Jerusalem in the Morning, Istanbul in the Afternoon, and the Case of the Missing Computer

July 24th, 2008 On a bus from Thessaloniki to Meteora, Greece
My alarm sounded at 4:30 on Sunday morning. Adam and I grudgingly got out of our sleeping bags, showered, and began the long walk to the central bus station. We boarded a bus to Tel Aviv and, an hour later, we were at the airport.

Israeli airport security is an interesting thing: you never really know what will happen. Some of my friends who have spent several months working in the West Bank have walked through without a problem; others who came to visit for a week were held and questioned for three hours. Adam and I experienced something in between.

We entered the line and were asked a few questions about our stay before putting our luggage through the X-Ray scanner. We then took our bags over to a desk where they were basically emptied and rubbed down by three different people. As this was happening, someone in a suit asked me detailed questions about my stay in the country. I said nothing about the West Bank except for visiting Bethlehem, filling up my nine-and-a-half week stay with the tour, Egypt, Jordan, the Golan, and a lot of time traveling by myself. He informed me that a problem occurred with my computer. Their scanners were detecting something very disturbing and the chief of security came down and began interrogating me. She wanted to know if I stayed in any homes in Egypt or Jordan and if anyone other than me and my traveling companions had access to my computer. I was taken into a back room two different times and asked to pass through a metal detector; the second time I was massaged by an Israeli security guard. When I returned back to the desk, the man in the suit told me that I could not take my computer. According to him, the tests they needed to conduct would take too long. He said all of this as they bubble-wrapped my laptop and stuck down in a white box, giving me the impression that they really weren’t going to check it. When I arrived in Istanbul, he said, I needed to go to Lost and Found and make a file concerning my laptop, which would be shipped to me on a later flight. Life was certainly going to be made more difficult, but very interesting, by leaving it, but I didn’t have anything compromising on it: I had deleted all of my stories for the Palestine Monitor a few days before and had deleted all of my pictures from the West Bank from my computer and buried them on my external hard-drive, which, thankfully, I was allowed to keep. They wrapped my power cord for the computer in bubble-wrap and shipped it as checked luggage on my Turkish Airlines flight. That was weird. They were very polite and apologetic as they took my computer away, checking us into our flight and escorting us through several other security measures so that we wouldn’t have to wait any longer. I suppose there are benefits to several hours in Israeli security.

I slept most of the two-hour flight until we touched down in Istanbul, Turkey. I love adding new countries to my résumé. We purchased visas (Australians are the only people who don’t need a visa, because of the Battle of Gallipoli in WWI) and filed through passport control, picking up our bags and heading over to the Lost and Found desk. After ten minutes, I was told that my computer wasn’t, in fact, on my flight. I thanked them for that information and carefully tried to make my case clearer. Someone eventually made a file and gave me a few pieces of paper.

Adam and I sat down near the ramp where all the new arrivals were entering. Adam listened to his iPod and I started Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals, by Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw. So far, it’s really quality stuff, but that’s to be expected from the guy who wrote The Irresistible Revolution. After an hour, Michael Wright came through passport control, his fists raised in triumph. Michael is one of my very closest friends from Harding. A fellow English Literature major, he graduated in May and decided to join us in Istanbul and travel with us to Greece before meeting his family for a week in Ireland. We had been very excited about this trip and the opportunity to travel together and I was glad to meet up with him.

We found our way down to the metro where we met a guy named Matt from Birmingham, England, who has been teaching English in Taiwan for the last four years and just finished traveling West Africa for five months. He tagged along with us to the end of the line, where we hailed a taxi and drove to the square of Sultanahmet. The Haghia Sophia sat to our left and the Blue Mosque rose across a green lawn decorated with a flowering fountain. I was impressed by the city planning. A group of conservative Muslim women huddled together and smiled and pointed at me.
“Muhanned,” one of them said.

I think I might miss that when I leave. My self-esteem was given quite a boost when I discovered that I was every Middle Eastern woman’s Turkish soap opera dream.

We walked around the corner of the Haghia Sophia past Topkapi Palace, journeying down a winding street to the Orient Hostel, located on an attractive side street filled with small cafés and restaurants. Michael had made reservations for us and we threw our bags down in the thirty-bunk dormitory. We could see the Haghia Sophia and the Blue Mosque from the roof. We walked back up to the square and walked around, getting a feel for the city. The three of us wandered down through cobble-stoned streets to the Marmara Sea. Families grilled out on the grass and long fishing poles cast out to sea beside the fleet of ships floating off the shore. We sat in the square of Sultanahmet before having dinner at a restaurant on a corner near our hostel. The delicious taste of the food was dulled a bit by our check, but at least we were treated to authentic Turkish cuisine. We sat on the roof with Matt and a few Australians before descending into the furnace of the dorm room and sweating ourselves to sleep.

After breakfast in the morning, we made reservations for a bus to Greece and I began my quest to obtain the missing computer. The hostel had their own travel agent, and he called the airport for me several times over the next two days. We heard nothing new that morning, so Adam, Michael, and I set out to explore the vast city of Istanbul.

The Blue Mosque, adorned with its many domes and six minarets, was our first destination. The structure, which is one of the most famous religious buildings in the world, received its name from the colorful tilework decking its interior. Built between 1609 and 1616, some considered the impressive mosque to be sacrilegious because it seemed to rival the architecture of the holy city of Mecca.

(written July 26th, 2008 Onboard train from Kalambaka to Athens, Greece)
We went around the corner of Haghia Sophia to Topkapi Palace, a huge extravagant complex built as the primary residence of Mehmet II between 1459 and 1465. Four huge courtyards housed the many buildings that comprised the fortress. We first entered the Harem, and I think we all know what happened there. The labyrinthine series of rooms, some decorated by faded paintings, once housed the king’s wives, concubines, and children, all guarded by eunuchs. I would assume that they didn’t volunteer for that job. The three of us explored all four courtyards, browsing through the treasuries, the throne room, the armory, and the Circumcision Pavilion. Again, the name says it all. Balconies along the edge of the palace provided excellent views of the sea. I tried to imagine the place without all the tourists, and to see the sultans walking around in their exquisite robes, followed by scurrying servants with fans, gazing out to the untamed sea and the lands beyond.

