What day is it? I'm not sure. What time is it? I'm even further from knowing that. My body is telling me it's late Friday night (early Saturday morning) the day we left. That ten hour flight from Los Angeles to London, the nine hour layover, the five hour flight from London to Amman, Jordan—just one long day with a few disorienting cat-naps along the way.

Be that as it may, I've been told it's about three O' clock Sunday morning. OK, I'll buy that. At this point I think I'll buy about anything.

Visas were no problem, and we (myself, Andre, Jake and Tim) got through customs without a hitch by looking stupid and mumbling, even with 13 plus bags. Either the customs agent was overwhelmed with so many bags to investigate at such a late hour, or he figured people as dumb looking as us couldn't be anything but harmless. At least not to anybody but ourselves.

Jason's Journal
September 25
Jordan

Today was spent on a short tour of downtown Amman: dirt and rubble from construction (or destruction?) lined every sidewalk, the curbs of which ranged from an inch, to a couple feet tall. This is definitely not a handicap-friendly city. The architecture is difficult to place. Far from being the clean sweeping curves of the romantic Arabia it resembles more a haphazard conglomeration of broken down structures. I wonder if there is building anywhere in the city was at some point new. Being here has given me a new appreciation for the concepts of "zoning" and "city planning."

It is difficult to breathe through the nose outside—every draw of air brings with it another new flavor of putrescence, ranging from dark clouds of inescapable vehicle exhaust, to unwashed bodies sweating in the 100º heat, to rotting trash in forgotten dumpsters on every other corner. As unpalatable as breathing through the nose is, the thought of taking that air in through the mouth, unfiltered into the lungs, is unthinkable. The stink, however, is at times so thick that reflex forces the nostrils closed and the mouth inhales the rancid air. I look forward to the pure air of the open, barren desert.

One thing I do like about Amman is the fend-for-yourself attitude in which things seem to exist. Things that would be considered public safety hazards in the U.S. are left up to the individual to avoid. It seems that law-suits are simply not an issue here: if you get hurt then you should have been more careful.

Jason's Journal
September 30
Jordan

Newly dubbed "The Four Guys" the media team, consisting of myself, Andre, Jake and Tim have been in Amman now for seven days. Thursday, after the morning press conference we were supposed to leave for Iraq. Unfortunately the visas were not yet ready and we were pushed back a day. And then another day. And another. Finally it looked as if we were to leave on Sunday. Until this morning when the bad news came in via Air Marshal (Ret.) George Sada, our liaison with Iraq, that the visas fell through yet again, and in a big way. The official word is that it will be at least a month before the visas are worked out. How can this happen? The pervading thought is that someone in Iraq was in a bad mood, or wanted a bribe. George has gone back to get to the bottom of the problem, knock some heads together, and get us in the country. We wish him luck, but with the way things have gone thus far no one is holding his breath.

Being in a foreign city now for a week, and having done next to nothing I'm beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic. My feet are itching to get out and do something—and that not in the city. Those that know me know my dislike for cities. I want to get out in the country, the rural areas, the desert. To that end I'm hoping to take a short two day trip to Petra tomorrow with anyone who's interested. If all goes well we'll bring the sat. phone, a DVcam (digital video camera) and the D1 (digital still camera) and capture something interesting for the web. Otherwise I'll drag along whoever I can and head out for a much less burdensome trip. Either way works just as well for me.

For the long term, if the Iraq visas do indeed take a month, or fall through completely, I may well have to take things into my own hands and take off for some backpacking and sight-seeing around the country. That's a rather scary thought, especially if no one else is into the idea and I'm left to go it alone. It could be a lot of fun (or pain) and it would be a shame to spend a month in Jordan and see only a few square blocks of Amman.

Now, Iraq visas are not the only problem we're facing. Syria is going to prove a to be a bit of a difficulty as well. I don't know all the political ins and outs or the why's and wherefores of the difficulties, but those in the know know that Syrian visas are as sketchy as Iraqi. And that means that we may not get into Syria, either. Things seem to be unraveling at the seems. It may come about that this 21st century Journey of the Magi starts in Palestine and ends in Palestine. If that is the case I wonder whether Robin will opt to continue such an abbreviated pilgrimage. This brings me to wonder about my own future. My hopes were that something would come up between the beginning of the pilgrimage and the end in the way of a job, or place to live. If the pilgrimage is cancelled that leaves me high and dry. Which, of course, was a possibility anyway, only in this case I'll be left high and dry much sooner than expected.

