Moving Down to Marrakech

When I arrived at my hotel in Tangier, Morocco, on the night of March 5th, I discovered that it was right on the beach, though otherwise pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  I went to the hotel restaurant for dinner since there didn't seem to be anywhere else to get food and then called it an early night.

The next morning, I planned to take the train down to Marrakech.  I knew there was one at 11:30am that got in just after 8:00pm.  That gave me time to eat breakfast, pack and then take a quick dip in the sea before catching a cab to the train station.  It was actually a bit cold to swim, but I really just wanted to say that I had been in the Mediterranean on this trip.  I never got my act together while I was in Tel Aviv (where it also wasn't all that warm, maybe topping out at 75 on the warmest day) so I sucked it up and waded out into the water, waited for a break in the waves and then plunged under the surf before rushing back to shore.  I was really afraid of offending/sending the wrong message to the local populace that was strolling on the beach so I wore a baggy T-shirt over my bathing suit that I had to quickly strip off and replace with a towel once I got out of the water since the shirt was dripping wet and making me colder.  In communicating later with my father, there was a bit of discrepancy as to whether I was actually in the Atlantic Ocean and not the Mediterranean (thus completely wasting my time), but since Wikipedia states that Tangier is located where the two bodies of water meet, I am going to say that it counts.

After my quick dip, I made it to station with minutes to spare before my train left and found a comfy single window seat where I was able to hunker down for the long haul.  Of course, I ended up being on the opposite side of the train as the coastline, but I was still able to get enjoy the view.  I had to transfer trains once I got to Casablanca and then fight for a seat on the next train, but eventually I was able to sit down.

By the time I got to Marrakech it was already dark, and since I didn't have any idea where my hostel was, I decided to take a cab.  I'm pretty sure that I got ripped off, but I didn't have the energy to haggle (haggling over cab fares is possibly one of my least favorite things to do while traveling.)  When we got close to the right place, the driver told me he couldn't go any farther since the hostel was located off of a big pedestrian square.  He wrangled up a guy with a cart who he said would show me the way and though I had a map pulled up on my phone I decided to just go along with it.  We walked through the square where tons of tourists were milling about around food stalls, snake charmers and fortune tellers and then went down a narrow alleyway. 

When we got to the riad guesthouse, the porter brought my bags inside and I pulled out some money to give him a tip.  Since all he had done was cart my bags  for about five minutes, I figured I was just supposed to give him a small amount of money.  Instead he started demanding that I pay him nearly the same amount I had given the cab driver! (who himself had ripped me off)  I argued back that I hadn't asked him to bring me (the cabbie had recruited him) and that I could very well have carried my own things that short distance without his help.  I gave him a bit more money, but refused to give him everything he asked.  Luckily the manager of the hostel intervened and they started going back and forth in Arabic.  While all this was going on, three Austrian girls who were sitting in the courtyard called me over and told me not to worry, that I was safe now that I was at the hostel and that the same exact thing had happened to one of them the day before.  Finally, the porter slunk off in a huff and I was able to relax and organize my things.  I spoke a bit with the three girls, Teresa and Lara, who were traveling together, and a second Teresa whom they had met there, but happened to be from the same part of Austria, and then went to bed in the dorm room we were all sharing.  As they had warned me, the mattress was hard as rocks, but I was so tired that I was still able to sleep soundly.

The following morning, everyone seemed to have their own plans (perhaps they didn't want to get stuck speaking English all day) so I didn't try to invite myself along and instead went off on my own.  The first thing I had to do was mail a package and as per usual that ended up taking a good part of the morning between the crowds and all the paperwork.  The previous day I had been so excited to be in Morocco and on a brand new continent, but today for some reason I was in a completely cranky mood.  After leaving the post office, I got some lunch at a local cafe and then decided just to wander around using the map on my phone. 

I was able to find one of the old palaces, but I guess since I'm blind, I didn't see the entrance and ended up walking all the way around through a residential neighborhood (where I stuck out like a sore thumb) until I got to the front of the current royal palace.  As I was walking through the park outside the palace walls, I stopped to take a picture from afar and all of a sudden a security guard was calling me over.  At first I thought he was telling me I had to walk along the main road so I made an indication that I was walking that direction, but then I realized he actually wanted to speak with me.  Apparently I was in trouble for taking the picture since I guess you can't take pictures of the royal palaces in Morocco even though there was no sign.  I had my phone out with the map pulled up so I played dumb and showed him the map claiming I had been looking at that and not taking a photo.  After confirming several times, "No picture?" he seemed to buy my answer and let me walk off without taking out my camera.

As I walked toward the exit, a young Moroccan guy who had been walking in front of me slowed down and asked me what the guards had wanted.  I told them they said "No photos" and then he tried to engage me in conversation as we walked away from the palace.  I was trying to find the entrance to a big park that was supposed to be close by, but I didn't see any openings in the wall.  They guy was still trying to get me to walk with him, but I finally veered off and he started walking away, but not before asking me for a "Bijou?"  I laughed nervously and said "No" and luckily he took the hint.  Just because I'm American, why would he think that I would give some random stranger I just met a kiss?  How annoying.

I never figured out how to get into the park and since it was nearing dinnertime, I decided to walk back toward the main Jemaa el Fna square where my hostel was located.  On the way I walked past the pink and blue tower of the Koutoubia Mosque and through the surrounding gardens.  Once I got back to the hostel, Teresa and Lara asked if I wanted to go watch the sun set over the square from one of the balcony cafes that surround it.  We ordered Arabic tea and watch the sun go down before heading back home.  I hadn't eaten dinner so I asked the hostel manager, Ali, if he had any quick and cheap suggestions nearby.  He said the little stand right outside had good beef sandwiches, though the beef was mixed with everything, including the cow's liver and brains.  For some reason, this didn't stop me and I waited with all the locals for them to make me a sandwich with egg, onions, ground beef and sauce.  I have to tell you--it was delicious and I barely even though about the brains and liver.

I'm pretty exhausted and I have to wake up early to catch a bus so I will continue my Morocco tale tomorrow.  I will also proofread this post so apologies in the meantime for any errors!

Across the Mediterranean to Morocco

Shortly after I boarded the ferry boat in Genoa we set sail across the Mediterranean Sea toward Barcelona.  The boat was unlike any ferry I had ever been on and was actually more like a small cruise ship than anything else.  That’s probably because the journey took nearly 48 hours from the time we left Italy until we arrived in Morocco.  There were nine decks, though the first five were mainly set aside for passengers' cars.  When I first got on board, I had to take an escalator up from the bottom level to the reception area on Deck 6 where I could take the stairs or an elevator to Deck 9 where the rooms with the reclining seats were located.  Instead of springing for a shared cabin, I had decided to save 50 bucks and get a seat rather than a bunk so one of these rooms was my home for the next two days.


