We were indeed an international gathering around our table, eating falafel in pita or chicken shawarma, on the rooftop terrace in old Jerusalem, as Anita have well said. She was the super nice girl, with contagious laugh, chocolate skin of Indian roots and with the perfect English accent of someone living in London. Then there was the guy from Venezuela, now living in Miami, one of the very few religious in the group and the most funny. The single traveler girl from Germany, the two guys from Australia and the American (I think) man who was sitting next to me in the bus. On the road, he almost never took his eyes off his tablet. He was following our itinerary from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, as we were driving among the yellow hills of the Judean Desert, hundreds of meters below sea level, with unreal views. Well… people.
We were now finally enjoying the food, after a well spent long morning at the Dead Sea, speaking of everything: from the mosquitos in Brazil to a subject that we all had a lot to say about: how pricey Israel is. I was a newcomer, in my second day, but had already enough experiences to fully agree on that.
Tel Aviv was, the day before, my first taste of the Middle East, but Jerusalem was promising to be a feast of emotions.
All of a sudden, above all our voices, of people coming from everywhere on that terrace, loud sounds of muslim prayers, coming from the high minarets, started filling the hot air. In a second, the christian churches bells followed, like in a competition.
It was exciting and I knew then I was in a place that was promising more than I was expecting. I tried with little hope to put some order in my hair. No chance, was too much of a mess, the salt from the Dead Sea earlier that morning was still there.
The Dead Sea and the theory of floating
That day I woke up at 5. For not a morning person this is tough. I did some unwanted fitness while pulling my baggage for 30 minutes on the streets in central Tel Aviv. My not so fun way of saving money. But mornings have this gift of making me happy. The fresh air, sleepy people walking dogs or watering small gardens, that silence before the city wakes up. Love it, every time I get over the struggle of getting out of bed. Since I was heading Jerusalem for the next couple of days, I thought a guided tour is a good idea to get more information. I ended up in a bus with a driver which was mute to us but constantly speaking with God knows who on the phone.
For me was barely the end of spring in terms of temperature when I left home and I thought Tel Aviv was suffocating when I got there. I’m ok with both strong heat and cold as long as I have a few days to adapt. Not this time. The closer we got to the Dead Sea, the temperature was rising. When we stopped at a gas station and got out of the bus, I was melting. Only the three camels there seem to be fine in that dry heat. But there was hope, in the horison, among the palm trees, I could spot the Dead See.
If you think you can imagine the feeling of floating in the Dead Sea, as I proudly did, well, you can’t. I thought it’s like floating in water as usual, but maybe just easier. Actually your body is way higher, at the very surface of the water and you feel like a pressure keeping you straight and up. I’m glad I didn’t bet I will be able to swim cause any try was just making me laugh. All you can do is flip from belly to back or sitting as if you are in an old armchair, knees up and bum down. And the deeper you go, the more difficult it becomes to touch the bottom with your feet and stand. All you can do is floating and what’s so cool! But keep your mouth shut and most of all, your eyes protected by sunglasses. The smallest drop of water in your eyes will send you immediately in the hell of all pains. Of course I tasted the water on my finger the moment I got there. There’s no word to describe as salty it is, it’s bitter sour salted. Or dead salted.
But where was the mud? Aaa, finally! On the right side of the private beach we went, I found the famous mud from the Dead Sea, the worldwide used ingredient for beauty products, the very one that is said to make your skin so perfect. All the area was covered with that precios nature gift. I walked outside the protected zone, spoiling my feet as if I was walking on a sea of cream. I soon found out the purpose of the protection line when I got knee deep in the thick mud. That adventure brought me fast to the shore for some other fun episode: covering my body with mud. Others followed the idea. In 5 min the sun was burning my now black skin. I needed a good float. It took me minutes to remove the mud. Now that I tested this, indeed, it is the best spa treatment I ever tried since the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. My whole skin was now so slippery, I could make a dolphin jealous. There’s no way to leave the beach without a long shower, if only you don’t plan on turning into a salt statue.
I climbed the hill to the bus taking many last glimpses of the Dead Sea. Another bucket list wish accomplished and a great experience. All there looks so quiet. No waves, just dry empty hills around. It’s amazing what nature can create.
We were driving through a dry vast land, towards a wall of palm trees waiting for us in a perfect line. I was going to get used to this sights for the next 9 days. Most of these areas are like that.
We passed by Jerash, the oldest city in the world. It was close to Jordan river. All I could get was a sight of the city from far away. We were suppose to get closer but the itinerary was changed days before for security reasons. This was one week after the official opening of the US embassy in Jerusalem. I was so pissed off I couldn’t see more.
Jerusalem, a place to understand
We entered old Jerusalem walking through Jaffa gate, the one close to the new city centre. The entire old city is surrounded by a tall limestone wall and the entrance is possible only through its gates. Old Jerusalem looks like an island from another time of history in the modern world that surrounds it. Once you leave behind the new Jerusalem, with its fancy stores, expensive hotels, coffee shops and crazy traffic, you step into another world. But that’s my kind of place and it doesn’t look like any other.
