Jerusalem

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

I am ready. But I think there is something on the agenda first.

But how many people go out and buy an international power strip for all of their devices that need to be charged? The Queen bought it, but I'm stealing most of the outlets.

So far, both of us have also dived into the shallow end of the bible. I didn't make it through Genesis. But I did read all of Jerusalem: A Biography.

If there was a way to bring the Drone, I would. Probably get shot out of the sky as I cruised it over the Dome of the Rock.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

There is a Lego New Testament and Old Testament picture book. Makes the bible...FUNdamental!

[Drunk Monk]

Try R. Crumb's version.

It was Numbers that slowed me down. The rest was a great read, especially Psalms, Proverbs, Songs and Revelations. Still can't get a handle on Job either.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

I've read Crumb's Genesis. I also have my Children's Bible on the shelf.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Bags packed. Sheckels acquired. Itinerary printed. Now, it is down to the waiting for the Town Car to arrive. And I want it to arrive now.

[Drunk Monk]

Just remember when it's over, the honeymoon is over.

[El Dingo]

My mom is going to Jerusalem in May with a tour group. She is a devout Christian and I'm sure she'll be fine. However she is traveling with my sister who is married to a millionaire and has 'needs'. I am terrified my sister will complain to the wrong person at the wrong time about the spot on her fork...

[Drunk Monk]

[youtube]EdzqTGmEcZE[/youtube]

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Honeymoon departure 3/11/14

The Lebanese-Christian Nicholas picked us up at the house at 4:00 for our trip to the airport. My parents interrupted our harried departure by calling during the pick-up to discuss the wedding. During the drive Nicholas regaled us with tales of his being beaten up by his muslim neighbors back in Lebanon. He almost died during the incident while suffering a broken nose and cheekbone, His views on the Muslim world were less than enlightened. He stated that the muslims were bent on turning the world into a garbage heap. He blamed the prophet for taking away the Muslims conscience. He also mentioned that the Garden of Eden was in Turkey in a town called Aden.

Cindi and I got to experience the joys of the new Los Angeles fad, Umami Burger. For only fifty dollars we got two burgers, two fries and two drinks. I must say the cheese on the carnivore burger was quite tasty, but not fifty dollars tasty.


The LAX international terminal was populated with high end shops along the lines of Burberry, Hermes, and Fred Segal. In the Hermes store, they had a tie with the universal icon for a power switch on it, which we deemed must be a power tie. Funny, but not two hundred dollar funny.

High end was the name of the game. In the Duty Free section devoted to booze, they had a bottle of Hennessy for $16000 and a bottle of Balvenie whiskey for $46000. This begs the question of who exactly they are selling to and if they have ever sold a bottle. And who strolls through the airport and makes a $50k impulse buy?

The time to board came pretty quick. With all the changes that airlines have made to cut cost, I assumed our flight on Turkish Airlines would be pretty spartan. But I was quickly proven wrong.

At our seats there were blankets, pillows, head sets, and slippers. They also had a red goody bag that contained eye-shades, earplugs, a toothbrush and other amenities. The first thing the stewardess hands out were damp lemon scented towels followed by a bit of turkish delight. They fed us dinner and breakfast. The in-flight entertainment had at least fifty movies to choose from to while away the flight. If I hadn’t mentioned it, we were flying basic coach and still received all these things. There was a plug at our seats so Cindi could charge her iPad and iPhone. She also surfed the web with the free wi-fi while I slept.

As we disembarked, doing that standing in the aisle and wondering why the line didn’t move, one woman tried to move by saying she had a connection to make in five minutes. I chortled and told her there was no way she was going to make it. It was going to take at least fifteen minutes for us to get off the plane. She appealed to the stewardess. The stewardess told her in future she needs to plan at least four hours between flights. Our plane landed late because we circled the Black sea for an extra fifteen minutes. Although they did have the plane’s nose camera piped into the monitors in the cabin to show our view of the landing. Which was fine until we touched down and then you had a great view of the white taxing stripe for ten minutes.

The landing was a bit odd as we slewed to the right and then corrected back to the center. But any landing you can walk away is a good one.

As I checked my ticket, I realized we had over seven hours until our next flight. We opted not to leave the airport and go into Istanbul on this go round, but did learn that we can pay $20 for a visa and be allowed to leave the airport. On the way back, we will probably do this option.

The Istanbul airport had a lot of the same Duty Free shops as LAX but the atmosphere was completely different. We walked by a dedicated prayer area called a Mahdi were Islamic men and women had separate areas to pray. They did have the 12K whiskeys but nothing in the 50K range. The different clothing that all the travelers wore is astounding. I was desperate to photograph one man in old robes and a turbin who looked like a biblical prophet fresh from the desert.

Rather than dine at Burger King or Sbarros in the food court, we opted for some lamb at the TurkCuisine restaurant. We both had fresh lamb from the skewer with some great tasting rice. Since we still had six hours to kill we wandered through the Duty Free, assaulted by the clouds of expensive designer perfumes. Ties in the Hermes store were about $15 more than at LAX. I’m still not going to spend that kind of money for an airport tie.

As Cindi read, I decided to wander around and tai pictures. I did this until I was informed that picture taking was not allowed in the Duty Free areas.

Still four hours to go until we fly to Israel. We arrive at 3am. The plan is to take a shared taxi or Sherut straight to Jerusalem. Hopefully they will let us leave our bags at the YMCA Three Arches while we visit Vad Yashem and other spots outside the city walls.

[Drunk Monk]

um...not too detailed, I hope.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Day One Yad Veshem Ein Kerem Old City

The wait at Istanbul was interminable in the terminal, but it eventually it did come to a close and we boarded our flight to Ben Gurion airport. The airport was beautiful inside with walls made out of the same colored stone as in Jerusalem. I only took a couple cel phone pictures.

The dreaded Israeli airport security was less than advertised. The expected grilling turned out to be just a couple of questions from a very nice young woman who wished us luck on our Honeymoon.

Cindi and I must give out some sort of scent because once again someone tried to trick us in the airport. An unlicensed Taxi driver intercepted us at the door and started to take us to his car parked in the bowels of the parking structure. We ditched him and went to the licensed cab rank. Originally the plan was to ge a shared Taxi or Sherut to Jerusalem but since it was four in the morning and I didn’t feel like waiting around in the rain to depart, I opted to pay the extra for the Taxi. There was a very nice machine at the rank that computed your fair for you so you knew before you drove how much you were going to pay.

It rained the entire thirty five minute drive from airport to our hotel. this did not bode well for the rest of the day’s excursions. Our russian emigre driver told us his tales of Israel and how he was supporting his entire family in New York. He had only emigrated from Siberia seven years ago.

The gate was down and our taxi couldn’t get any closer to the street than curbside when we arrived at the YMCA Three Arches Hotel. I pulled my raincoat, that I’m not really going to need from my bag. Cindi and I schlepped our bags up the slick white steps to the door, the door which we found to be locked. Who locks the front door to a hotel? This one.

We are staying at the YMCA Three Arches hotel across from the famous King David Hotel. All the guides said this hotel was at the perfect congruence of price and location. They said nothing about the front door being locked.

I searched for a way in. Somebody on the inside must have spotted us because the guard finally let us in. The night clerk said we could check in early but it would cost us half a day’s room rental. We were tired and ready to pay.

We have a nice room on the third floor that gives a view of the King David across the street and south towards Bethlehem, which you can’t see because of the current rain. The amenities are a bit spartan but the room does have a couch and two chairs off the bedroom which technically makes it a suite.

One of us was too hopped up to wander around even if it was raining and pitch black outside, with no one walking the streets. The other one opted for a quick lie-down before our complimentary breakfast at 7.

As is my MO, I immediately became lost during my journey. I found the city immediately, because how can you miss giant stone walls visible from your hotel room? It was getting in that was tricky. I was shooting for Jaffa Gate which is the closest to us. When I couldn’t find it, I opted to wander along the walls until I hit the next gate over which should have been the New gate. Well I wandered and I wandered, through puddles and rivers as the rain continued to fall on streets without any real drainage. I kept figuring I had to hit the New Gate sooner or later.

I finally made it through the Zion Gate. Maybe that was another name for the New Gate. I had heard the gates in Jerusalem had multiple names and another name for the New Gate must be the Zion Gate.I wandered through an area that was supposed to be King David’s tomb which was pretty cool.

I found some stairs leading up, so I climbed them. In my confusion, I figured I must be close to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre but the surroundings didn’t look right. As I gazed across the view from the church top, all I could see where crumbling apartments and traffic lights. I thought there weren’t any cars allowed in Jerusalem’s narrow warren of streets. I finally found a sign on the church. It was the Dormiton abbey. According to my map, the Dormiton abbey was south of the city outside the city walls. When I had walked through the Zion Gate, I had left the city proper. I had been in the city the entire time.

With a few points of reference, I went back into the city walking through darkened alleys full of boarded-up shops. Rain dripped from the overhangs while feral cats rummaged through broken garbage bags for food.

I was in the Jewish quarter of the city so I decided to look for the Western Wall. The Jewish quarter had plenty of posted signs indicating where everything was located. I followed along the twisty streets, seeing places I recognized like the Cardo, the Cardo being a street dating from Roman Jerusalem.

