Jerusalem
I left my hotel in Amman, Jordan at around 9:30 yesterday morning and arrived at my hotel in Jerusalem around 4:30 in the afternoon. If you look at a map, you will find that Jerusalem is only about 60 kilometers from Amman, and the trip really shouldn't take much more than an hour. The extra six hours were mostly spent waiting at Israeli checkpoints.
I took a shared taxi from Amman to the Jordanian side of the King Hussein Bridge on the border with the West Bank. After passing through Jordanian passport control, I boarded a bus that would take me across the bridge to the Israeli checkpoint on the other side. The Jordan "River" was little more than a marshy strip through the desert thanks to a recent drought and over use of a very limited water supply (there were banana farms on the Jordanian side of the river!). Arriving on the Israeli side of the bridge, we were told to get off the bus as Israeli soldiers boarded to look for stow-aways. So far, so good. Up to this point everyone (both the Jordanians and the Israelis) had been very polite and very efficient.
Then we came to a second Israeli checkpoint, and here everything ground to a halt. There were five of us on the bus -- a Japanese guy, a Palestinian-Canadian grandmother, two Palestinian-American men, and myself -- but somehow the guards at this checkpoint just couldn't be bothered to acknowledge our presence. We sat there for 3 hours before they finally waived us through.
From there we went to a third Israeli checkpoint where we got off the bus and put our luggage on a conveyor belt for security screening. We then went through a security check similar to those in American airports -- I had to remove my shoes and belt and all objects from my pockets, etc. When this initial screening was finished, we had to step into a bizarre little machine that spoke English with a seductive female voice. The little vixen said, "Prepare for jet commencement. Commence jets." And then these jets of air and God-knows-what-else started blowing on my head, and then my shoulders, and then my torso, on down to my feet, one region at a time. When it was over, a buzzer sounded and the little hussy said, "Please exit." It was creepy. If I die of cancer, we'll know who to blame.
After the unsolicited blowjob I was hearded into another line where I completed an entry visa form. I was then subjected to polite but serious questioning by an Israeli soldier. She asked me the same questions over and over again: "Are you traveling alone?" "Are you traveling with a group?" "How many people are in your group?" "Who are you traveling with?" "What are the names of your group members?" "Is everyone in your group American?" "Are you traveling alone?" I finally started laughing at the absurdity of her questions, but she didn't think it was funny. And so, I was shuffled off to another room where I was subjected to the same line of questioning by a higher ranking officer: "So, you are traveling in a group?" "How many people are you traveling with?" "Did you pay for this group tour in America, or did you pay for the group in Jordan?" It was apparently inconceivable that I was traveling to Israel by myself.
Eventually, the officer was convinced that I am traveling alone, that I have enough money to get back home, and that I am pretty unorganized when it comes to trip planning, as my itinerary was painfully loose for her tastes. I was then returned to the first soldier who, believe it or not, started with the same line of questioning again: "Are you traveling with a group?" She seemed a little less rigid this time, and the interview ended after only a few minutes. She apologized for the delay, and I was shuffled off to the next room to find my bags.
Unceremoniously, I was released into the West Bank with no Israeli shekles, and no clue. I changed some money with a shop keeper and found a shared taxi that was heading for the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem. The man sitting next to me was a Hamas supporter, and he immediately launched into an intense political conversation. He was very polite, but also very passionate. The trip across the West Bank takes less than half an hour, and unfortunately I missed most of it because this guy was quizzing me on my politics and familiarity with Middle Eastern history. It is interesting to note, however, that there was no Israeli checkpoint between the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and there are no Israeli checkpoints between East Jerusalem and West Jerusalem. In other words, the Occupied Territories are thoroughly integrated into the larger Israeli security scheme. (I did not know this.)
After walking to my hotel just inside the Jaffa Gate, I headed into the New City to try to find a pharmacy to get some cold medicine (all these radical temperture fluctuations have given me a nasty little head cold).
After only a few hours wandering around Jerusalem, my initial impression is that this is a bizarre town. Take the hippies of Boulder, mix them up with the Jews of Brooklyn, and put them in a medieval city, and there you have the "local" population. Then raid a few Indian ashrams and yoga centers, several large Southern Baptist churches, and one or two insane assylums, and there you have the "pilgrim" population. The city feels, sounds, and smells very American. You hear just as much American English as you do Hebrew. The shops and restaurants are all American (and I'm not just talking about McDonald's -- there's a "Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf" nearby, just like the one in Manoa Marketplace). And, unfortunately, the prices are American as well (perhaps closer to Denver prices than Honolulu prices, but American nonetheless).
I ate dinner in a vegetarian (and therefore kosher) restaurant last night, filled with Orthodox Jews. It quickly became apparent that they were all Americans (speaking American English), except for one table that was British. Judging from their conversations, they all lived in Jerusalem, but they must have been very recent immigrants. Looking at the designer "ethnic" clothing of the women, I couldn't help but imagine their pre-immigration conversations: "Honey, let's move to the Promised Land and play like we're Middle Eastern tribal people -- I'll wear hippie skirts and hiking boots and lots of purple stuff, and we can learn how to shoot M-16 machine guns. It'll be really fun. And authentic! And meaningful..."
These are just my initial (judgemental) impressions after a few hours walking around with a sinus headache. We'll see how those impressions change in the coming days and weeks... I'm sure I'll be much more tolerant once I shake this cold.
