Monday, February 23, 2009
The first ten days, chapter 4: Odds and ends
On Saturday night we attended a dinner potluck hosted by a group of Korean students also taking classes at the Language Center. There were approximately nine Koreans, six Italians, and the two of us. Languages were flying around, sounds meaningless to one group, words to others, mumbles, shreiks, shouts, lots and lots of laughter, and lots and lots of food. Needless to say, vegan food was limited -- the Koreans made vegan potato pancakes and very non-vegan fish balls, there was kimchi, baked pasta and a potato dish from the Italians, we made a sweet potato mash with almonds and carmelized onions, and it was all topped off with cake. Everyone was very sweet, though it was, at times, hard to communicate, Arabic being the language of choice and ours. . . well, stretched to its limits. At one point I tried to ask the Koreans if they had found tofu in Irbid. They couldn't understand what I wanted. Finally, one of the girls karate chopped and said, "Kung Fu? Kung Fu Panda?" It was a capstone for the night.
Speaking of Babel and other Biblical associations, when we went to the Director's office to discuss fees, he asked why we had come. Daph explained her interest in Middle Eastern Studies, and suggested that I had dutifully followed along. He said, "That reminds me of Paradise Lost, when God tells Eve that she must leave Eden for eating the Apple, and Adam says, 'Well, I can't live in this Paradise alone, I'll come with you.'"
Today's phrase of the day is: Nahnu shouw-fa natakellum Arabi. We will speak Arabic.
PS. Pictures are coming, eventually.
The first ten days, chapter 3: Crossing (or occupying) the divide
It is rather a fascinating thing to be in a country where you understand nothing, and where there is a fear (however slight, here, and even slighter by the fact that we get to choose to be here) of letting others know who we are. It would be horribly amiss to suggest that anyone here had been anything but entirely courteous and sweet and inviting. People try to guess what you want and sometimes just decide to give you more than you could possibly ask for. Sometimes they get so excited about their products that they just keep feeding you samples until you are too full to actually want to buy anything else (like the falafel shop that fed us each several falafel balls while we tried to express that we wanted falafel sandwiches, which we were, by that point, no longer hungry for).
And our language has improved – we feel it in the way we can transition from new letters to old ones, from sounds that used to make our throat ache but now no longer do. The transition between a guttural “R” and the rolled “R” of Spanish, for instance, is no easy task. Now it is not simple, but not impossible, either. And we can be courteous with people, and frequently ask for what we want (or for close enough to what we want) so that we actually get it (perhaps even before we are full). One of our teachers gave us each a simple children’s book today – about the level that we might read to Huck, complete with lift-able pages and a mirror on the last page. Considering that this is the start of our second week with a foreign alphabet, it feels exciting.
And, contrary to what we had been told, not a single person has asked us about our religious affiliation. Perhaps it is only because we can’t go that deep into a conversation yet, but even the people who speak passable English have completely ignored the area. We did, however, have one small moment, when one of our teachers was trying to remember/figure out how to pronounce “Ben” – it is not a common name here. She said, “I got it! It’s Bingamin!” And I misheard her, and assumed it was like the Hebrew, and said, “Yes! Binyamin.” And she turned a little white. She said, “That is OK in here, but out there don’t say that, because people will hear and think, ‘oh, he’s from Israel. He’s Jewish.’” Daph and I turned a bit red, and hearts thumping, got through the last few minutes of class. I am farely sure that she has, by now, put two-and-two together, and, combined with questions about visits to Israel (she says, “Call it Palestine here. It could be dangerous”), realized that we are Jewish. It doesn’t seem to have changed much of anything, although it has heightened my desire to bring her homemade rugalach. . . .
But it is also clear that our two cultures come from a common stock – on our first day of classes, when we were learning how to pronounce letters, one of the teachers stopped us, and said to me, “Do you have an Arab mother? Do you speak Arabic?” Apparently my accent (however limited the scope) was passable. Days later, at our local produce stand, a man started jabbering to Daphna about the hail. When she didn’t understand, the owner of the stand translated that we were American, and another woman in the stand said Daphna looked Arab. She proceeded to ask if Daphna’s parents had also been born in the States, or if they were born in this part of the world.
Strange how it all works.
