Holidays in the Holy Land

Traveling. A style of living I’ve been exploring since I set off from the outskirts of Philadelphia six months ago. I’ve been a long-term guest, living out of a suitcase. I’ve settled into a home amongst strangers and have made them family. I have traveled for extended weekends in the same one set of clothing on trains, buses, and on foot everywhere from the pebbly beaches of the Black Sea through the snowstorm of a ski resort to the rain and mists of mountains almost forgotten by time. But for the first time ever in my life, on the reluctant edge of the holiday season, my friend Nathan and I shouldered our backpacker’s packs and we set off to fly into a foreign country with maybe plans, no reservations, and only a return ticket as a sense of definition.
We had decided while we were in this part of the world, we should take advantage of our one-month holiday from school, so Nathan and I chose to travel through Israel and Jordan. The Lonely Planet was our best friend. Advice from other friends who had traveled through the region led us to expect time consuming, forceful security checks everywhere in Israel, and we weren’t disappointed. Stepping off the plane in Tel Aviv, immediately after walking through the corridor to the building, before even entering Passport Control or Customs, we were stopped by two security officers who aggressively questioned us: where are you from? What are you doing here? Who are you staying with? (ummm…some guy we met on couchsurfing who we’ve never met before, and I can’t remember where he lives right now, but if you give me a second I’ll look up his address in my book) We made it through a few rounds of questioning like this in the airport. I really think it helped that the guys we were going to stay with and meet were named Goldfarb and Kotel.
We landed in Tel Aviv, an incredibly modern, gritty in some places, city that reminded me instantly of New York. Crashed in a hostel, enjoyed the best latte and chocolate pastry in recent memory on the beach of the Mediterranean, and departed straight to Jerusalem, planning on spending some time in Tel Aviv before our return flight.
Israel is an incredibly small country. Driving from North to South is a chore of less than half a day through mountains and the lowest points on earth. It took us only about an hour and a half to reach Jerusalem. I spent the ride admiring the infrastructure. It was the first time I had seen such beautiful roads (I never thought I would describe charging highways of concrete as lovely) since departing the states. I once again understood how smooth a bus ride could be. But the Western wonders didn’t end there; people carrying coffee in the streets? Many women driving? Families sitting in parks as their children romp with dogs? Frisbee? Bicycles everywhere? Extreme racial diversity? I had not realized just how non-European Georgia felt until I stepped into a “westernized” country again. The change in culture was palpable. But I must say, Georgia still has more beautiful McDonalds than Israel. One point Tbilisi.

The kosher McDonalds were blue and called McDavids

The Orthodox currently are pushing to re-segregate buses based on gender. These people didn't want that.

I can't believe I missed my chance

Landing in Jerusalem, we started our walk through what would soon become familiar streets to the home of the man I had contacted on couch surfing who had invited to let us stay for several days at his apartment. He lived on the south side of the city, so Nathan and I enjoyed quite a relaxing walk through an outdoor market, past many bagel shops (I never got around to eating a bagel because food was so expensive!!! We subsisted mainly on pita, hummus, and khalva bought from grocery stores), and through a street protest. Our host lived in a beautiful part of town; the sun was shinning on gardens in full bloom and the most domestic feral cats were wandering the streets. We settled in his living room, were generously given a key, and now had a home base to operate from.
Alright, now the lead-up is finished, I will leap immediately into descriptions and stories to carry through the fortuitous encounters and happenstance meetings that were these beautiful three weeks.
A place, with women and men as its body and buildings as its memories, has a massively strong influence on all who enter it, whether they be citizens or visitors. Jerusalem retains its core, the Old City — with its 16^th century walls and remnants of the Second Temple era lying under every layered street – insulated by a modern city all around, niched and cliqued into quite different neighborhoods: the ultra-orthodox live in semi-poverty, men walking the streets in their full regalia –long black coats, heeled shoes, side curls and cylindrical fur hats –past piles of trash in yards reminiscent of West Phily, young orthodox boys in sweaters and dress pants wrestling in the yards of schools; the Arabic-speaking population with lively markets and bars filled with smoke from the hookahs smoking men; American English from immigrants mixing with the scattered English of tourists on every walkway. A walk through a down-sloping park fills your vision with the spires of Churches, domes of synagogues, and minarets of mosques orienting the heavens above to rest upon this city on a hill. You enter the gates, and are almost crushed in the throng of tourists, stallsmen, faithful, and locals peddling and bargaining and cheating on the narrow stone streets. Market fronts hung with all bits of marketable nicks and nacks line each passageway in the covered winding maze. Here is where the city converges. Despite being quartered, the old city is the heart where each of these populations, scattered the world over, come to worship, come to tour, come to marvel and pray.





