The Pilgrim's Progress

Tomorrow is my last day the embassy. And to be honest, I'm feeling a healthy dose of melancholy settling in. I'm going to miss it here. I really truly am. 

Granted, I've been looking forward to this for quite some time. I've been anxious to move on, but looking back, I've really loved my time here. I mean, who doesn't like sharing gloriously awkward moments with co-workers on a daily basis or accidentally mixing 2-4 languages in one conversation? But seriously, I've made some really great friends here. I realize today just how close I've gotten to people at the embassy. As I sat in my adopted office, several people dropped by, as they usually do, just to chat or talk business. The others in my section have really trusted me with some difficult work and told me time and time again that I have been their best intern by far (apparently, they've had some real screw-ups).  

I've come in 5 days a week for the last three months and worked full days. I've worked hard. This has been my life and I've grown to find comfort in it. I had to prove myself to all these people and now I have to leave and do it once again. I have to start over somewhere else. I've had some incredible experiences, met some incredible people and seen some incredible things.

That being said, however, I have been anxious to move on and finally settle down a bit (this makes my mother very happy). After all, I've lived in over 14 different places, in 4 different countries, within the last 7 years, and I've spent the entire year of 2008, thus far, crashing at other people's homes. Essentially, I've been living out of a suitcase for five months now. Over the years, I have purposely kept my possessions to a minimum because I know full well that everything I own needs to be able to fit into my '99 Honda Civic, Ruby. 

I daydream and fantasize about one day owning a coffee table (or any furniture, really), having a complete matching set of silverware, and having a magazine subscription. This signifies several things: 

a) to own furniture, especially a coffee table, you clearly have to have money to buy the furniture and live somewhere where your furniture is necessary (e.i. living in your own place) b) you can afford a year's worth of National Geographic Adventure or The New Yorker and 

c) you live at one residence for 12 straight months

These traits have eluded me completely, but mark my words, these things will one day change as I finally get a big-girl job in that mystical place known as "the real world." And hopefully, this day comes soon because I feel like such a nomad. I keep having flashbacks from elementary school when I learned about the nomadic hunter-gatherers, the primitive peoples that gave way to more stationary agriculturally-dependent peoples. As a child learning about these things, I imagined hairy cavemen walking around picking grass and berries and hitting animals over the heads with clubs. I then imagined the pilgrims, cute, clean and picturesque, building their little homes and planting their fields with the bright future of modernity shining upon their cheery faces like a rising sun. 

It seems that now, my childhood imagination has resurrected into disturbing visions with me as the oafish caveman, wandering clumsily through the wilderness, club in tow. I then see my contemporaries as adorably precious little pilgrims, primly-dressed and bright as they toil on their land.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to be a pilgrim. I'm done with being a caveman-hunter-gatherer. I want to start farming. Okay, not farming literally, but figuratively. I want to settle down. And by settle down, I mean, get a real job with a salary, stay in one place for a year and maybe, just maybe, get a magazine subscription to National Geographic Adventure to sit upon my second-hand coffee table.  

And so tomorrow, as I finish my internship, I'm going to metaphorically throw out my club and hairy toga, don my crisp clean pilgrim's bonnet, grab my land cultivating tools and build up my life.

  

That is, after I run buck-wild throughout Israel and Jordan for the next three weeks. Come to think of it, maybe the pilgrim Erin is just going to have to wait a few months. Maybe September.  

Africa Day (i.e. The Greatest Day of My Life)

Yesterday, as I was on the bus taking me downtown to attend the massive "Africa Day" party in Tel-Aviv, I was really super excited. I was looking forward to speaking a great deal of French and even busting out some of my most polished Lingala phrases (like "your hair is so nice" and "my dad is from the Congo"). I was anticipating wild dancing and a whole lot of the blessed African food that comforts your very soul.

But then I remembered how crestfallen I had been upon entering the St. Patrick's Day "party" at the Irish ambassador's residence. Let's just say it wasn't as I had invisioned it. No drunken singing, no Cheiftans, no Jonathan Rhys Meyers and no fun.

