To go to Beit Jala I text messaged a number Phillip gave me. The number
didn't belong to the house owner, and I'd forgotten their relation to Phillip,
they may not have even lived in Palestine for all I knew and there I was inviting
myself over to their house.
They replied! And I phoned them and hoorar! they are christian so its
not awkward if im there over breakie and lunch. I left the centre tout suit.
I jump into a service taxi from ramallah tartah (downtown).
Every trip I had done in service taxis thus far had sat me beside sleazy
men. Kind, so kind, but I couldn't have cared less this day. I wasn't very
nice to him, and answered his questions bluntly.
I needed to get to the church of St Nicola and he said that he too was going there!
I said I was fine numerous times but when the bus dropped us off
in bethlehem I realized I had little other choice. I would have had to ask
someone for directions and this man was on me like a rash.
So I followed him through Bethlehem (blind to its beauty...I find the beauty
here often takes a second look to appreciate) and to the nativity church.
See tourist groups, like schools of fish, were hurrying everywhere.
Inside was worse in terms of tourists. I'm in a million photos now.
Then I realized which church I was in: the one built at the site
of Jesus' birth. I told him I had to go and he said 'yes, lets go for a drink'
So I told him I was staying and he was going. I pointed to the exit and
told him to go away. He didn't look back! I think I was gaping as I watched him
walk away. He was probably used to tourists turning him down, but in such touristy
places men are always so sleazy, suggesting many tourists just go wild.
You cannot pray at the Nativity church. You cannot avoid being in photos
at the nativity church. I would not call it a church. Then another man
came up to me and offered me a tour. i told him I wanted to go around by
myself but because I said it in arabic he was too intrigued to listen.
Turned out he genuinly knew his history and took me around explaining everything.
The room where Jesus was born had a long line of tourists, the first third from
China, second from Italy, third from America etc. I was in a hurry (the mysterious
person Id been texting was picking me up soon - I called them) and said I didn't care
to see the site of Jesus, particularly. But he insisted, and asked the police to let me
go the back way (avoiding the line) into the million dollar spot where the manger
had lay. I was still in a grumpy mood and told him it was most likely the wrong spot
and to my surprize he agreed but added that people like it better knowing where
Jesus was born. I didn't see the spot very well, for I stood behind a pushing
tight-squeezed line of tourists being yelled at to hurry up 'no more photos!
you can buy post cards! Go! Go! Go! Go!'. The people literally walked right past
the spot allowing but a glance (and missing the beautifull art work the walls
were covered with. Then my phone rang and I was yelled at by numerous people to get out.
I ran out of Jesus' birth place, and the church, on my phone with a tour guide chasing
me asking for my number.
Beside Bethlehem are two great mountains; where Beit Jala and Beit Sahoor lie
(two ancient villages). As in all of Palestine the people hold pride concerning
where they're from, and Beit Jala and Beit sahoor have a (fun, they all
go to school together) competition going on. Much to Beit Sahoors dissatisfaction
I stayed in Beit Jala. Driving up the mountian, I could barely see the beautiful
houses due to the greenery! How refreshing.
Mona drove me up. Like knafe itself, she was lovely. We picked up her daughter
from their beautifull, grape vine entangled homestead in Beit Jala before
driving up and up the mountain to the home of Im Hanna (Phillips sister).
Within awaited Hanna, his mother, his wife, her sister, and three (more)
beautifull children. Im Hanna (Mother of Hanna: Fimia Costa) is a delight.
I feel bad talking about this one family when I have neglected all the others
who have welcomed me.
But god it was refreshing to be in a Christian home; somehow, they are
more like my own family. Less rules, perhaps?
I think they also eat big lunches and tiny dinners while muslims generally
have huge dinners and a nibble for breakie/lunch.
Beit Jala is the village where Saint Nicholas is from!!!! It's where
he dropped goods into people's chimneys and gave all he could to the poor.
The Church of Saint Nicola is his church and my favourite church in life
so far. I should have taken photos but I felt like that would be
disrespectful. The paintings on the wall were very trippy. Jesus pranced,
with diolated pupils, beside flying fish and firey water.
I suspected I'd be invited to stay the night but I didn't count on it.
Yes, they invited me to stay the night, and the next day they invited me to
stay the week. I said no for many reasons, and after lunching on fresh
Palestinian Molokheyye (THE BEST THING EVER) me and the kids head off for
Bethlehem.
I said thankyou and goodbye everyone, feeling as though my fate lay with
them for longer. Fimia held my hand for ages, forgetting I was saying
goodbye and began repeating stories to me.
The old women of villages are all so strong: most have stories about how
they manned the fields, harvested all the trees, only ate from their land,
etc. That's until their land was stolen.
Back to Bethlehem. We walked through the colourful souq-like streets,
admired the view, revisited the Nativity Church and museum, and then I jumped
into a service taxi home.
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