Wandering at the West Wall

Before I kick off, I have to make something clear. Although I’m visiting what is probably the most significant city (indeed, country) in religious terms I am not in the slightest bit religious myself. So any mistakes you see relating to anything you know more about than me are down to my ignorance or inability to find a decent guidebook. Anything that annoys you, rankles or seems like I’m being rude about your faith is probably intended as humour. Please accept it as such and deal with the fact that some people can see the funny side of anything. No offense is intended anywhere. Don’t shoot me.

The Old City (a small, but historically significant part of Jerusalem) is divided into four semi-official "quarters": Jewish, Muslim, Armenian and Christian. My hostel is in the Armenian quarter, the south-west one if I have my guide map the right way up. There is, I am told, always tension in the area but I haven’t seen any sign. I’ve seen Orthodox Jews walking in the same street as monks in habits, Muslims in their traditional headdress and non-Orthodox Jews. OK, so they don’t hold parties together but I’ve not seen any obvious animosity. Maybe they’re all just saving themselves in case the nutty Scientologists make an entrance.

I managed to locate a city walk guide courtesy of Fromers web page, so I made some notes, filled myself with falafelly goodness and took a semi-guided wander.

My hostel is near the Jaffa Gate and from there I walked down to one of the Suqs (bazaars, or markets). This, essentially, is a huge amount of the Old City – open shop fronts. The central area and many of the streets leading to the wall are just brimming with shops, stores, stalls… In between them are little old ladies selling piles of leaves (either fig or vine leaves, I found out later). Tractors and carts move through these busy streets all the time as well. Anywhere there are steps, little ramps have been put in as well – all in stone. A word of warning, though, if you ever visit. Wear shoes with very good grips as the stone has been worn very smooth and I’ve almost slipped on my backside a few times. I hate to even imagine what it’s like when it’s wet.

Down a side street and up some iron steps is the concrete roof of the covered market area. Easily missed if someone doesn’t point it out to you. The view up there is quite interesting but actually not as good as that from my hostel. Back on ground level I found a very posh street of shops referred to locally as Cardo.

Along there, then turning east I worked my way to the Western Wall. This is an ancient wall and impressive simply as far as the condition it is in despite being around 2000 years old. It’s the Western Wall of Temple Mount, the single most important location in Jewish religious history. As such, there are security checks as you come close to it which is perfectly understandable. I endured the usual Middle East queuing system (if there’s a gap in front of someone, squeeze in) to get into the courtyard but didn’t approach the wall itself. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to and especially today was the Jewish Sabbath I didn’t think it’d be allowed or right for me to do so.

Instead, I watched all the suit-and-hat-clad men walk up to the wall with the holy books in hand, touching the wall and nodding incessantly for what seemed like ages. I’ve seen prayers by other religions where a series of deferential bows is made maybe a handful of times. One of the guys at the wall took this to extremes and if I didn’t know better I’d swear I’d caught him listening to Slayer on his iPod, so fast and for so long was he rattling his noggin. Now, please go and read the disclaimer in the first paragraph again. Thanks.

I thought of heading towards the Ramparts Walk, but as I asked directions to it I was informed that it’s closed on the Sabbath for security reasons as it goes around the Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock (a nearby important Muslim site). Instead, I walked around fairly randomly until I found the Church of the Holy Sepulchre – one of several places purporting to be were Christ was crucified, laid and wrapped afterwards and interred. There are a handful of sites in Jerusalem all laying claim to be the same thing – burial sites, "first place this happened" site, "this event happened here" sites. Of course, with documentation being 2000 or more years old, it’s hard to be certain of any of them so I suppose your religion dictates which one you go for.

As I said back at the start, I’m not religious but that doesn’t stop me enjoying the architecture and grandeur of these places. The history is also interesting and I earwigged a few tour guides and did some reading. Five branches of the church actually "share" the buildings making up the site, though this is hardly a peaceful arrangement, being referred to as a "status quo". Small fights have broken out over stupid things such as a monk moving a chair into the shade… and into someone else’s territory.

To save me waffling on, check out the Wikipedia article which I’ve found to be a good resource. Suffice to say there’s a good mix of "religious bling", some fantastic mosaic work, quiet little corners that are boxed off and lit up for no reason I could ascertain due to a lack of signage, and interesting people of various denominations walking about.

