my mother's permission to allow them to take care of me with the mud and the dipping in the lake while she was having treatment at the spa-complex.

The young couple also took me to the Black Sea beach and to the various attractions in the region. They bought me things, taught me things, and opened a new horizon for the small provincial girl. Looking back, I think they were 'practising' on me parenthood as well as their professions: teaching (she was a teacher) and welfare work (he was a social worker).

In the evenings, I noticed my Mom being engaged in long talks with the young woman. On approaching them, they became silent. It was only when we were back home that Mom revealed the secret; the young woman was born in our hometown, fruit of an extra marital relationship. At a certain stage, she and her mother had to leave town and go as far away as possible from "the scene of the crime". Small World.

Sports and Women in Strawberry Land

1. 'Sharapova is in town' - reported the local media on February last year. The russian born , blonde tennis player Maria Sharapova (currently living in USA), number 5 in the world classament , made her glamorous appearance at the tennis stadium of my hometown as leader of Russia's Fed Cup Team against Israel. The stadium which hosts international and national tennis tournaments was built in 1975 on a patch of strawberry land. (Strawberries are the icon/visit card of the town which was in its beginning a rural place with vast strawberry fields. Click on the above Wikipedia picture to get an idea of the stadium).

There was a lot of emotion involved. The first match out of two, was to be held on Saturday and that made the religious circles very angry. These circles protested and also prophesized that profanation of the holy day of Sabbath will assure defeat of the israeli team. Well, defeat it was.

The stadium was packed with thousands of male tennis fans who were quite rude towards the diva. They shouted at her sexist remarks , and imitated her screaming everytime she hit the ball. When interviewed , she said that this kind of crowd behavior drives her to play better, and leads her to victory.

On Sunday, at the end of the decisive match, when the two finalists shook hands, people overheard Sharapova telling the defeated israeli player, Shachar Peer: 'You deserved it' . Apparently she said that in revenge for something that had happened on a previos match . Not very nice and not very sporting, coming from someone at the top of the tennis world like Sharapova.

2. My home town has a successful women basketball team with a woman coach that is an interesting and tough 'strawberry' herself . The initial name of the team was Lachen , the next Anda, and the present name Electra. There is a story behind the change of names and it's called Sponsorship.

A certain millionaire whose young wife , Anda, had died of cancer wanted to immortalize her fighting against the disease. He thought that the fighting spirit of the Lachen women basketball team would do nicely, so he offered sponsorship on the condition that the team bears the name of his beloved wife .

A few years later, the millionaire remarried , the sponsorship ended, and the team adopted a new name, that of the new sponsor Electra, consummer goods company.

I know very little about sports or sponsorship, but I felt something was wrong here.

Life goes on, the husband gets a new wife, the team gets a new sponsor, but what about the memory of the deceased woman whose name has been removed from the team? There's probably some answer , I just don't know what it is.

Feng Shui and the Flow of Chi

lucky bamboo

The world is insecure, full of conflicts and negativity; so people are looking for security, warmth and harmony inside their homes.

Feng Shui - theory based on the unobstructed flow of energy (Chi) - is a way of arranging and decorating one's home to create a balanced and harmonious environment that will provide positive energies and attract Health, Wealth, Luck and Love to the house.

Personally, I tend to adopt those principles of Feng Shui that are simple to follow, available, reasonable and not costly, such as: daily opening of windows to let fresh air come in, adequate light, display of live plants and fruit in the rooms, no TV or computer in the bedroom, prevention of clutter in the house, smart use of colours and mirrors, special attention to the main door through which, according to this chinese theory, Energy (Chi) enters the house.

Change in wall structure and furniture to improve flow of Chi in the house or appartment - could be quite expensive, and the result not always satisfactory.

My favourite Feng Shui item is the gracious Lucky Bamboo plant. Among the many other plants which symbolize life and growth, this one is considered the bringer of luck and fortune into the house. It requires water once a week, preferably distilled water , as tap water makes it ill - it becomes yellow and thus emanates bad energy and has to be removed.

I like the Feng Shui idea of placing a bowl of fruit, citrus mainly, in a strategic position such as near the entrance, to attract abundance and prosperity to the house. One must , however, constantly replace the fruit with fresh ones and not let it get rotten in which case it will result in bad smell and bad energy.

