Galavanting Gleefully in Gorgeous Galilee

Sunday morning. Now that the Sabbath was over, everything was back to normal, buses running, banks and shops open - so we could now make our way to Tiberias. I could hardly believe that we'd already been in Jerusalem (let alone Israel) for 4 days, it was pretty much the longest we'd been in any place on this trip and seeing as I'd been so nervous about coming here, I had thought we'd get in, see the stuff, and get out to someplace less volatile. I was actually pleasantly surprised to find that I'd been wrong about Jerusalem, and although there was a constant police / military presence, it was actually relatively safe. I didn't see any shootings or suicide bombers or anything whilst we were there - although the Polish Franciscan monk at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre told us that the day we went to Jericho, there had been a shooting right there in the souk - some guy running away from the military or something - and in the crossfire one of his monk mates had been injured. That kind of freaked me a little, that we could've been there if it wasn't for the fact that on a whim we decided to go to Jericho that afternoon.

I guess psychologically though I had felt pretty good, pretty safe in Jerusalem, but I won't deny that physically it was another matter. Don't want to gross you out too much, but refer back to the Killer Burek. The body didn't believe what the brain was telling it. So it was with some degree of relief that we left Jerusalem and headed for Tiberias, by the Sea of Galilee. This way we could get in some more Jesus sites but hopefully without all the tension. But first, we had to get there.

This should have been relatively straightforward, and to a certain extent it was, once we actually got on the bus. But before that could happen, we had to get into the bus station.

At many major buildings, businesses and even some restaurants in Jerusalem (and as we later found out, in Israel in general) you often have to pass through security scanners. At the bus station, this involved us having to heft our luggage up onto the belt (no mean feat, in Agnieszka's case, as her suitcase weighed a ton), open up our day bags for inspection, and pass through the beepy thing. Even after your bags passed through the scanner successfully, they still opened them up and the security people would stick that explosive detecting wandy thing inside the bag and rummage around. So it meant that it took a lot longer to get into the bus station than you would normally think. Plus, the bus station is pretty big, like a big shopping centre or something, so I waited with the bags whilst Agnieszka went in search of the ticket counter. This we eventually found up, a couple of levels up in the shopping centre - we only had a few minutes before the bus went, and again there was more scanning of the luggage. Finally made it onto the bus.

It took a couple of hours to get to Tiberias. Tiberias is the main town on the edge of the Sea of Galilee, and as such, is the place that most tourists use as a base for exploring the Galilee region. Seeing as its kind of like a seaside resort, we thought we could spend the afternoon getting 'chocolate brown' (well, not me) on the beach. Do you think we could find a beach? No, the beaches we saw were quite minging, just a pile of rocks, couple of fishermen, no-one swimming (there were 'swimming prohibited' signs everywhere) - in fact, no-one even walking around the town wearing swimmers or even swimmers under their clothes like we'd seen in other resorts on this trip. Odd. So we couldn't bear the heat any longer, and headed off for a restaurant / cafe nearby - expensive fruit smoothie I had there too - and scoped out the information from the waitress. Yes, there is a beach nearby - 10 minutes walk out of town - but its a private beach. We decided to just head out of town and go lakeside in the hopes we could find somewhere suitable for a quick swim. Alas, nowhere - so we ended up at the private beach - but now its later in the afternoon, and it really went against the grain to have to pay full price to be there for literally an hour and a half. She knocked 5 shekels off the price (60p). How big of her.

But finally we were in the water. It was so amazing to think that this is the place where Jesus walked on the water. Some people reckon that actually he was walking on rocks just below the surface, but I can tell you, there certainly aren't any. And the water is pretty deep.

A couple of people had taken the sun chairs into the water and were just sitting there by the water's edge. I tried to do this too, but I couldn't just sit there. As you know, I am the Chosen One. This time the biting was being done not by medusas, sea lice or some such - no, this time it was sweet, innocent little whitebait. And actually some of those whitebait can be a bit vicious!

There were people there doing a spot of fishing too - with bread. This one guy would chuck a piece of bread in the water, the fish would pounce, then he'd scoop them up in a cup and put them in a plastic bag. A couple of people took them home to their aquariums. Hey, to each their own - I souvenired some rocks, they took whitebait... whatever.

So we spent a pleasant afternoon there, and then headed off back into town for a bite to eat. It was really very lovely to sit in a restaurant by the side of the lake and watch the sun set. What a lovely day!

The next morning we again were up early, well Agnieszka was - we didn't know the times of the buses to Nazareth, and we needed to go there for the morning then find a bus to Tel Aviv in the afternoon. Our flight was scheduled to leave tomorrow night from Tel Aviv, and we were a little concerned, because the guy at our hostel said that it had been on the news that there was a baggage handler strike at the airport. Anyway, Agnieszka found out there was a bus at 9, so we packed up and headed off to the bus station. The little bus station at Tiberias didn't have the security measures of the one in Jerusalem, so we were able to go straight through.
We got the bus to Nazareth, but then we had a problem. Our luggage. What to do with the luggage whilst we visited the Church of the Annunciation? And anyway, where was it? So, we got a taxi, and then felt like fools. The church was literally just up the hill. Oh well, at least we didn't have to carry the luggage up the hill. I parked myself under a tree with the luggage whilst Agnieszka visited the church, then she swopped with me and I had a look. Fortunately it wasn't so OTT, there's a little chapel downstairs which is supposed to be on the exact spot where the Angel Gabriel visited Mary, but I couldn't go in, there were a load of people there having a mini church service.

Outside and also upstairs in the main chapel were a load of icons and pictures donated from all around the world, depicting the Annunciation, and this one is the Aussie one:

We finished our visit at the Chapel and then headed back to the centre of town to get the bus to Tel Aviv. But this is where we were getting conflicting information, some people were telling us that this was the correct bus, we needed the 826 or something, but they didn't know what time it would go (maybe an hour, one man volunteered) and also, the number of that bus was not mentioned with all the other bus numbers on the bus stand sign. A couple of other blokes reckoned we needed to get a taxi out to the outskirts of town, then we could pick up a minibus from there. They told us if we waited here for the bus we wouldn't get on it because it would be full, so we needed to follow their suggestion - but of course when we questioned them more on it, we discovered they were taxi drivers and we figured they were probably just looking for a fare. Plus, we didn't fancy a crappy minibus with all of our heavy and bulky luggage. We decided to give it another 30 minutes before we would admit defeat and get a cab.

Luckily, 29 minutes and 30 seconds later, the 826 turned up, we got on it, and there were plenty of spare seats. Plus it was a nice bus, not a crappy minibus, with a luggage hold and, most importantly - air-conditioning!

On then, James - on to Tel Aviv!

The Mount of Olives, The Garden Tomb and the Via Dolorosa

Friday. Again, we got up early, because we had a lot to do today - before the Sabbath hit. From about 2pm on Friday, Jewish businesses wrap it up for the Sabbath - and boy, everything shuts down. No minibuses, no regular buses, no museums, no shops (least not Jewish ones - the Arab stuff is still open) - nothing. It's all closed. And it stays like that til much the same sort of time on Saturday.

So we headed out to the Mount of Olives first of all. The plan was to get as much stuff done in the morning as possible, then get back to the Via Dolorosa to join the Franciscan monk's procession at 3.00pm. So we got the local minibus out to east Jerusalem, to the Mount of Olives, which is named after the olive trees that used to cover its slopes. There's still a lot of olive groves on the hill now. We got off the bus where the locals told us to - at the Chapel of the Ascension - the site where Jesus ascended into Heaven. Inside there is a stone which they reckon has the imprint of the footprints of Jesus. Is it wrong for me to be so skeptical about it? I couldn't really make out any footprints on the stone... and they reckon that's the VERY SPOT where Jesus ascended - maybe it was, maybe the disciples marked it in some way and then the early Christians built a church there, I don't know. I just find it a little hard to believe that 2000 years later, they know the EXACT SPOT where it happened, and they have a footprint there too. But again, for me, it's not important exactly where it happened, but that it happened. The funny thing about this Chapel now though, is its a MOSQUE!

