Travel Biography - Week 5.

My first of four trips to the Middle East was in 1976, with three more trips to follow. These were in 1993, 1994, and in the year 2000. However, it was in 1976 that I first became familiar with the walled Old City of Jerusalem with its narrow roofed streets free from motorised traffic, whilst mostly male pedestrians saunter along, frequently interrupted by a donkey-drawn cart filled with merchandise for restocking the shops that lined the aromatic pungent street.

After entering the kilometre-square enclosure via Jaffa Gate, I passed by the Citadel on my right and headed east down Souk David on a slight downhill gradient. Back in 1976, the predominant market was that of so many different varieties of spices. Each shop had its own display outside, filling the air with its pungency and creating an environment very different and more historical than the streets of the new city with its wide, traffic-laden streets.

A street, or souk, in Jerusalem Old City.

Souk David then intersects with Soukan Az-Zeit which includes a short stretch of the meat market before the fruit and vegetable market began and continued northward. Here, at the meat market, I was taken back by the sight of decapitated sheep's heads, complete with their eyes staring back at me. Apparently, a popular item for a typical Arab family table. Whilst Souken Az-Zeit continued north towards the ornate Damascus Gate and south through the Jewish Quarter towards the Western Wall, past the intersection, the street I was sauntering down continued as Souk As-Silseleh eastwards towards the Temple Mount.

Here, a security officer guarded the narrow gate, Bab As-Silseleh, and I had to go through a security check before he allowed me into the wide-open space of Temple Mount which was - and still is - dominated by two principal buildings, the Dome of the Rock and El Aqsa Mosque.

Standing at the site where God had his dwelling during Old Testament times and also standing by the spot where Abraham was ready to sacrifice his son Isaac, both made up what was a stunning experience! Except that the summit of Mount Ophel was still in its natural state during Abraham's day when he built his altar on the summit, now covered by the Dome. Further downhill to the south, Abraham must have looked at a small, walled settlement, Salem, built by the Jebusites, an offshoot tribe of the ancient Canaanites. Outside its eastern wall, a small spring provided one of the few water sources in this otherwise wild desert country.

Although I didn't have the word TOURIST tattooed across my forehead, I might as well have. We who visit, especially independently as I always had, are prime targets of Arab self-made "guides" who approach an unsuspecting tourist and begin to comment on the environment the visitor happened to be in, whether it's a mosque, a church, a historical or an archaeological site. Thus, the tourist is suddenly caught in a spider's web - he must pay a fee demanded by the unwanted escort. So, more than once - probably as many as three times in a day - I was approached by a single Muslim and immediately commented on what was nearby. Had I been loaded with adequate funds, I probably wouldn't have minded too much, as I was interested in my surroundings. But at my present financial state, I felt very concerned, fearful even. I even recall being escorted to the interior of the El Aqsa Mosque to receive a one-to-one lecture on the design of the Mosque's ornate windows.

The last thing I wanted was to create enemies in this faraway foreign land with nobody to support me. So, at first, I paid up without a fuss. But it didn't take long to dig at my survival instincts and quickly learn how to say No firmly but also politely. It was after such "guides" begin to get the message that I was gradually left alone. The same applied to the shopkeepers who would make an effort to entice the lone tourist into their shops and encourage them to buy.

However, I caught the attention of one "guide" who was more cautious than the others I had already encountered. He took a more genuine interest and asked me if I would accompany him to his home in Silwan to see his family. Feeling in need of a friend, I accompanied him.

Silwan is an Arab residential estate built in the Kidron Valley between the southern flanks of the two hills, the Mts of Olives and Ophel. From his home, the south wall of Temple Mount was clearly visible as it towered over us at a distance. Rather than his parents, so he says, he lived with his Aunt and Uncle in a smart, modern home built on a rocky ledge, as all the flat-roofed houses were in the Middle East. The young man told me his name, Abed Spihu, and his younger brother Ghanem. The Aunt was very hospitable and began to cook me a meal. Then they wanted to know where I was staying.

When I answered that it was the Ron Hotel and quoted its price, he was astonished how it was so expensive. With the family's agreement, he then encouraged me to vacate it and spend the rest of my stay at their home for a cheaper rental fee. The idea seemed fine to me. So that evening, I returned to the hotel and vacated it, much to the hotelier's surprise. I paid for the one night, and even the friendly saint I chatted with that morning, seemed more distant and uncommunicative. I then found my way to the Arab home where I was to stay for the next ten days at a lower rental fee.

Abed learned of my financial state and agreed with my instincts that I was inadequately funded. He then showed me how to write a telegram to my parents back at home, and to transfer funds from my account to a bank in East Jerusalem. He then told me that if my family take heed, I should have the money in about three days. And so it happened. Three days later, I walked into the bank and, using my passport, gave my identification in exchange for a fresh stack of Traveller's Cheques.

 Pottery was bought from a street salesman in 1976.

