Weekly Post:

April 27, 2010

Sinai Visa Trip:

I just got back to Ramallah from my travels. I spent 2 weeks in Sinai, the original plan was to spend a few days in Nuweiba at the Bedouin camp I always stay at, Sababa, and then go to mainland Egypt to see Luxor and Aswan. That didn’t work out as planned because of the visa bureaucracy involved with entering Sinai from Israel through the Taba border. Egypt gives out 2 types of visas, one just for Sinai and one for mainland Egypt. If you come into Sinai from Taba, they automatically give you the Sinai-only visa—I think because they are trying to keep the Israeli tourists in a small area so they can better keep track of them (for their safety….).

So even though I’m not Israeli, I still came from Israel so they gave me the Sinai only visa. My friends Chris and Julian and I tried to get the Egypt visa from the Egyptian consulate in Eilat but since it was Friday the consulate was closed for the next 2 days. We didn’t want to wait in Eilat for 2 days so we decided that there must be another way to get the Egyptian visa from Sinai and we crossed the border. At the Egyptian side, we asked about the Egyptian visa and a man told us we could get it only if we paid 50 dollars to get a letter from a travel agency taking “responsibility” for us. We didn’t want to pay that bribe so we decided to try and find it in Sharm El Sheikh at the ferry to Hurghada (mainland Egypt).

Sababa and the Egyptian Visa Fiasco:

We went to Sababa camp in Nuweiba for a few days and relaxed on the Red Sea beaches, snorkeling and laying out in the sun. After a few days we took the first of 2 trips down to Sharm to try to get the visa to Egypt. Long story short—it’s impossible to get the visa on the ferry. You have to have the visa even to buy the ticket for the ferry. In order to get the visa, you have to do three things: First, pay 15 dollars to buy the Egyptian visa sticker, then pay 50 dollars bribe to get the letter from the travel agency, then go to the Sharm airport, go out of immigration like you are taking a flight, and then turn around and come back in and get the official stamp on the visa sticker.

On the first trip, we didn’t know about that whole process, so we just went straight to the ferry and tried to get on without the visa—hoping we could get the visa when we arrived in Egypt (like any normal visa process…) but they wouldn’t let us. So we drove all the way back to Nuweiba (2 ½ hour drive north) and decided to try again the next day—following the instructions we got from the officials at the ferry.

We drove back down to Sharm the next day—went to Thomas Cook travel agency to get the 15 dollar visa sticker. We asked them if they would write the letter for us so we could get the visa stamped at the airport. They told us we didn’t need it, the sticker was all we needed and that we should go to the airport to get the stamp.

So we drove to the airport (all the while the taxi meter is running….ughh) and went to Terminal 1. We went out immigration and tried to get the stamp. The guy told us we needed the letter, after arguing for a bit about what Thomas Cook told us, we asked where we could get the letter in the airport. He said there was a travel agency in the same terminal. So we went to information, and after being passed from person to person (taking about 45 minutes…) they said we had to go to Terminal 2.

We ran over to Terminal 2 and asked around about travel agencies. After the same, “Go ask this guy” process of being passed from person to person so they wouldn’t have to help us, someone finally told us there was no travel agency in Terminal 2 but there was one in Terminal 3. AHHHHH!

So off we went to Terminal 3 (meter is still running in the taxi…) and saw what looked like a Russian refugee camp. The entire terminal was packed solid with Russian tourists camped out sitting on the ground surrounded by luggage. We had to fight our way through them to find the information desk. When we finally made it to the desk, the man said there was no travel agency in Terminal 3 that could write the letter, but he knew a guy in Terminal 1 that could write it for us.

Back to Terminal 1, and we waited by the information desk for this guy to find us for about 20 minutes. Finally, a guy in a shiny suit, gelled hair, with a used-car salesmen vibe found us. He told us he could write the letter for us for 100 dollars each—all the while with a smirk on his face letting us know he knew exactly what he was doing and that he was our only chance for getting this visa so he could bribe us for as much as he wanted.

I decided to screw the Egyptian visa and the whole Luxor-Aswan trip because I was not about to pay 100 dollars to THIS guy—especially since I had spent most of my budget for the trip on the two trips down to Sharm trying to figure out how to get the stupid visa. So we returned to the taxi and asked him to drive us up to Dahab.


