Saturday 16th December
My last full day, I trust, in Israel. Check in time is 11.55p.m., 3 hours before take off again, but despite trying all three numbers of Issta in Tel Aviv yesterday evening many times there was no answer. Hence not a confirmed booking … fingers crossed.
Out at 5.45a.m.. Secure a pack of Rothmans Lights (better than Dunhill Lights, milder) and a good coffee opposite Damascus Gate. Streets are very quiet indeed – Jewish Sabbath but another holy day for Moslems it transpires later.
At the Arab bus station directly underneath Golgotha seek out a No.36 to Bethany. Too early it seems, so I walk. Down past Garden of Gethsemane, uphill round the Mount of Olives, graves to the left graves to the right, gently descending as the road twists and turns. Schoolchildren in danger as there is little pavement.
Eventually after some 4 miles a Greek (?) church on the right beckons. Try door, closed. Walk around their olive grove & take photo or view back towards Jerusalem. The dry desert hills of Judea lie to the north east. Back up to church gates – knock twice, answered by old lady gardener who gestures it is not open.
These Greeks only open their churches to ‘tourists’ one day a year in April. Closed shop Christianity.
Head back & soon discover what I’d inadvertently missed on the descent. Lazarus’ tomb & attached Pope John Paul V1’s Franciscan Church. Up the hill to back of church, rubbish strewn everywhere. A couple of tourist trade stalls but opposite church entrance is site I had hoped to see. Declaring itself to be the ‘oldest house in Bethany’, it is the little home of Mary, Martha and their brother Lazarus now neatly kept by Mr Rabah Elyan who seats me down, proffers a weak Turkish coffee from his thermos, a second cup of instant after the house tour. A well, out of service now, dominates the ground floor, upstairs in a round room, seating with hubbly bubbly pipes & carpets for decoration, he holds services for Moslems & Christians. Terrible sob story about how hard his life is, 170 shekels in debt to the electricity company, mother dying of a heart problem (?) “2 aspirin”, I advise, Moslems trying to buy the house & turn it into a gift shop, roof leaking, put in prison by the Israelis, no money for school fees etc etc..
Begins to grate after 10 minutes or so. How much to believe ? Offer to help as best I can – it would indeed be a crying shame if this important site, the home of Jesus’ best friends & scene of the raising of Lazarus from the dead, were to disintegrate.
In need of peace I go down into the airy, pleasantly glass domed with doves, well furbished church after taking photo inside. His friends’ dining area. Cigarette in the garden out front pondering all the while my course of action.
The man seemed genuine, had given me a cigarette, a glass of coffee (returned) – I handed him 50 shekels (half of my remaining shekels near enough) – “for your mother”, I say. Pray to Allah for her. Back towards Jerusalem, some way up the hill I discover my remaining Dunhills and lighter are missing. Had I left them in the garden ? Is it worth returning ? A niggling doubt remains but I strongly suspect this man has a little pick-pocketing habit. My jacket pocket is an easy target.
Forgiveness is offered if my thought is right but to steal, however meagre the item is wrong, & a lesson must be learnt.
God sees all.
Further up the hill a flurry of sparrows draws my attention to a house. Chickens are penned in the nearby shop and merit a photo. Trudge back to the Old City and enter at Lion Gate.
10.30a.m. now, have to vacate my room by 12 noon.
Get cross with Moslems at the cemetery gate, how dare they charge 5 shekels to enter if one ain’t a Moslem ? Get cross again as access denied to Golden Dome of the Temple precinct (yet again. I had tried before setting off to Bethany). Gates closed everywhere, one ‘tourist gate’ exists somewhere but I’m not sure I’ve found it yet … it seemed easier 4 years ago.
Small lecture ensues on how Moslems are welcome in Christian churches, are we not equal ? The whole square kilometre was closed off all yesterday for Islam + much of today I learnt from some Dutchmen. Yet this site is special for Jews & Christians too, why not let us roam your square at will – ok we’ll give you your personal time in your mosques but please let us in at those gates. We mean no harm.
