Despite being in the middle of the Holy Land, I haven’t quite felt the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe it’s the warm weather or the fact the Christianity really ranks third around here, but it just hasn’t happened. My sweet wife however, was determined to make Christmas happen and decided that we should go to Bethlehem, the apex of this holiday, it being the city of the manger and all. I then got excited at what we might find there – pieces of actual straw upon which Jesus was birthed? Preserved fragments of Jesus’ first dirty diaper? The possibilities were endless.
So we planned to go to Bethlehem, but then Huda, our landlady (see earlier posting), told us she was planning on going to visit her cousin in Haifa when she got her permit. We offered to drive her because it would have taken her hours and hours by bus and checkpoints. Yet on the 24th, Huda still hadn’t received her permit, and was told to check back at the end of the day. So we changed our plans back to Bethlehem and planned to chauffeur Huda the following day. In the meantime however, we had one more thing to do...
Our friend Neta had been arrested by the Israeli authorities and was sitting in jail waiting for her hearing. Neta had just been on the ‘Free Gaza’ boat , which sailed from Cyprus to Gaza, to break the siege and bring in humanitarian aid. She spent 3 days in Gaza, and was arrested at the Erez checkpoint back into Israel for entering Gaza as an Israeli. (1) Prior to leaving Neta had told us she was likely to spend a few days in the slammer, so it was not unexpected. Yet it was her third day of being held, and we didn’t have much information on her situation, so we wanted to see whether we could at least visit her. We didn’t know her exact location, but we started driving in the direction of Gaza and through a few phone calls made an educated guess at which police station might have her. We found the courthouse, but by the time we got there we were surprised to hear she had been released. We tracked down her lawyer and found them at a nearby café, debriefing over cheesecake and cappuccino. She told us about her time in Gaza: no electricity, supplies running low and most importantly, how over 200 people have died this past month because they can’t get cancer treatment (no medicine, no power = no chemotherapy). She also told us how they were chaperoned very closely by Hamas, and at a certain point were told it was ‘time to go’. We then swung by the prison where she picked up her belongings, but couldn’t get her cellphone or money because ‘the lady with the key had finished her shift’. Sigh….this would mean she would have to drive back to Ashkelon the next day. We then drove back to Jerusalem where we dropped her off and continued on to Bethlehem.
Getting into Bethlehem was a bit tricky as the checkpoints prohibit Israeli cars from entering into the city. A helpful taxi driver (and helping himself charged us 100 shekels) showed us a way through Beit Jala and took us right to the center where all the excitement was. We walked around but soon realized that we weren’t going to get close to the church, see the mass or any of the services. We didn’t have tickets for the church, which are apparently free, but must be ordered two months in advance. I was hungry so I bought a falafel and we wandered around the sad display of Christmas lights in the square. Everyone was gathered around the stage where there was a woman on stage rocking out to some bad Spanish pop music. Where were the Christmas carols? the mulled wine and gingerbread? Where was the fantastic display of Christmas lights? I suddenly realized I had envisioned ‘Christmas in Bethlehem’ as ‘Christmas in Heidelberg’.
We stood against the fence as those with tickets formed a huge line waiting to get into the Church of the Nativity. The police meanwhile, had pushed everyone even further back, as though we were a hostile crowd of anarchists. “What is going on?”, we asked. “Abu Mazen is coming!”, he answered. (2) Having had enough, we turned to go but were met with, Max from Costa Rica and David, from New York, gay boys equally disappointed and confused by the night’s events. We chatted briefly and decided we would all go have a Christmas drink but suddenly a procession of singing Italians passed us and Max started running off behind them, waving at us to join. He seemed to think we were on to something special and could slip to the group unnoticed. We carried on up the street with the group, but as Max was being swept into the ‘Grotto of the Milk’ (3), the three of us were immediately stopped by the nun/bouncer who wasn’t fooled by anyone (well, except Max). We stood around for awhile, but got cold and tired waiting so pleaded with a very serious looking young priest that our friend was inside and we would like to join him. He asked us our friend’s name and what he looked like and then hurried off. A minute later Max appeared with the priest, unceremoniously escorted out the gate. He pouted a bit that we had ruined his perfect plan but then soon realized he would have been trapped in there for hours of Latin chanting and god-knows-what else. We went and had our Christmas drink with the boys, discussing our experiences and impressions of Israel and Palestine. It was late and we didn’t want to drive back to Ramallah in the dark but we didn’t think we would find an available hotel room. Max and David gave us the number for the Intercontinental ‘Jacir Palace’ and we got a room without any begging or our prepared jokes of ‘no room at the inn’! What luxury: heat and hot water (4).
