In 1979 The American Colony was one of the most beautiful hotels I’d ever seen. Its low buildings, which rose among lush gardens, were made of Jerusalem stone. Just beyond the foyer and reception desk a central garden burgeoned with lemon trees, luxuriant plants, and a central pool where large goldfish idled. Prize rooms for the ultra-privileged opened onto the courtyard. If you were a journalist you could get a discount for a spacious, pristine room and bath in one of the outlying buildings. Between 1979 and 1985, when I was staying on assignment for a month and more in the West Bank, I lived at the American Colony for $10 a day.
The pleasures of being there – waking up in the morning to brilliant sunlight illuminating the walls and floor, reading the paper and having coffee in the garden, writing up my notes, listening to the BBC in the evening (it was then more critical of Israel … and fairer to the Palestinians); meeting interviewees and friends. When I wasn’t working I strolled down Nablus Road and Salah-al-Din Street, inhaled the aroma of coffee and spices walked through the Damascus Gate and meandered about, sometimes shopping for gifts. I still have the kuffiyehs I bought then, made in Palestine.