Nablus

Buying spices

Kind of freaky, no? Posters commemorating individuals killed fighting the occupation--with pictures of council members in the background of the posters. Mustafa explained that families, neighborhoods, and hamas and fatah council members pay for and distribute these posters.

Two kids who wanted their pictures taken and almost ripped the camera out of my hands in their excitement to see themselves in the picture :)

Mustafa and me in front of a more permanent memorial for all of those from this specific neighborhood who died fighting occupation. Each neighborhood has their own.

One of the coolest things I've experienced to date was my recent trip to Nablus (outside the ancient city of Shechem). I don't know exactly how to convey the coolness of the experience, but the crux of it was that it felt truly exotic. Millions of steps above Disney theme park exotic; thousands of steps above moving to Akron, Ohio exotic; and maybe even hundreds of steps above Old City, Jerusalem exotic (which already feels like an Indiana Jones sequence waiting to happen).
There are not easily accessible maps or very current tourist info for Nablus. It was a center of resistance in the second Intifada and I think that killed the tourism business for the city in a big way. I ended up going kind of last minute with my friend and stand-by Jerusalem tour guide Daniel. And since I pretty much rely on him to show me where to go, I didn't realize we didn't have a map until we got there.
So observations on the way out--we took an Arab line bus (my first one). The first bus took us to Ramallah--huge bustling city with lots of construction and formal evening wear being sold all over (you would never guess that under their big overcoats Palestinian women are wearing prom dresses, but it must be so in order for all of these dress shops to stay in business). From there we hopped on another bus to Nablus. Palestinian flags were displayed with increasing frequency as we traveled further into the west bank.
Once we got to Nablus we just kind of wandered with the crowd until we got to the old city. There were lots of fruit and vegetable venders, tiny shops sewing fancy little girls' dresses (with tutu frills and sequins), shops full of scrap metal, shops full of odd antiques (including a REALLY old Kodiak camera), in one shopsup above the old city they were assembling furniture. The COOOLESt place we went to was a spice shop in the old city where they grind there own spices. We were walking by and followed our noses to the shop. As we stood outside wondering whether or not to go in, the shop owner came out and insisted we come see his artifacts. There was a room in the back of the shop full of sheep rugs, old staffs, and thousands of odd knick-knacks (including a giant wood giraffe). I bought 10 sheckels (about $2.75) worth of curry and saffron, which ended up being quite a bit. I'm really bad at estimating so I can't really tell you how much, but it was a lot. Way more than your typical McCormick spice container. And they were all freshly ground and smelled and tasted (he let us taste anything we wanted to) amazing!
So we left the spice shop, wondered around the old city and saw lots of everyday Palestinian- living-inside-an-ancient-Roman city life. It was somewhat surreal.
People stared at us a lot. Especially me. I hadn't planned on making the trip when I left my house in the morning so I was wearing knee length shorts and a short sleeve t-shirt. Which in Nablus is basically the same as walking around in lingerie on the street. I got lots of glares from women (all wearing overcoats covering from their wrists to the tops of their feet and of course with covered heads) and men as we wandered around the old city. And just a lot of staring. Like everyone on a street would watch me the entire time I was on their street. The second I stepped away from Dan (he was taking pics), a taxi full of men came by and hollered--I think they were trying to offer me a ride. It was very interesting. Daniel, bless his heart, said something like "I don't know why they're staring at you so much, cause Arab girls are really cute." But it had nothing to do with cute, it was just about me being an oddity. We only saw two other westerners in the city the entire 3 hours we were there. There were some young men who walked by and said "beautiful" in Arabic (Daniel translated), but I won't let my head get too big over it.
The most fun attention came from the kids. They followed us around the city shouting "Hallo! Hallo!" One little boy shouted, from a store front, "My name, my name!" They loved using any English words they knew for us.
Luckily for us, the second time we wandered into the old city (we were coming for round two of the spice shop because now Dan decided he wanted some spices), we ran into an English-speaking Palestinian journalist named Mustafa. I don't remember perfectly, but I think it was the man at the spice shop who introduced him to us. We were definitely right outside the shop in front of a small school/mosque when we met Mustafa. Part of me wonders if this was rigged a little bit? Mustafa asked us if we knew our way around the city, what we had seen, if we knew what sights to go see? He offered to show us around and said we must let them get us a drink. At first we thought he was trying to get money--be a tour guide, but he was insistent that he wasn't asking us to pay anything at all. He just wanted us to get the most out of our visit. I think it might have been somewhat rigged because the odds that we would run into such a fluent English speaker seemed (from my one day trip there) somewhat slim. Either way, we were extremely fortunate to have found him. Really, it was what made the trip.
We went back into the spice shop where they made the BEST herbal tea I have ever had. He took some fresh spices (merely labeled "mixed herbs") and steamed them there for us. Amazing. We sat down--me, Dan, Mustafa, original spice man, and two friends of spice man--and talked and drank tea. Mustafa and Dan talked about Nablus during the second intifada--how it had been to grow up as a kid there, what life was like in Nablus now as part of the west bank, and what hope he had for the future. I couldn't hear all of the conversation because there were a lot of birds in the room and I was making broken-Enlglish small talk with the other men for part of the time, but parts that I heard: Mustafa remembers throwing rocks at Israeli tanks as a young boy, life is somewhat better in Nablus now that the soldiers have left (Israel still controls checkpoints in and out of the city, but the municipal government is Palestinian), and the only hope is a two-state solution with some kind of international road connecting Gaza to the rest of the west bank. Mustafa pointed to an old map on the wall that showed all of Israel as Palestine and said something about--we would have 30% of the land, when it is really all ours--but at this point, that is the best we can hope for. It wouldn't be good, but if it brought peace ....
He also felt like all Jews hated Palestinians, didn't really believe Dan when Dan told him he had Jewish roommates who were pro-Palestinian.
My conversation with the other three men consisted of them asking me. "Obama? You like?" And me assuring them that I did like Obama--in fact I had voted for him. This drew lots of cheers (he's popular among many Palestinan's since his June 9th press conference about sending more US aid money to Gaza). Then they asked "Bush?" I shook my head no. "No, I didn't really like Bush." Which was obviously the right answer in that situation because it drew clapping and cheers. Also, once it was discovered that I was a musician, they sent someone off in a hurry and excitedly waited until he brought back a verrrrrryyyy out-of-tune guitar. I felt awful that I couldn't play for them, but even the two chords I know sounded not at all like music. They asked if I could tune it for them, and I tried, but it was so out of tune, and the pegs so warped, that I couldn't do any good with it. Luckily, they still seemed to like me afterwards.
We eventually left the spice shop with Mustafa to give us a quick look around (our third time through the old city, but this time with a guide). Mustafa was very proud of Nablus' history of resisting occupation, especially in recent history. He took us to an ancient turkish bath from Ottoman times (I had to wait outside because there were men bathing at the time). He also told us the story of the sadness mosque in Nablus. Supposedly it is the site where Jacob recieved the news of the death of his favorite son Joseph (the bloody coat of many colors). It's also known as the sadness mosque because the minaret and the rest of the mosque are seperated from each other--something about it being destroyed by crusaders and then rebuilt I think.
The final part of our trip was eating the famous Kanafeh. For a good explanation of it just google it. It was incredible. Cheesy, salty, and incredibly sweet at the same time. Mustafa said the water in Nablus is the secret ingredient that makes the cheese so good. Nablus is the originator of Kanafeh and the most famous for making it. Basically, Kanafeh anywhere else just isn't the same.