The signs seem to vanish when I thought I was getting closer to the Wall. I was back to being lost in the warren. Eventually I made the right turn and found the path to the wall. There was a security check point with two board guards. The put me through without even scanning my bag.

Even though it was only 6am, there were still a bunch of people at the wall. I didn’t venture up too close opting to stay back at an observation point. The wooden walk way up to the Temple Mount was still closed at this early hour.

I figured there was still time to wander towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre before having to meet Cindi for breakfast so off I went into the souks looking for the right road. Again got lost and turned around. Again, I stumbled onto a sign that pointed the right way.

There were a few people in the church at this early hour. I wished I had a guide book to tell me what I was looking at rather than dredging half remembered memories from a book I sort of glanced at. But I did recognize Golgotha which is hard to miss. I made my way to the lowest part of the church where you could still see crosses carved into the walls by crusaders. It was pretty moving to be in this church that so much of the world venerates.

I stumbled around until I was back at Jaffa Gate. My mistake earlier was thinking that it would look more like a medieval gate rather than just a road into the city with cars driving on it.

Cindi and I had a marginal breakfast in the hotel. The eggs were too dry but the pastry was quite good. I did manage to tear my tea bag so I got hot tea leaves with my meal.

The plan for the day was to go the Yad Veshem holocaust memorial. I figured to experience the light rail which had it’s last stop at the holocaust museum ( Just dawned on me how creepy the phrase was last stop and holocaust museum)

Getting the ticket for the train was quite amusing. Since the way to get tickets is to force yourself to the front of the line and keep people from putting money into the machine while you dither on how to use the machine to get tickets. One nice man tried to help us but the other men waiting for tickets sensed my inexperience and immediately pushed past me to get their tickets.

Two trains came and went from the station while I figured out the rules of this ticket game. I did push away the last guy trying to get his ticket in front of me and just started hitting the buttons to get Cindi’s and I’s passes.

Cindi was mortified to see me pull out the GoPro and attach it to the vertical bar next to my seat on the train. Hey she knew my foibles when she married me. I hope I got some nice video of our train to the end of the line. Again not a phrase to be using.

As we disembarked and put on our lost tourist aura, another nice Jewish man approached us to ask where we were going. When I said Yad Veshem, he quickly pointed us in the right direction and told us it was only a fifteen minute walk through the forest.

The rain decided now would be a good time to pick up the pace. I think Cindi and I were still amused by the rain as we followed the trail to the museum. It was still only a mild annoyance.

At the entrance we bought maps and were told we couldn’t bring our back packs into the memorial. When I told them I had my cameras in my bag, I was told just to carry the camera, it will be easier for you. Basically I transferred most of my gear to my coat pockets and hung the camera around my neck. That wasn’t awkward.

The walk from the entrance building to the saw blade main exhibition the skies let loose and the rain poured down. Once inside the long narrow building, we realized we would should have an audio guide to know what was going on. Back in the rain to the main building where Cindi gave them soggy shekels for our audio devices.

This audio guide was tremendously in-depth. The first chunk I heard was ten minutes long and was supposed to be heard on the walk from the main building to the Sawblade building, I heard it just inside the door where I was supposed to be hearing the next chunk. The whole audio tour was like getting a Master Class in the Shoah. There was too much information for my jet-lagged brain to fully process.

Best of all, as we walked into the hall, I was told no pictures. I am carrying ten pounds of gear on me which I can’t use.

If you want to know everything about everything on the Holocaust, that is the place. They had everything in that long triangular building. There were left over shoes and lost personal artifacts. They showed Hitler’s rise to power with clips of his speeches. There were two boards games. One was how to be a better Nazi and the other was how to round up the Jews. They had train tracks from Auschwitz and the ‘Arbeit Mach Frie’ sign. They showed books and laws that institutionalized Anti-semtism. They had rooms devoted to the Lodz and Warsaw Ghettos. The amount of information was overwhelming. Towards the end, I turned off the audio tour and just read the exhibits. If I had listened to the entirety of the audio tour, I would probably still be there looking at an actual copy of Schindler’s List.

Yad Veshem covers acres of ground, the main exhibit being only a small portion of the whole. Unfortunately, they are all exposed to the elements. We slogged through the rain to the Hall of Remembrance which is a stark room with the names of the concentration camps written on the floor. A flame of remembrance burns in the back. The Children’s memorial is inside but was a ten minute exposed walk to get there. It is a moving exhibit, too. Candles are reflected back on themselves so it feels like you are walking through a million points of light.

In the end, there was too much rain and we left. We grabbed a taxi to Ein Kerem.

The reason I chose Ein Kerem was because of it’s proximity to Yad Veshem. Ein Kerem was the birthplace of John the Baptist and was where Mary told John’s mother, Elizabeth about her own pregnancy. According to the guide books, it was picturesque village great for wandering around.

Originally the plan was to do the thirty minute walk to Ein Kerem. The rain forced us to take Yakov the taxi driver from the Yad Veshem parking lot.

Yakov didn’t want to take us until he realized we only needed him for a five minute drive down the road. He was at great pains to tell us he was an honest driver. He gave us sweets and wanted to know if we would like to book a tour with him for a night trip around Jerusalem or to Galilee. He was ready. He dropped us at Mary’s Spring telling us that was as close as we could get.

Once again, more information would have been helpful. The spring was important but I can’t tell you why. And why did you need a spring with so much rain?

The slog to the Church of the Visitation was like climbing up a river as forded water cascading the white stone ramp. There was no dry spot to place a foot. I’m amazed neither one of us has slipped on the wet stone streets.

At the gate to the church, we found out we had 15 minutes to do the visit before the church closed for lunch. We looked at a well underneath the church and looked at some lovely paintings in the church proper. Everything looked fairly new, with the exception of the grotto. Because of the constant downpour, I made do with GoPro photos. Those will be awesome.

We made it to the other big church in town, the Church of John the Baptist just in time to see a locked gate. The rain was crushing our dreams of photography. It was time to take the train to the Mehane Yehuda for lunch.

It was one thing to drive down the hill into Ein Kerem in the Taxi, it was another to walk up the hill in the rain back to the train. It took thirty miserable minutes to make it back to the light rail. For the most part there was no side-walk along the road and we walked through little gullies full of water to avoid getting struck by passing cars. Big rigs would roar by throwing water from their tires. We did stop for one picture back of the golden domes of the Russian Monastery that was in the hills above Ein Kerem.

Two miserable Californians waited on the wet pavement for the train to take them back to Jerusalem. I didn’t have to fight with anyone to get our tickets at the kiosk. But my ticket was so wet, the machine wouldn’t accept the ticket. But that wouldn’t be a problem, since no one checks the tickets on the light rail. As water dripped from my jacket to the floor, I checked out the two soldiers who boarded a couple stops after we did. I was curious to see that they were carrying live ammunition in the clips for their M-16s.

Sure enough, during the trip back to city center, a ticket taker came on to check tickets, For some reason, my ticket past muster and he let us go. When he boarded I figured i was going to be in trouble for not having a cleared ticket.

We skipped the Mahane Yehuda market and went straight back to the hotel, this time actually getting off on the stop closest to the hotel. And by close, I mean it was a fifteen minute walk to the hotel. Up hill. In the rain.

The YMCA Three Arches is an actual YMCA. Down in the basement is a pool and a work out gym. They have one of the oddest basketball courts because it seems to be under a crusader arch. They even have daycare on the 2nd floor.

By the time we settled, the room was full of furniture covered in soggy clothes. We took a little rest before venturing out for food.

The problem with being new to the area is not knowing where anything thing is located. So, it seems like there are no restaurants in our area. We went by the Mamilla mall thinking it was too expensive for something quick. We found ourselves deciding between going further up the Jaffa Road looking for food or going into the Old City looking for food.

It had been seven hours since we had arrived and I thought it criminal that Cindi hadn’t been in the Old City, so I opted to go in. A nice man asked us what we were looking for as he stood outside his shop near the Jaffa gate. Thinking to get rid of him, I told him we were looking for food. Yeah no. He followed after us to show us the way to the best Lebanese food in Jerusalem. Our Tourist attractor was on full.

I realized we were close to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre so I took Cindi there. We stumbled ignorantly through the halls with me sort of answering all of Cindi’s question with poorly remembered information. I’m hoping our guide Gila straightens me out on Saturday.

We eventually had some Schwarma near the church before retreating back to our hotel. I finally made it to the top of the tower which is a feature of the Three arches hotel. It does have a panoramic view of Jerusalem, somewhere beyond those clouds.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

We crashed hard. I fell asleep thinking I was never going to sleep and awoke at 6 am, wondering what that light was streaming through the windows. A quick check out the windows showed the sun still fighting the good fight with the clouds. The edge still went to the clouds.

In case any of you have forgotten, I am a moron. The plan for the day called for a twenty minute walk to the Monastery of the Cross, followed by a trip to the Israel Museum to see the Dead Sea Scrolls. Then we would go towards the Old City for a Segway tour. For the evening, I had paid for a midnight bicycle tour. Remember the part where I am a card carrying moron.

