Jaffa

I decided to take advantage of a university holiday in June and go to the beach. I really just wanted to leave the tension-center that is Jerusalem and go somewhere nice, relaxed, secular, and non-kosher. So Jaffa/Tel-Aviv was the destination of choice.

The thing that struck me most about Jaffa was the color. It was everywhere, in many very random places, and made the seaside metropolitan area seem like a small seaport town with old houses and wonky colors. With a bit of post-processing, the color really popped out. These pictures, to me, are exciting and tell lots of stories about the Arab-Israeli town of Jaffa.

And if you don't know their stories, you can imagine some of them...

Noelle's Visit

In March my friend Noelle came to stay with me. 

As usual, there were a lot of crazy and bizarre things that happened. Here's just a small sampling:

*We spent some time up at the Sea of Galilee. One day we stopped by the "Baptism of Jesus" site (the one on the Israeli side--the Jordanians have one too) where pilgrims often visit to be "reborn" and baptized, even if they have already been baptized. They put on these (incredibly see-through) long white t-shirts, all get down into the water, sing and pray, and then do some sort of immersion in the water. Just make sure you look away when they get out.

I was taking advantage of Noelle's willingness to be a subject for a photo shoot, because the lighting was perfect and, well, she's stunning and much more photogenic than me.

And then, we saw beavers swimming in the water. BEAVERS! They became the new subject of the photo shoot.

I think they liked getting their picture taken, because they came up out of the water and came right up to Noelle to play with her!

It was crazy! They played with Noelle for several minutes, but we quickly attracted a large crowd of curious tourists and so the beavers left (or maybe they just realized that we didn't have any food!).

*We stayed at this very cheap hotel in Tiberias. I'm pretty sure we were the only guests that night. We made the booking while we were at the "free wi-fi" national park of Caesaria, and we just picked the cheapest hotel we could find while searching the internet on our phones. At about 6 pm, I got a call from the hotel. "Hey," they said, "what time are you guys planning on coming by tonight? We've got your room all made up and ready for you!"

It was only a little creepy. When we got to the hotel, the two hotel managers were sitting at the front desk. Before they showed us to our room, they were telling us about the attractions around town and, as it always does in conversations with me, the fact came up that we're Mormon. These guys were just floored and super curious as to what we do to "have fun" if we don't drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. One of them asked, "So what do Mormons do when they just want to lose all control?" I thought it was a rather odd way to ask such a question, so I answered with some snarky remark about ice cream and barbeques. They were pretty hilarious, though, and definitely added to the culture of the rather ghetto hotel.

They gave us the "best room in the hotel"--one of only two with a balcony overlooking the street (and a few blocks away, the sea of Galilee!). And the back of the hotel was full of character--just go up those creepy metal stairs and you're in the lobby!

Like I said, Noelle is much more photogenic than me. While a jumping picture of her turns into an excited, "look I'm on the shore of the Mediterranean!", mine just turns into "I love disco."

I introduced her to the finer Middle Eastern cuisine. And by that I mean pita and hummus. :) My coworker Rakheli met us for dinner one night, where Noelle could finally eat real food: tuna steak.

I wanted to take Noelle to see the Dead Sea, but I didn't want to drive all the way to the beaches by Masada. As a poor student, I am opposed to paying much for anything, but I am especially opposed to paying Israeli institutions for things in the West Bank on moral grounds. You might disagree, and that's fine. The fact of the matter is, we stopped by this beach on the Northern edge of the Dead Sea. I really just wanted to be able to walk down to the shore so Noelle could see it, so when I saw a security guard walking by, I asked him (in Hebrew), "Can we just walk down and see the sea from around here?" He looked me up and down, glanced over at Noelle, and then said, "Come with me."

He walked into the beach area and we followed, where he pointed us down to the water. It was an awesome beach, with delightful mud and old people who were definitely not averse to changing out of their swimming suits right there on the beach. The whole time I kept telling Noelle, "I can't believe this beach is free! I totally would have brought my sister here if I had known!"

After several minutes, we were ready to be done. As we were walking out, I happened to glance over at the sign hanging on the wall of the reception desk. The normal admittance price was 50 shekels per person!!! I told Noelle the security guard let us in for free because she's Asian, because I never get freebies like that!

And of course, no visit to see me would be complete without deep discussions of and visits to controversial areas, like the Kidron Valley and the Herodian.

I can see the Herodian from my house, but I've never actually been. It was freezing cold and super windy when we went, which might explain for the lack of visitors. While Noelle was distracted by the rock piles, I was distracted by the settlements.