Jason's Journal
October 3
Palestine

Friends and family who have followed my stories in the past know that I take a somewhat deranged pleasure in doing things that have an inherent risk to life and limb, things that make the blood pump, the adrenaline flow- the rush. This evening such excitement has taken a somewhat surreal turn. Detailed on the broad strokes of the present troubles in Israel and Palestine....

Bored with sitting in the exhaust-filled, rancid air of Amman with nothing to do all day while we wait for our Iraq visas to come through, the media crew—myself, Andre, Tim, Jake, Peter, and Joseph (the one Arab among us, Palestinian)—along with Steve, our web page coordinator, decided to head out to Bethlehem. We would make our base camp at Bethlehem Bible College, just a few blocks from the Holy Land Trust Office, Palestine, Bethlehem, and range out to photograph some of the route we will be tracing by foot in December.

After crossing the Jordan-Israel border... in a taxi though Jerusalem... on the way to Bethlehem...

We pass through the first Israeli checkpoint, on the east side of Jerusalem, without so much as a glance from the guards as we slow, weave around the barricades, and drive on. All goes well through the city, and Joseph, crammed next to me in the back, points out a few sights that are visible at night from the back seat of a packed taxi. War? Riots? Protests? Where? I wonder to myself.

As we approach the checkpoint leaving Jerusalem, entering Bethlehem, my musings are answered by our first hint of the reality that we had been seeing on the news since the pointless, antagonizing arrogance of Ariel Sharon, the Israeli Opposition Leader.

The guards at the outgoing checkpoint won't let our taxi pass through into Bethlehem- it's too dangerous. The driver wholeheartedly agrees and turns around to leave. Steve tells him to pull over, though, and gets out of the car to talk to the soldiers, bent on getting us in. I let Joseph out to help overcome the language barrier. And I hear pop-corn gun fire in the near distance. I exchange glances with Andre: "Is this a good idea?" After some debate the guards still won't budge: No Israeli taxi is going into Palestine when it's this hot. If we are going in to Bethlehem tonight we are going to have to walk- and carry all our gear on our backs.

We are about to get back in the taxi, go find a hotel somewhere in Jerusalem for the night. In the morning things will have cooled down enough and we'll be able to get to the office. But then he comes, out of the dark, from the Palestinian side of the checkpoint- the phantom driver. Though his vehicle is obviously not a taxi, his purposes are clear and Joseph quickly secures his services as Steve makes a couple calls on the cell phone to warn our friends of our eminent arrival. Packing in as much gear as we can, four of our group of seven (the driver will return for the other three and the rest of the gear) head into the now quiet war zone with the headlights out- we don't want to make more of a target of ourselves than we already are.

Driving five, ten minutes through the darkened streets (the Israelis have cut the power to much of Bethlehem) I see dark shapes moving casually among the shadows, soldiers and police carrying automatic rifles, men and boys waiting for something to go down. Andre wonders aloud why our driver is doing this for us, what's in it for him? He decides that he must be in it for the rush. I nod and chuckle my agreement.

A dim beam of light ahead flags us down. We slow and pull over. Four soldiers on the side of the road want to know what we're doing, where we're going. The exchange is in Arabic between the soldiers, our driver, and Joseph, and lasts only a minute, ending with subdued laughter and chuckles before we drive on. Joseph twists around in the front seat with a big grin to explain what just happened: The soldiers don't want tourists in Palestine right now, for their own safety's sake. We can't be here. But our driver told them that the three white Americans in the back seat are Palestinian soldiers. "Ah, in that case, go ahead."

Winding without lights through more darkened streets, past soldiers and rock toting civilians alike we eventually stop to exchange cars. Awni, from the Holy Land Trust, Palestine Office, has braved the war zone to pick us up. Knowing Awni, though, it's likely he has nothing to brave in the first place- I think the guy is friends everyone in Palestine and Israel. Everyone likes Auni, nobody would even think of leveling a gun on him. His first question after a couple handshakes and hugs is, "The hell you guys doing here?"

Our phantom driver takes off again, heading back for the rest our group as we wait, heads down. Right now the streets are mostly quiet, at least where are. Aunni's cell phone rings (it's always ringing) and he steps into the alley to answer. The call is from Sami, the top Holy Land Trust man in Palestine. They discuss what to do with us, now that we're here. There's no way we're going to be able to get to Bethlehem Bible College tonight, as originally planned- the fighting is barely a block away from the front door, at Rachel's Tomb, often a hot-spot for violence, and barely a quarter mile from where we're standing.

