The beginning that almost was the end.

Every day and night in Cairo is an adventure of its own. Whether it is buying a loaf of bread, or crossing a busy street, haggling with a cab driver or walking to the juice shop to drink a glass of mango juice on a hot weekday night.

My trip to Israel and Palestine started with an adventure on its own. One I recommend you try out only if you have a very strong heart and very fast feet and preferably some extra cash. Sarah and I had booked ourselves on the Ten pm bus to Taba, the border of Egypt and Israel. At eight pm I had dinner with a few friends at Tahrir and then I decided to meet Kent who was to escort me to the bus stop which lay hidden in the maze that were the Cairo streets.

At nine thirty we stand there flagging cab after cab. In true Cairo fashion some cabbies ignore the foreigners. Whereas some ask us for exorbitant cash payments. Meanwhile traffic is building up and there are cars, buses and all kinds of polluting, noisy vehicles all around us. And I stand there with one eye on the watch and every other organ crying out in panic.

Soon it is fifteen minutes to my bus and I am close to utter breakdown whilst Kent is trying hard to be the calm Canadian, when a cab stops for me and I jump in and in broken Arabic tell the driver to go as fast as he can.

With every minute ticking by, I finally reach right at ten pm, run through the baggage and passport check and run down the escalator. Sarah stands next to the bus looking utterly haggled and the bus is all ready to go and is almost reversing out. I apologise, almost cry in relief and hop on, thanking my stars.

I message M saying that I was stupid enough to almost miss the bus that was to take me to the trip of my dreams. And he just has one thing to say- My dear You are becoming a true Egyptian :)

The sun also rises

A night on a bus that is freezing and as uncomfortable as sleeping in a suitcase would be, is bound to make one delirious. And delirious we were. After 8 hours of sitting in uncomfortable seats, a few hours of sleep here and there, 2 wonderful breaks, many many passport checks and some very mysterious conversation with two Colombian men, our destination Taba arrived.

The Colombian men looking very haggard and speaking very little English walked with us on that wonderful early morning to the border checkpoint. In the middle of the Sinai desert with small mountains and vast expanses of sand, on a slightly chilly morning, we walked as the sun rose. It was a quiet morning and if you listened closely birds could be heard. The air was crisp and it felt so good to inhale air that wasn't poisoned by Cairo's traffic.

I can't even begin to describe the mixture of excitement and exhilaration I was feeling. Its not everyday that one gets to walk in the middle of the Sinai peninsula. It is not everyday that you spend a night on a horrible bus and still feel insanely happy. It is not everyday that you get to talk in broken Spanish, English and broken Arabic, all at the same time.It is not everyday that you get to walk on foot from Egypt to Israel.

The MOSSAD attack

Egyptian immigration is worth laughing at. You queue up with hundreds of Israeli's and wait and wait and wait. They ask you if you have a re-entry visa and you say yes. They don't understand you. So you say it again. They still don't understand and take you to another room. Two more immigration officers join in the confusion. And nobody understands that you already have a reentry visa for the next half hour.

Finally you move on. You look at the 'Thank you' sign on the Egyptian side, watch the sun go up on Israel and enter the Israeli checkpoint, not once do you think that the next hour is going to be pure torture, but such an experience .

I stood in line for a long time at the Israeli entry point. The Israeli's as we all know and as was visible by the trouble I had in getting a visa are very very very strict with their security. Only one person at a time was allowed to get into the checkpoint. Once inside the checkpoint, a MOSSAD agent and an IDF agent interrogate you.

'is this your first visit to Israel?'
'why are you in this country?'
'Why were you in Egypt?'
'Are you Muslim?'
'Do you know any Muslims?'
'Have you ever been to Pakistan?'
'Afghanistan?'
'Iran? Iraq? Syria? Lebanon?'
'Why do you have a Malaysian visa on your passport?'
'Why did you go to Indonesia?'
'How many days are you going to stay here?'
'Which cities are you going to?'
'What will you do in Jerusalem?'
'Where all will you go in the city?'
'How many days will you be there?'
'what do your parents do?'
'What is your fathers name?'

These were SOME of the questions. Surprisingly It did not help at all that i was travelling with an American (Sarah). She was interrogated just as strictly.

After our backpacks were scanned we were interrogated once again. Finally we stood in the immigration queue to get our passports stamped. Now comes the really tricky part. An Israeli visa on your passport creates trouble if you need to travel to a Muslim nation. My passport expires soon so I didn't much care for the stamp. But Sarah had a new passport and wanted terribly to avoid the Israeli stamp stigma. So as all the travel websites had said, she politely asked them to stamp a piece of paper instead of the passport. Such requests all depend on the mood of the person stamping the passport. Just 5 minutes ago the lady who was stamping Sarah's passport had been highly annoyed by a Russian woman who refused to understand that her visa had expired. So Sarah's request wasn't treated well. And then well, Sarah also isn't the politest person in the world.

So in the end. Our passports were stamped. ISRAEL. Indifferent me. But there might be trouble for Sarah. She after all had a brand new passport and an urge to build a career in the Arab middle east.

And so we walked into Israel.

From developing to developed. From Islamic to Jewish

Hijabs nomore. Hello to shorts and tank tops and other clothing that would be 'haraam' on the other side.

No more small broken down taxis that gallop on the streets. Hello comfort cabs with airconditioning.

No more noisy, crowded roads. Hello wonderful roads along the Red sea.

No more pollution, dirt and mess. Hello clean and pretty world.

But then,

No more nice and friendly people. Hello stiff, impolitness.

No more crazy conversations with cab drivers. Hello silent, rude cab drivers.

No more feeling of being at home and comfortable.
Hello strange world.
We are here to discover you.

The dead sea and the floating living

We took a bus at 9 am to take us to Jerusalem via the Dead sea. Getting tickets was easy. The busstation was crowded and people sat and slept all over. Israeli people make interesting subjects of observation. They are so stylish and so different. I watched their actions, their manner of speaking, their gestures, everything.

There are two remarkable things I want to talk about-

Firstly I have never ever seen a country where you can bring your dog on a public bus. But here it was. A young girl, wonderfully dressed carrying her dog with her on our wonderful airconditioned bus. Everytime the bus stopped, she would walk the dog, a huge cocker spaniel:)

Secondly the dead sea seemed like such a welcoming expanse of water. Blue and oh so peaceful. With mountains n hills all around and the usual brown-yellow colors of the desert, the dead sea looked a world apart in one way. In another, it just was the last dash of color in an incomplete picture. Such irony that I got so much relief from a water body that can sustain no life and no ships and boats can sustain in it.
Our bus went along the dead sea for a long time and every now and then I could see someone floating in it. People can read books in the dead sea. The salt content is so high that you just float. What I would have given to get off that bus and float in cool water whilst reading my book =)

Israel seemed like a vast expanse of desert with some blue here and there. But not like a wild harrowing desert; A rather tame, sobered down expanse of sand.

