22nd day (Mistakes)

Israel in the beginning of September is still hot.
In the past we'd planned our shvil walks to start early in order to beat the midday heat. In the past we hadn't been out in Tel Aviv till 1 a.m. before a shvil leg. First mistake.
I awoke after 8, went out and had a quiet cup of coffee and brought back double machiattos for my shvil partners. Despite the caffeine shots we were all tired after walking 18 km the previous day and going to bed late. Second mistake.
There was actually some doubt whether we would start at all since Yoni's thigh was black and sore, but the brave trooper decided to tough it out. Third mistake
Not long after 9.30 we were in the car driving towards the starting point. At 9.30 on the Saturday of Rosh Hashana, nothing is open in the city that never sleeps. We got to the Alonit convenience store at the petrol station at Neveh Yerek, close to our starting point, to discover that the 16 year old girl behind the counter didn't know how to take frozen chocolate croissants out of the freezer and turn them into baked ones. The 19 year old whose job it was to do that would only be arriving in half an hour. A bad omen. We only had chocolate Oreos to go with Garry's tea. We thought of buying some pre-packed sandwiches for the route ahead but they looked like they'd been sitting in the refrigerator section one day too many. So of we set, without having eaten any breakfast and without food for the coming day's walk. Fourth mistake.
The starting time was a bit after 10. Fifth mistake.
We at least got something right by parking the car close to the road so we wouldn't have to walk extra metres (kilometres) just to pick a car up at the end, but that was about the extent of our victories for the day.
The day's proceedings started pleasantly. The path followed the course of the Yarkon river. At the point where we joined it, at this stage of the summer, the word "river" is a misnomer. Even "creek" is probably a bit generous. A thin, green strip of barely moving water does not a river make. Still, lined by papyrus reeds it was a very idyllic country path, 15 minutes from the heart of Tel Aviv. Here and there locals sat by the banks, fishing rod in hand. I don't know if they ever catch anything and given the unpleasant green hue of the water I'm not sure that they would actually want to eat anything that they might catch. From experience, there is something calming , almost therapeutic, about fishing. There might be mockers amongst us that will call it pointless, but this is my blog and I'm sticking to it.
The other human activity we saw on the shvil was bike riding. This route, along the entire banks of the Yarkon, from its source in the Sharon to the mouth in the Tel Aviv port area is a well known bike path. Initially we too had planned to cycle the path but lack of confidence in our biking skills put paid to the idea. Sixth mistake? Perhaps not.

Walking by the river banks continued on for quite a while. Rivers, by nature, don't usually go straight. They snake along a route of nature's choosing that is eked out over thousands or millions of years. And here, on this day, for us, lies the problem. It  felt like that we were walking in circles. We'd often cross the river and walk along the bank in the opposite direction that we'd been walking in. It took us what seemed forever to get to landmarks that we thought we'd get to sooner. The landscape, whilst pleasant enough, was monotonous. Almost every leg of shvil yisrael looks better in the winter, but I'm quite convinced that this leg, done in the winter, would be one of the most beautiful of the entire Israel National Trail. Yet today, in the open, baking heat, with no breakfast and no food, not enough water, not enough sleep, tired from the previous day's 18 km and one of us with a very nasty bruise, we really struggled. So what do we do when the going gets tough? We hitch a ride. Over the course of the 3 hours that we'd been walking a small number of 4*4s had passed us. When Avi and Yael approached in their Nissan Tarrano, and even stopped to ask us directions, that was it. No mistake. We asked (begged?) for a lift and they readily agreed. Air conditioning never felt so good. They were in no hurry to get anywhere and we were in no hurry to leave the air conditioning. The conversation was pleasant and as the view outside marginally changed from reeds  to citrus groves we congratulated ourselves on our wisdom and good luck.. Eventually we passed from the rural agricultural area to the commercial Ramat Hachayal district that borders between Tel Aviv and Petach Tikvah. There are many restaurants in this area and If we'd still been walking we probably would have had some lunch, hopped into a taxi and called it a day. But we were in Avi and Yael's Nissan Tarrano and when they offered to drop us off at my van parked at the end we unhesitatingly agreed. As we were driving down towards the port area and my parked van we spotted a section of Park Hayarkon, Tel Aviv's sort of version of New York's Central Park. It's a large green park that runs for a few kilometres along the northern bank of the Yarkon. It's part of the shvil and looked very inviting. When one of us, perhaps out of a sense of misplaced guilt, suggested we leave the comfort of the limo service and venture back onto the shvil, the other two readily concurred. Sixth mistake. Avi and Yael looked a little puzzled, which I can certainly understand. Why would any sane person leave an air-conditioned car and chose to walk 5 kilometres in the midday heat? Especially since we'd already walked 8 or so kilometres and looked totally withered when we got picked up? Beats me, even though the decision was certainly unanimous.

