Dear Mr Aliyev,

I recently spent about 9 hours in your country and would like to make some comments about my experiences and observations.

Firstly, there was the extraordinarily complicated procedure for obtaining a visitor’s visa which I endured over several days in Tblisi, Georgia. I have visited some 120 countries around the world and have to say that getting into yours was the hardest,  probably akin to entering  North Korea. Consulate working hours of just 2 hours a weekday,  letters of introduction and photos to be procured elsewhere , payment for the visa only possible several kilometres away in an Azerbaijan bank. It was then required that I leave my passport for several days – this I was unable to do because I was intending to travel into neighbouring countries. On my return a few days later at 10a.m. I was then told to come back at 4p.m. when the long-drawn-out process would be completed .  Honestly ! All this for just a few hours in Baku.

I took the Azerbaijan Airlines morning flight from Tblisi which was fine, although serving a full meal on a 40 minute flight might be a step too far. Luckily there weren’t too many passengers.

On arrival at Baku Airport (oh, I do beg your pardon sir, … at the Heydar Aliyev International Airport) I was extremely disappointed to discover  there were no ‘left luggage’ facilities available which meant I had to lug my case around for the next few hours. Yours must be the only airport in the world with this problem.

After avoiding several aggressive taxi sharks a decent bloke took me via the fascinating Yanar Dag (where the custodians appear to know little about their ‘blazing mountain’) to the Old City of Baku.

I then walked for miles around the city – along the ‘Bulvar’, in my view a poorly designed indentikit effort at a French boulevard / promenade where hundreds of workers were tending their formulaic sections in some sort of Soviet-inspired utopian work ideal. I passed the world’s tallest flagpole (or is it the Heydar Aliyev Flagpole ?), the base of which was out of bounds to us mere mortals – perhaps the Aliyev dynasty mausoleum was being constructed underneath. Yet more workers tended unnecessary, over-engineered verge gardens on the ‘Heydar Aliyev Avenue’ out towards the airport.

It was somewhat galling to note that you have named Zaha Hadid’s rather fine edifice the ‘Heydar Aliyev Centre’ – is your family on some sort of power trip ? These vanity projects are an utter waste of your country’s oil money which you appear to be squandering willy-nilly.

Leaving your country was a bittersweet affair too. The good bit was excellent service in the departure check-in area. The bad bit was truly outrageous … my checked-in bag was taken aside for ‘additional security checking’. A security guard prodded around its contents before asking me to zip it up again. When I arrived home in England I was appalled to discover that this ‘security’ man had stolen 3 packets of Georgian cigarettes bought for one of my daughters. An absolute disgrace.

I gather Tony Blair does your public relations – a rather poor choice in my estimation. He pockets US$ 1.5 million per annum as Middle East Peace Envoy with a free flat in Jerusalem. Have you noticed his efforts to keep the peace in Syria.  No, me neither.

I was just a humble tourist in Azerbaijan who even on a brief visit noticed a vast dichotomy between all this ‘Heydar Aliyev’ stuff and the people at the periphery of your projects. Do you think Allah approves of your activities ?

Yours sincerely,

Jamie Summers

Dear John,

I today received a prompt and well-written reply to my earlier letters from your Marketing Director, Peter Duffy who addressed all my concerns. A copy thereof is enclosed.

Thank you for interceding on my behalf. Minnow asserts that ‘Customer Services’ is no longer an important part of business but I beg to differ ! Lufthansa, for example, run an excellent department – I do hope you can ‘up the game’ of your own team and wish you well in your years to come at easyJet.

Yours ever,

Jamie Summers

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Reply from easyJet Marketing Director Peter Duffy, 16 July 2013:

Dear Mr Barton,

I wrote to the ‘Customer Services’ department of your airline almost three weeks ago and have not received a response to my serious questions let alone the courtesy of any sort of reply.  This I find contemptible.

Back in April / May 2010 I had a most unsatisfactory experience with the same department in trying to claim a refund, that time by email, for overcharging me for baggage. Indeed I never received the eventual cursory £8 refund offered. Matters appear not to have improved a jot.

Admittedly, you were not in charge at that time. However, I would ask you now to investigate why I have had no answer to my letter of 4th inst.  Should they claim never to have received this, I will be happy to furnish you with a copy thereof.

I gather that you are a member of Sunningdale and the R&A – we share a mutual friend in Minnow Powell. A few days ago you purchased over £89,000 worth of shares in your company. I trust your confidence in the performance of the airline is not misplaced because to be honest, your customer services are a disgrace.

Yours faithfully,

A.J.P.( Jamie )Summers

 

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Reply from John Barton, 22 July 2013:

 

Dear Mr Barton,

Forgive me writing to you at your home address but I appear to be getting nowhere by writing to Hangar 89 at Luton Airport. My first effort was sent to ‘Customer Services’ on the 4th June, my second ( on rather fetching orange notepaper ) was addressed to you direct on the 24th June – they are both attached. These were serious issues that I was addressing  –  to have them completely ignored is just outrageous, and very poor manners indeed.

Please give these letters your attention. I would prefer a written response but I suppose you could send me an email.

I gave up my membership at Sunningdale when they doubled the subscription to £60 a year and put Brut deodorant in the changing rooms. Swinley is now where I play most of my rubbish golf but I have been a member down at Sandwich for 41 years.

Awaiting your response to the terrorist peril at Luton and to easyJet’s data protection policy,

Yours sincerely,

Jamie Summers

Dear Sirs,

I recently travelled to Tel Aviv with your airline and must say that the facilities provided, or not provided really, at Luton Airport fell short of any other UK airport to my knowledge. Signage was very poor, the flight was ‘called’ much too early and there was no seating, shopping opportunities or even toilets at the departure gate causing discomfort for the many passengers.

One understands Luton is a hot-bed of Islamic fundamentalism and yet security at your airport appeared woeful – nobody was required to remove their footwear for inspection, for example. Those ‘bleeping’ portals proved too narrow for wheelchairs to pass through and three users were then brusquely frisked after hand-held gizmos indicated they might have concealed weaponry about their persons. Honestly, they were three white British middle-aged ladies – terrorists ? The whole security / passport checking area was under-staffed and outdated.

On my return six days later the plane landed at about 11.30p.m. and we waited on the tarmac for 20 minutes ( I do not exaggerate ) for two sets of tired old steps to be pushed up to the aircraft doors. Were Luton not expecting any traffic at this time of night ? Does the Tel Aviv flight rarely make its final destination ?

To add insult to incompetence, our baggage then took a further thirty minutes to arrive – gosh, it must have been so busy mustn’t it ; buzzing with planes at this time of night ! Once again there was nowhere to sit – not a single chair in the baggage collection carousel area.

My main gripe with your airline, however, is your cavalier attitude to the use of personal information. I have recently been receiving nuisance calls and texts on my mobile phone and I suspect you are the reason. Stupidly, I gave you my number on the on-line form when booking my ticket ( reference : ELBQ5C6 ) – I am pretty certain there was no box to tick to avoid this number being passed to other companies. You may be in breach of data protection law.

Please remove my details at once from your database or I shall be taking further action.

I very much doubt that I will be flying from Luton Airport ever again, unless it improves its performance significantly,

Yours sincerely,

Mr A.J.P.Summers

 

Monday 20th May                          

Early start to attend to various DIY projects ongoing yet unfinished -e.g. garden trellis work , unibonding the wobbly kitchen floor and completing the ‘ boxing in ‘ of the understairs loo’s basin pipework with rather splendid brass handle.  This has been one of my most satisfying bodge efforts … lots of enterprising recycling of scavenged items ; plastic bin lids forming the top and bottom quadrants, solid wood isosceles triangles left and right with a concertina-like central slatting system that allows access to the valves inside should this ever be required – little pieces of MDF complete the top band adjoining the plastic.  All sanded before coats of terracotta colour on the walls, white on the banding and good old magnolia underneath to compliment / soften the terracotta.  Quel carpentier ne pensez-vous ?!

Made time too for letters to Plowden and Smith ( local restoration experts ) explaining £300 + the dreaded VAT was over the top for renovating two little 18th century ( or early 19th ) leather and glass-hinged portraits of relatives –  one a Henry Thompson, the other unnamed.  I shall collect these next week, along with volume 1 of the Punch collection with which they could not help.  Letter to brother-in-law Mickey too, enclosing 65th Birthday card + the signed letter to Bettina Altmann of Pinzgauer Haus re the Rauris AGM ( our shared flat in Austria ) ; the minutes of which Mickey was going to deal with.

Early constitutional walk results in yet another scavenged item –  metal base for a plant pot which may prove useful but the lovely new Senetta plant didn’t fit inside, so remains in an old bucket.  Last water of plants and make some more progress transferring names to the new address book.

7.31a.m.  leave for Luton via Shank’s pony to Earlsfield station, commuter train to Waterloo then more walking to the new station on Blackfriars Bridge (15 minutes or so from Waterloo ) then very fast and very punctual train whisks us up to Luton Parkway.  £2.60, I think , Earlsfield to Waterloo then it’s £26 open return from Blackfriars to Luton Airport , an unsuitable bendy bus completing the journey.  Air fare £442 return including one 20kg bag.

Disappointed by Luton Airport facilities – poor signage, shambolic security –  3 wheelchair users were unable to go through the bleeping portals.  They were then all frisked and manhandled as if 3 English ladies in wheelchairs were Islamic terrorists of which reputedly there are many in this area.  My silver cross didn’t get a reaction from the metal detectors but I had removed my watch.  Compose text to Georgiana,  attaching picture of my improving garden –  turns out she was flying to Italy later from the same airport.

Flight is called well in advance of estimated departure but boarding gate has no seating at all for the 100+ passengers who are obliged to wait 30 minutes plus.  Not good.

Just short of 4 ½ hours later we land at Tel Aviv –  just a word about some of my fellow passengers.  Many Hasidic Orthodox Jews with British passports –  their hats overcrowding the on-board lockers thus forcing others to check in their hand baggage.  The one next to me spent the whole 4 ½ hours tweaking the unusual hair arrangement around his ears and constantly leaning over part of my seat – space invasion !  They seem oblivious to the presence of others and seem to plough their own furrow.  Rather rudely I thought.  Chosen race?  Je le doute.

Tel Aviv passport entry sticky –  unfriendly female demanding to know if I was meeting anyone in Israel.  When I explained that I planned to visit Jack she demanded how I knew him ( Rauris renter ) and showed no concern or knowledge of Motor Neurone Disease of which he is dying.  “ It’s not good, you die”, I said.

Avis car hire ( only £97 for 6 days ) somewhat slow and then a pretty useless Palestinaian does the final checks on my Toyota Aygo not the Hyundai i10 that had been promised.  Rather ropy vehicle which struggled all the way uphill to Jerusalem  –  although good blasts of Arcade Fire and Elbow soothed the ride.  Israeli drivers dangerous !  Little care for other road users.

Wow , has Jerusalem changed since my last visit 16+ years ago.  So many new settlements, buildings, roads, tunnels –  once again very poor signposting.  A few wrong turns and difficulties trying to rely on my memory but eventually at about 8.20p.m. Israeli time I arrive at the gates of St George’s College and park there –  close enough to the Guest House.

Am shown my ok but basic room, No. 26 upstairs –  a quick wash and brush up and out to the recommended street of restaurants ( Shimon Alzidiq St )  –  their 2 suggestions don’t seem that brilliant so I select The Shalizar and enjoy an excellent iced tea plus chicken / mushrooms / cream sauce with rice, potato and salad for 70 shekels i.e. £12 or so  –  give nice waiter 10% tip which pleases him.  Lovely courtyard and a warm evening  –  it had been 25°C when we landed at 6p.m.  Had dropped in at the American Colony Hotel en route for a quick chat with the shop owner whom I remember from my 1992 visit.  He berates Tony Blair, giving him nul points  –   “greedy man ”,  gets a $1.5 million salary for doing fuck all as ‘ peace envoy ‘ to the Middle East  –  at least he no longer gets a free flat at the American Colony where incidentally my parents had a flat during WW2 and now has some place near the Ambassador Hotel.  He was at St John’s College when I was at Christ Church but I don’t think our paths crossed.

Lovely soft bed so good sleep.

Tuesday 21st May

Up for the 8a.m. Eucharist in St. George’s Cathedral –  there are just the 4 of us present.  Service taken by Hosam Naoum, the Dean, assisted by Saleem the Deacon and Justin Cheng ( seminary student at St. George’s College from Vancouver ).  The latter two have slight difficulty pronouncing their readings.  Initial talk is about St. Helena ,  Emperor Constantine’s mother who founded the Church on Mount Scopius and the original Church of the Holy Sepulchre .  I find a tear coursing down my cheek when someone mentions outcasts and the oppressed.  Very special in the side chapel with embroidered hassocks from around the globe.  Being unconfirmed I generally won’t take the bread and wine ( unless it’s an extraordinary church with a vicar I know and trust e.g. perhaps a service at St Peter and Paul, the Springfield Church SW17 ) or even accept a blessing.  But this time I take a blessing from the Dean as it seems right to do so.

We chat afterwards and at breakfast in the Guest House –  poor coffee from a machine but nice soft pitta-type white bread , huevos revueltos and cold meats / cheeses etc.

Back into the Cathedral which has been spruced up since my last visit –  delightful chapel on opposite side to the morning service with baptismal pool –  bright with fine windows and a hexagonally based stone / wood pyramid structure, maybe over a font.

Pay for 3 postcards, take a few pictures –  2 of the Keith-Roach memorials in the cloister outside ( relatives of Steve and Wendy K-R ).

Pack my case, ready to leave late in the afternoon –  compose a few emails.  Isn’t the world-wide access to the internet just amazing ?  – makes conducting one’s life so easy from anywhere.  First stop is one of my favourite places … The Garden Tomb, which I discover much improved, quieter, now screened from the Arab bus station.  The garden so well kept by an army of kind but paid volunteers.  Truly the site of His crucifixion and entombment.  This place buzzes with bus loads of Zimbabweans followed later by Nigerians, Indians and West Indians all on guided tours taking their turns to enter His tomb now adorned with a new red cross … ‘ I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the End ‘ says the plaque.

The adjoining shop is still superb –  maybe they should replace Nicky Gumbel’s books with those of the erudite A.N Wilson.  All those Nickys were at Eton with me but has the Alpha course run its course ?  I was so disappointed the other day when visiting St Mark’s Battersea  – a disgraceful ‘ healing ‘  ( my arse ) service conducted by a money-grabbing fat Canadian ‘ vicar ‘ who was unaware that that Thursday was Ascension Day and was more interested in his ‘ it’s only £5 Jive Night ‘ on the Wednesday !  People using their mobile phones during the ‘ service ‘ too !  Such a shame because that church was derelict in the mid-seventies and became a good place.

