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Traveling to the Holy Land
Sep. 13th, 2011 04:06 pmA few years ago, I traveled on a ten-day all expenses paid tour of the holy land, with twenty other young Canadians. We traveled all across the country, but there was one place in particular, that I ended up traveling to on my own after the tour was over and I extended my ticket to stay in the country longer than the tour allotted. It was the city of Eilat, bordering Egypt, on the cusp of the Red Sea. That particular place remains in my mind, in my memory because it was an adventure getting there and back, but it was also full of risks I can only recognize upon reflection, looking back.
When I arrived from the long five hour bus trip to the centre of the city it was 40 degrees outside and the air tasted salty like the sea.
I will attempt to describe the land, as my memory fades over time spent far far away from that place. The way the desert sand felt between my toes, the dust collecting beneath our feet as I walked miles towards the border of Egypt with nothing but my bathing suit, shorts, and a small backpack full of papers. The jagged scenery, sand colored rocks forming like pointed chins off the face of even more giant rocks.
What I don't remember though is the color of the water, the beautiful flowing water home to a plethora of exotic fish and even dolphins! I don't remember the way the markets smelled of spices, or the types of food sold on the Sabbath. I don't remember the soldiers with their guns, what types of guns they were carrying. These are small details. I do remember though haggling over the price of jewelry in the marketplace, surrounded by crowds of people, but I don't remember exactly how much I settled on or what type of jewels they sold.
But what I can tell you is of the tumultuous time leaving the city, as I boarded a bus full of soldiers, and civilians. I suddenly found myself stopped at a checkpoint with a Palestinian man on board. An Israeli officer boarded the bus, and walked down the aisle, skipping over everyone until he stopped in front of a dark-skinned man.
He began asking the Palestinian man to see his I.D. The man started arguing, shouting back and forth with the soldier, the tension rising in both their throats, pulses racing. Me not knowing what they were saying, as hands flew up in the air, guns poised. Sitting up extremely straight and taut, my muscles tightened, and hands clasped with a death grip on the arm of my seat. Inside, my head was spinning, my mind racing.
"What are they saying?" I whispered to the woman sitting next to me. I hope she knows English. "Can you understand them?"
Then someone turned to me and attempted to translate.
"He is saying that the officer is prejudice. 'You are prejudice. You are prejudice.' He keeps repeating that over and over."
I remember watching the faces of two young soldiers sitting in front of me, watching them watch the man and the officer argue. Their eyes like hawks, fixed, unbending. But I can't remember their faces other than their eyes. I can't remember the face of the Palestinian man either, his skin tanned brown, but all I remember is his voice, deep, full of anger.
I can tell you that it was a stupid idea to travel at 1 am aboard a bus in the middle of the desert. I'm lucky I survived. It was a risk on this great adventure to and from Eilat.
Small details escape me now years later, after the incident. But the feelings of the place and the memories still linger, creating a picture that only I can fill.
When I arrived from the long five hour bus trip to the centre of the city it was 40 degrees outside and the air tasted salty like the sea.
I will attempt to describe the land, as my memory fades over time spent far far away from that place. The way the desert sand felt between my toes, the dust collecting beneath our feet as I walked miles towards the border of Egypt with nothing but my bathing suit, shorts, and a small backpack full of papers. The jagged scenery, sand colored rocks forming like pointed chins off the face of even more giant rocks.
What I don't remember though is the color of the water, the beautiful flowing water home to a plethora of exotic fish and even dolphins! I don't remember the way the markets smelled of spices, or the types of food sold on the Sabbath. I don't remember the soldiers with their guns, what types of guns they were carrying. These are small details. I do remember though haggling over the price of jewelry in the marketplace, surrounded by crowds of people, but I don't remember exactly how much I settled on or what type of jewels they sold.
But what I can tell you is of the tumultuous time leaving the city, as I boarded a bus full of soldiers, and civilians. I suddenly found myself stopped at a checkpoint with a Palestinian man on board. An Israeli officer boarded the bus, and walked down the aisle, skipping over everyone until he stopped in front of a dark-skinned man.
He began asking the Palestinian man to see his I.D. The man started arguing, shouting back and forth with the soldier, the tension rising in both their throats, pulses racing. Me not knowing what they were saying, as hands flew up in the air, guns poised. Sitting up extremely straight and taut, my muscles tightened, and hands clasped with a death grip on the arm of my seat. Inside, my head was spinning, my mind racing.
"What are they saying?" I whispered to the woman sitting next to me. I hope she knows English. "Can you understand them?"
Then someone turned to me and attempted to translate.
"He is saying that the officer is prejudice. 'You are prejudice. You are prejudice.' He keeps repeating that over and over."
I remember watching the faces of two young soldiers sitting in front of me, watching them watch the man and the officer argue. Their eyes like hawks, fixed, unbending. But I can't remember their faces other than their eyes. I can't remember the face of the Palestinian man either, his skin tanned brown, but all I remember is his voice, deep, full of anger.
I can tell you that it was a stupid idea to travel at 1 am aboard a bus in the middle of the desert. I'm lucky I survived. It was a risk on this great adventure to and from Eilat.
Small details escape me now years later, after the incident. But the feelings of the place and the memories still linger, creating a picture that only I can fill.
