Jerusalem Day 3/Mt of Olives

I climbed a mountain on Tuesday! It's not like the way other mountains can be. Along it's slopes are churches, houses, schools, tombs, graves and lots and lots of Trees. Olive Trees.
After being exhausted from my trek around Jerusalem on Monday, I got up pretty late. I planned on getting up early again around 7:30am but didn't really get up until 10:30am or so. Was just so tired. And I didn't get to Jerusalem until about 1pm. That was a bad move. A lot of the stuff on the Mount is opened earlier in the day. Then closes for a few hours, then may or may not open again in the afternoon. So I have to go back on Thursday morning to see what I want to see during the morning hours.

I climbed the mount, feeling the joints and bones in my legs, my knees, my body, popping and bending in pain. BUT I went on. I felt that it was what I needed to do. Cab drivers asked if I wanted a ride up, but I knew I had to walk it. I'm glad I did.

I saw an amazing view of the Dome of the Rock, of the Churches and of the lands from on top of the Mount. The higher I got, the better the view and the more I saw. It was amazing. I took pictures every step of the way. It was a hard walk and at times I thought I couldn't go on, but I did. The walk is very steep so that you must bend over as you walk up the hill and bend back walking slowly as you come down.

Along the way, I saw the Tombs of the Prophets, The Jewish grave yard, the Church of the Ascension, The Church of All Nations, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Church of Dominus Flevit, the Church of Pater Noster, and passed along the Church Mary Magdalene which I have to visit later because it was closed when I got there. Yeah, I saw a lot. All of this is on the Mount of Olives, along the way up.

Each time I go some place new, I stop, say a prayer and look at the sites. It's amazing how large everything is. All the way up at the top, past the Pater Noster, the Church of Ascension sits. Yousef one of the men who stays by the door welcomes me to come anytime. The church is closed, but he let me in to the grounds to look at the garden and the outside. I'm a Palestinian and I'm Beit Rima. He must let me in, he says. He must welcome me. I feel good that it's finally good thing to be a Palestinian.

Down at the base of the mount is where the Church of All nations is and where the garden of Gethsemane lie. I look into the garden where the oldest Olive trees in the entire country are. They date farther than 2,000 years. The olives grow thick and green. They are uneaten. Unpicked. I look off down the path and image where Jesus and his apostles sat together their last night. I can almost see them, how they seem to me in my mind, different from the images I've seen. Jesus sitting, looking at them, talking, before his arrest.

The view and the day climbing up and down the mountain was amazing. Although I was completely exhausted and in pain by the end of the day, it was well worth it. Took me a while, but it was okay. I felt blessed to have been able to make the journey.

(Writing from that night)

Now I sit in a restaurant across from the bus station eating chicken and mushrooms and drinking the local Taybeh beer. It's a lot like bass, but plainer. I had a very long day of walking. I can hardly sit up. I forgot to eat today since the morning. So I had to get something.

There are so many different people to look at in here. A woman reading and marking papers. Looking very much like an American Librarian. Short brown hair. Plain black glasses. Plain black suit and gray and white shirt. Drinking Lipton. Very skinny. Could hide and never be noticed. Not ugly. Just nothing extraordinary.

An American couple is sitting off to the other corner. They are in their 60's. The wife is sipping red wine, while her husband is having a beer. Old tats lay across his forearms. Now gray hairs and glasses are what are more noticeable on his face. His was is very plain. Dim brown hair and eyes, hiding behind very big glasses. Their accents are very Minnesota. But they might even be Canadian. The man keeps looking at me and nodding hello. I smile and keep writing.

Sprinkled about are friends and couples, smoking argilla. The scent is sweet and intoxicating, even for those around that aren't smoking it. The waiters rather stand around with each other and be silly than bring you a menu or take your order, but the ambiance and vive is nice. Trees grow out and around in this half in door half outdoor place by the entrance of the Jerusalem hotel. Large trees on the outside grow leaves and veins long and strong enough to covre the roof so that as you look up, you see beautiful greens and browns stitched into the green metals of the roof. You feel almost like you're in a tropical place.

