Israeli Mom

This post covers the third day in our five and a half months of traveling in North America. Previous post is here. First post is here.

For our second day in the city of San Francisco, we opted to leave our car in the hotel’s garage and explore the city on foot.  The Buena Vista Inn is located along Lombard street, but don’t let that name, Buena Vista, fool you. It is in a part of the street which has none of the nice views the Russian Hill area offers. Lombard Street is in fact a very long street, crossing San Francisco from the Presidio in the west to the piers in the east. Its claim to fame stems from a very short section, only 400 yards or so in length, between Hyde and Leavenworth streets, where a series of eight sharp curves or switchbacks are tucked in, one immediately following the other.

Looking back on Lombard street - this is just part of our climb for the morning!

In the tradition of the Roman Empire, American cities are often built in grid format, ignoring natural features such as hills or valleys. Differences in terrain altitude tend to be raped by the artificial rows and columns, often forcing drivers to deal with steep grades. This is quite different from what we have here in Israel, where hills are traversed by means of long curvaceous roads.  With no grid to adhere to, buildings are simply built along roads, often broken into fractal-like smaller roads, either connecting back to main roads or ending in makeshift cul-de-sacs. In a sense, this reflects both the chaotic spirit of the Middle East as well as the inherently anarchistic nature of this country.

Apparently, even the grid has its limits. Lombard street, where the road comes down from the Russian Hill in a steep 27% grade proved to be too much of a challenge for early twenty-century motorists. In that short span of a road, nature won and in 1922, the crookedest street in the world was paved.

This was our first destination for that crisp San Francisco morning. We got up at the more civilized hour of half past five (which goes to show that everything is relative – this was more civilized compared to the previous day’s 2 AM). Two hours later, we could no longer sit in our motel room and  so headed down Lombard street, going east. Actually, we soon were going up the street rather than down. You see, what most maps fail to point out is that to get to such a steep decline, you actually have to climb up first. The kids and their Dad joyfully stormed up the wide paved sidewalk and I followed them in a more respectfully measured pace.

We were rewarded with the beautiful sight of a winding red brick lane, walled in by low-lying  green hedges and framed by red brick walls on each side. On the horizon ahead of us laid the beautiful San Francisco skyline, with Coit Tower and Bay Bridge hanging above the water to the east. The kids were eager to zig-zag down the hill as fast as they could, but alas, pedestrians are directed to a much safer staircase, alongside the street, where many tourists were making frequent stops to take pictures of the street.

Look, Ma! Lombard Street!

From there, we made our way through various streets, criss-crossing from Lombard to the parallel streets of Chestnut, Francisco, Bay and Beach, until we finally found ourselves near the northern edge of The Embaracadero, that long street that is the city’s eastern waterfront. This was Fisherman’s Wharf, that famous San Francisco neighborhood and magnet to the tourists. My plan was to visit Boudin’s bakery and have some of their famous chowder for lunch. En route, we made a stop at yet another well-known American culinary establishment, or branch of, and let the kids fuel up on McDoubles and Fries. This may seem like junk food to Americans, but for our kids, McDonald’s was still a rare treat at the time. With a Happy Meal costing nearly $10, and with almost nothing on the menu at under $5, over here going to McDonald’s is a big deal – a family night out. Being able to get McDoubles for a buck was a novelty!

With them fed, we continued strolling through the busy streets surrounding the piers, stopping occasionally to admire not only the colorful souvenir stores, but the very exotic (to us!) food stands selling oysters, crabs and lobsters, and other poor animals you rarely get to see back home, where seafood is often referred to using nasty Biblical terms. Spotting Boudin’s proved to be quite easy. I was expecting a small neighborhood bakery, possibly with a line of locals and tourists by the door. I can only assume the place has grown significantly since the early days, back when Isidore Boudin arrived from France and brought along his recipe of sourdough breads. These days, Boudin Bakery on Fisherman’s Wharf occupies a rather large building. On the right side of the building, we stopped in front of the large glass windows exposing the bakery itself, where metal baskets hanging from rails were constantly on the move between ovens, on a polished and efficient production line. Underneath, two bakers in white aprons and hats were busy sculpting unique breads. We stood there, watching one of them worked on a small alligator, gently adding features to the elongated form. The other one was working on forming snakes. Must have been reptiles day or something. Neither one of them looked up at the gawking tourists on the other side of the glass.

Baby alligator at Boudin's

Boudin's Clam Chowder

We moved on, past three round metallic chimneys and found ourselves in front of the large entrance. I ordered two portions of clam chowder, Boudin’s signature dish, and within a few minutes we found ourselves heading out the back door, with a tray holding two huge round loaves of breads, each one full of hot creamy chowder. The bread itself was delicious. As for the chowder, I guess it’s an acquired taste and while I managed to acquire some of it during the meal, IsraeliDad decided he simply does not like clam chowder. Well, you have to try these things to know, right?

No matter how much you like that chowder in a bread, I doubt anyone can finish the entire thing, bread included. We had quite a lot of bread leftovers, which we bagged and took with us as we left the place and crossed the street behind the bakery unto Pier 45. In a very relaxed mood, we took in the views, sounds and smells of the ocean and shared the blessing of the bread with appreciative gulls. When we ran out of bread we looked at what lay ahead of us, a large submarine, anchored to the docs.

