THE PILGRIMAGE - an epic 30 postings travelogue of a sinner dressed as a pilgrim

You must forgive me. I did not plan to procrastinate so, but between my work and my play, my friends and my family, I have had little time to organise this almanac. But since arriving home from Singapore late Sunday night, I was committed to set up a page about the pilgrimage (umrah haj) I undertook in 2011. You can get there by simply Clicking Here, or going to the astutely named 'THE PILGRIMAGE' on the pages list on the right hand column of the blog.

There is enough to read and see in the thirty specific postings listed in that page, so I shan't trouble you with too many words here.

God bless you!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way 

A Pebble, a Cloud, a Drop of Water, a Radio Wave... a Sin - Prose of Ramadhan Part 50

5. I am a sin

I am a pebble,

In a river named Muhammad.

I am a cloud,

In a firmament named Muhammad.

I am a drop of water,

In the ocean of Muhammad.

I am a radio wave,

Emanating from an antenna named Muhammad,

I am a sin,

Within the authority of the Arch-intercessor

Who would plead to His Lord,

Most Earnest In Compassion,

Most Renowned in Mercy,

To look upon me,

A little pebble,

And forgive me.

It is part of Muslim lore that of all the intercessors, it is Muhammad who shall be the leading voice amongst all prophets in interceding and pleading in the Divine Presence for the forgiveness of humanity. As a sinner, this is therefore an important matter to consider.

But being the Arch-intercessor is just one of many aspects of the Prophet. He is also the first in creation through the Nur of Muhammad, before even Adam. Indeed, when Adam was only but a rumour, Azazil the Arch-djinn, more renowned than the angels (back then before he conspired against Adam and Eve and became the Devil) was already aware of the Nur and Station of Muhammad. Muhammad is the glorious mirror of creation, the mercy to all the world(s), and the Abu Arwah (Father of Souls). But above all, he is lovely to me.

He is beautiful to me because in the Prophet's history is a dream of a beautiful past that never happened to me, and in his future is a rumour of a magnificent promise that I can never fulfill. Every time I speak his name and write his attributes, in truth I am dishonouring a name and attributes that is beyond my pale to dwell upon. I am a sinner, you see. What concern have I in the elevated existence of Muhammad Habibullah?

But a sinner's bewildering infatuation for Muhammad of Mecca & Medina can be traced back to the night of ascension, when Muhammad, troubled by enemies and difficulties were invited by Gabriel, upon divine instructions, to ascend to heaven. And if you recall my earlier posting, in one of the Discourses of God, it was God Himself who said to Muhammad - I have created for you, o' Muhammad, a nation of sinners who will not stop sinning so long as they breath. But for you, because they are to be your nation, I have already forgiven them before I even created them...

Have a lovely Friday, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

Footnote: I know I was suppose to post The Sinners' Guide to Buttering up God now, but it is not complete yet. A thousand apologies, sahib and memsahib.

The Dead Sea, Jericho, and Karma at the Israel-Jordan Border - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 15

The Dead Sea

(Sorry for the delay, but this posting is the continuation and 15th part on my Umrah Pilgrimage) THE DEAD SEA. After the shrine of Moses, it was perhaps about half an hour's ride to the Dead Sea. It was a wet and rainy morning, so we all took shelter at the shop which was doing brisk business with Jewish and Arab tourists, who looked quite surprised to see our 50-odd crowd descending upon the small shop. This locality is famous for being the lowest spot on earth, about 418 metres below sea level. Left with no US Dollars, I got my friends to treat me to hot chocolate, which is the best drink in this cold weather. Brrr!

The Dead Sea Ashtray

For awhile I was famous, being the smoker at the lowest point on earth. How did the Marlboro taste at that altitude? Still good. Now, that's the problem, kiddo.