Staying at a family's home instead of a hotel does have advantages. However, this home environment was nothing like my grandparent's home in Turin in 1966. Rather, after Arabic, their second language was English, and thus, we were all easily understood. Secondly, rather than feel isolated by my family's language barrier, here in Silwan, I was treated like a guest of honour. Also, being alone without another adult in a land without any lasting peace astonished Abed in particular, and he kept asking me how I can travel so far from the UK without company.

Each day, a nearby mosque called for prayer from its minaret, and the sound of a male's voice echoed across the Kidron Valley giving almost a creepy feeling as I looked around such a historic location, as if the spirits of the long-dead could hear the recital. I watched the head of the house crouch down near me in Islamic prayer as regularly as a ticking clock. Meanwhile, his wife was very generous with the food, and her cooking of Arab fare was tasty and nutritious. However, I had to get used to their coffee. Not only it was a black expresso, but thick enough almost to stand a spoon in.

During the day, Abed went around Jerusalem selling trinkets and pieces of antique pottery whilst his younger brother attended school. From him, I bought an ancient flask and a Jewish oil lamp with the relief of a Menorah etched on the front.

Pottery was abundantly sold in the Holy Land during that period. Some were genuine antiques, others were fake and still, others were modern and the sellers said so. Therefore, some weeks after returning home, I visited the British Museum in London and made an appointment to show these pieces to an archaeologist who works there. We met at a secluded spot, away from the main exhibits, and I showed him the pieces. The professor examined them closely and declared their genuineness. The oil lamp was most likely owned by a Jewish family around the Byzantine period, hence the relief of the Menorah - it was to remind the original owners of their Jewish ancestral heritage. As for the flask, it was slightly older, and the powdery covering on its body wasn't fake. Rather, it was to keep the water cool during transport in hot weather.

Both pieces are in my home to this day.

Back at Silwan, Ghanem, under the advice of his uncle, suggested that I go with him to a 2,700-year-old tunnel, excavated by ancient Israel when Jerusalem was under threat of attack and opened in 701 BC. Believing that this man was the site's caretaker, I didn't hesitate to pay my fee to enter the tunnel. In fact, the site was Government-owned and in 1976, it was free to visit by anyone who wanted the experience. But I didn't know that back then.

The conduit was known as Hezekiah's Tunnel, now more known as the Tunnel of Siloam. This was served by the same spring which served ancient Salem of Canaanite days. In 701 BC, when the city was under threat of an invasion by the Assyrians, King Hezekiah, a descendent of David via Solomon, had the tunnel dug to divert the spring water into the city and out of the enemy's reach. As the Bible itself says,

It was Hezekiah who blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channelled the water to the west side of the City of David. He succeeded in everything he did.

2 Chronicles 32:30 cf 2 Kings 20:20.

The gate at the tunnel's entrance at Gihon was shut, barring access to the tunnel. However, no questioning thoughts entered my mind as the two of us made our way to the Pool of Siloam, with each of us holding a long wax candle. The exit gate was open, and we had easy access to the pool down a flight of steps. With the two candles lit, these provided adequate illumination in an otherwise frighteningly dark underground tunnel! Fortunately, the length of the wax ensured that we would be safe throughout the entire tour. 

Inside Hezekiah's Tunnel, 1976.

Normally, tourists and pilgrims enter the 553-metre tunnel at Gihon and exit at the pool. However, during the circumstances back then, we entered the tunnel at the pool end, only to sink to waist level at a sump dug just inside. The floor then raised to a level where the water was just ankle-deep, and the floor kept to that level all the way to the spring that fed it. However, to keep the water constantly flowing, there is a continual 0.06% downhill gradient between the Spring of Gihon and the Pool of Siloam - showing the magnificent accuracy of those clever ancient engineers!

However, the height of the ceiling varies. for several metres from the pool, the ceiling was well above head height, maybe as much as three metres. Then the ceiling lowers to a little above my head, I guess, over two metres in height. But there is a section where the ceiling lowers to around 1.5 metres in height, which made me crouch as I passed through. I guess, not very ideal for claustrophobics.

No other tourists were visiting the tunnel, unlike now - so I read on the Internet - when one has to book in advance for joining one of the numerous daily tour groups. Furthermore, back in 1976, since the gate at Gihon was shut, the only way out was to first wade through the tunnel "the wrong way" to the Spring from the pool, then at Gihon, turn around and do the whole tunnel back to the pool. When it comes to good old King Hezekiah, I must have been a very unique tourist indeed, taking an out-and-back trip into his conduit three times throughout the holiday, or six through-walks altogether. As long as Ghanem's uncle was happy for some extra cash, his nephew was happy to take me through the tunnel three times, the last walk taken just before I took a bus to Tel Aviv before boarding the plane home.

But it was not the time to fly home, as we will see, I still need to relate to a Palestinian wedding reception, a trip to Bethlehem, Hebron, to the Dead Sea, Jericho, and finally up north on my own whilst the Spihu family remained at home. 

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NEXT WEEK - a visit to an ancient building on which its presence means that the whole of humankind will never be annihilated, and a visit to Jesus' favourite area for teaching.