*I've always wanted to go shopping with someone that spoke another language besides English, Arabic, or Hebrew (meaning Chinese, since that is the only other language I speak), so I could bargain with the shopkeepers in Arabic and speak Chinese to my friend and we would NEVER have to speak English. And we would get a super cheap deal. (Everything is more expensive in English.) Well, when Noelle was here, I finally had my chance. And it was AWESOME. We went shopping in the Old City and I would bargain with the shopkeepers in Arabic and then tell Noelle in Chinese that it was way too much and she should shake her head no. And it totally worked, too. One guy dropped the price of a silk scarf from 200 shekels down to 65, so Noelle decided to buy it. He totally had his son chase after us with the scarf when we walked away because the price was too high and offer us a better deal.

It was great fun, Noelle, and I'm so glad you had a chance to come and visit!

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."

Life as a Lone Traveller

A few weeks ago I took a trip to Spain and Morocco. Alone. The thought of travelling alone in two countries I had never been before was a bit terrifying at first. But then a week before I left I was talking to my mother on Skype, and I realized, "I live in the West Bank. ALONE. I always travel alone. I think I'll be ok."

However, travelling alone always brings with it the hilarious, the creepy, and the wow-these-people-are-so-nice-did-they-really-just-go-out-of-their-way-to-help-me. So here you are: life as a lone traveller in Spain and Morocco.

*First, you have to know that I speak very little Spanish. Very, very little. I can count to ten, nod my head yes or no, and say tu hable Ingles?" I think we've seen in a previous post, however, that my Spanish skills were unfortunately more useful than my English, Arabic, Chinese, or Hebrew skills in Spain. One day I was trying to find an internet cafe. I was planning on leaving for Morocco the next day and I wanted to compare flight and plane prices, connect with my friends in Casablanca about church on Sunday, and try and find a place to stay. Basically, I was desperate for internet. I was staying in the Madrid temple's patron housing, so I asked the person at the front desk (who, thankfully, spoke excellent English) where an internet cafe was. He looked up the closest ones on his phone, printed me off a map, and wished me luck. Unfortunately, I needed more than luck (I realized several hours later that he had given me the wrong map!)--I needed a miracle. After getting off at two different metro stops and consulting my map for at least 20 minutes to try and figure out where I was, I finally walked into a pharmacy. Surely pharmacists speak English, as the medical world converses in English, I thought to myself. "Tu hable Ingles?" I asked. No. Not at all. Not even enough to understand "What's the name of this street? Nombre? Calle?" The pharmacist wanted so badly to help that she kept speaking to me rapidly in Spanish and gesturing at the map while I looked at her helplessly. Finally she turned to one of the several customers that had accumulated since I had entered the store. "Excuse me," she asked in Spanish, "do any of you speak English?" One of them did and, as everyone in the store looked on encouragingly, translated the pharmacist's directions: "This is the wrong metro stop. You need to get back on the metro and go in the opposite direction." (It was at this point that I realized the map was wrong.) "Gracias," I said as I left the store. Thank you, thank you, thank you for wanting to help enough to ask your other customers to translate, I thought as I walked back toward the metro. (By the way, after another hour of searching, I discovered that the internet cafe had closed. Fail.)

*I took a day trip to Toledo to visit the Christian/Muslim/Jewish sites there and see a place where, at one time, all of them had lived together in a relative peace. While I was there I stopped in at the Santa Maria la Blanca synagogue, which was, according to my Triposo ipod app, "constructed under the Christian Kingdom of Castile by Islamic architects for Jewish use" and is owned and preserved by the Catholic church. I was a little overwhelmed at the mix of religion, architecture, and tradition, and stopped by the table of the nun who was selling some of the art on display in the former synagogue. "I live here," I said, pointing at a picture of Jerusalem. "You do?" she asked excitedly and then, in Hebrew, "Do you speak Hebrew?" Shocked, I asked her why a Catholic nun in Spain would speak Hebrew. "Our order's founder was born in Israel...he converted to Christianity and started this order. We want to be a bridge between the Jewish and Christian communities, so he is teaching us Hebrew and we celebrate all the Jewish holidays here, in celebrations that are open to the public." And this, my friends, is the odd story of a Mormon girl from Utah and a Catholic nun conversing in Hebrew in the middle of Spain.

 

*A little later in the day, I stopped by the mosque of Cristo de la Luz in Toledo, which is one of the oldest mosques in Europe (and which was later converted into a cathedral). After examining the Arabic graffiti on the walls, I sat in a corner to give my feet a rest for a minute. "I wonder what the Arabic graffiti says," I heard someone say IN ENGLISH. Finally, someone I could understand! "It says God is the merciful one," I offered. Turns out this family was from Toledo, Ohio, just visiting their daughter who was studying in Switzerland and taking a side trip to the other Toledo. OHIO. People, this family was from the very state that I am planning on moving to next year, and their daughter has some good friends at THE Ohio State University. The only people who speak English in the whole town, and they're from Ohio.

