Hey everyone...We're home (and it's been about 39 hours now), and we're still very tired, a little lagged, and we're fighting a little bit of physical illness. On the positive side, we're taking care of unpacking, getting the house up and running again, the car battery switched out (mine went to the great battery heaven in the sky while we were gone), and the best part...seeing the kiddos again. We're both so desperate to spend time with them at this point that it's hard to see them even leave the car to go to school. It's a kind of wish to re-absorb them, their sweetness and personalities, as much as possible. Our sleeping schedule is still weird, but many people have said that it's easier to come back this way than go the other way (making jet-lag worse leaving the U.S.) I hope they're right.
Mark wants to put up some more pictures, and that should happen before week's end. Please check back with us. We also have many post-trip thoughts and reflections, so we will be writing them during the next week.
Love you all,
V
Monday, August 13, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Clutching hope and a future in your hand and your heart
We awoke early today, as we were to go to see how native crafts are done...colorful designs in embroidery done with the hands of the women in the families here...They learn the designs from their mothers and grandmothers, and since most families are extended within in the households here, little girls learn sometimes at their great-grandmother's knee. The designs are sometimes ancient, but they also sometimes carry modern themes of an independent state, the poverty and sadness over families being physically ripped apart by the wall, and often the dream of peace, with doves, olive trees, and the word 'Peace' stitched into the intricate designs.
The people here are so giving, and when we asked to purchase some of the artwork, they were more than willing to also give gifts...I feel so humbled when they do that...they give anything they can...everything they have...and in all the cases, they have so little that it makes you cry that they want you to have it. We insisted on paying whatever they asked, as we want to help them feed their children. You may say to yourself, "That sounds a little dramatic." I assure you, it is not. The families here live day-to-day, finding food wherever and whenever they can. There is no such thing as 'enough' here. Your children, my children, they go to bed each night with full tummies and no worry in the night.
The children I've met, I've seen...their innocence, which is the responsibility of all adults, even you and I, is deeply endangered. They sleep, but it's not the sleep our children sleep each night. These children awaken to little food and no healthcare, working from the very earliest ages for food...five, six years old...imagine your small child walking the streets for food, working 12 hours in a day for $7.00 U.S or less...It's real, and I've seen it. You see the massive poverty that the people here live with, and they work with embroidery and olive wood to try to live...Yes, there is poverty in America, but there are resources to help the children who are its victims.
Yes, I worry about money; We worry about making sure our children are safe and their tummies are full...and that they have clothes to wear and school...The people here desperately rely on the religious organizations and churches (Salesians, Franciscans, Orthodoxes, and many more) to educate their children, and God is the constant presence in their lives. The trust and love they feel for each other and their community...I have seen them all loved and treated well by their fellow neighbors in Bethlehem and the surrounding villages. It's not a show put on for the tourists. I've been to their homes and seen how they live, and I've seen openess and a sense of being responsible for each other that is really rather rare in other places. I've cried more in the past month than the past year, as I am still thinking about all the reasons I was brought here...what I am to learn and what I am to share with those whom I influence.
I carry all of these people with me now, and although my heart is heavier, it is richer and now connected to the hope of those I've seen, those whose reality I have been witness to here. You cannot express an accurate or truly valued opinion about any part of the world until you've been there, lived as they live, and opened yourself to something larger than yourself and how you live your daily life. I am more grateful (I never took anything for granted, but now I am profoundly grateful.) for all that I have in opportunities and our lives, but I also feel such a sense of responsibility to those who need our help so much...and it's responsibility out of love and respect, not pity.
We also visited the workshop of one of the olive-wood carvers here in Bethlehem. The workshop is just next to his home, and everywhere you go they will offer hot tea with mint, turkish coffee, and food, even if they can't spare it. The homes of the artists today were no exception. When the gentleman showed us the process for carving the wood, where he keeps the wood before carving (in a cave beneath his house), and then talked with us about how difficult it is to feed his wife and five children, I wanted to do something to help he and his family so much. They need help, and they need it quickly.
One little boy, his youngest, followed me around while we were there. He was fascinated by my camera, and he would shyly smile at me whenever I looked at him. His little world is that house and workshop. His brothers all work in the machine shop and his sisters and mother put together the little nativity grottos in the house. They were working on an order from the Fransiscan monastary here, which comes once in a year or two (whenever the church can afford to purchase anything...limited funds even for them). I asked her how many she might make in a day and her answer was 200...everyone in the house was working on some aspect of the family business...the family hope...all except the smallest child. He was about four.
