Day 17, June 16, Monday

(Chris) For the second day in a row, we maneuvered our fortunes so that we could achieve that culinary coup of eating 2 breakfasts. After getting our FREE breakfast at the hostel, we got another FREE breakfast from Father Tom.

Then, this joyful Franciscan hopped into our caravan and led us to yet another HOLY PLACE OF THE HOLY LAND. Beatitudes, my friends! Yes, we went to the source of these nuggets of Christological wisdom - the Mt. of Beatitudes. Fr. Tom had readings arranged for each of the sites we would see that day. So we read, prayed, took pictures, and walked where Christ had walked.

The Mt. was nice and flowery. The church was round and modern. The view of the hill and sea was nice. Fr. Tom seemed to know everyone along our path that day. Our next stop was Thagba (sp?). This was the place of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. The church was nice and had 11th century Christian mosaics and the rock where Christ stood. Fr. Tom, after our prayers, allowed us past the barriers to touch the rock.

A Chinese-North American girl joined our journey for the 2nd time on T3. Lana was a co-student of Ann Bureau at the Angelicum in Rome and knew Fr. Tom thru her brother. She met Fr. Tom here completely by accident. She came with us to our next few stops and we dropped her with Fr. Tom in Tiberias when we were done.

Before that, of course however although therefore, we went to the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter. Here, on the rocks beside the sea, Christ made Peter the 1st pope. The Church was small, but nice and had rocks under the altar. We touched rocks and the Sea of Galilee and we prayed, as usual. OH THE THINGS YOU'LL SEE!

As high noon beat its majestic hot beams on our reddish-brown complexions, we hiked to a special cave. This little unmarked roadside, seaside cave was the place Christ fled to after the loaf/fish event. Then, just down the hill on the sea, we saw the place where the Sons of Thunder were washing their nets when Christ called them. It was a big, fat rushing stream of clean water hitting the sea. Some of us took off out shoes and walked into the wet coolness, careful to dodge the glassy remains of those less pious.

We drove on, over the River Jordan and past the Golan Heights. Heavy-gun fire could be heard from the ridges. What a country. We stopped at a baptismal site on the river. Although placards admitted this was not the exact spot John baptized Jesus, it said, "Hey, it's the same water, so please come here and spend your money with us Israelis and not at the cruddy actual site run by Palestinians." OK, maybe that wasn't the exact wording, but that's what this all meant.

We tried to do a reading, but it was drowned out (no pun intended) by Sam and Lana flirting and US Protestants singing Amazing Grace. Then, the Protestants donned dorky white gowns and began baptizing each other by immersion. The pastor was a fat, bald, Southern guy with orange glasses and a white, wet gown. It was getting harder and harder to imagine Christ here or to remain Christ-like, so we left.

Back in Tiberias, we pulled Sam and Lana from the back seat and went into Terra Sancta to eat more Fr. Tom food. Watermelon, Coke, cookies, and apples were eagerly inhaled as pope-jokes and Ann Bureau stories were told. Sam tried to hug Lana goodbye, but she quoted the Christendom handbook rules about PDA and he backed off sadly. We made some phone calls, trying to arrange transport to Turkey and left town.

By 6:30, we were in the coastal, Crusader town of Akko (Acre.) It wasn't until 7:30 that we had lodging, though. Then, we headed out to swim. The sun had long since set by the time we found the public beach. As 3 of us found out, it was worth the delay. Greg, Matt, and I had some extremely good Tumbleweed water-throws and some refreshing swimming in general. It was sandy and nice very far out. Sam, Joe, and Dave looked on jealously, wishing they had tasted the refreshing, wet coolness, but too proud to change their minds and join us.

We found food at a mini-mart and ate at the inside-the-walls-of-the-old-town-hostel. Jealousy became an issue again as we were approached by some South Africans as we ate in the lobby. They were jealous not only of our magnificently made sandwiches (with hummus via Matt) but of our glorious nationality. After a rosary, we cranked up the ceiling fan and hit the hay. It was hard to say what the next day might hold.