So I came down from my little cloud of high hopes for the evening and was grateful to have chosen my smart little black dress and heels that wouldn't leave me standing out as I had at the St. Patrick's Day event. Can't go wrong with a black dress (even though I think I probably looked like a nun). I was ready for whatever was coming.

Well basically, turns out it was ALL I hoped for and much much more. I think I even used the word "paradise" several times throughout the evening to describe it. At this massive bash at a hotel in Tel-Aviv all the embassies from Africa joined together to party like it was 1999. And oh, did they.

Bernadette, a wonderful French FSN who works at the US embassy (she immigrated from France when she was 22 and holds both French and Israeli passports) managed to secure me and invite to the event (she used to work for the Togolese embassy) and I'm probably going to name my first born after her because last night was that great. I forgot what it was like to be around warm, inviting people. I've never had a hard time making friends, but it's been difficult getting close to people here (absurd Englishmen and crazy hot-blooded Italians aside, of course). And last night, I had at least two proposals for marriage (when I told my mom she said, "What, did you finally wash your hair?"), several invitations to people's homes (including the ambassador to Congo Brazzaville), and made about a zillion friends. 

Did I mention that I love Africans? 

I held my camera up during a really crazy dancing performance and took a shot of the crowd watching the performance. The little lady in the bottom right looking at the camera is Rose, a diplomat from the Ghanian embassy who was so sweet to me despite the fact I turned into a silly little 16 year old in the face of all the excitement. I was loving all the amazing dresses the women were wearing. My safe little black dress made me stand out just as my loud green dress made me stand out on St, Patrick's Day. I guess I can't help it. I stand out. Especially in these pictures. Standing next to these Africans, in combination with a really bright flash, completely negated the tan that I swear I really do have.

This is the ambassador of Congo Kinshasa's wife. She was a very regal lady. But when I told her I could sing in Lingala and began singing "yesu ndecko na bolingo," she definitely started singing with me and we finished the song together clapping and swaying. Freak, I love Africans. 

Here I am in a Conglolese ambassador sandwich. On the right is Brazzaville and the left is Kinshasa. Yes, there are two Congos. I'm partial to Kinshasa because that's where a lot of my friends are from, but the Brazaville ambassador did invite me to his home and that moves Brazaville up a little. I met ambassadors from all the countries, but I am very partial to Congo in general, for whatever reason.
Okay, now this is Victor, the Togolese driver for the Nigerian Ambassador. He was pretty funny and introduced me to a lot of people. And after the party was over, he took the ambassador home and came back in the smokin' hot armored Mercedes and took me the thirty minutes home to Herzilya Pituach. In the car we talked about politics, the American Civil Rights', Israel and a bunch of other things, which was really pushing my French. I probably came off sounding ridiculous in trying to sound intelligent in a language I don't speak much these days. In fact, Hebrew words kept slipping in. I think I'm lingually retarded. I cant keep any language straight for every long anymore. I mesh them all right now. If I'm forced to speak multiple languages in the same setting, I become completely incomprehensible. And my poor father thinks I'm so smart...

Anyways, while we were stopped in front of my house and I was about to get out, he complimented me very generously and ended by very seriously saying, "If I wasn't married, I would definitely marry you. Why wont you gave me your phone number?" I just laughed and refused for the 12th time that night to give him my phone number. I told him I didn't have a phone because the embassy took it away. And it wasn't even a lie.   

God bless computer geeks

Thanks to a group of people devoted to outsmarting Steve Jobs and sticking it to the man, I have been able to transfer nearly 30 GB of music from my iPod (which had music from a friend's computer) onto my new macbook. Thirty gigs of music is like, oh, a billion dollars worth of CDs or iTunes downloads that I can simply not afford to buy (two words: unpaid internship).

And it was incredibly easy. Easy enough that I, one who cannot work any microwave made after 1979, was able to transfer the music with ease. I can now jam to all the Lady Sovereign, Shiny Toy Guns, Joshua Radin, and Frank Sinatra that my little heart desires. I was even able to fill in the gaps in my collections of the Beatles, AC/DC, Dave Matthews, Van Halen, Sean Paul, Regina Spektor, Muse and Ella Fitzgerald (just to name a few).    