Err. This must be some kinda mistake

JALUR GEMILANG (name of Malaysian flag) IN ISRAEL. And this, must be the Malaysian flag at the lowest point on earth. We had quite a chuckle because Malaysia has no diplomatic relations with Israel. But I guess the proprietor bought a stock of national flags and just decided to raise them all up, regardless of diplomatic niceties.

Shalom!

FARMS AND THE FRONTIER. We came in peace. And as the sign instructed, we left the Dead Sea Resort in peace too. Its worthwhile to note that even in this seemingly infertile land, the Israelis appear to be growing some crop or rather. It looked like date palms, but I could be mistaken. In fact, as we made our way later through the frontier land facing Jordan, the Israelis are trying very hard to populate the region with small self-contained townships and farms dotting their outskirts. I never saw any farmhand at work during the afternoon, save for a couple of Arabs, but the vegetables and olive trees appear to be flourishing under the desert Sun.

Really? Oldest?

JERICHO prides itself as being the oldest city (as well as being at the lowest altitude) in the world. It is adjacent to the Dead Sea, and from the resort we could already see the town. Arriving absolutely hungry, we made our way directly to the cafeteria, after which we bought some souvenirs from the shop below - "The lowest lowest prices at the lowest lowest shop in the world!" the banner should have read. By this time the guide and bus driver was absolutely worried that we will be missing our flight from Amman to Medina. The drive from Jericho to Amman is not exactly near, and there is still the border crossing that we had to contend with.

Hashemite means the lineage to Bani Hashim, the Clan of the Prophet

A LITTLE PROBLEM EXITING ISRAEL. Our exit from Israel was directed to be via Sheikh Hussein Bridge which was a long, long way off from Jericho, instead of the much nearer King Hussein Bridge. That added at least an hour plus to our already oppressed time-management. At Israel immigration control, they processed us as fast as they could, but still took more than an hour (oh no!) and thereafter one poor dude was actually called into the interview room. I don't know why, maybe he looked like a security threat, but really I don't think so. While waiting for him, I was sitting behind the bus with Matt, and it appears that maybe our unfortunate friend's current predicament is perhaps not so coincidental after all. It was nothing really, but it appears that during the group's tour (which I opted out, remember?) after al-Aqsa Mosque, the dude was kinda rude to our Arab tour guide, ranting with expletives (!) at the poor man and witnessed by the group. "It's Karma", says Matt. Well, I have had my fair share of Karma biting in me in my bum, so I just nodded.

Anyways, after half an hour, the guy came out grinning out of the immigration complex. "Quick! Quiiiick! We must hurry!", our driver shouted as he hustled and bustled us up into the bus. Along the way, our Jordanian guide (who joined us at the border) told us that the Jordan, which is part of the Great Rift Valley is also known as the bread basket of the region, growing a lot of the vegetables and fruits for export to the Arab and Mediterranean countries. The Jordanians however aren't pleased because they say that the Israelis are taking too much water from the River Jordan.

The Prophet's Mosque, Medina

BOUND FOR MEDINA. It was a mad 3 hour's drive from the border to Queen Alia International Airport. Along the way, I noticed festooned on bridges, government buildings, military facilities, gateways, housing complexes and shops were the smiling picture of King Abdullah of Jordan, looking dour and mostly alone, but sometimes together with the picture of the Crown Prince, who must be in his early teens. We finally arrived at the airport about half an hour before the flight. Thanks to the pre-arrangement via phone by our tour leaders, the Major and Abu Ayob, we breezed through Jordanian passport control. My only hiccup was at the security scanner, where in a state of mad frenzy I deposited my phone, sandals, cane, slingbag, wallet, passport, boarding pass, cigarette and other assorted personal items into four separate boxes. "I am sure I will forget or lose some of them!" I worried. But of course being on pilgrimage, we had the Devil's luck - I got them all back safely.

