To that amazing guy across the street

Night falls. The moon
cold and in solitude, envies you
as it peppers
the stagnant air above your bed
with lunar dust, thinking
“that looks pretty cozy”.

Perhaps it doesn’t know
the air you breathe is mustard gas
and those are not
creases on your cotton underpants.
They are colossal tears
of sweat.

You lie awake
on your soaked moonlit bed.
The dusty curtains hanging heavy
As if you are inside
gravity herself.
Your sand-filled lungs wheeze quietly.

Intruders watch you
From the sill
Your windows flung ajar.
One nears your bed
attracted by your potent smells
his shadow
travelling across your hairy belly.
You look.
A giant cockroach.

Who are you
hero of the night
the bravest man on earth.
You have achieved
the unimaginable.

Through the open windows
I see your moonlit legs
Shifting in the night.
And I think
“How?”

You truly are
A legend
the one and only
most audacious creature
who lay in bed at night
in August
without aircon.
This is an ode to you

Just wanted to make a confession...

Courchevel, whilst you bask in all your vomit-inducing Eastern Bloc nouveau riche glory, I am actually in love with your April slopes. There. I said it. 

Back by popular demand: The Gaash Spa

A few weeks ago I was cursed with finding an issue of Israeli TimeOut magazine in some place the devil planted it. He obviously roofied me beforehand, which is why I can't even remember where I found the damn thing. Perhaps I wouldn't be so negative about TimeOut if they hadn't deleted my passionately-hatred-infused comment on their facebook wall. 

Anyway TimeOut, you failed at your Kim Jong Il-ly (?) (RIP) antics because it turns out your followers would much rather read my crappy reviews of your abominable recommendations than look at pixelated pictures of badly decorated food. Long story short, the satanized copy of TimeOut that landed in my talons recommended that readers check out the "oasis of thermal spring activity" that is the Gaash Spa. Those were (almost) the exact words TimeOut used although I can no longer be sure since I drenched the copy in garlic and kerosene and threw it into Eyjafjallajokull. The utter trauma that followed my visit to this so-called "spa" induced bouts of literary paroxysms which resulted in the review below, posted here by popular demand of those who had the time to be warned before TimeOut pretended it never happened. Just remember: words are probably not enough. 

Nov. 12, 2011. I don't know where else to write this so I'm going to help myself to this space.. In your last edition you recommended readers go to the Gaash Spa, with its thermal springs whatnot. I was looking forward to an awesome day of hangover marinating. and HOLY. SHIT. Does anyone go to these places before they get recommended? Timeout goes out to hotels, all sorts of upscale establishments--I think the cover of the next issue needs to feature an official apology for that recommendation, just for the sake of saving your reputation. I honestly refuse to believe that anyone could have gone to that place and not died from some flesh-eating disease and then written an ad for it in anything for anyone other than their worst enemy. 

We arrived at the place and the first thing I saw was a manky towel on the floor covered in hair and dirt. Whatever. The further we ventured into this atrocity the more i felt the situation being morphed into some sort of horrible low-end communist sanatorium trip to hell. When we entered the actual "spa", I think I shat a chicken. In one sentence, they took a rural village in the middle of some third world country where people have no teeth or hygiene, multiplied it by 1000 in size and grossness, and crammed said people in a 10 meter pool. Oh and on top of that these hoards I mean HOARDS of people were consuming really gross food all over the place--including in the pool, on the massage chairs, etc. The air was so thin and disease-ridden that I was holding on to whatever oxygen molecules I think were caught in the creases of my sweater. 


Anyway, the only way I can erase this memory from my head would be to get hit by a jumbo jet. I sincerely hope I was one of the very few who actually read that thing, but I BEG you please don't subject people to something like this again. It will take weeks of counselling before I'm ready to touch TimeOut again. You owe me a pint.

Because no camera could handle what I had witnessed without shattering into a million pieces, I am sans photographic evidence. However, I scoured corners of the innerwebs in search of something that could come close. Nothing did. Although something vaguely reminded me of that experience, sending shivers down my spine....

Be warned!

