ISRAEL MAY 1998

Text by Pink Oboe.

I was off on another trip to Israel in company with Ben and Maurice. It was also another overnight run, which is never a lot of fun. However, having lingered as long as possible in the Club Class lounge we walked through for the final check for the aircraft. Maurice and I were upgraded to First Class! Ben was livid as well he might as the sponsor. What the hell! After a short case of "I am sorry, your seat is to the rear," we pointed out the change and assumed our rightful or wrongful seats. Again, as on the previous occasion that I had been elevated to First Class, it was a case of deciding whether to play with all the toys or getting some sleep. I watched a video of Oscar Wilde but got fed up with it as it was more about his affairs with men rather than his amazing wit.

We got the hire car and headed south following much of the route that we had taken in 96. We managed to get lost in Beersheba....again. A little further south we came upon field on field of ripe wheat awaiting harvest or having just been harvested. It looked strange and out of place in a desert and only at the end of May. We also found line on line of outlets for irrigation water like oil wells in the desert awaiting the time of awakening when someone brave enough will come along and try to make the desert bloom.

We arrived in Eilat and booked into the King Solomon Hotel, this time without any hassle from our hosts. I disappeared off to bed for a couple of hours and then was woken by a call from Maurice telling me that it was time for a meeting with our hosts. That set the scene for the next couple of days. The only time I had a few minutes to myself was in the early morning. On one stroll I saw a shower of small fish leaping from the water as some unseen threat drove them from their normal habitat to the poisonous air. I also found a sign on a holiday shop which made me smile, "Spies Holiday." I cannot say why it amused me, of course. We took Ben around there a little later and took his photograph

The conference I was attending ended on the Thursday with a tremendous barbecue dinner and too much wine and jollity. At least that was my impression at three o'clock in the morning when I woke and hurried to the loo with Gyppy tummy and an appalling feeling of imminent disaster. I wandered back to bed but did not sleep too well with the feeling of impending doom. When I eventually got up and showered, I still felt like death so decided that I should go and have some breakfast. I had told my colleagues to be ready by eight o'clock for the journey north so felt that, feeling horrible or not, I had to do the same. I wandered down to the dining room, decided to sit outside as the smell of cooking was not doing my inside any good. The sparrows were so tame that they were stealing food from the tables of the diners. I stoically ate my apricots and yoghurt and had two glasses of orange juice. I then drank two cups of coffee and decided that was quite enough

Back in my room it took all of three minutes for the whole lot to come back in spectacular style. A good start to our 350 kilometre journey! I still made the rendezvous in time feeling like nothing on earth. As usual my delightful colleague turned up at the appointed time to declare that he had not had breakfast yet nor had he checked out. Which is typical but I will never change the man. I merely breathed a sigh of relief that I had a little more recovery time. We eventually set off with all of the car packed at about 8.30 am

I volunteered to drive as I have usually found it better to drive under such circumstances than to be driven. We stopped to pick up water as we were headed up through desert and, good roads or not, I still believe it is suicidal to travel through a desert in 40 degrees Celsius with no water. I stopped first at a sign to the unlikely named town of Gerofit. I demanded my picture taken which probably establishes my level of humour pretty accurately. We continued northward with me occasionally wrestling with the gear change: having a manual, left hand drive motor takes a lot of getting used to. We travelled up the Rift Valley with the mountains of Jordan to our right. The border gets very close on occasions and we parked at one place where the border sign was about five yards from the road. Look out for mines when you have a pee!

I drove on until we reached the Dead Sea. We had come that way nearly two years ago but one of our passengers, a man from the anti-terrorist squad, had never seen the place so we stopped several times for the photographs: even the cliffs by the roadside and made of salt. We had explained that we wanted to visit Masada, a Jewish fortress, which featured in the Zealot revolt of 70 AD. We pulled off at the base of the isolated mountain which had first been a summer palace refuge for Herod the Great and then been used as a fortress against the might of Rome. There is fortunately a Swiss manufactured cable car to the summit some five hundred feet above the floor of the Dead Sea. We paid our 50 Shekels, about £10, and went immediately into the little car, which carried us up to the top. The views were already spectacular. At the top it was incredibly hot as we had no shade. We walked around the flat area where 950 Jewish revolutionaries lived for the four months of the siege. The 10th Legion advanced to take the place. The Zealots knew that they were dead the moment the first slave put the first basket of dirt at the base of the hill. The Romans built a ramp to within sixty feet of the top. The Zealots built an earth and wood wall but the Romans set fire to it. With the final assault just a day away, the Zealot's leader proposed that they end it their way. They did, with a mass suicide. Ten of the Zealots were chosen by lots to kill the lot, men, women and children. Then one of the remainder drew to be the last alive. He killed the remaining nine. When the Romans arrived, the place was silent. At least that is what the legend says. I believe that a woman and two children defied the suicide and survived. Still, it is quite awesome to be there even if legends have a tendency to be just that