*A lot of my stories are from Toledo. I got on a bus to go back to the train station, and since the sun had gone down and it was dark I got a little disoriented. I was trying to figure out which stop to get off at, and I looked out the window and saw a train. But just as I was about to get off, I saw a bridge and remembered that we had passed over a bridge just after the train station, so I settled back in my seat, deciding that maybe the train was up the tracks a little way instead of sitting at the station. And then suddenly, before the bus driver could close the doors (we were 2 bus stops past where I had seen the train by now), a woman came up to me and started speaking excitedly in Spanish. Seeing that I understood nothing, she finally said, "Train?" When I said "si, si," she shouted to the bus driver to reopen the doors and, pointing back the way we had come, said, "Train, train." I got off and yep, sure enough, the train I had seen was indeed sitting at the station. I have no idea how that woman knew I wanted to go to the train station, but I thank her and divine intervention for helping me get off when I did.

*After several days in Spain, I attended one last temple session before going to Madrid. Spain was wonderful and the temple was spectacular, but I really missed speaking to people in English. Or even Arabic or Chinese or Hebrew. Basically I missed understanding and being understood by people. Friday evening, as I was at the temple, one of the workers started speaking to me in (native) English. Turns out she and her husband were from KAYSVILLE, Utah and were missionaries at the Madrid temple. People. My PARENTS live in Kaysville. It just happened that I ran into one of the only English speakers in the temple, and it just happened that she was from the same small city in Utah that my parents live in. It was a huge sign to me that God loves me and is very aware of me.

 

*I took a train from Madrid to Algeciras, where I wanted to catch a bus to Tarifa and then take a ferry to the port in Tangier. However, when I got to the bus station, no one could confirm my guidebook's directive that there was actually a port in Tarifa and ferries actually did depart from there to get to Tangier. When the bus came, I tried to ask the driver. "Tarifa? Ferry in Tarifa? Ferry to Tangier?" I tried. He finally nodded, and I knew that at least this bus was going to Tarifa, if nothing else! But then as I was walking to the back of the bus a Moroccan woman asked me, "Are you taking the ferry to Tangier from Tarifa? My husband and I are also taking the ferry...when we get to Tarifa maybe we can split a taxi to get to the port." And it was a good thing that I had them to follow, because the bus dropped us off almost a mile from the port and there were no taxis. Luckily I had them to follow, rolling our suitcases all the way!

*I have lived in the Middle East for more than 14 months now, and I have been all over Egypt, Jordan, and the West Bank. I thought I was used to the cat calls and harassment that girls with white skin, red hair, and blue eyes experience in the Middle East. But dang, the men in Morocco were like nothing I have ever encountered. I got in to Rabat around 10 at night and got off the train to try and find my hotel. Within seconds of leaving the train station, young shabab (young men between the ages of 14-28) surrounded me. Some of them offered to help me pull my one small piece of luggage, others of them told me I was beautiful in French, Arabic, and English, and one of them was so persistent that he followed me to my hotel (a mere block and a half away from the train station, thankfully!). "Excuse me," he said, "Have I seen you before?" "No," I stated emphatically. "No really, I think I know you. Didn't I meet you at..." he left it hanging and I waited, expectantly, to see where he thought he knew me from. "Nope," I stated, knowing full well that we had never met before. As I got to my hotel door, he said, "What I really mean is, will you go out for coffee with me?" Guys, I've never seen the men so over-the-top pushy. I probably could have gotten married within the hour if I wanted to! I'm pretty sure in 3 days in Morocco I was asked on more dates than I had in 6 years at BYU. And no, this is not a reflection on my pathetic social life in college. :)

*I stayed in this totally sketch hotel in Rabat. It was only 15 dollars a night for a private room with a shower in the room (although there were only two toilets per floor, in separate rooms in the hall). But hey, it was only a block and a half from the train station, it was super cheap, and I didn't have to go wandering far in the streets of Morocco to find a hotel (and be attacked by the shabab all along the way). I had absolutely no desire to touch anything on the bed or the floor, though, so I pulled out a sheet I had brought for this very purpose and rolled up in it before I got on the bed, moving the pillow out of the way and instead sleeping on my dirty laundry bag. It was freezing in the room, though, so I put on several shirts from my dirty clothes pile and tried not to die in my thin sheet. I woke up several times in the middle of the night, certain that I would freeze to death, but I finally got up at 6, grateful to have survived the night (and hopeful that I hadn't contracted any worms or diseases from the room). I realized that I had forgotten my flip flops, but there was no way I was going to stand barefoot on that shower floor. I put a plastic bag on the floor, turned on the water, and tried to step in. BAM. Naturally sloped shower floor + wet plastic bag + mid-calf-high step into the shower = big bruise on my calf from falling. Thankfully I didn't touch the floor and the water was even warm.

When I saw the room I thought to myself, "My father would die before staying at this hotel. But hey. $15 a night."

