Far from taking any steps towards institutionalized political unity, the Arabs of today appear incapable of reaching any agreement in response to any of the serious and dangerous situations facing the Arabs collectively. Any follower of mediatised intra-Arab political or social debates would note the absurd pattern where the majority of debates amongst Arab representatives turn into un-intelligible disputes, worthy only of sighs of frustration and disbelief.

The divergence in interests combined with an inability to communicate has rendered the thought of mere collaboration between Arabs naïve and utopian.

The impotence of the Arabs in Palestine, Iraq, Sudan and now Yemen has saddened and frustrated generations, leading them either to utmost indifference or, more seriously, to religious fanaticism.

Whilst we are aware that the depressed tone of this article so far would appeal to many of our cynical readers, our actual purpose is to show that the spirit of Arab Renaissance still exists and is capable of making a major comeback.

The first Arab Renaissance started in the second half of the Nineteenth century as a corollary to the cultural and educational awareness raised after Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt and the contact with the western world. A significant Arab movement led by Sherif Hussein of Mecca grew under the shadow of the First World War. It did not however survive the Ottoman Empire and disappeared with the British and French division and dominance of the Arab world. A more mature Renaissance movement saw the light in the 1950’s focusing on the struggle against the establishment of Israel and the support of national independent movements growing in the “post colonial” countries.

The death of Jamal Abdul Nasser followed by the Camp David accord in 1978 ended a movement which could not survive with Egypt out of the equation. The military resistance to the Israeli invasion in Lebanon in the summer of 1982 followed by the First and Second Palestinian Intifada in 1987 and 2000 is considered by certain authors as the Third Arab Renaissance movement.

According to Issam Noman, a Lebanese politician and thinker, the Third Renaissance has progressed to a new civilized project, in line with the globalisation movement of the 21st Century. A project, which according to Noman, should be based on“mutual exchange, the removal of constraints and borders amongst countries, people and cultures in response to the telecommunication and technological revolution”.

And it is here that we contend that a spirit of Arab unity persists and grows in the region today, despite all political realities and agendas that push doggedly in the opposite direction. First and foremost, a pan-Arab mentality is manifesting itself in the world of business. We are not talking here of any significant pan-Arab economic initiatives at the government level. With the exception of the good work being done at the level of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), efforts at economic coordination amongst Arab governments are pretty much dead in the water.

Still, Arab businessmen and companies are approaching the Arab world as one market. This comes not as the result of some rosy ideological attachments, but from a pure sense of business opportunities. Start–ups are springing up across the Arab world, starting in one Arab country and then moving swiftly to establish a presence in other Arab countries.

This trend is most visible in businesses that are grounded in the knowledge economy. Internet and new media enterprises must approach the Arab market as one, as it speaks one language. The success of enterprises like Zawya.com, Yamli.com, and Koora.com speaks volumes about the need to adopt a holistic approach to conducting business in Arabia.

Samih Toukan, co-founder of Maktoob.com, said at the recent ArabNet conference (http://www.arabnet.me/) in Beirut: “Investors look at Arab world as a whole…as one market.” In fact, nothing embodies the point of this article as the vibrancy and exuberance that was manifested at ArabNet. Speakers talked with passion about the need to foster and support the growing digital and entrepreneurial spirit in the Arab world. Young innovators from Jordan, Lebanon and many other Arab countries presented their projects to various investors who were focused on the Arab world as one unit.

Contrast this enthusiasm with that surrounding the annual Arab Summit that was held at the end of March in Sert, Libya. The level of popular interest was possibly at an all time low. Arabs, including their leaders, fully appreciate that a pan-Arab approach to regional challenges is at best futile.

However, there continues to be a strong Arab connection at the human level that pierces through this collective cynicism towards a unified political approach. For despite all the intelligentsia’s newfound realism that confines any form of Arab unity to obscurity, no one in his right mind would or could deny that basic, emotional link that still binds one Arab to another. It is that link that transcends the daily conflict that marks Arab politics.

This article aims to start a conversation. It is not about adopting slogans for or against Arab unity. It is about rational debate. Is the growing sense of one Arab market, driven by innovators and businessmen, a precursor to a grass roots movement towards the adoption of a truly integrated Arab economy? Is such a development worthy of our focus and effort? Could the human bond between Arabs be a driving force for unified Arab effort towards change?

Decades of failure will naturally lead many to respond negatively to these questions. But this is ultimately a knee jerk reaction that is, in and of itself, yet another manifestation of our decline.

We should seek positive conclusions from the encouraging realities on the ground. Whether it’s in the emerging success of Arab businesses, or in the engagement of the sense of Arab civil society to address our common regional challenges, there lies somewhere, potentially, the seeds of reform.

The creation of the Palestinian Diaspora of 1948, in which over 750,000 people were forced to leave their homes, was made virtually at gunpoint. This year, as Israelis celebrated their 60th birthday, Palestinians remembered their Nakba of destruction and turmoil, signified by their uprooting from their land. This monstrous contrast has to be highlighted so that the world is educated about the crimes perpetuated against Palestinians.

Yet instead the Nakba of 1948 is remembered in passing. Death and destruction are treated like a casual event. Sure the Nakba is bemoaned, but the depth of the tragedy is not made apparent, as nobody has the right to question Israel.

Today Israel is seen as a a member of the world community, a nation with military and economic muscle, as well as a democratic state. Yet the facts of its creation are swept under the carpet.

Established Zionist politicians and military leaders understood there would come a day when the cat would be let out of the bag and the terrible reality of the massacres, transfers, expulsions, and destructions of whole villages would be broadcast to the whole world.

That’s why they’ve sought to legitimize themselves through literature and books written in English, targeting the hearts and minds of Western audiences and politicians. The Palestinians, the injured party, were secondary, peripheral, meaningless, as if they didn’t exist in all of this.

Over a 60-year period politicians such David Ban Gurion, Menachem Begin, Moshe Dayan, Golda Meir, Yitzhak Rabin, Ariel Sharon and Shimon Peres, have all sought to write a “history of their struggles” in Palestine/Israel and how they made it work.

The biographies and histories soon became powerful weapons and public relations tools to buy time and American support for Israel, despite the fact that the country was built on the blood of the Palestinian people, young and old, men and women, children and toddlers.

Through organizations and paramilitary groups like the Haganah, the Palmach (its strike force), the Irgun and the Stern gang, some of whom were trained and supplied by the British authorities, 13 massacres were committed in 1948 alone, and up to 100 massacres total. This is according to none other than Jewish historians.

Massacres like Dier Yassin in which around 245 women, men, children, old, young, and even pregnant women were slaughtered at point-blank are slowly being remembered for their ferocity. A ferocity that many Jews seem to be proud of.

It was 8 April 1948, a day that should be considered a black day not only for Palestinians and Arabs, but for the world and for Israelis themselves, whose establishment of a home cost another people so much.

Others massacres were ‘small’, as low as five people, but many went up to 50 and a 100. The massacres began as early as around 1946 when Zionist terrorists bombed the King David Hotel in which 91 people were killed. They continued in 1947 and increased through out 1948, so that as much land as possible could be taken.

Called their operation Plan Dalet, the Jewish paramilitary groups which, together with the reservists, were comprised of 100,000 armed men went against around an Arab army of 14,000 or so. They waanted to take as much land as possible, more than what was allocated to them by United Nations resolutions that divided historical Palestine into two states, one Arab and one Israeli.

Plan Dalet was an attempt to drive the Palestinians out through instilling fear into the local Palestinian villagers and town dwellers and force them to leave their land and their houses. People were panic-stricken, a mass-flight was induced, loudspeakers bellowed, telling people to leave for their own safety, sirens wailed.

