Jerusalem to Petra and Back!

.... and thus it was that I went from the spectacle of paramount sites of Islam and Judaism to that of Christianity - The Church of the Holy Sepulchre. An interesting place indeed.

I view the experience from two totally separate angles, which I have to explain individually.

On the one hand..... I see it as a building, a source of history, intrigue and political mirror. At a fundamental level, the site of a number of churches/shrines built over what is believed to be at one end Golgotha, the site of the crucifixion, and at the other the place of the Resurrection - the holiest shrine to over a quarter of the world's populace. The current structure has evolved from the magnificent crusader cathedral dating back to the 11th century and I understand to be arguably the first ever Gothic building. Quite magnificent. This is though overrun and overtaken by the partitioning politics of the last millennia.

In some ways unbelievably, in others very tellingly, the place is literally split stone by stone, wall by wall between on the one hand Roman Catholics, on the other Greek Orthodox (who hold Golgotha and the tomb), Syrian Coptic, Egyptian Coptic, Russian Orthodox.... in fact my understanding is that of the main denominations only protestantism has not grabbed a flagstone (intriguing as the British were overseers of Jerusalem for quite a few years). So you have the absurdity of the most important world site for billions marred by centuries old battles for space. The rule seems to be - if you clean it, you own it. So beside magnificent shrines you have crumbling rocks. A shocking example is that of the 'temporary' walls installed due to earthquake damage. Important structurally, but what began as a short-term solution has now permanently removed the beauty of the spacious heart of the cathedral as the Greek Orthodox cleaned it, mosaiced it and hence claim it. A bit of a hostile take-over if you like. There is little place for dispute resolution in a place with less information or guidance than a village church. Overall fascinating but a shame on Christianity.

On the other hand....a distinctly spiritual experience. It is fashionable to go to a far away temple and "find yourself", but not to have such experience in a church of all places. What absurd hypocrisy on the face of society. To enter the tiny golden laid tomb of Jesus put a tear in my eye. What ever you believe in, if having the privilege to enter a place of such significance to so many does not send a shiver down the back of your spine then you are certainly not me. Something I will never forget.

So on I wondered around those little winding streets with their smells, colours and culture. With its history, sanctity, conflict, beauty, life and death, Jerusalem is a place unlike any other I have experienced. On the one hand a place that can teach the world so much and on the other one that so clearly needs to learn.

I packed a day-pack and headed to Masada.
Taking the bus down, round and through some very poor Arab areas, into the increasing desert, past the Dead Sea and to a place I have wanted to visit since I can remember. A huge rock that juts out from the edge of the Dead Sea heralding the start of the Judean desert. Cliffs for all sides and flat on top, a natural fortress, developed as such by Herod in circa 50BC (apologise for any inaccuracies as this is all off my head). Magnificent as it is, one event cemented its place in history. In the second Jewish revolt against the Romans (circa AD 72) this was the last stronghold against the Roman backlash. The defenders seemingly untouchable, the Romans simply built a huge ramp up a 4oom cliff-face. SIMPLY???? - only in the sense of simply amazing. Such a show of human ingenuity and bloody-mindedness led to the remaining holdouts taking their lives - man, woman and child. A tragic, startling place.

Jumping off the bus and climbing the rock was fantastic. The views breathtaking. Such a break from the sterile office to suddenly be standing on top an ancient fortress staring into the barren wilderness.

As it happened I had the good fortune to bump into a cool French dude - Nicolas - on the way down. At present, the average tourist in Israel is American, 19, on 'Birthright' (Zionist American organisation that ships over young American Jews to see the country that is their 'birthright' so they can go home and pay cheques in the future - not a quote from my head, but the view of most people I met who came off it), certainly Jewish and NOT independent.

So here we were, a ros-bif and a frog wandering down (via a bus) to the Dead Sea for the standard jovial float on the famous waters and a couple of bevvies. A really cool experience. I didn't quite manage the Obelix scim, but you float like a tennis ball and, as mad as it sounds, the sea tastes more salty then salt - you have to stick your tongue in to understand.

