Last day in Jordan (Day 13)
8th January 2022
8th January 2022
Today is our last day in Jordan. As our flight leaves Amman only in the afternoon, we decided to still fill it with more sight seeing.
While we had seen some churches and archaeological sights already on our first arrival in Madaba, this time we set off early and walked up to the church of Jean Babtiste the beheaded.
We only had seen it from the outside due to the late hour last time. This time we walked in the church ruins and catacombs below.
The entire church was built upon another and excavations are still ongoing. A cute orange cat kept us company during our subterranean excursion.
The highlight was not the church itself, it was the attached bell tower that we climbed. Many stairs on small staircases, past four bell ropes and bells we went until we arrived at a small opening that led to a very tiny ledge around the outside of the tower.
With barely 50 cm width and a rickety reeling around it, we kept close to the walls.
Esther’s fear of height was very present and when the church bells started to ring she jumped at the loudness of it. The bell tower is the highest point in Madaba and we had a 360 degree surround view from up top.
Once we left the church compound we wandered in the fairly deserted roads of the old town, which only seem to come alive around lunchtime.
We were in search of a shop that sells those nice pashmina scarfs made of cashmere. Those are incredibly soft and this was the place to get them. Esthers bartering also yielded an additional pair of earrings made of silver, green Malachite and Agate.
Once back at the Mosaic hotel we did a final packing of our bags, before our driver Hamdi picked us up. We had decided to get to the airport with a detour to Mount Nebo. We probably should not have bothered.
Barely ten km outside Madaba is Mt. Nebo and it’s basilica.
This is the spot where Moses supposedly stood and overlooked the holy land (you can find two other places in the region that claim this honor. One in Israel and one in Egypt). On one side you can see the Dead Sea and Israel, on the other Madaba and the surrounding hills.
The modern looking church sits in full sunshine with an iron cross in front. Originally only a small Franciscan Friars monastery was situated there, and it served as a pilgrimage site until today on the route between Jerusalem and Damascus.
We were disappointed to see that the restoration work was carried out with modern materials. Not much of the old, original materials exist anymore. Behind a modern facade, only a few original pillars exist inside the church as well as a very nice, well preserved mosaic on the church floor.
All the other outbuildings around the church are barely more than low walls with a few mill stones strewn about.
Not so much into the mystique of the bible, we could have really skipped that visit but at least it was a nice sunny day and we enjoyed the last warm rays of sunshine before having to embark on our flight home.
Check-In at the Queen Alia International Airport was quick with no complications, so we had about two hours of relaxation in the Crowns Lounge of Jordanian Airlines that welcomes Star Alliance guests as well.
An interesting open structure at the second floor overlooking the Terminal with a decent choice of warm food. As we boarded the plane we had the whole front section of the airplane for ourselves.
Since Chris doesn’t feel any ‘Flugscham’ or ‘flight shame’, Esther compensated our CO2 footprint by donating to a very nice project providing families in India, Nepal or Ruanda with smoke free efficient ovens reducing CO2 generation. More on these projects here or here.
That way we were the first out of the plane and managed to swiftly pass through passport control and security check and reach the plane from Vienna to Munich in time even though we only had a layover of 35 minutes.
All in all it was a very nice vacation, and again we had the feeling that despite Omicron slowing down the world, it did not manage to slow down our travels around the globe. Any suggestions where we should go next?
Today the Dead Sea was beautifully calm. No wind and no waves . The ground could be seen crystal clear and so we spent the whole morning on and in the sea.
This is the picture perfect photo op that can be seen in many travel catalogs as the Dead Sea typical experience. To complement it, we smeared each other from head to toe again with mineral mud, harvested right behind us from the sea bed.
It takes a surprisingly long time to wash it off again and you always miss bits and pieces, as the towels and bathing suit can tell. It was still fun to just do nothing and enjoy the morning.
By 12 noon, we got picked up by our driver Hamdi again to drive us to Karak Castle. Down the Dead Sea highway we went again and then turned into a windy mountain road.
Nothing but stones, rocks and sand could be seen. Very harsh living conditions and for miles we did not see a living thing. Until passing a mountain ridge, all of a sudden there seemed to be water on the other side and a bit more green could be seen.
Clearly the trees here had been watered and they gave a hint at what this land might have looked like thousands of years ago. It was supposed to be full of trees, but most of them had been cut down as fire wood or for construction purposes. Karak, the biggest of all crusader castles, lies atop a mountain pass and everyone wanting to go from the Dead Sea eastwards towards Amman and Damascus needed to pass it. Its strategic position was still clearly visible, even though the town of Karak has sprung up around it, partly engulfing the lower castle walls.
We meandered through the only partly excavated ruins and marveled at the sheer size of it and then thickness of the walls, built entirely out of stone. Up to 6 feet strong, those walls seemed unbreachable and for many years the crusaders ruled undefeated.
Until the Turks came and set years of siege to the castle until it’s inhabitants gave up and fled to Madaba. Turkish rule took over and so some elements of the castle are Christian, while others are Byzantine.
Only parts of the ruin is excavated but the whole complex and it’s size must have housed hundreds of inhabitants at it’s prime time.
The many sleeping chambers, large kitchens, gathering halls and church all surrounded by thick walls with many arrow slits gave us a glimpse of how strong this castle once was.
We spend a good portion of the afternoon exploring the castle in beautiful sunshine before meeting our driver for a very nice, typical Jordanian lunch at a local restaurant.
As so many times before we were pleasantly surprised by the freshness of the food, the amount of vegetables served and the nice taste of it.
Back in Madaba, we just had a light dinner and a short trip to the local high end shopping mall which made us smile a bit when comparing it with western malls.
Not only was it very small (compared to US malls), it had only one clothing store but many cosmetics shops. Complete with kids amusement section, kids hairdresser and a food court. Different clientele, different shops…
We decided on the fly to change travel plans and stay at the Dead Sea a day longer. To just baths in it for a few hours and then take off again did not seem to do it justice. We booked ourselves another night here and adjusted travel plans accordingly.
After a rather large breakfast of good quality but in a noisy hall reminding you of an cantine, we took our belongings and wandered down to the beach. The sun had come out by then and the wind from the previous day had lessened. It was very relaxing to just float in the Dead Sea, cover ourselves with dark mud and let ourselves dry.
It is surprisingly sticky and took a while floating in the sea again to get all the mud washed off. It is such a large body of water but something seems off: There is not a single boat in sight. No fisher nets drying on the beaches, no sail boat, no ferry. No smell of ocean. Other than a few people floating on the shore line, it is literally a Dead Sea since nothing survives in it (apart from some microalgae and cyanobacteria). The water is so reach with salt and minerals (remember: ten times more then in your common ocean) that it almost feels like oil on your skin.
We can see Israel quite clearly from our shore. It does not seem to be far away, but in reality there are worlds between.
We relaxed on the beach and did not even use the nice looking swimming pool further up – thinking of chlorine on our skin seemed like a sinn after having cleansed it in the Dead Sea water. The special composition of the Dead Sea is helping many people with Psoriasis or other skin irregularities. Chris loves the effect on his scalp: No dandruffs or scalp irritation for at least a week!
There is an intense water shortage in the region. The Jordan river used to compensate with it’s inflow the evaporation of the Dead Sea but nowadays it only trickles into the Dead Sea and so the last 20 years the water level has dropped by 15 meters.
This means for the resorts that original beaches had to be moved further and further down. In our resort we could see three terasses, where the beach had been moved further down with all it’s sand and amenities like showers, sun chairs and umbrellas.
There are many ideas how to fight the dropping levels, f.e. using water from the Red Sea to fill up the Dead Sea. But none of these projects have been realized so far, and all of them are controversial from a nature conservation perspective. No one really knows what damage it would do to the unique eco system.
There are only a few guests here as so many had canceled due to Omicron. We had the beach nearly to ourselves. To top our relaxing stay we booked ourselves into the hotel spa for a massage and facial. What a luxury!
By 9 PM and with all the sun and pampering we turned in for an early night.
Today we first had a long drive from Aqaba to the Dead Sea. At the occasional police control stations, we had to put our masks on quickly until we passed. Otherwise it was an uneventful drive on a highway leading straight to a barren landscape with a lot of power poles.
The only memorable thing was that all of a sudden the sandy and dusty landscape started to get dotted with green fields the more North we drove. Rows and rows with little plastic tunnels started to appear that seemed to be mini green houses for small plants.
We had arrived at the tomato growing region in Jordan and everywhere now acres with tomato plants, some young , some ripe were appearing on both sides of the highway. Crates stacked high with tomatoes could be bought on the road side and trucks laden full with tomatoes could be seen lumbering slowly across little side roads. People worked in the fields and seemed to live in large tents next to them.
There is a distinctive difference between the have and have nots here in Jordan. Some things are inexpensive to us westerners, others have the same price in Jordan Dinars as at home. We literally paid 1,35 JD ( roughly 1,5 EUR) for 20 freshly fried falafel at a small falafel restaurant, and 30 min later 9 DJ ( roughly 11 EUR) for a pint of local beer. Some things are hard to understand.
Arrived finally at the Dead Sea, we checked into the luxury part of our journey, the Holiday Inn Dead Sea Resort & Spa. While the others in the group had day tickets that included lunch and the use of the facilities ( Pools, beach, mud bath etc.) we were booked to stay for the night.
Chris had been to and in the Dead Sea several times on the Israeli side, this was his first time on Jordan soil. There were quite a few waves and it was funny and challenging to keep bobbing on top without getting salty spray into ones eyes and nose which is not only really disgusting, but also a little bit dangerous. The Dead Sea contains over 30 % of Salt, Magnesium, Potassium, etc. (which is ten times more then our oceans). It is quite a unique experience to not go under but to float on top without effort.
Some of us generously used the olive colored mud to cover ourselves from head to toe with it. Supposedly it has minerals and other healing and soothing ingredients. Indeed the skin afterwards felt very soft and smooth. We nearly had the beach to ourselves. Besides a few day spa guests, we discovered that the hotel was very lightly booked and we could get our room several hours earlier than we thought.
After a late lunch at the resort and a nice coffee (for once it was not Nescafé with milk powder) it was time to say good bye to our French friends who had to fly of early morning the next day. It was a very nice group and we had a lot of fun together.
Our last day in Wadi Rum included a drizzly morning and a 3 hr. ride to bring the horses back to Wadi Rum village so they could travel home by truck from there on.
What we thought was a leisurely ride turned out to be quite an effort. All the horses somehow knew that this was our last day and that they were going home. They did not want to walk anymore, but dance around impatiently.
Once we returned to their stables in Wadi Rum village, we said good bye to them, their riders even fond of the difficult ones by then.
We were invited to a nice cold lunch at the brother of our camp owner. We were lucky that the riding was finished as it started to rain now in earnest.
We loaded our luggage into two cars and set out for Aqaba where all of the French folks were scheduled to have a PCR test late afternoon. When we arrived at our hotel in Aqaba we were surprised to lear that the doctor was already waiting to take all the tests. A very good organization.
All of us were craving hot showers and a good hair wash before heading out to discover the souk of Aqaba.
It was still daylight, when a smaller group of us set out to do some souvenir and spice shopping. We sampled the most delicious freshly cooked Falafel and shopped in a great bakery for sweet desserts.
We wandered through stands with fresh spices, fruit and vegetables as well as gristly looking butcher shops where sheeps heads were offered wrapped in cling film.
This was out last evening together as a group and we had gotten to know each other really well. It was fun to talk so much French again, even though our brains were fried at times switching between German, English and French all the time.
This was to be our last full day in Wadi Rum and our longest ride yet.
We set out to brilliant sunshine, the rain was long forgotten, the cascades had dried up and the little streams that had formed were running dry again. Only the sand was still wet.
And talking of sand: we had not known that there were so many different shades of sand in the same desert. From a vivid orange to more subtle tones of beige, grey and even greenish tones. It was pretty amazing to see that color variety in such a barren land. Besides a few birds and domestic animals, we did not see a single antelope, fox or other mammals.
But we saw plenty of 4WD tourism that drove up and down steep dunes of sand. The 4WD seems to overtake the traditional means of transport like horses and camels and we fear that a few years from now, it won’t be possible to have a quiet ride in the desert with all the traffic that is criss crossing the Wadi Rum at high speed. We could not really picture what it would look like if all those bedouin camps were to be full of tourists, all doing outdoor activities and unfortunately many leaving their trash behind. And what’s even sadder is that the locals themselves did not seem to care much to keep their environment clean.
Broken auto parts, thousands of discarded plastic and glass bottles, Chips wrappers , plastic bags and other plastic packaging could be seen everywhere even on our trip. Imagine what it will look like if they do not start cleaning up or stop littering.
Despite all the negative things that civilization has brought , the landscape is still breathtakingly beautiful and we all agreed that the last two days were the best of our trip. Back in the camp nearly at complete dark, two surprises were waiting for us there.
The not so good surprise was that apparently despite a full day of sun, the water tank for hot water had not been filled , so only cold showers were possible. The good one was waiting for us at the camp.
As it was our last evening in the camp, our cook outdid himself and cooked another traditional bedouin dish, this time with Chicken and vegetables called Zarb. A large round hole about half a meter deep gets dug into the sand and a fire lit until there are only hot coals left. Then a large round cylinder with several shelves in it gets stacked with different ingredients. The bottom layer, closest to the hot coals houses the meat. In our case Chicken. The layer above houses potatoes and on the top shelf other vegetables like onions, carrots, zucchini and aubergines are packed before the whole cylinder is closed, is put into the hole and covered entirely with sand. That way it has to cook for several hours. Once they unearthed the cylinder a delicious smell emanated from it and we all agreed that this is a superb last dinner of a memorable trip.
Since it was the last day, the singer from the desert showed up again with a pretty impressive boombox, probably with enough juice to charge some hundred phones in the desert. He also used a stage mike and his iPhone to choose the background orchestra.
Marie, a french girl straight out of Paris tried some karaoke.
And Chris got the cloth of Suleman, the camp owner and tried his own interpretetion of a beduin dance. Indeed, a very funny evening.
What you don’t see in the pictures: at the end of the night you smell like smoked meat, since all the cigarettes, the nargile and the smoke from the fireplace fills the tent.
We all awoke on New Years day to a hefty rain that drenched our tents. While all of us, coming from countries that have plenty of rain and were not keen on riding in the pouring wet, the bedouins were all excited and took pictures of a fast developing cascade behind our camp.
Esther in her inner eye already saw the camp flooded with the fast increase in the cascades downpour with a hint of panic in her eyes. Our horses were drenched wet and shivering. Soon a little stream was running in between their feet. We had to get them to a safe and dry place.
Unfortunately many of the caves that are part of the rocky boulders have been taken up by pop up tourist bedouin camps so there was really only one place 2 km away where the horses could be moved out of the rain.
We bundled up into rain gear and started to walk the horses on foot so they could warm up. We arrived at an overhang that was big enough to provide shelter and dry ground for the horses to dry off and wait our the worst.
We then saw a unique and very rare sight in the desert: once the sky started to clear a bit, we saw a beautiful full rainbow from one end of the Wadi we sheltered the horses to the other. A full 180 degree circle was glistening in the drizzle. It was a spectacular sight and we felt privileged to have witnessed it.
The sky cleared even more and lit up in an incredible turquoise blue without the haziness that we usually saw with sand flying in the air. And – something we haven’t seen so far in our life: a rainbow in the desert.
By late morning the horses were dry and we could start a shortened ride that day.
What we did not know is that several riders did not book the entire tour but had to leave one or two days early, which in retrospect was nice as we could ride in a smaller group and leave 3 of the difficult or injured horses behind.
So we set out late morning 3 riders less than the days before and had the most beautiful ride of the trip. The air was a clear blue, no sand flying and from many rocks there were cascades streaming down from the recent rain. Our Bedouins were telling us that they had not seen such cascades for 4 years and took pictures to post on social media as this was such a rare occurrence. We hadn’t known that rain could turn into such pleasure.
