Letter from the Palestinian Territories: Hounds of darkness

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/24/letter-from-palestine-mar-saba-monastery

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Embarking on a four-hour, walk from Bethlehem to Mar Saba monastery (beginning at midnight so we arrive in time for sunrise), my friend Nicholas and I are prepared to deal with the biggest nocturnal threat in the West Bank: packs of wild dogs. Mar Saba is a fifth-century Greek Orthodox monastery, housing some 20 monks, who pursue their spiritual aims in the isolation of the desert.

Two hours into the journey, having encountered only a few stray dogs, more annoyed rather than threatened by our presence on their turf, we enter a village. A lone donkey stands in a garden, his silhouette lit up by the moon, so full it looks as if it could burst.

Suddenly, some 30 dogs begin barking in unison, waking up the sleeping villagers. Calmly, Nicholas walks towards the pack, his body still, his gaze focused, as he challenges them for power. The dogs growl, before they resume barking, now more ferociously. Nicholas takes two more confident steps forward. They stare at him intently, before they grudgingly retreat.

Enjoying the satisfaction of victory, we continue on, soon arriving at another village. The scent of jasmine permeates the night air. All of a sudden an enormous dog begins sprinting towards us. I stare at the untamed dog as his muscular body covers the mountainous ground with ease. Placing himself between the dog and I, which is now so close we can smell its desire to attack, Nicholas steps towards the animal. The dog stops, assesses the situation then circles us. He barks again and charges towards us. Nicholas confronts him again, with a calm stillness even the ancient mountains would envy. The dog retreats, we continue walking. After a few steps we turn around, the dog begins to runs towards us, barking wildly. Nicholas steps towards him, the final challenge. Startled, the dog stops barking and retreats.

Relieved, we walk to the end of the village. On the horizon lies an expanse of mountains. For the next one and a half hours, there are no houses, no lights and no dogs. The air is silent. The moon's rays generously light our path. We arrive at Mar Saba at dawn. A monk rings a bell just before sunrise, its sound reverberating across the mountains, which remain perfectly still as they wait for the sun to wake.

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