Christians and Jews and Muslims, oh my!

After regrouping on the rooftop garden for a bit and trying to come to terms with everything that was going on, we set out to find the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Church of the Resurrection), the most important Christian site in Jerusalem. I’ll describe it in more detail later as this first visit proved to be only a primer. Even at 8:30pm the place was mobbed. I’m talking shoulder to shoulder, ass to groin, simply unmanageable. We were able to get partway inside, notice the classic ornate Christian decoration and then decided to bail out of sheer claustrophobia, and I’m not claustrophobic. Even the courtyard in front was so crowded that it was almost impossible to take a picture. I think most of the Spanish speaking population of the world was somewhere either inside or in the vicinity of the church. What we did find out though is that the church is open at 5am, ready for pilgrims. Arriving early seemed like a better idea.

At this point we both realized that waking at 5:30 that morning in order to make our 8:30am meeting in Tafilah, going through the four hour border crossing fiasco, and spending four more hours becoming acquainted with the city, we were hungry and tired and knew a long day was ahead of us. So we decided to find a restaurant and sit down. There are very few restaurants actually in the Old City. Mind you there are a plethora of falafel and pita filled with meat places, but proper sit down fare is hard to come by. In the end we settled for a place that spilled out into a small square, sat at plastic tables and chairs, and had a meal of a few pieces of cubed beef with onions, a small salad of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber, and a handful of soggy French fries. Somehow, this only set us back 80 shekels each (~$20). Are you kidding me? On our way back to the hotel we couldn’t help but stop and make fun of the renaissance fair-style minstrels that had taken over one of the streets to put on a show. How this fit in to the religious, or even epoch of this historic city is beyond me, and the Janis Joplin-esque recorder player (yes, I said recorder, like in elementary school) gave us some great material to laugh at. We were exhausted, punch-drunk, and ready for bed.

The next morning we were woken at 4:15 to the sound of the call to prayer. Our hotel window faced out over the Muslim quarter and there was a minaret strategically positioned right in front of the window. Once that stopped it seemed to have woken the roosters and they began their cock-a-doodle-do. I was having Medellin, Colombia flashbacks; there are roosters in the city? After lying around a bit more, but too excited to get back to sleep, we instead got up and headed back to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

The church was constructed around 325 AD over what had originally been a Temple to Aphrodite. This was confusing to me as it is supposed to house the hill at the site where Jesus was crucified, Golgotha, as well as the cave where he was buried, the sepulchre, and rose from the dead. It turns out that just as in Bethleham at the Church of the Nativity where

Constantine commemorated the birthplace of Jesus; he declared that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre would commemorate his death and resurrection. Nevertheless, we went inside, climbed the staircase to the right that leads up to the “hill” that was Golgotha, and snapped some photos. I even pushed my way through the throngs of people (yes, it was already crowded at 7am) to kneel below the altar at the base of the cross. Seth got it on film, my Grandma would be so proud and excited, God rest her soul, and it made me think of her.

Back downstairs we got up close and personal to the Stone of the Annointment where Jesus was said to have been placed after his death. The unique lanterns hovering over the stone (which was a real stone by the way) really did it for me. The other deeply spiritual artifact in the church is the sepulcher itself. Even this early in the morning the line was eight

to ten people wide and wrapped around the giant metal structure which contains the tomb where he purportedly was buried. (The problem with this is that there is another site, located just outside of the Old City walls called the Garden Tomb, that some claim is the burial site and place of resurrection.) It would have taken hours to get inside and neither of us had the patience, especially after learning of the contradictory stories. But simply walking around the rest of the massive church was good enough. There are actually a handful separate churches which are housed inside the structure, each with a different altar and chapel. Beautiful mosaics cover some of the floors and shrines with burning candles are dotted all around.

Upon leaving the church it was time for breakfast, and of course I had done my food research to find some good eats. We were determined to find Bonkers Bagels, a Jewish bagel shop in the Jewish Quarter, something out of a neighborhood in Brooklyn, except not transplanted into the US., but rather from the source. A crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, New York style, everything bagel smothered in lox spread (chunks of smoke salmon mixed into wonderful cream cheese), topped with tomato, cucumber, and onions really hit the spot. I felt like this was actually the worth 25 ($7) shekels.

