Pershing Square

In the middle of downtown Los Angeles is a square block known as Pershing Square.  At 5 acres, it is 0.5% the size of New York's Central Park.  And to call it a park would be a misnomer, as it was completely covered in concrete in 1994.  There is a fountain that is supposed to represent water coming from the nearby mountains (the purple bell tower) via an aqueduct to irrigate the citrus trees (orange spheres), but it just looks stupid.  The seating was intentionally designed to be uncomfortable to deter the homeless, but it turns out when you have no place else to go, uncomfortable seating is the least of your concerns.  The smell of urine is overwhelming, and the only reason to go there is that in December they set up an ice rink.

Which is what I was doing in Pershing Square earlier this month, while I was in LA.  Too bad I don't ice skate, but it's still fun to watch, and the view of the surrounding architecture (including the Biltmore hotel) is a fantastic backdrop.

Of course I didn't think about it after that.  What I was thinking about was interstate highways, and why some of them (such as I-405 in Los Angeles) don't actually cross interstates.  So I googled it, and discovered the interstate highways weren't set up for transportation, they were set up for military use.

In 1919, as part of World War I, the army needed to transport items from Washington DC to Oakland, California.  The transcontinental railroad proved inadequate, so they set up a motor convoy which took 573 hours, at an average speed of 5.67 mph.  Deemed completely inadequate, the federal government asked the military for a list of roads it deemed to be strategically important, and iIn 1922 General John J. Pershing submitted a detailed, 32-foot long map of 200,000 miles of interconnected primary highways.

However, not much happened until Dwight "Ike" Eisenhower was elected president in 1953.  As a young Army officer, he had been part of the 1919 Army Convoy, and as a 5-star general in World War II he appreciated the need to move troops quickly.  In 1956 the National Interstate and Defense Highways Act was passed. The initial cost estimate was $25 billion over 12 years; it ended up costing $114 billion ($425 billion in 2006 dollars) and took 35 years.  It was declared complete in 1992, although even today there are some interchanges that are still unfinished.  You can now drive coast-to-coast in about 40 hours instead of 573.

Many interstates were designed to connect strategically important locations, such as airports and sea ports, plus the US borders. The Interstates were designed to move troops, not encourage economic growth, which is why some of the highways seem so incongruous.  (Note that, contrary to popular belief, Interstate Highways are not designed to serve as airstrips.  It is an urban myth that one out of every five miles of the Interstate Highway System must be built straight and flat.)

Which of course brought me back to Pershing.  It turns out, General John J. Pershing was the head of the American Expeditionary Force in Europe during World War I, and promoted to General of the Armies of the United States in 1919.  As this rank was created especially for Pershing, he was also invited to design his own insignia.  At the time, the highest rank was a 4-star General, which used silver stars, so he created a 4-star gold insignia.  During World War II, the 5-star general was created, but this is still outranked by Pershing's 4 gold stars.  (Bizarrely, only one other person has been given 4 gold stars: In 1976, during the US bicentennial, President Ford posthumously awarded the rank to George Washington.)

La Plaza Abaja ("The Lower Plaza") -- declared a public square in 1866 -- had been renamed St. Vincent's Park, Los Angeles Park, 6th Street Park, and Central Park. In November 1918, at the end of World War I, it was renamed "Pershing Square" in honor of the General of the Armies and, not incidentally, the father of the Interstate Highway System.  Sadly, it has been a neglected eyesore since it was "renovated" in 1952 to build a car park underneath.  It's 1992-1994 "remodel" made it even worse.  However, earlier this year it was announced that a task force had been set up to help "re-envision" the park.  Of course, one 5-acre park is not going to help reduce decades of neglect in the city centre, nor solve the homeless problems, but it is a step in the right direction.  General Pershing deserves better.

Limmud 2013

I first heard about Limmud--a 4 1/2 day conference on Jewish learning--in 2011, but I didn't attend.  In 2012 I attended one day, and this year I attended two days.  Clearly I'm working my way into it slowly.

To be fair, it is quite overwhelming--2600 attendees, 1100 different seminars, 450 presenters!  Everything from Jewish mysticism to Indian head massage.  You can talk about nothing but God for 4 1/2 days, or you can go and not talk about God at all for 4 1/2 days!  There are people from all around the world, from 8 to 80, from the most progressive to the most conservative.

That's not true--the ultra-orthodox are not represented at all, which makes it very hard to engage with them.  I am always forced to interpret them through the Amish people I met in Pennsylvania, who have taken a similar decision (although, in my opinion, a more intellectually honest one) about living a simple life according to old traditions.

Although this year the Haredi were represented in the form of an Israeli soap opera called Shtisel. Presented as simply a "day in the life" of a young rabbi in an Haredi community, it was really an interesting way to engage with that mindset, which really became relevant later that day during a panel session called, "We Have Reason To Believe."

The title was actually taken from a 1957 book by Rabbi Louis Jacobs which asked, if the Bible (Torah) was not actually given to Moses by God on Mount Sinai, why should we follow it?  (This is personally relevant because it was when I was posed the same question that I decided to convert.)  Of course, Rabbi Jacobs sets forth a number of persuasive reasons, but for even suggesting the Torah was not divinely authored he was effectively kicked out of the Orthodox community!

So the panel discussion was to revisit this question, 56 years on, with different streams of Judaism.  Listening to the Orthodox response, and reading between the lines, after having watched Shtisel, I realised what they were saying was: What does it matter?

Now, I have to qualify that because obviously it matters very much if they were willing to excommunicate a very senior and well-respected rabbi for even suggesting otherwise!  While challenging the Orthodox belief is still not allowed, the point is the answer is immaterial to the practice.  That is, whether you believe the Torah was written by man or God is irrelevant, provided you accept it for whatever reasons you choose.

So when Orthodoxy wraps itself into logical pretzels trying to explain why Genesis contains two separate and conflicting versions of the story of Noah (go read it, I'll wait) the point is not that they are being intellectually dishonest; they are just operating on a completely different plane than I am.  While I am trying to use these examples to attack them, they are not even in the same space.

Which, of course, is why I go to Limmud--to challenge my preconceptions, to appreciate new viewpoints and to gain new information.  Which is also why I was pretty annoyed after the first day--of the seven sessions I went to, I didn't get a single thing out of five of them!  (Had I the foresight to sit close to the door, I might have escaped and been able to go late to another session, but I failed to do that every single time!)

Seven, one-hour sessions in a day may seem crazy, but I was actually slacking--they start at 9:20am and finish around midnight, so I could have done twice as many.  Limmud takes over the University of Warwick -- classrooms, cafeterias, and dormitories -- during the winter break, and charges £375 ($613 USD) for the full program, including all meals and accommodation (with a shared bathroom).  Some people complain it's too expensive--pointing out they could have a four day beach holiday for about the same--but I get a lot more out of it than a beach holiday.  (Plus, only coming for two days saved me £150.)

I should mention that all of the staff and presenters are volunteers, and many people volunteer in exchange for a discount.

My only complaint about Limmud is that it appears to be completely unmoderated--anyone with an idea can do a presentation.  While that is perhaps part of its strength, I would like to see them provide more support and guidance, so that people who haven't presented before can at least learn from other people, rather than failing on their own.  Of course, now that I've suggested that, there's no reason I can't put myself forward to do a seminar on that next year!