Being the generous jerk Cindi married, I said maybe we could take a taxi to the Monastery of the Holy Cross. She said that would be fine but during our much better second day breakfast in the YMCA dining room, (the scrambled eggs were less crunchy than day one) we noticed there were far fewer torrents of rain lashing the building. Actually, it looked like it was drying up. Cindi said we could walk to the Monastery. I was so sure that the rain was gone, that I chose not to wear my raincoat.

It was fine walk to the Church of the Holy Cross, so named because the tree from which Jesus’s Cross was made grew on the site. The one thing I did not find in my research of the place was an opening time. So, when we walked up to the yellow stone building at 8:30, it was only to find out they opened at 10:00. The sign also pointed out this was a Holy Place. This is a very prevalent sign so far.

Since we wanted to be the Israel Museum at it’s 10:00 am opening, we left the Monastery. We took our first non-rain soaked photos looking back towards the Monastery in it’s field of Mustard while we climbed up to the Museum.

The Museum sits on a hill with other important Israeli buildings like the Knesset and the Supreme Court. We had plenty of time before the museum opened so we headed to the Knesset first.

It was very quiet around Israel’s parliament. The closest we could get to the building was a glass barrier. The lone guard didn’t pay us too much attention as he talked on his phone. I kept having spy novel flashbacks about how would you suborn the guard at the Knesset. Simple, send in two spies posing as American tourist to chat him up and distract him.

Around the Knesset we saw these crows that had this area of grey feathers on their backs. In honor of the wedding I have dubbed them the morning coat crows. Across from the Knesset, was a large Menorah donated to Israel by the British. It is very close to the giant star of David sitting in the roundabout. We visited the rose park in the hopes of getting a better view back into the Old City but there is a ridge line between the Knesset’s hill and the Old City.

We headed back to the Israel Museum still rain free. We arrived just in time for the opening. I stood in line for tickets for what seemed my entire adult life watching the women in front of me talk on her cel phone while simultaneously grilling the bored ticket seller. Since the whole conversation was in Hebrew, I’m going to assume it was very important.

A little drizzle fell as we darted to the Tomb of the book where they exhibit the Dead Sea Scrolls. The women handing out the maps suggested going there first to avoid crowds. Once again we had audio guides to tell us what was what.
The scrolls are housed in this odd building mostly underground with this white dome atop of it that is supposed to look like the end of a giant scroll. For some reason the outside dome sits in the middle of a pool and is constantly sprayed by multiple jets of water. The jets were probably not needed with all the rain.

Cindi and I entered through the exit along with several other people and managed to avoid some big tour groups in our wake.

At first I was disappointed that the main scroll that was the focus of the circular room was actually a facsimile. It’s a reproduction of the only scroll they have that is completely intact and it is too delicate to exhibit anymore. However around the main scroll are several exhibits of actual fragments of other scrolls. My first thought was the original scroll writers had excellent penmanship. I guess if you are writing for the ages, your lines better be straight.

The lines of text were perfectly straight and each character looked like it came out a printer. It was fabulous to look at writing almost two thousand years old.

The audio guides here were as exhaustive as the ones at Yad Veshem. Immensely informative and immensely long descriptions. There were actually two levels of guide. One was the facts, the other was a reenactment of a play about the community that had written the scrolls. I heard about ten seconds of the play.

If I haven’t mentioned it, I hate tourists. I don’t know how they are allowed to exist. My favorite tourist behavior on display at the Temple of the Scrolls was a women reading the information placard to the exhibit out loud to her husband standing next to her. As if for some reason, he couldn’t read the card himself because it was only seen by the wife.

It took me some time, but I eventually noticed there was second level below the current level in the Temple of the Scroll. Stairs led down to another exhibit of the Aleppo Codex. Until the Dead Sea Scrolls were found the 10th century Aleppo Codex was the oldest form of the Hebrew bible. Scholars had studied it for years. If I remember my audio guide, it was thought to be burned in 1948 as the Arab world destroyed all the Synagogues in response to the announcement of the state of Israel. But most of it was smuggled out before the mass burnings.

One of the most amazing things was a scrap of the codex a scholar had carried in his wallet for thirty years as good luck charm. The fragment was found in the burned ruins at Aleppo.

Rain fell as we exited the building so we decided to go inside the museum rather than wander the extensive grounds. The first thing that greeted us entering the museum was a twenty foot tall statue of a naked African Man complete with to scale penis. Quite the eye opener.

We almost bypassed the exhibit on the mesoamericas since we wanted to see stuff about the Middle East. But that would have been a mistake. There were tons of statues in the exhibit, each one fabulously weird. The best part was the nice man who said I could take pictures as long as I didn’t use a flash.

Probably the wildest thing in the collection was a two foot tall man statue covered in nails used by Witch Doctors to cast spells. there must have been a hundred nails driven into the idol.

Cindi and I next found our way to the Archeology Exhibit. The first thing we saw were thousand year old stone mask, quite a few of which reminded me of the Jason Mask from the Friday the 13th movies. After that it was an avalanche of amazing exhibits. We saw 780000 year old remnants of the oldest hearth. There was skeleton of a woman buried with her dog. Giant floor mosaics showing Achilles were on display.

They had the Ossuary of Jesus’s Brother John next to the Ossuary of Caiphas’s son Joe. They had coins depicting the Roman Coliseum that was to commemorate it’s construction, built with funds taken from the sack of Jerusalem. By the time I left the exhibit passed the twenty foot tall apple core sculpture my mind was full of new information.

At one point, a security guard told me I could no longer wear my camera back-pack in the museum. I was told to hand carry it. I don’t know why this occurred but in her section of the museum those were the rules.

If I was carrying an explosive device would it make any difference if it was on my back or in my hand? If I was going to steal a full size sarcophagus, wouldn’t it be easier to slip it into my bag if the bag was in my hand rather than on my back?

Since the sun had made an appearance, we visited the outdoor half-acre size model of Jerusalem in the second temple period. The model is massive and gives a great indication of what Jerusalem looked like in the time of Christ. yes, I did want to jump the fence and play giant among the buildings.

Cindi started to crash from hunger, but I convinced her to walk through the sculpture garden to see this giant glistening metal sculpture that was either a weirdly growing tree or lightning striking the ground. The sun made an appearance to make the silver metal all shiny as we took pictures.

It was have food or be killed so we went to the cafeteria on the grounds to get a bite to eat.

Our brains were full. But we still had plenty of time, and by plenty I mean about an hour, until we had to be at the Old City for our Segway tour. The Monastery of the Cross was just a short walk down the hill and was now open. We could always take a taxi from the Monastery into town if times got tight.

Now the Monastery is owned by the Greeks and is a Greek orthodox facility. We arrived just in time to join up with a large group of Greek Orthodox Christian. They gave us a head start at viewing by having to wait at the door to assemble.

They drew ahead as I climbed stairs to take some pictures of the tower. But I won the race to the site of tree while they discussed all the paintings in the main chamber. I shooed out some other visitors to take pictures before the group filled in behind me. The leader of the group chastised me for wearing my hat.

Cindi must have been light headed because she agreed to walk to the Old City rather than take a taxi. We walked for about ten minutes before I realized we weren’t going to make it to ZuZu Segways in time for the tour. Now, I had sent off an email inquiring if the tours still departed in the inclement weather but hadn’t received a response. I was going on the assumption the tour was still on.

As we walk i started to hunt for a cab to take us, but all the ones that drove by either ignored us or had passengers. We passed a spot were five cabs sat by the road as the driver smoked cigarettes or drank coffee. I asked one of them to give us a ride, but he said it was only a seven minute walk to our destination. I told him our tour left in five minutes. None of the drivers were willing to take on that small of a fare.

So we quick stepped it. We saw arab protestors and consulates. The United States consulate seemed under protected with only few guards that were not marines. We arrived at 6 Kariv street five minutes late. There were no Segways at what appeared to be an apartment building rather than a place of business. We asked a guard but he hadn’t seen anyone but he thought they usually met on the other side of the street. ( I came back later to the same guard shack, behind which was the sign for ZuZu Segways)

We retreated to the hotel stopping at the Gas station for water and potato chips. I’m on vacation dammit.

In my email queue were five messages from ZuZu. The first messages were about canceling our reservation and maybe rescheduling next week. The other was about our midnight bike tour which I thought was through Jerusalem Biking but turns out they are run by the same company. the last pleas was to contact them immediately as they were leaving the office for the Sabbath and wouldn’t be available after 2pm. It was 2:45 when I read the messages. Oh, well.

The lack of an afternoon tour left us with time to spare. We could have hung out in the room, but I decided the city of Jerusalem was just waiting for the viewing, so back out we went. Before we left, I made a reservations at the Arabesque restaurant at the American Colony Hotel. As soon as I hung up the phone, I realized we wouldn’t have enough time for dinner if we wanted to make the bike tour.

I recreated my lost rambling for Cindi in the hopes of gaining entry into the Armenian Quarter to find the church of Saint James. All we found were locked gates. Later I found out, the gates are only open from 3 to 3:30. Since we were close, we headed to the Western Wall so Cindi could go up and say a prayer.

We stumbled north and happened upon the via Dolorossa the traditional rather than actual path Christ walked to Golgotha. We made it into two churches that were stations of the cross, making it into Ecco Home church just as they were closing the gate. That seems to be our theme.