Today we set out around 9 AM for another ride . Two people switched horses as their mounts were not very well matched to their riding ability. In all we did notice that the horse quality of half the horses was not great. All of the riders had been to other riding tours and were able to compare. Several of the horses were very restless and dancing all the time, others were quiet at the walk only but when the speed increased were very difficult to hold back.
Indeed one of the riders could not hold her mount and raced at break neck speed in a wide circle around the group and was just lucky her horses did not stumble or she would have fallen off for sure. We asked why such difficult horses were chosen for this trip when the trip was advertised for medium riding skills. The issue was that the first set of horses that originally were scheduled for us were not available due to several equine herpes cases in that barn, so they shut that barn down for the moment. The organizer then had trouble recruiting enough replacement horses so that horses that should not have been on this trip were selected out of desperation.
Unfortunately this also meant that there was a lot of unreliable and insufficient tack that came with those horses – many of them probably straight out of the Petra tourist parcours.
We had several pieces of equipment break, reins, martingales, halters. Several stirrups had no stirrup grips on them and all horses had old and some not healed wounds from the past. We had to retire one horse early due to a swollen leg, which took the second guide away and one old mare clearly was beyond stressed out and could not finish the trail. On a good note they were well shod and we saw no saddle sores.
As today was Friday Dec. 31st and we got served the signature dish of the bedouins: Mansaf. It consists of tender lamb meat on the bone slow cooked in sheeps milk served on a bed of rice with one nuts and lots of different spices like cardamom and others. The sheeps milk is served on the side as a sort of sauce and generously sprinkled over the whole dish. Needless to say that Esther was no fan but Chris enjoyed it quite a bit, telling Esther that it wouldn’t taste a bit like sheep.
As no one could envision staying up until midnight to celebrate new year, we simply as a group decided to celebrate new year at 12 Islamabad time. We popped some bottles of bubbly for the occasion and most of us retired to sleep shortly afterwards. But the evening was far from over for the ones that stayed in the tent a bit longer: Some musicians arrived at 11.30 PM and played bedouin music until well past 1 AM. The dance ws – as we were told – very easy to learn as it consisted only from some kind of squats and rhythmic clapping while singing reap – reap – reap.
The night was freezing cold in the desert. Despite very good sleeping bags we had to don socks and fleece jackets to sleep. When we woke up it was a big surprise to see our surroundings for the first time.
Our small camp is at the foot of a rock wall and looks out onto a large Wadi. Shivering we all met in the big tent around a wood fired stove to warm up a bit. We had a hearty breakfast with fool and hummus (yes it’s really called fool or even foul, it’s a breakfast dish made with crushed white and red beans that originated from Egypt). Wadi Rum is a very large protected area on the border to Saudi Arabia. It mainly consists of Wadi’s (Valleys that serve as river beds during rainy season) and rocky mountains that aren’t very high but look like gigantic boulders strewn about.
No palm trees, no green, just dry brushes and tire tracks everywhere. We saddled up our horses and set out for a first exploratory ride. The horses were motivated and forward. Some of the riders struggled with holding their horses back when we cantered and gallopped. Chris got the most calm mount while Esther had a hot little mare that always wanted to go faster than the herd, shaking her head when she was not allowed to.
We had a nice outing in sunny weather and were back for lunch at the bedouin tent for a scrumptious lunch of local salads and local dips. After some very sweet bedouin tea we set out again for another stroll on horseback. There are very few tourists in the area as it is off season.
We saw many camps that were entirely empty as they had received a large number of cancellations due to Covid as well. We saw a few 4WD groups, a few rock climbers and a camel safari, but other than that it seemed to be the occasional local traffic from one family to another.
Back in the camp after having unsaddled and brushed the horses, we were delighted to find out that due to the sunny day, we had hot water (heated by the sun) for some quick showers. Night fall is early in winter, as early as 5 PM. That evening we had a delicious rice dish with a tomato sardine sauce. We popped open some of the beers we had brought from Aqaba and had a very nice relaxing evening. We were coming together as a group and the atmosphere was good. Dinner was a quick affair, and we were all tired from so much fresh air that we retired by 9 PM for a much milder night than the one before.
Today we finally were riding our horses for the first time. But as we learned early plans change often. The weather forecast predicted 4 days of rain coming from the North and that would mean the original date for little Petra would have fallen in that period with Little Petra most likely closed. Obviously tourists have drowned at Petra in the past. So plans were changed and that riding day up North was put to the front of the trip while the weather was still nice.
We drove all the way from Aqaba to little Petra again, to finally meet our horses. As predicted those were Arab Berber mixes, some quite small, others medium size. All rather thin but well shod. The saddles were a mix as well. Everything from Western, to Endurance to English saddles. We were mostly matched by weight not necessarily by riding skills. Small riders to small horses and larger riders to the larger horses.
Our first outing was just at a walk so it was difficult to really see if horse and rider fit together.
Chris was matched with a large grey with henna colored mane and tail which he really liked. He first thought its name was Kabir – until he realized, that Kabir means ‚big’ in arabic.
Esther got a smaller chestnut mare which was OK at a walk but a bit annoying at the canter which she only found out later. We rode at a walk for about 3 hours in an area that very much looked like big Petra, very arid and dry.
Then we stopped for a nice picknick lunch and handed over our horses to two grooms who then waited until the horse trucks arrived to transport them to Wadi Rum. We were driven to an unassuming outpost in the desert on the foot of rocky hills, which was a much smaller operation than big Petra.
We walked through some gorges to a lovely open space where we saw similar Nabathean buildings then in Petra. Mostly facades of tombs but some converted into housing. It was much smaller than Petra but we found it more charming. We had the place pretty much to ourselves. Hardly any tourists in sight and we left some money with the locals for souvenirs as they must be hurting badly from the loss of revenue. They got many cancellations in because of the world wide Covid and Omicron situation.
We strolled through the valley, had some tea and were volunteered to try out some Khol – the Arabic version of eyeliner. On the way back we passed one of our horse truck which was an adventurous construction of an open top truck with high sides and only a flap in the back.
To load and unload the horses the truck needed to be backed up against a hill. Unfortunately on the transport Chris’ Horse got injured and did not make it all the way to Wadi Rum.
The night we are supposed to spend in our Bedouin camp with a nice local dish dinner with no alcohol. The evening before Chris and some others in the group had snuck out to a liquor store and bought some bubbly for New Years eve as in all of Wadi Rum, you cannot buy any alcohol.
So we drove to Wadi Rum Village and changed from our Minivan to two open top 4 wheel drives. In Chris’ car, the 10 year old son of the owner of the Bedouin camp site took the wheel. Obviously we wouldn’t be stopped by police here in the desert. In the dark at break neck speed we drove to our camp and had a hearty dinner in a big smoky bedouin tent before each couple retired to their little Bedouin hut for the night.
After we left Amman around 3 PM we drove to Madaba, somewhat south of Amman and the capital of Mosaics. We visited the St.Georges Church, famous for the oldest known Mosaic map of the region and the holy land.
St. Georges Church 
Madaba city at dusk 
Baptiste the Beheaded
Mosaic craft can be seen everywhere in Madaba . Several archeological sites and churches display beautiful art inlaid with thousands of little stones. Other than those few churches and sites and a nice old town full of souvenir shops, Madaba was a friendly but otherwise unassuming city – but as the night droped, we saw amazing colors in the sky which helped forget the 1000 shades of grey.
Luckily ATM’s are everywhere so we could fill up on Jordan Dinars (or JeyDees for short). Jordan ist not a cheap country and while some spots are really inexpensive, others carry same price tags than at home. Fitting to the town we stayed at the Mosaic Hotel which was quite good and central.
Our riding group was suposed to all come together here and meet the next morning to start our journey together for the next eight days. Turns out our group consists of ten riders, six French , three Germans and one swiss. As always, it’s 20% male and 80% female.We packed our bags into two minivans and set out for Petra, one of the highlights of this trip.
Little Petra 
Petra is _the_ number one archeological site in Jordan. It dates back to 300 BC. The Nabathean were a mixed tribe, stemming from Bedouins, farmers and brigands and they built the most unusual city in the middle of rocky mountains and canyons. Nearly invisible from the outside, there are three entrance ways to ancient Petra.
We took one through a most narrow canyon which, after are neverending walk of 25 minutes, opened up on a small plaza to reveal an astounding tomb. Dubbed ‘the Treasury’ this imposing 15 meter high facade that looks like on a US Dollar bill of the US treasury, this is actually only a few meters deep. Enough for a burial chamber but not fitting in more than that.
In this steep walled valley there are hundreds of tombs carved into the walls, some larger, some smaller. What an unusual sight in the middle of the desert.
Once the canyon opens up more antique temples and grave sites are revealed. This city was big in it’s days, up to 100.000 people lived here at one point. Regulary banquets were celebrated inside of the tombs to honor the dead.
As there is no lake or immediate source of water in Petra, a sophisticated system of cisterns to catch and collect rain water as well as pipes from higher up wells can still be seen in parts. We walked for at least four hours in and out of the ancient city, always dodging locals that are hard selling donkey rides, camel rides, buggy trips or want you to show you the way up to higher viewpoints up on the steep cliffs for a few dinars. Even though we felt that at least at the treasury was crowded with tourists this was far from the usually 20.000 visitors a day, that Petra used to have before the pandemic. That is why, for the moment, you seem to have a 1:1 ratio of Petra locals and guests.
Most of those so called guides looked straight out of a pirates of the caribean movie. Black curly hair, eyes lined thickly with khol, the arabic version of eyeliner, headscarf and a swashbuckling attitude… we sucessfully dodged their advances to sell us a climb or a ride. This ride, by the way, is included in the ticket – but you should agree on the tip before you mount one of those. Around 5 JD should be more then enough. But again, we were not interested.
After all we have six days of riding coming…. As a group we came together nicely, no one there that is a fuss maker. We are both happy to polish our French again, but after a day of switching between English, German and French our brains are fried.
So we made our way to Aqaba, a nice town on the red sea and checked into our hotel there. After so many hours in fresh air and sunlight, a meal, shower and early bed time sounded wonderful.
If you got your hands on an EOS R5 you will know by now that it is a fantastic camera. But if you want to use it not only for stills but also for video as I do, it can be a mixed bag. Think of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The camera has gorgeous 8K (which puts me right back into the year 2005 when I started to work in HD and render times made me drink a lot of coffee), a wonderful 4K HQ (8K downsampled in the camera), a very good 4K 120fps and a OK standard 4K as well as a 4K 60fps. But there is a caveat, and that is the Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde side of the camera: It gets overheated. Or at least the camera tells you so and shuts off these super gorgeous looking modes until it the camera thinks it has cooled down enough. And that can take up to two or sometimes even three hours! Things got a little bit better with the new firmware update 1.1.0, but still: if that happens in the middle of your shoot or interview you have to manage with 4K 24/25/30fps non HQ. Which is OK, but actually kind of not OK for a 4.000 Euro camera in the year 2020.
But here’s the thing: There is a solution now to the EOS R5 overheating issue – and that transforms your camera into a real hybrid beast (which it should have been from day one). There have been a lot of discussions on f.e. www.eoshd.com about this topic and also some ideas about how to trick the camera into recording beyond the obviously timer based restriction implemented by Canon. And some people found a way: By pulling either the internal battery (not a practical solution) or by pulling the battery during the recording of the clip. I will not go into the details, but that was also not a solution for any kind of professional filming. But it proved a point: Once you fool the camera, it doesn’t show any overheating signs anymore.
From there visionrouge suggested to try this trick to fool the camera by changing the date. OK, changing the date has been tried without success, Canon’s ingeneers are smarter than that. But the guy from this production company in Hong Kong suggested to try out the following strategy (since he doesn’t seem to have a R5):
After the camera overheats, switch the EOS R5 off. Open the battery door. Block the little sensor beneath the attachement for the battery grip, so the camera thinks, the battery door is locked again. Now switch the camera on, go into the wrench menu and change the date by one day. Confirm. Now, take out the battery (the little sensor needs to be still blocked). Wait some 15 or 20 seconds. Switch the camera off, take out what ever you have used to block the little sensor, put the battery back in, close the battery door and switch the camera back on.
Guess what happens? Your full recording time is back! If you want to use this “hack”, take some time for a little prayer for Visionrouge.net for the idea and yourboylloyd for trying it out and confirming it (the whole story was now also published on eoshd). But also think about the risk that you could damage your camera. Nobody seems to know yet how much the camera can cope with, if there is a real thermal shutdown in case the camera gets to hot or if there is any kind of long term damage if you run the camera beyond the overheating lock (you might want to read this). So use this hack at your own risk. Or don’t use it all. As for me: I’m not thinking about shooting hours of 8K RAW (at the moment I’m at crazy render times, 30 seconds of color corrected footage can take up to 10 minutes). But I will need to shoot at 4K 50p in order to transcode it to HD 50i for my television gigs. So not having to be afraid, that the camera will lock me out after a certain amount of time is a great relief.
Thank you everyone for trying all the combinations to figure this one out!
So next step might be something like this here.
Per Flugzeug nach Venedig hat einen besonderen Reiz: Denn der Flughafen Marco Polo ist auch ans Wasser angebunden: Einen kurzen Spaziergang entfernt wartet an der Anlegestelle ein Boot auf uns. Gemeinsam mit einem dutzend weiterer Reisenden wird es uns nach Venedig bringen. Die Alilaguna Motoscafi transportieren ihre Passagiere für 25 Euro (Online Tarif hin und zurück) in 50 Minuten nach Venedig, Murano oder Lido.
Ein eigenes Wassertaxi mit schicken Ledersitzen mag schneller und stilvoller sein, hat aber auch seinen Preis: Die 25 minütige Fahrt im schicken Riva Holzboot mit Ledersitzen belasten die Reisekasse mit 120 Euro. Lohnt sich also erst bei Reisegruppen oder Großfamilien ab sechs Personen aufwärts. Und Achtung vor den Schlitzohren: Amerikanische und japanische Touristen sollen in Vor-Corona-Zeiten schon bis zu 150 Euro PRO PERSON gezahlt haben. Hat man eines der sündhaft teuren Luxushotels gebucht, ist die standesgemäße Abholung dagegen inklusive.
Unserem Stand gemäß dümpeln wir also im Alilaguna Wasseromnibus langsam auf Venedig zu, alle tragen Maske. Wir hören ein wenig englisch, französisch, deutsch – aber italienisch dominiert. Dann endlich ragt sie aus dem Meer: Die Serenissima – nach dem offiziellen Staatstitel ‚Die allerdurchlauchteste Republik des Heiligen Markus‘.
Es dürfte ein Vierteljahrhundert seit dem letzten Besuch vergangen sein, doch eine Stadt wie Venedig altert nicht. Dafür aber ist sie jetzt befreit von der Last der heiß gelaufenen globalen Tourismusströme. Ein unscheinbares Virus hat sie versiegen lassen. Wir haben die nächsten drei Tage Venedig quasi für uns – so wie es in unserer Jugend mal war. Wahrscheinlich sind im Augenblick sogar noch weniger Menschen in der Stadt als damals.
Wir legen an der Piazza San Marco an. Donnerstag zur Mittagszeit. Gerade mal ein Dutzend Menschen verteilt sich auf dem sonst so bevölkerten Platz. Der Campanile weist zum aufreissenden Himmel und der Dogenpalast präsentiert sich im besten Licht. Grandios in Szene gesetzter Reichtum eines Stadtstaates, der lange den Welthandel dominiert hatte. Denn Venedig war das Tor zum Orient und nach Afrika. Unser privat geführtes Hotel mit Dachterasse ist keine fünf Minuten Fußmarsch von hier entfernt. Auch das ein Bonus in Zeiten der Pandemie: Zimmer sind leicht zu bekommen und das für vernünftige Preise. Neben einem Upgrade erhalten wir einen frisch vor unseren Augen desinfizierten Zimmerschlüssel. Wir werden die nächsten Tage noch sehr oft erleben, wie ernst unsere Gastgeber die Hygienemaßnahmen nehmen.
