Dead to Red

Today was pretty eventful. I:

1. saw about a zillion camels.

2. went to Masada, hurt my foot, and sat staring at tourists for about a half-an-hour.

3. started hating passionately American tourists with loud voices and southern accents.

4. decided people should read much much more

5. got my hair chopped short in a hotel bathroom thanks to my sister, a really great hairdresser who never makes me pay and who I convinced to bring her scissors.

6. touched the Dead Sea. It's really salty.

7. decided to return to Provo earlier than I anticipated. 

We're currently in Eilat, right on the Red Sea and tomorrow we're off to Jordan (where I will ride a camel, if the Fates smile upon me). 

With all that talent, they were bound to be weirdos

I've just come to the realization that there are far too many excellent songs with really weird and slightly creepy music videos. 

1. The Hardest Part by Coldplay. I mean, am I the only one uncomfortable watching this?

2. Somewhere Only We Know by Keane. The music video is, in my opinion *cool,* sorta fairytale like, Big-Fish-esque--that is just up until there are odd glowing little tree alien things staring back at the band. I had seen parts of the music video before but just recently saw the whole thing. I was following them right up until the creepy alien things. They totally lost me there. And then, bam, the music video is over. It's sort of how I felt after watching "There will be blood." I followed right up till then end, enjoying the movie (as much as one can). Then the last minute left me unsettled and staring blankly at the credits with a dropped jaw and a queasy feeling in my stomach.

Okay, I said "far too many" and I only came up with two. I'm lame, I know, but I'm sure there are more. I just can't think of them at the moment.   

Jerusalem continued

So let me continue my story from where I left off while my buttocks were suffering. Geraldine and I had just come back from Al Pasha, a middle eastern food place in Jerusalem. Assad deposited us back at Jaffa Gate where our ghetto hostel was. Little did we know just how ghetto is was going to be.              

We has dropped by earlier in the day to drop some of our stuff in the room and take some pictures of the cool view from the upper levels of the hostel (see below--the Dome of the Rock is just hidden by the building on the right). Staying in the Old City, I figured the ghetto-ness would be a fair trade for such a cool experience. 

So we arrive back around 11:30pm and Geraldine goes back up to the private room that we booked while I stay in the common area on the main floor to use the WiFi and my laptop to retain what little connection I have to the rest of the world. I follow her up a few minutes later t find the door open all the lights off and Gerladine sprawled dejected on the bed. Or at least I think she was sprawled and dejected on the bed. The lights were out, so I couldn't tell. I go to flip on the lights and she announces to me that they aren't working. 

This can't be true, I thought. No way. Not happening. 

I run down and try to find someone that works there or call someone who can put the power back on, but to no avail. The workers had gone home, the pay phone wasn't working, and the hot guy from Paris didn't have a cell phone I could use. I raced to think of the way out--how we could fix this, but it was too late to find another place, the power box was locked shut, and we had no way of contacting the people that worked at the hostel. Geraldine comes down soon and, completely exhausted and a little irritable, we realized to our horror the truths of the moment:  and we were going to have to suffer through the burning hot night with no power and in a sketchy place. 

This is how people die. Or get raped. It's like we were in the first 30 minutes of a scary film. This is where the unsuspecting innocent girls expect fun-loving adventure and instead due to chance and bad luck are placed at the mercy of a psychopathic killer. I could practically hear the creepy music beginning.

We slept with the door open most of the night, which was most awkward for me because anyone who walked by saw only me lying on the bed, while Geraldine was hidden from view. But I was past caring. It was either be exposed to the world or die of over-heating. I chose being exposed.

By the next morning, our anger at the establishment was more muted and we left in reasonably good spirits before the workers arrived at noon or whenever they decided to show up and do their job (that was probably, according to Geraldine, a very American thing to say). I did leave a note on an envelope I found behind the desk detailing our discontent with their establishment. I wanted to say that unless they "want both toe-curling reviews on every website advertising their hostel that would insure that no normal human being stays there again and it to be my personal mission to destroy them," they should refund us the money. But instead, I watered it down considerably and some diplomatic crap like "should you wish to remedy the situation and improve our feelings towards our experience at you establishment..."

I still haven't heard from them. I'm already drafting the most awful reveiw humanly possible. Several actually. I will review their hostel as many times as it takes. As different people. With different experiences. Cockroaches crawling from the shower drain, sewage backing up, serial killers, Islamist terrorists hiding out--I have a few ideas. All I can say is they messed with the sleeping habits of the wrong person.

Maybe I have become a little scary...

Our bathroom. My favorite was a sign above the toilet that said: "Please do not flush tampons, pads or TOILET PAPER down the toilet. Please put them in the trash."

