The journey of a thousand miles...

Cutest Monster in the World

2011-11-09T17:00:00.002-05:00

This is my adorable little Monster, who will destroy you with cuteness:

Awesome shark cake!

2011-08-02T11:45:00.001-05:00

How Now, Everyone

2008-01-15T16:30:00.000-05:00

Hi there, and welcome back to ririaroundtheworld. After nearly a year of travel just back and forth to London, I'm back to somewhere interesting!

I'm in Nigeria for a week, working on a proposal - so far, it's a bit odd. Abuja is a planned city, and the seat of government, so it doesn't feel all that alive. All the streets are wide and often tree-lined, and there is a lot of new construction. It actually feels a bit like southern Florida - as though it's been carefully plotted out - I wouldn't be shocked to see a golf course around a man-made lake in the next 5 years.

On the other hand, I'll be going to Lagos for the day on Thursday - a big, roiling, unplanned city. Stay tuned, and I'll keep you all updated....

Not so exciting, really

2007-09-05T14:35:00.000-05:00

Hello again, and apologies for the very long hiatus. After months of shuttling back and forth between London and DC (yes, it sounds very glamourous, but you try doing it in seat 37D), I've finally settled down in London for the next few months. So, to kick off my adventures here, a list of what I've done so far:

1. Gone to Ikea. Several times. I might go back again this weekend. Some of you (you know who you are) are giggling, if not outright laughing, at this. Just because I've switched continents doesn't mean the love affair has ended, people!

2. Made a windowbox. It's quite pretty, with mint (for tea) and purple phlox. What I didn't realize, though, is that potting soil? It's heavy. Last weekend I went up to Camden (a neighbourhood that bears more exploring) to the garden centre, bought all my supplies, paid for them, and then thought, "well, crap. I don't have a car." So I carried them home on the tube. In retrospect, I appreciate the humour of the situation. I will never replicate it.

3. Made banana bread. And in the process discovered that I had bought what I thought was sugar, but is actually HALF-sugar, with artificial sweeteners. Luckily, I discovered this before measuring it into the recipe. And don't get me started on my accidental purchase of "low sodium salt substitute." It was sitting right next to the salt! Who are the people that buy these things?

4. Got mistaken for Irish. By a gigantic bouncer at a snotty club. It was quite nice, except I had to say, "well, probably not since 1875 or so," since I've long since lost the ability to do an Irish accent. Sigh.

5. Eaten copius amounts of Indian food. I thought I hated it, but really, I was wrong. I would eat it all the time. There's a new place that just opened down the block, and I'm determined to try it this weekend. Mexican food, now that's another story.

6. Been asked for directions at least 3 times. For those who know I track this phenomenon, I'd just like to note that my strange attractiveness to lost tourists continues.

Other than that, I've just spent a lot of time exploring various parts of central London. As I manage to get further afield, I'll be sure to post any story-worthy adventures.

Heart of Brightness

2007-03-25T15:44:00.000-05:00

Good evening, Intrepid Readers! Greetings from London. As many of you may know, I've just returned from a week in Liberia (sorry not to have written, not a great internet connection, and very little free time). I'll have to give updates in person, but I'll describe some of the highlights here. One thing to bear in mind: if you took a picture of Haiti, and one of Liberia, and laid them next to each other, you'd think, "These countries are the same."

Well, in terms of the poverty, and squalor, and the general dilapidation left over from decades of civil unrest, you'd be right. But whereas a week in Haiti makes you start to question whether there's much hope in the world, a week in Liberia makes you want to jump in and get working at making things better.

And now, without further ado, here are the highlights:

1. Ex-Presidential Security. When driving back from the airport on our first night, we got into a discussion of the use of the secret service for ex-Presidents. When we asked the driver what they do for them in Liberia, he replied, "We don't have ex-Presidents. We kill dem." Stellar.

2. Best shop name ever (ok, Erbil might rival this, but...): Nookie's Enterprises

3. Best piece of heavy equipment: When the UN moves into a place with no infrastructure, they use something called a "bailey bridge," essentially, a lego-like metal structure that can be plopped into place to serve as a bridge until something permanent can be built. The cool part is that they way they get it across whatever span they need is with a launcher. Yes, that's right. Not only are there portable bridges, but there is a specialized piece of heavy equipment that LAUNCHES them into place. Awesome.

It's already 10pm in London, and I've still got some work to do, so I'll keep this short, but I'll add more soon.

Ah, Ye Imperial Masters

2007-01-08T15:55:00.000-05:00

Greetings from London! Yes, I've actually gone somewhere nice for a change. The only thing is, this is the only place in the world where I get reminded that I'm one of the poor colonial relations! I don't think I've ever been here when the exchange rate is this bad, and even though I'm not spending my own money, it's still kind of horrifying to pay $4 for a cup of coffee (literally, just drip coffee...)

Incidentally, I broke my previous record, and was asked for directions before even leaving the airport. Fortunately, I DO know the fastest way into the city, so that worked out OK. In any event, my day really had no good stories attached to it, so I'll keep this brief. Actually, I also haven't slept in about 48 hours, for a whole host of silly reasons, so now I think I'm going to crash.

Gnawing it off at the elbow

2006-10-23T16:24:00.000-05:00

Well, the title of this post was going to be "Biting the hand that feeds you," but I didn't think that was quite appropriate. I needed a bit more extremism.

I'm back in the US now, after spending 4 days in Amman, rather than 1. Why? Because Israel wouldn't let me cross the border. Oh, yes, that's right. That day, they turned away a bunch of people with American passports that were trying to go to the West Bank. Among them, me - with my travel letter on US government letterhead, and a French guy who works for UNICEF.

Yup, that's right. UNICEF. Because everyone knows that the safety and security of the world is put in jeopardy by UNICEF.

I'm actually too angry to write about this yet, but someday, I'll describe it all in great detail. Preferably in a major newspaper. Or on CNN. Just wait.

The Ubiquitous Gulicks

2006-10-11T14:55:00.000-05:00

Weird event of the day . . . nothing much was going on today, and I stayed home tonight to do laundry. State and Main was on one of the movie channels – it’s definitely weird to be sitting in a foreign country and see your relatives’ names scroll by during the credits! There was a plethora of Gulicks in the prop crew of that movie, and rightly so!

Tomorrow, I’m headed to Tel Aviv to spend the weekend with a friend of mine who just got posted there. She the first of the bunch to actually be called into the Foreign Service, and it’ll be interesting to talk to someone on the other side of the policy line.

Anyway, all is quiet here – I may come home a few days early, since it doesn’t make sense to try to work during Eid. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy my weekend on the beach, and try not to think about everyone who’s not allowed to go.

Next week, we're planning to go to Amman for a day (and a night, since the border closes at 1pm, so you can't go back the same day), so hopefully that will yield an uneventful border crossing and some interesting Jordanian adventures. Stay tuned...

Fast Car

2006-10-06T15:29:00.000-05:00

Last night, after a party at Mohammed's house, we headed out into the city. Everyone here drives like a crazy person, which makes the trip out exciting, to say the least. People zip confidently around the narrow streets and traffic circles, and up and down the steep hills. No one ever seems to hit anything (or each other) though, which makes me a little less nervous as we careen around town.