I might even get a discount.

Lucy and me

I still haven't uploaded my photos from the States, but here's one a good friend of mine took in Los Angeles.  (That's Lucy on the left.)

Holiday greetings

As I've been so poor about sending holiday greetings this year -- or communicating in general -- I decided to send other people's holiday greetings:

The Sneed family have too much time on their hands

The Holderness family have too much...something.  Eggnog, perhaps?

The Slade family card is cute, but the "making of" is even better (especially if you like to watch cats falling from the ceiling)

One London building turned itself into a Christmas tree

Another turned its shopfront into a boys' choir

The worst neighbor in the world

This game brings new meaning to the term "tossing cookies" (use the arrow keys/space bar)

And, of course, the annual Jib Jab 2013 year in review

As for me, I don't have much to report -- same job, same flat, same car -- although I am looking to change all that in the new year.  I might be a little wiser, or just a little closer to senility, depending on your viewpoint.  I'll be at Limmud over the holidays and in New Zealand in a couple of weeks.  (I'm also going to Dublin next month but that doesn't sound nearly as cool.) 

At the risk of sounding hackneyed, I hope everyone has a lovely holiday--regardless of your persuasion--and a great new year.  Or, as my Welsh co-worker just taught me, Nadolig LLawen a Blwyddyn Newydd Da. (Which just reinforced my belief that the Welsh language was made up by a 2 year old.)

Middle Earth

Two months ago I decided to go to New Zealand, but needed to wait until January for my vacation time to roll over.  That was actually perfect, because I'd be escaping the English winter to the New Zealand summer! 

However, just to make it more complicated--and to break the flights up a little--I decided to spend a couple of days in Sydney on the way in, and a couple of days "somewhere" on the way out.  My options were: Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Beijing, New Delhi, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore or Kuala Lumpur.

Every day I searched for flights to all these destinations, and finally my perseverance paid off: An Air China flight via Beijing for £700 (USD $1150)!  I immediately tried to book on their web site, only to be met by an error message that I hadn't entered my credit card.  Of course I had--and did so several more times--but the web site was adamant I hadn't.  I was in Los Angeles on holiday at the time and so couldn't spend all day messing with it.  Of course, when I tried again in the evening, the price had jumped to £1200 (USD $1950)!

So I continued to keep an eye out and about two weeks later, I saw another flight on Air China for only £1000.  Figuring this was as good as it was going to get, I booked it.  This time the credit card went through without a problem, and I promptly got a confirmation email, followed by an email with my ticket information, followed by an email that read:

Dear Customer,

After a system validation, we found that your ticket has not been issued successfully however you were still charged for the ticket fees.

To avoid any loss, we have refunded your ticket fees. It will take approximately 2 to 3 weeks for the payment to be posted to your payment card account.

We apologize for any inconvenience. For any questions, please contact a local branch of Air China.

What?? Obviously I was rather upset -- partly because I didn't have a ticket, but mostly because I had maxed out one credit card in California, and now they had maxed out my other credit card, so I had no way to pay for another ticket!

In any case, prices went back to £1200 so I was watching and waiting for another week, spending at least 30 minutes searching every day . With only 3 weeks remaining and no sign of falling prices, I finally decided to bite the bullet, so I logged into my bank to shift some funds around.  That's when I discovered that Air China had billed me twice and refunded me once!

Very confused, I called them (oddly, I got someone who spoke with a Russian accent) and they confirmed I had a ticket all along!  So in the end I was grateful I hadn't bought another ticket, as of course they weren't refundable!

Of course, by then I'd realised that stopping in Beijing was a very bad idea: First, a quick glance at the map shows that Beijing is completely out of the way!  If you go via Dubai, it's 22 hours flight time; if you go via Beijing, it's 29 hours!!  So much for "breaking up" the flight.  Second, Beijing is 8 hours ahead of Britain, and I'll be flying home on a Sunday and going to work on Monday!  Madness!

But the deed is done and I have 55 hours to see Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City (9,000 rooms spread over 250 acres!), the Summer Palace, the Great Wall, the Temple of Heaven, and more. (China just introduced a free "72 hour visa" so I don't even have to apply for a visa!)  I know it's just a teaser, but I'm really looking forward to it, as it is my first trip to the Orient.

Sydney will be slightly more relaxed: I'll have 4 days to see the harbor, Opera House, botanic gardens, museums, lots of historic architecture, the Jewish museum and of course miles of beaches.

As for New Zealand, well, I think this Air New Zealand commercial says it all:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7q7WFMuxsg

Snorgtees

It was my birthday on Monday and nobody got me any of these t-shirts.  I'm just sayin'.

Leviticus 27

"Howbeit on the tenth day of this seventh month is the day of atonement; there shall be a holy convocation unto you, and ye shall afflict your souls; and ye shall bring an offering made by fire unto the LORD."

Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, consisting of a 25-hour fast (starting at sundown the night before) and involving at least 16 hours at synagogue. Actually, there's no reason to be in synagogue, but when you are fasting and being miserable, it's nice to be with other people who are fasting and being miserable*.

This was my fourth year celebrating Yom Kippur, and my third in Maidenhead.  I was asked to do four security duties, so I spent as much time outside of the synagogue as I did in it.  However, on the first day I was sitting in the back row and someone came behind me and squeezed my shoulder.  It was a simple greeting--and over so fast I didn't even had a chance to say hello--but it really made me feel like part of the community.

I was on security duty for the last part of the service--the very end of the fast--which is terrible because while everyone is inside eating, you're still stuck outside waiting.  Even worse, I was posted behind the synagogue, right next to a Chinese restaurant!  Normally I wouldn't give the place a second glance, but that night it smelled divine.

To help you with next year, here are several traditional greetings for Yom Kippur:

• L'Shana Tova, which means "good year." This actually refers to Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, which was last week but can be used until Yom Kippur.
• Yom Tov, which means "good day." Oddly it is only used on high holy days.
• Have an easy fast, which is self-explanatory.
• G'mar Hatimah Tovah, which literally means, "May You Be Sealed for a Good Year." At Rosh Hashanah, you are pencilled into the Book of Life for either a good year or bad year, and you then have 10 days to influence that judgment before it is sealed on Yom Kippur.

A week after Yom Kippur is Sukkot, a bizarre 8-day festival where you are supposed to build a booth outside of your home and live in that (or at least eat in it).  You also have to wave a lulav and etrog, whatever the heck those are.  The day after that is Simchat Torah, where you celebrate finishing reading the Torah, or you celebrate starting to read it again.  Then we're finished until Hanukkah, unless you think Hanukkah isn't really a holiday, in which case you're stuck until Tu B'Shevat at the end of January, which nobody celebrates anyway, even though it's one of only four holidays described in the Bible! 

Fortunately in March things start rolling again, with Purim, Pesach and Shavuot (where you eat cheesecake).  You have a love a religion with a holiday about eating cheesecake.

* In the old days, they had to fast while making animal sacrifices and roasting them over a fire!  That must have been hard--even as a confirmed vegetarian, the smell of roasting meat still makes me salivate!