The next morning we called Huda to see when we should pick her up for our trip to Haifa. A depressed sounding Huda picked up and told us she didn’t get her permit. We felt terrible. We knew how she had been baking for days and looking forward to seeing her cousin. We said we would drop by her house later for tea. Considering we now didn’t have to rush back to Ramallah we decided to stop in Jerusalem, in the old city, to continue our hunt for Christmas but there was none to be found. The Lutheran church was closed and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was business as usual. We walked around in the rain, had our very festive lunch of hummous with pine nuts, and made our way back to Ramallah with a kitschy little wooden Nativity set for Huda. Christmas was not to be found in the Holy Land for us this year, or for Huda. Elle is still trying though; she is in the kitchen right now heating up some red wine with oranges and cinnamon. Merry Christmas!
Footnotes
1. Israelis are not allowed into Palestinian controlled areas and Gaza of course is a huge no-no because of the conflict with Hamas and current siege.
2. Abu Mazen is Mahmoud Abbas, leader of Fatah, controlling the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank.
3. The ‘Grotto of the Milk’ is the spot where Mary stopped to breastfeed baby Jesus on their flight to Egypt. I’m not joking.
4. Our apartment is lacking in a few basic amenities. Heating is accomplished through a system of hot water bottles, electric heaters which look like very large open toasters and propane heaters which smell like they might be leaking. Our hot water is powered with solar (which usually works), or, on cloudy days, an ineffectual boiler.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Mind-blowing Petra
If you are one of those people who has made a list of things you wish to do before you die, add ‘visit Petra’ to that list. I had heard on a few occasions how amazing the rock-cut architecture of the city of Petra was, but I must have subconsciously had scaled down my expectations (just a small self-defense mechanism I carry around with me) because I felt completely overwhelmed by our day in Petra.
We travelled to Jordan via Eilat, a resort town in Israel on very tip of the Red Sea, where there is a border crossing into Aqaba, the equivalent Jordanian resort town. From Aqaba we took a taxi to Wadi Musa, the town servicing Petra, where our hotel was. Our hotel was at first glance quite charming as a complex of one-storey stone buildings with low-slung Bedouin style furniture, tapestries and an incredible view into the valley. Elle quickly made friends with Ahmad, the concierge at the front desk who, despite his insistent sales pitch for Bedouin camping in Wadi Rum, was our new best friend. He quickly organized our appointment at the Turkish bath, made us dinner reservations and set-up a driver for our trip to Petra the next day. (mini Kappy!) Ahmad was also the first, the original Ahmad of the week (1). So after our scrubbing and steaming at the Turkish bath (by Ahmad of the towel and muscles), dinner at the terrible buffet (this was the less charming side to the hotel) we were off to bed to rest up for a full day in Petra.
This rest was a worthwhile investment as we started very early in the morning, having planned only one day to see everything. In retrospect this was a mistake as there was so much to see and we really plowed-through the sites, so as not to miss anything, rather than wander around which would have been much more relaxing. We also misjudged the weather slightly as it was much colder than we thought and found ourselves at the ticket booth freezing in our short pants and light shirts as though it was the middle of July. We ran to the nearest tourist shop and bought two brightly coloured kaffiehs, which the shopkeeper promptly wrapped around our heads. We looked like idiots but we were warm! Then we started walking.
Just a quick bit of background: Petra is known as the capital city of the Nabateans, a group of nomads and traders who settled in Petra perhaps as early as the 6th century BC, flourishing closer to the 2nd century BC and declining during Roman rule. At its cultural peak, the Nabatean kingdom prospered largely due to their strategic location (on trading routes and good defensive position) and their sophisticated control of water developed through a complex system of dams, cisterns and waterways using natural features of the stone.