In a brilliant move, I decided to lead Cindi deep into the residential section of Muslim Jerusalem. We walked a couple blocks up Herod’s ascent before quickly finding our way back to the Via Dolorossa.

We stopped for dinner at Emile Amigo based on the beauty of the carved stone vaulted arches and the fact the Maitre’d wasn’t standing in the doorway smoking. That seems to be the case in most restaurants to have a smoker blocking the door while beckoning customers.

Of course while we were enjoying our special chicken dinners and remarking on the fact our host wasn’t smoking, he stepped outside with the cook for a quick smoke. Food was still really good but the faint smell of smoke wafting in took off a little of the luster.

Back to the hotel we climbed with only one slight wrong turn into the Latin Patriarchate.

Time for the moron part.

Cindi by now had decided it was too wet and miserable to take the 9pm Midnight Bike ride through Jerusalem. I was almost going stay in the room, too, but since I had already given them the non-refundable payment, I figured I should go back to Kariv St and see if they showed up. I had a dream that they would not show and I could go back to my nice warm bed.

Despite it being freezing and wet, I did wear my bike shorts instead of sensible pants. I left early and arrived with plenty of time to kill. There was no sign of a man or a bicycle. I wandered towards the stop light at the base of the incline that led to Jaffa Gate. My big fear was my first time on the bike in five or six years, I would have to ride up that incline or push it up which would more likely be the case.

Unfortunately, the tour guide arrived as well as two other cyclists, one from Germany and one from Slovenia. The bike ride would commence. Our guide Roy, his name was actually something else but poor foreigners found it easier to say Roy , gave us a quick run down about the bikes and we headed off. I did get the he’s cool look when I clamped my GoPro to the front handlebars.

Our first stop was just across the street at a brand new sculpture of the world that symbolized Jerusalem’s place in the old world and then the new. We then continued on away from the old city to a bridge that overlooked Gehenna or Jewish hell. They used to do human sacrifices in this area. Also it’s the spot that at the end days will open up to hell.

We continued up the hill with me struggling to get the right gear on my shifter to the Hass Promenade and some famous fountain, famous for having a pigeon with breasts. It was probably famous for something else, but I just remember the bit about the pigeon with breasts and braided hair. The Haas Promenade gives a great overlook to the city and has the city’s aqueduct flowing underneath it.

The bike ride was taking place on the sidewalks and the wrong side of the street. My bike law part of my brain was having fits at these two egregious actions.

When it started to rain, I knew Cindi would be extremely happy to be still back at the hotel. If she was with us, the misery would have been legendary. I wasn’t too happy about riding around with my camera bag on my back in the rain, either.

We stopped in a giant tented area at what was the original Jerusalem train station. It was a fine chance to dry off a little and offer up a prayer to stop the rain. The other two riders went to the bar and got shots of whiskey in effort to warm up.

The rain had lessened by the time we left. Our next stop was the Montfiore Windmill, sight of the first settlement outside the walls of the city. No one back in the 1860’s wanted anything to do with living beyond the protected barriers of the city walls. Eventually Montfiore paid people to live there.

We stopped by my hotel, the YMCA ,on our loop back to talk about it’s history and the history of the King David Hotel across the street. A wing of the King David was destroyed by the Isrealis back in 1948 as part of their war for Independence. I could see up to the third floor of the YMCA where the lights of our room were quite dark. Cindi would have laughed if she had noticed the four dripping cyclists standing on the sidewalk.

More gear and chain problems as we looped back to the old city through the New Gate. Roy told us about an international incident which occurred when a nun dropped her dentures onto the street which was part of No Man’s land. It took her three days and the cooperation of three governments to get them back.

After seeing the tomb of King David and trying to get in the traditional sight of the Last Supper in Mount Zion, we rode to an overlook of the Western Wall. Some people were annoyed that we were riding our bikes on the Sabbath. I responded I was Christian.

At our overlook, I decided to unpack the tripod and big Nikon. I was going to use it at least once on the trip after carrying it this whole way. I shot a couple pictures of the illuminated Dom of the Rock.

Our tour ended back at the Jaffa Gate with a ride down the handicapped ramp to the Mamilla shopping center parking lot where we had started. The Germans whined about being cold. I accosted them by telling them I thought the Germans were tougher.

Cold and wet, I climbed back up the hill to the YMCA to the warmth of my bed.

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For our Saturday tour of Jerusalem, I found a private guide to show us around. It seems whenever you search for guides of Jerusalem particularly walks atop the city walls, Gila Yudin’s name comes up. Originally the idea was just to get her for four hours but Cindi demanded we get her for the whole day at the cost of $350.

We met Gila in the lobby of our hotel and took a taxi to the Mount of Olives. This was a popular destination for everyone. It seemed all the tour groups currently in Jerusalem were there with us arguing about which was their favorite gospel. The biggest delay in us getting to the Jerusalem overlook were all the buses trying to pass each on other on the narrow streets.

We followed the Palm Sunday Walk down the Mount of Olives passing the Dominus Flavit Church, the Garden of Gethsamane and ending at the Church of the Agony, also known as the Church of All Nations.

At the top, we had a great view of Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock. If we wanted to, a nice man was offering camel rides complete with real Camel. I don’t know how he thought we were part of the demographic that would want to ride a camel.

Service was in session at Dominus Flavit so we did not get to go inside. Dominus Flavit was the place Jesus wept at the sight of Jerusalem and the beauty of the Second Temple. It is also where he prophesied the destruction of the temple. The church had a large glass window facing Jerusalem so parishioners could see Temple Mount during services. On the grounds of the Church were another big collection of Ossuaries. Ossuaries hold the bones of the deceased, collected after the dead bodies lie in state and the flesh rots away.

The Garden of Gethsamane holds trees that are dated from they think Jesus’s time. Olive trees don’t have rings so they can’t use those to date them so they went with Carbon Dating. The oldest tree in the small grove, which is massive, had to be fenced off to keep people from taking souvenirs from it.

The next stop was the Church of the Basilica of the Agony. It is also called the Church of All Nations because after World War I all the warring nations chipped in money to have it built.

Along the walk it was fun to her the various chattering of the pilgrims. One man was badgering his guide about what his favorite Gospel was in the Bible.

Our walk continued along the main road that runs parallel to the Eastern Wall. There was a twisted metal structure that was a memorial to Israel Soldiers who had been ambushed and killed at this point during the Six Day War. I kept trying to get nice pictures of the golden colored domes of the Russian Orthodox Church on the Mount of Olives. The clouds kept blocking the sun to keep me from my goal.

One benefit of hiring your own guide is going to places the big groups can’t get to go. As we walked up to the Lion’s Gate or St. James Gate, Gila asked us if wanted to detour through the Muslim Cemetery to see the Golden Gate. The Golden Gates are blocked up and are said to swing open when the Messiah returns. Up on the Mount of Olives, Gila told us people aren’t allowed to get close to them. But when we were on the path, she said if we were quick we could walk over to them before anybody got upset.

Now if a guide asks you if you want to go where other people don’t go, my immediate response will always be yes. Someday that might be my epitaph. I always hate writing things like that because then I think bad things will happen, that will the apocryphal quote the newspapers will use.

But we went right up to the Golden Door currently marred by painted over graffiti, good thing they used blue paint atop the yellow stone to conceal the marks to make it less obvious. It was peaceful in the Muslim Cemetery since we weren’t surrounded by a million tourists. We had great views back to the Mount of Olives and it’s hundreds of thousands of graves. Everyone wants to be close to the Temple when the Messiah comes or returns depending on which book you follow.

Back at the Lion Gate, lions not included we got a little more history. Turns out what appear to be Lions are actually Leopards. The architects building the Walls and Gates for Suleiyman found what they thought were stones of Lions and added them to gate to honor Suleiyman, who uses lions on his crest. Suleiyman had this architect put to death when he found out about the mistake along with the other architect of the wall project who failed to enclose the city of David within the walls. There are two statues of them near the Jaffa gate where you can spit on them as you exit the city.

Our first stop inside the city was St. Anne’s church which also has the Bethesda pool on the grounds. St. Anne’s is the only Crusader church left in the city that is mostly intact. Saladin turned it into a Madarassa which is why their is an arabic inscription about the main door. Currently, the French Government owns the property.

The Bethesda pool is one of the sites of Jesus’s miracle where he healed a sick man. While we walked among the ruins I got to loudly chastise a young american who jumped from a small wall rather than using some stairs six feet away and knocked loose some stones that had probably been undisturbed for fifteen hundred years. The young man hoped no one was looking and then was perplexed about why I was yelling at him. What was the big deal about knocking loos a couple of stones.

As we continued down the Via Dolorassa, we stopped at more stations of the cross. We also visited the Struthion pool under the Sisters of Zion convent. The Struthion is important because of it’s association with the Antonio fortress where Jesus was whipped.

in the floor of one of the chambers are marks made by Roman soldiers of a dice game. They also took time to carve a scorpion which was the symbol of the Roman Tenth Legion. You have to use a lot of imagination to see the feint scratches in the marble floor and see a scorpion.

Gila led us up to the top of the Austrian Hospice which had great views of Temple Mount and other sections of the arab quarter. The Austrian Hospice is next to the fourth station, where Jesus fell. Jesus falling isn’t in the bible yet there is a station for it on the Via Dolorosa.