Anyway, after we went to the Chapel of the Ascension, we moseyed along down the road and followed a couple of tour buses because we figured, as we didn't have a very useful map (again, thanks, Lonely Planet!), they would probably be heading for all the sights, so we should manage to see what we needed to.

Of course there is another bonus to tagging along with a tour group. I know, you're thinking, you get to hear the explanations of the places. Bap-boing! You're wrong... well, no, in part you're right, but the thing is, all the tour groups we've seen here in Jerusalem have been Spanish or Italian... I don't speak any of those languages, alas, and neither does Agnieszka, so that rules that one out. No, the other advantage to tagging along with a tour group, I am ashamed as a good Christian woman (well trying to be) to say, is that you get counted as a part of their group and therefore get in for free...

Anyway, the next place we ended up was the place where Jesus taught His disciples to pray the Lord's Prayer. This place was cool because they had the Lord's prayer displayed on the walls in some 44 different languages. The only problem was, could I find English? No, I had to go ask in the shop and eventually found it tucked away in some obscure little corner.

After this we followed another tour group and ended up at Dominus Flexit. This is a church at the site where Jesus looked over Jerusalem, prayed for the city and wept. There's a great view from there of the Garden of Gethsemane, so we headed off with the next tour group in that direction.

I have to say I really found the Garden of Gethsemane to be very moving. First of all the trees there are so thick trunked, you have no problem believing they could be the original trees from Jesus' time.There's another big church there, but this one was actually not too bad in terms of decoration (i.e. it wasn't as OTT as others that I've seen on this trip), so it was actually quite nice. There was a bit of a communion service going on when we visited, so Agnieszka gate crashed and took communion! Then I tried to go up and the dude closed the gate, so I couldn't!

After this we went across the road to another Church, this one now being apparently the Church where the virgin Mary died. Well, not died, as the Catholics think God beamed her up, like Scotty. There is a bit of controversy about this though, as there is a place near Ephesus in Turkey where she apparently died. Anyway, we met a Franciscan monk there who told us all about how Mary was whisked up into Heaven, and seriously, at one point I just couldn't help myself and let out a bit of a laugh. Had to quickly cover it up as a cough though because the dude looked at me somewhat sternly. Come on, though, it was the first I'd ever heard of Mary being beamed up. And also, I didn't really believe much of what he said, as he couldn't give us directions to Gordon's Calvary - in fact the place he told us was Gordon's Calvary was actually Gethsemane.

Anyway, after the 'Mary Was Beamed Up Here' Church, we headed down off the Mount of Olives, crossed the road near the city walls and made our way to the City of David, near the valley of Kidron. This was pretty impressive and we spent some time wandering about. My favourite was Hezekiah's tunnel, which is 533m long, pitch black, between ankle and mid calf depth of very cold water (the whole time) and takes some 45 minutes to walk. Oh and for much of the journey you are doubled over as its quite a low ceiling. This tunnel opens out on the Pool of Siloam, where Jesus healed a man who had been blind from birth. Of course, though, when we went in the tunnel we didn't have proper water shoes like everyone else, so my sandshoes were absolutely soaked.

At this stage though in the day, time was fast getting away from us, and the one thing I really wanted to do (I mean, I can take or leave all this Mary and David stuff) was walk the Via Dolorosa with the Franciscan Monks at 3pm. Alas, this was not to be, for we arrived at the start point a little after 3, not knowing that actually the procession now takes place at 4pm (I had an older Lonely Planet, which is why we thought it was 3pm), so we thought we'd missed it and ended up tagging along with a bunch of Spaniards doing their own thing. I was a bit disappointed to find that the various stations of the cross were again a whole heap of Catholic churches, but anyway, as we started to do the walk I really began to feel a sense of sombreness and communion. We did all the stations (except the first 2, which were closed) and it was wierd, at each station the priest dude would read a few things, then they'd sing a hymn in Spanish, and off we'd go. I was a bit upset though that at one point, one of the women spotted us (I mean seriously, its a free world, plus the Via Dolorosa takes in a public road, so hey, we're entitled to be there too, right?) and she starts getting shirty that we're doing the walk with them, but once we got to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the last few stations are, we left them and did our own thing.

The walk was really emotional, and I'm pleased I did it, although the next day when we went to the Garden Tomb I have to question whether this 'Via Dolorosa' really is the real one. After our Via Dolorosa walk we went down and checked out the Jewish quarter - although we really shouldn't have bothered, as everything was closed by now for the Sabbath. So, we went to the Wailing Wall to see what it was like with all the Jews there, and boy, was it packed. It was really interesting, the men were doing the head butting thing, whereas the women were singing actually quite joyful, lively songs (although in true Hebrew fashion, the music was in a minor key).

Saturday. We got up early and went to the city walls for 9am, where you can do a walk on the walls - one of the few things you can do on the Sabbath in Jerusalem. This was quite interesting although it was a bit disconcerting that at certain parts of the walk you could see Israeli snipers on duty, monitoring the situation in the souks.

After our walk we wandered back towards the souks enroute to Gordon's Calvary, but on the way we came across one of the stations of the cross at Ecce Homo, which we hadn't had the chance to see yesterday. We went in and met this bloke who wanted to show us around. He showed us some real interesting things too, like the old Solomon's Temple, which is under the ground - but alas this guy was a real tool and a bit of a lech. He would position you to see something and at the same time, brush his hand on your bottom - we told him where to go. Alas, we would run into him later in the day at the Church of the Dormition.

After Ecce Homo, we finally made it to the Garden Tomb at Gordon's Calvary. I have to say that I found this place to be a much more meaningful, spiritual experience for me. First of all, the hillside is outside of the city walls (unlike the Sepulchre church) and actually does look like a skull (as Golgotha means 'place of the skull'). Second, there's a tomb there that really looks like what you would imagine Joseph of Aramathea's tomb to look like. Finally, its not overloaded with smells and bells, so you can really just sit down, in the quiet and cool of the garden, and pray or reflect. And the tour guides actually talk not about whether or not this is the true place where Jesus was crucified (which was a quarry that is now a bus station), but they remind you that it's important that it happened. Much more my kind of thing, to be honest.

Golgotha

Joseph of Arimathea's Tomb

We went from Gordon's Calvary to the other end of the Old City, to the Zion Gate. Outside the Zion Gate is the Church of the Dormition, another Mary thing, plus the room of the Last Supper. Incidentally, I didn't know that the Holy Spirit came to the disciples at the same place until we'd got back to England, but anyway, I can say I've been there and it was an interesting place.

After this we made our way to the Jewish cemetery on the hunt for Oskar Schindler's grave, but by this point, it was later in the day and it was closed. So we headed back to the Old City, and surprise, surprise, ended up again at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Agnieszka had more things to bless).

We had had several very full on days in Jerusalem, a place I really loved, and now it was time to return to the hostel and start to think about moving on...

From Jerusalem to Jericho (via Bethlehem)

So the next day we got up fairly early (surprise, surprise) and we got the local bus to the edge of Jerusalem. From there we walked through the security checkpoint - this was a big, unfriendly, cold-looking building which looked a bit like a disused airport terminal or something - we had to show our passports and then once we walked through to the other side, and down the very long ramp, we were in a completely different world. At least it felt like that, and certainly looked like that, no affluence here, hey - welcome to Palestine. The taxis and cars have different coloured licence plates to those in Jerusalem, although they do use the same currency though.