We went out to a bar called Zan, which is very low-key, with lots of little tables, and an outdoor patio. As we drank our Heinekins, and I managed to follow most of the conversation, I realized that the guy sitting next to me was humming a song I know. Then I realized that the bartender had changed the CD, and that Tracy Chapman was the score for the evening.

At first, I thought, "How weird. I never hear her anywhere but the US. She barely exists in Europe." And then, as I really listened to the lyrics I've known since I was a kid, and my parents had the record, I realized how relevant these songs must seem. Her album is full of songs about change, revolution, escape to a better life.

As much as I like it here, I have an automatic escape route - an American passport and an airline ticket. If I didn't, maybe I'd be listening to Tracy with a different set of ears.

Condi Pays a Visit

2006-10-04T12:05:00.000-05:00

Condoleeza Rice came to Ramallah today - I didn't see her, just her motorcade as it went by my apartment. She's here to show support for Abu Mazen, but the overarching sentiment here was, "why did she bother to come here?" A great deal of this sentiment stemmed from the fact that she just met in Cairo with other Arab leaders about the Palestinian situation, but didn't invite a Palestinian representative. Hm.

Meanwhile, I learned something interesting about security today - it's obviously dangerous for the US Secretary of State to travel to Ramallah. There were security forces along the route to Fatah headquarters, although we could still walk down the road (with our large bags, which happened to be filled only with books and gym clothes, but still...). The intersting part is that CNN reported the meeting at the wrong time. Rather than showing the live news live, the report came at 5pm that she was headed into Ramallah for the meeting. In reality, I watched her motorcade leave Al-Bireh (sort of a suburb of Ramallah the way that Cambridge is to Boston) at approximately 4:30. I'd say that's far more effective than 30 guys with guns.

Whether her visit was as effective as her security? Well, that's the most unlikely prospect of all.

The News from Ramallah

2006-10-02T06:05:00.000-05:00

Just a quick update, for anyone who’s reading the newspapers or watching CNN today, and has started to worry. First things first, I’m fine, as is everyone I know over here. Now, on with the news.
Background: Since Hamas was elected, everyone in the West Bank and Gaza who works for the government has not been paid (apart from a cash transaction by Haniyeh earlier this summer), because the vast majority of government salaries are paid out of a combination of donor money and VAT revenues. The donor funding has been curtailed, and Israel has not made any VAT transfer payments, and the workers have not been paid.

Current situation: Yesterday, the deteriorating wage and labor situation, coupled with tension in the government, led to an armed clash in Gaza between the security forces of the two main political parties, Hamas and Fatah. Dozens of people were injured, and nine killed. In Gaza, this continues today. In the West Bank, where I am, there have been isolated incidents of violence, but nothing like the scale in Gaza. There is a general strike today, so we left work early, and are working from home to stay safe and out of the way.

I think that’s the bulk of the news from Lake Woebegon – I’ll keep you updated if anything new happens. For more info about what’s going on, and background, Al-Jazeera has the most coverage, and their English-language website is:
http://english.aljazeera.net/HomePage

An interesting mental exercise for everyone who needs something to ponder today... Picture this situation, but in Washington, DC. There are thousands of government workers, none of whom has been paid since early Spring. The Bush administration has been on strike, as have transportation and health care workers (you can't, therefore, use the metro or go to the hospital). Imagine, then, how long it would take before people decided that they were fed up, and you'd be surprised how much restraint everyone here has shown.

Hamdi, the gay Palestinian donkey

2006-09-28T18:31:00.000-05:00

I went out again tonight (seriously, they tell you Ramadan is boring, but in reality, it means the day is boring, and then nobody goes to bed before the morning), to watch a youth dance troupe – they’re actually sort of an elite political dance group, and the kids are in training to be part of the professional troupe when they turn 18. I was a little skeptical when this event was described to me, but they were very, very good. Good enough that I could read the story of each dance, even without understanding the words or political significance of the music. As an added bonus, Senor Morelo, the Venezuelan government representative, was also in attendance for the evening.

After the performance, I went with Mohammed and his brother to their apartment with a few friends, and got into a very long, involved discussion of world politics while drinking cheap red wine. Some things are, apparently, universal. However, the discussion then switched to livestock. In particular llamas, and their use by the Israeli army, which everyone found funny. But if you talk about pack animals, you can’t avoid Hamdi, who is Ahmad’s cousin’s donkey.

Now, the family bought this donkey, a good, strong, weight-carrying male donkey, to avoid any problems with donkey mating and other nonsense. To their chagrin, Hamdi showed a strong propensity to mount any nearby male donkeys. "So much for avoiding the nonsense," they thought.

In a flash of brilliance, one of the kids decided to rename Hamdi, and now he's happily continuing his alternative donkey lifestyle with the new moniker Tootsie.

Put it in my (Mossad) file

2006-09-28T18:27:00.000-05:00

Hey all - sorry for the delay - slow, slow internet connection! Meanwhile, on with the story...

Oh, more fun at Ben Gurion Airport. I hope my father and both grandfathers don’t mind that they’re now on file with the Israeli authorities... I was, frankly, a little insulted that they didn’t want to know who my mother and grandmothers were. In the course of my interrogation, I wound up having to explain the US government proposal process, which is complex enough that I run a 2-day training on it. Then try articulating that complexity to people who don’t really speak English, and it takes a good 45 minutes. I, apparently, am lucky, though, as one of our other staff was in there for 6 hours. Eugh.

We took the longest “shortcut” back to Ramallah from the airport – it’s a back way past some settlements, which means you don’t have to go through a checkpoint. Keep the settlers happy, I suppose. It strikes me as quite ironic that, after being detained in the airport and driving half an hour out of the way to avoid the Wall, you can cross the border without so much as winking at any security. That’s what I call consistency.

Ramallah is the same as always, but more tense, and with more traffic lights (I’ve counted five so far, up from one last time). It’s Ramadan right now, which means that the work day is shortened, and there aren’t a whole lot of restaurants and things open. We went out last night, to a place called Stones, which wasn’t our usual haunt last time, but I liked it. Good mint lemonade, lots of multilingual conversation (you’d be surprised how often I wind up speaking French), and the sweet shisha smell.

Tonight is a dance performance, followed by more going out, and although I’m working tomorrow even though it’s “Saturday,” I’m sticking around the apartment, and I’ll be able to shake off my jet lag.

Here I Go Again

2006-09-18T13:36:00.000-05:00

It's looking more official - I'll be heading back to Ramallah for about a month o/a September 26th. Stay tuned for a return to blogging. In the meantime, I've started a new blog, http://ophelianicworld.blogspot.com to keep me occupied with world events. Take a look!

Next up: A return to the Middle East?

2006-09-07T12:50:00.000-05:00

I may be heading back to everyone's favorite region soon, so here's a heads-up that posting may start. I've only been traveling domestically lately, so this will be the first trip abroad in about 6 months. Stay tuned...

urrrrgh

2006-03-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

I am nauseous. I have been nauseous all day. I've also been riding around in the car on smoggy streets for the last 2 hours. I am not a happy camper. That is all.

La Gloire de la Loi

2006-03-16T17:51:00.000-05:00

Today, we visited the government, in all its glory and construction.

