Following the Roman Aqueduct to Jericho

On Saturday I was speaking with an American from Colorado, called D., about mountain climbing and general outdoor activities. He was telling me all about the things he would get up to at home and then I mentioned that there was this walk through the desert to Jericho that I would love to do here. I had done half of it when I was last in Palestine and it was one of my greatest memories. It only took a few minutes for D. to say he was keen and so we made a plan to meet the next morning at al-Manara (central Ramallah) and set out from there.

Both D. and I managed to find other people interested in joining us, so there were five of us roaming around Ramallah the next day looking for a servees that would take us to Wadi Qelt (the name of our destination). We found one that was willing to take us for 100 shekels (20 each) so we accepted and got in.

THE DRIVE

Driving anywhere in this country is a risky enterprise: the roads are treacherous! And that’s largely because of the impatient drivers who have no sense of a limit on speed. Seatbelts are only worn when there is an Israeli presence nearby – because the Israeli soldiers will fine the driver if anyone in the vehicle is without a seatbelt.

We drove through the checkpoint just outside Ramallah - no soldiers seemed to be manning it, though they could always potentially be in the camouflaged watch tower which rises ominously over the road. They are designed so that there is no way to tell for sure whether there is a soldier inside – so they work very much like Foucault's idea for the Panopticon: keeping the populace on their toes ‘just in case’ they are being watched.

We drove along the wall/security barrier which loops East Jerusalem, cutting it off from the West Bank (despite the fact that Palestinian families live on both sides). There is graffiti sprayed all over the cement sections: "CTRL + ALT + DELETE", "THE WALL MUST FALL", "PALESTINE GHETTO" etc...

Turning from the wall the landscape slowly began to change - the land became paler and dryer. Some areas along the road were littered with small stumps: olive trees cut down by the Israelis for 'security purposes'. In such a barren land as this, olive trees are a family's only hope, they are their livelihood - but with the Israelis, it's ‘now you see them now you don't’. There were also some shanty villages that looked as though they were permanently temporary, that is, built with only a short amount of time in mind, but lived in for years. These are the Bedouin who have been kicked off the areas they once inhabited - again for 'security reasons'.

WADI QELT

There is a sign pointing to Wadi Qelt and the servees dropped us off there. The only thing close by is an Israeli settlement. We are at the top of one of the many rolling desert hills and this is obviously a tourist look-out because there are souvenir-sellers and a man who wanted us to ride his camel. But we pass by them and start walking towards the valley, which winds between these rolling hills. The path is covered in a light pale sun-bleached dust from the light pale sun-bleached rock that is everywhere. At the beginning, the path is like a road, but then the track turns away from this dusty road and starts to drop down. The track is thin, rocky and steep - and looked more fit for goats than people. But a man and his donkey pass us and we see we're going the right way. We follow them - the man and the donkey - for several minutes before he suddenly stops close to the bottom of the valley (we could see the green that indicated the presence of the aqueduct). He waits for us to catch up and then asks "shay?" ('tea?'). We hesitate for a moment but, as it is rude to refuse such offers, we accept. (After all, there's five of us and only one of him.) He points down away from the track to what looks like a tent and leads the way.

TEA IN A TENT

When we arrive, he disappears inside the main tent (there are two - one large [the living room] and the other small [the kitchen]). After a little while he reappears and opens the flap to let us walk in, he's obviously just done a hasty clean up! He sits us down to one side on mattresses and pillows and sets about making the tea. We feel a bit awkward - not sure exactly what's expected of us and slightly awestruck by the situation we were in - being served tea in a tent in a secluded valley surrounded by desert. The man, named Muhammad, was actually a farmer from Jericho who had been living in this tent for eight years raising goats. He came here after the Israelis closed Jerusalem and so he was no longer able to find work - his previous livelihood had been working for the Israelis but after the second intifada, Palestinians stopped being allowed into Israel to attend their prior occupations. His family still lived in a refugee camp in Jericho and he would go there to visit and get supplies every four days or so.

After two cups of tea and a small packet of biscuits, we moved on, waving ma-salaama (goodbye) to Muhammad and his donkey and goats. We were now in the valley.

THE ROMAN TOUCH - FOLLOWING THE AQUEDUCT

From Muhammad's tent, it was a matter of walking up a steep goat's trail to reach the aqueduct. We almost stepped on a shepherd who was resting in the shade of a leafy tree, which only survived there because of the aqueduct. We exchanged a few words of greeting and continued. The path along the aqueduct is not always fit for walking, so at times we were balancing on the rock ledges on either side, which was not my favourite way to walk: fall to your right and plummet into the valley (and I assure you, survival would be a matter of luck) and fall the other way and land in the aqueduct, potentially hitting your head on stone. But it was certainly an adventure!!! I would have enjoyed the balancing, had it not been for the fear of the plummet. But further along, where there were some leaks in the aqueduct, there were more trees, which could act as a barrier between you and a potentially horrible death. Once we had that safety barrier I felt much better about the balancing, and could enjoy myself! ... until we reached the hornets.