Inside the Pampanito

We bought tickets for the four of us and were pleased to see that this was a self-guided tour, to be taken at leisure and with the aid of a patient audio guide. I am sure IsraeliDad could tell you more about the submarine, as he was the only one who actually wore the headphones and stopped at designated points to listen to the explanations. Once we went down into the  submarine, Dan declared he was seasick and wanted out into the fresh air. The narrow passages were all marked as one-way routes, so me and the boys almost ran to get through the entire inner trail and let Dan out. We did make quite a few stops, to allow Ron to enjoy some of the exhibits, but these were too short, as Dan insisted on moving on as quickly as possible. Eventually, we came out of the other side of the submarine, with Ron complaining that he didn’t get enough time to enjoy the tour. He then went back to the beginning and went down again, leaving me with Dan on the deck, wondering just how safe is this for a nine-year-old boy to take this tour on his own…

All’s well that ends well. Ron and his Dad finally showed up again and the four of us left the submarine. The large warehouse across from the sub lured us in right away, with a colorful array of machines – and thus we entered the Musee Mecanique. I had checked their website during the trip planning phase, and to be honest, it was a bit too spooky for my taste. I mean, coin-operated fortune tellers, player pianos, love testers and antique machines in general, are the stuff of horror movies. Just listening to the music on their website sent chills down my spine, and that spooky French name didn’t help either.

at the Musee Mecanique

In reality, the Musee Mecanique was not only benign but even mundane. The large space had huge openings that let in daylight, and the concrete floor and bland walls made it look anything but sinister. We joined a dozen or so other tourists strolling between the machines, and ended up spending four quarters altogether on ancient pinball machines. We didn’t try any of the fortune tellers though. They still were too spooky for my taste. Finally, having had our share of kitschy twentieth-century penny arcade machines, we left Pier 45.

My original intent had been to focus on the more famous Pier 39, leaving the less popular Pier 45, with its submarine and musee mecanique further down the list, occupying the “things to do if we have time and energy later in the day” slot. It was only our second day into traveling, and already we were breaking away from my carefully planned timetables. And you know what? I loved that! I was enjoying the way we so naturally glided into a more relaxed set of mind, exploring the environment not by a designated plan, but simply by following our senses, and pursuing our whims.

Still, I didn’t want to miss out on the Sea Lions colony, and indeed they were a hit with our family. I believe our kids drew almost as much attention as the large marine mammals, squealing and screaming with joy whenever a sea lion would pick a fight with another, which seemed to happen more or less constantly. Admittedly, this was lots of fun, watching these huge brown blubbery bodies squirming against each other, trying to get some sleep in the sun, as newcomers tried to make their way up the wooden docks, pushing through and barking up a row. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to have seen the Sea Lions at all. Apparently, the previous year, they had left San Francisco, leaving marine experts baffled and with no predictions as to their return. This happened a year after the local population had ballooned into more than 1700 individuals. Why they left, or where to, was anyone’s guess. Why they returned is just as much of a mystery. I have seen pictures of the empty docks in 2009, and it was not a pretty sight, so I am grateful for their return on time for our visit!

Sea Lions at Pier 39

We spent a while watching the Sea Lions, but finally managed to tear the kids away from the show and crossed over to the wooden decked shopping and entertainment plaza. Pier 39 was everything I had expected it to be: an unblemished bright and colorful setting for dozens of fancy shops, restaurants and cafes. It had that modern “pier” or “boardwalk” air, where all the old-world decorations and pirate shows can’t hide the sleek commercial substructure. And there was actually a pirate show going on while we were there with Johnny Depp himself, aka Captain Jack Sparrow, performing stunts and magic tricks on stage! Well, ok, so it was Captain Jack Spareribs, but to me he looked just like the original and we really enjoyed his show.

Mirror Mazing

There was one attraction at the Pier, classic boardwalk bait, that I had told the kids about and they insisted on visiting: the Mirror Maze. A relatively new addition to the Pier, this one happened to be tucked away on far side of the second level. A bored looking guy took off his ear phones to collect admission fees and hand us transparent nylon gloves. IsraeliDad thought $5 per person was a bit steep, and preferred to skip it. I would have gladly done the same, but the thought of my two boys getting lost in the bowels of a mirrored maze didn’t agree with me. So I paid my dues and followed them, clad in my own pair of gloves, to help me feel which is a reflection and which a real passageway. The boys were having the time of their life – so much so,  that they insisted on re-visiting later on in the trip. Myself, I was spooked out by all the flashing lights, loud music and overall sense of disorientation, not to mention seeing what my life would have been like if I had to raise a pair of triplets. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I mean, literally, I couldn’t. It took me a while to finally feel my way out of that chamber of torture, with making sure my two (two, not six!) kids hanging on to me.

Walking past Boudin’s bakery once again, we noticed our old friend from the morning hours – the sculpted dough alligator. It had miraculously grown during the day, about four times its original size, which was pretty impressive! My feet seemed to have gone through a similar process though. It was time to hail a cab and get back to the hotel. You can see his picture at the end of this gallery (and a bunch of other pictures as well):

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This post covers the third in our long road trip in North America. Previous post is here. First post is here.

First Day in San Francisco

Two hours past midnight, in a dark motel room, in a strange new place, still laying in their big bed, our two boys woke up and started prattling away. Soon, all four of us, were wide awake, taking baths, browsing on the laptop, reading, playing and trying to keep our voices down, so as not to wake up the guests in the adjacent room. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is jet lag.

As soon as the small breakfast area was open for business, we went down to see what’s on the menu. Everything, from gooey donuts to strong brewed coffee, was different from what we were used to. We skipped the pastries, had a quick coffee standing up, and went out to a gray and drizzly San Francisco. We had a meeting scheduled for later in the day in the San Francisco Exploratorium, but we still had a few hours to kill, so we headed out to the nearest Safeway. And don’t take that one for granted!

You see, on our first visit to the US, two years earlier, we encountered a problem. Like most Israelis, we are accustomed to a diet rich in fresh vegetables. Salad is a staple food here and by salad, we mean fresh vegetables, finely chopped and seasoned with some olive oil, a touch of lemon juice and a sprinkle of salt. In Israel, even McDonald’s serves a good salad, freshly chopped to order. We soon found out that this is not the case in the US and within a couple of days developed an intense craving for some fresh veggies.