Many people will object to the Feng Shui 'demand' of no computer and no TV in the bedroom, but bedrooms are not meant for work or watching TV stupidities; bedrooms are meant for sleep and love.

Choosing of colors is not a light matter , at least not for me. I usually like bright colours like white, off- white, pale yellow . Feng Shui suggests , for example, painting the kitchen in yellow or orange , and the main door in red. However, the bottom line regarding colours and lights, is - whatever stands in harmony with the rest of the house, and makes one feel good.

Malware...brrrr

My computer has been giving me a hard time lately. It is six years old, and completely exhausted . I'm proud that during these years it didn't require any technician work; I was the only one to touch its inside when opening the case to clean the ventilators and throw a loving look at the Motherboard. There were problems with it now and then, but I managed to solve them with whatever little knowledge I have on computers.

Only once did I need the intervention of an outside factor. Two years ago, the computer got attacked by malware. It was a shocking, frightful experience; it looked as if some kind of monster within the box was trying to torture me by interfering with my work in various nasty ways. In fact, I couldn't do any work.

It started with the sudden appearance of a big blue Microsoft ad in the middle of the screen offering an anti virus program. Luckily, I understood right away that it was not Microsoft but some dangerous, invasive agent, and so I didn't get tempted to install the program. After a few unsuccessful trials to deal with the situation, I phoned Microsoft technical support and they promptly emailed me an anti malware software. It helped, of course, but it took me several days to make sure everything was under control.

The whole thing scared me so much that I tried to forget all about it. When the attack was on I took a shot of the ad but apparently didn't care to save it.

Anyway, that's all behind me now, and I'm looking forward to get a new computer, hopefully by the end of next week. In the meantime, things are not easily done and certain things (slideshows, for instance) will have to wait .

GO SOLAR !

I'm a great believer in the marvelous, free source of energy, the Sun; solar energy, solar power, solar cooking, solar heating - all these terms just "turn me on".

I remember holding in my hands a little book named "How to live without electricity - and like it" by Anita Evanghelista. I said to myself : with such a title and with such an author's name , the book must be interesting. It was. Especially the chapter which deals with solar cooking. The author mentions there cooking a casserole. Casserole? It took me nearly an hour to boil some water for a cup of coffee. But the blame is on me - lack of practice in handling the solar cooking device and also the fact that I had to wear heavy-duty sunglasses (according to the instructions in the book) which is not exactly something I'm used to in my conventional cooking.

And then there was this other litttle book "547 ways to be fuel smart" by Roger Albright. Again, I said to myself : such a precision, not 500 and not 600 but 547 - there must be something in this book. There was. I learnt from it , among other things, that the simple, primitive device known as the clothesline on which I hang out my clothes , is in fact a solar dryer, and I happen to agree with the author "it works like a charm ..." and saves money. Wow! I was using a solar dryer and I didn't even know that!

But the book that got me daydreaming ( on the possibility of living in a solar house), was "The solar home" by Mark Freeman. On the back cover of this book, a smashing pair of sentences caught my eye. Listen to this: "Baking really good bread is difficult. Building a house is easy". I totally agree with the first sentence, but as to the second one, if it's easy to build a house how come he wrote a whole book on that?!!

(Honestly, the above three mentioned books are good books on the solar subject as opposed to a fourth book which I won't even mention its title and name of author. This book had great publicity and I was extremely dissappointed by it).

Although Israel , where I live, is a country with sunny days most of the year, the only significant use of the sun's energy is displayed in the water heaters that cover roof-tops all over the country.

I've always been fascinated by the work of these south-facing water heaters. The unit consists of a water storage tank, and two flat panels that absorb solar radiation, and heat the water in the tank. Even in winter, if there are sunny days, there'll be hot water in the storage tank, and from there, through insulated pipes, in the bathroom and kitchen taps. It saves a lot of money on the electricity bill. and a good heating system can last as much as twenty years.

There are three main models of solar heating systems (enlarge attached pictures) : a vertical tank with two panels (collectors), a vertical tank with only one( big ) panel, and the latest model: an horizontal tank with one panel. In my non-expert opinion, the oldest model is the most efficient one; besides, if one panel happens to get damaged, you can carry on for a while with the remaining one and still get hot water . The other two models evolved out of esthetic considerations.

