One Reason to Visit The West Bank...

Aroma Coffee Shop, Eilat

I got off at the bus depot, to the North West of Jerusalem and wandered down the Jaffa Rd towards Ben Yahuda St, which somebody told me was the centre of town, and I checked in to the Abraham Hostel.  Jerusalem is an extremely clean, smart, impressive city, with a population of 750,000.  It is also the holiest site for Christians and Jews, and the 3^rd holiest site for the religion of peace and tolerance, after Mecca and Medina.

Jaffa Rd, the main road through Jerusalem.

Ben Yehuda St, one of the main shopping areas of Jerusalem.

                               

During World War One the British had captured ‘Palestine’ from the Ottoman Empire, during which time my own unit won 2 Victoria Crosses, and General Allenby had symbolically walked into the city to accept the surrender, as a visiting pilgrim, rather than as a conquering warrior.  After the Paris Peace Treaties at the end of WW1, we were mandated to govern Palestine, and to stop the Jews and Palestinians from killing each other there.  After World War Two, and the Holocaust, many European Jews wanted to return to the ‘promised land’ of Israel, but fearing the impact of such massive immigration, the British authorities attempted to control this. The response of the Jews in Israel was to launch a terrorist campaign against the British, killing soldiers in various incidents, the most notorious of which was the bombing of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem.  This led the British to wisely withdraw and leave the locals to crack on with killing each other to their hearts’ content, which they duly did, resulting in the Jews taking control in 1948.  The Arabs in Israel then had the choice of either remaining as Israeli citizens, or withdrawing to the Gaza strip by the border with Egypt, or to the West Bank of the River Jordan, neither of which were under Israeli control at that stage.  This is why there is a population of ‘Israeli Arabs’ who are distinct from the Palestinians and who live and move freely in Israel, serve in the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) etc. 

In the 1967 Six Day War, the Israelis pushed out from their ’48 borders and seized the Golan Heights from Syria, the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt as well as the ‘occupied territories’ of the West Bank and Gaza strip.  A policy of building ‘Settlement’ enclaves of Israelis, guarded by IDF soldiers, was then pursued in both territories.  Although the Israelis withdrew from Gaza a couple of years ago, leaving it to become a little Jihadi paradise, there is still a massive Israeli presence inside the West Bank, due to the terrorist threat, and common sense suggested it would probably be wise for me to stay away.

Standard image of the West Bank.

 Once I’d got into the hostel I was reading an article in an English language newspaper about the release of Cpl Gilad Shalit, the IDF soldier whose Palestinian kidnappers released him in exchange for 1,020 Palestinian terrorists being released by the Israelis.  Apparently the Palestinians think that was an overwhelming success, and want another go so there is a massive threat among the IDF of getting kidnapped.  This is probably why a Rabbi got shot dead at a VCP (Vehicle Check Point) by a jumpy soldier the other night in the West Bank.  The IDF have also ordered the implementation of the ‘Abraham Policy’ which is that if a soldier is kidnapped, the vehicle carrying him is to be engaged, even if it means harming the soldier.  I couldn’t help wondering how the Palestinians would view kidnapping a British soldier, and I reckon they’d take the opportunity if it arose, then find out afterwards...

IDF Cpl Shalit during his captivity in Gaza.

                       

After a couple of beers on my first evening in Jerusalem, I was sitting festering in breakfast in the hostel, on Tuesday morning, in my US Marine Corps shorts and ‘Operation Enduring Freedom’ T-shirt, making vague plans to go to the Old City.  Suddenly an extremely attractive Danish girl, who recognised me from Tel Aviv, came over and asked me if I wanted to go with her to the West Bank as she was going shortly on her own.  Having very briefly considered the absolute best case scenario that could emerge from this offer, I agreed- although I had to get changed into some clothing less likely to guarantee me an orange suit, a large knife and 5 minutes of fame on Al Jazeera!

After walking up to the bus station by the Damascus Gate to the Old City we hopped on the number 18 bus to Ramallah, the capital of the Palestinian controlled area.  Ramallah is only a few K’s from Jerusalem, the other side of the security wall, and the bus was full of a mixture of locals and Western tourists.  Once we got to Ramallah we had a wander around the centre, which bore an uncanny resemblance to Basra in 04, although it is more affluent- and I was slightly differently dressed.  There was definitely a tourism industry, and the opportunity to buy plenty of rubbish from the locals, like anywhere else in Asia.  One thing that struck me was the number of pictures of Yasser Arafat, the late Palestinian leader who is clearly revered by the Palestinians.

Downtown Ramallah.

