I made it back 'home' to London, safe and sound. And I wasn’t sent to a little room. And my computer wasn’t erased. My luggage arrived with me, and I was not charged for all the extra weight. And the box, with all of my important documents that I sent a week ahead, arrived mostly in 1 piece.
The sherut to the airport was classically Israeli. One of the passengers had the same last name as the driver, so they were immediately best friends. The kippa -clad driver (with an Arabic accent) used this boy as an assistant, to find the addresses of other passengers and organize papers and make phone calls. When we had all the passengers and set out on the new highway, the assistant read the travelers prayer. But he made a bunch of mistakes, so out driver would make him repeat the section. The driver also decided that while driving to the airport would be a good time to buy a lottery ticket. So (the assistant) called someone at the taxi dispatch to mark down certain numbers and go buy a ticket, on our driver’s behalf. The winning numbers would come from calculations based on the number of runs to the airport, number of passengers, the date and passenger suggestions. There were a lot of misdialed phone numbers and handshaking and jokes and ‘baruch hashem’ and pictures of rabbis. You really had to be there, but it was great. I didn’t want to leave the van when we got the airport.
Then came the security screening. For whatever reason I didn’t get a cart so was carrying my big pack and dragging the other bag. When I got up to the lady all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I didn’t really sleep the night before, and was nervous about getting detained. She asked what I was doing in Israel, and I explained I was doing research and visiting friends. Rather than asking me the subject of my research, she asked what friends. So I started naming random people who lived in Israel, and quickly realized I couldn’t remember last names of Arava people. I couldn’t form full sentences in Hebrew, I was acting all nervous, and looking all around. She took my passport and walked away, and I was sure that was it. But a couple minutes later she returned and sent me to check my baggage.
On the plane I sat next to an Arab man from the Galil, who was accompanying a Jewish/Arab soccer team to some international tournament in London. I was so excited to speak Arabic, but again, had trouble with language skills do to lack of sleep. By adding some Hebrew and some English I learned about their soccer club, and was able to explain my research.
This wasn’t supposed to be about traveling back, rather, I wanted to write about being back in London, after over 3 months in the Middle East. I was sad to leave Jerusalem, but looking forward to coming home to my flat and my room and my friends. Our weekly cleaner has been away for a couple weeks, so I came back to a dirty apartment. With 3 men here for the last few months, they grew comfortable with dishes in the sink and the toilet seat up and newspapers everywhere – not anymore. My room is the same, but I haven’t had the energy to hang stuff back up on the walls and iron all the clothes I shoved in bags for storage. And people are all over the place writing and doing their own thing, so it is going to take a lot of effort to make plans and catch up. It’s not like we will see each other in class, or run into each other on the street.
This city is HUGE, and I have been overwhelmed a lot lately. I am used to spending time on my own and being independent, but I don’t know how I did it here before. There are so many people from so many places and everyone is in a rush. I much prefer to slow things down and have quality time. Not talk while I walk and eat a sandwich between appointments (hypothetically). In my first 4 days I had gone to 3 libraries. I wear my ipod all the time, shutting the world out. I tend to keep it on shuffle, and am really excited to hear Arabic or Hebrew songs, especially the ones with associations to a different time and place.
I don’t get it. I thought I wanted to be here, I thought I wanted to be back in the city. But the last couple days haven’t been so great. I hope this is just part of the natural adjustment phase. I will get myself back into a school routine and start seeing people and get distracted.
Wherever I am, I always want to be somewhere else. I have self-diagnosed this problem, and call it "grass-is-greener" syndrome. I need to learn to live in the moment and enjoy where I am and what I am doing, and not what could be. I need to learn not to over-think things. Instead, enjoy things for what they are and people for who they are. Enough with the expectations. And start writing already…
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
T - 10
10 days until I am back to London. Back to reality. Back to the ₤ instead of JD or NIS. Unpredictable weather and rain, instead of constant sunny days. My new grad school friends, instead of the people from middle school, summer camp, college, and some place in between. Running away from relationships that have become complicated. Leaving the Occupation. Leaving the 18 year old baby-faced soldiers who don't even shave yet, or have perfectly manicured nails. Leaving a place where at any point a bomb could go off - in mall, theater, bus. Returning to the land of 'big brother', where anything can happen, but at least it's on CCTV. I am trading Hebrew U for Maughan and LSE and SOAS and the British library. Back to my Mid East water guru(s), who can hopefully offer some guidance. Instead of the souk and Machane Yehuda I will have Brixton Market. And there is always Golder's Green and Edgeware Road for when I start to go through withdrawal. But it is not the same. I give it 6 months, max, until I am back in this region, working. Inshalla.
