Travel Biography - Week 11.

Flight to Toronto 1977.

At the Gatwick Airport departure lounge, my flight came up on the screen on time with the words, "Boarding. Gate xx." I made my way through the corridors until I found the appropriate gate. It wasn't long before I settled into my window seat on the starboard side of the aeroplane. Shortly after taking off, I saw that the scenery was so dramatic under clear skies, I paused a passing stewardess to ask the pilot exactly where we were flying over, as the view below looked so spectacular.

In Toronto. On a ferry to Toronto Island.

The voice of one of the crew members crackled into life with the announcement that we were flying over the Scottish Highlands, just as I've unpacked the camera that was given to me by Dad, who had it for many years. It mainly was a metal contraption covered with a dappled light grey plastic jacket. It accepted a paper-backed size 120 film. Onto it, twelve square negatives were snapped, each one was 56mm by 56mm. It was this camera that accompanied me to Italy in both years 1973 and 1975, along with Israel in 1976. Now, I was using it on this American trip Part1.

But as I released the shutter to permanently record the dramatic scenery below, the mechanism made a strange noise. Looking through the lens, I saw a mechanical failure. The camera, loaded with an unused film, could no longer be used, even when I tried to release the shutter several times. My heart fell. Next to the passport, the tickets and the book of traveller's cheques, the camera was the most important item for a backpacker, even more so than all the contents in the suitcase or rucksack stashed away in the hold.

Suddenly, I felt vulnerable. I was flying to a faraway land, a different continent to Europe, and unlike the Middle East which is connected to Europe by land bridges and international borders, this one I was heading for was across a wide expanse of ocean.

When the stewardess arrived wheeling a trolley loaded with in-flight meals, I had an idea as she handed a tray to me. It contained a small bowl of soup, the main course tray, a dessert bowl, a small glass of red wine and a bread roll. An excellent serving, in my opinion, for one who flying on such a cheap economy ticket.

After the meal, would I dare to consecrate the bread and the wine into the Body and Blood of Christ? As I was doing this, I felt apprehensive, fearful even. I was aware that the Catholic Church (in which I grew up) took this sacrament so seriously that only the priest had the authority to perform the consecration. But what did God think? Would an engine explode, sending the plane into the ocean? Would I just die before touchdown at Toronto? Would something terrible happen sometime after arrival? After all, I was performing a sacrament without authority and as such, incurring the wrath of the Church. This was my worldview in 1977.

However, after praying over the two substances, I performed the sacrament, only to realise that I have done the right thing and everything would turn out fine.

As the plane approached the runway, a conversation I thought was odd occurred between two middle-aged females sitting across the aisle, and me. Just before the touchdown, one of them asked why the plane was going so fast just before landing, whilst going much slower in full flight.

When I saw that both looked baffled, I explained that at this moment, the plane was moving around 200 mph (whether that was true or not) - whilst in full flight, it was doing up to 600 mph. When I saw her puzzled look, I tried to explain the parallax phenomenon.

Imagine you are walking along the street. I said, Along the sidewalk, there is a fence or a safety barrier. Across the road, there are some bushes. Now, as you walk, the fence seems to overtake the bushes, as if moving faster. But actually, neither is moving. You are moving. That's why in full flight, it appears as if we're moving more slowly than at touchdown when we're much closer to the ground.

The two were wide-eyed with astonishment!

One of them exclaimed, My word! You must be a doctor or professor!

A good ego-booster, no doubt. For someone who left school on just a wing and a prayer, one can learn a lot just by observation.

Completed 1977 route across N. America.

Arriving in Toronto.

A bus from the airport dropped me off at the city centre. The first facility to look for was a hotel. Walking along Queen Street, I came across one that didn't look too expensive. After all, it was a place to sleep, and I didn't need the opulence of Buckingham Palace. I entered and asked if there was a room. I was offered one, and taking the key offered to me, as before, made my way upstairs, and once settled in, I found it difficult to remain awake. Although it was evening in Eastern Canada, I was five hours behind British Summer Time, and my body clock still believed it was time for lights out.

However, having settled in, one of the first things to get off my mind was to buy a new camera, and a cheap one at that, as my budget didn't allow for a proper camera replacement. I found a photography shop and I managed to find a convenient tideover, a Kodak 110 Instamatic. This produced negatives only 13mm by 17mm in size, hence once the photos were enlarged, the outlines appeared as if slightly out of focus, giving a soft outline to all details. However, unlike the 120, the size 110 film came in a cartridge or cassette, it was very easy to load, and there was no need to rewind at completion.

However, although the camera was convenient, it was also cheap, an unexpected need to buy, and used for this trip as a tideover. But owning such a device, in a way had brought repercussion - if you want to call it that, with photos of the 1978 hike into the Grand Canyon turning out disastrous. For example, Riverside photos were taken at daybreak. According to my eyes, the features bathing in the semi-dark were stunning! But all the camera saw were blackened silhouettes against a pale blue sky, hence spoiling what were otherwise lifelong memories. Hence, the need to re-hike the Canyon in 1995, using a better camera.

The City's most impressive Square.

That evening, I walked along the main thoroughfare just to stay awake. Even after dark, the street was alive, bustling with people, very much like the West End of London on a Saturday evening (after all, this was a Saturday.) Shops were open, and the whole environment was welcoming, the weekend spirit not any less felt than in London.

The following morning, the street was quiet. As with Canadian and American hotels in general, they don't serve colazione, therefore, I had to find somewhere else for a coffee and bread. And so it was like this throughout all my two American trips of the 1970s - a reliance on cafeterias and coffee bars. However, I tended to avoid restaurants, simply to avoid overspending. One of the lessons learned with backpacking, and that there is a need to count the pennies (or cents in this case.) Rather than see this as soul-destroying, as tempting as that was to me, rather, I saw this as a vital lesson in economic long-haul travel as an independent.

City Hall, Toronto. Stock photo.

Even better and more economical than relying on cafeterias is hostelling, but I wasn't introduced to this until 1985, and that was when I travelled with Tim and Keith to the Isle of Wight. Thereafter, rather than relying on the cafeteria, it was the supermarket where I bought raw food to be cooked in the hostel's membership kitchen. But that is later.

