Things I have remembered today

That I love maps!
I love studying them. I love the detail they give you. I love the way in which they allow you to get a sense of the lay of the land (quite literally!) I love following them as I discover new places… and I especially love maps for bus routes when visiting new places. I have also been reminded of my own rule to get hold of a decent bus map when visiting a new city or town. I’m sorry to tell you folks, maps on your phone/tablet are just not the same. When you are in a foreign land and you don’t want to eat up data – nothing will take the place of a paper map (that gets rain soaked, frayed around the edges and slightly torn at the creases after four or five days usage... I love it!) and what have I failed to do on arriving here... pick up a decent bus map... it's almost been a disaster.

That I love discovering new places
One of the things I really love to do when visiting a new place, cities especially, is to go on a bus ride from one side of town to the other. It’s a great way to get a feel for the different districts and suburbs. I like to notice the people and where they get on and off, as well as what they are wearing and what they are reading (or not). I like to notice the architecture and the way in which different parts of town change, quite literally, from one side of a junction to the other. I noticed this quite some years ago when I visited America, first New York and then San Francisco (clang, there’s are two place-name-drops!) Quite literally, you would pass from one side of the road to the other and the visible difference in poverty and wealth were so marked it was hard to believe your eyes. I’ve heard of communities being cut in two by train tracks or large roads but these are negligible when compared with the apparent, blatant even, societal change for no good reason than a set of traffic lights.

That I need to take water seriously
In the place I am staying in Jerusalem, the drains for the sinks and baths are under the floors rather than on the outside of the building. (I assume it is because the bathrooms are at the back of the building and there is a long corridor behind them. It sounds plausible, so I am going with it!) When you can hear the sound of water draining away beneath your feet, you take it more seriously. ‘Is the plug not in the plughole properly?’ ‘Doesn’t it fit?’ ‘Listen to how much water I am wasting as I run the tap and wait for the hot water to arrive.’ Now I’m someone who doesn’t bother with water on my toothbrush before brushing my teeth (believe me, you don’t need it) so there is no chance of me leaving leave the tap running whilst I brush my teeth, but I will own up to letting the bathroom tap run on as I wait for the hot water to come through. If I’m in the kitchen I use the water for the plants – but there are no plants upstairs… Today however, as I have listened to water running away beneath my feet (in a land where I also happen to know water is a previous commodity), I am reminded to take this commodity rather more seriously.

That I love being surprised art
At the Israel Museum there is an Art Garden (such a brilliant idea – a bit like Sculpture Parks but not so far out of town… possibly) There is an eclectic mix of sculptures and ‘installations’ – two of which particularly caught my eye: Equinox and Space that Sees. The first you come to is what looks essentially like a window inserted into the ground – and it is. However, it is above a large space carved out of the ground and the idea is that the sun (of there is any) causes a block of light to travel around inside the room – and the placement of this block of light will be determined by time of day, time of year and indeed, whether there is any sunlight at all. There is an additional catch – but I’ll leave you to discover it if ever your travel there! The second installation also plays with light being held in space – or not. I have to confess that when I first saw it I did wonder what to make of it. It is a large square white block and I assumed it was a large empty space that you couldn’t see into but that you were meant to infer that you 'knew' there was space inside it and that was enough. However, on walking away I noticed a small sign that indicated you had to follow the path around the corner. If you do so, you discover the way into the form – and it is not entirely what you might expect at all! The white square above ground has no roof and opens up to the sky. I was on my own and sky was a stunning cerulean blue and so I spent ages just looking up at this wonderful sight… wonderful and surprising and delightful all in one.

That people are kind and generous to you if try to speak their language
Travel to Calais or Boulogne and the French are quite rightly disdainful of the English who cannot be bothered to even attempt to speak French to them. Some of them are quite ride and I don’t blame them. I have very little Hebrew (make that very, very little Hebrew!) but, amongst other things, I can say Hello, Good morning/evening, Thank you and… shekel! I have found here in Israel that, if I say Shalom and then apologise for not being able to speak Hebrew, people are genuinely happy to try to assist me in my endeavours. In France, a very long time ago I had to ask for the head to be removed from some fish – the person spoke no English what-so-ever, and my French was slightly less dodgy than it is now – but with a ‘pas de tête’ accompanied by appropriate hand gestures (which made me feel like someone out of the French Revolution) it was mission accomplished. The man in the museum today to whom I said Shalom and Boker tov (and then had to assure it was still morning) came up to me later to say Good Afternoon and teach me how to say it too. Result! A new word for the vocab… and with that Laila tov to you all!