We were accosted pretty quick by taxi drivers promising us a tour of the 'milky' grotto, the manger, the shepherd's fields - all for an exorbitant price, of course. One guy came over and told us he'd take us to the manger church for 10 NIS each, we went with him. Of course, during the journey there, we then negotiated 'the tour', 50 NIS an hour, so we then tried our best to make sure we only needed 2 hours. And of course, as we have discovered so many times throughout our travels on the BEAMET, we needed longer.

Anyway, our driver took us to the King David Wells, where David had a drink after battling with the Philistines (2 Sam 23:14-17). I think one of the things that really struck me about this part of the drive was that we finally could see the full extent of the Wall. The Israelis are building a full-on, Berlin-style Wall to separate Israel from Palestine. Its really quite depressing to see. I mean, I guess I can't even for a minute begin to understand all the issues about the Israelis and the Palestinians - I only know bits and pieces from what I read in the papers and understand from talking to people, but the idea that you need a seriously ugly, huge wall to separate you - well that doesn't seem quite right. But whilst there are people prepared to be suicide bombers for the cause, there's no way that wall would come down. What I didn't realise, was, according to our Palestinian taxi driver, that as they build the wall, they keep taking back some of the Palestinian ground. Also, in Palestine the cost of things is way higher - because it has to be imported through Israel, so the Israelis bung a dirty great big tax on it. The classic example of this, though, is the water - it's Palestinian water they're using, but it has to (for some reason) be piped into Jerusalem first - so they take it for free, then send it back at a cost. Hm.

Anyway, from the King David wells we went to the Milky Grotto - this (get this!) is apparently where Mary first lactated. They built a church there! Apparently when Mary breastfed Jesus a drop of milk fell on the ground, and get this, turned the rock white. Surprisingly, for a Catholic church, some parts of the church were really modern. It was quite refreshing. Sure, there were your pictures and statues of Mary, but compared to the church of the Holy Sepulchre, these were quite subtle and understated. Maybe it wasn't really a Catholic church - it might've been Greek Orthodox or something.

We went from there to the Shepherd's fields. Of course, there are no longer any fields of sheep there, but again, another church. This one was actually pretty modern too, nice paintings of the nativity story hanging on the walls.

The closest I actually got to any sheep at Shepherd's Fields...and this is on full-on zoom

After the Shepherd's fields we went out to see Herod's palace - after we stopped off at the souvenir shop and bought it up - I got a very nice Nativity set (thought it appropriate, this is Bethlehem after all). Anyway, Herod's palace. This was absolutely amazing. We climbed up and had an incredible view of Bethlehem (and the Israeli refugee camp area plus the military).

We also went to see some monastery that some dude had built in the middle of nowhere, and then he had to build a separate place because his mother couldn't come visit him in the church as no women were allowed. And as no women were allowed, we weren't allowed to go in. Their loss, I assure you.

The final part of our journey took us actually to the Church of the Nativity. I'll be honest with you, this was the first time I actually had shivers down my spine on this trip. It's because there is no dispute about this location, not like there is with Calvary, so it must be the place of Jesus' birth. Ok, so there's no stables here now, just a gaudy church, and again, a hole in the ground under an altar for you to put your hand in and 'touch' the place where the manger lay - but hey. It was pretty special.

After this, and bearing in mind our 2 hour tour had now taken closer to 3, we went back to the taxi and made our way back to the wall. No, not the wailing wall - this is a wall that the Israeli's have built to separate Jerusalem from Palestine. We went back through the passport check and got our bus back to the minibus station. And then got straight on another bus back to Palestine... This time we headed north west. Jericho. But again we had to go to the edge of Jerusalem and then catch an Arab bus to Jericho. Fortunately this time there was no wall to get through, no heavy duty passport control and the like. Not really. I mean, there were a few passport checks on the way, but nothing major.

So we got to Jericho and made our way to the Temptation Mount. We got the cable car up and although the monastery commemorating the event was closed, we got as close as we could to the place where Jesus was tempted by Satan. I tell you, the view of the surrounding city and countryside from up there really is very nice, if it had been me up there being offered 'all this', well I might've had to think about it for a split second. Just joking...

Had a nice coffee there and took some pics of some bats hanging upside down in the caves, then it was time to get the cable car back down. Once down, we started walking to the centre of town, looking for the Zaccheus tree - but darkness was fast falling and we were running out of time. Managed just to get a minibus to take us back to Jerusalem and which would stop by the Zaccheus tree for pics. The Zaccheus tree is the tree that Zaccheus climbed up to see Jesus, and then Jesus called him down and invited himself to Zaccheus' place (Luke 19:5). This tree is still there, and its pretty impressive to see. Huge, thick trunk - if its not the original tree, its got to be pretty close, judging by the thickness of the trunk.

The photo doesn't really show how thick the tree's trunks are - but this is supposedly the Zaccheus tree

Only problem was, this guy was transporting his cousin too, and his cousin smelled like a brewery. Like he'd been swimming in it, to be more precise. When we got on the bus, it was just the driver, the drunk and the drunk's wife. The check point took longer to get through because of some commotion the drunk was causing. That was the check point out of Jericho, but there was another one, on the outskirts of Jerusalem, and it was now getting late, and there was a very strong possibility the minibuses into Jerusalem would stop running - so we would be at the outskirts and have no way of getting out of Palestine. This is because the only taxis around there are Palestinian, and they can't go into Jerusalem. Fortunately there were still a few buses running (our driver was yelling out the window at one to make sure he stopped for us) and we managed to get back to the Old City.

Of course, there wasn't anything to do at this late (yeah right - it was only 8pm) hour, so we went back to the Church of the Sepulchre so Agnieszka could lay her crosses on the tomb, and also so she could buy more crosses from the bazaar next door, and then made our way back to the hostel.

It really had been an amazing day... and we've still got heaps to see yet in Jerusalem - Mount of Olives, Garden Tomb, and the Via Dolorosa...

Jerusalem - The Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Wailing Wall

After we got through passport control at Allenby Bridge, we had the somewhat daunting task of finding our way to Jerusalem. I say 'somewhat daunting' because actually we wanted to try and do it by going to Jericho first, but then leaving our luggage with the taxi driver or something whilst we saw Jericho, and then later on driving with the taxi to Jerusalem (and finding a hostel). Theoretically, all this is possible. In practice, its a nightmare.

First of all, you need to get a Palestinian taxi if you're going anywhere on the West Bank. The Israeli buses won't take you there. And a Palestinian taxi can't take you fully to Jerusalem, only to the outskirts, from where you need to pick up an Israeli bus (driven by an Arab though).

Now when we arrived, we found all this information out from the guy drumming up business for the bus to Jerusalem. So we really weren't sure if he was taking us for a ride (like the taxi driver in Homs tried to do). He told us the taxi to Jericho would be rather expensive (he quoted some huge figure and as we were just new to the country we had no idea what it was in real money). As we didn't have any shekels, and there was no ATM or bureau de change there (but of course the bus would accept payment in Jordanian dinars) we thought it better to get the bus to Jerusalem, sort out our accommodation and come back to Jericho another day. So that's what we did.

The main minibus stop in Jerusalem is just outside Damascus Gate. Opposite, there was a hotel, and we went in there to ask about accommodation. But even in this 'unsafe' time, a time when people are staying away from Israel in droves (allegedly) because of the unsettled situation between the Jews and the Palestinians - even now, the prices of the rooms in this hotel were extremely exorbitant. We couldn't afford to stay there. Fortunately, though, they could recommend some hostels nearby - and en route to one, we found the "Al Arab" hostel, in the heart of the souk in the Old City. This hostel cost us the grand total of 25 shekels per person per night (£3) and believe me, in this place, you get what you pay for. Nothing.

