I don't like Jerusalem

The next morning and I was ready for the most excellent breakfast served in the Kibbutz cafe (included in the price of my log cabin and the swimming pool, and the lagoon complex, and the Australian wildlife park and a whole load of other stuff for about 29 quid). Being on my own made me the perfect candidate for chatter with one of the serving wenches who said I would be crazy to leave without taking a dip in the lagoons. The conversation ended abruptly when I failed to appreciate that the chilli sauce I had daubed on my omelette was made out of radioactive chillis and nearly choked as I broke out in a violent sweat. Curse those chillis and curse that woman too- two hours after I had left for Jerusalem I was still lounging in the lagoon complex- ah well I'm on holiday. I also got to play underwater with my new camera for the first time and discovered that although there aren't so many ankle biting dogs around here there are ankle biting fish.

Finally I drove to Jerusalem, a journey punctuated by mobile Army check points (set up without notice at choke points overlooked by armoured vehicles). Navigating into the city wasn't so bad and I went straight to the old city having found not only a useful parking space just outside but one with time still on the meter. Where would I go first...yep, the TIC which was typically difficult. The guide book and maps said there was one in the Civic centre- but there wasn't, imagine how happy I was after a good half hour of forlorn searching to find one just inside the old city where the maps predicted. I entered to find a very small office staffed by three octogenerians- one of whom was the security guard who made a weak attempt at searching bags as people hassled his colleagues with outrageous requests like mine. I was tempted to point out the futility of searching for bombs once inside but that would have been uncharitable so I focused on getting served. "can you recommend a clean backpackers hostel, please", old lady looks at map of city, babbles in Hebrew to accomplice and after sufficient time to make me wonder if I have disappeared says "no". I take a couple of breaths and determined to control the sarcasm aching to burst out of me say "OK, do you have details of any backpackers or cheap hotels?"Reply "no", this time I let the silence work and just stand there saying nothing, confident she'll find this uncomfortable before I do- she does and suggests I talk to another lady who is walking around the small shop with a trail of tourists behind her vieing for attention. Hmm, I pick up a South African twang in her voice and mimic it with 'excuse me" in my best SA accent, this had the desired effect and she instantly satisfies me with a list of places and a recommendation to try the Lutheran Hostel. "Excellent, can you suggest a good place to park if I stay there?", "this lady will help you" and refers me back to the half wit I initially spoke to, okayyy- "me again, can you suggest a good place to park over night?" Reply, "overnight you say, not really", fu****ng hell! Go back to South African lady tell her of predicament, she says "what! I heard her giving someone directions to car parks just before you walked in" directions duly given I stagger out into the afternoon heat and think 'I don't like Jerusalem'.

Knowing that after this pantomine I have about 20 minutes on the parking meter I return to the car and grab some lunch, sitting on a bench near the car so I can jump up and move it if necessary while eating. I then move the car to the car park in the Old City knowing that it will cost a bit but accutely aware that if I park in a commercial one until the next morning it's going to get locked in because tomorrow is Friday- the Sabbat' starts at 4 pm. So, I drove through the medieval gated tower into the old city and slowly progress past the TIC. Next thing I have a total stranger siting in the passenger street, he's Arab, about 45, well turned out in smart pants and a tidy polo but he desperately needs a shave and a trip to the dentist. Anyway, he says "you go car park?", naturally I answer in the affirmative because I am and he festoons me with directions. "now listen matey, I didn't suffer at the hands of the TIC for nothing, I'm going to the car park and I know exactly where it is", he was too busy chopsing off about me buying carpets and jewellry for my girlfriend to assimilate so to the car park he came. At the car park he jumped out as if to do a deal with the attendant on my behalf, he was very good because he got me the same price it said on a huge board at the entrance (as a note I was paying more to put the car in a bay overnight than I was to put myself in a bed overnight). Having locked up I grabbed my bag and walked off as my new buddy flitted around me. As luck would have it we passed his shop which was locked up, he opened specially for me and then suggested every dust covered item was perfect for me. Gradually his ardour was broken down as it dawned on him that I would not be buying his entire stock for my many wives today, when finally I even declined a sun bleached postcard he began to cry. He sat sobbing into his hands wailing "not even a tip, and I walked all that way". Well not to be totally heartless I did give hime a tip, two in fact "if your shop was open and you were in it you may sell more than running around jumping into people's cars- oh and don't plant your begonias too soon or the frost will have them".
I went and found the hostel which was sufficient and cheap at a fiver a night with a lovely roof top garden. The journey to and from was plagued by hawkers like my friend who believed a sideways glance at their wares as you walked by was a binding contract to trade. I found that cheerfully and confidently saying "I'm not shopping, thanks" was more effective than ignoring them which suggested they should do more to get your attention before you passed onto the next one in the never ending line. I don't like Jerusalem.
By now it was dark and the town looked even more ancient under the light of the full moon. I went for some food, picking an Armenian restaurant in the Armenian quarter. It was crap, and expensive crap at that, despite the chill of the night I sat outside, when passing tourists stopped to peruse the menu proffered by the fat surly waiter I could pull detering faces behind his back and they would move on. Life I have decided, is about scoring little points when you can.
I went back to the hostel to write up my journal. In the common area my fellow guests were in deep religious conversation led by John from California. He came over to me to say hello and within about 10 seconds asked me if I had found God- obvioulsy I said "no" but held back with- if you can't find him I strongly suggest you check out the TIC in Nazareth. Spotting his opportunity for a little soul saving before bedtime he continued "Jesus was this guy who lived over 2000 years ago......" No shit, I wondered what all the fuss was about here. He continued to tell me with a string of contradictions that Jesus was God and Christ was the son of God and the holy ghost was something else and I would continue to live in darkness until I gave myself to God when I would see the light and Jesus would take away my sins and much much more. If I were not the polite gentleman I am (deep down, honest) I would have ripped into him but it was late and I had a tough afternoon so I made the mistake of nodding and hmmming. He then introduced me to all the other guests "this is Chris, he hasn't read the Bible yet", cheers. Time for bed still not liking Jerusalem.