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.
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