Beautiful rain,
and good night teddies.
Monday, 12 May 2014
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Sebastia
When you're living away from home, it's easy to become rather joined at the hip to the husband. It's 10 years since we met and I felt sad seeing J wander down the path towards the gate on his way to the UK for 2 weeks. But rather than mope around missing him, I decided to plan a dwarf friendly adventure for the Lozenge, Rashimi and I - a trip to the West Bank to stay the night in a little town called Sebastia, near Nablus, about 1.5 hours drive to the north of Jerusalem.
It's never that simple leaving the relatively ordered confines of Israel and heading into Palestinian territory when you don't know exactly where you're going. Road signs and street names are few and far between, GPS can blank out with no warning and printed road maps can be inaccurate. The weather is getting hotter by the hour, so I packed plenty of water and a picnic and with the dwarves glued to the ipad in the back seat, we cruised off.
Leaving Jerusalem we drove alongside the wall, also known as the 'security fence', 'separation barrier', 'apartheid wall', and by some Palestinians as the 'jidar al-fasl al-unsurl' the 'racial segration wall'.
It's still in construction, and it will run for an estimated 700 km when finished. Israel argues that the barrier is to protect Israeli civilians from Palestinian terrorism, including the suicide bombing attacks that increased significantly during the Second Intifada. They say there has been a significant drop in attacks since the presence of the wall.
Certainly, we live here without fear.
But it also certainly severely restricts Palestinians who live near it, particularly when it comes to their ability to travel freely within the West Bank and access to work within Israel - where so many work opportunities are.
Its Orwellian presence cast a grey and sinister shadow on the road as we drove. The Lozenge echoed my thoughts: 'I have never seen a wall like that ever ever. That is so ugly.' We weaved alongside it and out through an unmanned checkpoint the other side. As expected there were no roadsigns except a burned out sign to Jerusalem, but I still had a little flicking blue dot on the Google maps so we continued.
The dwarves began and finished the picnic within half an hour, and we drove through undulating green and rock strewn scenery - the main punctuation being row upon row of olive groves. The roads were quiet and the route turned out to be much simpler than I'd thought. Within a couple of hours we were drawing into the village and driving past a tiny square with men sitting around playing chess. We spotted at least 6 Ford and Massey Ferguson tractors from the 1960s and little boys bobbing along on top of donkeys.
We stayed in a little guesthouse, which is a major achievement for a small Palestinian village, run by locals who received some European funding. It's composed of a cluster of small houses over the now reconstructed ruin of a Crusader chapel, is run with care and is evidently much loved. We climbed up a series of metal staircases to our room which looked over rooves and towards the hills. Rashimi darted into the bathroom, grabbed the water spray near the loo and holding it like a semi automatic, ran into the bedroom shrieking with laughter and sprayed the Lozenge, me and the bed until we were all soaking wet. I grabbed the hose from his chubby grasp, and we set out to explore the archaeological site.
It was quite a walk for little legs up an albeit gentle hill, and before the entrance of the site I decided a can of coke might tone down the whining, and pep up the dwarves who were a bright shade of pink with sweaty necks.
The first settlements here date back to early bronze age, but most visible remains are Roman. Herod owned the city for a time, and John the Baptist is supposedly buried here. The Lozenge however, had come here to collect 'fothilth' and was unamused not to be able to start picking them up the minute we started walking. He collected up small stones instead and put them in his little plastic bucket until the handle was straining and his face even pinker. But he was not going to let them go.
As we sat resting under an olive tree, me - massaging my arms after carrying Rashimi most of the way, and the dwarves muttering about going back to the 'hotaiw' - out of the bushes sprang two little Palestinian boys, Mohammad and Razaq, wiry like mountain goats and a few years older than the dwarves. They spoke no English, but soon we were climbing and chatting in broken Arabic, up another slope until we reached a wonderful view over hills and fields and met their father who owns one of the restaurants at the site, and a few more of the siblings, of which there are 9 in total. Mohammad and Razaq taught the Lozenge and Rashimi to throw stones (what better place than here?) and they scurried off down the dusty slope and climbed around the remaining columns of a little church where John the Baptist was supposedly beheaded. There were a few tears from our two boys as they struggled to keep up with the Palestinian children who have been raised on these hills. When you see them running there, it's almost like watching little grilse in a stream - they are so deft and light footed, the poor Lozenge and Rashimi looked like junior cart horses in comparison.