To compound our mistake, we actually disembarked from the car not exactly next to the park but had to walk around in circles until we found the right way there. Add one totally unnecessary unshvil kilometre to the day's tally. There was probably another kilometre between the edge of the park itself to the white, orange and blue marked shvil path on the river bank. Park Hayarkon is very nice though. As previously said, we hadn't eaten yet today and unfortunately our hunger was amplified by the smell of all the barbecued meats that wafted over the park. Hundreds of families had decided to set up bivouac here and send a cloud of barbecue smoke into the atmosphere. Maybe Hendrix had Park Hayarkon in mind when he sang about purple haze.
By the time we made it back to the Yarkon itself we were even more tired, hot and thirsty and failed to appreciate the fact that, like many world cities that have rivers running through the middle, this strip of green in the urban landscape is something to be enjoyed. We just wanted to forget the mistakes, get back to the car and get home.

In summary it was quite ambitious to try and walk close to 40 kilomtres in a 28 hour period. Add to that all the other factors that made this leg such a struggle and I would say that all in we didn't give enough thought to that second day. Are we discouraged from doing 2 legs on a weekend? Certainly not. Next time we just have to plan it a little better.

21st day (Sand, Sea and Sol)

Today's leg was a landmark. Or two landmarks.
Firstly, we came to the conclusion that we had walked so far south that it made no sense getting up before the crack of dawn in order to travel 2 hours just to start the leg, then travel 2 hours home at the end. Instead, from here we will start to do overnights, 2 legs in a weekend. Yippee!!
Secondly, Sol joined us for this leg. So far we've had a family day and a number of guest walkers, all of whom we knew from our past in Australia. Sol is different. He himself is a shviller, doing various legs of the shvil in a guided group, substantially larger than Paul, Garry and Yoni, through Machon Avshalom.  He discovered this blog a while ago and has been in constant contact with me since, giving tips as to what lies ahead and feedback on what I'd written. We were therefore happy to have our first "outsider" join us for a leg.

Given that it was Rosh Hashana, we wanted to spend the morning with our families and not walk through the midday heat. We agreed that we would meet at 3 p.m. and walk this beach leg into the evening. (Garry and I brought torches in case evening turned into night. Anything is possible with us.) After some re-arranging we set a 2 p.m. starting time, determining to meet Sol at Hof HaZuk, Tel Aviv's most northern beach and to walk north to Poleg, Netanya's southern beach.
Things never seem to work out as simply as we plan them. Before starting to walk we had to drop one car off at the end point. No problem. Done it 20 times so far. Except this time, the 21st time, I managed to bog my van in sand in the car park at the end. Another landmark.  I won't bore the reader with endless details of how wheels spun, rubber burnt and the engine overloaded. Nor will I go into the different attempts at digging sand, pushing boards under the wheels and various other forms of pre-shvil energy wasting. After 30 minutes my van finally limped out of the sandy carpark. Poor Sol had already arrived at the designated meeting point only to have us make him wait because of our stupidity.

But the stupidity didn't end there. There are those deliberately stupid Hollywood films, often starring  Will Ferrel, where the characters are SO moronic that it just can't actually be and there lies the comedy. Well guess what?  I bogged the car a second time! Let Will Ferrel beat that! After leaving the carpark we decided to go back and move Yoni's car closer to the actual end point at the beach. For some inexplicable reason I drove back into the carpark and yes, got bogged a second time. Brain-dead. Moron. Imbecile. Ignoramus.  I'm surprised Yoni and Garry didn't just leave me there, forcing me to use the half a wit that I had working at the time to figure out how to extradite myself from this mess. In any case, 20 minutes later and with the help of a kind but somewhat amused local who lent us a tow rope and showed us where the tow bars were on both our vehicles, we were finally on our way. Sol took to being made to wait an hour by three clowns very well.  At 3 p.m. we set off for the last beach leg of Shvil Yisrael.

