We’re learning our way around. Art actually likes getting a little bit lost because he loves hauling out the map and pouring over it. I’m more like Sakajawea–”I feel like it’s over there somewhere.”
Ohad told us that bus 18 goes to Mahane Yehuda and that we can buy tickets from the driver, which is so much better than trying to figure out a vending machine in a language you can’t read. It was tough enough in the grocery store trying to figure out which bottle is shampoo and which is conditioner. Fortunately, Art’s Hebrew is good enough to read the word “shampoo.”
In 1983, when the kids were little and we lived in Jerusalem for the summer, we rode the buses all the time. Once I left my bag with our passports and apartment keys on the bus because I was trying to make sure I got off with three kids and Don’s umbrella stroller. The rule was that any unattended bag was dangerous and was taken to the dessert and blown up. I panicked, but Margaret, who was eleven, remembered seeing a police station near the bus stop. By then the bag had been evacuated from the bus and turned in. By the time we reached the police station, we looked so pathetic that the officer agreed to open the bag and look at the passports that proved we were the guilty ones.
It’s wonderful to just live here and not feel the obligation to rush around seeing the sights. We’ve already seen them. Now we’re just interested in enjoying the place and the people. So, our purpose wasn’t really to get to Mahane Yehuda, but to find King of Kings, the church we want to attend on Sunday. We did it!
Please watch the slideshow, and you can enjoy Mahane Yehuda without all the sweating. Shalom.