Wir wollen aber keine Zeit verlieren, die Wiederentdeckung Venedigs wartet auf uns! Vorbei an geschlossenen Gucci, Fendi und YSL-Läden sowie beschäftigungslos herumsitzende Gondoliere erreichen wir die Piazza San Marco mit der gleichnamigen Basilica. Esther interessiert sich natürlich sofort für die vier Pferde über dem Eingang: Diebesgut aus Alexandria, gestohlen vor fast 1.200 Jahren. Die nähere Betrachtung muss allerdings noch ein wenig warten: Die Basilica ist geschlossen und wir haben online bereits Karten für den Dogenpalast gebucht.
Wir können uns nicht erinnern, ihn jemals besichtigt zu haben. Für gewöhnlich muss man ein erfahrener und rücksichtsloser Schlangenbändiger sein oder aber bis zu drei Stunden anstehen. Aber – hachje – auch jetzt warten etliche Menschen auf Einlass. Tatsächlich ist der Einlass aber genau getaktet und pünktlich um 14 Uhr kommt Bewegung in die Reihen. Zwischenzeitlich haben wir ein nettes Paar aus Norddeutschland kennengelernt, das sich auch kurzentschlossen auf den Weg nach Venedig gemacht hat – allerdings im Auto. Wir verabreden uns für später auf ein Gläschen Aperol Spritz.
Bevor wir den Dogenpalast betreten dürfen, wird bei jedem von uns Fieber gemessen. Glücklicherweise gibt es Infrarotthermometer! Nach bestandenem Temperaturtest sind wir im einstigen Machtzentrum der Handelsrepublik Venedig. Seit dem neunten (!) Jahrhundert logierten hier die Dogen sowie die Regierungs- und Justizorgane der Seerepublik Venedig. Erstaunlich, dass das Venezianische Volk (ursprünglich) über die Geschicke bzw. über den Dogen entschieden, während die Nachbarn im Norden sich gerade in das Westfranken- und das Ostfrankenreich aufspalteten, die künftigen „Keimzellen“ Frankreichs und Deutschlands. Während also bei uns noch bis ins 17. Jahrhundert die Leibeigenschaft existierte, bauten sich die Venezianer dank ihres unermesslichen Reichtums ihr kleines, aber feines Reich, sogar mit einer unabhängigen Justiz.
Während wir also durch die geschichtsgetränkte Kulisse schweifen (ja, jede Menge Platz für soziale Distanz aber trotzdem Maskenpflicht) blicken von den Wänden die Räte, Richter und Dogen aus vielen Jahrhunderten auf uns hinab. Klar – außer als mythische Figuren spielen Frauen dabei keine Rolle. Natürlich wissen wir nicht, ob der Doge daheim unter dem Pantoffel seiner Frau stand, aber hier wird eindrucksvoll klar, warum sich die Geschlechtergleichberechtigung nach über tausend Jahren Patriarchat nicht von heute auf morgen umsetzen lässt. Alle Rituale der Macht sind seit Generationen deutlich sichtbar auf Männer zugeschnitten. Auf den vielen Portraits keine Dogin, Rätin oder Richterin weit und breit. Bestenfalls mal eine Maria oder eine Venus unter den vielen eindrucksvollen Fresken.
Übrigens hatte Venedig Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts die Pest heimgesucht. Von 120.000 Einwohnern überlebten gerade mal 70.000. Aus aktuellem Anlass natürlich ein spannendes Thema. Denn in Venedig kennt man sich mit Epidemien aus.
Wenn es in Europa zu jener Zeit eine Pforte für die Seuchen der Welt gibt, dann ist es meist die Hafenstadt in der Lagune mit ihren Schwärmen von Schiffen und dem Heer der Händler und Reisenden. Im frühen 17. Jahrhundert war Venedig – nach 20 Pestausbrüchen aus Erfahrung schlau –bestens auf eine neue Pestwelle vorbereitet: Es gab strenge Hygienevorschriften, eine Gesundheitsbehörde, die ankommende Schiffe kontrollierte und die erste Quarantänestation der Welt, das Lazzaretto Nuovo, drei Kilometer nordöstlich von Venedig. Es gibt auch einen Wächter am Lido, der anhand einer täglich aktualisierten Liste der Seuchengebiete die Reisenden und die Ladung der einlaufenden Schiffe kontrolliert. Findet er Pestkranke oder Verdachtsfälle, schickt er sie ins Lazzaretto Vecchio. Die scheinbar Gesunden werden nackt ausgezogen, mit Essig gewaschen und mit neuen Kleidern versehen. Dann schickt man sie für 40 Tage ins Lazzaretto Nuovo. Daher der Begriff Quarantäne – von Quaranta, vierzig (und wir jammern schon über zwei Wochen).
Zum Schluss führt uns der Weg noch durch die Kerker. Die Wege zwischen Gericht und Knast war kurz. Und dazwischen liegt eine der berühmtesten Brücken der Stadt: Die Seufzerbrücke.
Hier konnten die Gefangenen durch die schmalen Ritzen noch einen letzten Blick hinaus in die Freiheit werfen und einen Seufzer ausstoßen, bevor sie für lange Zeit in ihre dunklen, modrigen Zellen gesperrt wurden.
Einige Graffitis sind, in Stein geritzt, erhalten geblieben. Viele beteuerten darin der Nachwelt ihre Unschuld.
So schön und interessant der Dogenpalast mit seinen Frescos, Schnitzereien, vor allem aber seinen Vistas ist: Mehrere Stunden hätten wir dafür sicher nicht anstehen wollen.
Unsere Kurzausflug nach Venedig ist schon ein paar Tage her, aber da es einige Nachfragen gab, hier unser Erfahrungsbericht.
Reisen, während eine globale Pandemie wütet? Ist das eine gute Idee? Die Frage haben wir uns im Vorfeld natürlich auch gestellt. Zunächst war die Idee sehr verlockend, sich jetzt an Orte zu begeben, die in den letzten Jahren von Besuchern aus aller Welt überflutet worden sind. Etwa Venedig. Da waren wir seit Jahrzehnten nicht mehr. Zu voll. Zu teuer.
Die entscheidenden Fragen: Könnten wir das Virus einschleppen? Können wir das Virus aufschnappen und nach Hause tragen? Selber waren wir weder krank, noch hatten wir Kontakt zu Menschen, die erkrankt sind. Darüber hinaus waren die Infektionszahlen gerade sehr niedrig. Venedig selbst hatte seine Zahlen ebenfalls sehr weit runtergebracht, darüber hinaus zeigten erste Erfahrungsberichte, dass die Hygiene Konzepte allesamt gut durchdacht sind.
Damit folgt die nächste Frage: Wie hinkommen? Für einen Kurztrip braucht man mit dem Auto relativ lange, obwohl immerhin das Parken rund um Venedig aufgrund der geringen Nachfrage deutlich runter gegangen ist. Der Zug – naja, da war Christian gleich dagegen. Option wäre der Nachtzug gewesen, aber seit seinem Trip mit der Transsibirischen Eisenbahn hat er ein Trauma, was schlafen im Zug betrifft. Rattat-ratatt-rarararattatatataratatratrtatttrattat. Maskenpflicht und Zug, sowie deren Lüftungssystem ist auch so ein Thema. Und besonders günstig war das auch nicht. Also Flug. Air Dolomiti bietet tatsächlich schon wieder zwei Flüge am Tag an. Doch wie fühlt sich Fliegen in Coronazeiten an? Kann man sich maskiert überhaupt erholen?
Fangen wir mit der Fahrt zum Flughafen an. In der S-Bahn ist morgens soziale Distanz Richtung Flughafen schon mal kein Problem. Obwohl der Donnerstag ein normaler Arbeitstag ist sind vielleicht ein Dutzend Menschen im Zug. Es ist ungewöhnlich still. Jeder schein sich an sein Smartphone zu klammern. Checken alle die neuesten Infektionszahlen? Oder doch nur den Facebook/instagram Feed? Auf jeden Fall trägt jeder eine Maske, auch wenn hin und wieder ein Nasenbär seinen Zinken raushängen lässt.
Am Flughafen ist es nicht mehr ganz so gespenstisch wie bei Christians erstem Flug vor zwei Monaten nach Hamburg, dennoch wirkt alles überdimensioniert: Der Innenhof zwischen beiden Terminals, gebaut für Riesen mit großem Platzbedarf. Im Terminal 2 sind noch immer fast alle Geschäfte geschlossen. Die An- und Abflugtafel hat sich inzwischen wieder gefüllt, allerdings auch nur, weil bereits Flüge für den nächsten Tag angezeigt werden.
Das Bodenpersonal sitzt geschützt hinter Plexiglasscheiben, nur die Kommunikation ist nicht immer ganz einfach – im Terminal herrscht Maskenpflicht, dazu die Plexiglasscheibe: da müssen wir laut und deutlich sprechen um uns verständlich zu machen. Keine Schlange, alle Zeit der Welt: Die Befürchtung, dass die Abwicklung länger als sonst dauern würde hat sich bislang nicht erfüllt.
Das gleiche Bild beim Security Check. Wir stehen zu viert an, ein Pärchen hinter uns wird vom Personal ermahnt Abstand zu uns zu halten. Wir schmunzeln bei dem Gedanken, dass die beiden im Flugzeug vielleicht direkt neben uns sitzen werden. Die Kontrolle geht Ruck-Zuck, diesmal entfällt auch der obligatorische „EGIS-Test“ für Christian’s Equipment. Normalerweise macht der Münchner Flughafen immer eine Wischprobe am Foto und Videoequipment, auf der Suche nach Spuren von Sprengstoffen. Also Vorsicht bei Herztabletten die Nitroglyzerin enthalten…
Im Gegensatz zu den Geschäften ist die Lufthansa Lounge wieder geöffnet. Es gibt abgepackte belegte Brote, Obst, abgepackte Kekse, Twix und Mars. Der Kaffee wird von einem Mitarbeiter bereitet und den Gästen überreicht.
Nach einer kurzen Busfahrt boarden wir pünktlich unsere Air Dolomiti Maschine nach Venedig. Alle tragen bislang vorbildlich ihre Masken, von den Stewardessen gibt es statt Schokoherzen jetzt Desinfektionstücher. Der Flieger ist entgegen unserer Erwartung nur halbvoll. Dennoch stellen wir unsere Luftdüsen so ein, dass wir einen Luftvorhang entstehen lassen, so wie es die Experten raten um die Gefahr einer möglichen Ansteckung zu minimieren.
Man könnte sich auf der einen Seite einreden, die Stimmung sei gedrückt. Auf der anderen Seite macht reden mit Mundschutz auch nicht wirklich Spaß. Auf jeden Fall ist der Flug nach 50 Minuten vorbei und wir sind in Venedig! Übrigens springen nicht alle wie sonst auf, statt dessen stehen die Passagiere der Reihe nach auf von vorne nach hinten und verlassen gesittet das Flugzeug. Ich bin begeistert. Warum geht das nicht immer so? [Fortsetzung Ankunft in Venedig]
Unless I spontaneously convert to Islam, I won’t have access to the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aksa Mosque (two different buildings). But even so the area where Solomon’s Temple stood about 3,000 (!) years ago is very impressive. Fortunately, I am not an orthodox Jew, because then I couldn’t visit the site at all since I could accidentally desecrate the holiest of the holy.
I have to get up early to get the best light. My time window to enter the Temple Mount is between seven and ten in the morning.
If you live in the Muslim part of the old town, there’s no need to set an alarm clock. A dozen of muezzins takes care of thet when the ‘Fajr’, the morning prayer is due. The call from the minarets echoes through the alleys – crawls into my ear and then penetrates deep into the peacefully slumbering brain. Resistance is futile. I start pray myself- that the morning call will soon be over and I can go back to sleep. But Allah is great – and I am awake. It is 5:14 a.m., plus the one hour difference in time to Germany. It’s actually in the middle of the night.
My accommodation is still insider tip enough that I got a room on short notice. With a perfect view of the Dome of the Rock. It is not actually a hotel, but the oldest guest house in the city: the Austrian Pilgrim Hospice. That doesn’t sound particularly sexy, but it is actually an oasis of calm in the middle of the old town. The rooms are simple, but the Strudl cake at it’s coffeehouse is legendary. This is probably because Austria is very, very far away. But they also serve good Austrian Meinl Café for breakfast. Unfortunately, however, only starting from 7 a.m.
Still slightly shocked by the unchristian time (Yes! Pun! Intended!), I tumble out of my oasis onto Via Dolorosa. The alleys are deserted. Everyone is still praying I guess. I like the old town best at night from ten and in the morning until eight. The orange light from the lamps makes the scene seem unreal, all shops are locked and no crowds push through the alleys. The old town looks mystical, mysterious, fallen out of time. The cats now rule the streets.
The Dome of the Rock has several entrances, but as a non-Muslim, I first
have to go to ha-kotel ha-ma’arawi, literally ‘the western wall’, better known
to us Germans as the Wailing Wall. And with that we Germans are actually wrong.
To explain that, I have to go back in history.
In Herod’s time, the western wall was no more and
no less than the gigantic surrounding wall of the aerial on which the Herodian
temple was built (originally built by Solomon, destroyed several times). Herod
the Great, that was the one with the alleged child murder in Bethlehem, which
died in four years before the supposed birth of Jesus (there are also theories
that Jesus was born in the same year in which Herod died). 1/3 of the wall is
underground and 1/3 has been removed.
The wall was a whopping 54 meters high 2,000 years ago (I let you quickly calculate how high it is today). But as I said, it was not holy per se. But then, in 70 AD, the fantastic temple that stood on the plateau, on the 54 meter high wall, was destroyed by the Roman occupying powers. A few centuries later, still without a temple on the holy ground, the Jewish started to worship at the wall because they think it’s the closest they can be to God.
And the prayers of the men and women (they pray separately) in front of the wall with their shaking movements and wailing tone may well seem to outsiders like a complaint about the lost temple.
Which brings us to the Dome of the Rock. Do be able to climb the plateau, I have to go to the Western Wall first. From here I have access to the wooden ramp, the Moroccan Bridge, which leads me up to the compound. But before that, I have to enter the Western Wall Plazza. Everyone is allowed to enter the site around the clock via the three entrances, whether Indian, Chinese, European, Moroccan or Iranian. The access to Al-Aksa and the Dome of the Rock is only opened at seven. Until then I have plenty of time to study the prayer rituals of the Jewish believers.
With me maybe ten visitors are waiting for admission to the temple mount. And indeed, the it opens at seven o’clock sharp. Here too, all bags are x-rayed. But nobody seems to pay any interest in the metal scanner beeping as I walk through – but the German behind me gets stopped: “Is it a book you have in your backpack?” Interesting – they still know about the powers and danger of books here. The Israeli guard nods to the man as he pulls out a guidebook of Israel. If it had been a Bible or a Talmud, the story would have ended differently. Religious symbols other than Islamic as well as flags of any kind are not allowed on the Temple Mount, non-Muslim prayers or rituals are strictly prohibited. A sacred restricted area, so to speak. To this day Israel – even under Netanyahu – defends the iron law that the Temple Mount belongs to the Muslims. Defense Minister Moshe Dayan once said “Muslims pray on the Temple Mount, non-Muslims visit the Temple Mount” after recapturing Jerusalem in the 1973 Yom Kippur War. The flag with the David star that was proudly hoisted by the victorious soldiers had to be pulled back from the top of the Dome of the Rock after four hours, and a small synagogue that was later built was torn down again. Since then, Jordan manages the area around the Dome of the Rock.
We are free to move around the compound, only the access to the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aksa are denied to us non-Muslims.