Soon I was sitting in the plane bound for Medina, musing on the past 48 hours' travel and the sights I have seen in Palestine-Israel, and hoping that one day I shall return to the Land of the Prophets. But for now I was contented - Happy to know that in two hours' time I shall be stepping onto the blessed soil of Medina, City of the Prophet Muhammad, my Habibullah and Mercy to the Worlds. Even in my exhaustion, that made it all worth while.

Have a beautiful day, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa

I met a man in Jerusalem - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 13

The Old City is a little decrepit and the modern scourge of graffiti decorates some of its walls and tunnels - The common signal of unemployment and disenfranchised youth in any city. In the ancient city of Jerusalem such signs are even more depressing. I see a disconnect between the youth in their standard American ghetto-rap attire and trainers, and the older men dressed in dapper Mediterranean style with their suits and leather shoes. But perhaps the generation gap is only superficial.

Old Jerusalem is always beautiful, and if not, at least mysterious. Where would this tunnel lead me to?

Jabba the Hut used to frequent this coffee shop. So the street was named after him.

I had 3 cups of expressos here. While sipping caffeine, I jotted this note down in my phone (I left my diary in the hotel room) - "Jaber coffee shop, drinking coffee n plain water. So cold dat i have to wear a hat. Everyone drinking coffee n playing cards... Nothing to eat here at all? Earlier prayed zohor at aqsa... Saw d dome of d rock... tel aviv. It must b d sandstone capital of d world. Looks like europe. Amazing green contrast d minute we cross from jordan to israel. No problem at ben gurion airport... Except for some israeli making a ruckus at one passport counter. Beautiful arab school kids just out, and damn if they dont look jewish..."

Seeing me alone, and undoubtedly a non-local (but how?), an elderly gentleman approached me and I invited him for a cuppa. His name was Abu Ayob and lived in a village not far from here. After light banter and another cup of coffee. He invited me to his home, "You can see the Dome and al-Aqsa from my house!" And indeed I could see them when later I found myself sipping tea with sage in his frontyard. To be honest, I was a little worried, going along with a complete stranger in Jerusalem. But I did anyway (what is a holiday, without a little risk). In the bus, the lesser civil crowd chucked a couple of candy wraps at the sinner, but Abu Ayob straighten them out pretty quick. And as I walked with him into his village, I felt good that I had him to escort me. In the bus later, I saw a boy throwing litter at a chicken. What is it about this place and throwing stuff at things/people? Again, I feel that the young people would benefit from an economic growth. But even the shops are selling some electrical products looking at least 5 years pass its sell-by date. It is clear that the continuing stalemate between the arabs and the Israel government is doing them no good.

He has 3 young sons and 2 elder daughters. The youngest, Abdullah was the most curious about the sinner, shyly peeping behind the door at me. I look at his young family (he must have married pretty late) and wondered what the future has in store for them. They appear to be like flotsam and jetsam, adrift in an arbitrary and ancient conflict. But this conflict is not as ancient as it appears to be. Oh no... I know that arabs, christians and jews lived in peace in this blessed land for hundreds of years before. something happened to change this. The effects of the fall of the Ottoman caliphate (I think it is wrong to call it an empire) is still reverberating here, and indeed, all over the world. It is strange, I mused, how even Muslims forget that the Caliphate expired only some 90 odd years ago, when the last Sultan in Istanbul abdicated and the Young Turks took over and banned the turban and made western suits mandatory.

O' Abdullah, where are you climbing to?

My newly found friend took me back to Herod's Gate. He refused, he said, to allow his wife and daughters to work in a Jewish household. And life was tough. "Such is the fate of people living in the vicinity of the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa", he said the Prophet once prophesised. Money is never enough too. Well, I am not sure, I thought to myself, that prohibiting your family from working with the jews is the best resolution to the problem. But then, I am not an arab, and I am not born here in Jerusalem. I have not tasted the painful edge under what they would call a foreign occupation. I asked him if the jews rode the bus I was in. No, he said. It is not prohibited, but they never do. It must be exhausting, living in this manner, I thought. And I could see it in the worried lines of his face his constant worry for his family. Many have given up and have migrated to the USA for a better future, becoming doctors and good American citizens. What America has gained, I fear, is an irreplaceable lost to Jerusalem.With that sad thought, I walked slowly back to my hotel, to wait for my group to return from their travel itinerary.