Some guys cross the street toward us. I can't tell whether they mean trouble for us, or are just seeking a better vantage point for when the excitement breaks out again. But they leave us alone.

Joseph's folks live not too far from where we're standing, and he tells us he's going to take off. "See you at office tomorrow," he says in his best English.

"What? You're going to walk home, through this?"

"Not far," he shrugs. "Two minutes." And he disappears into the shadows of the alley. Joseph is a news cameraman in Palestine- all that footage you see on TV of demonstrations in Palestine (what we in America call riots), Joseph is the guy getting the footage while dodging bullets and rocks. He's used to this stuff, and tonight is actually pretty light. At least for the locals.

I'm standing alone on one side of the car with my comrades all gathered on the other side engaged in various capacities. I feel somewhat isolated. And having an over active imagination I'm a little nervous as a soldier approaches me from the dais he and his compatriots are standing on. Of course I don't think he's going to shoot me or anything, but I brace for harassment when he says in thickly accented, broken English, "Where you from?"

"Uh, America. California," I stutter. Dumb scared American.

"You like Bethlehem?" he asks, squeezing between me and his PLO jeep.

"Yeah, love it, great town."

He nods his response. I'm not sure he understands anything I've said. He unstraps his flack jacket and lights up a smoke behind his jeep, offers me one. I smile and raise my hand palm down. "No thanks." He shrugs and goes about his business.

Finally the rest of our group arrives. Awni tells the phantom driver to follow him, and once more we pull slowly into the night, lights out. Five more minutes in the car, winding the maze the maze of streets in Bethlehem and we arrive at our home for the night. Sami and Danni live in the same apartment building. Being in good with the landlord Sami has gotten the keys of a vacant apartment and we haul our stuff up several flights of stairs and drop it off. Danni tells us to come on up to his place if we want to hang out for a while. Being spun up with adrenalin none of are exactly tired despite the late hour, and we go on up.

What a place he's got! In LA something like that, clean, with all the space, three bedrooms, two baths, the view (they were watching tracer bullets fly back and forth not two hours ago) would run a good five grand a month. But I suppose being in a war zone depresses property value some. Regardless of the pad, the spread he and his wife have set out for us is unprecedented, especially considering the hour and the situation: chips, cookies, fruit, pastries, coffee and tea. We sit and talk for a while. Sami, and few others join us. Awni has taken Steve to his parent's place for the night, but they both return shortly: his house is packed with relatives escaping some of the more dangerous areas of town.

Two cups of Starbucks coffee (Danni knows people) prove not to be enough to keep me up after the adrenaline fades. I head back down for bed myself.

Jason's Journal
October 4
Palestine

We visited a couple sights where we will be staying on our way to Bethlehem today. Wadt Qelt, a monastery of sorts, built into a canyon wall. Nedi-Musa is a mosque, I was told, but I think the language barrier blocked the understanding of my question and the reply when I asked what exactly it is. We attempted to get to Jericho, but were shut out by Israeli soldiers on the two roads we approached on. Soldiers? they looked more like boys, fresh out of high school sweating in the hot sun, with sun glasses, hats and bandannas keeping the sun off, dragging on cigarettes, decked out in flack jackets and toting automatic rifles. They were kind and apologetic with their refusals to allow us to pass: "We have our orders, sorry."

I wonder: What are they doing? Who is it fighting out there? It's not the Palestinian Authority, but rather "demonstrators," young men and kids throwing rocks, or firing pistols. I cannot believe that they really think that they will be able to win back Palestinian land from Israel with such a pathetic display of arms. I can only comprehend it in terms of kids out causing trouble, getting into mischief, only these kids are taking it a step further. And they have the burning fire of a cause to fight for.

Jason's Journal
October 5
Palestine

After a small breakfast and starting our laundry Andre had it in mind to head down the street to aftermath of last night and roll some footage. That sounded good to me and so I joined him, with Tim and Jake as well. We stopped briefly at the new hotel to talk briefly with the bored employees, bored because all the guests had cancelled their reservations for the protests in the streets. And so we headed on after being reassured that we'd all right to go on. We were all right, sure, in that we didn't get killed.

