What exactly have I been doing in the Middle East for the last month and a half?
Wait a second, what am I doing in the Middle East in the first place? I blame Michal.*
Long story short, we met while traveling in Nicaragua and kinda hit it off. We traveled together for about a month total but, in the end, I had a ticket from Panama back up to the States.
:, (
We kept in touch over the next couple of months, she from Israel and I from South America. "You should come to Israel some time," she said. "You should be careful what you wish for," I responded. "I have more frequent flyer miles than I know what to do with.. I might just show up." "No, no," she insisted, "it would be great! Come!"
Boy, was she surprised when I told her I'd bought a ticket. Arriving December 1st. "But aren't you only in Ecuador? I thought you were going all the way to Buenos Aires?" "Yeah, well, I'm getting a little bored with Latin America. Besides, I could go for a falafel." "Oh, well, ok then. See you soon, I guess?"
Truth be told, I was running out of energy. If I hadn't headed for Israel I probably would have gone back to California. Believe it or not, traveling takes a lot of energy. Constantly showing up in a new place, trying to find a decent place to sleep, trying not to get ripped off. Meeting the same basic types of people, telling your same stories over and over and hearing the same sorts of stories in response. Seeing the same sights in different countries ("Oh, there's a hike through the jungle to a waterfall? Lovely. No, thank you, I'll just sit here at the bar."). Packing your damn backpack every couple of days. Being tired, dirty and sleep deprived after 24 hours (or more) on various forms of public transportation.
One comes to long for the familiar. For a routine. To know which is the nice restaurant and which the good bar. To hear your own language spoken on the street and to recognize the food in the supermarket ("Dude, what's peanut butter in Spanish?" "Uh, 'mantiquilla de mani', maybe?" "Then what the hell is this?" "No clue, man."). But really, it's the constant moving that is exhausting.
So, to return to the original question: what have I been doing for more than a month in the Middle East? Not a whole lot, quite frankly. Recharging my batteries, essentially: sleeping late, reading, maybe a little bit of shopping and cooking. Michal gets (mock) angry after returning from class/studying: "What did you do today?"
"..."
I get out every now and then. Here is the Dome of the Rock in front of the Mount of Olives, though neither is our destination for today.
Old Jerusalem is frustratingly narrow and twisty. This makes it difficult to capture in photographs and also very easy to get lost. I paid 5 shekels and climbed this church tower because I couldn't find my way to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Oh, there it is.
Here we go.
Not the most illustrious facade, certainly, but there's history here. That ladder, for instance, below the right-hand window. It's a very famous ladder. Just don't touch it. Seriously, a bunch of dudes wearing long beards and black mu-mus will kick your ass.
The story: under the Ottoman Turks (ie, Muslims) the various Christian sects couldn't agree on, well, much of anything to do with the administration and upkeep of the church. So, just to keep things moving along, the Ottomans decreed a status quo which apportioned certain sections of the church to specific sects and furthermore required unanimous agreement in order to alter any of the common areas.
It's alright, I suppose, as ladders go. Photo credit.
Thus an 'immovable' ladder sits below one of the exterior windows because no one is sure who put it there in the first place (some time before 1852) and, apparently, not everyone can agree to remove it (aside: which fractious, uncooperative sphincter is the dissenting vote? How does that meeting go? "Really, Phil? Still? We still can't move the damn ladder? For gawd's sake."). I'm not kidding even a little bit. That ladder has been there for more than 150 years, since before the American Civil War. Ole Honest Abe Lincoln was practicing law in Springfield, Illinois when some absent minded and/or lazy monk decided to cut out a little early, leaving his ladder in place.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is organized religion for ya. In any case, on to the history.
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is (supposedly) the location of Jesus' crucification, entombment and subsequent return from the dead. It's kinda hard to tell, though, because after St. Helena (mother of Emperor Constantine) identified the location in 326, there has always been some sort of structure covering/obscuring the site. At this point, it looks like a somewhat old-fashioned Christian church with some odd interior structures.
This somber little area, for instance, might well be directly above the rock on which Christ was crucified, just to the right of where the cross itself stood. For those of you keeping score at home, that would be stations of the cross number 10 through 13 (inclusive).
It's not all doom and gloom, though. There are many, many Christian pilgrims in Jerusalem. Only a few of them are semi-transparent Russians, though.
Votive candles illuminating Byzantine style columns.
The other (somber) half is for the Roman Catholics et al. This side is for the Orthodox sects. If I were a dirt worshipping heathen, I know who I'd go for.
The main dome, directly over the Aedicule, which in turn covers the supposed tomb of the big J.C. himself (Himself?). The Aedicule isn't all that impressive, quite frankly: it's somewhat claustrophobic inside and all there is is a bit of polished marble covering the real real tomb. So unimpressive, in fact, that it seems I didn't even take a picture.
Thankfully this guy took a rather nice picture of it.
The second dome. Jesus does not approve.
A last look back through the alleyways expansive thoroughfares of Jerusalem.