Israel photos

I took 471 photos, but you'll be happy to know I only posted 80.  Sadly, what I wanted the most--a meteor--I didn't get. You'll be forgiven if you think I've recycled my Grand Canyon photos, but that really is Makhtesh Ramon (and a few of Makhtesth HaGadol). I then drove past the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee to Tzfat, Hula Valley, the Banias nature preserve (check out the Syrian Rock Hyrax!) and Nazareth.  (I arrived at the airport early, so made an unscheduled stop at Jaffa to dip my toes into the Mediterranean.)

Overall, it was an amazing trip, but I would expect nothing less from Israel.  I've already thought about going back in Spring 2015 to see the desert wildflowers and migrating birds.

Lost in Transliteration

I spent four days in the Upper Galilee/Golan Heights area. It was boiling hot, it was mostly barren, it was right on the border of both Lebanon and Syria, not exactly the friendliest (or most stable) neighbors, and it was lovely.

Tzfat--or Tsfat, or Zafet, or Safed, or about six other ways to spell it--was interesting, built on a hilltop, with a long history of Jewish spiritualism (or 'kabbalah'). I'd talked to several people who all really loved Tzfat, and so I used it as my base, but somehow it didn't do it for me. I don't understand why; certainly the narrow cobblestone alleys were attractive, the people were friendly enough, I loved the B&B I stayed at, and there's nothing I can fault, but I just didn't love it.

The next day I headed north to the Hula valley, where half a billion (with a 'b') birds pass through twice a year whilst migrating between Europe, Asia and Africa. Unfortunately, in summer, birds aren't migrating anywhere, and all I saw were some pigeons. (And monster catfish that could have eaten the pigeons!)  It was hot and humid and a long walk to see nothing.

But after that I went to Banias falls, which was lovely and cool. They had even built a "suspended trail" over the river, along a basalt canyon, which was nothing short of spectacular. A short drive away was an archaeological site from 300 BCE and the remains of a Crusader-era fort, both very cool but blisteringly hot, so I didn't stay long.

 

I have to give kudos to the Israel national parks service which manages a wide variety of resources and seems to have gotten the balance of public access, preservation, and interpretation spot on.

I should also note that when I went to the first park, the nice person told me it was 29 shekels or I could go to 6 parks for 99 shekels. Well, six was ridiculous--I wasn't even sure I'd go to three--so I paid each one separately.  In the end, I went to six...

The next day I was thinking of going to the Sea of Galilee (possibly doing some preaching) but when I'd passed through a few days prior, I was not terribly impressed, and this was seconded by a friend who'd lived in Israel. Instead I had a nice easy day, made even easier because Tzfat shut down at 2:30pm!

I should note, because the Jewish sabbath is Saturday, the weekend in Israel is Friday and Saturday, and Sunday is a normal working day. Of course, in a tourist area you'd hardly notice the difference, but in a conservative town like Tzfat, everything stopped, including the buses! (There are some parts of Israel where they will throw stones at your car if they see you driving on Saturday!)  Since there was nothing to be done, I went back to the hotel where I'd spied a hammock earlier, and I took a nap in the sunshine. A light breeze had mercifully started to blow, and it was heavenly.

I also realised it had been seven years--since I'd moved to Pennsylvania--that I'd been in a hammock! As this had been a weekend ritual for over a decade in LA, it was hard to believe. I also used to get in the hot tub two or three times a week in LA.  Since moving, I think I've been in a hot tub once. No wonder I'm so stressed. :-(

In the evening I drove to Mount Meron, not far away, to take photos of the sunset. On the way I saw a wild pig crossing the road, so I jumped out of the car to take a photo! This startled three little piglets that had been hiding, and they ran across the road to join their mom.  I was happily following them and snapping pictures, oblivious to how far I'd moved from the car, when the mom turned and snorted at me.

You've never seen me move so fast in my life. 

Saturday I left Tzfat at 11am, I had to be at the airport at 6pm, and it was a two hour drive. With 5 hours to kill, my first stop was Nazareth, which was perfect because it was an Arab city, and so wouldn't be closed for Shabbat. Unfortunately, Nazareth kind of sucked. 

Of course this is where Jesus grew up, so various Christian denominations had plonked churches down on every site associated with his life, all of which have been destroyed and rebuilt many times as the city changed hands (and had occasional earthquakes) over the past two millenia. The biggest, the church of the Annunciation, was finished in 1969 out of bare concrete and it is...interesting. It did have mosaics of Mary and Jesus from around the world, which was actually quite interesting, especially the one from Japan showing a very Oriental-looking Jesus.

 

Hilariously, while everyone else believes Mary was visited by an angel to announce that she was bearing the son of God while she was at home, the Greek Orthodox believe it happened while she was fetching water at the well, and so they built a separate Church of the Annunciation a few blocks away! I did nor go into that one. 

I did wander through the alleyways of the Old City, browse at a souq, and ate at a falafel stand, but that only took two hours and I was bored, so I left.

The road to the airport took me past Mount Maggido, which in Hebrew is "Har Maggido" which has been corrupted into "Armageddon." It is a stronghold on the trade route from Egypt to Syria, and so has been fought over for 6000 years! No wonder John predicted it would be the site of the final battle on Earth.

Having been continuously occupied, and having changed hands so many times, they say it's one of the most important archaeological sites in Israel, and there I was at the entrance, with a couple of hours to kill...and I just couldn't do it. I'd been culturally saturated, and the the thought of walking around in the 40C (104F) heat was too much. I got back in my car, tail tucked firmly between my legs, and drove off (with the air conditioning on full).

So I arrived at the airport at 3pm, 3 hours before I planned, and 5 hours before my flight!! On a whim, I continued on Route 1 to Jaffa (next to Tel Aviv) where I sat on the beach and dipped my toes in the Mediterranean Sea. That was the perfect end to a lovely holiday. 

The plane was an hour and a half late and I didn't get home until 3am, but I didn't care.  I had a great time, saw some amazing things, found some of the answers I was looking for, and have new directions in my life. Isn't that what travel is supposed to be about?

Crisis of faith

Who knew coming to Israel would result in a crisis of faith?

I guess they call it a "journey into Judaism" for a reason.  There's no "a-ha" moment, no accepting a saviour, no submitting to God.  It is all about learning and growing; the conversion process is only intended to give you a foundation to build upon.  It is like leaving college thinking you know everything, and quickly realizing you don't know anything.

Of course, if you're a born Jew, you know that no one can challenge you, but I lack that confidence.  Worse, as I converted Reform, about half the Jews in the world would not even consider me Jewish!  In the UK, I've associated with secular and progressive Jews, where I am often the most observant Jew!  However, in Tzfat there are many Hasidic and ultra-orthodox Jews who put me to shame.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to join them--far from it!--but their mere presence makes me feel like less of a Jew.  I can't read Hebrew, I don't understand a lot of their rituals, I don't feel comfortable in their synagogues, and I've heard at least six versions of "L'cha dodi"* that I've never heard before!  Rather than making me feel connected, it makes me feel alienated, and makes me question if I'm actually Jewish at all.

Hopefully this gives me the incentive to start learning Hebrew--not just being able to read it, but understand it--and perhaps it's just a reminder that there is still a lot to learn and experience.  I keep thinking that if I had a Jewish partner, this would be easier, but this is my journey, and no one can take it for me.