And some fun things:
And some pics:
Amman
Dead Sea (Jordanian Side looking to Israel)
Jerusalem
And some fun things:
- I was given a tiny bottle of Nestle water at the Ministry of Water and Irrigation in Jordan.
- The Palestinian Ministry of Planning is not planned out very well - the elevator lands between floors, so you always need to take stairs.
- In Haifa I went to an Arab restaurant for Hummous, and heard them playing country music in the kitchen.
And some pics:
Amman
Dead Sea (Jordanian Side looking to Israel)
Jerusalem
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Gay Day = Quiet City
The gay pride parade is to start in 30 mins. I should make my wya down, but I wanted to jot down my impresions so far. My bus (from my new apartment, yay!) goes down King David Street, the parade route, and this morning we were diverted. At 10am. (I just saw an Arab guy walk by with a kafia and gay pride flag. This city is whack/fun.) My bus coming from Uni, which should go through town, went a totally different route, so I had to walk a long way. The main streets coming into the center of town are cut off. There are groups of police and soldiers gathered in different areas. No cars. Just police cars, pedestrians, motorcycle police all in black....It's all a little strange. I hope nothing happens. 2 years ago there were stabbings, last year it was scaled down with no walking. olice have been out securing the route for over 24 hours, so there are nothing is planted in advance. Helicopters are circling over head. I like the idea that Jews, Christians and Muslims can agree, but agreeing about hate is not a good thing. It's weird that I am not scared to go to Ramallah or Hebron, but I am nervous about relgious Jews. I am gonna do a Sivuv and make my waydown, to see what's going on....
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Tantur, Talpiot, and the boys frfrom Birzeit
Sitting on Ben Yehudah street people watching. Seeing all the happy white Christian tourists. And of course the birthright crews. Listening to some crazy man talk about Bringham and Young and 38 wives, and now he is humming along with a harpist down the street. I was here last night, but it was a totally different experience….
I spent the last 2 days in Tantur, taking place in ‘peace together – end the occupation’ festivities with IPCRI. I thought I would help, but mostly ended up sitting at an Arava info booth and wandering around on my own. I didn’t know many people there aside from the staff people, and didn’t have much energy to be social.
The second day I left around 10 pm. The concerts were starting to rap up, and I didn’t have much time until busses/serveeces stopped running and I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere. I walked down the hill and up the hill to the bus stop, where 2 guys were waiting. At first I didn’t talk to them, but after 15 minutes of us standing in the same area, I asked if they had seen any serveeces. They had come to the peace events from Ramallah, and the night before there was a bus that took them back, but for whatever reason there wasn’t on this night. So we waited a little longer, then decided to walk to talpiot, a more built up area, where we were bound to find some kind of transportation. We talked a little as we walked, but mostly I was initiating the conversation, learning about their studies at Birzeit University. As we were passing a bus stop, an Israeli #14 was passing, so I flagged it down. It wasn’t exactly going where we wanted to go, but it would get us closer. I didn’t want to leave them cause I didn’t think they’d find a serveece and have to hitch, and they were nearing West Jerusalem, but they seemed hesitant to get on the bus (or did I just expect them to be hesitant? Was I projecting what I expected them to feel?) I explained how much it cost. M handed the driver a 200 and sat down. I tried to explain that they needed to wait for change and tickets, but they just kind of sat down. I wanted to sit near them to explain things, but they stayed next to the driver. I heard them ask the driver where the bus goes, in broken Hebrew. M comes from a village in Israel, so he speaks, but doesn’t really understand. The driver said something about going to Yaffo, and A totally freaked out. I could see him looking out the window nervously. When we got to a stop, near nothing, he started to get up. “Don’t worry. You’re with me’ I tried to explain in Arabic. M was calm but A was not. I switched seats with the religious guy sitting behind them, so I could explain where we were going. “I will be your guide. We will take this bus around the city, to the center of the city, and then I will take you to the Damascus gate, to the old city.” I had never spoken so much Arabic on an Israeli bus before, and I looked around to see people’s reactions, but it didn’t seem to faze anyone. The guys seemed to calm down. I explained where we were as we went down Emek Refaim – foreigners, French and American, fancy restaurants, coffee shops… then we turned up Karen Hayesod. More cafes, hotels, foreigners…. We got off the bus near the top of Ben Yehuda, in an area considered the center of the West – a place a couple of guys in town from Birzeit would not normally go. As soon as we got off the bus A went to buy cigarettes, and I learned the nervousness – they thought the bus driver meant that we were going to Yaffo – the city – 1.5 hours away! Though A had a permit to be in the city, it expired at midnight, and he would never make it back and forth before then. But I assured them we were still in Jerusalem, and it would be ok – they would make it back to Qalandiya before midnight.