Each room contained probably about 75 to 100 reclining seats, though luckily since the rooms generally weren’t even half full, most of us passengers could reserve nearly a whole row and lie across the seats rather than simply back against them.  It was almost like sleeping on a couch (except for the slight gaps between each seat) so it wasn’t all that uncomfortable.  The second night, the room was a bit more crowded so I had to settle for a row with only two seats, which was a little more cramped.  Some people even just laid down a bunch of blankets and slept right on the floor.  I did notice that of the 40 or so other people staying in the room, I was assuredly the only woman, most certainly the only American and quite possibly one of the few non-Moroccans.  I was obviously quite a novelty for my co-passengers and as a result I was asked for coffee more times within a span of 48 hours than ever before in my life.  By the end of the voyage, I felt like there were more people I was trying to avoid (so as not to get involved in yet another awkward “Arablish” conversation) than that I was pleased to run into.  I did have a nice exchange by means of Google Translate with a young Moroccan-Italian guy who was traveling from Italy to Morocco to visit family.

In spite of all this, the main problem with the arrangement of the room was that there was no place to lock up all my belongings.  There were a few closets in the back of the room set aside for left luggage, but there was nothing to secure the bags to.  The best solution I came up with was to padlock my big backpack to my smaller one so that it would be quite awkward and conspicuous for someone to try to walk off with both bags.  I also used smaller locks to lock all the zippers and secure the pockets on the small backpack. My video camera bag I just carried around with me everywhere since it was relatively small.  It was a bit of a pain in the neck to get into my stuff this way, but it was preferable to leaving it totally exposed.  My biggest issue came on the morning of the first full day when I couldn’t find the wallet that had all the keys attached to it anywhere.  I normally kept it in a small over-the-neck bag, but all that was in there was my camera.  I was at the point of trying to devise possible methods to free my bags so that I could access my belongings without totally destroying the luggage.  I was just about to go downstairs to see if anyone had turned the wallet in to reception when I checked my (thicker-than-usual) waist wallet and fortunately found it safe in there.  Crisis averted.

While we were at sea, there wasn’t much to do but read, write postcards, watch TV in Italian and wander aimlessly around the ship.  Normally more shops and lounges would have been open, but as it was still wintertime and thus the off-season, a lot of areas of the ship were closed off.  That left even less places than usual to go exploring.  On the first night after dinner, for lack of better entertainment options, I camped out at the one bar that was open in the central area of the main deck.  I made friends with an older Italian bartender named Massimo, who spoke barely any English, and a younger Sicilian cashier named Vittor, who spoke decent English.  The main benefit of this friendship (aside from quelling my boredom) was that after a while I stopped having to pay for any alcohol, tea, juice or pastries that I ordered while either one of them was working.  The only food they served at the bar was the pastries so I did have to go buy all my meals other than breakfast in the cafeteria.  Still, I’m quite certain they saved me at least $75 to $100 on what I would have spent on beer and prosecco cocktails alone.  Plus, I got in some really good Spantalian practice.  On the second night, after Vittor got off work, we went to go hang out in the crew area, which made me feel like I was getting a backstage pass to the boat.

On the afternoon of the second day at sea, we arrived at the port in Barcelona.  I was really hoping that I would get to go ashore for a few hours, but the crew member I spoke to told me that the port officials wouldn’t let those of us continuing on to Morocco disembark.  I did get to go out on deck once we had docked and I could see the city from afar, including the statue of Christopher Columbus in the main square and what I think was the top of the Sagrada Familia Cathedral.  Closer examination of my zoomed in photos could probably confirm this for sure.  It was nice to be out on deck when we were docked at the pier because when we were at sea it was too windy and cold to stay outside for too long.  After about three or four hours, we pulled away from the dock, looped around the harbor closer to downtown and then headed back to toward the open sea.

In the early afternoon of the second full day I was hanging out at the central bar with Massimo and Vittor as per usual when they asked if I had gone down to immigration.  I had heard them making announcements about going to the discoteque, but I thought that they were just referring to picking up the arrival cards that we needed to fill out.  Vittor told me that, no, I actually had to go down there to get my passport stamped.  It was the weirdest arrangement ever, going through immigration in a shutdown dance club.  When I walked in the door, I saw a well-dressed Moroccan guy sitting on a velvet couch with another guy smoking a cigarette.  A few other guys were gathered around another table across the way.  I was nearly convinced that I was in the wrong place, but when I asked the guy about the "policia," he pointed to a table with a computer and a bunch of arrival cards on it.  There was no one manning the table at the time so I went over and sat down until a few minutes later, the well-dressed guy came over and stamped my passport.  It turns out he WAS the policia in plainclothes.  I remarked to the guys how strange this was when I went back upstairs, but they just said it was normal in Morocco for the immigration officer not to wear a uniform.  Whatever.... as long as it was legal.

A few hours later, we arrived at the port in Tangier Med.  It was a relatively new terminal pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  I went up to an information desk to ask about taking a taxi, but the guy who was working there said I should actually take the free shuttle bus into the city of Tangier where I could get a cab to my hotel.  When we arrived in the city about half an hour later, I shared a taxi with an American college student who was studying for a semester in Morocco and had to catch a bus back to her school.  We had an interesting discussion about her experiences in the country thus far and she made me feel a bit reassured about traveling there alone as a woman.

Overall, I did much better on the ferry boat than on the cargo ship as far as dealing with seasickness so I'm pretty sure I would also do okay on a cruise ship, which is even larger than the ferry.  By the way, I found out why most of the trails in the Cinque Terre National Park were closed: Italy's Cinque Terre Region Readies for Spring Tourists.  Glad I could throw some tourism dollars (or euros) their way.

Two-Day Italian Tour

I told you about the first day of my two-day trip to Italy, which involved crossing from coast to coast on a total of three different trains, in my previous post.  In this post, I’ll tell you about my trek down to the Cinque Terre region on the second day of my stay.

Cinque Terre is a coastal region on the western side of Italy just south of Genoa.  It is known for its high cliffs that plunge into a protected marine reserve and its terraced winemaking.  First thing in the morning, I took a bus down to the other train station in Genoa (as opposed to the one I had arrived at the day before) and then caught a train leaving just after 8:00am for the town of Riomaggiore.  The two-hour ride down along the side of the sea was a perfectly pleasant way to begin the day.

