Love at First Sight

Wednesday afternoon I was sitting in the cafeteria at Hebrew University. I had just gotten out of a class about early Protestant texts in Europe, and I had, as usual, fallen asleep. It's hard to listen to Hebrew for 90 minutes straight! I am understanding more and more, but I still get to the "overload" point before class is over and my mind just checks out. Plus, I hadn't eaten much all day, and I knew I had to get a sandwich or something or else I wasn't going to make it through 6 more hours of Arabic.

So I bought an avocado, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on a wheat hoagie. The thing cost me 13 shekels. 13!! I'm pretty sure that one tomato, 1/2 an avocado, the hoagie bun, and the 3 pieces of lettuce probably cost about 4 or 5 shekels. They are really making a killing off of those things.

Anyway, I went and sat down at a table and started wolfing down the sandwich so I could go to the library and meet with my Arabic tutor. A man dressed in an army officer uniform approaches my table, sets a folded note down in front of me, and starts talking rapidly in Hebrew. I understand nothing of what he's saying, but I smile politely and nod a couple of times, thinking he's passing out invitations to some event or something. And the "I live in the West Bank" part of me feels a little nervous, wondering if he's accusing me of something (he is, after all, wearing an army uniform). After a minute or two, he asks in Hebrew, "Is everything ok?"

"Yes," I answer, "but..." I stare at him and wonder if I should tell him that I have no idea what he just said, or if I should just leave it alone because I don't really care. "You don't speak Hebrew!" he says in English.

"Well, yes," I answer, not wanting to explain that I do speak Hebrew, but not when people talk that quickly.

"I was just sitting over there and I saw you. You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I've really never seen anything like it. Here is my number (and he gestured at the note). I know we don't really know each other, but I would love it if we could go out for coffee or something. I'm sorry to interrupt your sandwich."

I sat there shocked. Really. What am I supposed to do in this sort of situation? I probably smiled or nodded or said, "No, it's not a problem that you disturbed my sandwich," or something, but I'm really not sure. What I do know is that after delivering his message in both Hebrew and English, he walked away quickly, and I finished my avocado sandwich and went to the library.

Later that evening, after my Arabic class in Jerusalem (another 3 hours in a different language--but this one was actually enjoyable), I was walking the 2 blocks home from the store. It was about 9 pm and, as usual at this hour, the streets were deserted. Suddenly I heard someone walking behind me, playing music on his phone. (Palestinian shabab have this weird habit of turning music on their phones and blasting it out of the little phone speakers when they want to look cool or impress someone.) Uh-oh, here comes trouble. Luckily I was almost home and hopefully, if I ignored him and let him get in front of me, I could walk in peace.

No such luck. I heard him approach. I slowed down to let him pass. As he passed, he turned around and said "Hello" in Arabic. "Hello," I responded in Arabic, knowing from previous experience that when I say something in Arabic, people leave me alone and just assume I'm native.

No such luck with this one. "Are you a foreigner or an Arab?" he asked in Arabic. "Foreigner," I said, looked away and kept walking, hoping he would get the hint that I wasn't giving him the time of day.

"Are you married?" Oh no. It's another one. How many of these people skip straight to the marriage question? "Yes." "No you aren't." "Yes, I am." "No. You aren't." Excuse me sir? Why are you calling me out on my marriage? I knew he didn't think I was married because I was walking alone at night, so I conceded. "I'm engaged, but I'm getting married next month." That should get him to leave me alone.

"Is he Arab or a foreigner?" "A foreigner." I didn't want this guy to think that I just up and marry Arab men.

"Do you want to exchange your fiance for me?" Excuse me? Did you just ask me what I thought you asked me? No, I do not want to exchange my fiance for you. This was not flattery. This was straight up harassment. Luckily, I was a few paces away from the store across from my house. I pretended not to understand the man and kept walking.

"Walk with me," he said, reminding me of Kohor on The Testaments (you know the creeper who employs Jacob as a stonecutter). The feminist in me gets fired up. Excuse me? Don't order me around. Don't tell me what to do, and don't think you're getting some action tonight. The only action you'll get is three slaps to the face if you keep talking to me.

