A lot has happened over the last year, explanations are scarce and credible summations as to what, why and when are unbelievably hard to come by. As Winston Churchill once said, “Never let a good crisis go to waste”. The cynicism shown by world leaders throughout this crisis knows no bounds with a ‘let’s make hay while the sun shines’ attitude pervading the political discourse. This along with a ‘neutered’ and ‘fawning’ mainstream media, which is no longer able to discharge its designated duties as part of the checks and balances of our failing democratic process.
It would appear that the more than a year-long “crisis” has been the doing and undoing of a number of our western political figures. Trump out, Ardern in, Bibi maybe, Biden win, not to mention state premierships in Oz. Many of these victories have been a result of the playing upon the effects of Corona. The politicians are working this crisis for all they can get.
Back to my story. After a lovely week long visit (January 2020) to New Zealand’s rural Waikato to participate in my niece’s wedding amongst family, friends and organic cows, my wife and I returned to Israel via Hong Kong (despite the unknown flight risk) and a few weeks later our lives ground to an unscheduled halt.
There’s little of real substance to write about living under the shadow of the Wuhan Corona Virus. Wisdom is certainly lacking while confusion, fear and feeling really really stupid seem to have have been the most stand out emotions experienced by us all.
Imagine shuffling inconspicuously, ensuring there is two metres distance between yourself and someone else, “social distancing” under your own volition. What about that ‘sneering’ or making a “wear your mask properly” gesture to a stranger in the supermarket/on the bus or simply staying fixated on the TV screen while “expert” talking heads go on and on about infection rates, morbidity levels and RNA. Then even worse, in turn having mindless conversations with friends and family about the “Science of Wuhan” employing a parrot-like lexicon, something few of us comprehend and even fewer of us actually understand.
How can such a supposedly advanced species (humans) succumb so quickly to chasing their own tail, going round and around like the tiger in Black Sambo until they melt like butter. It’s no longer a mad world; more than that, it’s revealed itself to be a stunningly dumb world beyond belief.
Enough of that. I am here to write about our new found freedom, a reawakening, a coming out from under the shadow of the wings of the Phoenix arising from the ashes of the Wuhan Virus imbroglio and the ramifications of being in possession of one’s very own “Green Passport”, real freedom to go out and do important things like eat hummus.
Merav, Daniel, Anna and Eitan, four mates, four ex-kiwis all living at the centre of the world for better or worse, got together a couple of weeks ago in Jerusalem, Israel, in part to celebrate collective birthdays but mostly to stretch legs and arms at the casting off of the Wuhan yoke. A joke? No a yoke!
A short wander around the picturesque heights above Jebel Mukaber, the UN compound, Eastern Jerusalem, Vista vista vista, beautiful day. Followed by a short taxi ride to the Wailing/Western wall in the old city to wonder at God, the presence, but mostly to catch a glimpse of the acrobatic and fleeting migratory swift, a unique and erratic flying swallow type bird that builds its nest in the crevices between the old stones of the Temple Mount for several months of the year. The swift has inadvertently become an avian spectacle that entertains the minions that gather daily to pray before, gawk at or touch the ancient and hallowed stones.
A quick pit stop and off we set into the labyrinth of cool dark alleyways that wind their way through the four quarters of the old city of Jerusalem. The Wuhan Corona Virus has made its presence felt everywhere and even more so in places like this that are totally dependent on international tourist travel.
The walled Old City of Jerusalem is a must-stop visit on the itinerary of each and every one of the four-million-odd tourists who visit Israel every year but not last year. While there is significant internal tourism and twenty-odd thousand souls whose homes are within the confines of the old Ottoman walls, the Covid-induced lockdowns along with the unrelenting fear driven into everyone’s hearts have dramatically kept the people away from the once vibrant souks of the old city.
Anna, Eitan, Merav and I wandered through a visibly sad vignette, one with no hustle or bustle, lacking in noise and fragrance and almost bereft of people. The shops and stalls that were open were serving mostly basic items to the local populace, with most touristy shops locked and darkened.
Undeterred and with our tummies rumbling we snaked our way through the alleyways, making a brief stop between the fifth and sixth stations of the cross at the Arab blind workshop to buy some two-dollar plastic table brushes to send back to NZ.
Then onwards and upwards to “Lena”, one of the better fresh pita bread and hummus eateries located just up the road from the eighth station of the cross on the Via Dolorosa near the bottom of the Christian quarter.
Inside ‘Lena’ it’s a family affair, older bearded and moustached staff attended their stations. By age their roles were defined. The dispenser of hummus and operator of the till being the eldest, then the unsmiling waiter who never writes anything down, nor receives a tip. Then the unseen cooks, ‘wallads’ (boys) in the kitchen. Cleanish formica tables, four at a squeeze, embellished with a red Coca Cola napkin dispenser, limited menu dating to the British mandate, unchanged since 1922. Heaven, a full spread awaited us. Warm hummus with fava beans, fresh pita bread, hot falafel and Israeli/Arab salad never tasted so good with the exception of the soggy and oily chippies ordered by Eitan, a glitch or reflex by him I think. All of this, plus the much-missed ambience marked for us with absolute and definitive certainty that the Corona affair had been put behind us.
Photo credit The BFD
Making our way back up to Jaffa Gate, digesting lunch as we walked while counting down the remaining stations of the cross, we all had hope for the future and could see an end to what was clearly a bad case of negligent mismanagement of a health crisis on a global scale. Shame should be forever upon the incumbent pusillanimous political global classes. Each and every one of them.
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