As I jot this down, I am wistful and miss Jerusalem terribly. I hope to visit her, and perhaps make acquaintance with Abu Ayob once again. Have a lovely day, sunshine. If you have not visited Jerusalem, you should. It is both glorious and sad.

Pax Taufiqa.

Afternoon at al-Aqsa - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 12

The courtyard of the Dome of the Rock was a garden of Olives. As I walked pass slowly (not in deference but in exhaustion and jetlag) I could see school children playing and ancient Arab women making their way to the Dome. As it turned out, there was a women's prayer and study circle going on in the Dome. But we were permitted in anyway since we came a pretty long distance to get here - They came all the way from malaysie...!

The Dome of the Rock.

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The Dome of Taufiq next to the Dome of the Rock. My Dome is growing bigger as my hairline fights a losing battle against my ever growing forehead. The Dome of the Rock, as far as I am aware is still the same size since the day it was completed by Caliph Abd al-Malik in 687 AD - about half a century after the passing of Muhammad, Prophet of God.

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I lost my group. But all these contratemps and happenstances mean little when I am resting my back against a column that's probably more than 1,000 years old. It makes you think, doesn't it? And it makes you hungry, yes? It doesn't? Well it did for me. By now, I was already conspiring to leave the others to wander around the city on my own. Rushing from one holy place to another is just not my thing. I need to feel the place.

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The al-Aqsa Mosque is very big and has a very high timber ceiling. During the zuhr (afternoon) prayers, the congregation was rather small, filling up only a small section of the mosque.

The al-Aqsa Mosque stands one level down from the Dome of the Rock. It has a dome too, which is grey in colour. The distance between the two holy sites must be about 200 plus metres, but both are contained within the same compound and surrouded by ancient sandstone walls. We saw a patrol of Israel soldiers pass by. Later, Saiful (a companion) mentioned to me that as these soldiers were entering into the holy prescint they saw him and greeted him with asalamualaikum, and not the normal hebrew shalom.

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From any angle, the Dome of the Rock draws your attention. Each stone step, each pillar, each golden leaf upon the Dome must have a story to tell. Where I fail, I hope that you, sunshine, will be able to visit the Dome one day and continue where I left off.

I did indeed leave the group after the prayers. WIth my aching feet and terminal lack of sleep, I simply could not go on. Little did I know that Jerusalem was not done with me yet, and the afternoon would end up with me meeting an old Arab gentleman by the name of Abu Ayob and a trip to a his village. But that is another story for tomorrow.

Thank you, sunshine, for listening to my wandering tale in the Land of the Prophets.

Pax Taufiqa.

The Shaykh, the Smoker, the Soccer Ball and a Tasbih

The beautiful dream that is my pilgrimage is continuing.

A SHORT INTRODUCTION. As you may have read from my Page about The Writer and the Blog (and if you haven’t, why haven’t you?), I admitted some lingering acquaintance with a gang of Sufis who weekly congregate in a zawiya (small mosque) near my house. As with all Sufi groups, they have a Kalifah (leader) whom I shall refer to as ‘the Shaykh’. So he knows of me and I know of him. Well, perhaps that’s a little presumptuous of me – he probably knows me a little better than I know him. Okay, on with the story…

A WHITE TASBIH. I was resting at home after my pilgrimage and arranging gifts for my friends and family when suddenly I realised that I have bought no gift for the Shaykh. Feeling guilty, I found a string of 33 white turquoise bead tasbih (rosary) which I thought fitting for him. Well… that’s the best I can find from my little treasure trove.

