That's so Alex

Alexandria, that is.

For being one of the cities most renowned for ancient culture and for being one of the birthplaces of civilization, Alex was pretty creepy.

Example: The first thing we see when we get off the train is a billboard with some sort of child-raising public service announcement.

Welcome.

Then we ask a taxi driver to take us to the catacombs, and he says "sure, sure, no problem". We get in, and he drops us off at this giant gated thing. We ask the security guards, and they said that no, the catacombs weren't here, and looked at us like we were retarded.

Shoot. We walk in the general direction we think they were telling us the catacombs were in (none of us knew any Arabic, obviously) and it is so random. Everything was so confusing.

We were in this residential area, and every building was painted a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory bright color, like the Rainbow Brite baby barfed on everything to cover up how poor it all was. Some of the buildings were crumbling, and every once in a while there would be a hole in one of the walls and animals living it.

Actual goats, just chilling.

We finally get to the catacombs and they were REALLY cool. Alexandria is on the Meditterranean, so they got a lot of influnce from the whole Greco-Roman thing. These catacombs combined both Egyptian and Greco-Roman symbols, not to mention the fact that they were CATACOMBS.

Rachel and Jenny and I explored hardcore, and Rachel even climbed into one of the holes where the casket would have been.

Brave? Or tempting fate? We were pretty far underground, you choose.

We take a cab to the Citadel, where we wander around and get sketched on by everyone for being white and uncovered.

Then we walk to the Fish Market, this nice restaurant where you pick out your fish and then they cook it.

This is where I lost my mind.

The whole time we were in Egypt we had been eating koshary, a mix of pastas and lentils, and I was really, really craving some vegetables.

So much so that when the waiter brought a decorative basket of whole vegetables to the table I went to town.

3 cucumbers, 2 carrots, some lettuce (peeled off of the head, to be sure) and at least 1 bell pepper.

Then Mischa made fun of me.

Then it was game over.

For some reason I thought whatever he said was so funny that I could NOT stop laughing to save my life.

For probably a good 10 minutes I sat at our table, with the view of the entire bay, in the middle of this fancy restaraunt, rocking back and forth laughing uncontrollably. I'm crying I'm laughing so hard, and the whole table gets in on it.

Long story short, I lost my mind and dragged everyone down with me.

Just another day in the life.

Egypt, finally.

Spring Break '09 is going down in the history books.

I went to Egypt.

And came back to Israel in time for Passover. Poetic, right?

Rachel, Jenny, Mischa, Jess and I braved a whole new continent in our quest for fun, and definitely succedeed.

We were there for 5 days, and as such, there are way too many stories to tell on a single blog, so I'll outline a brief itinerary of the trip and then go into anecdote mode.

Day 1:

• Cross border, get cab to Cairo (6 hours across the Sinai)
• Get utterly lost and have no way to communicate that we need to find our hostel
• find hostel
• visit Khan al-Khalili (bazaar a few blocks from our hostel)

Day 2:

• PYRAMIDS
• SPHINX
• CAMEL RIDE

Day 3:

• ALEXANDRIA
• Library
• Citadel
• Fish Market lunch
• Catacombs
• Sufi Dancing (I think it was this day...)

Day 4:

• Egypt Museum (MUMMIES)
• Nile ride

Day 5: Go home :(

Finding Jesus in the Holy Land... Literally

Last Tuesday, I was walking to class by myself, kind of whistling and bobbing my head along, minding my own business. I cross the street, and I see this guy turn the corner and begin walking behind me.

That guy?

Jesus.

Or His twin.

Or a guy that looks JUST LIKE HIM.

Seriously.

He had long brown hair, a full beard, and was wearing head to toe white, loose linen clothing. It had been raining earlier in the day so the ground was a patchwork of puddles and slick pavement, but Jesus (I refer to him in my head as 'Hay-Sus' so it's less potentially blasphemous) was in bear feet just walking up the sidewalk.

I kept throwing confused glances over my shoulder, and Jesus kept on walking behind me for a good 200-300 yards. I'm starting to get anxious; am I hallucinating? Is it really Him? Am I even crazier than hallucinating because I'm starting to think it might be?

Finally Jesus turns and walks into an Aroma (Israel's answer to Starbucks), and I'm immensely relieved.

My Hebrew is waaay to bad to be trying to talk to Him.

eXtreme Israel

A few weekends ago (I forget how many, senior moment) I finally garnered the social courage to go on one of the trips offered by the university for us semester kids.

Rappelling. In the Qumran.

It was so frat.

There were like 20 kids, 2 university guides, 1 security guard (of course), and 4 rappelling company guides. We leave the university at 6:30 am, and I start getting the feeling that it is going to be a long day.