Sorry about the rant … back to the Garden Tomb shop which as ever was a veritable mine of maps, books, notebooks, cards and a free pencil (HB) which I am using now from the nice lady at the till.  Met a lovely Dutch couple doing good work near Rachel’s Tomb outside Bethlehem and will try to visit them later in the week  –  House of Hope and Jemima House for L’Arche type children.

Drop shopping back at the hostel and head towards Jaffa Gate, deciding against negotiating my way through New or Damascus Gates.  Smart tram follows the Old City wall now – borders of rosemary and lavender help me on my way to the Christ Church area just inside Jaffa Gate with its astonishing connection to my mother, who was PA / secretary to the Chief of Police, Jerusalem during the British Mandate and whose handwritten note cards I had spotted on an earlier visit explaining the exhibits housed here.  This is the Michael Solomon Alexander Museum, the first Jewish convert to become Bishop of Jerusalem at Christ Church.  Rather over-rated cafe but it has a popular guest house – the museum curator, a youngish Australian who has lived in Bibury ( Cotswolds ) shows me the reworked museum but Mum’s notelets are few with most being stored in the closed archive room to which I shall return when access is available.  Fantastic wooden model of the Old City is the prize item here, created by a Jewish convert to Christianity whose name escapes me at present.  J.M.Tenz it is.

Christ Church itself is closed until 1p.m. for a private group so I return there later for pictures of its fine wooden altar.  Purchase great giant post cards from a French shop close to Jaffa Gate and get money, 600 shekels on my MasterCard from a moneychanger at the top of the Via Dolorosa.

Walk down St Mark’s Road, avoiding the Armenian Quarter this time and down to the Jewish Section.  Man gets cross with me for not taking his guiding service ( which would have been for all of 120 yards to the Herodian Quarter ) where I spotted the Wohl museum i.e. Vole, who will receive a text !  That’s my good mate, Mark Samuelson aka Vole.

Spend rather an abortive half hour looking for (a) The Holy Sepulchre Church ( which always seems hard to find ) and (b) a pencil sharpener and rubber because mine seem to have gone AWOL.  Eventually discover the one and only stationery shop in the Old City is closed today !  Make a few purchases nearby and then back to Christ Church.

Where to now ?  Quick lunch in the nice courtyard – I am finding food in Israel is pricey, worse than England which is surprising n’est-ce pas ?

Cross the main Highway 1 to a new modern shop precinct heading for Ben Yehuda and Jaffa Streets, ostensibly seeking a marvellous shop that I enjoyed back in 1992 but of course that’s a long time in politics, or shop-keeping for that matter.

Nevertheless, I am wandering around at the bottom of the Jewish quarter when I spot a pair of dashing red shoelaces with gold flecks in a small pile on the pavement.  Select them and head down a small corridor to the shop keeper who turns out to be an old Bukhari ( Iranian ? ) Jew who runs a small cobblers there –  5 shekels …  I only have a 50 note so he accepts 3.50 plus a bit,  plus 1/3 of a pack of English Polo mints as exchange !  Delightful man and we converse in an odd combination of Arabic, Farsi, Dari, English, Yiddish and God knows what else.  I explain about my amateur cobbling ‘ skills ‘  –  I happen to be sadly proud of my posh black shoes, £10 from a charity shop, which used to have home-made tassels ( constructed from old wallets ) and now have small gold buckles ( £3 from an old pair of ladies shoes ) fastened on with bits of an old belt.  Anyroads, that’s £13 for shoes that look like £400 Guccis !  I shall return to Mr Shoemaker Jacov to show him my Schumacher efforts –  Small is indeed Beautiful.  He may offer to tidy them up a tad and perhaps I could commission a new pair from him to post to England –  a thought.

Find some modern sharpeners and rubbers nearby – then a nice silk purse from an old people’s charity shop then it’s back to St George’s –  one last visit to the American Colony to start the bargaining process ( which I find so tedious and time consuming in many countries ) on their shop’s gorgeous bedspreads and bags from Uzbekhistan ( goodness me ) made from tri-banded linen with silk embroidery –  $600 opening price !  Soon cut to $300 for a large bedspread but I may work on the excellent bags which he started at $200 !

Leaving Jerusalem at 5p.m. wasn’t perhaps the ideal time as it’s unbelievably slow past Lion Gate and up the Mount of Olives past Lazarus’ house in Bethany heading for Jericho and the Jordan Valley.  Progress abruptly halted when I encounter the new ( well, newish ) Security Fence, heavily graffiti covered which blocks the Jericho road.  Fortunately, a kind man gives me directions up and down steep side streets in Palestinian territory – give him a brief lift and then, perhaps the strongest surge of the day greets me as I descend towards the big new road avoiding dissident youth …

A young crippled boy struggles up the pavement on the left hand side – looks at me, his legs not working very well but our eyes meet for some seconds and it feels very strong and very good.  Thank you Lord.

Israeli bad driving continues all the way to Galilee –  tail-gating, poor overtaking and pulling out without looking just some of my complaints.  Jordan on the East bank appears more populated than the Israeli side.  Very warm, over 30°C down here , over 400 metres below sea-level.  Stop for an iced tea, chocolate cake with squirty cream and ice cream which costs me 44 shekels at a ‘ Cafe Cafe ‘ – very good but that must be more than Starbucks UK … divide by 5.25 or so for Sterling.

Somewhere round Ein Gedi on a tiring 3+ hour drive north there is an Israeli Defence Force checkpoint where I am treated very brusquely by a young woman for not having my passport for her to examine immediately to hand.  “ You have been rude and short with me ” –  I am obliged to pull over to search for documents amongst my belongings in the back of the car –  arms wave with guns –  “ Move over there” etc.. The shoddy rudeness continues until I finally find my passport.  “ Who do you think I am ? ” –  Honestly, they are paranoid at times.  My car is covered in Avis stickers and I speak the Queen’s English –  am I a likely Palestinian trouble-maker ?

Aygo and I take the easterly route around Lake Galilee and just after 8.15p.m. we arrive at the Vered Ha-Galil ranch  –  Peter Gabriel’s wondrous ‘ Solsbury Hill ‘ brings us up the final slopes to Jesus’ teaching patch.  His outdoor classroom and his home were close by here.

Am shown where to find my room,  No 2 –  all one could want in an hotel room.  Quick shower and brush up –  back to Nofar in reception and sitting room for emails, soup / bread / cake and fruit all provided free of charge.  Rates very reasonable for such a special place $118 first night, $71 subsequent nights half-board with a pool and horses on tap.  Total cost $354 for 3 nights including extras. Go out for an evening exploration –  they have chalets / cabins / houses on both sides of the road.  Fantastic views of Lake Galilee –  the glittering, shimmering lights of Tiberias some 20km away.  Moonlight helps – wonderful little plots of land here for extra development maybe.  Around property No.16 I pick up 2 types of small rock – pumice types, and I find a small bit of marble near my own room.  More souvenirs to add to the day’s tally –  I think I have some 7-10 kilos of spare luggage capacity for the return flight.

Another good day – downers were the angry Jew who I suggested should work out of a hotel rather than hanging around near the Cardo and of course, the unpleasant Israeli girl soldier.

Forgot to say my little blue rucksack with white stripes –  can’t recall where I sourced it –  has been misbehaving a little.  My nice blue V5 pilot pen fell out of its cap on night one and it’s been colouring my fingers blue.  Also forgot to say that before leaving London I did some of my repair sewing to its lower strap area.  Quite successfully may I say !

Not a great seemster, shoe repairer, cobbler or carpenter but at least I try.

Wednesday 22nd May

For some reason, ( perhaps too much coffee the previous evening ), not the greatest night’s sleep although the news of the Oklahoma tornado was galling and dominating Sky News but I did make further inroads into A. N. Wilson’s insightful book, ‘ Jesus ‘.

Before breakfast I wandered round the neighbouring village of Korazim in the forlorn hope of finding a shop open to replenish the milk provided by Ha-Galil.  Rather a dull dormitory village with unexciting architecture.

On returning I spotted some marmot types with meerkat tendencies amongst the rocks and took their photo.  Not sure who they are .  ‘ Rock bunnies ‘ in Hebrew apparently ; or some less romantic English synonym.  Because the guest house is renovating its celebrated dining area ,  breakfast gets served up near the stables.  Poor coffee again,  odd little bits of fish and cheese but excellent squeeze-it-yourself grapefruit and orange juice and hot ‘ wokked ‘ eggs and tomatoes.  The girl on duty seems disinterested but it’s mostly a help yourself affair.

Explore a bit more of the Ha-Galil property and then down the road to the large Catholic church which dominates the Mount of the Beatitudes – splendid spot where He preached about the meek inheriting the earth and  “blessed are you when men shall revile you and persecute you in my name’s sake.  Blessed are those who hunger and search after righteousness for they shall see God ”.  Powerful stuff then and now.  Many Catholics inside and pictures of Popes but I concentrate on the garden outside and don’t tarry long.

The churches round Capernaum are not open so I visit the newly discovered 2000 year old fishing boat preserved in a swanky museum at Ginnosar.  Maybe Jesus had a hand in its making.

On through Tiberias supposedly seeking a little electrical shop because my CD player seems kaput and I’ve left my Samsung phone charger in England –  there’s always something that gets left behind isn’t there ?  No joy ; so I head for one of my favourite places,  Mount Tavor , aware that it closes for lunch at 11.45a.m.   Rather difficult progress but eventually start the hairpin ascent competing with minibuses descending.

Once up there, wow –  I don’t recall spending much time inside the 1924 Barluzzi Church of the Ascension before but it is truly magical.

Wondrous windows, mosaic murals –  2 side chapels to Elijah and Moses have superb ceilings and I take many good photographs with the telephone – ain’t technology awesome!  Interesting chat with an Ecuadorian monk about the lack of bananas in Jesus’ time –  Israel now grows millions of them.  Then encounter group from Chennai, India admiring the view of Nazareth.

Decide Nazareth may be the solution to my electrical needs so head that way.  Israeli signposting is not good.  Didn’t realise that Cana ( water into wine miracle ) is actually a suburb of Nazareth so that is a result.  Park up on busy high street and lo and behold I am right by a charming girl in a shop which has the perfect purple gizmo for charging up my particular Samsung.  She advises of another nearby shop which may help my CD player but strangely when I try and explain what’s up with the little Goodman’s  it works perfectly.  Perhaps Joan Osborne’s ‘ One of Us ‘  wasn’t the perfect choice for a veiled Muslim lady but there we go.

Head slightly uphill towards the 2 Cana churches – one is shut but the nicer Greek one is open and that’s meant to be where the miracle happened.  It might help some of my female friends if wine could be turned into water at times !

Good Greek shop across the road has the lowest prices of the many souvenir shops – when in Cana, you have to buy wine don’t you, so I get 4 small bottles of sweet red and one of those tacky Holy Water / oil / stones and spices combos –  all for a total of $10 or 35 shekels.  Happy with that and plan to give one of them to Southwark Cathedral for their chalice and patten Eucharist services.  Wine from Cana has a certain ring to it doesn’t it ?

Start the journey back to Upper Galilee – spot food superstore outside Tiberias but once again thwarted by no signs.  Manage to find another supermarket though and buy milk, juice and good lemon ice tea, surprisingly the brand is a Coca Cola venture / franchise called Foze.

Back to Ha-Galil and my lovely room overlooking the Upper Jordan valley.  Shower etc. then out to investigate nearby town, Rosh Pinna.  Fairly modern shopping malls but all high priced goods.  Only bargains seem to be the McDonalds ice cream cone – have 2 of those and an excellent hamburger place nearby doing burgers for 10 shekels run very efficiently by a young Arab Christian convert –  we had language difficulties but a nice Israeli girl assists and tells me of Kosher dietary laws which must make life difficult i.e. no dairy with beef … stroganoff or chicken in cream / mushrooms thus off the menu.

Back to base for more diary writing and reading –  interestingly A.N. Wilson, who I think read Theology at Oxford and has lost / regained his faith, discovered that Christ was particularly averse to anything scatalogical.  Anything tainted by shit was deemed unclean – stuff going in good, stuff coming out bad !  Anal sex must have horrified him – buggers shall not prosper.  Sadly it seems rife these days –  what on earth do women get out of such practices let alone the men.

My room included a DVD / CD player which once operational ( help needed ) was a boon.  Mozart, Mumford, Genesis, Enya  –  I’ve always had Peter Gabriel’s ‘ Solsbury Hill ‘ as my number one favourite track ever and on a late evening walk at the edge of the property ( included in my drive earlier but I like to walk routes too ) it struck with resonance as I was going through the words in my head … Coming down this lane ‘ I could see the city lights ‘ of Tiberias.  At the end of the lane stands the largest Spina Christi tree in all Galilee, marked with a nameplate – Zizyphus Tree – ( remember Sisiphus in the Greek myth rolling that stone relentlessly up that hill poor fellow ) . I shivered spine-chillingly as a bird clattered out of the upper left branches of this tree in the moonlight … ‘ eagle ( or is it evil ? ) flew out of the night ‘ . Perhaps one of the snake-eating eagles that inhabit these parts… Huelvas ? in Aramaic.

Spooky it was –  this tree has soft leaves but spiny spiky twigs.

Then oddly it came to me later just exactly what the lyrics of my second favourite track ever were all about.  That’s ‘ Carpet Crawler ‘ from Genesis  –  suffice to say that ants and flooring are involved.

 One of my first quasi-spiritual moments happened in early 1980 when it seemed to me that Tchaikovsky’s ‘ Nutcracker Suite ‘ was mirroring my movements.  I remember telling my GP,  Michael Gormley about this,  but it’s hard not to dismiss such ‘ auditory hallucinations ‘ as those of a ‘ nutter ‘ eh ?  Well, readers  –  these things are part and parcel of my life.  Disturbing at times,  illuminating at others when some lyric echoes one’s thought patterns and sometimes just astonishing and magical,  for instance when you play some Enya and all the flora and fauna move to her music.

Where was I ?  Oh yes, walking back to my room for my second and last night there before being moved elsewhere on the estate.  Have booked an hour’s riding from 10a.m. next morning –  on one of their 35 well cared-for horses.

Incidentally my bag is more black / grey with white stripes rather than blue.  Improvising with shampoo / conditioner and a rubbish bin I wash and rinse said bag and it dries in the early morning sun of the next day …

* Had telephoned Jack Shuldlenfrei earlier in the evening and arranged to visit him in Raanana at Friday tea-time.   “ You are not to die before I arrive, ok ?! ”  Got his address –  lives near the Open University headquarters.