Dahab is a city on the Red Sea about mid-way between Sharm and Nuweiba. It’s more developed than Nuweiba but not as touristy as Sharm (which is mostly just huge glitzy resorts and nothing else…) so it’s a nice place to spend a week or so.

After my friend and I got to Dahab, another friend of ours from Ramallah, Lazar, arrived and we spent the next week in Dahab snorkeling and hanging out with the locals Lazar and I had met in previous trips to Sinai. Dahab was really busy because of the ash-cloud from the Iceland volcano—most of the tourists were British and the rest were European so their flights were all cancelled for a week. So we met a lot of people, relaxed on the beaches, and saw some really cool coral and fish.

Israeli Border:

Lazar was planning to stay in Sinai for a few weeks, but I had to get back up to Palestine for my work so Chris and I went back up to Nuweiba for one night before crossing the border back into Israel. The next day we went through the border. Chris got a three month visa after a thorough security check where the border guards opened all of his luggage and x-rayed everything individually. I didn’t even get that security check but at the passport control I was unlucky and got a soldier who wasn’t very accommodating.

She saw my previous Israeli visas (almost a year’s worth already) and asked what I was doing “in Israel” all this time. I played the tourist card and when she asked more questions about why I wanted to be in Israel so long without being Jewish I told her I had a Jewish boyfriend. This kind of convinced her but she ended up only giving me a one-month visa (usually signaling the end of the ability to get more visas in the future) and telling me if I needed a little longer to wait for my “flight home” I could go to the Ministry of Interior in Tel Aviv and apply for an extension. The Ministry of Interior is probably one of the scariest places in Israel, but I will have to go there in a couple of weeks and hope they take pity on me—my family is finally coming to visit me and see the region in June, so I need to be here for at least a month after my visa runs out.

Anyways, I took my passport and one month visa and took the bus ride from hell back up from Eilat. We met an American guy at the exit of the border—he asked us if we wanted to share a cab to the bus station. We got to talking and it turns out he had just come out of 3 hours of Israeli interrogation in the border (thank God—if it wasn’t him it might have been one of us….). He made the terrible mistake of mentioning “Ramallah” to the border guard. For the record, you cannot mention anything related to Palestine, Islam, or Arabic anything when you are talking to the border guards if you want to get in the country without problems. Since he mentioned Ramallah—which I’m not even sure he knew was in Palestine, he got 3 hours of interrogation before they realized he wasn’t a threat to Israel and gave him a visa.

When we got to the bus station we realized that we had missed the last bus to Jerusalem because of the surprise one hour difference between Taba and Eilat, so we had to get the bus to Tel Aviv instead. That means adding an extra 2 hours at the least onto an already excruciating journey. So we got that bus, after 5 hours arrived in Tel Aviv and looked for a sherut (minibus) to Jerusalem outside. To our surprise, the sherut driver was Arab Israeli and agreed to take us all the way to the Qalandia checkpoint instead of just central Jerusalem.

West Bank:

At Qalandia, the driver didn’t know exactly where to park so before we could stop him he drove all the way into the car lane for entering the West Bank before he stopped. He was very worried with all the soldiers carrying M-16s around. We got out quickly to grab our bags and let him get out of the wrong part of the checkpoint. As we were opening the back, the soldiers started yelling at us in Hebrew to get out of there. We told them just wait one minute and he will leave. Then the soldiers in the watch towers started screaming at the driver to go, so he started driving off in a panic with the back door open and half of our bags in his trunk. Ha.

We managed to get him to stop for 10 more seconds before he sped away from the madness and we got all of our bags. Jason, the American guy we met at the border, had agreed to come straight to Ramallah with us instead of spending a night or two in Jerusalem first. So he got a pretty crazy first impression of the occupation. We dragged and pulled at our bags to get them through the THREE turnstiles we have to walk through in Qalandia checkpoint to get into the West Bank, and caught a cab home on the “other side.”

We agreed to meet the next morning in the center to go to the protest against the wall in Bil’in—Jason would have a very interesting time in the West Bank. Haha.

Bil’in Conference and Protest:

The next morning we got to Al Manara (the central square in Ramallah) and took a service (minibus) to Bil’in. This week was the annual Bil’in conference—they had three days of workshops and tours for internationals and Israelis coming to visit Bil’in to learn about their nonviolent struggle. So there were a lot more people than usual, including important politicians and the representative from the EU for Palestine.