The sabbath evening- entry into Jerusalem

I have hardly known any Jewish people in my life. The few American jewish people that I do know are not particularly religious. So when our bus pulled into the Western Jewish Jerusalem on a Friday afternoon, my surprise was not entirely unexpected.

There were hundreds of Jewish families on the street. The men were all dressed in black suites with black hats with long sidelocks of hair falling on their faces. Even the small boys were dressed like this. The women wore dark colored outfits. Usually a long skirt and a very homely top. All dark colored and very very modest. The woman also covered their hair and almost all of them wore clog like shoes.

Scores of these families walked on the streets of Jerusalem. Sometimes with prams and strollers and such. There were men alone, and men with families, and some men with extended families, All welcoming the beginning of the Sabbath.

And I, well I, stared with open eyes and a fascination beyond explanation. A whole new world to me.

The Old city and a place to stay

The walled old city of Jerusalem is the most magical place on this planet for me. The high walls that surround the maze of small alleys and stone paved pathways look so majestic in all their being. The gates to the old city stand tall and when we entered into the old city through the Jaffa Gate it felt like we were transported to a whole new world.

Getting off the taxi we walked through a lovely stone pathway lined with shops and colorful stores on either side. The old city is divided into four quarters- the Muslim, Jewish, Christian and Armenian quarters. And believe me when you are walking aimlessly in the walled city you can easily figure out which quarter you are in. Things around you will tell you immediately when you leave one and enter another quarter. The people, the aura, EVERYTHING.

We were at the border of the Armenian/Christian quarter of the old city. All around us were lovely shops selling beautiful stuff. We walked around and then thanks to www.hostelworld.com reached our youthhostel- The Citadel Youth hostel.

The Citadel Youth Hostel is made in a 700 year old building. Yes thats right-- it is 700 years old. And looks like an exuisite cave. The ceilings were low and the stairs were cut out of stone. Upon entering was a lounge like area with red couches where a shirtless man lay around and two other people browsed the web on a single computer. The dorms were all around and a nice kitchen was on the 3rd level. We entered and checked in. And guess what, Sarah and I got two beds on the roof !!
Yes we and seven others are going to stay on mattresses on the flooor of the roof. The uncovered roof right in the middle of the Old city.

Standing on the roof I could see it all. The Dome of the Rock, The church of secelpture. The maze of Jerusalem streets. People running around and walking around. Children playing in the narrow streets. Street shops. Church bells. The walls around the old city. The entire essence of Jerusalem's old city was right in front of me :)

Money matters. A lot

Oh my god. Maybe we were just used to Egyptian prices, but Israel seemed a lot more expensive. Or maybe they were just tourist prices.
Food looked yummy but every single cafe had nothing for less than 50-60 shekels. Even a bottle of water cost so much.

So we decided to turn into smart backpackers ! We bought a big box of cereal, some milk and some raisins and fruits, labelled them nicely and stocked them in our wonderful hostel fridge.

Believe me, money in a foreign country is better spent on travelling around and living it up than eating excessively priced food :) Especially food that was not much different from Egyptian food that we had been eating for two months.

And you can always eat the local food at a reasonably priced joint. Except the Old city didn't seem to have any such joints :(

So we had our only meal in an Israeli restaraunt and charted down a simple plan for our days here. Israeli falafels are a world apart. Served with a lot more sauces and a lot of different salads they are quite elaborate (except they are still not worth the amount I paid). But i drowned my monetary sorrows in the excitement of what was to come. There was too much to see, too much to explore and this was just the end of the beginning :)

Via Dolorosa- The way of grief that Jesus walked

Via Dolorosa literally means 'Way of Grief' or 'Way of Suffering.' It is a path in the old walled city of Jerusalem. It is the path that Jesus walked on the way to his crucifixion.

The traditional route starts just inside the Lion's Gate near the location of the former Antonia Fortress, and makes its way westward through the Old City to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

This route is based on a devotional walk organized by the Franciscans in the 14th century AD. When we reached there, it was 4 pm and the daily walk lead by te Franciscan brotherhood was just beginning. The franciscan brothers in their brown robes started the walk with a prayer and hundreds of us followed them on this way of suffering.

There are 14 stations that mark the different events in Jesus' life right before his crucifixion. The First Station is near the Monastery of the Flagellation, where Jesus was questioned by Pilate and then condemned. The Second Station is near the remains of an ancient Roman construction known as the Arch of Ecce Homo, in memory of the words pronounced by Pilate as he showed Jesus to the crowd. The Third Station commemorates Christ's first fall on the Via Dolorosa. The next three stations mark Jesus' meeting with Mother Mary, Simon and Veronica. The seventh one marks his second fall and the ninth one his third and final fall. The last five stations are inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is also called the church of resurrection and the ground on which the church stands is venerated by most Christians as Golgotha, the Hill of Calvary, where the New Testament says that Jesus was crucified.

So Sarah and I walked behing the people who walked behind the Franciscan brotherhood people singing praises of Jesus and praying at every station and then we reached the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which was quite beautiful.

All through the way a number of devotees wept at the stations where Christ fell and where he was said to be buried. A lot of nuns from different parts of the world walked with us breathing in every precious moment of the Via Dolorosa. It is exhilirating to see the amount of faith and devotion in the eyes of strangers and in the movement of their rosaries and lips. It made me question my own faith and my own belief system.

Also whereas the names of many roads in Jerusalem are translated into English, Hebrew and Arabic for their signs, the name Via Dolorosa is used in all three languages. It stands still commanding unmatched respect.

Jake

Jake was the first fellow traveller I met on this trip. Youth hostels are a great way to travel. The people you meet from all over the world add so much to you and your trip. This trip especially turned into the most memorable time of my life thanks to all the people I met in the youth hostel. Thanks to all the conversations, and moments, and things said and things done. Everyone of those people made a difference and Jake was the first one who did.

Jake was a 22 year old American guy who was taking the summer off and visiting Israel and Palestine. He had no idea of how he was going to support himself in his next semester or where he would stay on campus next year, but there he was, living up his present in Jerusalem.