Before we got to the barrier in the street and the burning tires we were mobbed by a couple dozen kids, not one of them over fifteen. Waving their hands, pointing at our cameras they told us no pictures. One went so far as to grab Andre's DV Cam and try to take it from him. After a quick and shabby frisk they decided we were OK to go on if we wanted. And so we did.

It was a familiar dynamic between the kids, it seemed somewhat strange, though, in foreign faces, in a hostile environment. Young punks, ten or twelve years old, were the ones that were aggressive in any sense. The older ones were cool- pulling back the younger ones, apologizing about them, etc.

As we walked on among the clutter of rocks, rubber coated bullets, broken glass, and other trash in the street stones started skipping by us. "No wonder they wanted us to go on," I mentioned to Andre, "they wanted target practice." Looking over our shoulders we saw it was, once again, the little ones attempting to stone us while the older kids pulled them back, told them to knock it off: "What're you doing? These guys aren't the Israeli's! Stop trying to stone them!" Andre commented that for professional stone-throwers these kids were pretty pathetic; none of the stones even reached us before it bounced three or four times.

Jake, more prudent than the rest of us, turned around and went back to our room rather than follow us into the tattered street past the kids. Tim, Andre and myself decided it would probably be wiser to head back by a different rout rather than run the juvenile gauntlet again. Looking back again we received confirmation by the waving arms of the older kids to go around the corner and head up the other street.

Palestinian soldiers stopped us a couple times on the way to the Holy Land Trust office. Checking passports (Andre left his in the room), looking at our cameras and telling us no pictures they were generally congenial after the language barrier was overcome by some bloke driving up and stopping to translate for us. After that they waved us on with smiles and apologies. They turned down my offer to take their picture, though.

Arriving with no further problems at the office, which was closer than our room at this point, we told our short tale. Shaking heads, incredulous looks, and sardonic comments told us what our Palestinian friends thought of our little walk around town.

And now we sit safe and sound once more in the roach hotel. Two of us do, anyway. I would much rather be back in Bethlehem- it was cleaner and much more exciting.

Jason's Journal
October 9
Iraq

Finally arrived in Iraq last night. After arrival, George sat us all down and gave us a quick run down of some do's and don'ts, and a big wad of cash- apparently about four months salary for an Iraqi professional, or around 12-15 US$. Once upon a time 250 ID (Iraqi Dinars) was equivalent to $700; now its along the lines of 15 cents. Was it the war that caused this? I didn't ask.

Walking around town a little today, on the way back we took a turn down a side street to get back to the hotel. Several drivers had wonderful opportunities to soak us with rancid water as they drove by next to us, but each of them slowed way down, veered to the other side of the road, waved and drove on. Faced with a "T" in the road we were unsure which way to go, proceeded down the wrong way, and were then directed and guided in the right way by a child on a bicycle. How did he know where we were headed? I guess a group of eight that looked as out of place as we do here are easy to pin.

Jason's Journal
October 11
Iraq

Church this evening: It was a western church, giving a western service, in a foreign language. It was so much like back home. I would think, would hope, that a church in a culture so far removed from American culture would be as different. Not in this case. This is, of course, my own bias, and if this church "does it" for those who attend, then more power to them. But I would like to see a service that is Arabian, not American. It was a pretty building inside, though. And the music was great.

The message (Albert translated for us) was also very American: God loves you, raise your hand, pray this prayer and believe and you'll be "in" with God. The first part is true (if over sermonized, in my humble opinion) but the rest, i think, is questionable.

Jason's Journal
October 12
Iraq

Went for more soccer today. Peter stayed behind for the huge blister on his foot. I thought of staying as well, but decided to go and and shoot video/photographs instead. I'm glad I went, but I also would like to have had the time here to myself. Got to talk to some of the Iraqi guys and enjoyed doing so. I'm somewhat amazed at how kind and gracious they are to us Americans even as we continue to bomb their country daily. Were the roles reversed I think most Americans, ego/ethnocentric as we are, would be quite different toward them. An education while talking to them toward the end of practice: Here in Iraq Muslims and Christians are very close, they seem to realize that they do indeed serve the same God. That's the feeling I got from the interaction I had with them, anyway- one of them Christian, another Muslim (the others I don't know what). Also: America won't allow Iraqi Muslims into the country; however, Iraqi Christians are OK. Stupid.

