Day 4: Intro to Palestinian policy and some R&R

Sunday, I slept through the fajr, I think my body clock is on West Bank time now.  Flatbread, yogurt, spices, meat, cheese, egg, and most importantly, coffee, I'm ready for another day.  What's in store?  A stop by the Ministry of Planning to attempt to meet with some gov'ment folk, some wander time around downtown and some work from the hotel.  Today is a fair bit colder than the previous couple days, cloudy sky, maybe 50 degress outside, and inside.  I gear up, passport in left front pocket, sheckels in right front pocket, wallet and camera in my "carryall".

Fayez arrives around 9 or 10 and we make a quick dash through traffic (Sunday is a work day) to the Ministry of Planning to meet with the deputy minister (Arab names are hard to remember).  His buddy is working security at the Planning Building today so we park the Focus (full tank of Israeli supplied gasoline at 6.27NIS/L ~ $6.40/gal) behind the Minister's spot in front of the building.  Everywhere we go Fayez seems to know someone.  He explains that the West Bank community is very tight and well connected, nowhere to hide here.  And as a result crime is almost non-existent here (not counting crimes by Israeli soldiers and settlers), contrary to what you would expect in a supposed terrorist breeding ground.  Without an appointment, we stroll through the doors, up the elevator, and into the Deputy Minster's office.  An hour later, and after a very productive and encouraging meeting, we leave with smiles on our faces and a long list of contacts to make during the next few days.  This is Palestinian government: if you have a good idea, let's talk.

We grab a sanwich (turkey) and some argileh and discuss plans for the remainder of the week.  More meetings with government, NGOs and aid agencies and then a day of vacation to the Dead Sea end of the West Bank.

After lunch we swing by The House of Water and Environment, an NGO which works on projects in, obviously, water and the environment (not houses).  We meet Dr. Amjad Aliewi, Director General of the House.  He provides us with a good technical presentation of the water situation in the West Bank, which is pretty dire and not getting any better.  Apparently the Israeli government is claiming large water resources in the West Bank to meet their growing water requirements.  The House of Water and Environment is working on projects to assess current water resources and setup infrastructure to utilize and preserve water resources for Palestinians.  He gave us some very hopeful words about our project, thanked us for working to improve conditions in the West Bank and offered his continued support.



We retire back to the Al-Hajal hotel early.  The local fellas are congregated in the lobby watching a televised, lavish Arab wedding, making comments to each other followed by eruptions of laughter.  I wander over and join the commotion, the other men welcome me and offer a cigarette.  They are curious about where I'm from and why on Earth I am in the West Bank.  Prior to arriving here I thought I should be wary about sharing my identity (as an American) for fear of being bringing unwanted attention to myself.  Now a couple of days into our stay here I've found that the stereotypes are really misconceptions.  These fellas along with all the folks that I've encountered up to now are warm and welcoming, curious about life in the States but happy with what they have in the West Bank, friends, family, work.  The beautiful bride on the TV screen dances to upbeat Arab music, we look on silently, gawking and grinning.

Day 3: Arafat, Olives, and a Village Barbeque

Our first morning in Ramallah.  We were all awake by 5am, still adjusting to a new schedule.  As we waited for the hotel staff to awake we listened to the fajr (first of five daily Muslim prayers) echoing through the city from loudspeakers atop the single green illuminated pillar rising from a nearby Mosque.  At 7:30 breakfast is served, flatbread with yogurt, olive oil and a peculiar mix of spices, hard boiled eggs, cheese, and a porkless sandwich meet resembling bologna.  Oh yeah, and Arabic coffee, a potent brew with a slight sweetness served in small shot-glass sized "mugs".  Yeehaw!  Let's get this show on the road.

Fayez won't arrive until around 10am so we venture into the city for our first taste of daytime Ramallah.  Walking uphill (the entire region is hilly) on the rough sidewalk toward Al-Manara Square (city center) I survey the surroundings, getting a feel for the lay of the land.  Out of the residential area comprised of apartment buildings and moderately sized homes surrounded by tall wrought iron fences and into the commercial area near downtown.  Empty lot's that have been made into temporary landfills (no dumpster sightings yet), partially finished construction projects.  Downtown, the lively bazaar scene that we experienced last night is quiet with heavy steel doors now in place of the open shops selling fruits and vegetables, bread, Arabic novelty gifts, imitation fashionable western shoes, clothes and hangbags.  The traffic is starting to pick up and the streets will soon be at capacity (surprisingly flowing).  We are now accustomed to the attention that we bring, I'm even starting to enjoy it, flashing peace signs and "Salam" to passersby.