I walk toward the store. "Where are you going?" "I have to buy something. Bye." "Bye," he says, and turns away. Wow, that was easy. I stayed in the store for several minutes to give him time to walk away. After buying my stuff, I checked to see if he was outside. Safe. I couldn't see anyone. I opened the door and walked out. And THERE HE WAS, skulking in the shadows.

"What?!" I said in Arabic. "Walk with me," he said. "No," I stated emphatically, looking disgusted. His shoulders drooped and he turned to walk away. I stormed into my apartment building. No such luck tonight, buddy. I certainly wasn't born yesterday.

That's two in one day, people. And I didn't even change perfume or laundry detergent brands...

Stranger on the Train

Ready for another story from my trip to Spain and Morocco? Most of my time in Morocco, sadly, was spent on the train. I rode from Tangier to Rabat on Saturday, from Rabat to Assilah on Sunday, and from Asilah to Tangier on Monday. If I did it again, I would definitely try to spend less time on the train and more time in Morocco.

The problems with the trains in Morocco, as in the rest of the Middle East, is you never know when they are going to come. You can be positive that they aren't going to be early, but they might arrive up to 5 hours late if it is a long-distance train, and that's totally normal and just something you have to plan for.

Looking out the train window

On the ride from Rabat to Assilah, I was feeling great. I had just gone to church and had a beautiful experience in the teeny congregation in Rabat with just a few expat families. I had ridden the train before, and this time I could actually see out the windows. What could go wrong?

After about an hour a man got on at one of the stops and, stopping by the empty seat next to me, said something to me in French. "I don't speak French," I said in Arabic. "Oh," he said in Arabic. "Is anyone sitting in this seat?" "No," I answered, which was good because he had already sat down.

"You don't speak French but you speak Arabic?" It was the same question I got all over Morocco. Why in the world would this foreigner speak Arabic but not French? "What do you do? Are you working here?" He was wearing a suit and seemed educated, so I assumed that this was harmless getting-to-know-your-seatmate small talk. I answered in short, simple sentences--I didn't want to be stuck talking to this guy for several hours--and started pulling my ipod toward me.

He didn't get the hint. He was friendly enough, but I have a hard enough time understanding Moroccan Arabic--and he kept flipping into French, which made him impossible to understand.

After several minutes, in which I learned that he was going to medical school in Casablanca or something like that and had studied in France, he asked me where I was getting off. "Assilah," I said. "Oh, I'm getting off at the stop right before that! I have a car there. If you want, we can get off together and I can give you a tour of the area before taking you to Assilah!"

No. No, no, no. I don't care if you are wearing a business suit and have business cards. I don't get off the train with strange men to get in their car alone with them. Not in Morocco, not in Egypt, not in Jordan, not in the West Bank. No.

I politely refused. Perhaps it was too polite. I turned to look out the window, feeling superbly uncomfortable. How to get this man to leave? 5 minutes later he nudged me with his knee. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. What?! Are we dating now? What I'm thinking about is none of your business! Unfortunately, I wasn't brave enough to say that (I really didn't want to cause a scene and I felt safe enough on the public train), so I said instead, "I'm looking at the green fields. We don't have a  lot of green where I live." And I pointedly turned and looked out the window again.

 

5 minutes later he was at it again. The food cart came around, and he asked if I wanted anything. "No." I certainly didn't want this strange man to start buying me food and drinks and think he was going to get a half-day date with me. "Coffee and a water," he said to the food cart guy, and handed me the water bottle. "Thanks," I said, wanting to put the water back on the food cart. "It's nothing," he said, which is true, because water costs like 20 cents. But still. I didn't want to be accepting favors from this man.

10 minutes later, after trying to start a few conversations with me, he asked, "Do you mind if I go out and smoke?" No, of course I don't mind, since I won't have to talk to you, but since when did you need your seatmate's permission to go out and smoke? (I guess you can smoke in the closed area between cars on trains in Morocco. At least you can't smoke in the cabins!)

