Don’t Feed the Animals!

My husband and I are in Tasmania – a.k.a. “Tassie” – which is why I haven’t been blogging for the past few weeks. I was going to wait until I got back to Sydney to blog about the trip, but this morning’s events were just too strange for me to wait.

We’ve been driving all around the state as well as hiking through its varied (and beautiful) national parks. Coming from Sydney, we still get excited when we see kangaroos in the wild. Of course, after a drive up to Musselroe Bay in Tassie’s northeast, we saw enough kangaroos in the wild at Mount William National Park to be over the novelty.

But now we’re in a cabin further south on the east coast, on the edge of Freycinet National Park, a popular tourist destination where foreigners routinely succumb to the temptation to feed the native animals. FYI: You shouldn’t. It’s not good for the animals. They’ve survived in the bush of this country for thousands of years without men and their crappy food. But that doesn’t seem to occur to all the foreign tourists feeding the native animals in public spaces in blatant disregard of ubiquitous signs advising against it. And they’re not even doing it for the animals. They’re doing it to get the animals to come closer to them for their own transient amusement.

Do you know what happens when you feed the animals?

This:

I woke up this morning and opened the sliding door to my cabin for a bit of fresh air, and then proceeded to fry up some bacon. Fifteen minutes later, I find this guy. He was actually on his way into the cabin when I called my husband out of the shower to come have a look. My husband took these photos while the kangaroo posed patiently.

Okay, he’s seriously cute. And yeah, I would’ve loved for him to hop into the cabin and hang out for a while. Hell, I would’ve loved to have fed him some breakfast just to make him like me. He’d obviously smelled the bacon I’d been frying – which is kinda funny, since they’re vegetarians.

But I didn’t feed him.

He stayed outside the door for a good ten minutes. At one point, he slowly turned his back to the cabin to chill out against the glass door for a spell while he scoped out the bush.

In the end, he wised up to the fact that these particular tourists would not be feeding the native animals. So he hopped away despondently.

I felt bad. I really wanted him to stay and hang out.

Later on, we went on a hike, and in the parking lot to Freycinet National Park we saw a large kangaroo interacting with two foreign tourists. Initially I was surprised, until I noticed the tourists feeding him. We saw more of the same inside the park, despite the signs advising against it.

You’d think that visitors to a protected national park would be able to control their own impulses – especially when they’ve paid to see a natural environment largely unspoilt by human interference.

But tourists have always been particularly selfish animals.

Backtracking to Akko

Akko (Acre), Israel

We initially skipped Akko on our way to Haifa from the Golan Heights.

Only after we’d arrived in Tel Aviv, from where we planned to fly back to Australia, did we think to read about Akko in a guidebook. We were so intrigued by the description of the city, and so disinclined to spend our last day in Tel Aviv, that we decided to retrace our drive back up the west coast beyond Haifa to reach this ancient city of the north – one of the oldest continuously inhabited areas in Israel.

It was the best last-minute decision we made on the trip.

We spent the day in Old Akko.

It’s impossible to describe why this city immediately enchanted us in a way that Jaffa and Jerusalem, for example, could not. It didn’t just boast ancient architecture. It felt old.

The residents of Old Akko are largely Arab Muslim, though the greater city is predominantly Jewish. And much like the Palestinian Quarter of the Old City in Jerusalem, and in stark contrast to the sterile beauty and tourist appeal of Jaffa, Old Akko felt very lived in. This is not an old city that scrubs clean and primps its ancient city for tourist consumption. It’s a home.

And a relatively quiet and peaceful one.

Perhaps what is so charming about this city, is the juxtaposition of old and new here. The ancient structures are used, not displayed. And space is made for modern conveniences, without destroying the old.

Though the old is not always so well looked after…

Akko’s markets are even (very) faintly reminiscent of Istanbul.

And for some reason I found its own not-so-grand-bazaar more enjoyable for its relevance to the community. This was no tourist trap, but rather a well-used, low-cost market.

And wouldn’t you know? I’d been kicking myself for not buying the overpriced incense in Jerusalem’s Christian Quarter – the very same incense that my childhood Episcopal Church used every Sunday in Pennsylvania. I couldn’t find it after a full days walk in Haifa, Tel Aviv or Jaffa. But I found it here, and for only a few shekels. I even got an incense holder for next to nothing.

But what really made our brief visit to Akko special, was the lovely brunch we had at a seaside restaurant.

The atmosphere was serene, the seafood, fresh and perfectly cooked, and the entertainment, delightful. We spent an hour watching several school-aged boys dive off the very high old city wall into the rock-strewn sea below – a regular pastime, it seemed.

The boys seemed unperturbed by the onlookers. Or maybe they intended to put on a show.

A few boys stood back reluctantly and cheered on their friends.

While others dived repeatedly with abandon.

This was by far my best experience in Israel. Non-commercial. Unspoiled. A picture of union between old and new without over-engineering. Natural beauty.

And peace.

Jaffa is for (Art) Lovers

During our brief stay in Tel Aviv, we strolled over to neighbouring Jaffa, a.k.a. Yafo. Jaffa was incorporated with Tel Aviv sixty years ago, but the ancient port city of Jaffa still looks and feels like a different place.

Looking back towards Tel Aviv from Jaffa, you get the distinct sense of going back in time.

Jaffa offers a pleasanter outlook towards the sea than does Tel Aviv’s man-made beaches.