The Grand Bazaar, also built by Mehmet II in 1453, was our next stop, so we hiked across town and walked through the arched doorway. The interweaving streets, closed on either side by shops and covered by arching ceilings, were similar to the Old City of Jerusalem, though much wider and fancier. I happen to enjoy the Old City much more, which is certainly much older and seemed less touristy in a way. However, the Grand Bazaar is still undeniably impressive. The venders sold a wide variety of things, from rugs to shoes to brass to meerschaum pipes, each shopkeeper asking how we were and where we were from before inviting us to peruse their merchandise. Michael enjoyed the souvenir-shopping more than Adam and I did. The only thing the two of us bought, besides Adam’s new pipe, were kebabs in a little restaurant.

We walked toward the sea, meandering through the Book Bazaar and making a quick stop at Süleymaniye Mosque, which also contained the tomb of Süleyman the Magnificent. We decided that we were tired of paying to get into things, so we skipped out on going inside and moved on to the Spice Bazaar. Built in the 17th century and shaped like the letter “L,” the market was filled with the smell of hundreds of different spices, all piled up in colorful mountains on tables. Soon, the sea was before us, and we walked onto the Galata Bridge near the New Mosque, passing over the Golden Horn, which has been described as the world’s greatest natural harbor, to the other side. We began climbing up the hill, eventually coming to Galata Tower. Dating from the sixth century, the tower, tipped with an upside-down cone, rose 196 feet and, unfortunately, cost 10 lira. The view from the top wasn’t really going to be anything different than what we had already seen, so we decided to continue on and simply explore the streets dripping down the steep hill. We stopped by Mevleve Monastery but it was closed for restoration “until a few months,” so we sat at the base of the Galata Tower and enjoyed sitting. Ah, the simple pleasures in life . . .

After we crossed back over the Golden Horn, we entered the New Mosque, which is a rather relative name, considering that it was begun in 1597 (though it wasn’t completed for another sixty-six years). The colorful tiles of the interior were reminiscent of the Blue Mosque. The architecture of the mosques in Istanbul was incredible.

We had a great kebab for dinner near the Sultanahmet square. The food was very cheap, which made us all happy. Michael and Adam turned in soon after we got back to the hostel; I sat on the roof for a little wile, watching boats pass through the moon’s glow on the water. Behind me, the Blue Mosque and the Haghia Sophia glowed like lighthouses.

The next morning, we saw the Haghia Sophia. Out of all the impressive structures that we saw in Istanbul, this was for me the most impressive and the most beautiful. The Haghia Sophia (or “Holy Wisdom”) was a Byzantine church converted into a mosque and then a museum, and is over 1,400 years old. Buttresses support the roof’s many domes which cover the cavernous interior: the main sanctuary, which was designed to reflect the expanse of the heavens, soars up to the ceiling 184 feet above the floor. A large mosaic of Jesus and Mary loomed behind the apse. We climbed a series of winding steps to the second level where we saw a series of exquisite mosaics lit by the sunlight from the adjacent windows, through which I could see the Blue Mosque across the square. As Michael and Adam walked around, I sat and looked at the mosaics and the vast sanctuary and the people walking and just listened.

We returned to the Grand Bazaar, following a path marked in Michael’s guidebook that took us to the oldest section of the market. As we ate a cheap kebab for lunch, we met some American girls and had a very interesting conversation. The two were Christians and had been traveling with a group in Europe, spending time with gypsies and “just sharin’ the love of God with them.” I was very impressed with their work, with the fact that they were touching people considered untouchable, but not so much with what seemed to be an overly “spiritual” (and I put that in quotation marks for a reason) Christianity. I grow uncomfortable when the only thing associated with “the power of Christ” or genuine spirituality is “miraculous” healings. I don’t believe that Jesus’ signs were the point of his message; rather, they were (go figure) signs pointing to and supporting his message. The girls talked about the need to feel the Holy Spirit moving in you and us using it to do powerful things. All I could think of was “Use the Force, Luke,” as if God is some sort of impersonal substance we tap into and use to make things all better. As we prepared to leave, one of them prayed for us and put her hands on our heads (which is something with which I have absolutely no problem, just so you know) in order to “anoint you with the Spirit that dwells in me and just for you to just pour into them, Holy Spirit God, just to fill with just your power and wisdom, Father God.” They were very friendly and I appreciated their desire to pray for us, but our versions of following Jesus certainly differed in some ways.

We walked all over Istanbul that day, veering off the beaten path to get away from the tourists. We walked through streets of decaying wooden homes squeezed between stained apartments. The three of us followed the road under Valens Aqueduct and ended up at a dilapidated mosque which had once been a Byzantine church, as many of the mosques had been. However, a man outside tried to make us pay to walk around, so we left.

After walking way out where no tourists have walked before (which might be an overstatement, but it felt like it), we entered the Church of St. Savior in Chora, dating back to the eleventh century and known for its Byzantine frescoes and mosaics. The church’s reputation was well-deserved: the walls and ceilings were arrayed with majestic art depicting the Scriptures and the saints, filling the dim church with color and life. The artwork, created by theologian and philosopher Theodore Metochites between 1315 and 1321, was grouped in series, such as the Genealogy of Christ, the Infancy of Christ, the Life of the Virgin, and Christ’s Ministry. The frescoes were housed in the pareclesion, the most stunning of which was the one called the Anastasis. The fresco centers around Jesus, standing above the Gates of Hell as he pulls Adam and Eve out from their graves: Jesus as the Death-conqueror and the Life-giver.