We were in San Diego at the time and consulted with our GPS about the nearest supermarket. The only name I was familiar with was Walmart – I had seen it bashed on internet forums often enough. So this is what we fed into the GPS, which in turn brought us to a huge Walmart store in San Diego.

We strolled from one aisle to another, itching to take out our camera and snap some pictures of these huge buckets of ice cream, pails of butter and jumbo sized milk cartons. It felt like a theme-park ride: A Walk in a Supermarket of Giants. There were no vegetables that we could see though. Eventually, I went up to one of the workers there and asked her where we might be able to find some vegetables. She pondered the question for a while and finally suggested that we may find some frozen peas in aisle four.

Fortunately, we ran into a compatriot the following day, while visiting Balboa Park. The lady sympathized with our unfulfilled veggie cravings and provided us with names of other stores, ones that actually carry fresh produce. That was how we learned of Safeway, Albertson’s, Vons and other wonderful supermarkets, where they had all the tomatoes and cucumbers our hearts desired.

Fast forward back to 2011, and here we were, on our first day in the US, pointing the GPS at the nearest Safeway, and being very pleased with ourselves for knowing where to get fresh vegetables!

San Franciscans proved to be an amenable lot, at least judging by the nice people at Safeway and the Tmobile store. Americans may be used to polite and cheerful service providers, but for us Israelis this was a true novelty. Soon enough, armed with two local mobile phones, and fully stocked in the food department, were ready to start our day.

We headed out towards the Exploratorium, to meet another Israeli family and enjoy our first day of sightseeing. Driving through the streets of San Francisco was challenging, but not because it’s a difficult city to drive in. IsraeliDad, our designated driver, was still adjusting to the sheer size of our vehicle, while I was trying to figure out how to operate the GPS app on my iPhone. There were streets we were getting to see more than once on the way, including a very redundant crossing of the Golden Gate Bridge, which cost us 6$.

Eventually, we arrived at our destination, the Palace of Fine Arts, located just east of the Presidio and south of the Golden Gate Promenade by the sea. Having circled the ceremonious structure twice, we finally parked at tiny Lyon Street. It was a beautiful street, with majestic houses in white, pink and gray, ornate and almost sculpted, echoing the Palace laying across the lake on the other side of the road. The area was exquisitely landscaped too, with small green plots and huge pottery containers holding topiary sculptures next  each house. Each house had its own garage entrance, leaving exactly one parking spot available next to the sidewalk before the next garage entrance began. It felt almost like we were trespassing on some grand estate.

Looking around for a pay meter or some other way for us to pay our dues to the local powers to be, we saw none. The signs on the streets informed us that parking was limited to two hours at a time. With no visible system of marking the beginning of our session, we wondered how can this rule be enforced, and worried that maybe we were missing on some mystic method of operation, familiar only to locals. Eventually, we gave up on trying to figure this out, and walked away, hoping that we don’t end up having to release our vehicle from the local pound on the end of our very first day in the USA.

The Palace of Fine Arts

The Palace of Fine Arts, where the San Francisco Exploratorium resides, reminded me of similar structures we had seen in Balboa Park, in San Diego, which had been built for the The 1915-16 Panama-California Exposition. As I later learned, this was actually the case here as well. The Palace of Fine Arts was built for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition, held between February and December 1915. Just like in San Diego, a set of uniquely designed structures had been created for the sole purpose of housing the fair. These fancy constructions were highly decorative, but not very strong, intended to be torn down by the end of the Exposition. Indeed, most of them were. The Palace of Fine Arts, along with its surrounding artificial lagoon and gardens, was saved thanks to public pressure, and duly augmented to be turned into a fully functional building. I am happy to report that by 2009, two years prior to our visit, the place had finally been retrofit to withstand earthquakes.

The Palace has been the home of the Exploratorium since 1969. This hands-on science museum was breaking new grounds back then, teaching science through experience. The project was the vision of one man – Dr Frank Oppenheimer. He was the younger brother of “the other Dr Oppenheimer”, the director of the Manhattan Project in Los Alamos. In fact, Dr Frank was also part of Los Alamos team, as were many of the leading physicists of the time. You’d think the nation would show him some gratitude for his service, but instead he was put on the stake by the House Un-American Activities Committee, and sent into exile, to herd cows in Colorado. It was nearly a decade later, before he could go back to the realm of science, and that was in the capacity of a high school teacher. Oppenheimer fell in love with science education, and when he was finally offered a university position again, he focused on teaching, and creating what he called a “library of experiments”. This eventually evolved into an interactive science center: the Exploratorium.

As for our own first-hand impression, I’m afraid we were slightly overwhelmed by the place. I’m not sure whether it was the jet lag, the large juvenile crowds, or maybe our initial expectations were set too high, but what was supposed to be a pleasant dip into our favorite element, turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. The Exploratorium was like a huge warehouse (Warehouse 13 anyone?) with two levels filled with various hands-on exhibits, covering a plethora of topics. Some of them were quite complicated, and demanded an in-depth explanation in physics to figure them out. IsraeliDad has a degree in Physics, so he was thrilled with some of the demonstrations, but it was a bit too much for the kids to take in.

At the Exploratorium

We did enjoy meeting another traveling family in the Exploratorium. The Rezniks had set out on a similar, yet more ambitious journey, five months earlier. More ambitious not only because their travel plans spanned nine months, but also because they were a larger family, with two boys and two girls. Hemmy Reznik first contacted a few weeks prior to their departure, having found my blog online. We had been in touch ever since, with us keeping track of their progress across the USA, while preparing for our own trip. As with many online friendships, moving on to the “real world” arena was pretty seamless.