A word of advise. Trekking can cause chaffing. A minor affliction which does not go happily with the Dead Sea. Agony. Be warned.

Ah.... that is interesting, he would love to pop over to Jordon to see the famed Petra, I really want to take a dive in the Red Sea, the easiest way to get across to Jordon is via Eilat on the Red Sea, oh I would love to go to Petra too - deal - I'll meet you tomorrow evening in some random hostel in Eilat - only a few 100kms south, the other side of a bloody big desert - we'll have a few beers and take a morning stroll to Jordon - sweet.

And thus the plan was born - Jordon - PETRA.

A quick mention to the cool American couple I met originally in Jerusalem, then again right here - I promised I would blog their picture and finally I have.

I flagged down a bus heading south and drifted to sleep with beer in hand, watching the levant turn from gold, to red to dusk. A couple of pretty damn good dives in the teamingly rich waters of the red-sea, including my first ever wreck dive, wonder back to the random hostel and there is Nicolas plus a new American recruit. A few bottles of wine and beer and we have a German/Ukranian recruit - Dimam - and we have a plan for first light.

I can't quell my enthusiasm for a little bit of random adventure and thus it was as we crossed into Jordon and slowly bargained a guy to a half reasonable price to drive us 100's of kms north to the renowned ancient site and all the way back again in a day. Up and over the snow-touched desert hills. Such harsh beauty. A couple of interesting stops, some Arab tea and eventually we made it to Petra. I shall keep this short as you can read about it in a million places.... but it comes goddamn recommended.

Walking the first mile or so through steep canyons before suddenly out of nowhere - and in bare rock - the mighty Treasury. This does not just look like Indiana Jones but was the film-set for Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. As you walk into the walled valley everywhere you look are 2,000 year old tomb, caverns, temples - bloomin' magnificent. Our cool guide lead us on some adventurous trails up and over a number of hills to crystal clear memory views, but the best we trekked to ourselves. Another 45mins up and up at the end of the valley and eventually you arrive at what feels like a godly crafted terrace overlooking the world. The four of us had one of those moments - those inexplicable moments that will stay with you 'til the day you lose your marbles (or they are taken from you). Go there, see Jordanian hills spread out beneath you to the Jordon itself and feel so beautifully humbled. Just one of those moments...

After most of the day at Petra we had to leg it back (stopping of course for a quick snow fight - efffing freezing) to just squeeze into Israel before the border closed.

What a day! Before I knew it, after a couple of celebratories and a discussion with an ex-South African soldier now domiciled in Israel who has some major issues (really the fucked up side of things - not the nice side of Israel), I had embarked at sparrow's fart on one heck of a silly journey. Just about resisting Dimam and Nicolas's offer to come to Egypt I jumped on the bus to Jerusalem (half of Israel in between) picked up my bag (I was starting to smell after four days with a day-pack) ran across town, out and through the Arab quarter, into the first taxi and up to the Mount of Olives to breath it all in one last time. Mad dash to the bus station, on to Tel Aviv, payphone call to Orit (awesome gal me and the boys shared a flat with in Barreloche, Argentina last year), got picked up and driven all the way to Haifa at the top of the country. To be specific to Sarit's house (the other equally cool flatmate from Patagonia) where I was welcomed by her and her family with touching hospitality.

So, having covered just about the entire length of Israel in a day, it must be time for bed....NO...and a good thing to. A quick look at the home of the Bahai faith and off into the middle of nowhere for an all night Kibbutz party. So much fun. Israel is one of those places where people seem to grab hold of life when they have it, at least when it comes to the youth. Convening goodness knows where to dance the night through in quite some style with a thousand others. As I collapsed into bed rather tipsy I thought...."I must return"....

Quite a journey. Topped off with a spin round the resolant rainy crusader walls of Haifa, a trip to Orit's Moshav, a farewell to my friends who had been so good to me and then back to Eliana and Talia's Moshav for a final night's sleep on that sofa (OK I left out the part about the sushi and chocolate but that is for another time) - thanks for everything Tali and Eliana!!!!

