PLANET EARTH VAGABOND

So off I headed, to begin my solo adventure. First stop was a jewelry shop to establish my cover story. I did need to find a small gift for my mother. I already had a gold tie tack for my father from Beirut. When you travel solo on local transport you look for small gifts. Jewelry fits that description and is easy to stash. I found mom a wonderful “Rose of Sharon” pin that she cherished the rest of her life. I also connected in the shop with a local who wanted to chat me up. He invited me to go with him to the Ethiopian procession that was due to commence soon nearby. That sounded good to me, so with my precious gift stashed, we headed off to experience a cultural episode. Oh such spectacular robes—almost beyond description. Amazing combinations of colors are what struck me first. Deep purples combined with malachite greens and jewels everywhere. Intense royal blues with amber and gold and more jewels everywhere. Rich velvets and brocades and again and again, jewels beyond belief. Amidst the fervor of it all, there was a strange mood of unrest in the crowd. I was enthralled by the spectacle, but still I could detect subtle vibrations of hostility. Lost in my own world of fantasy, I simply ignored it until a rock or two came whizzing by. That can certainly grab your attention. As anger quickly took over the mood of the crowd, my friend grabbed my arm and carefully eased me through the rabble to an escape route.I kept muttering “Why, why, why…what’s happening?” It seems that for several years discord had been building between the Ethiopians and the mainstream Orthodox pilgrims. I never did quite understand the cause of it, only the result of hatred and hostility directed towards fellow Christians which manifested itself in rock throwing by individuals in the crowd that was gathering to watch the procession. Was this an ominous threat of things to come? Walking quickly away from the angry mob, my new friend, Hosni, suggested I go with him to Ramallah for an evening dinner of mezzes at his friend’s house. Anyone who has ever experienced the taste delights of a superb mezzes feast knows that I was incapable of turning down such an offer. Glorious visions of dolmas, babaghanoush, hummus, kibheh, tabboulah, all variety of stuffed pastries in yoghurt, my heart stops a beat just thinking about them. The very names sound delectable. A true smorgasbord of delights. It’s easy to lose track of time while eating succulent, savory dishes in the presence of good company. So I admit it was late when I was dropped off back near the Damascus Gate. It was the night before Easter and Old Jerusalem was alive with activity. Vigilant pilgrims diligently awaited the arrival of Christ to light the candle in the Sepulcher at the cathedral. They would be up all night in a state of temporary insanity, but I was tired and only wanted to go to sleep, so I headed to the compound. On the outer doors where I was staying with my friend’s family, all my knocks went unanswered. It was entirely possible they were all at the cathedral, but whatever the reason, I quickly ascertained that to continue knocking was a futile activity. Time to improvise; a skill vagabonds need to master.