Most families here seem to live on only three or four dollars a day. This little boy still had that wonderful, charming look that we see in young childrens' eyes...the one that has not been touched by the internet or television, fear and violence. There are many children here who have lost that look of innocence, and instead they have a look of sadness and uncertainty. All I could give to this man's child today was a few minutes of looking at the pictures of his father's world that lay revealed on my camera screen and then, a tiny piece of cherry candy...such a tiny thing to give, but instead of popping it directly into his mouth, as I expect most children would do, he clutched it tightly in his tiny hand...with an olive that he had pulled from one of the trees as we were leaving his home. I couldn't imagine a more apt metaphor for the future of this little boy's country...the strength of the olive tree and looking forward to something good in the future.
V
The people here are so giving, and when we asked to purchase some of the artwork, they were more than willing to also give gifts...I feel so humbled when they do that...they give anything they can...everything they have...and in all the cases, they have so little that it makes you cry that they want you to have it. We insisted on paying whatever they asked, as we want to help them feed their children. You may say to yourself, "That sounds a little dramatic." I assure you, it is not. The families here live day-to-day, finding food wherever and whenever they can. There is no such thing as 'enough' here. Your children, my children, they go to bed each night with full tummies and no worry in the night.
The children I've met, I've seen...their innocence, which is the responsibility of all adults, even you and I, is deeply endangered. They sleep, but it's not the sleep our children sleep each night. These children awaken to little food and no healthcare, working from the very earliest ages for food...five, six years old...imagine your small child walking the streets for food, working 12 hours in a day for $7.00 U.S or less...It's real, and I've seen it. You see the massive poverty that the people here live with, and they work with embroidery and olive wood to try to live...Yes, there is poverty in America, but there are resources to help the children who are its victims.
Yes, I worry about money; We worry about making sure our children are safe and their tummies are full...and that they have clothes to wear and school...The people here desperately rely on the religious organizations and churches (Salesians, Franciscans, Orthodoxes, and many more) to educate their children, and God is the constant presence in their lives. The trust and love they feel for each other and their community...I have seen them all loved and treated well by their fellow neighbors in Bethlehem and the surrounding villages. It's not a show put on for the tourists. I've been to their homes and seen how they live, and I've seen openess and a sense of being responsible for each other that is really rather rare in other places. I've cried more in the past month than the past year, as I am still thinking about all the reasons I was brought here...what I am to learn and what I am to share with those whom I influence.
I carry all of these people with me now, and although my heart is heavier, it is richer and now connected to the hope of those I've seen, those whose reality I have been witness to here. You cannot express an accurate or truly valued opinion about any part of the world until you've been there, lived as they live, and opened yourself to something larger than yourself and how you live your daily life. I am more grateful (I never took anything for granted, but now I am profoundly grateful.) for all that I have in opportunities and our lives, but I also feel such a sense of responsibility to those who need our help so much...and it's responsibility out of love and respect, not pity.
We also visited the workshop of one of the olive-wood carvers here in Bethlehem. The workshop is just next to his home, and everywhere you go they will offer hot tea with mint, turkish coffee, and food, even if they can't spare it. The homes of the artists today were no exception. When the gentleman showed us the process for carving the wood, where he keeps the wood before carving (in a cave beneath his house), and then talked with us about how difficult it is to feed his wife and five children, I wanted to do something to help he and his family so much. They need help, and they need it quickly.
One little boy, his youngest, followed me around while we were there. He was fascinated by my camera, and he would shyly smile at me whenever I looked at him. His little world is that house and workshop. His brothers all work in the machine shop and his sisters and mother put together the little nativity grottos in the house. They were working on an order from the Fransiscan monastary here, which comes once in a year or two (whenever the church can afford to purchase anything...limited funds even for them). I asked her how many she might make in a day and her answer was 200...everyone in the house was working on some aspect of the family business...the family hope...all except the smallest child. He was about four.
Most families here seem to live on only three or four dollars a day. This little boy still had that wonderful, charming look that we see in young childrens' eyes...the one that has not been touched by the internet or television, fear and violence. There are many children here who have lost that look of innocence, and instead they have a look of sadness and uncertainty. All I could give to this man's child today was a few minutes of looking at the pictures of his father's world that lay revealed on my camera screen and then, a tiny piece of cherry candy...such a tiny thing to give, but instead of popping it directly into his mouth, as I expect most children would do, he clutched it tightly in his tiny hand...with an olive that he had pulled from one of the trees as we were leaving his home. I couldn't imagine a more apt metaphor for the future of this little boy's country...the strength of the olive tree and looking forward to something good in the future.