My happiness is unimaginable. Thank you Senuti. 

New Hair

So I'm thinking of chopping my hair off and I need to know what you think. I'm thinking of doing this:

And by "this" I mean cutting my hair like Victoria Beckham, not becoming anorexic and marrying an flaming-hot international soccer star (though I wouldn't mind the latter).

So I need some opinions. Should I keep it around my shoulders, or chop it? I need some ideas.

Good News

Turns out a sewage pipe broke and that's why church was cancelled. Stewart Tuttle, the spokesman for the embassy here and also a counselor in the branch presidency just described the foul scene to me while I was wasting time talking to Karen about how I'm going slightly out of my mind.

But the good news is that church is on for this Saturday (shabbat is on Saturday here) and will probably be at the Tuttle's house. Which probably means there will be food. And the good news doesn't end there, folks. As luck would have it, Alan (the FSN here who I love--he gives me food and introduced me to his daughter who has become a good friend out here) is out of town this week (and next) and offered his office to me while he is away. This means no more Harold. I never have to be stuck in an office, listening to his tourettes and mindless banter while having to stomach the foul stench from his burps EVER AGAIN. Turns out Harold is a gassy little feller.

That is unless by some cruel twist of fate this blessing is ripped from my fingers just like my cell phone. Oh, the embassy issued me a cell phone shortly after arriving. It was just for incoming calls and emergencies, but just having it was heaven. Being alone and secluded out here, it was my one connection to the friends I do have in country and any semblance of a normal life. Plus, it had a clock on it and as I don't have a watch and have to take buses, it came in very handy. However, just over a week ago, they decided to take the phone away and give it to a paid employee. It was a big bummer. My one consolation is that the people I work with who found out were furious and shook their fists angrily at the administration and ranted on about the injustice of it all. Which I found comforting. So even though I don't have a phone, transportation, or a hot Israeli boyfriend, I have a solid group of people out here in my corner and that made me feel good.

More good news is that I actually adore a bunch of people here. Bernadette is this wonderfully crazy French woman who works upstairs and always comes in to gossip and complain about something rather dramatically. She worked for the ambassador from Congo and just may have wrangled me an invite to a huge African party this weekend with all the African embassies in Israel. For those who know me well, getting an invitation to a massive African party (full of Congolese) is like winning the lottery. I just might be able to die happy now. Needless to say, I'm already polishing the Lingala (the dialect form Congo-Kinshasha) that I know. I am fully prepared to bust out singing "Yesu Ndecko na Bolingo" for anyone that will listen. Oh man, the Congolese love that song. While in France, I met a guy from the Congo at a bus stop and mentioned that I knew some Lingala and then proceeded singing that song. I didn't get two lines into it before he started singing along and clapping. All at the bus stop. It was great. 

Irit is one of the most capable people that work here. She is very tough and very smart. I was a little afraid of her when I got here because she will tell you like it is, even if that sends you into therapy for the next few years. But yesterday, she bought me lunch, listened to my life story, and told me that she thought that I was about as great as it gets, the best intern they've ever had, that I had a really great head on my shoulders, and that I was going places. This was a welcomed surprise/compliment because I go through extended moments of feeling rather pathetic. It felt good coming from someone who I respect a great deal professionally. And there are several other people here who've really saved my life by taking me in and treating me like one of their own. Overall, I'd have to say that even though I'm anxious to see the end of my internship and move on, I really love this embassy and will have warm memories of most of the people.

Harold excluded, of course.

Slightly Disturbing

I have been doing market research on medical device companies in Israel and today, while researching a company, I came across this perplexing and potentially disturbing photo. Featured in this photo is equipment used in endoscopic surgery. When I saw it, I felt really weird--something was seriously amuck with this picture. What, for instance, is that sitting on the plate in the upper left hand corner? I slice of thinly sliced (raw) meat? Umm, that's kind of weird on multiple levels. 

a) Food and surgical equipment never mix. I picture some surgeon scarfing down a sub sandwich in the operating room. Food and surgical equipment go together like popular kids and the goth freaks in a high school social scene--they just don't. 

b) Considering that when one thinks of surgery (minimally invasive, or not) one thinks of human flesh and scalpels. Placing a slice of what looks like raw meat on a plate next to objects that are inserted into peoples bodies is twisted.

c) Most disturbing is that this is clearly deliberate and not a simple oversight. Which leaves me with more questions like, was the plate already there, a snack waiting to be consumed, and they just thought "what the heck, throw that thing in the picture--it'll balance it out" or was it intentionally prepared for the purpose for the photo shoot?

