Dead City Haifa

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I take the train to Haifa, which only takes about an hour and twenty minutes. It's Friday afternoon, and by the time I arrive in Haifa, the streets are pretty deserted, and no shops are open. There's only very few restaurants open, most of them Arab-owned.

I eat a falafel in Wadi Nisnas, a very old and picturesque Arab quarter. There's a maybe 18-20 year old guy hanging around, who speaks American English, but also Arabic, with the locals. I'm not really sure if he's Israeli or American and Jewish or Arab, but he looks like Adam Sandler's aborted conjoined twin fetus grown up with the worst acne I've ever seen on anybody and an overbite that would put every Dutch person to shame. He wears a shirt that says 'American National Guard - established 1645' on the front and 'It all starts with Attitude' and 'Defender of Freedom' on the back, which at least makes it easy to classify him as a major dumbass.

I make my way to my host Asher's place, which is a bit further up the hill in Masada. Asher studies Chemical Engineering at the Technical University of Haifa. At 29, he feels too old to still be a student, he says it's probably due to the fact that most of his friends have already finished their studies and started their 'life'. He definitely wants to go and do a big trip once he finishes his degree, hopefully at the end of this year.

Which brings us to the topic of Israeli travellers and the horrible reputation they enjoy especially in South America, Southeast Asia and India, and with travellers from other countries. He says that he agrees, and that some of them behave like idiots, that he would be embarrassed to see it, that it makes him ashamed to be Israeli. Most of them travel in big groups together, he thinks because they can get better discounts when there's more of them. So even when there's only a couple travelling, they might meet other Israelis in a hostel and travel together from then on.
I tell him not to worry, that there's at least one certain country in the Northern Hemisphere that vomits out people with the worst delusions of grandeur imaginable and a completely unfounded, hideous self-confidence, into the world, who are a lot more obnoxious and behave more brutish than Israeli travellers ever could.

We go out for a beer that night to a nearby café. They have Pilsner Urquell on tap, and we order a pint. At 23 shekels, it's the second most expensive beer I've ever ordered, after one I've had in Sweden. At least it's a pint, but I'm a bit disappointed they don't have any local beers there.

The following morning, I take a sherut taxi to Akko, an easy 45-minute ride up North. Over the centuries, many people passed through Akko, including Alexander the Great, Marco Polo, Richard the Lionheart and Napoleon. Greek mythology even tells us that Hercules took refuge there to heal his wounds.

I get dropped off in a street that fails to inspire my imagination, being quite dirty, polluted and lined by ugly, grey appartment blocks. Fortunately, the Old Town lies a mere 15 minutes by foot away, and it makes more than up for the bad first impression. There are all the small alleys, hidden corners with laundry hung up to dry overhead, and children playing football on picturesque little squares that you would expect from a century-old, walled-in town. In certain ways it reminds me of Trogir in Croatia, but it's much more dilapidated and dirty than that.

The souq is probably the most interesting part of the Old Town. It's cleaner and more orderly than a Moroccan souq, plus you don't have to watch your back constantly or worry about pickpockets. There are a few vendors selling sahlab, a drink made of warm milk mixed with corn starch and served with cinnamon and pistachios. It makes for a good beverage to warm up on cold, windy days like these.
There are also heaps of stalls selling flatbread, sweets, clothes, nargilehs, fish and cheap toys. Most of the people strolling around, browsing goods and haggling with the vendors are locals or Israeli tourists, I hardly see any foreign tourists around.

I settle for a nice little café where locals flock to smoke nargileh. I order mint tea and start reading my book, and after a while I feel so comfortable that I fall asleep on the cushioned couch. "No sleeping in here", says the waiter some time later, tapping on my shoulder to wake me up. I apologize and order another mint tea.

In the late afternoon, I exit the Old Town and hail a sherut for Haifa. Asher returns the same time as me from university, and we walk up the hill to Carmel, a posh neighbourhood from where you get the best views over the city. We go to an eatery for falafel, and when I order, the pimply kid with the overbite enters. He orders and waits around, staring at me from the corner of his eye until he finally says:

"Where you from, buddy?"
- "Germany."
"So what're you doing in Israel?"
- "Just travelling."
"You're likin' it?"
- "Yeah..."
"...but not as much as Germany..."
- "Um...no, I didn't say that."
"You been to the States?"
- "Yeah..."
"How'd you like it?"
- "It's alright, but I probably wouldn't want to live there."
"Why's that?"
- "Don't know. Not my type of culture."