Along Queen Street from the hotel is Nathan Phillips Square, perhaps the main attraction of the city. It features two curved skyscrapers, one taller than the other and facing each other as if (in my view) they're about to embrace. This is the New City Hall, actually just a pair of office blocks, but it's their unique architecture that has made these twin buildings unique and appears on the front cover of Canadian holiday brochures across the UK. A low, circular structure nestles between the two skyscrapers, and I wonder whether that is the hall itself, while the two curved structures are administrative towers. In front of the square, three arches dominate a fountain fronting the square with Queen Street, adding further aesthetics to the environment.

I also walk South towards Lake Ontario, perhaps along University Avenue. Nearby stands the Canadian National (CN) Tower, a structure over 533 metres high, with an indoor observation deck 346 metres high - 102 metres higher than the observation deck of the Shard, London, which is 244 metres high. During my three-day stay in Toronto, I took the elevator to the lookout at the CN Tower and spent some time there, absorbing the spectacular panorama of the city still dominated by the twin office blocks of the City Hall.

I eventually arrive at the harbour, where a boat ferried me to the Toronto Islands, enclosing a lagoon separating the islands from the mainland. It featured a permanent amusement park, including a water log flume and a sky chair. Okay, at the log flume, I got wet, but what the heck? I was on holiday, and if getting unexpectedly wet whilst enjoying myself, to me, it's all part of the fun. By contrast, the slow-moving, relaxing and noiseless sky chair in full flight offered lovely views of the park as well as the lake and the city skyline.

Under one of the arches, City Hall.

I quite liked Toronto, and to my opinion, this Canadian city in Ontario might have been considered better and more handsome than Downtown Los Angeles, if it wasn't for the balmier Californian climate, Hollywood Studios, Disneyland, its coastal features such as Long Beach, Santa Monaco, and its abundance of palm trees. However, Toronto is on the northern coast of the rather ribbon-like Lake Ontario, with its southern coastline within New York State. The lake is around 76 metres above sea level, and it's fed via Niagara Falls from Lake Eire, which is 174 metres above sea level.

Log Flume, Toronto Island.

And my third and last full day in Ontario was spent at the Niagara Falls resort. The main reason for my visit to Toronto was originally meant as a consolation for my inability to visit California before I managed to receive a US entry visa. Instead, my visit to the Falls turned out to be one of the greatest experiences I ever had, and I have no regrets.

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Next Week: A day at Niagara Falls is followed by my entry into the USA - to coincide with the premature death of a world-famous pop icon.

Travel Biography - Week 10.

Some Figures:

Here, I would like to give some facts and figures about my whole life on the move so far, that is, up to when this was written.

The total number of weeks spent travelling alone around Italy - all of them surface journeys, without flights: up to 10 weeks. This includes 1973, 1975, 1981, and 1982.

Israel: 23 weeks, including 1976, 1993, 1994, and with Alex in 2000. 

North America: Canada - 2 weeks in 1977, USA - a total of 16 weeks, including 1977, 1978, 1995, 1997, and 1998.

Singapore: 5 days, a stopover on my way to Australia, 1997.

Australia: 40 days, 1997. Part of the Round-the-World backpacking trip.

In addition, there were several shorter breaks to France, Holland, Belgium and Germany. These tended to span the 1980s, particularly between 1983 and 1989. Some of these breaks were indeed on my own but others were with friends. Those were the days when we as committed Christians were single adult men who were yet to marry our future wives. They included Tim Kingcott, Keith White, Gareth Philips, and Paul Hunt. On one occasion, we loaded our bicycles on board the train at London Liverpool Street to ferry to the Hook of Holland, and then to cycle around these three European countries. But more on that later.

I cycled with friends in the mid-80s.

Cologne, Germany 1985

1977: Knocking on US Ambassador's Door...

Going back to 1977, and after watching the TV detective series Starsky and Hutch based in Los Angeles, I felt intrigued by this pair of casually-dressed cops tracking down dangerous criminals and either ending their lives in a shoot-out or taken to Court to face justice, I developed a desire to visit this Californian dream city to see for myself.

But, having suffered a disappointment when my application for a US entry visa was rejected, instead, I bought a four-week return flight to Toronto with a travel company, Jetsave, a rival of Freddy Laker's budget transatlantic airline. The main purpose of this coming trip was to visit Niagara Falls, a consolation after missing out on Los Angeles due solely to visa bureaucracy. Unlike the USA during the 1970s, no visa was required for entry into Canada for British visitors.

But having bought the flight tickets, I couldn't calm the desire to push ahead in getting a USA entry visa. And so, having asked my employer to write a more affirming letter assuring that I worked full time for them without any hint of a future closure, this time, I would visit the embassy in person with the correct documentation.

By taking an unpaid day off work, I boarded a train to London with my passport and required documentation. However, as soon as I alighted and made my exit at Marble Arch Station, the heavens opened, and I was drenched to the skin as a heavy shower fell over the city. Undeterred, I made my way to the imposing building facing east onto Grosvenor Square, in the heart of Mayfair.

The US Embassy in London was the largest of the kind in the UK, possibly in the world, before it closed in December 2017 to be relocated to Vauxhall, on the south bank of the Thames. From the visitor's entrance at the South Wing, a long queue snaked out to the street, and I knew that I had a long wait before I would be seen. But at least the rain stopped. During the wait, I saw at least one smartly-dressed gentleman exit the embassy with his passport in his hand and a frustrated look on his face. I felt cautious about what to expect.

Aerial view of the old US Embassy, London.

The staff member took my passport and appropriate documentation and told me to return later in the afternoon. I left empty-handed but with a greater sense of expectation. I spent the rest of the day browsing the stock at one of Oxford Street's largest department stores, Selfridges. It was during those days when those Pong retro tennis, soccer and squash could be played on the TV, the forerunner of the PlayStation. On one shelf was a whole row of video games with two or three fully functioning for a demonstration display. I stopped to take a closer look at one of them, this one was selling for only £17.00. A staff member in his thirties, his clean white shirt complete with a black bow tie and a look of dislike on his face, approached and turned off the machine in front of me.

How pathetic! I thought. If I can afford a holiday setting me back several hundred pounds, then surely this gadget was well within my budget if I wanted to buy it. I now wished I did, merely to put this smart Alek in his place. Instead, I just sauntered off to have lunch at a cafeteria in another department store further along the street.