We marched to the wall, and for a little bit the soldiers didn’t shoot at us. Then, they pulled up the skunk water truck and most of the crowd disappeared in a few seconds. They never shot it though, so some of the braver protestors began making their way back up to the front.

After that, the soldiers started shooting a new kind of teargas canister—it is high velocity and SILENT. You can’t hear when its shot—which is what most people use to determine whether they need to run or duck or whatever. So by the time you see it its either passing right by you or hitting you. It was the craziest thing—and the soldiers were shooting them straight at head level instead of up into the air in the legal way to disperse nonviolent crowds.

I was going nowhere near the front because those crazy silent teargas canisters were appearing out of nowhere in all directions. A friend of mine that I work with, Rafke, was in the front though. A few seconds later I heard a lot of yelling for an ambulance, and the ambulance sped up to the front. I couldn’t see what was going on through the crowd surrounding whoever had been hit. Then I started seeing the blood….on people’s hands, clothes, and all over the ambulance door as it sped away towards the hospital (which is 30 minutes away, and not the hospital you want to be taken to in critical condition).

I heard what happened—a man from Jaffa (near Tel Aviv) had been hit in the forehead with one of the silent, high velocity teargas canisters. It broke open his skull—which explained the blood everywhere and the speed with which the ambulance drove away. Then I saw Rafke, looking pretty shocked, with some other of our friends walking quickly down the hill away from the front.

Turns out she was standing right next to the guy who was shot—shoulder to shoulder almost. She said she didn’t hear or see the canister; the guy was standing next to her one second then the next he had a metal teargas canister sticking out of his forehead, with blood spilling everywhere.

She said the guy was conscious when he was put in the ambulance, and actually he stood up and kind of walked into the ambulance. When a person is injured that traumatically, they don’t feel the pain at first—because they are in shock I guess. Not as traumatic for sure, but when I was shot in the leg with a high velocity teargas canister I didn’t feel any pain for an hour. But after that I couldn’t even stand up—and I still have a bruise in the shape of the canister on my leg almost a year later.

During this whole time, the sadistic Israeli soldiers were still shooting these canisters at the crowd—while the guy was being taken into the ambulance, and while the rest of us were trying to get out of range after we saw this guy who everyone thought was going to die before he reached the hospital. I was really scared because I was standing next to a short stone wall and these silent teargas canisters would just appear next to me out of nowhere. I couldn’t avoid them because I couldn’t see or hear them, and they were being shot from 2 directions—the fence at the front of the protest, and the fence that runs alongside the protest. So I grabbed my friend Barbara who was standing upright and we crouched down in these thorn bushes behind the wall to avoid being the next one shot in the head.

Then gas canisters were flying everywhere, and everyone panicked and tried to run away back to the village. But the road that leads back to the village is parallel to the side-fence (with soldiers shooting at us from behind it) so the whole time we were running back the teargas canisters were being shot at us from all directions—at head level.  As we ran along the road in panicked groups, teargas canisters were flying through the olive trees in the field beside the fence.

I took cover behind the trunk of an olive tree with a couple other people—piled on top of each other so that we were all covered by the small tree, and canisters were appearing from nowhere and flying past us. So we took off again down the road, through clouds of teargas, choking and running. I finally made it to the safe spot where a lot of the protestors were gathering to watch what was happening. Then the soldiers shot the long range teargas canisters at us and we had to move further back.

We were all really shaken up, still being teargassed every now and then, and waiting for news of the man who was shot in the head. Most people were saying that he was going to be dead before he got to the hospital. Finally we heard that he made it to the hospital and was in critical condition, but stable, and he was going to live—even if that meant a yearlong coma and brain damage like the American protestor Tristan Anderson who was shot in the head with the same kind of teargas canister in Ni’lin (another village that does weekly protests against the wall).

As we were recovering, the soldiers climbed over the fence and started charging at us and shooting teargas. Usually when they do this, they run at us for like 50 meters just to scare us further back, and then they turn around. This time, they didn’t stop so we all had to sprint away up the hill—lungs full of teargas and choking. In the end they arrested 4 people that they caught.

