Dog Biscuit

In Fieldings guide to The World’s Most Dangerous Places. describes Eastern Turkey as “At Play In The Fields Of The Warlords”. It is a country where, within 100 miles of each other, you can find stealth fighters and people who live in caves. It took only one grainy photograph to convince me that I should go to Eastern Turkey to shoot the documentary, “The Quest for Noah’s Ark”. Notwithstanding the “off limits” status for access to Mt. Ararat by the Turkish government, for me like my third marriage, the attraction outweighed the risk of imprisonment. Think of it- to film the greatest biblical archaeological find in the history of man was too seductive.

Its night, I’m descending Ararat, my head won’t stop playing a song by Talking Heads – “And you may find yourself in another part of the world-And you may ask yourself-well…how did I get here?”, I redirect my thoughts and make-up a mantra in hopes of lifting my body and spirit beyond physical exhaustion and dehydration. “focus, focus, pacing, move forward, breath, don’t feel the pain, move, move breath, move, keep moving, one step at a time, G-d didn’t bring you this far to buy a cheap Turkish coffee cup from Istanbul’s airport gift shop. Keep moving”. “Shit that hurt!” my boot is wedged again, I stop to give a informal yank without more damage to my foot- suddenly I’m aware that a shadow is proceeding me across this field of ankle busting rocks, “But wait, there is no moon” I thought. The shadow moved in slow motion in an eerie pink light with deep shadows of black surrounding it. The shadow swayed slowly to the left of me then to the right. “Jesus Christ ! Its my shadow”. I spin around and looked up behind me to the stars only to see a parachute flare floating to earth.

Now, I hear the dogs. For the moment, I forget about the sixty-pound pack, my swollen tongue, parched throat and thrashed feet. The adrenaline shoots through my system and my heart rate increases. I can physically feel the hormone boosting the supply of oxygen and glucose to my brain and muscles. Hard-wired for “Fight or Flight” the firing of adrenaline and neuotransmitter hit my sympathietic nervous system, “Holy shit ! I’m outta here”

Choreographed like the Radio City Rockettes the seven of us turn and haul ass across the stone field. I hear my ski poles scraping against the boulders. It’s dark again, I stumble but keep moving to the horizon where I can make out the faint lights of Dogubeyazit . I am wearing summit boots which are so rigid they do not flex with the uneven stones but slip between the rocks and gets wedged. I yank my legs up with each step so as not to get my boots pinned between stones. My feet feel warm and soggy, a sure sign of blood.

It was only three nights ago that we left the town of Dogubeyazit (affectionately known as Dog Biscuit) under the cover of darkness and with the help of the local Kurdish Underground, I climbed the 16,854 foot summit of Mt. Ararat along with four Christian cowboys, two Kurds and two of the scrawniest horses I have ever seen. I could have stayed in L.A. picking up work shooting a mindless sitcom and watching a local celebutante with two soft protruding organs given us the local weather report. I could have…but.

Ya'akov and Me

The passenger window is tinted yellow from years of cigarette smoke. Running down the middle of it, is a vertical crack in the shape of lighting, probably formed either as a sport or in earnest as someone wrestled with a setback. The window is stuck midway up allowing for a blast of hot air with the familiar smells of diesel and earth to fill the cab. I was in a good stare as the terrain charged by, wondering which biblical figures walked here and which battles from the Old Testament were fought. But it is difficult to ponder these questions when my Israeli driver Ya’akov’s radio and cassette player screams with Anthony Newley’s torch song “What Kind of Fool am I.“ Both hands on the wheel, the ever present Marlboro dangling from his lips, Ya’akov belts out the tune, over-enunciating each lyric in his sing-along.

What’s in a name? Everything, apparently. Ya’akov -or for us none Jews “Jacob” - literally means “heel-catcher” or supplanter- a person who “lies in wait” for a situation to develop in order to take advantage of it. In Genesis of the Old Testament, Ya’akov is described as the person who wrestles with a mysterious man who turns out to be God Himself. That account perfectly describes the man sitting next to me singing off-key with Anthony Newley.

A man of small stature, Ya’akov is built like a brick house with hands like baseball gloves. His eyes are blue and clear in spite of all that he has seen and experienced. But it is also through these eyes that Ya’akov is constantly searching the horizon for opportunities. For some, pop culture is the demise of western civilization but for Ya’akov it was a blessing.

Ya’akov embraced western pop culture by teaching himself English off of Billboard’s Hot 100 music chart. That is why he strains so hard to pronounce each lyric. His accent is definitely Israeli but it switches to a bad Elvis impersonation when he curses out loud as the undercarriage of his truck scrapes the limestone rocks in the road. He still has difficulty with slang, like walkie talkies which we use on location. Ya’akov consistently would called the walkie talkies “okie dokies” .For the benefit of Ya’akov and to the last day of the shoot we would always ask if the “okie dokies” were recharged.

A veteran of the Six-Day War, Ya’akov has witnessed Israel’s history from the frontlines. It was in May of 1967 that Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser expelled the United Nations Emergency Force from the Sinai Peninsula. Egypt then amassed 1,000 tanks and nearly 100,000 soldiers on the Israeli border. In response, Israel mobilized 70,000 reservists, Ya’akov being one of them. On June 5, 1967, Israel launched a preemptive attack. By the war's end, Israel had gained control of the region and created a political tar pit that has welcomed every generation of world leader since. Ya’akov, on the other hand is just happy to have survived so he could drive media clients around Israel and sell cartons of Maralboro to the Bediouns.