The hostel is extremely basic, the dormitory has 8 beds, very very basic - only 1 power point in the room, no fans or anything. To be honest, the linen wasn't all that clean either, and the bathroom, well. The latch was hanging on by a thread, and it was BYO toilet paper. There were 2 shower blocks of 3 showers in each, but in the whole time we stayed there I never managed to use the good showers because, as there were only curtains, if you went for a shower you locked off the door to the whole block. So the good showers were always in use. Still, it was a roof over our heads I suppose.

Anyway, we got ourselves settled and then it was time to go and explore the Old City. I had a quick look on the map and was surprised to find we were extremely close to the Via Dolorosa (the way of suffering) and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which the Catholics believe is the place where Jesus was crucified and buried. So we decided to head off there.

Using a map in the Jerusalem Old City is pretty useless (particularly, as I've said in previous blogs, a Lonely Planet map - no wonder they're so lonely, no-one can find them! hehehe) so we just sort of wandered off in the general direction to the church (we hoped) through the very busy, bustling souks. On the way we stumbled across a place that advertised itself as the last station of the cross (how can that be? That would be the crucifixion...) and we went in. It turned out to be part of the original Roman road (where Jesus actually would have walked during the Via Dolorosa - if you accept this as the location for it - more on that later), and it also had a gate with a big arch. To the left of this arch was a small opening - the 'eye of the needle' which Jesus refers to in Matthew 19:24. It was really cool to see this.

Me at the 'Eye of the Needle'

The original Roman road and the 'Eye of the Needle'

We left this building and kept wandering around. We happened upon a small doorway leading to a courtyard, and going in we discovered we were standing in front of a huge cathedral - the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.Upon entry to the church you are confronted with a big slab above which 8 lanterns are suspended. The slab has got some faint red discolouration, and was surrounded by a load of people kneeling, praying, kissing the slab and laying various items over it for a quick blessing. Behind this slab is a big mosaic showing Jesus lying dead on a stone slab - so we deduced (such super sleuths we are) that this must be the slab that they laid Jesus on.

To the right of this is a stairwell leading up to what the Catholics think is Golgotha, Calvary, the place where Jesus was crucified. They have a cross there with Jesus on it, and at the bottom of the cross is a rock encased in glass. You bend down underneath the altar and you can put your hand through a hole and I think touch the rock, although when I did it, I couldn't feel anything.

Me, my solemn face, and 'Golgotha'

Going back down the stairs there's a little chapel underneath the rock, and again more glass encasing - now you can see a big crack in the rock where the earth split when Jesus died. There's also another rock in another glass case, with a bit of red discolouration - I'm assuming the Catholics believe that's His blood or something.

Then if you pass by the slab again and head off to the left of the church, you make your way round to a little free standing wooden chapel within the church - this is the tomb where Jesus was laid. It's really cramped inside and there's another altar, candles, icons and decorations where people lay stuff and pray.

Inside the remainder of the church are a load of other chapels, but as we didn't have a guide, we didn't really know what we were looking at. Agnieszka found one chapel with a picture of Mary that if you looked at it in a certain light, made it look like her eyes were closed, then open, and there was another chapel down in the basement of the church that originally I thought might have been the tomb of Jesus as there were a load of people holding an impromptu church service there, but later we found out that was the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. Which confused me, because I thought that the tomb where they laid Jesus WAS Joseph of Arimathea's tomb - but anyway.

I was really pleased to be here at this church but I have to say that the load of people swarming around being actually rather noisy kind of ruined the experience for me. Plus the fact that I'm not really into a load of icons and gaudy decorations so that kind of detracted a bit. But for many other people who visited there it was obviously a very moving experience... I found it much more moving the next day when we tagged along with a 'Via Dolorosa - Stations of the Cross' walk being run by a bunch of Spaniards.

Anyway, it was getting dark after our visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and soon became clear, after wandering the streets, that there isn't anything to do in the evenings here in Jerusalem. However we couldn't go back to our hostel without a quick visit to the Wailing Wall.

The 'wailing' wall (proper name: 'Western' Wall) is the last remaining part of the Second Temple, and is the holiest Jewish site because of its close proximity to the Holy of Holies. To get to the Wailing wall, you have to go through the Arab quarter. Its very interesting to watch the Jews on their way to the Western Wall, because they put their heads down and basically hurry their way through the Arab quarter, not looking to the left or the right, avoiding eye contact - people on a mission. We were first at the Western Wall on a Wednesday evening, and to be honest it was very busy. It was very interesting. The Wall is divided into 2 sections, one for the men and a much smaller area for the women. Its just like an outdoor church I guess, in that you can pick up a Torah to use while your there (returning it of course), there's tables and chairs, but mostly people facing the wall and praying. The more Orthodox ones tend to bow whilst praying at the wall, its very interesting to watch. Also, when you leave the wall, you aren't supposed to turn your back on it, so you can people walking backwards quite a distance to leave the wall.

We actually stayed at the wailing wall for some time, it was just very interesting to be there. We managed to go into the women's section for a better look, but two nights later, Friday - the Sabbath - we weren't allowed down there. Actually it was really interesting being at the wall on the Sabbath - for starters it was absolutely packed. We watched some of the men, and they were doing some weird chanting thing, then we went over to the women who were having some sort of praise and worship session, singing and dancing. It was amazing. Of course though, being the Sabbath, you're not allowed to take any photos, much to Agnieszka's chagrin...

Anyway, back to Thursday night. After our visit to the wall we were really quite tired, and as there isn't anything really to do in the Old City in the evenings, made our way back to the hostel and crashed.

Have You Got A Weapon?

The following day, after our lovely evening with Ihsan and his family, it was time to move on to Israel.

I will be completely honest, I was not looking forward to this part of the trip anymore. This is because even though I spoke at length about it with Ihsan, and also with his friend who is living in Israel (on the West Bank and therefore at the heart of it all), the Australian government travel advice was not favourable for this region. Well, actually that's not quite true - the advice on travelling to Israel in general was "high degree of caution". To be honest, the advice for Syria was much worse ("reconsider your need to travel"), and as we'd had no major problem there, I kind of figured the rest of Israel would be ok. But the advice for Gaza and the West Bank (now let's be honest, no-one in their right mind would go to Gaza right now, and anyway, you can't as a tourist) was "do not travel". And I'd had a few emails from family saying that I shouldn't go. But the alternative then was to fly out of Amman, and I didn't have that amount of money (they wanted something like £400 one way - more than we'd paid for our original flight). Plus, and this was the big deciding factor I guess, Agnieszka was adamant that she was going, and therefore we'd have to split up - not normally a big deal, but hey, this is the Middle East, and although we'd met some women travelling by themselves in Syria (e.g. Sandrine), its not something I'd really advise anyone to do on their own.

So I felt that I didn't have much choice. It was a pity that I felt so apprehensive about Israel, because to be honest, to go to Israel was the main reason for the whole trip in the first place. And the reason for whipping through the other countries as fast as we did was that ultimately we would then have more time in Israel. So, praying hard, I grinned and bared it - and kept my fingers crossed - and we were off.

