Older/excelsis

It's my birthday, and I've just come back from a birthday dinner with my roommates.


My roommates, you say? Well, there has always been me and there has always been Simmon (still pronounced "Simon"), and you know that Valeria is now here, but now there are also Seoren and Julia, who study peace and conflict at U of T. Julia is a good cook, does all our fretting about safety for us, and wants to be a Jewish grandma when she grows up. Seoren is an Iranian who speaks more languages than he can count on one hand (including Korean) and was questioned for nine hours on the way in. We've had several "family" dinners together and we're getting along nicely! We've also become the unofficial hosts of hungry guests on our floor.

Left to right: Seoren, Valeria, me, Simmon, Julia, guests.

So, what's been happening lately. Let me remember... Biblical Hebrew has been going well. We've covered about two thirds of the grammar, apparently. But not too much to report. Although I'm now mostly capable of translating Hebrew names from the Bible.


Speaking of which, on Wednesday night while doing my nightly Bible reading I suddenly had the urge to see something in the Holy Land. I settled on בית לחם -- bet lehhem, "house of bread" -- because I was reading about David and this is his city. On Thursday during my breaks from class I did the research on how to get there, and when class was over I hopped on a bus and went. (Now that I think about it, that's actually an oversimplification of how I got lost in the city for half an hour, bumped into the Old City, and then hopped on a bus and went.)

Bumped into.

Bethlehem is in Palestinian territory. The border control was not too bad; as a Canadian, I just had my passport inspected and I was let through. Some others were taken off the bus for questioning at the checkpoint.

Hills and valleys on the road to Bethlehem.

Once there, a taxi driver got on the bus and told me I should take his taxi to the three holy sites: the Church of the Nativity, the Milk Grotto (apparently Mary lactated on its walls?), and some Banksy graffiti. He pointed to them on the map and wanted 25 shekels.

"It's here?" I said. "And if I walk in this direction, that's this way on the map?" He nodded, and I started walking.

But he ran after me. "Twenty-five shekels!" he cried.

I quoted a tourist site I had read: "Ha! I can get anywhere in this city for under twenty."

"Okay, twenty," he said. My first successful haggling! (Worth almost nothing, but oh well.)

He kept trying to convince me to go to various places, but I was only interested in the Church of the Nativity. However, when he mentioned the Herodion -- a mountain Herod the Great had made in order to build a castle in it -- I agreed to a round trip to there, then the church, then back to the bus. The Herodion was a little disappointing because we arrived ten minutes after the actual castle part closed, but I did get a nice view of the True Desert.

The True Desert™.

We went on to the church, and on the way he pointed out Israeli settlements on the hills and commented on the occupation, very civilly. At the church he let me out and said he would wait while I explored it. So I explored it.


I was talking with Julia last night about how Israel has, in some ways, let down our expectations. That wasn't hard, we admitted, since we both had the vague, half-conscious notion that the whole place would be like it was in Biblical times. But even on the reasonable level, seeing the things that are still here even in modern times, there's a certain mediocrity. Maybe it has more to do with my scepticism of the claims that we know the exact square foot where Mary gave birth to Jesus, or where Jesus fell the second time on the Via Dolorosa. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that it was a magnificent church, but it didn't feel like one of the holiest spots on Earth.

Maybe the Franciscan coffee shop attached to the basilica affected that perception.


When I was finished, the driver spontaneously asked me if I wanted to try Palestinian food. About this too I was sceptical, but at his insistence that the restaurant was close by I decided to try it. Over chicken and rice (not that great) we talked about our families, our professions, and our languages. I also tried Palestinian beer, which I'm told is significantly better than Israeli beer.

We passed by a large crowd gathered around a group of dancers as we left. A poster on a building declared, "Return is our right and our destiny." I realized I don't know anything about the situation.

Then the driver offered the chance to try Palestinian sweets on the way back, and I shrugged and accepted. At a little dessert shop to which I plan to return when I can, we got some knaffa, which is something between custard, cheese, and baklava, made hot and melting. It was the most delicious thing I've had in this whole country. And he paid this time. I thought maybe he felt bad about having failed to get me to the Herodion on time.


Finally he drove me back to the bus stop in time for the last bus back to Jerusalem, which I took. I was really glad I had decided to take the trip on a whim, because it had turned out to be pretty cool and not nearly as frightening as I would usually find such a thing... I arrived back at the Old City bus stop and headed back in the cool, cool night.