These questions baffled me for the rest of the day. And even now, I'm puzzled as ever. And a little disturbed. Maybe even a little hungry.

Lots of days

I haven't been too consistent on writing lately. I guess I've been feeling a bit scattered. But let's face it, when am I not scattered? So I've decided to just to write about what's going on in my life and in my head. I promise to be better about keeping the three people that read this good and updated.

First off, they cancelled church yesterday. It was so weird. I mean, how can you just cancel church? It was the first time in my nearly 25 years on this planet that church was just cancelled. But apparently the sewage was leaking in the building where we meet, so I guess there was good reason.

As a result, we decided to tour some more of Israel. We went to Meggido. It totally sounds like the name of a castle lair where a bad guy like Skelator would live. But no, it was a piece of land covered by a bunch of really old stones. In other words, it was just like the rest of Israel.

But actually, there is some serious biblical significance to Meggido. If you are not into the Bible/Torah, that's totally fine, but this might not really interest you. I did Jewish Studies and I'm Mormon, so this stuff actually interests me on multiple levels. First off, the city of Meggido was in the area of Israel inherited by the descendants of Menasseh--meaning the descendants lived there. Basically, Israel was divided up into lands of inheritance for the 12 tribes and this portion was alloted for Menasseh. So, going by the Book of Mormon, one could assume that Lehi and his family lived in the vicinity before taking off. Kinda cool.

This is Sabe and I at the museum in Meggido. It was pretty uninteresting minus the dioramas that lit up at the push of a button. 

Meggido was also where Josiah, one of the kings of Judah, was killed by the Pharaoh-Neco. And yes, it's "Neco like the candy."

Now for a little Hebrew lesson. This place was called Har Meggido, "Har" being the Hebrew word for mount. So it was Mount Meggido, Har Meggido, or as it's variation Har Meggidon--Armageddon. So, according to the Bible, this area is also where the battle of Armageddon is set to take place. Kind of interesting, no?       

Actually, other than the "gee whiz" quality of the tour, it was actually quite boring. A little like my life right now. I'm finding myself bored out of my skull most of the time. Even at the embassy. I've got 10 days left there and I'm definitely counting down. Ten days seems like a lot of days right now. I'm not sure how much crap I can take from Harold before I seriously snap. He's started burping so much that it stinks up the office so that it smells like pickles. So gross. 

Put a fork in me, cause this girl is done. My life is like a vacation and I'm craving the action and stress of a normal life. Don't get me wrong, this has been an amazing adventure full of realizations and growth. I've spend uncountable hours pondering my life, where I'm going, where I'm headed, Salman Rushdie, humanity's capacity to love and hate, the powers of love and hate, the effectiveness/ineffectiveness of US diplomacy, insane government spending, the arab-Israeli conflict, what I really want out of life and about a zillion other things. 

And I've gotten a pretty great tan too. But I'm feeling pretty pumped to make my way back across the Atlantic. Two weeks of work, three weeks of traveling and this girl will be back in the States driving a car, hanging out with my family and old friends, and eating cheap Mexican food. But geez, five weeks seems like a lot of weeks.

Of course I realize that once that happens, my heart will ache for the things here that I love--the Tel-Aviv branch, Sabriel and the Harris family, the Mediterranean, and really really good humus and schnitzel. Schnitzel Tzion, the schnitzel place by the embassy, is proof that there is truly a God who loves us. 

I feel a bit like I'm in a daze. Like I'm being sucked into some weird vortex and becoming increasingly listless. I haven't even washed my hair in 8 days now. It's a new record for me. Tomorrow marks day 9 and I may or may not succumb to pressures to look presentable. My problem is that a brilliant friend of mine (Patricia) taught me this trick a while back that if you put baby powder in your hair, it sucks up the oil. It works like a charm. I just think I'm really pushing it. 