Jake came across as a very nice and fearless man. He wanted to see Palestine and thats why he was in Jerusalem. Every morning he would travel to the West Bank and see with his own eyes what was happening in the occupied territory of Palestine. He walked through Ramallah, through Bethlehem and Jenin and Hebron. And let me tell you it takes a lot of strength to do that. He brought back with him stories of the West Bank and the people he spoke to every day while he was there.

His warmth and niceness was hard to miss and I enjoyed every minute of the time we spent together.

It was also his idea that Sarah and I visit the wailing wall that evening. An idea that lead to what was probably the best and most brilliant experience I have ever had in my life.

The wailing wall on a sabbath evening

Photography not allowed. Please dress modestly. Do not shout or scream. Inappropriate contact between men and women not allowed.

In front of us stood the remnant of the Jewish wall, what is now known as 'The Western Wailing Wall.' The wall is divided into two sections- one for men and the other for women. On either side are some bookshelves with the Talmud and the Torah available. Families and families of Jewish people in their sabbath best come down here to pray, to thank and to socialize. They look at the wall and pray. The touch the wall and pray. They kiss the wall and weep. The sing. They shake and shiver in their own faith. And never do they turn their backs on the wall. This last remaining part of a structure gives them eternal faith, belief and hope. It brings them joy and tears and makes their lives worth living.

Outside the main wall area were lots of youngsters. Many were perhaps on their BIRTHRIGHT tour (which is a great thing I think). Young Jewish adults from all over the world stood in circles singing songs and dancing and celebrating sabbath. Some were probably just so happy to be away from their countries discovering a new land. Others were in fact discovering the 'promised land, their holy land.' Either way there was happiness and cheer and leaps and leaps of faith all around. And I was the only brown (seemingly Arab) face. At first this scared me. I felt every Jewish eye was at me. I look Muslim after all. But eventually I settled comfortably into the goodwill and the cheer and I think I just about blended in.

It is interesting to note, the segregation of the sexes in orthodox Judaism. We talk about Islam being strict and such but we forget that the conventional, orthodox sect of every religion is stringent. Here the men and the women were totally separate. They prayed separately, sang separately, socialized separately. We were astonished to see the degree of separation and were pondering over it, when an elderly Jewish gentleman made things clearer to us.

He was probably seventy and he approached Sarah, I and Jake and spoke of God and belief. He then was taking leave so he shook Jake's hand and when Sarah extended her hand, he simply said ' There was a time when men and women had a pure, spiritual connection. Now it has been tainted. And till men and women learn to shed the carnal side of them, and learn to find and embrace that purity and spirituality between them, they need to be segregated.'

With that he left. Leaving us to stare at the groups of men and women- praying, laughing, weeping, celebrating and believing, separately butl all facing the Wailing Wall.

The jewish man from Iran

We walked back up from the wailing wall and were just looking for a place to drink some coffee when a Jewish man approached us. He worked at a free sabbath kitchen and wanted us to join in for sabbath meal.

Jake couldn't go in because he did not have his Yarmulke (the Jewish cap), so we waited outside. The Jewish man told me he was from Iran and he came to Jerusalem in 1988 and he loved it a lot. He asked about our lives and told us about his. He spoke to me in Persian and we tried finding common words between Hindi, Persian and Arabic. From his voice I could sense the loss he felt at not getting to speak his mother tongue. He then introduced us to a young Jewish man called Nicholas. Nicholas looked 20 years old and as told to us, was looking for a bride. It was apparently his ripe age to marry. Beyond me!

The Iranian man then suggested that we go to the house of an American Rabbi for the sabbath meal. He said the house was right outside the walled city and was a 30 minute walk. We thought about it for a while.

But then, after all we were in Jerusalem on a sabbath evening, craving experience and adventure and though we did not know these people, who can say no to a meal on sabbath?

The walk- the argument and the silence

The Iranian Jew, The orthodox Jerusalem Jew (Nicholas), a Hindu girl (me) and a Protestant christian ( Sarah) walked through the old city of Jerusalem.

Just as our walk began, we crossed a group of Jerusalem Muslim boys. Nicholas and the Iranian man made it very apparent that they were Jewish because of their sabbath clothes. And so at ten pm in the night, when all of the old city is deserted, 2 foreign girls being escorted by two Jewish men, ended up in what seemed like Islamic territory. The Muslim boys stared and made some disturbing commentary. Sarah and I walked in silence. To our surprise the Jewish men also walked in silence. In fact they stopped mid sentence when they saw the Muslim boys sitting at the end of the street. For a few seconds I felt violence was in the air. The Muslim boys seemed hell bent on creating some trouble for our Jewish friends. But thankfully the silence on our part helped and we walked on without much hassle and soon we were in the safer side of the Old city. I took a deep breath and sighed in relief thinking religious hassle had been dealt with.

How wrong I was.

Iranian Jewish Man to me : What is your religion?
Me: I am a Hindu.
Iranian Jewish man didn't seem to acknowledge Hinduism as a religion. And he ignored me for the rest of the walk. I was just a silent spectator to what was to come next.

Iranian Jewish man to Sarah: so are you christian?
Sarah: Yes I am a christian believer

Him: You believe in Jesus Christ?
Her: Yes I do, he was the son of God.
Him: No he was not. He was a Jew. Like me or Nicholas.
Her: He was chosen by God to be on earth and save mankind.

Him: see the Jews think Christianity is nonsense because you people worship a man. A Jewish man is your God.
Her: No he is not. We believe in the holy trinity. Jesus was the Son of God. Not God. God was in him but he was human.
Him: No the Torah says clearly that you worship a human being. How can a human being be God?
Her: God created him with a purpose. He was the manifestation of God on earth.
Him: No he was a Jewish man. and you people worship him. And that's why Christianity is stupid.

I could see Sarah was fuming. I nudged her to calm down. After all we were in a strange land with a stranger who for all I knew was a religious fanatic and would slaughter us both any minute.

Him: So do you have sex with boys?
Her and I : Excuse me?
Him: Do u have boyfriends?
Her: Yes and that is none of your business.
Him: Does your father know that you have boyfriends, and that you meet and mingle with boys?
Her: Yes he does.
Him: Is your father religious?
Her: Yes he is, in fact he gives sermons at the church. He is quite religious.
Him: Then how can he let you be with boys?
Her: His beliefs are his own. What I believe is my own belief. I am not trained to be like him. I am a separate individual and I have found my own faith.
Him: I don't think your father is a good christian man. I think he will go to hell.
Her: I don't care what you think.
Him: You are also not a good christian girl. How can u be with a boy? You should only be with a boy if u are going to marry him. Otherwise its all wrong. Having a boyfriend is wrong. Marriages should be arranged.
Her: That is your belief. I have mine.
Him: but then you shouldn't call yourself religious. And your father is not religious if he doesn't object to you having relationships. He is not a true christian. He will go to hell.
Her: I think you should stop saying anything. I am not going to talk about faith with a man with such a closed mind.

