Souks, sweets and supper

One glorious afternoon, we got to wander slowly through the souk and ancient Jewish market in the Old City of Jerusalem.  Passing through the Jaffa gate was like stepping back into a forgotten time:  narrow, cobblestone streets worn smooth by the endless feet of pilgrims from three faiths journeying through the city, loud vendors calling their wares, dust, donkey dung, incense hanging in the air, flowers blooming riotously on the old walls.  We tread slowly through the souk, the bright autumn sun almost completely shut out by the stalls of merchants selling everything from radios to leather goods, from bras to sweets.  I was assaulted by the smells from the spice merchant, cardamom, cinnamon, peppers, nutmegs, cumin, coriander, herbal teas, salad spices, each one filling my nose with promise.  Bakeries with olive pizzas and manoush, flat breads covered with zatar, a spice mixture of oregano.  I could pick my way through piles of dates, pistachios, dried nuts, apricots, figs, mangos, kiwis, sample halwa, sesame snacks with pistachios or fruit in them or leisurely choose loosely-piled candies of every sort.  No plastic wrappers here: simply dig and select. 

There is something about shopping in a market that has stood for thousands of years, and something else again to shop in the market, aware of the thousands of pilgrims, Crusaders, defenders, thieves, adventurers, poets and families that have come for evening dinner through the centuries.  I fell in love with Jerusalem, with its three great faiths shouldered one against the other, its storied walls, narrow streets, surprising squares and history everywhere you turned. In a little shop, on a well-trodden side street, I stuck my pinkie finger into date honey and fell in love.  Date honeys are also mixed with caramel or sesame and deliciously spread over toast in the morning with strong coffee.  I felt as though I had stuck my pinkie finger into Jerusalem and got the most fleeting but sweet taste of the place. 

We ate later that day at an Armenian restaurant, aptly located in the Armenian quarter.  We nibbled on appetizers of sour cabbage, pickled carrots, potato salad, cucumbers, beautiful hummus and freshly baked pita breads.  A cold local beer, a breeze from the backyard patio through the open window, the cool of the stone-vaulted roof overhead and lunch with new friends was underway.   I understand completely now the ancient Jewish saying, next year, Jerusalem.  I fell in love with the place.  All my senses were afire there: the hue of the light, the multi-coloured goods in the souk, the call to prayer, the bells, the singing wailing wall in your ears, the feel of history underfoot, the texture of the walls, streets, water splashing over your hands in fountains, but more than all, the smells of spices, sweets, meats, bread, life in the air.