It's gotten cold. The sun is down. I see an older bohemian Italian couple that I'd seen up on the mount. They are with new friends, speaking Italian and smoking argilla. It reminds me of my last trip into the Yucatan with Dave when we hung out with a couple from Seattle that was staying at the same hotel. They were really sweet. Dave had been mean to me most of the time, which he apologized for later. It makes me think of how different it is exploring a new place with someone else and then exploring alone. Makes my journey even sweeter.

Now they play Um Kalthoom the great in the back round. Ya Habibi, she says. Its getting colder.

A wave of folks go out. It's empty.

A wave of folks come in. It's full again.

The guard cat walks about. A gray, black and white fellow with a skinny face. He watches. He walks. He waits. He comes near people, but won't let you touch him. The older American/Canadian couple sees him.

"We saw him this morning. He's their guard cat." the man says.

I smile and nod.

A black woman with long black hair smokes argilla and waits for her friends. One of them comes and sits and they talk. She's a very full figured woman in a white shirt with blue horizontal stripes. Her hair is in a short ponytail. She could afford to lose a little weight. She's all smiles. The other one comes. She's a petite Arab woman with long hair and a big smile. They hug for a long time and continuously kiss each other on the cheek. They are close friends.

A blond man comes and orders a coke. He knew the bartender. The bartender was a student at the college he teaches at. 3 European folks come in. They speak English to one another. They also know the young blond man as they are professors as well. They talk about a course on Hamas. They talk about a course on Palestinian studies. They also know the bartender.

The argilla fills the air. The Hooka refill boy walks around the tables to put more in the pipes. The coals are hot. They warm me as he passes by.

One of the professors walks to talk to the bartender. Another waiter there is also another student they know.

I sit back and smile as I drink my Taybeh. I feel sated again. Another day of time well spent. I could sit and people watch and write about them all day. Yes, time well spent. Can't beat time well spent.

Jerusalem Day 2 Part 2

We drove along the streets of Jerusalem, on our way to the central bus station. It's a small area where a lot of buses cram together to get folks to where they need to go across the country. We arrived and I pointed the Frenchmen into the direction they needed to into for the bus to the airport. I got off on the last stop after all and walked back down to the way I'd gone before.

I walked along to the Old City, entering by Jaffa Gate. There are no gates, you see. It's all stoned entrance and ground and walls, surrounding you. There are very few openings to the sky as you walk along the marketed stone streets in the Old City. It's once you get to the sites by the churches and such that you feel how bright the sun is and feel its warmth on your skin.

I decided Monday not to use a map or to go with a program. I just played it by ear. And it was the best thing I ever did. As I walked along, I remembered little streets and vendors that I had seen before. I remembered where my Aunt's brothers restaurant was, I remembered the little Ethiopian monastery I passed before. I remembered

I went up the same steps I had gone before to see the Ethiopian Monastery. I had seen a lot if before, but I had a feeling I missed some things. So I retraced my steps and found some new things. A path down to a basement, filled with water. It was a black cave, full of slipper slick rock. Water pooled down at the bottom. A guide far down below was telling some people that every church in Jerusalem had one. I don't remember hearing him say exactly why. I walked back up out of the small dark space and up into the light of one part of the church. I went and sat in another part of the church I hadn't been in before. The pulpit part was gated off, but benches lined the outside so that one could sit and pray. One of the monks sat by the gate, watching folks come and go. I sat there for a while in front of the gate and said a prayer. I really saw what was there. Felt what was there. Knew that I was supposed to be there.

The monk wore a long black tunic/coat like thing and a black hat. His black beard was full. His brown cheeks were round. His eyes were shiney and happy. His smile went all the way up to his eyes. It was genuine. Real. For some reason, the monk was moved by my presence. He sat up, paying attention now and said a little prayer with me. He couldn't sit next to me, but he was close. Was still all smiles. Maybe was surprised that a single young woman was coming around and not just taking pictures, but taking the time to really see and feel the places she visited in the holy land. Maybe.

Once I got up to leave, he smiled at me again. Full and peaceful. Made me give him a full smile. When I exited the door, I was surprised. I was next to the entrance of the Sepulchre. I hadn't realized that this was right next to it. I went back into the church that I had gone into before. But I felt like there were still more things I hadn't seen before. When you enter the churches massive doors, the first thing you see immediately in front of you is the stone they washes Jesus on after he was crucified. I looked around and saw that it wasn't as crowded as it had been the time I came before. I went and took more pictures of the stone. This time though, I went down on my knees and placed my hands on it. It was as if the cold stone's life sent shock waves through the rest of me. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer for guidance as I touched the stone. I touched my head and face and felt the need to weep. I let myself cry and really feel what was going on.