First of all, the university guide gets in the front of the bus as we're pulling out and tells us that we may not actually be able to rappel today. And that we won't know until we get there.

.... All right.

Second, everyone on the bus except for yours truly is super-awake and super-chatty. Even when I am super-awake, chattiness is not known to be one of my qualities. I plug in my headphones and drown out the inane babble and sleep until we get there.

We pull up and now I'm that much more groggy than everyone else, and we get the all-clear to go. Phew.

What do you mean, we can't text on our Blackberries on the way down?

We go on a short hike, maybe 10 minutes, and the girls are starting to complain. It's hot. They're thirsty. Feet/head/back/whatever hurts.

I am not optimistic for the outcome of this venture at this point.

I ditch the girls in back and go up front with the guys and things get much better.

Qumran is right next to Ein Gedi, the place where I hiked a few weeks ago, so it's really similar. There are canyons from the desert plateau above where the water runs down in the case of rain. We were rappelling down where the waterfalls would have been should there have been water, so it was pretty sick.

The first fall was 35 meters. The guides set up all the ropes and everything while everyone else sits around on the rocks and plays -my favorite- get to know you games.

It's finally time to go down, so Zac and I (newfound friend who shares my distrust of bonding activities) rush down and manage to go down 5th and 6th, respectively.

It was so cool. We feed the rope through the crazy metal thing, bounce off the rocks, and get close to the bottom and make a startling discovery:

There is still water at the bottom of the pools.

And we have to rappell right into it.

It sounds exciting, but the water is actually frigid. And deep. Like up-to-my-chin deep. And the bottom? Squelchy, squishy, shoe-sucking mud.

We climb around the rocks, waiting for people to finish. The security guard occassionally yells at us to get away from the edge, don't climb too high... etc etc etc.

The second fall was 15 meters, and this one dropped into another pool that was even colder, and even deeper. Immediately after this one is the next fall, and because there are pools of water everywhere there is no way to escape the annoying people because we're all perched on the same small patch of rock.

There was another group ahead of us, so we have to wait for them to finish and remove their ropes before we can even begin, so it takes a good hour between the rappells. The sun begins to set, and it lowers behind the rocks, and the temperature begins to drop.

It's still light out, but we are soaking wet and freezing cold. Like shivering.

I was told my lips were blue so I got to go down fairly early. This last one was 50 meters, and sheer cliff.

Also, SHEER AWESOME.

We had to rappell into another pool of water, but this time there was sunshine on the other end, so it was great.

The people at the bottom had scattered and were all basking on the rocks like lizards, trying to dry out and warm up. I meet back up with Zac (who by now had a terrible bandana burn) and this other guy Micah, and we went exploring. We climbed down the next fall (like 8 feet, chillax parents) and scrambled up some hills.

While clambering about, we found this tunnel. Being adventurous, we crawled in. It was a really small tunnel, so we had to crawl on our hands and knees, but it was awesome. Every once and a while there would be a hole to the outside and we had magnificent views of the wadi (canyon).

So there we are, just crawling, and all of a sudden there is this light up ahead. We keep going, and all of a sudden the tunnel floor in front of us is GONE. There's just a shaft that goes up and down for yards in either direction.

I affectionately refer to this as The Shaft of Doom.


Wanting to avoid the aforementioned Doom but still wanting to see where the tunnel goes, we caaaarefully scamper on the ledge that goes around it and continue on our merry way.

Finally and tragically, the tunnel comes to an end, putting the three of us on the edge of an amazing outlook overlooking the entire wadi and all the way out to the Dead Sea.

The sun was setting behind us, and I could hear the vaguely indie music getting louder and picture the credits starting to roll, that's how perfect and Hollywood this moment was.

W.D.E.: Wanted-Death Experience

So this weekend, I decided to take it easy, unwind, go to the beach...

Good plan, right?

Yeah.

I head off to Kibbutz Shefayim, to once again revel in the beauty of the sand cliffs and the Mediterranean. It's a little windy, but we decide to still head down since it's sunny and there's nothing else to do on Shabbat.

Lovely walk through the park, scramble down the cliff... Beach. Bliss.

We walk a little ways down to find somewhere where swimming wouldn't be totally dangerous (big rocks! I ended up not swimming, so don't worry), and suddenly the people-scape changes.

And by changes, I mean gets naked.

Apparently it was a nude beach.



We've been there before, and there were no nude people, but today they were out in full clothes-less force.

And by they I mean fat old men.

One guy in particular stands out as the most traumatizing one of the bunch.