Technically speaking, I could confess to Islam. All I have to do is speak the Shahada, the Islamic confession with conviction. “Asch-haddu an la Ilaha illal-Lah wa asch-haddu anna Muhammadan rasul-lallah” – “I testify that there is only one God, the one and only, and I testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah”. Since these words in Arabic were drilled into my head when I woke up from the muezzin shouting, I would probably manage it. But I doubt that the guards would believe in my seriousness. So I let the wide compound do its magic on me and try to keep my anger in check that the sun is hiding behind the clouds. So much for the best light in the morning.
At the beginning I said that orthodox Jews were not allowed to enter the Temple Mount. That’s not quite true. For the Jewish community, the Temple Mount is the center, the heart of Jewish life and the direct connection to God. But ultra-Orthodox Jews like Rabbi Iddo Veber say: The Torah no longer allows Jews to enter the Temple Mount today. Actually, it is also forbidden to non-Jews – but we are not responsible for them, he added. And so the (Jewish) Israeli society does what it does best: it argues about who is right. Because it is such a nice fun fact, here is a small excerpt from the reason why true believers are not supposed to enter the Temple Mount (in the ultra interpretation): “The Torah has special purity regulations to enter the holiest of holy. Visitors to the temple should clean themselves with the ashes of a red (sic!) cow. So says the fourth book of Moses, chapter 19.” By the way, the cow should be burned with its blood and with its manure. Well – that might even be feasible somehow. But then there is another, probably decisive, reason: “Since it is unclear where the temple was located, it cannot be ruled out that Jewish visitors may accidentally enter the holiest of holy. This would result in severe penalties. ” Well, actually I’d say all people who fight for the piece of land on the Mediterranean are already punished enough.
In fact, a group of Orthodox Jews followed me on to the site. Protected by Israeli security forces and skeptically eyed by an employee of Waqf, the Jordanian authority for the Temple Mount. They stay away from the Dome of the Rock, but in the end they leave the Temple Mount backwards (facing God), as required by the commandments, and, once outside, they lie down in the dust and say their prayers lying down on the ground.
One is constantly witnessing unusual rituals in this city. That makes up the charm and the soul of this city, which cannot necessarily be captured in photos. Asians singing Christian songs roam the streets, people dragging wooden crosses, Jews blowing the shofar, Orthodox dressed as if they had emerged from a Polish shtetl of the 20th century. There are so many things that seem crazy that there is even a diagnosis for the extreme cases: the Jerusalem symptom. A medically recognized mental disorder. To be read on Wikipedia.
From one religious madness to the next: To the Church of the Holy Sepulcher or Holy Sepulchre (both spellings occur in Jerusalem). The eastern church calls the building the “Church of the Resurrection”, the western “Basilica of the Holy Grave”.
The Ecclesia Sancti Sepulchri, as we Latins say (cough, cough), houses the traditional site of the crucifixion and the tomb of Jesus. The number of different names alone gives an idea that every faith does its own thing here. Six Christian denominations share the church. The Greek Orthodox, the Franciscan Order for the Roman Catholic Church and the Armenian Apostolic Church have the main administration. The Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch and the Copts were given a few smaller shrines in the 19th century. And the Ethiopian Orthodox Church is something of a squatter on the roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and they have flanged a small chapel (dedicated to Archangel Gabriel) to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
Finding the Ethiopians is not always easy. In the forecourt of the church there is a small door on the far right. If it is open, you can get to the Ethiopians there easily. Otherwise a little hidden way from the souq leads you there, just ask for the seventh station of Jesus’ journey of suffering.
So while the holy squatters practically live on the edge, the other five have a kind of sacred shared apartment.
Anyone can imagine that there are always conflicts that go far beyond who cleans the bathroom and removes the wax from the candles.
Coexistence is complicated when everyone is convinced that they are closer to God and the truth than their roommate.
Some quarrels among monks were fought out by fist. That is why the Turkish Sultan Osman III. (then governor of Jerusalem) 1757 (renewed in 1853) established some rules. While Europe was ravaged by two world wars, the Ottomans were driven out and Israel was founded, and airplanes and the Internet connected the continents, everything here remained the same.
This status quo is still valid up to today. Every smallest change is
contested and the monks take great care to ensure that there is no increase in
power for the other groups.
At the right window, for example, there is a
simple wooden ladder around which there are many legends. It has been leaning
there for at least 140 years as can be proven by old photos.
To experience some spirituality in this place you have to get up early. I
read that the Palestinian family, who watches over the key to the main door,
unlocks the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in an enchanting ceremony. Monks pass
a ladder through a small hatch in the wooden door so that the key holder can walk
up and unlock it. But at five in the morning? No thanks, not even the muezzin
is awake so early.
At half past eight it is still reasonably quiet in
the church, very different from the previous day at lunchtime, when crowds of
people shuffled loudly through the church. However, a few hundred people are
already lining up at the newly renovated Aediqula.
The shrine looks like a small church inside the church. Inside is a room the size of three telephone booths (for the younger ones: small, three-meter-high, stinking booths in which you made phone calls or looked up phone numbers when there were no cell phones with Internet). The grave of Jesus is said to be here. In fact, recent archaeological research has at least not ruled out the possibility. Worshiping stones is not my cup of tea, and I have been inside before without having to queue for hours. The church fills up – so it’s time to leave!
The weather is slowly changing. Jerusalem is also like Arabic pastries. Very sweet, but at some point it gets too much. That’s why I’m going to see the Dead Sea next.
A couple of my friends were puzzled – yes, that I was traveling again – but
above all about the destination: Israel! Jerusalem? What do you want there?? Isn’t
that dangerous?! For everyone who believes that in Israel you have to clear
your way with a gun: No, there are no knifer behind every corner in Jerusalem
or Haifa or Tel Aviv. And thank God or Inshallah, no more Palestinians blow
themselves up out of sheer frustration at Israeli politics. The greatest danger
lurks in the Arab souqs, in case one of the sly salespeople twists you around his
finger. The prices – especially for Asian tourists – might have dangerous
consequences for your wallet. ‘Everyone pays for what it’s worth to him’, a
Palestinian seller once whispered in my ear when after the sixth mint tea I
finally bought his damn antique dagger for eight euros instead of the starting
bid of 300 euros. Funnily enough, I saw the same dagger again in one of the
countless tiny shops today. The guy in the shop wanted to make me a good price.
Only 50 euros.
Otherwise, at first glance, not much has changed in the eternal, holy city,
which I visited for the first time twenty years ago. The world has only turned
upside down politically, as none of us could have ever imagined in our wildest dreams.
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is still more of a circus than a place of contemplation – it may have gotten worse. Even now in January, cohorts of tour groups besiege the labyrinth of churches around which is claimed by several faiths in intense dispute and where the Ethiopian Christians live on the roof (more on the Holy Sepulcher in the next post).
Otherwise, the Ashkenazy Jews (usually recognizable by their wide-brimmed hat or their fur hat, the women by their wig and the baby stroller) are still walking at a slightly accelerated pace through the Arab quarter, armed Tsahal soldiers (and, of course, female soldiers) in all skin colors are placed at strategic points. If the sight of machine guns gives you goose bumps, you rather should avoid Israel. There are over 170,000 draftees and 630,000 reservists and sometimes they take their loaded guns to the playground or lean them against the Western Wall while speaking their prayers.
Speaking of the Western Wall: it seems to be persistent – it hasn’t collapsed yet despite the burden of many wishes, prayers and perhaps also complaints.
And on top thrones the unique Dome of the Rock with its real gold-coated dome (Jordan’s King Hussein II is said to have sold one of his houses in London to be able to donate the 80 kilos of gold necessary to cover the dome).
And it still stands, despite the fact, that some Jews would rather build the third temple there. And I don’t assume that it is supposed to stand next to the Dome of the Rock… Non-Muslims are only allowed to go to the Temple Mount on certain days (not on Fridays and Saturdays). Now during winter season it’s accessible between seven and half past nine as well as half past twelve and half past one. In the morning there is less crowd and the light is better – so I will probably have to get up early and skip my breakfast.
Und wieder ruft der Muezzin – und die Sonne kündigt ihren Aufstieg blutrot am Horizont an. Ein Kollege von mir wird mich jetzt sicher wegen meiner blumigen Sprache aufziehen – aber eine Stadt die die Vergangenheit in Jahrtausenden zählt schreit nun mal danach.
Nachdem sich gutes Wetter ankündigt, habe ich kurzfristig beschlossen, einen zweiten Anlauf zum Tempeldom zu wagen. Außerdem wollte ich nochmal in aller Ruhe, ohne Film- und Fotostress, Gott in all seinen drei Erscheinungsformen Jahwe, Gott und Allah für die Gesundheit aller Menschen danken die mir am Herzen liegen. Kann nicht schaden.
Aber diesmal gibt es zuerst Frühstück. Stichwort: Meinl Café. Ich möchte nicht nochmal über den Tempelberg schlafwandeln.
Diesmal nehme ich einen anderen Weg und stehe vor dem Dung Tor. Ursprünglich wurde hier – wie der Name schon andeutet – der Müll aus der Stadt gebracht. Heute ist der Durchgang – Ironie des Schicksals – das nächste Tor zur Westlichen Mauer aka Klagemauer. Durch dieses Tor fahren ständig Taxen und Busse um die Gläubigen auf dem bequemsten Weg zum Gebet zu bringen.
Jerusalem hat heute übrigens sieben zugängliche Tore, zu den bekanntesten und größten zählen das Jaffa-Tor, das Damaskus-Tor und das Löwentor (kürzester Weg zur Al-Aksa und freitags zum Hauptgebet nahezu unpassierbar).
Es gibt noch das Goldene Tor, doch das ist zugemauert. Hier wurde früher zum Versöhnungsfest unser sprichwörtlicher Sündenbock aus der Stadt getrieben, beladen mit allen unreinen Taten des Jahres (der würde heutzutage wohl noch vor verlassen der Stadt zusammenbrechen). Eigentlich würde das Tor direkt zum Tempelberg führen. Es steht geschrieben, dass eines Tages der Messias (so wie damals Jesus) am Ende aller Tage durch dieses Tor marschieren würde (wird?). Vielleicht ließ es deswegen der Osmanenherrscher Suleiman der Prächtige versiegeln. Und dann, sicher ist sicher, wurde davor noch ein muslimischer Friedhof angelegt. Ganz nach dem Motto: Nur über unsere Leichen, Brüder!
Nach dem Dung-Tor ist rechts neben der Zugangskontrolle zur Westlichen Mauer der schmale Zugang zum Tempelberg. Obwohl es schon halb acht ist, hält sich die Schlange noch in Grenzen. Januar, nehme ich an. An der Sicherheitskontrolle kommt mir ein Mann mit Tefillins entgegen, kleine schwarze Kästchen mit Lederriemen, gefüllt mit handgeschriebenen Tora Texten.
Juden binden sie sich zum Gebet um. Denn das „Schma Jisrael“, das jüdische Glaubensbekenntnis und das 5. Buch Mose sagen: „Und du sollst sie (die Worte Gottes) als Zeichen auf deine Hand binden, und sie sollen als Merkzeichen zwischen deinen Augen sein, und du sollst sie auf die Pfosten deines Hauses und an deine Tore schreiben“. Das erklärt auch warum am Türpfosten eines jüdischen Hauses eine Mesusa angebracht ist. So was passiert, wenn man manche Dinge zu wörtlich nimmt. Wobei die Christen in diesem Sinne mit ihrer unbefleckten Empfängnis auch kaum besser sind.
Aber zurück zu unserem Mann mit den Tefellins: Der wurde wohl beim Reinschmuggeln erwischt und darf sie jetzt brav zum Auto zurückbringen. Merke: Glaubenstechnische Schmugglerware hat auf dem Tempelberg nichts suchen.
Was mich betrifft, weiß ich nicht ob ich am Morgen nicht genug gebetet habe, jedenfalls schieben sich wieder Wolken vor die Sonne. Das Wetter in Jerusalem im Januar ist so launisch wie das Schicksal es mit dem jüdischen Volk war. Was solls, dann kann ich den Ort umso besser auf mich wirken lassen. Zunächst wirkt die ganze Anlage wie ein riesiger Garten. Katzen schleichen über das Gelände auf der Suche nach Beute oder spendablen Gönnern. In den zahlreichen Bäumen zwitschern Vögel und die Krähen krächzen mit den Funkgeräten der Wachleute um die Wette.
Zur Sicherheit stehen hier zum einen Gruppen von israelischen Militärs in Riot Gear, israelische Polizisten sowie Mitarbeiter der jordanischen Waqf, die hier eigentlich das Sagen haben. Letztere sind aber nicht bewaffnet. An der Rampe über die wir Anders- oder Ungläubigen das Gelände betreten lehnen übrigens hunderte von Schutzschilden aus Plexiglas. Eine deutliche Mahnung, dass sich gerade bei den Freitagsgebeten hin und wieder die Spannung der muslimischen Bevölkerung entladen.
Ich habe am Vorabend einen jungen Belgier, gebürtig aus Marokko, kennengelernt. Er hat sich mit einigen Jugendlichen unterhalten. Beide Seiten hätten ihm erzählt, dass sie eigentlich keinen Streit miteinander hätten, die Politiker alleine wären schuld. Er zeigte sich zuversichtlich, dass der Konflikt mit der nächsten Generation abnehmen wird. Ich wünsche mir sehr, dass seine Hoffnung nicht enttäuscht wird – allerdings habe ich vor 20 Jahren das Gleiche gehört. Und damals scheint mir die Politik noch auf einem besseren Weg gewesen zu sein. Mit Israelis über Politik zu diskutieren ist keine gute Idee. Der aktuelle Interims Staatschef Netanjahu hat in etwas das gleiche Standing wie Trump. Entweder sie hassen oder sie lieben ihn.
Dass er noch immer nicht im Knast ist, wo er alleine schon wegen der durchaus bewiesenen Korruptionsvorwürfe hingehört, hat er vermutlich vor allem den russischen Wählern zu verdanken. Die haben sich in Jerusalem rasant vermehrt und schlechter integriert als jede andere jüdische Gruppe (z.B. Äthiopier, Europäer, Amerikaner, Jemeniten). Viele von ihnen bleiben untereinander und sprechen lieber russisch als hebräisch. Zumindest bei der Schrift kann ich es verstehen – die schneint mir eher dafür gemacht worden zu sein, in Steine gemeißelt zu werden.
Man schätzt, dass die russisch-sprechende Community inzwischen auf über eineinhalb Millionen angewachsen ist. Das sind bald 20% der 8,7 Millionen Israelis. Und auch wenn Avigdor Liebermann aus Moldawien ihr Mann ist – lieber wählt die russische Community Netanjahu als einen Liberalen an die Macht zu lassen.
Ich bekomme doch noch ein paar Sonnenstrahlen geschenkt, aber wo auch immer ich hinschaue, immer steht irgendwo eine Touristen Gruppe. Rein ins Allerheiligste darf ich ja bekanntlich nicht und ich kann sonst keinen Ort entdecken der sich heilig oder besonders anfühlt.
Also auf zur Grabeskirche, vielleicht erfasst mich dort als Kind des christlichen Abendlandes eine andere Energie. Die Kirche ist überraschend leer, für einen kurzen Moment kann ich sogar ein Bild vom Salbungsstein machen – ganz ohne Menschen.
Normalerweise ist er umlagert von Menschen, die weiße Tücher darüberwischen, oder was auch immer sie gerade zur Hand haben. Manche träufeln auch noch Rosenwasser über das Ganze.
Neuerdings kommt noch das Selfie hinzu. Der ursprüngliche Brauch war es, in den umliegenden Märkten Tuch zu kaufen, es auf die Länge des Steins auszumessen um dann daraus das eigene Totenhemd anzufertigen.
Und – das nächste Wunder – es steht auch fast keiner vor Jesus Grab an. Also, doch nochmal einen Blick in die kleine Kammer werfen.