The entrance is set up beautifully; you start at what is called ‘The Siq’, the shaft, a long winding path through a massive rift in the sandstone rock, gradually narrowing and widening along the way. At the end of the Siq is a glimpse of The Treasury, the impressive introduction to the city, which unfolds beyond. Petra is a real city in that streets, facades and public spaces are organized and designed, but it is not composed of buildings in that the structures themselves have little to do with interior space. Enter them and they are all the same: precisely cut square caves with little light and little spatial complexity. The beauty in these tombs and temples lies in the grandeur of their exteriors but they are essentially false fronts. But beautiful, ornately-carved false fronts. The Treasury, a prime example, emerges in a seemingly confrontational way after your cozy walk between the sandstone. Emerging into this large view, you feel instantly diminished, but almost giddy.
Surprise, discovery, excitement and annoyance with tourists became our major emotions of the day. We climbed up and wandered down mountains, through slim passageways, around hairpin turns and then suddenly discovered yet another elaborately carved tomb, expansive view of the valley or village of caves. After climbing up to a place known as ‘The High Point of Sacrifice” (which included little carved blood gutters) a young Bedouin woman showed us an alternate route down and sold us on a visit up to ‘The Monastery”, the most fantastic carved façade in Petra. It was a bit of a grueling climb by the time we got there, but she was right about the monastery, it was definitely an ‘11’ as we would say, and we hit it right at sunset, the pink stone bathed in magic light.
Yet in our pursuit of this site, this photo, we had neglected to check the time. We hurried down the 800 steps (I think they forgot to add a zero) as the light was fading and we realized we were at the complete opposite end of the site—and it was rapidly getting dark. Where were all those guys who kept pestering us for a donkey ride? We finally found one, but he was tired and preferred to ride the donkey himself. “Good exercise for you I think!” as he trotted off, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We still had to negotiate the Siq, which we were a bit scared to do at this point. Three camels came into view. Our options were dwindling so we decided riding a camel was less scary than walking back through a narrow rock passage without being able to see. After agreeing to pay twice what a camel ride was worth (our bargaining powers having long disappeared), we mounted those camels and set off back through the Siq. Overcoming my initial fear of these large beasts, I began to relax my aching calf muscles and enjoy the ride. The soft padding of the camel feet on the sand, the stars in the sky, there were worse things then a nighttime camel ride out of Petra….
For a more eloquent piece on Petra, see Josh's article at http://www.cbc.ca/arts/artdesign/petra.html
Footnotes
1) pronounced Ach-mad. Ahmad the concierge, Ahmad of the Turkish Bath, then in Egypt: Ahmad the masseuse, Ahmad who sold us the massage, Ahmad the waiter, and finally, Ahmad the doctor.
We travelled to Jordan via Eilat, a resort town in Israel on very tip of the Red Sea, where there is a border crossing into Aqaba, the equivalent Jordanian resort town. From Aqaba we took a taxi to Wadi Musa, the town servicing Petra, where our hotel was. Our hotel was at first glance quite charming as a complex of one-storey stone buildings with low-slung Bedouin style furniture, tapestries and an incredible view into the valley. Elle quickly made friends with Ahmad, the concierge at the front desk who, despite his insistent sales pitch for Bedouin camping in Wadi Rum, was our new best friend. He quickly organized our appointment at the Turkish bath, made us dinner reservations and set-up a driver for our trip to Petra the next day. (mini Kappy!) Ahmad was also the first, the original Ahmad of the week (1). So after our scrubbing and steaming at the Turkish bath (by Ahmad of the towel and muscles), dinner at the terrible buffet (this was the less charming side to the hotel) we were off to bed to rest up for a full day in Petra.
This rest was a worthwhile investment as we started very early in the morning, having planned only one day to see everything. In retrospect this was a mistake as there was so much to see and we really plowed-through the sites, so as not to miss anything, rather than wander around which would have been much more relaxing. We also misjudged the weather slightly as it was much colder than we thought and found ourselves at the ticket booth freezing in our short pants and light shirts as though it was the middle of July. We ran to the nearest tourist shop and bought two brightly coloured kaffiehs, which the shopkeeper promptly wrapped around our heads. We looked like idiots but we were warm! Then we started walking.
