Last update - 00:00 16/11/2007
6 stops in the Old City
By Ronit Vered
In the 19th century, reaching the City of Zion was the dream of travelers in the distant West. Getting there meant a long sea journey, an arduous trip by donkey, and many travails along the way. Fantasies about entering its gates increased as the journey went on: "We are almost touching the walls; here it is! we say to ourselves. We are entering the Jaffa Gate, and entirely against my will I pass gas while crossing the threshold; I'm very angry at the heretical reaction of my rectum..." (written by Gustave Flaubert - with the necessary omissions - and cited by David Mendelson in his book "Shadow and Sight in Jerusalem," published in Hebrew by Yedioth Ahronoth).
We also entered the city gates via Jaffa Gate. Our intestines did not get as excited as those of Flaubert, but we also nurtured dreams of our own, and in spite of the pleasant tour of the marketplace, sometimes we felt our trip was fated to be like Flaubert's impressive entry into the city of Shalem.
The foolish romantic dreams we tend to nurture in our hearts are to blame. Is it the merchants' fault that we still philosophize, like Flaubert and Lamartine in their time, about the wonders of the Oriental souk? Can we blame them for the disappointment of the tourists when they see the Internet cafes that have sprouted among the stacks of shiny damask fabrics and amid the piles of cauliflower, Egyptian potatoes and fresh olives?
We were even willing, with colonialist generosity, to hand out a large sum of money to those who, because of the situation in the Levant, are often left with empty streets and merchants unable to earn a living, and subsidize a plate of hummus or a salt shaker made in the best tradition of Armenian ceramics. But even we were surprised to see the cruel assault on our pocketbooks the moment our touristy faces appeared in the marketplace.
On a crusading journey to the gods of hummus in the Old City, on the real price of burekas and other hair-raising escapades.
Because no one makes this cheese-filled phyllo pastry exactly this way, it is named after the family of bakers who prepare it: Zalatimo. Local tradition has it that members of this family have been sitting beneath the ancient stone arches for 150 years, and there are famous relatives outside the walls and in Amman, who are also bakers of desserts and confections.
Zalatimo Senior was not a big fan of coexistence, or perhaps we should say a very small fan of the entire human race. During his time, the door of the pastry shop, which is slightly behind a row of other shops, was half closed, and anyone who wanted to refresh his body and soul with a fresh, hot Zalatimo was greeted by angry roars.
Zalatimo Junior is more friendly. He has also renovated the place, and every morning silent fans of Zalatimo wait around the tables, watching the son juggling sheets of dough. He removes small circles of dough from the refrigerator, pats them with skilled hands, kneads them with a rolling pin and then tosses them into the air and beats them energetically on the table, until he has a huge, thin sheet of dough, transparent as paper. In the center he places goat cheese, brushes it with samna, the clarified butter, folds the ends up neatly into a large rectangle and places them on a round tray that goes into the piping hot oven.
Onto this hot baked delicacy, with its crispy brown edges, you sprinkle powdered sugar, and then delight in a melange of flavors - the saltiness of the cheese and the sweetness of the sugar.
We, foolish tourists that we are, were attracted to the dark space we saw behind one of the arches at the site. "Archaeology," said the talented baker with a glowing face. "Ancient. Very ancient. But you need money to enter." Of course, we nodded, anxious to see the treasures inside: an entire arch from an earlier period, genuine flooring from the Middle Ages, and a lot of aging chairs from the period prior to the renovation of the bakery. And so it was that for a wonderfully tasty baked delicacy - but after all only a kind of unique burekas - three sweetish glasses of tea with spearmint, and an unclear entry fee to Zalatimo's private museum, we paid NIS 55. Tasty, but a bit expensive.