Ihsan drove us to the border crossing at King Hussein / Allenby Bridge. This was the weirdest border crossing I have ever been through. The "King Hussein" bit is Jordan, and "Allenby Bridge" is Israel. So at King Hussein we had to get our bags (including our main luggage) scanned, then we had to go pay our departure tax (5JD) - in another building - get our passport stamped, and then wait for the shuttle bus which would take us to the Israeli side. The shuttle bus goes like every hour or so, so we had a bit of a wait - and then we were off. Now there's a bit of a thing about the passport stamp. Basically, with the exception of Jordan and Egypt, no Middle Eastern country will allow you entry if you have an Israeli stamp in your passport. So what people do, is they get the stamp on a piece of paper, and then throw the paper away once they leave the country. Customs officials are getting wise to this, so they look for other signs that you've been to Israel - so it's pretty obvious if you have an exit stamp in your passport from the land crossing between Jordan and Israel - and then no Israeli entry / exit stamp - well, where did you go? How can you exit Jordan at the Jordan-Israel border, but not go to Israel? Therefore, the Jordanians, as a courtesy to travellers, have now started stamping their exit stamp on a piece of paper too - but then you have another problem. If you have an entry stamp to Jordan, but no exit stamp - then how did you get out? Obviously something fishy there - must be Israel. So we decided that, stuff it, let's just get the stamp in the passport - and not go to any more Middle Eastern countries until that passport is replaced.

The bus drove us to the Israeli border at Allenby Bridge, where we all filed out, and then - no joke - saw the swarms of people pushing, shoving and crowding around a counter - where the guys were taking your luggage, scanning it, and then sending it through to the other side for you to collect once you cleared passport control. This was pure pandemonium, people pushing and shoving to get to the front of the queue - and once you handed your bag over, you then had to fight your way back out of the whole mess.

After this was passport control. Again, long, long queues. And strangely, all the customs officials were very young women dressed in military like uniform. Maybe that's how they serve their national service, I don't know. Finally we made it to the front of the queue, and then, no joke, we were questioned for ages about all sorts of trivial things - like, "What is your father's name", "What is your grandfather's name", "Do you have more than one passport" and so on. I've never been asked these questions before (well, other than the "What is your father's name" one, which I've had to fill in on some visa applications). The woman also wanted my address in London, my address in Australia, an address in Israel, my email address, do I know anyone in Israel, why was I in Syria, how long was I in Syria, where did I go in Syria, do I have any Syrian friends, do I have any Jordanian friends, have I been given any gifts in Syria or Jordan to take into Israel...oy ve, this took forever. And then, when she finally reached the end of the questions, and looked like stamping my passport (and there's an issue in itself - more on that later), she folded up the paperwork (with my passport still firmly in her hand), got up from her desk, told me to take a seat and wait. So I did. I waited, and waited, and waited - and then got out my Zen and watched Star Wars.

We waited there for 4 hours. Turns out, if you've been to Syria, watch it. They'll keep you there absolutely ages whilst they check out every single, minute little detail. I felt sorry for one woman who had been in our bus, she was only going to Jerusalem overnight, and all she wanted to do was go and pray in the mosque at the Dome of the Rock - and she was still waiting when they finally let us go.

We finally went through to the other side of passport control, and were confronted by yet another LONG queue - well actually it wasn't really a queue, just a whole heap of people crowded around pushing and shoving again and making some vague sort of line - I swear if the woman behind me got any closer (these people have no sense of personal space), or pushed into me one more time, I was going to deck her.

When we finally got to the front of the queue, we had to present our passports again, and answer more strange questions, but the piece de resistance was:

"Do you have a weapon?"

You're kidding, right? And that's when it dawned on me - I'm actually in the Twilight Zone... doo doo doo doo...

I Looked Over Jordan And What Did I See?

We spent 2 days in Damascus, which I think would have to be my favourite Middle Eastern city so far in this trip. On our second day we did a day trip to Bosra, which turned out to be much more complicated to get to than we first thought. Part of this was due to the fact that we had been so late to bed the night before (after our night out with Wisam / Yamen) that I didn't get up when the alarm went off, so we missed the bus. Instead, we had to get then 2 minibuses to go there, one to Deraa first (and that bus was full, so we ended up on the dodgy flip out seats which absolutely killed our backs), and then the bus to Bosra.

Bosra is where the largest free standing Roman amphitheatre is, and in its heyday it could accommodate 15000 people. This amphitheatre is so well preserved, that it is absolutely breath-taking to see - because you enter it by climbing up some stairs (in the darkness) and then as daylight breaks through, you open out smack bang in the middle of this huge auditorium. They still use it today too, because they were staging a Summer Festival there when we visited, and were holding sound checks for the African choir and music groups who would perform that evening.

There was however not much else to see in Bosra - we did walk briefly around the ruins but to be fair, they are not in a very good state (and therefore not of much interest unfortunately to someone suffering from ABRR syndrome). The only really interesting thing for me about them was that they were made of black stone, unlike all the others we've seen, which were white or limestone like.

So we got the bus back to Damascus and then spent the afternoon wandering the souqs buying scarves and stuff. I got some nice ones too!

We went to the internet cafe in the souq to try and find out some information on Israel, to see if it was safe to go there - but this being Syria, and the Syrians being sworn enemies of Israel - every single website with the word 'Israel' mentioned in it was blocked, so we couldn't find anything out. So we went back to the hostel for hopefully an early evening because again we would have an early start - tomorrow we were getting the bus to Jordan.

In our dorm was a German guy who was going to Amman too, so we shared a taxi with him to the bus station which was on the other side of Damascus. He was a very interesting guy and we enjoyed chatting with him throughout the journey to Jordan (plus he was easy on the eye so hey, that's a bonus). Amman is actually not that far from Damascus, but the border control took a little while - especially as the at the Jordan border the customs guy looked at the wrong (last year's) visa and then told us we had to go queue up elsewhere to get a visa - but we sorted it out and then were on our way. At the Jordanian border control we had to display our luggage like we did in Turkey, but the guy didn't really check anyone's stuff - and then we were off.

I had for the past few weeks been in contact with Ihsan, who was our tour guide last year when we were in Jordan, in the hopes that we might be able to meet with him for a coffee or something. Whilst we were at border control he phoned us, and we were able to make arrangements to meet him at the bus station when we arrived. It was soooo lovely to see a familar, friendly face!

Ihsan was a real gem, he helped us find a hotel for the night, took us to a nice restaurant for lunch, and then drove us around to see the views of the city from King Hussein II park. It was truly lovely. They have this great display there which is basically the history of Jordan, with all the important sites represented in either miniature, or in a special display, it was really amazing. My favourite was the mini Jerash they had set up, representing it with a miniature of the ruins. It was very cool.

The next day Ihsan convinced us (we didn't really need much convincing though to be fair) to go back to the Dead Sea for a day of relaxation. After all this mad travel, we really needed it, and it was just fabulous to be able to chill out (in the heat hehehe) by the water. En route to the Dead Sea we stopped off at the place where Jesus was baptised by John. It was really very special to be able to go to this place, particularly as not far from there too is the place where Elijah was taken up to heaven in the chariot.

At the baptism site

In the Jordan river

Relaxing in the Dead Sea

We very much enjoyed our day at the Dead Sea, and then Ihsan had a surprise for us. His family wanted to meet us, and so he took us back to his place for coffee with his mother, sister, wife and kids. They are a lovely family and it was really very special to be able to meet with them, they were so generous in their hospitality, giving us gifts that they had made, making us a gorgeous dinner, and generally just making us feel so welcome. We came away feeling very touched.

What lovely people the Jordanians are!

Two guys, two mosques and a smoky nargileh

After arriving early evening in Damascus we dumped our stuff and headed off to see the sights. I particularly enjoyed the Souq Medhat Pasha (the covered souk) because of its vibrant yet suprisingly hassle free atmosphere - the first souk we'd been in where we weren't overly harrassed with calls of "Pretty lady, look my shop!" or "Hellloooo, where you from?". Don't get me wrong, we did still get some of these, but no where near as much as in previous countries.