The Primature sits up on top of a hill in Petionville, with landscaped grounds and a fountain (albeit dry). The building was built by a former police commissioner, M. Prospere, in the 1930s. It's a grandiose blend of Italian villa and American plantation. Inside, you can see some evidence of wear and tear - the chandeliers are missing some of their crystals, not all of the lights turn on. Regardless, the impression is one of opulence (friezes on the walls, statues from Italy, the aforementioned chandeliers). After meeting for about half an hour, we left to go down and visit the Parliament.

We wound our way down the hill (you can look up the hills around Port-au-Prince and watch the wealth gap widen) into the downtown, through the Haitian equivalent of the automile on the wrong side of the tracks, past tiny shops dealing only in secondhand sheet metal and pay-by-the-pound clothes shipped over from the US, staring longingly at the snow-cone carts (we antibacterial Americans affectionately refer to them as "cones of death") roaming up and down the ruts in the street. All the while, it was a tumult of people dodging traffic, traffic dodging dogs, and dogs failing to dodge traffic. We wormed our way over the potholes (cauldron-holes, maybe) and through to the other side, where we finally arrived at Parliament.

On first glance, you could miss it entirely. There is a "Palais Legislatif" that sits facing the American Embassy (ironic, that, for you IRI members reading this), the showpiece of the legislature. Around the back of the block, and across the street is the Senate office building. It's wedged between the Cuban Embassy and a copy shop, and has been gutted for renovations. We walked inside (not a place I should have worn open-toed shoes, but...), and up the stairs, ducking to go through doorways, and sliding over debris. The government of Haiti is valiantly trying to refurbish the building before the parliament sits (probably in late May), but they have a herculean task ahead of them. The Augean Stables have nothing on the Haitian Senate.

The interesting thing? There is really no office space for the legislators. If you're appointed one of the leadership positions, you get an office. Think about it this way - imagine Capitol Hill if it was plonked down in the middle of Southeast DC, and only Dick Cheney and Harry Reid had offices there. They've rented out an old apartment building, and there's only one bathroom. Would you want to go visit your congress? All the other legislators have offices in their districts, but not in the capital. There's only one conference room, and the library is about the size of an elementary school classroom, with an archive off to the back. There is no money for computers, let alone a network. There's one broken microfilm machine. All of the senators will share a pool of adminstrative staff and researchers, who will all sit in three rooms, along with the accountants.

It makes me take a hard look, both at our goals for this project, and at the resources we spend on our government at home. We have invested so much over the years in the resources available to Congress that we have, perhaps, forgotten how to ask our legislators to get their hands dirty (and I don't mean in an Abramoff kind of way). On the other end of the spectrum, the Haitian legislature will sit for the first time in years, and will have a huge mandate with no resources. Instead, they'll have to answer to the people, and to the voices from the mansion up on the hill, and try their damnedest to make a change.

In the day you can see the children playing
On the road that leads to those gates of hardened steel
Steel gates that completely surround sir
The mansion on the hill
- Bruce Springsteen

Hunka Hunka Burnin' Trash

2006-03-15T20:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I finally saw the Haiti that people think I'm seeing. It's hard to say, "Ah, yes, it's so hard to be here, I had to meet with so many members of parliament. Woe is me!" without feeling at least a little bit hypocritical. I didn't want to hop around the world just to meet the luminaries, and usually I don't. This trip is a bit different.

We've been meeting with people, mainly in our hotel, or in their offices in Petionville (the richest town in Haiti), because the overwhelming majority of political players live here. It's interesting, though, when we talk to people who are running for office from another area, the difference in their perception of the issues. The people in Petionville? They say corruption is a problem, and that there needs to be a better enabling environment. The people from the city? They say food. Without enough food, we can't do anything. Their children only get one meal a day, and it's hard to see the big picture when you're hungry. As someone said yesterday, "We have to fix this from the ground up. Reaganomics won't work here, because the wealth doesn't trickle down, it trickles out."

We went down to the USAID/Embassy complex yesterday to meet with the requisite functionaries; all fine, but it definitely gave us a chance to see the city. The one thing I can say for the Embassy, they actually put themselves downtown, not up in the hills where it's all pretty and green. After an hour in the car, stuck in traffic - that would be over an hour to go literally 10 miles - we got out, went to our 20 minute meeting, and got back in the car. The streets downtown are so narrow that the cars (when two can fit on the street) careen around each other like bumper cars with no bumpers. We wound our way through the narrow streets, hanging on for dear life, past burning piles of trash by the side of the road. I'd never seen a smoldering pile of garbage before, actually. You don't get that so much in the Middle East.

Interestingly, Wyclef Jean has an NGO called Yele Haiti that employs people to pick up trash. Simple, but effective, when the gov't can't do it by itself. And now, it's time for dinner. A bientot!

"Everyone, Sit Down!"

2006-03-13T18:39:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how, by just sitting in meetings all day, you can become exhausted. My first official meeting (i.e., not our DAI staff) of the day was conducted entirely in French... Quebecois-ish French, no less. About mechanisms to strengthen the relationship between the legislative and executive branches of the Haitian government. I think I really need to take a class full of political vocabulary and colloquial construction, but after that meeting, I realized that I was starting to think pieces in French. Going over my notes tonight, I had mixed up pieces of French into the English when I couldn't switch out fast enough to think of the right word. I wasn't expecting to act as translator today, but it worked out alright - better than I expected.

Meanwhile, today's description of Haiti. I woke up early - 7am - and looked out the window, where the sky was fading to a deep blue, and little clouds scudded across the tops of the mountains. If I held my breath, ignored the gashes on the hillside, and the walls surrounding our hotel, I could imagine this place as paradise.

That's the catch, though. We're here, in a hotel that's nothing short of luxurious (although you still can't drink the water), but flying in over Cite Soleil, you see the "real" Haiti. The corrugated tin shacks, barely four walls and a roof, clustered in a surprisingly ordered maze of dirt tracks around the edge of the land, as if the city, the country, is trying to use geography to advantage and eventually just let it slip over the edge and into the shallows. As you fly lower, you can see the gullies that, this time of year, are dry and filled with garbage, the streets that have no cars (their inhabitants can't afford them, can't get out), the roofs filled with holes, the streets devoid of electric and telephone poles. As a foreigner, you don't just fly over Cite Soleil, you fly right past it, and keep on going.

Around the rest of the city (at which we drive at breakneck speed, dodging potholes, sink holes, and the fleet of crazy drivers), there is infrastructure. Broken down, worn out, hastily repaired, but visible. I sat at dinner last night, ensconced in a little restaurant with a roof made of vines, with an ex-senator and his chief of staff (our guide). Our conversation, although it started with Haiti, moved on to the entire world. As I chewed my cabri (yes, goat - kind of chewy, but good - like lamb mixed with venison), we ranged from the Kyoto protocols to the shrimping industry, piracy, Iran's nuclear capacity, and West African folk music.

I didn't want to break the mood, the little corner of magic, and turn us back to reality, but through dinner the words of the man next to me on the plane were haunting me. I had told him that we were coming to learn about the government, and to do a project to strengthen the parliament. He said, "Haiti is like an airplane with no seats. Everyone is on board, waiting to take off, but then the pilot says, 'Everyone, sit down! We cannot take off until you sit down!' and they all try, but where will they go? That's what we need - we need the government to build us some seats so we can take off."