We strolled back down the hill towards the guesthouse in the twilight, admiring more tractors and chatting to the friendliest of villagers - each one greeting us with a smile and an 'Ahlan Wasahlan' and asking us where we were from. But the dwarves were a bit shy to go into the small flat where the Mohammad, Razaq and their 7 siblings lived, so we bid them good night, ordering some kebabs from their father's restaurant.
The kebabs were not a success with the dwarves but they ate the chips, dipping them in hummous and we began rather a noisy and sleepless night in our little room with mosquito and his wife; noises from the mosques, barking dogs, crowing cockerels and braying donkeys. For me, it was a wonder not to hear a single car, but Rashimi chirped up at 2 am from his sweaty little travel cot at the foot of the double bed where the Lozenge and I were, saying: 'It'th scaaaawy Mummmeeeee!' And there were 3 in the bed.
Exhausted but well adventured we headed back to the car after a breakfast of more hummus, labaneh, bread and some of the best za'atar I've tried in a while. As we paid the charming owner and took our leave he had a little look in the Lozenge's plastic bucket full of treasures from the day before. 'Alhamdallilah Laurie walad!' he exclaimed, explaining to us that some of the broken bits of pottery were probably at least 1000 years old but we could take them with us as they were not a rare sight in this place, built on ancient remains and broken bits of pottery. It took me a little while to read his face before I finally believed him.
'Fothilth' they may not be, but the Lozenge certainly got at least 1 millennium nearer to one than many dwarves of his age. We got back to Jerusalem and collapsed in a heap, arranging the little pieces of pottery on the window sill as a reminder of our first excursion to the West Bank.
The first of many, we hope.
Glammy-fix
No sooner had we arrived in Jerusalem, than the dwarves and I did a quick about turn, and found ourselves back in Jordan sitting on the Glammy's balcony crowded with geraniums and spiky plants, all of us piled onto the swing seat looking out onto the beige street scene, already faded in the May sunshine.
The boys were so happy to be back with her - they went scurrying into her brown carpeted apartment like it was their own. We were visiting for a few days for the screening of the documentary I made about the Darat al Funun gallery in Amman. The week felt almost like a reward for all the countless journeys back and forth over the border we'd made - so many that we now have a positive welcome posse at customs on the Jordan side. The week was happy and care free, in some ways.
The only thing marring it was sad news from the Glammy about her 'husband' to whom she has only been married for 5 months, has not yet lived with, and has turned out to be not the man he purported to be. He has been insulting her for a while now, and when she protests, he accuses her of being fat and strong headed. They both want a divorce. Even sadder, to me, is the advice she's been getting from her female relations, who tell her that being insulted and being unhappy is just part of married life - you lump it or leave it at risk of your family's honour. We both sat, as she explained her situation, weeping at her kitchen table over the remains of the dwarves' bowls of Cocopops. She knows it doesn't have to be like this, and she knows that there are happier ways to live. And she has such a wonderful way with children.
The screening of the documentary took place in the Byzantine area at the gallery in the darkness, between the two evening calls to prayer. It was a full house and perfect weather.
When I arrived back at the Glammy's apartment, she, her sister and her Mum (complete with hair in rollers and cigarette dangling from bottom lip) were all still awake waiting to hear how it had gone.
The following day, the dwarves spent an hour after breakfast dancing with the Glammy and her sister in her room to: 'Call me Maybe' before we drove back over the border again, and back to our wonderful house here in Jerusalem, which becomes more and more like an oasis of our own. Even though it's evidently not. But that doesn't matter. At least for the mean time.