I decided enough is enough, and we went back to my friend Jaber’s house in the village to decompress on his roof in the sun—away from soldiers and teargas. His mom had made an amazing lunch for us—musakhan (bread covered in oil, onions, and spices) and chicken. We ate until we couldn’t eat another bite and then laid out in the sun for a while before going back to Ramallah.

Settlers in Hebron:

The next day, we found out, there was going to be a new spot for weekly protests—Hebron. They would be protesting against the illegal Israeli settlement right in the middle of their old city. One of the most violent places for interaction between Israeli settlers and Palestinians is in the middle of Hebron. The settlers have taken over the central marketplace by getting all of the upper apartments over the Arab stores below. From their apartments, the settlers throw stones, glass, sewage water, boiling water, etc…down on to the Arab market below. For this reason, the Palestinians have had to put chain link fencing over the alleyways to catch projectiles thrown at them and tourists by the settlers.

The Israeli military protects the settlers by putting checkpoints all over the old city marketplace and putting bases and lookouts on the roofs—so there is a very heavy military presence in the center of this Palestinian city. I heard from one soldier that being assigned to Hebron to protect the settlers is almost a punishment in the Israeli army—because they know how crazy and uncontrollable the settlers are. If a settler gets the urge, they can beat up any Palestinian they come across, or grab the veil off of an old Palestinian woman, and have a soldier grudgingly protect them from any repercussion.

The settlers in Hebron walk around with M-16’s slung casually over their shoulders, and when the settlers need to go anywhere, the military closes the roads they will walk on to Palestinians, and escorts them with soldiers and M-16’s—causing lots of chaos for no reason.

The Palestinians in the old city decided that it was time to start weekly, nonviolent protests there as well since the other villages like Bil’in and Ni’lin were getting so much press and the Palestinian Authority had started recommending mass nonviolent protests around the West Bank.

So we all decided to go support them in their first protest—knowing that it would probably be crazy because of the reputation of Hebron’s settlers. We got to the marketplace and couldn’t see any groups gathering, and no one seemed to know about any protests. So we walked further down the market place and found the protest. It was mostly Palestinians and Israeli activists (which is how it should be…) along with press.

Hebron Protest:

The protest was right in front of the gate that blocks Shuhada Street—a street the military closed to Palestinians because the settlers wanted it. The closures and checkpoints in the marketplace have had a devastating effect on the economy in Hebron—by forcing Arab shop owners to close their shops and scaring tourists away with violence and guns. If a settler wants an Arab shop to close, they will threaten them by marking their store up with racist graffiti and warning them not to open again (does that sound familiar? World War II and the Holocaust….?). It’s sick.

We stood there in front of the gate—which had a watch tower to the side of it, 3 soldiers standing outside the tower with guns, and one inside taking pictures and video of the protestors to make it easier to arrest them later…on the left side of the gate is a huge Yeshiva (Jewish religious school) and the settlers were standing on the roof watching us with smirks on their faces. There were military posts on all the roofs surrounding us—full of heavily armed soldiers and other soldiers taking pictures of our faces.

We chanted slogans for about an hour, attracting more Palestinian protestors from the old city, before marching down through the old city to a closed street. In a narrow alleyway, the protestors came face to face with a group of settlers and soldiers. They stood facing each other and chanting for the end of settlement in the old city for a while before about a dozen heavily armed Israeli soldiers ran at them from behind.

Everybody scattered to avoid being arrested. Then the situation calmed down a little bit and we walked back to the gate where the protest started, side by side with the soldiers who had just charged at us to disperse us. There were more of us than them, although they had M-16s and other weapons, we were surrounding them as we walked back to through the alleyways, and they kept looking over their shoulders and seemed very uncomfortable—as if we would do anything!

We got back to the gate and heard that one Israeli activist had been arrested, and he was being interrogated and “processed” behind the gate. Then we heard that a group of settlers was moving through the old city with a military escort and would be going in through the gate. So we tried to do a sit-in style protest to block the gate, but the soldiers started pushing all the protestors back before they could even sit down. Then some protestors (mostly Israeli) started pushing and shoving the soldiers.

