Chutzpah in Jerusalem

I'm in Jerusalem after a mind-numbing five hours (or maybe six?) at the border. It probably would have been beareable had I slept more than two hours last night, and not had to navigate the city for the first time with a huge backpack and even bigger headache.

An Israeli border guard treated me to an in-depth interrogation (I prefer 'conversation') in which I basically smiled, told her my life story, jokes, sweet nothings, etc. Oh yea, and explained why the heck I was in a country called Syria.

Wash, rinse, and repeat to another guard. I felt so popular, but in the worst way imagineable.

To add insult to injury, the border on the Israeli side seemed designed to relieve me of the money I had. There was a total of one money changer (you can imagine he didn't give the most competitive rate), and a total of one service bus to Jerusalem, costing the princely sum of ten US dollars. Not to mention that the country itself is actually quite expensive.

One very interesting exception to an otherwise deadly dull ay was when a busload of Palestinians began pleading with myself and one other American in the bus to come to the West Bank and see how awful the conditions were there. They had fascinating perspectives on the Arab-Israeli conflict, and became emotional to the point of crying when describing the oppression they endured under the occupation. It was heartbreaking to feel the genuine powerlessness, even hopelessness that they felt against the political might of the far right-wing Israeli settlers.

Anyway, I'm currently with Natanel, my gracious couchsurf host who works at the city's most prestigious hotel, the King David Hotel. After I catch up on some much-needed beauty sleep, we'e going out tonight to celebrate my survival of what is by far the worst border crossing I have ever experienced.

Oh, and according to my passport I entered Jordan and then dropped off the face of the earth. I will probably reappear in Sharjah, UAE in two weeks. Cool.