V
Thursday, August 9, 2007
It's less than two days now until we head for home!
Hi Everyone! Mark is in the midst of teaching the Photoshop students at B.U. right now, and tomorrow is the last class here. We will begin packing tonight, and I have to do a load of wash before that happens. We don't have a dryer, so we hang everything. Once that's all dry tonight, I will pack that as well. We will wake early to go to watch olive-wood carvings and native embroidery being produced by local artisans. We will film them and photograph their work and post it here soon. Once class is over tomorrow at 6:30, we will head back to the house, finish packing, eat dinner, and then say goodbye to the family that has been so good to us here. We will take a taxi from here to the airport at 1:00 am our time (about 4 or 5 pm your time); it takes an hour to get to the airport from Jerusalem, and we will watch the sun go down during that drive. Once at the airport, we've been told that there is a rigorous security check, right down to touching the inside of all of my cosmetics and testing the mascara and lipstick...bleh...people touching that stuff...yuck...Once all the violation is over, we will board our plane around 5:30 am and then take off at 6:00 am for Prague. We'd stay in Prague a couple of days, except that I have to go to work this week (Yup, I'm the wet blanket on this travel party...sorry everybody!) From Prague we will head to Atlanta, and then to Austin from there. We should walk on Austin soil at around 8:00 pm on Saturday night. None too soon, really. We miss home.
We love all of you and we cannot WAIT to see you!
V : )
We love all of you and we cannot WAIT to see you!
V : )
Sunday, August 5, 2007
What? Mark writes again?
Station 9 
We went to Jerusalem yesterday for a nice day trip. Its always a lot easier when you've been there before and know the lay of the land. Last time we took a special taxi to the check point (20 shekels - +/- $5) and a bus at the checkpoint for 7 shekies to the Damascus gate then another 25 NIS to the hotel. To get back, we paid 150 NIS ( new Israeli shekel) for a special taxi all the way from the gate, through the checkpoint, to our door for a total of 200 shekies ($50)
Yesterday we took a service taxi (shared, like in Korea) to the checkpoint where we watched a couple of guys being hassled and shoved with a rifle back out a door after already having passed though two security stations. They later got on the bus with us, so I guess it got worked out. The service taxi (pronounced "serrveese" with a rolled r) was just 3 shekies apiece and then the same 3 1/2 apiece to the old city where we got off at the western Jaffa gate instead of the northern Damascus gate. Leaving earlier in the evening, and having paid attention to the bus number and route, we caught the #124 bus back to the checkpoint, but without a service taxi around on the dead-end street willing to go to Beit Sahour, we haggled (knowing how much it should be) with a special taxi to get to our door for 15 NIS. Total 35 NIS instead of 200. Made for an overall happier Mark.
The bus back to the checkpoint was pulled over by the Israeli Armed forces - they had two different uniforms and we weren't sure of the difference because their patches were in Hebrew. I had slightly annoyed the bus driver earlier because when he said yes to Victoria about going to Bethlehem, he was full and only had one seat and then I got on behind her - so we were sitting crammed up front. When we stopped for the machine-gun toting soldiers, V and I got off the bus so the commandos could board . I think it was pretty clear that we were gringos as we greeted them intentionally with a rather dorkie "hello". Since we were standing outside I couldn't see clearly, but they appeared to ask randomly or "suspicious" persons for documentation, going to the back of the bus and then again to the front, grunting at us to get back on the bus when they disembarked. I felt like the Jerusalem riders were rather used to the process because they didn't seem to get as nervous or respond with relief as the people had when we were stopped in Ramallah.
The day in Jerusalem was quite nice and I was more pleased because Victoria was very happy. Entering the Jaffa gate near David's Tower, we made a beeline (I can now find my way through the maze of narrow streets) through the countless shops of the market toward the Dome of the Rock since we had been unable to get into the actual shrine last time. Unfortunately, they had already closed the grounds of Harem esh-Sharif (Temple Mount to the Jews) for non-muslims and when we got home it was suggested that since it was Saturday and the Shabbat, they were closed as a security precaution against "crazy visitors" who might try something, as an Aussie did in the 60's..