Zalatimo, Khan al-Zeitim (before the ascent to the Coptic and Ethiopian churches next to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre)
On the roof of the Ethiopian chapel adjacent to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Ethiopian monks live in small windowless alcoves that were chiseled from the huge rock and built with mud. Tiny doors lead to these cells, which are located on a huge and wild-looking square, full of domes. The contrast between the magnificence of the Franciscan and Armenian chapels in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the African-looking simplicity of the Ethiopian chapel can tell us something about the various faces of Christianity. Inside the chapel, decorated with pictures of the Queen of Sheba meeting King Solomon - whose descendants the Ethiopians believe themselves to be - serene Ethiopian monks are napping; they look like a group of aging jazz greats from New Orleans.
The Dir al-Sultan Monastery and the Ethiopian Chapel, near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
At the Austrian Hospice, they were preparing for the arrival of the bishop of the Austrian Church, who had landed in Israel for a visit: Statues of the Virgin Mary protected by Styrofoam were pulled out of huge boxes, and in the beautiful library, two young men devotedly polished the windows, to the sounds of trance music. In the cafeteria, beneath a crucifix, the barman with the elegant silvery mane of hair was building a small tower of whipped cream atop the cups of cappuccino. It's pretty here, in the Austrian outpost that rises above the Old City. The corridors of the monks' hospital that was turned into a hostel invite the filming of "The Austrian Patient," a script that has yet to be written.
The cafeteria displays the pictures of the Kaiser and his wife above the chandelier, and in the blossoming garden small tables are arranged for the enjoyment of those who will dine at sunset. It's not worth discussing the pseudo Wiener schnitzel, but the strudel, the Sacher-Torte or the kugelhopf served with coffee are worth a try. The prices suit the pockets of those who earn their salary in euros, as befits a genuine outpost on foreign soil.
The cafe of the Austrian Hospice, Via Dolorosa, 02-6265800
On the Via Dolorosa, a convoy of Slavic-looking women marches behind a large wooden cross. Wrapped in kerchiefs and praying devoutly, they are mourning Jesus' last journey. Meanwhile, we are rushing about on the Israeli via dolorosa known as "the search for the best hummus." This time we chose Abu Shukri. The man after whom the hummus shop is named, the father of the present owner, used to prepare hummus with a princely demeanor, wearing a turban on his head. Abu Shukri Junior does not have aristocratic mannerisms, but on the wall he has hung a picture of King Abdullah and Queen Rania of Jordan, enthusiastically eating hummus, just like commoners. This king likes to descend to the people, he tells us proudly, just like Harun al-Rashid, who would disguise himself and wander around his kingdom. Whether he also polished off a plate of hummus on the way, the texts do not say.
We also dreamed about hummus fit for a king. The falafel balls were just that - large, plump and coated with crispy sesame. But the vegetable salad was too cold, with wet tomatoes that had been sitting in the refrigerator, and sad pitas. As for the hummus, it was tasty, but maybe not sufficiently tasty for the palates of world leaders: not smooth enough and somewhat anemic. The masbaha saturated with tehina and whole chick peas is far superior. The price is grandiose: NIS 20 for a plate of hummus is quite magnificent, considering that even in Tel Aviv, the cost of such a plate ranges from NIS 15-NIS 18.
Abu Shukri, Hagai 63 (Via Dolorosa), 02-6271538
Rummaging through the photo shops of the Armenians, who were the first photographers in the country, seemed to us a more pleasant diversion than the search for hummus. Another picture hanging on Abu Shukri's wall - a group of Arab men eating hummus in 1935, at a time when hummus was still regarded with contempt by the Jewish pioneers - sent us to the shop of the Elia family, who have been photographers for three generations, to rummage through their thousands of photos. Here one can find photos taken by the family photographers over the years in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Nazareth and other places in the country.
Elia, Al Khanka, 02-6282074, www.eliaphoto.com
In Paris, the differences between the different districts make for hours of fascinating discoveries.
The sharp transitions between the different quarters - Muslim, Christian, Armenian and Jewish - remind us once again of the prevailing situation.
Visiting the colorful fabric market of Damascus is still a distant dream. Hamdi's fabric store is one of the best local alternatives, and it has a dizzying variety of handwoven fabrics.
Abu Kalif fabric store, 98 Street of the Christians, 02-5813511