We continued up the Via Dolorosa to the fifth station but as was a hallmark of the trip, we were not allowed in because a mass was in session. All the time we walked the road that Jesus walked, Jesus walking probably not included, we passed through one of the many Arab Souks or markets. They sell everything there. You see stalls with spices or housewares. Of course many of them sell tourist items. The proprietors screaming to come inside since looking is free.

As we finished journeying through one particularly crowded section Gila told us she only takes two kinds of tours through that stretch, one’s that are adventurous or one’s she doesn’t like. I hoped we were the former and not the latter.

We ate lunch near Muristan in the Christian quarter of the city. Muristan means hospital and was the area of the Knight’s Hospitallers quarters. Gila took us to one her local haunts because she is good friends withe the proprietor. He was the first Schwarma seller in the old city and people thought he was crazy for doing it. Now that area near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is packed with restaurants and he is a millionaire. Although he was still serving the customers and seating the hordes of tourist coming to his place.

Oddly enough, he can’t own the building for the restaurant. Most of the buildings in the Muristan are owned by the Greek Orthodox Church and they lease them out. Turns out, much like their Roman Catholic Brethren, the Greek Orthodox own a lot or property including the land upon which the Israeli Parliament sits. One of the current problems for the Israeli parliament is the lease is about to end and they need to sign a new contract for the land.

After lunch we headed to David’s Citadel for a tour of the main fort of Jerusalem near Jaffa Gate. It is called David’s Citadel despite the fact it was originally built by Herod the Great. No one wants to give Herod credit for anything.

The place was completely leveled after Saladin took the city except for three towers. As is usual for Israel when property switches hand between conquerors, they put a mosque on the site as well. The minaret still stands in the southwest corner.

We had a nice walk through the museum but most of the details are a bit fuzzy as we were entering into our sixth hour of hearing Gila talk. The stream of information becomes overwhelming. The one tidbit I do remember is the painting of Muhammed’s night ride to Jerusalem on his human faced horse, Buraq. Because you can’t show depictions of Muhammed, the face had been scratched out in the painting. There is a lot of scratching out of depictions in the Holy Land for all faiths.

Our next destination was atop the city walls where they have now made it accessible for walking. If the day had been less cloudy, the views would have been magnificent. There were still parts on the wall were the Palestinians would place their gunmen to shoot down into the Jewish controlled areas of Jerusalem leftover from 1968. We could see the Jerusalem city hall of that time which has hundreds of bullet holes in the facade. We heard the story again of the nurse who dropped her dentures into No Man’s land and needed three governments to help her retrieve them.

Gila told us when she first walked the walls, there were no railings. In some spots, the path was only two feet wide with a thirty foot drop for a mis-step. We were glad for the railings.

We descended at Damascus Gate. I made Gila wait while Cindi and I went to take pictures from the outside of the Gate. A little scary as the area was packed with Palestinians. They hold out a market outside the gate. It was probably the best place to buy men’s designer underwear in the city.

We arrived back at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre just in time to see the different denominations of priests exiting the church after their Saturday night mass. The place was packed with religious figures. Security had set up barricades to separate the tourists from the parading priests. There was plenty of pomp and circumstance. During a break in the parades, we ducked into the main Christian church in the Holy Land.

We did a quick visit inside to Cavalry where you could see the crack in the earth where Cross of Jesus was placed. It is also supposed to be the final resting place of Adam. Yes, that Adam. Which is why in many depictions of the passion of the Christ you will see a skull or head at the foot of the Cross, usually with a drop of blood on it. The meaning is to show from Original sin to expiation of all sins.

The Greek Orthodox were the last to leave since they control the majority of the Church. Seven Denominations of Christianity share the church all with differing amounts of influence. So, one niche is controlled by one sect and this main nave is controlled by another. According to the book Jerusalem: A Biography, hundreds of worshippers and priests have been killed in the Church as rival Christians battled for control of their areas.

The Greeks marched out to the tolling of the Church bells. They waited in the doorway until somebody in belfry got the message it was time to toll the bells.

Another fun fact, Christians don’t have the keys to the door of the church, two Muslim families have it. One family has the key and the other family opens the door. I tried to get a picture of the key but the family member I talked to only opens the door. This was put into effect 500 years ago when the Muslims ruled the city.

We cut short our trip to the Holy Sepulchre as it was really crowded, I needed my tripod, and Gila was about to slip into overtime.

Since it was our Honeymoon and probably could use a little romance and fewer endurance marches through the city, we went to the Arabesque Restaurant at the American Colony Hotel. When you look at the Arabesque in the guide books it has all the dollar signs next to the price indicator. But it was worth it and not near as expensive as I feared.

The American Colony Hotel was founded by an American Woman, Anna Spafford who lost four of her five daughters when her boat sank crossing the Atlantic. She cabled her husband who sold off all their assets and moved them all to the Holy Land. It has been a landmark in the city since the turn of the century.

We had the best service ever at the restaurant. And it was that really nice unobtrusive service rather than the pushy kind. I dropped a knife and it was immediately picked up and replaced before I could just wipe it on my napkin and put it back on the table. There was a constant stream of helpful people coming by the table from bus boy to Maitre’d to see if we needed anything.

Unfortunately, my steak wasn’t the greatest. Serves me right for ordering a steak when I should be having lamb in the middle east.

One of the things Gila told us was to take a peak at the Pasha’s Room if it was open. So, towards the end of dinner I asked where the Pasha’s Room was located. The waiter told me someone would come by and show us. The someone turned out to be the Maitre’d who I guess had nothing better to do like running one of the most famous restaurants in town.
He took us on a small tour of the hotel on our way up to he second floor. He almost lost his mind from unnecessary embarrassment when Cindi stepped on a metal grate and got her heel stuck, dragging the grate behind her. He was almost apoplectic trying to free the shoe, which had wedged pretty firmly in the small opening. He ran off to grab some tool. I took the shoe and freed it. Thankfully no harm cam to the shoe or we might still be on the balcony listening to apologies.

The Pasha’s Room was fine, the ceiling being the most impressive feature. But we couldn’t get a good look since it was full with people holding a private function. Once again, we were barred at the gate.

With that it was back to the YMCA to sleep.

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Sunday was our day to visit Temple Mount and check out one of the holiest sites for the third religion that dominates Jerusalem. We started a bit later than intended but the delay was worth it. Besides how important is it to get in line for the visit to Temple Mount early?

Turns out, very important. By the time we reached the entrance, the line for the Temple Mount, stretched through the Dung Gate and down the street that runs parallel to the Southern Wall of the city. When we first descended down towards the entrance across the western wall plaza, we were excited to watch people already making their way up the covered ramp to the Temple Mount. The gate was open early. My enthusiasm waned as I saw the line stretching towards the Dung gate. But how long could it take?

A long time. As we entered the line outside the wall, tour buses continued to disgorge their contents behind us. In particular was a group of young Germans. They seemed determined to be obnoxious as possible. Of course, they were just being kids and I was being a grumpy old man. But I had enough of their singing and clapping and selfies after about the first hour.

Because, yes, we were in line for almost two and a half hours. My paranoia was telling me that VIP tour buses were being let in front of us, because there were long stretches when our line didn’t move at all. We crept through the Dung Gate, admiring the gashes in the old stone where big trucks were too big for the opening.

Cindi and I took turns leaving the line to take pictures. We took bets on whether we would be on the Mount by 9:45 or 10:30. I had the former. A sign hanging over the last gate before the entrance informed us that according to the Rabbi of the Western Wall, the torah didn’t allow Jews atop the mount.

We were about twenty yards from the security shack and entrance to the ramp, when an official came out of the shack . He started screaming at the crowd to move back and go away.

What? This is a joke, right? You can’t close the line when we are so close. It can’t be because the Temple Mount was full. One of our guides told us during a celebration, they had 250,000 people up there. But, the door was locked in front of us and we were told to go away.

I thought maybe we could hang out close to the gate and tell the guy, “But it’s our Honeymoon”. I never got the chance. The line behind us, that still stretched to the Dung Gate, gradually dispersed.

Boy it would have been nice to know the operating hours for this entrance. How about a small sign posted with the opening hours? The people in charge of the Temple Mount don’t really care about tourists at their Holy Site. They only let people up there begrudgingly. There are other entrances that only Muslims can use and this crowded port is the only way up for non-muslims.

We found out later some kids had engaged in stone throwing and the security had shut the site down early. If the small riot hadn’t occurred, we would have gotten in as the Mount was open for another thirty minutes. So close. Unfortunately, that was our last free opportunity to visit Mount Moriah. Put that down on the list of things to see on our next visit.

We headed up the steep stairs into the Jewish Quarter to wander that area. Some nice Jews canvassing for charitable donations took our coins and gave us red Kaballah threads in exchange. We visited the Cardo which are the remnants of the ancient Roman Road that use to bisect the city. We had a pizza at Mozarella. Yes, I had mine with that Israeli delicacy, corn. I won’t be revisiting that experiment. It didn’t add a lot to my experience.

We headed out the riddled with bullet holes Zion gate to see the Dormition Abbey and the traditional site of the Last Supper. For some reason they held the Last Supper upstairs in a disused Mosque. You can still see the Mihrab in the wall and Islamic script on the walls.