After all, nine days is a lot of days.

Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Bush

I just realized that I will not be getting an economic stimulus check and I feel very slighted. 

The Daily Grind

My days are starting to repeat themselves. It's becoming something like Bill Murray's life on Groundhog's Day. Same stuff everyday.

Today, I was royally annoyed with Harold because he was wearing way too much of his awful cologne and insisted on eating lunch at his desk and making every possible disgusting noise as he sloppily chewed his sandwich and slurped his juice. His meal also managed to stink up the office for the rest of the day. This happens EVERYDAY. But hey, on the bright side, he didn't ogle at my chest. 

Then I got caught in the bathroom popping zits on my face by some lady on my floor. This also happens a lot lately. I should learn and stop doing it, but I'll be washing my hands in the restroom and I'll be looking in the mirror when suddenly I see something sprouting on my face and I just can't resist. I though puberty was supposed to be over by now. 

I feel like my life is becoming just a series of awkward moments that just keep lining up, one after the other. Or maybe it's always been that way and I'm just now noticing.  

Misc. Update

Today we went to Jerusalem and toured the tunnels near the foundation for the Western Wall. This is what the wall looks like from the tunnels. It was pretty wicked cool.

We also went to the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. It was an interesting experience because we went with some extreme Zionists who cried at the museum and were very expressive in mourning the tragedy that befell humanity because of the unrestrained hatred of the Third Reich. They then proceeded to imply that all Arabs were horrible people and were not to be trusted by virtue of their race. They even refused to walk through the Arab quarter of Jerusalem. Sometimes I really wish people could really see themselves and hear themselves talk. This kind of attitude made me really angry when I got here, but now I just feel pity for those that hate. Being here and seeing a lot of hatred has just made me want to love more to try and balance the scales. I just want to go out and give everyone hugs.

This is what I see every weekend and some weekdays when I can escape work early and just chill at the beach next to my house. I love my nalgene bottle. Never without it. I even inspired an FSN at the embassy to go out and buy a bottle.

I'm getting tan. I think I look tan in this picture. TannER at least.

These are just some of the people in my branch here. I seriously love them so much. These people are just so full of love. They tell me how wonderful and beautiful I am--they will be really hard to leave.

Things to remember while skinny-dipping in the Mediterranean:

1) Undertows at night are scary.

2) The freaky little glowing things that fly across the water are just fish.

3) If you stay in one place, the waves actually start pushing you to the shore so you think you are in one spot, but you are actually nearing the shore. Naked.

4) Don't wear a suit with lots of weird straps because you will never get it back on.

Raindrops on roses

Being as it is that Harold is in Bangkok this week, I though I might go a full week at work without having an extremely awkward moment. But, as usual, I was wrong. 

So my mom sent me a package of really amazing sugar cookies here to Israel. My mom seriously makes the best sugar cookies I've ever eaten and getting a box of those brings all the comfort and happiness one could really ask for in life. They got me through the tough spots on the mission. If I were to start singing about my favorite things during a thunder storm, these cookies would so be one of the first things I mention. But the cookies always come with a caveat: I have to share them or no more cookies. This is not always easy for me, but I do it because I want more cookies. I'm selfish, but I'm no idiot.

I decided that I would share with some of my favorite people at work. Since most everyone is gone this week to conferences in either Istanbul or Bangkok, I couldn't have planned it out better. Fewer people to share with. I work with a fabulous woman named Karen who is originally from LA but immigrated here when she met her now husband, an Israeli named Ofer (who is amazing and definitely worth immigrating for, if you ask me). I have worked a lot with her and she is an absolute blast. She seriously keeps me sane and I really love her. So after much thought, I went into her office and gave her a cookie. She deserved it. She tried the cookie and, of course, loved it. She finished most of it, but a small piece if it remained when she had to take a phone call. I went back to my little reject desk a few doors down and started working when a few minutes later this really crazy woman I work with, Orly, came into my office holding a baggy with a piece of one of the sugar cookies my mom had sent. She came in with a disgusted look on her face and exclaimed while holding up the sugar cookie, "This is disgusting."

