As soon as I heard that the almond trees are in bloom (a beautiful sight second, in my mind, only to the magical cherry tree bloom) I decided to go visit my friend B. in Jerusalem, the road to which is scattered with almond trees blooming in pink and white, and Pinky decided to come with me (actually B. said that I can only come if he comes. Really). After the beautiful trip we arrived at her place, drank some terrible chocolate espresso (my reaction to which was crying "shit!") we took our coats and drove to the Israel Museum, where I was looking forward to see the belongings of Babta Bat Shimon, a wealthy woman who during the second Judean-Roman war of 132-135 AC escaped with some of her belongings (key to her house, papers and certificates of her estate, some perfume and a mirror) to a cave in the desert, where she starved to death along with several other refugees. But enough about me.
Pinky enjoyed visiting the model of ancient Jeruslaem and the second temple, where he felt like a king.
He didn't enjoy the rest of the museum as much, I'm afraid, so B. was kind enough to let him rest in her bag for a while.
After a few hours in the museum, the three of us had enough, and went to our favorite local restaurant for some fine alcohol and food. Later than evening, B. Pinky and myself were immensely pleased with ourselves and the good company we enjoyed, exchanged kisses and hugs and said our farewells to each other and the city.
I asked Pinky if he would rather stay with B. and make another attempt at taking the city in the morning, but he was tired from the long day and missed Barbie, so I was very happy to drive both of us home, while he curled up and fell asleep on the sit next to me. Honestly, I would rather have him home than managing the politics of a city like Jerusalem. That is far too much a task for a such a small body, although if someone has the spirit and valor to resolve the Israeli-Arab conflict, that would undoubtedly be Pinky.
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