Festivity in sad places

Al Bahr al Mayat: The Dead Sea

You can take the Brit out of Britain, but you can't take Britain out of the...

Jordan: an unusual place for a booze cruise, some would say. But since we've struck a deal with a duty free place there, a few days before Christmas, we set off to the other side of the Dead Sea, the Pea and me.

Her first visit to Jordan: where her brothers began their Arabian adventure, and we decided there, that we'd quite like a Pea, though we didn't know then, it would be she. And our first girls shopping trip. Though not for shoes or clothes. Just booze and festive morsels we were unable to find here.

The skies were blue, the sandy ground a pale ochre. We wound our way down the road from Jerusalem to the lowest place on earth, passing the lonely camel waiting for a much-needed trickle of tourists and a photo opportunity. Down and down we curled, my silent passenger sensibly sucking on her dummy which seemed to prevent a tiny ear bubble. 'Ahlan Wasahlan. Mabrook! Wein al awlaad? Binit! Shu ismha? (Welcome! Congratulations! Where are the boys? A girl! What's her name?') exclaimed our border guard friends as I entered Jordan the first time in a while un-pregnant. The Pea is quite a weight in her car seat so I left her on the ground near the passport queue I stood in. Soon she was gurgling up at 6 uniformed Jordanians of all ages, who were cooing and clucking at her in Arabic - happy and surprised with her regional-sounding name. 'Bitra, Bitra!' they smiled. There's no P in the Arabic alphabet so they use a B.  Bitra beamed back. She had received just the same attention on the Israeli side making our first girls' trip a jolly affair.

We spent the day revisiting old haunts. The supermarket resplendent with Christmas tree and piles of Lindt chocolate Santa Clauses. I chatted at the checkout with the first guy who ever corrected my faltering Arabic, and never allowed me to talk to him in English. My shopping partner was cheery and enthralled from her safe cocoon of the baby sling: mesmerised by the lights and the technicolour supermarket experiences. A baby and children in this land are keys to many fleeting friendships. And though I missed the dwarfs who were still in school, I didn't miss finding the surprise technicolour items in the trolley at the checkout. We met an Egyptian friend for lunch at her house and clanked our way back down the other side of the Jordan valley, back to Israel: with our diplomatic number plates and papers that allow us to travel where the wind may take us. I never take it for granted. The Pea was issued a small visa for the privilege of her trip.

A few more preparations before 2 sets of Grandparents arrived to celebrate with us. Dwarf zone had been leaning in the jingle bells direction for six months, so the house was soon enthusiastically festooned; the tree lights on slow fade and flash: setting number 6. A Christian Palestinian chef, Issa (Arabic for Jesus) ordered our turkey for us. I picked it up - what a familiar weight. As I popped it on the scales the needle danced: 8.2kilos, the same as our pet Pea. A beauty! And it needed to be.

'Are you crazy?' a few friends had giggled when we explained we had all four grandparents incoming. But I can highly recommend this approach. Not least becuase the adult:smallperson ratio in our house soared from 2:3 to 3:1.

A day before they arrived J and I snuck out alone in daytime to Jerusalem's Old City. We always do this the day before things get going. It was so quiet and there were no teams of shoppers pacing the smooth cobbles. It felt wrong somehow. We picked up presents for family and friends and I found a beautiful embroidered Palestinian coat. Walid dropped his price to match mine so fast I almost felt guilty. No one is visiting. No one is shopping. 'Everyone's afraid of coming here' he said. 'It's really hard to survive at the moment.'

Here I am next to my Dad in the coat. Everyone tells us how similar we look. I think I have a big chunk of Dad in my gene pool. Thanks Pop!

So if you think the Pea looks like I did at her age, then maybe she will also end up looking like you.

The fabulous four stayed for a week. We sang carols, we visited friends, friends visited us. We day tripped to an Ummayad palace in Jericho. The gang went to Bethlehem on Christmas Eve and I had a beautiful evening of carols, wine and wrapping presents on my own before it all began, sneaking out with Mum at midnight to sing at the neighbouring cathedral. Back there the following day, the service was double the length - in both English and Arabic. Things got a bit hazy around lunchtime...'I'm not sure I've been that lashed on Christmas day ever before' said Dad. The magnum of champagne the Pea and I picked up in duty free was soon knocked on the head and another popped open. Then my memories are a mosaic of small, clear pictures: Dad on all fours, his specs at the end of his nose, completing the dinosaur puzzle for the Lozenge; J's Dad feeding the Pea, thinking someone had put a hat on his head...;

the Lozenge, accompanied by my Mum singing Once in Royal David's City after a hastily eaten mince pie. I think you can still hear one of the raisins quavering in his throat;

the Pea in her new grey hand knit cardigan made by J's Mum. The Lego creations, the games, the conversations and the laughter. J and I realised our Mums and Dads are the umbrellas between us and the world outside. Standing in an Ummayad palace and thinking of all that history can give the impression that there is so much time. But we are each a crystal grain of Dead Sea salt in time; tiny wisps in history.