Wondering those special hills on my final morning I tried to make some sense of what I had seen over the past 11 days. One thing for sure - this land had grabbed me like so many others and I did not want to let go. A sense of waste, utter waste that man should fight so bitterly over such a gift. A feeling of sorrow for those on all sides who showed their pain, loss and at times anger. And just a drip of hope from those who had expressed such to me.

Even the 'very' thorough search at the airport (never ask a pretty Israeli customs officer what she is looking for with her little tester when you have a Jordanian stamp in your passport - she will not smile prettily back) could in no way mar but only add yet another shade of colour to the incomparable experience that Israel offers to those who are allowed and take the opportunity to experience it.

Like no other place I have seen. So touching...beautiful...torn.

From the Moshav to Jerusalem

What a fantastic and fascinating 11 days!

Running straight out of work to Heathrow and jumping on a the BA red-eye to Tel Aviv, drifting in and out of sleep, I was a little disoriented when landing in Israel. A country I have wanted to go to for a very long time. What other country holds an aura like it? So many images jump into your head of Kibbutz’s, the Bible, conflict, Judaism, sacrifice, suffering, the joy of life celebrated by so many inhabitants that I have met around the world and for good or bad, a sense of concentrated passion.

I had not contacted my Israeli friends with sufficient prior diligence and decided to head into Tel Aviv before ringing anyone. Plus it was absurdly early in the morning. Jump on a bus and what is the first thing I noticed – a number of young soldiers, men and women and their accompanying M16’s. It reminded me of something an Israeli friend said on entering Colombia in reaction to the ever present guns "feels like home". For everyone here it is just normal.

Enter the central bus station and as will become a pattern, everything is searched, top to bottom. A frustration with a pack, but understandable. Decide to give Eliana a ring. Lovely girl who I last saw in New York last Feb, but who I really know from travelling through Ecuador and into Colombia at the tail of 2005. A 20 minute wait, a hug and before I know it I am heading off on my own on another bus with directions along the lines of "jump out near there... left across a field... down... up... left... down again... and though an open door". This I did, accompanied by some beautiful views through the shroud of tiredness, stepped through the unlocked door and said hello to Tali. Before I knew it I had drifted off to sleep in the comforting Levantine sunshine….

…. THE MOSHAV….and that is where I spent the next 3 or so days (bar a fun night out in Tel Aviv). After 4 months of work I was delighted to slow it all down in such a special place. I met Tali and Eliana at the same time and barring New York had the same travels. This was Tali’s house which she shares with her older sister, younger brother when he is on leave from national service and half the kids of the local community - the Moshav. I have to admit that before I went to Israel I never had heard of a moshav, but to explain it very badly, it is a community with many similarities to a kibbutz but different – less centralisation. People living together on the basis of similar values. Here, a beautifully peaceful place that immediately carved a niche in my heart.

It was a privilege to spend time in the community and its surroudings. This time gave my mind time to sigh, either lying in the winter sunshine staring at the clouds, orange trees, birds and stunning view of boulder strewn green hills, or walking through the scented pine forest where the light was playing tricks with my mind in shades of purple and effervescent green. I was generously invited to share in Sabbath, from the more than a touch hippy guitar playing celebrations of bringing in and out the day of rest, to the drinking of the youth as they meet together in the house that Tali’s dad built. Some conversations that blow away the blinding cob-webs of home life as you discuss loss, pride and passion with those who are home for a night from a front-line, those who have lost and those who appreciate the very special community in which they live. A few days that hit me more than those around would have noticed, but when Jerusalem is 20 miles away there is just one way that you can head.

This is one point that struck me so strongly – just how small and fundamentally fragile Israel is. From the hills round Modi’in you can see with unaided sight to one side Tel Aviv on the Mediterranean coast, and to the other the hills of the West Bank. This thin, fertile, beautiful piece of land hangs on a thread. When you live on a thread, you view life differently.

From the Israeli heartland, I walked into the old city of Jerusalem (part of Jordon until 1967) and dumped my pack in an Arab hostel just beyond the Jaffa Gate. How ever much modernism removes spirituality and verve from life, the sheer history and meaning of Jerusalem sent a shiver down my spine as I entered through the mighty walls.