When we arrived at Riomaggiore, I learned that most of the cliff trail was closed, except for a small 1.5 kilometer stretch between Riomaggiore and the next village of Manarola. That ended up suiting me just fine as I was a bit pressed for time.  Even though it wasn’t that far of a distance I meandered along the trail for over an hour, at times venturing down steep staircases to the rocks where waves were crashing down below.  It was an incredibly picturesque area, especially once I approached the village of Manarola where colorful houses were perched on the top of the high cliffs overlooking the water.

For much of the hike, I kept running into three rather loud American college students.  I was trying to avoid them, but at one point I ended up on the same rock outcropping as them just before we got to Manarola.  They asked me if I would take their picture and then seemed quite surprised when I spoke back to them in English.  I talked with them for a little while and it turned out they were studying abroad in Verona for a semester.  In the end, they weren’t all that bad and I suppose their noisy exuberance was just an expression of their youthful excitement about being in such a cool place so far from home.  I can’t fault them for that because I was probably just like them when I was their age.

Once I got to Manarola, I walked through the quaint little seaside village and then continued a short distance farther down the path until I reached a locked gate where I had to turn around.  I knew that the next train was departing in about 20 minutes so I decided I should probably head back to Genoa so I would have a little time to look around the city a bit before I had to go board the ferry to Morocco.  On the way back to the train station, I stopped at a shop where I bought some farinata to eat for lunch.  Farinata is a savory pancake made with a base of chickpea flour and topped with cheese.  Apparently it is a local speciality, but to be quite honest I didn’t really care for it.  It was okay, but not something I’d feel compelled to eat again.  I guess it’s good I gave it a shot while I was in Manarola, because it’s always nice to try the local flavor.

I arrived back at the train station and bought my ticket with just minutes to spare before the next train departed.  Since this train didn’t go all the way back to Genoa, I had to get off at the next big town of Monterosso and transfer to another train there.  I only had about 20 minutes in Monterosso, but in that time I managed to walk down to the beach to take some pictures, buy postcards and try the local Cinque Terre wine in a cafe attached to the train station.  I think that was a pretty efficient use of my "layover."  Fortunately I didn’t miss the next train and two hours later, just after 2:30pm, we were rolling back into Genoa.

In retrospect, I think I should have gotten off at the second Genoa station since I wanted to go to the Old Port, but instead I got off at the one where I had boarded in the morning.  I asked a woman at the station how to get down to the port and she said I should take Bus 13 (or 30) on the lefthand side of the neighboring park.  I tried to confirm whether she had said “13” or “30,” but I was still a bit confused a so I wandered into the park where there was an event going under some tents in connection with a local soccer match.  I finally found Bus 30, but it appeared to be the end of the line.  Then a bit later I found the stop for Bus 13, but when I looked at the stops, I didn’t seem to see the one that I wanted.  I did see a street sign pointing to the direction of the port so I decided I would just try to walk all the way there.

After about 20 minutes of walking down a busy street past banks and car dealerships, I finally made it to the waterfront.  However, it was clearly not the part of the port that I wanted.  It turns out Genoa is a lot larger than I thought.  There was a big building with a sign reading “Genoa Feria” and I wondered if that was where I was supposed to get the ferry later, but then I realized “feria” meant “fair” and that it was actually a big convention center.  I walked toward the water where I saw some small (and some large) yachts, but there didn’t seem to be any way to go farther along the harbor by foot.  Set back a bit from the water was a major freeway so I couldn’t even walk along that to get where I wanted to go.  By this point, it was after 3:30pm and I realized I should get back to my hostel to pick up my bags so I could head down to the ferry.  Since I just missed the bus I needed, I ended up having to walk all the way back to the train station where I took a bus back up the hill.

I accidentally spent longer than anticipated at the hostel, between trying to send some e-mails and get directions from the staff member there.  I had planned to leave by 4:30pm, but by the time I left it was nearly 5:00pm.  I had still assured myself that I would have plenty of time to catch the boat.  The bus came fairly quickly, but I had to change buses once I got to the center of town in order to get to the port.  I figured out where I was supposed to get off to transfer, but as I was waiting at the stop, I didn't see the bus I needed on the electronic timetable.  I walked over to the list of bus times and realized the bus I was supposed to take didn’t run on Saturdays.  I now had no idea how to get to the port so I hopped on the first bus going to the train station where I knew I could at least get in a cab.  I had really wanted to get gelato one last time before leaving Italy, but I realized there just wasn’t time as it was nearly 5:30pm by the time I got to the station.

Once I was in a taxi, it didn’t take too long to get to the port.  However, after we arrived the driver had to circle around once because he realized he couldn't drop me off right at the entrance.  He brought me to the outside of a terminal where I saw an automated machine to check in for the ferry.  By now it was 5:45pm and the boat was leaving in 15 minutes.  The machine didn't appear to be working so I just went out to the dock with my printed ticket, but the security guard told me I needed to go upstairs to the Grandi Navi Veloci desk.  I ran back inside and up the escalator where I got my boarding pass with about ten minutes to spare.  Once I was back outside, it was still another five-minute walk along the pier to where my ferry was docked.  I raced along ramps and down stairways until I got to the passenger entrance of the ferry just before 6:00pm.  I gave the security officer my passport and ticket, but then of course he asked me whether or not I had gone through immigration.  I obviously had not and had no idea where it even was.  I was about to hit panic mode, but then he told me to follow him to a car live parked nearby.  I was assuming the car was going to drive me to immigration, but instead an officer just got out and stamped my passport, finally clearing me to board.  I got on the boat just in time, but learned my lesson that boarding a ferry boat is more like boarding an airplane than a train.  You can’t just show up ten minutes ahead of time and expect it's going to be completely smooth sailing (no pun intended.)

Italy From Coast to Coast

A funny thing happens to me when I go to Italy.  I start to think that I speak Italian.  I believe this is because I can sort of muddle through reading a bit of Italian since some of the words are similar to Spanish.  Then people start talking to me and I realize I have no idea what they’re saying.  I feel like I turn into my high school friend, Lara, who we ran into with her friend, Liz, frantically trying to explain to a police officer in a mixture of Spanish and Italian that our chaperones had left without us from Saint Mark’s Square in Venice during our senior-year trip to Italy.  I guess I (and Lara) speak a variety of what you could call “Spantalian.”  By the way, in case you were concerned about how that whole Venice thing worked out, we did finally meet up with the rest of our group at a water taxi launch along the Grand Canal, though our teacher had the audacity to get mad at us for not being at the square right on time since one of our classmates was sick with food poisoning... which we had no way of knowing at the time. (Nice deflection, Mrs. Waters.  Next time COUNT before you leave seven students behind in the middle of a foreign city that’s surrounded by water!  No wonder that bird pooped in your eye on the Ponte di Rialto.  I'm totally Team Bird.)  But I digress.

