Daniel’s Middle Eastern Odyssey

Having spent six weeks in the same country, I decided a change of scenery was mandatory. Plus, the hotel I was staying at in Gaziantep, deep in south-east Turkey, was starting to freak me out. I saw no other travellers there and confusingly, only local old men and younger, surprisingly under dressed women would occupy the lobby area all day long. My Turkish was dodgy at best but I was convinced the sign at the reception was advertising room rates by the hour. Needless to say, I had a sneaking suspicion I was staying in a glorified brothel (my suspicion being confirmed by a taxi driver a few days later). Anyway, seeing as I was in the region, next on the agenda was finding some terrorists; my current dilemma was where to go next.

One option was to cross the border and visit Kurdistan (Northern Iraq). Admittedly, I was more attracted by the prospect of an Iraqi stamp in my passport and a photo next to a “Welcome to Iraq” sign, and the man points that would entail, more than anything else. I settled for Syria instead, which was still an exciting prospect, having been on the US’ infamous Axis of Evil back in George Bush’s heyday. Yet you wouldn’t think it based on how friendly most people were. The taxi drivers were quite lairy though and would sporadically engage in arguments with people on the street in indecipherable Arabic. Unfortunately my attempts to come in to contact with extremists was faltering, so off to Lebanon, home of Hezbollah I continued…

Post Beiruti hedonism and a few days in Jordan, ‘Occupied Palestine’ (the correct term as per many Arab visa application forms) was next on my itinerary. Having a British passport and a Jewish surname, I could not wait to be welcomed into Israel with open arms, kosher bagels and none of the suspicious looks I’d been getting at other Middle Eastern border points. To my shock, our supposed Western ally gave me the most grief while trying to enter the country. “Why are you coming here if you have no family?” “Why did you go to Syria and Lebanon?” “Are you going to visit the West Bank?” were just some of a myriad of questions I was asked during my interrogation at the border. The process took the best part of eight hours, although it may have taken less long if I had not initially tried to flirt with the border officer. You see in Israel, conscription is compulsory for both men and women. Nevertheless, while the males go and become soldiers, most girls end up doing military related administrative work. Which is why the majority of people working at every border point are female, in their early twenties and (for reasons still foreign to me) incredibly attractive. They may have been wielding AK-47s, but they were also donning oversized designer sunglasses, and I just couldn’t take them seriously.

After the delights of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, the West Bank was calling me. Despite promises to the lovely border girl and my mother, who had started to watch BBC news more frequently now, I took the bus to Palestine. It was surprisingly easy considering the controversy and political situation surrounding the territory. Shortly after crossing the threshold, I met Ahmed, a friendly taxi driver/tour guide who claimed to be an ex-bodyguard for Yasser Arafat, the late Palestinian leader. Judging by his 50 inch chest, I was inclined to believe him…

Ahmed was great and showed me around places I would never have seen and introduced me to locals who I would never have met if I was not with him. We visited a refugee camp near Bethlehem which had now developed into a makeshift town. I also got to speak to a few gentlemen who can be easiest described, using the Fox News label, as ‘terrorists’. One of these chaps was apparently very adept at making bombs in order to blow up Israeli soldiers. Indeed, several comments gave me the overall impression that Palestinian freedom fighters were not too keen on the Jewish state. I was just glad I wasn’t wearing my “America, don’t worry, Israel is behind you” T-shirt, which I had purchased in jest only the day before in Jerusalem’s Old Town. I also thought it best not to mention my half-Jewishness…