JERUSALEM…. the word says it all. A city split into 4 quarters. The Armenian quarter, small and quiet, people keeping themselves to themselves, many families having fled to Jerusalem some time ago from Turkish atrocities (out of interest I understand Armenia was the first Christian country in the world). The Jewish quarter, heavily renovated after the area was gutted during heavy fighting at the end of the 60’s, for me, outside of the Wailing Wall, the least enticing of the quarters. The Christian quarter with its monasteries, churches, merging into the largest and most interesting Islamic quarter with its ancient winding streets and bustle.

I spent the days wondering on my own through the narrow alleys, especially in the Islamic quarter. It is like being sent back in time. I found people generally welcoming, though I have to admit that once or twice especially outside the old city into the fringes of East Jerusalem I did get a feeling of 'what are you doing here?' As I say though, that was the exception. In fact I found a number of people stressing to me satisfaction that people simply come. Very few want violence or struggle, but an environment where their families are safe and they can do business.

The undoubted three key sites of Jerusalem, are the Aqsa Mosque and Dome of the Rock (in terms of pilgrimage only second to Mecca for Muslims), the Wailing or Western Wall (the focal point of Judaism) and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (the unparalleled site of prominence for Christians).

The first two have to be explained together, for they are for all the irony that can be asserted literally together.

The Dome on the Rock in all its shining golden glory is planted on top Herod’s temple mount. The 2000 plus year old western wall of the mount is the Wailing Wall.

One is on top of the other, separated atop by an extension of the wall constructed to stop Muslims spitting on those below, and symbolically at the adjoining ramp by a sign that reminds Jews that it is forbidden by the Torah to set foot atop the temple mount.

To see the contrasting spectacle that mirrors so many of the problems of our world is a humbling experience. So many people pour out there passion and devotion so close together but in directions that can clash and lead to blood. What absurdity that here at the very focal point of western religion people can not see that what they seek is different images of the same thing. I am sure many will criticise me for simplifying it so but would Abraham wish his children to fight, and would a a just god promote such division and damn those who seek him by different paths.

..........and next to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, more division and devotion that put a shiver down my spine and a tear in my eye (to be continued...)

The Final Chapter

So here I am, sitting at my computer at home in rainy Hampshire. For at least a while my travels are over and I have the not so easy task of trying to sum up what this means. Like any large transition in life it involves a mixture of emotions and these were mine:

GUTTED
There I was, my last night on Phi Phi, Bucket fed and sitting in the sea under a three-quarter moon with my trousers on. Gutted. No other way to describe how I felt but gutted. Here was all this beauty and opportunity and it was slipping through my fingers. Where had the last year gone? How had this period of my life that I had longed for departed with such apparent ease? Life leaking away and out of my control.

DENIAL
The next morning Dave, Arron and I set off on the 16 hour journey back to Bangkok. The sinking feeling of the night before had been substituted with a point blank lack of emotion at to the imminent changes in my living situation. Watch Phi Phi disappear and past the stark juttings of Krabi without too much thought. Just get on with travel as usual, meet a nice bunch of people, do standard random things and collapse before I even finish my Singh on the overnight bus.

PISSED OFF
The last day in Bangkok, that ultimate fairyland of backpackers, my last day of travel. Once the mundane tasks are out of the way, a heightened and sharp annoyance with the whole situation takes over. Solution - beer. Slightly crazy Dutch guy from a month ago joins the boys and we hit the giraffes (3 litres of Chang in an ice cooled tower) hard. Narrowly decide not to get a ‘Carpe Diem’ tattoo.

WHAT THE HELL
Sombre attitude alleviated by final contemplative walks and meeting up with lasses from the journey back from Phi Phi. A last rush of laughs, drinks and squeezing of every last minute takes over. Throw my bag on my shoulder and say adios with an inane grin on my face.

