When I embarked on my adventure to Jerusalem in 2005, my heart was on fire. As a scholar and aficionado of all things mediaeval, I already loved the city for its high drama, fervent passions and brutal history.
But nothing prepared me for its power – its palpable, multilayered energy, and the waves of love and despair that seemed to move through the streets. It was this powerful energy that compelled me, a lapsed Catholic from Melbourne, to embark on an unlikely adventure: searching for the tomb of Jesus. Off course, I should have stopped and asked myself about the likelihood of such a discovery and questioned my sanity. Except in Jerusalem, you do not ask yourself these kind of questions.
Let me start at the beginning. In 2005, I finished my PhD in migration and travel narratives and found myself in that in-between space where you must decide which step to take next. The logical choice would have been an academic career, and my mind was screaming at me to apply to different universities; to get a ”real job” that would lead to a professorship in 10 or 20 years’ time.
Somehow it didn’t feel right. I was longing for an adventure, for a way out from the normalities of life, and for relief from a dying romance…
The rest of this article can be read on The Age website.