JERUSALEM    Below is what I sent to my sister Lavender (her husband Charlie being Jewish wanted to know how it went) :  Jerusalem is beautiful – partly because all of it, even the new city, is all built in creamy gold limestone. I stayed at a Lutheran guesthouse in the Armenian quarter of the old city, spotless & with a garden with views over domes, spires, minarets and satellite dishes.  Here is the view from my room at night.   The other guests – they only stayed a night or two – were pilgrims in groups, a few Americans, quite a few Germans since it is German owned, orthodox...

From central Glasgow, walking through Kelvingrove Park up river to Milngavie, I stayed at a seedy but ok b & b in Renfew St – Paki owner and Polish girls, he v. nice & efficient but oh, these people of the east and south do not smile as much as they do in their own lands.  Leave bag for carrier to take to Milngavie for tonight.  The euphoria of walking in early morning sunshine through Glasgow, the trees, the great Stewart fountain, the sweetness of people who always greet, young women, old women, quicker greetings from men, long directions from old man with beery breath – now, my...

Fly into Dubrovnik, airport surrounded by spires of cypress & domes of pines.  Zig zag along coast, misty & scenic & stippled with islands, to old city.  Fight our way through tourists beside the walls who have just poured out of dozens of buses – 3 or 4 cruise liners each holding 5 – 6000 people have docked today, says waiter where we collapse for coffee.  They shuffle like caterpillars after leaders who hold aloft flags or furled umbrellas.   They bring in no money at all, says waiter, they get everything from the ships – bottled water, food,  souvenirs.  Tall, small, young,...

We are driven through the dusty town peopled only by men, all the women having been killed, imprisoned, driven away, to the Nile Palace, where all receptionists, cleaners, boutique owners, waiters and cooks are men.  The sense of loneliness, being a woman visitor in a Muslim country.   On the Nile terrace we drink, while the dusty mauve air turns dark Prussian blue.  My ears are deaf from the plane and my tumour, my eyes are sore and ache, I feel I am receding from everything around me as life becomes fainter, less palpable.  I slowly die, disintegrate back into dust.   The Nubian restaurant is...

LUXOR. Our 7th visit. Luxor Temple, not crowded because the tourists have flown.  A stall offers free booklets on Why Islam is the Tolerant Religion and Why Allah is God of All, and Bob picks up one for his friend Colin Gilbert, a creationist.  The Avenue of sphinxes, the towering pylons with slots for flag poles, the temple of the sacred barque, the hypostyle hall, Alexander the Great’s additions, the nubile breasts of Ramasses II’s daughter who reaches to his knee, a carving of the cow goddess Hathor and, lines of oblong indentations in the walls where people scraped dust for unknown holy...