It was fairly easy to spot Hemmy and his wife Ronit. Both parents had large backpacks strapped on their backs, the tell tale sign of parents arriving into town via public transportation, carrying extra clothes, food and everything else necessary for traveling with four children in tow. They seemed surprisingly relaxed, allowing their kids to wander at will in the huge hangar, while enjoying a steaming cup of coffee with us in the hall. I couldn’t help but wonder if we would be the same several months into our journey. Above all, they were easy to spot because they were compatriots, and Israelis stick out in any crowd (many would add, like a sore thumb, but that would be unpatriotic of me). As we enjoyed out coffees and mutual talk, the boys struck their own affinities and were playing together within minutes.

We spent a couple of hours in the Exploratorium, after which the kids decided we had enough, and so we all stepped out to look for a place to eat. The surrounding area was surprisingly lacking in what everyone assured us would be everywhere in America: fast food chains where we can get the kids some fries. Eventually, we settled on a nice pizza parlor, and actually got to enjoy some San Francisco sunshine. Until it started raining, that is.

Having made tentative plans to meet again somewhere in Wyoming, we said our goodbyes, and made our way back to the car. Whew – no parking ticket! We did notice a white mark on the car, and I can only guess this was part of the mysterious system monitoring parking times. We didn’t stay around to see who was in charge of making these white marks, though, and drove back to the hotel. It was early afternoon, but hey, we’d been up since 2AM and desperate to get some sleep!

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Several months prior to our date of departure, I had already booked our flights, placed an order with a car rental company and made hotel reservations for our first month of the trip. By the time we had only one month left, pretty much everything, except for the bags themselves, was ready. We had my wonderfully dedicated in-laws, with whom we share the same backyard, assigned with the task of house sitting, and more importantly, cat sitting. Long briefings, oral and written, were provided, repeatedly, I might add, regarding care of our two cats. Our kids’ school was notified and the teachers gave their travel blessings. A constant stream of friends and family members was flowing through our household for those last goodbyes.

In a daily family ritual, we counted the days and crossed them out off a makeshift calendar we stuck on the fridge. We were excited, anxious, scared and thrilled, all at the same time. In short, we were ready for our big adventure.

The week prior to our flight was dedicated to packing. I had to constantly remind myself that “they have that in America too”, trying not to freak out over possibly forgetting band aids or some similar item. I had lists, carefully constructed based on items suggested by fellow travelers. They included things like food items (“you can’t get proper coffee anywhere in the States”), some local medications (“take whatever your used to”), clothes for every kind of weather (“we couldn’t find clothes for our kids anywhere in the US”). I think you’re getting the picture by now.

In retrospect, you can find everything in the US and can get away with packing nothing but your passport, drivers license and a credit card. Oh, and good coffee.

And finally, the day arrived. It was hard to believe, but we were actually and truly walking out the door with a couple of suitcases and two kids. Our adventure began.

Our flight destination in the US was San Francisco. With no direct flights between Israel and San Francisco, we had a quick stop over at Amsterdam. Sightseeing was limited to a fleeting glimpse of Schiphol airport, while literally running to catch our next flight. Both flights were mercifully uneventful. Our boys have a wonderful quality of calming down when on the move. They can be as playfully coltish as any boy, but once on the move, either walking, in a car, or on a plane, they miraculously settle down into a tranquil amenable mood. Had it been any other way, I’m not sure we would have survived the trip with our sanity intact. None of us managed to get any sleep on either one of the flights, despite having left home at the ungodly hour of Two AM.

Almost twenty hours after leaving, jet lagged and extremely tired, we finally departed our plane in San Francisco Airport. With two very sleepy kids, literally dragging on the floor behind us, we joined the long line in front of the immigration desk. It was a long wait, not made easier by having to haul the kids like a couple of potato sacks, shuffling forward a couple of feet at a time. Finally, we reached the immigration officer. She was a nice enough lady, who seemed to sympathize, but nonetheless solemnly informed us that we have to stick around for further questioning.

To their credit, the immigration officers we met at the San Francisco airport were polite and even cordial. They apologized for the delay and ran our names through their computers, while asking us a few questions about our trip. These were questions we had already heard back home, and would keep hearing throughout the trip: How can you leave your day job for so long? How can you take the kids out of school for so long? and of course, how can you afford to take such a long vacation? I guess we gave them the right answers, because within fifteen minutes or so, we were declared fit to stay in the United States of America for six months.

We picked up our luggage, placed the bags on a couple of trolleys, and crowned it all with our two sleeping boys. Us parents were all set and alert – nothing quite like being questioned by immigration officers for giving you a nice jolt of adrenaline. Eventually we found our way to the airport trains going to the car rental center, where the lines were blissfully short. It didn’t take long for us to gain possession of our car keys. Walking down the aisle looking for the car registration plate that matches the keys, we stopped in our tracks when we finally saw it. A brand new silver-colored Town and Country minivan. We had booked a minivan, but nothing prepared me for this gigantic beast.

Allow me to pause for a moment here and give you some background about our cars here in Israel. Motor vehicles in Israel are very expensive. We buy cars from importers, each essentially monopolizing a brand, making money off the vehicle itself as well as from exclusive access to parts. We also pay 115% of a vehicle’s value in taxes. That’s five times more than average taxes on vehicles in most European countries. The Israeli government makes a lot of money off taxing vehicles.

The bottom line is, cars are three times more expensive here, compared to prices in the USA, while average income is lower by one third. Combine that with gas costing twice as much as it does in America, and you can see why Israelis choose, or rather have no choice but, to get small economical cars. At home, we drive a small Chevrolet Aveo and a Hyundai Accent (fondly referred to as “the big car”, being the larger of the two). Minivans here are reserved for those who actually have four or five children, and their choice is rarely a Town & Country, but rather a much cheaper compact model such as the Mazda 5. Looking at it from the outside, you wouldn’t guess it was a minivan.