Garry, always the beach-comber, was a little melancholy at the thought of not walking along the beach again after this leg. I was of the opinion that I understand already the idea of the Mediterranean Sea and the beach, enjoyed it whilst it lasted but was just as happy to tick the box and move on to the next vista the shvil would present us. Yoni just didn't want sand dunes.
Hof Hazuk is the beach you go to if you want to be seen. The young, the famous and the beautiful hang out here. And us. Four  fifty-year-old somethings trudging northwards, dodging multiple hard rubber balls shot between  wooden paddle bats.  There was so much matkot, Israel's national beach sport, being played ensuring that the pings of the countless balls on bats made conversation impossible. At risk of labelling myself  a dirty old man, the amount of silicone and skimpy bikinis on show at this beach ensured that anyway, conversation was the last thing on my mind. When you've got it, flaunt it.
 The crowds thinned quite quickly and soon enough we had the long sandy beach almost to ourselves

. A family group here, young couples there. The relative seclusion also attracted another type of beach goer. The nudist. Or more correctly, the male nudist . We saw a smattering of topless females and tens of fully naked men. Now I'm no prude and really do believe that the human body is not something to be ashamed of, but I have to admit that I get no joy from seeing the male genitalia, out there for all to see. Once again, I guess, when you've got, flaunt it

As the afternoon shadows grew longer  the temperature dropped slightly and even I, the beach cynic, enjoyed the walking. Until the sandy beach stopped and sharp rocky boulders were suddenly under foot. We were forced to act like mountain goats, or coast goats, jumping from rock to rock. Garry, as usual, nimbly glided over. I carefully plodded on. Sol struggled with the terrain and Yoni fell. Quite heavily. The bruise that came up on his leg wasn't black and blue. It was just black. Dark and painful. Certainly the most serious injury we've had to date, though not so serious to prevent us from continuing on.

The rocky section ended as suddenly as it started,as if placed there as a test by some unseen Shvil God. We were back on the sandy beach again. Of course Mr Shvil Painter, or the unseen Shvil God, wasn't going to allow us a nice long boring beach walk. Once we got to Ga'ash the route left the beach and climbed up on to the cliff above the beach. Whilst the cliff was not high, the views over the beach below and out into the Mediterranean were beautiful, especially since the hour was late and thus the sun was starting to set in the west over the sea. Trouble was that we'd been walking three hours already and were starting to tire. The sand underfoot was loose, the terrain undulating and this made for difficult walking. Some, especially one who doesn't like sand dunes and was already injured, found the going especially hard and kept harking back to his days in basic training. Luckily it was twilight with a cool sea breeze to our backs. After four kilomtres of this cliff dune walking, which I dare say was actually both difficult and enjoyable, the path lead us back to the beach.

Not long after we got back to the firm sand of the shore we arrived to Poleg beach. Sol and I waited while Yoni and Garry retrieved the car, which proved to be further away from the beach than what we thought when we'd left it there four and a half hours previously. After 18 kilometres Yoni and Garry really didn't need that extra kilometre to the car.

Back at the Hof Hatzuk carpark we bade farewell to a tired Sol and readied ourselves for the next part of our shvil experience. Whilst not strictly part of the shvil, the three country bumpkins prepared to meet up with an old friend and hit the big city.
Yvonne may not get the honour of being called a shviller, but all the same, seeing her for the first time since we all left school, 33 years ago (yes, really) was reason enough to prevent us from going back to our rented apartment and crashing out for the night. So first stop was Hof Hametzitzim for a cold beer and greasy french fries. Next, a steak at Boya at the Tel Aviv port complex. We finished off with a  midnight ice cream at Iceberg. By the time we got back to the apartment, showered and dropped into bed, it was about one o'clock. We were only going to be shvilling once in Tel Aviv, so we exploited it to the end. However we also knew that we wanted to get up bright and early the next day, refreshed and ready for the 20 km walk down the Yarkon river. We paid for our late night the next day. But from a one a.m perspective, the day had certainly finished on a much better note than it had started.

p.s.Since Yoni refused to share a room, let alone a bed with me, Garry got stuck with my alleged sssnorrring

20th day (Hi Cal, Low Km)

After last week's long haul Yoni decided that today we would have a nice easy walk through Netanya, about 14 km by his estimation. Without going into Yoni's biography too much, he is a man who has headed multimillion dollar companies and has estimated corporate earnings that end with lots of zeros.  However when it comes to the simple maths of working out the distance between point A and point B, he seems to have some problems. If he'd divided his computations by 2 then he would have gotten it about right.