He was standing facing the ocean, hands on his hips, fully naked except for the hat and shawl he wore around his shoulders to ward off the cold.

THAT'S WHAT CLOTHES ARE FOR.

Remember how I said it was windy?

Well, uh, he had a big of a flag-in-the-wind problem going on.

There was also a naked guy tanning all his lovely lady lumps, and at some point another guy came up to him and they were just laying on the sand talking and taking in the day.

The second guy? Fully clothed. I don't even know.

Needless to say, I walked as far from the naked people as possible, set down my towel, and promptly laid face-down and fully clothed.

My psychiatrist will be hearing about this twenty years down the road when I turn into a never-nude.

N.D.E. (Near-Death Experience)

Mom, Dad, don't panic, but I've been attacked.

By a bird.

It's a sunny Monday morning, and Jess and I are enjoying a groggy walk to 8:30 Hebrew. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and the spring flowers are blooming in full force. I was even humming the Beatles, that's how jolly of a morning it was.

Until....

Something starts pulling on my hair, from the top of my head. I scream and flail my arms in the general direction of the offender, only to see the world's biggest crow fly off, a few stray hairs dangling from its CLAWS.

I'm still pretty shaken up, not to mention the fact that my head has just been assaulted. Jess checks for bird poop, and just as soon as we're in the clear, the dang bird circles back around and begins dive bombing me.

It swoops in for a strike, flaps off (to gain height, the better with which to destroy me with) and drops again.

This literally happens four times before I make it into the security checkpoint area.

Let the Alfred Hitchcock jokes begin.

Ein Gedi, Day 1: 1, 2, 3, Shalom!

I am tired. And sore. And sunburned in random places, including but not limited to: the back of my neck, the back of my upper arms, the tops of my forearms, and the backs of my knees.

Hiking in the desert will do that to you.

Especially when it's 100 degrees. Good thing we went in early March, or I would have definitely melted.

This weekend, three friends and I went to Ein Gedi, the nature reserve next to the Dead Sea for two days of sunnin' and funnin'. And by that I mean hiking.

Anyways, even the ride there was exciting. We descended from Jerusalem (on top of a hill) to the lowest point on earth (the Dead Sea), which meant for half of the 1 1/2 hour ride, I was deaf, and for the other half, everything was excruciatingly loud. Darn ear pressure.

We're rolling along, and all of a sudden we roll by this toll-booth looking place, and Armin, one of the people I went with, goes, "Hey, we're in the West Bank right now."

What!?

Parents, before you die, it was a C zone area, which means it is under Israeli control, and totally safe. (If you don't believe me, which I know you don't, see the Administration section of this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_bank. Resume breathing).

So now I have the street cred of having gone into the West Bank without any of the danger! Sweet!

We drove by a woman in full hijab herding a goat, a man herding a flock of camels (gaggle? herd? pride? whatever the word is for camel groups is), and Jericho. Jericho was kind of lame, just a low-lying city, but I guess I shouldn't have been expecting any tall walls, for obvious reasons.

Anyways, we get to the field school where we stayed, and it was rad. There were ibexes just cruising around, horns and all, like it was no big deal. Check in wasn't until 3, so we stashed our stuff, filled up our water bottles and headed out.

10:15 am.

Friday we hiked up Mt Yishav, a rocky, barren outcrop with a marvelous view of the Dead Sea and Wadi David.

Wadi is some bizarre word that is neither English nor Hebrew... It means canyon, but there is a different word for canyon in Hebrew, and the Hebrew signs all had that word (don't ask me what it is, like I remember). And unless I'm mistaken, 'wadi' doesn't mean anything in English, so...

Yeah. Made up words. Great.

Anyways, we hike-hike-hiked to the top of Mt Yishav, scrambling up the mountain side, sliding on the loose rocks, and sweating like woah. It was hot.

At one point, we reached a place where there was a really rad echo. Doing the only logical thing on a mountain of loose rocks, we all stand close together and shout, "1, 2, 3, SHALOM!"

Really sweet echo, and also really sweet lack of fatal rock slide.

We finally get to the top and it is. So. Hot. We take some victory pictures on top, and stop to drink in the view, and some water.

To the one side, we can see the wadi we're headed to later, another side, the Dead Sea, and the other side, the desert plateau which we are now on.

The plateau is completely deserted except for a bright green truck in the distance. No idea how it got up there, as the trails we used were hardly fit for mountain goats, let alone a truck.

We climb back down and head into the wadi, and lose the trail, as we had been threatening to do all day. We know the falls we're headed to are further up, so we just hike in the dry riverbed, figuring we'll find it eventually, or turn back and find the trail again.