Nathan and I stood amoungst the chosen at the Western Wall at the beginning of the Shabat, the chanting and the praying immersing us as we paid our respects to this, the foundation of millennial hopes and supplications. The sun set, and the families reunited from their gender-separated prayers, and wove there way home. We climbed the Mount of Olives, and watched the lights of the city as the last call to prayer rang out.

Western Wall

Two things amazed me about this city; the Sabbath and the proximity of major sites. On that Saturday Nathan and I wandered through the deserted center streets; all public transportation ceases. Roads are closed off in the Orthodox areas. Most all shops rest as their owners respect a day of leisure, a day of family, a day for appreciating the busy week just had. The city slept as we footed our way through the churches marking many of the most important sites of Christianity. Within a thirty-minute hilly walk lie the Church of the Ascension, the Garden of Gethsemane, Mary’s tomb and location of her Assumption into Heaven, the Via Dolorosa (the way of the cross Christ walked to his Crucifixion), the location of the Last Super, and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre believed to contain Golgotha and the tomb of Christ. Hearing Bible stories throughout my American childhood, I believed the sites of these historic happenings to be quite far from each other. Walking the ancient streets where these events actually transpired, I was touched by a reality of the Bible I had never before imagined.
Jerusalem changes lives. Whether it’s the Jerusalem Syndrome (a documented psychological condition in which people become convinced they are the second coming), or, more typically, the sense of faith which permeates every community populating this crux of a city. Place, land, is more important than opinion, and all politics are birthed from the control of the land, holy to such diversities of faith groups. As a pilgrim on foot, carrying with me each day the beesewax candles to light and a list of names, living and passed, to pray for from my Georgian mother, it was impossible not to be alternated as a paced from Church to Church.

The Home of Christmas (Holidays in the Holy Land Pt2)

This Christmas was unlike any I’ve ever had before. No presents. No family. No Christmas Music unless I was singing it (and I must admit to a little bit of Rudolph as I was walking the streets of Jerusalem).
My family sent me a video of Santa Claus and his elves…it was before I left for Israel. It showed elves working a machine to guess what presents children wanted for Christmas. I watched it with Nathan sitting beside me. After spending six months in this country, I couldn’t help but laugh. It’s focus on morality and material rewards both seem so foreign to me now. In this country, a child can commit the most serious offence, but as long as s/he were penitent, the family and community would accept her/him back instantly. Living in Gldani, a present maybe consisted of a token bought on the side of the street, but one was all that could be afforded. I was traveling with Nathan during the holiday season, and we did not bother with such extraneous symbols. We wished each other a happy holiday, gave toasts to what the day meant, and that was more than enough. This was the first Christmas that I felt completely satisfied…probably because I wasn’t expecting anything.
On Christmas Eve Nathan and I made our way to St. George’s Episcopal Cathedral in Jerusalem, wandering through the Orthodox and Arabic neighborhoods to find our way. Before we even left, Nathan had researched a place to celebrate a Christmas Eve Mass. While spending time at our couchsurfing host’s, we found on the interwebs that they were hosting a bus tour to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem for a Lessons and Carol service, the first I had ever heard of. It was too late to register online, but we figured we’d stop by during the day of the 24^th to see what was happening.
We found the church, stepped through the electronic gates a second before they closed, and then feared we were locked in. After a bit of wandering through the grounds and gardens, we doubled back to look inside the chapel (they were setting up for the service) and then found a priest. Nathan began to say that we had heard of the service online, and knew that the application date had passed, and in the middle of the build up to the question if they had any places left, the priest interrupted and said: “come on! Let’s do it.” He brought us into the office and we were written onto the bottom of the list. “You see, we always leave a few open spaces on the bus, just in case things like this happen,” he informed us. “Come back at seven, and we’ll be leaving.”

