Palestine

Palestine was never on the itinerary, it is not really a place I had ever considered going to, not for any reason, just that I had never seen a real reason to go. Although vaguely familiar with the Israel/Palestine conflict and a harboured degree of empathy for Palestinians after the occupation of their land, I still never had that urge to explore there.

The decision came after scrutinising the map of Jordan. We had so far seen all the major sites except for one: the Dead Sea. We had to go back to Amman to see one of Molly’s friend’s who had just moved there and considering Amman was only an hour from the Dead Sea it seemed silly to miss it… after all it apparently won’t be there in ten years time. ‘So where to after the Dead Sea?’ we asked. Jordan was lovely, but after 10 days there we felt as though we’d covered this very small country.

Looking at the map the closest unexplored area for us was the West Bank. ‘Why not!’ we agreed.

We spent one night back in Amman with Molly’s friend Maddie where we trapsed the streets looking for a place that sold beer, feeling a lot like crack addicts looking for a hit. We would look for seedy back corner places and then larger ones that looked to cater for tourists. At the door we’d whisper “do you sell alcohol? Beer?” usually to be stared down and told “no! no! no!” We finally found a large roof top bar overlooking the city that sold beer. We stayed for two pints and the whole time we remained their only customers.

The next morning we headed in the direction of Palestine, first stop the Dead Sea.

We paid an extra few bucks to smother ourselves in a thick grey mud that smelled like the animal section at the Easter Show, waited for it to bake on our skin and then stiffly flopped into the water, as our skin had become tight with the baked on layer of mud.

It was bath temperature warm, almost sickly considering it was so hot outside. It was an interesting sensation; being so buoyant that your whole body sits atop the water surface. We took the obligatory photo snaps – holding a paper and pretending to read it with mud covered hands and face. The best feeling was attempting to turn around or even point your toes at the sea floor. The thick syrup-like water would propel the whole body throwing it quickly into another position.

I was trying to be careful not to get my face wet but the splash that did get in my eye burnt like it was a pepper seed. That wasn’t the only place the salt water burned. I tasted some of the salt and felt a hot sensation on my tongue for the next hour, and also it wasn’t a particularly nice feeling on my lady parts either… the burning down there eventually being the reason I had to get out. That and the fear that it would take a long time to cross the border into Israel, to get to Palestine by nightfall, so it was better to leave before lunch time.

Leaving Jordan was relatively hassle-free, our only real concern was not getting our passports stamped. I wanted to try and make it to Iran on this trip and if I had any evidence of visiting Israel on my passport then I would not be let into the country. Even a mark showing the border I exited on the Jordan side would be proof that I went to Israel.

It was getting into Israel that was the hassle.

The very first thing I noticed through the bus that took us through ‘No Man’s Land’ (the empty space between Jordan an Israel) were young Isreali men with guns. I assume they were soldiers, but they were in civilian clothes which I found even more off-putting. The guns were massive semi-automatics and they weren’t hung loosely by their side, they were already cocked and held in both hands, poised and ready to shoot. The carriers looked between the ages of 18 and 25 and each one had reflective sunglasses on, also a very discomforting image.

When we disembarked the bus on Israeli soil it was into a sea of pushing, demanding people. There was no order but a mass a bodies, each one with no sense of personal space. There was no such thing as a queue, no such thing as manners.

Eventually we managed to load our bags through security scanners and push our way to the border control window.

Molly was before me, she was asked a few questions that I couldn’t hear and was waved through with relatively little hassle.

I handed my passport over.

The man on the other side of the glass looked at my photo, looked at me, looked at my photo again and back at me.

I have a shaved head in my passport photo… in hindsight not smart to travel to the Middle East with. I was also standing before him in black clothes and a black headscarf… also perhaps not very smart.

The tattoos on my wrists and forearms were exposed and I saw him attempting to read them. He then called over his supervisor.

His supervisor looked at my passport photo, looked at me, looked at my passport photo again. He then said: “Excuse me ma’am, you will have to follow me”.

I followed him through the gates and through a metal detector. I was told I could pick up my bags later but that I had to follow him into a back room. Molly was told to sit and wait outside for me.