I stayed for a long time in the church this time. I really wanted to see all there was to see and really look at what I saw before with more than just my physical eyes. I was glad I did. My interal map lead me to see things I hadnt seen before. To experience as I hadn't before.

I walked about some more once I left the Holy Sepulchre. I walked in a few circles, trying to find an open space where coffee shops and food were. I had been walking for a long time and hadn't eaten since early in the morning AND my aunt ran out of coffee so I had filled up on tea hoping to get a hint of energy. I found a little spot called Geo's espresso cafe where all the men who worked there smiled at me, looking at me so hard they burned holes in my head, hoping I'd spark a conversation. I didn't. :) Would it have gotten me free coffee? Maybe. But a buck for a shot of good expresso isn't a bad deal, so I kept to myself. Besides, any time I looked them straight in the eyes, they'd look away. Every time. All over Palestine, the muslim men do that every time. The only time they hold eye contact is when I pass by in a car. No way of stopping to ask them what the hell they're looking at. In any event, I wasn't really in a talking mood anyway. I was in a watching mood. So I sat with my yummy espresso and people watched for 15mins to get back some energy. German and Russian touristas in bright orange and yellow hats passed me by. I took a moment to write an email, watched some more people walk by and kept it moving.

I hadn't realized before that Canaries line the shops and restaurant walls here in the closed stone walls of the Old City. To ensure natural gas leaks that folks can't smell don't poison them. The bird lives, everyone lives.

My Aunt Maha's brother Mahmoud remembered me from the 1st time I came to his restaurant. He's tall and olive complected. Looks a lot like some of my other uncles. He has name brand wire rimmed glasses over kind brown eyes. Thinning brown hair and a happy smile. He works had at his restaurant. Al Aelat. The food was goof the last time, so I came back, not wanting to buy over priced falafel thats been sitting in the sun. I learned my lesson in Jericho that 2 kinds of falafel will tear you a new one with a 2-day hole in your stomach. Falafel thats been sitting in the sun all day OR falafel that hasn't been cocked all the way through. Wasn't gonna chance it.

The place was semi-quiet or at least more quiet then the first time I went. 4 muslim women dressed very colorfully have coffee in the corner. A European couple with 2 small children speaking Hebrew and polish eat schnitzel and drink coffee. An Australian woman works out a way to buy a good hookah pipe using the resources of one of the cooks she talked to. They sat, smoked cigarettes, talking about argilla and the world.

As I finished the last of my shawarma, I feel sated. Not just on food, but on what I'd done with my time here. Time well spent is always satisfying.

Mahmoud welcomed me anytime and gave me a discount. It was a really nice gesture not because of not charging me full (since it wasn't a very expensive meal) but because it made me feel welcomed as family, even though he was family through the marriage of his sister to my uncle. Once I left, I wasn't sure where else I would walk. I read a bit of my book in the restaurant.

I walked out and just kept on walking. I made it back to Jaffa gate and wondered if I should walk out to see some other things or if I should keep walking through the stoned streets. Jamelah called me and I talked to her for a little while as I watched people pass me by on the corner junction by the gate. The busy sounds, busy smells, busy people move fast. And the fruit and vegetable stands are colorful against the light of the market by Jaffa gate.

I decided to walk back through the other side of the stoned streets that I hadn't remembered walking, closer to the Via Dolorosa once it ends. I walked along looking at the market and the things people sold in them. Scarves, flags, wooden statues, plates, key chains, evil eyes and more. I wanted to get some of the plates, but I couldn't find a shop I found before that I liked. And I dind't want to settle for another shop, when I wanted the shop I found before. I knew I'd find it eventually, even if on another day.

I walked along and went by one of the stations of the Via Dolorso that I hadn't gone into before. These are the ones they say where Jesus fell the first time and then where Jesus saw his mother Mary. There are statues in the places where they believe he fell. A young palestinian man showed me where they were. He wanted me to buy something in the shop, but I had all the crucifixes and post cards I wanted and didn't want a stuffed camel.

