Pointless vanity project of the former Tabascokid

Holy Land? More like Holy Fu..

On arrival, I’d been told about the “Friday protests” where there’s always a few scuffles between security forces and those with anger to vent so I wasn’t surprised to be told I was to cover one this week.  My assigned protest was to be the weekly rumble between fired-up Palestinian and members of the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) in the rural village of Nilin near the Israel/West Bank border.  Teamed up with AFP photographer Abbas Momani, I drove back into the West Bank to meet up with him.  Warning bells began to ring as he asked me where my gas mask was as I climbed into his car..

After picking up another photographer, it’s fair to say that as the kilometres of winding mountain roads and crumbling villages passed and we neared Nilin, my nerves were starting to build.  As we arrived into the village, heavily-armed IDF troops checked our Ids before we weaved through the concrete road blocks and drove the short distance to the hilltop car park that each week becomes the centre of events.  Getting out of the car, a area near a pole carrying the Hamas flag was pointed out to me that was the scene of a protestors death a few weeks before. Ah. Okay.

After twenty minutes of prayers, the protestors joined up with a small group of Israelis who support the Palestinian cause and headed down into the olive groves. By now, TV crews wearing body armour had arrived and were already wearing their gas-masks as they filmed the chanting group so I decided to follow their lead and get prepared.

At this point, I should break away from the story to point out that however surreal this situation sounds, it can’t capture just how insane it was to be there.  Finding myself gasping for breath through my mask as Palestinian youths all around me start to break out slingshots and launch rocks at lethal speeds just over my head at the approaching heavily-armed IDF troops is an experience that I won’t forget in a while.

It didn’t take long before the IDF returned fire as volleys of tear gas canisters and flash-bang charges whistled back towards us, bursting through the olive branches.  As I built my confidence and started to work out when and where I could move to, Abbas showed his experience and confidence by disappearing deep into the clouds of smoke.

Hiding behind rock outcrops and trees, the game of “Tom and Jerry” (as Abbas called it) began with the photographers trying to get between the youths and the soldiers to capture expressions while constantly advancing and retreating with the flow of the fight.

After an hour of fighting in the olive grove, the action moved back down into the village. As soldiers tried to come around from different angles, the Palestinians ducked and jumped over hedges, walls and fences and ran through the gardens of homes nearby.  All of the time, there was the constant action of shooting pictures, running for cover, looking for troops and listening for shouts while checking for moments between gas bursts where I could pull the mask off for a second and fill my lungs with fresh air.

Tear gas is an interesting thing as, hours later as I sit here in a restaurant back in Jerusalem, I can still taste it in my nose and throat despite having worn a military-grade gas mask.  The protesting youths that turn up every Friday to pray and fight have only scarves.  In between volleys of canister fire, groups of men came spluttering and wretching back through the clouds of smoke into the arms of the Red Crescent medical teams who sprayed a liquid onto their scarves that counteracted the effects of the chemical.  Within minutes, the men were back on their feet and searching for fresh rocks to launch across the tree-line.

As we ran between gardens and down alleyways, the sounds of domestic life would come through house windows which made me suddenly realise just how ordinary all of this was. My adrenaline was charged and I was shooting nearly everything that moved but all around me, people got on with their weekend as though nothing was happening just outside their homes.

The car carrying the tannoy speaker that a short time before had been broadcasting prayers to the congregation was now blasting out Arabian-sounding music, providing a strange soundtrack to the experience.

Then, as soon as it had started, Abbas gave me the nod and it became clear that it was over for another week.  Neither side had gained any ground, neither side could claim victory but the anger of the Palestinian protestors had been vented and the IDF had successfully controlled the situation.  “Tom and Jerry” looks set to continue every week for as far as anyone can see.

Yesterday, I hitched a lift with AFP driver Mano and headed into West Bank for a press conference and another grip’n'grin with man-of-the-moment US envoy George Mitchell at the Palestinian HQ, the Mukata.  Heading into West Bank was quite an eye-opener for me as, until I saw it myself, I had assumed that it would be as developed as Israel but probably a little rougher around the edges.  Once we were through the checkpoint, it soon became clear just how barren the area is.  Like a lunar landscape with outcrops of houses and huts formed by Palestinian Arabs or Jewish settlers, it’s a world away from the coffee shops and internet cafes of Israel.  While it is often assumed that the Jewish settlers on the land have dug their feet in and are gripping tight to their beliefs (as is certainly the case with some), there are also communities on this side of the border that are here for simple economic reasons.  While a house on the Israeli side may cost $700,00, here in West Bank, a similar property may set you back as little as $150,000.  While it can’t be easy to live in an area with such tension always at hand, it’s understandable to see that some here simply couldn’t afford to move across the border if they wanted to.  A very strange situation and one I expect may earn me a number of lecturing emails from either side.  Excuse my ignorance if I’m wide of the mark with my opinions!

