Jerusalem- 28/11/2019
After checking into my capsule hotel (I was thoroughly sick of dorms by this point), I walked to the Jaffa Gate, the closest gate of the Old City. I made my way through the Christian Quarter to the Church of thje Holy Sepulcher, where it is believed that Jesus was laid to rest after his crucifixion.
The architecture is incredible, the paintings are incredible, and everything oozes ancient worship, opulence, and attention to detail. I was treated to some excellent singing by my fellow tourists, even if it did start getting repetitious.
I queued for an hour and a half to enter the chamber where Christ’s body was laid for three days. I wanted to hear angels, feel uplifted, something. Instead, I felt mildly bored and claustrophobic. I genuflected because it was expected of me, and because I knew it would have been what my departed, deeply Catholic grandmother would have done if she ever made the pilgrimage here, and I left what was left of my Christianity in that cramped stone chamber, and out of the church into the sunlight.
I walked next for a short while through the nearly empty Jewish Quarter, which seemed to be mostly high-end jewellery shops I neither had the money or the inclination to experience.
The Muslim Quarter was much more interesting, perhaps because it’s the only place in the entire city (Old City and modern) Where Muslims can feel somewhat comfortable. This quarter contains the Temple Mount, a site that makes the Church of the Holy Sepulcher seem uncontroversial. The al-Aqsa Mosque is one of the three most holy sites in the world to Sunni Muslims, which is built on top of the ruins of the First Temple of Judasim. Every time I tried visiting this site it was closed, bizarrely reienforced by Israeli soldiers, standing obnoxiously at the entrances.
I spent a few happy hours walking through the Muslim and Armenian Quarter, which were complete with barbers, optometrists, doctors and pharmacists. Small walkways led away from the main thoroughfares, quickly becoming quiet, strictly residential affairs, I spent ten minutes kicking a soccer ball with a few young lads before I realised light was fading and I departed. I think I started to fall in love with the casual history and the ancient, crumbling gates.
After one attempt to visit the Temple Mount, I discovered the Cotton Merchants Street, which in its day featured two traditional bathhouses, now filled with stalls selling cheap jewellery, souvenirs, and spices, complete with IDF soldiers guarding the entrance to the Temple Mount, with rifles slung and glaring disdainfully at the kids. I purchased a few Palestinian flag bracelets and stickers from a bemused stall owner, as Arabic school children spent their pocket money.
During my visit to the Muslim Quarter I bumped into Colin, an Australian I had met in Jordan, who recommended I visit the tunnels under the Western Wall, so the next day I visit and attempt to buy tickets, however, I discover that they are all sold out until after I fly out, so I limit myself to the famous Western Wall itself. Its a wall, I wrote a prayer using a pen borrowed from a tour group leader, on a piece of Japenese paper from my travel wallet, folded it carefully, and placed it in between a crack in the wall, stepped back and felt slightly silly.
What struck me, and probably struck most visitors, is the sheer density of historical and religious sites, and how close they are to one another. From the Western Wall, you are only a ten-minute walk from the Temple Mount. Maybe a twenty-minute walk from there you can visit a number of the Stations of the Cross, which for me was a truly bizarre thing to visit, understated as they are compared to their depictions in any Roman Catholic church. Ten minutes from there you can visit the Church of Holy Sepulcher, the holiest site of Christianity, but ignored by Jews and Muslims.
Adrian's Got The Moose 