To quell the empty spaces in our lives after Mum and Dad left, the dwarves, J and I went on a little mission to Jericho which lies not far from the Dead Sea at the same level, about 20 minutes' drive from Jerusalem.
Most foreigners who visit Jericho might go for more intellectual reasons, it being the oldest continuously inhabited city on the planet, with many remnants and historical signs to show for it. But life with dwarves can often be a little less cerebral, and I will admit that our final destination was in fact: Banana Land, which boasted swimming pool, slides etc. in the guide book.
Jericho, similar to other cities in the West Bank including Nablus, Ramallah, Bethlehem and a few others, is in what is known as Area A - in full civil and security control of the Palestinian Authority. Area B includes over 400 Palestinian villages and surrounding areas which are under Palestinian civil control and joint Israeli-Palestinian security control; and Area C is full Israel civil and security control.
When you reach the border of an Area A, you get a sign like this. As though you are about to enter a zone of brigands, thieves and bandits:
On arrival at Banana Land, it definitely had the makings of dwarf paradise from an ice cream truck to fairground rides and a little pool. It was like being back in Jordan again - entirely Arab, (as you can imagine, with a red sign like that on entry) and with no experience of a place like this, you might compare it to an Arab Blackpool. Though with an awful lot less flesh on display, as I discovered.
Jericho has a lovely laid back feel to it, and unlike many Arab towns, a lot of people travel around on bicycles, which adds to the relaxed vibe. Though admittedly I didn't see many women riding, as in some stricter muslim households, it is frowned upon. If you haven't already seen the film: Wajda, from Saudi Arabia, you should see it as it's a beautiful portrayal of life behind the scenes for a young girl and her mother with a bicycle as the centre-piece.
All women in Banana Land were covered from top to brightly pained toe, and not wishing to offend, I remained covered myself, though it's hot and uncomfortable work supervising two dwarves who cannot swim, in a pool brimming with writhing children's' bodies in 35 degrees, fully clothed. Thankfully they were happy with an hour in there, and after that we joined the shwarma queue.
While the boys tinkered about on go carts, I sat alone at a table. I've worked out a 'three smile rule in this country' where smiles come less easily than in Jordan. Generally, if you catch eyes with someone (I'd only ever try this with a female), and smile you may not get one back, a second time, sometimes; but almost always seem to get one back on the third attempt. And then conversation is usually possible. This trick worked and I got chatting to a table full of female teachers from Hebron who were keeping cool in their head to toe acrylic uniforms, under a large tree.
I remembered the words of our Palestinian friend. 'I don't like Banana Land, because people just go there to watch and be seen, and gossip about each other.' In a way you're exempt as a foreigner, especially as a female with small brood and husband in tow, and I made the most of this. But you could see this might not be so for a local.
We returned to the relative lofty heights of Jerusalem, entering the cool of our house with relief, accompanied by a little waft of Mozart's clarinet concerto floating across from the National Conservatory of Music opposite our house. It felt a far cry from Banana Land and its visitors.
I never underestimate the luxury of being able to duck and dive into different worlds as a foreigner here.
We arrived back to an ecstatic St Grace, who had been on a day trip to Bethlehem with a gaggle of Sri Lankans. She cackled with laughter when she explained that her little prayer she wrote down on a piece of paper in the box in the Church of the Nativity had been answered. And Sri Lanka had beaten India in the cricket that day.
Tomorrow we are headed back to the UK for an Easter bunny hop around the island that is our real home. But in the nick of time, yesterday I had the excitement of going to purchase an elegant Clavinova thanks to Mum's very generous donation from her insurance money after one of her pianos was leaked on…
Into the shop I went, and after paying, described to the lady at the counter, a Hebrew speaker, our home address for delivery. As I spelled out our street name which is an Arab one, I saw her face had turned pink and she started to giggle. After a minute or so another customer explained that our road name means: 'Rock in the pussy' in Hebrew. I let them sort out the rest in Google Maps and wondered why no one had warned me about that one before.
