There are very few places in the world like Jerusalem. The stereotype of the devoute practitioners of the three primary monothesite religons living together in the crowded morass of the Old City could not be more true. Catholic Nuns brush passed black-cloaked and fur-hatted Orthodox Jews, while the Muslim call to prayer rings out over the din of shopkeepers who seem to worship little more than the Almighty Dollar.
At the ninth station of the cross in Jerusalem.
Devin and I left for Jerusalem from Petra early Friday morning, concious of the interferance we would encounter with the approach of Shabbat. The seventh day of the Jewish Week, Shabbat lasts from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday, and this day of rest effectively closes down all public infrastructure in Israel. This includes the state-run bus system. So I was in a hurry to catch the last bus from Eilat, in southern Israel, north to Jerusalem. On the minibus from Petra to Aqaba, Devin informed me that after Eliot and I had gone to bed (at around 2:00) he had stayed up on the computer. Fighting exhaustion after spending the whole day in Petra, he switched around his flights so that rather than going from Eilat to Cairo and flying home, he would be coming with me, first to Israel and then to Nepal. Initially, I thought he was kidding - the whole thing did seem a bit implausible - but when I realized that he was serious I was thrilled at the prospect of having someone I already knew along to climb the Himalayas. So after leaving Jordan, the two of us made it to the Eilat bus station in time to catch the 10:30 bus, but were grieved to find it full. Fortunately, a bus was scheduled to leave at 14:00, and would be arriving in Jerusalem just before sunset.
After biding our time at the bus station, our bus finally arrived and Devin and I hoped onboard. The bus was comfortable, air condition, and an overall welcome relief from the public transportation of the Arab world (a more general statement of comparison might also apply). We drove through the desert and along the Dead Sea on our way north, passing salt flats and sink holes as we rode.
A mountain of salt pulled from the Dead Sea.
Reflections of the landscape through the dirty bus window.
As Devin and I had woken up at around 5:00 on two and three hours of sleep respectively, we dozed off for most of the trip, and before we knew it we were in Jerusalem. I was roused from my slumber by the urgent calls of the bus driver for everyone to get off the bus. A little dazed and confused, I hurriedly collected my belongings, and disembarked. Grabbing our luggage from underneath the bus, Devin and I were ushered away from the bus station, which was in the process of being locked down for Shabbat. Checking to see that I had everything with me, I was suddenly struck by a sickening realization: I didn't have my wallet. I knew instantly that I must have left it on the bus, and so I ran back to the service enterance we had be shown off at and informed the guard of my predicament.
Unfortunately, he did not speak any English, and I could not communicate what had happened. So I continued to run around the massive bus station until I came to another guard at another service entrance. He was much more helpful, but apparently with dozens of buses coming in to the Central Station, they had no way of identifying which bus I had just come in on. My balloon of hope was deflated when I was told that there was nothing more than could be done, however, the guard suggested I come back first thing Sunday morning to check with Lost & Found.
In the mean time, I reconnected with Devin, and the two of us set about trying to contact my friend Micaela. Micaela recently moved in to the Old City of Jerusalem, and she had offered us a place to crash during our stay. Unfortunately, we had placed too much of a reliance on my Egyptian Vodaphone as a means of contact, and attempts to call her number from public telephones proved equally unsuccessful. To keep from feeling overwhelmed by our sudden turn in luck, I reminded myself that there are plenty of hostels in Jerusalem, and it wasn't such a big deal to check into one. Devin and I walked around the Shabbat-barren city for a bit until I was able to find and pirate a wireless signal. I sent an eMail to Micaela, and also located a decent hostel. Flagging down a cab, Devin and I headed toward the Old City, following the directions posted by the hostel.
It would take a little adventure through the back alleyways of the Old City, but we eventually found the hostel. The man at the front desk was busy helping other guest, and I took advantage of his distraction to jump onto the computer to check my eMails. Luck seemed to be turning, as Micaela had replied and suggested that we meet up at the Damascus Gate and 19:30. I had just enough time to memorize this information, before being called over by the man at the front desk. Pretending that we had just stopped by to inquire about a future stay, we ducked out of the hostel and made our way to Damascus Gate. Just passed 19:30, I saw the welcome figure of Micaela appear out of the crowd, and after some breif introductions we were heading back to her place.
The view from Micaela's appartment in the Muslim Quarter.