They have much to learn.
Discover new streets, alleys and tunnels in this maze of a city. Pleasant time in the Ethiopian monastery, tiny cells for the monks & a good man to show me round. Photo.
Greek sector very much doom & gloom (likewise the Armenian quarter walked through yesterday) but enlivened near Jaffa Gate by throngs of happy children.
After an Arab honey roll on up to Christ Church once more for a make-it-yourself 2 shekel coffee & friendly souls. No sign of Kevin or any note for me. Walk back to hotel who say kindly, don’t rush, room’s ok till 3p.m.. Half hour rest then neatly pack up all my belongings and gifts.
Several hours to dispose of before it’s time to leave. Garden Tomb not open till 2.30p.m. so enter Damascus Gate once more. This time it’s thronged with \Saturday afternoon Arab shoppers & a struggle to walk with thousands of people + cars too large for these widthless streets.
Jewish quarter still dead quiet. More rounding and abouting – revisit shop to but 2nd aerial view map of Jerusalem OC then revisit marble box shop to explain to the owner & his VIP friend that the acre of Garden Tomb garden is forever freehold British, protected by an Ottoman ‘Furman’ … solid Islamic Law & not on a lease as he had inferred. Part on good company. Tourist Information Office closed ! … all day Saturday. Not very helpful, eh ?
Shop in Christ Church shop by their gate, one more map to frame & a lovely little book on new visions of Jesus. 10 shekels the two.
One more cup of coffee, enjoyed in warm sunshine outside. Into & around the church. Pray in sunshine corner at left of altar rail, past the piano & outside again. Meet Kevin who has yet to have any news but I leave my address.
Down the steps & ramps again, out at Damascus once more & to just about my favourite place here, the Garden Tomb. Long chat with the lady keeper of the gate as many Romanians enter (they are used by the Israelis as the British used the Irish … nigh slave labour), some Russians, some Australians. Long chat just outside with German Jewish émigré to Kenya who knew my mate Chris Nevill … holocaust memories of Einstein, gold even amongst the Germans … Schindler and many others who suffered for their humanity.
Long time spent in the tasteful gardens … move this way and that. Photo of Skull/Golgotha hill – to Large & Small Chapels. Good guardians here. Quick visit inside tomb, no sonic booms this time as I exit His temporary sepulchre (as there had been on my last visit).
Cocoa the cat moves out & in – back inside to the warmth of the shop. Say my adieus.
Venture back to Ben Yehuda zone … the miles I clock up on foot … only cafés are open. Locate the Menora candlestick (old) that I had my eyes on. 420 shekels less 20 % vat & so on. Tant pis, the jewellers is closed all day Saturday.
Decide not to wait till 6p.m. when things may open & it’s back to St. George’s after a talk with Abraham at the Bazaar shop. Quick tour of the Cathedral (closing up time !) & the Guest House (ground floor rooms look very nice).
Back to Meridian Hotel to book a taxi to Ben Gurion as there are no city buses today. It’s going to come at 9.45p.m.. Back to the deli this time for cherry yoghurt, tub of not quite so good aubergine pâté & 2 pittas. 5 shekels only.
Eat my supper in a quiet corner of the American Colony garden with a cat for company. Marcellams & inch’allah to the hotel shopkeeper.
2 good coffees & a few more cigarettes in the Meridian lobby awaiting my 30 shekel ride to the airport.
Ford Transit van arrives, converted for seating. Dump kit in back & leap in. We pick up 2 further passengers in poorer Jewish quarter – one young guy going back to U.S.A. with enormous suitcase after just 2 weeks stay. Second pick up (hard to find) is very large lady who has ¼ of a ton of luggage which is rammed into any space available squashing everyone else’s stuff. She herself squashes next to me on back pew, coughing & sneezing all the way past Ladrun to the airport.
Check in area is busy busy so I sojourn outside – large lady with large luggage is bemused, wants El Al. I help load her bags onto a trolley & off she toddles.
