185. Che in Jerusalem

185. 

Che in Jerusalem

I have heard from a number of backpackers that the best/cheapest place to eat in Jerusalem is “Uncle Moustache’s Café” just inside the Herod Gate.


I am walking out of my pension wearing the Che Guevara tee shirt I bought from a street vendor in Alexandria because it was dirt cheap and I thought it was funny to see the Cuban revolutionary’s face on an Egyptian Tee-shirt, when the hotel clerk stops me. He warns me that Che is not popular here and I might get into trouble if I wear the shirt. I am not interested at all in making some political statement with a Tee-shirt so I go back to my room, take it off, tear it up and throw it in the trash!

(I don't know why they don't like Che, but...)


Then, more correctly clad, I venture out to find Uncle Mustache's. 

...

184. Baffled at the Wailing Wall

184.

Here’s the “Wailing Wall”, the foundation stones of the “Temple of Solomon”, a tall heap of gray stone block masonry rising out of a paved plaza and surrounded by what are perhaps old apartments also of gray stone. The whole place is gray.

Security for entering the plaza is rigorous. Handbags are searched at baffle gates to foil saboteurs. Machine gun nests on rooftops overlook the area. It is not too welcoming or congenial a place to be to tell the truth.

In the plaza, a wire fence segregates men and women, but both sexes behave in the same way; pressing their bodies or heads against the stones of the wall, some of the visitors just mutter, some moan and some really wail! A tour group, all standing together, sings a song.

I put on a black paper “loaner” cap and join the men at the wall, but I really don’t know what to do. Should I mutter, moan, wail or sing? Do I get spiritual merit from just being here? Does this count? Well, if you have been with me this far, what do YOU think, dear reader?

...

183. Into the Holy City

183. 

Into the Holy City:

Before I leave the customs house, other officers invite me to sign up to work in a kibbutz for the winter. They say kibbutz work is not difficult and there may be a free private room, maybe even with a private bath and refrigerator for a guest worker with a university degree, like me. I don’t even have to be Jewish and it is nice and warm in Israel in the winter. They make it sound more like a fun “vacation” than a job, but I DO love my freedom, so: no thanks!

A half-hour by taxi and I see the white walls and golden dome of the Holy City.

Sunny told me she knew of a cheap hotel near the Damascus Gate. I find it. They have a room!

I walk thru the Damascus Gate into the Old City. The streets are like tunnels with small shops on all sides. The vendors do not hassle me at all. There are no beggars and I hear a lot of English being spoken.

In fact, there are LOTS of Americans here, many in tour groups wearing distinctive caps or badges.

I buy some delicious black raisins, some raw peanuts and drink a cool glass of freshly squeezed carrot juice. 

Here is a shop with something I really need—American made “Levi’s”! I try them on behind a curtain, pay for them and wear them out of the shop and throw away the crude imitations I bought in Egypt.

...