And the buildings have a character and beauty absent from Tel Aviv’s 1970′s beachfront high-rises.

But Old Jaffa seems sterile and lifeless in its beauty.

It feels more like an open-space art gallery, consistent with its name. This particular area is known as the Artist Quarter. Galleries and studios populate its buildings.  Sculptor Frank Meisler has his workshop here.

Frank Meisler Sculptures, Jaffa, Israel

Other shops sell jewellery, original paintings, collectibles from Israeli history and antique doors.

My favourite piece of art in Old Jaffa, however, was a living piece.

And that’s what felt missing from Old Jaffa’s Artist Quarter: life. This tree had a ‘burning bush’ effect in that wide, lonely plaza. It permeated the space with an energy and holiness. It filled me with wonder and made me still. And despite its contemporary engineering, it somehow reminded me that I was standing in a very old place.

I wanted more of that feeling. So it saddened me that our whirlwind trip that had begun so long ago in Beijing was coming to an end in that plaza.

Or so I’d thought.

Next up: Backtracking to Akko

Finding shalom in Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv was to be our last stop before flying back to Australia.

We hadn’t expected to like it very much, given the fact that its reputation is based primarily on its beach life and party scene. Sydney has plenty of beaches, and we didn’t fly to Israel looking for a party.

So after spending a day walking its streets, it was no surprise to us that we didn’t like the city very much at all.

The beaches were man-made and littered with umbrellas, chairs and beach goers. You can have a beach to yourself in some parts of Sydney.

The city itself lacked beauty. Compared to Jerusalem, Tiberias, Haifa, Majdal al-Shams in the far north – even Bethlehem, this city had a purely functional look about it.

At the risk of sounding 85 years old, I was particularly disturbed by the pollution in this city. Its thick and dirty air scratched at my throat and burned my eyes, the ugliness of so many of its streets assaulted my aesthetic sensibilities, and the never-ending noise of its traffic and machinery made my teeth rattle. By the end of an all-day’s walk through that city, I was at wit’s end, and desperate to get back to my hotel.

Ah…

My hotel. It was called Shalom Hotel and Relax, a name whose quirky syntax beats that of the Double Happiness Hotel in Beijing.

But like that Beijing gem, its name held a promise well-kept.

That hotel was like a slice of Eden in Hell.

Even the patio managed to create a sense of peace on the bustling thoroughfare one block from the beach.

When the front door of the hotel closed behind you, you were met with the absolute, blissful silence that only a top-notch sound proof door can provide.

And the air. Wow. Comfortably cool and always scented with the subtlest flavours. Even the elevator was lightly scented.

I’m not sure how the hotel management achieved such a sense of utter tranquility in that hotel, but the artful and elegant decor went a long way in promoting a sense of calm and contentment.

The furnishings were gorgeous in their simplicity.

The attention to detail – to color, form and space.

The original art work in the common areas and bedrooms.

The stylish and contemporary bathrooms.

Even the service was exemplary. Every evening at 7pm the hotel offered a free happy hour with unlimited coffee, tea, whiskey, desserts and hot hors d’ oeuvres. It was a veritable feast – with plenty to fill you up for dinner if you were audacious enough to make return trips to the kitchenette, which I most certainly was.

And after you’d exhausted the happy hour, there was a rooftop bar that opened in the evening for paying customers. But buying a drink was just an excuse to enjoy the sunset in an equally tranquil space.

I’ve never been a hotel tourist. I travel for the experience of a city and its culture, to be immersed in the unfamiliar. And I would certainly never travel to a foreign city for the luxury of a hotel.

But when I think of Tel Aviv, I do think longingly of how lovely it would be to close the front doors behind me again in the Shalom Hotel and Relax.

Next up: Jaffa is for (Art) Lovers

Art Encounter: Haifa

With its impressive position on the slopes of Mount Carmel, the port city of Haifa offers a visually arresting picture. And despite being the third largest city in Israel, it has the feel of a smaller town.

We spent only one night and one day there, and could have done without the night, as our hotel was a disappointment – the only hotel on our trip across continents that was actually dirty.

As in: The toilet in our room hadn’t been cleaned.

The hotel manager was very attentive however, and gave us another room. Unfortunately, that room was not much cleaner.

So we spent very little time in that hotel, but made sure to check out the reason for its name: The Gallery Hotel Haifa.

The hallways and foyer of the hotel were lovingly adorned with original art work, and a sculpture gallery began from the stairway to the roof.

Rusted Iron Sculpture by Jack Jano in the stairway of The Gallery Hotel Haifa

The featured sculptures were all made by an artist named Jack Jano, and they were marvellous in themselves and in their presentation.

Sculpture Gallery on the roof of the Gallery Hotel Haifa

The crisp white of the stucco building against the bright blue of the morning sky, offered the traditional colours of Israel as a backdrop to sculptures with explicitly Jewish themes.

Rusted Iron Sculpture by Jack Jano

I was particularly tempted by this one, with its structural simplicity and novel orientation on the wall.

Rusted Iron Sculpture of Jerusalem on a Map of Israel, by Jack Jano

I was so taken by the experience of seeing these beautiful sculptures displayed with such consideration on that roof that I decided that our stay at the hotel was well worth it in the end.

But then I’m a sucker for a positive art encounter.

Next up: Finding shalom in Tel Aviv