Jerusalem syndrome

The Last Straw: Israelis like to joke that you don't need a modern guide book to tour their country; the Bible will do fine.

This is only a slight exaggeration. Prices have changed a bit since the Bible was written, but the currency is still the same (the shekel, available from all good money-changers). And with the exception of a few nightclubs in Tel Aviv, the list of attractions has not altered much since the first edition.

Like the Rough Guide and Lonely Planet, the Bible's two books have different strengths and weaknesses. The New Testament is good on "places to see"; while for "people to smite", or for information on plagues, the Old Testament is hard to beat.

Where both fall down, I found, is in the area of practical advice for tourists: in particular, "what to wear".

So it was that, departing Tel Aviv last week for a day trip to Jerusalem, I decided a T-shirt was the only upper-body clothing I needed. The cool, early-morning rain was surely temporary, I thought, ignoring hints provided by my tour-guide, Reuven. As well as a warm coat, Reuven was insulated from the elements by a wide-brimmed Australian hat and a dense Moses-style beard. He looked like Ronnie Drew on a winter holiday in Melbourne.

Two hours later, on the Via Doloroso, it was clear that the rain was down for the day, and I was a captive market for Arab umbrella salesmen. "For you, 25 shekels(€4.37)," said the first trader who got to me. I know they expect you to haggle a bit. But I was too wet to try, and when he offered a special deal of two umbrellas (one for my guide) at only twice the price of a single, I could hardly refuse.

Even if you're not already shivering, Jerusalem is an intense experience. With millenniums-old tombs and monuments everywhere you turn, the weight of history is oppressive and it does strange things to people. In fact there's a well-known phenomenon called "Jerusalem Syndrome" which makes tourists go briefly mad, believing themselves to be biblical characters.

The first symptoms are an obsession with purification rituals, such as body-shaving, or repeated washing. Then, typically, subjects wrap themselves in hotel bedsheets and start singing psalms. Sometimes they get violent. There are three or four such cases every year and apparently they're a routine part of the emergency services' job: "Calling all units. We have a report of another John the Baptist at large. Approach with caution, especially if near water." Some of those afflicted have a prior history of this sort of thing, but many don't. You could have done nothing crazier all your life than - say - wear a T-shirt to Jerusalem in early March, and suddenly you'll be running semi-naked through the wilderness, proclaiming the Messiah. Maybe it was imagination, but I sensed Reuven watching me carefully.

One of the best places to view Jerusalem is from the roof of the Austrian Hospice, which provides a panoramic view of this ancient city that has seen so much strife. Reuven pointed out the Muslim quarter, the Jewish quarter, the Armenian quarter, and so on. And surveying the scene it struck me powerfully that, despite the bitter differences, there is something that unites people of all races and creeds - big, vulgar satellite dishes. On every roof! It was incredible.

Back at ground level, however, it was all history. Finally, in the Garden of Gethsemane, we met another guide called Moshe, who was a rugby fan. Obviously Jerusalem was getting to me by then, because when he sought my opinion on last weekend's Six Nations games, I said unto him that Ireland would smite the sons of Gaul, no problem, thereby setting up a Grand Slam decider with the Tribes of Cymru, which would be a close-run thing for an hour, before the Red Sea opened and Brian O'Driscoll led his people through it to the promised land, on a scoreline of about 21-19.

Moshe nodded sympathetically. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a tourist transformed into the prophet Isaiah, and he knew I'd be better in a few days. But the truth is, in a place where even one of the olive trees is thought to be nearly two thousand years old, it was just a relief to talk about sport for a while.

Back in Tel Aviv, Reuven promised to collect me again in the morning, for a trip to Galilee. I knew this would involve travelling north through the plain of Armageddon, where the last apocalyptic battle between good and evil is scheduled to take place (subject to final security clearance by FIFA). The weather forecast was more promising, but Reuven suggested I bring a jacket anyway.