 Thursday 23rd May

Up at 5.30a.m. aiming to leave at 6a.m. to walk down to Tabgha which had closed its doors at 10a.m. the previous day thus denying my access.  What do they say?  “Early to bed, early to rise makes you healthy, wealthy and wise”-  well at least two of those adjectives wouldn’t go amiss would they?!  You choose.  Never boast but if I could have the first and the last I would appreciate that.  Born with a silver spoon in my mouth at Guy’s Hospital hard by the Shard, raised on a farm in Gloucestershire enjoying the best education money could buy … Gratia parentis.  Village school ( set up by Dad ) in Bourton-on-the-Hill, Cothill House prep school, Eton College then Christ Church, Oxford.  You cannot be dealt higher cards.

Down the main road,  enjoying the roadside verges verdant with weeds and the occasional bits of detritus thrown from car windows.  Lovely teasel type blue headed bristly things – a little thorn bush known as “hedgehog”.  Pick one.

Left at the Italian intersection – the Vatican owns and maintains many acres in these hills.  Then down a track/footpath past two angry dogs, fortunately restrained by chairs but their barks do set the spine tingling so I arm myself with a handy piece of hosepipe, “just in cases ”- as Ms Munoz says in that delightful Richard Curtis film ‘Love Actually’ when she admits learning some English in case that Hugh Grant fellow returns.

Tabgha in sight now after 1 hour 10 minutes or so of downhill strolling –  or HEBTAPEGAI=HEPTAPEGON=ET-TAPEGA to give it its full derivations from the Greek.  ‘Eremos’ it was called way back –  ‘The Solitude’, visited by St Jerome, St Paul and St Sebastian.   (  I have subsequently learnt that my mother, in addition to her wartime duties in Jerusalem, Cairo and Ankara, single-handedly ran the Rest and Rehabilitation Centre for Allied officers fighting in the Middle-Eastern theatre, here at Tabgha – coincidences, eh ? ).

Just above the two churches I encounter a little spinny of 6 or 7 Spina Christi trees some surrounding, almost suffocating, large hewn stones, one of which bears a remarkable effigy of Jesus’ face whilst others have crosses and inscriptions- a somewhat rubbish strewn area so I clear up a little after taking a few more pictures.  Not sure what this area represents but it is a powerful site 100’ above the lake shore.

Have to clamber under railings to reach the road –  left for St Peter’s Church, right for the Loaves and Fishes church administered by a German Franciscan mission, St Peter’s under Italian control.
I go left and am the first visitor inside this Mensa Christi edifice with its open rock altar where He said, “You are Petros  (Peter) and on this Rock I found my church”.  His only ‘joke’ apparently but that I doubt.

The place has changed since my last time here back in 1992 – new stained glass windows, the rock is festooned with paper; entreaties for pilgrims I guess and it seems not as clean and tidy as it should be.  Take a couple of photos, the last one by part closing the heavy metal doors and move to the lake shore.  Clear, clean water here.

Meet the church cleaner, a Palestinian man from Ramallah or was it Nablus who was plucking the odd bit of litter into his big white sack.  Help him awhile while a small service is being conducted in Italian nearby.  We get chatting –  he’s converted to become a Christian and I explain my slight disappointment about the general state of the church interior and show him what I mean.  We talk of personal things and I show him pictures on my phone of my children and others taken the previous day up on Mount Tabor/Tavor of which I am not proud but pleased with.

John Paul II had been here with an area obviously specially built for him and the early pilgrims seem to be all Italians as the buses start arriving.

Next, I tour the lovelier but perhaps less inspiring adjoining church.  The mosaics here are just superb and I’m a big fan of the loaves and fishes motif, always seeking it out for souvenirs.  Boo, the shop is shut – shame but I spend much time enjoying the different bird, plant and building designs so beautifully restored and maintained.  Germanic efficiency in charge here.

8.40am now so it’s back up to the main Tiberias – Quiryat Shemona highway.  Thumb goes out for a possible hitched ride up the hill but a 53 bus rescues me and for 6 shekels 20 cents transports me in minutes back to the Almagor Junction.

Once again a good breakfast, then get ready for my 10 o’clock ride.  150 shekels or £30 for an hour’s ride with tuition from Souf who has spent time in Texas thus sports a Stetson type hat while our little group – self, Eran and his family, up for the day from Tel Aviv all wear standard issue hard riding hats.  I do later confide in Souf that perhaps he should consider wearing more protection for his head – maybe I am more conscious than most of the dangers, what with sister Carole and her fractured skull and of course the tragedy of Mary Rose Howard nee Chichester in early January 1980 on frosty ground near Hullavington of whom I was so desperately fond.

Her death precipitated my first visit to the Priory on the evening of her funeral –  I was distraught and in another world but on the whole was well cared for therein.

Our ride takes us past that large Spina Christi tree again – my steed one Chico, a brown gelding who gets off to a grudging start but improves thereafter.

Eran’s wife and family are charming and informative – I learn the reason why my neighbour on the aeroplane was invading my space !  It turns out that Hasidic Jews dislike women and his neighbour in the aisle seat was a woman – honestly, how ridiculous is that?

We decide that Orthodox Jews and Islamic fundamentalists should be dispatched to some country (in Africa maybe) to fight it out amongst themselves while I make the suggestion that the British should once again take charge here in Israel.

We see buzzards and the snake-eating eagle as our horses pick their way carefully through the narrow paths among the limestone and basalt boulders.  Manage a bit of sitting and rising trot but cantering is off the menu.  Great fun – Eran’s 17 year old son is soon off to be a summer camp worker in the USA and their daughter is a top gymnast.  They email the photo of Chico and I at once to my address and I shall respond soonest.

Not as sore as I anticipated I drive to the south again to check out Capernaum.  Stop for an unpleasant loo stop on the shore where someone has shat on the floor necessitating much remedial work on the Slazenger trainer in the gravel, grass, water and mud.  Getting warm now – glorious weather every day I must say by the way hey hey!

Unexciting Roman ruins but Simon Peter’s house was here by the shore-  compose text to daughter Pippa in a shady spot.  Quick purchase of placemat featuring sites of Galilee and a strawberry lolly then back via Ammun, a much more open village than its neighbouring Almagor where I discover a fine mini- supermarket which sells everything I need….. milk, juice, iced tea, razors, a tub of coleslaw and some bread for supper.  So much nearer than the shopping at Rosh Pinna.

Pool open from 4-7pm today so slaver myself in a factor 10 and 20 combo for about an hour and a half with lots of toddlers and children also enjoying the good facilities –  basic but fine.

More emailing in the office and attempt to book room at St. George’s, Jerusalem again for my last 2 nights but aaaagh………they are fully booked.  I shall try the St. Andrew’s Guest House attached to the Scottish church tomorrow to see if they have a room.  Similar prices I believe.

My new room, Chalet 13 is larger but actually not so nice as Room 2 – there’s a massive Jacuzzi which I shall not use and I can’t get the TV to function but as it faces the lake the view is magnificent.

Rig up my little Walkman with its clever new speaker from Maplins Wimbledon and get on with a bit of writing.

There are two or three empty plots here on the south side of the Ha-Galil grounds and I have made an appointment to discuss possible investment with Yaara, the lady owner – just a thought really and foreign property ownership is a right pain but we shall see what she might suggest.  The views on this side are just spectacular and there are one or two better designed houses which perhaps could be copied.

Later on, underneath House No 16. the fence below the car park is quivering for no reason and it’s plastic tape too.  Quieten it down with some judicious handiwork –  not sure what was happening there.  There was no wind.

Friday 24th May

Clean my comb with a ‘hedgehog’ plucked from the ground close to the Catholic Seminary ( next door property – ugly architecture but well looked after ) but an old toothbrush proves more adept at the job.

Not sure what this day will bring before I head towards Haifa, then Route 4 down to Raanana in time for tea.  My only commitment is the 10a.m. meeting with Yaara.

Maybe I shall visit Magdala which on the map sits between Nirvana and Hawaii.  Guess who lived there –  you got it !  The village has another name, Migdal and is quite some way inland from the lake I discover –  it seems Mary’s birthplace was in the lower reaches of the village.  Motor across to Nirvana –  one has to visit a place called Nirvana, surely.  Park just outside some rusty guarded gates by a skip  ( not scavenging this time ! ).  “I’ll be 10 minutes”,  I gesture to the guardian and enter a rather scrubby piece of campground but at least it’s right by the lake which is clean here.  Rinse my plimsolls in the shallows and then a brief chat to a young Russian immigrant who is fishing, by rod and line nearby –  no catches yet but it is early.

Back up the Galilean foothills to Vered Ha-Galil and after another good breakfast Yaara and I dance tentatively around the thorny issues of property ownership in Israel and what we might both gain by an investment from myself.  It soon transpires that I have grossly underestimated the value of property  hereabouts.  A small house/bungalow in next door Korazim for example would cost over £1 million whereas my thinking was nearer £200,000.  So … idea shelved, although kindly she shows me round her own house which could make a fine home but sans view.  She plans a family group of houses in Position A on the south-western corner of the estate.  Maybe maybe in 4 or 5 years the plan could be revisited –  although up here each house must be one storey and have a concrete security bunker below of case of attack.  Rockets from Lebanon have been known to fly over Korazim.  Another drawback may be that the Israeli State owns all land and there is no English-style freehold.

Pack my bags- sunbathe and swim ( not getting my hair wet of course ! ) and then it’s off towards Raanana and Jerusalem.

Good road to Afula where I stop at a shopping mall – slight addiction, Jamie, to these malls.  This one has a spectacular stationery shop where I replace my lost blue V5 Pilot and add a pair of their silver and gold ones which I’m not sure you can get any more in the U.K.  3 cheap rolls of Sellotape too for good measure.

Supermarket provides my lunch – chocolate milk and a pack of S2.99 choccy mocca wafer biscuits – get one extra pack for Jack.  It’s a long drive down towards Tel Aviv and I stop for a quick kip, well 40 winks at Sh’ar Hafer.  Call Jack on my mobile to say I’m just up Route 4 and will be there in half an hour.  It’s actually about an hour later that I arrive at their anonymous block near the Open University buildings – got hopelessly lost amongst masses of new roads and building sites.  This country is expanding so fast.  Call Jack again and he guides me in with difficulty.

Great welcome from Jack and June who have rented the Rauris, Austrian apartment I co-own with a brother-in-law for chunks of two summers and who met sister Kitten and I in Regent’s Park one summer.  There you go , one summer, two summers –  three bags full sir.

Jack has ALS or Motor Neurone Disease – a mystery illness still.  Over delicious home-made cake and Sainsbury’s Red Label Tea ( THERE IS A GOD!  My favourite brand … ) we put the world to rights.  His blog is now read by 1500 people every week as he gets weaker.  He looks well facially but his movement is strained and they will soon have to move from their lovely apartment to more suitable accommodation nearer Tel Aviv.

I bore them both by getting them to read this diary blog so far and showing them many photographs and all my souvenir purchases are strewn over their floor.  Managed to make a joke saying Islam is like Facebook because you can’t disengage from either!  He tells me a joke about Moses and God discussing meat and dairy mixing issues but to be honest, I don’t quite get it cos I’m goy ( = Gentile, for those not in the know ) .  ( Jack finally succumbed to his illness in summer 2014 ).

Gather my stuff and depart –  no room booked because both St. George’s and St. Andrew’s ( Scottish church ) Guest Houses have said they are full.  But fortunately when I arrive at St. George’s,  Room 36 has become available and it is ample.  Wash and brush up because it’s been a hot and sticky day – up to 90°F Jack said.

Quite late, 9.30pm for supper – once again down (or is it up?) to the excellent Shalizar.  Am greeted like a long lost friend – given ‘on the house’ plates and plates of meze, beautifully prepared.  Order iced tea with ‘taleh’ ( ice in Arabic ) and my usual chicken in cream and mushrooms.  Perhaps my recommendation of their restaurant to the St. George’s team at reception had brought them extra custom but anyway they were charm personified and without them realising, I departed leaving them a S100 note which to be fair, was the value of the food they had provided.

Bottle of water for S5 on the way back to my resting place from a Palestinian shack shop.  It makes such a difference if you try and learn a few words in a country’s language … ‘pench’ or ‘panch’ is 5 in Arabic..  Shukran is thank you –  I must make more effort.

Can’t get this television to work either, so I am still in the dark about this ghastly news about the beheaded British soldier by 2 Nigerian Islam converts who then addressed a crowd (?) of cheerers (?) with their bloodstained hands?  Is this really true ?

Here’s me,  fresh from Galilee where Jesus addressed crowds with words of love –  Pull your socks up Cameron or I’ll fine you for ‘socking in the street’, put you on Tardy Book and give you 3 Georgics to copy.  ( Only pompous Old Etonians, such as I , will probably understand the above references ! )

Jack was saying that the Orthodox Jews are having 7 or 8 children and outstripping the locals –  we seem to have similar issues with our indigenous population in England.  Nice white couples are having 1.2 issues per marriage and many of these wrong’uns who crowd our cities now, many, if not most, with warped minds are breeding faster –  call me a racist if you wish  –  I am not going to deny that I sometimes lose my rag racially for instance when observing the driving tactics of our black ‘brothers’ and their ‘distraites’ sisters.  But there again, these Israeli Jehus take the biscuit theretoward !  Am I being racist or just honest?  Honest I hope.

“To bed” said Zebedee in the Magic Roundabout, and so to bed I must go.  It’s Shabbat tomorrow so things will be quiet apart from within the Old City walls which will teem with tourists and local Arabs/Palestinians.

I’ve just realised that I completely forgot to mention yet another visit to lovely Tagbha – this time on my return from the lakeshore in the morning.

Twenty years ago, much as I loved the Loaves and Fishes church, it just seemed that the next door church, the Deification of Peter with its Tabula Christi, that chunk of rock on which you could then sit … it just seemed so special that I preferred it to the one next door.

However, because of all the paraphernalia now inside, the less attractive stained glass windows and the slightly tainted feel to its inherent cleanliness –  I’ve gone off it a tad and have transferred my allegiance to the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes.

This time the shop is open, staffed by volunteers, a nice American guy tots up my pile of goodies – bag, medium T-shirt, a little espresso cup, a biro and a rather special silver cross that has touched the mosaic which tourists can do no more.  Tant pis.

I stand on the left hand side as the sun streams in and a small service is taking place.  Adieu, nos vemos,  Amen.

Saturday 25th May

Up with the larks for a stroll round the Cathedral precinct.  Am amazed by the acreage here but perhaps over the years since 1897 ( when the land was acquired for £3,300 ) it has shrunk a bit.  I did notice a car park just behind the St. George’s College section that is absolutely the perfect site for a cricket pitch.  One could use the rather fine rooms at the back there for the pavilion.  Early in the morning the car park was virtually empty but it was busy when I passed by in the evening.  Nevertheless, could one make the car park owners an offer to buy back that patch of ground.  Over to you David Higgins ( he’s my cricket captain and opening partner in the Bounders squad ) who often has more money than sense.  I can see the dedication plaque now !

