Interlude, Pt. 1: Cycling the Sea steeped in superstition

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"Good morning! How are you today?" asks the tour guide.

- "Great, thank you!" answer the passengers with one voice as the boat disembarks from the shore of Kinneret. One says "Hallelujah" for a few cheap chuckles and guffaws.

"Are you all having a good time?"

- "Yaaaaay!"

"I just have to announce that once we enter American territory, the captain and I have to jump overboard, as we don't have a Green Card. We're not allowed to work in America." More laughter. It's that type of light-hearted, harmless jokes that tour guides are drilled to tell to lighten the atmosphere and make everybody enjoy themselves.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the Star-Spangled Banner starts playing, the on-board speakers ensuring that everybody within a radius of 1km cannot escape from hearing it. Most of the passengers sing along. "...and the home of the braaaaaaave." Applause and cheering.

I sit on the nearby beach, utterly stupefied, a piece of the sweet bun I bought for breakfast half-stuck in my throat. A sip of water clears the morsel. I watch on as the boat chugs along and raises the Stars and Stripes.

The tour guide has done a good job. He, representing Israel, has dropped his pants, lain down, spread his butt cheeks, opened his rectal orifice wide, and they, representing the USA, have willingly stuck their collective fat thumb in it. Everybody's happy.


***


I go and rent a bicycle for the day and decide to do the lake circuit. The guy who adjusts the bike for me reckons it's about 58km, and should take me 4-5 hours. The first 10 or so kilometres start off fairly easy, but I have to ride on the road, as there's no bike path. The road seems to be quite a distance from the lakeshore, and all I see most of the time is either trees or construction sites. I start getting more and more disappointed, having expected a more scenic and rewarding ride, and not crazy Israeli drivers racing past me. "Fucking hell", I cough out upon inhaling some exhaust fumes.

I turn into a kibbutz on the shore to see if there's a path closer to the lake. I end up in front of a sign that warns me not to go further, that this is a private beach. There is a museum closeby that houses a 2000-year old fishing vessel, but the Israeli high school student groups and the high entrance fee deter me from going in. Most things here just scream 'Tourist trap!'.

As I get off the bike, I notice that I have a flat tyre. Not sure how it happened, I get a tad frustrated, seeing that every time I rent a bicycle, I end up with a puncture. This time, I won't go through the torture of doing the rest of the trip just on the rim, and call the hostel where I rented the bicycle. 20 minutes later, a pick-up truck arrives with a fresh, unpunctured bike. I'm quite surprised at the good service and ride on.

I stop at the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes, where the altar is said to be the rock on which Jesus laid the five loaves of bread and two fishes that multiplied miraculously to feed 5000 faithful listeners. The church is managed by the German Benedictine Order. It also houses a monastery and a pilgrim's hospice.

I ride on to Capernaum, where Jesus supposedly lived during his Galilean ministry, the period in which he performed some of his most famous tricks. I decide not to enter, as it costs an entrance fee. Guess I'm too stingy to pay for dubious historical sites.

Shortly after, I cross the River Jordan, literally.

After maybe 30km, I start getting pretty exhausted, despite the multiple little breaks I've taken to drink water. The sun is burning today, and I use every chance I get to catch a bit of shadow. Luckily, there's not as much traffic on the North Shore of the lake as around Tiberias. The Galilee mountains on the side of the road are stunningly beautiful, revealing a lush, green side of Israel that comes as a bit of a surprise in a country with such a severe water shortage.

About 8km to Tiberias, I finally find a nice little spot directly on the shore. There are scores of bronzed, rough-looking middle-aged Israeli men fishing, and they eye me suspiciously as I sit down on a rock to enjoy the view without anything between me and the lake. So this is where Jesus walked on water. Who cares about those old stories passed on from generation to generation of deluded, gullible local peasants? It's a pretty lake, and it feels good to be here, after riding five strenuous hours in the heat.

I take a bit of an extended breather, then I ride back to Tiberias.

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