We made our way through the winding souqs and tiny streets in the old city of beautiful Jerusalem.  Miserably, I followed Marcelo through to the Muslim Quarter as our budgets did not want to go NEAR the price of a hostel in the Christian or Jewish Quarter.  I mean, there was nothing at all wrong with the Muslim Quarter, it was safe, maybe a little bit more dirty but otherwise pleasant enough.  My problem was more to do with having to wear my long cotton Syrian outfits again after our brief flirtation with Western fashion in Tel Aviv.  And the hissing, etc.  I got hissed at a lot by men who don’t approve of blonde women.  However, this was mostly in Jordan actually, they’re a lot more tolerant in Israel.

Jerusalem was exactly how I pictured it.  Actually, this might have more to do with a very old photograph I can almost remember in my mum’s old Bible, I think it’s fair to say the old city probably hasn’t changed much over the years. The new city outside the Jerusalem walls was just like any other city, actually, modern with lots of cafes.

We spent our first day exploring and found ourselves on the Via Dolorosa or “The Way of Sorrows” which is a climbing, unevenly tiled alley through the old city, where Jesus carried his cross.  Along it were 15 or so different “stations” of various Christian importance, the last one being in the church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site of the crucifix.  The church was filled with people praying and kissing various things and we suddenly became aware that we had no idea what any of the beautiful decorations and monuments in the church actually were.  So after a 5 minute peek in, we ended up back in the Souqs to try find an information pamphlet.  The church was actually huge and went up and down a few levels.  We had to queue up to crawl into a tiny space inside a monument which housed the site of the cross.  My camera just REFUSED to take any pretty pictures in here, the incense makes everything look dull and grey, when really, it was brightly coloured and very pretty.

Back at the hostel, we shared a common room with the Ultimate Type 1 Annoying Opinionated Backpackers.  You know the ones that are so damn pretentious and up themselves.  I’m trying not to swear in this post.  You know those type of people that are all “You are a Lemming, a slave to the MAN, you know nothing of other people’s sufferings, McDonalds is Satan” etc etc etc.  See, I don’t mind a difference of opinion right, but I honestly can’t STAND the people who have changed their lives slightly and visited lesser off countries then declare themselves Supreme Knower and Better Than You and Your Shallow Life.  For example, one girl sat in the common room with a newspaper which she proceeded to read OUT LOUD followed by her opinions.  I just, what is this, I don’t even.  We ignored her and got talking to some friendly Germans and she kept interrupting our conversation to have her own input.  When it was clear we were ignoring her, she strolled over to the computer, brought up her blog and told the room loudly about how she had written something controversial about Israel and Palestine and how she was now being insulted by readers who said she was ignorant, but how could she be, because she had BEEN THERE, MAN.

We took a free tour through the Quarters of old Jerusalem, lead by a guy who looked EXACTLY like Dave Grohl.  We saw the first church ever built in the Armenian Quarter which was location of the Last Supper.  We also went to the Western Wall, a very religious place where it is said that God had promised to always be at and watch over.  People believe that you have more chance of having your prayers heard here.  The ancient wall has folded paper prayers stuffed into every crack and crevice and I didn’t hesitate to submit my own.  In his usual “Grinch Who Stole Christmas” logical way of thinking, Marcelo says “But there are only a finite number of cracks in that wall.  What happens to all the bits of paper?  They can’t stay there forever.”  The tour guide looked a bit sheepish and says he usually doesn’t say this to tourists and was also devastated when his father told him that priests come and clear the paper away, bless it and dispose of it.  ARGH.  Sometimes I LIKE not knowing.  I hadn’t even thought of that.

Our last day was a Sunday and we had the privilege of bouncing round different churches on the Mount of Olives and sitting in for their services.  Now, this is not some guy at the front of a congregation speaking.  All the churches we visited were all unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  There was much swinging of incense, many people in different robes, much ceremony and actually, hardly any of a congregation at all.  It was actually really odd. One of them was underground, from memory.

We were really struggling for money at this point.  I had to find a crappy net cafe to email the parentals and ask for assistance.  Nothing works better than “Halp, I am in Israel, need food”.

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