                                                  

‘Anna’, my Danish companion, shared my enthusiasm to ignore the tourist bit and to try and find some locals to talk to, to get ‘the vibe’- and I also had to get my caffeine fix.  We wandered off down some prominent road, a couple of hundred meters from the bustling centre, and found a little cafe, with a couple of friendly locals hanging around watching Al Jazeera, which was showing the fun and games in Syria.  We then chatted with the locals, for a couple of minutes until their English had been exhausted, I threw around a few “Salaam Aleykum”s and “Shukrans”, and they had to send for their mate who could speak good English, and was an interesting chap.

‘Haj’ turned up and immediately told us that life for the Palestinians on the West Bank is “Absolute hell”, but that all he wants is for his children to enjoy the same life as American children- or Danish or English.  He said the main issue was with the Settlements, and the impact they had on the locals.  He said that because of where these were built, the roads were all blocked or re-routed, making commutes for Palestinians much longer than necessary.  He also said that the IDF were out on patrol every night, and there was a picture on the wall of an 11 year old boy who’d been killed by an Israeli bullet, 11 years ago.  Anna commented on the physical differences/ similarities between the Palestinians, the Israeli Arabs and the Israelis, and Haj said that they all look the same and “When you get arrested by the IDF they appear out of nowhere, they are in civilian clothes and you only know when they show their weapons”.  While this reminded me of ‘feel good’ Northern Ireland stories, it also made me wonder why exactly he’d been arrested by Israeli Special Forces, probably YAMAS.

Undercover Israeli policemen from the elite YAMAS unit, who are most likely to have arrested my Palestinian acquaintance!

                                     

I then spotted a poster of Saddam Hussein, on the wall behind me, and they said he was also highly regarded, which was nice to know, given where I spent the first half of 2004.  The best part of the conversation for me, though, was when he said that after he finished work about 6pm, when it would be pitch dark, he was happy to take us for a drive around the West Bank and show us the settlements, etc.  While Anna was very keen on the idea and took his phone number, I just smiled to myself as there was no way either of us would be doing that.  I considered the possible outcomes of driving around with a guy who’s clearly known to the IDF:  if I didn’t get shot by them I’d have a few very, very interesting ‘interviews without coffee’ with them, explaining why exactly I was driving around the West Bank with a possible terrorist!   

Typical image of an Israeli settlement within the West Bank.

                   

Once we left that shop we headed back to the bus station and got the bus North to Nablus, which is about an hour away from Ramallah, and has a reputation for being somewhat more 'edgy'.  On the way we passed various Palestinian security forces who were extremely smart, and while Anna thought they must be Israelis, their AK weapons were the only indication that they weren’t.  On the bus we had another local chap pointing out the settlements and blocked roads to us and explaining the system that the Israelis had channelled all the traffic so that if there was an ‘incident’ they could lock the place down, and it wasn’t unknown for an entire night to be spent at the side of the road- fingers crossed the Palestinians could play nicely before we got back over ‘the wall’!  We passed various 'surge' check points that were obviously there to be manned if there was an incident, and at one point I spotted a crowd of Israeli soldiers, tooled up, with helmets on rather than soft hats, appearing to be getting a brief.  Our ‘guide’ also complained that the Israelis would often just stop people because they didn’t like the look of them- much like I used to do in Iraq...

IDF troops manning a Vehicle Check Point in the West Bank

                                      

When we got to Nablus, the first thing we noticed was how incredible a setting it is, built into a natural amphitheatre, on the surrounding hills.  We decided to pursue the tried and tested method of going to get a coffee and see what happened.  In the coffee shop the guy couldn’t speak English, but he was impressed I worked out he was from Jordan as he had pictures of the late King Hussein, and the current King Abdullah on the wall.  The good old Lonely Planet gave us the unlikely impression there was a refugee camp close to the city centre, so we decided to try and find it.  I was contemplating asking the other customers in the shop how to get there, when my instincts suggested that these 3 ‘fighting age’ men playing cards might not be exactly friendly, so we just left. 

