This post is generally directed towards those family members of mine who are interested in the more mundane aspects of my existence... or the slightly absurd in the mundane...like buying stamps in Jerusalem...
After the indulgences of a cigarette and bourbon fueled night in a bar in Ramallah, I decided that I needed some contemplative alone-time. Waking up late (another thing I needed) I made it to Jerusalem around noon to find what, since the start of the Lebanon Invasion is now a daily occurrence: A makeshift checkpoint of armoured horses and a couple of dozen soldiers and policemen halfway down the single block between the Arab bus station and the Damascus Gate that leads into the Arab section of the Old City. I manage to push my way through, while holding my Canadian passport high - this time they don't look at my visa. I've set myself a number of things to do today and the first priority is to get to a post office so I can mail some postcards and buy some stamps. The checkpoint that they've set up (50 feet from the last one!) outside of Damascus Gate prompts me to skirt the length of the Old City walls (instead of cutting through it) as I make my way towards Jaffa Road, the main street in Jewish West Jerusalem. I know that the Central Post Office is there and I can take care of these things - hopefully - its Friday afternoon and business hours are erratic as Shabbat approaches. The Post Office is housed in a huge building. I'd describe it as old, but Victorian-aged buildings in Jerusalem are positively modern. When I go through the main doors I'm immediately confronted with what is actually a small room. I pass through the metal detectors and I'm immediately in front of a small booth with two young security guards who instruct me to buy my stamps from the vending machine to my right and to mail my postcards from a box outside. With that mission accomplished (awkwardly) I return to the Old City through the Jaffa Gate that leads to the Jewish and Armenian Quarters - the policeman didn't even look up as I passed.
There were two other tasks that I had set for myself in Jerusalem: one was finding a book store where I could get my hands on a Colloquial Palestinian Arabic Dictionary (it was closed). The other thing I wanted to do on this trip was to go to the courtyard restaurant at the American Colony Hotel.
(You can read about the storied history of the hotel and take a look at some of the pictures at their website www.americancolony.com)
I walked up the half dozen blocks up Salahdin Street in the heart of Arab East Jerusalem and entered into the Hotel Compound through the driveway. The Courtyard itself was quaint, with a dozen of so tables spread around the gardens. The waiter, a middle aged Arab man seated me near the door and in perusing the lunch menu I was disappointed that there wasn't much of the lunch options that I could eat. Mostly sandwiches, I turned to the more substantial offerings. I decided that it may be the only time in the American Colony and that I should splurge so I ordered the lamb from the "Oriental dishes" section and a cup of coffee. The coffee itself was actually a tea pot of filtered coffee and after two months of Nescafe it was easily the best coffee I've had in a long long time.
The lamb was two thick chops with green beans and saffron rice with sundried tomatoes. It may have been my Arabic greetings, pleases and thank-yous to the waiters or what appeared to me the snobbish elitism of the other patrons (including a journalist that I recognized) that earned me a banana split on the house. All together the meal cost about $20 - a lot in comparison to the average meal here - but a steal in North America.
Ok... I warned you that this would be a boring post... serves you right for not heeding my warning. The detailed description of my meal was especially for my fiancee.
The rest of my afternoon, however, was less than mundane...
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Picture
The Courtyard of the American Colony Hotel
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