Palestinians were made into refugees overnight. They left under bombardment. Of those captured many were killed as a lesson to others, that they too would be killed if they harbored any signs of resistance.

Despite the instructions of the Arab Higher Committee urging people not to leave, Palestinians ran to avoid being massacred and/or raped.

Palestinians left still hanging on to the keys to their homes, some at first sought refuge in nearby villages, some went over into neighboring countries into Lebanon and Syria where the idea of borders were still rudimentary. People genuinely believed it would be a matter of days and weeks before they could return to their lands, and they couldn’t that their exile would become permanent.

Survivors alive today said that when they were exiled to Jordan they tried to go back via a taxi, which was doubly difficult in those days, found that their homes had already become occupied by Jewish families.

These homeowners were ironically, the lucky ones. Other villages were quickly decimated soon after they were depopulated. To erase any memory of a prior Palestinian entity more than 500 villages were destroyed in 1948.

Meanwhile, a body of literature has built up over the years, examining just why the Palestinians were made into refugees and increasingly questioning the Israeli narrative claiming that the Arab countries told the people to leave.

Erskine Childers, an Irish journalist, wrote in the early 1960′s, in the Spectator in London, stating he found no evidence to suggest that it was the Arab countries that were responsible for the creation of the Palestinian exodus. On the contrary, he claimed that it was the Jewish paramilitaries that created the situation.

Palestinian academic Dr Walid Al Khalidi also sought to expose this Zionist myth, and so did Rosemary Al Sayigh, a British writer and academic who wrote extensively on the Palestinian uprooting. In the 1980′s Michael Palumbo also wrote about 1948.

These writings may have influenced Jewish academics that also begun to examine the creation of their own state. Dubbed as the “new historians”, they first gained prominence in the 1990s onwards. By examining state archives that were made available, many of them concluded that Israeli officials were indeed behind the Palestinian flight from their towns and villages and homes.

The author is the Responsible Chief Editor of Jo Magazine, a monthly produced in Amman. He worked previously as the Managing Editor of the Star, also in Amman between 1993 till 2003 and writes frequently on Arab and Palestinian affairs.

Tom Segev is the columnist of Ha’aretz, a left-wing Israeli newspaper, and a historian who chronicles the lives of Israelis in 1967.

Many of books have analyzed the roots of the Six-Day War and its significance to the history of the Middle East. Segev illustrates how the fear of another Holocaust drove Israel to launch wars against Egypt, Syria and Jordan, grabbing land and starting a tradition of excess.

If you believe in the mainstream discourse regarding the Six-Day War and in the image of an infallible Israel, you may not like this book. It is a book full of controversial ideas, and it makes harsh statements about the Jewish state.

Taking references from thousands of interviews, official and unofficial materials, Segev’s book distinguishes itself because of its reliance on materials both from archives and diaries of regular people. For example, the third section of the book was fully based on the diary of Private Yehoshua Bar-Dayan, who leaves his wife and son to join the army to prepare for war. The diary challenges the myth of heroism of normal Israelis and Kibbutz members. Many pretended to be courageous in order to avoid losing face in front of relatives and friends.

Segev paints a detailed picture of the Israeli society before the war. It also illustrates Israeli social problems that still exist today. Discrimination against Mizrahim Jews and Arab Israelis, whom some Israeli politicians repeatedly called to expel, is one of the problems. The biggest issue, however, is the struggle between the religious and secular. It is harder to solve the Palestinian conflict when religious settlers and rabbis, who believe themselves to be more righteous, have wielded more influence in the Knesset (the Israeli parliament).

This book will bring discomfort to those who do not wish to challenge established narratives. The popular argument supporting the Israeli decision to go to the war goes as follows: “ Nasser ordered Egyptian troops to be stationed in Sinai Desert and to launch blockades in Red Sea and Suez Canal. Syrian Troops also mobilized themselves in Golan Heights. So were Jordanian soldiers, who were deployed in West Bank… Israel was forced to attack and occupied Gaza, West Bank and East Jerusalem to protect itself from another war.”

This book challenges this argument by describing the political struggle between the “old” and “new” Israeli politicians. The strike against Egyptian troops was finalized when “Old” elites such as Levi Eshkol and Abba Eban gave in to the military generals such as Ariel Sharon and Yitzhak Rabin. Plus, criticism of the 1948 leaders for not taking all of the Biblical land added to the cultural and social turmoil which in turn resulted in the decision to enter the war.

The most shocking fact is the Israeli attempt to transfer 100,000 Palestinian refugees to Iraq. The cause behind the collapse of the plan is unknown. Neither was the number of refugees leaving their homes published by Israel. Though, the refusal to accept an offer from America, which, under the Senator Edward Kennedy, proposed a 200,000 quota for Palestinian refugees, forces people to question whether or not remaining behind was a bad idea as far as the Palestinians are concerned.

This is a wonderful book which documents the lives of both the Israeli people and the increasing influence of military in their politics. Its first-hand account vividly depicts how the ecstasy from victory has turned out to be the biggest curse for the Jewish state, Palestinians, and the possibility of peace in the Middle East. Its focus is narrow, but its lessons are immense.

Christ did not only die according to the scriptures. It wasn’t to end there, but “that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures”. His burial and resurrection was itself prophesied by Jesus himself as he took an illustration from Jonah the prophet. (Matthew 12:40) “For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.” Also this again was prophesied in Isaiah 53. “And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death”.

The Hebrew Scriptures speak also of his resurrection. There are many scriptures that prophesy this. The best known is from Psalm 16:10 and Peter the Apostle quoted this as he spoke to the Jews on the day of Pentecost when the Holy Spirit came down.

Someone commented to me once that the apostles and the evangelists who wrote the gospels were not, for the most part, prophets. Yes, God spoke to us through prophets all down the ages, but what is equally important are “WITNESSES”. The New Testament emphasises this all of the time.

The prophets have spoken, the prophesied events have taken place, and there were those who saw it, witnesses. For instance Jesus himself as he spoke to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:46-47) “Thus it is written, and thus it behoved Christ to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day: And that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in his name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. And ye are witnesses of these things.”

Now, Hebrew Law demanded that everything must be established by two or three witnesses. That isn’t talking about forensic evidence or people who “think” they saw something, but those who were present at the time. We are told that not only two or three witnesses saw Christ alive, but over 500 at one time, which is what is important to Christians.

The Apostles everywhere are keen to show us that they were there and they saw these things, and different gospels exemplify this.

In recent years discoveries are being made in the archeological world that are confirming the accuracy of these scriptures. Among them of course is the discovery of the so called Dead Sea Scrolls. These were discovered in 1947, and are slowly being translated and pieced together. What is interesting is that before the Dead Sea Scrolls the earliest copies of the Hebrew Old Testament scriptures dated from around 900AD. These Dead Sea Scrolls contain all of the books of the Old Testament, either complete books or fragments. They have been dated to around 200 BC including a complete copy of the book of Isaiah dated between 335 – 107 BC.

When compared with modern copies they were found to be almost identical with one another with just a few grammatical variations and this was so with all the other scriptures found. Another interesting scroll was the book of Daniel. Most of it complete. Those critical of the book of Daniel thought because of its accuracy in prophesying events, it must have been written no more than 100 to 200 years before Christ. But this discovery means that at that time it was already established in the Jewish Canon of Scripture and this indicates that it was indeed written by Daniel the prophet as itself claims around 500 years before Christ.

The site of the Dead Sea Scrolls was thought to have been formed around 60 -70 years after Christ. So it is evident that when we read the Old Testament Hebrew Scriptures that we have in our possession one of the most accurate documents known to Christians. Thus Christians have trusted grounds in believing that “that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures, And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures”.