While he was gone I thought about what I should do. Should I get up, grab my luggage, and move to another cart? But what if he saw me leaving? What if I couldn't get another seat? I wasn't worried, since we were on a public train and I speak Arabic, but I didn't want to deal with him any longer. Finally I decided to stay, realizing that he should know straight up that foreign girls don't get off the train with random strangers.

When he came back, he started talking to me again. "We're getting close to my stop. It'll be about another 30 minutes. (Oh no, I thought, do I have to sit by you for that long?) So, you're getting off the train with me, right? I'm excited to be giving you a tour."

"No." I said it firmly and unapologetically. "I'm sorry, but I can't." "Why not?" he asked. "Is it because you don't know who I am? Look," he said as he pulled out his id and medical school card. "This is me. Now you know who I am. I'm a safe person."

What the heck? How does showing me your id suddenly make me think that it would be a good idea to get off the train and ride in your car with you through a strange town? "No, it's not appropriate. I'm engaged," I said, trying the oldest trick in the book.

"I'm engaged too!" he said. Liar. "She lives in France." Liar. I don't believe you for one minute. "Ah, so you understand. I can't go out with strange men because I'm engaged." "No, no, it's ok! We're just going as friends!" "No, we aren't friends. I just met you on the train."

It went on like this for several more minutes. Finally, he said, "Are you rejecting me because you're afraid for safety reasons?" If I'm straight up with him, maybe he will leave me alone. "Yes. I don't know you. I don't care if you are trustworthy or not. I don't go out with strange men anywhere."

At this point he started getting mad. "I'm offended! This is my honor you're talking about! I can't believe you don't trust my honor. You are passing up a great opportunity. I can't believe you would say no to me." What, are we having a breakup fight now? "Well, I don't care about your honor. I care more about my safety. And the answer is no."

We argued back and forth for about 10 more minutes. I grew more and more astonished as the time went on. Does this man really think I'm going to change my mind? He finally threw in a last-ditch attempt at convincing me: "True, you shouldn't get off the train with any strange man. But you should trust your feelings. And I'm a trustworthy guy." And any man that gets mad and starts arguing when I won't get off the train and ride with him in his car definitely doesn't give me warm-fuzzy feelings. I said no a final time and turned to look out the window. I could feel him seething beside me. After a few minutes, I heard him get up angrily and walk away. Safe. He's gone for good. I quickly put my earphones in and left them there the rest of the ride. I didn't want anyone else to try and talk to me.

And what did I notice after the strange man left? I was sitting next to this sign on the window.

I know now that it says "emergency exit" in French (thanks google translate!) but to my limited French, it told me that the alarm bells in my head were correct. "Issue of Security," it seemed to say, as in "going out with a strange man in Morocco is a definite security issue."

A Visit from Losaunne

My sister Losaunne came and visited at the end of February. It was an AWESOME visit, filled with excitement, randomness, and of course awesome people who wanted to contribute to my new life view (found in Spain) that people are wonderful and nice and loving. Here are just a few experiences from her trip.

*Day 1. Losaunne arrives and, after greeting her at the airport, we take the bus back to Jerusalem (I was a mean sister. Without a license I couldn't rent a car, so I made her take public transportation). Lugging her bags through the Central Bus Station, I stop to let a group of soldiers pass by. (Now, let me say that I usually only come in contact with Israeli soldiers at checkpoints. They do not inspire warm fuzzy feelings inside of me.) I see a male soldier eyeing me and my luggage. I pull out my phone so as to pretend like I am just checking my texts so he will just walk up the stairs and not offer to help (gut reaction--I initially reject everyone's offers to help). He waits for me. I put my phone away and go to pick up the bag. He walks over to me, looks at me and motions with his head, "Are you taking this up?" I motion with my head, "Yes." And he picks up the bag and takes it up the stairs for me.