We got onto the beach at Havazelet pretty quickly (and of course early!) and headed south. It's a pretty, sandy beach that resembles the beach that we'd been walking on these past 25 or so km (with a still unexplained detour via Hadera and the surrounding sandtraps.) At any rate there's something refreshing starting a walk in the cool early morning along the beach.  Not long after we started we got to a low gate that delineated between the beach that belonged to the Sharon area local council and the Netanya municipality controlled beach. Or more accurately, the clean pure quiet sandy beach to the polluted noisy beach. Oh well.

 We knew that today's walk was not going to be a long one and therefore we didn't have to rush. It was also pretty obvious that we would stop off in downtown Netanya for a double macchiato that we love so much but don't always find the time for in our desire to get going before the sun gets too high in the sky. With these two facts in our minds and in the knowledge that we had to lighten our load we stopped for Garry's herbal tea and chocolate croissants.  Some things are sacred. We found a nice smooth rock under the shade of the cliff on the beach, sat down and had our tea and croissant. We hadn't been walking very long, perhaps 40 minutes, but we knew that a coffee break was not too far ahead. Not long after resuming from our first break the shvil sign pointed us up some stairs, taking us away from the beach and up to the well kept Netanya promenade.

We don't know Netanya very well and are fed everything we do know about it from the media. The media portrays this city, known as the diamond of the Sharon for all the diamond merchants that supposedly inhabit the place, as the mafia capital of Israel. There always seems to be a stabbing, shooting or bomb blast reported here, but what we found was a palm tree lined, neatly scrubbed, well planned and looked after promenade above a picturesque beach. I'm sure if we were to veer a kilometre off course we may have found a more sordid underbelly but I'm calling it as I see it. Miami perhaps?

After a kilometre or so we arrived to Netanya's downtown. A large town square bordered by all the things that make the Israeli economy tick: restaurants, banks and real estate agencies. Netanya's French influence was plain to see, with restaurants or cafes named Chez Beatrice or La Fromage, that looked like they hadn't changed since the original immigrants came to live here from Morocco, whoops, France, sometime back in the 50's. These same old-timers, speaking French, of course, were sitting in the same seats at the same cafes since 1952. It goes without saying that they daren't face each other, rather all facing outwards in the direction of the town square. All the better to see and be seen. It was a mixture of the anachronistic and the quaint. Miami had turned into Marseilles.

We decided that since we weren't locals and didn't speak French we wouldn't sit at Chez Simon or La Poisson et La Lait and opted for the Israeli sounding Kaffe Elad. The name was deceptive. We ordered our double macchiatos which were Frenchly delicious and they came with 3 home made butter croissants. Not the mass made pseudo cakes common in the bakery section of the local supermarkets or baked-from-the-freezer croissants that most café bars serve in Israel. You could taste the butter in these authentic French pastries. We didn't order these croissants, they came with the coffee. But if they're there already we didn't want to insult the maitre'd. We were wary that they might tack on the price of the croissants to the coffee but no, the grand total for 3 double macchiatos and 3 croissants was 30 sheqels. A bargain. How can they afford these prices and pay protection money as well?

Begrudgingly we reminded ourselves that we were doing a leg of the shvil, which is meant to include (usually) walking, so we set off down the promenade, on a cliff  top overlooking the beach and sparkling Mediterranean sea below. If the area that we'd walked past in North Netanya was pleasant then the south was quite opulent. High-rise apartment blocks were sprouting up everywhere, each trying to be showier than its neighbour. Netanya must have lots of mafia barons to fill all these apartments.