* Video from the Tzfat klezmer festival 2010

Dark Skies

The International Dark-Sky Association is not some evil organisation bent on the destruction of society (although that would be cool).  Instead, it's a group of professional and amateur astronomers who sensibly point out that "light pollution" destroys our view of the cosmos (not to mentions messes with sea turtles) and suggests common-sense ways to minimize it, which also reduces energy and saves money.  What could be easier?

Except I think they have a real fight on their hands.

I was in Mitzpe Ramon for the meteor shower, and I was there specifically because the local council shuts off all of the town's lights for the event.  This has proved very popular, and I read that last year they attracted 9,000 people, although I find that a little hard to believe considering the town only has 5,000 residents!  There were certainly a lot of people there, but I wouldn't estimate it at more than 500-1,000, at least at the soccer field they had designated for the event.

Of course, I didn't go into the soccer field, partly because of my enduring disdain for fellow humans, but mostly because I didn't have a bright pink wristband like everyone else (and no idea how to get one).  Instead, I went to a "rock sculpture garden" nearby, staked out a broad flat rock that didn't look like it might be harboring any venomous snakes, and laid down.  The sun was just setting, the moon was going to follow shortly, I could already see hundreds of stars, and I realised it had been five years since I last went stargazing.  Five years!  I used to go once or twice a year, to the top of Mount Pina in Frasier Park, 2000 feet up and it was always cold, but I was prepared with blankets, gloves, hats, scarves, and six layers of clothes.  Tonight I was just wearing jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and I had a thin jumper in the car.

Then the sun went down and the wind picked up and the temperature dropped 20 degrees and I was absolutely freezing and miserable.  After about 20 minutes of shivering, I went back to the car to collect my jumper, and then decided to take a short nap while waiting for the moon to set.  I woke up at 1am.

Which is fine, because meteor showers are always best right before dawn (when the earth is colliding with them head-on) and besides all of the day trippers had taken their kids home, leaving only the avid stargazers.  I grabbed my jumper and got out of my car and there were...campfires!

I can't begin to express my shock and horror.  The whole point of being in Mitzpeh Ramon was to have dark skies, and these people were ruining it for everyone!  Elsewhere people had their car lights on and music playing, and people were walking around with bright flashlights and shining them on everyone.  It was a freak show, not a star party.  I honestly have no idea why anyone of them had bothered to come out into the middle of Negev desert, since they obviously had no actual interest in the meteor shower.

So now I had to get away from all the people, in a town I knew nothing about.  I thought about driving out of town, but that would just mean I was sitting on Highway 40 with constant traffic going by.  I thought about going to a campsite that I knew had a star party the night before, but then I realised you needed a 4x4 to reach it.  I thought about going to the cemetery, but then I asked myself what I was thinking.  For someone who purports not to believe in anything supernatural, I am still scared by them.

So I ended up driving around town, at 2am, with the street lights off.  Even though it is a tiny little town, it was still terrifying!  I did not appreciate how accustomed I am to having city streets lit up like daytime. I literally could not see 20 feet ahead of me. When you're barreling down the motorway that's one thing, but in a built-up environment with parked cars, occasional pedestrians, turns and dead-end streets, it was incredibly difficult. 

Even worse, when I finally found a spot that was away from all the people, I didn't want to stay there because it was away from all the people!  To be fair, I really can't imagine a safer little town than Mitzpe Ramon, but the big city paranoia runs deep, and I was not comfortable being in the middle of nowhere.

Finally I found a spot, which I later realised was the entrance to Mahktesh Ramon, the crater I had gone down the day before.  There were some people on the hill above me, there were some rocks for setting up my camera (although I don't think I caught a single meteor), and more importantly the gale force wind was being blocked by the hill, so it was cool but tolerable.  My only complaint was that there was no place to sit or lie down.  I stood out there for nearly two hours, mindlessly operating my camera, and saw some good meteors but no fireballs, nothing really that great.  I did get excited at one point until I realised what I was seeing were Chinese lanterns that someone had released over the canyon.  Unbelievable.

One humorous moment came when I saw one of the people on the hill was standing near the cliff edge, and I thought his silhouette against the backdrop of stars would make a nice photo. I'd just set up the camera and released the shutter when I heard the unmistakable sound of water splashing below the ledge.  Fortunately I was far enough away, but the camera was on a 30-second shutter and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  It will be interesting to see how that photo comes out.

Speaking of which, I managed to drain the camera battery that night, and did not bring the charger with me.  As of Wednesday it is still working, but I have 3 more days in Israel.  Fingers crossed.

* Of course, you don't want a meteor to be too great, as that could mean the end to life on this planet.  I should also note that photo isn't mine, wasn't taken in Mitzpe Ramon, isn't of the Perseid meteor shower, and wasn't taken this year.  But it's still pretty.

Greetings from Israel

I'm sitting in my hotel room, drinking a cup of Tetley's tea, typing on my laptop, and thinking I could be doing this at home.  Why did I need to come here to do this?
The answer, of course, is complicated.  The immediate driver is watching the Perseid meteor shower from the Negev desert, something Jess had suggested years ago. So it definitely feels a little bittersweet to be here on my own.  But the bigger question I'm trying to understand is my relationship to Israel, and why I came away from my last visit with such an affinity for it.

After all, I hadn't converted to Judaism at the time--hadn't even considered it.  I loved Amsterdam and Prague, but they didn't move me like Israel.  And more than that, I had a really hard time the last time I was in Israel, so by all accounts I should really dislike it.

It was March 2009, nine months after I'd moved to London, and eight months after I'd met Jess. I'd been struggling to find a job, struggling to pay my bills, and struggling to integrate into British life.  I had just moved out of my flat and was staying with Jess, but it was clear she wasn't comfortable with that. And I was fast approaching the deadline that if I didn't find a job soon, I would not be able to renew my work permit, and would have to leave the UK.

I had no idea that just one month later, I would have a flat and a job, and finally start to feel at home.  But at the time I was depressed, full of self-doubt, and this was not the right time to spend £1,000 to go on holiday with Jess' entire family for a wedding in Israel.

So of course I said yes. But I did tell Jess before I left that I was at a very low point, and was going to have had a hard time coping with so many new people, and that I really needed her support while we were there.  Instead, she ignored me during the entire trip.

Of course it's not fair to put it all on her, but having reached out and got nothing back, even I realised that was a red flag in a relationship, and so I broke up with her.  In the middle of the trip.  I recognise that wasn't the best time, especially surrounded by her entire family, but I've never been one to hide my emotions.

So against that backdrop of emotional turmoil, I visited Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, Masada and the Dead Sea, Caeserea and Eilat, Petra and Wadi Rum, each more spectacular than the last, each steeped in history, each a thriving, living place.  In ten days I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty and the spectacle.  The people I met were open and accommodating.  It was such an incredible feeling, even as my own inner resources were crumbling within.

That is my personal history with Israel.  I know its political history, and I certainly don't agree with everything they've done, but I will say it's a miracle they even exist.  In 1948 Jerusalem was a forgotten backwater of the Ottoman empire; Tel Aviv was nothing but sand dunes; it was literally a worthless part of the middle-east -- they only country not to have oil! -- and the transformation over the past 75 years is nothing short of miraculous.  Of course they still have a ways to go, and a lot of internal politics to sort out, but I'm very optimistic about its future.