In time however I started to question my choice. After all, as a sufi master, surely the man probably has a whole shed full of tasbih. And I felt shameful that the gift is merely an after thought. So in the end I decided not to give the Shaykh any gift at all (he would understand, surely…) and to instead give the present to my good buddy, Shal. On Friday evening I arranged to meet with him at a nearby coffee shop.

CAUGHT SMOKING. So I was there with Shal, happily drinking, eating and smoking, recounting my experiences while he was busy going through the pilgrimage pictures on my laptop. My reverie ended when I heard a customer remark from an adjacent table, “Cigarette smoke makes me cough…” I turned to see who the wise guy was when I suddenly jumped from my stool in fright – it was the Shaykh, you see, sitting not more than a feet to my right. All Shaykhs of this particular Sufi Order really (really) dislikes smoking and continuously advise all their stubborn and disobedient mureeds (students) to quit. So you can understand why I was surprised and embarrassed…

Well, anyways, the Shaykh was with his companion and driver. I kissed his hand, and we made light talk. All the while I felt the white tasbih burning a hole in my pocket as I contemplated what to do now. Should I give him then? What shall I give Shal in return?

MAY I GIVE YOU A GIFT? Finally, I resolved to give the Shaykh the tasbih anyway. I felt that I had no choice given the circumstances. Nervously I offered the tasbih to him. He tried to make a joke that the beads (white with some fine lines of yellow / gold) reminded him of a soccer ball (The Jobulani ball, I think he meant). I laughed even though it was not very funny. It is always a good policy to be polite when you are talking to a Sufi Master. Ha ha ha …

YOU ARE SMOKING IN THE HOLY LAND! We spent the rest of the hour showing the Shaykh pictures of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, the Dead Sea and Jericho (he hasn’t been to Israel). Whenever we came to a picture of me holding a cigarette in my lips or hands (which is often, I admit) I quickly clicked to the next photo. Shal noticed and could barely contain his mirth and entertainment at my discomfort.

After our holiday snap session, the Shaykh finally left with his companion en route for his house which lies on top of the hill. My buddy didn’t go home empty-handed, for I recalled that I still had one turquoise tasbih available (blue this time), which I shamelessly gave him in replacement. But I confessed to Shal what actually happened. He remarked ruefully, “Well, to be honest, I kinda liked the white one better… but I guess that’s the Shaykh’s good fortune!”

Is there any better way to return from a pilgrimage than to be greeted by a Shaykh? And is there a finer companion than an accommodating friend who is willing to forgive the faults and eccentricities of a sinner? I am happy, sunshine.

167. World Weary

World weary, The mind becomes numb,

And because it considers itself superior,

It feigns deafness to the good advice,

And exhortations of the heart.

The heart, unbowed, unbroken,

Takes its sustenance from a fountain In the heart of a Shaykh,

Who draws sustenance From the heart of Muhammad,

Who in turn, drinks from The Fountain of Divine Presence,

Beyond which there is no further Drawing or taking that we are aware of.

And Allah knows best.

May God shine a light in your life, better and brighter than mine, sunshine… for surely you deserve it more than me, your irredeemable sinner.

Pax Taufiqa.

Dome of the Rock - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 11

WEST AND EAST JERUSALEM. We entered the city through the Jewish side which is West Jerusalem. It looked nice, clean and cosy, reminding me of the mews and close of old London, with beautiful gardens and picture pretty frontages. I remember passing by what appears to be a University campus and young Israelis walking to and from classes.

As our bus climbed up the hill, our arrival at the Arab quarter is announced by the stone walls of old Jerusalem, parts of it rebuilt by the Ottoman when they held Jerusalem. Feroz the guide mentioned that this is discernable by the Ottoman type architecture and design. I nodded sagely while wondering “But this end of the wall looks exactly like the other end of the wall…” No doubt a practiced eye would see the difference which is lost to this sinner-pilgrim.

