The Trials of an American Dilettante

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Israel and Occupied Palestine

The border went smoothly and we were off to Jericho in the West Bank. Past the isolated and walled Israeli settlement, we drove up and down the quant and gritty Palestinian town looking for Hisham’s Palace. Jericho didn’t look too different from Jordan save a good number of bicyclists and a lot more trees. We eventually had to ask for directions and two Palestinian police officers warmly pointed us in the right direction.

After Jericho, we drove to Jerusalem to meet Paulina and Anna. We went to the Wailing Wall and wandered the streets of the old city. While we rested on a bench, an American college student struck up a conservation with us ad asked where we were staying.

“Grand Court outside of Damascus gate.”

“Oh my God, dangerous area!”

We rolled our eyes as the area was not in the slightest dangerous, but merely Arab. Later, we hit a trendy restaurant and a beer garden. Packed and hopping on Tuesday, Jerusalem definitely has a nightlife. And the falafel was to die for, though about 20 times more than what I pay in Amman.

The next day we went to Marsaba Monastery, about fifteen miles east of Bethlehem in the West Bank. We had to ask for directions about a dozen times to find it, but the thousand waves of random Palestinian villagers made the trip pleasant. The monastery didn’t allow in women, but sat perched on a cliff in some stunning surroundings. The monks were mainly Greek and Paulina spent some time talking to one in both their native tongues beneath a tree out front. He spent most of the time asking her why she wore such a short skirt.

The skirt caused some more attention in Bethlehem where men stared and called her a “heart breaker.” The Palestinian guard wouldn’t let her into the Church of the Nativity without covering up, so she wore her scarf like a sarong. Surprisingly, the greatest site in Bethlehem was the “security” wall, which was filled with fascinating art. At the wall, we saw a photographer with a security detail. We weren’t quite sure what she was being protected from.

The next day, we waited in line for al-Aqsa mosque and Miss Petra was able to find a stone for a woman in her village, which I’m sure the woman will worship. We saw a million and one churches in the Old City built around locations where events supposedly happened. Paulina, Anna and Miss Petra absolutely loved the Old City, but I was secretly turned off by the hordes of tourists and the invented importance of random spots where mythological events supposedly happened.

After handling a flat tire with the help of a miracle Palestinian tire shop, we headed to Tel Aviv hoping to find some beach time, but was met by a city in scattered showers. We made the best of it, though, and did a bit of walking in the city and frequenting of restaurants, bar and clubs. Tel Aviv was impressively welcoming, but Paulina hated the 1960’s architecture and plastic furniture.

One night we hit a club in a shopping mall where Paulina and Anna were hit on by some Russian Israelis. One chatted with me for a while.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“America, but I live in Jordan.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“What? No. No. Not at all. It’s like the safest place I’ve ever been.”

“Maybe for you. Fucking Arabs, Fucking Arabs.”

We drove to Elat, where I wish we would have spent more time and then passed back to Jordan where I showed Paulina Petra, Jerash, Madaba and Amman. A great trip, but, as always, its nice to be back in Amman.