Sol goes to consult with the uniformed Arab on the stone steps and within minutes the guard leads us around the church and through a narrow wooden door into a twilit nave.
Sol edges us neatly into line.
Immediately we're hemmed in by the mass of tourists ahead and behind us.
Guards peer into the crowd to make certain no one is in shorts and that all the women wear skirts and something on their heads.
Greasy, dust-choked incense burners-with oily film of farm plates hang overhead, and in the murky light, the mosaic walls are buried behind statuary and nativity scenes.
Scores of additional Madonna-with-child canvases lean against the walls. Baby Jesus has a halo and the stem, blank countenance of a miniature man.