We found a cave just above the aqueduct and when we moved up to explore I was bitten by one such hornet on my thigh - quite a painful experience!! The suddenly one of the other girls began to sprint along the rocky trail yelling that there was a hornet in her head scarf. Fortunately she managed to throw it off and all was well again - except for the several other hornets swarming nearby and my constant commentary of the rate of pain I was feeling: 'shit shit shit SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT shit shit SHIT SHIT' (the pain came in a rhythm, sometimes sharp, then dull, then sharp, the dull etc ). D. said that he thought it was the aqueduct that attracted the presence of the hornets, so we decided we would leave it and explore the valley below. First goat’s trail we found we followed down.

THE VALLEY BOTTOM

The valley seemed to have been carved out by a river that must have once flowed here. Round white stones covered the bottom. They were like a much larger version of the sort of pebbles you get to put in the bottom of a fish-tank. There were signs that people pass through here - blackened areas where bonfires had been lit, drink bottles, the odd shoe (not sure what happened to its wearer). There were even the charred remains of a car that looked as though it had fallen from the cliff - we just hoped that no one was in it at the time...

We rested here in the shade and ate and drank. Then we continued. The heat was oppressive, though not so different from summer back home. But soon it was too much for the Europeans so we started looking for a way to climb back up to the aqueduct. It was here we realised our mistake - it seems that the further along we go, the more sheer the hill faces on either side. But staying down in the valley wasn't as option, if only because of the water situation: we were running out and the plan was to use David's water filter (which he has from his adventuring in the states) and fill up our bottles from the aqueduct. Eventually we found something that looked like a goat trail - a very nimble goat trail... and we climbed.

CROSSES ON THE HILL-TOPS

I led the way up the hill face - slipping on the flakes of stone that littered the path. The further up we climbed the more steep it became, until we were all on hands and knees, digging into the blistering sand trying to stop ourselves from sliding backwards. It was on this climb that I managed to pick up several scrapes and bruises - and a few cuts on my palm from my attempt to hold onto a plant for support and being greeted with thorns. Arms slightly shaking we reached the aqueduct and pulled ourselves up onto its ledge. We had all made it!

We followed the aqueduct for the rest of the journey. Soon we could see the great crosses that mark the route to St George Monastery. And even sooner, we were overtaken by another man with a donkey. This man had a motto: 'everything is possible with a donkey'. His English wasn't good, but with our various Arabic abilities we managed to have a conversation and he kept us company.

You have climbed and climbed, following these giant crosses that appear on the tops of the rolling desert hills, and suddenly you round a bend and there is St George Monastery below you. It is built out of the cliff face and surrounded by green oasis fed by the aqueduct. There is a winding makeshift stone stairway leading down to it, which we trumped along, sweaty, dusty and tired.

ST GEORGE MONASTERY

We were let into the Monastery and greeted by the monks with cool water and grape juice, which we took with us into an out-of-the-way corner. Eventually a Palestinian man approached us and began to speak with us. He was an old student from Birzeit, many years ago. Now he was a historian for the church, as well as a builder and a maker of mosaics. He lived in Beit Sahour (by Bethlehem) and worked at the Peace Centre there. First he asked if we had been there (to Beit Sahour) and we said no, so he invited us all there to come to see him in his home. Then he asked if we would like to see upstairs and we agreed, following him up to this shrine area, where a saint had lived in exile while being hunted by an invading army. He showed us the work he had done to the shrine - the repairs - and also the area set aside for his next mosaic. Soon it was time for us to leave, since we wanted to continue our walk into Jericho, which would be another two hours or so. So he walked down with us to the Monastery gateway to wave us off, first stopping in his quarters to gift us with some photos he had taken of the monastery as well as handing me a large poster version of one of these images which had his email address so we could contact him when we planned to go to Beit Sahour. We thanked him profusely (shukran, shukran gazeelan) and continued.

SIGHT OF JERICHO

The cliffs became more rocky and sheer, though the path was in better repair. We no longer followed the aqueduct - which had moved to the other cliff-face - but walked parallel with it. We could see several caves in the cliffs, some with signs of human habitation - such as windows hewn out or entrances walled in. We don't know if anyone would live there now though as it all seemed very old.

The large crosses still guided our path, to guide pilgrims walking from Jericho.