My first reactions were 1) confusion that this crazy woman (and oh, she is crazy--I've got stories) somehow got her hands on one of my precious cookies 2) absolute rage that this beloved cookie was being wasted on such a unappreciative nut bag and 3) shock that someone wouldn't like the cookie in the first place. 

She continued in her rant. 

Orly: "This is disgusting, Erin. This is poison."

She dramatically threw the cookie in the trash can near me. I sat silently with a shocked and slightly crazed smile across my face as I fought every urge to bolt across the room and tackle her the ground and pull her arm across her back until she took it all back and apologized for being so rude.

Orly (still grimacing): "This is disgusting. Where did you get that thing?"

Me (holding back the rage): "Wh-where did you get that, Orly?" 

Orly: "Karen had it on her desk and I took it while she was on the phone. Where did it come from?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (stammering a bit now): "Oh, I thought you got it upstairs of something. But who made it?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (feeling awkward and confused and looking for a way out): "Well, how did you get it?"

Me: "I asked her to send them to me because I love them so very much. It's hard to be alone in a foreign country and her packages bring me great joy."

At this point, any normal human being would feel so stupid that they would somehow apologize, mutter something unintelligible while leaving the room as fast as they could. Oh, but not Orly. She needed to justify herself and continued:

"Erin, this is poison. You should tell her to stop sending it to you."

Excuse me? She said this as if everything that was wrong with me was somehow linked to this piece of a cookie she was pointing to in the trash. It was like I was some self-inflicted mutant on a daily diet of toxic waste.  I felt defensive and a surprised by her rudeness. 

I wanted to dig out the last remaining piece, shove it in my mouth right in front of her and say, "If this is poison, well, kill me now!" I wanted to point out that at least I wasn't crazy and weird (hey, no comments on that one, guys).

It was like that moment in the movies when all these fantasies begin to flash in the main character's brain about how to really "show" the offending person who's boss. But like in the movies, I never manage to do or say anything that really merits a really great theme song and a close up shot of my confident and triumphant face. I usually just stammer a bit and try to escape the situation.

Instead, I put on my sweet smile and sincerely thanked her for her "care and concern for my well-being" and assured her that I would manage "just fine." She opened her mouth like she was going to continue in her rant, then the awkwardness of the moment FINALLY hit her with all the force of a grand piano falling from the sky and she left as quickly as she could muttering something unintelligible.

I turned back to my computer stunned into a motionless state. I continued working and tried to forget what had just happened. I had to run into someone else's office and left my office a while later and passed Orly in the hall. Orly was so visibly awkward as she passed me and smiled uncomfortably.  Then it dawned on me. If I act like nothing is wrong and act super nice to her, it'll drive her nuts. So I smiled a friendly smile and waved a little cute wave. It killed her.

So it's become a little game for me. The nicer and sweeter I act towards her, the more unnerved she becomes. 

It's great. Making her feel awkward is quickly becoming one of my favorite things worthy of singing about. Forget whiskers on kittens and warm woolen mittens. Give me my mom's sugar cookies and control over a large dose of awkwardness and I'm one happy camper. 

Note to self:

If you are really hungry, but don't take a lunch because you have to make a bunch of calls before you leave work and (in any case) you want to horde your precious shekels for a pair of Aladin pants, then finally make it home light-headed and quickly snarf 2 pita (which are more like plates because you left them out and they got really hard--but you are too hungry to care about such things) and large amounts of humus you are probably going to feel really really sick afterwards. 

Becoming

Today was a breakthrough. I had my first truly Israeli conversation. I mean, sure, i've had conversations in Hebrew, but I'm still an American speaking Hebrew. But today, even if it was for just a moment, I was Israeli. 

The conversation went something like this:

Nitzan (annoyed): Where were you this morning?

Me: I was at the Ambassador's Residence. Working.

Nitzan: Where's Karen?

Me: I don't know. What do you think, I'm her mother?

I felt so Israeli.