When I said that we walked all over the city, we really did. We continued from the church and strolled next to the ancient walls of the city and down through residential areas where, hallelujah, no tourists were in sight. After we visited the Haghia Sophia, I had returned to the hostel to call the airport about my computer. I was told that they definitely had it, but the travel agent at the hostel suggested that I go and pick it up, because I had no guarantee that they would deliver it on time. So, after we saw all of Istanbul, Adam and Michael graciously accompanied me to the airport. We had a very hard time finding where we needed to go, because each person we asked sent us to a different place until we felt like we were following clues on the trail of some mystery. Finally, I was allowed through the gates and back to the Turkish Airlines lost and found, where I had gone after we landed. I was then told that they most definitely did not have my computer. They took me inside the storage room and showed me that it wasn’t there. Perhaps, said the man working, my computer would come on the 10:45PM flight. I left feeling quite defeated.

Once we got back to Sultanahmet, I went straight to the hostel to see if, by some crazy chance, the airport had actually delivered my computer. I was greeted by another surprise.

“You’re Jonathan, right?” asked the guy behind the desk, holding a phone to his ear.
When I answered positively, he said, “Well, your mom’s on the phone.”
A little shocked, I took the phone and said, “Hey Mom: how the heck did you get this number?”

She then proceeded to tell me that my computer was in Istanbul. A white package showed up on the doorstep of some family and they called the number on the outside, which was my home phone number. They now had my laptop and would be returning it to me. I was sorry that my mom was on the phone and not there in person, because I really wanted to hug her for delivering that wonderful message (and for just being my mom, of course). She gave me the number for the family and after I hung up the guy behind the desk called them. The story got even more interesting: it turned out that my computer was actually sent to the home of the Prime Minister of Turkey. I’m not exactly sure how Israeli security confused me for that guy. The police now had possession of my laptop and were going to bring it to me and ask me a few questions. Apparently, an unknown box from Israel arriving at the Prime Minister’s home is a red-flag issue.

I waited for a little while and read, but no one came for a long time, so I met the guys next to the fountain and told them the story as we ate dinner at the cheap restaurant off the square. I quickly returned to the hostel to see if anyone came. I learned that I now had to go to the police in order to retrieve my laptop. The feeling that I was a part of some crime drama grew; you know, one that’s set in faraway places and involves exotic locales, dimly-lit basement rooms, and nighttime escapades in the city.

I got a taxi and sped off into the city. The taxi took me to the headquarters of the Istanbul police. I passed through security and left my camera at the entrance. I tried to explain my reason for being there to the guys sitting at the desk. Their English was better than my Turkish, but still a little broken. They asked me about my stay.

“Do you like Turkey?” asked one.
“Oh yeah,” I said enthusiastically.
“Do you like Turkish police?” he said, and everyone laughed.
“I do now.”

He made a few phone calls and one of the policemen led me through the doors and up a very wide expanse of steps leading up to a vast level place surrounded by three towering buildings. He took me into the building on the left, passing me off to someone else who took me down into the basement and through a long corridor to the room at the end. A man sat behind a large wooden desk facing a gigantic muted TV that was playing Police Academy 2. The man behind the desk was the Superintendent of the Istanbul Police.

“So, my computer was sent to the home of the Prime Minister of Turkey?” I asked, still finding the whole situation hard to believe.
He took a deep breath and smiled.
“Yes. Crazy, yeah?”

He was incredibly friendly and we swapped getting-shot-at stories and travel adventures while someone made copies of my papers from the airport. Then, a guy brought in a white box and set it on the table, my laptop sitting on the top. I laughed. I signed a paper saying that I received my computer, shook the Superintendent’s hand, and walked out. The guards at the entrance laughed and waved as I walked back through, holding the box above my head. They gave me my camera and called a taxi for me. And that is my incredible adventure with the Istanbul police and how the case of the missing computer came to an end. I went to bed a happy man.

The Last Week in Palestine

July 17th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank
Adam came back to office while Sean and I were working. I did little that day, updating the website with a few stories. Adam and I went to the flat to gather a few things and then made our way to Jerusalem, walking the thirty-minute hike to the Egged Bus Terminal. We were on our way to the Sea of Galilee to visit the Harding group.

Our university has an excellent study abroad program, which was part of the reason why I chose to go there. As of now, Harding University takes students to seven different locations in the world: Australia, Greece, Italy, France/Switzerland, Chile, England, and Zambia. I went to Australia in the fall of 2006, Sean went to HUG (Harding University in Greece) in the summer of 2005, and Adam was on the first group to Zambia this past fall. Almost every year, the Greece group journeys to Egypt and to Israel, spending approximately a week in each place. The opportunity arose to meet with the group while they came to visit, so Adam and I decided to take advantage of it.

Three hours after boarding the bus, we arrived in Tiberias. We were ripped off by a taxi (everything is so expensive in Israel!) and were dropped off at the Hotel Nof Ginosar. Dr. Richardson and his wife met us there, and it was great to see familiar faces. My first Bible and Religion class at Harding was with Dr. Richardson, and I had been impressed with his humility and open-mindedness. This previous semester, he invited me to speak to his World Christian class about my plans for the summer and has asked me to come and speak to some of his classes this coming fall. We walked down along Lake Kinneret, catching up on their time in Greece before meeting the students for dinner. One of my close friends from freshman year was there; I love seeing people from across the world in a completely new place. I met Mrs. Myhan, who is the facilitator of the Greece program with her husband. She very graciously paid for our meal. The mother of one of my good friends came along with the group for their time in Israel and it was wonderful to catch up with her too.
“I’ve been reading so much about what is happening here,” she said in her fast-gear voice. “You can sign me up.”

A fairly large number of the students joined us on a grassy lawn. Adam and I were very excited about that: we have greatly missed grass. I think one of the first things I will do when I get home is sit on the grass beneath a tree. Adam and I then explained a little bit of the history of the situation here and the reasons why we came here for the summer. We then shared some of our stories, and they were shocked by some of the things we said. We told them they wouldn’t hear most of this stuff on any of the media networks, and we were right. A few people got up and left, but most listened very attentively, including the professors. People’s perspectives were broadened and minds were opened. At the very least, new questions were raised. We sat around for a long time afterward, telling more stories and answering questions.

