With shocking forcefulness, the bombings provided an indication that it was time to move on from the beachside paradise of Dahab. Additionally beckoning me northward was a spontaneous e-mail offer from Neta, a friend from back in the states, who was vacationing at her parent's home with her 7 month old child Lior. Homestly I had previously made numerous statements that Israel was the LAST place on earth that I wanted to travel to, however considering the nature of the conflict that I was witnessing first hand (and second hand through media coverage of multiple regional conflicts), it seemed appropriate to flow with the tides. After more minivans, busses, taxis and border crossings, with much of that time spent staring out the window at the raw red desert rolling by, I was welcomed by the highrises and neon lights of Tel-Aviv, the economic capital of Israel. Neta's parents were in Qadima, about 30 minutes north in what used to be endless orange groves that she remembered fondly from her youth -- now it was overwhelmed by urban sprawl and some government housing projects, the simultaneous growth and decay surrounding an otherwise timeless pace of life. We spent the brief time there walking past cheery older homes all blossoming with springtime fervor, making trips to the local bakery for honey drenched sweets and fresh breads, and oogling over the cuteness of Lior along with his very proud grandparents. I was experiencing the joys of having eaten with reckless abamdon in a 3rd world nation, so some Egyptian creatures were thriving within my intestines -- and I politely stated that all that I really wanted to do was find my own little guest house with a bed to curl up in and a toilet to squat on. Ah well..... ;-< So I cut the visit short and headed back to Tel Aviv and got a little room right on the beach and took it easy until Jerusalem called.