And in part that's why I'm here, to see if I want to be part of its future. Ever since I converted--and migrating became an option--it's been in the back of my mind.  Yes, it would be an incredibly difficult transition, much harder than moving to England, but Israel is one of the few countries that actively helps immigrants integrate with society, from language classes to job assistance. (You are even assigned a "mentor family!")  So while it would be an incredible challenge, it would also be an incredible opportunity.

So stepping out of Ben Gurion airport this evening, into the darkening twilight and the warm, humid air, brought back a lot of memories, some harder than others. But it's time I faced this stalking horse that has been chasing me for four years, try to better understand this country, and hopefully understand a bit more of myself in the process.


My itinerary (you may have to zoom out)

Walking

I did the maths (or maps, as the case may be) and realised that in less than 3 days, I'd walked over 20 miles in Edinburgh!  You might have thought I would have lost weight as a result, but unfortunately I found a lovely little pie shop in the middle of town..

(Sadly, I didn't make it to the Engine Shed this year, which is a fantastic vegetarian cafe that provides employment for people with learning disabilities.)

Edinburgh roundup

[I should warn you, this message is rather long.  If you aren't interested in the minutae of my life, you should stop reading here and write me a 2,500 word essay on how your life is better.  Include as many examples as possible.]

Friday

I arrived Edinburgh on Friday afternoon about half an hour later than scheduled because--as the conductor announced at least 8 times in the 3 hour ride--there was a fatality on the tracks about 200 miles away, which honestly couldn't have affected our journey unless they stopped the train to observe 20 minutes of silence.  I don't mean to make light of a fatality--and I don't have any more details than that--just at the zealousness with which Virgin was willing to blame their tardiness on a fatality that clearly had nothing to do with it.  Had the cafe run out of tea, I'm sure they would have blamed it on the fatality, as well.

No worries, it was now 4:53pm and I had an hour and fifteen minutes to buy some underwear, check into my hotel, and get to the church* for Friday night service. Not a problem, except it turns out nobody in Edinburgh sells underwear.  (It must be all those kilts!)  I went into a mall and two clothing stores; no underwear! I finally found a Marks & Spencer but by now it was almost 5:30, and there was no way I could walk to the hotel, so I decided to hail a cab.

Except it was the Edinburgh fringe, and every cab was taken.  I had walked halfway to the hotel** before I finally found one available.  I checked in, threw my suitcase in the room, and literally ran across town, arriving in a complete sweat just at 6:15pm!  I was the first one there.

I should note that I had emailed both the liberal and orthodox communities to let them know I'd be in town and I'd like to attend services.  The liberal community sent me a nice response giving me all the details and letting me know they met in the rec center of a local church.  I never heard back from the Orthodox community.  Always nice to feel welcome.

Anyway, before long there were 14 of us, although only 3 were locals--the rest were, like me, in town just for the festival.  I thought that was very sweet for so many people to take time out to do that. We also took the chairs outside and held the service in a circle in the garden, which was so lovely.  It was a really beautiful start to the weekend.

I left there on a high and walked into town where I saw the Pajama Men.  They were as brilliant as ever, and they will be in New York City in September/October -- I suggest you book your plane tickets now.  Afterwards I saw Ivy Paige just because--honestly--I liked her photo in the catalogue.  (And she is gorgeous.)  I arrived a few minutes late and can't tell you how lucky I was, because she really picks on latecomers, and thankfully a group came in just after me!  Whew!

So I got back to the hotel** around midnight, after a perfect day.

Saturday

Saturday started off great, right up to the point when I realised I wasn't wearing any underwear.

To atone for the sin of watching Ivy Paige the night before, I saw Bridget Christie, a feminist comedienne, at 11am.  I arrived a little late and the only seats remaining were in the front row!  I knew I was going to get it and sure enough, right after she did a bit about the new "Bic for Her" pens, she pointed at me and said, "What's that, sir?"  After a moment's pause she said, "I didn't catch that, could you repeat it louder please?"  I was like a deer in the headlights, with no idea what was going on.  Finally she said, "That's a good question.  If you couldn't hear him, he asked why I am talking about Bic pens when I should be talking about female genital mutilation.  I've never been heckled like that before, but I'd just like to say it's because I am a comedienne, and there are just some things that you can't make funny, so all I can do is bring them up tangentially to get people thinking about these things, without addressing them heads on.  Does that answer your question?"  All I could do was dumbly nod my head.

So I left the show and was feeling pretty smug (how many guys do you know that enjoy watching a feminist comedienne?) and was walking down the street when I realised I forgot my underwear.  The underwear I'd worked so hard to buy the day before!  I have a shared bathroom and I'd gotten out of the shower and pulled on my jeans, and never noticed I was missing something!  I can't recall ever going outside without underwear since I was 3. But no problem: There was a 30 minute tour of the Royal Mile that I wanted to do, but after that I had an hour and a half before my next show, so I'd get some lunch and go back to the hotel**. 

Except it turned out the tour was 3 hours, not 30 minutes!!  It was really interesting and I was looking forward to getting to the bottom of the Royal Mile--which I've not been before--but after two and a half hours I had to go to my next show, and we hadn't yet made it to the bottom!  I grabbed a crappy cheese sandwich from the local supermarket and ran halfway across Edinburgh to the next venue, which was Victoria Melody and her dog, Major Tom.  As I expected, the show was brilliant, although the dog was asleep near where I was sitting, and he did smell a bit.

Finally I got some underwear on (at 6pm) and went to the next show, called "Wonder & Joy."  Who knew I didn't like wonder and joy?  Perhaps alcohol was required to appreciate wonder & joy?  I have no idea; I left halfway through.  The ticket was free, so that didn't bother me, but I'd scheduled my Sunday morning around an "atheist church" that the same two people were hosting, and I was not interested in going if it was going to be more of the same.

I then went to a dance program that I did pay for and was absolutely dreadful.  I finished the evening with another free program, a comedy improv, which was okay.

Sunday

Sunday morning started rather late, as I forgot to set my alarm. I quickly threw on my jeans and rushed out for breakfast, making it about 5 minutes before the cut-off time.  I don't remember if I was wearing underwear.

At noon I decided to go to the "Sunday Assembly" atheist church. Perhaps it was because there was no alcohol, or perhaps it was because it was held in the sacred space of a bingo hall (seriously), but it was actually quite lovely, with an inspirational talk from Sandy Tsotvig, a sports broadcaster, comedienne, lesbian, and atheist. Poet Kate Fox also read some of her work, and one line really resonated with me: "You have to have a home to be an alien." Perhaps that's why I don't feel like an alien in England.

Afterwards, I decided to climb Arthur's Seat, the highest point in Edinburgh.  I have no idea why I thought I'd do this, other than I had two hours to kill, the sun was out, and didn't want to spend any money.  Needless to say, I didn't make it.  I didn't even get close.  I am ridiculously out of shape. :-(

The afternoon was pretty ridiculous. I had a ticket for the play "Holes" which they did say was at "a secret seaside location" but the CIA rendition process is less convoluted! The ticket said to meet at a particular theatre. When I got there they told me to go to a parking lot half a mile away. When I got there I boarded a bus which took half an hour to drive 3.5 miles to a town hall building, which just had a pop-up bar. Then someone led us to a sandy beach a couple of blocks away, said the play didn't start until 4:15, and left!