A bit more of a wander and I managed to work my way back to the hostel in good time to check my mail before being picked up by Noa and one of her friends for dinner at her place. I was forced to drink Cointreau with home-made lemonade and Glenfiddich, and eat delicious home-cooked food. Oh, woe is me. Our plans for going to the cinema were dashed when we found out that Pirates 3 had sold out, so we instead settled on locating a hole-in-the-wall dark old bar to sit in and sup beer instead. The local brew, Gold Star, isn’t half bad.

Just after midnight, I was dumped out of a small car somewhere near where I live and left to stagger back to my accommodation. Quite a full, and very enjoyable, day.

Holy Land, Batman!

Well, today was… interesting. It began with my early rise. A good job I wake up well as the promised wake-up call didn’t happen. I grabbed my bags, deposited my key at the front desk and tip-toed out so as not to wake the sleeping receptionist.

As I hiked up the hill looking for a taxi, a mad Arab ahead of me started yelling. He was holding a plastic cup in each hand and held his foot up, sole facing me while shouting “Stop! Stop!”

“Erm, no thanks. I’ll keep walking if that’s OK,” I replied as I squeezed past. Then he kicked me up the arse.

I turned and he’d stepped back a fair distance and started yelling stuff in Arabic. The only words I got were “hate” and “Bush”. Good grief. I’m wearing a flipping Newcastle shirt (incidentally everyone in Jordan thought it was Juventus) and this madman thinks I’m American because I’m white. All attempts at communication (which admittedly extended to shouting “English! Not American!”) were ignored as he just told me to “Go! Now! Go! Go!”.

As most people know, I’m not a violent person by nature. The fact that I was laden down with three rucksacks and in a hurry to catch a bus didn’t help. Also, the thought of getting arrested for smacking him wasn’t really appealing. So I did the right thing, shoved a finger up in the air at him and walked off. Quickly. Into the first taxi I saw.

I gave the taxi driver all the spare change I had – I couldn’t change it for another currency and it’d be useless in Israel. He seemed pretty happy – I’d probably doubled the 30p fare. I picked up my bus ticket to the King Hussein Bridge (or Allenby Bridge if you’re Israeli – same Bridge, different ends) and sat waiting for the bus. As time progressed it seemed more and more obvious that I would have a whole bus to myself.

As I stepped from the office, the driver took my ticket and I boarded the coach to the border. It was a short drive, thankfully. I’ve not mentioned before now, but in Jordan (actually everywhere in the Middle East) “no smoking” signs are put up purely for decoration. They’re everywhere and they’re roundly ignored. Immigration queues, buses, hotels, taxis… One thing I have noticed is that all the smokers (and there are a lot of them) are men, so maybe women are more intelligent after all. Or just not allowed to. Anyway, the short drive seemed longer as I had to try to breathe through the soles of my feet.

We arrived at the border checkpoint and I offloaded with my bags. After a few minutes as I conversed with two ladies who worked in Kuwait, someone finally pointed out where I needed to go and I had my bags x-rayed. Then we waited. And waited. There were no staff around at all.

After thirty minutes, the bus began to load up and people from several other coaches boarded it. The JETT is the only public bus allowed to drive over the crossing itself so I had to catch this. I found it strange that nobody had checked my passport yet and mentioned this to the driver. After some explanation, he went wild and got me to the front of the queue where my passport was stamped and I was asked for the 5JD departure tax.

“Departure tax?” Oh, hell. I raked through my pockets.

Four JD.

And two half-JD coins.

Phew.

Wiped out, no currency left but able to leave. I re-boarded. And then the conductor tried to charge me 3.5JD for the border crossing. I tried to explain that I had already paid for the journey right to Israel, but he wasn’t having it. I no longer had my ticket and the driver was currently AWOL. The two ladies I’d been speaking to volunteered to pay the money for me and just as I was accepting it to buy the additional ticket, the driver reappeared. He confirmed I’d paid the full amount and the conductor apologised and walked off.

You’d think that would be the end of it. But, no…

On the bus over the crossing, I got talking to a couple from the UK who were now living in Israel and seeking residency. They were basically on a visa run and gave me a lot of information about how to find my hostel and so on. We offloaded on the other side of the crossing and handed our luggage over for x-ray as we were herded into the immigration area where everyone was interrogated. I actually got off lightly despite getting every single question I’ve ever had thrown at me at an immigration point all in one go. I didn’t mind, though. The immigration official was a very attractive girl (and I mean girl – all the staff are young Israelis on compulsory military duty) who could have talked to me all day if she’d wanted. Or swapped with any of the other three on duty.

*ahem* Back on planet Earth.