In the early morning, I took a walk across St. Petersburg that would take me all day, crossing the waters, landing on islands, and visiting both well-known and lesser-know tourist sites, not to mention discovering hidden surprises that the city still had up its sleeve.

I started on Nevsky Prospect and went up over two bridges, each adorned with a different sculptural theme. I saw a lovely church built in a style very similar to that of St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow! Hmmm… Wasn’t the original architect killed? – I wondered

I then quickly realized that St. Petersburg didn’t even exist when he was alive. Whatever his destiny was, he and his vibrant style were revived when the St. Petersburg church was built in the late nineteenth century.

This Church On Spilled Blood, as it is called, was built on the spot where on the first of March 1881, Czar Alexander II was assassinated. His successor commissioned a magnificent church to commemorate his father in the Russian revivalist style.

A park nearby lead me to the Arts Square, where the Russian Museum is located and another weird story of murder was played out in the beginning of the 1800’s. The Mikhaylovskiy Castle was built on orders of Paul I, who was obsessed with the possibility of assassination. The castle was surrounded by moats and draw bridges and supplied with secret underground passages to help in rescue. Alas, all those precautions were futile in the face of destiny, and he was murdered only 40 days after moving into his fortified haven!

At the moat I saw many young Russians throwing coins at small statue under one of the bridges nearby, driven by the belief that their wishes could be granted if their coin balanced itself on the statue without falling into the river Moyka, a tradition that has endured since since long ago. I didn’t try my luck; after all, what more can I wish for?

I crossed a few bridges and passed through a park dedicated to the 1917 revolution up onto a another magnificent bridge and into the other side of town, Petrogradskaya, where the famous Peter and Paul Fortress is. On the way there, a small building hidden between grand empire style ones, stands where the most important house in St Petersburg once stood. This is where the orders to create St. Petersbourg were issued, inside a wooden hut constructed in three days for Peter the Great when he first stayed here. As the city started to grow, Peter ordered that humble wooden hut to be replaced with another stone building to preserve it for the coming generations. Preserving history is one theme the Russians are masterful at.

All along my journey I encountered stories of how they covered a whole palace in sand to protect it during WWII, or how they covered a certain historical statue in huge amounts of concrete for the same reason, and how they faithfully rebuilt everything as it used to be following destruction.

Now. another marvel of preservation is docked just around the corner from Peter’s old house, a testimonial to Russian pride and determination. The Cruiser Aurora entered active service in 1903. On the morning of October 25, 1917 it signaled the storming of the Winter Palace and the beginning of the end of the Revolution. The Soviets preserved it, then deliberately sank it to the bed of the river when the Germans approached to protect it. They rose it again as they rose themselves, reclaiming it as national symbol of not just the revolution, but persistence and determination in the face of danger as well.

After checking out the Aurora, I was approaching the Peter and Paul Fortress when I noticed a big blue dome. A mosque? Couldn’t be. Even if there were Muslims this far north, would there be enough to build a big mosque? Would the capital of the czars have a grand mosque among the hundreds of churches and cathedrals? No way. Curious, I took a detour, and saw a grand blue gate complete with calligraphic verses from the Quran and intricate mosaics and muqarnas. It is as if the genie of the lamp carried this mosque on the palm of his hand from Samarqand or Bukhara and brought it here in the blink of an eye.

It was not prayer time and that gate was closed, but I wasn’t going to leave without exploring. I found a rear entrance. There was a gathering of solemn people there, a funeral procession was on hand. These people didn’t look any different from the people I encountered on the streets, and they spoke Russian. They were Russian Muslims. As the funeral procession left, I walked towards the back door to find prayer times and the time of Iftar and Suhur and Imsak transliterated in Cyrillic alphabet using Arabic words. I saw a sign proclaiming, in Arabic and Russian, the headquarters of the Muslim community in St Petersburg and Northwest Russia.

I entered, and proudly using my clearly Arabic Asslamau Alaykum, greeted the men inside. Unfortunately, no one spoke Arabic, even though they were able to recite the Quran in its original language. Another language saved the day, it wasn’t Russian, nor the internationally esteemed English, but another important and influential Muslim language: Turkish. I found out that the Imam who answered me was from Turkey. He introduced me to the Tatar Muslim Imams.

I learnt from him that this mosque was built about a hundred years ago by the local Muslims in the capital of the Russian empire, significantly helped in its establishment by the Emir of Bokhara. I also learnt that there are about 800 thousand Muslims in St Petersburg alone, and they have their own local newspaper. By no means are the local Muslims only Tatar, there are Muslims from everywhere, including local converts too.

After that refreshing moment of contemplating the great Islamic civilization, I went back outside and finally arrived at the Peter and Paul Fortress. As soon as I went inside, I was transferred back to Europe after having my unbelievable sojourn to the lands of Islam. Many museums fill its old buildings; some dedicated to daily life in old St Petersburg, to the history of the fort and the navy. There are even torture chambers.

The main centerpiece is a little church with a huge golden spire than can be seen from all sides of the city. In this church lie the remains of the Romanovs, including those of the last czar and his family, that were transferred here a few years ago in an official ceremony. A lovely panoramic passage on top of the walls is sure to orientate any visitor to how this city is incredibly arranged around the delta of the Neva. There is a beautiful sandy beach where the people gather, swim, and tan in summer, and even enjoy the freezing waters in winter and New Year celebrations.

I proceeded to Vasilevsky Island. Facing from this side are two huge Rostral columns pierced by protruding boats, following a Roman custom to celebrate Naval victories. Just behind these columns is the Navy Museum, as well as the first and oldest museum in Russia: the Kunstkammer, home to Peter’s original cabin of curiosities and a more recent and very interesting ethnographic museum. And just in front of them are water fountains in the river and, of course, a long line of brides and grooms and their families waiting to take pictures against this national backdrop.

I took the suburban royal railway leading to Tsarskoye Selo, the magnificent palace of Catherine the Great. The palace is in the middle of a large estate, surrounded by rolling wooded hills extending for miles and miles, intercepted by streams and ponds in the middle of which are nice islands you can reach in Gondolas. The sun was shining on the fallen autumn leaves, making the pathways leading to the palace appear to be paved with gold.

Real gold did blind my eyes as soon as I entered this baroque palace. Reconstruction works are still going on since it was destroyed during the Nazi invasion. In every room there are pictures showing the stages of its life before the war, after destruction, and during the ongoing restoration. The most magnificent of all these rooms is the Amber Room, where verything is made of amber of different shades, arranged like a mosaic from the floor to the ceiling.

The next station on the same royal track was Pavlovsk. I didn’t even enter this palace because I lost myself to the charms of its densely forested grounds. I just kept on walking through the fairy tale forest.

The next day I discovered that I didn’t need to leave the city in order to reach the wilderness and enjoy nature. The Kamennyy and Yelagin Islands can easily reached by metro and a short stroll. They are like sanctuaries within the city where no cars are allowed. I spent my day there walking, resting, and marveling at the surroundings, while thinking that I understood why the Russian people are so great at art and music and literature. Such nature is bound to inspire, and the proof is the multitude of peopl who fill these parks: painting in oil, or playing the guitar, or reciting Pushkin love poems to each other.

I showed pictures of Jordan to the people I met; they marveled at my home country, and I marveled at theirs. And with such warm thought of home I started my return journey by taking train back to Moscow.