(written July 18th, 2008 The Flat, Ramallah, the West Bank)
Mrs. Myhan’s husband was unable to come because one of the students was seriously ill in a hospital in Athens. Mrs. Garner moved in with Mrs. Myhan and Adam and I were given a free hotel room for the night. Our plan had been to camp out somewhere, so we were pretty grateful for the gift.

The room turned out to be quite handy because Adam spent most of the night spewing out of both ends. I met with the group for breakfast and said goodbye to them as they left for a day of touring. We remained at the hotel for a few more hours while Adam slept and regained a little bit of strength. The two of us walked out to the main road and stood next to a bus stop, attempting to hitchhike into Tiberias. Hitchhikers are very common in Israel, but we had a horrible time. Maybe we looked too imposing, because no one stopped to pick us up. Just as we were about to go back to the hotel and call for a taxi, a bus came along and took us to the central bus station. After a short wait, we were on our way to Jerusalem.

The ride back was much shorter and was made even shorter by sleeping most of the way. Adam and I split up at the Damascus Gate; he went to Ramallah and I went to Bethlehem. I met Anna in front of the Church of the Nativity and we walked through the market as she looked for a gift for another friend who was leaving. A lot of people I have met are leaving in the next few days. We passed a wall covered with photos of Mohanned, so I was forced to stand next to it and get a picture. Rachel met us at their flat and we sat on their roof for awhile before heading down to Beit Sahour to meet some of their friends, a few of which were leaving soon. One of the Palestine Summer Experience guys, an eighteen-year old from Vermont, was a pretty funny, albeit strange, guy. Thin and hawk-like, he was recently kicked out of the program for smoking hash. All the drugs in Quebec are funneled through his town into the States.
“We always have a white Christmas,” he said.

We wandered up to the Tent Restaurant and visited for awhile. I had a good time, but I continue to realize that I am much more drawn to smaller gatherings and quieter settings. I enjoy meeting people and hanging out, but I begin to feel a little crowded. Every now and then, I wish that this wasn’t the case, because I do love spending time with people. But, I enjoy the beauty of Silence. I grabbed my things at the girls’ flat and said goodbye to Rachel. I stayed the night once again in Jonathan’s room at Bethlehem Bible College.

I returned to Anna’s flat in the morning and had breakfast and coffee with her. We walked up to the beginning of the Old City next to Manger Square and I said goodbye to Anna, turning down through the market to catch Bus 21 out of Bethlehem.

I didn’t get to Ramallah until almost 11 because of the traffic in Jerusalem. Thursday was our last day in the office and we had little to do. Later in the evening, the three of us and Berenice met Kirsty at Pronto’s for drinks. Kirsty and José were leaving the next day for holiday in Scotland. She reiterated her praise of our work and we thanked her for the opportunity. Kirsty told me that Bahia, one of the bosses, was very impressed with my work, so I should keep in touch about returning post-graduation in January. We all hugged and went our separate ways.

On our way back to the flat, the three of us stopped by Anne Roberts’ home and sat with her on the veranda for a long time. Her house provides a beautiful view of Ramallah, and on clear days she said you can see the sun set over the Mediterranean.

(written at Citadel Youth Hostel Jerusalem, Isarel)
Anne has had an amazing life. She grew up picking peaches in West Tennessee, and worked with the Peace Corps in its early days, back when working with the Peace Corps was actually an adventure. She traveled extensively throughout the Middle East, studying in Beirut and working in Palestine, Egypt, Iran, and was in the Wadi Rum following the path of T.E. Lawrence when Lawrence of Arabia was actually being filmed. She also spent three years working in Indonesia. She is returning to the States for a month and will then hopefully come back. We all left wanting to have her life.

We did absolutely nothing on Friday, our last full day in Ramallah. We had planned on going to the protest in Ni’lin one more time, but our laziness overcame us and we hung around the flat the entire day, snacking, drinking our final bottles of the delicious Marawi fruit juice, and watching borrowed DVDs. We began cleaning and packing later in the afternoon, doing a little laundry. As we sat on the couches and watched the hilarious movie The Three Musketeers, I began to have very mixed feelings about the prospect of leaving. For a variety of reasons, I was ready to leave for awhile. But a huge part of me wanted very much to stay. Mahmoud told me today that it is because I am now a Palestinian. I am drawn to this place.

We finished packing and cleaning the next morning. Sean left before Adam and me. Once our laundry was mostly dry, we threw our stuff together and walked out of our flat and down the road to Al Manara. We boarded Bus 18 to Jerusalem.

The two of us stopped at Mahmoud’s shop and visited with him for awhile. He smiled as we told him about our love for the people here and our desire to return.
“It is in your heart now,” he said. “This is good, this is very good.”

He took us around the corner to a restaurant in a tiny crack and bought us Palestinian maklube, which is an incredible dish consisting of rice and chicken. We sat in front of his shop for awhile longer before making our way to the Citadel Youth Hostel, booking the roof for the night. Adam and I wandered up to the Tourist Information Office next to Jaffa Gate. However, the office was closed because of Shabbat, so we tried calling in order to reserve a sherute to the airport early in the morning. No one answered, so we walked back to the Citadel. Sean came in after calling me with Mahmoud’s phone. His bus to the airport leaves at 9 tonight. He bought a ticket for Greece a month ago; Adam and I are going to Istanbul. For some reason, Sean didn’t talk with us about splitting off before he decided to do so, which was a little frustrating. He met someone in Ni’lin who worked for an old lady picking olives on the island of Evia, and he will be spending a week there. Adam and I ended up becoming a little jealous.