I forgot to mention that the whole time with Mustafa and the spice shop men I had the feeling that they really wanted us to come away with a positive experience--it felt like they were ambassadors for their city, and in some ways for the west bank. Nobody wanted our money, Mustafa was defintely not a tour guide. They just wanted two Americans too appreciate their city.

On the trip back we had schwarma and their famous gum-based ice cream in Ramallah. Both delicious.

It was a cool day.

Apple yogurt is my new favorite thing in the world. You are so behind the times Yoplait USA.

life beyond the wall

People in Bethlehem--esp a section that is a UN run refugee camp. People have been living there for up to ten years now.

Home, and a little bit sweaty.

I walked home from work for the first time today. I finally made the connection between where I run on my morning jogs and the route the bus drives when it takes me to Giv'at Ram. It turns out I've been running right past campus for the last couple of days ... it just looks different from the bus route.

It was a BEAUTIFUL walk home.

I got to play on a cello today!!!! I had no idea how much I would miss it. But I do miss it. A lot. Which makes me feel kind of good in a way because now I know that playing cello makes me happy. It's not just for school, or performances, or lessons--I like just playing.
Thank you Greta.
After cello time at the BYU center I stayed for a choir concert. I WISH my friend Lauren would have been there to send out laser-beam death glares at all of the noisy, candy-wrapper crinkling, talking without hearing aides old people--because that is something that I miss from my Logan concert going days--but. even without the pleasure of seeing Lauren stare people down, it was a fun concert.

