Travels

Old-school backpackers hostels in Jerusalem

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In front of the wailing wall


The wall of shame as it passes through Bethlehem

In this hostel I chatted with a young Yankee who, after crossing the Middle East with long periples through Iran and Iraq, had arrived in the Holy Land and, after his good and bad experiences in each territory, he was surprised asking himself if your allies they were in Israel or rather in Iraq.

It is in this hostel where I also met a peculiar character named Brian. British by birth, he had been living in the hostel for a few years cut by some trips in which he was in the Middle East to investigate and write his final work dedicated to the life of the 12 apostles after the death of Jesus Christ.

His face and, especially his long white hair, reminiscent of Tolkien's famous Gandalf. He usually arrived before nightfall and, sitting in the living room, used to look for some other traveling soul with whom to share a good talk about philosophy, history or whatever arose at the time.

Wise and philosopher, I shared a few evenings with Brian during my five days in Jerusalem. Without a doubt, one of those people with something magical in his speech. One of those individuals you attend to and you remain absorbed listening to their stories.

The Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem

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