We spent awhile hanging out at the hostel before meeting Mahmoud at Jaffa Gate. We joined a walkthrough of the Old City viewing contemporary artwork displaying a variety of aspects of life in the city. Sean soon left for Tel Aviv and we wandered through narrow streets and down into an ancient Turkish bath before ending on the rooftop of a beautiful old home near the Damascus Gate. We hugged Mahmoud, Svetlana, and their daughter Maria goodbye and grabbed our last shawarma.

I felt at home as we walked through the Old City back to the Citadel. I will miss the stones of Jerusalem, and the people of Palestine. I know that I will be back. At least, I hope so: we have to go through Israeli security at the airport tomorrow morning. We may get through with no problems, or we could be banned from entering the country again. I know some people to whom this has happened. I want to return.

Petra

July 15th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank
Adam and I met Sean in front of the Damascus Gate on Thursday night and began the incredibly long walk to the Egged Bus Terminal on Jaffa Street. We planned on taking the midnight bus to Eilat, but once we arrived we found that the bus was already full and we were left stranded at the gate. Fortunately, we met a guy named David from Chicago who is studying for a portion of the summer at Hebrew University. A junior at Ohio State, he spent seven months working at a hostel in Amsterdam and two months working near the Canary Islands. He offered a place for us to stay, so we caught a taxi to the dormitories of the university on Mount Scopus. We sat around the kitchen table and told David about what we have doing. He hadn’t heard very much of the other perspective at all: during orientation for his studies, he was told not to travel in the Old City or East Jerusalem by himself. He had been in Israel for almost three weeks and had not yet been to Bethlehem.

We got very little sleep, waking up a little after 5 and returning to the bus station, buying tickets and hopping on the 7AM bus to Eilat. Four-and-a-half hour bus rides are not the most comfortable modes of transportation, but we got where we needed to go. I slept for part of the way and we had some interesting conversations with David about the situation here and about theology. David is a fairly conservative Christian and feels that people use what he called the “new” social justice/humanitarian Christianity to replace a “personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.” I rarely understand what that last phrase means, which wasn’t even a part of Christian vernacular until the 19th century. For me, a personal relationship with Jesus is encountered when I follow him, and that is by serving others. I have heard people juxtapose “humanitarian efforts” with “the cause of Christ.” According to the dictionary, the word humanitarian means “pertaining to the saving of human lives or to the alleviation of suffering.” By that definition, the cause of Christ and humanitarian efforts are the same. That is the Gospel: the Good News that Jesus taught and lived was and is humanitarian. And now we will have the altar call and sing seventeen verses of “Just As I Am.”

We arrived in Eilat before noon and walked to the Shelter, a Christian youth hostel where some of David’s friends used to work. We were given directions and some suggestions about how much to pay before we hailed a taxi and drove to the Aqaba Border Crossing. I very much dislike this idea of paying a departure tax when you leave a country. We reluctantly forked over 55 shekels and entered the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan with no trouble. This was my second time to the country, the first being in 2001 when my family and I visited Petra. We met the friendliest taxi driver who took us into Aqaba and worked out an incredible deal so that we wouldn’t have to wait several hours for the bus. Another taxi got us to Petra in less than two hours for a great price. We were crammed very tightly, but the discomfort was worth it. The taxi took us to the Valentine Hostel in the town of Wadi Musa (“the Valley of Moses”), which sprung up because of the extreme amounts of tourists coming to Petra.

We decided not to stay in the hostel, opting instead to find a place to camp. We descended down the steep hill, buying a few groceries along the way. We came to the entrance of Petra and veered right, walking along a road that lined the park. The four of us left the road and began climbing. Massive boulders seemed to have been thrown together to form the landscape. We scaled the rock walls and scrambled over ledges, diving deeper and deeper into layers of stone. Eventually, we emerged onto a sloping rock face that fell away into the valley. The sun was starting to set between two peaks, so we decided to make camp there. The rays of light soon vanished over the mountains and we were left sitting on the rock tongue. We threw our sleeping bags down and fell asleep early, free of mosquitoes, surrounded by the wind and roofed in by the stars.

We made our way into Petra at around 8, entering the narrow corridor known as the Siq that led into the site.

July 16th, 2008 Hotel Nof Ginosar, Sea of Galilee, Israel
We could see a small sliver of sky above our heads, crammed between the edges of the high rock walls. After a kilometer, we turned a corner and, peeking from between the cracks, the Treasury came into view. This massive monument, originally built as a tomb for a Nabatean king, was carved out of the sandstone cliffs and almost glowed a faint red in the sunlight. Six columns, three on each side of the door into the small room, supported the artwork above, façades of sculpture nestled under ornate half-pediments and three-dimensional turrets. A stone urn sat high above the ground, pricked with holes from bullets. According to legend, the Egyptian pharaoh hid his treasure in the urn while pursuing the Israelites, and later people who believed the story attempted to break the gold free from its resting place by using their rifles. If none of this rings a bell, watch the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and you will be impressed.

We continued around the corner, splitting from the main path and hiking up to the High Place of Petra. An ancient sacrificial altar rose out of a field of stone that dramatically fell deep into the valley that rose once again into rounded peaks. The four of us were taking baths in our own sweat, so we sat down for a few minutes and drank some water while enjoying the view around us. Instead of hiking down the same path, we took a back road, which took us alongside a series of tombs. We came out near the magnificent Royal Tombs, which sat across the ravine from an 8,000-seat amphitheatre burrowed into the cliffs. The rooms inside the tombs, serving as mouths into the heart of the fiery stone, were ablaze with color: the walls and ceilings were streaked with red, white, and black.

A dirt road took us along a colonnaded street, passing by the Qasr al-Bint temple, one of the only free-standing buildings in Petra. We embarked on a long, hot hike up the eight hundred steps to the Monastery, or Al-Deir. The Monastery was similar in appearance to the Treasury, but, standing forty-five meters high and fifty meters wide, was much larger. Like many of the structures in Petra, Al-Deir was originally used as a tomb for a Nabatean king, but was later converted into a Byzantine church. We had our lunch of pita and an assortment of toppings sitting inside the huge entrance, raised a meter or so above the ground. We met a Mormon group studying Arabic in Amman and took some time to relax before making the descent into the valley.