Different kinds of adventures

So new adventures ... we're going into the less pleasant realm of adventures today. I have had some close encounters (of all kinds) with giant, hissing cockroaches. I think they hiss. They look like the type.
Encounter one, the hugest roach to date scuttled into the little library cell where Kathy and I scan all day long. Luckily for us, we had a native friend (I.T. Esther is how we refer to her) who squelched it with her shoe like it was nothing.
Encounter two, an almost as large cockroach came into the room. It was me, him, and library-friend/second-Jewish-mother Rachel (who HATES bugs). I took off one of my suddenly ridiculously flimsy sandals and cornered the hisser, only to have him start scuttling up the wall. A few ineffectual slaps led me to a greater understanding of his exoskeleton missile-proof body armor. So I hit harder, and harder, and hit some more. The final blow was a whack so tremendous that cockroach fluids sprayed two feet in all directions--seriously. Including some on my face. I tried to act like it was no big deal ... killing mutant cockroaches is something I do in my spare time, and Rachel toally fell for it. She thinks I'm pretty tough stuff now. I didn't disinfect my face until after she left.
Encounters 3 and 4 just involved cockroaches in trash cans that were easily bagged and removed to somebody elses trash. Of course those two weren't as big.

Also fleas. I've never encountered them before. Ever. But in a city full of cats like Jerusalem, I've had that oportunity. So now I know what a flea looks like. And bites like. And how impossible they are to kill.
Enough said, except that, thank goodness we have tile floors in our apartment.

Lastly, my non-pest adventure was about me, an empty library, and no guard to let me out. Which is pretty much the whole story--I just gave away the ending. But yea. I worked late, as Kathy and I had done the previous night. My scanner, which had been non-functioning for much of the week, was mostly working, and I wanted to make up for all the hours I hadn't been scanning earlier in the week. The guards had told us that they knew about us staying late and that it was ok. So 10:15 rolls around (the library offically closes at 8), I'm almost done backing up. Packing up my stuff so I can catch the last 10:30 bus to our neighborhood. The building is full of humming, buzzing electrical sounds and nothing else, which is what you would expect from a library after hours. I get to the library exit at 10:18 and I'm feeling good, but the doors are locked. Also there is no guard. I see a backpack and a mostly empty coffee mug. But no person. I waited for about 5 minutes thinking he was probably just using the bathroom, making the rounds or something like that. But I was getting worried about the bus. So I started calling out. "Hello.
Hello?
Anybody there?"
This was my anthem for the next 30 minutes. "Hello? Hello! Is anybody here?"
I climbed up the stairs, and down the stairs. I found one unlocked door that led into a courtyard, with walls on all sides unfortunately.
The library grew creepier and creepier by the minute.
At one point I saw a silver and black object lying in the middle of the hallway.
Bomb.
no wait
Badge?
Walkie-talkie?
Has my guard been killed? Tied up and gagged somewhere?
It didn't help that there were nearby police sirens for a good 20 minutes while all of this was happening.
The object was just an office name plaque that had fallen off the wall--in case you were wondering.
Then I started imagining that I had set off some security alarm, that the police sirens were possibly for me. I tried to look as non-threatening and non-terrorist like as possible. All the while wandering up and down staircases and hallways yelling "Hello? helloooooo? Anyone there?"
Luckily I had Kathy to keep me calm. We skype chatted a couple of times.
"Have you found him yet?"
And eventually she called campus security for me and explained the situation.
I had to wait another 15 min for campus security to come and I was fully prepared for machine guns and passport checks and possibly backpack/body searches.
But when security did finally show up (I was humming hymns to myself by this point trying to stay calm), it was a skinny, dirty-blonde haired 20ish year old who had to try 5 different keys and two different doors before he could get me out. He didn't speak very much English. But he understood my "THANK YOU!" And just kind of laughed and said "your welcome."
He didn't even have a gun.
First security I've seen in Israel with no gun.
I mean ... even Gap has a metal detector and a security gaurd with a gun at their entrance.
Small blessings can be a big deal.
I also found a cab just up the street from campus without having to try very hard, which at 11:45 at night is also a big blessing. Some drunk college kids called over the Taxi, but then were pranking him, or trying to get too many people in the taxi, or didn't have enough money or something. I asked them if they minded if I took the cab and they didn't. So I didn't even have to hail my own taxi.
Also . . . I just remembered that I took the wrong bus for the first time this week. I ended up getting off at the second stop. Walking for about ten minutes, then giving up and taking a taxi. In a city when you get lost and don't speak the language--taxi's are always your friends.
Here's to the friendly taxi drivers!