Which is something I couldn’t say about the huge vehicle waiting for us in the Rental Center aisle. Compact it was not. Having spent nearly six months driving America’s highways, I know now that its dimensions were entirely benign. Yet to us it seemed monstrously big. Having been the one who insisted on renting a minivan and not a Chevy Impala, I was embarrassed to admit that this colossus was more than I had bargained for. Literally.

“Honey, I don’t think I can drive this thing,” I mumbled as we pulled the trolleys closer.
“You’ve driven tanks before, right? I think you will have to be our designated driver,” I added, disappointed, because I had promised to do most of the driving myself.

Like children in a candy store, we began exploring the car. The three DVD screen flaps made the kids jump with joy, but alas they had no screens in them. However, we did have a shiny control panel, fully digital, with a cool touch screen, and arrays of buttons and levers, not limited to the front seat passengers. We decided to re-name the vehicle. No longer “the tank”, from now on it was known as “the spaceship”.

Getting our luggage and kids into the car was easy. They seemed so small in the huge seats, but they were happy. Once we figured out how to drive our pet monster, we were soon out of the garage and on the road. Alas, with IsraeliDad driving, I was in charge of navigation. Even with a GPS in hand, I managed to get us off at the wrong exit in the very first interchange… To his credit, he was fairly patient as he took matters, and the GPS, into his own hands, and tackled both navigating and driving a new car in a foreign city.

I can’t say I remember much of the views, or even of my own feelings and thoughts during that drive. We were all jet-jagged, culture-shocked and sleep-deprived. We reached our motel on Lombard Street sometime in the afternoon. The kids were asleep by the time we arrived, ending our plans to walk outside for a bit, to fight the effects of the jet lag. We had a long and peaceful afternoon, surfing the web, updating our blog in Hebrew (our real time travel journal), watching American TV, just to make sure we really were in the right country, and basically trying to keep from falling asleep too soon. Outside was San Francisco, California, the United States, and we were there, eager to devour it all during the following one hundred and sixty days.

I hope you’re enjoying the tale – I’ve only just started and you can expect future posts to have lots of nice pictures too!

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Finally! Season Four of the Israeli version of Big Brother started on Sunday. As with previous seasons, I am going to post about the housemates, for those of you who speak some Hebrew and try to follow the show. These posts have proved to be very popular in the past, so I decided to take a short break from m “Trip Chronicles” and honor this blog-long tradition.

Let’s start with the not very regal Royal Couple.

The “Grand Entrance” of this season was that of newlyweds Dudu and Betty Kapara. They were with their family and friends, going through their wedding ceremony, while the other housemates were getting into Big Brother’s house. As soon as they became legally wed, they left their guests to join the other tenants – still in a tuxedo and a wedding dress.

Dudu Kapara is a 34 year old truck driver from Rehovot. He works for the Israeli food corporation Tnuva. Overall, he seems like an easygoing person, providing a nice balance to his new wife’s energetic chatter. Typecast: working class antihero.

Betty Kapara (formerly Azran) is a lively 29 year old border control official who works at Ben Gurion airport. She is outspoken, opinionated (even when clearly in the wrong), and invested with her wedding. She definitely echoes Ma’ayan Huddeda and Einav Bublil from previous seasons. Typecast: the outspoken Mizrahi woman.

Ya’el Baron is a 47 year old marriage consultant from Tel Aviv, who claims who be a “natural born divorcee”. She has two kids but says raising them as a single Mom is easier for her. She doesn’t think very highly of marriage or long-term relationships and, yes, she is a marriage consultant. She is also a foxy long-legged blonde and dresses the part. Typecast: The cougar.

Yossi Sror is a 54 year old hair and makeup stylist from Kiryat Ata. He’s flamboyantly gay and proud of it, having come out of the closet only later in life, ending a former marriage of which he has two kids. It’s hard to ignore his unique style and energetic tone and he tends to mixing in words in Moroccan to create a colorful dialect all his own. Typecast: the fun(ny) queen.

Kim Ratosh is a 32 year old attorney from Kiryat Haim, and an outspoken sworn atheist. He attests to being confrontational by nature, but also a fun loving party guy. He doesn’t expect to last for long on the show, but time will tell… Typecast: the condescending know-it-all.

Avivit Bar Zohar is a 29 year old … ummm, well I guess kept woman would be the term. She needs rich, ummm, boyfriends, to pay for her lavish lifestyle and apparently is successful at what she does. People are saying she not only has a fake nose and fake boobs but has also faked her age too. Typecast: the bimbo.

Shay Regev is a 34 year old self-infatuated businessman from Tel Aviv, who likes to brag about his car, his fancy apartment and his ability to get any woman he wants. Typecast: Alpha Male or Show-off (not sure which yet, or maybe both).

Yana Yossef is a 23 year old beauty from a poor family in Tel Aviv. A practicing religious Jew during her teens, she later found out she was actually born Muslim. And that’s as close to Arab as you get in this season. She intends to go through an official conversion at some point, but for now she’s mostly busy with making a living. Typecast: the poor and the beautiful.

Sa’ar Scully is a 27 year old student from Tel Aviv. This guy is many things, all wrapped up in an attractive package. He’s an artist and a computer programmer. He’s also a political activist is what is now considered Israel’s radical left, but his military record lists 8200, the elite Intelligence unit. Typecast: The leftie, here to push his agenda on prime time.

