Graffiti and guard towers

I must admit that by the time I boarded the bus for the short trip from East Jerusalem to Bethlehem I had been influenced by the frequent travel warnings about the West Bank that had been flooding my inbox for the past few weeks.

My recent experiences in Syria taught me that DFAT's travel advisories are often based on limited information from events that occurred more than three weeks earlier and are generally ridiculously over cautious. I know that travel advisories have to warn of worst possible scenarios. But given that the advice for pretty much every country in the world now includes the phrase "possible threat of terrorist attack", DFAT may want to consider changing the name of their website from 'Smart Traveller' to 'Scared Traveller'.

That said when the phrase "possible threat of terrorist attack" is mentioned in reference to the West Bank, you do tend to take it more seriously than when it is mentioned in the travel advice for Tasmania. In the end, I decided that the best course of action was just to go there and suss out the situation for myself. If I got to Bethlehem and felt uncomfortable I could just do what most other travelers do and treat it as a day trip. If I felt OK in Bethlehem I could use it as a base to explore the West Bank for a few days.

As it turned out the word that best describes how I felt in Bethlehem was not scared, but rather welcomed.

The constant low level tension that I had felt in Jerusalem melted away in the face of the warm hospitality constantly on display from the local Palestinians. When I was trying to find the main bus station in Jerusalem, four different individuals pretended they didn't hear me, looked straight through me and did not break stride in their haste to avoid offering assistance. When I was trying to find the Shepherds' Fields just outside of Bethlehem, I was offered assistance from eight different individuals including a Palestinian army officer who took it upon himself to stop several passing cars to ask the drivers for directions!

Due to the fact that most people visit Bethlehem as part of a day trip from Jerusalem, there was plenty of room at the inn when I booked into the Bethlehem Star Hotel. The fact that I only saw one other guest in the five floor hotel during my stay made me wonder how the place stays open - but I suspect they might be fully booked around the end of December each year.

Bethlehem itself is a lovely town perched atop a rocky hill and has a skyline filled, as you would expect, with church spires. What you may not expect is that the most beautiful church in town is not the one that marks the (supposed) location of the birth of Jesus Christ. Indeed to enter the Church of the Nativity you don't amble under gilded arches, but rather duck through a small stone doorway. Once inside, stairs behind the alter lead you underground to the Grotto of the Nativity. The Grotto is a small cramped chapel and if it wasn't for the steady stream of tourists I would have had no idea of the location's significance. I think I probably would have felt more spiritually moved in a local stable. I mean would it kill them to throw some hay on the Grotto floor to get visitors in the mood?

Highlight #2467 for my travels so far was seeing the amazing graffiti on the much hated security wall just outside of Bethlehem. The enormous concrete structure that the Israelis built to separate Israel from the West Bank is completely illegal and is also a blatant land grab as it encroaches significantly on Palestinian lands. On the Israeli side the high grey walls are almost completely bare. But on the Palestinian side the wall has become a gallery for local artists and activists to creatively express their rage. The works vary from detailed stencil graffiti to rough spray painted slogans, but the message conveyed is the same. I love the way that the Palestinians have used an intrusive object, placed on their lands to imprison them, into a billboard to showcase their dissent.

I spent a large portion of my time in the West Bank riding in shared taxis as I visited Ramallah, Nablus and Jericho. As we barreled over rocky hilltops and sped through olive groves I kept my eye open for the Israeli settlements I had heard so much about. Before I arrived in the West Bank, I had wondered how I would be able to tell the difference between a regular Palestinian town and an Israeli settlement. I needn't have worried as the Israeli settlements stuck out like a mariachi band at a meditation retreat.

The Israeli settlements that I saw all looked like stepford housing developments with hundreds of identical townhouses huddled together on a hilltop. The main difference between an Israeli settlement and the standard Meriton horror that you see in most Australian capital cities is that the Israeli settlements also have structures that look like air traffic control towers in the middle of them for security purposes. If you somehow failed to notice the walled compound look, the dramatic improvement in the condition of the roads leading up to the settlements would also be a pretty good giveaway that you were not approaching a regular Palestinian town.