I went and got some ice cream and sun, and came back at 4:10 but there was nobody around!  The play was about 4 people stranded on a deserted island, so I assumed it was going to be on the beach! After walking up and down the beach for 20 minutes, I was pretty pissed off.  Having no place else to go, I walked back to the town hall, figuring I'd wait there until everyone came back.  There was someone there who was quite confused about why I wasn't inside.  It took a few minutes, but I finally figured out the play was in the town hall! So why the &#@! did they take us to the beach?!

In the end, I wished I'd stayed on the beach. Maybe it was a generation thing--several of the younger audience members found it hilarious--but I thought it was fairly tedious and overlong. I thought there might be some backlash when one of the male characters raped a 16 year old girl, but there wasn't. Very odd.  I was grateful to get back on the bus and return to Edinburgh.

Mark Thomas was playing at 7:30pm, but was sold out a week ago.  Nevertheless, I got to the theatre at 7pm to be the first one on the waitlist.  They politely explained that all seats were ticketed so even if they have empty seats, they wouldn't let me in *unless* someone specifically returned an unused ticket. British bureaucracy at its finest!  I was in a queue for one for over half an hour and, not surprisingly, nobody returned any tickets.

But while I was waiting, a clearly disabled man came over and was standing near me, drooling on himself.  So I bought a ticket to see him, instead.

Seriously, he had cerebal palsy, couldn't speak, his entire routine was done with an iPad and the "SpeakIt" voice synthesizer, and he was absolutely brilliant.  What a joy to watch.  I was suddenly so grateful that I didn't get to see Mark Thomas!  (Besides, Mark Thomas will likely be touring with his show later, so I'll probably see him in Reading.)

At this point I had £12 left, which was just enough for a cup of tea and a taxi ride in the morning.  Instead I spent it on one more show, a comedienne from Australia, who was cute but I'm now feeling stupid that I only have 60 pence in my wallet and I will be walking to the train station in the morning.

Still, what a great weekend.

** OK, it was student accommodation at the university, but it was cheap and cheerful!  Until Sunday night, when the guy next to me started snoring so loudly, I couldn't sleep and instead stayed up until 1:30am writing this...

Edinburgh pants

When I was a teenager, I heard George Carlin's skit, "A Place for my stuff."  Of course I was too young to appreciate it, but it always stuck with me.  And the ridiculous thing is, I don't even have that much stuff, but I am painfully aware that it is scattered around the world.  There is stuff--like my sister's paintings--that I left in Pennsylvania.  There is stuff--like my dad's records--that I left in my mom's garage in California.  There is stuff--like an entire house--I left in north London.  Most of what's left is in Reading, although for the past six months that has felt more like a storage unit than home.  I have a suitcase full of stuff in the boot of my car in Runcorn, and a small subset of stuff I'm taking with me to Edinburgh for the weekend.  (And I'm already thinking about what I need to take to Israel next week, and Amsterdam at the end of the month.)

Trying to keep track of all this stuff is quite difficult and eventually leads to failures, which is why I don't have any clean underwear this weekend.  To be fair, the plan was to drop my laundry at the laundromat this morning, but then I remembered I have to catch a train at 1:30pm, a co-worker is giving me a ride, and it is in the exact opposite direction of the laundry, so picking it up was going to be an issue.  I considered packing dirty underwear and going to a laundry in Edinburgh, but that meant sitting around for an hour, and as you'll see below, that isn't an option.  I also considered wearing dirty underwear, but then I thought--what if I get into an accident?

So instead I'll buy more underwear*.  I've already bought more underwear in the past six months than I have in the past five years, combined.  I thought about keeping spare underwear in my car, but then I though--what if I get into an accident?

So to give you an idea of the scale of the Edinburgh fringe, these are the programs I am interested in seeing on Saturday.  All of the shows are an hour except where marked.

10:00    Free History Walking Tours of the Royal Mile (30 minutes)
11:10    Bridget Christie - A Bic for Her (£10)
12:15    Free music at St Giles
12:30    Mugenkyo Taiko Drummers (£15)
12:40    Tony Law (£5)
13:00    Barry on Arthur's Seat, free (30 minutes)
13:10    Jessie Cave and Jenny Bede: Ain't too Proud to Beg (free)
13:15    Afternoon Delight (£5)
13:15    Austerity Pleasures (free)
13:20    Best of the Fest (£12.50)
13:30    Hill and Weedon Fan Club (free)
14:20    Peculiar Case of Kemsley and Todd (free)
14:35    Nathaniel Metcalfe: Enthusiast (free)
14:44    Adam Larter and Ali Brice: Plumpy'nut (pay what you want)
14:45    Joz Norris Has Gone Missing (free)
15:40    Simon Munnery (£10)
16:00    Nick Helm: One Man Mega Myth (£14)
16:00    Karl Schultz: Start the Karl (£5)
16:00    Rachel Parris: The Commission (free)
**16:45    Major Tom (£12)
16:45    Jigsaw (£12)
16:45    Fin Taylor - Cramp (free, 40 minutes)
16:45    Darren Walsh: I am a Giant (pay what you want)
16:55    Kazakoshi (takio drums, £11.50)
17:05    Sight Gags for Perverts (free)
17:40    Will Franken (£10)
17:40    Kieran Hodgson - Flood (£9)
17:45    Pat Cahill: Start (£10)
18:00    Gone Native (folk music, £8)
18:05    Smashed (£14)
18:30    Chalk Farm (£11)
19:00    James Acaster - Lawnmower (£12)
19:15    Ant Dewson: Now That's What I Call Musical Comedy (free)
19:30    David Baddiel (£17.50)
19:30    Sean Hughes - Penguins (£13)
19:30    Mark Thomas 100 Acts of Dissent
**19:30    Sanderson Jones and Pippa Evans - Wonder & Joy (free)
19:50    Thrice (£10)
19:50    Synagogue Slut (free)
20:00    Tommy Holgate: Good Spirits (pay what you want)
20:00    The Events    (90 minutes, £13 preview, sold out)
21:00    Tom Binns Does Ivan Brackenbury and Others (pay what you want)
20:30    Folk @ the Royal Oak (2h 30m, £6)
20:30    Piaf (£17)
**21:00    Squally Showers (90 minutes, £12)
21:50    Claudia O'Doherty: Pioneer (£11.50)
22:00    Felicity Ward: Irregardless (£11)
22:30    Adam Buxton: Kernel Panic (£16)
22:30    Ivy Paige - 'Head' Mistress (£10)
23:30    BattleActs! Improvised Comedy (free)
23:59    Best of the Fest (1h 15m, £10 preview)
00:30    One of Us Might Be Famous (free)

* Someone suggested I buy a kilt in Edinburgh, instead, and then I won't need underwear.
** Already have tickets

It's that time again

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival opens this weekend, with 2,500 performances at 250 venues over 30 days! The festival guide looks like a telephone book. It's manic, it's a buzz, and it's really a cheap weekend.  I'm taking the train, staying three nights in the university dorm, and seeing 5 shows for less than £260!  Plus I'm telling the company I'm commuting home, so they will contribute about £100, and I've got a list of 10 shows that are free and recommended!

