Shevil Israel, Day 9

Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

What, you want to hear about my sightseeing?  Well, I am going to write about it... only nine miles today, and with no pack and, woohoo, ibuprofen, walking is no longer a problem.  It is more a question of, how much can I pack in given my flight leaves at 19:25.  So, straight into the Old City, which reminds me of Marrakech but is much less stressful... even when a boy tells me somewhere is closed, it turns out he is correct - further on a checkpoint is only passable if you are Muslim.  Interesting how in some areas Israel actually bends over backwards to placate international opinion.

Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock.

I visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, an astonishing hyperspace collision of different Christian denominations.  Wandering around the various sections on a Sunday, I pass first a group of Catholics chanting away, then a little further along there are bearded Eastern Orthodox priests conducting their own ceremony.  A short distance away I reach the Western Wall, as near as I can get to the Temple Mount itself, the Dome of the Rock gleaming above it.  Then it is back to the Jerusalem Trail, although I take a little detour to the City of David archaeological park, including an amazing - and claustrophobic - climb of a 600m Herodian sewer, only uncovered over the last few years..

Down in the sewer.

From here the Jerusalem Trail heads east and around the city, I pass various tombs on the way up the Mount of Olives, walk past the Hebrew University and on to Ammunition Hill - a memorial to the Israeli fallen in the Six Day War.  From here it is not far back to the hotel where I pick up my bag, then get some shakshuka sandwiches - eggs cooked with spicy tomato - for lunch.  Then off to the bus station - just to be on the safe side, I want to leave a fair bit of time to get to the plane, in fact it's only 3pm when I reach the station.

This turns out to be wise.  After fighting through two floors of shopping mall(?) I reach the ticket office, and stand in line for a bus.  This takes an hour to do the 30 minute journey claimed by the bus company web site... and does not in fact go all the way to the airport.  By the time I am at the elderly looking terminal 1 via a shuttle bus, another half hour is gone.  Security now kicks in with a vengeance... numerous people ask me what I've been doing in the country, who I know there etc.  I am asked about my trip to Morocco last year, I pass through several security doors, they open my bag and prod my camp stove, and in a bizarre moment, pierce my bags of dried food before taping them shut again.  Finally I get through - to find the plane does not in fact go from this terminal.  More waiting, another bus, and finally I'm at terminal 3.  Just time for a couple of beers before a tiresome 5 hour flight, and, oh joy, a freezing bike ride back to London.

Rock cut tombs.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.