We didn't entirely comply.
The master deluxe private suite at the Jaffa Gate Hostel. 
Okay, so as promised, the camel picture. Assad had taken us to a place where one could get a different view of the Old City. We got their and while Geraldine, awed by the veiw, discussed it with Assad near the ledge, I was mesmerized by the massive camel just hanging out. I take a few pictures when a young American guy comes up to me and asks me to take his picture with it. He said they normally charge for pictures, but the guy with the camel was out cold, snoring in the corner. So we shot a few pics. On the left side of my head, you can see the Dome of the Rock and in the bottom left, you see the Arab Sleeping Beauty. His rest would soon be interrupted when his boss comes and starts yelling at him for sleeping while we were freely taking pictures and playing with his camel. Poor guy.
Completely unrelated picture, but I wanted to post it. Last weekend I went to the Bah'ai Gardens in Haifa and it was amazing. Absolutely breathtaking and the people were real gems. Very calm peaceful people. I love the Bah'ai. 
This is my last blog from the Aroma Cafe on Rehov Sokolov. My parents and my sister V arrive tomorrow morning at O'Dark Hundred (5:30am) and so I'll be all over the place for the next couple weeks traveling. I go to Petra on Thursday and I have to admit, I'm pretty pumped. I hope I get to ride a camel.

The Internet Thief

It's 11:26pm and I'm sitting on a metal bar outside the cafe with WiFi (it is closed) and it seriously smells like pee. My bum is now starting to hurt.

A lack of comfort aside, I figured I'd fill in on the past few days. Last night we stayed at a hostel in Jerusalem that was pretty dang ghetto. But, I figured it was part of the experience. And oh, what an experience it was. 

The hostel was right in the Old City, so we bused into Jerusalem early (from Tel-Aviv) and checked in and threw some stuff in our private room (I'll post pics later, PROMISE). We then went out and roamed the Old City and haggled with the sometimes sleazy dealers at the market. Luckily, we met a really nice guy who was selling gorgeous jewlery from his fathers store. He made Geraldine a fabulous necklace on the spot as I chatted with him in Hebrew/English. After she handed over the mula, he told me how much he liked me and said I could pick out any pair of earrings I liked as a gift from him. Never one to turn down free things, I picked a really nice set of earrings. I love them. Both because they are good-looking and because I tend to love anything free. Especially food.

So we roamed the city and at about 5pm, Assad, a really fabulous Palestinian guy who worked for the US Embassy came and picked us up to take us around. I've talked about him before. He is wonderful. Anyways, he knows the manager of the BYU Jerusalem Center (his old school chum) so he got us a special tour outside of hours. Then he showed us some really cool stuff and I took a picture with a camel (great story I will tell later when I post the pic). We then went to a local arab restaurant which was AMAZING. We were there for about 3-4 hours. No joke. We had a little drama-rama too when a large groups of Assad's friends came in and saw him eating with too very non-arab girls (e.i. us). We got some strange looks. That sat right next to us and listened in (quite obviously) to our conversation. He denied it, but I think he'll have some explaining to do...

Well, I really wanted to go on, but my butt is really hurting from this metal bar. Well, the left side hurts, the right side is basically numb.

WARNING:

This is just an advanced warning to those who are going to see and interact with me in the next few months. Turns out, I've become far more Israeli than I realized. And when I say Israeli, I mean unpleasant.

Geraldine, my Swiss friend, arrived yesterday and it's been a real blast hanging out with her. However, she's alluded to the fact that I've become a little cold and no-nonsense. Being cold and no-nonsense, I really didn't let it get to me.

But that's a lie, because in the end it really did after I though about it. I've come to the realization that in adapting to my surroundings in order to survive, I'm just not quite a sweet and outwardly kind as I used to be. Or rather, I'm more or a jerk. When I first got here, and someone would give me the wrong change at the grocery store, I'd say, ever so sweetly and with a darling little smile, "Excuse me, but I think you owe me five more shekels..."

They would then look at me like I beat puppies just for kicks and not say a single word. I'd then continue, this time showing them my receipt and my change, "See...you gave me the wrong change. I gave you a twenty and..." 

This would continue till I finally got sick of it and left. 

But not too much later, I got wise to the way these people work. The next time someone gave me the wrong change, I got awfully testy and said loudly with big hand motions, "What the heck!?! This is 3 shekels short? Where's my money?"

The cashier quickly and without expression gave me the three shekels. It's not that I was being rude, I was just acting like the rest of the people here. If you don't act that way, people will walk all over you. Seriously, that's the way it is. I learned that quickly and so basically what I'm trying to say, is I'm an even bigger jerk than I was before. So sorry. In advance. I will try and be better, but I'm not going to make any promises. 

