Tel Aviv & the Farm

Hello all,

I arrived in Tel Aviv last Tuesday and stayed in a couchsurfing haven – a beautiful flat owned by three young blokes called Erez, Roi and Lior who insisted on cooking for me, supplying me with beer and introducing me to all their friends. I spent most of my first day in Jaffa, which is walking distance from Tel Aviv, visiting a museum, monastery, mosque and market (note the alliteration!) I also visited the Wishing Bridge (no m's there) where you place your hand on a picture of your star sign and, as the name suggests, make a wish. I waited all day for that team of nude female joggers but they never showed up. Erez later pointed out that I'd put my hand on Pisces…damn my poor astrological knowledge. In the evening I went out to a couple of bars with Roi to celebrate his friend's girlfriend's friend's birthday. Any excuse, eh?

On Thursday I did nothing – except write my previous blog entry. There was a strong storm outside so I could allow myself a day of guilt-free relaxation. In the afternoon Sophie, another couchsurfer, arrived and in the evening a gang of people came over for a mini-party. About 3am, after this mysterious device called a 'bong'¹ had done the rounds, people started to have deep and meaningful conversations about life, love and spirituality. I fell asleep.

The next day was monumental. At 12.39pm I experienced something that I never thought I would...an earthquake! It was only small and lasted a mere fifteen seconds but it was enough to make the sofas shake from side to side – now that's what I call couchsurfing! There have actually been a series of earthquakes in Israel recently, and a prominent Israeli MP has blamed them on the government for "tolerating sodomy"². After a lunch of Vegemite (a poncy Aussie version of Marmite) on toast, Sophie and I went for a wander around trendy Sheinkin Street and the Carmel Market. We headed down to Chinky Beach for sunset, where a bunch of hippies were playing bongos and another bunch of hippies danced to the beat. I didn't know whether to be amused or impressed by the dancers' lack of inhibition, but within half an hour I was rocking with the best of them. After that all the clubs opened; Tel Aviv really is the antithesis of Jerusalem.

You may remember that I mentioned I was interested in a kibbutz stay (see Jordan). Well I have spent virtually all my time in Israel trying to sort one out with the Kibbutz Placement Office, but there has been next to nothing (my sole offer has been to slaughter chickens). I could have applied to work in a hotel or restaurant kibbutz, but it's hardly the utopian Zionist community I had in mind. In Haifa, couchsurfer Jon's cousin checked out an Israeli volunteer website for me and found out about Emek Hatal, an ecological farm in Rehovot, thirty minutes from Tel Aviv. It wasn't really a kibbutz but I thought I'd try it for a couple of days, so once the trains started running again on Saturday night I headed for the farm. It is owned by Emilio Mogilner, a renowned Israeli artist who runs the eco-farm as a profit-free venture. He showed me his studio, piled high with artwork and home to a 15th Century twenty-metre-deep well. By now it was late so I retired to the freezing 'volunteer's cabin' and went to sleep.

On Sunday I started work. As a result of the storm a few days before the orchard ground was covered in oranges and it was my job to gather them all up, separate the true 'oranges' from the 'bluey-greens', chop the former up for animal food and toss the latter onto the compost heap. I also spent some time watching the goats try to headbutt each other and absolutely fell in love with them – at one time I had six of them trying to eat my trousers. There are also chickens, three dogs and a cross-eyed cat. I started the day with a lovely bowl of granary, natural yoghurt and date syrup, and had exactly the same for lunch and dinner – plus a couple of cheeky oranges. I think it's the first time I have discovered a tasty new dish then been utterly sick of it within twelve hours…though by the end of a week of watery soup, lentils and tahini I was begging for the granary back. In the evening I met a bloke who has spent the last year making a documentary on Emilio. He told me that the farm is a huge drain on Emilio's art funds, but he keeps it open as an ecological stand against commercialism. The government has repeatedly attempted to shut him down but have never succeeded. The place was supposed to be destroyed last month but Mr. Mogilner had organised a big festival so when the diggers arrived they had no choice but to leave again. During a conversation with Emilio that evening I revealed that I was a writer, so for the next few days my job changed. I still did a little farm stuff first thing – feeding the animals, making pita breads and dangling a piece of string in front of the cat to test its depth perception – but from mid-morning I would spend the rest of the day on the computer. I was initially annoyed (I came to work on a farm not in an office) but the work was so fascinating I was soon happy to do it. Emilio has created an art concept entitled 'One Breath Time'. The message is ecological (I can't be bothered to explain the somewhat convoluted metaphor here) but the gimmick itself is very interesting – he breathes in, begins to paint and finishes when he runs out of air and is forced to take another breath. This idea has made him reasonably famous in Israel, with some of his One Breath Time works having been broadcast live on television. My favourite of his 1BT paintings is entitled 'The Modern Civilization Conquers Mother Earth' – Emilio actually lost consciousness in his desperation to complete it³. My job in essence was to construct an explanation of Emilio's philosophy to replace the rather confused manifesto on his website. Once I had done this and it had got approval from Emilio, his wife, his brother, his brother's wife and his brother's wife's creative consultant I was told to try and generate some buzz around it – basically emailing some influential eco-art critics and trying to pique their interest. Though this may not be the most professional approach I cannot doubt Emilio's commitment to the ecological cause…in 2001 he pointed the finger at an organised crime syndicate that was smuggling beach sand for unauthorised cement production. Naturally, the mafia sent an assassin with an M16 to Emek Hatal and from a mere two metres Emilio was shot in the neck. He barely survived (he had to hitch a ride to the hospital with half his neck, his right shoulder and even a corner of one lung still in his studio) and his right arm has been paralysed ever since. However he got straight back to promoting ecology and, after training his left hand, back to the canvas. He is a truly fascinating man.