We go on like this for a while, when we see a man running towards us and shouting in Hebrew. No one has any idea what he's saying, so we stutter out in Hebrew that we don't speak Hebrew, does he speak English?

And of course he does.

And of course he's a park ranger, and of course we're in a closed part of the reserve, and of course the park is closing.

Did I mention the ranger is heavily armed? Oh, Israel...

He walks us back to the trail and part of the way out, and was asking about our day. We told him we climbed Mt Yishav, and he goes, "Oh, I know. We watched you on our telescope."

Of course.

It turns out that the desert plateau we reached was about a 4-hour walk from Hebron, a controversial town in the West Bank. Apparently sometimes Hamas likes to send people up there to do things. Drug and arms smuggling from Jordan across the Dead Sea mostly.

We got lucky today, no militants. Huh.

He leaves us at these crystal-clear pools that are allegedly okay to drink out of, and I tried a handful just to try, and it was delicious and cold. I'm still skeptical of filling an entire bottle of the stuff, but it's nice to say I tried it.

We hike down some more into the wadi (Wadi David), and finally reach some of the most amazing and surprising falls. Surprising because we spent the rest of the day in a DESERT.

We leave the main falls because there were loads of tourists who had taken the canyon walk in, and we found another, smaller one further down, thankfully took off our shoes, and jumped in.

We splashed around, floated, reveled in the not-hotness-and-suniness of it all, swam up the waterfall and got pounded in the face with water. A ranger came and told us it was time to go (recurring theme of the trip), so we reluctantly put our shoes back on (sorry, feet), and walked back to the field school.

4:15 pm. Long day, right

I was asleep by 8:30. And woke up at 6:45 to do it all over again.

Sorry, body.

Kibbutz Shefayim

Proof once more that the world (especially Israel) is freakishly small, Tomer, a friend from high school, lives on a kibbutz about 20 minutes outside of Tel Aviv.

And it happens to be a lovely place.

It's a community of families, lone soldiers, and packs of allegedly domesticated dogs that is sandwiched between the highway, a national park, and the Mediterannean.

I visited a few weeks ago, and Tomer and I walked through the park along the Cliff Trail. There were painted rocks every few meters to mark the trail.

So we're walking along, nature, sweet, trees, bushes, flowers... Then:

BAM.

We're on a cliff.

We creep up to the edge and look down, and BAM.

Water.

It was a freakishly windy day, so we didn't get too close, since sand was being blasted into our eyes and hair was being whipped everywhere, not to mention getting actually pushed around entirely.

But it means that the waves were awesome.

We gawk at the edge for a while, and then continue down the path. There's a nice boardwalk, and a crapload of couples. So many, in fact, that when we walked past two girls, they immediately began pointing and giggling. Nice.

Anyways, we kept walking down the path, and all of a sudden, there's this dog. Cute yellow lab, collar, tags (in Hebrew, of course), but no owners in sight. I pat him on the head, and it was love.

Paco, as it turned out his name he was called, followed us around for the rest of the afternoon. He would run ahead on the trails, and wait for us to catch up before sprinting off to catch the next scent or pee on the next bush.

Occaisonally I would try to shoo him off, to go back to wherever it was he came from, but he was ours. Tomer read the tags, and it turned out he was from a kibbutz nearby (not Shefayim), so when we left the park he just turned tail (ha.) and went home.

What 19-year-old has this view from their window? Seriously.

We had dinner that night at the kibbutz's cafeteria (there has to be a better word for it), and me, Tomer, and his roommate David are eating some lovely kibbutz food when this phenomenally raisiny old woman canes up to our table and starts talking in Hebrew.

I can catch the occaisonally pronoun, but other than that it's all over my head (what else is new?). She asks for our names, and that I do know, so I said my name was Amanda.

Apparently Israelis don't hear that name very often, because she scrunches up her face (I really didn't think more wrinkles were possible, but these things happen) and goes, "Ma? Ma? Amanda? Ma?" (Ma=What).

So I say it again, Amanda.

More confusion: she's asking things in Hebrew, and I don't understand, and there's cane thumping, and she's really old so I'm just smiling politely, which only confounds the situation further.

Luckily Tomer jumps in and explains that I'm American and have an American name and don't speak Hebrew (I think that's what he said, anyhow). She looks at me, and says, "Well, she's in Israel now, isn't she??"

Fair point, at least on the language, but seriously, lady. My name? I know you've been on this kibbutz since the age of the dinosaurs, but that's crossing a line.

Besides, even if I did get a Hebrew name, I would probably still manage to butcher the pronunciation.

The Old City

The Old City is. So. Sweet.

Why? You may ask. Let me count the ways...

