More Jerusalem

It’s only just gone lunchtime and already this is one of those weird days you get when travelling. I’m sat in an archaic stone building, CSI is on TV with Arabic subtitles, the sound of Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall is drifting through from a PC somewhere and earlier today I saw a man in Orthodox Jewish clothing playing If I Were a Rich Man on the clarinet on a street corner.

A quick catchup on the last couple of days. I’ve been back down to the West Wall twice until finally I got there at a time when the entrance to the nearby Temple Mount was open. This is the third most important Muslim site in the world, and also highly important to the Orthodox Jews. The Dome of the Rock atop it is very pretty indeed. Gold roof, intricate mosaic walls and guards everywhere. For more information on its significance to various religions, check out this Wikipedia article.

I’ve spent a lot of time lazing around talking to many people in the hostel. I think I’ve encountered more Americans in this one location than I have in the rest of my travels over the last 14 months. Not all are religiously inclined, just curious regarding this fascinating country.

I went out with two of these guys and another Englishman for dinner and drinkies last night. We chowed down at the wonderfully named Meat Burger which was delicious. I don’t think they charged me for my beer either. Bonus. Next, we stopped at a bar called Stardust where – as with just about everywhere – people were watching a Tel Aviv derby match on the TV.

As we ordered beers, one of the staff noticed my shirt and told me that the guy who runs the bar is a Newcastle fan. He pointed out a Newcastle bar sign and shortly the manager introduced himself and bought me a beer. He knew his stuff as well, and we had a great conversation for half an hour or so. Any bar which has Blaydon Races on the jukebox is OK by me!

We moved on to Mike’s Place, am American hangout, afterwards. An Israeli guy was downstairs playing some pretty darned good blues on the acoustic guitar in the basement and we got talking to one of the staff and two German women who pretty much made up the entire populace of the bar. It’s the quiet season, it seems.

I think we staggered back to the hostel at 3am where I loaned my laptop to James so that he could Skype home. The next thing I knew, I woke up at 6am in the lobby. Whoops. And here’s me paying £3.50 for a mattress on the roof.

Due to lack of sleep, my planned trip to Bethlehem just wasn’t going to be worthwhile, so I wandered the streets and did some more netsurfing and reading instead. As I sat here typing this up, explosions erupted in the street – fireworks, we assume as part of the 40th Anniversary of Reunification celebrations. Some people aren’t quite so happy about this, but sadly it’s that kind of country. Still, it was a nice display for the neutral viewers amongst us.

I’m off out for a late dinner with Noa in a bit, but I’ll leave you with a word of warning: if a cat doesn’t want to be picked up, let the thing go. Those back claws are pretty mean. Ow. Mind, the same cat was wrapping itself around my legs and purring today.

Oh, and I’ve chucked a handful more pics up on Fotopic.

Pirates. Yar. And pics.

Not a lot to report today as I spent most of it getting those blog posts done! Noa and I went to see Pirates 3 at the cinema this evening, by way of a promenade offering a very pleasing night-time view of the eastern side of the Old City.

The cinema was mobbed, including two groups of students dressed as pirates saying “arr” a lot. Good grief.

The film was OK, but a bit too complicated in the middle with all the double-crossing and so on. That’s not a spoiler – if you’ve seen the first two it’s more of the same. Just more of it. If you’ve not caught it yet, the I recommend watching the second one immediately before so you remember what’s going on.

I’ve also uploaded a ton of pics (up to date) to FotoPic so go peruse!

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.