Is there anything more relaxing than a strenuous hike in the morning? Ahead of us lay the GOLAN, which despite my geekish tendencies is not an instruction to build a network of computers. Rather, it seems to be a region to the north of Israel populated by volcanic rocks and abandoned syrian outposts.

Before the hike U.G. volunteers to model for the rest of the group, simply because he is overjoyed at having found his second shoe (having lost it the night before while playing a fun game called "Fall down in the hedge") and wanted to show off.

The hike itself was kinda neat, as the path crossed over the stream at many points - so much of it was in the delicious shade!

At one point Ronen stopped us and we had a storytime around a creek. Something to do with foliage.

Honestly my focus was elsewhere. For the first time in my life I encountered hornets, and after realizing that the delightful large-assed insects were in fact, not so benign after all, a story involving leaves would have to have had a song and dance to pull my attention back.

We finished the hike drenched in sweat, thanks mainly to the never-ending rock stairs that concluded the excursion.

The next stop was at the Valley of Tears, where a major theatre of the Yom Kippur War took place. A movie was welcome after the hike, although the enthusiasm most were exclaiming might have had something to do with the availability of comfy seats, air conditioning, and ice cream shaped like large arrows which became a toy once you finished eating it.

After Raoul had lectured us about the evils of alcohol, I thought the last thing on the schedule would be something involving the nefarious grape. How wrong I was! The next stop was at the Yardem winery, where we were treated (tortured?) to a short film of a drunk genie and the winery owner dubbed in English. Oh, the horror. The thing is, the film is clearly aimed at children. Children with a severe lack of any intelligence at all. Yet, this is a winery. For those of you paying attention here, that kinda means that its a place for people who are legal to drink and buy wine. Yeah, I didn’t want to point that out either, since I could smell free wine on the horizon. Actually, I could smell free wine here…

Truth be told, what I really smelled was a strong overpowering odor of cleaning product. Yeah, I don’t want to know either.

Anyways, the nice tour lady nicely took us to the nice tasting room where she nicely taught us all the finer steps of wine tasting. Then since we were the last group of the day she nicely brought out a fabulous dessert wine (after tasting 3 other kinds) to finish things off. Wasn’t that nice!? I ended up bringing home a bottle of it, so I suppose she was kind of crafty as well. That or I’m easily brainwashed when I’m feeling a buzz.

The buzz didn’t have to fade after we left though, since we were ahead of schedule and had nowhere to go. Luckily our tour guide Ronen has contacts in all sorts of places ("I bring you many paying customers and you give me keg, ken?") and we headed over to a local brewing company for some good times. The times were good…

The beer.. ehhhh not so much. Someone bought a six pack, and was still feeling the beer the next day. And to add insult to injury, the beer labels peeled off in your hand and left you with a sticky residue. The bar was nice at least…

The day ended off on some fun times - dare I say Beach Partay? We had some food, part of which looked like chicken, tasted like chicken, but for the life of us we couldn’t identify what part of the chicken we had in front of us (someone suggested the chicken had been hammered, and I’m not talking drunk). Afterwards some people sat and talked, some people played football, some people played soccer, and some people danced! Some people ended up with sprained toes.. some people ended up with a bruised thumb (*cough*), and some people ended up.. well dancing! But on a bus!

Finally back at the hostel.. we were heading back to the room when Itsik (my roommate) exclaimed that I should definitely not move, while his eyes were fixed on the floor. I am sad to say that instict took over and I took a nervous step backwards. Thankfully, my misstep saved us all. For lo, I had killed the largest spider so far in my life. I managed to take a fantastic picture the next morning of ants feeding on the bounty I had offered them:

I have a strange relationship with ants. We seem to get along. So whatever I can do to further my cause among them is welcome. Also, this behemoth didn’t make it into our room during the night. Oh my fucking god.

NEXT: I Thought a Seal was an Animal?! or How I Learned to Love Very Large, Round and Furry Hats.

My first night in Israel was spent enjoying the gentle clacking roar of the air conditioning unit next to my head. The condensation dripping onto my pillow felt like a refreshing mist. As an added bonus, I spent the night dreaming I was typing at my computer while it spat at me.

HOWEVER.. AC is AC. And I was too damned tired anyways to care about the noise. Just look how chipper I was to find myself waking up to the Sea of Galilee!