As you can see, Micaela has a rather excellent view of the Old City from her appartment, and beyond its aestic advantageous, it helped me to orient myself. On our way up, we ran into some of Micaela's roommates who were on their way out to see the Western/Wailing Wall. While Micaela decided to stay behind, we went with her roommates to see the holiest site of the Jewish faith. The Western Wall wasn't hard to find, one simply had to follow the steady stream of Orthodox Jews cutting their way through the Muslim Quarter. Respecting the requests posted around the site, I refrained from taking pictures of the Western Wall, and instead dawned a cardboard yarmulke - provided near the entrance - and walked down to the men's side. The four walls of the temple, built by King Herrod of Biblical infamy, originally supported the now vanished Temple Mount. In this Holy of Holies, the Ten Commandments rested in the Arc of the Covenant approximately at the current location of the Dome of the Rock. The closest point to the resting place of the Arc and the Commandments is the short section of the Western Wall, and so for centuries, Jews have gathered in this place to pray and lament the loss of their Temple.
Experiencing this on the night of Shabbat was quite moving, and I did my best to be respectful of this holy occasion. We departed the Western Wall and made our way through the teeming streets of the Old City back to Micaela's apartment. There we found that she had prepared a scrumptious pasta dinner, and we all sat around the dining room table, enjoying the food and acquainting ourselves. Devin and I were still rather tired that day, so after staying up chatting for a while, we excused ourselves and headed off to bed. The next morning was the first morning in almost a week that we could sleep in, though my cicadian rhythm say fit to thwart this luxury.
After a delicous breakfast (which included my first cranberries since leaving New England) Miceala, her roommate Terez and her cousin, Devin, and I all headed out to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The most famous church in Jerusalem, Catholics believe the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to stand on top of the ancient Mt. Golgotha where Jesus Christ was crucified and buried. Over the centuries, the church has evolved into a labryth of catacombs and temples, and the resulting lack of uniformity makes it unlike any church or cathedral I have ever visited.
The faithful, praying at the spot where Catholics believe Christ was placed after comming off the cross.
A gold mosaic illustrating the Passion.
When we left the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, it was to regroup at Jaffa Gate where we joined a walking tour of the city. The tour was free, though generous tips to the guide are naturally expected, and we found it to be a fantastic, and reasonably inexpensive, overview of the Jerusalem. Our guide took us to every significant site in the Old City during the five hour tour, and made some suggestions as to other places we might want to stop by. Leaving a generous tip, the five of us made our way back to the appartment, where we met up with Micaela's other roommate. Now rounding out a half dozen, we left the Old City to find a recommended restaurant. Unfortunately, it was closed because of Ramadan, but we managed to find another place with good food and the best beer I've had since leaving Copenhagen.
After dinner, we picked up some local pastries and retired to the apartment, where we sampled the honey-drenched offerings with tea. I was the first to head off to bed, as I needed to be up the next morning at 4:45, that I might arrive at the bus station when it opened at 5:30. Waking up after a restless sleep, I hurriedly threw on some clothes and headed out. Making my way through the Old City in the predawn hours, I was suprised at how open the streets seemed when devorced of shopkeepers and the teeming multitudes.
Leaving the Old City.
Construction on the future Tel Aviv > Jerusalem tram in the early morning.
When I finally arrived at the bus station, I was told that there was nothing that I would be able to do until Lost & Found opened at 8:30. Frustrated and rather annoyed, but seeing no recourse, I retraced the 45 minute walk back to the apartment where I fixed myself breakfast and waited for everyone else to wake up. Devin and I had planned to visit the Dome of the Rock, and because it closed at 10:00, I decided that there was no point in rushing back to Lost & Found, and instead Micaela and her roommate joined Devin and I in a visit of Islam's third most holy site. The Dome of the Rock is a temple, not a mosque, which covers the rock that stuck to the feet of Mohammad when he ascended to heaven to speak with God. Constructed some time before 691 A.D., the Dome is the oldest extant structure of the Muslim faith.
The Dome of the Rock, seen here rising up from the Western Wall.
The most recognizable building in the Old City, the golden dome is no longer made of gold.The chief Rabbis of Jerusalem have ruled that the site of the Dome of the Rock is forbidden for Jews on account of the holiness of the site - this, after all, was the original location of the Temple Mount. I felt that this restriction heightened the sense of reverence I held for the area, leading to an almost uncomfortable feeling of intrusion onto holy ground. After admiring the Dome of the Rock, the four of us split up and I headed back to the bus station. Hoping to find a Lonely Planet guidebook for Nepal, Devin joined me on my 45 minute voyage, and before long we were walking through metal detectors and into the station. I left Devin in the bookstore while I headed back to the Lost & Found. My heart sunk with a fruitless inspection of the assembled wallets, and it was suggested that I return the next day. Devin was also unsuccessful in his pursuit, and so the two of us made our way back toward the Old City empty handed.