The boys were so happy to be back with her - they went scurrying into her brown carpeted apartment like it was their own. We were visiting for a few days for the screening of the documentary I made about the Darat al Funun gallery in Amman. The week felt almost like a reward for all the countless journeys back and forth over the border we'd made - so many that we now have a positive welcome posse at customs on the Jordan side. The week was happy and care free, in some ways.
The only thing marring it was sad news from the Glammy about her 'husband' to whom she has only been married for 5 months, has not yet lived with, and has turned out to be not the man he purported to be. He has been insulting her for a while now, and when she protests, he accuses her of being fat and strong headed. They both want a divorce. Even sadder, to me, is the advice she's been getting from her female relations, who tell her that being insulted and being unhappy is just part of married life - you lump it or leave it at risk of your family's honour. We both sat, as she explained her situation, weeping at her kitchen table over the remains of the dwarves' bowls of Cocopops. She knows it doesn't have to be like this, and she knows that there are happier ways to live. And she has such a wonderful way with children.
The screening of the documentary took place in the Byzantine area at the gallery in the darkness, between the two evening calls to prayer. It was a full house and perfect weather.
When I arrived back at the Glammy's apartment, she, her sister and her Mum (complete with hair in rollers and cigarette dangling from bottom lip) were all still awake waiting to hear how it had gone.
The following day, the dwarves spent an hour after breakfast dancing with the Glammy and her sister in her room to: 'Call me Maybe' before we drove back over the border again, and back to our wonderful house here in Jerusalem, which becomes more and more like an oasis of our own. Even though it's evidently not. But that doesn't matter. At least for the mean time.
Re-tuning and re-routining
'Are we goin back to Jooslem, Mummmeeee? For more 'ventureth?' squawked Rashimi as we sat waiting for our flight to Tel Aviv to board. The tanoi piped, rather ironically, 'Losing my religion' by R.E.M. and I wondered about the term priority boarding, when the flight was 70 percent full of families with at least 3 children. Many of these were orthodox Haredim, and the Lozenge pointed a digit at two men dressed identically in black hats and coats with side-locks: 'Look Mummy, those men are twins.'
For me, holidays are often about new beginnings, as far from our lives, I plan how I could be doing things better when I return. Never too late to exercise more, come up with new ideas, change my working techniques, and so on. It's the positive side to leaving the people we love and the places that really are home to J and I. One of the worst bits about being away is that all the other expat mothers seem to communicate by Facebook, even though they're in the same city, to the extent that many have not even managed to meet - yet spend all day messaging each other and still call each other friends. As J succinctly put it: 'Life was already much too short before Facebook.' How I will manage to actually meet these women, who sound interesting and nice, without having to have a hundred conversations on Facebook first? It's a problem.
For the dwarves, things are perhaps simpler. And so they should be. While I looked around our house and the layers of dust which had accumulated over the 2 weeks we'd been away, and the sad, dead plants, the dwarves ripped into the toy box and we ended up having a happy first day re-tuning and re-routining, tidying, resuscitating the plants, swatting flies and throwing rotten calamantina oranges at the feral cats that creep around our garden. The Lozenge had begun the day in usual style by padding into the kitchen to do some cooking, and created a giant Scooby snack sandwich of about 20 layers of frozen bread containing morsels of dried fruit, and a courgette kebab, which he laid carefully in the centre of the table. I put on my gym kit in tune to one of my holiday resolutions and Rashimi looked me up and down. 'Whassaaaat Mummy?' A true sign it's time...
We had a couple of little boys around to play, and the Lozenge laid up the table for a party complete with Dora the Explorer napkins and straws. Perhaps this is a sign we should socialise more often - but how to do this without 80 Facebook conversations first?
On the way back from the supermarket we drove past a little demonstration which is often there at the corner of our neighbourhood on a Friday consisting of a small group of people holding Palestinian flags and signs saying things like: 'Stop the Occupation' and 'Stop the Ethnic Cleansing.' The Lozenge is getting into his flags, particularly after a visit to the UK where UKIP and SNP are ensuring we have to sign up to being blue or red and we are seemingly no longer allowed to be complex and interesting human beings of technicolour and multi shade.