It's incidences such as this one at Selfridges that have got me to wonder how exactly tourists think of Londoners. As all he knew, I could have arrived from the Continent, or even from the Middle East, or from any part of the world, only to be treated with such rudeness by a smartly-dressed store employee. This was not the only occasion. In the past, I have seen other customers receiving unkind remarks from inpatient shopkeepers, especially in London. But at least one issue was in my favour. I was alone on the top floor which was empty of other visitors. Hence there was no feeling of embarrassment of being humiliated in front of such onlookers. However, my evaluation of the average Londoner was put to the test - quite a contrast to my childhood experience described in Week 1 of this Biography.

 

Around tea-time, I approached the US Embassy and walked straight in. There was no queue this time. After giving my identification, the passport was handed back to me. I was nervous as I opened the old blue/black document. Inside was a beautiful-looking coloured stamp taking up a large proportion of the page. I've got it! Uncle Sam has, at last, opened a door to me! I was excited! Let the posh salesman keep his precious games console for all I care. I had something far, far better!

Hence, the plan for 1977 was to be rearranged. Now I can visit both Niagara Falls and Los Angeles on the same trip. Actually, by first refusing to issue a visa, Uncle Sam did me a favour. My initial plan was to fly to Los Angeles, spend some time there, and then fly back home. Instead, my plane will land in Toronto and take off from there a month later. I had four weeks to travel around the continent.

In this Biography, I detail two trips across the Atlantic Ocean during the 1970s. This one I like to call America Part 1. The following trip, a year later in 1978, will be America Part 2, as both were so similar that the two complement each other. 

To find out about interior transportation, I called the Travel Agent where I bought the airline tickets. I was given the Greyhound Bus route map that covered both Canada and the United States. And the availability of the Greyhound Ameripass, a book of vouchers. Whenever I need to board a Greyhound bus, the driver tore off a voucher. Furthermore, if the book runs out of vouchers before the time, a new book is issued il gratis at any one of its terminals by showing both the old book cover and passport. The Ameripass has the value of one week, two weeks or one month. I bought the month's value.

North America Part 1.

Visiting the New World was just as big a contrast from the Middle East as chalk is from cheese! With the Holy Land the centre hub of the three Abrahamic faiths - Judaism, Islam and Christianity, the region so steeped in ancient history - with plenty of ancient remains and present-day features to both delight and educate the visitor, North America, especially the USA, is all modern. With many freeways and wide streets accommodating long, endless lines of motorised traffic, most cities are built in a symmetrical grid layout, each town looking very much alike. As Simon & Garfunkel noted in their song, Homeward Bound, their lyrics narrate the wandering soul, suitcase and guitar in hand, searching for his destiny, and passing through one town after another, all of them, to him, looking the same.

Therefore, after spending so much time admiring the historic and religious centres of Italy and Israel, what has America have to offer? What was it that stirred my desire to step into the New World? Well, celebrity worship was one motive, with my admiration for Starsky and Hutch being the initiators. Of course, I had no expectation of meeting them in the flesh whilst I was there. I knew much better than that! It was just the case of being in the same location. Add to this the romance attached to California - featuring in movies and popular songs. Maybe the album of the Mamas and Papas, California Dreaming, just about sums it up. Also, the home of Hollywood studios which can be visited by the public, the famous Disneyland has appeared in holiday brochures, and that too had stirred my curiosity, indeed, bringing out the boy in the man.

Pong Retro Tennis Video Game of the 1970s.

It was when my maternal grandparents were staying at Mum's house when the time for departure came around. whether deliberately planned by my parents or just a mere coincidence, the day I took off for Canada happened to be on the same day my grandparents were flying home to Turin, Italy, and from the same airport, Gatwick. Thus, I felt it was silly to turn down a free lift, and like with Israel the previous year, Dad and I embraced before checking in, and I asked him to wish me good luck.

After check-in, which was much more straightforward than the previous year's version for the Middle East, once again I was on my own as I waited in the airport departure lounge - after my grandparents were already called to their boarding gate.

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Next Week: America Part 1 gets underway.

Travel Biography - Week 9. Pictorial.

1976 Holiday in Israel - final conclusions.

Having returned to Jerusalem from Tiberias, once again, I arrived at the Spihu household in Silwan, East Jerusalem. During those couple of days, I did little but amble along the souks of the Old City and soak in the Middle East atmosphere once more. This was followed by a day and two nights in Tel Aviv. This was to spend the whole day at the Mediterranean beach, the only part of my trip I could call a "beach holiday".

Having thanked my hosts and said goodbye to them, I then made my way into the New City to board an Egged Bus to Tel Aviv. After arriving, it wasn't long before I found a modestly priced hotel, and having stepped through its doors, asked the receptionist if there was a room available for two nights. I was offered one, and having accepted, I was handed the key. I write this to show the ease it was for an "off the street" hotel enquiry before the advance of the smartphone. As with the hotels in Italy, along with the Ron Hotel in West Jerusalem and the Aviv Hotel in Tiberias, this one too was so straightforward to merely ask if a room was available. And the two American trips to come, "off-the-street" hotel check-ins were just as without hassle.

My last full day in Israel was spent at the beach, reminiscent of the Spanish holiday in 1972, but without alcoholic intoxication. I felt that this was an excellent way to end my Middle East travel experience. 

Early next morning, I made my way to the airport for the flight home. I was rather shocked at the security before check-in. After a thorough search through my belongings, the officer found the two ancient pieces of pottery I bought from Abed, and he explained that the oil lamp in particular was Government property. It was then taken to a department away from the security check. After a few minutes, it was returned with the explanation that since I had purchased the item legally, I was allowed to keep it. Was I relieved! The flight back to London Heathrow was smooth and uneventful.

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Here are some photos, all either taken by me or by someone of me. They include the four taken before 1976. I apologise if these pics look a little amateurish. Due to the withdrawal of Boots photo scanners in my hometown of Bracknell, I did this by "taking a picture of a picture" from a photo album. Also to be considered is that they are around 46-52 years old!

Yes, as a teenager, dressing up was not unusual.

A Street in Pompei, Italy 1973.

Amphitheatre, Pompei 1973.

Italy, 1973, then aged 21.

Arab children playing outside the Spihu's home.

At the Rockefeller Museum, East Jerusalem

Deep inside Hezekiah's Tunnel

Further on, also known as the Siloam Tunnel.

At the Tell of Jericho

At the Tomb of the Patriarchs, Hebron.

Alone at the Synagogue, Capernaum.

St Peter's House, Capernaum, as it was in 1976.

Fishing boats moored at the Sea of Galilee.

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Preparations for North America 1977.

