Travel Biography - Week 4.

In the early 1970s, my friendship with Andrew Duncan Stevenson was at his height. Not only did we fly to Spain together in 1972, but we also had shorter holidays together here in the UK. This includes Easter weekend in Penzance, Cornwall in 1973. Also remembered was the day out to Swansea, South Wales, by train with Andrew, accompanied by his mother. Not long after, he met Ritsu, a student from Japan, and the two married whilst I attended their wedding. Since then, we kept in touch, but his new life as husband and wife brought those trips away together to a close.

1975 Trip to Rome.

Then followed by the 1973 initial sole trip to Naples, described in my last blog, and then another trip to Italy, two years later in 1975 by using the same boat train route to Rome, where I found a suitable hotel near the terminus station. This trip was to check out the country's ancient capital, including visits to the Colosseum, the Circo Maximi, and the Forum. I also spent the day at the Vatican. As I craned my neck looking up inside the dome, around its perimeter was the Latin script of Matthew 16:18, which reads, You are Peter, and upon this rock, I will build my church.

At first, I believed that Jesus was in Rome with his disciples when he said this, whilst pointing to an area of undeveloped ground in or near ancient Rome, on which the church would be built. But when I read that he spoke those words in Caesarea Philippi, north of the Sea of Galilee, my attention was switched to the centuries-old controversy on whether this "rock" was Peter, the confession, or Jesus himself. My visit also included a tiring climb up the dome to the pinnacle overlook, known as the Cupola, from where there were magnificent views of the city. Also, the flat rooftop was accessible from a door at the base of the dome, on which stood the giant white statues of Jesus and his apostles, all looking down at the square below.

Eight of the Twelve Apostles on the rooftop of St Peters

Perhaps, I need to add a detail here. During the 1970s, it was much easier to visit the attractions than today. For the Basilica San Pietro, all I had to do was approach the wide-open doors and walk straight in. No queues, no admission fees (although there was a fee paid for the Cupola) and no security checks. 

The same applied to the Colosseum where gladiators fought to the death and where Christians were also executed under the orders of Emperor Nero, and the Circus Maximus, the remains of a race track where horse-drawn chariots contested against each other, very well featured in the Charlton Heston 1959 film Ben Hur. I just walked straight in, and the splendour of the ancient monument was spread before my eyes. The Forum was also easy to enter with no queues or security checks. The site is dominated by the three columns and pediment of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, now resembling a gigantic wicket in a cricket game, the nearby remaining row of eight columns making up the Temple of Saturn, the Arch of Septimus Severus, and other relics of Rome's glorious past.

The Holy Land, 1976.

However, when at work and not travelling, my new faith in Jesus Christ inspired me to read the Bible often and to get acquainted with it, both the Old and New Testaments. The Old Testament, beginning at Creation and the Flood, listed a genealogy starting from Adam and listing each generation right through to Jesus Christ himself. It took a while to realise that the Old Testament was centred on Israel, its people, its land and its capital city, Jerusalem.

I bought some books to help me get a clearer understanding of the Bible, although, at that time, I only had access to a King James version. One book I found helpful was the lavishly-illustrated Lion Handbook of the Bible, which was suitable for the family. Photos of many sites across Israel, including numerous archaeological sites, spawned a desire to visit the Holy Land for myself, and I had to find out how I could go about alone and not one of a tour group.

Here, for the proper context, I need to go back to my school days which were several years before conversion. Back in the sixties, I had no interest in religion. Instead, I had a strong belief in Darwinism, and organic evolution stood at the centre of my atheistic faith. It was during those days when, during one religious education lesson, I was assigned the task of drawing "the Temple on the Mount." And so, in total naivety, I imagined a high mountain like those making up the European Alps, which was seen in picture books, and also from the train in 1966 as we headed towards Turin. So, I drew an outline of a high mountain, and at its summit, a small square representing a building of some sort. The male teacher didn't comment.

However, it was one morning during a school assembly that our Deputy Headmaster, Mr Chapman, who would cane any pupil across the palm of the hand for merely talking or not wearing a tie within the premises, related to the whole school about his days in the Middle East as one of the many soldiers guarding the British Mandate, that he told us of his visit to the Star of Bethlehem. With that, I was interested. I wonder how many pupils at the time also took heed to his word?

After I was converted to Christ as Saviour towards the end of 1972, reading the Bible, first sporadically, then becoming more regular, made me stronger in my Christian faith, and it came as no real surprise that I wanted to visit and see these places for myself, to walk the paths Jesus himself walked, to visit where he was crucified and buried, and to visit other sites related to Holy Scripture. I then studied the political status of the Holy Land and with the ceasefire of 1969, I felt it was safe enough to throw all my eggs into one basket.

And so, in 1976, the year I also flew my parent's nest at a grand old age of 23 years old, I found myself walking past the lengthy British Airways booking office in Regent Street, towards the secured El Al Airline booking agency not far from Oxford Circus. At the desk, I was shown some offers. One was an El Al flight to Tel Aviv from London Heathrow at a discounted student price. I gladly took the offer and bought the airline ticket.

I was working in a precision engineering firm at the time of the booking, and after I told one or two fellow employees that I was preparing to visit the Middle East on my own, it was as if the whole factory reeled back in a shocking surprise! In the days when Spanish beach holidays were becoming the norm, a trip to the Middle East as a lone tourist was rather over the top, or so they thought. Quickly, I became the talk of the town.

The day finally arrived when I was given a lift to Heathrow Airport by my parents in their car, as they wanted to be sure that I had fully checked in - as this was for the Middle East and not for a popular Spanish holiday resort. However, once checked in and passed through the strict security into the departure lounge, I was alone, on my own.