An ode to the promised land + an anti-ode (?) to rest of world

I figured a post where I wax lyrical about my love for the Holy land is long overdue, and let's face it there is an elephant in my pants concerning whether I some sort of hate the alleged motherland. Obviously giving you a straightforward answer to that would be a bit cliché so I'm going to communicate my repartee through the use of visual props and loin warming imagery. Didn't Socrates once say, a picture speaks a thousand words? N'est-ce pas?

Exemplar numero uno.. a full fledged 180 degree Mediterranean sunset. Note that a 180 degree angle Mediterranean sunset observation can only be achieved on a (kind of) parallel longitude to said sunset.. ie if you ain't watching it in Israel (or Cyprus or Lebanon or uhh other parts), it ain't in a straight line baby. And who wants to watch sunset in a crooked line? That's so lame. 

                            Miami eat your heart out.. your sun will never set into the sea 

The next specimen need no introduction. When was the last time you had butterflies in your tummy? I think I just had some now. 

I was obliged to semi-decapitate Adonis's head (names have been changed to protect identity)  in fear of disappearing forever accumulating a dangerously large fan base for him

Let's play a game of associations shall we. Me first.
Stallions..... Israel!

Never ending awesome weather galore... Bermu.. No, Israel

Night life... yuppp, you guessed it.

Food... the first thing that comes to mind on that is actually Entrecote,, but for narrative purposes we'll say Greece and Israel.

The more acute amongst yourselves will realize that we don't have to play the game of associations for long for the fundamental truth to dawn upon us. Israel rocks the Casbah. What a blasphemous thing I just said. 

Do you live somewhere that looks like this in August (no offence Edinburgh)? And think it's perfectly alright to live like that? I used to be just like you. But one day I realized I can live like this in January! And you can too.. Thank me later

And this! 

Oh and did I mention this?

 You're welcome for the existential crisis. 

Richest Palestinian Munib Masri's crib. Eat your socks.

don't act like you've never seen
 a burning road before

I bet you didn't think Picasso and Modigliani when you thought Palestine. Well, yall better start shifting your paradigms, because up a long windy and literally fiery road in an obnoxiously hilly town called Nablus (that's Palestine, not Israel, Google maps) you may encounter something I can only accurately describe as an exact-except-probably-better replica of Antonio Palladio's 16th century Italian Villa Rotunda (go on Wikipedia it. Bets on when Jimmy's despondent gaze will stop making my intake of information unnecessarily uncomfortable?). 
The villa is modestly and suitably complimented with freshly imported textiles and woodwork from Ikea. Ha Ha. I kid. Cuz by Ikea I mean auction-scouted Renaissance art and furniture, complete with a 16th century statue of Hercules and a greenhouse built by Napoleon for one of his mistresses. Mmm. A greenhouse is exactly what comes to mind when I think gifts from Napoleon. 

Did I mention all the brickwork was imported from France? The foundations of "Beit Falastin" (Palestine house as the crib was titled) were laid by 500 local workers just in time for Israeli soldiers to occupy them during the second intifada, which I believe gives my story an extra spicy kick. 

So anyway, the Palestinian Rotunda belongs to none other than the "king of West Bank" Munib Masri--the richest Palestinian in the world and a once very close personal friend of Yasser (and now ME, obviously). 

Call Munib's house ostentatious or other fancy pedantic words that come to your mind but I can't help but think he is a very cool dude if only for the fact that, of all his choices, he decided to make the West Bank his swanky home. That's not the only reason why I think he's a cool dude, fiy. He is omnipresent in Palestinian politics but I know all you want to see are colours and imagery so luckily for you I have just that. Knock yourselves out. 

That's my Toyota helicopter rip-roaring up an insane steep hill arriving in style to greet Mr Masri on Mt Gerizim

Wait a minute. This can't be the right way.. We're in Venice!

The 70 acres on which the Masri house is built is designated area "A" (under Palestinian control) with its very own Israeli army checkpoint chilling directly outside the entrance

Oh looky I took a picture of a checkpoint and didn't die 

So yea here is the photographic equivalent of my story's climax. I hope you're wearing your seatbelt.

BEHOLD: THE HOOS

"Beit Falastin". Of course I read Arabic

The famous glasshouse Napoleon built for Josephine which Masri won in a bidding war. Josephine must have been ecstatic? I know I would

The vieeeew 

See? Told you we were still in Palestine

Does this house have an inside? You bet. If you stick around for longer I'll throw in a surprise. 