I walked them down Ben Yehuda. I explained about the neighborhood and the shopping and going out. As we walked I said where bombings were. They didn’t really want to her it, but I thought it was important they know – they had never been here before. It’s an important part of the history of the area. Saturday night and Ben Yehuda was packed – tourists, locals, arseem and freichot, tour groups with guitars and Israeli flags, other people with guitars. Drunk people, sober people, kids eating ice cream – there was a little bit of everything. A is studying journalism, and I thought he would want to take pictures and take it all in, but he kept talking about how Dubai is better. It was getting late, so I escorted them over to the other side…
The bus station, normally bustling with green ford-transits going to northern cities, was dead. It was after 11pm. All the busses were gone. So we walked to the Damascus gate, where M thought there might be other busses. There was a blue bus (for southern cities) unloading passengers, so M asked about busses, but the lines were done for the night. So A freaked out a little. And I got a little nervous, being in the East after 11 with some guys I didn’t know. I was mostly confident about the whole thing, but still unsure. They bought me juice, despite my protests. I leant them my phone to call friends who might come down and pick them up, but everyone was asleep. In the end we opted to go with a random unmarked car. They dropped me off along the way, in French Hill. I didn’t have them take me all the way home – partly cause it was out of the way, but also I didn’t want them to see where I lived. Cause they would be jealous? Because they would come back? I don’t know why. So they left me by a closed supermarket, and they continued on to Qalandiya, through the checkpoint with Israeli soldiers, back to their reality.
Pictures should be forthcoming – they said they would send some.
As I sit here writing there are explosions. I really hope its fireworks.
As I was walking home, I started thinking about walking through town with Palestinians. I had no problem with it. I had a great time speaking Arabic with them. Then suddenly I started thinking about the last time I spoke Arabic around Ben Yehuda. It was a couple days before I was leaving for the Arava, and I had just said goodbye to my Arabic tutor, a social worker from Beit Sefafa, and Arab citizen of Israel. Earlier in the day I had been shopping in east Jerusalem, and sitting in a café, and all over the place. I was walking up the main drag, on the way back to the apartment, when I notice this religious guy walking the other way. He comes in very close, sticks his finger in my face, and in quick Hebrew says ‘next time don’t be with Arabs!’ It took me a second to realize what he said. By the time I realized what it meant, he was gone. And I was freaked out.
I am much more confident in my politics and my decisions than I was 3 years ago. Now I would respond ‘yes! Next time I will be with Arabs. Screw you!’ There is ‘kahane was right’ graffiti all over this city. Is it worth staying and trying to fight for peace? Last night it felt right, hanging out with the guys from Ramallah. If I go to visit them, I hope I still have the same warm feelings.
Time to go get a beer.
I spent the last 2 days in Tantur, taking place in ‘peace together – end the occupation’ festivities with IPCRI. I thought I would help, but mostly ended up sitting at an Arava info booth and wandering around on my own. I didn’t know many people there aside from the staff people, and didn’t have much energy to be social.