Zu dritt knien wir vor dem Stein – wegen der niedrigen Deckenhöhe ist das für mich deutlich bequemer als zu stehen. Und tatsächlich strömt dieser Ort eine angenehme Ruhe aus, die Geräusche aus der Kirche erreichen uns hier nur stark gedämpft. Andächtig lasse ich den Ort auf mich wirken.
Als letztes besuche ich die Westliche Mauer. Der Stein ist kalt und speckig, in den Ritzen stecken die Wünsche tausender Menschen. Nicht nur Juden nutzen dabei den himmlischen Briefkasten des Schöpfers. Deswegen müssen diese Zettel zweimal im Jahr entfernt werden, vor dem Pessach Fest im Frühjahr und dem jüdischen Neujahr im Herbst, um Platz für neue Wünsche zu schaffen. Die entfernte Post an Jahwe wird übrigens keinesfalls profan weggeworfen oder verbrannt. Vielmehr wird der Papierberg ordnungsgemäß nach jüdischer Tradition auf dem Ölberg beerdigt. Falls jemand von Euch dem Gott der Juden etwas mitteilen möchte: Das geht auch online unter https://english.thekotel.org/kotel/send_note/ oder http://begthelord.com/send/. Die Nachricht wird ausgedruckt und in eine der Ritzen gesteckt.
Bei meinem ersten Besuch hatte ich mir Weltfrieden gewünscht – falls der in Arbeit sein sollte, sind Jahwes Wege unergründlich. Diesmal formuliere ich meine Wünsche deutlich bescheidener. Mal sehen, vielleicht klappt es diesmal besser, da ich mich über alle drei großen Religionen an Gott gewandt habe.
Draußen wartet mein Auto und bringt mich in das andere Jerusalem, fernab der Mauern der Altstadt. Auch wenn es heißt „in Tel Aviv wird gefeiert, in Haifa gearbeitet und in Jerusalem gebetet“ hat die Hauptstadt deutlich mehr zu bieten als alte Bauwerke und Religion. Schließlich besteht München auch nicht nur aus Hofbräuhaus und Oktoberfest. Neben fantastischen Restaurants und großartigen Bars gibt es zum Beispiel den bunten Machne Yehuda Market oder kurz Shuk. Der ist deutlich lebendiger und moderner als der Souk in der Altstadt. Am Shabbat hat er natürlich geschlossen, dann aber gibt es jede Menge Graffitis an den Toren der geschlossenen Stände zu sehen.
Gleich um die Ecke liegt Mea Sharim, Heimat und Hochburg der orthodoxen Juden, der Charedim. Einer Autofahrt am Shabbat wird aus gutem Grund abgeraten. Es sollen noch immer Steine auf diejenigen niederprasseln, die es trotzdem wagen mit dem Wagen. An den anderen Tagen aber bietet sich ein Bild wie aus einer anderen Welt. Es dominieren die schwarzgekleideten Herren mit ihren Schläfenlocken und Frauen in Röcken mit ihren Ausgehperrücken (die orthodoxe Antwort auf das Kopftuch). Muss man gesehen haben.
Ich frage mich nur, warum die meisten Männer, wenn Sie nicht gerade in irgendwelchen religiösen Schriften versenkt sind, ständig am Telefon hängen? Diskutieren sie theologische Fragen oder haben sie einen direkten Draht zu Jahwe? Denn ansonsten müssen sich die Frauen um die Kinder kümmern und den Haushalt schmeißen (nicht immer einfach, wenn man nach jüdischen Regeln kochen muss) und manchmal auch das Geld verdienen, damit sich der Mann mit Leib und Seele dem Studium der Tora widmen kann.
Die Liste der To-Dos in Jerusalem ist noch ewig lang, daher will ich nur ein paar Dinge noch kurz aufzählen: Auf jeden Fall sollte man die beeindruckende Yad Vashem Holocaust Gedenkstätte gesehen haben. Und auch das Israel Museum mit den Qumran-Rollen, den ältesten Schriftstücken der Bibel, ist einen Besuch wert. Die Western Wall Tunnel Tour habe ich nicht geschafft, aber sie soll einen fantastischen Eindruck geben, wie lang diese Tempelumfassungsmauer (deutlich länger als dieses Wort) einst gewesen sein muss. Beste Aussichten auf Jerusalem gibt es von der Mauer der Altstadt aus, die gegen Eintritt bestiegen werden kann. Jeden Donnerstag und Sonntag kann man die Knesset besuchen und sich vergegenwärtigen, dass Israel eine der wenigen Demokratien in dieser Region ist. Und wer noch immer nicht genug hat, kann sich dem heimlichen israelischen Nationalsport hingeben: Shopping! Erst vor wenigen Jahren hat eine riesige Shopping Mall vor dem Jaffa Tor seine Pforten geöffnet.
Und das war nur Jerusalem. Palästinensische Taxifahrer bringen einen auch gerne nach Bethlehem (nein, nicht gefährlich aber man darf nicht mit dem israelischen Mietwagen hinfahren), nach Nazareth, es gibt Touren nach Hebron, geführt von ehemaligen Mitgliedern der Israelischen Armee: https://www.breakingthesilence.org.il/
Dann aber viel Spaß aber bei der Ausreise. Denn am Flughafen gibt es wieder eine Befragung. Und wer ehrlich antwortet, dass er in den Palästinensischen Gebieten war, der verlängert seine Prozedur schnell mal um mindestens 25 weitere Fragen.
Vor meiner Rückreise geht es dann nach Tel Aviv. Dort übernachte ich am letzten Tag in der Nähe des Flughafens, da mein Flieger um 6 Uhr morgens geht (Drei Stunden vorher dasein!). Nach dieser Reise werde ich zum Frühaufsteher (NOT!) …
Zuviel Jerusalem berauscht die Sinne und kann zum Jerusalem-Syndrom führen, also krank machen. Bevor mir das passiert, mache ich mich auf den Weg zum Toten Meer knapp 1,5 Stunden von Jerusalem entfernt. Das volle Kontrastprogram also: Karge Landschaften und dann noch ein Meer (genauer: Salzsee) mit einem Salzgehalt von bis zu 33%. Zum Vergleich: Das normale Mittelmeer kommt gerade mal auf 3,8%. Das reicht zwar nicht für das Guinnessbuch der Rekorde (der 1. Platz geht an den wenig bekannten roséfarbenen Lac Retba im Senegal), dafür aber die Lage: Mit 420 Metern unter dem Meeresspiegel ist es der tiefst liegende See/Meer der Erde. Und der Wasserspiegel sinkt weiter.
Doch auf dem Weg dahin mache ich einen Zwischenstopp an einem weniger bekannten Kleinod. Nach einigen Kurven durch menschenleere Landschaft entlang des Wadi Qelt deutet ein Kreuz an, dass ich fast an meinem Ziel bin: Wer zum Hügel raufgeht sieht es endlich: Wie ein Bienenstock krallt sich das Kloster des heiligen Georg an der Felspalte des Wadi fest.
Nach knapp einem Kilometer lauern auch schon eine Handvoll Händler den spärlich auftauchenden Touristen und Pilger auf. Der Weg zum Kloster ist steil, wer nicht gut zu Fuß ist, nutzt die Chance und mietet einen der bereitstehenden Esel. Ich verzichte auf den Esel und fühle mich später selber wie einer. Ist es der viele Humus oder das viele Gehen durch Jerusalem? Wenigstens spüre ich meine Beine noch – allerdings mehr als mir lieb ist. Warum aber baut jemand solch ein Bauwerk an diesem Ort? Es waren Eremitenmönche, die diesen Lifestyle gesucht haben und bis dahin in den umliegenden Höhlen gehaust haben. Da war ein Kloster am Fels sicher ein Upgrade. Leider wurde es mehrfach zerstört, so dass es in seiner heuten Form seit etwas mehr als hundert Jahren als work in progress steht (oder hängt).
Wir sind übrigens nicht mehr in Israel, sondern im Palästinensischen Autonomiegebiet. Daher wird manchmal von einem Besuch aus Sicherheitsgründen abgeraten. Wenn man die gastfreundlichen griechisch-orthodoxen Einsiedler-Mönche fragt, winken die ab – sie kennen keine Vorfälle. Nach Anbruch der Dunkelheit würde ich mich allerdings auch nicht lange hier aufhalten wollen.
Im Übrigen möchte ich mich noch im Toten Meer treiben lassen und habe noch eine Stunde Fahrt vor mir. Das Ziel ist die Kleinstadt En Bokek am südlichen Ende. Dort gibt es zwei öffentliche Strände, der Rest ist fest in den Händen der Hotels. Wer übrigens an starker Schuppenflechte oder ähnlichem leidet kann sich den Trip von der Krankenkasse zahlen lassen. Leider ist mein zu Schuppen neigender Skalp dafür nicht ausreichend.
Das Wasser ist kälter als ich es erwartet hatte, bislang war ich nur im Sommer hier, da hatte das Tote Meer 30° Wassertemperatur. Aktuell sind es gerade mal 19° – zwei Grad kälter als die Umgebungstemperatur. Auf der Fahrt hatte ich mir noch überlegt, ob man im Toten Meer ertrinken kann, wo doch die hohe Salzkonzentration für so viel Auftrieb sorgt. Ich hatte mir schon Pointen zurechtgelegt, wie – in der Wüste sind schon mehr Menschen ertrunken als im Toten Meer (was stimmt, denn Wadis füllen sich bei Regen rasend schnell mit Wasser). Allerdings verlieren offenbar einige Menschen das Gleichgewicht und schlucken dann das konzentrierte Salzwasser. Das ist lebensbedrohlich, weil es die Lungenbläschen verätzt.
Innerlich und äußerlich gereinigt bin ich bereit für meine Rückfahrt nach Jerusalem. Die interessanten Ziele auf dem Rückweg muss ich wegen der späten Stunde auslassen: Massada, eine Befestigungsanlage auf einem 400 Meter hohen Tafelberg, der heute noch den Widerstandswillen der Israelis symbolisiert. Der botanische Garten vom Kibbuz Ein Gedi, ein Naturparadies mitten in der Wüste. Das Ein Gedi Naturreservat mit Wasserfall und einer natürlichen Wasserrutsche. Und Qumran, wo die berühmten Essener Rollen gefunden wurden, die heute im Museum in Jerusalem ausgestellt sind.
Nach Sonnenuntergang erreiche ich Jerusalem. Jetzt fehlt eigentlich nur noch die spirituelle Reinigung. Obwohl – mir reicht ein Bett – die frühe Aufsteherei macht mich fertig.
Sofern ich nicht spontan zum Islam konvertiere bleibt mir zwar der Zutritt zum Felsendom und zur Al-Aksa Moschee (zwei verschieden Gebäude) verwehrt, aber auch so ist das Gelände wo Solomons Tempel vor etwa 3.000 (!) Jahren stand sehr beeindruckend. Zum Glück bin ich kein frommer Jude, denn auch dann dürfte ich nicht auf das Gelände – ich könnte versehentlich das Allerheiligste entweihen. Aber ich muss früh aufstehen, um das beste Licht zu erwischen. Mein Zeitfenster um den Tempelberg zu betreten liegt zwischen sieben und zehn Uhr morgens.
Wer in der arabischen Altstadt wohnt muss keinen Wecker stellen. Diese Aufgabe übernimmt eine Heerschar an Muezzinen, wenn das ‚Fajr‘, das Morgengebet ansteht. Echohaft wiederholt hallt der Ruf von den Türmen durch die Gassen – kriecht in mein Ohr und dringt dann tief bis ins dahin friedlich schlummernde Hirn. Widerstand zwecklos. Auch ich bete – dass der morgendliche Aufruf bald vorüber ist und ich wieder einschlafen kann. Doch Allah ist groß und ich bin wach. Es ist 5 Uhr 14, mit plus einer Stunde Zeitverschiebung also eigentlich mitten in der Nacht.
Meine Unterkunft ist immer noch Geheimtipp genug, dass ich kurzfristig ein Zimmer bekommen habe. Mit Blick auf den Felsendom. Es ist kein Hotel im eigentlichen Sinne, sondern das älteste Gästehaus der Stadt: das Österreichische Pilger-Hospiz. Das klingt jetzt nicht sonderlich sexy, ist aber tatsächlich eine kleine Ruhe-Oase inmitten der Altstadt. Die Zimmer sind einfach, aber der Strudl im Café legendär. Das liegt wahrscheinlich daran, dass Österreich sehr, sehr weit weg ist. Aber es gibt Meinl-Café zum Frühstück. Leider aber erst ab 7 Uhr.
Noch leicht geschockt von der unchristlichen Uhrzeit (yes! Pun! Intended!) taumle ich also aus meiner Oase auf die Via Dolorosa. Die Gassen sind menschenleer. Beten wahrscheinlich noch. Nachts ab zehn und morgens bis acht gefällt mir die Altstadt am besten. Das orangene Licht der Lampen lässt die Kulisse unwirklich erscheinen, alle Geschäfte sind fest verriegelt und es wälzen sich keine Massen durch die Gassen. Die Altstadt wirkt mystisch, geheimnisvoll, aus der Zeit gefallen. Die Katzen herrschen jetzt über die Gassen.
Der Felsendom verfügt über mehrere Zugänge, aber als nicht-muslim muss ich zunächst zur ha-kotel ha-ma’arawi, wörtlich ‚die westliche Mauer‘ bei uns besser als Klagemauer bekannt. Und damit liegen wir Deutschen eigentlich falsch. Um das zu erklären muss ich leider kurz geschichtlich ausholen.
Die Westmauer war zu Herodes Zeiten nicht mehr und nicht weniger als die gigantische Umfassungsmauer des Aerals auf dem der Herodianische Tempel ausgebaut wurde (Ursprünglich von Salomon errichtet, mehrfach zerstört). Herodes der Große, das war der mit dem mutmaßlichen Kindermord in Bethlehem, der im Jahre vier vor Jesus vermeintlicher Geburt starb (es gibt auch Theorien, dass Jesus im gleichen Jahr geboren wurde in dem Herodes starb) . 1/3 der Mauer ist unter der Erde und 1/3 wurde abgetragen.
Die Mauer war vor 2.000 Jahren also sage und schreibe 54 Meter hoch (ich lass Euch schnell rechnen wie hoch sie heute ist). Aber wie gesagt, sie war kein Heiligtum per se. Doch dann, 70 n. Chr., wurde der fantastische Tempel der auf dem Plateau, an der 54 Meter hohen Mauer stand von der römischen Besatzungsmacht zerstört. Ein paar Jahrhunderte später, immer noch ohne Tempel auf dem Allerheiligsten, beten die jüdischen Gläubigen diese Mauer an, da sie sich hier Gott am nächsten wähnen.
Und die Gebete der Männer und Frauen (beten getrennt) vor der Mauer mit ihren wippenden Bewegungen und jammernden Tonfall können auf Außenstehende durchaus wie eine Klage über den verloreneren Tempel wirken.
Womit wir endlich beim Felsendom wären. Denn damit ich auf das Plateau kann muss ich zunächst zur Westmauer. Nur dort habe ich Zugang zur Holzrampe, die Marokkanerbrücke, die mich hinaufführt. Also erst durch die Sicherheitsschleuse zur Westmauer. Jeder darf über die drei Zugänge rund um die Uhr das Gelände betreten, gleich ob Inder, Chinese, Europäer, Marokkaner oder Iraner. Der Zugang zur Al-Aksa und zum Felsendom wird für mich erst um sieben Uhr geöffnet. Bis dahin habe ich noch jede Menge Zeit die Gebetsrituale der jüdischen Gläubigen zu studieren.