We made our way down the souq towards the Umayyad Mosque, one of the largest mosques in the world. As we stood at the entrance contemplating whether to go in, two young guys came up to us and started talking to us. They told us that we needed to go get the special robes so we could visit the mosque. And what sexy looking robes these were too - communist shade of grey Ku Klux Klan kits, complete with pointy hoods that cost us 50 Syrian pounds to hire and made us look like Obi-Wan Kenobi gone horribly, horribly wrong. We thanked the guys for their help in finding the robe place and thought they would then go on their way.

Of course not. Who could resist the chance to show two charming grey shaded damsels around one of the most interesting sites in all Damascus? So suddenly we found ourselves on an impromptu tour around the Mosque. Actually this paid off somewhat, because we were then taken to a big shrine which supposedly contains the head of John the Baptist. This trip has become a bit of a 'find the bits of John the Baptist' thing - as we saw his right hand (mummified) in Cetinje, and now his head in Damascus. I wonder if they dug up his grave, would they find his right hand and head missing? I mean, I know Salome got him beheaded - but did Herod go get it mummified and then hang on to it?

After this we thought, surely the guys will go now. But no, they wanted to show us a shi'ite mosque - so we went off to this Iranian mosque which supposedly has the body of one of Mohammed's granddaughters. The Iranian mosques are much more elaborately decorated than the sunni ones, and it was actually quite interesting to see this mosque. Again we had to do our ku klux klan impersonation though.

The mosque is separated into male and female sections where they can view the mausoleum of Ruqqaya, the granddaughter. So we went off to the female section to have a look. This thing is huge, for someone who supposedly died at the age of 4 - its 8-10 foot tall and surrounded by a gilded cage. We were intrigued when, whilst we were looking at the grave, a woman came over and handed us a sweet. Except that I didn't realise it was a sweet, and then didn't know what I was being given it for, or why. She kept pointing at the cage, where I could see some ribbons or something tied and then indicated the top of the grave, and I thought that she meant that I was to somehow fling the lolly up at the grave and have it land somehow the other side, or I was to tie it to the cage. Luckily I didn't do either of these things, and I found out later from Wissam that she gave me the sweet because its what you do in this mosque. Agnieszka wasn't sure about the lolly either, and she gave hers away to another woman. We then left this mosque and realised that we weren't going to be rid of the guys any time soon, and they seemed nice enough anyway, so we went for a coffee with them. Now of course going for coffee actually means, have a cup of thick, undrinkable mud and smoke a nargileh (water pipe). Me, I'm not interested in either. Fortunately the restaurant we ended up in (after our tour of the souqs) served a reasonably drinkable nescafe. Agnieszka decided to partake of the water pipe this time, mixed with a fruity flavour. It smelled ok but there's just no way that I would smoke one of these things.

Actually the guys really were very nice and spoke excellent English, so we were able to find out quite a lot of things about the Syrian culture, but as the evening went on, my eyes were watering from the smoke and I was soooo tired. They wanted to stay out longer but seriously, it was already 1am and I needed to sleep, so we finally bid them farewell, thanking them for the lovely evening, and made our way back to the hostel.

Alas, my sleep was not that of the fair. One of the things about the Middle East (well, actually, we'd noticed this since, to be fair, Croatia) is the large number of feral cats. Everywhere you go, there's homeless cats. And in Serbia, homeless dogs too. You don't want to get bitten by one of these dogs, they'll give you rabies. Anyway, I had just managed to drop off to sleep when suddenly, out of nowhere, there was an almighty bang (I thought a gun had gone off or something hey) followed by the most unmerciful screeches and yelps - two cats fighting right outside our room! I actually think one of them might have fallen off the roof onto something, that bang was so loud. And this was no little playfight, no, it was on for one and all. Went on for several minutes, and believe me, it was pretty ferocious.

Was relieved when it was finally all over... after all, I needed to sleep, we have to get up very early tomorrow and go to Bosra...

Mr Fatty Fatty Fat-Fat

So now we are in Palmyra. There's not really a lot to say about Palmyra, unfortunately. This is because I am now suffering from ABC syndrome. You know the thing - ABC - Another B***** Cathedral... well in the case of Palmyra, not cathedral, but Roman Ruin. ABRR. It's actually a shame, because this is a lovely town and the ruins really are quite something, but I think if you were to compare it to Ephesus, although Palmyra certainly is extensive in terms of size, much of the detail on the ruins, like the decorations at the tops of columns and stuff, has just eroded away - whereas much of this detail still remains in Ephesus. Or perhaps I was simply underwhelmed by Palmyra because it was sooo unbearably hot (again!).

In the interests of not being ripped off (and also not wasting time) we spoke to our hotelier, Smile (yes, that's what he said his name was, but no, his smile was not all that - in fact it was something to avert your eyes from. Not one straight tooth in the whole mouth!), about organising a little mini-tour. Well, it worked in Aleppo, why not here, right?

Smile's idea of a tour was to book a local taxi driver to take us around. This was ok in that at least his English was a bit more advanced compared to Mr "Good Very Good" from Aleppo, but bad in that this guy thought he needed to serenade us in the car by singing, and might I add, extremely NOT tunefully, some traditional Syrian songs. However he did give us a good little tour and we did see all the important things, especially as he kept pulling over to his favourite photographic spots and insisting on taking pictures for us. That was fine except for the fact that this guy's photographic technique, let's just say, wouldn't earn him a job with National Geographic. So I have some rather blurry Palmyra shots...

After our tour the taxi driver took us to the bus stop to get the bus to Damascus. We tried to buy tickets but for some strange reason the guy wouldn't sell us any right then, but we had to wait 30 minutes. What difference does it make if we buy our tickets now or in 30 minutes, I don't know, but he wouldn't allow it. When we did finally get the tickets they didn't have seat numbers, but he said it was ok, we could sit where we liked.

Only problem with this was that several kiosks were selling tickets, and hadn't heard about the unreserved seat thing, so we got on the bus and positioned ourselves nicely, when a man came up and absolutely insisted that we were in his seat. Sure enough, we were - he had a seat reservation - but when Agnieszka explained we were told we could sit wherever, he wasn't having it. And it was my seat that he wanted.

In the interests of diplomacy (and also because I didn't want to get chucked off the bus) I gave up my seat, but Agnieszka wanted to make the point, so she stayed in her place. That was fine until a bloke came and sat next to me who seriously should have gone to Jenny Craig. This bloke was big, sweaty, and ponged of last weeks socks. And also had no idea of personal space. So I spent the whole 3 hours or so squished up like a cane toad on the road, splatto, against the window, whilst this bloke fully occupied half of my chair. And to top it all off, he obviously thought that he had to keep the 'crown jewels' fully ventilated, because his legs were so far apart that I thought he was trying to set the world record for doing the splits, or something. Not the most pleasant bus ride, thank you.

But again we were subjected to Egypt's finest, in terms of cinematography. This time, it was an odd little romp called "Hammam in Amsterdam" which again started with a big musical number (spelling out Hammam's name) and basically was the adventure of this bloke Hammam (surprise, surprise - in Amsterdam). The problem was, though, that again, they'd obviously got this DVD as a dodgy back of the marketplace rip-off copy, and it kept locking up. So much so that we didn't get to see the end, it fully froze and then packed it in when Hammam was trying to buy Toscanini's restaurant. The interesting thing about it was that apparently this film is fairly recent (well 1999, anyway) but seriously had the look of a dodgy 70s flick, and also, I couldn't believe the blatant racism towards the Israelis in this. This guy Hammam fully freaked out when he found out his co-worker was an Israeli, made such a big deal out of it, wanted to quit his job because he couldn't work with an Israeli, did unkind things to the Israeli - and the whole bus was totally cacking themselves about it!