*The next morning, after my freezing night at the hotel, I was supposed to meet my friends Brooke and Max at the train station, where they would take me to church. I was super excited to go to church in Morocco, but even more I think I was excited to see someone I knew and speak English. Imagine my dismay when they didn't show up at the appointed time. 8:20 came and went. 8:30. 8:40. I'm pretty sure she said church starts at 9...did I miss them? Did they forget about me? Did they get in an accident? Did Brooke send me an email changing the plan and I just didn't get it? Before I panicked, I realized I had Brooke's number. But every pay phone was phone-card only, not cash. I finally walked up to a group of chatty girls. "Excuse me," I asked in Arabic. "Do you know where there are pay phones where you can use cash and not a card?" "Just use my phone," one of the girls said, in English. "Welcome to Morocco!" I called twice to no avail. And then the nice girl tried to call. "It says this is an invalid number," she said. Invalid number? Can I panic yet? I don't have the address of the church...I don't even have Max's number! I thought to myself. Trying not to cry (it had been a long night, ok?!), I walked back in the train station to try and find another phone. The most beautiful thing I have ever heard was someone shouting "Breanne!" as I wandered through the station. Turns out there are two train stations in Rabat, and Brooke and Max had been waiting at the other one. I almost kissed them, I was so happy to not be abandoned at a train station in Morocco! And church was wonderful.

*And finally, although I had many, many more adventures, I will end with this one (although my layover in Rome and a crazy experience on the train in Morocco deserve their own posts, which are forthcoming). The train stations in Morocco are kind of wild. Some of them are in the middle of big cities, and some of them are in the middle of nowhere. Literally. After my stint in Rabat, I took the train to Assilah. By the time we got there, it was after dark. I got off the train and saw everyone walking to the edge of the platform and disappearing into the darkness. My guidebook said that you had to walk a few kilometers from the train station to the town, so I grabbed my suitcase and walked off into the darkness. Wanting to make sure I was walking the right way, however, I turned back and asked an older woman (in Arabic), "Is this the way to get to Assilah?" And just like everyone else in Morocco, she responded to me in French. "Please, speak Arabic," I said. "I don't speak French." "Arabic? You speak Arabic? Come. Come with me. My son is waiting on the road. You can ride with us. Where do you need to go?" They drove me right to my hotel (which was much less sketch than my one the night before and only $10 a night, by the way) and, when I asked if I could pay, she just laughed and closed the door. Thank you, dear woman, for giving me a ride so I didn't have to walk down a dark highway alone! (But the next morning, when I was walking back to the train station and two shabab asked me if I wanted a ride, I politely said no. Don't worry, I only take rides if there is a woman in the car!)

The Assilah train station, situated in the middle of nowhere.

So that's it, my friends. Travelling alone certainly gave me some crazy stories, but above all, I realized that people are so willing to help. So, anybody want to join me on my next adventure?

*PS (can I put a PS on a blog post?): my sister just reminded me that I forgot to tell the story of when I pretended I could only speak Chinese. I was getting pretty sick of people harassing me in English, French, and Spanish. When I got to Assilah, I went for a walk around the town, but it was dark and as has been seen, the creepers come out in the dark. I was walking around the Old City, just heading back go my hotel, and suddenly I see this guy out of the corner of my eye making a beeline for me and speaking at me in English. I shook my head. "我不會將," I said in Chinese. I don't speak that language. He tried Spanish and French. I kept shaking my head and repeating in Chinese, "I don't speak that." BAM. Less than 15 seconds of refusing in Chinese, and he walked away. Success. I think I'm safe with Chinese as my "native" language all over the Middle East...

Assilah, Morocco

After two very long posts, I think a post of pictures is in order. I spent one of my nights in Morocco in Assilah, an enchanting little town on the coast. I'll save the crazy stories that happened on the way to Assilah for another post, but naturally as a single foreign female travelling alone in Morocco I ran into some interesting situations. But I survived, no worse for the wear, and I even once pretended I spoke nothing but Chinese to get this guy to leave me alone. It worked. I love Chinese!

Anyway, for some reason Assilah has these beautiful paintings by famous (?) artists all over their buildings and houses. In addition to that, their doors are also a work of art. If you don't like looking at lots and lots of pictures of doors and locks, skip this post.

(It says "There is no god but God" in Arabic)

  

The men wore these long hooded cloaky things, and every time I glanced over I got creeped out and thought "KKK! Oh wait. Just Berber."

Hey, I guess I'm not the only one in these parts that knows Chinese...

It was literally right next to the ocean. And there was this crazy moss-like substance all over the rocks. I've never seen such awesome moss before--blue, green, orange, white, and black. It was pretty sweet.

Kind of looks like snow...but it's moss!

Three kinds of vehicles in Assilah: trucks, horse-drawn carts, and people.

Case in point.