I had one day to spend in Moscow before my flight and had a hard time deciding what to squeeze in on my last day in Russia. To avoid disappointed looks when I arrived home, I decided to get gifts. Ismailovo park is the local flea market where traditional arts and crafts, furs and hand woven woolen scarves, matryoshka dolls and numerous other memorabilia can be bought at a nice price. All of that you can find in middle of an architectural park with huts, palaces, and markets made of wood in the traditional style.

I then took the metro to visit an unfinished palace of Catherine the Great. Tsaritsino was a lovely venue to end my visit. A romantic chateau in the middle of a lovely landscaped park with a huge lake and choreographed water fountains. History, nature, people, tradition and, naturally, many brides and grooms too. A good summary of my visit and what I enjoyed during my stay.

Russia is neither a mystery nor a riddle to me anymore. After being there, meeting its people, understanding its history, acknowledging its huge expanse and variety of cultures, I recognized it as a beautiful mosaic of people. In this, the largest country in the world, ethnicities are woven together to create a collective motherland each individual can be proud of.

With these distressed words, art expert Zoja Finci implored the late Bosnian President, Alija Izetbegovic, to save the Islamic relics of her beautiful city from destruction, despite the fact that she is Jewish herself. This was back in 1995, soon after the end of the Bosnian war, and she was referring to the Begova Mosque in Sarajevo, the largest Islamic monument – and arguably the most ornamented – in the former Yugoslavia. The vandals she was denouncing were not Serb militias, but none other than the Wahhabist hordes who traveled all the way to Bosnia to complete the destruction they started in Mecca.

As if the desecration of the graves of the Prophet’s wife and companions, and the complete demolition of every single remaining vestige of Islam in Mecca and Medina were not enough, the Wahhabist bulldozers set their eyes on Europe. Since 1995, a post-war crime of a different nature has been ongoing to erase the beauty of Islamic architecture in the Balkans under the guise of Islamic Aid.

You wouldn’t have thought for a minute that Wahhabis were particularly concerned with architecture to bother themselves with such expensive restoration efforts in far away lands, until you discover that their aim has nothing to do with restoration and everything to do with obliteration. All across the Balkans, even the slightly damaged structures were not repaired, although it would have been the easier thing to do, but were razed to the ground to be rebuilt from scratch in the ugliest form imaginable, and as far off from the original shape and design as humanly possible.

Then came the end of the war in Kosovo in 1999, and the architectural vultures immediately went after the corpses there as well. Harvard University Fine Arts Librarian and expert on Balkan Islamic architecture, Andras Riedlmayer, goes so far in condemning the grotesque defiling of ancient mosques in the Balkans to pronouncing that “the Wahhabis, with their wealth and fanaticism, are a menace to heritage, in some ways more dangerous than the [Serb paramilitary] Chetniks, since about the latter, at least, no one harbors any illusions regarding their uncharitable intentions.”

One foreign expert described one of the architects involved whom he had interviewed (and who never practiced the profession) by saying that “his ideas for mosque design involve knockoffs of Saudi-modern shopping mall architecture with odd touches inspired by the décor of the Love Boat, including portholes! He is the very model of the modern zealot, narrow minded, arrogant, and so dumb he doesn’t even realize it.”

Centuries old Ottoman mosques, libraries, schools and graveyards were knocked down for no reason except to implement Wahabist doctrines attacking any semblance of architectural splendor by inventing sayings of the Prophet decreeing that the ornamentation of mosques or tombs is a crime in the eyes of God. Reidlmayer recalls that prior to the War in Kosovo, “when the Wahhabis took out sledgehammers and set about smashing the 17th century gravestones in the garden of Peja’s ancient Defterdar Mosque, angry local residents beat them up and chased them out of town. I was shown the damaged gravestones, beautifully carved with floral motifs and verses from Qur’an. That was in the late summer of 1998. Six months later, in the spring of 1999, Serb paramilitaries came and burned down the mosque. Unlike the fundamentalist missionaries, they were not interested in the gravestones.”

So why do these Wahhabist scavengers travel the globe to implement the uglification project, you may ask? Who ultimately benefits if our culture and civilization is made to look as ugly and primitive as possible in the eyes of the world?

The plot thickens when you enter the domain of politics and consider the urgent need to reverse a natural human emotion called sympathy. It is well known that nations across the world sympathize more and develop a closer affiliation with a people whose contribution to humanity is materially felt and seen to be one that is positive, refined and sophisticated.

Americans, for example, still revere the Japanese culture, admire their history and savor their food, despite having incinerated two of their cities with atomic bombs. So how do you make sure that Arabs and Muslims remain reduced to a barbaric, uncivilized and useless people, who deserve what comes their way in terms of occupation and dehumanization? By working very hard to ensure that the association in people’s minds is always automatically connected with ugliness. Not with Samurai or with Sushi, but with filth and depravity. For the world is less likely to be bothered if a few more ugly terrorists get killed or robbed of their land, because all what the world can see coming out of their culture is repulsive and unattractive.

When the words ‘Arab’ or ‘Muslim’ are mentioned, no one should recall anything as miraculously breathtaking as the Dome of the Rock or the Taj Mahal, lest they rethink their apathy towards these apparent savages and, God forbid, sympathize with their suffering. The world should always conjure up images of Bin Laden and other Wahhabist creations when thinking about our lot. That way, it becomes much easier to dispossess a few million ‘nomadic’ Palestinians for the sake of saving a chosen race of European achievers, scientists and artists, who have no where else to go, and who would likely turn ugly deserts into lands of milk and honey.

If all what people see are hideous images of our people, coupled with decapitation videotapes of squealing victims, then the looting of the Baghdad museum under the nose of the Marines becomes more digestible by the world community, because, at the end of the day, what could possibly be inside this building? Surely, more ugly artifacts of an ugly civilization. Mission accomplished indeed.

But there is a huge, annoying crack in the uglification project. There is a place in Europe that Wahhabis cannot touch or destroy, and it is a source of constant irritation to the uglifiers.

Indeed, how could you put on a straight face and explain to the queues of millions of tourists who visit Andalusia each year that they are walking in the footsteps of the same people who today exemplify everything crooked, violent and evil? What if these people went back home and started believing that the Arab Islamic civilization was worthy of some respect after all? Hell, what if they started to make the link with the Dome of the Rock and attempted to criticize Israel for weakening the foundations of Al Aqsa Mosque by their useless excavations in search of a non-existing temple? Houston, we have a problem.

Not to worry, you solve it by committing the most dishonest forgery in history: by changing their name to begin with, by calling them Moors, and never refer to them as Arab Muslims. But where does this strange name come from? It doesn’t matter, just make sure to repeat it, and the world would buy it. Oh, the Moors. It just sounds ancient and exotic, like the Mayans of Latin America, and is the perfect cover up for the fact that the entire 781 years of the magnificent civilization of Al Andalus was purely Arab, not even Berber, and overwhelmingly Muslim.

This falsification plan also comes complete with troubleshooting contingencies. Whenever the endless pilgrims to that region think for themselves and ask the tourist guide why the endless calligraphy on the walls is not in “Moorish” language, they immediately acknowledge the Arab element but confuse matters by introducing a man called Maimonides, the lone Jewish figure that Westerners must always associate with the beauty of Al Andalus, although he lived all his life in North Africa and wrote his books, only in Arabic, in Egypt.

You then hit two birds with one stone by claiming that this civilization was Judeo/Islamic, despite the unanimous agreement of all historians that such claims are a load of fantastical dreaming and pure wishful thinking (along with the other embarrassing and discredited attempts to claim that Alhambra Palace was based on the design of the never-seen-before Temple of Solomon, a fantasy that fails to explain how the Arabs could borrow the designs of a temple no one has ever seen before, a temple that exists only in the imagination of the zealots who believe in its pointless excavation).