For those Latin lovers, the Last Supper site is called the Coenaculum. I was supposed to get in here during the midnight bike ride but to our guides’ consternation, the place was locked.

The whole area atop Mount Zion, just outside the Zion Gate, is packed with sites. Near the Coenaculum, is a statue of King David. His tomb is just down the hall. Behind the statue is the Dormition Monastery which is the last resting place for Mary, Mother of God. And a more recent site is Ben Gurion’s apartment up on the roof behind the Coenaculum.

I had stumbled upon the apartment during my first morning walk in the city and was hopelessly lost in my quest for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It was nice to finally see it in the light.

The King David statue was built by Christians and hated by the Orthodox Jews. The Jewish Faith doesn’t like representations of their religious figures much like Islam and Mohammed. So, this statue is constantly under assault. It is covered in gold spray paint to hide the graffiti on it. If you look at the face, you can see that the nose has been broken.

Ben Gurion had small rooms here because before 1968, this area was the only area near the city controlled by Israel and was the closest point you could get to the Western Wall. He would loan out the room to special friends as a reward.

The Dormition Abbey was closed at this point. Posted hours of opening would have been nice.

On the way back through the Jewish Quarter, Cindi stopped to buy a Mezuzah to hold the broken glass from our wedding ceremony. I was appalled when the store proprietor mentioned a price and Cindi just reached for the cash. You are supposed to haggle in the Middle East, something Cindi is loathe to do. The proprietor said they didn’t haggle here in the Jewish quarter, but he still knocked 40 Shekels off the price after my badgering.

Our one scheduled activity for the day was a trip underneath the city along the buried section of the Western Wall. The Western Wall is referred to as the Kotel and we were taking the Kotel tours. You might remember the controversy years ago when the tunnels were being dug and the people of temple mount were furious thinking that it was just a ploy to allow digging into the temple mount. If there is one thing the Muslims don’t want is evidence of a Jewish Temple underneath Temple Mount.

Anyway, we took the tour from a very enthusiastic tour guide and a old man who wanted to share all the information he had about the Western Wall. The tour had a few highlights. We got to see the largest stone in the mount which probably weighed over 50 tons. There was a bricked up old entrance to the Temple mount that was probably filled hundreds of years ago. A room has been built so Jewish women can come in and pray at what they believe is the closest point to the Holiest of Holies, the spot were the Ark of the Covenant was stored. The men pray upstairs in a room directly overhead just of the Western Wall courtyard. At one point, they didn’t bring stones in for the walls, they just carved the bedrock so it looked like dressed stone. One area was where the quarry for Temple Mount stones were made. This included one stone that was half-finished and never used.

For me the wildest thing was the aqueduct channel carved to carry water to the Struthion pool. This half of the pool is still full while the other under the convent under the Via Dolorossa drained into this one when they accidentally knocked a channel between the two halves.

The tour let us out along the Via Dolorossa. While I stopped to adjust my camera things, an Armenian Boy named Amir came up and asked us if we wanted to go into the site of the old second station of the cross. Before Cindi could say no, I said of course. Cindi tried to give the let’s get out of her sign, but I remembered from reading of Gila’s book that this was one of the ways into the Madrassa that now sits in the place of the Antonia Fortress. The Antonia Fortress is where Jesus went through the Barabas routine.

Cindi’s qualms about our trip in quickly vanished as we saw the view over Temple Mount. This was the closest we got to the Dome of the Rock the entire visit. Amir showed us around the courtyard and pointed to a fountain which was the original site for the 2nd station of the cross.

Since Amir showed us the site, I thought it only fair we visited his family shop which was located at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the Madrassa. Now, my father had tasked me with finding some gifts for his Catholic buddies who are somehow affiliated with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Gila had suggest I take back candles but there was no way I was going to get those back to California in nothing more than little tiny pieces. I decided on the Jerusalem cross, the Catholic symbol for Jerusalem. It is a cross that has four additional crosses in each section of the main cross.

When I saw the prices Amir wanted for his silver Jerusalem Cross, I knew that I wasn’t going to buy them here. At the same time Cindi was looking at a nice Chai made with Turquoise. Amir said 400 shekels for both and I said thanks but no thanks. I figured the only way to buy them was for the 200 shekels in my pocket.

I made the move to walk out when Amir brought over his older brother. Elder brother figured we could split down the middle. I figured no and made to leave. More haggling. They could sense I was stuck on 200, so they brought in Dad. More haggling. Dad tried to get me to shake at 220. I withdrew my hand.

We finally agreed on 200 with Dad saying I was a great businessman. I should have said 100. Amir wanted to come with us to show us the rest of the Via Dolorossa. I told him we had already seen it and were on our way back to the other side of town. I agreed though to give him a tip for showing us into the Madrassa.

We went back to the Dormition Monastery to see if it was open. I had a checklist and by god things were going to be checked off. Seriously, I knew nothing about the history of the place. I just wanted to go in because we had been thwarted earlier.

Luck was with us and it was open when we returned to Mount Zion outside the Zion gate. Cindi and I went downstairs to the crypt to take photos only photobombed a few times by fellow visitors.

One of the trickiest areas to visit in the city of Jerusalem is the Armenian Quarter. The gate only opens for thirty minutes everyday and the signs to the opening aren’t marked. At least I couldn’t find them.

After we left the Dormition Monastery, we made are way to the Jaffa gate looking for the entrance. We arrived a few minutes before they allowed entry into Cathedral of St. James, according to our guide book the most beautiful church in Jerusalem. Next to the door were a bunch of rules about the church, the most odious being no photography. But there was also something about not putting your hands in your pockets.

And it was a beautiful church, with what seemed like hundreds of lanterns hung from the ceiling on an intricate series of pullies. One ornate altar has the head of St. James buried in it. We had actually come in time to hear the Armenians read the liturgy. That was fun for about five minutes and enough time for one of the little old ladies to admonish Cindi for crossing her legs. No leg crossing in the Church of St. James. I would have stayed longer if picture taking was involved. Eventually the incense drove us out.

We wandered back to our hotel through the Purim revelers at the Mamilla mall. We had seen a group of kids earlier having a fun fare amidst the Roman Columns on the Cardo.

Sunday at Sunset, Purim starts in the city of the Jerusalem. Purim is the festival of Queen Esther who helped save thousands of Jews in Persia. One of the games I got to play was to find out the exact day of the festival. Now it falls in the month of Adar, but there are two Adar’s in the Jewish Calendar. It also falls on different days depending on if you are inside a walled city or outside a walled city. It falls inside a walled city the day after it falls outside a walled city. With me? Everytime I tried to find the date on our calendar, I got the run around. Eventually, I found it to start at Dusk on March 16th in the city of Jerusalem. It starts on the 15th in Tel Aviv.

Cindi only requested we do one thing while in Israel and that was to attend a Meghilla reading on Purim and eat Hamentashen. The Meghilla reading is the story of Esther and Hamentashen is a triangular chocolate filled pastry. I had taken care of the Hamentashen at the pizza place but now it was time to go the service.

Cindi wanted to soften the blow by going to a reformed reading since then we could sit together. I figured we should just go to the big new Hurva Synagogue, since according to my bike guide, Roy, it was the nicest Synagogue in town. I was a big boy and could sit by myself. Plus, I needed to go into sites that had been locked to me.

But one look through the window at the very seriously dressed Jewish men in their black or furry hats and I knew my blue jeans and ball cap would get me thrown out. Cindi had seen flyers posted up about a partyesque Purim at the Chabad center so we wandered in that direction.

Cindi was starting to waver about the whole Purim thing so I reminded her that this was the one thing she said wanted to do. An older women came up to us and asked if we were here for the service. I said yes.

So think of this fish and this water he is supposed to be in and is now out of. That was me in the Meghilla reading. It was held in this tiny white washed room. A table had been set up at the front for snacks and drinks. I guess that was part of the party the flyer referred to. The chairs were the white plastic ones you can get cheap at the Orchard Supply Hardware store. Although where you can find an OSH in the Holy Land, I do not know.

Cindi was taken by the older women to the other side of the screen where I could not see here. Because of the disposition of the chairs and not wanting to ask anyone to move, I ended up in the front row about a foot from the guy delivering the service. I was probably the oddest looking person to my fellow parishioners despite the fact one guy was all green ala Kermit the frog and another had a giant blond moussed out wig. They were nice enough to offer me a prayer book, but I declined as my Hebrew is a bit rusty.

It takes two guys to chant the Meghilla. One to chant and one to unroll the scroll. Our Rabbi asked for help with this procedure and I carefully avoided eye contact. The scroll itself came in the finest of grocery store bags. The scroll was fairly thick and I hoped we weren’t going to read the entire thing. Just so you know, Hope dies.

There were a few prayers with bowing and odd steps back and forth before we began. I just rose when they did and sat when they did, keeping my eyes down like I was lost in contemplation.

The one thing I remembered from Cindi’s description was that you were supposed to shout whenever you heard the bad guy’s name in the Meghila reading. It became clear pretty quickly the guy’s name was Haman. I could now participate because I could pick his name out as the Rabbi would slow down and pause after saying the name. I opted for pounding the chair next to me to make noise with the rest of the men.