So back off.

Coming to you live from a cafe in Ramat HaSharon

So I've actually moved. It's a really long story and I wont get into it, but yesterday I moved into an apartment under Karen's house in Ramat HaSharon, a really happenin' suburb outside of Tel-Aviv. Right now I'm sitting in a cafe using their WiFi. I didn't have to pay to use the internet, but I felt like such a mooch just slapping my laptop down and going to town without so much as purchasing a bite-sized muffin. So I picked the smallest juice I saw and didn't look at the price. A dixie cup full of juice just cost me 16 shekels. That's nearly 5 bucks. Guess, I wont be eating dinner tonight...

So as I sip my very pricey juice, I'll fill you in on what's going on in my very weird life. Let me begin with the apartment. One of the windows doesn't shut all the way and certainly doesn't lock. This is a little unnerving since I will be spending several nights alone in the apartment, though today I will be joined by my Swiss friend, Geraldine Canonica. In fact, I need to get to the airport soon. Actually, come to think of it, I need to figure out first how to get to the airport via the most confusing bus system on the planet. Oi.

So, in any case, I point out the busted window to Ofer, Karen's husband, when he comes down to make sure everything is okay in the apartment. He said, "Oh yeah, that is broken," and then (true to his Israeliness) shut the blinds, then with a huge smile on his face said, "See. All better."

I wasn't convinced that shutting the blinds would keep out thieves, mass-murders, or rapists, but I wasn't about to trample on his hospitality by pointing out his faulty logic.  So if I don't get back to you in one piece, you'll know why.

But other than that, and the mold currently waging war on the bathroom (and winning), the place is pretty great--it has cable. Ofer came and set it up for me. 

Three weeks and counting

Today was a pretty eventful day. I stepped in vomit. 

I was on the bus home from the Israeli Ministry of Interior where I had to extend my visa here in Israel. I had an appointment for 10:30, showed up right on time and made my presence known as there was no one other soul waiting to be seen in the waiting room. they told me they'd call me in as soon as they were ready. I then watched as the three women working in the office surfed the internet and complained about their children and husbands for the next 30 minutes (apparently they didn't realize that there are some American who actually do speak Hebrew). I reminded them of my appointment and sometime after 11:00, one lady finally agreed to process my visa extension. Feeling quite put-out by the way the country is run, I hopped on the bus headed towards my home. I gave my 5.30 shekels to the yarmulke-wearing bus driver and made my way towards the back of the bus.  A whiff of something foul hit my nostrils, but I thought little of it, since buses full of people, especially in foreign countries, tend to be a little on the ripe side (in my experience, at least). I bee-line straight for a large empty space in the middle of the crowded bus. I thought I was so smooth, stealing such a prime spot before someone else could get it. Before I could feel too pleased with myself, a young Israeli soldier pointed at my feet. I looked down and saw my feet in the vomit that was strewn across the floor and across one seat. Suddenly it became very clear why no one was in the big empty space in the middle of the bus. Luckily, there was only a little vomit that ended up on my shoes and I managed to wipe it off on a clean part of the floor. The soldier just sort of stared at me pitifully.

 As I stood there, feeling stupid and on the verge of dry heaving, I wondered what kind of country I was in that would leave a large pile of vomit in the middle of a public bus. People around didn't seem near as disgusted as I. It was just a small inconvenience as it took up space in an already crowded bus. 

Needing reassurance that I wasn't the stupidest person within a 5 km radius, I stood watching as the bus stopped and opened its doors to the unexpecting masses, secretly hoping that someone would daftly step in the vomit just as I had. To my great dismay, of all the 50 or so people that entered the bus before I got off, not one even came near the vomit. It was as though they expected it upon entering. I mean, why wouldn't there be vomit on the floor of a city bus in a Tel-Aviv suburb? It seemed common place and normal. These people were roll-with-the punches kind of people and it made me nervous. 

I had just waited nearly 45 minutes at the whim of the all powerful Israeli visa counselors to get my visa extension approved. The week before, I waited for well over two hours to even get the appointment I had today. All because I want to stay in this country. As I stood in the sweaty, packed bus wreaking of vomit and body odor, I wondered why exactly I did that. Why was I subjecting myself to all this!?!

The doors then opened and I exited the bus and was about to head home when I noticed the fantastic little shwarma/shnitzel place near my home. I smiled recounting all the delicious meals I'd enjoyed there. 

And quite suddenly, all the waiting and even the vomit became worth it. Man, I love schnitzel.