Ayiti Encore

2006-03-12T17:15:00.000-05:00

Salut, tous -
Je suis arrivee! Interestingly enough, coming here a second time doesn't seem nearly as bad as the first. Maybe I've just become conditioned to being in desolate places, but what was shocking before seems mundane this time around.

Our drivers mixed up the time at the airport, so we had to negotiate for a taxi (managed to find people with uniforms, name tags, and a labelled cab for those of you who worry at this) - two years ago, that would have been incredibly scary. This time? I figured I'd try my hand at bargaining, managed to get a decent price, and had a nice chat with the driver (in French) on our way up the hill. I probably could've gotten something cheaper, but I'd rather take the above-board company than one of the unmarked 1995 Landrovers.

So we've made it to the hotel - I'm a bit exhausted, having woken up at 4 this morning, but I'll manage through the meeting I have in 10 minutes, have some dinner and watch Gray's Anatomy. That's right, folks - I'm finally in a country where the time zone and the TV channels are the same. Yikes, it's all a bit too luxurious for my taste!

Anyway, stay tuned - I'll be posting regularly this week, most likely to complain about the food...
Ooop! Power just went out. Something to get used to again.

A bientot...

Return to the Caribbean

2006-03-02T09:49:00.000-05:00

Hello, everyone - back from my long traveling hiatus (I decided that lying on a beach in Mexico didn't really constitute blog-worthy travel) - I'll be headed to Haiti again during the second week of March.

This time, it'll be a whirlwind trip, but it should be interesting. We'll be doing research about the Haitian legislature - in the run-up to the second round of parliamentary elections, we'll be trying to get a handle on how many members of parliament will be rookies, what kind of training they'll need - everything from finding the bathroom to computer training, to parliamentary procedure.

So, stay tuned - assuming I have email access (theoretically, we do, although it tends to be intermittent), I'll post my adventures here.

The Great Lemon SNAFU

2005-10-15T13:54:00.000-05:00

Things in Kurdistan that are only funny if you speak English:

1. The local Communist party has translated their name into the "Kurdish Toilers' Party." We think they meant "labor" or "workers," but hey, maybe they're just trying to one-up all the other labor parties.
2. In the grocery store the other day, there were all these big metal containers marked "semen" in big capital letters. It took me a good 30 seconds of horror to realize it's a brand of olive oil. Then, of course, I was the tall redheaded girl giggling to herself in the middle of the store. Ah, well.
3. There's a local used car dealership that's actually called "Shady Used Car Dealers." Again, probably more true than they wanted!

So, to rapidly change the subject, today I decided, "hey, we have lemons, we have eggs - I'm going to make a lemon meringue pie!" All was going well, the ingredients were mixed, I apparently have a talent for making meringue, when I looked down and thought, "huh, this sugar isn't really melting all that well." I stuck my finger in to taste it, and found out that, contrary to my assumption, the unmarked tupperware container in the kitchen was NOT sugar. Oh, no. I had put 1 and 1/3 cups of SALT in my pie.

In case you were wondering, lemon custard filling is NOT something to which one can add salt and still have an edible end product. I have never tasted anything worse in my life, as far as I can remember. Imagine drinking a combination of seawater and lemonade, but in a semi-solid form. Revolting.

I wrote a note to our cook's assistant, asking if he'd bring eggs tomorrow (actually, since my arabic is limited, it said, "tomorrow, eggs we have? thank you.") so I can try again. Maybe I can redeem myself and make something that tastes good. On the plus side, I also made rattatouie and roast beef, and those were quite good.

This is what you do when you're all stuck in the house all day long - we couldn't even go to work today, we just sat around the dining room table with our laptops. Meanwhile, despite all the drama on the news, it was silent up here. Not even any sporadic gunfire, which isn't all that uncommon.

Also, if you've emailed me in the last few days, and are wondering why I haven't emailed you back, it's because my email is doing this lovely thing where I can receive mail, but can't seem to send it. Stellar.

Hunkering Down

2005-10-12T13:33:00.000-05:00

I got to go to the grocery store yesterday - my first time out, albeit with a small man with a kalashnikov, but still. OUT. Sigh. It's hard to be cooped up, gym or no gym. When I go up on the roof, it's almost like being free. I don't have to cover my head here (even if I did, I'd still be at least 6" taller than everyone else, and wearing western clothing), but sometimes I think it might be nice - it's HOT here. Keeping the sun off my head and face would be welcome.

For the next four days, we're all under curfew and lockdown, because of the referendum. No one's allowed to go out between 6pm and 4am, and the only place we can even think about going is the office. There will also be checkpoints everywhere. The silver lining is that we somehow wheedled a reprieve out of the powers that be, and we don't have to go to work until 10am.

It's funny, because I don't really go anywhere else, anyway, but having it written in stone makes it a little harder to swallow. I'd far rather it was written in strawberry syrup, or something.

I decided not to take a full-time position here, at least not right now. There are too many loose ends back in the US that I'd rather not leave dangling. And besides, I don't think I can spend my days doing USAID approvals - I'd keel over from sheer boredom. I'd think about coming back for a longer stint, sometime, though. Keep all my options open? I suppose that'll put a damper on my boss' diabolical plan to marry me off. Ah, well.

At least someone finally bothered to report this...

2005-10-11T07:53:00.000-05:00

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/10/10/AR2005101001680.html

Continental Tupperware

2005-10-10T09:11:00.000-05:00

On the 13th, they'll be sealing the Iraqi border in preparation for the referendum. Can't say I'll be thrilled at the prospect of being sealed on the inside, but... It does raise one question - how on earth do you seal the border of a country? I mean, sure, you can keep all traffic on the roads from passing through, but what about the miles and miles of uninhabited places? You can close a border, officially, but who has the manpower to actually enforce that? What it means for us, though, is that we'll be sealed in our house, which will be sealed in our governorate, which will be sealed in the country, with sealed borders. It's like the nesting sets of tupperware you can buy for $5 at Ikea. Here's hoping the tops don't pop off.

It's actually quite relevant to all the discussions that are going on at the WHO about bird flu - the other woman in our house was at a WHO conference a week and a half ago, and they were talking about methods of quarrantining entire countries. I don't know how effective that would be, but it sounds like a herculean effort. It also seems like the countries that have the most effective means of sealing their borders are also the ones that would have the most effective means of containing an internal outbreak. Mom, any thoughts on that one?

I don't really have many stories to tell today - I suppose that's a good thing, quite frankly. I'm enjoying the work out here - it's a lot more writing than I would normally have a chance to do, and I think I've learned more in a week and a half than I have in the last 6 months. It's exhausting, but it's nice to finally stretch my brain a little after doing the same thing for a year and a half. I've gotten so used to my job at home that I hardly need to think about it any more (or, at least not in a challenging sort of way). Doing something new, that I've just barely managed to get my head around, is a luxury.

It Takes a Village

2005-10-06T03:05:00.000-05:00

Life here is beginning to feel more normal - I'm living "The Real World: Erbil" in a house with 5 men over the age of 50 (one is 72), and one 65 year old woman. It's like being with a set of grandparents and several uncles. We all eat dinner together, and then watch movies, play cards, or sit up on the roof. One of the guys, Claudio, brought back two bags of gummy bears, so I'm a happy camper.