With our offices right next to Yasser Arafat’s tomb, it would have been an error to miss the chance to visit.  Not speaking that much Arabic (i.e. none), my thoughtful reading of the tomb inscription was hopefully convincing enough to the two soldiers on duty.  I can’t imagine I was fooling anyone though.

Arriving at the AFP office, I always like to make an impression so with the class and panache of Clouseau, within minutes of arriving, the back of my chair collapsed, knocking my fresh Arabian coffee over the desk of one of the reporters, soaking his notebook.  Marvellous.  I really do excel at times.

The job itself proved to be all as expected; man arrives, man smiles, man walks into building, man sits down next to other man, men smile, I get herded out again.  In an attempt to feel like a stalker, I then found that my other job of the day was to photograph, you guessed it, US envoy George Mitchell meeting up with the Palestinian PM Salam Fayad at the US consulate.  Just so you can live the dream and see how exciting these shots can be, here you go.  This was quite an exciting one as they shook hands. Most of the time, they sit and look at the camera, remaining stationary for the duration of the 20 second shoot.

Anyway, that was yesterday.  Today was quite different..

With a slim idea of what daily life will entail for me now beginning to form, I took the chance to head back to the Old City this morning for further exploration.  Aside from pre-determined jobs that are called through to me, I know that the rest of the time I’m just “on duty”.  While in London, these dead times can be frustrating as I try to think of new things to shoot that haven’t been over-documented but with the fresh city, politics, lifestyle and options available here, it’s (I have to ask forgiveness before I even write this word) “nourishing” to have so much choice.

Having checked out the Western Wall in the Jewish Quarter on Sunday, I turned left through Jaffa Gate and headed into the shops and stalls of the Christian Quarter.  It’s an unavoidable cliché but the sights, sounds and smells really do make an unforgettable experience.  If you can time your visit to coincide with the call to prayer coming from the Muslim Quarter as you walk through the spice markets, you really are transported to some  text-book version of what you always imagined the Middle East to be.

After building up the sufficient sales-blocking defences when I walked into the more-touristy outskirts of the lanes, it was a pleasing surprise to find that half of the time when I was deeper into the lanes, the shopkeeper who called my name or beckoned me to stop was genuinely just wanting to talk.  One man was in the process of finishing a book on the antiques that he sold and wanted advice on whether his photographs were good enough and how he could improve them.  One man simply wanted to talk to me about my experiences so far and asked me to do all I could to get into Gaza to see for myself what’s been happening.

There were of course the expected amount of traders who thought that because they either guessed correctly that I was English or  said the words “Fish and Chips” to me, I’d become financial putty in their hands.  No joy, guys.  I’ve made a policy of only  buying things at the end of my time here.  That way, I learn to avoid the Israeli equivalent of the straw donkey or sombrero.   Having said that, I couldn’t resist the contradictory fridge magnets at the end of this blog.

So, back to today; aside from a trip to the Presidential compound where I got to meet the apparently decent chap that is Sky correspondent Dominic Waghorn and to get a picture of the new US envoy arriving (or rather a car driving through a gate), my only job was to get Tzipi Livni, leader of the Kadima Party, meeting the same said US envoy, George J. Mitchell.

Having waited for an hour at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, it was a reality check to see that pointless photo calls don’t  just happen in the UK.  My picture managed to perfectly capture the back of Livni’s head as she shook Mitchell’s hand while stood in the wrong place.  Ah well, at least it allowed me to use today’s desperately called-for pun in the title..

With my grasp of Israeli politics now so strong, it’s comparable to the vice-like grip of a sleeping toddler, I headed off on my first real assignment today as Benjamin Netanyahu formally launched the Likud Party’s election campaign.

I say first real assignment  but this doesn’t include yesterday’s mission to cover the funeral of a leading figure in an ultra-orthodox area of Jerusalem.  The first problem of the day was to find the place.  Having got hold of my car the other day, I also opted to get a sat-nav for the duration of my stay.  Having been warned that there may be some problems with translations by my boss, I soon discovered that the Hebrew translations of the road names are very different to the English version.  “Jaffa Road?  Ah, you’ll be looking for Yafo.  Of course.  How silly of me.”  When I pointed the problem out to the guy in Hertz, he said “Ah yes, many road names are not included.  Also, if the road you are looking for isn’t there, try the Hebrew spelling.”  Genius.

Anyhow, my only pictures filed through the AFP system so far have been less-than exciting shots of political party stickers and posters for a feature angle.  It’s very different from English elections in that, so far, the advertisements seem quite limited in their placement.  This may change as the day draws closer but, for now, I had to settle for stickers that are handed out at junctions by enthusiastic kids and a few posters.  It doesn’t help that if the poster doesn’t have a photo of the leader on, I’m currently trying to identify the names of the parties (in their original Hebrew script) with names like “the one with the first letter that looks like Elvis’ profile”.  I’m dead intelligent, me.

