Incredible luck in Milan

So! We're back from almost 4 weeks of hair-raising travel in Israel, Jordan, Egypt, and Italy. When I've got a decent internet connection again (read: after July 2), I'll share some stories and pictures.

I do want to describe one incredible stroke of good fortune I had in Italy. I got to see Leonardo's Cenacolo - without booking ahead.


Disclaimers: Yes, I have read the Da Vinci Code. Yes, I thought it was a flaming pile of crap and I think my cat could write a better novel. And no, I do not think the figure to Christ's right is Mary Magdalene. Sure, he looks girly, but so do some of the others - and do the math, for cryin' out loud!


And don't even get me started on the fact that paintings - like books - are in no way required to represent reality. Seriously. It's a painting made 1400 years after the "event." Why would you make any assumptions as to its accuracy? I have conversations with my freshmen like this all the time.

Whoa. OK. Rant mode off. Check out this article from about.com if you'd like to read from someone else pissed off about supposedly intelligent people abandoning rational thought processes when it comes to The Da Vinci Code. If I ever meet Dan Brown, I'm going to punch him in the face.

What the hell was I talking about? Oh, right. Me.


I was in Milan two days ago, and KC suggested we try to get in to see Leonardo's Cenacolo. I'd heard horror stories about trying to get in, and we hadn't been able to book tickets online.

Speaking of horror stories, don't ever try to drive in Milan. Ever. Just dump the car somewhere and take the Metro. KC heroically tried to get me close to the site of the painting without accidentally entering some 70-euro-fine-no-drive-zone. Finally he gave up, parked illegally, rolled the windows down, and pointed me toward the church. Since he'd already seen the painting, I hit the pavement.

Three long blocks in 95 degree heat later, I'd identified what I was pretty sure was my destination. I saw a big round church with a teeny-tiny glass door off to the left. I marched through the door into a tiny waiting room.

Only 25 or so people are permitted 15 minutes of time in the room with the painting at once. If you show up less than half an hour early, they don't let you in. I was counting on one tiny clause buried in the Lonely Planet - "and your ticket will be resold."

Off to my right in yet another waiting room, about 15 people already had their audioguides glued to their ears. An elderly man waved me up to the counter. I told him that I'd like to buy a ticket. "No ticket!" Yes, that's right, I don't have a ticket. "Sold out!" He gestured toward a big orange Sold out sign on the wall.

I attempted to explain that I wanted to buy a ticket from a cancellation or a no-show. He waved his arms at me, punctuating the international "you're an idiot" symbology with "no tickets two weeks!" and "call for reservations!" Finally I folded my arms and said, "I don't think you're understanding me." The man passed me off to his colleague, a young woman who had excellent English.


I very humbly explained to this woman that I knew reservations were required far in advance, but I had heard that they would resell the tickets of people who didn't show up. Were there any tickets like that in the next two hours? It was about 4 pm, and I knew they closed at 6.

She scrutinized me over the counter. Finally she asked, "Just you?" Yes, just me. Just one teeny ticket. She looked me over again, then said, "I don't know. Wait 5 minutes."

I had to piss like a racehorse, but I was scared to go out of this woman's sight, so I parked myself in the corner and fidgeted from foot to foot for about 10 minutes. While I waited all kinds of people came into the ticket office. One strangely-dressed young man seemed incredibly suprised that there was any type of system at all surrounding the painting. Four American teenagers came in, waved their guidebooks around, exclaimed over the improbability of planning so far ahead, then meandered out. But out of all the people I observed in those 10 minutes - maybe as many as 15 people - not a single one asked if a ticket was available right now.

Finally, another woman waved at me and pointed back to the first woman. I plastered my fake "well, trying your best is all that counts" smile on my face. She solemnly intoned, "Six-fifty."

"What???"

"Six euros and fifty."

I felt the blood rush into my face. "You're actually selling me the ticket?"

She finally cracked a smile. "Yes, but you have to hurry."

I shoved my money across the counter, grabbed my ticket, and darted through a set of closing glass doors. Two more environmental-control rooms later and I was in front of it.

To make an encounter precisely 15 minutes long last only a few sentences, I'll say that the painting is worth all the fuss. It's in absolutely dreadful condition - it's amazing there's anything left at all - and some idiot decided to replace Jesus' feet with a door. But it's huge, and stunning, and the humanity of the figures is positively overwhelming. I was especially moved by Phillip, the third figure on Christ's left.