It's Ramadan now, which means life here has slowed down, a lot. We still work the normal hours, but all of our local staff leave at 3. It gives me a good chance to sit down and organize my life without anyone asking anything of me. I think I'm starting to find my footing re: actually doing my work, which is good, since I was a bit out of my depth for the first few days. I can't wait for tomorrow - it's our day off (we work a 6-day week here, which amounts to about 60 hours/week, because there's so much to do) - I can sleep in! And I hear that tomorrow someone is going to make pancakes.

It's poker night tonight - I need to get me a cheat-sheet, I think. I can't remember what trumps what. I need someone else (or 3 someone elses) who want to play spades!

It's funny how much smaller my world has gotten, while at the same time I'm exploring such a larger one. I only interact with the same 50 people, and live with six. It's almost as though I live in a tiny village in the middle of a big city. We sit up on the roof at night, and as the sun sets, it reflects off the mountains to the East. I realized I don't even know what the mountains are called! I've moved back in time, apart from the wireless internet and satellite tv, to where my existence is local. Washington makes you feel as though you can open your eyes and see the rest of the world right in front of you. From this vantage point, I've suddenly become nearsighted. I'm thinking only of what my little tribe of agricultural economists, cartographers, agronomists, and veterinarians are doing. If I expand my horizons, I see the guards and the cooks and the drivers*

Even the war feels remote, here. There are occasional gunshots, but they're usually so far away that they sound like popcorn popping. Speaking of which, we have bags of popcorn (the old kind, not the microwave kind) - I'm tempted to try my hand at poping it in a pot, and see what happens.

I've been told I need to learn to be more flexible, to take things as they come, and stop trying to make so many plans. If ever I needed to learn that lesson, this is the way. I don't think that, two years ago, I could have come here and done this. Good grief, maybe I'm growing up.

*in case you're curious, we have the cooks and drivers as part of creating jobs, not because we so like to have someone make us noodles and cheese and spirit us around in armored cars... also, since we can't go out, really, it'd be pretty hard to go grocery shopping without them.

Can you do my taxes, Mr. Kalashnikov?

2005-10-03T12:03:00.000-05:00

War defines Iraq. Here in Irbil, gunfire is rare, sporadic. Suicide bombers find fallow land for sympathy. But every morning, when we get a security update, we hear about the rest of the country. How half of Baghdad is being held by the insurgency, how many people were killed or captured (or set free), what our own little threat level is for the day. If we go anywhere (which is rare), we are guarded.

But the definition of our guards is fuzzy. Our accountant, who is known colloquially as "Ahmed Kalashnikov," was a guard, until someone found out that he was a CPA, in another life. I can't help but wonder who else's identity has been altered by the need to carry a gun.

The weirdest part is not that our guys carry guns, but that no one seems to think it's strange. Like Ahmed Kalashnikov, the Kurdish provinces have defined themselves in a context of defense. And the people my age, here - how many of them were lost during the genocide? One of our guards looks like he could have been my year in college - what does he think of the fact that he's still here, when his cohort was decimated? I don't think it's a question I could ask, even if I spoke Kurdish.

My Arabic skills, limited though they are, do come in a bit handy here. People don't generally speak it, but if you're talking about food, or need to get a simple point across with someone who doesn't speak English, it works okay. And everyone seems delighted that I speak it. My little bit of Spanish is coming in handy, too, as quite a few of our staff are Bolivian. One of them asked me today how long I had been taking Spanish classes. Since the answer is "never," I'll take that as a compliment.

Now, if only I could learn some more Kurdish and talk to that cute guard. Apparently, my type is not, as we had thought "tall, dark, and arrogant," but "tall, dark, and arrogant oppressed people who carry guns." Right.

Oh, and by the way, don't bother watching CNN. We come home every day and heckle whoever's talking and getting the facts wrong. Last night, they even got the TIME wrong in Iraq. That doesn't inspire much confidence in their powers of investigative journalism.

Skydiving

2005-10-01T14:34:00.000-05:00

I've arrived. No worse for the wear, although my travel high has started to wear off, and I'll be falling asleep shortly, I expect (only to wake up, of course, at some ungodly, jetlagged hour). We begin the day at 4 am in Amman. Four AM?? Oh, yes. You see, I happened to arrive in Amman on the night that the clocks change back from daylight savings time. Except I missed the memo. So, rather than sleeping through until 5 am, I was up and, if not perky, at least conscious. Until I realized that I had an entire hour left to sleep.

So, without much drama, I eventually headed down to check out, where I met 5 defense contractors in the lobby. This bunch is a wildly different crew than we AID cohort, and I must admit I had quite a lot of fun having a bunch of large, marine-y men treat me like a princess on the way over to Iraq. Heh. Not quite what I was expecting, frankly.

We all stumbled into the airport in Amman, where we lined up to be weighed and measured (my baggage was not found wanting), and then stood around (there weren't many chairs, let alone water or coffee) for about an hour, when we all piled onto a bus. To go across Amman to the other airport. The one I landed at last night. Right.

Our airline is an NGO, that runs in and out of Iraq - there is only one woman working tickets, check-in, baggage, acting as tour guide, and dealing with the security guards. Through immigration again, passport re-stamped, visa noted, and up to the gate, where out of the darkness of exhaustion, behold! Starbucks has metastacized into the Queen Alia Airport. Ahhh.

Coffee in hand, we trundle down onto the tarmac and board our miniature prop plane. It just about fit all 19 of us, plus the stewardess (sorry, flight attendant) and the pilot (who was, I think, my age). Squinching down into our seats, me next to a man who is about 3 times my size. Now I know why I'm a "small" in body armor. Up steps our flight attendant.

"Excuse me, would any passengers going to Irbil please raise your hands?" Everyone does. "Oh, dear. Well, this plane is going to Baghdad." Um, what?

Off we go, back onto the tarmac, over to another plane about 200 yards away. There, we load our baggage (which has, thankfully, made it this far) onto the conveyor belt. At least I know it's on board, since I put it there myself.... And re-board ourselves. All is quiet until we reach Irbil airspace. The large defense contractor man (Josh), who is now behind me, taps me on the shoulder.

"Did anyone warn you about the landing?" Um. Huh. Oh, crap. I know exactly what he's talking about. When you land in Iraq, you don't come swooping in at a 5 degree angle like you do when you fly into Boston. Oh, no. To mitigate any risk, your plane will approach the airport in the following manner:

1. Point nose to ground at 30 degree angle.
2. Initiate spiral over target airport.
3. Plummet, in said spiral, until nearly at ground level.
4. Cut up sharply, and land, almost like a helicopter (but with runoff) on the runway.

Whew. It's a darn good thing I'm not afraid of flying.

I made it out of the airport, found my way to the driver, and moved uneventfully to the office. I started work about half an hour later, thankfully keeping myself awake. I have not, however, managed to remember more than about 5 of the names of my new co-workers. That's the task for tomorrow, insh'allah.

And after this whirlwind, I end the night sitting up on the roof of our compound, glass of champagne in hand, celebrating the delivery of 169 Turkish seed cleaners to NGOs all over Iraq.