There was no opportunity to stop in Venice on this trip since I didn’t go all the way up to Monfalcone, which is just to the east of Venice.  I did, however, get to go to (and through) a few Italian cities that I have never had the chance to visit before.  The first one was Ravenna, where I disembarked from the ship.  The taxi driver dropped me off at the train station even though I really had no idea where I was going from there.  For my next move, I was planning to take a ferry down to Morocco, but I wasn’t sure exactly when or where the ferry left from.  Therefore, my first priority was to track down some Internet access.  I found a cafe where I could get on wifi and discovered that the ferry I needed left only two times a week from Genoa (there was another one that left once a week from Livorno, but that was more expensive.)  As a result, I had to either leave on Saturday afternoon, which was the following day, or wait nearly a week until Thursday.  I could definitely have found many ways to kill a week (and a whole lot of cash) in Italy, but since I was already behind schedule I opted for the next day departure instead.

Ravenna is a pretty small city and there didn’t seem to be any cheap hostels or hotels available so I decided I was probably better off going all the way to Genoa that day even though the ferry didn’t leave until 6:00pm on Saturday.  I booked a hostel in Genoa online and then went to buy my train tickets, which was going to involve me having to change trains twice and then end up in a place called “Genova,” which I could only pray was the same thing as “Genoa.”  Since I had about an hour to kill until the train left just after 1:00pm, I decided to walk around town a bit even though there was no place to leave my bags.

Naturally, my first stop was the gelateria where I ordered a delicious bowl of stracciatella.  I then walked down the street a bit, casually searching for a bank where I could change some traveler’s checks into dollars.  I didn’t find a bank, but I did encounter some obnoxious teenagers just getting out of school and making a whole lot of noise.  I guess that high schoolers can be pretty annoying in nearly every country around the world.  That makes me feel a bit better about America at least.  I walked past a nice plaza and an old church before I decided it was time I to get back so I could get a good seat on the train.  I kind of wish I had more time to spend in Ravenna, but I wasn’t really prepared to spend €50 or more for a hotel room just so I could stay the night there.

The first portion of my train trip took me from Ravenna to Bologna.  I was able to find a seat fairly easily and enjoy the view of the Italian countryside passing by me outside the window.  After about an hour, we arrived in Bologna and since I had a half hour to kill until the next leg of my journey, I took a spin around the block.  I didn’t want to pay to leave my luggage so I only made it to the main square before I decided to double back and return to the station.  It seemed like a nice city, though, where I’d love to spend more time.  When the next train arrived, I plopped down in the first seat I could find even though I had a suspicion I was seated in a first-class car.  I had no idea if the second-class cars were in front of or behind me and I didn’t want to lug my stuff all the way in the wrong direction until someone told me I had to get up.

Sure enough, after about 15 minutes, the conductor came by and pointed out my second-class ticket.  He told me I had to go six cars up and of course once I got there, there were absolutely no free seats left... and I was far from the only one standing.  It was a bit frustrating to me that while there were people standing in the second-class vestibule (even though we had paid the same price as people who were sitting), there were plenty of free seats in the lofty realms of first class.  This was especially so since I had spent a whopping €42 (yes, euros, not dollars) for just this one single one-hour express Eurostar train between Bologna and Milan.  I don’t even want to know how much I would have paid for first class.  Since I was standing in the vestibule, I had to leave my bags on the luggage rack, which was the exact spot my sister’s backpack was stolen from on a train from Rome to Florence when we were in college.  Luckily since there was nowhere for me to go, I was able to keep a close eye on my things to make sure they didn’t run off with someone else to whom they didn’t belong.


Once we arrived at the massive train station in Milan, I had only about 20 minutes to change trains so I had no time to leave the station and check out the local sites.  This time I boarded a second-class car and found the first relatively free compartment where I could stash my bags and get a seat.  By this point, there was only one other person in the compartment so I grabbed a seat on the other side of her by the window.  It then dawned on me that unlike with the first two trains, there might actually be assigned seats in this case.  I pulled out my ticket and saw that there in fact was a seat assignment listed.  I had no idea what car (or "carrozza" in Italian) I was on so I asked the other woman who was sitting there what number it was.  It turned out I had by chance chosen the right car.  Then I went to the window outside the door to see which compartment and individual seat I was supposed to be in and miraculously I had somehow completely randomly picked the exact right spot down to the actual seat even!  A short time later another woman walked in and told me that, no, actually that was her seat.  So I guess I was wrong all along.  Then she pulled out her ticket and her seat was actually “15” not “16,” where I was sitting. So I was, in fact, right!  After the first-class debacle on the last train, it was nice to have not screwed up entirely yet again.

As the train pulled away, I watched the streets of Milano whiz past my window and decided this was yet another Italian city that I would like to explore in (much) greater depth some time.  The train was delayed getting into Geno(v)a so it was nearly two hours later, after the sun had already set, when we finally pulled into the station.  Once I got off the train, I determined that I was actually in the right place.  I figured out later at my hostel that “Genoa” is the anglicized version of “Genova,” which I don’t quite understand.  I mean, it’s not like English-speaking people can’t pronounce the “V” in “Genova.”  I can kind of get why you would change “Sevilla” to “Seville” (even though I don’t think it’s THAT hard of a concept that the double “L” in Spanish is pronounced like the English “Y.”)  But, why would you take out one letter that is easily pronounceable for us Anglos and thus completely change the word?  You would think that this would not be that big of a deal.  However, when you have one city that’s called “Monfalcone” in the northern part of a country and another that’s named “Montefalcone” in the central part of the same country (I’m still looking at you, Italy,) I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I would have questioned whether “Genoa” and “Genova” were actually two completely different places.  Whatever.  I guess some things are just unexplained mysteries.