*Later that day. We go to Hebron. It's full-on initiation for my sister, who has little first-hand knowledge about "the conflict" and "the situation" in Israel and Palestine. We see the soldiers, the checkpoints, the abandoned streets, the graffiti. Luckily it is raining and there are no settlers around to throw stones at us. We go into the Tomb of the Patriarchs, first the synagoge side and then the mosque side (passing through two different checkpoints to do so). We walk into the mosque. An old Palestinian woman, all of the wrinkles on her face turned upwards into smiles, walks over to me. "Welcome," she says in Arabic. I respond in Arabic. Her face lights up. "You speak Arabic! Welcome, welcome! How is your family? What's going on in your life? Is everything going well?" I exchange similar greetings with her and we both continue on our way.

*Later that evening (I let Losaunne sleep on the bus rides) we go in to Jerusalem. It's Thursday night and the Ultra-Orthodox are making, selling, and buying Challah for Shabbat. My friend Beverli just read about the 4 best Challah bakeries in Mea Shearim, the Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood, and a few of us go to compare them. With the recent protests surrounding the Ultra-Orthodox community, I am especially wary of my "secularness" with uncovered hair and pants. We send Greg, the only male in the group, into a restaurant to check and see if women are allowed because only men are present. When he waves us in, several people in the restaurant volunteer their opinions on the best food. We go to the bread store, where we are also the only women (4 women and 1 guy), and several people there also tell us which breads and cookies are the best. I am shocked. My stereotypes of and fears about two groups of people, soldiers and Ultra-Orthodox, are confounded in one day.

*We visited Safat. Nothing spectacular happened there, but I took this awesome picture--one of the only good ones that I've ever taken with my ipod.

*The next several pictures are from Nablus. I was so stoked to go to Nablus because I hadn't been...it is deep within the West Bank and therefore a place where few foreigners go. And even fewer foreign girls that speak Arabic that wander around acting like natives. We passed this one guy and I heard him mutter under his breath (in Arabic): "Arabs? Or foreigners? Arabs? Or foreigners?" I knew that if I was an Arab girl I wouldn't answer him, and if I was a foreigner I wouldn't understand him. So I just didn't answer. What can I say, I'm looking more and more Arab every day. :)

On our "reconnaissance" walk around downtown, Losaunne saw this delicious smoothie shop. We ran in to take a look, and I asked for "what the guy before us just got, because it looks amazing." What we got was a blend of fruit and ice cream, with strawberries sprinkled on top. When he asked which kind of ice cream we wanted (there were only two kinds), I hesitated. "Here," he offered, scooping up a spoonful and offering it to me. I stared at the ice cream scoop, wondering how to get the ice cream from the scoop to my mouth. Noticing my hesitation, he pushed his thumb into the ice cream to lift it up a little and give me a better grip. Wondering why I had never realized that ice cream was finger food before, I picked it up and ate it. Thankfully my "health code fears" disappeared long ago...

We finally found Facebook's headquarters. It's not in California, like everyone thinks. Nope, it's actually in Nablus, deep in the West Bank.

The church over Jacob's well in Nablus. Unfortunately we couldn't take pictures of the well, but it was deep. Very deep. This is where tradition holds that Jesus asked the Samaritan woman to draw some water so he could drink.

Despite the chilly weather, I convinced Losaunne to get in the Dead Sea, just to experience the crazy floating feeling. She was a little skeptical at first, but quickly became a believer. I LOVE the look on her face in the top middle picture. "I can't believe I'm floating!"

*We went through a quick jaunt through Hezekiah's tunnel (not without first discussing the political and societal impact of the City of David and its owners on the area, don't worry). We had a full day planned, so we got to Jerusalem at 7, ate breakfast, and waited for everything to open. We were at Hezekiah's tunnel at 8:08. The first ones in, we had to wait several minutes for them to open the lower gate (inside of the thigh-deep water). A man went down in front of us and, not wanting to get his pants wet, just pulled them off and waded into the water. We politely looked away as he emerged after unlocking the gate. It was a little awkward.

