The great wall rose up imposingly in front of us. Ghostly white light lit up portions of it, while the others were shrouded in darkness. To our left, stood the Tower of David, bathed in the same ghostly light. Behind us, across the hill stretched the new city, lit up in gold. We stood in front of the huge stone arch, about to enter a world that had existed ever since, probably 3000 BC. This was the holy land of Jerusalem.
An eerie silence descended on us as we entered the old city through one of its eight gates. We walked through the deserted stone corridors into its streets. As we descended down, the golden dome came into view - The Dome of the Rock, from where Prophet Mohammed ascended to the heavens. Next to it stood the Al-Aqsa Mosque, the third holiest site in Islam after Mecca and Media, and below us was the Western Wall, the most sacred place for Jews, where the first temple existed. The place was no longer so deserted suddenly. We were in the midst of a sea of humanity. This was the meeting place of three faiths.
It was a weekend for old towns. The evening before was spent in a city that was inhabited more than 7500 years before Christ. This was Jaffa. Walking through the winding alleys of the artists’ colony, and looking down at the old harbor, it looked like an oasis. This was the place where the likes of King David and King Solomon imported cedars for the construction of the Jewish Temples. It was the place the Crusaders under Richard the Lion-Hearted fought for against Saladin. It was a complete contrast against the modern coastline of Tel Aviv, which is visible from the top of the Jaffa Hill.
The beaches have become a constant companion to me. As I wake up and open the curtains, the tranquil blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea greet me. People brave the jellyfishes - the reason for Anke to keep herself away from the water so far - to go out for the morning swim. A few miles away from the hotel, lies the old harbor of Tel Aviv. Climb onto the wooden promenade, and you can have a tussle with the sea water crashing against the rocks down below, sending up white pearls of water spray to drench anyone who ventures near.
Tel Aviv so far, has been made memorable by the taxi drivers – ever since the first week, when the taxi driver recognized me as an Indian and Bob as an American.
Bob: “How do you know I’m an American? I could also be an Indian” (referring to me)
Taxi driver: “If you were, you would be colored like us, because of the sun” (again, ‘us’ referring to me)
Bob: "I have lived in the shade”.
But the Coke bottle gave him away.
“Americans..." said the taxi driver. "You always drink Coke - McDonalds and Coke!”
Among all the taxi drivers, Eli has been a regular. He waits for us everyday, at 8:00 outside the Renaissance. But we are never regular, thanks mostly to the sumptuous Israeli breakfast served everyday at the hotel. The taxi ride takes us about 45 minutes. It is the time to use our little knowledge of Hebrew, much to the amusement of the taxi drivers. Lessons in Hebrew and speed driving would follow – the first one very amusing, the second one not so.
The old building across the road to the Renaissance Hotel always looks forlorn and empty. There is nothing remarkable about its appearance. It resembles the average office structure that one would find on an Indian street – a five storied building with dark glass windows. You wouldn’t give it a second glance if you passed by. But yesterday, it was windy, and the flag atop the mast was fluttering gracefully in the wind. It was perhaps an indication for me that my time there was coming to an end. The time to fly home was approaching. For a few moments I stood there, watching the Indian tricolor rocking gracefully.
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