by Rick Steves
Political art in Palestine comes with unmistakable symbolism: Here, along with the Dome of the Rock (sacred to Muslims), a shattered wall, and an olive branch, is a key.
Balata’s political art—typical of the graffiti decorating the wall separating Israel and Palestine—comes with powerful symbolism. And for Palestinian refugees, one of the most poignant symbols is a key. In 1948, when the families now living in Balata left their homes, they were told it would be for a short time. They locked up and took their keys. Now, more than 60 years later, many of these people treasure those old keys and are eager to share their story.
For over 60 years, the United Nations has kept a calming presence in Balata Refugee Camp. When the UN-run-and-funded school lets out, the streets are flooded with children eager to practice their English with a rare tourist venturing into their world.
At an Internet café in the refugee camp, kids spend a few pennies playing violent shoot-’em-up games. One cute little boy turned to me, saying, “Shalom.” Another boy, just as cute, said, “F__k you, rich man.” Part of me was impressed.
In Balata—and throughout the West Bank—I saw Palestinian kids with toy guns shooting imaginary Jews. It was disturbing to me. But then, in the Israeli settlements, I also saw Jewish kids with plastic guns gunning down imaginary terrorists. And it occurred to me that, if we’re being honest, what American man today didn’t grow up with a toy gun happily shooting Indians or Soviets in their imagination? Whether it’s cowboys and Indians, Commies and Capitalists, or Jews and Arabs, little boys throughout the world are raised with a toy gun in their hands to shoot their parents’ bad guys.
But many parents take the opposite tack. I asked a Palestinian whether children here are taught in schools to hate Jews (as some Israelis allege). He said, “As a parent raising my family under this Jewish occupation, it’s my challenge to teach our children not to hate Jews.”
Just being a tourist in Palestine for a week, I can understand the toll it must take on any “love thy neighbor” person to live in a land where they say, “To exist is to resist.”
The conditions in Balata are dismaying, particularly when you think that people have been living this way here for decades. But Israelis point out that Israel has taken in many Jewish refugees and assimilated them into their prosperous society. Meanwhile, they claim that Palestine—and the Arab world—has intentionally kept the West Bank refugee camps in squalor in order to stir public opinion against Israel.
Observing the Holy Land from a distance through a media lens, we can’t really get an honest picture of the reality here. I might see a news clip of Palestinians destroying a synagogue. It looks so hateful. And then I learn that during a land swap, Israel agreed to give back land upon which they had built a luxurious modern settlement. And, before retreating, they destroyed every building in the settlement except the synagogue. When hardscrabble Palestinians, so poor and needy, walked into their land, they saw only rubble except for one building—and they got mad and destroyed it. It’s ugly both ways. But the television coverage leaves the viewer with no context a wrong impression.
Like many other Palestinian cities and towns, Nablus is encrusted with posters honoring young men killed or imprisoned in the struggle against Israel. While considered “terrorists” by many, these Palestinians are viewed as freedom fighters and martyrs in their hometowns.
Many Palestinians I met resent that the “terrorism” tag is typically applied to their community. One Palestinian said to me, “Maybe terrorists are ‘terrorists’ only because they lack uniforms, tanks, and warplanes.”
Ramallah, Palestine’s De Facto Capital
Ramallah is the boom town of the West Bank. As, bit by bit (under the settlement policy of Israel), the likelihood of East Jerusalem being the capital of Palestine is fading, Ramallah is emerging as a natural stand-in, hosting the Palestinian government and international agencies. The PLO headquarters is here. Yasser Arafat is buried here. And it’s busy with NGOs and international agencies working on Palestine’s problems.
Ramallah proudly flies the flag of Palestine.
As many Palestinian Americans have moved back home and live here, there are lots of American accents. The city of 340,000 people sits at about 3,000 feet above sea level. Its name means “God’s Mountain.” As it lacks the trouble-causing religious sites—and is more liberal and cosmopolitan than other Palestinian cities—I found it the most relaxed place in the country.
My favorite Palestinian dessert is kunafeh, made of fine shreds of pastry with honey-sweetened goat cheese in the center. It’s drenched in sweet syrup and then sprinkled with crushed pistachios.
With its international professionals and university students, Ramallah has an almost cosmopolitan energy. Whether coming together at the Square of the Lions or browsing down a stylish shopping street, the people of Ramallah inspire me to envision a peaceful and prosperous Palestine of the future.
The Hijab: The Meaning of a Scarf
At Ramallah’s Birzeit University, I enjoyed a fascinating conversation with three smart, young, female Palestinian university students about the role of women in a Muslim society. Along with many other things, I was curious about the hijab, or traditional head covering. I’ve noticed that some women throughout the country wear it, while others don’t.