The second day I left around 10 pm. The concerts were starting to rap up, and I didn’t have much time until busses/serveeces stopped running and I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere. I walked down the hill and up the hill to the bus stop, where 2 guys were waiting. At first I didn’t talk to them, but after 15 minutes of us standing in the same area, I asked if they had seen any serveeces. They had come to the peace events from Ramallah, and the night before there was a bus that took them back, but for whatever reason there wasn’t on this night. So we waited a little longer, then decided to walk to talpiot, a more built up area, where we were bound to find some kind of transportation. We talked a little as we walked, but mostly I was initiating the conversation, learning about their studies at Birzeit University. As we were passing a bus stop, an Israeli #14 was passing, so I flagged it down. It wasn’t exactly going where we wanted to go, but it would get us closer. I didn’t want to leave them cause I didn’t think they’d find a serveece and have to hitch, and they were nearing West Jerusalem, but they seemed hesitant to get on the bus (or did I just expect them to be hesitant? Was I projecting what I expected them to feel?) I explained how much it cost. M handed the driver a 200 and sat down. I tried to explain that they needed to wait for change and tickets, but they just kind of sat down. I wanted to sit near them to explain things, but they stayed next to the driver. I heard them ask the driver where the bus goes, in broken Hebrew. M comes from a village in Israel, so he speaks, but doesn’t really understand. The driver said something about going to Yaffo, and A totally freaked out. I could see him looking out the window nervously. When we got to a stop, near nothing, he started to get up. “Don’t worry. You’re with me’ I tried to explain in Arabic. M was calm but A was not. I switched seats with the religious guy sitting behind them, so I could explain where we were going. “I will be your guide. We will take this bus around the city, to the center of the city, and then I will take you to the Damascus gate, to the old city.” I had never spoken so much Arabic on an Israeli bus before, and I looked around to see people’s reactions, but it didn’t seem to faze anyone. The guys seemed to calm down. I explained where we were as we went down Emek Refaim – foreigners, French and American, fancy restaurants, coffee shops… then we turned up Karen Hayesod. More cafes, hotels, foreigners…. We got off the bus near the top of Ben Yehuda, in an area considered the center of the West – a place a couple of guys in town from Birzeit would not normally go. As soon as we got off the bus A went to buy cigarettes, and I learned the nervousness – they thought the bus driver meant that we were going to Yaffo – the city – 1.5 hours away! Though A had a permit to be in the city, it expired at midnight, and he would never make it back and forth before then. But I assured them we were still in Jerusalem, and it would be ok – they would make it back to Qalandiya before midnight.
I walked them down Ben Yehuda. I explained about the neighborhood and the shopping and going out. As we walked I said where bombings were. They didn’t really want to her it, but I thought it was important they know – they had never been here before. It’s an important part of the history of the area. Saturday night and Ben Yehuda was packed – tourists, locals, arseem and freichot, tour groups with guitars and Israeli flags, other people with guitars. Drunk people, sober people, kids eating ice cream – there was a little bit of everything. A is studying journalism, and I thought he would want to take pictures and take it all in, but he kept talking about how Dubai is better. It was getting late, so I escorted them over to the other side…
The bus station, normally bustling with green ford-transits going to northern cities, was dead. It was after 11pm. All the busses were gone. So we walked to the Damascus gate, where M thought there might be other busses. There was a blue bus (for southern cities) unloading passengers, so M asked about busses, but the lines were done for the night. So A freaked out a little. And I got a little nervous, being in the East after 11 with some guys I didn’t know. I was mostly confident about the whole thing, but still unsure. They bought me juice, despite my protests. I leant them my phone to call friends who might come down and pick them up, but everyone was asleep. In the end we opted to go with a random unmarked car. They dropped me off along the way, in French Hill. I didn’t have them take me all the way home – partly cause it was out of the way, but also I didn’t want them to see where I lived. Cause they would be jealous? Because they would come back? I don’t know why. So they left me by a closed supermarket, and they continued on to Qalandiya, through the checkpoint with Israeli soldiers, back to their reality.
Pictures should be forthcoming – they said they would send some.
As I sit here writing there are explosions. I really hope its fireworks.
As I was walking home, I started thinking about walking through town with Palestinians. I had no problem with it. I had a great time speaking Arabic with them. Then suddenly I started thinking about the last time I spoke Arabic around Ben Yehuda. It was a couple days before I was leaving for the Arava, and I had just said goodbye to my Arabic tutor, a social worker from Beit Sefafa, and Arab citizen of Israel. Earlier in the day I had been shopping in east Jerusalem, and sitting in a café, and all over the place. I was walking up the main drag, on the way back to the apartment, when I notice this religious guy walking the other way. He comes in very close, sticks his finger in my face, and in quick Hebrew says ‘next time don’t be with Arabs!’ It took me a second to realize what he said. By the time I realized what it meant, he was gone. And I was freaked out.
I am much more confident in my politics and my decisions than I was 3 years ago. Now I would respond ‘yes! Next time I will be with Arabs. Screw you!’ There is ‘kahane was right’ graffiti all over this city. Is it worth staying and trying to fight for peace? Last night it felt right, hanging out with the guys from Ramallah. If I go to visit them, I hope I still have the same warm feelings.
Time to go get a beer.
