What is a pilgrimage without a hike?

   

Today we hiked. We hiked like true pilgrims. I have a wicked neck sunburn to prove it. 23,000 steps according to Amber's cursed FitBit.  We schlepped up and down mountains on a road called Ein Karem, roughly translating to “Spring of the Vineyard” where the Church of the Visitation stands.  This little hillside town is the place where John the Baptist was born to Elizabeth and Zachariah.  This sight is where Mary recited her song of praise known as the Magnificat, one of the most ancient hymns.  The church was atop a hill that one scaled an abundant amount of steps to get to.  The church was very small and donned a long wall with the magnificat in about 100 languages each on their own hand painted tile.

     Upon entering the lower sanctuary, one couldn't help notice the fresco ceiling narratives that looked as if they were done in the style of Duccio, an early Sienese Renaissance painter.  The paintings were very well done but completed in the 19th century, 1895 or so.  The interior was very simple with a small offering table with a lovely mosaic of both Elizabeth and Zachariah.  Because they were "old" when they conceived, their wrinkles were even indicated funnily enough.  There was also the rock that Elizabeth supposedly hid John from the soldiers sent to kill all male infant children as well as a cistern that the family would've taken water from.   The experience was beautiful, Amber reading the stories to me from her well worn bible as we sat admiring the space.  (We snuck in when the church was closed so it was so quiet we were able to linger.)  The gardens immediately surrounding the church hosted a fecund bounty, with sculptures and butterflies to lead the path, which by the way was also closed and blocked.  Amber can hurdle a chain barricade, no problem. I on the other hand, am a half foot shorter so....

      I have feared that I wouldn't have any spiritual experiences while here to be honest.  That's been my worry to trump all worries.  But with today, I experienced not only delight in that space, but also hope.  Now it wasn't a hyperbolic moment of tongue talking religious fervor mind you.  I didn't see, or hear, or shake.  No fire in the sky for me, but what a rewarding moment in a contemplative, ancient place.  To know that so many have hiked those hills all the way back to Mary was leveling.  The pilgrimage up until this point in my life has been secular, to see the great achievements of artistic genius- and often in cathedrals mind you.  But today, the hike was meaningful in a way I didn't expect.  Not to sound like Captain Obvious or anything but it was almost like, her good news was our good news.

     We walked back down the hill finding a delightful corner cafe to share a dish called, Shakshuka and bread and cappuccinos.  Let me tell you honey, that Shakshuka was divine as well.  (Obviously not the SAME thing, but you get my zeal here I think.)  Now I'm a vegetarian, but on occasion, when the situation calls for it, I will enjoy a carnivorous meal.  But the one thing I always abstain from is veal and lamb.  TODAY WAS THE DAY I SINNED.  I ate lamb shakshuka and I won't look back.  This is a kind of middle easter Bolognese made with spices, peppers, a tomato base and of course BABY SHEEP that you dip into with crusty bread.  It may have been the trek across the desert, and I do mean DESERT, but I may have witnessed two holy experiences in one day.  Don't worry foodies, I'll devote a whole blog post about food culture here!  I promise.

     We figured out the light rail system.  THANK GOD.  We hopped off near a cosmopolitan market neighborhood.  We had dinner just outside of the old city near Jaffa Square at a Kosher restaurant separated on two sides, meat and dairy.  We ate on the meat side if you were wondering.  

   Just at dark, Amber and I ended the evening with 5,000 more steps, making a trip to the market where we found fruit beer to haul back to the hotel.  It was one more, yet far less wholesome pilgrimage to take.