The 1976 three-week solo trip to Israel changed my travel habits forever. I have come to realise that there is far, far more to this fascinating world of travel than throwing up after consuming alcohol at a Spanish Costa. And there are escorted tours where a group of people pay to be led to different, usually historical locations, by an escort or ranger. The vast majority of British churchgoers, for example, visiting the Holy Land, seem to prefer to be in a large escorted group. I have two good friends who, at different times, visited Israel in an escorted tour group. I also have another friend, a PhD degree holder, who visited the Neapolitan area of Italy, including an ascent up Mt Vesuvio, a visit to Pompei and Ercolano excavations, catacombs, and the lovely clifftop resort of Sorrento. All with a Christian group Oak Hall, in 2020.

But, wonderful experiences these trips were for my friends, such holidays would never suit me. However, one advantage of them is to be well taken care of, to be looked after, and immunity from any potential danger. But the main disadvantage would be the pressing schedule, the feeling of being rushed to move on when you want to spend more time at a particular location. For example, I would never recommend a visit to the Grand Canyon with a tour group where you may not be allowed more than an hour on a scheduled stop. Such a location would require at least a full day, if not more. Yet, fifty minutes spent gazing into the Canyon and taking many photos from the South Rim may be enough for some.

And so, it was during the mid-seventies that while I was visiting some young singles of our Baptist Church (the forerunner of the Kerith Centre in Bracknell) in the home of our late deacon, David Prior, that we found ourselves watching Starsky and Hutch on his television, an American detective series based in Los Angeles. The series starred Paul Glaser as Dave Starsky, and David Soul as Kenneth Hutchinson, or Hutch for short. It was my admiration for these two which sparked an interest in cross-Atlantic travel. As 1976 gave way to 1977, my interest in the USA, especially Los Angeles, began to grow. Not only were Starsky and Hutch filmed there, but the city was also the home of Hollywood Studios and Disneyland.

Starsky (right) and Hutch inspired American Travel.

And I was fortunate. Very. It was in 1977 when British airline entrepreneur Alfred Laker launched his budget flight from London to New York for a payment which was within reach of us commoners - eleven years after setting up his airline business in 1966. Unfortunately, Laker Airlines went the way of Court Line with its two holiday companies, Clarksons and Horizon. Like them, Laker went bankrupt on February 5th, 1982.

That means I could have flown to New York as early as 1977, being one of the first generations of economy travellers crossing the Atlantic. But during the 1970s, a visa was required to enter the States, even for an hour or two as a passing tourist. Even with escorted Canadian tours, if the itinerary crossed briefly into the USA, then an American Visa was required before booking the entire Canadian holiday. And the Embassy staff will ask for proof of permanent employment in our home country before issuing is even considered. 

And that was when I hit a problem whilst applying for a US visa. The company I was working for was about to close its Bracknell factory and move to a new site near Plymouth in Devon. Therefore, when I asked for proof of employment from the firm's office, a letter was handed to me that yes, I did work for this company but it's due to close soon. No wonder the US embassy returned my application form, along with my unstamped passport, through the post. I was then shocked to see my application form struck right across the page with a biro as if done with anger!

Refusing to be defeated by a bunch of American men dressed in a suit, I approached a travel agency and picked up a brochure from Laker's rival, Jetsave. This company offers flights to both Canada and the USA at prices that were compatible with Freddy Laker's offers. Jetsave also offers ranger-led escorted tours across the American continent for those who prefer them.

Feeling disappointed that I won't be able to set foot in Los Angeles, I sought some consolation with Toronto in Canada instead. With no entry visa required, I would have a chance to visit Niagara Falls. And so, I bought a return flight ticket for Toronto from London Gatwick. This holiday would be four weeks long, and I would have to find a way to travel around Canada if it's interesting enough. 

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Next Week. How the US Embassy in London had done me a great favour when it refused to issue me an entry visa.

Travel Biography - Week 8.

The Sea of Galilee/Lake of Kinneret.

It was the twelfth day into my visit to the Holy Land out of the 21 days I spent there in 1976. Now, I find myself standing alone at the coastal town of Tiberias on the west side of the Sea of Galilee, a harp-shaped freshwater lake 13 miles, 21 km in length from north to south, 8.1 miles, 13 km wide from east to west, and 209 metres below sea level. Far to my left, that is towards the north, I could see the distant ruins of Capernaum, a fishing village which was the hometown of the Apostle Peter and one of the venues of Jesus' ministry. Directly opposite, on the far side, Ein Gev Kibbutz nestles on the shore, an Israeli area within Syria that, back then, still bordered the eastern shoreline of the lake.

Tiberias. Stock photo.

Swimming was one of my favourite activities. Lido resorts lined the coastline north of Tiberias and the one I visited, Lido Beach, looked to be a popular resort. A little distance from the beach, a wall was built to partially enclose the shallow area of the lake to make it safe for families with small children and non-swimmers. Beyond the wall was the main body of the lake itself, populated by strong swimmers. And just as well, as from the safety wall itself, the water was already deeper than my height, with its deepest point in the whole lake some 43 metres below the surface, hence the need for constant body movement. Although classed as a lido, in 1976, there was no rope boundary enclosing the bathing area, as there was in 1994. Instead, I could have swum right out if I had wanted to.

Swimming in the Sea of Galilee was a totally different experience from that of the Dead Sea. Wherein the latter I merely floated as if lying on a soft mattress, here, the water was fresh, hence likened to a pool swim.

Also, some distance off the coast of Tiberias, several fishing boats were moored, each a little larger than a family rowing boat that ply the Thames at Henley and Windsor. These boats were a reminder of the vibrant fishing industry that existed at the time of Jesus Christ, and from such an industry the Lord called at least four of his disciples. These boats, however, were moored some distance out from the beach, and each was supplied with oars and also an outboard motor, the only clue that I was living in the late 20th Century rather than during Christ's day. Also, at some nearby sheds, fishing nets were seen as if drying out. More authenticity to the Biblical narrative. Therefore, it was easy to imagine Jesus sitting in one of the boats as he delivered his parables to the crowd standing onshore, or the hustle and bustle as Peter, Andrew, James, and John rowed into the harbour with their night's catch and then laying out their nets in the rising sunshine to dry out.

Evenings spent at the shore of the lake were relaxing experiences. As the Galilean sun set behind me, its rays turned the mountainous banks of Syria into a pinkish hue and would have been an ideal setting for romantic couples. For me, such a scenic view allowed my imagination to go back two millennia to a far less peaceful hustle-and-bustle of fishermen haggling with the tax collector, hated by all and regarded as "unclean" by the Jews at the time, as the tax collector sided with their Roman oppressors.