Mit mir warten vielleicht zehn Besucher auf Einlass und tatsächlich, um punkt sieben Uhr wird die Absperrung geöffnet. Auch hier werden alle Taschen durchleuchtet. Dass der Metalscanner warnend piepst, als ich hindurchschreite, scheint keinen zu interessieren – stattdessen wird der Deutsche nach mir aufgehalten: „Haben Sie etwa ein Buch in Ihrem Rucksack?“ Interessant – man weiß hier also noch, wie gefährlich Bücher sein können. Die israelische Wachfrau nickt den Mann durch, als er nur einen Reiseführer aus der Tasche zieht. Wäre es eine Bibel oder ein Talmud gewesen, hätte die Geschichte ein anderes Ende genommen. Fremde religiöse Symbole und Flaggen sind auf dem Tempelberg nicht erlaubt, nicht-muslimische Gebete oder Rituale strengstens verboten. Heiliges Sperrgebiet sozusagen. Bis heute verteidigt Israel – selbst unter Netanjahu – das eiserne Gesetz, dass der Tempelberg den Muslimen gehört. „Muslims pray on the Temple Mount, non-Muslims visit the Temple Mount“ hatte Verteidigungsminister Moshe Dayan nach der Rückeroberung Jerusalems im Yom-Kippur Krieg 1973 festgeschrieben. Die von den siegreichen Soldaten stolz gehisste Flagge mit dem David-Stern musste von der Spitze des Felsendoms nach vier Stunden wieder eingeholt werden, ein später errichtete kleine Synagoge wurde wieder abgerissen. Seither verwaltet Jordanien das Gelände rund um den Felsendom.
Auf dem Areal dürfen wir uns frei bewegen, nur der Zutritt zum Felsendom und zur Al-Aksa bleibt uns nicht-Muslimen verwehrt.
Technisch gesehen, könnte ich mich zum Islam bekennen. Dazu müsste ich nur die Schahada, das Islam-Bekenntnis mit Überzeugung sprechen. “Asch-haddu an la Ilaha illal-Lah wa asch-haddu anna Muhammadan rasul-lallah” – „Ich bezeuge es gibt nur einen Gott, den einen und einzigen, und ich bezeuge, dass Muhammad der Gesandte Allahs ist“. Da sich eben diese Worte auf Arabisch beim Weckruf der Muezzine in meinen Kopf gebohrt haben würde ich das sogar hinkriegen. Ich zweifle aber, dass die Wächter mir meine Ernsthaftigkeit abnehmen würden. Also lasse ich das weite Gelände auf mich wirken und versuche meinen Ärger im Zaum zu halten, dass sich die Sonne hinter den Wolken versteckt. Soviel zum Besten Licht in der Früh.
Anfangs hatte ich gesagt, dass fromme Juden den Tempelberg nicht betreten dürfen. Das ist so nicht ganz richtig. Für die jüdische Glaubensgemeinschaft ist der Tempelberg das Zentrum, das Herzstück zum jüdischen Leben und die direkte Verbindung zu Gott. Aber Ultra-orthodoxe Juden wie Rabbiner Iddo Veber sagen: die Thora erlaube es Juden heute nicht mehr, den Tempelberg zu betreten. Eigentlich ist es auch Nicht-Juden verboten – aber für die sind wir nicht zuständig soll er noch hinzugefügt haben. Und so tut die (jüdische) israelische Gesellschaft das was sie am liebsten tut: Sie streitet darüber wer Recht hat. Weil es so ein nettes Fun Fact ist, hier ein kleiner Ausschnitt aus der Begründung, warum gläubige Juden den Tempelberg (in der ultra Auslegung) nicht betreten dürfen: „Die Thora hat besondere Reinheitsvorschriften um das Allerheiligste zu betreten. Die Besucher des Tempels sollten sich mit der Asche einer roten (sic!) Kuh reinigen. So steht es im 4. Buch Mose, Kapitel 19.“ Übrigens soll die Kuh mit ihrem Blut und mit ihrem Mist verbrannt werden. Nun ja – das ließe sich vielleicht noch arrangieren. Aber dann kommt da noch ein zweiter, wohl entscheidender Grund dazu: „Da unklar ist, wo der Tempel genau stand, ist nicht auszuschließen, dass jüdische Besucher aus Versehen das Allerheiligste betreten. Das hätte schwerste Strafen zu Folge.“. Nun ja, eigentlich sind alle Menschen die sich um das Stück Land am Mittelmeer streiten schon gestraft genug.
Tatsächlich ist mir eine Gruppe von orthodoxen Juden auf das Gelände gefolgt. Beschützt von israelischen Sicherheitskräften und skeptisch beäugt von einem Mitarbeiter der Waqf, der jordanischen Aufsichtsbehörde für den Tempelberg. Dem Felsendom bleiben sie fern, aber sie verlassen, wie es die Gebote erfordern, den Tempelberg rückwärts (Gott zugewandt) und legen sich, kaum draußen, in den Staub und sprechen liegend ihre Gebete.
Man wird in dieser Stadt ständig Zeuge ungewöhnlicher Rituale. Das macht den Charme und die Seele dieser Stadt aus, die sich nicht unbedingt in Fotos einfangen lässt. Asiaten, die christliche Lieder singend, durch die Gassen ziehen, Menschen die ein Holzkreuz schleppen, Juden die das Shofar blasen, Orthodoxe, die gekleidet sind, als wären sie aus einem polnischen Schtetl aus dem 20. Jahrhundert entsprungen. Es gibt so viele Dinge die verrückt erscheinen, dass es für Extremfälle sogar einen Namen gibt: Das Jerusalem-Symptom. Eine medizinisch anerkannte psychische Störung. Nachzulesen bei Wikipedia.
Also von einem religiösen Wahnsinn in den nächsten: Zur Grabeskirche. Oder Holy Sepulchre, auch Holy Sepulcher (beide Schreibweisen kommen in Jerusalem vor). Die Ostkirche nennt das Gebäude die Auferstehungskirche, die westliche Basilika des heiligen Grabes.
Die Ecclesia Sancti Sepulchri, wie wir Lateiner sagen (Hust, Hust), beherbergt die überlieferte Stelle der Kreuzigung und das Grab Jesu. Allein die Anzahl der verschiedenen Bezeichnungen geben schon eine Ahnung davon, dass hier jede Glaubensgruppe ihr eigenes Süppchen kocht. Um hier nicht noch ausschweifender zu werden fasse ich zusammen: Sechs christliche Konfessionen teilen sich das Gotteshaus. Die Griechisch-Orthodoxen, der Franziskaner Orden für die römisch-katholische Kirche und die Armenische Apostolische Kirche haben die Hauptverwaltung. Die Syrisch-Orthodoxe Kirche von Antiochien und die Kopten bekamen im 19. Jahrhundert ein paar kleinere Schreine zugeteilt. Und die Äthiopische-Orthodoxe Kirche ist so etwas wie ein Hausbesetzer auf dem Dach der Grabeskirche, und haben eine kleine Kapelle (dem Erzengel Gabriel gewidmet) an die Grabeskirche angeflanscht.
Die Äthiopier zu finden ist nicht immer ganz einfach. Am Vorplatz der Kirche ist ganz hinten an der rechten Wand eine kleine Tür. Wenn die offen ist, kommt man dort zu den Äthiopiern. Ansonsten etwas versteckt vom Souq aus, einfach nach der siebten Station von Jesus Leidensweg fragen.
Während die heiligen Hausbesetzer also quasi am Rand leben, müssen die anderen fünf eine Art heilige Wohngemeinschaft führen.
Dass es dabei immer wieder zu Konflikten kommt, die weit darüber hinausgehen wer das Bad putzt und die Kerzenreste wegmacht kann sich jeder vorstellen. Ein Zusammenleben ist kompliziert, wenn jeder überzeugt ist, Gott und der Wahrheit näher zu sein als sein Mitbewohner.
Mancher Streit unter Mönchen wurde ganz unchristlich mit den Fäusten ausgetragen. Deswegen hat der türkische Sultan Osman III. (damals Statthalter Jerusalems) 1757 (1853 erneuert) einige Regeln festgelegt. Während Europa von zwei Weltkriegen heimgesucht wurde, die Osmanen vertrieben und Israel gegründet wurde, Flugzeuge und Internet die Kontinente verbunden haben, blieb hier alles beim Alten.
Dieser Status Quo gilt bis heute. Jede kleinste Veränderung ist umkämpft und die Mönche achten peinlich genau darauf, dass es zu keinem Machtzuwachs der jeweils anderen Gruppe kommt.
Am rechten Fenster etwa steht eine schlichte Holzleiter um die sich viele Legenden ranken. Dieselbe lehnt dort unverrückt seit mindestens 140 Jahren wie auf alten Fotos zu sehen ist. Um an diesem Ort Spiritualität zu erleben muss man auch früh aufstehen. Ich habe gelesen, dass die palästinensische Familie, die über den Schlüssel wacht die Grabeskirche in einer bezaubernden Zeremonie aufschließt. Mönche reichen eine Leiter durch eine kleine Luke in der Holztür, so dass der Schlüsselhalter dann aufschließen kann. Aber fünf Uhr morgens – nein danke, um die Zeit ist noch nicht mal der Muezzin wach.
Um halb neun ist es noch halbwegs ruhig in der Kirche, ganz anders als am Vortag zur Mittagszeit wo sich Heerscharen laut schwatzend durch das Gotteshaus schoben. Doch schon jetzt stehen einige hundert Menschen an der frisch renovierten Ädiqula an.
Der Schrein sieht aus wie eine kleine Kirche innerhalb der Kirche. Innendrin ein Raum in der Größe von drei Telefonzellen (für die jüngeren: kleine, drei Meter hohe, stinkende Kabuffs in denen man telefonieren oder Telefonnummern nachschlagen konnte als es noch keine Handys mit Internet gab). Hier soll das Grab Jesu liegen. Tatsächlich haben jüngst durchgeführte Untersuchungen von Archäologen die Möglichkeit dafür zumindest nicht ausgeschlossen. Das Anbeten von Steinen ist nicht so mein Ding, außerdem war ich schon mal drinnen ohne mich dafür stundenlang in einer Warteschlange einreihen zu müssen. Die Kirche füllt sich – für mich heißt das nix wie raus!
Langsam kippt auch das Wetter. Außerdem ist Jerusalem wie arabisches Gebäck. Sehr süß, aber irgendwann wird es einem zu viel. Darum mache ich mich auf den Weg an das Tote Meer.
- to be continued
Der erste Tag in Jerusalem
Ein paar meiner Freunde waren verwundert – ja auch, dass ich ‚schon wieder‘ verreise – vor allem aber über das Ziel: Israel! Jerusalem? Was willst Du da?? Ist das nicht gefährlich?! Für alle die Glauben, dass man sich den Weg in Israel freischiessen muss: Nein, in Jerusalem oder Haifa oder Tel Aviv lauert kein Messerstecher an jeder Ecke. Und Gott sei Dank oder Inschallah sprengt sich auch kein Palästinenser mehr aus lauter Zorn über die israelische Politik in die Luft. Die größte Gefahr lauert in den arabischen Souqs, sofern man sich von einem der gewieften Verkäufer um den Finger wickeln lässt. Die Preise können – insbesondere bei asiatischen Touristen – gefährliche Folgen für den Geldbeutel haben. ‚Jeder zahlt das, was es ihm wert ist‘, hat mir einmal ein palästinensischer Verkäufer zugeraunt, als ich nach dem sechsten Minztee endlich seinen verdammt antiken Dolch statt für 300 Euro für acht Euro gekauft habe. Lustigerweise habe ich den gleichen Dolch heute wieder in einem der unzähligen winzigen Läden gesehen. Der Verkäufer wollte mir einen guten Preis machen. Nur 50 Euro.
Ansonsten hat sich auf den ersten Blick nicht so viel geändert in der ewigen, der heiligen Stadt, die ich vor zwanzig Jahren zum ersten Mal besucht habe. Nur politisch hat sich die Welt auf den Kopf gestellt, so, wie es sich keiner von uns je hätte ausmalen können.
Die Grabeskirche ist immer noch mehr Zirkus als ein besinnlicher Ort der inneren Einkehr – es ist vielleicht sogar schlimmer geworden. Selbst jetzt im Januar belagern Kohorten von Reisegruppen das Kirchenlabyrinth um das sich mehrere Glaubensrichtungen balgen und wo die äthiopischen Christen auf dem Dach leben (Mehr zur Holy Sepulchre morgen).
überblickt das Chaos
Ansonsten laufen die Ashkenazy Juden (meist zu erkennen an Ihrem breitkrempigen Hut oder ihrer Pelzmütze, die Frauen an der Perücke und dem Kinderwagen) noch immer leicht beschleunigten Schrittes durch das arabische Viertel, stehen bewaffnete Tsahal Soldaten (und natürlich Soldatinnen) in allen Hautfarben an strategischen in Punkten in Gruppen und versuchen sich die Zeit zu vertreiben. Wem schon der Anblick von Maschinengewehren den kalten Schweiß den Rücken runterlaufen lässt, der sollte Israel lieber meiden. Die über 170.000 Wehrpflichtigen und 630.000 Reservisten nehmen ihre geladene Waffe auch mal zum Spielplatz mit oder lehnen sie durchaus zum Gebet an die Klagemauer.
Apropos Klagemauer. Die scheint auch hart im Nehmen zu sein – und ist trotz der Last der vielen Wünsche, Gebete und vielleicht auch Klagen noch nicht eingebrochen.
Und obendrauf prangt noch immer der einzigartige Felsendom mit seiner mit echtem Gold überzogenen Kuppel (Jordaniens König Hussein II. soll dafür eines seiner Häuser in London verkauft haben um die 80 Kilo Gold spendieren zu können).
Er steht noch immer, auch wenn manche Juden dort lieber den dritten Tempel bauen würden. Und ich nehme nicht an, dass er dann _neben_ dem Felsendom stehen soll… Nicht-Muslime dürfen nur an bestimmten Tagen (Freitag und Samstag nicht) und zu bestimmten Zeiten auf den Tempelberg. Jetzt im Winter etwa zwischen sieben und halb zehn sowie halb eins und halb zwei. Morgens ist weniger los und das Licht besser – also werde ich wohl früh aufstehen und auf mein Frühstück verzichten müssen.
Eine Kurzreise, diesmal leider ohne Esther.
OK, es war eine bewusste Entscheidung. Ich wollte mich aus Neugier mal wieder auf die Israelische Airline El Al einlassen. Wie sehen die Sicherheitskontrollen heute aus? Gibt es noch das ominöse eigene Terminal F? Und begleitet noch immer ein Spähpanzer das Flugzeug? Naja, und ausserdem war es der günstigste Direktflug. Aber wie das so ist – curiosity kills the cat.
El Al ist berüchtigt für seine aufwändige Security – es wird empfohlen drei Stunden vor dem Abflug da zu sein. Für mich heisst das: Sechs Uhr aufstehen für einen Abflug um 10:20. Absurd. Ein menschenleerer Gang führt am Hilton vorbei. Ha! War wohl doch übertrieben! Am Ende werfen zwei Israelinen gekonnt gelangweilte Blicke auf die Neuankömmlinge. Mein kleiner schwarzer Rucksack ist vorne angeklemmt am großen, den ich auf dem Rücken trage. Ich nehme ihn lieber ab, sonst halten die mich noch für einen Selbstmordattentäter und lassen mich erschießen bevor ich die erste Kontrolle erreiche. Trotzdem werde ich aufgehalten und auf Englisch gefragt was mein Ziel ist. Tel Aviv? Mit welcher Airline? Die ersten Fragen von sehr vielen.