The Lozenge also knows the blue and white one in these parts is the Israeli flag - as you can't really miss it, particularly just after Pesach. This time he asked, 'What are those people doing and what is that flag as it's not the Israeli one?' Here we go, I thought - feeling relieved we had only 2 minutes left in the car. I explained the signs and the flag. 'What is occupation?' I told him there were Palestinian people who lived here who have been pushed out and that this is still happening.
'Will those people come and push us out of our house too?'
For me, holidays are often about new beginnings, as far from our lives, I plan how I could be doing things better when I return. Never too late to exercise more, come up with new ideas, change my working techniques, and so on. It's the positive side to leaving the people we love and the places that really are home to J and I. One of the worst bits about being away is that all the other expat mothers seem to communicate by Facebook, even though they're in the same city, to the extent that many have not even managed to meet - yet spend all day messaging each other and still call each other friends. As J succinctly put it: 'Life was already much too short before Facebook.' How I will manage to actually meet these women, who sound interesting and nice, without having to have a hundred conversations on Facebook first? It's a problem.
For the dwarves, things are perhaps simpler. And so they should be. While I looked around our house and the layers of dust which had accumulated over the 2 weeks we'd been away, and the sad, dead plants, the dwarves ripped into the toy box and we ended up having a happy first day re-tuning and re-routining, tidying, resuscitating the plants, swatting flies and throwing rotten calamantina oranges at the feral cats that creep around our garden. The Lozenge had begun the day in usual style by padding into the kitchen to do some cooking, and created a giant Scooby snack sandwich of about 20 layers of frozen bread containing morsels of dried fruit, and a courgette kebab, which he laid carefully in the centre of the table. I put on my gym kit in tune to one of my holiday resolutions and Rashimi looked me up and down. 'Whassaaaat Mummy?' A true sign it's time...
We had a couple of little boys around to play, and the Lozenge laid up the table for a party complete with Dora the Explorer napkins and straws. Perhaps this is a sign we should socialise more often - but how to do this without 80 Facebook conversations first?
On the way back from the supermarket we drove past a little demonstration which is often there at the corner of our neighbourhood on a Friday consisting of a small group of people holding Palestinian flags and signs saying things like: 'Stop the Occupation' and 'Stop the Ethnic Cleansing.' The Lozenge is getting into his flags, particularly after a visit to the UK where UKIP and SNP are ensuring we have to sign up to being blue or red and we are seemingly no longer allowed to be complex and interesting human beings of technicolour and multi shade.
The Lozenge also knows the blue and white one in these parts is the Israeli flag - as you can't really miss it, particularly just after Pesach. This time he asked, 'What are those people doing and what is that flag as it's not the Israeli one?' Here we go, I thought - feeling relieved we had only 2 minutes left in the car. I explained the signs and the flag. 'What is occupation?' I told him there were Palestinian people who lived here who have been pushed out and that this is still happening.
'Will those people come and push us out of our house too?'
Friday, 2 May 2014
Blue skies and happy days
I'm trying to update with some news, but typing on my new 27 inch iMac is like having moved to a Hummer from a Fiat and I'm afraid I might drive into something.
Gone are the days and nights scrunched like Gollum over my little laptop.
Here are some Easter holiday pictures instead. Blue skies and wide open spaces, a new niece, a sister, a lot of chocolate, a lot more wine, even more laughter, and a new computer...
Gone are the days and nights scrunched like Gollum over my little laptop.
Here are some Easter holiday pictures instead. Blue skies and wide open spaces, a new niece, a sister, a lot of chocolate, a lot more wine, even more laughter, and a new computer...
Sunday, 27 April 2014
BLIAR
http://bit.ly/1jKJSZQ
A genius mashup of a recent Blair speech. The man has so much to be ashamed of.
A genius mashup of a recent Blair speech. The man has so much to be ashamed of.
Tuesday, 8 April 2014
Banana Land and an unfortunate street name
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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