 |
| Looks fancy. How will it feel at ground level? |
 |
| This is the main avenue between the old buildings through which we made our way from the hotel to the Masjidil Haram. As you can see, the shutters are all down and the shops have all been abandoned. |
 |
| This is the main road which runs parallel to the inner pedestrian avenue, and even these shops, launderettes and money-changers have been closed down. Where will they be housed next? |
 |
| The scruffy alley way though which I would wander about, window shopping and people-watching. All these buildings are destined to be demolished. |
 |
| On the first night and early morning after my Umrah, I wandered exhausted and tired back to the hotel. But on the way, I bought soft drinks and a kebab here. |
 |
| Primed for demolition. Another quasi-budget hotel. |
 |
| No more money to be changed here. No more stories to be shared. |
 |
| How despondent I would have been had I been with my friend walking through the desolate avenues and alleys where once commerce and people thrived. |
 |
| Oh, there are still shops and restaurants, but they are part of the new mall that sits right next to the Masjidil Haram. I much prefer the old quarter with its narrow alleyways, poor but happy pilgrims and bustling traders. The new mall feels like a mall anywhere else in the world, but perhaps with many more watches and perfume shops. They have a thing for watches and perfumes here. |
 |
| A sign of the times. A couple of kilometres from the Masjidil Haram, you can already see the Clock Tower and high-rise hotels standing proud and overlooking the holiest mosque of the religion. Once where pilgrims would gaze upwards upon the Holy Kaaba, today they can stare down on the House of God. |
 |
| I do not know about you, but even aesthetically, there is something horribly wrong with this picture. |
 |
| The gang. One last picture in Jedda. |
 |
| Maqam of Muhammad, within the holy precinct of the Masjid Nabawi, Medina. |
 |
| You would find me often outside this small mosque. It is reputedly built on Hamzah's former home. Hamzah was a Quraysh elder and the Prophet Muhammad's uncle. It is a rather dilapidated little building on a dilapidated little alley. I would sit there for an hour or two, eating my guava and listening to my music as I watch workers, pilgrims and shoppers walk past. Oh, and street-sweepers. They are around all the time, fighting a losing battle against the litter and rubbish that sadly blight this city. |
 |
| I was outside this mosque one afternoon when a head popped out of the door and chucked the residue of a packed lunch onto the sidewalk. And later as I was walking on the main road, there was a boy finishing his can of pop. And he simply threw the can into the road. Not just putting it aside, you know. Or not just getting up to drop it in a litter bin nearby. He had to throw it. I cannot understand the attitude. Is it part of a job-creation program for the street-sweepers? As the weather grew warmer flies became more in-you-face and made me wish that people would not litter so... |
 |
| We were heading for morning prayers but got caught on the street. Many people end up simply praying on the sidewalk and pavements when this happens. It is early morning but trust me that there would be thousand upon thousands of worshipers already in the Mosque. It is like a 7-11. It never closes and there are always people praying. |
 |
| Life goes on in Mecca like in any big cities. The poor fella (it is always a fella because remember, women are still not allowed to drive here) will come out and find his car has been towed. Courtesy of the Mecca city authorities. |
 |
| I saw a man. A tall giant of a guy. I decided to named him Hamzah. He looked like someone I would not want to cross words with. A tough looking hombre. But as it turns out, he was just another pilgrim. A soul seeking solace and some decent bargains for souvenirs for his family back home. Just like me. |
 |
| However I tried Photoshop-ing this picture, I still look fat. Then a disembodied voice whispered, "Try going on diet." |
 |
| Journal extract |
 |
| The Eagles of the Kaaba. |
 |
| I cannot remember who the manufacturer is... but someone should buy the ice cream making machine (it is the same Italian-made machine in all the shops) and bring it to Malaysia! The smoothness of the ice cream is miraculous. Each scoop brought me closer to the Divine Presence. Ya Huuu! |
 |
| Camel balls and Camel ding-dongs. Well, they are made from camel anyway. Quite nice. |
 |
| A Camel lost his heart somewhere. Very good if you suffer from asthma. Not very good for the dead camel. How does it taste like? It tastes like rubber. Chew a balloon and the taste is similar. |
 |
| And this is the famous Dhab (desert lizard). It did not come cheap so some of the boys chipped in to buy it. Even before the pilgrimage, Ariffin was singing praise of this Arabian delicacy, so obviously I was very tempted. I had some and this was what I told him later, "Bro, it doesn't taste like chicken at all. If I was to imagine how lizard meat would taste like, then this is exactly how it tastes like!" But to be fair, Dhab is eaten mainly because it is said to have medicinal properties. |
 |
| From this into the stew pot. |
 |
| And into a small bottle. Dhab oil is normally purchased by men for their medicinal properties. I am sure you understand. |
 |
| It is not all dead animals we ate in Mecca. I ate lots of fruits too. I became especially fond of a small version of our Guava fruit. It is soft, green-yellowy and is sweet and savoury. Just writing this now makes me drool. I ate baskets of it when I was in the Holy City. |
 |
| Arjuna is the sort of fellow who can charm the hind leg of a donkey. We were at this shop earlier, and to gain his goodwill, Arjuna allowed the salesman to go through his photo album in his Blackberry. The guy was actually from Myanmar. He was disappointed that Arjuna had zero naughty hottie pictures but we parted as friends. Later during lunch we passed by the shop again. It was closed and the salesman was having his enormous mound of briani rice and grilled chicken. He saw us and immediately called and opened the shutters. Arjuna, being the gentleman, did not take much coaxing to join him for lunch. I love Mecca. |
 |
| To show you that I DID NOT spend my entire time in Mecca just satisfying my physical appetite, I did visit the Masjidil Haram a couple of times to fulfill a different sort of appetite. And of course, when you are there, you must drink some of the Zam-Zam water, the blessed water from the well originating from the time of the Prophet... and even longer before that. How does it taste like? Well, err... like water, but a little heavy. I don't know how else to describe it. If you are nearby my office, drop by. I still have a large container of the stuff. |
 |
| Commiserating with Zain |
 |
| Some chaps in Mecca are deeply concerned about my health, and they would grunt loudly, "Haram! Haram!" (Forbidden! Forbidden!) as I enjoyed my cigarettes in the Holy City. In my high spiritual state of my pilgrimage, I would reply (in my head), "O' my brother... thank you for your concerns, but please, just shove it." |
 |
| In my earlier posting, I think I mentioned that pigeons are always about in holy places. So this little fella must be the cousin of the birds I made acquaintance with in Jerusalem and Medina. It is cooing outside the window sill of our cramped quarters. He must be thinking, "Why is this pilgrim in his room while the faithful are making their steadfast way to the Masjidil Haram?" I hate pigeons, they are such nosy-parkers. |
 |
| Wonderful, mad, chaotic Mecca. Even in the throng of humanity and God-awful diesel fumes of the big buses and SUVs that clog the streets, you are often moved to sit. To find a spot and simply contemplate and reflect. |
 |
| What an ornate door, I thought. This is the old part of Mecca with tiny alley ways and small little townhouses jostling for room with mini-hotels, kebab shops, laundrettes, watch stores and jewellery shops. Looming over the old city is the new development sitting on the hill directly adjacent to the Masjidil Haram. Starbucks within 100 meters! |
 |
| Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan - 7 hours to Mecca |
 |
| Where is that damn chicken? |
 |
| That doesn't look like an easy walk, o' Prophet! |
 |
| Finally. Hmm... Not so big after all. |
 |
| 4am... Don't these people sleep? |