Very Attractive Immigration Girl: What is your business in Israel?
Me: Tourism
VAIG: How long are you staying?
Me: Two weeks
VAIG: Do you have any flight tickets you can show me?
Me: No
VAIG: Why not?
Me: I’ve not booked one yet (I should have said they were e-tickets)
VAIG: Where are you going to visit as a tourist?
Me: Erm, Jerusalem to start. And then… erm… all the touristy places
VAIG: So you don’t know where?
Me: Not exactly. I haven’t been able to get a guidebook. I’ve just come through Dubai and Kuwait and for some reason their bookshops don’t stock the Israel Lonely Planet… A friend I met in India will show me around.

At this point, she smiled and I knew I wasn’t going to get knocked back.

VAIG: Is your friend Israeli?
Me: Yes
VAIG: What is her name?
Me: OK, I know this is going to sound like I made it up, but it’s Rachel Meshuggah [not her real name, though I did give that to the VAIG]. And I know that’s as steroetypically Jewish as you can get…

I got in. And I got my passport stamped, not a piece of paper just as I wanted. I’ll be getting a new passport when I get home and I’d rather have a permanent souvenir.

Then picking up luggage, getting through into Israel proper (after around 7 people had checked my passport, given me bits of paper, taken them back off me…) and finding that the money change office was being refurbed and there was no ATM anywhere. And I was broke.

Bugger.

To my rescue came Paul and Eleanor, the couple I’d been talking to. They insisted on paying my shared bus fare (33 Shekels) and when we got to Jerusalem they walked me to the hostel so I wouldn’t get lost. I have their phone number and will repay the cash if at all possible before I move on, despite their insistence that it was a gift. And if they won’t accept it, I’ll pass a similar sum on to a charity of their choice.

At the Citadel Hostel, I unpacked as little as I needed and checked out my “bedroom” which has an amazing view and the best air-con in the world. Mainly as it has no walls or ceiling. I’m sleeping on the roof. Hey, it’s only three quid a night and how many people do you know who get to sleep in the open air on a roof in Jerusalem?

I found out that the wireless inside the hostel is amazingly fast and free, so checked emails before going for a quick walk and having my first Israeli meal… a nice, healthy falafel. Basically, a flay bread bun sliced into a pocket and filled with chick peas, humus, veggies and so on. Rather nice and pretty cheap. After more walking I finally found an ATM as well. In this area they’re either standalone ones which charge like the ones in the service stations and convenience stores back home, or they’re inside banks.

Just after lunch, I met up with Noa who I first encountered on my last night in Palolem all those months ago. She very kindly took me to some areas a little further out where we had lunch, wandered around a market, drank passion fruit slushy and took in some more of the city’s history. I also indulged in some pick’n’mix – the best I think I’ve had since I left the UK. I blame Noa utterly for that.

We arranged to meet again the next evening and she dropped me back at the hostel where I sorted my stuff out, spent far too long on the internet and curled up in my sleeping bag with the chill wind ruffling what little hair I have left.

Plodding around Petra

Petra is around three to four hours by road from Amman so I had an early rise. I packed the bread I’d saved from the previous day, some crisps, some water (highly recommended) and a packet of moderately acceptable biscuits and walked up to the JETT office, arriving as they opened at 6am.

I seemed to be about the only person not carrying a suitcase as every other passenger was heading to Petra and staying overnight. Some to see the city for two days, others to continue further down south to Aqaba. I’d opted to just do a return trip and blast my way through the place in a day. Not recommended in guidebooks, but I’m a quick walker and have a short attention span, as proven in various places before now. Angkor Wat is probably the best example. Yes, I’d go back but I still think two days would be too much.

The journey didn’t start too well. The bus was comfy but very soon smelled rather scarily of fuel. Our driver pulled up, checked something, apologised and then drove on. After another ten minutes, he slammed on the anchors as we passed a garage, reversed back and disappeared off to have a word with the staff there.

Half an hour later, we were back on our way and our fears of bursting into a hydrocarbon-related fireball were laid to rest. This meant we reached Petra a little later then we’d hoped, but I was still sticking to my one-day principle.

For those who don’t know, Petra is a huge “city” carved from stone. The natural rock formations are stunning in their own right, but the man-made carvings which have hollowed many of them out are equally as amazing in a different way. If you’ve seen the third Indiana Jones film, then you’ve seen Petra. The scene towards the end where Ford and Connery encounter the Germans and Indy has to undergo the three tests is set in Petra. The enormous carved sandstone building they arrive at is the Treasury which is fairly near the start of the trek through this fascinating region.