We stopped at the Post Office, a travel shop, and finally a bookstore, where Devin was at last able to located a Nepali guidebook. We spent most of the rest of the day incubating in the apartment, planning out the next steps of our respective journeys. In the late afternoon, Terez suggested climbing up the Mount of Olives, situated just outside the Old City, to watch the sun set over Jerusalem. Devin and I went along with this Biblical expedition, and together with her cousin, the four of us began the climb to the summit. We made it there with time to spare, but the spot where Jesus once prayed before being betrayed by Judas is now overrun with cheap restaurants and apartment complexes. Nevertheless, we did manage to find a nice overlook, and from there we watched the sun pour out through the clouds, casting out beams of light in its dying glow.
A very God-like display of light shown out over Jerusalem.
Stopping to purchase vegetables on our way back to the appartment, we assembled all the neccesary ingredients for ratatouille, save zuchinni. While Terez's cousin prepared the meal, and I assisted as a souz chef, Micaela and Terez went off in search of zucchini. Fortunatly for the overall compesition of the dish, they were sucessful and before long we were all sitting down to a very well presented meal of ratatouille and rice.
The next morning, Devin and I woke up early and navigated through the Old City out to the Dung Gate. On our way we passed the Western Wall, where we happened to catch a Bar Mitzvah procession complete with traditional dress and unessesarily long horns.
Seriously, how long of a horn does one really need?
Our destination was the City of David, the ancient city now buried underneath the modern city of Jerusalem. Our primary attraction to this site was Hezekiah's tunnel, an ancient aqueduct dug into the rock centuries before the birth of Christ. This tunnel allowed the ancient city to access a constant and secret supply of water, and were not rediscovered until the 19th century. Our visit was in keeping with a recent trend of visiting Indiana Jones-esque sites, as the best way of conjuring up an image of Hezekiah's tunnel is to watch Dr. Jones making his way through the catacombs purportedly beneath Venice. Though, while being pleasantly devoid of rats, Hezekiah's tunnel also lacks any kind of a ledge or artificial lighting, and so visitors must make their way through (at times) knee-deep water guided by the glow of a flashlight.
The water was not too cold, and the floor had been smoothed by centuries of water polishing.
At times ducking down and occasionally groping around in the dark, the passage through the tunnel was a heck of an experience, despite retreaving ite coming out the other end without any clues or artifacts to follow in a quest for glory and riches. We ran into Terez and her cousin on the other end of the tunnel, though the four of us had to split up after leaving the City of David so that Devin could pack up his things in preparation for an afternoon departure. I had decided to stick around Jerusalem one more day in the hopes that my wallet might turn up, and while Devin packed, I made yet another sojourn out to the bus station. This was followed by yet another dejected walk back, less confidant than ever that my wallet might turn up.
Back at the apartment, I saw Devin off, wishing him well as he continued to visit Israel before meeting up with me in Nepal. Not wanting to leave the apartment unlocked, I waited around for Micaela, scrounging up enough of a wireless connection to place a call home. When Micaela returned, I made a last stab at my wallet, making my fourth trip out to the station with less luck than ever. When I got back to the apartment, I spent some time online, and with the help of my parents, I established a system for getting through the rest of my travels.
That night I headed to the grocery store with Micaela, Terez, and her cousin, intent of finding the neccesary ingredients to cook a dinner for the appartment. I ended up settleing on a Mexican-themed meal, this dispite the fact that the only meat I could procure was salami, and there was no acceptible chese. Nevertheless, I assembled my ingredients together, and in a short time I had whipped up a nice pico de gallo, a savory bean dish, a commendible Mexican-seasoned salami, and a disasterous gucamole. The condition of the gucamole was a result of unripened avocados, and though the quality was rather good, the quanity was dismal. Undaunted, I assembled the aformentioned ingredients into four super-burritoes, and with an avocado and lime garnish. We closed the meal, and the night, with cookies, ice cream, and tea.
I think that I'll close this post with a few of the candid photographs that I managed to capture of daily life in Jerusalem, enjoy...
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