1) There are so many religious people everywhere, of every religion, that it's totally overwhelming. To the point where I feel obscenely dressed because my skirt/dress only covers about 2 inches below my knees, as opposed to going all the way to the ground.

Kippas and hijabs are for really religious people in America, but in Israel, people go all out. Men have curls in front of each ear, kippas and wide-brimmed black hats, and tassels hanging out from under their shirts. Women are totally covered, floor-length skirts, long-sleeved shirts, hats... Some even tie up their hair in a sort of headscarf. It's crazy.

But seriously, my favorite thing about all of these religiously dressed people is their children.

Honest to God, I cannot think of anything cuter than a 5-year-old boy playing with his tassels in his little suit and curls. It's beyond adorable.

One day I'll be really creepy and take pictures of some, but sadly (and surprisingly) enough, that day has not yet come.

2) There's a really sweet market. I know what you're thinking, seriously, Amanda, more markets? But seriously. It's awesome.

There are these tiny little "roads" (alleys) criss-crossing the entire city, and packed in along both sides of every street are vendors smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and yelling at you in Hebrew, Arabic, and English to check out their sweet stuff.

And it is pretty sweet. A lot of it is really meant for tourists (the kind that are here for a week, as opposed to 5 months, thank you very much), but a lot of it is amazing. There were inscence shops, a place that I swear to God looked exactly like the Cave of Wonders and even had a lamp... Thousands of shops selling hamsas (little hand-shaped charms with prayers enscribed on them), jewelry, menorahs...

One of my favorites was a bead shop that had strands of beads hanging everywhere, even the ceiling. It legitimately looked like a sparkly cave, complete with multicolored stalactites. (I won the stalactite/stalagmite battle without Wikipedia. Score: 1-0, Me.)

I know, right?

There are places that sell these really neat-looking oriental-ish placards with blessings for the home, and my favorite one?

"Shalom, Ya'll."

Stucco, get ready for it.

3) HISTORY

I've always known, in an academic sense, that America is a young country, but when you roll up to the Western Wall and realize that the SECOND temple of the Jews was destroyed in 70 A.D.

1776 was a like ten minutes ago.

There's the Western Wall, the Dome of the Rock (which technically was a sanctified place since the time of Abraham, but Muhammad also ascended to heaven there during his lifetime, so in the 7th century), the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (where Jesus was crucified, buried, and resurrected; the Church itself was built in the 4th century)...

Seriously. America. Come ON.

Even just walking down the streets the aforementioned markets are on is a history lesson.

I'm not sure how clear it is in this picture, but if you look closely, you can see two narrow ramps in the otherwise stepped walkway. This is so in Ye Olden Days (Y.O.D.), people could drive carts up and down the roads.

Dude. That's awesome.

4) Basically the reason I came here.

All 3 of the Abrahamic religions, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, have essential elements of their faith centered within yards of each other.

YARDS.

In some instances, they're actually the same place, which is mind-blowing.

The Holy of Holies, the place where the Temple was supposed to have stood, is under the Dome of the Rock. It's a room where the Ark of the Covenant was kept (Y.O.D.), along with a pot of manna and Aaron's rod.

Aka the holiest place in the history of Judaism.

And it's under the Dome of the Rock.

Incredible.

It seems, dare I say, divinely inspired, that all of these mega-important sites are so close to each other.

You literally stand in the middle of the Old City, turn in a circle, and see the basis for 3 of the major world religions.

Oh hey.

Sharim Shirim!!

As Ulpan finally and tragically comes to an end, I've had some time (5 hours a day) to reflect on the highs and the lows. One thing stands out as a far and away winner of the awesome category:

Sing Along Time.

Yes, the time when we sharim shirim. In Hebrew.

It is even more amazing than it sounds.

We get this blue songbook filled with various Hebrew melodical delights. I managed to swipe one, so luckily these songs will remain a part of my life even after Ulpan.

On the right side of the page is the Hebrew script of the song, and on the left is the transliteration. Thank goodness. Reading and singing at the same time? Insanity. Usually they also have the English translation at the bottom too, and some of the stuff is actually pretty religious. And by religious I mean Zionistic.

For example, from the song "Yerushalaim Shel Zahav (Jerusalem of Gold)"

We have returned to the cistern,
To the market and to the marketplace.
A ram's horn (shofar) calls out on the Temple Mount
In the Old City
And in the caves in the mountain
Thousands of suns shine--
We will once again descend to the Dead Sea
By way of Jericho!


I can't help but wonder what the ones they didn't translate for us say.