I’m just going to rattle on about what I saw and what I thought of it, but if you want a very detailed but easily readable essay on Petra, you can’t do much better than Petra – Myth and reality by Philip C Hammond written with help of the best research paper writing service. And if you want a photo that knocks spots off any of mine, check out the excellent Panoramas.dk site.

Heading for the ticket office (21JD for a day pass), I got talking to Xavier from San Diego and we decided to “buddy up” for the day. Like myself, he was doing the site in a day and heading back to Amman. Unlike me, he’d made it to the Dead Sea the previous day though he paid a fortune for a taxi driver to do it.

Even this early in the day, it was baking hot though we happily rebuffed every offer of a horse, donkey, camel and cart offering to take us to the end. It seems a common way to view Petra is to take some kind of ride to the far end and walk back to the start. We decided to see how long we had by the time we reached the furthest point and decide then whether to get some kind of four-legged transport at that point.

Shade is granted by an enormous natural fissure through which you walk for a few hundred yards before encountering one of the main attractions, the aforementioned Treasury (actually a tomb). There’s also the first of a million little stalls selling food and trinkets, but it’s so easy to ignore as you look at this phenomenal piece of carving. It’s around 2000 years old yet looks like it could have been chipped into shape shortly before its re-discovery in 1812.

The interior isn’t as large as may be expected, though it looks as though there is a basement area which is inaccessible to tourists. The stone inside is swathed in colours, though whether these are natural to the stone, vegetative or painted I don’t know.

Fending off several branches of the camel world’s answer to AVIS (Xavier convinced them he was camelphobic) we walked further to an area with a large amphitheater, and the Palace Tomb set back and up a cliff to our right. As we scaled the heights to see this building, several of the donkeys in the area decided to have a very loud conversation. Frankly, it was a really scary sound – braying and ee-or-ing echoing back and forth across a stone-clad valley. Freaked me out, anyway. Sadly, I didn’t catch it on video/audio. Actually, maybe that’s for the best.

Back down on ground level, we strode up the Colonnaded Street avoiding children wanting a dollar for a photo, cute as they were. Around here we stopped for a bit of a rest as the remaining section is rather steep. One guy trying to rent us a donkey told us “only a quarter way!” I’m kind of used to those fibs and one look at the map told us he was a factor of three out at least – we’d covered three quarters of the trail.

We set off uphill (well, upsteps technically) and after maybe 45 minutes made it to the Ad-Deir and accompanying cosy cafe. The Ad-Deir is an old monastery and another of the larger, more impressively decorated buildings. The cafe is pretty cool and amazingly not stupidly overpriced. I tried a can of “malt flavour non-alcoholic beverage” which tasted somewhere between crap beer and Ovaltine. Meanwhile, an old man sat in the corner playing traditional music on some kind of stringed instrument.

After the brief rest, we rounded the corner to walk up to one of the lookout points and see over the mountains. Petra is pretty high up, especially at this end, and the view was astounding (once we kicked a gaggle of Japanese tourists over the edge when they wouldn’t get out of the way. OK, we politely moved them but I wanted to shove them over).

And then for the walk back. We worked out we had more than enough time, and sure enough despite not giving in and getting some quadrupedal aid we made it back an hour before the bus was due to depart. We spent a lot of time on the free PCs provided to vote for Petra as one of the new 7 Wonders. In fairness, I did vote for it. I also checked my email and the footie.

We didn’t leak fuel on the way home, though we did pass the KFC I’d spotted in the taxi. This was when I realised how far out of my way the taxi driver had taken me. Nuts. Well, it was his fuel he wasted.

As is part of my mission, though, I had to have something from the Colonel so when the bus dropped me off I shook hands with Xavier, flagged a cab and asked for the nearest KFC. As it turned out, there was one even closer and the driver was a nice guy so got a decent tip. I indulged in a “mega-zinger” (two zinger patties on one bun) and taxied it back to the hotel where I realised that I couldn’t get the Champions’ League final on the in-house cable telly.

Walking around the corner to get some cash, I spotted a huge screen playing the game in a courtyard up some stairs overlooking the Amphitheater. Why not? I wandered over and was charged 1JD to go up and watch it, which seemed fair. It was meant to be 1.5JD, but I claimed I only had one and it was 30 minutes into the game so they let me in for cheap.

So there I was, watching Liverpool vs AC Milan on a screen the size of a wall. In Amman. Overlooking a 2000 year-old Roman Amphitheater. With around 100 Jordanian AC Milan fans (and about 10 Jordanian Liverpool fans). Good game, shame about the result (and lack of extra time).