And our language has improved – we feel it in the way we can transition from new letters to old ones, from sounds that used to make our throat ache but now no longer do. The transition between a guttural “R” and the rolled “R” of Spanish, for instance, is no easy task. Now it is not simple, but not impossible, either. And we can be courteous with people, and frequently ask for what we want (or for close enough to what we want) so that we actually get it (perhaps even before we are full). One of our teachers gave us each a simple children’s book today – about the level that we might read to Huck, complete with lift-able pages and a mirror on the last page. Considering that this is the start of our second week with a foreign alphabet, it feels exciting.
And, contrary to what we had been told, not a single person has asked us about our religious affiliation. Perhaps it is only because we can’t go that deep into a conversation yet, but even the people who speak passable English have completely ignored the area. We did, however, have one small moment, when one of our teachers was trying to remember/figure out how to pronounce “Ben” – it is not a common name here. She said, “I got it! It’s Bingamin!” And I misheard her, and assumed it was like the Hebrew, and said, “Yes! Binyamin.” And she turned a little white. She said, “That is OK in here, but out there don’t say that, because people will hear and think, ‘oh, he’s from Israel. He’s Jewish.’” Daph and I turned a bit red, and hearts thumping, got through the last few minutes of class. I am farely sure that she has, by now, put two-and-two together, and, combined with questions about visits to Israel (she says, “Call it Palestine here. It could be dangerous”), realized that we are Jewish. It doesn’t seem to have changed much of anything, although it has heightened my desire to bring her homemade rugalach. . . .
But it is also clear that our two cultures come from a common stock – on our first day of classes, when we were learning how to pronounce letters, one of the teachers stopped us, and said to me, “Do you have an Arab mother? Do you speak Arabic?” Apparently my accent (however limited the scope) was passable. Days later, at our local produce stand, a man started jabbering to Daphna about the hail. When she didn’t understand, the owner of the stand translated that we were American, and another woman in the stand said Daphna looked Arab. She proceeded to ask if Daphna’s parents had also been born in the States, or if they were born in this part of the world.
Strange how it all works.
The first ten days, chapter 2: Matha nakul?
It is impossible to begin any discussion of Jordanian food – vegan or not – without starting at the heart of every meal: chubs. The flat, round bread is slightly thinner than pita, and often lacking a true pocket-ability, but is, in essence, the same bread you can find in many other countries in the area. It even occurred to us last night, while munching away, that it bears a strong resemblance to what Matzoh might have looked like before it became, well, cracker-y.
Chubs is ubiquitous here. You get it, free, with every meal out, and most Jordanians eat it with every meal at home. It is also incredibly cheap. A kilo of chubs, at the local bakery, runs about 35 cents. In case you can’t picture a kilo of bread, imagine getting a bag of bread from the store, having two people eat one “chubs” with every meal, and still not finishing the bag for nearly a week. It is a lot of bread.
Unfortunately, everything here is made from white flour – the chubs, the pasta, even the rice is a white basmati. Always. You ask about brown rice, or whole wheat bread, and they basically say, “Maybe in Amman?” That being said, it does all taste good.
And where they lack for wheat flour, the US can’t keep up in the produce section. There are little produce stores everywhere, with everything from standard onions, tomatoes, corn, apples, etc., to under-ripe crunchy dates, pomelos, melons we haven’t yet tasted, Lebanese bananas (a different variety than those standard in the US – smaller and yummier), squash that look like shrunk, light green zucchini. And it’s all cheap. We went to a produce stand the other day and got onions, a ton of tomatoes, cucumber, pomelo, banana, scallion, lemons, Anaheim peppers, and green beans – two full, heavy bags – and it rang in under $6. The owner was so happy we’d spent so much that he gave us each a banana for the road. The entire time that we’d been shopping, people had been stopping by to grab a bunch of this, a head of that. People even pulled up in cars and honked and the owner’s son would run to the car and take an order and run back with the produce. A slight variation on the McDonald’s drive-thru, you might say.
There is also the expected fare – the great humus (which we eat in spoonfuls), savory falafel sandwiches, and olives, and salads (oh my!). There is also the unexpected: our local grocer has Malaysian "soya" milk in regular, chocolate, strawberry, malt, and cappuccino. Tofu? “Maybe in Amman.”