*It was FREEZING cold. Seriously. You wouldn't believe it by the amount of snow that we got in February (see the picture below), but it was SO COLD. And my apartment, by some engineering magic, is about 10 degrees colder than the outside temperature. Friday I had a full day of fun planned, including watching the Jews welcome Shabbat at the Western Wall. Instead, we spent the afternoon trying to stay warm and not get rained on inside of Dormition Abbey, a cathedral just outside of the Old City. We finally gave up and ran through the rain (and swam through the streets of the Old City) all the way back to the bus station. After a bus and taxi ride, we finally got home and peeled the wet clothes off. We donned dry clothes and ran over to stand by the space heater. Three minutes later the power went out. To stay warm, I lit my stove and Losaunne stood next to the fire. It worked about as well as it looks.

*Losaunne was privileged enough to celebrate her birthday with me while she was here! Always one to think ahead, I had a stash of pitas and nutella reserved for this very purpose. While she was showering, I was making her pita cake. Nutella frosting and a peanut-butter "L" finished the product. And a mask left over from my landlord's son's birthday a day or two before I moved in (and left in the cupboard) made the whole affair extra special. Best. Birthday cake. Ever.

At the monastery overlooking Jericho

Guys. These are the longest single-span cable cars below sea level IN THE WORLD.

Losaunne discovered the deliciousness of hummus and french fries. WAY better than ketchup.

Learning how to fly.

Doesn't it look like she's hanging on that string? It was a total accident (or maybe I'm just that awesome of a photographer).

*We went to the Bahai gardens. As we walked up to the security gate, Losaunne was, as usual, chewing a piece of gum. "No gum inside," they told us, and pointed at the garbage can. After an awkward pause, they looked at Losaunne and said, "Do you have gum?" "I swallowed it," she said, and laughed awkwardly. They stared for a minute, confused, and then stepped aside. I guess normal people spit their gum out?

*The day before we went up North to the Galilee region for two days, I was still looking for a cheap hotel. I was using the internet at my friend Sahar's house because it was down (for the third day in a row) at my house. "Why don't you stay at the Mazouwi's in Nazareth?" she asked. Not wanting to impose, Sahar called them and asked for recommendation for cheap hotels in the area. "Yes, we know of a place," they said. "OUR HOUSE." These people seriously live in a mansion with their three children. And they have an empty basement apartment. "Why don't you move here?" asked Losaunne as we explored the incredible features of the house, including indoor heating and warm water. "The best part of staying here," Losaunne told me, "is knowing that when I get out of bed I'm not going to freeze to death on the way to the bathroom." I don't think it was THAT bad at my apartment...

There was a sunroof over this little hallway-room and a painting of a garden on the wall. When I woke up and walked out of my room, this is what greeted me.

*Nazareth was an interesting place to stay. It is a town of both Arab-Israelis and Jewish-Israelis, and I look more Jewish-Israeli than Arab-Israeli. Naturally, everyone was shocked when I spoke to them in Arabic. When we walked into one restaurant, I couldn't tell off the bat what the owner spoke, so I asked him, "English? Arabic? Hebrew?" He looked at me for a second, sizing me up, and then said, "Hebrew." So I struggled through an order in Hebrew, suspecting the whole time that he was Arab. Sure enough, while we were waiting for our order I heard him speaking Arabic to some of the other customers. When they offered me coffee (which I politely refused), the owner said, "She speaks Arabic!" They were all so curious to know why I spoke Arabic and SHOCKED to hear that I live in the West Bank. Yep, I know. I'm a monster.

*The first day in Nazareth we were trying to find the Mazouwi's house. I ran into a bakery to buy some cookies and ask them if they knew where the street was. Apparently the two late-teens/early-twenties (affectionately called shabab) men at the front had been talking about us, because they got really embarrassed when I greeted them in Arabic. "Why do you speak Arabic?" asked one, shocked. "Because they're Arab!" the other one said, with his tone implying, dummy! Why else would they speak Arabic? They're clearly Arab!

I'm taking it as a compliment. Basically I'm Arab now, everyone and their dog wants to help me or be nice to me, and my sister knows how to fly. It was an awesome visit. Did I miss anything Losaunne?