It’s strange working in a location that is always potentially close to “something” happening.  In London, everyone is prepared to some extent but photographers have to have their cameras with them here AT ALL TIMES.  Breakfast, bathroom visits, popping down one floor of the building to get a sandwich; it’s all included.  It would feel quite ridiculous if it wasn’t for the level of security that’s there to remind you of possibilities.  Nearly every restaurant has an armed guard outside and bills include an optional “security fee”, most parking garages have a guard that checks the boot of your car, young kids that in England would be hanging around on street corners are walking the streets in uniforms with assault rifles.  Actually, there’s not that much difference with that last one..  *Switches back out of Daily Mail-mode*

So, after a long wait involving lots of friendly Bibi fans wandering over for a chat before realising there was a decided language barrier and wandering off again, Netanyahu made his grand entrance.  As usual, seconds before he walked in, a quick agreement between all the photographers not to rush forward collapsed as everyone just decided to monster him.  Being far too British and polite, I ended up being one of the last to go for it.  Thankfully, London has sharpened my elbows enough to get stuck in if there’s a shot worth having.

Not speaking Hebrew, I can pretty much say that he said all the usual things you’d expect a politician to say when fighting a political battle and the audience lapped it up.

So the battle has officially begun.  With a terrible dawning feeling, I remember that in political war, the first casualty is usually sleep.  I think I need to grab some advance slumber..

So with a rather surprising twist, tonight I find myself in my hotel room in Jerusalem at the start of a two week assignment to the local bureau to assist in the coverage of the upcoming elections.  Never having been to Israel before, it was somewhat of a shock to the system to have the chief photographer take me on a quick tour, with choice quotes such as “there’s the gate that Jesus entered the Old City through” and “Bethlehem’s just over that way”.

Today began with a trip to collect my official media accreditation and after a coffee from AFP driver Mano that nearly ripped the top of my skull open, I was put behind the wheel of left-hand drive Mitsubishi Warrior and told to take it through the morning traffic to Hertz.  With neither a map or satnav, I managed to navigate the 15 metre-long (slight exaggeration) monster through Jerusalem and swap it for something a little more city-friendly.  Huzzah for my new Subaru!

With that out of the way, my only mission of the day was to get my bearings so I decided to take a walk up into the Old City.  Now I’m not going to even pretend to know the whole story and politics involved in this place aside from to say that the Old City contains places that the Muslim, Jewish and Christian faiths all consider to be vital to their religions.  As is often the case when religion is involved, this has caused “friction” over the years.

Being my first day, I wandered through Jaffa Gate and up into the markets and lanes before heading down to the Jewish Quarter which contains the “Western Wall“.  After passing through tight security and scanners, I spent some time in among the men at prayer at the base of the wall.  As you can see in the picture below, the notes pressed into the cracks of the wall are prayers, written out and placed there, usually when someone cannot make the journey themselves.  Apparently when US President Obama visited last year, he left a prayer which was then nabbed by someone and published.  Surprisingly, the prayer didn’t involve anything along the lines of “Go on, let me win.  Please.” but was a prayer for family protection and forgiveness of sins.  I think my idea would have been better.

Having had my day of exploration, tomorrow sees the start of the real work as I begin trying to illustrate an election between parties that I don’t know in a country that I don’t know.  I do like a challenge..

If you go down to the beach today, you’re sure of a big surprise..

After an unsuccessful attempt to catch Jonathan Ross heading in for his first day back at work, I was sent down to the East coast to have a look for some of the wood that was reported to have begun washing up on the beaches in the area.  Having fallen of the back of a ship in the English Channel a few days before, the Coastguard had been tracking the “potential new shed” of wood with interest (do you have a better collective term for floating construction timber?)

Having covered the beaching of the MSC Napoli and the ensuing scramble for BMW bikes and cosmetics, this was a much more conservative affair with local builders stocking up on free top-grade timber and old guys wandering up the lanes with the makings of a new fence over their shoulder.

The Police, as before in Branscombe, could only request that people leave their names and addresses if taking the timber with them in case the insurance company wanted it back.  Now when the hell is the container ship carrying cameras, lenses, laptops and Frank Zappa cds going to shed it’s load?  I mean, come on, surely it’s my turn?

So eleven weeks to the day after winning the US Presidential election, Barack Hussein Obama II was declared the 44th President of the United States of America.  As during the night of the election itself, I had to find a way to illustrate the British interest in the story so headed up to Tottenham in North London to the Bernie Grant Arts Centre to scout that out before heading back to central London for the big show at the Hard Rock Cafe.

As was the case on Novemeber 4th 2008, these kind of jobs are always a little odd as you know that the picture of the day is going to be from the other side of the world. However, the challenge remains and you have to do your best to capture something that shows how the world was watching.

From an agency point of view, the additonal complication comes from trying to photographically locate the events without setting things up.  Somehow, for your shots to work for the best, you need to show that British people are also watching but aside from getting a London bobby to be in the background of every frame or attempting to drive a London bus through the bar, you’re left somewhat stuck.

The downside to me explaining all of this here is that you can now see how I clearly failed in my task.  Bahh..  There’s never friendly beefeater carrying a red phone box when you need one..

Anyhow, congratulation’s Mr. President!