We are always looking for new countries to beat a cricket –  we’ve dispatched Holland and Estonia but have come up short against the likes of Latvia, the Cayman Islands and Hungary!  I’m sure we would thrash Israel  –  although I wouldn’t want to take them on in a war.

So come on Dave,  get your wallet out.

The gardens here are very well maintained with excellent markers indicating Latin names, English names and explanations of each shrub, tree or plant.  I learned much about Rue, White Broom, Cypresses, Mastic (pistachio) and the Tamarisk to name just a few.

It has so many lovely sections, many paid for by benefactors – one or two areas need some attention but that’s a minor quibble.  Near the gates which open opposite the Courthouse, there is a children’s play park – it was a bit rubbish-strewn and the loo there is not at its peak,  so I gave a little of my time to clear up a bit.  I think it helps if you leave a place slightly tidier than how you found it.

Sort out my souvenirs somewhat – then a bit of 40 winks before pitching up for breakfast at just after 7a.m.  Very good as ever –  juice, eggs and tomatoes, bread and honey.

Drop a bag of laundry to be done at reception, do a bit of writing in the garden courtyard there and check my emails again.

First stop is the American Colony shop where I am given cardamom coffee – not as tasty as India’s ‘Special Tea’ made with the pods but a friendly gesture.  The awkward rigmarole of bargaining begins again for his fine Uzbech cloths.  It would appear I’m not going to get much change out of £100 but still have many hours to broker a deal.  I do not enjoy haggling-  such a waste of precious time.

Back past St. George’s and down to the Garden Tomb.  Crowds from the Philippines this time taking their turn to enter the tomb and being guided round the site by those volunteers who do a marvellous job.

Back into my favourite Jerusalem shop – 3 more bookmarks and yet another map of the city that I do not have until now.  Am allowed to use their telephone and I reach Tineke T’lam ( or tLam ) at her Jemima House for handicapped children.  We arrange to meet at about 2.30pm.

This gives me time for some more moseying around in the old city.  Entering via Damascus Gate-  best to keep your eyes looking down to avoid too much “Hey Mister” and “Come look my shop” etc.  Soon encounter a poster for the jolly good range of iced teas from Fuze –  I am hoping to help a godson with a business venture, so I take a picture.  Up a side street to the left where there is a bakery.  Man outside chats to me about organic flour, sesame or sunflower oil and says this place has been going for years.  Seems quite surprised to meet a British baker who churned out some 500,000 croissants in his twelve year stint as a lazy baker!  Still not very good at cakes but have recently found a fine recipe for Coca Cola chocolate cake which seems to work well enough.

Up the Via Dolorosa, avoiding the ‘stations of the Cross’ pilgrims who clutter this road –  my eyes catch a carpet store on the right hand side who has a small selection of those Uzbechi textiles and thicker, heavier Kashmiri carpets.  Charming Palestinian, who is off on holiday to Greece later in the afternoon    sells me a wonderful piece of cloth for S150 –  way below the prices asked by the guy at the American Colony.  He is also keen that I purchase a Kashmiri runner which he offers me for S350 if I can return before 5pm having thought about it.  Weight on the plane may be an issue here + over-carpeting not to mention overspending !

Stationery shop on Christian Quarter Street is open but with very limited stock and nothing suitable.

On up to Christ Church –  where rather nice music is emanating from this Hebrew/Christian i.e Judeo-Christian church which occupies the highest spot in the Old City I think.  I am shown to a seat back middle right and there follows some moving moments.  Personal statements are being made,  one comes from a man called Elijah who has walked to Jerusalem from Potsdam in Germany via 24 different concentration camps because he wanted to enunciate his personal grief on behalf of his nation.  A remarkable giant of a man,  some 2 metres plus tall , staying at the Franciscan Guest House just inside New Gate.

I become aware of a girl, standing in pole position in a church i.e. on the aisle seat front left.  Quite skinny and appears to be having trouble with her legs –  why, I don’t know but the back of my calves stiffen up and I have to do a bit of self-massage.  Anyway, she seems very happy with the world.  More anon.

Most of the congregation are plugged in to headphone sets translating the Hebrew sections of the service but I have eschewed these.  We sit through what seems a dull talk from the main vicar but of course it may have been riveting had I known what it was about!

You get the drift that services here go on a bit but there are a massive number of people with quite a lot of arm gesticulation and groaning.  Clearly a ‘charismatic’ church and it’s not over the top with the evangelicalism (long word!).  The piano playing and accompanying singing are truly outstanding – I tell her afterwards that she reminded me of Enya of whom she had not heard.  The sun shines bright on her has she plays.

After the service ends I tarry awhile to have a brief chat of congratulations with Elijah who is a popular figure, rightly surrounded by admirers keen to talk to him.  Then I discover more about the little teenage girl who is called Vora, from the Ukraine, although the lady who I thought must be her mother or a friend sitting next to her said no-one knew where she had appeared from –  she apparently announced herself as a Sister of Jesus.  I shake her hand and say, “Hello, I’m Jamie”,  telling the other lady that I think she’s in a better space than when she arrived.  “She’s so happy – she is indeed in a good place“, says her neighbour also from Eastern Europe.

Frustratingly, the museum remains closed, so I am not getting very far tracking down Mum’s handiwork.

Back down to near Damascus Gate and catch the Arab bus to Beit Jala for S7.20 –  it disgorges us all at the Bethlehem crossroads.  Try to pacify an angry young Palestinian lad who seems intelligent but wants to kill all the Jews.  “That’s not how it works,” I say. “ You have lived together for thousands of years –  you have to get on!”

Struggle with directions to Jemima House- everyone giving contrary advice-  “it’s past the stadium, then bear right” … there was no stadium and anyway, it was on the left.  I had walked quite a way up hill on the road that the bus had come down –  the Via Maria.  Eventually, I’m so frustrated and concerned I am late for the 2.30 agreed time –  spot a taxi parked up on a side road,  the owner’s charming wife says when I knock on their door that of course he will take me to Jemima House.  S15 later I am near my destination but he drops me quite a way below on the main road.

Tineke Tlam is not there but with a bit of toing and froing on the telephones we reach her and she’s on her way while I am given a frothy coffee by one of the Dutch staff.

I’m no Jean Vanier ( the wonderful founder of the L’Arche communities who I first met at a Guild of Health seminar back in 1995 and who signed my copy of his fantastic book ‘The Broken Body’ ) but I did my best,  meeting several floors of children with twisted little bodies, bent limbs , hands and feet –  my largesse involved Polo mints sourced at Tiger, Southside, Wandsworth … one of my favourite stores, a mini Danish IKEA type, and they went down well.  Others below were not so mobile and some didn’t have long to live you could tell – spent most time with a prostrate pony-tailed girl who could not move poor angel and I’m not sure if I made any contact or impression upon her.

Tineke then showed me the school area and the ‘workshop’ where olive tree root waste was compressed into fire briquettes.  Then briefly we walked up to her house from where husband Peter kindly drove me in his rickety van up to his charity,  the House of Hope in lower Bethlehem – where he and those more able of the handicapped youngsters carve out masses of olive wood souvenirs.  I buy one and he then drops me back at the Beit Jala/Bethlehem crossroads and points me uphill towards Manger Square –  the Nativity churches and birthplace of Jesus Christ.

It’s all a bit dirty and scruffy here really with not very enticing stuff for sale.  Further than I remember but arrive at the tiny door of the Church of the Nativity – go left into the Catholic courtyard where I encounter a little fella on a motorised tricycle who is begging with a written card and is doing astonishingly well … must be raking in up to S500 a day.  Very well positioned was Miguel and I took his photo from behind.  Smart shirt too, Miguel.

There was a small service going on in the left hand chapel of the Catholic church section of this polytheistic place – rather gloomy, the main transept was more attractive but I was depressed by the massive iron gates, locked, separating the left footers from the right footers through which pilgrims were peering.

Brief look at the Greek run or is it Syrian? section over the alleged spot –  probably not, actually.  Try to exit stage right up some steps but am thwarted by a shouting hatted holy man ( yeah ) who was operating a rope/basket arrangement bringing goods up to his second floor window who shouted at me to go away in no uncertain terms.

Out into the light again and take a different route to the right –  down to the bottom of Bethlehem again aiming to get the same 21 bus back to Jerusalem.

But when in Rome, as they say …  so I thought, why not?  Let’s walk back to Jerusalem … it’s not that far on the map.  Enjoy a caramel type ice-cream tub and then something extraordinary happens close to David’s Caves.

A guy and two girls are walking on my side of the pavement –  she catches my eye,  this first girl because she is very attractive,  long dark hair and fine décolletage encased in a white top.  Has this happened to anyone before?  But anyway she walks straight into me,  chest to chest,  bang –  and moves on without saying a word.  I say to her companion, as though I’d done something wrong …  “it was her, she walked straight into me.”  It was my T shirt wot done it apparently –  it reads in Hebrew, The Golden Dove.  Her friend had a large gold watch.  I’ve had that T shirt over twenty years and it’s had some of Jamie’s remedial sewing work done on it but I like it.

The journey back to Jerusalem, 12 or 13 miles I suppose, is made harder by the presence of the security ‘fence’ –  slats of tall graffiti-covered concrete.  Am shooed away from the road crossing and detour round to the pedestrian one, a strange system of ramps, caging, albeit with some plastic hanging baskets for light relief and X-ray machines.  So it’s belts, bags and watches off –  showing of passports etc.  Nice Palestinian explains to me that this routine can take 2 hours in the morning because of the queues.  I say, “I’ll see what I can do” –  it’s just not right to make half your population suffer just because you are the stronger half , Israel.  Are you listening Netanyahu?

Tale a picture, with his permission, of a Bedouin grazing his goats on the outskirts of town, surreal,  just behind a petrol station!  Continue on the Hebron road, encountering black faces for pretty much the first time on this travel –  which sets me musing on some of the idiosyncrasies of this country.  Very few blacks,  I’ve seen perhaps 2 , very few bicycles  – maybe 15 of those in total –  11 joggers  –  contrast indeed with the streets of London now swarming with aggressive examples of all of the above and not enough polite ones !

I can’t go back to my usual supper destination because they would be too kind to me ,  so I try the nearby Hotel Legacy which serves me a very good iced coffee and OK chicken, but service is poor.  Both TV and Walkman not responding to my entreaties  –  so I start organising my stuff for tomorrow’s departure and delve into the story of the Prophet Job whose tale of woe and triumph Tineke had explained to me.

You see, Jemina House is named after the eldest of Job’s three girls and two boys of his second marriage.  There was Jemima ( they pronounce it Jemeema ), then Keziah or Cassia I guess we would say and then little Keruhappuel.  So the individual houses in Beit Jala are Jemima, Cassia but they changed the name of the third to something easier to trip off the tongue.

Anyway, I read in the Gideon’s type bible in my bedside drawer the last few chapters of Job and was thrilled to learn that after all his difficult times the boy got lucky, lived to the age of 140 –  had the 3 prettiest girls in the land and had a great time in the latter part of his life.

My God,  can I say it’s been fine but it hasn’t been the easiest last 20 years financially or emotionally.  So here’s hoping for a bit of Job’s lot … . Actually, no, don’t worry.  It’s OK.  Let it be as it is.

Sunday 26th May

My elder daughter’s 25th birthday and of course I forget to text her until about 5p.m. but I had sorted out card and presents before heading off on holiday.

At 4a.m. the mosque down the road starts up its amplified ‘muezzin’ call from atop the minaret.  I wonder how many people actually show up for early prayers because Jerusalem doesn’t seem to wake up until at least 9.30am whether it’s Arabs or Israelis.  So why the cacophony at 4a.m. ?

Finish packing, well nearly anyway.  Great breakfast again –  fresh tea or juice this time and a more Arab feel to the meal as a nice change.  Still enjoy my soft white pitta, lots of butter and runny honey! Out to the American Colony after a circumambulation of the Cathedral site which must be nearly a mile and may have been more in the late 19th century –  Boss’s son only on duty ; explain I’ve bought embroidered cloth elsewhere –  not bothered really;  I’m sure they do very well from richer folk than me.

Up to the Ben Yehuda, Shamai and Jaffa Roads area –  for second visit to Jacov the shoemaker where I buy 3 more pairs of shoelaces ( price going up each time! ) and he is impressed with the repairs to my posh black shoes –  we are helped by a fellow Bukhari who translates my ramblings.

Before seeing Jacov I attend the 9.30a.m.service up at Christ Church again –  chat outside before to nice New Zealand couple who are setting up the after service coffee in front of the Alexander museum.  We discuss cricket, sheep and so on –  they are from Nelson originally, at the south of the North Island if I’ve got that right or is it at the north of the South Island ?

Church teeming with people once again.  Am pointed to spare seat up rear front but on the left hand side –  couple of youngish guys either side of me, the one on the left trying to keep his 5 year old amused.  Initial introduction from chubby vicar is amusing, threatening us with 4 or 5 hour service.  This is followed by good talk from the Deacon Aaron Eimi  ( the Australian manager of the museum with the Cotswold connection ) which tails off a touch towards its end.

By now the young lad on our left is seriously bored ( join the gang )  –  in my pocket I have a tiny ‘flicker’ book that came inside the CD of Arcade Fire’s excellent ‘Neon Bible’ –  this I had set aside perhaps to give to skinny Vora but she is not here today.  So I hand it to the bloke on my left and say it’s a present for his son.  Gadzooks, ‘it’s a hit, a palpable hit’ ( quote from Hamlet….. well, we did do a version of the play at school ) and he is quietened before being allowed to go to the Sunday School.

Our service continues, it’s the all-English version but I gather 2 hours long is commonplace.  I couldn’t stick it that long and I’m due down at the Anglican 11a.m. family communion –  this is way out of order, the amount of churchgoing I am doing at present!  But it is Trinity Sunday and everyone is having difficulty explaining the Father, Son and Holy Ghost concept.

I’m not going to start so there!  Suffice to say Monty Python are probably nearer the mark than the Pope!  Or Justin Welby for that matter,  who was 2 years younger than me at Eton.  He might remember my name I guess , one tended to look up to the older boys.

So at 10.40am just over half way through their long service I have to sneak away down to St George’s –  I write an A5 note explaining the provenance of the little 1½ “ square booklet to my neighbour and put my name and address at its foot.

It’s an up down up down sort of day –  quick change into smarter shirt, trousers and shoes for the Church of England.  Sadly, a much smaller congregation but Praise the Lord a much shorter service too, clocking in at one hour.  Saleem and sidekick Justin Cheng are in charge with the readings and I think their pronunciation was clearer than on the Tuesday morning.

Hymns a bit unknown which is always a bit of a downer but guest vicar Grant does a pretty good job with his own composition on the guitar …  heavens, a guitar in a Cathedral whatever next ?  Grant obviously does good Human Rights work with the Amos Trust and certainly one verse of his song sang sweetly and made me catch my breath.