Anyway, finally arrived in Damascus and I was able to peel myself off the window and get out of the bus after Mr Sweaty Smelly Fatty Fatty Fat Fat got off.

We got a servees into the heart of Damascus, thanks to the kind help of a stranger, and then made our way to the hostel which Smile had booked for us (we'd had such problems getting a room and managed only at the very last moment to secure the last 2 beds in all of Damascus, I'm sure). This hostel is at the back of one of the smaller souqs in Damascus, not far from the Souk Medhat Pasha (which once upon a time was Straight Street, where the apostle Paul was converted). Our dorm is somewhat interesting, it doesn't have a door, and is pretty hot, but at least its clean. Well, of sorts.

So we dumped our stuff and headed off to see the sights...

Screamin' Arabs

So after our 2 days in Aleppo it was time to move on. We got up early, packed up our ridiculously heavy luggage and made our way to the bus stop via taxi. Fortunately the bus stop wasn't far and the taxi wasn't too kamikaze at that time of morning (and our hotelier had written out on a piece of paper all the places we wanted to visit and needed to go in Arabic just in case)!

This time we were on a 'luxury' bus to Homs, from where we would pick up a bus to Crac Des Chevaliers. A 'luxury' bus has airconditioning, gives you a glass of water when you get onboard (kind of like a Turkish bus 'wannbe' but no cake or tea), and shows movies during the journey. Terribly interesting movies too, in Arabic, with English subtitles. The film was called "Hurry the Train", and was basically an Egyptian version of Bollywood, but with the look of a very bad 60s film. I just don't get it though - none of the film reflected any aspect of Arabic life. None. They were wearing miniskirts, big bushy hairdos and there was not a headscarf in sight. And the translation? Well, for the first 4 minutes or so all we got was "hurry the train" and "we're going to Egypt to be famous actors and actresses" and "I want a cig". All this with dancing. Hmm. Time to go to sleep, I think...

We arrived in Homs and then had to figure out how to get to Crac. Problem was it was Friday, and apparently that's like a Muslim holiday or something. Immediately we got off the bus we were accosted by this dude who wanted to know where we were going. We told him we were getting a bus to Crac, and then he told us that there were no buses running. At all. "It's Friday", he said. "Everyone in Syria is sleeping. No buses". Yeah, but hang on, we just got off a bus. So obviously some buses are running. He kept following us up the platform to the main terminal, telling us that only the big buses were running, but no minibuses (called servees by the Arabs) were working that day. Everyone was sleeping. He told us that the only way we could get to Crac was by private taxi. At this point I stopped walking, turned to him and said, "Let me guess. You're a taxi driver?". Of course he was! So I told him that he would rip us off, no way would we believe him that there were no minibuses. By this time we were now in the main terminal and there were another 3 guys crowding round with us. All listening in to the conversation. So he tried to get them to back him up, but we weren't buying - and which point he flagged down 2 other Western women (from Spain) and tried to ask them to tell us he was right. Unfortunately for him, they spoke Arabic - and they told us he was wrong, and that they were trying to go to Crac too. So we went together to get a minibus - from the very much working minibus station next door.

There was no left luggage facility at the main bus station so we had no choice but to lump our gear with us to the minibus station. As we arrived, not one word of a lie, about 10 guys suddenly ran up to us (now a group of 4 women) and started crowding round (these guys have no idea of personal space) and shouting at us about buses to Crac. They wanted 500 Syrian pounds to take us there (this is like nearly £5 and although it seems quite cheap, is actually very over-priced). Agnieszka tried to get them to 400, but picture the scene - 4 women, surrounded now by 10-15 shouting Arab men, trying to get a price on a minibus. No-one can hear anything, its too noisy. Then, a guy from one of the other buses comes up, and says "I'll take all of you for 200 pounds" and that was it. We left for that bus, and the other guys then started to get angry with each other (and the guy who had quoted the correct price), and a full on shouting match, complete with pushing and so on, kicked off.

We got to Crac, but now there was the problem of the luggage. Fortunately there was a restaurant at the base of the castle and the guy there said he'd mind it (don't worry Dad, all compartments were locked, no-one could do a Shapelle Corby on us) in his cellar, and off we went.

The castle was a Crusader fortress and was first built in 1031, but the knights rebuilt it around 1150 to house a garrison of 2000 men. The outer walls are 100 feet thick, and it has 7 guard towers. This fortress is one of the best preserved that I've seen and is now a World heritage site.

We decided to visit the fortress with the 2 Spanish girls as we would have a better chance of negotiating our return price as a group of 4, not 2. This was ok but as the girls didn't speak much English (and we no Spanish) conversation was rather limited. The girls ran into a friend they knew and so we then split up, and decided to meet them outside.

Whilst we were waiting for the girls we ordered a schwarma, which was very yummy - doner kebab meat with salad wrapped in a pitta bread (and for some strange reason, chips). Watching the world go by, I suddenly spot Sandrine, the girl from our hostel in Aleppo - so she came over and joined us on our journey back to Homs.

When we got back to Homs we found it quite difficult to get a minibus to Palmyra. We were told we had to get a service bus (read: clapped out, rickety old, smoke-spluttering public bus) to the other bus station, then a 'normal' bus (not luxury) to Palmyra. So we did.

When we got to the other station, the guy there told us the buses to Palmyra were now 'finish'. So what do we do? So we waited a bit, then asked again - and were told one would be there in 30 minutes. We bought the ticket and waited.

While we were waiting, suddenly a commotion broke out, and I looked over to see two guys really screaming at each other. Of course, the rubber neckers ran over to see what was happening, and these two guys were fully losing it at each other. I have no idea what happened, but it was very entertaining. What I could make out was one of the guys was a driver on a bus, so maybe something happened on his bus, I don't know. But there was full on screaming, shouting, pushing, arms waving in the air anger going on. Boy, these Syrian Arabs sure like to scream at each other!

We got our 'normal' bus to Palmyra, and seriously, this guy was trying to break the land-speed record. The bus was airborne several times on the journey, and I was relieved when we finally arrived in Palmyra.

Of course, once we arrived, there was more shouting - this time at us - as taxi drivers, stall owners and the general public all wanted to show us to the 'best' hotel. This is normal in Palmyra - they take you to their mates hotel, where they receive a commission from the mate which is bunged on to your hotel cost. No thank you. Fortunately the guy from Aleppo had given us the card of a hotel in Palmyra, and we eventually found our way there commission shark free.

What a day, eh?

Good, Very Good

Ok, so in my last post we had arrived in Aleppo. I'll be honest with you, as our internet access has been virtually non-existent, I'm now having trouble remembering what happened a week ago in a totally different country. But I'll try...

As I said, we got to Aleppo via one of the dodgy buses (stared at by cute little Arab kids who probably hadn't seen too many sweaty Western tourists cramming themselves and their very heavy luggage into one of these dusty old clapped out buses) but anyway, we made it. Only problem was, once we arrived, do you think we could read the road signs to figure out where the hostel was? We had Buckley's, I'll tell you...

But this Turkish dude (who insisted on showing us his passport to prove he was Turkish - go figure?) took us to the hostel (we were a bit dubious about that as we thought perhaps the hostel would give him a commission via inflated rates for us but fortunately our fears were not realised). The hostel gave us 2 choices, a small (but airconditioned - and that is important) twin room, or a mattress on the roof. Hmm, now let me think about that one - how about the room? Only problem was the room didn't have bathroom facilities, these were shared, and to be honest, rather dodgy - shower and toilet in one. Now that sounds ok, except for the fact that it was a squat toilet. Smelly, yuckky, no toilet paper, squat toilet. And I'm still suffering side effects of the killer burek... nice. But the room was ok, and had a balcony, and plugs to recharge cameras, so we took it.