But the desserts. Oh, the desserts. Now, ignore the glamorous multi-layered cakes (chocolate, vanilla and strawberry seem to be the most popular), the fresh fruit parfaits, and the decadent cheese cakes that adorn the windows of the sweet shops (halwiah). They are non-vegan. Make your way to the back of the shops, where the baklawa sits. Incredibly, it is vegan: gentle layers of phyllo dough wrapped with nuts and covered in a sugar (not a honey!) glaze. Decadent, melt-in-your-mouth-and-all-over-your-senses yumminess. The halva – they call it something different but only have it pre-packaged in stores – is quite yummy, too. Even when mixed with chocolate, it’s not quite the same melt-all-over-your-senses affect. You can, for instance, eat the halva and continue to take part in a conversation.
Chubs is ubiquitous here. You get it, free, with every meal out, and most Jordanians eat it with every meal at home. It is also incredibly cheap. A kilo of chubs, at the local bakery, runs about 35 cents. In case you can’t picture a kilo of bread, imagine getting a bag of bread from the store, having two people eat one “chubs” with every meal, and still not finishing the bag for nearly a week. It is a lot of bread.
Unfortunately, everything here is made from white flour – the chubs, the pasta, even the rice is a white basmati. Always. You ask about brown rice, or whole wheat bread, and they basically say, “Maybe in Amman?” That being said, it does all taste good.
And where they lack for wheat flour, the US can’t keep up in the produce section. There are little produce stores everywhere, with everything from standard onions, tomatoes, corn, apples, etc., to under-ripe crunchy dates, pomelos, melons we haven’t yet tasted, Lebanese bananas (a different variety than those standard in the US – smaller and yummier), squash that look like shrunk, light green zucchini. And it’s all cheap. We went to a produce stand the other day and got onions, a ton of tomatoes, cucumber, pomelo, banana, scallion, lemons, Anaheim peppers, and green beans – two full, heavy bags – and it rang in under $6. The owner was so happy we’d spent so much that he gave us each a banana for the road. The entire time that we’d been shopping, people had been stopping by to grab a bunch of this, a head of that. People even pulled up in cars and honked and the owner’s son would run to the car and take an order and run back with the produce. A slight variation on the McDonald’s drive-thru, you might say.
There is also the expected fare – the great humus (which we eat in spoonfuls), savory falafel sandwiches, and olives, and salads (oh my!). There is also the unexpected: our local grocer has Malaysian "soya" milk in regular, chocolate, strawberry, malt, and cappuccino. Tofu? “Maybe in Amman.”
But the desserts. Oh, the desserts. Now, ignore the glamorous multi-layered cakes (chocolate, vanilla and strawberry seem to be the most popular), the fresh fruit parfaits, and the decadent cheese cakes that adorn the windows of the sweet shops (halwiah). They are non-vegan. Make your way to the back of the shops, where the baklawa sits. Incredibly, it is vegan: gentle layers of phyllo dough wrapped with nuts and covered in a sugar (not a honey!) glaze. Decadent, melt-in-your-mouth-and-all-over-your-senses yumminess. The halva – they call it something different but only have it pre-packaged in stores – is quite yummy, too. Even when mixed with chocolate, it’s not quite the same melt-all-over-your-senses affect. You can, for instance, eat the halva and continue to take part in a conversation.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The first ten days, chapter 1: The city
Irbid is home to 200,000 people, and Yarmouk University, which represents 30,000 students. We live just inside the south gate of the university, and have wandered little farther than the streets that border the campus, though the "downtown" is a short taxi ride away. The people here tend to be rather observant, and you notice when they are not well-dressed, or if there are women not wearing the hijab (veil). You especially notice if they are not wearing the hijab, are wearing a goretex coat, and walking hand-in-hand with a man wearing sneakers. . . . Such a couple would stick out like a sore thumb, you might say.
Every morning we walk to the Language Center, about 1 block from our apartment, where we take classes from 8:30am-1:30pm, with an hour break, Sunday-Thursday. When we want to go into "town" we simply walk out the gate, take a left to go to Safeway, cross the street for our ultra-local grocer and produce stand (there are several others within a half-mile walk), or simply go right and walk up to University Street, the heart of Irbid's social scene. Everything feels very close, from bakeries and sweet shops, coffee grinders and nut roasters, nargilla cafes, even Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits. The town is dead on Friday mornings, when everyone is praying, but bursting with life at night, when men crowd into the cafes to smoke and chat. The women don't usually go out, but you see groups of them snacking on amazing cakes and other desserts that . . . well, if we weren't living vegan (or, in one case, mostly vegan), we'd be a lot rounder.
