Haifa Bay

I withdrew 600 Shekels for this trip. With the athan for Maghrib resonating throughout Nablus and my young English students dispersing, I was accompanied by Jihad to the local bus station. I took a 10 seat bus to Ramallah, got off at Calandia checkpoint (the one with some of the most famous graffiti on the Israeli-built wall), flashed my Canadian passport through the bullet-proof glass, got on another bus to the old city of Jerusalem, took a taxi to the Jerusalem central bus station, hopped on a one and a half hour bus ride to Haifa, jumped on a city bus, missed my stop, waited for another city bus, got off again at the wrong stop, and finally took a cab to my hostel. You can imagine that I ended up withdrawing more money once I arrived in Haifa.

I arrived around midnight at the Port Inn Hostel. The next morning, I met two Canadian graduates who were travelling through the Middle East. They had been to Lebanon, Jordan and Syria, and were about to finish their tour in Egypt. Together, we marched up the stairs to the Baha'i Temple and its gardens. Other than the Mediterranean Sea, the temple dominates Haifa's landscape. There was really nothing else to see in Haifa. At a cost of $250 million, the gardens surrounding the Temple were finished in 2001 and they are astounding. This new faith is attracting visitors and religious volunteers from across the world.

After a tour of the gardens, I continued my trek through Haifa. I visited the predominantly Christian Arab neighbourhood called Wadi Nisnas. These quarters have narrow road, older architecture, and carry the fresh smells of Arab bakeries. I also visited the port, the nearby beach and the German Colony (a strip of restaurants and bars). After resting for a few hours, the Canadians, accompanied by a traveler from California, and I headed for Fatoush, an Arab restaurant that was recommended by our guides and hostel. We talked religion, politics, purpose, and future -the perfect discussion to be having considering our surroundings.

The next morning, which was Shabbat, I woke up early and found a nearby Arab bakery for croissants and sweets. I ate and read an enlightening Haaretz article entitled "The Palestinian Ben Gurion".

Shane, Brett and I checked out of the hostel and climbed to where the sheruts were ferrying people to Akka. Before even arriving, I was proclaiming my love for the tiny and ancient town. Although it was once a ruthless prison under the Ottomans, the city was blisteringly busy –tourists from Turkey, Russia, Romania, and throughout Israel, were being shuffled through all of the major sites. Old Akka had templar tunnels (that once allowed citizens to escape fiery battles), ancient mosques, a Baha'I mansion, an ancient church, confusing streets, and a view of the Mediterranean that was comparable to my views from Lebanon.

It's difficult to explain love at first sight. Once I began reading about this city I knew I would love it. My mom had always dreamt of making it to Haifa, Jerusalem and Akka, and here I was doing all three in just a few hours. Some of my friends originate from Akka and Haifa and thousands of Palestinians were expelled from these cities. I thought about them and about my mom as I clicked my camera over 200 times in a span of two hours. They were all with me; eating shawerma on the plastic white table, laughing at the kid who walked on top of the stony wall, crouching on the rocks as the waves slowly eroded history, and smirking one final time as I walked past the gates of Akka and tried to hustle my way back home, to Nablus.