Et In Amman Ego...

2005-09-30T14:28:00.000-05:00

So, after a delayed flight, a nonexistent driver, and a reservation-less hotel, I am now in Amman, Jordan (for the next 7 hours, at least). Amman has managed to set a record of its own - my (impromptu) cab driver from the airport asked me out on the way to the hotel.

I'll give him a little credit for sheer gumption, but when you've been travelling for 26 hours, let's think about things you're willing to consider. Stopping for coffee with a stranger in a city you've never seen at 9:30 pm? Not on the list.

I'm not sure I can handle the 7-hour daytime layover that I had this morning (the lucky and unforseen upgrade to business class, however, I am quite sure I can handle). I fell asleep on the plane to Amman without even realizing it - before we even took off!

In other news, my country clearance came through by email today, so apparently the State Department is A-OK with sending me off to play in Irbil. Way to cut it close, World's Greatest Bureaucracy...

On the detail level, I find it totally weird that Diet Coke is different in Palestine and Jordan. It's "Coke Light" here, and there's a pull-tab, rather than a pop-top. Just in case anyone was curious. Also incidentally, mayonnaise should not be an ingredient in caesar salad. FYI.

And the winner is...

2005-09-30T04:25:00.000-05:00

Greetings from Amsterdam!

Amsterdam, although fairly boring at 7 am (as nothing that anyone goes to Amsterdam for is open yet), has just edged out London! That's right, folks - I was in the city for a grand total of 26 minutes before a lost tourist asked me for directions.

Amsterdam is, however, totally beautiful. Next time I go, remind me to stay a bit longer than 3 hours.

A Goldie Hawn Moment

2005-09-21T04:24:00.000-05:00

So, I'm on my way... I got approval today, and am about to ship off to sunny Irbil. Actually, I've heard that it's beautiful.

My mother doesn't believe me.

Meanwhile, the forces of bureaucracy managed to converge on me, and in one week I spent 2 hours at the passport office, 3 hours at the doctor's office, and a day at jury duty. Stellar. But now I'm legal, immunized, x-rayed (and yes, I don't have TB, to no one's great surprise), and have performed my civic duty for the next two years.

And now, I am headed to a place where (regarding protective gear sizes, at least) "small" refers to anyone under 170 pounds and shorter than six feet tall. Gulp.

More to come soon...

Off to New Horizons?

2005-09-06T05:58:00.000-05:00

Well, I just found out that I might be headed off to Erbil, Iraq, for a few weeks. Most people seem to think I'm crazy. But how can I turn down a chance to go somewhere that I thought would be impossible to access?
Anyway, it would be a long, crazy journey, but one that I can't see myself passing up. Stay tuned, and I'll keep you all posted (pardon the pun)...

Back from the beyond

2005-06-07T08:58:00.000-05:00

I wrote this ages ago, but didn't post it. Today, I felt like closing the loop.

4.29.05
So, I haven't written in quite a while, mainly because I was so angry upon coming through Ben Gurion Airport that I wasn't sure I wanted to put my thoughts up on the web. Suffice it to say that it took 3 hours and a strip search to make it onto my plane. And all the while I wanted to be like "my taxes pay your f*cking salary." Instead, I didn't say a word unless someone asked me a direct question. I can be responsive, but I'm not going to be polite. And someday, when I'm in charge of important things, and refuse to go back, they'll have to begin understanding why.

Coming Home

2005-04-07T06:50:00.000-05:00

Well, I just found out that I'm coming home on Sunday... I'm totally not mentally prepared for this! So much for my new-found flexibility - I need a rigid, well-planned schedule, and this is definitely not it!
More, perhaps, to come. Stay tuned.
And for those of you who are still wondering, no, I don't work for the CIA.

Fraternizing with Fatah

2005-04-05T12:24:00.000-05:00

Well, the feeling of “life here is mundane” has been alleviated a little by the fact that, when we opened up the local paper this morning, our pictures were in the same frame as Qurei, the Prime Minister. That’s right. I’m in the paper. In Palestine. With one of the most well-known figures in the Middle East. Where did this life come from? I'll see if I can get a .jpg of it, and send it around.

We went the launch of the new domain “.ps” – the official Palestine internet domain. It was really interesting, because I came into it thinking, “Um, ok. Great, a new internet domain.” The point, though, had very little to do with the internet, and quite a lot to do with nationalism. The crux of it being that “Palestine” is a concept that is really more mental and emotional than geographic. For a nation with such a tenuous hold on land, the idea of a virtual community is very powerful. An event that would register in the American media with barely a blip became a very real manifestation of Palestinian nationalism.

The entire event also underscored a very interesting fact. This place is very, very small. Everyone knows everyone. “Far away” is two hours by car. One of the guys in the office was talking to me about how rare it is for single women to live alone in Palestine, and I was talking about how, in America, if you live 500 miles from your family, it’s not even really all that “far.” It’s an odd feeling, to see such a closely knit community.

There is no street crime here – you can walk around, and you won’t be mugged. The police spend the bulk of their time directing traffic (the security forces are another matter, but they aren’t running after muggers, either), or so it appears, and even right around the refugee camps (which aren’t actually camps, after this long – they’re more like public housing projects), the problems are poverty and unemployment, not drugs or crime. To be honest, I’m not sure what to make of it.

Here, we have a city that is faded and run down, but safe, on a day-to-day basis. At home, we have beautiful parks, and a shining capital, but places where you can’t get out of your car for fear of being shot. Is there always this dichotomy? How do you find the balance between fighting the outside world, and fighting yourself? Neither Washington nor Ramallah has managed to do that yet.

"I'm not a terrorist, I'm a student!"

2005-04-03T09:18:00.000-05:00

My friend Hamad was talking the other day about how much he likes going to Europe, because he can travel with no one stopping him. "You're more free in my country than I am," he says. And it's true.

He told me a story from a time two years ago when he was in college, and late for a lecture.

'I was on the road headed back to Jenin, and stopped at a checkpoint. The soldier looked at my ID and said, "You are from Jenin. Are you a terrorist?" (Let's just stop here for a second and think about whether that question would have any effect whatsoever, and then continue our story.) "I'm not a terrorist," I said. "I'm a student."
"Pull over there, please."
An hour passed.
The soldier returned and said, "Tell me a story."
"I'm sorry?"
"Tell me a story! When were you born?"
"Ah, 1980."
"Alright, you can go." I never did tell him the story.'

I honestly have no idea what to make of that. I suppose it's what happens when you put children in charge of security.

This one's about politics

2005-04-01T09:12:00.000-05:00

Raise your hand if you’ve ever danced until 2:00 am in a Palestinian nightclub to such old favorites as Ace of Base’s “All That She Wants,” or a remix of “I Will Survive.” From what I can tell, my “date?” last night may actually have been a “Date.” Not entirely sure what that means here, though, particularly as I’m leaving in a matter of weeks. We’ll see if anything gets interesting.

Meanwhile, as you may have read on the news, a group of militants shot up Abbas’ compound on Wednesday night, and then hit a few restaurants in downtown Ramallah. Abbas’ compound is about half a mile away, so we could hear the shooting, but didn’t know what it was about until later. It’s odd – Ramallah’s a pretty quiet place, but all you hear on the news are the pieces like this.

