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“Stars and Bucks” in Bethlehem

1 Jul

Mark (the photographer) and I (the priest) decided to walk from the Church of the Nativity to our Sancta Maria Hotel. We left the flow of the pilgrims, as they headed toward the bus for the ride home. I told Mark that I wanted to stop at Stars and Bucks. Always anxious to get a shot that other eyes might not see, he eagerly tagged along.  

Our first stop along the way was for twelve pictures (he couldn’t take just one) of a man making falafel at his street-side open restaurant. Amazing how a vat of hot grease and balls of seasoned, crushed garbanzo beans becoming falafel brings joy to a photographer.

Shortly after we rounded the corner Mark shouted out, “Oh no, it is Stars and Bucks.” He saw the sign hanging over the café down the street a bit. He thought I was going to Starbucks, and was teasing him with the name. Would I tease about such a serious matter? 

The shop is on the main road in Bethlehem that leads right to Manger Square and the Nativity Church, the site of the birth of Jesus.

Most tourists and pilgrims zip right past the café in a taxi, or walk up the inclined hill on the opposite side of the street because of the location of the garage where all the giant tour busses have to park. But it was the goal of the walk Mark and I were taking … Stars and Bucks.

As I walked into the café and saw that they had coffee mugs for sale, I gave out my own acclamation in the little town of Bethlehem, “Yes!” I had joy like the shepherds and the angels on Christmas eve in the fields of sheep and shepherds. Well, that may be a bit overdone.

My buddy Paul has a collection of Starbucks mugs (see yesterday’s post), but he does not have, and not many people in the whole world have a coffee mug from Stars and Bucks in Bethlehem, Palestine.

Mark bought two mugs, one for his daughter and her husband. I bought one for Paul, and one for myself. Mark was enjoying the moment so much he agreed to get into a picture, and gave his camera to one of the keepers of the café, who seemed a bit puzzled by the performance being played out in his sleepy shop.

My regrets are that I didn’t sit down for coffee and conversation with the locals, and that I didn’t buy a whole case of the mugs. I could have left a lot of clothes behind to have room for them in my return suitcase. I have something to add to my itinerary the next time.

Photos 2, 3 by Mark Bowen/HOPE. Photos 4, 5, 6 by Waseim/Beit Jala. Photos 1, 8 by Father Rob/Milford. Phot0 7 by Stars and Bucks Café Keeper/Bethlehem, using camera of Mark Bowen/HOPE. Phew! Everybody gets due credit.

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Privacy at Amman Starbucks

30 Jun

My friend, Paul, has a collection of Starbucks coffee mugs from places where work has taken him, beginning at Seattle, from the Pike Place Market, where Starbucks started, and continuing throughout China, with names of cities on the mugs that only he at Sunday supper can pronounce – all made in China, of course.

One of my goals on pilgrimage to the Holy Land was to bring back for him a Starbucks mug from somewhere in the Middle East. There are no Starbucks in Israel or in Palestine. So, my best bet was Jordan.

Our pilgrim group was taken to a mall in Amman, Jordan, to kill some time, for we were ahead of schedule, and too early for our next appointment on the itinerary, which was not, believe me, a frequent occurrence for us. The mall was huge. 

And there it was, right inside the entrance: Starbucks.

The mug was easy to buy. My American Express card didn’t care if the purchase were in Jordanian dinars or in U.S. dollars. Plastic is plastic, money is money, and it knew it could add a foreign transaction fee to the statement at the end of the month.

But the taking of a photo was not as easy.

As I came out of the store, delighting in my perfect gift for Paul, and pointed my camera at the English and Arabic sign under which I had just walked, two security guards came at me waving their arms, as if I had just pointed a gun at someone. The best I could understand was that photos were not permitted. They seemed satisfied, when they saw me putting my camera away. But our Jordanian guide, approaching out of nowhere in some sort of rescue operation, was not so satisfied.

For us English-speaking Americans, it always seems that the Arabs are arguing, whenever they are speaking to each other, so fast and animated are their words and the movements of their arms. After a time of watching their argument, I mean, conversation, during which I was feeling more than a bit foreign and uneasy, “Give me your camera,”  insisted the guide. I asked what the problem was. He quickly explained that they said they wanted to protect the privacy of everyone who came into the mall, and that pictures were not allowed. “Give me your camera, and go stand over there.” Apparently, he either won the argument or was refusing to admit that they had won. Maybe he convinced them that he was not taking anyone else’s picture, just mine, and that the store just happened to be behind me.

I was just happy when the whole thing was over.

You already got your mug, Paul. Here is the mug shot that almost got me mugged. 

 

 

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