(originally posted on the Abbess blog on January 13th 2007)
How far is it to Bethlehem?
Not very far.
Three and a half shekels on the bus, which goes from the bus station near Herod's gate.
(that's around 45p in English money....ish) Buses here are interesting. In fact bus stations themselves are interesting, at least the Arab ones (and I've only been in Arab ones so can't speak for the rest). The bus station is kind of like a sidestreet, or garage forecourt. Its not very large, but neither are the buses. They are minibuses really. We asked where the bus for Bethlehem was and the locals pointed it out to us. We were always smiled at and greeted with much warmth, but I think maybe knowing even a little Arabic does help in that respect. People really really do appreciate you taking the time and effort to bother speaking even a few words, such as "hello" and "thank you". One thing I really love about these local minibuses is that there is no timetable as far as I can see. You simply sit on the bus, and when it is reasonably full, it goes. Simple. No hanging around outside in the cold. Its easy and sometimes I really wish we had something like that back here, but maybe we're just in too much of a hurry. I dunno.
One rather complicated aspect of this bus station's design seemed to be that the buses had to back out, onto a main street (although thankfully, not a too populated one when we were around). This exercise involved a lot of beeping of horns and sometimes some shouting too, but did in fact result in the bus being well noticed and so noone was likely to accidentally hit us, as we manouvred around until we were facing the right way.
Then we set off properly. There were many sights to see along the way. The walls of Jerusalem, and many famous historical sites. You simply had to know which way to look to see them. The roads snaked and wound up hills and down hills, moving from century to century around every bend, as some views were straight out of the old testament, and others were filled with the concrete of the 60s. There were sad views too, previously unspoilt beauty spoiled by recent settlements, which we just knew were a cause of grief and sadness to the locals.
"There was a forest there when I first came here," Jem pointed out a hill through the window. "It was the last forest in Bethlehem, and now its gone". Replaced by modern houses. I was shocked to discover that even since my visit last year they were building a tower block on the hill. Anywhere else I couldn't see anyone allowing it. Would we build a tower block in the middle of the Lake district? I think not. But then the land suffers here as well as the people.
We reached the infamous wall and the bus stopped. A spanish guy got off the bus at the same time as us, and looked rather confused. Thankfully Louise spoke Spanish and so she chatted to him, helping him negotiate the crossing, which was a bit confusing for us too. For everything had moved. It made us wonder why, but then we realised that the Banky murals were no longer within view...hmmm. Is this why? There was one left within sight, and they had obviously tried to scrape the paint off it, and had failed. It struck me as a silly petty little act of ignorance and vandalism. I bet in 50 years time they'll be selling for millions. Hmm. I'd have liked to have got a decent photo of one of them, but then I hadn't really come here to look at paint anyway.
We went through "passport control" (or whatever it was) and then we headed down the corridor straight ahead ("as you do") and met....a no entry sign! So we backtracked and went along the second corridor, and met...a no entry sign! Now we were really confused. There were no signs, in Hebrew, English or Arabic to tell us where to go next. The man in the glass cubicle gesticulated his arms wildly, and then we realised that the door which looked like it had been left open for ventilation, that went into what looked like a backyard where the bins were kept, was in fact the main way through. We headed towards it. It still looked very "wrong" for there was a ten foot high wire fence in front of us. But as we reached the fence we realised that actually it had been placed in such a way as to create a "corridor" to the top of the hill, and the exit. Finally we had made it across the boundary.
We walked down the hill, to where the road abruptly ended, and were met by eight taxi drivers or so. Jem and Louise helped the Spanish man with his luggage and his taxi, doing the haggling for him. It turned out that he was a pilgrim, going to stay at the Spanish, Franciscan house, Casa Nova, on retreat. I admired him greatly for that. And I must admit that I was a little envious too, to actually stay in Bethlehem itself. Then we secured a taxi of our own. Our driver was friendly, but did insist on telling us about all the other things he was willing to do for us in great detail. That he was happy to take us to Herodian " I like Herodian" or the Shepherds fields. " I like the shepherd's fields" or the souvenier shop. "I like this shop. It is owned by my uncle." We felt a bit battered really. At another time, in another place, it would have made me angry, but this time it simply made me sad. I knew they were having such a difficult time, and it wasn't fair! I felt guilty about not being able to take him up on all these trips. But we simply needed to get to Manger Square, and we had other plans for our day and we didn't need a taxi for them. The poor drivers! As one other driver said. "We used to be able to go to Jerusalem. We could go on trips. Now we are in a prison camp and now, if we are lucky and we can get fares, we drive round and round the same old places!" Something about his description reminded me of hamsters. But these aren't hamsters. These are people who have been caged, even children and babies! But nowadays there are hardly any visitors to drive round and round. They can't get much work. And so they sit all day waiting and waiting, for some fare to come.
Manger square when we got there was a bit mad. It turned out that, as it was New Year's day, many people had come to Bethlehem for a day trip. They were all locals though. The children were out, as usual, waving necklaces and postcards at us, or simply holding out their hands and asking for shekels. They were a bit like flies the way they buzzed around you persistently. But mostly they were friendly. Somtimes they also liked to chat, to practice their English. "Where are you from? What is your name? How are you?"
I went into the Church of the Nativity and it was there that I saw what I regard as a little beacon of hope. The place was full, of Christians and of Muslims. They queued together to visit the site of Jesus's birth. It was something that we would not see here. It was something that I feared had been lost in fundamentalism, in post 9/11 witchunts, in Iraq somewhere, and yet here it was present. Here it was tangible. That the baby in the manger, can still unite people, can still bring people together, and if we only take the trouble to go, we can still hear angel song, and see a tiny tiny piece of peace on Earth.
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