Though I question whether it was that or for whatever reason, I do find it interesting that the Israeli's provide armed guards at all entry points to the dome, seemingly to support the notion. We found that out on our first trip when we were curtly redirected to the single gate where non-muslims can enter. Signs posted at the entry say that some chief rabbi has determined that the site is just too holy and has therefore forbidden any Jews from entering the Mount. I think he probably just said that in order to prevent further conflict, but what do I know? Confusing, eh?
Israelites must feel the same way about "crazy visitors" since in order to get to the Western "Wailing Wall", everyone goes through metal detectors and security checks. I also noticed that several jewish tour groups in the city had plain clothed young men who apparently felt the need to be carrying an automatic weapon. While the ones I saw weren't carrying it "at the ready", I certainly felt uncomfortable when the muzzle of the firearm crossed my path.
We were disappointed by not seeing the inside of the Dome where the Well of Souls resides beneath the rock where Abraham was going to sacrifice his kid, and which also bears an archangel's hand print (We think it was Gabriel, but maybe Michael) from when he prevented the rock from following Mohammed and his mystical steed as the
y rose to view Paradise. Actually, though you can not photograph it, the inside of the Dome is supposedly even more beautifully ornate than the outside. Both of us were dressed appropriately so as not to be rejected again and Victoria even had a proper muslim head cover Aria (Mom) had provided.
As we had a plan for the day, we left the Wall now called Western (but it will always be Wailing to me) - and seemingly ironic, the location of the foreigner's gate to the Dome- and headed out the southern most gate of the city - the Dung Gate. Yes, Dung. Supposedly an aptly named gate since, being on the lowest part of the city and its dividing valley, this is where all of the crap draining from the ancient city collected.
We made our way outside the wall east to the Vale of Jehoshaphat (I like that name better
than whatever the other one is) where we could see archaeological remains of the City of David and a view of Mount Zion. Climbing north as we made our way to the Mount of Olives, we passed a large, barren, and rather decrepit looking cemetery where tombs upon white-washed tombs are jumbled together in an ancient necropolis. From here we could see the Golden Gate on the eastern wall where Jesus entered the city on a donkey and where, according to legend, the Messiah will re-enter the city upon the day of the Rapture. It has been walled up by an old Muslim ruler to prevent the prophecy from coming true and thus ending his reign. 
We quietly sat and caught our breath after the hot climb among the olive trees in the tranquil and shaded Garden of Gethsemane. This is where Christ plead for a reprieve and Judas did as he was required for Jesus to fulfill his earthly mission. I've always felt that Judas got a bad rap, and the recently discovered Gospel of Judas I read before coming here supports the notion of Judas as a devout follower and trusted friend of Jesus who had a special place because of the distasteful task he had to preform. It was the other disciples who cowardly fled and denied that they even knew Jesus who besmirched Judas' name in their own defense.
The church at the Garden of Gethsemane
is really quite new having been built in the very early 1900's, replacing an older church which has some remains still visible on the other side opposite the garden. However, having been to literally hundreds of churches in all corners of the world, I found this one to be easily one of the most beautiful on the inside. Really quite simple actually, with purple and red stained glass on all sides, I've rarely responded to sacred architecture as I did here.
Following Jesus' path after his arrest, we entered the Lion's Gate (or St. Stephen's Gate to some) and came to the first station of the cross on the Via Delorosa, the path that Jesus followed after PP washed his hands and sent El Christo Grande to Calvary.
There are 14 stations. The first, where Pilate condemned him is actually behind the wall of an Islamic boys school or something, but we went into the second - a church now stands where he was beaten and given the cross to bear to his place of crucifixion. The various other events of that trek like where he fell( station 3), met his mom, had his faced wiped, was helped by Simon and such, are marked along the way. Some are a little difficult to find, like the ninth, but we found them all, culminating at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre were the last 5 are located - nailed, strung up, lowered, washed, and interred at the place for which the church is named. We documented the path in photos.
We then headed for our favorite restaurant from our last visit where we tried something new. Victoria had a stuffed fried chicken thing and I had the grilled lamb and once again we were both happy with our choices, but I still think the fish I had the first time was the best. The beer was equally refreshing and delicious as it was the first time I was there - in fact, I had two. Macabbees was good enough, but the Palestinian Taybeh pilsner is very good. The Taybeh Dark however, which I've tried previously, is something to be avoided. Not worth even trying, really - just trust me on that.