My other contribution was to take a photograph with the Rabbi’s helper’s camera while he was standing at the front with the Rabbi.

It took them a long time to unroll that scroll and read through it. I drowned out Hamon’s name many many times with my chair pounding. I didn’t understand a word of it, but I’ve been in that place before.

Eventually it ended. The first thing Cindi told me after was that she was trying to signal me to leave early. Yeah, there was no way to leave that room early without being noticed.

Cindi and I went down to the Western Wall plaza. I was finally going to get the nerve to actually touch the wall. I also wanted to get a better view of the full moon rising over the wall. I wandered into the room that is closest to the Holy of Holies where the men sit. I took photos as surreptitiously as possible, which isn’t very when you set up a tripod.

We had dinner near the Jaffa gate at another good restaurant. I had the schnitzel which was quite good. While waiting for the food to be cooked, I went outside with the camera to take pictures of the moon hovering over David’s Citadel. I took many more on the way home and a bunch of our beloved YMCA.

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Sunday’s events had made me a bit cranky about being on time for Monday’s tour to Bethlehem, so I made sure Cindi was going to be on time for our departure.

Originally, when I had first looked at the distance from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, I figured we should walk, since the check point at the barrier was only a couple of kilometers away. We even would take the same road on which our hotel was located. What could be simpler?

Although physically close, Jerusalem and Bethlehem are worlds apart. Bethlehem resides in Palestinian controlled territory. For security reasons, Israel has erected a giant concrete security barrier with only a few tightly controlled checkpoints between the two zones.

There was also the question of time to make the walk. I decided it would be better using that time eating breakfast rather than walking. Still, I put my grumpy face on and made sure we were in the Saddam’s Taxi by 8:40.

Seeing the giant grey wall between you and your destination was a little off-putting. Walking through the steel barred security corridor wasn’t any fun either. Even though we we were waved through by security guards, it still felt like I was entering a prison I might not be able to leave.

As soon as we exited the passageway on the Bethlehem side, we were approached by six or seven Palestinian Taxi drivers, all asking if we wanted a tour of Bethlehem. Even me telling them that I had already booked a tour didn’t dissuade them. They wanted to know which tour and where was I going to meet them and who was the guide.

To see all those guys approaching us was a bit scary for me. The only pictures I had seen of Palestinians were them yelling Death to America while stomping on a burning American flag. What if this were their chance to put that into practice? It is one thing to intellectualize that we are all just people, it’s another thing to have the lizard part of your brain struggle to put you into flight mode.

One older driver, Khalid said he knew the company and the tour operator and would call them him to tell we had arrived. Because of my punctilious, Cindi and I had twenty five minutes to wait with our new Palestinian pals before our tour guide was to show.

Khalid brought us off to the side of the road onto the sidewalk and told us to sit and wait. I’d seen too many bad movies were this is the beginning of the end for the hapless tourists. But we sat on the concrete ridge next to the sidewalk, our backs against the chain link fence. The coffee seller continued to pressure us to have something to drink while we waited. Again, was it just courtesy or were they trying to trick us in some way?

Stupid me, I brought out the camera to take a quick snap of the graffiti on the partition wall in front of us. Khalid saw the Nikon and wanted to know how much did the camera cost. Despite strong misgivings and thoughts of a dead camera-free tourist in the gutter, I told him. My paranoia went up another notch when Khalid wanted to know the price of the lens as well.

It was good and bad, after ten minutes, when Khalid went back to his taxi. Good that he was leaving us alone. Bad, our only contact was leaving us. The other drivers had likewise decided to find other pursuits than talking to the tourists in their midsts. It was a little better but we were still stuck waiting for our guide.


Across from us you could see a Banksy graffiti on the wall: giant scissors cutting along a dotted line in the partition wall as if to make an opening. Most of the lower section was covered by other graffiti but you could still see the scissors and a section of the dotted line.

I found Yamen Elabed on line through Murad tours. I chose him because he was one of the few tours I could find. Plus, the price of $70 per person was fixed no matter how large or small the size of the tour. We were also promised air-conditioned comfort in his Mercedes Limousine.

I was bit disconcerted when he showed up and walked us to what looked like a Ford Festiva. Where was the Limo or the big van that I saw in the ads? Yamen explained this was his Father’s car and his Dad had the Mercedes. He reasoned since there was only two of us on the tour, it didn’t make sense to bring the big car.

The tone for the day was set as Yamen detailed the difficulties of the situation in the West Bank for Palestinians. In particular he told about his wife having to wait for six hours to cross over from Jordan despite traveling on a Canadian passport. The Israelis would have preferred she return to Canada rather than letting her in. The trouble in the West Bank was our main talking point for the rest of the day.

Our first stop, after a quick peak at some inspired graffiti on the partition wall, was amazing if it is true. We stopped at the antiquities shop of the Grandson of Khalil Eskander Shahin or Kando. Kando was the original purchaser of the Dead Sea Scrolls from the Bedouin goatherd who found the scrolls at Qumrun. Kando had kept one of the urns that held the scrolls to display in the store. We got a chance to see it along with a bunch of other antiquities like Widow’s Mites coins and Roman swords all dating from the first century AD. Now, everything I had read said most of the antiquities offered up for sale are fakes so I took the display with a grain of salt. But further research showed the claims might be true.

After that, Yamen dumped us out of the car at the Partition wall and told us he would meet us up around the corner ostensibly to give us a chance to admire all the graffiti. Here’s the thing, in my neighborhood graffiti is a blight that I want to get rid of so the opportunity to admire it wasn’t something I sought. Plus, you are leaving Cindi and I on our own to walk through a potentially dangerous area feet from a symbol of everything wrong with the Palestinian-Israeli relations. That doesn’t sound like a Honeymoon Idyll.

Another problem, most of the famous Graffiti from Banksy and other Artists who have come to leave their designs has been marred by other Graffiti, which only makes sense. If I was a local tagger I would put my mark on famous works to get my tag noticed.

Also on the wall are large posters full of stories from the locals about how the Partition Wall impacts their life. The whole walk was very depressing. Before we walked, Yamen even showed us one house where the upper floors had been blocked off because they were higher than the surrounding wall. The Israeli forces didn’t want Palestinians being able to get over the wall from that house so they were relegated to only using the first floor.

Our walk along the wall ended up surprisingly enough at Yamen’s father’s gift shop. What a tremendous coincidence. His Father’s shop was also right next door to the Banksy shop. The Banksy Shop and the Father’s shop both sell reproductions of Banksy’s famous Partition wall graffiti, many of which are in the process of disappearing from the walls, covered over by other graffiti.

Fun Banksy fact, he didn’t come and do his own graffiti. He merely made the stencils and then sent a team in to do the actual painting. Yamen led the group that did the actually painting on the partition walls. He also showed us his own recreation of the girl with the balloons that he painted on the wall. He offered us a chance to do our own graffiti on the wall. We passed. See notes above about my feelings on graffiti.

It was also interesting to note the area for us to tag had been freshly whitewashed. No doubt the previous group solidarity tags had been painted over so the next group of tourists would have a fresh spot. If we did tag, I felt they wouldn’t be up for long as they were white washed to make way for the next taggers.

Cindi and I drank mint tea prepared by Yamen’s dad, mint procured from a neighboring field. I got a look at the Merecedes Limo, too. Seeing all the dents and dings and bad repair job, I felt fine driving in the Festiva.

Our next tourist stop on our journey through Bethlehem was the Aida Refugee camp. The Aida Camp was a temporary camp built by the UN to house displaced people following the Israeli War for Independence. Most of the residents thought that everything would be straightened out shortly and they would soon be back in their homes. That was over sixty years ago.

Which is why my image of the camp didn’t match the reality. When I think refugee camp, I think acres of tents crowded with humanity. But the reality of the Aida Camp is a poorly constructed town full of narrow alleyways and jury-rigged municipal services. Water pipes are garden hoses run down the sides of buildings. To get the water to flow you turn on an external motor that sits in the alley.

Originally intended to hold 600 refugees, Aida is now home to almost 5000 people in under 4 tenths of a square mile.

While we there, we got to see construction workers adding a third story to one of the small building. I was pretty sure these building weren’t up to earthquake standards. Yamen told us most of the services provided in the camp are done by the residents. Some of the buildings have small shops. We saw one were antique keys from the people’s homes were for sale. There is also a giant keyhole gate with a key atop it that stands as a symbol for the residents dream of one day returning to their original homes.

There are views of the partition wall everywhere in the camp. At one, piles of garbage butt up against the mural covered concrete wall. We passed a charred observation tower that is under constant assault from the Boy’s school’s nearby. Bullet holes in the gate to the school gives testament to how the Israeli army responds to the rock throwing.

I couldn’t leave the camp quickly enough.

After three hours of touring around Bethlehem and hearing about the Palestinians struggle against Israel, we finally made it to Manger Square, across from the Church of the Nativity.
Before Yamen took us to the church, he felt compelled to take us to the local market in the other direction from the church. He reasoned that tour buses never let their tourists cargos come to this section. Along the way, he showed us maps that showed the gradual reduction in Palestinian controlled land. The map showed a predominately green West bank gradually dwindling to a few green isolated squares.