The hostel, Al-Gawaher, is one that's recommended in the Lonely Planet. They organise tours so the next day we found ourselves on one to see the Dead Cities of Serjilla and Al Bara, St Simeon's basilica and something else I can't remember. We met some lovely people on our bus, particularly a Dutch couple who were travelling with this French girl. The Dead Cities were good (although I have seen obviously better ruins in Ephesus). Our driver, though, had an interesting grasp of the English language, which basically consisted of him repeating a place / object name 4 or 5 times, then saying "good, very good" a couple of times, then "welcome" - until we could bear it no longer and one of us would go "oh, [insert place / object name here]" and nod emphatically. Then all of us in the bus would do it, and that would be that. It would go something like this:

Driver: Al Bara. [pointing]. Al Bara. Al Bara. [pointing again]. Al Bara. Good very good. Al Bara. Welcome.

Me: Al Bara? Oh, Al Bara! [nodding - then the whole bus nods]

Whole bus: Ah, Al Bara!

Driver: Good very good!

Someone up the back: What's he talking about?

Me: I don't know.

Someone up the back: Oh, ok

Driver: Good very good! Welcome...

So we didn't really learn much about where we were - except from the French girl, Sandrine - who had about 3 Lonely Planets - in both French and English - just in case something was lost in the translation from one to the other. So she lent us the English one.

Anyway, we got back from our very informative tour to find the driver had upped the price considerably, and of course we paid the original price, thank you. We then rushed around trying to see the rest of Aleppo as the next day we wanted to move on towards Palmyra via Crac Des Chevaliers.

We got to see the Citadel, which was particularly interesting as they were setting up for some big performance. Just across from the Citadel were some nice al fresco cafes and we decided to have a coffee (which turned into dinner, as it was just too hot to move) there and watch the proceedings. Boy did the square come alive! First of all, on the rampway up to the Citadel, a load of drummers and trumpeters lined up (plus dancers complete with big machete like swords and full on Arabic dance kit) and every time someone made their way up the ramp to attend the concert, they were greeted with loud blaring music, dancers hopping on the spot, and mad machete waving.

But the other interesting thing was watching Syrian life pass us by. It seemed like the whole of Aleppo was out there in the square. The sun had set, the mosques had blared out their prayers and people were just milling around, selling their wares or wandering about. We saw one young boy, very acrobatic he was, doing cartwheels, running around like a lunatic, wrestling with other boys, and also trying to ride a bike that was 3 or 4 sizes too big for him. Basically, this boy should've been on Ritalin. At one point he picked a kid up and full on dropped him (from height) fair on his head. Then this other bloke (I don't know that he was related to the dropped kid or not) picked up the boy, turned him upside down and whacked his bot. Then the other bloke's mate got a few whacks in too, for good measure. Child abuse?

Anyway, it was a very interesting evening, completed with fireworks from the Citadel (which we could see from our room).

On to Palmyra...

Travellin' Turkey

Early start the next day. We wanted to make sure that we were at Haydarpasa train station well in advance of the departure time of the train, 8.55am, so we got first a tram and then the ferry. The ferry ride across the Bosphorus was really nice.

Once we got to the station we managed to find where our train was, and we were then told by the conductor that there was no dining car service on this train. Or people walking through the train with buffet carts. So, we would have to have all our food with us - bear in mind though that the train would arrive the next day at 11.15am to Antep - so off I went in search of whatever fruit, rolls, sandwiches, water I could find.

Finally we were off. Our compartment was very comfortable, just the 2 bunks, so we were by ourselves. Shame that everyone else in our carriage smoked - it kept wafting into our compartment. The conductor came around and asked us if we wanted some tea, so we had the traditional Apple tea, very nice. He doesn't speak any English, so it was most amusing whenever he wanted to tell us something. He noticed our cameras and every time he saw what he thought was a good photo opportunity, he would come and see us and point to our cameras. So, duly, we would get up, poke the camera out the window, take a photo, show him, get his approval - and then delete it when he left. Some of the things he thought were photo opportunities were, well, to be honest - not.

We did however see an awful lot of Turkey from this train. It was so interesting to see such a different way of life to that which we had seen in the cities. We saw Muslim women, in their head scarves, driving tractors with half the family hanging off the back. We saw one woman walking home via the opposite train track to ours. We saw a whole town turn out to wave goodbye to the train. We saw some old train carriages that had obviously been converted somehow into some sort of shanty accommodation, with, get this - satellite dishes on the roof! People working the fields in their full on muslim kit, kids hanging off the back of utes... you name it, we pretty much well saw it.

And the scenery was pretty amazing too. Late afternoon on the first day and Agnieszka was dozing in the compartment, when the conductor again approached me for one of his 'photo ops'. After I took the 'shot', he asked me if I wanted a 'nescafe' - their version of our normal coffee. I said no, but he insisted, and the next thing I know, he makes me one and invites me to sit down and drink it. In his cabin. Hm. But he kept the door open, so I figured why not, and quickly drank the coffee. I asked him to show me where we were on the map, which he did, then he tried to have a conversation about where I was from etc, but my Turkish being restricted to the phrasebook, the conversation died pretty quick. I then tried to make my leave but he asked about my work, and when he found out I was a music teacher, he cut me a cucumber (go figure?), salted it, gave it to me, and then started singing. Complete with gestures and facial expressions. Like, the guy had seriously turned into Pop Idol or something. Got out of there real quick.

The rest of the journey was pretty uneventful, and actually it was the first time I got a decent night's sleep in a while, to be honest. But on waking the next morning it was clear pretty quick that our expected arrival time of 11.15 was seriously overexaggerated - we ended up arriving at 1.30pm!

We had been told by the dude in the travel agency that we could easily pick up a bus to Aleppo, but this was not as easy as we'd been led to believe. For starters, we had to get a taxi to the other side of town, to the bus station. Then, there wasn't a bus - so after a lengthy and tiring conversation with some guy about prices, we managed to get on a minibus which would take us to Kilis, and from there onto Halep (Aleppo) - for 25 Turkish liras. Thank you.

Of course, it wasn't so simple. We got to Kilis, sure, and then he did drive us on further - to the border, where he just got out, unloaded our stuff, and dumped it in a taxi. We thought he'd made a deal with the taxi driver, although we should have smelled a rat, as the taxi was seriously overcrowded and the guy wanted us to walk through the border whilst he took our luggage. Yeah, and pigs really do fly - like we're going to do that. So we squeezed in with these 2 other guys, and off we went. To Mars.

It felt like that, as we looked around, because just outside the customs building were about 30 odd women, clad in chadors and other serious black muslim kit, all staring at us. Got through Turkish exit ok, then piled back in the taxi (now minus the other 2 guys) for the entrance to Syria.

At the Syrian entrance, first of all the customs guy hadn't heard of Poland, so Agnieszka got our her trusty Europe map and showed him where it was. He eventually figured it out. Then, the taxi driver, using the customs guy as a translator, outlined that he needed, get this, $50 US to take us to Aleppo. Get stuffed. We don't have that sort of money.

Eventually, after much haggling, we got him down to $15 US to take us to the next town where we could get a minibus to Aleppo. Even that was too much, but he wouldn't budge, and we really were in whoop whoop, so we didn't really have much choice.

The minibus was ok, much the same as in other countries, a clapped out old bus with cracked windscreens etc, but we eventually got there in one piece.

Found a hotel, quite cheap, crashed. Phew.