Lyera called me while I was walking back and said she wanted to speak to me that same night. But when I got back she had fallen asleep; and when I woke her, she remembered nothing of this. So I went to sleep.

Walking back home from the Damascus Gate of the Old City via the Wadi Al-Joz.

Okay, a break from the history for some light, refreshing randomness:


There may be cats in America, but I've yet to see a squirrel in Jerusalem.


Cheerios here are not General Mills but Nestle. They have a different recipe, too.


Julia compared our dorms to sandcastles; this is the best description I've heard yet.


While I was in the computer room uploading the photos for my last post, a girl was loudly and incessantly talking on the phone. I can still hear her declaring: "She dated a dirtbag and they smoked meth! meth! meth!", getting a reply, and repeating, "But she smoked meth! meth! meth!"


Now where were we?

Back on the Wadi Al-Joz.

We went to the Old City the next afternoon, that is, the roommates minus Julia (who was on a tour to the Dead Sea offered by the university) and Lyera (who had been there the day before as part of her course, and with whom I spent the morning discussing the trip). Seoren and I were more interested in seeing Christian and Armenian things for this trip, whereas Simmon and a friend preferred to go about randomly, so we split up.

Once again I'll take Julia's simile for the experience: "Disneyland". It looks old and austere from the outside...

But on the inside:

But anyway, rather than harp further on the lack of solemnity in this place, here are some photos.

What is this I don't even

Just off the Via Dolorosa, this kid came by carrying his bike. I associated him with Christ and the cross.

At one of the places around here they turned us away because we weren't Greek Orthodox. :(

These flowertrees are everywhere, and this in the Old City is one of the best examples. Valeria loves them.

The door to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, on the (supposed) spot where Jesus was buried.

A script I can't read, although it does look half Greek.

Byzantine Blue.

Part of the original foundations.

Seoren identified a lot of the script in this room as Armenian, but could say no more.

More foundation.

The awesome domed ceiling.

Angels outside the tomb itself. An attendant kept ringing a little bell and saying, "Finish! Finish!"

This little energy-efficient bulb is attached to a massive chandelier.

The tomb structure itself from the outside.

Candles inside the tomb structure (I think).

Supposedly the slab on which Jesus lay while being prepared for burial. Many people were touching it earlier.

Outside the church now. "You pay for shipping, I give to you free."

Seoren eyes some tomatoes. The mangoes I got at a similar stall were disappointing... 
 

Walking out of the Old City again, after a meal that everyone but me thought was great.

So that was that! As we were leaving the Old City, they were beginning to broadcast the Islamic prayers that signal their Shabbat. We thought it might have been why it was so quiet and the city was beginning to be deserted.


Oh, also, I had my second haggling success that afternoon. We passed a guy selling interesting daggers, and since I like collecting those things I stopped to look.


"You want?" he said. "A hundred and twenty shekels."


I picked it up in its little cardboard box, with pictures of Swiss mountains on it, and took a stab in the dark: "I wouldn't pay more than forty for that," I said.


It seemed to work. But "How much more than forty you have?" he tried.


"Sorry, but not more than forty. Look at the box. We can clearly get this anywhere."


"But how much more than forty you have?" he persisted. Seoren started to tell him that we had only brought forty, but I was having doubts that I wanted this particular dagger, so I declined and started to walk away.


He came running after us. "Okay, guys, guys, you buy for forty or not?" he said. Pleased that I had haggled him down by two thirds of the price, I accepted. (Later on I realized that if it had really been that good a deal for us, he wouldn't have come running after us to sell it; he would've just sold it to the next guy for more. Oh well. Next time I'll be more ambitious in my initial guess -- forty was completely at random.)


Lyera called me when we were almost done there and invited me to join her on an Abraham Hostel tour for Saturday, to see the West Bank. I didn't want to spend the money, but since she was going anyway, I decided to go and have a nice time with her.


So the next morning we set out on yet another excursion. The tour began kind of oddly, in that they didn't take our names or check that we were actually signed up before herding us onto the bus! But soon enough we were in Bethlehem, where the tour began, and looking at the Separation Wall.

It has a lot of graffiti on it. A lot of it is overtly Christian.

Then we visited the Church of the Nativity. As it was my second time there, I won't put up more pictures of it. But here are some pictures of someone taking pictures of it.

Afterwards, we went to the nearby Shepherds' Fields (of which there are two -- one Catholic and one Orthodox) and visited some caves and stuff.