The pace is also a lot different here. It is not uncommon to go into a store and be offered coffee or tea, even if you have already established that you aren't going to buy anything. A couple of days ago we walked into a small school supplies shop, asked if he had index cards (which no one here does), turned to go, and heard, "Would you like some coffee?" There's a much higher propensity to just sitting around and chatting.
And it is no doubt a desert here. It is very dry, when it is not raining. This is the rainy season, and we've even seen hail twice. It's chilly, in a largely dry sort of way, the rain notwithstanding. It sounds like the summer, and the heat, will be intense. But hey, we'll see.
Every morning we walk to the Language Center, about 1 block from our apartment, where we take classes from 8:30am-1:30pm, with an hour break, Sunday-Thursday. When we want to go into "town" we simply walk out the gate, take a left to go to Safeway, cross the street for our ultra-local grocer and produce stand (there are several others within a half-mile walk), or simply go right and walk up to University Street, the heart of Irbid's social scene. Everything feels very close, from bakeries and sweet shops, coffee grinders and nut roasters, nargilla cafes, even Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits. The town is dead on Friday mornings, when everyone is praying, but bursting with life at night, when men crowd into the cafes to smoke and chat. The women don't usually go out, but you see groups of them snacking on amazing cakes and other desserts that . . . well, if we weren't living vegan (or, in one case, mostly vegan), we'd be a lot rounder.
The pace is also a lot different here. It is not uncommon to go into a store and be offered coffee or tea, even if you have already established that you aren't going to buy anything. A couple of days ago we walked into a small school supplies shop, asked if he had index cards (which no one here does), turned to go, and heard, "Would you like some coffee?" There's a much higher propensity to just sitting around and chatting.
And it is no doubt a desert here. It is very dry, when it is not raining. This is the rainy season, and we've even seen hail twice. It's chilly, in a largely dry sort of way, the rain notwithstanding. It sounds like the summer, and the heat, will be intense. But hey, we'll see.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Fee hummus woh salata?
". . . Maybe it's the third world, maybe it's his first time around. Doesn't know the language, holds no currency. . . ." - Paul Simon
That about sums it up.
OK, so we now have a little bit of currency, and we can ask if someone has hummus and salad and greet someone without (if we're lucky) completely making fools of ourselves. As soon as someone else speaks, though, I resort to my minimal Chinese and crawl into the fetal position. Daph just starts rattling off the alphabet in Spanish.
Welcome to Jordan.
OK, so, really, it's not that bad. Everyone here is sweet, and tries to communicate, and most are happy to try and find someway to help.
But really, I'm getting ahead of myself. We should start back on Tuesday afternoon, where we left off. You see, after all that poetry (which, I should brag, has gotten me compared to Gwen Stefani -- if you don't know who that is, just ask, *ahem*, Mark), we headed to Philli and Sevonne's wedding. Philli was a close friend of Daphna when she spent a year in Israel during high school. He is sweet, and was so excited to see her that I thought Sevonne might get jealous, but really they both just floated through the evening. The ceremony was beautiful, complete with pauses for the camera, and was followed by a multi-course meal and a disco party. Very wonderful, and, in an odd way, very Israeli. Who else would dance the hora to a throbbing techno beat? Nothing like the holy land. . . .
The wedding was a wonderful way to leave our Jewish segment of the trip for the time being. On Wednesday morning we headed to Turan, an Arab village in northern Israel, to visit Vera, a friend of Daphna's through Building Bridges for Peace. We were still in the same small country, but it felt like a rather large transition. We left the crowded, small apartment-style living of urban Rishon for the houses and olive trees and Arabic of a new place. And Vera's family (see pictures) was wonderful -- sweet and loud, funny and friendly and hospitable. Who knew that okra could taste so damn good? But it was OK -- we only ate about 7 meals a day. We also met Vera's fiance, Iyad. They will both be in the states in the Fall (Vera, unfortunately not very bright, was forced to accept a Fulbright Scholarship to get a Masters in the States so that she could escape the constant belittling in her town for her poor intellect). Everyone should have them over for dinner.