Across the street from St. George's Cathedral

We returned at the appointed time to find many British, American, and many other nationalities standing around waiting for the bus. We met one Priest, who studied in Cambridge, who happened to know two professors at Nathan’s Alma Matter. I met one neat young man named Phil who was planning on studying aviation near Pittsburgh the following year, so I told him to look me up. A nice group. Then we stepped on the bus, and as we circulated Jerusalem for thirty minutes, Nathan and I made “ak gamicheret!” jokes…

St. George's Cathedral, home to a mixed and English and Arabic speaking congregation

Finally, we made our way out of the city…and got stuck in traffic. It was a short highway to the checkpoint in the wall separating Israel proper and the West Bank of Palestine; once we got through, the world changed. Christmas light, shop fronts run down but swamped with customers and men sitting around laughing spilling into the streets. The ran started.
By the time we reached the end of the main street, the rain was coming down in sheets. A smooth wind pulled it into our hats and boots. Some of the churchgoers had no protection against the sky’s gift as we made our way to Manger Square, the large square filled with year-long Christmas shops devoted to tourists and the Church of the Nativity. We found our place in line, the church not opening for us for another hour and a half, alongside a rigid row of Palestinian army men, equipped with AK-47s.
Nathan and I were quite equipped for such weather, used to traveling this time and adorning ourselves in wool and synthetics, but even so the rain started to soak in as the square was packed with people wanting to play with the tourists. At various points, the soldiers tried to move the crowd as motorcades of black SUVs roared through our line onto the main road. At this point, we realized that something else must be going on; there couldn’t be all of this security for the tourists wanting to see the church of the manger on Christmas Eve.

Church of the Nativity

After a long hour or so, during which the group was separated and reformed several times, we were allowed in. Part of what made this entire process difficult were the Crusades. Originally, when the Church was commissioned in 327AD (one of the oldest continuing functioning church in the world), it had a magnificent stone doorway, but during the following two Crusades, it was reduced in size twice to defend against invaders. Currently, although both original outlines can still be seen, on man must crouch to fit through. The perfect bottleneck situation.

Everyone must be humble to step into this church

We made our way through the main chapel, up some stairs, and out into an interior courtyard with another humility dour leading into St. George’s Chapel (St. George and the five patterned cross…constant themes leading me to think of Georgia…). Half of us made our way in, including Nathan, when we were told there was no more room until the delegation came out. Uhhh, what?? It was at this point, me standing in the end of the line with some of the ministers, rain pouring down, that I discovered that this was a particularly special service. Not only was the Anglican Archbishop of Jerusalem and the Middle East in attendance, but so was the Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church in Jordan, the crown princes of Belgium and Jordan, and the President of the Palestinian Authority. Nathan was inside and heard the explanation of the first reading, in which the Archbishop of Jerusalem dedicated the church’s support to the peace process. Eventually, as I chatted with the Jordanian and Palestinian Authority bodyguards, the delegation made there way out. The Pres. of the PA was so close I could have easily touched him. They made there way out of the door, stooping low as was necessary for any man in this place, and we made our way in as the service was started again.
This small group of the faithful, singing carols and listening to readings in an absolutely beautiful cathedral, adorned with ancient artifacts, listening to the Patriarch read in Greek, rain dripping off of us…surely, this was Christmas. Eventually, we began to make our way out after the service. I hung back, and saw in the original cathedral steps leading beneath the Alter. I broke off—this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was well worth the possibility of being left behind in the West Bank—and made may way down the ancient stone steps weaving between nuns praying rosaries and waiting for the magic hour, when Christ would be born again in the eternal mystery. And there it was, the star that marked the spot of the manger. Many tourists were lining up and taking pictures in front of it. That not being quite my style, I paid my respects, and walked out amoungst the faithful and the frivolous. I walked down the street away from the church and tried to find our buses; as I walked, I thought of the time of the year, where I had just been, and what it meant to so many who believed, and so many who wanted to see it because others believed.
We made it back to the church in Jerusalem, a bit late for the midnight service, but we had the priests with us. It was a beautiful service, and afterwards we stepped once more into the rain to head home, or rather, to a traveler’s home.
The day afterwards, my mom emailed me to ask if I had seen/ gotten caught up in the fight between Orthodox and Armenian Clerics at the Church. Luckily, I got to walk away with the impression of people of multiple faiths coming together to find their commonalities and a path to peace, especially in such a politically disputed area, and did not witness squabbling amoung men of the cloth.