There are a few benches in the room placed about 20 feet from the wall. I was the last one in, so there were no more seats. I spotted someone who looked like a guide and asked if it was possible to go closer. After a chorus of surprised Si's, I walked straight up to the front of the room. For awhile I was the only one - every one else was listening to their audioguides.

No way do I recommend doing what I did. I got incredibly, once-in-a-lifetime lucky. Do yourself a favor and book the tickets if you're going to Milan. The painting is worth it. And while you're in the refectory, don't forget to turn your back to the Last Supper and check out the other great painting in the room - a Crucifixion by Giovanni Donato da Montorfano.


For you armchair explorers out there here's an article from Wired magazine about a 16 GB version of the painting itself. It's possibly the highest-res photo in existence. If you've got a better internet connection than me, check it out - then book your flight to Milan. The real deal is stunning.

Eastward bound

Heading out to Jordan in an hour, insha'allah. Won't be bringing the laptop, so these on-the-road posts will stop for a few days.

Quick update:
We've spent a day in Jerusalem, a day doing some fun outdoors/archaeologial hikes (one involving crawling on our bellies through 16 inch tunnels), and a day at Ben Gurion giving talks, followed by dinner on the beach in Tel Aviv.

We're back in Cairo on June 9th.

Day One - the Dead Sea

After an exhausting, hot, sweaty day at Masada, it was all downhill - to the Dead Sea. Masada is on the edge of the Dead Sea, so we'd already done 99% of our descent to get to Masada.

We wound down and down and down to get to the Sea - it's about 1400 feet below sea level. As we passed the elevation markers (somehow we missed the "0 meters" mark both coming and going), I began getting a series of text messages.

Welcome to Jordan. Stay connected to Vodafone customer service by dialing ....

What the hell???

Ah, right. Everything's close together here. That's Jordan right up ahead.


My phone cheerfully told me I was using Israel's Orange network - and then 20 seconds later, I received another text message.

Sending SMS from Jordan on Orange costs ....

These guys can't even leave the cell waves harrassment free.

We'd picked up a hitchhiker at Masada, an extremely unfortunate Spanish grad student who'd missed the afternoon bus and had been standing in the blazing sun for an hour before we came along and picked him up. Introductions all around, then on the way to his hotel I had a brainwave.

"Hey David, what's the Castellano word for socks?"

"Calcetines." Weirdo.

Ah hah! Outstanding linguistic mystery solved by fortuitously-met hitchhiker!

As we got closer to the Sea itself, I was struck by the physical similarity to the Arctic. Check out these salt bergs! Not my photo, unfortunately; I missed my op when the light left.


And yes, everything you've heard about the Dead Sea is true. You're way more buoyant, you can read a newspaper, and Russians wear teeny-weeny swimsuits. The water is fantastic for the skin - I've never had such silky skin. The bottom of the Sea is pure salt, not sand - perfect for impromptu pedicures. What you may not have heard is that the Dead Sea stinks a bit (the stretch of road next to the Meridian hotel is appalling) and the water has a very odd oily texture.

And it burns! As we first stepped into the water, our hostess was chuckling about the reaction people have when the water first gets on their cuts. She delivered her coup de grace with, "And people with diarrhea! Forget it!! The looks on their faces!!!"

Ahem. One of the joys of being an ex-pat is knowing that everyone around you is familiar with the state of your bowels.

Let me just say, she was not joking. Seriously. Do NOT attempt.

Day One - Masada

Traveling without jet lag is grrrrrr-eat!

On our first full day in Israel we had a big agenda. We had rented a car (apparently I missed the "KC wants to rent a car and drive in Israel" conversation) and we had the morning to ourselves while our hosts um, worked. They suggested that we head to Masada, then meet them at the Dead Sea in the afternoon.

Sounded good. So what if I'd never heard of Masada?

Turns out Masada is this fortress on a humongous cliff overlooking the Dead Sea. Strategically placed and so on, but Herod came back from Rome and decided he really needed a phenomenally extravagant palace city of his own.

Logical extension? Build your city in the most inaccessible place imaginable. Seems Herod was thinking along the same lines as Machu Picchu's founders. Thank God for the cable car.