We're back to the hotel in time for me to enjoy another cup of Arabic coffee with the fellas at the hotel.  Fayez arrives, this time on foot, and we catch a quick cab ride to pick up our rental car for the week.  We arrive at a rugged looking office building, a clean, new BMW 5 series parked in the front.  A man walks out to meet us, well dressed, a friend of Fayez's.  He brings us into his office, very well furnished, and offers coffee.  The man speaks to us in perfect English, Arab accent with a touch of Jersey as he has spent the past several years there in the States.  We sign the rental contract and pay in shekels and dollars (discounted rate), he hands over the keys and we are off in our Ford Focus sedan.  First stop, a visit to the Palestinian Authority buildings on the north end of Ramallah to see one of the only modern monuments that you can find in the West Bank (they've got other priorities right now).

"There's our White House and Capitol Building."  Fayez points to a complex of white, unmarked (except for the Palestinian flag and a giant photo of Yasser Arafat) two and three story buildings, not all that different than many of the other buildings in the city.  We approach from the south on foot, across the street is an open lot, partial dump and partial goat farm (one of several throughout the city).  After checking in with the stonefaced guards at the entrance who ask me to leave my backpack at the gate, we enter into a clean, white-stone plaza.  To the left a rectangular white building, a mosque, and at the other end of the plaza a cubic building with large glass panels on all four sides (Arafat's grave).  The place is nearly empty except for the guards at the gate, a single guard at the gravesite, and a couple of Arab tourists snapping photos.  Respectfully, we enter the small stone building enclosing the grave, take a few photos and exit.  The building behind the grave is where Arafat spent the last two years of his life while Israeli military and bulldozers surrounded until he died of reportedly natural causes.

Next on the agenda today, we will travel to a village about 30 minutes north of Ramallah to visit an olive mill as part of our project assessment.  No surprise, the drive to the village offered more stories.  We drove past Birzeit University, the top technical institution in the region, Fayez's alma mater.  He told us that while he was a student at Birzeit during the second intifada (Palestinian-Israeli conflict from 2000~2004) the Israeli military built a checkpoint at the north end of Ramallah, cutting off all traffic out of the city.  People seeking to travel north, including Birzeit students, were forced to walk this section of road (a couple miles long) and sometimes were not allowed to travel at all.  Much of the time it was too difficult and dangerous to attend classes so Fayez and many other students would not attempt to travel to the university.  The checkpoint still stands, although no longer occupied.

We arrive at the olive mill after zipping through several villages surrounded by dry, rocky hills mostly covered in olive trees, and also getting our first glimpse of an Israeli settlement atop one hill, surrounded by a tall fence and protected by a sizable military presence.  A group of about 8 men welcome us outside the steel building that encloses the olive mill equipment.  To our surprise we find that the mill is operating today as the season ended about a month earlier.  Inside the steel building the men show us a new half-million dollar Italian made milling system (the only one of it's kind in the West Bank); twig and branch separator, olive washer, decanter separation unit, solids removal, and oil-water separation cyclone.  Fayez translates as the men describe the process and we take photos.  We are most interested in the stream of wastewater that runs out of a pipe on the oil-water separation unit into a drain that runs into an underground cesspit.  This unique and potent (1000x more than domestic wastewater) waste is generally dumped into the valleys where it degrades plant life (high BOD and COD).  After the tour, more Arabic coffee and an invitation to a barbeque in the village.

We follow our hosts through the village with liberal use of the horn to warn children playing along the rode that we are approaching (50 km/hr).  As expected, we meet surprised looks from everyone in the village as we pass in the car.  The village is comprised mostly of old (maybe ancient) stone homes.  There is no real sign of economic activity as it appears most people either work in Ramallah or are involved in olive growing and harvesting.  Men walk along the road, some leading donkeys loaded with goods, some carrying large armfuls of vegetables.  Groups of women in hijab (traditional Muslim headscarf) walk along talking and laughing, gossip circles.  Groups of adolescents "hang out" in groups inside garages.  Young kids running along the road in packs.  We park near the village mosque, an old man wrapped in his keffiyeh, sitting on a bench pays us no attention (a first).