At the end of the practice the commander of the air force base whose facilities we have been using came out and talked to us (Solomon translating). He, too, was very kind and gracious, offering more and more to us, saying what they have given us already (in allowing us to use the facilities etc.) was nothing, and anything we need or want is ours for the asking.

I really like the Iraqi's that I have interacted with.

Jason's Journal
October 17
Iraq

Amariyah bomb-shelter.

I walked around the outside wall of the shelter, the wall lined with pictures of the dead, their names written in Arabic script. I stared into their eyes, eyes that could not look back at me, they are only representations of the eyes that we burned, that would never see again. Unreal. The faces on the walls were unreal to me as I tried to imagine who these innocents were, who they would have become, should have become. Of course I could never know. But how else could I bring myself to comprehend the lives, the hopes and dreams that were dashed against the walls and incinerated in an instant.

Even as I imagined these innocents' lives they were not real, not people. They were only images on the walls, and fantasies in my mind. I could not see them, flesh and blood, smiling and laughing, bowed and crying. I looked to my left and right, to those around me lighted by candles and saw their flesh, living and breathing, thinking and feeling, hoping and dreaming. I removed the faces from the walls and put them on these living bodies. And I dashed them against the concrete walls to smash their bodies; I burned them until the flesh was charred black, bones were bare, limbs had disintegrated. And then I dreamed all my dreams for them, and lost those dreams in an instant.

Slowly it became real.

I saw then how shallow, how hollow, how selfish my little ritual was—staring into the eyes of each picture and saying, "I'm sorry." Sorry does not bring back the dead, or quicken their hopes and dreams. Sorry does not assuage the pain of those left without families: the widow, the orphan, the widower. "I'm sorry" is nothing.

Jason's Journal
October 22
Iraq

Started the actual walking/riding today from the ruins of Ctesiphon. After riding a ways, then walking in costume to the Tigris for a quick boat trip some of the guys played soccer with the locals. It's there that I got verily mobbed by kids wanting their picture taken ("Hey mistah! Sura! Sura!" -picture! picture!) then to see them on the view screen. Ali, one of the locals, came to my rescue telling them all to buzz-off. We talked a bit, his english was passable, if difficult to understand, but much betther than my arabic.

Jason's Journal
October 23
Iraq

Today we did about 20km after the church service/festival thing at Kohe. All we well and it is indeed good to finally get this show on the road. For the next few days I guess we'll be journeying, and then heading back to the Sagmon hotel to sleep.

It's late, and we have an early start and a long day ahead tomorrow. And much work editing photo's tomorrow night. I must get caught up from four days of shooting (five, after tomorrow).

I miss Helena… Should I go be with her for a while when this is all over? And how's that cancer thing? It's hard not knowing (last I heard they had found something in her mammogram)… being so far away- physically, mentally, spiritually, though she's always on my mind...

Jason's Journal
October 24
Iraq

Guess I forgot to mention anything about Daoud in my last entry: The kid at the festival that kept hanging around Andre, Joseph, and me. Got some pictures, and now he's mentioned…

We had two rugs thrown out for us today, invitations into peoples homes. The first we refused, but the second we simply could not. A nomad tribe of herders invited us to their tent for tea. The whole setting was so wonderful. These Iraqi people… Words can't do their hospitality justice.

Jason's Journal
October 25
Iraq

Today we had at least three invitations. The first Robin took up with a couple of the guys while the rest of us continued on. Not long after splitting up A guy and some of his family ran out to the road to meet us literally jumping up and down for excitement. Apparently he had seen a clip on us on the TV. And now he actually got to see us for real. We went in with them and sat for tea, and of course they insisted we stay for lunch at least, and they wanted us to spend the night there as well. I wish we could have! We waited around for Robin and David to show and that took long enough for them to get some more bread baked and yogurt ready for us. And of course Robin could hardly just pop in, say hey, and take off again. So we hung out for a while. It was so cool! I mentioned to Tim that when we get back to the states even the coolest people are going to seem like jerks compared to these folks.

And I'm filled with shame at the way I used to think of them: The enemy. Yeah, right! In that case I'd rather have enemies than friends any day.

After lunch another guy and his kinfolk met us in the street with Pepsi for the group. "This is my house," he said, excited, proud. "Come eat with me! Please!" He practically begged us, and still we refused. That sucks.

