A funny thing happened on the way to the Holy Sepulchre

We took a little shirot back from Tel Aviv, and since it was Shabbat and there wasn't much to do, my friends headed off for a nap. Bethany and Josh had hit the Israel Trail and asked if I wanted to meet them in the Old City at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I had mentioned that it was one of my favorite places in Jerusalem, made all the more interesting by my research on the rotunda for my Romanesque art class this past semester. So Bethany called around 2 to meet up and mentioned that I should grab our friend Lincoln, who was also interested in going. I didn't really know how to get to the old City from our dorms, so I figured having Lincoln would be a bonus. Lincoln is a pastor's son from Michigan, and I'm so glad that I met him through Josh because he is such a nice, interesting guy. He readily agreed to come, and we started walking, keeping the Dome of the Rock in sight as our strategy. About 15 minutes in, it started sprinkling and then turned in to a torrential downpour. Lincoln gestured toward a bus stop and we ran under for cover. There were three Arab men inside who warily looked at us, so I was trying to keep a safe distance from Lincoln while still staing under the cover, so I had my body turned mostly toward the street, but was looking over my shoulder as Lincoln and I chatted. All of a sudden, I saw his mouth turn to an "O" and turned toward the street just as a bus drove by, covering me in dirty water. We then decided that we should probably just keep going.I had opted for black flats over tennis shoes, which I had deemed too dirty to wear to the church. Unfortunately the water made the soles of the flats come unglued, and soon my shoes were bubbling up between my toes and the soles were falling off, so I ended up barefoot. It was also around this time that we realized we were very much in an Arab village. We walked quickly toward the skyline that offered the most crosses on buildings. It was only then that I realized I had a travel book with a map in my bag, and before long Lincoln had us back on track after a foray that was very close to Al-Aqsa. We entered the Old City through the New Gate, where it was imperative that my shoes go back on, despite the fact that it was still pouring. We began navigating the cramped and dirty quarters of the more Arab market, looking for any sign of the Church amid rows and rows of shops that look exactly the same. I was almost sure we were close when I led us down a row of butcher shops. Midway down, there was a tractor parked in the middle of the alley, making it impossible to pass. A butcher explained in pantomime that we would have to pass through his shop to get back to the street, so we walked through the back just as a chicken had his head cut off, making me yelp. A younger man gestured to watch my step as I slipped on an array of entrails and blood on the floor, and took my hand in an act of chivalry to help lead me back on the street. Lincoln and I were cracking up at the misfortune of our pilgrimage, but we were soon set right and met Bethany and Josh at the entrance to the Church, which was every bit as enchanting as I had remembered. We all agreed on taking a cab back and Josh and I cooked a big dinner for everyone after I took a much-deserved shower.