On Thursday night Emilio drove me to an exhibition of his work. You would think that a man with a paralysed right arm, if he really must drive, would have invested in an automatic, but that would obviously be too simple. Instead he has developed the foolproof method of letting go of the steering wheel, reaching his good arm across his body to change gears (if it was right-hand drive it would have been a lot easier) then grabbing hold of the wheel again just in time to evade the scattering pedestrians. There was an interesting traffic light en route which changed from green to red and back in less than fifteen seconds; Emilio explained that they were just outside the mayor's house. The exhibition was in a swanky minimalist place full of evening dresses, suits and berets – I don't think my smelling of chicken shit helped me to mingle. There were a few 'flash' paintings on display (two second jobs) along with about sixty One Breath Time pieces. Of these sixty, fifty-five were pictures of goats. Emilio is obsessed – he spends most of his day running around with the little blighters in the pen and talks about little else. He was discussing his new project to an 'art enthusiast' at the gallery and explained his plans to paint an American $1 bill and then flog it for $2000. He reassured him that there would have some original touches "like another head in place of George Washington's". As I was walking in to the next room I heard Emilio add "…probably a goat's".

On Friday afternoon I grudgingly left the farm. I considered staying another week but I felt it was time to move on – Emilio has promised to let me know if he gets any interest from my email. I booked a flight to Athens for tonight and decided to head back to Jerusalem for my last few days and my final Shabbat – I felt I should reconnect with the spiritual side of the country before leaving it behind. So at sundown I popped on a yarmulke and headed down to the Western Wall to dance it up with the Orthodox Jews. It was a great experience as the sun went down and all the black-clad blokes started to rock back and forth in unison. It was like being at an autistic music festival. I tried to get some photos of this extraordinary sight but every time I tried a stern-looking Hared stopped me. On Saturday I got up early and caught an Arab bus to Nablus. The road from Ramallah was beautiful but the ride stopped at Huwwara checkpoint, five kilometres short of the city. I decided to walk the distance and en route I experienced another first...an attempted mugging. It wasn't the most professional effort; five fifteen-year-old kids tried to grab my bag and when I yanked it back they started to kick my legs. One just managed to reach my chin to land a punch but in the end I just walked away and they didn't follow. Once in Nablus I visited a beautiful church housing Jacob's Well, where a Samaritan once gave water to a thirsty Jesus. I also went to the Old Town market (not discernably older than the New Town) and was refused entry into a mosque because I was "too white". In the evening I randomly met Sam from the Nile felucca cruise for a coffee. I hardly managed to sleep at all that night as the guy in the bed next to me snored, coughed, snorted, sneezed, swallowed, talked and made horrible retching noises. The charms of hostelling...!

Yesterday I made an effort to see everything that (for reasons of snow, Shabbat and general laziness) I didn't see last time. First I went to Temple Mount; I had tried three times previously to no avail, but I finally got to see the Dome of the Rock close up. I also managed to see two more of Jerusalem's major sites that I'd bypassed before; the magnificent Yad Vashem holocaust museum and the Israel museum. The former is one of the most imaginative and well-displayed museums I've ever been to and the latter, though famous for housing the religiously super-significant Dead Sea Scrolls, actually excelled rather randomly with an exhibition of contemporary Chinese art. This afternoon I make my way to the airport for my 7.30pm flight.

So, after a fascinating and diverse five weeks I say farewell to Israel; without a doubt, the most culturally fascinating country I have ever visited. There cannot be many places where you have to endure stringest security checks to enter century-old churches, synagogues and mosques, or where on a casual bus ride through the countryside it becomes apparent that you're the only passenger not carrying a rifle. The religious tension is palpable, and otherwise intelligent and decent people display the most outrageous and single-minded prejudices. Israel is a small but unique country...I just wonder how long it can survive. With increasingly strained relationships with each bordering country, and their questionable policies concerning Palestinians, is peace really assured? Even from within, many Israeli Arabs are pro-Palestinian, and there are even native Jews who are opposed to existence of the country (they believe that God will create the true State of Israel when it is deserved). Whatever happens, I cannot see religious or ethnic harmony in the near future. It's a real shame; both Palestinians and Israelis are lovely people, once you get past the politics.

My future plans are as follows; I have arranged to be in Neumagen, Germany for a family party on May 1st so have been planning a reasonably strict route there. The countries I will pass through on my trip, in order, will be Greece, Albania, Montenegro, Kosovo, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, Ukraine, Slovakia, Austria, Slovenia, Italy (Venice) and Germany. This part of my journey will be in huge contrast to the last six months (six months!) as I shall be focusing on just the major cities and sights rather than exploring a particular nation in depth. The most attention will probably go to Ukraine due to its sprawling size and huge diversity. If I had another six months before the party I would certainly explore each country more – but I don't. If I had the adequate psyche I would ignore Bulgaria and Romania in order to spend a month in the Ukraine – but I don't. One way to lengthen my time in the Eastern Europe is to go straight to Germany from Austria, dropping Slovenia and Italy. That part, at least, I'll play by ear.

However I make it to Germany, I'm sincerely hoping that won't be the end of my trip. If I still have adequate funds (and that's a big 'if') I will keep travelling for another month or two. My ideal route would involve going by land through Germany, Denmark, Sweden (with a possible side-trip to Finland) and Norway, then by sea to the Faroe Islands and on to John O'Groats. Once I have pigged out on fry-ups, fish and chips and Cadbury's chocolate I'm sure I'll have the energy for one final mini-jaunt to Belfast. Sounds great doesn't it? I'll see how the money goes.

I'll post again from Albania,
Joe x

¹ Seriously mum, never heard of it.
² For the BBC News Story click here.
³ To see the work in progress click here; to see the finished piece click here.