I scuttle away before the bread and wine  –  although I am a fan of that ‘snap’ noise when the wafer is cracked in two.  Not sure about this Pauline invention as the way to remember Him, and Christ’s early followers are on my side I think.  Body and blood of Christ etc..  The jury is still out ; the Jewry are probably out as well.

I have to leave because there’s a 12 noon deadline for room evacuation.  Which of course I overstay but only by 10 minutes or so.  Bundle all my stuff into the back of the Aygo and it’s back into default dress code for my last hours in Israel –  T shirt, trainers and trousers : there’s a trinity for you people.

Up again to mid-town where I visit a silver shop spotted earlier and buy a wonderful small cup in Shevach Yemenite ware, sterling silver –  so intricate and there’s only one 71 year old still able to produce this exquisite work. So my S285 I consider a splendid investment for my children and their children’s children.  That, together with the Uzbechi embroidery are my prize purchases. 

Back across to Jaffa gate full of the joys of spring for one last attempt at the archives in the Alexander Museum.  S7 entry ( payable in the understaffed cafe below ) and once again a bit of a ‘wild goose chase’ for Mum’s cards.  But thrilling to see M. Tenz’s astonishing model again and a good chat with the Venezuelan curator on duty.  He encourages me to send an email to the Deacon seeing what he can do to help.  I learn that Hugo Chavez’s acolytes are believed to have ‘put away’ some 19,000 political opponents.  Tell him to recommend St George’s as an alternative guest house when theirs is full and also tell him about the Shalizar restaurant and its whereabouts.

Down to St George’s for the last time –  collect my thoughts, one last check of the emails and then set off towards Ben Gurion airport.  Pleased with early progress….. past the American Colony, turn left, left again then right onto the big road west.  Quite complicated these days because of underpasses and tram tracks and so on.  I tell you it is so easy to lose your bearings in Jerusalem –  what a maze it is, confusion can reign and I pride myself on my orientation skills.  But boy, do they go away in these streets and lanes.

With hire cars you have to fill the tank before you return it so I stop at a petrol station and while I shop for an iced tea and biscuits the car is filled up with 95 octane – not self-service here.  And guess what!  The cost in cash is S153 –  one of the very few numbers mentioned in the New Testament.  The number of fish / ichthoi landed at Ginnosar or thereabouts by His anxious disciples.

These Israeli roads and highways need some better lane engineering-  3 lanes merge into 2 with no warning ,  you can easily find yourself in the wrong lane and miss your turning.  Lane discipline is non-existent, indication rare and people pull out of side-roads willy-nilly.

Signage to the car hire dropping area near Terminal 3 is of course lousy but I eventually pull up at the Avis zone thinking time is a bit tight now to catch my flight.  Because of their security issues you are obliged to arrive some 3 hours before your flight and for some reason I am thinking Easyjet goes at about 6p.m. ( when in fact it’s due to leave at 8.20pm ).

A rather slow Brazilian Jew goes through his check list of mileage, any scratches etc, paperwork, paperwork and reports his findings to the men in the hut/portakabin who demand and extra US$29 Airport tax from me.  He then drives me slowly to Terminal 1 from where, apparently, the Easyjet to Luton will leave –  but the doors to ‘International Departures’ are firmly closed and a bossy Israeli woman directs me firmly onto a crowded transit bus which will take us all to Terminal 3.

On arrival there it is once again a mess of poor signposting but eventually I discover that Easyjet does indeed go from Terminal 1 and I am in the wrong place !  This is very frustrating.

So, back to Terminal 1 on another transit bus and the place seems pretty deserted.  At this stage, after someone says, “you have missed the plane ! ”  I finally find out I am actually early and won’t be able to check in for another hour or so.

Do a bit of suitcase re-organisation to make sure the bag in the hold isn’t over the 20kg allowance and then get moved on by security ( bossy woman again ).  Sit by the cafe , extortionate prices here.  Am joined by nice Dutch guy who has been on a conference jaunt with his employers,  Paypal ,  and has got rather sunburnt walking around Jaffa old town.  Give him some Rescue Gel to rub into his bald patch and we chat about Paypal’s fees and other stuff.

The security rigramole –  which so pissed me off on previous visits starts badly with a very curt, tall skinny blonde who I tick off for her rude manner and lack of the small but magic word ‘please’.  Not hard really is it?

At least this time I am not asked if I have made any friends on my travels – one of the main joys of the independent traveller but one which used to worry the paranoid Israelis.  In fact, in relatively short order with less hassle than before my bag is checked in – others are less lucky and taken away for more questioning but soon all passengers are herded into a bland room with no facilities.  It is then we discover that the plane is not here and off we go again by bus back to Terminal 3.

This is fun isn’t it ? –  what on earth is this all about ?  Well – Terminal 3 is fine  – the usual mix of shopping outlets, cafes and loos …  although it did take me a long time to find a cubicle which had any loo paper in it.

At Steimatzky’s I think I’ve got a reasonable deal for my remaining 17 shekels in coins but it turns out their prices were in dollars so instead it’s an iced tea again and a chocolate bar.

Fine view of the coast of Israel as we ascend –  I’m not very good at these long flights and get rather itchy and bothered.  Take shoes off – time goes very slowly.  Food on board isn’t bad if you choose well –  they source good snacks, but there were no hot drinks because something was wrong with the internal plane water supply.

Nearly 5 hours later we land at the ghastly Luton Airport –  we await two sets of steps for 20 minutes I promise you –  weren’t they expecting any planes here ?  Naturally idiots stand the whole time in the aisle.  Talking of which –  throughout the flight those Orthodox Hasidic Jews had behaved abominably once again.  Luckily this time there were only about 20 of them but honestly, it’s the men who are tiresome.  They stand in the aisles chatting away (about God knows what) leaning on other people’s seats, blocking the poor steward’s trolleys and partially blocking stewardesses’ trolleys. What a nightmare they are –  so selfish.  I berate one of them who impedes my passage to the loo at the back –  a weak sorry and I say, “Are you really sorry” with one of my scarier stares!

They get my goat this particular sect.

Long long delay while the pathetic Luton staff unload our bags onto the carousel –  compare and contrast with the wonderful super-efficient style at Salzburg airport –  one of my favourites;  nope, my favourite !

There are no chairs anywhere once again and of course big queues at passport control … the non-EU citizens getting a better deal than us Brits.  Remind me never to fly again from Luton.

Long wait again at the Luton Parkway station for a train to Blackfriars –  say adieu to my Dutch friend and struggle with a lack of night buses back to Earlsfield …  by which time it is 4a.m. the following morning and I’m a bit sore and weary.  But it’s always nice to be home isn’t it ?  House seems fine.

Lehitra’ot Israel

See yer.

 

Dear Enya,

A quote from my diary, 1.40p.m. Sunday 10th December 1995 … ‘ finish letter & contemplate one to Enya. Her music speaks to God – do I let her know ? She must know already’.

That was written in Eilat ; the birds and plants danced to your sound.  Later, staying in the annexe of the American Colony in Jerusalem one night, even the dust particles in the air moved in time. You are blessed & Roma writes beautifully. Thank you both.

I cried to ‘Hope has a Place’, thinking back to when I was 7 & first read in the Bible about the crucifixion, crying for him then, struggling to read the words with a torch under the bedclothes after lights out at my prep school.

Saw you once when Clannad performed roughly 3 years ago at the Royal Albert Hall.

I’m nearly 42, educated at Eton & Christ Church Oxford, an organic wholesale baker for 11 years after travelling the world by land, an ex over-doer of cannabis, married 10 years (divorced for 2) & proud dad to Pippa 8 & Charlotte 5¾.

Only in the last 4½ years have I done an honest day’s work though. They came close to taking my life in December ’91 at an NHS psychiatric ‘hospital’ & I thought no, this is not good this must change. So I’ve been working voluntarily, half-time then full time in Mental Health ever since.

I help run Consumer Forum, 153 Hammersmith Road, W14 0QL (close to EMI’s new offices) a drop-in / day centre where 50+  people come in daily & we do Sunday lunch for 70/80.  Good place , Monty’s HQ in WW2 – Nazareth House down the road where Sister Celestine feeds the homeless.  Also sit on committee of APCMH, Association for Pastoral Care in Mental Health (ecumenical bunch I’m pleased to say) who are soon to have a national office bang next door to Southwark Cathedral sharing the space with the UK Federation of Smaller Mental Health Agencies. UKFSMHA was the vision of Peter Thomson (Matthew Trust) & now has the full support of some 300+ small groups all doing good work but as yet unrecognised by Parliament & worst of all the tabloid media.

If you could Enya, any cheque to the UK Federation …

It irks me to ask but please trust me.

Do write or phone.

Yours,

Jamie Summers

(Fundraiser, UKFSMHA)

Thursday 7th December 1995  &  Friday 8th December

The day started before 5a.m. but that’s another story of packing/sorting and so on.  Tikka was picked up by Carole,  Grace & Jessica at lunchtime and I escaped from Consumer Forum at 1.30’ish only to return a minute later having forgotten my blue jacket … typical.

He’s off  –  lugging the Argos backpack & the Israeli cloth bag (courtesy of Arab run shop at the American Colony Hotel,  Jerusalem; bartered for  on last visit in January ’92).  Both these are loaded to the gunnels with probably superfluous paraphernalia.  A quick wave to Julia Delavitch on passing St. Mary’s and down to Baron’s Court tube for the District service to Victoria,  £1.70 single.

Trouble with the signalling at Earl’s Court means overhearing driver/controller radio conversations  (I was in front coach) … “you can’t go yet,  I’ve got trains everywhere !” etc..  Amused by LT incompetence or was it just bad luck … anyway,  it took quite a while to reach Victoria.

£16.50 return bought for Gatwick Express which a good fast ride (30 mins +).   Long   haul over to the North Terminal on funkyish monorail number where I have plenty of time to kill before official check-in time of 3.55p.m..  Buy a Toblerone (honey for the chapping lips) & a Cadbury’s choccy bar of some description.  Very bare Terminal  –  have to smoke outside mostly.  Chat to Body Shop lady who has packed away the sun creams but gives me leaflet & advises me that things are cheaper ‘airside’.

Check in ok  –  Argos has to go to ‘special’ rollers as he’s deemed awkward  –  weighs 10.6  or 10.9 kilos as weighing digitally seems difficult.  Through Customs (no bleeps) & marginal improvement in excitement quotient  –  use the 2 hours + to reasonable avail … cheese omelette & microwaved potato (erk) saved by Anchor butterlettes,  espresso coffee from Costas from a Roman from Pyramida ?  Variety of people  –  use a loo I’m not supposed to as they were re-plumbing but there was no sign to say so.

Fine metal /water (turned off … drought ?!) sculpture centred round spiral up/down walkway which kids & grown-ups would both like. Pop 57p into its childrens’ blind box.

Shopping garnered one medium placcy bottle of cocoa lotion (after sun) & orangey flavour lip salve after much use of tester bottles in Body Shop. (£4.50). Highlight was Past Times shop (recently accessed via mail order for marbles wooden box & Lindisfarne notepaper) where tempted by many things but limit myself to one ruler (wooden) 84p with Kings & Queens of England and a smashing little copy of the Book of Kells (£3.50).

Man next to me does a ‘spillikins’ with dodgy displays.  Charming salesgirl.

200 white Silk Cut  –  no films, too dear.  Check out Clinique, made in U.S.A. also too dear  –  late purchase before the long travellate to gate 48 was an amazing Waterstone’s 1996 Diary designed by Shiel & Cohen … v.pleased with that £4.95 … hope to get several more as Christmas presents.  Ta to Terry Jones M.P. !

Last fag for 5½ hours & board 757 of Air 2000.  Sit next to 2 Josephs,  returning from stay in Hendon  –  one no English other President of Haifa food export co. … good company … teaches me todaraba = thank you,  bevakasha = please,  éfó = where is,  anim mehapez = I am looking for,  mă schlomhă =how are you ?,  ok = ok,  yes = ken,  no = lō,  maybe = ōnlai,  hot = χαμ = ham with a gutteral h,  ani rayev = I’m hungry,  and quite amusingly ani nŏtsori = I am a Christian … no, I am not sorry I’m a Christian ! Joseph & I discuss Israeli politics & people.

Air 2000 … lady pilot did fine,  food very average (only kosher … i.e. poor margarine,  so so chicken liver pâté,  niceish apple pie thing).  Stewardesses had no idea that Jews like to congregate in groups of 8 to 10 to pray which they did mi-plane mid-flight  –  I thought that pretty ignorant considering  90%  of my  fellow passengers were Jewish & the plane tos and fros to and from Tel Aviv daily.

Landed 2a.m. local time  –  customs no sweat but baggage rondavel took its time due to lack of transporters.  Pleasing bronze of David Ben Gurion whose eyes appeared to follow me around the hall & gaze upon spot where some unfortunate terrorist was gunned to blazes (plaque marks the spot at carousel 4).

2 cigarettes later  –  I had survived the dearth  –  expensive hot chocolate in the 24 hour café.  Maybe I’ll take a bus into town & walk slow to new Egged bus station he thinks.  But no buses at this time of morn & taxis too costly.  Re-meet the Josephs outside & then decide to pack cloth bag at bottom of rucksack & start walking.  What’s 15 kilometres on a cool night ?

The moon is nearly full,  the going relatively easy alongside the speeding motorway and some somewhat putrid aquafers on my right hand side.  It takes ages to clear the airport & its runway  –  aren’t they huge.  Begin to flag,  feet sore  –  me black boots need sheepskin liners.  At the Yehuda interchange,  about half way to Jaffa / Yafo where I had decided to head for,  having missed a visit 4 years back & it being close to the bus station,  I drop anchor & thumb comes out.

Lorry passes but 2nd vehicle stops.  Wow !  Nice young guy who’s just been to Heathrow,  seen his girlfriend & returned after a night at Stansted Airport  –  on his way to work at 4.50a.m. for El Al Arkia security takes me out of his way close to the centre of Jaffa.  Thank you.

Plod towards goal of St. Peter’s church spotted earlier on map.  Am led up to museum,  outside which is splendid animal trough in old stone and on museum entrance wall a stone relief gives joy to the eye.  Through enchanting scrub garden,  on up to crown of hill where stands a memorial arch in codestone (? / cool to touch) symbolising Jacob’s Dream.

I am moved.

This is a powerful site  –  a plaque tells me that during the British Palestine mandate they made soap here !

Path leads down to the left and round to the right where an old fig tree I circle.  Who lies here ?   Down a bit and left down a cobbled alley,  past a Daniel type den and round to oversee the old port where the reef divides.  Tel Aviv gleams north of me;  back up right past door of church and stand again by its Italianate tower of fine design but I don’t desire to enter.

