Often, instead of taking pictures of exotic people and places, I take pictures of signs. What? They're funny.
This one's on the highway that runs along the Dead Sea. While the water is extremely salt, what I don't understand is why the sign must be on the highway --does salty water sometimes jump out at unsuspecting cars?
(ha HA, take THAT, car! Just watch what I'll do to your paint!)
At Petra (ha, Petra at Petra! Imagine that!), I was grateful for a sign that told me what I was seeing: a view. Oh, good. I wouldn't have figured that out otherwise.
Some Syrian sign-maker was having delusions of grandeur.
Most Syrians we met gave us a big thumbs-up when we told them we were American, but apparently not everyone feels like that.
Not all Israelis feel like that either.
If Jesus visited Jerusalem nowadays, he'd be casting out the souvenir shop owners. Seriously--selling the widow's mite?
If only it said "but call it Israel as you're trying to get across the border."
Pretty much as close as I want to get to the Golan Heights. (Note: this is not true. With a few more days, we would have gone.)
This one's my favorite sign picture of all, but it takes a little bit of explanation: like many children, I grew up playing Monopoly. Unlike many children, my family only owned Hebrew Monopoly, in which all the traditional properties (Boardwalk, Park Place, um, er, I don't know any of the other traditional properties--see that "my family only owned Hebrew Monopoly" thing above) were replaced with Israeli properties--the yellow, if I remember correctly, were streets in Tel Aviv, and other colors were streets in Eilat and Jerusalem. This means that as we walked around Jerusalem, I recognized street names, and was especially excited about Ben Yehuda Street, an outdoor shopping area in Jerusalem. Was that the Boardwalk of Hebrew Monopoly? Did I often try to get a monopoly on its color group? Or is my subconscious just enamored of the Hebrew language revivalist?
Who knows. But a picture was still necessary. Duh.