: :coming down the mountain: :

special report #2 - aGent rey, Y(J)erusalem.

and so i left. my mother (and father would he be here) will laugh. the
absolute wrong direction. i was seduced by the downhill (ref. uphill
slog on the way there) and didn't really think. i knew it was toward
tel aviv - just not toward the train station. so i get to the
precipice - a perennial favourite of mine - and seek guidance. nope,
wrong way, diametrically. on advice from boxer.com, who tells me
hitching is commonplace, i look up, i look down, i look silly, i take
off. down down down. thought i was going to wear a hole in the shoes
(courtesy agent x) with the vertical drop. massive speed, huge busses,
narrow margins. i'm on fire - haven't done this since the barcelona
decline. anyway, as they say, what goes down, must... hitch a bloody
ride back up. so moshe, an interior designer from jerusalem, gets the
gig of a lifetime. he spent a year in sydney, his wife curiously sat
in the back covered in luggage, and we chatted furiously. only problem
was - given that i had ambushed moshe at the bottom of the hill where
he had paused to reload - that he was only going to get me halfway.
that was 24 kms short of tel aviv, plus another few to jaffa.
its mid-morning, i have water, no sweat. first ride came easy enough -
second cant be famous last words again, could it? fame. i skate and i
skate, the sweat, the tears, the singing, the cursing, the insane
laughter, the freeway, the speed of the trucks and their proximity!
oh, the humanity! 'TEL AVIV!' painted on the bottom of the (former
art show) deck achieved little. actually nothing. i see a roadside
stop with police everywhere - i cunningly climb down the embankment
and sneak UNDER THEIR VERY NOSES and get back on freeway flying. the
trucks actually became my friends - the rush of wind as they fly past
gives me a little, unexpected kick. thanks fellas. an hour later, i
would LOVE to be picked up by the police. i am doing nothing wrong,
and my situation is unavoidable. i am now delirious. cue, police
siren. oops. i am resigned to whatever fate awaits when i open the
door and whoa - my ZZ Top Moment. the solo female officer
is...absolutely smokin'! i actually laughed. voluptuous, fully made
up, flicking hair and smiling flirtatiously as she tells me off. i
tell her she's pretty. it must be hard to be an attractive officer,
and i didn't help. she takes me about a mile down the road and
diverts off to a backstreet - i only later realise adding several
kilometers to the already herculean task. back on
deck. some hours later, as i finally enter tel aviv from the N/E, i
pass by the ubiquitous sports stadium where not a week previously i
saw what must be an endangered species - a phil collins. filed in the
'where is he now file' since ... well, for me since he was flown by
concorde so he could play BOTH live aid concerts way back in '85.
though he married a jewish girl, apparently he was outed as a former
neo-nazi anti-semite skinhead. and i thought he was just prematurely
bald! anyway, the press achieved a positive outcome when phil
acquiesced to leave hampstead heath (playing cards over tea with boy
george and george michael) and play tel aviv. the locals hadn't seen
anything like it - and for those of us roaming around the stadium all
night (i was a clockwise person. 'others' were anti-clockwise. shiver)
we never actually did see him - but heavens above...The Hits! back to
back, wall to wall, start to finish set full of Hits. i was seriously
ecstatic when the drum solo from 'in the air tonight' boomed out. does
anyone know the actaul story of that song - the guy (protagonist)
invited to a massive concert, front row, singled out by phil...blah
blah - if so do tell me. anyway, for the next week in tel aviv and
jerusalem, if i heard one phil song i heard a hundred - cafes,
hostels, cars, churches, monasteries...really struck a chord did phil.
and why not? unlikely looking pop star, to be sure, but he can hold a
tune, and the sentiments expressed...well, i will never lose billy's
number again. anyway, with that, i knew i had arrived, and the old
jaffa hostel - with the permanent residents going quietly insane -
welcomed me back with customary warmth and hospitality. they changed
the code at the front door.

rey, over...

: :theCalling: :

aGent rey - special report from mountain top.

Act I - the chorus of fighting cats and chickens up way early (or
waaay late) made way for Act II - howling dogs and ravens (who don't
sleep). polite applause provided by volleys of small arms fire close
to the east. i lay and fed the local mosquitos; they paid me with
their soft humming, lulling me back from sleep all night. this, my
first night in jeruslem.
a jesuit priest in london had suggested i pay a visit to cardinal
martini at his residence at the biblicum. with a flimsy pretext and
the requisite pilgrim attire (emphasis on the grim), i duly landed on
the doorstep, somewhat humbled by his reputation as The Man Who Would
Be Pope... if the german hadn't snagged it first. ah, politics. though
he be in rome, the Entourage kindly invited me back for lunch, so i
could gorge myself on the fish (excellent) and stuff myself with piety
(less digestible).
my plan to skateboard from tel aviv to jerusalem thankfully was
thwarted by a train. a train i caught. my desire for A Journey was
provided unexpectedly....the station is about 1000 vertical metres
below the old city. or so it felt, lugging a useless piece of
equipment uphill for nearly two (2) hours. of course, the arrival is
breathtaking (and this from a recently confirmed non-smoker)...the
atmosphere unlike any i have experienced. there is good reason why
three (3) significant religions lay claim to this, actually rather
small, city as their foundation. if i was a religion, i would too.
at a restaurant in the jewish quarter (the best food) i was bailed up
by the impressive rabbi avraham goldstein. must be the pilgrim attire
again. he said i had a jewish heart - i replied i had been told that
before - maybe a past life? which would mean a catholic lad discovers
his jewish roots through buddhism. very jerusalem. he invites me to
his yeshiva to have a talk. the next morning, outside the southern
wall of the city, i am doing my exercises (physical that is) and
noticed how appallingly neglected an archaeologically excavated (and
fenced) section of ground was. the yeshiva was not 100 metres away, at
the top of Mt Sion, in a holy shrine which housed both the tomb of
King David and the very room where the last supper took place. I had
my Calling. forget carrying crosses and tending lepers - i was on yard
duty.
for the next two days, in blazing sunshine, i removed a total of 22
garbage bags of detritus, and about 30 cardboard boxes of camel
excrement from a hillside not bigger than half a soccer pitch (the
international unit of measurement). i am sunburnt and dehydrated, but
deeply satisfied. el rey has his realm on mt zion! though rabbi
mordechai goldstein - dean of the yeshiva and avraham's father (and
even more impressive) - had me slated for repainting marble memorials
(the Art thing), i had my Calling and he respected that. the humblest
of humble for me.
shabat shalom! on my way to my second (2nd) friday night shabat
dinner, i quite literally walked a mile in their shoes. it was
required by rabbi that i wear a yanucha (sp), which i felt was
necessary to wear on my way there too, for sincerity. so, from my
lodgings in the arab quarter, off i go, shabat shalom! all the way,
the happiest catholic/buddist/jewish boy in all jerusalem. dinner
was... theatrical - an all-singing, table banging, torah-analysing,
story-telling affair. though i knew not the hebrew, the tunes were
catchy, and the rabbi deigned to sermonise in english - i like to
think for my benefit. i am invited back tomorrow. the dead sea can
wait another day.

more news as it comes to hand,

aGent rey, c/o the Promised Land