On the whole, The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is alright at best. Admittedly, I'm not what you might call the target audience. But still and all. There are many other churches and cathedrals that better display the glory of the Christian faith. St. Peter's and Il Gesu in Rome, Notre Dame in Paris, St. Paul's in London. Even the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. All are more impressive simply as buildings.
What makes The Church of the Holy Sepulcher special is your own belief, the feeling that you are following in the footsteps of your Lord and Savior. Sharing, in some small way, his pain and sacrifice. Without that, all you have is a dim mishmash of architectural styles on top of an old rock.
Wait a second.. that's pretty much all of Jerusalem.
*A note on pronunciation: the 'ch' in Michal's name represents the Hebrew'chet' 'kaf' (apparently kaf can be pronounced like chet. Just goes to show how good my Hebrew is) phoneme, which is very difficult for most Westerners to pronounce. It sounds a little like you're clearing the back of your throat, but very softly. Additionally, the emphasis is on the first syllable, not the second, as would be our inclination in English. So it's 'me' + 'chet' 'kaf' then a soft '-al' like from the English 'hall.' Mich-al. I still only get it right about half the time, and even then she says I have a terrible American accent.
Wait a second, what am I doing in the Middle East in the first place? I blame Michal.*
:, (
We kept in touch over the next couple of months, she from Israel and I from South America. "You should come to Israel some time," she said. "You should be careful what you wish for," I responded. "I have more frequent flyer miles than I know what to do with.. I might just show up." "No, no," she insisted, "it would be great! Come!"
Boy, was she surprised when I told her I'd bought a ticket. Arriving December 1st. "But aren't you only in Ecuador? I thought you were going all the way to Buenos Aires?" "Yeah, well, I'm getting a little bored with Latin America. Besides, I could go for a falafel." "Oh, well, ok then. See you soon, I guess?"
Truth be told, I was running out of energy. If I hadn't headed for Israel I probably would have gone back to California. Believe it or not, traveling takes a lot of energy. Constantly showing up in a new place, trying to find a decent place to sleep, trying not to get ripped off. Meeting the same basic types of people, telling your same stories over and over and hearing the same sorts of stories in response. Seeing the same sights in different countries ("Oh, there's a hike through the jungle to a waterfall? Lovely. No, thank you, I'll just sit here at the bar."). Packing your damn backpack every couple of days. Being tired, dirty and sleep deprived after 24 hours (or more) on various forms of public transportation.
One comes to long for the familiar. For a routine. To know which is the nice restaurant and which the good bar. To hear your own language spoken on the street and to recognize the food in the supermarket ("Dude, what's peanut butter in Spanish?" "Uh, 'mantiquilla de mani', maybe?" "Then what the hell is this?" "No clue, man."). But really, it's the constant moving that is exhausting.
So, to return to the original question: what have I been doing for more than a month in the Middle East? Not a whole lot, quite frankly. Recharging my batteries, essentially: sleeping late, reading, maybe a little bit of shopping and cooking. Michal gets (mock) angry after returning from class/studying: "What did you do today?"
"..."
Not the most illustrious facade, certainly, but there's history here. That ladder, for instance, below the right-hand window. It's a very famous ladder. Just don't touch it. Seriously, a bunch of dudes wearing long beards and black mu-mus will kick your ass.
The story: under the Ottoman Turks (ie, Muslims) the various Christian sects couldn't agree on, well, much of anything to do with the administration and upkeep of the church. So, just to keep things moving along, the Ottomans decreed a status quo which apportioned certain sections of the church to specific sects and furthermore required unanimous agreement in order to alter any of the common areas.
Thus an 'immovable' ladder sits below one of the exterior windows because no one is sure who put it there in the first place (some time before 1852) and, apparently, not everyone can agree to remove it (aside: which fractious, uncooperative sphincter is the dissenting vote? How does that meeting go? "Really, Phil? Still? We still can't move the damn ladder? For gawd's sake."). I'm not kidding even a little bit. That ladder has been there for more than 150 years, since before the American Civil War. Ole Honest Abe Lincoln was practicing law in Springfield, Illinois when some absent minded and/or lazy monk decided to cut out a little early, leaving his ladder in place.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is organized religion for ya. In any case, on to the history.
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is (supposedly) the location of Jesus' crucification, entombment and subsequent return from the dead. It's kinda hard to tell, though, because after St. Helena (mother of Emperor Constantine) identified the location in 326, there has always been some sort of structure covering/obscuring the site. At this point, it looks like a somewhat old-fashioned Christian church with some odd interior structures.
On the whole, The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is alright at best. Admittedly, I'm not what you might call the target audience. But still and all. There are many other churches and cathedrals that better display the glory of the Christian faith. St. Peter's and Il Gesu in Rome, Notre Dame in Paris, St. Paul's in London. Even the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. All are more impressive simply as buildings.
What makes The Church of the Holy Sepulcher special is your own belief, the feeling that you are following in the footsteps of your Lord and Savior. Sharing, in some small way, his pain and sacrifice. Without that, all you have is a dim mishmash of architectural styles on top of an old rock.
Wait a second.. that's pretty much all of Jerusalem.
*A note on pronunciation: the 'ch' in Michal's name represents the Hebrew