The morning sun, I come to realize, is breathtakingly ginormous. That morning is the first of 10 that I get to consume the lovely spread that is apparently the only thing to eat in israel - diced tomatoes and cucumbers. Oh and eggs. And more eggs. You can have your eggs scambled, lying on top of a tomato base, or hard boiled. So your choice becomes eggs, eggs or eggs. And some sort of random cheese. Sandwiches for breakfast!? PLEASE SIR, CAN I HAVE SOME MORE…

Well. Need to be well fed, the day is packed. First up: Put away those dancing shoes, its time for a hike down Mt. Arbel!

Now, just like everyone else on the trip, I got my medical form signed saying that I was physically fit enough to come along. What I didn’t realize, was that this trip was using guide books borrowed from the weight-loss camp next door. The hike (#1 for those keeping count) was hard, but the hardest was yet to come. It started out, as all days did, with Ronin the tour guide calmly explaining how Susan needed to adjust his new Israeli attire for maximum sexiness.

And we were off! Hi ho, hi ho, down rocky crags we flow…

Hang on, hang on, or down the pit you go!

Singing the dwarves song seems to be prophetic. We discover their nests a little further down.

And finally.. a view from the bottom! Mt. Arbel, defeated! You gain +2500 xp

Next stop - Tzfat! A city who’s name is impossible to pronounce without spitting on your friends. Also there’s some sort of very ancient history there. Something about a Kaballah. What a kooky place. They have pomegranates (yes! I looked up the spelling!) growing in the streets, so you know its out there.

Kookiness (not to be confused with cookieness, which is entirely different, and much more delicious) continues with the krazy kandle shop! They really like David and Goliath there.. in gruesome detail.

After a stop at Misgav Am, a kibbutz/base near the Lebanon border, where we heard a first hand account about life on the confrontation line (which would probably take up another two meters of blogging space just by itself), we headed out for some rafting on the Jordan river!

Notice I don’t say whitewater…

First of all, for whitewater, the operative word here is white. As in moving fast. As in raging, torrential river. The part we managed to survive was about the width of a double driveway, brown and shallow. But if the water isn’t going to be exciting, might as well make your own fun, eh?

And so.. attack boat alpha zulu was born. We were savage hunters, tracking down other Toronto 10 boats and mercilessly splashing them. Of course we got as wet as they did in the process, but that’s besides the point. Of note were a bunch of singing british orthodox girls in a boat we passed, who decided to give us a taste of our own medicine. Alas… they did not have very good balance. The thing about a boat is that… its floating on water. There’s not that much friction there. So really, standing up isn’t a good idea, especially to swing a paddle into the water.

*Kerplunk*

One singing british orthodox girl overboard! Oh look, her friend is helping her…

*Kerplunk*

TWO singing british orthodox girls overboard!

Our work done, we sneak away into the mists.

Later on after a nice pita pizza dinner (corn pizza? yes please!) we head back to the hostel for night number two of some fine socializing.

NEXT: Taglit Sponsored Alcoholism or How I Conquered My Fear and Defeated ARACHNIDON, the Spider Demon of Poriah

I get a family sendoff at the airport. I’m to take a pre-flight to Toronto where the rest of my group is leaving from. Sure, I’ve been to the Tee-dot before, but always by car. Pearson international is a new one for me. Apparently, terminal 3 is where the unfavorable airlines crash-land at, so I get to take a robot train. The beauty of Toronto is breathtaking. Notice the aesthetic placement of the pylons.

I slowly wipe a tear from my eye, and focus on finding my group. Actually no - I focus on finding something to eat. I have 6 hours until takeoff. The Jewsies can wait.

Five hours left. I sigh, getting a strange look from the table next to me. Onwards to terminal 1!

I see a group of people gathering in what I deduce to be the correct spot. Can it be them to which I must announce myself? I play the spy and roll my cart by them, listening, watching for clues. And then - a flash of red. Could it be!? Red hats.. being distributed! I have found them!

But there is still… 5 hours left.

I don’t know about you, but I would find it annoying to hang out with some of my best friends for five hours straight, unless we’re happily being distracted by a Two-Four, or a Battlestar Galactica marathon. Remove these from the equation, and add total strangers, and my desire for hangin’ ebbs away.

Solution? Read.