While we were at Vera's, Israeli election results came in. The village was a hard place to be when the right wing (including a man whose largest premise was to force Arab Israeli citizens to go through loyalty tests or be deported) did so well. It felt to us like Vera, in particular, was in a lot of pain -- her family has endured a lot, and to have this type of agenda in the ruling coalition is scary. It interested us as well, that there are four different Arab political parties, three of which each have around four seats in the parliament (the fourth protested the war by staying out of the elections, which seemed to me like when Israeli students "struck" by not going to class when the government raised the price of education -- who, exactly, are you hurting here?). Vera suggested that, if the four parties united, and all of the Arab's voted, they'd get over 20 seats, enough to be in the coalition. It didn't seem that simple, though -- the parties are not that similar, and one is even a communist party. Ever hear that one about two Jews and three opinions? Well. . . .
Finally, we are back to this morning. Iyad dropped us at the Nazarene Express in Nazareth (for an hour, we were Ben and Daphna of Nazareth!) and we took the bus into Jordan. It was a beautiful drive -- the green hills of Israel's Jezreal Valley gave way to the arid hills of Jordan, which had far less agriculture but far more olive trees (Iyad told us, "If there are Arabs, there are olive trees"). We pulled into Irbid, a sprawling, fair sized city in the hills. Daph said that the approach was like the approach to Jerusalem, minus the green. We clambered out of the bus, and somehow, found the university. We arrived at the security gate, and asked about the language center, and they pointed us to another security center, and they made a phone call to find out where it was and then waited, and then made a phone call to ask someone else, and then walked us the 100 yards to the Center.
At the Center, we met Ahmed and Omar, one of whom will most likely be our professor, and both of whom were flabbergasted by our complete lack of Arabic. They kept saying things like, "But you know. . ." and we'd just look at them blankly and they'd shake their heads and look at each other, as if perhaps the other one was (hopefully) using us to play a practical joke on him. We met the director, who reminded me a lot of Bruce Heitler, came in and said hi, and had the foreign student liasion, Ayhem, show us to our apartment. Ayhem brought us to a well-used but large one bedroom apartment in the corner of campus. It has white walls and beige carpets and ugly but useable furniture and a TV that gets the local Jordanian stations. Nonetheless, it's cute, and Daphna has promised to spruce it up.
Ayhem then called a driver and took us on a tour of campus and the city, showing us where many things that I can't remember are. It was very sweet and detailed and, after showing us the incredible student center where you can do mosaics and ceramics and painting (we think they're free, but aren't sure), he brought us to his office and gave us some materials. One of his co-workers practically begged us to come practice Arabic with her and to teach her some English, and then we went home.
Even after a good afternoon's rest, though, it's best not to try to order vegan food in a foreign place without a dictionary. Now, we did it ("sandwich felafel" and tea and water and hummus and salad for two for under five dollars), but it was kind of ugly in the process. A lot of very blank looks, shall we say.
Now, 'tis time to go shopping and fall into bed for an early night (so, the afternoon's rest wasn't so good). We have tomorrow and Saturday as our weekend, and classes are supposed to start at 8:30am on Sunday. Wish us luck.
Arabic word(s) of the day:
Been Hehbak = I love you
Been hehbak, everyone! Thanks for all of your comments and e-mails (we love them!) and we hope to talk to you soon!
That about sums it up.
OK, so we now have a little bit of currency, and we can ask if someone has hummus and salad and greet someone without (if we're lucky) completely making fools of ourselves. As soon as someone else speaks, though, I resort to my minimal Chinese and crawl into the fetal position. Daph just starts rattling off the alphabet in Spanish.
Welcome to Jordan.
OK, so, really, it's not that bad. Everyone here is sweet, and tries to communicate, and most are happy to try and find someway to help.
But really, I'm getting ahead of myself. We should start back on Tuesday afternoon, where we left off. You see, after all that poetry (which, I should brag, has gotten me compared to Gwen Stefani -- if you don't know who that is, just ask, *ahem*, Mark), we headed to Philli and Sevonne's wedding. Philli was a close friend of Daphna when she spent a year in Israel during high school. He is sweet, and was so excited to see her that I thought Sevonne might get jealous, but really they both just floated through the evening. The ceremony was beautiful, complete with pauses for the camera, and was followed by a multi-course meal and a disco party. Very wonderful, and, in an odd way, very Israeli. Who else would dance the hora to a throbbing techno beat? Nothing like the holy land. . . .
