Day 425: Monserrate

Monserrate is a mountain on the edge of Bogota that holds a church and beautiful panorama views of the city below. We unknowingly went on a Sunday (our sense of what day it is has been long gone) and despite the little bit of rain we still had to navigate our way around the many pilgrims that had made the climb, or rode the tramway or funicular (like we did) to the top. By the time we made it into the church, a mass was well underway. We checked out the chapel in the back, made our way back down the mountain and headed towards the Botero Museum before calling it a day.

Apparently – according to Wikipedia, The people of Bogota believe, if a dating couple visits Monserrate, the relationship will be cursed and will not last. Andrew assures me that this does not apply to us. “We are so beyond dating.”

“What are we then?” I asked, curious and all about putting him on the spot and blogging all. about. it.

“We are in love.” He responded. And I rolled my eyes.

Back down in the heart of Bogota, we decided to duck into the Botero Museum on our way back to our guesthouse. I’m pretty sure this was the first time we were able to walk into an art museum on this trip and not have to pay an outrageous fee. We didn’t have to pay at all! A free art museum! Point for Bogota – and Botero!

From the courtyard of Museo Botero, we could see Monserrate and the church atop. Usually pilgrims make it a point to go up for dusk, but I thought the view of the mountain at dusk was pretty from below! As we made our way back to our guesthouse before it became too dark (and perhaps a little too dangerous to walk around with my camera) we stopped to watch a street performance that was suuuper popular with everyone else. It was a bit hard to follow, but they seemed to be a big hit with the locals. For part of their performance they were singing in Spanish, judging by the amount of laughs, it must have been pretty hilarious. Practicing my newly acquired Spanish in Colombia is not the easiest thing. The dialect or accent is getting harder and harder to understand the more north we travel.

Day 423: Halloween in Salento!

A year ago, we were celebrating Halloween in Chiang Mai, Thailand. We didn’t exactly celebrate, per say, but we were there. Halloween in Salento, Colombia is a significantly bigger deal. Everyone seemed to congregate in the town square and the main road just off the square. There was a parade – and by ‘parade’ I mean some police vehicles leading a lot of mothers and young children through the town. It was adorable. We strolled around town, sat and watched children run from storefront to storefront screaming what I believe was the equivalent of “trick or treat!” and enjoyed what felt like our first festive holiday on the entire trip. It was nice to feel like we were a part of something, even though we were very much the visitors. It also made me look forward to celebrating holidays back home. I just might turn into that girl who wraps her front door in wrapping paper on Christmas, makes heart pancakes on Valentines Day, and dresses like a leprechaun on St. Patricks Day.

Andrew really wanted me to get a picture of the square (and the church) with the mountains in the background. Unfortunately the cloud coverage got in the way. I don’t think this picture really does the scene justice, but I’m sharing nonetheless.

I LOVED the doors and walls of Salento. All of them were beautifully painted and it just added so much character to an already lovely ambiance. I would have photographed absolutely every door if the light would have allowed. Instead, I managed to squeeze one of the main street as dusk and more trick-or-treaters took over.

Day 288: Rila Monastery

Rila Monastery is named after the hermit, Ivan of Rila who lived in a cave in the mountains above where the monastery stands today. We debated if we were going to check out the monastery on our own or go with a tour leaving from our hostel. It seemed easier to just go with the hostel (even if it was a bit more expensive) and they took you to the cave where Ivan of Rila resided. After a two hour drive, we began our tour by climbing up into the mountains to see the cave, and then had the afternoon to explore the walled in monastery below.

The walk through the woods was nice, a little bit tricky in flip-flops, but nice. It wasn’t a long climb up, about twenty minutes or so and then we stood before a closed church. Our guide kept apologizing for his poor English. We didn’t get much information on the little church that was standing, but instead were lead behind the church to the infamous cave. Our guide lit a few candles, and then told us there was only one way out of the cave. We had to climb through a tiny opening, a far contrast from the big opening we all walked through to get inside. We were told that all of our sins would be washed away by climbing out the smaller exit way. It was a tight squeeze, but we all made it out, cleansed of all of our sins.