We finally arrived at the appropriately named Holy Land Hotel. After a quick breakfast and shower (after almost 20 hours' travel, I felt and no doubt smelt like a camel's breath), we assembled outside for our walk to the Dome of the Rock and Masjid al-Aqsa (“Al Aqsa Mosque”). The roads of Jerusalem are narrow with impossible corners and turnings, but somehow tour buses and large lorries still manage to navigate the serpentine streets of this city (with a lot of shouting, hand waving and honking).

HEROD’S GATE. About 100 metres down from the hotel we arrived at Herod’s Gate, which is one of the many entrances into the Old Jerusalem. At the gate, the sign of ‘Allah’ (God) and ‘Muhammad’ in Arabic script adorned the right and left side (which is the traditional position – as Arabic script is written and read from right to left) of the entrance. The ubercool thing was that it was written on two road signs. This is the first thing which made me think, “Yowza. I like this town…”

The labyrinth of the old city was captivating. Down each alley, turning right into a corner, I feel myself walking back in time, as around me, Arabs children play and their elders drink coffee and smoke outside the shop fronts.

Despite my dreamy reflection, I was soon jolted into the present when I saw an abandoned police barricade - a sign of past troubles and an indication that while the city seems peaceful, tension and conflict is never far beneath the surface.

I must run! Even my companion travelers on wheelchairs are far in front of me. I turn left, then right after a Christian souvenir shop. I walked down a long straight which was kinda dark at the end. In the gloom, two bored Israeli police officers sat, (boy, they look young! In fact all Israeli soldiers and policemen I encountered looked to be in their 20s) observing with mild interest the arrival of these strange creatures from Malaysia.

THE DOME OF THE ROCK. Then suddenly, I saw a glint of gold. There it is, beyond the darkness of our troubling times, a light at the end of the tunnel. Beautiful and golden, glorious monument of the Prophet’s heavenly ascension…

How did it feel, sunshine? It felt familiar. Oh so familiar. Suddenly I am reminded why I am here. I am pursuing Love. As Muhammad did, when one serene night Gabriel came to him and led him away from Mecca, far away from Arabia… to the Land of the Prophets and to the City of Prophets and Saints - beautiful and captivating Jerusalem. It felt like a dream. And writing this now… It feels like I am there still.

Pax Taufiqa.

Green Israel, Holy and Ancient Jerusalem - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 10

TEL AVIV. We arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport, Tel Aviv in early Tuesday morning (22nd Mar 2011). Ergo, the picture of the sinner in front of an ATM (with Hebrew squiggly writing) and the Galilee Travel Bus Service as proof. No diplomatic relations between Malaysia and Israel? No problem! Just remember to remind the Israel Immigration official not to chop your passport. “Please don’t chop my passport!” I urged, as the officer rolled up her eyes, no doubt tired of hearing the phrase for the 48th time. (I was no. 48 in the Visa Manifest list)

Ben Gurion Airport was built to impress, with huge sandstone walls and uber-high ceilings of a modern techno-cathedral. A permanent edifice intended to remind visitors to this embattled state of Israel's desire to remain permanently in the Holy Land. Visible presence of security is minimal. In fact I think that in KLIA I can see more police and security personnel than here. No doubt the airport is well protected, but you just don’t see many guns and khakis.

After about 40 odd minutes all our group passed through as harmless Muslims with no intention to bomb or hurt anybody in Palestine-Israel. Walking out, Ariffin commented ruefully “Just wait till we get to Medina airport in Saudi Arabia. Immigration will not be so easy there…” Replaying my school days, I joined the rowdy crowd in the back of the bus. Well, rowdy as you can be when you are middle class, middle aged and middle-minded in that fuddy-duddy kinda way. You know, my kinda crowd of respectable sinners.