The wedding was a wonderful way to leave our Jewish segment of the trip for the time being. On Wednesday morning we headed to Turan, an Arab village in northern Israel, to visit Vera, a friend of Daphna's through Building Bridges for Peace. We were still in the same small country, but it felt like a rather large transition. We left the crowded, small apartment-style living of urban Rishon for the houses and olive trees and Arabic of a new place. And Vera's family (see pictures) was wonderful -- sweet and loud, funny and friendly and hospitable. Who knew that okra could taste so damn good? But it was OK -- we only ate about 7 meals a day. We also met Vera's fiance, Iyad. They will both be in the states in the Fall (Vera, unfortunately not very bright, was forced to accept a Fulbright Scholarship to get a Masters in the States so that she could escape the constant belittling in her town for her poor intellect). Everyone should have them over for dinner.
While we were at Vera's, Israeli election results came in. The village was a hard place to be when the right wing (including a man whose largest premise was to force Arab Israeli citizens to go through loyalty tests or be deported) did so well. It felt to us like Vera, in particular, was in a lot of pain -- her family has endured a lot, and to have this type of agenda in the ruling coalition is scary. It interested us as well, that there are four different Arab political parties, three of which each have around four seats in the parliament (the fourth protested the war by staying out of the elections, which seemed to me like when Israeli students "struck" by not going to class when the government raised the price of education -- who, exactly, are you hurting here?). Vera suggested that, if the four parties united, and all of the Arab's voted, they'd get over 20 seats, enough to be in the coalition. It didn't seem that simple, though -- the parties are not that similar, and one is even a communist party. Ever hear that one about two Jews and three opinions? Well. . . .
Finally, we are back to this morning. Iyad dropped us at the Nazarene Express in Nazareth (for an hour, we were Ben and Daphna of Nazareth!) and we took the bus into Jordan. It was a beautiful drive -- the green hills of Israel's Jezreal Valley gave way to the arid hills of Jordan, which had far less agriculture but far more olive trees (Iyad told us, "If there are Arabs, there are olive trees"). We pulled into Irbid, a sprawling, fair sized city in the hills. Daph said that the approach was like the approach to Jerusalem, minus the green. We clambered out of the bus, and somehow, found the university. We arrived at the security gate, and asked about the language center, and they pointed us to another security center, and they made a phone call to find out where it was and then waited, and then made a phone call to ask someone else, and then walked us the 100 yards to the Center.
At the Center, we met Ahmed and Omar, one of whom will most likely be our professor, and both of whom were flabbergasted by our complete lack of Arabic. They kept saying things like, "But you know. . ." and we'd just look at them blankly and they'd shake their heads and look at each other, as if perhaps the other one was (hopefully) using us to play a practical joke on him. We met the director, who reminded me a lot of Bruce Heitler, came in and said hi, and had the foreign student liasion, Ayhem, show us to our apartment. Ayhem brought us to a well-used but large one bedroom apartment in the corner of campus. It has white walls and beige carpets and ugly but useable furniture and a TV that gets the local Jordanian stations. Nonetheless, it's cute, and Daphna has promised to spruce it up.
Ayhem then called a driver and took us on a tour of campus and the city, showing us where many things that I can't remember are. It was very sweet and detailed and, after showing us the incredible student center where you can do mosaics and ceramics and painting (we think they're free, but aren't sure), he brought us to his office and gave us some materials. One of his co-workers practically begged us to come practice Arabic with her and to teach her some English, and then we went home.
Even after a good afternoon's rest, though, it's best not to try to order vegan food in a foreign place without a dictionary. Now, we did it ("sandwich felafel" and tea and water and hummus and salad for two for under five dollars), but it was kind of ugly in the process. A lot of very blank looks, shall we say.
Now, 'tis time to go shopping and fall into bed for an early night (so, the afternoon's rest wasn't so good). We have tomorrow and Saturday as our weekend, and classes are supposed to start at 8:30am on Sunday. Wish us luck.
Arabic word(s) of the day:
Been Hehbak = I love you
Been hehbak, everyone! Thanks for all of your comments and e-mails (we love them!) and we hope to talk to you soon!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Look how hard we flapped our wings!
When we arrived at the airport
We heard the dreary re-port
That the plane was not there
It was somewhere in the air
And we had seven hours to burn.
