Goodbye Tel Aviv, Hello Jerusalem

I was sad to spend my last day in Tel Aviv today. Even though I have seen and done all of the touristy things, it’s the kind of city in which I could never spend enough time. I was really sad to leave! For my final morning I went to the beach and sat in the sunshine – it must have been 25 degrees - and watched a steady parade of elderly men in their Speedos (apparently it’s not just the Germans and Greeks!) head into the chilly waters. Not shabby for the middle of winter. I also dropped by a local artists market that runs on Fridays…all in all an ideal morning.

Last night I went for a late night jog along the beach up to the port of Old Jaffa, to try to work off the spare tire caused by all the baked goods consumed. It was such a perfect night – the stars were out, it was warm, the waves were crashing against the shore. Old Jaffa sits on a hill over looking the Mediterranean, and the old winding streets were lit with lanterns and the strains of a jazz band playing live music on a roof top permeated the alleyways below. The coastline of Tel Aviv, dominated by large hotels, was lit for miles like a rainbow. Basically, it was one life’s perfect moments – the kind you wish would never end. I think it’s so rare to have those moments of total peace, clarity and happiness. But Tel Aviv is just that kind of city.

Yesterday I also took a train to the old city of Acre.  I went with a couple of Israeli guys from the hostel who spoke not a word of English. Made for an interesting ride – lots of grunting and hand gesturing. Anyway, Acre was built by the Crusaders (Knights Templar) and buried to prevent their return for hundreds of years following their defeat. Excavations have just begun in the last 20 years. Acre is way up the coast in northern Israel, but by express train it’s only 1.5 hours and is a coastal resort town very popular with Israelis in the summer. It is much more Arabic than Tel Aviv. They have uncovered loads of tunnels, tombs and caverns underneath the giant Citadel in the old city quarter. I spent the day literally crawling around subterranean passageways used by the knights during sieges and wars. Some of the tunnels are so short, they aren’t even five feet tall. Definitely not an activity for the claustrophobic. But such a fun way to spend a day – I totally felt like Indiana Jones.

Today (Friday) is known as Shabbat in Israel, which means that all public transportation stops running, all stores close…life pretty much grinds to a standstill from around 2pm until Saturday evening. So, I decided that after lunch would be a good time to head to Jerusalem. Because I had so many large, heavy suitcases (I look like a total shopaholic, though I keep trying to explain that I’m in the midst of moving which is why I have so much stuff) I decided to splurge and take a taxi the whole way. My driver smelled pretty ripe, but was an improvement over the last cab driver who kept asking if my parents were Chinese or Japanese, and then kept staring at me in the rear view mirror and pulling his eyes sideways the way children do when impersonating Chinese people – followed by cackling because he thought he was really funny. *Sigh*.

I am of two minds about this city. My first impression of Jerusalem is one of disappointment. The city is far dirtier than Tel Aviv…and is completely beige, just like Amman. The old city is riddled with deformed beggars, bratty, thieving Arab children and pest-like market stall hustlers. This is the first place on this trip I have been genuinely concerned about my purse being snatched. I guess scummier types are attracted to an area like the Old Holy City, because they can prey on the generosity of gullible tourists on religious pilgrimage.

The Old City was not at all what I expected. It is filled with market stalls selling total junk. Cheap, tacky Jesus merchandise (including Jesus sandals everywhere) and the same old crap you see at the street markets in the other cities. I think the merchants are even MORE aggressive here then in Istanbul, to the point where I found myself starting to get angry. Especially with the beggar children who just won’t leave you alone. You get rid of one, the next comes along.

On the other hand, it is almost surreal to be in close proximity to these places of such historic significance. For instance, there’s a spot where you place your hand on Jesus’ hand print on the Via Delarosa, where he stopped to rest with the cross on his back on his way to crucifixion. And the purported location of the Last Supper is just down the street. It’s hard to actualize in my mind that such events took place in these locations where I am now standing. It gives me tingles when I think about it.

The Dome of the Rock was closed to non-Muslims today, so I went to the Wailing (Western) Wall instead. The religion here is almost stifling. Hasidic Jews are ubiquitous – as are priests, monks, Muslims, Holy Men, Nuns…of all ethnicities – you name it, they're there. It makes me feel almost guilty – I was raised without religion and I felt like a total imposter standing at the Wailing Wall waiting for good photo opportunities while people prayed, cried, and stuffed notes between the cracks. But being there does have the effect of making you want to be a better person. You can’t help but think about spirituality and evaluate your beliefs in the presence of such devotion. However the shocking way people push and shove their way around, budging in front of each other to get close to the wall, to make their way through the streets to get to their places of worship…seems selfish and very non-religious to me. Strange the way people can treat each other sometimes, especially in a place like this. I can’t say I really enjoyed the old city much, but will probably spend most of my time in Jerusalem there as it contains most of the important sights.

Tomorrow I’m off to the mountain fortress of Masada and the Dead Sea. I’m hoping the rain storm that enveloped Jerusalem this evening has stopped by then. Also sad that I’m going to look like a pork chop in my bikini for my requisite ‘floating on the Dead Sea’ photo after all of the recreational eating undertaken recently.

I was horrified when I walked into my room at the hostel here and saw my roommate – a mulleted Texan who must be pushing 50. Sheesh. We had a weirdo in our room at the hostel in Tel Aviv as well. Some crazy grandma (must have been 70), who started hitting my friend while she slept and called her a bed stealing whore. Ah the joys of backpacking. You meet some great people, you meet some freaks. Luckily the good outweigh the bad.