We climbed down into one of the cisterns that sustained the siege. It held an enormous amount of water, which had been shipped up by camel and donkey. Herod had realised his tremendous popularity and decided that the only place he could be safe was on top of an isolated mountain. So he built a pleasure palace there. We climbed down about a hundred and fifty steps to see what remains. It was very hot and a trifle taxing for a man with a hangover. But I survived. The hill looks down on the Roman camps that surrounded the hill. They are still clearly visible

Onward with my colleague driving: I felt that having driven us nearly two hundred kilometres had earned me a rest. Unfortunately my colleague decided he needed a rest too and momentarily went to sleep at the wheel, which was exciting. We only just stayed on the road and avoided hitting oncoming traffic. The road swings away from the Dead Sea at its north end and then bypasses Jericho and starts to climb. Up the road goes past flocks of goats and Bedouin in a mixture of tents and polythene shelters which look like the slums they are. Israeli fortified villages appeared, Masada like on top of hills in occupied West Bank Israel

I had directions to our hotel and led us there with only one slight pause. Our directions had been provided by the Israeli Security Services so were based on Police Headquarters and other landmarks. We pulled in to the American Colony Hotel, the place used by film stars and other notables like ourselves. It is a glorious building with a central courtyard with tinkling fountains and beautiful gardens. We slumped but I knew that we had limited time and residual headache or not, I am a traveller through and through and I knew that we were not far from the Old City. My mentor rang to say that our rendezvous with the local resident in my business was to be at 6.45. Fine that left me an hour and a half

I set off through streets looking like any street in a European city. I was actually walking down the Nablus Road, which had been the Green Line when Jerusalem was divided. In about ten minutes I came to an ancient Gate. Damascus Gate. I recognised it from the guidebook. Bullseye! I walked through the melée of Arabs selling all sorts of vegetables and comestibles: the area was filthy with the mess from the market. The ancient stones were black with grime. I walked on down El Wad, the main street of the Moslem quarter. Most of the people there were Palestinians but there was the odd Israeli armed soldier, the odd tourist like myself and soon more and more of the provocatively dressed orthodox Jews. They were headed for the Wailing wall and chose on purpose to come through the Moslem Quarter. It was not only the Sabbath but was also Shevuot, one of the four most holy days of the Jewish calendar, which was harvest festival amongst other things. El Wad continued in almost a straight line, crosses the Via Dolorosa, and then I found myself at a Security Checkpoint. They were pretty laid back about me as presumably I did not present much of a threat. Once through, I found myself in a big open space. After the Six Days War in 1967, the Israelis conquered Jerusalem. They tore down the houses that annexed the Western Wall of the ancient Temple of Solomon and created a public space. I walked over to the barrier and watched the peculiarly dressed different sects doing their thing at the base of the Wailing Wall. I illegally took pictures, which are not allowed on the Sabbath but it looked so strange and I did it without flash so no-one noticed

On and through another security checkpoint on the other side and circled back through the ancient Jewish Quarter. I got back in time for the rendezvous. One of our colleague's mother and father had been in Palestine before WWII. This was his only chance of seeing it so our man in Jerusalem took us back to almost the same places I had been. The difference was that we now had a guide who knew the history and pointed out the significant places on route. At the Wailing Wall he explained the significance of where we stood to the different sects. The Jews regard the Wailing Wall as the last vestige of the Temple of Solomon, the place where originally God made his pact with Abraham and where Abraham was stopped at the last minute from sacrificing Isaac. On the last day of the world, the Jews believe that everyone buried on the Mount of Olives will come back to life, come to the site of the Temple which will be miraculously rebuilt and then ascend into heaven. The Christians believe that Jesus will come back at the Second Coming, every true believer will be resurrected to Eternal Life and there will be a great Judging by God. The Moslems believe that Jesus will turn up on the Temple of the Mount, say to the Christians that the Moslems had it right all along, tell his disciples to convert to Islam, then they would set about killing all the Jews in the world and fill the valley alongside up with Jewish blood. Isn't religion a wonderful thing?