Later in the day as I was walking alone behind the group I met with a group, shook hands. They asked me to sit with them. Of course I had to refuse, if only to catch up to the rest of the group. But had I elected to stay there's no doubt they would have seen to it that I caught up to the group. If only I could speak even a little bit of Arabic…

I wish we could take up everyone on their hospitality. And I bet that we could go the whole journey through Iraq without having to plan for food or lodging and just depend on these strangers.

Something that the clan we had yogurt and bread with today said: If we are invited and have a meal with someone they become family. We're residence of Iraq, with family in the country, now.

This is great!!!

Jason's Journal
October 29
Iraq

Since last I wrote we have moved off of the rural farm areas along the Euphrates and onto the highway. With that move the journey, in my eyes, has gone down hill. Now instead of the smell of fresh air we inhale exhaust; instead of the peace and quiet of the wind through the grass and trees we hear cars zooming by, horns honking. But we're moving out of the fertile crescent, slowly but surely, and will hopefully be in desolate desert soon, without cars, highways, trash, etc.

Today as I was out walking point, brooding about Helena, a taxi pulled to the side of the road and the riders got out. An elderly woman dressed in a white "moomoo" (or something) got out and made a B-line for me, grabbed my hand and began kissing it. What is the proper response to that??? As I passed by the car one of the guys that had gotten out patted his chest and declared himself a Christian.

Wow.

Again, out in front, an old farmer and his son (or grandson) pulled their pick up over and as I passed he handed me three dates with a smile and without a word. I ate one (sure hit the spot) but discreetly tossed the others- I've had enough of the runs.

This evening Robin related a story: He and David were walking in the rear when a nice Mercedes pulled up and an elderly Sunni Muslim fundamentalist jumped out, beanie on head, long white beard, robe, the works- the kind of image that westerners are taught to fear. He went up to Robin, kissed his cheek and threw his arms around him. David's translation of his words was akin to, "God's peace be on you, God's blessing, God see you to Bethlehem," etc.

Wow.

Our journey has obviously touched a chord in the hearts of some- and these are only the ones we happen to come across. How many out there know of the journey, feel as these do, but simply have not had the chance to show there support?

Jason's Journal
November 2
Iraq This evening Abu-Galen came and sat around the fire with us. Abu-Galen is the land owner of the camp sight we've been staying at. He taught us a game: "Ring." Simple really, every school kid has played it in one form or another. Two teams, one ring. Someone on team "A" holds the ring in a closed fist and a person from team "B" tries to guess who has it in which hand. Points are scored, up to 21, each time team "B" fails to guess correctly. If the person from team "B" does guesses correctly they get to hold/hide the ring and score off team "A." Started out pretty weak, but got more and more fun. I'd much rather this game than watch TV, at least it's interactive.

Jason's Journal
November 4
Iraq

Mike's (my brother) birthday today. George's birthday.

Went to a wake tonight after 33k of travel. Again I'm astonished at the hospitality of the Arab people, astonished and grateful. Here's the rundown of events: Entered the large meeting room with handshakes and greetings and photographed some of the people, and the talk of the sheikh. A later translation of his talk: There are four kinds of people: The first is the man who has both wealth and wisdom and he spends his wealth for good. This man is acceptable before God. The second kind of man has no wealth but has wisdom and knows that if he had wealth he would spend it for good. This man, too, is acceptable before God. The third man has wealth but no wisdom, and spends his wealth selfishly. This man God does not accept. The fourth kind of man has neither wealth nor wisdom, and if he had wealth would spend it selfishly. Neither is he acceptable before God. The sheikh who had passed away was like the first man.

After this man talked we (the media crew) were invited back to photograph/film the layout of the food, then participate in the meal. We did both with relish. The spread was simply large platters piled with rice, on top of which was lamb and chicken—called manseff. People gathered around the tables and dug in with their right hand, tearing off meat, grabbing handfuls of rice and squeezing it into balls to pop into the mouth. As I began to get into it I kept thinking of how aghast Carla (my grandmother) would be at such a thing. This is truly a mans way to eat! Seeing I was having a bit of trouble tearing off chunks of scorching meat from the bones a couple of the men helped me out by ripping chunks off and handing them to me. I think that if I simply stood there with my hands behind my back they would likely have put it in my mouth as well. The people are so kind and hospitable…!

After the meal we adjourned back into the large meeting room and I joined with Edward, Keith and a couple others to talk with a couple Arabs. The converse was much like before: "We love the American people, we are all brothers, but not much the American government." I agree.