While I was taking this, our tour guide was telling us how many Facebook friends he has.

Finally we went to lunch, which was part of the fee. Lyera had stuffed zucchini, and I had shawarma. We discussed our thoughts on the tour, and so far we both thought it was a little too surface-skimming, although she appreciated all the information more than I did.


While we were eating I reflected on my two trips to Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, and wrote a poem.


...


Bethlehem; or, Arab Christians


I am more than a man and less;
I have crossed the Earth to Bethlehem,
omitting Nazareth.


Those hills that grow like goosebumps 
and are wrapped in long white scarves
along which ascend the trucks.


Those valleys of shawarma seen
from the Shepherds’ Fields epitome
by the Holy Land Dry Clean.


I drank the beer of Palestine,
while the aquiline Muslim who served me
watched and took pride.


Those checkpoints on the border road,
the man with a machine gun
telling this or that one no.


Pilgrim in the Holy Land
I saw the place the Son of God was born
but was more amazed to understand
that I shared a room with some sons of God
living and at hand.


...


(The poem doesn't mention the many toothless old men trying to sell you jewellery the moment you get off the bus. Also, I debated a long time over whether "that grow like goosebumps" or "like blankets over folded blankets" was better.)


The bus then set off for Jericho. The tour guide made a few fairly good jokes about Palestinian customs. (For example, if you put a seatbelt on, you're insulting your driver. I could believe it!) We had what he called a siesta while civilization turned into the same desert I had seen earlier, with great mountains of rock rising out of the sand, and a harrowing drive down a narrow, windy road.

This guy was selling coffee to drivers from a little stand on the highway.

In Jericho itself we only saw one thing in what is supposed to be the oldest city on Earth. Can you guess what this is?

If you guessed "just a tree", try again. It's the tree Zacchaeus climbed to see Jesus from! (According to the Catholics. The Orthodox picked out another tree and built a roof over it.) Unlike the sites that are at least magnificent buildings, if it happens to not be the historical/holy site, then it's just a tree.

But now it's a tree with Valeria in front of it!

While I was taking that picture, a jewellery-seller came up and said, "She loves you, I can tell!" Another jewellery-seller approached a girl with the words, "I have so much love for you, darling!" And that reminds me again: on several of the longer bus rides I've taken, children have walked up and down the aisle selling people candy and drinks.

After this, we went to Hisham's Palace, which is an early Ottoman palace from 700 AD or so that was destroyed by an earthquake about twenty years after it was built.

A toe and a scarab, at Valeria's request (she likes bugs).

The palace summary. Notice the broken pieces of a single design.

A star painstakingly put together by the archaeologists.

I don't know what she's photographing, but it must be amazing!

Huge pillars whose survival of the earthquake impressed me.

A mosaic called the "Tree of Life" that survived intact. On one side herbivores, on the other a carnivore.

When I saw these shadows in the courtyard I thought, "Who dropped little black things all over the ground?"

It was incredibly hot at the palace -- about forty degrees. My neck got  a deep tan, but I was miraculously saved from burning. Valeria had a hat.

After the heat we went to Taybeh Brewery, apparently the only Palestinian home-brewed beer. It was odd that it was included in the trip, since it was a pretty small place and the tour was one room. Maybe the owners know the tour guide. We got some beer to sample, and as it was pretty good Valeria and I bought some to share with our roommates.

Finally we headed over to Ramallah. Although (according to our tour guide) East Jerusalem should be the capital of Palestine, Ramallah is its de facto capital. All the good jobs are here, and people flaunt their salaries. Nevertheless, there wasn't that much to see.

I do like donkeys, though.

It was more or less the end of our tour, so the tour guide walked us to the bus stop back.

I don't know the purpose of these pegs.

Any city with this in its backyard is lucky.

A nice-looking cafe. The one we ate at on entering Ramallah was an American wannabe.

They have lumps here too -- red lumps!

Some leonine statues in the central square.

A large group of people were gathering just as we were leaving.

On the way out, I wrote another poem.

...

Ramallah

O Ramallah, weep for your lost nightlife!
You who yearn to be American,
the capital chosen out of necessity,
where are your people fleeing? why?
Not to East Jerusalem, not to die.

O Ramallah, remain in Palestine;
 do not disperse across the seas.
Your people need you and your MTV,
 your Stars and Bucks, your alleyways,
your Lions’ Square, your Peace Café.