Ich erreiche den verschlossenen Zugang zum Terminal F ohne erschossen zu werden. Zu früh! Ich komme mir vor wie ein Pauschaltourist auf dem Weg zu seinem Charter Flug. 2 Stunden 50 Minuten vor Abflug! Für meinen Vater fast schon zu spät. Für mich: Lebenszeitverschwendung am Flughafen. Aber wer weiß, vielleicht brauche ich mit meiner kompletten Fotoausrüstung und dem Pass voller Visa und Einreise Stempel den Puffer noch. Wenige Augenblicke später öffnet das Terminal. Weitere 40 Menschen strömen von einem Wartehäuschen zum Eingang. Ich gehöre also doch nicht zu den Ersten. Aber ich stehe ganz vorne. Wer zu spät kommt – steht manchmal in der ersteb Reihe. Als erstes wird mein Flugticket gecheckt. Der Polizist mit seiner MP im Anschlag beäugt uns aufmerksam. Die Daten scheinen zu passen. Hinter mir stehen aufgeregte ältere Ehepaare mit ihrem Pauschalreisen Voucher.
Im Terminal warten sechs Herren im Anzug in Reihe und Glied. Sergej tritt vor und bittet mich an Tresen 2. Jetzt kommen die legendären Fragen. English please. Are you traveling alone? Have you been to Israel before? Why are you traveling to Israel? Do you have friends there? Where do you know them from? Have you ever been to Israel’s neighboring countries? To the Middle East? To Iran? Turkey? To North Africa? Why? When? Do you know anyone from these countries? What have you done in Qatar? Just a stopover to Sri Lanka? Why did you spend the night there?… nach 15 Minuten scheinen Sergej tatsächlich die Fragen auszugehen. Er wiederholt nochmal ein paar die ich schon beantwortet habe. Ja, wie schon gesagt, das letzte mal war ich vor sieben Jahren in Marokko. Ja, 2017 in Israel. Ja, beruflich. Ja, ich bin immer noch Journalist. Nein, fürs Fernsehen. Sergej scheint zufrieden. Ist auch egal, dass der Stopover in Doha eigentlich auf dem Weg nach Indien war. Hab ich verwechselt, das werde ich ihm aber sicher nicht auf die Nase binden solange er sich nicht das Datum auf den Stempeln anschaut. Sergej verschwindet mit meinem Pass… und kommt mit einem Kollegen zurück. Why are you traveling to Israel? For how long? Do you have friends there? Have you been to Iran, North Africa? Who was there with you? Noch einmal prasseln gefühlte 100 Fragen auf mich ein. Macht irgendwie Spass. Bin ja eh zwei Stunden zu früh am Flughafen. Ich hab Zeit. Die Dame neben mir schwitzt aber schon. Auch ehrlich antworten kann anstrengend sein, die Art zu Fragen löst automatisch ein schlechtes Gewissen aus. Sergejs Kollege ist durch mit mir. Ich bekomme Aufkleber für meine Gepäckstücke und bin sprichwörtlich einen Schritt weiter auf meinem Weg nach Israel. Beim Check in.
Keine weiteren Fragen, oder? Aber das Handgepäck auf die Wage. 14 Kilo. Das ist zuviel, da können wir sie nicht mitnehmen. Ja, Akkus und Kamera sind schwer und nichts davon kann ins Aufgabegepäck. Die Dame am Schalter fragt: “Können Sie was Wegschmeissen?” What?! OK, ich kenne die Bestimmungen für Handgepäck, aber jede andere Airline (ausser Billigcarrier) sind bei Foto- und Filmequipment flexibel. Nur El Al ist für flexibel nicht zu haben. Sollte ich die Fragen alle umsonst beantwortet haben? Endet die Reise hier?
Nach 15 Minuten Diskussion und unter dem Hinzuziehen ihrer Vorgesetzten finden wir einen Weg. Ich stopfe alle Akkus in meinen kleinen Rucksack und gebe die Kameratasche mit 5 Kilo für 40 Euro auf. Wunderbar. Merke: Star Alliance fliegen – El Al meiden. Aber ich wollte ja El Al zum Teil meiner Erfahrung machen. Geschieht mir Recht.
Vorbei an zwei weiteren mit MP bewaffneten Polizisten. Passkontrolle. Ohne besondere Vorkommnisse. Auch das Securityscreening geht schnell. Schneller als sonst. Nicht mal einen Abstrich für den Aegis Sprengstoffdetektor wird unternommen. Und jetzt? Über eine Stunde in der kargen Wartehalle verbringen. Immerhin: es gibt einen Kicker. Und kleine Kinder jagen schreiend durch die Wartehalle. Na super. Jetzt verstehe ich, warum auch die Erwachsenen Israelis immer so laut sind.
Dank guter Unterhaltung auf dem Smartphone vergeht die Wartezeit wie im Flug (No Pun intended) und wir bekommen die große Bustour rund um den Münchner Flughafen bis zur hintersten Ecke. Da steht er tatsächlich, der Spürpanzer – direkt neben unserer El Al Maschine, die uns in Kürze nach Tel Aviv bringen wird. Sicher wie in Abrahams Schoss… (sort of pun intendet.)
To be continued … mit mehr Bildern.
This is our last blog entry for this journey and we wanted to say a few words about Lima as we are spending our last days in Peru here.
Lima is by all means not a pretty city. It does have a nice old center of town and a nice bohemian quarter called Barranco, but by and large Lima’s skyline is a wild array of small and tall buildings, old and new houses, some well maintained, many nearly falling down.
Many only look half built with their roofs missing and electric wires going in all directions. A building code seems to be absent. The weather during this time of year is overcast during, you won’t see any sun for month. The ‘Limeño’ are talking about ‘good weather’ when it’s not drizzling.
Our hotel is a charming old house with a nice little patio but it is dwarfed by much larger, ugly buildings left and right. Nevertheless the city does reveal it’s nicer sides once you start looking beyond the outer veneer.
Street art… 
…brings color to Lima
Lima is surprisingly clean as far as we could tell. Trash cans everywhere and people cleaning up the streets and tend to the public gardens. When jogging (or scootering along as Jiho and Chris did) along the high cliff line one has a beautiful view of the ocean even though the view directly below is oring. A multi lane highway hugs the beach line below and not much else has space there.
Lima has the wonderful Museo Larco with it’s spectacular collection of ancient artefacts.
And it has roped off several large pieces of land in the middle of Lima for excavation purposes (no one knows how much of Lima is actually built on top of such ruins). One of those ruins, the Huaca Pucllana, is a huge temple pre-Inca that is made out of millions of bricks in book shelf fashion, in order to withstand the earth quakes.
The largest Pyramid glowing in yellow light at night was a mound of mud not too long ago and was only recently excavated and made available to the public. There at the Huaca Pucllana Restaurant, overlooking the illuminated ruins one evening, we had one of the best dinners of the trip.
This leads us to the best side of Lima as far as we could tell. The incredible variety and freshness of food and amount of restaurants in Lima. No matter where we went, we did not have a bad meal. This is actually true of all of Peru, but in Lima you could go out every night and not eat at the same restaurant for years. Many are very small. Just 5-6 tables but the taste and freshness is always there.
Let’s hone in on some of the most traditional meat dishes:
Lomo Saltado, a beef stew with vegetables. Always delicious. And so often where we went there is an enticing smell of grilled meat in the air that makes your mouth water.
Then there is of course Cui (for the sound they make…) aka conejillo de indias, the guinea pig. Served as a stew or in whole (which made even Chris regret his choice once…) complete with little paws and little head. It probably has an amount of meat on it like a whole chicken. It is a fairly lean meat, nevertheless sometimes surrounded by pockets of fat (depending on the guinea pigs constitution).
Chris, the Cui killer 
You can almost hear the cui, cui sound
Chris also tried alpaca, which tastes a bit like veal, but with very little flavor. Apart from that chicken and pork are also eaten.
Then of course there is the seafood. For seafood lovers Lima is heaven. Chevice was invented here and you can get it in all variations in pretty much every restaurant. Any kind of fresh sea food is on the menu: Octopus, clams, shrimp, fish of all kinds, etc.
Vegetables are basically many of the same we have, but fried yucca and plantains (cooking bananas) are two which we really enjoyed that are harder to find in the US and Europe.
Peru is also a country for fruit lovers. There is so much fresh tropical fruit here, you can eat it every day nearly right from the tree. Pineapple, papaya, coconut, banana, melons, oranges and other citrus fruit are known to all of us, but they taste much fresher here. Some of the more exotic varieties are the Mamey fruit and Grenadille (a sweet passion fruit). Fresh juices can be found everywhere, frozen or not. What a treat!
And there is always fresh and delicious avocado to be had. Much different than the green picked ones we get.
The main meal of the day in the country side is actually lunch, not dinner. For dinner often just a hearty soup is served. In many salads and soups Peruvians use quinoa (rice of the Inca), which became quite the fashion as one of the superfoods in western countries recently.
Peru also offers a variety of very nice snacks like empanadas or churros to go. Also very popular is the salted corn ‘ Chicha’ (like unpopped popcorn, salted and consisting of huge corn kernels, much larger there than at home. Those are very crunchy and can be very hard to crack some times)
Last but not least we can’t forget the deserts! Peruvians love desert and wherever you go you will find a blend of all sorts of deserts. From lime and fruit pies to mousses and crèmes, each restaurant has at least a few options to choose from. Needless to say, our desert foodies Chris and Sally were in heaven!
Drink wise everything can be bought in Lima. Three traditional drinks are ‘Chicha morada’ the fermented sugar cane juice, quite pleasant to drink when cold, Pisco Sour a highly alcoholic drink resembling a Margarita.
We also liked Chocolate tea. Yes, you have heard right. This is tea made of cocoa leaves and crunched cocoa shells that does indeed taste like hot chocolate, but in tea form. This is hard to describe, but true! Actually you can buy it at the german supermarket REWE (Feine Welt collection) as we saw upon our return.
It was a wonderful trip to Peru, a great and hilariously funny Hatun Runa team and despite some of the hard hiking and riding we did, we got compensated many times over by the friendliness of the people here, the magnificent unspoilt nature and the fabulous food of Peru.
Mucho me gusta! 🙂
Today we had to say a heartfelt good bye to Rocio and her team at Gocta Natura Lodge. We felt more part of the family than guests here and some of us had tears in their eyes when they said good bye. This is a very special place and all of us wished that you could just reach it easily for a long weekend instead of having to travel across half of the world to get here.
We emptied all of Rocio’s provisions for coffee, tonic water and white wine and we ate divine food throughout. The fresh home made breads, sweet cakes and desserts alone are three reasons to come back!
OK enough said, we had to get on our way back to Lima. As we had a flight from Jaén we had a drive of four hours in front of us. The first part through the canyon is picturesque, but not without danger. Driving along a windy road next to the Utcubamba river we witnessed the many land slides that have blocked the only road at various times. Some very recent, some older. The risk of falling rocks or washed out road edges ever present.
After two hours, the deep valley gave way to a more open space. The temperatures turned tropical and rice paddies started to appear as the river delta widened. As soon as we left the river delta, the land around us turned into a dry desert. We were driving into a dry zone between two mountain ranges and the change in vegetation was quick and stark. Trees and cacti appeared that you would find only in very dry areas and the lush rainforest was gone.
Finally we arrived in Jaén, quite an ugly township, if I may say so. Motorbikes and Mototaxis everywhere, not a single charming building, as all looked cobbled together without a plan and aesthetics in mind.
Way outside of the actual town is one of the smallest airports we have seen so far. One check counter, One departure gate and a long bus ride to the beginning of the landing strip. For our trip we seem to have way too much luggage… as if we intended to move here permanently instead of just spending two weeks in Peru.
Taking precautions to not loose certain members of our team (the ones who got lost know who we are talking about ;o)) we made sure to watch out. The plane from Lima arrived and had to be turned around and parked at the end of the runway, so despite such a small airport we had to take the bus to get there.
Open roof construction 
Ready, steady, goooo! 
crinkle specialists 
Low handrails for small people
As the Peru / Uruguay game for the Copa America cup was going on, the boarding announcement was interrupted several times by loud, enthusiastic shouts of the crowd who watched on their smart phones and tablets. Peru beat Uruguay 5:4 in a penalty shoot out. Everyone on the plane was happy!
The flight back to Lima was uneventful. We did not leave anyone behind and all our luggage arrived. We made our way through Lima traffic back to our small buy cozy El Patio Hostelo in Miraflores.
Having only had snacks for lunch, we were all starving and opted for the small restaurant across the street. It turned out to become a memorable night! Good food, live music, way too many Pisco Sours! Esther left before things got completely out of hand. Lets me just say, things got a bit out of control afterwards as the level of alcohol increased as did the volume of the voices singing! We can’t tell what happened to the photos and videos that documented the evening – somehow they disappeared as if by magic …
Let me just say that some of us had to seriously detox for a day, could not eat anything, and/or had to lie down for an afternoon nap in order to recover.
Not being woken up by a screeching rooster is a treat! Bird sounds and rain drops are all you hear here at Gocta Natura Lodge. The five cabins around the main house are far apart and every one has complete privacy. As we were occupying four of the five cabins, it felt like we had the place to ourselves.
All cabins ate very tastefully decorated with so much attention to detail that we constantly are finding small things that delight us. The welcome bowl of chocolate covered strawberries, the stone tiled bathroom with a hot rain shower, a series of pillows on the bed for every liking, home made soap, or fresh flowers in the bathroom. This is such a contrast to all the other places we stayed at that it nearly makes one feel guilty. This is the opposite of roughin’ it!
Breakfast was just as yummy as the day before and everyone ate way too much. Fun fact: we drank so much coffee, that Rocio had to get more (fun fact 2: There was no Gin & no Tonic left after the second night).
Today not all of us felt like another hike, so while Leslie, Jiho, Hary and Esther decided to hike to the upper fall, the rest of the crew had either a leisurely day or was busy filming and droning.
The hiking party stuffed snacks and rain gear into small packs and off we went with two mototaxis. Mototaxis are the cheap alternative to 4WD cars. A refurbished motorbike that served as a trike has a small bench in the back and some sort of roof over our heads.
It rained a bit this morning, so the 20 minute drive was windy and wet. We had to get to the opposite side of the mountain and up the hill to a small village from where we started our hike. We all suited up accordingly and the clouds were low and heavy. Not much of a view so far, but at least it was not cold rain.
It took us about 2,5 hrs to reach the middle of the two falls. The hike was much easier than the one yesterday and we made good progress.
Arrived at the middle section of the falls, you can climb up a steep, wet, wooden ladder to the base of the first fall. The amount of water coming down has doubled since we arrived in Cocachimba. Four large courtains of white water were cascading down the sheer drop of about 200 meters at least.
The sound was deafening and the spray was everywhere.
The volume of water coming down was massive. After navigating down the ladder again, we then made our way to the edge where the upper fall ended and the water drops down a spectacular edge, creating the lower falls.
The scenery was very picturesque, the rain had stopped and even blue sky started to appear. We all had a hearty snack of goodies, from beef jerky to walnut salami, from fresh apple slices to sweet potato bread and set out to head back at a brisk pace.
Soon the sun started to appear and we walked most of the way back in sunshine.
After 1,5 hrs and beautiful, sweeping views (which we hadn’t seen when it was drizzly and cloudy on our way there) we arrived back at the village plaza.
It was a wonderful walk and we enjoyed it immensely. And what was just as good was the late lunch that was to come back at the lodge! Sally and the Gocta Natura team were busy again!
Roasted chicken with fresh vegetables in a red wine reduction! We all could get used to this food on a permanent basis – no problem!
While our hiking party was busy hiking, our two teenagers, Siobhan and Kat were busy chilling, Chris R. was lounging, Chris O. was droning and filming and Sally was cooking.
Everyone is more… 
…or less busy
Everyone was happy and the afternoon was spent relaxing, having hot showers and writing blog entries. This time we have the help of our team guest bloggers Sally and Leslie.
While Jih-Ho is providing Chris O. with some great shots for our blog.
Welcome to heaven !!!! This is the motto when you check into Gocta Natura Lodge. This secluded lodge past the village of Cocachimba has only five cabins in total but what gem this place is!
Tucked away from the beaten track high up at the end of a cul de sac in the middle of nowhere in Amazonas, Peru, lies this small luxurious lodge. The owner, Rocio has created here a small slice of heaven on earth. A cosy all wood and natural stone lodge with high ceilings and an open kitchen invites every guest to spend hours on their balconies and decks with magnificent views or inside snuggled up in cozy blankets in front of a large fireplace.