And then the cliffs opened and between them we could make out Jericho in the distance.

JERICHO

Jericho is the lowest inhabited area on Earth - at about 260m below sea level - and it is also one of the few areas under the full control of the Palestinian Authority, despite being surrounded by checkpoints and trenches (which mark an Israeli security zone). The city has such a different flow from Ramallah, probably because of the heat and it being just that much further from Israel (despite being surrounded by markers of the occupation and several settlements on surrounding hilltops). We walked the streets searching for a place that would serve us food and drink - which is difficult to find during Ramadan. Eventually we found a very enthusiastic restaurant owner who set before us a feast! Soup, salad, drinks, rice dishes and what looked to me like a chicken-wrap. It was delicious! And only 35 shekels all inclusive! We stayed there for a long time – eating, drinking and talking. By the time we had finished it was sundown and we had to stay even longer (now drinking tea) because it was Ramadan and sundown was the time that the fast was broken and people could eat again, so no taxi would drive us at that time. At about 6.30pm, the restaurant owner found us a taxi driver willing to take us and we left Jericho for Ramallah.

CHECKPOINTS ON THE ROAD BACK TO RAMALLAH

As I said, Jericho is surrounded by trenches that mark an Israeli security zone. These trenches mean there is no way to drive out of the city without passing the checkpoint. There was a long line of cars waiting at the checkpoint when we reached it. We thought we would have a long wait on our hands, but our driver simply drove onto the other side of the road (driving towards oncoming vehicles, if there had been any - but cars were also being prevented from entering Jericho by the checkpoint so we didn't have any problem). At first I was confused at why we were rushing by the queue, then I could have slapped myself - our driver was taking advantage of having international passengers, and perhaps more advantageous: white international passengers. He stopped the car about ten metres in front of the soldiers, gathered our passports and walked up to the soldier closest to us (who was aiming his M16 at him). It amazes me how unflinching these Palestinians are, standing in front of these large weapons knowing that only the steadiness of a teenager's grip on the trigger stood between them and death. Because once more I must emphasise: these soldiers are teenagers and these guns are loaded and ready to fire. While he seemed a little disinclined to listen to our taxi driver, the soldier eventually waved us through, allowing us to pass in front of this long queue of cars that had been waiting there for how long? It is just one of the many special privileges that a foreign passport gives you in the Occupied Territories.

We were questioned by the soldiers - 'what are we doing here?' 'why are we going to Ramallah?’ ‘don’t we know it’s dangerous here?’ etc... The others smiled with the soldiers and thanked them – one even spoke with them in Hebrew. I cringed at all of this. I cringed because for us Westerners, it is natural to try and be as affable as possible with people in the position of these soldiers, but that’s not how it works here. Here, it is like a slap in the face of the Palestinians to see us smiling with their occupiers. However nice individual Israeli soldiers may be, they are still taking part in an occupation condemned by international law. And just as readily as they would smile and joke with an American or an Australian, they would shoot a Palestinian if they were so ordered to do so. That’s the problem with soldiers – they follow orders.

We were waved through and continued on our way. Just outside Ramallah we were stopped at another checkpoint and once more questioned as to what we were doing here. And once more the soldier asking didn’t even seem interested in our answers.

Finally, we were back in our city.

HARRASSMENT NEAR HOME

In Ramallah, J. (a girl who lived with me) and I said goodbye to the others and walked back to our dormitory. On the way there was a young man who kept trying to engage us in conversation and kept walking in our direction, even when we turned off the main road. Just before our dorms we said goodbye to him (quite forcefully as we were trying to shake him) and he reached out to shake J.'s hand. Instead of shaking it, he kissed it and then kissed her cheeks four or five times. Then he did the same to me, but when he was kissing my cheeks he slowed and I had the distinct impression that he was about to go for my mouth, so I pushed him - shoving him in the chest and knocking him away from me saying 'la! hallas!' (no! enough!) He then turned back to J. and tried to embrace her again but she likewise shoved him back and yelled an Arabic word I didn't know but which means 'shame' in the sense that you are violating Islam and should be ashamed. Both J. and I walked away from him and he yelled after us 'OK! Goodbye! I'm sorry! Goodbye!' I had not been frightened through any of this – the man had in fact seemed quite harmless. Although, perhaps it would have been a different story had either J. or I been alone. It was just an example of part of what women must sometimes contend with here, particularly foreign women, who are often assumed to be sex-crazed.

CONCLUSIONS

It was an incredible journey. We experienced the hospitality of the people here, the remoteness of the desert, the deep religion of the society, a Palestinian feast, two checkpoints, the status that an international passport can give you and a taste of the harassment that women here are sometimes subject to. All this and more is Palestine, and I love it here.