(Photo by Eric: Jerusalem at night)
I left my hotel in Amman, Jordan at around 9:30 yesterday morning and arrived at my hotel in Jerusalem around 4:30 in the afternoon. If you look at a map, you will find that Jerusalem is only about 60 kilometers from Amman, and the trip really shouldn't take much more than an hour. The extra six hours were mostly spent waiting at Israeli checkpoints.
I took a shared taxi from Amman to the Jordanian side of the King Hussein Bridge on the border with the West Bank. After passing through Jordanian passport control, I boarded a bus that would take me across the bridge to the Israeli checkpoint on the other side. The Jordan "River" was little more than a marshy strip through the desert thanks to a recent drought and over use of a very limited water supply (there were banana farms on the Jordanian side of the river!). Arriving on the Israeli side of the bridge, we were told to get off the bus as Israeli soldiers boarded to look for stow-aways. So far, so good. Up to this point everyone (both the Jordanians and the Israelis) had been very polite and very efficient.
Then we came to a second Israeli checkpoint, and here everything ground to a halt. There were five of us on the bus -- a Japanese guy, a Palestinian-Canadian grandmother, two Palestinian-American men, and myself -- but somehow the guards at this checkpoint just couldn't be bothered to acknowledge our presence. We sat there for 3 hours before they finally waived us through.
From there we went to a third Israeli checkpoint where we got off the bus and put our luggage on a conveyor belt for security screening. We then went through a security check similar to those in American airports -- I had to remove my shoes and belt and all objects from my pockets, etc. When this initial screening was finished, we had to step into a bizarre little machine that spoke English with a seductive female voice. The little vixen said, "Prepare for jet commencement. Commence jets." And then these jets of air and God-knows-what-else started blowing on my head, and then my shoulders, and then my torso, on down to my feet, one region at a time. When it was over, a buzzer sounded and the little hussy said, "Please exit." It was creepy. If I die of cancer, we'll know who to blame.
After the unsolicited blowjob I was hearded into another line where I completed an entry visa form. I was then subjected to polite but serious questioning by an Israeli soldier. She asked me the same questions over and over again: "Are you traveling alone?" "Are you traveling with a group?" "How many people are in your group?" "Who are you traveling with?" "What are the names of your group members?" "Is everyone in your group American?" "Are you traveling alone?" I finally started laughing at the absurdity of her questions, but she didn't think it was funny. And so, I was shuffled off to another room where I was subjected to the same line of questioning by a higher ranking officer: "So, you are traveling in a group?" "How many people are you traveling with?" "Did you pay for this group tour in America, or did you pay for the group in Jordan?" It was apparently inconceivable that I was traveling to Israel by myself.
Eventually, the officer was convinced that I am traveling alone, that I have enough money to get back home, and that I am pretty unorganized when it comes to trip planning, as my itinerary was painfully loose for her tastes. I was then returned to the first soldier who, believe it or not, started with the same line of questioning again: "Are you traveling with a group?" She seemed a little less rigid this time, and the interview ended after only a few minutes. She apologized for the delay, and I was shuffled off to the next room to find my bags.
Unceremoniously, I was released into the West Bank with no Israeli shekles, and no clue. I changed some money with a shop keeper and found a shared taxi that was heading for the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem. The man sitting next to me was a Hamas supporter, and he immediately launched into an intense political conversation. He was very polite, but also very passionate. The trip across the West Bank takes less than half an hour, and unfortunately I missed most of it because this guy was quizzing me on my politics and familiarity with Middle Eastern history. It is interesting to note, however, that there was no Israeli checkpoint between the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and there are no Israeli checkpoints between East Jerusalem and West Jerusalem. In other words, the Occupied Territories are thoroughly integrated into the larger Israeli security scheme. (I did not know this.)
After walking to my hotel just inside the Jaffa Gate, I headed into the New City to try to find a pharmacy to get some cold medicine (all these radical temperture fluctuations have given me a nasty little head cold).
After only a few hours wandering around Jerusalem, my initial impression is that this is a bizarre town. Take the hippies of Boulder, mix them up with the Jews of Brooklyn, and put them in a medieval city, and there you have the "local" population. Then raid a few Indian ashrams and yoga centers, several large Southern Baptist churches, and one or two insane assylums, and there you have the "pilgrim" population. The city feels, sounds, and smells very American. You hear just as much American English as you do Hebrew. The shops and restaurants are all American (and I'm not just talking about McDonald's -- there's a "Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf" nearby, just like the one in Manoa Marketplace). And, unfortunately, the prices are American as well (perhaps closer to Denver prices than Honolulu prices, but American nonetheless).
I ate dinner in a vegetarian (and therefore kosher) restaurant last night, filled with Orthodox Jews. It quickly became apparent that they were all Americans (speaking American English), except for one table that was British. Judging from their conversations, they all lived in Jerusalem, but they must have been very recent immigrants. Looking at the designer "ethnic" clothing of the women, I couldn't help but imagine their pre-immigration conversations: "Honey, let's move to the Promised Land and play like we're Middle Eastern tribal people -- I'll wear hippie skirts and hiking boots and lots of purple stuff, and we can learn how to shoot M-16 machine guns. It'll be really fun. And authentic! And meaningful..."
These are just my initial (judgemental) impressions after a few hours walking around with a sinus headache. We'll see how those impressions change in the coming days and weeks... I'm sure I'll be much more tolerant once I shake this cold.
(Photo by Eric: Jerusalem at night)
posted by Eric at 7:44 AM
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