REMEMBRANCE
Bugger…. I forget to give Dave the Kleiner Welt Atlas that a certain German gave me at the end of his travel 7 months ago with the promise to pass it on to a worthy recipient. Leave all possessions with Israeli couple and run more than mildly inebriated down the Khao San Road one last time – dump the book with the gals and sprint back to the bus for all I’m worth.


CONFUSION
Enter the airport half cut wearing a singlet, thongs, pink glasses and Mr Brightside booming in my ears on repeat… everything dandy… DOUBLE BUGGER – manage to lose my bag containing not only all my money and cards but my passport God damn it… think of Mik… you’ve really blown it this time haven’t you… run with big bag on back and glasses to information, BA desk, police… no sign of bag anywhere… oh well you can’t argue with fate - back to the pub then… no… no… I have to go home…gate closes in a few minutes… think James think, where on earth could I have lost it… faint glimpse of an important memory… swinging trolley round a corner… BINGO… relief… my bag and everything in it… sweating but happy they let me on the plane… take off over uncountable lights of the metropolis… slumber…collapse.


ACCEPTANCE
Bump bump tschhhhh. Back on home soil. Familiar accents, buildings and ease. Friendly passport control, bag intact and I’ve made it. It’s not so bad. Resolute about future travel but not entirely against the idea of getting on with my life. And there they are, not only my dad but Christina as well. Two of the people that I could not but return for.

CONTENT
The final leg of my journey. Striding off a train in the morning light, through the town and now past the lake with the familiar and reassuring weight of my pack on my back. I had almost forgotten just how beautiful this part of the world is. A final thought for everything I am leaving behind, look forward with a genuine smile, walk through the door and surprise my mother. I’m Home.

Over….done…complete!

This only leaves concluding words to thank everyone and everything that has made this year everything it has been. For opening my eyes and showing me just what life can and should mean and for setting me on my path.

A contemporary poet describes life as a bitter-sweet symphony – how accurate – a mixed bag of emotions, feelings and occurrence. Life like a symphony is not about its end but its journey. Every note is there to be grabbed, soaked up and savoured, bitter or sweet, whether you do so is up to you!

Paradise Islands

Back in Bangkok, a city that is really growing on me, and more specifically back in Sawasdee House, a place that has become like a second home during 6 weeks in the region. Bonus – Dave eventually found Arron having a few drinks with a bunch of randoms on the Khao San Road, and Double Bonus – Dan (university mate who set up a bar in Cambodia) and his lovely girlfriend Sokha were around. I was meant to meet them in Phnom Pehn but as circumstances had it would have missed them had it not been for Dave’s illness. So, despite Dave’s continued ailment and me feeling like shit after catching some bug in the hospital, we had a very pleasant night out on the giraffes. The only bad news was a ridiculous decision by the embassy to deny Sokha her tourist visa for England. I will not go into details but a disgrace.

Dan and Sokha

We woke up the next morning rather late and discovered that all the bus/boat tickets to Ko Phi Phi were sold out – bummer – only 8 days left and something is trying to stop us getting to a beach. What to do? Full moon party – no, not what I need. Flight - yes, no money left but with a bit of help from Arron we were at the airport within a couple of hours jumping on a flight to Phuket. Why not – go with the flow. We landed in package holiday central Phuket, dumped our stuff and despite relative knackeredness decided that as it was about to tick past midnight onto Dave’s 24th bday we had to do something. Phuket town was a ghost town, so the only option was the infamous (if it not infamous it should be) Patong. Problem – the only way to get there was with a rather inebriated looking man in his beamer. Solution - pay him to put the whisky and coke down and kiss the St Christopher's. A stupid decision as he was an absolute nutter, but we got there in the end and had a very interesting night. It was one of those occasions where you feel more of an observer than a participant.

In a rather small nutshell, Patong resembles one of those ghastly towns on the south coast of Spain invaded by hordes of Brits and Germans. Just add a much nicer beach and thousands of prostitutes. There are bars after bars, after strip-clubs after nightclubs of prostitutes, lady-boys, dirty old men and other tourists interested to have a look. It is rather strange to see quite a large number of foreign women revelling in all this debauchery, but simply disgusting to see how some of the men act.