I was watching from a distance because if an Israeli activist gets arrested, they get a slap on the wrist and are released within an hour, whereas if an international gets arrested, they get deported and banned from Israel (and therefore Palestine) forever. (Of course, the worst is still if you are Palestinian and arrested, in which case you get a severe beating and are thrown in jail for months without even being charged with anything—at the end of which they have to pay a huge fine to be released).

I saw an Israeli activist and an Israeli soldier fighting each other—then the soldier got behind him and wrapped his arm around the activist’s neck and was choking him down to the ground violently. After that, the other protestors went to stop the soldier and started a huge brawl where dozens of protestors were pushing and shoving with the soldiers. After that, the Israeli soldiers dragged off a few more people (2 Israeli and 1 Palestinian from the Hebron Popular Committee—who organized the protest) behind the gate to be arrested.

After this, the soldiers locked arms to make a wall to block the protestors from getting too close to the group of settlers that were coming through the old city to go through the gate. A few dozen teenage settlers walked casually behind the wall of soldiers with their military escort, smirking at us arrogantly. Then they went through the gate and disappeared into the Yeshiva. The soldiers went in behind them and closed the gate. We saw that the soldiers on the rooftops were preparing to shoot teargas to finish off the protest so the organizers decided that we should leave so the Palestinians who lived in the area would not get teargassed because of us.

Road Trip–Golan Heights:

After the weekend of protests, some friends of mine invited me on a trip to the north in Israel to see the Golan Heights, Galilee and the North West coastline (Haifa, Akko, and Caesarea). I decided to join them on the first night only which was camping in the Golan.

The Golan Heights was Syrian until it was occupied by the Israeli military in the 1967 war. Since then it has been an extremely contentious issue between the Syrian and Israeli governments and is used as a bargaining chip by Israel to blackmail Syria into establishing better relations with Israel. The territory is scattered with mine fields leftover from the beginning of the occupation—most of the mine fields are marked by barbed wire fences and skull and bones signs, but every now and then lost tourists and locals stumble into them accidently.

We were going to stay in official campsites only for this reason, ha. The north of Israel has a lot of national parks but according to the guidebook we had only a couple had sites for overnight camping. We chose one called Hurshat National Park, which is almost to the Lebanese border (called the “Good Fence” by Israel, hahaha). It was supposed to have the Dan River running through it so we thought it would be nice.

Armageddon (Megiddo) City:

On the way there, we drove through Megiddo (also called Armageddon…) which is an ancient city, and national park now, which is mentioned in many End Times prophesies in the Abrahamic religions. It is supposed to be the place where the final battle of Armageddon starts. So since we were driving through it, we decided to stop and see the ancient ruins of the city. After we passed the MacDonald’s (ahahahaha) we found the signs pointing to the museum and ruins.

The ancient city of Megiddo had been destroyed 25 times in its history because of its strategic location on the main travelling road between Egypt and Mesopotamia. It was established (as far as we know) in 7,000 BC and destroyed for the last time in 586 BC. It has as many archaeological layers that have been uncovered that tell its history. We parked outside the museum and ate some hummus and bread while looking out over the wide plains that stretch for miles where the End Times battle is supposed to take place. It looked very peaceful to us…

We paid the 25 shekel admission and watched a short film about the history of the site, browsed the museum, and walked around the ruins. Because the city was destroyed so many times, there were huge walls surrounding it to keep the people safe. But their water source was outside of the walls. To reach the water source without leaving the safety of the walls, they dug a long tunnel that began in the city and led to the underground spring outside the city.

They have excavated the tunnel and we walked through it. It’s really amazing, you walk down these stone steps deep underground, and then there is a very well made, uniform in height and width, tunnel that leads to a spring that still has water in it.


After Megiddo, we headed on north to Nazareth. Nazareth (like the rest of the “Arab Triangle”—the area to the north of the West Bank in Israel that has a high Arab population) is a very Arab town, but mostly Christian Arabs, not Muslim. Over the hill from the center and Old City is the Jewish Israeli part of town.

Because it was Sunday, the Christian holiday, the Old City was completely closed along with most of the restaurants and shops in town. Luckily, the Church of the Annunciation (where Mary received the message that she would be the mother of Jesus) was open for tourists and we were at least able to take a look around inside before we headed north.