Just a quick bit of background: Petra is known as the capital city of the Nabateans, a group of nomads and traders who settled in Petra perhaps as early as the 6th century BC, flourishing closer to the 2nd century BC and declining during Roman rule. At its cultural peak, the Nabatean kingdom prospered largely due to their strategic location (on trading routes and good defensive position) and their sophisticated control of water developed through a complex system of dams, cisterns and waterways using natural features of the stone.
The entrance is set up beautifully; you start at what is called ‘The Siq’, the shaft, a long winding path through a massive rift in the sandstone rock, gradually narrowing and widening along the way. At the end of the Siq is a glimpse of The Treasury, the impressive introduction to the city, which unfolds beyond. Petra is a real city in that streets, facades and public spaces are organized and designed, but it is not composed of buildings in that the structures themselves have little to do with interior space. Enter them and they are all the same: precisely cut square caves with little light and little spatial complexity. The beauty in these tombs and temples lies in the grandeur of their exteriors but they are essentially false fronts. But beautiful, ornately-carved false fronts. The Treasury, a prime example, emerges in a seemingly confrontational way after your cozy walk between the sandstone. Emerging into this large view, you feel instantly diminished, but almost giddy.
Surprise, discovery, excitement and annoyance with tourists became our major emotions of the day. We climbed up and wandered down mountains, through slim passageways, around hairpin turns and then suddenly discovered yet another elaborately carved tomb, expansive view of the valley or village of caves. After climbing up to a place known as ‘The High Point of Sacrifice” (which included little carved blood gutters) a young Bedouin woman showed us an alternate route down and sold us on a visit up to ‘The Monastery”, the most fantastic carved façade in Petra. It was a bit of a grueling climb by the time we got there, but she was right about the monastery, it was definitely an ‘11’ as we would say, and we hit it right at sunset, the pink stone bathed in magic light.
Yet in our pursuit of this site, this photo, we had neglected to check the time. We hurried down the 800 steps (I think they forgot to add a zero) as the light was fading and we realized we were at the complete opposite end of the site—and it was rapidly getting dark. Where were all those guys who kept pestering us for a donkey ride? We finally found one, but he was tired and preferred to ride the donkey himself. “Good exercise for you I think!” as he trotted off, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We still had to negotiate the Siq, which we were a bit scared to do at this point. Three camels came into view. Our options were dwindling so we decided riding a camel was less scary than walking back through a narrow rock passage without being able to see. After agreeing to pay twice what a camel ride was worth (our bargaining powers having long disappeared), we mounted those camels and set off back through the Siq. Overcoming my initial fear of these large beasts, I began to relax my aching calf muscles and enjoy the ride. The soft padding of the camel feet on the sand, the stars in the sky, there were worse things then a nighttime camel ride out of Petra….
For a more eloquent piece on Petra, see Josh's article at http://www.cbc.ca/arts/artdesign/petra.html
Footnotes
1) pronounced Ach-mad. Ahmad the concierge, Ahmad of the Turkish Bath, then in Egypt: Ahmad the masseuse, Ahmad who sold us the massage, Ahmad the waiter, and finally, Ahmad the doctor.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Feasting in Ramallah
We are leaving for Jordan and Egypt tomorrow, a necessary trip to renew our Israeli visas that expire at the end of December. First Jordan, to see amazing Petra, then Dahab in Sinai for scubadiving. We are driving down through Eilat, where Israel, Egypt and Jordan all converge on the top of the Red Sea. Our friends Reem and Ziad were planning a similar trip to Sharm El-Sheikh in Sinai at this time as well but alas, no permit was granted to Ziad. Refused not by the Israelis, but the Egyptians this time. With the situation in Gaza, haram(1), the Egyptians have decided that for the moment, no Palestinian male under 40 gets a visa (2).
