Central District

It’s July and Athena/Piraeus Greece is the end of the bike trail that started early April in Malaga, Spain. Leaving Crete I rolled the bike onto a ferry from Heraklion, Crete to Piraeus, Greece. That’s the port for Athens. Many vessel types at port. All kinds vehicles and passenger groups clot up on the pier then pack into the boats. Ferries back into the dock coming in from sea, the stern of the ferry will open up where cars, trucks and people pour out and scatter like sow bugs from under a wood pile.

The sun is always intense. It’s a given there won’t be rain, maybe never. Tourists like me will hide from around noon to 5:00. After dark the restaurants are busy and people crowd the streets through the night. A few days later I boxed the bike and we flew from Athens to Ben Gurion on El Al airlines. Security being their speciality.

I’m working to understand Celsius. I’ve only ever lived with Freedom units - miles, AM/PM and Fahrenheit. It seems like the rest of the world has moved on, even the Brits are eyeing the door. Celsius to Fahrenheit, double it, add 32. 24hrs to 12 hrs, just subtract 2, you’ll see it. 100 kilometers is 60 miles, 60 mph is 100 kph.

I pedaled from Tel Aviv to Caesarea a tough 45 miles sometimes pushing the rig through wadi, sinking in fine henna colored dust and over busted concrete and rock. Too much, the heat! Caesarea was the French Riviera of its day for the Roman upper crust. Here being what is now called The Levant. It must have been a rock’n good time. Plenty of water in the aqueducts (water is always the limiting factor), an amphitheater (still in use, but not pictured) and the beach, baby!

Up near Caesarea, I stayed a couple of days in a hut in a lot in an unfinished neighborhood. There was Wi-Fi and all conveniences if a bit rustic. Look closely, the Van Gogh is tile work an artist just put out for people to see. Israel can be brilliant.

After three nights it was time again to move on. Up at 04:30, the sky was lightening from india ink to cloudless pale blue. I pedaled back to Tel Aviv on the highway. I didn’t care about safety, I had to outrun the heat. I tied an Israeli flag I found around me and made it, no worries. A tel, as in Tel Aviv, is Hebrew for a built up hill, layer by layer, by successive occupation. Great for archaeology.

Navigated directly to the enormous Abraham Hostel in Tel Aviv. Named Abraham I presume because he and Sarah are the singular founders of three major religions, Christianity, Islam, Judaism. Nobody is excluded. See the rooftop garden where your doobie won’t stink everything up. Also see the guy in the hat. My ear caught his English pronunciation for the words dahntahn, pahnd and shahr. You guessed it. Jackson lives four miles from where I grew up in Pixburgh. Always happens.

Don’t want to ignore my mate from Wales, Steve. Also a Sar-El like me who will volunteer a week and tour Israel the rest. Good times meeting people at the hostel. Old guys sticking together, we who were born before color tv.Read more