The four-hour flight was smooth and uneventful, yet, I still felt a nervous disposition as I sat, looking out of the window at the gaping mouth of the jet engine built into the wing just a few feet away. Who would I find after arriving in Israel? What sort of people would I be expected to encounter?

After the airline landed at Lod Airport in Ben Gurion and had passed through passport control, I found myself standing outside in the dark. There were no buses as they stopped running for the evening. Instead, a cabbie beckoned me over and asked me in English where I wanted to go.

To Jerusalem, I answered.

Jump in, he called out.

As I sat in the taxi, I realised that I didn't bring enough funds to live on during my three-week stay! I said nothing, but inside I felt panicky. Indeed. I had to take each day at a time. So the very start wasn't good. I was wondering whether the taxi fare was about to wipe my wallet clean. As we reached the outskirts of West Jerusalem, he asked whether I had a hotel room reserved. When I answered in the negative, he then stopped in front of one at Jaffa Road. He then recommended this hotel, known as the Ron Hotel, facing the junction of Jaffa Road with Ben Yehuda Street, back then, busy with traffic. This very hotel would one day be the venue for the conference held by the Israeli Government with Yasser Arafat, the leader of the Palestine Liberation Organisation, or the PLO, over East Jerusalem in 1994, eighteen years later.

I paid his fee as the cabbie drove off, and I made my way to the reception. A sole gentleman greeted me and assigned me a room on the first floor by passing the key across the desk. I made my way upstairs.

The room was dated but large and comfortable. As I lay to rest on the bed, all of a sudden there was a loud boom outside, as if from a powerful gunshot. Indeed, this was nothing like Spain four years earlier, since there was no beach and no holiday gaiety. Rather, I was suddenly reminded that this was still a war zone between the Jews and the Arabs.

Jerusalem was basically two cities: The new Israeli city, where I was at the moment, and the Arab Old City of Biblical location. Finding the Old City wasn't going to be difficult, as I already have a map of the entire area, with the Old City on a larger scale printed on the reverse of the main map. It would prove very helpful to me. 

The next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast, I was greeted by an elderly Christian saint who took a great liking to me. However, after a chat, he stayed behind at the hotel while I began to make my way along Jaffa Road towards the Old City.

The currency for Israel in 1976 was the Israeli Pound, a monetary unit left by the British Mandate which occupied the territory for the thirty years between 1918 and 1948. Also, it was up until the 1967 Six-Day War between Israel and the Arab States of Jordan, Egypt and Syria, that a dividing wall passed through Jerusalem. The developing new city was in the fledgling State of Israel, its sovereign established when Britain ended its Mandate on May 14, 1948. The Old City was in Jordan, hence no one was able to easily cross from one side to the other. 

An elderly window cleaning customer whom I got on very well shared the story of his trip to the Middle East he made with his wife before 1967. Had he landed at Lod Airport at Ben Gurion, they wouldn't have been able to visit the Old City, as having landed in Israel, Jordan would have been hostile to them. So instead, they took a flight from London to Amman, Jordan's capital, and from there, they made their way to visit the Old City.

The west side of the Old City wall came into view, with Jaffa Gate, as I crossed a road junction to reach it. No dividing wall now. When the Israelis won the Six-Day War on June 10th, 1967, a large crowd of Jewish soldiers poured into the Old City and wept with thanks and gratefulness that after over 2,600 years, the Jews were once more having full access to their beloved Temple Mount as a sovereign nation!

I entered the Old City via Jaffa Gate and made my way down Souk David. I was intrigued with the narrowness of this covered Medieval street. Since there was no motorised traffic, the street was exceptionally quiet, except for the noise of the crowd and an occasional radio playing Arabic music with an accompanying female vocal characteristic of Middle Eastern culture. Just about all the pedestrians were male, and now and again a donkey with its driver would overtake, pulling behind it a cartload of merchandise to restock the shops that lined both sides of the street.

Down the middle of the street was a gutter, and into this where the donkey poop was brushed into and flushed down a drain that appeared at intervals along the gutter. Therefore, the prevailing aroma filling the air was that of the many spices on display outside the shops, the different varieties blending to create a pleasantly pungent aroma that makes walking down this roofed street a very pleasant and enlightening experience. 

Eventually, I arrived at the entrance to the Temple Mount, or in Arabic, Haram Al-Sharif. A narrow gate leading to it was guarded and I had to go through an inspection before entry. Inside, two buildings dominate: The Dome of the Rock and the nearby Al Aqsa Mosque, both Muslim properties. The Dome was of striking beauty. A blue octagonal structure topped with a golden dome that glowed in the summer sunshine. I was astonished as I believed, stood on the very site where the Temple altar used to be, the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies, the dwelling of God in the Old Testament. Eventually, I actually made my way inside the Dome of the Rock. The interior was indeed occupied by a large rock making the summit of the original Mt Ophel, the very site where Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac. Towards the east, the Mount of Olives loomed, its golden brown soil making a vivid contrast with the blue sky, especially during the late afternoon.

Dome of the Rock, Temple Mount.

So, I was thinking, this was "the Temple on the Mount" of school-day confusion! The real thing was nothing like the drawing I submitted to the R.E. teacher a decade or so earlier. A mountain resembling the peak of Mont Blanc? Jerusalem was nothing like it. Rather, the temple stood on a level, ancient, a man-made platform that is still with us to this day. 

However, there is a darker side to this new experience in the Holy Land...

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Next Week: A taste of Middle East hospitality as my finance was resolved.