O Ramallah, to be hungry, to be happy, to be old.
What is bitter now will later be sweet,
 and what is sweet now will be bitter.
But to make any bitter water sweet
 drink it in insufferable heat.

Credit: Simmon.

...

The border control on the way back was significantly harder. They made us get off the bus, walk to a checkpoint, go through a kind of cage with armed guards nearby, put our stuff through a metal detector, and show our passports and entry visas.

But the evening view of the return to the city was beautiful, as always.

The bus stop on the other side of the security was a welcome sight.

Elegant barbed wire.

And that was pretty much the day. We decided that it was not so great a tour. Valeria found the pace a bit too pressing, I think, and noticed that we missed a couple of stops they promised we'd visit in the tour description! So much for money's worth! Meanwhile, what with all the guiding and the itinerary, I've never felt more like a tourist here. All the same, it was a great day spent with each other.

Since then I've returned to class and even after that short break it felt surreal. Here's a few more random notes and anecdotes:

Valeria went to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum, with her class tour, and we plan to go together soon.


We almost got locked in a tomb; the groundskeeper was locking the gate for the night, but we shouted and got his attention and he let us out. Thank goodness!

I saw a cat when I was getting a schnitzel wrap the other day and I felt like feeding it, but when it kept begging I became stingy. Then I felt guilty, thinking, "What if it were Butterscotch? Would I not feed it then? 'Whatever you do for the least of my brothers'..." and then I realized that the cat might not even be just Butterscotch's spiritual brother, but that all animals might be Christ's brothers too. After all, they -- particularly the stray cats of Jerusalem -- are certainly among the "least". So I gave it a little piece of schnitzel.

I have a note here, "dry spaghetti", which refers to a simile Lyera made but that I can't remember. It was very appropriate and funny, though.

Another note says "story of how Simmon got his laundry basket". His friend went to all the dorms where people were leaving and got stuff they didn't want to take on their flight.

Jerusalem is full of fake walls, with fake stone facades.

Eating watermelon on the roof was divine.

The rare Pink Lump.

There's a constant haze that blurs the difference between land and sky. (Notice the helipad too.)

It's taken a surprisingly large amount of tape to restrain the springs of this light switch cover.

Today after class, my roommates took me out for my birthday.

We went to the Old City, which has some good eats here and there. They had arranged beforehand with an experienced cook running a humble but excellent restaurant to have tilapia prepared for us after most of the Old City closes down, so it's nice and peaceful.

I had heard about this plan beforehand, and although I dislike seafood, I was touched by the generosity of these people I had only so recently met, and so I went and it was good.

Afterwards we walked through the calm of the Old City and passed many interesting sights, including cars driving down the narrow streets, a band of children parading under the arches, and a couple of people who called out, "Welcome, Chinese!" as Simmon passed by. The sight of East Asians is very unique in this country, and it's only natural, said Simmon, for people to act like that.

We got some more knaffa on the way out at a sweets shop that was open late. I was thrilled that at least some of my companions enjoyed it. We went back by the light rail, and the ticket machine was broken so we couldn't buy our tickets in time, but the driver let us on anyway. (By the way, Simmon points out that Jerusalem has both bike lanes and light rail -- get with the times, Toronto!)

When we were back we opened a wine bottle but none of us felt like drinking, so we talked and variously went to bed and now I'm writing this. And Valeria got me a shirt, which was very sweet of her. Maybe there'll be a picture of it next time.

I also wrote a birthday/Jerusalem poem. But it's a little on the sad side; I was thinking that I have to not get too attached to Israel, because I have to say goodbye so soon.

...

Boy Carrying Bike Upstairs


I was thinking yesterday morning, it’s already

seventy years since the Holocaust.

And then I realized that when I was born

it was only fifty years ago

which meant I was twenty now

so I guess a year’s not so long after all.

I expected so much of Jerusalem

that I’m already thinking how sad it will be

when I’m back on the Mountainview

that has no mountain view,

realizing my life hasn’t changed at all

and the knowledge that this right now

will be over and hard to remember

one soon day so faint and imaginary.

It will be like I’ve killed someone

It’s so hard turning twenty-one

in Jerusalem; it’s so hard to let go

of a memory I’m not finished living

but I have to let go; I know

a month is so short.

I’m going the way of all the Earth:

the via dolorosa

whose stations are our birthdays

but you walk it only once.

...

I guess that's all for now. P.S. I'm pleased that it's still my birthday in Canada.

Finally, have a pigeon sitting outside a window, watching you.