A Visit to Capernaum.

Along with the fishing boats, a modern cruiser also plied the lake daily. It called at three points - Tiberias, on which the cruiser is based, Capernaum and Ein Gev, thus forming a triangular route across the lake. On one particular day, I bought a full-cruise ticket to visit Capernaum. Once on board, it was a pleasant, uneventful sailing to the area, an archaeological site with two distinct features: The synagogue where Jesus taught and the site of Peter's house.

The present ruin of the synagogue that now stands in Capernaum was built sometime later after the one where Jesus preached, but it's on the same site. So as I sat on one of its ledges, I soaked in the experience and wondered what it must have been like watching the Lord healing a man's withered hand and the uproar from the crowd packed within, for healing on the Sabbath. What different atmospheres between Jesus' time and mine! As I sat, there were no angry crowds muttering about how to execute such an individual. Instead, the shell of the ancient synagogue was deserted, other than just me sitting there, soaking in the experience and worshipping God. A few other people were also elsewhere at the site, but the quietness of the ruins seems to belie the active life in its heyday.

Nearby was the traditional site of St Peter's house. Again in 1976, the ruin had nothing modern built above it. Like all other ruins, this too was open to the sky. It took the form of a series of concentric hexagons which stood out from the other ruins. This suggests an ancient church built on the site, as Peter himself was an ordinary fisherman and therefore unlikely to have lived in a house that was more prominent than others around it. Nowadays, a modern octagonal edifice is built over it, a Catholic church with a glass floor through which visitors can look down directly at the ruin beneath it.

St Peter's House as it was in 1976. Stock photo.

As I stood at the site, I thought how ironic that here was where Peter lived, perhaps his equivalent of a British council house in any suburban estate. Nothing special, or at least not what some of his neighbours had thought, as they even had the temerity to pick a hole through the roof, large enough to let down a disabled man to Jesus to be healed. Peter might have protested loudly at the apparent destruction of his home, but Jesus had more compassion for the crippled beggar and healed him - and also exalted Peter to lead a team of apostles after his Lord's passing. And so, the contrast between his house here in Capernaum and that of a basilica named after him in Rome (Week 4) couldn't have been more different! Especially since various theologians had questioned whether Peter had ever visited Rome in the first place, as being the apostle to the Jews, according to his own letter, his life ended at Babylon, far in the opposite direction from Rome, after ministering to the Jewish Diaspora.

St Peter's House now, with a church built over it.

My day ended with another pleasant sailing from Capernaum to Ein Gev, then back to Tiberias where I made my way back to my room in Hotel Aviv.

Daily Bits and Bobs.

One morning, I was strolling along a lake promenade when I came across a group of young men swimming in the lake and apparently supervised by an older gentleman sitting nearby. Shortly after, the older man summoned the whole group, with each individual climbing out of the water and dressed without barely drying themselves, as they seemed to rely on the warm sunshine to do that. Then they were led to a building site, where an unfinished hotel was standing, the first of the modern skyscraper hotels that will draw in the future tourist. This will be the Leonardo Plaza Hotel Tiberias, one of many such buildings springing up in Israel, including those at Tel Aviv, the Dead Sea and Eilat. 

In another incident, at the same spot as the group of young men swimming earlier, a couple of Israeli soldiers made a failed attempt to snatch the silver wristwatch from my arm. With a sharp, accurate skill, one of them flicked at the stainless steel fastener with his intention to release the strap while they ran away with the watch. But the mechanism was designed to merely loosen the chain strap to enable it to pass over my clenched hand. Thus, after feeling a hard tug on the upper arm, the two men fled empty-handed, leaving the watch loose around my wrist. At first, I was shocked at the quick, sudden incident. Then, seeing the watch safe with me, my shock turned to amusement as I refastened it.

Nazareth.

During my stay in Galilee, I made my way to the Egged bus station to board a bus to spend a day in Nazareth. On this route, some buses terminated at Nazareth. Others then proceeded to Haifa, Israel's major port on the Mediterranean coast. I alighted at Nazareth, an inland town that had much to do with the early life of Jesus Christ, beginning with the Church of the Annunciation, a large edifice topped with a cupola, shaped to resemble a cone. I believe this might have been purposely built to symbolise the rays of light shining upon Mary from heaven as she was told by an angel that she was pregnant and will give birth to the long-awaited Messiah.

It whole church looked new when I entered it and has two levels. From the upper level, I had a superb view of the main apse, and I wondered whether I was visiting a museum instead of a church. And indeed, it did look remarkably new, lacking that fragrance of centuries of incense burning and the classic tired look of age, as with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre or the Church of the Nativity and its Orthodox decor. And of little wonder, as this basilica was completed in 1969, thus making it 17 years younger than me. It was built over a grotto marking the traditional site where Mary was visited by the angel. Even then, coming to think of it, the two important events associated with Jesus' infancy seems to occur in a cave. So the Annunciation occurred in a cave at Nazareth, and the birth of Jesus took place in a cave in Bethlehem. This site selection was the work of Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine in the 4th Century AD, and was upheld by the popes ever since. She also identified the exact site of the Crucifixion and Burial, both within the existing Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Although at the time I was fully convinced of its authenticity when I visited the site of the Crucifixion for the first time in 1976, it was after that I had to take everything in with a little more caution.

Yet in Nazareth, if only I had a guidebook. There were more interesting places I could have visited in Nazareth. Instead, I visited the Basilica of the Annunciation without, for example, visiting the church of Joseph's carpentry workshop which is - again built over a cave. Instead, I spent the remainder of the day walking through the streets of the town before boarding the bus back to Tiberias.

The Church of the Annunciation, Nazareth.

The week I spent in Tiberias, sitting whilst meditating as I gazed across the Sea of Galilee was indeed an enlightening experience and also had a greater sense of independence. However, living in a private home in Silwan proved an advantage. If it wasn't for Abed, I would have run into financial trouble midway through the holiday. Furthermore, I may not have visited Hebron, the Dead Sea and Jericho without the companionship of my host who saw me as a friend in need rather than a touring customer. Indeed, Throughout the whole trip, I was still very inexperienced and naive. I had a lot to learn - and learn I did as I vacated my room a week after arrival to board the bus back to Jerusalem.