← Older posts Life in Georgia: A Great Big Thumbs Up

I cannot believe that there are only 3 days of school left!  Where has the time gone?   I will be coming back to America for a visit in a week and a half!  With so little time left, I have been recalling all of the memories I have created here and I feel truly blessed for what an amazing time it has been.  Now don’t get me wrong, it was by no means easy.  There were hard times, frustrating conversations, and things that were just flat out lost in translation, but overall these past five months have been an incredible experience.  I have learned so much about Georgia both the country and its’ people, along with learning a lot about myself.
….One thing, with regard to myself, that I have learned is that I give the ol’ thumbs up in a lot of my photos…….haha …..(and you thought I was going to get all heartfelt on you!)  In reminiscing on my time here I have gone back through a lot of my photos and realized that I give the thumbs up quite frequently! ……hey it means I have had a good time!…….. It seems appropriate as a conclusion to my first five months here to give you a chance to see these marvels of photography as well!  Haha!  It also gives a nice summary. Enjoy!

Settling Into a Schedule at the Amazon Sustainability Project

The first day at the Amazon Sustainability Project in Peru is spent doing a whole lot of nothing. We get to rest for the first day because we have been traveling a lot over the past few days. I use this time to wander around and explore. This place is really nice and looks just like it does in the pictures. The staff here is also really nice and they are quick to make me feel at home. The Peruvian staff doesn’t speak much English so this provides a good chance for me to teach them some English and for them to teach me some Spanish.
I’m so glad that I already have a small background in Spanish, this makes all of our interactions easier and they are very patient. The food here is all home cooked by a dedicated cook and his assistant, and they do a great job. I still can’t believe that I’m in the Amazon, its all so surreal. I never thought I would be living in the jungle, even if only for a month. Being in the jungle, we don’t have easy access to electricity or Internet. We get electricity and internet 4 days a week for a few hours. The Internet is very slow because we are in the jungle and we have a lot of people that want to use it. Without electricity we also don’t have hot water so all our showers are cold; that will be fun. Of course there’s no washing machine so it’ll be hand washing everything and hanging it out to dry, which will prove to be a challenge because it’s so humid here and still rains somewhat often, even though it’s the dry season.
We start the second day off with a nice long trail walk that takes around 2.5 hours and is around 3 miles. I easily make the walk but I get somewhat tired out for a bit on a few of the big hills and drink 1.5 liters of water. This forest is beautiful! This walk is really just to show us parts of the forest, inform us, and get us used to walking trails. We don’t do anything special on this walk other than check a few camera traps. The camera traps are set up to go off whenever something steps in front of the sensor. We pull out the cameras SD card and check it with my camera and end up seeing some cool animals.
We see pictures of jaguars, armadillos, deer, some giant bird, and a jaguarundi (a small predatory cat). As we walk, Andy, the project’s lead researcher and manager, points out different plants that we should know. We walk by this giant leaf cutter anthill that is maybe 4 feet tall and more than 6 feet in diameter. We see bullet ants, soldier ants, beautiful butterflies and moths, crickets, grasshoppers, poisonous caterpillars (all are here), some awesome birds, and Capuchin monkeys. This walk is a great way to start off the volunteer expedition in the jungle.
On the way back we stop by the Mirador, which has an amazing view of the river and the clay lick that the birds eat to either supplement their mineral content or neutralize toxins in their diet. When we get back to camp we just relax and talk until we go on another walk with Jaz, the assistant manager of the project. The only thing we see are squirrel monkeys, but I am perfectly happy to see these super cute monkeys. We also go to the swamp in a failed attempt to see some birds. When we get back to camp we just relax and talk for the rest of the day. I take my first cold shower today and lets just say that it’s bracing to say the least.
The third day we took a night walk in the forest. On our walk, we catch any frogs we find and put them in plastic bags with leaves to study the next day. We end up walking up a stream for quite a ways. By the end of the walk, my boots had been filled with water more than a few times and my legs were soaking wet, but the walk was awesome! We saw a lot of cicadas molting, large creepy looking spiders, a few cool frogs, lots of grasshoppers and crickets, sucker fish, freshwater shrimp, and more beautiful moths and butterflies. Most exciting of all was that Tom caught a caiman!! We were walking by and he managed to grab it on the third attempt. It was about 4 feet long and not happy to be caught. It was amazing. We all crowded around to touch him, awesome. Tom named him Big Al. This was definitely the highlight of the trip so far. We kept walking down the stream but were not sure when an exit to a trail would appear and were forced to turn back to make sure we got back to camp on time, otherwise a search party would be sent out. Pretty awesome for the third day. This gives me the chance to take my first cold shower in the dark, sweet…
The next morning was spent processing frogs that we caught the night before. This includes writing down where we caught it, what it was on and how high up it was, the Latin name of the species, taking its weight, measuring the snout to butt length, and the time that it was caught. The researchers use this data to study habitat, movement, what species are in the reserve, and to look for new species (they have found 3 new species so far and recorded many species previously not known to be in Manu). This is fun because I get to handle frogs again. The day was spent learning first aid techniques, which was perfect because it was raining all day and we couldn’t go out. We got through primary and secondary first aid information, and learned how to handle situations like someone choking, how to check a person that has injured themselves and is on the ground, CPR, how to tie bandages, splints, and slings, and how to treat a snake bite. We then got into pairs and were sent out while the group came up with a scenario. Each of the pairs then has to come back into the room and figure out how to handle the situation. We made this part a lot of fun. The lessons also come with videos and we read through a “dangers of the jungle” packet. This packet discusses venomous snakes and bugs, dangers of the job, common sense, illnesses and parasites, and storm protocol. Definitely some scary stuff in this packet. Even caterpillars can kill you here, jeez. Moral of the story, pay attention to the jungle or it will eat you.
Sundays are the off day for the camp and no one works. Very nice and relaxing. Everyone goes down to an offshoot of the river to swim and play games. After, we play soccer on a small field in the camp. Past that, we just chill and talk for the rest of the day. Its really nice just relaxing and getting to know the other volunteers.