Before I go, I’ll tell to you a little story told to me by my brother about a music DVD he had bought in the Fnac store in Geneva, which shows the extent of the psychological complex suffered by the uglifiers. They cannot just relax and admit the Arabs into the league of civilized cultures. They have to always keep their vigilance, and create and employ tools from our midst, to keep us out.

The best-selling DVD he bought was of the famous Shehrezade ballet by Rimsky-Korsakov, performed by the Kirov Ballet in St. Petersburg. The DVD was produced in Europe by ART Haus, and although not mentioned on the DVD cover, the story of Shehrezade is otherwise known in English as “Arabian Nights”. Pay attention, not Moorish nights, not Hindu nights, not Polynesian nights, but Arabian Nights. The stories take place in Baghdad during the reign of Haroun Al Rasheed and his wife, Sit Zubaidah, who is one of the main characters of the ballet (Zubide).

Here we have a splendid performance, marvelous Baghdad decorations, outstanding colorful costumes, captivating music, and guess what? Zarqawi and Mullah Omar do not star in it, nor does any other Wahabi character. It takes the audience on a trip a thousand years back into a magical, mystical world. Indeed, nothing can be more Arab than Arabian Nights, now can it? But they cannot let go even for a bloody DVD. So you flip open the leaflet on the cover, and it reads:

“Shehrezade is a work filled with love and passion, guilt and deception, anger, pain and desperation. The anger of Shahriar, the Sultan of India and China, who suspects his wives of…..”

Did they just say “Sultan of India and China”? You bastards, even the Arabian Nights!

Take care, and if you ride, do it safely.

I had a slow start on the third day of my Russian adventures, but did finally make it to the Moscow History Museum.

This place tells the story of human civilization through four million exhibits, spanning thousands of years from the Stone Age and on. The museum puts a lot of emphasis on the various peoples and cultures that comprise the Russian Federation.

For that matter, a stroll down any Moscow street can be a very informative ethnographic experience. Russian citizens’ backgrounds are extremely varied. My friend Renata for example has Russian (Slavic) and Tatar blood running through her veins, while other friend Dzera is half-Russian and half-Ossetian. On my trip, I met people of German, Baltic, Swami, and Central Asian heritage, among many others.

All of these ethnic groups and more are represented in the Museum. It was peculiar to see the personal belongings of past czars and church patriarchs next to shamanic tools and flint stone daggers, such contrast!

However, one of the exhibits that especially moved me was devoted to the late Imam Shamel of the Caucasus. There was his portrait in oil, as well as his personal dress and kamas (daggers) next to official letters handwritten and signed by him. To my astonishment, the language of these documents was Arabic and not Chechen, despite the fact that they were official written orders and directions to his followers and agents. The history of interaction between Russian and Arab cultures had never seemed more tangible to me as it did when I stood next to that exhibit.

Suddenly feeling even more at home in Russia, I decided to try my newly-instilled confidence and maneuvered the Moscow underground on my own. I traveled to the outskirts of the city to a place called Novodevichiy Convent. This five hundred-year old establishment is heavily fortified, like most convents in Russia. The wealth of the convents, coupled with unstable politics, made them a target for all sorts of unwelcome attention.

The Russian church’s wealth dazzled me throughout my trip. I should not have been too surprised, though, as my parents and grandparents always mentioned rich, Russian-made adornments in the churches of Jerusalem. I myself witnessed the Orthodoxy’s exuberance, when it donated the golden dome of the Baptismal Church on the river Jordan.

It should be noted that the convents were originally fortified against the Tatar threat in particular. The Tatars of the Golden Horde kept on receiving tribute from the Russian principalities and kept on raiding deep into Russia up till they started getting defeated themselves, their territories falling into Russian hands. Yet the Russians didn’t eradicate their occupied nations upon their expansion towards the Pacific Ocean. They definitely didn’t subscribe to the ethnic cleansing or reservation policy applied to the Native Americans, for example.

In fact, the Tatar city of Kazan is still the capital of Tatarstan, where the residents are still Muslims, still speaking their language and celebrating their traditional holidays. Furthermore, despite being conquered, the Tatars themselves conquered a part of Russia’s collective culture. There are many names and words in the Russian language that come from Tatar origins. There is even a saying: “scratch a Russian and you will find a Tatar underneath”.

Meanwhile, inside the seemingly impenetrable walls of the Novodevichiy Convent, there are multiple old buildings: museums and churches worth visiting. The surrounding area outside the convent is dominated by a large lake, ringed with romantically shaded sidewalks around, bustling with children and old folks, all gleefully feeding the ducks.

Death and the afterlife are celebrated in the adjacent cemetery. Leaders, thinkers, musicians and writers, in short the crème de la crème of Russian history and society, are buried here. Here lies Chekhov. Here lies Tupolev. The various monuments, some simple, some elaborate, some religious, some secular, are a history lesson in and of themselves. Together they stand as a single reminder that even at its most beautiful, the world, to us, is a temporary place.

When my father-in-law passed away last year, someone advised that his tombstone should not be raised above the ground. When I asked why, I was told that this is how it should be done in Islam, and that any structure erected above the earth level is forbidden.

Abu Khattab, God bless his soul, was a man whom I especially loved and admired, and of course, no amount of elaborate masonry would have done justice to his cherished memory.

But I was still furious at the prevailing presumption that Islam had wanted it to be that way, and that’s why the suggestion was swiftly overruled.

These widespread fallacies made me think again about the true rationale for this edict about inconspicuous graves. Don’t kid yourself, for it has nothing to do with austerity or any other spiritual explanation. These teachings are in fact an integral part of the larger “uglification” conspiracy and an essential tool of the concerted campaign to erase our history.

It’s a simple equation. Since Muslims have fascinated the world with their breathtaking mausoleums from India to Marrakesh, so why not hit them where it hurts the most, by decreeing that beauty and art are forbidden in such fields? And where better to start? Armed with this poisonous ideology, the Wahabist bulldozers set off to work razing to the ground the most sacred burial places in Islam, the graves of Al Baqe’e, the resting place for the companions (Sahaba) of the Prophet Muhammad in Medina, leaving unmarked bricks on barren land where domed enclaves once existed. The Sahaba’s old houses in Mecca did not escape the criminal destruction either and were also completely flattened.

Like the Buddhist statues of Bamiyan were dynamited by another Wahabist creation, today there is no archaeological trace of the old Mecca in order to chronicle the origins of the existence of Islam. It is gone forever and has all been replaced by ugly hotels and shopping malls. The madmen justified their actions by the ridiculous claim that it was feared Muslims would worship the shrines themselves, and hence it would constitute a return to idolatry which Islam had wiped out.

This assumption that Muslims are such a bunch of morons that they would today relapse into worshipping edifices built of stone after 1400 years of quitting the habit because they can’t tell the difference between a brick and a God perhaps should also make us demolish Al Ka’ba while we’re at it, lest we mistake it for a dark chocolate cube and eat it. These treacherous hands have even reached the tomb of the Prophet’s beloved wife, Khadijah, the first person to embrace Islam and the staunch incubator of the new faith. When you contrast the magnificent splendor that bejeweled the different mausoleums throughout our history, and when you see the current shameful shape of Khadija’s tomb, you will understand exactly why this was done and how they want Islam to look like in the eyes of the world: hideous and plain ugly.

These clerics with bulldozers claim that this is the correct Islamic way, and this begs my question: why do these 20^th century newcomers and their forged textbooks think that they know more about our religion and what it allows or forbids than the contemporaries of Islam’s revelation and their offspring, from the Rahsideen up to the Ottomans, whose testimonial monuments have, by God’s grace and His merciful providence, escaped the ruinous claws of the “uglifiers” and still stand tall for the whole world to marvel at?