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NEXT WEEK: As I fly home from the Middle East and prepare for North America, I hope to include some photos I took during the 1976 trip to Israel.

Travel Biography - Week 7.

My visit to the fortress sitting over the Cave of Machpelah has set my faith in the historicity of the Bible in stone. I could add that I now personally refer to this edifice as The Stone Bible, as its floor covers the Biblical cave that contains the bones of three men and their wives, the Hebrew patriarchs who were the founders of the nation of Israel, and whose ground it now stands as a sentinel, witnessing to the rest of the world of the Covenant God made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that He would give this land on which it stands to their descendants.

Dead Sea Bathing.

But our journey didn't end there. Before setting off in the first place, Abed my host and a self-made guide, asked if I would like to have a dip in the Dead Sea. Indeed, I was keen. A Sherut escorted us from Hebron to drop us off at a beach on the northern tip of the Dead Sea, or the Hebrew, Yam HaMelakh (Sea of Salt) or the Arabic, Bahr Lut (Sea of Lot) is actually an elongated lake some 295 metres below sea level, nestling within the Great Rift Valley, approximately a 4,000-mile, 6,500 km long crack in the Earth between Syria and Mozambique, caused by the movement of two continental plates.

Floating in the Dead Sea, stock photo.

Abed and I arrived at a beach resort in Kalia, on the northern end of the lake and near the international border with Jordan. As with Bethlehem and Hebron, the lake's western side is in the West Bank territory, which continues southwards until just north of Masada and the start of the Negev Desert. Here, the Israel/West Bank boundary swings eastwards to end at the international boundary with Jordan, cutting the lake into two territorial halves and extending to the northern tip of the Red Sea, just east of the resort of Eilat.

I stripped to my swimming trunks and waded into the saline water. At Kalia, the beach sloped very gently into the lake and had to wade up between fifty and a hundred metres to reach chest depth. But once at that spot, I felt as if I was pushed up by the density of the oily water and I was able to lie on my back as if lying on a soft mattress.

A little of the water managed to get into my eyes, and they burned severely for a short while. Likewise, any drop entering my mouth burned my tongue. This was due to the high 25% salination of the water that has made the lake uninhabitable to any aquatic life, whether it'll be fish or crustaceans. It's this which gives the sea its uniqueness. Somewhat unlike the aptly-named Salt Lake in Utah, I visited a year later in 1977. This American lake with the world's second highest saline content was the home of countless tiny shrimps.

The heavy air that hung over the Dead Sea was also totally silent and calm. There was no usual sound of human activity that characterises the beach of a typical holiday resort. Instead, this beach was all but deserted, the silence of death hung over the calm, saline water, and the hot sun beat down.

Jericho.

After the swim, I donned my shirt after a cool, freshwater shower. Then the two of us began to make our way by sherut to our final stop, Jericho, or at least the ancient ruins.

The site covers a small area, itself on a high mound known as Tell. Characteristic of many sites of ancient cities in the Middle East, as a new city was built directly over an older one without any demolishing in between, some of the buildings slowly crumbled to form a solid mound, basically a man-made hill or tell rising from either a natural rise or otherwise a flat plain.

Jericho lies nearly 15 miles or 24 km northeast of Jerusalem and holds the longstanding Biblical story of how Joshua ordered his army to march once around the city for six days. On the seventh day, the army then marched around the outside of the city seven times before the walls of the city fell on themselves, allowing the Israelites to run into it and set the city on fire. Whether marching around the perimeter of the settlement 13 times in a week had any geologic effect or not, the fact that how a brisk walk around the outside of its walls could have been possible was confirmed by the overall size of the entire site. It was no larger than Trafalgar Square in London, typical of any Canaanite city-state in this part of the world, each settlement having had its own "king" or chief, and a formidable army. Unfortunately, I didn't see any remains of such a fallen wall. Neither had the archaeologist ever seen it, thus to them, throwing doubt on the historicity of the Bible.

Abed and I stood on a raised walkway and I was able to look down into the site. The most outstanding ruin was that of a tower, believed to be Neolithic. According to the secular archaeologist, that is around 7,000-8,000 BC. Back in 1976, as I stood on the walkway, I could see a small doorway leading into the tower, hinting that the structure was hollow and could accommodate people. However, according to more recent photography, this cavity has now been walled up. As for the fallen walls of Joshua's day, unbelievers use its absence to justify their fictionalising of the Bible. Yet I ponder. Why should the rubble last so long without crumbling into dust or the building blocks ransacked by pillagers? Or even recycled when the city was rebuilt under King Ahab around 850 BC? The very fact that I saw the tower so perfectly intact, even now I wonder whether this structure was rebuilt around 850 BC. If so, it would fit well within Biblical chronology and also explain the rubble's disappearance.

The Tower at ancient Jericho as I saw it.

Preparing for the Journey North.

At the Spihu's home, there were times when all I wanted to do was to sit in their front yard and even watch the Arab children play in the nearby school playground. The bay outside the house was also the terminus of the local bus route, a short journey to the Arab Bus Station at Nablus Road. One afternoon, I watched Ghanem do some home plumbing work as thoroughly as any trained professional. Quite an achievement in my opinion, as the schoolboy teenager will study to become a medic in the years to come. I also had an opportunity of an experience to sleep under the stars. This was possible as all houses in Silwan were flat-roofed and surrounded by a parapet. However, in a desert environment, the night grew chilly, and I didn't sleep that well.

On another afternoon, a wedding took place among Abed's friends across the street. I was invited as a guest of honour to their reception that was held downstairs in the front yard. Here in the UK, when thinking of weddings and the reception that follows, one envisages all the men dressed in a suit and tie, coupled with the best of traditional respectability. When I was in Silwan, I saw that everyone was dressed in their normal casuals, and with me wearing just an open-collar summer shirt for a top, I fitted in well. But the reality of Biblical life drew into sharp focus when dinner had to be prepared.

A live sheep was brought into the yard, and struggling somewhat as if it knew its fate. One of the hosts then slit its throat, and the animal lay thrashing its legs as the blood flowed into a central drain, as if the opening was located specifically for the purpose. Before waiting for the sheep to take its last breath, the host then skinned it alive, the meat was then cut appropriately and roasted before serving. If the reader feels ill at ease with the way I have gone into detail, then consider how people lived daily, especially during Bible times. When pouring into the Bible, I can glibly read:

He took a sheep (or a bull) and prepared it before his guests.