I'm seeing the Pajama Men and Victoria Melody, both of whom I adore.  I discovered Victoria Melody by accident last year, when I had a date in north London and the only thing to do was see this one-woman show about pigeon fanciers in a deconsecrated church.  I had no idea what to expect, and she was brilliant! This year she brought out another show which I'll let her describe:

Victoria unknowingly discovered that her dog had prize winning potential at a charity dog show. She seized this opportunity to access the sub culture of this extraordinarily exclusive members only club. Major Tom's first show was a disaster, feeling an overpowering sense of guilt about her dog being criticised. Victoria decided to put herself through the same process by becoming a beauty queen. Major Tom and Victoria increasingly immerse themselves into the obsessive and confusing realm of personal scrutiny as they participate as genuine contestants and aim to win. This project will follow their story. It will reflect on the British fascination with celebrities, beauty, and winning.

(You can also watch a 3-minute video here.)

As you can imagine with a program that has microseconds to grab your attention, some of the titles are quite interesting. Some of my favorites:

Eat a Queer Foetus 4 Jesus
Friends Without Benefits
Do We Need You After the Apocalypse?
A Comprehensive History of the Roman Empire in one hour--with jokes
The Colour Ham
Brandon Burns Hasn't Heard Of You Either
Baconface
Austentatious: An Improvised Jane Austen Novel
Angela Jolie Touched My Neighbour's Goat
Synagogue Slut
Cheese and Crack Whores

Growing up

Growing up is like walking into a cold ocean: Each step is a little shocking, but eventually you get used to it and move in a little more, and before you realise it you're in over your head and drowning.

Rain

Forbury gardens is always lovely, but there is no grass! The same for Christchurch meadow, by my flat. This high pressure system that has been sitting over the UK, bringing record temperatures, has also kept the rain at bay for nearly a month! This is unnatural, and the grass has all died. :-(

The high pressure has moved on and the jet stream has returned, meaning lower temps and a lovely breeze, plus rain is forecast for tomorrow. Which is why I am sitting in Forbury gardens, soaking up the last bit of sunshine in what has been an outstanding summer.

Deed polls

Just read this:

A deed is a written legal agreement that has been signed and delivered (shown to all concerned parties).  Poll is an old English word used to describe a legal document that had its edges cut (polled) so they were straight.  This was done to visually distinguish between a deed signed by one person (a polled deed - hence the term Deed Poll) and a deed signed by more than one person (an indenture), which had an edge indented or serrated.  Interestingly, indentures were originally written twice (side by side) on one piece of parchment, which was then torn down the middle and each half given to each party.  The impossibility of matching the tear was a guard against forgery.

In England, a "deed poll" is synonymous with changing your name.

This is also where the term "indentured servant" came from.

Eurovision 2013

I didn't watch this year, and I missed this entry from Lithuania which I can only assume suffered from translation:

http://youtu.be/dgIWSVQHUnk?t=1m

Here is the chorus:

If you don’t know I’m in love with you
When summertime falls It becomes untrue
Because of my shoes I’m wearing today
One is called Love the other is Pain

These are the actual lyrics; this isn't a Bad Lip Reading.

Kiddush

Jews being Jews, every service ends with food and wine.  This kiddush* usually consists of kosher wine, challah bread, nibbles and cake.  In many synagogues, a small group are responsible for providing it every week.  At my synagogue, members are expected to volunteer, often to mark an occasion.

This weekend was the yahrzeit (or anniversary) of my uncle's death.

So I volunteered.  I bought some crudites, some dips, a cake, some chips, and a couple of other things.  It was no big deal, but it scared the hell out of me. 

In part this was because my local shop usually stocked challah on Fridays, but not always.  I was very concerned that if they didn't have any, I didn't have a plan B, short of driving into north London on a Friday afternoon, which would have been a very bad idea!  Thankfully, they had two loaves, which is exactly what I needed.  (Please don't ask why I needed two loaves, because it is one of those traditions that I think is ridiculous.)

But mostly I was scared because every step of my Jewish journey has been on my own.  Don't get me wrong, the community have been amazing supportive and the people I have met have been extraordinarily loving, which is the only reason I can take these steps, rather than retreat into the familiar.  And tonight was no exception, with one woman I'd never met coming into the kitchen to help me prepare.  And she casually mentioned they were expecting 40 people that evening.

Forty?  I was prepared for ten!

I've been at the synagogue on many Friday nights and I've never seen more than 15 people, and two weeks ago there were only 4!  With the beautiful weather we've been having, I did not expect many, and I even chided myself for buying too much food.  What I didn't know, however, was that tonight was a "musical shabbat," with members playing instruments, which attracted a lot of people.  By the end of the evening, the only food left was a bit of cake, and that was because the woman helping me had gotten an extra cake from the storeroom!

But it worked out fine, and next time I'll know better.  There is also a tradition that the person supplying kiddush also lights the shabbat candles and says a short prayer in front of the congregation.  I flatly refused, which somewhat startled the rabbi, but he was able to find someone else without a problem.  Even short prayers are a bit daunting because I hate public speaking in the first place, and if I forget a word then I have to read the Hebrew, which is halting and slow.  But I am working myself up to it.

In the meantime, the rabbi has asked me to lift the scroll on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, when there will likely be 400-500 people in attendance.  If I can get through that, maybe I can handle a short reading, too...

* Actually, kiddush ("holy") refers to the blessing that is said over the wine and bread, but it has become slang for the meal.

Manchester weekend

I can't remember the last time I had such a perfect weekend.

I was in Manchester for their biennial International Festival.  I've been in Manchester several times before -- it is only 30 miles from where I am working -- but usually for specific things, such as the synagogue, the theatre, the art gallery.  This was the first time I just wandered aimlessly about, and I was really impressed. Britain's second largest city, with a population of just over 2.5 million, has seen several remarkable turns of fortune. 

Established as a Roman fort (the clue is in the name), Manchester foundered after the Romans left, was variously ruled by the Angles, the Celts, and the Vikings.  In 1301 it became a market town, and a community of Flemish weavers settled in the town to produce wool and linen, sparking a tradition of cloth manufacture. By the 16th century the wool trade had made Manchester a flourishing market town, but it wasn't until the end of the 18th century, when cotton met the industrial revolution, did Manchester make its mark.

Cotton is native to the Americas, Africa, and India. It is an ingenious little shrub with long fibers attached to its seeds, which help them catch the wind and thus disperse further.  The fiber can then be spun and woven into a light cloth, perfect for hot climates. Cotton clothing was widespread in India around 2,000 BCE, and it gradually spread throughout Europe as well because it was more comfortable than wool. By the 17th century, the East India Company--better known for spices and tea--was importing a quarter of a million pieces per year into Britain.  The Victorian middle class liked that cotton could be washed easier than wool, and the lower class liked the "calicoes," cheap cotton fabrics that were often brightly dyed  (The area that produced these Calicoes became known as Calicut, which then became Calcutta.)  To protect Britain's wool industry, Parliament banned the import of calicoes; however, this inadvertently encouraged India to export raw cotton to the UK, which finished the goods and sold them back to India. When the Calico Act was abolished 50 years later, India had lost the ability to compete internationally (a process now known as "de-industrialization").  As part of Ghandi's policy of "non-cooperation," he encouraged Indians to weave their own cotton cloth, called khadi, rather than buy from Britain.