I found Jericho to be far more biblically atmospheric than Bethlehem. The Mount of Temptation, just outside of Jericho, is supposed to mark the location where the Devil appeared to tempt Jesus after he had fasted for 40 days and 40 nights in the Judean desert. The view from the mount stretches across the hazy desert to the Dead Sea. It is a stunningly barren landscape. Given that I was close to delirious with heat stroke after spending just 40 minutes on the mount (and that Jesus probably didn't get the cable car to the top like I did) - I can understand why he thought he saw the Devil up there. My temptation did not take the form of Lucifer, but rather an icy pole and a cold bottle of water. And, unlike Jesus, I was too weak to resist.

After nine hectic days, my time in Israel came to an end. I had only one more hurdle to overcome before I could head off on my own pilgrimage to Florida... Israeli airport security.

I won't detail all the components that made up the most frustrating five hours of my life, but I will say this... emptying the contents of a pack that took more than a day to zip up - and then getting uppity when the lowly backpacker takes more than twenty minutes to repack it - is not a way to make friends. The Israeli security staff were bloody lucky that I managed to make my flight. Because if they think they have a problem with the Palestinians - it would have been nothing compared to the rage that I would have rained down on them had their ineptitude kept me from a Harry Potter conference that I had been waiting two years to attend.

A strange place for an agnostic

I've written in a previous post about the fact that an Israeli stamp in your passport prevents entry to many middle eastern countries and that this results in the situation where most backpackers visit Israel last on their travels in the region.

In some ways I think it is unfortunate that most backpackers only visit Israel after exploring countries like Syria and Lebanon. I know that I arrived in Israel with more baggage than just my 20 kilo pack. Conversations with Palestinians in Jordan, NGO staffers working in refugee camps in Lebanon and Syrians with family members forced out of the Golan Heights had left me with a decidedly negative view of Israel.

Further reading on the troubled history of the region, though making me more aware of the amazingly complex interplay of factors that lead to the establishment of the Jewish state, did little to diminish the strength of my belief that the establishment of the state of Israel was a monumental mistake.

One statistic that really struck me was that under the partition of (then) Palestine, passed by the general assembly of the United Nations in 1947, 37% of the population (Jewish) were given 55% of the land - of which they only owned 7% at the time! It is also worth noting that the land awarded to the Jews in the partition consisted of the prime agricultural lands, such as the Coastal Plain and Jordan Valley, while the Palestinians had been left with the comparatively bare and hilly parts of (then) Palestine. In light of all this, it is not hard to understand why the Palestinians considered themselves to be particularly hard done by under the plan.

Like many travelers to Israel I began my explorations in the nation's historically rich and politically disputed capital, Jerusalem. The capital has three very distinct parts, each with its own unique character. The modern architecture and state of the art infrastructure make the Israeli New City (West Jerusalem) easily discernible from the stall lined streets of the predominantly Arab enclave of East Jerusalem. The real drawcard of the city though is the ancient walled Old City which contains some of the most important Christian, Jewish & Muslim sites in the world.

Wandering around the Old City in Jerusalem I was struck most by the veritable melting pot of pilgrims, representing many different religions and at least 50 different countries, local Jews and Arabs that I encountered. All of the pilgrims appeared to be excited and moved to be in a place of such profound importance to them. In addition to the locals and pilgrims, the Old City was full of non-religious travelers like myself who appeared to be excited and moved to be in a place that had been of such profound importance to so many people over thousands of years. Add into this mix a significant number of armed teenagers, in the form of the Israeli military, as well as a plethora of tacky tourist shops selling T-shirts saying "Super Jew" you start to get an inkling of the incredible diversity on show in the old city.

On my first day in the Old City I orientated myself by walking along the top of the 16th century stone ramparts from the Jaffa Gate right around to the Lion's gate. The walk really helped me in identifying the visual differences between the Old City's Jewish, Muslim, Christian and Armenian quarters. Catching glimpses of the glittering gold Dome of the Rock between rooftop gardens, church spires and satellite dishes certainly helped to build my anticipation for visiting the sacred site.

Metal detectors and bag searches are a sad necessity on the approaches to both the Western (Wailing) Wall and the Temple Mount. The last remanent of Judaism's holiest shrine, the Second Temple, the Western Wall was built 2000 years ago as a retaining wall to support the Temple Mount. The area in front of the wall now forms an open air synagogue and is split into separate sections for men and women.

On the day I visited there wasn't any wailing, pilgrims were instead engaging in intense prayer with their hands reaching out to touch the sacred wall. Some people wrote their prayers on tiny scraps of paper and tried to squeeze their missives into cracks in the wall, an act that is supposed to increase the likelihood of prayers being heard. Given that pilgrims have been partaking in this practice for at least the last 40 years, it shouldn't come as a great surprise that those who were successful in wedging their prayers into the wall had to stand on plastic chairs to achieve the feat. It seems that God favours persistence.