We drove back down to the Monastery below and upon entering the walled in compound, I was impressed by the size and grandeur of the place. Sometimes, the religious really know how to live, you know what I’m sayin’? It was beautiful. and peaceful, even with the tourists milling about.

Andrew and I sat on the outskirts in the sun people watching for awhile. Then we walked around the courtyard. Wandered under the murals painted on the ceiling of the church in the center of the courtyard. We wandered in the church, and I wondered why the woman (and one of the monks) blew out prayer candles, throwing them out before they were burned all the way down. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this. It happened in Greece as well- all in the Orthodox Churches. From my observations in the Catholic Church, they are always kept lit until they go out on their own. Am I missing something? I wonder if it has to do with the smoke and trying to preserve the ancient murals in these churches. Why not sell shorter candles?

Back outside of the church (I didn’t stay long inside as I was wearing shorts… and they were technically forbidden) I couldn’t take my eyes off of the murals and so, I give you one too many pictures of the murals with the contrasting monks’ cells in the background.

If you find yourself at Rila, I suggest getting some of the donuts for sale just across the entrance to the monastery. Made to order. Also, the little souvenir shop had such lovely bells for sale that I desperately wanted, but feared they wouldn’t survive five months in my backpack or being sent home. I’ll pick a few up next time…

Day 148: La Tour Hassan

La Tour Hassan is the tall red sandstone tower, a minaret that was supposed to be the largest minaret in the world, with what was supposed to be the largest mosque in the world. Unfortunately, the Sultan in charge died in the middle of construction, and the minaret only reached half of its intended height. There are 200 columns also unfinished, yet providing a really wonderful area to sit and talk or, my favorite; people watch.

On the other side of the square of half finished columns, the mausoleum of Mohammed V contains not only his tomb, but those of his two sons, King Hassan II and Prince Abdallah. My favorite part of the mausoleum were the guards that stood outside every door and inside every corner of the mausoleum. I walked out of the dim interior to a blinding sun above and nearly walked into a column outside. The guard at that door laughed and agreed with me that the sun was too bright! Seriously, the sun is crazy bright. I’ve been blinded since we arrived in the UAE- had a brief respite during the snowstorm in Jordan, but then was blinded, again, by the light in Israel and now Morocco.

Because we were too late to rock the kasbah (that’s for you, Mindy) the day before, we went back to check out a cafe that our new friend Catherine recommended. We walked through the garden, at a different entrance of the kasbah and directly to the cafe. We had our first official tea a la menth in Morocco (mint tea) and ohmyyum is all I can say. I’ve been drinking way more tea than coffee on this trip, and I have to admit, I think I like the mint tea more than the chai in India and Nepal. They call it ‘Moroccan whiskey’ here because everyone drinks it all. the. time. (Although I don’t really get why they call it whiskey- because no way could I drink whiskey as often as they drink this tea. I think ‘Moroccan water’ might be a better term for it… But… I don’t think I’ll be changing any minds any time soon.)

Another thing I don’t quite understand are the motorbikes. They really are motorBIKES with pedals AND an engine. From my observations, it seems as though the pedals are used to kickstart the engine, but I’ve also seen some people pedaling their motorBIKE with the engine running. I don’t get it. They’re pretty cute though.

After we had our fill of the kasbah, we debated what to do for dinner. Andrew and I are very different travelers. I’m used to traveling without the internet at my disposal and making decisions as I go. He looks up cities, hotels, restaurants online- seeing where to go and where to avoid, and is way more prepared than I ever am. Great, right? He’s prepared. I’m spontaneous. The perfect balance. In the perfect travel world, yes. In our travel world, not. so. much. This overwhelming difference between the two of us sometimes results in stony silences during dinner. Stony silences that include agreeing on what to order and even sharing our food- poutily (is that word?) and silently, until one of us caves and starts talking. Lindsay said her family wondered what we do when we just want to be alone. Well, we don’t always have that luxury. Frankly, I don’t feel safe being alone in Muslim countries. Men leer. They catcall. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes Andrew extra protective. So instead we wrap ourselves up in our own little worlds like we did tonight at dinner until one of us realizes how ridiculous we are being and we talk our way out of it.

Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s real hard. But we get through. And then Andrew teases me the next morning “Remember when you were mad at me for wanting to eat at a Trip Advisor restaurant?” and I fire right back “Remember when we ate at the Trip Advisor restaurant and it sucked, was expensive, and I was still hungry after?” I give him the “AND what?” face. He rolls his eyes. We carry on.

Day 139: The Baha’i Gardens

Success! We made it to the Baha’i Gardens in time to go on a tour. It wasn’t the most amazing thing to do in Israel. It was pretty. The tour was nice… but… also a little bit boring. It felt more like a supervised walk through the gardens than an informational tour. After walking up the hill in Haifa yesterday, we felt a certain obligation to go on the tour to see if it was worth it. (Debatable) The short film at the end on the Baha’i Gardens and faith was somewhat interesting, more informative than the tour guide.

A quick review of the Baha’i Religion: it was founded by Baha’u’llah in Persia with the goals of uniting everyone -spiritually at least- on earth. I believe it’s the newest religion. It draws upon persons (messengers being everyone from Moses to Muhammad) and philosophies from Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, and more. The Bab (founder) is buried in the gardens in Haifa- in the section we weren’t allowed to visit, specifically within the golden domed building. Interesting fact: No Baha’i follower is allowed to live within Israel. Because of their emphasis on equality, they don’t want anyone to be or think they are holier than others because they live within the holiest site of their religion.

Andrew teased me, asking if I was going to convert because they believe in and work towards equal rights for women. I teased him back that I just might. Unfortunately, over half of the gardens are off limits to visitors. This includes the shrine, library, and all other buildings on the grounds. This seems a bit at odds with their egalitarian philosophy. Guess I won’t be converting any time soon…

After the tour, we hung out back at the hostel and then caught a train down to Tel Aviv to meet up (and stay) with a friend we made in Burma (Myanmar) last year. Anat, and her musically inclined boyfriend, Ron welcomed us with open arms and some fantastic kubbeh. A wonderful respite from the falafel and hummus Andrew has been making me eat. everyday. for lunch. and sometimes dinner.

Day 133: The Old City in Jerusalem

The Old City is where religions collide or live harmoniously, depending on how you view your glass… Within its walls are The Wailing Wall (also known as The Western Wall) and The Temple Mount for the Jews. Just on the other side of the wall lies The Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque for the Muslims. On the other side of the Old City, a mere ten minute walk (if you know where you’re going and you’re not like us passing it up by accident more than once) is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the Christians. It was a long, religious filled day. After spending two months surrounded by Buddhism in S.E. Asia and then two months surrounded by Hinduism in Nepal and India… one day of three different religions was a lot to wrap my head around. It was overwhelming and spiritual at The Western Wall, calming outside of the Dome of the Rock, and familiar inside the Christian Basilica.

We headed to The Western Wall first. It’s the holiest site (right after the Temple Mount) in the Jewish religion as it’s the only remaining wall that surrounded the Jewish Temple’s courtyard. From my understanding, the Jewish Temple and the Temple Mount itself is so important because, according to Judaism, it’s where Adam was created among many other significant events recorded in the Bible. The first temple was built by Solomon (son of David) and then destroyed by the Babylonians. The second temple was built by Zerubbabel and then destroyed by the Romans. It was sometime at the end of this ‘Second Temple era’ that it’s believed the current walls were built by Herod the Great. (I think.) According to  (Jewish) TRADITION! (sing it Mom, I did that for you) it’s believed the third and final temple will be built here.

When we arrived at the Wall, Andrew and I stood behind a high dividing wall set up in the middle of the square dividing it into a large section for men and a smaller section off to the right for women. I stood and watched the men for awhile performing lots of Bar Mitzvahs with a few older men praying against the wall. It was full of life. There was singing and dancing and younger boys-turning into men were hoisted on fathers shoulders and led back to their awaiting families, with women on the other side of the wall watching all of the activity.