Hercules and some living quarters

The viewww

Allegedly this throne once belonged to Khedive Ismail, a 19th century Egyptian monarch and grandfather of King Farouk, currently accommodating Munib Masri. I have no idea who that is trying to cosy up to the throne. Could be my mother the maid. She likes shiny things.

So remember that surprise I promised? I'm tired so I'll make the end short and sweet for you. 

What is this crap?? She tricked us with pictures of history and cultural things. AAAh, my eyes. Oh I dunno maybe it's just his very own 4th century Byzantine church excavations in the basement? Beat THAT, Rotunda. 

I'm pretty sure that says CSI Vegas kicks Miami's ass hands DOWN. Of course I read ancient Greek.

4th century wha??

Ok bai kitteh. 

Haifa and Acre (Akko): Baha'i Shrine and Gardens

The more pacifist amongst yourselves will perhaps have heard of the Baha'i religion. It is the world's newest religion (not to be confused with the constantly appearing kidney-snatching bible belt sects) which started in Iran (where else would it start, right?) by this gentleman called Baha'u'llah in the late 1800's.  He was imprisoned for his beliefs and exiled to Akko in Palestine which was meant to be an extremely manky, harsh environment. Long story short, Baha'u'llah turned out to lead a biologically and mentally fruitful life in Akko having produced fourteen children and many more works on the Baha'i faith whilst under house arrest in this prototype of my future house:

Baha'u'llah's house arrest crib in Akko

 Among the things the Baha'i faith teaches are a universal god, acceptance of all religions, the unity of the human race, Peace with a capital P, and intensely well maintained gardens. Since Baha'u'llah declared mount Carmel (present day Haifa, Israel) the center of the Baha'i faith this is what has become of it: 

The hanging gardens of Haifa. How despicably well maintained.

The avid gardening didn't stop there. If gardening is your thing, you probably shouldn't look because your yard will never look this good. The secretary-general of the Bahai faith Mr. Albert Lincoln and his wife Barbara kindly showed us around the Baha'i community center in Akko (accessible only to Baha'i followers). Soo...Versailles, eat your heart out.

Place was riddled with prototypes of my future house

Mmm sunset

So apparently there are over 5 million Baha'i worshippers around the globe, and the number is growing steadily. Since Baha'i is basically a combination of all world religions and accepts people from all faiths, you should probably convert asap. You get to visit the gardens!

So as an end note I will leave you with this question: is there such a thing as a TOO well maintained garden? Discuss!

West Bank: Beit Jala

People come in all shapes and sizes and surprisingly so do Palestinians. If you knew what a Palestinian was then you probably imagined a beardy Muslim brandishing a rocket goat in the olive grove. I am disappointed with your stereotype, mainly for the reason that about 4% of West Bank Palestinians are Christian, with a 75,000-strong diaspora currently residing in Chile (yea, I dunno either). The highest concentration of Christian Palestinians is in the three "Jesus" towns in the West Bank (those are Jesus's delivery ward Bethlehem and his local hangouts Beit Jala and Beit Sahour). I have partaken in Jesus veneration in Bethlehem about twenty times too many so this time we decided to admire him in Beit Jala, a town which I personally find really fresh and awesome. We were received by a super nice Beit Jalean (?) family who showed us around the hot spots: a Christian community center which induced bouts of jealousy in my childhood, Beit Jala's very own little mighty rugby club and--oh!--I almost forgot--a church.
  

Million dollar question: Can you find the recurring theme in this picture? (Hint: It looks like giant flying lipstick tops)

East coast Jesus and (literally) bloody Mary 

--Jesus you must be reaaaly happy to see me, bro

--Oh yea well at least I don't look like a Hasidic yeti (Matthew 4:20)

Man I love churches. Almost as much as this:

Our trip ended with the usual: amazing Palestinian food, home-brewed olives and body spasms induced by 200 cups of Arabic coffee and football-sized baklava at the mayor's house. On a sentimental tear-jerking note though I have to add that the hospitality of people in the West Bank makes me question what I previously believed about Ukrainian human nature.

I enjoyed eating this almost as much as I enjoyed my black eye and olive shower when I tried to open it

As an ending touch I will throw in some controversy. Ta da! 

PS have you SEEN the size of this pussycat??