Past what resemble ancient ruins, but what are apparently functioning homes, we arrive at our dining spot for the evening, a stone patio at the far west end of the village, overlooking a valley abundant with olive trees.  Across the valley is another Palestinian village and directly behind that an Israeli settlement.  In the distance we see Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean, so close but at the same time completely inaccessible to the Palestinian people.  A plume of dust rises next to the village across the valley, we are told that an Israeli businessman received approval to build a rock quarry which now operates continuously drowning much of the valley, including the village, in dust.  As we sit along the rock ledge along the perimeter of the patio stories are shared about the growing Israeli presence in the area, despite calls from the international community for the freezing of settlement expansion.  This is our first chance to hear our Palestinian friends discuss the situation, obviously frustrated but not distraught and still hopeful for a Palestinian state free of Israeli occupation.  Listening to the stories, it's difficult to react.  As an American I feel disconnected from the world community and the real struggle (more than fighting credit card bills) that people are facing.  There's no way for me to relate to this struggle, but being here and seeing the situation, the settlements, the checkpoints, the wall, is filling in the gaps that western media hasn't (or won't) fill in on the situation in the Holy Land.  After a delicious Arab barbecue dinner I wander through the village.  A band of young kids pause from their street soccer game to entertain some photos, flashing peace signs, running away and returning with a Palestine-Fatah Anniversary flag.

The drive back to Ramallah is somber, we reflect and digest.  On returning to Al-Hajal, the group of old cronies in the lobby are watching Al-Jazeera, smoking cigarettes and joking.  The hotel owner is in the dining area playing a Turkish form of backgammon with another older Arab man.  I'm too tired to hang with the fellas, still  trying to put all of this together.

Day 2: West Bank bound

The bus ride into Ramallah from Jerusalem was a somewhat chilling experience.  This was the first time that we were among the Palestinian people.  The majority of the people on the bus were elderly (they are allowed to pray at Aqsa) along with a few younger fellas who had obtained special permission to work on the Israeli side.  The mood was somber as we traveled past large groups of Hasidic Jews heading back to their homes in Jerusalem.  As we neared the border the separation wall appeared, snaking through the city at, dividing the Israeli and Palestinian portions of Jerusalem (distinctly different), adorned with a crown of razor wire and monitored closely by surveillance cameras and Israeli sniper towers.  Desiring to snap some photos of the area, I relinquished out of respect for the folks that I shared the bus ride with.  Hopefully I will have another opportunity to photograph this, it really is harrowing.

After an inspection by the soldiers at the checkpoint the bus transported us into Palestine (getting in is supposedly the easy part) the contrast between the two sides of the boundary were immediately apparent.  Well maintained paved roads turned into semi-paved roads missing major sections of asphalt.  Well kempt commercial areas gave way to run-down, outdated stores, most unrenovated and unmaintained for several decades.  In Israel, people moved prudently from one location to the next while people in the West Bank meander through the city streets without much direction.  However, the city is alive, the people are living and smiling and laughing.  Kids play basketball in a nearby court wrapped in barbed wire fence.

We tumbled out of the bus into  an intersection in Qalandia and reassembled ourselves on a crushed section of sidewalk.  We immediately started catching gazes from people in our vicinity.  A few brave adolescent boys approached us with a cautious smile and "Alo! Welcome!" and handshake.  "Hello.  Can you help us call our friend Fayez, we are supposed to meet him in Qalandia but we have no idea where we are."  "Small English.  Speak Arabi?"  "Oh, no Arabic..."  I hand the phone number to the apparent ring leader who is giving me a high-five and resting his arm on my shoulder, laughing with his buddies who are growing in number.  A phone call and a few minutes later our local contact, Fayez, arrives, clean cut and sophisticated, recently back from working on a masters in Germany.  We say goodbye to our new friends, likely that we won't ever see them again, jump in the diesel Skoda sedan and jump into the hectic Qalandia traffic bound for Ramallah.

Zipping through the city streets at 50-60 km/hr we catch quick glimpses of everyday life in the West Bank.  Crowds of people shopping in open markets, groups of older men sitting outside shops watching passing traffic, young kids running and playing next to the busy street.  The Palestinian people are out, and surprisingly happy.  We hurry along with the flow of traffic, no stop lights, no lines separating lanes, the Kalashnikov armed Palestinian "police officers" paying no attention to the controlled chaos of Ramallah rush hour.

Arriving at our hotel, the Al-Hajal near downtown Ramallah, we're warmly greeted by the staff and shown to our rooms, conservatively furnished but everything we'll need for the next five days.  The hotel staff (all men) are very attentive and courteous, making sure that we are satisfied with the accommodations.  No sign of any extremist Muslims yet but according to western media this region is full of them.