If this sect of endless prohibitions decrees burial in unmarked graves, then the surviving architectural heritage of Islamic mausoleums is the conclusive proof that these heresies have absolutely no foundations in the genius of the true Islamic civilization, and are merely a product of a lately re-installed savage culture bent on destroying every trace of elegance in its path.

The “uglification” does not start nor stop at the tombs and mausoleums. I remember when I was a kid at school during religion classes, a great deal was made of how Islam forbids the drawing of human or animal portraits, going even as far as prohibiting the photography of persons or the hanging of their pictures on our walls. Despite the innumerable gems of Islamic artifacts and paintings adorning museums throughout the world, from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg to the Louvre in Paris, these enemies of the exquisite things in life think they know better about what God wants from us.

Indeed, if this had been the divine intention all along, then generations of Muslims before us must have existed on another planet. But for these salafi gurus, it has never really been about God or His teachings. The world they want Muslims to inhabit is a dull, artless, lifeless, uninspiring world of retarded clerics and male-chauvinistic cruelty, a horribly off-tune symphony of madness where men are dumb and women are slaves.

Oh, and don’t get me started on the music. These people want us to believe that God was petty enough to ban all forms of music. Only recently, I read in the main Islamic weekly paper in Jordan an assessment of the Islamic jurisprudence on the subject of music, concluding that we are better off refraining from this whole activity since the weight of the authorities tilts towards banning it altogether, with the exception – for some weird reason – of the percussion instruments which were permitted. Actually, it is not such a weird reason after all, if you keep the “uglification” plot in mind. Music without musical instruments is the essence of primitiveness incarnate. It is in fact the ultimate reversal of evolution and the perfect hindrance to a healthy advancement of any culture.

Of course, for these muftis and sworn enemies of refinement and human progression, Ziryab and the rest of the pioneering Muslims who invented every single precursor to the orchestral instruments of today would all be considered heretics. Like jungle monkeys, we should instead restrict our audio instincts to the dry beating of unmelodious drums, lest the magic of a piano or the lamentation of a violin corrupt the harmonious rhythm of the primeval societies we have created.

It is such a sad state of affairs that words aren’t effective any longer to describe the tragedy of “uglification”. Our forefathers who left their indelible mark on all facets of human civilization apparently didn’t understand their religion as well as our bearded lot. That is why we should all take what Islam means from the mouths of the legitimate Islamic authorities of our current dark ages, such as, let me think, ah, perhaps such as those institutes chasing people with sticks in the streets, promoting virtue and preventing vice, the same people who let 15 innocent girls burn to death in a school in 2002 by forcing them back inside the inferno because these little kids were not covering their heads. Yes, perhaps that is the way to go in the 21^st century.

Until the diaries are back with a special edition about Islamic architecture and the people who want to take that away from us too, take care, and if you ride, do it safely.

I just had to pack and explore that massively huge country spanning half of the globe, encompassing hundreds of ethnicities, religions, and languages. A country that pioneered the space age and made great leaps in medicine and other fields of science, while its still-existing shamans practice their own medicine. A place that has historically believed itself as the successor to the great Byzantine Empire and eastern orthodox Christianity yet has a Muslim minority of about 20 million strong, not to mention Jews, Buddhists, Pagans, and Animists. A nation that contributed to the human civilization countless works of art, literature and music, science, the spirit of discovery and that colonial drive that put Europe in the lead for the last two centuries of human history. An empire that died and disintegrated then regenerated and reinvented itself over and over again. Who could resist? Not I.

A truncated version of the story of Russia goes something like this: some Vikings reached the Russian heartlands in Novgorod and Kiev via the mighty rivers that crisscross this part of Eastern Europe. These Vikings intermarried with Slavic Russian princesses thus creating and establishing the first Great Russian Empire and ruling Dynasty. The Kievan Rus dominated the whole area between the Baltic and the black sea to the point of even threatening the Byzantines themselves. Alas all that might and power was to be destroyed by the Mongols in the 13th century. The Mongol khanates ruled over the scattered Russian cities and principalities for a few hundreds of years till Moscow rose up and conquered the Tatar dominions one by one, culminating in their conquest of Kazan in the 16th century. That core of an early Russian empire collapsed for a hundred years of The Troubles with the death of Ivan the Terrible. This guy had killed his own son and thus left the throne without an heir. Charming.

The Troubles ended when the Romanovs succeeded in consolidating power and influence and started a mightier empire that would eventually reach the pacific and dominate central Asia as well as the Caucasus and Baltic. Even though Napoleon conquered Moscow and the city was nearly all burnt to the ground in the beginning of the 19th century, the Russians were to eventually triumph and their empire rose again and kept on growing for another century only to be decimated by the First World War and the Bolshevik revolution. Like the phoenix the Russian empire rose from the ashes to build a new state prophesying the triumph of the proletariat and embracing communism. Like all the empires before, it, predictably, collapsed. Yet what I saw in my trip were not the sorry sad scenes of defeat and after-effects of destruction, bur rather than the healthy signs of revival and steady build up of strength and confidence of a new entity that no doubt will be as mighty and modern as before.

Russia’s growing power was not the only misconception that was shattered when I reached Russia in person. My circle of friends and family and even my patients had many varying stereotypes in mind. Many of course mentioned the Mafia that will rob me the moment I step into Russia!!! Of course I wouldn’t have found it even if I looked for the mafia myself… after all I’m not a lucrative object. There are many outrageously rich Russians to target rather than run around pick-pocketing random backpacking foreigners. Others mentioned lack of security or the large number of drunkards I would face. Again, I can comfortably say that I felt much more safe walking around in Moscow and St. than in many other famous international cities I have been to before including some famous American cities. There were instances when I was taking the last underground train at night and sitting beside me was a boy at most 13 years of age, alone going back to his home.

Once while I was walking near the Kremlin around 1 am two girls blocked my way and smilingly asked me to please hug them. Of course so many gangster movies and assault and robbery scenarios crossed my mind at a flash of a second yet I couldn’t resist their smiles and decided to accept the invitation. Thank God I haven’t regretted my courageous response! Especially after making sure that I wasn’t missing a wallet or a watch or mobile afterwards. Later on several others crossed my way and I didn’t hesitate again to open my arms and welcome the affection, later to discover that this was a special hug festival and I was fortunate enough to encounter it. What I did regret was that I later learnt that the hug night was followed by a kissing night!

As for Russia’s famous drunk people, well, yes I have seen a few, but it definitely wasn’t annoying nor were they more in number than other drunks I have seen in Istanbul or New York or even in downtown Amman in rare incidents.

Poverty also was one of the things I was mentally prepared to encounter: poverty materially, and poverty in lack of national pride. But what I also saw was a booming economy with young people working hard to earn their living and pay for their studies.

While many people warned me of poverty, others warned me of the total and absolute opposite. They warned me about the fact that Moscow is now the most expensive city in the world and that I may not be able to have a nice stay without selling everything I own first. To my surprise, I was able to live and eat and transport myself for a very cheap price. The cities I visited boasted a huge variety of restaurants and cafes, hotels and hostels that can cater to all the tastes and egos. Add to that the superb and efficient public transport system that is so cheap and organized that I didn’t have the need to take any taxi or tour bus or prearranged trip.

Nor have I witnessed streets full cheap pleasures of the flesh. Such things could be found if I intended seek them. In many other places around the globe I definitely came across such scenes even without actually looking for them. Thus, the last of the misconceptions was shattered and instead of baring its flesh, Russia flaunted its art, beauty and culture in the days that followed.