So sit we did,
(and sit and sit and sit, I do not kid)
Until finally we were able to board,
And we took off as the plane roared,
For a land I had not seen.
In London, we ran into town
Forty minutes to hop around
We had to run and take the tube
Slide around on the icey goob
And finally get to meet Big Ben.
We arrived in the "holy land"
Needing for sleep, our eyes heavy like bags of sand
And headed up North to see the fam
(see all our pictures from the cam!)
And to relax with Safta Miri, Ya, and the clan.
Three nights of rest and play
Chocolate as abundant as hay
A trip to the sea
Naps dail-y
And finally a big meal complete with the whole fam.
Now we're in Rishon Letzion,
For a wedding, and to see one
Little sister of Daphna, before we head to the east
For an entirely new beast
And a new adventure ahead.
Ahem. Thank you, thank you. Signed copies will available starting in August for the paltry price of visiting us in DC.
Well, we are here. The trek itself was an adventure. We checked the plane the night before, but upon arriving at DIA, a woman apologetically handed us a piece of paper (she couldn't bring herself to say it) showing that the plane had been delayed a mere six and a half hours. But let me tell you how much there is to do in DIA! We became like the little kids that live in the Met and solve mysteries, but we were too big to hide for too long, and security has improved so much since then that, really, we weren't necessary. But we were definitely that cool. Let's just say, thank god for Wi-Fi and meal vouchers.
Anyway, our plans for a casual day of seeing the sights in London were ruined, since what had been a thirteen hour layover loomed as another casual six hour romp in an airport. The flight from Denver to London was low-key, full of nothing but sleeping through the endless entertainment options. But then brilliance struck, and we went against the advice of every person we asked and decided to rough it into the the jungle of. . . The Tube. Now, I wouldn't recommend taking the tube for two and a half hours for forty minutes of bouncing around Westminster Abbey to everyone, but it was beautiful. Big Ben was slightly, well, smaller, than I would have guessed, but the sights were great, the city lit up against the dark early evening skies, and it was fun to be an ever-so-brief part of the London bustle. We didn't have time to find any vegan food, but never fear -- we had the same meal we'd gotten on the way from Denver to London on the way to Tel Aviv, so at least we didn't have to face the insecurity of something new.
The rest of the voyage, really, was easy, and Daph's Safta Miri set us up with Yael in a cute, sparse hostel a ten minute walk from her apartment. The days in Haifa went quickly. We spent a good bit of time with Safta (when leaving she said, "Oh! I'd gotten used to having you here"), eating meals with her, playing rummikub until she relegated me to the bedroom, taking a walk along the crowded Haifa beach on Saturday morning. Saturday night Daph's aunt and cousins joined us for dinner in Safta's apartment, which suddenly became loud and full of laughter and the nonsensical commentary of Kfir, our 1 1/2 year old cousin. It was a beautiful sight in the small living room.
Yesterday we left Haifa, our lives hanging over our shoulders, like the Jews of thousands of years ago, but with goretex, lumbar support, and buses. The trip to Yael's home in Rishon Lezion was uneventful yet exhausting, and it has been great to see her in her home environment, the apartment she shares with four other pre-college girls. We walked around the commercial center of Rishon last night, and hung out with a couple of her friends. Today we are taking it easy before we head to the wedding tonight, and before we head into the real unknown, tomorrow.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Under 48 hours to go
Thanks for checking out our blog. This is where we will be posting updates about our trip as we travel to Israel and Jordan for the next five months. If you want to contact us, you can comment here or e-mail us at our g-mail accounts.
Preparing for this trip has been an amazing experience, uprooting ourselves from the incredible Denver community and diving into the unknown of a country that we've never visited and and a language we don't know. Saying goodbye, and feeling the incredible depth of love that surrounds us here has been humbling, invigorating, and awakening. Thank you all.
We'll do our best to keep this blog updated, and hopefully we'll have sufficient internet access to do so. I'm not too worried.
Well, here we go. Wish us luck.
Preparing for this trip has been an amazing experience, uprooting ourselves from the incredible Denver community and diving into the unknown of a country that we've never visited and and a language we don't know. Saying goodbye, and feeling the incredible depth of love that surrounds us here has been humbling, invigorating, and awakening. Thank you all.
We'll do our best to keep this blog updated, and hopefully we'll have sufficient internet access to do so. I'm not too worried.
Well, here we go. Wish us luck.
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