The reaction here? Everyone I know was either nervously frightened, or angry at the people who had caused the shooting. It’s interesting, as the Palestinians are fairly united in their opposition to Israel’s policies (although divided on the means to such opposition), but the question of their relationship with the rest of the world is a bit murky, and the reaction to Abbas’ diplomacy (or capitulation, to some) is divided.

Uniformly, no one likes Bush, and this entire region is, if not angry, then astonished at the way that the Middle East, and the Palestinians in particular, are portrayed in the American media. The EU is more popular, and visible, here. The apartments where I’m staying have the Palestinian flag, the UN flag, and the EU flag. Despite the fact that there are some Americans here, our flag is conspicuously absent, and I find that its lack makes me feel safer. If I’m taken for a Brit while abroad, so much the better. The people I’ve met have nothing against Americans as people, but they do not like our policies, and will tell you so at any opportunity (over dinner, in the cab, etc.). They will, though, be careful to make the distinction between policy and people, which is comforting.

Live, from the land of lemons and incest

2005-03-30T06:41:00.000-05:00

Well, that's a little unfair, I suppose, regarding the incest. But the lemons are accurate.

I was thinking back last night to the spring of 2001, when we performed Motti Lerner's Autumn. Does anyone else remember that wonderful Israeli debacle? It spawned some deliciously multilayered quotes (such as "I said ghetto fabulous, not ghetto ridiculous!"), gave me the chance to smack a few people across the face (acting or not? - always an interesting debate), and gave us cast members a family tree the likes of which has never again been seen (which complemented the theme of incest quite nicely), complete with a violent, pitchfork-induced death scene.

Or the final dress rehearsal (an hour before showtime) where no one could remember how the second act should start? How many costume changes did we go through in a 3-foot square space? Should it always be that hard to push a wheelchair up a ramp?

It's telling, though, that despite all the "drama," this show actually turned into a legitimate piece of theater. No one flubbed a line. We all managed to be onstage for our cues. No one came on stage either barefoot or naked. It's hard to avoid rising to the occasion when the Israeli Ambassador and Izhak Rabin's son are both attending your inaugural (and only) performance. I think I may even have managed to have a nervous breakdown - precipitating the aforementioned pitchfork murder - onstage (which was, incidentally, supposed to happen).

It's a little early in my life for nostalgia, I'll grant you, but it's amazing to me to be living in a place that I once had to conjour up in my imagination. So, hats off to Ephraim and Regina, and to their dysfunctional little piece of Zion. There's a little piece of me, regardless of my politics, that is still trying my damnedest to grow lemons.

The Emperor's New Clothes

2005-03-29T06:17:00.000-05:00

We had an interesting impromptu coffee break this morning, when quite a bit of shooting went on outside, and we all moved into the hallway and away from the windows (essentially, our walls are all windows). Again, no shooting AT anyone, just up in the air. It seems to be one of those occaisions where everyone joins in because everyone else is doing it, and no one wants to tell the emperor he's naked.

Meanwhile, life continues here as normal - we must be in the quietest place in the Middle East.

I had quite a funny thought this morning, as I was riding in the car to work. What kind of desriptive information do you put on a driver's license in a country where everyone has the same coloring? In the US, hair and eye color is the primary descriptor - here, I suppose you'd have to rely on a picture, because saying "he was 5'9" with dark hair" would be about as useful as saying "I saw a guy."

I'm not much feeling like waxing poetical today, but stay tuned.

"Um...these are old."

2005-03-27T13:02:00.000-05:00

Spent yesterday wandering the Old City with Rebecca - very different to see it this time around, because it was actually full of tourists - last time we were there, it was eerily empty. I love wending my way through the suq - it's like being in a cross between Target and Aladdin, with enough medieval memorabilia to fascinate me all day long. I also managed not to buy anything, which is quite a feat in itself.

I realized that I am a bit of a tourist attraction - particularly with little kids (they're more blatant, at least) - people will just kind of walk by and stop and stare at my hair. I'm thinking of dyeing it dark brown, not that I'd really blend in anyway, but...

We went into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which might be one of my new favorite places. It's a collage of different time periods, and different conquerors, each adding a separate piece and separate style so that the entire building is a patchwork of history. As you walk along, even the graffiti is historical - carved into the pillars and walls are hundreds of crosses - marked by the Crusaders! And as you walk through, high on one pillar someone has carved a name (blurred now), and the year 1449.

As you walk through the streets, there are things dating to the Romans, to King Herod, to days and people that I imagine rather than study. It rather puts things in perspective, to see that, despite its age, this city is still alive; it just takes each piece of history, and integrates it into the puzzle of the whole. It makes you wonder a bit what our age will leave behind.

My conservatism shocks us all

2005-03-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

So, finally joined the gym here in Ramallah - I'd just like to mention that it's like 25 times the size of our little one in Bethesda, and has a pool! I just need to find a place in Ramallah to buy goggles.

The interesting part of why it's so big is that they have a co-ed gym, and a separate one for women (sorry, guys - no separate one for you), and the first thing I thought was, "hey, great idea!" I've discovered that I quite like Islamic custom when it's voluntary (as it is here). It's definitely got its advantages, and it's quite nice to be in a place where we girls get to keep a little mystery.

In other news, happy Easter - I discovered that there's a Protestant church two blocks from our office. No word yet on what denomination it is, so I might wind up at Catholic mass (lots of options in Jerusalem, if I get motivated) after all. We shall see. More likely, I'll dye some eggs, and have that be my religious experience for the day.

Meanwhile, settling into life here quite nicely - I think I might actually be starting to have a social life! Stay tuned...

And on a day we meet to walk the line/And set the wall between us once again.

2005-03-24T12:19:00.000-05:00

Odd to be that person reporting from behind a wall. One of my earliest memories, maybe the first time I was really aware of the world outside third grade, is the fall of the Berlin Wall. And now, fifteen years later, I'm here behind another wall, wondering whether anyone will ever learn from the past.

The Mongol hordes breached the Great Wall of China.
The Scots ignored Hadrian's wall.
The Berlin Wall was torn down after 28 years.
There's a "peace wall" in Belfast, which has so far accomplished very little.

"Good fences make good neighbors," they say. And yet, and yet.

A line of concrete snakes across the hills here, casting dark, cement shadows over the dust. I see the shadows from one side of the wall, but when the light is right, they fall on both sides. That's the sharp edge of building walls. No matter how high you build them, you don't just keep things out, you keep them in, and you keep yourself in cloistered shadow.

And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.
-PF

Addendum

2005-03-21T15:24:00.000-05:00

Oh, dear. It starts... two weeks of being here (unmarried), and they want to find me a husband. Apparently, they've even got one in mind. He's got a Green Card! (I think that might have been the selling point?)
How did I get myself into this??
Who knows? At least finding a tall guy w/an angular face here is pretty much as easy as getting 10 points at Skee-Ball.
Do we think my mother would kill me if I brought home a 37 year old Palestinian? Not really thinking it's going to be much of an issue...stay tuned!

