The house already feels like a safe little bubble, albeit with only some of our stuff as most of it's en route from Jordan, but I have a combination of desire to break out and discover what's around, together with an inclination to keep the security of the house wrapped around us. I always have this strange clash when we arrive in a new place.
After our marbled floor existence in Amman, Rashimi is not used to carpets and spends most of the day on his face having tripped over on the shagpile in the playroom. He has carpet burn on his nose. The Lozenge has been muttering that he wants to go back to Jordan to see the Duke, the Glammy and back to the life we had there.
We were all awake at 6am, and the Lozenge, J and I in the car by 7.15 to take him for his first day at school. The pavements around our house were full of Arab children heading to school - girls in white headscarves and fathers with sons on shoulders. A car stopped in the road, a long queue of other cars behind, while the driver said good morning and chatted to a friend. Then we crossed into a more Jewish area and people looked completely different in black hats, black coats and ringlets. A murmur (prey, flap or superfluity also apparently work here as collective terms) of nuns strutted by in pristine pale grey habits, followed by a gang of people in anoraks. I admit to having had a few butterflies at the school gate, where a man from Ukraine welcomed us and showed us to the Lozenge's classroom. But the Lozenge looked anything but a jelly. He walked in, said hello to his new teacher, and said: 'Thith is just like my last nurthery, Mummy!' heading straight for the sandpit. And my butterflies fluttered away.
J and I went by his office, where we were greeted by his local colleagues who all seem charming and I got to speak some Arabic. Then I walked back to our house through what once would have been a small valley full of walnut trees, but now feels more like a big ditch with makeshift housing stacked with satellite dishes and solar contraptions. A large Israeli flag fluttered above the cluttered houses, though we are still in an Arab area. The flag was the only colour aside from washing lines, lemon tress and some early blossom. I wondered who would build here, given the choice. It doesn't look a comfortable place. As I walked up the slope the other side, there was some Arabic graffiti which had been almost entirely painted out with a Star of David sprayed over the top. How many layers of each lay beneath?
Then I picked up St Grace and Rashimi and we walked around 1 km to the tram stop. St Grace doesn't drive and the Jerusalem Light rail is nearly 9 miles long with 23 stops which I figured must include some good locations for she and Rashimi when I'm working. It cuts a stark, high tech contrast with its sleek lines, to the chaotic pavements and mini bus services in our neighbourhood. I didn't have the right money for a ticket, and a man who spoke no English, just Arabic bought our tickets for us. 'Ahlan Wasahlan' (you are welcome), he said. I spoke some more Arabic in a vegetable shop and bought six Sharon fruit (persimmon in English and cakia in Arabic - as if they'd ever be able to call it the former…)which are Rashimi's favourite. CAKIAAAAAA!! He shouted when he saw me. We wandered about, Rashimi eating his cakia, and St Grace exclaiming: 'This is just like I imagine Europe to be!' We zipped a couple of stops on the tram to City Hall, a huge modern building not too far from the Old City wall, which had coloured bicycles on frames outside, with flower pots and fans attached to the top. I couldn't work out whether they were exercise bikes or an installation but Rashimi was enthralled - and jumped astride one with the same old Sharon fruit in his sticky hand.
I had time for a bit of writing when we returned while Rashimi slept, and then went back to the Lozenge's school to collect him. I met the driver of the school bus who says he has space for the Lozenge both ways, and will pick up and drop from/to our house each day for the princely sum of £150 per month. Even an oyster card would be cheaper. But as J says, at this point in our lives, an extra hour at home together in the mornings is worth even more than that. And the driver, also Arab and very keen for me to keep practising mine, seems lovely with a great sense of humour.
I could see the Lozenge's eyes under his fringe peeping over the top of another child's head as he looked out for me. He ran up and told me he loved his new school. 'And I even got two luncheth!' We have to pack a small snack and a lunch every morning whereas it was just a pack lunch at the last school. The way to every man's heart…
By 4pm, he was exhausted and so were we all, and found ourselves watching Paddington Bear on our new telly. I missed J today as getting out there on your own is a little more of a strain with no one to chew over decisions with. But referring again to Salma Hayek's phrase, as I did a year ago when we'd just arrived in Jordan, when asked if she was a fish out of water in her new town, she said she was more intent on making her own water. And this is what it's all about.