It had been more than six hours (and three trains) since I let the east coast of Italy until I finally arrived on the west coast.  Even so, it would be almost another hour before I would reach my final destination.  The directions from the hostel indicated that I was supposed to take an elevator near a pharmacy to get to the bus I needed.  Otherwise, I would have to change buses and figure out exactly where I was supposed to do that, which was something I was not really prepared to do at that hour.  I walked around the station a bit and found an elevator, which I discovered through trial and error only went up and down between the track level and the main terminal.  Clearly, this was not the right one.  I walked out an exit and and then went up the street to the main exit where there were a bunch of buses and taxis waiting.  I still didn’t see the bus number I needed so I went inside to the information desk to ask for directions.  The guy I spoke to repeated that the bus I needed was by the pharmacy so I walked down the the street a bit until I saw the pharmacy with a bus stop out front.  However, only the bus that I would have had transfer from seemed to be listed.  I started to get very confused and frustrated and almost went inside the pharmacy to ask.  Finally, I noticed a sign for an elevator and the name above it was the one referenced in the e-mail from the hostel.  At least I was now headed in the right direction.

Let me tell you, this was not an elevator in the traditional sense.  It was more like the elevator in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” that they use to break through the glass ceiling and fly up into the sky over the city.  First, about six or seven people got into this rectangular box that went up an incline as if heading into a mine shaft.  Then it rounded a corner and got into position to go vertically up about 100 meters.  There were windows on all sides so we could see the mechanics of the elevator shaft all the way up. There also seemed to be a parallel track for elevators coming back down, as we passed another elevator going the opposite direction.  For some reason, this strange contraption struck me as completely preposterous and I could barely contain myself from bursting out laughing the entire time.  All of the other people riding with me were locals so I have no idea if they realized how ridiculous we all looked.  I really wished I could have taken a picture to demonstrate this stupid thing, but I felt like everyone else would have looked at me strangely since they all seemed to think that this was perfectly normal.  I never got another chance to ride this magic machine again so unfortunately no other photo ops materialized.

The main reason for these elevators (this is not the only one) is that the city of Genoa is built on a massive hill.  Once we emerged onto the street, the bus stop I needed was fortunately right out front.  A bus came along fairly quickly and once I boarded we proceeded to go back and forth up a series of switchback roads that took forever to navigate.  The roads were so narrow, that at one point our bus had to back up so that some other buses going down the hill could get through.  Part of the problem was that several cars were double parked along the side, but that’s another whole issue in itself.  On a positive note, I generally found the people on the bus to be very kind and helpful.  One girl got up from her seat so I could sit down with my backpack and another guy pointed out my stop most likely realizing I was a backpacker staying in the hostel.  I would have otherwise gone right past it since I knew the street name for the hostel, but not the exact location.


It was nearly 8:30pm by the time I finally got into my dorm room and I hadn’t eaten any dinner yet.  I asked the guy at the front desk if there was any place nearby and he mentioned there was a pizza place a short ways farther up the hill.  I walked up there and ordered a pizza from the slightly surly cook (he exasperatedly pointed at the sauce he had just added to the dough when I tried to change my order at the last minute from margherita to quattro formaggi), though there were no complaints from me when the pizza was ready in about four minutes flat.  I didn’t even realize it was already done until he handed it to me right after I paid.  In the US I would have waited at least 15 minutes for the pie to bake.  I guess they really know how to super heat their wood-fired stoves in Italy.  I brought the pizza back to eat at the hostel and it was delicious, but totally messy.  The cook hadn’t sliced the pie so by the end there was melted cheese and marinara sauce everywhere, including all over me. 

By the time I went to bed a few hours later, I was still the only person in my six-bed dorm room.  I thought I would have the room to myself until two other people showed up at what I can only assume was after 2:00am.  I didn’t bother to look at my phone to actually check.  They “whispered” and rustled their bags rather noisily for the next 20 minutes, but it’s okay since I got them back the next day when I started packing up my things at about 7:00am so I could go to Cinque Terre for the morning.

I had really planned to write my entire Italy spiel in one post since I was there for all of two days, but I now realize that this entry is getting rather long.  So as not to further bore you for the moment, I will add a separate post on my trip to Cinque Terre and ferry ride to Morocco on another day.  Ciao for now!

Across the Big Blue Sea

On the morning of Tuesday, February 21st I called the port office to find out if they finally had any idea when my boat to Italy would be arriving and departing from Ashdod.  They still didn’t give me a very clear answer, but it sounded like it might be docking by around noon to start operations at the port. I decided not to take any chances and headed down to Ashdod after I got off the phone, figuring I could always come back to Tel Aviv for the night if I had to.  The bus from Tel Aviv only took about 45 minutes and I got off at the point that looked closest to the port.  From the distance on my map, it looked like I could walk so I didn’t bother trying to catch a cab.

After nearly 15 minutes of trudging down the street with all my bags, I finally made it to the waterfront.  The port itself appeared to be off to my right so it took me another 10 minutes to get all the way there.  When, drenched with sweat and huffing and puffing from exertion, I finally got to what looked like the entrance to the harbor, there were no guards or gates or anything around.  The last time I spoke to the port office they told me the building was located in the back port area (whatever that meant), but I had no idea what to look for.  I ended up breaking down and calling them and they told me I needed to go to the ZIM building.  I really had no clue where I was so I walked to a gas station hoping to get directions.  That was where I saw a cab pulling out and decided to just have him bring me there so as not take any chances of missing the boat.

It was a good thing I did because the office was on the complete other side of the port and it would have taken me ages and several hundred calories to walk there.  Once inside they gave me my passenger manifest and told me I could go through security check right around the corner.  When I got there, it turned out that I actually couldn’t go in that gate, but an immigration officer came over and asked me all the million and one requisite questions (Why was I in Israel? Where did I go while I was there?  Did I know any Israelis?  Where did I stay when I was in Jerusalem?) and then told me I could go in the main gate about half a kilometer away where they would check though all my luggage.  She told me the ship had just arrived, but it had to go through a thorough inspection that could take up to two hours before I would be allowed to board. 

I had some time to kill so I would have liked to have gone to the beach or even just a restaurant, but those all seemed very far away and I still had all my baggage with me.  Instead I just walked to the main entrance, had them go through all my belongings for about 15 minutes and then sat right inside the gate for another hour waiting for them to give me the go-ahead to board.  Finally one of the border officers waved me over to a taxi where a couple had just arrived to get on the same ship as me.  The husband was an American man in his early 60s named David and his wife was an Austrian woman in her early 50s named Margaret.  After the officers finished questioning the couple, the cab driver drove us over to the immigration office where they took our passports (mine was returned, the couple's wasn't until much later) and then brought us over to the ship, which we were finally allowed to board.