I strategically place myself where I can keep an eye on my quarry yet seem inconspicious. I swear, in another life I’m a freaking KGB agent. Anyways, after some time passes its staring to get a little ridiculous and I announce myself with little fanfare. A stylish sticker on my chest announces my name to potential friends and enemies. I end up standing around looking awkward anyways even after all my sly observational skills. Lets get to the flight.

In a word, its a bitch. Some asshole from another bus has somehow managed to finagle a seat next to another girl on his bus, which happens to be right beside mine. So, in what must have been the longest first date ever in existence (not to mention that your date can’t really get away), this gem of a human proceeds to cruise the girl for the next 12 hours next to me. Now we all know how important body language is here, but apparently my neighbour is completely unable to convey anything to her without large sweeping gestures of his arms, elbows, hands and legs. Now, I had no idea that these two randy fuckers would not end up being on my bus, and I really didn’t want to start the trip out by being "That Guy", so with an increble amount of willpower (and absorbing the blows my right arm was recieving every few minutes), I didn’t say anything.

Anyways, 12 hours later.. I notice that I’m in a slightly different country:

Raoul greets us all. I didn’t know that anyone was actually called Raoul in real life. The trip just started, and I’m already learning.

Raoul starts lecturing us on the evils of alcohol. He seems to stress the $3000 return trip fee we need to pay by getting booted off the trip. He also has some words of wisdom to share with us:

"Its not a party."
"No alcohol before 8 pm."
"Its not a party."
"THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS!"
"Its not a party."

Anyways, we run away from this angry little man and hit the Wall of Heat outside (note: not an actual wall). I feel something on the back of my neck. Its moist. Its wet. Its sweat. Its here to stay. It says hello, we’ll be spending every minute together for the next 10 days. Hope you don’t mind sticky smelly shirts. I wipe, but he returns. I go into the shade, but he remains. I get on the bus, but he’s become one with my shirt. Defeated, I accept him and pray I’ve brought enough deodorant.

We’re all tired, but the trip must start! Lets go plant some trees! I choose the crappiest one and prompty kill it by spilling the bag all over the ground.

The tree lady talking to us took no notice however and serves us shots. But what of Raoul?! This trip isn’t a party! I had half a mind to.. ah. Juice. Tricksy.

Sweat, my new found friend, was explaining to me about his talents as a tree planter when we arrived to the beach. The ancient roman city of Ceaseria! For the fist time, Ronin (our tour guide) decides to show us what the latest in Israeli fashion looks like. He points out the slimming nature of the leg region as well.

Ceaseria is beautiful…

But deadly!

Well.. maybe "deadly" in way that wet noodles can be deadly if left on a linoleum floor.

In any case, the swim marks the end of the day and our first night in the Poriah youth hostel, which, for a hostel, was pretty damn sweet. Of course, it was in the middle of nowhere, and you could see Jordan across the Sea of Galilee, but hell, at night with the heat rising off the hills the Jodanian city lights made the hills look like they were on fire. Add a some Rum and coke, and some newfound friends, and kids, this trip is officially underway.

NEXT: Greywater rafting on the Jordan river OR How I learned to attack british orthodox jewish girls with my paddle.

Why?

Why Israel?

My personal identity has always been steadfast: 1. Canadian, 2. French, 3. Jewish, and in that order. Except for a small amount of time when I was younger, I have not been part of Jewish schools for the vast majority of the time since my brain could actually concentrate on something more meaningful than placing coloured plastic blocks through holes. I have not been a part of any local community except for a couple of immediate neighbours growing up, and the only reason we were interested in when the first star appeared in the night sky on Saturdays was so my friends could know when they could take a crack at MarioKart in my basement.

High holidays got their props in my world, but mostly out of respect and not out of ritual. To the full extent of the term, I am (or was?) a Jew in name only. I am a Canadian. I have an open mind. I hear about the latest events in the middle east, and its clear that they’re happening to another country. My connection, my love, is for Canada - my land.

Yet - I am Jewish.

For others like me, this is enough reason to send my disconnected self on a trip to a thin strip of desert on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean sea. From my perspective, I am being offered a free trip for the simple fact that my parents happened to be Jewish.

Ten days later… well I’ll leave my feelings about the whole thing until the end. As I often do for these travels o’ mine, a travel log is a definite must. Prepare yourselves.. the inner workings of my mind await you. And I have to say.. 40 degree heat cooking my circuits does nothing for my sanity.