The church is very big and the architecture is modern—and very gray except for the bright stained glass windows. There are three levels to the church, the bottom is the ancient church that archaeologists have uncovered, the 2nd is a silent chapel, and the 3rd story is a Catholic church. Outside the church is the most interesting part for me—there is artwork sent from many different countries portraying Mary holding the baby Jesus. It’s interesting because each is done in the cultural style of the country that donated it…and they are all either mosaics or made with ceramic tiles.

Sea of Galilee:

About half an hour from Nazareth is the Sea of Galilee/Lake Tiberius and the Israeli city Tiberius. The sea is where Jesus is said to have walked on water—and archaeologists have recently discovered a boat dating from Jesus’ time almost fully preserved in the sea that you can see in a museum there. We stopped there and sat by the sea for a while, ate some gelato, and then continued on to the Golan Heights.

Hurshat National Park:

We got to the park around sunset, and the camping ground turned out to be a very unnatural park looking place with part of the Dan River diverted through the middle of it. It was nice, but definitely not an authentic camping experience.

We set up our site and made a fire and cooked hotdogs and roasted marshmallows. Most of the people in the park were Arab Israelis and Druze—Arabic music was blasting from every site and the smell of kebab was everywhere.

We walked around the campsite and came to a group of young men smoking arghile, listening to Arabic music, and dancing dabke. We joined them for a little bit and started talking to them in our broken Arabic about how we came from Ramallah—where we worked. They didn’t believe us, and started laughing. Then they said something about Israeli soldiers in the campground. We looked around, and then they were like “No. WE are Israeli soldiers.”

We looked at them confused, and asked if they were joking as Amr Diab sang “Habibi, Habibi…” in the background. Then they said they were Druze, not Arab. There are some small Druze communities in northern Israel, especially in the Golan Heights since Syria has a pretty large Druze community. The Druze, unlike the Arab Israelis, are allowed by the Israeli government to serve in the Israeli army—since they don’t identify with the Palestinian cause and are not Muslims.

We talked for a little bit about our work in Palestine, and joked about them being the soldiers who shot at us in the protests in Bil’in and Hebron. Then the guys realized we weren’t joking about being from Palestine and they started getting uncomfortable. Soon after, they shook our hands as we sat there and said “BYE! BYE!” with the intimidating look of Israeli soldiers we all knew so well.

We took the hint and left their site and returned to our own corner.

Golan Heights:

The next morning we left camp early and drove around the Golan Heights. We stopped by a beautiful lake called Lake Ram, which was next to a Druze village. It was so beautiful that we sat there for about an hour and ate lunch at a little covered seating area we came across. Soon after, some Druze men came over in traditional clothing (black billowy pants and white square shaped hats) and said welcome and told us about the fish that they catch in the lake, and the cherry and apple trees they grow on the terraces on the hills that surround the lake. It was very idyllic and the people were so friendly and welcoming.

We continued on to Nimrod’s Castle—which is a large stone fort on top of a mountain that is said to have been built by Nimrod (a character from the book of Genesis) but was actually built by the Crusaders in the 12th century.

As we drove on, we passed more mine fields that were marked by barbed wire fences.

We were trying to find the Quneitra viewpoint where you can see Syria and the disengagement zone (a few kilometers wide) that separates the occupied Golan Heights from Syria. We found a nice spot to see it and there were some Druze men selling Za’atar, honey, olives, and other things. There are some spots in the Golan Heights where Druze can call across the disengagement zone to their families on the Syrian side who have been separated since the occupation—and not allowed to physically meet each other unless they decide to give up the right to ever come back to Golan.

Druze Villages:

There are two famous Druze villages in the Golan Heights which have held onto their Syrian identity and are fiercely anti-Israel. They are called Mas’ada and Majd As-Shams. We drove through Mas’ada and continued on to Majd As-Shams which is the larger and more authentic of the two. You could see women in the traditional white, semi-transparent veil and long black dress and the men with their square shaped white hats.

We stopped to get coffee at a restaurant and when we went up to pay the man wouldn’t take any money from us. He was so friendly and welcoming, along with all the other people we came across in the town. I definitely recommend visiting these Druze villages—they are very different than the confused Druze who serve in the Israeli army. ha


One comment

  1. If there was any question about you writing a Pulitzer-prize winning book, there is none now. You have enough experiences and adventures for 100 people–and you are not even 25 yet. For the love of God, please start an outline NOW!

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