This was interrupted by a second call to prayer and afterward the Imam spoke—for too long. Part of his speaking was like this: "It does not matter which way you face when you pray, toward Mecca or toward Jerusalem. That does not make you righteous. It matters only which way your heart faces, toward God or away from God." Yes. During this I allowed my mind to wander a bit, at the vast differences between cultures, social structures; to daydream about becoming a missionary to the Arab world, and the steps to take to do so; to think how Chad or E would act/react if here now, to wonder if Da would think this kind of thing a viable education, as I certainly do. And many other things.

We arose shortly after the Imam finished speaking and left.

When we got back to camp we celebrated George's birthday with a couple tasteless chocolate cakes. Chocolate is certainly lacking in Iraq.

Happy birthday, Mike. How about a kafia for a present?

Jason's Journal
November 5
Iraq

A 37K day started out with shaay in Baghdadi with some of the uncles/cousins of "Mickey." We are under their protection, anything we might need or want is at our disposal. It's the same old story out here. It's amazing.

Abu-Galen is throwing us a big bash to send us off on our way. Since day one he has been coming over to bless us with his company, and enjoy ours; his brother as well. It was he who arranged the soccer game last Friday. The party: A singer, two percussionists, keyboard. The music is loud and very Arabic; and a crowd of 300 jumping, dancing and carrying on. I've been able to capture some great images. As Jake mentioned earlier this evening this is totally surreal. The whole trip itself is pretty "out there" but this, the party (not to mention last night at the wake)… it's going to far. Alice in Wonder Land comes to mind; I'm ready to wake up. This is crazy! Unbelievable! This whole trip… Thank God for this incredible opportunity! Amazing. Absurd. I wish I could accurately capture the feel of the whole trip, from listening to live gunfire in Palestine (October 4), to sitting at shaay in Bedouin tents, to attending the wake of an important sheikh, to a huge party thrown in our honor because we're moving camp tomorrow. The friendliness, hospitality, brotherhood… By Ggod, why are we at war with the people!?

Jason's Journal
November 9
Iraq

Thursday. Today I spent most of in the bus. I wore sneakers for the second day in a row because my back was beginning to hurt, I suspect because of a lack of padding in my sandals coupled with the amount of walking. So, being the second day in a row in sneakers my feet began to hurt, blister a little, get moist and soft. So, I mostly rode in the bus.

Later in the day camel number four apparently almost went down. We missed getting footage of her last few hundred yards stumbling into the "camel camp" but returned and got a little of her stumbling and looking mighty unsteady and unhappy. Returning to camp after pushing another 10k, though, Oday assured us she'll be OK. I'm not real sure Oday is entirely qualified to say. We'll see.

Miss Helena…

Jason's Journal
November 10
Iraq

I have just have no motivation to journal. Today, a rest day, we were treated to some amazing Assyrian dancing. Through the whole thing I was struck again at just how "kingly" we're being treated here, and how great this experience. All the while I'm thinking I should journal in such a way as to capture the feel of this whole thing so as to recall it 20 years from now. And now that I have the chance to do so, I just can't really think what to write. I'll have a copy of the 150+ images I made today, hopefully they will serve to key my memory.

More than just the dancing, though, is the service we've gotten in camp. I recall trying to retrieve a pail of hot water for my first bath at the first camp and Johny (or Tony—they're twins) practically grabbed it away from me and got the water for me, put it in the tent, probably would have bathed me too had I asked. Or the tea, or meals, or any cleanup at all, or anything whatsoever, any or all of these guys are on the scene out of nowhere taking care of us without us having to say word. Totally cool. But it's unnatural to me. I'm more used to being on their end, being the flunky, lackey, blue collar, server. Being on the receiving end of that, now… Crazy.

Jason's Journal
November 12
Iraq/Syria

Today we left Iraq. After a late start we drove out to the camels and walked the seven or so K to the border crossing with Syria. After several hours of sitting about we were given the final OK to leave Iraq and enter Syria with all our equipment and the three "foreigners" with us, John, Prosper, Keith, though they took a bit longer to process.

After a quick meal of cheese sandwiches, sesame seed cookies and "Double Cola" we boarded nice vans and proceeded though town (what a town! right out of the movies!) and to camp. This camp is much more like what I had imagined the trip would consist of. Whereas our setup in Iraq was much more "Americanized" here we have actual Bedouin style tents: one large tent for community, meals, the "kitchen" attached, and the crew taking care of everything; and several smaller tents for our sleeping.