We followed a small wadi far off the main path. Trees filled with pink flowers bordered the rocky trail that led down to a drying stream. We sat against some boulders beneath the shade of the trees and the shadows of the cliffs, talking for awhile. David seemed to struggle somewhat with some of our theological and political viewpoints. We talked more about what is essentially liberation theology and social justice. I think a lot of what we said was pretty new to him. Conversations like that can become rather frustrating, and sometimes a few of the people involved had a hard time maintaining a level of respect and humility. People won’t be transformed or opened to new worldviews if we attack them and beat them over the head with challenging ideas. Patience is certainly a difficult virtue, but a necessary one.

We returned to the wide road, passing the colonnaded street and wandering up an ashen hill to the Temple of the Winged Lions and a Byzantine church which housed what are quite possibly the world’s oldest Byzantine mosaics. We found our way back to the entrance and took more pictures of the famous Treasury before turning and exiting through the Siq. We spent almost nine hours in Petra.

We walked up to the Valentine Hostel and paid 6JD (Jordanian denar) for a spot on the roof and a huge buffet, which is a very good deal. We were able to shower and sit on the veranda that overlooked the wide valley down to Petra. We met Patrick the Canadian, who has been traveling for the last seven months, mostly living in India. A filmmaker, he was in the process of working on a doctoral thesis concerning humanism and postmodernity in contemporary media and entertainment. I liked it. We had some fantastic conversations about film and TV shows, the rampant sexuality and excessive violence, and the impact they had on culture at large. We told him about our experiences, and I think we changed some of his perspectives on American Christians. During his younger years, he said that he believed in Satan and smoked a lot of weed.
“Now,” Patrick said, “I am a humanist atheist.”

He had a lot of respect for religion and the good that is associated with it, and we spent some time talking about the mythology of religion and of the construction of the idea of God. He apologized a little for challenging our beliefs, but we told him we welcomed the discussion. Patrick told me that if I want to be a good writer, then I will have to question my beliefs. I agreed wholeheartedly.

“If we don’t question and challenge our faith, “I said, “then we don’t have faith. We don’t really believe if we don’t seek.”
We got along with Patrick very well.

The sun set through a deep orange sky while we ate from the extensive buffet, continuing to talk about film and literature and philosophers. As the light started to seep out of the sky, we decided to go into a little sitting room just off of the lobby and watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, which they had on VHS. Watching that movie at Petra is probably one of the biggest clichés, but it was one cliché I was very happy to fulfill. I never get tired of Indiana Jones. Those are movies you watch to have fun and to enjoy the adventure and magic of film. One of the workers at the hostel said he has watched that movie every day for the past seven years. David asked him if he still liked it. He shrugged.
“Sometimes.”

Once the movie was over, we clambered up the stairs attached to the outside wall of the building and crawled into our sleeping bags, soon falling asleep after two long days of hiking and climbing.

We got up a little after 5 on Sunday morning, because we had a taxi that would take the four of us and Patrick back to Aqaba. We were quite literally stuffed inside: Patrick took the front seat, and the rest of us were jammed in the back, legs stuffed under our neighbor’s legs and our butts angled on the seat so we could all fit. Needless to say, the ride back was long and uncomfortable, but I managed to sleep some which made the whole ordeal seem shorter.

We had relatively little trouble crossing the border. My bag was checked (as usual) and we were on our way, returning to the bus station. David decided to hang out in Eilat for the day, so we said goodbye to him and sat next to the wall, waiting for our bus to Jerusalem at 11:30. Patrick sat with us before departing for Tel Aviv. The three of us had the entire back row of the bus to ourselves, so we stretched out and slept most of the trip back. We went straight to Bethlehem and walked up to Manger Square, waiting to meet the Awwads: they had invited us to eat dinner and stay the night at their home. They greeted us warmly and we picked up some falafel and pita and drove down to Beit Sahour.
“Welcome to my Paradise!” Mr. Awwad said enthusiastically as we entered the gate to their home.

We sat on the veranda, looking down into the valley. Mr. Awwad can trace his family back between seven and eight hundred years on this same plot of land. Their paradise was surrounded by fruit trees and gardens. Almost all of the food we were served was grown on their land. Apples, figs, grapes, and different kinds of vegetables were placed before us and all were incredibly delicious. The Awwads are deeply connected to their land.
“Believe me,” Mr. Awwad told us, “I am like a fish. If you take me out of the water, out of my land, I will die!”

They made us feel absolutely at home, ordering us to take showers (probably because of the smell) and gave us comfortable beds. We slept soundly that night.

Breakfast the next morning consisted of jams made from their fruit and we sipped tea on the porch. We said goodbye to Mrs. Awwad and Mr. Awwad drove us to the checkpoint, hugging us goodbye and imploring us to come back again someday. I know I will be back.

Once we arrived in Ramallah, we went to the flat and showered and changed before backtracking to the office. Adam went off to Salfit to say goodbye to all of his friends there. Berenice went to Nablus for the day and Sean and I stayed in the office until 5. We meandered to the flat and hung out for the rest of the night, watching some of the DVDs that Kirsty let us borrow. We turned in early.

Link to Story

I forgot to post the link to the story I wrote about student prisoners. This is it: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article516.

The Golan, and What Happened After (Along with a Ton of Pictures)

July 8th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank
Anna, Rachel, and Jonathan picked me up around 9 in front of the New Gate and we sped off through Jerusalem. We got a little lost on our way, but we were soon heading out through Area C of the West Bank on an Israeli road. Our car was searched by a really large dog at a checkpoint, but since we didn’t have any drugs, guns, or explosive devices, we were allowed to pass. We ate lunch in Bet She’an and bought some groceries for the weekend before continuing on our trek north. We made a short stop in Tiberias at a camping store and fruit market and then made our way to Yehudiya National Reserve, northeast of the Sea of Galilee.