On the other side of the world, when Christopher Columbus landed in the Americas he found the natives wearing cotton shirts, which only reinforced his belief that he had sailed to India.  However, Mexico had been using cotton cloth since 5,000 BCE, and in fact the American species were superior to India* because the fibers were longer.  Unfortunately, separating the cotton from its seeds was a laborious and time-consuming effort, taking almost 600 man-hours for a single bale of cotton.  Even with slave labour, cotton was not as profitable as tobacco, and slavery was in decline and may have well been abolished.  Then in 1793 Eli Whitney, a northerner who was purportedly trying to help slaves, invented the cotton gin ("gin" being short for "engine") which reduced the time to 12 man-hours.  Under the heading of "unintended consequences," this made cotton so profitable that it reinvigorated the slave trade and directly led to the Civil War.

As an English colony, America was treated the same as India--raw cotton was shipped to the UK, which finished the goods and sold them back. (This is why the American South never developed a manufacturing base.)  Liverpool became a major port for American goods, but a canal was built to ship the cotton to nearby Manchester, which already had a well-developed textile industry.  When the industrial revolution started, every stage of preparation -- cleaning, carding (combing), spinning, and weaving -- was mechanised.  From a description in 1823:

A very good Hand Weaver, a man twenty-five or thirty years of age, will weave two pieces of nine-eighths shirting per week, each twenty-four yards long, and containing one hundred and five shoots of weft in an inch, the reed of the cloth being a forty-four, Bolton count, and the warp and weft forty hanks to the pound. A Steam Loom Weaver, fifteen years of age, will in the same time weave seven similar pieces.

The hand weavers, threatened by the unskilled labor, started the "Luddite" movement and began sabotaging the machines.  However, the number of cotton mills in Manchester went from 2 in 1790 to 66 in 1821, and 108 by 1853.  Over the same time period, the cotton industry went from £600,000/year to £38 million/year.  At one point Manchester supplied 70% of the cloth in the world. Today that figure is less than 1%.

The boom resulted in many beautiful building throughout Manchester, many of which still stand.  (Manchester was targeted by the German Luftwaffe, but fortunately it was out of range of the V2 rockets.)  The population of Manchester also exploded, but for historical reasons it was not a city and had no representation in Parliament. In 1819 a crowd of 60,000-80,000 men, women, and children assembled in St Peter's Field to agitate for political reform.  Local magistrates ordered cavalry to charge the crowd; 15 people died and 700 were injured.  The massacre was termed "Peterloo" (after the battle of Waterloo in 1815) and poet Percy Bysshe Shelley was inspired to write "The Masque of Anarchy" which ends with the lines:

And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.

And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -

Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.

Of course I know this only because one of the performances was an absolutely brilliant reading of the poem, in a long-disused concert hall filled with candles, mere yards from where the even occurred 200 years ago.  There were probably 500 people in the auditorium, it was absolutely sweltering, and you could have heard a pin drop during the entire 30 minutes.  It was mesmerising.  (You can read the full text here. It is quite interesting, if a bit gory, when you know the history.)

In 1900, Manchester was the 9th largest city in the world.  It was also the third largest port in the UK, despite being 40 miles inland!  (The canal had been dredged deep enough to allow shipping vessels to bypass Liverpool and come straight to Manchester.)  However, cotton processing was in decline, and the cotton exchange closed in 1968.  The canal was unable to handle the increasingly large container ships, and the port closed in 1982. Heavy industry declined in the 1960s and was dealt a death blow by Margaret Thatcher in 1979. Manchester lost 150,000 jobs in manufacturing between 1961 and 1983.  Ironically, what saved Manchester was a bomb.

In 1996, the IRA detonated a bomb in the city centre, the largest to be detonated on British soil. Fortunately warnings an hour earlier had allowed the area to be evacuated, so there were no casualties, but property damage was estimated at £400 million.  The reconstruction spurred a massive regeneration of the city centre, with many of the historic buildings preserved, and the old mills converted into apartments. Last year the BBC moved its entire London television production studios to Manchester. Today it has a broad economic base, thriving tourism, and is a melting pot of immigrants. (15% of Mancunians -- as they call themselves -- were born outside the UK.  The UK average is 8.3%.  The US average is 12.3%.) 

Walking around, I could feel the heft of a city proud of its history. (And the Museum of Science and Industry really slams it in your face, focused exclusively on innovation that has occurred in Manchester, although surprisingly I didn't see anything related to graphene, which was discovered at the University of Manchester using such sophisticated tools as a pencil and some Scotch tape.)

However, I was there for the International Festival, and the crown jewel (pardon the pun) of the festival was Kenneth Branagh's return as Macbeth.  Tickets had sold out even before they went on sale!  (At least, on sale to the general public.)  However, on Saturday I saw they had some day tickets, and so on Sunday I was at the box office at 10am for tickets that went on sale at noon -- and I was #3 in line. I loved reading Macbeth as a child, and this was without a doubt one of the most amazing performances I've ever seen.  It was in a deconsecrated church, with stadium seating built on either side of an aisle that was--I kid you not--filled with dirt, which quickly turned to mud during the opening battle scene in the rain. Everything got coated in mud and, given the subject matter, it was absolutely appropriate. The church held maybe 300 people, with only six rows (and those in the first row were warned they might get pelted with mud).  Fantastic.

To top it off, the weather in the UK has been absolutely gorgeous for the past two weeks -- they call it a heat wave, but apparently the technical definition of that is 5 days at 5 degrees above average, and so in England a heat wave is a welcome thing indeed.  To be fair, it's been quite warm in southern England (29C / 84F) but in northern England it was a perfect 25C / 77F.  I even spent a couple of hours sunbathing in the park.

So everything was perfect--I even found two vegetarian cafes--but you know I couldn't have a weekend without a hitch, and in this case it was the "national transgender pride festival" also being held in Manchester that weekend, and my hotel was ground zero!  I swear I was the only guest who wasn't a crossdresser!  And these weren't the Ladyboys of Bangkok -- these were guys in their 70s; guys who were 6' 5" before putting on stilletos; guys who looked like rugby players squeezed into a dress three times too small.  And worse, even though they dressed like women, they still behaved like guys -- by Sunday the entire area was trashed, full of beer cans and takeaway containers.  It was...disappointing.  For some reason, I expected them to be better than that.

* The American South believed that Britain and France, starved of its cotton supply, would intervene in the Civil War.  However, Egypt--seeing an opportunity--planted American cotton along the Nile, and saw its profits boom from $7 million to $77 million in just four years. However, after the war, Europe returned to cheap American exports, sending Egypt into a deficit spiral that led to the country declaring bankruptcy in 1876, a key factor behind Egypt's annexation by the British Empire in 1882.  Today, Egypt is not even in the top ten of cotton-producing countries, and most "Egyptian cotton" is produced in Pakistan and China. (And it's just the same as American cotton.)