We also got a good look at the new camels, though we did not have opportunity to ride them. A vast difference separates numbers One through Five (our Iraqi camels) and the beasts we have now. You could even call these camels majestic. Ok, that might be a stretch, but they're much larger, much more regal looking, not dirty and broken. Different saddle set up, as well. Rather sitting behind the hump, there is, instead, a long "banana seat" affair atop the hump. This gives the opportunity for a good deal more air time if one gets thrown.

Jason's Journal
November 13
Syria

Shortly after arriving last night my stomach gave me it's thoughts about the last meal. After a few hours of wishing I could puke, in the middle the night finally my stomach had mercy and gave up it 's tormenting contents. After that I felt like a million bucks and was able to sleep pretty well.

As I began to journal just now Andre tells me about the run-in he and Jake had with the Syrian police. They had stationed themselves ahead of us as we passed through Abu-Kamal to get some footage. The police seemed to not like that idea and as they were called over for questioning (arrest??) Phil and Souhil happened by and took care of the situation. Timing was perfect.

My day was not quite so exciting. The new saddle type for these camels leaves somewhat to be desired. Now instead of vertebrae up the but there is terrible chaffing. Now even the top of my butt hurts. How does that happen??

As we passed by a fenced farm yard a lady came out holding her child in her arms. I raised my hand to wave and she responded in kind. Her arm caught under her shawl and lifted it, exposing a breast—she was breast feeding her child. Not a big deal, but such immodesty caught me off guard in the Middle East. I mentioned nothing about it, until Todd, several minutes later, said something about it.

Speaking of women: the women of Syria are, thus far, much more open and friendly than our Iraqi sisters. I saw two vans full of women drive by us, looking, giggling, waving. Even the older Bedouin women are more open—not running for cover as we come by—waving, allowing us to photograph them, even. To an extent, anyway.

Got the sat. phone up and running tonight. Now it seems I'm the "glue that holds this thing together" (as George put it). Running the phones, computers, printer, etc. Checking the website tonight—it's all screwed up. All the work I put into captions, setting up the uploads in dated order, idiot-proof, etc… all for nothing. It seems Steve (or whoever put them on the web) slapped them up any old way, and only a few of the captions resemble what I had written. Tomorrow I'll stay behind, delete all the stills, and put them up again under the correct dates, with the correct captions. Inshallah. A lot of work that should not have to be done. Oh-well.

Along with the web stuff, I was able to get email. Great to hear from Helena, as ever. Tabitha wrote me, that was pleasant surprise. Brian wrote a good letter, Liz Flynn wrote a short note, Nancy Roy, Da, Mom…

Jason's Journal
November 15
Syria

After getting a computer virus from Steve I spent the day piecing my computer back together, with help from George. This is surreal: sitting in the middle of the Syrian desert, with absolutely nothing around, talking to George in the US on one sat. phone, using one computer to check things on the internet via the other sat. phone, using a second computer to trouble-shoot a third, dying computer... What!?

Afterward I went and explored the ruins of Dura Europas for little bit. Just amazing. Didn't walk today.

Jason's Journal
November 16
Syria

Walked through the barren desert today. Nothing out there but rock, sand, wind, some shrubs here and there. Very desolate. I love it!

Jason's Journal
November 17
Syria

Stayed back from walking again. Had to get various e-mail accounts set up for people, and wanted to get the new printer Phil brought with him up and running. Instead I broke it, just like the last one. But I told them all from the get-go, I'm a photographer, not a computer geek.

Later in the evening it began to rain, and it went on and on. Not a hard driving rain, not even large drops, but constant. It soaked the tents and I ended up moving into the supply tent, then into Robins tent, occupied by 'Dre and Jake (Robin stayed at a hotel with Nancy).

Jason's Journal
November 18
Syria

The morning dawned wet, misty and foggy. It was pretty, actually. Long damp day of walking. Bridge crossing was made by the bulldozer. Beautiful sunset—window through the clouds. On the way back we couldn't find the camp sight in the dark so after mistaking one Bedouin tent for ours we ended up just hitting the hotel in Palmyra that Robin has been staying at. Happily ate too much at the buffet.

Jason's Journal
November 19
Syria

Walked. Hit the hotel again.