I descend inspired but tired towards old Tel Aviv passing unsavoury early bakery & decent furniture shops  –  stop for honey bread at an Arab bakehouse  –  ace.  Directions needed for the station … Kaminsky ?  Reach destination at 6.10a.m..  Extraordinary place, buses on 5 floors,  escalators out of order,  freshen up in loo & purchase one way ticket to Eilat for £10.  Bus due to leave from last gate at 6.30a.m..  Phew,  slump dog exhausted onto metal bench which gives way & bump my head.  Been up for 23 hours now & done enough for one day  –  conk out on 2nd row bus seat & am promptly woken by Israeli woman wanting her ticketed seat !

Snatch the odd 20 minutes kip en route south,  stopping briefly at Beer’Sheva (good egg & cucumber baguette & peach nectar) where man I recognise from last time still seeking foreign bank notes & coins for his collection.  Shall try to get his address because I have several that he would enjoy & that I don’t honestly need.

Last stop is deep in the Negev,  way past Dimona where a South African pair join the mostly male & female Israeli army khaki bus customers.  We talk & join in respectful criticism of Israeli attitudes to tourists  –  worse in Tel Aviv & amongst El Al staff apparently.  Bus driver did a professional job only spoiled by his missus constantly yakking away for the entire 5 hour ride & one must say by the indifference of the passengers.  Surprised by the growth of towns & horti/agriculture since 1992  –  what fertile earth is here.

Noon Friday  –  back in Eilat,  busier than before,  more tourists,  more hotels but fun & warm.  After trying a few places, eventually settle at the inviting & reasonably priced Marina Club Hotel and am allocated Room 218,  overlooking palms & pool  – just right.  Time once more to shave/wash/brush up & unpack :-  5 nights are anticipated …

Grease up,  Ambre Solaire 10 remnants squeezed at Earlsfield (home) into Sainsbury’s Factor 2 bottle.  Catch the last day’s rays before heading into town for a mosey around old & new haunts.  Many new shops & less greenery than before.  Excellent doughnut & Danish pastry at ‘The Family Bakery’,  an even better guava milk-shake in a bottle from an English run deli up the hill,  cheap tape shop doesn’t have Genesis ‘We Can’t Dance’.  See new public swimming pools shortly to open which look good  –  I hope City authorities will retain as much green space as possible but concrete threatens this fine town.  Wonderful enclave close to Eilat Music Academy blooming with bougainvillea,  impatiens perennials and birds.

Back down to the hotel zone  –  stop at Neptune Hotel to buy this notebook & then at cramped shop where I fall temporarily in love (again) with the salesgirl & buy a baguette,  some good aubergine/onion tub pâté and a fair banana milk-shake in a carton.  Succumb to a £2 box of Dead Sea Mineral Soap which was asking to be bought or was it my imagination ?  Vow to return to this cornucopia of interest … or is it just for the girl !

Unwind at base camp  –  assemble my 2 prong plug & Enya thrills the air,  quelle chanteuse.

Still hungry so dress up a bit and cross the bridge  –  Ben & Jerry’s ice cream parlour looks under-stocked and is expensive.  At 7p.m. am shown to unreserved seat close to the door of the Tandoori on King’s Wharf … the scene 3.9 years ago of the best meal I ate in Israel.  For once a restaurant has managed to retain its quality  –  saladdy starter with lemon,  2 veg samosas,  a tray of condiments,  a butter nãn,  sag paner washed down with 2 sweet lassis … oh for sweet lassis !  Practice few words of Hindi with staff  –  one sari lady who spoke excellent Hebrew,  Nepali type from Dehra Dun keen on cricket and man from Bombay who had attended sister Christian school to that run on Mount Abu.  40 shekels (£8) well spent.

2 Natrasleeps (hop & valerian) just in case.

Perchance to dream.

 

Saturday 9th December     The Sabbath

Awake before the sparrows & time to ponder before breakfast.  Magnificent dawn over Jordan mountains east of Aqaba  –  play more Enya ( the previous evening I had cried listening to ‘Hope has a Place’ rack 2 Side 2 on The Memory of Trees,  her best album to date ?  The song evoked memories of Cothill prep school where aged 7 I had first read the account of Christ’s crucifixion with a torch under the bedclothes and cried with pity for him).  Brief spurts of the Living Years,  Mike & the Mechanics and of course Horovitz playing Moz.

Descend for food & coffee I hope … slight wait because doors don’t open till 7.30a.m. not 7a.m. as advertised.  Fair nosh,  smoked swordfish & soused herring,  oat & raisin muesli & yoghurt,  roll & butter.  Coffee in thermos is weak,  but perked up with powder from jars.  Jewish party join & feast away.

Still too cold to write,  but discover am able to use  restaurant’s hot water to make my own coffee.  You see I had brought a jar of Sainsbury’s freeze dried Gold with me luggage  –  thankfully.

Before the day heats up I walk east where new development is apace  –  pass the new Dan,  through the Herod complex being started by the Canadians to a beautiful grass surrounded lagoon.  Few people around.

Vanity time  –  careful with those sensitive areas of my pale skin.  Observe life round the pool till 2p.m. or so,  doing front & briefly back … it is the Sabbath after all.  When I think I am sufficiently toasted decide to wander uptown.

Little did I realise this was to be an 8 km trek.  Little temptation as Sabbath shops generally not open till 6.30p.m. or later.  Head for the hospital with the intention of perhaps seeking out the psychy wards  –  3 women at reception say no not here … none have even heard of schizophrenia or mania.  Well,  well … I know from having seen a documentary that there is a mental hospital in Jerusalem but maybe Eilat is strife free !

Amazing variety of birds,  flowers and shrubs ease my path north-eastwards following contour of foothill.  Sensible mix of high-rise and low,  again not enough good green space for the kids.  Eventually arrive at corner of Eilat dominated by vast unsightly block where 6+ buses from Nazareth are parked.  What goes on there heaven only knows.

Head up towards the hills on crunchy brown volcanic rock and scree to mini oilometers and sign saying this is start of Eilat ↔ Ashkelon pipeline.  Consider awhile & wonder what effect this could have on Egypt/Israel relations because surely a route to the Mediterranean avoiding the Suez Canal for that precious oil is going to cause political ructions ?

Across scrubland & thorn to an undeveloped valley where stands atop a mound a wooden ark like construction with seating and one of those water fountains which can only dribble & squirt pathetically.  Close by is a beautifully made wood slatted wobbly bridge over a small dene/valley.  Decide this should become the site of Eilat’s first ? Christian church & dedicate the ground,  musing that it should be called St. Charlotte’s church after my fille mignonne !  One can dream can’t one.

Hairpin gently down to civilisation & discover my chosen consecration is at the end of Jerusalem Street.  How apt.  Yellow Submarine plays in  my head.

Sun moving down now  –  wander downtown,  via bus station to enquire about perhaps going to Jordan/Petra but buses only go to border.

Brief look into deli near hotel but there is a different girl on duty … tant pis.  Nice hot bath to degrease & oh I nearly forgot,  by the airport terminal there had been a commotion of sparrows in a palm tree just as one nun (from St .Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai ?) walked to check in .  I felt the flutter,  reminding me of 1980 at Heathrow when seeing my friend Gail Bishop off to Africa to roam.  Then a group of was it 5 nuns had seemed to flutter like doves around me as she walked towards the departure gate.

Play more Enya in my room and the birds and trees outside my window seem to play in time.  Take 2 expresso coffees in the lobby (Israeli brand  –  Teka  –  good) whilst diary scribbling.  At 7.30p.m.,  put 2 pairs of socks onto my mending blisters & walk townwards again.  Baguette (ham & cheese mit mustard & mayo from 2 surly Swedes)  –  spot of shopping this time,  secure Shepherd Moons (Enya),  We Can’t Dance (at last !),  Revolver (later)  –  buy presents for the girls in the Shalom Center.  Bright lights beckon to another centre which disappoints.

To bed 10.30/11p.m.

Sunday 10th December

Wake at 5a.m. sharp.  Dawn chorus.  Update diary.  Make coffee with warmish bath tap.  7.30a.m.,  time to break this fast.  Day beckons warm … you’re on holiday,  Jamie … let’s get this broken body browner !

Similar fare to previous day but eat less  –  last pot of apricot jam.  Settle on patio to pen postcards to my girls … my brain’s not functioning … before that I had gone for morning walk down to beach,  left towards Jordan over different bridge,  walked tother side of lagoon (musing that this should become Eilat’s first golf course)  –  the soil here is a superfriable loam that clings to my trainers a bit.  Accompanied by a fine selection of wildlife such as seagulls,  heron,  sparrows,  wagtails dabbing the way,  indiscriminate beauties particularly human friendly dart around me,  cormorants from the lagoon,  black fishes wiggling up the salty creek,  a sandpiper  –  up to fish farm complex then left back to hotel spotting large limo with rich Arabs in the back.

… one more Sainsbury’s Gold Choice & restaurant ‘pani gurm’ (hot water) from my Gujerat waiter mate & on with the postcards … One to Pip & Charlotte,  one a thank you for last Sunday’s lunch chez my doc & wife,  2 side letter to G started inside cos heat beginning to overcome.

Pause scripting for a lazy mo flattish on my back by the pool  –  less grockles as it’s changeover day.  Ponder my vanity.  Who on earth is going to notice if my body is brown & anyway it’s winter in the U.K. so is this exercise (or lack of it) pointless ?  Yes.  Take new Olympus OM1 (£169 extravagance last month in Acton) & head for the hills for a brisk hour plus,  this time on south side of town to suitable mound for 3x panorama picture of Eilat with Aqaba in the distance.  Head down left passing new road bridge over the wadi which I join taking me down to port area & back to base camp.

1.40p.m.  –  finish letter & contemplate one to Enya.  Her music speaks to God  –  do I let her know ?  She must know already.

Sun begins to hide obscured by clouds so I cruise again.  Banks will open at 4p.m. I’m told,  shops at 5p.m..  To town past one established older house in what remains of park area where guarded by ass,  pony,  geese,  cockerel and barky dog  –  place for the children’s zoo à la Battersea Park ?

Efficient service upstairs at Bank Leumi gets me £50 (250 shekels) on my Diners Club card but the people downstairs will have to Q for ages  –  they need more banks here to serve the swelling numbers.

Candles & chewing gum (lemon) from Shekem Dept. Store  –  the lemon continues my experiment of bleaching my yellowy brown teeth.  I had earlier bought a lemon for 30 cents from my favourite shop lady,  chewed,  bitten & sucked en route uphill.  Will it work ?  Is the pain worth the gain ?

Enquire about Eilat’s export of mail at travel agency  –  he tells me it goes via Tel Aviv & can take a long time.. That needs attention doesn’t it,  as at least twice a week planes go to Britain ?

Bath at hotel  –  make decision to leave Eilat & pay bill.  To Petra ?  Rose Red City of Jordan ?  Peut-ȇtre.  Conceive ‘wicked’ plan to to cheat Israeli postal service by stamping my mail with U.K. stamps & passing them to Brits flying home on the morrow but two local hotels seem bereft of Brits.  Plan B goes into action & I return to nice Essex man at agency who kindly takes them.

Rap awhile re Petra (difficult to get to  –  too difficult as yet),  Assad of Syria who has just murdered 15,000 of his own people (?) & Saddam Hussein who has sneakily gained foothold in Lebanon (?).  This conversation at another travel agent,  lady ex-U.K. run.

Return to my deli but my bird has flown … Still,  purchase one more tub of aubergine pãté,  2 pitta type roundels & a doughnut. Eat my supper on a grassy mound before the wind & palms  motion me towards the Royal Beach Hotel.

This is some palace  –  the swankiest hotel I have ever set foot in … automatic doors everywhere,  even sensored taps in the loo. Marble halls,  vast carpets,  comfortable chairs,  elegance  –  surreal,  a roving clarinettist  –  beautiful pools,  warm.  Treat myself to a 6.50 (not overpriced) lemon pressée in one of the myriad of bars & lounges.  Drink outside in splendour,  noticing earthquake damage to 2 crucial lines  –  their pillars ain’t strong or don’t have the girth to cope with such weight of rooms above. Fearful for the safety of this delightful dream-like domain I express concern to the concierge who is diffident.  “Only superficial damage,  all will be completed next week “.  I reply, “You’ve only cemented over the cracks.  It’s not enough,  you need wider (stretch out arms) pillars.  Another quake ?” (frown).  Reception finally tells me it’s $212 a night here but it’s probably worth it.

Emerge from trance & return to sleep 9.30/10p.m.

Monday 11th December

Well,  I thought it was Monday when I woke refreshed,  but guess what,  I had read my watch upside down & instead of it being 4.50a.m. it turned out soon after that it had in fact been 11.20p.m..  By the time I realised,  I’d washed down a couple of coffees using the hot bath water & smoked a couple of white Silk Cut so it was too late to sleep again.

Might as well set off earlier than planned methinks.  So, after some diary scribbling it was pack the rucksack,  more carefully this time as a longer trudge is likely  –  quietly exit the hotel,  leaving room key at night reception at 2a.m..  Some late stragglers are returning to rooms after discothèqueing;  for some the day is ending for me it’s just beginning.

Walk some distance to the edge of town to the last neon streetlight where I park up.  Thumb out a few times,  car & timber transporters pass in pairs but the few vehicles are mostly the busy bee concrete mixers heading up to the cement works.  Get bored after ¾ hour & decide to walk to army post near only Jordan crossing 2 km or so up the road.

Nice night,  nice to be on the road again.  Reach the post at 3.30a.m. or so.  The two men there are kind  –  one divorced with 2 kids, one has seen 30 years service.  Give me tea & biscuit & we chat about army matters.  A few vans,  a car & some lorries pass but thumb fails.

Then at 3.50a.m. Bingo  –  lady in Subaru stops for me.  She’s going to Jerusalem too,  hallelujah.  Radio crackles,  tense driving, cold air rushes through car.  Her reason for trip is sad  –  her young & only sister, 22,  has been knocked from motorbike & died in Jerusalem hospital.

We are speaking in French because she’s Tunisian,  though 30 years in Eilat  –  at 3.30a.m. that morning she tells me there had been another quake shake,  she on 2nd floor & frightened,  5 on the Richter scale.  The second in a month in Eilat but perhaps another ‘small earthquake in X,  not many dead news story’.  First quake in November … one man died from a heart attack.

Negev desert goes on & on.  Brief pee & fag stop for us at gas station,  closed,  & a thermos cup of lemon tea sans sugar.

Pass phosphate factory near Sodom,  pass Ein Gedi,  Masada,  Qumran.  Arab radio only  – song lyrics remind me of my failures in life.  Nod off from time to time.  Road surface awful at south end of Dead Sea,  which turquoise & tranquil.

This is the scene of 40 days 40 nights torment for Jesus.  Bypass Jericho,  up hill after hill towards our goal.