When I got to my cabin, it was very spacious with a large porthole looking out onto the side deck and a decent size bathroom.  The room was almost as large my entire studio apartment back home.  Actually, who am I kidding?... it was LARGER than my studio apartment back home (kidding again, but not by much.)  The furnishings hadn’t really been updated in a while, but it seemed pretty clean.  For the first time since I started traveling seven months ago, I actually unpacked all my things since I knew I would be staying in the same place for at least nine days.  I then took a spin around the boat and up onto the top deck before heading over for dinner.  The meal was huge with three courses plus wine and/or soda if you wanted.  Lunches were also three courses and by the end of the voyage I think I had gained at least five pounds (one or two of which I may have lost through unpleasant means, which I will go into in more detail on later.)

While we were at sea, the days were pretty lazy and relaxed with not much to do besides read and wander around the ship.  There was a TV in the dining room that passengers could watch, but all the  channels were in Italian.  Aside from the Austrian/American couple who split their time between Austria and Israel, there was one other older passenger named Oscar who we thought was German, but couldn’t determine for sure since he barely said a word to anyone.  I don’t think we ever figured out what language he actually spoke.  The officers themselves were all Italian as that’s where the ship, part of the Grimaldi Line, is based.  It was not accurately a container ship, but rather quite literally a “cargo” ship as it was transporting cars and trucks as opposed to large container crates.  At each port they would drive the cars on and off the ship to be transporting throughout Europe.  It was actually nice that way because until the last few days when the top deck filled up in Turkey, that deck was completely empty allowing the passengers to walk around outside for exercise.

The boat left from Ashdod en route to Turkey at around midnight on Tuesday night.  From what I can recall most of the first day at sea was pretty calm and warm so I spent most of it outside on the top deck as we passed by Greek islands on the left and right.  Then things started to get kind of rough.  The waves picked up and the entire boat was rocking back and forth so that we had to hold on as we walked down the hallways.  I was wearing pressure point bracelets and kind of late in the game took a Dramamine pill, but that second night after dinner I definitely was not feeling well.  Margaret was also not doing so hot and David had to bring her food to her in their cabin.  When I got back to my own cabin, I tried to lay down, but quickly had to jump back up and run to the bathroom because my dinner was definitely not staying down.

The rough seas continued for most of the next day so I basically spent the whole time lying on the bunk in my cabin, except for when I got up for meals that didn’t end up staying in my stomach anyways.  Finally by the next day we got into a more protected area near the ports in Turkey and I started feeling much better and was actually able to eat.  I found a 500-piece puzzle in the passenger lounge and spent much of the day putting it together.  A short time later we arrived at our first stop in Turkey and the ship was docked at the port for most of the day.  Unfortunately, the port officers wouldn’t let the passengers off the boat so we had to admire the view of the multi-colored Mediterranean buildings and many mosques and minarets from the outer decks of the ship.

I had finished my puzzle, but the next day there was another one mysteriously placed beside it that I found out later David and Margaret had found somewhere for me.  I busily got started on it until we got to our second stop in Gemlik, Turkey, where we were actually allowed to disembark for a few hours.  The city was too far away from the port to walk so we had to take a cab.  David and Margaret decided they didn’t want to spend the money so I ended up going by myself.  It was a nice, sunny day and I had a great time walking along the waterfront (along with a thousand other Turkish families) watching the fishermen and catching up on my e-mail at an outdoor cafe.  There was even a little miniature sailboat race going on with a bunch or kids right outside the marina.  I only had about 3 1/2 hours in town and there were a few things I needed to buy that I had trouble finding at the local stores so by the time I got back in a cab it was about five minutes before I was supposed to be back on the boat.  We ended up getting there about ten minutes late, but luckily they were still loading on cars so no one seemed to mind.  They clearly had much more important things to worry about.

Originally, we were supposed to go to Koper, Slovenia, after the stops in Turkey, but the schedule was changed so that both Italian ports came before Slovenia.  As we were heading back down through Greece toward Italy, we once again encountered choppy seas and as a result I spent several more days holed up sick in my room.  I had befriended one of the second mates and we would play foosball or watch movies when he had finished his evening shift so I felt a bit bad that I kind of disappeared for a few days in a row. 

Things finally calmed down again after a day or two and I was able to emerge from my cabin and back into civilization.  All the same, I started to think about getting off the ship early in Ravenna, Italy, instead of in Monfalcone as originally planned, since the trip was pretty behind schedule.  Not only had the strong head winds slowed down our progress, but one of the ship’s two engines was completely out of commission.  What was supposed to be a nine-day voyage was stretching into eleven.  I had really wanted to go to Slovenia, but since that was no longer an option, I finally decided Ravenna was the best place to disembark.

On the morning of Friday, March 2nd, we docked in Ravenna and I got ready to leave the ship.  The captain had initially told me I would be able to get off at about noon, but I guess things progressed faster than expected because by 9:30am I was told I should go down to the bottom deck with all my things in ten minutes.  I had mostly finished packing, but I still had some things to get together so I was rushing around trying to get everything wrapped up before they came to get me.  Then, once I got down to the lower deck I ended up having to wait about 20 minutes for a taxi to arrive anyway.  Thus, my great voyage across the Mediterranean and Adriatic Seas came to an end.

Overall, in spite my seasickness, I had a good experience.  I enjoyed meeting David and Margaret and hearing David talk about all the things his wife had overcome since her difficult childhood and early adulthood.  I liked getting to know the Italian officers (despite the language barrier) and being able to check out how things worked in the control bridge.  I also was glad to have a chance to relax and not have to worry about how I was getting from Point A to Point B.  I wish we could have visited more ports as I had expected and that the embarkation and disembarkation dates would have more on schedule, but I guess that is the risk one assumes when doing this sort of undertaking.  One of my goals for this trip has been to experience different things and unique situations as I travel around the world so this was definitely one of those experiences that will stick out in my mind for years to come.

Tel Aviv and Tunnel Tours

My final week in Israel, I had a chance to meet up with some of the new friends I have met so far on my trip.  Justin, who I originally met on the Old City tour in Jerusalem arrived in Tel Aviv and we got together several times.  He was couch surfing with an Israeli woman whose parents immigrated to the country as refugees after the Vietnam War.  Tiviat is obviously Vietnamese by heritage, but has lived in Israel all her life and speaks fluent Hebrew (and English and Vietnamese.)  One night we went out with her to some sort of web developer networking event and then to several other bars, including one that was featuring a really interesting photography exhibition about modern life in Israel.