Fayez, whose English is quite good from his recent studies in Europe, gives us a brief tour of Ramallah as the sun sets in the Mediterranean.  Dinner time.  We are exhausted and still jet lagged but Fayez takes us downtown for a little walk and a bite to eat.  I feel the need to be cautious as we wander around the bustling downtown area, clutching my camera bag and repeatedly checking my front pocket to ensure that my passport is still there.  Walking along the streets and sidewalks past fruit, bread and clothing vendors, we catch a lot of attention in the form of surprised looks and occasionally a "Welcome!".  Hip Arab teenagers with greasy spiked hair look at us and joke with their friends then flash a peace sign.  We stop at a popular open front restaurant serving "flatbread burritos" with chicken and kebab meet mixed with our choice of vegetables (mostly pickled).  Still getting accustomed to the food and a cautious not to eat something that won't disagree with my stomach, I select only a few pickled carrots and some cabbage to mix in with the flavorful beef.

Fayez drops us back off at the Al-Hajal where I lift my heavy feet up the four flights of stairs and crawl into bed.  The temperature has dropped outside and unheated room is chilly but I quickly drift into a dead sleep.  This is going to be a long five days.

Howdy blog readers, sorry for the lack of material here.  We have been overwhelmingly busy here in the West Bank the past several days and have a lot of good news to report back upon our return.  I still plan on finishing this dialog about my travels, just working on a bit of a delay now.  Keep in touch.
Dan

Day 2: Jerusalem

Stepped off the plane, too much sleep, body already in confusion.  Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv.  Lot's of fellas in sharp clothes, tall black tophats, and long curly sideburns.  Gah, I look like a schlamhiel!  More of the those to come through the next day.  After, wandering around in the airport for a bit, making it through Israeli immigration (I lied less that I was expecting!) and finding our bags we meandered our way onto a "group taxi" bound for Jerusalem.  Never before have I seen a full size charter bus (full of men in black tophats) maneuver through rush hour traffic like a Lotus Elise.  And I thought Utah was a crazy place to drive!  At least these Jewish fellas are more than dimly aware they are behind the wheel of a car.  2 hours later we were released from the rush hour bus ride at Jaffa Gate, an opening in the massive wall surrounding Old Jerusalem.

"Do you know where the Jaffa Gate Hostel is?"  "Yes, yes.  Just follow the small cavernous walkway behind these hoards of religious pilgrims.  Right, right, left, right, look for David Street and then make three lefts."  Hmmm.  Luckily a nice young Arabic man in a leather jacket guided us into a dark alley, claiming to be the owner of the Jaffa Gate Hostel.  Me, up for a good adventure, followed closely, David and Jessica, weary and further back.  Sure as ever, he was the actual owner and sold us a two bed dorm room (for the fellas) and a bed in a room (for Jessica).  Happy New Year!

4am, eyes open, no going back to sleep.  Internal clock is confused.  After laying in bed for an hour I'm up, as well as my travel companions.  We are the first people awake in the Jaffa Gate Hostel on New Years Day!  Stepping outside, the ancient cobblestone streets of the city are quiet.  Shops are closed up behind locked steel doors.  The morning prayers at Al-Aqsa Mosque can be faintly heard in the distance from here in the Jewish Quarter.  We start the morning out with our first aimless wander through the old streets of Jerusalem.  The towering walls and stacked apartments and offices on either side of the winding streets make visual navigation impossible.

Meandering through the maze of narrow streets of Jerusalem on the one hand feels like any tourist destination.  Street vendors set up everywhere inviting you to browse their items.  On the other hand, there appears to be a large number of people living here for the sole purpose of religious worship.  In the hostel we met several pilgrims who really didn't seem to be doing anything other than praying and networking with other pilgrims.  The part that amazed me was the fact that large populations of Christians, Jews and Muslims all live and worship within this city, often in each others "quarters", with no noticeable confrontation or conflict.

Diving into the individual quarters are each unique experiences in themselves.  People hustling about to attend daily prayers, lot's of kids running around playing.  We spent about the first half of the day completely lost, feeling very small in this bustling city.  If we were travelling the Holy Land as tourists and had ample time, it would be ideal to have a day or two to wander aimlessly through the city, learn the way of the land, the people, breathe the air, smell the fragrant spices, feel the Mediterranean sun on your face.

The armed greeting, our first of many to come, was warm and heartening as we made our way to the Western Wall (aka Wailing Wall) in the Jewish Quarter.  The fellas were quickly advised to quickly cover our heads (Dan- ball cap, Dave- novelty paper yamakah).  Standing and observing the Jewish worshipers at the Western Wall was 1) awkward because we were a few of only a handful non Jewish people at the wall, and 2) moving.  After maneuvering my way to the actual wall and sneaking a brief momentum of Judeo-enlightenment I was informed that the Western Wall is actually the remains of the original temple in Jerusalem. A final wave to the expressionless armed Israeli guards and we're on our way to the next major religion...