(On solar gadgets, and on my tiny collection of solar items in slideshow format - in another post).

vertical tank with one panel; vertical tank with two panels

horizontal tank with solar panel

Turkish "Delight"

potatoes on the israeli market.

still in use in some turkish markets

Turkey , as far as I know, is the largest producer of potatoes in the Middle East. I like the texture of those smooth reddish potatoes imported from Turkey. I eat them mainly as mashed potatoes accompanied by cheese ,meat, or fish.

Lately, the relationship between Turkey and Israel has developed into something ugly ; israelis have reported meeting with great hostility in many parts of Turkey. One of the Turks' favorite "greetings" is to spit on the israeli tourist. As a result of this atmosphere, and of some political issues between the two countries, there are voices calling for a boycott on turkish products. A neighbour of mine is rather 'active' in this initiative.

Last month, she "caught" me at the supermarket with turkish potatoes in my basket and criticized me for that. I said : " Look, I don't drink turkish coffee, I don't buy turkish lokum (also known as turkish delight), I don't eat turkish kebab or lachmajun, I don't even intend to visit Turkey ,although I could if I wish , go as a non israeli (I own also a romanian passport); Isn't that good enough for you? I won't give up the potatoes. Period".

I'm not much in favor of boycotts, but those here who want an efficient boycott, should , I think, concentrate on the touristic issue. All year long, israelis 'invade' Turkey, and so, nicely contribute to its economy. One of the most popular regions favored by the israelis is Antalya , known as the 'Turkish Riviera"; this resort offers lots of attractions at very reasonable prices.

Soon after the incident at the supermarket, I met my neighbor's son, a fresh computer science graduate, and asked for his expert advice on buying a new computer. "Can it wait a week" he asked me "I'll be back by then from Antalya and we shall discuss this matter at length" "Antalya?! Does your mother know where you're flying to ?" " She bought me the tickets as a graduation present" was his reply.
How about that?!!

Antalya - beach

on the way - in Antalya

The Man on the Train

'Ayalon' bridge - to the central railway station in Tel Aviv

Waiting on the train platforms

I like to travel by train. The wide windows bring you scenic spots along the route; on a train you have a comfy seat, enough room to stretch legs ; you can go to the vestibule to take a fresh breath, and you can meet unexpected people.

I got on the train Tel Aviv - Haifa. Someone sitting on the opposite bench stared intensely at me and this made me feel very uncomfortable. He sensed that , and finally opened his mouth:

" I saw you on the platform waiting for the train and heard someone calling you Duta, so I decided to follow you. You probably don't recognize me as I'm very much changed physically , but I was one of your brother's best friends."

He gave me the details . I was familiar with the name ; it brought back to me unpleasant memories of a young successful man guilty of the sin of Pride. I was surprised to see him on a train as I knew he was a very rich guy who had a personal car driver and even owned a private light plane. Well, not any more. He told me his story.

The troubles in his life began with his only son falling into drugs. To buy the stuff, his son used to steal money and jewelery not only from his parents but also from neighbors , relatives, and friends. Next, he joined a gang whose specialty was breaking into houses and empty them.

The man's wife got into depression and never recovered from it. After her untimely death, he ceased to function and lost almost everything he had. Luckily, he met the woman who was to become his second wife, a naturopath by profession, and by using the naturopathic approach , she gradually put him back on track.

''The other night" the man said " I had a weird dream. Your brother was chasing me with a stick . This running and chasing thing happened a lot in our childhood games, but such a dream just before meeting his sister on a train - this must have a meaning, maybe more than one. I know , I deserve to be beatten. I was vain, turned my back on my friends including your brother, departed from my authentic roots . Perhaps this dream was also a warning of your brother saying stay away from my sister, you're Trouble."

I told him that in my opinion both his interpretations of the dream are correct. We pay for our vanity , and my brother, may his soul rest in peace, wanted to spare me the treachery of friendship.

When we got off the train I realized he hadn' t said a word on the whereabouts of his son. I was afraid to ask, and I wanted us to part on a positive note.