The rest of the walk was in silence with the Iranian Jew trying to make conversation and Sarah and I too shocked and too annoyed to answer.

After all why would two moral less girls, one from a pseudo religion (apparently) and the other a hypocritical Christian, talk to such a pious Jewish man and taint his spiritual self.

The American Rabbi's sabbath meal- Mazeltov !

An American Rabbi and his wife, in full philosophical glory.

A lovely living room full of books and scripts each telling a story.

At least a hundred Jewish people. Mainly boys. Sabbath outfits and Jewish caps.

Tables after tables full of people and us squeezing in through the gaps.

Sitting on the last table with a British family at hand.

And a very drunk Italian Jewish man, next to him I stand.

The Rabbi's wife talks of welcoming strangers. The Rabbi talks of Jewish joy and cheer.

The bread is broken. The chicken is eaten. The wine is drunk. Happiness everywhere.

People dance and some they sing.

Everyone is thrilled on a sabbath evening.

And I am the only brown face far and near. Everyone stared at the maybe Muslim girl as I sat.

But soon they figure out Islamic I am not, and I think they say a loud Mazeltov to that :)

Mazeltov :)
It was a night to remember. Forever.

The handshake

The evening ended well.

I was still taking in the cultural novelty that I had just experienced.

As we said goodbye to everyone, we ran into Nicholas and the Iranian Jewish man.

As I shook Nicholas' hand goodbye, The Iranian Jew almost screamed. No he said NO NO. You never shake a pure orthodox Jewish boys hand. It is wrong. He is never supposed to touch a woman who is not his wife.

So I withdrew my hand with the fastest reflex action ever :)

Judaism seemed to be so much like Islam.
Except I observed that in Islam the women bore the brunt of the religion. They were to be veiled. They had to be modest and full of character. They must not be in contact with the opposite sex. They follow the family's orders, marry as the family says and live repressed lives.
In orthodox Judaism, the men seemed to doing that. They wore sabbath outfits complete with the suit and hat. They must not look at women or touch them or talk to them. They must lead their lives with morality as per their family's wishes and commands.

The Jewish man seemed to be the Islamic woman.

The jewish family from Britain.

The night will not end before I mention the British family I sat next to, at the sabbath meal.

A mother, a father, a grand mother and 2 sons.

One son was a religious Jewish man, studying at a Yeshiva (Jewish religious school) in Jerusalem. He had spend some time at a kibbutz a few summers ago and he wanted to discover his religion in depth. So here he was studying in a religious school and guess what- marrying a Jewish girl he met at a Kibbutz. In fact his family was here to attend his wedding and seemed very very surprised at his religious devotion. He was a very nice, cheerful Hebrew speaking young man and I was quite interested in him :)

The other son was this punk kid who wanted to go clubbing in Tel Aviv and not be sitting in Jerusalem waiting for his brother to get married. Typical grumpy late teenager.

The Dad looked like a British version of my Dad and kept nudging his punk son to talk to Sarah and Me. Hilarious it was :)

The Mom was a cynical, judgemental bored woman who had a very I- can't- believe- my son - wants - to - live - in - Jerusalem - and -wants -to study- in a Yeshiva - look. She seemed very bored and couldn't wait to get out of there. It was so funny to watch her. She seemed disdainful of everything around her.

The grandmother stole the cake :) She was a silent, old woman with bad teeth, sitting quietly minding her own business, when she noticed I was Indian. And oh my god ! She started talking to me in Hindi !!! She had grown up in Bombay and lived there until the mid eighties. In fact her daughter, the mother also lived in Bombay. And she had fond fond memories of the place.

So we spoke of my home Mumbai in my language. I had to find a balance in my mind. On one end I loved the way she spoke of my hometown so fondly, reliving her life and her youth. On the other hand she was one of those of the British Raj that ruled my country, mistreated my nation and looked down upon its people.

But in the end, all that mattered was how much she loved Bombay and how much she missed it. And together we reminisced. A British Grandmother and me- Of marine drive, and the Arabian sea, Of Mahalaxmi race course and Cafe Leopold, whilst we sat at a Jewish sabbath meal in an American Rabbi's house in Jerusalem :)

To Bethlehem. The Wall

The next morning was an important one. It was a life changing one. It was one I had waited for so long for.

I was going to Palestine. After years of speaking about Palestine, fighting about it, dreaming of its freedom, following every single news item, reading blogs of Palestinians, writing about it... I was going to go there. I was going to see it with my own eyes. The checkpoints, the wall, the people, every little thing about the West bank. I was going to live what many I admired had lived and I wanted to inhale every single moment of the following day.

We walked to Damascus gate and took the bus to Bethlehem. The bus dropped us at the checkpoint and as we stood in the queue I saw the horror of the checkpoints. I saw the humiliation that every Palestinian had to go through. The way they had to queue up and give thier hand prints before they left their own territory and came back to their own homes. And trust me this was only a preview.

I walked outside the checkpoint after they scanned my passport and I saw the wall.

I saw the wall that Israel had built to occupy Palestine and imprison Palestinians.

I saw the barbed wires.

I read the graffiti on the wall. The pleading for freedom, for independence. The messaged of love and peace and ending hatred.

I walked across the grey wall and touched the soil of millitarily occupied Palestine.

And I said aloud what I have been saying for so long.
The Wall Must Fall.

Heredon Hill, West Bank

We drove to Heredon Hill in the West Bank.

Climbed on top and we could see all of West Bank. We could see the cities of Jenin, Ramallah, Bethlehem, Hebron. We could see Jordan and its hills. We could see the outskirts of Jerusalem. We could see the many Israeli settlements in Palestinian lands and we could see right there in the middle of it all, an Israeli Defense Force's base.

To add to the experience I witnessed a village dispute right next to the hill. A full fledged verbal fight between villagers, right in the middle of the vast West Bank territories.

The Church of Nativity

It was a great day in Bethlehem, in Bethlehem.
At the stable at the back of the inn.


Baby jesus was born here. The church of Nativity. The origin of Christianity. Bethlehem. Palestine. Where it all began.