As I wandered amongst the cyprus trees in the stone plaza of the Temple Mount I kept oscillating between two opposing thoughts. On the one hand it was lovely to see people of all different faiths rejoicing at walking around the location that Muslims believe is where Mohammed ascended to heaven and that Jews believe is where the foundation stone of the world is located. On the other hand it is staggering to think of how many lives across millennia have been lost in conflict over a, admittedly deeply historic, small piece of land. It is difficult to imagine that God or Allah would be happy with how history has played out in the region.

Would you like salt with that?

I continued my exploration of downtown Amman by visiting the Roman Theatre on Sunday. The theatre was built in the 2nd century AD and was cut into the northern side of one of Amman's many hills. I had seen the theatre from the citadel, but did not really appreciate its immense size until I was standing on the stage looking up at the endless tiers of seating in front of me. To give you an idea of the size, the theatre can seat 6000 people and to say that the tiers of seating are steep is like saying that Gaddafi is not the nicest man in the world.

(By the way if you want a fun challenge check out the vlogbrothers video called "Sheen or Gaddafi?" in which you have to decide whether various insane ramblings were said by Charlie Sheen or Gaddafi - harder to pick than you'd think! http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers#p/u/4/WsiYvcn8oZw)

I saw that other people had scaled the tiers right up to the top so I elected to do the same. Going up the first 50 or so crumbling steps was not so bad. Then I made the mistake of looking down and though I continued on, determined to reach the top, I noticed that my legs had begun to stage their own protest by getting a bad case of the wobbles. I learnt from my mistake and did not look down again until I reached the top - all the while trying to block out the nagging thought that the trip back down was going to be terrifying.

Now contrary to Mum's beliefs, I don't think I have a fear of heights. I'm fine on aeroplanes, tall buildings and can hadle centrepoint tower with no problems. I think what I have is a healthy self preservation instinct, that is a fear of falling to my death from a great height.

Anyway, I got to the top and shakily turned around to face the stage and sat down.
I almost immediately very nearly brought up my breakfast.

I tried to enjoy the sweeping views of Amman - but it was like being perched on the very edge of a cliff. Thank god my camera has an anti-shake feature. I took a few shots of the scenery and quick one of myself (in which I have a smile so tense you would think that someone has a gun to my back!) to prove I climbed up there - before I begun the excruciating task of carefully side stepping back down to the bottom. Once I was on safe ground, I was pleased to see all the other tourists were side stepping down just as gingerly as I had - and a few also looked a bit green around the gills. In this part of the world I expect to come across quite a few more old Roman theatres - but I think in future I may be able to appreciate the awesome feats of engineering better from the stage :-)

On Monday I took public transport to go on a day trip to the lovely town of Madaba - about 45 min out of Amman. It was great to get out of Amman and enjoy the lovely scenery as we drove past grove after grove of olive trees. Madaba is renown for its amzing collection of mosaics dating back to 560 AD and has the added bonus of being small enough that you can walk to every site. I was initially consulting my map quite a bit until I realised that the easiest way to know how close you were to another site was to look at the concentration of souvenir shops on any given street.

The most famous site in Madaba is the mosaic map of Palestine currently housed in the Greek Orthodox church of St George, which was built over the remains of an earlier Byzantine church. The orginal map measured 16 x 6 metres and was made from 2 million stone tiles. They estimate it probably took 6 years to put together. The map is remarkably geographically accurate and you can still see Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, the River Jordan, Jericho, Hebron as well as The Nile Delta in Egypt. I spent about an hour looking at the map - but I should say about 45 minutes of that time was spent sitting back as another bus load of tourists bustled in and pushed to the front. I would dart foward for a quick look between each new busload. Those Japanese know how to run a tour don't they? Matching jackets, caps and head sets to hear the Japanese translation of what the local guide was saying in English -very impressive. My favourite part of the map was the fish swimming up the Jordan River away from the toxic salt levels in the Dead Sea.