Our stomachs full and ready to tackle the rest of the day, we made our way to the Jaffa Gate and climbed up into the walls surrounding the city for the Ramparts Walk. The 16^th Century Ottoman city walls were a necessary defense since it seemed everyone was trying to take over this place. The walls were built on the foundations of walls that came before them, which were built on the foundations of walls before that, etc, etc. Ever since the time of King David in 1,000 BC, this city has been surrounded by walls. Walking around on the top of these walls gave a nice perspective of the city inside, as well as the modern city outside.

The walk ended at the Dung Gate which just so happened to be very close to the archeological site of the City of David. All this time, knowing that we were walking on history, knowing that a city had been built on this site 3,500 or more years ago, but not being able to see it was killing me. Well in Jerusalem, there’s a tour for that.

The City of David was settled by the Canaanites during the Copper Age, around 4,000 BC.

During the Bronze Age (2,800 BC) the Jebusites occupied the city until David conquered it and made it the capital of the United Kingdom of Israel in 1,100 BC. David’s son Solomon continued the reign and built the First Temple in 970 BC, which are mostly the ruins that can be seen today as part of the tour. The site itself was discovered at the end of the 19^th century and proved to be the ancient core of Jerusalem. Since that time archaeological expeditions from all over the world have flocked to the site which has now become the most excavated mound in the history of archaeology.

We did the self-guided tour as it was more than half the price and it took us down multiple stories, deep it to what was the ancient City of Jerusalem. You’ve probably seen ruins like this before; you can’t make out what anything is or was, but you know it’s old. Descriptions on plaques which paint the picture of an old house, bathroom, palace, city wall, etc. helped form a perspective. The tour concluded with a walk through a deep underground cave that was dug out to provide an emergency water supply for the people of Jerusalem in case of an attack, which we all know by now was a common occurrence. It was like spelunking but with a flashlight the size of my thumb nail. There was an option to wade through thigh deep water in a separate tunnel but we passed on that, for obvious reasons. I hope none of those tourists had any open wounds; imagine what lives in that cesspool.

We had not spent any time in the Armenian Quarter so did some exploring there next. It had already felt like a full day and it was still before noon. Seth had been looking for decorative plates to hang in his house and we stumbled onto an Armenian ceramics shop and poked around for a while. The nice gentlemen who owned the shop (the most honest shop owner we met the entire time) took us back into his workshop to show us how the pieces were made; all of the delicate handiwork that went into each pieces, the kiln, etc. On the way out of the workshop and back into the showroom I noticed a copy of ASCE’s Civil Engineering Magazine on his desk.I took this opportunity to make a connection (my aunt taught me, you always have to have a 'guy;) and it turns out he’s American educated, worked in the States for many years, and is a professional engineer. The three of us talked shop for a while and we described our job that we are working on here in Jordan. Tickled to death that he met some like-minded engineering nerds, he proceeded to give us a substantial discount on the manhole cover-sized (I had to throw an engineering reference in there) plate that Seth bought as well as the olive oil dipping bowl that I purchased.

We had both decided that having some Armenian food for lunch would be a can’t miss opportunity. So we headed to a place recommended by our new friend. The restaurant was decked out in antiques from all over the Middle East and its floors were covered by old, well worn Persian rugs (This is a good thing I learned; Seth happens to be one of the world’s foremost appraisers of vintage rugs). For lunch I had an interesting casserole of beef, layered with onions, tomatoes, peppers, and thinly sliced potatoes, smothered in a mild garlic cream sauce and baked in the oven so that that top was browned. It was fabulous. We also both had giant sized mugs of local Goldstar beer which was dark like a porter, but tasted light and crisp like a pale ale. Great stuff, but $30 each for lunch.

Reenergized once again, we made our way towards the Lion’s Gate at the far east end of

the city for the most anticipated attraction of the day: The pilgrimage people take on the Via Dolorosa to each of the Stations of the Cross. The Franciscans organize a walk here every day starting at 3pm. For a fee (of course) you can carry a wooden cross yourself and replicate the walk that Jesus took from where he was condemned to death to where he died and rose again at the aforementioned Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It was quite a scene upon arrival at the courtyard of Omariye College where a Roman fortress once stood. The courtyard was filled with Italians and, once again, most of the Spanish speaking population on the planet, along with very old American tourists (all the Americans we saw were