Right now it is Eid Ul Adha (festival of sacrifice – goat being the favourite), the second major Muslim festival of the year, which lasts about a week. The streets have been insane these past few days, with everyone buying their food for the holidays. The market is never quiet, but this time, the pushing, shouting and shoving was beyond what my ‘special place’ was capable of. I saw a beautiful pyramid of the icing-sugar-dusted date and semolina cookies, which I love, but not enough to fight my way over to them. Besides, we would have had to buy a kilo of them, which would have been way too many cookies. You can’t just buy a few oranges or bananas either, everything is minimum one kilo. We once asked for 2 pomegranates and got 2 kilos. It’s a love/hate relationship we have with the market, I dread going because I am more attached to my personal space than I ever thought, but once we get there we enjoy our little exchanges with the grumpy greens guy, the performative baker and young avocado guy (aka ‘my boyfriend’).
We walked around the downtown after the market, watching everyone out in the streets buying candy and balloons for their kids. I understand now what some said to us about Ramallah not being the ‘real Palestine’. Hebron, Jenin and Nablus are areas in conflict over settlements in the West Bank whereas Ramallah is peaceful and does not have a visible Israeli presence, at least right now. The elections are approaching and it is only when you start understanding some of the details of the political situation, that you realize how fragile this ‘peace’ is here, and how quickly things can turn. How the infighting between Hamas and Fatah are destroying any chance of a unified Palestine, how Fatah is being accused of collaborating with Israel and allowing the siege of Gaza to continue in order to weaken Hamas. How Hamas is legitimately in power in Ramallah (but most members are imprisoned) and Fatah has overextended their ‘emergency’ rule. How all the banks just closed in Gaza because the money is gone. These things seem far away from Ramallah, from the yoga studios and cafes, where new traffic lights and garbage cans are being installed daily. Gaza is now a prison of over a million people, shut tighter than a nun’s… well, you know. Nobody is getting in or out, not journalists, not food or medical supply. Gaza is probably a 2-hour drive from Ramallah, and for the moment, it makes all the difference.
Footnotes
1) We have picked up this Arabic expression from Huda: ‘haram’ meaning ‘to have pity’ and is often tagged onto the end of something sad
2) Anticipating the rush of young Palestinian males over the border from Gaza if they were to open it.
Right now it is Eid Ul Adha (festival of sacrifice – goat being the favourite), the second major Muslim festival of the year, which lasts about a week. The streets have been insane these past few days, with everyone buying their food for the holidays. The market is never quiet, but this time, the pushing, shouting and shoving was beyond what my ‘special place’ was capable of. I saw a beautiful pyramid of the icing-sugar-dusted date and semolina cookies, which I love, but not enough to fight my way over to them. Besides, we would have had to buy a kilo of them, which would have been way too many cookies. You can’t just buy a few oranges or bananas either, everything is minimum one kilo. We once asked for 2 pomegranates and got 2 kilos. It’s a love/hate relationship we have with the market, I dread going because I am more attached to my personal space than I ever thought, but once we get there we enjoy our little exchanges with the grumpy greens guy, the performative baker and young avocado guy (aka ‘my boyfriend’).
We walked around the downtown after the market, watching everyone out in the streets buying candy and balloons for their kids. I understand now what some said to us about Ramallah not being the ‘real Palestine’. Hebron, Jenin and Nablus are areas in conflict over settlements in the West Bank whereas Ramallah is peaceful and does not have a visible Israeli presence, at least right now. The elections are approaching and it is only when you start understanding some of the details of the political situation, that you realize how fragile this ‘peace’ is here, and how quickly things can turn. How the infighting between Hamas and Fatah are destroying any chance of a unified Palestine, how Fatah is being accused of collaborating with Israel and allowing the siege of Gaza to continue in order to weaken Hamas. How Hamas is legitimately in power in Ramallah (but most members are imprisoned) and Fatah has overextended their ‘emergency’ rule. How all the banks just closed in Gaza because the money is gone. These things seem far away from Ramallah, from the yoga studios and cafes, where new traffic lights and garbage cans are being installed daily. Gaza is now a prison of over a million people, shut tighter than a nun’s… well, you know. Nobody is getting in or out, not journalists, not food or medical supply. Gaza is probably a 2-hour drive from Ramallah, and for the moment, it makes all the difference.
Footnotes
1) We have picked up this Arabic expression from Huda: ‘haram’ meaning ‘to have pity’ and is often tagged onto the end of something sad
2) Anticipating the rush of young Palestinian males over the border from Gaza if they were to open it.
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