Like many Westerners, I’m intrigued and perplexed by the tradition of women in religious families or communities needing to be covered in public for modesty. Modesty requirements are not unique to Muslims. Some conservative Christian women are expected to cover their heads in church. Some ultra-Orthodox Jewish women are expected to shave their heads and to wear a wig in public. And many Muslim women cover their heads. In Palestine, far more women wear scarves in Hebron and Nablus than in the more cosmopolitan cities of Bethlehem and Ramallah. For Muslim men, it’s a sin to look lustfully at a woman who’s not your wife. Around here, hair is sexy, and in the strictest of Muslim societies, women carefully cover up every strand in public. (Of course, in the privacy of their own domestic world, they are welcome to be as sexy as they like for their husbands.)
Happily for many men, the scarf—while meant to downplay a woman’s beauty—has morphed into something stylish and sexy in itself. Women can be technically proper with their faith while still looking good. These days, scarves are worn like peacock tails. For many women, much care is put into coordinating their scarves, nail polish, handbags, and lipstick. One woman I met told me that she has over a hundred scarves, and each morning, she enjoys choosing one that fits her mood. It’s an ensemble. You never wear pattern-on-pattern or solid-on-solid. If the dress is solid, the hijab will be patterned. I picked up another fashion tip: Propping up the back end with an empty yogurt cup as you tie it gives it a fetching lift.
The women I talked with agreed that women are free to be individuals in Palestine, and that choosing to wear the hijab was entirely up to them. The woman who covers up is just as socially active, and in on all of the jokes and fun. But when she walks in public, she feels she gets more respect.
As for the broader role of women in Palestinian society, they pointed out that there were more women than men in higher education, and feel that they can do anything they want, if they work hard. Still, the consensus was that a woman’s role is generally to raise children and run the family, while the man’s role is to be out making the money.
The number one sight in Ramallah is the tomb of Yasser Arafat. While he certainly has plenty of detractors, this Palestinian statesman, who led the PLO from 1969 to 2004, is without a doubt the father of modern Palestine. Call him what you like—people here celebrate Arafat as the man who did more than anyone else to raise awareness of the Palestinian struggle for independence. I found that, while many Palestinians believe Arafat squandered some opportunities for peace that they would love to have now, nearly all respect him as an important leader who committed his life to forging a free Palestinian state.
The tomb of Yasser Arafat.
Growing up, the
only Palestinian I was aware of was Yasser Arafat. Today, Arafat’s tomb stands next to the Palestinian president’s headquarters. A thoughtful museum at the tomb of the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish introduced me to the author and poet who wrote the Palestinian Declaration of Independence. Darwish, who died in 2008, worked with Arafat, but used a pen rather than a gun as his weapon—a reminder of the wide range of approaches the Palestinians have used to make their message heard.
To get a more well-rounded feeling for modern Palestine both in its people and its institutions, I popped into Birzeit University. Its campus, at the edge of Ramallah, has an enrollment of about 10,000. With beautiful landscaping connecting modern buildings and a student body that represented the future leaders of this young country, the campus was a sharp contrast with the intense and chaotic cities. A stroll through the campus gave me a chance to connect with young students and learn a bit about both their culture and their aspirations. It was inspiring.
Good travel is all about meeting people, talking with them, and learning.
Israelis and Palestinians: Who’s Right, Who’s Wrong… Who Knows?
My Holy Land trip had the best possible outcome: It challenged my preconceptions. I learned that people whose language always sounded to me like terrorists conspiring are actually gentle souls with big challenges. And it taught me that there are two sure things: Violence doesn’t work, and neither the Israelis nor the Palestinians are going to move. The only workable road is one of peaceful coexistence. It’s clear to me that if you care about the future of Israel, you must find a viable solution for Palestine. Creating security, dignity, and independence for Palestine is actually in Israel’s best interest—part of the long-term, sustainable solution to this region’s troubles. I know—the hurdles are high. But hearing both narratives, I can envision a peaceful and prosperous Holy Land—with a secure Israel and a free Palestine.
No trip to the Holy Land is complete, nor is the learning experience balanced, without spending time in Palestine as well as in Israel. I found travel in Palestine comfortable and safe in part because I hired a local guide to be with me each day I was there (pictured here are Kamal, one of my Palestinian guides, and Abie, one of my Israeli guides). For contact information for my Palestinian and Israeli guides and for a list of companies doing “dual narrative” tours of the Holy Land, see the TV section of ricksteves.com.
Another thing is clear: Good travel is all about connecting with people and better understanding their perspective. I learned what Muslims think of Jesus while sitting on a carpet with an imam; talked about raising kids while sipping coffee with Israelis who live in a settlement overlooking the West Bank; and visited with a Palestinian refugee as he clutched the key his parents took with them when they fled their village in 1948. I talked with soldiers in guard towers, roasted coffee with a Bedouin, and gained insight into why a proud and independent young woman would choose to wear a hijab. And I chatted with a Hebron butcher—next to the swinging head of a camel he just slaughtered—for insight into his world.
I remember when I first went on a political trip. It was back in the 1980s, to Nicaragua and El Salvador. Seeing me off, my Dad (suspicious of communism) said, “Don’t be duped.” Now, after a few weeks in the Holy Land—the latest chapter in 30 years of satisfying my curiosity about our world and its challenges by traveling and talking to people—I believe that the people most in danger of being duped are actually those who stay home.
