Israel

After staying in Europe for far longer than I'd ever expected, my next journey to another continent finally came about. I could let you guess where we went, but the title kind of gives things away. I could have put 'the Holy Land', which is how Israel likes to sell itself to tourists (and hotels, and shops, and what not...) but I don't actually belief land can be holy, even after visiting what is supposed to be just that.
So Israel. We planned the trip around Christmas time (appropriately), when the world seemed somewhat at peace and somewhat quiet. We picked tour dates (we went with a group, because my sense of adventure is not so big that I want to travel this country alone) that would fit in nicely with our days off (Ascension and Pentecost) without checking what would be happening in the country during that time. As we found out, a lot is always happening in Israel, even without the US president deciding to move an embassy. Somehow we ended up in the middle of its 70th birthday, the national Palestinian grief day, a Jewish holiday, and Ramadan. Which gives a nice glimpse of the many sides you encounter: Israelis, Palestinians, Jews, Muslims, and somewhere in between Christians. With several layers of Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman history thrown in the mix.
Several Israelis and Palestinians complained that there were very few tourists this year, probably because of the protests or political boycott or general apprehension. But let me start by saying; not one moment during this trip did I feel unsafe. On the contrary, everyone we met was friendly, helpful, and generally relaxed. I wandered around Akko's souk after sundown, with all the shops closed up and the call for prayer streaming from the minaret, and I felt as safe as I could be on the deserted streets. We visited a coffee shop on a Golan mountain (aptly named Coffee Anan), which had been closed the week before due to missiles launched from Lebanon, and the staff was as cheerful as your next door Starbucks (probably cheerfuller, come to that). I did not hesitate to leave my belongings on the beach when I went swimming in Tel Aviv. And even when we were in Jerusalem, where tension is highest and several groups jostle with each other on a very small piece of land, there was no feeling of direct danger. This is a very safe country to visit, unless you go to Gaza, or find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that could happen anywhere on Earth.
As I said, the country is many-sided, but it is also pretty small. It is about half the size of the Netherlands, and two weeks were enough to see all we needed to see. We started in Tel Aviv, which feels like nothing more than very fit people running and swimming and relaxing on the beach, but a short walk to Jaffa, the old town, and a nice tour by Sandeman showed us the history of the place. We then went to Haifa, which didn't do that much for me, and Akko, which has a very nice old city full of Arabic influences. We left the coast to go, via Nazareth, to Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee, which is the most depressing 70s kitch hotel conglomerate you'll ever see, but does provide access to some of the religious sites, as well as the aforementioned Golan Heights and nature reserves. We travelled through the West Bank to Jericho, stayed in Jerusalem for two days when we visited the old city, the Western Wall, the Temple Mount and Yad Vashem, with a trip to Bethlehem thrown in, floated in the Dead Sea, were amazed at Masada, and finally spent the last afternoon on the beach in Tel Aviv, where it all started.
It reads like a lot, and it probably was, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels like we visited several different countries, some very historic and some very modern, some deeply religious and some completely secular. From Arabic souks to the wide streets and light rail of Jerusalem's modern city, from the golden dome of the Dome of the Rock to the stilled beauty of a Greek Orthodox monastery hidden away on the West Bank, from the hip and happening (and culinary delights!) of Tel Aviv to the quiet conservatism of the Jews at the Western wall, there are so many sided to the country you start anew with fresh wonder each day. Your mind doesn't get bogged down with more of the same, for no two places are the same. And as I said, two weeks was about enough to see it all.
Our group was almost as diverse as the country we visited, with the youngest (me, apart from the tour leader) and the eldest separated by 47 years. The group consisted of people who travelled alone, couples, friends, brothers. Some had travelled all over the world, for others this was the first time outside of Europe. Some had prepared every day minutely, others had no idea of the country they were going to visit. Some were deeply religious, some had already lived in the country for several years, some were very pro-Palestinian, some were more interested in shopping for souvenirs. Somehow, it worked.
All in all, it was a good trip. I won't get into politics now, although those are hidden just beneath the surface of almost every conversation we had. I take no part in those. I just partook of a wonderful, many-layered, many-faced country, with all of its history, all the different religions and cultures and customs, and I was enchanted.

The noise of time

After reading two Agatha Christie novels while finishing up Camp NaNo (I'd never read anything by her before, and they were on sale, and I am not so snobbish about books that I am above reading 1930s crime novels - which were highly entertaining, by the way) I started in my newest Julian Barnes novel, The Noise of Time, which I picked up because The Only Story still hasn't come out in paperback. The Noise of Time is from 2016, but I'd never heard of it, and it felt like a good substitute while waiting for the novel I actually wanted to read. Which must be one of the worst reasons for reading a book, but there you are.
According to the blurb, it is about a man in 1930s Leningrad, waiting to be taken away to The Big House. Funnily enough, it took me quite some time to realise that this man was not all that happy in his life, that he was living under Stalinist oppression, that being taken to The Big House was not in itself a good thing. The novel goes on about this man, a composer, and how his life during the Soviet regime has played out. He is not a friend of Power, in fact he has three daunting Conversations with Power, which form the main subjects of the three parts of the novel, but in the end, when he is tired, he seems to give in to the Party's wishes after all. Or does he? The oppression, the manipulation, the false accusations and sudden disappearances of his fellow musicians are felt throughout the novel, but the protagonist considers himself a coward, someone who will survive because he doesn't stick his neck out.
It was only until I read the afterword by Barnes that I realised this man has really existed. Dmitri Shostakovitch, one of the most important composers of the twentieth century. This was not fiction, but a fictionalised biography. I've mentioned this before, but really, why do stories seem so much more important, seem to carry so much more weight, when you discover that they really happened?
But even if it hadn't really happened, this book still carries weight. The atmosphere, the way he paints an entire decade with just a couple of words, the short paragraphs of just three sentences invoking a whole life. And there are some great sentences in this novel. "Art is the whisper of history, heard above the noise of time" will stay with me for a while.
In the Soviet Union, art belonged to the people, as Lenin had decreed, but in reality, art belongs to no one but itself. The only way the protagonist made it through those dark times was to cling to his art, to cling to what he believes to be real and beautiful, even when Stalin decides his work is awful and should be banned. Whether everything in this novel is 'true' I will leave for others to decide; this story of suppression and creativity serves as a remembrance of darker times that once were.