After our marbled floor existence in Amman, Rashimi is not used to carpets and spends most of the day on his face having tripped over on the shagpile in the playroom. He has carpet burn on his nose. The Lozenge has been muttering that he wants to go back to Jordan to see the Duke, the Glammy and back to the life we had there.
We were all awake at 6am, and the Lozenge, J and I in the car by 7.15 to take him for his first day at school. The pavements around our house were full of Arab children heading to school - girls in white headscarves and fathers with sons on shoulders. A car stopped in the road, a long queue of other cars behind, while the driver said good morning and chatted to a friend. Then we crossed into a more Jewish area and people looked completely different in black hats, black coats and ringlets. A murmur (prey, flap or superfluity also apparently work here as collective terms) of nuns strutted by in pristine pale grey habits, followed by a gang of people in anoraks. I admit to having had a few butterflies at the school gate, where a man from Ukraine welcomed us and showed us to the Lozenge's classroom. But the Lozenge looked anything but a jelly. He walked in, said hello to his new teacher, and said: 'Thith is just like my last nurthery, Mummy!' heading straight for the sandpit. And my butterflies fluttered away.
J and I went by his office, where we were greeted by his local colleagues who all seem charming and I got to speak some Arabic. Then I walked back to our house through what once would have been a small valley full of walnut trees, but now feels more like a big ditch with makeshift housing stacked with satellite dishes and solar contraptions. A large Israeli flag fluttered above the cluttered houses, though we are still in an Arab area. The flag was the only colour aside from washing lines, lemon tress and some early blossom. I wondered who would build here, given the choice. It doesn't look a comfortable place. As I walked up the slope the other side, there was some Arabic graffiti which had been almost entirely painted out with a Star of David sprayed over the top. How many layers of each lay beneath?
Then I picked up St Grace and Rashimi and we walked around 1 km to the tram stop. St Grace doesn't drive and the Jerusalem Light rail is nearly 9 miles long with 23 stops which I figured must include some good locations for she and Rashimi when I'm working. It cuts a stark, high tech contrast with its sleek lines, to the chaotic pavements and mini bus services in our neighbourhood. I didn't have the right money for a ticket, and a man who spoke no English, just Arabic bought our tickets for us. 'Ahlan Wasahlan' (you are welcome), he said. I spoke some more Arabic in a vegetable shop and bought six Sharon fruit (persimmon in English and cakia in Arabic - as if they'd ever be able to call it the former…)which are Rashimi's favourite. CAKIAAAAAA!! He shouted when he saw me. We wandered about, Rashimi eating his cakia, and St Grace exclaiming: 'This is just like I imagine Europe to be!' We zipped a couple of stops on the tram to City Hall, a huge modern building not too far from the Old City wall, which had coloured bicycles on frames outside, with flower pots and fans attached to the top. I couldn't work out whether they were exercise bikes or an installation but Rashimi was enthralled - and jumped astride one with the same old Sharon fruit in his sticky hand.
I had time for a bit of writing when we returned while Rashimi slept, and then went back to the Lozenge's school to collect him. I met the driver of the school bus who says he has space for the Lozenge both ways, and will pick up and drop from/to our house each day for the princely sum of £150 per month. Even an oyster card would be cheaper. But as J says, at this point in our lives, an extra hour at home together in the mornings is worth even more than that. And the driver, also Arab and very keen for me to keep practising mine, seems lovely with a great sense of humour.
I could see the Lozenge's eyes under his fringe peeping over the top of another child's head as he looked out for me. He ran up and told me he loved his new school. 'And I even got two luncheth!' We have to pack a small snack and a lunch every morning whereas it was just a pack lunch at the last school. The way to every man's heart…
By 4pm, he was exhausted and so were we all, and found ourselves watching Paddington Bear on our new telly. I missed J today as getting out there on your own is a little more of a strain with no one to chew over decisions with. But referring again to Salma Hayek's phrase, as I did a year ago when we'd just arrived in Jordan, when asked if she was a fish out of water in her new town, she said she was more intent on making her own water. And this is what it's all about.
One of the light rail stops is the Mahane Yehuda market - great place to by vegetables, fruits, all kinds of bread, pastries and other things.
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