I got to bed around 1am with my alarm set for 6am and a promise of a wake-up knock on the door. Another early bus to catch to Israel.

Stretching my legs in Amman

I had some plans for Jordan, but they were slightly dashed by the fact it wasn’t Friday or the peak of the tourist season. The guy on reception insisted on hearing “Dead Sea” as “taxi” so I gave up and walked around town. I spent about two hours walking around trying to locate a KFC and a tourist agency which would actually take me to the Dead Sea.

The KFC I had actually seen from the taxi the previous night, but nobody I asked knew where it was furthering my suspicion that the driver had been trying to rip me off. A bit daft when I was on a flat fare. It took me about 40 minutes to walk up to where I’d been dropped off by the airport bus the night before and the route I took was nothing like the one he’d managed.

Further uphill past the bus station I found the JETT office. JETT are probably the largest charter bus company in Jordan and offer trips to most of the main touristy destinations. I inquired about Petra (21JD) and the Israeli border (7JD), but was told I couldn’t book a ticket in advance. Instead just to arrive early on the relevant days.

Wandering back to my hotel, I did check more tourist offices but all of them weren’t really helpful. The ever-present RUM Travel with their leaflets and posh office were really poor, seemingly uninterested in providing information. Their huge “daily tours” posters flying in the face of the staff telling me “no tour today”. Or that I could get to the Dead Sea for a bargain 70JD. I’m assuming they were going to flag a taxi down for me.

So, I but the Dead Sea on the back burner as I could always travel there from with Israel later on. I’ll just make sure it doesn’t boil dry as there’s a lot of salt in it.

Plodding around Amman I saw most everything a person could need. Food, convenience stores, tourist agencies with no tours, “qualified dental surgeon”s. I just can’t help but get the feeling that a qualified dental surgeon in Jordan is a man with a small toffee hammer and a very good aim.

In lieu of floating on scarily salt water, I opted to look at the Roman Amphitheater which was literally around the corner from Hotel Sultan. This is a genuinely ancient structure, constructed sometime around 150AD. A lot of reconstructive work has gone on but the vast majority of the stonework is the original. It’s an impressive building, with a small “odeon” next to it.

The Amphitheater can be seen quite clearly from outside its grounds, but for only 1JD you can go inside and clamber all over it, visit two small museums and see the odeon. The ticket’s valid all day so you can pop in and out as you like.

I stopped for lunch at a restaurant nearby and paid a very reasonable 4 JD for several lumps of chicken, some salad, more bread than I could eat and a Coke. I also picked up and wrote my postcards as I ate and fed a raggedy stray cat that was hanging around nearby.

With little else to do, I walked up into the residential areas facing the Amphitheater and was pleasantly surprised by both the view and the plummeting price of drinks and snacks. A load of kids ran around shouting “hello!” and “howareyou!” at me as I took photos and strolled back downhill.

Time to move rooms at my hotel and that was fun as well. Rather than move me to the 4-bed dorm I was meant to be in, the staff offered me a single room which was fine. Until I noticed that it didn’t have a fridge or a TV. According to their literature, all rooms had these. So I ended up in the 4-bed by myself with a cable TV and no fridge. Mind you, it took us 2 hours to get the cable telly working, but I had nothing better to do with my time anyway.

I ordered dinner (more chicken) and sat and read until I fell asleep an hour later. Then they delivered my food. Grr. I roused myself, ate about half a chicken, stowed the bread with the rest I’d bagged up from lunch and went back to sleep on top of the covers with BBC World twittering away in the background.

Tip – Entering and leaving Jordan

Note that there is a visa fee and a departure tax for Jordan. Both are payable in cash, and I think the departure fee only in Jordanian Dinars.

The one-month on-arrival visa is 10JD, while the departure tax (land and air) is 5JD. I paid my visa fee in Dirham I had left over from Dubai and I’m fairly sure they accept US Dollars as well. This is handy as there are no cash facilities around the immigration area, so if you don’t have the money on you then you’re screwed.

When leaving, ensure your passport is stamped and you pay the fees. The whole procedure I went through was really badly organised and I almost missed my bus when the driver realised that the staff in immigration hadn’t sorted my passport out. Again, there are no cash facilities at the King Hussein / Allenby Bridge location, so ensure you have enough on you before you arrive.

These details are for British passport holders, because I am one. Always check your own details shortly before travel.