Most foreigners who visit Jericho might go for more intellectual reasons, it being the oldest continuously inhabited city on the planet, with many remnants and historical signs to show for it. But life with dwarves can often be a little less cerebral, and I will admit that our final destination was in fact: Banana Land, which boasted swimming pool, slides etc. in the guide book.
Jericho, similar to other cities in the West Bank including Nablus, Ramallah, Bethlehem and a few others, is in what is known as Area A - in full civil and security control of the Palestinian Authority. Area B includes over 400 Palestinian villages and surrounding areas which are under Palestinian civil control and joint Israeli-Palestinian security control; and Area C is full Israel civil and security control.
When you reach the border of an Area A, you get a sign like this. As though you are about to enter a zone of brigands, thieves and bandits:
On arrival at Banana Land, it definitely had the makings of dwarf paradise from an ice cream truck to fairground rides and a little pool. It was like being back in Jordan again - entirely Arab, (as you can imagine, with a red sign like that on entry) and with no experience of a place like this, you might compare it to an Arab Blackpool. Though with an awful lot less flesh on display, as I discovered.
Jericho has a lovely laid back feel to it, and unlike many Arab towns, a lot of people travel around on bicycles, which adds to the relaxed vibe. Though admittedly I didn't see many women riding, as in some stricter muslim households, it is frowned upon. If you haven't already seen the film: Wajda, from Saudi Arabia, you should see it as it's a beautiful portrayal of life behind the scenes for a young girl and her mother with a bicycle as the centre-piece.
All women in Banana Land were covered from top to brightly pained toe, and not wishing to offend, I remained covered myself, though it's hot and uncomfortable work supervising two dwarves who cannot swim, in a pool brimming with writhing children's' bodies in 35 degrees, fully clothed. Thankfully they were happy with an hour in there, and after that we joined the shwarma queue.
While the boys tinkered about on go carts, I sat alone at a table. I've worked out a 'three smile rule in this country' where smiles come less easily than in Jordan. Generally, if you catch eyes with someone (I'd only ever try this with a female), and smile you may not get one back, a second time, sometimes; but almost always seem to get one back on the third attempt. And then conversation is usually possible. This trick worked and I got chatting to a table full of female teachers from Hebron who were keeping cool in their head to toe acrylic uniforms, under a large tree.
I remembered the words of our Palestinian friend. 'I don't like Banana Land, because people just go there to watch and be seen, and gossip about each other.' In a way you're exempt as a foreigner, especially as a female with small brood and husband in tow, and I made the most of this. But you could see this might not be so for a local.
We returned to the relative lofty heights of Jerusalem, entering the cool of our house with relief, accompanied by a little waft of Mozart's clarinet concerto floating across from the National Conservatory of Music opposite our house. It felt a far cry from Banana Land and its visitors.
I never underestimate the luxury of being able to duck and dive into different worlds as a foreigner here.
We arrived back to an ecstatic St Grace, who had been on a day trip to Bethlehem with a gaggle of Sri Lankans. She cackled with laughter when she explained that her little prayer she wrote down on a piece of paper in the box in the Church of the Nativity had been answered. And Sri Lanka had beaten India in the cricket that day.
Tomorrow we are headed back to the UK for an Easter bunny hop around the island that is our real home. But in the nick of time, yesterday I had the excitement of going to purchase an elegant Clavinova thanks to Mum's very generous donation from her insurance money after one of her pianos was leaked on…
Into the shop I went, and after paying, described to the lady at the counter, a Hebrew speaker, our home address for delivery. As I spelled out our street name which is an Arab one, I saw her face had turned pink and she started to giggle. After a minute or so another customer explained that our road name means: 'Rock in the pussy' in Hebrew. I let them sort out the rest in Google Maps and wondered why no one had warned me about that one before.
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