I ended up staying out later than planned that night and was afraid I had missed the last bus back to Herzliya, which leaves just around midnight.  I ended up having to take a cab home and had kind of a frightening experience when the crazy cab driver kept putting my hand on the steering wheel and gear shift to make me "drive" the car.  Unfortunately, we were on the freeway so I couldn't exactly just hop out of the cab.  Luckily, I made it home safely, though it was a ride I certainly could have done without.

On Thursday, I decided to go back to Jerusalem for the day because there were several things that I still wanted to see and do there.  I got a late start, so by the time I took the bus from Herzliya into Tel Aviv and then from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, it was nearly 3:00pm.  I took the tram down Jaffa Street toward the Old City and then walked from there to the archaeological site of the City of David.  By the time, I finally got there it was about 4:00pm and the woman at the ticket both told me they were "closed" for the day, but that I could walk around the grounds if I wanted.  I guess she meant the tours of the old water supply tunnels had ended because I was able to walk around most of the actual site.

This narrow ridge just outside the Temple Mount was a walled city during the Bronze Age and according to tradition was where King David built his palace and established his capital.  I was able to see the remains of tombs, the homes of high-ranking officials and the large stone structure that some archaeologists maintain is David's palace.  That structure is still is the process of being excavated as those archaeologists search for proof of their conjecture.  While the work continues as planned, the area around the site is considered a bit contentious as it is the location of both Arab and Israeli housing.  Still, there is a proposal to make the entire ridge into a large archaeological park.

Just as it was approaching 5:00pm and the time when I thought the area would be closing, it started to rain a bit on and off so I thought it would be good to get inside.  I left the site and walked down toward the Mount of Olives with the hopes of going to the Church of Mary Magdalene, which looks almost Islamic (or Russian, which it is) with its onion-shaped domed towers.  Along the way, I stopped in Saint Stephen's Church, which is dedicated to the first Christian martyr.  I had to admit to the Greek Orthodox priest I met inside that since I was raised Protestant I really am not familiar with the story.  Nonetheless, I lit a candle and paid my respects to the revered saint, whoever he happens to be.  I then walked up the hill and tried to go into the Church of Mary Magdalene, which is run by the Russian Orthodox Church, but it turns out it was only open for a few hours earlier that morning and another day earlier in the week.  I had to make my way back to the Old City anyway so along the way I walked through the Kidron Valley where I passed Absalom's Tomb, which is a stone pillar traditionally ascribed to David's rebellious son, though it was actually probably created some time much later.

I now had a few hours to kill before my tour of the Western Wall Tunnels, which was scheduled to begin at 8:00pm.  I ate some dinner and then lounged in a coffee shop until it was nearly time to meet up outside the Western Wall.  The tour took us down into where they are still excavating the remains of the original Second Temple wall from underneath the basements of existing homes in the Muslim Quarter.  The visible outdoor section of the wall where Jews from around the world go to pray is actually only one tiny section of the whole structure.  We were able to see the original Herodian stones from when it was constructed during the time of King Herod, including the largest monolithic block in the entire wall.  We also walked through the Holiest of Holies, which is the spot in the wall closest to where the ancient temple would have stood thousands of years ago (and where the Dome of the Rock stands now.)  When we reached the end of the wall where it would have met a corner, we walked down an old Herodian market street, through a towering aqueduct and to a pool that would have served as a cistern for water.  We had to walk back the way we came because apparently the tourism board doesn't allow large groups of visitors to exit into the Muslim Quarter at night.  Experiencing this hidden portion of the Western Wall was definitely one of the coolest things I saw in all of Jerusalem and I'm really glad I made it back for the tour.

I had considered staying overnight in Jerusalem, but once the tour ended I decided I just wanted to get back to Tel Aviv instead of having to wait for the morning.  The following day was Friday and it can be a bit crazy trying to get around even in the morning with everyone preparing for the Sabbath.  I also had plans to see my friend, Shlomie, whom I had met way back in Vietnam, on Friday afternoon and I didn't want to be rushing around to get there.  Shlomie lives in downtown Tel Aviv, just about one block away from the beach.  Obviously it was too cold to actually go down to the water, but there was a crazy storm going on that night, which was really tossing around the waves as were we able to see from the street below.

The storm was definitely not the most fun thing ever to deal with as I was trying to get into Tel Aviv.  By the time I got to Shlomie's apartment in the afternoon, my shoes and most of my jeans were completely soaking wet.  We went first to one of his friend's birthday parties and then left with a few people to go to a nearby Irish pub.  At the pub I decided put paper towels in my wet shoes, which I proceeded to wear even after we went to meet one of his other friends at a restaurant for dinner.  After dinner we went back to the apartment and a few more people came over.  When they left, we were planning on going out to another party, but instead just ended up crashing.  Since it was Friday night and all the buses had stopped running for Shabbat, Shlomie had told me earlier that I could stay on his couch.  The next morning, we met up with two of the same friends from the night before and went to a hummus restaurant where literally the only thing on the menu was hot fresh hummus (with pita of course.)

Once the buses started operating again on Saturday afternoon I was able to get back to Herzliya.  The following morning I called to check on the status of my cargo ship and they told me it was now most likely not leaving until Tuesday instead of Monday.  I told Carrie that I would probably go down to Ashdod on Monday either way.  However, once I did some research I realized there was no cheap place to stay there.  When Monday rolled around and they confirmed that the boat would arrive the next day, I told Carrie the situation.  She had thought I was definitely leaving so her daughter was coming back to stay in her room that night.  I didn't know what to do, but in the meantime I had to leave to meet one of the woman from the Ein Gedi dig at the Hacarmel Market in Tel Aviv.  I was running late so I tried to call her from Skype, but don't know if I had the right number since the voice message was in Hebrew.  When I arrived at the market, I looked around for Iris, but didn't see her anywhere and figured she had already left.  I browsed around for a bit on my own then headed back to pack.  Iris later e-mailed me that she had waited around for me outside so I felt really bad that I hadn't given her another call when I arrived.

Given the situation, I realized I would be better off at least staying in Tel Aviv for the night since it would be easier to get the bus to Ashdod on Tuesday morning.  The port still didn't know what time the boat would be arriving or departing, which to me was getting rather frustrating.  Luckily, I was able to get in touch with Shlomie and he agreed to let me sleep on his couch again so I at least had a place to stay.  Whether or not the boat would actually leave on Tuesday was still the unanswered question.

What Would Jesus Do?

I know I'm still a bit behind in my posts, but I'll try to get Israel wrapped up quickly so I can move on to my cargo ship trip and quick tour through Europe.