Traveling through the Holy Land, my heart was a shuttlecock, flipping back and forth between sympathy for Israel and solidarity with Palestine. I’m saddened by the many people—in Israel, Palestine, or the USA—who are so hardened on one side or the other that they cannot allow themselves to find empathy with the society they consider the enemy. Even if one side is the enemy, it’s not the entire society—just its leaders or its extremists. Just like American children of Catholic parents tend to be Catholic, and children of Lutheran parents tend to be Lutheran, children of the Holy Land have their parents’ baggage from the start. And very few are packing light around here.
In this land, so treasured by Jews, Muslims, and Christians, I’m reminded that the prophets of each of these religions taught us to love our neighbors.
I’m concerned that—as a result of the societal and physical barriers that separate them—people on both sides will not get to know each other. It’s next to impossible for Israelis and Palestinians to connect in any way. Consider this: Israelis and Palestinians who are soccer fans, curiously, root for the same Madrid and Barcelona teams—but many don’t realize that they have this fandom in common. There’s no way mutual fans of Real Madrid could be mutual enemies. They are completely reliant upon hometown media, parents, and schooling to shape their opinion of the younger generation of the people on the other side of the wall—a generation they are destined to share their historic homeland with.
There’s a little turnout on the Palestine side of the wall where passengers can conveniently change from a Palestinian car to an Israeli one. When I left Palestine, my Israeli driver was there, waiting for my Palestinian driver to drop me off. While I barely knew either of these men, I’ll never forget their handshake—in the shadow of an ominous Israeli watchtower painted black by the flames of burning tires and ornamented with angry Palestinian art. These men were each beautiful, caring people, trapped in a problem much bigger than either of them. In the exchange, I was little more than a suitcase shuttling from one back seat to the other. I watched as they quietly shook hands, looked into each other’s eyes, and said a solemn and heartfelt “Shalom.” And I thought, “With all these good people on both sides, there has got to be a solution—and a big part of it will be regular people making not walls…but bridges.”
Chapter 10
Homecoming
Reverse Culture Shock
Travel Changes You
Putting Your Global Perspective into Action at Home
Keep on Whirling
After our whirlwind tour, it’s time to wrap up our journey. No matter where you go, the final stop is always the same. And thankfully, home is the best destination of all.
Reverse Culture Shock
Having traveled makes being home feel homier than ever. Part of my re-entry ritual is a good, old-fashioned, American-style breakfast at the local diner. I know just how I like it: eggs—over medium, hash browns—burn ’em on both sides, and toast—sourdough done crispy with marionberry jam. As the waitress tops up my coffee and I snap my sugar packet before ripping it open, I think of how, across this planet, there are thousands of entirely different breakfasts eaten by people just as exacting as I am. And of all those breakfasts, it’s clear that this one is the right one for me. I am home.
Considering all the fun I have traveling, feeling thankful to be home affirms my sense that I’m rooted in the right place. I enjoy the same Olympic Mountains view from my kitchen window that I did as a kid. I look out my office window and still see my junior high school.
While I relish the culture shock of being in an exotic, faraway place, I also enjoy the reverse culture shock of returning to the perfect normalcy of home. As if easing from my traveling lifestyle into my home lifestyle, I still function out of my toiletries kit for a few days before completely unpacking. The simplicity of living out of a single bag slowly succumbs to the complexity of living out of a walk-in closet in a big house with light switches and an entertainment system I’ve yet to master.
Over time, I willingly fall back into the snappy tempo and daily routine of a busy home life. I do this because I am not fundamentally a vagabond. I love my children, have fun running a business, enjoy the fellowship of the coffee hour after church, and savor my daily stroll across town for coffee. If I had a top hat, I’d tip it to the ladies I pass along the way.
And yet, after every trip, things remain a bit out of whack...but only to me. There’s a loneliness in having a mind spinning with images, lessons, and memories that can never adequately be shared—experience
s such as finding out why the Salvadoran priest ignores his excommunication, why the Dutch celebrate tolerance, and why the dervish whirls. I enjoy the trip-capping challenge of making sense of the confusion, and splicing what I learned into who I am and what I do.
Travel Changes You
Travel doesn’t end when you step off the plane into your familiar home airport. The preceding chapters—while ranging far and wide across the globe—all illustrate how travel is rich with learning opportunities, and how the ultimate souvenir is a broader outlook. By incorporating those lessons into my being, I am changed. Any traveler can relate to this: On returning from a major trip, you sense that your friends and co-workers have stayed the same, but you’re...different. It’s enlightening and unsettling at the same time.
A wonderful byproduct of leaving America is gaining a renewed appreciation for our country. When frustrated by overwrought bureaucracies overseas, I’m thankful that it’s not a daily part of my life back home. When exasperated by population density, I return home grateful to live in a sparsely populated corner of the world. Traveling, I sample different tempos, schedules, seasoning, business environments, and political systems. Some I like better—others I’m glad don’t follow me home.