After an hour or so's stroll, which included a couple of water breaks, we got to the point where we'd parked our car. The sandwiches and fruit that we'd packed in the morning were still sitting in our daypacks and there was no point in taking them home. We found an empty restaurant patio, on top of the cliff that overlooks the Poleg beach, took out our baguettes and melon and ensured there was nothing left in our bags to take home.

After two rounds of croissants, herbal tea, macchiatos, baguettes and fruit in seven kilometres of walking that we somehow stretched out to 3 hours, you'd think that we'd added enough calories for the day. Well at the mall at Havazellet  HaSharon there's an excellent  ice cream stand that irresistibly beckoned. The mango sorbet and Mars bar ice cream was worth those extra calories.

A final semi serious word here. We always enjoy our shvil walks; Long or short, easy or hard. The previous week we'd done a long hard walk and this short walk through Netanya was no less a shvil experience than last week's. Sometimes it's good that the principal challenge is to see how many calories we can put away rather than how many kilometres we can put away.

19th day (Mr Shvil Painter's Revenge)

 Just so you know, we're getting up now at 4.45 on friday morning just to do the shvil. Are we crazy, or what?

Starting  where we left off a few weeks previous (at Beit Hanaya, not David Cherny's back porch in Benyamina), we followed the ancient Roman aqueduct as far as the village of Jizr-el Zaker. This is a village with a seriously bad name and I don't mean hard to pronounce. It really does have that run-down wild-west look about it. Dirty, unkempt streets, graffiti on the walls and a general feeling of malaise. The only good thing about walking through Jizr-el Zaker is that after approximately 250 km, where we've walked from Dan, over mountains, past the Sea of Galilee and the lower Galilee, it leads to the beach. We've hit the Mediterranean.
The beaches along this stretch of the Mediterranean are often quite beautiful, but instead of having us arrive to the coast at some pristine uninhabited shore, Mr shvil painter had us stumble out of a dirty street onto a beach strewn with rubbish and dilapidated fishing equipment. Makes you wonder sometimes. The view was sort of a mirror image of Santorini, run-down rather than quaint, uninspiring rather than picturesque. Once we escaped the slightly depressing aura of Jizr-el Zaker the seascape improved. The pristine untouched sands that we had expected now opened up ahead of us. As we progressed southwards public beaches were well groomed and clean. The Roman aqueduct accompanied us along the coast making for an unusual yet interesting type of border for the beach. Around Caesaria, people have come to lounge on the beach for a while, setting up tents under the arches of the aqueduct. Very idyllic. Very Israeli
  Along the way we had some more slice-of-Israel shvil moments. Firstly, we bumped into a camera crew setting up to film  some scenes for a television series, or so they said. They'd constructed a large open tent where the cast and crew didn't do much besides enjoy themselves in the shade.  Not far afterwards the shvil was blocked by red police tape, crossed in a way that in no uncertain terms meant that we weren't meant to pass through. We passed through. This is, after-all, Israel.
After five or six kilometres of strolling along the beach we arrived to the Caesaria National Park. The ruins of this ancient Roman port have been painstakingly  preserved. Israel has so many important archaeological sites that it's no surprise that when the antiquities authorities want to make the effort the result is quite impressive. Whilst this particular site is quite an important one, I wonder whether the fact that the adjacent neighbourhood of Caesaria, which houses some of the most expensive and exclusive real estate in the country, including the private residence of the present prime minister of Israel, influenced the degree and care of the restoration?

Yoni, our tour organiser these past few legs, made an executive decision that from here we would drive to Hadera, about 8 km away. Given that the bipedal alternative included walking past the power plant, crossing the polluted  Nachal Hadera and passing through the backstreets of Olga and Hadera, the "cheat" word was not even mentioned such was the level of agreement. We weren't exactly sure why the route took us inland when after skirting the power plant we could have happily continued walking along the beach all the way to Tel Aviv. We assumed that there was a good reason that would become apparent once we started walking through the large Hadera forest. Huh. More fool us.
Given that we'd walked a bit already and as stated ad nauseum we can't let an empty picnic table in a forest stay empty, we sat down and had our herbal tea and croissants in the entrance to the Hadera forest. Perhaps this is the reason Mr. shvil painter took us 7 km inland? Unlikely.