The woes and the small joys

I am a university graduate. But there are no jobs here, so I have to drive a cab. There are no jobs for us at all.

We live lives of such fear. Any random morning you wake up and there are Israeli soldiers parading the streets and we have to stay indoors.

They say if you hear a loud noise, you duck or you go into the nearest building and stay inside.

I own a shop like so many others selling handicrafts and souveniers. But you know what Israel does. It makes sure that all the tourists get into a cab and go straight to the church of nativity and then take the same cab back. No tourists get to visit our shops, talk to us, buy things from us. We have no money. We sell nothing but we have nowhere else to go.

We don't know what to do. We live here and we have to. This is our country and our territory and they should leave us alone. Give us back our Palestine.

Oh You're Indian? I love Indian movies!! I love Amitabh Bacchan. We in Palestine love watching bollywood movies. They are wonderful. So much singing and dancing. It makes us all very happy.

This is the first time that foreigners have walked around the city and talked to us. It makes us feel so nice. That you want to ask us about our lives and our country. Its nice to see that You aren't Afraid. Because we are. We are afraid. Every single day.

Walking through Bethlehem

Walking through the streets of Bethlehem was like walking through the streets of Egypt. Except here people lived lives of repression and oppression and instability. Every smile was momentary and behind it was unhappiness.

But Bethlehem was Palestine and I looked at every single person and every single place like I would never see it again, though I knew I would..

Let the pictures do the talking. There's not much more I can say.

Walking through Bethlehem

Walking through Bethlehem

Jessie and Nadine

Jessie: A jamaican black woman. Early thirties. She had been in Jerusalem for a year working here and there. She now worked as a cleaner at the Citadel Youth hostel where we stayed. She cleaned for them all morning and they gave her free lodging in one the dorms. Her no nonsense attitude could be sensed from just looking at her. Determined, sensible, hard and strong she came across as. She grew up in Birmhingam and one fine day she decided she needed to leave. And here she was cleaning up a hostel and living a life in Jerusalem. She was the one to ask about conditions in the West Bank. She knew all the news. She knew if Israeli soldiers were walking the streets of Hebron and if Ramallah was safe or not. She swam in the dead sea, camped in the desert, lit fires by the sea and walked for miles and miles. She hiked like a teenager and swore like an old angry woman. Unfortunately her slightly scary attitude kept me at bay and I just know about her what I saw in her and heard from others.

Nadine: An old French woman. I found her weird. She said she knew Jessie from a year ago and she had been waiting to visit her. But Nadine was an old spinster who lived with her ailing mother. Her mother was dying and her siblings didn't care. Nadine who had no family of her own had to take care of her. And though she loved her mother, she was a little bitter about it. She had booked her trip to Jerusalem to see Jessie, but her mother fell really sick. The mother urged Nadine to carry on and Nadine did. But she spent that entire trip worrying about her sick mother. Everyday she spoke to her mother and burst into tears. Jerusalem gave her hope. Jerusalem is like that. It makes you believe. It makes you believe when nothing else can.

The dinner on the roof

We got back to pure youth hostel bliss that night.


6 of us. On the roof. Bread and cheese. Salad. Corn. Pasta. Chicken. Wine. Fruit.

Conversations.

Toasts.

In the distance- the Golden Dome of the Rock. and the Churches of Jerusalem.

The Muslim evening prayer call. Such a familiar sound to me.

Church bells.

A cold breeze. and dew drops.

Thick blankets wrapping us.

A rising full moon.

This was life, the way I wanted it.

Martin

Martin: Martin was a 27 year old German guy and he somehow was special to me. Out of all the people I met in the youth hostel, Martin and I had a special connection. He was a quiet German guy who cooked and played the drums. We started talking in the kitchen when I tried using my broken German on him. He laughed and corrected me and soon we were friends. Martin had a story, one he wanted to tell me.

He was escaping. He was in Jerusalem abandoning his life. He had some major domestic issues, issues he couldn't solve and surely couldn't stand anymore. And one fine day he decided that enough was enough. He needed to get out of Germany and spend some time alone. Rethinking everything. And here he was in Jerusalem. He was going to work in an orphanage. help them out and in turn they would give him food and shelter.

You could see he was a thinker. You could see he was a troubled soul. And to me he spoke. He spoke of life and such. Of finding peace. Of sadness and trouble. Of faith and belief. Of german and English. Of dreams and ambitions. Of jerusalem and what it meant.
And the day I left he hugged me and said out loud ' I will never forget you schone fraulein, I wish you could stay'

And yes Martin, I really wish I could have stayed.

The snuggle fest and the morning bells

It was a cold cold night and it was breezy with dew drops. We all wrapped up our conversation at around 2 am. And it was time for the 'roof group' to retire..

In our sleeping bags we snuggled in. Wearing two pairs of pants and sweaters. Covered with warm blankets and socks. Under the stars and the moon, in the middle of Jerusalem, magical Jerusalem, we went to bed.
Everyone said good night unable to believe the experience we all were sharing. Jeff insisted this was a snuggle fest. :)

As the breeze blew and the dew condensed on us, I shut my eyes feeling so calm and peaceful. And thinking of how far I had come.

At four am I stirred and shook, the morning prayer Azzan from the mosque of Al Omar could be heard. I smiled in my sleep. At six in the morning I woke up to church bells and prayer calls and chirping birds. I woke up to a rising sun.
I got out of bed and stood up and saw all of Jerusalem from where I stood. I saw the rising sun and the harmony of religion, the churches and the mosques and the tranquility of it all.

(our beds !!!)

How far away I felt from all the violence and all the hatred that had taken over this beautiful place.
What I would've given to stay in that feeling forever.

Al Omar and Al Aqsa- Dome of the Rock

The disputed sites. Al Omar and Al Aqsa. Right behind the wailing wall, they looked magnificent. So much better than what I had imagined.

These are holy Islamic sites, so close to the hearts of my Muslim friends. Most of my Muslim friends will never be able to see them. Jerusalem isn't exactly open to them. And some of them were going to see the mosques through my eyes, imagination and photography. So I inhaled every inch of them. I walked around them, looking at their beauty and dignity. I looked at the intricate architecture and the golden dome. I looked at all the devotees and believers walk in and out. Though as a non Muslim I couldn't go inside, I etched every minutiae of these mosques in my mind.