Shake what yo' mama gave you

2005-03-21T12:08:00.000-05:00

As I'm in a new place, I figure that I should be open to new experiences (still not going to buy lamb lung from the grocery store, but one has to set limits somewhere). Bearing this in mind, I agreed to go to a dance class at the YWCA last night. Now, those of you who know me well will know that voluntary dancing and I coincide only on certain very rare occaisions, such as New Year's Eve, or 3am at Ben and Eric's house (maybe not so rare, then, but specific).

Well, I decided that I'd been sitting in my apartment doing much of nothing for the past week, so why not give it a shot? I did musical theater! I can learn choreography! Yes! The stage is calling! So, full of the possibility of Fosse-ing my way through life, I came along.

What I didn't realize until I arrived was that there would be no Fosse. Oh, no. This was a belly dancing class!! Taught in Hebrew and Arabic! Luckily, no one else had ever done this either, and most of it is pretty simple - something I can't pronounce is just a ball change (see, I did learn something from Karen while doing Fame!), and quite few of the steps mimic the way you'd move while walking in high heels (ok, so I haven't really mastered that, but...).

You never know - I think I just may be convinced to go back...

"The chocolate coating makes it go down easier."

2005-03-20T13:30:00.000-05:00

When you see the way the sun moves through the clouds here, it's not so hard to imagine why three major religions have their roots in the Holy Land. The writing on the wall? It's written everywhere, in the play of light and shadows.

I managed (of course) to get into a theological debate in the office the other day - what, really, constitutes a miracle? Can there be man-made miracles, or must they be directly at the hands of God? Of course, the validity of the entire debate requires acceptance of the existence of God, which was something I didn't really want to get into, as I don't have an answer.

I suppose it comes down to the way one views the world - is there any fundamental difference between a burning bush and a shining skyscraper? Or between fire and brimstone and nuclear warheads? Perhaps the difference lies not in the physical manifestation of "miracles," but in the wisdom of when to use them.

Speaking of fire and brimstone, did you know that Sodom and Gomorrah are supposed to have been where the Dead Sea is now? In a vaguely related miracle, the Israelis have pulled out of Jericho - I'd like to go back there once a little time has passed, and see whether Lazarus' miracle can be replayed with a town as old as Abraham.

"We get shit from Jericho"

2005-03-15T12:19:00.000-05:00

Just back now from three days at a conference in Jericho (which might officially “open” tomorrow, pending Israeli withdrawal) – it’s sad to see that the place claiming to be the oldest city in the world, where 2,000 year old trees have plaques explaining that “Jesus was here” and a monastery is carved high into the rock on the side of a mountain is now basically a ghost town.
We stayed at a hotel built for tourists back in the early 1990s, which has been maintained, but just, for the past few years (as the proprietor explained, you don’t let a $200 million investment lapse over a little conflict). We were able to come down and see their (closed) casino – it once catered to an average of 6,000 people per day, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. It was eerie to wander in – they had turned on all of the lights and the games, but the only sound other than tinkly slot machine music was the sound of our muffled footsteps on the rug. Luckily, we got a gift upon leaving – a folding beach chair . . . for a cell phone!

Fascinating to hear about the amount of security involved in running a casino – not, I mean, of the “don’t bring your Uzi in here” kind, but of the watching the tables sort. The hotel proprietor started telling us all about how they used to run the resort, and all of a sudden, while talking about the water purification system, his assistant blurts out, “We get shit from Jericho!” Um, what? Turns out the system uses manure for fuel. They used to buy it by the truckload from various farms in and around Jericho.

Meanwhile, my vocabulary of Arabic words is slowly expanding – can’t yet have a conversation (besides “Good morning. My name is Ri. How are you?” And such.), but I can pick out words and phrases from conversation, and can write and count numbers from 1-10. I’ve also become quite good at a game called tarnib, which is something a lot like spades, with a few little variations. Firas, my tarnib partner, is also going to take me to the gym, so I can do something other than sit on my couch after work. Fabulous.

Babies, babies everywhere

2005-03-11T15:54:00.000-05:00

The weekend here is Friday-Saturday, so today was a nice de-stressing day. I went to my friend Yusra's house for a barbecue - it's kind of interesting to see a totally different version of what I think of as "barbecue." But some things were definitely the same - there's still meat, and chicken, and sauce, there's definitely a grill, and a lot of food. Unfortunately, our plans to eat outside were foiled by yet more cold, gray weather, so we had a picnic in the kitchen. Kind of fun, actually.

I've finally begun to understand what all the hapless fiances and significant others feel when they come to our house for the first time - her family is just as big and loud and crazy as mine, and just as full of children. In fact, everywhere I go lately, I wind up holding someone's baby - it's kind of nice, since I don't get too much time with my (gigantic) extended family. Except then they all ask me if I'm married, to which I've developed a lovely, simple stock answer of "Oh, not yet," and then play the "I'm foreign" card. Boy, am I not ready for that...

It's always interesting to walk through Qalandia at night...you'd think that, if they're going to funnel us all through a checkpoint, they'd at least put up a light or two. No such luck, if you're coming back INTO Ramallah...but you should see the line of cars coming out. Even longer tonight than usual...I'd wager at least a few of them won't get out again before the border closes at 10. At least there are dozens of overzealous taxi drivers to take you wherever you want to go - and going all the way across town runs about $2. Pretty nice.

Off to Jericho for the next few days - I'll let you all know what the lowest elevation on Earth is like, when I come back with a desert-induced tan. Lovely.

Overcompensation?

2005-03-10T15:22:00.000-05:00

I wasn't planning on writing more today, but...
We stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work. I was waiting in the car, as I didn't really need to buy anything, eating my new favorite thing (green almonds. they taste like a combination of granny smith apples and raw green beans. it sounds gross, but...), when another car pulls up. No big deal, yeah?
Out jumps a very small man with a very large automatic weapon.
As I'm trying to decide whether to hide behind the dashboard, he runs into the store. I'm riveted, watching to see what will happen - I have a pretty good view of the counter, and can see right into the store.
About 30 seconds later, I see him at the counter.
Then, he buys a coke, jogs out of the store, and drives away.

"They missed that physics lesson"

2005-03-10T05:22:00.000-05:00

Here I am in Ramallah - it seems like it will be far easier to start posting, rather than writing several versions of the same email back home. So, here we go.

It's still raining and cold here - I'm playing a game to see how many times I can wear the same two sweaters over and over again. I'll let you know how that pans out. Meanwhile, the rain did much to disperse whoever it was that was shooting down the street. As Tareq said, "They do that when they're angry, they do that when they have something to say...they shoot up in the air. What goes up, must come down? They missed that physics lesson." There are so many things that someone here might be angry about that we could only guess, standing well away from the windows (in case something came down at an angle), what it might be today.

It's been much easier to move in here a second time - no need to adjust, as it's already been done before. Things are looking up - I found real milk (as opposed to the Buttermilk Saga of earlier this week), a shop I can walk to, and just might have something to do this weekend (apart from writing the Great American Novel, which is the default right now). I've also been introduced to a new fruit. It's like a grapefruit, but about 1.5 times the size. No one knows whether it has a name in English, but we're wagering that it's not a big seller in the US.

I'll be back with more when something happens - as you might have noted, life's not all that spectacularly interesting. But stay tuned - you never know...