As Mark Twain said:

'There isn't time, so brief is life, for bickerings, apologies, heart burnings, callings to account. There is only time for loving, and but an instant, so to speak, for that.'


Then suddenly they'd all gone and we wondered if had really happened.

'Now can we have the rrreeeel Christmas?' enquired Rashimi, who'd been expecting at least a small sprinkling of snow.

****

New Year's Eve began at midday with some new friends whose Mum and Dad live here in Jerusalem. I had to ring Mum for the recipe for 'favourite macaroni' which we always ate when we were young in winter time. It went down well with the Chablis the Pea and I had picked up along with all the other bottles. They left and it was tea time. The dwarfs wanted a boiled egg and I opened the fridge to realise I'd used up all of them in the orange cakes to take to our new year's eve party. So I ran through the rain to Marwan's shop: an Aladdin's cave of a grocery store. The friendly Marwan has to flick a cereal packet down from 8 feet up with a long hooked stick. You have to duck as the Honey Nut Cheerios take a dive - and he deftly catches them. We used to laugh when I went in there with Pea on the way, as it's not the kind of shop you can move around in easily with a big tummy. As Marwan would contest. It was the second time I'd been in that day. 'Ihna mazuzeen' (We're lucky!) he chuckled. 'No I'm the lucky one', I replied, asking if the porcelain white eggs with the little red stamp were 'baladi?' local. 'Laaa'. No, he shook his head. An old man at the counter muttered: 'The Israelis took all of our eggs.'

Marwan shook his head: 'Things have never been so bad. Everyone's afraid to go out'. Another Palestinian in the shop said: 'I worry that if I trip on the street and mistakenly bash into an Israeli with my body - they'll think I'm trying to hurt them, and shoot me.' Israelis are also afraid - the Tel Aviv shooting last week unearthing yet more dread. Young people are being shot dead all over the place after attempted stabbings. Most days you hear wails of sirens, you read tirades of insults. We feel none of it directly, but we feel for locals

?

As the eggs were cooking I painted my nails a golden colour for the party. There was a power cut - a small squeak from the Pea in her new pink bouncy seat from Ibrahim, a Palestinian friend; and a smudged nail. The dwarfs both reached for their torches and the power pinged on again.

Then J and I strode out into the wild night - the wind and rain lashing our faces, to a party at the house of some Swedish friends. A warm and generous beginning to the year, complete with oversized sparklers. On the way home, J and I ran through ankle-deep puddles under a flapping umbrella. A lone taxi ground to a halt near us in a deep river of dirty water. We hopped in and he drove us home. He was from Tel Aviv but had come to Jerusalem on a job. But he had no problem with driving into East Jerusalem as some Israeli taxis do. He spoke no English but was laid back and pleased with the weather it seemed. A lot of clients. As J ran in to fetch St Grace and her husband for them to go home, the driver asked me: 'Your husband?' 'Yes', I said. 'He a good man. You see in his face.'

My good man and I woke up the next morning and the dwarf morning ritual of coming to join us in our bed happened fortunately a couple of hours later than normal. We leaned against our pillows - the dwarfs sipping warm milk from half chewed beakers - another little ritual that is still alive though they are long out of beaker stage. The Pea lay on her back and kicked excitedly between us.

'So what are your new year's resolutions then?' asked J.

'Crafty things, and sleeping,' said the Lozenge.'What are yours Daddy?'

'Mine are to hold Mummy's hand more often, and to speak more Arabic.'

'Mine are to exercise more and to dig deeper into my creative projects,' I said.

A small silence.

'Cupcakes. And ice cream. Are my oneth,' said Rashimi who'd been running around the house in his spider man balaclava. He returned to the bed breathless, ripped off the headgear and slumped his body on top of the Pea, covering her with kisses.