Nablus, often prefixed with "The flash-point town of...", located 40 miles/ 60 KM's from Jerusalem

            

After finding a shop keeper (selling ornate fire places- WTF???), who told us that the Refugee Camp was miles away, but we should visit the ‘Old City’ we headed a couple of blocks up there.  This appeared to be a very long, narrow, white walled street, which would have been an absolute delight for an IDF patrol to be caught in if it ‘went kinetic’. 
                                                           

Old City of Nablus

More of the Old City

 

As we walked along the street chatting, looking in the shops etc, I noticed a large number of unusual posters, and I had a pretty good idea what they were.  They were glossy A4 sized, and depicted the Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem in the background, and each one showed a young man in military uniform, invariably carrying a very ‘gucci’ looking M4 rifle with laser sights, torches etc, and they could be mistaken for film posters. I stopped a local, pointed at one and using my fairly specific knowledge of Arabic asked “Shaheed?”  He nodded, acknowledging that these were posters of “Martyrs”, terrorists who had either blown themselves up or had been helped on their way to Allah by the IDF.  After explaining this to Anna, her understandable reaction was confusion that the locals didn’t just take down the posters of these evil men.  The fact they are regarded as the ultimate ‘alpha-male’ celebrities by the locals concentrated her mind somewhat, gave her a whole new perception on life and she was suddenly very, very quiet.  

Typical 'Shaheed' poster of some young terrorist who got himself killed, one way or another.

                                                  

She stopped to take a photo of a shop with a load of the terrorist posters around the shop front, and the friendly owner started chatting to us in perfect English, learned while studying pharmacology at university in Brighton in the 80’s.  I asked about the ‘Shaheed’ boys and his face lit up as he was telling me that the one whose poster was most common in the city was a great guy called ‘Gadaffi’, and his uncle’s house was 100m away, and his parents’ house was 500m away and that we should go round and visit...  At this point he made eye- contact with me, and suddenly froze, possibly suspecting who I might be, and abruptly went to serve another customer, in Arabic.  We were suddenly aware that the street was full of ‘fighting age’ men, the 2 of us were the only Westerners, and they were staring right at us, which is quite an interesting position to be in, particularly when unarmed.  That awesome clarity of thought I’ve only rarely experienced came over me, “Let’s go!”

I headed off down the narrow street through the crowd with Anna, silent and terrified, virtually on my back.  I tried to find an exit to an open area or a main road, but it just went on and on and on.  Eventually we got to a market area where vehicles were driving through, and we did a left and got out into the open, near the main road which had brought us into the city.  From here we headed towards the bus station, and got on a minibus back to Ramallah just as it was getting dark.  “So, Anna, still want to go for a drive around the West Bank with Haj?”  No chance!

From the comparative civilization of Ramallah, we then got the bus back to the security barrier on the edge of Jerusalem, got off the bus to go through airport style security, while the bus was searched, and then crossed out of the West Bank with a collective sigh of relief.  Once back at the hostel, we went for a couple of quiet drinks at the local Mike’s Place bar by Ben Yehuda St, with some other people from the hostel, and Anna was an extremely happy girl.  It turned out that the trip to the West Bank had, in fact, been entirely worth the risk...

The next day I bid farewell to Anna as she was heading off down to the beach resort of Eilat which is 4 hours South of Jerusalem, and I still had to see Jerusalem properly, before heading North.  I intended to visit Nazareth, the Golan Heights, and the port of Haifa where there are some Crusader relics.

Old City of Jerusalem with Jewish Western 'Wailing' Wall in the foreground, and the Islamic Dome of the Rock in the background.

                                   

I visited the Old City of West Jerusalem, which is much the same as on TV, although full of lunatics who either think they’re the Messiah, or are at least on personal terms with the Big Man.  Having done this and planned my trip towards the Golan Heights, I then got a message from Anna saying I was welcome to come and join her in sunny Eilat on the Red Sea.  The choice before me was to spend my last week of leave on my own in the cold and wet, looking at historically important sites, or spending time on the beach with Anna.  The agony of decisions...

Red Sea beach resort of Eilat.

                       

Masada

The Abraham Hostel, Jerusalem

Having got into the hostel at Masada, and getting to bed at a sensible time, sober, I ended up lying awake until 4.30AM when I had to get up for the obligatory ritual at Masada: a swift climb up the mountain to watch the sunrise over Jordan, on the other side of the Dead Sea.

Masada is a symbolic site to Jewish/ Israeli people as it is where the Jewish revolt against the Roman Empire came to a spectacular end, a couple of decades after Jesus’s death. When reading about the Romans’ fights, I always find myself identifying with them as they are the smart, disciplined army fighting against savages, who would be better off if they just accepted Roman rule- much like whenever British soldiers fight.  Masada is a hilltop fort that King Herod (the original ‘baby-killer’) had built and the Romans were using, effectively, as a FOB (Forward Operating Base), until the Jews revolted, over ran the fort, and used it launch attacks against the Roman garrison. 

