Wailing

We arrived at 5.05am at Ben Gurion airport and were picked up by Joseph who took us to French Hill on the East (Arab) side of Jerusalem to Ajith's place. Despite being exhausted we were eager to go and explore.
We got the bus to Salah al-din street (the Egyptain ruler who defeated the crusaders in 1187). We headed through the Damascus gate into the old city and through the crowded Muslim quarter. This was a bustling, noisy trove of jewellery, garments, bread, baclava, fruit, vegetables and mosque clocks.
The old city is neatly dissected into quarters: Christian, Muslim, Jewish and Armenian. The main vein is The Cardo (from the Latin heart) which runs from North to South. The point at which the Muslim part ends and the Jewish part begins is evident in the immediate hushed and controlled atmosphere. The street is lined with art galleries and Israeli flags every few steps.
Bags checked, cardboard kippa donned by Ben and shawl by myself we were permitted to join the Jews at the wailing wall, the Western part of the wall of the Dome of the rock. The experience was less than religious for Ben who, whilst attempting to look pious, was hassled for cash by Hasidic Jews who strode along the wall whilst chatting on their mobiles. I joined the women in their smaller section who prayed in murmurs.
As christians we paid obligatory homage by walking along the via dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and felt nauseous at the clamour of cameras. No one even bothered looking with their eyes. The church a labyrinth of 5 churches and contains some pretty gawdy alters, paintings and scultures.
Later on in our trip we visited some beautiful churches on the slopes of Mount Zion including the fabled tomb of the Virgin Mary and the Basilica of the Agony where Jesus was supposed to have committed his fate to his Dad. In these places my God would be housed.