Anyways, I love singing these songs; it's probably the closest I'll ever get to being Jewish. Some of them just sound Jewish. Like this one: (Start the video at 1:52)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiDAGlFh4sU

It probably sounds a lot like that when we do it too. And we definitely clap at the more upbeat part. Obviously.

Personally, my favorite song is a really peppy one that turns out to be really cynical... The singer basically says he wants to scream and shout but no one wants to hear that, and if he wants to be on the radio he can only sing simple, happy stuff.

I felt really superficial when I found that out, since I love its happiness and simplicity, but I justify it by telling myself I can only handle happy and simple in Hebrew. Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGzrzcc992E

When all of the Alef level classes get together and sing, it's a huge party. There's this woman who mysteriously appears and fills our mornings with cheery jazzy piano and yells at us to sing louder.

It took about a week to figure out what she was yelling at us. Now we know. And sing loudly.

Anyways, today was easily the best singing day ever because the crazy singing leader lady convinced one of the grad students to come onto the stage and dance.

And by one of the grad students, I mean a 50-some year old Asian man.

It was amazing.

Think arms outstretched to either side, a bit of grapevine, the occassional spin, and towards the end when we really sped things up (we were singing the song from the first video, btw), he started shrugging his shoulders in time to the beat.

Meanwhile, we're all screaming and laughing and falling out of our seats while still trying to sing and clap and cheer him on. It was chaos.

And it was beautiful.

Phantom of the Apartment

Overall, I'd say my living situation here is pretty sweet. I have an apartment in the Kfar Studentim (Student Village, go Hebrew) and a view of a tree-lined street to the right and the Dome of the Rock to the left. The rooms are big and tall-ceilinged, and they came fully furnished. The bed is even comfortable.

Serisously, W&L looks pretty bad in comparison.

We have a common kitchen and living room, two WCs and a shower space. There are 5 bedrooms, and I have 3 roommates and a phantom.

I'll tell you about the people first, mostly because they exist, and partially because I'm still struggling to understand the phenomenon of the Phantom.

Right next to me is Jess, an Australian who resents the stereotype of all Australians carrying giant knives and being cheery and outdoorsy. She's in the same program as me, and knew just as much (as little?) Hebrew as I did when we arrived.

Then there's an Israeli girl and I suck because I can never remember her name, but she's very nice and even helps me with my homework on the rare ocassion I will break down and ask for help. She's in the regular university here.

Next is Nadia, a hilarious British girl from Liverpool in the Mechina program, a preperatory program to help students get into Hebrew Universities. At least that's what I understand the program to be, I could be and probably am wrong.

She's from Liverpool, which means her accent is awesome, but at times totally incomprehensible. I have the same glazed-over look when she talks as when someone on the street starts talking to me in Hebrew. It's really funny when this happens, but also frustrating because it's English, from ENGLAND, for crying out loud.

And now, we get to....

THE PHANTOM.

I don't know this girl, and unlike the Israeli, I don't feel bad about it. Allegedly, she's Swiss and a student at the regular university, but that's all hearsay. I have literally only seen her once. In the entire 4 weeks I've been here.

The one memorable ocassion when she graced the apartment with her prescence, Jess and I were so confused. She was moving around in the kitchen like she owned the place (which, in retrospect, she kind of did), and neither of us recognized this ghost in our apartment.

We gawk awkwardly for a minute, and she goes, "Um, I'm [NAME]," and looked at us like this was supposed to mean something.

Awkwardness ensues.

"I live here?" Oh. I was stuttering pleasantries and excuses about why I needed to bolt, but Jess, in true Australian form, bluntly asks, "Where do you GO?"

Phantom nonchalantly replies, "Tel Aviv," like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

It would be, except she is there EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

And every single night. She is never here. Ever.

Although I suspect we had a near-sighting today, I heard a door being unlocked, some shuffling around, more door locking sounds, and suitcase-rolling-out-the-door sounds.

Goodbye, Phantom, you will be missed.

Favorite Place Ever-- Now with pictures!

I really should do this more often.

The next few posts will be abour random things that are awesome/weird/mildly entertaining about Jerusalem so far, and will definitely not be in any sort of chronological order. Go:

If I'm ever having a stressful day, maybe Ulpan (Hebrew class) was really intense, maybe sirens kept me up all night, or maybe I'm just bored from only getting 10 sentences worth of homework a night, I go to my favorite place ever.

The shook.


Which, for you non-Hebrew speakers, means market. Which is somehow linguistically related to the word for "awesome" (not really, but it totally should be).

Basically it's a semi-open air market with loads of Israelis yelling at you trying to get you to buy their ridiculously delicious, ridiculously fresh, and ridiculously cheap stuff. Everyone's pushing through the alley and in true Israeli fashion there is no waiting your turn or politely letting old women go first.