We then went back through the narrow streets, which were still filled with soldiers, orthodox Jews in full regalia and the tension was palpable. At the Damascus Gate our man, a fluent Arabic speaker had an animated conversation with some Palestinians. The gist included a reference to King David. He was giving them an impromptu history lesson, which included the blowing up of the King David Hotel by the Jewish Underground, killing indiscriminately English soldiers, civil servants, women and children, Jews and Arabs. Apparently the man responsible is still alive at 83 and living in Jerusalem and says that he is proud to have done it. The explanation went on to why we had pulled out as we were getting it from both sides and had very little to gain by staying. We gave due notice and pulled out to let them kill themselves which they have been doing with monotonous regularity ever since

We then went for a meal in an Arab restaurant washed down with Palestinian beer. We enquired how this could be but the brewery was apparently owned by Palestinian Christians in Ramalla. I got to bed about 12.30 am.

I woke at six and decided that terminal exhaustion or not, this was my only day in Jerusalem so I was damned if I was going to stay in bed. I was up, showered and changed by six thirty. Back I went down to the Damascus Gate on a perfect summers day, bright sunshine, about 25 degrees and glorious. I was actually woken up at four by a blackbird singing his dawn chorus. Unmistakable.

Through the gate there was little going on as it was still early and the Sabbath. I walked as far as the Via Dolorosa and turned left. I am not religious but so much of the Biblical story was pumped into me as a child it seemed strange to be at the places that featured in the stories. I found the place where Pontius Pilate condemned Jesus, the place where he set off with the cross, the place where he fell. All cods wallop as the Romans knocked the place down after the revolt of AD 70 and ploughed the site with salt. But what the hell! I followed all the stations of the Cross until I came to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I loved the story that the church's keys are held by Moslem family as none of the Christian Sects can agree so Sulieman the Magnificent said effectively "Sod, you lot. I shall give the job to a disinterested party." And so it has been ever since.

I went inside and stood in the holy of holies, the area that contains the tomb of Jesus. The last five stations of the Cross are in the church, the place he was fixed to the cross, Calvary where he was crucified, the place he was taken off the cross, and finally where he was buried. As I stood there, thinking in fact of the very Christian lady who looked after dear old Bert in his last year. I decided to put in fix for her as she was the only really worthy Christian I could think of. As I was doing so the Priest came out and there started a service. Sunshine poured down from above. Very moving, even for an unbeliever.

I had tried to get on to the Dome on the Rock, the Moslem holy of holies earlier. I had been refused by some Arab gentlemen. I had smiled and said OK but did not know why. I tried again from a different direction. This time it was an Israeli policeman. He stopped me in an arrogant sort of way, again with no explanation. I smiled and enquired why. He said that I should go round. I tried again through a different approach. Again there was an Israeli policeman. He looked at his watch and said "Go ahead". It was just 7.30 am. I think that was the only problem. I was the first one on the enormous flat area dominated by the Golden Domed Mosque. It was amazing. In the distance was the misty hill I later found to be the Mount of Olives. The only other occupant of the whole area was a mangy cat. I walked to the far side of the open area to take my photograph of the Mosque, with its gold dome with blue tiled walls.

From the far side I could see all the towers of the churches and mosques of Jerusalem: amazing and all to myself. I hope the pictures come out. Back I went through the narrow streets to the American Colony hotel for a late breakfast with my colleague who had just got up. In fact he was deep in conversation with an Israeli scientist but I think I had had the better morning.

After we had paid the bill I took us up in the direction of the Mount of Olives for the most stupendous view of the old city. Then we continued around and ended up in new Jerusalem at the Knesset building and then to the Israeli Museum. We paid and went in. We saw the Dead Sea Scrolls in their special building, all white symbolizing the battle between light and darkness. There was also a superb collection of Impressionists and a beautiful sculpture garden. Finally, with brain full of amazing images it was time for the journey to Ben Gurion airport.

We expected the Third Degree for reasons various. With all the crowds, the young Security ladies just said, "Oh, you are the two British Scientists from the Conference in Eilat. We have been expecting you." After that we were merely subjected to the usual, "Did you pack your bags, etc." Maybe my comments about their abusing their position as hosts had struck home.

The flight home was uneventful and we got home about nine thirty in the evening. A very interesting trip.