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UNEXPECTEDLY GREEN. The trip to Jerusalem lasted about one hour, and I guess what impressed me was the green. Miles upon miles of cultivated greenery - agricultural, decorative and national park(s). The picture below would not be out of place if taken in Germany or France, but then you notice the dry, brown and sandy soil. These people are in the vanguard of agro-bio, and it appears that they are quite adamant to green the desert. Impressive, in that earnest get-out-of–my-way sort of commitment.

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Along the way we had Feroz, our local guide who once studied in UIA (International Islamic University) Kuala Lumpur and picked up a pretty good command of Malay. He kindly educated us in a strange Palestinian-Indonesian accented Malay on some basic facts about Palestine-Israel - For instance, that of the 10 million people inhabiting the land, about half is Arab and the other half Jews, although in Jerusalem itself the number of Jews are much higher. He also spoke about the state sponsored program for Jewish citizens to receive free housing if they are willing to settle out of town centres, which I guess is an initiative to spread the Jewish settlement more evenly across the land. He didn’t comment at all about this, merely mentioning it as a matter of fact. I am pretty certain that the privilige is not extended to the Arabs.

After about an hour, I noticed a green road sign in Hebrew, Arabic and English, speaking to me the name of our destination, the City on the Hill, praised and beloved of the 3 Faiths, Baitul Muqadis, the ancient and holy Jerusalem…

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O’ Jerusalem II

O’ Jerusalem,

You draw me like A moth to the flame,

And your bitter flames Lick me like a flaming petal Of a red and divine rose.

Again and again, you attract me, Again and again, you repel me.

But your resolute rejection of me Makes you even more compelling!

For I am unlike other men, I am Taufiq, I am Taufiq,

And to conquer you or To die upon your high walls

As a knight-errant of Fatima az-Zahra, My last breath would still speak,

“My Lord drove me to you,

And My Lord is welcoming me home!”

We are getting close, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

Take-Off - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 9

The Prophet's Mosque, Medina, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia .

Well, I am back, sunshine.

14 DAYS. After 14 days of travel and pilgrimage covering (or passing) Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, Jericho, Jordan, Medina, Mecca, Jeddah and the Red Sea, your loyal sinner is home in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Warm, wet, rainy and humid Malaysia.

I DO APOLOGISE. I must, because I promised to write and blog in my travel. Unfortunately there weren't any convenient (meaning cheap or free) wireless network that I could connect into. The last was KLIA (Kuala Lumpur International Airport), and even then it appears that I have failed to properly upload my writing, about 2 hours before my flight to Amman, Jordan. There I am below, confidently writing my last post more than 2 weeks ago (or so, I thought!)...

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Being away from this blog for so long has made me a little shy of sharing. But I will, for in my travel I have managed to collect copious notes and pictures. And along the way, I made new and interesting friends, both dead and alive. (death and mortality should not stand in the way of a good frienship, I was always taught)

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JERUSALEM, OH JERUSALEM! Never did I contemplate that I would ever reach its crowning hill of olives, prophets and saints. But I did... first though I had to reach Amman, Jordan, and from there take a connecting flight to Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv. From the capital city of Israel it was an hour and a half's bus ride to the Holy City of the Jews, Christians and the Muslims...

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O’ Jerusalem I

I do not want to break your heart,

I want to find your heart.

It is too beautiful too resist, I am not sorry at all.

I am blessed to fall in love with you,

I want to be near you, for as long As God gives me the pleasure.

I am Taufiq, a fool And a sinner,

You are my Jerusalem,

You mean nothing…

And everything to me.

There are many words to write, and many mixed emotions for me to contemplate as I recall these past two weeks. I hope that it will be interesting to you, sunshine, and that you will keep me company as I begin my posting about my pilgrimage which began 21st March 2011 and ended only yesterday, 4th April 2011.

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Pax Taufiqa.

Footnote - Just to avoid any confusion, let me be clear here that the earlier Parts 1 to 8 postings recorded my feelings and reflection prior the actual pilgrimage. Yes, yes... I am a little disorganised. Sorry.