Why Teaching in Georgia is not like Teaching in the States…

…and why I love it.
Tuesday morning. I wake up in yesterdays clothes because it is too cold to take off any layers before sleeping–undershirt, dress shirt, sweater that hasn’t been washed since arriving because I don’t have enough sweaters to afford letting it air dry for five days, and jeans I have been wearing for a week. It’s a frost on your skin kind of morning. I look in the mirror and think, “well, these’ll do again for the day,” and I walk out the door, faithful briefcase from goodwill in the states slung across my back.
I set off on my dirt path to school. Instead of just droppings lying across my way, the heard of cows is lying across my path this morning. I have to climb up the hill through the brush to continue forward. The nieghborhood’s stray dogs bark and follow me to school as I pass my children shouting “Hello Mr. Cass!!!” and enter the school.
After first period, a teacher comes up to me and asks if I’m staying after school for the party. “What party?” She didn’t know, but she told me there would be cake, so I had to stay. I wasn’t quite in the mood, seeing as I had a private tutoring lesson in the evening, so I gave her the typical Georgian line “oh I am so sorry, but I cannot tonight. I have business.” The teacher was distraught. She ran off to another group of teachers, animatedly chatted, and in a few minutes my English coteacher Natia came over to me and handed me a cup of sugary, sugary instant coffee, in one of the three communal cups we all use for water and coffee and never wash. “Cass, you must stay for the party. We’re having cake!” “Natia, what is it even a party for?” “Umm, I don’t know.” The bell rings, and we go to class.
After a great class of “What is it? Is it a boat? Nooooooo. It isnut (Georgian pronunciation of “isn’t”) e boat. Itz e doll,” I head back to the teachers’ lounge. One of our Georgian teachers confronts me. “Cass, you must stay for the party, even for a short time.” “What is it a party for Manana?” “For grandchild.” “Oh! Does someone have a new grandchild?” “No.”
After third period, I get shepherded into the assistant director’s room. There are the sad remains of a torte and champagne. Natia and I sit down to enjoy our compulsory share and give toasts to our fellow teachers. Ok, so I’m happy because I’ve satisfied my obligation and my teachers are happy that I’ve eaten the cake with them. I go, teach my remaining two lessons, and get ready to leave the school.
After the last lesson, a teacher grabs me and says “let’s go to the party!” “I’ve already had some of the cake, I really can’t eat anymore,” I excuse myself. “No, no. There is a different cake.” I’m really confused, and she leads me to a room I have never been in before, our school’s biology room, strewn with plants, anatomical dummies, and student-made posters dedicated to motherhood. The beginnings of a supra are laid, and I am told the cake and chicken are coming. Here I at last find out that we are having a party for the grandmothers in our staff in general. The teachers wanted to have a party, so their planning went something like this; We should have a party! Ok, what for? I don’t know, what to we all have in common? Well…we’re all grandmothers, aren’t we? Yeah! Let’s have a party in honor of our grandmothers and grandchildren! Great! I’ll bring the cake tomorrow!
And so we had a party.
Natia jokingly said, “Cass, we should call it the ‘Grand Party’.” I loved it, and so wrote it around the beautiful flower drawn on the board. I open the champagne for the teachers (a strange simple secret delight of mine, along with pouring liquids from great heights and having milk-crate bookshelves) as the teachers shout with each pop ‘vaiiime!’ The only other male classroom teacher in the school (besides the two athletic teachers) pours me some of his homemade cognac after the champagne runs out. Rough stuff. The mandatorebi, our school’s security, and the directors stop by and make toasts. Up till this point, I had not had much communication with many of the teachers. I give stumbling toasts in Georgian, and since then they love me even more. Especially the other male teacher, who didn’t talk to me much before the party.
The cake comes, we eat, we drink from not enough plastic cups, passing them back and forth with each other, and then separate for the day. I call and cancel my private lesson for the day.
The dogs chase me back home. I am sincere when I say I could not love my work and fellow teachers any more than I do.