I made my way back over by Jaffa Gate and decided to walk around to the other side of the Old city, through the outside to see what was there. I figured I'd bump into something. I was really interested in seeing if I could find the tomb of the Virgin Mary or Mary Magdalene. Those were on the Mt. of Olives and I was determined to find it. By the look of the map, it was around the corner down far on the right. But the map wasnt always right. I figured it wouldn't hurt for me to walk that way anyway, since I hadn't yet.

On my way out, I ran into the french man from the bus that morning.

"Oh hey." I said, as he bought a long oval piece of bread with seasame seeds on them.

"Hi. Salaam. Good to see you again." He replied with a smile.

"You're friend found his way ok on the bus?" I wanted to make sure they hadn't run into any more trouble.

"Yes. Shukran. He made it fine on the bus and should be on his flight now." He came around the bread buyer and we still seemed to be in the way.

"Thats good. I'm glad to hear it. Just gotta be very careful when it comes to these soldiers." I said to him. He smiled and nodded. He knew the drill, but maybe figured became he was a light skin man he would have flown under the radar. But they don't care. They can smell "Palestinian sympathizer" from miles away. "Oh by the way, whats your name?"

"Oh." He laughed, tapped his head and shook it. "Yes of course. It's Michele. What's yours?"

"Eman. Nice to meet you." I reached out to shake his hand. We were still in the way of the people passing by, even though I knew we weren't. I motioned us off to the side by a bunch of bushes close to the steps going up to the street.

"Do you want to go get a drink or something?" He asked suddenly. I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know this guy and it was already a little after 3pm. The sun sets completely by 5:45pm and I didn't want to miss out on the light and on seeing whatever else I wanted to see.

"Um. Maybe another time. I'm trying to get around the Old City to see Mary's Tomb and whatever else and I want to be on the bus by sunset." I replied with a smile.

"Oh really? Um. Okay. Well, how do you like your trip so far? Are you visiting family?" I still wanted to have conversation, which was fine with me. He was a really nice guy and I like meeting new people. After all I didn't know what kind of drink he wanted so I couldn't knock him for trying to spend some time with a nice young woman who was friendly and had a brain.

"I've been loving it. Its been great. Today I just walked around the Old City again and wanted to try and see the other side before I have to leave next week. Its been amazing though and I've been visiting my family and staying in Ramallah." I replied.

"Oh nice. I've been staying in a hostel in the Old City. It's nice. I was on my way over since we leave tomorrow and are leaving very late in the night to get to the airport." I said motioning to the stoned walls to left. "Are you sure you don't want to get a drink?" He asked again. We were talking anyway and the most I felt like in the moment was water anyway.

"You know what, why not? We're talking anyway. But I just have a little bit of time, so that I can try and see some other things today." I said as we walked up the steps.

"No problem. Let's just go close to here." He said as we walked.

We ended up going right across the street from the Old City to this little place that had a few small store on the bottom and a restaurant on the top. I got water and he got a pepermint tea. See, wasn't that kind of drink. We talked about the politics of the country and what was going on with the Olive Trees. I told him about my family's trees. He told me about some people he tried to help with an organization that helps Palestinians with their trees. He told me of soldiers and settlers who were saying racial slurs to folks from other countries who came to help the Palestinians pick their Olives. We talked about how most of the french didn't like thier new President because he was good friends with Bush. He had been to Palestine about 11 years before and he said it was even harder then to get around.

Michele use to be a Social Worker in france and turned into a farmer. He said he loved the land. He talked about wanting to help Palestinians more, but knowing that sometimes it was a powerless fight. He asked me about religion, about women's rights, and about being american and palestinian. We talked for an hour before I realized what time it was. He bought my water, even though I protested. He said he invited me and it was just water. We exchanged emails. He walked me to the corner and gave me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. I told him to have a safe flight in the morning and to email me soon.