On my last day in the Upper Galilee on the way back down to Tel Aviv, I made a few stops along the way at various spots right around the Sea of Galilee.  According to the bible, this is the region where Jesus did much of his teaching as a grown man.  It's where the loaves and fishes story took place and Jesus walked on water.  My first stop was at Mount Beatitudes where Christ was said to have delivered the Sermon on the Mount.

Luckily I had a map on my phone and could track where we were because I basically had to get off the road in the middle of nowhere.  I still had to walk down a local road about half a kilometer to get to the entrance to the Catholic chapel that now stands on the site.  When I got there I saw that the gate was closed because the grounds close to tourists between noon and 2:00pm.  I had arrived just as they were closing, though there were still some buses lined up by the exit trying to leave.  Just as I was settling down to wait it out and eat the lunch Masha had packed me, someone came to open the gate for the buses and he said I had about 10 minutes if I wanted to go in very quickly.  By the time I got to the actual chapel, the door to the entrance was locked so I just looked around at the grounds and the amazing view of the Sea of Galilee before heading back toward the exit.

On my way out, the man who had let me in drove by and told me that if I waited by the gate (which was once again closed) he would drive me down to the bottom of the hill.  That was very nice of him because he saved me quite a bit of time having to walk several kilometers down switchback roads to the shores of the water below.  He dropped me off at the bus stop and from there I walked over to the Church of the Multiplication where Jesus was said to have turned two fish and five loaves of bread into enough food to feed five thousand people.  By this point, I was pretty hungry so I ate my lunch on a bench outside before going in.  Luckily there was only one of me so no food multiplication was necessary.  The current Catholic church stands built in 1982 stands on the site of two earlier churches.  The interior features a 5th century mosaic floor, which includes a design in front of the altar depicting two fish flanking a basket of bread.  Under the altar is a block of limestone found during an excavation in the 1930s that is supposed to be the stone on which the miraculous meal was laid.

After leaving the church, I walked a short distance down the road to the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter. This small chapel was built in 1933, incorporating parts of an earlier church from the 4th century.  This is said to be the site where Jesus reinstated Peter as chief among the Twelve Apostles.  I honestly don't know very much about this story so Wikipedia has informed me that "according to tradition this is the spot where Jesus is said to have laid out a breakfast of bread and fish for the Apostles and told Peter to "Feed my sheep" after the miraculous catch, the third time he appeared to them after his resurrection.  So there you have it.  The limestone rock projection where this breakfast was said to have been laid out is still in the interior of the church.  Right outside is a small sandy beach on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, which was shrouded in mist while I was there.

I had considered walking then down the road about three kilometers to the nearby town of Capernaum where there are two ancient synagogues and Jesus kind of based himself while teaching.  Then I realized I would have to walk all the way back and since the day was wearing on I decided to instead head to Tiberias.  I was waiting by the bus stop when a taxi driver pulled up and kept lowering his price until it didn't make much sense not to accept his offer.  I guess he was probably going back that way anyways and figured a few bucks was better than nothing.  He dropped me off at the bus station and I walked through down down to the waterfront.  Tiberias is considered one of Judaism's Four Holy Cities and is also the site of several of Christ's miracles.  On the way to the Sea of Galilee I passed through a small open air museum featuring artwork from local artists.  I basically just ambled along the waterfront for a while, stopping in the Church of St. Peter which commemorates the "First Miraculous Catch of Fish."  It also features a monument dedicated to Polish soldiers of the Third Army who stayed in the area in 1945.

As it started to approach 4:00pm, I knew there was a bus leaving soon that went directly back to Herzliya.  I had thought about trying to go to Nazareth as my final stop, but it was too complicated to try to get there and was getting too late in the day.  As it was, I missed the stop where I needed to change buses once I get near Tel Aviv.  Fortunately, I was able to get on wifi and figure out where I needed to go to catch the right bus so I made it back to Herzliya before it got too late.

For the next few days I took it easy around town, going for a drive with Carrie up north along the coast for a bit on Saturday and then on Monday deciding to go on up to Nazareth, where Jesus spent most of his childhood.  I stopped first at the Basilica of the Annunciation, which incorporates the cave where the Virgin Mary received the news from the Angel Gabriel that she was going to give birth to Jesus.  The current sanctuary was built over the remains of Byzantine and Crusader churches.  There was a service going on down by the grotto in the lower church so I wasn't able to get all the way down close to it.  The upper church features mosaics of the Virgin Mary from countries all over the world, which I thought was interesting.

Walking between the Basilica of the Annunciation and the Church of St. Joseph's Carpentry, which is in the same complex, I was able to see the remains from the archaeological excavations of some of the earlier churches.  The Church of St. Joseph's Carpentry is the historical site of Joseph's carpentry workshop.  There are also some interesting archaeological remains that have been found in the grottoes of this newer building.

All I had was basically a map of Nazareth to go on so I saw some churches listed toward the top of the hillside and decided to head that direction.  I wound my way through the narrow, covered market streets stopping in the Synagogue Church marking the traditional site where Jesus used to preach and made it up to the Basilica of Jesus the Adolescent. 

The church is within a huge school complex and when I tried to actually go inside it was locked.  I had gone in the main interest to the churchyard and thought I would be able to exit out the other side, which turned out not to be the case. I ended up walking around the entire group of buildings and hopping several fences in my efforts to escape.  In the end, I had to go all the way back around to the front and come out the way I had come in.  Nearly 40 minutes later I was finally back on the street.  At least there was a good view of the whole city from up top.

I walked back down the hill a slightly different way and finally found the Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation, which is where the Eastern Orthodox church believes the annunciation actually took place.  The underground spring that still exists underneath the church is supposedly where Mary was gathering water when Gabriel came upon her.  The water that still runs inside the apse of the church is fed by the nearby St. Mary's spring about 150 yards away.  After leaving the church, I stopped at a souvenir shop that is built over an old bath complex to see if I could get a tour, but it was too much to pay for one person so I decided I would skip it.  It was getting late in the afternoon so I went back down the main road and luckily flagged a bus down as it was about to drive right past the stop.  It would have been a long wait for the next one so I'm glad I was able to get on board.

My trip to Nazareth basically wrapped up my Jesus Trail pilgrimage, though I did in the completely wrong order both chronologically and according to tradition.  I started where Jesus died in Jerusalem, then went to where he was born in Bethlehem, followed by where he taught as an adult in Galilee and finally where he grew up in Nazareth.  Hey, it might have been out of order, but at least it was comprehensive!