I started preparing for this journey by reading books about Russia’s history and geography, its extensive railway network (the possibility to go all the way to Vladivostok on the railway has always intrigued me). I tried my best to learn as much Russian as I could.

This was a new type of trip for me: my own attempt at backpacking, and a declaration of independence from tourist agencies and pre-programmed travel. There were no tours to Russia from Jordan so I made my reservation through the Internet. I chose hostels that were centrally located within walking distance from the main sites and metro stations. Besides, hostels tend to provide a lone traveler like me with a chance to mix and mingle with like minded individuals from all over the world.

In Moscow I opted for a hostel oddly named Napoleon, near the Kremlin. Later on I found out that the famous Corsican stayed in the same street where my hostel was located. I would say I had a more successful sojourn in Russia than Napoleon did with his Grande Armee!

The Russians’ welcome was a warm one, but the weather was cold. Back in Amman it was about 28 degrees, and Moscow instantly cooled me off with its winds. Stoically I resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be able to take great photos in such cold windy and sometimes rainy weather and consoled myself with plans to check many of the indoor museums and art galleries that Moscow had to offer. Naturally I began with the most famous and most known: the Kremlin.

I reached the red square expecting to enjoy the magnificent views of the domes and spires of the towers and churches and the wall of the Kremlin itself I found my self facing a wall of guards instead. The square was cordoned off for a military parade planned later that evening and for a few evenings after it. I took a detour passing through a lovely building with the huge and famous name of GUM mall. Though the exterior is of late 19th century architecture the interior is modern, housing the most prestigious and most expensive and fashionable array of world famous brands. What was during Soviet times the main supermarket, department store, and outlet of copy-and-paste production of the communist regime is now the venue of Givenchy, Louis Vuitton, and so on. All that remains of the past is, ironically, the view from its windows overlooking Lenin’s memorial.

Speaking of Lenin, I have noticed that the Russians proudly and tenaciously cling to their history and traditions and do not erase the memory of all of their eras, epochs and phases, despite the stark contrast between them. Respect goes to old eastern Russia of Ivan as well as the modern westernized one of Peter. The Romanovs are loved and respected by many, and so are the communists too. It makes for an interesting mix.

Leaving GUM, I reached an open space at the end of the red square and saw the massive walls of the Kremlin in the distance. I hurried in that direction just to be distracted by a nice building here or an interesting site, statue, monument or park there.

On my left hand was a big building with guards wearing red cloaks and huge iron axes – the national history museum. Right in front of it was a big statue of the hero of Russian against Germany in WWII, Marshall Zhukov, mounted on a horse in the traditional pose of great heroes and conquerors. I entered through a simple gate into the area surrounding the walls of the Kremlin. Just behind the walls were some stone silent guards standing besides an elegant fire, the monument to the Unknown Soldiers who fell during the heroic defense in WWII. All along the wall from that side were marble slabs laid out on the ground along the walls leading to the gate. The slabs represent the main cities that were under occupation or invasion during WWII.

I had to wait for half an hour before the ticket offices opened, and was surprised to see many couples in their wedding clothes come quickly and pose for pictures amongst the flowers or in front of the fountain. I had to laugh at myself, wrapped in my winter clothes and woolen hat while the stream of brides posed under the light rain wearing strapless wedding gowns in this cold weather.

When the ticket-booths opened, I first started with the Armory. Inside the walls and in one historic building just near the wall of the Kremlin is a wonderful collection of treasures and curiosities belonging to the Russian state. The exhibits show how the Russians slowly rose from local princedoms with chiefs crowned in fur, knights with leather armor, curved swords and spiked helmets in the eastern tradition, to kings crowned in gold and precious stones, knights in full metal armor and baroque style uniforms in the European style. Besides politics and war there were other halls featuring original precious collections of clothes of famous emperors and empresses like Catherine the Great dress, or the huge boots of Peter the Great, who was said to be about 2.5m tall. Not to mention the dazzling wardrobes of priests and patriarchs and the whole hierarchy of the Russian church. Add to these a huge hall housing Cinderella-like golden carriages. And if all that wasn’t enough there is a special section dedicated to the diamonds and gold of the old czars, the famous Faberge eggs as well as jewelry and treasures of every kind.

After such an extravaganza, I needed to start my heart again and take a fresh breath of air, so I stepped outside to and found myself in the middle of an open plaza surrounded with cathedrals and churches, 800 years worth of Moscow’s Religious and political history from its inception till now. Here is the Czar’s bell, there is his cannon, in that convent this happened and in that palace that happened, icons filling the walls of churches and churches adorned with golden domes and the not so familiar orthodox cross that strangely is adorned with crescents. And every day at noon there is a solemn military parade of the guards.

I left the Kremlin to take a look at the life on the streets surrounding it. I had arranged to meet a friend. Renata was gracious enough to offer me the chance to introduce me to her own Moscow. Despite her young age she struck me as a seasoned journalist. We walked around downtown and the famous Arbat Street. So began the best part of this day, a personal tour of the nice, lesser known wonderful places rather than the tourist hot-spots.

I got my crash course in surviving the metro. Passing many elegant underground stations (marble! Where else do metro stations have marble?!?!), we reached the gardens of Kolomenskoe, a vast park on the outer rim of Moscow that was a private estate of the Romanovs. The clouds started to break and the sun slowly pierced through reflecting its golden rays on the first autumn leaves.

We visited wooden traditional huts, lodges, or “dachas” that were brought to this architectural park from all over Russia and again witnessed several brides and grooms take ceremonial pictures. We reached the peak of a hill where an elegant 16th century church is located. The view from this peak was amazing with the beautiful calm waters of the Moscow River winding around in front of us. I sat on the luscious green grass, listening to songbirds. Just before the sunset we moved towards the waterfront and from there up the hill again towards another hidden attraction: the apple gardens, hundreds of trees heavily loaded with deliciously ripe apples. After multiple failed attempts at picking an apple that didn’t want to be picked up from the branches yet, we raced to find the best freshly fallen apple on the ground which became the meal to break my first day of Ramadan fasting in Moscow with my greatly admired friend, Renata.

It’s the apple season in Geneva and the neighboring cantons. Plenty of them, mouthwatering and crisp, proudly showing off their red glow alongside the more predominant acres of grapevines. Switzerland may be better known for its chocolates, watches, cheeses, enviable standards of living, and secret bank accounts.

More than anything, this trilingual confederation is most famous for that unmistakable quality about being, well, you know, Swiss. Just place the word “Swiss” before most products or industries and you’re immediately sold. No need for gimmicks or spins. This magical noun has become a descriptive adjective with a universal marketing appeal of its own, instantly implying dedication, perfection, accuracy, trust, and meticulous craftsmanship. In politics, the name spells peace, neutrality, and impenetrable stability. Rarely does the national identity of any country come pre-loaded with such a reputation for superior quality and refined living. Why is that?

In my experience, it is because the Swiss have earned it. As individuals and as a community, they have worked very hard over centuries to establish such a status among nations and preserve it. Even their troubled national airline, Swissair, when it had to declare bankruptcy in 2001 and change its corporate name, bounced back simply as Swiss. If it’s Swiss, then surely you must be in safe hands, goes the legend. Never mind that Swiss Airlines is today owned by another European populace known for their brutal efficiency (Lufthansa acquired the Swiss national carrier last year), still, the name Swiss says it all – and even ze Germans think so.

