In Xanadu: A Quest (Text Only)

The priggish Muslim traveller Ibn Jubayr was a particularly fierce critic. ‘Its roads are choked by the press of men, so it is hard to put foot to ground,’ he wrote. ‘Unbelief and unpiousness there burn fiercely, and Pigs [Christians] and crosses abound. It stinks and is filthy, being full of refuse and excrement.’

The Israeli woman next to me pointed it out proudly. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘We have everything!’ Not wishing to give offence I nodded. But I thought: No. You’ve taken the oldest country in the world, one of the great centres of civilization, a kind of paradise – and you’ve turned it into suburbia.

‘ … my cousin speaks better Hebrew than I do it’s kinda intimidating he went on a kibbutz and worked with chickens … there are six major cities I gotta see my interests are very diverse … look Burger Ranch well fancy that burgers in Israel … home is a big air force base East Coast absolutely gorgeous my boyfriend Rob he’s graduating in statistics wants me to get a lot out of this … I guess I could do it but I’d prefer not to enough problems I have allergies neuroses I’m a vegetarian I could really use a sterile environment my analyst childhood problems some long name for it cruise long holiday … Rob and I difficult time this girl in the statistics department we will work it out … I’m very curious links Zen Buddhism Jewish mysticism kibbutznik philosophy …’

But the view from their windows is invariably depressing: you read much about how the Israelis have made the desert flower, but little about the cost.

Israeli buses are the fastest, most comfortable and efficient in Asia. They are the only ones in which you can write a diary and read the results afterwards. But the view from their windows is invariably depressing: you read much about how the Israelis have made the desert flower, but little about the cost. The dual carriageway from Jerusalem winds past not a land of milk and honey, but a scape of scarred hillsides, rubbish dumps, telegraph wires, pylons, concrete, dirt and dust.

history repeats itself anywhere, it does so in Jerusalem. When the crusaders captured the city they slaughtered the Muslims (many of whom

The priggish Muslim traveller Ibn Jubayr was a particularly fierce critic.

It was as old by the time of Marco Polo as most of the mediaeval abbeys in England are today.