As far as I know, Yehudiya contains nothing of extreme ancient historical significance, but the park is a beautiful nature reserve, and we just wanted to hike. We walked through the destroyed Arab village of Sheikh Hussein and descended into a steep valley, soon surrounded by trees and stepping from boulder to boulder. We came across a small pool down in a niche and took some time to cool off by leaping into the water. We journeyed out on a different path, which led us to some large pools through which we actually had to swim in order to get out. The larger pool, approximately thirty meters across, was lined by rock cliffs and was too deep to wade. A nine-meter-high ladder was bolted to the stone on the other side next to a waterfall. We put all the cameras in one backpack and I swam across, carrying the bag high above my head. I returned to grab the other backpack. I couldn’t resist the opportunity, so after I climbed the ladder and set the bags down, I descended about halfway and leapt from the ladder into the deep pool. After our little adventure, we found our way back to the destroyed village and out of the park.

We went north and got lost on a little dirt road on the bank of the Jordan River in the Hula Valley, which is a beautiful place to be lost. People were camping and cooking on the green slopes next to the water as the sun went down over the hills to our left. Eventually, we discovered a way back to the main road through a little trail on a farmer’s field. And then we went on into the Golan Heights.

(written at the Masyoun Flat)
The Golan is a mountainous region, reminiscent of the highlands of Scotland, and I was glad to be back among the mountains. Israel took this area from Syria in 1967 during the Six Day War. Most of the people who lived there were forced out by the military. Vacated bunkers and hillsides sectioned off by wire fences and signs warning the presence of active landmines evidenced the wars that have occurred in the Golan. We passed Banias (Caesarea Philippi) and Tel Dan, moving up through Neve Ativ and down into the Arab town of Majdal Shams. Lebanon and Syria were clearly visible as we drove.

We searched high and low for a camping site, driving aimlessly around Lake Ram and through a Druze town. The Druze are considered an offshoot of Islam, though they believe in reincarnation. They are set apart by their distinct clothing (the men wear white turbans) and one of their most holy sites is the tomb of Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses. Eventually, we found a spot on the side of the road. A hiking path ended at the parking lot and down among some trees we found a fire pit and flat ground underneath the branches. Unfortunately, militaristic mosquitoes attempted to annex our faces and kept us awake for most of the night. Hyenas, or quite possibly, jackals, provided a disturbing lullaby for us just a few feet away from where we spread our sleeping bags. I kept a pile of rocks next to my head.

We were alive the next morning, but severely wounded after the battle with the mosquitoes. Arising early, we drove to mythic Nimrod Castle, which sits on the peak of a hill much like the Rock of Cashel in Ireland. No one is exactly sure when the fortress was constructed, some saying 1129 and others 1218, but the name comes from the biblical character Nimrod, one of the Nephilim, who, according to legend, once lived on the hilltop.

The only other people there were two guys working at the site and two United Nations guys in fatigues taking in the expansive view of the Golan. We spent several hours climbing through the castle, descending into dark dungeons and peering out the narrow windows into the valleys. We stopped next at the Banias waterfall, but Jonathan and I didn’t go inside because it was fairly expensive, and I had been seven years ago. Anna had a pass that allowed her to get two people into all the national parks for free, so she and Rachel ran down to take a look.

We returned in the direction of the Sea of Galilee, stopping off to see an isolated church along the way. Near Katzrin, we found a destroyed village off the main road. A portion of the mosque’s roof had collapsed, but the minaret was still accessible. I may never get to climb a minaret again. From the top, the village looked like a deserted town from a Western film. The cool breeze shook the tall grass that was growing out of the ruined buildings scattered throughout the field. None of the homes had any roofs. Fences with landmine signs sectioned off the far side of the village. The stillness of the place was almost eerie, but strangely relaxing. I wondered what life was like here fifty years ago before it was ruined.

I ran down the dirt road through the center of the village and explored some of the buildings. I entered a two-storey building that stood alone and climbed to the top of the wall using bullet holes. The roof had been blown off, so I reclined on the foot-and-a-half ledge of the wall, gazing out over the quietness that sifted through the decaying structures. I walked back to the mosque and sat at the top for a little while before we left. I really want to know what the name of the village was, and what happened there.

We fought the waves on the Sea of Galilee for a while, cooling off after the heat of the day. We spent some time sitting on the rocks listening to the water until the sun started to go down. The four of us watched the sunset from a spot near Kursi (or Gergesa), where supposedly the demon-possessed pigs ran off into the lake below. Tradition claims that this is the spot because of the topography: the cliff is the only one in the vicinity of Gergesa. The story in Mark 5 can be seen as a very symbolic one. The interesting fact that pigs are roaming the hillsides of a predominantly Jewish area seems a little out of place, perhaps representing the Romans. And their plunge into the sea (not the lake) could perhaps be seen as a desire for them to return to their home across the sea. Jimmy, one of the guides on the tour, said it was one of the first written references to deviled ham.

We found a great camping spot on Gofra Beach. Palm trees lined the sand and the lights of Tiberias crawled over the hill on the opposite shore. We discovered a wide piece of something like Astroturf that served well as a place to throw down our sleeping bags. We fell asleep to the sound of waves on Lake Kinneret.

(written July 9th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)
I woke up sweaty and the new home of a small colony of ants that had migrated onto my body sometime during the night. I took a shower and sent the ants on a new adventure, and the four of us headed east to Gamla Nature Reserve.

The sky was overcast and the wind was cool, and it was very refreshing. I like cool, overcast days. For some reason, I’m drawn to rainy, gray weather over dark, vast landscapes. Perhaps it’s the British in me. But I do love sunshine and blue skies and white clouds and green, so I’m not a total loss.