what do mushrooms have to do with the theme? I don’t know…

sokoti namsxvari!!!!

The sun on the wall reads ‘mother’

What we’ll see at the SSG – Aga Khan Palace – Gandhi National Memorial

Aga Khan Palace

So it looks like we’ll be visiting the Aga Khan Palace on our site seeing afternoon in Pune. Some information about the palace:
The Aga Khan Palace was constructed by Sir Sultan Muhammed Shah Aga Khan III, in the year 1892. Built in Yerwada, near Pune, it was intended to be a source of employment for the famine-struck villagers in the surrounding areas. Prince Shah Karim al-Hussayni Aga Khan IV, successor to and grandson of Sir Sultan Muhammad Shah Aga Khan III, donated the palace to the Government of India in 1969, in memory of Mahatma Gandhi and his philosophy.
The Aga Khan Palace is also known as the Gandhi National Memorial because of its close association with Mahatma Gandhi, who was kept at this palace under house arrest in the 1940s. His wife, Kasturba Gandhi, and his long-time aide, Mahadev Desai, both died of dysentery while under house arrest in this palace, and their samadhis (memorials) were built here by Charles Correa. A museum inside the palace complex has a rich collection of pictures and photographs of the important incidents in his life. There is also a wide assortment of his personal items, including utensils, clothes, mala, chappals (slippers), a letter written by Gandhi on the death of his secretary, and so on. A small amount of Gandhi’s ashes are kept here as well.
Aga Khan Palace is in Kalyani Nagar, Pune
This palace was one of the filming locations of Richard Attenborough’s biopic of Gandhi, Gandhi. Since 1980, the museum, samadhis and campus of the Aga Khan Palace has been managed by the Gandhi Memorial Society. Exhibitions are held at the palace on a regular basis to showcase the life and career of Mahatma Gandhi.
This palace also is the headquarter of Gandhi National Memorial Society.

India the beautiful

I’ve been in India for 5 days now and am having a great time.  Arriving in Pune on Jan 20 at 4 in the morning, we were greeted by very friendly taxi drivers who offered us fruit drinks and water as we were driven back to the hotel.   I got back took a nap and met with some ssg folks for lunch.  Michelle Santee and I decided to go for a small tour of Pune.  The travel desk arranged a tour of  the fort and a museum in Pune called the Kelker museum.
Unfortunatley, the fort was closed(there was some sort of police issue) so we stopped by the Ganesh temple.  This temple is awesome.  It’s in the middle of the city, on this small street with hundreds of people and cars wizzing by.  Michelle and I got out for a few minutes to take some pictures. It was an experience.
We then headed for the Kelker museum which has some beautiful artifacts.  Some of my favorite things – I  have created a photo gallery at the top of the page.  There are some great puppets and the picture of the interior of the museum which was a palace built for the wife of the owner of the museum (Ithink).  My travel companion Michelle is also there and an old wood cabinet.
ok, off to dinner.
Michelle