Luckily, when my falafel is done, I have an excuse to slip away. Just what I thought, major dumbass. Asher thinks he's an Arab Israeli who pretends to be American. I'm still not sure. The falafel vendor says he didn't understand a word of what the guy said.

Asher and me have a beer in a cozy little café. This time, they have Goldstar on tap, one of the big Israeli beers. It's a very quaffable light lager. We discuss a bit of Israel's history and politics, but only on a very superficial level. I'm not up for any deep conversations that night.


***


The next morning, I make my way to the Baha'i Gardens to take the free tour. There are around 10-15 people who want to do the same, and when the tour guide tells us to follow him, it starts pissing down like no tomorrow. We walk towards the main part of the Gardens, but after a few minutes the guide gets a call and tells us the tour's cancelled due to excessive rain and wind.
I wait around under a roof until the rain abates and walk to the centre to have lunch. I settle for a place that's famous for it's sabich, a sandwich with vegetables, deep-fried aubergine and an egg that has been boiled for 15 hours. It's highly delicious, and the egg gives it a very intensive, smoky flavour.

In the afternoon, Asher walks me to the bus stop where I mean to catch the bus to Nasrat Illit. We say our farewells, and I'm off. A bit more than an hour later, I'm in Nasrat Illit, or Upper Nazareth, a predominantly Jewish town close to the mostly Arab town of Nazareth.

At my host's place, there's nobody, and I ask a guy in the hallway whether he knows Omer. He says yeah, of course, takes out his mobile phone and apparently calls Omer. "Omer says you can wait at his friend's place. I can take you there, let me just put the groceries into my flat." In any other country, I would have probably been rather suspicious by now, but I just go with the flow. The guy drives me to a house, where a heavy-set guy named Yotam welcomes me. He proceeds to prepare an Israeli salad consisting of cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, capsicum, red onion, garlic and avocado. He drizzles a bit of olive oil over it and mixes everything. We eat it with bread and cottage cheese, and I'm delighted yet slightly confused by the unexpected hospitality of a complete stranger.

Afterwards, he calls Omer and asks whether he's done with whatever he's been doing now. He is, so Yotam walks me around the corner to another house, in front of which stand about a dozen people. We walk into the middle of the group, he points at a guy and says: "This is Omer." I say 'Shalom' to Omer and 'Toda' to Yotam. My confusion persists until Omer explains that they all live together in an urban kibbutz. It consists of around forty people, including eight children, and most of them live together in a few houses. Omer only comes to that particular house to eat, but he lives in the nearby flat where I'd been looking for him in vain.

The house is quite spacious, but Omer says we have to go to the kitchen, as the other people want to hold a formal meeting in the communal area. He goes on to prepare more salad, and we eat it with bread and cottage cheese. He tells me they are a Socialist and Zionist kibbutz, and most of them work as educators for schoolchildren. They have strong ties to the Socialist Democrat party, and get a bit of funding from that side. Once a week they go grocery-shopping in a special supermarket where they get discount. I watch as they sit and discuss some issue, drinking beer and passing around corn chips. They all have that purposeful, serious look on their faces, and Omer tells me they are discussing a potential merger with a group from a nearby village, which could solve the housing issues they are currently facing.
I am very happy when we get up to walk over to Omer's flat, as I wouldn't feel comfortable living together with these highly politicized people in their Big Brother-like house, where every little flatulence you release is recorded and used against you in future forced self-criticism sessions. Not wanting to disturb them, I say a timid 'bye' as I exit, whereas they just look at me like an intruder they finally got rid of.

At Omer's place, we are greeted by Bella, a brain-damaged cat who immediately falls over, unable to control her leg muscles, poor thing. She manages to shuffle a few metres across the floor before she falls on her side again.
Omer shows me some interesting things his Polish grandmother left him, amongst other a German-language cookbook named 'Cooking in times of war'. We chat for a while about our families, then move on to more serious topics, as I feel he's the right one for those. I ask:

- "What do you think of the settlers?"