Three very competent Venezuelans are constantly cooking, preparing and serving the most delicious food and drinks. After the trek to Los Chilchos, this seems to be the polar opposite and it’s wonderful to have three days here as the end of our time in Peru is near.
Daniel & Ariana at work
After a sumptuous breakfast with home made bread, cheese, eggs and jam as well as fresh fruit salad and banana bread we said good bye to our new friend Ricky, as he had to sadly leave us this morning to go back to the US. The rest of us, except Sally who was a bit foot sore, set out for our first of two walks to explore the Gocta falls.
Gocta falls have only been discovered as a travel destination in 2002 when a German explorer named Stefan Ziemendorff heard of falls in the rain forest, that seem to be rather impressive but practically unknown except to locals. He then proceded to cartograph them formally and it turns out that those falls are one of the highest on earth. However, this was apparently based on outdated and incomplete information gleaned from the National Geographic Society, and Ziemendorff’s comments as to the waterfalls’ ranking have since been widely disputed. But who cares – the waterfall is impressive whatever the ranking says.
Gocta falls consist of three parts parts, a smaller but wider vertical fall on the top, a middle section with moderate incline and a second set of falls plunging some hundreds of meters down from a ledge. All in all the entire falls measure 771 meters in height.
Given that the two falls are so close together they are considered one waterfall. By any measure it is an impressive sight and you can only see them in their entirety from far away or via drone.
Today we started hiking to the bottom of the lower fall. A hike of approximately two hours one way, surprisingly up and down. From Gocta Natura Lodge it looked to be an easy stroll of three kilometers, but it turned out to be a five kilometer up and down hike, much more demanding than we thought.
Given that we are eating so well here, we all welcomed the challenge and work out! The weather was once more beautiful again and the sights of the falls when getting closer were spectacular.
Right at the base spray was everywhere. Only lying down or crouching could one take a picture of a person and the lower fall in one picture. They must have been 400 meters high alone. Chris tried to fly the drone, but for one he couldn’t get a lock on the GPS down in the Valley and some magnetic interferences prevented most flying.
Wet but happy we made our way back, another two hour hike until we arrived quite famished at the lodge.
Sally, who did not go on the trek had put her spare time to good use and cooked together with the resident cooks Daniel and Ariana a delicious and very filling late lunch meal for all of us.
Daniel and Ariana came from Venezuela and are now the heart and soul of the Gocta Natura Lodge, taking care of all our needs from the coffee in the early morning until the last glas of wine at night.
Fried yucca, filled tomato, potato salad, delicious pork and beef , too many delicacies to name.
We felt like kings and queens and no one wants to leave this place now. The sheer thought of another meal four hours later made everyone groan, but sure enough after a leisurely afternoon, some singing by Leslie, Chris and Harry, and evening chilling, everyone came back to the dinner table in time to taste fresh tomato soup and an amazing dessert of home made lime tartelet with a meringue top (more to come in the food blog section). It is heaven on earth and the sunset views and food to prove it!
Needless to say that we were all fat, happy and sleepy, so the evening was fairly short.
Since we are travelling in a big group we’ve decided to introduce guest bloggers (as we’ve introduced guest photographers). Today it’s Sally’s turn:
We were up early preparing to say good-bye to our wonderful friends in Leymebamba. The morning was bustling by 7 am because the Harvard Professor Gary Urton and his entire summer archeological field class also stayed the night at La Casona. Nellie, Julio, and Nirmé prepared breakfast for 35 as if it were five! Nothing fazes them and they are always loving and giving, no matter the chaos.
We had boxed and wrapped up our remaining school donations to bring to the Cocachimba schools and our pile of bags and boxes was impressive as we prepared to leave. The night before we said our good-byes to our guides; leaving Javier and Sinecio is always hard. Saying good-bye to Nellie and Julio and everyone at La Casona this morning was hard too. We left with lots of hugs and promises of seeing each other next year.
The drive to Kuelap took about 90 minutes. The Utcubamba valley is beautiful with a rushing river and high canyon walls. We saw evidence of landslides, always a risk in this area during the rainy season. Today however, weather was perfect; sunny with a blue sky.
Esther said she has been ordering it for us every day! On our way to the tram in the town of Tingo, our driver Walter suggested we stop and order lunch at one of the restaurants for after we come down from the Kuelap ruins. Good idea Walter!
The tram is about two years old. There is a beautiful ticket building with information about how it was built. Very organized. We waited for our time to be called and then boarded a bus for a five-minute ride to the actual tram itself. Each car holds eight passengers and it takes you straight up to the base of the Kuelap ruins.
It is incredibly steep but very fun and way better than how you used to get there which involved a three-hour drive on a winding, scary dirt road.
At the top of the tram are a few tourist booths and a little café where we got a quick snack (of course) before we walked the 2 km to the actual entrance of the ruins.
Everyone knows Machu Picchu – but Kuelap is so much more impressive. The walls are 20 meters high and at least a meter thick.
There are only three narrow entrances into the citadel.
They are doing lots of re-construction and preserving of the site.
When our group first went there twelve years ago, they were the only ones there and they could walk everywhere. Now you follow a wooden path throughout the ruins and there were so many people.
But it is still a magical place with trees covered with moss and bromeliads throughout the ruins of the round Chachapoya homes and the rectangular Inca homes.
Kuelap was built by a variety of peoples from around the region as part of a semi-circle of defense against the groups on the other side of the Utcubamba river. We don’t know much about the people because, unlike other groups throughout Peru, the Chachapoya and Inca did not decorate their pottery with faces or stories of their lives.
In addition, Kuelap has only been excavated on the very surface. While it was disappointing to have to stay on the path, it is good they are protecting the ruins for the future.
Chris got gorgeous drone footage that we are all excited to see (but since he forgot his phone in Walters car with the drone footage on it, we will have to wait for it until our return to Lima).
Kuelap seen from above
After a quick lunch, we drove another hour to Cocachimba where Rocio welcomed us into Gocta Natura Reserva, her paradise, with open arms. Each of our casitas look out over the jungle with a view of the Gocta Falls.
We arrived around 5 pm and gathered on the beautiful balcony of the main house for wine, drinks, and snacks. The sun was setting, the falls were gorgeous, wine, Gin Tonic and Vodka was flowing, and the group was very happy.
Rocio has built a beautiful eco-lodge, designed by her architect daughter, and the attention to detail is remarkable.
It is filled with fresh flowers and gorgeous architectural details.
After our rugged, challenging trip to Los Chilchos, we truly felt we had arrived to a little slice of heaven.
We crawled into our beds very happy.
Since we are travelling in a big group we’ve decided to introduce guest bloggers (as we’ve introduced guest photographers). Today Leslie is our guest writer.
After a full day of rest from our Los Chilchos hike, we wanted to visit some well known ruins close to the town of Leymebamba. We hired a car and drove up the Cajamarca road for 30 minutes or so and then up a narrow bumpy (the usual!) dirt road. We were hiking with Xavier of course, the most knowledgable self taught historian in town.
We start down a cow path and very shortly are walking in high altitude jungle, palm trees scattered to the right and to the left. Xavier starts to point out the circular stone bases of what was once a Chachapoya village called Cateneo.
These ruins most likely dated back to the 13th or 14th century although no one has done any research or excavation on this site.
I asked why and Xavier explained that the process of obtaining permits is lengthy, expensive and difficult. As a result, many ruins like this one remain in a state of mystery and slow decay. The stones fall, the jungle creeps over the walls and cattle graze in and amongst them.
From Canteneo we hiked to another site called La Congona. This site was higher up the mountain and contained what Xavier thought to be important ceremonial structures, with beautiful detailed stone friezes on the upper portion of the circular walls.
These were impressive indeed, the patterns mesmerizing, and I could not help but wonder how magnificent these circular stone structures would look complete with the thatch roof and stone stairways that lead to each entrance. We were informed that the area we were hiking in had many more ruins close by and that this may have been an important location in the region relative to organization and religion within the culture.
It is known that when the Inca Empire came along to conquer the Chachapoya, it actually took close to 100 years, so fierce were these people. Yet so much is still not known about their daily existence as resources to investigate are so limited. So for now their secrets remain buried under the jungle vines and trees.
Our day continued with another visit to the Leymebamba museum – but this time we were to be allowed in the mummy room!
But first we had to get there and ordered a mototaxi or in this case an original Bajaj car + a mototaxi. How do you fit four people plus driver in a Bajaj which is smaller then a smart?
Well, you do. Only that the Bajaj didn’t make it all the way to the museum due to some ‘gas problems’ and we had to call another taxi for us four.
But eventually everyone arrived safe and sound at the Leymebamba museum.
We were also surprised to see a group of Harvard students visiting there with Professor Gary Urton, one of the most knowledgable archeologists of the Inca and an avid researcher of the Khipu. The Khipu was the instrument by which many cultures, including the Chachapoya, kept records. It is a series of many strings tied onto one main string, and was used as a counting device. This gem of a museum has three of the most interesting Khipus ever recovered. They were found at the Lake of the Condors along with the 200 plus mummies that were rescued after being nearly destroyed by looters.
Getting up close with the mummys 
Similarities with Munch are accidental
And still this day was not done! We finished with a visit to our long time friend and guide Sinecio’s house. We were served tea and humitas, a local traditional corn based tamale with meat inside, steamed in banana leaves and served warm.
Finally back to La Casona, we ate (again) and packed for our bus trip to Kuelap the next day, but not before we were asked to give a short talk to all the Harvard students about our non profit work in the area. That’s what I call a busy day!
The warm shower last night felt wonderful to everyone and not even the roosters could dampen the nice feeling of having arrived back home at Nellie’s & Julio`s La Casona.
Those two siblings make everyone so welcome at La Casona, that it really feels like staying with friends in their house rather than in a hostelo. Any time we could go into their kitchen, use the fridge, get fresh fruit or ask any type of question we wanted.
Today our main goal was to deliver some of the educational items we still had left, to the local kindergarden in Leymebamba and also do some fun activities there.
The kindergarden of Leymebamba was one of the first ones Hatun Runa donated a new playground to some years ago. This was such a hit with the youngsters that based on the very same model, hundreds of other kindergardens were outfitted by the Peruvian government since.
After walking there a large group of 40 or so small children descended upon our small group of eight. Randomly each of us got their legs wrapped around by small pairs of arms and hugged fiercely. In a semblance of order they sang some songs and avidly watched what treasures we brought. Quickly the only way to get those items to safety from prying fingers was to airlift the two boxes out with long arms and get them to safety in one of the class rooms.
Siobhan and Kat had brought colorful strings from the US to Peru and wanted to make friendship bracelets with all the kids. When we saw how many kids there were, we were all converted quickly into helpers braiding, cutting and assisting kids getting their bracelets done. Each child wore their bracelet with pride once each one had one wrapped around their little wrist.
After some more singing and dancing together it was time for lunch and in Leymebamba that meant that all kids are being picked up by their parents and go home for lunch and a nap. Again, saying good bye was accompanied by many hugs, kisses, shiny eyes of the proud bracelet bearers and a huge cacophony of little voices.
Being alone in the street without the sound background felt weird, making one feeling partially relieved and partially deprived.
Hungry ourselves we bought little steamed quails eggs, a local delicacy from a street stall before sauntering home to La Casona. Not before making a bee line to the local convenience store for some dark local beer of course.
Back at Nellie`s the nice sun spurred everyone into action to wash their dirty laundry as best as possible and hang it up to dry in the sun. Hand washing it in a large tub with regular soap in cold water was the best we could do. Consequently while the sweat was washed out, a nice fresh smell would have been hard to some by. Well that’ll have to wait until back home.
Next on our fun day off was a visit to Xavier’s house, one of the two main guides who helped us to get to Los Chilchos safe and sound.
We were instantly captivated by his amazing place, the view, everything. Xavier just started to rent two the rooms in the upper level, so should you consider travelling to Leymebamba, Xavier’s place would be a great choice, last but not least because of the fanatstic soup we were served as his guests.
Meanwhile, Sioaban, Sally, Chris, and Jih-Ho engaged in a contest, who will have taken the most kid, puppy or cat pictures in the end. Which is why this is the most populated gallery ever in this blog (warning: Cuteness overload).
Eventually we had to leave for a great dinner at the Kentitambo Hummingbird Inn, where we have been before for lunch.
We enjoyed a marvelous evening end all laught our heads of, last but not least due to Ricky’s “dad jokes” as Sioaban and Cat called it.
When we left it was late and pitch black dark outside, which gave us the oportunity to see the stars of the southern hemisphere night sky above the museum of Leymebamba.
Today we sadly had to head back to Leymebamba from Los Chilchos. We all really enjoyed our time there and to see the difference in people’s lives a small initiative like Hatun Runa could make.
Many of the kids we saw will be going to the new school hopefully later this year or early next year. Los Chilchos is a growing village and the larger school will be needed urgently very soon. It will allow the village to offer a true and adequate 5th and 6th grade for their children.
After a last breakfast we set out early as the trek back will be just as long a day as coming here. The weather gods were with us again and we set out in brilliant sunshine at a brisk walk along the river.
We mounted the horses once the uphill slope started, and what an uphill it was! 8.000 feet (2.500 m) of altitude difference for us, our horses and the mule. Deep, rutted tracks of half baked clay steps were laying in front of us for the first part of the journey.
It was very exhausting for our animals and we took turns walking and riding. Uphill being on a horse definitively was faster than walking and we had to make sure to cover enough of a distance so we would not run into the dark at the end of the day.
Ever up we climbed until we were at our lunch spot, at the little casita called Laurel Lodge around noon time.
We had the best vegetable tortilla with fresh avocado we all had ever eaten! There was not event time to take a snap shot for our food blog entry, it was gone that fast!!!
Expecting and suiting up for wind and colder weather up on the pass we set out walking further up the mountain path.
The odds were very slim to ever see the highest pass not in clouds, but we were so lucky and the sun came out again and magically cleared the entire mountain region of rain clouds. The views were breathtaking.
Green, lush virgin forest as far as the eye could see in all directions. There were hardly any signs of civilization to be seen. A roof top here and there, a small path, a passing farmer on his mule, a discarded candy wrapper were the sparse signs of human presence in this remote part of Peru.
Having climbed up 8.000 feet, we needed to get down 6.000 feet (1.800 m) again back to where the car was hopefully waiting for us. It was a long, windy, slippery and wet downhill trail. Half of our group preferred to walk and downhill they were actually faster than the horses.
Half of us rode and it was a unique experience to feel the horse move and shift underneath you with incredible precision and balance. After all they not only needed to get their own weight down the mountain slope, they also had to balance our weights on top of that.
They clearly had done this many times before. In addition, this was heading home for most of them, so that gave them an extra burst of energy.
The last part of the trail as fairly flat and wide, and our horses clearly wanted to stretch out and run. Four of us had a fun race to the end, losing badly tied items on the way. Xavier one of our main guides luckily saw it and stopped and picked them up. Gracias!!!
Talking of our guides, they were fabulous! We had three of them always accompany the riding/ walking party and two were always with the pack horses. We had 11 horses for riding and five for the packs. The two senior guides, Xavier and Senessio as well as Saul walked and rode with us, taking turns, while Lennis and Einstein (his actual name was Albert, but he went by Einstein ;o) ) made sure the packs were properly loaded and unloaded and the pack horses kept up.
Those five clearly were a well oiled team and everyone was grateful for their attention to detail, patience and knowledge they provided during the entire trek. We could not have wished for a better crew!
Arrived at the car again, we had to say farewell to our beloved mounts and took one last group picture before splitting into two teams, one driving down and one riding down to take care of the animals.
After arriving in Leymebamba again, we were all craving hot showers and a good wash!
Needless to say that we all were ready for an early night!