First of all, the old woman is probably the most likely person to ram into you with her rolley shopping bag to get to the strawberries first.

And second, there is no such thing as a line in this country. Seriously. Just pack in tight and stick your hand out with money and produce and hope he notices you before the guy with the giant gun squashing you.

Although I've found the money-produce combo to be an effective one.




There are stalls with vegetables, fruits, deli counters, falafel stands, halava and candy sellers, bakers, liquor stores, pastry shops, egg sellers (not refrigerated? It seems to be normal here, and so far no salmonella, knock on wood), cheese shops... The list goes on. They have everything. There are even like dry goods shops where you can buy pastas and canned foods and pots and pans and spoons and whatever else you could possibly need.

There are two main sections, one is a covered alley/street with stalls lining either side, and the other is a wider street with shops on either side and beggars/garbage/soldiers in the middle. This part is the dangerous part, not because of the beggars or soldiers with giant guns (recurring theme in Israel, trust me), but because of the giant cart people.


I'm sure there's a more appropriate name for them, but they wheel enormous carts with stacked pallets of produce around the shook at top speeds, shouting at pedestrians to get out of the way, usually a few seconds too late. I walk on the sides of that street; my reflexes aren't keen enough for that kind of life or death scenario.

At this point, I've developed a semblance of a routine, a result of looking for cheap prices and vendors who speak enough English/are willing/able to tolerate my elementary Hebrew.

Some of the shopkeepers are even recognizing me, which is awesome. The place I get my hummus (so. good.) and cheese has one guy who speaks English, accented with a bizarre combination of French and Hebrew, and he is the bomb. One day I went down and had split from the person I was there with and it was mad windy so my hair and scarf were simultaneously strangling and blinding me. The hummus guy was like, "Oh my goodness! Are you okay? You look worried!"

This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Clearly.

Hebrew From Scratch

Remember kindergarten? I live it. Every day. Well, Sunday through Thursday at least. Ulpan, the 5-week Hebrew immersion course I’m currently taking, is taught ALL in Hebrew.

Which is not as problematic as it seems or as I first thought because I am in a level that is the actual equivalent of kindergarten Hebrew. Right now, we’re learning the letters of the alphabet (19 down, 3 more to go! Woot woot!) and some simple vocabulary with the letters we know. Yesterday we started some verb conjugation and the class suddenly is a lot harder…

I was hoping to avoid the mystical workings of feminine and masculine that I slogged through miserably in French, but naturally we’re doing that too. Ice cream, interestingly enough, is feminine in French and Hebrew. Glida. gimel, lamed, yod, he. Go me!

The teacher talks in a very enunciated, slow voice, and watches our faces for either recognition or bewilderment (for me, the latter) and then writes it on the board.

The title of our textbook doesn’t do much for my already battered ego, “Hebrew From Scratch, Part I”. Part I? Really? That’s just adding insult to injury. Rude.

It’s yellow and has lots of Hebrew words on it I don’t know, and is bound on the wrong side, just like everything else here. I knew, coming over, that Hebrew is read from right to left, but somehow I didn’t manage to make the mental leap and figure out that the books would all be bound on the right, and you have to read it, well, backwards.

It’s a big problem. Every time I go to do my homework, I pull out my book, plop it on my (huge) desk binding to the left, and get confused as to why it’s all upside down. Oh yeah. Duh.

The book is great, the exercises we’re doing are downright embarrassing to think about they’re so elementary. A lot of what we’re doing is looking at the formal, printed letters, reading it out loud, and writing it out in script (sort of like going from Times New Roman to cursive).

Aka HARD. Some of the letters are almost exactly the same.

There are 4 letters that are essentially a straight line, but with varying lengths and little notches at the top that may or may not be in different directions. Oh, and want to hear one that I’m convinced was made up just to mess with non-Native speakers? If the letter Vav (usually a “v” sound) is in the middle of a word, it makes an O sound. Or a V sound, it’s really a guessing game.

Which I am terrible at.

But reading out loud is probably the hardest part.

Why is that, you wonder, don’t you just sound out the words? Oh no, that would be too easy, and wouldn’t satisfy the sadistic need for Hebrew to torment people trying (failing) to learn it.

THERE ARE NO VOWELS. Does this Mem (M) make a moo mee, mah, meh, or mmm sound? I HAVE NO IDEA, and there is NO WAY TO TELL.

Well, sometimes there is, but a lot of the times there’s not. And those are the times the teacher calls on me to read out loud. I just try all the vowels until she nods, and I assume that’s the right one and move on to the next incomprehensible syllable.