Yamen handed us off to Ambro for the actual tour of the Church of the Nativity. Yamen couldn’t do the tour because he didn’t have the right credentials or something. He would wait for us at our lunch destination which was just off the square. He figured we would only need thirty minutes to get through the church. When I gave him an uncomprehending look he gave us ten more minutes for our tour.

So, Yamen expected us to go through one of the most famous traditional churches in Christendom, the supposed birthplace of God, in just thirty minutes? I don’t think so.

Cindi and I went with Ambro, who was still smoking his cigarette when we were being introduced. Fortunately, he snubbed it out quickly. With Ambro was his friend Vladimir. Why Vladimir was with us I didn’t understand. Later, I was very glad he was with us.

Vladimir was full of knowledge I half heard, being too busy taking pictures. He talked about the half height door we had to duck under to gain entrance to the church.

The Church itself is in full preservation mode. Scaffolding stands all along the nave in order to do work on the wooden ceiling., The limestone columns have been wrapped in plastic to protect them.

Huge panels in the floor sat open to reveal the covered mosaic floor dating from the 4th century when the church was first built. In one opening, you can see the backward Swastika that come from India. Another shows what is possibly the first representation of the Jerusalem Cross.

The altar is a baroque explosion, much loved by the Greek Orthodox Church. Like many churches in the Holy Land, control of the church is under the contentious directions of several religions. In the case of the Church of the Nativity, it’s the Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Armenian Churches who fight for dominance. The altar area has a strong Greek Orthodox feel to it.

Given the chance, Ambro would have told us what every panel over the altar meant. I did process the fact that one picture showed St. Nicholas which makes a lot of sense. Although I didn’t get a good explanation why there was an icon of the illuminati symbol for the all seeing eye at the top in the center of the decorative wall.

One of things I learnt was that in Biblical times, manger didn’t mean wooden structure for horses but probably cave for animal storage. So, the manger where Jesus was born is a cave over which the Church of the Nativity was constructed. It lies underneath the main altar and you can access it from either side.

If you are in large group, you enter from the right. If you are hanging out with Ambro and Vladimir who know the security personal giving access to the manger, you sneak down between large group entrances on the left side. I didn’t realize this until we were standing pretty much alone before the silver star that marks the place in the floor where Jesus was born.

I was snapping away when I noticed Vladimir conferring with the guard. They were holding the next group back so I could photograph unobstructed. Another mystery was why Ambro couldn’t join us underground. But I’ve resolved to take those two guides with me from now on.

Our guides took us next door to the relatively modern church of St. Catherine. We were in a holding pattern while waiting for a group to exit the grotto underneath that Church and hold their services. Vladimir and Ambro arranged with the guard for us to wait. He would let us downstairs during a brief interlude between the mass upstairs and the church closing for the day. Once again thank you guides and your connections.

Underneath the Church of St. Catherine is the cave where St. Jerome spent thirty some years. His big claim to fame was his translation of the bible into Latin known as the Vulgate. He is the patron saint of Encyclopedias. In his little cave still stands the steep narrow staircase he used to access the cave. In the walls, you can see carvings the Crusaders left behind.

Lunch is the time, I believe Yamen lost interest in guiding us and we lost interest in him taking us around Bethlehem. It was like a blind date when you both knew it wasn’t going to work out, but you continued on the date none the less.

Yamen had decided to order for us at his restaurant off manger square to save time. For me, that is a big mistake because I am a very finicky eater. He had mentioned the lamb-beef burgers when Cindi and I had departed with Ambro, but I thought I was going to at least look at the menu before we ordered.

But while we sat there and Yamen had a smoke outside, the food arrived, complete with things I didn’t want on it. So, we got to do the dance about getting the food reordered. Cindi got a strange chicken dish on a bed of onions atop flat bread. It didn’t suit her pallet either.

After lunch we headed to the Milk Grotto. Supposedly drops of the Virgin Mary’s breast milk fell to the floor while she was feeding Jesus causing all the rocks to turn white. People from around the world chip off the white stone and use it for miracle cures. The walls of the office are covered with the letters from people who have experienced the miracle. The chips of the milk are supposed to cure infertility.

While I stopped to take pictures, Cindi and Yamen went ahead. I didn’t see which way they went and got lost trying to find them. When I did find the right grotto, I was underwhelmed by the appearance. The walls didn’t look like natural white stone, merely that they had been whitewashed.

Since we were running out of time on our tour, Yamen gave us three options for the afternoon and we could make two of them. We could go to Mar Saba, Shepherd’s Field or Herodian. I knew we had to go to Mar Saba and the field didn’t sound too interesting so we went to Herodian.

Although we were just going to make a pitstop at Herodian because there wouldn’t be enough time to actually climb it and see Herod’s tomb.

Along the way to Herodian, we talked more about the disconnect between the Palestinians and the Israelis. Yamen pointed out Westbank Settlements that were built illegally inside the 1968 Greenline according to the Oslo accords. You can tell they are Israeli settlements because they don’t have watertanks on their roofs. Israelis get all the water they want while Palestinians have to fill water tanks on their roofs when they get the chance.

He also showed us the square concrete blocks that are the boundary markers that show the line between Israeli and Palestinian controlled zones. Yamen contends the Israeli come in and move the blocks effectively shrinking the Palestinian zones.

We passed roads that only Israelis can use and that bypass the Partition Wall checkpoints. Signs show it is illegal for Israelis to be in some areas. Driving through such contested areas made for a depressing journey.

The trip to Herod’s mountain, Herodian, was short and sweet. Basically, we got out of the car and looked up the mountain. A security guard manning the park yelled at us to move our car. We’ll put on the last of things to go back to see.

Along the way to the monastery at Mar Saba, we stopped for coffee at a road side vendor. Yamen had been threatening to do this the entire day despite our repeated assertions we don’t like coffee. He thought the cardamon they added would make it taste better for our unrefined pallets. It still has coffee in it, right? Then why do you want me to try it?

But I did try it and guess what? It did not convert me.

The entire day remained gloomy as winds blue dust from the Sahara over us to create a grey fog. The gorges around Mar Saba would probably be gorgeous under a bright blue sky, but for us they were just muted brown hills with water from the waste treatment plant running along the bottom.

Mar Saba looked pretty clinging to the cliff edge but we couldn’t get close to it because the monks don’t like visitors, especially if they are female.

A day that had started with great promise viewing millennia old stone jars ended driving back to the partition barrier gate through trash strewn streets.

Now, I’ve been pretty hard on Yamen, but other reviewers of his tours really like him. I’m sure if you had a particular mind set about learning more of the conflict, he would be your guide. But our aim first was to take pictures of interesting things and learn about the Holy Sites in Bethlehem.

I didn’t mind hearing about the conflict from his point of view when we first started, but towards the end I was tired of it and wished we could talk about something else.

Plus, the tour seemed to just be Yamen driving around pursuing his own pleasures. We visited his Dad and got coffee. We had lunch at his restaurant. He talked a lot on the phone setting up other tours. He took smoke breaks guised as points for us to look around. Towards the end he turned on the radio so he could listen to has arab pop songs. And we had another coffee break, so he could get that fix, too. He didn’t seem to focused on what his paying customers would have enjoyed.

In the end, we walked the lengthy barred corridor back through the Partition barrier. Fortunately, it was an easy prison to leave from if you have the right passport. We only had to wait a few minutes to get us a Taxi back to our hotel. Things seemed so much nicer on this side of the wall.

One of the quirks of timing was that Purim and St. Patrick’s day coincided during our tour of Israel. We celebrated Purim the night before so it seemed natural that we should find a pub for St. Patrick’s day. And if you don’t think there would be an Irish Pub in Jerusalem, you are sadly mistaken.

The trek from the YMCA took longer than expected because my map and reality still were in disagreement. We walked up and down the street many times where the pub was supposed to be located but couldn’t find the address number listed for Dublin’s pub. We went in search of another restaurant.

On Ben Yehuda street, one block over from the mysteriously missing Dublin Pub, Purim revelry was still in effect although it was two hours passed sundown when Purim should have ended. People were still in costume and still drunk in the streets performing strange dances.

As we headed for home without finding a nice place to eat, I spotted our destination down a small alley. The place looked closed and the one door was locked. But Irish music blared from a speaker. I figured it must be open somewhere. I asked a guy sitting in a tent near another door. He turned out to be the bouncer and security for Dublin’s. I was searched for weapons and then we were allowed in.

Inside, it looked very pub like right down to the 1980’s cloud of cigarette smoke. If you have guessed my major problem with Israel is smoking, you are correct. What can I say, I’m from California and no one there smokes under pain of death. Even in Ireland they have banned smoking in pubs which I was sure would cause riots.

Although it looked like a pub, it didn’t really have Irish Pub food which was disappointing. Instead they had bad fried American bar food. There were nachos, buffalo wings and chicken crispers. Since it was St. Pats, they had drink specials. If you had a liter of beer and a shot, you could get a free St. Patricks Hat. I don’t drink and Cindi barely gets through a glass of wine nowadays so the light-weights were out of that giveaway.

We called it an early night since we had to get up really early for the Sunrise hike at Masada. We made it back to the Hotel faster than the journey out as the Giant Phallic tower that is the YMCA makes an easy landmark to spot against the Jerusalem skyline.