In response to this the Romans besieged the hilltop fort, with 900 odd rebels inside, for two years.  As they were unable to actually get at the fort they got slaves to build a vast ramp up to the fort so they could get their ‘siege kit’ up to the walls of the fort.  Once the rebels on the inside realised that the siege towers etc were about to be in a position from which the Roman soldiers would have a ‘break in point’, they took the decision to kill themselves rather than be taken alive by the Romans.  10 men were chosen, by lots, to kill the other 900 odd people in the fort, before killing themselves, so when the Romans got into the fort, all they encountered were dead bodies.  This act is regarded as great act of heroism by the Jewish people and Israeli Defence Force units, who I have enormous respect for, have their initiation ceremonies up on the hilltop.  However, I have to say, I think it is a bit defeatist and I prefer the story of the Alamo, where the besieged Texans were all killed, but went out ‘with a bang’ taking 3 times as many attackers with them. ‘Hoo-ah!’ as the yanks would say.

Anyway, after breakfast at the hostel, I got a lift from a very nice British couple, who had a hire car, up to the Ein Gedi bus stop, where I could get a bus back to Jerusalem.  While quietly minding my own business at the bus stop, about half a dozen teenage Israeli delinquents came over to me.  Initially they demanded a cigarette from me, which was a non-starter, then once they realised where I was from I was drawn into the inevitable conversation about football, and had to pretend that I supported Chelsea.  One guy asked me if I was Jewish, and then made no attempt to hide his disapproval of the fact I’m not.  The highlight of the conversation, for me, was when an Israeli Air Force C130 transport plane suddenly flew over us and the boys were cheering “Hurray!  They’re going to bomb Iran!” which made laugh- that’s the spirit!

Anyway, from there I headed on up to Jerusalem, which is not actually in England’s green and pleasant land, after all...

An Englishman in Tel Aviv

Masada Guest House, Israel

Having booked my flight to Israel on Tuesday, I arrived at the El Al check in at Heathrow on Thursday ready for the inevitable heavy security.  There were more British police there, at the point any bad guy would be spotted, than I’ve noticed for any other flight, which made sense.  I managed to be singled out for the classic ‘single guy travelling on his own’ profile, which the male and female Israeli security people wouldn’t let rest.  “You don’t know anyone in Israel, why are you going there?”- “Because it’s warm, interesting and small enough to see in 10 days,” and “How much do you know about the problems in the middle east?”- “Probably more than everybody else on this plane,” (humble to a fault).  Then “I’m a Platoon Sergeant in the British Infantry, I have been to Iraq and Afghanistan, I have got 3 weeks before I start training to go back again, I am seriously not the terrorist or peace activist you are looking for... now tell me a decent bar to go to in Tel Aviv!”  Eventually they satisfied themselves that I wasn’t actually off to wage Jihad, and told me Mike’s Place on the waterfront is the place to go.

The flight was only notable for the outstandingly attractive El Al stewardesses, compared to BA, American Airlines and Emirates.  I slept most of the way on the 5 hour flight which is just fractionally further than flying to Akrotiri in Cyprus.  At this stage I thought it might be wise to memorise an address of a hostel to give at the other end, although I hadn’t booked anything, so I had a glance at the ‘Lonely Planet’ and got the name and address of a hostel, near the beach, near Mike’s Place, on Allenbey St.  However, the most interesting thing I discovered in Lonely Planet (which I generally hate) was that Hamas, the ultra-lunatic Palestinian terrorist group that runs the Gaza strip, is the descendent of a gang set up in the 30’s to wage Jihad against the British there- and whose founder member was shot dead by British soldiers.  Perhaps El Al at Heathrow could do with reading that.

We landed at about 10 PM and my first impression of Tel Aviv airport, which they won’t thank me for, is that the smell of Body Odour reminded me of the Afghan Army bases.

I decided to get a cab to Allenbey St to find somewhere to dump my kit, and the cabby was telling me his experiences in the Yom Kippur war in ’73 as a tank driver, which was all interesting.  My alternative plan to a hostel was to find the Tel Aviv version of Inferno’s (called ‘Cats and Dogs’ BTW), and, er, ‘back myself’ to find some nice Israeli bird to accommodate me, however I discarded that idea as I couldn’t be bothered dragging my kit to a bar.  I eventually found a decent hostel, 1 block back from the beach, and checked in about 1130PM.  Before I’d even got to my room I was drinking beer with an interesting crowd of young guys in the foyer.