Back to the lesser known Swiss marvel, as the temptation to stop in the middle of the groves and take a bite from a juicy apple grew stronger, I felt like Adam, about to be cast down from heaven for a delicious sin. It’s been a while since we first took residence in this Utopian city. Now, nine years and many baskets of forbidden fruits later, my family and I are actually departing this paradise to settle down in Jordan (by the time you read this, we’ll be already home). But not before I conclude the Swiss chapters of these diaries. So, while in motorcycle limbo, recalling biblical tales, I might as well indulge Pope Benedict XVI in his plea for dialogue, made soon after he delivered his controversial lecture last September. Since that event in Germany, His Holiness has made a number of limited retractions and explanations, but never really stated he was sorry for what he had said. Instead, he repeatedly expressed regret about people’s reaction to his quoting of other people’s opinions. To me, this was like someone taking aim and slapping you smack in the face, then saying he was really sorry that you should draw pain from this move of his hand, because none was actually intended. In other words, he is sorry for your reaction, but feels little remorse over his action. In any case, I do agree with His Holiness about the importance of discussing these things in a civilized manner without resorting to vitriol or diatribe. In this vein, the head of the Catholic Church has made a number of factual errors, which if left uncorrected by the Holy See, makes it harder to believe that the Pope was giving his lecture in good faith – no pun intended.

For example, did the Pope really not know that the Quranic verse “Let there be no compulsion in religion” was revealed in Medina towards the later stages, when Muhammad was a powerful head of state, and not in the early period in Mecca when he was weak and persecuted, as the Pope had claimed? If he did know this fact, then we have a problem. But if he did not, then we have a greater problem, for how can such a slip come from the supposedly infallible head of the world’s largest religion when publicly referring to the world’s second largest? Indeed, how did the Pope not know that when Muhammad entered Mecca as a victorious conqueror after long years of forced exile, he did not shed a drop of his tormentors’ blood? On the contrary, the legendary forgiveness bestowed upon those very people who drove Muhammad from his home and were bent on killing him was immortalized when he declared, upon entering the holy city, that those who stayed indoors or took shelter in the house of Abu Sufian, his defeated arch enemy, shall be safe. The prophet then addressed the leaders of the vanquished city and their followers, absolving them “Go, for you are free”. Contrary to what the Pope had implied, forced conversions had never taken place in the history of Islam, during Muhammad’s life or after his death. All the military conquests by Muslims that followed were political in nature, gaining territory and resources from competing super powers. Muslim armies, when compared to other nations, were the most benevolent in victory, and Muslim administration the most enlightened, thus winning the hearts and minds of the people. No one was ever forced to become a Muslim by the sword or by anything else.

So if the Pope wants us to believe that he was merely quoting but not agreeing with the words of the besieged Byzantine Emperor Manuel II who described Islam as “evil and inhuman”, then he should have at least also quoted the other Western historical sources testifying to the metropolis of cultural and religious tolerance that Constantinople had become under the Ottomans when they finally conquered the city. In fact, what would have truly absolved the Pope from the wrath of misinterpretation would have been if he had acknowledged the undeniable fact that the imposition of religion through violence had always been the legacy and monopoly of the Catholic Church throughout its history. In defense of his lecture, the Pope instead had claimed that the aim of his speech had been merely to point out the incompatibility of faith and violence, that’s all. Beautiful words. We cannot agree more. These are principles under which we all bow in unanimity. But all historians are also unanimous that the greatest examples of religious-driven barbarity in history were those acts of indescribable violence perpetrated by the Catholic Church, not by Islam. So why did the Pope conceal this truth and only use an inappropriate and erroneous accusation of Islam to make his point, suppressing the mountains of recorded history, archived but in his own Vatican library? In fact, long before the armies of Mehmet II entered Constantinople in1453, the city was the target of the Fourth Crusade in 1204, commissioned and blessed by none other than the Vatican itself. According to the authoritative book on the subject, The Fourth Crusade and the Sack of Constantinople By Jonathan Philips (Senior Lecturer at the University of London), the Crusaders raped everything that moved, old or infant. Nuns were especially targeted for rape, and despite many covering their faces with mud to avoid recognition, the sisters were not spared. Although both were Christians, the Catholic Crusaders still massacred the population of Constantinople, simply because they were Greek Orthodox and did not speak Latin. Instead of marching to their destination in Jerusalem, they changed course and torched the greatest Christian city after Rome. According to Philips, the landmarks that bore the brunt of Crusader bestiality were the churches of Constantinople.

With all due respect to His Holiness, while heeding his call for civilized dialogue, I ask how a scholar of his stature can intentionally ignore centuries of Crusader massacres of Christians, Muslims, and Jews in the name of religion, and be surprised of the reaction to his selective quoting of historical texts? Apart from the latest (and highly dubious) kidnapping and staged conversion of the two Fox journalists in Gaza last August, no one can point to an incident in history where Muslims forced non-Muslims to convert to Islam, although millions of non-Muslims were ruled by Muslims for centuries. However, by contrast, the most horrendous machines ever manufactured to inflict pain and death upon suspected heretics inside torture dungeons were those used by agents of the Catholic Church during the inquisition, when even forced conversion did not save the victims from the horrors of the inquisitors (these hair-raising inventions are still displayed in many European museums today and are neatly catalogued in history books). You will find none of this religious oppression technology in the heritage of Islamic inventions, and that’s an indisputable fact that the Pope knows too well. This enforcement of religion by the sword took place not only in Europe. Ever wondered why the entire population of Latin America, without exceptions, is Catholic – or how it became “Latin” America to begin with? Surely the convincing skills of Catholic missionaries couldn’t have achieved a 100 percent success rate, now could they? Do you think perhaps that one of the greatest genocides in history had something to do with such astounding statistics of Catholic purity? This goes in absolute contrast with the Arab world, where the oldest Christian and Jewish communities in the world are still thriving (the Jews only began to flee after the arrival of European Zionists and the creation of the state of Israel). Take Egypt, the largest Arab country, as an example. After 14 centuries of Muslim rule, the Christian population of Egypt is still around 15 percent out of a population of over 75 million. On the other hand, where did the Muslims of Europe disappear? Why are there no native Muslims left in Spain, Southern Italy, Sicily or Malta? Apart from relatively recent immigrants, there are none whatsoever. Why is that? Now who are the masters of forced religious conversions and genocidal ethnic cleansing, Your Eminence?

It is fitting that I am writing these words from Geneva, the adopted home of John Calvin, one of the leaders of the reformation who reportedly turned Geneva into the “Rome of the Protestants” in the 16th century. Indeed, this city has always had a big heart for those seeking refuge from persecution, and until this day remains a mecca for political refugees, humanitarian groups, and peace-promoting organizations. But with all the wealth that it attracts, Geneva is also a magnet for a myriad of professional crooks and charlatans, from money launderers, jewelry thieves, embezzlers, to a wide host of eccentric characters. From dubious Royalty of thrones that don’t exist anymore, to tax-evading retired porn stars, Geneva’s arms are wide open. Believe me, I’ve seen them all. This town has been one amazing theater of the contrasts of life. It’s a city where Pizza is as addictive as drugs, and where drugs get delivered faster than a pizza. It’s a sleepy village where police visit you if you make noise after 10pm and a bustling capital where clubbers can find continuity after 10am. To me, Geneva will always be special because we’ve made a lot of good friends over the years (with one exception who, as I write, is being dealt with by the Swiss justice system). A number of these friends are still here; some are fixtures of this city as much as the jet d’eau is. Many of them are scattered around the world, but the good times we’ve spent are indelible in my memory. Above all, Geneva will remain special because our two beautiful kids were born here. That’s why our years here will be unforgettable.
Until the diaries return with more scattered thoughts from the roads of Jordan, take care, and if you ride, do it safely.