Now, the concept of prostitution does not shock me and I do see arguments for not entirely condemning the practice. I have also realised as I have got older that the only thing that makes a dirty old man any dirtier then a younger man is his age. Society simply does not accept the same thoughts and attitudes from people of different age brackets. BUT, the way some of these men act is unforgiveable.

One man in particular was treating the girls so badly that I had this incredibly strong urge to smack him. Anybody who knows me knows I am not a violent person, but just the sight of this shit of a human made my blood boil. In the end I decided not to hit him but rather take pictures and publish them. Below is one fellow paying off the girls. I have other photos that I am trying to find an appropriate place to publish. Unfortunately I just missed the worst guy and I am ashamed to say that he was a fellow Brit.

So we had an interesting night, not all of it blood boiling (one incident with a conspicuous bulge in a ‘ladies’ pants and a seemingly unknowing customer was hilarious) and after very little sleep and a rip-off scam were on a boat cruising across the Andaman sea to the famed Ko Phi Phi.


KO PHI PHI


This place hit the spot. An absolutely perfect final week to this nearly half a year in Asia and year travelling. All the ingredients of some great diving, hammocks, buckets, boxing ring, fiesta de carpe diem, cricket, sunshine, good company and incomparable scenery brewed together just right.

Aaron and I dived every other day, seeing leopard sharks, sea snakes, moray eels, rays, nudi branches, lion-fish, crown-of-thorns, barracuda, wonderful corals and numerous other wonderful things. The icing on the cake was Simon, a slightly crazy Dutch guy who led most of our dives. For one reason or another he had confidence in our diving and so we were able to do some rather exciting things such as entering into 3m swells, night dives, coping with massive currents and doing a great swim-through. It was all awesome and to cap it all off when you surface you have the astounding beauty of Phi Phi Leh or the Bida islands soaring in front of you.

When not diving, days were spent on the stunning beaches, sleeping (in Dave and Steve’s case) or chilling in hammocks. It is a real paradise. However many times I have seen people's pictures of these green clad limestone cliffs rising out of perfectly turquoise water and blessed with glittering golden sand beaches, and however good their pictures were, it did did not fully prepare me for what is definitely one of the most beautiful places I have had the privilege to enjoy.

Night times were just messy. Long periods spent on our balcony occasionally visited by random passers by were eventually broken by trips to Apaches, Hippies, Reggae Bar and Carpe Diem for inevitable buckets and the even more inevitable silliness that follows them. Below are a few appropriate photos (Dave you can thank me for leaving out the Gnome pictures - never mix antibiotics with buckets):






















And also evidence of a certain second round knock out that was not in Dave’s favour:




Who wouldn’t agree to box in the middle of a bar for a couple of buckets. Pure hilarity and I have most of it on film. Personally I would like to dedicate the victory to my coach Arron and henceforth retire from boxing with an undefeated unanimous knockout record…….hmmmm.


A highlight of the week was a cruise to Phi Phi Leh on the final day. Despite Arron being hit by a long boat while snorkeling (seriously dangerous) and me smashing against the rocks trying to get to the beach (yes, there is a nutty hole in the cliffs that you scramble through to see the beach from ‘The Beach’) it was quite brilliant. The beach itself all but bought a tear to my eye and will be one of those special places locked in my brain. Amazingly the bay on the other side is equally magnificent and our last half an hour there messing about in the rain after most of the other boats had run on home was a perfect end to this trip.

The place is simply magical. Rather than further describe it I just recommend you go there.

This account has to include something that still hangs over the islands and will do for a long time to come. This paradise was devastated by the Tsunami of late 2004 and many lives were lost. The accounts you hear and effects you see and feel can not but affect you and your experience on the island. Many people complain about the direction the island is being lead by the mafia type people who run it, but as far as I was concerned it was still a very special place and the recent troubles are all the more reason to support it. The wave showed that nature still emphatically has the power to destroy us, but, I fear, we equally have the power to destroy nature. We have been given pretty damn close to heaven on earth – just don’t ruin it.