Right around noon we heard what I thought to be an Arab extremist tirade against the US on loudspeakers on mosques throughout the city.  What I soon learned from an English-speaking Muslim racing by was that is was actually adhan for dhuhr (calling for the noon prayer).  The men were heading for Al-Aqsa (Dome of the Rock), so being a curious cat I decided to follow, however, another meeting with armed guards at the entrance to Al-Aqsa square deterred continuation of my pursuit (apparently it's obvious that I'm not Muslim). Instead of attending dhuhr I was escorted to another mosque (which ended up being the Church of The Holy Sepulchre) by a small Arab boy who then wanted 10 Shekels for his service.  The closest that I got to seeing the beautiful golden dome of Aqsa was was peering over the wall from a barren Muslim cemetary outside the city.  After stopping at a small bazaar and trying on an Arafat style keffiyeh I was ready to soothe my soul in sweet Christianity...

A quick lunch of kebab sandwich at a cafe in the Christian Quarter and we were ready to enter one of the most holy places in the Christian faith, the public bathroom... rather the the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.  We entered (no armed guards) the church plaza just in time to see an Muslim man being forcibly removed from the church.  Crowds of people gathered at the church entrance, waiting to step inside and catch a glimpse of the Stone of Anointing, where Jesus' body is claimed to prepared for burial.  To be honest, I walked through most of the church unknowing of what I was actually looking at (no descriptions), only recalling a few of the obvious relics and locations.  Thanks to some careful research later (wikipedia) I now fully understand how profound this experience really was.  Among the locations and relics that are believed to exist in the church are the sites of Jesus' crucixion, his anointing, the tomb where his body was placed, Adam's skull, the cross that Jesus was crucified on, and a piece of the stone that sealed the tomb.  A true holy place, full of very emotional pilgrims, especially the woman who was escorted out for trying to chip off a piece of the Anointing Stone.

The day was coming to an end and it was time to attempt a sketchy border crossing (no vacation is complete without one!).  We gathered up our luggage (stashed around the hostel) and walked to the Damascus Gate where we then found another young Arab guide who misled us several times to the Arab bus station for 10 shekels.  A 6 shekel bus fare and we were onward to the West Bank, but firstly more armed Israeli soldiers at the entrance checkpoint.

Stay tuned.  DJS

Day 1: Travel

Cramped up on the plane now, huddled over a dim screen.  Intermittent deep nasal outbursts and infant screams disturb the white noise of the triple-seven jet cutting through the thin 35,000 ft air at 600 mph.  Ahh, this is transatlantic travel.  As the brayton driven engines carry us onward my body clock is more stunned, not sure whether I should submit to the overwhelming weight of my heavy eyelids or press onward with an Abbey novel to Coleman Hawkins.  Another pull of bottled water and a refreshing rush of cool dampens my depths.

Tomorrow (maybe today now, depending on what time-zone we happen to currently be in) we will collide head on with oncoming daylight somewhere in the Atlantic on our sweeping great circle route to the East end of the Mediterranean.  So far, if the flight is any indication of what we will find in Tel Aviv, we will enter a county not all that dissimilar to our own.  This morning I left the peaceful confines of rural Northern Colorado to enter a region divided by an ancient conflict that is fired by deep passion passed from generation-to-generation.

Expectations:  As of now I see very few striking differences, but I'm still several thousand miles away from the destination.  I am already a bit cautious during all conversation.  I have a sense that for the next eight days I will need to have a careful respect for my "audience".  At the same time I am excited to probe into a society that superficially may not be all that different from American society, aside from the rich abundance of ancient religious sites, but under the surface is focused on much deeper problems than paying the monthly credit card statement.  I hope to respectively and cautiously dig into this sublayer and get a first hand taste of the general sentiment.  In a couple of days we will enter a different world than the thriving Israeli society.  Crossing the checkpoint to Palestine will add a new flavor to the experience.  A massive separation wall, border guards, bulldozers demolishing homes, and armed gunman in the streets.   However, if my research proves correct, peering beyond the images that we see on CNN will reveal a renaissance seedling sprouting from within the city ruins.  Humanitarian organizations (mostly from Europe) have set up camp and recruited brave volunteers to give some aid to the Palestinians, under the close watch of Israeli soldiers.  International observers follow peaceful protestors to the border checkpoints to document international humanitarian violations.  There is activity in this neglected area.  That is our purpose.  Lend a helping hand to those in need, be it Jew or Muslim, Palestinian or Israeli.  Hopefully it's as simple as that.

Signing out.  DJS