But this experience has brought everything into proper focus, and as I see it, a better way to experience Biblical life rather than just read about it and then attend a theological college.

The time arrived when I wanted a bit of time on my own and to explore the Galilee region. The Spihu family was happy with me making the journey and asked if I return to them before flying back home to the UK. I agreed.

The Egged Bus departed from the Israeli bus station at Jaffa Road to make its 2.5-hour journey north, along the Jordan River, to finish at Tiberias on the west coast of the Sea of Galilee, itself about 100 miles, 164 km north of Jerusalem.  It was evening when I arrived at the main town of Galilee, with the lake so impressive as I looked east towards Syria which, in 1976, still borders much of the eastern shore before the annexation of the Golan Heights by Israel on December 14, 1981.

But I still have to look for accommodation, as I was planning to spend a week here. During my search, I came across a hospice with young Christian men milling around. Very much westernised, these believers were about my age, and I approached them to ask about where I can stay. They weren't able to accommodate me themselves but instead recommended a hotel further down the road. Soon, I found the place, Aviv Hotel, south of the town and within easy reach of all the local attractions.

I was relieved when a room was offered. Thus began my lone stay in the Galilean region. As I made my way to the gently-lapping beach of the lake, made so famous as the site of Jesus' early ministry, I just sat down and meditated in the night.

Lake Tiberias, the Sea of Galilee, the Lake Kinneret, or the Lake of Gennesaret, whatever name you choose, refers to the harp-shaped freshwater lake which is 200 metres below sea level. Its location is right at the northern tip of the Great Rift Valley, and on the far side, the mountains of Syria are clearly seen, and this view is maintained right the way through along the Jordan River, across the Dead Sea, along the edge of the Negev Desert to the Red Sea, and along the Gulf of Aqaba.  

The Sea of Galilee is fed by the northern tributary of the Jordan River which has its source in the Mt Herman area of the Golan Heights. From it flows the main Jordan River south to the Dead Sea, where the latter, without an outlet, maintains its depth through evaporation. Also, unlike the Dead Sea, Lake Kinneret is abundant with fish, of which a fishing industry thrived at the time of Jesus, and from this flotilla of boats, Jesus called at least four of his disciples - Peter, Andrew, James and John.

The Sea of Galilee.

Much of the week, I spent at Tiberias itself, just taking in the calmness of the lake. Just north of the town was the aptly named Lido Beach, and for a small fee, I was able to swim in the lake. A little distance out from the beach was a dividing wall. The area within this wall was for families with small children. Beyond the wall, a much larger area was for stronger swimmers in deeper water. And it was in this deeper water where I thoroughly enjoyed the coolness from the hot Mediterranean sunshine.

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Next Week: Capaunum and Nazareth.

Travel Biography - Week 6.

Life in the Spihu household in Silwan, East Jerusalem, in the middle of 1976 wasn't much different to any western home. Daily life continued as usual. Ghanem attended high school, and Abed went out into the streets with a tray selling pottery (a task shared by his younger brother when not at school) whilst their uncle busied himself with some local maintenance, and his wife dealt with the housework, including cooking. One major difference between a Christian and secular home was during the Islamic call to prayer, Abed's uncle arrived home, crouched in the middle of the lounge floor and recited his Muslim prayers completely oblivious of my presence. 

Turkish Bath Visit.

It was on one evening that my host, Abed, along with a couple of his friends, decided to visit a Turkish bath located in the Old City, and I was invited to accompany them. After making our way along the Kidron Valley towards St Steven's Gate facing the Mount of Olives (where tradition holds as being near the site of the first Christian martyr, recorded in Acts 7) the four of us arrived at an insignificant-looking entrance along the souk and entered.

We sat in this beautiful ornate waiting room. The interior was furnished with a traditional eastern decor depicting Turkish culture. However, although impressed with my surroundings, I wasn't feeling 100%. I recognised the symptoms. I was aware that I had caught a bug, and I'm about to go down with a fever.

But this didn't deter me from wanting to try out this new experience. Back at home, I was already a sauna addict, and by trying out a traditional Turkish bath, I was able to compare one with the other.

Eventually, after a wait of around 30-45 minutes, we were allowed through into an antechamber where we all stripped naked. Then we went into a larger room with a steam fountain at one side, filling the chamber with steam but with little significant heat, thus, I rated the Turkish bath unfavourably with the Finnish sauna. Although I was longing to feel some heat, nevertheless, I could see how those three Arab young men were so familiar with the facility, just as I'm so familiar with the sauna back home, that what I felt was a lack of heat was normal for them. This was the real significance of Travel, to become acquainted, and possibly blend with their cultural habits I was, up till then, unaware of.

The Turkish Bath in Jerusalem looked a little like this.

After returning to the family home, I began to feel unwell. The next morning, I asked the lady of the house if she had a thermometer, and with it, she took my temperature and advised me to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Too bad there was no "quick fix" medicine such as Paracetamol, especially under the trade name of Neurofon or Beecham's Three-in-One. With such medication, by the end of the day, I would have been well on the road to recovery. Instead, I had to lay in bed for three days - such precious time in Israel forever lost. At least I was fed and nursed into full recovery by the morning of the fourth day after the Turkish bath experience.

Bethlehem.

Once recovered, I made my way alone to the Arab bus station to board a bus to Bethlehem. This bus station, on Nablus Road outside the Old City but close to the Damascus Gate, was noisy and chaotic when compared to the Egged Bus Station of Jewish management, about a mile away along Jaffa Road. At the Arab Bus station, salesmen were shouting as they presented their cheap merchandise on trays, adding to the noise and bustle. Even the bus drivers shouted as each called to each other as the bus pulled out.

Some distance outside Jerusalem, the bus halted at a checkpoint and we all had to show the inspector boarding the bus our passports. This was because we were leaving Israel proper and entering the West Bank of Palestine, where Bethlehem was located approx five miles south of Jerusalem Old City.

Having arrived at the small Arab town of Bethlehem, it didn't take long to find its main attraction, the Church of the Nativity. It was a huge structure with a very small entrance doorway. This was to force everyone to slow down and bow when entering.

I strolled through the ancient Eastern Orthodox chapel, fascinated by the coloured baubles hanging at the altar and elsewhere within the basilica. However, near the altar, a stairway led to the crypt. It's within this underground natural cave that I saw the 14-pronged star marking the exact site of the birth of Christ. This was the icon that Mr Chapman, our school deputy head, was telling us about (Week 4) nine years previously. As I knelt next to it, I thought about this ex-military officer taking a break from his Mandate duties and paying homage to this very icon. If only he foreknew back then that I had taken heed of his testimony. Indeed, he would have been impressed!