in their 60s and 70s) and Franciscan monks in their brown robes. Some of the monks carried portable speakers with amplifiers and we thought that some sort of dance party might break out. Instead a few monks took turns telling the story, first in Italian (I guess the Spanish speakers had to manage), then in German, and finally in Latin. The First Station at the Ecco Homo Convent commemorates the site where Jesus was condemned to death under order from Pontius Pilate and a mob of angry Jews, and then whipped with a scourge (a Cat of Nine Tails embedded with shards of metal; again I ask, “Have you seen the Passion of the Christ?”). After the first part of the story is told, the guy who sprung for the cross walks in front and the mob of people follow behind while the Franciscans with boom boxes scatter throughout the crowd so that everyone can hear. It was done rather well I should say. At each Station we would stop, prayers would be said, and more of the story told. Then we would walk along while the crowd prayed in Latin (who knows prayers in Latin? – seriously devout people, that’s who). We followed the “Way of Sorrow” until the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but with experience under our belts, decided not to enter with the huge crowd into a place that was already packed like sardines in a crushed tin box.

During the walk on the Via Dolorosa we noticed a few antiquities dealers along the route. Israel is one of the few places in the world where antiques from Roman times all the way back to the Bronze Age can be purchased and taken out of the country, with an official certificate. You see, there’s so much archeological activity going on in and around this place that thousands and thousands of coins, pottery, oil lamps, perfume bottles, etc. are excavated. Once a museum has picked out a nice, mint condition Roman era vase there’s no need to have another one. And with the glut of antiques discovered, the government instead sells them to officially licensed antique dealers (of which there are only a handful) for resale to the public. Everyone’s always trying to make a buck, or a shekel, I should say.

Seth had already decided that he wanted to look for an ossuary to use as a coffee table. This is a stone box used to keep bones of the deceased. This was only done for a few hundred years (around the time of Christ) and they typically have Aramaic (a dead language spoken at that time) inscriptions on them. All of this fascinated me and I wandered through the shops amazed that I was holding Roman coins, 4,000 year old pottery, and the like. Stuff you see in museums, literally. But it was all big money, unless you had the patience to haggle with the dealer. Everything is negotiate-able in this town, except for food. After a little while I couldn’t help myself and fell in love with a Roman era (37 BC – 70 AD) jar. It’s quite possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever purchased. It’s all wrapped up safe and sound (I forgot to take a picture before that), so you’ll have to come over someday to check it out.

How can you tell if it’s real you ask? It’s actually quite simple. There are replicas for sale all over the city, and some authorized dealers have some as well for people who decide they can’t or don’t’ want to spend the money. When a drop or two of water is placed on both pieces, it’s the smell that tells the tale. The fake piece smells like wet ceramic while the antique smells like the oldest, mustiest cellar you’ve ever set foot into. I mean it smells from a distance. The reason is that after thousands of years buried in the earth the natural clays that it is made from absorb all these odors; like an old cellar.

Incidentally, ossuaries are hard to come by so there are none for sale in any of the shops. Seth was interested however, in a small tablet with Aramaic inscriptions on it. But you have to really want to haggle in order to make anything remotely affordable and I don’t think he had the energy. That walk with the Pilgrims had been grueling.

On our way back to the hotel to drop off my celebrated piece, I had a “pocket full of shekels” (Rally round the Rabbi), and I wanted to stop off to buy some brightly colored candies from one of the countless stalls.

My favorites were the ones that looked like sunny side up eggs! (I'm an egg slut, even fake candy eggs I can't resist). It was Friday evening, nearing 5pm (the Sabbath begins at sundown) and the parade of Jews through the streets on their way to Temple was a site to see. It seemed like a mad rush to get there in time. We stopped for a while to watch this “parade” but eventually returned to the hotel much in the same way as the night before, to relax in the rooftop garden.

We were beat, destroyed. I had laid waste to my feet. We had literally been walking around for 11 straight hours. Trying to save a little cash and hoping to not go to bed on a full stomach, we ventured out of the Old City walls and played Russian roulette with street food vendors. For only a few USD I had a pita shell filled with lamb livers and onions that had been grilled on a skewer over a hot bed of coals, from a pushcart. A few dollops of homemade hot chili sauce from a bowl of marinating bacteria completed the ‘let’s see who’ll puke first game’, and we sat on the steps facing the Damascus Gate contemplating our next day’s adventures. Would we get into the Dome of the Rock? We hadn’t seen any Islamic sites yet.