The pictures shall finish this post, as I can't put what I saw in any more words than I already did

Ramallah- the bus ride

On our way back from Bethlehem, we had met an old Austrian couple who told us they were on a political tour of Palestine. The following day they were going to go to Ramallah to talk to a group of women (israeli women) who were against the occupation. Seeing that Sarah and I ourselves were very interested in the politics and human rights of issues of Palestine, they invited us to join them and we readily agreed.

So the next morning, we took a bus to Ramallah in the West Bank of Palestine from the Damascus gate of Jerusalem.

Unfortunately misinformed as were, we didn't realise that the checkpoint to Ramallah was one way. Anyone could go in, but when you got out of Palestine and into Israel, you were checked. So we didn't get off the bus at the checkpoint unsure of where we had to go, and ended up in Ramallah city.

Ramallah looked like a shabbier Cairo and was nothing new to us. Ramallah was a place of business. You came here if you had a business dealing or a human rights issue to take care off. My friend Alice who had been in Ramallah for a few months and had in fact just left a day ago had told me not to wander in the city if I could avoid it.

So keeping that in mind and keeping our appointment with out Austrian friends in mind, we didn't wander around Ramallah and got into a taxi to take us back to the check point.
Ramallah was just what we saw it as. A place that needed help. Severe help.

The death ride .

We got into a cab that was to take us to the checkpoint. The next twenty minutes were the scariest twenty minutes of my life.

Five minutes into the cab ride I realized that this was not the main city route that the bus had taken. The cab went through an old shabby part of town that was deserted totally. A maze of roads, narrow roads, with no people in sight.

Inside the cab played loud a ISLAMIC SERMON. A man in a very loud commanding voice said over and over again SHAHEED SHAHEED SHAHEEED ( martyrdom, martyrdom, martyrdom) He said over and over again in Arabic- KILL THE FOREIGNER. KILL THE FOREIGNER. followed by loud cries of SHAHEED SHAHEED SHAHEED.

While the man on the tape commanded to KILL, our cab driver was silent and he drove us through a refugee camp. Children on either side of the road had guns on them. Groups of bearded Islamic men gathered around our cab peering in and the man on the tape continued his Jihad sermon. There was dust all around and some gun fire in the distance. The living conditions were horrible. People lay around on the street. Small huts were all around with some Islamic women in them. Everything looked dusty and ruined. Children played with rocks and guns and not toys. Women wore sacks to veil themselves and men walked around angrily looking to destroy everything. This was a refugee camp. This was what had happened to Palestine. The check point was nowhere in site. But the checkpoint had caused this.

And I thought that this was it. My life was over. The cab driver and his jihad sermon was going to kill me or kidnap me. I would be the foolish 21 year old Indian girl who ventured into Palestine only to be killed.

After about ten minutes of this horror I saw the 'WALL' in the distance and I calmed down. We reached the checkpoint and the cab driver switched off the ISLAMIC sermon. He turned to us and said 'I wanted to show you real Palestine'

I thanked him. Paid him. Wept a tear off my face and hurriedly got out of that taxi. What I saw that day would haunt me forever.

p.s. when I told my friend Dan this story. All he had to say was- 'so the Wall that the Israeli's have built around Palestine comforted you, Is that what you just said? Wow that is so the end of your journalistic career in the middle east!'

The Makshoom Check point watch women

A group of Israeli Jewish women who are against the Occupation and are not afraid to say it. They work for the benefit of the Palestinians. They speak out against the occupation. They stand up for Palestinian human rights.

They walk around the checkpoints making sure Israeli soldiers don't harass the Palestinians. They are from all ages and all kinds of families with one goal in common.

And I was priveleged to meet them.

All the orthodox Jewish people send their sons to a Yeshiva, where they don't learn anything of relevance to the modern world. And if their children denounce their orthodox background and want to step into the modern world, the families cut them off. Funerals are held for them. They are dead.

The average Jewish Israeli still thinks of himself as a victim. Given the history of the Jews, they still believe that the world has been unfair to the Jewish and they are the victims. Tell me if they keep thinking that they are the victims, then how can they see that they are victimizing Palestinians?

We don't discuss the occupation with any of our friends. Our friends don't understand. They live in Tel Aviv and go to their clubs and pubs and don't care about what is happening here. They don't wanna talk politics.

There is only one way to peace. The Israeli's have to stop seeing themselves as victims or possible victims. They need to respect Palestine. They cant have metal gates and metal detectors all around the place. They can't search a Palestinian if he has to go to the hospital. They can't make him queue for 2 hrs every morning. Respect is needed.

I was walking through a revolving door when suddenly the door stopped moving. The Israeli security randomly switched off the revolving door. Because of momentum I walked into the railing for that split second. And hurt my head. Margaret, A makshoom checkpoint watch woman says calmly-

Oh they did to you, what they do the Palestinians all the time.

A-RAM checkpoint- a new insight

* A Palestinian family waiting on the Ramallah side of the A-Ram checkpoint*

* A Palestinian woman and her baby, entering the A-ram checkpoint at the Palestinian Ramallah side*

*The queue at the A-Ram checkpoint** Palestinians have to queue up, then walk through metal bar gates, go through intense security, give their handprints and show their PERMITS to get to Eastern Jerusalem** On an average, a person living in the West Bank with a work permit in Jerusalem takes an hour (at the least) to clear the checkpoint every single morning*

* A palestinian woman arrives at the Eastern Jerusalem side of the A-ram checkpoint*

Dinner on the roof

Another night on the roof.

Beneath the stars and the moon. Around the lights of Jerusalem.

People and wine. Conversations and breeze. Cigarette smoke and food.

And a feeling beyond comprehension.

Taking in all that I saw and felt.
Breathing in. One breathe at a time.

Simon

Simon: Simon is a Palestinian. He runs the Citadel Youth Hostel in Jerusalem, where I stayed. Every morning he gets up in his house in Ramallah, gets dressed and leaves by 6 am. He stands in line at the A ram Checkpoint for an hour or two and finally clears security, shows his permit and lands up in East Jerusalem. He then works all day at the youth hostel and then in the evening once again goes all the way back to Ramallah. He is an angry bitter man and I don't blame him.

There are no jobs in Ramallah. I have to work in Jerusalem. It is so difficult to get a permit for a Palestinian to work in his own country. East Jerusalem is ours. And we need a permit to get there.

Getting a permit is very hard. Sometimes they give you one for work. Sometimes they don't even give you one to go to the hospital.

There are no good hospitals in Ramallah. So we need to go to Jerusalem. and We need a permit. Their are people who need daily treatment. Their kidneys are failing. They need dialysis every day. And they have to stand in queue for hours and hours and haggle with soldiers and permits. Old sick people. Its pathetic.