The 14 prongs radiating from the star were no accident or mere coincidence. Tradition says that they represent each of the 3x14 generations separating Jesus Christ from Abraham as recorded in Matthew's Gospel. They were the 14 from Abraham to David, 14 from David to the exile to Babylon, and 14 from Babylon to the birth of Christ. The 14 prongs also symbolise the 14 Stations of the Cross of the Catholic Catechism. Close by, a ledge marks the site of the Manger where the newborn was placed after birth.

The Cross of Christ.

In 1976, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Christian Quarter of the Old City was not accessible to the lone tourist without a guide. Therefore, whenever the church was open during the day, a group of young Muslim men stood in the forecourt just outside its doors. Whenever a tourist or even a couple approached to enter the edifice, the visitor was obliged to accompany the waiting guide and of course, pay his fee. The guide then escorted the tourist around the interior of the church.

This was very unlike my second visit in 1993 when large crowds piling in had eliminated such Muslim guides, but the near-overcrowding, including a long queue to the sepulchre, made the whole experience far more "touristy" than a pilgrimage. I find it amazing, perhaps rather shocking, that the rise of tourism over just seventeen years could dramatically change the atmosphere within, transforming a site for prayer and meditation into little more than a museum.

But going back to 1976, Ghanem offered to accompany me to the church. As we approached the doors, there rose an argument between Ghanem and one of the guides standing outside. No doubt, to the latter, there was a visitor who will not hand over the much-needed payment that would have placed food on his table. No wonder the door guide was irate! But my own personal escort won the argument and the two of us then entered the church that was empty of people except for an occasional clergyman.

The 14-pronged Star of Bethlehem. Stock photo.

After a tour around, the climax came as I stood with trembling excitement at the very spot where the Cross of Christ stood, which was marked by a lifesize crucifix with the image of Jesus hanging upon it. To get to it, a short flight of steps at each end of a raised platform seem to confirm the truth in the hymn we all sang at school under Mr Chapman's directorship, that there is a green hill far away outside the city walls. There, our Lord was crucified, he died to save us all. Only that there were no green hills of English landscape model around the Jerusalem area. Rather, the whole desert landscape on which the city was built was more of a golden brown, so well attested by the neighbouring Mount of Olives.

The Sepulchre itself, just a few metres away from the site of the Crucifixion, was represented by a small white building within the main church apse. Back then in 1976, it was inaccessible to the public, but when my wife Alex and I visited in the year 2000, all we saw inside was a solid marble ledge at one side within a tiny marble room.

The Sherut to Hebron.

Abed, with the agreement of his uncle, showed me the sherut, a communal taxi that takes up from six to eight passengers, each paying his share of the fee. Unlike the conventional taxi which takes the sole passenger to his chosen destination, each sherut is destined for each particular destination, very much like a bus or train service. The one Abed was leading me to, parked in a specially assigned sherut bay in East Jerusalem, was destined for Hebron. Except that instead of paying his own share of the taxi fare, I had to pay for him as well as for myself. But it wasn't too expensive. Indeed, this trip will prove to be an enlightening experience.

Abed and I arrived at Hebron, and we found ourselves standing outside what looks to be a Roman fortress. As we approached, I saw several Orthodox Jews milling around. On their foreheads, they had a black wooden or leather cube tied around their heads. I have seen these whilst walking through the souks of the Old City. When such Jews passed by, I thought, Wow! Pharisees! Did they really look like this?

The little black box is known as Phylactery, and Jesus mentions these in the Gospels. These little boxes contain portions of the Scriptures, and devoted Jews wear them during times of prayer and as a reminder of God's requirement to keep his laws. It was from an instruction taken from Exodus 13:16, but by Jesus' day, the motive for wearing them was to show others of their devotion to God.

As we approached the building, we realised that headwear was mandatory when entering the building. Since this site does not offer free Yamaka or Kippah as the Western Wall does, we had no choice but to buy a hat. This time, Abed bought his own headwear and I bought mine.

We entered the fortress. This, so I was told, was the burial site of three Hebrew patriarchs and their wives. They were Abraham and his wife Sarah, Isaac and his wife Rebekah, and Jacob and his wife Leah. All were buried in the Cave of Machpelah. Around me were what I thought were coffins, and I mistakenly believed that I was standing in the cave. In fact, I was standing inside the building itself, and what I was looking at were not the coffins, but the cenotaphs of the patriarchs. The cave itself, as I found out years later, was under the floor of the fortress, sealed and of no access for the public or clergyman alike.

If I were to say that the survival of the whole of mankind rests with the existence of this cave, would I be exaggerating? Would I be talking any sense? According to the Prophet Jeremiah in the Old Testament of the Bible, he wrote that if we humans can reach the foundation (the core) of the earth, count all the stars in the sky or stop the night following the day, then God will break his covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob for all the sins committed by Israel.

The sheer impossibility for us humans to override God's universal creation speaks for itself. As long as God's covenant with the Jews stands, the whole of mankind will never be obliterated! The fortress itself stands as a testimony to this and other promises. It was completed by Herod the Great a few years before the birth of Christ, and having survived the Roman onslaught of AD 70 which razed Jerusalem and its Second Temple to the ground, the fortress of Machpelah survives intact to this day and it's used as a centre of both Jewish and Islamic worship.

Aerial view of the Fortress at Hebron.

The fortress also acts as a sentinel standing as a witness that the land on which it's built belongs to the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the latter who was renamed Israel, a name meaning, Striving with God, and itself an anagram of- 

Isaac,  

Sarah, 

Rebekah, 

Abraham, 

Elohim, 

Leah.

The name also means that God (Elohim) is in the midst of his people and also has a special compassion for Leah, who felt unloved by her own husband Jacob. Thus, the six bodies buried in the cave under the floor of the fortress spell Israel.

But all this I learned since then and not back then. Rather, as Abed stood around, I took in the interior of the fortress, with a mistaken belief that I was standing within the Cave of Machpelah and the cenotaphs around me were actual coffins. In those days I was so naive, such a spiritually young fresher of this fascinating faith and the historical truth of the Bible, and probably aware that I have a long, long way to go.

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NEXT WEEK: Solo backpacking continues to the Sea of Galilee.