A day of a hundred (or so) voices

I have no idea of how many voices I have actually heard today – but it will be somewhere near a good few hundred or so. From breakfast, with a Good Morning called across the room in welcome (with a delightful French accent from the Brothers and Sisters of the two Communities based at St Peter in Gallicantu), to the young boys of the souk competing to see who could yell the loudest in an attempt to drum up custom (in fact, no-one was listening to the boys – except themselves as they smiled and egged each other to yell all the more) and on to Vespers with the Community - said in the Church here.

In between, of course, there were the voices raised in song in the Crypt of the Dormition Abbey, the American who was loudly holding court in the café of Christ Church (proclaiming that Jesus was not a Jew as he was seen as ‘radical’ by the Jews of the time), the quiet murmur of the prayers of the pilgrims as they knelt at the site of the crucifixion (Golgotha), as well as the various people (all men) who wished to ‘assist’ me to find where I was going (at a cost, of course). One of them was Joseph, who loved England but who was born in Jerusalem. He was the most polite of all – even shaking my hand and blessing me as he went on his way. Others asked where I was from, having first caught my attention by calling out ‘Lady!’ I certainly don’t view myself as a lady but, because I automatically think it is someone wishing to tell me I have dropped something or possibly asking for help, usually I turn around. This, alas, gives it away! I shan't be doing this after today. I have also learned today to never sit or stand looking at a guidebook in an open space, always walk everywhere with a look of determination, ever look up at the architecture or down an alleyway with any show of inquisitiveness. It makes for speedy and dull viewing until you realise that this is just how it is here. Everyone is seeking to make a living here, with some barely managing to eke one out at all.

A shopkeeper from whom I purchased fruit and vegetables was only too happy to help me and did not ‘take me for a ride’ in the price he charged – unlike the man in the shop that sold herbs to unsuspecting passers-by who, like me, were called in by the evocative smells… more fool us! Like the owners of the souvenir shops that drip with ‘holy’ items that reflect every possible shade of Christian tradition, I imagine this man must see me as an arrogant westerner who can’t be bothered to learn the language in order to ask for what I required in his native language, Whilst I am vaguely irked for his disdain for me (and I know I deserve it), I also admire him, along with all the traders of the city (as well as the ‘beggars’) for the sheer tenacity which drives them on to learn how to speak Polish, English, German, Spanish – and more – all so that they can better sell their wares or seek a quick shekel.

And then there were the two unexpected Services to close the day. Two and a half weeks into this period of Extended Study Leave (Sabbatical) I realise how out of the loop I am with the pattern of the church year as I noted a poster advertising Services for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Today's Service was held at St Mark's Convent (Upper Room) Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate – an impossibly difficult place to find! I went along wondering if there would be anyone else there at all - given what a maelstrom of faith this City of Jerusalem is. I couldn’t find it, and had to ask. A kind shopkeeper took pity on me as I poked my neck around a corner – Guidebook in hand open at the map page. I had to turn back the way I had come… but I was not the only one finding it so hard to find. I arrived just moments after the service had started but they was no room in the church itself. I, along with about twenty others, had to stand (or sit if you could find a chair) outside the body of the church in the entrance hall. The Service took place in Arabic, English, French, Armenian and Syriac. What an amazing experience. The singing was so passionate, even though ‘completely foreign’ to me!

Vespers here at St Peter’s came next – all in French. Sung gently by the seven people gathered, with me following the text and seeking to make out what was being sung and read dredging up my schoolbook French. Some I could remember, some I worked out from context and some was just beyond me, but it was fine. I was there. I was present. I was with others who were happy for me to be there with them.

So many voices raised in speech and song throughout the day in a city where so many seek to hear one particular voice speak or sing – the voice of God. Listening is sometimes hard here. Listening is always vital here. Listen.