Notes From Everywhere

As Jerusalem disappeared behind us, towns built from pale yellow stone appeared across the hillsides, their light-colored walls and clusters of palm trees glowing in the morning sun. It was our first glimpse of the ancient landscape that awaited us.

We had caught a local bus to Bethlehem just outside Damascus Gate for only a few shekels. Less than an hour from Jerusalem, it was an easy day trip from the city.

Getting a taxi from the bus stop to Bethlehem’s old town, however, was a whole other story. The taxi drivers weren’t interested in simply taking us from one place to another.

“We don’t just give rides,” one driver explained. “We are also tour guides.”

For several minutes they sent us from one taxi to the next, each trying to convince us to book a tour instead. Eventually one driver agreed to take us. As soon as we climbed inside, the sales pitch began again. When we politely declined again, he smiled, gave up, and quietly drove us the rest of the way.

The narrow streets of Bethlehem were alive with people. Cars squeezed through crowds that seemed to flow endlessly around them, weaving between the slow-moving traffic as if it were the most natural thing in the world. People were walking faster than we were driving. At some point, we decided to continue on foot.

Almost immediately, a man carrying a tray of steaming tea approached us and insisted we stop for a cup. I gave him the only ten shekels I had in cash, and he handed each of us a cup of sweet tea with fresh mint leaves floating on top. It was our first time trying traditional mint tea. I found it much sweeter than I expected, but it was delicious.

We continued down the street, passing one small shop after another. Clothes hung outside their entrances, spilling onto the sidewalk. That’s when I began to notice people glancing in my direction.

At first, I assumed they were simply curious about us. We were obviously tourists. Then we walked past two young girls standing in a doorway. They looked at my shorts, whispered something to each other, and giggled. It immediately became clear they were looking at our bare legs. Most women here wore long, loose dresses with black headscarves, covering themselves from head to toe. I found it interesting that the shops were selling short, fitted skirts and dresses, yet I hadn’t seen anyone actually wearing them.

Before going any farther, we stopped for lunch at a small restaurant and changed into pants.

As we continued through the old town, we found ourselves walking along Star Street, the oldest street in Bethlehem, believed to be the way taken by the Wise Men on their journey to the birthplace of Jesus. White stone buildings lined the narrow street, their blue and green doors standing out against the pale limestone. In the distance, the Church of the Virgin Mary came into view, its stone tower crowned with an iron star. Suddenly, I found myself wondering what it would have been like to walk this street two thousand years ago, following only a star.

Star Street led us to Manger Square, where the Church of the Nativity stood. The entrance immediately caught my attention. Instead of large wooden doors, visitors entered through a small rectangular opening known as the Gate of Humility. According to tradition, it was reduced in size to prevent mounted officials from riding into the church on horseback. It also forces everyone entering to bow their head in a sign of respect.

Inside, we joined the line of other tourists leading down a narrow staircase beneath the church. Below the main floor, a silver star marks the traditional birthplace of Jesus. One by one, visitors descended the steps, paused for a quiet moment, and then made room for the next person.

Before leaving Bethlehem, we came across a large gift shop tucked around the corner. An older man in a long tunic welcomed us inside with a warm smile. He was curious about where we were from and where we were headed next. He offered us mint tea and encouraged us to look around. He didn’t have to ask twice.

The shelves were filled with beautiful silver icons, chalices, and religious artwork, but one little souvenir immediately caught my attention: a hand-carved wooden camel. I had been hoping that during this trip I would finally get the chance to see a real camel in the desert. Until then, this little wooden one would have to do.

Little did I know that the opportunity to see a camel would come the very next morning in Jordan.