How could we, at the dig, manage to sustain our frenetic pace; waking at 4am, coffee, shower, climb aboard the bus, tools, trudge, knee pad, tap and brush, haul dirt. How did we manage? By fortifying ourselves at the pub of course. Gumpels. Run by the younger generation on the kibbutz, the pub was a rustic affair of some faded couches, round tabletops and a few scattered bar stools. Basketball and soccer usually blared from the large screen on the wall, only to be drowned out by some rather less than desirable pop music as the night wore on. Bartenders and patrons were amiable, generous and affable... many offered tours of the kibbutz by moonlight (generally directed towards the women of the group) and all drank soundly from large cans and bottles of Goldstar and Tuborg beers. Various shot concoctions made their way around the room as well, generally offered to -but not usually partaken by- the Americans.

The pub was affectionately named for Gumpel, the aging expatriate German, legendary on the kibbutz for his sinewy frame and gyrating dance moves. If you could complete a rather nonsensical conversation without wiping spittle from your face, you were making progress with the man, often unwillingly finding yourself engaged in a mostly one sided diatribe on Che Guevara the man and the legend. He was always found clad in a tie-dyed shirt, muttering at the counter and always left the pub weaving away on his rusting bicycle.

Weekends were spent tooling around the countryside, taking in the total amazingness of Caesarea, Zippori, Cana, Nazareth, Capeurnum. The list of sites we visited grew, even as patience wore thin. It became comforting to return to the cocoon like warmth and serenity of the Kibbutz where you could have a beer on the dock that snaked out into the Sea of Galilee and watch the gaily lit party boats snaking silently far across the water, play cards on low chairs in front of the dorms or wander the grounds of the kibbutz, watching muted lights disappear to be replaced by an inky sky, occasionally lit up by far off unknowns. It was the most peaceful time of day during the trip as the heat broke and insects chittered, silence interrupted by dogs and small groups of teenagers, grouped around picnic tables or riding bikes. All too soon the luminescent hands on my watch begged my attention and reluctantly I retired for a few pages of reading before a dark, dreamless sleep.