The dried seafloor is peeled back to reveal the road. It runs away from me like the pith of a split banana. The creamy ruts of farm vehicles are baked hard and pie-crust frilly on the edges. They issue commentary on a day prior to my own. I’m guessing it was a sweltering one, a humid afternoon of work in the hayfields.
Breaking Rocks, Gnashing Teeth
Heaven's Promenade
Nazareth Rise
I rise so as not to disturb other sleepers. Three Columbians, two young men and one woman, came into the hostel last night to join the two Canadians and myself already in residence. One of the Columbians took the bunk beside me, another swung into the bunk directly above. I listen to their breathing. It is slow and regular. The single oscillating fan cools the room and helps cover the noise of my exit. I dress and drag my pack out from under the bed. I carry it into the courtyard and set it on a bench.
The 'Hic' in Nazareth
Nazareth is a congested place, a town poured in a limestone bowl. Undisciplined roads scrape the steep slopes. Some 100,000 people call this miracle-site home, and oddly enough, in a modern manifestation of honking glory, they all manage to pound away on their car horns at precisely the same time. Daily. The city is a perpetual traffic jam.
A Nazareth Walkabout
Linda is not your usual tour-guide. Of course, hers is not your usual tour.
For starters, this tour is free. It originates daily from the Fauzi Azar Inn. And even though the focus of our walkabout is Nazareth, the boyhood home of Jesus, the tour is not about the churches or shrines or even the mosques that draw most folks to this town.
A Story with Windows
Jesus Trail
The Charming Man
I climb up the metal stairs to see the Charming Man. This is my second attempt today. On the first attempt, the wait was so long that the shebab were sitting on the stairs. I picked my way through them so I could look into the narrow room. The two chairs were full and still more shebab were lined up on the couches. I am twice the age of every stripling there. The Charming Man spotted me and waved me in. I declined, pressing my hand to my heart.
Baghdadi's Oriental Bookshop
Abdallah Baghdadi rests on a white plastic stool. He leans back against a display case inside his store that faces Azzahra Street. The case behind him is nearly empty. On top of it rest a few baby Jesuses, Christmas bells, a crèche, assorted pendants, and stick pens. I lean forward on my stool and ask him what he thinks.
Visiting the Sisters
On several occasions I have tried in vain to visit the Russian Orthodox Church on the Mount of Olives. It is not visitor-friendly, to say the least. There is a four-meter stone wall surrounding the property topped by a wrought iron fence. Three steel doors appear to be the only way in. Views to the central building within are easily obtained from a distance; those seven golden “onion domes” make it one of the most recognized buildings in all Jerusalem. Still, I wanted a closer look at this sample of “Moscow in the Middle East.”
Ramadan Arrives
Within the Muslim world, the period of fasting known as Ramadan has come. We heard the signs of its arrival on Thursday with intermittent fireworks popping in the sky. When we walked down the streets of Jerusalem’s Old City in the daytime, many Islamic shopkeepers stood wobbling on ladders, stringing up (“Christmas”) lights over their stores. Gateways, like the Damascus Gate (Bab el Amud), had a different, festive, look, especially once the sun set.
Sundays, Lord Allenby, and the Lord Who Keeps You
I’ve fallen back into old habits. Years ago when our family lived near here, we regularly attended services at St. Andrews (Church of Scotland). Now I find myself strolling that way again. Apart from the rich history of the building, there are good reasons to align with the work: the church plays in active role in ministering to the financially disadvantaged, they operate an English speaking school for the children of Jews/Christians/Muslims, and they market craft goods made by local women who have creative, but limited skills.
An Israel - Palestine Sampler
No two trips are the same. If this statement is true when traveling internationally, it is a steely reality of travel in Israel-Palestine. Embracing this truth can be scary. However, if attempted, it can free the curious explorer from the tyranny of the timetable. What is more, it suggests another, perhaps wiser, tack: stop dictating and begin engaging a culture other than your own.