I walked along the outside of the stone walls and passed the Rockefeller museum. I didn't feel compelled to go in, so I kept walking. I also didn't feel compelled to give them 30NIS (about $8). I kept moving down and followed the stone walls until there didn't seem to be anymore. There was a sign that pointed to the Western Wall. It seemed like a bitch of a sketchy entrance so I kept walking around down hill in the same direction, but following traffic. Off in the distance were hills and trees and the tops of churches. This HAD to be the Mt. of Olives. I wasn't sure if it was, but I had a feeling it was. I kept moving down the hill until there was another entrance for the western wall farther down along the hill. I walked up the other hill and made it up by the other entrance there. Before I went into the other gate to see, I saw an old Muslim cemetery and decided to go in a see it. I paid my respects at the entrance, walking in slowly, in case there were some crazy guards here just like by the Dome and Al-Aqsa.

No one was guards were in sight so I walked in. An older white man stood high on one of the tombs, taking pictures of the mountain across the road. Off in the distance, you could see the churches more clearly. One church had gold tops to it, round and then a pointy top. Another had a biblical painting on the front by large steps going down. This was where I needed to visit next! I walked around the cemetery, taking pictures of tombstones and of the view. The man walked down and towards me. He knew very few words in English. At first I wasn't sure if he was speaking Russian or not, but then he said he was Polish. He wanted me to take some pictures of him with the back round of the Mt. of Olives. I did just that and he did the same for me. He spoke to me in Polish, but some how we managed to communicate just fine. He was a very nice man. His name was Strofsky. I was surprised he addressed himself by his last name, but it was fine.
He was really happy with the way I took pictures of him with the back round and all. It was a nice day to meet people.

By the time I was done at the cemetery, it was a little after 5. I went towards the Western Wall, but I saw there was a church and the site where Mary was born. I wanted to visit it, but it was closing. It was getting dark and too late to visit any more for the day. I had seen a lot that day anyway. So I noted where everything was and made my way back over to the bus. It was a long walk back to the station anyway and I preferred to do it with the little bit of light I had.

Besides I need to get rest if I was going to climb the Mt of Olives the next day!

Jerusalem Day 2 Part1

I went back to Jerusalem today, walking along the cobbled streets alone. I walked along with new eyes today. Truly feeling and seeing the path that Jesus, Apostles, Prophets, and so many more walked along. I felt the city as if I'd never been there before. New eyes. New words. New soul.

Today I touched the stone upon which Jesus was washed after he was crucified. Touched it with a part of me that broke down in tears when my finger tips brushed along the cool marble-like slab of rock. I let my eyes float along the shades of off-white that danced along the stone.

I walked along the same road as before, seeing things I hadn't seen before.


But before that.....

I rode bus 18 from Ramallah to Jerusalem this morning. It was a warm day, with cool winds blowing strands of my curly damp hair in my face. I smiled as I walked along in the sun. Moving fast enough to look important. To look like I had somewhere to be. To look like I knew where I was going so that the cabbies wouldnt bother to ask me if I needed a ride. Whenever I walk the streets, everyone looks at me. I'm not sure what it is, but I get stared at. Is it that I'm not wearing high heeled sandals like the other women? Is it that I'm tall on my own? Is it that I walk with confidence? Is it that I look people directly in the eyes? Can they see the tat on my arm? What is it?
Has nothing to do with a hijab since there are plenty of Christian Arabs in Ramallah so that there are many women without scarves. It can't be how I dress, since I'm pretty modest and try not to show too much skin while I'm out. Am I that pretty to be looked at by all the men as I walk by? I know I'm attractive, but am I THAT attractive? I dunno. Maybe in Palestine I am.

I walked along this morning, feeling tired and kind of nauseated, but happy. Glad to have the day to myself. I walked along the usual path to the bus. The station is only a 10 min walk from my aunts house. It's a very calm ride until the Checkpoint. There's always a collected breath held as you go to the checkpoints. You never know whats going to happen.
When we got there, some of us had to change buses. So I got on the other bus going to Jerusalem. It was pretty full. Mostly mothers with small children. And 3 frenchmen in their 60's sitting in the back.

Once I sat down, one of them asked me if I spoke English.

"Yes, I do." I replied, not knowing what he'd ask me. His french accent was thick on his tongue. A honeyed thickness that rolled the words along his mouth. He wore thick glasses that hide the bigness of his brown eyes. His hair was all white, and wavy, with specks of black as it thinned on the top of his head. His small beard and mustache were more salt than pepper and brought out the charm in his smile. Wrinkles swallowed the youthful dimples of his face, but they peaked out in lined reminders along his thin face.