We tootled around among the shops, bought a couple of things here and there, and decided we were ready to head back to Bethlehem and Beit Sahour. I've described the return trip above and we got home about 6:30. We were tired and ended up napping for a couple of hours, woke for a bit, and then we slept very well behind the wall.
Yesterday we took a service taxi (shared, like in Korea) to the checkpoint where we watched a couple of guys being hassled and shoved with a rifle back out a door after already having passed though two security stations. They later got on the bus with us, so I guess it got worked out. The service taxi (pronounced "serrveese" with a rolled r) was just 3 shekies apiece and then the same 3 1/2 apiece to the old city where we got off at the western Jaffa gate instead of the northern Damascus gate. Leaving earlier in the evening, and having paid attention to the bus number and route, we caught the #124 bus back to the checkpoint, but without a service taxi around on the dead-end street willing to go to Beit Sahour, we haggled (knowing how much it should be) with a special taxi to get to our door for 15 NIS. Total 35 NIS instead of 200. Made for an overall happier Mark.
The bus back to the checkpoint was pulled over by the Israeli Armed forces - they had two different uniforms and we weren't sure of the difference because their patches were in Hebrew. I had slightly annoyed the bus driver earlier because when he said yes to Victoria about going to Bethlehem, he was full and only had one seat and then I got on behind her - so we were sitting crammed up front. When we stopped for the machine-gun toting soldiers, V and I got off the bus so the commandos could board . I think it was pretty clear that we were gringos as we greeted them intentionally with a rather dorkie "hello". Since we were standing outside I couldn't see clearly, but they appeared to ask randomly or "suspicious" persons for documentation, going to the back of the bus and then again to the front, grunting at us to get back on the bus when they disembarked. I felt like the Jerusalem riders were rather used to the process because they didn't seem to get as nervous or respond with relief as the people had when we were stopped in Ramallah.The day in Jerusalem was quite nice and I was more pleased because Victoria was very happy. Entering the Jaffa gate near David's Tower, we made a beeline (I can now find my way through the maze of narrow streets) through the countless shops of the market toward the Dome of the Rock since we had been unable to get into the actual shrine last time. Unfortunately, they had already closed the grounds of Harem esh-Sharif (Temple Mount to the Jews) for non-muslims and when we got home it was suggested that since it was Saturday and the Shabbat, they were closed as a security precaution against "crazy visitors" who might try something, as an Aussie did in the 60's..
Though I question whether it was that or for whatever reason, I do find it interesting that the Israeli's provide armed guards at all entry points to the dome, seemingly to support the notion. We found that out on our first trip when we were curtly redirected to the single gate where non-muslims can enter. Signs posted at the entry say that some chief rabbi has determined that the site is just too holy and has therefore forbidden any Jews from entering the Mount. I think he probably just said that in order to prevent further conflict, but what do I know? Confusing, eh?Israelites must feel the same way about "crazy visitors" since in order to get to the Western "Wailing Wall", everyone goes through metal detectors and security checks. I also noticed that several jewish tour groups in the city had plain clothed young men who apparently felt the need to be carrying an automatic weapon. While the ones I saw weren't carrying it "at the ready", I certainly felt uncomfortable when the muzzle of the firearm crossed my path.
We were disappointed by not seeing the inside of the Dome where the Well of Souls resides beneath the rock where Abraham was going to sacrifice his kid, and which also bears an archangel's hand print (We think it was Gabriel, but maybe Michael) from when he prevented the rock from following Mohammed and his mystical steed as the
y rose to view Paradise. Actually, though you can not photograph it, the inside of the Dome is supposedly even more beautifully ornate than the outside. Both of us were dressed appropriately so as not to be rejected again and Victoria even had a proper muslim head cover Aria (Mom) had provided.As we had a plan for the day, we left the Wall now called Western (but it will always be Wailing to me) - and seemingly ironic, the location of the foreigner's gate to the Dome- and headed out the southern most gate of the city - the Dung Gate. Yes, Dung. Supposedly an aptly named gate since, being on the lowest part of the city and its dividing valley, this is where all of the crap draining from the ancient city collected.
We made our way outside the wall east to the Vale of Jehoshaphat (I like that name better
than whatever the other one is) where we could see archaeological remains of the City of David and a view of Mount Zion. Climbing north as we made our way to the Mount of Olives, we passed a large, barren, and rather decrepit looking cemetery where tombs upon white-washed tombs are jumbled together in an ancient necropolis. From here we could see the Golden Gate on the eastern wall where Jesus entered the city on a donkey and where, according to legend, the Messiah will re-enter the city upon the day of the Rapture. It has been walled up by an old Muslim ruler to prevent the prophecy from coming true and thus ending his reign. 