The soldiers treat you like you are not human. They seacrh you. If the metal detector goes off. They empty your pockets. Your bags. You give handprints and fingerprints everytime. Evry single day is an ordeal. The Makshoom checkpoint watch women don't do anything. They just stand their and talk about how there are Israeli's who care. But ISrael doesn't care. Israel treats like we don't exist. They kill us. They don't respect us. They make us stand for hours. They have no respect. That is ISRAEL. REAL ISRAEL.

Annie and Margie

Annie and Margie: Annie and Margie joined us that night on the roof. They were two American girls who were in Israel on their birthright tour and decided to stay on for a few days. Margie was taking a year off school and was going to work in a Kibbutz in Israel and then proceed to do some work in India. Annie was staying in Israel for a while and then heading back to the States. Both of them were best friends and were smart, young and wanted to do something with their lives. They added a lot to our wonderful conversations on the roof.

David

David: I have never met a man like David. He fascinated me, amused me, held me in awe and inspired me. David was 45 years old and from Scotland. He used to be a geophysicist. Selling his soul to the big oil companies. Going into Alaska, Siberia, Africa and lots of other places looking for oil fields. He spent 11 years with them, and then one fine day he realised, what these oil companies were doing to the world. How the west was living off the east and ruining it, destroying it, bit by bit. And he chose to not be a part of this anymore.

He was a religious man. He believed in collective consciences and he wore a cross around his neck. He wanted people to know that he could be approached and talked to. He was an intelligent man and spoke on topics far and wide. He was a man who would be respected wherever he went.

He walked from Scotland to Israel. It was a slow painful walk and it took him months. He stopped by various sites of religious and spiritual importance and he kept on walking. He had no money. He would work every few days in a city and earn enough to eat for a few days. Or he would work at an orphanage etc in a city and get a place to stay and some food to eat. And so the months passed. David spread the word of God, of belief, of humanity, of caring and sharing and of loving every human being. And finally he reached his destination - Jerusalem.

All he had in the world was a small backpack and a big heart.

Another night on the roof and the weird couple

Another night on the roof. Under the stars and lights of Jerusalem. In the cold, windy, dewwy weather, snuggling into our sleeping bags, wishing every one a good night :)

A few minutes into all of us retiring to our sleeping bags, a couple came up to the roof with Simon. They claimed to be from New York though the man was Israeli. The thing to note is that due to clashes between Jewish and Muslim youth, Israelis and Palestinians are not allowed to stay in the youthhostel. Just foreigners. So the guy pretended to be from NYC like his very young looking girlfriend.

They kept cribbing about how damp the mattresses were and how there were no sheets and pillows. The man went on and on about linen and bed sheets. We sniggered to ourselves and pitied them. Here we were in the middle of a movingly wonderful city, sleeping under the stars, listening to the soft noises of Jerusalem, and this man cared about SHEETS !!

How much of the world we miss out on, caught in the nitty gritty of everyday affairs? How much of the world we do not appreciate because of our obsession with familiarity? How many good things pass us unnoticed?

Jerusalem

Jerusalem is magical even to one who is cynical.

Jerusalem is spiritual even to a non believer.

Jerusalem makes the lazy one also want to explore.

Jerusalem brings the most unnerved mind to peace.

Jerusalem makes you forget.

Jerusalem heals you bit by bit.

Jerusalem takes you somewhere you've never been.

Jerusalem engrosses you.

Jerusalem fascinates you.

Jerusalem makes you want to walk its streets day in and out.

Jerusalem brings the most random people together and makes them revel in each other's company.

Jerusalem makes you discuss and talk and appreciate the smallest things.

Jerusalem makes you tolerant.

Jerusalem makes you a listener.

Jerusalem makes you sleep peacefully in the freezing cold under the stars.

Jerusalem makes you wake up at odd hours and not be irritated.

Jerusalem makes you fall in love with it.

Jerusalem makes you want to never leave it. Ever.

Goodbyes

I hadn't known these people for long. In fact I had hardly known them.

But with them I had the most intense conversations. With them I talked of things I never talk about. With them I was free. I was careless. I was ungaurded. I spoke my mind and my heart. With them I felt the magic of Jerusalem. With them I broke bread and drank wine under the stars. With them I talked of dreams and desires and wishes and reasons and persuasions and life and such. With them I spoke of the past and the future and what was to be, and what was there. With them I woke up to church bells and prayer calls under the sun in the middle of a walled city. With them I discussed politics and philosophy and religion and science. With them I understood so much there was to understand. With them I saw a new world. With them I forgot my cynicism for a few days and just let go.

With them I found me.

And I was to leave them. I was to leave all the comfort I had found. I had to leave all that magic.

I had to hope that my leaving them would not result in my leaving me. And that made this goodbye intensely frightening and painful.

Yad Vashem

"And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and
a name (a "yad vashem")... that shall not be cut off."(Isaiah, chapter 56, verse
5)

Yad Vashem is the Holocaust muesuem in Jerusalem. The Jewish people want the world to see the atrocities that were inflicted upon them during the second world war and to remember their mistreatment. Yad Vashem, Jerusalem, is the Jewish people’s memorial to the murdered Six Million and symbolizes the ongoing confrontation with the rupture engendered by the Holocaust. Containing the world’s largest repository of information on the Holocaust, Yad Vashem is a leader in Shoah education, commemoration, research and documentation.

There are halls and halls of pictures and history and videos of survivors. The beginning of Nazism, the rise of Hitler, the invasion of neighbours of Germany, the progress of the war, the concentration camps, the murders, the torture, the deaths, the horrifying gruesome atrocities that happened, the liberation, the end of the war and picking up the remains of what survived.

Yad Vashem brought tears to my eyes. I have read in depth about the holocaust many times and it sends shivers down my spine every single time. But to see life size photographs of it, was to realize in depth that these were real people. REAL lives that were tortured and lost. People liek you and me. Five feet tall. Six feet tall. REAL people. And to hear the survivors speak was to realize that what happened to them was REAL too. As real as what happened to us at dinner last night, or what happened to me this morning. Every single inhuman thing that happened felt ALIVE and EXISTING for the first time.

Perhaps the best thing, Yad Vashem does is, it collects name of every victim. It gives them an indentity. They were not just holocaust victims, they were people. They had names and relationships and dreams and realizations like any of us. In an attempt to fulfill the wishes of those who perished, the people of Yad Vashem collect the names of the victims in their Hall of Names, commemorate the events of the Shoah and the communities that were wiped out, at their memorial sites and in their museums.