We are somewhere on an old dirt road off of Highway 79 near Nazareth in Northern Israel. Ya’akov maneuvers around bombshell size potholes in his mini truck, which is full of camera gear and is swaying almost rhythmically to the cassette player. The goal is to find a location to film in the Israeli outback without power lines or any evidence of the 21st century. We find a spot, pull over, and true to our tradition, Ya’akov pull out a small backpack stove and proceeds to make us coffee. We sit on the back tailgate smoking cigarettes and spoon our thick black coffee. “Ya’akov” I say

“Yes Da’vid” Ya’akov replies.

“How about another song?” I ask.

Without blinking, Ya’akov bellows,

“In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, honey

don’t you know that I love you?

In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby

Don’t you know that I’ll always be true?”

Standing in the middle of an old dirt road in the outback of Israel, Ya’akov sings and mimicks playing a vox organ in D minor. Jesus, Iron Butterfly.Of course, the song came out in May of 1968, right after the dust settled from the Six Day War-- a perfect time for Ya’akov to start learning English. As the sun sets and Ya’akov keeps rolling out the hits, there is nowhere I’d rather be.

“Hey, Ya’akov, hand me your okie dokie, I 'll change the batteries for you “

The Little Wasp

Eighteen countries. Five shock absorbers. Two bikers. One amazing adventure…. That’s what the back cover of the book- Long Way Down - describe within its pages. This was an epic journey by Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman across the continent of Africa on two BMW R1200GS Adventure motorcycles. The book was a good read and I am envious of their adventure. I owned a bike once. Well, not a bike but a scooter, a Vespa scooter. I was the big white guy on a Vespa scooter riding from Burbank through Griffith Park to Los Feliz on my way to work. And, I loved that little white Vespa, So, you can only imagine that while I was in Italy my love for the little Vespa was reignited. Vespa, in Italian means Wasp and true to its name and nature the Wasps are everywhere and going in every direction including the sidewalks. It is nothing to see a family of three on a Vespa or a woman on a cell phone smoking a cigarette with a baby strapped to her bosoms on the streets of Naples or Rome. The Vespa has it own filmgrpahy that goes from, “Quadrophenia” to“American Graffiti” and the most memorable of all “Roman Holiday”. For a scooter that was intended primarily to solve the problems of urban and intercity traffic the Vespa has a rich history of adventures. In 1997 journalist Giorgio Bettinelli started out from Chile, reaching Tasmania after three years and 150,000 km on his Vespa across the Americas. Bettinelli continued his adventure to Siberia, Europe, Africa, Asia and Oceania. All in all, Bettinelli has travelled 254,000 km on a Vespa. Pierre Delliere, Sergeant in the French Air Force, reached Saigon in 51 days from Paris, going through Afghanistan. Few know that in 1980 two Vespa ridden by M. Simonot and B. Tcherniawsky reached the finishing line of the second Paris-Dakar rally.What do you think about that Mr. McGregor and Mr. Boorman ?

Out the Window

Caught a ferry across the Bay of Naples to the island Ischia. At first glance I thought that Gene Simmons was sitting across from me. Turned out to be an elderly Italian woman - the fact is that there are a lot of fleshy old Italian woman who look like Gene Simmons. We checked into the Aragonese Castle - this is the view at sunset from our room. I am happy to report that there were no spirit sightings for the two nights we were there.

Sunday night and a drive with our Italian family on the back streets of Naples. After several shots of expresso and watching America lose to Brazil in football (soccer) we were to wired just to go back to the hotel and watch BBC World News. We opted instead to travel the narrow passages, alleys and sometimes sidewalks for the perfect view of the Bay of Naples.

Back Streets of Naples

Leather to the pavement and more back alleys: Art is in the eye of the beholder and what is art to some is only an eye sore to others. Our history of graffiti goes back to the time we lived in caves and during Roman times (two thousand year ago) graffiti was used to indicate boundaries and expression of political dissent. Today we twitter.

Open to Heaven

Wandering the ancient ruins of Ischia. This volcanic island is in the Tyrrhenian Sea, at the northern end of the Gulf of Naples. This image of the ruin is part of the Castello Aragnese which has a history that dates back to 474 BC. FYI, near by is a trattoria which has the best pizza margarita I have ever eaten- I should know I ate 6 pizza margaritas during the last 6 days. I call this image-Open to Heaven.

Black and White Courtyard, Ischia

Black and white and jet lag, what a combination for tripping out on a natural high. In every nook and cranny of any location the thrill of finding an image that speak to you is just one of the benefits of being a traveler. But, after two week away from L.A. I start to crave a double,double animal style- In-N-Out- burger and a blue whoo hoo vanilla slurpee.

120 Year of Pizza Margherita

We Americans don’t like foreign stuff nor do we trust foreigners who wear keffiyehs, watch soccer or smoke from a bottle of water (Hookah). Foreign stuff we do like are -German cars, French women and Italian food. Ah, Italian food. In 1889 Queen Margherita of Savoy asked the Naples celebrity chef Raffaele Esposito Brandi for a special meal that would satisfy her and the hungry population. Chef Brandi created a flat hot bread with green basil, white mozzarella and red tomato. And, to top it off Chef Brandi made the Pizza Margherita to resemble the colors of the Italian flag. What a patriot. Last count on my visit to Naples, I have eaten 7 Pizza Margherita.