Obviously I could not go into the men’s side, so when I spied the entrance of the women’s side, I marched right in. There was no singing and dancing and cause for celebration. Instead, I was faced with the reality of the wall’s nickname; The Wailing Wall. Women anxiously pushed (but not in a rude way, just in an urgent I need to pray real bad kinda way) their way towards the wall to reach out and stuff a prayer written down into a crevice or lean up against it as they whispered their prayers into the stones before them.

Some women stood a few rows away from the wall with open prayer books and Bibles (I think, I’m assuming, they were Bibles) crying and praying. Some silently. Some out loud. It was powerful. I haven’t been so surrounded by such fierce prayer since… since… I don’t know when. For someone who hasn’t exactly been practicing, I was surprised by how much it took my breath away. There was a certain charge to the air. I’m sure it was the general energy of all of the women there, but I have to think it was more than just their (our) energy alone. As I walked out a mother and daughter walked backwards out of the designated women’s side to the open square, like they couldn’t turn their back on the Wall. It made me smile as I followed, facing them as we walked out at the same time.

Ok, so what’s confusing to me is that even though the Wall is technically a part of Temple Mount, Jews aren’t even allowed on Temple Mount itself because according to the Torah, it is forbidden due to it’s sacredness. I feel I need to take a course on Judaism and Islam in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism. Can one study all of this out of curiosity? If only…

Fortunately, visitors like myself are allowed to cross over The Western Wall into the designated Temple Mount area. This area is also the site of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. Although it’s under Muslim control, The Rock (which resides in Dome of the Rock), according to Jewish TRADITION! is where Heaven and Earth meet. The (Sunni) Muslims regard Temple Mount as the third holiest site in Islam. It is the ‘Noble Sanctuary’ where Muhammad ascended into heaven. The Dome itself is one of the oldest Islamic structures in the world. This ownership dispute between the Jews and Muslims is at the top of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

So just like that, we were out of intense Jewish TRADITION! and in the middle of a calm Muslim garden and pavilion outside of Dome of the Rock. Not allowed inside the Dome of the Rock, Andrew and I sat in the sun until we were kicked out for prayer time.

Moving onto the third religion of the day, we walked through the Old City to the Christian Quarter. I have to admit, walking through the narrow streets and up the stairs past different Stations of the Cross- like where it was ACTUALLY a Station of the Cross (not just a plaque on a church wall), I felt a wave of “Oh Jesus was a real person?” wash over me. When you grow up in the Catholic Church taught to believe in God, it can feel a bit forced and in a way, mythical at times. Or maybe I’m just a bad Catholic… I mean, obviously, I’m a bad Catholic. A few people I went to high-school with probably already have made a list of reasons to back up this claim.

But being in the Old City in Jerusalem and walking past these clearly marked Stations towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre makes being a Catholic and the plight of Jesus a bit more real. I’ve gone to a Catholic school my whole life, and I’ve never heard that the Hill of Calvary (where Jesus was crucified) is currently an altar that looks like a mini church built inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It makes everything more believable. 

Furthermore, the Sepulchre (tomb) is right at the entrance of the church under a line of candles and more often than not, kneeling pilgrims kissing the rock itself that Jesus is believed to be buried underneath. It is also believed that he will be resurrected at this very spot as well. Today, the Church is shared between Eastern Orthodoxy, Oriental Orthodoxy and Roman Catholics. A Muslim family holds the keys to the Church itself to avoid conflict between the different Christian sects.

Worn out by religion, we headed over to the swanky hotel our couchsurfer host, Meidad was working and told us to meet him. He was full of enthusiasm when he met us and called us out on looking worn out. I think he thought it was from the four and a half months of travel, even though it was more from the day making sense of three different religions and one history. He poured us a much needed glass of wine, directed us to the rooftop restaurant for some warm bread and a beautiful view of the city, and then took us home with him at the end of his shift.