We quietly sat and caught our breath after the hot climb among the olive trees in the tranquil and shaded Garden of Gethsemane. This is where Christ plead for a reprieve and Judas did as he was required for Jesus to fulfill his earthly mission. I've always felt that Judas got a bad rap, and the recently discovered Gospel of Judas I read before coming here supports the notion of Judas as a devout follower and trusted friend of Jesus who had a special place because of the distasteful task he had to preform. It was the other disciples who cowardly fled and denied that they even knew Jesus who besmirched Judas' name in their own defense.
The church at the Garden of Gethsemane
is really quite new having been built in the very early 1900's, replacing an older church which has some remains still visible on the other side opposite the garden. However, having been to literally hundreds of churches in all corners of the world, I found this one to be easily one of the most beautiful on the inside. Really quite simple actually, with purple and red stained glass on all sides, I've rarely responded to sacred architecture as I did here.Following Jesus' path after his arrest, we entered the Lion's Gate (or St. Stephen's Gate to some) and came to the first station of the cross on the Via Delorosa, the path that Jesus followed after PP washed his hands and sent El Christo Grande to Calvary.
There are 14 stations. The first, where Pilate condemned him is actually behind the wall of an Islamic boys school or something, but we went into the second - a church now stands where he was beaten and given the cross to bear to his place of crucifixion. The various other events of that trek like where he fell( station 3), met his mom, had his faced wiped, was helped by Simon and such, are marked along the way. Some are a little difficult to find, like the ninth, but we found them all, culminating at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre were the last 5 are located - nailed, strung up, lowered, washed, and interred at the place for which the church is named. We documented the path in photos.We then headed for our favorite restaurant from our last visit where we tried something new. Victoria had a stuffed fried chicken thing and I had the grilled lamb and once again we were both happy with our choices, but I still think the fish I had the first time was the best. The beer was equally refreshing and delicious as it was the first time I was there - in fact, I had two. Macabbees was good enough, but the Palestinian Taybeh pilsner is very good. The Taybeh Dark however, which I've tried previously, is something to be avoided. Not worth even trying, really - just trust me on that.
We tootled around among the shops, bought a couple of things here and there, and decided we were ready to head back to Bethlehem and Beit Sahour. I've described the return trip above and we got home about 6:30. We were tired and ended up napping for a couple of hours, woke for a bit, and then we slept very well behind the wall.Thursday, August 2, 2007
Some of the foods we've had while we've been here...
There is a great link to an arabic food site that explains some of the dishes we've had...just for interest's sake, I've provided the link here. We've had about 40 things off of this list!
http://www.arab.net/cuisine/
Have fun reading about all the yummy food!
V : )
http://www.arab.net/cuisine/
Have fun reading about all the yummy food!
V : )
Some of my favorites from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre...V
The alter and cross at Calvary
The Sepulchre
The surrounding architecture of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Side chapels and passageway in the church
Alter at one of the interior chapelsPhotos from Jerusalem...more V likes...Mark posted some more, too...keep scrolling...
A beautiful zattar (dipping spices) sculpture in the marketplace. This spice is used with bread and oil for dipping prior to and during a meal. School children eat it every day in their lunches, and families commonly use it for breakfast. Notice the tiny Dome of the Rock model on top of the spice mountain. I couldn't resist taking a picture of this man's artistry!
This picture of Mark is on the steps just near the door to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I also tried to photograph the Greek Orthodox priest behind him without drawing any attention. At this point, we were drenched with sweat and it was over 90 degrees at 9:30 in the morning.
This is the entrance into the Church of the Sepulchre. It was just to the left of this that I took the picture of Mark. The Israeli soldiers had parked themselves just inside the front door, on a bench. I felt their presence in that holy place was distracting and unnecessary, but I tried to ignore them and not get them in any of the photos I was taking inside of the church complex.
This is just to the right of the Church of the Sepulchre. It is part of the church complex.
This is one of the domes inside of the church, near the Holy Sepulchre. The lines of the architecture were stunning and the possible compositions endless...You had to shoot above everyone's heads, though, as there were several hundred people in the church by 10:00 am. (and I've got to tell you, I love the mixture of lines in this photo, even if I did get a guy's head in it that I will have to remove later.)
V : )
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