After all, "Remember, both of you, that which Amalek did to us; remember
everything do not forget for the rest of your lives and pass on as a holy
testament to the coming generations that the Germans killed, slaughtered and
murdered us..." (from the Testament of Elkhanan Elkes, leader of the Kovno
Jewish Council)

Welcome to Egypt

We headed out of Jerusalem and took the bus to the border of Egypt and Israel once again. Arriving at the border at early evening, we were quite surprised to see how little time it took to clear all the border formalities.

Once we got into the Egyptian checkpoint, it really felt like EGYPT ! The immigration officers were too lazy to sit at the passport control checkpoints and to get stamped into the country we had to go to their office :) It was hilarious :)

Then night fell and we finally stepped into Egypt from Israel and after hours of waiting, boarded a 'microbus' to get to Dahab :) We were all heading to Dahab for a few days of sun and sand and relaxation. Kent, Kath, Rh, Chr, Dan, Steve were all joining us and it was going to be a nice long weekend :)

As we entered the country that was Egypt, I was handed a receipt for some sort of arrival tax into Egypt. It said 'Ministry of Sea Transport and Borts.' Yes the Egyptians confuse their P's and B's on a regular basis and an Egyptian saying Bort instead of Port wouldn't have caused a second thought. But to actually see Borts written on an official government receipt that every foreigner entering through the Taba border was handed, was something else. S and I looked at in disbelief and grinned to ourselves.

A little while into our ride to Dahab, we stopped at a gas station. A very nice Egyptian man sitting right in front of S was smoking and decided to throw his still-lit cigarette butt right out of the window. In the middle of a gas station. Again S and I, exhausted by our long journey and by Egypt in general, grinned at each other. But the grin was more like an exasperated, Welcome-to-Egypt kind of grin.

So here we were. Back in the land of lazy immigration officers, Borts, Cigarettes in gas stations, and everything beckoned and said WELCOME (back) TO EGYPT ! =)

Dahab

Dahab is a sea side touristy holiday spot by the red sea in the Sinai peninsula. It is a laid back place with lots of good food, places to lounge around at, snorkelling, diving, and is a short drive to some awesome places in the Sinai Peninsula.

Arriving in Dahab we got on to this open air taxi (hilarious) and headed to the Funny Mummy Resort to meet a man named Jimmy who showed us our roooms :) The Funny Mummy has an excellent lounge type restaurant by the sea. The food is brilliant. The beer is good. The sun was shining. The breeze was wonderful. The book I was reading was superb. And the people of course were brilliantly awesome :)

Dahab felt great =)

Snorkelling in the Red Sea

The red sea is magical. The colors and the beauty of the life in it is beyond my vocabulary and means of expression :)

After a long painful frightening walk on the coral reef and much energy spent in avoiding sea urchins and other sea creatures that look like they could sting/bite/ poison you... you finally jump into the deep red sea with the snorkel and flippers and swim around looking at the beautiful, astonishing underwater world.

With balancing yourself through the waves, managing to float around in the sea, feeling immensely scared that your feet did not touch the sea floor and at the same time swimming and diving in and around the reef looking at all the colored coral, all kinds of fish, sea anemone, urchins and other creatures that I do not know the names of, time just seemed to fly by. The perfectly flawless coral ecosystem with the mainly red colored coral and the multicolored fish and sea anemone fascinated me so much.

The first time I went underwater is a moment I will never forget. After the painful walk to the end of the reef and the immense fear that I have of drowning and the great difficulty in balancing myself to float; the first time I managed to go under the Red sea, my mouth fell open. I quite literally couldn't breathe. The Red Sea is lovely. Every single creature inside it is magical.

Its like a whole new world under the Red Sea Reefs. A world whose magic I cannot describe.

St Catherine and Mount Sinai

That very night, a bunch of us decided to head to Mount Sinai.

Mount Sinai is the mountain on top of which it is speculated that God gave Moses the Ten Commandments. Thousands of people (some religious pilgrims, some crazy Koreans who think that the mountain top has some special radiations, some tourists like us) climb the mountain at night to look at the sunrise from the mountain top. We left around midnights with our shoes and small backpacks, passports in hands looking forward to a night of intense walking, climbing and fun.

We reached the base of the mountain by 2 am and started the climb. The sky was starrier than I have ever ever seen and I felt strangely calm and excited at the same time. Hordes of people walk up the 6000 feet mountain using flashlights led by Bedouins.We had a very nice Bedouin leading us and he like his peers knows the mountain like the back of his hand.

It was quite dark all around and suddenly something around you makes a sound. And you realize that in the middle of all the darkness you are surrounded by hundreds of camels. It seems so surreal.

The entire climb up the mountain with so many people under an immensely starry sky alongside camels and Bedouins really made me feel like I was living in some kind of olden, almost biblical time.

Two very nice Israeli’s were in our group and one of them literally held my hand all the way up. We finally made it to the top around 5 am and watched the sunrise. I decided to wander off into the camel and bedouin camps while the world was looking at the sun rise. The bedouins talked to me off Sinai and Moses and their life and I got some great shots.

Finally after sunrise was over, we climbed down and reached St Catherine’s monastery (established in the sixth century AD) at the base of the mountain. Unfortunately while waiting for St Catherine’s to open; Chris, Rhia, Joey and I fell asleep right outside the monastery gates along with a hundred other tired and exhausted tourists, and woke up only when it was time to leave and head back to Dahab. So we didn’t get to go inside the monastery.

But it was a night to remember :)

Mount Sinai- sunrise and then some

Mount Sinai- bedouins and their camels

Mount sinai- The land that Moses walked

Bliss :)

Sleep. Food. Wine. Sea food. Books. Breeze. Friends. Conversation. Laughter.The Red Sea. Dahab.

The perfect last few days of a perfect vacation.

The last lap :) Dusty old Cairo beckons.

I walked through the border of Egypt and Israel.

I saw the dead sea and the red sea.

I lived in a walled old city on the roof.

I went to Palestine.

I met some of the most amazing people in the world.

I saw new things. I felt new things.

I almost got killed in a Palestinian refugee camp.

I talked to social workers and journalists.

I fell in love with Jerusalem.

I snorkelled in the red sea.

I climbed the Mount Moses.

I read, relaxed, ate and swam.

I loved every minute of it.

I lived every minute of it.


Now back on a bus to Cairo.
I will be back to all these places and will meet all these people again.
Inshallah.