Its small streets, paved with big blocks of stones, from the christian, muslim and jewish quarters, have names written in 3 languages, in this order: Hebrew, Arabic and English and are all together forming a labyrint where the first feeling is that you’re in a huge bazar. And inside there, muslims, jews and christians, all together, run their small street shops. All looking the same, just a few meters deep from the street pavement, all stuffed with goods. They sell all you can imagine, from carpets, local sweets, spices, cashmere scarves, clothes, shoes, jewels, perfumes and beauty products to fresh meat or crucifixes and rosaries. Seeing the merchandise you can tell the religion of the owner or you know you’re in the christian, muslim or jewish area. The natural light is poor inside or even replaced by artificial light since sun doesn’t get down there, most of the streets are covered, like endless corridors of not more than 3m wide where you immediately wanna wander until you lose yourself, the time and space. But the multitude of scents, that is hallucinating: spices, burning myrrh, freshly baked pastries, squeezed fruits, together with arab music, fragments of discussions in all the languages reaching the ears from the sea of people covering every centimetre of these streets.
Our guide was talking and talking and almost running through this huge mass of people. Of course I got lost the moment we came out of the rooftop terrace where we had lunch. I looked desperately for someone in the group. I had no idea where I was, where they were going and which direction to take from the 4 in front of me. It was indeed a miracle when I finally saw two Greek girls I recognised, they were lost too but at least they seem to know where the rest of them were.
We went to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built on the place where Jesus was buried and were now hundreds of christians were waiting in line to enter the holy tomb. Sometimes the wait was exceeding 4 hours. Others were praying on the large red marble stone in front of the entrance, where Jesus body was prepared to be buried, keeping their heads and palms down, on the stone and touching it with different personal objects. At the second floor it was said to be the very croix on which Jesus was crucified, many were waiting here too to pray under the big wooden croix.
We then walked the Via Dolorosa, where Jesus carried the croix and passed to the muslim quarter to then to the jewish one, heading the Western Wall, the holiest place for jews and, as I found out there, the most guarded place on earth. I could say the entire Jerusalem looks like, according to the number of Israeli police forces I’ve seen, two on every street corner, men and women, sometimes pointing their rifles straight in front. We passed the security check before descending. In front of the famous wall, made of limestone big square blocks, with grass growing on it in places, on the opposite side, sitting in the shade, there was a group of about 20 military forces, talking and laughing, all wearing weapons. Men and women could approach the wall on two separates sides, men in the right, women on left. Men’s side was bigger thought it didn’t seem to need more space since the number of men and women looked the same. I was walking towards the wall when a girl wearing a t-shirt was asked the cover her shoulders. Modest clothing, covered arms and legs, is recommended in Jerusalem, mostly for entering the holy places of all religions represented there and also because then it was the Ramadan and we were in a place where muslims are about 70%. Even though, the burning sun would have kept me covered.
As I got close enough to the wall, I saw the thousands of wrapped small pieces of paper carrying the wishes of all the people that came here before and find a little spot in the wall to hide their prayer.
From the top, the view of this place is really impressive.
It was late afternoon when we left Jerusalem and passed through the Palestinian territories in the West Bank, heading to Bethlehem to see the Church of the Nativity. I wish I could have seen more of this area, of Palestine, maybe go to Ramallah, talk to more people there. The difference was visible instantly, both economically and culturally but I didn’t seem, not even for a second, that I would have felt unsafe if I were alone on the streets there. One thing we have in common for sure: it was full of graffities against Donald Trump.
When leaving Bethlehem, we were told the short way we came from was blocked so we had to drive more through the city to reach another exit. This was just perfect for me since I could see more of the city, even a wall, a big tall concrete wall, but this time one that nobody is praying to. It’s quite difficult not to get into politics at all when talking about Jerusalem or Bethlehem.
It was 6pm when the bus dropped me back in Jerusalem, close to the old city. All the others, including the very nice people I got the chance to meet, were going back to Tel Aviv. I felt so blessed for finally having more time on my own now and the chance to get to see more of this place that got me already hypnotized. And I was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, dirty and a bit smelly after walking and sweating all day long in the sun, at 35’C. I was praying to all saints that my hostel in the old city will be close and easy to find. I knew it was close to a main gate of the city. And yes, it was that one, Jaffa gate, the best location, 250m away from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
The owner was an old muslim guy, really grumpy. I was too tired to care and I thought it might be because of the fasting, since it was the middle of the Ramadan month. I would be biting people if I were that hungry. A young boy showed me my room. It was terrible but I was expecting this from the reviews, still I took it for the location and price. What I didn’t expect were the very dirty sheets. Happily both the room and bed were large enough and surprise: with a private bathroom. I used the big pink beach towel I found, which was clean, to lay on it on the bed so I won’t touch the dirty bed sheets. It was so hot I didn’t needed more. With this improvisation and a long shower I was perfect.
I was in Jerusalem.
I wandered the streets alone, I talked to people, I had the best humus, I found out that the way to say hello In Jerusalem was: Hello, where are you from?, I entered the holy tomb, I whispered a prayer and watched the monks closing the big gates of the church, the holiest place of christianity, while a group of catholic sisters were singing a religious song outside, on the stairs and I went to bed only after I watched the full moon shining above one of the oldest cities in human history and its Mount of Olives and its Temple Mount, in the best panorama of the city that my hostel was so lucky to have. And I already knew Jerusalem is not a place to see, it’s a place to understand and feel.