Sight Russian (?) tower atop of Jerusalem & heart begins to lift.  Bedouins encamp in valleys either side of road. Past police checkpoint … it’s raining now.  My friend,  it’s tu not vous by now,  must spend the next 8/10 days welcoming her sister’s friends & relatives at her place in Ramot,  so despite my mild protestations she drops me at a Ramot bus stop.  Give her a pack of Silk Cut  –  gentile she is.

Rush hour  –  bus 34 takes me for 3.30 shekels to near Egged bus station,  the guide book says this is at top of Jaffa Road.  Directions fail me (this is a regular occurrence in Israel) & I circle aimlessly seeking downtown.  Arrive 25 mins later close to where I had started  –  Arab doughnut seller then directs me in totally opposite to true course the c*** !

Finally,  English Jewess puts me on track & I descend Jaffa Road.  Familiar landmarks begin to jog memory & after a couple more mistakes I arrive at my choice The American Colony Hotel & its annexe.

Shock horror … the £25 rooms have been recently spruced & now cost $120 but I need the sanctuary & Room 43 is prepared while I wander for an hour.  Up to St. George’s Cathedral  –  rosemary outside,  rub hands,  chapel on right St. Michael’s where I pray,  the organist practices,  walk around the church & exit.  It feels a little cold,  not so happy as 4 years back.

Check out possible alternative room in attached pilgrim’s guesthouse but it’s stark & $40 +.  YMCA is yet starker & dearer. Back to annexe for a siesta.

Wake & can you believe this,  time goes topsy turvy again due to my upside down vision !  Assume it’s 6.30p.m. only to discover some time later it must have been just after noon !  Gordon Bennett.  Bath & change,  out of garden gate for sightseeing in local vicinity.

Ace deli sells me for 10 sh. 2 pittas,  a plate of mixed hummus & aubergine + a tub of cream cheese & chilli.  Wander into grounds of villa,  discovering it is the HQ of Jerusalem’s Palestinian Supremo.

School is finishing,  round & down to the Garden Tomb.  Warm welcome,  please come to the shop.

Gentle rain,  pause.  My spirits soar,  that rushing internal Heaven sent exultation as I gaze upon this place where He Arose

A basket of rosemary sprigs,  thanks,  & enter the good shop,  well run well stocked.  Busy with custom getting busier as the tour people enter,  keen to buy buy.  Myself I buy a postcard for Consumer Forum folk and a map.

The party of tourists are I learn Singaporean  –  we brush shoulders as we move around the store.  Good people.  Heavier rain in the garden;  have to close the door twice … perhaps they were born in barns !

Walk further around this ‘Christian’ sector of town,  browse in stationery shops,  gift shops,  shoe shops.  Sun is warm now  –  last port of call is the Meridian Hotel close to the Am Col..  Charming,  sun facing,  looks fine   –   agree to check in tomorrow, ‘anytime’ he says,  $45 b&b.  Had given 5 sh. to lady beggar,  felt she needed it.

Snooze once more in comfort.  Up 6ish,  out again into old walled city through Damascus Gate  –

Help small lad up steps with his trolley of bits.  Thinking I am bound for Jaffa Gate area I walk purposely keeping right  –  blow me down with a feather,  10 minutes later I emerge outside the walls again,  but it’s the Damascus Gate once more !  Is this place confusing or what !?

Stick to past knowledge & walk round corner to Jaffa Gate,  left into St. James’ alley & down to Jewish quarter.  Not a lot going on at this time of evening,  window shop & eat falafel pitta & veg from Filipino shop.  Head back to hotel,  losing way briefly in the old city.

Encounter Australian couple looking for a supper  –  try a couple of options & then walk with them to Am. Col. Where they will snack.  Pleasant,  only been in Jerusalem for an hour  –  no doubt will see them again as they are staying in St. George’s.

Consult my maps & Lonely Planet guidebook in vague attempt to think where to go in following days.  Drop 2 aspirin (limbs ache a touch !) & 1 Natrasleep & retire at 9.30p.m.. Read the lovely little Book of Kells got at Gatwick.

Tuesday 12th December

Up just before the muezzin calls,  5ish.  More tap coffee,  more cigarettes,  more diary writing.  Postcards to my father and to CF.

Stomach is loose this morning … surmise the cause was the falafel pocket the previous evening.  Rectify (well,  there’s an apt word !) matters by breakfasting on  2 types of wholemeal bread,  bran flakes & oat muesli with yoghurt.  Cannot finish the pot of awful coffee  –  last time their coffee had been excellent.

Settle my night’s bill.  UN Major is collected by his batman.  Much business goes on in this hotel.  7.40a.m. up to St. George’s Cathedral with the morning eucharist on my mind but discover it had been at 7a.m..  Wander around the gardens round the back,  photo of tower.  Into Dean’s garden  –  all nicely tended & plants clearly labelled some with their Biblical connotations.  Saffron,  bay,  rosemary,  narcissi,  wormwood,  roses,  geraniums amongst many others.

On leaving pass special room,  newer stained glass just visible,  surrounded by throne-like chairs  –  maybe convocations of bishops chinwag here.

Wander some more  –  briefly into Old City through Damascus Gate but little action early in morning & retreat.  Ask about buses to Ein Kerem where John the Baptist was born & bred  –  Arab bus station beneath Golgotha (a closed Muslim cemetery) doesn’t go there but one opposite Garden Tomb alleyway does … No. 27 is needed.

Pack in hotel  –  male cleaner lets me pinch 2 little blue soap boxes. Photo from annexe roof.  Lug stuff short distance & check in at the Meridian Hotel  –  room seems fine if view is not too hot.  Deposit clothes to be laundered at reception  –  separated into hot & cold washes.

Hotel lift is made by Nechushtan-Schindler.  Schindler’s Lift …say that with a lisp and what do you get ?  A fine book and a fair film.

Wander down different way towards Post Office & encounter wasteland opposite olive tree park where on previous visit I had experienced a sudden rush of wind.  Saunter awhile seeking guidance then realise I am being watched by young man.  Move across to olive park full of fallen Roman statue/column bits & sit on bench trying to appear normal.  I have infringed on the ‘gay’ (good as you it stands for) encounter zone.  Take one photo,  and leave quietly.

P.O. comes up trumps  –  express PC to CF & normal airmail to Dad.  Board my 43 which speeds past Yad Vashem & drops us all outside major hospital above Ein Kerem.  There is no real path to E.K. but take photo of the village sitting at head of the valley.  My destination today is Emmaus,  or Ladrun as it’s now called  –  they say Barabbas or the other unfortunate lived there.  Ladron is Spanish for robber,  hence Ladrun I guess.

On my road map of Israel E.K. → Ladrun looked 15km as the crow flies.  11a.m. now,  should be there by 2.30p.m. at the latest … how wrong can one be.  Path through woods of pine  –  give directions back to Ein Kerem to lost lady motorist.  2 mountjack deer bounce away ahead of me.  Going is a little tricky but find road heading my way & follow that for many miles.  Join a railway track briefly then from the map it appears I must cross to next valley north to keep in right direction.  Track divides & I head  uphill (mountain goat style) through thorn,  ouch,  rock & thicket.  Gain top & decent path leads along ridge but suddenly ends.  Have to descend via pipeline,  fall once … this needs care.  After 1 hour I am back almost where I started from  –  my map unpreparedness,  my ignorance, my stupidity.

Frustration follows,  rain falls & I walk dejected for yet more miles.  Hungry & thirsty but no respite here.  Take off shoes & socks to cross slippery river bed,  foaming with detergent.  Each turn of the valley I hope the plain will be in sight.  At last passing a quarry Bet Shemesh is seen on left  –  it’s nearly dark now.  6 hours walking & for what.  Say shalom to man with rickety legs  –  my first words to a soul since just beneath the hospital.  A lonely route.  Decide enough is enough  –  back to Jerusalem ?

Bus stops  –  not going to J., going to Tel Aviv.  O.K.  Ladrun I say.  9 shekels 80 he decides,  seems a bit steep,  Ladrun on the map looks nearby.  Bus dumps me in Ramlah … Ladrun he says,  here.  Consult map … only Lod seperates me from Tel Aviv airport !  I’m miles from Ladrun.  It’s chucking it down now  –  I tried to get there & failed.  Knackered I get the bus back to J. & bus 27 to St. George’s.  7.45p.m. now,  bath & out for snack supper twice.  Good lamb kebab,  yoghurt drinks.  Try to get orangina from Coca Cola vending machine  –  3 shekels in,  nothing out.  Nothing to do with me says or gestures the patron.  He bangs it,  I kick it hard  –  still nada.

Bed very comfortable  –  superb sheets

I felt small today

Why try & do what Jesus did

Just be yourself,  Jamie

Wednesday 13th December

Muezzin wakes me 5.05a.m.

Church bells 6.45a.m.  –  Eucharist ?  3 celebrants + one v.late arrival,  1 vicar.  Suffer coughing attack half way through gloomy dirge-like service but return improved … decide against bread & wine but take the blessing.  Disinterested vicar,  little joy.

Breakfast … slightly better coffee.  Nice warm milk,  bran flakes & corn,  Lebanese yoghurt,  scrambled egg on white toast. Discover goodbye in Arabic = marcellam.  Bound to forget this !

Pick up free booklet @ reception The Holy Places Today by M.Basilea Schlink  –  looks good.  Bookmark inside reads :

Believe that

God only humbles

and tests you in                                                                        A message

suffering so as                                                                            for my

to show                                                                                         yesterdays

you                                                 all the                                      todays and

more good-                        tomorrows

ness in the

This assurance                                        end

will enable you

to overcome

in suffering

MB

First port of call is good little stationers nearby for 3 foot ruler.  Select the straightest from choice of 5.  Damage … 9 shekels (£1.80, v. reasonable).  Next to Am. Col. Shop for camera strap,  explain didn’t get back till late yesterday,  boss can’t find where his son may have put the embroidered ropes  –  promise to return p.m..

Drop ruler back in room & off for intended day of Christmas shopping … after all I clocked up a lot of mileage the previous day & calves,  feet & knees are in need of soothing.  Replaster water blister on toe.

Coffee,  coffee brain says (Sainsbury’s now all used)  –  excellent Turkish + cardamom in glass after it settles near Damascus Gate. Drizzle continues.  Up towards Jaffa Gate where at summit veg vendor has dropped most of her turnips (?) over the road.  Cars & lorries squash them mercilessly.  Pick up a couple for her,  rain should clean them.  Her son stands by,  twiddling his thumbs.

9a.m. now  –  Tourist Info Centre just inside Old City  –  woman on phone,  pick up map of OC courtesy of H.Stern the jewellers.  Big arrow You are here  –  good that is.  Browse in Christ Church shop opposite David’s Tower where Allenby quelled the rival passions. City starting to awaken.  Rothschild Craft Centre not open till 9.30a.m. so descend to Jewish quarter.

Examine T-shirt collection & other wares.  Buy chi (χ) plate and end of line white (well off-white cos it’s been on display for ages) dove number XXL.  Good lady owner takes my Nat West cheque for £11.  Her husband directs me to best coffee shop in area, The Quarter Café  –  strong black with milk.  Enya on the musak system !  Take 2 x panorama of good view of Golden Temple & Mount of Olives.

Around & about a bit,  back & down to Wailing Wall.  Refused entry at bottom left corner & given short shrift by Jewish orthodoxy.  Tell geezer he’s very welcome in a Christian place,  more jabbering at me so “up yours”, I rudely say  –  apologies sir. Find correct tunnel & am straight away in Arab section of town.  2 Colombians are struggling with bartering system  –  help out as best I can in Castellano (pure Spanish).  Owner pleased,  or is he just after my business ?  Coffee offered … sucker me parts with 30 sh. for v.nice box … business terrible he & his opposite shopkeeper tell me … not surprising if you hassle Europeans,  they don’t like it I try to explain.  Sucker punched again into buying 3 hand painted Armenian plates (3 colours variations on the Tabgha mosaic),  but get baksheesh  square tile.  Another 30sh. spent I think,  it’s hard to recall some of these protracted negotiations.  Part on good terms.  Sales patter continues as one leaves.

Left into Via Dolorosa by Simon of Cyrene corner.  Head down & slow walk seems to avoid much of the Arab sales pitch.  On left is wonderful little chapel of the Little Sisters of Jesus.  Quiet prayer & then photo.  Discover branch exists in U.K.,  one in W.10 one in Hackney take down addresses & phone numbers.  I like the name and I liked the place,  although felt a touch queezy about the lower chapel which merited a quick in & out.  Pope in 1964 was here,  says plaque.  Nice,  very nice French prayer sheet also taken.

Shop for the blind has ace brushes but too cumbersome for air travel so buy 36 wooden clothes pegs  –  find out later,  made in China, but assume packaging done by the blind.  Continue up Dolorosa,  eyeing goodies for perhaps later purchase.  Reach Jaffa square again. Down St. James’ once more  –  pee stop in Rothschild Centre,  exhibiting fine art & jewellery etc..  Sigh their book & comment ‘beautiful handiwork’.

5 shekels for a suitable camera strap without much hassle then I’m out of local currency so it’s Bank Leumi time.  Problems with their telephone so I try other bank (Mizrahi) but they close for lunch so it’s back repentantly to Leumi where after longish wait (Bedouin has even longer wait than me … maybe they are not quite sure who he is but he looks very honest to me & a fine fellow) my 250 shekels (£50) arrives.

Fine soft red cotton shirt  –  30sh. ‘no messing around here’,  unable therefore to bargain cos it was a bit dirty !

Family concern down Dolorosa again,  good man has an ‘everything for 3 shekel section’ & interesting bric-a-brac.  Come out with beautiful belt made by his niece/cousin ?,  a battered but bonito cigarette tray holder thingy & two spare pawns,  both intended for Consumer Forum.  The chess set there is always missing pawns for some reason !

Map of Jerusalem bought nearby plus loaves & fishes XL T-shirt blue (25sh.) then towards Damascus Gate (bag is getting heavier & heavier)  –  2 tubs of cinnamon,  1 of ground cardamom (9sh.).  Barrel box (70sh.)  including free tea with sage (pas mal)  – Islam/Jew/Christian discussion  +  chat to Head of Commerce (VIP) in Arab areas.  Cat Stevens apparently now numero uno in esteem … mention incident involving  Georgie Chichester (now Leyland) when he sad & asked her to enter his Rolls Royce late one night … suspect this tale put the cat (!) amongst the pigeons as good Muslims are not supposed to this style of thing.  However,  nobody’s perfect,  not by a long chalk.  Shop owner is personal friend of Yussuf/Cat.  Please to learn good Islam dead ringer for good Christianity  –  interpretations of Bible & Koran etc. often muddy the still waters that He provides.

Last purchases in the Old City were a pack of 4 knickers for me (10sh.),  2 mini tiger balms & 2 brilliant hessian Christmas stockings for the 2 girls,  & 3 lemons outside for 1 sh.,  plus a 1 sh. roll.  + 1 jar coffee (11 shekels) + 2 packs of Dunhill  = 18 shekels.