Gamla has several hiking paths, and we went along most of them. We passed through a fifty-century Arab village onto a wide plain of pale grass and stone pulled out toward hills in the distance. The sun turned some of the gray-blue clouds into faded white. We walked between the dolmens, a series of miniature Stonehenges that served as gravestones for the nomads who roamed the region 4,000 years ago. The path led across a bridge covered in flowers and wound around a ridge, providing a view back at a waterfall cascading through green attached to the rock face. Griffon vultures soared over the canyon, flapping their massive wings as they spun around one another. We took another trail back through the old village that followed the edge of the cliffs and then veered off to the path that went down to the ancient Jewish village.

The remains of the town sat atop a plateau that rose out a valley surrounded by high slopes, similar to Edoras in The Lord of the Rings. The whole park had a somewhat Middle-earth feel, and our Lonely Planet guidebook agreed. Plaques along the pathway related parts of Josephus’ account of the struggle that took place at Gamla in AD67. Several thousand Jews were killed, or committed suicide by jumping from the peak of the village. The story sounded a little too much like Masada, which is extremely controversial. Whatever happened there, the citizens of the town certainly had an incredible view. The plateau drops into a steep valley, which crawls between the mountains far away to the Sea of Galilee. We sat on the summit for a little while. I’ve sat in some pretty remarkable places, and I thoroughly enjoy doing it.

We began the drive back to Jerusalem, stopping briefly at the naturally-heated springs of Gan HaSlosha. Rachel and Jonathan went to explore another swimming area, so Anna and I used her park pass. My family and I had visited Sachne (Arabic for warm) seven years ago, and it was a little less naturally-heated than I remembered. People were barbecuing and picnicking all across the green lawn, which shored the series of large natural pools connected by waterfalls. We only had a short amount of time to swim before meeting in the parking lot and moving south to Jerusalem.

They dropped me off near the Damascus Gate and I headed through the Old City to Jaffa Gate where I changed some money. My wallet was devoid of shekels, which happen to come in handy around here. I stopped by Mahmoud’s shop and said hello before catching a bus to Ramallah. Adam was the only at the flat, because Sean was stuck in Ni’lin under military curfew. The Israeli military moved in on Friday and took over the town, not allowing anyone to come outside or to enter or exit the village. The soldiers invaded many homes, breaking furniture and beating people. They fired on the houses with rubber-coated bullets and live rounds, tossing teargas canisters and sound grenades through the broken windows. Dozens of people were severely injured.

Adam and I wandered through Ramallah looking for Kirsty’s house, which we eventually found. We had been invited to dinner. Her husband José, who works for a Spanish NGO, and their dog Livingston greeted us at the door. Adam and I were given the task of starting the grill and cooking the food. I made campfires every weekend at school, so we handled it pretty well. I enjoyed sitting next to the fire, smelling the food as it slowly heated over the coals. I was definitely ready to eat once everything was done. The small dinner turned into a lively party. A large number of Spanish-speakers were present, and I wished that I had gained more from my two years of Spanish at Harding. Maybe I’ll go to language school in Guatemala. We had a lot of fun hanging out and talking with people. We were there till past eleven before we borrowed a few DVDs and returned to our flat.

Our new editor, Berenice from Belgium, was at the office the next morning. She worked as a volunteer with the Palestine Monitor last year. She bought lunch for Adam and me at Osama’s and we discussed upcoming stories. Berenice seems like a really nice person, committed to her new job, and she will be living at the flat with us. That night, I went to the basketball court at the community center and watched a tournament, visiting with some of the kids. I wasn’t able to play that night, but it was fun hanging out with some of the people.

I spent part of Tuesday at the office, but I finally got tired of being inside and left for Ni’lin. The soldiers left the village early in the morning. People were out in the streets cleaning up the mess left by the military. Stone walls were overturned and the streets were stained black from teargas canisters. Buildings and windows were decorated with bullet holes. I walked around looking for Sean, going to the home of Hindi’s family, but they said he had already left. The pharmacist, Majdi Hanieh, who had I had met before, invited me into his store and he told me about the harrowing past four days. Majdi told me that five men had snuck into the mosque to pray. Israeli soldiers found them and dragged them outside, forcing them to strip and blindfolding them. They then beat them with their belts and took pictures using their cell phones. I met one of the five men outside of the pharmacy as I waited for a service to Ramallah. The village took the day to rest and to rebuild, but the next day they were going to begin protesting the Wall once again.

I returned to Ramallah, and some guy on the service paid for my fare. Maxie and Felix were packing all of their things when I got back. They had spent the last week in Jordan renewing their visas, but something went wrong so they had to go to Tel Aviv in order to figure out what to do. I helped them take their things downstairs and said goodbye. Sean arrived later that afternoon, disheveled and tired. He had done a lot of running and hiding and sneaking the last few days. He crashed on his bed pretty soon after he walked in the door.

(written July 10th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)
I spent Wednesday in the office writing a story about student prisoners (which can read at this link: ). Later in the afternoon, I went into Jerusalem and sat in Mahmoud’s shop for around an hour, visiting and drinking orange juice. I then got a bus to Bethlehem and hiked up the long hill to Anna and Rachel’s flat. I noticed new graffiti on the Wall as I walked past: “Jesus died so that all men and women could be free”; “Wars are poor chisels for carving out a peaceful tomorrow”; “Micah 6:8 (read it, do it!)”; and “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only Love can do that”- MLK.

I was invited into a man’s shop just around the corner from the girls’ flat and I visited with him for a few minutes until Anna got back from Arabic class. The three of us talked about crazy and amazing future dreams and aspirations until Jonathan joined us a little while later and we watched The Office on the roof.

I stayed the night at Bethlehem Bible College and awoke early to return to Ramallah. The line at the checkpoint was incredibly wrong, so I backtracked and got another bus that went through Beit Jala to Jerusalem. Berenice was just entering the office when I arrived.

I find it hard to believe that I only have a week-and-a-half left, and it will be busy. All the goodbyes will take a week. Tomorrow, we leave for the Jordan and will spend the weekend at Petra.