I’m here! Checked-in to the King David Hotel in Jerusalem. Just before dawn! Allowed into Israel without even filling out an Entry Card, let alone having a visa.
Don’t know what to do first. So exciting looking from my room as the sun rises over the Western Wall outside my window.
Breakfast at the King David is so Jewish: loud, big fawning older waiters always hovering; almost doing the lifting of my fork to my mouth; taking one cup of half-drunk coffee away and replacing it with another new piping hot cup; all the time with huge, fake smiles, like TWA stewardesses of old.
Burying my head in the International Tribune so as not to be asked what else I may like, the din of loud voices, uncontrolled children, makes me want to be like Jesus, up-ending tables and going berserk clearing the money changers and sellers from the Temple.
Gives me indigestion! And is going to cost me a packet. I should have known I was ‘marked’ when the maitre d’ ushered me to the centre table by the window with a nod to his greying mate in white jacket. (The cost of this Grand Buffet Breakfast is included in Cher’s Virtuoso room rate, but alas, the expected tips at the highest end of any accepted scale are not).
Eddy, so many of the guests remind me of our DSM friend and his sometimes feigned friendliness, but oft’ with a veiled agenda. There’s also tons of money, and real jewels. And here am I, just a boy from the bush. Edmundo is right. I’d be better in a convent!
Father Steve also suggested that the Sisters of Sidon would give me a peaceful clean room in their Convent, but I opted for the more ‘worldly’ route, and will now pay.