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Earlier in May
June More Ramblings
May 24, 2000:
Israel:
When the bus pulled out
of the Jordanian disembarkation point and onto the 30m-long King
Hussein bridge all I could think about was how easy it was to
cross into Israel. So this is Israel, I thought as the
bus rattled over the bridge and emerged into a mess of sand,
bunkers and a lone Israeli flag perched atop a nearby hill. At
the customs center the bus unloaded and electric doors opened,
men with guns ushered us into the lobby where we had to go through
a bag check before any visas could be issued. An hour later I
shuffled up to the visa desk and presented my passport. "How
long are you intending to stay in Israel?" asked the plain-clothed,
20 year old Israeli visa officer. "A few weeks." I
said. She busied herself filling out forms and preparing stamps.
"Would you like a stamp?" She asked as she raised her
arm in preparation to slam it and its ink evidence of a visit
to the state of Israel down onto my passport. Many countries
do not recognize Israel and will therefore not recognize you
if you have any evidence whatsoever in your passport as to having
been there; they will simply tell you to get lost and to never
think about visiting their country. "NO, PLEASE!" I
shouted as I held up my hands and grabbed the glass window, trying
to will her arm to stop in midair. Then we had one of those moments
that you only see in movies. She locked eyes with mine, squinted
and very slowly lowered her arm. "Why... Not...?" I
held her gaze and replied, "Because I am visiting Arab countries..."
She cocked her head to the side, sizing me up and, instantly
making-up her mind, she very quickly slammed her arm down. A
small squeak escaped my lips and she handed me my passport calling
for the next in line. Well crap, I thought as I picked
up my bags and walked on through the exit lobby. Good thing I'd
already been to Syria and Lebanon because I couldn't imagine
they'd had been nearly as friendly to me with this little adornment
emblazoned in my passport. I set my bags down and went to go
change money at the exchange counter. With a long frown on my
face I handed the clerk some Jordanian pounds. "Passport,
please." Said the clerk. I shoved the thing at her and looked
around at the other tourists happily scurrying about arranging
transportation to Jerusalem. She handed it back and I fingered
it absently as the Danish fellow who was in front of me in line
asked, "Are you still interested in sharing a taxi?"
Halfway between shrugging my shoulders in an I-Don't-Care motion
I realized that the visa officer had not stamped my passport
but had rather, stamped a small piece of paper stuck in the pages.
With my shoulders up around my ears a huge smile spread across
my face and I nodded my head rapidly up and down. "Yes.
Okay. Can you wait just a second? I'm getting some money."
I was so happy that the miserable exchange rate I received couldn't
even put a dent in my mood.
It was a full four hours later, as I was sitting with friend
in the middle of a lecture, Poverty and Leadership in Late
Antiquity by Princeton Professor Peter Brown, that I realized
where I was. I looked around at all the people in the hall. The
rhythmic British voice cut through the air. I nudged my friend,
"This is Jerusalem. I am in Jerusalem." He just
smiled and said in that Israeli way, very direct and to the point,
"Yes."
May 30, 2000:
Jerusalem is, for a lack of a better word, big. Big in almost
every sense. If you want to get from one side of the city to
another forget walking, it will take over an hour by bus. If
you feel like a nice lesuirly stroll through the twisting turns
streets of the walled old city there goes your afternoon, there
are enough alleys and dead ends to get lost in for years. And,
if you think you'll head to the history museum to try and get
a grip on this region you'll have to pick from over a dozen such
places.
I'm staying out on the outskirts of East Jerusalem and for
the past week I've been making the big half-an-hour stroll to
the gates of the old city. I've seen most of the neighborhoods
so far, favoring the one I'm living in, not only because I'm
that lazy but also because there is a great mixture between modern,
fashionable Israelis and Ultra-Orthodox Jews cluttered through
it. Girls in tight less-than-mini skirts walk past men in long
black coats, pants, hats and curly side burns. It all makes for
one great big example of what Israel is hopefully heading towards
in the future with all its different people: tolerance.
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