Time to kill is spent part outside, rain now, part in emptier arrivals hall where hippy is taking inordinate length of time to read each page of a Carlos Castenada book. Maybe he has swallowed his remaining stash of ‘Red Leb’ … it certainly looks that way.
11.30p.m., off to check in my Argos. Queue some time for the security check before check in. Here we go again. 4 years ago each item of my belongings had been minutely examined, the most intensive search I had ever encountered in all my world travel which I hazard a guess is amongst the widest.
The same questions, the same training for these girls. Where have you arrived from ? Where did you go in Israel ? When did you book your ticket ? The list goes on and on … receipts are checked … more questions. Has anyone given you anything ? Have you at any time left your luggage anywhere ? This last question proves my undoing temporarily. Shock horror, I mention the word Arab ! Yes, I left my bags in the hotel during the afternoon in the security/customer service room by reception. First lady hands me over to second more trained lady.
Entire first 15 minutes of questions are repeated word for word, intonation for intonation. I’m starting to get bored of this. She has severe trouble understanding why this man can travel independently – no tours, no packages, no hotel reservations.
The last hurdle is an extraordinary question. Have you made any friends during your stay, has anyone invite you to their home ? One of the joys of travel is now reduced to to a perceived threat to the Jewish nation. But I pass this final frontier – Eton/Christ Church smarm finally disarms her & a faint smile opens a crack in her door. Yellow/black pass stickers are applied all over my now scattered bits.
Oh Israel – such paranoia … this is an English flight on an English plane. Don’t be so scared. Are there no sensors/detectors which could do this job for you … spotting your feared weapons or little packs of Semtex ? Surely yeah.
The path at last begins to clear, although a mass of trolleys make movement difficult. Bag checked in … rucksacks to a different conveyor belt once more. Upstairs through the buzzless (that’s rare) portal & slump pretty knackered in the glitzy duty free area. Phew.
My remaining few shekels are spent on 2 Disney puzzle jigsaws – till operator gives me them for 11.70 rather than the true cost of 12sh. Toda. He knows where Enya lives; most northerly point in all Ireland but is listening to the Pogues on his music machine.
Carton of Silk Cut, ½ bottle of cheap Israeli red wine & pack of mineral mud soap from Duty Free. My new bag strap snaps … mind you it was quite heavy by now.
Board the 757, reassuring Rolls Royce engines. Lift off 3.10a.m. local time, it’s Sunday. Two ladies on my left keep themselves to themselves.
Better flight & food this way. Nod off from time to time.
6a.m. UK time touchdown at Gatwick.
Meet 2 travellers in waiting area who have been in Dubai. She had been stared at relentlessly – some Arabs so rarely see an inch of flesh.
Bag pick up goes fine, cruise through green zone, one is allowed £126 of gifts & I’m below that easily methinks.
Rather nasty 65p expresso … none of the cash dispensers will take a Nat West card & I’ve got £3.35 cash left. Trouble with computer signs on the train platform leads me & the 2 lovely ladies who had been next to me on the plane to board a Thameslink number causing us to change at East Croydon.
One gives me the Romanian recipe for the aubergine pâté & I try to advise what would be nice for their week in London & environs. Suggest Southwark, Covent Garden & St. Albans, maybe Oxford.
First train has 4 nicely done hand drawn pictures, 2 at each end of carriage. I sit on seat in line between one of St. Mary’s Battersea, the Wren church where I was married and at the far end is one of St. Alban’s Cathedral.
Exit at Clapham Junction, buy travelcard, 5p left now. Longish wait on a Sunday morning for the 270 down Garratt Lane.
Gulls, crows, pigeons & sparrows enliven the cold. A heron passes high.
Door to Atheldene is stiffer than usual but yields to a shoulder.
9a.m. now … answermachine is flashing, 5 calls this week, bills & more pleasant mail pile the doormat. Spend some time arranging montage of my shopping & take photo number 36.
Thank you Lord for lovely holiday – hard grind at times but more than a million moments of utmost revelation.
I will stay with you if you stay with me
I will follow you forever
Follow me, bevakasha
It’s your show
Vidame
J x
The End