"Shukran. Good. My friend needs to get to the airport in a hurry. Do you know where we can catch the bus to take him?" He came to sit in the chair across the aisle from me. He looked me full in the face as I turned around completely to talk to him and his friends. One of his friends was short and round. Had round cheeks and big rimmed glasses that framed his face and white white hair. His other friend still had very black hair, with lines of gray here and there. His long angular face and nose screamed french from a mile away.

"Yeah. When we get to Jerusalem, there's the central bus station. Just get off and ask for the bus to airport. You'll see it when we get there." I pointed out the window, moving around my hands as many Arabs do when they talk. I've always talked with my hands, but now I do it more so since I've been here.

"You're sure? Is it the last stop on the bus or are there more? Is that where you are getting off?" He didn't want to get lost or get his friend lost.

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's really easy. You'll see the station when we get there. Just ask the bus drivers which bus is going to the airport when you get out. It's super easy. I'm not sure yet if I'm getting off there or at another stop, but I'll point it out to you when we're there." I replied. I smiled. I couldn't help but smile at the innocence of these frechmen. They were all so innocent seeming.

"Ok good. Skukran. Thank you. Thank you." He went back into the back of the bus with his friends and told them what I told him, in french.

We approached the actual check point. Traffic around the check point is always disgusting. The soldiers hold people up on purpose. To start trouble. To make fun. To pass the time. And when they do that, they cause serious traffic jams. And they do nothing to help the traffic. And neither do the police.

It was time to hold our breath again. A young female soldier with blue eye liner entered the bus. She held on to her M-16 like a security blanket. Our passports were out and ready. She already looked pissed. She stood at the front.

"Passports. Yallah!" They were all out already, clear to see, but she still acted as if she didn't see them. The looked at each of us. Eyes beaming. Belittling with just a glare. She was a small soldier. Barely 5'2. Small features. Plain straight brown hair. Plain brown eyes. Same green uniform as all the soldiers. The only personality to her was her blue eye liner, traced along the top and bottom of her eyes. She looked to the back to the 3 frenchmen.

"Passport!" She screeched. "Visa!? No?" Someone must have shook their head in the wrong direction. Someone must have misunderstood what she said. She stomped to the back of the bus. Most of the women with their children sat facing front. You did nothing when the soldiers started trouble. You did nothing. Because if you did something, you'd be in trouble too. No one wanted to be in trouble. Especially for a foriegner.

"Give them to me." She snatched their passports. You could tell by how she talked that her english wasn't very good. She struggled with the words. "Visa. Where?"

The frenchman that talked to me spoke, since he was the only one who knew english.

"We have Visas, but when we came here we asked them not to stamp our passports because it gives us trouble in other countries. Like for Egypt or something. They stamped a card and kept the card." He explained. Very simple. Very straightforward.

"What? Why not stamp?" She wasn't understanding what he said. He explained it, but she wasn't hearing it.

"Like I said, it's hard to travel to other Middle Eastern countries with a stamp from here. So I asked them to stamp the card, but they kept the card." He sounded scared and frustrated. The soilder turned to one of the bus company men who stood in front and called to him in Hebrew. He came and she talked to him in Hebrew. He then asked the frenchmen why they didn't have their passports stamped. He explained again and the man told the soldier. The soldier spoke to him again in Hebrew.

"Why didn't you keep the stamped card?" He asked the frenchmen.

"They took it after they signed it. I'm not sure why. But my friend here is leaving today and we are leaving tomorrow." He replied, gesturing at the 2 men at his side. The man told the solider. She sighed and grunted. She turned and looked at me. I think I peed a little.

"Visa!" I looked her directly in the eyes and opened the page on my passport to where they stamped the Visa. I told them not to stamp it, but they did anyway. What could I do? She looked at it, then back in my eyes. She looked disappointed that there was no fight to start with me. She turned and walked off the bus. Everyone made noises. The driver sped off. The frenchmen started talking.

"You can't be too wordy with the soldiers. They're looking for an excuse to start trouble. Just give them really simply answers. And next time you're on a bus, if they ask about your Visa, tell them yes, you have one and leave it at that." I turned and said to them. I had been itching to say something when the soldier was on the bus, but I knew better. I saved it just for them.

"Yes, you are right. Shukran. For next time." He said. His eyes and face still wrought with nerves.