Dear faithful blog readers:
I apologize for my protracted blogging haitus that no doubt caused you all very much worry and speculation about my current whereabouts and unbloggably boring adventures.

I'm still in Israel, which is kind of a kink in the old "write-a-blog-about-traveling-around-the-world" plan, but Israel does have its charms, no doubt about that. For instance: the other night as I was on my way up to my office at 2:30am so that I could pick up my big sack of cameras that I would be using for camera related mischeif later on that very day, I happened upon an elderly russian woman pressing slowly on through the night pushing an old pram that was filled to the top with sad little bottles, all individualy wrapped in little newspaper suits.
It was all the more remarkable that I should encounter such a sight on a short stretch of level ground between two rather long staircases. And as I stopped and stared, mouth agape, she turned and hurled some tart russian phrases over my shoulder to her late-night companion who, just at that moment, shuffled out of the mist.
I stared at him too.
And watched as this ancient russian, bottle-loving duo pressed on down the hundred-odd stairs to Hillel street wih their creaking bottle mobile. creeee-clink. creee-clink. creee-clink.

And all of you may wonder why I didn't offer my able-bodied assistance to the russian bottle walkers. Well, the truth is this: as I stood, alone in the dark, listening to their creee-clink cree-clinking away, I wasn't entirely sure that I hadn't imagined the whole thing.