Speaking of the Dead Sea, Tuesday saw me set off on a day trip tour to Mt Nebo, the Dead Sea and Bethany-beyond-the-jordan (the baptism site of Jesus). My companions for the day were our ever-smiling driver Hani, two Phillipino flight attendants and an older know it all American who used to work for an American oil company in the Middle East more than 25 years ago. Joanne and Nikki (the flight attendants) spent much of the car trip re-applying make up - which I found endlessly amusing - and Tom (the American) spent much of the trip delivering his pearls of wisdom relating to middle eastern politics in a most patronising tone. I usually interrupted his rants by leaning forward and asking Hani yet another question about the local area (why are there so many bridal dress shops in Madaba?) which he answered with endless patience.

I found my reaction to the biblical sites of Mt Nebo (place where God showed Moses the promised land before he died) and Bethany-beyond-the-jordan a bit strange. I thought, even as a lapsed catholic, I would find them a bit moving but I felt none of the historical significance whilst there. I found the sites more interesting for their geographic and political significance than for any religious connotations.

Mt Nebo was windy, crawling with more busloads of tourists but afforded excellent views of the region. The baptism site, now just a stagnant puddle as the river has changed its course over the last 2000 years, is located in a military zone as the jordan river forms the border between Jordan and Israel. The river, which used to be a mighty 60 metres across, is now a depressing 3-4m wide creek. I asked our guide what the cause of the drop in water level was and he smiled and said "we have lovely neighbours". He went on to explain that both Israel and Syria have built dams further upstream.

On reflection I think my reaction to these biblical sites has much to do with my reaction to the bible stories in which I first heard of them. As a child I suppose I viewed the bible stories as (apologies if I offend anyone) mythic tales. Jesus walking on water - to me occurred in a magical place - not a real location on the other side of the world. And naturally enough the brown waters of the River Jordan and the windy peak of Mt Nebo - though interesting - did not seem magical to me.

Anyway, for me the real highlight of the day was visiting the Dead Sea. As we drove down through the rocky desert landscape from Mt Nebo we would catch glimpses of the sparkling aqua blue water and I could feel my excitement building. It is a stunningly beautiful part of the world.

The only way to swim in the Dead Sea is pay to go to a "beach" which is more like a resort with swimming pools, good shower facilities and many refreshments on sale. We went to the cheapest beach, Amman Beach - though cheapest is a relative term as it still cost 15 JD to enter. The pools looked lovely but as soon as we got changed we all headed down the steps to the Dead Sea. My flight attendant companions were dressed in the tiniest of bikinis and I looked positively victorian covered as I was from neck to knee in my rash top and board shorts.

The beach is made up of brown dirt dotted with plastic chairs and the aqua water is dotted with buoyant tourists. The incredibly high salt levels mean that it is difficult not to float in the Dead Sea. Even you Dad, would float here! Though it allowed me to tick off one item on my "bucket list" - it seems as though god doesn't really want you to swim in the Dead Sea. To get beyond ankle deep water you have to clamber over small, sharp and very slippery rocks. This inevitably leads to small cuts and grazes if you're lucky, and a badly sprained ankle if you are not. I was lucky and soon knew I had acquired many small cuts and grazes as the salt was literally added to the wound!!

So with stinging ankles I floated on my stomach, on my back, and standing up in the Dead Sea. It was fun for a while but after a small wave meant that I got some water in my eyes and on my lips I realised that they really were not exaggerating about the salt levels. I soon headed back to shore and again marvelled that there is no way to leave the Dead Sea in a dignified manner. I joined other tourists around me gingerly crawling in low squats through the rocks back to the safety of the brown dirt and plastic chairs.

Joanne and Nikki wanted to pay another 3JD to have some Dead Sea mud smeared on their faces and bodies. I felt, as I watched tourist after tourist ascend the stairs to the showers looking like racially offensive cabaret performers from the deep south with their black faces, that the Jordanians may have been having a bit of fun with the tourists whilst making sizable profits.

My skin did not seem to like the cleansing properties of the salt water. By the time I got back to my plastic chair my face looked like I had invested in a chemical peel. I had gathered my belongings and was headed back across the dirt when my foot went through the sand and I found myself falling up to mid thigh in the dirt. As other concerned tourists asked if I was OK I found myself laughing hysterically. I scrambled in the dirt to find my lost thong and a lovely old lady asked with real worry in her voice "are you SURE you are ok?".

I think she was relieved when I smiled up at her, covered in an attractive mixture of salt and dirt and said, "I'm better than OK. How many other people here can say that they got a Dead Sea pedicure for free?"