Eventually we put the cups away and headed off through the eucalyptus forest that reminded us of our native Australia. We'd seen very few planted forests like this along the way. A few pine forests but no gum trees as we say back home. Unfortunately Mr shvil painter had other ideas. He marked the trail outside the forest, not through it. So there we were, walking in the blazing summer sun, alongside this leafy shaded forest, absolutely sure that at any moment a path was going to lead us in. In our younger days we had an expression for girls that led us on, never to let us, ahem, enjoy fully our relationships, a ....tease. This was the equivalent when your married and 50.
After toying with us for a long time Mr shvil painter decided to put us out of our misery and led the path away from the forest. We were still in the sun, we still didn't know why we weren't walking on the beach but at least the shaded Hadera forest was no longer tempting us. We were walking now through nondescript barren farmland, occasionally turning right or left, but with the distinct feeling that we were walking needlessly in circles.
 At this point I proposed the following theory. The night before Mr shvil painter had to paint this section he had a night out on the town. He woke up next morning with a whopping headache and decided that the best way to get around the headache was to smoke a joint or two. And thus he set out to paint the shvil. That might explain walking in the sun rather than shade and walking around in circles.
After arguing which way was North, East, South or West in order to ascertain if we were heading towards or away from the sea, we took a right hand turn that encouragingly headed us westward towards the Mediterranean. Not for the last time, Mr shvil painter would spring a surprise on us. 7 or so km from the beach Mr Shvil painter now had us climbing "paths" through sand dunes. Why? Beats me. The only thing that made us feel marginally better, or at least less screwed up, was this poor group of 4 bicyclists,  all about our age, pushing their bicycles through the same sand dunes. They seemed to have a leader, the one playing alpha dog, who claimed he knew where he was going.  Now if I was following someone who claimed he knew where he was going and thus knowingly caused me to push a bike through the sand dunes, I'd probably be sitting in jail on a count of justifiable homicide, or reduced mental capacity due to sunstroke.

Eventually the sand dunes levelled out and the path led us to the same north-south train track that goes from Haifa to Tel Aviv  that we walked alongside and passed under at Benyamina in the previous walk. Once again Mr shvil painter would have us pass under the tracks to get to the other side. The difference was that this time we weren't meant to walk under the track but crawl through a rabbit hole. Garry, who is shorter and markedly less rotund than Yoni and I might just have been able to crawl through. Me and Yoni? No chance. A 21 year old ex soldier with a rucksack on his back? Even less chance. Luckily or deliberately, there was no fence separating the tracks from the path so we just crossed the tracks, as I'm certain every other shviller who gets to this point does. Actually, crossing the railway tracks recalled memories of primary school road safety lessons...look to the left, look to the right, look to the left again. No trains, safe to cross.

Right, we thought. On to Nachal Alexander, a slow picturesque creek that would lead us back to the sea. Well, sort of right. The way to Nachal Alexander led along a dead straight, open path, next to the train tracks. Bad enough in itself, but Mr shvil painter had tons of loose hot sand shipped in to make walking along this path resemble boot camp at basic training when we were soldiers in the IDF. After trudging for what seemed hours through loose sand I spotted 30 metres above this path another path, along a proper walking track and in the shade of a forest. We hadn't seen it because it had been obscured by a sand dune that rose above the sand path we were walking on. From here my theory changed. Mr shvil painter wasn't stoned. oh no, he was perfectly lucid. He'd gone into the office of the shvil forefathers and had asked for a raise. When they refused him he decide to take his revenge out on us, the poor innocent shvillers. There can be no other logical reason to shlep us away from the beach, lead real walkers through the back lots of Givat Olga and Hadera, walk adjascent but not through Hadera forest, turn us left and right in circles so as to loose our bearings, march us up and down sand dunes and then to top it off have us trudge along an open sandy trail when a shaded leafy path was only 30 metres away. Pure evil spite, that's all there is to it..
Eventually we got to Nachal Alexander and walked a very pleasant 3 kilomtres to the sea. From there we took off our shoes and socks, paddled along the water's edge past Beit Yanai beach to Havazellet beach where we met Kim, and Garry' and Kim's daughter Lea for lunch. More than enough for one summer's day. Garry the sea farer had been waiting for this moment a year and a half, where he would finish a leg of shvil yisrael, strip off to his underpants and run into the sea. Yoni and I didn't need any convincing to follow suit.