I was standing outside the Damascus gate on a hot, sunny afternoon. Through the gate, in the old city, were the sites I had come to see: the Dome of the Rock, the Western Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

      My first task was to find a hotel. I had decided to stay in East Jerusalem, so I headed down Salah al-Din street into the heart of the Arab district. After checking out a few places, I settled in at the National Palace. My room was large and quiet, but the hotel was a little farther away from the old city than I liked — oh well, my feet would pay the price for that decision.

      It was getting late and I was hungry, but I just couldn't resist a quick look around the old city. I entered through the Damascus gate, directly into a teeming market area. I'm afraid my first impressions were not all positive. The lanes were full of activity: there were Israeli and Arab shoppers, porters with their loads, and masses of tourist — more than I had seen this trip. Every third merchant seemed to be selling some kind of religious kitsch and they were right in your face, wanting you to visit their shop. At strategic corners there were Israeli military check points — a reminder, if one was needed, of the tension here.

      Despite my initial shock, it didn't take long for the old city to win me over — it is simply marvelous, almost beyond description. The first thing I noticed was the people. I have never seem so many different kinds of dress in one place: Orthodox Jews with black suits and hats, Christian priests and nuns in earth-tone robes, Muslims in white gowns and head-covers and, of course, the tourists in their ubiquitous tee-shirts and shorts.

      Then there was the city itself: it just oozes history. So many famous feet have walked these cobble lanes and alleys I felt honored simply to be there. And it's jam-pack with historic churches, mosques and synagogues built of a delightful cream-colored stone — the same material that's used to build the towering walls and imposing gates.

      Around each corner I found new delights. As I walked through the Arab quarter I saw freshly painted signs on walls and doorways. They pictured Mecca, the Muslim Holy city, and signify that the occupant had recently returned from a pilgrimage there.

      I headed over to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, site of Christ's crucifixion. It's a huge, dark building, really a collection of many separate chapels, where the different Christian denominations perform their rites. I found it interesting to see Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox clergy officiating in the same building, given their history of excommunicating each other. The structure itself is old and sadly showing it's age. Squabbles among the controlling religions have kept needed repairs from being made and many areas are now reinforced with scaffolding.

      The church was full of crying pilgrims and photo-clicking tourists — a startling contrast of the holy and profane. I found it endlessly fascinating and visited often. I would sit in the square in front and watch the waves of visitors wash in and out, trying to figure where they were from. Or I would seek out a dark quiet chapel and listen to the drone of voices. I explored it slowly, enjoying it's contrasts and contradictions.

      I visited the Dome of the Rock early the next day. It is one of the most impressive building I have ever seen: the Dome of the Rock. It's blue tiled walls and golden dome cover the spot where Abraham almost sacrificed his son and where Mohammed made his midnight journey to heaven. The spot is sacred to Jews, Christians and Muslims alike.

      After I took my shoes off and entered, I was delighted to find I had the place to myself. It was so quiet I could hear the rustle of the caretakers broom as he swept on the opposite side. For the next half an hour I walked around marveling at the ornate dome and the beautiful marble-paneled walls. After a while, a buzzing group of Arab school kids entered and I moved on.

      Later at the Temple Mount I made an inconsiderate blunder. Tired of the high price of beer at my hotel and the general unavailability of alcohol in West Jerusalem, I bought a small bottle of vodka in the Armenia quarter. Later I decided to revisit the Temple Mount. There are Israeli soldiers at the entrance gate and they checked my pack. When they discovered my bottle of vodka they were very upset. I was reminded that I was entering a holy place where alcohol was forbidden. I, of course, knew this but stupidly hadn't made the connection. They held my pack, and it's offensive contents, while I continued my visit. When I returned to pick it up, I was again reminded of the problem, this time by a very polite Arab. I apologized profusely and with great embarrassment. That's one error I won't make again.

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