Eran Teratakovsky is a 30 year old security freak from Be’er Sheva. He claims to have lead a career in a secret position in the military, where he was taught how to convince people to do anything he wants them to. His intro was strewn with disturbing references to what he sees as the threat to Israel by Israeli Palestinians. Typecast: Mr. Paranoid Security

Bari Simone Zohar is a 52 year old Rabbanit (Rebbetzin) and former belly dancer. She was famous in the 1980′s for her belly dancing, so not an anonymous housemate, but one who’s been away from the public eye for several decades. Typecast: the Rabbanit, with a twist.

Tamir Vardi is a 36 year old copywriter from Tel Aviv and quite the character. He calls himself “a weirdo” and he’s right, but he’s weird in the most endearing way. Imagine a hyperactive extrovert effeminate former tank driver that looks like Gila’d Shalit without the glasses, sniffing pillows to the sound of Christina Aguilera’s “I’m beautiful”. His is the only intro video I’m linking to, because it’s worth it even if you don’t know any Hebrew. Typecast: Bizarre.

Kuti Sabag is a 29 year old cook from Beit Shemesh. Working class hero of Moroccan descent, he’s had a strong sense of social injustice instilled in him from a young age. With his charm and sweet smile, I think he stands a good chance of winning. Typecast: the deprived Mizrahi

Sari Simhov is a 23 year old circus performer and interior design student from Tel Aviv. She’s left home at the age of fifteen to get away from her alcoholic mother and almost literally joined the circus. She’s a sweet girl, independent and trying to find her way in the world. Typecast: the girl you’d like to adopt.

Sophie Kravitz is a 26 year old waitress from Tel Aviv with a degree in law. She wants it all, the entire Israeli Dream, and she’s worried she may not get it in time while she’s “young and pretty”. Typecast: neurotic modern girl.

Ziva Cohen Behnam is a 34 year old housewife and mother of three from New York. Yes, “New York in Long Island”, as she defined it. She’s entirely Israeli through and through and religious to boot. She’s an extremely opinionated news junkie, obsessed with fighting Israel’s road safety problems. Typecast: that weird lady that calls radio news station.

Eitam Yissraeli is a web enterpeuner and international athlete. He is also blind and his seeing dog, Walter, is always by his side, including in Big Brother’s house. He is an inspiring figure, not allowing his handicap to come in the way of fulfilling any of his life dreams and his military service as a youth guide seems well-suited indeed. Typecast: the disabled person that proves he’s equal.

I won’t try to offer any predictions – I happen to have a lousy Big Brother crystal ball. I can tell you who my favorites are at this point and these are Eitam, Sophie and Sa’ar. Hopefully, at least one of them will make it to the final five.

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Pretty much every Israeli has a valid passport on hand. Just in case that… you know. However to visit US, an Israeli citizen must first procure a VISA stamp in said passport.

Getting a US tourist VISA is expensive and irksome. I suspect most of those reading this blog have never gone through it themselves, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to share with you the wonders of getting the desired stamp, allowing you to get to the gates of the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Only to the gates, mind – as you read through, please keep in mind that this gruelling process does not even guarantee entry into the US.

As with any process involving any government, you start off with forms. These days, the forms are digital, so the number of “pages” is irrelevant, but the questions are the same as they were when we got our VISAs four years ago. And apparently, they had a lot to ask us.

Fortunately, no one in our family is a terrorist, nor are we drug addicts. We have never conspired (their word, not mine) to violate any law concerning controlled substances. Moreover, we do not carry any communicable disease of public health significance or have ever been arrested or convicted of any crime. IsraeliDad and myself we were relieved to see each other declare that not only are we not coming to the USA in order to engage in prostitution, but we had also not engaged in prostitution or in procuring prostitutes (what is that even?) in the previous ten years. We also have not committed any “severe” violations of religious freedoms – I guess minute ones don’t count. And finally, it may interest you to know that we do not have a mental of physical disorder that poses a threat to ourselves or others.

Now, I totally understand why a government may prefer to keep drug dealers, terrorists and even prostitutes out. I imagine the United States has its own local crop and no desire to import in more from other countries. However, I cannot help but wonder if they seriously expect the forms to keep them out? I mean, has anyone ever answered “yes” to any of these questions?

Having filled up these forms – they may be annoying, but not that hard to follow – you now need a picture for each family member. Not any picture will do, mind, which is why photographers in Israel specialize in “American Visa Pictures”. Requirements include, but are not limited to, showing your face, neck and shoulders over a light background (no shadows allowed), looking straight at the camera with no tilting, showing your ears and above all not smiling. Let me tell you, it was a long time before we got our kids’ mug shots right. Here’s a tip for the next time you’re taking a family photo: the best way to make a kid smile is by telling him he’s not allowed to.

Finally, we had the forms and the pictures and had paid Uncle Sam the several hundreds of dollars needed to review our applications. Just for reviewing them, of course. Many applications get turned down, no explanation given, with no refund. But that’s not all. The next stage is the most gruelling of them all – the interview.

Let me take another break here to remind you that people going through this are just asking for permission to visit the US, spend some of their hard-earned money there, and then come back home. Fortunately for us, I guess, at the time of application, some four years ago, I had been approached by an American company about purchasing one of my websites. Back then, I mainly wanted to have the option to hop over for a business meeting and back, so I opted for a business/tourism VISA. This was fortunate, because we were not as heavily interrogated as other applicants, and the application was approved relatively quickly.

But wait, not so fast!

Having paid the fees, we were given a date and time for our interview. On a hot summer day (or so it seemed, I don’t remember the exact date), we joined hundreds of other applicants in a long and semi-orderly line outside the American Embassy’s fortified compound in Tel Aviv. The first part of the line serpented outside in the hot sun with no shade over our heads. As the line made its slow progress, I could feel the glare of the radiating sun and knew this was a one-way road to a migraine. Not allowed to carry bags, or anything else except the forms, I had neither water with me nor any pain killers.