A bit later a group of Jews revolted against their Roman overlords. In retrospect, this seems like one of those classic bad ideas. Predictably, the Romans protested, and came after the Jews with, well, everything they had. A group of Jews retreated to the cliff top town of Masada, where they held out against the Roman army until the Romans managed to build an enormous ramp topped by a siege engine. Rather than be captured, the entire community (men, women, and children) suicided. Apparently this impressed even the Romans.

Literary evidence? Adequate. Traditional history? Abundant. Actual physical evidence? Slim.

This is a recurring theme in our travels here.

Day Zero

After surprisingly little fuss, we arrived in Israel on Sunday.

It took us about an hour to drive from Tel Aviv down to the Negev, where our friends live. The country was surprisingly lovely. Agricultural areas undulated with sunflowers as low hills stretched across the horizon. When we expressed amazement at the size of a cement factory we passed, our driver pointed out every factory on the way.

We settled in, had lunch, then made a quick dash to Tel Beersheva National Park. The best part: we had the park entirely to ourselves.

I find myself puzzling over the situation of actually standing in Biblical locations. I don't really know how to interpret this. I suspect at rock bottom, part of me thinks very little in the Bible should be treated as historical fact. So I'm startled in every national park here, where the visitors' guides and explanatory plaques contain overt Biblical references. On the other hand, these people did live here. It's obvious that something is going on here. Or went on.

A few weeks ago I was on the Nile in a felucca, looking for bats. I was chatting with some transfer students about living in the Middle East, and we began talking about travel to Israel. One man said, "You know, it's hard for me to picture those places as real. It's like reading Lord of the Rings to me." I thought that was an excellent way of putting things.

Another surprise: camels. There are Bedouins here, including across the street from my friend's house. More to say about this later, but while we were in the archaeological site, we found a herd of camels grazing just outside the park. Very picturesque.


We're leaving for Jerusalem in a few minutes! Yesterday we went to Masada and the Dead Sea. Very cool.

Part two

We got to the airport on Sunday with minimal fuss and went to Terminal 1, what I think of as the "civilized" terminal. Actual lines, security guards who make slightly more convincing motions of checking you. That sort of thing.

We got checked in and went right through passport control. No muss, no fuss. The only small anomaly happened on the tarmac; none of the bags were loaded on the plane. We had to find our luggage ourselves and hand it to the baggage handler before we could get on the plane. A little odd, but I see the sense.

An hour later we'd landed in Tel Aviv airport. Tel Aviv airport makes Cairo airport look like a dirt strip in a recent war zone. Seriously.

We were greeted by a smiling man with our names on a sign. We struck up a conversation with Daniel, and I switched languages when I realized his Spanish was slightly better than his English. We got to the car, a lovely white mercedes taxi, and shoved our bags into the trunk. A pair of my socks made a leap for freedom, and Daniel laughed and asked me for the word in Castellano for socks. For the life of me, I couldn't remember. (Yes, this becomes important later on.)

I was putting my seat belt on in the back when Daniel reached past KC's knees to rummage in the pocket behind the passenger seat.

He pulled out a silver handgun.

I blinked.

He shoved the gun into his waistband and glanced at me in the mirror.

"It's ok! No worry! It's ok!"

I thought, wow, this blog post is writing itself.

This blog wrote itself

The trip here to Israel was stunningly easy. Getting the tickets was tough.

We searched and searched online, trying desperately to find tickets to Tel Aviv. KC and I have been very kindly invited by a friend to give a few talks at Ben Gurion University. We wanted to fly here to avoid a potentially unpleasant but very doable 10 hour bus ride.

I finally caved and asked the AUC travel office to arrange the tickets. She got back to me quickly; the tickets could be purchased for the days we wanted to travel, but the tickets for the 1 hour trip would cost USD $450. Each.

In cash.

Where the hell was I going to come up with that kind of money in 24 hours? I toyed with a few unpleasant alternatives, all of them involving swallowing my dignity and asking various people for a loan. In the end I did the rational thing: I withdrew as much money as possible from my ATM card before it got shut down. I just made it.

More later, time to go ...

Where in the world ...

Are KC and Tiffany?

I'll give you three hints.

1. We flew here on a nonextistent airline.

2. We have untraceable, cash-only paper tickets.

3. We have no record of our entry in our passport.

Did you really need all three hints?