These were guys from the ‘Diaspora’ of non Israeli Jews, who’d come here from the US, South Africa and elsewhere to voluntarily join the Israeli Defence Force, the IDF, and they were a great crowd of guys.  I had a couple of things going for me in their eyes- my own military experience, and the fact I’d gone out, years ago, with the cousin of Joel Stransky, who was not only the Springbok ’95 team’s version of Jonny Wilkinson, but is also from a prominent Jewish family in Johannesburg.

The other person sitting with us was also interesting, in an entirely different way.  She was a non-Jewish, Norwegian teacher who had come out here with her ideals of saving the Palestinians from the Israelis... and after 2 months in the West Bank she utterly despised the Palestinians, and was much happier to be getting drunk in Tel Aviv.  She appreciated my favourite definition of a conservative, as being a liberal who has been mugged.

Thursday night saw a couple of us going to Mike’s Place, watching some American Football game there, which kicked off at 3.30AM, and then proceeding to  drink until the sun came up about 7.  Definitely a good first impression!

Friday started slowly, and after a couple of hours on the beach (it’s 23C here) proceeded to another all night drinking session, so on Saturday I felt I had to make an effort to get more than 500m from my hostel.  After walking off to find an ATM in the mid-afternoon I then got on the water front and headed South towards Jaffa.  Without being flippant, Tel Aviv is like a cross between Miami Beach and Basra, which shouldn’t be as surprising as it may seem as Basra is another Middle Eastern port city and is only a short, F16 flight away across Syria- as Saddam Hussein’s own nuclear workers outside Baghdad discovered in the early 1980’s...

After 20-30 minutes walking among the Israelis enjoying their ‘Sunday’ Sabbath, I got to the old city of Jaffa and had a wander round.  Jaffa is the ancient city, which Tel Aviv emerged from, and it was interesting to read an abridged history of who’d controlled it, ranging from the Persians (Iranians) to the Romans to ourselves.  There’s some reference to ‘The British destroying buildings to allow armoured vehicles through’ in the 1930’s- well we were in charge, we could do what we liked...

After a Saturday night that started with watching the ‘soccer’ between England and Spain, it then deteriorated to once again drinking all night, at Mike’s Place.  This is the place that a ‘British passport holder’ from Bradford or somewhere similar walked into and blew himself up, several years before the July 7^th bombings in London, although they were all from the same gang.  The staff generally sound American, although they will slip into Hebrew with some customers, and it reminded me of South Africa where everybody is bi-lingual, in terms of understanding, but will generally speak English or Afrikaans as they prefer.  One of the managers was an older guy, from Toronto, who’d been a sniper in the IDF in the early 90’s, while the younger one, from New Jersey, had been an infantryman, but had been wounded by shrapnel in Lebanon in 2006.  Interestingly, we met 2 girls of the right age to be doing military service, and 1 was about to start, while the other was a ‘refusenik’ who was dodging her service.  While there was some talk of ‘her choice’, the older IDF veteran said “Right, and it should be our choice to deny you health care, the vote, etc...”  No strong feelings there, then. 

 An all nighter then having to check out of my hostel at 11AM is always a good combination.  I got the local bus up to Tel Aviv bus station, then on to Jerusalem bus station, which is about an hour’s journey.  In Jerusalem I spent a couple of hours on the internet, waiting for my bus to Masada and saw dozens of Israeli soldiers going to/ from duty, but carrying their weapons and magazines, which was like being back in a yank ‘chow hall’ in Afghan.  They actually looked far scruffier than the average British or American soldier would ever look, although I think you can tell which ones are in the infantry and which ones aren’t, like anywhere else.  Unlike anywhere else, you also see civilians going around with M4 assault rifles, which is probably reassuring.

My bus to Mesada at 4.15PM, went out of Jerusalem and straight into the West Bank, which surprised me- and made me wish I had an M4.  It was a commuter bus and just stuck to the highway, going past Jericho and heading south, via various ‘Settlements’, dropping off commuters as it got dark.  Once we got to the Southern end of the West Bank we got to an IDF checkpoint where the bus was boarded by a very attractive Military Policewoman, before we were sent on our way.  I’d asked the bus driver to let me know when we got to the ‘Masada Guest House’, about 20 k’s South of Ein Gedi, on the Dead Sea, and 2 hours from Jerusalem. 

We pulled into the side of a road and he told me it was my stop, so off I jumped, with my raging hangover, into the night, and as the bus left I was just on my own, in the pitch dark with no clue where I was in relation to anywhere.  I spotted a light at a checkpoint and after walking over to it I was pointed in the direction of the actual guest house, and prayed it wasn’t fully booked, otherwise I was in for a memorable night!  Fortunately there was a spare bed, and I got my head down ready for this morning’s trip up to the old fort of Masada...