Publicado por Miquel Silvestre en 22:28 |
I am in Jerusalem. We are in Holy Land. The pilgriminate is about to conclude. But let me tell you what was going on the last few days. I went back to Amman through the mountains and beside the Dead Sea. It was like feeling in a desert dream with no ending. The Dead Sea is warm and salty, and is below the Sea Level. Nothing grows around it, even urban developments. That area is militarised since the Peace Agreement with Israel in 1994. Too many check points and soldiers. One could see the Promise Land in the horizon. There is also the Jesus Baptism Site. Beyond the barbed wire. I went there and they said what I hate most to hear: “You can not go on the motorcycle. Visitors must take a shuttle”. But Little Fat is not a motorcycle. So as you can guess I started to argue and trying to convince them that since she got blessed in Uzbekistan, she deserves to see the Baptism Site. Finally, they agreed because one Muslim guy understood perfectly my goal and helped me to explain properly to the Security Boss. Then I took a guide on the back seat and we crossed the gate.
The Baptism Site was rediscovered in 1991 and there were three churches built one over the former one. The real place was not in the Jordan River but in a little spot full of green water. Something really modest and poor. The guide said to me: “when the visitors leave, you can go there and take some real baptism water, because what they usually take is Jordan water”. So I did it and then I poured it over Little Fat. Then we go happily to the border 100 km north. No problems at the Jordan Check Points all over the way. Just been stopped once. The main part of the times they waved at us. Strange manner of protecting one of the hottest borders in the World.
I stopped on the bridge between the two countries to take a picture of the river and then I saw myself surrounded by three young guys wearing caps, sunglasses and M16. The whole fucking Mossad. I showed them the innocent picture and my pintoresc Spanish Passport and they didn’t bother me any more. When I was waiting to be checked till the teeth one of them confessed he also was a biker. He rode a Kawasaki Ninja. I told him he was too young to die on a sport bike. Crossing the border was not difficult, just took long time. Passport control. They asked how many Arab Countries one has been to. “Almost all” I said. “Have you been to Morocco?” “Yes, It’s near my home”, I replied. “Do you carry guns?” “A Swiss knife and a mad brain”, I answered. “It is Ok; you can go and welcome Israel”. So here we are.