Security checks began long before we neared the building. Heavily armed guards were running us through a succession of detectors of kinds I have not seen anywhere else. I grew up and lived in Israel all my life – I am used to security checks pretty much everywhere – but nothing compares to those of the American Embassy.

Eventually, we reached the building itself, where we could keep on waiting, standing up, with nothing for entertainment except for more armed guards and security checks. At least this was in the shade. After waiting for hours, we finally got to the first of several armored glass windows where grim officials went through our forms, and took our finger prints. By that point, I was going through the first phases of a full-blown migraine, which in my case means I find it hard to speak and my fingers tremble. My shaky fingers caused the obnoxious guy taking the finger prints to lose his patience with me and dish me an extra serving of nastiness.

Finally, we approached one of the consuls, for the actual “interview”! When the letters of invitation came in the mail, I pictured an interview with an American Consul as something quite different. “Interview with a Consul” conjured up in my mind images of fancy office, with heavy leather furniture, an American flag and pictures of past Presidents on the walls, where we would be invited to sit down and our life and plans would be discussed over a cup of tea. Okay, so I got carried away, but I really didn’t think all they meant was standing in front of yet another window, answering a few questions. At least the consul, one of many it appeared, was a nice lady and the first one to actually greet us with a smile.

I could hear people next to us, just regular, middle-aged, confessed-non-terrorists going on vacation, being interrogated about destinations and trip itineraries. For ourselves, once we mentioned the site sale and showed a letter of intent from an American company, things became very easy. She told us our applications would be approved, and we left our passports with her.

A couple of weeks later, our passports were returned to us by mail (we paid for the postage, of course), and we had our VISA. At last.

This happened several years ago, long before the current trip, but it’s been nice to get this story off my chest! Please don’t get the wrong impression here – I understand and respect the need to keep America safe, I just think it wouldn’t hurt to be nice to potential tourists while you’re at it.

I actually think this story will be all I’m going to burden you with in the preparations department. It’s tiring enough and boring enough to make me want to jump right into the fun stuff, so I’ll spare you the not very gory details of the hours spent on meticulous planning and move on, in my next post, to the actual departure date!

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Don't worry, we didn't start out with so much luggage

It’s been two months since we returned from our travels in the USA & Canada in 2011. Finally settling back into our comfortable routine, I think I finally have the time and energy to blog again. If it’s alright with you all, I’d like to share here some of our travel stories and replay our trip story, bit by bit, over a series of posts.

Be warned, these posts are bound to get long at times!

First, I need to explain why we decided to travel, why for so long, and why to America.

Life here in Israel can get very hectic at times. We are news junkies, almost all of us, and with headlines ranging from rockets in the Southern (or Northern) parts of the country, to new developments in the Iranian nuclear project, it can be stressful at times. In many ways, living in Israel is a bit like sitting on top of a pressure cooker – hot, humid, noisy and you’re always afraid the whole thing may just blow off.

Sometimes, you just really need to get away from it all. Taking a break is something many Israelis do from time to time. They go “abroad”, usually during summertime, and it doesn’t really matter where to. If you visit Israel’s airport, Ben Gurion, on a summer day, you’d think the entire country is being evacuated.

Of course, that impression is due, in large part, to the fact that Israelis seem to generate a unique optical and aural illusion, making them seem like more people than they actually are. If you see a group of a dozen Israelis, you are probably really only looking at three people. I’m not sure if that’s just because we tend to be loud, or because we move around a lot, but that’s just the way it is.

Getting away from our overcrowded small country is something of a necessity, if you can make it at all. Anyone who can afford to, will leave the country occasionally for a much-needed break. In the year preceding our own exodus, 2010, Israel’s Bureau of Statistics recorded no fewer than four million two hundred sixty nine thousand and one hundred departures of Israeli citizens. The total population of Israel at that year was seven million and seven hundred thousand people. Trying to compare to Americans here: with over 308 million Americans in 2009, only 61.5 million trips abroad were recorded. That includes crossings over to Canada or Mexico, which half of these trips were.

Why for So Long?

When we first came up with the idea of traveling to see the Great American West, IsraeliDad asked me to find out which were the absolutely best places to visit. The list I came up with included Yellowstone, Yosemite, The Grand Canyon and the Canadian Rocky Mountains among many other places. It was clear we had a lot of mileage to cover in order to see it all. The more we talked about this, the longer our itinerary became. Starting with a plan of six weeks, the plan kept growing and expanding.

At some point, it became clear we were talking about more than a regular trip. We were about to take a break from our routine life, pack up the kids and ourselves and leave behind our home, families and work, and go out to explore. Six weeks became six months, and turned from a vacation into a once-in-a-lifetime family adventure.

For a home-dwelling hobbit like me this was scary. I freely admit that I was pushing my own boundaries here and definitely getting way out of my comfort zone. Maybe this was a mid-life-crisis kind of decision too: to boldly go where I had never gone before? Either way, planning considerations soon took over and my focus shifted to practical matters.

Why America?

We were looking for a destination that combines interesting places, nice people and a tolerable climate. Traveling with two young boys, it had to be safe. Visiting a country where you need to get vaccines or take malaria tablets, or even boil the drinking water, was not an option. By the same token, we wanted a place where we could rely on having good doctors and decent hospitals.

Next, we were looking for a destination that could be traveled at length, for several months, and that we could afford. That pretty much ruled out Europe, where car rentals and accommodation are even more expensive than here in Israel. The US, with its weak dollar, seemed very appealing, with spacious motel rooms easily available at under $80 a night, cheap gas and cheap car rentals. Now, I know that Americans keep complaining about the high cost of living there, particularly when it comes to fueling those monster trucks, but trust me, gas is cheap in America. To be more specific, it’s half the price of what we pay for here.