"Well, there are different types of settlers. There are those who go and build houses in the West bank out of convenience, because the government gives them a lot of money, so it's very cheap for them to build a house there. Then there are the others who just go there to keep the conflict going, and I really hate them. They are like a bone stuck in the throat of the Phalestinians. They go into the middle of the occupied territories, and it's like oil to fire. But politicians and industry have an interest in keeping the conflict going as well. Those settlers need to be evacuated..."

- "...just like in Gaza..."

"...yeah, just like in Gaza. They don't help develop anything, they're a big part of the problem."

- "And what about the Golan Heights?"

"The Golan Heights? Pheeeewwwwwwwwwwww....the Golan Heights...*nervous laugh*...well, I think that...I don't have an Atlas here...if you look at the map and see Syria is a very big country, and the Golan Heights is just a very, very small part of it..."

- "Aw, come on, that's not really an argument."

"Yeah, ok, but if you ask anybody in Israel, there's a lot of different opinions about settlers, for example, many people don't like them and don't want to buy the goods that they produce. But ask anybody, and they would say that they really like the Golan Heights. It's just a very special place, and Israelis really love it."

- "But it was part of Syria, and Israel occupied it."

"Yeah, but it was for a good reason. There were Syrian snipers everywhere up in the Golan Heights, and they were killing Israelis living in the Jordan valley. They couldn't do anything, they go to their field, and get shot. So Israel took it. I believe that maybe if the Peace Process will go further, and if there will be peace, then maybe, but for now...it's important for the security of Israel that we keep the Golan Heights."


When it comes to the topic of Palestinians and their life in the occupied territories and the refugee camps, Omer has the following to say:

"I think we should build universities and industry in Gaza and West Bank for the Phalestinians, and the European Union should only give them money for that as well. The question is, do they want mosques or universities? The Phalestinians are also very divided, there are those who want peace and be educated, and there are those who want an Islamist government and no peace with Israel. They want the whole of Israel back and make Palestine again. And I don't want that. I really like my country, I think it's a good country. You know, we're a democratic country, but in the media it's sometimes Israel is not a democratic. But we need to defend ourselves, just look around. Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, they're not democratic, they're all authoritarian or dictatorships, and we don't want that. We have to fight to keep Israel democratic, but we also have to help Phalestinians develop their territories, and maybe have a country there for them. There is no one-state solution. And the refugees won't come back. They've been refugees for 40 years, and why? Because it keeps the conflict going. The Lebanese hate them. But politicians won't help them, and they give them false hope that they will go back to their homes one day, but it won't happen. It's not an option."


***


In the morning, I pack my bags and take a local bus down to the centre of Nazareth. I leave my big backpack at a kiosk and arrange to fetch it later. My first stop is the Basilica of the Annunciation, the largest church in the Middle East. Apparently it stands on the site of Mary's home, where the Angel Gabriel appeared to her to announce that due to her having unprotected intercourse with her husband Joseph, she now officially has a bun in the oven (Luke Perry 1:26-38). It's an interesting place, but it doesn't feel any more or less special than any other church that claims to have a thorn from Jesus's crown or a pipette with his tears.

More interesting to me is, as per usual, the market. On that day, it is quite deserted, though, and the vendors are standing around, looking bored, and offering their goods rather listlessly. I find a small bakery where I eat an excellent pita pizza. For dessert, I go to a nearby eatery and order katayef, which are small pancakes stuffed with goat cheese or cinnamon walnuts and doused with geranium syrup. Usually they are only eaten during Ramadan, but in that place they are made every day. The pancakes are excellent, and I wash it all down with mint tea before I move on to a nearby bakery, where I buy knafeh, a sweet Arab pastry with fibrous crust and vanilla-flavoured soft filling.

I stroll around town for another couple of hours, checking out some more churches, mosques and synagogues and marvelling at the multitudes that visit the town in large tour groups. There's even one from an undefinable African country, possibly Kenya or Uganda. I'm quite amazed, having never seen an African tour group before, and in Israel of all places. They are all dressed quite poorly, and I wonder where they got the means to travel to a foreign country. I reckon if you persistently keep praising the Lawd, anything can happen.

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