I think I’m making it sound worse than it really is… I knew it would be hard going into it, but I think the Ulpan style of teaching is really effective at getting us to learn a lot, and fast. It’s just frustrating to know things like male/female verb conjugation, but at this point, I’d be thrilled to know numbers so I don’t look like an idiot every time I go to the market or get out of a cab. “Where is…?” would also be a great one to know. The little things I ask for…

We have a quiz on Sunday (weekends here are Friday and Saturday) over the 52 pages of the book that we’ve been through, and I’m nervous. But not, since it’s school work and me and school work have always gotten along.

That and the fact that I spend waaaay too much time studying Hebrew (trans: Evrit! Woot!). Think flashcards. Color-coded to correspond with the chapter. And little cards with all the letters we’ve learned on my wall. And grammatical rule notes also on the wall, but obviously in a different color. Not to mention the nightly, cumulative spelling tests.

I have way too much free time.

Market Time!!

So on Friday, my new friend Ariel and I went to the market to get some food before the town shuts down for Shabbat (sundown Friday to sundown Saturday), and it was insanity. Everyone was rushing around frantically because the meal has to be cooked by sundown, and I was just clueless. Luckily Ariel knows some Hebrew, and it seems like everyone knows at least a little bit of English. Thank God.

The market itself was sooo crowded, people were packed in absolutely everywhere, shoving and shouting and smashing their groceries into you "accidentally". There was so much fresh fruit, pomegranates the size of my head, and everything is so cheap! There were spice stalls with giant sacks of powders in all different colors, backlava trays literally oozing honey onto the ground, pitas in piles taller than myself... Insanity. And deliciousness.

Here are some pictures, I can't figure out the captions, so hopefully they speak for themselves...


Okay I lied, I haven't uploaded them yet. But I will. Soon.

Pictures

Bedroom!

Luckily most signs are like this so I can get around!

Sign for the Student Village, where I live

View from my room of a very noisy traffic circle

The British Cemetary on the way to campus

Just some pictures of everyday life here... Not much more to say about that.

Alef, Tav, He, Nun

Oh hey, view from the bedroom window. That tiny gold speck is the Dome of the Rock. I know. Awesome.

First day of Hebrew classes and I have not failed out yet! I know 6 letters of the alphabet, how to say, my name is, I am from, wine, water, baby, ocean, he and she. Great success!!

Since it's taught Ulpan style, all of the teaching is in Hebrew. Class was 2 1/2 hours long today and I thought my brain was going to explode. Luckily the teacher (I'll tell you her name as soon as I can figure out how to spell it) is really good... When she wants us to write something she pantomimes writing, and basically treats us like Kindergarteners. Which is fine by me, since I am worse than a kindergartener when it comes to Hebrew.

My living situation is great, I'm in an apartment with 5 single bedrooms, communal bathroom, common area, and kitchen. It's in one of the 12 apartment buildings in the Student Village, about a 10 minute walk from campus proper. We have these serious blinds that completely black out the room and are rumored to be bullet-proof. My roommates are somewhere on a scale of great to nonexistant... There's a 26-year-old Israeli girl who speaks no English other than Hello and yes (that was an awkward introduction), and a Swiss girl who is apparently never there. Nadia is the most social of the roommates, she's from Liverpool and is doing a prepatory program to improve her Hebrew to the point where she can enroll in the regular university as a full-time student. The other is Jess, I only met her briefly but she's doing the same program as me and appears to be British, but I could be wrong.

Nadia says she doesn't cook and doesn't really know the deal with the kitchen utensils, which I find confusing since she's been here since NOVEMBER. I've only seen her eat cereal and yogurt so far, so I guess if that's her routine then she doesn't really need a stove... I haven't cooked anything yet, just eaten hummus and nutella on a variety of bread-type things. And cucumbers. Which are. So. Good.

The Beginning

I think the best way to describe what it's been like the first couple of days is through pictures... Except that the blog site is taking FOREVER to upload, so maybe I'll wait and do it when i have a real wireless connection instead of riding off the wireless in the bar downstairs.

But Jerusalem... Is amazing. Of course. I wake up in the morning, pull up my bullet-proof blinds, stick my head out the window and see the Dome of the Rock. Legitimately.

It's so warm here, it's the middle of January and it's probably 65 degrees F. Campus is at the top of a mountain (hill) so it's pretty windy which makes it feel a little colder. All things considered (snowed in for a week in LO?!?), the weather is mind-blowingly fantastic.

Unfortuantely, I have to run now, I'll post more later tonight, but I'm meeting with my friend Ariel's friends from home for a Mexican potluck Shabbat dinner... Interesting.