The Old City Jerusalem is a maze of market stalls, its labriynth corridors winding in a dizzying route made even more bewildering in the pentrating heat. In the dense heart of the Muslim quarter a tourist can become disoriented then consumed. It was in this state, only just passed through the Damascus Gate (and feeling rather intrepid) that I hestitantly accepted the hospitality of a Palestinan gentleman guide who was lounging in the shade afront the 5th station of the Cross. Having failed to find stations 1 - 4 on my self guided tour I was, I guess, easily persuaded by Victor's seemingly benign offer to lead me back to the stations I'd missed. How I ended up nearly penniless in Ramallah is still somewhat of a blur to me.
Stay tuned to see if S.C. can traverse the several remaining checkpoints safely back to the Holy Land.
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