Oh,  the hazards of diary writing the following morn.  I omitted 2 events of importance.

First I encountered on the Via Dolorosa,  clattering down with his metal walking frame,  a middle-aged man to whom I gave a 10 shekel note,  in to his hat.  Turns out he’s,  5 years ago,  been touched by a 30,000 volt electricity cable which shored off his scalp,  fried his skin,  chopped off half one foot & twisted his body.  Coping OK but I tell him,  as he can’t afford the Israeli medical help available,  to go & ask at Rothschild’s Craft Centre for the dosh to get him to U>K> to have a metal plate fixed above his exposed brain.  Tell him that in U.K.,  psychiatrists zap people too !  Too bloody much if you ask me !  He’s incredibly lucky to be alive & I wish him everything he needs.

Event 2 was pleasant sojourn,  coffee.  photo in church at Christ Church above Immanuel opposite David’s Tower & already mentioned. Here,  on the exhibits of earlier this century & before displayed,  on portrait of Michael Solomon Alexander there is a sticker saying who this is which looks to me done in my mother’s handwriting.  Kevin is the man to ask I’m told by Argentinian lady but Kevin don’t know (he’s Australian) but will try to find out for me & leave message at reception.  Ta,  Kev.  Mum was here during the war you see.

So back to Christmas shopping.  After 4p.m. I head, after unloading first batch,  through Hassidic section of the new town to Jaffa Street chewing on one lemon ! Am looking for cufflinks,  selfishly for me,  which proves a complete no-no.  Serves me right.

No Mozart tapes anywhere,  fair coffee & heavyweight bagel on George V Street.  Batiques,  silk cushion covers look not bad  –  may return.  A few stocking fillas amuse so I get them … 13.50 shekels.  Fine store at bottom of Ben Yehuda Street yields loads of Christmas presents for family members & friends.

Goodness gracious it’s 8.20p.m. now  –  head hotelwards,  naturally get lost again trying to be  too clever … these streets honestly, where’s my sense of direction gone.  Supper en route,  caramel milk (bueno),  some pastries in Jewish zone & a slice of pizza.

Bed, exhausted,  after bath 9.45p.m.

A good day

Merci Dieu

Tu es vachement chouette à moi

Merci encore

Je t’adore.

Thursday 14th December

Up early to scribe away,  tap water is cold so coffee pretty disgusting.

What to do today la di da ?!  All my washing was returned on my return to hotel the previous evening  –  beautifully done,  all for 56sh. which I still owe  Out at 5.45a.m.  –  clear skies.  Down to Arab Bus Station,  not a lot moving at this time of day.  No coffee shops open.  Board first bus to Bethlehem,  the 6.05 a.m.,  which arrives at 6.30a.m.  Am the only passenger by the time we reach B.  Up hill to central square.  Israeli army still in their pen but less frantic than 4 years ago.  Ask one of them where I might get a coffee ?  He shrugs,  bemused & gestures me to north end of square.  Aha,  settle in café to enjoy a coffee/cardamom & secure a can of ‘Pip’s Cola’ for her stocking.

To the Church of the Nativity at bottom end of square  –  am first (?) grockle to enter through low small door that day.  Drawn to far right corner where flowers,  pictures & a crib lie above portal leading down to grotto from where emanates chanting of robed man. Fire extinguisher in left corner.

Ground floor level to immediate left of Mother & Child icon/painting and right hand column of grotto’s stone door frame steal my attention.  2 or was it 3 photos in the candle light before one of my throat spasms hits me again  –  coughing sporadically I seek the outside air in adjacent courtyard cloister into whose flower beds of impatiens (?) I retch and spit thrice.

Some Italian nuns,  “buon giorno” one says,  are scurrying to their service at St. Katherine’s which lies alongside the Church of the Nativity.  One more photo as my composure returns.  Bright sun greets me on return to main square.

Short morning stroll around the back streets following children on their way to school & then back to bus stop.  Return journey to Jerusalem marred by over-efficious young soldier who checks virtually every car,  demands I.D. papers from nearly all our bus people. Somewhat rudely I thrust my maroon passport in his direction,  “British”, I say,  muttering about how unnecessary all this over zealous check-point Charlie stuff is.

Road to J. Jamming up so driver takes good short cut which lands us at base of Zion Hill..

Get out here & discover by Alexander Café a mini museum explaining the 3 man operated (by hand) cable car system which crosses the valley to the Old City.  Devised in 1948 or earlier by brilliant engineer whose name escapes me  –  URIEL that was it !,  manned by the British during the mandate to restock the western Jewish sections of town.  Kept a total secret,  the cable wire being lowered to valley floor during the day,  and not revealed until 1972.  Mossad  must be clever.

Walk up Zion through lovely gardens past King David’s Hotel being done up,  past the dreadful design of the imposing YWCA and head for breakfast.  9.25a.m. am past official time but kindly given all I need.  One hour’s kip.  10.40a.m. catch the 27 to Jaffa Road & descend to look for bank to get dollars cash & travel agent to reconfirm my flight home.

Score on the former at main Israel Discount Bank but it turns out that agent I seek is at 108 Ben Yehuda in Tel Aviv not Jerusalem  / Good bloke at IDB branch had helped me here.  Turns out there is a BY Street in every town.  BY invented Hebrew language in 1920’s.

Walk all the way up to Central Bus Station,  central is hardly the word !  Stock up with caramel/mocca milk,  an egg salad baguette, Israeli strawberry chocolate bar & a ½ litre mineral water,  Neviot.  Am now ready,  I hope,  for an afternoon’s stroll from Bet Shemesh to Ladrun.

Get off bus one stop too soon which adds a kilometre or so.  Down to where the last trek had ended then across country Ladrun bound.

Suffice to say that some 5 hours later,  through thicket,  groves of olive,  peach & orange,  along paths tracks and road,  through villages new & old,  with sparrows,  falcons,  wagtails,  pipers and a kingfisher eyeing right then left then right again, threatened by a Rottweiler (wooden stick came in handy but wasn’t needed),  I ultimately reached my destination.  Yet again I had taken the great circle route.  Oh for a 1” Ordnance Survey map !

Under the Tel Aviv ↔ Jerusalem motorway to Mehlaf Latrun & the ruined Church of the Beatitudes.

Overgrown park/garden on north side holds more magic.  2 photos in the virtual darkness.  Time to return.  Thumb out for 35 minute in cold weather.  Hebrew only man in smart car drops me at Nevaresset Junction.  Toda (thanks).  Espy ‘one of my favourite things’ (Julie Andrews)  –  a shopping centre !  Quick wash & brush up of self & mud clodded shoes after an expensive expresso.  Prices here are quite a bit higher than in Jerusalem but enjoy my sojourn in more stylish surroundings.  Visit to large Co-op yields mini sacks of chocolate shekels,  a cheap pan scrubber & yetanother doughnut !

Bus back to J. Also goes via the great circle route through smart suburbs.  Then the old 27 back to base camp.

13 shekels for my supper of 2 white rolls (not enough wholemeal bred in the diet here),  one tub of aubergine pâté,  one tub of red cabbage salad,  one low-fat honey yoghurt and a can of the marvellous Mitzli peach nectar.  Now that’s what I call value,  although my guts could use more roughage.

Wash hair.  A pretty good day all in all.  At last I had completed my Ein Kerem to Emmaus walk.  Tiring at times but worth it I wonder ?

The deed’s been done anyroads !  To sleep 9.30p.m…

Friday 15th December

Early start again  –  it’s really my best time for writing I feel.  More luke warm tap coffee … this Maxwell House stuff,  made in Germany,  is pretty disgusting and doesn’t dissolve properly.  Sugar seems unnecessary,  and Israel only has white sugar anyway.

Friday is the Moslem Sabbath so I should perhaps concentrate the day’s activities in the Jewish areas ?  Down to Post Office,  up & right,  then left down through Jaffa Gate.  Things are quiet this early.  Compose what I hope will be nice photo of moon,  cypress trees & Moslem symbol on top of tower in main Jewish square.  Nowhere open for coffee.

At length walk up Via Dolorosa  –  shot of donkey ascending.  Had seen a few sheep earlier being herded around these narrow alleys  – imagine that in  Soho say !  A variety of motorised transport is able to negotiate these twisting,  stepped & paved little streets. The best is a mini tractor pulling a trailer,  made by Holder I think.

Near Damascus Gate I finally get my cup of coffee Arabische  –  a tad expensive here but pleasant.  Pass the lady street vendors with their vegetables & fruit  –

Maybe there’s more action up in New Jerusalem.  9a.m. now.  Pee stop in café beneath the Hapoalim Bank Tower but their water isn’t hot yet.  Corner shop hasn’t got change for a 20 note for a 9.50 shekel pack of blue Dunhill Lights but seems to be dealing in $100 dollar bills for another customer !   I window shop awhile around this excellent shopping zone.

These few streets of 2 storey houses were built 140 years ago  –  the first Jewish settlement outside the Old City.  Brave pioneers into Palestinian territory.  They now house a nice mix of shops,  restaurants,  cafés etc. … a bit like London’s Covent Garden.  Some wonderful goods meet my eyes.

Cigarette seller at last can give me change.  Then I discover the Café de Colombia (best in the world I reckon) but it transpires they import the ever present Italian Sanfreddo variety.  Nevertheless,  3 pretty waitresses (one particularly so !) please me & a large glass of frothy white coffee tastes good.

Shopping time.  More Christmas presents secured at French run place who has spectacular selection of ‘ethnic imports’  –  from Peru,  Ecuador,  Kenya & Indonesia to name but four.  Buy 2 beautiful mobiles,  painted wooden animals & a bird letter opener,  all for 200 shekels on Diners Club card.  One more painted wooden bird from another shop & wondrous Indian ? embroidered sash for 37sh..  It’s worth so many times that.  Weeks of work must have gone into such fine needlework some years ago.  A glossy modern fridge magnet from Alexander’s up Ben Yehuda then I’m seeking a canvas/cloth bag because all these things aren’t going to fit in the Argos rucksack !

Breakfast had been a wholemeal bagel  –  one bakery in town only doing them it seems.  Down for a deli lunch in the Old City going via Christ Church for another pee & to see if Kevin had left me any note … non,  not yet.  Hot sun & fun in the central Jewish square as I snack on hummus & small white plaited loaf  –  v. good.  Shop below looks brilliant but my eyes were bigger than my wallet as usual & I exit with a good bag (60 sh. on Diners) perfect for its intended role.

Everything closing now (1p.m.) for siesta.  Refused entry to Dome of the Rock sector cos it’s Moslems only today.  Explain to guard that he would be very welcome any day of the week in a Christian church.  Allowed to take photo though.

Had earlier revisited Israel Discount Bank at op of BY Street where Mark,  busy as a bee as ever,  had efficiently helped me get 250 shekels more.

Masses of Moslem ladies leaving their holy worship as the Arab quarters come to life.  Round the back streets,  photo of fine gateway  –  later turned away from Dome zone despite it now being emptier.

Path leads me towards Lion’s Gate.  3 shekel entry into the Bethesda Pools & adjacent St. Ann’s Church & gardens.  Here Jesus healed a very sick man,  “take up your bed and walk”.  Two crosses,  well 8 actually,  4 on each stone pillar base mark the spot.  2 photos.

Out of Lion’s Gate  –  men at entrance of Moslem cemetery on right would like 5 shekels if I want to walk therein.  Politely decline & reverse direction up the Stork Walk,  left past the Rockefeller Museum then right back to hotel  –  small siesta is the intention.  ½ hour’s rest,  settle up my account in dollars & shekels,  try to telephone to reconfirm my flight but no reply on the 3 Tel Aviv numbers at 5p.m..  5.10p.m. into Garden Tomb.  Peace.  Chat to volunteer from Guildford.  2 photos.  Leave quiet & happy.

Wander up to new town again  but precious little happening  –  where does everyone go on a Friday night ?  Yukky egg mayonnaise roll before back to St. George’s Bazaar (opposite Cathedral) to buy a 30 sh. lovely silver spoon then to the best deli in town.  Tonight it’s a mango nectar,  a schnitzel/potato/mayo pitta sandwich grilled on both sides,  a bread triangle filled with spinach (?) & herbs dunked into a tub of cream cheese/cucumber/chilli & other vegetables.  How’s that for 12 shekels ?  Israel can be expensive but if you root around bargains abound !

Bed,  believe it or not,  at about 8.15p.m.

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

Your ref:  EH/LL449                                                                 Altenburg Gardens

18th May 1992                                                                                    London SW11

Dear Dr Vincent,

Thank you for your letter of the 13th April. There are several inaccuracies in the information you have gleaned. I would like to concentrate on the second paragraph.

Yes, I accept that my prescription was increased at the time of my admission due to my clinical condition. Shortly thereafter, in addition to the daily 800 mg of Largactyl, I was prescribed 80 mg of Droperidol.  My registrar. Dr Hillum. had gone away on holiday and the additional dose was recommended by Dr Vince alone on the basis of my ‘increased state of agitation’, namely opening the ward windows because the internal temperature was about 90°F. It is the unnecessarily large doses and particularly the mixing of these drugs that I object to. I repeat my allegation that in the private sector such practices are considered obscene.

You say there was nothing to suggest my white blood cell count was affected but the relevant blood test showed a level of 77.3% of neutrophils in the total. As my medical notes stated this is ‘considerably raised’. It was when the results of that test came through that I was informed by Ray, the duty nurse, that I quote, ” your white blood cell count has gone bananas and we are stopping your medication for a day or two”. There was never any suggestion that my drugs were stopped because the Droperidol had taken effect.

You say that Dr Gundy prescribes medication in accordance with the British National Formulary guidelines.  Although he was away on holiday for most of my time at Springfield I cannot let such a statement pass.  As regards Largactyl, the BNF states that ‘up to 1 gram daily may be required in psychoses’.  Dr Gundy admits to giving up to 2 grams daily.  Furthermore, the BNF states that ‘prescribing of more than one antipsychotic at the same time is not recommended’.  I suppose I was lucky to only get two, many patients get a ‘polypharmacy’ cocktail of 3 or 4 of these drugs.

About your other points, most patients and ex-patients would concur with my views on the lack of love and care shown by the staff, particularly on the acute wards. Naturally there are exceptions and on Bluebell I would nominate Simon Lancaster, Sheila and many of the night staff for praise.  As regards smoking in the staff room, the chief perpetrator was Dr Vince and although you say this would be taken seriously I somehow doubt it.

Yours sincerely,

Jamie Summers

Droperidol was withdrawn from use some 10 years later – considered too dangerous to use on horses let alone humans.

Dr Gundy was dismissed from his role as consultant psychiatrist due to alcoholism – one wonders if father and son Vince are still practicing ?