Last, but not least, they speak English in the USA (mostly, anyway). That meant it would be easier for us grownups to find our way around and, even more importantly, would be a good chance for the kids to pick up a useful second language.

We had visited the USA once before, and only once. In 2009, we flew over to the Southwest and spent three weeks in California, Arizona and Las Vegas. I know Vegas is not a state, but it makes more sense than saying we visited Nevada, right? We hated Vegas, but we absolutely loved everywhere else. Going again proved to be an easy choice.

Now that we covered the Why’s, I’ll share some more in my next post about the preparations.

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This post is about a campaign calling Israelis who left for the US to come back home.

When we were traveling in the US, browsing Israeli websites from American ip addresses, the ads kept coming up. “Come back home before Abba turns into Daddy”. Abba being the Hebrew word for Daddy. They had several versions of the same schtick. “Before Hannuka turns into Christmas”, “before Motek turns into Honey” and so on. Obviously, we were not the real demographics they were aiming at, since we had been traveling, with no intention of immigrating.

Apparently, the campaign was taken down for being offensive to American Jews. I found this quote here -

“I don’t think I have ever seen a demonstration of Israeli contempt for American Jews as obvious as these ads.”

I have to say, I’m surprised.

I’m not a huge fan of the campaign. I think people can make up their own mind about where they wish to live. If this government wants Israelis to come back, I suggest they work harder on making Israel a nice place to live in, instead of resorting to emotional blackmail.

That said, I can’t see why American Jews should be offended? There certainly are cultural differences between Israelis and American Jews. This is not a judgement call at all.

Of course Jewish culture is more pronounced here. When you’re in America, you see Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas all over the place, when it’s the right time of year (and months before, actually). That’s part of what America is (and I loved it as a visitor!) By the same token, over here, you have greater visibility of Jewish and Israeli holidays. Visit Israel in spring time, and you’ll see Purim costumes everywhere. Come in May and you can’t escape Independence Day decorations all over the place.

And sure, we have our songs, tv shows, literature, local gossip and the rest of those things that make up one’s cultural bundle. Not to mention some pretty intense local experiences that are the kind that “you have to be there to understand”.

My point is, we are different, and for the life of me, I can’t see why this would be offensive to American Jews. No one is saying life here is better than in America. If anything, those commercials are anti-aliyah, stressing the fact that you will always feel more connected where you were born and grew up. It’s true for Jewish people who were born out of Israel, just as it’s true for us.

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Wow. That’s pretty much what comes to my mind when I hesitantly try to review the past five and a half months. Two more nights to go (not counting tonight, mind), and then we’re getting on a plane and flying back home. I still can’t wrap my head around everything we saw and did. I seriously think it will take me a while to take it all in.

I hope to be posting in more length about our trip, just give me some time to get over going back to some semblance of a normal life and getting over the jet lag. For now, just posting to share a collection of pictures from our trip.

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We’ve been on the road for almost 40 days now and finally, I have some time to update this blog too. “Too” is used because I regularly update my travel blog in Hebrew, with plenty of images for every day. Seeing as I have no time to update both blogs, I started adding a recap in English at the top of posts. This way, you can read about where we were on the day and what we did, then scroll down to the bottom of the post and view the mostly self-explanatory pictures.

The address of that blog is -

http://gosite.co.il/westcoast

Looking forward to seeing everyone there. Feel free to leave me comments in English, either there or here.

The short version of our trip story so far: America is wonderful and American people are overwhelmingly kind and generous!

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Just a quick note to post our latest itinerary -

May 2011

16-21 – San Francisco

22 – Jamestown, CA

23-26 – Yosemite NP, CA

27-29 – Monterey, CA

30-31 – HWY 1

June 2011

1-4 Los Angeles

5 Route 66, AZ

6-8 Flagstaff & Page, AZ

9 Grand Canyon NP

10 Monument Valley, AZ

11-12 Cortez, CO (Mesa Verde NP)

13-15 Durango to Gunnison (road 550), CO

16-17 Colorado Springs, CO

18-22 Denver & Rocky Mt NP, CO

23-28 Black Hills region, SD

29- July 1 – traveling towards Jackson, WY (via Cody or Thermopolis)

July 2011

2-4 Jackson, WY

5-6 Coulter Bay, Teton NP, WY

7-12 Yellowstone NP

13-14 Great Fall, MO

15-18 Glacier NP, MO

19-23 Canadian Rockies, Banff area

24-26 Canadian Rockies, Jasper NP

27-28 Driving towards Vancouver, probably via Clearwater and Whistler

29-31 Vancouver, Canada

August 2011

1-4 Olympic NP, WA

5-7 Seattle, WA

8-10 Portland, OR

11-17 Oregon Coast (Astoria to Florence)

18-19 Crater Lake, OR

20-21 Redwoods NP, CA

22-23 Gold Rush area/road 49/Coloma, CA

24-26 Lee Vining & Yosemite NP (again!)

27-30 – San Francisco (again – this time with the Grandparents)

31 – Sacramento

September 2011

1-2 Lake Tahoe

2-4 Lassen Volcanic NP, CA

5-6 south Oregon

7-19 Idaho and Montana

20-21 Salt Lake City, Utah

22-24 Moab, Utah (Arches NP & Canyonlands NP)

25 Capitol Reef NP

26-27 Bryce Canyon NP

28-29 Zion NP

30- October 2 – Open days (possibly Page, AZ, or maybe Vegas)

October

3-9 Santa Fe & Albuquerque (Balloon Fiesta!), NM

10-13 Southern NM (Roswell, Carlsbad and Alamogordo)

14-16 Phoenix area (Apache Trail, Sedona)

17-19 Anaheim, CA (you know why…)

20-24 Back to the SF Bay area!

25 Flight back home via Amsterdam

20-24 אוקטובר – מפרץ סן פרנסיסקו

All Done!

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